A/N: More historical notes. It really did snow on November 25, 1938, six inches, first snowfall of the season. I have a 13 year old son who is obsessed with weather, and he is my source. Hurricane categories off the top of his head based on windspeed as well. FDR changed which Thursday was Thanksgiving in 1939, so Thanksgiving in 1938 was still November 24. The children's winter gear is time period appropriate. The facts about owls come from my daughter, who was obsessed with owls when she was little but only rolls her eyes about them now.

BEFORE

Blue eyes

Baby's got blue eyes

Like a clear blue sky

Watching over me

"Blue Eyes"

Elton John

November 26, 1938

Worcester, Massachusetts

This time, Gertrude had no objections to Chuck accompanying her husband to Jack Burton's home. The situation itself was unchanged; it was Chuck who had changed. She had watched helplessly for months as the sweet boy she had always known had slowly receded from sight, sinking into himself. She was not a warm person by nature, but she was caring and compassionate. Her mothering him, a newly motherless child, was done with a pure heart–cooking for him, washing and mending his clothing, making sure he had washed his face and hands, brushed his teeth, and did his homework. All of the mundane things that could go unnoticed by a child, but meant everything to someone who knew no other means of showing her affection.

A few weeks ago, when Chuck had returned from Jack's, something had changed. Gertrude had been prepared for Chuck to be more agitated, worried if he knew his situation was tenuous, that the only consistency in life was at risk. Instead, she had seen him…calm, even peaceful, in small bouts, when he had usually been pensive. John had explained to her about Jack's daughter, Sarah, the source of the stuffed toy on his bed…and, apparently, of the newfound peace inside him.

Chuck was eager to return, to give the girl back her toy, he had insisted, eagerly; it had been so long since she had seen him eager about anything that she welcomed it. The thought there was still a chance Jack Burton could take him away from her and John burned deep in her chest; it was a loss she was not prepared to endure. But the thought that if they were to lose him, he would be under the same roof as Sarah, that was consolation. Small, but consolation still. John's concerns were all rooted in fear of theft, which Gertrude knew was neither unfounded nor insignificant, but, knowing what she knew, it was not the worst thing that could happen to Chuck. And the absolute worst had already happened to him: he deserved something better.

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Chuck was lost in the front hall closet, hunting for his boots, when Casey called impatiently. "Chuck! We need to leave, now! The snow's going to take us longer to get through."

Hence, Chuck's hunt for his boots. Yesterday, the day after Thanksgiving, had dumped six inches of snow across the world, a thick, pale blanket. The first snow of the season…the first time Chuck needed his boots, his hat, or his mittens.

He ducked below the row of hanging coats, knowing the boots would have been pushed into the back of the closet. He stooped, and the sight, unexpected, hit him in the stomach like a fist. His black fur-lined rubber boots huddled beside Ellie's light blue ones, touching them.

Had he realized that there was a chance he would encounter the leftover possessions of his sister or his parents, he would have asked Gertrude to help him, or closed his eyes. Casey had had so many people in, clearing out clothing and other things that could be donated to the Salvation Army or the orphanage. The back of the closet escaped detection. Chuck was sure there were things in the attic, basement, and garage that needed to be cleared out. So many things…things that used to be important, rendered useless overnight by the storm, a storm whose aftermath would echo through him all his days. Inescapable, even if the physical remnants disappeared.

He was hyperventilating, crying, not realizing what he was doing, or even where he was. In his mind, he was younger, outside in the snow, building a snowman with Ellie…tossing snowballs at her while she stuck her tongue out to catch snowflakes…riding in the front of their sled with her arms around his waist to keep him safe. She always wanted to keep him safe.

Blind, mute, almost deaf for a moment…he came back slowly, presently feeling the coarse fabric of Gertrude's apron rubbing his raw cheek. Her arms were around him, soothing him. She was perfectly silent, but gesturing wildly to her husband, pointing him toward the closet from whence Chuck had come, an explanation. Chuck heard Casey sigh then growl, the sound low in his chest, angry. Angry at nothing and everything all at once.

"Leave it," Gertrude said sternly to John when she knew he understood. "I'll take care of it," she assured her husband.

She released Chuck, reaching into the pocket of her apron and pulling out a handkerchief. She patted Chuck's cheeks dry with tremendous gentleness. She buttoned his wool peacoat, already on, and straightened his wool beret. She moved without speaking, reaching over his shoulder and grabbing Chuck's black mittens and his boots.

She set the boots on the floor in front of him, then slid one mitten on his right hand, the other one on the left. She crouched to his eye level and smiled, her soft Mona Lisa smile, kind but full of meaning that escaped him. "Don't forget Sarah's dog," she added quietly.

Chuck missed the look that passed between John and Gertrude, behind his back and over his head…marveling at the change just one word, one name, had made in him. Winter to spring in five seconds.

Casey held the door for him and then they were outside. The driveway was shoveled, a perfect square cut out of the thick layer of almost undisturbed marshmallow snow. Only one set of footprints, Casey's, were visible…until Chuck stepped into the snow, glancing back to observe the patterns the soles of his shoes made in the snow. Snow was quiet and beautiful, and though it was cold, it covered the ugly brown of November better than anything else he knew, a respite from the bleakness.

Chuck lost himself in the beauty of the snow-covered trees and bushes as the car moved. The snow crunched under the tires, oddly loud over the engine's whisper. A few Christmas decorations were up on houses, a few wreaths visible on doors and lampposts.

Thanksgiving had been…awful. Before, it had never been his favorite holiday, although he prized the two day vacation from school. Their family had always been small, but they had always celebrated together. The day was full of food and love and comfort, a nice prequel to set the mood for the Christmas season. His favorite holiday. But this year, Thanksgiving was miserably lonely, too many empty chairs at the dining room table…and the looming agony of what Christmas would be like this year without his parents and sister. He could not bring himself to thankfulness.

His melancholy thoughts were interrupted when he saw Jack Burton's home rise up from behind the trees, as Casey pulled up the driveway. Chuck's heart lightened. He didn't understand why; the hope of seeing Sarah was lost somewhere among his swirling thoughts. There were three cars already in the driveway. Chuck guessed two belonged to Mr. Montgomery and Miss Beckman. The third was Mr. Burton's car.

Chuck followed Casey up the steps and waited at the door after he rang the doorbell. Jack opened the door, his dazzling smile the same. "Mr. Casey and Charlie, how are you?" he asked lightly, stepping aside to allow them access.

"Daddy, his name is Chuck," Sarah said as she appeared, stepping forward into the foyer from the hallway.

Her dress this time was light green, changing the blue of her eyes to the blue-green of the sea. Her hair was tangled, askew, sticking in a hundred different directions…a clumsy attempt at braids. She did that herself, he suddenly realized, feeling something pinch inside his chest at the reason why. Her mother was gone, and despite Jack's dazzling smiles, he was obviously neglecting his daughter's needs.

Chuck was still swimming in her eyes when she ran up to him and grabbed his hand, immediately tugging him away from the adults. Their problems, their potential arguments, and everything that represented–none of it mattered now. He forgot everything but the calm-sea blue of her eyes and the lapping gentleness of her smile.

She led him down hallways, past closed doors, to a different part of the house than they had visited the last time. They stopped in a mud room. She disappeared inside the deep closet. He listened as she rustled in there.

"I brought Bunny back," he said, raising his voice so she could hear inside the closet, taking the dog from beneath his pea coat.

She emerged with her coat on, then reached out with both hands and took the toy from him. He watched her hug it tenderly in welcome, nuzzling it, almost like she was sniffing a flower. It was the strangest thing, but it made him grin. "I missed him," she said with a sigh, as she glanced up and then back down. "But I missed you, too."

He missed her. It suddenly made sense, the ache he had felt each night, sleeping with her toy in his arms. It was simple, but his sense of his own emotions had been so jumbled and confused by the intensity of his grief. He wasn't used to missing anyone he might see again. All his other missing was permanent. The relief he felt, the passing of that sense of missing her almost made him dizzy.

She placed Bunny carefully on the bench beside the door, as if Bunny were picky about his perch. "Come on, there's something I want to show you," she said quickly, excited. She pulled Chuck towards the door.

"Wait, you're going outside like that?" he asked, scanning her. She wore a pink peacoat, but the front was wide open, unbuttoned. No hat, no mittens, and she still wore her patent leather Mary Janes. She ignored him, pulling him one step closer to the door.

"Hold on," he told her. He let go of her hand, surprised at the deep frown he saw when he did so. He stepped to the closet, scanning the floor, to see if there was a boot tray. In the back, he saw a tiny pair of pink rubber boots. They were not muddy but they were dusty. He reached in, pulled them out, and clapped them together, then set them down on the floor in front of her. She looked frustrated, but she complied, sitting down, kicking off her shoes, and donning the boots one at a time. While she did that, he reached up to the shelf, able to reach the bin on the top thanks to his height. As he had hoped, it contained knitted hats and mittens. He grabbed a pink hat and mittens that matched her coat and boots.

She stood, wobbly in her boots, as if they were unfamiliar to her. He put the hat on her head and the mittens on her hands, much as the way Gertrude had done for him at his own house. Her hands now undexterous, he buttoned her coat for her, bottom to top, his eyes meeting hers as he fastened the final one. "Now, we're ready."

She grabbed his hand again and pulled him back to the door, then through it to outside. It was late afternoon, almost dusk, and the sky was grayish purple, a cold bruise, still overcast from the snow the day before. Sarah was intent, determined, with a specific destination obviously in mind as she pulled him down the steps, into the backyard and out into the snow.

He saw footprints, tiny, delicate footprints, made with her Mary Janes, to and fro footprints, but solitary. She had been outside in the snow maybe yesterday or earlier today, alone, without boots. Probably with her coat unbuttoned and without hat or mittens.

He wondered as he followed her. Gertrude and Casey weren't his blood relations, but Gertrude never let him out of her sight without making sure his shirt was tucked in straight, his hands clean, his curly hair combed. When he struggled with something, she helped him. Casey kept an eye on him at all times, telling him where he could go safely and when. Chuck's coat was buttoned, his mittens and boots on, secured. Jack was Sarah's father. Did he even know she was outside?

Protectiveness. It was something he had heard about as he had grown. How protective Ellie had been of him, always. He was a living baby doll to her the moment his parents had brought him home, and all she had done was dote on him, take care of him. All she had done his entire life was take care of him, keeping him out of trouble, keeping him safe, protected. His father would often smile, wink, tell him he could repay the attention when they were older. He could never protect her now, the debt permanent, unpayable, and that thought caused the pain to roar inside him.

What eased it was knowing, at least today, he had transferred that caretaking to Sarah, who had no one to care for her that way, or so it seemed. Maybe he could repay Ellie a little, after all?

Before he realized it, they were far from the house, deep in the woods. Still, the tiny Mary Jane footprints were out here, ghosts from yesterday. As if Sarah from the day before were leading the Sarah of today. He started to protest the distance, but realized their footprints now were a guide to get back, and he calmed himself.

"Ssh!" she commanded, though he had not spoken. She put her mitten to her mouth, as if there was an index finger hidden inside that was vertical against her lips. He held his breath and waited.

He didn't know what he was looking at, what he was waiting for. There was a gentle tug on his arm, and a quick twitch of Sarah's hand that seemed to request he move his eyes to follow. A wide, gray tree blocked the path forward on the trail. On the lowest branch, nestled against the trunk of the tree, was an owl. A great-horned owl, Chuck recognized from his lessons at school. No way to tell if it was male or female, he thought, as males and females looked identical. Its feathers were brown and gray, making it blend with the tree trunk. It was the bright yellow of its eyes, brilliant against the dull backdrop, that exposed it and held his rapt attention.

Whoo…whoo…whoo…

The noise seemed impossibly loud, echoing against the snowy stillness of the woods. Without warning, the creature lifted off its perch, flapping its gigantic wings, the noise of the displaced air swooshing. Then, miraculously, it spread its wings wide and soared, dipping so close to them as it flew over he felt the air move against his cheeks. Its pale underbelly blocked out his view of the sky for a second, and then it was gone, disappearing into the trees.

He looked at Sarah, the blue of her eyes magically bright as her face was alive, a look rich with wonder and awe, with a beautiful smile. It struck him that her blue eyes matched the intensity of the owl's yellow ones.

Her eyes shifted from the vanishing bird to his face. It took several seconds for him to realize he was smiling as well, a wide smile, the smile he used to smile before, when everything had been alright. For a moment, things were alright. Or maybe not alright, maybe never alright, but better. He felt his heart's wings flutter for just a second, as if they might open, then settle.

That was what she had wanted to show him, he guessed, because the second the owl had gone, she pulled his hand and led him back toward the house. She was chatty the entire way. "It's late fall. The great-horned owls have winter babies. The babies are so cute…little white fluff balls. They're called owlets."

"How do you know so much about owls?" he asked, mystified by her knowledge.

As chatty as she had been, she was suddenly slow to answer him, keeping her face forward as she talked. "My mommy and me would always look at animals when we were outside. It was her favorite thing to do." She sighed. "My mommy was really smart."

So was Sarah, Chuck thought, enthralled by her, the easy way she just talked to him, made him want to talk to her.

She followed their footprints all the way back to the house and led him back inside. They shook the snow off, removed their winter gear, and Chuck stowed both sets of boots in the boot tray. The adults were elsewhere, no one aware that they had left the house in the first place. She reached for Bunny, tucked him under her arm, and then grabbed his hand again.

This time, the path through the house was a familiar one. Soon, he was back in Sarah's bedroom. Everything was in the same place as when he'd been there the last time, just a few of the books were on the floor in neat piles instead of on the shelf. Her blanket fort was still there, only he could see the pillow on her bed was missing, instead tucked inside the fort on the floor, along with a blanket.

He knew, intuitively, that she had slept in her fort because she was missing Bunny. The one she had let him take. Her sacrifice for him. Tenderness the likes of which he had never experienced before rose inside him, a tide. Protect. It was almost Ellie's voice in his head.

It was the thought of Ellie, perhaps for the first time since September rising without tears, that coaxed him. "Come here," he said softly.

She looked at him curiously, but she walked towards him. He pulled a chair away from the table and motioned for her to sit. He pulled the ribbons from the ends of her jumbled braids, untangling her hair gently with his fingers. Her blond hair was like silk despite the scattered snarls he touched. "Do you have a brush in here?" he asked her.

She turned to regard him, still curious, and pointed to the top drawer of her dresser. He opened the drawer, seeing the silver horsehair paddle brush nestled beside a closed box. He grabbed it, seeing the name Emma etched on the front. It was lightly tarnished.

He brushed her hair until it was smooth, then separated her hair into two equal chunks, parting it down the middle on the back of her head. "How do you know how to braid?" she asked, inquisitively.

He gulped hard. "You know about owls," he said, but quickly went on. "My sister. She always braided her own hair…and her doll's hair…and she showed me how so I could…help her sometimes." Most of it was him, his gift for knowing how to do something after watching anyone do it once, but saying that would have sounded too proud, and he hated sounding that way.

In no time, he had rebraided both sides of her hair. She stood up to look at herself in the mirror. She turned side to side, shaking the braids, smiling at the pristine, immaculate style. "Could you teach me how?" she asked him, shyly.

"Sure," he told her, not sure when or how he would do it, but knowing if she had asked, he would always answer.

"What was your sister's name?" Sarah asked him innocently.

He gulped painfully, his eyes misting. "Ellie. Short for Eleanor."

"Like the first lady," Sarah said quietly, not asking, just mentioning it for the sake of saying it. She looked at him, studying him. "Did she look like you?"

He knew she had no idea how much it hurt to answer her. Part of him wanted to not answer, but he was tired of hiding his pain. Plus, he wanted her to know. "I think so," he said softly. "She had long brown hair…and green eyes."

"Your eyes are brown," she told him, leaning a little closer and staring

"My eyes are hazel," he corrected her.

"What's hazel?" she asked.

"Brownish green. Like both colors at the same time," he explained.

She leaned even closer, so close her forehead almost bumped the tip of his nose. He recognized the way she smelled, like the stuffed animal he had held against his face to sleep the past three weeks. It was part baby powder, lavender sachet…all…Sarah. She was scrutinizing his eyes, discovering the hidden green in them, a soft smile lifting the corners of her mouth as she saw for herself what he had explained.

She eventually took a step back. "Are they here to argue again?" she asked him.

He sighed. "I think so. Casey said that."

"Casey? Like Casey at Bat?" she asked, alluding to a poem Chuck vaguely remembered.

"Casey is his last name. His name is John and his wife is Gertrude," he told her. "They take care of me now."

"Why do you call him by his last name?" she asked.

"My father always called him that. I used to call him Mr. Casey when I was really little, but he told me to stop…that Casey was ok," he told her.

"Do they take good care of you?" she asked, from the purest innocence, a gentle question.

He contemplated the question in its depth, more significant than she knew. "Yes," he told her. "I wish I could just stay with them. I don't know why there's a problem."

"Chuck!"

He heard Casey shout again. It was the same as the last time, only this time he sounded less angry. Chuck moved to the doorway of Sarah's room just as Casey approached again, hat in hand. Mr. Burton was several feet behind down the hallway.

"You ready to go, Kid?" Casey asked, a tight grin on his lips. He wasn't red-faced or sweaty. All good signs, Chuck thought. Or he hoped. He really didn't know. Chuck nodded, but turned back to Sarah.

He waved, his hand at his waist, his fingers curling slightly. "Bye, Sarah," he said.

"Bye, Chuck," she replied, her eyes clouding as he watched. Before he turned, she ran to grab Bunny, and ran back to him. "You can take him again," she offered.

He thought of the pillow and blanket on the floor. "No, he missed you. You should keep him. I'll come back and visit him."

She hugged the toy, the cloudiness in her eyes gone. She smiled; he smiled in return.

He thought of owls, braids, pink boots and mittens...and not hurricanes, or loneliness, or empty blue boots…during the entire silent ride home in the car.

A/N: Thanks again to Zettel for pre-reading this for me. Please let me know what you think. Love to hear from you. MG