I urge you to consider tissue at this time...

In the three weeks that had passed since Charles had proposed, Elsie found she had never been happier. The couple had divided their days into five basic activities: making love, researching William Wilson's journals, eating, bathing, and walking Barley. It had been sheer bliss.

Having awoken alone on a cold November Thursday morning, Elsie pulled the coverlet up around her naked form, her skin chilled in the absence of both Charles and Barley's body heat, and called out, "Love? Are you there?" Receiving no answer, Elsie slipped into her dressing gown and pulled on Charles' thick woolen socks, which she now considered to be very much her own, and made her way into the sitting room. Peering out the window she saw a bundled up Charles on the pavement in front of the house signing for a telegram as Barley, held captive by his lead, sniffed and investigated the ankles of the young delivery man. Hoping it was news from Robert regarding their proposed trip to Tipton Hall, Elsie wandered into the kitchen to put on the kettle in anticipation of a cold Charles.

Hearing the door open, she called out, "I'm in the kitchen putting on the kettle, love."

Charles face held a gentle, but concerned smile as he appeared in the doorway. "You've a telegram, Elsie."

All the blood drained from her face as she reached out to receive the envelope, sure in the knowledge that a telegram addressed to her had to be bad news. Her hands shaking badly, she could barely manage to pry open the flap as Charles offered, "Here, darling, sit down. It's alright." He wrapped his arm around Elsie's shoulder as he guided her to one of the nearby dining room chairs.

"What if she's really hurt herself this time?"

"Do you want me to read it?"

Fighting tears, Elsie passed Charles the envelope before resting her head against the palms of her hands as she propped her elbows on her knees.

"She's ill. Very ill. Pleurisy. We should go at once."

"You don't have to…" Elsie tried to assure him, but was instantly cut off.

"I am going. We are a we now, not just you or just me. Where you go, I go."

Her bottom lip jutting out, Elsie quickly rose to her feet and wrapped her arms around him as, for the first time in her life, she allowed another person to share in her burden. "Alright. I can be ready in twenty minutes and we can leave Barley with Beryl on our way to the station."

The train ride to Lytham St. Anne's was slow and arduous, the train having to stop multiple times because of frozen tracks along the way.

"What if she dies before we get there?" Elsie leaned against the cold window, her breath fogging the glass as she looked out at the brown and barren autumn landscape.

"You don't know she is dying. That Braithwaite woman on the phone said they are treating her."

"I wanted to talk to Phyllis." Elsie sighed. "I don't even know this other woman. Phyllis knows me, knows Becky, knows..." she stopped mid-sentence, closing her eyes in an attempt to push an unwanted thought from her mind.

"I am sure she is in good hands, Elsie. Here, that window is freezing. Lean against me and try to get some sleep, darling."

Sitting up to look around the car and finding there was no one in their immediate vicinity, Elsie took a deep breath before beginning to speak. "I have to tell you something, Charles. I have put it off because I have been afraid to tell you, but I need to because it is tied to this. Why Becky is sick. Why her chest has always been weak."

Charles took her hand, his eyes kind and gentle as he assured her, "You can tell me anything."

She moved closer to him, her voice hushed and serious. "I know you mean that, but this…this is bad. Very bad."

Charles kissed her forehead, "Just tell me, love."

Elsie let her gaze linger on his kind face before she closed her eyes and began to whisper, "She got hurt when she was eight. I wasn't in the room, but I did see it happen."

Charles nodded in encouragement for her to continue.

"I had been out with a lad from one of the neighboring farms. He was fifteen and I was twelve and we would set traps for rabbits and hunt for fowl with a small rifle his father let him use." Elsie hesitated briefly before speaking the boy's name. "Joe. Joe Burns he was…is called. We had been out checking the traps and hunting grouse, but Becky had stayed at home with my mother and father because the sound of the rifle upset her." She paused, realizing there was no going back once she began the next part of her story.

"We had just got back and were stepping up on the porch when I heard a scuffle happening on the other side of the door. I figured it was Becky having a fit, so I told Joe to go home, but then, through the window, I saw my father throw Becky against the side of the hearth. He threw her so hard, it broke two of her ribs which punctured her lung."

Charles shook his head sorrowfully, but also in recognition that this was the injury to which she had referred earlier. Rubbing her arm as a sign of encouragement, he offered a handkerchief from his pocket.

Taking the cloth, Elsie paused for a moment to swallow a large lump in her throat and dab at her eyes before she continued. "I tried the door, but it was locked so Joe handed me his rifle and then he kicked and shoved until he got it open and that's when I saw my father on top of my mother on the sofa. She was unconscious and his hands were around her neck."

Charles let out a gasp, his hand tightening around Elsie's arm as he closed his eyes, his stomach turning to hear her describe what she had witnessed.

"I screamed at him to stop, but he just ignored me. Joe ran to the sofa and tried to pull him off, but he just threw him off and I heard Joe hit the side table. I kept on screaming and screaming, but he acted as if I wasn't there. I don't remember doing it, but apparently I fired the rifle."

Charles covered his mouth with his hand to which Elsie quickly shook her head, quickly assuring him, "I didn't hit him, but it did stop him from choking my mother long enough to come over the back of the sofa for me. He ripped the gun out of my hand and must have knocked me in the head with the butt." Elsie pushed her fringe back to reveal a small scar at her hair line. "Fortunately, it wasn't a heavy gun so I was only knocked unconscious."

Tears rolled down Charles' cheeks as he pulled her tighter to him; waves of nausea issuing through him.

"When I came to, I could barely breathe. My head was in my mother's lap and Joe and Becky were kneeling over my father's body and the iron poker from the fireplace was on the floor between them, along with a pillow. He was dead."

"Joe hit him?"

Elsie shook her head. "Becky."

Charles looked at her in disbelief. "But you said she was only eight. How could an eight year old with a punctured lung lift and swing something hard enough to kill a man?"

"The blow didn't kill him. He had been on top of me with his hands around my neck when Becky managed to get hold of the poker and stun him in the back of the head. My mother was half drunk and had been choked within an inch of her life, but she managed to get from the sofa over to him and held the pillow over his face until he suffocated."

Charles pulled her head against his chest as he lowered his own head against hers, his words more gasp than voice. "Oh my God, Elsie. Oh my God."

Elsie sobbed against him, her tears landing in his lap as he continued to hold her.

"It was self-defense. It was obviously self-defense," he whispered into her hair as he patted her back, calming her until she no longer shook. "Why were you afraid to tell me?"

She pulled back from him, a sorrowful look on her face. "Because of where I come from, the people I come from. You are used to nice, well-mannered, well-behaved people and I am nothing but a…destitute Scottish farm girl saddled with a sick sister...raised by people who shouldn't have even been allowed to have children. My mother killed my father, Charles. My God, you don't want to be stuck with someone carrying all that around inside of her do you?"

Charles stared at her for a moment before whispering, "No. I don't."

Elsie turned her head towards the window, her breath held in an effort to keep herself from completely breaking down.

"Look at me, Elsie. Honey, look at me."

Gasping for breath, she turned towards him.

"Elsie, that person you just described? That? That is not you. Not you at all. You are incredibly kind and clever…and loving and beautiful because of your heart and your mind...and your ability to survive. Those things you just said, those things aren't you. They happened to you but they aren't you."

Elsie pushed her head against his chest and grabbed his lapel as though she was adrift at sea and he her only life preserver.

"Knowing all of this, God, knowing what that man did to you a few weeks ago, I just want to wrap you in my arms and protect you and cradle you, hold you so tight, but I know you don't need that. You don't need me to do that because you are this amazing woman who can do anything, endure anything. My amazing Elsie. That is the woman I want to share my life with, the one I want to walk and sleep and live beside. That is the woman with whom I choose- choose- to be stuck." Charles lifted her chin and placed a delicate but lingering kiss on her lips before taking the handkerchief from her hand to wipe her cheeks.

"I love you." She said the words as she looked up into his eyes only to find she was too emotionally exhausted to hold up her head. Leaning against Charles' chest, she continued to repeat the phrase over and over, her mouth resting just over his heart, until she fell asleep.

On a hill in the middle of Lytham St. Anne sat an old two story building, its façade bleached limestone, cracked and creviced like the face of an old man after years of exposure to the harsh winters and windy summers of the seaside town. Locally referred to as St. Scary's, rather than its real name St. Mary's; it was a source of rumors and ghost stories circulated over the years from its time as a lunatic asylum in the previous century. Its halls cold and bare, the rooms were much the same with their barred windows and ugly grey tiling. In the far corner of the west wing, on the second floor, was situated the pulmonary unit. It was in room 224, a large, but austere space at the farthest end of this corridor where Becky Hughes lay dying.

Phyllis Baxter, the nurse whom had been Becky's primary caretaker and Elsie's confidante for more than eight years, sat outside the room in anticipation of the arrival of the couple from Halifax.

"Phyllis!" Letting go of Charles' hand upon seeing the familiar face, Elsie rushed towards the woman.

"You made it!" Phyllis met her halfway, gently clutching Elsie's hand between her own.

"How is she? What have they said?"

Offering a sad smile, she answered Elsie's question without uttering a word.

Elsie's lip quivered as she felt Charles' hand land on the small of her back. "How long?"

"Her breathing is very labored. They are doing what they can to keep her out of pain, but they said she most likely wouldn't make it through the night."

"Is she alone right now?"

"She is," Phyllis nodded. "I only stepped out a few minutes ago to watch for you but I have been with her all night. I have talked to her almost constantly, but she isn't responsive."

"Thank you. Thank you for being with her." Elsie pulled the woman into a tight hug, holding her for several moments as they each wept.

"You should go in," Phyllis whispered as she patted Elsie's back.

Pulling out of the embrace, Elsie turned back to look at Charles. "Will you give me a moment?"

"Of course," Charles gently smiled and nodded before leaning down to kiss her on the forehead. "Why don't I find Phyllis a cup of coffee? Do you want anything, love?"

Doing her best to force a smile onto her lips, Elsie shook her head. Not wanting to face the reality that awaited her inside the room, Elsie watched Charles accompany Phyllis down the corridor, not making her own brief journey until they were out of sight.

A simple IV bottle on a rack was the only apparatus connected to the frail woman in the small bed which sat near the window, a chair, a side table and a metal rolling tray the only other furniture in the stark space.

"Hello, Becks." Elsie tiptoed to the side of the bed and looked down at her sister, her once sun-kissed and freckled skin now pale and tinged with gray from a lack of oxygen in her blood. Her chest lifted slowly up and down as though a bellows was being operated deep within the blankets by someone with tired arms; a wheeze and gurgle accompanying each rise and fall.

"Thank you for waiting for me," Elsie whispered as she leaned down to kiss Becky's delicate cheek. Pulling up the chair, she reached out to smooth the cascade of wild curls that spilled over the pillow. "I'm sorry I haven't been back since last month. So many things have happened, but I should have been back to see you. I should have. It wasn't fair was it? I was here all the time and then I wasn't. It wasn't kind and it wasn't fair. I'm so, so sorry, Becks." Elsie slid her hand down to hold her sister's as she let a few quiet minutes pass, her sister's labored breaths and the drip of the saline bottle creating a heartbreaking percussive track in the still room.

Needing to be closer to Becky, Elsie moved to the side of the bed, studying the young woman's peaceful face, a countenance she recognized from their best times spent together. "You know I have always loved you so much, don't you? You are my sweet one, my sweet Becky baby…" Tears spilled down her cheeks as she softly sang the ragtime tune she had rocked her baby sister to sleep with so many times over the years.

Everybody loves a baby
That's why I'm in love with you
Becky baby, Becky baby
And I'm glad to be your sister
Will take such good care of you,

Becky baby, Becky baby

Won't you come and let me
Rock you in my cradle of love?
And we'll cuddle all the time

Oh, I love my Becky baby
And I will for all of time
Becky baby, Becky baby of mine….

Anyone walking the corridor at that moment would have discovered Charles Carson sitting in a small chair outside the door of room 224, his head leaning against the wall as he shamelessly wept at the sound of his love's voice.

Having given her almost half an hour alone with her sister, Charles gently pushed open the door, poking his head in to find Elsie perched at Becky's side, her head propped up by her hand as she gazed at the ceiling, describing imaginary shapes in an unseen sky.

"It's a little piggy with a curly tail and he's wearing a hat. He's got a tubby little belly and a stout little bottom." Elsie caressed her sister's cheek with the back of her hand as she continued, "And there is a bull frog like the one we caught that day at the stream when you fell in and refused to get out until you were completely covered in mud. I never thought I would get it all out of your ears."

Suddenly aware she wasn't alone, Elsie glance towards the door, grinning back at the man watching her. "And here is a bear. He's big and tall, but very sweet and he has a lovely smile and very kind eyes."

Charles gave her a loving smile as he slipped into the room. "Hello."

"Hello."

"Gazing at the clouds are we?"

Elsie grinned. stretching her hand towards him which he soon took. "Oh yes. It is a beautiful day. All blue skies and white fluffy clouds full of animals and cars and telephones and fat ladies and naughty children."

Sitting in the chair next to her, Charles leaned down and kissed her hand. "Why don't you tell us more, Elsie."

Becky lasted until a little after midnight, Charles and Phyllis standing near the door with the nurse as Elsie held her sister to her. "It's alright, sweet girl, it's alright."

Having signed the required documents and arranged for a local funeral home to collect Becky in the morning, Charles and Elsie were dropped at a local hotel by Phyllis who promised to pick them up the next morning.

Beyond exhausted, the pair climbed into the bed in their underwear, too fatigued to even change into their pajamas. Charles curled up around Elsie, gently stroking her arm as he waited for her body to relax into slumber. He was fighting dozing off himself when he heard her softly speak, "Lots of babies, Charles. Let's have lots of babies."

"As many as you'd like." Charles whispered as he kissed her shoulder.