Katje and Winthrop Frayne

April 1, 1971

11:45 pm

“Is he asleep?” Katie asked.

“Fever’s down and he is out.  God bless antibiotics!”  Win dropped onto the bed, rubbing his unruly red hair with his hands.

“I know that Jimmy’s only been sick twice, but he certainly goes all out, doesn’t he?”  Katie sat up in bed and scooted closer to her husband, kneading his shoulders.

“Mmmmmm,” Win moaned happily. “Magic fingers.”

“I appreciate you, husband, dear.  Not many fathers would stay up half the night with a sick three-year-old.”

“Well, more should.”  Win pulled away, facing her.  “You were up with him last night, and on duty all day today.  You took him to the doctor and waited for hours to be seen. You picked up his prescription.  You kept him calm and you made dinner.  The least I could do was take over when I got home.”

“Still,”  Katie started, but Win placed a finger on her lips.

“Sweetheart, you were exhausted, and you haven’t been well yourself.”  Win pulled her down, so she was laying on the bed, facing him.  “Jimmy’s my son, too.  Just because I’m a man, doesn’t mean I’m excused from taking care of him.”

“But it’s my job.”

“And you do it extremely well,” Win assured her.  “But it is my job, too, and I let you do the lion’s share.  Believe me, I am capable of coddling a fussy toddler without having a nervous breakdown.”  He raised one ginger eyebrow.  “Although, I now have a much bigger appreciation of what you do.  I think I’ll stick with nature tours and counting owl pellets.”

Katie giggled.  “Motherhood is not for wimps,” she told him.

“No it isn’t,” Win agreed, wrapping his arms around her.  “Our poor son was lying there, looking at me with those big green eyes, asking me when his ear was going to stop hurting.  It nearly broke my heart.  I don’t know how you do it.”

“Well, it helps that our son is rarely sick, and when he is, he’s usually a little trooper.” Katie nestled her head against her husband’s chest.  “I hate to see him grow up an only child.”  Her voice took on a wheedling tone.  “Jimmy should have a little brother or sister.  He’d make such a wonderful big brother, don’t you think?”

“Katie,” Win said, a warning in his voice.  “We’ve had this conversation.  I’d love to have more children, but you know what the doctor said.”

“Pooh on the doctor!” Katie huffed.  “I’m plenty strong enough to have another child.  Dr. March has never had a child, how can he possibly know how strong I am?”

“Darling, I understand what you are saying, but I can’t.”  It was breaking Win’s heart all over again.  “Rheumatoid arthritis is serious, and you know it.  Jim needs you.  I need you.  How can you be willing to risk your health?  I’m not willing to put you in danger.”

Katie rolled over, turning her back on her husband.  Win reached his hand out to touch her shoulder, but she jerked away.  He could tell by the way her back shuddered, that she was crying.

“Katie, please don’t cry.”  Win pulled her close, easily overcoming her half-hearted attempt to resist.  “I almost lost you when Jimmy was born.  If Aunt Nell hadn’t been here to help me while you were so sick, I don’t know how I would have survived.  With Aunt Nell gone, I don’t know how I would cope if you were hospitalized again -- or worse, if you died.”  Win moved his lips against Katie’s ear, letting his own tears flow.  “Don’t make me go through that again.  Please, Sweetheart.  Don’t.”

Katie was silent, her husband’s tears hot against her neck.  Finally, she sighed and rolled over, taking Win’s face in her hands. “Yes,” she said.  “You’re right.  I never want to leave you or Jimmy.  I love you, Winthrop.  I’ll stop.”

“Thank you.”  Win kissed the top of Katie’s head.  “If you really need another child, we’ll look into adopting.  I’m sure Uncle James would help us.  Maybe it would even help pull him out of his depression.”

“I love you Winthrop Frayne.”  Katie pressed her mouth to his.

“I love you, too, wife.”  Win looked into her eyes as the clock in the hall struck midnight.  “Happy seventh wedding anniversary, my special girl.”

“Oh, Win!” Katie exclaimed.  “I’ve been so caught up with Jimmy, I completely forgot.  I haven’t even had a chance to get you a card.”

“You just gave me the best gift of all,” Win told her.  “You said yes.  You chose Jimmy and me.””

“I will always chose you.  There is no one else.” Katie brushed a strand of red hair  off of his forehead.  “Not now.  Not ever.”  Katie looked deeply into his eyes, reciting the vow they had exchanged seven years before.  “I am yours.  You are mine.  We are one.”

“Forever and always.  One hand. One heart.  One love.” Win  added his voice to hers, and they finished together, “One life, for eternity.

Sarah and Jack  Hart

Jan 1, 1972

The sun sank into the ocean, casting a brilliant ribbon trail across the water.  Sarah closed her eyes, listening for the hiss as the hot sun touched the water.  Logically, she knew that it was a fallacy, but it was a story that she loved, and thus she took every opportunity to perpetuate it.

“Hissssssssssssssss,”  Jack whispered, his lips against her ear.  He followed up by nibbling on her earlobe.  “Sssssssssssss.”

Sarah leaned in to him.  “And that is why I love that story,” she giggled.

Jack pulled away in mock anger.  “Hmph!  Here I thought you loved me.”

“Oh, I love you too.”  Sarah stroked his face.  A day’s growth of whiskers scraped against her palm. “Who wouldn’t love a man who arranges for his mother-in-law to island hop in order to baby-sit, so he can take his wife camping for their seventh wedding anniversary?”

Jack grinned at her.  “Are you having fun?”

“Yes.  I love it here.”

“Well,” he said, pulling her back against his chest and wrapping his arms around her.  “I just thought that seven years--seven sacred pools--it seemed perfect.”

“Jack,” Sarah reminded him.  “These pools are not and never have been, sacred, and there are a few more than seven.”

“Humor the haole,” Jack whispered, nibbling again on her ear.  “He was trying to be romantic.”

“Mmmmm.  He succeeded.” Sarah kissed her husband, slowly and sweetly.  “Shall we swim?” she asked, gesturing toward the waterfall.  “This pool is fairly isolated.”

“It’s also fairly freezing,” Jack reminded her.  “It was cold after our hike, and the sun was still up, then.”

“Chicken?”  Sarah teased.

“Sensible,” he countered.  “The sun has set, the night is cooling, and I’d much rather warm up with my wife than freeze my...” Sarah cut him off with another kiss.

“In our sleeping bag built for two?”

“A brilliant purchase, was it not?”

“Indeed it was, ipo.  Brilliant.”  Sarah allowed Jack to pull  her to her feet.  “But I still need to go down to the pool.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Sarah kissed him, sucking slightly on his lower lip.  “Because that is where I left the champagne.”

“Chilling?”  Jack sighed at his wife’s nodding head.  “I’’ll get it,” he said. “But I’ll expect a reward when I return.”

“I think I know just the thing,” Sarah told him with a smile and another long kiss.  “Hurry.”

Jack watched her as she moved toward the tent, her lithe body making promises he well knew she could keep.  Seven years and two children, and she still made his heart skip a beat.  Turning toward the waterfall, Jack hurried.

Peter and Helen Belden

August 28, 1972

Peter Belden looked at the clock for the fifth time in as many minutes.   Four o’clock.  Never had a Monday seemed to drag on quite like this one.  One more hour, he thought, a smile creeping across his face, Just one more.  Peter let his mind wander, checking items off his list:

Champagne. Check.

Strawberries.  Check.

Chocolate.  Check.

Flowers. Check.

Dinner reservation.  Check.

Hotel suite.  Check.

This was going to be a very special evening.  Seven years of marriage was a milestone that definitely deserved celebration, especially since some had doubted it would ever last. 

Now, seven years and three children later, Peter knew that he loved his wife more than he had on their wedding day, and he was eagerly anticipating showing Helen how much he loved and appreciated her tonight.

Reaching into his desk drawer, Peter removed a small box, wrapped in silver paper.  It had taken weeks to find the perfect gift, but he was sure that Helen would love it.  Setting the box on top of his desk, Peter looked again at the clock.  Thirty-three more minutes.

Helen closed the oven door on the macaroni and cheese.  She checked her watch as she removed it.  Four fifteen.  Alicia should be arriving any minute to baby-sit the children.  Helen felt a small pang at the thought of leaving her children overnight, even with her sister.  It was followed immediately by a larger pang, when she realized she was looking forward to spending time alone with Peter, just the two of them.

Tugging off her wedding rings,  Helen looped her watch band through them, securing the clasp and setting the whole thing on the window sill behind the sink. before making short work of the dishes.  Drying her hands on her apron, she replaced her watch and rings, and went to check on the children.

Five year old Brian was flat on his back on the den rug, while four year old Mart and three year old Trixie stacked large cardboard bricks all around him, building Brian into their box.  Giggling, Trixie stretched up and placed the last brick  into place.

Mart stepped back , cupping his hands around his mouth.  “Brian?  Where are you?” he called.  “Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

With a growl, Brian exploded out of his tomb, scattering the bricks around the room, and sending both Mart and Trixie into shrieks of laughter.

“Me!  Me!”  Trixie shouted, her curly blonde hair bouncing in her excitement.  “My turn!”  She threw herself on the floor, her little legs wiggling in her pink denim shorts.  “Brick me in.”

“You can’t be inside,” Mart protested.  “You have to be still.”

“I can be as still as you.”  Trixie stuck out her lower lip, and glared at her brother.

“No you can’t,”  Mart shook his head of blond curls.

“Yes I can!”  Trixie closed her eyes, held her breath, and quieted her legs.

“Trixie,”  Brian warned, “don’t hold your breath.  Just stop wiggling.”

Trixie exhaled in a whoosh.  Eyeing her oldest brother, she smiled and asked, “I can do it, can’t I Brian?”

“Sure you can,” Brian told her.  “You can do anything, if you try.”  He started collecting bricks, and Mart grudgingly began to help him.

Helen watched for a few minutes, before climbing the stairs to prepare for her date.  As she reached the landing, the telephone began to ring.

Peter pulled his car into the drive.  Odd, he thought.  Where is Alicia’s car?  Getting out of his vehicle, he checked his watch.  Just enough time for a quick shower.  Taking the steps two at a time, he entered the kitchen.

“Daddy!”  Trixie waved her fork, showering Mart with cheesy macaroni.

“There’s my princess,” Peter said, dropping a kiss on top of her head.  “And my big boys!”  He rubbed a hand across first Mart’s blond, and then Brian’s dark hair.  “Where’s Moms?”

Brian swallowed, his dark eyes worried.  “She’s in the bathroom.  I think she’s crying.”

“Crying?”  Peter asked.  “Why is she crying?”

“I don’t know.”  Brian took another  bite of his dinner.  “She went upstairs.  The phone rang.  When Moms came down, her eyes were all red.  She gave us dinner, and then went in the bathroom.”

“I’ll go check on her.”  Peter gave his eldest son a pat on the back and went in search of his wife.  He found her in the downstairs powder room.  “Helen?  Sweetheart, open the door.”

Slowly, the door opened.  Helen looked out at her husband, her eyes swollen and wet.  “Oh, Peter,” she sobbed, burring her face in his shoulder.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?”  Peter wrapped his arms around his wife, pulling her close.

“Alicia called,” Helen managed to say.  “She was in an accident on her way here.  She isn’t coming.”

“Is Alicia okay?” Peter asked.  His sister-in-law was a sometimes difficult woman, but he wished her no harm.

“Yes.  Alicia is fine.  Some lady turned left into her car.”  Helen  pulled her face away from her husband, looking into Peter’s face.  “She wasn’t hurt, but her car isn’t drivable.  She isn’t coming, Peter.  All of your plans are ruined.  I’m so sorry!”  Helen started to cry again, and Peter pulled her close, his mind racing.

“Shh, shh.  Sweetheart, it’s okay.”  Peter successfully hid his own disappointment.  “Shhh.  Alicia is fine.  We’re fine.  Shhh.”

“But all of our plans,”  Helen’s blue eyes were clouded with despair.  “They’re all ruined.”

“They are only ruined if we allow them to be, and I don’t plan on that.”  Peter hugged his wife again, and then pushed her away, gently wiping tears from her cheeks.  “We don’t need fancy plans, sweetie.  Not when we have each other.  You get the kids in bed, and meet me in the guest room at eight thirty.  I’ll take care of the rest.”

“Peter...”

“Shh.  Trust me.”  Peter ran one finger down his wife’s cheek.  “Just trust me.”

Helen nodded, her breathing still a little ragged.  She reached deep, and forced a smile.  “I will,” she whispered.  “I will.”  She kissed him lightly, and headed for the kitchen.  Peter started for his car.

Trixie was the last to go to sleep.  Three readings of Peter Rabbit, two different lullabies, and a drink of water later, she was finally asleep.  Helen stroked a golden curl , brushing it off of her daughter’s flushed face, and tucked  the blanket tightly around her shoulders.  Turning on the night light, she pulled the door nearly closed, and headed downstairs, stopping in the master bedroom to pick up a wrapped package.

The lights were off downstairs, except for the light in the guest room.  Helen  moved throughout the darkened house with practiced ease, pausing in the doorway.

“Madame,”  Peter appeared at the door, speaking with an exaggerated French accent.  “Your table awaits.”  He offered his arm, and she took it, allowing him to draw her into the room.

The guest room was lit with candles: Big ones, little ones, candles of every shape, color and size.  Nat King Cole crooned softly from the stereo, and Helen could see that the drop-leaf table had been pulled into the middle of the room and set with the good china.  Peter led Helen to the table and held her chair as she was seated.

“Plan B,” he said, pouring them each a glass of wine.  “Pizza by candlelight.”

Helen took the glass, tears welling in her eyes.  “This is lovely,” she said.  “Perfectly lovely.”

“You are lovely, my wife.” Peter placed a slice of pizza on her plate, and raised his glass.  “To the most wonderful girl in the world:  My wife.”

“No,” Helen corrected, lifting her own glass. “To the most wonderful man in the world:  My husband.”

Peter smiled, his eyes dark with love and passion.  “A compromise,” he suggested.  “To us.  To our marriage, and another seven years at least as wonderful as the last seven.”

“I can definitely drink to that,” Helen agreed.  They touched glasses and drank.  Helen let her eyes take in the candlelit room, the turned down bed, and the closed door.  Setting down her glass, she gazed deeply into her husband’s eyes.  “You know, I’m not really all that hungry.”  She looked at the bed, and back at Peter.

The pizza got cold.

Saraid and Tim Mangan

February 14, 1973

Saraid put an extra swirl of frosting on the last cupcake and reached for the jar of colored sprinkles.

“Mmmm,” Tim whispered in her ear, dipping his finger in the frosting as he nuzzled the back of her neck.  “Yum.”

“Me, or the chocolate?” she asked.

“Both.”  Tim rubbed his frosting covered finger across her lips, before placing it in his own mouth.  Tim spun his wife around and kissed her, licking the chocolate from her lips.  “Happy anniversary, darlin’.”

“Right back at you, soldier boy,” Saraid told him.  “Now move away from my cupcakes, and hand me those sprinkles.”

“Yes, ma’am!”  Tim complied, watching as Saraid covered each cake with tiny red and white candies.  “Are you disappointed that we’re not doing anything special for our anniversary?”

Saraid shook her head, setting down the sprinkles as she turned to face her husband.  “Not at all.  There is no place I’d rather be than right here, with you.”  She raised her hands and cupped his face, drawing him closer to her.  “We’ve been married for seven years, yet this is only our third anniversary together.  Together is what makes it perfect.”  Tim leaned in and kissed her again, using the distraction to sneak a cupcake.  “Put it back, Sergeant!” Saraid admonished with a smile.  “Those are for the party.”

With a show of exaggerated reluctance, Tim set the cupcake back among its brethren.  “How come Danny gets cake and I don’t?” he asked.

“Because tomorrow is Danny’s birthday, that’s why.  You can have one tomorrow, once I know i have enough for the guests.”

Tim looked at the cupcakes, mentally tallying them.  “Sar,” he said.  “You made twenty-four cupcakes.  How many kids are coming to this party?”

Saraid counted them off on her fingers.  “Brad, Mikey, Jason, David, Samantha, Jennifer, Tracey and Stephanie.  Eight.”

“Four of those are girls!”  Tim sounded surprised.

Saraid laughed.  “He is your son, dear.  Definitely your son!”

Tim joined her in laughing, and then kissed her again.  “Danny likes the ladies, eh?”

“And the ladies like him,” Saraid replied.  “You couldn’t deny that boy if you wanted to; he is your very image, in looks and charm.”

“Fortunately, he has your brains.”  Tim’s face sobered.  “When I left, he was barely more than a baby.  This morning, he read the comics to me.  My son will be five years old tomorrow, and I’ve already missed half of his life.”

“So don’t miss the next half,” Saraid said, lifting her face for another kiss.  “The war is over, right?  No more leaving.”

“Yes, sort of.”  Tim stepped back, grasping his wife’s hands.   “I want to talk to you about that.”

“About what?”  Saraid said, slightly apprehensive.

“About the future.  Please?”  Saraid nodded, and allowed her husband to lead her out of the kitchen and into the living room.  Settled on the couch, she gazed into his deep blue eyes, waiting.  Whatever she was expecting, Tim completely surprised her.

“I’ve been accepted into Officer Candidate School.”

“What?”  Saraid whispered in disbelief.

Tim laughed.  “OCS.  They accepted me. I report on May first.”

“But, Tim, what about your leg?”  Saraid reached out and gently touched his injured leg.  “How did you pass the physical?”

“Temporary deferment until April,” Tim told her, covering her hand with his.  “Since I have the best nurse on the planet at my disposal, and am expected to make a full recovery.  So, what do you think?”

“I’m so proud of you!”  Saraid leaned forward and kissed him, her turquoise eyes glinting with tears.  “I know that you will make a wonderful officer.”

“With you beside me, I can’t fail.  I love you.” Tim clutched her hands, bringing them to his lips.  “I love you more today than I did the day I married you.  Speaking of that day,” Tim reached under the pillow on the couch and pulled out a rectangular box.  “Happy anniversary.”

“Timothy,” Saraid said, her voice stern, although her eyes were dancing.  “We agreed.  No presents.”

“I lied.”  Tim pushed the box into her hands.  “Captain Morris did something similar for his wife, and I thought it was a neat idea.  I hope you like it.”

Saraid removed the lid, and caught her breath.  “Oh!  Tim, it is beautiful.”  She lifted out a delicate bracelet of gold chains.  Six small charms hung from the links, each one a different gem.”

“It’s an anniversary bracelet,” Tim explained, fastening it around her wrist.  “Each piece represents a year of our married life.  The first year is gold--the bracelet.  then there is the garnet, the pearl, the blue topaz, the sapphire, the amethyst--which is Danny’s birthstone, and the onyx.”  He gazed into her eyes.  “Someday, God willing, there will be ninety-nine charms on this bracelet, celebrating one-hundred-years of wedded bliss.”

“My arm will break,” Saraid teased, tears in her eyes.  “I love it, and I love you.”  She kissed him, long and hard.  Pulling away, she smiled, “But you still can’t have a cupcake until tomorrow.”

“Can I have my wife tonight?” Tim asked.

“You can have your wife for always.”  Saraid rose from the couch and held out her hand.  Tim allowed her to pull him to his feet, sweeping her into his arms for another long kiss.  With a smile, Saraid pulled away, leading him down the hall to their room.

Matthew and Madeleine Wheeler

June 10, 1974

Paris is lovely, even if it is past the first flush of spring.  Madeleine Wheeler gazed out the window of her hotel suite as the sun began to rise over the city.  The temperatures were still pleasant, and the weather conducive to long, leisurely strolls along the Champs Elyses.  Why then, did she feel so incredibly sad?

Behind her, Matthew snorted softly, rolling over in the king sized bed.  She turned to watch him, her handsome husband.  His red hair stood out in stark contrast to the whiter-than-white bed linens.

The Hotel Crillon was the penultimate in  luxury hotels.  This suite was nearly as large as their apartment in New York, immaculately appointed, and came with both a personal maid and a butler.  Madeleine felt as if all she had to do was think of a need, and someone was there to fill it.  She should feel elated and pampered; instead, she felt restless and trapped.

Moving with barely a whisper of silk, Madeleine left the bedroom for the sitting room.  Pouring herself a glass of water from the perfectly chilled pitcher, she sank down on the settee, fighting tears.  “This is ridiculous,” she whispered to herself.  “Lainie, you have a husband who loves you, a beautiful little girl, and more money than you can spend.  Stop this!”

“Stop what, Sweetheart?”  Matthew’s question took her by surprise, and Madeleine smothered a gasp.  Her husband stood behind her, clad in black silk pajama bottoms and a green silk robe, his red hair standing up in sleep induced tufts.

Madeleine tried to compose herself, but she couldn’t quite manage.  Tears welled in her hazel eyes, spilling over to run down her cheeks.  “Oh, Matthew!” she whispered.  “I am so very unhappy.”

It was the wrong thing to say.  She knew it the moment the words left her mouth.  Matthew looked stricken.  His hands clenched, and his mouth tightened into a thin line.  His voice was flat as he asked, “Is it something I’ve done?  Or something I haven’t?”

“No!”  The tears came faster, her words lost in sobs.   “It isn’t you at all, it’s me.”  Madeleine buried her face in her hands.

Matthew’s arms were around her in an instant, pulling her close as he stroked her hair.  Madeleine leaned against him, welcoming his comfort, even as she struggled with her emotions.

“What can I do, darling?” Madeleine felt even worse when she heard the pain in her husband’s voice.

“I don’t know!” she wailed.  “I don’t know what is wrong with me.  All I know is that I need...something.”

“Talk to me, Lainie-love.  Tell me what you need.”  Matthew pushed her slightly away, wiping her tears with his fingers.  “Let me help you.”

“I love you, Mattie.  I love you so much.”  Madeleine turned her liquid eyes to him.  “I just feel so restless and adrift.  I have no purpose in my life.  Honey doesn’t need me; she never really did, and now she’s going off to school in the fall.  I can’t just go through my life spending money.  I can’t.  I need more.  I just don’t know what.”

Matthew was at a loss.  He gazed down at his wife.  His perfect, calm wife had fallen apart, and he didn’t know how to fix her.  Seven years they had been married, and he had never seen her like this.  Never.  Not when she had been suffering through a difficult pregnancy.  Not when she had been hospitalized for nearly six weeks, after Honey’s birth.  Not even after the doctor had told her she shouldn’t have more children, and Matthew had had his vasectomy without discussing it with her first.  Anger, yes.  Despair such as this, no.  He wrapped his arms around her again, and held her, his mind frantically searching for a solution.

Slowly, Madeleine pulled herself back together.  She was hideously embarrassed, by her outburst.  What would Mother say? she asked herself.  Why does it matter? her self asked back.  “I’m sorry,” she managed, pulling slightly away.  “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You need a job.”  For a moment, Matthew wasn’t sure who was more shocked.  Madeleine’s hazel eyes widened, and then narrowed in confusion.  Matthew took a deep breath and explained.  “You feel at loose ends, right?”  Madeleine nodded.  “Then let me help you find something to...tie them up.”

“What?”  Madeleine asked her husband.  “What can I possibly do, except arrange flowers and wear Chanel?  I have no skills, Matthew.”

Matthew cradled her face gently in his hands.  “You’re kidding, right?  Madeleine, you have amazing talents.”  She gazed at him, the tiniest bit of hope struggling through her despair.  “Think about it,” he continued.  “You have the ability to make almost anyone feel at ease.  You are capable of planning the most elaborate parties, yet make them feel intimate. You are fluent in three languages, and a shrewd negotiator.  You, Madeleine Wheeler are charming, diplomatic, beautiful and intelligent.”

“I think you have a definite bias.”  Madeleine managed a tenuous smile.  “But that is one more reason why I love you.”

Matthew shook his head.  “I may be biased, but that doesn’t make what I said untrue.  I love you, Maddie.  Do you really think I would fall for an empty-headed socialite?  I love you for your brains, your beauty, your generous heart, and for the fact that I can talk business with you and trust your instincts.  You are my partner, as well as my wife.”

“Your partner?”

“Of course.”  Matthew released her face, reaching for her hands.  “Do you really think I could have closed the Charboneaux deal without you?  You totally disarmed the man, finessed him right to the table...”

“...where you finished him off.”  Madeleine squeezed Matthew’s hands.  “I didn’t do very much, not really.”

“Oh, I disagree,” Matthew said.  “You did all of the hard work.  All of the work I just don’t have the patience to do myself.  We are  a team, Maddie-love.  I couldn’t do it without you.  I’m just sorry I haven’t made that perfectly clear.”  Matthew brushed a strand of dark golden hair away from her face.  “I can rectify that, though.  If it would help, I’ll make you CEO of Wheeler, Inc.”

“CEO in charge of finessing the clients?”  Madeleine laughed, a genuine laugh.  She sobered.  “You would really do that?  Give me a title?”

“I’ll even give you a paycheck, if that means you will understand how important you are.”

Madeleine searched her husband’s eyes, taking comfort in the honesty she found.  “I don’t need a title,” she told him, feeling a weight lift from her heart.  “I’m more than happy to be your silent partner.”

“My confidant, my beloved friend, my trusted advisor.  Am I forgetting anything?”  Matthew asked, his green eyes twinkling.

“I think that just about covers it,” Madeleine mused.  “Just don’t forget wife, greatest admirer, and lover.”

“I definitely don’t want to forget the latter!”  Matthew looked at the grandfather clock in the corner.  “We have some time before our breakfast arrives, my dear.  Shall we get a head start celebrating our anniversary?”

“I think that is a lovely idea.”  Madeleine blushed faintly as she rose.  Boldly, she held out her hand.  “And perhaps we can continue to celebrate after breakfast, and after lunch?  Before tea, definitely, and let’s not forget dinner.”  She smiled.

“Anything you say, partner.”  Matthew took her hand, and then swept her into his arms.   “Anything you say.”

Patricia and Edward Lynch

October 16, 1975

“Happy Anniversary, Mummy,” Diana said, holding out  seven crumpled yellow daisies.

“Thank you, Sweetheart.”  Patricia took the flowers from her daughter, and dropped a kiss on the six-year-old’s forehead.  “I love daisies.”

“I know.”  Diana grinned, her missing front teeth lending a quirkiness to her beautiful little face.  “Daddy told me that you had them in your wedding boo-kay.”

“Daddy is right.”  Patricia raised her delphinium blue eyes to those of her husband.  “I had yellow daisies and little bluebells in my bouquet.”

“I like daisies, too,” Diana decided.  “They look friendly.”

“I agree.”  Patricia ran a hand through her daughter’s dark hair.  “Now, speaking of friends, are you all packed for your sleepover?”

“Yes, Mummy.”  Diana bounced on her toes in anticipation, ticking items off on her fingers.  “I packed my toofbrush, my hairbrush, my pajamas, my slippers, clothes for tomorrow and four pairs of underpanties.  I also have my pillow, my blanket and George.”

“George is going to the Belden’s with you?”  Edward Lynch asked.

“Of course, Daddy.  George can’t stay home by himself.  He’d miss me.”  Diana looked at her father, her violet eyes determined.  “He’s only a baby giraffe, you know.”

“Of course he is.  How silly of me to forget that.” Edward smiled at his little girl.  “Why don’t you go get your things, and we’ll get this show on the road?”

“Okay, Daddy!”  Diana ran  out of the room, leaving her parents alone.

“Happy anniversary, Patsy.”  Edward slipped his arms around his wife and kissed her soundly.  “Are you ready for our adventure?”

“I think so, Eddie.”  Patricia pulled away.  “I just wish you’d tell me where we are going.  All the suspense is starting to drive me nuts.”

“Ahh.  But that would ruin the surprise.”  Edward kissed her again.  “Give me my moment of mystery, dearest, if you please.”

“If I must.”  Patricia shifted gears.  “Do you think Diana will really be okay?  She hasn’t spent many nights away from us.”

“I think she’ll be fine,” Edward assured his wife.  “She loves spending time with the Belden’s, Helen is great with the kids, and it’s only one night.” He leaned over and nibbled at her neck.  “Besides, Peter knows how to get hold of us, if he needs to.”

“Oh!  You told Peter where we are going, but you won’t tell me?”  Patricia tried to look indignant, but she couldn’t quite pull it off.

“Man talk, dearest.  Man talk!”  Edward ducked her good natured swing at his head, and went to help Diana with her suitcase.

It was with a mix of joy and sadness, Patricia watched her daughter wave casually, and run off to play with Mart and Trixie.  She was happy that Diana was excited, but a small part of her wished the little girl had at least shown some indication that she would miss her parents.  Ed noticed that his wife looked a little wistful, so he reached out and grasped her hand, bringing it to his lips, even as he navigated down the highway.

“She’ll miss us,” he said.  “Don’t worry.”

Patricia looked at him.  “I don’t want her to miss us,” she said.  “Well, not exactly.  I just didn’t think she’d be so happy to see us go.”  She laughed.  “Isn’t that ridiculous?  I’m upset because my daughter is confident enough to be away from me without fears and tears.  I must be out of my mind.”

“Well, I knew you were distracted,” Ed teased.  “We’ve been on the road almost forty minutes, and you haven’t asked me where we are headed.”

“Would you tell me?”

“No.  But I will tell you that we are about half-way there, and any minute things should start looking a little familiar.”  Ed winked at his wife.  “Have you figured it out?”

Patricia gave him a winning smile.  “One more hint?” she wheedled.  “Please?”

“Hmmm.” Ed pretended to ponder the idea.  “Well, some might say it is where we began.”  He turned twinkling eyes toward her.  “The beginning of everything, Patsy.  Everything important, that is.”

“Kutcher’s?”  Patricia’s delphinium blue eyes widened.  “We’re going to Kutcher’s?”

“That is where it all began,”  Ed repeated, raising her hand to his lips.  “I’ll never forget that summer.  You in your pink apron, wiping down the tables...”

“While you wandered around the course in your caddy uniform.”  Patricia smiled at the memory.  “You looked so dashing.  Every time you walked by the lounge, I couldn’t keep myself from staring.”

“I couldn’t believe when you agreed to walk out with me,”  Ed reminisced.  “The sweetest, most beautiful girl in the world, and you went with me.  A gawky college boy wearing plaid pants.”

“You didn’t wear your uniform when you took me out,” Patricia reminded him.  “Not when we walked along the lake, and definitely not when you took me dancing.”  She stroked his cheek.  “I fell completely in love with you on that dance floor.”

“I didn’t have to fall, I was already flat out in love with you.”  Ed smiled at the memory.  “It was a wonderful summer, and the first time I’d ever acted so impulsively.”  He chuckled.  “My father was shocked when I asked him for Grandma’s ring.  He kept asking me if I was sure, marrying a girl I’d only dated a few weeks.”

“And what did you tell him,” Patricia asked, even though she knew the answer by heart.

“I told him that I had loved you all the way through school, but I had just been too stupid to realize it until I saw you in the Catskill moonlight.  That’s when he handed me the ring and told me to propose to you in that same moonlight.”

“And a more beautiful proposal there never has been.”

“Nor a more beautiful bride,” Ed commented.  “You were so gorgeous, with the autumn leaves all around, carrying those daisies.  I swear, my heart stopped beating.”

“I could barely walk down the aisle,” Patricia admitted.  “You were so handsome, my knees just froze.”

“It was nice of the Kutcher’s to offer us the lake for our wedding, even if it meant we got married on a Wednesday.”  Ed’s eyes warmed as he looked at his wife.  “And that Wednesday night, in the bridal suite...”

Patricia blushed, and sighed contentedly.  “Diana was conceived that night.”

“I remember.  That is why I reserved the same suite for tonight.”

“Oh, Eddie!”  Patricia’s eyes welled.  “Do you think?  We’ve tried for so long.”

“Well, it worked the first time, didn’t it?”  Ed smiled, a little tentatively.  “I can only afford one night, but it only took one night seven years ago.  I guess you just have to ask yourself if you feel that number seven might just be lucky?”

“Every day I have spent with you has been my lucky day.”  Patricia placed her hand on top of Ed’s as he began to turn the car onto Kutcher Road.

As the ever-familiar squat buildings of Kutcher Country Club came into view behind the reds and golds of the autumn trees, Ed looked at his wife, and said, “For me, as well.  I guess that makes me the luckiest man in the world.”

Author notes

Thank you, dearest editors!

This story is written in celebration of Seven years of Jixemitri.  Jix rocks, and I hope to be here to celebrate 70 years.

In this story I have a breech in continuity.  In my universe, Julianna and Hans were married in 1983.  However, I goofed, because August 6, 1983 was a Saturday, and the invitation in #17 definitely says Friday.  So, they either misprinted the date, or got married in 1982.  I went with the misprinted date--otherwise, just ignore the discrepancy.  Thanks! 

In other news, seven must have been lucky since about nine months later, Bobby Belden and Larry and Terry Lynch arrived.

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