Disclaimer: I own nothing of All Creatures Great and Small.

. . . . .

"Maddy, don't stand so close to the window."

I twist to look at Mrs. Hall, who is not in the sitting room, where I am, but in the dining room, setting a plate of ham on the table. "Your breathing'll smudge the glass."

"I already told you that!" Uncle Siegfried shouts from somewhere, I think his office. I drop the curtains and step back, even though I don't think my breathing was, in fact, smudging the glass.

"Shouldn't Daddy be here by now?"

Mrs. Hall glances at her wristwatch, thin and barely-there, the way women's wristwatches tend to be. Mrs. Hall says it's because thin-and-barely-there wristwatches are more ladylike, but I'm not sure why that's the case. "James was picking him up from the station at 4:30. They should be here any minute." She jerks her head towards the table. "Come here, put that energy to good use and help me set the table."

So I go into the dining room and pick up the stack of plates on the corner of the table. Just as I do that, Uncle Siegfried comes from his office, heading for the corner table where he keeps what's called a decanter, which means a pretty-looking bottle-thing that holds something to drink. Uncle Siegfried's decanters mostly hold whiskey. I walk around the table – Mrs. Hall's already put out all the food for tea, the bread, ham (which I helped her cook), cheese, and apples – and I put plates in front of chairs while Mrs. Hall does the same with glasses and silverware. "Daddy will already know how he did on his exams, won't he?" I ask the room. "When he gets here?"

"I would expect so," says Mrs. Hall. Uncle Siegfried pours whiskey into a glass.

I move around Jess, who is fascinated with the ham on the table. "And as long as he's passed them, he'll have no reason to go back to Edinburgh." I bounce a little, making the plates clack in my hands. "He'll be a vet. He'll be through with college, so he won't need to go back."

Mrs. Hall places her hands on the back of the chair at the head of the table. "Not so far as I know."

Uncle Siegfried passes behind her. "Let's not count chickens, Maddy."

He doesn't say this harshly, even though he's been what Mrs. Hall calls on edge all day. And yes, here, he does sound rather . . . I don't know, off. But not harsh. Still, something about the words hurt a bit, just the tiniest bit, in a way I can't explain. I have two more plates to put out, but I stop moving anyway. "You don't think he'll have passed the exams?"

Uncle Siegfried stops in the opening between his office and the dining room. "I didn't say that. But we . . ." He glances at Mrs. Hall, then down at his drink, then back to me. "We shouldn't plan on anything until we know all the facts. These exams are quite difficult, Maddy, they often have to be taken more than once, and your father . . . I just don't want you to be disappointed if he has to go back for another term, that's all. Plenty of people do."

He goes and sits down at his desk, his back to us, and I look at Mrs. Hall. "Do you think Daddy'll pass his exams?"

Mrs. Hall takes a moment to answer. "I think . . . I just saw a flash of green out the window."

And I leave the last two plates on the table and dash from the room, running even though I'm not supposed to. Rules can sometimes be put on hold, you see, in very particular cases, and this is a particular case, because Mrs. Hall said she saw something green, and the Rover – Uncle Siegfried's car – is green, and the Rover, the Rover is what James drove to pick up Daddy, so –

I run down the hall and into the kitchen and out the door, and here's the Rover, and here's James standing in front of the Rover, and there, kneeling in front of it, looking hard at something, wearing a fancy suit and hat like men do when they travel on trains, is Daddy.

He grins when he sees me, of course he does. "There she is . . ." He stands and moves forward, but he doesn't move far, because I reach him before he can do that, and when I reach him he picks me up, swings me up, and swings me around. "Hel-lo, my darling . . ."

He pulls me in tight, his hand on the back of my head, and I squeeze him with all I have. "Daddy." And it's all so perfect, really. It's the most perfect thing I can remember happening since he was here last time.

"Oh . . ." Daddy sighs into my hair. "You've no idea how much I've missed you."

"I've missed you, too." I say into his jacket. He smells different from Uncle Siegfried. Uncle Siegfried always smells like soap and pipe smoke and sometimes sweat, but what Daddy smells like changes each time he's here. This time it's cologne, mostly, and maybe a bit of sweat, too.

If he stays here from now on, if he doesn't go back to Edinburgh, maybe his smell won't change anymore. He'll keep just one smell, and I can get used to that smell and know it means Daddy the way soap and pipe smoke and sometimes sweat means Uncle Siegfried.

Daddy pulls his head back from mine, though he doesn't try to put me down. "Good lord! You're practically grown, aren't you?"

"I'm more than half an inch taller than I was last time you were here."

"Rubbish. You're a foot taller at the least."

"Mrs. Hall measured me just a few days ago."

"Well, far be it from me to argue with Mrs. Hall. Speaking of . . ."

Mrs. Hall has followed me out here, smiling in that tired, glowing way she does a lot. She glows a bit more when Daddy's here, I think, unlike Uncle Siegfried, who – as Mrs. Hall put it the last time Daddy visited – loves Daddy but is also sometimes frustrated with him, which can cause Uncle Siegfried to get stiffer and snappier – on edge – when Daddy's around, at least for part of the time.

Daddy's lowering me to the ground now. I have to let go of his neck, then, but I grab a handful of his coat as he straightens back up. "Mrs. H," he says, because that's what he calls Mrs. Hall. "You look more youthful and radiant with each passing day."

Mrs. Hall shakes her head, but she's still smiling. She hugs Daddy, then says, "Oh . . ." and pulls away, patting his sides. "Oh, I can feel your ribs poking through. You're wasting away."

"It's the quality of the cooking." Daddy drops his hand to me, and I take it in both of mine and lean against him. "It just can't compare with the culinary delights I get at home."

Mrs. Hall opens her mouth to respond, but I know that will only lead to more grown-up conversation, and, frankly, there are more important things, so I speak before Mrs. Hall can. That is not the same as interrupting. "Daddy." I tug him towards the animal shed. "Come on, you have to meet Jabberwock!"

"Your dad's had a long journey, Maddy," says Mrs. Hall. "Let him have his tea first."

"But Mrs. Hall, he hasn't even met Jabberwock!"

"There'll be plenty of time for meeting Jabberwock," she says to me, and then, to Daddy, "I were short of time. But . . I managed to rustle you up a bit of tea."

"You're an angel, Mrs. H." Daddy winks at me. "Jabberwock right after, of course. I'm positively dying to see this carnival attraction my daughter's trained up."

"She knows her name," I tell him, "and Sit, and Sit up, and Roll over – well, sometimes she knows Roll over." Daddy and I follow Mrs. Hall to the kitchen door. "And we're working on Play dead, but that one's quite tricky, so –" I realize something and turn around. "James, aren't you coming?"

James is still standing where he was when I first came out here. Has he said a word all this time? I can't remember. "Yes, of course," he says now, though, coming after us, smiling at me.

I look up at Daddy. "James has been Uncle Siegfried's assistant for quite some time, now, Daddy. Longer than any of the other assistants, I think. He's a marvelous vet –" And that last word, that last word shakes something open in my brain and spills out a question, the most important question, the question I can't believe it's taken me this long to ask. "Daddy –" We cross into the kitchen, with me a little ahead, turning so I can see him. I grip his hand with both of mine again. Or maybe I never let go, I haven't really thought about it. "Daddy, you passed your exams, didn't you? And you're here for good?"

"Now, hang on, young lady, you're going too fast for me. Just a moment ago, you were telling me about the magnificent Jabberwock. Can she really roll over? And you're absolutely certain she's not a dog?"

"Daddy, your exams, did you –"

"Oh, come now, jellybean, have mercy on your poor dad. I've talked of nothing but exams for weeks – " Daddy picks me up again before I even know he's doing it – "and I'd much rather talk about you. Now, I'll answer all your questions later, I promise, but right now, I demand you sate my curiosity: How precisely does one teach a rat to roll over?"

. . . . .

It's not until a few minutes later, when we've all sat down for tea, that Daddy finally tells us how he's done on his exams. Even then, he doesn't tell us simply, in a straightforward way – Daddy likes games too much for that.

It's Uncle Siegfried that gets it out of him, naturally, just moments after he and Daddy have first seen each other again. They don't hug, which is normal – they both hug me, but I'm quite sure they've never hugged each other. They exchange what are called pleasantries as we sit, speaking as if it's been only hours since they last saw each other, which, again, is normal. For them.

"How was college?" Uncle Siegfried asks, which is what gets the whole thing started. He's to my left, at the head of the table, and Daddy's to my right. James is across from me, and Mrs. Hall just left the room to get Daddy some ale.

Daddy props his arm on the back of my chair. "Oh, you know. Hard work, nose to the grindstone." He taps my nose when he says this. "What about you, darling? How's school? Still the best reader in your class?"

"Miss Stirling says I'm two levels above where I should be."

"Of course you are. That's my girl."

"Were you celebrating last night, then, Tristan?" Uncle Siegfried asks. He's leaning forward a bit too much, and his voice is a bit too sharp – just a bit, the barest bit, but I know him and I can tell. He's pressing, like Miss Stirling does in class sometimes, when she thinks a student knows an answer and wants them to give it to her.

Daddy, in response, just gives a sort of shrug and says, "End of exams."

Which is not, as far as I can tell, an answer. At least not to the real question, the truly important question.

Right as Daddy is saying that – End of exams – Mrs. Hall walks back in the room with Daddy's ale, and her face tightens together as Daddy speaks, as if she's walked in to find a mess on the floor. My stomach does a strange, twisty thing, and my eyes go to Uncle Siegfried as he says – is he leaning forward even more now? – "And?"

Mrs. Hall sets the ale on the table. Daddy picks it up. "All finished."

I drop my head to the side and give Daddy a Be serious, please look, but he's not looking at me and he doesn't see it. "Finished?" Uncle Siegfried repeats.

Daddy looks from Uncle Siegfried to me. And then – then, at me, just for me – he winks. "Just passed the last one."

The room is still.

"You passed?" Uncle Siegfried says, and I breathe in as Daddy nods and says, "Mm-hmm."

And then the room is not still. Then, the room seems to shift, somehow, to loosen. "Thank the Lord . . ." Mrs. Hall says, and I'm already out of my seat by then, out of my seat and in Daddy's lap, hugging him as tight as I can, and he huffs out an odd sort of laugh and wraps me up and Uncle Siegfried says, "Good heavens . . ." and the world, in short, is absolutely wonderful.

He's passed. Daddy, he's passed his exams. He's a vet. He's done with college. He's done with college, college in Edinburgh –

I pull my head away from him, then, mouth open and words ready, but Mrs. Hall swoops in to hug him and so I have to wait, licking my lips, clenching Daddy's collar, and then, when Mrs. Hall is standing straight and Uncle Siegfried is saying, "About bloody time, too!", then I ask it, the thing I so desperately need an answer to.

"So you're staying? You're not going back to Edinburgh?"

Daddy squeezes my side. "No reason to go back if I passed!"

And I'm back to hugging him. Hugging him tighter than ever, really, because of course that's what I do, because this is without a doubt the happiest day of my life.

Daddy won't go back to Edinburgh. Daddy will stay here. He's a vet, a real vet, and he'll stay here. With me. Finally, finally, finally, he'll stay here with me.