Murdoch in the JungleT

by Romantic Nerd

In 1904 Detective Murdoch and George Crabtree investigate a murder involving the abusive world of the meat-packing industry. Posing as hobos, they encounter Upton Sinclair researching his novel, "The Jungle." Sinclair helps them with their investigation and to learn how to survive in this dark, depressing and soul-torturing world of the early twentieth century jungle. M version.

4. Chapter 4: The Ring and the LocketT

Murdoch in the Jungle_The Ring and the Locket

It was the end of November, past the time when the trees rustled with beautiful fall colors, and too early for the soft kiss of the first snowfall. The Murdoch's sat at their small table in their suite in the Windsor House Hotel, seemingly ravenous as they ate their breakfast. Julia was now seven months pregnant, and following Dr. Tash's advice, she had stopped working in the morgue a few days ago. Thus, it was only William who was rushed to get off to work on time. They were running late, as per usual now that they had re-started their lovemaking antics – relying on their "Plan C" in order to best protect their baby while still meeting what had proven to be their irresistible need to be intimately connected with each other. This morning had been particularly lovely, and a bit noisy as well, ultimately leading to the addition of another noise complaint they would need to address before they settled their bill with the hotel and moved into their own, newly constructed, beautiful house tomorrow.

There was an unexpected knock at the door, prompting the couple to glance at each other – it was too early for the kitchen crew to be collecting the breakfast cart. Knowing William was pressed for time, Julia went to answer the door. It was Constable Crabtree. She invited him in, apologizing for having left his Author's Awards Dinner early a few nights ago.

George held his constable's helmet in hand, dropping his eyes to fiddle with it, and tried to hide his hurt, "I understand doctor."

Julia felt a twinge of guilt, but reminded herself that leaving really had been essential. It had turned out to be one of the worst hurts she had ever felt with respect to William – her observing her husband having lustful thoughts about their waitress. She quickly reassured herself that it had worked out quite well in the end – bringing issues to light that they needed to deal with, like William's struggle with being able to be a good father, and prompting them to reinstate their lovemaking, albeit not quite as completely as they would have liked. Wishing they had not hurt George in the process, she repeated, "I am so sorry George…" before William walked up and changed the subject, asking…

"So what have you George?" saving her from considering offering an explanation for their early departure that difficult and tumultuous night.

Also relieved to get off of the current topic, George noticeably jumped to answer, "Sir!" with a nod, "You are needed. A dead body has been found and the caller said there were suspicions of foul play …" Stepping further into the suite George continued talking as the detective put on his shoes. "Speaking of FOUL play sir, I exited the stairwell a flight early just now – I guess my mind was somewhere else, and I was so surprised … I didn't know they allowed pets here? …"

"They don't George," William said.

"Well I not only saw one, I spoke to the owner, hence my joke sir … It was an African Grey Parrot," George declared. He waited for a reaction to his joke, but not getting one, he offered to explain it, "Foul play… parrot…"

Julia teased, "Of course you know, George, that when you have to explain your joke, it wasn't a very good joke," a jesting smile taking her face.

"I'll have to agree with you there doctor," he replied humbly. "Actually doctor, you were helping me with the case when I first became acquainted with this type of bird – do you remember? I believe you also made a bad joke at the time – about finger food," he countered.

Julia held back a laugh. She definitely remembered the time George was referring to – and at the time the constable, or rather, Acting Detective for Stationhouse 4, had struggled with keeping his lunch down as she had given him her post-mortem report, part of which included her showing him the stomach contents – which included the man's own finger. "Oh yes, I do remember George," she replied. Looking at William, she explained that it had been while he was bedridden and recovering from a fall and Constable Crabtree was acting as detective for Stationhouse #4. William nodded as he slid his suit jacket on.

Excitedly, George told the story, "They are very bright. The bird in this case actually spoke, sir – and very clearly at that. An expert told me that the bird was not only repeating the exact words he had heard, but was also imitating the person's voice and timing and accent and everything as well. Now, sir …"

William was starting to look impatient with George's wanderings. Julia noticed and ducked her chin and smiled at her husband, urging for his tolerance.

George did not notice. He continued, "You would have figured it out right away, because you speak French sir, but I needed Higgins to tell me the bird was saying, "Eat the finger – mange le doigt," and this went a long way in helping me solve the case."

"Yes George, speaking of the case …" William pressed.

Finally getting to the point, George said, "Oh yes sir, it is a bit of a trip. I have Tom outside waiting for us with the carriage. I brought your murder bag.

Out of habit, all three of them drew their attention to Julia, who normally would accompany them to the scene as the coroner. Her current state of dress, merely a beautiful silk robe, served as a reminder that she would not be doing so. This would be their first body without her help.

George stuttered out, "Should I put a call in to Miss James … Or perhaps someone from another stationhouse?"

"Yes George," Julia responded, "I have made an arrangement with Dr. Kingsley from Stationhouse #3…" She looked to William, letting him finish to reassure her that he was comfortable with the plans.

"But we will also need to notify Miss James. The body will go to her at our morgue, and then Kingsley will come in to perform the autopsy," the detective explained.

"Very good, sir," George said with a quick nod. "May I use your phone?" he asked. George made the calls needed to arrange the collection and transport of the body, and for Dr. Kingsley to fit the extra postmortem into his schedule while William quickly swallowed the remainder of his tea and put on his coat.

As he kissed his wife goodbye, she informed him that he should expect Miss James to come with the carriage for the body at the scene. "She is very astute William. She may be of some help, and if you could, she is a quick study and … well, I think with your help, she will be a brilliant pathologist herself in time," Julia said.

George listened in, delighted in the doctor's faith and excitement in Miss James, for he had come to admire the young woman himself. He grew uncomfortable, however, as he watched his superior behave quite uncharacteristically, taking his wife firmly into his arms and whispering what George figured were sweet nothings in her ear, displaying his love, devotion, and dare he think it, sexual attraction – their sexual chemistry really, as he did so.

The constable turned away, feigning interest in the painting on the wall, certain his face had blushed, his mind replaying the images and sounds from only moments before, when he had heard a parrot, named Charlie, who, it turns out lives in the apartment of a sweet old lady right below the detective's and the doctor's, and he had approached the woman with the bird in the hall, finding himself somewhat enthralled by the animal. The parrot had run through its repertoire for George – a performance that sounded remarkably like the doctor, in which she begged, "William," to "please not stop," and declared how desperately she wanted him. His situation grew worse, as he had a nearly irresistible urge to giggle. He considered himself grateful that he had already told the couple about the parrot, of course leaving out of his story the content of the bird's utterings, and they seemed completely unaware of the whole situation.

Releasing her gently, William said, "Good," as he gave his wife a bow while seeming to magnetically hold her eyes with his gaze. "We're off George," he said, forcing himself away from his wife. So many thoughts ran through his mind as he closed the door behind him – how he would miss having her by his side on this case; how soon they would have their baby!; memories from this morning of the exquisite sounds, tastes, smells, and feelings that hurled through him as she moaned and cried with pleasure less than an hour ago; and memories of so many times when she cried desperately as she tried to cope with her fears of losing him – and the reminder to himself to be careful in response to it all.

"Where are we headed?" he asked as they left the hotel.

George, grateful the discomfort had passed surprisingly easily, stepped up into the police carriage after the detective. "The Junction. The caller suggested it was a doxy, sir," he answered.

The police carriage pulled up outside the front of a seedy brothel. William found he would always compare such establishments to Ettie Weston's Music Academy, and in so doing, this one fell quite short. He stifled a sigh as he struggled with the rising feelings of despair he felt thinking of the young woman whose life story had brought them here to investigate her murder. The carriage that would take the body to the morgue had not yet arrived, but Miss James stood in front of the building, pacing and looking a bit anxious as she waited for them to step out of the carriage.

Constable Crabtree stepped down first. "Miss James, you got here fast," he greeted.

"Yes," she replied. "This is quite close to my home," she explained. As the detective joined them on the street she greeted him, "Detective Murdoch, I cannot thank you enough for allowing me to learn from you sir."

He stood before her, showing her what it likely was about him that had made her boss fall so madly in love with him – his smile. He gave her a polite bow as he tipped his hat and said, "Dr. Ogden highly recommended that I do so. There can be no better referral." His eyes turned to the steps into the building, "Shall we proceed," he suggested.

The body was that of a Caucasian woman, approximately 30 years-old. She was dressed in what appeared to be a showgirl costume, complete with a feathery, bushy short skirt and a boa. She lay on her back next to a row of garbage pails. There was blood visible on the back-left side of her outfit, suggesting the presence of a wound in her lower back.

Miss James remained standing as the detective and the constable crouched down over the body. "She was quite striking," the constable said.

The woman had been a beauty, that was for sure, her ash-blond hair curling and wisping around her face in a way that stirred William, reminding him of Julia.

Immediately the detective noticed it, was bothered by it. It prompted him to unconsciously reach for and twist his own wedding ring on his finger under his glove. "Unusual," he thought, "a prostitute with a wedding ring." He had taken much teasing for wearing his, as many considered it not to be manly to do so. Perhaps that is why the ring stood out to him so, a wedding ring in certain circumstances considered by most to be out of place.

"There seems to be no purse, George," William said.

"Perhaps a robbery gone wrong?" the constable asked.

Miss James pushed herself to add her voice. "But she has a locket. Wouldn't they have stolen that as well?" she asked.

"Also odd," William thought, reminding himself that he and George were both wearing gloves, in this case to protect against the cold but also meaning that they would not accidently leave their fingermarks, as he reached up to turn the adornment over in his hand. The heart-shaped golden locket hung around the dead woman's neck, opened. "It seems the killer was more interested in removing the pictures in it than stealing the locket itself," he said. He pushed himself to think out loud for the benefit of the two people beside him whom he felt responsible for teaching. "Suggesting the killer knew the victim… wanted to hide her identity from us," he added. "Removing the pictures would have been an afterthought," he continued, pausing and then remembering to tell them why he thought so, "It would have been easier to take the locket than to open it and take the pictures. The action shows the killer made a rash decision."

"Probably not a robbery then," Rebecca concluded.

"Mm," the detective agreed. "George, have the men check these cans for any evidence – her purse, maybe the pictures that were in this locket… For that matter, check all the cans in the area," he instructed.

"Did anyone from the brothel recognize her?" William asked.

"Jackson and Higgins are questioning them now," the constable answered, "but the woman who called to report the body, the Madame I believe…"

"If you could call her that," William thought sarcastically in his mind, again comparing this situation to Miss Weston's.

"… Claimed she had never seen the woman before. Sir, she also said that she brought the garbage out last night around two in the morning and the body wasn't here then," George finished.

William sighed and asked, "Miss James do you see anything pertinent to the postmortem before we turn her over to see the wound on her back?

Rebecca studied the body. There appeared to be no visible wounds to speak of on her face or neck. Her hands and legs also looked relatively clean. There appeared the remnants of some rigor mortis. "May I check for lividity?" she asked.

"Good," he responded.

George stood and stepped back, giving her room to crouch down next to the body opposite from the detective. "She is cold," Rebecca reported. She checked both sides of the body's legs and neck and shoulders. "Liver mortis on the backs of the thighs and shoulders … I would say more than 12 hours … The lividity looks complete. There are still some signs of rigor, so less than 24 hours," she concluded.

The detective gave her a quick, approving smile. "I concur," he said, and then he moved back a little and the two of them rolled the body onto its stomach to reveal the blood-stained area on the back. The garment had dried blood on the area surrounding the left kidney. There was a slit in the fabric and the corset beneath it, suggesting a knife as the weapon more so than a bullet.

"May I?" Rebecca asked, squatting down next to them.

Detective Murdoch placed his hands on his knees. "Please," he said.

The coroner in training lifted the outfit's top away from the skirt and loosened some of the laces on the corset underneath to reveal the wound. "It looks like a knife wound," she said, stating what was obvious to all of them. She pressed against the flesh and explained, "It appears the killer knew their way around a body, sir."

"Oh?" the detective asked, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded confidently and continued, "The entry wound is just below the bottom rib, but it is aimed upward into the kidney. That seems quite intentional." She focused her attention on the skin around the entry and added, "The murderer had to use a great deal of force; the tissue is ragged and bruised. The weapon was likely not very sharp."

William stood up, controlling the urge to groan as his knees had stiffened quite a bit, nagging him with the reminder that he wasn't getting any younger, and for the briefest moment sending his mind onto a tangent with the memory of Father Keegan warning him not to wait too long to have children because old men and young children don't mix. "I see," he claimed. He ran an image, of how the murder might have occurred through his mind – the murderer, likely a man in this case in order to have adequate strength, stepping up behind the victim and plunging a knife upwards into her lower back. "No! That's wrong … or he was left handed," William yelled at himself. Immediately, another image ran, this one putting the man in front of the victim. He stepped close, taking her into a hug, digging the knife into her back while reaching around to push it up into the left side of her back.

"Miss James, does there appear to be a sufficient amount of blood here to match the wound?" he asked, himself thinking there was not.

"No sir," she answered quickly, her mind immediately understanding that he had determined that the victim was not likely killed here from that fact.

"George, let's check some of these cans ourselves. Perhaps they used a carpet or a blanket or something to move the body here," he instructed.

"May we take the body now, detective?" Rebecca asked.

Already lifting the lid of a nearby garbage can the detective replied, "Yes. Dr. Kingsley will be by to start the autopsy sometime today I believe…" Deciding that he was looking for larger items – a blanket or a purse, rather than smaller items like the pictures from the locket, he quickly returned the lid and went on to another can. "And Miss James, could you please take some samples of the blood from the clothing. Test it to ensure it is human," he said.

"Yes sir," she answered. But her mind rushed, "Why. What makes him think it might not be human blood?" the question plagued her, causing her to pause.

It was Constable Crabtree however, who asked it, "Why sir?"

He had seen it when he had imagined the stabbing. "The cut in the corset and the dress do not line up properly with the wound on the body," he explained.

Both Miss James and the constable checked the body as it lay before them on the ground with their own eyes. Yes, it did appear that the cuts in the garments were too low and too far away from the center of the body to align with the wound properly if the woman had been standing upright when stabbed.

"Amazing," Rebecca thought.

"Quite right, sir," George declared, "Then the clothing might have been put on afterwards, of course… And then the killer would have had to fake the blood…" George asked as he moved on to lift the lid on another garbage can, "Oh, speaking of the clothing, sir, do you want me to check around to see if we can find an establishment where the girls wear these outfits? And of course the other local brothels?" he said.

"Yes," William answered. His mind flashed the image of the woman's wedding ring at him again, but before he could really address the thought …

George called out, "Sir!" excitedly. He had found something! "The purse!" George exclaimed, lifting the gray-colored bag into the air.

It reminded William of many of the purses Julia had, that tied together at the top to make a loop that could go around the wrist. "Excellent!" he declared, hurrying over to see for himself. "It seems to have some blood on it … And look here George," he continued, lifting the garbage-pan lid from the edges and holding up to better reveal under the handle. "There seems to be a bloody fingermark here as well," he stated.

"Yes sir," the constable exclaimed, "Most likely the fingermark of our killer!"

Rebecca looked on, excited by the investigation, and disappointed because the body had been put on the stretcher and she would have to take her leave. In her mind she thanked Dr. Ogden once more for all she had done for her and allowed herself a moment to acknowledge her awe at the skills and the minds of both the doctor and the doctor's husband. She counted herself to be quite lucky to be included in their circle, on so many levels. She reminded herself to do her very best to live up to their expectations of her and forced herself to turn away.

Inside the purse they found some important evidence. There was a train ticket from Winnipeg from three days ago – she had not been here long from the looks of it. And there was a set of keys, likely to a boarding house, they figured. The keys were on a keychain with a Catholic Saint that William recognized to be St. Valentine. His mind rushed back to the woman's wedding ring again – and the heart-shaped locket. "This woman was deeply in love with her husband," he thought, finding that somehow the whole situation made him think of himself and Julia.

"This is a Catholic Saint," William said to George. "I will ask at the Catholic Churches… We will need her photograph, for questioning people in the neighborhood, the burlesque houses, the brothels, and now the Catholic Churches as well," he said, adding, "Oh, and the train stations as well. Perhaps she was with someone when she arrived."

"Right away sir," George responded.

As the detective and the constable rode back to the stationhouse in the police carriage, William pushed himself to bring up his apology for his and Julia's leaving George's Awards Dinner early. He wanted to avoid sharing their reason for having done so, for it was very personal, and … unflattering … to himself, having been caught ogling the waitress by Julia, devastating her in a way that hurt him so deeply he wasn't sure the wounds would ever completely heal for either of them. He swallowed, pushing the painful memory down into the periphery, and took a deep breath, drawing the younger man's attention.

"George," he started. He glanced at the younger man sitting on the seat next to him. It was not uncommon that William found himself aware of his warm feelings for George as he did just now. The man was, in many ways, an absolute marvel. And a truer, more loyal friend and fellow policeman could never be. But, what stirred him most, he thought, was how very different George was from himself – prone to exaggerate and fantasize, seemingly living in a world that only bordered on scientific reality at times. And yet, something about the man's heart touched him – resonated with him – in some deep, unseen way seeming to vibrate at the same note as his own.

"I hope you understand that Julia and I would never have left the dinner before your speech if it were not absolutely necessary," he continued, pausing.

"Of course, sir," George answered. It was his intent to reassure, but he was unable to hide the hurt.

William searched for something more. "Ask about the speech," he heard Julia's voice advise in his head. "She is brilliant!" he thought, partially laughing at his ability to give his wife credit for a thought inside his own head. "I would very much have loved to hear your speech, George," he said. "Do you think I could read it?" he asked.

A big smile covered the constable's face, bringing a happy jolt to William's heart. "Would you, sir?" George asked excitedly.

William smiled back. "I look forward to it," he responded.

George's mood grew more serious and he said, "You should know sir, most of it was addressed to you." Quickly George grew uncomfortable and rushed to add, "And of course the Inspector … and the lads … and my aunts … well … in the end, truth be told sir, it was mostly a thanks to you."

Fortunately, William's face showed his feelings of being honored by George's high esteem and gratitude, for he found himself speechless. Also fortunate, was the fact that George Crabtree rarely found himself at a loss for words.

George spared the detective, going on to say, "I wanted you to know how much you have mattered to me, how important you have been in my life. And be it as a copper or as a writer, I know in my heart that knowing you as I have has made me a better man."

William felt the blood rushing to his cheeks and seemed completely incapable of wiping the huge smile off of his face, causing the constable much glee.

"I see I have touched you sir. And I am glad," he said. "I wanted you to know," George concluded.

"Thank you, George," the detective replied. "I am truly touched. And I hope you know I feel much the same about you," he added. He clamped his lips together and gave George a slight bow. Relief was taking hold as William felt his temperature returning back to normal. He changed the subject, "Back to the case at hand, then?" he suggested.

George had figured that the detective and the doctor had argued, or that some 'woman' problem had arisen suddenly – perhaps having to do with the doctor's pregnancy. He had always hoped that he and the detective would have the kind of friendship where they openly discussed such things, even having had tried a few times (like after discovering Emily Grace was a sapphist), but it seemed that such discussions were very uncomfortable for the detective. George was bright enough, had faith in his belief that the detective truly held him to be a trustworthy friend and confidant enough, to know in his heart not to take the detective's reluctance to self-disclose personally, or as a sign of lack of trust in any way. No, he knew this was the nature of the man … and he took comfort in his suspicion that, at least with his wife, Dr. Ogden, the detective did open up. Deep down George knew that it was the detective's and the doctor's deep, personal, intimate trust in each other that made their relationship so special… He took comfort in knowing the man he so cared for had found such happiness.

William was simply glad that George did not ask, taking the younger man's discretion as another example of the maturity and kindness he knew existed in his friend.

"Yes sir," George responded. "What do you know about this St. Valentine?" he asked.

William explained that St. Valentine is not actually the patron saint of lovers as most people assume, but of soul mates – he is a saint for people who have already found a love that seems destined and unavoidable.

"Like you and Dr. Ogden, sir," George said.

It was the way he said it that so shook William, with utter and complete confidence and certainty, like it was obvious, a given. He took a deep breath and let the warmth of the joy, the joy of being known and loved, and of being oh so lucky to experience such a love and to have friends who are truly happy for you in that love, the power of the feeling, as it expanded through him, threatened to overwhelm him momentarily, causing his pause. He smiled and bowed to George again. "Yes, I believe so, George," was all he said.

Once back at the station, William put a call in to Julia at home. "…Yes, she was quite helpful. She quickly determined that the knife went under the bottom rib and up into the kidney… Yes, she explained that as well, perhaps a doctor in order to be so familiar with anatomy?" he said to her into the phone. William wrinkled up a corner of his mouth, questioning in his mind his wife's suggestion that it could even be a butcher … anyone who knew their way around a body, because it wouldn't have to necessarily be a human body to know the whereabouts of the ribs on the back and the kidneys.

"Julia," he asked, "what do you make of the fact that she wore a wedding ring? Wouldn't that be unlikely for a prostitute?" As he listened to her response he felt a twinge of discomfort. He had also thought to contact Ettie Weston, particularly once they had found that the train ticket came from Winnipeg, where he knew Ettie had moved to set up a "coffee house," but … he sensed Julia felt some jealousy when it came to his relationship with Ettie, and having her suggest that Ettie would know more about the habits of prostitutes than his wife would surged a pang of uncomfortable nausea in his gut. "I suppose that is true," he answered.

Then he remembered why he had called. "Oh, Julia, I know you are not actually working in the morgue for a while, but do you think you could go there to perform a quick procedure – one I really only trust you to do?" he asked. Such memories flooded him as he prepared to make his request, accompanied by feelings of sadness and hope, and regret, and even a sense of childlike naughtiness and the fear of being caught. He planned to ask her if she would make a frozen Jello-mold of the weapon used to make the wound. It was unavoidable that they would each experience memories of the other time he had asked her to do the same thing, when she was visiting Toronto with Darcy, from Buffalo, so that her family could meet her fiancée. It flashed clearly before his eyes – Julia tugging the green, poker-shaped frozen Jello stick out of Mr. Jenkins' forehead at the very moment that Dr. Francis charged into the morgue catching them in the act! He was still surprised by the intensity of the pain he felt remembering how very much in love with her he was at the time, and how she loved another – or at least he had believed so. He listened to the tone of her voice as she agreed to come by the stationhouse later with the Jello, certain that she felt the emotions of the powerful memories flowing through her veins as well. He decided, remembered really, his plans from earlier, at that moment, that he would buy her flowers tonight. My God, he was grateful to have her as his wife … and he still felt the urge to hop up-and-down and to jump with the thought – and as the mother of his child!

Before he hung up, he remembered his earlier conversation with George in the police carriage on the way back to the station, prompting him to ask Julia if she would mind if the two of them took George out to dinner tonight, "to make up for leaving George's Author's Awards Dinner early and missing his speech." She seemed excited about the idea, suggesting that they try a new Indian Restaurant she had heard about.

When Higgins and Jackson returned they filled the detective in on their findings. The questioning of the women in the brothel led nowhere – no one recognized the dead woman. In the next alleyway over, the constables had found a blood-soaked large sheet of burlap and a small bucket containing what appeared to be the remnants of blood. Both were sent along to the morgue to be checked to see if the blood was human. There was no sign of the locket's small photos.

Detective Murdoch headed over to the morgue to take the photograph of the victim himself and to check in with Miss James, letting her know to expect Dr. Ogden as well as Dr. Kingsley. By the time Julia showed up to share lunch with him, he had the copies of the photo of the woman for the constables and himself to use in their inquiries. He intended to visit the Catholic churches himself with the photo and the St. Valentine keychain after lunch.

After they had shared their meal and Julia headed over to the morgue to make the Jello-mold of the wound, William retrieved his bicycle, having had left in the stationhouse stables the night before, and rode his wheel out to the Junction to investigate if anyone at one of the Catholic churches remembered their victim. He supposed that since the train ticket was only from three days ago, it would be more helpful to meet with church people who were in attendance on a weekday rather than waiting until Sunday.

He started with the church closest to where the body was found, with no luck. However, the priest there recommended he try a small church in the adjoining neighborhood that served mostly Eastern European parishioners. It was in the nearby Stockyards area. He noticed, as he disembarked from his bicycle, that despite the cold weather, the pungent order from the area still reeked of the stenches of livestock and some other awful smell that reminded him of death. "This is why Toronto is nicknamed 'Hogtown' after all," he thought.

The building was barely recognizable as a church until he stepped inside. He crossed himself and greeted the priest, who put him in touch with an older woman who spoke broken English. She was Lithuanian and remembered the victim even before she saw the photograph, merely by the description, the detective's photograph serving only to bolster her certainty. She remembered the woman was named Ieva … that she was looking for her husband, though the woman had been unable to help her with her quest for she had never seen the man in the photograph that the woman showed her. When pushed by William to remember the husband's name she was unable. She took the detective's number and promised to call if she remembered anything else. She provided another important clue on the trail though, telling William that the woman had wanted help finding a place to stay … and that she had very little money. She sent her to a friend's boarding house – William's next stop.

The boarding house, if you could call it that for it was so rickety and run-down it could barely be described as more than a structure, was owned by a very old woman, also Lithuanian. She only knew the victim's first name, Ieva. She said she had agreed to let Ieva stay there free of charge to help out a fellow Lithuanian in trouble. The landlady had not seen or heard of Ieva since yesterday morning.

William was shown to a small room in the basement. When he checked the lock on the door with the keys on the St. Valentine's keychain, the landlady recognized the keychain as being Ieva's. Excitement pumped through William as he found that one of the keys slipped into the hole in the lock and then clicked the lock into place. Ultimately the other key would also fit the landlady's front door. The clues were panning out!

Searching the victim's room was quite easy, for it was extremely small and contained very little. The woman slept between two coats; each of them men's coats, and were of a size fitting for a man who would have been quite large in stature. "Her husband was very big," William thought as he checked the pockets. In one of the inside pockets he found a bunch of letters all tucked into one envelope. The envelope was stamped from Toronto and had a date, July 15, 1904. They were written in Lithuanian, so William turned to the landlady, asking her to interpret. There was also a photo, likely of her husband – and the one Ieva was using in her search for him. The man was young, handsome and wore a moustache. He appeared to be very muscular. "Likely worked as a laborer," William thought.

According to the landlady, all of the letters were signed, "Your loving husband." His words spoke very lovingly of his wife … and the couple had a son, named Matis.

William turned his attention to what seemed to be a small shrine in the corner of the dingy room with a photograph of a very young boy. "Likely Matis," he thought. A deep sense of sadness ran through his veins, managing to chill him and scald him at the same time, as his brain reasoned, "The boy seems to have died." He consciously fought to push away the image that followed, of Julia's pregnant belly under his hand as they lay in bed this morning, as they spoke of their baby hearing his father's voice from within the womb and feeling loved and safe in association with being bathed in the sound. Even just this tiny inkling of what it might feel like as he imagined losing his child threatened to starve his ability to breathe.

William forced himself to pay attention to the landlady's further interpretations of Ieva's husband's letters. None of them gave an indication as to where in Toronto the man had been living, or even what job he was working at, though he was working and earning money, which he was also sending back to Ieva. The top letter, most likely the last one she had received, referred to his coming into a large sum of money. "Likely related to his disappearance," William thought, "Not a good sign … maybe what got him killed."

The detective thanked the old woman for helping him and gave her his number in case she remembered anything that she had forgotten to tell him. As he headed back to the stationhouse he reminded himself to have the constables show Ieva's picture around the neighborhood near the landlady's home – And her husband's as well. "Ah yes," he thought with a smile, "And don't forget the flowers!"

Back at the stationhouse, a dozen roses in hand, William picked up his messages and then stopped by the bullpen to ask how the inquiries were going.

Higgins lit up with the sight of the detective holding the flowers, capitalizing on the situation as an opportunity to show off his clever observation skills from the past, declaring, "So I was right all those years ago after all, sir – the detective was in love."

All eyes smiled on William, who stalled remembering his public embarrassment at being called out for being in love with Julia a decade or so ago, and having his own invention, the pneumograph or truthilizer, prove it to be true in front everyone's very own eyes – including Julia's beautiful, big blue ones – as the blue liquid squiggled and shot up in the tube. Unavoidably, his face grew red as blood flowed up to his cheeks and the temperature in the room seemed to surge. He dropped his eyes down to the yellow roses in his arm, and felt his tongue plunge into the side of his cheek, as he tried to find a response.

The Inspector's voice called out from behind him, lowering the pressure that was humming in his ears, as everyone looked behind William.

"I suppose," the Inspector's tone bright with play, "that our detective here has also come to see that I was also right all those years ago – when I claimed that there was an even better detector of the truth than his gadget… It's called a wife!" he teased … garnering much laughter, including the detective's.

Somewhat relieved, William chuckled, "That is true, sir. That is true."

Jackson added, "As a fellow married man, I can attest to that as well," earning more laughter, adding to the fun.

Constable Flanders asked, "Is that why you need the flowers detective, you got caught in a lie?"

Detective Murdoch stood up taller, and proudly declared, "No…" then smiled and seemed in danger of blushing again, pulling his eyes down to the floor temporarily as he continued, "Well, at least not his time anyway." They all shared a laugh, although the detective's face wrinkled slightly in contemplation as he considered whether or not he actually could remember ever lying to Julia – he was pretty certain he never had…

The inspector pulled the men back to the police-work at hand, "So, bug-a-lugs, what have you got so far?"

Detective Murdoch stated the facts as they were known thus far, describing the victim and the scene where the body was found, and informing everyone about the items of evidence that were in the morgue – a purse, probably the victim's, with some blood on it, and a garbage-pail lid with a bloody fingermark on it, and also a burlap sheet with blood on it – likely from when the body was moved to the back alley behind the brothel, and a bucket with what they suspect was blood in it – suggesting animal blood may have been used on the clothing to make it look like that was what the woman was wearing.

The detective informed them that he also had reason to believe the woman was made to look like she was a prostitute rather than actually being one because she wore a wedding ring. He went on to say that there were also some items of the victim's recovered from her purse and on her person – the train ticket from Winnipeg, a set of keys on a keychain – which led to finding the room where she was staying, and there discovering a bunch of letters from her husband along with the man's photograph. The victim was also wearing a locket, the photographs in it had been removed, but they were most likely of her husband and their young son … "Whom I believe died," Detective Murdoch said, displaying the young boy's photo and describing the shrine the victim had made for him in her room.

They would be testing the locket for fingermarks as well, the detective added. He was optimistic they would find one because the bloody fingermark the killer left on the garbage-pail lid suggested he was not wearing gloves.

The constables had come up dry, their questioning of any possible witnesses who might have seen the victim from the burlesque clubs and brothels finding no one who recognized the woman in the photograph. This further bolstered the detective's theory that the woman was not actually a prostitute or showgirl.

"I still want to call Ettie about her," William thought to himself, barely having time to acknowledge the edge of uneasiness that he felt with the thought.

However, the showgirl costume she had been wearing matched with those used by women at a club called, "The Moons." The owner claimed to know of none of their outfits that had gone missing, but he said that some of the performers had more than one costume. He was going to ask the women tonight and let us know.

According to Constable Higgins, a man who helped people with their luggage at the train station for tips recognized the victim. "He said she arrived alone and did not need any help because she only had one small bag," Higgins explained. "It doesn't hurt people's memories any that she was quite a looker," he added, getting much agreement.

Detective Murdoch instructed Crabtree to make copies of the photograph he had found in Ieva's room of the husband … and then to ask around at the same burlesque places and brothels, as well as in the Junction and the Stockyards to see if anyone recognized him. He shared his thoughts with the men about the husband's possible jobs, explaining that, "Based on the man's muscular build from what can be seen in his photograph, and his large size from the coats his wife had in her possession, and the location near the Junction and the Stockyards, I think it pertinent to include inquiring at businesses like the abattoirs (slaughterhouses), and near the freight train lines."

It was agreed that it was too late to do the tasks today and, if anyone of the constables on duty over the weekend had a chance then they would get to it. William hoped to dissuade anyone from expecting him to work on the case over the weekend as he and Julia were moving into their new house. He decided to remind everyone. "As you all know, Dr. Ogden and I are moving this weekend. Please make sure you all have updated the records as to the new address and phone number so I can be reached if need be," he said.

"Oh, and lastly, I have a message here from the morgue to see Miss James," he added. "I will update you all on what she has to add if I get back before you have headed home for the night," he concluded. He asked George to follow him into his office.

"George," he said, "I expect I will be quick at the morgue. There should be no problem with Dr. Ogden and I meeting you at the restaurant by six."

"Very good sir," George replied, "I am looking forward to it."

"Good," William said, "We will see you there."

Detective Murdoch was disappointed when he arrived at the morgue to find that Dr. Kingsley had not yet started the postmortem, however, he was pleased to learn that Rebecca James had written up her report on the blood testing she had done. She led Detective Murdoch to Dr. Oden's desk explaining, "I have labeled and stored all of the samples in case there may be any further tests to run…" She hesitated, wondering if she should draw attention to her lack of experience and decided not to do so, thus she did not tell him she also saved the samples in case there was some question as to the quality of her work. "And of course, there is still some blood on the evidence that could be used if necessary as well," she finished.

She handed the detective her report and he started looking it over, asking, "Miss James, could you tell me your findings. I can read up on the details later, if you don't mind." He lifted his chin and his eyes met hers.

"My goodness, he looks so curious, so excited, so interested," Rebecca noticed, his enthusiasm striking her as contagious, surging her own. "Well, it is really quite intriguing," she began her response.

William found himself thinking that her statement reminded him of how Julia would start a report. He took a deep breath and focused. It seems his wife was right about Miss James, but of course, he was not surprised, Julia was a very good judge of character.

Rebecca continued, "The blood on the dress and on the corset was not human, as you suspected detective. I checked samples from multiple different locations on the garments."

William nodded. "Enough time for the blood to dry before changing the clothes," he thought.

"Also, as you likely suspected," she went on, "the bucket contained animal blood as well."

William nodded again and asked, "And the burlap sheet?" already fairly confident in the answer.

"Human blood," Miss James stated. She saw his satisfaction. Was it with her work? Was it with his being correct in his suspicions? Perhaps both…

"I am so puzzled, detective?" she looked to him, her fascination quickly fading as she realized she may be asking more of him than was her right. But she so wanted to be able to see into his keen brain, grasp his thinking, somehow expecting to be impressed by him again. "May I ask, detective, what do you expect to learn from these blood tests beyond the fact that the victim was not originally dressed in a showgirl costume?

Detective Murdoch explained that he planned to use the type of blood, whether it was animal or human, and where it was located on the evidence to piece together the timing of the events after the murder. His expression reassured her that she was not intruding, that he enjoyed sharing his thoughts with her. He went on to enlighten her to his logical steps. He closed the report and expounded, "We know that within an hour or so of the murder the body was wrapped in the burlap sheet because of the extent of the human blood on the burlap. We also know that the body was changed into the showgirl costume later than a few hours after the murder because there was not any human blood on the outfit, thus the body did not cross-contaminate the clothing with its blood."

William was getting to the really good part now, leaning closer to her, making it almost seem like he was sharing a secret, he continued, "Also, because there was not any human blood on the showgirl costume, we know the burlap sheet was used to move the body…" The detective paused and a smile grew on his face showing his excitement, "… a second time …" he said, standing up taller and clasping his hand into a victorious fist.

Rebecca shook her head, not quite getting how that evidence led to his conclusion.

William took a deep breath and worked to better explain, "The burlap sheet is only needed to move the body, right?"

Rebecca nodded.

"And we know the body was moved when the blood was still wet," he continued, but paused for her to agree.

Rebecca nodded again, "Yes, her blood got on the burlap."

"And then the burlap sheet had to be removed to change the body into the showgirl costume, which was done at least a few hours after the murder because her blood did not get on the costume, right?" he asked again.

Rebecca nodded, "Right," she replied.

"Now it is important to figure in that it is unlikely that the killer changed the clothing on the body while it lay behind the brothel… Too much chance of someone happening upon him," he said next, "So he would not likely have brought the body to the alleyway in the burlap sheet and then changed her into the costume there…"

Rebecca's mind raced forward and her face lit up! She was getting to it!

William waited for her to arrive at his same conclusion on her own.

She exclaimed, "And the body we found was dressed in the showgirl costume, so either the killer changed the clothing in the alleyway, at least a few hours after the murder because the body didn't get blood on the costume, and then he disposed of the dried burlap sheet there, but doing it this way increased his chances of getting caught." Rebecca took a deep breath and then reasoned out another explanation, "Or the killer could have used the burlap sheet to move her somewhere else to change her clothing, which again had to be at least a few hours after she was killed, and then use the dried burlap sheet a second time to transport the body to the alleyway, with the burlap not cross-contaminating the showgirl costume with human blood in this case because it had already dried… I see." Excitedly she declared, "That's brilliant!"

The detective joined her happiness, solidifying the logic, "Moving the body twice with the same burlap sheet best explains how the burlap got wet human blood on it but the showgirl costume did not."

Rebecca fortified their theory even more explaining, "Besides, if the killer changed the clothing while the body was in the alleyway, sometime between 2 a.m. and when the Madame called at around 7 a.m., then the body would have been in the stiffest stage of rigor, making it very difficult to change the clothing at that time."

"Very good," the detective said, giving her a nod. He took a deep breath and changed the subject. "Now, I believe Dr. Ogden made a mold of the weapon…"

"Oh yes, sir. It's in the cold storage with the body," Rebecca jumped to say.

The Jello-mold Julia had made showed that the knife was a little less than 5 inches long, with both sides of the blade being symmetrical, and that it was very, very dull – making William question whether or not it was really a knife at all. The detective made arrangements for Miss James to be present when Dr. Kingsley performed the postmortem tomorrow and thanked her for all of her good work. Then he hurried to take his leave.

The Murdoch's arrived at the Indian restaurant a little late, finding George was already there waiting for them. They were in wonderful moods, having just come from confronting the hotel clerk about their unfounded noise complaints and being informed that there was very good evidence that it was the couple's loud lovemaking, particularly the doctor's exclamations using William's name, that was responsible for said complaints. Although they had been abstaining from making love at the time that most of the noise complaints had been made, the fact that the loud declarations came from Julia seemed indisputable. They had speculated that even her loud dreaming could be overheard. In the end, though, the incident highlighted their jubilation with the romantic aspect of their relationship. They seemed ready to celebrate as they joined George at their table.

William had warned himself ahead of time to keep his eyes, and his thoughts, off of the waitress, or any other woman besides Julia, after having strayed so badly the last time they had gone out – to George's Author's Awards Dinner as fate would have it. He doubled up his armor once they were shown to their table and their female waitress arrived. William had no way of knowing how rare it was for an Indian restaurant to employ women to wait on tables, having never been to such an establishment before. The owner of this restaurant, however, only had daughters – their waitress was the oldest daughter of the man.

William, being on high alert ( and figuring Julia was as well), had the impression that their waitress found him attractive, even just the way she looked at him during her introduction pounding his heart – with fear, not with lust. Only a few moments into the evening she outwardly flirted with him…

"You have such big, brown eyes, sir – so warm and spicy, like a tamarind and chocolate dessert," she had said as he had marveled at, and remarked on, the special bread and exotic sauces she had served them.

He thought he had heard Julia gasp. His mind threatened to swirl away into a panic in response to the whole current state of affairs. He had to be quick – nip this in the bud somehow, he told himself. The one thing he knew for certain was that he had best look at Julia not at that waitress, and no matter what, he had to make it obvious that he was in love with his wife. "That should be easy," he thought, "I am madly in love with my wife!"

The feeling was exquisite, the moment he looked into Julia's eyes. His heart seemed to open, to warm. He smiled at her and said, speaking to the waitress, while never leaving Julia's big, blue eyes, "So my wife tells me. She even claims she hopes our baby has my eyes… though I find hers to be particularly beautiful." Julia returned his smile, prompting him to take in a deep, slow, breath. Her look caused him to forget whatever it was he was going to say next, thus his lips remained stuck together in his smile.

It was George who broke the silence. "Well, err ... either way, then, the baby will have beautiful eyes," he exalted. The trance broken, the couple looked away from each other. Everyone looked at George.

Julia said, "That's right, George. Thank you."

The waitress nearly curtsied she suddenly felt so uncomfortable. "Why yes of course," she said and then hurried away.

William thrust his eyes down on his plate and swallowed in an attempt to cure his dry throat, quickly thinking to take a sip of water. George watched on, enthralled by the show. Julia tucked her chin in and seemed to study her husband. She lifted her glass of wine and took a sip, her eyes remaining stuck on William as she did so. There was a connection between them, intense and strong, though William only offered the periphery of his eyes.

A smile appeared on Julia's face, one that shone with both mischief and compassion. "Well played, detective," she said, raising her glass, offering him a toast of sorts.

My God, they shared a look, when William's eyes rose to meet hers, sparkling and dark, capturing her in his gaze. He touched his water glass to her glass of wine with a connecting clink.

Julia leaned closer to him over the corner of the table, locked her arm into William's and squeezed him tight. Once again her eyes held his as she declared, "I love you William Murdoch, I really, really do."

William moved closer and tilted his head to tuck his lips near her ear and whisper, "And I you."

George felt compelled to stare, although the voice inside his head urged him to look away, to give them some measure of privacy. "Probably something like that happened the night of my dinner– but Detective Murdoch did not, "play," it quite so well that time," he imagined. He remembered how problematic it had been for himself and Emily when he had been acting as Detective Murdoch in Mr. Pendrick's movie, and the "Dr. Ogden" character was so forward with him, taking him into a vigorous kiss. His chest filled with empathy for the detective, the emotions of fear and loss emitted by the memory so quickly dissipated as he observed the detective and the doctor now, so obviously in love with each other.

Inhaling their image, he felt a sensation like hot steam overtake him, slide into him, making it hard to breathe. Something primitive and mystical stirred from deep inside of his core. The sensation was so sensual, as George's mind and body overflowed with the fantasy of the slow, deep, melting movement and succulent feel of physically loving another. Lust and a desire for intimate touch soaked his being, as he heard the hungry sounds of pleasure in his head, in this case supplied by the parrot's voice from this morning, now, not eliciting the urge to laugh, but rather the yearning to reach for, to touch, to share, to join with another, while he sat at the table and he envisioned their passion. A powerful blend of awe and envy filled him, followed by sadness and longing and loneliness. How much he wished his mind had conjured up an image of Nina with such desperate and entrancing feelings, for making love with her had been – still was – wonderful. But it had not. No, his mind, his inner essence, sent him Edna. And he knew the ache would never go away.

He started to reason, to work to find comfort, thinking of having had watched the detective suffer so with the loss of his one true love when the doctor had moved away, married another. Fate, destiny, the detective would likely think God, ended his pain, brought her back to him. Or perhaps it was simply the power of their love that defied the odds …

Julia pulled back and let William go. She looked to George, drawing him further out of his thoughts, and then she looked back to William. "I hope we haven't scared her away," she said of the flirtatious waitress, "I am quite excited to try my Matar Paneer," she added, her eyes growing wide with excitement.

Appearing to have handled her embarrassment well, the waitress delivered their meals, speaking comfortably with them about the various garnishes that are commonly used with each dish. While they ate, the topic of discussion settled on George's speech at the Author's Awards Dinner.

He had brought the speech with him, and pulled the paper out of his vest pocket. William and Julia glanced at it. It was shorter than either of them expected, knowing how verbose George could be at times. They encouraged him to read it to them, which he did.

George's speech began with a quick tale about the hero in his latest book bounding through multiple adventures and confronting a moral dilemma. He said of the story, that, "you write what you know, and yet, he did not KNOW how to be the man he wrote about, the man he aspired to be." Then he confided in the audience, telling them that his character was based on a man he did know, "But in reality the story's hero is a mixture of myself and this man – Detective William Murdoch, who has served as my mentor, my superior, and my friend for much of my adult life."

George read, "Now, people who are familiar with the detective and myself will wonder about my joining the two of us together into my protagonist, claiming that we are so very different from each other. And I admit, in many ways we are. The detective is a serious sort, while I am quite a jokester at times. Detective Murdoch has an uncanny way of focusing on something, his intensity seemingly burning through any problems he encounters, and again I differ, for I tend to approach things using a more carefree, some might say, "scatter-brained," method. But I feel an affinity with the man as I have never felt with any other. And I know in my heart that we are not so very different."

He paused from his reading again, looking to Julia he said, "I adlibbed a line in there about how the detective had become more playful and fun-loving as a result of being in love with you. It got a bunch of laughs."

Julia smiled and glanced at her husband. "Why George!" she exclaimed, "That is absolutely lovely," she said, tipping back the last of her wine.

William quickly called over a busboy, asking, "Could you please have the waitress bring my wife another glass of wine …"He looked to George, "You as well, George?"

"I'd be glad to join you doctor," George declared.

William gave the busboy a quick nod. Then he turned and smiled at Julia. He reached up and tucked a curl behind her ear. Unusual for him to show such affection in public, he submitted to his own wishes, keeping his touch on her skin, letting the outer edge of his fingers travel along the delicate, tender skin of her jawline, and placing his thumb, just momentarily, to hold her chin. The gesture spoke his heart – for he cherished her thoroughly.

William placed his hand on top of hers and dropped his eyes. When they returned, there was an air of playfulness twinkling in them. "I guess now the whole Constabulary knows who to blame for my bad jokes," he shared with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Well sir," George leaned in closer to the couple, "At least now you make them," he said, adding, "Besides, some aren't half bad," with his teasing earning a round of moans and some condolences for the detective.

It was the doctor that pulled them back to George's speech. She took a sip of her newly-filled wine and said, "You have more there, George," looking at the speech in his hand, "Do you say how you and the detective are similar?"

"I believe so, doctor," he replied, turning once again at his written words. George read some more, "I have watched him closely, and Detective Murdoch lives his life as a fervent struggle to always try to do what is right, guided by the truth, but ultimately centered in, deeply seeded in, compassion and caring for one's fellow man – and woman. The powerful thing, however, is that he sees the same thing in me – creating a deep feeling of kinship between us. What I don't think he knows is how important he has been in inspiring me to live my life this way. He has made me a better man, and in becoming so I have learned that the best you can ever be is to always try to be better."

George lowered the paper and said, "It is almost done," continuing once they urged him to do so.

He read on, "I have learned from him that what is right is fluid, and often complicated, taking into account a myriad and immeasurable number of variables, and that because of this there are no rules, in the end, to rely upon, and finally that all of this compounds to make a life in which each moment matters. And, so very often it takes more than I think I have within me to find what is right and then to be brave enough to do it... There are many ways to encourage. And I tell you now, that encourage is what the detective has done for me, intentionally with his words and his actions, but also unintentionally, as a model, and a confidant. He has put COURAGE in me, and once it was there, nothing could ever take it away. And as for those adventures, my God I hope they keep coming!

George put his speech back into his pocket and made another forkful of his dinner, wanting to avoid pressuring them to react, to give feedback.

William and Julia looked at each other, her signaling that it was William who should say something.

William also scooped up the last bit of his meal, delaying, thinking, searching for what to say. He was grateful for having been better prepared to respond to George by their conversation earlier. William left his fork ready on his plate. He focused on George, starting with, "I could not be more honored, George, and grateful to know how important to you our relationship has been – and still is." William took a deep breath and continued, "And I can tell from what you said, that you know that I feel much the same way about you…" He lifted his fork, "Truthfully," he said, nodding in recognition, "You inspire me as well," finishing by taking his bite of food, hinting that he was done.

George knew the man well. He changed the subject, turning his eyes to Julia. "Doctor, has the detective had a chance to tell you much about our latest case?"

"No, not really," she replied. "Although I did see the victim – William asked me to make a mold of the stab wound to help identify the type of weapon used," she added.

George had noticed he had much more food left than the others, an unfortunate effect of reading his speech. He was hurrying a bit to catch up. "What did you think?" he asked, hoping to engage her in talking more.

"The woman was quite beautiful," she said. Julia looked at William, "Married?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm," the detective said. "It seems she was here searching for her husband who had gone missing … for quite some time. His last letter to her was from July," he explained.

George was nearly finished with his plate. He swallowed and said, "I must say, I fear we will find that her husband is dead."

William sighed, drawing their attention. "I think what I dread most is if we find him, and he is not," he said. Another sigh announced William's strong emotion. He dropped his eyes down to his own wedding ring, fiddling with it as he said, "I shudder to think of having to tell the man that his young son had died, and then his wife had died too, was killed, trying to find him."

Julia placed her hand over his. "Yes William, that would be awful," she agreed.

The conversation paused, the brief moment of silence signifying the intensity of their feelings. William placed his other hand over Julia's. He took a deep breath and moved on. He found her face, warming her with his big, brown eyes and his handsome gaze. "Something sweet?" he asked.

Oh, she would tease him, giving him the smallest glimpse of a sly smile with which to prepare. "Perhaps something warm, with spicy tamarind and sweet chocolate?" she suggested.

Instantly, William's heart pounded in his chest. He so wanted to share something warm, and spicy, and sweet with his delicious wife – Something other than dessert! One part of his brain raced through memories and images of making love to her, collapsing and charging him with immediate feelings of luscious spinning in his head and an urgent surge in his groin – while another part of his brain raced to fight the panic of coping with his mistakes with the waitress just a few days ago, and his current solutions with this waitress here today. He cleared his throat, not wanting to show the power of his reaction to her teasing with a scratchy voice. "Such indulgences may be best shared in private," he proposed, "Being among treasured pleasures for only you and me."

George, of course looked on, feeling the heat of the double entendres, possibly even the triple entendres, in this case. Again conflict stirred within him. Watch, listen in – truth be told, enjoy… Or turn away, yielding to politeness. Startled to once again find himself in this predicament for such behavior was unlike the detective, he mostly just felt the urge to get out. At first he poked and fidgeted with the food on his plate, grateful there was still some remaining. Then, stopping their romantic play, George pretended to take their conversation at face-value, as if they really were just discussing dessert. "I believe that there are some wonderful Indian desserts," he diverted. "I saw them on the menu. There was something called, "ghevar," I think – it was made of fried dough and syrup," he rambled on.

Taking his hand off of Julia's with a sigh, William said, "The ice cream looked good."

Later, William got up to pay the bill, leaving George and Julia alone to talk. As soon as he was out of hearing range, George leaned towards Julia and commented, "The detective is sure doting on you tonight, doctor," surprising even himself with the directness of his own remark.

Not quite expecting George to outwardly mention it, she had to admit that her husband was being particularly demonstrative this evening, especially considering where they were. Her own sarcastic voice chided in her head, "The man knows what's good for him." She smiled and replied, "Do you think so?"

"Oh yes," George replied gleefully. "Perhaps I should be honored that he feels comfortable enough around me to do so. Err, uh … What I mean is, um, well I'm quite sure he shows his fondness for you at home…" George couldn't help but think of the parrot uttering his passionate cries, pleading for, "William not to stop." The contradiction battled within him, between his guilt for being so voyeuristic, peering as it were into their bedroom, tugged and balanced against his great happiness in being shown how very much his friends enjoyed each other's love.

Knowing William's uncharacteristic behavior was at least in part an effort to repair his wandering eyes from the night of George's Awards Dinner, Julia found herself once again pondering about how common it was for women to behave seductively with him, suspecting it was likely even worse when she was not around. "George would know!" she thought. The question was out of her mouth before she considered asking it, "Is William often on the receiving end of flirtatious females?"

Quickly she got over her shock at her own impulsive behavior as she watched the constable squirm around, thus revealing the answer.

"Uh, well doctor…" he said, grabbing his tie, smoothing it down, "Err…" he added, straightening his napkin on the table. George took a deep breath, calming himself down. He looked her in the eye. His lips clamped together with the recognition that he had already given her the truth. Reassuringly he said, "Dr. Ogden, Detective Murdoch is wholly devoted to you. Certainly you know that."

She smiled warmly, "I do, George," she replied. Curiosity, authentic and genuine wonder, covered her face as she asked, "But how does he handle it – when I am not there?"

George tapped his fingers on the table, thinking for a moment. His eyes turned back to her, "Mostly it seems he doesn't notice their attentions. It's like he truly cannot tell that they are flirting with him." He paused, then smiled, answering her next question, "And if he does notice? Well… he stops, kind of gets stuck for a moment. He looks away. He seems to find it to be a nuisance, really. He gets annoyed…" George paused and then went on to explain, "It can throw him off the trail – err, of the investigation, I mean. He seems to have to work to get himself back on track."

George's eyes drifted across the restaurant to where the detective was speaking with the owner. Julia's eyes followed. Julia sighed and said, "That sounds like our detective, doesn't it constable – it is almost always about the case, hmm?" She leaned closer to George and gave out a conspiratorial giggle.

"You know him well, doctor," George agreed, joining her with a chuckle.

The conversation lagged before Julia observed, "I would not be surprised to learn that the owner of this establishment is apologizing for the waitress' inappropriate behavior. He looks quite conciliatory, don't you agree?"

George nearly whispered, "I suppose she must have told the owner herself. I can't see Detective Murdoch bringing it up."

"True," she agreed.

Julia's mind drifted back to George's speech. The psychiatrist in her was intrigued. "George," she asked, "How do you think you and the detective ended up being so similar – as you say in your speech? Realizing she had thrown him off-guard she added, "You should know that I wholeheartedly agree with you. You both strive to do what is right above all else. It is quite an admirable characteristic."

George brought his hand to his mouth, focusing intently on her question. He needed time to think. "Of course I don't totally know," he started. He took a deep breath and said, "Maybe it is because we both had to make our own way in the world – without fathers…"

Julia almost gasped with the spark of discovery. "That's right, George," she declared. "William's father left him with an aunt when he was only eight years old, and you never knew your father at all," she explained. "Becoming a man with no one to guide you must be so hard," she considered.

George spoke his thoughts, "I think you should know, doctor… Because you are about to become a mother, and your child might be a boy. Well, I think it is something quite special, the relationship between a boy and his father. Now, I don't know. Maybe it's the same with girls and mothers, but men have it different in this world. I'm not saying it's harder for men than it is for women. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure it's not. But a man just seems to be more – alone. And even though it is unfair that men have more power than women, having that power makes you responsible. It seems to be so very important to use that power fairly, in a way that benefits the world. And learning how to do that without a father… Well…"

Julia didn't know why, but she felt herself choking up. She saw it so clearly, the struggle, now. She remembered William telling her about his fears about not being a good father, and how they were stirred by his own father's poor skills and addiction to alcohol, and then his virtually being fatherless after his mother had died as well. The emotions were so much more poignant now.

William turned and started back towards the table.

Julia looked firmly into George's eyes; certain he saw how much his words had affected her. "Thank you, George," she said, "You have helped me see." Her hand covered her belly. She had never been so conscious of how grateful she was that her child would be fathered by a man like William Murdoch.

William offered Julia his arm, "Shall we go?" he asked.

"Well, this is the last of them," William said to Julia as he closed the front door of their new house behind him with his foot. He placed the box down on the table in the foyer and took his wife into his arms. "Welcome to our new home, Mrs. Murdoch," he said before taking her in a kiss.

Julia felt her urges stir astoundingly quickly. "So many new places to discover…" she said as she backed her husband into the nearest wall. She delighted in the soft 'thud' created when his back hit the solid surface, stopping their progression. Her fingers glided along his shirt, hunting for the top button while her mouth pressed against him, hungry, wanting to taste. "So many nooks and crannies in which to…" she kissed him deeply again, he so willingly opening himself to her, she already undoing his third button, "…explore," she changed the angle of their kiss.

William's whole body tingled, charged with the need to be closer to her. He had let his mind rush, swirling and spinning with images of making love to her, so very, very forcefully. Wanting to push into her harder, he reversed their positions, lifting her up and then pinning her against the wall. His kiss was demanding, urgent. Her moan into his mouth, being stifled, alluded to her helplessness. Out of breath, he broke off the kiss to whisper in her ear. His breath was hot and hurried as it flowed over her skin, "Perhaps in a secret passageway," he said.

"Oh my God," the thought floored her. The two of them hidden, tucked away in the dark, moving and writhing together in a rhythm only they knew. Her head spun deliciously out of control. Her womb coiled tight, twisting lustfully, with such exquisite pleasure. She had opened his shirt. Her hands slipped inside. "Darn undershirt," she thought as her fingers marveled, squeezing into his mouthwatering muscles under the soft, cottony fabric. "I hope you remembered your weights," she declared, her voice raspy with need, the moment he released her from his kiss.

"Mm-hmm," he replied, his mouth now busy with her neck.

She had managed to untuck his undershirt from his trousers, and she moaned desperately once her fingers touched the warm skin of his gently rippled stomach. Sliding her hands up over his pectoral muscles under the shirt, she felt him push against her. "My God," her brain twirled away when she felt his solid, undeniable want for her. Losing the ability to speak, drowning in the scrumptious feelings of lust, she rushed to say, her voice now so dry and thirsty it scratched, "Thank you for the weights!" she declared as she stroked over his chest muscles and up to his shoulders, melting as her knees seemed to buckle away when he chuckled at her comment in her ear.

Unsure they would make it into one of the secret passageways he had designed into the house, William was fighting to remember where the nearest one was. It hit him hard and fast, "The dining room!" he said, grabbing her hand and dragging her off that way.

Before Julia could even remember to try record the spot, and the way to open it, he had pulled her inside the dark crevice and closed the door shut. It was dark, but not pitch-black. The passageway was narrow – barely allowing them to fit together, Julia tightly pressed against the back wall, despite her larger, pregnant state. Both breathing heavily, the short trip had served to remind them that it would be Plan C, not what they each had been imagining during the build-up because of Dr. Tash's warnings about protecting the baby. It seemed to be a race to get the other undressed – challenging to say the least in these confined, dark quarters. An elbow or a head here and there banged against the wall, prompting William to remark that if they ever needed to use the secret passageways to hide or escape, they had best not try to make love in the process. Of course, he had not even mentioned the problem of Julia's delicious, lively, and roaring moans and cries when in the throes of passion.

They made hot-blooded, fiery love to each other, there in the hidden-away secrecy of the dining room's concealed passageway. Still whirling with the sweet feelings of complete ecstasy, they stood tangled together in the dark, sweating and puffing, the tight space serving to amplify the sounds of their recovery as William spread succulent kisses all over Julia's face, and her neck, and her ear, and her neck, and her chin, and her ear again.

She swallowed in an effort to be able to produce a sound, and then whispered to him in their secret dark in the middle of the day, "Husband,"

"Mm?" he asked, continuing to shower and flutter her with kisses.

She squeezed him tight and he kissed at the smile as it grew on her face. "You are so yummy," she giggled.

He slid his hands up her neck, grasping her head firmly, his fingers tangling into her hair. His breath was still hot as it surged and cascaded down her skin. His mouth seized her earlobe, nibbling. "Mm," he responded.

Julia's mind played, enjoying the softening spin as their heartbeats slowed together. "William is so yummy," she thought. She started to giggle, before she had even said his new nickname out loud, picturing his outrage. She felt him release her flesh, her earlobe instantly wanting him back, and tuck his face lower and take a hold of her neck. He sucked on her so deliciously, she was momentarily distracted.

Julia inhaled deeply, pushing past the lovely torture of his afterglow attentions. "Willyummy," she declared gleefully. He let go of her neck – he was getting ready to react! She gave him a playful shove. "I like it!" she exclaimed.

As much as was possible in the narrow passageway, he had stepped back, trying to give her a dirty look.

She charged on, "You are William, and you are yummy. Willyummy!"

"Oh, that will not do," he thought. "There is absolutely no way… Julia," he objected.

"What is it, Willyummy? Lots of wives have little pet-names for their husbands," she argued.

He couldn't see it in the dark, but he knew the look on her face. She was having quite a bit of fun with this game, and if he had any chance of stopping it… He tried once more, stating categorically, "Julia, I vehemently oppose to your calling me… I am unwilling to even say it."

Julia nearly bent over with laughter. "William," she cried. "I mean, Willyummy," she blurted out as she fell apart.

He took a deep breath. A different approach was clearly necessary. His brain raced, for he would have to beat her at her own game. "Jul-yucky – no… Maybe a rhyme, Julia and peculiar, Jeculia – no… Something about her sexy body maybe, jiggly bosom, Jigulia – no…" he tried. Then a thought jumped! "Jello! Of course, jiggly Jello! Jellia!" he trumpeted in his head. "She will hate it!" his brain declared.

Proper implementation of his plan was essential. He stepped back closely to her. "Julia," he said, taking her back into his arms and returning to devour her neck.

Being a wise woman, Julia recognized his tactics. For the sheer fun of it she decided to play along. Breathlessly, for she truly was enticed once again by his attentions, she replied, "Yes." His hands moved up her ribs, settling around her bosom. It took much effort on her part not to gasp or moan. "Lovely," she thought. There was no denying it, she was becoming aroused again.

It was difficult in the compact, tight quarters of the dark, secret passageway, but William lowered himself to the height of her bosom, fitting snugly between the wall behind him and his beautiful wife's pregnant belly. A fleeting image whooshed through his brain, of the time he had strained to hold a similar position when he and Julia were trying to determine the height of a murderer who had wielded a shovel and hit the victim in the head with it. They had been using watermelons. She had teased him about having strong enough thighs to hold the position for long. "I'm glad I kept up the bicycling," he thought. He squeezed her delectable, spongy bosom and then kissed at the supple flesh.

Unavoidable, inescapable, she could not contain the flush of the twisty pleasure that threatened to rupture her womb, the sound of the flood breaching her throat. "Mmm... Please William," she moaned.

"Not Willyummy?" he questioned, a tone of mischief suddenly flaring and clouding the air.

Julia tried to cope, backpedaling as quickly as she could to untangle from her lust, while her brain warned that there would be incoming jabs. Her head dropped back into a wall. Winded, she pleaded, "William, please." From nestled within her enticingly heaving, moldable bosom, she felt the smile grow on his face.

He spoke softly, for they were so close and secluded in the narrow passageway, his voice beaming up from between her breasts. "You too, are quite delicious," he started. "And so tantalizingly jiggly," he went on, wiggling and massaging her bosom within his hands. "Like Jello…" his voice rose in anticipation, prompting her to hold her breath, "… my Jellia." Slowly he rose up to place his mouth near her ear. "Oh, you heard me right. My pet-name for you, Jellia," he teased, burying his gleefully chuckling in her neck.

"William Murdoch!" she scolded, pushing at his chest. "You scoundrel! I abhor it!" she declared.

William stepped to the side, giving her more room. He reached for the door, hesitating to determine if she had acquiesced to his bribe.

"All right, all right. You win. No pet-names," she gave in with a tender giggle.

Pushing his luck he added, "I require a promise, that you will never utter that nickname again," opening the tiniest crack in the door, sending a thin beam of light across his face and his naked body.

Julia's eyes tracked the light-beam, finding the small handle to the door. She stepped close to him, taking his free hand and bringing it behind her to lay on a cheek of her buttocks, then she wrapped an arm around his neck while her other hand covered his on the door handle. She pulled them back into darkness as she whispered in his ear, "On one condition." Just seconds later there was a soft 'thud' against the wall.

That night, upstairs in their bedroom, the couple had nestled together and fallen asleep tired from a long day of moving and unpacking. So easily she had come to feel comfortable in their new home, that now Julia found she was not at all disoriented when she awoke in the middle of the night, awakening for the very first time in their new bed. However, a twinge of concern startled her when she realized that William was not there. Immediately she began working to appease her fears. He probably just went downstairs. Maybe he had a bad dream, or couldn't sleep. Dressed in her pajamas, the late November air felt chilly as she stepped out from under the covers, prompting her to put on her robe as well.

Rounding the corner on the staircase, she saw the warm, soft light glowing from below – "most likely the kitchen," she thought. It calmed her. He was there. She found him, sitting at the kitchen table. He had made a cup of hot chocolate. Their eyes met across the room. He smiled, and then his lips clamped together and he tilted his head. "Trouble sleeping," she decided. She joined him, sitting in the chair next to him just around the corner of the table.

Her eyes dropped down to the cup in his hand. It was still quite full. She slid her hand over his on the cup, finding the warmth soothing. "It looks good," she said. "May I?" she asked as her finger slipped into the round handle, smoothly replacing his.

He nodded, "Of course," he said.

She lifted the cup and took a sip, truly enjoying the warm, creamy sweet liquid. She felt it in her chest as the thought crossed her mind, "Dear Lord, she so loved this man." She marveled at it, the feeling glowing inside of her. There was nothing else in the world like it, so powerful, the luscious heat of it; it was so completely and utterly delightful. She found when she exhaled it served to magnify the feeling even more, such a profound and fulfilling sense of love. And when she looked into his eyes, her spirit simply soared with the expansion of it. She brought the cup back to its place in front of him on the table, but left her fingers entwined around it, basking in the comforting warmth. William wrapped his fingers around the other side of the cup, sharing in it.

"He will need a little prompting," she thought, measuring his reluctance to speak. "It turns out we get to share a warm, delectable chocolate dessert after all," she nudged. "All we are missing is the tamarind," she added. Her chuckle was cozy, and her efforts were rewarded as he joined in. Their thoughts returned to the restaurant from yesterday evening. The flirting waitress… George… And then when they had returned for their last night in the Windsor House Hotel.

Julia giggled, remembering the moment that they heard the parrot imitating the sounds of Julia's cries during their lovemaking, from the stairs on the second floor. Suddenly the unfounded noise complaints all made sense! The parrot was the actual culprit!

William's expression wondered at her briefly, before he imagined he knew where her thoughts had taken her. He heard the hotel clerk in his mind once more, "You are Detective WILLIAM Murdoch, are you not?" surging him into more rowdy laughter. Trying to sound like the clerk, when the man had read the quotes from one of the noise complaints, William pulled his pretend glasses down on his nose and held his pretend noise complaint up in the air, and "read," keeping his voice flat and lacking in any emotion, "Please William please. Oh my God, William…" he continued pretending to read the complaint, "Don't stop William, please. Oh..." he fell into laughter, completely plunged there by Julia's hearty fellow collapse, quickly returning to sit up straight and he tried to continue, "Oh," before falling apart again. It was delicious; tears filled their eyes.

Recovering a few moments later, William wiped his eyes and said, "I suppose George had to have heard all of that from the bird first thing that morning – before he even knocked on the door to take me to the scene where the body was found."

"It seems very likely," Julia agreed.

It lulled… Mentioning the body had done it. Julia took another sip of hot chocolate, then William took another sip as well. He placed the nearly empty cup down on the table.

William took Julia's hand – focused his attention on her wedding rings, lovingly caressing them, watching the undeniable sight of seeing his rings on her finger, and … He took a deep breath. He would tell her now, why they were here in the middle of the night.

"The victim today… Ieva," he felt Julia move closer, "I couldn't get her wedding ring out of my mind," he said. "She had a husband somewhere," William said, his eyes touching hers briefly before dropping back to her rings again. He reached up, rubbed his brow. "I think they were very much in love," he said, sighing and bringing his eyes to hers once more. "And I wonder how horrible things must have been for them, how desperate their lives were, for him to leave her – and their little, beautiful son…"

Julia cupped his cheek, slipped her fingers into his hair. "You identify with them," she stated.

He gave her his, "I admit it," face, the look also admitting that he was aware that a good detective knows that too much empathy with a victim clouds the judgment. Much happened in his mind in the next moments, while she held his eyes with her deep, compassionate blue ones.

He thought about how, when he let himself, or really it was more like when he couldn't stop himself from, imagining what it would feel like if Julia lost their baby – not even born yet, and still the pain threatened to collapse him… How much worse would it be if the child had been born? Their son… William was able to stop the thought, but so quickly another filled the void, with one that felt to be the point of no return for him. The devastation and utter despair that happened to him, so very deeply that it reached down into his soul, wrenching it out of him, leaving him alone and crumbled, the wounds surely fatal, but leaving him destined to bear their torture, that accompanied imagining that Julia had been killed, and even worse, that she had been killed trying to get to him, that desperation enveloped him.

He tried to inhale, his lungs frozen with anguish. His eyes grew wider, looking to her like fear. She leaned to him and said, her voice barely above a whisper, ensuring he knew she was close, "Breathe William – then tell me." She stayed there, holding his head in her hands, her face near his cheek, her breath warm and present, waiting with him…

Still not yet, she kissed his cheek…

Instantly, she heard him open and take in the needed air. He reached up to find her hands and brought them down to hold them in his on the table, and he found her eyes once more, as he exhaled, the warm air passing over his troubled heart, seemingly doubling the ache. Pushing himself for courage, he glanced away, then bravely looked back, explaining, "I do not believe I could bear it if those things happened to us… to me." His eyes welled with the emotion.

Julia placed a hand under his cheek, glanced and traced his lips briefly with her thumb. "I would want you to go on, William. I would hope that you could," she said. Julia heard her voice crack, the feelings rising within her as well, consuming her strength but not her love, as she added, "I would want you to be happy." William blinked, freeing a tear from behind his lashes to be scooped up by her thumb, and brushed away, before she kissed his cheek once more. "I love you so," she whispered.

He fought through the knot in his throat and replied, "I know… and I would miss it."

"Yes, you would," she said, moving back, taking a deep breath, regaining control. She had been there, so many times, imagining living without him seeming unfathomable once buried under the grief and the pain. She only ever found one way out of the torment– and that was to be in the here and now, and to be so very grateful that they were together. She would offer it to him… But he got there himself before she could.

He leaned over across the corner of the table and swept her into a hug. "Thank God you are here with me," he said, his face buried in her hair. "We are together. We are well. We are going to have a baby. Thank God," he said.

"Yes," she cried into his ear.

He took a deep breath, pulled back. "There but for the grace of God go I," he said.

Julia thanked William's God that he had his faith. But she also awed at William's authentic way of knowing that every single human was just as valuable as the next, and thus he truly could see himself in anyone. His heart was so… good. And my God, she loved him with every fiber of her being.

William sighed. He was much calmer now, settled, more at ease. He swallowed, and his fingers reached up and rubbed his forehead. There was more.

"What is it, William?" she asked.

Again a quick glance away, gathering his thoughts. "They were immigrants, Julia. They came to this country full of hope for a chance to make their lives better. They probably had little money, couldn't speak the language, didn't know the ways. All they had was each other and their courage and their grit…" William said, going back to rub his forehead, "And yet, we sit here, you and I, in this beautiful house, with all of those advantages…"

Oh, she saw it – guilt! A sense of undeserved privilege battered at his self-image.

"William Murdoch," she said. "You are a good man, with the most amazingly good heart I have ever known. You would be so if you were rich or if you were poor, if you had power or if you did not, if you were fortunate or if you were not," she insisted. "I swear, that's why I love you," she beamed with the promise.

Such joy filled her as she saw him hear her words, and know they were true. She picked up the cup of hot chocolate. "Last sip," she said, "May I?"

He nodded. She drank. She started to get up to clean the cup, but he stopped her. "Let me," he said, taking the cup to the sink, rinsing it and the pan and putting them both into the dishwashing cupboard. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, that she got up and walked behind him. He exhaled with pleasure as she wrapped her arms around him from behind, hugging him as close as possible considering her enlarged belly. Soft kisses on his neck, warm breath flowing over him, they were safe and happy and at home.

"BUMP," it knocked against his back! It was the baby!

"Did you feel that?" she asked as he turned around and his shimmering eyes met hers.

"I did," he answered, placing his hand over her belly, so hopeful that he would feel it again.

"BUMP, and ROLL," the baby offered, causing its parents to gasp with glee.

William exclaimed, "You could actually see the baby move!"

"Yes," Julia declared, her eyes shining with delight and her head nodding in happy agreement. They both breathed contentedly, and then Julia cupped his cheek once more and wrapped her arms around his neck to take him into a hug.

The similarity of the movement to another time from the past sparked a memory within William. He half expected to hear the metallic click as their bodies touched, like had happened when they hugged good-bye in the carriage, when she was getting ready to leave for Buffalo, and her locket got stuck to his badge.

So quickly, invasively, from this morning, he saw in his mind's eye Ieva's opened locket on the dead woman's chest.

"Julia," he asked, "Do you still have the locket you were wearing…" he broke their embrace, "the one that became magnetized to my badge. Do you remember?"

Oh, she did. She would never, ever forget it. "I believe so," she replied. She took his hand. "I think I know where it is… since we have been doing all of this packing," she said, switching off the kitchen light and leading him upstairs.

On the way to the bedroom she told him… That the moment their locket and badge had clicked together, she felt something inside of her, so specifically… it was in the bones of her chest where the ribs meet the sternum… and she felt something snap into place with the sound. And she knew in her heart then, that they were meant to be together. She knew it in her bones, in every cell of her body, down to her very essence, to her soul. But, she had been stubborn, so certain her brain had figured it right, and that she should leave him.

Once in the bedroom, she turned on a lamp and began searching through some boxes in the closet. She continued talking, telling him that she had never worn the locket after that day. And that she had stored it away, where she kept special things. She had become particularly worried that Darcy would find it. She reminded William that there was a terrible time in her marriage to Darcy during which he was cutting out stories and pictures of William in their newspaper in an effort to control her, to stop her from loving William. But of course, such a thing was impossible.

William asked if she had a picture of him in the locket, his voice coming to her somewhat muffled as her head was in the closet and her back was to him while she was bent over, finally opening the right box.

Suddenly she pictured William standing behind her – and she knew! "William Murdoch!" her voice challenged from within the closet. "Are you ogling my derriere!?" she exclaimed. She was certain he was.

William clamped his lips together and tilted his head to the side. It seemed pointless to deny it. "I am," he stated.

Julia humphed, "All men are dogs," she reminded herself, but then weakened and accepted her absolute lustful happiness to know he found her to be irresistibly arousing, well her backside at least.

He continued, "It seems it has not been affected by the pregnancy," he observed.

She rolled her eyes. Now having the locket in her fingers, she stood and turned to face him, his sheepish look bringing her to giggle. "I found it," she said as she held the locket up into the warm, yellow light.

They stood together as she opened it, the technical part of William making note of where she was leaving fingermarks as she did so. Inside there were two black and white pictures, one on each half of the locket. When it was closed, William's face and Julia's face would have been touching, almost as if in a kiss. She handed the open locket to William.

"I don't remember ever having this picture taken," he said as he examined it closer. He liked the photo. He had a genuine smile in it, no hat, and he was quite a bit younger. It was so lovely, next to hers.

"You probably wouldn't," she explained, "It was from the newspaper – from after you got back from Bristol. Reporters had completely surrounded you and barraged you with excited questions about saving the Queen."

"You cut it out?" he asked.

She nodded.

"And put it in here – with yours?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You never told me?" he asked.

There was the slightest blush to her face. "No," she answered, "I didn't."

He stood before her, shaking his head ever so slightly, wondering why.

Julia's voice rose high in a stressed squeak, "Oh William… I was so head over heels in love with you. I felt out-of-control, wild crazy in love with you. And it felt… well… of course, it felt wonderful, but still, I didn't know if you felt the same way or not, and well, I had not the slightest inkling that it could be possible that I might feel the same way now, so many years later. And…" Julia stopped suddenly. Shame stole her face, having emerged so quickly before she had found the words with the thought that it surprised her, seeming to knock the breath out of her. She dropped her eyes away from his in a rush.

"Julia?" William asked, concerned, but with such compassion it served to help her.

She reminded herself that she had already told him this, "thank goodness," because of their sharing of their writings in their journals – that he already knew.

Boldly, she pushed the shame aside, finding it was accompanied by fear and guilt, both of which she had already confronted as well. "I already told you," she said, now brave enough to regain eye-contact with him, "But I… I knew that I could not have a baby, that with me, you could not have a baby, and I felt so guilty about not telling you, and so afraid of your leaving me when you found out, and so ashamed of what you would think of me when you found out, and I couldn't wholly love you or tell you how much I loved you, with all of that."

He closed the locket, imagining their kiss nestled inside with the click. He took a deep breath and then lifted his arms to slip it over her head. It settled just above her cleavage, looking beautiful as she stood there with him in the middle of the night in her nightgown and robe. His fingers slid under her chin and lifted her face to meet his. He kissed her, soft and slow.

The kiss did not last long, and when it broke off Julia stepped back. She clasped the locket, rubbing it fondly between her fingers. "I don't know why I wore it that night. I never understood why I would do that?" she wondered.

William smiled. There was the slightest hint of teasing when he replied, for he knew he would be giving her a taste of her own medicine, "Perhaps it was your sub-conscious, trying to tell you what your heart wanted to say."

"That's probably it, of course," she thought. "My Goodness, William Henry Murdoch," she complained and admired, "Must you be brilliant in everything – even psychiatry now?"

Her husband puffed up with a cocky air and gave her a little shrug, spurring her to want to smack him and dive into his arms at the same time. The dive won.

Locked together, the locket tucked between their chests, just above their growing baby in her womb, and with their wedding rings wrapped around their fingers, they were left once again with beauty of their love, through both hardships and good fortune, and they would live their lives, grateful, appreciating and treasuring every precious moment, as long as they both should live (and probably even longer).