Chapter 37
15 July, 1941 Number 19 Strattondale, Poplar
He smiled warmly down at her.
"Hi, Daisy," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he used her assumed identity from the first (and second) time they'd met.
Dorcas felt herself flush, wondering if it was from his teasing or from the way his smile made her stomach clench.
She willed herself to move, stepping back and holding the door wide for Jack Hardin to enter. It was surreal to have a figment of her illicit escapades with Tom standing in her home at this moment.
Tearing her eyes away from his mesmerizing smile, she ran them over the rest of him as he entered, careful to conceal her survey of him from his notice.
Her heart sank lower, descending from her throat into her stomach when she noticed the olive drab uniform he wore.
"No!" she said, unable to prevent the word's escape on a sharp inhale.
"Is it a bad time? I can call again later," Jack turned and asked, misinterpreting her outburst.
"Jack, what did you do?" Dorcas cried. Unable to conceal her shock at his appearance. "Are you even old enough to join up?"
"Not strictly, no. But they were sure eager to take me," he said, smiling disarmingly as he removed his hat.
His hair was neatly combed, the same dark brown shade as Tom's–the same shade as their father's. The differences were few but noticeable. He was taller and broader than Tom. Dorcas knew he was two years older than Tom too, but his build had more to do with the work he'd spent his life doing. Tom was thinner, more lithe; not accustomed to physical labor. Her first impression upon meeting Jack was to think he had all of Tom's best and handsomest qualities with none of his temper or jealousy.
Dorcas hated that she found the uniform beguiling on him. She frowned.
"I'm sorry!" Jack said, sobering as he caught her look. "I didn't mean to upset you."
Dorcas became aware of her less than welcoming expression and replaced it with an approximation of a smile.
"Nonsense! I am happy to see you, Jack! It's a wonderful surprise."
She remembered her manners and offered him tea, gesturing to the sofa.
Dorcas was grateful for the distraction of bustling about in the kitchen to assess the situation.
Jack said he'd left his home in Little Hangleton soon after the death of his sister at the negligent hands of their drunken father. He wasn't sure where he was going or what his future would look like. But she also remembered that he longed for adventure and resented the small town he was tethered to while his sister was still living.
"Was that you I heard playing when I knocked?" Jack asked from the sofa.
Dorcas jumped at the sound of his voice and dropped a teaspoon, the clattering noise mocking her frazzled disposition.
She turned around and smiled, trying to recover her composure.
"Yes, I was just distracting myself," she said, blushing.
Why did she insist on turning a violent shade of red every time she spoke to him?
"Is there anything you can't do? You're a wonder, Miss Dorcas Clerey!"
The compliment caused her cheeks to burn brighter and she covered the humiliation of her shocking coloring by turning her back to arrange the tea things.
"There are a multitude of things I cannot do," Dorcas responded, bringing the tea into the sitting room.
"Unfathomable!"
He watched her as she laid out tea and biscuits.
Dorcas was aware of his eyes on her and the uncomfortable thudding of her heart. But she'd studied him when he entered her flat. At least she could be gracious enough to endure his inspection as well.
Her mind inventoried the hurried way she'd brushed and plaited her hair this morning, the inexpert way she'd rushed to pick out any old dress. She wasn't thinking about boys she'd like to impress when she'd gotten herself ready this morning. Not for the first time, she thought she might like to be a cool blonde like Anneliese or a fiery bombshell like Cherry.
She'd hadn't even bothered to put shoes on. She wiggled her toes self-consciously and sat beside Jack.
"It's good to see you, Dorcas."
When Jack said her name it sent a curious thrill up her spine.
"You too, Jack!"
There was a pause. She sipped her tea. He sipped his.
"How long are you in London?" Dorcas asked.
"I leave tomorrow morning for basic training."
Dorcas closed her eyes remembering his impulsive decision to join the war. "Right. Where will you go?"
He shrugged as he took another sip. "France, maybe somewhere in Africa. Who knows?"
Dorcas could tell he was exhilarated by the prospect of the exciting opportunities ahead of him. She couldn't push down a sense of foreboding. Her mind leapt to Cal who, months after receiving news that his brother was missing, didn't know if he was alive or dead. Would she be similarly wondering about Jack's fate months or years from now?
Her face must have shown her apprehension.
Jack set his tea down and took Dorcas's hand.
"I told you I wanted to leave that small town life, didn't I? I want to do something that gives my life meaning. I want to do my part, Dorcas. Please say you support me."
"Why do you need my support, Jack?"
He swallowed.
Dorcas noticed how his Adam's Apple darted into his collar as he deliberated his next words.
"Have you really no idea how I feel about you?"
"Me?" Dorcas asked in confusion. "You barely know me."
"I know enough to see how truly special you are. You knocked a man out cold with just words and a stick. I've never seen anything like it."
Dorcas remembered their first encounter when she'd stunned Morfin Gaunt. She was worried that Jack would tell others about her ability and bring the Ministry down on her head.
He hadn't.
"I know you put others before yourself. Even as my father tried to squeeze the life out of you, you begged Tom to save Verity first."
She thought of how recently Tom had called her selfless, but made it sound like a character flaw that he'd like to drill out of her.
"I know you're guileless. You couldn't even keep the pretense of your secret identity up for longer than an evening."
She crimsoned, realizing how much Jack had taken notice of her.
"So, yeah, your support would mean the world to me, Dorcas Clerey."
She was speechless. Had he just declared feelings for her? Did she reciprocate them? Her head began to swim with the momentous weight of it.
Jack reached a hand up to the back of his neck and rubbed it.
"I...I…" Dorcas stammered, wishing she was better with words. Cherry, always comfortable around boys, would have the perfect response. She would be witty and flirty and direct all at once. Dorcas wished she could channel her friend's confidence.
"Hey," Jack said, his hand squeezed hers with a gentle pressure. "I didn't mean to put you on the spot. I don't expect anything from you. I know you already have a sweetheart. But I couldn't leave without telling you what's in my heart. Even if you don't return my feelings, I want you to know."
He chuckled uneasily. Releasing her hand, he wrapped his fingers around his cap that lay across his knee.
"I paced the street in front of your building for nearly an hour talking myself into saying that."
"You did?" Somehow, the thought of him nervously mustering the courage to talk to her was the sweetest part of his whole confession.
"Yes," Jack said. For once, he was the one to blush. He twisted his uniform cap, wrinkling it. "I told myself that if losing Verity taught me anything, it was that life was short."
Dorcas's heart soared at Jack's words, but hearing Verity's name let the air out of it.
"I'm so sorry, Jack," Dorcas whispered.
He flinched slightly. The memory caused him pain. She saw in his thoughts that he'd made an effort up to this point not to mention her. He berated himself for bringing her up. He found himself mentioning her or thinking about her as if she were still with him.
The violent scene of Verity's death came into his mind. The shock of it caused Dorcas to inhale sharply. The lively girl she'd met on the night before the Riddles' anniversary party, whose face lit with a smile as if the whole world were humorous to her, was bleeding from a severe gash across her forehead. A shard of glass protruded from her neck. Dorcas watched in mute horror as Verity clutched at her neck, fighting to stem the flood, before quickly falling limp. She knew this would haunt Jack for the rest of his life: getting to her in the final few moments before she died, but not soon enough to save her.
Dorcas felt hot tears on her face. She didn't want to see the life drain away from the poor girl. She was frantic in her search for a way to make the horrific picture stop. How could she drive that scene out of Jack's mind?
Setting her teacup down with a clang, Dorcas grabbed the lapels of Jack's service jacket and kissed him forcefully.
She succeeded in wiping the memory of Verity's last moments from his thoughts temporarily and they became a sensory blur. Indulging in the feel of his lips as they crushed hers, his hands as they slipped around her waist, hers as they traveled over his chest, fingers tracing up his neck and threading into his hair. She pressed herself against him.
In Jack's mind, the nearness of her drove everything else away. Dorcas thrilled at the feelings he felt, feelings her touch inspired in him.
This was what Tom had wanted in order to forget what he'd read about Verity's death. He'd been right to assume that she could drive all thoughts of his lost sister from his mind. How much more would she give to Jack to make that nightmare she'd witnessed end?
Her hands left his hair mussed, even as she pressed her lips to his. A moan that sounded like her name escaped Jack and fed her boldness.
Her fingers found the buttons at the front of her dress and undid them one by one, exposing the white lace of the camisole she wore underneath.
"Dorcas, what are you doing?" Jack asked, pulling away from her. He watched, transfixed for a brief moment as she popped the third button from its buttonhole.
He didn't wait for her to respond, placing a hand over her busy fingers as they slipped another button loose, exposing the dip in her collarbone down to the sheer material of her undergarment. Dorcas saw her desire for him reflected in his own thoughts, even as he stopped her progress with the remaining buttons.
Dorcas hadn't registered his question at first. Then a series of emotions washed over her. Confusion, humiliation, rejection, shame.
"I thought you wanted to," she managed to say as she ducked her head to do up the front of her dress, hiding her face from him, embarrassed.
She'd clearly misread the signals. Did she even know what the signals were? She didn't have very much experience with what boys wanted, except for Tom.
He laughed nervously again and heaved a sigh. Placing a finger under her chin, Jack lifted her face to his, even as Dorcas tried to keep from meeting his eyes.
"Oh, I do, Dorcas! Believe me, I do! But not like this. Not now."
"Right," Dorcas said, as if she understood what he meant.
She hadn't a clue what he meant. She felt like a letch. Like she was trying to seduce him and steal his virtue. This may be the least similar she'd ever found him to be in relation to his half-brother. It bewildered her.
Jack cleared his throat and moved away from her slightly on the sofa. He ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it back into place, replaying every detail that he remembered of the brief encounter they'd just shared.
Dorcas buttoned the remaining two buttons on her dress and added a few more inches to the gulf between them.
"Will you play something for me?"
If it was only a reason to cover the awkward silence in the wake of their impassioned embrace, Dorcas didn't care. She seized on the invitation to move to the piano and fill the silence with music.
From memory, Dorcas played Irving Berlin's 'How Deep is the Ocean.'
Feeling slowly more easy and comfortable in Jack's presence, she let the music speak what was awkward for her to put into words.
For his part, Jack did not think badly of her for her misguided attempt at distracting his thoughts by throwing herself at him. Dorcas found that his mind returned to the scene, somehow interpreting her attentions as angelic and kind.
Dorcas couldn't understand how his mind made such a leap. She was thankful at least that he'd stopped her before she did anything more foolish. She wasn't sure if she'd have gone any further with him if he'd been willing. She knew she was blushing when she considered how she might have responded if, like Tom, Jack had slipped his hand under her dress. What if he'd pressed her into the sofa's back and let his lips trace kisses down her neck and lower?
Her mind was filled with the seductive suggestion of what if? It was a curious sensation that was foreign to her.
"How much do I love you? I'll tell you no lie. How deep is the ocean? How high is the sky?"
Dorcas's fingers froze, suspended over the keys. She'd done that mortifying thing she did sometimes in the library at school when she was deep in thought. She'd begun to sing without meaning to.
"Please don't stop," Jack urged. "That was enchanting."
She glanced at him and he winked at her. There was no resolve in her to argue when he did that. Comply. Give him whatever he wants, her heart shouted at her.
"How many times a day do I think of you? How many roses are sprinkled with dew? How far would I travel to be where you are? How far is the journey from here to a star?"
After a time, Jack made requests and Dorcas did her best to accommodate them.
The spell was broken when Jack pulled back the cuff of his shirtsleeve and looked at his watch.
"Do you have to go?" Dorcas said, her hands retreating into her lap.
"I have a meeting with a bank manager across town," Jack answered regretfully.
Dorcas stood, suddenly aware again that she'd been entertaining a guest barefooted like a savage.
"Please don't let me keep you," Dorcas replied. She heard the sad note her voice landed on and prayed he didn't pick up on it too.
Jack stood, placing his cap over his brown waves. The effect was dashing. Dorcas knew she would revisit this particular image of him over and over when she remembered him.
"Are you free tonight?" he asked hopefully.
It sparked a bright beam of promise in her chest.
"Yes," she answered, stepping forward in a manner that gave her eagerness away.
"May I take you on a date, Miss Dorcas Clerey?"
"Yes," she answered again, the bright rush of her response would be humiliating if the excited beating in her chest hadn't drowned out all other sensations but joy.
She walked with Jack the short distance to the door, leaning on it for support as she held it open for him. Her knees shook with the realization that Jack Hardin was taking her on a date tonight.
"I'll pick you up at six."
Jack took her hand in his and pressed his lips to her knuckles.
Dorcas felt another flip of her stomach at the feel of his lips against her skin once more. Would that sensation ever abate? She hoped not!
She watched him descend the stairs and leave her building with a final wave. Making herself wait, counting to twenty, she hurriedly slammed the door to her flat. She took the stairs two at a time, pounding on Betty's door at the third landing.
"Help me!" was all she managed to blurt out as Betty answered the door in a silk robe and curlers.
"Whatever is the matter, Dorcas?" Betty asked, panicked.
Dorcas pushed into her neighbor's flat. "I have a date tonight and I don't want to look like me at all!"
:::
26 November, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury
Dorcas woke up to the sensation of fingers stroking her brow.
Her eyes met Cal's as he moved hair out of her face.
"I didn't mean to wake you," he murmured from the pillow beside her. "It's getting late, though."
There was a light pressure against her chest as Wren shifted in her sleep. Dorcas had forgotten that she'd indulged her own selfish whim last night and allowed Wren to sleep between her and Cal. She hoped she hadn't just undone two years of training that habit out of her in one night.
But it felt wonderful to have her daughter back in her arms. And Ryann would be home in just two weeks. Her family would be complete again.
Nearly so.
She lifted one of the hands that rested on Wren's back to Cal's cheek, brushing her knuckles softly over the stubble as she reached his chin. He looked tired.
"Good morning," she replied, smiling as he caught her hand and kissed each of her fingertips.
"Shall we both take her to school this morning?" Cal asked
"Don't you have work?" replied Dorcas.
Cal shrugged the one shoulder that he wasn't lying on. "I can be late. I want to spend some time with my girls."
Dorcas wondered if, putting things another way, Cal didn't want her to be alone with Wren.
When he'd returned from Beau and Anneliese's yesterday, Wren crying hysterically in his arms and clutching her frightened kitten, Dorcas knew it wasn't the moment to ask Cal for a full accounting of the arrangement he'd made with the Haywoods.
She'd let it go because comforting their daughter was the bigger priority and because she was to blame for the scene that had triggered the meltdown to begin with.
"Is there some reason why Anneliese reacted the way she did yesterday? Is there something you're not telling me?"
Cal's response was to shift his pillow and rest a hand on his daughter's curly yellow head as she slept.
Dorcas's eyes narrowed. Cal had a terrible poker face. "There is! What did you say to her?"
Dorcas felt indignation rising in her. The humiliation of being denied the right to bring her own child home set off a wave of anger in her.
"Dorcas, I worried that struggling with the loss of Ben, the task of lifting false memories one by one, and caring for Wren on top of it all would be too much. That's why I asked Anneliese to watch her. She'd been doing it since your poisoning anyway."
"That doesn't answer my question. Why did Anneliese think it would be dangerous for me to take Wren home yesterday?"
Cal paused.
"When I found the potions you brewed hidden in the bathroom, I tried to talk to you about them. You became so angry at me for suggesting that you were abusing drugs. I knew you weren't viewing the situation from a rational perspective. I confided in Beau about what was happening with you. I wasn't thinking. It was stupid of me not to realize he would tell Anneliese."
There was a plea in his eyes. He was sorry to have caused this rift between Dorcas and Anneliese, and even more sorry not to have trusted her with their daughter. Dorcas didn't need him to voice any of that to know it. Cal was the kind of man who wore his feelings on his sleeve.
She didn't need to hear it from Cal. She needed Cal to hear her.
"I needed you to talk to me, Cal. If you were feeling that way, like you couldn't trust me, you needed to say it to me not to Beau and Anneliese. You think I'm unfit to care for my child. But I was lost, Cal! And I was alone! You left me alone! And then you judged me for getting through it the only way I could manage to get through it on my own!"
Wren stirred as Dorcas's voice rose.
Her throat tightened and cut off anything more that she could say in her own defense.
She swiped at the tears that had collected under her eyes and rubbed Wren's back.
Cal opened his mouth to respond, but paused.
Dorcas had heard it too. Someone was speaking from several rooms away, but inside the house.
Cal sat up, reaching for his wand.
Dorcas pushed herself into a sitting position as well, gently laying Wren beside her on the bed.
Cal put a hand up in front of her, signaling her to stay put.
She reached for her wand, kicking the covers off of her feet.
Watching Cal quietly open the door and disappear down the hallway, Dorcas lifted Wren into her arms, keeping her wand in her dominant hand, standing with a clear view of the door that Cal closed behind him.
Only four days ago she'd suspected Tom of trying to orchestrate her death. Would he brazenly enter her house to threaten her and her family? To what end?
Had Stephen Muybridge somehow escaped his bonds in Azkaban and come back to finish her off as he'd failed to do months ago?
Dorcas heard more voices, none of which sounded like shouting or arguing.
Was it someone Cal knew?
The voices didn't grow louder, but Dorcas could hear footsteps, as if someone were walking down the hall, nearing the place where she waited with her daughter.
The door opened a moment later and the relief on Cal's face loosened something that had gripped her chest tightly moments before.
"It was Dumbledore in the floo," he laughed, moving around the bed to reassure her with a kiss on the forehead.
"Jesus H. Christ!" Dorcas swore. "What did he want?"
"To speak to us both. He's coming over in an hour."
"Can't wait," Dorcas said dryly, carrying Wren back to her room to ready her for school.
The conversation with Cal and her wounded pride was suspended for the moment.
:::
"Can I fix you something, Clerey?" Cal asked as Dorcas wrapped her hands around a steaming cup of coffee.
He hovered over the stove, a spatula in his hand, ready for her order.
"Not hungry," Dorcas said sipping and staring at the snow-covered veranda and back yard.
How long would they have to walk this careful line, neither one daring to say something that impugned the other, while both needing some concession from the other? If Cal knew how to move beyond the trials of this past autumn, she wished he would share it with her.
She definitely owned the responsibility for their moments of awkward distance. She tried not to constantly play the aggrieved party. She knew Cal had suffered her neglect and maybe a little outright cruelty. Dorcas may not have judged him as a bad husband and father, but sometimes maybe a negligent one.
But she felt constantly pinned against the ropes with no space to fight her way forward. She sometimes felt as if there was no point in trying to fight. Her heavy hands could fall to her sides and she could be still and wait for the fatal blow.
Still, her own self-preservation–that little voice that sounded like her mum–derided her for those thoughts. Mary-Ellen's daughter wasn't a quitter. Dorcas Clerey was a fighter.
She had Wren back. That was something she could focus on. Something to fight for.
She had Ryann.
Stephen Muybridge was in prison. She would fight to see that charges against him for Ben's murder stuck.
She would locate Gwen Stanley.
The slow process of undoing the damage that Tom Riddle had done to her would take more time. It would take more fight perhaps than she had in her, but she would fight.
Because to give up would be to disappoint everyone who believed in her.
And, though she didn't know how she'd managed it, she still had Cal. And that counted for a lot.
He slid a plate of eggs and toast in front of her.
"Eat!" he ordered, as if she was Wren in a defiant mood.
"I love you, Cal," Dorcas said.
It wasn't in reference to something he said. It wasn't in answer to a question, or a continuation of a conversation. But it was a tether between the uncertainty that Dorcas couldn't put words to and the most constant truth of her being.
She loved him.
Never perfectly.
But, if he wanted perfect, he wouldn't have pursued her, she reasoned.
The words hung in the air.
Dorcas couldn't see Cal's face. If he reacted, it had been while his back was to her, tidying up the breakfast dishes.
She sipped her coffee and was content. There was no need for a response. She knew she was loved in return. Cal told her often enough.
Still cold from the walk to and from Wren's school, Dorcas bolted the eggs and the coffee and stood up to clear her dishes away.
A hot shower would help melt the ice from her stiff joints.
Cal's arms wound around her waist when she pushed her chair in.
"I never tire of hearing that, my sweet wife!"
He took the plate from her hand, kissing her neck. It was good that the plate was safe in his grip. Dorcas was sure to have dropped it when the feel of his lips eroded her.
"Fancy a hot shower?" Dorcas asked.
Cal laughed, his breath raising gooseflesh on her skin. "A long hot shower sounds wonderful!"
"Not too long, though. We've got detention with Dumbledore, remember?"
His groan of longing turned into one of petulance. "I forgot."
:::
Cal stood before her with a towel wrapped around his waist.
Another towel was in his hand, which he raised to dry her off. He tenderly patted one arm and then the other, bending to dry her legs and feet as well.
Finally, he wrapped her up in his warm embrace, kissing her forehead.
"Can I confide something in you?" Cal said with his lips hovering on her skin.
"Anything," Dorcas said, nestling her face into the space below his chin.
She heard him swallow. What was he afraid to tell her?
Her hands ran the length of his bare torso, before they laced together behind his back.
"I had to choose between saving you and saving our baby."
Dorcas nodded.
She'd seen the torment every night that he sat with her by her hospital bed. He replayed the nightmare over and over.
"I already told you, I wanted you to save him first. It's okay, Cal."
"No," he cut her off.
She listened to him with one ear to his chest. His deep voice vibrated against her cheek.
"No, I chose you, my love."
"What do you mean?"
"If I cut you open to save Ben, your heart would have been too weak to survive the procedure. I treated you first. Your poisoning. So that you would be strong enough to survive the surgery. It was only seconds before the antidote could take effect. But it was seconds that Ben might not have had."
"What are you saying?" Dorcas asked, lifting her head and tipping it back to look at him.
"I had a choice and I chose you," Cal confessed. His voice trembled as he gave life to the awful truth.
"Did you know that Ben would die when you made the choice?" she asked.
Cal shrugged. "The nerve damage was too severe. He probably would not have survived either way."
Dorcas unlaced her fingers and stroked his back.
He continued. "But the probably is what kills me, my love. Probability is not certainty."
Dorcas hugged him to her. If she could absorb the guilt he felt over the decision he'd made she would.
"Maybe that's why I hunted Muybridge with Fabian and Gideon all those nights. Maybe I thought it would be a way to make up for abandoning my little boy. I'm sorry I left you alone when you needed me. I'm sorry I wasn't there and you felt you had no other choice but to turn to substances."
"I'm done with that, Cal. I dumped them all. I don't have any potions left. You don't have anything to be guilty for. You made a choice that you have to make over and over again as a healer. You save those you can. And do your best to save the rest."
Cal leaned down and Dorcas met his lips with hers.
He said, "Love is a choice, and I choose you. I will always choose you."
:::
15 July, 1941 Number 19 Strattondale, Poplar
Every moment that passed between Jack's departure and the promise of his arrival at six made Dorcas question herself.
Did the confession he'd practiced on the street in front of her building really amount to feelings of regard? Had the kiss they'd shared really happened at all? Had he intended to ask her on a date when he really meant to suggest a more platonic visit?
Was the dress too much? The shoes and the makeup and the hair too heavy handed?
She'd never felt these kinds of nerves because of a boy before. Yes, she'd dated Tom, if you could call it that. Their relationship now seemed like a convenience rather than a romance.
This was uncharted territory.
Unable to set a course for herself, she'd turned to the closest expert on hand, barging into Betty's flat and disturbing her sleep.
Her only stipulation to Betty had been to make her look different–not like Dorcas.
Betty sat her down and asked questions about the boy to get a sense of what he was like and where he might be taking her.
It hadn't occurred to Dorcas to ask where they might go on their date tonight. In speaking with Betty, Dorcas realized that there were different date activities and, therefore, different attire for each.
This caused her head to spin. How could she decide on the perfect dress when she didn't even know what side of the spectrum to start on? Casual or formal?
"He sounds handsome," Betty purred. "I want to meet this boy. Any chance you could bring him by the club tonight?"
"Are you performing?" Dorcas asked. The notion that a moral support could be on hand to let her know what she was doing right and wrong was very appealing. "Could we even get in?"
"Well, your fella sounds like he could pass for legal age if he fooled the recruiters. You on the other hand…" Betty pretended to consider and then grinned. "I'll square it with Pete. He'll be on the door tonight."
Dorcas smiled, relieved.
"Then that settles what you'll wear. Cocktail dress."
"What is that?" Dorcas was curious. Dresses and accessories and dates and clubs were like a foreign language to her.
"Well, it's what a lady wears when she's going to a show or dancing with her fella. It's not formal, but it's not a going-to-the-pictures casual dress either."
"Oh," Dorcas said, trying to conjure this dress style in her mind's eye.
Betty shifted dress after dress aside in her closet. She made a few selections and laid them out on the pink chenille counterpane of her bed.
"Red, blue, or green? Do you have a preference?" Betty asked.
Dorcas thought of the emerald green that Gemma always wore to parties. The effect on her was stunning. Dorcas didn't have her dramatic green eyes or her society manners to compliment such a look. She remembered the dress that she wore to the Christmas party last year and the favorable reaction it seemed to elicit from Tom. But she also remembered the reaction it had inspired in Evlyn Rosier.
"Blue," Dorcas answered. Not really a preference, but it matched her eyes at least.
"Try this on," Betty commanded, unhooking a sapphire colored shantung dress from its hanger.
Dorcas unbuttoned her dress and then pulled her arms out and let the worn cotton fall from her hips to the floor. As the dress pooled around her bare feet, she inwardly cringed again at the way Jack had found her this morning. She hoped that Betty's efforts tonight could erase the bumpkin impression she'd made on him earlier.
Betty helped Dorcas to slip the garment over her head and zip it.
It had a gentle scooped neckline and a capped sleeve. A pretty silver appliqué in the shape of a flowery vine cascaded down one shoulder. Dorcas spun in Betty's mirror feeling prettier by the second, feminine, but not flashy. The back dipped to the center of her spine, exposing a hint of shoulder blade.
"What size shoe are you, sweetie?" Betty asked. She didn't wait for an answer before retrieving a pair of silver pumps from her closet and bending to slip them onto Dorcas's bare feet.
"We just need to sort out a purse and you'll be all set," Betty said, smiling beatifically.
Now it was ten minutes to six and Dorcas's butterflies threatened to set off a typhoon in her stomach.
She paced her small sitting room questioning the dress, the hair, the shoes, the lipstick. Would Jack find her laughable? She felt like the butt of a joke anyway: a plain girl playing dress up in her pretty neighbor's closet.
A knock on the door caused a sudden lurch in her stomach.
He was early.
She closed her eyes and sucked in a long, steadying breath, opening the door.
Her mind went blank. She didn't remember how to say words.
Standing in her doorway was Jack again. He was still in his uniform, still devastatingly handsome.
Dorcas could only hear her blood rushing to her head, feel the thump of it in her chest, the flush of it on her cheeks.
"Oh my stars, Miss Clerey!" Jack said, stepping back as if to get the full effect of her aspect. "You are beautiful!"
Words came easily to him, whereas she could think of nothing to say.
She smiled stupidly instead.
"I got you this," Jack added, holding out a small bunch of white flowers.
Dorcas continued to smile, not understanding what she was meant to do with them.
"Thank you," she said, holding the delicate flowers in her palm.
Jack's smile widened. "It's a corsage, Dorcas."
"Oh," Dorcas answered, feeling foolish. She was supposed to know what that was, but didn't.
"Allow me," Jack offered, taking the sweet smelling flowers and fastening them to her wrist with a satin ribbon.
"Gardenias," Dorcas added, the word coming to her suddenly. They were included in the ingredient list of some potions she'd brewed in first year Potions class. "They're beautiful, Jack."
Dorcas tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach as his fingers grazed her wrist.
"A pale reflection of the wearer," Jack responded poetically.
"Is your mother home? I'd like to meet her."
"No. She won't be home until tomorrow," replied Dorcas.
Jack nodded. Dorcas could tell in his mind that he wondered about her safety in this flat all by herself.
She was tempted to respond in defense of her mother and her own independence, but thought better of it.
"Next time, then." Jack concluded. "Shall we?"
"Where are we going?" Dorcas wondered.
"Are you hungry? I thought I would take you to dinner and then somewhere we could hear some music, or maybe dance. I don't know the city all that well, though."
"I know it," Dorcas said. "And my neighbor sings at a club near here. She wants me to bring you by, if that's alright."
"That's swell." Jack offered her his arm.
On the way to the restaurant Jack questioned her on a lot of different topics. He was curious about the balance her family had struck between living in the Muggle world and practicing magic. He couldn't refer to himself or anything non-magical as Muggle without laughing at the word.
"Do you carry your wand with you everywhere? Will you get into trouble using it out in the open?'
Dorcas raised the silver clutch that Betty had loaned her. "I am armed, Jack Hardin. Beware."
"Consider me warned. I saw how you laid Gaunt out on the ground with just a word. Don't worry! I won't cross you."
"I actually did get into trouble earlier this month. Tom and I. My uncle fell onto the Underground tracks and we had to use magic in front of Muggles to save him. Well, Tom did. I stood there like an idiot," Dorcas explained.
She'd not paused to consider how she missed her friend since she cut him out of her life the last time she saw him.
"Thank God for Tom!" Jack replied. "How did you two get into trouble?"
"Well, the Ministry can trace minor witches and wizards. They also monitor magic in Muggle areas."
"There are Muggle and Wizarding areas?" asked Jack in amazement. "There's a Ministry?"
"Yes," Dorcas confirmed. "Would you like to go to a Wizarding area?"
Dorcas was eager to show Jack more of her world. She pointed to the Underground entrance.
"You take the tube to get to the magical London?"
Dorcas laughed. "No. You take the tube to get to Charing Cross."
He peppered her with questions the entire way to their destination.
Up on the street, Dorcas took Jack's hand and led him to a row of storefronts. A bookshop stood to one side and a record store on the other, with the grimy pub that served as the gateway to Diagon Alley between the two.
"But this is a record store," Jack observed a little dispiritedly.
"No," Dorcas argued. "Between the bookshop and the record store."
Jack furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?"
"Muggle!" she teased and pulled him toward the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron.
"Wait, Dorcas!" Jack said, forcing her to a stop again. "If you got into trouble for using magic to save your uncle, what will they do to you for bringing me into their community?"
Dorcas shrugged. "Nothing."
"Are you sure? I don't want you to get into trouble on account of me."
Again, the differences between him and his half-brother smacked Dorcas in the face.
"Come on," she said, tugging him behind her.
Her nervousness was completely gone now and she wondered at how quickly she had fallen into the ease of companionship with him.
They crossed the Leaky Cauldron, heading for the alleyway beyond that served as the entrance to the Wizarding streets of London.
She felt Jack lag behind as he slowed to absorb the various sights that Dorcas now took for granted.
"That drink just poured itself," Jack muttered in amazement.
"Nonsense," Dorcas argued. "That wizard enchanted the bottle to do that."
"Spectacular!" Jack replied.
Dorcas laughed. "Rube!"
In the alleyway, Dorcas took her wand from her bag and tapped the bricks on the wall. As the masonry folded itself back like curtains opening onto a stage, she heard Jack suck in a breath.
She'd come this way often enough to look upon the scene as mundane and ordinary, but of course it wasn't. Dorcas remembered feeling the exact same way that Jack felt when she first came here with her mother after receiving her Hogwarts letter.
The shop fronts were a riot of colors, there was so much movement, so many odd assortments of objects, one would wish to grow a dozen eyes just to take it all in.
"I thought the pub was what you wanted to show me. There was enough enchantment in that tiny taproom to fill my wildest dreams. I don't even know what to make of all this!" Jack stammered, staring at Diagon Alley with wide eyes.
They visited a sweet shop and Eeylops Owl Emporium. Dorcas explained how owls delivered post while they shared a bag of Every Flavor Beans.
Jack choked on one. "These are not very good, Dorcas."
"You probably just got a bad one, earwax or something," she laughed.
"Why don't your letters come to me by owl?" he wondered, the foul-tasting candy pulling the corners of his mouth into a frown.
"How would it look to have owls arriving in the daytime with letters in their talons?"
"Fair point," he conceded.
"Hecate's hellfire! What are you doing here dressed like that, child?"
Dorcas froze, the smile on her face slipping as she turned toward the shrill voice of her aunt.
"Aunt Eden," Dorcas said in a small voice.
She didn't know why she suddenly felt chastened as if her aunt had found her somewhere she had no right to be, dressed only in her underclothes. She was dressed in a normal amount of clothing and had just as much right to be here as her aunt did.
To make the scene perfectly miserable, Gemma emerged from the stationery shop just behind her mother, a sneer spreading across her face as her eyes landed first on Dorcas then on her Muggle companion.
"Are you here unchaperoned? Does your mother never mind you at all?" her aunt raged. "Your uncle is going to hear about this!"
Aunt Eden couldn't possibly have said anything more threatening.
"Hello," Jack offered, extending his hand to Eden. "I'm Jack Hardin."
Passers by were craning their necks curiously as they strolled past. Eden's loud voice drew as much attention as Jack's Muggle army uniform.
Eden looked at the hand that was attached to her niece's Muggle friend as if it was dangerous. She stepped back. Her attention turned once again to Dorcas as if Jack hadn't spoken at all.
"What are you thinking, bringing him here? Their sort do not belong! This isn't some curiosity shop where magical people are gawked at!"
"You're a continual embarrassment," Gemma added, taking in Dorcas's attire, eyes landing on the corsage. Her eyebrow lifted.
My, my! You do have a very specific type, don't you, whore? Gemma thought as her eyes studied Jack. The long list of similarities that he shared with Tom were not lost on her. I wonder if Tom knows about this newest conquest? her mind questioned.
Dorcas tried to steady her breathing and think of a way out of this mess.
"Hey," Jack bristled. "I don't know who you are, but that's no way to speak to her."
Gemma didn't flinch. "I'll speak to her however I want, filth!"
"I suggest the two of you get back to your part of London. It's not safe here for someone like him, Dorcas," Eden hissed.
Eden and Gemma turned to go, Gemma casting one final look back over her shoulder at the two of them. She was already planning the words she would write in letters to her friends about Dorcas and her new punter. She's slumming it with Muggles now! How delicious!
Dorcas watched them go with a sense of foreboding. Her uncle would not be happy with her freely associating with any boy while her mother was away. Being Muggle didn't come into it.
And if Gemma told Tom what she'd seen…
Dorcas didn't want to ponder those consequences.
"Come on," Dorcas said to Jack. "I'm hungry. Muggle London has better food anyway."
:::
"I can tell that something happened back there on Wizard Street," Jack said. He was walking casually beside her on the sidewalk after their meal.
Dorcas noticed little things that began to add up to growing esteem for him, like the way he'd guided her from his right side to his left as they walked so as to place himself between her and the traffic on the street. The way he'd scolded Gemma for calling her an embarrassment, though he didn't even know who she was.
She laughed at his fictionalized take on the Wizarding world he'd experienced, as if there was no way to reference it in reality.
"Diagon Alley?"
"Diagonally," he repeated, running the name together.
"I'm sorry about that. Some witches and wizards have some rather conservative views about magical and non-magical people mixing in company."
"Oh, I don't mean about the snobbery toward me. I'm a stable boy, Dorcas. I'm used to the upper crust looking down on me. It doesn't bother me. I mean something happened back there with your family. They were your family, right? Your aunt? And a cousin, I'm assuming?"
He slipped his hand into hers.
"Yes. My mother's sister-in-law and her daughter."
"That's a fine way to talk to the person who saved her father's life, calling you an embarrassment!" Jack said with a steely edge to his voice.
"What?" Dorcas asked, confused.
"You said that you and Tom saved your uncle from a train's tracks. You two got into trouble for it, too!"
"Oh!" Dorcas realized belatedly that Jack didn't realize she had two uncles. "No. My mother has two brothers. Her older brother is married to Eden. Father to Gemma. My mother's younger brother is the one that fell. He lives with us– lived with us," Dorcas corrected.
"Why doesn't he live with you anymore?"
"My Uncle Morty has fits. His mind was injured when he was a boy. He's not getting better. My Uncle Lysander made my mum take him to a hospital. He said I wasn't safe around him anymore."
"What does your mum say?"
"She didn't agree with him at first. But in the end, she gave in because he threatened to take me away from her. She took him to a hospital in Cardiff this morning."
"That's why she won't be back until tomorrow."
Dorcas nodded and watched her feet as they walked. She thought talking about Morty might make her cry and she tried to fight it. She had no idea how Betty had done her makeup and wouldn't be able to fix it if it began to run.
There was silence as they continued on.
"I guess no family is perfect," Jack said, considering his own family's drama that had gotten so untenable that he'd left them.
They reached a smokey side alley with music pouring out of the door. A large man stood to the right of the door dressed all in black.
"Are you Pete?" Dorcas asked, grateful for their arrival and a change of topic.
The large man nodded.
"We're friends of Betty Balfour," Dorcas said when it became clear that he wouldn't speak.
"Dorcas and Jack?" the man finally asked.
"Yes," she replied.
He didn't say anything else, gesturing to the open door.
Jack's arm slipped around her waist and they entered together. He smiled.
"Verity would have loved this place!" he said. There was no hint of sadness in his voice, just fond memories flooding his mind of his lively sister who dearly loved music and dancing.
"She spoke about Tom often. Loved dancing with him. Did he tell you that she wrote to him sometimes?"
Dorcas wished she was still on speaking terms with Tom. He'd want to know that Verity had remembered him kindly.
"He mentioned it."
"She called him little brother!" Jack laughed.
Dorcas laughed too. "He would have hated that!"
"I remembered with fondness the dancing partner I had too," Jack added. There was a mischievous spark in his eye that warned Dorcas that he was going to insist on dancing.
"But you must have forgotten my two left feet," Dorcas protested.
"Balderdash, Clerey! I dreamed of the day I would have you in my arms again. We're doing this!"
He pulled her out onto the floor as the band played a tune that seemed too fast for her to keep up with. Jack was a strong leader. After a while, Dorcas learned to relax and follow.
"Tell me about the school you go to," prompted Jack.
Dorcas worried that concentrating on his questions and what her feet were meant to be doing might be too much for her uncoordinated mind and body.
"Well, there's four houses. Every student is sorted into one of them on the first evening they arrive."
"Who decides where the students are sorted?"
Dorcas smiled, anticipating how odd her answer would sound. "There's a hat that looks into your thoughts and reads your talents. It decides and then shouts its choice. Some students are sorted right away. Some take a bit longer to figure out."
"What? The hat shouts its choice? The hat can talk?"
"Yes, of course," Dorcas said as if this was not an unusual detail.
"Did it take a long time with you?"
"Well, yes. It said that I had the qualities to fit into any of the houses. So the choice was really up to me. I picked my mum's house in the end."
"What are the qualities of the houses?"
"Gryffindor is for the brave, Hufflepuff for the faithful, Slytherin for the cunning, and Ravenclaw for the curious."
"I agree with the talking hat on all points except for the Slitherings."
"Slytherin?"
"That's what I said," Jack joked.
"You don't seem like the cunning sort. There's a bit of selfishness in that word," he added.
"Well, you really can't put a lot of stock in the house traits. There's all kinds of students in each of the houses for different reasons. My cousin is in Slytherin. One of the kindest people I know."
"That evil snob from Magic Town? Now I believe the hat got it right there," Jack argued.
Dorcas was tickled by the misunderstanding.
"No! She's Slytherin all the way through! I mean her brother, Jonas. He's one of my best friends. And Tom is also in Slytherin."
Jack nodded, taking in all of the information.
"Well, don't leave me in suspense!" Jack said, twirling her on the dance floor.
"About what?"
"What house did you choose?"
"Oh! I'm in Ravenclaw," answered Dorcas.
"Yep, I would have guessed that one. You're a smart girl. That or Gruffledor."
Now he was just doing it to make her laugh.
"The brave ones?" She thought of Cherry and Cal and Darren. She was probably more Slytherin than Gryffindor.
"Yeah. Why not?"
Dorcas considered how the Sorting Hat would have placed Jack. He would have been declared Gryffindor before the brim of the old brown hat touched his head.
Before she realized it, her hand rested on his chest in a gesture that was too fond, too familiar. She began to pull away, embarrassed.
Jack caught her hand and pressed it to him before she could remove it.
"You're brave. And smart, and faithful. And beautiful," he said. "And only cunning in the way you stole my heart when I wasn't looking."
Dorcas inhaled at the unexpected statement. So she hadn't conjured the confession he'd made earlier. He actually had told her he cared for her.
The music slowed as Dorcas felt Jack's arm around her waist tighten and pull her closer.
"I know I shouldn't have said that. You already have a sweetheart. You're with Tom. Verity told me."
"I'm not," corrected Dorcas.
"In the letter he wrote to Verity…"
Dorcas shook her head. "We were together for a few months. But I broke it off."
"Why?" Jack asked.
Dorcas's mind raced with explanations that could gloss over truths she'd rather not tell this perfect boy. She didn't want to explain that Tom left her to deal with two harassers and wouldn't even speak in her defense. She didn't want to reveal Tom's conduct on the train home from school. Didn't want to repeat his part in her uncle being sent away.
Jack was still Tom's family and Dorcas didn't want Jack thinking badly of him.
"It's okay. You don't have to answer. It was an impertinent question."
"We're just better as friends," Dorcas offered.
"Well, I'm not sorry," Jack said. "I don't know Tom very well, but I can tell he's not right for you."
"No," she agreed.
She didn't know at all who was right for her. But she did agree with that statement, felt it as a deep certainty within her.
Maybe Jack was the right one. But he was leaving in the morning. She wondered if she would ever see him again after tonight.
Perhaps it was the realization that tonight was all that existed for them that loosened some resolve within.
"Don't go, Jack. Tell them your real age. Don't go away tomorrow."
She could see in his eyes as they widened that he hadn't expected this rushed request. He appeared to consider her words for an agonizing moment.
"I wish I could stay, angel. But I can't let other people fight for me when I'm perfectly capable of pitching in. We all have to do our bit for king and country, right?"
Dorcas felt as if the answer was a rejection. She'd raised herself up on her tiptoes to make it possible to look him right in the eye as she pleaded. She fell back on her heels in disappointment at his response.
Selfishly, Dorcas wished that every other girl's sweetheart would go to the front ahead of Jack. He didn't realize just how much of a Slytherin she could be when she wanted to.
"Kiss me and tell me you understand, Dorcas," demanded Jack, with a gentle squeeze of her waist.
She rocked back up onto her toes without another thought and brushed her lips lightly against his.
Releasing her hand that rested on his chest, he captured her lips, pressing her tighter to him with a firm grip at the back of her neck. She knew he was undoing the work that Betty had put into her hair, but she didn't care.
As Jack deepened the kiss, Dorcas's mind traveled over other possibilities. She entertained the thought of unbuttoning his shirt and running her hands over his bare chest. Envisioning his strong hands lifting her up and wrapping her legs about him.
She was brought back to the present abruptly when she heard hoots and shouts around her. Opening her eyes, she noticed that the other dancers had stopped to stare and to cheer them on.
Dorcas pulled away from Jack, placing her hands on her flaming cheeks in mortification.
"On that note, ladies and gentlemen, this next song is dedicated to young love. Grab your gal and do like the kiddies do!" Betty laughed from the stage, microphone in hand.
The dancers around them laughed and cheered and kissed.
"I'll be seeing you in all the familiar places," Betty sang.
"That this heart of mine embraces all day through,
In that small cafe, the park across the way,
The children's carousel, the chestnut trees, the wishing well,
I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day,
In everything that's light and gay,
I'll always think of you that way,
I'll find you in the morning sun,
And when the night is new,
I'll be looking at the moon,
But I'll be seeing you."
:::
26 November, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury
Dorcas sat at her dining room table across from her old Transfiguration teacher.
"It's not Ryann is it, professor? Is she in trouble?"
Cal poured coffee for the three of them and took the seat to Dorcas's right.
"Ryann is never in any trouble." Dumbledore smiled and sipped from his steaming mug.
"Oh. So it's about the memories you're collecting?" Dorcas guessed.
"Partly," Dumbledore answered. "Partly because Cal has told me some concerning things."
Dorcas's mind traveled over their very recent discussion of her substance abuse. Cal couldn't be a traitor like that. Not to her. Not with Dumbledore.
She looked at Cal.
"I told him about your memory on the Astronomy Tower, Dorcas."
"Cal, that wasn't for you to share," Dorcas responded. Her voice felt low and shaky. She didn't want the world knowing the abuse she'd suffered at the hands of the boy she thought she loved.
"Dorcas, I thought Dumbledore might be able to shed some light on it. Obviously, the person in the best position to tell us why is Tom. But as he will probably prove uncooperative if asked, I went to Dumbledore. He's been watching Tom and gathering information on him. It might have something to do with your tampered memories."
"And it might not, Cal."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "If I may. Dorcas, you know Tom better, I think, than anyone else alive. Tell me, do you think he does anything on a whim or without purpose?"
"No," Dorcas responded instantly. "He's always been very deliberate and calculated."
"Why would he deal violence to you? You are no threat to him."
Dorcas bristled.
She thought about the look of pleasure in his eyes when he'd snapped her wrist. Power. He was always motivated by power. Those who had it wanted more. They wanted to take it away from others. To consolidate it.
"I am only as threatening as my power to read minds."
"And what was the first thing Tom Riddle ever wanted from you?"
"My power."
So, whatever Tom was up to now that had drawn such scrutiny from Dumbledore was her fault. She'd given him her powers. It hadn't even taken very much convincing on his part.
"I'd like to see the memory if you're willing to share it." Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles at her.
Once she would have hated that look. But she was coming to regard Dumbledore as a grandfather of sorts. She'd already resolved to help him in whatever way he required. But she did not love the idea of Dumbledore witnessing her childhood torment any more than she had liked Cal seeing it.
"One more thing, Dorcas," Dumbledore asked, raising a palm to her as she pushed her chair back to retrieve the memory from the cabinet in her office. He pulled two memory phials from a pocket in his robes.
"Who was the boy in this memory?"
Dorcas thought back to the memories she'd given Dumbledore a few days ago.
His finger rested on the one that was labeled as her meeting with Morfin Gaunt.
"Which boy?" Dorcas asked, knitting her brow together in confusion.
"A Muggle boy interrupted Gaunt as he was threatening you. He came between the two of you before you stunned Gaunt."
Dorcas nodded. She remembered him.
"That was Tom's half-brother, Jack Hardin," Dorcas explained.
Dumbledore nodded as Dorcas enlightened him. "That explains the uncanny resemblance. I confess that I am shocked at discovering Tom had a sibling."
"Two, actually. Jack had a younger sister, Verity."
"And where are Jack and Verity now?" Dumbledore asked.
"Verity died in 1941 in a car crash. It was in the paper," Dorcas explained.
"And Jack?"
Dorcas shrugged. "Where are most boys of his generation? Buried in a field somewhere in France."
She pushed her chair back and stood to retrieve the memory that Dumbledore wished to see.
It was strange to recollect Jack and Verity Hardin. She hadn't thought of them in years.
:::
16 July, 1941 Number 19 Strattondale, Poplar
Dorcas begged Jack to stay with her that night. She couldn't bear the thought of parting with him following his declaration of affection. She wanted more time with him. She wanted forever.
But they only had five hours.
She offered Morty's vacant room and promised that she would behave like a proper lady and keep to her own room. Just the thought of him sleeping under the same roof as her calmed her fears about saying goodbye tomorrow.
But she couldn't find sleep knowing that he was just down the hall from her. Her fingers were restless to touch him. She couldn't be comfortable if he wasn't next to her.
She did what she promised she wouldn't do. She crept barefooted down the hall to her uncle's room and turned the doorknob slowly and gently, knowing that the door would creak if opened too suddenly.
The sounds of his breathing, deep and peaceful told Dorcas that he was asleep. He was partially covered by a sheet, revealing his muscled torso and arms; one was flung over his face, shielding his eyes from the ambient light of the city. Light blue boxers peeked out of the sheet, riding high on his left thigh.
Dorcas carefully spread herself out beside him, watching in the dim light for any reaction from him as she slipped her hand under the sheet and across his stomach. She rested her head against his chest and tucked her feet into the hem of her nightgown.
A moment later, Jack did startle, waking Dorcas before she'd fully drifted off.
"I thought I'd dreamt of your touch. But you're really here," he observed sleepily.
"I'm sorry! I know you didn't want me to," Dorcas began.
"Hush. I do want you. I want you so much!" Jack said, kissing her forehead. "You're going to make it impossible for me to leave in the morning."
Dorcas nodded against his chest. "I'm trying to, anyway."
Jack laughed. And wrapped his arms around her.
His mind was filled with the kinds of things he'd dreamt of doing with her. Dorcas listened, knowing that she wanted to do those things too. But not tonight. She just wanted to be next to him, to memorize his touch and the sound of his breathing, and the warm and summery smell of him.
Because tomorrow he will be gone.
When tomorrow came, Dorcas emerged from sleep trying to hold onto the night before like mist disappearing before the sun.
Jack was pulling his trousers on and tucking in his shirt.
"Don't get up. I'll see myself out," he said when he saw her stirring from the sheets.
"I can go with you to the station," Dorcas said, throwing off the covers. "Just let me get dressed. I won't make you late."
He knelt beside the bed, pushing her back. "I don't want to remember you shivering in some drafty train station. I want to remember you like this and imagine that I'm still next to you."
He kissed her. When he pulled away to tie his tie, Dorcas moved with him, unwilling to break the kiss.
"Is it working?" she asked.
"Too well! I have half a mind to stand the army up and spend the rest of the day laying beside you."
"Tell me how to bring the rest of your mind around," Dorcas teased. She was shielding herself with humor, but she was trying not to cry.
"You've snared me with your witchcraft, Dorcas Clerey," he said, dropping his hands so that Dorcas could tie his tie straight.
She imagined many mornings waking up next to Jack, performing mundane tasks like tying his tie for him. She'd never pictured herself as a wife or a mother. But in the context of being with Jack Hardin, those things took on a different appeal.
He shrugged into his olive military jacket and placed his cap on his head.
Once more he knelt beside the bed where Dorcas sat.
She had no more jokes, no more pleas. He was really leaving.
"This isn't goodbye, angel," Jack said, kissing her cheek where a tear had begun to trace a trail. "I'll be seeing you!"
Dorcas nodded. She fought for composure, but her lip trembled. "I'll be seeing you."
Jack closed the bedroom door behind him. Dorcas listened for the front door to close and then allowed the levy of tears to burst.
:::
26 November, 1958 Watermead, Aylesbury
Dorcas massaged her fingers and then stretched them. Her piano was long-neglected.
She played her grandmother's favorite Bach to begin and as she began to warm up, other tunes came to her.
"How much do I love you? I'll tell you no lie. How deep is the ocean? How high is the sky?"
She played Irving Berlin's 'How Deep Is The Ocean' and sang along. She was impressed that she still remembered the tune by heart.
Cal came through the front door with Wren in his arms. They both shed their snowy coats, Cal his muddy boots.
Her hands found themselves modulating the tune to 'I'll Be Seeing You'.
"Wow!" Cal said, bending to unlace Wren's boots. "I haven't heard that one in a long time."
"Couldn't go anywhere ten years ago without hearing it," Dorcas answered.
"It was certainly the sound of the zeitgeist!" Cal replied.
Yes, it was.
"I'll find you,
In the morning sun,
And when the night is new,
I'll be looking at the moon,
But I'll be seeing you."
