To Live is to Dance, Despite Storm Clouds A-Rumbling

by Romantic Nerd

Society's forces of oppression build as William and Julia face tests of their relationship while working to solve a crime amidst the backdrop of the evils and hardships of 1900s racism. Can William's minstrel suspect help them to grasp that what is most precious in life is to come to revel in being who you are, and to take joy in sharing a true love that celebrates that very fact?

11. Two Live is Two Dance, Even in Thunder

Chapter 11: Two Live is Two Dance, Despite Storm Clouds A-Rumblin'

Closer to midnight than not, Mr. Weist was brought up from the cells to be interrogated by both Detective Watts and Detective Murdoch. His wife, Mrs. Weist, was transferred to Murdoch's office, to be kept under the watchful eye of Constable Crabtree to wait to be interrogated by both Detective Murdoch and Dr. Ogden.

In asking his wife to join him in questioning the woman, the woman who William KNEW had laced Mr. Beau Jangles' whiskey with laudanum – for it was MRS. WEIST'S fingermark on the bottle, William had figured that Julia would be an important asset. He was extremely proud of his wife, and he would be grateful for the opportunity to rely on her multiple skills, for as he saw them, Dr. Julia Ogden was not only the best pathologist he had ever known, but she was also a highly trained psychiatrist, and added to that her being a woman often enabled a sense of trust when dealing with individuals who were struggling with freeing themselves of a burden such as the one Mrs. Weist held. He anticipated that having her by his side would be abundantly helpful in gaining more of the truth from Mrs. Weist.

While the two detectives questioned Mr. Weist, Dr. Ogden went down to the cells to examine and treat Mr. Big Jim Walker. Upon first seeing Big Jim laid out on the cot in the cell, the cot itself sunk so low under the man's weight it nearly touched to the floor, she was struck by how huge the man truly was – thinking to herself, remembering, "George was right, he's like a country horse."

Stepping into the cell, with Big Jim groaning as he moved to see her, Julia felt ever so grateful that Constable Fisher was there with her, that she was not alone with this intimidating man, and she heard inside of her head, little Chelsea declare, "Dwagon haves fire!" And then, unexpectedly, she shuddered to herself at seeing the extent of the man's bruises, and all the swelling, and discoloration. And then, "Oh my," she nearly gasped as she caught sight of all the blood smudges left behind on the cot's mattress after the man had sat up. Each one, from the numerous lacerations on Big Jim's backside, most of the cuts still embedded with tiny pieces of glass, from when he had been flung backwards by William's secretly-padlock-packed punch into the crates of empty bottles. "William most definitely showed this man who was boss," she thought to herself, with a tug at her heart remembering how worried he had been that she would think badly of him for doing so.

)

Immediately before the interrogation of Mr. Weist, Murdoch's last thought, before he walked out of the door of his office, expertly prepared folders of evidence in his arms, was to remember the sensations pulsing through his veins when he pulled the trigger on Gillies' revolver, with every intention of killing James Gillies dead. He had done it to save his infant son, to save his Julia, once more, from this monster who had again used her to get to him, this time hooking her up to a bomb upstairs in their bedroom, set to explode if her heart beat to quickly… Yes, he would kill for them, he knew that for certain. "But," he reminded himself, "Mr. Weist did NOT kill to save his daughter's life, but instead, at least most likely…" William unknowingly wrinkled his face in doubt as he talked to himself inside of his head on his way to the Interrogation Room, "Weist killed merely so that their daughter could marry well – to gain wealth and prestige. No, not even if I were a pauper. And," he reminded himself, "Bill Weist was no pauper. No, there was no correctness to be found in what Weist had done," he told himself as he arrived at the doorway and nodded to Detective Watts.

Now, now, Detective William Murdoch was ready to be ruthless for what his heart told him was right, even if his expectations were right, and in doing he so, he came face to face with that which is evil.

Inside the Interrogation Room, Detective Watts mostly watched on as Detective Murdoch masterfully confronted Mr. Weist with the abundance of evidence he had accumulated against the man for committing both the murder of Mr. Ernie Williams and also the frame of Mr. Beau Jangles.

Mr. Weist quickly crumbled under the extreme pressure and confessed.

"I scripted it perfectly," the man seemed to brag, "Even imitated lousy cats yowling in heat while I had to make all those clanging noises with the garbage pails when I moved his body to the Tipsy Ferret coal-chute… before I burned it." He elaborated further, "And I convinced 'em all, made all those people believe that I WAS that old Negro…!"

And William subconsciously sought for the wood-carved free-flying bird in his pocket, remembering Mr. Beau Jangles, comforting himself against the blaring hate of what the man in front of him had done with the thought that justice had been done, that the truth had been found and uncovered for all to see.

Weist's pride appeared to drop away, and he said, "Big stupid imbecile, that blasted Big Jim… Never let me down before," he sighed and shook his head.

"Motive…" motive had always been the sticking point with this case, "and finally, finally…" William believed he would get some answers.

"Why did you want Mr. Williams dead?" Murdoch asked frankly. He went on, "Was it not true that it was Ernie Williams who helped you with your Negro-worker problem? Was HE not the man who joined you, who betrayed his friend and partner, Mr. Beau Jangles, and who folded to your demands, first of all the Negro performers in your troupe, encouraging all of his fellow Negros to follow suit?"

Mr. Weist's face stoned, becoming clenched and gritted and hard with anger. "That smart-ass bastar…!" Weist stopped himself before erupting further. But sitting there, Bill Weist seethed with rage, for he could still not believe, "the gall of that little nigg**! Thinking he could court… he could IMPREGNATE!... MY daughter!" his brain ranted his fury inside of his head.

Cunning, Murdoch knew that with the tiniest touch, light as a feather, this powder-keg would blow…

Detective Murdoch took a step away from the man, put his hands in his trousers' pockets, and glanced to Detective Watts, almost winked, and said calmly with a slight shrug of a shoulder, "Rumor has it that Mr. Williams was involved with your daught…"

BOOM, the predicted explosion came, Weist standing and pounding his fists down into the rock-solid interview table with a hearty bang. "How dare he put his hands on her – put his… Cocky little nigg** didn't know his place!" he steamed.

"And you showed him," Murdoch said matter-of-factly, turning and bringing his eyes to burn deeply into his prey's, "You showed him his place, didn't you? His overstepping it by falling in love with your daughter is what cost him his life, wasn't it?"

A sickening feeling seeped down into Weist's gut, disgust curling his upper lip, and he calmed. Slower, dropping towards a self-soothing whisper, he said, "Bast*rd deserved it." And then defeated, Mr. Weist returned to his seat.

Detective Watts moved in to tackle the new subject, "And Adelaide..." he asked, "What became of your daughter Mr. Weist…?"

And for the first time throughout the entire case it occurred to William, with Watts' question, that Weist could have been so angry at their having an affair that he had killed his own daughter as well as her Negro lover, and the mere thought of it turned his stomach, and crept and crawled up under his skin…

Mr. Weist let go a big sigh, and his face dulled, and his eyes became unfocused, and he said, staring off into the distance, "We had to send her away…"

And William felt a wave of relief, for he could tell by the way the man said it that it was true – that he had not killed her too…

In more control than William felt, Watts pressed forward, asking, "Where…?" And then Watts moved in closer to Weist and tilted his head that odd way he does, examining. "Where did you send her?" he pursued.

"She was going to marry… uh…" and Weist looked up into Watts' eyes, seeking understanding, and a little deeper inside of himself he sensed it, his wish for forgiveness. "Adelaide was going to marry the Deputy Minister," he tried to explain, and then his voice began to crack, and he shrugged, and the weight of it leadened down on him, "Before all of this." And he knew then, that Adelaide would never marry such a man as Mr. King, and that he would be going to jail and probably be hung, and worse, the truly unbearable fact digging deep into the marrow of his bones, he knew that Adelaide would never, ever, forgive him for what he had done.

Murdoch cleared his throat. "And what of the Deputy Minister of Labor?" he inquired, "Did Mr. King play any part in the crimes?"

Mr. Weist raised his head to look at the man who had brought him down so hard. "As far as I know, detective, Mackenzie King never learned of Adelaide's…" Weist struggled with the word, finally choosing, "transgressions." He paused and then admitted, "We held out hope that the engagement could be saved." Bill Weist considered, then, whether or not to repeat the lie he and his wife had spread about Adelaide being sent to finishing school. He put it off, starting farther back…

Mr. Weist told the two detectives that Deputy Minister King had met his daughter when he attended one of their performances, and that that very evening he had asked for their permission to court her, which he subsequently began to do. "Mackenzie King was a big help to me," Bill Weist added, "Brought the government's strength behind me in my dispute with Beau Jangles and the other Negro performers, said as far as the law was concerned they had to wear blackface no matter the color of their skin, and that Negros should be happy to get any wages at all, let alone ask for higher ones."

Detective Watts reminded, "It is no surprise as to where Deputy Minister King's opinions on such matters would lie, considering his bigoted views on prohibiting any further immigration of Asians into Canada with the hopes of keeping our beloved country, 'PROPERLY WHITE…'"

"I guess the show will have to close now," Weist changed the subject, seeming to have reached a conclusion.

"It seems likely," William gave.

But then Detective Murdoch's inhalation, his return to the evidence folders at his end of the big wooden table, suggested that there was more.

Murdoch tapped one of the folders with his unbandaged hand, and then began pacing once more. Nonchalantly, he put his hands down into his pockets again. "You would have needed an accomplice," he started.

And over in his chair, Bill Weist's blood chilled to ice.

Murdoch went on, a quick glance over to Weist, the look on the man's face telling him that he had hit quite a nerve, "You needed someone to keep Mr. Beau Jangles from going to the poolroom during your 'performance' for your plan to work. You needed to ensure that no one would see him at the same time you were pretending to be him, and more importantly, you needed to guarantee the Mr. Beau Jangles would NOT have an alibi for the times not only of your performance, but also the murder itself, and even for the time when you moved and burned the body. And you needed to keep him unconscious long enough for you to cart him to the crime scene in order for the frame to be believed…"

He would wait now, wait for Weist to tell.

Both Detective Murdoch and Detective Watts watched as the man before them blanched and shook his head and stuttered, speechless and petrified.

Watts looked to Murdoch, who frowned.

William would rather have the man tell them himself than have to push it further. He reached up and rubbed at his forehead and then sighed and pushed himself forward. He walked back to the folders…

And Bill Weist wrenched with his terror…

Murdoch opened the only folder yet to be used. "We found a fingermark on the whiskey bottle that was left with Mr. Beau Jangles on the night of the murder," the detective explained. "That bottle had traces of laudanum in it," he continued.

His own voice, outside, inside, his head, Bill Weist heard it praying to the Lord above, "No. No. No. Please not Helen. No, no…"

Murdoch reached up and rubbed at his brow as he said the most devastating part, "We have matched the fingermark to those of your…"

And an absolute WAILING halted the words in midair…

And Mr. Bill Weist fell out of his chair onto his knees…

And he clasped his hands in front of his heart and he begged with all his might, "No, no, no, no, please no. Please don't. Please don't… detective…"

And William's brain scalded the truth of it to him inside of his head, "Oh my God, he LOVES her – he loves her like I love Julia, he loves her…!"

And Llewelyn Watts of William Murdoch shared a look, each recognizing in the other an empathy with the pain. And they saw that neither of them had the heart to force the broken man to be the one to betray his wife.

"Detective Murdoch," Watts asked for permission, "Perhaps that's enough for now?"

A deep breath, the pressure so heavy it smothered his lungs, Murdoch responded, "Yes. Yes, if you wouldn't mind, could you have Mr. Weist write out his confession?"

Watts nodded, "Most certainly."

And the two men awkwardly battled with saying or not saying what they both knew would come next – Murdoch leaving to go get the confession from Mrs. Weist, herself, that SHE had been the one to drug Beau Jangles that night.

After too long of a pause, Detective Murdoch clamped his lips together and nodded to Watts.

And Detective Murdoch turned, and with no words said, he left.

)

Inspector Brackenreid mulled over his choices, already knowing which he would choose. He could go outside to the gathered and waiting reporters with what had just been told by Murdoch – that Mr. Bill Weist had confessed to the murder of Mr. Ernie Williams, and to the framing of Mr. Beau Jangles for said murder. He would be able to add to that report that one of the men who worked for Mr. Weist, a Mr. Big Jim Walker, had also confessed to making false statements and to assaulting TWO police officers. His other choice was to wait, to wait for Murdoch and his wife to get Bill Weist's wife to confess to aiding and abetting in the murder and the frame-up. He already knew he would wait – those two, as a team, were truly astounding. He was certain they would be successful. But a thought interrupted, "Remember that that Murdoch is usually SLOW as Molasses!" and suddenly he felt a wave of annoyance crash through him, gritting his teeth, and under it was the fact that he was thoroughly exhausted. "Bollocks Murdoch!" he cursed out to no one there. He wanted to be home in bed… AND he also wanted tomorrow's papers to vindicate his Stationhouse from all the blasphemous and hurtful charges their headlines had reported against those at Stationhouse #4 previously on this 'Negro-Killer case. He could get both of those things, be home in bed and vindication… "Just go tell them now. Then go home. Let Murdoch tell you they got the woman to talk tomorrow morning. That's good enough – isn't it?"

Thomas shook his head to himself. Most of all, it seemed, he wanted this whole thing to be over with. He sighed and got up and went and poured himself another scotch. Yes, he already knew, he would wait.

)

William and Julia briefly huddled together in the bullpen to discuss a plan for their shared interrogation. William's heart still ached from having just witnessed Mrs. Weist's husband fall apart with grief over what they were hopefully about to confirm with a confession. His compassion drove him to pull the 'household adhesive strip' off quickly, as it were. "Julia," his voice revealed a modicum of the soreness he felt, "Her husband…." William swallowed, then went on, "I believe Mr. and Mrs. Weist are still quite in love with each other, even after all their years of marriage. I do not want to play cat and mouse with her, to drag out getting her to tell us what has already been confessed to and what we are already certain of. I suggest we inform Mrs. Weist that her husband has confessed to the killing of Mr. Williams, and the framing of Mr. Beau Jangles for that same murder, and that we do so right at the onset of the interrogation, and then immediately present her with the evidence we have against HER that proves she helped her husband carry out those crimes."

Julia agreed, but felt a more personal 'telling,' rather than his more evidence-based 'telling,' would lead to the building the trust that they would need in order for Mrs. Weist to tell them, later on in the interrogation, the other things they wanted to know – like what really had happened to their daughter. This was particularly troubling now that William had confirmed that Mr. Weist's motive for the murder was Ernie Williams' affair with their daughter. And still, William wanted to learn of any role Deputy Minister King might have played in the crimes. Julia suggested she be the one to begin, modeling how she might start for him, saying, "Perhaps something like, 'Your husband has confessed to the murder, and although he has not implicated you in being involved, we want you to know that we are fully aware that you drugged Mr. Beau Jangles with laudanum to ensure that he would NOT have an alibi for the killing." She took a breath considering what they would do if Helen Weist did not confess after that…

"And if she needs a push, then I will present the fingermark evidence," William said, and then he asked, "Are we in agreement then?"

Julia nodded, and they headed in.

)

From the moment Julia Ogden laid eyes on Helen Weist sitting in William's office, the woman's face pale, shoulders slumped and yet somehow still rigid, she knew she was a woman heavily burdened by her guilt, her guilt as much as her fear of being caught. As they had planned, she delicately, but directly, informed the woman that they knew of her part in the crimes her husband had perpetuated. As they had hoped, she seemed relieved to get the secrets off of her chest, confessing within the first two minutes of the interrogation to drugging and detaining Mr. Beau Jangles in his own room, under the guise of trying to convince him to return to the minstrel show and enticing him with an expensive bottle of whiskey.

There was a pause, Mrs. Weist not seeming to notice. Her eyes stared past William, Julia noticed. She was looking AT the window behind William, more than looking OUT of it. "Mrs. Weist?" she asked, "Are you alright?"

Her stare not altering, Mrs. Weist answered her, "I will go to prison… my Bill possibly hung, at best he will spend the rest of his life in a prison, a prison separated, apart from, mine. I may never see him again… the love of my life…"

And Julia's heart sunk…

And William's heart sunk…

And they shared a look. William wrinkled a corner of his mouth. There was nothing to be done, for what the woman had just said was correct.

William spoke up then, saying that what had troubled him most in this case had always been the motive for killing Mr. Williams. He looked across to Julia.

"Was it to do with your daughter, Mrs. Weist?" Julia asked softly, "Because Adelaide had fallen in love with Mr. Williams…" she paused.

Mrs. Weist's eyes seemed to plead so desperately.

And Julia thought to herself that "THIS, THIS is where the woman's heavy burden of guilt lies…"

"What is it?" Julia opened the door just wide enough, inviting the stoically overwrought woman to step through…

Tears filled Helen's eyes and she blurted, "She was pregnant! She was pregnant… with… with," and her brain stalled, for it was impossible to say it.

Julia picked it up, leaning closer, saying it low, with the confidentiality it deserved, "Adelaide had gotten pregnant with Ernie Williams' baby?"

And Mrs. Weist nodded. Sniffling, crying, beginning to collapse and fall apart, the cracks allowing more and more of the truth to seep out…

William rushed to hand Mrs. Weist a beautifully-clean, white, handkerchief.

Julia wondered to herself as an aside, "How does he do that?!" for she was fairly certain there had not been such an item in the suit she had brought for him.

Mrs. Weist thanked him and used the handkerchief to cover nearly half of her face, for shame demanded, most, the desire to be unseen, to hide. "I only wanted to spare her," she cried, wishing to relieve the awful feelings that had overtaken her down to her very core.

William rubbed at his brow, confounded by all the possibilities his mind offered, "Spare her daughter from what exactly… the public shame of having had been intimate with a Negro… becoming pregnant out of wedlock… a life in relative poverty…? And how exactly did she DO this sparing… by helping her husband kill Mr. Williams…? Or perhaps she sent her daughter away to give birth in secret…?"

Julia's instincts telling her to help the woman regain some control, she searched her mind for a question that would be simple to answer, to help pull the woman away from the overwhelming flood of emotions. One came to mind. "How did you learn of their affair, Mrs. Weist?" she asked.

Helen lifted her face out of the handkerchief, the cool air on her skin reminding her she should, she could, breathe. She wiped at her cheeks. "I spied Adelaide sneaking out of house one day," she swallowed, took a breath.

She was calming down, Julia noted.

"And then I remembered that I had seen Adelaide at the show hall… the theater, giving a note to a street urchin," she explained further…

And William's brain sparked with a web of connections – probably the same street urchin who brought Ernie Williams that note Rusty had told him about, in the poolroom the night he was killed… Mrs. Weist must have used the same boy she saw her daughter using. The timing of the note's arrival that night could have given her husband the all-clear, could have served to let Bill Weist know that she had taken care of Mr. Beau Jangles. And, in using the same boy Adelaide had always used, it would have tricked Mr. Williams into thinking it was Adelaide who was sending him the note, to get Mr. Williams to go to the alleyway behind the Tipsy Ferret, where he probably expected he would be meeting Adelaide…

The force of Mrs. Weist's crying increased as she told, handkerchief muffling her words once more, "I had seen Mr. Williams sending and receiving notes multiple times from that same street boy…!" she cried, "And I knew…" Mrs. Weist began to shake her head, wishing it weren't true, "I just knew they were…" and words failed her so she just shook the handkerchief about like a white flag signifying surrender.

William and Julia shared another look, neither one knowing exactly what to say next.

Sitting before the detective and the doctor, so badly, Helen wanted to rid herself of the awful, awful feelings crowding in around her. She sniffed and then sat up straighter. An idea had come to her. Mrs. Weist glanced to William, then to Julia. "Dr. Ogden…? You and Detective Murdoch… You are married?" she asked.

"Yes," Julia answered her.

"Do you have children?" the important question came, with Helen Weist already knowing full well that they did, for she had followed the story of the birth of their son in the papers. It had been with great personal interest, those some odd years ago, and she remembered being so touched by their story, specifically because she had felt akin to the suffering they had gone through in NOT being able to have a baby, and then too, the miracle that 'Toronto's Favorite Couple' experienced in being blessed with a live, flesh and blood, child of THEIR own being born into the world.

"Yes," Julia answered with a slight bounce, multiple emotions erupting inside of her – pride first, then an uneasiness… "We have three…" Julia caught William's eye.

William added, "A son and two daughters."

"So, you know then," Mrs. Weist said, "Or at least you can imagine. Life with Negro man, a mulatto baby, would be a hard life. Not one you would want for one of your daughters, for a child you love, as much as I am sure you love them, to have to endure. Wouldn't you do anything…? ANYTHING possible to save them from that?"

And the thought fired through both William's and Julia's heads at the exact same time – "AN ABORTION! They sent their daughter away to force her to have an abortion…"

And there was a rush to hold to each other, William and Julia locked together for a moment. A major point in the case uncovered! And their own lives together SO VERY MARKED WITH ABORTIONS – Julia having had one herself, and it nearly breaking them, and astoundingly, later William bearing his own guilt for HIS doing the previously unthinkable and begging her to abort William Jr., William going that far because he was so very frightened that she would die trying to have him, and then, too, the same torture with their beautiful unborn daughter, Mary Susana… And now, right now, Julia was in the midst of teaching her students how to perform abortions, that and other related practices threatening her imprisonment if she were to get caught teaching them. And then Julia thought, "If only women could all have access to her IUDs, so much of this suffering could be avoided."

And it was stuck there between them, for these two had danced around, and right into, this thorny issue since, what seemed to be, eternity…

Back to the case, William cleared his throat, and rubbed at his forehead, and then asked, "That is how you felt about your daughter then…?" He shrugged a shoulder, telling himself to push on, "That her being pregnant with Mr. Williams' baby would ruin her life?"

Julia would brave it. She slowed her words to be clear, "Mrs. Weist, did you and your husband procure an abortion for your daughter?"

The woman's eyes begged, for admitting it would cost so much.

Unexpectedly, William felt anger. His tone suggested its presence as he said, "So you and your husband made up the story about sending Adelaide to Lady Jane Grey's Charm School," he asserted. His eyes glared. His jaw stiffened, and William told, "You should be aware that we already know your daughter was never even registered there…"

Mrs. Weist could not respond, her look one of being stunned.

William went on, "Instead, you sent her to get an abortion!" he charged, "And likely one that she did not want!" He needed to calm himself, feeling his anger brewing to fury. Then he remembered his previous interview with Mrs. Weist, his mind replaying the woman pleading with him to find her daughter… and how much his heart had ached for her in imagining, for even just one second, how shattered he would feel if he had lost either Katie or Chelsea…

BAM!

The bang of William's uninjured hand to his desk as he stood drew both women's gasps.

"You begged me to find her for you!" he accused.

"Detective, I DID need you to find her!" Mrs. Weist cried. Her tears poured out again, and she sobbed, "I still do! Adelaide ran away…"

Julia inserted, "Not completely unexpected, considering what you had done to her." And it wasn't until she heard her own words that Julia realized that she, too, was angry. And then guilt spilled into her, for she remembered the look of Mrs. Weist when she had first set eyes on her today, so burdened, and now Julia was certain that it was Helen Weist's guilt and remorse over having forced her daughter into aborting a child that her daughter loved with all her heart that had burdened the poor woman so.

For his part, William had run through a myriad of emotions, at this moment pushing himself past his embarrassment at having had lost control of himself. In an effort to stabilize, he turned to is default – logic and reason. He walked away from his chair, drawing their attention, and said, "It's likely she would come back here, here to Toronto… hoping to rejoin with Mr. Williams…"

Oh, Mrs. Weist paled with nausea, for the force of it all hit her in that very moment.

The pain on her face drew all of the air out of the room.

William halted.

Her voice flat with defeat, ghostly, Helen Weist said, "No. No, detective. I don't think she would do that. You see, Adelaide did not disappear until AFTER we killed Mr. Williams. I think she knew somehow… knew what we had done…" and there her words stopped, and it seemed she would never, never, breathe again…

"Mrs. Weist?" Julia asked, concerned for the distraught woman.

"My husband will hang," she said dully, "I will likely spend out my days behind bars for what I have done. I accept that." She moved, lifted her head, looked Julia in the eye.

It chilled, the look.

And then, looking inside, Mrs. Weist found there was the slightest inkling to explain. "We did not know that Adelaide had told Mr. Williams that she was expecting their unborn child. When we sent her away, telling everyone she had gone to Lady Jane Grey's finishing school, well…he guessed at what we had really done. He was adamant that he would find Adelaide. He was furious with us… for sending her away, for, for…" Mrs. Weist swallowed down the shame, "for making her k-kill their… their baby. He threatened to tell Deputy Minister King about their love affair. It would have ruined Adelaide's chances. We had to stop him… to save her. Don't you see?" she hoped, but she saw it in their eyes, their disgust. Her upper lip curled with self-loathing as she suddenly saw herself as they did.

The worst of it faced up to now, she no longer needed the detective's handkerchief. Her tears were through, it seemed everything was through. As she returned his soggy handkerchief to him, Helen imagined telling him, "Please keep looking for her. Find her detective, find her, and please tell her we love her. Tell her that we did it for her, so she could have a good life…" But she felt it so solidly, the hopelessness, the giving up. Adelaide would hate her for the rest of her life. She had lost the only thing in the world she truly loved, well, the only two things, for she had lost Bill as well. Truth be told, once she had reached this extent of despair, she wished that she, too, would hang.

A thought interrupted, "The woman… Dr. Ogden, though. She's so kind…." And as Helen looked into Julia's pretty blue eyes, expecting loathing but finding warmth, a single tear formed, moistening the harshness of the world, and she felt a warm bathing aching all through her very being. She would tell her. This woman, this particular woman, she would understand.

The detective returned to his seat.

Helen leaned towards Julia. "We tried for so long," Mrs. Weist swallowed to clear her dried-up voice, "to have a baby. Bill and I were so very much in love. That made it harder, not being able to have a child with the man you loved so much. I had given up, you see." Helen sniffled. Then she brightened, remembering, "I suppose that's why I finally managed to get pregnant, with Adelaide, because I had given up hope… Bill too, had accepted that we had been only fortunate enough to have found each other, NOT fortunate enough to have a child of our own as well. But then, God blessed us. From the moment Adelaide was born it was like a part of me, like my heart or my arm, was out there in the world where I couldn't keep it safe. But I tried. I guess I tried too hard, in the end. I only wanted her to be happy, you see."

The woman's words hung and lingered in the room.

It was the man in the room who spoke up. "We do have children, Mrs. Weist," William said. He took a deep breath and continued, feeling the woman caught with his words, "And we do understand the call to do anything for them." William rubbed at his brow…

And the man's deep brown eyes swore to her their sincerity as he said his peace, and Helen felt a shifting inside of herself, for she had missed it all along…

"But an easy life is not one that we wish for them to strive for…" the detective said, and then looked to is wife. She smiled at him.

He looked back to Helen Weist. "A good life, one that is treasured and cherished and valued, one that is worth living, is not easy. Rather, it is living a meaningful life that we wish for our children," he explained. And then he added hope, at the end, "Perhaps your daughter has found that." And William wrinkled a corner of his mouth admitting he wished for Mrs. Weist that it was so.

And Helen Weist graciously admitted, "I hope you are right, detective. I truly, truly hope you are right."

)

Detective Murdoch asked George to take Mrs. Weist's statement while he and Dr. Ogden informed Inspector Brackenreid of all of the details on the case that they had just learned. Afterwards, the couple returned together to the empty bullpen.

There, Julia confided, "I feel for her," and she looked into William's eyes – he was listening, listening with his heart on his sleeve… "Helen Weist lost what was most precious to her, her daughter's love, her husband, because of her own doing. It must hurt terribly."

William subconsciously reached into his pocket, finding the small wooden bird there. "She was willing to frame an innocent man, let him hang, for what she and her husband had done, Julia," he asked her to consider the other side, and then he wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her.

She tucked her arm in his. "Yes," she gave, "I see your point." But Julia's heart ached, for she remembered how urgently she had wanted to have a child with William, and how wondrous it had felt when they finally had had William Jr., and she couldn't help but feel the agony that would come if she ever lost that beautiful boy. And then her mind added, or Katie or Chelsea either.

"Well," William changed the subject, his eyes looking to the Inspector's office. "The Inspector was certainly happy to hear that Deputy Minister King wasn't involved," he noted.

"I'd wager Mackenzie will never get that close to marrying again," Julia figured aloud.

"Once bitten, twice shy?" William asked.

"Believe me William, Mackenzie was quite SHY before this whole mess. I dare say, he'll be so glad to have it over with that he won't even remember that he had called for your badge," she told.

A simple clamping together of his lips in response, William wouldn't say what he was thinking, that the toff should admit that he had been wrong to ever demand his badge in the first place…

"I'd like to check on your slayed 'dwagon,'" Julia teased and complimented him at the same time using little Chelsea's words, "before we go home." She had envisioned them sharing a cab home, but then she remembered that he had ridden his bicycle to work this morning. "Shall I wait…" she stepped closer to him and stroked one of his suit lapels, then coyly caught his eye before looking away and saying flirtatiously, "So you can see me into my cab, detective?"

He took a deep breath savoring the moment, the sensations of being bone-tired but with the contentedness of also being successful, and also profoundly grateful to be with her. It was one of those unexpected moments in which the heart fills with gratitude. And somehow, he wanted to thank her, thank her for… well truly, everything. His smile reddened his cheeks and he bowed to her, "Thank you Julia," all he said. And then he thought of the Weist's, saw in his mind again, Bill Weist falling down onto his knees in despair at knowing the fate of his beloved. His voice took on a misty tone, the surprise of it widening both Julia's eyes and her heart, and he said, "Julia…"

"Yes…?" she whispered.

"It's the last time, the last night, that Bill and Helen Weist may ever see each other… ever be together," he acknowledged, and for that, he truly hurt. Then a possible easing, a small gift, crossed his mind, brightening his face.

"What is it, William?" she rushed to ask.

"It is a bit unconventional…" he wrinkled his face doubting it, and she watched as his expressions showed he had decided. "I'll ask… I think a man like George Crabtree would understand, would be willing," he looked to her and said, "Our George is a hopeless romantic at heart…"

"George…?" she asked not having the slightest idea where this was going, and yet she just trusted and gave to him, "That he is."

William stood taller and explained, "Mr. Big Jim Walker – the slain dragon, as you say," he almost winked at her, "He can spend the night waiting to go to the Don Jail tomorrow morning in the Paddy Wagon in the stables… under the watchful guard of Constable Crabtree, if the constable is willing…"

She smiled and teased, "That is a bit unconventional," and she giggled. "Dare I ask your reasons detective – I am quite sure that the Inspector will?" she wondered.

"The Weist's could share a cell," he cleared his throat and added, "just the two of them alone together, in privacy." His sadness was back as he added, "So they can say their good-byes."

Such a pull on her heart, she saw the weight of it on William's soul. "A very good idea, William," she smiled.

"Mm," he nodded, fighting against the anguish he felt with even the tiniest glimpse of how he would feel if it were the two of them… "They'll have their last dance, as Mr. Beau Jangles might say," and he wrinkled a corner of his mouth and added, "They were each other's life, I think." And then he just nodded to her and turned and headed for the Inspector's door to set the plan in motion, leaving her to check on Big Jim Walker's sutures and bandages and such.

)

Walking out of the stationhouse together, Julia tucked her arm into William's. The press had gone, Inspector Brackenreid as well. It was quiet. "I set up the 'Stuffed Animal Classroom' for the girls tomorrow morning… to surprise them with after you and William Jr. set off for his first day of school," she reminded him.

After so much had happened, William had forgotten that she had talked him into their buying some little toy student desks – and a small blackboard and chalk and an eraser and an abacus, and even a small, child-sized 'teacher's desk' too, all to create a "Stuffed Animal School" for the girls, for the children, to play with. Julia had explained it would help Katie, especially, with her jealousy over William Jr. being able to start school when she herself could not, at least not yet. William had wanted to make the desks himself because he had found the prices of the toys to be shocking and extravagant, but she had convinced him otherwise, with William acquiescing quite easily, for in his brain there would always be a little voice telling him that, "it was HER money and she should be able to spend it as she wants." The discussion had been just one more time that he had been left with the hope that, despite their children being raised in such wealth, they would be able to value the more important things in life… that they would not hold in their hearts a feeling of entitlement.

"Very good," he thanked her. "You must be exhausted," he said to her, as her cab pulled up, and he reached to open the carriage door for her. He would be riding his bicycle home, so they would be parting, if only briefly. William tossed the bag she had brought earlier, now holding only the few unbloodstained items of his undercover clothes that had survived the night.

She took his hand as he prepared to help her get into the carriage, slipping close to him to reply, "I do believe, detective, there is not a soul in the world as tired as you probably are," before she kissed him and stepped up. So winsome, it felt like one of those moments that was imprinting in her brain, in her heart…

He tipped his larger brown cowboy hat to her and bowed, his beloved homburg on its hook in their foyer at home.

"Funny," she thought as the carriage started to move away, and her eyes felt the warmth and the sting of tears, "how similar moments pull so many strings inside of us so quickly…" for she had remembered when he had ended up in Bristol England, unbeknownst to all of them here, and she sat at her desk in the morgue seeing him in her mind's eye, tipping his hat as he does, as he had just done, and she had been so utterly, utterly heartbroken and desperate with her grieving for him, when he had been lost, and missing, and possibly dead. "Funny, how badly it hurts still," she thought to herself. And a part of her, trying to toughen up and stop the tears, reasoned that the memory had probably come just now because she had been so very afraid that he would be lost to her this time, this time when he was once again so brave, and good, and true. Her heart ached with loving this man, her William Henry Murdoch, THIS much.

) (

When Julia arrived home to their quiet house, she expected that everyone, even the nanny, would be sleeping, for it was past 1:00 in the morning. She found Claire-Marie sleeping in the guest bedroom next to the girl's bedroom, as was their custom when both she and William were out so late. Her light knock on the door woke the nanny, who jumped up, exclaiming, "Oh! I'm… I'm sorry doctor."

"Please Claire-Marie," Julia eased, "That's not necessary. I just wanted you to know that I'm home now and, if you would prefer, you can go back to your quarters."

"Katie's been having her nightmares, it seems," the nanny told.

"Oh," Julia's heart felt a tug, for the little one had suffered from such demons since back when she was in the orphanage. "I suppose… William's being in danger tonight… The children saw him off. It must have upset her…" Julia said, looking towards the girl's room. She glanced back to Claire-Marie, troubled, troubled but grateful. With a shouldering pinch to her lips, she nodded, "Thank you so much, Claire-Marie. In so many, many ways you are a wonderful, wonderful nanny for us," she acknowledged. "We truly cherish you," she added.

"Thank you doctor," Claire-Marie blushed, and then awkwardly curtsied, and then giggled, knowing it was too much. "Um…" the nanny looked to the bed, then back to her mistress, "I'll make up this bed and go back to my own, I think."

"Good," Julia smiled.

The two women said goodnight and Julia went directly to check on the girls.

Slowly, holding her breath, Julia pushed the bedroom door opened more than its crack…

Katie had heard. She had been so badly hoping, wishing, longing, that her Mommy would come.

The only light in the room was from the warm, dim, hallway light through the half-opened bedroom door. Julia leaned down to give Katie a kiss and saw the child's eyes were opened. "You're awake, Sweetie," she said near a whisper, sitting on the little girl's bed.

Katie curled up into her lap, wallowed in her mother's softness in the almost darkness of the middle of the night. Julia kissed her hair, breathed in her smell. "Your Daddy is safe, Little One," she told as she rocked the child, knowing that that was what so worried her.

No words, Katie just squeezed tighter to her mother…

And Julia kissed her head, and said with her lips so close, "Everything's fine, just fine."

It seemed even little Chelsea was not sleeping at this late hour. Her sheets rustled as she stirred. Only three-years old, she sat up and searched for the shadowy figures she knew were there. "Mommy," her sweet little voice called.

"Yes, Little One, I'm here," Julia responded to her. "Come," she opened an arm to her.

And little Chelsea joined them on Katie's bed, Berry Bear in tow.

Directly, Chelsea asked after her father too, asking more specifically, "Daddy hurted?" for, already, this young child had learned that one could be safe, but that did not mean that they had not been hurt.

"Only his hand," Julia told her little daughters, "Your father's hand was injured…"

"Dwagon fired on it?" Chelsea rushed to worry.

"No. No, Sweetie," Julia hugged them both a bit closer, then pulled back to dash her eyes, first to one and then to the other, to reassure. "It was more from when your Daddy punched…"

Katie asked, her speaking now telling that she was feeling better, "Daddy punched the dragon? It hurted his hand?"

"Well," Julia answered, "Dragon's are very hard, you see," but then she thought better of playing at the fairytale ambiance and added, "But of course, there are no such thing as real dragons, and what your Daddy really punched was a very big, and very bad, man."

The yellowish light from the hallway suddenly widened from the doorway. William Jr.'s voice asked in a whisper, "Can I come in too?"

"Come," his mother invited him into their huddle, scooching over to make room for him.

Katie held to the intimacy and sweetness of the whispering and told her older brother, "Daddy beated the dragon, but he hurted his hand."

"Is he coming home?" William Jr. asked.

"Very soon," Julia answered. "He was riding his bicycle… You both will need it tomorrow morning… when you go to your first day of school," she reminded with a smile.

And then…

Flooding every heart in the room with relief…

William's knock at the door told them all that he was right there, he was standing right there, right now – that he was safe at home.

"Daddy!" the gleeful cries came from all three of the children nearly in unison.

Before they knew it, he was knelt down on one knee in front of them, offering each child a hug.

Katie noticed it first... "Daddy smells like smoke," she wondered, nose wrinkled disliking the smell.

Chelsea had smelled it too. Quick, despite her young age, she exclaimed, "Dwagon blewed fire on Daddy?!"

"Amazing," both adults thought, such coincidence in the connection…

"No," William hurried to answer, "that's not it at all…"

William Jr. leaned down to smell the smoke for himself. "Is it true?" he couldn't believe it, "But dragons aren't really real?"

William nodded, "No… No, they're not. It's not that kind of smoke. You see, where… um, where the man was, the bad man that I needed to catch, where he was there was a lot of smoke in the room… um, cigarette smoke," he corrected.

Excitedly William Jr. asked, "Did you catch him, Daddy?"

"I did," William responded simply.

Katie's eyes led everyone else's down to her father's bandaged hand. "But he hurted your hand…?" she said.

Now William's mind went into a dissertation of sorting out the ways that the answer to that question could be both 'yes' and 'no…'

Julia answered, "Your Daddy HURT…" her stressing the word correcting the child's use of its tense, "his hand, when he punched the bad man…"

"So he could catch him?" William Jr. checked.

"Yes," she nodded, and then Julia added, with as much confidence and calmness in her voice as she could muster, her own mind sending her a flash of the memory of the humungous man sagging the cot in the jailcell half-way down to the floor, "And to protect himself from getting hurt by the bad man too."

Katie looked to her mother. Admiringly she asked her, "And you fixed Daddy's hand, Mommy?"

"Yes, I did," she smiled.

Chelsea bounced at her side and declared, "Doctor Mommy!"

"Yes," Julia chuckled, looking to her husband who smiled back at her. Winsome, the man could be winsome…

William bowed quickly to her and said, "And so much more."

The parents held to each other's eyes in the faint light for a second which seemed much longer…

"Now," Julia said, standing, lifting Katie with her, "I do believe we have a big day tomorrow, and we Murdoch's need to get into our beds and get to sleep, hmm?"

William lifted Chelsea off of Katie's bed, kissed her as he carried her to her bed and lowered her down to nestle in. Sweetly, he kissed Berry Bear goodnight too.

William Jr. and Julia watched from the doorway as he kissed Katie goodnight too, and then he joined them in the hallway and he closed the door, leaving it opened just that perfect sliver of a crack.

A few short moments later, William Jr., too, was tucked in, comfy and sleepy, in his bed, and his parents stood together, whispering, out in hall.

"Katie had a nightmare," she told William.

His wrinkle at the corner of his mouth all he needed to say, for he regretted, deeply, worrying her, but too, there was nothing to be done about it but to love her and reassure her that everything was fine, and that had been done.

Julia wrapped her arms around his neck, feeling flirtatious. The scent of the smoke on him registered, and then she remembered she had smelled it earlier when they were at the stationhouse, but there had been so much going on it had passed by unmentioned inside of her head. "Detective…"

His hands, even the bandaged one, slipped up smoothly to hold her behind the small of her back and then he pulled her into him tight. "Doctor," he answered, following suit.

Her lips whispered close, "I do believe you will be needing a shower to wash off all of that dragon blood and fire-breathing dragon smoke."

"Mm," he responded, letting her go.

Together, they walked the short distance to their bedroom.

Inside, alone, door closed…

Oh, she had not expected the lusty wave, so badly she wanted him, him all over her, her all over him, deeply, carnally, urgently, she wanted to love him, every single inch of him. Julia stepped intimately close to him and seductively began to undo his tie for him.

So fiery, she said, "Perhaps I should help you, detective, to save time. It is quite late now, and we must rise early."

He argued, his eyes darkening, breath hotter, more rushed, surging out of him, and his voice scratching with the desire that stole his blood away, aimed so specifically, so lusciously, down into his groin, "Often milady, it does not save time when you… 'help.'"

She almost giggled, and then with a sigh, Julia agreed to acquiesce, reluctantly but willingly letting go of his tie. "I suppose you're right," she uttered the words, disappointed. Her back to him, she began to undress.

And William Murdoch was stuck, captured, watching her… regretting, wishing… A flash of a memory, Julia bent over the Fenwick's billiard's table, him wanting her so badly his knees felt weak, there, out in public, in front of everyone. He could have her now…

He managed to clear his throat, find a few words whirling around in his soupy brain, enough to tell her…

"We… uh, well, perhaps with my hand being injured…" he hoped it was enough.

"I see," she said, so sexy, the way she answered him, the way she then dropped her skirts to the floor, her backside to him, not necessary to bend… to bend over like that, to drop them there… as she did…

William swallowed, the jolting wham of it pulling him down to the floor, and he fought the falling with nearly everything he had.

But when she turned back to him, when he saw the wanting in her eyes, well then, then, it was hopeless, the floor gone, the delicious floating and plummeting underway now. Her breath warm as it flowed over him, she whispered, "I suggest, in the shower."

All he could manage, William nodded, and his beautiful wife, who adored him so, giggled, and then took him by the hand to drag him into the bathroom.

So quickly, together, in the hot, humid, steamy, cascading whoosh of the falling, crystal-clear water, warm and lush, with bare skin drenched in the slipperiness of the soap, each reaching the point of unbearable desire, William quietly made his request, his eyes to hers, the gaze formidable with the promise between them of honesty and trust, the nakedness of the simple fact of it so beautiful that it stole the breath away. His hand pushed gently at her shoulder, wanting her to turn, to turn to face the wall for him…

Julia smiled, for she knew this man down to his soul, knew his most hidden, darkest, secret desires. She turned, pressed herself against the hard, cold, rigid, tiles of the shower wall, and opened to him. Everything else in the world gone now, William stepped, leaned, pressed against her behind, covered her while locking her hips in his grasp, pinned her tight against the wall, and he breathed wild and primal down her neck. It was ensured now. And there was nothing, nothing but the pure sweetness of the rupture, and then the magnificence of the ebb and the flow, powerful, all-ensuing, gasps and moans and grunts of desperation with the need to get closer, drowned in the luring pull of the ebb and the thundering push of the flow, building and building, until their deepest cores could withstand not one iota more of the pleasure, and all the world burst, releasing the most succulent, moist, tender, flood of glowing warmth to spread and sink, and gush through, to spill into their every cell with the deliciousness of their shared touch, bonding them forever, and forever, and forever, after that.

Not much later, dried off, naked skin silky clean, tired and content to the bone, they slipped under their sheets together and dropped away, as soon as their heads touched to their cool, soft pillows, into that rocking, sweet heaven of sleep.

) (

The next day the Toronto Gazette's top-of-the-fold, front page, headline read, "Murdoch Unfooled by Minstrel Show Owner's Last Performance." The story reported that Mr. Weist had confessed to killing the Negro performer, Mr. Ernie Williams and framing the victim's Negro partner, Mr. Beau Jangles, for the crime. The article explained how the crime was committed, likening Mr. Weist's 'performance' while committing the crime to that of an actor 'performing' on the stage. The paper also told that Mr. Weist's wife had confessed to helping him pull the whole thing off. The motive given for the killing was that the Weist's suspected the victim had "behaved inappropriately with their daughter." There was no mention of Deputy Minister King.

But by far the most interesting headline on the day after the murderers had confessed was not one of Miss Cherry's, or any of the other major news reporters' headlines either, for all of those simply reported the facts without alluding to their own mistakes in reporting on the 'Negro-Killer' case. No, the best headline was that of Madge Merton, in the Toronto Daily Star. It read, "Toronto's Favorite Couple Serves Press a Healthy Dose of Humble Pie." The story went on to say that Detective Murdoch's wife had called it right when she had told Miss Cherry, "If Detective Murdoch says there is evidence that Mr. Beau Jangles didn't do this, then Mr. Beau Jangles didn't do this, I assure you." The article said that "exactly as Dr. Ogden had predicted, her brilliant and handsome and dashing husband solved the crime, exactly as she had said he would, and for doing so, we here at the Toronto Daily Star say he deserves our accolades."

) (

The bicycle had been rested against the schoolyard fence. William stood with William Jr., the first day of school now right before them. He looked down at his young son, the boy's nose only slightly swollen and his two black eyes less noticeable. William Murdoch was proud, and grateful, and excited, and so very, very happy. He gave his Little Man a smile.

"What if no one likes me?" William Jr. worried.

"They will," his father answered confidently, "Don't worry." William squatted down in front of his son. He could not possibly have been happier. There was a flash inside of him 'seeing his future' all those years ago – "Twice," he reminded himself, "Yes, in Professor Harm's Time Machine," but also when he had imagined himself hunting dinosaur fossils with his family. Both times, he had dreamed he'd have a son – a son AND Julia Ogden. Stunning really, that such a dream could come true, breathtaking that their two daughters filled their lives even more…

"Little Man," William advised his son as he reached into his pocket with his better hand and pulled out his handkerchief, inside of it waited Mr. Beau Jangles' carved wooden bird in flight. "I promise you that if you are true to your heart, you will find whatever it is in this world that makes your heart soar, and when you find it, you'll do whatever you have to for it, even if that means risking getting hurt… In a sense," he said, "you will find that you must risk getting sore in order to truly soar… that it is worth it, for what you find is meaningful and important in life." He passed the still-wrapped bird over to his injured hand and reached up to rub his thumb under one of William Jr.'s black-eyes, reminding of the boy's recent adventure facing down the bullies, and the subsequent suffering he had had as a result of it. "Do you regret saving the birds?" he asked him.

The young boy shook his head 'no,' for he did not.

"Would you do it again, despite your having gotten hurt because of it?" William pressed his point.

The boy nodded, for he would.

"Some people you come across in your life will not like you. That is not what matters," William told as he opened up his handkerchief to show his son the bird. "What matters is those that do – and more importantly, those that you love. You will find that THEY will make your life worth living, THEY will make you count your lucky stars and your good blessings… It is through being with THEM, that your very soul will take flight." He handed him the bird, watching on as William Jr.'s eyes perused it, growing wide with delight. His small fingers stroked the carved feathers, and then he lifted his head and looked brightly into his father's eyes. "I want you to have this to remember the quests that will come in your life… to look for them and to treasure them," he told. William stood and placed his hand on his son's head, and he encouraged, "Learn all you can, for you will someday use it for good, and when you do, you will feel like that bird, like you are doing what you were born to do, that you are being the best YOU that you can be."

"I will father," William Jr. vowed, sensing the moment, the token, had significance. The boy tucked the bird into his pocket and glanced to the school building, bustling with the unknown. He glanced back at his father realizing that the butterflies he felt were not necessarily bad. "Like birds are meant to fly, butterflies are meant to flutter," he thought. William Jr. pinched his lips together, something solid setting into his expression. "I will," he gave. And then he looked back to where William had rested the bicycle against the fence…

And William knew his son was ready for him to go.

"Remember Eloise will be right here to walk home with you," he said. And then he added, "You'll tell us all the stories, won't you… over a delicious supper, hmm?"

"I will," William Jr. nodded.

William gestured towards the school. "Go on then," he said…

The boy smiled nervously back at him and then turned to go.

"Have a good day," William called after him.

Not turning back, William Jr. replied, "I will father."

And William wrinkled a corner of his mouth at himself as he stood there and watched his son walking into his life. Mrs. Weist's words suddenly entered his head, "It was like a part of me, like my heart or my arm, was out there in the world where I couldn't keep it safe…" He swallowed back the rush of emotions, and he went to the bicycle. Fortunately, he had another mission to occupy his mind – "Julia's present!" Mr. Ducharme would be at his shop early to meet him… "It had finally come in!"

) (

The gift the detective had designed for his wife was so exquisite that Oscar Ducharme had asked the notably good-looking man if he would allow him to have many of them made so he could sell them in his shop. Detective Murdoch had agreed, actually giving Ducharme two different versions of his inlaid wood, "I Think of You" hand mirror to send off to a craftsman to have made in bulk. The idea was brilliant, and from what Oscar knew of this man, his beloved Dr. Ogden's husband and soulmate, that should have come as no surprise.

According to the detective's ingenious design, the mirror itself was a 'thought-bubble,' a thought-bubble in a man's mind. And, the way the detective had drawn it out, the man was at the bottom of the hand mirror, a dark silhouette, either a man in a suit on a bicycle, or in the second version, a man in a suit walking along with his hands in his pockets. Rising up from the man's head, which by the way donned a homburg in the same style as the handsome detective always wore, was a growing trail of bubbles, each inlaid with tiny mirrors, leading to the large and final mirror itself, which would hold the woman's reflection… Thus 'the man' would be thinking of the woman who looked at herself in the mirror. Fittingly, around the boarder at the top of the hand mirror, in the same dark wood as the silhouette of the man, were the words, "I Think of You." The plan for the reverse side of the hand mirror called for an inlaid bouquet of 'forget-me-not' flowers, in the purplish-blue hues of turquoise and purple amethyst, with jade for the green leaves and stems, all tied up in an oak-wood yellow bow.

Like he had originally thought – "exquisite," Ducharme thought to himself as he laid eyes upon the final products. "Every wealthy toff in Toronto will want to buy one for his wife… And Oh…!" an exciting addendum appeared in his mind, "And his lovers." And further, most importantly, he was certain that the detective would be pleased, as would be the good doctor, he thought fondly to himself of 'Toronto's Favorite Couple.'

There was a knock at the shop's front door. Oscar figured it was the detective. He excitedly invited him in and led him back to the 'exclusive' section of his shop.

"You kept the suit and the homburg," William smiled as his eyes glistened, peering down at both of the mirrors Ducharme had left out for him. He leaned closer, examining them in more detail.

"Yes, detective… we tried to keep everything exactly as you drew it. I find them to be marvelous…" Oscar said, fishing for the man's satisfaction that he anticipated.

Lifting the mirror with the longer handle, the one with the silhouette of the man walking, William flipped it over to see the inlaid bouquet of 'forget-me-nots.' He almost gasped at the beauty of it. "Very good," he gave to the man who had brought his imaginings to fruition, "Very good." But then, looking down at the image of himself on the bicycle, suit jacket tails flying in the wind, he imagined his lovely Julia seeing her own beautiful face in the bubbled thoughts of his tiny silhouetted self… Wham, a memory flared, their bedroom door shut, hard, between them, him pleading with her through the door, to believe him, begging her to see that he DID want to kiss her when they were in front of the fountain and the children were insisting, vowing to her, then, that he wanted to kiss her all the time, kiss her and much more. He had told her the utmost truth then, for he thought of her all the time. And he wondered if it might have been easier for her them, if he had given her this gift before that night… And then, this next memory from much longer ago, auditory at first, inside of his head, he heard Julia's voice, misty and deep, "I think of you…" And he recognized it from when Enid had given him a pot of flowers for in his office, and Julia was simply naming the flowers, but it had stopped his breath and thunderbolted his heart for that briefest moment, for he had assumed that she was telling him that she thought of him… just as he thought of her all the time, even though they were parted, and he had hoped, for a second, that she still loved…

Ducharme interrupted William's thoughts, "Were you 'thinking of her' right now, detective, I wonder?"

Those big brown eyes of William's focused, coming back, and then he rubbed at his brow, uncomfortable with being so SEEN. He pinched his lips together and admitted, after he rushed to clear his throat, "I was," and then he wrinkled a corner of his mouth…

And if Oscar Ducharme were not already smitten with the man, he would have tumbled head-over-heels in love with him right then. "I am quite certain, detective, that our Julia will treasure them always," he changed the subject. Shall I put the two of them together in the same giftbox?" he asked.

"Yes," William answered, placing the two mirrors down together on the counter. He reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a small sealed envelope that he had, gratefully, prepared long before he had encountered 'the dragon,' Big Jim Walker, and thus injured his hand…

Ducharme gasped, "Ah! A love note! Très Magnifique!" Then, gathering up the two different versions of the hand mirrors, he pinched his fingers to the detective's note, admiring it, and added, "I will put this inside the box with the two mirrors, très jolie, très, très, jolie."

While William waited, he searched the backmost, fairly isolated section of the shop for where Julia had told him Ducharme had secured her IUDs. He found the glass case. It was locked as Julia had described. Inside there were many of the smaller, more unique, items Oscar Ducharme offered in his shop– some probably extremely expensive jewels, there was a charming music box… He discerned three or four of the IUDs in the deepest part of the lower shelf, discrete and unassuming, the small twists of copper struck him as being uninteresting compared to the neighboring items. A small sign in front them read, "Snake Charms – fertility and rebirth through empowerment and freedom. Speak to management." William wrinkled a corner of his mouth to himself, "Tells and doesn't tell," he thought…

Meanwhile, Oscar Ducharme greedily had snuck to his backroom, out of sight, and then lifted the detective's envelope with the love note inside of it up to the bright lightbulb near the ceiling. "Oh," he whispered to himself inside of his head, seeing that he could make out the words, "This will work." He needed to get the note closer to the bulb, so he stood on a chair and read through the paper barrier…

I think of you, Julia, when you are not around and when you are right there. I seem to always have you in my mind…

When it is day and when it is night, when I am wrong and when I am right. When I'm in a crowd and when I'm alone, when I cheer loud and when I softly moan. When it is light and when it is dark, when I have bite and when I'm all bark. When I'm only walking and when I'm on my bicycle, when I'm simply gushing or I'm just a shy trickle. When I feel happy, and when I feel glum, when I brood silent and when I must hum. When I'm in my chair and when I'm in the bed, when I am open and when I'm in my head. When I am hungry and when I am full, when I'm with a suspect or a constable. In the city or in the countryside, with you away or even by my side. Whether we are together, whether we are apart, you are in my mind and you are in my heart.

You are IN me Julia, and so I find, I cannot do otherwise than think of you just about all of the time.

Finishing the poem, out-loud to himself, Oscar declared, feeling giddy, "Exquisite! Exquisite! Julia's detective is a poet! This is wonderful, wonderful, wonderful." Despite a part of his brain telling him he needed to hurry, he gave into the urge to read the note again. Savoring the poem once more, he finished, and then remarked to himself, "Honestly, who would have thought it," shaking his head to himself with his own surprise.

Ducharme wrapped the gift, love poem tucked inside, and then hurried himself to get back to the detective.

William heard Ducharme approaching from behind him.

"Here you are, Detective Murdoch. All finished," Oscar Ducharme said. He remembered that Julia had conveyed to him that she had NOT told her husband the details of her 'research,' so Oscar's stomach flipped a somersault with nausea for he had noticed what it was, exactly, that the detective was examining so closely. His words came out too rushed, too high pitched, he worried, as he heard them out in the air of the shop, and he suddenly was so very glad that they were alone, "The serpent has symbolized fertility and rebirth since the beginning of time."

William caught Ducharme's eye and nodded.

The uneasiness felt stifling, for in that moment, Oscar Ducharme decided that the detective knew exactly what it was that he was looking at, and therefore it would be pointless to pretend otherwise. He added, sticking to the serpent-like shape of the doctor's contraceptive IUD coils, "In the Hindu tradition the snake has represented freedom… um… because it cannot be tamed."

"Apropos, to say the least," William answered him with a winsome bow.

Each man sighed in unison.

"She told you," Ducharme said.

William nodded, "She did, eventually," he said, then added, "gratefully."

Ducharme replied, "I cannot tell you how much I admire her. To be a doctor, and to do something so remarkable, to help so many…"

And William pinched his lips together with the slightest hint of a smile. "As do I," he gave.

The two men left it at that, both returning to the front of the shop. William asked to have the gift delivered to Julia's University office, preferring that he NOT be with her when she opened his gifts, when she read, to herself, his love note.

) (

Chipper, the Inspector walked through the bullpen twirling his cane. There were multiple newspapers tucked under an arm, and he greeted each man by name. A quick knock to Murdoch's door, he noticed his best man was in the midst of deciphering what looked to be a letter.

"It was in this morning's mail," Murdoch explained. "No return address. It was mailed from the States – Birmingham," he added.

"Isn't that where Lady Jane Grey's Charm School is located?" the Inspector asked, stepping in.

"It is," Murdoch answered plainly. His eyes dropped down to the letter.

Brackenreid noticed it appeared to be written by a child. His mind rushed to consider the street urchin who had delivered the letters between the principals in the case, but then he remembered that that boy was entirely illiterate…

William swallowed, cleared his throat, and told, "It's from Mr. Beau Jangles, sir. I believe he taught himself to read and write."

"Well, that explains it," Brackenreid replied. "Do you think he met up with the daughter?" he queried.

Murdoch shrugged a shoulder. "The letter gives no indication of that," he offered. William left unsaid his deepest hope, that Beau Jangles had managed to find a way to be there for Adelaide, so that she would not be alone in the world after having lost so much, and still too, having so very much to bear on the road ahead. Murdoch took a deep breath and placed the letter down on his work table. His eyes glanced to the newspapers under the Inspector's arm and he said, "The letter… Mr. Beau Jangles' letter, says pretty much what those headlines say… He was truly innocent all along. Helen Weist was the one who drugged him on the night of the murder…" Murdoch shrugged again and said, "He says he didn't know who Ernie Williams had fallen in love with…"

"But you suspect otherwise, don't ya me ole mucker?" Brackenreid noted.

"I guess, sir," Murdoch answered, adding, "I hope so, anyway," and then wrinkling a corner of his mouth admitting to caring.

The Inspector lifted out the pile of newspapers from under his arm and gave them a championed tap. "Well Murdoch, once again, job well done," he gave.

"Thank you, sir," Murdoch nodded.

The Inspector took his leave, and William returned his attention to Mr. Beau Jangles' letter. So much danced about in his mind as he reread it again – the little wooden bird he had just passed along to his son… his hearing from up on the staircase down into the cells, Mr. Beau Jangles dancing, all alone, dancing in his cell, condemned and beaten, but still, the man danced… and finding the photograph of Beau Jangles with his dog in the old, unconscious man's pocket that night when he had been so compelled to determine that the innocent man was the killer – simply because he was an old man, and drunk, so much like Harry that he had been blinded, and even though they were in the midst of one of the biggest crises in their relationship, it was Julia, Julia, who had softly pulled at him to be better… "well, perhaps not that softly," he wrinkled a corner of his mouth at himself, remembering the fire in his wife. William rubbed at his brow. Once more, he focused on interpreting the words, on finding the messages in the letter, the letter from the wise and sageful man who had looked to him to be the eyes of age, this old, Negro man, who so easily and poignantly spoke right out, and in doing so he talked of life, he talked of life…

Detectiv, yur conchens be clere, for yu did not let a gilty man go free. Mrs. Weist is the won hu gave me the lodnum. I cood not tell yu becuz I fered I wood be lynched for drinkin with a wite marede woman alone in my rume. Also Mrs. Weist cood be the won hu kild Ernie cuz she tokd two him secret like a fu times and she sent him notes two. This was after Ernie fel in luv with sumwon els. I dont no hu. I poot Dunbars poem in this let-her two cuz I thot it wood giv yu sympathy for me, so yu wood understand wie I had to flee, wie I had to be free. For yu, detectiv, the won hu holds the dark bak for others to liv in the lite, I poot in the poem about the caged bird. Yu and me, we is free. But I be all alone, since my dog upend died. I always danced alone, sept for when I danced with Ernie. Ernie wur like a sun two me. But yu dance with yur wife, two becumin won. Yu. Yu be cowntin yur bles sins. Yu got a woman hu luvs yu something fearse, a prity and smart and nobul woman. And I nos yu luv hur with all yur hart, so yu be shur to take hur in yur arms and yu dance with hur, detectiv. Cuz to be in yur truluvs arms, and flote hur world. Wel detectiv, that be wen yu no for shur, two liv, two liv is two dance.

He held the note in his fingers and let his mind travel. He imagined it then, what he would do tonight. He would set it all up ahead of time – the phonograph, the lit torches out in their backyard… He'd call it the "Backyard Barefoot Ball." He would surprise her, after the children were asleep…

Then William's eyes found the enclosed copy of Laurence Dunbar's poem, "Sympathy." Mr. Beau Jangles had generously sacrificed it for him, ripping it out of a book… probably one of the only books the man owned. William read it…

I know what the caged bird feels, alas!

When the sun is bright on the upland slopes;

When the wind stirs soft through the springing grass,

And the river flows like a stream of glass;

When the first bird sings and the first bud opens,

And the faint perfume from its chalice steals—

I know what the caged bird feels!

I know why the caged bird beats his wing

Till its blood is red on the cruel bars;

For he must fly back to his perch and cling

When he fain would be on the bough a-swing;

And a pain still throbs in the old, old scars

And they pulse again with a keener sting—

I know why he beats his wing!

I know why the caged bird sings, ah me,

When his wing is bruised and his bosom sore,—

When he beats his bars and he would be free;

It is not a carol of joy or glee,

But a prayer that he sends from his heart's deep core,

But a plea, that upward to Heaven he flings—

I know why the caged bird sings!

Tenderly, he folded the paper to close away the words, and William's heart sank heavy and broken, for he knew, knew in his bones, why the bird trapped in the cage sang, for it is the male bird who sings. And William knew that he sang to call his lover. And she would never come. And he imagined himself as the bird in the cage, and he was calling for Julia. And eventually, he knew, there would come an acceptance of the truth, the truth that his lover was not coming, that she would never come, and that he would live his whole life alone, and so, he sang for desperation, he sang for longing, he sang as one wails with unbearable hurt. It was within William's remaining sitting there, alone, with his contemplation deep, that he moved that final inch, for then he imagined himself as that defeated and broken bird in that cage, and he saw himself, he felt himself, begin to sing. And then he thought that, maybe, maybe, the bird sang because somewhere deep inside, he did feel hope, for otherwise, why continue to try, why continue to sing? And William remembered Julia telling him about the significance of her illegal study, and how it was as if all women, each woman, every woman since the beginning of time, had been locked away in a cage, and Julia's invention, her discovery, IT was the key that could unlock the cage and let each woman be free. And he smiled, for he felt it to be true – there was always, there always would be, it seemed, hope.

) (

After their supper, William and his three children played downstairs, waiting for the woman of the house to arrive home from teaching her University class. The Murdoch children were completely enamored with Julia's "Stuffed Animal Classroom." William Jr. had used the opportunity to show them all what he had learned during his first day at real school, greatly enjoying 'teaching' at the blackboard.

They heard the front door…

All the little one's eyes bolted to meet their father's…

His nod released them, and they burst up the stairs. Well, that is all but the littlest one, Chelsea, who inevitably trailed behind. She stood in front of her Daddy, lifting her arms to him, requesting a ride.

"Let's go, Peaches," William said to her as he whisked her up into his arms. "Mommy will want her hug and kiss."

Once William and Chelsea made it to the top of the stairs, William put his youngest daughter down to watch her rush into her mother's waiting arms. He held back and just watched the scene, so lovely and simple and pure and good.

With her littlest still clung around her neck, Julia lifted her gaze from where she was knelt down near the foyer table. Her eyes met those of her rather wonderful husband, and then glanced to the tabletop.

William followed her glance. There, next to her hat, was the pretty box – his gift.

He said, not moving from where he stood, "So, do you like your present then, doctor?"

Her eyes held so tightly to his eyes as she stood, softly resting her three-year old's feet back down on the ground. Her tone, her air, the way she moved, the way she said it, shot two divergent paths inside of him, one straight for the groin, the other straight for the heart, darkening his eyes, taking away his breath. "My present, and my past, as well as my future, WITH YOU, William Murdoch. Yes, I like them ALL very much," she answered him. Close now, she said quietly, "It, they… the note, they are all truly stunning, William. It is a beautiful, beautiful, gift. Honestly, you've outdone yourself," she vowed, both of the adults feeling the tug of knowing that their three small children stared, goo-goo eyed, as they watched on. She kissed him, dwelling on his lips long enough, with such a tender, tender, smooching, that its little 'click' tickled out into the air when she let the kiss go.

Then, their mother stepped out of their father's arms and invited, "Would the three Little Ones like to see the gifts Daddy gave to me today?"

Bouncing, jumping, hopping… All three children surrounded the pretty box that they had noticed waiting there on the foyer table.

"Yes Mommy!" William Jr. exclaimed.

"Yes! Yes!" Katie on his heels, "Please!" she added as an afterthought, remembering to be polite.

"Me too," that adorable Little Chelsea said with a pout, stretching up on her tippy-toes to get a better view of the present.

William and Julia walked together to the table, and William joined in on the watching as Julia opened the box and laid out the two hand mirrors for them all to see.

"It looks like Daddy…!" Katie exclaimed, pointing to the silhouette of the man at the bottom of one of the mirrors, "on his bicycle!"

"This one too," William Jr. added, drawing attention to the other mirror, the one with the man walking with his hands in his pockets.

"William…," Julia marveled, "The man is wearing a homburg – honestly, it really does look like you…?"

"I designed them to give to you, and I drew out my ideas… and then I asked Mr. Ducharme if he could have them made, um… for you. He liked them… Wanted to offer them to all his customers, so…" William explained.

Julia chuckled, for she would tease her husband now. "It see…" she replied, and then she leaned close to William's ear and said, "It seems every woman in Toronto will be thrilled to have the very dashing Detective William Murdoch 'thinking of HER,' then."

Quick, Julia Ogden's husband was quick, he replied wryly, "Only the very wealthy ones."

And, oh my, how his eyes twinkled when they played.

She smiled at him. Then she gave, "I do suppose they would be quite dear… I mean the cost of the jade alone, not to mention the… Is it amethyst…?"

"And turquoise," he answered her.

She reached to take one of the mirrors in her hand and show the children the reverse side.

"So pretty!" Katie exclaimed.

"Pritty! Pritty!" her younger sister piped in.

"Do you want to see?" Julia asked, and both girls nodded profusely.

And for the first time that little Chelsea could ever remember in her short little life, it was William Jr. who worried, "Me too…! Can I see one too?"

"You can," Julia promised him, as she turned the first mirror to the frontside and handed it to Katie. "Be careful," she reminded. She then handed the other mirror to Chelsea. And then, ensuring that the precious mirror was not accidentally dropped, Julia knelt down on a knee and guided Chelsea's fingers to hold the handle firmly – this one the silhouette of the man walking, with her small fingers. "Do you see yourself?" she asked.

Chelsea nodded.

Katie did too.

"That means the man… the one under the mirror, is thinking about YOU… inside of his head," Julia explained. She helped Chelsea turn her mirror over to see the bouquet on the other side.

"Puw-ple," the little child gasped, loving the color.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Julia asked, soaking in the delighted look of the child.

Katie offered her mirror to William Jr., sometimes being very good at sharing.

Her brother's big brown eyes focused intensely on the letters along the upper-border. "I t-tik…" William Jr. tried to read the words around the mirror.

William leaned down and pointed to each letter as he read it aloud for his son, "I… think… of… you. That part…" his finger returned to rest under the beginning of the word 'think,' "sounds like 'thu'…"

"I see," William Jr. responded confidently. And then he put together the 'thu' and the rest that he could see clearly now – the 'ink,' inside of his mind and he said, "Thu-ink… Think. I think of you."

"Exactly," his father encouraged. Then William remembered William Jr.'s 'teaching' downstairs in the playroom, and he said, "You know, I believe your mother would quite enjoy seeing your 'lesson' about what you learned in school today…"

"Oh yes, Mommy," William Jr. turned to her. "I can show you on the 'stuffed animal' chalkboard.

"I'd be delighted," Julia gleed.

The parents replaced the mirrors into the box and the Murdoch's headed downstairs.

Most of William Jr.'s 'lesson' was still written out on the board – 'hat' with a drawing of a hat, 'cat' with a drawing of a cat, and 'bat' with a drawing of a baseball bat. As their son's lesson drew near its end, Julia noticed that William had moved off to a corner of the playroom. He seemed to be contemplating something…

She really never could have guessed...

"Julia," he called to her, not looking away from the wall.

She and the children joined him, puzzled.

"Yes," she said.

"A pool-table…" he said, using his hands to demonstrate the space he intended to use. "We could fit a pool-table here… don't you think?" he explained further, and then shook his head and adjusted, "Well no, you'd need room to make a shot from that edge as well. Closer to the middle…" he stepped back, "I still figure it could fit…"

His wife shook her head, dashing his hopes somewhat. However, there was an edge that forewarned, for it seemed that she had every intention of teasing him as well. "William," she gave, "I understand you enjoy the game, and as I expected, you are quite good at it…" but then such a sly smile formed on her face…

And he prepared for a zinger…

"But honestly William, another game in which you enjoy chasing a ball around with a stick, and trying to get it into a tiny hole… I only hope all your fancy pool cues don't end up at the bottom of the lake with all of your golf clubs," she giggled.

And he frowned.

"Oh," she took to giggling all over again, "But I did quite like the outfit, those close-cut brown knickers, and that cute little hat – Oh! and those flashy argyle socks over your skinny little ankles… You cut quite a nice figure in your golfing outfit, I dare say… almost as attractive as you in those baseball knickerbockers…"

"You liked those did you?" he charmed her, pulling her into his arms, accepting her, likely wise, discouragement of his latest fancy. He wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her and said, "I suppose you are right, best leave it be."

With the decision made, it was unexpected when their three children took to protesting.

"But Mom," William Jr. complained, "Daddy could make the pool-table fit."

And Katie's words rushed to argue, "And William Jr. loves swimming!" and then she added, "And me and Chelsea want to learn too…"

"Too cold," little Chelsea imitated shivering, wrapping her imaginary towel around herself, somehow appearing to turn blue.

"Please Mom," William Jr. begged at his mother's skirts, suspecting that it was she who was the obstacle to his father's pool-table dream.

The parents shared a look, so much expressed, humor, love and adoration for these bight children that they were so blessed to have, to share, in their lives… and somehow Julia's look also saying 'no' more clearly…

What she could not know was what it was that she was now saying 'no' to now, for her husband's mind had jumped, jumped to making this swimming-pool-table for his family.

"I would need to make a current you could swim into… It could work – with a motor and propellers at one end to pump the water, and water return chambers at the other end to bring the water back in a loop underneath the pool…" his brain had begun to work out the details of the small 'in-place' swimming pool. "It wouldn't need to be that deep… I'd need a grill or some such feature that could keep the 'pool' part separated from, safe from, the spinning turbines of the motor…"

Stuck there in his arms, children tugging at her skirts pleading for something that did not exist, Julia frowned and considered her fate. She chose to leave the children be for the moment…

"William Murdoch," her voice scolded, "Whatever it is your brilliant mind is conjuring, the answer is still 'no.' I would like this playroom to be a playroom for the children… for the children, William…"

His brown eyes returned to touch to hers, and he wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her. "I suppose you are right," he gave once again.

"Good," she kissed his cheek, and then turned to the children. "Little Ones, Little Ones," she addressed them, "The type of "pool" your Daddy was talking about was not a 'swimming' pool. Besides, we have a wonderful swimming pool at the Club… you know that. Thanks to your Aunt Ruby, who pays our membership there, hmm?"

Their moans and disappointed faces drooped.

"And the beach," she cheered.

And then she looked over to the 'stuffed animal classroom.' "Now," her tone changed the subject, "Shall we play with what wonderful things we do have here in the playroom…?" She looked to Katie and encouraged, "Perhaps Mistress Kathryn would like to teach the class today?"

William wrapped an arm around his wife and said, "I'll warm-up your supper," and he gave her kiss, offering to allow her time to play a little longer.

"That would be delightful," she whispered to him, before he took his leave.

)

Later that night, the children tucked into bed, Julia caught up with recording the most recent data for her research study. While she did this William snuck out to light the torches in their backyard for his surprise 'Backyard Barefoot Ball.' Out there on such a beautiful night, he paused to stare up at the stars. He pondered, amongst the fresh scents, and the soft breeze, and the crickets chirping, on how the light from those stars had traveled such unimaginably vast distances to get here to this tiny planet he stood on – the space covered so far away that the light would have had to have left those stars even before this planet yet existed. "Perhaps," he thought, "those stars no longer even exist, having burned out eons ago, the story told of their demise not here yet, all that remains of them being that long, thin, beam of light…" The term 'star-crossed lovers' appeared in his mind, and he wondered to himself if he and Julia truly were MEANT to fall in love, as it had always, always, felt to him. "Certainly," he thought, "they were not star-crossed in the full meaning of the term, for they had managed to be together, despite the odds…" Suddenly, he felt called to go down into his workroom and do his part, his part in creating the invention that they would use to serve as the 'fake study,' the decoy, for what Julia had really been doing all along, not consciously realizing that his fear of their getting caught in doing exactly this constituted the latest "odds" that threatened to tear them apart.

)

Only moments later he stood in front of his blackboard, adding new details as ideas came, sloppily though, for he was writing with his left hand. A flash of memory sparked in his mind, of him reading Mr. Beau Jangles' note… In his own internal voice, he heard it, as he saw the words, "won hu holds the dark bak for others to liv in the lite…" the poor spelling and penmanship reminding him slightly of his own messy writing right before him on the board. "True," he thought, "I do do that..." and he pinched a corner of his mouth at himself thinking, "Julia does that too, as a pathologist, as a psychiatrist, even as a doctor, in some ways, but most certainly as an activist, a sort of rebel, fighting for the oppressed in the world, fighting against the world's injustices. Her IUD study, this invention of hers, it could peel back the darkness to open women, women and men really, too, to the light of personal freedom…"

"So then get to it, William," he coached himself to be more productive.

A big sigh escaped as he focused on the currently troubling part – the probe itself. It will need a longer probe, rather than the round one he had based this idea on, the one he gave Julia all those years ago, to find bullets inside of a body. Ideally, it will send out different wavelengths of sound from multiple rows on the probe. The user could hold the probe in place on the woman's body and then send the soundwaves downward. They will reflect back and be detected and then recorded on the TELEvision monitor, creating a strip of data. Then the user could lower the probe to a new part of the woman's body, just directly under the one just done, and collect another strip of data that will appear on the TELEvision monitor under the first. Repeat to make an image. It will be like the 'Identikit' that creates facial composites of criminals or persons wanted for questioning by combining strips of parts of faces…

Julia's voice behind him interrupted…

"You could at least take off your tie, detective," she flirted.

He watched her as she walked up to him and took to playing seductively with loosening his tie. She kissed at his ear and teased further, "Honestly, still in this vest too," as she rubbed her hands across the muscular contours of his chest, her fingers discovering his badge. Tilting back from him, she watched herself stroking it, and then, while admiring the cool, sleek, metal of the badge, she said, "The Constabulary has their policeman wear it in the wrong place," and her eyes caught his that way they could when she looked so beautiful to him that he felt stunned. There had been a sadness in her tone with the statement. Slowly, over the badge, she placed her palm flat down onto it and then slipped her hand over his pectoral muscle, as if moving the badge, stopping to cover his heart, guarding his heart like a treasure. Her breath breezed over him, her eyes down. "It should cover the heart, shield the heart," she wished, with such a longing it landed with an ache.

And in that moment, just a small moment, they BOTH felt her fear, so realized it was already expressed as mourning.

"Julia…" he whispered his plea.

And her eyes rose to meet his.

Never would she be able to explain how much she loved him, she knew it then, that it was pointless to try, but she let the strength and glow of that loving bathe her heart. There was the subtlest of nods, her to him. Then she said, "Not just from bullets and knives and such," her other hand joining in the covering of his heart…

"No?" he asked her.

She exhaled, warm with the promise of truth. Then the tiniest pinch of a smile before she said, "No. There are other dangers… dangers to a man's heart. You are in the fray of it so often, deep in the murkiest, gloomiest, ugliest parts of the world, so that the very drowning-in of it must make a good heart weep…"

And he felt the weight of knowing she was right, and he remembered being wholly disgusted by Bill Weist's nauseating bigotry and hatred and greed and superiority… and then he remembered that same man, down on his knees begging the universe to spare the love of his life. In the one man, the horrors, but also a husband's profound love for his wife.

So often, he had found kindness in the darkest of places…

There was a shift, seemingly from the other side of his brain, now his memories taking him to the intersection where Mr. Dilbert had been pinned between a wagon and an automobile, the outcome of a planned murder attempt disguised to look like an accident. "He would die. He knew it. We all knew it…" William thought to himself. But Mr. Dilbert had not yet told the woman who would carry out his quest for him, ensuring that his most important deed for City Records was done after he was dead, he had not told Mildred Ash that he would die that day… Actually, there was much that Dilton Dilbert had not told Mildred. The words replayed as William stood there, inside of his head reliving his witnessing of the meek, quietly honorable, man opening his dying heart to Mildred, "I apologize for the poor timing of what I'm about to say… I'm not sure whether saying this now is a kindness…" And upon reflection, William thought to himself now, "There may never have been such kindness." And then Dilbert's words carried on inside of William's head, "But I must confess to loving you… It is the most inopportune time and I do apologize, and I hope you do not feel that you need to reciprocate…" And then, so bittersweet, when Mildred had replied, "No. I loved you as well." And then, in the very end, Mildred had worried that Dilton's death was her fault, for she had asked him for his help with her work on the water filtration municipal contract, and his doing so had made him a target for murder. Bravely Dilbert told her, "We did the right thing, Mildred. That's all that matters. We saved the city and its citizens from a con artist." And thus, in those last moments, this couple had shared in knowing that they had lived a meaningful life.And William thought it was like himself and Julia, these two holding back the darkness to let others live in the light. And then, just when William was about to let go of the memory, the very, very end reminded, Dilbert's very last words haunting him with what William, himself, had ALMOST lived through, for Dilbert had said, "I have imagined our courtship so many times. It is almost as if it really happened." And then he said, "I'm ready," and they had pulled the wagon…

Somewhere off in the periphery, William was pulled out of the memory.

To ease the weight of it, Julia had shifted to consider his work on the board. In that moment, the words she spoke came straight from her heart. "I can't tell you, William, how much your joining me in this quest of mine has touched me. I have never felt so loved, so cared for, for who I am, for myself, ever in all my life," she told him.

He wrinkled a corner of his mouth, for he felt it too.

Their attention back to his board, she considered the written words. The writing was terribly messy – very unlike him, it was almost childlike. A thought wondered if perhaps he had allowed William Jr. to write the words for him, but then she remembered William's injured hand. Julia gestured towards the board and teased, "Now William, most of the time I can follow your diagrams and such…" and then her mind flashed memories of some of the more complicated boards he had made – most consisting of a flood of intense mathematical equations splayed about all over the place. She shrugged a shoulder and added, "Of course, there are times that that amazing brain of yours has left me quite behind in the chalkdust as it were," and she giggled. "Usually the ones with extreme mathematics… like those equations with functions…" she paused, thinking she should not belittle herself, for Julia Ogden was no math dimwit. She leaned back softly to touch her back to his chest behind her. "I do prefer my math to be…" and she lifted both hands up towards his blackboard and squeezed the air in imagining, "tangible. I like my math to be tangible, directly connected to the real world, I suppose," she tried to explain.

Oh, but now it would be William who would tease…

His hands slipped around her from behind, the injured one up over her hip to ride the curve of her waist and pull her closer, the unwrapped hand up to cup and appreciate the heavy plumpness of one of her breasts, luring her lustfully as his thumb explored and enticed at its center. "Like I like my women," he whispered, raspy in her ear.

"Women!" she abruptly turned and questioned him with an eyebrow up.

"You know you are the only woman I have eyes for," he corrected quickly, then tried to win her over with that corner of the mouth wrinkle…

"Do I now," she pushed back. "Let us see…" she said, turning her face back to his board and leaning back, heavy, into him once more, "There was Ettie… Oh, and of course, Sally Pendrick. I do believe you found her to be rather attractive, William. You cannot deny you would have liked to get your hands on her tangible… tangerines…" she giggled at her pun.

"Grapefruits," he corrected, blushing for having said it, behind her. He cleared his throat and elaborated, "I'd say more like grapefruits…"

She turned to gaze into his face, dumbfounded at the possible discovery of what may have been one of his secret sexual exploits, yet still doubtful, for he was then, as he is still now, the rather buttoned-up William Murdoch…

She gasped her question, "William!? You didn't…?"

"Not 'tangibly,' exactly," he said. He needed to clear his throat again…

And Julia fought her urge to smile and to giggle, with all her might, for watching his suffering…

"More…uh, visually, I would say," he gave.

"Visually?" Julia wondered after the statement, "You SAW Sally Pendrick's… Oh…" she suddenly gasped out the exclamation, for the awareness had hit her then! "The painting!" she gleed at her discovering the truth of it. "The painting Sally Pendrick gave you, and you hung it in your office! William…?!"

He nodded. "She was… err, um," he swallowed, "She was 'posing' for it… when I first met her," he admitted.

She gave him a playful shove. "You swore you believed it was a landscape. Oh…" she shook her head at the memories, "I knew that triangle…" she remembered him suggesting his explanation for the red shape at the crux of the painting, scolding him, "A pyramid…" she shoved him again.

And then they both laughed together. Julia shook her head once more, "A landscape," she wallowed in the deliciousness of the thought.

They quieted, still embraced, Julia in front of him. Their eyes perused the plans chalked out on the blackboard before them. Minds traveled, hers back to his badge and how it should cover his heart. Then a pang of guilt jolted inside of her as she thought of him helping her – making this marvelous invention – his ULTRAsound, to use to hide her illegal contraceptive study, and the possible dangers their doing so together could lead to. For his part, William's mind had gone back to the Weist's. He imagined the two of them down in the cells right now, saying their goodbyes…

"We're both thinking it …" Julia's voice carried the weight of her thoughts, "So I will say it, our situation in this," she turned to catch his eye, "these two 'studies' of ours…' It's like the Weist's…" she frowned, wanting to apologize for starting it, for bringing them here.

William took one of her curls in his finger and said, "What they did was illegal, Julia…"

"Us too," she quickly reminded.

He sighed, and frowned, and rubbed at his brow. "But ours… We're not murdering anyone…"

"Not exactly," she gave, thinking that her IUDs blocked implantation of an embryo… But the Church… And his Faith…? And Julia decided then, that William had fought these battles of his already. He had made his decision to join her. She would take solace in that… she would trust him to have been true to himself in making that decision as he did.

William spoke, changing the subject, "I do fear… um, well, I fear you may end up in prison… Maybe even me too, I suppose that's possible." He wrinkled a corner of his mouth admitting to the dread of it. "Me… for helping. That would be like what happened with the Weist's," he concluded. It was too disturbing to follow the thought through to the further consequences, the first inkling of thinking of the children, and another thought came to drown that one out, an image really, of Dunbar's little caged bird ramming its body against the bars…

"Julia…?" he asked her, turning to stand facing her, heart to heart. "Mr. Beau Jangles, he uh… he sent me a poem…"

"Oh," she replied. "It touched you?" she wondered.

"It's about a bird trapped in a cage… written by a Negro poet," he began to explain.

"Oh yes, William," she declared. "I know it… Dunbar, I believe… Dunbar is the author. It's called, um…"

"Sympathy," he answered her. He reached into his jacket and pulled out the folded page from Mr. Beau Jangles' book. He opened the folds and handed it to her.

She read it to him, and he noticed that she became choked up as she shared the words. "It invokes 'sympathy' in her," he thought to himself, "Perhaps she feels sympathy for an old man who is a Negro in this cruel and unjust world…

She finished.

He took the paper back from her. "Mr. Beau Jangles was very taken with you," he told her, as he folded it and put it back inside his pocket.

"Oh," she said, sniffling back the one tear that had manifested enough to threaten to flow down her cheek. She wrinkled a corner of her mouth at him, for she knew in that second, in that mutual look, that truth be told, she was grateful he saw the weepiness she felt. "I only met him the one time, well, except for when he was unconscious in the alleyway on the night of the murder. Remember…?" she asked him, "It was when you were questioning him in the Interrogation Room… and he danced for us."

William rubbed his thumb across her cheek. He imagined kissing her, healing, luring the slippery saltiness of her caring out of her, tasting its tenderness on his tongue…

He cleared his throat and said, "I think it was Miss James. That one act… your hiring her, um, it showed him your heart, I think." Then he thought further, "He and Miss James… I suspect they talked quite a lot. Perhaps some about us."

From there, William's brain went on inside his head, unspoken… Maybe it was Miss James who inspired Mr. Beau Jangles to go to Adelaide, by showing him the beauty and power of what a young Negro woman could be if the world gave her a chance. Maybe that made Beau Jangles think that something beautiful and powerful could come from his helping an abandoned and betrayed young white woman who was out in the harsh world all alone, alone with bearing a murdered Negro man's child… And then William remembered that Beau Jangles had written that he had thought of Ernie Williams as a son, and then he remembered Mr. Beau Jangles' grief over the loss of his dog, and how lonely the man was, still. Beau Jangles had written in his note that he would always dance alone… And with that final thought, William felt that sting of hope, like the hope he had imagined when he envisioned grasping the truth of the fact that the defeated and bloodied caged bird would still sing, and he gave into it, and he told himself that it was as likely as it was not, that Mr. Beau Jangles and Adelaide Weist would pick up together, a sort of family where one was so desperately needed.

William lifted his yes to meet Julia's and he said, "Wherever he ends up, Mr. Beau Jangles will be dancing, of that I'm certain…"

"Why is that?" she asked, already sensing that he was right.

"Because, for Mr. Beau Jangles, to live is to dance," he answered. And then he remembered the grass… outside, and the firelit torches waiting for them. He stepped back, and took her hand, lifting it winsomely. "Milady," he bowed a greeting…

"Yes," she whispered her response, revealing to him that she had been captured.

"Julia," he fought against the sudden emergence of butterflies fluttering about in his stomach, fearing that maybe this idea was really too silly… "I've recently obtained tickets to an upcoming ball, um… Well, I wondered if you might be interested in attending with me?" he gushed out the request, "It's um, it's tonight, the… the 'Backyard Barefoot Ball, it's called…" he simply stopped speaking, leaving the invitation hanging there between them, awkwardly, as was true to form.

Oh, her smile melted straight through to his heart. And out of the blue, her mind replayed the flash of remembering herself standing in the morgue with Dr. Emily Grace, and her confiding in Emily that Detective William Murdoch was surprisingly 'romantic…' Even now, she almost giggled with schoolgirl glee.

"Yes, of course," she finally answered him, "That would be most delightful."

"Very good," he bowed to her once more, and he offered her his arm.

"Barefoot?" she asked him as she tucked her arm into his and they began to go.

"Mm," his reply.

"Yep," she heard herself thinking, "Stunning, but it's true, Detective William Murdoch is quite romantic…"

)

By the time William had brought Julia upstairs, and to the sliding backdoor in their dining room, and she gasped so admiringly at the beauty of what he had done for her in preparing their 'Backyard Barefoot Ball,' William noticed that the sky had become overcast. The stars were gone, or at least now hidden from sight. And that earlier lovely breeze had turned to an occasional ominous gust, in between the bursts, the air was left humid and lush… He wondered, if she would be cold...

Julia leaned a hand to his shoulder for balance, and she began to remove her shoes.

Then, standing barefoot together, William placed the phonograph needle to the end of the record disk, knowing this would give them more time than placing it at the start, thus enabling them the chance to get out into the circle of firelit torches on the grass, before the music began.

Julia shook her head to herself as she looked on, and William put this particular invention of his to use, this one a mechanism that reset the needle after the record was through, allowing the song to play over and over again. He was truly astounding… this man of hers.

He took her hand and led her out onto the soft, plush, grass. So quiet… not even the stridulations of the crickets touched the ear, perhaps because they had taken cover. Just then, a gust of wind blew through them, sweeping up her skirts, wafting the dangling curls at the edges of her face…

The music began, and William opened his arms to begin.

Oh, so beautiful, she giggled…

And, she stepped closer to him and she told, "I do believe that we will never, ever, start a dance together, detective, without my mind flashing me the image of that very first time… at Professor Oratano's Dance Studio, when you 'assumed your position…'"

In the deliciously flickering torchlight, he scowled, and she giggled…

"And then," she said, expanding her tale, "Into the arms of such a stiff and rigid man, I stepped." She paused to note, "Those arms…they are not so rigid anymore," her voice warm in his ear, and they began the soft, waltzing movement, heart much closer to heart than the standards of dancing that had been prescribed by Professor Oratano.

"No," he gave her, "Not since loving you."

The words meant more than they said, for we do change from loving and from being loved, especially as completely and sincerely and passionately as these two have loved each other.

Off in the distance, a rumbling roll of thunder resonated deeply, deeply, down into the very marrow of their bones. 'A storm was coming,' the air whispered it, charged with that silent crackle of what was sure to come, now heavy in the silence, the stillness, the quiet before the storm.

William remembered, telling her the thought as it came, "Some believe it is the dance that brings on the storm."

"Shall we weather it together then, you and I," Julia summoned.

There was a bolt, a flicker, still far off, for the breath paused, held, waited, for the inevitable rippling grumbles of thunder to come.

Inside of his head, William remembered watching Julia sway up above him in the basket of her enormous, colorful balloon, inviting him to go with her to wherever the wind would take them. He had never regretted that leap...

Faint tapping sounds drummed, no rhythm to them yet, alerting to the left, and behind… and up on the roof, as raindrops began to fall, with splatters and splats all around. Cold, when they landed, huge and wet, on their bodies, and William pulled back, preparing to run with her to cover…

But she tugged him back into her arms. "Dance with me William. Dance with me. It is only rain," she whispered.

He heard his own voice in his head, saw the misspelled words, "flote her world…"

And he kissed her then, barefoot together out on the grass, as they swayed and they rocked, and as the sky yielded to the thunder and it began to downpour, bathing them with the wet mingling of their tastes, so perfectly delicious, melding with the sweetness of the rain.

They were together, they were loved, loved in the most powerful way there is, each for who they are in their deepest, truest selves, and they were grateful, grateful, to be alive, come what may.

And so it was that night, when William floated Julia's world, and the two danced as the two lived – bold and brave and true, for it was as Mr. Beau Jangles had brought to light in the short time that they had known him…

'Two live is two dance,' despite storm clouds a-rumbling.

)) ((

The birthday of the famous tap-dancer, Bill "Bojangles" Robinson, just passed – May 25, 1878. The famous song, "Mr. Bojangles," was written by Jerry Jeff Walker, and inspired much of this story.

Bert (rather than Ernie) Williams was also a very famous Negro performer at the same time as that of Mr. Bojangles Robinson. He mostly performed as a comedian wearing blackface makeup. He is said to have felt that wearing the demeaning makeup allowed him to feel in character.

The bodies of victims burned in extremely hot fires take on a 'pugilistic' (boxer-like) stance. The fingerprints of these victims can be preserved inside the curled-up fists.

I have long imagined that Julia Ogden's wealthy upbringing would have exposed her to snooker playing, and that her intimate knowledge of the talents and inspirations of her beloved William Henry Murdoch would have led her to encourage him to play billiards. Jim Croce's famous song, "Don't Mess Around with Jim" subconsciously, and then consciously, stirred the idea to have William go undercover as the mild-mannered pool-shark and underdog hero, Slim.

The first published research study on inserted intrauterine devices (IUDs) was done by Dr. Richard Richter in Germany in 1909.

The first ultrasound machine used to 'see' inside of the body was employed in the 1940s. First in Austria, when Karl Dussik and his brother attempted to locate brain tumors by measuring the transmission of the ultrasound beams through the skull. Later in the same decade, George Ludwig used ultrasound to detect gallstones in Maryland.

Ironically, it was a man named James Murdock who invented the in-place exercise swimming pool. It was his father, John Murdock, who thought up the idea of making an exercise pool by using a hydraulic motor to power propellers at the ends of a small pool to make a current to swim in. James made the idea a reality in 1988.

And finally, this story was written as a prequel to the story, "Thunderstorms." It was intended to explain how 'Toronto's Favorite Couple' got to where they were found in 1912 for that story to unfold.

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