Lovers' Lullaby
Of course the baby was BJ's. It had to be. They'd been trying ever since he got home, practically since the parking lot at San Fran airport where he'd landed. They were desperate to get back to normal, and a baby seemed like the most normal thing in the world.
Almost a year after he'd returned to the states, BJ had been insistent that they visit his best friend, his bunk mate at the mobile army surgical hospital where he served his two years in Korea. Little did BJ know that his pal Benjamin Franklin Pierce had been his wife's first love. Hawkeye had been jarred at the sight of Peg's photos, but his growing friendship for BJ precluded any intimate revelations. And though Peg had nearly fainted when BJ's letters mentioned his new pal, "the last of the Mohicans from Maine", she had gambled on Pierce's decency, and won. At least til the last night of the Hunnicuts' visit.
Hawkeye and Peg had been coolly courteous to each other that week, and BJ, so happy to be reunited with his best friend, had not noticed the strain between them.
But the stress was wearing on Peg, and that last night she found herself unable to sleep. Rather than stay and toss her husband awake, she slipped down the stairs and out the door and onto the beach.
It was a moonless night, without a shadow stirring, and the wind off the waves billowed her hair. Hawkeye had been correct in his warning, she thought: the place was haunted by their past. As she turned to walk the sandy path, she nearly knocked into him; he had been standing so close and so silently next to her. He whipped a familiar hand over her mouth to stifle her surprised outcry.
"Shh, it's only me."
She nodded and started breathing again. "You nearly scared me to death!"
"Then we're even. You scared me, when you showed up on my porch after fifteen years," he admitted.
"You know I'm really sorry about this. It won't happen again. I'll find a way to ...to be unavailable for any future road trips," and turned from him to gaze out to sea. He settled his hands on her shoulders.
"Please, Hawkeye," she whispered.
" 'Please, Hawkeye--' " he repeated." 'Please, Hawkeye'--what? Are you asking me to love you? Or to stop loving you?"
"We agreed...we were hormone-crazed teenagers. We're supposed to be grown-up now, care about other people's feelings, not just our own pleasure. We both love BJ," she reminded him. "We can't hurt him. We agreed to honor our commitments. He'd never dream of hurting me ..."
"Well, I wouldn't be too sure about that," he muttered darkly, remembering the fall of BJ's fidelity with Nurse Carrie Baker. He wondered if he should tell Peg about it now. Then he remembered BJ's deep remorse over the incident, and kept silent.
"We have a good life now," she pleaded. "I don't want to screw that up."
"I'm glad you're happy, Peggy. And I really am glad that BJ has someone as wonderful as you. I just wish..." he trailed off into nothing. He didn't know what, or who, he wished for. "The heart wants what the heart wants," he quoted with a shrug.
"I think what you want is a little further south than your heart," she smiled sadly, remembering what BJ had written her about Hawkeye's reputation with the ladies. Any ladies. "We'll be leaving tomorrow. Things will go back to normal."
"For you."
"For you, too. I hope so."
He kicked at the sand ruefully. "Farewell scenes a specialty…"
Peg's heart began to pound so it was all she could hear, drumming inside her head. Her wrist, her throat, all her pulse points throbbed with the same ancient longing. This was insanity. This was history. This was Hawkeye, and the spell he had always woven around her. Her breathing grew so shallow and rapid, she could feel the faint coming on, the gray invading her vision, and she pitched forward into his arms, knowing he would catch her, knowing all her best intentions would be scorched to ashes once he touched her.
He caught her, deadweight, and was amazed to rediscover how fragile she felt in his arms. She was barely conscious; the choice was his now. He could bring her around, walk her back to his house, back to her sleeping husband, back to his trusting friend. Or...
"Peggy...?" he called to her gently, rousing her from the time tunnel she had descended into. "Peggy...come on, Baby...that's a girl..." he coaxed and she opened her eyes to him.
In her entire field of vision, all she could see was him in the star-studded sky. And this time, she closed her eyes deliberately and held her breath and the kiss was inevitable.
It was restrained at first; a shy and tentative brushing of lips, but she didn't turn aside, didn't push him away, and the kiss became more insistent, more possessive. Peg began to sway in his arms, and the years faded away and now she was responding instinctively, her back arching to press against him. If only...if only...but her sense fled her and there was no power under the wide velvet sky that could separate them now.
Half-pulling, half- pushing, they settled on the sand, still speechless. He curled around her like a morning-glory vine, so unlike BJ; cautious, patient, gentle BJ. Hawkeye was reckless, intense, passion-driven. The thought flew past her mind, that this was not the sweetly sensual beau of her seventeenth summer. He claimed her thoroughly, pounding out his frustration, his pain and his hunger.
They separated, gasping for breath, trying to regain composure and their senses. And when they could finally face each other again, their eyes mirrored their horror.
"God," he murmured, in an all-purpose prayer for thanksgiving and forgiveness at once. "Oh, God," he repeated. "Peggy...? are you...alright?"
She was conscience-stricken, near tears. "We have to get back to the house. Now. Right now." He reached down to give her a hand up to her feet, and she slapped it aside. "Oh, dear God," she hid her face in her hands, and rocked back and forth. "What have I done?"
"I'm sorry, Peggy," his whisper was so humbled, she scarcely recognized the voice as his "Forgive me."
Her bare feet were sinking in the sand as she stumbled up the path, trying to get ahead of him. It was April, and still chilly.
Hawkeye could almost taste the salt on her cheeks. What could have been a culmination of joy and desire was now a guilty memory. And he had forfeited any right to comfort her.
2
A few months later, when the rabbit had confirmed what she had suspected, Peg was plainly terrified. Of course it was BJ's baby, she insisted to herself. What were the odds that one single night in Maine...she refused to dwell on it, and the more she refused, the stronger the memory burned. It would be a cruel prank of Nature to replace the child she had lost 15 years ago, now.
Did she really want to know? She could phone while BJ was at his office. "Hey Hawkeye, how are you? How's the weather? What's your blood type?" And even if she discovered that, they would still have to wait until the baby was born to do a blood typing. Peg knew her blood type, and BJ's, and would know if the baby was a match. But what in heaven's name could she give as a reason for wanting the information?
Peg was no geneticist, but even she knew the long odds of two brown-eyed blondes producing an offspring with glossy black hair and twinkling blue eyes. And then it would all be over, their lovely life together, all their dreams. Erin would be the victim of her one stray hour. And BJ would be crushed. If it had been anyone but Hawkeye, she considered, he might have been able to forgive her; might even learn to love her again. But the disgrace, the deception, the sheer enormity of the pain she would cause everyone, was unbearable to ponder.
Six months of anxiety faced her, and her strength was failing already.
xxxxxxxx
"Hey, Hawk, it's Hunnicut on the phone..." Daniel Pierce hollered up the stairs to his son.
"Yeah, Doctor, I'm sorry I missed meeting you and your lovely missus, but that week was the annual fishing trip with the boys…. Well, that's a dandy idea. I've always wondered what the other side of the ocean looked like. Hey Hawk (he put his hand over the receiver) he says we should come out west for a visit when February gets too miserable," and handed the phone to his son. Daniel hoped that Hunnicut's offer might cheer him up; Hawkeye had been mighty moody since he'd come home with some prize fish.
"Beej, how goes it?" He had been practicing compartmentalizing his feelings, so he could enjoy Hunnicut's friendship without guilt. He never thought it would be so difficult.
"Great news, Hawk. Peg's expecting."
The words were like acid. "Great, BJ. Congratulations."
"And I have you to thank for it. That visit to Crabapple Cove must've inspired us. I may even name the kid 'Crabby', in your honor."
"So when is the blessed event?" He tried to be interested. BJ would expect him to ask. He knew he was being unreasonable. She had a life, and he was no part of it.
"Doctor expects it to be a holiday baby, right around Christmas."
"What a great gift. So, what are you up to?" he changed topics abruptly.
"But—" BJ continued in the same line. "It's peculiar, Hawk. Peg's…peculiar. It's not at all like when she was carrying Erin. She was so cheery then, so excited. She's got horrible mood swings, she cries, she withdraws, she snaps. She can't sleep, or she sleeps all day. Her morning sickness lasts all afternoon and evening."
"All textbook responses to pregnancy," Pierce tried to assure his friend. "Every one is different, y'know."
"Yeah, but… you don't have to live with it."
"Well, I'm not sure what you want from me. I'm not an OB, or a shrink."
BJ was confused by his friend's cool response. "Yeah, but you're my friend. I kinda got used to sharing things with you, y'know? I wasn't fishing for a long-distance diagnosis, just some sympathy. I'm sorry if a simple domestic situation is too mundane for a swinging bachelor like yourself," he ended sharply.
"No, hold on, Beej, wait—" but the click in his ear told him he would have to call up later and straighten things out between them. He would dial BJ at his office, to avoid Peggy answering the phone. There were faint alarm bells ringing in the back of his head. He took two aspirin.
3
"Peggy-don't-hang-up!" He managed to get all the words out this time, and he could still hear her breathing at the other end of the line. "I'm a man, I'm dense, ok? Peggy, please say something…."
"Hello, Hawkeye." Her flat greeting proved their distance was more than geographical.
"I'm sorry, I should've called sooner but—"
"D'you spose we'll ever have a conversation again without you apologizing every other minute?"
"Why didn't you call me? Or write?"
"Oh, I dunno…maybe BJ broke my fingers and gagged me."
"Not funny."
"I figured BJ would let you know. He's your friend. After all, we've barely met."
"Yeah, he called, but…I mean, is there more to this news that…might be news to him?"
"I have to go, I'm not feeling very well…."
"BJ's concerned that this pregnancy is unusually stressful for you."
"He's very sensitive. I'm lucky to have him," she replied dully.
"Any particular reason for all the stress?"
"Are you sure you want to know?"
"Is there anything I ought to know? If there's any chance…"
"There's every chance," she replied bluntly. She had expected his silence, and began to count by heartbeats the time he took him to respond.
"I want you to know if things turn out… (he couldn't bring himself to say 'wrong'—in spite of the torturous circumstances, the immediate flush of prospective fatherhood had a curiously exciting effect on him) ..well, I'll be there for you. I promise."
"Unlike last time." She knew it was unfair, but it came out anyway.
"You're not alone, Peggy." He knew it was a stupid thing to say, the moment the words left his mouth.
"I am more alone than I have ever been in my entire life."
"I'm worried about you. Is there somebody you can talk to out there?"
"Like BJ?" her voice broke. "I love him, Hawk. I need him so much and I just keep pushing him away. My folks, maybe? Oh, yeah, they still remember your name. They worship BJ; they've been reminding me for years how lucky I am, that anyone as good as him would be willing to have me."
"I mean like a doctor, someone you could consult confidentially."
"Gossips, all of you," she dismissed his suggestion. "And your staffs. I'd die before I'd let BJ be embarrassed in front of his colleagues, for my sake."
"Don't say that!" he snapped. "Just, don't ever say that. Peggy, believe me, if you need me, I will be here, for you and the baby. And Erin, too, if—"
"Oh, dear God, listen to yourself. Erin? If his wife and his best friend betray him, Erin will be all he has left. And BJ will fight to keep her, and he will win because I'm an unfit mother…" her sobs were ragged.
"You're a fantastic mother!"
"Hawk, I committed adultery! That counts!"
"We'll deal with this together," he insisted confidently.
" 'Together'? It's been fifteen years. We're strangers. I don't even know the man you've become. You don't know me any more."
"We'll get reacquainted. Real fast." He wanted to calm her down. "Look, we may be way over-reaching here. Like you said, there's really no way to tell at this point. The baby is probably BJ's. I'll send him a teddy bear and stay out of your life. I promise. I just called to let you know…(what?) …I care. (God, that's so anemic). But you've got to take better care of yourself, and the baby. And please, try to find someone to confide in: a minister, a friend. Me, even…" he suggested quietly.
"Goodbye, Hawkeye."
"Wait—promise me—"
"Goodbye."
4
"So how far are you from Canada?" she inquired.
"Which part? It's a big country."
"One of the nurses was telling me about this wonderful trip she took..." Hawkeye just pressed the receiver closer to his ear, listening to the sound of her voice, and let the words tingle over him. Margaret was now stationed at Fort Collins, Colorado, and some of his ancient letters had finally caught up with her. They were breezy, friendly letters, and Pierce had taken great care to edit out any stray words that might even hint at any degree of longing.
"…the Trans-Canadian Rail Road and it goes all through the Rockies, just glorious scenery, luxurious accommodations, fair rates, and I thought, well, maybe we could each jump on at the station nearest us, ride to the middle, and rent a lodge for a couple days, you know, re-connect, catch up, see some of the country…"
"Still allergic to rooting in one place, Margaret?"
"And you're still stuck in the mud of Maine. Come on, Pierce, you've been home long enough now. Time to travel. See new sights—"
"With an old companion?"
"I'll have to object to that characterization."
Hmmm…"Dating lawyers now, are we?" He was partly teasing, partly prying. .
"Just treating them, thank you. We have a contingent stationed at the base. So, what do you think?"
"About lawyers?"
"About Canada."
The smile lines at his eyes crinkled. "Margaret, your adventure sounds like just what the doctor ordered. Mail me the details. You know my address."
"Yeah, it never changes," she laughed.
"At least I get my mail on time," he retorted, and they parted happily, making plans for a reunion. Hawkeye did a half-lindy across the kitchen and caught himself humming as he bisected a ham sandwich for lunch.
"Nice to see you so peppy," his father commented in passing.
"Yeah, that was…good news for a change." Hawk did not feel like sharing yet; he wanted to hold the feelings that Margaret's phone call had evoked close to himself for a little while, to examine and enjoy.
"Mail's in," his father remarked. Daniel Pierce had noticed that his son had been receiving letters from California for the past few months, in a decidedly feminine hand. It was not his nature to inquire or interfere. However, when he observed his son flip through the short stack of magazines and bills, he saw a slight frown cross Hawkeye's cheerful countenance, as he slid the letter into a pocket.
Peg wrote, occasionally. It was frustrating, because he had almost no way to contact her without alerting BJ. They avoided the phone, so there would be no record on the bill. He dared not put anything in writing to send her. Damn, it was like carrying on some clandestine affair, but without the benefits. Her notes were prosaic; never any declarations of despair or desire. Just simple sentences about her day: what she wore, what she cleaned, what she bought, what she read. He fancied he could read between her lines, and judge her mood. Poor Peggy, who bore all the consequences of their misadventure.
BJ sent sporadic messages, just to keep in touch. He refrained from cataloging any domestic details about Peg or her symptoms, although now Hawkeye had an avid interest in that part of his friend's life. A generic "How's Peg?" was about as far as he dared go when he replied to BJ's letters. Poor Beej—trying to cope with a problem, when he lacked the most basic information about the cause of the problem. Hawkeye finally understood how very personal hell could be.
And now there was Margaret. The prospect of her re-entering his life made him smile all over.
5
"Pierce!" she waved from the balcony of the rustic lodge, eyes shining and joyful recognition in her voice. Then she was dashing out the front door and halted abruptly before him.
"Have we traveled backwards, Major?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, 10,000 miles and 12 months ago, you were calling me Hawkeye."
"Well, I hadn't heard from you in so long…" she got defensive.
"If you'd stay in one place long enough, maybe you'd get your mail on time."
"Hey, I don't move around on a whim, Buster. I'm in the service—I go where I'm sent, where I'm needed," she huffed.
"Maybe I should've needed you more." He moved forward to put his arms around her, and she stepped into the embrace. "Welcome to Canada." It was a friendly hug and they moved apart.
"Was your scenery as gorgeous as mine?"
"See for yourself," Pierce offered, stretching out his arms and twirling slowly for her inspection. He could always make her laugh.
"Some things never change," she swatted at him.
"Are you glad?" Suddenly there was a serious note in his voice, and it flustered Margaret.
"Um...I've booked adjoining rooms, and we share the balcony and a fireplace."
"Sounds very cozy. September in the mountains can get chilly, y'know."
"Grab your gear, Captain, I'll show you up--Hawkeye."
The style was rustic, wood and stone, but the rooms had fluffy comforters and hot water, and a spectacular view of the quiet green mountains surrounding them. "Make a note of this travel agency," Pierce told her. "I much prefer this to the last place we toured together."
"Why don't you go fetch some wood, I'll call room service—"
"Ah, command me, Margaret. I've missed that. I don't know how I've managed for the past year without you telling me what and when and how to do…" there was a teasing lilt to his voice as he set his suitcase on a bed and headed out the door.
She phoned down to the kitchen for a hearty meal, and, still antsy, not able to relax until all the details were settled, Margaret decided to unpack for him. She fluffed and refolded each piece. She dug into the flap to retrieve his shaving gear (how sweet, she thought. She knew he despised scraping the whiskers off his face, and she knew that he knew that she liked smooth, clean cheeks, and he had decided to shave even on his holiday, for her. Margaret was touched). She felt something else shoved into the bag and pulled out a scrawled letter. From Peg Hunnicut.
Hawkeye kicked the door open, his arms loaded with wood, and stumbled over to the fireplace, disgorging his load. He brushed off his hands and jacket and turned to see Margaret holding a piece of familiar stationery in her hands.
As with most things, Margaret had a strong opinion on personal privacy. But she was also a curious woman. "Why is Peg Hunnicut writing you?"
"Just one of the benefits of marriage," he babbled. "It's traditional for the wife to assume all social obligations; yep, I almost got married once, just to have someone answer my letters and mail out birthday cards."
"But, BJ's your friend…is he OK? Is everything all right?"
"Hey, BJ's fine; Peg's fine, Erin's fine, Waggles the dog is fine….let's fine-ally eat, huh?" He turned away from her and knelt down, fussing with the wood in the fireplace.
"No…" she puzzled. " No, if everything were fine, you'd be scolding me for snooping."
"Margaret, how dare you snoop!"
"Too late, Buster."
"I think I hear the food coming, get the door."
"All right, message received." She accepted the savory tray and set it on a low table between them.
"Smells great," Pierce remarked, and tucked in. "And after this, I think a nap is in order."
"I'm gonna read a while," Margaret said softly, and withdrew to her room.
When Pierce woke, it was twilight. He knocked on Margaret's door and discovered her room empty. He wasn't quite sure what he should do next. Then the sound of a key rattling in the shared door.
"Hi, I was (getting worried? How dumb…concerned?...) wondering where you were…"
"Just taking a walk. It's so fresh out here…but the sun went down and I don't like being left in the dark," she said meaningfully.
"Then I'll put some more wood on the fire and we'll have a nice cheery blaze to see by," he avoided her eyes again. "Come on, Margaret," he beckoned her.
She slipped past him and stared out the balcony window.
"Margaret—" he called, exasperated, " if you can travel thousands of miles around the world for Uncle Sam, you can damn well cross the room, come next to me and sit by the fire. A fire, I might add, that I provided, at your request, and with great personal sacrifice."
"Sacrifice?"
"I got a splinter. I didn't say anything, because I'm so brave in the face of pain."
"Let me see…" she sighed. She knelt beside him and took his hand in both of hers, peering through the firelight. "Where?"
"Right there."
She puckered and touched her lips to the soft pillow of flesh beneath his thumb. "All better." When she tried to move away again, he pulled her back.
"Stay. Please." She hesitated, and he put an arm around her. The bright warmth of the fire lured her, and she surrendered her head to his shoulder. "This is nice," he murmured. "This is the nicest thing in my life in a long time." He sounded so burdened, it was melting her heart.
"What can I do to help?"
He was about to shake his head, then reconsidered. "Be my friend."
"But BJ—"
"It's complicated."
"Sometimes friends can share."
"Sometimes friends just have to trust." He moved in toward her and she held her hands lightly against his chest, keeping him back.
"Whatever it is, Hawkeye, I don't want to add another layer of complication to your life."
"The only thing simple about my life is the way I feel about you. Right here. Right now."
It was a lie, Margaret thought at once, whether Pierce realized it or not. Their relationship had never been simple.
"Ah, y'know, this is such a lovely place and…well, it would be a real pity if we didn't get a good night's sleep so we could enjoy it." She yawned, patting her mouth. "Good night, Pierce," she brushed back the straying hair and kissed him gently on the forehead "Sweet dreams."
6
The slight priest had found serenity in gardening, working with his hands deep in the Creation, not to mention he was quite familiar with the kneeling posture often required. His host, Father Bernard, had been called away that morning, and he was only too happy to serve wherever he was needed. Right now, his calling consisted of weeding around the sign that proclaimed "St Jude's presents "Adventures in the Orphanage"- a Korean missions fund raiser."
He could discern the tension in the air even before he saw the pregnant blonde approach him tentatively. He tossed up a quick prayer for wisdom.
"Excuse me, Father," her head bowed slightly, in respect or more likely, in trouble. "My husband served in Korea. He told me stories about the children. I'd like to make a contribution...but I'm not Catholic."
"God will still honor your gift, and the work it will accomplish," he smiled.
But she made no move to her purse, just stared rather intently at the straggly petunias he was striving to resurrect. "Please, Father, may I speak to you? I--I'm--" her voice quavered.
He groaned up off his knees and shepherded her into the chapel library. "Sit down, my dear, and I'll brew a nice pot of tea. Always goes well with troubles..." he spoke slowly and quietly, assuring her he had all the time in the world to listen.
"My name's John. What shall I call you?" His eyes were so kindly, and in the hush of the study Peg felt safe for the first time in weeks.
"Mrs. Smith. Patty, please." The priest waited patiently, pouring tea until she was able to begin. She couldn't face him, just focused her eyes on where her lap used to be. "I've done something awful, Father. Something so awful, and I can't fix it, I can't change it. I want my husband to love me...but if he can't, I need to know God will love my baby, whatever I've done."
Then months of pent-up anguish and guilt and fear flooded out, riding on waves of tears and regret. The priest's heart went out to the lonely young woman, and he comforted her and counseled her, making himself an instrument for God's grace to reach out to her. By the time she was ready to leave, his simple prayer had lifted her burden and settled a peace in her heart that was beyond understanding.
"You know, Father, I don't know where I was going today," she confessed, "or what I might have done. I never walk this way, but today I turned the corner and I saw your sign..."
"God directed your steps here, Patty. I believe that. And I know He'll direct you home, too. "He smiled and patted her hand."God bless you, my child."
"Thank you. And I haven't forgotten..." she pulled some bills out of her purse. "For the orphans, Father."
By the time Peg got home, the babysitter had Erin down for her nap. Peg peeked in at her lovely child, watched with delight as her little chest rose and fell in sweet slumber. And for the first time, she put an arm across her distended belly and the baby within, and for the first time, she could love it
The phone rang and she dashed to answer it before it could wake Erin.
"Hi, Peg, how ya doin', Darlin'?" BJ's voice had that cautious quality that he'd been using with her lately.
"I took a very nice walk."
"Well, good. Good for you. Hey, an old army buddy just dropped by. He's in town for a couple days, and I'd really like to take him out to supper; that is, if you don't mind me getting home late. You could call Norma Jean to come over and keep you and Erin company..." he suggested hopefully. That was another thing. He almost never left her alone anymore.
"BJ, I love you..." she said out of the wild blue yonder.
"Uh...I love you too, Peg."
She persisted. "But I haven't shown you that very much lately... Come on, you can agree, I know it's true. Forgive me, and forgive me for worrying you."
"It's just been a difficult time for you..."
"Please bring your friend home for dinner. I can't promise it'll be the Ritz, but I think I still remember how to put together a simple supper."
"Hon, you don't have to--"
"I want to. Please, let me do this for you," she asked, and it was the same sweet voice he remembered.
"If you're sure..." he hesitated."Nothing fancy now..."
"Home about 6?"
"See you later." And he could not pass up the opportunity to say it again. "Love ya, Peg."
xxxxx
"Honey, we're home," he called at the door, and showed his guest into the cozy room.
Peg emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a splotched apron. "Almost ready," she chimed, stuck out her hand to shake, looked BJ's army buddy straight in the face. Her face went white and she fainted...
"Sorry about the hostess," Peg managed a greenish grin to the worried face above her. "Been doing that a lot lately. Oh, my word, the fish!" She tried to scramble up from the couch but BJ pushed her back.
"Everything's fine. Father Mulcahey always was cool in a crisis. By the way, that's Father John Francis Patrick Mulcahey, our company chaplain."
"Did I hear my name?" Erin was tugging him along by the hand. "Such a pleasure to finally meet you, Peg. And don't worry, Erin is a delightful little hostess. And a big help in the kitchen, too," he smiled fondly at the little girl who beamed back at him.
"Favver finished supper for us, Mommy. Come on," she pulled Peg to the table.
After the meal, the grown-ups lingered around the table with coffee and conversation.
"But I thought BJ told me..." she hesitated.
"About my deafness? Oh, yes, those were some dark days indeed. I was inconsolable. All my dreams for the ministry, all my plans, everything I wanted to accomplish for the glory of God, yanked away from me. It was hopeless. Even your husband told me so."
"And I've never been so happy to be wrong. A real, true-life miracle healing, Peg!" her husband marveled. "It's an amazing story."
"Well, yes, I got my hearing back. But the real miracle was not that I was healed so I returned to the Church. The miracle was that God gave me the faith to trust him; to trust that He would do the right thing, the best thing for me, even if I never got what I wanted. Now, if I may lend a hand--" he began to clear the table expertly and head for the kitchen. "I'll wash, Peg, you dry, and BJ can escort Princess Erin to her bedchamber"
The priest was up to his elbows in warm bubbly water. "I recognized you from all BJ's photos," the priest confessed," but it was pretty obvious you wanted to protect your identity."
"Oh, my God, Father," her cheeks flamed. "What you must think of me."
"Everyone has secrets, Peg. You had the courage to confront yours today. Your healing has begun," he encouraged her. "And of course, it's all between you and me, and God."
"And your drop-in visit to BJ this afternoon?"
"When I heard this year's fund raising campaign was going to take me to San Francisco, I was absolutely delighted. I'd already planned to visit with him. It was just an unexpected blessing to meet you and Erin too."
"Even under the circumstances...?" She couldn't help feeling naked in front of him
"Especially under the circumstances. One always does well to keep divine appointments. And, if I may bring you a word from my Sponsor..." he made her smile," remember that even when you're not struggling, church can be a rich source of fellowship and guidance."
BJ entered the kitchen as they were folding away dishtowels. "How long will you be in town, Father?"
"It's just a West Coast appeal; I leave for six other churches after the presentation tomorrow evening. Still plenty of seats available..." he hinted broadly, with a twinkle in his eye. "I'll be sharing stories and slides of our work with the Korean orphans. The war may be over, but we cannot neglect these little ones. And even though the Church circulates my monthly letters among the congregations...well, sometimes a personal appeal can put a bigger bite on folks," he chuckled.
"Shear those sheep, Padre." BJ embraced the gentle priest. "It was wonderful to see you."
"BJ, your devotion to your family was an inspiration to many at the 4077. Peg, I know your heart is in the same place. God bless you. I'll be praying for you," he reminded her with a chaste kiss on the top of her head.
7
Captain BJ Hunnicut, DR72930B, was deeply dreaming and unresponsive to the insistent prodding at his side. "No, Radar, not now," he groaned.
"It's not Radar, it's your 1954 tax deduction!" Peg pushed him again and finally he paid attention. "Now! Let's go!"
"No, too early," he mumbled, still drunk with sleep.
"Come on!" Peg shouted, then her words were drowned by her own scream.
That alerted him to the necessity at hand. "Peg, it's too soon-"
"I know!"
They barreled into the maternity ward, BJ shouting directions from Peg's side. "Morning, BJ," greeted Peg's obstetrician, wiping the sleep from his eyes. "Surprise visit, eh? How ya doin, Peg?" Dr. Kildare turned all his attention to the writhing woman.
Peg clutched his arm. "It's too soon, Dick, it's too soon!"
"Just an eager little one," he patted her calmly." Come on, we'll just wheel you into a room for a quick exam, and next stop, Delivery. BJ, I'll be out with some news in a flash."
The on-duty maternity supervisor, the formidable Nurse Stranahan, stretched her arm across the door.
"Elsie, move!"
"The waiting room's around the corner, on your left."
"Elsie, it's me--Hunnicut--"
"There's coffee brewing and plenty of old magazines."
"That's my wife! I'm a doctor--
"I recognize you, Doctor, but on my floor, you're just another father-to-be. Scoot." She was unrelenting and BJ was dismissed to pace with several other future fathers.
BJ had always been in awe of the process of birth; what unnerved him was the screaming. First he strained anxiously to hear something, anything from Peg; then he tried his best to block it out. Then Peg's piercing shriek stopped abruptly. A nurse whisked by him with a tiny pink bundled blanket, still and silent, heading for the nursery. Hunnicutt's eyes never left the delivery door, willing the doctor to appear.
Dr Kildare emerged, his whites pink, and more determinedly calm than he had been at their initial greeting. "You have a daughter," he gripped BJ's shoulder as if to anchor him to the floor. "Things are a little more complicated than we expected."
"Dick, I didn't hear her cry--"
"She's a blue baby, but that's not unusual in a preemie. She was six weeks too soon, and it'll take her a little more time to adjust to the new world. She'll be in an incubator, she'll get plenty of oxygen--"
"Tell me!" he demanded.
"OK, you know the problems. Little lungs and hearts take more time than this to develop properly. We are going to give her that time. She wasn't breathing, but she's hooked up now and she's showing some color. We've called the peds specialist, he's on his way..."
The doctor kept talking but BJ had stopped listening after he heard "she wasn't breathing". His tall body crumpled into a chair. His thoughts swirled in ugly whirlpools of possibilities.
"BJ...?" Richard Kildare tapped at his face," Peg could use some company."
Peg did not have the strength to whimper. Everything was white around her, walls, ceiling, sheets, but her fears swirled in the same murky whirlpool as BJ's. "Dear God," her lips moved silently. "Please. I want this baby. Please. No matter what. I love her now. Please, please don't take her away. Just give me a chance with her..."
BJ hesitated at the door, then the sight of his Peg, worn and pale, propelled him across the room, and he held her and their tears mingled together.
xxxxxxx
His office assistant called. "It's for you," she announced," long distance."
"Hawkeye, old buddy, I am calling to announce the newest member of the Hunnicutt harem."
"Beej! That's great--details, man, I want details--"
"Well, unlike most females who are always late, this little lady was six weeks early...I didn't call right away because...well, you know..."
Pierce understood. BJ had his hands full, and waited to be certain of the outcome before he phoned.
"She's still in the incubator, so Peg is glued to the nursery window, but I should have all my girls home before Christmas."
"Ah...who does she look like, you or Peg...?"
"Neither of us, actually--" and Pierce's own heart stopped. "My mother swears she's a ringer for my Aunt Betty." He could breathe again, though it took a moment before he could speak.
"And her name is Crabby...?'
BJ chuckled. "Oh, God it feels so good to laugh with you; a few days ago I never thought I'd laugh again. It was close, Hawk," he sobered.
"And how is Peg?"
"Y'know, Hawk, they oughta draft women. They're much braver than we are."
"Vital statistics..."
"Five pounds, 3 ounces; 16 inches born 2:37 AM November 15, 1954. Named Frances, after Father Mulcahey, actually. Frances Elizabeth. I told you he stopped by, and, well, after just that short visit, Peg seemed to regain her equilibrium; she was ...I dunno, peaceful, happier. It was a miracle, I swear. "
"I'm thrilled for you all. Send pictures."
8
Finally Hawkeye was free to place a long-distance call of his own.
"Infirmary, Houlihan," she answered briskly.
"Major, what are you doing, working the holiday? Has RHIP been revoked?"
"No, Pierce, Rank still Hath Its Privilege. I volunteer so the nurses with families can be home. Thank you for the Christmas card, although I was surprised to receive in mid-November. I assume this means you still have no wife to tend to those pesky social obligations?"
"Yeah, well, I wanted to make sure you got it, while I still had your current address."
"Ha-ha. I've been here for over six months now"
"Ah, a new record. How long before you transfer again?"
"I refuse to answer on the grounds that it may tend to incriminate me."
"Still dating the lawyer, huh? That's another record."
"Yes, Pierce, I am dating a lawyer. I am dating six lawyers, and a general every other Tuesday. That's why I rode 800 miles cross-country to waste a week of my precious leave with you in a dusty lodge in the middle of nowhere."
"Waste? You wound me, Margaret, you really do. I thought of our time together as more of... an investment. And it wasn't a week. It was three days, five hours and seventeen minutes but who's counting--"
"-You, apparently-"
"-and then you got that mysterious "emergency" phone call and flew back to the fort. What's his name, Margaret?"
"Perry Mason. I tune in every Sunday night to get legal advice so when I kill you, I won't get caught. And you should talk about working on Thanksgiving. You live in the land of the pilgrims and I bet you're calling from your office."
"First of all," he explained patiently, "I've been banished from my home lest I discover the secret ingredient in my father's stuffing recipe. So I came over to the office and began to inventory the tongue depressors and thought of you. Second of all, this is Maine, not Massachusetts. Honestly, for someone who travels as much as you do, geography is not your strong suit. And thirdly," his voice grew soft and serious," why are you always running, Margaret?"
"And why are you always hiding, Hawkeye?"
He couldn't abide to let the question just float there in the air between them. "For the sake of the holiday, can we beat our words into plowshares and stop poking at each other?"
She agreed, stifling that guilty-little-girly laugh he'd always loved about her. "Have you ever considered that for us, fighting is foreplay?"
"I've noticed. Although I still believe that some things require a more traditional touch."
"Any particular reason for this call, or is it merely for general aggravation purposes?"
"I wanted to let my friend know that my complications have been blessedly resolved, and thank her for caring. And for her wisdom. And for her improvised exit that saved me from more complications than I was prepared to handle in September."
"And now?"
"It's November."
"Yeah...?"
"And since you graciously planned the last outing, I thought I would--well, invite you to the land of the pilgrims for some gingerbread. A sleigh ride. Maybe caroling..."
"You mean Christmas."
"Yeah."
"That's a nice idea, but--"
"Argh! Don't, please, do not tell me you're working--"
"I could finagle the schedule a little by New Year's eve...providing the gingerbread isn't stale by then."
"Great. Because I really want to start 1955 with you. And 1956. And 1957. And--"
"Hey, just a minute--" she interrupted his Fifties-litany. "How come I'm the one who has to travel clear across the country to you?"
"Because you're the one who likes to travel; I'm still stuck in the mud, remember? And because you are the one who moves where she's needed. And because, you are the only one who knows where I'm hiding..."
finis