The Lady, or the Tiger?

Chapter 18: Encounter with the Saber-Toothed Tiger_T

In the middle of the night, Julia awoke to find William's side of the bed empty. She pictured him downstairs struggling with his demons – knowing the pressures of this second unexpected pregnancy were taking their toll on him.

In her mind, she saw him standing in his pajamas in front of their stove in the warm kitchen, stirring a pot of hot chocolate for them to sip on together while they talked it through. Wrapping herself up in her robe, and foregoing her slippers… grateful, it was uncommonly mild for a February night, she organized the keynotes of the situation as she headed downstairs to look for him.

They had not been using any means of birth control since William Jr. had been born – "Isaac had even agreed…" she reminded herself, because her Cesarean section, although extraordinarily and eloquently performed by ingenious, detective, husband, had left too much scar tissue in her uterus to render implantation of a fertilized egg possible. Her inability to have another child had saddened her deeply, and eventually, they had turned to adoption. Of course, they realized now, now that the nearly impossible had happened and she was very likely with child once more, that it had been a mistake not to use precautions.

"It was true," Julia thought with a heavy sigh, after checking in on their beautiful, sleeping, little boy, that there was notably greater danger to her life now with her undergoing this SECOND Cesarean Section surgery than there had been with the first one. On hindsight, therefore, they had taken a grave risk with their decision not to use contraception. She knew she should be frightened, and it tore at the fibers of her heart to think that William was suffering, that he had to deal with worrying that she might die, that he could lose her, to the point that he, the ever so moral and upstanding William Murdoch, was pushing for her to have an abortion. "But," she seemed to be reaching a conclusion in her mind, "the mistake has been made…," and once again, just like had happened with William Jr., Julia had woken up nauseous the past few mornings…

"PERHAPS, THIS WAS THE ONLY WAY," the fairy-godmother voice told inside her head, Julia wondering to herself, to the universe, to the stars up above, if it was not fated to be written this way. After all, they had been wanting another child for over a year now, and their attempts at adopting a child – a beautiful child for them to love, a baby to raise as their own, to be a sibling to William J., all their efforts seemed to be accomplishing nothing but failure. It didn't help matters that the whole ordeal provided fodder for the newspapers in their attacks on her… even worse, they had moved to attacking William for "going against his Catholic faith" and using contraceptives and then wanting to adopt a child, "simply so his wife could continue working with him."

And, wham, the sumptuous wave of euphoria bubbled up inside of her again with the thought, the glorious thought, of her being able to have another child, another child WITH WILLIAM. Truthfully, and despite the conflict and the dangers, she couldn't be happier. Julia reminded herself of the moment that she had figured out she was pregnant, in the downstairs bathroom just this morning, so sick, him, holding her hair back for her as she heaved into the toilet. "William, the man was truly a brilliant detective," she noted to herself shaking her head with disbelief as she rounded the corner coming down their stairs, William was so perceptive that he had already figured it out, before she had. Another sigh as she worked to cope with the potential disappointment, warning herself not to count her chickens before they were hatched, for she had not yet taken the pregnancy test – the rabbit had not yet died. All logic aside, she knew, and she knew William knew too, that she was pregnant, despite the fact that they had decided to be practical, and to put aside any decisions until after she had visited Isaac and they had the results. The waiting, along with everything else, severely added to the tension, just under the surface, their disagreeing about what to do steaming the pressure, wobbling and bobbling the lid on their relationship. She sighed, it was certainly no surprise he was having trouble sleeping…

The unsettling hint of it was there once she had almost made it to the bottom of the stairs – "No lights!" If he were making hot chocolate in the kitchen, there should be that warm glow in the hall, sprinkling out into the foyer… She checked anyway, thinking to herself, "perhaps his mood was so low that he would be sitting there, alone, in the dark."

Her heartrate picked up upon NOT finding him there.

Perhaps the dining room?

Empty.

William was not in the living room either, he had not decided for some reason to sleep separate from her on the couch, and Julia's panic was beginning to take hold. Her brain reasoned and figured, each offering meant to relieve the sickening feeling of concern churning, gurgling, in her core. If he had been called out on a case, the phone would have woken her too. "He must have gone out on his own, having thought of some clue or another out of the blue…" but there weren't any cases right now… The worry doubled, one more explanation quashed.

Back in the foyer, she noticed that William's coat was missing. "He'd left in the middle of the night…!?" Her then near-panic soared when she spotted it, the next clue forcing her to take up battle with her terror – just behind her consciousness, "Gillies, James Gillies…" and the reminder rushed up that "…Gillies was dead," and with it the realistic sensation, almost a flashback it was so strong, the cold, dense feeling of having the monster's brain in her hands, the lumps and bumps that had made his cruel and evil mind tick rendered to mere bulges between her fingers. Julia froze there, beyond disturbing now, her eyes hard-and-fast on the bolt below the doorknob… "The front door wasn't locked," the message came breathless inside her head. William would never have left their home in the middle of the night without locking the door behind him. Concern exploded exponentially into dread.

Imagining the worst, his body on the ground, blood… confronting, pushing through her foreboding, Julia turned the doorknob, its 'click' piercing the fresh-winter night silence, and she opened the front door. The moon was full, drowning the world outside in its creamy light.

Relief flooded heaviness into her legs, debilitating, excruciating, as the theft of her breath yielded in a gasp. "William's there!" her brain screamed its internal whisper, "Thank God, he's right there. He's alright. He's alright."

He was safe, sitting there on their porch bench in the moonlight, his pajamas under his coat, his bare feet, with one crossed up over his other knee, lending an aura of casualness that felt out of place.

Her relief was quickly overshadowed by worry as she noticed that her decanter of whisky was resting on the arm of the bench next to him, and in William's hand, she had had to look twice to believe it, there was a glass of whisky.

He had heard the door open, and had turned to catch her eyes as she peeked out.

William strained to read her expression – a mixture of being relieved, yet with fret, compassion and fear?

Julia stepped back into the house to get her coat and joined him on the porch-bench.

Silence filled the air between them for a while.

Finally, Julia spoke, "My grandmother called liquor, "liquid courage."

William wrinkled up the right side of his face, considering the implications and said, "The last time I imbibed was right before the FIRST TIME I proposed to you, got down on my knee outside your front door. I had had some of the Inspector's scotch – pumped myself up …" he frowned, "It didn't turn out so well." William downed his glass.

Julia fought her instincts, held back the urge to react. "Well…," she exhaled calmly, "not immediately," She sidled closer to him, seeking intimacy, "but it turned out pretty well in the long run, don't you agree?" she asked.

Their eyes met, held, each soaking in the other, deepening.

William nodded.

"Pour me one?" Julia said, working to sound nonchalant as she tried to work up the courage to ask him what was wrong, to fight the trepidation, for the ride, once it had begun, was likely to be rough.

William poured her a glass of whisky from the decanter and she downed it in one big swig.

Playfully, he raised an eyebrow at her, and she giggled.

Oh, how she wished everything could be alright.

Her expression changed, and she asked him, "So William, why do we find ourselves out here on this porch in our pajamas and barefoot at two A.M. on this beautiful February night, hmm?" Julia wrapped William's arm around her and nestled in against him. Her psychiatry training told her it would be easier for him to disclose if she were not looking directly at him.

"I had a bad dream – I didn't want to go back to sleep afterwards," he gave quickly. Oh, but the tension was there, tightening. She envisioned him reaching up to rub his brow, but instead William poured himself another glass of whisky.

Trying to keep the mood light, Julia pushed him to tell her more, "Mr. Murdoch, you do know how very much your psychiatrist-wife loves to analyze dreams – particularly yours. Please William, do tell."

William frowned slightly and said, "There's not really much to analyze about this one, Julia. I think its meaning is pretty much clear."

Julia gave him a little squeeze, "Share it with me, William," she pushed.

William swallowed down his drink and then he told her the story of his dream, the whole while fidgeting and turning the empty glass in his fingers.

They were on a family outing with William Jr., walking along a stream. William decided to try to teach the young boy how to skip rocks across the surface of the water. He demonstrated how to choose a palm-sized, flat rock, how to hold it so that its flattest edge was horizontal to the water, and how to flick your wrist as you tossed it forward to get it to skip. Surprising him, Julia picked up a rock and sailed it towards the water, creating five or six rippling circles on the surface, each one symmetrically shrinking and quickening their beat, dotting across the water. Very impressed, he had turned to her and said, "You never cease to amaze me Julia," and then he had taken her into a soft, growing, deepening, scrumptiously hungry kiss. William explained that in the dream, while they were kissing, he had been holding onto, and admiring, and adoring, Julia's hips, and that that was the reason he could feel it when it had happened, when her skirt moved, and with the pull of the fabric under his fingers he had heard the voice of a child – not William Jr. – call to her, "Mommy," and tug again on her dress. He remembered that he had expected it in the dream, that he had known that their kiss would be broken, and that then Julia would turn to attend to the child. And when she did so, at that very moment, a stunning blue butterfly fluttered into view and landed on William's hand – so soft, so personal and important, its touch, as if the flapping of its wings could somehow change the whole world with its secret. Marveling at it, and at his pleasant reaction to it, he turned back towards Julia to tell her that he no longer felt "uneasy" about butterflies. But Julia was nowhere in sight. Immediately panic set in. She was gone! He called out for her, frantically scanning the area. Such terror, for he knew it in his bones that she was gone, but denial forced him to look everywhere, calling and calling and calling her name. Then he saw William Jr. standing in the stream – now much older than three, crying, bent over with bearing the pain of huge convulsive gasps of wailing rolling through his young body. William Jr. turned and saw him standing at the shore and instantly anger flooded his beautiful little face, and then William Jr. slammed a long stick down into the shallow water – spitting mad, splashing and crashing the waters into millions of little pieces, little slivers of sparkling glass, as if the water had been frozen solid, and William Jr.'s pain, his anger, had shattered it, and then their little boy screamed with all his might at William, at his father, his beautiful face crimson-red with his wailing and his anger, "You were supposed to hold on to her! I hate you, Daddy! I hate you! Why did you have to let her go?!" William dreamt that next he was in the center of the stream with William Jr. and he fell down onto his knees in front of his little son there in the water, completely collapsing into sobbing as he hugged their little child tight and he swore that he was sorry, so very, very sorry. It was William's sobbing, the sounds cascading out of the dream-world into reality, his grieved and desperate sobbing, that had woken him up.

Emotions heavy, time passed between them, there together, in the moonlight. Each of them had been impacted, burdened, by imagining the dream.

Julia was the first to speak, sensing safety in the realm of science, of reason, she would endeavor to analyze his dream, "Well, it does seem to clearly express your worry over losing me as a result of trying to have this child, I'll grant you that," she admitted.

William held her eyes and nodded. Neither of them conscious of it… his holding his breath.

She continued, "And the butterfly…"

And both of their minds darted to the same place, to the same memory, him in her office with her at the asylum, tears in his eyes, apprehensive, and so, so trusting, butterflies fluttering about all around them everywhere in their 'logic-defying' way. The image, the memory, truly beautiful, and sad, and hopeful…

Julia took a breath, letting the exhale bathe her heart in the warmth and beauty of the memory to fuel her, and she said what they both knew, in her heart knowing that simply saying the hidden trouble aloud could lessen its power, but also that naming it made it more real, and she hoped for the best and she pushed on and said, "The butterfly indicates that your unconscious is making a connection between the death of your mother and my …" her hesitation attested to the significance and the power of the association, "… to my death." Julia swallowed, then made herself breathe again. "What age would you say William Jr. was… after he had changed, at the end of your dream?" she feigned curiosity, for she already knew what William's answer would be.

Nodding his head, William replied, "Eight-years old – like I was when I found my mother's body in the stream." William got lost for a moment in the memory again, seeing his mother lying there, running to her – he had had a stick, a long stick in his hand, just like William Jr. had had in the dream…

"Do you think William Jr. would blame you, um, for my loss… like you blamed your father?" she asked him.

And again, shared memories replayed between them – of when William had had to arrest his father for murder all those years ago, and he had felt stuck grappling so desperately with his childhood traumas at the time, grateful in finding Julia's ear when he had needed it most. If he had not already known she was the one for him, he would have known it the moment she suggested a walk along the shoreline of Toronto Island, offering that it was a lovely place to go when needing to think, even then teasing him, joking about his request to have her accompany him, mischievously telling him that she thought it best that she did so because he had "been rather confused of late," and she did not want him to "get lost among the lagoons." They had walked along together in near silence, comfortable and lovely, and what he remembered most, his heart stabbing now, now sitting there with her on their front porch all these years later, with the thought coming out of the cherished memory – he remembered how much he did NOT feel alone, and William remembered now, that he had thought to himself that he would never feel alone again. It had been like a whole new sense of the world had been opened up to him, he FELT everything differently, the feeling of his feet on the ground, the breeze and the Sun on his skin, the fresh air in his lungs, like he had never fully been alive before, and he remembered thinking then, that there was no one in the world like her, that he was so lucky to have found her, that she was wondrous and beautiful and rare and remarkable, and he knew he could not live wi…

The interruption, his own voice, "I don't know …" he said, some other part of William seeming to answer her, his focus springing away from the unthinkable to her intuitive question about forgiveness and fathers, "Maybe, I guess." He put the whisky glass down on the arm of the bench, then fiddled with his wedding ring. He was building up the nerve to ask Julia directly, thinking to get to the point, but so very scared of the answer, about whether or not she wanted to go through with the pregnancy – already knowing what she would say, but hoping he was wrong, hoping she would have reconsidered, that she would have changed her mind.

Julia sighed, she would be the one to breach it, "William, I must admit that I do SO WANT this baby. And I would like to try to have it. But… but, it seems that you want me to have an abortion instead?"

This woman always astounded him.

The trust tremendous, overcoming his fears, William opened up his heart and let his thoughts pour out. He reached up and took one of her curls in his fingers, allowed the backs of his fingers to revel in the softness of her cheek. His thumb brushed along her jawline, his eyes into hers, the honesty there ached. "Julia," he needed a breath to speak the truth, to conquer the fear and the shame, "I don't think I could go on without you."

And she felt her world skip and flip with the juxtaposition of it, for William Murdoch loved her so much it soared her, and how much joy that brought her was overwhelming sometimes, and how much she loved him too, and it spun her wildly, and yet, she felt crushed to the ground at the same time, for she hurt for him as well, and that hurt burned, burned as if it would burn a hole right through her chest…

William swallowed before he went on, "I don't want us to take the risk…" but it hurt him too much now, making him turn away, the back of his brain seeing her reaction, seeing her resolve. He finished the thought, his tone more monotone, more beaten, "…of losing you."

An idea trumpeted in his head and he turned on the bench, lined himself up more directly in front of her. His words out quickly, he pleaded, "Julia, remember sitting with me on that dining-room table, leaning back against me in my arms, waiting, waiting for Isaac, or for Emily, or anybody to make it through that torturous snowstorm, your labor advancing, shock setting in, internal bleeding… your life… So close, Julia. It was so close, we were so close to losing you. I had never felt such fear and such grief, premature, that grief, but it was grief nonetheless. Not again, I don't ever want to feel that again."

William's beautiful voice was cracking, and she could see his gorgeous eyes were filled with tears, and his idea had worked because she had remembered it, and it was debilitating and terrifying and devastating, and her heart raced in her chest, and she remembered it in her body, the agonizing, unbearable stabs in her womb, and the panicked , nauseating certainty that she would die, that their baby would die, the mere thought of the memory of that so excruciating that Julia's eyes swelled with tears, and then the thought that William would be all alone, and Julia wholly choked up too.

A tear spilled down her cheek to be brushed away by William's thumb. She swallowed, sniffled.

A deep breath, William sounded stronger now, "I want this baby too, Julia. I really do… But I want you more. And…" He shook his head, he pushed away the dread, for it was intolerable, what he was about to say. His exhale huge, he would ask her now, "And I don't want to take the chance… I think we need to ask Isaac to..."

He saw it in her expression, the 'no,' and it erupted a flare of urgency and anger in him. To have made such a horrible decision, faced God, no – the Devil, with his prayers, prayers that had only led to one choice, leaving him feeling helpless and abandoned with the direness of it, the sheer Hell of it… One way, there was only way he could go, and it was pure agony, for that one way was unspeakably horrible, something utterly unimaginable for him to have to do, to do THAT – to slay his own child, for that to be the better choice, and still, even with all that, he had chosen, he had chosen the unacceptable to avoid the unbearable.

William's grit jaw, the disappointment in his tone, chilled her, as he said…

The loudness rumbling to a yell, he demanded, "Do you have any idea how difficult this choice is for me, Julia? Any idea at all?!"

He saw her eyes widen…

Then, suddenly remembering the dream, and their son sleeping upstairs, William's words rushed out in torrents, fighting, arguing, "We can't. We can't. Not now, now that we have William Jr…" the thought truly floored him, "William Jr. would have to go through his life without you, Julia… without you. He loves you too much for that," hope shimmered in the moonlit pools in his eyes as he shook his head at her, "We can't let that happen… you and I. We love him too much. And… honestly, I think we made a mistake, back then, with him. I truly believe we did. It would have been wiser, back then, not to have risked trying to have him. We should have done it back then too, chosen for you to have… for Isaac to have performed an…" The distaste of the bitter word stuck in his mouth, and William stammered. The stall gave time, gave room, for the other side of the argument to emerge inside his head prompting him to be honest, to tell the WHOLE truth, and a corner of his mouth wrinkled revealing it, "I must admit, I'm so very grateful we didn't," his eyes, so beautiful, held with all their might to hers, and he shook his head at the awfulness of the thought, the thought of not having William Jr. in their lives, and even worse, at having had been the ones to … to kill the little bud of him, and he still, despite all that, said, "but we should have. We should have decided for the safer route then too. That terror on that dining room table, together, that night… We can't do that again, especially now, now the cost of the loss is even higher."

Julia's heart was pounding and thundering in her chest. She was scared now. Scared, not from their shared remembering of the past, but for what was about to come. For she knew she wanted to keep her pregnancy, and she felt strongly about it. And she realized in this moment, that she would not be swayed, for although he was right that that terror they had been through that night was awful, she was absolutely incapable of enduring the thought of their not ever having had William Jr. She would need to push him, to get William to see past his concerns. She argued that the real danger in the case of their son's birth was that there had been a large snowstorm that had trapped them in their home when she had gone into labor, earlier than they had expected. "This baby will be due in the fall, William," she urged, "And we can take better precautions… Perhaps I should go into the hospital earlier, now… um, now that we know the baby will probably come early. Isaac would be the one performing the surgery. It will be much safer this time…"

William's head was spinning with dread. He felt cold, and drained, like every drop of blood in his veins was spilling into a puddle underneath him. He was losing her. My God, it was really happening. He couldn't take it, he just couldn't. William suddenly remembered the whisky. Precarious, teetering, he reached to pour himself another drink.

Julia reached across his chest to place her hand on his arm as he lifted the decanter of whisky, bringing it to the lip of his glass, waiting, empty, still resting on the arm of the bench. There was the tiniest of 'clinks' as the glass touched. "Please don't William," she said.

There was a pause. There was a hesitation. It was so unsure, whether he would, or whether he would not.

Another 'clink,' and in the periphery, Julia sat up straighter.

William finished pouring the drink and put the decanter down. He left the glass where it sat on the bench.

Julia could see him clench his jaw. He was holding his breath.

She could not catch his eye.

She brought her hand back to her lap and asked him, "Did that make you angry?"

"Yes," William said, unwilling to look at her, "I don't like being told what to do."

"I wasn't telling you, I was asking you," she said.

With that, William lifted the glass and swallowed the whisky down. He turned to face her, his manner harsh and blunt, and he asked, "So, even knowing how I feel, even knowing how hard I fought with the consequences of choosing an abortion, you still want to try to have the baby?"

Julia sighed. Her jaw lifted, and then she corrected, not wanting to appear stubborn. "Yes … I do." Julia shifted, increasing the distance, she sat up taller. A breath, her mind urging calm, strong, but calm. "William," her exhale rushed out, warm in the winter air. She decided, she would dare. "William, this is my body. It is ME who has to go through the pregnancy, and the surgery."

Abruptly, absolutely deluged with fear, overcome with it, he felt his stomach wrench. William bent over, hugging his sides and rocking himself for a few strokes before nausea sprung him forward, and he bolted up off the bench, and hurled himself to lean over their porch fence, and he vomited over the edge into the bushes.

It felt like it was someone else, he wondered at the strange sensation.

And then, so quickly after the panic, he felt the anger move in. "How dare she claim control over this decision!" his head screamed. His jaw clamped, with a force that could chip his teeth. Such energy in his veins, feeding his muscles. Flaring, screaming. She had no right to leave him out of it. Hands fierce, fingers locked into fists, he tried to find reason. He could see why some men lost control – the fury was enthralling, intoxicating. He needed to get away, get away from her, before he did something he would regret later.

Stuck, stunned, back on the bench, Julia watched, her jaw dropped, and her eyes instantly drowned with the shimmering-white of tears blurring her vision. She wished, with everything she had, that she could take it back. How could she… How could she say such a thing TO WILLIAM? Her own voice in her head, said it again, the pierce of the cutting words slicing her heart, her own words landing as nothing but cruel, "MY BODY…" she had said, and she had said it to William, told him that it was HER Body, NOT HIS… My God, it hurt, seeing how severely William had reacted to her words. And then a reprieve appeared with the thought, "or was it just too much alcohol?" the suggestion a desperate attempt to ease her guilt, her remorse…

William was already down the front steps, headed down their path, halfway to the street, before she could get herself to move.

She ran, rushing to place her body in front of him, trying to hold him back from leaving. "Please William, don't go. I was wrong to imply that it's solely up to me." William side-stepped around her and advanced forward, only to have Julia rush ahead again, and stand between him and their front gate once more. "It's just that the laws give men all the power – and it's so unfair that men can decide what women can do with their own bodies. I know you agree with me. You know such attitudes are wrong … Please William..."

William steamed past her, opening the gate and walking out onto the sidewalk, barefoot, in his pajamas and his coat, off into the night.

Yielding to the urge to cry, Julia tried to reassure herself that he would be back, her efforts holding her total collapse at bay. She went into the house and got a glass of water, reasoning that when William returned it would help his body better cope with his overconsumption of alcohol. She sat down on the porch steps, naked underneath her nightgown and coat, somehow still not feeling the cold, waiting for him.

Odd, the way the mind tries to distract from the pain, to find something ELSE to think about… searching for a means of coping. Her thoughts dove into the glass of water – "It could freeze!" A concern quickly eased with the next thought, scientific, observant, centered on something in the here and now, something safe to think about, "It's too warm for that, even though it's the dead of winter," she thought. "No freezing water tonight, no broken glass," she told herself, clinging to the grounding of the thoughts about the glass of water, there, right there, right now, sitting right in front of her occupying space on the front porch steps. Intrusive, uninvited, images of sharp shatters and shards of glass, smacked and splintered and tinkling with their myriads of iridescent collisions, demolished by their little, beautiful, suffering William Jr.'s temper-driven stick, swept her back to William's dream, to their beloved son. The exact same age William was when he found his mother dead in the stream, and it amazed her, the imagery, for it would be the child's hurt, the young boy's anger, whether that child was William or William Jr. in William's mind, or both of them, and it would be that pain, and, with it, that lack of forgiveness, that could shatter the world…

Unavoidable it seemed, her mind had returned to the troubles, and with the return, her crying resumed. She imagined William out there somewhere, barefoot, in his pajamas… he was so upset. He would be crying or furious, or both, or one and then the other, but it was undeniable, he would be hurting, and it was heart-wrenching, absolutely heart-wrenching, to know she had caused it.

The last time sprung to mind, the last time they had sat together on a bench and she had broken his heart, breaking her own in the process. They had barely gotten started courting back then, and my God, they were so much in love, and then she had told him, there, sitting with him on that park bench, at least part of her darkest secret made known to him, and then they had parted, for the first time. Then, too, because of an abortion… How impossible, the irony of it striking her as iconic, the change now, now that it was the upstanding, moral, religiously devout, William Murdoch being the one to ask for that choice, that very same choice that he had condemned her for all those years ago. "There was an important difference between that first time and now, though…" she reminded herself, "They were NOT splitting apart now." William would come home. He would hear her apology. He would know it was heartfelt and sincere and honest down to her core. He loved her. He would always love her. She was sure of it… sure of it now.

A deep breath, think of something less emotional. Then, she tried to imagine what it must feel like to be him, to be William, just a man, a flesh-and-blood man, and to be so dependent on a woman, on someone else, to have a baby for you. A man simply can't do it on his own. It must be terrible, to be so powerless. Suddenly, on such a visceral level, all those male efforts at controlling women down through the ages, from times primeval, men using their superior strength to control women's bodies, to limit their actions, restrict their clothing, their interactions – particularly their interactions with males other than the husband, they all made sense. But, not William. Truthfully, never William.

Julia fell into another memory. "It had been the woman's condescending tone as much as what she had said to him," the female scientist, "Miss Clark, brilliant, much like William," she thought, "but forced into militancy by an oppressive male-dominated world, and likely a good dose of personal, bad experiences at the hands of men as well… it had been her tone, her manner, as much as her dismissive words that seemed to hurt the most," Julia hearing Miss Clark's attack on William all over again in her mind, Miss Clark telling him, snidely, coldly, "If a baby is born, you will have been merely its donor." Women did all the work, took all the risks, the man was nothing more than a gene donor. "True," Julia guessed, "Men, men like William, perhaps it was true, in some ways, were practically worthless." Her heart hurt so.

After a time, her tears had stopped, and she found herself looking down at her bare feet, which were planted down on the wood of the bottom step of their front porch, wondering about the sight, "Am I truly as crazy as this," she thought, for even though it was a relatively warm night, "it is February after all."

She hadn't heard the gate…

Suddenly, they were just there, William's feet, in front of hers, at the place where the front path met the porch steps. Relief and love exploded through her.

She heard the soft "thump" of their coated bodies bumping together, before she even knew she had stood up and jumped off of the bottom step and into his arms. She could smell the scent of him, mixed with the smell cold. It felt like she would never, ever, let go.

"I'm so glad you came back. I'm so sorry, William. I'm so sorry," she cried into his shoulder. She squeezed him harder, couldn't help herself for she was overwrought, "Please don't leave me," her forlorn whisper asked of him.

There was compassion, tenderness, in his voice as he answered her, "I just needed a walk to calm down… I will never leave you Julia, never," he promised.

Knowing they needed to talk, William suggested winsomely, "May I join you?" gesturing to the porch steps.

"I'd like that," she wiggled at him, prompting him to smile in the glow of the full moon, to light up her world and her heart, igniting hope with his charm.

He took a seat on the steps and Julia sat down next to him. She offered him the glass of water, "Here – water will help your body recover from the alcohol."

He raised an eyebrow at her and challenged, "Telling me what to do again?"

"Doctor's orders," she said smiling at his playfulness, accepting the dig underneath it with a slight register of the sting, "This is different," she defended.

William acquiesced, drank down the glass of water.

Julia heard it in her head as she watched him drinking, saw it in her mind, the image, the memory so magnificent it would be with her forever – that glorious moment, when they were sitting together there on that picnic blanket and William Henry Murdoch had pulled out a bottle of absinthe from the picnic basket, to follow his gourmet peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches. She had declared it then, now re-hearing her own breathy, stunned, happiness all over again, replaying it inside her head, "William, I've never known you to drink…" The lovely memory folded into the more recent one, of her seeing him sitting there on the porch bench tonight, him, William Murdoch, drinking whiskey… alone, all alone struggling to cope with his troubles.

"I must admit, William," she said, "I was quite surprised to find you… um, to find you with the whiskey…" Suddenly her voice just stopped. She had thought, but was unwilling to say it out loud, that the sight of him sitting there drinking whisky alone had terrified her, for she had known, upon seeing it, that he was much, much more upset about her pregnancy than she had originally thought.

William's eyes had followed the water glass as he placed it down on the porch step, then they seemed to consider his bare feet. He had been avoiding eye-contact with her, still listening, but then, when her words had unexpectedly stopped midstream, he had turned to her.

Their eyes held for a moment, for a pause… waiting.

His sigh exhaled, then, characteristic of him, William reached up to rub his brow. He would try, try to tell her what was happening inside his head.

"The problem is I… I feel so alone with it, with the dilemma. It's such an awful choice to have to make. It seems to strike at the very core of me, of who I am." His hands clasped together in his lap. He needed another breath, a moment to think. He felt her eyes on him, knew she would see his mouth wrinkle. "And I can't talk to Father Clements about this, Julia. It won't help, going to Sunday Mass tomorrow. There's really no one but you. It's NOT like when I pulled the trigger on the gun, intending to kill Gillies – There was never any real threat with having had done that that would have led to my being arrested, certainly not to a conviction…" His brain added in his head, "… not for THAT murder, anyway – unlike like this one…"

Invasively, he remembered hearing the verdict come in, back when Julia was on trial for Darcy's murder, Julia found guilty, then sentenced to be hung by the neck until she was dead, and how, back when it had happened, all the blood had seemed to rush out of him, such shock and disbelief… Distasteful, sickening, he pushed the memory away.

William went on, "Dr. Restell was sentenced to be hung for doing the same thing I'm considering we do…" He cleared his throat, it was even worse than that, William felt a chill rip through him with the shame, cracking his ability to speak, "…that I'm asking you to do."

She thought she saw his eyes tearing…

He breathed, moving past it, "Restell would be dead now if he had not escaped…"

His voice quivered under the pressure as he said, "You… Me…," then chancing a glance at her.

Julia saw the fear in his face

"… We could both be put on trial, killed… Our son would be parentless. No, I can't risk disclosing this in the Confessional… No, not to anyone." William took a deep breath, pushing himself on, "And…" his head shook as if he could deny it, "It seems that if I choose the one way, I will be damned to go straight to Hell for doing such an abominable thing, but if I choose the other way, well then I'd be in Hell right here on Earth." There was a point when William stopped the fight against its showing, that he felt himself let it go, and he felt the wave of pain take him over… tears, voice choking-up, as he gave in, ceased in trying to hold back the image that kept surfacing. "I keep seeing it, Julia… in my mind…"

The hurt seized her too.

"Dr. Tash comes out of the operating room, and he has so much blood on him – and I know it's your blood, and I already know, but the anguish on his face, and I just… It cuts me off at the knees, like I'll never, never be able to breathe again," his worst fears in all the world, so palpable, out now.

Julia rotated towards him from her side of the steps, reached for his hands, took them in both of hers, her request for him turning him, too, on the step, bringing them closer. "Listen to me, William…"

And somehow, he already felt a healing beginning deep inside…

"It's different now than it was back on that dining room table," Julia said, adding, giving, "Yes, perhaps it's true – trying to have this baby is more dangerous than when we tried to have William Jr., but now there's a more important difference…" She paused, wondering if he would know. He was so opened, so raw, she fell even deeper in love with him in that moment. "William Jr., William! It's different because of William Jr., just like you said," She shifted, closer still. "When I was hooked-up to Gillies' bomb…" she waited for his nod wanting him to be with her, "I realized it then. It's so profound… Remember I told you that I had thought YOU had been killed by Gillies… um, after the gunshot, well, after the shot and then when I heard the baby crying, and I thought it was you, I thought I had lost you forever. And I realized then, William, that it was because of our baby that I was not alone without you. It was not like it had been before, to lose you. Our baby needed me, and William this part staggered me, but it was true, I needed him too. We would have each other, neither of us could survive the loss of you alone, but with each other. Don't you see?"

He nodded, he agreed, but still the image of Isaac's expression, beaten, grieved, Julia's life blood all over him… sorry, appeared again in his mind, and with it the insurmountable pain, and William wrinkled his face at her. Afraid she would be disappointed, he dropped his chin, turned away.

Julia reached over and touched his cheek, bringing his face back to hers.

Her fingers stayed holding him as she spoke, "William, the way I see it, we only have one womb between the two of us…"

He interrupted, wanting her to know he understood what she had said about it being her body, "And it's yours," his words rushed out to tell, "You're right about that, Julia."

Subtle, her sigh, then a hint of a frown.

"Odd," he noticed, "THAT disappointed her…"

Julia's voice dropped down an octave, drawing William nearer, "William, it's the closest you'll ever get – this womb," her eyes glanced down into her lap before coming back to meet his, "…It's the only one…" her thumb glanced across the edges of his ear, "It's the only womb for you, too, not just the only one for me, William. I see that now. And you sacrificed so much. You could have had a wife, a wife that could bear children, but you chose me, me over having children of your own, back then. Why should I be surprised you'd choose the same way now? That sacrifice, William, its monumental, your love, and I can't, I simply can't..." Julia's head shook refusing the possibility of denying him this, "When we get the results, after we talk through our options with Isaac, if you still choose for us to end this pregnancy, I'll agree, we will end it William. I promise you, from the bottom of my heart, I promise you. We will, if that's what you still want…" She added, wanting all the cards on the table, "But you should know William, having an abortion, losing our child…" she wished it were not so, but her eyes swelled into teary pools and her voice choked up…

And she saw William fall into the grief of such a huge loss after her, with her…

Julia's face contorted with the pain and she went on, "It would leave me tattered and torn, William. And I know you would be too. And, I can't deny that I know I would feel immense sorrow, and I can't promise you that I wouldn't be inconsolable, at least for a while." Julia's fingers dropped from his face, sought for a solid connection, golden and true, finding his wedding ring, his hands once again in hers. She loved him so much.

The sincerity in her voice moved him as she concluded…

"But, I understand, William… I understand. And I accept it wholeheartedly, I do," she finished.

Touched, understood, deeply, deeply, understood – LOVED, William found himself grateful, and terribly sorry. Speechless, he could only nod.

Her first, in saying it was done, Julia's lips clamped into a smile, then William did the same. She signaled a change of subject by wrapping her arm into his. "Husband," she said, an air of mischief with her tone, "I am grappling with a dilemma of my own…"

"Oh?" he said, wanting only to be closer to her.

She went on, her eyes drawing his downward, "As a doctor, I know we should go inside, as I am quite concerned we may end up with frostbitten feet. But, as your wife, I believe that, after spending so much time out on our porch on such a romantic night, we should share at least one kiss…"

William's mouth curled into a little smile. He gave her one of those delicious, big-brown-eyed side-glances before he said. "I do believe the best choice would be to share a kiss, as I have noticed a correlation between kissing you and an increase in circulation. And better blood-flow would ward off frostbite, would it not?" he asked.

Julia held eye-contact with him while she brought herself around to kneel one step below the step he was sitting on, directly in front of him, spreading his legs apart to make room for herself to fit there, and pressing herself in closer to him. She reached up with both hands to hold his handsome face, hovering over him. Her lips grew nearer. "Winsome logic as usual, Mr. Murdoch," she remarked, seducing every cell in his body to change its orientation and focus solely on her. Softly, slowly, she brought her lips down onto his, and she gently, delicately, melodiously, kissed him, pulling him in deeper. And deeper. And deeper.

So sweet, William was surprised by the intensity of his longing for such a tender touch from her. But… as the kiss deepened, his more carnal urges rose, swelled, stormed, firing with lightning bolt precision, directly to his groin. Controlling his desire to passionately dive into her, he forced himself to match her steadier rhythm, align with her gentler mood. He opened his lips to her, and instantly she deepened her kiss, his hearty moan escaping when her velvety tongue slid into his mouth. His hands found their way to her hips, luscious, this woman is so luscious, he explored the moldable, jiggly, curves of her.

And as Julia's fingers rubbed and grazed across his face, the manly stubble she discovered there stirred her womb into drenching twists, and her body melted and oozed with a sudden surge of molten desire for him.

Hot, hungry…

Contagious, the loss of control…

William's chest heaved with his dizzy breathlessness. "Julia," his raspy voice in her ear.

Her breaths were rapid, barreling, only driving him on more.

"Mmm," she moaned, "I love this scratchy feeling, William. Your animal side…"

Off on a tangent, his brain remembered his own silly idea from years ago as she had tried to explain the incongruous thought to him that women were attracted to dominant, overpowering men AND to peaceable types who rely in their minds – "a compassionate thug," he had thought, making him chuckle to himself, now somewhat embarrassed by the fledgling exchange. His words coming off as drunken due to his spiraling brain, he said to her, "I've noticed it has an effect on you…" and then his mouth sucked and kissed and nibbled lower down into her neck, taking the taste of her in.

Jungle-sweet, she answered, "I trust it… that animal side, in you."

So quickly they were up the steps, onto the porch, Julia's back rammed into the outside wall of their house, her coat buttons undone, his hands on her, and he pressed demandingly into her, ravaging, scrumptiously wild, primal. Her nightgown threatened to tear apart, the tiny, white, delicate little buttons almost ripped off with his molding and squeezing through the cottony fabric, her bosoms, big and round and so… mmm, between his fingers, her deep cleavage squashed and plundered within both of his hands.

"William," his name emerged out of the center of her being, spun, upside down, swam round and round in her head, trickled into her throat, cascaded thick and rich into his ear…

"William," her voice lured him in, "I love you. You know that, don't you?"

"Mmm," he answered her.

OH, but when he pressed against her down there, eager, very, very eager, firmly through his thick winter coat, reaching out for her, rising up to her, and how the ground shook and she almost fell off of the Earth.

Julia's lips to his ear, so flooringly lusty, whispered, "Now… about OUR penis, husband…"

And William's knees buckled with the wham of it…

It took all his might to fight back from the internal maelstrom to tease her, "Ours?" an eyebrow lifting up.

"Yes, 'ours," she held her ground. Her voice lowered, deepened, "I really like it…" she giggled before he felt her teeth nip at his ear.

So delicious, the soupiness flooding his brain.

Hot, hot, her breath poured into him, "You know where I want it, don't you William…?"

Her rhythm enticed, her hands fiddling… fiddling with something… the buttons on his coat, the lower buttons on his coat!

"Please now…" her urgency called. Julia's fingers snuck in, devious and perfect, her hand slipped in through the convenience flap of his pajama bottoms. "You know exactly how. You are so good at the 'how' of it…" Her lips overpowered his mouth in a kiss as her succulent hand hugged him down where man becomes beast, and William fought with all his might not to gasp, not to moan.

But… the way the air gushed out of William's smothered, mushed, nostrils gave away the imperative state he was in. He was nearly gone, hanging on by a thread.

His lips stung when she let them go, tattered-red and abandoned to the cold, "Push me over the edge, William. Please…"

There was no turning back from this, turbulently his lust stole his control, and William kissed her then with a passion that erupted her need for him so desperately that her moan erupted like a firestorm into his mouth, and then the agony of the wrenching of her womb made her give out a tiny, desperate whimper, so weak, so vulnerable it nearly killed him, and then crucial, unrestrained, nothing holding her back, she arched up into him, plunging for him. She had yielded, succumbed to her body's urges, and now her fingers feverishly rushed to fervidly find the string of his pajama bottoms, to tear through, to free him, wiggling and wriggling and pleading for him to get closer with the rhythm of each push of her plump, swollen bosoms, through the fabric of her nightgown within his fingers, up into him, up into him, rocketing the world…

"Now, William. Now, right here," she pleaded.

It was amazing how he did it, found the willpower not to let go, at least enough to tease her further.

Discipline in his tone, he scolded, letting her know she had been caught, "Uh-uh. No, you don't, Miss Ogden…" A quick kiss, to tempt her lips, "There will be no rash public displays of our ardor tonight."

It was, however, mere moments later, that he had his way with her, inside their house, in the foyer, on the side-table, not able to wait until they were upstairs.

Circulation was definitely increased; frostbite clearly thwarted.

) (

The Murdoch's did not make early Mass the next day. As it was, they had to slink into the later service just before it had begun, William guiding his young son through his attempt at blessing himself with holy water before they found seats together in the back. It ended up being fortunate that their seats were close to the exit because morning sickness overtook Julia – twice! Regrettably, however, it seemed multiple eyes turned to watch her rush out both times. William's glances her way each time she returned showed nothing but compassion. Julia's complexion, green, even after vomiting, spoke a thousand words. Her returning smile, a bit uneasy, nausea and the mix of the potent, and yet unsettled, issue between them.

This particular Sunday, Julia did not feel up to making Confession herself, so she stayed with William Jr. outside the Church while William waited in the long, but quickly-moving, line to receive the sacrament of reconciliation. She hoped William would not think that she had chosen NOT to give Confession because, now that she was pregnant, she intended to no longer stay with him in practicing his religion. After all, they had been clear between themselves back when she started joining him that she was doing so in order to help with their adopting a child from a Catholic orphanage – the Catholic institutions in many ways their last ditch effort, with all other attempts having ended in failure. A sigh escaped as she considered it. "He saw I was truly sick, surely that would account for my decision… And besides, my even keeping this pregnancy is so unresolved, it would make sense I would want to avoid… Suddenly a quick flash flickered, Julia remembering her telling William last night that it was her body, the memory still painful.With another sigh she concluded, "It should be alright," she concluded. She felt William Jr.'s little hand in hers and took heart in it.

As their night before out on the front porch had already revealed, it was a warm day for the middle of the winter, and she used the opportunity to teach their little one some botany, taking advantage of the abundant Northern White Cedar trees used to landscape the pathway along the Church walls. As she walked along with her son, she found herself becoming enthralled by an association with the trees playing out inside her head – "these are the trees that make thujone," her internal thinking said, "The same substance in absinthe…" And, OH, my, my, my, what a wonderful memory their first kiss was, that splendid night with William's picnic and his absinthe. Her brain replayed it again for the umpteenth time, so real she felt it in her fingers, as they had slipped so enticingly, so intimately, into his hair… that gorgeous, gorgeous tiny smile on his lips, almost just a twitch, and she knew he liked it… and then after that magnificent smile the slightest, slightest, tilt of his head, with such a subtle lean towards her, torqueing the gravity all around, and the soaring of every drop of life force in her body towards him… she was so in love, so in love, that it ached, and it titillated, and it erupted wild, wild euphoria out from her core to her toes, rippling and humming with anticipation.

She brought William Jr. close to one of the trees, the pleasant odor of pine tingling the nostrils. She pointed out the unique leaves pine trees had, very thin and pointy, and they stay green all year… Occasionally, members of the congregation huddled around listening in as they slowly walked out of the Church. She explained some of the interesting adaptations of evergreen trees, like having waxy needles instead of wide, flat leaves allowing them to conserve water in the winter when the ground is frozen, and their shape helps the branches not to break under the burdens of large amounts of pilled-on snow. She was saying to a small group, "And if it does get warm enough for water to be available, like today, then the green needles can do photosynthesis even in the wintertime. The other trees can't do that…" As Mrs. Kitchen joined up for the mini-lecture, she concluded, "All in all, they're such hearty, admirable trees, really."

William Jr. tugged at her skirt and pointed up.

Mrs. Kitchen read the child's meaning first, declaring, "Oh, he wants a pinecone, I think."

Inside the Church, William eventually made it into the confessional box. He was reassured that the shadowy outline of the man he could see on the other side of the confessional screen was the one he trusted most – Father Clements rather than Father Barrows. He breathed easier, for at least he would be able to relax about not having to hide the heaviness of his emotions, yet he reminded himself that he would still need to keep the secret concealed from his words.

He told Father Clements about his fears, fears of losing Julia, without telling specifically what it was that he worried was endangering her life – without telling that she was pregnant again, and that the scarring in her cervix from her abortion meant she would die if she attempted natural childbirth, and so because of that that she would have to have a Cesarean section in order to live through birthing the child that was growing inside of her womb as he spoke, and that the extra scarring in her uterus from her first Cesarean section with William Jr. meant that the this child's delivery would be more complicated… and that his decision, as a result of the insurmountable and unimaginable fear of facing life without her, was to ask her to have another abortion, without telling all that, without asking for forgiveness for being willing to kill his own child to save his Julia. He had veiled his current struggle with his conscience underneath a previous one he had worked with Father Clements at great lengths over, his willingness to sin – to kill, over having had been willing to kill James Gillies in order to save her, to save his son and to save her. Julia had helped him see, back when he was battling his demons over pulling the trigger with the intention to kill Gillies, that protecting his family was a form of self-defense. It had helped back then, he believed it helped again now. He stepped out of the confession box feeling lighter for having had been able to repent for his willingness to kill another for her, and it helped.

He placed his homburg on his head and headed for the bright doorway. His mood was contemplative, and his self-reflections led him back to his earlier thoughts, that it had to remain a secret, and that, if he was able to convince Julia to have an abortion…

William shook his head unconsciously as an aversive curl appeared on his face, such thoughts about seeking something as deplorable as having his wife abort his child were so disturbing that he thought he might end up throwing-up his breakfast… just like Julia had earlier.

Still, his figuring began again as he squinted into the Sun and spotted a small group down the path, and then he identified his wife and his son as part of it. "If they decided that she should have an abortion, then it was best that they have Isaac do it before people could tell she was pregnant…" he reasoned in his head, walking up to them, trying to catch Julia's eye.

William leaned off to his left to better see Julia through the three or four other women's heads. "Easier because she's so tall," he noticed.

"Oh, something wasn't right..." She looked upset, the internal alarm alerted. From another side of his head came a possible explanation, "Perhaps it's still her morning sickness…" though the thought was quickly rejected it as he registered exactly what it was that Mrs. Clarkston was saying to Julia once he had gotten close enough to overhear.

"At least your having to rush out of the service was for a good reason, though…" Mrs. Clarkston smiled and then made her meaning clear, "So then, when are you and your husband expecting the stork?"

Now William's expression matched his wife's…

Their secret was out! If Mrs. Clarkston knew she was pregnant, then everybody in the congregation would know she was pregnant…

William arrived just as Julia responded, "Well, we are not certain…"

And Mrs. Kitchen interrupted her, not a bit dissuaded, "The detective must be thrilled!"

And so suddenly, William felt the wallop of having five sets of eyes on him as everyone single one of the ladies, and his beautiful wife, and even his little son, turned to look at him.

"Well of course," he said, then swallowed down the pressure, "Um… Um, if that's…"

William Jr. bound out of the lower branches of the trees happy to see his father, his little hands full of treasures gleaned from the trees. "Daddy! Piecones!" he declared, opening his hands to show the marble-sized brown, woody, coniferous seeds he had collected.

Julia stepped over to William's side, and William wrapped an arm around her as she improved upon her son's name for the artifacts. "PiNecones," she said.

"Those are to make baby trees," William explained, taking one from William Jr.'s hand and holding it up to inspect it. "This one looks like it'll make a fine tree somed…"

Mrs. Aubrey interjected, steering the conversation back to the juicier subject of discovering that Dr. Ogden was pregnant, "It's a miracle, most certainly… A blessing from God. I'd say it was because you started to come to Mass, doctor," she nodded to Julia, then turned to her friends.

"Of course, you're right Janice!" Mrs. Clarkston gushed.

The women re-focused, not on the handsome detective, or the adorable Murdoch child, or the details of the science of pinecones, but instead on the doctor's lower abdomen.

Julia instinctively put a hand to her womb, protecting the little life within from all the x-ray vision. She glanced to William, trying with all her might to apologize. She would try for some wiggle-room, "Perhaps it's simply that I'm coming down with something?" she suggested.

Mrs. Kitchen considered aloud, lifting a hand to her neck and poking around at the glands in her throat, "I've been feeling a bit peaked myself lately. I hope there's not a bug going around."

"Oh, come now Mildred," Mrs. Clarkston complained to Mrs. Kitchen, "A sore throat…" the nosy woman scoffed, then asked, "Have you had to run out in the middle of Mass to…" But there Mrs. Clarkston suddenly halted, unsure of how to proceed with the word 'puke' seeming impolite and stuck at the end of her tongue.

"Simply not," Mrs. Aubrey rushed in, "The good doctor here is pregnant, and it's a miracle, a miracle from God I tell you," she insisted.

All three women clamped their lips together and nodded, eyes staring down at Julia's belly. They were in agreement.

"I'm sure you had been praying for it…" one of the women said.

"Or perhaps had even given up hope, what with all that adoption mess and everything," another said.

Mrs. Kitchen clasped her hands together in front of her chest and showered a big smile, "To be so blessed. It is truly lovely." The older woman looked at William Jr.

The little boy's big brown eyes caught the familiar face, the woman who gave him and his Daddy haircuts, then darted up to his mother's eyes…

So quickly her reassuring nod came.

Mrs. Kitchen smiled at the child, then looked back up at his parents. "A little brother or sister would be a treat for him," she added.

"Oh yes," the women all agreed again.

Another parishioner walked up to the group and the attention moved off of the Murdoch's for a moment.

Julia leaned over to William and said clandestinely in his ear, "I'm sorry William. They just… guessed."

His big sigh told of the effect the whole ordeal was having on him, but he was trying.

She tried to lighten the mood, playing, "I do doubt Mrs. Kitchen has same 'bug…" she giggled.

Such joy when the look of mischief covered William's face. "I suppose you haven't heard then…"

Julia lifted an eyebrow, interested.

"Mrs. Kitchen is being courted. Perhaps it is the same," he said, pulling off sounding smug.

It reminded her of the time he teased her about her being too old for Leslie Garland, and then he marched away, so deliciously cocky, trying to keep the smile off of his face as he walked his bicycle out ahead of her.

"Courted?" she exclaimed, eyes wide, working to keep her voice down, "That's lovely. Who?"

"Ned Dempsey," William answered, gesturing Julia's eyes over to the Church front gate where the older man was patiently waiting.

Julia giggled, "Well, perhaps then…"

And they both fell into guilty laughter.

And through his chuckling, William spurted out, "Now, that would be quite a miracle."

And Julia bent over a little to laugh harder. Her hand rushed up to cover her mouth.

They recovered, and Julia glanced over at the, now even larger, group of adults nearby. "Perhaps we should go," she offered.

Her louder voice, perhaps the change in tempo of their conversation, drew attention back their way.

As William watched William Jr. scurrying about behind the trees, he suggested, "I think he would like the Park. It's a warm enough day. We could probably even climb some trees…"

Another woman overheard him and gasped, "Certainly not your wife – in her condition!"

Before William could respond…

Julia's irritation evident as she rolled her eyes at him and prodded, "In our Sunday best, William…"

There was a huff.

"Really, what were you thinking?" she chided. Then she decided the whole discussion was moot anyway, "Besides, William Jr. will need a nap soon. We'd best go home…" she overruled.

And with her words barely out, little William Jr. rushed out from behind the trees to insert his opinion – LOUDLY. "Warm nuff climb trees," he quoted his father at his mother.

Something about way he said it… forewarned, made every one of the adults present tilt their heads, their extra-listening skills triggered. They could see the writing on walls… a toddler tantrum alert had been given…

Immediately Julia's eyes scolded poor William.

The handsome man's expression saying, "Uh-oh." And in his head, he remembered that one of the major clues that he had had that she was probably pregnant was her tendency to be… crotchety…

He would try to divert the child. "Little Man, we can have lots of fun at home… We can play 'build a fort out of pillows…' before your nap. You'd like tha…"

"Warm nuff climb trees," the two-year-old stomped. "No go home for nap!"

"Well done, William," Julia snipped sarcastically.

The detective blew out some of the pressure through his pursed lips and then clamped his lips together tight, thinking. This was a conundrum…

"We have trees in our woods at home," he practically jumped with the brilliant solution. "It was going to work! It was going to work!" his head trumpeted. William leaned down and scooped up his son, saving the day, he was sure. "We can climb trees at home…" he stopped himself from saying 'before you take a nap,' knowing that that would surge the tantrum that threatened.

"Do you want to keep your pinecones?" he asked his son in his arms as he reoriented his body towards the Church gate.

Julia huffed and turned to the other adults.

"I guess we'll be going then," she said, then gave a polite nod.

William Jr. could be heard upping the ante… the eggshells under his father's feet crunching as the Murdoch's walked away, "Climb trees AND play fort," the child stipulated.

Too quiet for the small crowd to make out, the detective's wife grumbled something or other at him.

All in all though, it could have been worse, worse than Julia telling William that since it was HIS brilliant idea, HE could be the one in charge of putting their son down for his nap, "after all that stimulation you promised."

) (

William and Julia lie together on their living room floor, underneath the puffy walls and the cottony ceiling made of all the myriad of pillows and blankets and sheets, some colorful cushions from their sofas, others from all the beds in the household. William Jr. had left them alone for a moment as he went downstairs to the playroom to get Blanco, "so he could see the fort."

William rolled over her in their temporary seclusion and found himself feeling aroused. She had been a good sport in the end, cheered them on while they crunched through the snow, the white, cold impediment reaching up above little William Jr.'s knees, to a tree at the very edge of their woods, then climbed it rather easily, William declaring the lack of trouble was due to the wintertime-tree's lack of leaves. Then she even joined in the roughhousing and fun of the building of the pillow fort. Now, she lay under him, out of breath, so beautiful…

It did not take much to light Julia's flame these days, and he saw the wave of lustful desire flow over her face. It shot straight to his groin like a bullet.

Assertively she pushed him over, rolling him onto his back. "We forgot two pillows," she teased from above him as she reached up to unbutton her blouse. No corset under it, she was dressed for relaxation at home on Sunday afternoon.

William's world spun so fast he was unable to speak… couldn't even breathe…

The fabric of her partially unbuttoned blouse clung tightly to the bottom portion of her cleavage as she leaned over him, allowing for the scrumptiously pendulous round curves of her to taunt him from above.

Carnal jungle-heat flared out of his nostrils.

She leaned down lower.

He wanted her… squishy, magnificent, flesh in his mouth. His hands, one on each side pushed into her bosom, jiggly, and marshmallowy perfection rippling and succumbing within his fingers.

Lower…

He opened his mouth and she moved that final millimeter and heaven erupted. Mmm, she was so good, so good, as he put his mouth all over her. Mmm, the taste of her, the smell of her, spilling into him, flooring him.

Toddler footsteps up the stairs!

Julia lifted away, with William following, reaching, stretching to extend the pleasure. His eyes caught a glimpse of the shine of the wetness on her skin as she hurried to pinch the tiny button into its hole, then the next, and she giggled, and he tried to find the floor, to still the room.

)

Later, the little one finally asleep, the hour having been too late for his nap, and William already blamed for the awful night ahead as the baby's bedtime would be messed up as a result of his mistake, William and Julia found themselves stepping into their bedroom for a 'talk.' William was expecting a reprimand, a lecture, but Julia had lovemaking on her mind, and she was flirting.

William was playing hard to get. "I wanted to lift some weights," he said.

His shirt buttons were dropping like flies.

Julia's eyes were thoroughly engaged in lusting after his muscly, manly, chest as she told him, "Oh, I do so like the results of those workouts of yours, William," and her hands covered and massaged and cherished his pectoral muscles which were holding firm against her attentions, "But…" she said, leaning close to his ear, such that he could feel the humid heat of her breath on him, "I had a different kind of workout in mind."

Conflicted, William lifted his face up to the ceiling seeking internal strength. "Julia, I won't have time for both. He won't sleep that long," he complained. "And I'll need a shower afterwards…"

"Ooh," Julia felt a wrenching twist in her womb, slamming it into him, "I do so love it in the shower, William, hmm? All that slippery soap, and that hard, cold, tile wall behind me…" She kissed him – passionately, very passionately.

He really didn't stand a chance… She had him, she completely, and entirely, had him…

Taking stock of the situation at hand, both of them thought in their heads that, under the whamming of the waves of lust – with the sheer force of the unbearable need, they would never make it until after he had worked out, and certainly not until they could get into the shower together after that… or even to the shower at all, for the Earth was shaking underneath their feet with such a quaking that it would surely swallow them up right there and then.

Ruggedly, William switched their positions, pinning Julia against the wall… And he let all his inhibitions go, thoroughly going to town on her, kissing, kissing and kissing, and rubbing and squeezing all over, every, luscious, inch, of her, utterly and savagely crushed because he felt her feeling him, aroused and ready, through his trousers.

"William," her breathy cry gushed out, begged, pleaded.

"On the bed," his brain commanded, he would have her on the bed. He swept her off of her feet, and then tossed her down onto the mattress. Climbed on top of her, and the Murdoch's made love, wild and rough, storming into each other with every single drop of themselves until the roaring cascade of the waterfall plunged them, full force, into the wet, sweetness of their love, where afterwards they floated, and they rocked together in the delectable ripples.

"My, THAT was good," Julia finally spoke.

"Mmm," he agreed. "Indeed," he seconded the motion in his head, not yet able to produce actual words.

It was quite nice, this pregnancy thing, in some ways, anyway.

)

Julia must have fallen asleep after they made wild and passionate love that afternoon. Through the fogginess of not-yet-awake, she was aware she was in their bed, and that it was late afternoon… "Oh yes, on Sunday," her memories flowed back as she approached wakefulness.

William Jr. called again from their bedroom doorway – unable to do as he customarily did – knock – because the door had been left opened, "Mommy?"

"William isn't here," she thought, still groggy, as she answered her son. "I'm here Little One. Come on in and cuddle with your Mommy."

She wouldn't have to ask him twice, the boy was there in a shot.

"Your Daddy must be downstairs working out with his weights," she explained as the small boy nestled into her body and she hugged him close.

"Muscles," the little one said, his voice muffled by his somewhat buried location.

"Yes," she answered, giving him an extra squeeze and a quick rock, "Yes, your Daddy has lovely muscles." Julia slipped her fingers into her tiny son's hair and began to rub and scratch and stroke him adoringly. "How about a handy-dandy scalp massage?" she asked, already granting him the pleasure.

Soon after that, William came up. He had taken off his shirt, and wore only his baseball pants. There was a towel wrapped around his neck, and his skin glistened with the wetness of his workout.

William approached and took a seat on the edge of the bed next to Julia. Both Julia and William Jr. sat up, Julia resting her back against the headboard of the bed, tucking William Jr. under an arm, and then the child snuggled near. For a moment, he was happy there, but he wanted his freedom soon enough.

The toddler pushed up and then lifted his arms to his sides with bent elbows and tried with all his might to produce bulging biceps while giving out a fierce growl.

Playing the well-known game between them, William did the same, reflecting the exact same gesture back to his son, letting the small boy see his future as if in a mirror.

Julia Ogden surely noticed those robust bulges.

William Jr. pushed up onto his knees, crawling over his mother. "Wanna touch?" he asked.

While William considered it, Julia pulled her son back into his little nest at her side. "Daddy's all sweaty and yucky," she explained. And unexpectedly, a part of her brain barreled down a path to a memory, so delightful, of the two of them being amorous in the secret passageway in the dining room, and Julia teasing William mercilessly, calling him by a new, and wonderfully William-annoying, pet name – "Wilyummy… ," she remembered it with a smile. My goodness, William had resisted that one…"

Without realizing it, Julia's eyes had traveled down William's chest, and they were blatantly soaking in the hunky sight of him. She hadn't noticed he was looking right at her, staring, waiting for her to discover that, once again, she had been caught. With a little zing, the awareness came.

She glanced up with a startled rush.

But then, she simply and unabashedly let her eyes go back down to peruse the contours of him. "Mmm –mm-mm," she moaned to herself in her head, feeling the flicker, the heat, flooding through her in that one, deepest, spot.

Going on inside William's head, he felt a surge of cockiness, thinking to himself that that look on her face was worth every single grunt of his workouts. Reality landed, the baby was right there, and William said, a twinge of disappointment in his tone, "I need a shower," giving Julia the hint that he was asking her to watch William Jr. a while longer.

And inside Julia's head she remembered the delicious taunting and lusting between them before they had given into their more primal urges earlier, her mind showing her the same fantasy she had had then, of them showering together, complete with the sensation of all that creamy slipperiness of their soapy skin gliding and sliding all over each other, and all that steam…

It took effort to lean against the torque of the pull, the effort reveled as she jerked her head up off his body and met his eyes. Then, even worse, she needed to clear her throat, swallow, to speak. "Too bad it will have to be alone," she replied, about his taking a shower.

And WHAM, William's memory barreled back to her carnal, hungry advances earlier, and he heard her, all over again, in his head, "Ooh, I do so love it in the shower, William, hmm? All that slippery soap, and that hard, cold, tile wall behind me…" and he felt the blood run out of him on direct route to his groin all over again.

Julia smiled at him, followed by the slightest, flirtatious, shy, dropping of her eyes.

She knows! It hit him with a panic, and then William Murdoch full-on blushed.

And, my God, did Julia Ogden love it!

Chuckling he said, "I do quite enjoy this pregnancy thing."

She exhaled, hot, strong. "Yes," she admitted.

Jr.'s big brown eyes full of curiosity, for he was remembering, connecting, just now what his father had said to his mother, those ladies at the Church too, and so he asked, "What's "peg Nancy?"

Whoosh, his parents' eyes rushed to each other, and his father's eyebrows lifted up wide and worried. Of all the people in the world he did NOT want to know about this… And suddenly, he realized the huge scope of his request of her, the child in her womb that he had asked for her to abort was not just his son or daughter, it was William's Jr.'s little brother or little sister.

Julia swallowed and yielded to the pressure to answer, finding a way to speak the truth and also avoid the quagmire and the potential pain. She sat up and taller in their bed and turned to face William Jr. directly. William's presence behind her seemed to bolster her… and warm her. "You know how your Daddy and I have been…" she paused trying to decide whether to use his two-year-old lingo or the more adult version. Julia glanced back at William. He still looked terrified, but sweetly, bravely, he nodded. William Murdoch trusted her completely. "You know that your Daddy and I have been trying to 'a-dot a baby?" she waited for William Jr. to indicate he understood…

"Yes Mommy," he replied, tweaking her heart with his cuteness.

"Well, 'pregnancy' is kind of like that. It's just a different way for us to have a baby. You see?"

William Jr. gave her a big nod and then said, "A-dot-a girl – like Alice," he filed his request.

"We'll have to see," his mother said, "We'll have to see."

)) ((

) * (

The Tiger that William was presented with this time was extinct, a saber-toothed beast from far, far, back in time. But its power was only more fierce because of this. Deep-seated things,

ancient,

central things,

primordial and first,

things at the core of one's self,

like religion and childhood,

they shape us from the inside out.

Considering this, it was even more phenomenal that this time, this time, William chose the Lady over the Tiger. William's faith, his upbringing, had taught him how absolutely unthinkable it was to even consider aborting an innocent unborn child – abominable and wholly unacceptable if that same unborn child is your own. It was a sin that most assuredly would amount to an eternity in Hell, at least it would do so without receiving God's mercy and forgiveness. And yet, it was through this same faith, this same upbringing, which he had come to know that a man, a good man, must protect those he loves. Yes, he had been willing to kill James Gillies, in order to keep her safe, to keep her safe and to keep their child safe from the monster, from the devil inside that horrid and disturbed man. The decision in that instance, unlike this one, with William choosing to confront, head-on, the Tiger of hell, had made him feel stronger rather than weaker.

But this battle, this one with the Tiger of whether or not he would be willing to accept the consequences of choosingto commit the worst of sins, and willingly take the life of his own child, the battle with this beast remained unchosen. And most importantly, in choosing NOT to repent, and thus not to acknowledge the power of the Tiger of Hades, to ignore the oldest, most ancient, primeval, and huge Saber-Toothed Tiger of all of time, meant that William had chosen to put it off, to accept God's ruling, should it come. He had NOT faced off with the Tiger this time. For although he was willing to kill his unborn child to save his one true love, he had chosen to do so in such a way as to push aside the grave battle with the consequences. The decision NOT to confront his soul and his faith and his eternal fate in the confessional had been made. That Tiger, it would likely come for him some day – but this day, this day, William chose the Lady.

))) (((