When Allan's close-mouthed grimness had gone on for a week, Juliet thought she would go mad. But whatever Murray pride she had in her made her harden her heart and shut her own lips firmly. If he was going to treat her with such aloofness, well, she could do the same! Oh, but it was awfully hard to stomach dinners like this one, where the only sounds were the silverware clinking against the plates and the hiss of St. Nick as Allan's over-friendly dog stumbled into his territory.

"But at least someone in this house is being friendly," Juliet thought, as Allan's dog loped over and placed his shaggy head in her lap. Oh, she desperately wanted another helping of potatoes but she wouldn't ask Allan to pass them. We will never know if Allan wanted the carrot pudding as much as Juliet wanted the potatoes, but Juliet, suspecting he might, moved it a bit closer to herself, knowing that he would not ask, either.

The pettiest things gave her such pleasure! She knew it was a pet peeve of Allan's when she left the soap on the sink in a puddle of water, but now she laid it sopping in its place with great satisfaction. She very meticulously sorted their laundry, did her own things, and left Allan's in the hamper for him to do himself. She might be his wife, but she wasn't his slave. Although she couldn't keep that up for very long--the day she saw Allan go to work with an old, faded cotton top he'd had in the PEI days tucked into his dress pants, she relented. And washed and ironed and folded his clothes very nicely--but then put them in the wrong places. Allan was so meticulous about where he put his clothes!

It must be said, though, that Allan did not seem to have any particular malice toward Juliet, though she did toward him. He didn't leave fingerprints on the mirrors, which she hated, and he always put the newspaper in the bin when done reading it, instead of leaving it sprawled out on the table like Father did at home.

"I wish he would, though," Juliet said fiercely. "That--at least--would show he cares."

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The great freeze between them went on for so long that Juliet was surprised into a wide-eyed shock when Allan rolled over in bed one night and said,

"Does the name of Barry Ashbury mean anything to you?"

Juliet started, first at hearing his voice, and then at hearing the name that she did know. She had not told Allan Mona's sad story--well, not all of it--just the bare bones details of it. She had been in love with a man that had gone off to the war and he had died. "Barry Ashbury," she breathed. "Allan--why--what--?"

Allan sat up and flicked on the light. His hair was rumpled. He put on his glasses and rubbed his shoulders wearily.

"Come downstairs and put on a pot of coffee," he said. "I have something I have to tell you."

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"We've been in a state of frenzy at work," said Allan, wrapping his hands gratefully around his coffee mug, and then he proceeded to tell Juliet about the whole thing. How their bank branch in Hong Kong had had a sudden withdrawal of money from an account that hadn't any activity on it in years. How the account belonged to a man that everyone had presumed dead for almost a decade--and how that man had really been in POW camp the whole time, how last Tuesday walked into the branch with a letter from the US embassy, proving he was who he said he was, and asked for a great sum of money to be taken from his account. A small portion of it he would use for his fare to get home to the States.

Desdemona Cash was listed on the account information as the beneficiary of his estate.

"And that man was Barry--Mona's Barry?" said Juliet tremblingly.

Allan said, "Yes."

Juliet felt overcome by a torrent of emotions. Shock--horror--joy--and awe. "Why, Mona must be beside herself!" she cried. "And she hasn't said--anything--to me about it! About him being found--about him being not dead!"

"You mustn't tell her, Juliet," said Allan, catching her wrist as she was about to fly out of the room. Juliet stared into his liquid brown eyes in bewilderment.

"What! You mean she doesn't know?" she laughed. "I must go and tell her then--you must go and tell her--right now!"

Allan shook his head, again, grimly. "It's classified information," he said. "I could lose my job for telling her, Juliet."

"You can't mean you'll keep this from her!"

"It's not my place to say until everything is finalized," said Allan. "There's paperwork to be done. And what if this man isn't Barry Ashbury after all?"

"You just said he was!" cried stricken Juliet.

"Letters of identity are hard to get without proper authorization," said Allan. "But this man could be an imposter. Barry Ashbury is legally dead. His death certificate is on file at the city hall. He has to come in person to have it nullified. The only person that can be notified until then is his next-of-kin--and that is his mother."

"His mother!" Juliet was beside herself. "Oh, she hates Mona, she won't tell him, and Mona will never know. Mrs. Ashbury will tell him that Mona is gone--that Mona has moved away, and maybe married, and forgotten him. Oh Allan, when you were missing it was so horrible for us--for me--and we were so joyous when we found you weren't dead! Mona has thought he was dead for ever so long--and now, to find he is alive again--!"

"I know that she loves him--still," said Allan. "But the sad fact of it, Juliet, is that Mona cannot know--not yet. She might have had his child, but legally she is nothing to him--because she was never his wife."

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A cold veil dropped over Juliet's sudden happiness. Just a few moments ago her biggest worry was that she and Allan seemed to be quarreling--and now this! She was torn between her husband's wishes--she did not want to break the law--but also her heart told her that she could not sit on this information without saying a word to her friend.

"I don't hate you," she said to Allan, "But I hate this. And I hate that you told me when there is nothing I can do!"

She flew up the staircase to the little-used tower room, where they stored boxes. It was not heated and so it was very hard to use as an office or a sitting room in the winter. Juliet threw herself on the old, plush sofa that had been there when they moved in and wept until her eyes felt raw and dry. When she had cried herself out at the unfairness of things--of the world--the first light of morning was creeping over the horizon. Tiny white dots of sails swept over the harbor as the fishermen headed in to shore from a night's work. Juliet pictured them--the tired fishermen--who would be weary and sore but glad to be going to their homes, where their wives waited up for them, and children slept, still, snug in their beds. There would be a groaning breakfast on their tables. From the kitchen Juliet could hear sounds of Allan moving around and knew that he was putting his own breakfast on the table. She stretched and pulled her wrapper more tightly around herself, getting ready to go down herself. But as she stood, there was a sudden blink-blink-blinking of the lighthouse beam on the opposite shore as it went out for the day. The flash of it touched Juliet's heart--and brought an illumination to her soul.

"I shan't hold this against Allan," she said. "He was right to tell me. And I won't tell Mona--yet--no matter how badly I want to. She has thought he was dead for so long--what is a few more days, until everything is certain? If I told her now, the shock would probably kill her. No, I'll wait."

She reflected.

"Our Sunday school teacher used to say that one of the ways to be a good Christian was to practice self-control--which is one of the things I have never been good at--I will practice it now. But oh," Juliet said forlornly, as a light came on across the street in the War-Widow's cottage, "It will be so hard!"

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A/n: How's that for a twist? Longer chapters coming soon--thanks for the reviews!