Chapter 5: Chocolate 'Moose' & Other Cures for Those of the Tormented 'Elk'
Both of them sat, stiffer, more rigid, more distanced, than usual, in the cab returning home after meeting with four members of the Baker House Adoption Committee. There was a heavy silence, it seemed they each sat taller fighting it. They had been rejected again, as expected, but their thoughts were both being haunted by the same, short, exchange between them during the meeting. It had been tense. It would linger.
William sighed from his side of the cab – she noticed. He did not notice that she noticed, as his mind replayed the scene, for the umpteenth time. Julia's voice, like it can be sometimes, sagely, poignantly at ease in a challenging situation, with him admiring her from his seat next to hers in the formal surroundings of the Baker House lounge, her voice resounded in his brain, clearly, presenting their case to the stuffy members of the committee, "We are fortunate that we can do both, I can be both, a pathologist and a mother, because of our station, our wealth, we can afford a live-in nanny, and a housekeeper. William Jr. has a rich and wonderful life, although both William and I agree, it would be improved by his having a younger sibling… And… I… we… have not been able to, um…well because of my condition we can't… Of course, that's why we are here. Our nanny is a young and warm woman. Our son loves her. Nannies have been helping parents to raise their children for ages – likely some of you were even rais..."
There was a twitch, still now, as he reacted with alarm, and was zinged by the memory of it, his own voice in his head, startling him, for at that point, he had interrupted her. He had rushed, leaned forward into the conversation drawing everyone's eyes, and had said, "I think what my wife is trying to say is that we are able to give our children the best of both worlds, they have, in Julia, a nurturing, encouraging and cherishing mother who is vibrant and fun and creative, and a mother who can model for them a female who is competent in the professional realm..."
Instantly his warning had come – Julia had huffed. Then her words cut, snipping, "If I'm so competent, William, then I suppose I can explain my own arguments." Her lips had pinched tight, the thin, cold, smile chilling him to the bone.
Now, in the cab, he could tell… she was furious, and even more disturbing, she was furious with him.
Just then, her words pierced, sucking them together, suddenly, her eyes burning fiercely into his, fire spewing, stealing away his oxygen. "How dare you apologize for me, William, treat me like I am some sort of hysterical, irrational woman in danger of embarrassing herself with her crazy ideas and rants. You just had to act like the big man, just had to step in and save your poor, unruly wife from herself…"
Clear images flashed before him, he saw himself spreading out the sheet on the couch in their living room. He would be sleeping on the couch tonight. He told himself not to swallow, feeling the lump choking in his throat, it would show his fear…
William tried to catch her words, to find something to latch onto that might offer help. Julia only picked up steam, picked up the pace, "What happened to that winsome man who knew, even more so than I did myself, that I did not need saving… William, because I was, I am, completely capable of fighting for myself…" She paused considering her own question. "Is it because we are married now, and we weren't back then? Did I have to lose that winsome man, once I became his property?" She held to his eyes. Fire – pure, scorching, fire.
He felt unnervingly exposed, like she could see right through, to the very center of him, like she could see how helpless he felt. The only thing that came to his mind to respond with was defensive, "Julia…" followed by an exasperated and insulted frown, "You very well know that I don't think of you as my property." Yes, it was definitely going to be the couch for him, tonight. He could see no way out.
She looked away, took a deep breath. He had a point. She considered the whole ordeal from his perspective, thinking, "Maybe he was acting more on his own accord. William can be quite awkward… especially in social situations. Maybe I was pushing him too much, taking us too far out of his comfort zone, with my modern ideals? Perhaps he felt the committee was thinking badly of him, for letting his wife behave so badly? Perhaps he felt embarrassed… Oh my God, I see it now!"
She nearly whispered her discovery, seemingly speaking, as much to the air, as to him, "That's the truth of it, isn't it? Since I am your wife, whatever I do… it reflects on you. You were ashamed of me." Suddenly, her emotions overcame her and she didn't breathe as she needed to in the rush and her face reddened and her voice rose into a squeak and she almost watched herself realizing it, she saw herself feeling the pain of understanding it, hearing her own degree of upset only upsetting her more. Exponentially, the dominoes fell. "You're ashamed of me. I see it now!" she burst into tears, crumpling away from him, folding into a more fetal position, only the window of the cab supporting her, and she cried.
) (
Home, Julia refusing his hand as she dismounted from the cab, both of them were stuck in their heads. Once in the door, the couple dealt with what came their way – a happy toddler, the smells of Eloise's dinner cooking. Noticeably, Julia quickly excused herself and went upstairs to change. William remained downstairs, took William Jr. out into the backyard for a while. He suspected, correctly, that Julia was crying again. The thoughts that gurgled inside of him came with such inner turmoil. As he played with his son, took him exploring in the woods, William was living in his head. Upstairs, Julia too was suffering. They both were living, again, in their heads, encountering their own demons with shame.
Julia's battle was raging on multiple fronts, with not being able to give William the family he deserved – with not being 'woman enough' to give William the family he wanted, and, even worse, having the shameful, shameful, reason for her not being able to do so tarring her even more. And, to make matters worse, and ultimately sitting at the crux of the situation today, the whole ordeal at Baker House had stirred up her childhood battles and dramas as well, particularly those old ones with her father's persistent persecution of her for her boyish behaviors.
Constantly her father had told her when she was a child how ashamed of her he was, ashamed for her not being like other girls. Julia had routinely been held after their family meals at their long, cold and imposing dinner table to receive her scoldings from him. Sometimes she was even mocked by her father in front of other children. And, always, it seemed, Julia remembered feeling humiliated during meetings with her father and her teachers. Some of her parents' worst arguments had been fought about her unconventional behavior, her father red-faced and aggressive, yelling, throwing things, because her mother "encouraged the girl's wrongheadedness" by letting Julia run around without wearing a corset, and climb trees, and ride horses, "like a man," instead of sidesaddle, as she should… and she was so TALL. Her father had absolutely despised the fact that she was a tomboy, that she was smarter than all the boys… Her mind found some reprieve whenever it would arrive at this last thought, however, for it was a mixed issue with her father, for Julia's outstanding intelligence and well-spoken arguments had brought him pride at times, as well. And now, with all these mean-spirited stories in the papers, and the gossipy whispers from just outside of earshot in the shadows, along with a childhood of being shamed for not behaving appropriately feminine, Julia had ended up overwhelmed and taking on, accepting, wearing, the disgust others felt for her, and now, in feeling that William saw her as her father had seen her… it had been the final straw.
As for the troubles inhabiting William's head, plaguing him, that was trickier. William Murdoch's psyche was… different… when it came to Julia Ogden, and as a result, there was one thing that remained wholly unconscious to him. It hovered, below his surface of awareness, generally undetected. The closest he ever came to being able to see it was when he was in Church, when he prayed, when he sat, quiet, in Mass, and his soul's waters settled with the stillness, the calm, and then, if he would ever have let himself truly look, if he would allow himself to reflect on what was there, in him, he would have seen it – his shame for having come to feel the way he did about her, to love Julia Ogden with every tiny morsel of his being, despite his knowing she had chosen, and further, did not even regret, aborting a child. That hidden shame churned, drove him, sometimes, to do things, and he would never come to know that it had influenced his choices in such matters.
In the meeting today, when Julia had stuttered, had faltered in her otherwise powerful explanation for their decisions to adopt a child, and that faltering had brought them dangerously close to revealing this truth, this illegal and shun-spurring truth, that she had had an abortion… that having this abortion had left her with the "condition" that she had spoken of today to the committee, that her abortion was what had rendered it so dire that she not become pregnant now, and thus was the reason they had broken the law in the past and used prophylactics, he had encountered this shame. It was part of the panic that had moved him to interrupt her in the first place. And even worse, on some deeper level Julia had picked up on it, her sensing of it fueling her own belief that William was ashamed of her in the same way her father had been when she was a child.
Consciously, there were other explanations for why he had acted this way today, for interrupting her… reasonable causes for him to have felt the way he did in response to what she was saying to the committee. He remembered, and he got stuck thinking about, the fact that, before Julia had brought up her 'condition' in the meeting, she had drawn everyone's attention to their "wealth," their high "station." William's having had married into this toff-life had always been problematic for him. It made sense to him that her saying it so matter-of-factly today would have caused him shame… unleashed panic. However, their being part of the upper class was a more acceptable reason for him to feel such discomfort than was his shame of Julia for having had made the decision to abort a child in her past, thus now, her mentioning their wealth with the adoption committee entertained much of his internal thinking about their current discord.
) (
William carried a tray of supper up the steps. He tried to feel hopeful, noting to himself that his placing of one of the red-orange roses he had bought for her the other day on the tray made it look cheerful. Maybe he was wrong, maybe Julia wasn't missing supper because she was upset, but rather because she had simply lost track of the time. Maybe she was lounging, and caring for herself, and soothing herself after their disappointment at the orphanage today by taking a hot bath.
The bedroom door was closed. He stopped… listened. His sigh was the only thing he heard. Balancing the tray with great focus, William coached himself that a clumsy move like dropping the tray would not help matters, and he opened the door. Julia sat at her vanity, still dressed in the same clothes she had worn to work this morning. Her eyes were terribly red and puffy with tears. He spotted a novel opened in front of her. Likely she had been trying to distract herself from her crying with reading it.
Julia's eyes stayed on the tray. "I'm not hungry, William," she said, her tone short, annoyed with him, bothered.
"You're being stubborn," he charged, attempting to, almost managing to, keep his voice nonchalant.
Julia huffed her irritation. My God, now he insisted on belittling her too, just like her father…
William failed to hide his frown. "Julia…" an air of desperation emerged, "I'm not ashamed of you," he said plainly, deciding to be direct.
Now it was Julia who frowned. There was a quick glance, the mere sight of him standing there stirring-up anger in her. She pushed the irritation down with a huff. "I'm too nauseous… I feel too sick to eat," she said. Oh, and she knew this would get a rise out of him… "I would take some whiskey though," she added.
William frowned, sighed. His fingers twitched under the tray, itching to rub his brow.
She steamed, "Christ, that embarrasses you too!"
"Julia, please…" William paused for a breath, trying to calm himself down, "Please don't use the Lord's name in such a way."
And with that, Julia shoved herself away from the vanity, jutted her magnificent chin out into the air and stormed out announcing, "Never mind, I'll get the whiskey myself."
He stood watching her, following her flapping arms from behind as they pumped her along, stunned, he continued to stare. Soon, Julia out of sight, transfixed by her wake, he felt it ripple through him as his ears began to hum.
)
Downstairs, Julia instantly regretted her decision to go into the dining room, where their liquor cabinet was located, by going through the kitchen rather than using the side door. Truthfully, the mistake was probably because her head was screaming at her so, she was so… destroyed, that she hung, with her last thread, to the image of the relief she would soon feel, anticipating the biting tingle of the thick scent of the whiskey as she would lift the crystal top from the fancy decanter… She desperately needed the warm liquid to burn away the pain… But the moment she stepped over the kitchen threshold, Eloise turned her head and caught Julia's eye.
Julia halted right there, and turned to watch her little toddler son, sitting in his highchair at the table, follow Eloise's glance. The boy's big, William-like eyes widened at the sight of her, so lovely their twinkle, and he bubbled over with glee. The child slapped the platform of his highchair, splattering himself with his goopy dinner in process. Her heart responded as his squeals and bounces with delight filled the air.
"Mommy," the child reached his arms for her.
Julia's heart didn't stand a chance, it melted like milk chocolate in the hot sun. She walked over, took William Jr. into her lap, and showered him with sweet, adoring, cheery talk, as she cleaned the mess from his face and his arms and made an effort at wiping off his shirt. She felt it, as she so often did, that she was a good mother for this child. It felt so warm, so natural, so right. She started to ask Eloise if she saw it too, but then changed her mind. She wanted reassurance, but…
The housekeeper had spotted, instantly, that the doctor had been crying, the evidence guaranteeing that the younger woman's missing of dinner had not been due to physical ailments, but instead, as Eloise had suspected while observing the detective's unease earlier, indicated that it was because of the doctor's emotional distress. The detective had seemed much more upset than usual, himself. In Eloise's experience, nothing bothered that man more than when things weren't right with his wife. Eloise had been aware that the couple had had another orphanage appointment this afternoon. They must have been rejected again. And if that were the case, Dr. Ogden had likely been the orphanage's reason for stopping the Murdoch's from adopting any of the infant children that were available and needed homes. It would be weighing on the woman, that was for sure.
From behind her, Julia heard Eloise fidgeting with getting her some food to eat. Every bone in her body wanted to protest, but she already knew that she would not be that ungrateful.
Seemingly focused on preparing Julia's plate, Eloise spoke up, "If you need some sincere, honest, good words about your mothering doctor, I'll have you know that I can think of no other child than that one sitting right there in your lap who has a better childhood, albeit without any brothers or sisters, which you and the detective are certainly trying to remedy." She paused to remove some butter from the detective's refrigeration icebox invention, quickly going on, "To the point where I sometimes find myself wishing I had had a childhood like his. I wish I had had parents like you and like your husband. I watch how you are with him, so fun, you care so intensely… protective, but you let him grow too, not to mention the fine fathering he gets from his other parent, and I tell you, I regret not being able to be like you are with your child with my children when they were growing up. And I can see why your confidence would be shaken, with all these awful things they write about you in the papers…"
Julia added, sad, tears threatening to swell-up, hot, behind her eyes with the words, with the thoughts that were evoked, "And what they say in their sly, little hushed undertones when I walk by."
Seeing such a strong woman, a beautiful, life-affirming champion for all, so hurt and unsteady… it ripped at Eloise. Her tone became motherly, "Doctor, people stuck in their ignorance will have a false confidence, really I think it's actually unrecognized arrogance in people of this ilk… but it can be powerful. And if you judge yourself by their standards, their restrictive rules, which really only function to make it easier, quicker, for them to categorize and to label other people… And I must say, they don't know what to do with someone like you… with someone like you, and like the detective. And… well…" Eloise shook her head disappointedly, and then changed the subject in her mind, and lifted her finished plate, her masterpiece looked quite appetizing indeed. And with that observation, another approach presented itself in the older woman's mind. "The best artwork, the most breathtaking, beautiful, pieces I've ever seen, often happened, were created when, the artist went outside of the lines. You and the detective have always reminded me of the artist ilk. You go outside of the lines. I love that you go outside of the lines. You show us all that so much is possible," she offered. Then Eloise started her insightful conclusion, "Doctor, you are so full of spunk, pizz…"
Abruptly, their attention was pulled towards the kitchen entrance by the clattering of dishes… William would be there any second, bringing the tray of supper he had brought upstairs for her back down.
Bright and attuned, William Jr., too, had heard the clanking sounds from outside of the room when he followed the two adults' sudden change of interest. Although the women quickly hurried back to their talk, the little one continued to wiggle and squirm, and to lean and to peer around his mother, anticipating the seeing of his father.
Neither woman noticed, but if Julia had, she would have remarked on the significance of what their son was doing, for it would have provided solid evidence that their parenting was effective. William Jr.'s brain had reached a milestone, and it had reached a bit early for his age, he was displaying a grasping of Piaget's concept of object permanence… out of sight, but still exists. The little child knew his Daddy was there.
Because Julia felt lifted by Eloise's words, she wanted to share her gratitude… before William arrived. "Thank you, Eloise," she nodded, grabbing the very first second that their eyes met again, holding her, now dried, pale blue eyes to those of her longtime housekeeper and friend, affirming her sincerity. There were times she felt she and William were surrounded by sages, what with George tending to tangent off on his philosophizing, and the Inspector's fatherly advice, and sometimes, like just now, Eloise could be so Fairy-Godmotherly…
It was Eloise's sudden shift that made the resulting silence, the obvious and blatant hasty ceasing of whatever had been happening before the detective had arrived, so uncomfortable. When it came to her employers, Eloise accepted that the unconventional nature of the doctor, and the lower-class upbringing of the detective, meant that neither of them was very good at keeping the distinctions between employer and employee that were expected by the rest of the world. The housekeeper had overstepped, she would be the one to feel awkward about it. Thus, it was Eloise who stepped back, nervously fidgeted with her apron, her marker of her place, it was Eloise who averted her eyes.
William hunted for safe ground. His plate still sat at his place on the table, half eaten, most assuredly cold. Julia had the baby in her lap, and she had a plate of food in front of her. His instincts connected him to the baby, common ground. It was easy, really, for William Jr. was really the only one in the room to look directly at him anyway, and the baby's smiled upon seeing him… it made life worth living.
His voice animated, as was his way with their little son, William said, "Well, hello again little man. I see you have helped your mother's appetite." He laid the tray down on the countertop, Eloise hurrying over to empty it. "Thank you, Eloise," he told her with a smile. William returned to the table, placed the napkin in his lap. He would finish. Oh, how he tried to think of something to say…
Julia had decided to be a good sport. Her spirits were higher, and she was able to bring herself to nibble. She remained occupied with the baby, never even glanced to her husband.
Eloise found her mind returning to her words to the doctor, her reflection bringing her to see that her own words could also be applied to herself. She had crossed a line, one most a housekeeper, or other people of her ilk, would not even have considered crossing with the woman of the house, yet, she believed that there could come some good in crossing the line sometimes.
Oddly for her, Eloise sighed. Not so surprisingly, knowing the man, the detective noticed. It made him even more aware of how not right things were between himself and Julia. Coming to the conclusion that there was nothing he could do about it right now, he did what he always did when under pressure, focused on the case at hand. The papers had been brutal about his lack of success in finding, not only the killer of the man found shot in the back of his head on their body farm, but the victim's identity as well. William sighed, unaware it was audible to the others. The reporters' barrage of questions this afternoon as he left the stationhouse early to collect Julia and head over to Baker House did not bode well for tomorrow's news stories either.
Dr. Ogden was wholly absorbed by the baby, experimenting with feeding him bits of her supper to try. "At least the play is getting her to eat some, too," Eloise thought to herself. She read the body language… "They must have argued," she reasoned, nothing sucked up their life force more than when they were not in accord with each other.
Julia pulled back to better see William Jr. wrinkle his face with disgust. "Yucky?" she questioned. Not yet trained in the better graces of table etiquette, William Jr. pushed the unwanted food – a mushed up piece of broccoli in this case – forward out of his mouth with his tongue to be caught by his mother. "It's not so bad," she teased him with a giggle.
"Oh, I almost forgot!" Eloise yelled to herself in her head. She had anticipated a rough night for the doctor, and of course the detective, too. But, because she read the papers with more focus on the Murdoch's than even the Murdoch's themselves did, and she had seen the writing on the wall, she had prepared for comforting their wounds tonight. And Eloise knew that Dr. Ogden would be the one most in need of care. Eloise had a superpower, and it was time to deploy it. Eloise had made the doctor's very favorite dessert – CHOCOLATE MOUSSE!
Not overplaying it, Eloise casually placed the delicacy down in front of both of them at the same time. All she said was, "Some dessert?"
My goodness, how Dr. Ogden lit up.
"Eloise!" Julia declared, "You're a miracle worker! This is perfect, just perfect!" and her spoon was already dipped into the chocolaty, creamy dessert and swooped into her mouth, to let the sweetness soak down in, and spread joy, sweet, sweet joy, through her aching spirit. "Mmmm," she shared her delight enthusiastically. "I swear, this is better than whiskey," she noted to herself.
She looked down into her lap… those gorgeous brown eyes so intrigued. "Would you like some little one?" she offered, already preparing the boy a spoonful. Her smile was humungous. "Oh," she nodded at him, her eyes sparkling, "Now that's yummy."
"Julia." William objected, "Do you think you should get him accustomed to such things?"
"Oh William, he will have plenty of life's misery, lets expose him to some pleasures as well," Julia explained, quickly adding another spoonful of the smooth chocolaty goodness to her own mouth and covering and deluging her tongue with more of the yummy treasure.
William gave her a consenting nod. His chest expanded visibly, a bit of relief initiating the deeper breath. He had been holding his breath. He hadn't noticed. He tried… tried to connect with Julia from across the divide, feeling somewhat heartened by the ease with which she had just replied to him. Feeling it was a safe topic, he decided to make a comment about the case.
William's glance, quick, from the side, caught her eye. She had always found that particular… thatlittle 'peek' he would take in her direction sometimes, to be so endearing. Back before they had begun courting all those years ago, she thought it revealed his caution, his shyness, but underneath it, she had always sensed his fire, all of it focused on HER. Such a look had always left her knowing how very, very important she was to him. Even now, even though the gesture suggested his uncertainty, his discomfort with their being in the midst of an argument, she found herself caught by it.
"I should have known that the bruise on the victim's thigh was not caused by an automobile tire," he wrinkled his face admitting to his self-doubt. "I was so hopeful that the UV photographs were going to give us a lead…"
William's mind showed him, for probably the two-hundredth time today, the best photograph they had ended up with after hours of painstakingly setting and firing intricately timed and synchronized flashbulbs, and measuring distances to the body from the camera with a tape measure, and getting the angles just right, and holding everything so very, very still with each click.
The UV photography had worked, he tried to take heart in that, at least. The technique had made the month-old bruise visible, even clear. It was sharp and distinct from the rest of the flesh. But he had concluded that the mark was unidentifiable after examining it. (Of course, William Murdoch's brain would never stop trying to figure out what had made such a bruise). The puzzle had a hold on him, even if he wouldn't admit it. So odd, the shape – almost like an obese, giant hand. There was a larger, round area, surrounded at the top by four symmetrically placed smaller semicircles. In order for the object to have landed on the victim's leg with the necessary force… Julia had told him it was 2000-3000 lbs., it would have had to have been something industrial. Maybe something from a factory… His mind had turned all of this over and over all day. But now… now, he was dealing with what felt like his stupidity in expecting the bruise to have been from an automobile.
Tugged by his disappointment, Julia offered, almost reaching out and covering his hand on the table to reassure him, but overruling the instinct, "William, you always say that any evidence is a clue, and the UV photographs of the bruise do tell us much about whatever it was that struck the victim and broke his femur a month before he died. Maybe we don't see it right now, but we will."
Her kindness touched him, and they locked eyes, and his big brown ones were suddenly so vaccumuous that she felt herself being sucked in. In her head there were the warnings, the reminders, "You're upset with him… Look away…" and she pushed herself to lean away, increase the distance, resist, resist.
With a jerk, Julia sat up taller, even cleared her throat. "Why do you think you should have known…" she asked, returning her attention back to her, now rather skimpy, remaining serving of chocolate mousse. She forced her body to communicate a more stand-offish air, and elaborated, "…known that it would not be from an automobile's tires?" She popped her final spoonful of mousse into her mouth and waited.
William's heart dropped with the loss of her closeness, her attention back on one of his mistakes. A sigh, before he found the thought. William said coolly, "An automobile would have driven over both legs," the keen logic of the statement itself explaining why he was annoyed with himself.
"Yes. Yes, it would have," she agreed plainly. She would not admit it aloud, hiding her own annoyance with herself for not thinking that same logic through, as well, because she did not want to give William that much right now.
Instead, Julia changed the subject. She suggested that he could work with his weights, or maybe on the case, while she spent time with William Jr. She wanted to give the baby a bath, and she would play with him afterwards, for a while, before his bedtime. There was a new story she had found that she wanted to read to him…
Unbeknownst to the other, each of them had had a flashback related to the image in their minds of the baby in the tub with her, to the lovely time, rather recently, when William had shared the tub with their little toddler, and the baby had had so very much fun, they all did, cherishing the child's joyful squeals of excitement and hearty splashing.
Julia pushed the happy memory aside, and, not even listening for his response, she stood from the table, lifting their son with her, and thanked Eloise, especially for the special Chocolate Mousse, and then said to their little son as she turned and walked away. "Mommy and you are going to have a bath. You love that deep water… I think you're half fish, hmm?" she giggled. The further away from William she got, the more her anger with him reemerged, her brain reasoning out her plan, "I'd prefer spending time with you anyway, little one, at least you don't feel you need to explain me all the time… and you're not ashamed of me, at least not yet. I should get a decade or so before I have to worry about that… with you, anyway…"
William felt her shove. Eloise heard his big sigh.
)
Off at the edge of his workroom in their basement, William sat at his desk looking through farm machine designs in journals and other industrial innovation resources for a match to the bruise on the victim's leg. He had intended to work out, but had felt drawn to the problem bothering him in the case, so he had put it off. As often happened with him, time had passed unnoticed, thus he was a bit surprised when Julia brought the baby in to say goodnight. He laid the current journal down on the cluttered desk and declared, "I have visitors!"
Julia stayed in the door's threshold, releasing William Jr.'s tiny hand so their son could go to his father. She watched from the doorway as William scooped the boy up into his lap. From there, she told him that she had taught the toddler how to blow bubbles in the bath water. She gushed with pride adding, a contagious tone of astonishment as she said it, "And he ended up putting his whole head under the water. He loved it!"
Proving how insightful he was, that even though he was little, he still knew exactly what his Mommy was telling his Daddy, the baby leaned forward while still in William's lap, and made a bloobering, trumpety, sort of splattery blowing noise. Sitting upright again, shining a smile that could charm the world, he screeched, "Bubbas!"
Whoosh, he was suddenly boosted up high, his father standing and lifting him up, up, up into the air. Such giggles of glee, as his Daddy dropped him down and planted his face into the child's belly and blew enthusiastically into it while shaking his head around, making these muffled, growly, blubbery sounds, tickling the boy deliciously, only to pull his face back out and shoot the toddler back up into the sky, then look up excitedly into his little son's bright brown eyes and pause. "Bubbas!" he declared, and then he repeated the whole game again.
Authoritative, Julia's tone from the doorway, "Be careful not to get him too excited… he wassleepy."
William brought the baby down against his chest, tucked his face close to the boy's little ear. It was so little, and soft, and cool from his bath against William's lightly stubbled cheek. And my, he smelled so sweet. "Your Mommy's right," he told his little son, "Mommy's so smart," as he walked over to join her.
"I'll tuck him in too?" he asked more than told.
"Oh… Um, I was going to rock him for a bit… and read him that bedtime story… maybe sing to him for a while.
William took a breath and wrinkled a corner of his mouth. It was not directly conscious, but he felt left out. "I still have to work out… anyway," he relinquished as he handed her their child. After they were gone, he turned and considered his weights in the corner. That's when he realized it… he was still wearing his tie.
)
His newest invention in his arms, William climbed their stairs after securing the house for the night. He was bubbling with excitement… it had worked! Not only had he repaired their second, broken, phonograph, but he had built into it a mechanism that allowed the machine, itself, to turn off when it reached the end of the phonogram. In this case, the recording was an old one. He was amazed he had been able to find it… Julia's old nursery rhyme, "Three Little Maids." This particular phonogram was the first one he had ever heard playing on Julia's phonograph in the morgue. My God, that was a long time ago. He was so very, very fascinated with her then. He remembered it down into his bones, the awe spreading, diffusing, igniting his body, as he discovered the playful song filling the air when he walked in to see her, butterflies in his belly, to get her postmortem report. He could still hear it in his head, high-pitched, spirited, the song… "Three little maids from school are we. Pert as a schoolgirl well can be. Filled to the brim with girlish glee…" He planned to put the phonograph on the top of the dresser in William Jr.'s room. They would be able to leave it playing a song for him to fall asleep to and walk out… the phonogram would end and the machine would turn off, hopefully after little William Jr. had drifted. It was perfect.
Their bedroom door was opened, lights on. There were butterflies again, but, not the good kind. He and Julia were out of synch right now. Paused there, William wrinkled his mouth to himself at the thought… so much better when the flutters were because he was still fighting against his falling madly in love with her. Clearly, that was a fight he had lost many, many moons ago. Unconsciously, he sighed, in an effort to cope with the building pressure, imagining walking in to encounter Julia, her either crying again, or still angry with him... Glancing quickly at William Jr.'s cracked-opened door, he decided he would set the phonograph up tomorrow.
Their eyes met, and then both darted away from each other with a rush, instincts, then nerves, as William first entered the room. Julia was sitting at her vanity again, gratefully, not crying. She was brushing her wavy, luminescent hair, already in her nightgown. He felt his reaction, besides his trepidation, there was, there would always be, love, and the delicious awareness of the effect the sight of catching her in a golden moment of beauty had on him… something deep and warm and tingly, the closest thing to capturing the name of the feeling was joy.
Julia's eyes widened, expressing her surprise, "My old phonograph?" she wondered.
Standing taller, anticipating impressing her, William carried the phonograph over to rest it on top of his bureau. "Yes," he explained, "I fixed it… and even better, I created a mechanism to turn it off once it reaches the end of the phonogram. We can play your old song… "Three Little Maids Are We…" um, we can play it for him tomorrow." He dared a glance. She had a smile. William's mouth lifted into a smile upon seeing it. "Uh… I… um, we can buy him some other recordings as well… I figure," he suggested with that modest corner of the mouth wrinkle she'd become accustomed to.
"That's lovely, William," she remarked. Her eyes returned to the mirror, taking up finishing with her hair. She had managed to stop herself from saying more, to hold her tongue, resetting the mood, knowing she did not want to be undone by his innovativeness, his brilliance, or kindness, or just all-around amazingness. No. No. She was annoyed with him… she remembered it now, him embarrassed by her, hurrying to offer some less damaging interpretation of what she had been saying to the Baker House adoption committee. Strangely though, and she was unsure why, but she noticed that, upon thinking about it, his kindness had only made her more upset.
Her coldness made clear, William repressed a sigh. He put away his jacket, and his vest, tucked his badge in its special cubby in his bureau, then hung his tie, and put away his shoes, then took off his shirt and put it in the pile for Eloise to take to the drycleaners on the floor in the closet. Partially undressed, he gathered up his pajamas and headed for their bathroom. He would shower even though he hadn't exercised. Every muscle in his body was knotted… A hot, very, very, hot shower… it would help.
So unexpectedly it played inside his head, sparked by the comfy, familiar feeling of the fabric of his own pajamas in his fingers, slipping over the naked skin of his ribs and across the tender flesh on the inside of his arm, as he draped them there. The sensations gushed through him like lightning, like thunder, for he remembered her, my God she had been so sexy, Julia, naked all but for HIS pajama top… And it was conspicuously large on her, and… whew, so… short above her long legs, and he could see… so much… and he wanted, so badly, to touch… to…
William shut the enticing fantasy down with a jolt. Not taking the time to think about it, to decide, he gathered up his courage and cleared his throat… And he felt her lift his eyes to him, in the reflection in the mirror. And he said, "Julia, you were wrong, earlier… I was not ashamed of you, never, ever… I'm pretty sure I never will be, either." There was instant regret, his attempt only re-flaring her tears. He pinched his lips and dropped his head, and walked away, defeated.
In the shower memories played, in the cascading spray, and with the slippery feel of the soap on him, and the smell and the burn of the hot steam in his lungs. He remembered their making love there, against the hard, tiled wall of the shower… "Was that just last night… and again with Julia, in the pajama top, downstairs in the kitchen – with middle of the night hot chocolate, too?" he questioned his memory. It felt like years. Julia's aloofness, coldness, hurt. Images, just images flashed… of her refusing his hand as she dismounted from the cab, walking away from him with the baby in the kitchen, after dinner, turning away to ignore him just now, suddenly miles and miles away… And those tears… And then that snide comment while in the meeting at Baker House, chilled him again, her tone in his head much more sarcastic than it had been before, "If I'm so competent, William, then I suppose I can explain my own arguments." William's eyes narrowed, wishing not to let the image in, his jaw locked, teeth clenched. Immediately, he changed gears, focusing on cleaning, and rinsing, pushing away the thoughts.
Yet, those invasive thoughts snuck back in, unavoidable. "Why didn't you just keep your big mouth shut, William," he derided himself, "She's right. Julia Ogden is completely capable of explaining herself, explaining our situation, to anyone…." He chuckled to himself in his head, scoffed, "Not usually my problem, is it? Saying too much?" He knew it like the back of his hand, his story, their story – him stunned, eyes filled with tears, mouth dropped opened, no words… head shaking with the failure, so, so often, no words. And now, now all of a sudden, he's telling HER what she meant to say. "What the hell's wrong with me? Why on Earth would I do that?"
He remembered an aversive feeling he had in the meeting, right before he had interrupted Julia, when she brought up the fact that they had a nanny. It had made him jerk, probably due to his own discomfort with now being a man of wealth. His eyes had rushed around the room, worried that the committee members might have seen his reaction. That's when he saw it, that snooty Mrs. Brekenridge's expression, paling, her upper lip curling upward, forehead wrinkling… He didn't even remember thinking, he had just shot forward, on impulse, to try to stop Julia…
)
Ready for bed, in his pajamas, William softly closed the bathroom door behind him. Julia had left only his lamp on, next to their bed. She was sleeping, or pretending to be sleeping, he thought. His sigh was loud. No sign of bedding for him to take to the couch, the uncertainty of it made him frown.
She felt his weight shift the mattress as he sat on its edge, tilting her towards him just a little. Every molecule had been tuned behind her to hear him, to sense him, as she lay there. Another sigh. She pictured him in her mind's eye, heard the soft movement of his pajama top, as reached up to run his fingers through his dark hair. It would be wet and cool from the shower. Then, she was sure of it, he would rub his forehead. My God, he's such a good man, tears re-swelled, with Julia feeling such an acute upsurge of aching, for this man's kindness only made her feel worse. She had hurt him, was hurting him. She felt awful. She tried to stop the wave of crying that was overtaking her, took a deep breath, but she was unable to keep it at bay, and her crying resumed. He would know! He would know… Worried that he would try to comfort her, she considered, planned, that if he did so, then she would go downstairs and sleep on the couch. It would be the only way…
He knew… Julia was holding her breath, but, he heard her, little gasps, desperate, masked, as she tried to get air. He swore he could hear it, the sound of a huge, salty, crystal teardrop landing, with the smallest plunk, on her pillow. His heart sunk with the pain of it. William lifted the covers, slipped into the bed. He reached over and clicked out the light, and lay there, stiff, isolated, thinking, confused, not knowing what to do. She is usually so strong. It almost seems like it's not even Julia. Never before had she not believed him – it hurt so. How could she think he was ashamed of her? It made no sense.
He remembered a lesson he had learned years ago, back when he had lost her – her leaving to go to Buffalo. He had figured it out then, in order to get herback, they needed to be to-get-her. At the time, the discovery had felt like magic, the wordplay solidifying his confidence in his plan. First, he had searched backwards to the time that they had last felt together, and then he had figured out what had gone wrong. Back then, it had been his not telling her that her sterility did not stop him from loving her, from wanting to spend the rest of his life with her, from wanting to marry her. He had tried to fix it, back then, and failed. He'd missed his chance, he was too late. She would marry another. Now, when he searched backwards to find when they last felt together before this current tear, he arrived at the critical point that he had been obsessing about since it had happened. He would need to talk about interrupting her during the meeting today… explain why he thought he did it.
His voice crossed the darkness, not too loudly, not to quietly. She was right, she could tell by the tenderness of it, he knew she was crying… He knew, by the silence, by her shallow breathing, that she was listening with all her might.
"I feel…unseen, Julia. And I'm hurt, I suppose, that you do not believe me… about not being embarrassed by what you were saying… to the committee today, and of not being ashamed of you." There was a pause, listening. William took a breath, perhaps another approach. "When I interrupted you, um… I've been thinking extensively about that. Wealth, having it… makes me uncomfortable, still, I guess. I feel like it gives me so many privileges, and that I'm no better, that I have done nothing to deserve them, nothing more than anybody else. And there's a kind of guilt I feel about it, maybe even shame. And, then, well your mentioning our wealth, and being able to afford a nanny…" He took another deep breath, letting the memory inside of him play again. He shook his head slowly in the dark, and went on, "Well, I saw that that horrible, critical, Mrs. Breckenridge cringe when you said it, when you suggested that they had probably even been raised by nannies themselves, and I thought… um, I thought that her harsh reaction was probably because her nanny had been crotchety and cruel when she was a child – not at all like Claire-Marie, and her mother probably was mean and cold, and… not at all like you, and, well, I thought the picture the woman would have in her mind of our son's life, and that of the baby we hoped to adopt from them, would not be like the bliss of our reality. And I panicked, and I jumped in."
Julia's brain ran a million miles a minute. So many thoughts, but there was ONE, one that was whispering its truth, screaming it in her head, dizzying her as it sucked up the little remaining oxygen, "He's taking the blame for it! He's taking the blame – but it was you. You! It was you…" She couldn't do it – let him take responsibility when it should be her. Somewhere inside of her, a damn burst opened, and she was overrun by emotion. She felt sick, and dizzy, and sweaty, and cold, all at once, as the world seemed to get away from her. She wasn't worthy of him. And she told, into her soggy pillow, her voice squeaky as she pulled her knees up closer to her chest, "I… I overreacted, William. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, ashamed… that I made you think that it was you. And you…" her crying became too strong, stopping her words before she could tell him, that he was so good, so good to her, that he would take the burden of it for her. But that his doing so only made her feel worse. Julia cocooned herself from the onslaught, curling up into the fetal position. She felt him move closer, debate with himself about touching her…
She pulled in some air, and slid away from him, perched herself at the very edge of the mattress. "It's because of me. It's all because of me, that you can't have the family you want, that you deserve," she confessed. "They hate me, they think I'm dangerous and selfish, even publish it in the papers, telling the whole world that a child would be better-off motherless than to be with me…"
It was unbearable. Instinctively, she protected herself, threw up the walls. "I wish I could crawl in the ground and die!" she sobbed, her shame overwhelming her.
So quickly, she was up out of bed, the light from the moon through the window enough, enough to find the blankets she would take to the couch. They were high up on shelf in the closet…
William was there, right there.
"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, Julia, please!" he begged her, "Please don't do that." He reached up, held her hand, blocked it from pulling down the blankets. Desperation, such desperation as he tried to calm himself down. He strained to find her face in the dimness, her eyes. He needed her to see his honesty, to know that what he was saying was true. "I knew we could not have children before I married you. Remember? Remember our wedding… that day?" He breathed. He brought his hand down… so grateful, she brought hers down too. "I knew all that then. Picture it, Julia. You'll know it's true," he asked, suddenly having an idea, to focus her, to connect her, "Which lapel had my yellow rose pinned to it?"
And her mind flashed the beautiful memory of being flirtatious with him in the morgue, just yesterday, he had brought her yellow roses… or was it the day before? And he had said the flower had been like a badge he wore on their wedding day, and ever more. And there was the image, so beautiful, foggy seen through her veil, of the sight of William waiting for her by the alter…
Julia seemed to settle, to breathe deeper, to breathe easier. Her eyes, he saw them. She looked to his pajama top, just above his left pectoral muscle, so exquisite, his contours, and she reached up and touched him. "Here," she said.
Such relief, lower his voice, slower, "Do you remember my face… that day?"
She nodded, still gazing where the flower had been.
William stepped closer, leaned his head in near her, to just float his lips over her ear, and whisper, "I knew all those things then, about you, and I couldn't stop smiling, because marrying you made me happier than I ever thought possible. I know that you know that. And I haven't regretted it for one moment, Julia. And then, God even blessed us with William Jr. And…"
Julia fell into him, hugged him tight. "I'm so sorry," she repeated.
He reached behind her, gathering up, raising her nightgown, riding it up over her knees, then higher, discovering, despite already knowing it, that she was naked underneath. He stepped his knee between her legs and lowered himself down low, lifting her up so she could wrap her long legs around his hips, and she locked her arms around his neck. She whispered her salty tears into his ear, "So sorry… so sorry…"
"Shh…" he replied, "Shh…" while he carried her back to their bed. First, sitting them down on her side of the mattress, her straddling his lap. Gently, he laid them both down, her head, his head, finding her pillow.
The tenderness palpable in him, William whispered to her that she needed to stop crying. That it would be alright. Wrapping his arms around her, he told her from the heart, as she nestled her face into his chest, and he stroked her hair softly, catching the delicate edge of her ear with each glancing touch, "Julia, you are being battered, battered and beaten down, by our trying to adopt a baby, I see that, it hurts me terribly to see it, and I would understand if you couldn't bear it anymore and you wanted to stop trying…"
Apprehension rung in her ears, a zinging of alertness throughout her whole body, for she had felt it was already clear, already decided, that they had no chance of ever being accepted to adopt a child, that it was sheer folly, even worse, with all their… with all HER, to be more accurate, faults and flaws being publicly displayed under the spotlight. She had already given up.
He went on, tucking his mouth closer to her, his voice so familiar, and beautiful, "Julia… please hear me under that hurt,"
And with those words, she felt the warmth of his breath, the healing sincerity of his words, trickling down through the cracks in the solidified, rigid, unyielding confines of all those harsh words and judgments, all those attacks in the newspapers, all those unheard hushed criticisms as she entered the room.
William breathed in deeply, warmed and urged by the intimate scent of her so close, "I love you, I love you with every ounce, every inch, the very fabric of every molecule, every atom, of my body. And, yes, I do want more children…" he admitted with a pause, his voice then dropping lower, hitting a note inside of her, so perfect, so deep, "And, I also know that you are a phenomenally wonderful mother, one who is naturally warm and nurturing, one who encourages her children to grow, to be confident and courageous and compassionate, and who loves with her whole heart. You foster in them the skills they'll need to lead vibrant and meaningful lives, more so than any other woman I've ever known, have ever even dared to dream of. You're the one for me, Julia, I knew it since the first day we met. And I thank God, every single day, for bringing our lives together so that I could finally choose you to be my wife, and to be the mother of our son, and of any other children God may bless us with in our lives to come…" Needing another breath, he paused, he kissed her hair, "And these people don't see that. They only see that you are driven professionally, seeing that as being selfish, and that you, in their eyes, brazenly, standup and fight against the structures of society, not because they can see that these structures are unjust or cruel, but because they see you as merely rebellious and antagonistic in your nature. You need to remember, when they sling their mud at you, that they don't see you, they see what they think you are, because they are only able to see those parts of you that frighten them, those that they see as a threat. But you know, and I know, and all the people in our lives that you know love you, Julia, we all see who you really are, kind, and warm, and so, so strong and brave. None of us will ever think badly of you, no matter what they say in the newspaper, or if we never are approved by some stuffy committee to adopt a child, because we all know, because we know you, Julia Ogden." He felt her body soften as he spoke. Her crying had ceased. Still hushed, she hugged deeper into him, breathing, speechless, silent, but listening, allowing his care to console her, she stayed burrowed close to him. He leaned down and kissed her hair again, took in her smell, stroked and cherished, and rocked her soul, for a time.
Eventually, William's voice broke the silence, more matter-of-factly he said, "It doesn't help, my being Catholic, and from a lower class, and being a detective…"
Julia shifted her position, resting up more on top of him, as he rolled over onto his back and she placed her head in its usual spot on his chest.
"Or me, working with dead bodies," he was relieved to hear her sharing, to hear her tone as stronger, to feel that she was with him, wholly and totally with him, again.
"William," she suggested, "Maybe we should consider trying to adopt an older child. I know we've been hoping for an infant, a child to be William Jr.'s younger sibling… I guess, since both of us were the older one, you with Susana, even Jasper, and me with Ruby, well I suppose we instinctively thought he would be happier… And an infant is more influenced by his parents than an older child, I guess we wanted that too." She imagined herself holding I tiny baby, and she wanted it so badly she felt the ache of it. After a sigh, pushing that longing away, she said, "Of course, maybe that's the same reason they'd be more likely to give us an older child… I'd be less likely to mess it up."
Quiet… William deciding in his head not to pick up her self-reproaching comment, resolving that he had already corrected her self-image in this regard as best he could…
Then Julia said, "I read this terrible story in the newspaper, someone quoted a veterinarian doctor that works at the Riverdale Zoo?... She was a woman, a woman veterinarian…" her pause suggesting that she wanted him to be impressed, in the dim moonlight, and she sensed him nod, "She was upset, very upset… an elk got worked up into a rage as some teenage boys teased him and his mate," she shook her head, her face paling with disgust, "He got so bothered that he gored his mate, William. The vet had to euthanize her…" she sighed, "I mean, we end up fighting, you and I, with all this…" Julia lifted her arm up off of him and waved it in the air to demonstrate the vastness of their troubles. She returned to her point, "It's as if you end up attacking who you can, well, in this case I ended up attacking who I could, and that someone is someone closest to you, that you can have an impact, even though you're really angry at someone, or something, else… and we… we end up maybe one of us on the couch… because the adoption committees and the press are attacking, goading, closing in…"
"That elk story is truly awful," he pulled her back down into him. He waited, thoughts flowing about in his mind, then added, "I can see it though, such a disgusting thing happening… being natural. But, the elk was angry, Julia, and I think we were, well, I'm not as much angry as scared…" William wrinkled a corner of his mouth – his admitting it face.
Julia raised herself up on an elbow, and hurried to ask, "Of what?" but she knew, she knew what she had dreaded most, the spotlight on them now, on their reproduction, of all things, and it worried her too, it truly worried her…
William's mouth-wrinkle became a frown as he elaborated, "If a reporter talks to Dr. Tash, if they find out..."
"Isaac is completely loyal, William… a true friend. You know that," she insisted, trying to put the horrid, terrifying issue aside.
William inhaled deeply, working to accept it, at least for now.
Julia changed the subject, even tried one of her weak, and therefore awful, puns, "It seems that talking it through helps… those of us who are of the tormented ilk… Or should I say "elk," she elbowed him in the rib and giggled.
Such a cocky smile on his face, she knew though she could not see it, when he retorted, "That… and chocolate 'moose."
"Good one, William," she thought to herself and settled back down on his chest. "Yes, that and chocolate moose," she agreed.
All was well again, all was well.
