Here is the next chapter. Warning for some material of a mature and sensitive nature.

That night, Teresa dreamed about loss as if she was reliving every terrible moment in her life. Her mother's death, the news brought to them by the elderly servant of a neighbor. Her brothers, beaten within an inch of their lives by their father, Tommy crying, James withdrawing within himself, and Teresa holding it together whenever she fell under her father's hand. Then her father's death, the realization that the four Lisbon children were on their own, and the long hard days that followed. Then it was like she was flying through a glowing tunnel, bright lights on either side of her, much brighter than any candle. Her dream refocused on the day that she had learned of Walter's death, of his horse traveling too fast, tripping and sending both of them over the edge of the mountain. Teresa gathering her children to her and telling them that they would be okay, that she would protect them, that they didn't have to worry. It occurred to her more than once that she couldn't leave the Mashburns alone the way her parents had, in her mind, deserted the Lisbon's.

Then another rush forward in time, to the morning when she'd met Jane at the door after he'd fed the chickens, tears already running down her face, to inform him that his child was coming.

"It's too soon," he said, his eyes fixing on her.

She nodded, swallowing. "I know," she said in barely a whisper.

He put his arm around her and led her into their room, biting his lip. "You're going to be okay," he told her brushing the hair away from her face.

She shifted her weight, not hard, at five months she was showing but not to the extent of being too uncomfortable. She hadn't done this in a dozen years; she'd thought she was done, and now it was happening again four months before it was supposed to. "God," she said, covering her face in her hands and shaking.

Jane put a hand on the top of her head and another on her stomach, leaning over to kiss her forehead. "It's okay," he said again, not sounding like he meant it

She bit her lip and whimpered, and Jane took a hand in both of his and squeezed it. "I'm sorry," she said, the tears coming freely. She shifted her weight so her head and shoulders were elevated on the pillow and tipped her head back, staring at the ceiling and trying to regulate her breathing. She wasn't sure what was worse, what her body was doing or the grief she was already feeling. She decided that the sorrow was a million times worse. She'd been in three confinements; she knew what to do. She had no idea how to deal with something like this.

She jolted awake then, sitting up straight and gasping for air. It took her a minute or two to remember where she was, in a tent under the open sky somewhere in the Great Plains. Her mouth hanging open, she panted, finding it just as difficult to calm her respiratory system as it had been a year ago.

The morning hadn't ended there. It had gone on for several more hours, including that awful moment when Grace, confused as to where her mother and father were, had wandered into the bedroom. Both Teresa and Jane had began screaming, holding out their hands as if it would block her from being in the room. Teresa could still hear their frantic voices shouting "Get out!" at the girl, desperate to keep her from the tragedy that was unfolding.

Their extreme reaction to her presence had caused Grace to run. Less than an hour later it was over. Teresa thanked God that her subconscious hadn't subjected her to the rest of that morning. And that her consciousness, although it was now taking her back in time, skipped over to that evening.

"We have to name her," Teresa said, taking the cup of water that her husband offered her, her third one that afternoon.

"Okay," he replied, pulling her hair back from her face again.

"And we can bury her out by my mother and Walter."

"Of course we can," he said, nodding. She finished the cup of water and set it on the table by the bed. He took her hand again.

"How are you feeling?" he asked her.

She wasn't sure. She felt weak, she felt tired, and she felt like she was going to lose the water he was giving her to nausea. And of course, she was heartbroken. She'd been absolutely thrilled to discover she was pregnant, and now…

"I'm tired," she told him. "And sad."

He gave her a sad look. "At least you're okay," he told her, touching her chin. "We have that to be grateful about."

"I suppose," she whispered, closing her eyes slightly.

Jane got up and walked around to the other side of the bed, getting under the covers with her and turning on his side. She rolled from her back to face him and he curled his arms around her.

Teresa looked at the man sleeping beside her now. He had been so sweet to her, so loving, so there when they'd lost Julia…the one good thing that came from that time was the realization, over and over again, of how much he loved her. And now…now the man at her side didn't remember any of it. She was carrying their tragedy, Hell, she was carrying his tragedy around with her and he had no idea. Those events had made them strong. And now it was as if they'd never happened.

Teresa took the reins at the wagon that morning as the train set out for the West again. "You stay in the wagon with the kids," she told her husband. "This river is shallow enough that the oxen won't have to swim."

"The oxen," he repeated thoughtfully. "Do they have names?"

"You named them Kristina and Erica," Kimball told him. "Do you remember that?"

He shook his head. "Can't say that I do."

"Then I'm sorry I brought it up," Kimball said. "Stupid names for oxen."

"Do you remember us at all?" Grace wanted to know, cocking her head to the side.

"I'm sure you all are very memorable," Jane said, smiling at her. "But alas, I wouldn't have picked you out in a crowd as my step children." He looked around. "Isn't there another boy?"

"Wayne," Grace said. "He is riding across with his girl friend's wagon."

Teresa drowned them out as she guided the oxen across the river. It was a little deeper than she'd thought, but the animals were able to keep their footing. Nevertheless, she let out a sigh of relief when they were safely across.

"How far are we going today?" Jane wanted to know when they stopped at noon for a brief meal.

"About five more miles," she said. "It's a slow process. One step at a time.

"I think it'd be nice to just camp out here," he said. "We'd certainly be away from the crowds."

The crowds. She looked at him. "Are you starting to remember anything?"

He gave her a smile. "No," he admitted. "But the crowds are part of why we left, yes?"

"Partly," she said. "It was a reason that I agreed."

"So it was my idea," he said. "That makes sense. You'd want to stay near the graves of your mother and first husband."

"How did you…"

"It's obvious," he said. Teresa supposed she shouldn't have been so surprised.

"Hey," she said, reaching over and taking his hand. "You wanna go for a walk tonight? Just you and me?" She tipped her head. "I am your wife, after all, you probably should know some things about me."

Her husband smiled. "I know plenty about you just by watching you today," he said. "But of course."

That night, when the dance circle began, Teresa watched her oldest son and Summer Edgecomb join in, twirling to the music and looking like they were having the time of their lives. Grace and Craig were near the edge of the circle, seeming to talk while they danced. Turning her head to look for Wayne, she saw him and Sarah walking off toward the edge of the wagon circle. Teresa took her husband's hand and led him in the other direction.

"So," he said once they had gotten a few minutes from the camp, "what is our story?"

"Well," Teresa said, "we met after you stopped pretending to be a fake psychic."

He raised his eyebrows. "I was wondering why no one was calling me Patrick Jane the Magnificent."

She blinked a couple of times. "Wow. Okay, so we got married a couple years after knowing each other, and then this spring we decided to set out for Oregon and make a better life for ourselves and for the kids." She shrugged. "That's us in a nutshell, I suppose."

He looked off across the prairie and nodded. "So few trees in this place," he commented, looking toward a few such plants a few hundred yards ahead of them. She nodded. "You're upset," Jane said. "You're upset that I can't remember, and not just because I can't, but because of what I'm forgetting, isn't that right?" he said. "We've survived things together, haven't we?"

She nodded. "We have."

He nodded back at her. "I see. Well…" he looked at the ground. "How do I usually make you feel better? Embarrass somebody else? Take you off somewhere private?"

"Sometimes you do a card trick, mind game," she said. "Sometimes you make me chase you. Sometimes you make a satirical political rant."

"Ah," Jane said, nodding. "Well, as I don't know who the politicians are, and the cards are back in the wagon…" he jogged forward a few steps, looking back at her with a grin on his face.

She cocked her head as she jogged a few more steps, and then stopped and gave a little hop in the air. "Teresa Jane, play along!"

She allowed herself to smile and lifted her skirts, running after him as he darted toward the trees. He was going slow enough that she could gain on him, looking back to give her that grin that reminded her of when she began to realize she was sweet on him, before any of the sadness had happened.

And then he stopped, stopped so quickly she almost ran into him. "What the-" she started, and then became aware that the silent night, save for the music in the distance, wasn't so silent any more. There was buzzing, buzzing of insects, and when she looked where her husband was looking, her face paled.

Below the trees laid a rotted corpse, seemingly human, the flesh almost completely eaten off of the bones. Flies surrounded the remaining bits, making the skeleton appear to move.

Above it, on the tree and in the light of a full moon, was a faded bloody smiley face. If the moon hadn't shown so brightly, they probably would have missed it.

She looked sideways at her husband, whose heavy breathing was now louder to her than the flies. His hands were shaking, and when he turned to her, she recognized his eyes.

Those eyes remembered everything.

"I'm so sorry," she said, watching the eyes change as the memories came rushing back and the pain set in. He turned back to the smiley face and stared a moment longer, then he looked at the remains, and then back at his wife. He turned and walked a few steps before falling to his knees.

She ran over and dropped down beside him as he rolled onto his side and stared blankly. For one awful moment she thought he was dead. And then she heard his breathing again, labored, full of grief.

"Anglea, Charlotte," he said, shaking his head ever so slightly. He looked up at her. "Julia."

Tears sprang to her eyes. "Yes," she said, nodding, feeling so terrible for him having to come to this realization all at once, and at the same time grateful that he knew her again. "Are you all right?"

He sighed. She knew it was a dumb question. Of course he wasn't all right. But it was the only thing she could think of to say.

A question that stupid didn't deserve a response, but he gave her one anyway. "Never better."

Sure, she thought, but didn't ask for any more. She knew he'd been better, he knew he'd been better, but that was such a Jane like thing to say, to act as if he had control of the situation. She knew good and well he didn't, but he'd never admit to that.

Never.

At least not with words. He was much more comfortable with actions, and he told her that he needed her there much more clearly than he could have said it when he let out another breath and reached his hand toward hers. She closed her fingers around his own and held on.

So I hope that flashback and bits from Fugue in Red and The Crimson Hat weren't too much for you guys, there! This should be the only chapter to warrant a warning, we will revisit the miscarriage in later chapters, but it won't be another flashback occurrence.