Waterbound

1928

Winter

~~~

John didn't want to hold onto Eileen's hand. The thought that somebody from his class might see him holding hands with a toddler was horrifying. But every time he managed to pull his hand away, it wasn't long before her tiny fingers found their way back into his grasp. "Mom!" he called out. "Make her stop."

Sarah looked at them and laughed. "Your sister loves you. You might as well get used to it."

He let out an exasperated sigh and immediately Eileen let out a matching sigh of her own. As if it wasn't bad enough that his mother was making him go with her to the grocers—as she always did—they had to bring his sister with them. His sister, who walked so slowly and was so easily distracted that the trip was sure to take forever. And why did she keep staring at him?

Seeing that they were nearing the sporting goods store, John cast a furtive glance at his mother. As she wasn't looking, he let go of Eileen's hand and wandered over to the front window. Sure enough, his sister was soon right beside him, her face pressed against the glass.

"John," his mother said softly. She had stopped walking and was watching them.

"Can we go in?" he asked, hesitantly. "Just for a bit."

Sarah looked in the direction they had been headed then back at him and John felt a glimmer of hope. Usually, her answer was an immediate no. She sighed. "Fine. Just a quick walk around but then we need to be going."

He whooped with joy. "Come on, Eileen." Taking her hand once more, he pulled open the door and walked her inside.

The inside of the store was everything he had hoped it would be. Rows and tables filled with sporting equipment, model kits, air rifles. Bicycles and sleds hung from the ceiling and the smell of leather filled the air. He immediately made a beeline for a table filled with model planes and wooden gliders, and hung over everything a giant three foot model of the Spirit of St. Louis . He stared up at it, mesmerized. "Wow," he breathed. He picked up the box it came from and looked for his mother. "Can I get this?" He asked eagerly.

She looked at the price tag and frowned. "It's very expensive."

"I know, but—ow!" He had been about to argue when Eileen smacked him.

"Pick up!" She demanded. The top of her head just barely reached the table and she was standing on her toes in an attempt to look over the edge.

Immediately, John scooped her up so she could see better.

"Maybe for Christmas," Sarah offered, although her face still looked uncertain.

"But that won't be for a long time."

"Could be never," she replied. "That would be even longer."

He sighed. He knew there was still a possibility if he asked his father but he knew he would need to ask him before his mother had a chance to speak with him. It was a minuscule window, if that.

Eileen held out her hands and Sarah took her in her arms. "Come on," she said."We still need to get to the store before it grows too late." She turned and started toward the exit.

John gave the model one last longing look before following them out.

~~~

"I suppose I should be grateful she gave me my job back at all," Lelia said as she pushed Caroline in a pram. "Especially after her big spiel about how my aspirations must surely have changed now that I've had a child." She let out a huff. "Changed my foot. They haven't changed one bit. But apparently having a child means that I must give up all of my dreams. Not that I don't love her." Lelia smiled down at the baby. "She's wonderful and I love you too, of course." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "But it's still infuriating. No one's trying to encourage you to quit your job." Lelia had only been back to work for one day and she was already in a terrible mood.

"But she gave you your job back," Fabrizio replied. He had been patiently listening to her vent for almost their entire walk home. "All is well now, yes?"

Lelia looked worried. "Not quite," she said. "I can't bring her with me again."

"She say that?"

"She did." She took a deep breath as she prepared for her best Rose impression. "Caroline is a distraction and the Paramount Famous Lasky Corporation is no place for a child...unless they're an actor, of course." Lelia gave him a look. "Apparently, she's looking to use a baby for her next picture. But I told her no. I'm not going to let Rose use our child as one of her props."

His wife's sudden vehemence against Rose caught him by surprise...almost as much as Rose's hesitation in letting her return to work. "You want me to talk to her?"

Lelia shook her head. "I appreciate the offer but I'd rather not have to rely on my husband fighting my battles for me." She wrapped a hand around his arm and smiled. "Also, I'm sure my mother would be more than happy to watch her while we're both working. Of course, that'll mean having to take the subway to Astoria and then from there to work."

"I can always take her to your mother's."

"Absolutely not. You'd have to be up at four to make that work out right. I can do it just fine. I'm really only complaining for the sake of complaining at this point." The baby suddenly yawned and she smiled. "Maybe I can disguise her as a handbag. Or fit her in my handbag. She's pretty small."

Fabrizio laughed. "You might find hard to explain your handbag crying."

Lelia leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'll just say it was me and then everyone will be too uncomfortable to pry any deeper." She sighed. "Except Rose. Nothing makes her uncomfortable."

~~~

Dinah had decided to host a party, inviting everyone in Philadelphia or so it had seemed. Cal had tried his hardest to get out of it, nearly succeeding. But then, she promised to bring Arthur and Victor and he gave in. Naturally, she had lied. The boys were left at her parents' house and he found himself trapped in an seemingly unending gathering with thirty people he didn't like.

All throughout dinner, Cal picked at his food, not really hungry and certainly uninterested in the conversations going on around him. He paid enough attention to know that it had turned to the market and the 'uninformed masses' busy driving it up.

"I cannot view it as anything but beneficial, if you want my opinion," one man said.

"Precisely," a second one replied. "I say let them buy in at the peak and then when the inevitable correction comes, we'll be the ones waiting to snatch up their shares at a fraction of a cost." He shook his head. "This is, of course, why I always say that some people have no business speculating."

"Money is wasted on the poor."

"Maybe not necessarily wasted," the second man replied. "But they certainly wouldn't know what to do with it if they had it," he added with a laugh.

Cal sighed heavily as he disregarded the voice in his head warning him not to join in the conversation. "When the market falls and the majority end up losing their homes and starving out on the streets, what then?"

It took a moment as everyone processed what he said and then the first man chuckled. "There's always bound to be some collateral damage," he said. "It's the inherent nature of free market capitalism. And I certainly don't see any reason why it should trouble me any."

"Of course not." Cal picked up his glass and contemplated its contents. It was surprisingly good wine, despite it being illegal. "You're a conscienceless leech feeding off the misfortunes of those you deem lesser. It doesn't matter to you if the entire world should crumble and burn so long as you and your vast fortunes remain untouched."

An uncomfortable silence had fallen over the table.

The man bristled beneath his words. "That seems rather unfair—" He began.

But Cal cut him off. "Perhaps it wouldn't be so terrible to end up as collateral damage as you so eloquently worded it. At least if I should lose everything, I wouldn't have to sit through any more of these unending dinners or listen to you spout off whatever sort of bullshit you're saying as you attempt to humbly prove to everyone your great genius and wealth."

"How dare—"

"It must hurt you a great deal to know that I have more money than you." With that, Cal pushed back from the table and left the room.

After dinner had ended and everyone retired to the drawing room for coffee and games of bridge, Cal stood off to one side, keeping half an eye on the clock. If it weren't his own house, he would've excused himself already but as he had nowhere to excuse himself to, he was forced to wait for everyone else to leave on their own.

"I suppose it was too much to ask for you to behave yourself for a single evening," Dinah whispered urgently in his ear.

Cal gave her a look. "I am behaving myself."

"Care to explain your little outburst at dinner then?"

"Oh, that," he replied with a shrug. "I was only speaking my mind. There was nothing wrong with anything I said...and certainly nothing untrue."

"Why do I feel like I'm speaking to a child? You know the rules and—"

"To hell with you and your goddamn rules," he cut her off, his loud voice drawing stares.

Dinah lowered her own voice. "I am not going to argue with you here in front of everyone."

"More rules, I suppose."

"It's called behaving decently," she replied. "We are at a party."

"With people neither of us even like," he said. "Or am I wrong?"

"What does that matter?" Dinah looked around the room and smiled sweetly at someone watching them.

"This whole damn world, I swear," Cal began. "You spend your entire life a slave to societal rules. Every single little goddamn thing dictated by God knows who all to impress a group of people you'd honestly rather see dead than spend a single moment longer in their company. And God forbid you get caught talking to the wrong person or bring up the wrong subject or, the greatest sin of all, speaking your mind."

"Keep your voice down."

"Are you afraid that people will hear what I really think?"

"No one cares what you really think," she replied. "But I think you're incredibly drunk and even you will be regretting your words in the morning."

Cal looked her in the eye and drained his glass.

"You can say all you like about how much you hate this world that you had the terrible misfortune of being born into and I'm sure you enjoy your little slumming trips to Spokane. But those trips have an end date and before you know it, you're back in your comfortable estate with all of your money and people ready and willing to cater to your every whim."

"That's not—"

"You would sooner put a pistol in your mouth than be broke and we both know it."

Cal's jaw tightened as he glared at her and his fingers tightened around the glass in his hand. "You don't know—"

"Oh, don't mind me," she replied sardonically. "I'm only speaking my mind."

He swallowed down his anger. "How about I speak my mind again?"

"I don't care what's on your mind."

He took a step closer to her. "I think you're a cold-hearted, gold digging bitch who somehow managed to climb your way up from Hell. Every single day I pray that you get struck by a car or crushed by a building or...it doesn't matter. Choke on your own bile, for all I care. Anything to get you out of my life for good. In fact, if I could turn back time, I would sooner put a pistol in my mouth than marry you." He was suddenly very aware of the silence in the room and he looked around to see everyone watching them. He attempted to place his empty glass on the table but somehow missed it entirely. It fell to the ground, shattering on the hardwood floor, the noise amplified by the silent room.

Without another word, Cal turned and left, stopping just outside the doorway, his heart racing. A feeling of horror filled him. There would be no recovery from what he had said in front of every prominent person in Philadelphia.

"I must apologize for him," he heard Dinah say, her voice slightly muffled by the door. "He's...he's just been so unwell lately."

"Oh, don't you worry yourself, my dear," a woman replied. "My late husband was a heavy drinker as well. Such a thing is the burden we women must sometimes bear. I assure you, it will all sort itself out in the end, one way or another."

~~~

Spring

~~~

A surprise brought another child into their lives, a little girl who Kate immediately named Bridget. A perfect little girl. Hugh couldn't care less. He hadn't even taken the trouble to hold her. But she was fine with it. She saw the way Tommy hid from the man and had heard his comments every time Henry cried. Perhaps it was a kindness for Bridget to be completely overlooked.

"I love children," Kate said, her weariness seeping into her words as she settled onto the sofa. She had just returned from settling Bridget in for a nap. "But I tell ye, I'm not of the mind to have another one. I don't think me body could handle it." It had been three weeks and she was still in so much pain that she could hardly walk. Add in the overwhelming exhaustion and it was a wonder she was functioning at all.

"Hugh should be helpin' ye," Pat replied. He had arrived earlier that day accompanied by a basket of slightly burnt muffins—the best of Sarah's three attempts. He had also brought along a tale of a colossal toddler tantrum that had kept Sarah at home, forcing him to come by himself.

"Don't ye start on that again," Kate replied, stifling a yawn. "At least she's less fussy than Henry."

"If ye want to sleep for a bit, I don't mind keepin' an eye on her," he offered. "Or if ye fancy it, ye can bring her around anytime and ye know Sarah would be overjoyed to watch her."

"Ye know there's more than a half chance that Sarah would try to keep her if I brought her over."

"Aye, well, how badly are ye needin' the sleep?" He smiled. "It might be a risk worth takin'."

Kate managed a tired laugh. "Well, maybe I'll just close my eyes now for just a bit, if yer not mindin', with her bein' asleep and all."

"Go on ahead then."

She closed her eyes and almost at once felt herself start to drift off. But before she had fallen too far, somewhere in her consciousness she heard a door shut and her eyes snapped open. "That'd be Hugh." She winced in pain as she rose from her seat.

"Katie, ye can hardly walk," Pat pointed out.

"I should've started it an hour ago." His reaction from the last time dinner had been late was all too vivid in her mind.

"Katie, surely Hugh would be understandin'," he said as he followed her into the kitchen.

"What would I understand?" Hugh asked. He was already sitting at the table and looked up at their arrival. "I see we're eating late again."

"I'm sorry," Kate apologized at once. "Time got away from me but I'll get it started now."

Hugh's gaze landed on Pat. "What are you doing here?"

"Visitin' me sister,'' Pat replied. "She just had a baby, in case ye haven't noticed."

"I noticed it was a girl." He came up behind Kate who had just begun to chop potatoes. "What are you making?"

"Potato soup," she replied, keeping her attention on her work. "I couldn't think of anythin' else that'd be ready in a hurry."

"Potato soup?" The irritation in his voice was unmistakable.

"It's already growin' so late and I know ye don't like waitin'." Kate silently berated herself. Why would she ever think that Hugh would be alright with something like potato soup for dinner? Desperately, she tried to think of a way to salvage the meal.

"Maybe if you had started it on time instead spending the day lazing around—"

"She's only just brought yer child into the world," Pat interrupted.

"Pat, stay out of this," Kate snapped at her brother. "I'm sorry about dinner but I haven't been feelin' well."

"Oh, well, then maybe you should go lie down." Hugh grabbed her arm and yanked her away from the counter.

The move caught her by surprise and before she could recover her balance, she fell, hitting the ground hard and sending a jolt of pain running through her.

Immediately, Pat stepped between them and pushed Hugh away from her.

"Pat, stop," Kate called to him as she returned to her feet. "I lost me balance, that is all."

"If ye dare lay a hand on me sister again—"

"You don't get to dictate what I do to my wife."

"No?" Pat's fist connected with Hugh's face.

Hugh staggered back, momentarily taken off guard. But then, a dangerous fire ignited in his eyes and he retaliated swiftly. He lunged at Pat, knocking him to the floor. Before Pat could recover, Hugh's knee was planted firmly on his chest, pinning him in place. Hugh's fist struck his face. "Let me repeat myself, because I don't think you heard me clearly," he said, forcefully slamming his head into the ground before gripping his throat. "You don't get to dictate what I do to my wife." Panic filled Pat's eyes as he struggled beneath Hugh's weight, his fingers desperately clawing at his hands in an attempt to break free.

"Hugh, stop," Kate cried, trying to pull him away. "Please, ye have to stop." Desperate, she grabbed the knife she had been using to chop potatoes and, with a shaking hand, held it to Hugh's throat. "Let me brother go."

For a brief, agonizing moment, she thought that Hugh hadn't heard. But then he seemed to finally come to his senses and he let go, leaving Pat gasping for breath on the floor. "If you ever set foot in my house again, I'm going to kill you," he threatened. He wrenched the knife from Kate's hand and casually tossed it into the sink before abruptly leaving the room.

Pat remained on the floor, coughing and struggling to catch his breath.

Kate hurried to his side, her hands trembling as she helped him sit up. "Ye need to go," she said, looking him over.

"I'm fine, thanks for askin'," Pat replied, his voice hoarse. He wiped his sleeve across his face. "Katie, he's a—"

"I'm well aware of what he is," she cut in. "I made me choice and I'm fine livin' with it." She dampened a dish towel under the faucet and, kneeling beside him, started to wipe the blood from his face. "I know ye want to protect me but this isn't the way to go about it."

Pat pulled the towel from her grasp. "Katie—"

"Please go home." She couldn't hold her emotions in check any longer and she began to cry. "I'm beggin' ye. I don't want to test if he meant what he said. I don't want to lose ye."

He looked at her for a moment then his expression softened. "Alright, I'll go," he said, carefully getting to his feet. He closed his eyes briefly as he leaned on the counter, looking slightly ill. "But, Katie," he said, looking at her once again. "If he lays another hand on ye, I'm implorin' ye to leave. Ye've got to. Gather the children and set off. Ye can lodge with us, or if needs be, we'll send ye to Philadelphia. I'm sure Cal has a guesthouse or a second home or somethin' that ye can have."

"I'm not leavin' me husband." Briefly, she wondered if it was only pride that kept her tethered to Hugh or something more. Hadn't she loved him once?

"Just think on it?" Pat implored. "Please. Ye say ye don't want to lose me but I don't want to lose yerself either."

Kate wiped the tears from her eyes and nodded. "Alright, then. Fine. Now, I beg ye, be off before he returns."

Pat paused in the doorway. "Would ye really have killed him?" He asked. "When ye had that knife against his throat?"

She remembered the moment: the rising panic, the cruelty in Hugh's eyes, the desperation in her brother's and she knew the answer. "I would've done whatever I needed to do," she replied calmly. "I'd already thought I'd lost ye once. I'll not bear losin' ye again."

For a moment, Pat seemed on the verge of saying something, but instead he reached out and hugged her. Then he turned and left through the back door.

Kate took a deep breath to compose herself. She picked up the knife and resumed chopping potatoes. They were having potato soup and if Hugh didn't like it, he could starve for all she cared.

~~~

Pat would've been more furious if he hadn't been half wondering if he had died on Kate's floor. His head throbbed, his throat hurt, and he was still seeing spots. The walk home had been long and unpleasant with the glaring sun making his dizziness worse and more than once he had thought he was going to be sick. He hadn't intended at all to tell Sarah about what had happened, knowing how much it would worry her, but seeing the horrified look on her face at the sight of him, he suddenly remembered the blood on his face.

"What did you do?" She asked. Without waiting for a response, she pulled him inside and sat him down at the kitchen table.

"Nothin'," he insisted. "I'm fine."

"You must think me stupid, if you expect me to believe that," she replied as she wiped the remainder of blood from his face. "I assume this has something to do with Hugh."

"It was only a bit of a tiff."

"Patrick Murphy, you are not going to be holding this back from me."

"It doesn't matter." He wished the conversation would end already. He was beginning to have a difficult time focusing and he desperately longed to lie down.

"If it doesn't matter then I'll just ask Kate," Sarah replied. "I'll be seeing her tomorrow. I still need to meet little Bridget."

Her words suddenly brought everything into focus with an alarming rush. "No," he said, sitting up straighter and wincing at the pain.

"What do you mean by no?"

"I don't want ye goin' over there."

"It's not like I'm going into a war zone," she said. "I'm only visiting your sister."

"No, you're not," Pat insisted.

"Pat, you're being ridiculous." Sarah shook her head. "I'm not about to cut your sister out of my life just because you got into a little fight with her husband."

Clear in his mind, he could see Hugh shoving her, striking her, his hands around her throat and he struggled to push down the fear. "Sarah, I've not been one to tell ye what to do in the past, but this time, I've no choice," he said, knowing full well what her response was likely to be. "I forbid ye from goin' over there."

There was a momentary pause while Sarah looked at him. "So you want to completely cut off your sister from us," she questioned. "So it's only her and her husband?"

"No, that's not..." His words failed him and all he could think of was the pain. His head hurt so badly, why couldn't he think straight? He brought a hand up to his throat, saw that they were shaking, and clenched his hands into fists instead. "I don't know what to do," he admitted at last. "I can't..." He took a deep breath. "It's like bein' on that damn ship again. I can't help her." His voice broke on the words.

Without a sound, Sarah gently drew him to her shoulder.

He could feel her fingers running through his hair, triggering the ghost of a memory that he couldn't quite place. He held onto her tightly and closed his eyes. She always felt so safe.

"We can't abandon her either," she said softly.

~~~

Regardless of Pat's concerns, Sarah wasn't going to stay away. But she also wasn't going to go anywhere near Hugh, if she could help it. Waiting until she was certain that he had left for the mill, she stuck a sweater on Eileen and went to see Kate who immediately pulled her into a tight hug the moment of her arrival.

"How are you doing?" Sarah asked, looking her over. "You look tired."

"I'm fairly certain me insides were ripped out so it's a lucky thing I'm even on me feet, if ye ask me. Bridget's sleepin' at the moment but ye can take a peek."

Sarah deposited Eileen in the Kiddie-Koop with Henry and followed Kate into the nursery. She smiled at the peacefully sleeping baby. "She's perfect."

"Isn't she just?" As tired as Kate might've looked, her voice was filled with joy. "Come on. I'll make ye some tea."

But the moment they reached the kitchen, Sarah forced her to sit down. "I can manage a pot of tea just fine. Well, mostly fine." She immediately set the kettle going and began to scoop tea leaves into the strainer.

Kate watched her closely from her seat. "So what did Pat end up tellin' ye?"

"You know your brother," Sarah replied with a sigh. She looked at the teapot uncertainly before adding one more scoop of tea. "Enough to make me worry but less than I wanted to know." She poured the boiling water over the tea then brought the pot and two cups to the table. "What actually happened?"

"I fell and Pat mistakenly thought Hugh shoved me."

"Kate," Sarah paused in pouring the tea to give her a stern look.

"Alright, so he did push me a wee bit but I wouldn't have fallen if I hadn't also tripped over me own feet," Kate admitted. "Regardless, Pat overreacted. And, Sarah, ye need to be lettin' the tea steep a bit before ye pour it out."

"Oh." Sarah tipped the cups back into the pot. "And Hugh?"

"Of course, Hugh overreacted. Well, ye saw what he did. Is Pat alright, then?"

"He'll live," Sarah replied. "He's worried about you."

"I wish he wouldn't worry. I'm fine," Kate insisted. "And now ye can pour it."

Sarah poured the tea once more. "I'm also worried about you."

"Sarah."

"No, I've seen Hugh push you and now you just said he's done it again. That's not alright."

"What do ye want me to do about it?" Kate asked. "He's me husband."

"There's always arsenic."

"Sarah, I'm prayin' yer not suggestin' I murder me own husband," Kate said, picking up her cup and taking a small sip. "Because that's...well, that's murder."

"Of course not," Sarah replied. "I was only joking."

Kate still looked skeptical as they drank their tea in silence.

"How often does he go up on your roof," Sarah asked suddenly.

"Not very," Kate replied. "There's scarce reason for him to be up there. Why're ye askin'?"

Sarah shrugged. "Ladders can be awfully unsteady."

"Sarah."

"I don't suppose you could lure him to the river somehow. If I recall correctly, those banks were quite slippery."

"Sarah, ye need to stop it."

"Oh, I have it!" Sarah pushed her cup aside and leaned in closer. "John swears that he saw a moose the other day in the woods. You need to find this moose and befriend it. I know John is certainly trying to...probably going to get himself gored one of these days. Anyway, you lure this moose close to your home. And then next time Hugh leaves for work BAM Friendly moose eats his face."

Kate laughed. "I don't think moose eat people."

"Oh." Sarah considered the problem for a moment. "Well, maybe it'll be willing to make an exception for you. Maybe. I can't imagine Hugh tastes very good."

"Yer terrible," Kate said, still laughing. "If ye wanted somethin' dine on me husband, ye should be suggestin' a bear. I know we have plenty of those around here."

"Forget the bear," Sarah replied. "The easiest thing to do would be invite Cal back and let him take care of it."

Kate's expression grew thoughtful. "He kissed me, ye know."

"Cal?"

"Aye, last time he was here."

"And?"

"And nothin'," Kate replied. "I told him not to come back."

"Kate." Sarah was in shock that Kate had waited so long to tell her something so important. She was certain there must've been more to the story.

"I have enough to be worryin' about. I don't need him complicatin' things any more than they already are."

"Do you love him?"

"Me husband?" Kate asked, speaking quickly and without looking at her. "Of course, I love me husband."

"I meant Cal."

A conflicted expression came over Kate's face as she tapped her fingers on her cup. More than once she opened her mouth to speak but nothing came out. "Ye can't let Pat come near this place," she managed at last, dodging the question entirely.

Sarah had been caught off guard with the change in subject and it took her a moment for Kate's words to register in her mind. "Why can't yer brother come here?"

Kate sighed heavily. "Hugh said he'd kill him if he set foot in this house again," she replied. "I think he meant it."

And just like that, the old fear returned and Sarah could feel her stomach clench into a tight knot. She gripped her cup of tea and took a deep breath, trying desperately to push away the dread that had begun to fill her.

~~~

Summer

~~~

Cal was still awake when he heard the timid knock on his front door. He paused, certain that he had imagined it when it came a second time, more forcefully than before. He looked around the room. The realization that he had never before answered his own front door suddenly struck him and the thought that Dinah might have been right about some of the things she had said to him immediately put him in a terrible mood. He sighed heavily and set down his glass of scotch. "I can answer my own door, at least," he muttered to himself as he walked to the front.

He pulled the door open to reveal the last person he had expected to see. "Arthur?"

The boy stood alone on the front step, looking small and out of place in the darkness.

Cal looked around but couldn't see anyone else. "Your mother here?"

"No."

"Grandparents?" It was surely a trap of some sort although he couldn't quite see the point.

"No."

"Brother?"

"Just me," Arthur proudly replied.

Cal tried not to be suspicious but he couldn't see any reason for his eleven year old to be knocking on his door in the middle of the night. "Why are you here?"

The boy shrugged. "I don't know. I wanted to go home."

Arthur may have wanted to go home but all Cal could think about was how Dinah would react when she found him missing. "Your mother is going to be worried."

"She doesn't know I left," he replied. "She's not home."

"Your grandparents then."

"They're sound asleep."

"Wait a moment," Cal began as everything started to fall into place. "You walked all the way over here in the middle of the night, by yourself."

Arthur nodded.

"That's three miles."

"It took forever."

"I can imagine." The thought of all sorts of terrible things that might've befallen him on his long walk ran through Cal's mind. He could've gotten lost or hurt or kidnapped or struck by a car or attacked by a wild dog or...the list was endless. "I'll drive you back."

"No!" The boy's voice was adamant and he immediately crossed his arms in front of him. "I'm not going back. This is my home."

"It's not anymore. Let's go." Cal took Arthur's arm and started to pull him away but the boy planted his feet.

"Why don't you want me?"

Cal could feel his heart break a bit. He hadn't expected such a question and didn't immediately know how to answer it. "Who says that I don't?"

"Mama," Arthur replied. "She says that's why we can't live here anymore."

"That's not—" Cal sat down on the front step. "God, that's not true, not one single bit."

Arthur sat beside him and looked up at him.

"I want you very much. You and your brother both." Cal had never felt so torn. On the one hand, he still didn't want to say anything negative about Dinah but he had never been so furious at what she had done, the lies she had been spreading.

"But then why'd we have to go?"

"That wasn't my decision."

"Whose was it?"

"Your mother's," he replied. "She thought it'd be better for you." And worse for me , he added to himself. He had suspected for years that the only thing Dinah cared for when it came to the children was how she could use them against him.

"It's not," Arthur replied simply. "I don't like that place. It smells funny and I'm never allowed to say anything except when I'm asked a question or directly spoken to and even then my answers must be short and pertinent or stay inside my head."

"Pertinent?" It was clear to him that Arthur was repeating something learned by rote.

He shrugged. "I don't know what it means but my answers are apparently never pertinent." Arthur sighed. "You don't like mama, do you?"

There was no point in hiding it any longer. "No."

"She doesn't like you either."

Cal almost laughed. Dinah had never bothered to hide her disdain for him. "I imagine not." The whole world must've known her feelings.

"Why can't I stay here?" Arthur asked. "Just for tonight? All of my stuff is here."

For the briefest moment, Cal imagined giving in. Refusing to give Arthur up when Dinah was sure to come looking, even going so far as to leave Philadelphia entirely, hiding away from her wrath. But then he shook his head. It would have been impossible. "I wish you could but your mother would worry."

"She doesn't care about me."

"She might even call the police."

Arthur looked surprised. "You think she would?"

Cal nodded. "And then they'd arrest you for running away." He considered it for a moment. "Or, more likely, they'd arrest me for kidnaping you." That he could clearly see happening.

"Oh." Arthur looked crestfallen at the thought. "If I really have to go back, can we at least walk?" He asked hopefully. "I don't want to get there too quickly."

"We can walk."

"And could I...could I get something from my room first?"

"Go on."

Cal waited on the steps for him to return and thought of all the different ways he hated his wife. It was bad enough that she did everything she could to make his own life worse, but doing the same to their children—even if it was only through her lack of care—was unthinkable.

Arthur returned a few minutes later, clutching a stuffed rabbit who had seen better days and looking mildly embarrassed to be holding it.

But the sight made Cal smile. He recognized the rabbit at once as one he had bought long ago when Arthur was a six year old, obsessed with the Velveteen Rabbit.

On the long walk back, Arthur kept up a steady stream of conversation, telling him all about school and the model plane he had recently put together—before Victor broke it—and the stray dog he was keeping in the shed who hadn't yet been found out. He had just started on the men renovating the dining room who were kind enough to show him their new electric drill and even let him try it—Dinah must've thrown a fit—when they reached the door. Arthur looked up at him.

"Go on," Cal reluctantly encouraged.

With a resigned sigh, Arthur turned and surprised him with a hug. Then, clutching the rabbit tightly to himself, he opened the door and slipped inside.

Cal remained outside for a moment longer, hoping for something he didn't know, before turning to head home himself.

~~~

It was a terrific crash of thunder that ripped Pat from his sleep, followed almost at once by a flash of lightning. A heavy rain drummed on the roof above him.

Sarah was already awake. "It sounds close," she said, after another thunder sent the house trembling.

"Aye," Pat replied. "Just down the road, maybe?"

"Maybe," Sarah murmured, shifting slightly on his shoulder, inadvertently trapping his arm beneath her.

Occasionally, Pat wondered what it would be like to sleep alone without Sarah's weight pressed against him, making it so he could hardly move. But the thought of life without her was so unthinkable that he was always willing to let her cling to him as tightly as she wished. Even at the risk of losing all feeling in his limbs. "Sarah, I can't—" His sentence was abruptly cut off by another ear-splitting clap of thunder.

And just like that Eileen began to cry.

Sarah sat up and yawned. "Not surprised by that."

"I'll check on her," Pat offered, giving her a kiss. He stood and shook his arm to restore feeling to it.

"Bring her back," she replied. "She can sleep between us."

" Between us? Sure, that'll happen," he muttered beneath his breath as he left the room.

A flash of lightning illuminated Eileen's room as Pat stepped in. There she stood in her crib, tiny hands clutching the rails, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Now what's the matter?" He asked, picking her up. "It's only a wee storm."

A gust of wind seemed to come out of nowhere causing the window panes to rattle. Another crash of thunder, louder than before, echoed over them. He could hear hail pelting the house.

Still crying, Eileen buried her face on his shoulder and clutched him tighter.

"It's okay," he said softly. "There's nothin' to be afraid of." He left her room to find Sarah just outside the door with slippers on and a robe tied over her nightgown. "Wind's really picked up somethin' fierce," he said.

"It's growing worse," Sarah agreed. "I think we should go down to the basement to wait it out."

Before he could respond, John's door opened. "Mom?"

"Basement," she said. "Go on down."

John made a face. "I hate the basement."

"Ye heard yer mother," Pat jumped in. "Go on now."

They had just started down the stairs when Eileen let out a sudden shriek. "Want Olna!"

"What's Olna?" Pat asked.

Sarah frowned. "I don't know—"

"It's her doll," John interrupted. "She named it Olna. Don't you guys know anything? I'll get it."

A moment later, with the doll safely in hand, they finally reached the basement.

As Pat looked around, taking in the dimly lit room with its stone walls and rat slab floor, he thought that John had a point. The basement was not a pleasant place to be.

They settled in along one wall and Eileen had begun to cry again, her anguish helped along by the sudden appearance of a large spider. Sarah held her on her lap and ran her hand through her hair, making shushing noises.

Being below ground, Pat couldn't hear the hail striking at the windows or the wind ripping through the trees and assailing the house. But the thunder was untouched, reverberating and crashing, each clap shaking the foundation, threatening to crumble the walls about their ears.

Or maybe it was only in Pat's head.

What he didn't imagine was Eileen. Still crying, unceasingly and unstoppable. Sarah attempted in vain to soothe her but still she cried. He had heard other children crying once and he tried to push the memory from his mind but always with every heartbeat it came back. With each heartbeat that was so loud in his ears it almost hurt. So loud it nearly drowned out the storm raging around them.

Almost.

There was a ringing somewhere beneath it all. Pat turned to Sarah to ask if she had heard it too but what came out, instead, was a plea, a desperate supplication. "Make her stop. Please make her stop."

Sarah was saying something. He could see her lips moving but her words were buried in the tumult. The unceasing thunder, the ringing, the pounding of his heart that was way too loud, too fast.

And still Eileen cried.

It was too much. He covered his ears with his hands to block out the cries, the great roaring noise that threatened to tear him in two. The light flickered and in the heavy shadows, he looked about the room, the basement with its stone walls and the rat slab floor, devoid of windows and doors but only the smell of damp. No way out. Another terrific crash and Eileen still cried.

Oh, God, they were going to drown.

Legs drawn up, he took a deep breath. He tried to take a deep breath. Any breath. But the air was too thick to be breathed.

"Pat?"

He heard his name, faint and far off.

"I'm right here." The same voice again.

Sarah. She was near. Her arms were wrapped tightly around him, so tightly he couldn't breathe. No. He couldn't breathe before. Still.

"You need to breathe." Sarah again.

He wanted to. But the air was liquid and his lungs were missing entirely and he clutched at her arm with a desperate grip. He couldn't breathe.

"Pat." Her voice was calm, curiously calm. "Can you feel me breathing?"

His head was against her chest and he could hear her heartbeat or was it his own? But then slowly, imperceptibly, he felt the gentle rise and fall of her breaths and he nodded.

"Good," she said, softly. "I need you to try to match it."

It seemed so difficult, so impossible but slowly he managed a breath, forcing the air into his lungs, and he clutched her arm tighter.

"Good," she repeated. Her hand was in his hair, running through his hair, and he breathed.

There was a sudden crack of thunder so loud he could feel it in his bones. The lone little light went out, plunging the room into darkness, and Eileen screamed.

Why were there so many children?

Frantically, he clawed at the arms holding onto him, holding him down beneath the water. God, he was drowning. He needed to breathe. He needed to breathe. He needed air. He tried to escape, to move, to swim, anything to escape the darkness that had enveloped him. But the arms wouldn't let go. They only held him tighter.

"Pat." Sarah's voice, muffled by the pounding in his ears. "Don't hold your breath. You need to breathe. I need you to breathe."

He took one shuddering breath and then another. Again he made a feeble attempt to break free but Sarah never loosened her grip, the one arm across his chest, holding him to her. The other hand drew through his hair, soothingly stroking his head. "It's alright," she spoke quietly, calmly, whispering into his ear. "It's alright." A sudden overwhelming flood of relief rose up in him and he choked down a sob. Sarah never stopped her continuous refrain. "It's alright. It's alright." She brought the sleeve of her robe across his cheeks, wiping away tears that he hadn't realized were there.

Slowly the time between thunders grew longer, the rumbles softer as the storm moved on its way.

"Oh, thank God," Sarah said. "It's nearly over." She squeezed him tightly and kissed his cheek.

After a time when they had to strain to hear anything at all, Sarah spoke again. "I think we might be able to return to our beds," she said. "Just let me go up first and make sure everything's alright. And grab a flashlight. I don't know why we didn't think to grab it on our way down. Lesson learned, I suppose."

She let go of him and Pat felt a momentary flutter of panic. He took a deep breath and pushed it away. As he heard the creak of the stairs as Sarah went up them, he wanted to tell her to be careful in the dark but his voice was still missing. He closed his eyes instead.

There was a small touch, a hand on his arm and he opened his eyes to see Eileen in the darkness, looking up at him with large eyes. He pulled her onto his lap and, at once, she nestled against him. Pat closed his eyes once again and held her tightly, silently wishing the night was over. He still couldn't stop himself from trembling.

He felt a small hand on his face, accompanied by Eileen's voice. "It's okay," she said softly. Perfect, little Eileen.

"That was terrible." It was John this time and by the sound of his voice, Pat knew he had moved closer. "I bet it was a tornado. We probably all almost died." And after a moment. "I was really scared too."

Before Pat could respond, there came the sound of footsteps and a bouncing light that announced Sarah's return. "Alright," she said, the beam landing on them. "To bed. Just avoid the kitchen for now. Something broke the window and there's some glass on the floor." She handed John a second flashlight.

"Was it a tornado?" John asked, almost eagerly as he jumped to his feet. Immediately he switched on the light and looked straight into the beam. "Whoops."

"Doubt it," she replied. "I'm sure it was just very windy." She looked down at Eileen who had fallen asleep on Pat's lap. "Go ahead and take your sister with you."

John sighed. "Fine." He carefully extricated her from Pat's arms and carried her up the stairs.

After he had gone, Sarah took his spot on the floor, resting her head against Pat's shoulder.

"What's wrong with me," Pat asked, his voice having returned at last.

"Nothing," she was quick to reply. "There's nothing wrong with you."

"No?" Even in the darkness, he couldn't bring himself to look at her. "It was only a storm. "I've been through hundreds of storms and never—" His voice faltered. "I couldn't stop it."

Sarah found his hand and held it tightly. "What do you think was different this time?"

"I don't...I think it was Eileen," he said. "Her cryin' that did it but I don't know why." It felt terrible to blame his problems on a child and he wished he could take it back. "I think I'm goin' mad." The fear escaped in a whisper.

"You're not."

Pat took a breath and forced himself to look at her. "I knew it was only a storm. And I knew that Eileen was crying because she was afraid but...none of that mattered. It was like I entirely lost control of me own mind. I couldn't stop it. I tried and I couldn't...I could hardly breathe. How is that anythin' but me losin' me mind?"

"Oh, Pat," Sarah softly replied. "For one thing, if you were truly losing your mind, you wouldn't be worried about losing your mind. And for another, I know you and I know you're not."

"What if it worsens, though? And then I can't leave the house or me room or go to work and then there's no money and ye all starve and die because of me?"

"Stop it," she said. "You're spiraling and there's no reason to." She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "You've only had a bad night and tomorrow you'll feel yourself again. I promise."

He still felt uncertain. Her words seemed so impossible to believe. "I don't—"

The lightbulb suddenly flickered into life, bathing the room in its glow.

"And now we're back to normal," Sarah said. She looked at him and smiled. "You'll be alright."

"Why'd ye marry me?" Pat asked.

"I married you because you're a good person. Because you saved me from my grief after John died. Because you understand what it was like," Sarah replied. "And because I love you immeasurably even when you don't love yourself." She stood and pulled him to his feet. "And now I'm tired and would like to go to bed for whatever's left of the night and you know I can't sleep without you."

"Sarah." Pat wrapped his arms around her, holding on tightly and burying his face in her hair. "I'm glad ye married me."

"I'm glad you asked," she replied. "Oh, Eileen's doll." She let go of him and picked up the doll. "She'll be wanting this."

"Why'd she name it Olna?" Pat asked. He held her hand as they went up the stairs.

"Couldn't tell—why aren't you in bed?" Sarah asked, as they turned the corner and ran into John hovering at the top of the stairs, looking mildly alarmed.

"I was just...she left her doll," he quickly explained. "I went back to get it."

"Here it is," she replied, handing it over. "Now off to bed."

John took it and immediately left, climbing the stairs two at a time.

Pat sighed. He had the strangest feeling that John had been listening to their conversation and the thought filled him with unease but as he let Sarah pull him to their bedroom, he kept his worries to himself.

~~~

It seemed as though the whole world had been transformed and John was amazed at the sight. His mother had insisted it wasn't a tornado that had wreaked havoc but he couldn't see how it could have been anything else. Leaves were ripped from branches. Branches, themselves, were scattered about. A large limb had been torn from their apple tree, breaking the kitchen window. His mother had cried until his father had managed to reassure her that it was only a single branch, the tree wasn't about to die. Then he boarded up the broken window, making the kitchen gloomy and dark.

John had checked the woods first and foremost, expecting to see devastation as far as the eye could see, but none of the biggest trees had fallen down—he supposed they all held each other up—for which he was grateful. But the other side of the house was a different story. One large tree laid across the road, blocking traffic, as two men with chainsaws cut it into pieces. Mesmerized by the roaring machines—and dying to try one out for himself—John watched them work until a chunk of wood flew dangerously close to where he had been standing.

So he continued walking, surveying the damage as he went. As he passed Dottie's house, he saw her out front sweeping leaves from the sidewalk and looking miserable. He tried to convince her to go with him but she only shook her head.

"Mom's watching," she said, pretending to sweep as they talked. "I can't escape just yet. Unless you want to help."

John made an excuse and continued on his way. Sweeping leaves off a sidewalk seemed like a never ending and pointless task. He paused for a moment at the sight of a large tree lying right on top of a house, crushing the roof beneath it, hoping to see it get removed, but he was quickly shooed away.

He was feeling rather unwanted and was wondering if he should have helped Dottie, after all, when he reached his aunt's house.

Hugh was working outside, hauling downed branches into a relatively tidy pile. The man looked up at John's arrival. "Give me a hand." He gestured to one end of a massive branch.

Obediently, John jumped forward and helped him carry it to the pile. "What're you doing?"

"Getting it all into one place so I can burn it."

"Can I light it?"

"Not today," he replied. "Need to let the wood dry out first."

"But when you do light it?"

"If you give me a hand now, I'll consider it."

Thinking it a fair trade to him, John immediately began to gather sticks and branches, dumping them on top of the pile.

"You made it through all right?" Hugh asked as they worked.

John shrugged. "We were in the basement." It had seemed like such a waste of a good storm to him. The house hadn't blown away so there was no reason he couldn't have stayed in his room and watched the destruction.

"Everyone alive, I mean?"

"They were this morning," John replied. "I suppose something could've happened since I left." He looked around and suddenly realized that he didn't see his cousins anywhere. "Tommy not helping?"

"Between you and me, that child is more than useless," Hugh said. "I'd rather have your help."

John didn't know how to respond. Tommy may have been quite a bit younger than him, too young to do anything fun with, but hardly useless. He could never understand why Hugh didn't seem to like him. But as he continued to work, he thought of the previous night and the conversation he had overheard. He hadn't meant to listen in—he had only wanted to fetch Eileen's doll—but he couldn't bring himself to interrupt. He hadn't caught every word and there was quite a bit he didn't understand—he supposed the missing words would've helped—but he knew his father was afraid and not just of the storm.

"What happens if you lose your mind?" John asked suddenly. If anyone would give him honest answers, he knew it'd be Hugh.

"What?" The man looked at him, clearly taken aback. "Where's that coming from?"

John shrugged and tried to look casual. "I overheard my parents talking last night. My dad said he thought he was losing his mind."

Hugh put his foot on one large branch and broke it into two pieces. "If you lost your mind, you'd go insane, I suppose."

"What would happen then?"

"Shouldn't you be talking to your parents about this?"

"I rather talk to you," John replied. "They never answer any of my questions." He dropped a handful of branches onto the pile. "What happens if you go insane?" He repeated the question. "Would you die?"

"Probably not," Hugh said. "There's hospitals you'd likely get sent to." He paused to wipe the sweat from his face. "Eastern State and there's another one too. Can't remember what it's called."

"And they'd help you get better?"

"That's why they exist."

"And how would—" He abruptly stopped speaking at the sight of Dottie running up, slightly out of breath.

"I escaped," she said. "Let's go do something."

John looked over at Hugh. "Could I?"

"Go on, then," Hugh said. "We're finished here anyway."

The moment they were out of earshot, Dottie turned to him. "I thought your parents didn't like him?"

John shrugged. "He's always nice to me." The strange feud between his parents and his uncle was just one more thing that he didn't understand.

"I bet there's a history there," she said.

"A history?"

"You know, like he and your mother were once in love and your father stole her away or something like that."

"Nah, my parents met on a boat," John replied.

"Oh," Dottie sighed. "Well, I'm sure there's something."

John may not have known most of what was going on. But he knew that there was always something.

~~~

Sometimes it was difficult for Lelia to remain positive. Particularly after nine hours spent listening to Rose comment on how tired she looked, how much she must miss her child, how brave she was to let someone else raise her. Despite there being some truth to her statements, Lelia wished she didn't bring it up. She was tired. She did miss her child. And she worried what Caroline would one day think of her for choosing a job over her. But those were not Rose's worries; they were hers alone.

At last, the day was over, and she was finally able to head home. She picked Caroline up from her parents and almost at once, she felt her bad mood evaporate. Caroline was a happy baby who laughed at everything and it was impossible to stay upset.

Lelia balanced Caroline on her hip as she descended the subway station stairs. Half of her thoughts were on dinner. She was grateful to have a husband who didn't leave it all to her. Usually, they cooked together and she couldn't wait for Caroline to be old enough to join in as well.

She paid her fare and joined the crowd waiting for the train, everyone bustling and pushing into each other. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She hated the subway. Always so dark and crowded, everyone always seemed to be in a terrible mood. She assumed they must've been running late because there was no reason for rudeness otherwise.

The train arrived and the door opened. Lelia joined the mass of people boarding, clutching Caroline tightly. She found an empty seat and immediately settled the baby on her lap.

As they began to move, the woman sitting beside her smiled. "How old?" She asked.

"Seven months."

"She is darling."

Caroline laughed at the woman and reached out to her.

"Nothing frightens her, I swear," Lelia said with a laugh of her own.

The woman chuckled. "Some babies are bold like that," she replied.

Lelia felt a sudden unexplainable trickle of unease. She looked around the car but everyone remained in their conversations or sitting, stony-faced as they waited to reach their destination.

"In fact," the woman continued. "I remember my own—"

There was a great wrenching noise and time slowed down to a miniscule speed. Lelia clutched Caroline tightly to her chest as the lights went out.

When she came to, she was on the ground, Caroline still cradled in her arms, surrounded by shattered glass. The car lay engulfed in darkness and smoke, the air punctuated by anguished cries and groans. Caroline squirmed in her arms, her own little cry lost among the others. Lelia pushed herself to her feet, wincing at the pain radiating through her arm, the back of her head throbbing. She spotted a small light bobbing around—was it a flashlight?—and followed it to find a man standing on the roof...no, the side of the car. He leaned through the broken window, arms reaching, and without thinking, she shoved Caroline into them. A half moment later, he pulled her up as well.

There was no one to help her off the broken car and onto the tracks, now more a tangle of wreckage with an eerie blue glow than anything recognizable. But with Caroline clutched tightly in her arms—who screamed all the more, shocked and horrified at her own lack of comfort—Lelia managed to reach the ground. At once, she joined the other survivors—dazed and frightened—as she made her way through the tunnel, staring in horror at the sight of a car torn entirely in two. She sent up a small prayer of thanks that she had chosen the car she did and not the one behind it. Her steps faltered as she stumbled over something on the ground. Glancing down, she was met with the sight of a severed leg, cleanly parted below the knee. The stocking remained spotless and untorn, the shoe impeccably tied. Battling a surge of panic, Lelia hastened her pace, ascending the stairs two at a time until she finally emerged into the open air.

Waiting in the hospital for Fabrizio to find her was almost worse than the accident itself. She had no way to contact him. No way to find her way home on her own, having lost her purse and the little money she carried with her. She wasn't even sure where she was. All she could do was settle herself in one of the plastic seats within sight of the reception desk and hope to be found.

Worried, she kissed the back of Caroline's head—Caroline who had already returned to her usual happy state, content to chew on a doll that someone had given her and entirely oblivious to her own cuts and scratches. She had just begun to wonder what would happen to her should he never come for her when she heard a familiar voice. "Fabri!" She called out to him.

He turned around and relief flooded his features. "Lelia." He rushed to her side and tried to kiss her.

"Ow." Lelia winced and pulled away. "I'm sorry. I'm a bit sore and my head hurts."

"You didn't come home and then I hear what happen but no one had any names. Just a lot die," Fabrizio said, the words coming out in a rush. "First, I went to Bellevue and then Polyclinic and no one knew you. I thought you might have..." his words faltered. "But then, I thought, I check St. Vincent and here you are." He looked her over, his gaze landing on her injured arm.

"I promise you, I'm fine," she insisted. "My arm is hardly broken and my head aches a bit."

"And Caroline?" He bent down to look at the baby, lifting both of her arms at once and causing her to giggle.

"She's even more fine than me," Lelia replied. Seizing the collar of his shirt, she drew him closer and kissed him. "Can we go home now?" The last of her adrenaline had faded away leaving nothing but a heavy exhaustion in its place.

"Of course." Fabrizio picked up Caroline and helped her to her feet. "When we get home, you rest and I make dinner." He wrapped his free arm around her. "And then no more subways. I refuse to lose you."

~~~

Fall

~~~

Ever since Arthur's late night visit, Cal had been determined to do better. He desperately wanted his children back and, as unlikely as that was to ever happen so long as Dinah held a hold over his life, he knew that if he didn't make immediate changes, that likelihood would be never. And he was craving a real conversation, someone who'd actually listen. He missed Kate's letters so much. The only person still willing to speak with him was Louise and she never truly listened.

So Cal found himself in New York, standing outside of Fabrizio's apartment building, debating on his next step. The man had been ignoring his letters, believing their friendship to be dead and buried. But Cal wasn't willing to give up just yet. He looked up at the building and made up his mind. He climbed the narrow and dimly lit stairs quickly, afraid to linger any longer than necessary, past several people who all seemed to give him the most unpleasant looks and one boney cat who did the same. Finally, reaching the right door—or so he hoped—he took a deep breath and knocked.

After what felt like an eternity, Fabrizio opened the door. "No," he said immediately. "Go away."

"I'm not going away."

"Well, we're not home." Fabrizio tried to close the door.

"Fabri?" Lelia's voice called out from within the apartment. "What are you doing? Let him in."

With a resigned sigh, Fabrizio opened the door and stepped back to let him inside.

Cal tried to keep the shock from his face at the sight of their apartment. It was only three tiny rooms and he stepped into the middle one, a kitchen with a small table across from a small stove and a sink. To his right was a small parlor, its space filled with a worn sofa and a bookcase half full of books. A sewing machine sat in front of one of the windows. A playpen sat in front of the other. A curtain blocked off the third room which he assumed to be a bedroom.

"Cal!" Lelia said, moving forward to greet him. "I was wondering when we'd get you over here."

"What happened here?" He asked, looking at the cast on her arm.

"Oh, well, I was in a bit of an accident a few weeks ago," she explained.

"Car?" There were quite an unbelievable number of cars in New York and he always imagined it'd be difficult to avoid being struck by one on a regular basis.

"Subway," Lelia replied. "It was in the papers."

"Oh, that. I'm so sorry." Cal recalled reading about a terrible train derailment. "Are you alright?"

She smiled. "Better than many. Just a broken arm and a few bumps and scrapes. It is a miracle though that Caroline was fine."

"Caroline?"

She gestured to a smiling baby in the playpen.

Cal walked over to the baby, who immediately reached for him, and felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He had missed so much. He turned to Fabrizio, who had been watching them with his arms stubbornly crossed. "I have already apologized and I understand that you want nothing more to do with me," he began. "If I were you, I think I'd want the same." He looked about the room. "I will leave you alone after this. I promise. But you need to know how sorry I truly am." He thought of his son walking through Philadelphia in the dark just to see him. "I know the sort of man I am and I know it's not a great one—although, hopefully better than some. I mean I know a man who—" He stopped himself, realizing he was veering off course. "Anyway, I just want you to know that I'm trying to do better."

"How much you have to drink?" Fabrizio asked, entirely unconvinced.

"I haven't had a drop today," Cal replied. "And I feel terrible for it. I may have gotten struck by a car on my way here. At least it feels like it. I could really, really use a drink."

Caroline suddenly let out a peal of laughter causing them both to look down at her.

"I'm sorry," Fabrizio said. "She find everything funny."

"Well, I suppose my life falling apart is funny," Cal replied. "Dinah certainly finds it funny, in any case."

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Lelia said, coming into the room with a knife in her hand. "But we'll never be eating if the two of you keep standing there. I'm down to one arm for goodness sake, and even with two arms, I'm not used to doing it all by myself.

They trailed after her into the kitchen, where she promptly put Fabrizio on bread slicing duty and Cal to chop carrots.

"You know how to do that?" Fabrizio asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Chopping a carrot?" Cal shot him a look. "I think I can manage." Memories of assisting Kate in the kitchen resurfaced and he sighed. "This is usually what Kate has me doing when I've helped her," he said. "She used to have me stir whatever was on the stove but apparently you're not supposed to eat it while it's still cooking. I'm only allowed to help with the uncooked ingredients now." He halted as he noticed Fabrizio and Lelia exchange a knowing glance.

"What happen with you and Kate?" Fabrizio asked.

Cal momentarily focused on chopping a carrot into perfectly uniform pieces before responding. "I punched her husband...and then I kissed her."

"In that order?"

"In that order," Cal confirmed. "Different days though."

Fabrizio held his knife poised over the loaf of bread. "And what Kate say?"

Cal brought the chopped carrots over to Lelia who immediately dumped them into the pot simmering over the stove. "She told me to leave."

"Really?" Fabrizio sounded surprised. "But I thought she like you a lot."

Cal pulled out a chair and took a seat at the table, feeling a relief he hadn't felt in a very long time. He had forgotten how good it felt to have someone to talk to, someone who was genuinely interested in what he had to say.

"Of course, she sent him away," Lelia said. "No offense, but she's married. You shouldn't have kissed her...or punched her husband."

"Why you hit him?" Fabrizio picked up a slice of bread and took a bite.

Cal thought about the bruises he had seen on Kate's face and sighed. "I'm fairly certain he's beating her."

Fabrizio suddenly looked angry. "Are you sure?"

"I saw the marks," Cal replied. "And her brother's not doing a damn thing about it."

"What would you expect him to do," Lelia interjected. "Murder the man? Anything short of that and how do you know he won't take it out on her?" She turned off the stove. "I'm sure he knows that. Poor man. Probably doesn't know what to do. Fabri, could you help. Only one arm, you know."

"He could pay him to leave her," Cal suggested.

Fabrizio snorted. "With what money? Pat has less money than us and we not have a lot of money. I know having windows make you think we rich but we really not." He began ladling soup into three bowls. "Cal, this is big difference between us. Since day you were born, you never find problem that can't be solved one way or another. But that is not real life."

"But what if—"

"No, there is nothing you can do here."

"There must be—"

"There is not. I'm sorry," Fabrizio said, his expression softening. He carried the soup to the table. "I like Kate. She deserve better."

"You know," Lelia started, pulling out a chair and taking a seat. "I had a great aunt growing up. Her husband was a real rough man. Frightful temper. Well, one day, he goes out to get the paper and just keels over dead. They said it was his heart...all that bellowing. Couldn't be good for him." She picked up her spoon. "But, the story goes, it wasn't his heart at all. My great aunt had been slowly stirring arsenic into his coffee, one drop at a time. Now eat up before it goes cold."

Fabrizio looked at the soup in front of him then leaned in toward Cal. "Remind me never to make her angry," he said in a hushed tone.

Cal laughed. "It's a good thing I'd never eat anything prepared by my wife, not that she'd know how to prepare anything in the first place. I'm sure she'd love to get me out of the way entirely."

"You really leave her any money if you die?"

"God, no," he replied. "Everything goes straight to my children. But I wouldn't put it past her to find a way to get her hands on it." He took a bite. "Which is why I intend to outlive her."

"Then you may wish to cut down on your drinking," Lelia suggested.

"I've already started."

Caroline's laughter echoed from the other room.

"What is she laughing at now?" Lelia leaned over to see into the room.

"She laughing at ghosts," Fabrizio said. "This place is very haunted."

"There's no ghosts here," she replied. "And even if there were ghosts, who's to say they're funny ghosts?"

"Our daughter, that's who."

Suddenly, something Fabrizio had mentioned earlier struck Cal. "You mentioned earlier that Pat has less money than you? I don't mean to pry, but how? I've seen their house." It wasn't a large house, by any means, but it had two stories and a basement.

"That's not Pat's house," Fabrizio explained. "That was John's house and now Sarah's and I don't know how they pay for it. I think they must lose money." He scooped up a spoonful of soup. "Or not. What do I know? Maybe they're fine."

"I hope so." As overwhelmed as he was with his concerns for Kate, Cal wasn't sure he could handle adding worry for Sarah on top of everything else. Glancing around the table at Fabrizio and Lelia, he realized he was feeling hopeful for the first time in years. "Are we back to being friends?" he asked tentatively.

Fabrizio shrugged. "For now, I think."

~~~

Typically, they bypassed Thanksgiving altogether, as none of them had celebrated it before arriving in the country. Kate always preferred to reserve her best cooking for Christmas, and Sarah was hesitant to attempt it on her own. But then, Sarah saw a picture in a magazine of a beautifully decorated table, overladen with food, and thought she could pull it off. As the day neared, she had already picked up most of the food, in several trips as she kept forgetting things, and ordered a turkey. She would've felt better to have the bird in the icebox but the grocer didn't have any so there was nothing else to be done.

On the day itself, Sarah dove into cooking, only to realize that she didn't know the correct order and how in the world was she supposed to do everything with only two hands? John tried to help but he was more in the way than anything else, so she sent him to pick up the turkey which she had entirely forgotten about.

She nearly burst into tears when Kate arrived with her children. "I've never been happier to see you. I need your help."

"As yer only helper so far, I'll try not to be too insulted," Pat said. She had roped him into helping the moment she awoke and so far had been little more than useless. "Where's yer husband?"

Kate sighed. "He didn't want to come."

"At last, somethin' to be thankful for."

"Pat!" Sarah gave him a sharp look.

Pat held up his hands. "Just speakin' me truth."

"What's this then?" Kate peered into one of the pots burning on the stove and wrinkled her nose.

"Potatoes," Sarah replied.

"These are potatoes?"

"They started off as potatoes." Sarah joined her at the stove. "Did I do something wrong?"

"Why are they pink?"

"That's probably the cranberries."

"Yer not meant to be mixin' the cranberries right into the potatoes."

"Oh." Sarah could've sworn she heard of people eating cranberries and potatoes. "Can you fix it?"

John saved Kate from having to answer by choosing that moment to poke his head through the back door. "Mom? I think there's something wrong with the turkey."

"Is it too small?" Fifteen pounds had seemed like so much.

"No, definitely not too small."

"It is a turkey, right?"

"Oh, it's definitely a turkey."

Sarah let out a sigh and headed outside. She immediately clapped a hand to her mouth. John stood in front of her with a live turkey by his side. "Pat," she called back inside. "Could you come out here?"

Pat came outside and laughed. "I think that's still alive. Are ye plannin' on killin' it?"

"Why is it still alive?" Sarah could feel the earlier panic started to rise.

"Yer the one who ordered it."

"I ordered a fresh turkey."

"Looks pretty fresh to me."

Sarah blinked back tears. "We can't eat that."

"Sure, we can..."

John, who had been watching the exchange, stepped between his parents and the bird. "You can't kill it," he insisted.

"Well, we can't be roastin' it like that," Pat remarked. "The feathers will catch."

Sarah slipped back inside and silently grabbed a cleaver. Kate raised an eyebrow at her, but she shook her head. Returning outside, she immediately handed the cleaver to Pat.

"What're ye givin' me this for?"

"You have to kill it."

"I'm not killin' it."

"I can't do it," Sarah replied. "Besides, this is why I married you."

"To kill turkeys?"

"It's only one turkey." She wiped her hands on her apron and looked at him. "I don't feel like I'm asking all that much."

Pat looked uncertain. "It's starin' at me."

"Where else is it going to look? You're holding a knife."

"Only because ye want me to kill it." He looked at the bird. "She's the monster. It's her ye should be glarin' at."

"Fine." Sarah's panic had turned into irritation and she refused to let anyone ruin her Thanksgiving. "Give me that." She took the knife from Pat and the leash from John—despite his protests—and led the bird farther away from the house. She looked at Pat who had followed her. "I don't know how to do this."

"I think ye just chop off his head?"

"Will that be enough?"

"Did ye genuinely just ask me if choppin' off its head will be enough to kill it."

"I'm starting to grow angry with you so you may wish to dispense with the jokes."

"Yer right, I'm sorry. Here," Pat said, taking the knife back. He looked at the bird and sighed. "I'll do it. Just...hold his head still."

Sarah reached for the turkey but it suddenly ruffled its feathers and she jumped back with a shriek.

Pat laughed. "Perhaps Katie might be willin' to give it a go?" he suggested.

"Murder the bird?"

"Seems somewhat less dauntin' if ye don't call it murder."

"What else would it be?"

With a sudden triumphant shout, John snatched the leash from her grasp and dashed off with the turkey trotting after him, across the yard and straight into the house.

"And now it's in our house," Sarah said. "This is a disaster." She ran after him with Pat close behind her.

"Did ye see a turkey go this way?" Pat asked Kate who had taken over the meal entirely by that point.

"Was that what that was?" Kate replied with a laugh. "It went by so fast."

"John, you bring back that bird right now," Sarah called out.

"No!" John yelled back. "He's mine now."

"He's not yours. He's our dinner."

"Fine. I'm just choosing to keep my portion alive."

Tommy looked up from the table where he had been busy eating raisins. "I want mine alive too."

Sarah looked to Kate for help but she only laughed. "I know yer wishin' I'd step in but this is far too funny," Kate said. "I think I'm goin' to take their side."

"It's either this or one of us is goin' to be havin' to kill it," Pat said. "Maybe we could pitch it outside when they're sleepin'."

Later, at dinner, as they ate minced chicken sandwiches and soupy, pink potatoes, the turkey strolled confidently around the table, having already made itself at home.

"Alright, so what'd ye name it?" Pat asked.

"What?" John asked through a mouthful of food.

"If we're keepin' it, it's goin' to need a name."

John and Tommy huddled together for a brief discussion. Their conversation seemed to result in some disagreement, as John's voice suddenly rose above the other. "Fine. But I get to name the next one."

Sarah looked at Pat in alarm. "Next one?" She quietly asked.

He shrugged.

"His name is Moose," John said proudly.

"Moose the turkey?" Pat questioned. "Alright, why not? But yer goin' to need to be takin' care of it or we'll be eatin' it."

Tommy let out a shout. "You hear that Moose?" He asked the bird. "You get to stay."

Sarah looked at Pat and managed a smile.

"What's that look for then? Pat asked, returning.

"Nothing," she replied but beneath the table, she playfully nudged his leg.

Pat smiled and nudged her back.

~~~

Winter

~~~

Hugh was out late again. Kate didn't know if he was busy drinking, gambling away their savings, or having an affair. Or, perhaps some combination of the three. What she did know was that he didn't like it when she had already gone to bed by the time he stumbled in. She would've been more than happy to welcome him at the door should he show up at a decent hour, but his unpredictability was exhausting.

While she waited, she kept herself busy straightening up the house, pausing only to steal glances at the slow-moving clock. After putting away the last of Henry's toys, she moved on to the laundry and the clothes that had been washed and dried and folded neatly earlier in the day. She had opened the top drawer of Hugh's dresser to put away a few of his shirts when she noticed an envelope tucked beneath the clothing. Kate looked around to ensure that she was alone, before pulling it out and opening it.

She frowned as she skimmed over the papers inside. Why in the world would Hugh have a mortgage deed? The house was already paid for. Daniel had made the last payment the moment he was discharged from the Army. But, there it was, undeniable evidence staring back at her. The mortgage was for a significant sum and her own signature—although not in her own hand—graced the bottom of the final page. She took a deep breath as she tried to steady herself.

Kate had the mortgage in hand when the front door opened an hour later and Hugh walked in. She could tell at once that he was drunk, more so than usual, and already in a terrible mood. While wisdom whispered caution—she knew that arguing with him in such a state was a dangerous proposition—her anger held sway. "What is this?" She asked at once, waving the mortgage in his face.

Hugh snatched it from her hand. "Where'd you get that?" His voice carried an undercurrent of threat beneath his words."

"Yer dresser."

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why the hell were you going through my dresser?"

She felt the first flutter of unease run through her. "I was tidyin' up."

"Tidying up?" He repeated. "You were snooping."

"I didn't mean to...I just...why is me name on it?"

"Because my damn house is in your damn name."

"It's me house," Kate insisted. "Daniel built it for me." She regretted her comment the moment it left her lips. Hugh didn't like it when she mentioned her first husband.

"Oh, Daniel built it for you?" Without warning, Hugh shoved her against the wall. "You are my wife which makes it my house. And as it's my house, I will do with it as I please. Is that clear?" And then, as abruptly as his anger had flared, he released her and started to walk away.

A voice in Kate's head begged her to let it go, to step back, but she couldn't stop herself. "It's just that it was already paid off and now—"

His hand struck her cheek with a cruel snap.

She brought a trembling hand to her mouth as unbidden tears came to her eyes.

"And now you're crying," Hugh taunted. "Always trying to make me the bad guy. Stop crying. I hardly touched you." He pulled her hand away from her face. "You know how you push me to this," he said in a softer voice as he brushed his fingers across her cheek.

"It's yer behavior that makes ye the bad guy, not me," Kate replied. She tried to step around him but he put out an arm to stop her. "And in the mornin'," she continued, meeting his gaze with what she hoped was a stern look. "I'm goin' to the bank to sort this out. Ye can't be signin'—"

He cut her off with a swift punch to the stomach that shattered her sentence into a gasp of pain. "Since you think my behavior is making me the bad guy, I might as well live up to it." He grabbed her hair, his grip firm as he half-dragged, half-pulled toward the front door.

"Hugh, stop," Kate cried breathlessly, her vision blurred by tears, as she tried to pull free from his grasp.

Ignoring her pleas, Hugh opened the door and, with callous disregard, threw her onto the snow-covered steps.

The door shut behind her with a resounding thud, the lock clicking into place. Kate pushed herself up from the cold steps, snow crunching beneath her palms and pain radiating through her body. She pounded on the door. "Hugh," she called. "Open the door. Please open the door." Unchecked tears streamed down her cheeks. "I'm sorry. Please let me in. I didn't mean...I won't go to the bank."

But there was no response.

She wiped her sleeve across her tear-streaked face and stepped off the porch. She trudged through the snow to the back door but that one, too, was bolted shut. Kate looked around in the darkness, feeling lost and helpless. And cold...she couldn't stop shivering, her feet were already soaked through. Her head throbbed painfully and a sense of nausea was creeping in.

Pat. The name came into her mind like a voice from above. She turned and began the walk to his and Sarah's house, grateful they were only a half mile away and praying they were still awake.

By the time she reached their door, her fingers and toes had gone numb. Every part of her seemed to hurt and it was growing more and more difficult to push down the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. She brought up a hand and knocked on their door. "Please be awake," she muttered. There was no response and the panic only grew. Desperate, she pounded on the door with everything she had. "Come on, Pat. Please."

She had just given up when the lock turned and the door opened and, at the sight of her brother looking thoroughly confused, she began to cry.

~~~

Pat's heart nearly stopped when he opened the door and saw Kate standing on the porch without a coat, the snow swirling around her. He hadn't time to react before she grabbed onto him and began crying into his shoulder.

"It's alright," he said softly as he pulled her inside and shut the door behind her. "Yer alright." She was shaking, he thought more from the cold than anything else. And as he pulled back to look at her, he saw the fresh bruise on her cheek and frowned. He knew that whatever had happened, Hugh had been behind it.

"I didn't know what else to do," Kate said. "I'm sorry."

"What're ye sorry for?" Pat guided her to the sofa. He took a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"I don't...I don't know."

He looked up at the sound of footsteps and saw Sarah coming down the stairs. "Kate?" The surprise in her voice was unmistakable. "What's happened?"

"Nothin'," Kate replied. "I only wanted to pay ye a visit."

"Katie," Pat said, firmly. "What happened?" He knew his sister had a tendency to downplay any incidents in which Hugh was involved but he refused to let her do it that time.

Kate took a deep breath. "Ye can't be getting' angry."

"I'm already angry," he snapped.

"Sarah?" Kate looked to her for help.

Sighing, Sarah settled between them on the sofa. "Pat, why don't you get a fire going? It's freezing in here."

"No, yer not sendin' me away," he replied. "Me sister shows up in the dead of night, lookin' like she's been beaten and I want to know why." His voice rose with each word. It was infuriating how little they seemed to care.

Kate began to cry once again.

"Pat, ye need to lower your voice or you're going to wake the children," Sarah chided. "Now, Kate." She put an arm around her shoulder. "What happened? I promise Pat's not going to do anything stupid."

Kate looked down at her lap and took a breath. "He threw me out of the house and locked the door behind me," she said in barely more than a whisper.

"Why did he throw ye out?" Pat asked, struggling to keep his voice steady.

"We had a bit of an argument," Kate replied. "It's fine though. He'll be offerin' his apologies in the mornin'. Might get jewelry out of this one. Usually it's only flowers." She forced a small laugh.

"That's not fine," Pat replied. "Not one bit. It's December and yer without a coat. Ye could've frozen to death. He ought to be—"

Sarah put a hand on his arm.

He took a slow breath and looked at the bruise on Kate's face. "Did he hit ye again?"

Kate shook her head. "No," she said. "I fell on the way here. The walk is icy."

"Ye expect me to be believin' that?"

She fell silent, her hands clutching the blanket as she pulled it tighter around her. "I need ye to believe it."

"I can't," Pat replied, standing up. "I'm goin' to kill him. He can't be treatin' ye like this."

Sarah immediately grabbed his arm and pulled him aside. "You need to calm down."

"He's hurtin' me sister."

"I know, but you need to calm down."

Pat looked at her, the steady expression on her face, and pulled free from her grasp. "Why doesn't this make ye angry?"

"It does," she replied. "I'm furious. I want so much to rip him to pieces with my own hands." She momentarily closed her eyes. "But one of us has to be reasonable. There's nothing you can do."

"But—"

"Kate doesn't want you involved."

"Because of her damn pride."

Sarah shook her head. "She doesn't want you involved because she's convinced that Hugh is going to kill you and, I can tell you right now, your death won't help her any."

"He's not going to kill me."

"No? Well, Kate thinks he will and..." She hesitated for a moment. "I think he will too."

"He wouldn't..." He had been about to deny that Hugh would ever do such a thing...that murder was beneath even him but at the look on her face, he couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"He's already tried once," Sarah pointed out.

"I don't think he meant to kill me." At least, that was what he had told himself. That belief was the only thing that made it possible for him to be in the man's presence, to continue going to the mill and working beside him each and every day.

"Patrick," she said gently, kissing his cheek. "I love you and I need you to step back on this."

"Why did she marry him?"

Sarah sighed. "Because she loves him."

Pat gave her a disbelieving look.

"Some part of her loves him or she would never have done it."

"I should've just let Cal finish him off that one time then maybe they could've run away together and been happy." Why had he stopped the man? It would've been such a simple way to solve all of their problems.

"Wishful thinking," Sarah replied. "But...you know I think the world of Cal but he's not going to save your sister. He can't even save himself. Come on." She took his hand and led him back to where Kate was huddling beneath the blanket, looking miserable.

"I'm sorry for wakin' ye guys," Kate said the moment they returned.

"Oh, we weren't sleepin'," Pat replied.

Sarah smacked him.

Kate looked between the two of them. "Well, now I'm feelin' even worse about it."

"Katie," Pat began, giving his wife a look. "What do ye wish me to do?"

"Lend me yer spare key for me house so I can go home."

"It's late. Ye'd be better off spendin' the night here." The thought of her going back into that house with the man who had just thrown her from it horrified him.

But Kate shook her head. "Me children are there so that's where I need to be."

"Alright, then I'll drive ye."

"No, I'd prefer to walk."

"Then I'll go with ye," Pat insisted. "I don't want ye walkin' by yerself."

"I walked here by meself."

"Sure, and it looks like ye nearly died on the way."

"Fine." Kate gave in with a resigned sigh. "Ye can walk me but yer not settin' foot near the house. I don't need ye confrontin' Hugh."

Sarah left to fetch a coat for Kate to wear and Pat followed her. "If he does somethin' like this to her again—"

She interrupted him with a kiss.

"What was that for?" He asked, slightly flustered.

"I'm just thinking that I married a good man."

"Not tossin' ye out of the house is a fairly low bar."

"Still." Sarah wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug. "I expect you back in a half hour."

"Forty minutes, more like," Pat replied. "Katie's a slow walker." He kissed her. "Don't be fallin' asleep until I get back."

As they stepped outside into the cold, Pat looked over at Kate. His sister with the fiery temper who was never afraid to speak her mind. Any other time, he would've sworn that she would never have tolerated someone treating her the way Hugh treated her. She would've torn them to pieces. But yet, here she was, not only tolerating it but running straight back into it.

"Katie—" He began, intending to demand answers.

"Don't," Kate cut him off and then, softer. "I don't know why."

They walked a bit longer in silence.

"Katie," Pat began, choosing his words carefully. "If ye want me to kill him, I will."

Kate looked at him and managed a smile. "Yer a good brother," she said softly. "But ye don't need to be killin' anyone."

"We'll see."