Chapter 29 – Paper Anniversary

A/N: Guys, I am seriously such a geek; every time I start a chapter now, I get choked up. Eeeeesh. I think it's because I am writing this emotional journey between these two people who are very similar in age to my parents (and Elsie is one of my mom's favorite DA characters) and I visited them this week because my mom needed surgery (she's fine!), leaving my babies and man at home. I am overly emotional! I view writing this story as my therapy, hahahaha. Anyway, I am carrying on. Life is about the ups and downs, no? ~CeeCee

Once the women had calmed down, he joined them at the table for lunch, and the three of them spent a pleasant half hour chatting about nothing particularly important over sandwiches and cold salads. Charlie knew he was missing something, and planned on getting it out of Elsie once Beryl Patmore left. The cook was barely out the door when he turned to his wife, who was clearing the dishes from the table. He moved across the room to help her, something that had taken him a concerted effort in the first few months of marriage, but now came more naturally. Plus, despite his utter confusion upon seeing her outfit at first, the trousers she had on were quite fetching, now that he'd a moment to take them in. He felt a pull towards her that had little to do with gallantry.

"So?" He placed the plates he was carrying in the basin. "Am I to guess the subject of the hysteria I came home to, or are you going to share it with me voluntarily?"

"Hysteria," she rolled her eyes at him, "Hardly. Here, make yourself useful, take your jacket off, and help get these things back on the shelf. I was nearly through the actual cleaning when Mrs. Patmore arrived, now it's all about tidying up. 'Many hands make light work', and all that." She grinned at him, and he raised his eyebrow at her, but shed his coat, rolled up his sleeves.

She stood on a stool by the shelves in their sitting room and directed him to bring certain brick-a-brack, doodads, framed pictures, vases and books, in an order he could not comprehend but dutifully obeyed.

She took a stack of novels from him, and grinned down at him. "Beryl Patmore is getting married, to Albert Mason," she announced, turned and began shelving the books, leaving him standing there puzzling over the statement.

"What?"

"Honestly, Charlie, ye can't be surprised. Some courtships move a mite fast than ours, even when they involve folks near our age," she turned to him, putting her hands on her hips. And there was something about the way she was standing, kerchief tied around her hair, those damnable trousers hugging all the womanly parts of her, that he was sucker-punched, as he had been frequently the past year, with a wave of combined lust and gratitude.

Now it was her turn to ask, "What?"

"Dare I say it, Elsie, those trousers of yours leave very little to the imagination," he put a hand on her waist.

"Pssht. What imagination, you daft man, you've seen it all at this point," she pretended to wave him away. "What happened to looking like I'm acting in a pantomime?"

"I've reconsidered," he replied, and pulled her off the stool, kissing her, running a hand down her back and onto the seat of the trousers. She responded enthusiastically, and all thoughts of tidying up were forgotten for a few minutes.

"We mustn't lose ourselves, Mr. Carson, or this house will be in complete disarray," she pushed him away playfully with another kiss, and moved towards the archway between the kitchen and sitting room, where several boxes were still waiting to be stored.

He fought a wave of regret and desire as it battled with his own intrinsic need for everything to be in its proper place. He supposed there would be time later this evening...he followed her, hoping to get through the work quickly. Then he noticed the board in the kitchen looked more crowded than usual. She'd probably found some things whilst cleaning that she pinned up there. He moved over to it, and immediately noticed the picture postcard he'd purchased three years ago.

She was next to him, smiling up at him. He pulled her close again.

"I told you I saved it."

"Aye, I never doubted you. 'Twas fun to stumble upon it today, though, as I was going through things."

His eyes caught on an old portrait of her sister. He put his fingers on it. "I wish you hadn't felt the need to hide her from me. Though I understand why you did." Becky was difficult for him to contemplate; she was wrapped up in all of the things that were hardest for him: his own shame in not knowing what Elsie had taken on, secretly, for most of their working life together, along with his own unease at someone with a mental disability. He didn't have a place to put someone like Becky in his orderly, stratified world, except, perhaps, as someone at the bottom of it, which was so deeply ungenerous of him he'd rather not think about it. So he'd somewhat shuttled her to the side of it.

"Aye, I suppose you do, but I'm not sure any reason I had was good enough, and I am sorry now that I did," she shook her head, rested her fingers next to his on the image of her sister's face. "Ye know I've had a letter from her caretaker," he nodded and she continued, "Her heart is failing, she tells me. It's connected to…to what makes her simple-minded. She's not meant to live as long a life as the rest of us. I'd like to go and see her, after the baby's christening, before she's any worse off."

"Of course you do," he paused. He felt he had to apologize for his own secrets. He took her fingers with his own shaking ones. "I never should have kept this from you," he nodded towards his vibrating hand. "Because, of course, I really didn't. You noticed, and I noticed you noticing, before you even said anything. It was wrong."

Her eyes were filling with unshed tears, though they didn't spill over. "No, you shouldn't have kept it from me, and no, you really didn't. Being married means someone is paying attention to you, or they should be, and there's not much room for secrets. And I was paying attention, Charlie. And while I certainly never'd say I'm glad this is happening to you, I am relieved it's something less serious than some of the things I'd been contemplating last fall."

Her words were a revelation to him. Just because he knew what was happening to his body, having seen his father go through it, she didn't. He'd not considered that he wife would be as concerned, or more so, than he was, since she had less information.

"I'm sorry. I didn't….consider you. I should have. No more secrets, I think, between us," he folded her into his arms, and noticed another photo stuck to the board. It was an informal photograph from their wedding reception, the two of them sitting, looking at each other, grinning, he in his shirt sleeves, she with the white roses Miss Baxter had pinned in her hair.

"I just realized. Our anniversary is in a few weeks," he said, looking down at her, smiling.

"That it 'tis," she grinned back, following his gaze. "What a fun day, wasn't it, Charlie?"

"It certainly was," he wanted to say more, to tell her how much delight and pleasure and simple joy she'd brought to his life each day since that one, even when he didn't act like it, her curmudgeon, as he knew he often was. Somehow, the words got stuck in his throat, as sometimes the most important ones do.

Instead, he had a thought. "First wedding anniversary, that's paper."

"Mayhaps we can skip the gifts, then, as I've just rid this house of a lion's share of it. We needn't add more!"

"Well, I don't know about that. We must honor the day, don't you think? Would two tickets to Lytham St. Annes fulfill the traditional requirement?"

"Two tickets? Are you sure, Charlie?" She was crying, tearing streaming down her face. He wasn't sure she even felt them in her surprise.

"No, I'm not sure, at all. I'll need your guidance, potentially even reprimanding, if I don't know how to behave, which I don't, I am ashamed to say."

"That doesn't matter, ye old booby," she answered, wiping her tears away. "That ye'd even consider going with me, that's enough, don't you see?" And she reached up to kiss him, and his hands wandered back down towards the fascinating outfit she was wearing. He slipped his hands into the waistband of the trousers, pulled her blouse free and over her head. It fell to the floor with a whisper.

The mess could wait.