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Conversation 3

"Nervous yet?"

Doppler had not expected the inquiry. He started at it, in all truth, for the pair had been sitting, for a little while, in content silence. Now suddenly Amelia had piped up, and with an inquiry just vague enough for Doppler to have to pursue it before being able to answer. He looked at her with eyebrows raised, clearing his throat.

"Nervous?"

"Yes. You know… Antsy. Apprehensive."

"About what?"

Amelia's answer was blunt and concise, and yet for a moment almost wavering: "Getting married."

Now Doppler understood. He chuckled lightly, glancing at the engagement ring he'd slipped on her finger now several weeks ago. In his secretive and innermost being, he had been nervous. He had been nervous at the dinner preceding the proposal, he had been nervous all throughout the conversation there, he had been nervous on the carriage ride home, and he had been very nervous when he finally popped the question. But after she had said yes—after she'd answered in affirmation with one little word—he hadn't felt nervous at all.

And he had proudly maintained the inner serenity ever since.

Therefore, with great dignity and confidence, Doppler looked her in the eye and said, "No. I'm not nervous at all."

"Oh," said Amelia.

"'Oh'?" Doppler set out to say, but before he could, Amelia added, on a higher note, "That's wonderful, Doctor. I'm very proud of you."

Doppler faltered a moment, still feeling that he ought to repeat her beginning statement and get a clarification on it, but he decided against it, and shut his mouth.

"I would have expected that…" Amelia continued musingly, then looked at him, and thought better of concluding her observation. "Well…"

Doppler's lips pursed a little, slightly offended. "What? That I would be nervous?" he finished for her, his tone more accusing than he had intended.

Amelia laughed quietly at his pursed lips. "No," she said heavily.

"That is what you were going to say," Doppler, by his altered tone, informed Amelia rather than accused her. Amelia smiled at him, in gentle bewilderment. "Are you trying to start an argument with me?"

Doppler's brow furrowed. "No, but—"

"Then I see no reason why you pursue it so relentlessly."

Doppler sat, silent for a moment. Here he had thought his conduct had been the farthest thing from nervous it had ever been in years, and apparent, too! He inspected himself inwardly now, for an instant, and still, indeed, failed to find anything nervous in him whatsoever. So he had not lied to Amelia. What had made her think he was nervous?

He determined, after a small lapse of time, that his absence of apprehension had not been apparent enough. He was sensitive to the fact that, perceptive as she was, Amelia may have missed that he was not nervous, the signs of which were surely exuding from him. She was, after all, indisputably nothing at all if not entirely calm about the event.

So he straightened himself, looked again at his fiancée, and smiled sheepishly.

"It's true," he conceded. "I should not have pursued it. I apologize."

Amelia looked at him through the corners of veiled eyes. "Apology accepted," she, too, seemed to concede. Doppler resituated himself in his seat.

His mind began to roll around some things that might make his serenity more obvious.

"So," he began, before he had thought of anything to say.

There was a small pause.

Then he lighted upon a subject, "How many guests do you want to invite to the wedding?"

Amelia, her chin resting lightly upon her palm, laughed. "As few as possible!" she answered.

Doppler laughed, too, not only because the reply had struck him as humorous, but to prove that he was not nervous.

"That's all right…" he said generously. "It doesn't really matter to me who's there… Just as long as I marry you."

Amelia smiled at him, but narrowed her eyes as well, hinting at her derision for the whimsical slush he had offered her. She said nothing. Doppler went on.

"Anyway, the guest list can be made a little later. Have you an idea of the dress you'd like to wear?" he asked her, smiling, actually, at the thought of Amelia coming down the aisle in a flourishing bridal's gown.

"Dress? No, I haven't really thought about it yet."

"I see. Well, you still have plenty of time." He thought a moment, and then asked her, "Have you decided who your Maid of Honor will be?"

"I… thought I might ask Mrs. Hawkins…"

"Sarah! Sarah would love to! She'll be thrilled."

"I can only hope."

Amelia was not cooperating. Of course, he reconsidered, how had he expected her to react? Throw her arms about him and cry shrilly, 'Oh, Delbert! You aren't nervous!' perhaps? That was certainly not something Captain Amelia would do. He thought a moment, and decided that, if she would not verbalize her realization, he would simply have to make sure he was getting his message across to her. He would be able to recognize when she was aware that he wasn't nervous. So he concocted another subject to deliver to her.

Of course, he'd suddenly run out of topics he might suggest to her concerning marriage that would prove he had no fear of them. He pondered a good long while, leaving a pause lingering in the room, trying to think up something else. He might ask her what she wanted the Bride's Maids to wear, or what flowers she wanted to carry down the aisle, or what type of cake she wanted to cut at the Reception.

He then waved these ideas away. It was not scary to plan a wedding—it was probable, he thought to himself, that people plan weddings more often than they actually get married. What was scary, what really made people nervous (that he wasn't nervous about at all), was life after the wedding. He had to show her that he wasn't afraid of what would happen after it all—that he, in the most profound definition of the concept, was committed to her.

He now had his new topic.

"So," he began casually, "how does it feel, knowing I'm the last person you'll ever be involved with?"

"I beg your pardon?" Amelia stared at him in a sort of surprised confusion.

Doppler shrugged. "We're getting married. There won't be any more… oh, dating, meeting new prospects… We'll always be together."

"I do believe that's why I'm marrying you, Delbert," Amelia replied quickly, a small quip obviously in the offing. "To keep all those women that cling to you daily away."

Doppler smiled. "Well, naturally…" he consented.

Amelia, however, did not have any more to say. Doppler cleared his throat. He didn't think he was making himself clear at all. "Of course," he pressed, "I don't mind at all. I only want to grow old with you."

"Grow what?"

"Old. You didn't think you'd be young forever, did you?" He laughed musingly. "I can just see you with grey hair…"

"Grey what?" Amelia repeated, her hand involuntarily going to the flaming tresses that fell around her face. The quiet black slits that bisected her emerald irises had dilated somewhat.

Doppler reached out and traced her cheek with his fingers. "Grey hair. And lines around your mouth and eyes…"

"What are you doing?" she asked, pulling away from him as though he were painting the wrinkles on her already. Doppler's hand retreated.

"Nothing… I'm simply… thinking of our life together. Thinking ahead."

"Delbert, darling, you don't have to think that far ahead."

Doppler leaned back in his chair, smiling. "All right. I won't. I'll think of something a little nearer to the future…" And he, indeed, thought through several things in the nearer future that often came after marriage that he wasn't afraid of or nervous about. Finally, something occurred to him; something that he felt certain would prove once and for all that he wasn't nervous about anything his marriage with Amelia might bring.

"Amelia," he said dreamily. "How many children do you want to have?"

Amelia looked aghast. "Children?"

"Of course! Can't you see it? Little Delbert, junior…" then he gestured to Amelia willingly, "Or Little Amelia, junior…playing 'pirates' with you in the den, or learning about Cassegrain focuses with me in the Observatory…"

"Delbert—"

"And, of course, our first child will need a little brother or sister for a playmate…"

"Delbert—"

"And everywhere we go with them, people will say they have your eyes…"

"Delbert…"

"Yes, Dear?"

Amelia hesitated. It struck Doppler like a blow how unsure she suddenly seemed. He reached out and gripped her hand. "And, you know, with children eventually come grandchildren…"

"Oh, Delbert, quiet!" she rocketed from her seat and stood, her hand having escaped from his grip. Doppler, wide-eyed and agape now, was, although not in answer to her demand, as silent as a startled mouse.

Soon Amelia turned around and faced him. "Why are you talking so incessantly about marriage? Don't you see how awful it is?"

"I'm—"

"Doctor, I'm not finished yet! Your talk of weddings and getting old are raking over my senses, and I command that they cease immediately! Children! Never once have you ever mentioned children before—"

"Children aren't rattlesnakes, Amelia—"

"I know! I know… Of course they aren't, but can you see me with them? Can you see me walking down the aisle in a wedding dress? Can you really see me with…wrinkles all over my face? Oh, Delbert, damn it, I'm nervous! And all these bloody things you've mentioned are only making it worse!"

The silence that followed Amelia's confession snapped so that Doppler could have sworn it had been a noise. It lasted for a long time, ringing through the house in its soundlessness for a good two or three minutes, leaving the couple to each gather what had just been disclosed.

Then, after a long time, Doppler's head fell back, and he, perhaps in surprise and perhaps at his own folly, laughed right out loud.