The next few weeks flew by for Ellie in a haze of dates and wedding preparations.
She discovered the beauty of autumn in New England as Charles took her to Harvard, Quincy and the Botanical Museum, and there were more concerts and recitals too – though none of them involved Mozart, she noticed, and even then he had to walk out on some of them.
"You don't have to do this for me," she said, following him out to the foyer in the middle of one particularly poignant rendering of Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto no. 1. "If these concerts upset you so, we don't have to come."
"Yes, we do." He took a deep, unsteady breath, leaned back against one of the pilasters. "I'm trying to do this for me too, Ellie. Because if I don't, if I can't ever face hearing music like that again, then... then the war has won, it's got the better of me. And I won't – I can't – let that happen."
"'Cause you're a Winchester, right?"
He shook his head. "Because I'm me," he said, quietly. "Eleanor, I've seen what happens when someone lets the horrors get to them, and I don't want to go there." He folded his arms and stared down at his shoes. "Sooner or later, I'd have had to force myself to come along even if you weren't here," he added, "But it does help having someone with me."
"Thanks. But all the same, Charles, maybe we should have given this one a miss, and put something a bit lighter on the record player instead," she said, "Let's face it, that first movement is heartrending at the best of times."
"It's also one of the most exquisite pieces of music ever written," he pointed out.
"Well, yeah, that too." With a gentle tug on his arm, she drew him across to the seats near the bar. "Come on, we'll get a drink and then, if you want to, we'll go back in for the Third Movement."
He nodded. "I'll try. Maybe, if I make a conscious effort to think about something else, my mind will be too busy to give me any flashbacks."
"Sounds like a good idea," she said, as the barman put their drinks down on the table in front of them, "And if I might make a suggestion – try concentrating on that wretched guest list, and the seating plan I keep asking you about."
He groaned, as he always did when she mentioned such details, but nodded agreement all the same. "Alright, I'll give it some thought," he promised, "It's probably just tedious enough to work. I'm telling you now though – however hard I think, cousin Alfred still won't get an invitation." He smiled. "He wouldn't come anyway - but he'll be furious not to be asked."
24th October 1953, Boston, Mass.
The atmosphere at the breakfast table was brittle. No-one referred to the impending nuptials, but Honoria was sure that her parents were perfectly well aware that Charles was getting married this morning.
Undaunted, she buttered her toast and tucked into scrambled eggs and bacon, rehearsing her little speech over again in her head. Her father rustled the paper as he turned from the business pages to the sports reports. Her mother, unusually, was silent – no gossip, no plans for the day, not even a reprimand about overdoing the salt. Yep. They knew alright.
Pushing the bacon rind to the side of her plate, Honoria set down her knife and fork and drained her coffee.
"Did you know," she said, as though continuing an earlier conversation, "That Charles nearly got k...killed in Korea?"
They both glared at her. "The autoclave explosion," said her father, "Corporal Klinger saved his life pushing him out of the way. He told us about it."
"No, no," said Honoria, dabbing her lips with her napkin, "I mean he n...nearly got shot. In the head." She had their attention now, just as she'd expected. Charles had asked her never to tell them – "I don't want mother fussing," he'd written – but desperate times called for desperate measures so... "They were all outside getting the w...wounded off of the ambulance one night," she continued, putting down her napkin and nodding slightly to the maid as the girl cleared the plate away. "Charles and Doctor Hunnicutt were w...working on a patient whose heart had arrested, when a s...s...sniper started firing at them. They took cover, got the patient suh...stabilised and ran into the operating room with him. When they came out later, Charles discovered that a bullet had gone clean through the cap he'd been w...wearing." She held up her right hand, thumb and forefinger pinched about a quarter-inch apart. "You came this close to losing him too."
She glanced from one parent to the other, could see they were beginning to waver. "Charles was really shaken up about it. He met Eleanor not long after it happened. Can you honestly blame him for wanting to be close to s...someone, after what nearly happened to him? Ellie's not some w...wanton showgirl with no m..morals. She loves m...music and art and poetry – all the things that Charles likes. She w...was there for him when he needed her. Now he's going to be there for her. Because that's the right thing to do, and b...because that's the way you raised him."
Speech done, she stood up to go. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a wedding to attend."
In the Church, the organ played softly while the guests got seated. Charles could hear Pierce and Hunnicutt's juvenile giggling somewhere behind him, and thanked his stars that Sherman Potter had agreed to be his Best Man. A speech from either of those two Swamp-rats would have been unbearable.
"Son," Potter muttered, placing a hand on his shoulder, "I think your parents are here."
"No, Sherman, they're not..." Charles half-turned as he spoke, finished the sentence in a daze "...coming." He spun back to Potter. "They are here! How did...?" He turned the other way, to where Honoria was sitting just behind. She gave him a wink and a discreet, white-gloved thumbs-up, before moving her bag to allow her mother to sit down.
Potter was grinning. "I like your sister," he said, "Hope she gets to marry that Eye-talian she liked, some day."
"Well, my parents' presence here is proof that miracles do happen," said Charles. "How the h..." He remembered where he was "...heck did she do that?"
He had no time to ponder the miracle further. The organ changed to playing The Wedding March and the congregation rose as Ellie walked down the aisle toward him.
"You still haven't told me what they're going to play," hissed Ellie, as Charles led her out at the Reception for the first dance.
"I had the conductor write a special arrangement of a well-known tune," said Charles, "A little slower than it's usually played, I believe, but it should be recognisable."
"Oh no – tell me I'm not going to have to dance at my wedding to Roll Out the Barrel!"
"No," he assured her, with a knowing smirk, "No I promise you, it's not that."
The orchestra started to play and as Charles guided her round the floor Ellie laughed as she realised what the music was: Lady of Spain, the tune she had played for Charles at the USO concert in the Post-op ward. The arranger had done a good job – played mostly on muted trumpets, and slowed just a little, it worked very well, and before long other couples were moving to join them on the dance floor.
Sherman Potter, as Best Man, had led Brandy Doyle onto the dance floor with perhaps a little more enthusiasm than duty strictly required. But with Mildred there to keep an eye on him, at least he knew he could flirt in safety, and he held Brandy close as they began to dance.
"Boy, it's been a long time since I deserved the title 'maid of honour'," she said, with a grin.
"Nah, you deserve it," he said, gallantly, "From what I've heard, you took care of Eleanor real well."
"Well, I got pretty close to all those girls while we were travelling around. I did a pretty good job keeping 'em away from the soldiers – it was the damn' doctors we had trouble with! I meet you, take my eye off the ball – or, at least, off of them – and by the time we leave, Marina is sighing 'oh, I had such a wonderful doctor!' and Eleanor's sighing back 'Yeah – me too!'"
Potter's laugh carried clear across the floor to Margaret, who was dancing with Robert Harwell.
"Those two seem to be getting along very well," he aid, "Is there a story behind that too, or was my Head of Thoracic Surgery the only 4077th doctor who – ah – enjoyed entertaining?"
Margaret giggled. "Diplomatically put, uncle Bob. But Brandy shared my tent, not the Colonel's – and his wife's with him today, so I think he's safe for the moment!"
Harwell grinned. "Well, at any rate it's good to have a chance to meet him – and BJ and Sidney too. Course, if you'd had a bigger wedding yourself..."
"Oh, uncle, don't start on that again. I've said I'm sorry – honestly, it was such a spur-of-the-moment thing…" She stopped, his laughter making her realise that he had been kidding her, and she gave him a playful slap on the arm. "So how's your Head of Thoracic Surgery working out anyway?" she asked, changing the subject, "Hope you're not sorry I sent you that telegram."
"Not at all, I'm glad you did. Charles is a very fine surgeon – as he often reminds me himself."
"I'll bet!" she laughed, "But he can be very sweet too, when he wants to be. Did I tell you about Doctor Chesler?"
"Oh yeah, I remember – you wrote us about that. It was Charles who fixed that up for you, wasn't it?"
"Uh-huh. Left me speechless in more ways that one. Mind you, he was lost for words himself when I gave him a 'thank you' kiss."
He gave her a questioning look, but she decided she'd leave that one dangling for a while. She could tell him later that she and Charles had been in the mess tent at the time. Well – maybe she'd tell him. Some time.
"Ahhh, look, BJ!" Peg Hunnicutt nudged her husband, and pointed to the dance floor. BJ wiped Erin's mouth free of custard, grinned as he saw what his wife was pointing to. Charles was holding his daughter in his arms, and was dancing round the floor with her, making the child laugh with delight as he jogged her up and down in time to the music.
"Well, if he can dance with his best girl, I guess I can dance with mine," he said, scooping Erin up out of the high-chair, giving her a kiss and moving to the dance floor to join Charles and Beth.
"And I thought they were crazy back in the Swamp!" said Hawkeye to Sidney Freedman.
"Hawkeye, you were all crazy back in the Swamp," the psychiatrist replied, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, "You probably all still are – it's just a matter of degree!"
It took Hawkeye a moment to realise that Sidney was pulling his leg. At least – he was fairly sure his leg was being pulled. With Sidney he could never be entirely certain. He let a moment or two pass, looked around to make sure there was no-one too nearby. "Sidney – in all seriousness, is Charles okay?"
"In all seriousness, Hawkeye, you know perfectly well that I couldn't possibly tell you. From where I'm sitting though, he looks absolutely fine."
"Oh, come on Sidney! That orchestra has played nothing but light music and jazz the entire afternoon. I'm supposed to think it's natural for Charles not to have some classical music at his own wedding?"
"Hawkeye." Sidney's glance somehow managed to convey a wealth of meaning. "You've confronted your demons. You're fine. I'm sure Charles will overcome whatever it is that's bothering him. Now, if you'll excuse me – I'm going to dance with the bride."
When her dance with her 'uncle' Bob finished, Margaret had noticed Honoria sitting by herself at the deserted top table and had gone over to introduce herself.
"Oh, it's so good to m...meet you. Charles has t...t...told me so much about you all."
"Any of it good?" asked Margaret, hoping that her surprise over Honoria's stuttering didn't show.
"More than you might think! Seems you p...people saved a lot of lives – in between p...p...practical jokes."
"Mm, Charles did his share of both," said Margaret, "I recall it was him who put minnows in my pocket."
Honoria giggled. "He did that to me too, once, w...when he was about eleven!" Her face clouded slightly as she went on: "Father gave him a thorough hiding for it and he n...never, ever did anything like that again." Her smile returned, "Not to me anyway."
"I take it your parents didn't react too well to Ellie either?" said Margaret, sipping her champagne, "I saw them in Church, but..."
"They went straight home," said Honoria, with a sigh, "I only managed to t...talk them into going to the service by reminding them that they nearly lost Charles in Korea."
"Oh, the autoclave accident? Yeah, that was a close one."
"No, no, I mean when he nearly got shot," said Honoria.
Margaret shook her head, blankly.
"There was a suh..sniper?" said Honoria, "Put a bullet through his cap?"
Understanding dawned in Margaret's mind, together with an attack of the guilts. "Is that what that was all about?" she said, recalling the holes in the hat Charles had been examining in the Officers Club while she talked to – or, rather, at – him. "And I was so awful to him. We knew there was something wrong, but – he just never said anything..." She trailed off, drained her glass. Gods, no wonder Charles had been a bit off-kilter for a while!
"If Charles doesn't want to t...talk, he won't," said Honoria, "There wouldn't have been anything you could have done to make him. Right now, I can't get him to talk about wh...why classical music upsets him so much. Any ideas?"
"Oh yes," said Margaret, suddenly serious, "I can help you with that one. Just don't ever tell him you got it from me..."
When the music changed, BJ brought Erin back to the table and handed her to Peg, who moved across to talk to Mildred Potter.
BJ settled down next to Hawkeye again. "You know, if I'd been told back in the Swamp that one of you two would have a shotgun wedding, I'd have put my mortgage – nay, my very life – on you," he said.
Hawkeye grinned. "Yeah. There but for the grace of God – and being a lot more careful than he was," he said, with a jerk of his head in Charles' direction.
"D'you know what I still can't figure out?"
"Beej, you've got a kid of your own, surely you've worked out the basics by now?"
"What I can't figure out," said BJ, ploughing on, undaunted, "Is how we missed what was going on with those two. I mean, we could have had fun for weeks, teasing Charles about getting in to showbusiness!"
Hawkeye laughed aloud. "Yeah, we sure could have got some mileage out of that. With hindsight, they were all over each other like a rash from the moment they met. They were talking about music all through dinner that first evening Ellie got there, remember? I guess we were both pretty tired though, weren't we, thanks to Fast Freddie – and we each had patients to take care of."
"Speaking of whom," said BJ, waving at the dance floor, "Isn't it great to see them together?"
"Sure is. Never have I been happier to see a girl forget me," said Hawkeye, watching Marina and her fiancé Mike Norwicki dancing to a Peggy Lee song. "But getting back to teasing Charles – are you up for sending some room service to the Honeymoon Suite a little later?"
BJ's conspiratorial smile gave him the answer. "What exactly do you have in mind?"
"Charles, you said this was a beach apartment!" said Ellie, as they got out of the car. She stared at the edifice in front of them with wide-eyed amazement. "Honestly, it's about the size of three city blocks!"
"It is a little bigger than your average beach-hut," he agreed, "But I've had my fill of slumming it."
As he spoke, the door was opened by an immaculate butler, who extended congratulations "on behalf of the staff and myself, sir."
"Staff!" squeaked Ellie, faintly, "How many of them are there?"
"Only five," said Charles, grinning. He indicated the threshold. "Uh - do you want me to...?"
Ellie shook her head, feeling a little ill at ease with the butler hovering close by.
"Get the bags, would you, Parks?" said Charles, as though sensing her discomfort, and ushered Ellie inside. "Anything you need?" he asked her, as she stopped in the hallway and stared around at the stripped-pine panelling and white-painted doors.
"This is sure going to take some getting used to," she said; then, realising she hadn't answered his question, shook her head. "Just the bathroom," she said.
"Through here," he said, guiding her along the corridor ahead of them, and opening the door at the end of the passage. "It's en suite," he added, pointing at the door on the opposite side of the room.
"Naturally," she replied, trying to keep her tone light, though she felt suddenly and unexpectedly awkward as she stepped into the bedroom. "Charles?"
"Yes?" He'd moved across to the side of the bed to switch on the lamp.
"Oh - uh, nothing. I... just wondered if you wanted to go first?"
He grinned. "You don't honestly imagine we have only one bathroom?"
"Sorry - dumb question, I guess." Though not as dumb as the question I nearly asked him, she thought, as she closed the bathroom door behind her. She picked the confetti out of her hair and looked her mirrored self squarely in the eye as she spoke to herself instead: Do you really think we can make this work? And answered: Sure as hell have to try. Right?
When she returned to the bedroom, she saw that their bags had been left at the foot of the bed, and she knelt down to unfasten her case. "Do you think BJ and Hawkeye have tried gatecrashing the honeymoon suite yet?" she said, looking up at Charles while he placed his cufflinks on the dresser and unstrapped his watch.
"Probably," he said, wincing at the thought, "One thing's for sure, if they woke Beth, they'll have got the rough edge of Mrs Brunson's tongue."
She giggled, and stood up, throwing her new nightdress onto the eiderdown. "Serve them right. Wonder what they think they've got planned for us?"
"I shudder to think," he said, "Let's just say I'm glad we're out of their way…" He moved to stand in front of her, brushed his fingers through her hair, and Ellie stopped thinking about BJ and Hawkeye.
She unfastened his shirt, half-wondering whether he could tell that she was so nervous her fingers had all become thumbs, and ran her hands over his chest.
"At least your necklace won't get tangled up with my dog-tags this time," he said. The gentle, jesting reminder made Ellie giggle, breaking the tension and the faint unease, and she slid her arms around Charles' neck as he nuzzled hers.
"Hmm, yeah, now I remember," she sighed.
"Remember what?" he murmured, as he eased the zipper down the back of her dress.
"I remember why," she said, softly - and kissed him.
Ellie yawned and stretched, listening in the early morning half-light for sounds of her daughter awakening.
The gentle wash of breaking waves beyond the window reminded her where she was, and she opened her eyes to the curtained dimness of the unfamiliar room. Rolling over, she put a hand on Charles' arm and watched him while he slept. Hard as it was to admit, she knew she was falling in love with him despite herself. Which, she supposed, was no bad thing, given that they'd just got married.
But how did he feel? In Korea, he'd needed her. Last night he had most definitely wanted her. He was fond of her, she thought, and he obviously adored Beth. But beyond that? She suspected he was still half in love with somebody else – he'd get a distant look in his eyes sometimes, usually if the conversation involved anything French. So, maybe she'd have to settle for 'fond'. She hoped it would be enough.
On impulse, she leaned over and grazed his mouth with hers, kept kissing him till she felt him kiss her back. "That's a nice way to wake up," he murmured, "Beats 'incoming wounded' any day." He slid an arm around her as she snuggled against him. "What time is it?"
"I don't know," she said, "Early. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have woken you. I suppose breakfast's not for hours yet."
She felt, rather than heard, his low chuckle. "Not if the staff know what's good for them." Sliding his arms around her, he guided her back onto the pillows and added: "But since we are awake, I suppose we can find something to do."
Ellie giggled. "Mmm – more variations on a theme?"
He laughed. "If you like."
"I like," she admitted, "I like very much."
It was mid-morning by the time they got around to opening the wedding presents. Ellie was a little sceptical that there was anything they didn't already have, but the pile of gift-wrapped parcels in the sun-lounge proved that their friends had at least made an effort to think of something original.
"Hope they're not all toasters," she said, picking up the nearest one and weighing it. "Hmm, no – this one isn't anyway. Too thin."
"Who's it from?" said Charles, dropping onto a chair, with pen and paper poised.
"Sherman and Mildred Potter," she said, unwrapping. "A photo album – correction, a wedding photo album it says on the front. That's sweet – now, if everyone sends us copies of their snaps we'll have somewhere to put them all."
There was a half-case of fine wines from BJ and Peg, together with a book entitled Home Brewing: How to make money from your own Still; while Ellie's old friends from the USO had clubbed together and sent bound sets of music scores – two for the piano, and one for the accordion.
"Shame I sold it," she said, "Still, it was a lovely thought."
Honoria sent two silver-framed photographs – one of Ellie and Beth for Charles, which they had conspired to have taken at the best photographic studio in town; and for Ellie, a copy of a photograph of Charles in his dress uniform which she had admired while visiting Honoria's apartment. Sidney had sent a poetry anthology, and a photograph frame with a note saying: For your favourite wedding picture.
"And this one's from Hawkeye and Margaret," said Ellie, reading the label, "It says there's a note in each sleeve – so I guess it's records."
"Gods, I daren't think what they'll have bought," said Charles, "Pierce had some grasp, admittedly, but Margaret and I shared her record player for four weeks, and she still had trouble telling Mozart from Mussorgsky."
"Well," said Ellie, pulling off the wrapping paper, "This looks like a pretty good selection to me." She flicked through the albums slowly, then remembered that there were supposed to be messages in each one. "Beethoven's Sonata Pathétique," she said, holding up the topmost one, "And the note says: 'Hope this is the right one to remind you of the night in the Officers' Club'. Hey, how did they know?"
"Uh – I think I might have muttered something about it," said Charles, "In Denver. What else have we got?"
"Let's see, there's a copy of the Emperor concerto, soloist... wow, Artur Schnabel. Someone knew what they were doing with that one!"
Charles laughed. "Took her long enough! Is it the 1932 recording?"
She flipped the sleeve, checked it. "Yeah – how'd you know?"
"Lucky guess." He jerked his chin at the record. "Is there a note?"
"Yep. Here we are... 'This one's from Margaret. Charles knows why.'" Ellie put the records down a moment and folded her arms. "You going to tell me, or is it something the two of you would prefer to keep private?"
"Later," he said, grinning, "Go on, there's more records yet!"
"Hmm. Okay, but don't think I'm going to let this go." It was her turn to grin as she picked up the next album.
"Folk tunes – on the accordion!" she announced, drawing a groan and a pained look from Charles. "The note says: 'We know how much Charles will like this one. Play it real loud, Ellie!'"
"Well, I suppose two out of three isn't bad," he said, "Or is there another one like that?"
"There is another one, yes," she said, picking up the last record in the pile. "But not like that. It's Mozart, Charles – the Quintet for Clarinet and Strings."
He didn't say anything, but his smile faded, and she could see that this time the anguish was real. Hastily, she searched inside the sleeve for the note, read it through silently, then again aloud: "'Charles, this is to replace the one you smashed, in the hope that some day you'll feel able to listen to it without the hurt'." She busied herself putting the note back with the record so that she could pretend she hadn't noticed him biting his lip.
"Is that everything?" he said, after a moment or two. He was clearly making an effort to cover his distress – she could hear the forced cheerfulness in his voice – but she decided to go along with the pretence this time. "Looks like we'll have our work cut out with the 'thank you' letters."
"Yes, that's everything, except this one – from me to you," she said, swallowing her disappointment that there was nothing from Charles to her. Well, he had just given her his name and all his worldly goods. She supposed he considered that quite enough.
"They're custom made," she told him, as he stood up to take the tiny package from her, and unwrapped it, "And I used my own savings,"
"Cufflinks!" He sounded pleased, took one out of the box to get a better look. "Tom and Jerry!" His laughter sounded genuine enough, and she was grateful that Honoria had tipped her off about his liking for the characters. "My sister's been talking too much again, by the look of it. They're wonderful - thank you. I'll wear them for the next concert we go to." He kissed her cheek, and murmured, "You might want to take a look under the table."
Lifting the tablecloth, she did so. "Omigod! Charles, what...?"
He helped her drag the parcel out and lifted it onto the table for her, then folded his arms, smirking, as she pulled at the wrapping. The plain cardboard box container gave nothing away, but as soon as she prised open one of the side flaps she could see what was inside.
"You..." She had to clear her throat and try again. "You bought me an accordion?"
"It's purely ornamental," he said, as she ripped away the rest of the packaging, "Doesn't play a note."
She picked it up, gave it a squeeze and pressed the keys. "Liar!"
"I've been robbed! The proprietor assured me..."
"Shut up, Charles," she said, putting the instrument down so she could hug him, "I want to thank you."
"Well," he said, "Just don't play it where I can hear it – that will be thanks enough!"
To be continued…