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.

10. Chapter 10: Hot Showers & Cold FeetT

Murdoch in the Jungle_9_Hot Showers and Cold Feet_T

Waking on Saturday morning, already quite aroused from a dream, William kissed Julia awake as well. Her voice still scratchy from sleep, she reacted to his obvious urgency as she felt his firm, solid flesh press against her backside, and she feigned surprise, exclaiming, "Oh my."

She rolled over to face him only to be hurled into a hungry kiss. As soon as she was released from his passionate kiss, she said, "I fear my husband has an emergency …" She looked into his chocolaty eyes, his handsome face luminous in the toasty dawning hues, and felt her insides melt as he slowly nodded his head. "Does he need me to save him?" she asked, being rewarded by his failed attempt to speak, as his voice had gone dry with desire and his brain dizzy with lustful spinning, leaving him with only the ability to nod again in order to answer. Seductively, she unbuttoned and removed his pajama top. Wanting to please him down to the bone, she kissed enticingly down his body, "Detective, you're on fire," she said between kisses, "You are burning up," more kisses. She hurriedly released the string of his pajama bottoms, thrill pumping through her with his need-filled moan. As she slid the clothing down, she was surprised to hear a moan of her own escape. "Oh William, the flames are so high," she said with the sight of him.

Before honing in on the spot that would make him moan, that would remind him that he was glad to be alive, she would give him a taste of his own medicine. Her mouth ravaged the inside of his thigh. Her muffled giggle teased the air as she felt his hands take hold of her head, his fingers wrap in and grab firmly into her hair, and he tried to guide her to the one perfect spot. She released his flesh and scattered light kisses upwards towards what she knew he most wanted. But then, mischievously, she switched over to his other leg to suck roughly on his other thigh.

"Julia please," he said with his voice between a tormented whisper and a rebel yell.

Oh, how she wallowed in it – the pleasure it brought to tease your lover to interminable exhaustion. "So hot, hmm?" she tantalized, as she once again kissed upwards, getting enticingly closer, and closer, to his swollen, burning, tight, need. "I do believe …" she kissed his skin, "the detective needs," she moved closer, now her golden lochs making contact, she was so close, this kiss dangerously near, "needs me to," another kiss, oh so near, anticipation driving him to moan and call out her name, "extinguish this fiery flame," her steamy breath now enveloping him in a warm cloud of almost.

Julia knew what he really, really wanted – to be on top of her, so she shifted her position, lying on her back diagonally across their marital bed, her head tucked up against his most desperate spot.

He was confused, but the feel of her head, her silky mane, pressed against him sent bolts of wild want deeper into his voracious ache. He rolled onto his side. She moved up, slid underneath him as he shifted over her. He hovered above her, holding his weight on his hands and knees, her head below his pelvis. "Come," her husky voice called, as she reached up to pull him down to her, encouraging him to cover her face.

Oh, the world seemed to rocket away from him with her slippery, warm touch. It spun so, boundaries swirled and thoughts plummeted and twirled away into the whirlwind. "Easy," he reminded himself as the urge to thrust took over. "Oh my God," he thought with the first stroke. "Oh this delicious, delicious woman … Oh my God, she is lovely," the thoughts rocked and swayed as the power of his thrusts grew. "Julia," his voice croaked out. He was so close now. It was within reach. Harder! Demandingly he pushed. "Oh, I've got her. Yes… So lovely, so very, very lovely," the igneous eruption started. His pumping stretched out, extended, as the gooey, volcanic magma flowed through him, fire meeting water, forcing his steamy moan, "Mmm," he released it, soaked it in, floated, and sank in its bliss.

Afterwards, as he recovered, she noticed him wince when she rested her head on his shoulder, having briefly forgotten about his stitches and his injury. "Sorry," she said. She adjusted her position, placing her head lower onto his chest and he hugged her tight as she listened to his pounding heartbeat and rode the waves of his still rapid breathing. "I never did get around to taking the measurements of your wound last night. Will we be able to do it this morning – before you go into work?"

"Mm-hmm," he answered. Yet, so comfortable, neither of them moved.

Their thoughts having been tugged by his wound, after a time William broke the peaceful silence. He described what it had been like to be hanging on the meat hook – speaking to God, not for himself, for he had accepted death – but thanking Him for bringing him her. "I asked God to take care of you Julia … and then I nearly fell apart. I worked so hard to control my sobbing because the shaking hurt my shoulder so badly, but I failed. I began to mourn never seeing our baby. I suffered with such regret, and grief, that our child would never know how much he or she was loved by their father," William said, his emotion clearly strong with the pain of the memory. He took a deep breath, seeming to take in the scent of her hair and being soothed by it, he continued, "And I thought about so many things in my life. They say your life flashes before your eyes, and it does. I remembered, relived, so many, many moments … and Julia, almost all of them were when I was with you. I wanted God to know how grateful I was to have found you, and to have known you, and to have loved you, and to have been loved by you." He rolled her over onto her back. He fluttered kisses over her face, taking in the taste of her, inhaling her scent, convincing himself that she was right there with him, that she was his. He loved her more than any words could ever say. He wanted her to know the extent of his feelings – how she was everything to him.

He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her chin, her lips. He would kiss every inch of her, revel in her, worship her, savor every bit of her. Open every petal, caress the bottom of each leaf, be filled with her smell. He would slowly, warmly, deeply, bring her to ecstasy, bask in the melodious cries of her ultimate passion, knowing she too felt his love for her in every cell, every atom, down to her core, through her very soul. He showered her with a tender, loving, adoring "warm front," leaving her feeling delightfully cherished, limp, spent and deeply cared for.

They lie together for a time, naked, waiting for her body to float back down into alignment with the rest of the world. Once her breathing was cadenced with his, he told her he loved her one last time before he rolled onto his back and she felt the nippy air of the cold December morning replace his warmth. "Shall we?" he asked.

Seemingly halfway through getting ready, William sat in only his trousers on her vanity chair, Julia only clothed thus far in her chemise, stood tending to her experiment and his medical care. While Julia took and recorded detailed measurements of William's meat-hook wound for the comparison with Jackson's wound, he shared with her about the case. Having had some luck finding Mulligan's elusive right hand man, Aiden Kempsey, whom William suspected had moved Ieva Baltavesky's body after Mulligan had killed her in his office… and after a good night's rest…

"And," Julia thought to herself, "Some pretty fantastic lovemaking in the shower last night and then again in bed just now…"

…And he felt right as rain. She so loved to see him become excited and optimistic about a case he had been struggling with. The burst in confidence and drive in her husband seemed to make him just sparkle and dazzle to the eye. The man was gorgeous on any given day, but when he felt like this, Mm, he was outright irresistible.

"All done," she said, placing the bandaging tape back in her bag.

He pulled her into his lap, the two of them now sitting at her vanity together, and said, "I do remember a promise, in your beautiful note – something about afterwards – some sort of…" he gave her a puzzled face, but she knew exactly where he was going, "What was it…? Some sort of kissing, wasn't it?"

Her lips almost pouting, she answered for him, "Kissing and making it better."

"Oh, more than that milady. I believe your note promised, 'a lot better," he added, as he took one of her curls into his fingers.

"William, I just finished my hair… And I have the Baby Shower today," she protested.

"Mm," he said. "Good thing you didn't finish dressing yet, I do believe I feel one of our storms coming on," he added, standing from the chair with a grunt, his lover in his arms. He kissed her, softly at first, but she intensified the kiss.

Suddenly ravenous, he couldn't get her to the bed fast enough. Passion ignited, sending wild, charged bolts of lightning throbbing down below, soon followed by the thunderous roars of moaning and demanding cries for each other. This love-storm was intense, and Plan C with this degree of rush, with the one needing to take, and to be taken, simultaneously, by the other, and needing to be taken and to take – right NOW, and HARD, and NOW, meant doing just that. Fate had made it happen, finally, Plan C, concurrently and in chorus with one another.

At first Julia below and William above, control so tenuous, William sensing he would not be able to restrain himself from the first moment his thrusting began, he flipped them, placing Julia on top. They found the rhythm… He had to hold back, "She's close now – her strokes lengthening, Go! Take her now…"

Julia's ravaged moan pierced the air…

He had her! "It's right there! Right there!" William exploded into euphoria, his rolling moan joining in her echo…

Marvelously spent, exhausted, crushed, Julia lay heavy on top of her husband, both of them winded and out of breath, hearts pounding with such strength that the rumbling of it rattled their ears.

He wanted her in his arms. "Come here," he called, his voice scratchy, prompting her to turn around and nestle down again on top of him, now her head on his shoulder, her breath throbbing and steaming into his neck.

"That was amazing," she said, as he pulled her to him tight, and he kissed her hair, and he took in her scent.

Unable to speak, William replied with a deep, slow, "Mmm."

It felt magnificent, the body completely loose, weak, placid with contentment. After a while, recovered enough, William took a deep, soothing breath and said, "I could stay here all day."

Normally, Julia would agree, but…

"Oh no, William. I'm starving," she declared as she gave him a loving shove in his chest, "Come on! Let's eat," she suggested heartily, crawling off of him. She would dress quickly, hair be damned, at least for now.

When William and Julia finally emerged from their bedroom, the mouthwatering smells of bacon and golden-browned toast wafted up to rouse their noses. "It is Saturday, right?" William asked, momentarily confused because Eloise was off on Saturdays.

Julia tucked her elbow into his arm, pulling him snug and replied, "Perhaps Ruby?" with a wrinkle at the corner of her mouth, sharing with him a gesture she had picked up from him.

"Mm," he agreed.

Downstairs, discovering Ruby had made a delightful breakfast, they suffered the consequences of their long-lasting and boisterous lovemaking antics. Taking advantage of the situation, as Ruby is often so wanton to do, she teased them mercilessly. "Well now, good morning … or is it afternoon?" she exaggerated. "And did you two lovebirds, um, well, did you sleep well? She asked, slyly, stamping her accusation with a wink.

William cleared his throat and took a seat at the kitchen table, failing to hide his blushing, endearing himself to both of the women in the process.

Julia smiled and replied, "Yes. It was quite lovely. Thank you Ruby. And you?"

Ruby gestured for Julia to sit, and served them some of the eggs she had prepared. "I slept well," she answered, joining them at the table, "Although it was quite chilly. I was glad for the extra blanket … But I doubt the two of you would have noticed the cold."

Julia sat up taller, looked her younger sister directly in the eye, and said, "No. No. I found the temperature wonderfully warm actually." She took a sip of coffee and then shifted her blue eyes to gaze upon her husband. His eyes were solidly fixed down on his plate. She did believe she had never seen the man as interested in eating his eggs as he was this morning. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. "He's desperately trying to avoid this whole situation," she thought, his discomfort gleefully filling her with delight. "Don't you agree William?" she asked.

Lifting his head, revealing his crimson face for all to see, he held his warm, brown eyes to hers. He swallowed the last mouthful of eggs on his plate and still needed to clear his throat, "Yes," he said. He then quickly stood up and brought his empty plate to the kitchen counter.

Julia dropped her chin, avoiding Ruby's eyes, but oh, how happy she was. She wondered if it was possible to love him more.

Rather soon after that, William headed out, highly enthused about getting to the newfound address he had for Aiden Kempsey, thanks to his trip to the burlesque club last night. He pulled out his pocket watch, considering whether or not Kempsey would have already left for his Saturday morning shift at Davies Slaughterhouse. It had gotten quite late. With Julia and Ruby seeing him off, standing with him in the foyer, William reached for the front door and said, "Alright ladies, the last bastion of male presence is leaving, and I'm sure your Baby Shower will be a spectacular success." He kissed Julia good-bye and opened the door.

Everyone smelled it, felt the blinding, frigid, damp whiteness of it, before they actually saw it – It was snowing! Right there before their eyes, was the first snow to blanket the ground, and the trees, and the fences, and the world, since they had moved into their new home. William wrapped his arm around Julia, letting the beautiful sight sink in. His voice lower in the hush of the snowfall, William reassured Julia that the amount of snow seemed small, and he was sure all the guests would still come.

He bowed to her, tilted his hat at her, and said, raising his voice, including Ruby, "I hope you lovely ladies have a wonderful Baby Shower. I will attempt to arrive after the whole affair is over – for dinner." Julia nodded. "Good," he said with another nod, and then headed off.

The deep breath Julia took as she and Ruby stood together watching him walk down the front path of their house, open the front gate and head down the street to get a cab, intensified the feelings in her heart, particularly as the air flowed over the warmth in her chest. "I am really quite fond of my husband," she stated.

))) (((

Before arriving at the stationhouse, William had stopped at a florists shop to order flowers to be sent to the house for Julia later, celebrating and congratulating her on her Baby Shower. Last night, while he waited for it to be late enough to go question Dora Hart (Kempsey's girlfriend who had told the Moons' manager that she believed it was Kempsey who had taken her white-feathered showgirl costume), William had written the note that he had just sent with the bouquet. As he gathered up his supplies before heading over to Kempsey's address, he found himself reflecting on what he had written to her, about their wondrous love-storms, which according to his meteorological theory of lovemaking included both warm fronts with their steady downpours and cold fronts with their electrified thunderstorms, along with scattered showers and a myriad of other possible weather/love-filled events. It was ironic that since he had written his love-note only last night, they had experienced a delicious abundance of quite a few of them. He took a moment, pausing right where he stood, to be grateful for all he had, to thank God.

))) (((

As soon as they arrived, William sent a constable around to the back of Kempsey's building in case he tried to run, and brought Constable Hogan with him to knock on the front door. Hogan had agreed with him that "Kempsey" was most likely the name Mulligan had called up the stairs the day they had gone together to Davies Slaughterhouse. William hoped that Hogan would recognize Kempsey as the same man the constable had questioned the first Saturday after they had found Ieva Baltavesky's body, thus doubly indicating Kempsey's significance by his also being the one most disturbed by seeing Adomas' and Ieva's pictures.

The landlady who answered the door said that in fact Aiden Kempsey did live here, above her on the second floor, but that he wasn't there now. She told them that he had not come home last night, which was odd for Mr. Kempsey, explaining that she could always hear him from her apartment below his. William asked if she could let them in and she agreed.

Kempsey's apartment had a separate entrance on the side of the building. They found Constable Morris waiting by the side door. William pointed out to the constables, working to train them, that the snow on the ground at Kempsey's side entrance had not been disturbed, albeit for their footprints. He concluded, "Assuming that the snowfall began around five in the morning, based on the observed rate of snowfall and the current amount on the ground of about two inches, we know that no one came in or went out of his apartment since then."

Once inside, they found a photograph on the dresser of a man standing in front of the big Davies Slaughterhouse sign on the main building. "That's the man I questioned," Hogan said, reaching out to lift the picture.

"Don't," William rushed to stop him, "…touch it. I am going to want to take fingermarks." He instructed Hogan to use a handkerchief to avoid getting his fingermarks on things, demonstrating the method as he collected the picture as evidence. Under the bed William spotted and collected a white feather appearing to match those on the costume they found Ieva's body dressed in. While investigating under the bed, he also noticed reddish-brown smudges on the underside of one of the wooden slats holding the mattress. With Constable Hogan's help, he removed the slat to take to Miss James in the morgue to determine if the smudges were blood, and if so, if it was human. Using glue on thin sheets of paper, he collected trace evidence from around the room as well, making sure to get a few samples from under the bed.

After being analyzed, the evidence would show that the fingermarks in Kempsey's flat matched those found on the inside of Ieva's locket and the garbage-pail lid at the scene where they had found Ieva's body. The feather would match those on Ieva's costume, the smudges would turn out to be human blood, and the trace evidence would include burlap fibers matching those that Ieva's body had been wrapped in, as well the burlap sheets he and Jackson had been wrapped in the night they had been attacked and hung up on meat-hooks to be sawed in half. The magnitude of this evidence would prove that Kempsey had been the one to move Ieva's body, both to his flat, and to the scene behind the brothel where they found her dead.

But now, back in the police carriage with the collected evidence, William decided to go directly to Davies Slaughterhouse before taking the evidence back to the station, desperately wanting to see if they could find the elusive Mr. Kempsey. He had had an uneasy feeling, gurgling in his gut from the moment the landlady had noted that Kempsey had not come home last night, and William's mind had jumped to remembering his own ordeal on the meat-hook Monday night… And he had put two and two together… And he was worried that his questioning of Mulligan during yesterday's interrogation, asking the suspected murderer about the man who he had called to, up the stairs that day when William was with Hogan at Davies Slaughterhouse, for the unseen man to get some names and addresses from the book in his office, well now William was worried that having had asked about this man who he now knew was actually Kempsey – and further, even sharing his theory with Mulligan that it was this man who had moved Ieva's body after Mulligan had killed her, now William was worried that Mulligan might have had Kempsey killed to make sure his accomplice couldn't ever be found. His worry had mushroomed into dread, and William felt the urgency of it screaming in the pit of his stomach.

At the slaughterhouse, all the men working claimed not to recognize the man in the picture collected from Kempsey's flat. They refused to let the Constabulary search the slaughterhouse, forcing William and the constables to remove themselves from private property.

Considering his possibilities, William decided to leave Hogan and Morris outside of the slaughterhouse, instructing them to make note of any comings and goings, while he hurried back to the stationhouse to call the Inspector, and a judge for permission to search the premises, and to get started on analyzing the evidence.

When he returned to Davies Slaughterhouse, little more than an hour and a half later, with the Inspector and the judge's order and two more constables, and even some guns from the armory, Mulligan was waiting for them. By then they also knew that the fingermarks collected from Kempsey's flat matched with those from Ieva's locket and the garbage-pail lid where the body was dumped, and that the feather from his flat matched the ones on Ieva's dead body's clothing.

Mulligan admitted that he recognized the man in the picture from Kempsey's flat. With a surprised expression, William certain it was faked, Mulligan said upon seeing it, "Oh yes! Of course! Of course! That is Aiden Kempsey. Now detective, I don't actually remember if it was him that I called up to that day to get the names and addresses you wanted. It certainly could have been. You won't find him here though… He asked for a few days off. Haven't seen him for days."

Steam simmered in William's veins, pounding his ears and threatening to cloud his head with anger. He looked to the Inspector and could tell the Inspector, too, knew that this slimy man's story would be difficult to disprove, especially considering the collusion and deception that all of the men at Davies Slaughterhouse seemed willing to maintain. Considering confronting Mulligan right there, about the "K" page being ripped out of the address book of Davies workers, William felt his fingers curl into fists – and even though it made absolutely no sense in this situation, he imagined, remembered really, the feeling of Darcy Garland's face as he made powerful impact against it with his right fist. His self-control was dangling from a string, and he knew he needed to step back or he would lose it. He literally did so, walking away from the man, finding the word "PIG" was stuck resounding inside his head, slowly taking shape as a memory of Mulligan insulting him, threatening him, in Judge Peterson's office.

After searching all of the buildings of Davies Slaughterhouse, the Constabulary determined that Kempsey was nowhere to be found. One of the constables found some clothing in a trash bin behind the building where the pig carcasses are first hoisted up onto the overhead assembly and the rotary saw slices each one in half, and the guts are removed… The same place where he and Jackson had been strung up too, hanging from meat-hooks, bound and gagged and naked and motionless, in the cold and the dark…. The same building where he had almost died, where he had faced his maker, praying for God to look over Julia and his unborn child…

The Inspector stopped William's fall into the trauma of his recent nightmare, "In the same bins where we found yours and Jackson's suits," he said. William felt the Inspector's blue eyes, steadying him as he held to them with all his might, calling him back from the abyss, to the case at hand. He heard it in the back of his head, reminding him, "Kempsey… Find Kempsey."

Bolting his eyes to the doorway of the building with the overhead assembly and the saw, William said, "There would be blood… Human blood."

The Inspector protected his best man, having considered this already, knowing that collecting such evidence would be fruitless. "No point, me old mucker, they've been working all day, too much blood," he said, sparing William any chance of having to walk into that building, and of having to confront his torturing memories, only to have them intensified by the horrific reality of it all as shown by the light of day.

William frowned, but in his chest, relief settled, alerting him to the realization that he had been guarding against seeing the place where it had happened again, now admitting to the fact that just the thought of it had sent a chill down his spine, undeniably, from his head down to his toes . He sighed, deeply, and reached up to rub his brow. My God, his head was pounding!

He asked to see the clothes found in the trash bins, noting that the size and style were similar to the clothing he had seen in Kempsey's flat. Searching the pockets, William was disappointed, finding nothing. He hoped the hairs he observed on the shirt would match the hairs he had collected from Kempsey's pillow in his flat, at least providing reasonable suspicion that these clothes discarded in the Davies Slaughterhouse bins belonged to Kempsey; at least providing some evidence that the man had been killed here.

"Let's question the workers," William suggested. But Mulligan refused to allow the Constabulary to speak with any Davies employees, claiming they would have to bring anyone they wanted to question to the stationhouse. Mulligan, the suspectedkiller, and the word "speculated" had to be used because although the Constabulary had the man's letter-opener, which was almost certainly the weapon that had been used to kill Ieva Baltavesky, in their possession, it was considered as forbidden evidence under the law, and thus it was, that the man who had committed this crime had the audacity to smugly tell Stationhouse # 4's Inspector Brackenreid and Detective Murdoch that as far as he was concerned their mystery had been solved. He laid out his account, "Aiden Kempsey solicited the victim's services as a doxie. Unbeknownst to anyone, Kempsey was a perverted and disturbed man who killed the victim, dumped her body, and was now on the run suspecting the Constabulary was getting close to catching him."

Fighting his inner fury, and figuring Kempsey had actually been killed last night, via the rotary saw, William asked for the names of all of the men who had been working the last shift here at Davies Slaughterhouse yesterday. He imagined questioning the men at the station. Suddenly a flash flickered into his brain – he remembered Julia joking that Adomas' keys could be the key to the case… "I will also need to speak with the night watchman," he demanded firmly. Not blinking an eye, Mulligan provided him with the man's name.

))) (((

Once back at the station, constables were sent out to find the various Davies workers from yesterday's later shifts and bring them in for questioning. Knowing it would be a quite a while until the constables returned with any of them, William decided to get out to try to clear his head. Remembering he hadn't brought anything for lunch, he decided to head over to see George. Maybe the two of them could get some lunch.

His eyes dropped down to Adomas' things, still displayed on his desk. He remembered Julia's note, the thought calming him, warming him, somehow reigniting him as he pictured her sitting there at his desk yesterday writing it to him. He rested his chin down into his fist and contemplated the case anew. "Seems I'm all out of clues to follow for Ieva," he thought, frustrated that what that really meant was that he was all out of ways to prove that Mulligan was her killer, for William was fairly certain that Kempsey was dead, and as the accomplice who had moved her body, he had likely been the last chance to corral the guilty culprit.

He picked up Adomas' wedding ring, twirling it in his fingers, hearing Julia's soothing voice in his head, "Wherever you are right now, my ring is on your finger, as yours is on mine. So rare, for a man to be willing to, to want to, wear one. Yet, you do – he did." She was truly brilliant… And so lovely.

His attention caught on the dead man's keys. William's face grew a smile, his mind replaying his being in the shower last night, and her silly joke about the keys to the case. Reasoning that Ieva's and Adomas' murders were linked, he would move on to solving Adomas' murder. "One of those keys would have to be to where he lived," he thought, "And if Adomas was the night watchman at Davies Slaughterhouse, explaining all these similar keys as Julia so adeptly observed, some of them would fit the locks to Davies Slaughterhouse's buildings! That would prove he worked there!" Suddenly he wished that he had brought Adomas' keys along just now, when they had had the judge's order to search the place.

William picked up the keys, tugged momentarily by the St. Valentine's key chain. "They were Catholic too," he thought, "Soul-mates, Adomas and Ieva, or as Ettie noted, Adam and Eve." William had never tried to find the Catholic Church that Adomas had attended here in Toronto. "Adomas' residence and his church would probably be near the slaughterhouse!" he thought. William was out the door before he had even noticed that he had not given up yet.

))) (((

William crossed himself as he walked into the Catholic Church that was located closest to the stockyards. Quickly finding the priest, he learned some important things. Adomas did attend this church. The priest knew the Lithuanian parishioner who had taken him in, thus William was able to find where Adomas had stayed while he was here in Toronto. The Father also told William that he had not seen Adomas since early this summer, explaining that he didn't worry about that however, because Adomas had told him that he would be leaving town for a while – that he was going to try his hand at hoboing. Something about that didn't sit right with William.

The address the priest had given him for Adomas' residence was very close by. The building was dilapidated but clean. William felt a pang in his heart upon stepping up to knock on the door, for it was obvious that Adomas had been spending very little money – and William knew it was because the man had been trying frantically to send as much money as possible back to his wife Ieva and their ailing little son Matis in Winnipeg… And William also knew that in the end both of them had died, that after all the struggle and heartache, all of them, had died.

The woman who answered the door spoke with a thick Lithuanian accent. She informed William that the key to the room where Adomas had stayed would not be on the St. Valentine's keychain he showed her because he had returned the key to her before he left.

"He left?" William asked.

The landlady told him that Adomas had moved out, or really more just left, back in the summer. He had told her that he was going to ride the train rails looking for work – claiming that he was sick of the misery of working in the stockyards and he was going to try the carefree life of a hobo. It was pointless for William to see his room; three other men had been living there for months. He thanked her for her help and left his number in case she thought of anything important.

Stepping back into the street, William checked his pocket watch. He would need to hurry if he wanted to get a bite to eat with George. There was a good chance the workers form Davies Slaughterhouse, hopefully including the night watchman, would be showing up at the stationhouse soon to be questioned. He took a cab, noting on the ride, that Julia's Baby Shower was about to begin. He imagined all the colorful dresses and lively chatting – and from what he could tell, there would be quite a bit of drinking as well. He shrugged to himself, "Margaret Brackenreid won't like that," he thought, reflecting on how the Inspector's wife had become a very busy event planner in the past few years. He sighed, thinking about how wonderful it had been for her to offer to throw this shower for Julia, and he found he would likely always be grateful to her, and he felt it; he was happy.

George's eyes grew wide as a smile took over his face at the sight of the detective standing at his door. "Sir!?" he exclaimed.

"I thought you might join me for lunch, George," William said.

George had just finished eating his puny, boring, lonely lunch, and thus, was far from hungry… However, there was no way in hell he would miss the opportunity to spend time with his mentor. "That would be wonderful," he declared, patting his quite full belly.

Over lunch, William caught George up on the case, realizing quite a lot had happened since the day George had been suspended. The blood on the rug had turned out to be human, but Mulligan had claimed it was blood from a man who had cut his finger off and bled profusely in his office. Unfortunately, the man in question corroborated his story, and further, Mulligan provided hospital records indicating the date of the incident was only about a week before Ieva was killed, giving a reasonable explanation for the human blood on his rug. The trail to proving that Mulligan had killed Ieva – without relying on evidence from the weapon, the letter-opener that George himself had stolen – had gone cold.

George apologized again for taking the weapon the way he did. "We've already put that behind us George, I too admit to going so far as being willing to break the rules on this case," William said, trying to settle George's concerns.

William went on to explain that they had found the man who had moved the body, a man named Kempsey, whose fingermarks matched those left at the scene where Ieva's body was dumped.

George got very excited with this news, but William indicated that there was more, and it didn't end up good.

William reminded George of the evidence they had that the body had been moved twice. The showgirl costume and burlap sheet and animal blood found at the scene where her body was dumped all indicated that her body had been moved once when her blood was still wet, and again later when it had dried. They knew she had died wherever the green rug was located because of the green fibers in her nose and mouth, (and probably the because of the human blood on Mulligan's green office rug as well), and then she had been changed into the showgirl costume somewhere else, because the costume didn't have any human blood on it, thus by then the blood had dried, and after that she had been wrapped in a burlap sheet – which by the way, matched the same burlap sheets he and Jackson had been wrapped in when they were nearly killed– and taken to the spot behind the brothel where they found the body.

George listened on, intrigued, thinking the evidence seemed pretty convincing so far, as William explained that he had found the first place where Ieva's body had been taken – to a flat belonging to the aforementioned man named Aiden Kempsey, as evidenced by finding a feather there matching the showgirl costume. As a side-note William added that it was this very costume that had allowed them to find Kempsey in the first place because Kempsey had stolen the outfit from his girlfriend who pointed them in Kempsey's direction. Even more evidence was found indicating Kempsey had taken the body to his flat, not only human blood under his bed, but his fingermarks from his flat matched those found at the scene.

"So, you've got him then sir!?" George exclaimed, wondering what could have gone wrong.

"We were unable to match the fingermarks to the actual man," William explained, because they discovered that Kempsey had likely been killed…

"Why not get fingermarks from his body then?" George asked.

"That's just it George," William said, shaking his head, "We don't have a body. It appears that, probably at the orders of Mulligan, if not by his own hand, Kempsey's body was disposed of, much as my own and Jackson's had almost been, by being sent down the line with all the other pig carcasses being butchered at Davies Slaughterhouse."

George gasped, his eyes wide with the memory and the wickedness of the deed, going so far as covering his mouth with the disgust of it.

William told him that they had found clothing, most likely belonging to Kempsey, in the same trash bins where his and Jackson's suits had been found that night. Even if William could show that the hairs on the clothing found at Davies Slaughterhouse matched hairs from Kempsey's flat, he didn't think it would be seen as more than circumstantial.

"So that's the end then?" George asked, "There is nothing substantial enough to prove that Mulligan killed Ieva Baltavesky, even though we know he did. Do we just give up… close the case as unsolved?"

Explaining that the dead end in Ieva's case didn't have to mean they couldn't get Mulligan, because he believed Mulligan was linked to the killing of her husband too, William told George that he had found a witness who knew Adomas Baltavesky from Winnipeg – and that this man had seen Mr. Baltavesky's body on a meatpacking freight train that had pulled into Burns' facility up in East York…

"Not in Wychwood Park, sir? Wasn't it reported on Adomas' death records that the train was at Wychwood Park when they found his body?" George wondered.

William took a deep breath, he felt another headache blooming. "I have reason, good reason, to suspect that Stationhouse 5 was faking much of the records on this case," he said.

George's heart raced. The history with Stationhouse 5 went deep on his part too. He knew, with them, it often got messy.

William went on, remembering he was going to tell George about the man who spoke to him at Burns' business, "This witness said Adomas Baltavesky had had experience working on meatpacking trains for Burns – loading ice into refrigerated cars from icing stations along the routes. Both this witness, and the coroner at Stationhouse #5…," William paused and looked at George, "Just one more advantage to being married to Dr. Ogden," he joked with a smile. Then he went on, "Both men said they saw a man meeting Meyers' description…"

The mentioning of this man's name raised one of George's eyebrows with both recognition and instantaneous, gut-wrenching, suspicion, thus also raising some of the hairs on his back as well.

"…who seemed to be in charge of the case," William excitedly revealed. "Julia was able to find out from the coroner at Stationhouse 5 that Adomas had been stabbed under his right armpit," William said, raising his right arm up in the air and demonstrating the exact spot, "It was Julia who figured out this method – linked it to a handshake. And from that case, we know this technique of killing is, well at least it was, used by American spies."

A sensation of fear swirling around in his gut caught George's attention. This case was dangerous… very dangerous indeed.

William then shared with George his theory that Adomas had been killed by Mulligan, before Mulligan had killed Ieva, because he and possibly Davies too, had found out that Adomas was spying on them for Burns. That's why they had him killed. He wasn't sure about Davies' and Mulligan's connection with both the Canadian and American governments on this, and it worried him, but, he did suspect that Adomas had been dressed up to look like he had been hoboing to throw people off of the trail of any connection he had with Davies Slaughterhouse…

William wrinkled his face. George had known the detective as long as Dr. Ogden had. He knew this gesture well. Something was definitely bugging the detective about this "faked hoboing" theory.

Reaching up and rubbing his brow, William added, doubt in his tone, "That is I thought so… until just now…" he said with a sigh, "Both Adomas' priest and his landlady said that Adomas, himself, had said he was going to go hoboing – he even stopped renting his room. It seems he left to be a hobo on the trains – to look for work I guess, last summer. Now we know he needed money. His son was sick. And he wrote to Ieva that he was coming into some big money… It just seems to me that going hoboing wouldn't be the way he would do that…"

The two men had the idea at the exact same time! They needed to question people who had met Adomas while he was hoboing – assuming that was what he was really doing on the trains. There might be witnesses, maybe someone saw who had killed him, or at least some information on what Adomas had been actually doing, who he had been working for.

Right from the start, George figured he would be joining the detective, although there was some discussion about it.

"Undercover operations like this one are always risky," William said. "To go undercover, disguised as a hobo, out looking for work, or even if I say I'm out looking for Adomas… could claim to be friend… who has news about his son, his wife… Well, it is the dead of winter. It might not be too believable. And then there's this whole problem with Meyers being involved… And American spies… Clegg…?"

"Sir," George interrupted, "I can't let you go alone. It's too dangerous. I'll join you."

"George, I can't ask you to do that," William insisted. "You've already been suspended…"

"Sir, you know I'm right. What about our "Murdoch rule?" The Inspector made that rule just for situations like this!" George whispered, trying to assert his point with his eyes.

William seemed to be budging; George recognized his 'admitting it' customary, corner-of-the-mouth wrinkle. "And besides," he said, "it is best to have someone along to keep you on the straight and narrow. If I hadn't been alone, I never would have stolen that letter-opener," George asserted.

And so the scheme had been hatched. William and George would go undercover as hobos to try to find witnesses to help prove that Mulligan was involved with the murder of Ieva Baltavesky's husband, Adomas. George was put in charge of finding out about the train schedules. They could leave Monday morning. William told George to find a train to Winnipeg, figuring that that was where the train he was killed from was coming from. They went their separate ways, both acknowledging that mixed in with the seriousness and the worry, there was a shared sense of adventure as well.

))) (((

Once back at the station, William filled the Inspector in on the plan. In actuality, he had only alluded to George's involvement, knowing the Inspector would need deniability if it ever came down to it. Ultimately, they both knew that the Inspector would never have let the hoboing undercover plan happen if his detective were to undertake it alone. George was a good solution to the problem of who else would go for many reasons – one of which was that no one was as likely to notice that George had also gone missing. They needed a cover for where the detective had gone though, deciding to suggest he may have been killed or harmed in the line of duty, knowing that would mean they would have to make it appear that the Constabulary was out looking for him.

Oh how the thrill of it pumped through William's veins, causing his heart to race, his thoughts to seem to fly. Yet, there were symptoms though, that he tried to push aside, symptoms of dread too. The timing was bad, that was for sure. Julia was pregnant, needy… it sent a chill through him thinking of the possibilities, and he shoved the thoughts way – hard.

The questioning of the men who had worked the later shifts at Davies Slaughterhouse yesterday led basically nowhere into the investigation of what had happened to Aiden Kempsey. William was astounded at how thoroughly Mulligan, maybe Davies too, had managed to keep all of these men in line. They all had the same story… so much the same that he knew it had been rehearsed, he knew it was a lie, but he would never be able to prove so. All of the men, including the night watchman, claimed that although they did know Kempsey, that he had not been to work for many days, thus corroborating Mulligan's statement that Kempsey took some days off, and that there was no evidence of foul play at Davies Slaughterhouse last night.

William was excited about one thing though. He had asked the night watchman for his keys, which the man was willing to provide. William had left the interview, claiming to need to verify one of the night watchman's statements with his records, and then photographed the man's keys. Five of them matched some of the keys on Adomas' keychain. However, frustratingly, the night watchman said that he had started working as the night watchman at the beginning of the summer, which would make sense if Adomas had needed to be replaced as the Davies night watchman when he left to go hoboing at that time, as the priest and landlady had claimed. And still, everyone working at Davies Slaughterhouse still claimed to have never seen Adomas Baltavsky, and further, this new night watchman said that he had worked at Davies' for years before he took the night watchman job, and he was certain he had never seen the man in the photograph of Adomas, nor the woman in the photograph of his wife Ieva for that matter, either.

William had reasoned that the keys could prove Adomas Baltavesky worked at Davies Slaughterhouse, besides all the men's claims to have never met him – but the keys could also have been obtained by Adomas without anyone at Davies' having knowledge of it, or so they could claim. Add to that the problem that he wouldn't even have Adomas' keys if Constable Jackson hadn't "known someone" at Stationhouse #5. And using the keys as evidence would entail confronting Detective Dermott and Inspector Stanford, and now he knew that they were being influenced by Meyers and his "National Security," threats. In the end, the fact that Adomas had five keys from Davies' Slaughterhouse on his keychain only solidified William's resolve to investigate what had happened to Adomas Baltavesky while he was riding the trains as a hobo looking for work last summer.

His mind made up, William decided to call Ettie and arrange to meet with her in Winnipeg. By the time he had hung up the phone with her, they had agreed that both William and George would stay with her at her "coffee house" in Winnipeg, arriving on Wednesday. Ettie explained that she would be able to put them in touch with people who would know much more about the inner-goings-ons between these meat-industry magnates, indicating that particularly some of the women in her "coffee house" might be able to shed light on the case.

As he headed home in a cab, William struggled with his thoughts, emotions, fears about staying with Ettie, provoking the strongest reaction whenever he thought of Julia… Forcing himself to think of something else, he asked himself what he needed to do before he and George would head out on Monday morning. "I'll need different clothes…" the plans started, distracting him from what really worried him the most. Once the carriage pulled up to the house, William had focused his thoughts on Julia's Baby Shower. The Sun had already set, and the glow of the lights from their house warmed every cell in his body. One last thought got pushed aside, about how come Monday, he would be out in the cold winter weather day and night… he pushed the thought away and paid the driver.

))) (((

When William first came in the front door, he smelled Eloise's delectable beef stew coming from the kitchen down the hall to his left, and he heard women's voices in the living room just past the foyer on the right. "They're still here," he thought, somewhat surprised for it was past seven o'clock. He took off his coat and hat and paused at the living room entrance. There were still three women here, one of which was Margaret Brackenreid, and all were highly engaged in energetic conversation. They had not noticed him. The flowers he had sent were beautifully displayed in a vase on the center coffee table. The sight made him smile.

Julia looked up and caught sight of him. Quickly her eyes went back to the woman speaking and she said, "Excuse me ladies, I'll be right back." She worked particularly hard to get her seven-plus month's pregnant body out of the chair, seemingly in a hurry. Her body language suggesting secrecy, she rushed William back into the foyer, out of sight.

They shared a quick kiss. Then Julia huddled close to her husband and said quietly, "William, I'd like you to escort Margaret home… She's quite … tipsy."

William pulled back with surprise. He lifted an eyebrow at her, "Tipsy," he said, his face wrinkled with doubt, "Margaret?"

"Yes," Julia whispered excitedly with the gossip. Her eyes grew big, "She quite indulged!" she added with a giggle.

"Oh," he replied, raising his eyebrow at her once again, accenting the scandal. They turned to go back and join the ladies, but William took her arm – stopped her. "Julia," he whispered, "Do you really think I should take her home to the Inspector in such a state?"

Pausing briefly to think, to imagine it really, Julia responded, "I think it will give the Inspector years' worth of ammunition to use when they argue about his drinking…"

William nodded.

Caroline, a suffragist friend of Julia's, noticed the couple huddled near the doorway whispering. "Oh my," she announced, "The man of the house is finally home!" Much to William's surprise, the band of three women broke into applause as he and Julia walked into the room. Ellie Masterson said, "The flowers you sent are quite beautiful, William…"

Julia quickly slid her arm in his and squeezed him tight, "Oh yes, William. They are splendid!" adding a tender kiss to his cheek, "Thank you. That was very thoughtful."

"And very stimulating!" Caroline, who also seemed to have over-indulged in drinking alcohol, declared.

Julia's heart began to race. She had hoped with Ruby and Emily out of the room, she … and William, might have been spared the embarrassing talk about his love note, which Ruby had absconded right out of the flowers he had sent earlier and read aloud to all the ladies present at her Baby Shower.

"How is that?" William asked, just before his eyes focused on the opened card on the coffee table next to the flowers. Julia noticed his face was already red before he swallowed, trying to cope, before the woman even answered his question.

"Well your romantic poem detective, of course. Your wife is surely a very lucky woman," Caroline added, tucking her chin and fluttering her eyelashes at him, prompting Julia to squeeze his arm even tighter, jealousy bubbling up inside of her.

He turned to give his wife a stern, almost disciplining look. Raising an eyebrow he said, "Again, Julia?" referring to the last time Ruby and Emily had visited, and Julia had "kissed and told," telling them both about his prowess, and their exquisite happiness, in the bedroom.

She released his arm and marched back to her seat on the couch. "Oh no. Don't go blaming me for this one mister … You wrote it. And you sent it to our house, during my Baby Shower…" Before she sat, she turned to him, love for him, mixed with glee upon the sight of his shocked face, gurgled up to melt her heart. She would dig in the barb now, smash the winning point, "…Knowing Ruby was here."

It flashed immediately over his face – regret, awareness of how obvious his mistake had been. "Ruby, of course!" he thought, "What was I thinking," he scolded himself. "Did she …"

Ellie took this one, "Oh yes! Ruby stood up here," she patted the coffee table, "On her soap box, with all of the women here gathered round…"

Julia looked at William, "Stunned. Absolutely stunned," she thought.

"She read your note aloud," Caroline finished. "It was so beautiful. Everyone loved it," she said.

Ellie continued, "Your analogy between storms and lovemaking was very seductive and alluring, William. We found ourselves becoming quite enlightened about … the bedroom," even Ellie fell into laughter. Of course it was contagious and Caroline and Margaret cascaded along with her.

William turned as red as Julia had ever seen him – save for when the desk clerk read the parrot's words aloud to them at the hotel. Although she felt terribly for him, she couldn't help but start to giggle herself. She grabbed a hold of the edge of the couch and bounced and bumped, trying to get up. She figured the least she could do was to go stand with him through all this.

Seeing his wife trying to get up, he rushed over to give her a hand. Once she was on her feet she threw her arms around his neck. "My God, I love you William Murdoch." She declared. Joyed, she felt him wrap his arms around her waist…

"And I you," he said softly. They tightened the hug to a round of applause. William released his wife. The couple stood facing the three women and he said, "So, I'm sure you must have talked about other things besides my flowers …" he cleared his throat, "… and my note. I see there are quite a few gifts…"

Suddenly all eyes turned to the entrance as Ruby and Emily came barreling in. "William! You're here!" Ruby exclaimed. The two women perused the room. William and Julia both knew that they were trying to ascertain whether or not the jolly tale had already been told.

Not surprisingly to Julia, at least not after she had seen William take charge of the situation a few years ago, launching an "investigation" into the crime of her, "kissing and telling," and "interrogating the witnesses," William was quick to take control of this situation as well. He bowed politely to them, "Miss Ruby. Dr. Grace." They nodded back. William lifted the card from the table, held it up and shook it in the air. "There have been reports of theft. You have been accused of stealing this card … Of, how shall I say it? Disclosing state secrets. Such crimes are …"

Julia joined in, saying the rest with him, hearing Terrence Meyers' voice in her head as she did so, "…Considered treason and are punishable by death."

Ruby and Emily looked at each other. They turned back to the detective. Emily weakened, declaring quickly that she really had nothing to do with it. Ruby gave her a playful dirty look and then said to William, "The penalty seems rather steep, don't you think?"

Interrupting the whole show, Margaret stood up and walked over to William, well, more stumbled over to William really. She stood in front of him, lifted herself up on her toes to get closer to his face and whispered, "Detective," her breath pungent with intoxication, the power of the scent prompting William to take a step back. The sudden change in distance between them staggered her balance and she fell forward into him, grabbing a hold of his jacket collar to steady herself.

"Margaret," he said, "Are you quite alright?" with an eyebrow raised at her.

"Yes. Yes, detective," she slurred, "Just a little too much of that … delshus choc… chocolate …" she struggled to find the word, "…stuff." She placed her index finger over her lips and said, "Shh, don't tell Thomas. Speaking of Thomas, detective, I would very much appreciate it if you would teach Thomas…" she lifted her eyes from his collar to meet his eyes, "My goodness Detective Murdoch… You truly are a handsome man…"

Julia reached over and took a careful hold of her elbow. "Margaret," she said, "Perhaps you should sit down." Julia turned to William and said compassionately, "I think she should stay here for dinner. It might sober her up." He nodded.

Looking at Julia, Margaret declared, "Oh, I remember now." She turned her attention back to William and said, wobbling, "Detective, would… me please, teach… you… you teach Thomas about those warm fronts. They sound wond…ful!"

William turned to Julia, his eyes pleading with desperation.

Barreled over with laughter in her imagination, Julia cleared her throat, gaining everyone's attention, "I believe Eloise has been very patient with holding our dinner. I think we had best go eat. Ellie. Caroline. Are you going to join us as well?"

Both ladies took heed of their clue that it was time to go and said their good-byes, during which Julia leaned over to William's ear and whispered, "I don't think Margaret will remember any of this William. She is quite drunk."

"Perhaps," he sighed, as his eyes held hers, seeming to beg fate to make it so.

Dinner was lively, delicious and fun. It did help to sober Margaret up, but William still escorted her back to her house. Arriving back home, he heard Julia laughing as Ruby told some wild tale or another. He giggled to himself, feeling so happy to hear her enjoying herself so. He hung up his coat and hat. He rested a shoulder against the entrance to the living room, watching the women. Deciding to make a fire for them, he stepped into the room. "How is everyone?" he asked as he crossed the room and leaned down to give Julia a kiss.

He built the fire – first small sticks, tucked the wrapping paper from the gifts into the spaces, and then some bigger logs on top. He lit it and then stepped back. Quickly the paper grew into flames.

"Such beautiful colors," Emily declared. Everyone agreed.

Every indication suggesting the three women intended to stay up late talking, for they would want to catch up with each other before Ruby and Emily left Toronto tomorrow, William told them goodnight. He was going to take a shower and go to bed, deciding it was too late to tell Julia his plans to go undercover with George. "She seemed a bit too intoxicated for such a discussion anyway," he rationalized in his mind. He reminded Julia he wanted to attend the early mass tomorrow. He gave her a kiss and headed upstairs.

While in the shower, William found he was filled with a sense of trepidation. Not only had he not yet told Julia about his undercover hoboing trip, but he was considering not telling her about his plans to meet with Ettie – to stay with Ettie while he was in Winnipeg. Horrible throes of dread pumped through him each time he imagined telling Julia. Repeatedly the flashes of his memories of her devastated sobbing in reaction to his merely having looked at the waitress at George's Author's Awards Dinner , although guilt was still weighing heavy on him for what he had imagined doing with the woman at the time. "But, wouldn't telling her about Ettie risk having the same thing happen… upset her so much that she would become sick, even endanger the health of the baby with her gut-wrenching crying? All for nothing…" for he knew in his heart he had no romantic interests in Ettie Weston, at least not anymore? By the time he had dried off and dressed in his pajamas, he had decided, he would not tell Julia about Ettie, and he would tell her about going undercover as a hobo with George – he would tell her tomorrow – before he left for church.

Sunday morning:

Both partially dressed, Julia sat at her vanity, brushing out her golden, wavy hair, while William hopped around in the background, pulling on a sock. After completing the sock task, William glanced over at her, his mind, his heart really, trying to work up the courage to tell her about his plans to go undercover with George, so that they could try to find witnesses, likely other hobos, who could implicate the killer of Adomas Baltavesky. He sighed.

Astute, and highly attuned to him, Julia noticed, looking to him momentarily in the mirror. She also noticed his eyes dart away from hers, and a trickle of worry entered her heart.

Deciding he preferred to have this discussion with his pants on, William pulled on his trousers and then approached, leaning his buttocks up against her vanity. Internally, he gave himself a shove. "I spoke to George yesterday… about giving him some money to help him through his suspension without pay," he started. "It turns out that George has received quite a good sum in royalties for his books…" William continued, reaching up and scratching his head, and then subconsciously giving away his stress by rubbing his forehead, "He said he hasn't told anybody about it, he didn't want to appear to be boasting, but he reassured me that he has no worries when it comes to money."

"How was that for you William, making such an offer?" she asked, thinking that might be the spur of his anxiety.

Before he mustered up an answered for her, he found himself caught by her eyes. She was so very beautiful, and he loved her so that his heart ached, and he would do anything not to hurt her… William wrinkled his face like he so often did, for he knew that was exactly what he was about to do.

She recognized his expression, she had seen it so many times before, he was admitting to something, or apologizing. She thought it was about his difficulty with his struggle with his change in status, and revealing it to George…

William pushed his regret aside and answered, "It was not so bad. I prefaced the offer by saying that we were fortunate, as a married couple, to benefit from your wealth, and I made it clear that offering the money to him was your idea."

Julia went back to brushing her hair. Her lovely husband stayed propped on her vanity, and therefore she knew there was more. He braced himself, gripping his fingers into the wood trim on each side of his hips.

"Um…"

Alarm gurgled in her gut. Whatever he was working up the nerve to say… it was big.

"George and I… well, we talked about the case, and he – well we, decided he would join me on the next part of it," he finally spit his words out, still not really telling her what he knew would most upset her.

"Oh?" her face becoming puzzled, "isn't he suspended – wasn't he told specifically not to work on this case, after he stole the weapon… Isn't that why he is suspended, for stealing the manager's letter-opener?

He took a deep breath, treading on thin ice now, "Technically it's not actually the same case." He cleared his throat, "That was Ieva Baltavesky, this is Adomas."

She gave him a discerning look.

"And, um well it won't be, um, here in Toronto," he said, forcing himself to keep his eyes up, to be brave enough to look her in the eye.

Rocketing at him, her eyes met his, as he expected, like a freight train – "Scared? Angry? Probably both," William thought. He told himself to breathe, continue moving forward.

"You suspect the same killer, don't you? Mulligan?" she said, the squeak in her voice betraying her rising concern, her thoughts racing to how cold-blooded and brutal the dastardly man had shown himself to be, remembering William's horrendous near-death experience on the end of a meat-hook, dangling on the butchering line to be sliced up, as if he was just like one of many pig carcasses hanging from the same ceiling with him, in the dark…

William swallowed away some of his dread. "Yes, I suspect he is Adomas' killer as well – at the very least I think Mulligan is closely involved with killing Adomas – and now Kempsey…"

"Where?" she interrupted.

Momentarily thrown, he looked puzzled before remembering he had already told her that he and George would not be in Toronto. "Um… Adomas left Toronto, supposedly became a hobo riding the freight trains looking for work... he had experience as an icer – um, loading ice from ice stations into the roofs of refrigerated train cars full of meat. I think he might have been involved in the distribution of bad meat last summer – all those deaths… Well, George and I are going to um… we're going to try to find people – other hobos who would have known him. Who might know what really happened to him," he explained. He watched the woman he loved as she began to come apart at the seams…

"You are doing this now William?! Now...?" she squeaked, "I'm … I could go into labor – and surgery anytime. I mean if I did, um this early, the baby probably wouldn't survive – but still. I have never needed you more than I need you now…" Julia jerked away, looked away, trying to hide the wrinkles taking over her face, the onslaught of tears she felt welling up. She took a deep breath, managing to pull herself together somewhat. "How long?" she asked, still unwilling to look at him with the question.

There was a delay, for William was struggling with the answer. Her eyes turned back to meet his. His face was blank…

A hint of anger seeping into her voice, Julia said sarcastically, "Oh, of course… You don't know how long."

Taking a deep breath, he replied quickly, "Probably four or five days, maybe a week." And there it was, his wrinkled mouth.

"But it could be more," she asserted, telling him the extended time limit, more than asking him if it was so.

He nodded, unable to deny it.

Julia gave in to the flood of emotions, and her face wrinkled up, becoming red and blotchy, and her eyes swelled, wet with tears. "It could be forever. You could be killed out there in the dead of winter, no badge, dressed as a hobo. You might never come home," she panicked.

William tried to scoop her up, hold her in his arms...

But, she pushed him away. "Don't try to comfort me William," she cried. Suddenly, she was out the door. He took up chase. "Don't you dare try to comfort me," her voice surged up the stairs, "I don't like this! I don't like it one bit! And as far as I'm concerned, you are abandoning me – and you won't be around to comfort me, so just leave me alone," she belted out her fears and ran down the rest of the staircase as fast as her pregnant legs could carry her.

He followed, made the turn at the halfway point of the stairs…

Julia turned back to face him, stopping him in his tracks. "No, William. Don't. I need a minute," she said firmly, her eyes focused and sharp, penetrating deeply into his big, wide, beautiful, brown ones.

Acquiescing, he slumped his shoulders, swallowed back his pain, and turned and headed back up the stairs.

Ruby stood in her room, huddled over the tiny keyhole with her eye glued through it gawking out into the hallway, although she unfortunately had determined that she could see nothing. Her outstanding hearing, quite useful in her profession as a journalist, was now finely honed in on the argument it seemed her sister and her brother-in-law were having, particularly since their bedroom door had been flung open and the voices grew loud enough for her to make out their words.

"Abandoned! Jules had said abandoned?" the screeched out words reverberated in her head. Simultaneously she wondered how a man as dedicated to his wife as William was, could ever abandon her, while at the same time she entertained thoughts of she herself throttling him for doing any such thing, to his pregnant wife. Of course, she calmed herself, she had best know the whole story first.

Not so long later, William heard Julia as she stepped back into the doorway of their bedroom. He was completely dressed now, in a suit, kneeling down to tie his shoe.

Leaving the door open, unknowingly allowing her nosy sister to hear, and with her tone more in control, she asked, "Are you leaving now?"

And he realized she thought he was about to leave her, right now, to go undercover… And it wasn't that bad – yet.

"No," he hurried to reassure her, standing, stirred by the pull of her, wanting only to be closer.

"Church then?" she asked.

"I was planning to," he suggested, cueing that he would stay to talk if she wanted. "Um, George and I aren't leaving until tomorrow morning," he added.

He saw his words hit her, plagued by her response, and it started a disquieting hum in his ears. Almost like she had been punched in the stomach, he saw it, he heard it in the buzzing silence, a twitch, a gasp – and it set ablaze inside of him, a battle. He heard her again in his head, telling him not to comfort her, and he would try not to… respect her request, that was the least he could do. But the pressure of it, the excruciating competition between his desire to do what she had asked, and his desire to do what she had asked him not to do, it steamed and pulsed tremendously. He exhaled, working to dispel some of it.

Julia stepped closer to him, seemed to soften. "Pray to your God, for him to bring you back to me William," she said, monotone and dull, but with such a pleading in her eyes.

His mind raced. "She does not believe, called Him, "my God." She does not have faith as I do… to help her cope. There is nothing to offer her comfort… And yet, losing me is something she has – we have – fought with so many times before… that such uncertainty, that dealing with the possibility of it, is inevitable?" he wondered.

"Julia," he said with his voice taking on that reasonable, calming tone she had heard so many times before, "We both know… The irony is that anytime I walk out that door I might be killed, that I might not come home. Remember Bristol – I had gone to church that morning…"

Fright took her face once again, "And I thought you had died!" she tried to yell, but squeaked instead.

William stepped towards her, every bone, every muscle, called for him to ease her suffering, to have her in his arms, to tell her it would be alright. But he stopped himself, seeing the warning still present in her eyes.

Recovering a bit, she managed to sound more in control, rational, "Besides it's all odds and what we are willing to accept, isn't it? Like with whether we would abort our child or not..." she said, placing her hand protectively, cherishingly, over her expanded belly. "The odds at 85 percent successful, and so we decided it was worth trying… You go out on a case, and yes, William, it is better if you are not alone, and I am glad that George will be going with you, but you go out, and then it's as if there is an 85 percent chance you will come home. But… undercover? Well then it's down to 65 percent. But…" and now her control slipped away, "but this case William, this man's case – This case involved Meyers, don't forget – and the victim was stabbed – probably by an American spy! Add in spies and Americans and the odds are too frightening for me to even consider," Julia cried, seeming to crumple and crumble right in front of him.

Unable to tolerate it any longer, he grabbed her, pulled her close. She struggled, wiggling, pushing at him, but she ended up in his arms… And she let go of her resistance… And she wept on his shoulder, her cries muffled and devastating from within the safety of the cocoon. William's beautiful, perfect voice soothing in her ear, while his strong, gentle hands stroked her hair, her back, and he told her that he was right there with her, and that he loved her with all of his heart, that he loved her so very, very much. And after a time, he reminded her that she had told him that she loved all of him, even the detective part… and then he tried to make her breathe, to speak, by asking her if she loved him as she had said she did…

"I do," she sniffled, pulling back, making some distance, giving herself room to breathe, "Very much I do."

"Good," he said with a subtle nod as his thumb wiped a tear from her cheek, and he gave her a smile, a smile that, as always, won her heart, and provoked a smile from her in return.

She stepped back further, "Go on then, you'll have to hurry to make the late mass." And then he kissed her, and rushed to put on his coat and ran out to find a cab.

))) (((

Once William had stepped in the front door, carrying a bag with his newly acquired hobo coat and shoes purchased from a charity drive at his church, he was greeted by Julia's rush to the door.

"Oh William! I'm so glad you made it on time. Ruby's train leaves in just over an hour," she said, kissing him and eyeing his package.

"The church was having a charity drive," he explained, holding up the bag, "I bought an old used coat and boots… for…" His eyes darted to the living room where he figured Ruby was, worrying that she might overhear. Regrettably, the tension was back. "For the case," he finished with his customary 'apology' face. He noticed a scowl…

Ruby had joined them in the foyer. "There is still the suitcase," she said, "Julia and I…"

Julia interrupted her, "William could you get it?" she asked.

"Gladly," he answered. "We'll all go to the train then?" he asked, pausing in taking off his coat. Julia nodded and he decided to leave his coat on since they would be leaving shortly anyway.

William ducked into their bedroom to drop off his hoboing clothes, and then went down the hall to retrieve the suitcase.

The sight of the gargantuan suitcase provoked a sigh. "Should have taken off the coat," he thought, imagining the sweat and struggle he was in for.

With a few manly grunts, William managed to get the mammoth-sized suitcase into the carriage. Already seated in the cab, Ruby teased, "Now that I know you will soon be hoboing for a living William, perhaps I should give you a tip."

His eyes burrowed into her, unable to hide his shock, his annoyance, at first, before he made himself smile.

Julia saw his reaction, quickly covering up for Ruby's unexpected inner-knowledge about his going undercover, fast on her feet, she grabbed William's elbow before he would help her into the cab. "It would be better payback if you didn't Ruby," she said, her expression forewarning that she was about to tell one of her jokes, "The detective here was notoriously reluctant to tip the bellboy on our NYC honeymoon," Julia giggled, "It caused quite a stir."

William pulled her aside and whispered, a stern tone to his manner, "Julia, she is a reporter for the New York Times, who has worked on a story directly related to my going undercover, on the meat industry, just this summer…"

"And she is my sister, who overheard our argument and worried for me," Julia said, giving him a matching tone. "At least someone cares," she added.

Taking offense, William started to complain, "Julia, I care."

"Not enough not to go," she retorted.

They both glanced up to see Ruby who was still seated in the carriage, Julia's only sibling immediately turning away and straightening her dress, pretending not to be attempting to hear them.

William frowned and then said, louder, "Give us a moment," catching Ruby's eye.

Stepping Julia further away from the cab, William told his wife, the woman he loved more than anything in the world, more than life itself, "If you really don't want me to go Julia, then I won't…" His warm, brown, eyes beckoned to hers, "But I want you to think about it…"

She interrupted him, still feeling angry, "Of course I don't want you go," she said her steel-blue eyes firm and holding onto his.

"Then I won't – but I want you to take some time to think about it. We will discuss it again tonight," he bargained, "Hmm?" he asked, softening, searching for her agreement.

Julia sighed. To be honest, she was already feeling a shift, a degree of responsibility with being the one to make the decision that she did not feel before. "Alright," she replied, seeming to be able to hold on to her anger.

Just before Ruby took her leave for the train, Julia watched from a distance on the platform as her sister spoke in hushed whispers to her husband. William's reaction to her sister clearly visible, for he faced Julia directly, she was confident she knew what it was Ruby was telling him. She had it right…

"Do you have any idea how much she worries about you?" Ruby barked.

"I do," he replied simply, for he was certain that he knew, even more so than Ruby did.

Tough and full of mettle, Ruby challenged him, threatened him, "You had better be careful – and you had better get back before that baby comes…"

William swallowed, for he knew how important it was that he did these things, and he knew in his heart that he couldn't promise…

"…And you better call her," Ruby added.

And here he knew he could not, for doing such a thing would blow his cover, and therefore doing the one would mean not doing the other. "I can't promise you that Ruby. Calling would risk drawing attention to… it would cause doubt about, um – I will be riding freight trains, as a hobo. It would not be safe to go to a phone. And, I am going with George…"

"I know that," she said.

"And so I have a responsibility to keep his cover safe too – but I will try, at least once or twice," William finally agreed.

Once her train came to a stop, Ruby hugged them both good-bye and boarded. It was touching, for both sisters had tears in their eyes. They had a special bond, and they would miss each other greatly.

))) (((

Later that evening, hearing the doorbell ring from down in his workroom, William put aside his newest invention, currently a pile of a waxy, canvas material and some straps, and called out to Julia as he hurried up the stairs, "I'll get it." Passing by her pregnant silhouette seated reading on the couch in the living room, and reaching the foyer, the cozy, comforting smells of his own Sunday cooking settled into the back of his awareness. Without having Eloise to cook, for it was her day off, William often took on the task of preparing their Sunday evening meal. With the sumptuous odors lingering in his nostrils, he recognized a heartfelt sense of pride and caring he felt whenever he cooked for them. His mind flashing a reminder to himself to check on his potpie before it burned, he opened the door to find George Crabtree.

"George!" he greeted the suspended constable, soon to be, hopefully, his undercover-hobo sidekick.

Lifting up a large brown envelope, George replied, "Sir. I thought you might want to see the routes and times for tomorrow morning." George was highly tuned to the detective, and he could tell that there was a reluctance… a pause, prompting him to ask, "You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"No… uh, no I haven't but, uh…" William glanced back towards the living room.

George leaned in closer to William and nearly whispered, "The doctor, sir?"

Just then, George's eyes shifted to focus on Julia who had walked into the foyer behind William.

"Doctor Ogden," George greeted, now unsure whether the detective had told his wife about their plans or not. "I venture to say Miss Ruby got off safely?" he asked.

Answering him, Julia walked up and took William's elbow, "Yes, though there was a bit of a battle with her suitcase," she said, giving her husband's bicep muscle a little squeeze. She felt the urge to lean over and kiss his cheek, but held back knowing he was not a fan of being affectionate in front of others.

George shared with them that he had seen Emily off earlier as well, adding that she had told him she was looking for a teaching position here in Toronto, and, finding he was comfortable with the two of them knowing how he felt about Emily, he shared that he was hopeful that she might be back permanently. They invited George to join them for dinner, and he accepted. Then William excused himself to check on the oven and bring out some drinks. Julia and George went into the living room so the good doctor could show him her Baby Shower gifts.

Awkwardly, for George still was not sure how much the doctor knew of their sleuthing-disguised-as-hobos plans, and whether or not her reaction had been, or possibly would be, negative, George thanked her for making the offer to help him financially.

"I hear you have been quite successful with your books then George," she said.

"Oh yes, I have made more money from my writing this year than I have from the Constabulary – even without considering my suspension without pay for a month," he replied, "Why just the book about a peddler in the southern United States, that's the book I won the award for, at the Author's Awards Dinner, that you and the detective attended, well mostly attended…"

Julia's thoughts drifted away, her mind stolen by the sting of the memory of William being aroused by the waitress at that very dinner…

"I wonder doctor, do you think the detective would mind?" George's question pulled her out of her rumination.

Her eyes catching his, focusing, she asked, "I'm sorry George, mind what?"

George wrinkled a corner of his mouth, causing Julia to nearly chuckle out loud, for she recognized it as William's gesture, and thus she had to entertain the idea that George might be as much, well maybe almost as much, influenced by her husband as she was. "Do you think the detective would mind my playing Watson to his Sherlock… and writing about this adventure…?"

Suddenly George panicked, almost throwing his hand over his mouth to try to stop his words. Perhaps he had just let the cat out of the bag!

"Don't worry constable," Julia reassured, "William has told me about this whole…" she waved her hand through the air, suggesting the plan was big, "…hoboing scheme." Unsure herself at this point whether or not she would take William up on his offer – whether she would actually ask him not to go, she decided to tell the younger man, "I am very glad that you would be with him," she said, her use of the word "would" instead of the word "will" signaling that George's instincts had been right to have some doubts as to whether or not they would be going.

After dinner, William invited George down to his workroom to see what he was working on, not making it clear whether or not he was working on something for tomorrow or not. Unable to tell if Julia would join them, they had at least a few moments alone because Julia was cleaning up behind William's cooking, and rinsing the dishes and filling the dishwashing cupboard.

Not wasting anytime, George asked, "So sir, it is not clear to me whether or not we are going to go tomorrow."

Keeping his voice low, suggesting secrecy, William explained, "Julia was upset… about me being in such extreme danger, and leaving her alone, um, especially now, when she is so close to having the baby."

"When is she due?" George asked, figuring it was soon because Dr. Ogden looked painfully large.

"Not for a month and half, but…" he wrinkled his face, indicating uncertainty, "well, it's complicated George. Let's just say that Julia will be undergoing major surgery in the next month or two, whether that surgery results in our being graced by a living, healthy, child or not… well that is really in God's hands."

George's expression showed that he saw the gravity of the situation. After hesitating and thinking of the possible outcomes that he had never really considered before, one of them that Dr. Ogden herself faced more mortal peril than he had previously thought, George turned back to their plans. "So, we are going to stay…"

"I told Julia that I would leave the decision up to her. We are going to discuss it later tonight… I guess after you have gone," William said.

"I see," George replied. His eyes drifted to the detective's worktable.

Stepping over to the pile of waxy, canvas material on the table, William suggested, "I think we should go ahead with the plans George, and I will let you know, in the morning if I don't know until then, whether or not we are going."

"That makes sense, sir," George said.

William detected an air of disappointment from George. He had to admit, he felt it too, but he was surprised, for what they were going to be doing was going to be dangerous and miserable, basically living homeless and not knowing who among those that they encountered would turn out to mean them harm.

Drawing George's attention to his invention, William said, "You know how most hobos carry their meager belongings around in blanket at the end of a stick, well I thought why not make a sack that you can strap onto your back!"

"That's ingenious, sir," George admired.

"And the material is waterproof, in case it rains, or in our case, snows," William added. "Oh, and George, I got one of these for you too," the detective said, handing George an item that looked like a switchblade. "It was made in Switzerland, the special spring mechanism allows for multiple attachments on opposing sides of the blade. Look, I replaced one of the attachments with a can opener!" William excitedly declared…

…Julia overhearing when she walked down the stairs.

"And look, this one is a little spoon!" he added with a big smile.

"William Murdoch," his wife said, attracting their attention to where she stood at the door, "you are quite the inventor."

"Well, I didn't invent it, I just added some attachments to Engels model," he said, feeling a bit of hope with her reaction.

She remained at the doorway, leaning against the frame. William said, putting much effort into sounding casual, "I thought George and I would proceed as if we would be going tomorrow… um, the worst that happens is we waste a little time if we don't go." He followed the statement with his traditional 'apology' wrinkle at the corner of his mouth.

"My God, I hope he never figures out much power that adorable look has over me," she thought to herself, pushing away from the doorframe and heading back upstairs, saying, "That sounds reasonable. I have a new journal with an article on the Cesarean section and another on genetics and sex determination – I'll be in the living room."

She didn't see it, but William exhaled out through pursed lips, letting go of some of the pressure he felt. The two men examined the train routes and planned for George to get a carriage and come by to pick up the detective in the early morning. Then they would head over to the bridge over the train tracks, nearby to the detective's church. There was a little twinge of fear, in both men, when they first discussed this location to hop the train, for this was the spot where the detective had been knocked unconscious, fell down onto a coal car and ended up in Bristol England with no memory, ultimately facing his death multiple times – and, according to Toronto newspapers, saving the Queen.

George soon took his leave, both of them still having preparations for the undercover undertaking. They agreed to have George be in charge of the train routes, so he took the maps and schedules back with him in the brown envelope.

William completed his "backsack," and then worked on his hobo clothing. Knowing Julia had gone up to their bedroom after George had left, he felt an urgency to finish up, wanting to be able to have their "discussion," before she fell asleep.

When William got upstairs, he noticed that Julia, fortunately, was still wake. She was in her nightgown, in bed, with the lights still on, reading a novel. She looked up at him and gave him a smile. He changed into his pajamas, gathered up various items, packing most of them into his "backsack" for tomorrow, and then completed his nightly routine in the bathroom, packing up his toothbrush and razor when he was through. Still needing to close the flue in the fireplace and take out the trash and check all the doors and turn out all the lights downstairs, he glanced over, glad to see that Julia's nose remained buried in her book.

A few minutes later, when William slid into the bed behind her, he wore a mischievous smile, although Julia could not take heed from it, for her back was to him and she was still intently reading her novel. His feet were very cold from running around the house barefoot completing his chores. First, sidling up behind her, feeling his body respond to the soft, plushy feel of her curves and her flesh, William then plunged his freezing-cold feet between her luscious, warm calves, evoking a rather large squeal from his wife.

Instantly, she flung herself, rolling over to reach the edge of the bed in an effort to get away from the cold-footed hellion. Turning to face him, precariously dangling right at the edge, she declared, "William Murdoch! Your feet are freezing!"

He inched towards her, threatening to grab her and pull her in, "Julia Ogden, it is your wifely duty to warm your husband's feet," he demanded, the teasing and glee palpable, for he absolutely knew such a demand would garner much protest.

"Oh!" she screeched, placing a hand on her hip and jutting-out her jaw defiantly, in that special way she did that rocked William to the core, "My 'wifely' duties! I don't think so!" she warned.

William surged towards her, his hands reaching for any part of her that he could grasp, as she slithered in a rush, wobbling as she stretched her legs downward in an effort for her feet to find the floor.

Reminiscent of their horseplay in water at the beach, back before they were married, when they were so in love – and my God, they were still so much in love, William burst forward to capture her just as she screamed out, "Don't you dare William!"

He caught her nightgown and pulled her in. Tugging her close to face him, she was now in his arms, although currently he was sparing her any torturous contact with his icicle-feet. She battled in her mind, working to choose between begging him not to do it, and triggering his guilt, thus manipulating him into not doing it. She chose guilt.

"William, you are endangering your child with these antics," she claimed, reaching back to tend to her hair, trying to sound serious.

His eyebrow arched up, "Oh," he said, "I am doing no such thing."

"You would be stealing heat from your own child… what kind of father would do that?"

He paused, for her argument had only the slightest merit…

"Besides husband," her voice grew sultry, "there is more than one way for a wife to warm her husband – all the way down to his feet."

So quickly, his groin responded to her seduction, as she nuzzled in closer and began to trace a circle around his nipple through his pajama top. William cleared his throat and countered, "Well, I do believe that what you are suggesting tends to concentrate…"

And her hands rubbed hungry over his chest, molding and pushing while threateningly moving lower…

He continued, "…the husband's…" he said, growing dizzy as his body reacted to her hands traveling dangerously lower…

"…the husband's blood, all in one central place," he finally said, now out of breath with lust, having completed the thought before she touched him, with that magical first touch, but dampened for it was with his clothing between them.

Stunned momentarily, he forced himself to go on, with his voice becoming dry, he argued, "Wouldn't that result in less circulation to the husband's feet?"

"Her hand, her fingers firmly, enticingly, stroked his solid need through the thin layer of cozy cloth of his pajama bottoms, while hunting for the convenience flap. Wanting to feel his firmness, his skin, she replied, "Perhaps… at first…" and her husband released the slightest gasp, for she had found the slit in his pajamas, "but the whole encounter would increase circulation rates," she continued as her fingers slid in, made contact, invoking William to sink down heavy into the mattress with the painful relief of her touch, "throughout the entire body, likely warming the man from head…" she paused as his world spun out of control, her lips assertively caressed his ear, sucking it in noisily before she released it to the chilly air and completed her sentence, "to toe."

Covering him, drowning him below, she kissed his ear, his jaw, dwelling on that late-day stubble, his neck. Her breath whispering in his ear she added, "Besides William, this is your last chance to enjoy our toasty bed, and warm home, and your sexy wife, for a while."

Feeling a sense of delay, faltering as he split his attention between thinking and feeling, knowing the words she had just said to him had significance, he forced himself to focus, and when the understanding hit him, his heart sang!

William lifted his head up, his shoulders up, and resting his chin in his hand as he propped an elbow on the bed, he reached over tenderly to cup her cheek with the fingers of his other hand, and turn her face to touch her eyes with his. "Have you decided?" he asked, hope apparent.

She seemed to melt, all resistance dissolving away, blurting out in a rush, "Oh William, you're right. I can't ask you not to go. I just can't. It would be like asking you not to be you. I can't possibly do that. I love that part of you, the part that would suffer, the part that would always be plagued by knowing there was something you could have done in the pursuit of truth in this case, any case, but especially this case where you have so intimately identified… us – with the victims. It would destroy you, would it not? – to know you did not do all you could have to convict the man you know in your heart killed Ieva – and then to stop before you could determine what actually happened to Adomas. I know you William. You are relentless in the pursuit of truth. It would cost you, if you didn't try – I know it would. It would risk having you resent me, in the end, and I wouldn't want to have caused you to turn against your very nature…"

It seemed that then Julia took her first breath for eons, and she said, her tone more earnest and intense, "But William Murdoch… you need to promise me that you will do everything in your power to come back to me – absolutely everything you can.

He knew it then, was reminded of it really, that she knew him through and through, down to his very core, to the very essence of who he was, and that she loved him, all of him, the real him – and he loved her more than he had ever believed was possible.

"I do, and I will, I promise," William leaned close to her ear with the utterance, ensuring that she felt his words more than just hearing them, the warm breeze of his message sinking into her being, to be heard silently by her soul.

Later, when William had time to reflect, he would come to see that there was a part of him, a lesser part, a part that he was not proud of, that had wished Julia had decided to ask him to stay. It would have given him a valid excuse to avoid what he was sure would turn out to be a grueling journey, one full of hardship and fear. It was a wish of one of his lesser angels, and he was ashamed of it. Perhaps he really did have cold feet, he would joke to himself then, after all.

But for now, a rumbling had started. Factors were converging, brewing a raging storm… the power of their love stood exposed before them, naked, pure, beautiful… glorious, and with it there was the stark coldness of the reality that exists with it in the world, of cruelty and greed, and, charging the whole cyclonic mix with electrified sparks, was the final, essential, element – time, for all of it was both impermanent and never-ending. They had forever, and they had only now…

Suddenly, William's eyes grew dark and hungry, and Julia's breath was taken by the sight, the ozone smell of him penetrating deep into her nostrils as they flared, hunting for a chance to survive the abysmal fall of it. And he pushed her down into the mattress, and he covered her. Urgently she felt him reach down from on top of her, lowering his pajama bottoms.

His chest pressed into hers, so hard, so strong. And she heard his bursts of hot breath pound and rattle over her ear, vibrate into her, shaking her foundation.

"My God I want you so much," he said, seeming to suck her in with his words. "I want to be so close to you, and then closer still, like I'm inside of you Julia,..." he said, his body moving against her, his rhythm luring her, causing her brain to melt into a lusty soup as she felt his fingers impatiently lifting her nightgown, and he pushed her thighs farther apart…

Terrifying, being so dangerously high, her every chance of surviving such exorbitant heights swirled away, for so desperately, so excruciatingly desperately, she wanted the same thing. She anticipated the ecstasy of his closest touch, and she knew the temptation was too strong, her world would explode and implode all at once, gushing juicy heat throughout her whole body, floating her, and sinking her, and soaring her, all at once. Yet, she had to stop him…

The difficulty encountered, Julia finally ending the battle inside of her, she felt tears in her eyes, for it was intolerable, yet she would do it, was doing it – pushing him away. Out of breath – very, very out of breath she said, her voice dry and feathery in its weakness, "William," she had to swallow, "William," she called to the man she loved, "We can't… Saner heads must prevail…" – and inside of her, somewhere deep, there was a laugh, for she remembered uttering this to him before.

And then there was a shift, a steadying of the world, and she told him, "You are already inside of me William, deeper than you have ever been… This baby inside of me is part you," she said as her hands held his face and she kissed him again and again, and then explained, "It is why we can't… do this… because you have filled me William," she said, now regretting stopping the storm, fluttering kisses over his gorgeous face, loving him, knowing she had pulled them back from the danger. And the tears began to take her as she finished telling him, "You have filled me so completely William… I love you so much."

He could barely withstand it, the surge of his love. My God he loved her with everything he had! He held her in his arms, held on to her tightly, and kissed her, and coaxed her tears away with his tender care. "Shh," he calmed, "You are right Julia. Thank you, thank you. You are right. My God, I love you woman," he said, rocking her, holding her.

The wild, raging thunderstorm had passed… but it took a while for their world to meld and gel with the real one… the strain of the gusting wind they had withstood seeming to have left each hair follicle stiff and upright, defying gravity, and the echo of it still stretching across their tingling skin. Humungous, the dark clouds and lightning and thunder had loomed in the distance, and the gales had swept ominously by, but this time, they had managed to hold back the showers – not a drop.

The couple now accepted Plan C, and made love, more serenely than they usually did, but each feeling the love and the attention of the other, solidly and strongly. Afterwards, they lay together, Julia's head on her husband's chest, and her leg draped over him, placing their baby close and warm and safe, nestled between them. Wallowing a bit longer, Julia traced patterns over his now-naked chest while he twirled and fiddled with her curls.

She asked him, referring to the stimulus of their latest bout of storm fronts and showers, about his cold feet, "William," her voice called his mind away from his contented musings, "Did you have, "cold-feet," on our wedding day?"

She felt his warm breath as he exhaled before he answered, "No, no… I truly think I had never, ever felt more happiness."

"So not an ounce of doubt?" she pushed.

"I had never been more certain about anything in my life Julia," he replied. He knew, even thought, but did not say, "Should have married you so much sooner…"

Julia shifted over him, crawled up closer, her words tickling across his neck before reaching his ear, "And our wedding night… any cold-feet about that?" she asked.

"There had been," he thought, putting his signature 'admitting it' curl into the corner of his mouth, "but not until…"

William chuckled, the tiny ripples of it vibrating his chest, soaring joy through Julia as she lay over him. "Just a little," he said, "When the Inspector gave me his 'fatherly' advice."

Oh, she so wanted to know what that was! Her face alight with anticipation, she lifted up to see his chocolaty eyes and asked, "And what advice did the Inspector have… about our, uh…" she lifted an eyebrow as she found the word, "upcoming nuptials?" She was already holding back her giggles.

William wiggled anxiously, remembering the discomfort at the time. A puff of air spilled out of his nostrils and he pushed ahead, "He said I should…"

Julia was losing control, her smile growing exponentially on her face, and with all her might, she stifled a giggle.

It triggered a laugh from William however, who was quickly becoming red-faced, and once he fell, she fell too.

Between his suppressed laughs, he told her that the Inspector had told him to increase his self-confidence by, "convincing myself that every time I imagined doing it, I actually did it," William explained.

"Oh, I see," Julia said. Oh, how she wanted to ask him if he had taken the man's advice, but she decided against it. The first time they had made love had been phenomenal, and the second time was total perfection, and it had remained nearly so almost every day for years now. Whatever he did, it surely worked.

She lay back down, squeezed her husband tight. She knew she had been lucky. Her mind drifted, arriving at his recent description of their lovemaking as being like the weather… And then she remembered his poem, and Ruby reading it aloud to everyone at the shower… And then she remembered Margaret… and then she collapsed into hysterical laughter…

"Julia," William pleaded, wearing a big smile himself, already having succumbed to a contagious giggle or two of his own before she had had a chance to tell him what was so funny, "What is it?" he begged.

Torturously she finally spit it all out. She found it horrendously funny that after their wedding day, after the Inspector had given her husband, William, his advice – on what to do in the bedroom… Well that very same man's wife, Margaret Brackenreid of all people – and although such an amazing thing would never have happened if the woman hadn't drunk herself silly – the fact of the matter was that Margaret Brackenreid had asked her husband, Detective William Murdoch, the most buttoned-down, straight-up man anyone had ever known, she had asked him, to teach the very same man, Inspector Thomas Brackenreid, Margaret's husband, how to do a "warm front!" It was absolutely, intolerably, side-splittingly, funny.

After sharing waves and torrents of laughter, Julia cried out, "I can't stand it anymore! We have to stop!" barreled over with laughter on top of him, holding her very pregnant belly tight, the two of them just loving every minute of it, dying happily together with the hilarious thought.

Eventually, they pulled themselves together, both of them with tears in their eyes and their faces stretching and wiggling trying to remove the creases from laughing so hard, and they caught their breath. And then Julia said, "Well, we'd best take those stitches out, detective," and they got out of bed together, and made the final preparation.

Right before William turned off the light, he set the alarm clock. Julia tried with all her might to fight the thought – that he would rise to it and leave her. In the darkness, he felt her holding her breath. His voice, the one voice that struck the ultimate chord inside of her, called to her in the darkness, "Come here," he said. Fighting back tears, she came; she snuggled and settled into her perfect spot on top of him…

HOME.