Greetings! So...it's been a while. I apologize! In the span of (nearly) two years, I finished grad school, found a full-time job (after looking for quite some time), and moved into my own apartment. It's been challenging at times to find time or the desire to write, and hopefully I'll be able to channel my muse more easily in the future. I don't foresee being able to update weekly or even every other week, but hopefully more regular updates will ensue after this.
Again, sorry it took so long!
Please enjoy! xx
Chapter Nine
December 1946
Mary dug her toes into the sand, knees to her chest while she relaxed her cheek on her arms and watched the water slowly come in on the shore. She'd been sitting at the beach for nearly twenty minutes, arriving at the meeting place she and Matthew had agreed upon before she left for the three week-long Christmas break.
And he was late.
She sighed, squinting in the sunlight for a moment before closing her eyes and focusing on the warmth of the day instead. Her flight for Ohio was due to leave at twelve o'clock, giving her exactly two more hours to enjoy the sunshine before she would hurry to the airport and be whisked away in a plane to her family. Where it was cold and about to snow.
Snow. Mary groaned and lay down in the sand, the warmth of it cradling her while the sun covered her like a blanket.
Until something blocked the sun over her face.
Mary opened her eyes, frowning as she looked up into Matthew's smiling face.
"You're late," she told him, sitting up as he plopped down beside her.
"And you've got sand in your hair," Matthew said, ruffling her hair so some dirt fell out of her pin curls.
"I wanted to take some of the beach back with me," Mary replied. She shook her head in his direction and Matthew laughed.
"Afraid you'll forget about it?" he asked.
"That's pretty unlikely. Although three weeks will probably feel like an eternity with hardly any sun and subzero temperatures the whole time," she said, crossing her legs.
"And boring without me?" Matthew interjected with a grin.
Mary pressed her lips together to stifle a smile.
"The break from classes will be nice," she said. "And I'm sure your mother will be glad to get me away from you."
He reached out to lace his fingers with hers.
"Oh, come on, that's not true. You two got along so well at Thanksgiving. She liked you."
She forced herself not to snort at Matthew. Isobel Crawley might have tolerated Mary's presence at her Thanksgiving table, but she thought the Colonel might approve of her more than Matthew's mother did. She certainly wasn't thrilled when she found out that Mary was a flight instructor. Or that she was an engineering student.
"I highly doubt that," Mary said. "When I offered to help your mother with dinner, she said she didn't think they taught engineering majors how to boil potatoes."
"I haven't run across it in any of the syllabi, but maybe next semester we'll tackle it," he teased, his voice light-hearted as his thumb played with her fingers.
She rolled her eyes before turning her head away from him to look out at the water.
"It's like she thinks I don't know how to take care of you."
The words had slipped out of her mouth before she'd really even thought about them, before she had given her brain a chance to say something that wasn't so...truthful. Or blatantly stupid.
"Take care of me?" Matthew's voice sounded funny as he repeated her words, as though he didn't quite know what to make of them.
Mary didn't know herself.
She pressed her lips together, refusing to turn her head even though she could feel Matthew's eyes on her. The minutes passed by in excruciating silence, neither daring the break the quiet that had settled like electricity between them, the sound roaring over the crash of the waves in the distance.
It was deafening.
They'd only been seeing each other for a few months and, while Mary's friends had already started to tease her about becoming "Mrs. Crawley," she'd forced herself to ignore them for the most part. Their relationship wasn't anything serious, or that's what Mary had been telling herself. And now she'd gone and said that.
And gave herself away to Matthew.
"Do you...think about things like that?" Matthew asked, finally ending the silence. His thumb brushed across the back of her hand, gentle and imploring. "The future?"
Mary chanced a look at him and she was startled to find that his eyes were intense as he stared back at her. She blushed, an involuntary and damning response that caused her to pull her hand away and get to her feet. She walked to the water's edge, aware of Matthew's quick step as he followed behind her, so she stopped. Cool water lapped over Mary's toes and she turned to face Matthew who was close behind her and looked surprised that she'd stopped so suddenly, his own sneakers now getting wet in the surf.
"Sure I think about the future. It's supposed to snow in Dayton tomorrow, so I was thinking about wearing a sweater," she replied in an effort to lighten the mood.
"Mary," he said, an uncharacteristic scolding from him.
Usually he was the one to joke while she was the serious one, but his sudden change in demeanor had made her feel unlike herself. In fact, the more time she spent with Matthew the more she felt at odds with herself...and yet she felt more at home with him than she ever thought possible, more at home than she ever had before.
"Sometimes," Mary said, biting her lip. She hesitated, not wanting to alarm him or cause any waves before her departure. But she wanted to be honest. "We've only been together for a few months. Do you...think about it? Our future?"
To her surprise, Matthew's gaze softened. "Would it scare you if I said that I have?"
It was one thing if she thought about a future with Matthew on her own, when she lay in bed at night waiting for sleep to come, dreaming of what could be. In spite of telling herself that things weren't serious, that they were just having fun, she couldn't completely hide her own feelings. She had wondered what it would be like to be married, to start a family and a life together. And somehow, she knew it would happen. Or...she hoped it would.
But admitting that to him what another thing entirely.
"No, it doesn't scare me," she answered, truthful, a small smile on her lips. "But I don't scare very easily."
Matthew broke into a wide grin while his hand reached for hers. "I'm not surprised a woman who learned to fly an airplane at sixteen wouldn't be afraid of much," he said. "I'm not asking for anything, you know?"
"I'm aware of that," Mary replied, her heart beating unevenly. "I know your mother would like it if we went our separate ways."
"That isn't true," he replied, his expression gentle but his voice unconvincing. "She's just old-fashioned. So's the Colonel."
"And thinks a woman should be in the home and kitchen, nothing more?" Mary asked. Matthew didn't answer. "And you?"
Her stomach sank even as she posed the query. She had always wanted so much more than what her own mother had. Being a wife and a mother was all well and good, but she knew there was something more for her than that. Not only that.
Why couldn't women do both?
"I think…" Matthew began, his voice unsteady, causing Mary to suck in a breath. "I think I'd be a damned fool to force you to do anything you didn't want to do. No matter what anyone says, you're too brilliant to let it all go to waste."
Mary chuckled with relief, although she couldn't shake that final inch of doubt from the corners of her mind. But for a moment, as she pulled Matthew's face to hers, she could suppress it.
Mary brushed her lips against his, Matthew returning the gentle touch with a more firm kiss as his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her close as Mary's fingers knit in his hair.
She wished they could stay like that forever, but after a few minutes Matthew leaned back, his breathing ragged as he smiled.
"I have a Christmas present for you," he said.
Her lips turned up in a grin that mirrored his.
"A present?" Mary asked, unlatching her arms from around Matthew's neck. "For me?"
He chuckled as he reached into his pocket and drew out a small oval-shaped locket on a golden chain.
"I know you already have a locket, a silver one shaped like a heart, but I thought-"
Mary slowly released a breath, accepting the necklace he placed in her palm.
"Oh, Matthew. It's lovely," she said.
Briefly tracing her thumb across the outside, Mary brought her other hand up in order to open the clasp and see inside, revealing a blank center.
"It's empty?" she questioned.
Matthew took her hand, closing the pendant.
"I thought you could decide what to put inside it," he explained, a half-smile appearing on his face.
"My other locket has a photograph of my granddad in it," she said, voice slightly teasing. "It used to belong to my mother and her mother before that."
"So what are you saying?" Matthew asked.
"I've decided what photograph to put inside," Mary said, leaning in close again.
Matthew raised his eyebrows as he waited for her answer.
"Gregory Peck," she answered, eyes dancing with laughter as Matthew's face fell suddenly.
"Wha-Gregory Peck?" he questioned, befuddled.
She faked infatuation, fanning herself with her hand as she pretended to melt at the very thought of the actor.
"He's just so handsome with his dark hair," she crooned, bringing the necklace to her chest, "and dreamy eyes."
Matthew snorted at her affected tone, swiftly wrapping an arm around her waist.
"Can I make another suggestion?" he asked.
"One better than Gregory Peck?"
Matthew kissed her again, his lips also his answer.
Present day
Christmas Eve, 1959
"Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la! 'Tis the season to be jolly, fa-la-la-la-la-la-la-la-la! Don we now our gay apparel-"
Mary rubbed her forehead and wished her mother would play the piano more gently. Or that they didn't have a piano at all. It had come with the house, neither she nor Matthew could play it. But with it in the living room, of course, Christmas carols were begging to be played and sang. As loudly as possible, apparently.
Mary's parents and grandmother had arrived in by late morning, their rental car pulling up in front of the house as Mary had sat by the living room window while the Colonel and Isobel played chutes and ladders with the children. The grandmother had been up before the sun, "improving" Mary's Christmas decorating ("I thought it needed a little something extra and the manger scene I sent two Christmases ago looks so much better in the front windowsill and-") as well as making a humongous breakfast. Apparently Mary's own cooking skills were merely adequate by comparison, although she tried not to complain. Isobel did make a mean Crêpe Suzette. And superb scrambled eggs.
With only a warning look at Matthew, who'd been reading an old newspaper, she had slipped outside to warn her mother of Isobel's belief that she had been ill in Ohio in the recent past, to Cora's surprise.
"What was I supposed to have?" she'd asked her daughter as Robert helped Violet from the car.
"I don't know," Mary whispered in hushed tones. "Something you need me for? A bad backache? Pneumonia? Take your pick!"
"I'm as fit as a fiddle," Cora said as Robert and Violet approached.
"Then you broke your ankle because I tripped you, God, just play along. Matthew didn't want to tell them about the divorce," she finished quickly before greeting her father and grandmother, the latter of whom had no idea of her granddaughter's marital problems and would be most disapproving if she found out. Granny had rules that she expected everyone to stick to.
But Mary wasn't so obliging.
"Merry Christmas, Mary," Violet said, kissing her granddaughter's cheek. "Glad to see you gave up that pesky idea of having a family and a job. It was bad enough that Robert indulged your flying. But that was madness."
Mary forced a smile, not needing any more commentary on her personal choices. "Granny, we're glad you could come all this way. I hope the flight wasn't too much of an exertion."
"Not at all, she's a tough old gal," Robert interjected, wrapping Mary in a tight hug. "Who enjoyed her first flight as much as she enjoys a trip to the dentist," he added in an undertone that caused Mary to fight back a laugh.
"So how's being an astronaut's wife?" Violet asked. "I've read the LIFE articles, of course, but they hardly tell me anything I don't know about you. Your favorite kind of pie is hardly surprising. Blueberry."
Mary knew you couldn't learn much from reading what they'd put in that magazine so far. About them and their model marriage. Ha.
"It's not what I expected," Mary replied, giving her father a hand as Robert unloaded bags with gifts for the children from the trunk. "But we can talk more inside. About NASA and how the kids are settling in at school. Susan started preschool, did Mama tell you?"
"She did," Violet said.
"And Isobel can hardly wait to see all of you. It's been so long, not since the wedding, I think?" Mary added.
"Oh, I doubt that very much," Violet muttered cantankerously.
A sense of foreboding settled in Mary's stomach and would not soon dissipate.
Back in the present, the timer rang in the kitchen, signaling it was time for the sugar cookies that the children and their grandmothers had made before putting on their festive show in the living room.
"Cookies!" Susan squealed, breaking away from her place at Cora's side and scampering toward the kitchen. Mary followed closely, if only to get away from the piano, but also keep Susan from burning herself on the oven.
"They need to cool, peanut," Mary reminded the little girl as the timer turned itself off and Mary reached for an oven mitt.
"Can I take them out, please?" she begged.
"No, you're still too small, dear," the mother replied, shooing Susan back from the hot oven door before opening it and retrieving the baking sheet from the rack.
"Can we decorate them with the frosting we made?" Susan questioned.
"In a bit," Mary said, placing the cookies on top of the stove. "They're still very hot."
With a sigh, Susan hurried out of the room, but to Mary's relief the piano in the living room had stopped. Chatter had resumed, but she found herself no longer alone after another moment, her own mother taking Susan's place.
"How'd they turn out?" Cora asked, attempting to be inconspicuous but failing. Mary could tell Cora wanted to get her alone.
"They look like evergreen trees and snowmen sugar cookies," Mary said, lifting the sugary treats off with a spatula to cool on some wax paper. "If a little misshapen."
"We can still tell what they are," Cora replied, smiling.
Mary pressed her lips together, waiting for her mother to say what she'd really come into the kitchen to talk about.
The silence lingered, the sounds of Mary scrapping the cookies off the baking sheet mixing with chatter and giggles from the children and grandparents out in the living room, Matthew's voice heard every once in awhile.
"So, how are things...really?" Cora asked, treading carefully. She could feel her mother's eyes on her, but she hesitated for a moment.
"This was never going to be easy," Mary finally answered, laying a fresh batch of cookie dough on the pan. "You know that."
"That first LIFE story sure glossed over a few things," Cora replied.
Mary raised her eyebrows before placing the fresh batch in the oven. She set the timer again, allowing silence to fill the moments before she spoke. "NASA only wanted men with model marriages, so that was exactly what they got from the Crawleys."
"That doesn't mean you have to be so reserved with me."
She dropped her mother's disapproving gaze, ashamed she'd even tried to get out of having this conversation.
"I know you didn't want me coming out here, not after everything that's happened between Matthew and I," Mary said.
"I don't trust him," Cora stated, simple and as though that settled everything. As though it could turn back time.
"That makes two of us," Mary agreed, causing her mother to clear her throat. Mary continued in spite of this obvious disapproval. "Just because I'm here doesn't mean I've let my guard down. I haven't forgotten about California, not for a minute, but that doesn't mean Matthew doesn't deserve his shot at space."
Another silence ensued, and Mary wondered what would come next, what could possibly be delaying her mother's words. She knew Cora had been displeased at her announcement at the end of last March, had even tried to talk Mary out of it, but she hadn't stopped her from bringing the children out to Virginia. Not when she had made her mind up so decidedly that nothing could ever change it. Not even Matthew could have.
"Don't you deserve to be happy, too?" Her mother's voice was softer now, taking Mary aback.
Mary inhaled slowly, her eyes prickling ever so slightly.
Did she? After everything that had happened in the past year and a half, everything since Edwards, everything she'd done for her children to build a life for them that meant safety and stability, did she deserve anything? She knew Susan and George did. God, they deserved everything. To see both their parents on most days, to know that they were loved, to have a happy childhood.
But what did she deserve?
"All I want is for Susan and George to be happy," Mary responded. She knew her voice sounded forced, and it was, but she had nothing else to say. "And they are happy here. They have friends. They get to see their father again, almost every day. And I get to be a part of the American space race."
"You get to watch it from the sidelines," Cora said.
That stung.
"It's as close as I'm going to get," Mary retorted angrily, but not raising her voice above a whisper so as to not let the others hear from the living room. "Is this what you really want to do on Christmas? Berate me for giving Matthew his way? For agreeing to lie to the entire world?"
Cora sighed and Mary could tell her mother was frustrated as well.
"No," she agreed, shaking her head. "I came out here to see my daughter and my grandchildren. Because we've missed you."
Mary blinked, dropping her mother's gaze with embarrassment.
"I've missed you, too," Mary said, retrieving butter that had been setting on the counter to start on the frosting for the cookies. "I'm sure Papa's ready to wring Matthew's neck."
"It's not as though I told him why the two of you were having problems, dear," Cora said, measuring out powder sugar. "I was intentionally vague."
"And he was satisfied with that?" Mary asked, whipping the butter.
"He seemed to not want to know more and was pleased that the two of you had 'patched things up'," Cora said, slowly adding in the sugar to Mary's mix. "You know men."
And Mary knew her father had always thought of Matthew as a son. She sighed.
Their conversation was put on hold for the time being as the timer went off again and Susan and George scampered into the room, followed by both Isobel and Matthew. While the former was intent on helping her grandchildren ice Christmas cookies, the latter kissed Mary's cheek for his mother's benefit before helping himself into the refrigerator and recovering three beers, presumably for the other males in the living room.
"Did you ask Granny if she'd like anything?" Mary questioned her husband as the grandmothers helped the children divide the frosting into smaller portions before mixing food coloring in.
"Sorry, babe," he said with an easy smile that annoyed Mary, especially with her own mother noticing their exchange as Susan mixed red food coloring into some icing. "Do you think she'd want some of my beer?"
"I think you'd do better with a ginger ale," Mary replied, pressing her lips together in a smile that didn't reach her eyes. And she didn't add a meaningless pet name.
"That does sound more her speed," Matthew said, turning back to the fridge. He tucked the beer bottles under his arm and close to his chin, although Mary sensed a false move would send any one of the bottles to the floor.
"Allow me," she offered, snatching the bottles away from him and placing them on the counter and finding a serving tray. "Why don't you go make yourself comfortable and I can bring all this in. Granny would rather drink out of a glass anyway."
"That's why you hold down the fort, baby," he said, placing his hands on her hips while he stood behind her. Mary immediately tensed. "You're so much smarter than I am."
Her hand covered his quickly, but there was nothing gentle about her touch as she pushed him away. His other hand fell away as she turned around.
"That isn't too hard," she retorted, forcing a wry smile. "Go make sure our guests are entertained, please." She added the request to keep Isobel from getting suspicious, although squeals from Susan and George as they started to frost the cookies ensured there was little attention on the married couple in the room.
"Yes, ma'am," Matthew agreed, with a small salute for effect. After his exit, Mary exchanged a knowing glance with her mother.
Two more days, Mary told herself.
"Daddy, can we open just one present, please?" The nearly five-year-old Susan was getting bolder and George's influence was showing.
Susan had crawled into Matthew's lap as the family party sat in front of a small fire that evening after dinner, although the Virginia mild winter was nothing like those in Ohio had been. The weather still felt like spring, even in the evenings, but Isobel had complained of a slight chill and Reginald had decided to show George how to split wood in the backyard while the ladies had prepared dinner. Now they were enjoying the warmth that reminded Mary more of her childhood in Seattle and the past few years in Ohio, the latter of which filled her more with an emptiness than a sense of pleasure as she thought over what had been lost. But they were all together again, for better.
Or worse.
"Daddy, please," Susan begged, pressing gentle lips against Matthew's cheek as though it would force him to crumble like a leaf.
And Mary watched it happen.
"Ask your mother, peanut," he replied, clearly melting at their daughter's request. His own smile at Susan had been an obvious indication, and his tender look was cast over to meet Mary's eyes, knocking her off balance even though she was seated.
"Please, Mommy?" Susan turned to her, entreating.
"Yeah," George piped up. "We can all open one!"
"What a marvelous idea, George," Isobel agreed, and Mary could hardly contradict her mother-in-law in front of everyone else, despite the fact that she found it irritating that Matthew had pinned it on her in the first place.
"Just one," Mary said, prompting Susan to squeal and bound from Matthew's lap.
The two children hurried over to the tree, George helping Susan find the proper gifts for everyone since her reading skills were limited. They passed out an item to each of the adults, boxes of varying sizes, while selecting two of the largest gifts that were for themselves and plopping right down on the floor by the tree.
"Why don't the two of you go first?" Cora suggested to George and Susan, sending the two into raptures as they grinned and then tore into their wrapping paper with ferocity. George pulled out his very own secret rocket test center, something Mary assumed her own parents had brought given the way her father was trying to tell George how to set it up.
"It even has a warning siren before you fire off the rockets, George," Robert was saying as Susan unwrapped her gift.
"Sleeping Beauty!" the little girl crooned, admiring the doll in her blue dress. "Mommy and I saw this with Mrs. Bates and Cassandra. The dragon was so scary, but then the prince saved her with a kiss!"
Mary hated that she could feel Matthew's eyes on her. She looked down at her own gift box and ignored him, tracing her finger across the ribbon that bisected the wrapping paper. Only her own name had been written on the tag, but she thought it resembled her mother's handwriting and wrapping skills.
"We hope you like it, Susan," Isobel said with a smile. The little girl beamed, hugging the doll, still in its box, against her pajama-clad chest.
"What did everyone else get?"
Now content with her own prize, Susan was ready to see the others unwrap theirs.
She quickly approached Violet, entreating Great Granny to unwrap an ornament made of popsicle sticks that the little girl had done herself. This earned Susan a kiss on the head, which allowed her to proudly circle around the room until everyone else had a turn to unwrap and then show off their gifts. Matthew's present was from George; it was a tie he'd selected that had blue stars on a white background.
"I thought you could wear it for pictures," the little boy said, clearly proud of his selection. "Since you're gonna go to the stars."
"It's swell, George," Matthew replied with a grin. "Thanks, bud."
"Your turn, Mary," Isobel said. It was clear the grandparents were waning that evening. No surprise since Isobel had been up before the sun.
With all eyes on her, Mary tore the wrapping off her square box and pulled the lid off. Inside, resting on a layer of tissue paper, was a miniature of the airplane she had left back in Ohio.
Her chest constricted at the sight of her beloved plane, so many memories of flying, of powder-puff races with friends, and taking the kids on their first flights wrapped up in that machine she had to leave behind. It was almost cruel to be reminded of something so dear to hear that was no longer with her.
"What's this?" she asked, at a struggle to maintain her composure. On the radio in the background, the saddest Christmas song, Judy Garland's Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas, played.
"We're going to have your plane brought here. It's our Christmas gift to you," Cora said with a smile at Mary before casting her eyes to her husband.
"Really?" Mary asked, looking between her parents, eyes stinging with tears of surprised joy. She had gone from irritation to elation in less than a minute.
"First of the week," Robert said, looking pleased with himself. "Of course, I can't take all the credit. It was at joint idea between myself and Matthew."
Mary nearly dropped the plane as she glanced at her mother, who looked as one would after a balloon had just suddenly popped.
"What, Robert?" Cora asked, a smile appearing quickly to hide the fact that she had just been blindsided by her husband. "You never mentioned that you and Matthew had talked-"
"Didn't I?" Robert asked, unconcerned. "We both knew you must be missing flying that little bonanza of yours around. So we're making it happen!"
"Well, yes, I do. Thank you," Mary managed, her eyes flitting to Matthew, who seemed very interested in the tie he'd received from George.
Was he embarrassed? She wondered, herself feeling a mixture of emotions still.
As Isobel insisted on clearing up the glasses of eggnog and plates of Christmas cookies for the night, Mary couldn't help but smile to herself as she looked down at the miniature one last time before setting it aside to help. No matter who's idea it had been, at least she would finally get to fly again.
Didn't she deserve to be happy?