A/N – And now, for the conclusion of Bridgewood….

Chapter 21

Sometime during the night, Alistair awakened. "Hey. You still up?" He rubbed his eyes and propped his head up on one elbow. Candle-light from the nearby table flickered like gold in her hair.

"I couldn't sleep. After I fed Katie and Charles the last time, my mind kept spinning."

"Is everything okay? You must be exhausted."

Sitting up in bed, Rebecca looked over at Alistair with a soft smile. "Pleasantly exhausted, and yes, I'm fine. I just . . . Kate gave me an idea yesterday and," she finished writing and set aside the portable secretaire, "I wanted to work through the details while the idea was fresh in my mind."

"Idea about what? Isn't that your journal?"

"One of them." She folded her hands. "The past few days have been so amazing. I wanted to write it all down. But this journal is actually for another purpose. This is for us—for our future."

He squinted. "What do you mean?"

"You'll see." She smiled at him. "But not yet. Go back to sleep. It's still dark yet."

"Kind of hard when you're smiling at me like that."

She put on her sternest face. He laughed and caressed her cheek with one hand. "That might work on our children someday, but not on me. I know you too well."

Seeing he was going to need more convincing, she sighed and leaned over to blow out the candle.

In the early morning, one of the babies started crying softly. Alistair started to rise. Rebecca put a hand on his arm. "I'm already up. You stay put. I daresay you've hardly slept a wink in days."

She quickly changed the baby then realized she was short on clean clothes for him. As they'd moved the crib and babies into the larger room with them and left Kate to rest in the smaller nursery, it meant she'd have to intrude.

As stealthily as she could, she opened the door, a child in one arm. Sun filtered in through the gauzy curtains filling the cheery nursery with warm beams of light. Kate was already up. She sat with her back to her, leaning over a writing desk, herself.

Rebecca headed straight to the large basket of clothing Rose had brought by. "Oh, Kate, I'm glad you're awake. I hadn't wanted to wake you. If you wouldn't mind holding Charlie while I find him some clean clothes, that would really help. I want to give Alistair a few more minutes in bed—" She froze, glancing over at her friend. A notebook lay across Kate's lap at a forgotten angle. Her face was tilted down and she wasn't moving.

"K-Kate?" she whispered.

No response.

"Kate, are you awake?" she said, this time a little louder, a tendril of fear snaking through her. She was afraid to breathe.

Still nothing.

She rushed to the bed. "Kate?" She gently shook her. The papers fell from the bed. "Oh, Kate! Wake up. Wake up, please!"

Charlie started to cry.

"Nooooo! No. Oh, my God, Kate, I'm not ready!" She pulled the bell pull, which also rang in the main room of the house. She pulled and pulled and kept pulling.

Alistair burst through the door. "What is it?" But as soon as he spoke, he knew. Rebecca was bent over Kate's slim, still form. "Oh, sweetheart." He took Charlie from her arms as Rebecca crumbled to the bedside.

"Oh, Alistair. She looks so peaceful," she said, and turned bleary eyes up to his.

Alistair carefully laid Kate back onto the pillow, then bent to pick up the items that had fallen to the floor

Rebecca slid her hand beneath Kate's. It was still warm. That made the tears flow even harder. "Oh, Kate, darling, how I'll miss you. How very much I'll miss you."

After a few moments, she looked up. Alistair was staring at the writing tablet. "What is it?"

"I believe she left us a gift."

Mary, Constance and Rose arrived later in the morning, having received the news that Kate had passed. After each said their good-bye to her, the girls somberly took their leave, uncertain about the future and the legacy of the paper they still had to get out. Mary lingered to talk with Rebecca and Alistair in the clinic front office.

"What will you do?" Rebecca asked her.

"The girls want to try to keep the paper going, at least for a time. I wish you could stay. We could really use a good writer."

"I wish I could, too. You'll print the article?"

"Absolutely. Her last piece. She would have wanted it that way," Mary said decisively. "With her eye-witness account of the events of that night, and her sterling reputation, no one will question you. Or, at least, you've got ammunition if they try. Are you certain you can't stay?"

Rebecca looked up at Alistair and shook her head. "No. The questions will remain."

"Where will you go?"

"We're not exactly certain. But north, I think." Alistair said, then stood. "Excuse me, ladies. I need to talk with Jonathan and Georgiana."

Jonathan came out of the back room just then, Georgiana propping him up.

"Here, let me." He stepped in to take the bulk of Jonathan's weight. "Charlie is bringing the coach around." He looked at Georgiana. "I'm sorry to have to move him so soon, but it's for Jonathan's protection."

"No, we understand." She looked at her brother, who nodded, despite sweating profusely. "Alistair, may I have a word?"

Alistair looked at Rebecca, who smiled her permission. He sat Jonathan down in a comfortable chair and led the way to his office.

"There was a time when I was frightened to be in same room as you."

"I'm still that same person, Georgie."

"No. The person I imagined you were was a reflection of who Douglas was—a tortured man who didn't know how to control what he'd become. For the longest time, he'd managed to hide his true nature from Jonathan, but I had terrible insomnia. I used to hear him weeping in the night, then that awful animal sound. One time my curiosity got the best of me. I caught him off guard. He saw me. I'll never forget those eyes."

Eyes like his.

"After that, I was so afraid, I withdrew inside myself. While he never actually hurt me, I lived in fear that he would. I hid in the sanctuary of my music."

"Completely understandable. What happened to him?"

"He liked to fish in the early mornings. He said it kept him calm. I was all for that. One morning we waited and waited, but he didn't return. When we went in search of him, all we found was the overturned dinghy floating in the middle of the lake. I cried a thousand tears of thankfulness that night. I didn't care that we were young and left on our own." She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. "Perhaps that's why I clung to you at first. I couldn't wait to get out of that house."

She gave him a sad look. "He was so kind to me when I was little. But later, I just wanted him gone. I wanted him dead. I thought he was demon-possessed or something. Now I understand the 'or something.' Perhaps the fishing accident was no accident, I don't know. Maybe he did it to protect us. Oh, Alistair." She laid a hand on his arm. "I don't want that to happen to Jonathan! I couldn't bear it. H-he said you told him Rebecca helped you. Do you think I can help him?"

"Absolutely."

"How?"

"By believing in him . . . remembering the man he is, and forcing him to remember, too. I don't think he'll become like Douglas, but I'll send you word when we get settled. I'd ask that you keep our whereabouts a secret, but contact me if you need help. We'll come."

"Thank you so much. For everything." She looked up. "Even Kate, bless her heart. What she wrote about my performance . . . well, I'm just very grateful."

"She was just being honest."

"Somehow I think I have Rebecca to thank for that, too." She tilted her head up in a smile. "She's a very special lady, by the way. And lucky. Please hold onto her."

"I think I'm the lucky one, but I will." It was both a prayer and a promise.

After getting the siblings resettled, Alistair returned to the clinic where packing preparations were in full swing. A few minutes after he returned, Charlie burst through the door. Alistair stood. "Is he here?"

"Who?" Rebecca looked up from one of the satchels she was filling and caught the silent communication between the two men.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Charlie said. "I had to let him out to run a bit. The poor beast didn't take too well to sailin', I'm 'fraid."

"Beast? Alistair . . ."

"He's in the back." Charlie ignored her.

"Perfect." Alistair started for the door immediately.

"Who?" Rebecca asked again.

Alistair grinned. "Chameleon, of course!"

By the light of the moon, Rebecca settled the sleeping babies inside the large coach, which had been converted into a tiny nursery for their journey. She would drive it while Alistair rode Chameleon, at least at first, until the animal was more settled.

Mary and Charlie came out of the back of the clinic with Alistair. Mary greeted her with a warm hug and a ball of white fluff.

"Jack!"

"She would'a wanted ye to have him," Mary said. "Besides, all children need a dog."

Rebecca's mouth fell open and she turned pleading eyes to Alistair.

"I'm not real big on dogs," he said hesitantly.

"Then it's a good thing he's just a little 'un," Mary grinned, and loaded the animal's sack of food and accessories into the coach. "Don't worry. He don't eat much. Been cryin' for days," she murmured to Rebecca. That did it.

Rebecca took the small terrier under her arm and fished a folder paper from her pocket. It was hand-written on both sides. She handed it to Mary. "It isn't much—just some words I wanted to say."

Mary nodded, understanding. She tucked it into her jacket. "She'll be honored."

"I hope so. What will you do?" She looked at the younger couple.

Charlie blushed. "Once the paper is sold, Mary thinks we should start a pub. They could use a good 'un in this end of town."

Rebecca smiled. "A pub?"

"My Pa used to run one," Mary explained.

"But I was thinkin' of somethin' a bit more upscale," Charlie added. "A gen'lmen's club," he said proudly. "What do ye think?"

Alistair laughed, envisioning Charlie as the proprietor of such an establishment. It suited him, somehow. "You know, I think that sounds spectacular." He grinned and looked at his friend with a new respect. Then he remembered the task he'd set him to. "Did you find it?" he asked quietly.

Charlie frowned. "Turned the dern place upside down. Nothin'."

"It has to be there somewhere. We didn't find it in the apartment, either."

"It's big fer a fancy rock, but it's still small," Charlie said, a deep frown marring his features.

Alistair recalled the time he'd tossed the necklace across the cabin in the woods, and again when they'd hidden the gem in his jail cell. He felt uncomfortable leaving without it, but they couldn't wait. He shook off his worry. He'd survived for a long time without it; he could again. Besides, when one has a crutch, one tends to lean on it. He still had Rebecca. And now he had three gems. "You'll find it. Just send it on when you do."

"Right ye are, doc."

Alistair extended a hand. When Charlie took it, he pulled him in for a big bear hug. "We'll be in touch, Charles," he murmured.

"See that ye do, doc. See that ye do."

After they finished loading up the coach, which had been modified to more closely resemble a wagon in both function and form, Alistair stood uncertainly before it. He hated long good-byes. Besides, they needed to get going if they were going to slip out while it was still dark.

"I'm sorry we can't stay for the funeral," he murmured to his wife.

"It's okay. There will be too many people there. It wouldn't be safe," she said, slipping a hand into his. "Not with the questions that article raised. No, Kate would understand."

"Speaking of Kate, she made me promise something."

"What? When?"

"After you fell asleep that first night. A promise that, rather than mourn, we would remember her in a happier way."

"Of course, but—"

"With a dance in the moonlight."

Rebecca's mouth fell open. "A dance?"

He curled his arms around her. "A slow dance. Just the two of us."

Rebecca's eyes filled with tears. So like Kate. "Oh, Alistair, I really don't feel like dancing right now."

"I know. Not now. But we'll find the right time and place."

She nodded.

"Rebecca, we can never go back."

She looked around at the buildings, the city that had become home. He didn't truly mean the place, but their life there. It wasn't the first time she'd pulled up roots. It wouldn't be the last. But home was where the heart was. "I know," she said, and fingered the brown leather book in her hand. It caught his eye.

"What's that?"

"My journal."

"Ah, yes. Be sure you keep that somewhere safe, would you?" reminding her of the one she lost in Hillshire. "I don't think it would be good for anyone to come across it." He knew she'd written of him and some of their more personal interactions. She'd admitted as much.

"Actually, I'm hoping they will."

"What? No! It's too dangerous."

She opened it to the end. "Not necessarily. Take a look."

"Y-you want me to read your diary?"

"Kate tried to tell me earlier what to do. It took me until last night to figure out what she meant. Go ahead. Read it."

She watched the play of emotions on his face as he skimmed the last few pages—lots of frowns and raised eyebrows. Finally, he got to the very end. He snapped it shut, amazement on his face.

"Well? What do you think?"

"You killed me off?"

"For the sake of our future, yes. Given a few years, no one will know it isn't the truth. We could even change our names, if you want."

"I don't want."

"Okay, fine, but don't you see? If you're dead, no one will come looking for you. Written words are power. This sets you free, Alistair. It sets us free."

"Yes, but . . . couldn't you have done it in a different manner? I mean, being burned at the stake is so," he sought around for the right word, "uncivilized. This is New York, you know. Besides," he shuddered, "it's not exactly how I'd want to go. And the screaming? That's just not me."

She frowned and took it from him. "That was shouting. And it made me cry just to write it. And that's how people who are different have been treated down through the ages. It's completely plausible, if you think about it. The important thing is, by the time this is discovered, no one will know exactly what you are like—or who you really are. That's the beauty of it."

"If they did, they'd know I'd never let myself be tied up like that in the first place. You wrote that you—she—left me in the jail with the gem. Unless I picked it up on my way out—which I wouldn't have—as soon as I got far enough away from it, I'd beast out and escape."

"Beast out?"

"You know what I mean."

"Is that what you call it when we—"

He put a hand over her mouth. "You didn't write about that in here, did you?" He started flipping through the pages.

She laughed and shook her head. "But wouldn't that make some fascinating reading?"

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank God."

She took the small book back. "Don't worry so much about the details. This is the answer to all of our problems."

He wasn't so sure of that but willing to give it a chance—give them a chance. "Where do you plan to leave it?"

"Hmm. I haven't quite decided. We'll figure that out along the way."

He looked down at her. "You've written us a very sad ending, you know. I hope nothing like that ever happens in real life."

"It won't." She kissed him. "The good thing is, it's only a story . . . ."

He kissed her back, reluctantly letting go after only a few minutes. Dawn was coming. "Then let's load up."

Rebecca took one last look back at the street, the clinic, the dwelling they'd shared briefly. "I'm ready."

Just then voices could be heard rounding the corner of the alleyway. "Wait! Wait! We're coming!"

Isabella hurried forward. "They're here! Oh, please wait!"

"Who?" Rebecca turned. Her father rounded the corner more slowly, followed by her aunt. "Oh, my God. Papa! Aunt Helen!"

He came to stand before her. "Daughter. You don't have to do this because of me."

"Oh, Papa."

"At least think of your sister and your . . . my wife."

"Wife? What?" She looked over at Helen, whose blush was evident even in the moonlight. "How? When did this happen?"

"A few months ago. They wanted to surprise you," Isabella smiled as she handed Alistair several bags of children's clothing and toys.

"With you girls both grown up and on your own, we got lonely," Helen shrugged. "After all, I've known your father for a good portion of my life."

"I think it's wonderful," Izzy said.

"It would be more wonderful if you both were around to enjoy it with us," her father said stubbornly.

At Rebecca's look, Isabella turned to him. "Papa, I told you, they have an urgent need for doctors in the new settlements. It's a calling. We should be thankful men like Alistair are willing to go."

"I promise to write," Rebecca gushed, suddenly teary-eyed. "Oh!" she cried, suddenly remembering. "Come see!" She led them over to the coach and held a lantern to the sleeping children's faces.

"Oh, my darlings," Helen cried. "So precious!"

"Papa, meet Kathryn and Charles . . . your grandchildren."

Tears formed in his eyes. Unable to speak, he simply nodded and looked up at Alistair. "Please watch over them all."

"I will, sir. With my life."

Helen snuggled up to Rebecca. "In case you haven't noticed, we have our own little bundle of joy coming in the not-to-distant future," she said, and rubbed her belly.

Rebecca gasped. "Aunt? I-I mean—"

"You can continue to call me whatever you like, dear. But in about six months, you're going to have another little sister."

Rebecca covered her mouth.

Alistair leaned close and coughed, "It's a boy," he murmured, sotto voice.

She looked at him with big eyes.

"We'll call her Miriam, if it's a girl, after your mother, of course. And Robert, if it's a boy," her father said proudly.

"Of course, it's a girl. Just look at the way I'm carrying," Helen stated. "And no, not Robert. I thought we decided on Leighton."

"Robert is a family name," he argued.

"Yes, but you forget I've met your older brother, Robert, and I don't like him one little bit. I'm so glad you decided not to send either of the girls here to live with him. No. Leighton, it is."

They all laughed. Finally, Helen gave them both a squeeze. "I'm sorry. We didn't mean to keep you."

"Oh, not at all. I'm so glad you came. But I'm sorry, too. We do have a long ride ahead of us today."

"Then you must be on your way. Eldon, say your good-byes. We'll see each other again."

"Yes, indeed," Rebecca confirmed, still amazed. She stepped up to her father to embrace him.

He stopped her. "Can you ever forgive me?"

Her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Papa. I was just as stubborn. If you'll forgive me?"

"Deal." He hugged her.

"I love you so much!"

Finally, it was Chameleon's nervous prancing that made the decision for them. They separated, mounted up and waved good-bye just as dawn broke over the fog-blanketed city.

Three years later . . . .

"I'm so sorry I'm late." Alistair hung his jacket on the peg inside the door and hurried over to where Rebecca stood at the stove, stirring a large pot of soup.

"That's all right. Since I burned the first batch, I'm cooking another."

He slid his arms around her from behind. "That's not like you. Did something happen to . . . distract you?"

She breathed in deeply, loving the way he held her—his large roaming hands caressing and exploring. "I may burn it again. You're distracting me now."

He kissed her neck and reluctantly released her. "Sorry. Can't help myself. I missed you madly all day. Where are they?" he asked in a hushed tone.

"Playing quietly in their room until dinner," she said. "At least, that's the plan. How is the Simpson's son, by the way?"

"Better," he said, watching her stir the pot. "But he's going to be hurting for a while. I saved the leg, but the spike went all the way through."

"Ouch. Poor kid."

"A very unfortunate accident, but he's young and strong. I see stuff like that and wonder what all we'll have to deal with as our children grow."

"Well, kids will be kids. I'm sure we'll have our fair share of broken limbs to deal with. Good thing you're a physician. The local townspeople here are very lucky to have you. So am I."

"By the way." He handed her a cloth bag. "Here."

"What is this?" she asked, testing its weight.

He bit his lower lip. "My fee. Uh, the Simpsons were a little short on cash this month, I'm afraid. It's a . . . chicken."

Rebecca laughed and held it away from her. "Ugh." She took it over to the counter. "Well, we'll never get rich this way, but at least we won't starve. Hungry?" The look he gave her curled her toes and made her blush.

"I live in a constant state. And I'm not above chasing you around that table, if that's what it takes."

"Uh-huh. Not until after the kids are in bed. Which will be early again tonight, thankfully. You need to talk to your son."

"What's the matter this time?"

"I'm beginning to understand the term 'terrible twos,'" she said.

"Is that a reference to their age or number?"

"Probably both. Charlie broke one of Katie's favorite dolls—the fancy one you bought her for Christmas."

"Uh-oh. What were they fighting about?"

Rebecca cocked her head with an odd smile. "They were having a discussion about what they wanted to be when they grow up."

"Yeah?"

"Your daughter couldn't decide between railroad engineer, cowboy, or being a doctor like her daddy."

Alistair smiled. "That's my girl."

"Your son, on the other hand . . . wants to be a horse."

"What?!"

"Chameleon, to be exact. He adores him. So when Katie indelicately explained to Charlie why he couldn't be a horse, he threw a tantrum and knocked over her dolls—they were set up in a hospital scene—and broke the arm off one."

He frowned. "I'll get her a new one. A horse, huh? You don't think it's because—"

"No. Jess once confided to me that her little brother aspired to be a bow cannon when he was young. I suppose it's not so unusual. At least a horse isn't an inanimate object!"

"Or so potentially destructive. I'll talk to him."

"Thank you. And do try to encourage him to get along with his sister, would you? They are each other's only playmates, you know, and I'm tired of being policeman. It's too lonely out here to not get along."

His head came up. "We could do things to remedy that."

"No. It's too early yet. I'm not ready to get too close to the neighbors. The less contact, the better, I think."

"The children will eventually need to be schooled."

"I'm perfectly fine with homeschooling."

"The alternative, of course," he said, taking plates from her hands and setting them onto the table. He pulled her into his arms, "would be to have more children, you know. I'm all for making that happen."

Hot breath on her ear made her shiver. He slid his hands down her back and pressed her close. She couldn't help but groan. "Now, what did I tell you about never doing that again?"

"It's time, don't you think? And it wasn't that bad, was it? We're already doing that." Every night, every chance they got . . . .

"Mmmm." She half-heartedly tried to bat his hands away. "But you're not the one who has to look like she ate a few too many of Mrs. Marple's brown sugar dumplings."

He laughed and slid his hands along her slender form. "I love how you look, especially filled with my child. And you lost your baby weight a long time ago."

"And I finally have my figure back."

He coaxed her closer. "I want half a dozen more daughters with eyes like yours."

"And I wouldn't mind half a dozen more boys with eyes like yours."

"Good. Then it's settled. We'd better start practicing before you change your mind." He looked toward the bedroom.

Just then the door to the children's room opened. Jack barked a greeting and ran over to him. The children, almost as enthusiastic, followed closely behind.

Alistair gathered them both up and winked at her. Another time, perhaps, but soon, he silently promised her.

After dinner, bedtime story, and lights out, he joined her on the sofa in the living room with a cup of hot cider. "By the way, I have gifts for you today," he said mysteriously.

"What?"

"Letters." He pulled them out of his pocket. "I stopped by town on the way out. These were waiting."

Rebecca squealed. "From Izzy! And, oh! This one from England!" She handed that one to him to open.

"It's from Caleb," he read, frowning.

"You read that one and I'll read this one. Then we'll switch."

They read silently to themselves, but he was constantly interrupted by her giggles and soft exclamations. Finally, he couldn't take it any longer. "What does she say?"

"She's pregnant! They're expecting a summer baby. Oh, Alistair!"

"If you want to visit, we can do it."

Rebecca held the letter to her heart. "It would be lovely, but . . . I don't think so."

"Then invite her here. No one would need to know."

"Maybe. Ah, it's so good to hear from her. She seems so happy. And it looks like Papa and Helen are having quite the time with little Robert."

"How so?"

"He sounds like me when I was little: a poor sleeper, picky eaater. But she says Helen's never been happier, and my father, as well."

"That's good. Invite them all up."

"Someday. What does Caleb have to say?"

"He says things are going well. Bridgewood was sold again for a decent price. The people that bought it are interested in restoring it to its previous glory, whatever that means. All is going according to plan."

"Dear Caleb."

"Dear Caleb?"

"Well, you know what I mean. He's become a friend, of sorts."

"Of sorts is as far as it goes. This is business; that's all."

She batted his arm. "That wouldn't be a note a jealousy in your voice, would it, Mr. MacGregor?" She leaned over and pushed him back onto the padded arm of the sofa.

"Not me. But I'll thank him to address all his future correspondence to me, not you, Mrs. MacGregor. He still calls you Rebecca."

She shrugged. "We're old friends."

"As in past-tense. I'd like to keep it that way." He saw her far-away look. "What is it?"

"Just thinking about the moors around Bridgewood. Do you miss England at all?"

He shook his head. "I've fallen deeply in love with this brave new world and my even braver new wife. Wherever you are is my heaven. But what about you? Life here has been hard."

"It has been a cold winter."

"It won't last much longer, but we could always move closer to town. I hear there's a new library going in."

"I'm okay. I've grown to love it here. It's our sanctuary."

"It is, but I can't help feeling you were meant for more than this. I just don't want you to get bored."

"I'm definitely not bored. I have my hands full. Besides, one day the kids will be grown and we'll find other paths. In the meantime, I was thinking of doing some writing."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Not about you. Fiction."

"A novel? Mystery, perhaps?"

"Possibly, but I was thinking more along the lines of a good, old-fashioned romance."

"Ah." He pulled her close. "I can help with that."

"That's what I was hoping for. Um, Mr. MacGregor?"

"Yes, Mrs. MacGregor?"

"What's say we go tear up some sheets . . . ."

*The END-END*

A/N – Ah, dear readers, this has been an absolute joy to write and I was as reluctant as you to bring it to a conclusion. I just want to thank ALL of you who have read it and so thoughtfully engaged in this story with me, leaving comments, notes of encouragement, and even ideas. Somehow you inspired me to write an entire full-length novel in the space of a few months! I'm not very good at Twitter and don't have the time to vote as often as many of you do, but I hope you will consider this my little contribution to the fandom during this interminable hiatus. I read every single one of your comments and am so appreciative. And who knows? Perhaps there are other adventures in store for our new little Ralistair family…

By the way, some of your may have noticed an error I made in one of the recent chapters. Helen called Eldon her brother. He was her brother-in-law and was married to her sister, Rebecca's mother. Sorry about that—no incest here, lol!

Also, for those who don't know, I have a number of other BATB short stories. Please check them out!

P.S. I plan to take a short break, but as I've already teased, I have another VinCat story in the works ("Chimera"). You know it won't be too long before I start posting again. So check back often or follow me as an author on this forum and Twitter, and you'll get notifications when I do. Hopefully, by that time, we'll also be enjoying Season 3! XOXO