Although he was no longer the Treasurer of Atlantic County, the hoi polloi recognized their ruler when he arrived at the church. Dressed in his darkest summer-weight suit, Nucky Thompson hadn't forgone wearing his trademark red carnation even on this most somber of occasions. Slowly Owen Sleater cut a path through the well-wishers and escorted Nucky and Margaret to Nucky's preferred pew. As people, most of them traitors who had thrown their lot in with Prince James, lined up to pay their respects, Nucky's eyes never stopped moving. Leander Whitlock sat with the remnants of the Yacht Club, suddenly looking very old. Well, Nucky thought, Leander was the only one who liked the old bastard, it makes sense he's the only one who was truly mourning the Commodore.

A fucking joint funeral, Nucky reflected. The audacity. Gillian must have planned this, no way was James capable of it, and he couldn't imagine Clara wanting Angela's funeral sullied by the presence of the Commodore's remains. Although, hell, it wasn't like he actually knew his daughter. His eyes betrayed him by seeking sight of her among the crowd, but he didn't find her. Undoubtedly she and the freak were closeted with James and his son until closer to the start of the service. He did note Torrio's little troll Capone, and those puffed up children Arnold Rothstein doted on sitting in attendance.

When he told Torrio and Rothstein that their pups had grown fangs he hadn't realized his own daughter had been sharpening her teeth alongside them.

Clara. He'd like to get his hands on his wayward child. She'd called Margaret and asked if she could "beg a favor" and have her things sent to James's beach house. The house where Angela had been brutally murdered by some two-bit Yiddish gangster because James had no ability to attend to details and run his business like an adult. James, the traitor who had plotted his downfall, who had trapped him in a legal nightmare. That's where Clara was, with James, James's bastard child, and some cretin who had crawled out of the backwoods of Wisconsin.

The idea of Clara taking the side of the man who betrayed him, who had sunk him into a legal nightmare made his blood boil. And it was now a legal nightmare that could end with him in the chair. Nucky forced his thoughts away from the murder and racketeering charges the bitch in the Post Office had hanging over his head and back to thoughts of Clara's betrayal.

At a time when he needed preserve what little capital he had left with people like Waxey Gordon and Arnold Rothstein, he had had to call in favors to make sure James's (James Fucking Darmody, who had sent an assassin after him) beach house was known to be off-limits so that some half-assed gunman didn't shoot Clara while trying to kill James. Like poor Angela had been shot. His jaw tensed. Had Clara thought about what she was asking when she called Margaret and blithely asked for her things? Of course not. Clara had just left with that remnant of a man to run to James's side and look after the boy. Why Clara couldn't leave it to Gillian to look after her misbegotten brood was beyond Nucky.

The music started and the two coffins were born up the aisle by flocks of altar boys. Behind them was Gillian, wearing the most ridiculous mourning veil Nucky had ever seen in his life. Beside her, James stared straight ahead, but his eyes were bright red. The little boy clung to his father's hand and looked dazed, like he wasn't sure what was going on around him.

That's the way Clara had been, he remembered. Standing in a little gray dress, because he couldn't bear for her tiny self to be clothed in black, her hands smoothing the skirt over and over as she stared straight at her mother's coffin.

Nucky pushed the memory away. This child was much younger than Clara had been. Just four, if he recalled correctly. He probably wouldn't even remember this day. Behind James was Clara, this time dressed in black. In fact, she was dressed in the black dress and hat Nucky had insisted she buy last spring, after she'd shown up for a funeral wearing some pre-war relic. He had wasted no time sending her down to Belle Jolie for more appropriate mourning wear after that. Since she was a damn adult, he had no idea he should have told her to replace the dress this year. But there she stood, in a year old dress and hat she'd worn to countless other funerals and wakes. The girl had no sense.

Next to her was more proof of her lack of good damn sense. The freak stood next to her, although for once he wasn't wearing some terrible suit made of tweed from the Sears and Roebuck catalog that only a hayseed would dare wear. This suit was made of some sort of mid-weight worsted wool, Nucky decided. An improvement, even though it still looked like something a low-level clerk might purchase for his best suit. In one hand he held a proper hat instead of one of those silly caps he usually wore.

And in his other hand was Clara's. Nucky forced his face to remain still. He heard the murmurs go through the church, though, and saw Capone's smirk. Clara was upset-he couldn't fail to notice her red-rimmed eyes and pursed lips, like she was struggling to maintain her composure as they walked. Well, she had lost one of her little strays, hadn't she?

Harrow looked like he always did. Well, perhaps in part that was because Nucky was staring at the masked side of his face. But was there any difference, really, Nucky pondered.

When they neared the second pew, Harrow put his hand on the small of Clara's back. Nucky hissed but didn't realize until he noticed Margaret was staring at him. James turned and motioned for them to sit in the first pew. Once more Harrow had his goddamn hands all over Clara's arms and back. Like Clara wasn't capable of sitting in a pew without his guidance. Like Clara wasn't capable of entertaining King George and Queen Mary, while the mere thought of having to talk to the milkman made Harrow scramble for a corner where he could hang his head and mangle his cap in his hands.

Gillian openly glared at Clara and Harrow as they sat in the family pew. How dare Gillian glare at his daughter? Wasn't Clara currently wrecking her life in an attempt to help James and Tommy? Gillian grabbed the little boy by the arm and led James and Tommy up to the dais where they stood between the coffins. Gillian looked like she was ready for her fucking coronation, like a warrior queen standing over the bodies of her vanquished enemies. She turned and said something to James, before leaning down and placing Tommy's hand on one of the caskets. Gillian was clearly whispering something in the boy's ear.

"Ma, enough," James said loudly enough for his voice to carry.

Nucky shook his head. James couldn't even behave properly at his wife's and father's funerals.

Tommy started crying. Nucky saw Clara's shoulders tense, while Harrow looked back and forth between Clara and the scene on the altar.

Gillian suddenly grabbed hold of James, who pushed his mother away and stormed off towards the Deacon door. Gillian followed right behind him.

Tommy was alone on the dais, his hand on his mother's coffin as he wailed.

Clara and Harrow were both on their feet in an instant, racing to get to the boy. Clara knelt, trying to talk to the boy as he screamed for his mother. It looked like Harrow was perfectly calm while Clara struggled to retain her composure as Harrow knelt to whisper in Clara's ear-and considering that Nucky had never heard the man mumble any louder than a low growl Harrow getting close to Clara's ear to speak seemed excessive, how much quieter could his whisper be?-but when Harrow turned the calmness of the mask was in sharp contrast to what even Nucky could see was anguish on the intact side of his face.

Next to Nucky Margaret reached for her handkerchief, and he realized most people around him were either openly weeping or trying to keep from doing so. Father Brannen stood uselessly next to the Commodore's coffin as the boy wept and Clara and Harrow tried to calm him. Finally, Nucky saw the boy wrapping his arms around Harrow's neck as Harrow lifted him from the floor.

If the kid was wailing now, Nucky thought, imagine when he realized a half-faced remnant was carrying him. But Tommy buried his face in Harrow's neck like it was the most natural thing in the world. Nucky felt the heat rising through him as he watched them sit back down in the pew, so close to each other that the Darmody boy was basically sitting in both of their laps. Harrow pulled out his handkerchief, and mopped the child's face while Clara smoothed the child's hair and bit both of her lips. Then Harrow reached over and touched Clara's cheek. Clara tried to smile at him, but it was obvious she was fighting to hold back tears. Harrow moved his arm hesitantly, and for a moment it looked like the man was going to run, but then he settled around Clara who moved ever so slightly even closer to him.

Like he was a normal man. Watching Harrow act as if he had a right to touch Clara, to dare to offer her comfort when she was sad infuriated Nucky further. And in front of all of Atlantic City Harrow put his arm around Clara. Around his daughter. And now, Nucky thought, his own fucking out of control daughter was leaned all over him.

"Dearly beloved..." Father Brannen intoned from the dais. Nucky barely heard any of the service, his attention totally taken by the three people sitting alone in the front pew. Finally the funeral mass concluded. The congregation was still as the two caskets started down the aisle. It looked like Clara was trying to convince the boy to walk with them, but finally Harrow picked him up and the boy hid his face again. When the masked remnant turned he faltered as he realized the entire church was gaping at him, Clara twisted her arm into his and nodded at him. She was reassuring him, Nucky realized and became even angrier at the idea of Clara comforting Harrow. And now, the funeral over, the people gathered didn't hold back. People were talking, people were laughing at Clara because of her ridiculous choices. And people laughing at his daughter meant they were laughing at him, that his own reputation was taking even more damage.

Damn Clara to hell for this act of selfish stupidity.


Margaret steeled herself before she allowed Owen to help her into the car. Normally she made sure Enoch helped her into the car when he was with her, but Enoch was so furious he had simply walked to his side of the vehicle, got in, and slammed the door. Owen's hand brushed her back and he squeezed her hand as he helped her up. Margaret swallowed hard. Luxuriating in Owen's touch was a sin she could not allow, not now. It didn't stop her breath from coming in faster as his hand clasped hers.

Enoch's fury came off him in waves when she joined him in the back seat.

"Could you believe the way they acted during a funeral?"

Margaret sighed. They acted like a couple mourning their friend and trying their best to help a young child who had just lost his mother. Poor little lamb, the boy was just a little younger than Emily. Fear gripped at her at the thought of her children being left in the world without her. Who would care for them, who would raise them? Especially now with Emily handicapped. Out of the corner of her she considered Nucky. He'd keep them from starving, she thought. If he survives the legal quagmire he's in, that is.

Enoch needed to survive the upcoming trial. Obsessing over Clara's love life wasn't going to help him. She sighed and plunged in. "Didn't you say Clara was with Richard because of her knight in shining armor desire? Because she didn't want a normal relationship?"

Owen's shoulders tightened visibly, and Margaret knew he was fighting back laughter at the reminder of Enoch's ridiculous theory.

Enoch didn't answer. It was a long drive off the island to the Atlantic City Cemetery in Pleasantville. When they finally arrived Enoch was out of the car in a flash. Margaret watched Harrow park the Ford, get out, and talk to Clara who was in the backseat with that poor little boy.

"Mrs. Schroeder," Richard said when Margaret approached.

"Mr. Harrow, Clara," Margaret replied. The little boy was asleep in the back seat as Clara sat next to him and rubbed his back. "How are you?"

"Tommy cried himself to sleep while we drove," Clara answered.

"Poor little thing. Do you wish to go to the graveside?" Margaret asked gently.

"I don't want to leave Tommy."

"I'll stay with him."

Clara hesitated and looked at Richard. Margaret felt the girl's anxiety. "Clara, I promise I won't let anything happen to him. If he wakes up I'll get you."


Leander Whitlock sat down gratefully on the wooden folding chair and pulled out his handkerchief to mop his face. Louis's funeral had turned into a debacle, thanks to Gillian and James's lack of decorum. James. They had fostered such hopes for that young man, but those hopes were quickly turning to ashes. The strike still raged across the Boardwalk. Everyone was losing money. And now James was falling apart.

Nucky Thompson stood over Louis's grave in triumph. Leander wanted nothing more than to push the man into the open grave. The red carnation. Had anyone ever told the former Treasurer that it made him look like a floorwalker at a department store? Nucky grimaced, and Leander looked over to see Thompson's latest mistress standing at the car with James's man Harrow and Clara Thompson. Clara finally took Harrow's hand and walked away, leaving Tommy with the woman.

Leander found Harrow disconcerting-who knew where to look, the fake eye or the real one?-but the man was loyal and efficient. And Clara Thompson, whatever Nucky's issues, was well-raised. She was equally loyal, and obviously loved Tommy. Tommy's mother was about to be committed to the ground. Gillian had been a disastrous mother to James, who was spinning out of control. Someone had to raise the boy. Besides, Clara wasn't just a Thompson. She was a Jeffries, and was an heiress in her own right. Jeffries had left his not inconsiderable fortune to his beloved daughter's child. Leander could trust that she would bring up the boy correctly.

After all, he thought, who better to protect Louis's heir than Atlantic City's very own princess and the assassin who loved her?

The burials were far less dramatic than the funeral, but Leander observed every moment. Clara and Harrow both watched the vehicle where Thompson's woman sat with the boy. When it came time to drop handfuls of dirt on Angela Darmody's coffin, for one moment Leander thought Clara might break down. When it was all over, he watched the girl take a deep breath, let go of Harrow's hand and walk toward her father.

The look on Nucky Thompson's face wasn't reassuring.

"Mr. Harrow," Leander called out. He watched the man look around uncertainly, as if he wasn't sure who could be calling him. "Come here, please."

Richard walked over to where Leander sat watching the gravediggers filling in the Commodore's grave.

"And how is little Master Darmody doing?" Leander asked.

"His mother died. Mmm. So he's not. Doing well."

Leander nodded. "I'm sure he's doing better back in his own home with Clara watching after him. Clara reminds me of her mother. Her grandfather, Mr. Jeffries, was one of the wealthiest men in Atlantic City. Mabel was his princess, just like Clara is Nucky's. Mabel was independent and headstrong, just like her daughter. But nothing was going to stop Mabel from marrying Nucky Thompson.

"Mabel was a modern girl, and Clara is an even more modern woman. However, the law hasn't quite caught up to society. The law doesn't see women, well, in the same way it sees men. Clara can't get a bank account or a loan without a man signing off on it. Her legal identity isn't as firm and absolute as, say, yours is. Until she marries she's very much under Nucky's control in some ways. Until she marries."

Leander had no idea what Harrow was thinking, but he wanted to drive the point home.

Someone had to raise Tommy Darmody. He was no longer laying bets that James would survive the month.

"If you care about Clara Thompson, you need to marry her. Tomorrow isn't too soon."


"Father," Clara said as she approached Nucky.

"Are you not done making a spectacle of yourself?" Nucky hissed at her.

Clara blinked rapidly, her left hand smoothing her black dress. "I wasn't aware I was making a spectacle."

"Showing up in a dress you've had for the last year, clinging to that thing, grabbing Tommy Darmody, what do you call it?"

Trying to make it through this week, Clara thought.

"Doing the best I can at my friend's funeral and trying to help her child. I'm sorry I didn't think to go shopping. I'm not sorry about Richard."

"You aren't sorry that you've taken up with some backwoods thing that's not..."

"Stop. I love him," Clara couldn't hide her anger. "He loves me. I've never..."

"You've never what? Acted like a whore in public..."

"I'm acting like a whore? Because Richard's my choice, because I'm not selling my body to win you political favors? You certainly don't choose your bedmates by what advantages they bring you, at least outside of the bedsheets. Which I know because Lucy was so loud I heard her throughout the suite! And we haven't even time to discuss her lack of social skills or breeding. What backwoods did she crawl out of? And Margaret, not being able to keep your hands off of Margaret might land you in the electric chair!"

Father and daughter stared at each other bitterly.

"I'd watch my words, Clara. You don't seem to understand that I'm going to let you go so far and then no further."

Clara closed her eyes, trying to refocus on her goal. Remembering the importance of fixing what went wrong with her father and Jimmy. She had to fix it, she reminded herself. "Let's not fight. I just buried one of my closest friends. We just buried Jimmy's father. And the Commodore. Father, we need to talk about the Commodore, about what happened."

"What do you mean?"

"Jimmy killed the Commodore, Father. He did it for you."

"James killed his father for me?" Nucky asked suspiciously.

Clara nodded. "Yes. The Commodore was recovering, and he was out of control. It was always the Commodore's idea to destroy you, it was always his plan. Jimmy made mistakes, but it was always the Commodore who was driving the attacks on you. And once he got better, it got worse. Killing him was the only way to save you, so that's what Jimmy did."

"And what did Eli think about all of this?" Nucky asked.

"Uncle Eli knows that the Commodore is a danger," Clara answered warily, sensing her father was laying a trap.

Nucky nodded. "Eli knows all about danger. The lady lawyer arrested him the morning Angela was murdered."

"For what?" Clara asked, and then the realization hit her. "For murdering Margaret's husband?"

Father and daughter stared at each other, each having the same thought. The trap was closing.


Clara collapsed into the beach chair, her legs hanging off one arm of the chair. She was so tired her bones ached. Her facial muscles twinged both from crying and from holding back tears. The day felt never-ending. After the funeral they had driven back to the house, hoping Jimmy would be waiting. There was no sign of him at the house. Tommy had woken up on the car ride back, so they all changed their clothes and went to the Boardwalk.

It was almost like a happy afternoon, Clara reflected. Or at least, they tried their best to make it so and Tommy was young enough that distractions worked well. They'd spent the afternoon on the Steel Pier, riding the carousel, playing games...Clara smiled when she thought about Richard winning Tommy prize after prize at the shooting gallery. Tommy had so much bounty that they had divided it between them when Tommy wanted to walk holding both of their hands. They swung him between them until Clara's shoulder felt like it was going to come out of its socket. She and Tommy had eaten chop suey and Richard had brought his back and eaten while she gave Tommy his bath. Richard had then told her he needed to get something from his place.

He's looking for Jimmy, she decided. Jimmy was probably with Capone, and while Capone wasn't her favorite person, she was glad Jimmy had someone to get drunk with. Because she knew she needed Richard tonight. She was exhausted and her nerves were fraying. She wanted him back here, with her, and she didn't feel bad about it. Angela was dead. Both her father and Uncle Eli were facing capital charges. Clara absently twisted a lock of hair as the terror of either of them going to the electric chair hit her. She tried to push the fear away by focusing on things she could do. Going to check on Aunt June and the kids was first on her list, she decided. Tommy would fit in well with the younger Thompsons, and god knows he needed to spend time around other children.

The sound of the Ford pulling into the driveway let her know he was back. She didn't move, letting him find her. They'd been very good, Clara thought. Between the two of them they'd watched over Jimmy and watched over Tommy. At night they'd shared the guest room, but never let anything go beyond kissing and being happy to be in the same bed. And she was grateful for every night she'd fallen asleep next to him and every morning she'd woken up with his arm draped across her. She'd had more of the mornings than of the nights, since Jimmy had often wanted Richard to sit up with him. She'd quietly put Tommy to bed and started working on her new Ruth Fielding novel on those nights. She'd been very good, in her opinion. She was tired of being good.

From the moment the door out to the beach opened she could feel the anxiety came off him in waves. She started to swing her legs off the arm of the chair, but he put his hand on her knee to stop her. His other hand never left his pocket. At first she thought he was going to speak, but he just swallowed several times without saying anything.

Clara's mind began to race with the possibilities of what was making him anxious. "Richard, are you okay? Did you find Jimmy? Is something wrong?"

Instead of answering he pulled his hand out of his pocket and dropped a small box in Clara's lap. For a moment she thought it was one of the prizes he had won Tommy that afternoon. Then she realized it was a velvet box tied with silver ribbon.

Her mind refused to accept what it already knew.

"My birthday isn't for thirteen days," Clara said. That's what it must be, she thought. He's giving me my birthday present early to cheer me up. Her hand moved to the ribbon and she untied it with one swift tug and hesitated only a moment before she opened the box.

A sapphire. A dark sapphire in an oval gold setting with small diamonds on either side. A ring.

"Why are you giving me a ring?" Clara asked, her voice thick with emotion as she ran her fingertip over the cool surface of the stone. She looked up, but Richard wouldn't look back at her.

"It's a ring. I can only think of one reason why you'd give me a ring," Clara looked at him, waiting for a reply. "Richard, you can't just hand me a ring and not say anything. Because I think you are proposing and that's our life-it's your life, it's my life, it's our life-and you have to say something."

Richard nodded and looked down at his shoes. "I understand. Mmm. If you don't. Want to."

Clara stood and reached for his hand. "Don't be ridiculous. Richard, I..."

I'm going to be one of those women who cry when she's proposed to, Clara thought. I cried regarding Darcy's proposal, but that's because my father blackmailed me into accepting. But this is...

"I love. You. I don't want. Anything to happen. To you. Mr. Whitlock said," Richard began.

Clara's head snapped up. "Leander Whitlock? What does he have to do with this?"

Richard's throat clicked several times before he spoke. "He said. It was best. Because. Because your father. Could make. You leave. Because you're. A woman."

Because I'm a woman, Clara thought. Not a real person, not really.

"I don't. Want. Anything to happen. To you."

'Richard is so honorable,' Angela's voice whispered in Clara's memory. She turned to look into the windows of the sunroom, half expecting to see Angela sitting with her on the floor, drinking whiskey sours. Angela reassuring her that if she got pregnant Richard would marry her. I still don't want him to marry me because he's honorable, Clara answered Angela in her mind. I want him to marry me because he wants me.

"How did you get a ring? You were barely gone any time."

Richard looked up then. "I bought. It in. June. At Blatt's. Do you. Not like it?"

"You were going to ask me in June?" Clara asked. In June, she thought. When we were happy and we were together and dreaming of what our life might look like.

"I know. This isn't. A nice proposal. Like Blaine..."

Clara smiled. "My father asked me to marry Darcy. Actually, he coerced me to accept Darcy. And my father bought that ring, a ring I hated. That represented a man I couldn't stand and a life I didn't want.

"I love this ring, I...But you have to ask properly, you know."

"It will never. Be the life. You could have with. Someone better," Richard began without looking up, the right side of his mouth twitching badly between each word. "Someone you could. Eat dinner with. Someone..."

"Okay, so you should never try to work as a salesman," Clara said, and stepped closer to him. "I'm still saying yes. When do you want to...?"

Richard swallowed hard. "Tomorrow."

"You want to get married tomorrow?" Because of my father, because Richard's trying to keep me safe, she realized and wanted to scream. Not even this, she thought, was safe from being tainted by the horror of this war.

But he had bought the ring in June.

Clara's heart sped up. Tomorrow, they'd be married.

"Maryland, Mr. Whitlock. Said."

"Well, then, I'd like to wear my ring now," Clara said softly and handed him back the box.

The ring looked small in his hand, and there was mild fumbling before the ring made it to her finger. Clara stretched her hand out, admiring how the ring caught the moonlight.

She wasn't sure how they ended up sitting in the sand, leaning against each other, and listening to the sea. There was so much they still needed to talk about, to work through, she thought. But this was the only night they were going to be engaged, and this was how she was going to spend it.


The first thing they did was try to find Jimmy. Richard looked everywhere he could think of, but Jimmy's Ford wasn't anywhere-not the Commodore's, not the warehouse, not parked near the Boardwalk.

"We will take. Mmm. Tommy with us," Richard said as he took the frying pan Clara was attempting to scrub out of her hand and finished washing it. Tommy was still eating the scrambled eggs and toast she'd made while Richard had looked for Jimmy. "We'll leave. Jimmy. A note. We'll be back. Mmm. In the morning."

Part of him still didn't believe it was true, that something would go wrong and keep them from Maryland. No part of him believed that Clara would go through with marrying him. She'd realize what she was doing, she'd change her mind.

"You don't have to do this," she said rapidly. "I love you, but you don't have to marry me just because you want to save me from whatever Mr. Whitlock is afraid my father is going to do to make me pay for choosing Jimmy."

Clara was nervous, he thought. "Mmm. Is that what. We are doing. Today? I thought. We were taking Tommy. To Maryland for. The scenery."

For a moment she just stared at him, but then she smiled. "The scenery, and you know, I'm rather sick of being Clara Thompson. Seems like a good day to change that."

He reached forward to touch her cheek and Clara leaned into his hand.

"No kissing in the kitchen!" Tommy demanded from the table.

Richard and Clara stepped apart. Clara ran her hand through her hair.

"Your present! You're wearing it!" Tommy said delightedly. "I never told!"

Clara looked between Tommy and Richard.

"I didn't tell, even when I really wanted to! I helped pick it out!"

"Mmm. Tommy went with. Me to Blatt's," Richard said.

"I love it," Clara said, her voice not quite even. "It's what I always wanted."

They were packed and on the train to Elkton before lunch. When they arrived, it reminded Richard of a land-locked Boardwalk. Men hawking various wedding services lined the train platform and out into the street like carnival barkers trying to convince them to spend a nickel on their sideshow.

His plan had been to get to Elkton and get married. For once he hadn't thought of every step and was now at a loss.

"Well, I know there's not a waiting period but we do have to get married in a church according to Maryland law," Clara said as they stood in the lobby of the train station and tried to decide what was first.

A church, he thought. Was there a Catholic church in this town? Would the Catholic church marry them so quickly? Did it matter that he wasn't Catholic? Did he need to confess his sins, he had so many and he shouldn't tell...

"It doesn't matter to me which one, do you have a preference?" she continued. "After all, you are a better Lutheran than I am a Catholic."

"I'm hungry," Tommy whined next to them.

"He eats all the time," Clara whispered in Richard's ear before turning to Tommy. "Okay, kiddo, we'll get something in a minute, although you ate lunch on the train."

"That was before my nap," Tommy said, rubbing his eyes. "I'm hungry after my nap."

Unfortunately, Tommy had been sound asleep when the train pulled into Elkton. Waking him up had proven difficult and he had not been in a pleasant mood since they woke him.

"Mmm. We could. Try to find a Catholic Church."

Clara looked up at him and then looked away. "We'd have to promise to raise our children as Catholics. And that seems unfair. Especially since, if we're honest, we both know which one of us will probably end up taking them to church."

Richard looked down at Tommy so he didn't have to look at her at the thought of children to take to church. "We should get a. License."

Clara nodded, so he bought Tommy a bag of roasted peanuts from a vendor and they headed to the courthouse. Other couples stood awkwardly in line with them at the Courthouse, although no other couple tried to corral a four-year-old as they waited. Tommy's mood had not improved. They filled out the application, and Richard carefully tucked the license in his pocket when they set out to find a hotel and someone to marry them.

Pastors and those they hired to bring in customers made that easy. The first person who approached them was from the Little Chapel, so they made an appointment for that evening. Who knew, Richard thought as they continued down the list that Clara seemed to magically have in her head, that getting married would entail so many errands? The only thing there were more of than chapels were jewelry stores. They stopped in one to buy their rings.

Buying jewelry with Clara was an entirely different experience than buying it with Tommy. Clara brushed aside two trays of rings with barely a look and negotiated with the jeweler until he brought out a tray of plain rings in the same dark gold as her engagement ring and then she proceeded to barter about the price until Richard wanted to give the man any amount of money to make it stop.

"Do you want a wide or narrow band?" Clara turned to him with a smile at the same time as she grabbed Tommy's hand and whispered what sounded like a threat about what would happen if he even thought about touching anything in the store.

Beyond words, Richard pointed to the one he wanted and submitted to having the jeweler measure his finger. Clara chose a thin band and reached in her handbag for her wallet.

"Mmm. You can't," he started to try and stop her .

"You aren't paying for your own ring. I get to buy that," Clara insisted, and the jeweler took the money from her. Richard stopped arguing and took out the money to buy Clara's.

"What will we do about rooms?" Clara asked when they walked into the New Central Hotel.

Richard stared at her.

"Tommy will need somewhere to sleep tonight," she said, refusing to look away, even as she saw he understood her implication.. "But we can't exactly put him in a room alone, either."

Luckily the hotel had a parlor suite available, and as Clara watched Richard pay she added money to the neverending list of things they needed to talk about at some point. She had no idea how much he had or how much he made with Jimmy. She'd been able to save most of her pay from her writing jobs, and she planned on trying to work more now. She certainly planned on paying her share of their expenses, but she knew that was going to be a negotiation.

Clara emerged from the bath and used the bedroom to dress in. A far cry from Angela's wedding day, she thought, as she remembered the hours they had spent getting ready. The laughing. The talking. Clara allowed herself a moment of self-pity that after she had helped so many of her friends get ready on their wedding days, there was no one for her to share her happiness and her excitement with. Angela had told her that one day they'd be pinning flowers in her hair when she married Richard, and here she was, but without Angela to smile at her in the mirror.

The bed was reflected in the mirror, and Clara stared at it. Tonight, she and Richard would be in that bed. In a few hours, no one would ever be able to stop them from sharing a bed again. Her pulse hummed a little stronger. If she'd married Darcy, Angela, Rose, Romola, even Dorothy they would have all been there, trying to make her laugh, trying to ease her nerves. They would have helped her out of her wedding dress and into some expensive nightgown after the reception was over. And then they would have left her, and she would have been expected to hand the entirety of her being over to Darcy. Clara shuddered at the thought. This wasn't perfect, but it was right, she decided. Tomorrow morning she was going to wake up and be with Richard out of her own free choosing, and that seemed a little bit like a miracle.

The doorknob rattled, startling her.

"Clara?" Tommy called as he walked in.

"There's these things called knocking and waiting for someone to answer we might need to address, kiddo," Clara said, relieved all she had left to do was put on her jewelry, hat, and gloves.

"I thinking," Tommy began.

"I am thinking," Clara corrected.

"Is this where my mommy is?"

Clara gasped and lifted Tommy into her lap, forgetting about the delicate silk and embroidery of her dress. "Baby, no. Remember Daddy told you that Mommy went to live in heaven."

"That's not here?" Tommy asked quietly.

"No, this is just Maryland."

"But I want her to live with me in our house, not in heaven," Tommy said, wiping his eyes with fists.

"I know, baby. Me too. I miss her, and I know you miss her." Clara wiped her own tears from her eyes. "But just because we can't see her doesn't mean she's not with us. You know my mommy died when I was a little girl?"

Tommy thought for a moment, and then nodded. "That's why you live in a hotel with your Daddy."

Not any more, Clara realized. "That's right. And I still miss her. I don't miss her like I did when she first went to heaven, but I still miss her. I miss her a lot today, actually."

"Why?"

I have put none of this into words, not even to myself, Clara thought but she went on. "Because I'm getting married, and I want to tell her all about it. I want to tell her about Richard, about you, about my books, about Jimmy. I want to tell her how much I miss your mommy. And that's how you'll feel, sometimes. You won't always miss your mommy like you miss her today, but some days things will happen and you'll really, really want to tell her about it."

Tommy lay his head against her chest.

"But she loved you so much, Tommy. That doesn't go away. So she'll always be with you, and you'll find ways to keep her with you."

"How?"

Clara reached over to the velvet pouch on the dressing table. "When women get married, they are supposed to wear something old, something new, something borrowed, and something blue. My new is the ring you helped Richard pick out…"

"And it's blue!"

"Clever boy, it is blue. My old are these pearls," Clara said, pulling them and a bracelet from the pouch. "They were my mother's. Her father gave them to her the day she married my father. So wearing them makes me feel like she's with me today. And the bracelet is something borrowed."

"It's Mommy's!"

"That's right, because I also wanted to feel like your mommy was with me, at least a little bit."

Tommy readjusted in her lap. "I still want Mommy."

"I still want my mommy, too. You know what though, the other way you get to keep part of her? Is by being with people who loved her. So anytime Daddy, or Richard, or I hug you or tell you about her you get part of her back for a little bit. My Uncle Eli, he would always tell me stories about my mother, about how much she loved me and…"

Clara took a gaspy breath to try and keep from sobbing. She felt Tommy's chubby little hand pat her face.

Richard walked through the open door and stopped when he saw Tommy in Clara's lap, both with tearstained faces.

"We miss our mommys," Tommy said, and then frowned. "Where is your mommy?"

"She died," Richard answered.

"When you were a little kid?"

"Mmm. No. While I was. In the war."

"You miss your mommy?" Tommy asked.

Richard swallowed hard and nodded.

"When we hug each other she's here. Just like my mommy and Clara's." Tommy jumped down from Clara's lap. "Can I have ice cream for supper?"

Clara stood up, and ineffectually dabbed at the damp spot on her shoulder. "No. Tonight we eat cake.


It was not a storybook wedding, Clara thought as they went back to the room to see about settling Tommy for the night. The Little Chapel was rather like a factory for weddings. They'd stood in line with one couple who were so horrifyingly young Clara wanted to ask them if their parents knew where they were, and another couple old enough to be their parents. Suddenly they were in the chapel with the pastor, the official witness, and Tommy. .

Did she know his middle name was Henry, she wondered as the pastor efficiently moved them through the service and Tommy tried twice to hand them the rings before they had gotten to that part. Clara knew she shouldn't judge, since she had randomly said I do well before she was supposed to and the pastor made a joke that she was quite the willing bride.

And then suddenly the man said 'Mr. and Mrs. Harrow' and Clara thought, oh how odd. The witness doubled as a photographer. Tommy, of course, stood in the picture with them, and the photographer was sensitive enough to take it while they still stood facing each other.

They ordered room service when they got back to the hotel. Richard ate at the vanity in the bedroom while Clara and Tommy ate in the living room. Clara knew she should give Tommy a bath, but really, there was only so much one could handle in a day.

Every time the light hit Richard's ring she found herself staring at it. He was her husband, she thought, trying the idea out in her mind. Well, technically the marriage wasn't irrevocable until they went to bed, and so she doubled down on the idea of skipping bath time and just stuffing Tommy into his pajamas after he finished his cake.

Tommy, instead of settling down the way Clara desperately wanted him to, started running around the suite.

"I'm rather out of ideas," Clara admitted sitting back on the sofa.

"Mmm. Do you have. A book?"

Clara nodded, pulled out A Princess of Mars and started reading out loud, curling up against Richard's side, purposefully ignoring Tommy. When the first Martian showed up Richard took the book and read the lines in his voice, and Tommy could no longer resist. He bounded up into their laps and sprawled out until he finally fell asleep across both of them.

"I do have one question," Clara whispered in Richard's ear.

Richard's hands twisted, fearful that this was the moment Clara told him she felt she made a mistake.

"How is it possible that he's already so sticky when I made him scrub his hands before we put his pajamas on? It's like the stickiness comes from within!"

They carefully worked their way out from underneath Tommy, and Clara tucked him in while Richard checked the front door.

As they walked toward the bedroom door Clara felt shy. Don't be a goose, she chastised herself. It was hardly the first time they'd walked into a room together and shut the door with the intention of going to bed. But it was different, a voice in her head insisted. This was different. Suddenly she felt Richard's hand on the back of her knee and he was lifting her off the ground.

"What are you doing?" Clara whispered, afraid of waking Tommy up.

"Carrying you," Richard answered as they stepped through the door.

Clara shot one last look at the sleeping boy on the sofa before she caught the door with her hand as they went through. "Wait," she said, trying to lean down enough to twist the lock.

"Hmm," Richard said, seeing what she was doing. He readjusted her so he could reach under her and lock the door. Turning around he tossed Clara onto the bed with enough force that she bounced.

Clara laughed and looked up at him. Alone finally, she thought. A feeling of pure exhilaration flooded her. They were married. All the other emotions she'd tried to bury were storming within her. Her breath caught when she felt him looking at her, and she sat up on her knees as she reached her hands out and rested them on his forearms.

Everything was still for a moment before she felt the drag of his stubble across her cheek, and then his mustache brushing along the corner of her mouth before half her mouth felt his lips pressing warm and seeking against hers, while the half was rubbing against the cool tin of the mask. Clara felt one of his hands on the back of her neck while the other drifted below her waist and pushed her into him. The edges of his mask cut into her mouth and nose, and the corner of his glasses caught her temple. At the moment she didn't care, her hands pulling to free his shirt from his waistband so she could run her hands up his back.

"Missed you," Richard whispered.

"I missed you," Clara responded breathlessly. "Never again, okay?"

He pulled away and turned toward the nightstand, taking off the mask as he went. Clara started to follow but forced herself to stay back, instead working on undoing the hook and eye closures that ran down the side seams of her dress. The sound of his dogtags hitting the wood of the table made her look up.

It was the way he was looking at her that made her reach toward him. The long nights of missing him, of laying in a strange bed in Margaret's house thinking she'd never see him again crashed back over her and it seemed like the way to push back those feelings was to have him now. Their mouths met again and this time it felt like they were never going to let go. Clara's hands pulled at Richard's shirt while Richard's grabbed handfuls of her dress and slip. They pulled apart just long enough for her to pull his shirt and undershirt over his head and for Richard to pull her dress and slip off in one go.

His fingers slid along her cheek and back to her hair. He slowed down and kissed her gently. All she could think was that his mouth felt so good against hers, just as she remembered. She could taste their wedding cake in his kiss. They fell back against the bed without letting their mouths separate. He kissed her again and again, slow and soft, as his other hand skimmed her waist, sliding up to the bottom of her bra, making her whimper .

She could take it no more, her hand working between them and cupping him through his trousers before she started work on the buttons. Now he was panting heavily into her mouth but neither moved away for a moment, until he pushed her back on the bed and hooked his thumbs under the waistband of her tap pants and started pulling them down. Clara leaned up enough to let him free her while she reached back to unfasten her bra. The bed squeaked underneath them, and Clara looked up worriedly. Richard pulled them both off the bed, and then yanked the blankets and pillows down the floor. Clara finished unbuttoning his trousers and pushed them down with his boxers in one go.

Panting they sank down onto the blanket. His fingers trailed feather-light down her hips, thighs and then back up to her breasts. It occurred to her, even in the haze of lust, that he was tracing her freckles. The random touches changed to a circling motion as he moved towards the tips of her breasts. His touch grew firmer, much to her relief. It was more pleasurable but less teasing, she thought.

He was terrified of making a mistake, that she wouldn't like what they were doing. The little noises she made as his hands traced around her restored his confidence. He cupped her breasts in his hands, feeling their weight and running his thumb across her scar until finally he rolled her nipples between his fingers. Clara cried out and grabbed his shoulders. He lowered his head, capturing the sensitized flesh of one between his teeth on the good side of his mouth. When he finally, finally slid a hand between her legs he moaned at the wetness he found there. As his finger disappeared inside her she buried her face against his chest to mask the sounds she was making.

"Please," she whispered in his ear and sank back onto the blanket.

The soft silvery light coming through the window was the only light in the room, and caused the dampness on the inside of her thighs to shine in the darkness as she lay sprawled before him. Her breaths were deep and fast and she bit her bottom lip as she looked up at him hungrily.

He took a deep breath, still not quite believing it was his wife who waited for him.

"Please," Clara said again and her hand went lower.

She closed her hand around him and he groaned in relief. Slowly her hand moved up and down a few times, and then she was pressing him against her entrance.

Steading himself, he pushed into her slowly, her body offering little resistance. He watched her face to make sure she was ready. When her eyes opened and she started moving beneath him he braced his forearms on either side of her head and buried his face in the side of her neck, breathing in her salty orange smell as he began moving within her.

Clara was moaning in his ear and her legs wrapped around him as she tried to draw him further in. He could feel the tension in her thighs and stomach. He raised his head and watched her.

It felt like she was spinning on the edge of a cliff, she thought and opened her eyes when she felt his head move. He was looking right at her, which made her want to close her eyes and hide. Having him watch her writhe underneath him made her feel vulnerable in a way in which she was not accustomed. She wanted to hide from the intimacy of the moment, but then she thought again, remembering the horrible loneliness and pain of the summer.

They were together, they were married, and she had wanted just this for weeks. She watched the hair tumble over his cheekbones and felt the groans in his chest. When he moved one arm and closed his hand over her breast, she fell apart.

She was still coming down to earth when she felt his arm hook under her left knee and draw it up. He sped up and started moving inside her with fast, frantic strokes, his other hand braced against the floor. There was no way she could keep up with his pace, so she pushed against the base of the bedside table with one hand to keep them from slamming into it and wrapped herself around him as best she could. His head had dropped back down to her neck, so she turned and carefully licked around the outside of his ear and back to the spot she knew he particularly liked. When he moaned a little louder against her neck she carefully sank her teeth into the delicate skin behind his ear. He pushed into her with such force they almost did slide into the table, and then he lay trembling on top of her.

At that moment, the King and Queen of England could have popped into the room and Clara wouldn't have cared that they were sprawled naked on a blanket. She didn't care that his weight was pushing her into the floor. Her body was still soaring from pleasurable aftershocks and his skin felt fantastic against hers. She never wanted this moment to end. As much as she'd enjoyed everything they'd ever done, this was different and she just wanted it to go on and on and on. At some point she knew they'd have to get up, put on nightclothes, check on Tommy, and crawl into bed together. Respectably, she thought happily, because they were married.

Richard lifted his weight off her and moved to her side, running his hand across her back and making her gasp again.

"Isn't there a bible verse about this?" she whispered into his chest.

He swallowed. "Solomon. Mmm. Their bed is green."

Clara nodded against him. "I knew you'd know."

Author's Note: I'd love to know what you think is going to happen next!

Historical Note: New Jersey, like many states, had a waiting period after the time a marriage license was issued and when the ceremony could take place (Angela and Jimmy got their license the day before they married in New York, for example). If you needed to get married quickly you went to Maryland, and if you were coming from Jersey, Philly, or Delaware you went to Elkton. It was very much the Vegas of its day as far as quickie weddings go. Except you did have to be married in a church. The Little Chapel, where Richard and Clara marry, still exists.