My Darling Love

Chapter 39 – The Nothing

"A part of you has grown in me, together forever we shall be, never apart, maybe in distance, but not in the heart."

-Anonymous

Mary laughed as if it were a joke he had made to lighten her mood, she found quite funny. She was the only one laughing, and although she was still exhausted, and had been prescribed complete bed rest, she slowly got up and began to dress. "I'll just go over there myself. She probably just...just has a bad cold."

George stood behind his wife and embraced her with all his might. "She is not sick, Mary Elizabeth. She got up in the middle of the night and tripped in her bedroom. She fell very hard and hurt her head."

Mary pulled from George's embrace and continued dressing. "That's because she leaves her shoes all over the room. I'm always telling her to put them in the closet, but she never listens. She's not dead. She probably has a bad bruise on her face and doesn't want to be seen. Margaret is probably upset because Martine is driving her mad without any help; you know how Millicent is with infants. I'll just go over there and--"

George pulled Mary back around to him and clutched her tightly to his chest. "Mary, she's not home. She died, and is now buried in the ground."

Again Mary pushed him away and went to her vanity table. She sat down and began fixing her hair, "No one dies from falling on the bedroom floor, George, don't be foolish." George sat on the bed and watched her; she used her brush to straighten the length of the hair, that which still remained. Going to bed with it wet and as short as it was, her hair now stuck up and out in all the wrong places, and, try as she might, there was no way to tidy it. "Well, I have to bathe because my hair is just not cooperating. Can you call Wendy to help me, George?"

She rose too quickly and got lightheaded, swaying. George jumped up to catch her, and she landed safely in his arms. "You are not supposed to be out of bed, Mary Elizabeth." He lifted her up and carried her to their bed to lay her down. He now spoke gently to her, holding both of her hands in his. "Your Aunt Millicent did not fall on her bedroom floor. She fell off her bedroom balcony to the street below."

Mary gave George a quizzical look, "How did she do that? Why would she do that? Were her shoes on the balcony George?" George looked away, trying to determine the best way to explain the events that transpired leading to Millicent's untimely demise.

"George, where are Margaret and Martine?"

That was easy to answer. "They are downstairs. They will be moving into the nursery. Michael will be moving into Grandpa Joe's room with him, and, as you know, John will be staying at the university. But for now, he will sleep on the sofa in parlor." George swallowed the knot in his throat and thought of a quick explanation to ease Mary's mind over her aunt, a falsehood that could be clarified later when she was better, "Aunt Millicent went out of the balcony to get her shoes and tripped off over the edge."

It was finally beginning to dawn on Mary that her aunt truly was dead. "That's horrible, George! What a freak accident, and she just became a grandmother!" George felt very uncomfortable about lying, and felt even worse when Mary began to cry. "I never made my peace with her, George. The last time I saw her, I stuck a stocking in her mouth and tied her to a chair, then I struck her. Did you say she is already buried? I didn't even go the funeral, how wretched of me!" Mary's memory was clouded from being so weary for so long,

"No, Mary, you made your peace with Aunt Millicent. Don't you remember, in the parlor downstairs after I came home? You hugged and kissed and you both apologized. She's been here with Margaret and Martine every day since then. You were too sick to go the funeral. Your Aunt Millicent would have understood that."

Mary now remembered, and his soothing words made her feel better, and jogged her memory further, lifting the clouds. "Why are Margaret and Martine not staying at Millicent's? Probably too big for just the two of them." Mary grabbed George's arm as her inspiration hit, "George, I'm sure Millicent left Margaret her home. Instead of selling it and banking the money for a rainy day, why not move in there ourselves?"

George smiled to his wife, still in the dark, and replied, "We can't move into your Aunt Millicent's home, Mary."

"You're right, it's rightfully Margaret's, and when she marries, she will want the money from that home for her family and not her poor relations." Mary lowered her head defeated. "Did Aunt Millicent bequeath anything to me?" Mary looked up and tilted her eyes to get a better view of George's face hidden behind his hands he was rubbing his head with.

"Nothing," he responded.

"What do you mean -- nothing? She at least left something for the children?"

"She left them nothing."

Mary was stunned and furious, she attempted to get out of bed once more, but George grabbed her by the wrist and made her sit back down. "She left them nothing, nothing at all. All the time she spent here, all the food she ate from our table, all the rude comments and condemnations she made and she left nothing to us? What did she do with all her money then?" Mary demanded.

George looked flustered as he moved his hands back to Mary's. He lay beside his wife on the bed, both resting on their backs and stared at the ceiling without speaking. His falsehood would need clarification this very moment, not only to straighten out the lie, but also to help Mary get beyond the loss, and forgive her Aunt so she could rest in peace. "Millicent spent it, Mary, all her money, everything. Every last cent, she has nothing. That's why she left us nothing."

Mary started to laugh so hard she began to cough. "Nothing? Really, George, you are so funny! Perhaps it is you that is looking at the wrong books! With all her investments, and her stocks and bonds -- you must be jesting with me, George! She left her money to the Church, didn't she? Probably having one of those elaborate windows installed with her name on the bottom. I won't be angry, you can tell me."

Once again George did not share his wife's hilarity. "No, Mary, there will be no windows in the church with her name on it. Mary, she was broke. Grandpa Joe was using his retirement money to support her lifestyle for years. Mary, you knew that. Not only did he pay the servants' salaries, he paid for everything. He had her on an allowance, and Margaret on one as well. She ate here with us all the time because she couldn't afford to buy groceries. All those garden parties and lunches with her friends she delighted in, apparently she was infamous for never paying her part of the check by conveniently forgetting her purse. She'd made bad investments; she never listened to me when I told her there is no way possible in this day and age to get rich quickly, and without careful consideration of the new companies that are closed and bankrupt before they even open. Her lawyers stole whatever funds she had not lost in the market. There is no home for Margaret to sell and save for rainy days because tomorrow the bank will foreclose on it. She spent all the money, everything. When the cash in her accounts was gone, she borrowed on everything she owned to get more money. When that ran out, she asked me for her jewels back, I gave her the account and she drained that as well. Then she began borrowing money from your father. She was so embarrassed and humiliated and worried over what the neighbors would think, not to mention her society friends when her loans were called in, the she threw herself..." George choked on the words, unable to finish.

"She threw herself out a window," Mary whispered, dumbfounded.

"...Because she didn't want to impose on us. Although we had forgiven her a hundred times over, she never forgave herself. She was terrified at the thought of taking anything more from our family, especially a room in our home. That is what it said in her will that she had drawn up that very morning. She never discussed that decision with anyone, not your father or me, or even Margaret. She didn't have to move in here with us, I would have had Harry move in, and she could have taken his flat. We would have made do."

Mary sighed, and George shrugged his shoulders. "Margaret and Martine also received nothing, as did her brother, your father. I checked all her books, the bankbooks, the loan ledgers, everything, and there is nothing. I had to pay for her entire funeral, the reception afterwards, and her grave marker, because she begged in her will that she be buried next to her husband in church cemetery and not in potter's field."

Mary leaned her head against his shoulder. "Oh George, what did you have written on the headstone?"

George removed his spectacles and closed his eyes, "Nothing, she only said I had to pay for the headstone. She willed that I have nothing written upon it."

George returned to work the next day and resumed his post as manager of the bank. Mary stayed abed for a week, as prescribed, and enjoyed every minute of it. Wendy helped Margaret with the baby, and Grandpa Joe and the boys did what they had to, to bring normalcy back to the home.

The Darling house was full now, over crowded, no vacancies. There was no privacy to be found anywhere except the basement; that was no more than a dirt hole that smelled moldy and unlivable. The table was full at breakfast and dinner, and Mary felt as though she had enlisted in the army and was commissioned as their full time cook -- not to mention slave. That situation was resolved quickly when George demanded, "Everyone who lives in this house will clean their own room. With the exception of Michael, John and Grandpa Joe, everyone else will do their own laundry. We will all take turns each day doing the washing up after dinner. And every Saturday, we all will help my wife clean the house from top to bottom. That includes dusting, mopping and scrubbing the floors, shaking out the rugs, scouring the bathroom, and everything else that needs to be done to keep order within these walls. When we are finished, we all will go eat together as a family at a restaurant."

It was very different with adults out and about day and night, coming and going as they pleased. Children were much easier to look after, even if they were at times intertwined in their own worlds of fantasy. Mary could pull them back into reality and down to earth at a moment's notice. But the grownups -- Wendy, John and Michael -- were becoming mingled into the real world, and as such, they were harder to track. Mary liked to know where her children were, but found it impossible while making dinner in the kitchen. Someone in the home would leave by the front door, and Mary would find herself racing to the window to catch whomever took flight. That ended, too, when George declared, "This is not a boarding house. It is our family's home. And the rule is, if you want to go out, you must tell someone where you are going and what time to expect you home, no exceptions."

Still, that rule was constantly broken -- unbelievably, by Wendy, all the time. Mary would check on her in the night and find her bed empty, her attic window wide open no matter what the weather. George would question her each morning and Wendy's response was always the same, "I was in the bathroom while mother was up in the attic." Soon enough, Mary stopped going to the attic to save her husband the heartache.

There was definitely no exception for Margaret, who was not given a free ride in Mr. Darling's home. George had never forgiven her for lies against him. He made it quite clear he disliked her, and would not tolerate her in whatever room he was in. She was no longer the young polite lady of proper society who got to sit around looking pretty, "Make no mistake, Margaret, you are not one of my children, nor is your child my grandchild. Therefore, you will use your talents and take a position and contribute to this household by paying room and board. I suggest you start with the florist, I told him you would stopping by this morning."

Fearing he meant a return to the profession of prostitution, she begged Mary for aid in softening George's heart. "Mr. Darling wants to rent me out to his friends, Mrs. Darling, I don't know the florist. I would prefer to work the streets myself, that way I can give the gentlemen the once over and--"

Mary shook her head putting her hands over Margaret's mouth to ease her woes after George left for work. "No, dearest, Mr. Darling meant you should apply at florist who needs an assistant in the flower shop, Margaret, working the counter, or maybe the florist will teach you to make arrangements for customers. You are truly blessed with a green thumb, and I must say my flower garden has never bloomed so beautifully. Mr. Darling would only ever want you to have a respectable profession, dearest."

Margaret followed Mary's advice, and, with George's recommendation, was a given a position. She showed him her first paycheck, and George made her put right in the bank to save for her daughter.

Margaret was so pleased she kissed him right on the cheek. Poor George turned red, and Margaret successfully softened his heart all by herself. He took a portion of her pay every week and paid Wendy for watching Martine, which Wendy promptly returned to Margaret. What was left, George put into a trust account for Martine. He explained to his wife it was to soothe the worries over finances she never had, "I make enough to support the house, and as soon as John graduates from university, he will also bring more money home for us. It's silly to make Margaret pay to live here with her daughter. If she were not staying in the nursery, we would have a big empty room upstairs, and I would never rent it out. She needs our help, Mary, to get on her feet, with no family left."

Mary nodded, reassuring him of her trust in his good judgment, and also kissed his cheek. George would never consider Margaret his family, nor would he ever refer to her as such. But his help in establishing her in a good job, providing food and comfort for her and her daughter, and keeping her safe from harm, made her mother Penny smile down from heaven.

The summer months passed quickly into autumn, and John left for university, but not before an innocent flirtation developed with Margaret. No one took notice with so many other things going on inside the humble home -- well, almost no one. Wendy caught them kissing in her room, the attic, of all places. Both her brother and a giggly Margaret separately confided their romance to her, and made her swear to secrecy, to hold her tongue. "Father would never allow it under his roof. I don't think he likes Margaret, not one bit."

Wendy reluctantly agreed, not to the liking part, more so to "under his roof." She concurred further herself, "Mother and Father would never tolerate any of us 'playing house' in their home."

John came home every weekend and slept on the sofa without complaint. Whenever Mary and George turned their head elsewhere, both young lovers would smile and wink to each other.

Wendy's beauty matured, and soon she was one of the most sought-after young ladies of London. She was unexpectedly shy, and did not receive suitors in her home. Mary asked after her constant refusal of the gentlemen who wanted to call on her, fearing her family embarrassed her. "Don't be ridiculous, Mother. I just don't think much after marriage and babies. Dealing with a man seems far too complicated, and helping with Martine has given me enough experience to know I am not the mothering type."

When Mary was Wendy's age, she was already wed with one child, and would not have had it any other way. She was sure that, had she never met George, she still would have been married with one child by the time she was nineteen, no matter what. But seeing the strong will and independent streak in her only daughter made her proud, but still concerned. "You should not discard the idea of marriage and having children of your own, Wendy, lest you die a spinster and be buried with only a blank headstone marking your place on this earth. You must remember, once your father and I are gone, you will have only yourself, for I am sure both your brothers will be married with their own families. And I doubt very highly dearest Wendy you would want to follow in Aunt Millicent's footsteps..."

Michael was only fifteen, but he had the mind of a man of thirty. He had tried unsuccessfully to enlist in the army, but the age restrictions said he would not be accepted until he was eighteen. "I still think you need to concentrate on your school work, Michael, and attend University for a degree. Even if you do enter the royal army, you will need a profession when you are discharged from service."

Michael had a different disposition than his brother and sister. Wendy took after Mary, and John was George's duplicate. Michael was more like the grandfather he never met. He had an iron will, to attain whatever he wanted, and he had already decided when he was married, his wife would live under his rules.

"Father needs to be more strict with mother, that's his problem," he declared one day to his grandfather. "He sees her as an equal to him, and she's not. She just a wife and mother who gets to stay home all day."

Grandpa Joe puffed on his pipe and chuckled, "If your father had to pay your mother for all her hard work of being a wife and mother, we'd all be in the poorhouse. I can't think of any other job where you never get a day off."

The Christmas Holiday was over and the birthdays from March to July came and went. Before anyone took notice, it was Christmas again. Wendy and Margaret were both twenty and still living at home. John was eighteen and lived at University full time now. He received an internship at a bank near the school, and worked on the weekends to help his father pay his tuition. Michael was sixteen now, and could no longer wait to join his majesty's service; he stole his brother's birth certificate and went off to join the army.

It was turning into a somber season that was about to get more depressing. Margaret and her daughter announced that they would move to a small flat above the flower shop where she worked right after the New Year. She delivered this news over the dinner table on Christmas Eve, right before Wendy proclaimed she had decided to use her savings -- the savings George was to entrust her with for the day she turned twenty-one -- to travel the world. "The only way to gain experiences for the adventures I am to write of is to have them!"

Mary and George looked at one another, and when the children got up from the table, they counted together the empty chairs. Wendy their oldest, one. John their first son and second child, two. Michael their second son and baby, three. Margaret, their ward, four, and Martine, her daughter, five. All that remained were the two chairs they sat in and Grandpa Joe, who now noticed their faces and offered to cheer them, "Think of how big this house will be with all the children grown up and finally gone. No more tripping over toys, no more bumping into others in the hall, no line for the bathroom, and I can finally take a hot bath again, with plenty of hot water. No more children screaming at each other, no more endless dirty dishes from breakfast to supper, no more afternoons spent at the washboard, no more additional expenses."

Those words only saddened Mary further. As she got up from the table, she said, "No more children laughing, no more babies to hug and kiss, no more birthday parties, no more tripping over toys, no more Saturdays at the park, no more helping the children with their homework, and no more bedtime fairy."

The spring came, and just like Grandpa Joe predicted, the children were gone and the house they now lived in seemed too big. There was no one to bump into in the halls and no lines to use the bathroom in the evening. It would have been paradise, had the Darling house not been so quiet. No laughing, nothing getting knocked over or broken, no one shouting as they walked out the front door, "I'm going out. I'll be back later!" Wendy was not there to play the piano, and John was not there to engage his father in conversations about stocks and bonds. Margaret was gone and so was her constant yelling at Martine to behave. No more temper tantrums from the small child who had a great deal of her father hidden in her. Michael, who never said much, never even said good-bye, sneaking out the back door in the middle of the night. Grandpa Joe was now completely bored without having to entertain an influx of his grandchildren and their friends, and started to help Mary with her chores.

But now that there was no longer the crowd of people mixing about, there was no longer a mess. So by late morning, they were done with their work and sat in the parlor, Grandpa Joe puffing on his pipe, reading, and Mary doing her needlepoint and mending of the imaginary holes in George's socks. George was bored as well, and found it hard to sleep with the house so quiet. He took on another job of sorts, balancing the books of his friends and neighbors, as he had when he was first married and working a second job for the undertaker. He was skilled in finding the errors, which, for the most part, put money back in the pocket of his clients. He soon became the most sought-after accountant in the entire neighborhood, and spent the better part of his free time at his desk balancing ledgers and checkbooks, bringing in the only new conversations into the house. "The Smiths paid the butcher for the same order of meat three times. That is why I always say that we should pay the butcher at the time of sale, Mary, and not weekly as he has asked. I hear he is a gambler and uses his customer's accounts to cover his losses. I think we should inquire after another butcher shop. They are popping up all over London."

None of the children ran away in an attempt to keep themselves from growing up, no, they went away to grow up. "They are adults now, it's selfish to ask them to stay here with us. This is what parents are supposed to want, for their children to develop into adults that have their own lives," Mary told George who, surprisingly, took their departure from him the hardest. "There will only be a short time between when they leave and when they return married with children. Grandchildren, George, and we are both still so young." They were no longer so young, rather middle aged, Mary was forty and George was forty-seven. Twenty-one years had come and gone since they were married and became first-time parents. "I wonder how long it will be until there are babies again?" Mary asked, as she dreamed of being an older woman with gray hair and little versions of her own children (with slight differences from their daughters-in-law and son-in-law) for her to love.

"I think John will marry first," George remarked, as he readied for bed.

Mary had her heart set on Wendy, she being the eldest and she told him. "No George, Wendy will marry first."

"I hate to say this, because it sounds vaguely familiar, but I fear our Wendy will die a spinster author of trashy romance novels. And her reputation, Mary..." George replied as he removed his spectacles and rested his head on his pillow.

Mary snuggled up next to him and ran her hand down his chest, "You know, George, I was thinking, with children gone, maybe we could have another baby."

George's eyes had been closing, but now went wide-eyed with his wife's baffling comment. "Mary, dearest, you can't have any more babies."

Mary looked at George, just as astonished by his remark as he was to her suggestion. "Why not? We could still have another baby if we wanted to." Mary got up from the bed and went to her wardrobe, and removed a box full of the children's baby things she kept as mementoes.

George sat up and gazed at his wife with disbelief, "Mary, you cannot have another baby. After Michael was delivered the surgeon removed parts of you that would be required to carry a child. And anyway," he continued shaking his head at her preposterous proposal, "having Michael almost killed you, why would you want to do that to yourself again -- not to mention me?"

Mary shrugged her shoulders not listening to word he was saying. To further his cause, he knelt down before her and took from her the blanket she had wrapped Wendy in when she was first born. "Mary, you are too old to have another baby." He spoke the words very slowly, for he knew what was coming next and braced himself for it.

As the words left his mouth, she lifted her hand and slapped him hard across the cheek. "I am not too old for anything, and if I want another baby, I will have one, and you will give it to me!"

George ignored the slap and rose to his feet. "I'm sorry, Mary, there is no way I could ever give you another baby. I am not refusing you as punishment, I telling you there is no way possible that it could ever be. We've made love the same way since Michael was born and you never once conceived. You haven't even had a monthly in years. You must face the reality that you are now barren, and another child is not possible. There is no need to disappoint yourself and dream after baby smells and baby things. There are no more babies for you." He sat back down next to her, wrapping his arm lovingly around her, "There are to be no more babies for me, either, dearest Mary. We are no longer the youngsters we were when we got married. We are not even grown-ups anymore. That time is coming to an end. We must look ahead to being older and getting old. The next baby that you hold will be a grandchild."

Mary's eyes glistened and her heart broke, finally accepting that her children were gone, and there would be no more from her. George kissed her cheek and held onto her tighter as another light bulb went off in her head. "But you promised you would give me as many babies as I wanted, George, and I don't have to bear the baby, we could adopt one. Harry said when he went to Paris; the orphanage was full of babies waiting to be brought home to a loving family. You can go and fetch me one or two of them."

George shook his head vehemently. "No, we always wanted three children, and we had them. They are healthy and happy and have grown up right before our eyes, just like we planned. A new baby will not solve the emptiness you feel inside. Think of how much of a bother Martine was, knocking things over and running about creating chaos. She is an unruly child, who, with all of our best efforts, is still stubborn and disobedient. And I am not going back to Paris again ever, Mary."

"That's Margaret's fault, George, after all, Martine is her child. Don't forget she has no father to properly discipline her. Our baby would be different. We would raise it better. And there are plenty of infants in other orphanages that need two loving parents to raise them." Mary smiled, hopeful of persuading him.

George never wanted to hurt Mary, but seeing no other way to end their discussion, he asked, "If Vivian had that baby and asked us to raise it, would you want to?"

Mary paused a moment, then shook her head and breathed a sigh "But not for the reasons you're thinking. You are thinking I would be jealous that she could give you a baby and I couldn't."

George shook his head. That baby was not his, and even the hinting to a 'maybe' was unacceptable. As he was about to speak Mary interrupted, "I know the baby wasn't truly yours, George, and that's not my point. My point is, what would happen if one day after years of us taking care of the child and growing attached to it, she came and wanted the baby back?"

George stuck at his lower lips and tilted his head forward, "That, Mary, was exactly what I was thinking."

"Adopting aside, if I could have another baby, would you want one, George?"

"Honestly, Mary, no. It is a relief to me that this part of our lives is over. Now, it will be just the two of us. That's something we never got a chance to have, we can just rest now and be together, just the two of us."

Mary's found her own mind suddenly racing with the most splendid thoughts. The first moment they laid eyes on each in Mr. Baker's parlor to the that morning in Penny's bed, the morning they made their precious baby Gwendolyn Angelina, was the only time it had only been just the two of them. A few stolen weeks that were spent at most times apart. It was Mary's only regret of her early marriage to George. Never having anytime to spend with just him, and him alone, with no other responsibilities to anyone else in the entire world except each other.

Mary gave George the ecstatic smile he had not seen in years, which left him thunderstruck.

"Really George, just the two us?" He nodded with perplexed mystification. Mary rolled on her side to face him. "That is so lovely, just the two of us! I forgot in the beginning for only moments it was just you and I. Then forever after that it was the children."

George patted her hand and closed his eyes, once again readying himself for slumber, but Mary had other ideas. He heard the swish of cloth and opened them again, seeing her remove her robe and slowly unbutton her nightgown. She cuddled up next to him and whispered, "You know, George, my father is out tonight with your brother Harry. The whole house is empty. It's just you and me, right now."

He watched, fascinated, as she sat up and with her arms spread out. She nodded miming the words "the whole house."

"The whole house? Really?" George asked, both eyes open, clutching his blankets to his neck as protection from the lustful look Mary gave him. Mary still nodded that indeed her words were correct, and smiled in a manner more tempting than Madam Eve's entire coterie. "Why Mary, you look like you are about to eat me up!" George's tone was apprehensive, as Mary now nodded not only her head but also her whole body.

"Yes George, tonight I am going to eat you up."

Mary gently clasped her hands on the blanket George clutched to his neck, still his only means of shielding against her obvious intentions. All at once, she ripped the blanket completely off the bed leaving her husband lying flat in his pajamas. In the same manner she removed his pajama bottoms, flinging them across the room, landing on a lamp near the wardrobe. She slowly worked the buttons of his pajama shirt open, and for each button she unfastened, George jokingly refastened again causing Mary to kneel before him and cross her arms. "Whether you leave your pajama top on or not George, I am going to have my way with you tonight," Mary said to him, quite determined.

"Oh really, Mary?" George replied rather sarcastically. "I think not." He rose from the bed with out his drawers on and walked bare-bottomed out of the room. Mary slumped on the bed in disbelief for a moment, waiting for him to return. He didn't so she slipped on her nightdress and went looking for him. Down the hall, she peeked into each of the rooms. Down the stairs, there was no sign of George in the kitchen or parlor. In the last place she looked, the dining room, George waited, and as she entered, he snatched her from behind and threw her on the table.

"GEORGE!" Mary screamed, shocked as he pushed her down and politely asked, "Do you like this nightgown you're wearing Mary, old isn't it?"

"Yes, it's old...but" Mary mustered as her husband grabbed the top and forcefully ripped it straight down the middle. "GEORGE!" Mary shouted again, the remnants of her favorite silky sheath now destroyed.

George kissed his way from her mouth to her neck to breasts, around the nipples to her navel and down to her womanhood, not missing one inch of her sensitive and extremely ticklish skin. It caused her to giggle, and laugh out loud when he declared, "I think I am the one who will eat you up tonight, and what better place to do it then on my own dining room table?"

Finally, just the two of them, in the days ahead, George and Mary did many more wonderful things together. They entertained their friends in their home, holding merry little get-togethers full of good food, good fun and plenty of wine. They traveled to visit with John, and still had Margaret and her daughter come to Sunday mass with them and stay all day for Sunday supper. Grandpa Joe stayed out of their way, and spent loads of time at George's brother Harry's flat, playing cards and smoking their pipes.

Grandpa Joe returned the favor that Harry had done for George, and helped him get back on his feet. He took Harry clothes shopping and got him a job at a tobacco shop. Harry did have a bit of money of his own, and with his brother's good investments, soon he had enough money, combined with Grandpa Joe, to become partners in their own tobacco shop. Harold ran the shop, Grandpa Joe became his silent partner, which after only a few months of its opening near the hub of business in London, was filled every day. They opened a small pub upstairs that offered card games and a billiard table and a band that played jolly dance tunes, and it became 'the place to be' after a hard day of work for bankers, lawyers, doctors and their wives.

Grandpa Joe always chuckled when George and Mary would come home late from spending their evening at H.J.B. Darling Tobacco & Tavern, the name Harry gave his establishment, and run up the stairs to the privacy of their bedchamber. For mornings on end, George would come to breakfast with a smile that ran ear to ear. Where they had previously hid their intimacy in the night, they displayed it openly in their house and out and about in London in broad daylight, and later in the darkness of night. George got into the habit of coming home for lunch to "refresh the Mrs." And Grandpa Joe got into the habit of talking a long walk at that time when his son-in-law was due home for his afternoon delight.

The happiness and contentment ended briefly when Wendy did not come home on her birthday. Mary still made her favorite dinner and a cake, making George sing with her to an empty chair. Mary made a wish for her daughter and blew out the candles, even in her absence.

She might well have spent the rest of the night crying in her room, but George insisted, on Wendy's behalf, that since it was a Saturday night, they should go dancing. "Wendy loves music, she loves to dance, and she would love to see us waltz on her birthday," George insisted, as he slipped a shawl over Mary's shoulders, "Now let's go or we'll miss a good spot on the dance floor, as I am sure there is a line at the pub already."

They were happy on John's birthday, because he came home. He also came home a week later as Mary celebrated her birthday. Michael wrote home from battle, and asked his parents to light a candle and say rosary on his birthday in June, and they did together. Mary lit a candle and said a rosary at every morning mass just for him from then on. Before they knew it, it was summer again, and George was told by the new bank president to take time off for a much needed vacation.

"Where would you like to go, Mary? Shall we go to America to see Wendy? Or shall we travel to see John? We can't see Michael for he's overseas on duty, although I really want to." George debated back and forth over his eggs and bacon in the morning.

"I would love to see Wendy," Mary told him, "but the trip there is too long, not to mention we do not know exactly where she is. They must not postmark the letters sent from there and she never gives a specific location, very strange of her. You only have a week off from work. This may sound horrible and God forgive me, but we see John all the time. I swear we see him more now than we did when he lived here. And Michael, well, I plan on giving him a good talking to when he gets home. Why don't we just stay home and relax?"

George shook his head, "No, we should go somewhere. We never had a honeymoon."

Mary looked up from her plate, "We had Pa--..."

Before she could get the location out, George raised his hand to shush her. "No, that was not our honeymoon."

Mary fell silent, understanding completely.

George was reading his paper and caught Mary's saddened expression, having raised the specter of old ghosts long buried. "What I meant, dear, Paris was not the honeymoon we would have had if we'd gotten married without the worry of our parents' disapproval, and you being expectant with Wendy." He put down his paper and turned his full attention to Mary. "Where do you think we would have gone on our honeymoon, had we gotten married like we were supposed when we first got engaged, when everyone was happy for us?"

Mary pursed her lips in and thought about it, "Probably just the countryside, maybe to a small cottage near the shore."

George lifted his paper and continued reading, "I think you are correct, and that's where we should go. We shall pretend to be newlyweds. Yes, we'll tell everyone we just got married and are on our honeymoon." Mary liked that suggestion, and she agreed.