Epilogue
Bass settled comfortably back into the rocking chair – his birthday gift from Miles who still maintained that these were one of the great achievements of Western civilization – and took in all that lay before him. A broad, deeply green lawn swept away from where he sat on his – their – front porch, the land gently undulating for a little over half a mile until it settled into a broad field where their cattle ambled peacefully on the other side of a split-rain fence. His eyes – still a startling cerulean blue – wandered over the expanse of the wraparound porch that he and Miles had built and settled contentedly on the group of people making their way across the lawn to join him.
Thirty years. Thirty years since he and Charlie and the others had settled here, had started to rebuild their lives and themselves. Bass smiled and closed his eyes, raised his face to the gentle warmth of the sun, and remembered.
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"Bass, I swear to God, you try to make me ride in that wagon one more time, you'll be walking funny for a month!"
"Well, I wouldn't be the only one, now, would I?" he asked tersely, his eyes raking over Charlie's form as he eyed the distance between his wife and the wagon in question. Maybe if he moved quickly . . .
"You did not just make a joke about how I walk," Charlie said, her eyes narrowed to slits as she planted her balled fists on either side of her thickened waist.
"Uh, Bass, you might want to –"
"Keep out of this, Miles," Bass commanded, his voice rough with concern and tinged with more than a bit of impatience.
"Miles, Rachel, I see a copse of trees just over yonder," Gene interjected swiftly. "Probably means fresh water. Let's go fill up and let these two talk for a bit."
Rachel, torn between wanting to support her daughter and her desire to remove herself from a marital spat, glanced between the two combatants and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. She reined her horse around to follow her father and, after a moment of hesitation, was followed by Miles. Charlie and Bass continued to glare at each other until the others were out of earshot and then Charlie let loose.
"I cannot believe that you would –"
"What?" Bass interjected angrily, thrusting a hand through his wind-blown curls. "Care? Want to make sure that you're comfortable? That I'd worry?" His voice broke on that last word, and he swallowed convulsively. "Because I do. All of it."
Charlie's shoulders dropped at the obvious anguish in her husband's eyes, and she signed deeply as her hands moved to massage her lower back. "I know," she replied softly. "But I need to walk. I need to move. I'm so uncomfortable in that wagon. Every bounce makes my bladder a misery and my back . . . How about this?" she proposed as she moved to take one his hands. "We're almost ready to camp for the night, right?" She glanced at the sun, which had long ago begun its descent in the west. "I walk until we find a place to camp. It won't be more than an hour. And I'll start in the wagon tomorrow morning. OK?"
Bass moved his free hand to caress the mound of her belly and his face gentled when he felt the flips and bumps of his child as he – she? – moved within. "I'm sorry," he murmured, his eyes on his hand as it traced the baby's movements. "I'm just . . ."
"What?"
"I'm scared to death," he admitted in a harsh whisper, his eyes sliding closed as he pulled Charlie into a tight embrace. "I know everything is going to be OK," he said, resting his check against her hair and sighing as her hands moved soothingly on his back. "I know we have Gene and Rachel and you're healthy . . . but I just can't stop being scared."
"But happy, too, right?" Charlie asked in a small voice, her fingers clenching in his shirt.
Bass pulled back immediately and reached up to cradle her face in his hands. "Yes," he told her emphatically, his gaze tracing her beloved features. His heart twisted at the sheen of tears that he saw in her eyes. "God, Charlotte, don't ever doubt that. I am so happy about the baby. It's more than could have ever hoped for, making a family with you. It's more than I deserve."
Charlotte reached up to grip his wrists and gave her head a slight shake, causing her tears to fall to her cheeks. "You have to stop that, Bass," she told him firmly, though her chin quivered. "You have to stop thinking that the baby and I will be taken away as some sort of punishment."
Bass sucked in a sharp breath, and he stepped back, his hands dropping away from her to clench at his sides. "I never said –"
"You didn't have to," his wife told him gently as she stepped forward to close the gap between them. "And I know that's not all of it. I know you're worried that what happened with Shelly . . ." Her voice trailed off and she wiped her damp cheeks with her sleeve. "It worries me, too," she admitted in a small voice. Charlie heard Bass' sharp inhalation at her confession, and she raised her eyes to his. "Of course, it does," she told him softly. "I've seen myself what can happen. But I've also seen what happens when everything turns out right. And I want that, Bass," she told him, her voice gentle and determined at the same time. "I want that with you. I want to see you with our children – yes, we're having more than one," she interjected swiftly when she saw he was about to interrupt. "I want to grow old with you with our family around us and know that we built something amazing, something beautiful. And I want you to tell me that you believe you can be part of something like that."
"God, Charlotte," he murmured brokenly as he rested his forehead against hers. There was silence between them for long moments broken only by the gentle breeze rustling the long grass that surrounded them. "All I know," Bass finally said, raising his head to look down into Charlie's clear blue eyes, "is that you've taught me that we can do anything if we have each other. So yes," he said, "I believe that we can have that life. And I'm just so damn grateful that you want it with me."
Charlie's arms slipped around his neck and exerted gentle pressure, bringing his lips down to meet hers. They reveled in each other, in touch, in taste, until they heard the jangle of a harness and turned to see the rest of their group – their family – riding towards them. Bass reached down to link his fingers with his wife's as they moved to meet them.
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They had reached the Pembina Valley with what seemed like minutes to spare before Charlie had gone into labor and any hesitation Father Velez's family might have had about the weary, ragged little band of strangers that turned up on their doorstep had been eliminated not only with Bobby's Crucifix but also at the absolute frantic concern that had radiated from Bass at every twinge his wife felt. Bobby's cousin Marta – a no-nonsense woman in her early 60s with steel-grey hair - had taken charge, bustled Charlie into a shockingly comfortable bedroom in the main house on the ranch and proved to be a more than capable midwife in aiding Gene.
Bass had been frankly astonished that he hadn't had a heart attack during Charlotte's seemingly endless labor. Finally, though, he had been instructed to sit behind Charlie to provide her support when it was time to push. He had slipped behind her and rested his legs on either side of her weary, straining body. Her hands had immediately reached for his and she turned her head to press her face into his neck as she struggled to bring their child into the world. Bass murmured encouragement, words of love, pleas into her sweat-dampened hair and prayed as he had never prayed before. Finally, startlingly, a baby's cry echoed through the room and Bass dropped his head in relief, his tears mingling with those of his wife.
"It's a boy!" Gene announced, grinning widely as he handed the baby to Marta to be cleaned and wrapped. "Great set of lungs," he informed the new parents – a bit unnecessarily, Bass thought dazedly as his son continued to wail - as he tended to Charlie and watched for the afterbirth to present itself.
Charlie raised herself slightly from Bass's chest to look over at Marta. "Is he ok?" she asked, her breath still coming in gasps.
"He's grand," Marta assured her as she gently ran a warm, damp cloth over the baby's squirming body. "A bit on the small side but all his fingers and toes and the bluest eyes –"
Her words were cut off when Charlie cried out and her body arched against Bass. "What's wrong?" Bass cried frantically, his eyes wide with terror.
Gene's hands were running over Charlie's still-distended belly and he grabbed for his stethoscope. He listened intently for long minutes before his eyes – wide with shock – moved to his granddaughter and her husband. "Um, Charlie, seems I missed something," he admitted hoarsely. "Looks like you're having twins."
Their daughter entered the world with much less fuss than her brother, taking only a couple of pushes to slide free of her mother. Gene and Marta tended to Charlie, got the babies cleaned up, placed the babies in their mother's arms, and left the new little family to get acquainted with each other. Bass sat, his chair off to the side, and gazed in astonishment at the two little bundles resting that had so quickly changed . . . everything. Now that they were finally here, now that he knew that Charlie was safe, he almost couldn't take it in. He had been a father since Shelly had told him about their baby but had never had a chance to be one. Bass felt his heart accelerate as he struggled to take it in. God, how was he going to do this?
"Bass."
He immediately stood at Charlie's quiet call and moved to her side. "You doing ok?" he whispered, running the backs of his fingers over her soft cheek.
"I'm great," she whispered back as she grinned up at him. "But I think the babies need some 'Daddy time', don't you?"
Bass straightened abruptly and ran his suddenly sweaty palms on the legs of his pants. "Is it ok?" he whispered uncertainly, his eyes locked on the sleeping babies.
"Bass," Charlie laughed quietly even as her eyes burned with tears. "They're yours, too, you know."
He swallowed thickly and reached tentatively to take the closest baby – their daughter. As Charlie gently transferred the baby into his arms, her eyes opened and looked blearily into his. Bass felt his heart stop as he gazed into eyes so remarkably like his own.
"One more," Charlotte reminded him gently and Bass stooped to take his son. Once had had them safely in his arms, he sat gingerly on the edge of his wife's bed and stared down at their children in wonder.
"God, Charlotte," he choked in a voice thick with emotion. "They're . . . everything I dreamed of."
"And a bit more than expected," Charlie added wryly, wincing as she shifted to move closer to her family.
Bass' eyes shot to her and his brow creased in concern. "Are you OK?" he asked urgently. "Should I call Gene back?"
"I'm fine," she soothed, placing a caressing hand on the back of his neck. "Just sore. But happier than I ever thought I could be."
Bass leaned over gently and touched his lips – oh, so softly – to hers. "Me, too," he agreed. "Everything with you is better than I could have imagined."
Charlie smiled against his lips and hummed in agreement. "And that's how it's going to stay," she promised.
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None of it had been easy, but Charlotte had been right. In spite of the inevitable difficulties that came their way – or maybe because of them – life with Charlotte and their family had been more than he could have ever hoped for. The years passed, more children came – God help him, but either he or Charlie seemed to carry the gene for multiples – and the family he had dreamed of grew into a big, noisy, chaotic, wonderful reality. After spending their first year with the Jaegers – who had been generosity itself – Bass, Charlie, the twins, Miles, Rachael, and Gene had settled into a pristine valley a few miles distant and started to build their ranch. It had prospered in a way that Bass never could have predicted and soon the cattle and horses raised in King Valley were in demand across Canada and the northern part of the old United States. Despite the pain of losing Gene just five years ago, their lives had been everything Father Velez had wished for them – they were happy. They had made their lives examples of kindness and generosity. And they had loved each other no matter what.
"You can't sleep through your birthday, babe."
Brought abruptly back to the present, Bass opened his eyes to see Charlotte walking towards him. Thirty years, he reflected, and she was as beautiful today as the first time he saw her. Her hair – still long, still a mass of culrs and waves but tucked out of the way in a long, lose braid – was now liberally streaked with grey, there were a few lines on her face that hadn't been there before, but time had not diminished her courage, her intelligence, her stubbornness, her fire, or the love in her eyes that he saw every time he looked at her. She was – and always would be – glorious. His wife, the mother of his children, his redemption.
"I wasn't sleeping," he contradicted as he stood and wrapped his arms around her still-trim waist. "I was just remembering."
"Mmmm," Charlie murmured as she ran her fingers through the silver curls that still sprang back from his forehead. "Well, a lot of those memories are waiting for you in the summer kitchen. They want to tell their dad and grandpa 'Happy Birthday'. You ready?"
Before Bass could answer the sound of boots echoed on the wooden floor of the porch. "Shit, thirty years and I still walk in on this," Miles said disgustedly, his form as straight as it had ever been even if, like Bass, his hair had now gone almost completely grey. "Thirty years," he repeated, "and eight kids. Think of the rest of us and give us a break."
"Miles," Rachel sighed, just a few steps behind him. "Quit being such a grump. Happy birthday, Bass," she said fondly and, as Charlie moved out of the way, gave him a brief but affectionate hug.
"Thanks, Rachel," Bass said, smiling down at her before he turned to Miles. "And if you don't like it," he said to his lifelong friend, "you can go home. It's my birthday and I can kiss my wife if I want."
"Your birthday, hell," Miles retorted grimly. "Your birthday, Fourth of July, Christmas, Tuesday – it's all the same to you. Any excuse."
"I, for one," Charlie interjected as she moved back into Bass' arms, "don't need an excuse." And she rose on her toes to press her lips to her husband's laughing mouth.
"Are you two tormenting Uncle Miles again?" a deep voice asked from across the porch. Bass and Charlie separated to see their oldest son standing there, the serious look on his face belied by the twinkle in his still blue eyes. "Come on, Dad, the kids want to see their grandpa and have cake. And not necessarily in that order."
Bass smiled over at his boy – still a boy to Bass even though he now had children of his own – and felt his heart swell with pride and gratitude. He and Charlie had agreed that they would tell their children about Bass' – and Miles' – past when they were old enough. Bass had been terrified to lay his sins before the children he loved more than his own life. And while the kids had struggled to reconcile the terrible stories of Bass Monroe with the father whom they adored and respected, they had managed it. Their love for their parents and their understanding of what had gone in to building the home and family they had taken for granted their entire lives only deepened when they understood the demons that both their mother and father had had to overcome.
Bass linked his hand with Charlie's as they walked towards the stairs and the chatter of dozens of voices filtered up to them from the summer kitchen. Bass put an arm around his son's shoulders as they walked down the stairs and into the sunlight together.
