I lied. Not intentionally, but as I started to work on the epilogue too many plot bunnies were hopping over my path. There will be a few more chapters of this installment to tie up some loose ends.

Disclaimer: I still do not own them but I do feel that I make better use of them at times than their present owners.

When Elsie walked through the cemetery gate, her eyes quickly sought and found him standing in nearly the same position as when she'd left. They had come here first from the station, and then she had gone on to meet her sister alone. His head was bowed, but his back was straight and his hands were gripped tightly behind his back. A surge of empathy welled up within her, and she crossed to his side as quickly as she could over the soft ground. When she placed her hand on his wrist, he looked down at her with a sad smile and his hand found hers, squeezing her fingers reassuringly.

"Has your sister forgiven me?" he asked with a hoarse voice as his other hand brushed over his eyes.

She nodded and let her fingers lace through his so that she could hold his hand tighter, wishing that gloves were not separating them from feeling each others' skin, "Once she knew there was nothing to forgive. I showed her the date on the first letter to convince her of the truth," she explained when she saw his questioning look, and then quickly reassured him, "Never you worry, I didn't let her read it. She wants to meet you now, if you'll come."

"Of course I'll come. I wanted to go with you from the first," he began gruffly.

She cut him off with a hand on his chest, "You must trust to my judgment in this. Her temper is hotter than mine, and she would have said things that could never be forgotten. I wanted her to be convinced of what really happened before she met you for the first time."

His jaw tightened briefly as though he was going to argue, but he merely nodded shortly and offered her his arm, turning with one last glance over his shoulder at the gravestone. "The letters are yours," he said softly, "You could have let her read them if you wished."

She shook her head, "But the sentiments and the words are yours. Only you and I really need to know what those letters say. Sarah's too nosy by half," she finished with a sniff.

"Completely unlike her sister," he said solemnly, and she glanced up at him through her lashes to confirm the smile on his lips.

"Completely," she agreed with a sharp nod and squeezed his forearm, returning his smile.

He opened the gate for her to walk through and after she had taken his arm again, he said, "Henry Charles. Thank you for that."

She leaned against him for a moment when her step faltered, "He was a fine boy but such a mess. I couldn't get his hair to stay in place for anything. No matter what I did that one curl…" She broke off and swallowed the lump in her throat. "It was like having a miniature version of you, except with blue eyes."

"He should have had my last name as well." His voice was thick, and his jaw clenched. She needed to try one last time to dissuade him from what he had planned.

"Charles, I still believe we should let the past bury the past," she resumed their argument cautiously.

He stopped and turned toward her, pulling her out of the way behind a tree. "We've been over this at least a dozen times," he said tightly, "I cannot do that. He cost us our family. Can you imagine how different our lives would have been?"

She fixed her eyes on his tie, not wanting him to see her pain, "I'd rather not do that. We can't change the past now, and it casts a shadow on the future."

His expression softened and his hand lifted to caress her upper arm. She was sure he would have pulled her into his arms if they'd been alone. "You're right about that, but at some point we need to confront that ghost as well."

"Very well," she said, straightening and tugging on his arm to get him started back toward their meeting with her sister, "I'll trust to your judgment on this."

"Wise woman," he nodded and said with a smile in his voice, "It's taken you less than two weeks to learn to obey me. That will certainly get this relationship off to a fine start." She could tell by the crinkle of his eyes that he was teasing her and probably hoping for an explosive reaction.

"Silly man," she scoffed, "I did not agree to obey you, just to trust you. There is a difference."

He patted her hand with his and let his fingertips linger over hers, "I will have to be satisfied with that. I would much rather have your trust than your obedience."

"Charles," she said, at once serious, "After reading those letters, I don't believe I'll ever doubt you again."

"And I, my dear, dear, Elsie," he matched her tone, "will endeavor to never give you cause to doubt."

Smiling up at him wickedly, she let her gaze linger on his lips and said, "And, of course, there are other compensations."

"Other compensations?" he asked, voice rising slightly in pitch.

She nodded, "You are very accomplished in certain areas."

"You are a very wicked woman to remind me of such things right before I'm to meet your sister for the first time," he leaned down to whisper in her ear before opening the door of the tea shop they'd now reached.

~CCE~

Blinking a little to let his eyes adjust to the darkness of the shop, Charles scanned the room as he helped Elsie out of her coat. By the time he'd removed his own coat and hat, he had spotted the lone woman sitting across the room. She looked just enough like Elsie that he could have guessed her as her sister. For a moment he wondered if he would have recognized her even if he met her by chance. Elsie grasped his hand to pull him in the right direction, and he was grateful that their gloves were removed so that he could be reassured by feeling her warm skin against his own.

Once they were seated and introductions were made, the first moments of awkwardness were alleviated by the business of pouring out the tea and choosing pastries. Charles was grateful for the time to study Sarah Cauthon and take her measure. No matter what Elsie had said, she still did not look pleased to meet him. He decided to let her begin the conversation and sipped his hot tea gratefully. Waiting in the cemetery had chilled him more than he realized, and his throat was still sore from tears he hadn't wanted to shed.

Mrs. Cauthon began the conversation pleasantly enough; surprising Charles and a quick sideways glance told him that it surprised Elsie as well. The conversation flowed relatively easily, but stiffly. A good half hour was spent in reviewing his childhood and life to this point, although Charles was careful to skim over any parts of his life that he would only share with Elsie. Elsie kept her knee pressed firmly against his during the conversation, and he drew strength from her steady presence. When it seemed that he and Mrs. Cauthon could carry on a conversation without arguing, Elsie excused herself for a moment to go to the washroom. Charles chewed at his lip as he watched her go, worried that visiting their son's grave might have brought too many bad memories back for her.

He was startled out of his reverie as much by the change in Mrs. Cauthon's tone as by her question, "And will you do the right thing where Elsie is concerned this time, Mr. Carson?"

Turning his full attention back to her, he weighed his words carefully before answering, "I believe, Mrs. Cauthon, that you know I fully intended to do the right thing all along."

She sniffed, "Hmmph. The right thing would have been to never put her in that position in the first place."

"Perhaps," he agreed with an inclination of his head, "but we had no way of knowing what would happen to separate us. At any rate, isn't that something for her to decide?"

She shook her head in distaste, "Do you have any idea what that," the disgust was evident in her voice, "place she went to was like?"

He couldn't stop the shiver that ran through him at the thought, "I have heard rumors, yes."

"Mr. Cauthon went to bring her home when we found out where she was," she said with a grimace, "I wouldn't wish that on any woman, least of all my sister."

"Of course not," Charles murmured, but Mrs. Cauthon went on as though he hadn't said anything.

"She stayed with us until Henry died," she continued, "He was a good lad. He and little Davey were just three months apart, like two peas in a pod. I watched him while Elsie worked at anything she could find. Left the house before dawn and came back after dark most nights, worn to the bone."

Charles swallowed convulsively, this wasn't something he particularly wanted to hear about or even imagine. She continued, though, in a quiet tone meant for his ears only.

"I suppose you know that she was sick as well when Henry died," she said watching for his reaction carefully.

Charles hardly noticed her scrutiny, however, because his mind was reeling and heart racing with the thought that he could have lost Elsie. She could have died, and he would never have known. He couldn't keep himself from passing his hand over his eyes in horror at the thought. Every instinct told him to get up and walk out, or better yet, run. Anything to get away from the thought that he could have lost not just his child but the only woman he had ever, would ever, love at the same time.

When he met Sarah's gaze again, he noticed that her eyes had softened considerably. Perhaps now she believed that he truly loved Elsie. She finished with a kind whisper, hand on his arm where it rested heavily on the table, "She was so ill that she didn't even know he had died until her fever broke. If she had known, I doubt that she would have made it through."

A quick glance up told them both that Elsie was returning to the table. Charles spoke, voice thick again with emotion, "Thank you, Mrs. Cauthon. I doubt that Elsie would ever have told me that."

She smiled at him kindly, "No, she probably would not, and if you're to be my brother, then perhaps you should call me Sarah."

Charles rose to pull out Elsie's chair for her and nodded to Sarah warmly, "Then, of course, you must call me Charles."

Sarah excused herself to the washroom then, and Elsie turned to Charles, "How did you two become such fast friends?"

Charles put his hand on hers, reassured again by how warm and very much alive that it felt. "I believe, my dearest Elsie, that we are agreed that we only want the best path possible for you for all the rest of your days."

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