The Lady, or the Tiger?
Chapter 24: In the Aftermath of the Tiger
Reader Alert: Spoilers to the end of Season 11, and also note that epic tales sometimes involve epic afterwards ( ;
William's guardian angel hand-shadow puppet, up on William Jr.'s ceiling, had told something that is extremely crucial to the tale of the Lady, or the Tiger. Encountering the Tiger reveals what is most important in one's life. Facing the Tiger accomplishes this is by uncovering to you, directly, so close that its truth, its reality, is undeniable, what it is that you have to lose, be it your life, your love, or your own self-respect, and then threatening it – for, in order to know its true value to you, you must confront losing it. Furthermore, confronting losing what is most important to you is traumatic, and so, it is necessary, in the aftermath of the Tiger, to also deal with the repercussions of living through trauma. In the aftermath of the Tiger, you cope with surviving the Tiger-trauma.
Aftermath definition:
First definition: the consequences or aftereffects of a significant unpleasant event.
Second definition: FARMING: new grass growing after mowing or a harvest.
Trauma affects us. Facing death and surviving can leave one feeling miraculous, indestructible, powerful – special. You walk around in a different world than before, one that seems more vivid, more potent, and yes, more dangerous. You live in that world, often euphoric, at first. Within you, there is a blissful sense that you are invincible. This mystical, magical state, it passes.
) In Shock, Right After the Tiger
President John F. Kennedy once said, "Those who foolishly sought power by riding the back of the tiger ended up inside."
Neither William himself, nor Julia, William was certain of it, knew of anyone in their lives who had come so close to encountering a Tiger, face to face, as they both had – or even closer, flesh to flesh, claw to skin, as he had. "Well, perhaps that tiger-tamer from the circus…" William had thought to himself in the carriage ride home last night, somewhere in between Constable Crabtree's ramblings on about riding camels in the desert and analyzing footprints.That circus tiger-tamer, however, was only known to them as a victim – Miss Kitty Walker, the poor woman, eaten by a tiger, a tiger who had been starved by the murderer, chained every day, out of reach of any other food, only instincts, the tiger's brutal attack, the unthinkable done to survive.
Those thoughts had triggered the more intrusive, palpably disturbing ones, flaring the memories into his brain, of that terrifying moment when he had thought that Julia's voice was coming from INSIDE of the Tiger's belly… William had shaken the horror off once more, while kneeling there, wounded, stitched-up, cared for, on the pleasantly rocking floor of the police-carriage, successful in solving the case, with his wife lovingly stroking his hair, wondering to himself, if they weren't lucky, lucky that THEIR Tiger had not been starved. And, so quickly after that thought William had become annoyed with himself, for once again all manners of avoiding thinking about the troubling ordeal had failed.
"Maybe Higgins…" his brain had tried to move on, for the constable had hit Kitty Walker's escaped and crazed tiger with his truncheon that day, William had remembered. It was unavoidable however, thinking about it. And so too, it was impossible, not to feel remarkable for having had won, for having defied all the odds, for NOT ending up inside the Tiger, for having saved Julia from ending up inside the Tiger – purely, unequivocally, remarkable.
) Falling Asleep… Waking, After the Tiger
At first, it had been just the mere FALLING ASLEEP that had seemed the hardest, for only seconds into drifting off, the flashes would come – memories, but so lucid, back there feeling like RIGHT NOW, RIGHT HERE – the Tiger's eyes meeting yours, heart-stopping in their golden-yellow intelligence and focus. Piercing sounds, deafening, skin-crawling scratching on the metal of the water tub, or the smallest 'tink' of William's wedding ring on the ceiling bar. Slow-motion drops of William's blood falling, silent splashing on the shimmery floor from the ceiling above, splattering next to his hat, being circled, stalked, by the Tiger… or the harrowing, unfathomable slamming of Julia's body, again and again, against the underside of the tub, as the Tiger pulled at, slashed at, her blue skirts, left outside – the exposed fabric providing the man-eating Tiger 'a way in,' so helpless… so impending… so close…
They would soothe each other each time one of them spooked, bolting upright in their bed out of their nightmare, to be cloaked in tender whispering, promising, simple, the reassuring, warm, calm words in the dark, the feeling of being held, to help cover you… "Just a dream. We're safe. Shh. Shh. You're safe here with me… Just a dream." But these intrusions weren't 'dreams,' they were memories, flashes so real, triggering all the senses as if they were happening all over again, so much so that the body would react, jump, run, squeeze tight to the Tiger's furry neck, scream…
And despite the inevitable encountering of that turmoil, eventually, deeper sleep came, and with it there was some healing, the memories then played out subconsciously more than consciously, deeper, becoming a part of you, but in doing so, letting you move on.
Morning came to find William and Julia sleeping huddled closer together than usual, spooning, silky-smooth, naked skin-to-skin, under the covers. William still asleep behind her, Julia had awakened, so pleasantly, softly, slowly, rather than with the jolts and frights of the night before. She treasured the sensation of having William snuggled so near to her, warm and strong – glorious, to be in his arms. And, all around them, lustrous, rosy, dawning light shone into their bedroom. In that blush, her eyes had caught on it, with a tiny enchanted gasp, a crystal rainbow on the wall, reflected off of the edge of her vanity mirror, the day's first light through a thin sliver of one of the blinds at their window. She wallowed in the sensations of being wholly grounded in this phenomenal, wonderful, world. Julia laid there, in her one-true-love's arms, the rhythm of his sturdy, steady, breaths rippling down her neck, and she drank in those vibrant colors, radiant, luminescent, striking down into her innermost core to erupt her secret-soul into a reverberating hum, the miniature rainbow, so small, so temporary, so forever possible, whenever there was light, if the angle was right, if you looked at in just the right way, for its simple, intrinsic beauty to be revealed to you.
William's breaths changed, shortened, as he woke behind her. Before his eyes had even opened, he reached, pulled, wanted her closer, longed to tuck his face deeper into her neck, to smell her… "Ouch!" the stabbing sting across his back screamed the air out of his chest with a jolt.
To Julia, just a gasp.
"You felt the stitches?" she said knowingly.
"Mm," he answered, grumbly, exhaling and continuing pulling her deeper into him. Delightful, the sliding against him of her satiny skin. Happiness, pure and sublime, in her smell, heaven to be softly stroking her curls out of his way, opening the way to her neck.
And despite the fact that her head purred, "mmm," with the solidness of his sleek, harder, male body against hers, and she tingled under his stubbly jaw and chin as he sucked the scent of her in, and kissed at her neck, Julia kept her eyes on the rainbow reflection on the wall and said, "William, I've found something, so beautiful. It must be there every morning, but I have never noticed it before. Trivial, small, I guess, but it makes my heart sing…"
"Mm," William's kissing and enjoying the way the sensations of having her in his grasp, in his mouth, soared his primal urges, so magnificent the charges thundering to his groin, intensifying, maturing.
Julia felt her own body responding, and it, too, was lovely, but… "William," she giggled, "Just look…" her fingers reached back to find his ear, to scratch and slink upwards into his hair, "It's on the wall."
A good sport, her husband lifted his head out of his kissings, and his smellings, and his luscious nuzzlings and other various temptations. He glanced at her, followed her eyes to the wall. He saw it there, knew the pretty reflection of banded waves of light was what had touched her so…
"The rainbow?" he asked her, going back to kissing her.
She giggled again, "Yes, the rainbow. You could at least appreciate it."
"It is beautiful," he answered her, and then he shifted, grimacing with the pain, tossed the covers aside, and rolled her onto her back to admire the full sight of his naked wife in bed with him. He felt her eyes on him as he allowed himself the pleasure, his eyes seeming to catch and memorize each curve, each pink and creamy nuance, of her.
"William Murdoch," she teased, "I meant the rainbow. The colors are so rich… That tiny little thing, just there…" she turned her head and pointed, "just for a moment, it makes me… happy."
"The morning light makes everything warm and golden," he augmented, his eyes still on her body. His hands moved to her most round, plump, full… mmm, so squishy between his fingers, the air rushing out of his nostrils – hungry and alive, scrumptiously blaring his groin to alert, and then he cherished the riding of his fingers along the inward curve to her waist, sliding downward lower, and in towards her perfect belly button, and underneath it to caress the growing baby inside of her – the "Murdoch Bump." Euphoria, there with her, smoldered down into his bones.
"Baby Murdoch," he said, "Today, I'm going to buy your Mommy a rose of every color, every color that they have in the flower shop, and make her a beautiful bouquet to remember the colors of the rainbow on the wall, and how it made her heart sing… Ahh," William's eyes glistened so, "Or better, better than that, let's make it TWO roses of each color."
It was Julia who did it then, yielded to her more cardinal desires, snuck her fingers into his hair, grabbed two fistfuls – tight, and pulled, pulled his hunky body down into hers. Their lips, so moldable and pliable, hot breaths flooding out of their mushed and squeezed noses, pouring, drowning down, and inside, tongues unbelievably, unbelievably soft and warm. Rocketing, the tastes of each other swallowed in, taken in, alighting fire, screaming down there with wanting.
"Not enough time," the fight to resist.
"Quick. We'll be quick," the breathless rebuttal.
"William Jr. will come," resistance faltering, "But…" the reminder pushing over the edge, "This is the last time…"
He had forgotten…
"The last time, for us…this… this way…" the breathless, last-chance, lured.
And William remembered Isaac Tash's instructions, that once the halfway point of her pregnancy had been reached, there would be no more, deep, penetrating, delicious, love, "for awhile…" he answered inside his head. "Just for awhile," came the scratchy acknowledgement that he had understood the significance, and he shifted, positioned, readied, on top of her.
"One last time…" the submission so lustfully soupifying the brain…
And steamy, sultry, rosy-smoked walls encroached, swept in, collapsed upon them when he requested with a touch, an urgent press, at her inner thigh, for her succulent surrender, imploding, zooming them full force, compelled towards their center, yearning, Julia pleading, "William, please," aching to have him closer…
Toddler-sized, the little knocks at the door.
And then, defeated, deflated, William dropped, heavy, down onto her, and he groaned.
Julia giggled, teasing him about his frustration. She would find the bright side, accepting her own disappointment as well, "I do, so love, his little knocks."
"You would have quite liked my bigger ones, too," he retorted, from somewhere on the border between playful banter and still wishing, as his voice grumbled it into her ear, meaning a much different kind of 'knock,' more savage, more sensual.
"I don't doubt it," she whispered to him. Then Julia propped herself up on her elbows, pulling her face out of the dreaminess of him, and from there she raised her voice so that William Jr., on the other side of the door, could hear her, she called out, "Mommy's coming, sweetie. Be right there," and she sat up, pulling away from the luscious clutches of her reluctant husband.
And then, oh yummy, she had thought of a joke she could make him suffer with, devilish her smile. "Besides husband, you've…" she paused, and looked into William's face, preparing for his grumpy complaint, and she could tell that he sensed it coming, that he already knew that it would be one of her dreaded puns, "You, mister, have already 'knocked' – me up, quite enough, don't you think?" Julia bubbled and wiggled at him, and then she shoved her chin proudly up into the air, and then she bounced out of the bed, setting off a cascade of moans from William, some of them reactions to the physical pain of being flung about by the turbulence of the mattress flaring his stitches, others mixed in with his interminable enduring of the painful impacts of her humor, and the total acceptance of the loss of their 'last chance, for awhile.'
Rushing to pull her nightgown on over her head and hurry to the door, Julia called back to him, "Your pajamas William, the Tiger scratch… It would upset him if he saw his Daddy so hurt."
Tremendous the surging, screaming sting of his wounds as he ignored the pain, fished up his pajama bottoms, pulled them up, and… "Oh my G…, that hurts," over his backside. The pajama top, still buttoned, just pull it over your head… "Urgh,"the gushing out of the searing, piercing, stinging hurt – as those long, deep, gashes, each with two outer rows of tiny, poked-up sutures catching along the sliding pajama-top cloth – announced to the room.
Julia heard him battling with it all behind her, as she opened the door and scooped her little son up into her arms, stealing the child's attention from any chance of noticing his father's suffering. "Good morning my Little One," she declared, smothering the toddler with hugs and kisses.
"Morning Mommy," he answered, so sweetly it melted her.
She knew, predicted based on the myriads of times it had happened before, that the very next second he would seek his Daddy, wanting, so badly, the roughhousing that soared his little-boy heart with joy. Sensing William was not quite ready for the explosive charge, she decided that, today, it would be Mommy's job. "I'm gonna fly you like a plane!" she warned, and then laid him out flat on his belly in her arms, and Julia made the roaring engine sounds, and Julia spun the little boy around, and lifted and dropped him with the play turbulence…
William called out, "Mayday! Mayday! A crash landing – onto the bed," guiding the game.
Grateful, Julia lunged for the option, her arms, her back, feeling the strain. "Zoom… Whoosh," she exclaimed, releasing his little body to glide, weightless for that delicious, tiny second, as the gravity shifted, before he plopped safely down onto the mattress.
"Daddy do it! Daddy do it!" William Jr. shrieked out, it seemed before he had even fully landed, wanting another go.
William's smile, so big, he squatted down low and opened his arms out in front of him, inviting his young son to leap, to fly, flat out, into his arms, to catch the roll forward as the spinning, whirling fun began, and he lifted his boy up to the sky, and they "vrroooom"ed, and they zoomed, around the bedroom until William's alert came, "Prepare for a crash landing!" and, my goodness, did that little child sail through the air.
"Again Daddy!" the shriek, making William laugh…
And Julia felt the sides of her mouth aching with the huge size of her smile.
And the marvelous play repeated, and then once more.
Then William Jr. squealed out something different, lovely and unexpected, as his body bounced to a soft, feathery halt on the mattress. "Mommy now!" he said. And the little boy rushed to grab his Mommy's hand, and Julia thought, William thought too, that the boy meant for his Mommy to throw him this time, but instead, he tugged her over to his Daddy.
"Mommy too, Daddy!" his little toddler orders decreed.
"Mommy too?" William questioned, a mischievous glimmer sparking in his eyes.
"Yes Daddy… Pleeaase!" the little one jumped up and down, so excited he was bursting.
William looked over into her face…
"William," her tone threatening, "You wouldn't dare…" she warned him as she started to back away, shaking her head at him.
And there was a tingle of fun charging in the air…
And he chuckled at her, crouching lower, "Oh, I think I might," he alerted.
Impossible to say which first, so simultaneous, the commotion, the ruckus, began…
Julia squealing and turning and running…
William taking up chase…
"William!" she squealed.
Their little boy just stared, wide-eyed, as his Mommy and Daddy played.
Daddy sweeping her off of her feet, spinning her into a glorious whirlwind.
Effervescent bubbles of laughter, and Julia and William Jr. shrieking, and William growling…
And Julia yielded to his demands, to be a plane, and she stuck her long, long legs out behind her, and extended her arms out in front of her, and her husband's strong arms held her weight, out, gliding through the air, spin, after spin, taking the swirling fun closer and closer to the bed, and he dipped her down low, and pulled the whole motion backwards, loading, preparing to fling her through space…
Her voice yelled out, suddenly truly frightened, she screamed, "No William! The Baby! Don't! The Baby!" she reminded…
Ans so immediately he grasped the danger that throwing her to the bed would place on the growing fetus inside of her, and he stopped the motion, saving the day, Julia, saving the day, panting and out of breath, and he tilted her, and brought her feet back down to the floor.
"Sorry," he said, and he looked into her eyes and he wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her and he saw her curls still in motion, swinging forward around her flushed face.
"No need," she shushed his worries.
From down close to the floor, William Jr. asked, "Why stop, Daddy?"
William exhaled through pursed lips, pressure released. He answered, kneeling down to his son, "It could have hurt your little brother or sister…"
Only puzzled eyes, so big, so brown.
Julia stepped over to the little boy, and she lifted him up to stand him on the bed directly in front of her, and she put his small hand on her belly. "There's a baby growing in here, Little One," she said, "Remember, we told you?"
"Baby?" he answered her, feeling only belly.
"It's still very, very little," his mother explained, "Remember the tiny kittens we saw at the church a few weeks ago? It's small, like that."
"Like kittens?" William heard his son ask, as Julia scooped him up and began to walk him to his room to dress for the day.
"SMALL like that," she answered.
"Why?" he asked.
Behind her, William shook his head. The 'why-chain' had begun.
"Babies have to grow, in a special place inside their Mommies, inside, but like the pouch in the Mommy kangaroo in your book…"
"Roo?" he asked.
"Mm-hmm," she answered.
"Why?" he asked.
Julia now, too, recognized the toddler-pit she had fallen into.
Her voice elevated, "I'll bet, after all that fun and excitement, you need to urinate, am I right?" his mother wisely changed the subject.
"Ur-nate," the little one agreed.
"Good," she smiled, "You're getting to be such a big boy."
)
William was finished with his shaving and his other required daily rituals by the time Julia came back in, Claire-Marie taking over with William Jr. She found William standing, still in his pajamas, in front of his opened closet.
He was imagining the pain of wearing a suit.
"Detective," she came to stand next to him, "Shall we treat your wounds?"
"Very good, doctor," he agreed with a nod and clamped lips. He anticipated pain.
"Take off your pajamas," she instructed, ahead of him on her way to lay-out what she needed in the bathroom. Professional, her demeanor, she examined the four long slashes she had sutured yesterday. "Considering everything…" she thought, then spoke, "The Tiger-claw gashes appear to be healing well." Using another one of William's inventions, she dabbed some of her penicillin mold-extract as deeply into each section of the four long cuts in his flesh as she could. "These little 'Cute-Tips' you made for me are wonderful, William," she glowed. The simple tool consisted of a short, thin wooden rod with a small, bulbous wad of cotton glued to each end. It was simple but inventively clever. Making small talk to distract from the sting she was certain he was feeling, she explained, "They allow for precision and depth and a softness as well."
"Good," all he said.
"I make sure to always have some in my medical bag," she added, shifting lower to treat the parts of the Tiger-claw slashes on his buttocks. "George admired them, yesterday…" her mind straying into dangerous territory, thinking that George had probably admired William's squared-off, hunky, bicycling buttocks, as well, before she rushed to add, "the 'Cute-Tips,' I mean… at the zoo. He saw me using them on… on you in the surgery, after the Inspector returned with my medical bag," she elaborated, "He suggested you patent the invention, said you could get rich…"
"Like those glue-lined strips I made, to stick papers to the wall – he suggested calling them, 'Constable Crabtree's Household Adhesive Strips," William inserted, "The ones you also absconded with, adding a square of gauze to the center of the strip… your 'Bandage-Aids."
She giggled, playing along, grateful for more to distract him with, adding, "I think my favorite kooky idea of George's was his microwave 'Potato-Cooking Room' idea…"
"Mm," William responded, leaving her wondering if it was agreement or a moan.
"Finished, detective," she straightened upright. Putting the supplies away she said, "I really do think it's best you stay home today." Julia was fully aware that her husband WANTED to go to work, thus the pause after the request.
William rubbed at his brow and turned to catch her eye. "Doctor," he thought he might keep their professional titles in play, for his arguments were Constabulary related. "You very well know that the press will be waiting at the stationhouse…"
She nodded, "Of course," she agreed.
"And it has taken half a year to solve this case," his enthusiasm started to stir her heart, "And, up to now, the news stories have been…"
She said it, "Critical, to say the least," revealing her own frown with remembering the worst of the berating, badgering press, their relentless hounding, showing up anywhere, at their home, at the Body Farm, barreling cruel and intrusive questions and comments at them… those awful headlines… "Yes, detective," her wrinkled corner of her mouth giving away that her resolve was wavering.
"I can wear that suit… the one that is too big, from right after we were married..." his suggestion showed he had put some thought into it, his eyes twinkling, and his wrinkled face urging with its unspoken, "Please."
A part of Julia's brain thought back to when he had needed to buy the bigger suit – they'd been living in the Windsor House Hotel right after they'd married. The food was quite good, and William was not used to such pampering, he did overindulge, at first…
He had gone on, "There will be questions. I need to finish up…" His eyes danced and glimmered so.
"Yes," she gave. It did her heart good to see William so happy. And, delightfully, it was thoroughly contagious. Her fingers reached up to his injured eye, imagining ahead, picturing the press taking his picture, flashbulbs popping in her mind. "This eye of yours is not so bad," the doctor assessed, "Not so much a black-eye, as one that is red, and purple, and brown, and green, and a little yellow right over here. Actually detective, I'd say it's not a BLACK-eye at all…" And then she giggled…
And he lifted an eyebrow at her before she even said it, for he knew she would be making a joke, probably a feeble one.
"It's a rainbow-eye, detective," she gleed, and then she wiggled at him in that flirty way she could do that so utterly fluttered his heart, not to mention what it did to his anatomy down lower.
His hands slipped around her waist, and her arms glided up around his neck in response, as he pulled her in close. "You, milady, are seeing 'rainbows' everywhere today," he said, something so winsome about the manner of it.
Julia's sigh had an air of contentment to it, resounding as somewhat lovestruck. She was utterly head over heels in love with this man. "I keep seeing it, over and over in my head, my HERO saving me…" she said, her hands stroking at the chiseled outlines of the muscles of his bare chest, "as I was running away, running to get to the cage door, a wild Tiger at my heels, and off to my side, almost behind me, swooping, falling, flying down from the sky, to stop the Tiger's attack, too big to be a bird, too small to be a plane, just a man, a super, super man," her eyes shimmered at him, "A brave and selfless, super hero-man."
"It wasn't brave, Julia," William took exception, reaching up and grasping one of her curls in his fingers. He exhaled, he would disclose it. He rubbed his thumb over the pink softness of her cheek and told, "I didn't want to live in a world without you in it, Julia. It's that simple. It filled me with peril, to imagine it. And, if I couldn't keep you in the world by taking you away from harm, then I knew I would have to destroy that harm. It was not selfless, it was selfish. What looked like courage was, at its core, only fear, profound, profound fear, so powerful it made me put every ounce of myself into the battle. That's why it seemed super-human, because it was all of me in one place, at one time, focused, maximized on the task, and that task was keeping YOU in this world."
"William," her tone suggesting scolding, "I'm heartened that you felt that way, that you FEEL that way. And I know it's true. I do," her eyes tightened to his to lock in, to ensure he felt her sincerity, "But I think you don't give yourself enough credit, William. Everything in your life, you're right about that, all of it imploded together, at monumental speed, your physical strength – made you ready, think of all those workouts with your weights, and these muscles…" her fingers rode over his deltoids, down onto his biceps – and an image of him monkey-barring across the cage ceiling flashed in her mind, "William, your life-experiences – a lumberjack, think of how fast you climbed up that tree, the leaping and catching and swinging from the bars on the ceiling… And William, you were a ranch-hand, never could you have expected your wild bronco to be a real-life Tiger, but YOU had the skills, and add to that your seemingly endless encounters with life-and-death, highly stressful, pivotal situations, rockets aimed at New York City, canisters of lethal gas that when unleashed kill every breathing human in the vicinity… It's amazing, YOUR ability to handle, to THINK, in situations like that. And then add in your brain, William…"
He chuckled, causing her to stop.
"I was thinking, I haven't told you yet…" he said, shaking his head, his eyes shining at her, the topic of brains in the face of the Tiger coming up…
"Yes?" her curiosity tingling, odd a sort of flirtatiousness to his tone.
"It was ingenious, Julia, absolutely brilliant, what you did, going under that water tub," he explained.
"Oh…" she almost whispered it, a part of her not wanting, with all her might, to remember the horror of it so closely, another part of her overjoyed by having impressed him.
He pulled her back into his arms and said, "Let's just enjoy it, hmm…? While it's here. Soak in the feeling of being able to handle anything life throws our way. You and me, invincible, amazing…"
She tucked her nose into his neck, let the scent of him surround her.
"Let's enjoy the brilliant, sparkling colors the way you saw them this morning with the dawning light, and the joy of hearing William Jr.'s knock at the door. Life is a gift, and you and I are deeply in touch with that now, because of the Tiger," William urged her.
Powerfully, that call, to fully treasure each moment, to live with renewed childlike awe, made only more valuable by its being tempered with adult gratitude, rang true.
"Yes," she said in his ear… followed it with a kiss, a kiss that deepened.
William had an idea, kissing her there, the two of them getting later and later for work… "Not just the roses and all the different colors of roses, you should buy her a necklace, too. One with crystals of every color of the rainbow – it will have to be specially ordered… I guess another trip to Ducharme's shop…!" he thought, unable to hide the smile on his face as he broke off their kiss, drawing her attentive, inquisitive eye…
"William?" she questioned.
"Oh… I've thought of another gift for you," his eyes centered back into hers, "Just keeping my promise, to never stop courting you," he said, so cocky, so deliciously cocky.
"Good," she said. And she gave him a quick kiss.
"Ready?" she asked, and sharing his quick nod, the couple turned to the task of getting dressed.
"We are running late, I'm afraid," she warned, shedding her nightgown, picking up the pace. But inside her chest, her heart erupted, warm and gushy, for she couldn't possibly love him more, this super, super, man. She giggled to herself, this super man – in his baggy suit.
)
The beauty and magnificence of the day continued at breakfast. Eloise had brought three newspapers, all of them with frontpage headlines giving accolades for the detective's having solved the dogging Body-Dumper case. They spelled out the barebones of what had been uncovered by the investigation, for instance the Gazette's headline reading, 'Murdoch Digs Up Body-Dumper Killers – both Moles.' The stories identified both Nicholas Mole and his wife Dr. Elizabeth Mole as the two successive Body-Dumper murderers, and identified both victims, the first, the falsely thought-to-have-escaped from the Don Jail, Dr. Restell, and the second victim, also the first murderer, Nicholas Mole, at the hands of his wife. The stories also outlined the motives, Nicholas Mole's jealousy for the first killing, because he discovered that his wife was having a secret love affair with Dr. Restell, and the second was being presented by the press as self-defense, Elizabeth Mole's life in danger at the hands of her abusive husband. They even included, it being the only complaint left against Detective Murdoch's handling of the case, that the retired detective, and convicted killer, Malcolm Lamb, had also been involved in the Body-Dumper case, having chopped-up his fourth body with an axe to help Elizabeth Mole get rid of her husband's body, and that Lamb had managed to escape Constabulary custody – TWICE, they insisted on rubbing it in. It was truly a wild story, the headlines having fun, calling it "a zoo of a case," in the end, or even telling about the famous couple's harrowing encounter with the Tiger, calling the whole story "a "Tiger" of a tale."
William wallowed in the good news, reading out parts from the papers in between bites of Julia's favorite breakfast, French Toast. They laughed and marveled at their little son, who teased his Daddy, unknowingly, for sitting in a "baby chair," referring to William's sitting on a stool instead of his usual chair, and confusing it with his own, 'little-boy' highchair. The good cheer lingered.
The papers had agreed with Julia, heralding Detective Murdoch as a hero, and calling the couple, "not only 'Toronto's Favorite Couple,' but also the 'World's Most Courageous One." Eloise gushed about how her friends had already complimented her at the market this morning, for working for such a famous and wonderful family as the Murdoch's, and declaring, "correctly," Eloise insisted, that she must be so proud.
It was in this jolly, ecstatic mood, that the Murdoch's hopped into their shared cab, William barely poised at the very edge of the seat in order to safeguard his stitches underneath his loosely-fitting suit, that spectacular morning, that morning after the Tiger.
) ( Back to Work, the Day After the Tiger
The press had thoroughly championed the "brilliant and brave detective," cheering and applauding and snapping pictures abound as he managed to step down from the carriage and offer his wife a hand. Inspector Brackenreid had been eating-up the reporters' hungry, frenzied questions before the Murdoch's had arrived. Detective Murdoch showboated, for his part, too, making the reporters wait while he retrieved something from inside his office, and coming back out to display for them, the photograph of the hippopotamus footprint taken with his innovative method of using UV photography, at first just an unidentifiable shape of a bruise found on the thigh of the first Body-Dumper victim. He reminded them that he had asked for their help six months ago, and they had published the picture of the oddly-shaped bruise, asking the public if anyone knew what it was, and that now, they finally had the answer. A hippopotamus at the Riverdale Zoo had stepped on the victim, Dr. Restell, while he was in the throes of passion with his eventual murderer's wife, a month before he had been killed.
The reporters seemed to grow tired, quickly, of Murdoch's various intricate details of the evidence in the case – flies, and worse, maggots, and irregular footprints, none as intriguing as the strange bruise, and moreover, none as exciting as the tale about his taking on a ferocious Tiger, about his heroic and storybook battle with the wild beast to rescue his 'damsel in distress.'
As a matter of fact, most of the reporters' questions were about his adventure in saving his wife from the Tiger. William remained modest in describing the event, but the Inspector marveled at what 'his man' had done, and then he added an important element to the tale, including the cleverness and courage of Dr. Ogden as well, "a remarkable woman, our coroner." One question niggled at William though, lingered in the back of his mind. It had been about the baby… A woman reporter had asked if he thought the stress of his wife's being confronted with a real, live, man-eating Tiger had caused the growing baby any harm. He had responded quickly, "TOO quickly," he thought, on hindsight, "Baby Murdoch seems to be fine," he had replied. And then he had happily put his arm around Julia, and, he remembered, an abundance of flashbulbs exploding to get the picture of the two of them together.
"A chip off the old block, then," a man had called out.
"Acorn not far from the tree," chimed in another.
Eventually, the parade disassembled, albeit for Ruby Rosevear, who would be accompanying Dr. Ogden to the morgue, anxious to get an exclusive interview with her about the whole "Tiger ordeal." Before Julia took her leave, she and her husband stepped aside, and they planned for the day. She would run the tests on the samples she had collected at the Riverdale Zoo, of the blood and the flies and the maggots, finishing up her part in tying-up the loose ends he needed in order to have the evidence supporting Elizabeth Mole's story of how events had unfolded in the case. William would spend the day in his office, "taking it easy," sitting on a stool at his work table, putting all the pieces together in an organized fashion, compiling the final report. If possible, they would go home together, early. He would try to come over to the morgue, to take her to lunch. All the while during their conversation, William plotted inside his head, fitting in the purchasing of her flowers, and going to Ducharme's shop to order her necklace – he needed to sneak out at some point. Just a quick kiss, public displays of affection, and all, then they parted.
) Finishing the Case
There was a note in with his other mail that had been left at the front desk for William. Alone in his office, he read it.
If you worry about me, in case your decision weighs heavy on your heart, I understand. More, I think you did what was right. Sometimes, one single act can give a peek at the heart, it is not always what you expected to see, perhaps better, perhaps worse. Sometimes it is the heart of another, sometimes it is your own. I looked into mine, and I saw that I might have been valiant enough to do what you did with the Tiger, for the one that was both my Lady and my Truth, as your wife is for you. I wanted you to know, there is no grudge. Further, you have inspired me, I wanted you to know that, in the end.
"It had to be from Lamb," he thought, "Malcolm Lamb had learned that Elizabeth had been charged with the murder of her husband. Lamb had begged that HE be the one to get the blame, not her. He had pleaded to be able to save the woman he loved…"
William rubbed at his brow, and he sighed. He placed his chin in his hand, and stared down at the note, picturing Lamb out there, free now. No longer in prison, having had paid the price for doing what he had thought to be right for Harriet King, for following his heart for Justice, for the truth as he had seen it, and he had served out much of that sentence, William thought, adding his own opinion, "probably enough of his sentence for justice to have been done. But then, there is such irony," the track changed in William's brain, making him shake his head, "first, losing Sarah Connelly, and then, now, again, losing the woman he loved in order for him to right a wrong, this time a wrong that the Lady, herself, had made, Lamb coming back to try to fix Elizabeth's wrong, to save Julia from the Tiger. "Oh…" there was an internal click, "Maybe that's what Lamb was referring to in the note, he had seen Elizabeth's heart in that 'single act."
And then William's mind flung it up at him, "logical," he thought, somewhere else in his head, "the connection," and he remembered letting Constance Gardiner out of the cells… How much it had cost him that day, and he felt the resurgence of that terrible, terrible sorrow and grief and hurt, Julia walking down to the alter to marry Darcy instead of him, despite her having had told him, in that simple, beautiful, heart-wrenching note handed to him by George that day, telling him she loved HIM, not Darcy, and thus he knew that he was breaking HER heart, too, as he did it, in order to fix his mistake, to break the law to be true to what he believed to be justice, in doing so, losing Julia, sentencing himself to a life of being alone, leaving them both to an incomplete life, to have to live it through, without each other.
BAM! the woman's name slammed into his head – "Sarah Connelly!"
It had been without a thought, William grabbed his coat, an older one, one that had NOT been shredded to tatters by the claws of a Tiger, and his maroon scarf, and his trusty hat, and he ran out the door. Barely a word to explain, telling George merely that he had one final clue to check up on.
)
Julia had just barely noticed, she was alone in the morgue, after the young, 'Murdoch Appreciation Society' member and news-reporter, the bubbly Ruby Rosevear, had finished her interview and taken her leave. She shouldn't have been alone, she knew she shouldn't have been, for today was the day she had reached the half-way point of her pregnancy, and thus she was far-enough along now that the size of the baby was large enough to warrant a Cesarean section, in order for her to survive going into premature labor, in order for her to survive a miscarriage. And she had promised William, in case she miscarried from this point forward, she had promised him, when he had been so worried about losing her that she had found him in the middle of the night on their front porch, in his pajamas, drinking her whiskey, William gravely troubled, and she had reassured him that this pregnancy was safer than the one with William Jr., despite her being even more scarred this time, due to the Cesarean section surgery he had performed on her to save her and William Jr. It was safer this time because the baby was not expected in the winter when there could be a colossal snowstorm, and she would take precautions against her dying if there was an unexpected miscarriage, by Isaac agreeing to be available every hour of every day from this day on for her, and by never being alone…
She pushed away from her desk, turning the page. She prepared the blood tests to check the samples for the presence of human blood. Such a lovely memory played in her mind as she ran the tests, and she noticed, off to the side, that she was humming. The memory was of the case that involved William's father, and William had showed her a way to figure out if blood was human. Their romance just blossoming then, they basked in that seemingly magical experience of sharing, of discovering the marvels of the world, together – sitting side by side at her workbench, and just as William had predicted, the antibodies in the rabbit serum had reacted to the human blood cells, and a visible line had appeared across the middle of the slides where the two solutions met. He was amazing, and he smiled so gorgeously at her then… Maybe she should set up the phonograph, she interrupted her own thoughts.
)
There was a housekeeper who answered Sarah Connelly's door. She recognized him instantly, declaring, "Detective Murdoch…!" And then she froze there.
William nodded, and opened his jacket lapel to show her his badge, and added, "Of the Toronto Constabulary."
"Yes! Yes," the housekeeper tried to make more sense, explaining, "I have read so much about you… in the papers. Congratulations," she finally remembered something sensical to say, "You solved the Body-Dumper case! Oh!" she gasped with remembering, "And you rescued your wife from that deadly Tiger!"
"Yes," he nodded again. "Thank you," he said, "Um… Well, actually, that's why I'm here… Uh, the case, not the Tiger…" he clamped his lips together, impatient with himself.
"Oh?" the housekeeper wondered.
"May I come in?" William gestured beyond the door. "Is Miss Connelly home?" he added.
He noted it, the housekeeper's hesitation, her reluctance, in letting him in. "Something to hide," he thought.
Sometimes, William appreciated the warmth of it, questioning a witness, successfully, effectively, was as much about having empathy as it was about being cunning. It was impressive, what true, authentic compassion for someone could accomplish. He realized he had learned much of this from Julia. Sarah Connelly's housekeeper was like Eloise in her loyalty to her mistress. And she was suffering, and conflicted, as she sat there across the little tea-table from him. William had sat so forward on the chair, keeping contact with the back of the chair to a minimum to avoid the pain it would have caused to his cut-up, shredded and stitched up, backside. Perhaps the woman, Mrs. Cranston, had felt his sitting on the edge of his seat was due to his genuine interest in her. "In that way, perhaps it had helped," William observed from a corner of his mind.
(William Murdoch would never give himself credit for it, but it was a major aspect of what made him special, his genuine interest and caring for others in the world. He had had this trait way before he ever met Dr. Julia Ogden).
She was despairing, for her mistress had left, "left for good," Mrs. Cranston told him, adding that Miss Connelly had left her a "bunch of money," for she would no longer be in Miss Connelly's employ, and Miss Connelly was "so very sorry for that." Her mistress had left instructions for her to contact Mr. Connelly, her mistress' brother, to let him know that Miss Connelly would no longer be living in the house. But, despite that loss, that loss of this humble housekeeper's income, and of her heartfelt connection to her employer, Mrs. Cranston smiled through her tears and her sniffles, and she told 'the kind detective' that "Miss Connelly was finally so happy, detective." She said she had "found the man of her dreams, and they were running away together." She said it was "like a fairytale. She had been alone for so long, detective, she was so lonely…" the woman accepted his handkerchief. "Miss Connelly deserved a good turn…" she nodded and readjusted his handkerchief to soak up her tears, "I truly believe that," the devoted housekeeper contested.
William stepped out of the house. He looked down the road towards the train station. Mrs. Cranston had said Sarah had left, and had headed down that way, "first thing this morning," with the man. William was certain the man was Malcolm Lamb, Sarah Connelly's man of her dreams, her fairytale lover, wearing a disguise, for the man was described by the housekeeper as being "red-haired with a beard, stocky, a bit overweight," and the description was so far from one matching Malcolm Lamb's description that it practically guaranteed Lamb was the man, in William's mind. And now, William stood there, looking down that road, and flash after flash flew through his head, his own racing on his bicycle to catch Julia's train to Buffalo, such hope and excitement in his heart… Then the two of them rushing out of their wedding ceremony – married – he was married to Dr. Julia Ogden! and they rode, galloped together on horseback, to stop the killers, two lovers escaping together on the train… A deep breath poured into his lungs as the next image fired, dancing in the background, an idea of fate, he remembered how stunning, absolutely, breath-stealingly stunning, Julia had looked walking into that ballroom that Hew Years' Eve, at the turn of a New Century, dressed in the most beautiful, most sexy, red, velvet, dress, he had ever seen. And he knew, he knew, fate had given him a second chance! And his heart had soared so high he had to fight against the dizziness. And William knew, he knew now, that Malcolm Lamb had just felt that exact same way with Sarah Connelly. He had been given a second chance, and he had taken it. Malcolm Lamb, too, ended up with the Lady, in the end.
William's heart felt so astoundingly light and jubilant, and he couldn't deny it, in the light of the force of those feelings, he was happy for Malcolm Lamb. He was happy for him, he finally had his Lady. He clamped his lips tight, and he remembered – his own Lady, and he decided right there and then, he was going to Ducharme's shop. He would buy Julia Ogden, the woman of his dreams, a rainbow.
) With the Help of Friends
"Hey, bug-a-lugs," the Inspector addressed his best constable.
"Yes Inspector," George answered.
"Where'd the detective go?" the Inspector asked, George now looking more closely, noticing that the Inspector was dressed to go out – coat, hat, and cane.
"He said he had a final clue to check on," Crabtree explained.
"I got a call from the mayor," the Inspector said, "Was going to head over there, now. Bloody talk over things with Alderman Lamb, about his son's involvement in all of this. But… I'd rather have Murdoch along with me."
Seemingly off on a tangent, Crabtree said, "It's interesting, sir. I expected the detective to be, well, you know, after all that happened to him and the doctor yesterday, I just thought he'd be sort of grumpy, you know, with all the pain he must be in…"
Brackenreid nodded, flashing in his mind to after he was beaten to a pulp by the O'Shea's, "Maybe even depressed, like he had given up," he added.
"Perhaps, sir…But the detective was outright chipper, even peppy," Crabtree awed.
"Over to see his wife then, you think?" Brackenreid asked.
"Sir?" George asked.
The Inspector answered, "You said Murdoch had his coat and hat… And he was chipper and peppy – so… over to see his wife?"
"Oh, I don't think so, actually, sir. Um, Dr. Ogden called for him, just a minute ago," George replied, "It must've been a clue somewhere else," he added, generally agreeing that the detective did tend to perk up, even after all these years, when he was headed for his wife's morgue.
"Dr. Ogden likely has the final postmortem report. Like to take a trip with me to the morgue, Crabtree?" the Inspector invited, "See if the evidence fits?"
"Yes. Yes, sir. It would likely help Detective Murdoch… completing the case early, so he can head home," George answered, already up, grabbing his constable's helmet and coat.
) Serious Consequences
It was the last small tray of instruments she needed to put away before lunch. She had so hoped to have lunch with Will…
ABSOLUTE, BESIEGING, SLAMMING PAIN,
dropped her instantly to the floor…
BARELY ABLE TO WITHSTAND IT, AND STILL REMAIN CONSCIOUS,
Julia hugged at her womb, unaware of her screams.
"The baby! Oh my God, the baby…!" inside her head, the devastating sobs,
unheard outside, her groans in agonous, spine-stabbing pain…
Before the blackness moved in from all sides.
)
The big morgue door banged closed behind them. "I saw it, Crabtree, when I helped Elizabeth give it the antidote. Truth be told, that Tiger was bloody big – BLOODY big," he shook his head aweing at the remembered size of the beast, his opened hands held a wide, 12-inches apart, as if he were holding the beast's giant head in his grasp, "Even just its head… I don't truly know how he…" Inspector Brackenreid's discussion of his detective's phenomenal act with saving his wife from the Tiger stopped dead with the sight – on the floor, the doctor was in trouble…!
"Good Lord! Dr. Ogden?!" he called out, both men rushing to her.
"Dr. Ogden!" George too, his voice thoroughly distraught.
"Are you awake?" Brackenreid gasped, the woman was coming to, "Doctor, what happened…?"
They helped her up to her feet.
The Inspector kept talking, "Felt a bit dizzy, did we?" he tried to sound calm.
"I guess… I just, I hope that's all it was," Dr. Ogden replied, her voice weak and disoriented.
With a sudden collapse at her center, Julia gasped hugely in agony, bending forward, remaining only on her feet because the Inspector held her up. "Oh!" she absorbed the stabbing pain, "George! George, go and get William! Please!" she screamed it, and she begged it, and she prayed it.
"Crabtree GO…! and meet us at the hospital," the Inspector nearly whispered his instructions, "Sharpish."
George was already gone.
The Inspector helped the doctor step forward. "Right! - And no arguments from you!" he ordered.
"No, no, you're right," Julia leaned into him, and so desperately, she fought falling apart. Tears filled her eyes.
"Put your arm around me," the Inspector told her.
She had no choice, and she was so grateful to him for being there, and she cried, her emotions raising her voice into a squeak, "We have to go right away," and she said the nightmare out loud, "There's something wrong with the baby."
"Hang in there, Doctor," Thomas tried to reassure her.
)
Barreling into the stationhouse, George stared into the detective's empty office.
"What is it George?" Henry asked him.
"Dr. Ogden! She had to go to the hospital! I have to find Detective Murdoch!" his eyes pleaded into Henry's.
"Did he say where he was going?" Henry stood from his desk to help.
"No! No, just that it was about a clue," George felt dread creeping in, making his legs feel as if they were full of lead, all of a sudden.
Henry would help, take charge. "You get the carriage ready for him. Have it out front waiting for when he gets back. I'll keep an eye out for him," he suggested.
"Good," George rushed out.
) In the Hospital
Brackenreid hung back as the doctor and the nurse took Dr. Ogden away on a stretcher. He couldn't help it, his eyes gaped down at all that blood, between the doctor's legs. The reality of what was happening, the devastation it would cause them, it hovered just out of his willingness to believe it.
"What period of development, Nurse?" the doctor yelled his questions out as they raced towards the operating room.
The doctor barely noticed is patient endeavoring to answer, her voice so low, "It's the 4th month. It's maternal causes. It could be uterine scarring…" Julia tried so hard to tell.
"14 weeks," the nurse answered the doctor…
And Julia shook her head, for it was longer, longer than that…
"Any outward signs of trauma?" the doctor asked the nurse.
"No!" Julia was sure she screamed it, "It has to be internal. Everything else has been healthy."
"Has there been any interference?" the doctor considered other explanations, perhaps she had been violated…?
"No!" she was in so much danger, and they were wasting time! "Where's William?" she asked.
"Is that your husband, dear?" the nurse finally addressed her.
She had been heard. She needed to tell them about Isaac!
The Inspector, suddenly there too…
"Doctor! Doctor!" Thomas screamed after the doctor in charge, "She… Dr. Ogden, is a special case!" he panted out the essential, "Get Dr. Tash. Her doctor is Dr. Isaac Tash."
"Sir, I'm quite a competent doct…"
Brackenreid planted a hand down – hard, stopping Dr. Ogden's gurney. "I really must insist… doctor. Call Dr. Tash." The Englishman's face fired red, and his teeth grit spit, clenching tight in his mouth, and his eyes threatened violence.
"Nurse!" the doctor turned, "Do as he says."
Julia managed to grab the Inspector's hand before the doctor rushed her forward again. So quiet, so weak was her voice that Thomas had to lean down close, running to keep up, in order to hear it, "Thank you, Inspector," she thanked him, even in this whirlwinding disaster, the woman was gracious.
And then Thomas Brackenreid watched Murdoch's wife disappear, and he felt it there, the stinging presence of tears threatening in the back of his eyes.
)
To say the man flew into the hospital would be an understatement. Brackenreid caught him, held Murdoch, stopped him from running to nowhere with his panic. "My God," the thought somewhere off in the side of his head, "the man has flowers for her…!?"
"Alright Murdoch! Alright…" he tried to help the distraught man, his friend, and his heart absolutely burned a hole in his chest, so that it left his speech choked up…
William was frantic, his big brown eyes flying to every corner of the hospital, looking for her. "Where is she?!" he shoved free of the Inspector's hold, "Where's Julia!?"
"They took her…" Thomas was yelling it from behind Murdoch, as Murdoch rushed towards the nearest hallway. It was just luck, just coincidence really, that it was the right one. "Dr. Tash arrived…"
That news halted Murdoch. He turned, and his eyes met the Inspector's, and in that second it seemed time stood still, and it rushed forward too, and it felt like these two men touched each other somewhere so deep inside such that, because of it, because of their connection in this moment, they would never be the same to each other, the trust now, forever unshakable. "Dr. Tash," William said.
So unbelievably grateful for the Inspector's nod.
"Where?" he asked, the kindness, the care, weakening him, glistening his eyes with the pooling of held-back tears.
"Down that way," the Inspector gestured down the hall, "On the right."
Crabtree ran in, just at that second. His instincts shoved him to rush to stop the detective. Brackenreid held him back, "Let him go. Let him go, Crabtree."
William was in a run when the nurse stepped out of the operating room and crossed the hall to get more towels. From inside the room William heard a man's voice – NOT Dr. Tash…
"She's already lost a great deal of blood," the other doctor said.
Isaac had certainly noticed that, from the second he had come in – it was startling, the implications, terrifying. And he worried, as he figured the other doctor did as well with that much blood, that Julia might have ruptured her uterine wall, for he knew, as the others did not, that Julia's cervix was so badly scarred from her abortion years ago, back when she had almost died, that even a fetus this small could not fit through its opening.
"Nurse," Isaac instructed, "Contact my surgery, and have them send over the blood I have prepared for Dr. Ogden… Oh! And when her husband gets here, he can…"
"Julia!" William yelled it out, and cried it, and moaned it, from the door. Instantly he was at her side, his presence rousing her.
Groggy, but conscious, she whispered his name… "William…"
And he took her hand in his, and he swore to her, "It'll be alright, Julia. You've made it to the hospital. Isaac is here. He knows what to do…"
"We need to sedate her," the other doctor said, now fully aware they would be performing an emergency Cesarean section surgery, now fully aware that it was necessary to save the woman's life, now fully aware that the baby would not survive.
"I… I…" William sputtered, helplessness caving in.
"William!" Julia whispered her cries, "Our baby. I want our baby…"
And every heart in the room broke.
"I know. I know," William brought his face down to hers and whispered it into her ear, "I know."
Her last words to him trickled out from under the anesthesia mask, the faint sweet scent of chloroform reaching his nostrils with a pungent sting as well, "I'm sorry," like a soft breeze as she let go.
)
Dr. Isaac Tash was a wise and compassionate man, and though he had his druthers about this handsome Catholic policeman his lifelong friend had thoroughly fallen for, he had come to respect the man, in some ways, he, too, had unexpectedly found himself taken by the man. He knew that William Murdoch's blood was compatible with Julia's, and even though he and Julia had planned ahead well, and already had an abundance of her own blood stored up to use, frozen and waiting, specifically for this day, Isaac still asked her husband to transfuse some of his blood for her. Sadly, Isaac thought to himself, for a split second amidst the turmoil of handling the emergency, that he and Julia had always hoped for her to use this accumulated extra blood for 'this day,' but they had also always imagined together that 'this day' would be sometime near the end of summer, rather than now, rather than too early. He sighed, thinking it through, "Giving his wife HIS blood would help William Murdoch cope, help him feel less useless, and so that's exactly what he asked Murdoch to do, occupying the distraught man with contributing to saving her, while they conducted the surgery. A spark of a thought in his brain as he walked away from Julia's husband to go back to the operating room, "He'd probably lost a lot of blood to the Tiger… to saving Julia from the Tiger… Was that only yesterday?"
) Suffering the Blow
Julia's hospital bed looked so small, so dank, and her, "beautiful, so very, very beautiful," William thought, breathless, stuck there, at the door, lying there like a story-tale princess, he thought, like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White, and all he would have to do was kiss her and then everything would be alright…
It took such courage, such strength, to step forward, to walk to her side, to pull up the small wooden chair, to sit down, next to her, knowing she was peaceful right now, that she did not know, right now, that she did not hurt so much that she felt as if her very heart had been ripped away from her soul. He had held back the tears, somehow. He had listened to Dr. Tash's report. Julia would live, she would heal. He had not lost her, and yet he was so unexpectedly troubled by how devastated he felt, anyway, despite that essential factor that the love of his life had survived. He had not expected to feel this way. He was unprepared for it. And he was terrified that he wouldn't be able to be strong enough for her, for he already knew, for Julia, for this beautiful, beautiful woman that he loved so very, very much, THIS would collapse her world.
He took her hand, the warm touch of it in his, surging the drooping from all sides of his protective walls.
And as she woke, as she turned to him, knowing he was there before she opened her eyes, he already started to sink… But when she opened her eyes, when she looked at him, every drop of strength flooded to the floor. And he wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her – and she knew, and his heart just broke, broke more than he knew it could, and such an overwhelming force wrinkled his face into tears, and William dropped his face down into her, and he sobbed, and Julia felt the wave completely take her, drown her in the deepest, deepest sorrow, so that her body erupted into spasms of sobbing, so that their whole world shook… their whole world shook.
)
William woke up next to her, in that too-small hospital bed, surprised he had slept. He thought to prop up on an elbow and watch her sleep, stroke her and love her and care for her while she slept, but the beginning of the movement screamed the stitches, the Tiger slashes on his back, and for a second, he froze with the pain.
"William?" Julia stirred, still sleepy.
He leaned down close to her. "Shh. Shh," he soothed in her ear, kissed at her skin. "Just sleep, Julia," he talked her back to sleeping. The Sun was still up. He needed to call Claire-Marie. She would have to spend the night in the guest bedroom to be there for William Jr. He would not be coming home tonight. He remembered the Inspector… and George, wondered if they were still out there waiting. Stealthy, slow, quietly, he slipped out from under her covers, out of the bed, brought the covers up over her shoulders, to tuck her in.
) Meeting Mary
Dr. Tash walked at his side. They were going to see the baby, the tiny, little baby girl, who had never been born. She waited there, alone. Cleaned-up, wrapped in a baby-delivery blanket, like a live baby, despite the rolled eyes from the nurse, because Isaac Tash knew the parents would want to see her, well, at least, he expected so, and he knew that they imagined her as a child, one that needed to be cared for, to be loved.
The lights were off in the prep room, only spilled light in the air, the dimness fitting.
"So small," the first thought as the dark was taken away by the click of the light switch.
Isaac would wait, let the detective move forward when HE was ready.
"We named her Mary," he told, "Mary Susannah." His voice choked-up, "My mother's name, Mary… my sister's, Susannah. Both passed on now."
"It's a lovely name," Isaac offered.
Ready now, William walked up to the bundle, temporarily lying on an operating tray. With more attention and awareness than usual, slower, perhaps, William crossed himself. Thoughts poured through him. "She had a face! My God, she had a face, distinct, unique – only Mary Susannah Murdoch in all the world with that face," his heart cried, for it was a profoundly, devastatingly, beautiful and lifeless, face. And a part of his brain told him, he would need to bury her, bury his innocent, tiny, unborn little girl, so small, so still – like a doll. And then out of nowhere with a wham, THE REVOLTING MEMORY CREPT INTO HIS BRAIN, striking a spine-tingling chord in him, like a lightning bolt's flickers uncovering a nightmare as being real, instantly the aversive, disgusting, nauseating terror of seeing, for that first earthshattering moment, JAMES GILLIES' TINY, LITTLE, WHITE COFFIN… and then of hearing Julia's voice in that doll that had been inside of that tiny toy coffin, as he pulled the string, her panicked desperation inside that lifeless doll – "No don't…" – pleading, horrified, begging not to be buried alive by the monster, and the wave of nausea forced him to turn away, to bend over and fight against the upward surge of bile tasting, acid-burning, slimy, cottony eruption that gagged in the back of his throat.
Isaac placed a hand to his shoulders as William held back the heaves, and, for a second, he remembered vomiting, just yesterday, after the Tiger.
"I'm sorry… that it's so hard," all Isaac could think to say.
"Breathe," William coached himself, so pleasantly, the inner-voice reminding him of Julia, "Just breathe. Take a breath. It will pass."
He straightened up. "Thank you…" he took another breath, deeper, "I'm alright… I'm alright now," he said, feeling his strength coming back. He looked back to their unborn child. There was a quick flash, he had encountered this before, as he remembered finding the buried newborn in the rosebushes of his Church – the remains of that child, just a skeleton. That baby had been buried in a small box, never baptized, its mother beyond distraught. "May I…" he swallowed down the tears that threatened to rise, "May I hold her?" he asked.
Isaac carefully lifted the bundle of the child off of the operating tray, so small. The tall man held it like a baby, like you should hold a baby, but awkwardly, for she was too small to be cradled in his two arms. William extended his arms out for her, and Isaac handed the child to her father, and he put his face down close, and he was catapulted by it, wholly unexpected, the smell of her, shooting directly to his heartstrings, his baby. William's voice trembled as he said, "Sweet Mary, my beautiful sweet girl. You are so precious, so very precious," and William kissed her, tenderly, his lips to his daughter's face, and tears that could not be held at bay, flowed, the salty waters of her father's tears, touched, blessed, the unborn child's forehead with his kiss. SHE had been loved. SHE was valuable. SHE was cherished. SHE would have been the apple of her daddy's eye. SHE would have filled her mommy's world.
"Do you want to take her to Julia?" Isaac asked. My God, he felt it buckle his knees when the detective looked up into his eyes, the beauty, the pain there.
William knew, felt it in both the present and the future, the hurt would be unbearable.
"Yes," he answered.
)
Isaac stayed outside of the room, when Julia's husband brought her unborn daughter to her. He told himself it was more compassionate to let them have such a potent and powerful moment to themselves. He stood there now, acknowledging the other truth, the other reason he stayed away, that he wasn't sure he could withstand seeing Julia hurt so badly.
After a time, Isaac knocked, and came into the room. Julia still held the child. She had been crying, but seemed, he thought, to have cried out all of her tears. Wise, he avoided discussing the emotional. Instead, he shared with the couple the medical. "There was a small tear in the uterus," he said, and the room seemed to sigh with relief for being on the firmer ground of the scientific. "The tear was along the old scar, um, the one you made, Detective," his eyes met William's, "But not a reflection on your sutures, I assure you."
William nodded, choosing to believe Dr. Tash spoke the truth rather than placated.
"It was easily repaired," Isaac continued. "You should heal well, Julia," he looked to his long-time friend. His quick glances, from the detective, back to Julia, told that the next topic would be more troublesome. "But…" Isaac took a breath preparing, "There was more damage, err, we added more scar tissue, this time, to what had been there from before. Your womb… Julia, it will be extremely unlikely now, much more so than before, um, even more than after you had William Jr… This amount of scarring will significantly hinder secure implantation and fetal development. Thus, it is unlikely you will be able to become pregnant in the future. I would say, now, you truly are…"
Julia interrupted, her doing so suggesting that she could handle it, she said, "Sterile," she wrinkled a corner of her mouth, Isaac noticed her look to her husband, not to him. And her eyes flooded with tears. She said it again, more solemn this time, "Now, I am, most definitely, sterile."
Isaac moved on to something else. "You will need to stay here for about two weeks…"
"My study!" Julia suddenly remembered aloud. "Isaac, I've already spent half a year on it…"
William interjected, "At the Body Farm, on the first day of each season…"
"The Spring Equinox is just a few days away. We must collect the data…" Julia explained, her eyes urging him as a fellow doctor and scientist, hoping he would understand her concerns.
"No," Isaac said pointedly, shaking his head.
But, Julia Ogden was Julia Ogden after all, heartbreaking miscarriage, traumatized by a Tiger, or not. And so, it was only a few exchanges later, and with some support from her husband, that it was agreed that she would take her University class to the Body Farm that day, Julia giving that she would spend every moment possible taking it easy in a wheelchair, and that the very capable, Detective William Murdoch would be with her every step of the way, helping her run the class. He would be with her, ensuring she didn't overdo.
William wanted to ask, but found it terribly difficult to do so, about resuming their lovemaking. He hedged around the subject, "When Julia does come home… after two weeks staying here…?" and his big brown eyes held so strongly to hers, and he paused, hoping…
"Oh!" Julia got it with a start. She nodded to him, and she couldn't help herself, she giggled… And it felt so odd to do such a lighthearted thing, and then, suddenly, the still, cold infant in her arms became so present, and a myriad of conflicting emotions poured through her, and she froze, and she knew she couldn't, just couldn't…
"Sorry," William rushed to say, seeing the changes rush over her face, and he stepped to her bedside and sat next to her. "Sorry," he said, placing a hand to cup over the blanketed head of his only daughter in the whole world, lifeless, cuddled in his wife's arms.
"It's alright, William," she so quickly corrected his guilt, his regret. "He had done nothing wrong," she told herself… "There's no need to be sorry," she looked into his face, and felt the tear trickle down her cheek, and sniffled as he so tenderly wiped the tear away.
William leaned in and kissed her cheek, treasuring the sincerity of the saltiness. "You should sleep," he said quietly.
"Yes," she agreed, offering him the baby.
)
The detective held the remains of the tiny still born as Dr. Tash took him back to the prep room. "Why not to the hospital's morgue," his brain conjured up the question as they walked in silence. He knew the answer – their Mary Susannah had never been alive, she had never gotten old enough to be treated like a person. William needed to know, so he cleared his throat, out of the corner of his eye, catching Dr. Tash's sidewards glance. He asked, "What will happen with… with her remains?"
"Well…" Isaac felt a tweak of worry, for the topic was dreadful, and what he had to say would be deeply troublesome. "They needed to know, though," he thought to himself, and he already suspected, that what usually happens, and what would happen with THIS couple, would be very different. "Ahem," he too needed to clear his throat, "Normally, um, the remains are handled as medical waste."
The detective's voice gave away the fact that he had teared up. Shocked, he stammered, "Medic… medical waste!?" The burden buckled him for a moment, stopping their walking. "Our bab… No!" his head shaking…
And Isaac felt himself caught by the beauty of the man's eyes pooled with tears once again…
"You can't let them! Please. Please. I'll talk with Julia," he swallowed, rushing, "Please. You must make them wait… wait until I can talk with her…"
It was only when Isaac reassured him, said to him, "Yes, I've already prepared for… I promise you, I've informed the staff that her parents would be taking her…" that their walking forward resumed. "Um…" his eyes dropped down to the bundle in the detective's arms, and he continued, "We arranged where in the prep room I should leave her, until later. You will need to… um, later…"
"Yes," William made himself breathe, "Yes. Thank you. Thank you for everything."
Oddly, Isaac considered bringing up the earlier awkward topic to better to connect with Julia's unique husband, certain that he understood what the modest man had been trying to enquire about back in the room. "You and Julia should avoid…" he found it harder to find his wording than he had expected… "Err… uh… You asked about… marital relations, um… after… when she gets home…"
The detective looked into his face, wondering. Isaac watched as his face change… "Oh," he said, first with a lit-up brightness, immediately flooded over with blushing and turning away. His eyes down to the floor ahead of them, William said, his voice scratchy with the awkwardness, "Yes, um… I was wondering how much time?" He swallowed, hoping that was enough.
"Julia will have postpartum bleeding…" Isaac informed, "Certainly not before that has ceased. I'd say, at a minimum, a month," he concluded, "perhaps six weeks."
William clamped his lips together – understood. He nodded as they walked, "Thank you," he said.
) An Epic Fight
In case she was sleeping, William was quiet at the door. Their eyes met across the room. He nodded to her, walked across the room, stopping to take off his shoes, then came over to sit on the edge of the bed, one knee bent up on the mattress, aiming his body to hers. If not for the gashes on his back, he would have laid down, pulled her to him, to rest her head down on his chest…
She sensed he had something difficult to say. She sat up. He helped, propped her pillow up behind her. "Is there something on your mind, William?" she asked.
"We need to decide… what to do…" William rubbed at his brow, "about burying Mary Susannah."
"I see. Of course," Julia answered him, again surprised the burn of the pain could hurt this badly, so badly to seem to steal away her breath.
William sidled closer, wanting the intimacy. "We…" too hard, he stopped. He blew the building pressure out through pursed lips. "I think we cannot… perhaps we cannot," his eyes pleaded into hers.
"What is it, William?" she sensed he needed a push.
"We may not be able to bury her at all," he pushed out the unthinkable.
"William?" she clasped his hand.
He needed to explain. "She was not baptized, cannot be baptized, so according to the Church, she has…" the intolerable thought choked him with tears, "She has no soul…" his eyes flooded, "Our baby… she has no soul, so she cannot be buried in consecrated ground. We can't bury her…" he pushed so hard to get those words out, and before he allowed himself to breathe, before he fueled the smoldering, unbearable pain he knew waited in his chest, his voice rose into a squeaky finality, an image of Gillies' doll-coffin stuck in his mind, "There won't be any tiny coffins…" before he yielded, he sucked in the air, and the searing pain forced his shaky sobs.
Every molecule in her body wanted to take away his pain, her hands rushing to hold his face. Julia felt a chill run up her spine with his words, so unlike him, to give-up so easily on something so important, all she could think of it. And although there was no doubt that that was true, that the words William spoke did not match with the man she knew, it seemed so much more out of place than that, so much heavier… And the 'tiny coffins…' the words seemed to spiral in and bury down, deeper and deeper, into her – there was significance there…
"Perhaps we need to admit she will not be accepted into the Catholic Church, William," she said, wrinkling a corner of her mouth, for she was certain such a thing would feel excruciating to him, "But perhaps we could bury her in a municipal cemetery…"
William had regained some of his composure. He took a breath, released a big exhale, trying to calm down, trying to find reason. Emotion however, sounded in his voice as he said, "She does not belong there, Julia. She would know no one. There would be no one waiting for her, to guide her…"
Having no answers, Julia stuck with him, nodded.
"I wanted her to have someone," he continued explaining, "My mother. Perhaps Susannah. She needs… I wish… I wish my mother could be there for her… We could take her to Nova Scotia…" he brightened.
"William," Julia's heart crying in her chest, she reminded, "Did you not say…? She can't be buried there… either… not without being baptized?"
He nodded, and the tears breached those long lashes of his and spilled and poured down his cheeks. "I had wanted," his voice so scratchy and defeated, "I had wanted her to go to Heaven, Julia…"
And now her tears flowed too…
"…to be with her grandmother, so she wouldn't be alone," he wrinkled his face at her, bearing the agony of knowing it could not be.
Both William and Julia paused there with the same recent memory replaying in their heads, of the guardian angel shadow puppet up on William Jr.'s ceiling, and the promise to their little son, that he would never be alone.
Julia shook her head, fighting against the grief. Perhaps there was no recovery from this… And her defenses kicked in, and the emotions inside of her erupted, fired, and most vividly exploding outward was the strongest one, anger. Her hands released his face, "What kind of God would do this, William?! Make the so improbable, the nearly impossible, possible!?" she asked, and, not intending it, Julia coped by finding blame, "HIS Church, YOUR Church, judges us, ME, with their stodgy ancient ideals of women and marriage…"
And William's eyes, unnoticed by her, dropped down to the mattress in an effort to hide from her shaming and scolding…
Julia steamed on, "…So that we are deemed unfit to parent even an orphan. And then, this GOD, this GOD of yours, lets me, lets us, manage to get pregnant, when medically it shouldn't happen at all. It defies all odds, and then, then…" her anger turned to hurt, and her voice rose into a squeak, "to take that miraculous, wonderful, beloved baby girl away from us, and not even allow her a soul. It's cruel, William…!" she pleaded, then the thought fired out of her seemingly from nowhere, so oddly, "Not to mention those damned kittens," the blow landing directly in her womb, "How could you accept that and still believe…!?"
And then there was an inhale, inside of her a grasping, and with it an abominable hurt, "Unless you think it's God's punishment, for me, because of my abortion…" and a part of her reminded that, sometimes, SHE felt it was so, also, and that part of her urged her to TELL HIM HOW SORRY SHE WAS TO HAVE COST THEM THEIR LITTLE GIRL, and that hurt so badly that she couldn't survive it, and so she became indignant, and furious with HIM for believing in such a rigid and strict, and just-plain-wrong, life-crippling religion in the first place…
And William's eyes lifted, so shocked, so exposed…
And then she asked him, fiery and angry, "How could you? How can you still, believe in a God that would do that, do this, to us?
The sting, the whirling, 'no words,' the loss-of-so-much, the unfathomable aching stunned him, left William speechless, his expression pulling at her heartstrings. Open, his mouth, trying to say something, his eyes re-filled with tears. He was holding his breath… His expression so blank, she could not read it, behind the mask, a tornado of thoughts, contradicting each other, amplifying each other, outwardly giving her nothing, his sense of betrayal wounding him, spiraling down deeper and deeper, that she, she who loved him, she who had converted to Catholicism to embrace "all of him," who had vowed, before his own priest, not to interfere with his practicing of his Faith, that she would be faulting God instead of herself – that she would think so little of him for believing in a God who she sees as being only cruel and insidious.
"I'm sorry," Julia huffed the apology, rendering it useless, except to tell that she still felt her anger. "It just infuriates me, your…" she fought the word, tightening her throat around it to keep it down, "God-damned…" Julia paused with her battle, knowing on a deeper level she so very much wanted not to hurt him, not to hurt him… more… "Your Catholic Church, and its rules and its judgements…" Oh, how she wanted to throw something, or slam something, and she was trapped in this stupid bed, the helplessness only enraging her more, until it exploded as a punch down onto the mattress between them. "So, because of your STUPID religion, we won't bury our little girl, then…" she charged him, sarcastically, "…our soulless baby daughter. We'll just leave her here in this cold hospital, all alone, for some nurse to..."
William looked more surprised than she did, when the words flew out of his mouth, accusatory, not quite connected to her attack on him, taking them off of the shaky topic of his religion, onto more stable ground for them, "It is a crime Julia, an illegal and horrendous crime!"
And there was a moment, a short-lived moment, when 'IT,' when this 'crime' he spoke of, could have been the burying of an unbaptized child in a Catholic cemetery, or the discarding an unborn child with hospital waste… possibly…before it became obvious to her that it was not, for, to William Murdoch, 'crimes' are against laws, not against sacraments, nor against parental, sympathetic, instincts, and so the 'crime' he had meant could not have been the one they were contemplating committing by burying their unborn child with her grandmother in Nova Scotia, nor the one 'the nurse' might be guilty of in throwing their unborn baby out like medical waste. Further, the weight of it told her that this was not about 'now.' Based on how upset William was, it had to be about something deeper, something that had been at the root of their relationship since the beginning. It had to be what WILLIAM saw as 'the crime' that had caused ALL of this. And after that fleeting moment had passed, Julia knew she had called it right a moment ago – it WAS her abortion. And Julia also knew that William tended to lag behind her, when feelings were spoken of between them, especially when so heatedly. And so, she reminded herself that further back in their conversation, or was it more her 'rant,' he must have been stung by her asking him if he thought their Mary's death, now, was God's punishment for that 'crime,' – HER 'crime,' that SHE had committed back then. And HE had said it, when his delayed words finally made it to the surface. Finally, it was clearly out in the open, like a fault from an earthquake in the ground, widening the chasm between them.
Tears tingled at the back of her throat.
William sat there stunned, a part of his brain screaming at his own hypocrisy, reminding himself that HE had begged her to commit that same 'crime,' twice – that HE had asked her to abort both of their children…
"Well," Julia's voice pierced with its anger, and she leaned forward to plant her fuming face closer to his as she seethed, "Not only is it a STUPID religion… THAT law, is also a STUPID law, William!"
And from somewhere deep inside of him, he was called to battle, leaning into the fury, "It is a moral law, Julia! One that you broke!" he said, for there WAS the difference between them, he had wanted it, yes, but she had actually done it…
"I followed my conscience! And I would do the same 100 times over," she asserted.
"Meaning you have no moral misgivings on the subject?" he upped the ante, pushed for the deepest of truths, finding the impassioned fight between them felt brand new, though he knew somewhere inside of himself, that they had been through this before, tweaking in the background with an air of déjà vu.
"That's right! That's exactly right," Julia held. Despite the fact that she, too, had reservations, fuzzy, pushed aside for now, yet those reservations poked at her, for she did, she did have, somewhere inside, doubt. If she had not, then it would not have been so excruciatingly difficult to decide to have the abortion, back then.
"You believe that there is nothing amoral about ending an innocent child's life? That it doesn't matter if it lives or dies? That it isn't a child if it isn't born yet?" he got to the crux of the matter.
He had gone too far, the wound unbearable…
"William, you can't possibly believe I didn't think of our baby as a baby…" the hurt of it debilitated her. She swirled, so abandoned, so alone. There would be no holding back these tears. "We both wanted that baby, William. You know… You know how much I wanted her. You can't really believe this is all my fault!? That God is punishing US for the abortion I HAD years ago?!" she pleaded and yelled.
William's stare back at her held steady, he did not deny it. The collapse gave way inside of her as she withstood it, absorbed it. Unmanageable…
"Get out," quietly she said it.
William's eyes widened. Serious now, deadly serious…
Julia pointed to the door, "If that's what you really believe, then you should just GET OUT!" she screamed.
He stood from the bed, but didn't move fast enough, prompting her to punch wildly at the mattress and scream it louder and louder until he was out, and the door was shut behind him, "Get OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!"
)
He was more than halfway down the hall before he realized he was in stocking feet, and only had on a shirt and trousers. His sadness deepened, as he explained it to himself, "you were going to slip into bed with her…" Worse, he was bursting with the need to fall apart, to sob, to sob so that it feels like the inside of you rips out to the outside of you. Into the stairwell… Not out of the building, too many people. "Up! Go up… to the roof," the inner-voice coached.
)
She had stopped her crying by the time George knocked at the door, at that moment bolstering herself, telling herself, that she had lived without William Murdoch for years, and she could do so, now, as well.
George's face melted to near tears at the sight of her. "Doctor… Dr. Ogden. I'm so sorry for your loss," he offered immediately, his constable's helmet awkwardly clasped in his hands.
"Thank you, George," she pulled the blanket up to better cover herself. "I'm so grateful you and the Inspector were there," she added. An impulse distracted inside her head, with a part of her trying to actually find the words to ask him to please go get her some whiskey. But then the idea came, with a secret, whispered urgency that rendered it utterly compulsory, "Send him to find William instead…"
)
Teeming rain, blew, splattered into his face, as William pushed the sticky hospital roof-door opened against its unused hinges. Such fog, as he stepped out, where the snow had just recently been. "Sublimation," he told himself, grounding, trying to be alright by connecting directly with the physical world around him, "A special phase-change, direct, more rare, from solid ice straight to foggy vapor, so much heat that there is never a liquid phase at all…" And he rolled his eyes at himself, for he had rushed down a tangent thought, that he was like the water molecules, he and Julia, for they had been strongly, solidly bonded together, and it had taken such a monumental force to fling them apart so rapidly, and now they were just blowing in the wind, separate, apart, desperately lost and alone…
He walked to the short wall at the hospital roof's edge, affording a misty view of the smoggy city, the whole world cloaked in a grayish-green hue as the cloud-blocked and unseen Sun had grown low in the sky. There was a slippery taste of water in his mouth as streams of raindrops ran down his hair and over his face. The fight he had had just had with himself a minute ago, in the stairwell, to hold his collapse at bay, seemed far away now. And there was an inkling of a thought, a reminder, a worry – "You shouldn't get your stitches wet…" But, he was already soaked to the bone, for this was that type of downpour that always made him think of Noah and the Ark, that tended to fill him with a sense of catastrophe…
"Kittens…?" the word intruded. Unavoidable, William thought back to their enormous fight… to Julia's explosion, her utter meltdown. "Kittens…?" the illogical word from the fight intruded again. Splitting paths in his brain, one track recognizing a verbal connection between the words, 'kittens,' and Noah's deluging 'CAT-astrophe,' and with the discovering of the double-entendre, there was a trickle of hope that he felt as he thought to himself that Julia would have enjoyed the pun. But the other path in his brain dominated, overpowered, the happier feeling, this track explaining the reason she had said the strange word in the first place, this path taking him through a memory… from just this morning…?! Dumfounding, the passage of so much in such a short time. Julia had used 'kittens' this morning, to trigger William Jr.'s remembering of what it felt like to hold the tiny, furry little kittens, discovered in a box at Church one Sunday, to help such a young child grasp the concept of the small size, of the 'babiness,' of the human baby growing inside her womb. And he had gone full circle, arriving back at the loss of their baby, and once again, William Murdoch was instantly overcome with torrents of sobbing.
"Get out! Get OUT! GET OUT!" he reheard her yelling at him, for the umpteenth time. And with that, William clenched his jaw at himself, so furious with himself that he began to pound his fist down onto the brick wall… "She just lost her CHILD!" he reprimanded himself, "Your child! You are supposed to be there for her! Care for her! Instead, you hurt her…!" And he drew back his leg, winding up for a thundering kick, only remembering his socks – NOT wearing shoes, at the last second, holding back enough not to break his toes as he cracked his unprotected foot into the brick wall, the slam of the blow hurting so much he screamed out in pain, and he felt even more like an idiot, a complete idiot, but there was, too, a sweetness in having had deserved it. Shame dropped him down to his knees in the pouring rain to sob in a huddled puddle. "Oh my God, you hurt her. You hurt her…" he shook violently with his sobs.
And then he remembered Julia's blaming God for this pain, and then her thinking him "stupid" for believing, for believing something that was so much a part of who he was that to remove it would mean the death of his soul. His anger at her stirred. And he thought that perhaps they were too far apart to mend it, and his face wrinkled with the tremendous loss, and the quakes of falling apart overcame his body once more.
And then he remembered, saw it in his mind – the tree, the tree he had found that day when he was just a young man, in the horse pasture, with the fencepost and the barbed-wire that had been wholly incorporated into its being, the tree's trauma of encountering the fence taken in, becoming a part of it, through and through, the tree growing around the intrusion, making the tree irregular, different from other trees, bumpier and knottier in places. It had adapted. It had survived. It had green leaves, it grew another ring each year. Its roots soaked up water. The wonderful whooshing sound and the silvery waves of the rustling of its leaves in the breeze still so clear, so settling, as he remembered looking up into the branches and limbs. William stood up there on the roof, caught his breath, swiped at the tears, unfindable amongst the rain, on his face.
Trees had always touched him, for they seemed to have a soul, a special meaning, for they stretch, they encourage one to stretch, they reach higher, and dig deeper, and they extend, see, so much time. He remembered Newton's apple tree, teaching, showing a human who was open to its teaching about gravity. And it was a cherry tree, wrongly chopped down in its glory, by a very young George Washington, which had taught him the value of the truth. William had always believed, there was magic in the trees. Even the Buddha had found enlightenment while sitting under the bodhi tree.
And he felt a shift inside of him, black and white, the lines between them, becoming blurred, fuzzier, for he refused to see Julia as bad, and so he strained, strained at the periphery to spot the lighter places, the good that he was certain was there. Starting at the center, he would work his way out, "True, she had criticized God, disparaged all of Catholicism, blamed God for taking away Mary…" but from there he needed to move towards the edges…
"Was this really all about fault, about finding blame? After all, he had done it too, laid blame, even said it… He had blamed her abortion, essentially blaming Julia for their loss… And there was a hypocrisy with that that could not be denied…" he tried to balance, but still, just finding the bad, the bad in her, the bad in himself, he couldn't seem to get out of the maze.
A question that one of the reporters had asked this morning flew into his mind, and he thought to himself then, "You could even blame the Tiger… And if the Tiger, then really Elizabeth Mole… And if Elizabeth Mole, then Nicholas Mole, for beating her… And who knows what happened to Nicholas Mole, to make him so prone to violence and bullying…" And suddenly everything in the world felt connected to everything else, and the nausea, the pounding in his head, that hit him, barreled him over as he tried to grapple with it all.
But THIS, this loss…It brought everything else to a sudden, halting, breathless stop. And William's mind flashed his memory of his first seeing that little, unbelievably tiny, baby, with Mary Susannah's face, with that sweet, sweet face, and he felt the wallop of the sorrow all over again. And right behind that unbearable sorrow, so fast that it was sensed more than seen, he remembered Gillies' tiny toy coffin, and then the decimating terror and guilt punched him in the gut as he imagined burying his baby girl with the monster – with the devil, so awful that his awareness of the memory and the thoughts never wholly materialized, William's mind protecting, just telling him, "Too much, too much… It's all too much…" as the details evaporated away.
He blew the pressure out through his pursed lips. "Look at the people down there… at the horses and the carriages. Amazing, nothing stops, even in this rain…" he tried to distract himself with the scene below. Another tree, a different tree, emerged before him in his mind's eye, and his face wrinkled with the resurgence of his crying, but these tears were different for they came because he had found the good, healing instead, warmer, slipperier, saline, for the tree he saw in his mind was their 'Heart Tree,' in the park, overlooking the spot where they had first kissed on the picnic blanket, the tree in which his arborglyph declared his love of Julia Ogden for all of time. And William filled with certainty then, he and Julia would survive this.
He hadn't heard the man behind him open the roof-top door and approach, causing a startle when he called, "Sir…"
"George?" William replied as he turned.
A compassionate man, and a tough one, George Crabtree had not flinched at the weather. Already, trickling paths of rainwater cascaded down over his face. He instinctively held his helmet facing upwards so that it wouldn't fill up, like a bowl, with water.
To George, being confronted with the beaten-down and weary state of the man he adored, more than any other he had ever known, thoroughly tore at his heart. "Sir," he repeated, and suddenly words became difficult.
William wrinkled a corner of his mouth at him, and honestly, there was no need, between these two men, to speak. They both knew that the loss of this child had landed with a debilitating blow.
George exhaled, and he felt it, fierce, the ache burning in his chest. A moment, then a nod, and George turned his attention over the small wall, to the vast, cloudy world out there beyond the hospital.
William too, turned, and the two men stood next to each other looking out over the edge of the roof in the pouring rain.
George spoke first. "She said you had no shoes…" he still looked out, "So we knew you would have to be in the building somewhere."
Regret in his tone, for now he knew that Julia had sent George to find him, and that meant that she was suffering horribly too from their fight, William explained, "I lost my temper… Said some things," he sighed. "She did too," he added, thinking that perhaps, she had done so much more so than he had.
"Who hasn't done that?" George encouraged.
William sighed, deep and burdensome. "Some things we may even each believe… deeply hurtful things," he admitted.
"Well, sir," George reasoned, "What's more important to you? The things you believe in, or her?"
The hesitation before his answer was not to provide time to think about the answer. William already knew the answer. He was in the process of, he had been previously trying to work out, finding THE WAY to do it… "Both," William said, because it was impossible to live without either, without his religious beliefs, nor without his love for her.
"Well…" George placed his dripping-wet constable's helmet on his head, "If you'll beg my pardon, sir, perhaps you should find out if those two things could exist together," he said it plainly.
There was a hint of a smile from William, so odd how it could coincide with a frown. "Another mystery for me to solve, eh George?" he said, digging at himself, and making solving it feel possible at the same time.
George chuckled, "Well, you don't need to be William Murdoch to solve this one, sir – She's the one for you. You know it. I know it. Even Higgins knew it… years ago, actually, when he made you shoot up the blue liquid in the tube when you were hooked-up to your Truthilizer…"
"That he did," William agreed. But he had reservations, because such a man as George Crabtree, William believed, could not grasp the significance, the essentialness, the intrinsic value to him, of his Faith, either…
Less lost in thought now, the sound of the roof-door opening behind them sufficed to make them both turn to see.
"Dr. Tash?" William said first, surprised, having not expected to be found by even one person, not to mention TWO.
Isaac was less willing to step out into the downfall. "Julia said you were upset… and without shoes. You weren't with the baby… There are only so many places in the hospital… I doubted, with the rain, though," he admitted.
William and George crossed over the flooded roof to join him, stepping in out of the rain. All eyes dropped to ponder William's soppy socks.
"It's... It's getting late, detective," Isaac got to the point, "We, um, we need to…" Isaac became annoyed with his own gawky hedging. Why was he so thrown by dealing with this man's sorrow? "Spit it out, Isaac," he scolded at himself, "Be direct. Direct is not unkind," he reminded himself. "Detective, may I suggest we take your baby's remains…" he tried planning one way to start, but Isaac needed to look away, for he had seen, seen from the pain he saw there in those remarkable big brown eyes, that the detective understood exactly what he was trying to say… Isaac kept his eyes aimed down the staircase, "I was thinking, Julia's morgue. She has a cold room there…"
"Yes," William nodded, and clamped his lips tight, an effort to withstandthe image of that tiny little baby alone in such a place.
)
Isaac and George would be waiting for him with Mary. William slowly turned the knob on the door to Julia's room. He was sneaking. She was asleep. He slipped his vest, and then suit jacket, over his drenched shirt. "Shh," he shushed himself in his head. Disgusting, the slimy, sloshy, swollen feeling of his soaking-wet stocking feet being stuffed into his shoes. Hat in hand, coat draped over his arm, he tiptoed back over to the door. His fingers covered the doorknob…
"Don't go…" Julia's voice, scratchy, behind him…
And somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered "yesterday she had lost her voice, screamed for her life," from underneath the water tub, under the skin-crawling metallic digging of the Tiger's claws screeching out seemingly everywhere, and he felt the slashes twinge at his back… And he thought that he just didn't have the strength to turn around…
"I should not have questioned your Faith, William. It's a part of you, and I love you, William, all of you, and I'm sorry, truly sorry," she said.
William stayed at the door, his back to her, fingers around the doorknob. He did not answer her. He could not answer her. He needed more time.
Julia felt her eyes becoming hot – she was going to cry. "I know this won't make much sense at first," she said…
He could hear she was beginning to cry…and there was a forceful wrenching in his heart.
Julia's voice deepened as she continued, for the story was long, but it had a point. "I was thinking. Remember the ceiling that almost fell on me…? We had a case… A body fell onto a stage. They were doing the play that you don't speak its name…"
There, William had expected her to giggle, to tease him with the reminder of his clumsiness in dealing with the highly dramatic actors, and the lack of that peppery laughter sounding reminded him of where they were… The missing giggle, it hurt.
Julia had gone on, "And you and the Inspector were up in the rafters, and part of the ceiling fell…"
William remembered. He definitely remembered. It was Shakespeare's Macbeth. His own tears temporarily avoided, he wondered after what could possibly be relevant about this story…? The puzzle of it soothed the panic and the bone-tiredness.
Julia went off on a tangent. She hadn't noticed it yet. "And you asked me for a photograph… so you could use it to trick the suspects into holding it, by answering whether they had ever seen 'your suspect.' It was magnificent, William… a trick to get their fingermarks…"
The photograph appeared in his mind – beautiful, Julia Ogden was incredibly beautiful…
"And you kept it," she said.
There was a pause. William wondered, for a second, if the story had not been a ploy to get him to ask her, for he was surely tempted, "What was the point?"
"I should have known from that case, William, that case with the vagrant, unknown actor needing to be buried in a grave of his own rather than, as his murderers had decided, that of the man that their star had stabbed, that properly burying someone is extremely important to you, putting someone to a proper rest. I want it too, for our baby. I do. But I know it's something that will haunt you much more than it will me, if we don't get it right," she said.
And he remembered standing next to her back then, in front of the murdered and impoverished Eddie Green's headstone, back before they had admitted to each other, nor to themselves, that they were in love. He had shyly glanced into her eyes, knowing then that she had seen him for who he truly was.
Every muscle in his body wanted to turn around to face her, but imagining putting that tiny, tiny baby in a coffin, in the ground, it just terrified him, and it hurt so badly, and he had begun to cry, and so he would not turn.
There were sounds, a groan – she was getting up out of the bed.
Out of breath from the effort, Julia's voice was closer behind him, "That victim, in that case, he was unknown, had no family. YOU had his headstone made for him, very costly to you, on your salary, you did that, William. It was that important to you."
The meaning of the story connected, clicked. It made sense now. William's face still to the door, he felt himself trembling. He was so troubled, and if he could just turn around, he wouldn't be so alone, but not doing so because he knew that he would fall apart if he did. He was stuck. "I'm going with Isaac…" he said, needing to swallow, for his voice was croaky, "To take our baby girl's body, that sweet little girl, who never had sunshine on her face, or took one breath of air, who never saw her mother's beautiful blue eyes adoring her…" and the image of Julia holding that tiny, lifeless baby flashed in his mind, and he gasped out a moan of a sob, and through it he went on, shaky, "I'm going to take her to your morgue, Julia." He stood up straighter, forcing himself to be stronger, "I'm going to take her to that cold place, where murder victims go, so she doesn't," too hard to say it… "get tossed in with the hospital's medical garbage."
"Please, William, don't go, not like this," heartbreaking as her voice began to squeak, Julia unable to breathe, her tremors shaking her words, "I don't think I can bear this without you," sobbing, "Please hold me. I want to be in your arms, William…"
A memory flashed inside his head, of how meltingly perfect it had felt that first time she had wanted to be held, in the dance studio, after she had been attacked by Scanlon, and how everything suddenly had felt right as she rested her face against his cheek, soft touching to his ear, and her heart beat so close to his. So much, he wanted to feel that now. But, they were so different, and he had accused her of being to blame for their little daughter's death, and she had scorned him for believing in a God who could do such a thing, and… it just felt impossible, to turn, to touch, with so much wrong between them. He fixed his eyes on the crack running up the length of the door in front of him, the small gap that defined the difference between the door and the wall.
"I was hurt," William said.
"We were both hurt," she amended.
And he noticed that her voice had grown closer – she was right behind him.
"But…" she would deal with the worst of it, "What I did, my abortion, it was inexcusable, in your eyes, at least. It goes against your beliefs…"
"It's possible we'll never find common ground," he interrupted.
"I know," she conceded, with her voice low, her head down, aimed at the floor. He could not see it, but all over again, her eyes filled with tears.
"But it doesn't matter…" an uplift in his tone. He exhaled, this would be important, there was a strength to it, a sense of being resolved…
Julia felt her heart opening, wishing.
"We are not the same, Julia," thinking he'd found the answer, he rushed, "We've been different every day of our marriage. But I count every single one of those days as the happiest in my life. Even right now, my heart is ripped open, gushing with pain, and, still, I'm also, at the same time happy, so grateful, that I have you, that you love me, that we're in love with each other, still. If we never have a child, it doesn't matter. What matters is that we're together. Your love means more to me than everything."
"William…" such a PULL between them…
He turned to her. (She had had him at, "Don't go…")
And the world tilted underneath them, and the sky swirled all around them, gravity compelling them towards each other with tremendous force…
Sweeping her, flinging her, into his arms, into a delicious, heavenly… "wet, soaking wet…?" embrace. William kissed at her ear, and she let herself be surrounded by the smell of him, kissed, tasted his skin as she buried her face in his neck, grateful, so grateful, to be home. They held each other, and breathed each other in, and slowly, their bodies conformed, molded. And then, she pulled back, cherished his face, felt the pang of tenderness take her heart, for there was such sadness, such worry, there. She reached up and wiped a tear from his face.
He explained, "I can't imagine placing that beautiful little baby in a vile coffin…" wrinkling a corner of his mouth at her.
And somehow, her psychiatry training, her natural instincts and her ways of understanding others, her intense and intimate knowledge of this man, somehow, the way he said it… "in a VILE coffin," it stung at her, potently, alerting, reminding her, that she had already thought this was exaggerated, too big, his reservations, his struggles, about burying their unborn child, from other things he had said about burying their little Mary. She knew that this was triggered, connected, to something big, from his past. And then, her mind imagined it, sending her the answer. Never having actually seen it herself, based on what her own mind had conjured up when William, and George too, she remembered, had told her about their finding the little coffin, the tiny toy coffin for the doll… the doll that had had the Gillies' audio recording of her pleading with him not to bury her alive, sobbing and begging for William… Her heart seized with the memory of the terror. She knew, now, despite never having had actually heard the recording, exactly the moment when James Gillies had made it, the grave dug, the coffin six-feet down, WAITING FOR HER, lid opened, at the bottom of the pit. Her – forced down, pushed into the coffin, pushed, and shoved and forced down into the coffin, the lid closing, light going, air going… And she felt it, she understood it – William would be troubled, with that history, he would be deeply troubled, about placing his unborn, Church-decreed soul-less baby in such a coffin, and burying her under the ground, wholly ensuring his adored child's eternal fear. It would be, for him, intolerable. The fact of it seemed to close off the only path… But…
There was an outward gasp…
As Julia just suddenly remembered, "There was another way! Her father had chosen it! Perhaps…"
"William," she asked it so gently, "We could cremate her… after Father Clements baptizes her, if he will…"
So many problems, it hurt his head terribly. Cremation is not acceptable, and no priest would baptize a child who could not go on to live their lives following in the ways of Christ, not if the priest was certain the child would not have a life ahead of them to live… He stepped out of her arms and rubbed his fingers to his forehead.
Julia whispered her argument, swaying him, "There would be no coffin, then. And we could bury her anywhere we wanted, then…" Her brain kept her added exception to herself, not, she was pretty sure, in a Catholic cemetery, quite possibly not even legally, anyway, in any cemetery. AndJulia was thinking, considering that somehow, despite all that, they could take Mary's ashes up to William's mother's cemetery in Nova Scotia, bury her there, so she would be with her grandmother…
William pictured it, feeling such astounding relief, the words coming, rustling and warm, out of his mouth as a breezy exhale, "The tree…" he uttered the magical place, "the tree with our heart…"
And she knew he meant the special tree, over-looking that wonderful spot in the park where he had brought her to a gourmet meal of peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches, on the picnic blanket, and he had suggested they experiment with absinthe, and they had had their first kiss, and then their bodies had known as much as their souls did, that, if they fell in love this time, it would be forever, for they were, they always had been, perfect for each other. And up high in that tree, he had carved his heart, inside it their initials, and later, after fate had brought them William Jr., he had etched in a stem, the outgrowth of their love, with William Jr.'s name, sprouting out of their heart.
Julia smiled. "Perfect, she'll be a part of us always," she ensured, "Down around us, soaked into us, a part of our roots. It's perfect, William."
He wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her, in his head, agreeing and disagreeing, for it was not the way he had learned, the way that fit with his beliefs, but it seemed, that for the two of them, for here and for now, and with what they had and for what they had become together, it was the way that was right.
The couple stepped apart, resolved, readying to roll up their sleeves, and William peered down at her darkened, wet, hospital gown. "I got your stitches wet," he worried.
"Yours too," she quipped, and then she giggled, spilling it out in the air around them, tiny little bubbles of hope.
)
Outside of Julia's hospital room, Dr. Tash and Constable Crabtree waited with Mary's' small body hidden inside the doctor's medical bag. The press would be lurking. Isaac held the bag cradled in both arms, unable to make himself hold the bag as one would, as one should, a medical bag full of medical supplies. "Too long," he passed the bag over to the constable, who held it in the same awkward, and yet appropriate, manner…
)
On the other side of the door, William had suddenly panicked, for he had realized, so much more settled now, that Julia was out of her hospital bed, "only hours after she had had surg…"
There was a soft series of knocks at the door.
William opened the door, Isaac stepping quickly into the room. Immediately, his doctor's instincts sent a chill down his spine. "Julia!" he made himself whisper the yell, "Not out of bed," he ordered, pointing to the bed.
Obliging him, Julia moved back to the bed. Tucking herself under the covers, she asked, "Isaac, perhaps you could send her a nurse. It seems both William and I have gotten our stitches wet." But then she thought of something even better, adding. "Or… Could you go with William, back to our house, take care of his stitches there for me…? William can get the penicillin mold extract…"
Isaac was agreeing before he had completely managed inside his head to chase after, "what stitches would the detective have – Murdoch didn't have surgery…?" And then it hit him, leaving him with a sense of awe as he remembered, "Of course! The Tiger!"
"William?" Julia called him.
William hurried to her side, and she took his hand, pulling him down onto the mattress next to her, overcoming his reluctance to sit on the bed because he was still so wet.
Isaac quickly excused himself, "Your constable and I will be in the hall."
Julia whispered to him, "Bring William Jr. back with you. I want to hold our baby," flaring such a longing in his heart.
"I will," he replied and then he asked, before he kissed her good-bye, "There will be reporters…" and he suddenly felt embarrassed, worried that he would not be regarded as properly manly or strong, "Does it appear I have been crying?"
Her face already told him the truth as she answered, "It does…" And then she said, "But, on bright side, your blackeye is barely noticeable," as she traced the bruising below his eye.
And William felt a thud of sadness land in his chest, for she revealed their darkness, now, seeing the injury as a 'blackeye,' having lost the light required to see it as she had earlier, as a 'rainbow-eye.'
"Sleep if you can," he whispered with his kiss.
And Julia stared after the closed door and noticed that she was too exhausted to cry.
) ( Bringing in William Jr.
William paused Claire-Marie and his son outside of Julia's hospital room door. He looked into his son's brown eyes and, with an air of sternness, of caution, he said, "Be careful with your Mommy. She's hurt."
He waited for the response.
"O. K. Daddy," the toddler said, a surge of fear rising inside of his little body.
This would be hard to explain to one so young…
William Jr., in his father's arms, reached his arms out for his Mommy from across the room.
Claire-Marie stepped into the room and struggled with whether she should stay in or wait outside. She spied a small table over by the window. She would put her mistress' bag down there. It helped to have something to do.
William helped get their son into Julia's arms, intently aware of protecting her stitches, and she held him. Such a washing over her, of relief. Tears welled. Every emotion, glistening her eyes. And William thought to himself that he had never seen her so beautiful as his heart pulled in his chest.
She explained that his baby sister wasn't there anymore, and it had made his Mommy and Daddy very sad. "Remember," she said, as she shifted the child over next to her in the small bed, and she touched a hand to her lower belly, "She was very little… like the kittens at Church…?"
"Kittens?" the child said, grasping that there had been a loss.
And William worried that the death of his little sister may be more than his young son could cope with. And then he remembered, out of the blue, from when he was just a bit older than William Jr. was right now, his own father teaching him how to fall. "Willy…" Harry had waxed philosophical out in the horse paddock, and William remembered his father up above him so high, eclipsing the Sun with his silhouette, "Before you can learn how to ride…" his father had taught, giving him his first riding lesson, but William realized in this moment that he had used the lesson for the rest of his life, to climb trees, or to love with all of his heart, "first, you must learn how to fall." And Harry had begun that day, imparting to his son how to accept that it would be scary, that it would hurt, and how to roll with the motion of fall, to absorb the blow. His father had taught him as a very young lad, to do a forward somersault, to hit the hard ground with the back of his shoulders, rolling, then doing the same stunt from higher, then higher, until he as a small child stood, wobbly, atop the highest fence post in all of Nova Scotia, until he readied, and he breathed, and he somehow found his center, the deepest center, and then he launched into flight, already knowing, by then, how to fall. And he thought to himself, oddly, that life would have no value without death…
Julia added her little son's hand under hers, tenderly pressed it down into her bandaged wound. "Your little sister, Mary, Mary Susannah, was in there – Remember, the baby grows inside Mommy's secret pouch?" she asked, "But she stopped growing, and so we had to take her out, and now, she has gone to heaven, and for us, now, she's gone," she told.
"No kitten?" he clarified.
"No baby, sweetie," she responded, "No more baby sister."
William sat on the bed next to Julia and lifted his son into his lap. He was grateful to his wife, he'd always known she would be a wonderful mother, and he added, "The baby is up in heaven with your grandmother Mary now, and Jesus, and she's safe," he reassured. He asked then, "Do you understand, Little Man?"
"No baby…" the child replied, and he shifted his big brown eyes to gaze down at Julia's lower belly and added, "inside Mommy."
"Yes," William answered, "Yes, that's right." And he remembered that Claire-Marie had suggested they bring a storybook with them to the hospital, for it was passed his bedtime. "Little Man," he directed, "Lie with Mommy…" he lifted William Jr. back into Julia's arms, and the little one nestled in close, "And we'll read, 'The Kite that Went to the Moon."
"Oh, you like that one!" Julia whispered into William Jr.'s ear as he rested his head and all those lovely black curls onto her shoulder.
William read the story while Julia stroked at his curls, and William Jr. burrowed closer into his soft, warm, Mommy, and he yielded to his own babiness, and he sucked his thumb, and he soothingly twisted his favorite curl and he loved the way it felt as it touched across his ear…
This is how the story went;
There was a young boy who made the largest kite in the town with his own hands. His friend, the woodcutter's daughter, painted a moon and several stars on the kite. Feeling very proud of the kite, they went to the field to make it fly to the moon. All the other boys and girls were watching, but unfortunately the kite would not fly. The boy was so embarrassed as the village children laughed at them. The two children took their kite on a quest to find someone who knew why the kite would not fly.
Deep into the woods, it got very dark, and the night stole away the sunshine. They got distracted because they were so hungry and had missed dinner, and they looked for some food in the bushes. They had not noticed, until it was too late, that the kite was gone. An elf appeared out of nowhere and explained to the children that the kite had failed to fly to the moon earlier because it was daytime, and the moon was not bright enough in the daytime.
Then the two children and the elf rode a comet up to the moon, where they found the kite, and there they met the shimmering, delicate, 'Lady of the Moon.' Now, the elf was frightened of The Lady of the Moon, and so he disappeared because of his fright. The stern Lady of the Moon was not happy that the children had entered her territory, and she told them to leave. Before they were swallowed up by the setting of the moon, the children rode the kite back home, showing all the other children in the village that the kite really could fly. But, as soon as they placed their feet firmly on the ground, and the Sun glowed the very edges of the sky, the kite returned to the sky where it has remained a comet for the rest of time.
William closed the small book. He thought to himself that it was fitting that the kite had gone up into the sky, and he said to their sleepy little boy, "The kite is up in the heavens, with your sister who could not stay here."
"Up with the stars," Julia elaborated, so close to him he could feel the words vibrate in her chest and inside of his body. She had surprised herself, feeling grateful in this moment for having discovered her own willingness to use the illogical, unfounded existence of such a place as Heaven to help their young, young child deal with such a confusing and confounding and wholly incomprehensible event as death.
William stood from where he sat on the edge of the bed and tucked the storybook back into Claire-Marie's small bag. The nanny would be taking William Jr. home with her, where she would be watching over him while the detective stayed in the hospital with the doctor. The nanny would be sleeping for the night in the guest bedroom just down the hall from William Jr.'s bedroom.
William leaned down and waited for Julia to kiss her 'Little One' goodnight. Then he scooped the child up into his arms and handed him over to his nanny. William tilted down and kissed William Jr.'s curls. "Goodnight, Little Man," he said. Then he walked Claire-Marie to the door and opened it for her.
The moment the nanny stepped out into the hallway with the child, just the two of them, his father standing at the door waving goodbye, and she whispered softly to him, "Say goodnight to Mommy and Daddy," William Jr. began to squirm and fuss.
There was going to be trouble…
Instantly, William Jr. became extremely upset, whining and squirming with his trying to get free of his nanny's grasp. "I want Mommy," he cried, and his crying quickly escalated into a temper-tantrummy screaming and wailing, and all attempts at soothing him were failing…
His parents shared a look.
"I want Mommy," the cries had become panicky now, "I want Mommy," the child repeated over and over, his beautiful little face becoming red, for it was so hard to breathe when you were bawling…
Julia's motherly instincts told her there was no other way. "Bring him to me," she said calmly.
William took him from Claire-Marie and shushed him as he carried the crying toddler over to his mother in her hospital bed.
His Mommy hugged him close, soft, her words through his sobbing, "Shh. My Little One. It's alright…" as her pillowy body swaddled him safe.
"Want Mommy! Want Mommy!" his wails cried with less panic now.
"You've got Mommy," Julia promised, and she stroked his curls from his face, "You've got Mommy, hmm? She's right here."
"Want Mommy," like a chorus to a song, repeated, with the volume, with the tempo, lowering with each verse, "Want Mommy…"
"Mommy's right here. Shh. You got scared, hmm? But Mommy's staying right here," she vowed, the child's calming making it easier for her to think, and Julia understood, on a two-and-a-half-year-old level, that his little baby sister, inside his mother, had disappeared, and the kite went to heaven, like William's little hand shadow puppet baby deer's mother had too, up on the ceiling that night, and now her beautiful little son was scared that she would disappear too. "Your Mommy and your Daddy are staying right here with you, Little One. I promise. Shh," she soothed him once more. Then she looked up at William. Encrypted, the message needed to be baby-encrypted, though William, she thought she saw it in his glance, already had an inkling. "He's confronting something monumental – Our mortality…"
And William fully grasped what his little son was afraid of, and he remembered his own fear of losing Julia, and how it completely overwhelmed him sometimes… And then he remembered the Tiger, and guilt buckled his knees, for they had risked it, both of them could have died, just yesterday, and left their beautiful little boy all alone in the world. And then William took some solace as he told himself that that his innocent, 'Little Man' didn't know that. "But," came the reminder, "he knew his little sister had been there, inside his mother, growing like a little 'kitten,' and now she was gone, and even if it was less disturbing to think she'd gone to heaven, it was still earthshattering nonetheless…"
Julia tucked her face back into William Jr.'s curls, and she told him, "I have to stay here in this bed in the hospital. That's all… But I'm not going anywhere, I promise."
William sat on the bed next to them and rubbed at his son's back. "Mommy can't leave the hospital yet, so the doctors here can fix her hurts… So, she has to sleep here tonight," William explained.
"Me too," William Jr.'s request muffled into his mother's bosom.
She rocked him, and she kissed his curls. In her head memories flickered in, sweet, wonderful memories, from after William Jr. had just been born, after William had done the unbelievable and performed the surgery in the snowstorm, and saved them both, and they, their tiny infant and her, and some nights William too, stayed in the hospital together so she could nurse him and bond with him and care for him while she recovered. She considered it, for a moment, considered her 'Little One's' request to stay with her, before deciding he would be better off in his home.
Julia looked over into William's eyes. "You'll have to take him home tonight…" she said, hoping William would understand the importance of the reassurance to the toddler that one of his parents was home with him, "…with Claire-Marie, so he has his Daddy with him." She tucked her face back down close to the child. "Daddy will go home too, and Daddy can tuck you into bed, into your comfortable, cozy 'big-boy' bed," she explained what would happen, reassured him that it would be alright after all.
William added, "Claire-Marie can bring you back here to the hospital, to Mommy and me, tomorrow," hoping he was gently telling that he would not be at home in the morning when the little boy woke up. He fully intended to hold Julia through the night.
Before the child could react, Julia urged, "You'll be Mommy's big-boy, hmm? Go home and sleep in your own 'big-boy' bed," she asked, and she told too. She caught William's eye, "You go with Daddy now," she said, shifting the balance, handing the child to her husband.
"Hey there, Little Man," William greeted his son with a smile. He too, pushed the curls from the little boy's face. "You know, Blanco's going to be so glad you came home to him tonight. I don't think little rabbits like to sleep alone. He needs his little boy with him," he stood and carried the boy towards Claire-Marie at the door. He would keep his son in his arms. Claire-Marie stepped aside.
William Jr. suddenly felt so tired, and he melted down into his Daddy's arms, and plopped his head down into his Daddy's neck.
William's gestures signaled to Claire-Marie, telling her what she could do to help, that she could gather up his coat and hat.
"Say goodnight to Mommy," William instructed casually, turning back to Julia.
"Night Mommy," the sweet voice said, from where William Jr. rested his head down on his Daddy's strong shoulder.
"Night Little One," Julia smiled, "See you tomorrow," she wisely added.
The door closed behind them, and suddenly the heaviness of the sad air weighed down on her, alone… with the grief. William and their little son and the nanny had not likely even made it to the end of the hallway before she started to cry, and she rolled her eyes at herself, scoffing, "Guess you weren't really out of tears yet, were you?" And she accepted it, as she turned to the night table by the bed, and she saw his handkerchief, the new clean one he had brought back with him, waiting there for her, next to his roses. It was the roses, that made her cry harder, for with them came the bittersweet memory, now so much more bitter than sweet, of William telling 'Baby Murdoch' this morning that he was going to buy them for her, all the different colors like the rainbow on the wall, as William's scent, Chinese spices and perfect musk, despite him having had only worn the small square of fabric in his pocket for such a short while tonight, wafted in, and filled her senses when she held it to her face, and even now, in a way, William held her.
)
William Jr. was sound asleep in his father's arms by the time the detective and Claire-Marie made it downstairs to the hospital main entrance. Predictably, there was a small crowd of newspaper reporters waiting there, having been alerted that the detective had brought his young son and their nanny to visit his wife. Flashbulbs popped like fireworks all around, and William worried that they would wake the baby. Immediately, the questions rang out…
"Detective Murdoch, would you care to comment on reports that Dr. Elizabeth Mole will likely be saved from the noose in the killing of her husband – that it will be judged self-defense, manslaughter…?"
And, "Have you made any headway on recapturing Malcolm Lamb, detective…?"
Another quickly adding, "Perhaps you think Lamb had already paid enough for his crimes – maybe you aren't even really trying, fellow copper and all…?"
And, "How is Dr. Ogden? Is she terribly distraught over the loss of your baby…?"
William thinking to himself that that particular reporter was an idiot…
Someone else asking, "Do you think it was from the trauma of nearly being killed by the Tiger, sir…?"
"How's your son taking it…?" a cry from the back of the crowd managed to catch his attention.
Quickly followed by a comment that hit him hard, though he did not quite know why…
"Too bad you couldn't save this one, eh?"
And William found he needed to choke back his tears.
He caught Claire-Marie's eye, gave her a nod, for he intended to push his way through them, he wanted her to be ready to follow. He leaned forward and began his determined walk directly through the center of the huddle. "It has been a terrible, terrible day for us," he said loudly. "Otherwise, I really have nothing else to say to you."
William Murdoch was furious, he realized, as he made it into the sanctity of the cab. He blew out the pressure through his pursed lips. "Take solace in the fact the William Jr. is still sound asleep," he told himself. And he let the rocking of the carriage, as it headed for home, soothe him and quiet him, and then all he felt was the sadness, the terrible, terrible sadness, sadness down to the marrow in his bones.
) ( Holding Each Other Through the Storm
"No shirt for sleep tonight, Isaac's orders," William thought to himself as he undressed in Julia's hospital room readying to slide into the tiny bed with her and hold her through the night. The Tiger slashes needed to be left opened to the air to dry, to heal.
"William," Julia's weak, sleepy voice breathed the comfort of him in as he took her in his arms and rested his head down next to hers on her pillow.
Through the window, the moonlight was bright, and he could see Julia's wavy hair spilled all over pillow behind her. "She had brushed it," he noted to himself as his soul tried to decide whether he would cry or whether he would sleep.
) Enter the Press
Teddy Nelson, the famous and dogged Toronto Gazette reporter, had paid off an orderly to get into Dr. Ogden's hospital room. He closed the door behind him and quietly prepared his camera. "This would be a magnificent photograph!" he said to himself, as he pictured it on the front page with his headline – "Murdoch's Cope in the Aftermath of the Tiger." He aimed the camera, setting up the shot. It was perfect, the detective lying, bare-backed, on his side, his beautiful and mournful wife asleep with him in his arms. Both of their heads sharing her small hospital pillow. It was obvious that they were in love. And, although the image spoke of the deep sorrow they were enduring, there was magical sort of strength in it too. Truly, it was perfect. He would even be able to get the long Tiger-claw scratches down the detective's back in the picture. He battled with the risk – the camera would flash…
&)
Next to William, Julia twitched, wrapped up in a dream…
She was watching.
It was the Tiger. The gigantic Tiger, with a sweet, sweet, tiny little kitten.
Suddenly…!
There was a flash, a boom, of lightning…
And in its strobing, she saw that the kitten was really their baby! Their baby girl! The Tiger! "WILLIAM!" she screamed out, "THE TIGER HAS OUR BABY!"
Jumping him out of his sleep, Julia bolted upright next to him in the small hospital bed. So cloudy-headed… the screeching sting of his stitches in his back, his brain explaining to himself in a rush – "She's having a nightmare!" and William scooped her into his arms and he soothed, "Julia! Julia. It's just a dream. Shh. It's alright…" he said as he found her face and he brushed the curls away. He slowed his words, tried to slow his thundering heart and his rapid breaths, "Shh. It's alright… It's alright, Jul…"
Her voice squeaked, overwrought with it all, "It's not alright, William. It's not alright! How can it possibly be alright, when I… when we, when we lost our baby!?"
And he had to admit that she was right. They had lost their baby, and it was unbearable. And he whispered the truth to her, "I know. I know." But he also knew, and so he told her, too, "But, it is done, Julia, and we survived it, and we have each other, and our son, and we ARE alright. We will heal from this. We are in no danger right now. We are safe. The worst is done now. It WILL be alright. It will."
Dizzy with the whirling of her interminable emotions, and mingled in with them, hope, and love, love and gratitude for this man right here with her, and for a moment, it felt to her like she would never be able to speak, or even to breathe, again.
"Shh," he kissed against her ear, "Shh." William tenderly brought her back down onto the mattress, brought her to her place, her head resting on his chest. He did not notice that he did not feel the pain of his Tiger wounds pressed down into the bed. He felt nothing but love. "Shh," he bathed her in his warm whispers again, "Shh. Shh," with a kiss.
Breathing slowed, deepened. Sleep re-came.
) (
The next day, the Inspector came to visit them in the hospital with Margaret. He caught the reporter, Teddy Nelson, in the hallway outside Dr. Ogden's room. Brackenreid banged the reporter up against the wall, and told the nosy, irritating man, "Mind your business," through his gritted teeth.
"It is my business," Teddy retorted.
Nelson had managed to get his story, with his sneaky, intimate photograph of 'Toronto's Favorite Couple" in the doctor's hospital bed together, into the paper THIS MORNING – no small feat, considering the late hour at which he had completed it. He argued, still plastered against the wall, "Besides! My story was a good one for your detective and coroner, was it not, Inspector? Think about it. I'm on Murdoch's side on this."
Margaret, at her husband's side argued, "It was a lovely story, Thomas…"
And Brackenreid released the man from his clutches.
Nelson straightened up, and then tugged his lapels back into shape. "I was planning on knocking, anyway. I think Detective Murdoch will agree to talk with me. The detective and I have a bit of history when it comes to matters such as this one," he said.
Margaret was highly intrigued, her snoopiness alerted. "What history?" she blurted out, then thought of something and asked, "Was it with their son?"
Now, you don't get to be a top reporter at the Toronto Gazette by giving away your secrets and betraying your sources and contacts, and so Teddy Nelson already knew he would NOT be giving the gossipy woman what she wanted. But, she had hit the nail on the head, and now he was working not to let it show on his face. "That's between me and Detective Murdoch, Mrs. Brackenreid," he replied simply. He signaled at the closed door and asked the Inspector, "May I?" preparing to knock.
"I'll do it!" Thomas shoved the man aside. "Bloody reporters," he grumbled as he knocked on the door.
While the Brackenreid's visited with Julia, William stepped out into the hall and spoke with Mr. Nelson. It was true – they did have history, for it was Teddy Nelson who had caught him as he stepped into a cab to go home for the first time after William Jr. and Julia were both safe and secure in the hospital, after he had performed the Cesarean section surgery in their home in the huge snowstorm.
That had been two and a half years ago. Teddy Nelson had made a brilliant connection back then, asking William pointedly about what he had seen in his future when he was in Dr. Harm's Time Machine. The reporter must have gotten wind, back then, that William had said he had seen that he would have a son. William had been taken off-guard by Nelson's direct question, and he had also been burning to tell someone the amazing truth about it, so he had weakened and told Nelson that, yes, back at the turn of the century, he had not only seen that he would have a son, but that the age of the boy in the future matched perfectly with the timing of the birth of William Jr., his son being born in 1904, so that he would be 8 years old in 1912.
Nelson had sworn to keep the secret between them. The reporter had been true to his word. William decided to trust him this time as well, though this time, it was with a broken heart rather than a soaring one. Nelson's subsequent stories highlighted the strengths of William and Julia's marriage. For instance, the next headline he wrote read, "Murdoch Miscarriage Only Further Fortifies Marriage."
Fortunately, the shaky times that were ahead for the Murdoch's were not detected by Nelson, nor the other reporters. So too, they had had to work to hide their unconventional burial of their unborn baby girl from the press.
) ( Laying a Loved One to Rest
As with all things in life, there were blessings and obstacles at play in William and Julia's struggles with properly burying Mary Susannah. Desperately, William had wanted to have their baby be baptized. Father Clements, however, said that he could not do such a thing, for it was against the sacraments of the Catholic Church to baptize a child that was not alive, and even more problematic in Mary Susannah's case, one who had NEVER been alive. William had called Father Keegan for help.
There was a phone call from Father Keegan to Father Clements. "What parents really are asking us when they request baptism for a stillborn is whether their child is now with God…" Father Keegan had said into the phone. Father Clements had felt such a pang with those words, for he knew William Murdoch well, and those words had gotten to the heart of the matter, and the priest wanted to do anything he could to give the man he had come to know, not only as a friend, but also as a remarkably GOOD man, the relief he sought. It was agreed between the two priests that Father Clements would hold a ceremony – not a baptism, but a special, and secret, ceremony in the Church. During the ceremony, Clements would reference Mathew 19: 14, ensuring that the loving and bereft parents could confidently entrust their child to God's mercy, knowing from the Scriptures that God wants all people to be saved, and that Jesus had said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."
) (
To William and Julia, the ceremony FELT like a baptism, with the each of the parents naming the child, held by William, naming her "Mary Susannah," and both William and Julia tracing the sign of the cross on the child's forehead with holy water, as would normally be done when performing a baptism.
William believed he would be able to convince Father Clements to allow Mary Susannah's burial in the Church cemetery. This was because he knew that back during the case involving the Virgin Mary statue that had cried blood-tears, the visiting Bishop at the time had both, allowed, and conducted, the funeral ceremony for the newborn who had been killed by Father McCray. This was despite the fact that that child, originally buried under the rose bushes by its distraught mother, had likely never been baptized.
However, William's aversion to placing his own sweet little girl's remains in an overly small coffin haunted him so severely that he and Julia decided against doing so. Even though William, with Julia's help, had come to understand that it was his association to Gillies' tiny white toy coffin from all those years ago that was causing his reaction. His aversion was worsened by the long history of monstrous torments James Gillies had forced upon him, only recently posing as the devil, placing a small speaker inside of a poor man who he had forced to murder two men, merely to taunt William, and further, then threatening to kill William Jr. with an injection of heroine, and to blow Julia up by hooking her up to a bomb. Thus, it seemed that he could not overcome his revulsion to the thought of putting her small remains in the small box and burying her under the ground – so much like what the heinous man had done to Julia when he buried her alive. And, truth be told, this was stirring up Julia's angst with the horrible memories as well.
Thus, it was a big relief that they had found another way. Julia's father had chosen to be cremated. And both the Inspector and George were Freemasons, and therefore were members at the Masonic Temple, where cremations were commonly performed. Their biggest obstacle to having Mary Susannah cremated had been earning the approval of the stuffy and stodgy Grand Master, who remembered the Catholic Detective Murdoch all too well, and the "cheeky" female doctor who was now this Murdoch's wife, and the mother of the child to be cremated – and once again, they were asking for him to allow a woman into the temple. Put to the leaders, one of whom was George, it was decided that the procedure would be permitted.
William and Julia brought their unborn baby's ashes to their "Heart Tree" the next night, in the park, under the stars. Their daughter's ashes, her remains, placed lovingly in the ground at the foot of that special tree, flowed back into the cycle of life. Their Mary Susannah was in the tree's deep roots, and its strong bark, and its rustling leaves in the breeze. She was with them forever, now… Mary Susannah Murdoch.
) ( HOME
It was only ten days after the miscarriage that William brought Julia home. He put William Jr. down on the floor in the foyer, and both he and Julia encouraged him to go play with Claire-Marie, watching after him as he put his little hand in his nanny's and they headed down the stairs to the playroom. William accompanied her up to their bedroom where she changed into her nightgown, despite the fact that it was only early afternoon.
"I've brought you a glass of water," William said placing it down on her night-table. He pulled down the covers on the bed for her and added, "I can fix you a cup of tea if you like…"
"No, thank you," she answered him weakly.
William felt such a strain in his chest, for he had not expected her to be this down.
Julia crawled into their bed, the coziness of their own sheets and pillows and blankets lulling her down deeper.
"A glass of sherry?" he suggested, lifting the covers up over her, with a part of him thinking it was not a good idea to encourage her to imbibe in alcohol, but yielding to the hope that it would bring her some comfort.
Julia sighed, "No. I just want to sleep."
"Of course," he answered her, unable to hide his own solemnness.
) ( Distractions Sought – To the Morgue
It was only a week later that Julia returned to work in the morgue. She was feeling depressed, and she thought that the distraction from her loss, from their loss, of their baby, that the return to something challenging, would help.
William had gone along with the plan, even though a part of him was reluctant. He, too, was optimistic about the prospect of her being back at work alleviating her low mood. He bought her flowers, left them on her desk in the morgue to be found when she walked in. He had considered all the rainbow colors again, but the twinge of pain he felt in his heart, with picturing the colorful roses in his hands when George told him that Julia was in the hospital, pushed him away from the idea. He had gone with white… white roses.
) ( Signs of Having Trouble Coping
A few days later, they were needed, George showing up at their home early in the morning. The dead body was found on a busy sidewalk. It had probably been dumped there, from moving a carriage or an automobile. No one had seen it. William proceeded to investigate as usual, checking the street near the body for hoofprints or tire tracks, finding identification in the man's pocket, sending constables to question neighbors…
Julia was trying, but suddenly, pressures upon her, William looking for her to provide him with useful clues, she felt overwhelmed by it all. Helplessness swooped in, as if all of her edges were filled with encroaching dark clouds, and in resistance to it, she reacted with anger, an emotion that could fill her with a sense of power, albeit only temporarily. She suddenly stood from the body and fumed, her tone openly displaying that she was furious with her husband, "How can you just act like everything's fine?" she charged him.
William quickly stood up as well. He was caught off-guard, and even though his instincts told him to look away to avoid the sting in her eyes, he was stunned and stared blankly at her, wide-eyed, deer-in-the-trainlights.
"The stoic Detective William Murdoch just goes on about his day – Work… Solve the case… When our little baby is lying cold in the ground. Our baby girl, William!" she squeaked with her upset, going from sarcastic fury to collapsing distress. She gave him a shove in the shoulder and darted away, suddenly overcome with embarrassment, feeling other eyes on her, ashamed for making such a scene, and of being such a hysterical mess.
George looked at him, crushed by the look on his face, such pain… almost lost, almost wishing he were lost.
William exhaled, wrinkled a corner of his mouth at George. With a quick glance around, he saw that Higgins and young Brackenreid were watching the turmoil unfold as well. His eyes finally found the ground, feeling the need to hide, feeling the heat of tears at the back of his throat. He walked over to her.
Julia was trying everything she could think of to pull herself together. She was so distraught, so mad. She wanted to lash out more… and to bawl herself into a crumbling puddle. She felt out of control, and terrified, and…
He was behind to her, his shadow told, perhaps something more, a warm tingling at her aura.
William couldn't find, not anywhere, it was not possible, to find something soothing to say to her. Finally, his voice scratchy and low from over her shoulder, his voice, only HIS voice in the world striking the exact right chord inside of her, adding to the blanketing, harboring, protecting, caring, presence of him she had already been aware of, he said, "I assure you Julia, I'm hurting too."
She knew he was hurting. She knew he was…
She turned to him and dove into his arms, into a big hug. And she succumbed to her sobs, in his arms, the convulsions of her body throbbing into his, as it absorbed… as he absorbed… accepted, withstood, the agony spreading into him, the shockwaves landing with such devastating blows, resounding, and sinking, and settling into his center, heavy and hot.
Eventually, tears in his eyes as well, he whispered to her, "We'll heal from this Julia. And that beautiful little girl, whom we'll not be able to see grow… she's not suffering." He swallowed, pushing down the words his instincts sent him, about their Mary being with his sister and his mother, and her mother, and her father, in heaven, for he knew these thoughts would not bring her comfort. And William suddenly felt an even deeper, more profound pain, at knowing the burden of HER loss, in having to endure it without having Faith. "Shh," he whispered and rocked her softly, "Shh."
Her crying quieted after a time. He suggested they go home, together. "Perhaps it was too soon…" he admitted. He called George over, began the instructions for the constable to call the Inspector, and to work the case without him.
Julia, her face still hidden from sight, in the shelter of her husband's neck, said, "George… I know you'll have patience with me…" She lifted away from William, instantly feeling both the loss, and the relief, of his closeness as the cool air rushed in surrounding her hot, damp face. "I'd like to try," she said, the tone of it wobbly, her effort to sound strong showing up only in volume.
"Very well," William answered her simply.
And Julia and William and the constables all went back to it, her eyes never finding the courage to meet up with anyone else's – even William's.
Her husband modeled it for the others, compassionate focus on the work at hand.
William would not leave Julia's side that day, stayed with her in the morgue as she performed the postmortem. It reminded her of the day she had felt herself fall in love with him, completely, the day she went from maybe to gone, never to return to a world where she did not love, with all her heart and all her soul, William Henry Murdoch. It had been the day after the night he had slept on her couch, when he had rushed in wearing only a sheet – her 'Greek God,' to comfort her after her numerous nightmares about being attacked by Edward Scanlon, the likely Chapel Hill serial killer, Jack Ripper. It did her good to remember that she had overcome so much in the past, and that she still had him at her side.
) (
Once a month had passed from the day she had lost the baby, William found himself preoccupied with thoughts of returning to their lovemaking. He laid a few hints, nuzzled into her neck from behind her in the mornings, stood closer to her, taking one of her curls in his fingers. Each effort only served to further convince him that she was not ready. Thus, he tried to pour all of his energy into roughhousing with William Jr., and into his work, and, too, into courting her without being pushy. He convinced her to let him take her to the opera. She had even managed to joke with him about his nearly falling asleep. He felt hope, but so too, underneath it, worry.
) ( A Breakdown
The case had been an easy one, William noted to himself as he worked on the final report of the murder that involved the body they had found on the sidewalk. And Julia seemed to have regained her strength, he reassured himself. Unfortunately, another body had been discovered and awaited Julia's postmortem over at the morgue. "Well, perhaps the work, the distraction, will do her good," he thought to himself. Finished solving this murder though, he collected Crabtree and they went together to summarize the case with the Inspector.
Brackenreid poured himself a scotch, concluding, "I suppose I'll have to put a call in, over to that blooming reporter at the Gazette – a part of the deal I guess…"
George inserted, "Scratching each other's backs, eh sir." Then he added as an afterthought, looking to Detective Murdoch, "And how is your back doing, sir," he asked, "I noticed you've been sitting in your chair again."
Uncomfortable drawing attention to his wounds, William quickly responded, after a somewhat irritated sigh, "I'm fine George." Wanting to focus back on the work at hand, he asked the Inspector, "So, we can clear Dr. Ogden to release the body to his family then?"
There was a disturbance in the bullpen, drawing all eyes to Higgins' desk. The morgue attendant had come over to the stationhouse, a rare occurrence in itself, and he seemed quite upset.
William felt a panic sweep into his chest! "Julia…!?" he gasped out loud.
Higgins turned his eyes to meet Murdoch's through the glass of Brackenreid's office, the morgue attendant following suit.
How was it possible to become even more filled with dread…?
They rushed out into the bullpen, Julia's attendant already spurting out his alert, "Detective Murdoch, sir! I think you should come. It's Dr. Ogden… Um, she's… She's somewhat hysterical, in the cold-room. She won't come out…"
Immediately, all five of the men rushed over to the morgue. Murdoch, the fastest, he shoved through the big morgue door first and ran into the cheery, white-walled space this amazing woman had made in such a dreary place. Julia's phonograph had reached the end of its disc-recording, the repetitive 'tick – tick – tick,' of the needle bumping against its edge the first sound that registered in William's ears… and with it he knew that Julia had been trying, so hard that it made him ache, to overcome her sorrow with the music. The cold-room door was opened, an uncommon sight. He made himself slow down. He heard the others stumble to a piled-up halt behind him. William made himself breathe.
Awkwardly, he felt his hands reach to rub nervously at his hat, finding nothing there, for he had not brought it with him. He stepped into the cold-room doorway, and he let his heart be drowned by the sight of her. So still. So despondent. She was not hysterical, at least not now. And William reminded himself how much it had hurt to recognize that the beautiful light that he had always seen in her eyes had seemed to have gone out ever since the miscarriage.
Julia sat in the freezing cold room, on the edge of the gurney with one of the bodies. Her eyes stared down at a huge block of ice. William felt a chill, unsure whether it was from the cold or from the disturbing sight of seeing Julia so broken before him. His brain tossed up a word – "sublimation," because of the wispy clouds rising off of the ice, and he remembered being on the hospital roof after their awful fight. Still there, his regret.
William stepped in, to care for her, his voice so low, he tried to join her, "Julia."
She did not lift her eyes.
William felt a wave, a rush of sadness and fear, surge through him. Momentarily, he had to lock his knees, stand with all his might, against the helplessness. "Julia," he repeated her name, and he stepped closer.
George and the Inspector moved to the door, Higgins and the attendant standing up on their toes to see in from behind them.
Her voice was quiet and monotone, as if in a trance, as she spoke, "Mary's so cold, William. And I needed to… I could warm her up, if I was as cold too, and my body would…"
There was a logic to it, his brain tried to explain in the background. She was imagining that Mary was still in her womb. That their baby was safe, and alive, but so too, she knew the tiny baby was, in reality, cold – too cold. And maternally, she had to warm her…
"It IS very cold in here, Julia," he said as he took off his suit jacket. He took that one final step up next to her and draped his jacket over her shoulders. Finding a small section of the gurney to rest down on, he sat, perched next to her.
Her eyes still down on the ice, she mumbled her protest, "No, I need to be cold too – to warm her." Motionless, however, Julia was unable to remove it, and the jacket stayed in place wrapped around her against her will.
William sighed. She needed help – his help. He stood and leaned down to lift her into his arms, and he carried her out, all the other men stepping aside, none able to catch either the detective's nor the doctor's eyes as he went by. Respectfully, they stayed back, as William took her over to her desk. He turned around and sat them both down on the edge of the desk. Every instinct he had was to cover her. He pulled her into a hug, tender, he held her close until he felt her, heard her, breathe. One of his kisses at her ear, he whispered to her, "Julia, you have to let her go. She's not too cold. Remember, we cremated her, we cremated our little girl…"
The wham of desperation and longing slammed and walloped and seeped into him as she finally looked into his eyes. "Mary… our little Mary, William…" her face wrinkled up to cry, and, in that squeaking of her beaten-down voice, he heard the extent of the truth of her loss.
"She died. She's not too cold. Let her go. Julia, please. You have to let her go," he found himself pleading with her, for he could not bear it.
"I can't, William. I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Julia's forlorn admission squeaked out, "I couldn't hold on to her. I let go… of our beautiful little girl. I let go… I just… I feel so awful, that I couldn't hold on to her. I couldn't keep her safe. I'm so sorry, William."
His fingers traced over her face, wishing to relax, to relieve, the wrenched muscles there. He tilted his face to touch his lips, his nose, his cheek, to hers. "I'm sorry, too. Shh. It's alright. Shh," he whispered, "It's done now. Shh…"
Dr. Ogden regained her strength, her composure. Still, her husband insisted she let him take her home.
) ( A Glimpse of Light – the Power of Laughter
At home, glad to be home, but still so embarrassed, Julia had changed into her biking trousers. She had imagined playing in the woods with William and their little son, for it was rare that they were both home from work early enough for the Sun to still be shining in the sky to light such adventures. But… but, the energy to do such cheery things seemed to be missing by the time she arrived down in the playroom to suggest the idea. Instead, she had simply sat with them for a while, and 'helped' build a small fort, but became sour and listless, and so had excused herself. Now, she settled for a glass of sherry on the front porch.
Spring had come. There were buds on many of the trees, and daffodils yellowed the front gate. She spotted a purple crocus poking up from the soil, and she felt a strange sense of betrayal… for it seemed unfair that the world had gone on without her… without her baby girl, in it. And, seeing the sprouting crocus in the ground, she pictured, remembered, spilling Mary Susannah's ashes in the ground, underneath their Heart Tree, and then covering them with the dark brown earth. And she thought to herself, that the world had not gone on without her, rather, it had gone on WITH her, with her atoms, wholly in it. That little Mary's atoms were soaked up into that tree. Her little body, the buds at the ends of the branches…
The front door made a sound, turning her head.
Holding William Jr.'s hand, William had found her. "There's Mommy," he whispered, loud enough for her to hear too.
In the boy's other hand, there was a familiar little children's book. She recognized it. George had bought it for him. The day after… after she had lost the baby. He had said it was part of his godfatherly duties. She thought to herself now that they "would have made George Mary Susannah's godfather too." Now, even more so, since he had helped them to get her… had helped them to be able to bury her ashes under their Heart Tree.
"Go on," William encouraged his son, gesturing him closer to his mother. "Show Mommy the word. Tell her your joke," William caught Julia's eyes and lifted his eyebrows big. He was outright gleeful, and Julia felt the tiniest spark of anticipatory happiness in her heart.
"Underlined," Julia saw the animal's name on the page. William had used four different-sized lines under the long word, to help William Jr. finally say the word right. It was amazing, she realized – He was already teaching him to read!
Julia pointed at the word in the book. So many things were happening inside her head as she glanced at their beautiful, wonderful, magnificent boy standing there in front of her, and seeing him, feeling him, so close, sparked a warm wave of love in her heart. She asked him, "This word?" And at the same time, she recognized the word, for they had worked on it with him. And William Jr. had told them that he had seen this animal at the zoo. And it had had a baby, the news reported in the newspaper, she remembered, sadness landing with the remembering, that they had said once, at the breakfast table, that it was having a baby too, that it had a baby inside of it, "just like Mommy did…," but that animal mother had her baby at her side now, and she did not. She pushed the thoughts aside, seeking recovery rather than wallowing. With an audible sigh, she took a deep breath, as one last association, a thought that was more grounded in science, and policework, and therefore more steadying, passed through her mind, "Interesting that, this animal, too, had been so integral to this epic case. It had even brought them to the Tiger…"
"Yes, Mommy," William Jr. answered her, and then looked to his Daddy…
And Julia's attention was drawn back to the written word in the little book.
William urged, opening his own mouth, starting the word silently, exaggerating the mouthing of it, eyes on his son…
Shyness scrambled William Jr.'s brain, however, and he stood motionless… wordless…
"You can do it, Little Man," William said, "Remember, we practiced it. You know how it starts. You already know the first part of the word, then your memory will tell you the rest…" He nodded his head, then glanced and nudged his chin towards the book on his Mommy's lap. "Sit on the bench with Mommy, so the word isn't upside-down," he coached, and put your finger under each part as you say it."
"Come," Julia encouraged her little boy up onto the bench with her, and she placed the book half on him and half on her. "Read me that big, big word," she said, leaning down close to him, so close she smelled his hair. Then she whispered to him, glowing his little-boy heart, "It will make me smile, Little One, I'm sure it will."
The small boy took a deep breath, and saw the first, biggest part of the word, and remembered he knew it, and so he just said it, "Hippo…" and the next three parts just came tumbling out of his mouth, "pot-o-mus."
And the whole wide world lit up, because it was true, and his Mommy smiled, and she squeezed him, and she declared, "Well done, Little One!"
And then his Daddy stepped closer, tilted in and said, "Do you remember the joke?"
And he did! At least, he thought he did, but it seemed gone now.
"About Mommy's being a doctor…" William hinted. His son still too blank, he added, "She took an OATH," he added, then said, "Look at the word in the book – It starts the same way."
Julia figured it out then, but playing her role, she held her face in check.
William Jr.'s eyes turned back to the book, and it helped him to concentrate, not seeing them waiting for him. He put his finger under the first part of the word – the part he already knew – "hippo…" The memory hit him so fast, he jumped as he said it, and the volume was too loud, "Hippo-crit Oath! Mommy took the hippo-crit oath, when she became a doctor!"
By his parent's proud reactions, he could never tell that his joke was not perfect. They oohed and ahhed all over him. William sat down with them on the bench, and his mother whispered something in his Daddy's ear, and his Daddy chuckled. And William Jr. realized then, that his Mommy and Daddy felt happy together, and he realized too, that they had not felt happy that way for a long, long time.
Standing back up, then taking off his suit jacket and vest, his father readied. Placing the outer clothing items down on the bench, he offered, "Mrs. Murdoch, your son and I are going to play a new game – 'Animals.' Would you like to join us?"
"Animals?" Julia asked, helping William Jr. off of the bench. She took the children's book from him.
"We will be the different animals, and see if we can find their food," William answered, "To determine whether they're herbivores, or carnivores…"
"Hippo-pot-o-mus is a herb-or!" William Jr. shouted, hopping up and down with glee.
His Daddy's smile was so big – his teeth so white. "Very good," he cheered, but he couldn't help himself, he corrected, "A herb-IVE-ore."
"I think I'll watch you," Julia said.
And William's happiness deflated, for he had tasted it, but it was only fleeting. And he tried so hard not to let it show. "Come Little Man," he said, lifting his son up into his arms. "Let's start with the horse, heh…"
Julia heard him say, as he reached the grass, and then maneuvered the little boy around to be up on his back, and he galloped and loped around their front yard, asking back, "Is a horse an herbivore or a carnivore? Does it eat plants or animals for its food…?
It seemed William Jr. was having too much fun to think, let alone answer.
William stopped, and sat, carefully dismounting his rider. And then the full-grown, usually stiff and reserved, man, still in his suit trousers, and his dress shirt, and a tie, got down on his hands and knees and put his mouth down to their greenish, mostly still brown, front lawn, and promptly ripped up some blades of grass in his teeth. Continuing his pretending to be a horse, he told, fighting the urge to spit out the grass, "Yummy, some grass. I think I'll eat some," and without looking directly into his son's face he asked him, "Is grass a plant or an animal?"
And the boy yelled out, "Plant!"
"So, the question is, is a horse is a horse a carnivore or an…?" William waited for it to click, gladly letting most of the grass fall out as he asked it.
"Herb-vore!" William Jr. said proudly, for he knew he'd gotten it right.
"Now let's do some ZOO animals," William suggested. He planned on telling a joke, and he hoped Julia was still watching, for she would understand it, even though there was a good chance that young William Jr. would not, for most likely two-and-a-half years old was simply too young to understand the humor in a pun.
"I think YOU…" he pointed at his son, encouraging him to play along, "are a BIG carnivore from the zoo," he started. And then he unexpectedly laid down on his back, and then he took hold of the small boy and lifted him high up above him with his strong arms extended out straight as he lay in the grass, and he said, loudly, for Julia's benefit, "You're a lion," and he then he brought his son down on top of his chest, and he teased, "That is if you 'LIE-ON' your Daddy," and he squeezed and growled and he rocked, feigning being attacked by the bog-boy carnivore on top of him. And the boy giggled with delight. And William pushed at his wife, calling out to her, "Look Julia, William Jr. is a LIE – ON!"
And Julia laughed, and then she thought of a marvelous pun of her own, and her playfulness bloomed. Spurred to do it, she rushed out to them, her husband and son rolling about on the grass, and she squatted down next to them, and they both looked up at her, surprised and happy that she was there with them. Reaching in to take a hold of her husband's tie, she told, "And, Little One, if you pull on Daddy's tie, and you growl, you can be a…" and Julia pulled, and she growled through her gritted teeth, "Grr. Grr…" Hopeful, she looked to their faces… her pun failing, she saw nothing. "Really?" she asked, then one more time, she tugged roughly at William's tie, zigzagging it back and forth while growling. "I'm a TIE – Grr, am I not? A Tie-gur?" she settled for telling her own punchline, a sure sign of a joke that was a flop, "Get it?" she still wanted some glory.
William Jr. didn't care if he got it or not, he wanted to be a tie-gur too! So he took a turn pulling at his Daddy's tie and growling.
Julia chimed in, through her big smile, "Well, you be the Tie-Gur on Daddy, Little One, and I'll be the Lie-On!" and she pounced, and William groaned, feigning pain, and they rolled all together in a tangled bunch, and they wriggled, and they growled, and they laughed, and then they lay still, on top of William's Jr.'s Daddy, who was exhausted and out of breath, and the laughter died down, and they lay still, together, for a moment, looking up into the clear blue sky with the sun getting low, and they were so, so happy.
William remembered the Animal game, and said, through his still hurried breaths, "And son, are lions and tigers herbivores or carnivores?"
Julia helped, "Do they eat plants or animals, sweetie?"
"Animals, so carn-vores?" William Jr. asked it at the end.
"Carnivores! Yes, they're carnivores," William smiled gleefully. Then he sat up, dropping his family members to tumble all about. "Now!" he signaled he would move on, "How about an anteater?" he asked, and William Henry Murdoch, once again, got down on all fours, and he put one arm to stick out, long and thin, to appear to be extended from his face, looking like an…
"William!" Julia giggled at him, "You look more like an elephant."
"No. No," he insisted, "This is my anteater long snout, not a trunk. And I use to eat…?"
Julia stood her son up on his feet, sensing he would want to roughhouse more with his Daddy soon enough. "What do ANTeaters eat?" Julia asked him, close to his ear, like it was a secret hint between them.
"Ants!" he called it out.
William continued to crawl around, trying to be an anteater – quite poorly, Julia thought. His ridiculous anteater snout arm poking down hunting through the grass for ants, William asked, "And bugs aren't plants, so I'm not an herbivore. It must be a…"
The parents both looked expectedly at their son. Oh! He got it!
And the little boy's face brightened, and William Jr. shouted, "Bug-ore!"
And William laughed and looked at Julia and said, "Well, the Inspector might say so…"
And she laughed harder, and his heart ignited. And she just had to try to top his joke, so she said, stretching the double-meaning of the two words and knowing she was doing it, and so wishing to hear William's pained groan in response, "Well, what does Inspector Brackenreid know. He's just an…" and oh how that pause teased her husband, and William readied for her incoming, unavoidable now, most surely to be bad, bad pun. "Inspect-i-vore!" she spurted the word out and then fell into laughter at her own joke…
And so delightful William complained, "Ohhh, that is awful," and he shook his head at her, and then he joined with a chuckle.
And off on the side of it all, William Jr. watched them, and he felt happy, and then he felt left out, and so he attacked his Daddy, for no good reason he could think of, except that he wanted to play too.
And his smart, smart Daddy saw him coming, and he caught him, and he suddenly wasn't an anteater anymore, because they were so, so tall.
William spun the toddler around, and tossed him about, thoroughly enjoying, both William AND Julia, thoroughly enjoying, their little boy's squeals and shrieks and giggles. "On with the game," the Daddy commanded. "Now you are a hawk. A bird of prey. You eat little animals you see scurrying about down below on the ground, using your keen eyesight…"
"Carnivore!" somehow the little one got the word out through all those squeals and giggles.
"Excellent!" his Daddy declared. And then William marched them over to one of the trees in the front yard.
He lifted his son high up into the tree, thinking it was unfortunate that it was too early in the springtime for there to be leaves growing on it. He started giving his clues, "This animal eats leaves. And the longer its neck, the more leaves it can reach…"
"Giraffe!" William Jr. screamed it out.
"That's a hard one to say!" Julia exclaimed proudly.
"Herb-vore Daddy," he said. Having a wonderful time, he wanted more. "What animal next?" he screeched his question impatiently.
"A monkey," William thought, "Perfect so close to the tree." With a quick glance to Julia first, part of his brain alerting that she would not like it, he guided his young son to a branch and he said, "Next is a monkey. They climb up into the trees to find fruits…"
And William Henry Lionel Murdoch Jr., being the son of these two particular parents, boldly swung and pulled and lifted and climbed himself high, high, high up into that tree, at record speed.
"William!" Julia cried, "He's too high!" Her eyes bore into her husband's, causing his pupils to dilate with fear and worry. "You must go get him!" she insisted, bolting her husband, his amazing lumberjack skills always, always impressing her, into full speed up the tree.
Within mere seconds, William Jr.'s father was right there, right there behind him, closer than his shadow.
"You climbed very high, Little Man," he said to his son.
"Like a monkey," the boy declared – a simple statement of fact, as the boy saw it.
"Yes," his Daddy said, "Like a very good monkey, indeed." Knowing full well that down was harder than up, William reached over from his branch and took his son in his arms and pulled him close to his chest. "Hang on to me now, hmm… We'll go down. Then try another animal." He began his way down, holding tight to the boy. A glance to Julia down below – she was still worried, so he reassured her, "He's fine… our little monkey."
She sighed, then answered him, "Yes."
Closer, almost down now, she heard him ask, "So, monkeys eat fruit, so are they herbivores or carnivores?"
Too easy that one, William Jr. answered, "Herb-vores Daddy."
"Good," his Daddy replied.
Once on the ground, he handed her son over to her to hug and treasure and coddle, just a bit, after her scare. The family returned to sit together on the grass.
Soon, Eloise came to the front door and called out to them that dinner was ready.
Julia Ogden caught her husband's eye, a devilish, Mona-Lisa smile, on her face, and he chuckled seeing it. He warned his little son, knowing full well that, whatever her pun would be, this little boy would not be able to grasp it, but using the boy to sound his complaint ahead of time, "Your Mommy is about to tell another bad joke, Little Man."
And Julia stalled, for this pun needed a bit of organizing first. Then she said, "So, William Jr., if Eloise asks you what kind of toast you want with your supper, Daddy and I both know you don't like rye. And so, if she asks you if you want rye, you would say…"
William Jr.'s big, brown, Williamy eyes looked pleadingly into his mother's face and then his father's…
He was not going to say it…
Julia folded briefly into a giggle, admitting wholly that the joke was not good. Through the laughing, she said, "Rye-No, you would say rhino…"
And William moaned so deliciously…
And she giggled, "It's funny!"
And then, mischievously, cockily, William pushed her down into the grass and then and he lay himself on top of her, and whispered in her ear, through his big smile, shaping his words, "Oh, you have GOT to stop!" And, "My God!" the breath rushed out of him, for she was so beautiful. And William wanted, so very much, to fully 'lion her,' and to have her 'tie grr underneath him,' and to growl and purr in his ear. And for a moment, he felt her melting into him. And he almost kissed her, but her eyes changed, and she wrinkled a corner of her mouth at him – sorry… And he wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her, accepting it.
"Shall we go to dinner?" he offered, lifting his weight off of her, holding a hand down to help her up.
"Healing took time," he told himself, "And I am a patient man." And he felt it in his own heart, there had been a bit of healing. A glance to the sky, as they walked into the house, William Jr. in his arms, his soulmate at his side, William looked up to the heavens and he thanked God.
) ( Stumbling in the Dark
Julia had recovered surprisingly well after her upset yesterday, and, even though it was a Saturday, with a new body in morgue, they were going into work. Claire-Marie had come in after breakfast and would be taking William Jr. over to play with his little friend, Alice. William and Julia had already seen them off, and now they were dressing for the day upstairs in their bedroom.
From across the room, William noticed Julia watching him in the mirror. He had been distracted by the task of choosing a tie. He had finally decided on a black one with polka-dots, lifting it up over his head and around his neck, and then beginning to tuck one end under the other.
He watched her in the reflection as she stood from her vanity and approached. There was a sexy air to her way of moving, her expression, and he was feeling himself tugged by it.
She stopped intimately close to him, her eyes dropped down onto his hands, following the motion of his tie. As she took control of tying it from him, she teased, "A nice choice, William. Though I do prefer the one you wore with your birthday suit all those years ago," and she giggled, thinking back to the somewhat astounding time that William Murdoch had been bold enough to wait for her in their hotel suite with nothing on his gorgeously naked body except his plain, black tie. How marvelous it had been to surprise him by showing up with one of her friends, rather than alone, as he had expected. Absolutely delicious, his scrambling to rush to close their bedroom door upon hearing another voice with her as she unlocked their hotel-suite door.
William was certain she was signaling that she was ready to resume their lovemaking – "It was now passed the six weeks healing time that Isaac had suggested," the optimistic reminder came to him.
Finished tying the knot, Julia stroked her hands down his chest through his shirt, igniting his groin with a rush. He took her chin with his fingers, an undeniably romantic look in eyes. William raced ahead inside his head, thinking to himself that they were not set on a specific schedule at work today – they could…"
"I'm sorry…" she glanced away and then back at him, "Um, about the cold-room, yesterday. It slowed you down, I know… on your cases." An unexpected and disturbingly niggling feeling of shame over the incident gurgled in her gut…
"Perhaps we will be slowed down today as well," William rumbled, and then tilted his head, leaned closer, and closed his eyes as he tried to kiss her.
Surprising them both, Julia pulled away. It would be hard to say which one of them looked more stunned as they looked into each other's eyes, both of them wanting to understand what had just happened.
Julia swallowed and darted her eyes away with a jolt, for she was clearly at fault. She had most assuredly just given him mixed signals, and she herself was puzzled by her reaction. At first, all she could think of to do was to apologize. "Oh my," she gasped at herself, quickly adding, "I'm sorry William," backing away even more.
For his part, William had done what he usually did in this type of situation – he had thrown up his defensive walls, and as a result, he looked back at her now, wholly blank. Underneath those shields, though, he was aware of being embarrassed, and just in that second, he noticed the heat of his blush cover his face, for he, gentlemanly and thoughtful and respectful William Murdoch, suddenly saw himself as being flesh-hungry, vulgar, and lewd, as a revoltingly typical and disgusting MAN in her eyes.
Julia, of course, regretted making him feel that way, and proceeded to profusely apologize even more. "I'm so sorry. I… I don't know why I… I'm very sorry, William…"
He tried to speak, the only thing coming to mind being to appease her concerns, "It's alright, Jul…"
But they both knew it wasn't alright…
And she knew she needed to offer an explanation, so only the truth of it rolled out between them, "I just… I just don't FEEL that way, anymore."
And the fact of it seemed so impossible it couldn't quite get in. "She doesn't "feel" that way anymore!?" William's head hurt with the thought. "What!? She doesn't love me anymore? She doesn't feel attracted to me anymore…?!" he tried to grasp it. But it completely took the air out of him, punched him in the gut.
William coped, minimized her statement by saying, "You need more time," as if it were simply a fact.
"Yes," she answered, "I suppose," her added admission of her uncertainty being the only way to be honest with him. In the back of her mind though, a troubling suggestion arose – "Maybe you're afraid to get pregnant again…?"
She walked away from him, back over to her vanity. "That must be it," she said, trying to talk herself into believing it.
She sat and caught her own eyes in the mirror, looking for the doctor, the scientist, in her – the capable and confident one who could handle anything. Rational, and logical, she told herself that she was being unreasonable – Isaac had said, and she knew it was true, she was truly sterile now. There was too much scar tissue in her uterus now. She needed to believe it. William was right, she needed to move on. A deep breath, she returned to locating her earrings.
)
Later that night, William made an effort to re-connect with her, bravely bringing up the awkward and troubling attempted kiss, and its subsequent rejection. As they dressed for bed, he told her, "Julia, I want you to know, there is no pressure…err, on you, from me."
She did so love this man, she thought to herself as she looked into his worried eyes.
She walked close to him and reassured, "I know that, William. I know you wouldn't…" For a brief moment, she thought about really addressing the issue, in herself, between the two of them, and she realized that THAT was what she was not actually ready for yet. Facing the truth of it meant that there was a dead certainty that they would have no more children. And that made the death of Mary Susannah even more heartbreaking – that beautiful little baby had been their last, their only, chance to have any more. Even their adoption attempts had failed. She sighed, for she was beyond disappointed, and she knew what she had just given him would not offer any solutions. And then, erupting a sickening twitch in her gut, she felt the conflict of her own confounding confusion, for a part of her wished and dreaded that that FACT, the fact of her not having any more children, a part of her thought that it might not be true, and that impossible hope – it terrified her.
But right now, right now… so much, she wanted him to just hold her and to tell her it would be alright, and so she disclosed her feelings, unable to confront their causes. "I feel so broken, so lost, so vulnerable… William. Like I'll never regain my footing again," she glanced away. It was so slight, so subtle, her lean towards him.
It was enough though, for him to sense what she needed from him. "Hold on to me," he said, and he opened his arms to her, offering everything he had, and he wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her, and repeated, softer this time, "Then hold on to me, for now," hoping it was enough.
Unable to do it without crying, her face wrinkled into tears and she let herself fall into him.
"You know I'm going to love you forever," he whispered into her sweet-smelling hair.
She nodded into his shoulder. She did. She did. On some level, very far inside, she did.
) ( Little Things as Reminders of Before
Mr. Ducharme phoned Stationhouse #4 and left a message for Detective Murdoch. Julia's crystal rainbow necklace had finally arrived. Nearly two months since her miscarriage, William wondered if he dared give it to her, for it seemed a lifetime ago that she had awoken to marvel at the beauty of the little rainbow on their bedroom wall.
) ( One There, Knot the Other
In the shower, regretfully alone – without her, memories, luscious, luscious flashes of lusty delight, flared William's groin to alert. A big exhale, he worked to push the engorging feelings away. Stuck in the pleasant memories, however, his eyes remained affixed to the cascading floods and droplets of steamy-warm water pouring down over the white-tiled shower wall. Wham, the tremendous feelings slammed into him, remembering her gorgeous, soaking-wet, jiggly, "so soft," body right there in front of him. The taste of her, wet, in his mouth, all over his tongue. Her moan in his ear, those long, long supple legs of hers wrapping around him, luring him… Squeezing and squishing her sweet juicy succulence all over him…
Tearing himself away, he turned around, rinsed the soap away from his back. "Stitches don't hurt anymore," he noted to himself, trying to think of something else, anything else. And then, intrusively, the agonizing image of his seeing tiny, tiny, still, little Mary Susannah in that hospital prep room appeared.
Enough! William opened the standing bath door and moved away. The remnants of his sexual thoughts lingered, down lower, and he hurried to cover himself with a towel. He caught himself in the foggy bathroom mirror, saw his own frown. He had to swallow, bury down an unexpected wave of feeling sorry for himself. Intolerable – self-pity.
) (
William awoke first, his own dreamed, abandoned, powerful, thrusting had breached the realms between wake and sleep. "Again," he noted, with a hint of shame and disappointment to himself, about another one of his lustful dreams. It was undeniable though, his longing, his pining to be with his wife in that one, specific way. It was morning, early morning… daybreak. He turned, Julia still asleep beside him. His eyes traveled to the wall behind her, where he had used two of his adhesive strips to stick her crystal rainbow necklace to the wall. He had nearly placed it exactly right, he noted, the Sun's rays through the window blinds, now, shining its small rainbow only half an inch above the necklace. It had been there for two days. She had not seen it. His sigh sounded, solemn, somber, in the room.
Julia was under a dark cloud, and there is a need for light, in order for one to see a rainbow…
) ( Eruption
The third day the necklace waited on the wall, William woke up, again, in the midst of dreaming about making love to her. His body was in that luscious state of hard, and strong, and overflowing with enormous wanting. Julia was asleep next to him, lying facing away from him, her back to him. Her fiery curls wisped all over her pillow, and his eyes were drawn down to the creamy flesh of her neck, exposed, open. He almost chuckled out loud to himself, thinking back to Julia having had described the attraction of Dracula, of the vampire's bite, to him as they stood together, too close really, for she was engaged to another, in her morgue years ago. He heard her breathy voice all over again in his mind, saw the image of her, so stunning, "That's the way the mating dance works, isn't it?" she had said to him, "The female sends out her signals and the male reacts. She'll toss back her hair, expose her neck, her most vulnerable aspect…"
William tried to push the thoughts away, she had given him no signals that she was ready…
Demanding, insistent, his mind lured at him, suggesting he reconsider, sending him a memory from that same time, tempting him with Julia's own words, with her seductively sideways glances. There was a deliciousness to the memory that summoned his most primitive urges, "A vampire represents something savage and forbidden. He demands her complete surrender. Some women long for uninhibited romance… I've heard it said." And with it, he had lost the battle, he rolled to her. The scent of her sinking deeper into his nostrils crazed him with spinning, dizzy, scrumptious desire. His fingers stoked her hair aside. His lips hovered, a deep, deep inhale, at her edges, the slightest pause before they touched…
She awoke.
Her deeply visceral instincts, her ingrained habits, prompted Julia to reach for him, to lean backwards into him. "William," her raspy voice sleepily called.
Mm, his mouth on her, warm and wet, sucking and tugging. His hands taking, soaking every molecule of her in, pulling her to him, riding the curve of her hip, up and in with a swoop at her waist, rippled upward over each of her ribs, up to her bosoms, and his breath flared out of his nostrils, flowing, hot, down her neck, as he cupped the heavy supple moldable flesh in his fingers… Oh my God, how much he wanted to hear her make those defenseless, desperate, hungry little noises, so unprotected, so weak, so out-of-control that they escaped her throat without her permission, Julia underneath him, moaning with aching, aching need for him…
And then all of a sudden, bolting her out of her falling state, she remembered with a fright, "They had NOT. They were NOT, not since…"
And she stiffened in his arms.
And sensing the change, instantly William stopped, pulled his head back, lifted his arm away from her. His body, slightly, moved away.
Guilt, just under it, sadness, landed inside Julia. "It was unfair to him." She knew that. She steadied herself, insisted with an inner strength that there must be a way forward from this… An answer registered – She was willing to give him relief… They had done it before, pleasured each other…
She rolled over to face him, then pushed at him, her hand at his big shoulder, pushed again, adding a deep kiss to his mouth, forcing him to surrender...
William rolled for her, yielded control, rolled onto his back.
And she slipped her hand down over the cottony fabric of his pajama top, down lower, lower, to find the bulge there, waiting. Her fingers fumbled, searched for the dangling string. She tugged it loose…
A gasp from him…
Then she kissed downward, down the center of him, poking her satiny tongue in to taste, to moisten, his skin, intermittently, between each of the pajama-top buttons. When she pushed at his pajama bottoms, though, her face, her hot breath, almost there…
Abruptly, he stopped her, his hands to both of her shoulders, firmly, pushing her up off of him, ceasing her downward progression. "No…" he grunted it out, a whisper at all his might, disappointed, fighting the seeping he felt inside of a sense of betrayal. "No, not like this," he stated. And then he felt the rush of shame, and he rolled away from her, sat up on the edge of the bed. A deluge of anger swept through him, locking his jaw, gritting his teeth. "I don't want you to SERVICE me, Julia. And then a little regret, sounding with a hurried voice in is head, telling, "She was only trying…" And then such a deep sadness burned in, stole his breath away, and he wished so much that all of this wasn't so… It was too much to lose… Too much… "Julia," his voice so much softer, he told, "I want you to love me, to want me, to want me to love you, to completely wrap ourselves up in each other, like it used to be. I miss…" he dropped his hands, defeated, and suddenly he feared he might tear up. He swallowed, took a breath.
She sat up behind him, and she knew he couldn't see, but her heart too, it was breaking.
"I miss… US, Julia. I miss the way it used to be…" and then he added details that stung with their pointed potency, their memories, "I miss those little noises you make under me, and your breath catching, and the way you move, and the taste of you…" And William stopped there, for it hurt too much, and he got up, and he walked away.
He barely heard her as he went into the bathroom…
"I miss us too," she whispered.
) (
George had noticed, they were both sure of it. Constable George Crabtree had been there when Julia had come into William's office with her report, and she and William had greeted each other, colder than usual – awkward – OFF. George saw it, darted his eyes over to check William's face. It shouldn't have surprised them, this loyal sidekick of William's, now a good friend to both of them, he had detected their discord and dissention even that very first time – after she had first told William about her abortion. Another, someone who did not know them each so well, would likely not have seen it. But what had happened in bed this morning was still raw between them. And it was terribly, terribly uncomfortable. And it remained unresolved, and was therefore completely, completely troubling, and thus, they could each not get it off of their minds. And George Crabtree, he had noticed, his own pained heart the likely cause of his hurried, yet stumbling, and rambling, and uniquely clumsy, exit.
Alone now, William's frown, after his quick glance, hurt her. Pushing passed it, she tried to sound as 'normal' as possible, telling him, reminding him, "I have a class tonight, at the University."
His eyes stayed down on her closed initial report in front of him on his desk. A few moments later, Julia sighed, still waiting for a response, and becoming annoyed with his usual slowness, and somewhere off inside of her head, a kinder part of herself, a part in touch with how much she loved him, so much it could both soar her and cripple her at the same time, whispered – "Still waters, you know they run deep…"
There was a ripple, on his surface…
Pressure, blown out through William's pursed lips, he still dared not look her in the eye. "I will likely be working late tonight, as well… on this. Um…" his hand up, his fingers to massage the ache at his brow, "You shouldn't wait up…" Amazing, this pressure, he exhaled again, "Perhaps it's best if I sleep on the cou…"
Oh, she was furious – "No surprise, William Murdoch was running away again!"
"Fine!" Julia steamed, and disappeared with a huff.
And he turned to catch the last glimpse of her, her arms pumping away at her sides, and he thought to himself in her wake, that she always seemed to bail when things got toughest. And then his brain completely sunk him as he saw the memory of it appear before him from the far-off past, yet again, of the little red caboose chugging away to Buffalo, winding the corner, disappearing out of sight, only its puffs of black smoke in the sky for a moment, above the trees, dissipating, leaving him there, too late, abandoned, brokenhearted, and alone.
) ( What NOW? It all comes to a Head
So incredibly conflicted, Julia prepared for the two opposing scenarios – completely apart, she brought the bedding for him down to the couch, or completely together – she bathed and dressed seductively, nothing at all underneath her silky-thin robe. William Jr. was asleep. She was all alone, waiting. William would be late, probably very late, and she was fully aware that the reason for his lateness was avoidance rather than work, and truthfully, it had thrown her that he had reacted so severely. And so now, she waited, everything in the world precariously poised, up on a high-wire. It was terrifying to think that it could go either way.
Terrifying and also unbelievable, for she knew their love was rare, and remarkable, and precious. She considered again, how they had gotten here. Tigers and miscarriages, awful failures with trying to adopt – were all of those things her fault?
THE KEY TURNED IN THE DOOR!
He felt her there, not looking to her, as he stepped into the house. Peripheral vision as it was, however, William saw much. Julia had waited up. And it was interesting to him, how much he was relieved that she had done so, for he truly had thought that he had hoped she would not. And there was such a wallop hitting him that it momentarily soupified his brain, because William had noticedthe WAY she was dressed…the way she was dressed – or the way she was NOT dressed, nothing on but that sheer, suggestive robe. Didn't that indicate…? Well, that too, thrilled him, and frightened him as well, because it was absolutely confounding…
William's homburg to its peg, he slipped off his coat and hung it in its place as well. To move, it would be necessary to go through her, so he stayed where he was, and he kept his eyes down, down on the comfy fabric of his coat.
Long, strainingly long, this pause.
Julia would go first. She stepped closer, alert to his reaction. He did not flinch. He did not pull back. He stayed. He was waiting for her, she saw that now. Just enough, the hope.
Unbelievably difficult to find words, Julia inhaled…
And setting off that perfect secret violin-note in her heart, William's beautiful brown eyes… touched hers with a glance.
For just a miniscule beat of time, his eyes stopped her heart.
Regret, palpable, palpable regret, Julia shook her head, and words came, easier than she had thought, for she would give, she would give to him.
"I wasn't…" she started, swallowed, and started again, "I wasn't trying to service you, William," amazing how that word still stung her so much, she stepped closer to him. "I thought, I um, I thought we could make love… the way we did in the past, not perfect, I know that, but the way we did back when I was too pregnant with William Jr. for us to… um…" she said, but she had become surprisingly prudish about describing what it was exactly that she meant…
And William caught her eye again, and, ever so subtly, he nodded, and she knew that he understood, and she went on, "So I wouldn't get pregnant again, now…"
Interrupting, unexpectedly William spoke, so confused, he asked, "Now!? But Isaac said you couldn't get pregnant again…?"
"My head knows that, William, but my heart doesn't. And my heart is so broken…" Julia answered him, her face wrinkling up as she fought her tears, "It's so shattered, into a million little jagged pieces."
He was a rational man. Logic and reason, that was how he saw the world, how he lived his life. And he knew Julia to be a rational woman – for the most part, anyway. And this just didn't make any sense… the clues, the pieces, they just wouldn't line up! And at the same time, the cost of it, the burden of it, made his knees shake. And most of all, he knew she needed him, she needed him more right now than possibly she had ever needed him before…
William turned, in doing so, moving closer to her. His big eyes, caught in a peek through his lashes, first the quickest dart up to meet hers, then back down again. But he knew she had seen, in that quick glance, that she had his heart.
How the words spilled out of her, knowing that. Julia said, the whole while those magnetic blue eyes of hers pulling at him, "You are right William, we are both very different people, but we change each other. I think, we make each other better. You always wanted children, a family, a big family. I did not – I never was particularly interested, never really regretted my sterility…" She leaned closer, her voice becoming deeper, intimate, soft, "Until I fell in love with you. And then, more than I could ever have imagined, I wanted to have YOUR babies William – to have a family with you. I was completely changed. And now I find I'm inconsolable for having lost our baby. And I know you want a big family, and I know it's unreasonable, but I'm so scared… And, and my loss of libido, well…" she paused, considering it, "It's not actually lost, I feel, um… urges," she rushed on, "but they are so overwhelmed by dread and fear, because even though it makes no sense, and believe me, I know that, because the science says it's impossible, but I think I will get pregnant again, and then I would most certainly lose that little baby too. And I just can't…"
"Contraception again… Perhaps she was asking for them to use contraception again?" William thought to himself, not much fond of the idea – especially when it was not actually needed, he battled, off on some sidetrack in his fast brain, but he would do anything for her, he always would have… And then a warning voice piped in, that inner-voice of his that always insisted on his being true – "Not Constance Gardiner, though. Not give up your faith…" And suddenly he saw himself as so imperfect, so small and feeble and incapable of coping…
Julia continued, seeming so much calmer now, "And I know you want us to try again, to adopt a baby." Nearer still, with another step. "And I don't think I can take it – the vicious attacks on my character from the press, all over again… Truthfully, I feel so worthless…"
"Adoption – she too, has considered it again!" William's brain screamed the good news at himself, missing the last part of what Julia had just said, about her not being able to take it, and feeling worthless. William's face beamed as he lifted his head and looked into her eyes…
Was it a step, or just a lean, he felt so close…?
William swallowed, and worked to slow his speech, "I was thinking," he said, sounding calm, rational, yet rejuvenated too. He took another breath, then went on, "I could ask Father Keegan – to help us… I thought of it after talking to him, after he helped us with…" And William stopped himself from bringing up burying Mary, and steered back to the topic he had intended – that of adopting another baby, "I could ask him to look for an orphanage for us, up in Nova Scotia, so no one need know…"
To Julia, it suddenly seemed possible, but instead of joy and hope, all she felt was fear. Her eyes tugged at his as they darkened, and her mouth dropped opened, agape, speechlessness looming as her heart sunk inside her chest, and she saw it in William's face, pulling him down with her. She needed to explain. He wouldn't understand… And as she readied to explain, she felt the depth, the magnitude, of the hurting inside of her, and she felt as if she had found the deepest treasure, the kernel of the truth. Odd – the awe and mystery in that… Essential – to share it with him.
Her step to him this time, it crossed the boundary somehow, between separate and together. THIS was heart-to-heart, eclipsed, gravitational, dangerous and powerful.
She inhaled, tighter, the linking of their eyes. "I think I'll never be able to love a baby properly again, William," she said, the squeak in her voice betraying her dread, "Not after losing Mary. And I worry for William Jr…, for he has no other mother except for ME, and now I am so wounded. It makes me feel utterly incapable. And…" she was pleading desperately with him now, "And, even if we are ever fortunate enough to find a baby to adopt…" she shook her head, tears welling so thick and luminous in her eyes, "I… I don't think I could ever love another baby. I don't think I…"
Finally touching her, he put his hands to her shoulders, and with his breath breezing over her, warm, and safe, William, being guided by a subconscious wisdom, once imparted to him in a dream long ago, the perfect words floated up into his mind, and William said, "We never love the same way twice, Julia. But you will love again. Love is like gravity – you have to let yourself fall."
And then it just happened, she fell – she fell head-over-heels in love with him all over again. She trusted. She trusted the world with her heart again. She trusted him again, she trusted herself – that was astounding… and she trusted that they would find a way in the world, as long as they were together. And all of a sudden, she just needed, so desperately, to be WITH him, to be with William Henry Murdoch, mind, body and soul…
Like two perfectly matched puzzle pieces, almost, not yet, but so close, almost, like two magnets perfectly aligned and feeling the immense pull almost clicking them into place, longing, yearning, pining, to touch, wishing in the whirlwind of that forceful pull, to be one, she whispered, weak, collapsing, "William…"
And in a heated fury, they crashed together and he kissed her, his warm, soft lips to hers, her mouth just the tiniest bit opened, the silkiness of her tongue promised. "Not yet," a secret whisper, lengthening the wait.
Julia's head tilted away, her lips kissed along his jaw. "Sorry," she whispered in his ear. "I love you so much it hurts, sometimes," she whispered next. "Sorry, I'm so sorry, Wil…"
He shushed her, "Shh. I'm sorry too."
The silky sash around her waist, tugged… slipped away.
Thundering, her whimpered gasp of wanting…
And William melted, and spun, spurred into a fury by her delicate whimper, one of those delicious little noises she makes, urging him on.
His hand, in, under the satiny fabric, sliding up, big, across the smoothness of her bare back, pressed in, held her tight in place, claiming, demanding and yet so tender that it rendered her putty in his hands.
She reached, rushed, fumbled at his top trouser button.
"CONTRACEPTION!" the word blared into his mind, "She had wanted to avoid…"
William's hands cloaked hers, stopping her.
"Julia…"
He was so deliciously out of breath…
"Julia…"
Her mouth ravaged his neck, his manly jaw, took his lips. Deep, wild, savage, her kiss.
He broke free. "Julia, I think we should talk about where this is heading…"
Her voice was raspy as she answered him, "I'm quite happy with where we're heading, William. Truly, I REALLY, REALLY want to," she tried to assure him she was no longer worried, and she returned again to the task of undoing his trousers.
The battle inside him, to be good, struggled heartily against taking what he wanted, and certainly what it appeared she wanted too, so very, very badly. He grunted, withstanding the stress of it, "No. No, that wasn't what I meant." And he tried to find actual words – he knew there were words… Finally, breathless upon the discovery, he pulled back and said, "I was talking about precautions."
"Precautions…?" puzzled, Julia suddenly was a bit lost.
"Yes. I mean, didn't you want us to… to be certain…" he asked, such a good and responsible man, "Uh, in order not to…?"
"Oh, you mean..." the understanding came, arriving from out there, somewhere, in the scrumptious, lusty fog.
"Yes. Prophylactics. Or perhaps you have something else, perhaps something more modern…?" he confirmed his meaning.
"Oh, I don't think we'll be needing any, William," she fell back into him, tugged him hard into her. Wonderful her kiss, her explanation lingered after it, floated, then slipped away, "I feel safe now."
The only battle left was between fast and slow, affecting which of William's remaining clothing hit the floor, how fast or how slowly the various items met that fate. William and Julia raced for that perfect spot, as if reaching it, touching it, was the only thing that mattered in all of the entire world.
Tears had already filled Julia's eyes even before he had fully taken her. Wrapped around him, thoroughly and completely entangled, he finally, finally began, lusciously to be greeted with a magnificent moan that stole every drop of blood from his brain, and they lunged and strove with all their might, with every speck of themselves, to implode, to detonate, the erupt blissful euphoria together, straining, aching to reach that moment right before, to feel that delicious float, weightless in each other's arms as the world shifted, tilted, turned, the colossal wave overcoming them, inevitable and huge, and… so… unfathomably… GOOD, lifting them, dropping them, catapulting them, rocketing them, spilling into them to roll and rumble through each and every one of their cells, filling them up so completely with sweetness that they were certain never to survive it.
Heartbeats pounding… That was so good… Lungs straining… Please, please never stop…
The world slowed, as William stretched for that last delicious ripple. She noticed it, just before she fell into inconsolable sobs, he was crying too…
And it was so, because touching your very being, your purest essence, to something so honest and sincere as was their love, it touched to their core, and what was found there, their truth, sometimes, sometimes, it included sorrow. But, because of that touch, it was sorrow endured together, and together, these two were remarkably strong. That night, that moment, healing, deep and cathartic, had happened.
)
William knew that healing occurred over time – that there were spurts and stops, that at times it was one step forward and another step back. He had drifted off to sleep that night reminding himself to be patient, to be patient with her, to be patient with himself. It would come.
) ( On the Other Side of the Aftermath of the Tiger
Obscured, the dawning light this morning lacked its usual glow. They both knew it from within their slumber, had heard it in their sleep – there had been a storm. The lightning, and with it, it's shadow, the thunder, now flashed and rolled on the other side of doppler effect, stretching and stretching further away, harder and harder to hear, longer and longer between each strike, each rumble growing lower and lower in pitch. Sleeping together in their bed, both William and Julia subconsciously sensed that they had weathered the worst of the storm.
In the midst of a dream, Julia saw the pretty star-like raindrops filling the sky, falling from the sky, from the ceiling, landing, plopping into puddles on the floor, splattering, sprinkling, crystal-clear and pure. And she felt a freshness, a newness, a rebirth with her next breath, spring air, spring rain. And, in that pleasantness, breathing in that promise, she awoke.
Listening… William's breathing, like the moon's rhythmical waves rolling up on the shore, told her he was still sound asleep. She lied there, content, content in knowing that they were once again fully united, and she marveled, wondered, at the human psyche – her psyche, somehow just a 'click,' an unexpected, unanticipated, out of your control, switch, and healing had come, grief had begun to be lifted. Left inside, where the trauma had damaged the heart, the hurt would always be there. It would ache, sear, if she moved the right way, for it was forever a part of her. But, she was out from under it now.
A sparkle, for a second, off to the side, she thought, it had a feeling of a memory, a memory from before. It breezed in her mind – "On the wall…"
Turning to see, knowing it wouldn't be there, on some level already accepting the disappointment – for her logic told her that it was raining outside, and that meant that there was no light shining through the window blind, and such beauty that she sought was not possible without that light…
Such joy at the sight on the wall that her breath was gasped into flight.
"Odd, and beautiful, and magical… and William, William…! William Murdoch had made a rainbow, an impossible, impossible, rainbow, on the wall."
"William. William…" her words fluttered into him.
Julia woke him.
Those flooring, world-spinning eyes of his, met hers.
"You made me a rainbow," she whispered to him. And she waited for understanding to come to his face.
"Oh," he said, his voice scratchy from such deep sleep. "It's a crystal necklace. Do you like it?"
"Yes," she answered simply, settling her head down in its spot on his chest.
William's mind traveled, becoming aware of the rain drumming down on the roof, and its pattering at the window pane. He remembered standing in his stocking feet up on the hospital roof in the pouring downfall, and he remembered the morning after the Tiger – that she had seen the tiny rainbow shining on the wall and she had become wholeheartedly enamored with it. And then he remembered that those two days were the SAME day, and he heard himself sigh. But he had her, completely, Julia was with him again, and that filled him with such a profound gratitude that his heart sung, and his eyes grew hot with the threat of tears. And he thanked God, and then he realized he had his Faith with him as well, wholly. He had come through to the other side intact, through the ordeal with the Tiger, and with losing their unborn baby daughter, and with putting that sweet, innocent child to rest as she needed to be in order to be safe, and also with the raging through an epic fight with Julia, one that had shaken each of them to their cores, thoroughly drowning them both, and that through trusting in gravity to bring them to the surface, where they could breathe again, knowing deep down that if they could just ride it out, survive long enough to find each other on the other side, they would be alright – and they had, and that brought him enormous joy. And then he thought of Noah and his Ark, and he remembered again, being up on the roof, for he had thought of Noah's Ark then too.
"Tick," an internal little click of a sound that was only made with connection. With it, William thought of the covenant told of with the Bible story. "Oh," something deep inside of him sounded, "That's amazing," it came in a whisper. William considered telling her, telling Julia about Genesis, Chapter 9 in the Bible, and God's rainbow covenant with Noah, with Noah and his sons, and all his descendants and with all of the creatures of the world, springing forth from those that survived God's own deluging storm of 40 days and 40 nights on the Ark. He remembered she had said to him once, when they sat together in Church, that she was not a heathen, that she had read the Bible, and so she would surely know of the myriad stories of God inflicting trauma upon his flock. But he wondered if she remembered the covenant God had made with Noah – he wondered, "Did Julia know about the rainbow?"
"Julia," he broke their contented silence, "Did you know that God made a covenant with Noah and all the living creatures on the Earth after he had flooded the world…"
She lifted her head and she searched his face in the dim light. She resisted the urge to become sour with his bringing up the Bible when she had been feeling so good. "A covenant?" she asked.
"Beautiful," he heard himself note as he found her eyes. "Yes," he responded, "God made a covenant with Noah and the descendants of all other creatures that had been on the Ark. In it HE vowed to never again create a flood to destroy the earth…"
"God felt regret?" she asked, then fretted to herself, "so much for hiding your skepticism."
William sighed. And then he frowned. "I cannot claim to know the emotions of God, Julia," he tried not to complain, "Only what is written. And what is written is very pertinent to…" William paused. "Julia," his voice had regained its enthusiasm, "God made a devastating, earthshattering storm that destroyed the Earth, all the creatures gone, except for those on Noah's Ark. And then he made a covenant with the survivors that told that he would never do it again…" William shifted to line their faces up with each other, each lying on their sides. She saw a gleam in his eye. "God said that He had set HIS rainbow in the cloud, and it would forever forward be the sign of that covenant," William told the amazing part. His fingers grasped a wisp of her hair. "See? God and science, and something awe-inspiring about the human spirit, all just there – in that simple symbol of survival – in the rainbow. It reminds us that even behind the thickest, blackest, clouds, there is Sun. Even in the darkest night, the Sun shines on the other side of the world. It will come. It is there. Always. The Earth will turn to face it again, the clouds will cry out all of their tears and fade away."
"William," Julia wavered, not wanting to pop his bubble, but she, too, had an inner-voice that guided her to be true. "We can't see the world as fairytales and rainbows."
He sighed, but his spirits remained undampened. "No. No, of course not. But we can see it as INCLUDING fairytales and rainbows, can we not? There is day and there is night, and there is rain and there is sunshine. You… we… have been caught in the dark, under a dark cloud, for good reason, but there is also, at the same time, undeniably, light. It is there, even if we cannot see it."
"True," she gave, for she saw the wisdom of embracing, opening yourself, to the undeniable reality that what often appears as black and white was really only shades of gray, and she smiled and hugged him tight, for she also knew that, with William Murdoch at her side, truthfully, the world consisted of a whole rainbow of colors.
William rolled them to bring her to lie her head down, once more, upon his chest, and they laid together listening to the remnants of the rainstorm. Soon William Jr.'s little knocks would come at their door. Life, in the aftermath of the Tiger, went on.
) (
Yes, it's true, that now the Sun would be shining on them once again, and they were fortunate because the press, the pressure, was off of them, for now, for their illegal use of prophylactics in the past. And thus, they need not worry about the world discovering, for now, that Julia had had an abortion, nor that William himself, despite being a devout Catholic, had requested her to have two more. He could only be grateful that she had resisted doing so, and that the carrying of those two children in her scarred-up womb had not cost them her life. They had survived the loss of their unborn child. Perhaps they would be able to adopt a child with Father Keegan's help – perhaps they would not. So much was uncertain. But there was one thing William had always known, since the moment he had jumped into her big, bright, fiery, balloon all those years ago, and they had trusted the wind, trusted their love. He knew that thunderstorms would come, and William Henry Murdoch also now knew, without a doubt, that when they did, he would choose the LADY, and he would fight any Tiger, even be it the one inside of himself, to be with her, for she was the ONE for him… I mean, even Constable Henry Higgins knew that.
)) ((
Nearly half a year later, over to the east of Toronto, in Halifax, Nova Scotia, a young copper was killed. He was a brave man, he had been a good man, running to help someone he had never met who was in trouble. He left behind two young daughters, the youngest born at about the same time that William and Julia had placed the ashes of their beloved Mary Susannah underneath their 'Heart Tree.' News of the tragedy had never made it to Toronto. William and Julia had never heard.
Only a short time after shouldering the loss of their father, these two little girls would also lose their mother, as she succumbed to a deadly illness in the night. More than anything imaginable, it had broken their mother's heart to have to leave her two tiny daughters all alone in the world. Too much to ask, their mother had had no choice, as she lay dying in their impoverished home, but to entrust her eldest little child, only a toddler herself at the time, with watching over her tiny infant sister. She took solace in the fact that her two little girls would always have each other.
Fate, or God, or possibly just dumb Luck, or the maybe even the Stars, would end up bringing these lifepaths together. It would be in their connecting that these two little girls, and William and Julia, and William Jr. too, and even, someday, a dog named Moose, would all make up that 'big' family William had always dreamed of. In their touching each other, each and every one of them would be forever deeply changed. Their lives would grow to be strong, and meaningful, and vibrant, because, even though all of them had lost so much, and they would never be the same because of their traumas, traumas that had made serious scars, scars they would each need to heal around, in the aftermath of such traumas, since there is survival, and being alive means growing, there would also be NEW GROWTH. That's how life is. Even under the harshest of storms, somewhere in the world, there is a rainbow. And rainbows need both water and light to exist, just as does life. And it is from our encounters with dilemmas, dilemmas like in this story, between one's Lady, or one's Tiger, that we have learned that, whether from God or from science, or possibly even from both somehow, knowing about rainbows in the world can help you get to the other side of the aftermath of any Tiger-trauma.
And down here on the Earth, under God's Heavens, and below those fateful stars, it would be Father Keegan who would be the bridge that would be a major part of the nitty-gritty details that would bring the lives of ALL these Murdoch's together. William had learned much of his values from Father Keegan when he was young. He had learned that one could not trust in their heart alone, and that truth was the rock upon which we all must stand. William had used these words as guidelines to recall whenever he had a difficult decision to make.
Father Keegan had disappointed William in not living up to these ideals, himself, in the end. When that day had arrived, William had been forced to come to see his hero to be what he truly was, just a man, fallible as the next. But the mentor had also imparted pertinent words of wisdom in his admission, in that falling from the pedestal William had placed him upon, as well. Father Keegan had said that it all came down to keeping your conscience, in the end.
Encounters with life-altering dilemmas, like those of 'the Lady, or the Tiger,' center around making difficult decisions. And, if we learn from Father Keegan and from William, we see that all important decisions are about conscience. And so, what we see when we look at our heroes, and their struggles and their decisions between the Lady or the Tiger, is a window into their conscience. When we are lucky, if the timing and the lighting is just right, we see into their souls. This is what I hope I have helped you to do in this story. I hope you enjoyed it, and I thank you for coming along for the ride. It has been a truly epic one… has it not?
Romantic Nerd
Storyteller Notes:
*Perhaps Julia would have lost her unborn baby even if she had not been traumatized by her encounter with the Tiger. But, so too, miscarriage suffered in such an aftermath is not all that uncommon. In a study conducted on the effects of the September 11th terrorist attacks on miscarriages of male fetuses in the USA, it was shown that there was a 10% increase in miscarriages in the few weeks following the attack.
**Related to this, there is another remarkable tree in the world, one that teaches about important values as do Newton's Apple Tree, and George Washington's Cherry Tree, and the Buddha's inspirationally simple bodhi tree. This special tree is a pear tree, now known as the '911 Survivor Tree.' It celebrates resilience, much as does William and Julia's 'Heart Tree,' and William's knurly tree in the pasture that had grown around a fence that had blocked its way. The Survivor Tree was one of many that was at the World Trade Center during the collapse of the Twin Towers on 9/11/2001. It was discovered in the rubble nearly a month after the traumatic day and was nursed back to health. Leafless, dead branches, the buried tree was covered in chunks of concrete, dust, and ash, and filled with traces of decimated human life. Now, it flowers every spring on the rebuilt site, albeit with noticeably less blooms on the side of it that faced the destruction – the side with the worst scars. A children's poem, written from the tree's perspective, tells of its aftermath – of its NEW GROWTH:
"You can see in my trunk where I go light from dark,
where my limbs were reborn, where I grew brand-new bark.
My blossoms remind us how strong we all are.
I'm a living reminder how we rose from the dark.
With the power of hope, there's just one way to sum it:
There's nothing so bad, that we can't overcome it."
***Thanks to RuthieGreene for sharing thoughtful discussions about Catholicism in the early 1900s, and baptism, and cremation, all in the light of considering two extraordinary parents like our heroes in this story, William Murdoch and Julia Ogden.
