Remember WENN and its characters are copyright Rupert Holmes, Howard Meltzer Prods, and AMC (though they don't deserve it). No infringement is implied. The original characters within this series are copyright Michele Savage as are the original stories.

Many thanks to My beta-readers! I'd call this story a definite Hanky Story. Watch those open cubicles.. ;-) And Please, Feedback is always a good thing. :-)

Valiant Journeys: Baby Singer #10

by Michele Savage

July 18th, 1944

Hilary sat lengthwise on the couch in the green room, Alexander propped on her bent legs. Bethie lay asleep curled in a loose ball at the other end of the couch, her head pillowed on her mother's feet. Hilary took a deep worried breath and tried to ignore the news coming from the corner radio. The baby giggled and waved his arms, gaining her attention.

She let him grasp her thumbs and pull himself up to a stand on her stomach. He bounced a couple times before falling back against her legs. She smiled, "Your daddy would be so proud of you, sweetheart."

Alexander burbled happily unaware of the worry and fear going through his mother's thoughts. She hadn't heard so much as a peep from Jeff at all in the last two and a half months. The longer it went between letters, the more frightened and worried she got.

She recalled the last letter she'd received from him in mid-May that stated that his troop had been on the move again. She didn't know to where, there had been nothing in the papers regarding the 47th Infantry lately and it worried her. It was as if they'd dropped off the face of the planet.

Lately the news of the war seemed to be getting bloodier and bloodier. Not that the news reports ever told that, but one would have to be quite naive to think otherwise. The allies are beginning to make headway in Normandy, the papers had been bragging. Yes, Hilary thought, but at what cost? She took a deep breath and determinedly cleared her mind of worried thoughts. Perhaps she'd give Jeff's mother a ring, to see if she'd heard from him.

The door to the green room opened and Hilary looked up to see that of all people, Grace Cavendish had walked into the room.

"Well, if it isn't the icing on my day." Hilary deadpanned.

"It's nice to see you too, Hilary." Grace replied with a smile.

"You'll excuse me if I don't feel like fighting old battles. I'm too worried about my husband who is busy fighting new ones," Hilary smiled wanly, "But just for old times sake, What -are- you doing here? Hollywood get sick of you?"

"No, I got sick of it," Grace walked closer, "Your children?"

"Yes" She answered as Alexander waved his hands at the new person, "this is Alexander," She pointed toward the end of the couch, "Bethie didn't sleep well last night. I think she's coming down with a cold,"

"They are beautiful children, Hilary." Grace told her with a hint of longing in her voice. She sat in one of the chairs from the table that she'd pulled closer to the couch. "Hilary," she started hesitantly, "how is Victor doing?"

"Doing? He's fine, why?"

"I --no reason--I was just curious."

Hilary suddenly smiled, "If you are fishing for whether or not he's seeing anyone, the answer is no. Between running this place and helping to keep our morale up he hasn't had time to take himself out, let alone someone else."

"I noticed there were three stars on the banner hanging on the front door." Grace said, "Who . . ." she let the question hang when a brief sad look passed over Hilary's features. She recovered quickly, Grace noticed, typical Hilary.

"Scott Sherwood, I don't think you've met him. He ran the station when we thought Victor was gone. He and Betty are married. C.J. McHugh, remember him? He was our engineer, I think he was here the last time you were," Hilary explained, then added hesitantly, "and Jeffrey." Hilary laughed almost melancholic, "He's never seen his son."

"But Jeff has a family. I didn't think they took family men." Grace said, surprised.

"Jeffrey is representing WENN along with the United States." Hilary explained, "He's working as a front line correspondent attached to an Infantry unit. He's not technically in the service, but he might as well be."

The green room door opened and Nick peeked in, "Excuse me, Hil, have you seen Betty? We need our scripts for Hands Of Time in the next few minutes."

"No, Nicholas I haven't. Ask Gertie, she should know." Hilary replied. She eased her feet from under Bethie and turned, sitting Alexander up so she could stand. She slipped her feet back into her shoes and walked to the playpen in the corner of the room. "You be good for Mommy and be quiet so sister can get some sleep." He quietly turned his attention to a set of blocks in the corner.

She turned to Grace, "Bethie usually screamed to high heaven when we put her in there." Both women walked out of the green room, "Victor is probably in his office," Hilary grabbed Nick by the arm as he walked past them, "Did you find Betty?"

"Yes, she told me the scripts were in the writer's room, I was just heading that way," he answered.

"Hilary," Gertie spoke up from her chair, "Jeff's mother called."

"She did?" Hilary rushed to the receptionists desk, "Has she heard from him?"

"No, she was wondering the same of you."

"Oh," Hilary's face fell, "has there been any mail?"

"Just bills," Gertie shook her head apologetically, "and this letter from Ellen Parsons."

Hilary stomped her foot in frustration as she took the letter from the woman. "Thanks," she turned to walk into the studio. "Oh, the children are in the green room, would you please keep an ear on them for me," she turned and asked. "Elizabeth is asleep and Alexander is in the playpen playing with his blocks."

"Sure," Gertie replied, and switched on the green room speaker that CJ had rigged for them.

Hilary walked back into the green room after her broadcast. A newspaper lay on the table almost begging her to look at it. The headline fairly screamed of the recent victories in Normandy. The Allies had just begun to fight in the north of Italy--the last place she'd known Jeff to be.

When she saw that headline a few days ago, she'd scoured the paper for any sign of Jeff's unit, but there had been none. "Where are you, Pumpkin?" she whispered softly in a worried voice. She finally gave in to the temptation and picked up the newspaper. As she read of the desperate battle that had taken place to liberate the port of Cherbourg, her heart went out to the families of the men who were counted anonymously in the approximate casualty toll. There were so many.

She drew a quick breath and tossed the paper aside. "Enough wallowing. He just hasn't had time to write."

(just outside of St Lô)

"Get down, Frank!" Tom yelled as he dove for the nearest cover. "Jeff! You okay?"

"Where in the hell are those shots coming from?" Jeff yelled from the small outgrowth that he'd found cover behind. He hugged closer to the ground as another bullet whizzed over him.

"I can't tell in this damn darkness, but I think it's that tree over there," Tom answered with a low point. "I hope it ain't that tree because if it is, we might as well stand up in this moonlight and yell 'here we are!'."

"Hell," Frank Wilson cursed from his spot next to Tom. He cautiously scooted closer to Jeff and Paul Canton. "Can you see him from here?"

Paul glanced carefully toward the tree. "Yes, I think I do see the glint off his gun. I think he's reloading." He pulled his gun around and took careful aim, "Let me see if I can take him out now while he's busy." He squeezed the trigger with hope, knowing he'd only have one shot.

His target fell to the ground and the four hiding men breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Was he the only one?" Tom asked, slowly moving, almost expecting more shots to ring out. When none did, he stood and said, "ok, we're clear. Everybody all right?"

Each of the men inspected himself for injury and confirmed that they were unhurt.

"Ok, let's head back home," Tom stated and took the lead.

The men finally made it back from their scouting mission and each split to their separate two man dugouts.

Jeff yawned and stretched as much of his long legs as he could in the cramped quarters without kicking Tom. He finally let some anxiety from the sniper incident of that night drift out of his system.

"You okay, Shorty?" Tom asked, "you know you didn't have to go with us."

"I know I didn't, but what kind of reports am I going to get sitting on my butt in the rear of the unit?" Jeff replied.

"Reports that will keep you alive, Jeff, or have you forgotten that family you have back home?" Tom's reply was met with silence.

"I have not forgotten them." Jeff's reply was low and almost angry. After a few more moments of silence he calmly said, "I wish they'd start censoring mail again. Hilary is probably going out of her mind with worry."

Tom was silent, because he knew his own wife was probably going through the same hell. He thought of Ellen, her big brown eyes; that warm smile.

"Do you know what I miss the most?" Jeff interrupted the silent darkness, then chuckled lightly. "It's really stupid, but, I miss the feel of her hair. She has the softest hair."

"Yeah," Tom answered, "I remember that about Hilary. Ellen's hair is soft too, but not quite as thick."

"What do you miss about Ellen?" Jeff asked.

"Her smile. That wide, warm, contagious smile of hers." Tom answered him thoughtfully.

"Hilary has a beautiful smile," Jeff laughed quietly, " and a cheerfully giddy laugh. You know she wouldn't admit it, but Hilary giggles," Jeff added with a giggle of his own, "But only with me. I've never heard her giggle around anyone else."

"I'm really glad she has you, Jeff. When we were married she never seemed happy." Tom told his younger companion, "It wasn't for lack of trying on my part; I really did love her. But she was just, I don't know, it was like she was looking for something to make her matter."

"I know what you mean, Tom," Jeff agreed. "I don't think she stopped looking until after Bethie was born." He finished the sentence with an involuntary yawn.

Tom leaned forward and patted Jeff's leg, "Why don't you take the first hour of shut-eye. I'll pull guard while you sleep." He stood and made himself comfortable against the safe darkness of the dugout that he and Jeff had painstakingly dug and made into a makeshift home. He could hear Jeff rustling to make himself comfortable on the wood plank floor.

In his mind, at that moment Tom made a promise to Hilary. He'd known her well enough to know that if she'd bothered to stay with one man for as long as Jeff had said they'd been together, then this man must mean an awful lot to her. He mentally promised, come hell or high water, he'd see that Jeff made it through this godforsaken war.

Tom laughed as he heard Jeff mutter a cursed oath when he found a splinter. He remembered when they'd gotten the floor to their 'castle in the mud' as Jeff had not so lovingly dubbed it. The last farmhouse they left had a bombed out barn behind it, so they helped themselves to some of the sturdiest looking planks of wood. Ok, so it wasn't splinter-free, but at least they weren't sleeping in mud and water like the last camp.

July 27th, 1944

Hilary yawned as she walked into the station the next morning to start her day. Bethie took off like a shot the moment she stepped into the front door. "Elizabeth!" Hilary admonished with a slightly delayed reaction.

"It's okay, Hilary," Gertie said, "she just ran into the green room." The woman stood and reached for the still groggy nine month old in Hilary's arms, "Here let me take him, you go after her."

"Thanks Gertie," Hilary said as she handed Alexander and diaper bag to the receptionist.

When she walked into the green room, Grace sat on the couch, soothing a coughing Bethie.

Hilary rushed to her daughter and crouched on the floor in front of her. She patted her lightly on the back as Grace stood and said she'd get a glass of water.

"You ran too fast sweetie," Hilary assured the coughing and panic stricken girl. "Thank you," she told Grace as she took the offered glass of water.

"Take a deep breath, little pumpkin, you'll be all right." She encouraged the girl to drink when her coughing spell broke.

Bethie took the drink and then hugged her mother and cried.

Hilary stood and held the frightened girl close. "You're all right sweetie," Hilary reassured, "This spell is over."

"I ok now?" Bethie asked.

"Yes Bethie, you are." Hilary set her down once she felt that the little girl was over her fright, "Why don't you go find Aunt Betty. I bet she's in the writer's room. Tell her that Mama wants the script for Bedside Manor."

"Okay," Bethie started for the door.

"And don't run," Hilary warned, "you don't want to start coughing again."

After the little girl left the room, Hilary was suddenly aware that she was in the alone with her former rival. She took a deep breath and steeled her control back into place and stepped to the counter for a cup of coffee.

"Do you want some coffee?" Hilary asked in a strong voice as if nothing at all was wrong in her world.

"Is she going to be all right?" Grace asked.

Hilary sat down at the table and shoved the morning edition of the paper out of her sight. "Yes, she's been battling a cold for a while and when she runs too hard it chokes her."

"Have you taken her to a doctor?" The woman asked, merely out of concern.

Hilary took it as an affront. "Of course I have." she snapped, "I am capable of raising a child."

"I meant no insult, Hilary. I was just concerned."

"The medicine he gave her doesn't seem to be helping," Hilary added quietly, more of her worry showing than intended.

Wanting to divert her attention, Hilary reached for the paper and started to find the Arts section when something on the front page caught her eye. In the daily war briefs was the small headline, "47th Infantry meeting heavy resistance fire southwest of St Lô".

Seeing the blood drain from Hilary's face, Grace stood and placed a concerned hand on the woman's shoulder, "Hilary what is it? You look as though you've seen a ghost."

Abruptly snapping to attention, Hilary stood and almost pointedly replied, "I need to go find my script," and left the room.

As the door swung shut behind her, Hilary briefly leaned her hand against the wall to steady herself. *Please let him be all right.* She wrapped her hand around the warm gold of the locket that she wore close to her heart and squeezed lightly as if gaining strength from it. She took a deep breath, straightened and walked down the hallway to the writer's room with her head held high.

She walked into the room to the sight of Betty typing and her daughter kneeling on a chair and leaning on the desk with her head propped on her hands watching intently. She smiled and walked closer. "Is my script done?"

"You've taught her to hover quite well," Betty said with a smile.

Hilary smiled and squeezed into the chair next to Bethie, "It's in the genes." She leaned forward imitating the little girl's position, "Is my script done?"

Betty laughed, "in a couple seconds. I had to make some changes because Nicholas is sick today."

"Changes?"

"Yes," Betty looked up, then gave Hilary a half grin and rolled her chair out of reach, "You're going to be doing the show with Grace today," Betty spat rapidly. "It was my only option!" she added quickly.

"What?!" Hilary sat straight.

Betty explained, "Well, I thought since the two of you were old friends, and I use that term loosely--"

"Very loosely," Hilary reiterated. "And she's the old one."

Betty said nothing, but raised her eyebrow with amusement. She took the final page out of the typewriter and handed the full script to Hilary. "Here. Please stick with it, I don't think Gertie wants any unnecessary phone calls."

Hilary took the script with a growl which Betty figured to be the closest thing to an agreement she was going to get.

Hilary got halfway to the door and then turned, "Bethie, would you go see if Gertie needs any help with your brother?"

" 'tay" the little girl agreed, climbed off the chair she occupied and left the room.

Once she was sure the toddler was out of earshot she asked, "Betty, have you heard anything from Scott?"

"No, I haven't and it's got me a little worried. I know that the fighting has gotten fierce where he is." Betty answered.

"Do you know where he is?" Hilary walked back to the chair and sat.

"He gave me enough clues to figure out they'd moved into Northern France." Betty told her. "Have you heard anything from Jeff?"

"No. Nothing since May." Hilary answered with a worried voice. "I just saw in the paper that his unit is near St Lô. I'm sure they are just too busy to write."

"Yes, that's probably it." Betty answered for Hilary's peace of mind as much as her own.

"I'd better get this show over with," Hilary said with a half-smile and left the room.

Ten minutes into Bedside Manor, Betty walked past the studio just to make sure that Hilary hadn't strangled Grace on the air. She glanced in and noticed that they seemed to be getting along, though Hilary rolled her eyes from time to time. Betty gave a slight chuckle and went on into the green room.

Bethie stood on a chair, half laying on the table, with the newspaper spread open beneath her. She was looking intently at a picture. She turned when Betty walked in the room.

She pointed her small finger at the picture, "That daddy?"

Betty walked to take a look and saw that she was looking at a picture of a soldier who bore a resemblance to Jeff. His leg was bandaged and he was holding crutches. The man smiled bravely into the camera. "No, honey that's not your daddy."

"My daddy there?" she asked.

"There?" Betty pointed at the picture, unsure of what she meant.

Bethie shook her head, "at the war."

Betty sat, not sure how to answer her question. "Well, he's at the war, yes."

A grief stricken look passed over the little girl's facial features. "My daddy get hurt," she whispered sadly.

It was clear to Betty that the child had put two and two together and realized that her father was in danger. She pulled the softly whimpering little girl away from the paper and pushed it off the table where she could no longer see.

"Your daddy will be okay, Bethie. He has you and Alexander and your mama to come home to." She settled the girl in her lap and held her close, trying her best to assure her and allay her fears. For a moment, her mind flashed on her own husband and the frightening fact that the last letter she'd received from him was in January.

Hilary left the studio and, seeing that Betty was in with Bethie, headed toward Gertie to reclaim her son who was sitting quietly on the desk in front of the typewriter.

Gertie was helping him pick out keys that formed words.

When Hilary walked up to them, Alexander look up and smiled widely, "Mamama!" He excitedly reached for her.

She picked him up and thanked Gertie for keeping him company.

She started toward the green room when she heard the front door open. Her heart leapt into her throat when she turned and saw it was an Army representative. That could only mean one thing. The prevalent thought in her mind was "please God not Jeff." She leaned her forehead against the studio-side wall barely within view of Gertie and clenched her eyes shut, not wanting to see; but only to hear. She held the baby so tightly he whimpered and tried to push away from her.

She heard the murmuring of the man talking to Gertie, heard the woman gasp and say, "I'll get Betty." She felt Gertie's hand squeeze her shoulder reassuringly as the woman walked past her.

Hilary's legs nearly collapsed from the surge of relief that swept her body. As fierce as that relief was, the guilt that followed was just as strong.

She turned around to see a stone-faced Betty walk out of the green room with Gertie and Bethie. Hilary grabbed Bethie's hand and bade her to stay. She held the little girl close to her side.

"What wrong, Mama?"

"Let's go into the green room, okay sweetie," Hilary said and ushered the child into the room.

Betty stoically took the notice from the man who held it out to her. As she read, the words began to swim as tears filled her eyes. She dimly heard the man leave and felt Gertie lead her to one of the chairs in the lobby.

"We regret to inform you that your husband, Lieutenant Scott Sherwood has been killed in action."

Those words rumbled over and over in her mind until darkness blissfully took hold.

When Betty woke, she was on her own couch in her own house. "It was a dream!" she sat up quickly.

Hilary sat on the couch and handed her a glass of water. "It wasn't a dream, Betty," she said regretfully.

The memory began to creep in, the man from the Army; the telegram. "How did I get home?" She asked, puzzled.

"Mackie and I drove you home. He took the children back to the station so I could stay with you for a while." Hilary explained.

"You don't need to do that, Hilary," Betty defended, "I'm all right, really."

"Well, regardless, I'm staying with you." Hilary said with an air of finality, then added with humor, "We have to keep you away from a typewriter."

Betty smiled, as Hilary had hoped she would. "Thank you Hilary."

"So, whose bloody idea was it to keep Grace around?" Hilary asked, changing the subject to a neutral one. "She told me this morning, on the air I might add."

"Really?" Betty said surprised, "I wasn't aware she was staying. It must have been Victor's idea. I know that they've been seeing a lot of each other lately."

"Tell me that doesn't mean she's staying in Pittsburgh."

Apologetically, Betty replied, "I think that means she's staying in Pittsburgh."

"Betty," Hilary whined sarcastically, "I told you not to tell me that."

Betty laughed and pulled the afghan off her lap.

Hilary took Betty's now empty glass of water, "Here, I'll take this into the kitchen. Did you want something to eat?" Hilary offered, "I think I saw that you had a little bit of leftovers. I could warm them."

"I shouldn't turn down an offer from Hilary Singer," she exaggerated, "to cook should I?"

Hilary laughed, "Probably not." She walked into the kitchen leaving Betty to contemplate what had happened. She put the glass into the sink and opened the refrigerator.

As she pulled the cold dishes out and set them on the counter, Hilary recalled how she'd felt when hearing that the telegram was for Betty. She could feel tears begin to well and took a deep breath to stop them. She shook off the grief and dished the food into two plates and set them into the oven to warm.

"Pumpkin, please be careful," she whispered softly, looking out the kitchen window.

"He's not dead."

Hilary jumped when she heard the soft, resolute voice behind her. She turned and saw Betty standing in the doorway, telegram in hand. "What?"

"I don't think Scott's dead. It's a feeling I have." Betty spoke more determined, "I just know it."

"Betty--" Hilary started to reassure the woman.

"Hilary, I know what you are going to say. That this isn't like last time when we all thought Victor was dead and he wasn't." Betty backed away from Hilary's compassionate reach, "I know in my heart that Scott isn't dead. I can't explain it any other way." She walked to the oven and took out the two now warm plates of meatloaf slices, green beans and potatoes and placed them on the table. "Would you get the silverware? Do you want water or tea?"

Hilary watched Betty guardedly, "tea," she replied with confusion. She sat, placed the silver on the table, and waited until Betty sat before starting to eat. The meal was eaten in strained silence, both women lost in their own thoughts. Hilary watched Betty with growing concern.

At nearly eleven p.m. Mackie dropped Hilary and the kids off in front of her house. She walked inside, took a deep breath and sighed; it had been a very long day. She sent Bethie upstairs to put on her night clothes and followed after locking the door. Alexander babbled tiredly against her neck and the dog yipped excitedly at her feet. "Oh go away Miki," she mumbled and nudged the dog out from under foot.

She put the baby into his crib while she set about to getting Bethie tucked in. She gave the little girl her nightly dose of medicine, making a mental note to call the pediatrician in the morning to make another appointment. She tucked her in tightly and sat, giving her a good night kiss.

"Mama?"

"What sweetheart." Hilary answered, brushing a wayward curl away from the little girl's eye.

"Daddy get hurt in war?"

Hilary's heart leapt to her throat, she hadn't expected that question. "What makes you think that, Bethie?"

"Picture. In the green room paper." Bethie explained as best she could.

Hilary furrowed her brows in confusion, "There was a picture of your daddy in the paper?"

She shook her head, "Aunt Betty said he looked like daddy."

"Oh," Hilary muttered.

"He had a hurt leg." the child continued, "Aunt Betty," her sentence was stopped with another violent coughing attack.

Hilary sat her up and rubbed her back as she coughed out the spell. When she finished the child whimpered softly, "I scared, mama."

Hilary rushed to get a Dixie-cup of water from the bathroom and gave it to her daughter to drink. "I know darling. Mama's calling the doctor tomorrow." She murmured and she gently cradled the frightened girl on her lap.

Almost too soft for Hilary to hear, Bethie also whispered, "I scared for daddy, too."

Hilary closed her eyes and fought back the lump in her throat. Silently, so as not to frighten the girl further, she added, "I am too."

Once she had reassured Bethie that she and her daddy were okay, the little girl was able to get to sleep. Hilary walked to the crib across the room for the baby. He stood at the railing and reached for her as she picked him up. She quietly pulled a sleeper out of his dresser, grabbed a clean diaper and left the room.

She walked into her own bedroom, lay the baby on her bed and got him ready for sleep. "You lay still darling, and let mommy put her own night clothes on," she softly told him as she stepped into the bathroom and put on a gown and matching robe. She brushed out her hair and quickly removed her make-up, keeping an ear on the baby. She could hear him start to whine, and recognizing it as his hungry cry, walked to the bed.

"Are you hungry, Alexander?" she said to him. Picking him up she softly cooed, "Then lets go downstairs and see what we have."

Knowing that he was likely more thirsty than hungry at this time of night, Hilary set about to fixing him a bottle of milk. Alex reached for the bottle and tried to help his mother pour the milk, but only succeeded in helping to make a small mess on the counter.

"Be careful Alexander." Hilary snapped a little more harshly than she'd intended. When the baby jumped at the sternness of her voice and started crying, Hilary apologized and tried to soothe him. She wiped the milk up with a towel and carried bottle and baby back up to her bedroom.

After turning on only the table lamp on the nightstand near her side of the bed, Hilary walked across the room and sat in the wooden rocker near the curtained picture window. Miki curled up in a ball at her feet and soon fell asleep.

As the baby drank eagerly from his bottle too tired to fight laying across her arms, Hilary watched him. He smiled up at her, the smile reaching into his brown eyes. He has Jeffrey's smile, Hilary thought. There was so much of Jeff in his son.

She wished desperately that Jeff had been able to share in moments like this with Alexander. Hopefully, he'd be home soon and won't miss too much of Alex's babyhood. Tears welled in her eyes as the thought that she usually fought crept to the forefront as it sometimes did in these pensive times. She hoped with all her heart that he'd be able see his son and get to know him.

Hilary wiped away a tear that had dropped on Alexander's cheek and noticed that he'd fallen asleep, the bottle clutched against his chest. She carefully eased the still half full bottle out of his grip and set it on the floor. He stirred and sighed when he felt her shift, but did not waken.

Not wanting to put him to bed just yet, Hilary sat back, held him close and rocked. She looked out at the star-filled night sky and saw through the sheer curtains that the half moon shone brightly. It looked as though she could imagine that there was not a war going on and that one of her best friends had not been killed in the fight.

Or she could just imagine that her husband was right next door playing poker with Will, Scott and Mackie. That he would come home in a very good mood because he'd outwitted Scott and won the hands for the evening.

She sighed and stopped her thoughts of Jeff before they turned physical. The last thing she needed that night was to be painfully reminded of how lonely she felt. Shaking herself to the present, she carefully stood, carried Alexander back into his room and settled him gently in his crib.

She walked to Bethie's bed to check on her. The little girl seemed to be sleeping comfortably. Hilary bent to drop a soft kiss on the tiny forehead and whispered "goodnight". She left the door open in case Alexander woke up in the night and went to her own room.

She removed her robe and slid beneath the covers. As she reached to turn off the lamp, her hand hovered over a picture of she and Jeff. It was a publicity photo that had been taken for Bedside Manor just a few months before Jeff had left for boot camp. Over a year ago. She picked up the photograph and trailed a finger over the image of Jeff. "I miss you so much, Pumpkin."

She set the photo back onto the table and picked up the last letter she'd received from him. The creases were beginning to tear, she'd read it so often.

May 15th, (even I'm not sure where I am--letter 47)

Pumpkin

Hilary jumped as the sudden meaning of Jeff's last sentence struck her. France. His father was killed in France. He had told her where he was going and she completely missed the clue.

With that thought, she suddenly realized that with all the happenings of the day, she'd forgotten to call Arlette and tell her she'd figured out where Jeff was from that article.

She glanced at the clock and saw that it was nearing one a.m. It was too late to call, but she did so anyway. She needed to talk to someone and the soft lilt of her mother-in-law's French accent was always comforting to her.

She walked downstairs to the phone and sat in the easy chair as she waited for the operator to connect the call.

"Hello?" came the tired answer.

"Mére." Hilary said, more emotional than she'd planned. The moment she

heard Arlette's voice, she lost control of her feelings.

"Hilary, darling what's wrong?" The woman asked, now fully awake and quite concerned. "Its not Jeffrey is it?" she said hesitantly.

"No!" Hilary responded quickly, worried she'd given the wrong impression. "No, he's all right, at least I think he is. I haven't heard from him since May and I realized today that he's in Northern France. Arlette he's in Normandy--he was. His unit is near St Lô - I saw it in the paper today." Hilary curled tightly into the chair as she spoke, eager to have someone to talk to.

"Sweetheart slow down. I can hardly understand you." Arlette said calmly.

"I'm sorry. I've had a really long day." Hilary explained. "We learned today that Scott was killed. I spent the day with Betty listening to her deny that he was gone. I'm worried about her. I guess I've been thinking too much; letting too much of my worries over run my common sense."

"I'm so sorry about your friend. I know how close you all are."

"I re-read Jeffrey's last letter and realized finally that his last sentence told me that he was going to France." Hilary babbled, thankful to have someone to listen to her, "I was too worried about his attitude in the rest of the letter that I missed the importance of the words."

"What were those words, dear?" Arlette questioned.

Hilary hesitantly replied, "Tell mom that I bet the wildflowers on Papa's grave will look beautiful this summer."

After a few silent moments, Arlette answered in an sentimental voice, "I bet they will be. Do you know that James fought for the French Army? He died for my country. I will forever love him for that." Arlette gave a small ironic laugh, "Our baby boy is now doing the same."

Hilary smiled and wiped a pesky tear that trailed itself down her cheek. How like his father Jeff seemed to be. "How did you meet James?" Hilary asked curious and grateful for the change in subject.

"Oh my, that's such a long story for your phone bill." Arlette laughed.

"I don't care. Jeffrey will just have to work doubly hard when he gets back to pay it." Hilary said to lighten her mood.

"Well, my parents had just immigrated from France. I was seventeen and awestruck by this lovely country. We moved from New York to Eastern Pennsylvania, not far from Philadelphia." Arlette explained. Hilary could hear the smile in her voice as she recalled her past.

"About two months after we moved, I met the most handsome man I'd ever laid eyes on. I was working in a general store and I kept seeing him come into the store day after day. I couldn't imagine why he did that, he never bought anything." Arlette laughed, "Then one day he walked up to my counter, set a sugar stick down as if he'd picked it up only as an excuse to talk to me. He looked at me with those ever so handsome green eyes and said, "Hi, I'm James Singer. Will you marry me?"

Hilary smiled, recalling that Jeff had basically done the same thing.

Arlette laughed, "Gosh Hilary, I think I blushed clear to my toes when he said that."

"What did you tell him?" Hilary asked.

"You're married to our son aren't you?"

Hilary smiled, "Yes. And I'm so very glad I am."

"James would have loved you Hilary," Arlette told her in a softer voice.

"Thank you, that means quite a lot to me." Hilary answered, touched. "I'm so glad I called you. You made me feel a lot better."

"I'm glad, too." The woman said, "You know you can call me anytime, dear, anytime. Now why don't you get some sleep so you can keep up with those grandchildren of mine."

"I think I can now." Hilary said, "Goodnight Mére."

Hilary hung up the phone, now confident that she could sleep.

(Just outside of Coutances)

The sounds of the battle were constant now. Jeff lay in a trench with Tom, Frank, Jim Patruzic, Paul and their team medic Daron Jenkins who now had a crimson stain spreading across his back.

"Daron's hit!" Jim yelled, "we need a medic!"

Tom responded anxiously, "Daron IS our medic! Is he conscious?"

"Morphine," the wounded man mumbled, "Give me morphine."

Jeff started to crawl to the men, but was stopped when a sniper bullet hit the top of the trench less than a foot from his head. He dropped down further, "I can't move, he's got me in his sight! Frank can you take him out?"

"I can't see him, Jeff." Frank answered.

"Can you get him sighted, Jeff?" Jim asked. Jim was one of the men who had resisted and resented Jeff's going along on the combat missions.

"I am non-combat, Jim, you know damn good and well I'm not supposed fire my gun!" Jeff spat.

"Fire this!" The man pulled his rifle and aimed it squarely at Jeff's forehead. "This is a war, Civvy! You want to stay alive, you use your bloody gun before I use mine on you!"

Tom had over-heard the exchange and finally yelled, "Jim! Will you take that sniper out before he takes us ALL OUT! He already has Jeff sighted, Jeff moves he's a dead man!"

"Well then we wouldn't have to baby-sit a damned civilian then would we?" Jim argued back.

Tom moved over the now still body of Daron and grabbed Jim by the front of his flak jacket, "Look you SOB, I am the ranking soldier here which makes me the leader of this team. You do what I say or I will have you court marshaled the next time we see civilization!"

A hot streak of anger went through Jeff. He pulled his gun around and grabbed a couple of bullets from the band around Jim's shoulders. He ducked flatter as another bullet ricocheted off the dirt above his head.

"What are you doing?" Tom asked.

"While you guys are arguing, no one is taking out that sniper." Jeff snapped, "I for one would LIKE to go home." Jeff loaded the gun and then turned, "Jim, congratulations you just became my distraction."

The man turned to Jeff with surprise, "You can't--"

Jeff aimed his rifle at the man, "You want me to take him out or you?"

"You get me killed, Civvy, so help me I'll haunt you forever!" Jim complained and then began to provide the distraction by removing his helmet and lifting it slightly above the edge to make the sniper think he was moving and being careless.

"Do you see where he is, Tom?" Jeff asked quietly, listening for the general direction of the bullets. He scooted on his stomach to find a good nick in the trench to be able to see without putting a target on his forehead. He finally caught a glimpse of metal in a hedgerow across the street from where they were dug in. "I see him"

Once the bullets began to fly toward where Jim was moving around Jeff was able to get a good mark, he knelt and careful to not mess his aim up took the chance to show himself and shot.

The moment he shot, three things happened at once. He saw the man he'd been aiming at fall, he felt something slam painfully into his chest and he was thrown backwards into the trench.

Hilary bolted upright, confused and wondering what had woken her. She jumped at a very loud retort of thunder. With the dream she'd been having she would have sworn the thunder had been a gunshot. She had been dreaming of Jeff. It started innocently enough; a picnic in the park that had soon turned into a nightmarish visage of soldiers shooting at each other. The last image had been a bloodied and still Jeff. Unable to shake the dream, she looked at the clock and noted it was nearing three a.m. The sound of Alexander crying caught her attention and she slid out of bed on quivering legs.

She walked into the children's room and the first thing she noticed was Bethie coughing so hard there was no way the child could take a breath. She rushed to the girl's side and tried to settle her. She went to put the toddler on her lap and felt immediately she was running a very high temperature.

"Please baby you'll be all right, just try to breathe for mommy." Hilary assured. As she sat on Bethie's bed, she saw that the child had vomited. What panicked her the most was that she saw blood.

She immediately wrapped the child in her blanket, covering her from the rain she knew was falling, "Alexander, you be a good boy for Mommy, I have to take sister next door. Stay put and be good."

She rushed without thinking down the stairs and out the front door. Hilary ran as hard as she could trying to keep Bethie as dry as possible in the soaking rain. She could hear Bethie still coughing and struggling for breath. "You'll be all right, little pumpkin, you'll be all right."

Hilary rushed up the stairs to the Sutton's porch and frantically rang the doorbell and knocked on the their door. "Come on Will, please." She muttered, trying to stay calm knowing that if she showed her fear it would scare Bethie more.

After what seemed like forever, Susan finally answered the door. "Hilary! My god what's wrong?" she exclaimed, when she saw Bethie.

"Susan she can't breath, she's coughing up blood and she's burning up!" Hilary said quickly.

"William!" Susan yelled for her husband.

He rushed down the stairs, having heard Hilary's panicked voice. "Let me take her."

He lay Bethie on the couch, "Susan run get my med. kit out of the kitchen."

A soaked and shivering Hilary stood worriedly aside while Will worked to get Bethie's coughing stopped. Once she could breathe again, Bethie took her breaths in short gasps. She muttered for her father and Hilary knelt beside her.

"Mama's here, little pumpkin." Hilary reassured and kept a comforting hand on the little girl's forehead. She gently rubbed, "Uncle Will is going to make sure that you are all right."

"Daddy hurt." Bethie mumbled between gasping cries, "help daddy hurt."

"Daddy's okay, sweetie." Hilary assured, trying to keep her own worried concern out of her voice. That dream still gnawed at her and with Bethie so adamantly sure, Hilary was beginning to think that something *had* happened to Jeff. She closed her eyes against the thought and tried to assure the frightened and frantic little girl that her father wasn't hurt.

"Hilary where is Alexander?" Susan asked.

"He's in his crib. He was awake and crying when we left."

"I'll go and get him. Don't worry." Susan gave Hilary a small assuring hug. She grabbed an umbrella, a jacket and left.

"Hilary, this baby needs to be in a hospital." Will said quickly after examining her. "Near as I can tell without the proper tests, she's got pneumonia."

Hilary flinched as if he'd hit her. "Okay," she said automatically.

Will reached over to her and cupped her cheek in his hand gently forcing her to look at him. "Has something happened to Jeff?" He'd become concerned because Bethie was so insistent that her father had been hurt.

"No," Hilary emphatically stated, then gave a ragged sigh, "I don't know. I haven't heard from him in two months," she explained trying desperately to keep the fear out of her voice. She let Will pull her into a comforting embrace. "Will, I can't lose them both."

With hopeful resolve, Will assured the terrified woman in his arms, "I will do everything in my power to heal her. Everything."

Susan entered the house with Alexander, who reached immediately for his mother when he saw her.

"Susan, I'm taking Bethie to the hospital." Will stood and explained to his wife, "Hilary is coming with me."

Hilary stood and only then did she realize that she'd rushed out of her house without so much as putting her shoes on. "I'm - I need to get dressed."

"I noticed that. Here's your robe and your house slippers. I'll bring you a dry change of clothes as soon as I can get them together for you." Susan told her. "Don't worry about Alex here, John and Diane I'm sure would love his company for a while."

"Thank you Susan." Hilary slipped the robe and slippers on while Will bundled Bethie up and got her ready to go.

Tom was at Jeff's side immediately, "Jeff! Jesus where are you hit?"

"I hit him?" Jeff asked, pain evident in his voice.

Frank crawled to Jeff, "Yeah. I saw him shoot and then fall. I think your bullet hit him the same time his hit you."

Tom asked the other two men to make sure they were in the clear and out of danger for the moment. Once the all clear was confirmed, he pulled Jeff's jacket and shirt aside to see that he'd been hit in the upper left chest. He turned, "Someone check to see if Daron has anything in his pack that might help stem this blood flow."

Paul moved the body of the medic aside and went through the gear that Daron had been protecting when he was shot. "Here's some bandages and things, but we can't use these Sarge. There's ... well, D lost a lot of blood."

"Dammit," Tom cursed, "You sure we are clear?" at the other fella's nods, Tom stood, "We gotta get Jeff to a medic. He's bleeding like crazy and I can't see how bad his wound is." He carefully pulled Jeff to a stand and balanced him piggy-back style. "Jim, since you've been such a swell supporter of Shorty's you walk behind me, keep him covered.

"Why do you insist on baby-sittin' him?" Jim grumped, "He's nothin' but in our way."

Tom stopped and roughly grabbed the complaining man by the collar. "Because I made a promise to someone that I intend to keep." He shoved the man away and repeated, "Now get behind me and walk!"

As they made their way slowly down the road in the setting sun to the camp headquarters and the infirmary, Tom motioned to Paul. When the man ran to him, he asked quietly, "would you keep an eye on the joker back there and make sure he's not thinking about shooting Shorty and me both in the back?"

Paul silently nodded and slowed his step slightly, but unnoticeably. He had a feeling Jim wasn't much longer for the 47th. He knew in general that the gruff man wouldn't be missed. For that he was thankful about.

They finally arrived at the makeshift hospital tent and Tom left his friend in the capable hands of the medics. He still wasn't sure how badly Jeff had been wounded, but he knew from the groans that he was in awful pain. He paced back and forth waiting for news and hoping like hell he wouldn't have to send Hilary bad news. Not after he'd mentally promised to keep Jeff safe for her.

Morning, July 28th, 1944

Betty paced at the front door of WENN, agitated and slightly worried. "Where is Hilary!" She looked at her watch for the fifth time in the last twenty minutes. "It is eight-fifteen, it's not like her to be late. Not this late."

"I just tried her house again, she's not home." Gertie supplied. "Maybe she's on her way."

Victor walked into the front reception area, having heard Betty's raised voice. "Betty relax. Go into the green room, get something to drink and relax. Gertie, have you tried calling her friends? Susan maybe?"

The phone behind Gertie rang and she picked it up. "WENN how may I help you?"

"Gertie, I need to speak with Victor."

It was Hilary and the first thing Gertie noticed was that she sounded exhausted. "Hilary! Where are you, we've been worried sick!"

"Please just let me talk to Victor." Hilary repeated, this time a bit shortly.

"All right, just a moment." Gertie moved the receiver and gestured to the man standing in front of her desk. "Victor, she wants to speak with you."

"Send it in to my office phone," he walked down the hallway and went into his office.

Gertie hung the phone up after transferring the call and shrugged when Betty questioned with a glance.

After several minutes, Victor left his office and walked back to reception where he could still hear Betty talking with Gertie.

"Um, Betty. May I speak to you please?" he asked.

"Sure Victor, what's wrong?" She asked as they walked to the green room and went inside.

"Do you think you can find a replacement for Hilary for the foreseeable future?" He questioned.

"I think so," she said his request not quite sinking in. Her brain finally processed "foreseeable future" and she glanced up at him quickly, "Why? What's happened?"

"She had to rush Elizabeth to the hospital early this morning. They think it's pneumonia, but are running tests."

"Oh, no." Betty exclaimed, worried. "Well, Hilary would kill me under normal circumstances, but Grace is the only replacement I can think of. Will she be around long?"

"I'll explain it to her. She's thinking of settling here." Victor answered vaguely. "I'll give her a call and see if we can't get her in here today," he replied and left the room.

Hilary sat on the chair next to the steel crib that Bethie lay in. The upper half of her body was beneath an oxygen tent and she seemed to be sleeping comfortably. Hilary rubbed her thumb across the top of the limp tiny hand she held.

Will, and Bethie's regular pediatrician, Dr. Samuel Jones had both run tests on her and deduced that she did indeed have pneumonia. They told Hilary that they would be using a new drug called penicillin and that it had made some kinds of pneumonia treatable. But they both admitted to her that it was not a guaranteed cure.

She took a deep breath and tried to will a little of her strength toward her daughter. "Bethie darling, you need to get better. Mama needs help with Alexander." Hilary pleaded, "and when your daddy gets home, he'll want his little pumpkin to meet him at the train." She squelched the sob before it could escape. No. She was going to stay strong for Bethie.

Jeff lay on the cot in the camp hospital in the rear echelon of the Division, his mind still fogged from the surgery and the pain. Apparently the bullet passed straight through him. The surgeon told him it had been a good thing that he'd gotten his shot off in the instant before the other man. It had thrown the sniper's aim too late to adjust. Otherwise, he'd have been a goner.

He sighed and thought of his family. He could have sworn he saw Bethie with him right after he'd gotten shot. He coughed, then groaned. Pain will make you see all kinds of things.

A cheerful looking blond nurse walked up to him and smiled when she saw that he was awake. Nurse? Wait, he hadn't seen a woman in weeks. At least not one that wasn't shaking in fear at the sight of soldiers. "Where am I," he asked, his voice hoarse from lack of use in several hours.

"You've been evacuated to Carentan." She replied helpfully, "You should be okay to go back to your Unit in a couple weeks."

"Oh, okay." he answered, slightly disappointed that he hadn't been sent home. Well, a lot disappointed, but he did feel he still had some work that needed to be done. He tried to shift positions and pain shot through his chest.

"Here," the nurse moved his pillow and tried to make him more comfortable. "That better?"

"Thank you...uh," he paused not knowing her name.

"Shelly," she smiled. "Shelly Carter."

"Thanks Miss Carter." Jeff could tell by her strong southern accent she was an American.

"Mrs.," she corrected and a sad look passed over her features. "My husband Charlie was killed durin' the invasion."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Jeff responded honestly.

She smiled sadly, "Well, we both knew what we was gettin' into. With my nursin' skills bein' in such demand here, I was hopin' that we could get together sometime once I was here. Guess that wasn't meant to be." She shook off the sadness and smiled, "I have more fellas to see to. You'll be fit as a fiddle in about a week and able to move around better before then."

She turned and before she could walk away Jeff called her name. She looked back at him and he asked, "I'm a radio correspondent and I've been doing interviews to send back home to Pittsburgh. Could I interview you? When I'm more up to it."

She smiled broadly, "Sure. I'd be glad to Mister," she glanced at his chart, "Singer."

August 7th, 1944

Hilary looked outside the hospital room that Bethie occupied. The afternoon was noisy and had an air of excitement about it. From the reports in the paper it looked as though they were beginning to turn the tide and win the war. She hoped it would be soon. What Bethie needed right now more than anything was her father.

Every so often the little girl would wake and call for her daddy. Victor had let her borrow a turntable and some recordings of some of Jeff's shows to play for Bethie. The sound of her father's voice always soothed her back to sleep.

And Hilary had to admit that his voice was the best medicine she could take at the moment. She couldn't shake the feeling that something had happened to him. It had been constant since the night Bethie took the turn for the worse. She turned when the child coughed weakly. It sounded as though the cough was getting better, that Hilary was thankful for.

She picked up a photo of Jeff that she'd had brought in for Bethie and smiled sadly. She had no idea what she'd do if he didn't survive the war. Hilary thought again about Betty. Nick had told her that Betty had just charged right back into work as if nothing was wrong. Would she be able to do that? She thought of the children. Would they remember Jeff? She knew that Bethie would. And she'd just have to make sure that Alexander knew who his father was . . . is.

Hilary set the picture down and picked up her stationery. She'd written to Jeff already that day and had nothing really new to report, so she chose to write to Ellen Parsons. Ellen's letters helped to cheer her up some. Ellen hadn't heard from Tom either, so she and Hilary had vowed to report to the other the first word they heard from either men. She put pen to paper and sent her friend an update on Bethie's condition.

Susan walked into WENN, ushering in her three charges. She pointed to the chairs in the lobby. "John sit there and stay put. Diane, sit with your brother please." She told her two children. She shuffled Alexander onto her other hip and greeted Gertie.

"Hi Susan, looks as though you have your hands full." The receptionist stood and reached for Alexander, "Hello sweetie, we've missed you around here."

Susan handed the baby to Gertie and asked, "Have you heard from Hilary?"

"No, haven't you?" Gertie answered, surprised.

"No, I haven't and I'm worried. She hasn't even bothered to check on Alex. It's like she's forgotten that he exists."

Nick walked out of the studio and walked toward Gertie when she saw she was holding Alexander. "Hilary!" He said. His face fell slightly, "Oh hi Susan. Have you heard from Hilary?"

"No that's why I'm here. I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd drop by to see if any of you have heard from her. Will told me that Bethie is responding well to the medicine, but for some reason she just won't get better." Susan explained. "He also said that Hilary has not left that hospital room since she got there."

"Well, I'll fix that." Nick said, "She needs to get out before she goes crazy." He picked up the phone, "Jeff's mother came in last night, I called her two days ago and she was surprised to find out Bethie was sick. Hilary hadn't even called her!" He looked at Gertie, "Hilary's. Arlette is staying at the house."

Gertie nodded and rang the number.

Aug 10th, 1944

Hilary curled into the easy chair that she'd pulled to Bethie's crib. She reached for the closest little arm and comfortingly rubbed. "I wish you'd just wake up for mama, please. Dr. Sam says that you should be getting better sweetie."

She leaned forward and placed the needle onto a record she had been listening to quite a bit of lately. A recording of a Bedside Manor broadcast she and Jeff had done seven months into her pregnancy with Bethie.

He teased her about having to wait on her and about her mood swings, "not", as he had put it, "that things were any different when you weren't having a baby."

Of course she'd retorted back that she'd "always had a baby and his name was Jeffrey", Hilary laughed. She heard the door to the room creek open and leaned forward to see who'd entered. She was surprised to see it was Nick, followed by her mother-in-law.

She quickly stood and ran her fingers through her hair, making sure it looked all right. Of late she hadn't bothered much with her appearance. Just a quickly taken shower and simple wash for her hair. Nothing fancy, just brushing it out and letting it air dry. And make-up, why bother? She didn't plan on leaving the room or seeing anyone. The only person that it would matter for was right now halfway around the world needing his family as much as they needed him.

"Hilary Singer, I am ashamed of you!" Arlette reprimanded quietly, but firmly. "Now, at a time when your children need you the most, is not when you shut yourself off from the world."

"Arlette--" Hilary started, surprised at the woman's harshness, but also feeling guilty because part of her knew the woman was right.

"Now, I came here to sit with my grandbaby for a while. You go with this nice young man here and get some fresh air into those lungs of yours."

"No--I can't." Hilary said, "Bethie needs me."

"Posh and nonsense!" The small woman said. "She is stable, the nurses say she's getting better."

"But she isn't." Hilary defended.

"Well she would be if her mother wasn't moping about. This child needs to know that her mother is in high spirits. She needs to hear you laugh."

Hilary grew indignant at that statement. "Well, I haven't exactly had much to laugh about the last two weeks! My daughter is in a hospital, my husband is god only knows where right now; I have had a bad feeling about him since we brought Bethie in here- you will excuse me if I don't laugh!"

"Something's happened to Jeffrey?" Arlette became concerned at that news.

"I don't know," Hilary frustratedly snapped, "I just know that Bethie keeps mumbling that her daddy's been hurt and the longer I go without hearing from him--," she let the sentence trail off, unable to put her fears into words.

Nick spoke up, "Hil, you've got to get away from here. Now I have a nice evening planned and I don't like for my dates to stand me up."

"No, Nick--," she started to object.

"You, go." Arlette finally physically pushed Hilary toward the door. "I will not leave this room until you get back. I don't want to see you in less than two hours."

Hilary started to object, but Nick grabbed her by the shoulders, "I promise Hilary I'll be the best date you've ever had."

Arlette stood and wagged her finger, "You remember she's married to my son."

"Okay," Nick amended, "I won't be *that* good a date."

"That's better." Arlette said and turned toward the crib.

"All right." Hilary finally consented, "I'll go." She twisted out of Nick's grip and walked to Bethie's bed. "She likes to hear Jeffrey's voice. Those disks are recordings of our shows, mostly his. Sometimes she wakes calling for him. I put a record on and it lulls her back to sleep."

The woman put a gentle hand on Hilary's arm, "I'll remember that. You go. Get some fresh air. Put a smile back on that beautiful face."

Hilary hugged the smaller woman and thanked her.

Nick and Hilary sat at a table for two in Bella's. Nick watched his dinner companion as she ate her vegetable lasagna. He was glad that Arlette hadn't minded if he took Hilary out for a night on the town. He knew she needed it and frankly, though he knew she was married, he couldn't keep her off his mind.

They'd stopped by her house before coming to the restaurant to let her change. She'd chosen a lovely evening dress, he thought. The shimmering reds brought out the auburn in her hair. She was radiant, even if she didn't feel that way.

. . . going to call the hospital."

Nick shook himself from his thoughts as he realized she was talking to him. "I'm sorry, what?"

"I said, I'm going to call the hospital." Hilary repeated as she pulled a card with the number written on it from her clutch purse.

"No. Her grandmother is with her, Hilary. Arlette knows exactly where we are and where we will be. I had to give her my itinerary before she'd agree to let me take you out," Nick explained.

"Nicholas, she's my daughter."

"Hilary, her grandmother is with her. Arlette promised to call should the need for you to be there arise." Nick argued, then stood to walk to her. He put his hands on her upper arms and lifted her out of the chair, "I was told to make you have a good time tonight if it killed me."

"Or I kill you, whichever comes first." Hilary snapped, beginning to lighten up despite herself.

"Now that's the Hilary I've come to know and be afraid of," Nick teased. "Would you care to dance, milady." He offered his arm and she took it.

They walked to the dance floor and Nick pulled Hilary into his arms, making sure to keep a respectful distance from her. They danced several dances together and Nick noticed with each successful song Hilary began to open up and to laugh. It was a sound he was glad to hear; and one he admitted, he wished he could hear more intimately. He shook his head, no, stop with those thoughts. No matter how much he was, he finally admitted to himself, in love with Hilary Singer, he had to remember that there was a Mrs. in front of her name.

He'd recognized in the last few months that he would never be as important to her as Jeff Singer was, but he did want to be her friend, her confidant and someone to whom she could rely on should she need him.

The band began to play a slower selection, one Hilary recognized immediately. It had been the song that was playing when Jeff told her he was leaving. Before she could stop herself, she lost control of her emotions.

Nick was surprised when Hilary melted against him. He could tell by her shaking body that she was crying. He held her and moved into the shadows of the room to afford her a small bit of privacy.

When he felt that she'd calmed enough, he led her out the open doors into the courtyard and the warm summer evening. Nick found a bench near some trees. "Let's walk over here, Hilary," he told her softly and guided her with a hand on the small of her back.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me." She apologized, wiping away drying tears. She sat and looked up at the man.

He sat and assured, "Don't apologize, Hilary. You really needed that cry."

"No. I've got too many things to worry about, I can't fall apart now." She took a breath and straightened, pulling up her defenses.

"Hil, don't you do this!" Nick scolded when he saw her demeanor change. "It's killing you and it's killing Bethie."

"Nicholas--" she started.

When she used his full name he knew that she'd retreated again. He did the only thing he could think of to penetrate her wall. He kissed her.

For a few seconds she returned his kiss, then she slapped him. "How dare you!"

"That's it!" Nick responded vehemently, "get angry! Yell at me, yell at the trees, for God's sake Hilary get mad! Let off some steam, because you know what? You are mad as hell."

"I am not!" She responded harshly.

"You are angry at Bethie for getting sick, you are angry at Scott for getting killed," Nick ticked on his fingers, "But what is at the bottom of all this, Hilary, is that you are mad at Jeff for leaving you at a time when you need him the most. You are angry because he joined a war he was already excused from--"

"He left me here with two children to care for." She interrupted quietly, "Bethie was heartbroken when he left. I think that's why she's not getting any better. She needs her father and where is he? Fighting in a war, that has already nearly killed him."

"I don't know how he is. I haven't gotten a blasted letter from him two and a half months. I keep imagining that he's lying in some bloody field somewhere calling for me and I can't get to him." She lifted her eyes to his face, "I can't get to him, Nick." She leaned against him and for the first time since Jeff went overseas, took solace and gained much needed strength in a man's arms.

"You should let Alexander know that his mother hasn't forgotten him." Nick reminded.

"I've been so worried about Elizabeth and about Jeff." She said.

"I know, but at what expense?" He told her gently, "You are falling apart, Hilary, and you're taking your family with you."

He held her as she thought silently for several moments. When she again sat, he could tell that the usual spark was back in her eyes. There was still the sadness, that would be there until she had her husband back. Pulling his thoughts away from jealousy, he said jovially, "So, why don't we go in and finish our dinner."

She smiled, "Yes. I think that's a lovely idea."

They walked back to their table and sat. Nick took a bite and made a face. "This is cold."

Hilary tasted hers and concurred. "Well, it is our own faults." Then she chuckled, "I should be used to it. Jeffrey and I always end up having to eat cold food."

"I have an idea." Nick said. He handed Hilary her wrap, motioned for their bill and paid it.

While walking to his car, Hilary asked, "Where are we going?"

"To your place." Nick replied, vaguely. When he saw his companion regard him with a lift of her brow, he laughed. "Don't worry, Mrs. Singer, my intentions are purely honorable."

Hilary unlocked her front door and walked in. "While I am here, I may as well pack some fresh changes of clothes to take to the hospital with me. I'll have Arlette bring the dirty ones back here to clean."

"You go on and do that, I'll be right back." Nick encouraged and then walked out the front door.

Hilary watched him leave, walked upstairs and into her bedroom. She pulled out a suitcase and began to fold some casual dresses and a couple pant suits to take with her. She finished packing and reached for the phone to call Arlette when she heard a small voice yelling for her from downstairs. She smiled and left the bedroom.

At the foot of the stairs stood Nick with Alexander in his arms. He was encouraging the baby to call loudly for his mother.

When Alex did see his mother, he grinned widely and outstretched his arms, "Mamamama!" He began to bounce so much in Nick's arm that he had to wrap his other arm around the boy's back before he dropped him.

Hilary ran down the steps and took the baby, hugging him tightly. "Mommy's so sorry she left you, darling." Alex hugged her tightly around the neck and dribbled a sloppy kiss on her cheek. Hilary held him closely in front of her. She wiped drool away from his mouth with her hand gave him a quick kiss. "I love you, sweetie."

Nick's stomach chose that moment to begin rumbling.

Hilary looked at him, "Are you still hungry?"

He smiled sheepishly, "I guess I am."

"Well, I know that The Buttery is open late." She looked at her watch, "It's nine-thirty. We can go there. They may not be the best restaurant in town, but they make a mean burger and fries."

"You sure?" Nick questioned. He had been fully prepared to take her back to the hospital and let Arlette bring Alexander home.

"Well, Arlette is with Bethie. Let me call and tell her where we'll be." She said, "I do want to check in anyway."

"Okay. Sounds good to me." He replied, glad to be able to have her to himself for a bit longer.

They sat at a table in The Buttery and laughed as Alexander squashed every French fry he was given.

Mackie walked up behind the little boy and bent, "Well, hello there Alexander Singer" he said in his "clown" voice.

Alex turned around and gave Mackie a wide single toothed grin and in his excitement hugged the man around his face.

Immediately Mackie realized he now was covered with mashed fries. "Well, I suppose this is better than tomatoes." He said with a smile in his voice and gestured to the empty chair. "Do you mind?"

"No, Mackie please." Hilary answered, handing him a napkin.

"Thanks," he said and wiped his face. "How's the Little Pumpkin doing?"

"Well, the penicillin seems to have gotten control of her pneumonia." Hilary explained. "I'm hoping all she is doing now, is sleeping off the last of the infection. It's the only explanation I can think of for her not to be awake and insisting that she be taken out of that bed."

"I'm glad to see you out, Hilary. I think you needed it."

"I did, Mackie."

"Since you are here, there is a letter upstairs waiting for you that I am sure you'd really want." The balding man told her.

Her face lit brightly, "From Jeff?"

Mackie nodded silently with a knowing grin.

Relief flooded her so much that she verbally sighed. She stood, "Oh, thank you Mackie," she kissed the top of his head and rushed out of the restaurant toward the elevators.

Mackie chuckled and watched as Nick's gaze followed Hilary out the doors. "You don't stand a chance, you know that?"

"Yeah, I know." Nick replied almost thoughtfully.

Hilary walked to the front door of the station and was stopped by the banner that hung in the center of the glass. One of the building's maintenance men had graciously hammered a thin wood board across the door so they could hang the banner that Gertie had made without damaging the glass. Scott's blue star had been replaced with a gold one.

With a sigh, she reached a finger to trace Jeff's star. Shaking the thought from her mind, she walked through the door and greeted the woman at reception.

"Hilary!" Gertie said, surprised to see her, "how's the little one?"

"She's sleeping. There's been no change in the last week. Dr Jones says that she's probably sleeping the infection out of her system." Hilary explained as she collected the mail in her slot. She flipped through the letters until she found the one she was looking for, then smiled. She tucked the other letters under her arm and pulled Jeff's letter open.

"Hello Hilary," Grace said as she came around the corner, "Is Elizabeth doing better?"

"I think so," Hilary absently answered as she read. She glanced up quickly as it dawned on her who had spoken. "Oh, Grace!" she walked closer to the woman and lowered her voice, "can we talk? In the green room."

"I was just on my out for a bite to eat, but alright." Grace answered and walked with Hilary into the green room.

Hilary set her mail on the table and walked to the coffee pot, pouring herself a cup. She gestured an offer to Grace who shook her head no. "Um . . . " she started hesitantly, "this isn't easy for me to say to you," she waved arm and covered with a small laugh, "after all we're not exactly friends," she sat and turned serious again, "anymore." She stared at the liquid in her cup and pursed her lips.

She looked up and took a deep breath. "Thank you." She uncomfortably shifted, started to rest her hand on her cheek, then changed her mind and wrapped it around the warm coffee cup again.

"Hilary," Grace said, "you don't have to thank me," she said, unsure of the reason.

"You have been covering for me while my daughter is sick." Hilary explained a little more sure, now that she'd opened the subject. "I appreciate that more than you know." A brief uncomfortable silence followed, which Hilary broke with a laugh, "Just don't get attached to the roles. They are mine and I will fight for them."

Grace laughed, "I won't, but I do think Betty is working on creating a few for me."

"What?" Hilary asked, surprised by the admission. "You - you're staying?"

"Victor and I were married last weekend." Grace said, "I thought you knew."

"No." Hilary answered, "I guess I have been out of touch."

"Can we work together again without killing each other?" Grace asked seriously.

"No more back-stabbing, no more role stealing." Hilary replied as if she were setting boundaries. "Grace, being here means everything to me. This is my home." Hilary admitted honestly, "Don't take it away from me."

"Hilary, I'm so sorry for what I did," Grace apologized. "We're both different women now. Do you think we can get at least some of our friendship back?"

"We'll never be a close as we were before you stole my career." Hilary stated, "but you do have my eternal gratitude for one thing."

Grace regarded her companion with a questioning look.

"Had you not -- had I not been forced to go on the road, I never would have met Jeffrey." Hilary then smiled and stood to place her now empty cup in the sink, "and it has always grated at me that I have you of all people to thank for that."

Grace laughed, "Well I am relieved that we'll be able to put the past aside and work together."

Hilary snickered, "Well we'll be able to work together at least."

"I guess for now that's a good beginning." Grace replied with a smile.

"I should get back to Bethie." Hilary said sensing the conversation was finished. "Congratulations, by the way, Mrs. Comstock. Or are you sticking with Cavendish?"

Grace followed Hilary out of the green room as she answered, "Since I didn't have to change any of my monograms, I thought what the heck and went with Comstock. It's marginally better than Cavendish."

"I'll agree with you there." Hilary walked past Gertie's desk and bade the women goodnight, "I'll call if there is any change with Bethie."

An hour later, Nick and Hilary walked back into Bethie's room to find her grandmother reading to her a French fairy tale. Bethie still slept.

Arlette stood, surprised at the change in Hilary's attitude. "This outing seems to have done you a world of good!" Arlette exclaimed as she embraced her daughter-in-law.

"Yes," Hilary said, "I did need it after all." She straightened, "I also got a letter from Jeffrey."

Arlette smiled, "How is he?"

"He's fine." Hilary answered, "He was apparently wounded. He said that he would return to the front in a couple weeks. Judging by the date of the letter, that should be any time now."

"I'm so glad to know he's all right." Arlette said, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Me too." Hilary added. "How is my babygirl?" she asked walking to the bed where Bethie still slept.

"Not a peep out of her." The older woman sighed. "We did listen to a couple of Jeffrey's shows. I do love that Sam Dane. Such an interesting show."

Hilary smiled, "Yes. It's one of Jeff's favorite roles. " She bent closer to the woman to whisper, "and I'll admit it's my favorite role of his."

Arlette laughed and patted Hilary on the back. "Well Nicholas, I think we should be leaving."

Nick smiled, "Right."

"Alexander is waiting for grandmama at the nurses station." Hilary said, "When we left he was charming the socks off the two ladies at the desk, proving he is his father's son."

"I should go rescue them before he marries one of them." Arlette said with a laugh. She walked back to the crib and took the little hand, "I'll see you tomorrow Miss Bethie. I love you, sweetie." She turned and gave Hilary a quick hug. "Goodnight darling. I'll take Alex back home with me and I'll see you tomorrow."

"All right." Hilary saw Nick and her mother-in-law to the door and waved as they left.

She walked back to the bed, "Guess what I have, little pumpkin." She pulled the envelope from her pocket. "I have a letter from daddy." She sat in the chair, opened the envelope and read aloud:

July 29th, (In the hospital tent--letter 47 or 48)

Jeffrey

Hilary finished reading the letter and leaned forward in her chair. "See Bethie, your daddy is okay." She sat back and before she could stop them, tears of joy, sadness and relief came flooding out. She walked back to the small couch on the opposite side of the room so Bethie wouldn't hear her cry. Hilary lay and cried until she had no tears left. At some point, she'd cried herself to sleep.

Aug 15th, 1944

Jeff hopped off the jeep and checked in with Captain Garrison. His upper chest still bothered him a bit, but not nearly as it had right after he'd been shot. He still wore a bandage over the wound; the stitches were gone, but it was still healing.

"Hey Singer, you've got a ton of mail over here." Jimmy Watson, the Division clerk told him. "We were going to send it all to the hospital, but Cap said you'd be back before it got there." The sandy haired man handed the letters to Jeff as he walked up.

"Thanks, Jim" Jeff thumbed through the envelopes and smiled as he saw five letters from Hilary and nearly as many from his mother. The mail had been behind since they'd left Cherbourg.

"Where's Tom?" Jeff questioned, wondering where he was going to sleep that night.

"He's with a unit clearing out the next town. We should move in there by nightfall from what I've heard." Jim answered.

"Do you know what town it is?" Jeff wondered.

"Nah, just another village." The man shrugged.

Jeff grunted non-committaly and found an empty place to sit and read his mail.

He read his mother's letters first, wanting to save Hilary's so that he could take his time with them. He was glad to read that his mother was doing well. When he got to her last letter he noticed it was postmarked from Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh? He wondered why she was in Pittsburgh. Probably just visiting, he thought as he opened the envelope and read the letter.

A sentence caught his eye, "Am staying at your house with Alexander while Hilary is at the hospital with Bethie." Confused, he set her letter down and picked up Hilary's. He thumbed through until he could find the most recent one and opened it.

July 29th, 1944 (letter 54)

Hilary, Bethie & Alexander

Jeff wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket and walked to his commanding officer, "Hey Cap, can I write a letter home and get it sent right way? Are they censoring mail?"

The man looked up from cleaning his weapon and noted the distraught look on Jeff's face. "Bad news from home?"

Jeff crouched to the man's eye level, "My daughter has pneumonia. According to this letter from my wife, she was rushed to the hospital on," he looked at the date of the letter he held, "July 28th. I need to know if she's okay."

"Well," Garrison said, "We are getting ready to pull into the next village. I shouldn't do this, but scribble a letter quickly and I'll glance it over and see that it goes out with my supply request."

Jeff smiled, "Thanks." He started to stand when the slightly older man lay a comforting hand on his arm.

"I hope she's ok."

Jeff nodded, "yeah." He stood and asked the clerk he'd just been standing next to for a piece of paper and a pencil. He sat and wrote,

Aug 15th, 1944 (back at camp)

Jeffrey

Once finished, he put it into an envelope and gave it to Captain Garrison to mail.

Aug 16th, 1944

"Mommy?"

Hilary jumped at the softly tentative word. She looked up quickly from the letter she'd been reading from Ellen. Bethie was laying on her side and reaching through the bars of the crib. The last two fingers of her other hand were in her mouth. Hilary leaned forward, closer to the crib and reached her arms between the slats to feel the little forehead and take her hand, "Bethie sweetie," she tried to keep the happy tears from falling, "Mommy's so glad to hear your little voice."

"Daddy okay."

With those words, Hilary could no longer hold back the tears. "Yes little Pumpkin, your daddy's okay." She pulled away briefly to call the nurse.

"Mommy don't cry."

Hilary smiled and rubbed a thumb gently across the tiny forehead, "Mama's just happy, Bethie."

"Well, what do we have here?"

Hilary turned as she saw the nurse accompanied with Dr. Jones. "She just woke up," she explained.

The carrot-topped doctor smiled broadly, "Well lets just have a look at you little Miss Singer." He walked to Bethie's bedside and looked her over thoroughly. Once finished he turned to Hilary, "Looks like my theory was right, Mrs. Singer. She just slept off the infection as I'd been hoping she was doing. I want to have some blood tests done and a few other minor things just to make sure." He lay a comforting hand on Hilary's upper arm, "She's going to be all right."

Hilary closed her eyes and drew a deep relieved breath. "Thank you, Dr. Sam for everything."

"Don't thank me, Mrs. Singer," he smiled, "It's moments like this that are thanks enough." He started walking to the door, "Let me go get those tests ordered, and I'll be back this evening before I leave to check-up on her."

While the nurse was double checking Bethie's comfort, Hilary phoned Arlette and then the station to give everyone the good news.

Jeff followed the rest of the unit into the village. He was looking forward to getting back with Tom and catching up on things he'd missed while laid up. As he walked through the now cleared streets, a quiet calmness surrounded him. He looked around, feeling as if he was being watched. Since he'd been shot he had become aware of every nuance of his surroundings. He gathered it was an instinctual defense.

Jeff saw Tom near a still smoldering building and ran to him. "Guess they decided I was fit for the trenches again."

Tom smiled, "Good to see you Shorty! You doin' alright?"

"Yeah," Jeff's smile faded, "I got a letter from Hilary yesterday, Bethie is sick. Pneumonia"

Tom cringed, "I'm sorry to hear that Jeff."

"Hilary said they are trying a new kind of medicine on her that will hopefully cure it."

"Good." Tom said with a hopeful smile, "I've got my fingers crossed. Come on, I'll take you to our new abode-- for the next day or so."

Jeff followed the man to a decent sized building that looked as though it had been a general store at one time. He walked up to a counter and brushed his hand across the debris that lay across it. "These poor people. At one time their lives were just as peaceful as ours were. What makes fools go to war?"

Tom looked over some shelves that contained what looked like food. He picked up a jar here and a bottle there, turning them over to see if any might still be edible. He heard a thud and a small cry that was quickly silenced. He looked at Jeff and gestured for him to stay silent.

Moving the gun off his shoulder, he asked in German and French if there were any soldiers. He slowly crept to where he heard the noise and quickly moved a box. Two women and a child screamed out of fright, nearly causing Tom to jump out of his skin.

He relaxed quickly, trying to assure the cowering and shaking trio that he meant no harm. Frustrated by the lack of understanding, he turned to Jeff, "You speak French don't you?"

He nodded and carefully eased to the women. He crouched and soothingly told them in their language that they were there to help, not harm. He noticed them relax a little when they recognized their native language.

The youngest of the two and obviously the mother of the frightened boy she held, asked, <<German soldiers gone?>>

Jeff nodded and she smiled. He noticed that she had a beautiful smile. His chest tightened as he thought of Hilary. He thanked God she was back in the States and safe. He reached for the woman's hand as a gesture of friendship. He told her his name and she very visibly relaxed.

She smiled again and pointed to herself, <<Lilianne,>> her son, <<Cédric,>> and her mother, <<Geneviève.>>

Jeff pointed to Tom and told them his name. Each time a distant explosion went off the little boy, who Jeff thought to be about five, would jump and cry. Jeff assured him the noises were in the distance.

Tom nudged Jeff, getting his attention, "Ask if we can have some food."

Jeff nodded and relayed the question.

Lilianne stood and walked to the shelves, <<Take what you will. It will feed all your soldiers. I will cook.>>

<<No, ma'am>> Jeff stopped her, <<It's okay. We can cook.>> He laughed, <<I cook for my wife, I'm used to it.>>

She laughed then told her mother and son that it was safe to come from their refuge. She showed Jeff where the wood stove was and did help him cook. She had refused to take no for an answer.

Once they had a fairly decent meal of canned meats and vegetables prepared, Tom let the captain know and a good portion of the 47th Infantry of the 9th Division ate well that night.

After dinner a few of the guys sat around the still warm stove in the general store and talked of home cooking. Cédric jovially ran from one man to the next enjoying his newfound lack of fear.

Lilianne tried to keep him from getting in their way, but Jeff assured her that he was no trouble. He explained that most of the men had their own kids that they were missing and her son was probably the best medicine they had had for quite some time.

Much later, after the men had gone to their respective guarding posts or sleeping quarters, Jeff sat awake watching Lilianne and Cédric sleep peacefully. Her mother slept protectively near them. As he watched the family slumber, he thought of his own.

He looked at the wedding ring that adorned his left ring finger and smiled. It had taken him a few days to get used to wearing it, but, now it felt as if it had always been there. He picked his knapsack up and fished for the photographs he knew were inside.

He found the latest set of pictures that Hilary had sent and smiled thoughtfully. Alexander looked so much like he had as a baby. There were the few obvious differences. Alex had his mother's brown eyes and straight hair. Hilary had told him that Alex's short, fine hair was a very dark auburn, not quite black, but close enough to be unable to tell at times. He found it sometimes hard to believe that his son was already two months away from his first birthday.

As he looked at the pictures of Bethie, Jeff wondered how she was doing. She had always been so active, it was hard to imagine her being sick. By now, if the doctors were right about their new medicine, she should be up and around.

The pictures of Hilary were becoming hard to look at. Sometimes it seemed to him that she was someone else's wife. Just a woman he once knew in some other peaceful life. In his next letter, Jeff thought of asking her to send him a more recent picture of the two of them together. He hoped that would help to bridge the gap he had begun to feel.

Jeff sighed heavily and put the pictures away. He decided sleep at the moment was the best thing for him. As it was, it too had become a precious commodity that was snuck in at any opportune moment.

He settled on the wood floor covered by his tattered wool standard issue blanket and was morbidly lulled to sleep by the distant sounds of shelling.

"Daddy, I okay."

Bethie's voice, so clear in the dark silence, startled Jeff awake. He sat and looked around. He tried to shake off the sound when she ran out from behind the counter and jumped into his arms.

"I okay daddy. You don't have to worry." She whispered as she hugged him tightly.

Still unsure of what to make of what was happening, Jeff hugged his daughter. "Bethie, what are you doing here," he asked, confused.

"Mama bringed me." She answered.

"Brought, sweetie." Hilary crouched in front of Jeff and lightly caressed his face. "Pumpkin, we miss you."

"I miss you too, Mittens," he whispered. He leaned slightly and kissed her warmly.

She pulled away and traced his lips with her index finger. He reached for her, his arms now empty, and she moved willingly into his embrace. "You don't have to feel far away from me, darling," she whispered as she lay back against the grain sack he'd been using as a pillow. "Just close your eyes when you can and I will be here."

She pulled him down beside her. Jeff lay his head on her shoulder and let her hold him as he drifted back to sleep.

"Hey, Singer!"

He sat and realized he was alone in his blanket. He shook himself awake and looked for the person who'd yelled his name.

"I've been trying to wake you up for ten minutes," Tom snapped. "We're moving out."

"I'm sorry, Sarge." Jeff apologized as he gathered his things, "I must have been dreaming or something."

"I guess so," Tom chuckled, "you've been mumbling Hilary's name all night."

Jeff reddened, "Oh, sorry."

Don't be sorry." Tom winked, "I just hope you had a good enough time for all of us."

Jeff smacked his friend on the shoulder. He gave an embarrassed smile and started to pack his things away. Glancing around, He realized that the civilian family was gone. "Where is Lilianne?"

"We sent them to be with the rest of the refugee's from here. They are all at the other end of the village trying to decide what to do next." Tom explained. "She'll be alright."

"That's good. I hope they're out of danger."

"Me too." Tom answered. "Now come on. We need to get going."

As Jeff stuffed the last of his belongings into his pack, he thought about the dream he'd had the previous night. It had seemed so real. He folded up the blanket, and as he put it into his bag, Jeff caught the distinctive scent of Hilary's perfume. He stopped momentarily as the dream came back to him vividly.

"Shorty!" Tom sharply reminded.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, Jeff stuffed the blanket into the bag and stood to leave. "Jeffy boy you've been in the sun too long," he mumbled to himself as he joined Tom at the doorway. "Okay, let's go."

When they caught up with the rest of the men in their unit, Jeff turned and glanced back. He wished that he could have said goodbye to Lilianne and her little Cédric. He caught a glance of them with a group of civilians entering the general store they'd just left from. Silently he wished them luck.

He was a bit sad to be leaving this little village. Jeff wasn't sure why; he gathered that it was due to his meeting Lilianne and getting to know her a little.

. . . your bullet wound doing?"

Jeff shook himself out of his thoughts as he realized that Tom had spoken to him. "What?"

"You feeling better?" Tom asked again.

"Oh," Jeff smiled, "Still aches, but I think I can take the bandage off probably tomorrow."

They fell silent for a few moments, then Jeff spoke up again, "Where we headed now, do you know?"

Tom shrugged, "Last I heard we were headed to Rennes. I guess they are lumping a bunch of us together for one big push."

As they walked, Jeff kicked something. He looked down and saw it was a wooden sign. Noting they were on the outskirts of town, he figured it was the village marker and bent to pick it up. When he turned it over and read it, Jeff's heart skipped a beat. The images of his dream last night; and all the odd things that he'd felt since being shot immediately came to mind.

He looked up and saw that he was falling behind. Knowing that was not a good thing to let happen, Jeff made a quick heartfelt decision and took the sign with him. A part of him thought it was a bit selfish to take it, but, another part felt it was a 'good luck' charm. Brushing it off, he tucked it into his jacket and caught up with Tom.

"Hey Sarge," Jeff asked as he pulled even with the man. "Do you believe in . . . uh . . . I guess you could call it fate?"

"Hadn't really thought about it, why?" Tom answered as he lit a cigarette and offered Jeff one.

"No thanks," Jeff politely refused the smoke. He took the sign he'd tucked into his jacket and showed it to Tom, who chuckled with surprise.

"Saint Hilaire du Harcoüet," Tom read aloud, then started laughing. "Sorry, just trying to imagine Hilary as a saint. Doesn't quite work."

"No it doesn't." Jeff laughed with him, then sobered and asked "You remember that I told you I thought I saw Bethie with me when I got shot?"

"Yep"

"Well, in the letter I got from Hilary that told me Bethie was sick, she also told me that she got worse in the middle of the night and kept mumbling that I had been hurt." Jeff explained. "Tom, I counted it out and that was about the same time I was shot."

Tom raised his eyebrows, "Maybe it's just a coincidence."

"Last night I had a very realistic dream about Bethie and she told me that she was okay." Jeff shrugged, "I feel that she is."

Tom smiled.

"And last night before I went to sleep, I was looking at some pictures of Hilary. I was thinking that she seemed like she's a part of another life somewhere," he continued. "In my dream last night, she told me that she wasn't far away and that all I had to do was close my eyes and she'd be there."

When he saw the light grin on his companion's face, Jeff added, "I'm being too silly aren't I?"

No," Tom answered sincerely, "You miss your family, Jeff."

Jeff looked at the sign and thought of Hilary. "You have no idea."

EPILOGUE: Life Goes On . . .

Aug 28th, 1944

Hilary opened the front door of WENN and Bethie rushed inside, nearly tripping her mother. "Bethie!"

"I back!" the little girl announced loudly to anyone who cared to be listening.

"Well, it's good to see you back, sugar." Gertie stepped from behind her desk and hugged the little girl.

"You choking me Gramma." Bethie complained as she pushed away from the woman.

"She missed you, sweetie." Hilary said as she switched the sides she was holding Alexander on. He babbled contentedly, immersed in his own conversation and the purple block he was carrying. "Any mail for me?"

"Yes, there's a small package there on the desk from Jeff. It's on the corner by the wall." Gertie answered.

Hilary found the check-book sized box and unwrapped the brown paper wrapper with the help of little fingers. "Thank you Alexander, but Mommy needs both hands."

She handed the baby to Gertie and smiled to hear Bethie chattering away loudly in the green room. "I think she slept long enough to pick up a whole new range of words."

Gertie laughed and sat to answer the phone. Alex was quiet, but tried his best to get the receiver around the woman's neck into his mouth. She inched away from him and earned a frustrated cry. Once the phone call was finished she gently explained, "Little mister, I don't think that would taste too good."

She looked up and saw that Hilary had sat against the wall and was staring at something in her hand with a downhearted look on her face. "Hilary what's wrong?"

"Jeffrey was given a purple heart. He sent it to me for safe keeping." She quietly explained. "I guess it didn't hit me until now that he really had been wounded."

"Is he okay now?" The receptionist questioned.

"He says he is." Hilary answered, reading the accompanying letter.

When she finished with the letter, she put the medal back into it's box and gathered her son and his belongings. She slipped the box into Alex's bag to more easily carry the wiggling baby into the green room.

When she walked through the swinging doors she saw Betty and Grace laughing with Bethie. "Hello."

"Hi, Hilary." Betty acknowledged, "Bethie was just telling us about the hospital."

Hilary walked to the playpen and set Alexander into it. "I bet she is. Did she tell you about the sucker tree?"

"It talked!" Bethie said, "and gave me a sucker."

Nick walked into the room and his smile widened when he saw Hilary. "I see you're back."

"I back too!" Bethie said, "the hospital said I all better now."

Nick crouched to her level and picked her up to hug her, "I see you're back, pun'kin."

"I not Pum'kin!" Bethie snapped and pushed enough that Nick set her down before dropping her. "Daddy's pum'kin." She crossed her arms as she admonished disapprovingly, "I Lit'l Pum'kin!" She punctuated her statement with a quick nod.

"I'm sorry," Nick apologized with a humored twinkle in his eye, "I won't make that mistake again."

"See that you don't." Hilary added with a smile from the couch.

That afternoon, during her Woman's View Of The News broadcast Hilary was to read a few of the reports that Jeff had sent. WENNterprises' Board of Directors wanted Mackie to read them, as it would have seemed more appropriate for them to be read by a man, but Hilary had insisted. They gave in, but asked that Victor make the reports more 'appropriate' for a woman.

Hilary walked into the station manager's office. "Victor, Betty told me you have Jeff's -- What are you doing?" She asked as the station manager was crossing out a word here and there on the papers Jeff had sent.

"Some of this isn't quite appropriate for you to read." Victor answered, "I was asked to make a few minor adjustments."

"Victor I'll make a few minor adjustments to your head if you don't stop!" Hilary warned. "He's risking his life for those and you are not going to change them!"

The tall thin man regarded Hilary with an exasperated look, "I'm not taking out the meaning of the articles, Hilary, just a few words that wouldn't be appropriate for A Woman's View Of The News."

"So . . .Mackie could read the articles in their entirety without causing an uproar?" She mused.

Victor nodded, "Yes, censor-wise there is no problem with them."

Before he could react, Hilary snatched the papers from his hands and stormed out of the office. "Hil-!" He clasped his hand as the moment of angered frustration worked it's way through his system. He took a deep breath, drummed his fingers on his desk and smiled when he saw Betty leaning amusedly against his door.

"You should have known better." Betty said with a grin.

He agreed then asked, "What can I do for you?"

"I just need you to look this over and sign it." Betty said as she walked into his office and handed Victor a sponsor's contract.