AFTER

When you're weary

Feeling small

When tears are in your eyes

I'll dry them all

I'm on your side

Oh, when times get rough

And friends just can't be found

Like a bridge over troubled water

I will lay me down

"Bridge Over Troubled Water"

Simon and Garfunkel

May 19, 1952

Manhattan, New York City, New York

"Carina?" Morgan shouted into the phone as he sat on the bed in the hotel room, amazement and disbelief in his tone.

Chuck stopped his restless pacing, relieved that they had finally made a phone call that was answered. Morgan's mother's phone had rung with no answer. Chuck's house and his office had no service–no ringing, just dead air and lack of connection.

"Morgan, oh my God, you're ok!" Carina gasped, her voice filling the room as Morgan fumbled to switch on the speaker phone feature. "I didn't know when you were leaving and I thought you might have been caught in the storm while you were driving—"

"Morgan, is that you?" they heard, echoing in the background behind Carina.

Chuck looked curiously at Morgan. Chuck's friend's mouth hung open.

"Mom?" Morgan asked in disbelief.

"Oh, thank God you are alright!" Morgan's mother shouted.

"She's here with us, Morgan," Carina clarified, her voice stronger. "My mother and I have power, water, and telephone. We're far enough north that we avoided the path of the tornado, from the best I can tell. The main road is blocked with downed trees, but I was able to walk to your mother's house. She lost power and water. I thought she was better off if she came to stay with us."

She walked? Chuck thought. Carina lived almost a mile from Morgan. The action surprised Chuck, considering how much effort it must have taken, how dangerous it could have been. The exposure.

Chuck watched Morgan press his hand against his chest in relief. The tension on Morgan's face and evident in his tight shoulders, released. "Oh my God, thank you, Carina. That's…that's…incredible…that you did all that."

"We were lucky," Carina replied, her voice teary. "A five minute walk from here…and a war zone, like pictures from Korea. It happened so fast…and there was no tornado warning. I was so worried." She gasped, like she just remembered herself, ceasing her tangent.

"Chuck, are you there?" Carina called, louder, as her voice snapped back to attention.

He lurched towards the phone, as if by moving closer to Morgan he could somehow get closer to home. "I'm here," he added tightly, sharply. "Have you–"

Carina cut him off. "I tried to call your house…the phone is out, but I'm sure you know that. I wish I knew more, but we're pretty much stuck here until the roads are cleared. And they're…searching for survivors first. That's what our neighbor said."

Chuck started pacing again, feeling like he was about to come out of his skin. "We're leaving right away. I'm hoping we'll be home by nightfall."

"It might take you longer…once you get closer," she cautioned. "The city is in absolute chaos."

Chuck stifled an anguished cry, a choking gurgle as his fear took hold.

She replied quickly, hearing his distress. "The minute I can get out of here, I'm going to check on Sarah and the Caseys. I know you're worried, Chuck," she added with sympathy.

He couldn't reply over the aching lump in his throat. He hoped she understood his gratitude.

"We'll be home as soon as we can. Everyone stay safe, ok?" Morgan said, sensing Chuck's manic energy, his need to leave.

"Wait! Morgan," Carina yelled breathlessly. "I…I need to say something." Her tone was sobering but soft. "When…when…everything was happening…and it was so…scary. I was…worried that I…might not see you again."

Chuck watched Morgan flush beetroot red from the roots of his hair to his collar. "Carina," he started, embarrassed.

"No, Morgan," she interjected forcefully. "I know Chuck is there, and, frankly, he needs to hear this too. Chuck," she redirected her voice. "For a long time, you were the only person that I knew who didn't…look down on me. You always treated me like I was a person…like I mattered. Until I met Morgan," she added, her voice catching. Chuck contemplated the strangeness of her addressing them in the third person because she was talking to them both. "I realized I was worried, Morgan…because I wanted to see you again. I wanted to tell you that."

She paused, then continued, her voice just a whisper, "You were the only guy I ever talked to who just talked to…me. You never wanted anything else from me, like everyone else always did, always expected, because of the way I acted, what they had heard. Well," Chuck heard the eye roll in her voice, "the only one besides Chuck, but he was always in love with Sarah. You're special, Morgan. Please, just come home safe…to me."

For a moment, the torment Chuck found himself immersed in eased, just a bit. His friend's face was transformed, soft, happy, no longer embarrassed or confused. Happy. "I promise," Morgan replied. "I can't thank you enough for taking care of my mother."

"Be safe," she whispered, then hung up the phone. Morgan placed the receiver back on the handle, sitting in stunned silence.

"What just happened?" Morgan asked softly, out loud but directed at no one.

Sarah was right, Chuck told himself.

He was glad for Morgan's happiness, even if he was too anxious to acknowledge it at the moment. They needed as much happiness as they could get.

May 19, 1952

Connecticut/Massachusetts state line

After a little over four hours of driving, Chuck reminded himself again of how fortuitous his decision to take Morgan with him had been. Not only had Morgan acted as back up for safety purposes, he had been a conversation companion on the trip down, and now, a consolatory support on the way back. Morgan had offered to drive, since Chuck was so visibly agitated; Chuck had thanked him, but still chose to keep himself behind the wheel. Driving at least felt like doing something—the idea of sitting still in the front seat unbearable in his frantic state of mind.

The forward motion of the car was the only thing that calmed Chuck's frayed nerves. When they hit slower traffic, he had to resist the urge to jump out of the car, which was ridiculous, but the irrational compulsion that continued to grip him.

I don't even know if they are still alive…

Stop! he commanded himself. He pushed the doom away, telling himself useless worrying just drained his energy. He would know what had happened when he got home. The only thing between then and now was time and distance, each slowly ticking down as they got closer.

Was God that cruel?

What were the chances that not once in his life, but twice, his entire world could be uprooted from the ground and obliterated in a devastating storm? What had he done to reap the whirlwind — twice? He had lived through that hell before; once in a lifetime should be all that was required.

An act of God.

Some stupid euphemism the insurance companies devised to explain destruction caused by storms like this. Was it really God, raining fire and brimstone on the earth, flattening his world to a pile of rubble?

Chuck thought Gertrude and Casey believed that–God's will, they called it. Not necessarily punishment, but part of some divine scheme incomprehensible to mortals. Chuck still didn't believe that. The hurricane was a random tragedy. So was the tornado. Math had taught him the odds of both things wreaking havoc in his life were slim. Math was not comforting, though. Almost nothing was…so he prayed.

Please, God, let them be alright.

"Chuck? Hello?" Morgan asked. His tone implied Morgan had been speaking previously, but deep in his own head, Chuck had missed it.

"I'm sorry, Morgan. I'm just distracted," Chuck mumbled.

"No, I get it. But everything is going to be okay," Morgan assured him.

Chuck appreciated Morgan's optimism, biting down the reply that Morgan was just engaged in wishful thinking.

Gertrude had said that about my parents and Ellie…

The darkness of his thoughts overwhelmed him. Alone, he searched for his strength, feeling a connection to Morgan, the warmth of his friendship like a blanket around him.

Why was he keeping secrets from his best friend?

"Morgan, can I tell you something?" Chuck asked cautiously.

"Of course you can," Morgan assured him. Before Chuck could even ask, Morgan added, "Whatever you say stays with just us."

Chuck sighed with relief, grinning briefly in thanks. "Morgan, not only is Sarah sick with something, but she's…she could be pregnant."

"Pregnant? That fast? Really?" Morgan quizzed. "You've only been married for like a week."

"Yeah, but…she was pretty sure, even though she told me it was way too early to know, for the doctor to know, for sure."

"Wow," Morgan uttered, a hushed, stunned breath.

Just tell him.

"Morgan, this is gonna sound strange…because I only know what I'm about to say because I sort of figured it out. A series of inferences. Sarah and I haven't…talked about it, not like we should have," Chuck rambled.

Chuck's hands clenched and released the steering wheel in a staccato rhythm.

"What?" Morgan prodded, as Chuck stayed silent.

"When Jack hired you, while I was still in California…and Jack told you Sarah was away at boarding school?"

Morgan nodded.

"I don't think that was the truth. It was what Jack said, what Sarah played along with. But I think she never graduated from high school. I think Jack sent her away…probably to a convent. Because she was pregnant."

"What?" Morgan gasped, astounded.

"Bryce," Chuck said, the name still difficult to say, despite the banished ghosts from the past. Chuck had spent too long being disgusted at the way Bryce had treated Sarah, envious of his relationship with her, however mistaken and jealous that view now proved to be. "Before he left for the war."

Morgan was respectful enough to not question Chuck about how he knew, not demanding explanatory details, just accepting as a friend would. "What do you think happened to the baby?"

I wish to God I knew.

"My guess is that she put him or her up for adoption," he admitted, realizing that was his rationale as he spoke the words, now that he believed she had given birth. "The nuns take the unwed mothers in and then they…find parents for the child."

"Poor Sarah," Morgan sighed. "No wonder she was such a wreck when I met her."

In his quiet ponderings that had led him to these conclusions, the facts had all been sorted out, the timeline set. Telling Morgan, thinking forward in chronological order, instead of the recollecting piecemeal bits backward, the bits Chuck had gathered over time, the whole situation struck him anew.

Her skeletal frame trembling in his arms, the haunted gray of her eyes, the sadness that permeated her being…

Chuck still hadn't completely come to terms with the fact that he might be a father, that he and Sarah had conceived a child. And even in his state of quasi-disbelief, his anxious anticipation, he was full of love and tenderness for a person he could only imagine.

But nine months of feeling her child inside her, was like nothing Chuck could conceptualize or comprehend. And to then surrender the baby, having to endure that baby being taken away from her…

No wonder, indeed, that Sarah had been consumed by sadness.

Chuck shook himself, casting off the shadow of her grief to finish the story. "I don't know how he found out, but Daniel Shaw's leverage over Jack is Sarah's illegitimate child. Again, it's just my informed inference. Sarah never said any of this. She was afraid to tell me the truth. Terrified."

Morgan contemplated in silence. Eventually, he faced Chuck and said, "I'm not sure I get it, Chuck. Jack is dead. What…" He shook his head, unsure.

"I'm assuming Shaw has proof. I know it sounds crazy, but Shaw publicizing a secret like that could cost the company business. It's hypocritical and prudish, self-righteous nonsense, but it's very real. Jack's having driven Burton Carmichael nearly into the ground pulled the foundation out already. Losing more clients could devastate us."

"It could," Morgan said thoughtfully. "But will it? People know you, Chuck. And you're the face of Burton Carmichael, without Jack. How much damage could Shaw do if you just told him you didn't give a damn about it? What if you got ahead of it before he can say anything? You know, let the wind out of his sails."

Morgan was right, of course. The last thing Chuck had ever concerned himself with was what other people thought. Sure, he had safeguarded Sarah's reputation as they were growing up, but out of respect for her, not because he cared an iota what anyone else thought. He was friends with Carina and never hid that fact; he hired Anna for what most would have considered a man's job, after he had hired Hannah to do the same job, because they were qualified. Chuck believed in doing what was right for the sake of right, not what prudish gossip queens like Mrs. Woodcomb thought.

Chuck's errand in New York had been to ensure nothing would ambush them, no debt lurking from any residual issue with organized crime. His only concern was that he wasn't absolutely certain what Shaw's leverage was. If what he had just explained to Morgan was all that Shaw knew, Cipriani and Iaconi could deal with Shaw. Chuck could get ahead of that revelation, sabotaging any hopes Shaw had of further extortion, or claiming his supposed spoils. Claiming Sarah.

He just needed to talk to his wife, really talk.

Please, God, let them be alright, he prayed.

"Listen, Chuck. There are precious few things on this earth that I know much about, but trust me, you and Sarah…you're going to get through this. There is nothing that is stronger than the two of you together. I can see it–I always could, even when you were still in denial. You both went through hell to arrive at each other's side. Just don't stop fighting and you'll be fine."

Chuck smiled, a genuine smile, bolstered by Morgan's unwavering belief.

Sarah had always been a fighter, always the stronger of the two of them. Everything he knew about strength, he had learned from her. Under the weight of it all–tragedy, illness, blackmail, destruction, and loss…he was still fighting. Fighting for her and because of her.

He didn't know what awaited him in Worcester, but he knew he was strong enough to keep fighting, for both of them. All three of them, if Sarah's belief about herself was true.

May 20, 1952

Worcester, Massachusetts

Carina was right, Chuck thought. It had taken a significant amount of time, close to four additional hours, to get through Holden, the neighboring town, to the city line on the northwest side of Worcester, where Chuck and Sarah lived.

Another additional hour had been consumed by searching for a gas station that was either still standing or, standing, still had gasoline for sale.

The clock had ticked past midnight by the time Chuck and Morgan rolled into Chuck's neighborhood. Traversing numerous impassable streets, blocked with uprooted trees, building debris, and various types of flotsam—lawn furniture, outdoor pottery, furniture and housewares, windows, doors…

Seven attempts were thwarted by deadends until they made it safely through. Seven times Chuck almost fell apart, only Morgan there, reassuring, coaching, helping keep his spirits up kept Chuck in control. Each smashed home, missing roof, upside down vehicle only increased Chuck's panic.

Chuck shut off the car, bolted out the door, and ran to the front porch of his house. The midnight darkness made the surroundings difficult to inspect, the lack of power leaving everything shrouded in shadows.

The roof and walls were intact. No windows, at least on this side of his house, were shattered. The lawn and garden were messy, strewn with leaves and branches.

No power, no telephone…but his home was solid, safe.

The front door was open. He reached for the handle, intending to call out, when the handle pulled away, as the door opened from the inside.

"John?" Gertrude called, her frame visible only as a shadow until she took a step closer.

"Oh, Chuck!" she shrieked in surprise, grabbing him tightly.

His mouth was dry and he trembled. "Gertrude," he breathed. It was just her name, but it was also a thousand questions he couldn't form at the same time.

"Oh, thank goodness you're safe! We didn't have any way to contact you. The phone's out. And the power." She released him, taking a step back.

"We were driving all night. It took us four hours to get from Holden to here," Chuck gasped.

Gertrude turned, a battery powered flashlight in her hand. She shined it past Chuck, illuminating Morgan as he stood in the doorway. He smiled gently in greeting.

"How is Sarah?" Chuck asked urgently. "We tried to call when we saw the news…"

As she pulled the flashlight closer to her body, Chuck could see her face. Usually so composed, Gertrude looked disheveled. Her hair was frizzy, messily pulled back with stray hairs shooting out in every direction. Her skin was florid, warm and sweaty. Her eyes were bloodshot, like she had spent hours crying.

Gertrude didn't cry.

"Go see her, Chuck," Gertrude ordered him, her voice deepening with intensity. She held out the flashlight, waving it impatiently, indicating she wanted Chuck to take it.

"I can explain later, everything I can. Sarah's ok. Dr. Woodcomb said she'll be ok. We've been watching for signs he said to be worried about…and she's ok. Her fever is high, but she's on antibiotics and Tylenol. She's going to be ok."

Chuck turned, using the flashlight to illuminate his path on the stairs. Behind him, he heard Morgan telling Gertrude that his mother was safe, and with Carina, who was also safe. He heard Gertrude tell Morgan that Casey was out with a group of neighbors clearing debris and checking on people.

The closer Chuck got to his bedroom door, the more the sounds he could hear changed. Gertrude and Morgan's conversation faded, and in its place he heard Sarah, a soft, anguished moaning. His heart clenched in his chest.

He opened the door. A dim kerosene lamp was lit on the nightstand, its yellow halo of light brightening the room.

The blankets and sheets were twisted around Sarah as she tossed restlessly. Her long blonde hair was matted, sweaty, plastered to her skull and forehead. She was mumbling, incoherent, whispering then groaning sporadically.

The table beside the bed told him Gertrude had been here, sitting in vigil at Sarah's side, taking care of her. A folding chair beside a folding table, a basin of water and a face cloth set atop it.

"Chuck…"

He heard her moan his name, though she was staring at the ceiling, seemingly unaware that he was in the room.

He leaned over the bed, his heart breaking as he saw the feverish glaze over her eyes. "I'm here, baby," he whispered, steeling his voice in an effort to be strong for her.

"…he doesn't know…no one knows…I'm all alone…all alone…alone…" she rambled, weeping.

"Sarah…" he whispered, aching to touch her, but refraining, afraid he would startle her in her hallucinations.

"…don't…don't…"

She thrashed. Chuck reached for her; she grabbed blindly at his hand, squeezing it so tight it hurt.

"…don't let them take her…sister…"

Oh, God, she was remembering having her baby, delirious with fever…

His eyes filled with tears. He slid himself onto the edge of the mattress, careful not to touch her. She was wrapped so tightly in the sheets, he couldn't see her legs. The pink nightgown she wore was bunched and twisted, adhered to her skin with sweat. Her discomfort, bound in her nightgown and bed sheets, made her thrashing worse.

He reached for the hem of her nightgown, thinking if he straightened it, pulled it down, she would be more comfortable. He tugged, the edges uneven as one side was pinned underneath her body. Her skin felt scalding hot, alarmingly so, when his fingertips grazed over her hip. As quickly as he could he reached underneath her, trying to pull the backside of the hem flush with the front.

Unexpectedly, she rolled, first away, but then towards him, exposing her bare stomach. Chuck saw the long, shiny red scar, running from just beneath her diaphragm, straight down the center of her abdomen, and disappearing under the top of her lacy underwear.

He bit down on his lip, holding in a gasp of horror. That was what she had been hiding from him, ensuring the room was dark and curtains drawn when she was undressed with him. A C-section scar. A sure sign of trauma, some unexpected difficulty during her labor, an emergency.

A high-pitched wail shook him out of his shock. Sarah's body arched off the bed, her legs beating against his thighs as he sat beside her.

"...not fair…it's…not…why…why…" Sarah was screaming hysterically. "...my fault…all my fault…"

"Sarah," Chuck said, sharply, trying to break into the fugue, hoping to pull her back to the present.

She shrieked and gasped, rolling towards him, grabbing two fistfuls of his shirt, pinching his chest hair. "Chuck! It is you…" she gasped, seeing and not seeing him at the same time. "It's too late…too late…they couldn't…save her…"

She released her grip on him, falling against his chest, sobbing uncontrollably. He pulled her closer, holding her protectively against him, the heat from her feverish skin radiating against him. He felt like a bomb had exploded in his chest.

"She…stopped breathing…they couldn't…couldn't…why…why…" She was saying something else, but it was muffled, the words unintelligible. He felt her reaching, pawing at her neck, like she was searching for a necklace she no longer wore.

"I wanted to keep her…not this way…we could be a family…like we are now…the doctor said I'm right…just have to get better…"

She was mixing past and present in her hallucinatory state. She seemed happy and sad at the same time.

"Sarah…I'm so sorry," he whispered against her hair as she continued weeping in his arms. It was sympathy and regret commingled.

Finally she stopped struggling, relaxing into his embrace. Her skin was like fire, heating him where they touched. He closed his eyes, the tears falling freely down his cheeks into her hair. He was sure he felt his heart breaking, like jagged shards were cutting his insides.

The baby she would have given up for adoption…had died at birth. Every moment of the year he had spent with Sarah after that incident transformed, changed shape, realigned as everything made sense as it never had before.

She had been grieving…but for her daughter, unable to talk to anyone, share her pain, because of the secret Jack had forced her to keep.

Hours ticked by and he sat there, crying with her, holding her, comforting her. Slowly coming back to himself, he realized how slick her skin had become from sweating. The fever was breaking, he thought, the weight on his heart easing a bit.

He shifted her body, pulling her nightgown over her head, then positioned the pillow beneath her head. He undressed quickly, carelessly tossing his shirt and pants to the floor. Wearing only his boxer shorts, he nestled himself behind her, tucking his knees against the back of hers, draping his arm across her waist. Carefully, he readjusted the sheet over her, pulling her body back against his.

Her body stopped shaking. She calmed, perfectly still in his arms. The rhythm of her breathing, slower, as she slept, lulled him to sleep afterward.

{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}{}

The sunlight shining through the thin crack between the shade and the curtain woke him. He could feel Sarah all down the front of him, her hair soft under his chin and her skin adhered to his. His eyes moved to the nightstand; the kerosene lamp had been extinguished and the basin and towel removed. Gertrude had checked on them before she had gone to bed, it seemed.

She shifted, turning on her side, and meeting his gaze silently. Her face looked washed out, still pale and tired, her eyes red and puffy. But her eyes were clear, the glazed confusion of fever gone. The air between them was charged, electric, humming and vibrating outside of their physical being.

All at once, Sarah noticed her nightgown was missing. But she didn't panic or hide herself like she had done before. She looked away briefly, then back at him, accepting the truth of what he knew, what he had seen the night before.

Something between them, something deep, shifted in that moment. She blew out a long breath, as if she had been holding it for years and years.

"I remember…telling you the truth…last night," she admitted, slowly. "It's like I dreamed it…but I know it was real." She paused, collecting herself. "I never went away to school, Chuck. My father sent me away because I was pregnant." Her tone was factual, not ashamed. The tenderness overflowed, grateful for the gift of her trust she had given him.

She didn't elaborate, leaving out the tragedy she had endured. He reached over, smoothed her hair off of her face, running his finger across her cheek and along her jawline. "I can't tell you how sorry I am for what happened. For what you lost."

She closed her eyes, the pain fresh once again. But she was talking, sharing with him. "There were complications. She wasn't…in the right position. I started bleeding…really bad. The nun who was trained in midwifery…she didn't know what to do…in an emergency like that. They had to call the doctor, call an ambulance…it took so long. She was…blue," Sarah's voice broke on the word as she winced at the memory. "They tried to…resuscitate her…but…it was too late. And then I blacked out…I didn't wake up for four days. My father had already buried her…alongside my mother."

The unmarked stone…was a date. April 10, 1951. He thought of his sleepless night followed by Jack's unexplained disappearance, no longer mysterious. The baby was buried under the lilac bush the excavators had destroyed and he had just replaced. Diane had run interference in the relocation, because there were two caskets, Emma, and Sarah's newborn daughter.

The pain roared inside him, feeling the echo of her anguish he had never understood. "I wish you had told me, Sarah. I understand why you didn't. But you were…grieving…and you were all alone," he bemoaned.

She rolled towards him, laying her hand against his cheek. Her blue eyes were electric in the early morning light. "But…I wasn't alone, Chuck. You were there, every day, making sure I was ok. I know you thought it was for a different reason, but you still helped me. You still…took care of me." Her eyes misted. "You always took care of me, no matter what. I don't know what I would have done, how I would have made it through that time without you."

He pulled her close, warmed by the deep sentiment in her words, so unlike how she had ever spoken to him in the past. She was open and emotional and expressive.

In the past she had always been guarded, almost afraid of speaking, of sharing too much of herself.

She angled her face upward, still looking at him. "I called you, in California…because I was scared. I had an awful screaming match with my father. He wanted me to get an abortion, but I said no. He told me my only other choice was…to be sent to the Sisters of Mercy. I would have to give the baby up. He thought the shame of an illegitimate child would ruin him. That's what he said. Ruin him," she scoffed bitterly. "He was such a hypocrite. He ruined himself…and he almost ruined you…and had the gall to blame me for it." She closed her eyes, the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Chuck had cared about Jack, a mentor of sorts. This was a bitter pill to swallow, how appallingly he had failed Sarah when she needed him most. Even as a child, Chuck had seen how woefully lacking Jack had been as a father. Jack hadn't been able to see his own faults until it was too late.

Sarah, weepy, continued sharing. "I don't know what I thought calling you would accomplish," she admonished herself. "You were in California, in school…dating someone else. But whenever I needed you, you were always there. Always, even at the times I was so…awful to you. I knew deep down you couldn't save me, but–"

"Sarah," he interrupted, impassioned, holding her face in his hands, waiting until she locked eyes with him. "You saved me…when you were six years old." His voice broke, his love shining in his eyes. "You taught me how to live again, how to not be afraid. How to be strong. You were mine to save. I owed that to you."

She whimpered, curling herself tightly against him.

He went on. "I hate that Jill lied to you, that she never told me you called. I can't go back and change what happened. But you were right to call me…and I'm so sorry…I never knew."

She snuggled against him, as if the contact with him was filling her with strength. "My father found out that I called you. He was so…hurtful, yelling at me. He thought I would have ruined your life, that you would have just left school and come home because you felt sorry for me–"

"I would have," he interjected passionately. "I know it doesn't mean anything to pledge something after the fact…but I would have come home…for you. Not because I felt sorry for you. Because I loved you. I had no idea how to express it, how to make you understand…but I know I did. I always did."

She lifted her face, reaching to rest her hand on his cheek again. The look in her eyes, so overflowing with love, stole his breath. "I always loved you, Chuck," she swore solemnly. "I had too much to drink on my birthday…when I kissed you. But that was why. I thought I was losing you. You were…everything that I wanted, all my hopes and my dreams. I didn't care how old you were. I was willing to wait…forever. I just didn't know how to tell you that. It wasn't your fault…but how you reacted…my heart was broken.

"I was terrible to you after that. The way I acted with Bryce. He was so jealous of you…and I let him hurt you. I never made him stop hurting you. I know you thought I was jealous of Carina and his relationship…but it wasn't what you thought. I didn't want him. I wanted you. But I thought you thought of me like you thought of Carina…like you were sorry for me, pitied me.

"I didn't treat Bryce fairly, either. Once I thought I lost you forever, I gave up. I was looking for something to make it stop hurting. It wasn't fair to him…that every time he kissed me, touched me…I would close my eyes and imagine it was you. But he wasn't…like you. You had never laid a hand on me, always such a gentleman with me. All I had were memories of you…braiding my hair, buttoning my coat, wiping my tears with your fingers. Your strength always comes from your gentleness. Bryce didn't know how to be gentle. He had no way of knowing I resented him…for not being you.

"That night at my house, it was never about sex, not like that, not even how I explained it when we were younger. It was about you…and how I felt. Like you were part of me, a part that I had been searching for all my life." He could feel her breath on his face, her lips so close to his. "Searching for something I already had all the time."

He kissed her softly, extra cautious because she was still sick. "I was such an idiot, so clueless, unable to accept it. I was in love with you when you were 14, with no idea what to do about it. So I fought it, denied it. I should have explained myself back then. I never meant to hurt you."

"I know," she whispered. "I'm sorry I hurt you, the way I carried on with Bryce in front of you like that, the way I let him touch me. I was so lost without you."

He kissed the top of her head, holding her close. "I love you, Sarah. I always have."

They rested, wrapped around each other, peaceful at last.

After a long silence, he asked, "What was her name? Your daughter."

He heard the soft whimper, but she never hesitated. "Eleanor. Eleanor Emma."

"Oh…Sarah…" he sighed, overwhelmed, his eyes filling with tears.

Her voice trembled, but infused with strength. "I never knew your sister, but she loved you. She protected you. Deep down, I always wanted to be someone who your sister would have approved of. I wanted her to know that you weren't alone…because I loved you, too. More than anything."

"Thanks to you, I was never alone," he whispered against her lips. "I'm so glad we finally talked."

"Chuck," she added, hesitating, "there's something else–"

A soft knock on their bedroom door intruded.

"Dr. Woodcomb is here," Gertrude called through the door.

They sat up together, the spell broken, but the intimacy connecting them like never before, strong and sure.

Chuck jumped out of bed. "Let me get you a nightgown." He moved across the room to Sarah's dresser and opened the top drawer. He pulled out a lavender satin nightgown, catching a quick glimpse of her sign language book tucked under her clothing. It had been in the closet, hadn't it? The thought passed in and then out just as quickly as he turned to see Sarah, sitting up, her legs dangling off the side of the bed, naked and unashamed in the sunlight.

She smiled shyly. "I never wanted to hide from you. I just…I knew you would see the scar and I…I didn't know how to tell you about any of it."

His chest was tight, his breathing labored, as he drank in her beauty. "Sarah…" he whispered in awe. "You're beautiful. Breathtaking."

She blushed, a soft smile on her face. "I must look dreadful…after how sick I was."

He crossed the room, laying the nightgown on the bed beside her. He crouched down in front of her, his bare chest against her legs. Her skin was cool, more relief inside him that she was alright. Without a word, he leaned forward, gently placing his lips against the scar on her abdomen. He heard her gasp, then sigh, as he kissed the scar, up and down, resting his hand against where their child was growing.

She curled her legs upward, bowed her head down over him, and threaded her hands into the hair at the back of his head. "I love you, Chuck."

He helped her dress in her nightgown, then dressed himself quickly and exited the room in preparation for the doctor's visit. Gertrude went into their room, passing him as he left.

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"Casey finally came home around two in the morning. He took Morgan home to Carina's and now he's sleeping late," Gertrude explained. Chuck had run upstairs last night and never gave his friend a second thought. He knew Morgan would have understood.

"Dr. Woodcomb was making house calls on foot. The storm hit before he came. He finally arrived here around dinner time yesterday. He said he would come back first thing in the morning." Her voice wavered, showing her heavy exhaustion, desperation, like each word was an effort to think of and then say.

"What did he say?" Chuck asked, tamping down his anxious frustration at her lack of facts.

She's overwrought. Have patience.

She rubbed her hand over her forehead. "I don't…I don't remember all that medical jargon. Dr. Woodcomb said there were a few cases of…circling fever they think came from Gustafson's farm. Probably what Casey got. But it's…it's not a stomach bug…it's bacteria." She gulped audibly, stifling a sob. "It was worse for her…because she's pregnant."

"Did he examine her? Could he say for sure?" Chuck asked.

"He said…the tests take a long time…and she's too early to test…but he said all…physical signs…highly suggest Sarah being pregnant." She sighed. "I'm sure he can explain it to you when he's done."

Chuck sat at the kitchen table, his head in his hands. She sat across from him, the air tense.

"You knew, didn't you?" he asked. He wasn't accusatory, not even asking, more confirming what he had come to believe.

"Not the way you think, Chuck. I would never keep a secret from you. I thought Sarah had gone away to school, just like you did. I thought it was strange…that she stayed away for Bryce's funeral…and Christmas…and once you came home. But I didn't know. Until she came home."

She looked up at him, the sadness on her face startling him.

He thought of that day, Mother's Day, when he had seen Sarah in the cemetery that morning. With dirt under her fingernails…from planting the lilac bush on her daughter's grave.

He recalled Gertrude's reaction to Sarah then, how she had stared uncomfortably long at Sarah.

"I knew she cared about Bryce, but not…not to look the way she did, how…destroyed she was." Gertrude took a deep breath, wincing. She looked up at Chuck, her earnestness on her face. "What I'm about to tell you, I haven't spoken of in…well, almost 24 years. John is the only other person who knows. I always thought your mother knew, but she never said anything to me, probably because she didn't want to upset me."

Chuck leaned forward, rapt, waiting for her to continue.

"After John lost his job at the steel mill, before your parents took us in…John and I were homeless. And I was expecting." Her voice vibrated, the admission strange for her to hear out loud. "We had no food, no shelter, no medical care. Our daughter…she didn't…she didn't survive."

Chuck was stunned. He consciously forced his mouth closed, not wanting to gape at her.

Her voice was teary when she continued. "There's a kind of grief…that only a mother can know…a mother who's lost her child. I didn't know for sure–I never asked Sarah, never. But it made sense…the way she had carried on with Bryce like that. I didn't know her…baby…died…until I was taking care of her just now."

It took a long time before he found his voice. "You knew…all along…and you…you never once changed your mind about her." She looked at him curiously, like she didn't understand. He continued. "You thought Sarah and I were soul mates…that we belonged together. Even though she made that mistake…"

Gertrude looked up sharply. "Let me tell you one thing I know for sure. People, all people, make mistakes. Only God doesn't."

She said it with a finality that implied her words were enough, but he was still confused.

He stared, and she continued. "Sarah's baby wasn't a mistake. Did she make a mistake? Yes, she did, because she's human. She thought she had lost the one thing in this world that she loved more than anything…and she acted out of despair. She did the right thing. She agreed to give her baby up for adoption, because she was young and unmarried. Her baby dying…was a tragedy, just like the hurricane that killed your family, like my daughter dying, like Sarah's mother dying."

Gertrude reached across the table to grasp Chuck's hand.

"But God comforts us in tragedy, Chuck, even when we're bitter, and we don't want it. When we don't know God's grace when we see it. You and Sarah lost your parents, and you found each other. Sarah lost her baby…but she has you and your baby and the life she always wanted." Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice trembled. "We lost our daughter…and then we found your family. I don't know why God took my baby the way he did. All I know is…we loved you just as much as we would have had you been our own son. It is the honor of my life…to know I raised such a fine man, Chuck. The man that Sarah loves."

Her eloquence left him speechless. It was so unlike her, her emotions translated into words. Words were his strength, but none of them would come. His throat was painful as he struggled not to break down, overcome. He rose to his feet, stepped towards her, and wrapped his arms around her shoulders as she sat there. She hugged him around his waist affectionately.

A/N: Once again, thanks to Zettel for pre-reading, this time going above and beyond to help me balance the emotion in this chapter. Hopefully this was the break in the angst fatigue it was intended to be. Historical notes: the vertical C-section scar was standard until the 1990s, and still done today in an emergency. In the 1950s, it was a very rare procedure, reserved for situations where the mother and/or child's life was in danger. Standard birthing procedure in the 50s had the mother heavily sedated; a clandestine birth would have been natural, hence Sarah's clear memories.