A/N: I want to thank my friends and betas for their help in editing this chapter. There were some insightful exchanges and suggestions. On that note, I also have to add that although I know some may feel that the discussion in this chapter would never happen between a father and daughter at that time, I doubt a loving father, with the circumstances and one who has had to counsel members of his flock regarding unexpected pregnancies, wouldn't at least listen. I'm sure there were some who would have just walked away, but I didn't take Iain Stewart to be like that in the show. He was very proper, but he was also very frank with Sam at their luncheon.

Haven't had much in the way of reviews the last couple of chapters, so I hope I still have some readers left. :)

One arm wrapped around her waist and her other hand pressed against her lips, Samantha Stewart stared longingly for several minutes as she watched Christopher drive away, remaining there even when she could no longer see his car. She pulled out a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress—one of Christopher's that he'd lent to her earlier in the day—and pressed it gently against her wet eyes and patted her nose. What am I going to do?

She turned back to the house. Although she was happy her brothers were home, she really didn't feel like sitting at the table or in the living room and chatting. Still, she trudged inside, placing the handkerchief back into her pocket. They'd know she'd been crying, of course, but would likely assume it was because Christopher had left. That was indeed one part of it, but much the greater part was her distress at having to face marrying him… and all that marriage entailed.

While staying with her parents, Sam had visited with her married childhood friend, Margaret. Margaret was one of her best friends from their school days and had been with her earlier the same day Joel Stephens had forced himself on her. When Sam told her that she was stepping out with Christopher, Margaret had wanted all the details, asking a million questions all at once. What does he do, how old is he, had they kissed and so on?

Sam jumped at the chance to discuss her feelings about Christopher with her friend, and let it slip that she had reservations about the physical side of marriage. Margaret didn't comprehend Sam's meaning at first, so Sam asked her bluntly if it hurt the first time, and then she just as quickly averted her eyes and ducked her head. I can't believe I just asked that.

The stunned expression on her childhood friend's face expressed the same surprise at Sam's bluntness. But Margaret took pity on her friend. She explained that the first night hurt, like a pinch, but that it wasn't a lasting pain. It went away very quickly. She also said she'd never felt the pain any other times—just the first. Sam couldn't imagine what her friend could mean, as her own pain had lasted for days and was certainly not slight. No, it felt more like a branding iron. She remembered wishing she were dead. So how can I make love to my dear, dear husband and not wish I were dead instead?

Sam stood silently at the door, trembling uncontrollably as she relived those terrifying, painful hours. She'd tried everything she could to push Joel Stevens off her, even digging her nails into his hands and arms, but she was just a girl and her futile attempts were no match for the strapping grown farm boy.

A roar of laughter from one of her brothers startled her and she jumped, crashing back into reality. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Sam opened the door and walked in. She spent the next half hour listening to her brothers' stories about their experiences and her mother's gasps of horror in response. Trying to think about how to resolve her problem and also listen attentively to her brothers soon wore thin. Finally, Sam was able to slip away to the quiet of the garden.

The stars were shining brightly, the skies as clear as they had been earlier in the day. She sat on the damp grass, wrapping her arms around her calves and resting her chin on her knees. Ruminating on her problem, Sam came to the conclusion that she was never going to know what would happen unless she experienced it firsthand, again. How am I supposed to experience it again without being married? How can I marry someone—Christopher—and not share that part of me with him? It was an impossible situation. She shook her head and then buried her face against her knees, weeping softly with frustration. The thought of disappointing him in marriage pained her deeply. He was experienced, having been married before, so he'd know something was wrong. Even when she'd stepped out with Andrew and Joe, she'd never wanted to be touched or kissed as much as she enjoyed it with Christopher. He was everything she could ever dream of wanting, and he was the only one she'd ever considered letting touch her in such an intimate manner. Suddenly, Sam's head shot up, her eyes round with excitement. Maybe I could convince… She hadn't heard the footsteps approaching.

Her father stood next to her, peering down at her with a frown. "Samantha, are you all right?"

She sighed heavily, looking up into his face. "I'm in a bit of a dilemma, Dad."

"Anything I can help with, child?" he asked.

"It's not really something a daughter discusses with her father."

Iain let out a soft 'ah' as he picked up an empty bucket, turned it over and took a seat beside his daughter, resting his arms on his knees. "Does it have to do with Christopher?"

Sam started to nod, but then stammered, "Yes… no—I mean, yes, but it's really me."

Iain sighed, frustrated. "Samantha, has Christopher asked you to marry him?"

Sam was shocked. "How did… how could… were you listening?"

Iain chuckled. "No, I did not eavesdrop. I've just had a lot of experience."

At his turn of phrase, Sam groaned and dropped her head against her legs once again. She felt her father's hand smoothing circles on her back.

He furrowed his brow. "Is it really that terrible?"

"You've no idea," she grumbled.

"Samantha, child, look at me… please."

She lifted her head just enough to rest her cheek on her knees, peeking up at her father. She saw him narrow his eyes and knew he could see the tear tracks on her cheeks.

"What's troubling you so?"

"I just… maybe I should talk to Mum about this," she said. Sam could see the dawning comprehension as his eyes rounded and he looked at his daughter studiously, as if seeing her as an adult for the first time. His expression almost made her more anxious than dealing with her problem did.

"Sam, are you, um… are you and Christopher—"

"No, Dad, no… oh, no." She quickly cut him off, not able to stand the thought of talking about this with her father. Still, she couldn't help mumbling under her breath, "That's the problem." She hadn't expected him to hear her, but his sharp intake of air and the sudden stillness of his hand on her back told her he had done.

She cringed inwardly as she watched him out of the corner of her eye. He was shaking his head. This was a disaster.

He started to say something, but she interrupted again. "It's not what you think."

"Then would you please explain what it is, if not that? Because it sounds quite a lot like—"

"Dad, please," she pleaded.

"What is it, Samantha? You have me thoroughly confused now."

"I can't. I don't know how to explain it."

"Just start at the beginning."

She threw her head back in frustration but blurted out, "Joel Stevens."

He visibly flinched. "That was a long time ago, Samantha."

"It feels like just yesterday," she sobbed. "I can't marry Christopher, Dad."

It was plain to her that her father thought he understood, but he was soon to find out it was much worse than he thought.

"He already knows, Samantha, so –"

"No... I mean, yes, he knows, but… how can I be with Christopher as a wife if I'm scared of that."

Her father looked askance at her. "I don't understand."

Sam had grown exceedingly discouraged and the stress of the situation was making matters worse. "It hurt..." she ground out through her teeth before stifling a whimper with her fist to her lips.

Iain Stewart had never known as much pain as he did at that moment, even compared to the day his daughter was brought home battered and bruised. Her soft cry of anguish was not so much about the physical pain as it was about reliving the worst day of her young life, and about the fear of losing the man she loved because of it. He wrapped her in his embrace, as only a father can do, and rocked her quietly. He had no words of wisdom for what his daughter was going through. He wanted to tell her it wouldn't be like that, but he couldn't know. He didn't know how she would respond to her husband or how badly she'd been injured by the assault.

Sam sniffled, and then gently removed her father's arm from around her shoulders. She leaned back and looked her father in the eye before her courage deserted her. "I don't know what to do. I don't want my, his… our wedding night to be a disappointment to him. I don't want… I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to see Joel Stevens in my head or feel his hands on me when I am with my husband."

"I don't know what to tell you, my dear. I can say that it shouldn't hurt, but I don't know how you will deal with it. And I'm sorry, I didn't realize you had those images or feelings still."

"I didn't for the longest time. But when Christopher… when he… when he kisses me, I don't, but then suddenly I sometimes can see Joel and I remember it," she explained quietly.

They sat silently, close, but so far apart, each a little lost in their own worlds.

"I can't take the chance and marry him if I don't know how it will be. I can't do that to him."

Iain squeezed his eyes shut then looked at his daughter. "Samantha, he loves you. Whatever happens, he won't love you any less."

She disagreed, shaking her head.

Iain watched his daughter stand up and pace in front of him.

"You don't know that… I don't know that," she said. "And I won't know unless… we do."

"Samantha…" he gasped. She couldn't be suggesting what he thought.

"Dad, I need to know, or I have to end this with him."

"Although I know things are different now than they were before the war, I think it unlikely that Christopher would approve. A man of his era, not that different to mine –"

"He might," she interjected, lowering her voice, "if he can't help it."

TBC...