January 1956
"They're gorgeous," said Margaret, waving to Beth and the babies as Mrs Brunson and their new nanny, Mrs Stone, carried them off to the nursery, "Bet you're glad you've got those nannies though, Ellie!"
"Well, yeah, they do make life easier," she admitted, closing the drawing-room door and going to sit beside Charles on the sofa, "Though I still feel a bit guilty about handing them over to others to take care of. I was so determined I was going to manage with the minimum of help, but…"
"Two babies and a toddler take some organising!" said Charles, with a smile, "Especially when you have a concerto to practice." He turned to Margaret. "Ellie's recording Rachmaninov's second piano concerto next month with the Boston Symphony," he said, "Would you like us to send you a copy?"
"Of course!" said Margaret, "We loved that last one you sent – the Tchaikovsky? But – well, is there any chance you could you send two this time?"
"Why on earth would you want two?" said Charles, "We only ever keep one ourselves!"
"Well," she said, draining her scotch, "Fact is, we'll be needing one for me and one for Hawkeye. I've got myself a job in Portland, and he wants to stay in Crabapple Cove."
"You're… splitting up?" said Ellie.
Margaret shook her head. "Just for weekdays," she said. "I think it'll do us good, crazy as that might sound. When I moved to the Cove, I thought it would be temporary - just while we got ourselves acclimatised to civilization again. And for a while…" She closed her eyes for a moment, "The peace and the quiet were wonderful – you know?" She looked at Charles, who nodded his understanding. "Trouble is, Hawkeye's got so used to the quiet, he doesn't want to leave it again – but it drives me nuts! I'm so used to doing things, having responsibilities beyond ordering ear-drops, and keeping the appointments straight – so then I drive Hawkeye nuts, we end up fighting…" She shrugged. "I guess we have one of those 'can't live with each other, can't live without each other' relationships."
"Didn't you always?" Charles smiled, leaning forward to refill her glass.
Margaret acknowledged the truth of that with a wry look, sipped her drink before continuing: "I thought if I applied for the Head Nurse job at Portland General, it would force the issue, make Hawkeye realise his surgical skills are just wasting away. I should have known better."
"But you're taking the job anyway?" said Ellie.
A nod. "I'm not sure who was more surprised when I decided to, Hawkeye or me," said Margaret, "But I can't spend the rest of my days shrivelling up in Crabapple Cove, I just can't." She sighed. "Anyway, I didn't come here to unload my marriage troubles on you. But I do need your help with something else, Charles."
"Ah, the favour you mentioned," he said, sitting back and stretching his arms across the back of the sofa, "Should I unlock my chequebook?"
"It's not about money, you idiot!" Margaret set her glass down on the coffee table and leaned forward, "My father has a heart problem. The doctor's told him he needs an operation and - well, I'd like you to do it. Please."
"Me?" Charles frowned in puzzlement, "Well, of course I'll do it, Margaret, if that's what you and your father want, but… what about Hawkeye? Don't you want him to…?"
"He won't," she said, flatly. "And it has nothing to do with our squabbling. Charles, he hasn't tackled anything more difficult than an appendectomy since he got home. Even if dad trusted him to do it – which he doesn't – Hawkeye wouldn't consider it." She took another sip of her drink. "Besides, you're the expert, aren't you? I saw that paper you wrote for the New England Medical Journal on that improved open heart technique."
Ellie propped her forearm on Charles' shoulder. "He's giving a lecture on it at Walter Reed next month," she said, proudly.
"Before Radar's wedding or after?" said Margaret.
"Before," said Charles, "So I'll be able to tell you all about it."
"Bore us witless, you mean," teased Margaret, with a smile.
"Fine words from someone who wants me to use my magic scalpel on her father," retorted Charles, grinning, "For that I may double my fee!"
"You wouldn't dare," said Margaret, waving a fist at him, "But while we're on the subject – you make sure to charge dad whatever your usual fee is. He's a proud man, Charles, he won't want any favours just because you're a friend of mine."
"Don't worry, Margaret, cutting fees for anyone is simply not in my nature," he assured her. "Have your father call my office and set up a consultation, and I'll see what I can do."
February 1956
"Well," said Charles, closing the office door and flicking open the file in his hand as he went to sit behind his desk, "Your test results indicate that you're well enough for the operation, Colonel Houlihan. Do you have any questions? Anything I can reassure you about?"
"Thank you, Doctor Winchester, but no – I don't want to know any gory details about what you're going to do to me, and it's reassurance enough that I'll be operated on by a doctor who wore his uniform around the MASH compound, instead of a dressing-gown."
"Dad," said Margaret, warningly, "Let's not get into that again – please."
"Yeah, well," growled Alvin, "My abiding memory of the 4077th is of that husband of yours swanning around the place in a purple robe. That friend of his wasn't much better, what was his name – Honeybee?"
"Hunnicutt," chorused Charles and Margaret, exchanging grins.
"That's the one," said Alvin, "I remember noticing the pair of them dealing with some poor chap in a wheelchair on the morning I left, and hoping they wouldn't do him too much damage. Say, what was wrong with that guy anyway? He was all wrapped up in a blanket, couldn't even see his face."
"Ah. Yes," said Charles, trading a glance with Margaret, who looked horrified. "The... North Korean," he improvised, "Beefy chap. Worst case of frostbite I've ever seen."
Margaret made a noise that might have been anything from a choking fit to suppressed laughter, turned it into a cough.
"Frostbite?" said Alvin, "I don't remember it being that cold!"
"Oh, he'd - uh - been up in the mountains," said Charles, "His joints were frozen solid, poor chap. You alright, Margaret?" She'd gone a funny shade of purple, but managed a glare through her amusement. "Anyway, I'm afraid there wasn't anything we could do," said Charles, deciding he'd better change the subject before Margaret hurt herself – or him. "Fortunately, there is something I can do to help you, Colonel." He re-checked the notes on the desk in front of him, and stood up. "We'll get the operation scheduled for a couple of weeks time, if that's convenient for you? Early March?"
"That'll be fine, doctor." Al Houlihan stood, and shook Charles' hand, "I sure appreciate this."
"Me too, Charles," said Margaret, putting a hand on his arm as he rounded the desk, "And good luck with your lecture next week." She gave him a wink. "See you at Radar's wedding!"
Draining his tea, Charles sat back in his chair and folded his arms, waiting while Ellie finished her toast. "When I get back from Washington, we'll have to sort out a shortlist from those school brochures I gave you," he said, as she drank her coffee.
Ellie waited until the maid had cleared away the plates and left the room. "For heaven's sake, Charles, Beth's not three yet!" she said, "If we get a decent Governess for her, we don't need to be looking at schools for another three or four years."
"Ah! Now that's where you're wrong!" he said, sitting forward and leaning his elbows on the table, "If she's going to have a hope of getting into one of the best schools, we need to put her name down now. The demand for places in these establishments is unbelievable, parents practically beat each other off with polo mallets to get their children into them. Dad had to promise Choat a new gymnasium to get me a place there!"
"Honey, all those brochures are for Boarding schools," said Ellie, "And they're none of 'em even in Massachusetts, let alone Boston! I don't want my girls packed off to the next State for months on end – I want 'em here, where I can wave them off every morning, help them with their homework, and kiss 'em goodnight…"
"Ellie, one of the first things you ever said to me regarding Beth was that you wanted her to have a decent education…"
"This isn't up for debate, Charles. My kids are not going to Boarding School!"
"But... those are the best schools in New England!"
"They're. Not. Going. to Board. Anywhere. There must be plenty of good day schools in Boston."
"Good, yes, but I want them to have the best!"
"Would you listen to yourself? I'll bet your father sounded just like that when he was picking out a school for you - 'I want him to have the best.' I'm right, aren't I?" She could tell by his face that she'd struck a nerve. "Were you happy at school?" she asked.
He shrugged. "I got used to it - and I ended up going to Harvard, didn't I?"
"Charles, you'd have ended up at Harvard if you'd gone to school at Dotheboys Hall!"
He shook his head and got to his feet. "If I'm going to get my plane, I have to go," he said, "But this discussion isn't finished yet, Ellie."
"Oh yes it is!" she yelled after him.
"No it's not," he shot back, "We'll resume tomorrow, when I get back."
Her reply was lost as the door slammed behind him.
Washington DC
After an early lunch with Honoria and David - who was eager to tell him all about the new composition he was working on - Charles took a cab to Walter Reed in good time for his lecture. He had time to go through his slides with the projectionist, finding one that was upside-down, and two that were back-to-front, and checked through his notes one last time before going into the lecture hall.
His presentation went well, and as he concentrated on fielding the questions that followed, he was barely aware of the figure crossing the stage to his left until the man handed a piece of paper to Professor Williams, the chairman.
"Uh... ladies and gentlemen, I think this would be a good moment to take a break?" Williams said, apparently oblivious to the fact that Charles was only part way through answering a particularly testing enquiry. As the audience stirred and murmured, he handed the note to Charles. "Sorry to interrupt you, Doctor, but I don't think this should wait," he said, quietly.
Charles frowned, a little alarmed by the other man's tone. Had something happened to one of the children? He took the note, scanned it.
'Mrs Winchester taken to hospital,' he read, 'Possible ectopic.'
"Oh my God!" He looked at the young man who had brought the message. "When did this arrive?"
"Just a few moments ago, sir - your sister telephoned. She also said that she would meet you at the airport with your bags."
Williams took his arm, looking concerned. "I'm terribly sorry, I wish I'd been able to think of a gentler way to break that to you," he said.
"No, it's alright." Charles drew a hand across his forehead, realised he was trembling. "I'm going to need a cab to the airport."
"Dan here will drive you," said Williams, nodding at the messenger. He shook Charles' hand. "Thank you for the lecture, it really was most interesting and I'm very sorry it should have ended like this. I do hope your wife will be alright."
Charles nodded a numb acknowledgement, wishing the man hadn't said 'ended like this'. With a last glance at the emptying lecture hall, he followed Dan off the stage and out to the car.
The journey to the airport seemed to take an eternity, and when he got there he found his brother-in-law waiting by the 'Departures' desk.
"Honoria's phoning the hospital again," said David, "And I've checked the flights. You've just missed one I'm afraid. Next departure to Boston is in three hours."
"Three hours!" Charles stared around at the departure boards, as though that was going to make any difference, "I can't stay here for three hours, dammit!"
"You could try Dulles?" David suggested.
"That's miles away!" said Charles, "Even if they have anything going to Boston. No, I have to..." Spotting an airline official going past with a clipboard, Charles grabbed the man by the arm. "Excuse me," he said, "I need to be in Boston right now. Who do I need to speak to about hiring a plane?"
It took Charles a few minutes to convince the man that he wasn't crazy, but eventually he was assured that someone would attend to him. The official scurried off with David, to start putting wheels in motion, and a few moments later Honoria came over. "I phoned the hospital," she said, hugging him, "But they couldn't t..tell me anything m...more yet."
Charles bit his lip, looked around to see whether his plane might be ready, though he knew it had only been a few minutes since he'd enquired about it.
"You're thinking about that argument you had with Ellie?" said Honoria.
He nodded. He'd told her about that earlier on, expecting her to back him up, but to his surprise she had sided with Ellie. "I didn't kiss her goodbye," he said. He'd been regretting that ever since he got on the plane in Boston, but he felt a hundred times worse now. What if…
"Hey," said Honoria, squeezing his arm, "Don't w…worry, I'm sure she'll b…be fine."
"And since when are you a doctor?" he snapped, immediately shook his head in apology. "She could die, Honoria, don't you understand? Ellie could die, and I know exactly how it could happen, and what the odds are! Do you have any idea how that feels? And what makes it worse is that there's nothing I can do!" He sat down on the nearest chair and put his head in his hands. "There's nothing I can do. Except wait."
To be continued…