Christmas Eve, 1953
Snow crunched under the tyres as Charles halted the car by the orphanage gates. He pulled his hat down and his collar up against the cold as he climbed out, fetched the hamper of Christmas groceries from the trunk, and lugged it up the drive to the doorway. Lowering it as carefully as he could to the doorstep, he straightened slowly, one hand holding his back, and wondered how he'd managed to avoid doing himself a permanent mischief - groceries were a darned sight heavier than candy bars! Maybe he should have taken Ellie up on her offer to come and help - still, too late now, and he had managed it anyway.
As he trooped back to his car, head down against the wind, he almost collided with someone coming in through the gate.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I... dad!"
"Charles! Uh... I saw the car but... is it new?"
"Yes. There's more room in back of this one for Beth's things."
"Oh. Yes of course. Well - I was just..." His father hefted a package labelled 'Wallingford and Chadwick', and Charles smiled as he realised the orphans would be getting their chocolates as well as their dinners from the Winchesters this year.
"Well, I left them some groceries, so I'm sure they'll enjoy those too," he said. "Is mother not with you?"
"She's got a cold," said his father, "And I expect I'll be getting it next, coming out in this. Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm... we're fine," said Charles, suspecting the enquiry was aimed at more than his health. "I left Ellie wrapping presents, though God knows there seems to be a room full of them already, and they're all for Beth! By the way, thank you for yours."
His father cleared his throat and shuffled his feet, muttered something that might have been 'you're welcome'. "Just make sure your mother doesn't know I sent them," he added.
Charles grinned. "Thank her for the ones she sent too, would you?" he said.
"What...? You mean your mother...?"
He nodded. "You both sent her presents," he said, putting his hands under his armpits in an effort to keep them warm. "We... uh... sent yours with Honoria."
"They're under the tree," said his father, "Thanks."
They stood looking at one another for a moment, while the words they groped for dropped unsaid into the snow.
"Merry Christmas, dad," said Charles, eventually, turning to walk back to his car.
"Merry Christmas, Charles," he heard his father call after him, "And... I'll give your mother your message!"
Eleanor unstrapped Beth from her pushchair and hurried into the hospital. Taking the lift to the third floor, she stepped into the corridor leading to Charles' office. She knew she should have phoned first to see whether he was even around, but she'd been so excited by David Sheridan's letter that she hadn't stopped to think, wanted only to find Charles and tell him what it said.
"Hi, Miss Walters," she said, finding the secretary typing up some shorthand notes, "Is my husband around?"
"Mrs Winchester - come in. Hi, Beth, honey, would you like a cookie?" Conjuring one from the drawer of her desk, Miss Walters stood up and handed a biscuit to the child, told Ellie to go through to the main office. "Doctor Winchester's doing rounds at the moment, but he should be back momentarily," she said, "He does have an operation scheduled in forty minutes though."
"Oh, I won't keep him long," said Ellie, settling herself onto the comfortable leather sofa in Charles' office and taking Beth's coat off before lowering her to the floor.
"Can I get you a coffee while you're waiting?"
"No, I'm fine, thanks."
She didn't have to wait long. Beth had barely had time to drop crumbs over more than a couple of square feet of carpet before Charles came in, looked from Ellie to the baby. "Hello! Ugh, Elizabeth darling, don't rub it into the pile..."
Chuckling, Beth crawled toward him and he picked her up, grimaced at the mess she'd made.
"Sorry, Charles – I don't know how she manages to spread so much over such a large area in such a short time. Miss Walters only gave her the cookie a few minutes ago." Ellie fished out her handkerchief and stood up to wipe Beth's sticky hands and face as best she could.
"Daddy!" Beth beamed at Charles, patted his cheek, and he planted a loud kiss on hers, the crumbs on his carpet obviously already forgiven.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his question presumably addressed to Ellie, though his gaze was fixed on Beth as he gently brushed his fingers over her wispy copper curls while she made a grab for his tie.
"David's written." Ellie pulled an envelope from her bag as she spoke, and waved it excitedly. "He's finished his concerto – and Charles, he's asked me to play it. Me!" She wasn't sure he would be as delighted about it as she was, but she could see by his face that he was pleased.
"You mean – the premiere performance?" he said. "Ellie, that's wonderful (no, sweetie, don't eat daddy's tie, give it me back...'k you) but... it's quite a responsibility. Are you sure you want to take that on?"
"Are you kidding?" She paced about, too excited to stand still for long. "Charles, I'm never going to get another opportunity like this! To play at Symphony Hall, prove what I can do, earn some honest money of my own..." She flung her arms wide, "Boy, I'm not letting this one go!"
"David wants the premiere here then? Not in Washington?"
She nodded, unfolded the letter. "There's more. Charles – he says he's going to dedicate it to you. To thank you for what you did for him."
"Well, I'm not sure that I deserve..."
"Whoa! Modesty from Charles Emerson Winchester the Third? I'll have to make a note in my diary!" She smirked, held out the letter for him to take, while she relieved him of Beth, who immediately fretted to be passed back to her father. "No, darlin', let daddy read his letter."
He scanned through it, stared up at her, frowning. "How did he know about...?"
"The Chinese musicians?" She shook her head. "I don't know, Charles, he didn't get it from me. Must have been Honoria, I guess, while she was waiting with him."
"You told Honoria about that?"
"Course I didn't! I haven't told anyone! But she ain't stupid, Charles..."
"Isn't stupid."
"Ain't stupid – stupid!" she said, firmly. "How many of your friends from the 4077th did she talk to at the wedding?" She read both dawning understanding and an apology in his glance, shrugged acceptance. "It doesn't really matter how he found out, does it? If it was what he needed to finish it?"
"I suppose." He folded the letter, took Beth back while she replaced the envelope in her bag. "I'm just not sure..." He held Beth close and gently kissed her. "It was bad enough living through it – I don't know if..."
"If you could listen to a musical interpretation of it?"
He nodded. "I can only promise to try."
"I know. It's okay." She closed her bag and picked up Beth's coat. "We don't have to discuss it now anyway – I don't even have the music yet to start practicing!" She pulled on her own coat, helped the baby into hers and stood on tiptoe to give Charles a kiss. "You've got things to do – we'll get outta your way. C'mon, little lady, let's go – we'll see daddy later."
"I might be late," said Charles, opening the door for her and giving Beth a wave. He paused just long enough for Ellie to notice the amusement in his eyes before he smiled and added: "I won't be allowed out of here tonight till I've cleaned the carpet!"
"Ohh, where is he? He promised he'd be here." Ellie paced around the dressing-room, nervously twisting her wedding ring, and glancing at the clock every couple of seconds. She could hear the symphony drawing to a close, knew there were only minutes until the conductor would come to lead her out onto the platform to begin the premiere of David Sheridan's Korean concerto.
But there was still no sign of Charles.
She knew he'd been unsure whether he could sit through the piece she was about to play, but he'd promised he would be there somehow. No – not promised. He'd given his word as a Winchester, which she knew – had thought – meant more to him then a mere promise.
David Sheridan, sitting on the chair in front of the dressing-table, looked almost as nervous as she felt, but he muttered something kindly about Charles probably being kept late at the hospital – then glanced at his own watch, which made her feel even worse.
The applause for the symphony began, and Ellie checked her appearance in the mirror one last time.
"David, you should go up to the VIP box now – don't wait for Charles, he's obviously not coming," she said, trying hard not to let her disappointment spill over into her voice and not quite succeeding. "Go on – I'll feel better if I know you're there at least."
"You'll be fine." He stood up to leave and gave her a comforting pat on the arm. "And I'm sure Charles will be here soon." He gave her a wink. "Go knock 'em dead, kid."
She managed a smile. "I'll try."
He opened the door to go, found the conductor about to knock on it. "She's ready, Mr Munch."
The Boston Symphony's music director held out his arm for her to take, and Ellie took it, stepped into the corridor and took a single pace toward the stage entrance.
"Ellie!"
She turned, overjoyed, almost unbelieving, at the sound of that voice. "Charles?"
He was in his scrubs underneath his topcoat, breathless it seemed from running, and there was no time for him to do more than gasp "Go! Play!" at her. But he didn't need to. He'd kept his promise. Now she could go and keep hers.
Charles watched her go, heard the applause as she stepped on to the stage, took a moment to lean against the corridor wall and get his breath back. Today of all days he had to get called in to surgery at the last possible minute. And then, having done the difficult work in a time that would have been a record even at the 4077th, and handed over to one of the Residents to finish up, he'd discovered he had no time to change. To top it off, his damn cab had gotten stuck in traffic and he'd had to get out and run – run! – the last half-mile.
From the times he had visited his mother in the dressing-room during her concerts, he remembered that there was a phone and a shower in there. He placed a quick call to his home to order up his evening wear, and took a quick shower while he waited for his driver to bring his tuxedo.
Hastily making himself presentable, he made it into the VIP box for the start of the second movement, whispering an apology to David.
He took a glance at the Programme Honoria handed to him, smiled at sight of Ellie's full name at the top of the centre page. When he'd walked her to the USO truck in the MASH compound, and told her he looked forward to seeing her as guest soloist at Symphony Hall, he certainly hadn't dreamed that she'd be billed there as 'Eleanor Carlyle Winchester'. At least she wasn't disgracing the name – far from it. As Ellie's fingers flew from one end of the keyboard to the other, counterpointing with the orchestra and moving up from allegro to presto, he realised he had underestimated just how talented she was.
In the brief pause between movements, Honoria leaned forward and murmured, "She's as good as mother."
"No," said Charles, quietly, with a shake of his head, "She's better."
He took another quick look at the Programme, found a paragraph David had written, explaining that the First Movement set the stage with a threatening, martial tone, while the Second Movement had a more lighthearted flavour, to reflect the camaraderie and friendships that were forged amid the chaos of battle. 'But as the movement draws to a close' he read, 'the recurring notes played by the pianist's left hand foreshadow the more sinister quality of the Third Movement. The repeating notes continue throughout this, representing a pulse, which increases in pace as the music above it grows more threatening. There are echoes of the 'Mozart quintet for clarinet & strings' here, an acknowledgment of the piece taught to the Chinese musicians by Dr Charles Emerson Winchester III (see note on page 2). Their death is played out by the timpani and cymbals, the movement finishing with a Rallentando, while the notes of the left hand slow to a stop.'
Charles bit his lip, as the memory of his dying flautist flashed into his mind again, and as the Third Movement started, he had to will himself not to get up and leave, telling himself that he owed it to David, to Ellie – and most of all to those POWs – to sit through it. As the movement progressed, he found himself lost in admiration for the way David had managed to capture events with his music. Distant gunfire rumbled from the percussion; the horns and trombones conveyed the beat of helicopter blades, the strings screamed – and the flute, clarinet, and Ellie's right hand echoed Mozart, while the persistent, steady notes played by her left hand were – just as the Programme said – reminiscent of a human pulse. It was brilliantly conceived, and just as brilliantly played. When Ellie brought the piece to a close with that pulsing left-hand beat slowing and fading to nothing, the concert hall was silent for what seemed like minutes. Then, as Ellie brushed her hand against her cheek, and Charles realised that she'd been overcome with emotion too, the applause started, and the audience rose to their feet, cheering.
"Charles, look." Honoria touched his arm, nodded in the direction of the Winchester box. He could see that his parents were on their feet, applauding along with everyone else, and he closed his eyes in sheer relief.
The conductor exited, returned with a huge bouquet for Ellie, who shook hands with the first violinist before curtsying to the audience again.
"She's quite something, your wife," said David, slapping Charles on the shoulder before heading for the stairs down to the stage to take his own curtain call.
"Yes," said Charles, suddenly unable to tear his eyes from Ellie, "Yes, she is."
Telling his sister that they would see her and David at the restaurant, Charles went to see if Ellie was ready to go. As he closed the dressing-room door behind him, she turned from the mirror and jumped to her feet, throwing her arms around his neck. "Did you run all the way from the hospital?" she asked.
He had forgotten about that already. "Not quite," he said, holding her tight, "But it would have been worth it even if I had. Eleanor, I am so proud of you."
"Were you okay? You didn't have to go out?"
"I was determined not to. And you played so well."
"I couldn't believe it when I saw you standing there in your scrubs!"
"I promised I'd be here, didn't I? Ellie, I..." He pulled back a little, just far enough so that he could look down into her eyes for a moment, before he leaned down to kiss her. Just as his lips touched hers, there was a loud knock on the dressing-room door.
"Ignore it," he murmured.
"Mmm, what, and disappoint my public?" she murmured back, her mouth hovering tantalisingly close to his.
He kissed her again. "You're starting to sound like me," he smiled, softly.
Whoever was knocking was not about to give up easily, and Charles released Ellie with a sigh. "You sit down. I'll get it," he said, pulling the door open. "M...Mother!" he exclaimed, when he saw who was standing outside, "Dad! Uh...come in."
"We won't stay, Charles," said his mother, stepping into the room in a swirl of silk and Chanel, "But we couldn't go without..." She paused, scrutinizing him as though he had just come out of school with his socks round his ankles and his tie undone. "You've lost weight." She didn't sound approving.
"A little, yes. Comes of eating proper food, instead of having to live off Cherry cake and canned sardines from food parcels."
"Hmm." His mother adjusted the fur wrap across her shoulders, and turned to Ellie, who had stood up again as soon as she realised who it was. "Well... that was a marvellous performance... Eleanor."
"And an exceptional piece of music," added Charles' father. "Charles..." He held up his copy of the programme, "I know you tried to tell us, son, but really – we had no idea..."
"We'd like you both to come have tea with us some time soon," said his mother, "And perhaps you'd bring Elizabeth?"
Charles glanced questioningly toward Ellie, saw her nod tentatively, almost imperceptibly. "It's Beth's birthday in ten days," he said, "Maybe you'd like to come to her party?"
It was his parents' turn to exchange glances. "Yes, darling, very well," said his mother, "So long as it's not Thursday – that's my Bridge afternoon."
"It's Wednesday, mother, the 24th," said Charles, dutifully kissing the cheek she presented for him to kiss, "And I remember about the Bridge."
"We'll let you get on then," she said, "Eleanor's probably ready for something to eat, I know I always am after a concert."
They swept out, and Ellie dropped into her chair, her sigh of relief matching Charles' own as he shut the door. "I suppose that's the nearest either of us is ever going to get to receiving an apology from them?" she said.
"Um...well, yes, probably," he admitted, sheepishly, trying (and failing) to remember the last time his parents had actually directly apologised for anything.
"I can't begin to imagine what they'll make of the sort of party I've got planned," said Ellie, "There's likely to be jelly and cake flying everywhere!"
"Sounds like dinner in the mess tent," laughed Charles. "Come on, I told Honoria and David we'd meet them in the restaurant. They'll be wondering where we've got to."
Their meal, and the lively discussion that went with it, went on until well after midnight, but Ellie was still as keyed up as ever when she and Charles got home.
"I know I should be tired," she said, skipping into the music room, "But I feel like I could dance all night – once I take these shoes off!" She dropped onto the sofa and kicked off her high heels, giving each foot a quick massage as she did so.
"It's all that adrenaline," said Charles, touching her shoulder on his way past to the record player, "Same thing that used to keep us operating for sixty hours."
Selecting a record from the racks, he checked it for scratches and dusted it before putting it on the player and switching it on.
Ellie stared at him, amazed. "Charles - that's Mozart!"
"Yes. Well, Eine Kleine Nacht Musik seems fitting," he replied, crossing the room to stand in front of her. "You said you wanted to dance?" He pulled her to her feet and into his arms, began a gentle waltz around the furniture. "While I was watching you play this evening I realised something," he said, quietly, resting his cheek against her hair. "All those concerts we've been to, all the records we've listened to and talked about – I'm not sure I would have been able to do all that if I hadn't had someone to share it with. Someone to...help me get through it." He pulled away from her slightly, his eyes meeting hers as she looked up at him, questioningly. "You've given me back my music, Ellie, don't you see? You've played for me, been there for me - given me good memories to help me deal with the bad ones. And... I'm sorry, I should have figured this out a long time ago." He stopped dancing, but didn't let her go. "This evening I finally realised..." He looked toward the ceiling. "Oh, why is this so hard to say? I suppose I haven't had much practice..." His gaze met hers again, and he said the next words in a rush: "Eleanor, I've fallen in love with you."
She felt strangely lightheaded suddenly, and clutched his lapels for support, ducking her head so that he wouldn't see the tears she found herself having to blink away. She knew she had a crazy smile on her face, but with her breath taken away like that she found she couldn't speak.
"Ellie?"
She could hear the doubt in his voice, the wondering whether he had upset her in some way, and she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. "If you knew how long I've waited to hear you say that," she whispered, "I love you so much."
His arms tightened around her, and she could feel the passion in his kisses as his mouth sought hers again.
"I love you," he murmured.
And Mozart's night music played on.
THE END (unless there's demand for a sequel!)