From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 2 Oct 2005 15:38:47 -0000
Subject: NEW - Forgive Us Our Trespasses by Taffy Northwood (14?) by taffyxf
Source: direct

Reply To: taffyxf@yahoo.com


Title: Forgive Us Our Trespasses
Author: Taffy Northwood
E-Mail: taffyxf@yahoo.com
Rating:  NC17 (eventually)
Category:  AU, MSR  
Archives:  Just ask.  
Feedback: Never in bad taste <g>
Disclaimer: Mulder, Scully, Skinner and any 
other XF characters are on loan only.  
Summary:  In 1909 New York City, there were two 
distinct and separate worlds: that of the very wealthy 
and that of the very poor.  Could love bridge the 
great divide between those worlds for two star-crossed 
lovers?
Author Notes: Like a huge part of the fandom, I've
become absolutely dotty over AU fic.  This is my 
modest attempt to put Mulder and Scully into another
time and place.  Please be aware, this is a 
work-in-progress. 

Forgive Us Our Trespasses - Fox Mulder's story.  Part 14


"Welcome to the Plaza Hotel," the desk clerk said.
"Your suite is ready, Mr. Mulder.  I hope you and
Mrs. Mulder enjoy your stay."

The man rang his bell and the bellman appeared to
take their bags.  Katie's eyes were huge as she took
in the elegant hotel lobby with its palatial marble
walls and floor.  Fox was rather pleased with himself 
for choosing the Plaza.  Only two years old, the hotel
was the epitome of opulence.

Katie's fingers were tight around his arm as they
followed the bellman to the bank of elevators.  

Their suite was on the eighth floor.  The bellman
opened the door and they entered.  Fox heard Katie's
quiet gasp at the beautiful mahogany furniture, heavy
silk drapes and damask upholstery.  

A lavish arrangement of roses adorned the carved 
dining table, with smaller ones on either side of the
sofa.  A box of chocolates sat beside a large bowl
of fruit on the coffee table.  Fox was pleased to
see his instructions had been followed.

"Thank you," he said to the bellman, handing him a
quarter.  "That will be all."

Katie wandered around the room in silence, finally
stopping at the window.  Fox came behind her, his
hands encircling her waist.  He wouldn't be able
to do that much longer, he thought.

"Is everything all right?" he asked, leaning
close to her ear.  

"It's fine," she said, turning her head to look
into his eyes.  "This is...it's just going to
take some getting used to."

She stretched up to place a soft kiss at the 
corner of his mouth before stepping away.  Katie
took off her hat and went into the bedroom.

"Sweet Jesus!  What on earth is this?" 

Fox rushed into the room to find Katie standing,
hands on hips, surveying a sea of glossy white
boxes that were piled on the bed.  Each box was
emblazoned with the name "Lord & Taylor."

"Mulder?" she said, turning to face him.

"They're for you," he said.  "A brand new wardrobe.
I wasn't sure they would arrive in time."

"You bought me a wardrobe?  When?  I don't understand."

Katie's sharp tone was far from the delighted surprise 
he'd pictured when he ordered the dresses and hats and 
undergarments.  

"I ordered all of this when we bought your honeymoon
clothes," he said.  "I wanted to surprise you."

"Well, you certainly succeeded at that."  Katie's gaze
was sharp as she looked first to the mountain of boxes
and then back at him.  No, this was not at all what he
had in mind when, with one eye on the dressing room where
Katie was putting her old clothes on, he'd given his
instructions to the dressmaker.   "Did you stop to think 
that perhaps I wanted to choose my own clothes?"

Fox struggled to answer her.  He'd truly not meant to 
offend Katie.  He knew she was a very practical woman,
but, surely, all women liked pretty things.  

"I thought you'd be happy," he said finally.

"Mulder," she began, her head down, eyes shadowed by
her lashes.  "Were you...were you afraid I'd embarrass 
you as I am?"

"No," he said, taking her hands in his.  "Never that.  
Katie, you have to know how much I admire everything
about you."

He brought her hand up to his mouth and pressed a 
reverent kiss onto her palm.   Katie closed her eyes
and allowed him to pull her into an embrace.  

"I'm sorry," she whispered.  "It was very thoughtful
and I'm being incredibly ungrateful.  Why don't we
open the boxes and see what you picked out?"

Fox had explained to the sales associate that he wanted
simple, elegant clothes for his wife.  He'd told her
that his bride needed a number of practical dresses
for daytime.  He'd also ordered lovely gowns for 
evening for no other reason than he wanted to see her
in satin and velvet.  

As Katie opened each box and shook out each garment, 
Fox saw that the saleswoman had done a remarkable 
job of translating his wishes into reality.   Between
them, they emptied all the boxes and put the clothes
into the capacious closet alongside Fox's suits.   
Skinner had arranged for them to be sent over before 
Fox and Katie's arrival.

"Oh, Mulder, I love this one," Katie said, holding
up a nile green dress with a large, scalloped 
collar.  "I've never had so many pretty things. It's
too bad that I'll only get to wear them for a few
more months."

"Then we'll buy you some new clothes."

"Mulder, I want you to promise me one thing," she
said, putting her arms around him.  "No more
surprises.  I love the new clothes, but please 
let me decide what I need and don't need."

Katie drew him down for a passionate kiss, and any
argument he might have had was forgotten.  With his
arms around her, he reveled at the way her curves 
melted against his hardness.

They pulled at each others clothes and Fox wished for
the hundredth time that there weren't so damn many
buttons and hooks and layers to Katie's garments.  
He'd invest millions in easier to open fastenings
for women's clothing.   

He and Katie made love amid the boxes and wrappings
and dresses on the bed.  Tissue paper crinkled under
them as he buried himself in Katie's sweet, hot depths. 

Afterward, a sated and drowsy Katie slept.  Fox put 
on his undershorts and trousers and went into the 
sitting room, carefully pulling the bedroom door closed
behind him.

It was time to grow up and take responsibility for 
what he believed in.  With a deep breath, he picked
up the phone on the desk.  When Edgar answered, Fox
asked to speak with his mother.

"Hello, Mother.  Did you enjoy your holiday?" 

"Very much, dear.  Newport is always such a lovely
change from New York.  We missed you, though.  How
is the lodge?"

"The lodge was wonderful."

"Fox, dear, where are you?" she asked, her voice 
sounding puzzled through the phone line.

"I'm in New York, Mother, at the Plaza Hotel."

"The Plaza?  I don't understand--are you coming 
home, dear?"

"Soon, Mother.  Will Father be home tonight?"

"Of course, Fox.  He'll be home by seven as always."

"Good, good," Fox said.  "I'll see you for dinner.  
And, Mother--I'm going to bring the surprise I told 
you about.  Have Edgar set another place at dinner."

He sat at the desk, scratching his chin.  While he
had no doubt that his parents would come to love 
Katie, he was under no illusions that he and Katie
would be sailing some rough waters tonight. 

When he peeked into the bedroom, he saw that Katie 
continued to sleep deeply.  Fox had to wake her so she
could bathe and dress for dinner.

His hands shook as he fastened the buttons on his 
shirt.  Katie seemed tense as well, taking far 
longer than usual to arrange her hair.  She looked
fetching, though, in a rose dress adorned with   
layer after layer of chiffon ruffles.  

"I can't reach to close this," Katie said, real
distress in her voice.

"I'll do it."  Fox hurried around to help hook the
back of Katie's dress, fumbling against the minute
loops.  He'd have to ask Edgar to see about engaging a
lady's maid.  Hiring the rest of the staff could wait
until they were settled in their new home.

"I'll have to alter it to make it easier," Katie said.
"It's a beautiful dress, but I can't imagine how I'm
supposed to put it on by myself."

"I don't understand how anyone can manage these tiny
hooks," Fox complained. 

"Poor Mulder," Katie said.  "You're nervous."

"There," said Fox, nudging the final hook in place. 
"Finally."

"Thank you.  Now let me fix your sleeves."

He held out his arms and Katie fastened his cuffs.

"Do you think your parents are just as nervous as we
are?" Katie asked.

"No doubt my mother has worked herself into a frenzy,
but I assure you, nothing ruffles my father."

"Not even meeting his new working-class daughter-in-law?"

Mulder gulped, involuntarily.  The Chief didn't know
about the marriage, unless DT had told him.  

"Mulder?"  Katie's eyes bored through him.  "How did
your parents react when you told them we were
married?"

"I, er, thought I'd surprise them," he stammered.  His
plan now seemed ill-advised at best.

Katie's look was definitely critical.

"I don't think that was fair to them.  Or to me."

"I see that now," he said.  God, he felt like a worm.

"Get your coat on."  Katie sounded determined.  Fox
could only marvel at her strength of character, and
hope she had enough for both of them.

"I'll call for the car," he said, adjusting his lapel.
"Or would you like to walk?"

"Not in these new shoes," she said, extending one slim
foot clad in a delicate silver pump.  "I don't think 
they were meant for walking."  

He knew he had disappointed her, but it was when he
realized that he had hurt her as well that he felt the
full force of his remorse.  She was sitting beside him
as he drove the Pierce Arrow to his father's house,
when she turned to him.

"I've always been able to hold my head up.  Even when
I lost my position at the settlement house, and then
when I had to face my family . . .  I couldn't bear it
if you felt ashamed of me, Mulder."

"I'm not, Katie.  I never could be," he said.  

"I couldn't bear it, Mulder, and I wouldn't bear it."

"I love you," he said.  "I love you desperately,
deeply and completely."

"I love you too, Mulder.  But that's the easy part."

He didn't ask her to explain because he understood. 
He swore to himself that he would become the man that
she deserved.  Everything about her called out to
what was best in himself, urging him to forswear what
was weak or shallow.  Maybe that was what drew him to
her from their first meeting

He parked the car in front of the house, walking
around to open Katie's door and take her arm.

Katie's face was pale as she looked up at his old
home.

"I should have taken you here before," he said.

"Holy Mary," she whispered.  

All six stories of the brownstone's bricks glowed 
warm in the waning sunlight of the early evening. 
Because the home was smaller than some of the other
mansions on Fifth Avenue, Fox often forgot how 
imposing it really was.  

He guided her up the steps and saw her eyes widen
again when Edgar swung open the door.

"Please see to my motorcar," Fox said, and Edgar 
nodded.

"Fox?"  His given name sounded foreign on her lips. 
"Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"It's Edgar, the butler,"  he said in a sideways
whisper.  He thought that was explanation enough, 
but he was quite wrong.

Katie stuck out her hand.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Edgar.  I'm Katie Scully."

Edgar's training prepared him to meet any challenge
with aplomb, and gravely he shook Katie's hand.

"Your parents are waiting in the drawing room," he
told Fox.

"Did I do something wrong?" Katie asked as he led her
through the house.

After a furtive look to see that no one was observing,
he pulled her close and planted a quick kiss on her
lips.

"You gave the wrong name, Katie Mulder."

"I haven't fully made up my mind."

"Don't say that," Fox begged her.

"I haven't decided if I'll change my name," she
explained.  

It was a jolt to his already jangled nerves, but he
put it aside for the present.

"Father's in a devilish mood," he noted when they were
almost to the drawing room.

"I don't hear anything," Katie said.

"Smell that cigar?  If he's smoking in the drawing
room, it means he's in such a foul temper that Mother
chooses not to object."

Then entered the formally appointed room, where Mother
and Father sat in silence.  Father's face was red,
most especially his nose, and Fox knew he'd been
drinking more heavily than he should.  Mother's smile
looked brave and strained as she rose to greet them.

Fox held Katie's hand tightly.

"Mother, Father, I'd like you to meet Katie.  My
wife."

Mother stopped in mid step.

"My wife, Katie."  The words sounded beautiful to him,
and the resonance of his own voice made his doubts
disappear.  "Katie, this is my mother."

"I'm so very happy to meet you, Mrs. Mulder.  I
realize this must be a shock," Katie said.

"A little," Mother allowed, breathlessly.  "But we're
so very happy for both of you.  Isn't that right,
William?"

Father was slowly getting to his feet.

"So this is the wonderful surprise," he said hoarsely.
 
"Your father was hoping you'd sold those foreign
bonds," Mother explained.

"Teena!" Father rebuked her.  "Let's not bore our
guest with business talk."

"I'm honored to meet you, Mr. Mulder," Katie said.  

"I'm honored as well.  I'm flattered that my only son
would allow me to meet his wife."

"William," Mother said, in a soft-spoken threat.

"I'm so sorry you weren't at our wedding," Katie said.

"My decision," Fox put in hurriedly.  "My error."

"Sometimes I wonder why I keep Skinner on the payroll
at all," Father muttered.

"Well now, shall we go in to dinner?  Katie, I hope
you like chateaubriand."

"I'm sure I will," said Katie. 

"It's beef," Fox whispered in her ear.  

The dining room, with its heavy drapery and formal
table setting, had never felt as austere as it did 
tonight.  William Mulder's eyes never left his son's 
face as he ignored his turtle soup and drank his
bourdeaux.

"Tell us about your family, dear," Teena Mulder said.

"I'm not sure where to start," Katie said.  Her hands
were folded in her lap as Edgar removed her soup plate.
"My father passed away a few years ago.  My mother runs
the boarding house they owned."

William Mulder downed the last of his wine. He motioned to 
the footman to refill his glass with an impatient wave.  

"Katie's father was a sea captain," Fox offered.  

"It was a fishing boat, actually.  Though he was awfully
proud of it."

"I'm sure he was," Teena said.  "And the rest of the 
family?"

"I have two brothers and a sister.  My sister has two
little boys."

"That's lovely dear.  What a blessing for your mother.
It sounds like you are a close family."

"Yes, I suppose we are.  My father was gone for days at
a time, so we needed to take care of each other."

Edgar and the footman served the chateaubriand, and
the conversation lulled.  Tension hung in the air like
a fine mist.

"This is delicious," Katie said.  

"Cook always does a fine job."  Teena took a small bite
of her meat.   "Fox, I don't believe you told us how you
met Katie."

"One day, when I was out taking photographs, I...er...got
hurt.  Katie patched me up.   Did I tell you she's a nurse?"

"Oh, my, how interesting," Teena said.  "I've always 
admired Miss Nightingale for her noble work.  My dear, 
your given name...is it Kathleen?"

"It's Katherine," Katie replied.

"Oh good," Teena said.   "If you don't mind, I think I'll 
call you Katherine.  We have a maid named Katie and I think 
it might become a little...confusing."

Katie barely touched her food, and Fox smiled inwardly as
he thought about the size of the room service order they'd
probably be placing later.   The discussion limped along
until Teena suggested they take their coffee in the 
drawing room.

"You ladies go ahead," William said, rising from
his seat.  "Fox will join me in the study for some
brandy."

Fox stood, his knees threatening to buckle at any moment.  
Katie looked up at him with worry in her eyes.  He 
offered her a brave smile, though he was feeling anything 
but brave.  He patted her hand before following his father 
out of the room.

Bill Mulder closed the door after Fox as they entered
the study.  He poured two generous brandies, taking a
deep swallow before speaking.

"What were you thinking, Fox?  What in the name of God
Almighty were you thinking?"

Fox's grip on his snifter was so tight, he feared he'd
snap the stem.  He set it down on the table before he
did damage.

"I was thinking she was the most wonderful person I'd
ever met."

"As usual, you were thinking with your dick and not 
your head," Bill choked out a bitter laugh.  "She's 
comely.  I'll give you that.  Certainly an improvement
over your usual little tarts.  I've never interfered 
with your affairs, Fox.  I know all about house you 
rent for that showgirl."

"Katie is not some showgirl.  She's the finest person 
I know."

"You can rut with any bitch you want, son, I don't
care," William said, his face almost purple with rage.  
"But you don't marry them, you damn fool!"

"I won't have you speak of my wife that way," Fox
said, his hands clutched into fists at his side.

"Who knows about this sham?" his father asked.  Cold 
dread crept up Fox's back as he realized where his 
father was headed.   "Who'd you tell, Fox?"

"Uncle Dewitt knows.  And Walter Skinner."

"Traut has a solid head for business.  He'll keep his 
mouth shut.  Should have known Skinner would be in on 
this.  He won't be a problem--not if he wants to keep 
receiving his salary."

"Katie's family knows, Father, and you don't control 
them."  

"Don't be dense.  A few dollars is a fortune to
these people.  They won't give us any trouble."

"You don't control me either."

"Shut up, Fox, before I shut you up.  I can take
care of this without your cooperation.  The girl used
false pretenses, or there's some irregularity in the
license.  The marriage won't hold if I want it to
fall."

"Father, you don't even know her.  She's everything
you hold high.  Intelligent, courageous, efficient--"

"You've given me a blazing headache.  I won't have you
stand here in my house and defy me!"  Father's face
had gone from red to purple.  For all his life Fox had
seen him as a titan to be admired and appeased, but
suddenly he was revealed as a willful tyrant.  

"Then I will leave your house," Fox said coldly.  All
fear of his father was gone, washed away by the anger.

Father looked stunned, almost blank with surprise. 
Fox turned and walked away.

As he reached the doorway he heard a crash, then a
heavy thump.  For a split second he thought his father
had broken into an actual tantrum, knocking down
furniture in his rage.  But even before he turned
around to look, he realized the truth.

William Mulder had collapsed onto the floor.  Fox
rushed to his side.

"Father!"

His father stared up at him, fear in his eyes.  His
mouth hung open and all his features seemed soft and
blubbery. 

Fox rubbed his cheek briskly, trying to bring him back
to himself.

"Father!  Are you all right?"

The only reply was a gurgling grunt from deep in the
throat, but Fox couldn't be sure if his father was
trying to speak or merely trying to breathe.

Unwilling to leave the room to summon help, Fox pulled
the cord to call for a maid.

"Please ask my wife to come in here," he told her. 
"My father appears to be ill."

To be continued....

Forgive Us Our Trespasses - Fox Mulder's story.  Part 15


William Mulder had been felled by a massive stroke.

In the weeks to come, Mother would praise him for
keeping his head and managing the crisis, but he knew
that was nonsense.  It was Katie who handled
everything.

Under her direction, Father was carried to his bedroom
and the doctor was summoned.  Dr. Wieder arrived
promptly and disappeared into the bedroom.

Fox's only task that evening was to sit with Mother in
the drawing room, patting her hand and urging her to
stay calm.

Dr. Wieder looked solemn when he joined them.

"He has suffered a major stroke.  There's little I can
do," the doctor informed them.

"But he'll be all right, won't he?" Mother asked.

"We can hope and pray for the best, but the outlook, I
fear, is very poor."

"Perhaps he'll listen to you now.  Give up those nasty
cigars and stop his overeating.  Take regular
exercise," Mother said.

"We will try to make him comfortable," the doctor
said.

"How long?" Fox asked.

"That's difficult to predict.  If he survives the
night, he may hold on for a few weeks."

"You don't understand, doctor.  My son has gotten
married.  My daughter is . . . gone.  William must
recover, he simply has to," Mother said.

"I've known Fox since he was a lad.  He will always be
there for you, Mrs. Mulder.  I'll give you a draught 
so that you can rest tonight."

Fox rang for the maid to help Mother to bed, then
followed Dr. Wieder to the door.

"We were arguing, just before he was stricken," Fox
confided.

"I see," said the doctor.  "And you wondered if you
might be to blame."

"He was very angry."

"Fox, your father has suffered from high blood
pressure for the last ten years.  I warned him what
might happen, but he's a man who must have his own
way.  You didn't cause this calamity."

Fox grasped the doctor's words as a drowning man might
grasp a slender reed.  He was desperate for the
reassurance, but doubtful it could support the weight
of his guilt.

"Can he speak?" Fox asked.

"I don't think he will ever speak again.  He's very
weak and partly paralyzed.  With constant care he
might hold out for a week or two, perhaps a month."

"Will you be sending us a nurse?" Dr. Wieder had made
such arrangements in the past, in less dire
circumstances.  A stern hawk-nosed woman had seen Fox
and his sister through the chicken pox, and a jolly
Valkyrie had tended them through the misery of the 
measles.

"Certainly, if you'd like.  But the nurse you've
engaged is more than capable."

"My wife, Katie," Fox said proudly.

"I beg your pardon?"

"My wife is a trained nurse and highly capable, but I
want to hire another woman to assume my father's
care."

"Well.  Congratulations."  Dr. Wieder recovered from
his surprise.  "I'll send someone around in the
morning."

"Tonight, if you don't mind.  My wife needs her rest."

Fox returned to his father's room after Dr. Wieder 
left.  William Mulder lay ensconced in his bed, with 
its massive, carved headboard, and heavy damask
hangings.  Fox thought his father looked much like 
a king lying in state.  But Father was still alive, 
even if only barely.

Katie sat on a straight-backed chair that Edgar had
brought in for her.  She must have been tired, but 
her impeccable posture belied no trace of that.

"How is he?" Fox asked quietly.  

"About the same," she answered.  She looked up at
him, her gentle eyes shining with love.  Katie
took his hand, bringing it to her lips.  "I'm so
sorry about your father, Mulder."

"Thank you," he said, his voice choking with
emotion.  In his whole life, Fox was certain that
no one had ever cared this much about him.  

Fox placed another chair next to Katie's and they
sat and watched Father struggle with each
breath.  From time to time, Katie would lean over
and take her patient's pulse, or wipe some drool
from the corner of his mouth.  

It was well past midnight when Edgar knocked on
the door and escorted a dark-haired young woman into 
the room.  Katie stood, one hand at the small of her 
back.  

"Rebecca Waite, ma'am, sir," the woman said, nodding
at Katie and Fox.  

Katie filled Nurse Waite in on William's current condition
and showed her the bathroom where she could wash up.

"You need to be in bed," Fox said, sliding an arm
around Katie's waist.  

"I'm fine," she said, but her yawn couldn't be 
denied.  

"Yes, I'm sure," Fox replied, smiling.  She didn't
fight him, though, as he led her out of the room.

"Your poor father," she said as they walked down the
hall.  "An Irish fisherman's daughter can't have been 
what he had in mind as a wife for his only son.  
Mulder...did you...did you tell your father about the 
baby?" Katie asked as they stood in the hall outside
his bedroom. 

"I never had the chance.  My mother doesn't know yet
either.  Katie, I don't want you to worry about this.
My father is a stubborn man, but I know he would grow 
to love you."
 
She turned into his arms, burying her face against his
chest.  "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

"Come on," he said, opening the door.  "You need to get
some rest."

Edgar had thoughtfully had the maid turn down the
bed, and a dressing gown and nightdress were folded
on the coverlet.  

Fox helped Katie undress and slipped off her delicate
silver shoes.  

"You're every bit as tired as I am, Mulder," Katie 
said as her head emerged from the nightgown's neck.

"I'm not expecting a baby."  He held the covers so
she could slip between the sheets.  

"You need to rest," she said, gently taking his 
hand.  "The next days are going to be very difficult."

The bed certainly looked inviting, but Fox wanted
to check in on his mother.  "I know.  I'll be back
soon." 

When no comment came back at him, Fox took a good
look at his wife.  Poor Katie, Fox thought, must
have been far more tired than she would admit.  
She'd fallen asleep as soon as her head had rested 
upon the pillow.   Carefully, he slipped out of the
room and closed the door behind him.  He made his way
downstairs and knocked gently on his mother's door.

"Oh Mr. Fox," his mother's maid said as she opened
the door.  "Is good thing that you are here.  I cannot
get your mama to take the medicine."

"Thank you, Gretchen," he said, following the maid into
the room.  "I'll do my best."

Gretchen had managed to get his mother into bed, but 
Teena Mulder was too agitated to relax and sat upright 
against a bank of pillows.  She clutched a lace 
handkerchief in her hands.

Fox hadn't been inside this room since he was a young 
child.   He remembered being led to his mother's bed
when he was small, to see his baby sister for the first
time.  The tiny, red-faced infant in his mother's arms
was a far cry from the playmate he'd hoped for.  It
would be years before she would become his best friend.

"Fox?"  His mother's voice was more tremulous than he
could ever remember hearing it. 

"Yes, Mother," Fox said, sitting beside his mother.  
"Gretchen tells me you won't take the draught that 
Dr. Wieder sent over for you."

"I can't sleep now, dear. You know how something like
this can throw a household into discomposure." 
 
"Dr. Wieder sent over a very capable nurse.  Father 
is in good hands."

"What are we going to do, Fox?  What if your father
doesn't recover?  I don't think I can face that
possibility."

"Mother, it's no longer in our hands.  Father is very
ill.  We have to prepare ourselves."      

"Fox, you mustn't talk like that.  We have to keep
hope."

"We can always have hope, Mother.  But right now, you
need to rest.  Please, won't you take the medicine?"

"Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?" she asked.

"Certainly, Mother," he answered, motioning for Gretchen
to bring the draught.  His mother grimaced at the taste,
but drank it down.  With a sigh, she sank back against
the pillows. 

Fox turned out the bedside light.  He listened as Gretchen
moved quietly around the room, switching off lamps and 
tidying things.  Finally, she slipped out, closing the
door behind her.  

It seemed odd to sit there, watching his mother drift off
to sleep.  Fox couldn't remember one occasion when his
mother had tucked him in, or sang him a song at bedtime.
A governess had always performed those rituals.  

Fresh from their baths and wearing their dressing gowns, 
he and Samantha would be brought in to say goodnight to 
their mother and father.  Teena would often be preparing 
to go out for the evening and he remembered how elegant 
she would look, sitting at her dressing table and putting 
on her jewels.   

Fox looked down at his mother now, as her breathing 
evened out and her face relaxed.  He leaned over to press
a kiss to her cheek and left the room.

Walter Skinner was waiting for him in the hallway when
he emerged from his mother's room. 

"Mulder, I'm sorry about your father," he said, his
voice low.  "Edgar told me when I got home.  I'd...I'd
been out for the evening.  Thought it best to give you 
some time alone with your parents."

Fox nodded and stifled a smile.  It wasn't tact that
had propelled Skinner out the door this evening.  More
likely, he hadn't wanted to be around for the fireworks.

"Thank you."

"What can I do to help?" Skinner asked.

"There's nothing right now.  The nurse is seeing to Father.
My mother and Katie are asleep.  There will, no doubt, be
plenty to do over the next few days, though.  I'll let 
you know."

They walked up to their rooms on the third floor.  Skinner 
extended his hand and Fox shook it.  The man seemed genuinely 
concerned as he turned and went into his own room.

Fox entered his bedroom and stripped off his clothes.  Too
tired to see if there were any pajamas in his dresser, he 
climbed into bed next to Katie wearing only his underclothes.  
She turned to him in her sleep, moving closer as if sensing
his presence.  It occurred to him, as Katie entangled her 
arms and legs with his, that he'd never in his life felt 
such comfort and acceptance.

He woke alone in his bed.  Wearing her rose chiffon gown,
Katie stood before the mirror, coiling her long hair into 
a bun at the back of her head.

"Good morning," he said, sleepily.   

"Mulder, you were up so late.  Go back to sleep."

He swung his long legs out of bed and sat up.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

"Starving.  But I want to check on your father."

He dressed hastily in the clothes he'd discarded only
hours earlier.  He finished buttoning his trousers as
she placed the final hairpin.

"You look beautiful," he said, and they kissed in
front of the oak-framed mirror.
 
When they entered the bedroom, Fox was shocked anew by
his father's appearance.  He lay propped on his side,
and while his breathing sounded less labored than
before, his slumber seemed unnaturally deep.

"He was restless much of the night," Nurse Waite
informed them.

"We'll let him sleep," Fox said hastily.  

"Go start your breakfast," Katie said.  "I'll join you
shortly."

He escaped to the dining room, where a footman poured
him a welcome cup of coffee.  Fox wondered for a
minute if he and his bride might possibly take their
meal in the kitchen, but to what purpose?  The
servants would be alarmed and his mother would be
scandalized.  

It was a comfort when Cook approached him at the
table.  Predictably, she clucked sympathetically about
his poor father and exhorted Fox to eat more, before
he vanished entirely.  He gave the expected answers,
but her next statement took him quite by surprise.

"For Mrs. Fox, I'll see that she gets the heels."

"I'm sure you'll explain," he said.  Years of service
had earned the old woman a certain degree of
indulgence.

"For a boy, she must eat the heel of the loaf, the
crusty ends.  And never any cantaloupe, which makes
for a long labor."

Fox frowned to himself.  If Cook knew, the entire
staff must be a-buzz.  Servants were unobtrusive and 
useful, but one had to remember they had sharp eyes, 
big ears and, sometimes, bigger mouths.

"Cantaloupe," he said, as blandly as he could.

"Makes the head grow large.  A first baby should have
a little head."

"Oh," was all he could manage.  Poor, poor Katie.  "No
cantaloupe, then.  Nor any melon."

Cook nodded.

"I'll see to that.  Try not to worry, Mr. Fox.  Babies
are a blessing, whenever they arrive, and first babies
are usually early."

Katie joined him at table, puzzlement on her face 
at the two bread heels on her plate.  With a shrug,
she buttered one and stirred cream into her coffee.
 
"We need some of our things, Mulder," she said.
"We look a little silly in evening clothes."

"I'll call the hotel right after breakfast," he 
answered.  "I have to telephone Uncle Dewitt and
tell him about Father."

After they finished their meal, Katie went upstairs
to relieve Nurse Waite for a few hours.  Fox did as 
he said and phoned the Plaza to have some of their
clothes sent over.  

The next phone call was far more difficult.

"How ghastly," Dewitt Traut said when Fox told
him that Bill Mulder was gravely ill.  "Your 
poor mother must be distraught."

"She's very upset, yes." 

"You need to come to the office, Fox, as soon as
you can.  We must discuss how your father's illness 
is to be handled."

Fox agreed and hung up the phone.  His father's 
stroke could throw the business into turmoil and
that could have far-reaching economic impact.
He looked down at his evening clothes.  He'd have
to change or risk alarming the staff.  

Fox went up to his room, finding a few of his
clothes still in his closet.  He changed and went
down to Mulder & Traut.

From the moment Fox stepped through the door it was
clear that Father's illness was still a secret.  The
atmosphere was brisk and energetic, without a whisper
of apprehension.

"Your presence here will go a long way to reassuring
our clients and associates," DT said, when Fox settled
himself in the visitor's chair.

"I'm not my father," Fox said, wearily.

"No, you're not.  But you're a skilled financier with
uncanny instincts."  Traut smiled.  "Or uncanny luck."

"And more important, I have his name."

"It must be a great consolation to your father, ill as
he is, to know the firm will continue to abide by the
standards he set."

"I know you would have it no other way."  

The steady tempo of compliments and cliches was almost
mesmerizing.  Fox tried to listen carefully, because
sometimes  DT would use a joke or nuance to convey a
world of information.

"You'll take his place, Fox.  There's no other man for
the job."

No other man named Mulder, Fox thought.

"I'm honored by your confidence, Uncle." 

"You know, I started this firm with your father,
before you were born. "

Fox nodded, trying not to fidget.  

"Do you know how Wall Street got that name?" Traut
asked.

"There was a wall there.  Before you were born."

"A wall," Traut confirmed.  "That was the lower border
of old New Amsterdam, and the Dutch constructed a wall
to keep out the English."

While DT mulled ancient history, Father could be
slipping away.  And Katie must be starving by now. 
Fox rose from his chair.

"Thank you for the history lesson.  I'll be sure to
sound the alarm if I spy any redcoats trying to breach
our defenses."

"I want you to understand that your place is here, in
the firm that shares your name, where you're
appreciated and where we pursue the blessings of the
marketplace, but never at the expense of the greater
good."

Now that DT's ramblings had coalesced into a warning,
Fox thought of their earlier conversation, and the
gray-haired man who was never without a cigarette.

"Does this have something to do with the man we saw
talking to Diana Fowley?"

"Have you seen him since then?"

"Answer my question!" Fox's patience was gone. 

"Men like  your  father, myself, Andrew Carnegie, JP
Morgan--we understand that the power to move money is
the power to move men, to move nations. Teddy 
Roosevelt called us the 'malefactors of great
wealth,' but that was unfair. We recognize our duty 
to our country and her citizens."

"But the man with the cigarettes does not," Fox
posited.  

"He holds himself greater than his country, greater
than the Almighty himself."

Fox remembered several occasions when Mulder & Traut
had declined involvement in lucrative but questionable
bond issues.  A banker of no scruples could realize
fabulous profits, if he had the wherewithal.

"Which is his bank?" Fox asked.  It couldn't be any of
the American or English firms, or Fox would have been
aware of the man.  Perhaps a Swiss or German
establishment.

"When he requires capital, it is there."

"If you truly see me as joining you at the helm one
day, as your equal, you will dispense with your
riddles and tell me what I need to know."

DT leaned forward.

"The man with the cigarettes is not a banker, per se. 
He deals in money, but also in men.  He deals in
currency, but also in lies, threats and bribery.  And
death."

Fox heard many things in Traut's voice.  Fear,
indignation--even respect.  But something else he
heard was far more troubling.

"This malefactor who traffics in blood and bribes. . .
You seem to know him very well, Uncle Dewitt."

"Son, a man doesn't climb to the very top of the hill
without getting some mud on his soles.  Your father
and I made that climb, but you don't have to.  And by
happy chance or divine design, you have the
intelligence and moral fiber for the position you were
born to."

"You are generous with your praise, Uncle, but most
parsimonious with your information."

"Fox, the captain of the ship must have his eyes on
the horizon, and his hands on the wheel.  Leave it to
others to see that the furnaces are stoked and the
crew is fed."

"I'd better see if I can find my desk under the pile
of work that must have accumulated while I was away,"
Fox said, rising from his chair.  He couldn't help but 
reflect that DT's description of the ship's captain 
sounded more like its figurehead.

Fox made his way to his office.  Just as he'd thought,
his desk was a sea of papers, the "inbox" over-flowing
with files.  

"Good to have you back, sir," Morris Fletcher said from
the doorway.  "You've certainly been missed.   It must
be so nice to get away on such a well-deserved vacation."

"Yes," Fox answered.  He had no intention of sharing the
reason for his vacation with Fletcher.  The man would
have a field day with comments about honeymooners never
leaving their rooms.  "I'm sure you have things to do,
Fletcher.   Shut the door on your way out, and go do 
them."

When he was alone, Fox placed a phone call home.  As
he waited for Katie to be called to the telephone, he
stifled a yawn.    

Warmth flooded through him at the sound of her voice
when she spoke.  His father's condition was unchanged,
which his mother took as a good sign.  Katie urged him
to take care of his work, but he suspected she would
be glad to see him when he arrived home.

He hung up the phone and began to sort through the 
various stacks of prospectuses, phone messages and 
file folders.  A sharp knock at the door interrupted 
his work.

"I'll let you know if I need you, Fletcher," he called 
out. 

"It's me," Skinner said, through the door.  

"Come."

"Sounds like you're having a tough time of it," 
Skinner said.  

"No more than usual," Fox said, passing a tired hand
in front of his face.  "What brings you down here?"

"Your attorney called after you left this morning.  
He said the papers were ready for your investment 
with the Little Dynamo partners."

"Oh, yes," Fox said, brightening.  

"I took the liberty of picking up the paperwork..."

"Good, thank you," Fox said.    

"There's more.  Let's take a walk." 

Though puzzled, Fox nodded and followed Skinner out of 
the building.  They walked quickly through the streets 
with Skinner leading the way.  Finally, they ran out 
of street and arrived at the Battery.

"I assume you have an explanation for this forced march,"
Fox said gently as they sat on a bench.  The ocean air
stirred his hair.  Skinner had no such problem.

"When Mr. Leamus showed me the paperwork, to indicate
where you needed to sign, I noticed something."

"Skinner?  What on earth are you getting at."

"Look at the signatures," Skinner said, unfolding the
stiff papers and spreading then out on the bench between
them.

Fox raised the papers, the sunlight hitting the names 
lined up like soldiers.  John F. Byers.  Ringo Langly.  
Melvin Frohike.  Fox traced a finger along the fourth 
signature.

"Sean Pendrell," he said aloud.  "Oh my God."

Sean Pendrell.  The boy his sister had run off with 
all those years ago--an inventor.  Not only that, but 
an inventor he'd almost met face to face weeks ago.  

"I thought you'd be interested in that name."

"I came close to meeting him," Fox said.  "The day I was
going to drive out with Byers, I got a call from Leamus.  
I thought he had Katie in his office.  Turns out it was 
Sheila Fontaine.  If only I'd gone with Byers..."

"Pendrell may know where your sister is, Mulder.  We could 
get her back."

"No.  It's too late to drag her home like a recalcitrant
child.  She'll have to come on her own.  Could you...could
you get in touch with Pendrell?  Send word to my sister
that Father is very ill."

"I'll get right on it," Skinner said.  The two men separated,
with Fox returning to the office and Skinner heading to the
hardware store on Canal Street.

The rest of the day passed in a blur.  Fox left the office
early, unable to concentrate as thoughts of his sister flooded
his mind.  Memories of the little brown-haired pest scattering
his toy soldiers, the stunning young woman she'd grown into,
who charmed everyone she encountered.  

Fox had missed her so desperately when she disappeared.  
Growing up, it had felt as if Samantha was the only one who 
truly cared about him.  For so many years, he'd worried about 
her and searched for her.  But now, knowing she was almost 
within reach, he felt strangely numb.

Once home, Fox guarded his news.  His mother would be crushed
if Samantha failed to materialize.  Later that night, lying 
with Katie in his bed, he told her the whole story.    

"So, she may still be with this boy," Katie said as trailed
her fingers over his bare chest.  "Do you think she'll come 
back?"

"I don't know," Fox said, yawning.  He covered her hand with
his own, trapping it against his skin.  "I guess it's all up
to Samantha now."

Days passed and Fox began to doubt his sister would see their 
father before he died.  William Mulder was mute, his brown 
eyes signaling fear.  His breathing was labored, sounding 
like chains rattling over wood.  Katie said Father might 
live for a few weeks, but Fox suspected she thought it might 
be far shorter.

At times, Fox was sure his mother understood how dire her
husband's situation was.  Worry lines had set in around her
mouth and she ruined several handkerchieves, twisting 
them so forcefully in her fingers that the fabric simply
gave out.

Dr. Wieder saw his father every evening when his office
closed.  There was little he could do, but with a man as
wealthy and important as William Mulder, every effort would
be made.  The doctor prescribed whatever medications he 
could to keep Father comfortable.

Just when Fox thought she was preparing herself for the
inevitable, Teena would say something like "we must have
a party to celebrate your marriage when your father is 
well again," and his heart would break.

Katie was the glue that held him together during those
days.  Her quiet confidence was a beacon in the dark
night, not only for him, but for everyone in the household.

William Mulder seemed calmer when Katie was with him.  His
eyes were less desperate and even his breathing improved.
His mother appeared to be growing fonder of Katie, looking
to her for comfort and reassurance.  No matter how bleak
life was in the Mulder house, Fox was happy to see that.

Each day he went to the office in the morning.  The staff
had been told that the Chief was ill, but no details were
given.  Most of the employees apparently assumed William
Mulder had a bad cold.  Fox tried to be productive; his
father would have been horrified if he'd been anything
less than industrious.

The Chief wouldn't have approved, but Fox left
the office at four o'clock.  He'd kept in touch during
the day, speaking with Edgar or Katie.  His father's
condition had not changed in any material way.

When he entered the house, Fox had a sense that something
had changed.  Edgar was not there to greet him, and soft
voices drifted down from the upper story.  Swallowing 
hard, he started up the steps.

The voices were more distinct as he reached the top of 
the stairs.  They came from Father's room--Katie's lilting 
alto and his mother's deeper tone.  Fox sighed with relief 
as he caught the sound of William Mulder's rattling wheeze.

Another voice came from within the room, but he couldn't 
quite place it.

"Fox, dear," his mother said, breathlessly, greeting him as 
he entered the room.  "You can't imagine what's happened."

Teena stepped aside, and he saw her.  Samantha.  His little
sister sat at their father's bedside, holding the stricken
man's hand.  Katie stood nearby, watching all of them with
tears in her eyes.

"Fox," his sister said, rising from her chair and crossing
to him. 

"I...I'm glad you came," he said.  She was as beautiful as
he remembered, but the flirtatious teenager had given way
to a poised and serious woman.  The dark curls that he
remembered cascading down her back had been tamed into a
neatly coiled hairstyle.  

"Fox."  Katie was at his elbow, her hand on his forearm.  
He'd been so engrossed in taking in the sight of his sister,
he hadn't felt his wife's approach.  "Your father has 
fallen asleep.  I'm going to try and get your mother to
rest, too.  Why don't you two go downstairs and visit."

There were many reasons Fox loved Katie--her beauty, her
strength, her generosity of spirit.   But at that moment,
the quality he most admired was her sensitivity.

He and Samantha did as they were told and went downstairs.
Fox let her lead the way, as she moved slowly through the
house.  They ended up in the kitchen, where Cook made a
fuss over her little lost lamb. 

They sat over mugs of coffee and biscuits, fresh from the 
oven.  

"You look so grown up," he said.  

"I am grown up, silly.  I'm married."

"You married Pendrell," he said.  Samantha nodded, her
eyes searching Fox's face as if doing so would tell her
what he was thinking.

"We'd been in love since we were children.  He...he saved 
me, Fox."

Fox wasn't sure why the news shocked him.   Was it because
he still saw Samantha as a little girl?  Or was it because
she'd married a servant.  He pushed the idea away.  Before
Samantha ran away, he'd barely noticed Pendrell as the boy 
went about his work.  Fox thought he'd known everything about
his sister, but he'd never known that Samantha had developed 
a relationship with Pendrell, and that bothered him more 
than he could say.   

"I'm sorry I wasn't here for you," he said.  "I came home
on the very next ship, but you'd already gone.  I always
thought that if I'd been here..."

"Fox, I don't think you'd have been able to change their
minds.  Father and Mother weren't to be reasoned with.  
They were blinded by Baron Von Strughold's title.  When
I found out they'd set a date for the wedding, I knew
I had to get away."

"Where did you go?" he asked.  "I searched for you. 
Did you know that?"

"We were like two children in the dark.  Sean didn't
have much experience beyond Fifth Avenue and I had
none.  But we made our way.  He's so smart, Fox.  He
knows how to fix things."

"If his electric starter invention is as big as I 
think it's going to be, Pendrell will be a very rich
man." 

"It's funny," she said.  "Sean said he had a wealthy
benefactor but he never mentioned your name.  I
had no idea you were the silent partner."

"Why didn't you ever contact me?" he asked, his 
voice thick with emotion.  Fox turned his head so
she wouldn't see the tears in his eyes.  "I missed 
you."

She touched his face, her fingers warm from the
coffee mug she'd been holding.  He turned to face
her.

"I missed you, too," she said.  "I didn't know you'd 
come home.  I was afraid you'd stayed in England and 
left me here to fend for myself.  Father said you'd 
never leave work over something as trivial as a young
girl's tears.  I think I was afraid to find out
he was right."

"Oh, Samantha.  I wish I could have made it all 
better."

"It got better," she said, gently.  "It looks like
it got better for you, too.  I like Katie very much.
She seems like a wonderful girl.  Tell me about her."

He spared nothing.  He told Samantha about his days
as Mathew Fox and his photography.  He told her about
taking Katie's picture one day and going to the
settlement house because he thought his sister might
be there.  He told her about falling in love with 
Katie and almost losing her and about finding her
again.

"We had no idea, did we?" Samantha murmured.  "There
was another world, just outside of our own."

"I felt that way too," Fox said.  He'd dined in Paris,
enjoyed Rossini at La Scala, but the first time in his
life that he'd felt like a foreigner was on Orchard
Street.  "Strange languages, strange foods.  So
dirty."

"So very dirty, and so hard to wash.  Shlepping water
up six flights of stairs and heating it on the 
stove..."

The Yiddish word seemed natural on his sister's lips,
or at least no stranger than the thought of her
carrying and heating her own bath water.

"We always had people to shlep for us," he said,
smiling.

"Fox, I didn't even know about shlepping.  The bed
always had clean linen, and platters of food arrived
at the table, and I gave it no more thought than the
hot water in the tub."

"It must have been a harsh education," he said. 
"You're a strong person."

"I had to be.  We couldn't go back, and there was no
food on the table unless we put it there.  And no
table, until Sean built one.  And that reminds me--I
must be going."  

"Stay," Fox said.  "Mother will be so disappointed if
you're not at dinner."

"I have to get back to Sean," she said.  "Besides,
he'll be bursting with curiosity.  He wondered how
you'd feel about financing the cad who stole your
sister."

"Bring him," he said, but Samantha laughed, and 
hugged him.

"That would be a...mistake.  Mother would be
uncomfortable, and Sean would be miserable."

"Please," he said.  "I don't want to lose you again."

"You won't.  You can't, silly.  You're my husband's
business partner."

"Very true.  And you can hardly refuse dinner with
your husband's business partner."

"Another time, Fox.  In a restaurant, perhaps."

"OK.  Or when Katie and I have a place of our own."

"I'd like that."  She smiled.  

The leave-taking was painful for Fox, although he kept
his tone light and even teased her about being a pest.
Finding her was like soothing balm on a long-open
wound, and it was an added comfort that she understood
the intricacies of traveling between the world of want
and the world of plenty.  But he couldn't help
wondering if the next time he saw his sister would be
for their father's funeral.

Dinner was a somber affair.  Fox felt exhausted after
his time with Samantha, and Mother frowned to herself,
clearly preoccupied.  

"You look tired, love," Katie told him quietly.

"You too."  

After the wild, idyllic passions of their honeymoon,
they had settled into quieter habits.  Many evenings
ended with a long soak in the tub and then to bed. 
Katie's whispers would tickle his ear and set the rest
of him on fire.  She would smother his outbursts with
kisses, or even with her own firm hand clamped over
his mouth.  She accused him of being a very noisy
lover, but he said she was to blame, for bringing him
more ecstasy than he could contain.

In any event Skinner had switched his room for
quarters on the fourth floor, which, he said, gave him
a better view of the park.

"You've barely touched your food," Katie said.

"Cook stuffed me full of pastry earlier," he
explained, noting with pleasure that his little wife
finished everything on her plate.  

"I'm concerned about your father's fever," Katie said,
her voice projecting to include Teena.

"A fever is nature's way of healing the body," Teena
answered, with considerable conviction.

"Is this. . . ?"  Fox couldn't make himself finish the
question, but he wondered if it could mean the end.

"It's worrisome," Katie confirmed.

"He's had fevers before," Teena said.  "But perhaps
you should check on him."

Fox had the urge to slap her.

"Mother--"

Katie cut off his objection, rising quickly.

"Thank you, Mrs. Mulder, that's a good suggestion. 
Please excuse me."

Fox stood as his wife left the table, choosing to wait
until she was gone before he reproached his mother. 
Before he could begin, Teena broached a different
subject.

"The Baron isn't kind," she said.

He almost interrupted to ask her what she was talking
about, and why he should be concerned.

"Baron Von Strughold, the gentleman who was Samantha's
fiance," she continued.  "He married the Brevoort's
youngest daughter and it's known everywhere that he 
beats her."

"My God," said Fox.  

"It almost makes me glad that Samantha was so
defiant."

"Almost?  When she escaped marriage to a brutal old
devil like that?"

"Fox, he's a baron.  And she did go against your
father and me."

"She's married to a fine young man with a very bright
future," Fox said.

"Yes, but--"

"We should have them to dinner.  We should tell
Samantha that next time she visits she must bring her
husband."

"Goodness, Fox.  Think about what you're saying."

"Think about what you're saying, Mother.  And think
about this:  Katie is my wife and I love her with all
my heart."

"Katherine is a sweet, lovely girl.  I was talking
about that boy, the butler's son."

Fox didn't have the energy to answer.  He excused
himself and went to find his wife.

That night in bed as he held her in his arms, he
couldn't help wishing they were back in the lodge,
where all that mattered was making each other happy.  

"Your father is a strong, strong man," Katie said. 
"His fever is down and he's able to take fluids
again."

"It's all thanks to you."

"It's not in my hands at all.  Be prepared, Mulder,
because I can still see only one ending."

Fox sighed.

"No one could take better care of him than you have."

She nuzzled against him, soft and warm, and when she
didn't answer, he knew she was asleep.  

He was first to awaken the next morning, and tried to
leave the bed without disturbing her.

"Mulder?"

"Please, Katie, go back to sleep."

But she yawned and stretched and got out of bed.

"I'll have breakfast with you.  I'll nap later if I'm
tired."

Mother didn't join them, but the dining room itself
seemed to resonate with her presence.

"You'd think my mother would be happy for Samantha."

"You have to be patient, Mulder.  I think she's
trying."

"Anyway, she likes you."

Katie patted his hand, but didn't answer.  Fox
wondered if there was something she wasn't saying.

"Katie, I won't abide anyone treating you with
disrespect, not even my mother.  Is there anything I
should know?"

"Your mother is very kind.  Don't trouble yourself,
Mulder, I haven't a bad word to say about her."

"Good."  He leaned over and kissed her before he rose
from the table.  "I'll call you from the office."

For the first week after Father's stroke Fox had
driven his car to work, but then he had resumed his
old habit of walking.   It seemed to provide some
relief from the demands of home and office, when his
thoughts could wander.

Mostly he thought about Katie, and the baby, and the
home they would share.  He composed portraits in his
head: a smiling Katie pushing a pram; a little boy on
a pony; a little girl in ruffles.  Katie seemed to
think he would prefer a son, but he truly did not
care.  

He thought about Father, too.  The Chief didn't speak,
but when Fox entered his room he would fix his son
with a stare that could drill through granite.  The
old man would nod from time to time as Fox recounted
the news from work.  Katie felt at ease with the
Chief, and he seemed to value her care and company,
but Fox dreaded his time in the sick room.

He couldn't help wishing that the inevitable would come
quickly, and he feared that Father could read it in
his face.  Fox dreamed of a future with Katie and
their child, but standing between the present and his
dream were two fearful events:  a birth and a death.  

With his mind so full, he didn't notice when a man
fell into step with him, puffing contentedly on a
cigarette.  Fox startled when he felt someone touch
his arm.

"Mr. Mulder.  I haven't seen you since your rather
public rejection of our mutual acquaintance Mrs.
Fowley."

"I'm sorry, I don't believe we've been introduced,"
Fox said curtly.

"But I'm sure your father and your dear Uncle Dewitt
told you all about me."  

"I want you to leave my wife alone."

"On that you may rest assured.  She is a lovely young
lady.  Not an obvious choice, but really far more
suitable than Mrs. Fowley."

The man strolled beside him, bland and amicable.  

"What do you want?" Fox asked, wishing DT had been
more informative.

"I believe I want many of the same things that you
want yourself.  For example, you seem to have a keen
interest in the plight of the poor.  A sympathy for
the working man, the emigrants, the factory girls."

"Then I hope you will find a way to fulfill your lofty
purposes."

"Congressman Mulder.  It has a certain allure, doesn't
it?"

Fox asked himself if the man might simply be insane,
but their previous encounters suggested otherwise.

"Congress would be the first step," the smoking man
continued smoothly.  "Congressman.  Governor. 
President."

"What?"  Fox could barely suppress his laughter.

"A Democrat has to carry the Southern vote, and a
Catholic wife will be a burden.  You'll run as a
Republican."

His mirth vanished and Fox felt a shiver.

"I have no interest in politics.  Do you hear me? 
Furthermore, if you every bother my wife again, or
discuss her, or even mention her, I'll knock you
down."

"Splendid.  You'll do very well."

The cigarette smoker turned and walked away, leaving
Fox to fume at his impertinence.

All day, Fox's thoughts kept returning to the strange
man.  There was something dark and disturbing about the
man, as pervasive as the cigarette smoke that circled
him.  Fox couldn't forget the worried look on Katie's 
face after the man had accosted her in the drugstore.

It was just past two o'clock when his apprehension got
the better of him and Fox left the office.  He walked
home at a purposeful pace, trying hard not to look over
his shoulder.

Dr. Wieder was with Father when Fox got home.  He emerged
from William's bedroom and spoke to Fox in the hallway.

"Your father has a fever.  Pneumonia is very common 
in cases such as his."  

With a gentle pat on Fox's arm, the doctor took his
leave.   Fox squared his shoulders and entered the
bedroom where he found Teena and Katie keeping vigil.
His father's breathing seemed much worse, even to 
Fox's untrained ear.

They took turns sitting by the bed that evening.  
Mother seemed to finally understand the severity of 
her husband's condition.  She held her husband's hand,
occasionally leaning over to whisper something into his
ear.

When Nurse Waite came on duty, Fox took the opportunity 
to urge his mother and Katie to rest.  Rebecca Waite 
promised to call them if there were any changes in the
patient.   

His mother wouldn't take the draught Dr. Wieder had 
prescribed, but she agreed to get into her bed.  Fox and 
Katie spent a restless night, both of them listening
for Nurse Waite's knock on the door. 

"I don't think I should go to the office," Fox said
when they rose in the morning. 

"That might be best," Katie agreed.  

Fox went down to breakfast, Katie joining him after a
brief visit to the bedside.   They ate in silence and
then climbed the stairs to Father's room.

"I never told him about the baby," Fox said.

"Tell him now."

As they sat by the bedside, Fox knew it would be an
empty gesture.  The invalid in the bed was scarcely
recognizable to him, and surely beyond hearing or
understanding.  

Katie leaned forward and took William's hand.

"Congratulations, Mr. Mulder, you're going to be a
grandfather," she said.

If she had hoped for some flicker of response, she
must have been disappointed, yet she continued.

"Your son is a kind, brilliant, courageous man, and I
love him very much.  I hope you've seen some of his
photographs, Mr. Mulder.  He finds things with his
camera that you don't see until he shows them to you. 
Did he ever tell you how he saved my brother's life? 
That's the kind of man he is, quick to do the right
thing, even at risk to himself."

"Katie, stop," Fox said.  It was pretense, for his
benefit, not the Chief's.  He was far from courageous;
he had yet to tell his mother about the baby.

"You are a brave man, Mulder.  I think the only thing
you're afraid of is hurting people."  Katie released
the old man's hand and reached for Fox's.

The Chief sighed loudly, a sad, gentle sigh that could
have meant anything but in fact meant nothing.  His
breathing had become bizarrely irregular, as if he was
trying to rest from the exertion.  Fox wanted to ask
how long he might endure, but was embarrassed to show
how he hoped for the end.

Mother joined them, and Fox relinquished his chair so
she could closer to her husband's head.  

"His breathing...?"  There was an edge of panic in
Teena's voice.

"He's comfortable, Mrs. Mulder," Katie said
reassuringly.

Fox had the same feeling, that his father wasn't
suffering, but he too was becoming unsettled.  The
Chief would take huge, rapid breaths, his whole body
moving with the effort, and then he would stop.  Fox
would barely breathe himself as he waited to see if
the fight was over, but then his father would gasp and
start the cycle again.

"William, stop it!  Don't do that!"  Mother clapped
his shoulder.

"It's all right, Mrs. Mulder," Katie said.

"He's holding his breath," Teena said angrily.  "Tell
him he mustn't do that."

William's breathing resumed with the heavy, deep
panting that was more upsetting to see than the
pauses.

Fox couldn't watch.

"I'll call Dr. Wieder," he said, and Katie nodded.  

Katie and his mother were talking quietly when he
returned.

"His body is shutting down, Fox.  He's leaving us,"
Teena said. 

"The noises the body makes are just empty sounds. 
They don't mean anything," said Katie.

"He'll be in heaven soon.  Maybe he's there even now,"
said Teena.   "We need to call Father Manning."

Fox stepped out of the room to inform Edgar, who had
been keeping watch out in the hallway.   

"Call Father Manning at Trinity," Fox said.  "Ask him
to hurry."

Father's last breath was a long, musical groan, a
quiet farewell for a man who had lived with so much 
sound and fury.  Fox held his own breath waiting for
the gasps to start again, but at last he understood
that it was over.

Dr. Wieder arrived, and Father Manning, and then 
Skinner was leading him out of the room and pressing 
a brandy snifter into his hand.
 
Fox held the snifter up, the brandy turning golden 
in the sunlight that streamed through the window.  
He remembered the night he'd fought with Father.  
No matter what Dr. Wieder had said or how Fox tried 
to ease his conscience, the fact was, he'd mishandled 
the situation.   

The next days passed in a blur.  New York society had 
rules for proper behavior under any circumstance, and
death was no exception.  Fox supposed the rules could 
be a comfort to the bereaved, but he found them 
oppressive.

The house was scrubbed and polished in anticipation of
New York's finest citizens paying their respects.  A 
black-trimmed mourning wreath was hung on the door and
special stationery edged in black was ordered.

One had to have proper mourning clothes.  Teena's 
dressmaker was called to the residence, measuring both
Teena and Katie for wardrobes of black.  Fox and 
Walter Skinner needed little in the way of new clothing
as both had plenty of dark suits.  Even the household
staff were outfitted with black armbands.

"Mulder, your mother ordered ten dresses for me," Katie 
had said at night in their room.  "It's such a waste--I
could have managed with one or two."

"You shouldn't have to 'manage' anymore, Katie," he
replied, pulling her into his arms.  "You deserve the
very best."

"I have the best," she said, gently pressing a kiss to
his mouth.  "Mulder, did you tell your mother about the
baby?"

"Er...not yet.   She was so upset over Father.  I wanted
to wait until things were a little more stable."

"Oh, Mulder," she said, sadly, and he was ashamed of his 
cowardice.  "The cat may be out of the bag, anyway.  The
seamstress gave me a very odd look when she took my
measurements."

"And you think she'll tell Mother."

"She won't?" 

"Not if she values Mother's patronage and that of the 
other society women.  But, I do see your point.  I've let
it go far too long."

When Fox told her the next morning, Teena received the 
news of her impending grandchild with muted happiness. 

"How lovely for you, dear," Mother said.  "This old 
house hasn't heard a baby's laughter in a long time."

His mother had never been a warm woman, and certainly
not a demonstrative one.  Grief didn't alter those
qualities, but Teena Mulder seemed almost passive in 
the wake of her husband's death.   

Fox was now the head of the household, a role he
felt ill-equipped to assume.  His mother leaned on  
him for more and more.  She asked him to handle everything
from the funeral arrangements to the firing of a
footman who'd been caught drinking on duty.  

His dream of living in a little house with Katie and
their child seemed more and more distant as Fox became
enmeshed in family responsibilities.   

It rained the day of William Mulder's funeral, and Fox
felt as if he himself was within a cloud.  He heard
nothing of the other eulogies, and when Father Manning 
introduced him, he made his way to the pulpit on legs 
that seemed strangely wooden.  He turned to address the 
mourners and his throat went dry when he spotted his 
sister and Pendrell at the rear of the church.

If there was one person in the world who might
understand what he was feeling today, it would have
been Samantha. It pained Fox that she hadn't found it
in herself to rejoin him for this occasion.

Fox delivered the remarks he'd prepared, which seemed
insufficient and insincere.  At last he was finished
and returned to his seat beside Katie.  Even in her
mourning clothes, she looked alive and vibrant, when
everything else looked dim and gray.

If Katie was his anchor, DT served as rudder, steering
both Fox and his mother through the maze of
dignitaries.  From time to time he heard Katie gasp as
DT introduced her to the eminent mourners.  She blushed
and could barely speak when Mayor McClellan shook her hand.  

Father would probably have taken it in stride, if he
had been able to see the crowd.  He'd have been pleased 
with J.P. Morgan and Charles Schwab's attendance and 
would have been happy to see Thomas Edison shuffle 
down the center aisle of Trinity Church. And how many 
men had both the present and former United States 
Presidents attend their funeral?  

In his lifetime Father had found no shortage of men
eager to do his bidding, and after death he garnered
dozens of honorary pall bearers, most of them too old
to perform the actual task.  It was of some comfort to
Fox that Skinner was allowed to share the burden, and,
of course, DT.  The other men were acquaintances, but
hardly friends.

Riding in the carriage behind the hearse, Fox wanted
to hug Katie to his heart, but instead sat beside her,
glad for her solid presence.  Without a word she took
his hand and placed it over her abdomen.  Beneath his
palm something stirred.

"Thank you," he whispered.  "Thank you for that."

If any of their friends were surprised at the existence
of a Mrs. Fox Mulder, they were too well-mannered to 
comment.  Her sudden appearance on the scene had been
explained away by DT as the result of a whirlwind 
courtship and secret engagement.  Fox was grateful to
Uncle Dewitt for smoothing their way.

In the weeks after the funeral, it became clear to
Fox that Mother needed his presence at the Fifth
Avenue home.  It wasn't just him--Teena clung to 
Katie in a dozen little ways.  She wouldn't take the
tonic Dr. Wieder had prescribed from anyone but Katie,
and no one else could persuade Mother to rest.

Teena Mulder hadn't asked them to stay, though she
managed to drop a few hints about how lonely the old
house would be if not for he and Katie. 
 
Fox knew Katie had her heart set on a small home of 
their own, but surely she could see that his mother 
needed them. 

"Mulder, do you remember when we talked about living
in a shoebox," Katie asked him one morning.

"I do.  I said I'd be happy with you anywhere."

"Our own little place.  With a darkroom, of course."

"A darkroom.  I haven't touched a camera in weeks."
 
She stroked his hair.   

"Your father's illness was an ordeal for you," she
said gently.

"And for my mother."

"Yes, for your mother too."
 
"Of course, finding just the right shoebox might take
some time," he said.

"I suppose it might.  Especially, for a shoebox near
the park." 
 
The next day, he had the rest of their things moved 
from the Plaza.

To be continued...

Forgive Us Our Trespasses - Katherine Mulder's story.  Part 16

"Katherine, my dear, Teena tells me you are a nurse," 
Harriet Cortlandt said.  "And that you met Fox when 
he was injured in an accident on the street."

"Yes," Katie replied, fighting a smile as she 
recalled Mulder's 'street accident' with Tom Colton's
fists.  "I suppose that's true."

"How very fortunate for you," Mrs. Cortlandt said,
smugly.  "Fox is quite a catch."

Her use of the present tense was not lost on Katie.
Mrs. Cortlandt had an unmarried daughter.  The fact
that Mulder thought Lillian Cortlandt was as interesting
as a bowl of porridge didn't enter in to her mother's
calculations.  Katie had stolen the prize, snatched
it from Miss Cortlandt's dainty hands, and that was
all that mattered.

In the weeks after William Mulder's death, many of the
Mulders' friends came to offer their condolences.  And
Teena had introduced her new daughter-in-law to the
visitors.   

The visits were uncomfortable for Katie.  The Mulders'
friends were always polite, but every word, every 
gesture, every breath they took, told Katie that she 
didn't fit in and would never be accepted.

Some of the guests would tell Katie how fond they were
of their Irish maids.  Others would expound that with
her nursing education, Katie was a credit to her kind. 

She had shared some stories with Mulder.  With a shrug
he told her that people were idiots, and that she
shouldn't feel obliged to mix with snobs on his
behalf.  Indeed, he took the lead in refusing
invitations, telling Katie he didn't want to waste 
his time or hers being bored.

But Katie didn't want anyone to think that she was
hiding from them.  Whatever Mulder said, she suspected
his professional endeavors would move more smoothly if
they at least made a show of following the rules.

As the weeks went by, her pregnancy progressed and 
became more apparent to the casual eye.  That was when
the real whispering and sly glances began.  Katie had
no doubt that trapping a wealthy man due to pregnancy
was somehow even more objectionable than merely marrying
above one's station.  

She'd chosen to accompany Teena today because the
luncheon was in support of the Rose McMillan Free 
Lending Library.  Though she and Teena were still 
in mourning, New York society always made allowances 
for good works. 

The women in attendance seemed indifferent about the 
benefits of a library to a community.  Everyone in the 
room, it seemed, was far more interested in Katie.  Many 
of them probably believed, as Mrs. Cortlandt did, that 
she had arrived in their midst through trickery.

"My husband will be flattered, I'm sure, to hear
himself described as a catch," Katie said, with a
forced smile.

"Oh, I have no doubt he fancies himself the hunter. 
Most men have no inkling that they've been snared in a
trap."  Mrs. Cortlandt's smile was just as bright.

Katie might have pointed out that Lillian Cortlandt
was perhaps unappealing as bait, but she felt it wiser
to comment that the man who found himself captured by
young Miss Cortlandt would be fortunate indeed. 

If Katie's sorties into high society were awkward, her
attempts to entertain old friends and family at home
were actually painful.  It took the threat of tears
before Maggie would agree to join them for dinner. 
Dunham, the chauffeur, was dispatched to pick her up on 
the evening in question.  

Later Katie learned that first her mother had been
afraid to get into the Rolls Royce, but once inside,
she had insisted that Dunham give rides to several
neighbors before she allowed him to take her uptown. 
At the table, Maggie's nervousness had made her
quarrelsome, and Katie, to her own shame, found her
coarse and opinionated.  

Long before the last course was served, Maggie 
suddenly announced that it was time to leave.  
When she couldn't be dissuaded, Mulder himself 
drove her home, as she declared that Dunham
drove like a madman and she'd prefer to walk.

Mulder took it all in stride.  Mothers, he 
explained, had a sacred duty to embarrass their 
children.  In no time at all, Katie would be 
dreaming up ways to make their own Baby Boo wish 
he was an orphan.

Her sister's visits were easier.  She found Missy's
gawking and frank exclamations of astonishment easier
to bear than their mother's defensive rudeness.  Often
Danny excluded himself from the gathering, but when he
came along he was solemn and well-behaved.   Michael
was happiest rough-housing with Mulder, but if he or
his brother became overly difficult, it was a simple
matter to entrust them to one of the maids.  

After one such visit, Katie overheard Edgar
reprimanding a footman for mimicking Missy's 
low-class accent and manners.

Sometimes Charlie would tag along with Missy and the
boys, but more often he would come on his own, and use
the servants' entrance.  Katie would find him in the
kitchen, delighting Cook with his appetite and
appreciation.   He had long since abandoned his
crutches, but there was a funny hitch to his gait that
troubled Katie.  Vincent had said they needed to give
it time, but Katie still worried.

Bill visited only once, wearing the Sunday suit that 
used to seem fancy but was now quaint and worn.  He 
spoke carefully and formally, even following Teena's 
example and addressing her as Katherine.

Shayna was Shayna wherever she went.  Mulder
introduced her to Teena as Katie's old friend and his
personal guardian angel.  Teena was surprisingly
unperturbed by Shayna's frank and picturesque speech,
but Mulder theorized that most of it went over her
head.  

Mrs. Tibby graced the table several times,
without causing a stir.  She and Teena Mulder had
a passing acquaintance from the good works both 
women devoted time to.

Teena was accommodating to the visitors from the east
side, even gracious, after her fashion.  Katie still
longed for the little house she and Mulder once
dreamed of, with a nursery and a darkroom, but it had
been months since either of them mentioned it, and
months since Mulder had picked up a camera.

Mulder was not unaware of her discomfort.  When he
urged his mother to escape the cold weather on an
ocean cruise or at a spa, Katie knew he was thinking
of her.  Teena crushed both their hopes by answering
that she couldn't even think of enjoying herself so
soon after William's death, and certainly wouldn't
leave Katherine alone with a baby on the way.

Mulder suggested to Katie that they might plan a 
party on the yacht, away from Teena and the house 
staff. Just a small party.

"That's what Pierpont Morgan does, when he's looking
for some privacy.  I, er. . . "  He swallowed his
embarrassment and continued:  "I believe Father did
something of the kind as well."

"Mulder, we can't have a party," she said.  "We're
still in mourning."

"Then we don't call it a party.  It'll be just a 
quiet time with friends."

They could invite Langly and the others, even Sean
Pendrell.  Amy Jacobs could come, and Shayna.  Missy
and Danny, maybe even Maggie's boarders and old
Penazek.  Bill.  Even Vincent, if she liked.

"Good lord, Mulder, just how large is your boat?"
Katie asked.  

"Get your coat and I'll take you on a little tour,"
Mulder answered.

If the snobbish society ladies had failed to impress
her with the distance from Clinton Street to Fifth
Avenue, the Gallant hammered the lesson home.   

Katie's father and his men had sweat and froze and
finally died on a boat not half the size of the vessel
that Mulder kept for his occasional amusement.  The
paint was bright and unpocked, the woodwork shined
with varnish, and the staterooms were larger than
Maggie's front parlor.

"Take me home," Katie said, suddenly ill.  Mulder took
her arm and hurriedly led her off the yacht, the crew,
in their crisp white uniforms, standing at attention
on the deck.

"Seasick, love?" he asked.

"Yes," she lied, placing a hand on her newly rounded
belly.  "I'll be fine, if we could just go home."

Concern creased Mulder's face as he motioned Dunham
over with the Rolls.  

"Perhaps after the baby," he said.  "We'll have our
party then."

That was a month ago, when early fall temperatures had
been warm enough for a sailing party.  Now, as Katie
sipped her tea and watched Teena chat with Mrs. Schuyler, 
she shivered, though the room was warm.   Mrs. Cortlandt
had moved on, no doubt passing along her observations of
Mrs. Mulder's awkward daughter-in-law.  

Teena worried over Katie's health with her pregnancy,
so they left the luncheon early.  Katie was grateful 
to return to the house on Fifth Avenue.  She had yet 
to think of it as home.

Teena went up to rest before dinner, but Katie made
her way to the kitchen, where Cook fixed her a
sandwich and poured a cup of tea.  Skinner entered
some ten minutes later, and took the seat across from
her.

"Did you enjoy your outing?" he asked.

"It was so thrilling, I could barely eat my lunch,"
Katie replied.  She took a careful bite of her 
sandwich.  

Skinner laughed, reaching for an apple from the 
bowl of fruit on the counter.

"They don't know what to make of you," he said,
sitting across from her.  His gaze locked on her 
sandwich, and she smiled.

"Are you hungry, Walter?"

"Maybe a little," he said.  Katie called out to Cook, 
who was delighted to set a huge sandwich before the 
man.  Walter Skinner's appetite was a source of much 
gratification for Cook.

"I doubt they'll ever get used to me, much less accept
me."  Katie sighed, looking out as leaves blew past
the window.

"Does that bother you?" 

"Not especially.  At least not for myself.  But I 
hate being an embarrassment to Mulder."

"If Mulder was any more proud of you, he'd have to
carry you around on a pedestal."

Katie smiled to herself.  She's been wary of Skinner
at first, always remembering the day he'd tried to
warn her off Mulder, back when she knew him as Mathew
Fox.   She knew he and Mulder had come to blows over
her and that had confused and upset her.    

It took months before Katie began to understand her
husband's friendship with Skinner.  Mulder mentioned
once that Skinner was the first adult who was willing
to have a conversation with him.

"Uncle Dewitt was always kind, but most often he was
trying to teach me something, or test my knowledge. 
With Skinner I could talk about anything."

"What about your parents?" Katie had asked.  Da had
shown endless patience when she'd prattled on about
school and friends.  Ma was always more tart with her
comments, but she'd listened too, usually as they
cooked or cleaned.

"Yes, of course," Mulder had answered, too quickly. 
"But I wanted to impress my father, so I was careful
when I spoke.  And my mother would get headaches when
I chattered on too long."

What confounded Katie about the friendship was its
asymmetry.  Skinner retained a sense of responsibility
and authority, as if Mulder's conduct and achievements
still reflected his success as a tutor.

Mulder, for his part, showed a shocking ignorance
about the man who was arguably his closest friend.  
Skinner was the main support for his mother and two 
younger sisters.  He was trying to learn Russian.  
He had spent his teen years working as a coal miner.  
These were all things Katie learned that Mulder didn't 
know.  She wasn't sure if that was through lack of 
interest on Mulder's part or Skinner's reticence to
share details of his life.   

It was natural that Katie and Skinner, two outsiders,
would find themselves on common ground.  At first she
had tried to avoid him, still angry about the beating
Mulder had long since forgiven, but Skinner was
always around.  Katie could not imagine what he did
with his time, beyond some typewriting and assorted
errands for Mulder.   One afternoon, a week into the
mourning period, she had learned the answer.

After a long afternoon of endless condolence calls,
Katie couldn't bear the haughty looks and unsubtle
hostility, and found refuge in the kitchen.  She
didn't fit in there any more than she did in the parlor, 
but the Mulder kitchen reminded her of her breakfasts 
with Mathew Fox in the settlement house.  Cook was kind 
and warmhearted, like many of the women who took classes 
there, and Katie found comfort in her presence. 

Walter Skinner had walked in and poured himself a cup
of coffee from the pot on the stove.  From the way
Cook greeted him, he was a frequent visitor.

"When I first came to this house, I used to hide in
the kitchen, too," he'd said as he sat down across
from her at the table.

"I'm not hiding," she'd assured him.  But she was
lying and they both knew it.

"They're an intimidating bunch," Skinner had said. 
"Different from us.  They haven't ever done for
themselves, never had to struggle, never been hungry. 
I think, sometimes, they're afraid."

"Afraid of what?"  The women who gazed at her with
such disdain appeared to be quite fearless.

"Of having to live in the real world with the rest of
us.  No matter how they try and insulate themselves,
the world is changing.  They can't conceive of a life
where they can't snap their fingers and make things 
happen."

"And you think that's what they're afraid of," she
said.

"Perhaps.  Or maybe they just need to believe they're
superior, to justify living so much better than
regular people.  I've lived here for almost fifteen
years and I still haven't figured them out."
 
"You were Mulder's tutor when he was a boy," she'd
said.

"He was far too intelligent for his own good," Skinner
had replied.  "I had to work very hard to keep a step
ahead of him.  I didn't train as a teacher, but I knew
his was an uncommon mind."

He told her about growing up in Shamokin, Pennsylvania, 
where he watched his father go down into the coal mines 
every day.  Skinner had worked in the mines himself 
as a teenager to augment the scholarship he'd gotten
to Pennsylvania State.  

"My father wanted better for me than coughing up coal
dust every night," Skinner had said.
 
Skinner was in his last year of college when his
father died in a mine fire.   Any plans he'd had for
his future were altered forever as he became the sole
support of his widowed mother and two young sisters.

After graduation, one of his professors suggested
he apply for a position as a tutor in New York City. 
Skinner told Katie of taking the train to New York and
meeting William Mulder.

"He didn't hold out much hope for the boy.  Fox had 
failed to apply himself at boarding school.  He was
unpredictable, willful, and at the same time
something of a mama's boy.  An indifferent yachtsman,
unimpressive on horseback.  'Don't be afraid to apply
the cane, if that's what it takes.'"

Skinner's brown eyes didn't flinch, but Katie
shuddered.

"When I finally met him, I found the boy to be nothing
like his father had described him," Skinner had told
Katie.  "His mind was razor-sharp and ordinary
schoolwork bored him to tears.  But more than that, 
he was starved for attention."

Fox's education continued as a spotty patchwork,
intervals of boarding school interrupted by extensive
travels abroad with the family.  The perquisite of
world travel was one that Skinner appreciated
enormously.

When Fox was away at St. Paul's, and later when he
went to university in Boston, William Mulder found
Skinner work in the office.  After graduation, when
Fox was sent to work in London, his father decided
that he needed monitoring and sent Skinner along as 
a watchdog.  

As Katie grew assured of Skinner's loyalty to her
husband, she found it easy to talk to him. The
business was taking more and more of Mulder's time as
he tried to fill his father's shoes.  Katie worried 
about how difficult that was for him.  She was 
determined not to add to his burden, so she rarely 
spoke of how uncomfortable she felt among the Mulders' 
friends.   Skinner was the only person who truly 
understood.  

"How is your writing coming?" Katie asked, her
attention returning to the present.  

"Slowly.  It isn't for lack of time, of course.  But
the section I'm working on right now is rather
difficult for me.  A little too personal, I suppose."

The mystery of why Walter Skinner stayed employed in a
job that offered no challenge was explained the day he
revealed his secret to Katie.  Skinner was writing a
book about his boyhood.  

"Keep after it," she said, rising from her seat. 
"It'll all be worth it in the end."

"I could say the same to you," he replied.  "Don't let
them break you.  No matter what they think, you're
better than they are.  You know how to live in the
real world."

Later that night, Katie was still mulling over
Skinner's words as she lay in bed.  Mulder was curled
around her, his head on her belly as he sang silly
songs to "Baby Boo" in what had become a nightly
ritual.  Tonight he delivered a rousing though off-key
rendition of "Under the Bamboo Tree."

"How was your day," he asked, raising his head to look
at her.  "You went with Mother to the library
luncheon, didn't you."

"It was fine," Katie said, sifting her fingers through
Mulder's hair.  "Mrs. Cortlandt said you were a
'catch' and I was lucky to latch onto you."

"A 'catch,' am I?  If you ask me, I'm the lucky one."

"You seem to be the only one who thinks that," Katie
laughed.

"Give them time.  They need to get to know you."

"Skinner thinks the rich are afraid," Katie said. At
Mulder's questioning look, she continued.  "Afraid
they don't deserve their place of privilege, and that
they couldn't survive without their wealth."

"Skinner said that?" Mulder asked.  

"You sound surprised."

"Katie...you're spending a lot of your time with him,"
Mulder said.

"Mulder, he lives here."

"He could find a more suitable use of his time than
trying to impress my wife."

Mulder sounded stuffy and moody.  Nothing like the man
who had just finished serenading her belly.  Nothing
like Mathew Fox.

"You needn't be jealous of Skinner.  It is Edgar I
love," she announced.

"I'm serious, Katie."

"Oh, Edgar, Edgar, Edgar.  How I long to hold his
rotund body in my arms."

"Not much room, against your own rotund body."  

She heard the humor return to Mulder's voice, and he
sounded like himself again.

"I love you, Mulder.  Don't see evil where there isn't
any."

"I don't see evil, Katie, not when I look at you."  He
kissed her neck.  "He's not evil either, but he's
drawn to you.  He was from the first."

Katie knew her friendship with Skinner was as innocent
as it was inevitable.   She would explain it so Mulder
would understand, but not tonight.  It was late and
she was tired.  She ruffled his hair and told him to
go to sleep.  Mulder gave her a long, serious look
before kissing her again and wrapping his arms around 
her as he did every night.

The weather grew colder in the days to come and before
Katie knew it, Thanksgiving had arrived.  Mulder 
nervously faced his first holiday at the head of the 
table.  

Katie had always thought if would be wonderful to
enjoy a holiday dinner without the chores of
preparation or the worries of how to pay for it, but
Mulder was positively grim.  

"Mother says it's all too much for her, so soon after
losing Father.  But Uncle Dewitt says it's imperative
to show that the Mulder line endures.  I'm to display
dignity and confidence, to claim my proper place
without the appearance of undue ambition."

"I don't understand, love.  For whom are you making
this display?"

Mulder explained that his mentor had suggested, in the
strongest terms, that certain friends of the family
should be included at the Thanksgiving table.  A few
influential people, foreigners or others who found
themselves separated from their families.

"Of course we'll invite your family as well," he said.
Katie knew the invitation would be declined, and
surely Mulder knew it too.  Maggie had too much pride
to enjoy the role of the poor relation.   

"Mrs. Tibby?" he suggested.  Mild-mannered and quiet,
Mrs. Tibby could be accepted anywhere, but for years
she had spent Thanksgiving Day with the poor children 
of the Juvenile Asylum.  

"What about Samantha and Sean?" Katie saw Mulder's
face fall, and she was sorry she'd asked.

"Samantha. . . isn't ready.  I don't think Mother is
either," he said with a heavy sigh.

"Then who are these important guests?" she asked.  

Mulder mentioned a retired general and a former
ambassador.  Old men who had outlived their families. 
An Argentine youth studying at Columbia.  Mulder's
former boss from London, Sir Warwick Miles Manchester, 
who was in New York on business.

"And one more," he added.  "But only if you approve."

Katie had known Thanksgivings where the broth was
mostly water and the bird was a skinny old hen, but
she'd never heard of anything as sad and dry as the
dinner that Mulder was planning.

"I'm almost afraid to ask," she said.  By Mulder's
expression, he was almost afraid to tell her.

"Diana Fowley."

"No."  Katie's answer was automatic and firm.  Mulder
didn't protest.

"Then we won't invite her," he said, reassuringly.

"I don't understand why you would even consider it."

"DT thinks a public show of friendship would stabilize
her company, and that would help us as well.  But
don't be concerned.  She'll not enter this house over
your objection."

"Heaven forfend that our Thanksgiving have anything to
do with fellowship or giving thanks for what we have,"
Katie snapped.

"We have each other, for which I am always thankful. 
Diana is alone, and the Schuylers are in Havana."

Katie's indignation almost pushed her to withdraw her
veto, to challenge Mulder to go ahead and invite his
former fiancee, since she was so important to him and
in such a tragic predicament.  But she kept her head.

"Mrs. Fowley is not welcome here," she said,
emphatically.

"And she's not coming."

The specter of Diana Fowley was only one of the
shadows on their holiday.  Teena's melancholy seemed
to deepen as the seasonal festivities approached. 
Walter Skinner had requested  time off to visit with
his own family, and Katie missed him keenly.  

The seamstress, called in yet again to accommodate
Katie's increasing girth, offered her jolly assessment
that sure, Mrs. Fox was big, but she had yet a long
way to go.  That night Katie woke up with tears
streaming down her face.  Mulder held her and kissed
her, asking again and again what was wrong.  She was
ashamed to tell him that she hated being fat and ugly.
She was afraid to ask him if perhaps that was why his
thoughts had returned to Diana Fowley.  

For all of Mulder's worry and Katie's resentment and
tears, Thanksgiving itself was a pleasant diversion. 
Mulder shined in his role as head of the family, and 
the guests proved interesting and entertaining.  Most 
of all, they gave Katie their full respect as the lady 
of the house, something she had never before 
experienced.

She found Sir Warwick to be especially kind.  With
his warmth and gentility, Katie had little trouble 
imagining him one of King Arthur's knights.  Mulder
hung on Manchester's words, as he discussed how banking
was binding the world every more tightly.

General Callahan posited that the European situation was
becoming unsettled.  

"Kaiser Wilhelm is hungry.  He'd like nothing more 
than to gobble up more territory," Callahan said.
"The question is, will Taft slap him down."

"Surely, Taft wouldn't involve us," Ambassador Holvey 
replied.  

Katie found their discussion fascinating, but Teena
seemed to grow uncomfortable with the conversation and
soon it turned to more benign topics.

The month between Thanksgiving and Christmas flew by.
Katie insisted on doing her own Christmas shopping, 
though Teena was scandalized.  Katie wasn't sure if 
it was her advanced pregnancy, or the thought of a 
Mulder dealing with merchants that upset her.  

But for the first time in her life, Katie had the means
to be generous.  Mulder had bestowed a sizable 
allowance on Katie, and though she rarely used any
of it for herself, purchasing gifts for friends and
family was different somehow.

The first thing Katie did was order new shoes for
the whole family.   Though the Scullys were far from
destitute now, it hadn't been that many years since
William Scully's boat had been badly damaged by
a Nor'easter.   With no income, the family had 
struggled to make ends meet.  Katie remembered 
her mother cutting newspaper to fit inside their
shoes as the leather wore thin.  Margaret Scully 
still complained about how often Charlie's shoes
needed to be resoled.  

Katie bought some practical things: warm coats for 
her mother and Missy, a new set of butcher knives for
Danny.  But she also enjoyed buying toys for Missy's
boys.  As she stood in the toy store, Katie looked at 
the toy trains and fingered the baby dolls and wondered 
which she would give to her baby in the years to come.  

By far, the most difficult purchase was her gift for
Mulder.  It seemed wrong, somehow, to use Mulder's 
money for his own gift, which meant Katie had to be
very creative.  She had a little bit of money saved
from her salary before her marriage.  

Katie thought of buying Mulder a pocket watch, but
he already owned a finer one than she could afford. 
She thought of a good camera, but he had a dozen, 
all expensive.  The idea came to her one day, as she 
leafed through a book of Mathew Brady portraits.  

Mulder had mentioned once that while he liked and
admired Brady's formal work, he found an actual thrill
in those photos that displayed a suggestion of
something spontaneous.  Skinner made inquiries on her
behalf among some dealers, but she found nothing to
her liking among the pictures they showed her, and she
was aghast at the prices.  

It was Charlie who told her about a dusty shop on
Nassau Street with "heaps of ol' pitchers."  
From his enthusiastic description of cannons and 
corpses, she deduced that at least some of the work 
was of the right vintage, and she decided to take 
her search there.

She had made her selection, a trio of Union soldiers
lounging under a tree, when she spotted a small
daguerreotype with ragged edges.  A jaunty officer and
his pretty young wife sat in folding chairs in front
of a tent.  It must have been in the earliest days of
the War for a soldier's family to be present at the
encampment.  The young man's face was serious and
confident as he faced the camera.  The wife's head was
bowed, and all her attention went to the blur she held
on her lap.  A man, a woman, and a bouncing, squirming
infant.  Only the child's feet were in clear enough
focus to prove that the blur was a baby.

The father's expression showed not a hint of
uncertainty, and Katie's breath caught in her throat
at his innocence.  

She wondered what happened to the little family.  Had
the young father died in battle, or had he limped home
in rags after the war?  Had the young mother mourned, or
rejoiced?  Katie studied the picture, trying to judge
the age of the child.  

She turned the photograph over.  "Mathew Brady. June 5, 
1861" was written on a slip of paper glued to the back.  
The baby in the picture would be a grown man now, older 
than Margaret Scully.  Had the child lived, or had
illness or privation taken him?

"How much for this one?" she asked the gray-haired
proprietor.  

The price he quoted was steep, but the daguerreotype 
was rare.  "Brady didn't often photograph children,"
the dealer explained.  

Katie paid for the photograph and arranged to have it
framed.  Mulder would love it, of that she was sure.

Katie and Mulder spent Christmas Eve with the Scullys.
Teena Mulder had declined Maggie's invitation, choosing
instead to spend the evening with the Schuylers.  It was
just as well, Katie thought.  The two women were vastly
uncomfortable with each other.

Katie led Mulder up the steps of the boarding house, his
arms full of packages, as were those of Dunham, the 
chauffeur.  

"If it isn't Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus," Missy said as 
she opened the door, little Jimmy was perched on her hip. 
"Ya really got the figure fer it these days, doncha, 
Katie."

"Santa!  Santa here?"  Little Michael came tearing 
across the parlor, stopping short in disappointment
when he saw that the visitors were only his aunt and
uncle.  

"Oh you're very funny," Katie said, stooping down to
gather Michael into her arms.  She had to admit, 
though, that she did bear a resemblance to a bowl 
full of jelly these days.  

"Hey, Minnow," Bill said, rising from the settee.  "I
think we're gonna hafta start calling you 'whale'."

"That's enough," Katie said, laughing as she 
straightened out, her hand at the small of her back.

"I think you look lovely," Danny said as he took her
coat.  Katie breathed a small sigh of relief when she
detected no scent of whiskey.  

"Thank you," she said to her brother-in-law.  

"Whatja bring me," Charlie said, as he hurried
over to the mountain of presents that Mulder and 
Dunham had laid on the floor.  

Though his broken leg had healed well, Charlie 
still limped.  Katie had gotten a recommendation from
Vincent for a doctor who specialized in orthopedics.
Strengthening exercise had been his prescription, 
but Charlie complained that the physiotherapy
was boring.

"Don't be cheeky," Missy said, pinching his arm.  

"Ouch!" Holding one brightly wrapped package aloft,
Charlie moved out of Missy's reach.  "Hey, this one's
fer me."

With a small bow, Dunham took his leave to enjoy his
Christmas Eve dinner with the other servants back at
the Mulder house.

"Ach, you're here," Maggie said, wiping her hands on
her apron as she came into the room.  "Hello Fox.  
Katie, dear, how are ya feelin'?  I hope ya haven't 
been doin' too much."

"I'm fine, Ma," Katie replied, giving her mother a 
peck on the cheek.  "Fox doesn't let me lift a
finger.  Dinner smells wonderful."

"I'm hopin' the goose isn't dry," her mother said.  

Despite Maggie's concern, the goose was moist and
flavorful.  The dinner was far more lavish than
Maggie usually fixed, but Mulder's generosity had
eased the family finances.   Not that stiff-necked
Margaret Scully allowed Mulder to help her as much
as he wanted to.

A candle burned in the middle of the table, set in 
a hollowed out gourd that had been filled with bran.  
"For the Holy Family," Charlie had explained to Mulder.  
"We'll leave it burnin' all night to welcome them."

After dinner, they opened their presents.  Missy 
wrapped herself in her new coat with its luxurious
fur collar.  "Don't I look like Mrs. Astor," she joked.

"Mrs. Astor isn't nearly as pretty," Mulder said.
"She's got a bit of an overbite."

Charlie opened his packages, thanking Katie and Mulder
for the warm clothes and sturdy boots inside.  Katie 
detected a hint of disappointment and hid her smile.

"This's for Fox," Charlie said, handing him a package.  
He held up a small, beribboned box.  "And this 'un's 
for you, Katie.

Fox opened his gift and made a proper fuss over the
finely knit sweater inside.  "It's beautiful.  The wool 
is so soft," he said.

"I hoped you'd like it," Maggie said.  "Back home,
the fishermen wear these because they're so warm.
The cables are supposed ta ensure a good catch.
Katie, dear, open your package."

Obediently, Katie slipped the paper off the small box.
She gasped when she lifted the lid.  Inside, nestled
in the tissue paper was something that had fascinated 
Katie since she was a tiny girl.  Tears pricking her
eyes, she lifted the cameo broach.  

"Oh, Ma!  Thank you...thank you so much."  

"It was my mother's," Maggie explained to Mulder.  
"She gave it to me the day I left Ireland."

Katie had loved the pink and white broach ever since
she was four or five.  Each Sunday, she'd watched her 
mother pin it on before church.  When Maggie was feeling 
particularly indulgent, she'd let Katie hold the broach.
Katie would turn the cool carnelian over and over 
until the broach warmed in her fingers.

"Katie," Mulder said, nudging his wife.  "I think we
may have left one package behind."

Katie glanced around the room.  "Oh dear, I think you 
may be right."

"Perhaps we left it outside in all the excitement.  
Charlie, can you go and check the stoop?"

Charlie shrugged and did as he was asked.  Mulder
and Katie waited until they heard his shriek before
hurrying out with the rest of the family close 
behind them.  

"Holy Mackerel!  Is it for me?  Is it really?"  
Charlie was practically dancing with joy at the
shiny new Columbia bicycle standing on the
stoop.

"Charles Scully!  Watch yer language," Maggie 
admonished.  "Oh my goodness.  Fox, what on 
earth did you and Katie do."

"It'll strengthen his leg, Ma," Katie said
so only her mother could hear.  

"Oh Ma, look at it," Charlie said, with a 
toothy grin.  "I betcha I can ride all the
way to Hoboken on this here bike."

"How ya gonna go to Hoboken, dopey.  Ya gotta
serve Midnight Mass," Bill teased.

"Can I jes take a ride up the street, then? 
Can I, Ma," Charlie pleaded.  

"Just a little ways, Charlie, and be careful,"
his mother said.   

With a whoop, Charlie wrestled the bicycle down the 
steps.   Bill and Mulder gave him a hand getting 
started on his wobbly ride down Clinton Street.  
In a very short time, Charlie mastered the art 
and managed to keep the bike mostly upright.

Later, as she stood in St. Brigid's, Mulder at
her side, Katie smiled at the memory of Charlie's
wild ride.  

She glanced down the pew at her mother and Bill and
Missy.  Danny had stayed back with the little ones
who were to young for Midnight Mass.  Every once
in a while, Charlie would search the congregation 
for his family.  Father McCue had admonished him 
for the habit and Maggie had delivered stern 
warnings, but Charlie was incorrigible.  

Indeed, Charlie grinned widely as he held the gold 
salver under Katie's chin at communion.  She hoped
he had the good sense to wipe the smile off his face
by the time he and Father McCue progressed down the
communion rail to Margaret Scully.  

Katie yawned as they climbed into the Rolls after 
they left the church.  

"We'll be doing this all over again at Trinity in 
the morning," Mulder reminded her.

Christmas morning found the streets covered with a
thin layer of snow.  Katie and Mulder made their 
sleepy way down to breakfast, both still tired from
their late night.

"How was your evening, Mother?" Mulder asked as they
took their seats.

"It was very nice, dear.   Adele had invited Bishop
Carlyle and Sir Warwick.  Oh, and Diana was there.
I was afraid, perhaps, it might have been awkward, but
Diana conducted herself with perfect grace."

Katie kept her eyes on her plate, doing her best not 
to react to the mention of Diana's name.  Mulder quickly 
changed the subject, drawing his mother to the subject 
of Adele Schuyler's latest charity endeavor.  

After breakfast, they all went to mass at Trinity Church.  
Katie rarely went with Mulder and his mother, attending
at St. Brigid's with Margaret Scully, instead.  Mass at
Trinity Church always felt more like a social event than
a religious rite to her.  The women were always 
beautifully dressed and coiffed and they seemed to spend
a great deal of time assessing each other's appearance.

Later that morning, they sat in the parlor, preparing to
open their gifts.  Katie wondered about the Christmases
of Mulder's childhood.  She only knew life in the 
Mulder house under the circumstances of mourning,
but Katie suspected that this stiff, formal Christmas
morning was not exceptional.

In deference to William Mulder's death months ago, the
house had not been decorated for the holidays.  Mulder 
had told Katie that the Christmas trees from years past
had been brought from the Mulder's Maine estate.  The
tree from last year had been fifteen feet tall.  

Gifts were a more ambiguous area in formal mourning.  
The Mulders would not attend Christmas parties and would
not exchange gifts with friends, but within the family
presents were apparently permitted.  Katie was often
puzzled by the rules and regulations of grieving among
the wealthy.  Not that poor people didn't mourn, but they
had to worry so much about day to day existence that
formalities were often ignored.

"How lovely," Teena exclaimed when she opened the box
containing her gift.  She held the 17th century Venetian
perfume bottle so the sunlight glinted off the gold
trimming.  "Wherever did you find it?  I've been 
searching for just this piece for years."

"I have my sources," Mulder replied smugly. Katie had 
been intimidated at the idea of buying a gift for a woman 
who had so much.  Mulder, on the other hand, knew exactly 
what would please his mother.  This prized and hideously
expensive addition to her antique perfume bottle collection 
had obviously been just the thing.  

"Well, thank you both.  Katie," Teena said with a smile.  
"You must open your gift from Fox."

"Oh yes," Mulder said as he handed Katie a slim, lavishly
wrapped box.

"And this one is for you."  Katie retrieved the box 
containing the now framed Mathew Brady print from beside
the settee and gave it to Mulder.

All eyes were on Katie as she slipped the ribbons from
her box and removed the paper.  Obviously, Teena had seen
what was in the package.  Perhaps she'd even helped Mulder
pick it out.  The box was inscribed with the name Cartier.
Katie opened it and lifted out a diamond and sapphire 
necklace.  

"Oh my goodness," she said, softly.  She'd never seen anything
so costly in her life, much less held it in her hands.  The
stones glittered like ice crystals.  "I don't know what to
say.  Thank you, Mul...Fox."

"You are welcome," he said, taking her hand.  "Love, I wanted
to give you something that would approach how lovely you are."

Katie felt her mouth go dry as she ran her fingers over the
cool stones.  She knew she should be gushing over her gift,
but words failed her.  

"Fox, open your package," his mother said, and he complied.

The tearing of the paper broke the silence of the parlor. 
Katie wished, now, that she could take the package from 
Mulder and hide it.  How could her poor gift of a ragged
photograph compare with an expensive necklace?  

"Oh Katie," he said, his voice thick with emotion.  "This
is wonderful.  Simply wonderful.  A Mathew Brady.  A 
real Mathew Brady."

Teena looked puzzled, but Mulder appeared truly pleased.  
He kissed her quickly before turning his attention back
to the daguerreotype.  His finger traced over the glass
covering it, seeming to gravitate to the blurred baby.

The rest of the day was spent quietly.  The servants 
were celebrating the holiday on their own.  Those who
had family in the city had been given permission to visit
and those who remained behind at the house were enjoying
dinner and caroling.  

As she and Mulder ate their simple dinner with Teena, 
Katie could hear voices drifting up from downstairs,
singing "God Rest Ye Merry Gentleman" and "O Little Town
of Bethlehem."  She tried not to be envious of the 
warmth of the downstairs celebration.

New Years passed and Katie found herself counting off
the days until she would be able to see her feet.  If
it wasn't for Mulder checking, Katie was quite sure 
she'd be wearing one black and one brown shoe.

One cold afternoon, Katie wallowed on the sofa by the
fireplace, letting her neck go limp as Mulder,
standing behind her, massaged her shoulders.  She was
supremely uncomfortable lately, whether she sat or
stood.  Walking was becoming nearly impossible with
pressure from the child and the cramping that came 
and went.

"Huckleberry.  Huck, for short," Mulder suggested.

"I like that."  She knew he was joking, but Twain's
masterpiece was among her favorites.

"Huck Mulder.  Sounds good."

"Certainly better than Baby Boo Mulder."

The baby's arrival was but weeks away, and they
couldn't seem to find the right name.  Katie secretly
hoped to name the child after one of her grandparents
but she could only imagine Teena's reaction to a
child with an Irish name.

"We could drop the 'baby' and just call him Boo,"
Mulder said.

"And that would work equally well if she's a girl."

Mulder interrupted the massage for a quick tickle
under the chin.

"You're not even trying," he complained.

"Huckette for a girl," Katie conceded, grimacing
as a cramp pulled across her abdomen.  Mulder shot her
a concerned look, but she smiled and told him everything
was fine.

The sound of footsteps preceded the knock on the door,
and then the voice of Lucy, the downstairs maid.

"A gentleman to see you.  A Mr. Frohike."

"Please show him in," Mulder said.  

It wasn't customary to receive visitors in their
private sitting room, but Frohike was an exception 
to most rules.  He had known and supported Mulder 
as Mathew Fox, and also worked with Katie at the
settlement house, teaching American History.  Now he 
drew a salary from Mulder, as one of the partners in 
the Little Dynamo Company.

Frohike was still wearing his hat and coat when he
entered the room, although Lucy must have offered to
take them.

"Ah.  I see we're in the presence of the journalist,"
Mulder remarked.

"Happy New Year, Kate.  You too, longshanks."

"And to you.  How was your Christmas?" Katie asked,
rubbing her belly to ease the ache.

"OK, that's enough of that.  Mulder, what do you know
about the Ballinger deal?"

Sometimes the little man reminded her of an actor in a
cheap melodrama, changing hats and donning moustaches
to indicate he was switching characters.

"I read the papers," Mulder answered.

"Ballinger handed over public lands to some friends of
yours."

As Katie understood it, Interior Secretary Ballinger
had been involved in the transfer of protected forest
to a Morgan-Guggenheim syndicate.  While the Morgans
could be loosely described as friends, she knew that
Teena thoroughly disapproved of the Guggenheims.

"The Congressional investigation cleared him of any
wrongdoing," Mulder said.

"How come you didn't get a piece of that, Mulder?"

"I'm sorry, I don't share my business activities with
the press."

"Oh, well.  I'm done for the day anyhow."  Frohike
removed his coat and threw it over a chair.

"Then perhaps you have time for visit," Katie said. 
Already Frohike was reaching for the whiskey decanter.

"Help yourself," Mulder said dryly.

"It makes Taft look bad," Frohike said. 

"He's a decent man," Mulder said.  "Too bad you
newspaper boys like to tear him down."

"It makes Roosevelt look good," Frohike continued

"He's another decent man," said Mulder.  

"I don't see how Roosevelt could run unless Taft
stepped aside," Katie said.  She shifted her body
on the sofa, trying to find a comfortable position.
Her back ached, and the feeling of tightness had 
returned to her belly.

"They'll have to work it out, or risk losing to the
Democrats," Mulder said.

"Which wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing," Frohike
said.

"As long as it isn't Bryan," said Mulder.  "But who
else do they have?"

"You mean who do they have who doesn't stink to high
heaven," said Frohike.

"Now wait a minute!" Katie protested.  

Her own brother was a cog in the Democratic machine,
but she bristled at the inference that the entire
party was corrupt.  

"If you take a drive up to Albany, you'll find plenty
of stench on the Republican side of the aisle," Mulder
said.

"True enough.  Time to throw the rascals out and vote
in some new rascals," said Frohike.

"Mulder, may I see your watch?" Katie asked.  The
cramping seemed more frequent.   

"Do you know Alfred Smith?" Mulder asked, as he
absently passed his watch to Katie.

"Everyone knows Al Smith," Frohike said.  

Their discussion drifted over her.  Katie placed a
hand over her middle, waiting to feel the next
contraction.  

Frohike talked about the need for more federal
regulation.  Mulder said that hardly anyone in
Washington even understood banking or investment.

Katie timed eight minutes between the pains.  

"I could see you in government, longshanks.  Secretary
of the Treasury, maybe."

"Gedouttaheah," Mulder answered, with perfect east
side diction.

"Well, look at what we've been saying.  The people
don't want the dirty candidates, and the reformers
make themselves too many enemies in the machines. 
It's time for a change."

"Change is coming, of that I am sure," said Mulder.

"Mulder..." 

"I know, Katie, the change isn't coming fast enough."

"Mulder--"  A contraction caught her before she could
complete the sentence.

"Katie?  It's too soon!"  There was terror in Mulder's
voice.

"What should we do?" asked Frohike, with equal panic.

"Baby Boo thinks the time has come," she said, as
lightly as she could.  What an odd thing, she thought,
how pain could be so strong in one minute, and then
disappear the next.

"I'll get the midwife!" Frohike shouted.

"No, get Dunham," said Mulder.  His hands were on
Katie's arms, and she could his fingers tremble.

"Yes, Dunham!"  Frohike ran from the room, then
reappeared at the doorway.  "Who's Dunham?"

"The chauffeur.  We're going to the hospital," Mulder
explained.

"The hospital?"  he asked, as if he couldn't believe
what he'd heard.  

Katie laughed, because their decision had found the
same response from her own mother, and from Teena as
well.

"It's the twentieth century, Frohike," she reminded
him.  "We're going to the hospital."

To be continued in part 17 

Forgive Us Our Trespasses - Katherine Mulder's story.  Part 17


She woke to the smell of flowers and laundry starch.
Katie's body felt as if it was one large bruise, the
bedcovers as heavy as lead atop her legs.  Opening her 
eyes seemed like an insurmountable task. 

Her memory was cloudy.  She remembered wrenching 
pain in her back and belly and a terrified Mulder 
gripping her hand so hard she thought her bones might 
be crushed.  She remembered him pleading with the doctor 
and nurses to help her, to take away her pain.  
She remembered the smell of ether as the mask drew closer 
to her face, and then she remembered nothing.

Katie forced her eyes open to find Mulder at her side, 
holding her hand again, though gently this time.  His 
face was tear-stained and serious.

"The baby?" she asked, her voice shaking with fear.

"The baby's fine," Mulder answered quickly, bringing 
Katie's hand to his lips.  "Beautiful and healthy and strong.  
But, you lost a lot of blood, Katie.  Dr. Speake said it was 
very close.  Oh, God...I don't think I could go on living if
anything happened to you."

"Mulder, I'm fine," she said, struggling to sit up.  Mulder
turned a crank at the end of the bed, raising the head so
Katie could finally see the room.  

With elegant draperies and bedclothes, the room was as lovely 
as their room at the Plaza.  Paintings hung on the walls and 
the room glowed with soft lamplight.  Bouquets of flowers 
bloomed on every table, dresser and windowsill.

"This is a hospital, right?" she asked.  

"Last time I looked," Mulder answered.  As if to prove his
statement, a nurse entered the room, brandishing a thermometer.
Mulder wouldn't surrender Katie's hand, so the nurse worked
around him, taking Katie's pulse and temperature.  

"Please bring my baby," Katie asked, her voice sounding
wispy and weak.  

"Mrs. Mulder, you need to rest.  Maybe you can see your baby
a little later this afternoon."

"No," Katie said, as firmly as she could manage.  "I want 
my baby now.  Surely, it must be feeding time."

"Mrs. Mulder, you had a very difficult delivery.  You need 
to regain your strength.  Dr. Speake has ordered formula 
for the baby."

Katie steeled herself for the fight, fiercely staring at
the woman. 

"Bring the baby," Mulder said.   

The nurse looked at Mulder cautiously and then left the room,
returning a few minutes later with a tightly swaddled infant.
 
"That will be all," Katie said, wishing she felt as strong
as she needed to be.  Her arms and legs still felt as 
if they were made of stone, but she desperately wanted to 
see her baby.  

"Mulder, help me," she said as she struggled to loosen 
the baby's tight wrapping.  His fingers must have been 
as wooden as her own, as he seemed as clumsy as she was.  

Finally, they freed the tiny body from its swaddling,
revealing soft, pink skin and frantically waving
limbs.  The baby made little mewling sounds, escalating
finally into cries.  Katie laughed as she gazed down
at her baby daughter.  She'd been so afraid that something
had gone wrong, she hadn't thought to ask if she had a 
son or daughter.   

"Welcome, little one," Katie whispered.  "We've been
waiting for you.  Oh, Mulder...she's beautiful."

"Isn't she?  She has blue eyes like you."

"All babies have blue eyes, Mulder.  They change color
later."  One-handed, Katie untied the ribbons at the 
front of her nightdress and put the infant to her breast.
The cries gave way to contented suckling.

"She has your nose," Mulder said.  "Thank God for that.
So, is she to be Huckette, after all?"

"I was thinking," Katie said.  "I think I'd like to name
her Mairead, after my grandmother.  She died not long after
my mother came to this country."

"Mairead?" he asked.

"It's Gaelic for Margaret."

"It's pretty, just like she is," Mulder said.  "I think 
she looks just like a Mairead."

Katie's body grew stronger, though for the first few
days after Mairead's birth, she slept far more than
she was awake.  Mulder haunted her hospital room,
staunchly ensuring that her wishes were met.  

The nurses would bring the baby in for feeding, and 
Katie marveled as Mairead's tiny rosebud mouth rooted 
for the nipple.  All too soon, exhaustion would 
drag Katie's eyelids down.  Fortunately, her body and 
little Mairead knew what to do whether Katie was 
conscious or not.  

After two weeks, Katie had healed and regained her 
strength.  Mother and child returned to the Mulder home.  
Katie and Mulder entered the house to happy congratulations
from Edgar and Cook and the other servants.  They
stood in the hall, allowing the servants to view the 
newest member of the Mulder family.

"Baby will be spoiled with all this attention."  

A voice sounded from the hallway, belonging to a
middle-aged woman with a bland demeanor.  Katie looked 
up from Mairead, who was being fussed over by two of
the maids.

"Katherine, dear, this is Lizzy Gill," Teena said as she
swept into the hall.  "She'll look after little Margaret
so you can rest."

Teena later told Katie that she was very lucky to have
been able to engage Lizzy's services, as the baby nurse
was very much in demand with the upper crust of New York 
society.  Teena's friends claimed that under Lizzy's 
care, their children and grandchildren were quiet and 
peaceful.

Katie could see how Lizzy would be just the woman for
the job if a mother wanted to abdicate all care of her
child to someone else.  Lizzy preferred to be completely
in charge of all aspects of infant care and seemed to
look on Katie as somewhat backward in her desire to 
bathe and dress Mairead herself.

Lizzy frowned on mothers who nursed their own children.  
Infant formula could be measured as the baby fed.  
Breast-feeding made the child too clingy and dependant 
on their mother.  Indeed, Teena had been shocked when 
Katie declared that she would nurse Mairead.   

In the interest of keeping peace, Katie swallowed her
annoyance.  She endured Lizzy's sniffs of disapproval 
every time she put Mairead to breast.  

Lizzy would probably still be working at the Mulder 
house if Katie hadn't gotten up early from an afternoon
nap.  She heard the baby crying, the sound that always
signified hunger.  Still in her soft house slippers, 
Katie went to the nursery so she could feed Mairead.
She moved silently into the nursery, just in time to 
see Lizzy dip her finger into a little jar.  

"What are you doing!" Katie shouted, just as Lizzy was
about to slip the finger into Mairead's mouth.  Katie
grabbed Mairead out of Lizzy's arms.

"Mrs. Mulder!"  Startled, Lizzy tried to stuff the
bottle into her pocket but Katie was too quick and 
snatched it away from her.

"I assure you," Lizzy said.  "That's just a health 
serum.  Nothing that might harm little Margaret."

"What's going on?" Mulder asked from the doorway.

"Miss Gill was about to put some of this into
Mairead's mouth," Katie said, holding up the little
bottle.  Mulder took Mairead from Katie, looking
carefully at his daughter.

Lizzy looked as if she was going to bolt from 
the room, but Katie blocked the door.  Without
taking her eyes from the woman, Katie dipped her
finger into the golden substance in the bottle
and tasted it.

"Health serum?  Try whiskey and honey.  Is there
anything else in here, Lizzy?  Laudanum?  Morphine?"

The woman didn't answer, her eyes flashing in 
defiance.

Katie was quite sure that Mulder would have killed 
Lizzy, had he not been holding Mairead.  

"Pack your things," he said, his voice full of
barely controlled rage.  "You can see Edgar for 
your last check."

"Your mother engaged me," Lizzy said.  "Only she
can fire me."

"You'll be out of my house within the hour, or I'll
telephone the police," Mulder said, handing the baby
to Katie.  He loomed over Lizzy, his fists clenched
at his sides.  Lizzy stared at him for a moment
before hurrying from the room.

Lizzy Gill left the Mulder home well before the 
hour had passed.  After she had left the house, 
Katie examined Mairead more closely and assured
Mulder that to the best of her knowledge, the child
was unharmed.  

Katie and Mulder decided not to tell Teena about Lizzy's 
method of keeping babies docile, fearing that she might 
feel guilty at having engaged Lizzy in the first place. 
Mulder had feared that his mother was still in a deeply
emotional state since William Mulder's death.   

Katie hadn't wanted a nanny in the first place, but
Mulder was quite insistent.  He seemed to have been 
shaken to his very core by the circumstances of 
Mairead's birth and was afraid that Katie would wear 
herself out caring for an infant.  No matter that 
hundreds of thousands of women did that very thing 
every day.  So she and Mulder interviewed a number 
of baby nurses to replace Lizzy.

Katie liked Eustacia Muir from their first meeting.  
Proper, but not stuffy, "Stacy" was much more 
willing to let Katie take the lead with Mairead. 

Their days settled into a pattern.  For the first 
few weeks, Maggie Scully visited every day, rocking 
Mairead and softly singing lullabies in Gaelic.   
No matter how uncomfortable she was at the mansion,
Maggie wasn't willing to stay away from her first 
granddaughter.

For her part, Teena seemed fond of her first 
grandchild, but uncomfortable around the infant, whom
she insisted on calling Margaret, the Anglicized
version of Mairead.  Katie wondered if Teena had been 
as awkward around her own children.  

Katie remembered something she'd heard from Vincent
Vitigliano.  He'd talked about a coldness he saw among
the wealthy, where parents and children seemed distant
from each other.  Lizzy Gill had expounded smugly that
babies should be presented to their parents when they
were clean and well-behaved.  "Baby must not think she
can see you whenever she cries."

In Katie's old world, there were no nannies or tutors
or boarding schools.  Children and adults mingled,
sometimes to a fault.  Kids were sent to saloons to
fetch their fathers or to bring back a pail of beer. 
Mothers who took in piecework would put their
daughters to work as well, hemming trousers or
stitching in pockets.

Proper young ladies would never sew.  Embroidery was
mandatory, but nothing so practical as taking in a
dress or replacing a button.

When Katie thought about how she should raise her
daughter, she felt something close to panic.  How
could she see that Mairead had everything good that
money could buy, without the stupidity?  

Maggie Scully was a good mother, but Katie rejected
her narrowness.  Church was fine, but Mairead should
also learn to think for herself.  And education wasn't
frivolous, it was everything.

In an odd way, Shayna Berkowitz represented more of
her ideal than her own mother.  Shayna loved her
children, but that didn't keep her from working at the
settlement house.  For years she found the money to
send Izzy for violin lessons, although at last even
she had to admit that it would be easier to teach the
moon to whistle.  But beyond that, Shayna was always
Shayna.  Sometimes pushy, often too loud, but always 
confident.

"Yoo hoo, Katie!"

"Mrs. Berkowitz! Wait, I have to announce you." 

"What announce?  I can announce myself, thank you
very much."

Shayna burst into the sitting room, a large basket over
her arm.   Lucy, the downstairs maid stood in the doorway, 
disapproval plain upon her face.  Poor Lucy found most of 
the Mulders' visitors to be a bit shocking.

"Shayna!  It's so good to see you."

"Oh, Katie, you're skin and bones," Shayna said, clucking
her tongue as she put the basket on the table.  

"Skin and bones covered by a nice layer of fat," Katie
laughed.  She felt as soft and pudgy as an overstuffed 
chair.

"I brought soup.  Get this warmed up, why doncha,"
Shayna said, pulling a jar out of her basket and 
handing it to Lucy.  

The maid looked as if her eyes were going to pop right 
out of her head, but she took the jar and left the room.

"Thank you, Lucy," Katie called after her.  With a grin,
she turned back to Shayna.  "You enjoyed that, didn't you?" 

"I could get used to this life," Shayna said, bending over
the bassinet that sat within arms length of the sofa.
"So, this is the little one?   What a bee-you-tiful
baby!" 

"I know," Katie replied.  "It probably isn't very modest of
me to admit this, but until I had one, I thought all babies
looked alike.  But she is really, truly beautiful."

"A long life on you, chatchkela."  Shayna's voice was 
almost a whisper. 

"Her name is Mairead," Katie said.  

"Mairead," Shayna repeated.  "Sounds like princess in a
book."

"Princess, indeed.  If Mulder could, I think he'd buy her
a country of her very own." 

"Let me see you, bubele."  Tenderly, Shayna lifted the 
child from her crib.  "Oy, Katie, the little boys are 
going to be lined up around the corner for this one."

"Not if Mulder has anything to say about it," Katie
laughed.  

"And where is the proud papa?"

"I had to send him to work.  He was driving me to 
distraction.  He insisted on checking her every five
minutes.  'Was she hungry? Was she wet?  Did I think
she was too warm?'  I had to get him out from 
underfoot."

"How are you feelin'" Shayna asked as she continued to
gaze at Mairead's face.  

"I'm fine.  I've been fine for weeks, but Mulder 
insists on treating me like an invalid."

"You should listen," Shayna said as she settled into
the rocking chair that Mulder had a footman bring down 
from the nursery.  "Having a baby is hard work." 

"You can say that again," Katie replied.  Her memories
of labor and the delivery of her baby were still a little
hazy.  By the time she and Mulder had arrived at Lenox
Hill Hospital, Katie was in serious pain.  

In her years of nursing, Katie saw women endure the agony
of childbirth.  She'd heard their screams and wondered 
why, with all of modern medicine's advances, women had
to deliver their children in such pain.  

She and Vincent had many discussions on that very subject 
and Katie came to see his viewpoint--that birth could be 
painfree and safe.  Having seen a few babies and mothers
die due to complications in home deliveries, Katie knew
that she wanted to have her baby in a hospital where
she believed she could get the best medical care.  

Katie still thanked God that she and Mulder had made
that decision.  The outcome of Mairead's birth could 
have been disastrous.

"I feel as if I've been wrapped in cotton batting, 
Shayna.  Life here bears no resemblance to the real
world."

"I should have such problems," Shayna said, laughing.

"I mean it," Katie said, sitting forward.  "All the
edges are smoothed out for these people.  Tell me 
what's happening in the real world, Shayna.  How are
things at the settlement house?"

"Oy, don't ask.  That Mr. Blevins is a real schmuck."

"You don't have to convince me of that," Katie said.

"What he did to you was only the beginning.  He brought
in that awful Nurse Innes to replace you--a real witch 
if you ask me.  They're changing everything."

"Change isn't always bad," Katie offered.  

"In this case, it stinks like fish that's sat out
for a week.  They cut out Mrs. Tibby's plays...said 
they were a waste of time.  And worst of all, they 
stopped the Monday clinic.  Said the people could 
go to the clinic down at Bellevue if they needed a 
doctor."

"That's terrible," Katie said.  "Bellevue's clinic 
is overcrowded.  People wait for hours...sometimes 
for days to see a doctor."

Katie would think about Shayna's news over the next 
few weeks and she would remember the past.  Though 
they were better off than a lot of their neighbors, 
the Scullys had gone through several years of poverty 
after William Scully's fishing boat had been damaged.

When she was nine years old, Katie had spent the day
tagging along with her father as he worked on the boat.
She loved spending time with Da.  He made her feel 
useful, giving her small tasks and praising her 
efforts--so unlike Ma, who tended to criticize when 
Katie's efforts weren't up to her mother's high standards.  

While she helped Da plane wood on the boat, a large sliver 
became embedded in Katie's forearm.  Since it didn't hurt 
much and she was enjoying herself so much, she ignored it.  
In fact, the sliver didn't bother Katie for several days 
until the skin around it became red and swollen hot.

Ma was angry when Katie finally showed her the arm, but 
she knew the child needed medical attention.  Unfortunately, 
a private physician was out of the question, so Maggie 
brought Katie to the charity clinic.  Katie would never
forget the crowding, the sounds of children crying, 
the smell of vomit and urine.  

Katie remembered the doctor poking and prodding her swollen 
arm, removing the splinter and treating the wound with 
something that stung and burned.  She'd fought the urge to
cry, not wanting to cry in front of strangers or her
mother, who didn't have patience for tears.

But what Katie remembered most vividly was the nurse clucking
over her freckled little arm and the doctor chiding Maggie
for letting her child's wound become infected.  It didn't 
matter that Maggie hadn't known about the injury for days
because Katie hadn't told anyone.  Katie had never seen her 
mother so completely mortified as when the doctor remarked 
to the nurse that "I suppose it's what one would expect 
with people who live in filth."

To describe the Scully home as filthy was an enormous 
untruth.  With a crowd of active young children and a
husband who made his living catching fish, Maggie worked 
very hard to keep her home immaculate.  Maggie's hands 
were perpetually red from the strong soap she used to 
scrub floors and wash clothes.

Katie remembered walking home with her mother, who kept
her face turned away.  Katie had thought her mother
was angry at her until she caught the glimmer of tears 
in Maggie's eyes.  Seeing how badly the doctor had 
hurt her mother was far more painful to Katie than the
stinging of her arm.  In many ways, that fateful visit 
to the charity clinic was responsible for Katie's nursing 
career, as she vowed to treat patients with dignity and 
compassion.  

By the time Mairead was four months old, Katie felt her
nursing career growing distant, as her time was taken up 
by luncheons, tea parties, museum openings and musicales.
Finally out of formal mourning, the Mulders returned to 
the New York social scene.  

Teena seemed to be coming out of the cocoon of her grief.  
She warmed and lightened in the company of her friends.  
Katie had been worried about her mother-in-law through 
the long months of mourning, so the changes in Teena 
were a relief.

And with Mairead in the care of Miss Muir, Katie had no 
excuse for not attending most of the social events.  
It wasn't that the social obligations were completely 
obnoxious.  While Mrs. Schuyler, Mrs. Cortlandt and many
of the others were still frosty, Katie was developing
fledgling friendships with some of the younger women.

But the gatherings lacked purpose.  Katie was used to a 
life of service and though the women did good works, 
their efforts were, for the most part, indirect.  
Society was perfectly willing to donate money, but 
they'd rather not actually meet any poor people.

Katie didn't mind the evening events quite as much.  
Mulder was there to whisper irreverent comments into her
ear.  She felt loved and protected when she was on
Mulder's arm.  Katie found herself rather enjoying 
opening nights at the Metropolitan Opera.  She didn't
understand what was being sung, but the majesty of
the voices was thrilling.

Of course, most of society wasn't there to hear the
music.  They went to the opera to see and be seen.  
Like many of the wealthy, the Mulders had their own
box.   While Katie leaned forward to get a better
view of the magnificent stage, she was well aware
that many eyes were taking in the sight of the
upstart young Mrs. Mulder.

It was after one of these evenings that Katie sat up
in bed, nursing Mairead.  Propped on one elbow, Mulder
lay watching them in what was apparently his favorite
ritual.  

"Did you enjoy yourself, tonight?" he asked as he 
twisted one of Katie's long auburn curls around his
finger.  They'd seen the world premiere of Puccini's 
"La Fanciulla del West" that night.

"I did, indeed.  Hard to believe--an opera about the 
Old West sung in Italian."  

"One can only imagine what real cowboys would have 
made of that," Mulder laughed.

"I liked it a lot more than the German opera we
saw last month.  The Valkyries scared me."

"The Valkyries scare everyone."

Mairead's mouth had gone slack as she fell asleep.
Katie nudged the baby's chin with one finger to see 
if she'd start suckling again, but Mairead was 
finished for the night.  Mulder took the child from
her as she tied up the ribbons of her nightdress.

Careful so as not to wake her, Mulder carried
Mairead out of the room and across the hall.  Katie
and Mulder had decided not to use the nursery one
floor above as they didn't want their child to be
so far away.  Instead, they'd had Samantha's suite
of rooms across the hall made over for Mairead and
Miss Muir.  

Mulder returned and climbed back onto the bed.  This
was Katie's favorite part of the day, privately
reconnecting with her husband at the end of a long 
day.  

"I think she gets prettier every day," Mulder said.
"Just like her mother."

"You're biased, Mulder," Katie said, tapping his 
nose with one finger, and sliding down in the bed.

"Perhaps," he agreed.  "Though according to Mother,
you're taking New York society by storm."

"By storm?"

"A possible exaggeration," he admitted.  "But Mother
did say you were going to the art show with young
Mrs. Schroeder."

"That's true," Katie said.  "I like Camilla.  She isn't
stuffy at all.  I just wish..."

"What, love?"

"I don't know.  I should be happy that some of the 
younger women seem to accept me--I am, really.  
It's just that the tea parties and luncheons seem 
so pointless."

"I know all this social nonsense can be boring.  
But good works are being done, aren't they?"

"Certainly," Katie agreed.  "But it's all sanitized
and distanced.  I can't imagine how the ladies
could react to a real live poor person in their 
midst."

"You miss working with the poor, don't you?" Mulder
asked.  He knew her so well, it nearly brought tears
to her eyes.

"I do, Mulder.  I really do."

"Then why don't you go back?" he asked.  

"They've changed the settlement house--I don't
think I could stand dealing with Mr. Blevins
again."

"Then we'll buy the settlement house and throw
Blevins out into the street.  Or you can start 
something new.  Katie, I don't think you realize
the power you have now.  With the Mulder money,
you have limitless resources at your hands."

"Oh, Mulder," Katie said, launching herself into
his arms.  "Thank you!"

"You're welcome," he laughed.  "But, really, it's 
nothing."

"It's not just the money," she said.  "I'm so
grateful for you, love.  For knowing me the way you
do--for knowing what's important to me and giving me 
the freedom to do what I need to do."

Arms around his neck, Katie peppered Mulder's face
with kisses, finally pressing a particularly tender
one to his smiling lips.  Mulder gazed at her, 
emotion raw in his eyes.  His fingers tangled in her
hair as he kissed her hungrily.  

Katie's hands stroked over Mulder's back, glorying
in the sensation of his arms around her.  It had
been so very long, since before the baby.  How had
she survived without this heat pulsing through her
veins?

She didn't need the evidence of his erection pressed
against her hip to tell her that Mulder wanted her.
She'd caught Mulder watching her sometimes, with 
what she'd hoped was desire, but he hadn't done more
than kiss her since before Mairead's birth.

"Oh, Mulder," she repeated, breathing the words
into his mouth.  His hands gripped her arms, holding
her tight.  She'd missed this so much.  She'd done
her best to tell Mulder that, once Dr. Speake had
declared her body healed, but for a brilliant
man, he'd seemed extraordinarily obtuse.  

"I love you, Katie, love you," Mulder mumbled the
words between kisses.  His hands tightened on her
upper arms before suddenly pushing away from her
and flopping onto his back.  "I can't.  Things
are...things are different."

"Different?" she asked.  Katie pushed herself from 
the bed and stood, trying to control the trembling 
that had little to do with the temperature in the
room.  "I don't understand..."

"I love you, Katie.  You have to know that."  Mulder 
sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.  
He leaned forward, his hands loosely clasped between
his knees.

"Of course, I know that.  Mulder...tell me what's 
the matter?"

"I don't want to hurt you."  

"You think things have changed because of the baby,
don't you.  That I'm not the way I was before."

"You almost died, Katie."  Mulder was on his feet
in a moment, moving around the room as if the memory
of that day was chasing him.

"Dr. Speake said I'm perfectly fine, Mulder."

He stopped pacing and turned to face her, one hand
pushing impatiently through his hair.  "I know
what Dr. Speake said, Katie, but I also remember 
that you almost bled to death."

Katie reached out and caught his restless hand, 
squeezing it between hers.  "The human body is an 
amazing thing, Mulder.  You cut your hand and in a 
few weeks, it heals as smooth and strong as ever.  
I have a baby and a few months later, I'm as good 
as new."

"You could...you could get pregnant again, Katie.  
It's too soon."  

"There's a simple solution to that problem."  If that
was, indeed, his real concern.  She knew he loved
her, but what if he no longer felt desire for her.

He swallowed hard, his hand tracing along her collarbone.
With her eyes on him, Katie untied the ribbon on her
nightdress.  There was only one way for her to tell if
Mulder's reticence was more than just worry about her
health.  The nightgown slid over her shoulders to 
pool at her feet in a white muslin cloud.

His eyes traveled the length of her body, and she 
realized this was the first time he'd seen her completely
naked since Mairead was born.  Barely taking his eyes
from her, he reached into the dresser drawer and found
what he was looking for.  "How long do these last?"
he asked, looking down at the object in his hand.  "I
mean, it's from before..."

"Mulder.  Look at me," she said.  "It's all right.  We
don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"I do," he said.  "I do want to."

"Please, love," she said.  "Stop worrying and kiss me."

Mulder did as he was told and kissed her soundly.  His
hands were gentle as they touched her and when he entered
her, Katie was sure he wasn't breathing.  He only started
to move when she urged him on with her body.  Even then,
his movements were careful and measured.  Katie held him
as he climaxed within her, his breath ragged in her ear.

Later that night, Katie watched Mulder as he slept and 
remembered the first time they ever made love.  Would 
things ever be the way they were back then?  

A week later, Katie was still musing over the physical 
aspects of her marriage as she bathed one evening.  She
and Mulder were going to attend Mrs. Schuyler's birthday
ball.  

She would never tire of taking baths in this lovely warm
bathroom.  Sitting in enough water to cover her practically
up to her shoulders, Katie tried to calm the nerves that
always plagued her before large social events.  

She stood and the rose-scented water sluiced down her 
body.  Mulder would prefer for her to have a maid assist 
her with bathing and dressing, but Katie hadn't gotten
used to having others "do" for her.  Unless she was 
wearing something complicated, Katie dressed herself.

Climbing out of the tub, Katie wrapped herself in a 
bath towel and walked into the dressing room.  As she
lowered the towel, she studied herself in the mirror.
She'd lost the roundness in her face, much to her 
relief.  Katie had been sure she would go through 
life with a face resembling the full moon.  

Though far from plump now, Katie's hips were rounder 
than they used to be and it didn't seem that her stomach 
was ever going to be as flat as before Mairead.  It 
felt as if her body belonged to someone else.  
 
She pulled on her stockings and her undergarments
before calling her maid, Daisy, in to help her with 
her gown.

"Oh, Mrs. Mulder," Daisy said, as she gathered up the 
blue satin fabric of the gown.  "This is just
lovely."

"Thank you," Katie answered as they smoothed the dress
over her body.  It really was beautiful, with an empire
waist and crystal beading at the bodice.  

"It's almost the same color as your eyes.  Mr. Mulder
is going to be swept off his feet."

Daisy helped Katie arrange her thick auburn hair atop
her head in a style that she was sure would result in
a throbbing headache by evening's end.  More and more,
Katie was tempted to cut it all off.  It took hours
to dry and Katie could only imagine how much easier 
it would be if the length of it was lopped off.  

Mulder came into the room, just as Daisy was helping
her fasten the diamond and sapphire necklace that had
been Katie's birthday present.  

"You look...absolutely breathtaking," Mulder said. 
Katie blushed as she applied a bit of powder to the
freckles on her nose.  

"You look...not at all ready," she responded.  Mulder
was still in the business suit he'd worn all day at
work.

"I know, I know.  I was held up at the office," Mulder
said, bestowing a hasty peck on Katie's cheek.  "I'll
hurry.  Why don't you check in on Mother while I get 
ready?"

Katie did as he suggested and knocked on Teena's door.
Gretchen, Teena's maid, opened the door and ushered 
her in where she found her mother-in-law, looking elegant 
and composed in black lace.   

"Katherine, you look very nice, dear.  Is Fox rushing to
get ready?  That boy has always tried to pack too
much into one day."

The women went down to the drawing room to wait for 
Mulder, who hurried into the room a few minutes later.
His hair was still damp, and he smelled of soap when
he helped Katie on with her wrap.  

The Schuyler house was decorated lavishly with flowers
and yards and yards of silver tulle.  If Katie was
overwhelmed with the lavishness of the Mulder house, she
was simply dumbstruck with the luxury of the Schuyler 
home.  

As the guests arrived, a footman dressed as a court jester
handed them elaborate versions of children's party hats.
Katie's was a conical fairy princess hat with cascading
ribbons and gossamer.  Mulder was given a Viking hat with
gold papier mache horns. 

"Do I look frightening?" Mulder asked after he settled the
hat on his head.

"You look silly," Katie teased.  "Besides, I'm only afraid
of Valkyries."

Waiters circulated, offering champagne in crystal flutes.  
Katie sipped hers, wrinkling her nose at the taste.  Every
time she looked at the bubbly gold liquid, she somehow 
imagined it as sweet and was disappointed each time.  Mulder 
laughed indulgently at the face she made.

"You don't have to drink it if you don't like it, 
love," he said.  "I'll ask the waiter for some ginger
ale."

"I've always heard people talk about French champagne.  
Somehow, I thought it would taste better."

She carried her glass along into the ballroom where an 
orchestra played a waltz.  Couples swirled around the
dance floor, all in their party hats.  Katie watched 
them apprehensively.  Mulder had taught her to dance in the 
privacy of their bedroom, but she still felt awkward.  

Placing their glasses on a passing waiter's tray, Mulder
took her hand and drew her out onto the dance floor.  
Katie forgot to breathe as he swept her up in his arms.
Her apprehension melted away as Mulder held her close.
With his natural grace, he guided her and she found 
herself enjoying the movement and the music.

The orchestra played waltz after waltz with the occasional
polka, since Mrs. Schuyler preferred the traditional dances.  
Mulder told Katie that after their hostess retired to the 
drawing room with the other matrons to gossip and sip sherry, 
the dancing would change to the livelier foxtrot and 
Castle walk.  

Katie and Mulder danced with other partners, but Katie
was always glad to return to her husband.  None of the
other gentlemen moved the way Mulder did.  It was almost
as if he could intuit her every step.

It was nearing midnight when Mulder's prediction came
to pass.  Mrs. Schuyler, Teena, and the other older women  
retreated to the parlor and the younger guests reigned over 
the ballroom.  The Castle walk was much more intimidating 
than the waltz, but with Mulder's guidance, Katie gave it 
a try, resulting in much laughter and missed steps.  It 
took three or four numbers before Katie managed to pick 
up the steps and dance them with some semblance of grace.

Flushed from the exertion of dancing, Katie excused 
herself so she could freshen up.  As she left the powder
room, she met Teena Mulder.

"Katherine, dear, I was just looking for you," her 
mother-in-law said.  "I'm afraid I've grown rather tired.  
I'll have Dunham drive me home and send him back to wait 
for you and Fox."
 
Teena did look exhausted when Katie took a closer look
at her.  Grief had diminished her stamina.  Katie 
hoped that as time went on, Teena would regain some of
her vitality.

Katie returned to the ballroom, but couldn't find Mulder.  
She spotted Camilla Schroeder talking to a few of the young 
married women.  Katie was greeted warmly, something she 
wouldn't have dreamed possible a few months ago.  

"Isn't this a thrilling party, Katie?" Camilla asked. 

"Most definitely," Katie answered, surprised to find
that to be the truth.  "Have you seen Fox?"

"I think he's over by the terrace," Camilla said, 
nodding her head in that direction.  One wall of the
ballroom was banked with doors that had been opened
to the evening air.

Katie took her leave, and set off to find Mulder so
she could tell him that his mother had gone home.
She spotted him standing on the terrace just outside 
the door.  Katie stopped in her tracks when she saw
who he was speaking with.  Diana Fowley.

She'd been aware of the other woman's presence at the 
ball, but Diana hadn't been among the dancers. 
Dressed in deep purple and wearing a diamond necklace that 
glittered like ice, Diana looked regally elegant.  She 
was gazing up at Mulder with an intensity that made 
Katie's mouth go dry.

Katie felt as if she was watching a scene at the picture
show, trying to follow the story without benefit of
the dialogue cards.  Mulder's expressive face changed
from disdainful to neutral to intent.  Katie found
herself unable to move, as if her feet were rooted to 
the floor.  

Finally, breaking out of her frozen state, she turned and 
left the room.  As she reached the hallway, Katie stopped
and scolded herself.  She was being foolish.  Her husband
was merely talking to someone.  One couldn't even describe
that person as a friend.  There was no reason for her 
to feel so threatened.  Katie returned to the ballroom
and tried to control her breathing.

She had managed to convince herself that it meant nothing
when Mulder found her.  She didn't want to study his
face, but she couldn't help herself.  

"There you are," he said, as he put his arm around her.

"Where were you?" she asked.  "I wanted to tell you that
your mother went home."

"I was out on the terrace taking in the evening air.  It's
gotten quite warm in here."

"Who were you talking to, Mulder?" she asked, holding her
breath.

"No one in particular.  Is everything all right, Katie?" he 
asked.    

"I'm just tired," she answered.  "I think I'd like to go
home now." 

To be continued in part 18....

Forgive Us Our Trespasses - Katherine Mulder's story.  Part 18

"Such beautiful hair, Madame.   A crown of glory, as
they say."

"Thank you, Pierre."

"I should not be telling you this, but only yesterday
Mademoiselle Cortlandt, she asked me to make her the
hair like yours."

"Miss Cortlandt's hair is lovely as it is," said
Katie.  

"You are too kind, Madame, but I thank you," said
Pierre modestly.

Katie couldn't remember Lillian Cortlandt's latest
hairstyle.  Something elaborate, no doubt, held in
place with jeweled combs and pins.  Her compliment,
though, was no more of a deception than Pierre's
French accent.  She remembered him quite distinctly as
her father's old barber, Peter Boulay of Delancey
Street.

"If she knew how long it takes to get it dried and
curled, I'm sure she'd think twice," Katie said.  The
first time she'd entered Pierre's exclusive shop,
she'd felt positively sinful to be paying so much for
someone to arrange her hair.  In no time, she'd come
to view Pierre's services as a necessity.   Planning
and establishing the clinic was taking up every ounce
of energy that didn't go toward her daughter and
husband, and the hours she spent with Pierre were a
rest and a relief.

"Madame is fortunate.  For most ladies, it needs
peroxide, henna and false curls to have the beautiful
hair like yours."

Katie was going to answer with a platitude about
vanity, but instead she frowned.  Even without bleach
or hair additions, her "crown of glory" was a decided
nuisance.

"Pierre . . . I've been thinking about lopping it all
off," she said.

Pierre put down the curling iron and took a step
backwards.  

"I believe that could be most becoming," he said,
after a moment of study.

"You do?"

"And what I cut, I could make for you hairpieces. 
When you want it long, it is long.  But for the
everyday, it is short."

"Do it," she commanded.

She felt freedom with the first slice of his shears,
and then some regrets.  Pierre hummed with pride as he
worked, snipping carefully, pausing frequently to
consider his next move.

"It's very short," Katie observed.

"Oui.  Short and blunt, a frame for your face."

Indeed, it curved around her cheekbones, the auburn strands 
grazing Katie's jawline.   The curls, now freed from the 
weight of almost two feet of hair, were like a bright cloud.  
It was both wonderful and shocking.

Kate hoped she hadn't made a mistake, and consoled
herself that it was only hair and would grow again.  

"Please tell all the world where your hair was
styled," Pierre reminded her as she left the shop.

Her head felt noticeably lighter and her neck felt
cool as she got into the Rolls.  She couldn't decide
if she liked the new look.  She wondered how Mulder
would react.

"Dr. Vitigliano's office," she directed Dunham, the
chauffeur, before he closed her door.

"Yes, madam," he said.    

Vincent had agreed to assist her in starting the
clinic, although he had yet to accept directorship. 
Katie tried to entice him with the promise that they
could provide any service he deemed worthwhile, but he
professed himself unequal to the position.  

Katie had to wait for Vincent in his consultation room, 
which gave her time to read through his latest proposals.  
Her years in the settlement house and her visits to the
tenements had given her more than an introduction into
poverty and squalor, but Vincent had succeeded in
shocking her.

"Busy morning," he explained when he joined her at
last.  He glanced at Katie, his face betraying his 
surprise at her appearance, though he said nothing.

"My God, Vincent, I had no idea such things existed,"
she said, holding up his handwritten notes.

He sighed as he sat down behind his large cherrywood
desk.  

"Well, you encouraged me to tell you what was needed. 
I don't suppose your husband will want his wife or his
money associated with people like this."

"People like this?  They're children!"

"Only in years."  He looked suddenly apologetic.  "I'm
sorry I've upset you.  But you did press me to tell
you about everyone who needed help."

"It's monstrous, Vincent.  Children working as
prostitutes--girls, and boys too!  We're going to put
a stop to this."

"By opening a clinic?  Katie, this clinic will take
everything you have to give it, and maybe more.  Don't
try to take on the whole world, because you can only
fail."

Vincent's resigned calm was unnerving, but she knew he
was being realistic.  Even Mulder's limitless money
couldn't cure every ill. Katie began to wonder if she
had the experience or the expertise to establish and
run the clinic.  She knew nursing, and Vincent knew
medicine, but maybe that wasn't enough.

She needed someone with the brains, strength and
humankindness to turn the clinic into a reality.  Most
days Katie returned home to take luncheon with her
mother-in-law, but today she decided to pay a call on
a wealthy philanthropist of her acquaintance.   

"Mulder and Traut," she told Dunham, as he held the
car door for her.

Morris Fletcher looked up from his desk as she walked
in.

"Good morning, Mrs. Mulder.  I'll tell Mr. Mulder that
you're here," Fletcher greeted her.  He sounded
sullen rather than cheeky, and Katie guessed that he'd
been the recent recipient of a dressing-down.  When
Fletcher picked up the telephone, rather than rapping
on the door, Katie knew that Mulder wasn't alone.

Nevertheless, she didn't have long to wait before
Mulder threw open the door.  A young man nodded
politely as he left the office.

"Keep me apprised, Alex," Mulder called over her
shoulder as he ushered her in.  

"I hoped you'd have time to see me," Katie said.  It
wasn't her habit to venture into his domain.

"Always.  See you, admire you, worship at your feet..."  

Indeed, he seemed positively fascinated.

"Oh!  I got a new hairstyle," she said, turning her 
head.

"So I noticed," he said.  "It's different.  But I 
like it."

"I'm glad."  

"It makes me want to kiss your neck."

Katie laughed.  She had worried he'd be displeased.

"All right.  Just one," she teased.

Mulder stood behind her, his hands circling her waist.  
She felt his warm breath on her bare neck followed by 
his soft lips.  A tiny moan escaped her lips.  The
return of physical closeness had been a welcome relief
for Katie.  It was hard to remember why she'd had any
doubts about Mulder when he made such tender and 
passionate love to her.

"Mm," Mulder mumbled against her skin.  "Please tell 
me we're staying home tonight."

"Mulder!  Does this mean you'll be leaving work on
time for once?"

"Chances are good.  Did you come by for lunch, or just
to show off your haircut?"

"Both.  But also something else."

They ate lunch in the private dining room.

"One day I'll make you take me to the main room,"
Katie said, knowing that no woman had ever been
permitted there.

"We'll go right now, if you're serious."

Katie knew she could take him at his word, and the
stuffy bankers would have to tolerate it.  Would it
really make a difference, though?

"Perhaps it will get them ready for the day that
Mairead takes over," she mused.

"Only if she wants to," Mulder said softly.

After the waiter served the roast duckling with
currants, Katie raised the concern that had prompted
her visit.

"I don't think I can run the clinic on my own.  The
settlement house was smaller, and even there I was
more of a manager than an executive."

"We'll hire all the help you need.  Just tell me who
you want."

"You, Mulder.  I want you."

"Me?"

"I know how busy you are, but this wouldn't have to
take up much of your time.  Perhaps a few hours a
week, to oversee the organization, to glance over the
expenditures?"

He protested at first that she didn't give herself
enough credit, but soon he capitulated.

"We'll be working together.  I like that part," he
said.

"I do too."  Her work was important to her, and she
wanted Mulder to be part of it.  "I wish I understood
more about what you do," she added.

Mulder groaned.  

"These last weeks, most of what I've done is try to
untangle and undo everything DT has done."

"Oh, dear," Katie said sympathetically.  She noted
with pride that her young husband, who had once
regarded his "Uncle Dewitt" with doglike devotion, 
now had the confidence to criticize him.

"Unfortunately my dear partner has what he calls the
worst luck when it comes to choosing railroads and
mining ventures.  In vain I've tried to tell him that
you should never back a railroad without at the least
tracing its route on a map."

"So you've been selling his purchases?"

"If only it was that easy.  I have to say, though,
that Alex has made himself tremendously useful."

"Oh, the man you were talking with when I dropped in."

"He's thorough and diligent.   I made him my senior
investment consultant, and  Morris Fletcher's been in 
a low boil ever since."

"Morris thinks he deserved the promotion?  I think you
only keep him on so you can torment him."

"Morris thought he had it in the bag.  And I keep him
on because he's punctual, and never forgets my
coffee.  He'd better hope Charlie doesn't learn how to
make coffee."

"How is Charlie doing?" Katie asked, laughing.  Mulder
had given him a position as office boy for the summer.

"Very well.  We've never gotten our mail delivered
so efficiently."

"Thank you for giving him this job," she said taking
his hand.  "He really loves it.  Ma says he can't wait
to come here every morning.  She was worried about him 
getting into trouble this summer."

Though his broken leg had healed, Charlie still limped.
Exercise had helped, but selling newspapers was too
difficult now.  A bored Charlie tended to get into 
mischief, so the job at Mulder & Traut had been a 
godsend. 

Neither Katie nor Mulder finished their duckling, and 
Mulder waved off the remaining courses.

"I'll fall asleep at my desk if I eat all this," he
said.  

"I'll let you go back to work, and I'll go home and
see our baby," Katie said, rising from the table.

"Give her a kiss for me."

Mairead was napping when Katie returned home, sprawled
in a posture of total relaxation, her arms stretched
over her head.  The child slept like an angel,
although she usually awoke in an awful humor, fussing
and crying despite all efforts to console her.  Miss
Muir was confident she'd grow out of it; Maggie smugly
informed Katie that she'd been exactly that way
herself.

Katie tiptoed from the nursery and made her way to the
dining room.  Teena rarely complained about dining
alone, but Katie felt guilty.  She would join her at
the table to keep her company.  Katie remembered her
drastic new hairstyle and wondered how her
mother-in-law would react.  It would be best to let
Teena voice her horror now, when Mulder could be
spared.

But Teena wasn't alone.  Even before she entered the
room Katie heard them talking, the deep sound of a
man's voice alternating with Teena's.  And even before
she heard them, she smelled the cigarette.  Margaret
Scully didn't allow smoking during meals, nor did
Shayna Berkowitz, but here in the Mulder mansion, with
its fine china and sterling silver, a man sat at the
table smoking his cigarette as Edgar removed his plate
and replaced it with another.

"I see you have company, Mother Mulder," Katie said.  

"Katherine!  Oh my goodness!"  Teena gaped at Katie's
head as she patted her own hair.  "What on earth have
you done?"

"It's quite becoming," the man said as he stood up,
still holding his cigarette.

"Thank you," Katie replied, cautiously.  This was the
man who had struck up a conversation with her in the
drugstore on her honeymoon.  She remembered how alarmed
Mulder had been when she told him about the stranger
and now he was having lunch with Teena as if he had a 
right to sit at the head of the table.

"Your mother-in-law wasn't sure if you were planning
to join us.  I'm sorry we didn't wait," he said
gallantly.

"Quite all right.  I've eaten," Katie stammered.

"Katherine, I'm sure you've met Cornelius Spender. 
Cornelius, my daughter-in-law, Katherine."

Smoothly Spender switched his cigarette to his left
hand as Katie managed to extend her right.

"Congratulations on your beautiful daughter.  I see
now where she gets her fine features," he said.

"Thank you," Katie answered stiffly.  

"Oh, you're mistaken.  Little Margaret looks exactly
as her father did, at that age," Teena said.

"I don't think so, Teena."  He brought his cigarette
to his lips and inhaled deeply.  "I think Mairead is
the very image of her mother."

"I think she resembles both of us, actually," Katie
said.  "If you'll excuse me, I should leave you two 
to your visit."

"Nonsense, dear," Teena said.  "Join us for coffee
in the drawing room."

As Teena gave instructions to Edgar, Spender took
Katie's elbow and escorted her from the room.  

"It's so very good to see you again, Katherine.  I
knew the moment I met you last summer that you and
Fox were perfectly suited."

"That's a rather fanciful notion," she said.  "You 
don't know me."

Slipping from Spender's grasp, Katie moved into 
the drawing room, putting the coffee table between
them.

"Ah yes, but I do know Fox.  In fact, I knew his
parents since before he was born.  I daresay I
understand Fox better than Bill Mulder did."

Before Katie was able to form a reply, Teena was
back, trailed by Edgar bearing a large tray.  
Spender sat beside Teena on the settee, leaving
Katie to observe them as they reminisced.

"Do you remember that summer at Newport, Teena?"

"How could I forget," she laughed.  "The way you
and William carried on.  Swimming races, sailing
races, foot races.  One would have thought you
were two boys instead of grown men."

Spender smiled at the memory and sipped his coffee.

"I remember you standing at the shore in that 
sweet yellow frock.  I'd never seen anything so
fresh and lovely in my life."

Teena was like a flower, blooming under Spender's
attention.  She blushed like a schoolgirl.  Teena
actually giggled when Spender told a funny story.  
Katie couldn't ever remember hearing that sound from 
her mother-in-law and found it rather unnerving.

Katie was relieved when she heard the faint sound of
Mairead's cries.  

"If you'll excuse me," Katie said, rising from 
her chair.  "Mairead must be up from her nap."

"I don't hear anything," Teena said.  

"She's crying," Katie said.  "I should check on her."  

"You'll spoil that child, Katherine," Teena said.

"I'm sure you're right," Katie said, wryly, as she
left the room.  

Hurrying up the stairs, Katie was grateful for her
cranky baby.  Mairead's cheeks were rosy from sleep
and she dug her chubby fists into her eyes as she
cried and struggled to wake.  Katie gathered the fussy 
child in her arms, holding her a little tighter than
was truly necessary as she tried to quiet her.  That
man had seen her baby--probably touched her soft skin.
The thought of that left Katie feeling vaguely queasy.

Mulder came home early as he'd promised.  Before dinner,
he sat on the nursery floor and played with Mairead,
helping her as she dropped clothespins into a copper
mixing bowl from the kitchen.  At seven months old,
Mairead had shelves of expensive dolls and toys but
she seemed to prefer playing with simple household
items, much to her father's amazement and her 
grandmother's horror.

"Your mother had a luncheon guest," Katie said as
she sank down beside Mulder and Mairead.  

"That's nice," Mulder said.  "It's good for her to
spend time with her friends."

"He was someone I'd met before.  It was the man 
who approached me in the drugstore on our honeymoon."

"Why...why would he be here?" Mulder stammered as 
the gravity of the situation sunk in.  

"Apparently, he's known your parents for many years.
He and your mother reminisced for hours."

Mulder pushed himself off the floor, startling the
baby, who began to cry.  Mulder ran nervous fingers
through his hair as he paced the nursery.

"He's an unsavory character according to Uncle Dewitt.
I don't like the idea of his being here with Mother."

Katie gathered up Mairead and rose to face her husband.

"He saw the baby," Katie said, softly.  

"I have to talk to my mother," Mulder said, as he headed
for the door.

"Mulder," Katie said, touching his arm as he turned to
face her.  "Be careful with her.  She's still rather
fragile."

Her warning only added to his irritation.

"I'm trying to protect her," he answered, impatiently.

Katie settled herself and the baby into the rocker to
wait for his return.  Maggie had rocked her children
to mournful tunes about deaths and farewells, but
Katie forced herself to croon something cheerful.

"Cuddle up a little closer, lovey mine.  Cuddle up and
be my little clinging vine. . ."

Mulder was quiet and serious when he returned, but
Katie didn't ask what had transpired.  They put
Mairead in her crib, and Katie traced a cross on her 
forehead to bless her.  In his mesmerizing drone, Mulder
told her the story of a tiny little choo-choo with
broken wheels and overgrown tracks that went nowhere,
and how Uncle Dewitt decided to buy it.  As always,
Mairead fought off her sleepiness as long as she
could.  

Katie and Mulder were late to the table, and Teena was
missing entirely, having taken to her room with a
splitting headache.

"I'm hardly surprised," Mulder said.

"Did you argue?" Katie asked.

"I thought I was very gentle.  I asked her about her
visitor, and she said he was a dear friend who could
share happy memories with her.  I said I would like to
know more about this dear friend, and she said my
suspicious nature was a reproach to my poor father."

"Oh, Mulder."

"I know, Katie, you warned me she was fragile."  He
sighed.  "Perhaps you can check in on her later."

Katie nodded, although she felt not a little
suspicious herself.  Teena's splitting headache was
awfully convenient.

"What did DT have to say about Mr. Spender?" she
asked.

"DT loves to talk in riddles.  I take it that
Spender's financial practices range from the
unscrupulous to the felonious, but Dewitt left the
details to my imagination."

"A robber baron," Katie concluded.  She comforted
herself that the smoking man was a crook, but no
threat to her family.  Yet she couldn't shake her
uneasiness.

"I'll release Skinner from his duties at the office. 
He'll find plenty to do here."

"I thought you needed him at work," Katie asked, with
a small smile.  "Or was that an excuse to break up the
steamy affair you were sure we were carrying on?"

Mulder was too preoccupied to appreciate her humor.

"It's painful to know that my personal secretary will
enjoy more time with you than I do, but I want him
available at home."

"But what do you want him to do?  He can't keep Mr.
Spender out of the house if your mother welcomes him
in."

"He can see that Mairead is safe.  And you.  He can
hire additional men, if they're needed."

Mulder's intensity was unsettling.

"Do you think Spender means to hurt us?  Mulder, is
there something more that you're not telling me?"
Katie asked.

"Let me take care of this, Katie.  You know I couldn't
go on if something happened to you or the baby."

"I think you're over-reacting, love.  I'll admit he's
a bit unsettling, but surely, he isn't a threat to us."

"Don't underestimate him, Katie.  He'd a dangerous 
man."

Katie would think of Mulder's warnings over the 
next few months.  Mr. Spender called on Teena often,
always during the day when Mulder was at work.  Katie
felt safer with Skinner around.  He was awkward around
Mairead, though the child seemed quite taken with him.

Though Katie had been sure he would be bored, Skinner 
didn't seem to mind his bodyguard detail.   After the
first time she came upon Skinner deep in conversation
with Miss Muir, Katie no longer wondered why.  

Katie would look back on this time with great fondness.
Spending so much time with Mulder reminded her of their
courtship.  For his part, Mulder seemed to find great
satsifaction in helping to make the clinic a reality,
especially with his capable new protege taking on some
of his chores at Mulder & Traut.  Over many meals,
Mulder impressed both Katie and Vincent with his
enthusiasm, compassion and quick mind.

Katie's days were filled with preparations for the 
new clinic.  Mulder helped her scout out a location.
With his familiarity with the neighborhoods, Mulder
brought her to a number of possible buildings.  They
planned to purchase the building and not lease so that 
the clinic could remain autonomous.

Mulder amazed her.  His business acumen was so sharp,
his instincts so honed as to be able to sniff out the
smallest flaw.   One storefront was too near the police
station and might frighten off some of the patients.
One building had a crumbling bricks in the basement
indicating water damage.

Finally, they found the perfect building on Second
Avenue.  Formerly a small factory, the building 
had enough space for treatment rooms, offices and 
a ward for patients who needed to stay overnight.   

The true selling point for Katie were the upper floors
that offered room for expansion.  That the clinic would
serve the community's need for health care was
a given, but Katie had dreams beyond that.  Maybe there 
would be classrooms or workshops on the upper floors, or
maybe they would house women and children who needed an
escape from abusive homes.  Katie would start with the 
clinic and see what else was possible.

Mulder's fortune seemed to make all things possible. 
From the purchase of the building, to renovations and 
outfitting of the clinic with furniture and supplies,
things progressed at lightning speed.  Staff needed to
be hired.  Vincent recruited Dr. Oppenheim to join them
and Katie discovered that Rebecca Waite, the nurse who had
taken such good care of William Mulder, was interested in 
a permanent position.  

Shayna Berkowitz rounded out the staff, taking over the 
day to day tasks of ordering supplies and keeping everyone 
on schedule.  Shayna was in her element, arguing with 
merchants, nagging doctors and bossing everyone else.  

Before Katie could believe it, she stood on the sidewalk on 
a sunny autumn afternoon and cut the ribbon on the Second 
Avenue Clinic.

Shayna was their one-woman announcement service for the clinic 
and she spread the news that medical help was available in a 
clean, compassionate environment.  Of course, Shayna didn't 
word it in quite that way.  It was more "So?  You schlepped 
over to Bellevue and they treated you like a dog?  Next time 
you'll come over to the Second Avenue Clinic and get treated 
like a regular person."

By early autumn, the clinic was busy with patients, mostly
poor working families.  They treated measles and mumps, boils
and abscesses and earaches.  They cared for pregnant women 
and new babies, injured factory workers and children who 
needed to be inoculated against small pox before they could 
go to school.

A young boy came into the clinic one day, cradling his arm
close to his body.  His head down, all Katie could see at
first was a hank of sandy brown hair.  It was only when
he looked up that Katie recognized familiar bright blue 
eyes.  

"Kevin," she said, taking in a scrape along his jaw
and the bruise on one cheekbone.  "What on earth happened
to you?"

"I fell," he answered.  His eyes were guarded at first, 
softening a little upon recognition.   "I din't know ya 
worked here now, Miss Katie."  

"You must have had a very bad spill to hurt your arm
like this," she said, gently.  "Let's let Dr. Vitigliano
take a look at you."

Katie ushered the boy into the examining room.  

"Dr. Vitigliano, this is Kevin Kryder," she said.  "He 
hurt his arm in a fall."

Helping the boy off with his shirt, Katie shot a glance 
at Vincent as she noted more bruises on his arms.  Kevin 
cried out as the doctor attempted to move the injured
arm.

"I'm going to have to move your shoulder back into place,"
Vincent said.  "I'm afraid it's going to hurt for a moment,
but then it will feel better."

Kevin nodded silently, his eyes wide with fear.  Vincent
worked quickly, his hands sure and strong.  Katie stood
by, an arm around Kevin's waist in case he grew dizzy from
the pain.   The boy's face was as white as milk except 
for the shadows under his eyes. 

"Sorry," Vincent said.  "We're almost done here.  You 
know, I don't see many injuries like this from falls.  
Usually, somebody has given the arm a good yank.  Are
you sure that wasn't what happened, Kevin?"

"Maybe," Kevin said, with a shrug followed by a grimace.  
"Maybe I yanked my arm when I fell."

Vincent bandaged the arm close to Kevin's midsection and
told him he should rest it.  Then he cleaned the scrape
on Kevin's face.  

"I want you to come back in three days so I can check
your arm, Kevin.  And I want you to come back right
away if it swells up.  All right?"

"Sure, doc," Kevin said as he slid off the examining
table.  "I'll come back, I promise."

"Please take care of yourself, Kevin," Katie said as 
she walked him to the door.  "Are you still living with
your father?"

"Yeah," Kevin said slowly, his eyes haunted.  "With my dad.  
I'll see ya aroun', Miss Katie."

"You know that boy?" Vincent asked after Kevin left.

"He used to live down the street," she told him.  "His
mother died in childbirth a couple of years ago.  The
baby died, too."  

Katie remembered Mrs. Kryder as a loving mother, struggling
to care for Kevin and his younger siblings.  Kevin's 
father had been a troubled man who drank too much even
before his wife died.  Relatives agreed to take the 
little ones, but Kevin remained behind with his father.
When they were evicted from their apartment, Katie had
lost track of them.

"I wonder if his father did that to him," Vincent said.

"He was a rough man, as I recall."

Kevin did not return to the clinic after three days.  Katie
thought of him often, remembering his sad, frightened eyes.
 
Katie had little time to wonder, though, as the clinic 
became even busier during the winter months.  A cacophony
of rattling coughs and wet sneezes rang from the crowded 
waiting room.  With her strong constitution, Katie managed 
to stay in good health, to her great relief.  

With their days filled with work, Katie and Mulder guarded 
their time with Mairead, spending as many nights at home
as they could manage.   Mulder's passion for photography 
returned, and Katie joked that the only lady more photographed 
than Mairead was the Statue of Liberty.  And Katie had to admit 
that Mairead was far more fascinating than the giant statue, 
who never put her torch in her mouth or flung it across the 
harbor.

Mulder's efforts to devote himself to his family were
sometimes thwarted, and intrusions from the world of
finances were not unusual.  He marveled once that Wall
Street had been able to function before the invention
of the telephone.  For her part, Katie often wished
that it never had been invented.  She would sigh with
resignation whenever a footman appeared, informing
them apologetically that Mr. Traut was on telephone,
or Sir Warwick, or Mr. Leamus.  

One evening their sitting room was invaded not by the
'phone, but by the trio of messieurs Frohike, Langly and
Byers.  

"I hope Mr. Pendrell knows he is also welcome here,"
Mulder said, and Katie could hear his sadness.  He was
willing to go to any length to have his sister return
to his life, but she and her husband remained shy of
contact.

"Our visit is unrelated to our partnership," Mr. Byers
explained.  "I believe you asked Mr. Frohike to
conduct a discreet investigation."

"You wanted him to get the scoop on Cornelius
Spender," Mr. Langly said.  "He asked for our help."

"I didn't ask, bonehead.  You horned in," Mr. Frohike
corrected him.

"Hey, how about something to eat?" Mr. Langly
requested.

"I'll fetch some refreshments," Katie said.  "Promise
not to start without me."

"Maid's night off?" Frohike asked.  

The staff was on duty, but it was simpler for Katie to
do it herself.  She found some cheese and biscuits in
the kitchen and brought them upstairs.

Mulder was trying to show Mr. Frohike his latest
photographs.

"She's beautiful, isn't she?  Look at that smile.  In
this one you can see her tooth.  And there it is
again.  Here she is with her foot in her mouth."

Mulder was less than halfway through his presentation,
but Mr. Frohike handed back the thick stack.

"OK, longshanks, she's a baby.  When are you going to
take some real pictures?"

Mulder was about to hand the photos to Mr. Byers, who
forestalled him gently.

"She's a very beautiful baby, Mr. Mulder.  I noticed
immediately."

"But they all look the same," Langly muttered under
his breath.

While the three men were uninterested in the baby, for
her part she found them highly entertaining.  She
stretched out her arms first to Langly, then to
Frohike, and was clearly disappointed when it was
Mulder who lifted her from the floor.

Frohike cut himself a large wedge of cheese.

"What's your interest in Mr. Spender?" he asked.

"He's been spending time with my mother," Mulder
answered.  "He strikes me as an opportunist."

The three visitors eyed one another and apparently
came to a decision.

"So you're not thinking about engaging his services,"
Frohike said.

"His services?  What kind of services does he offer?"
Katie asked.

"Nothing very nice," Langly said.

"Nothing you would even consider," said Byers.

"But you're right about one thing: he is an
opportunist," said Frohike.

"The consummate opportunist," said Langly.

Katie could sense Mulder's growing impatience, but
rather than urge their friends to get to the point,
she picked up the whiskey bottle.

"Have a drop," she said, pouring considerably more
into each glass.  "And do tell us all you've learned."

Byers savored a sip before he answered.

"He has friends in high places," he said somberly,
prompting his companions to roll their eyes  at the
inadequacy of his description.

"He has friends in *low* places," Frohike corrected
him.

"He has friends all over," added Langly.  "And he
kills people."

"No!"  Katie covered her mouth with her hand, truly
horrified by the revelation.

"Facts, boys.  I need facts," Mulder said calmly.

"He killed President McKinley," Frohike said.

Mulder shook his head.

"McKinley was shot by an anarchist, in front of
hundreds of witnesses," he said.

"Leon Czolgosz, a misfit without a penny to his name. 
Mistrusted even by other anarchists.  How did he
decide on his murderous plan?  How was he able to
accomplish it?" Frohike asked.

"I've never heard a hint of this," Mulder said.

"In November of 1901, Spender left the country, not to
return for many years," Byers said.

"Sounds like a thrilling yarn," Mulder said
impassively.  Even Katie felt her anxiety drop.  The
story was too outlandish to be real.

"Did your father ever say anything, or Traut?" Frohike
asked.  "They had to have known."

"They would have kept their mouths shut, once they had
him exiled," Langly said.

"Exiled?  They probably assisted in his escape," said
Byers.

"But Mulder's one of their own.  They would have
wanted to warn him," Frohike argued.

"They couldn't warn him without implicating
themselves," said Byers.

"My father was not a murderer," Mulder said angrily.

"Your father and the others may not have expected him
to resort to assassination.  Once the deed was done,
they were eager to distance themselves," Byers said.

"Can you prove any of this?" Mulder asked.

"Spender's not one to leave his calling card, and I
doubt your old man kept a diary," Langly said.

The debate about William was a secondary point, to
Katie, and one that could only hurt Mulder.

"Why has Spender returned?  What does he want?" she
asked.

"Ah.  That's the question," Frohike answered.

"We have evidence that he's a force behind the
temperance movement," Byers said.

Mulder made a wry face at Frohike, who had drained his
glass.

"Some might find that laudable," he said.

"But some might see it as an opportunity," said Katie.
 
"Good thinking," Mulder acknowledged.  "A ban on
alcohol would present a range of opportunities."

"First and foremost, Spender is a kingmaker. 
Remember, he put Roosevelt in the Executive Mansion," 
Frohike said.

"Then does he mean to put him there again?" Katie
asked.

"By shooting Taft?  He can't be that arrogant," Mulder
said.  

"I don't think that's his plan.  He's beyond murdering
the competition; he's ready to name his own man,"
Frohike said.

"How much did you have to drink before you got here?"
Mulder asked.

"A man with no background in politics," Byers said,
ignoring Mulder's question.  

"It's not possible.  He might put a pawn in Congress,
or in the Senate.  But not the White House," she said,
reflecting that even Tammany Hall sometimes failed in
their machinations.  But Mulder seemed somewhat
persuaded.

"An outsider.  Someone who wouldn't owe his office to
the machines," he said thoughtfully.

"You're a Harvard man, aren't you?  Well, keep your
eye on Princeton," Frohike said.

"But none of this accounts for his interest in your
mother," Langly said.

"There's the matter of her extreme wealth," said
Byers.

"Could be.  Or maybe it's personal.  Even a
bastard like that must have some feelings," said 
Frohike.

Katie felt her breath catch in her throat, and saw the
color drain from Mulder's face.  That last suggestion
was somehow more ominous than all that had gone before.

To be continued...

Forgive Us Our Trespasses - Katherine Mulder's story.  Part 19

"Katie, you have a patient who needs your 
attention," Shayna said at the doorway to 
the examination room where Katie was checking 
the supply inventory.

"A patient?" Katie asked.  The clinic had just 
closed for the lunch hour and Shayna was 
notoriously strict with patients on that 
account.  "I thought we were on lunch hour."

"He's a poor schlemiel who needs help, Katie.
I couldn't say no."

She stepped aside, and the "poor schlemiel" entered,
working manfully to fulfill Shayna's description.

"Please, Nurse Katie.  I need help," he pleaded.

Katie laughed at Mulder's hangdog expression.

"All right.  I'll make an exception this 
one time.  Open wide."

Mulder complied, taking a seat on the exam table 
and opening his mouth for her.  

Katie continued the charade, using a flat wooden 
stick to compress the back of his tongue.

"However were you able to get away?" she asked.

Mulder answered something like "ayuk ayuk."

"Well then.  Ayuk Ayuk must be a very good thing.  
Now I'll check your ears."

"A very good thing," Mulder said, holding stock-still
as she brought the otoscope to his ear.  "He's shaping
up so well that I'm thinking of taking you to Italy
next month."

"I can't leave the clinic until we have more staff,"
she said.

"Gondolas, Katie.  Remember?"

Indeed she did remember the honeymoon they'd dreamed
about when it seemed like an impossible dream.  But
the winter months would bring pneumonia and whooping
cough and the clinic was still too new to function 
without her.

"Another time.  Maybe in the spring," she said. 
Acting out of habit, she brought the otoscope to
Mulder's other ear.

"I'll book some staterooms on the Olympic for the
crossing, but my crew can bring over the Gallant. 
Visiting the continent will be more convenient on our
own yacht."

Mulder's words shook her, an unneeded reminder of the
gulf between her old world and the world she had
married.  

"I think I see what the problem is," she said,
peering through the otoscope into Mulder's ear.
"Your ears have a strange syndrome whereby they
hear what they want to hear."

"Very well.  In the spring," he said.  Disappointment
showed in his face and then lifted.  "And what do you 
prescribe for my sad affliction?" he asked, solemnly.

"It's a difficult case, but..."   Arms around his 
neck, Katie pulled Mulder down for a kiss.  "This
treatment must be repeated often to be effective."

"As often as possible," he said, his arms tight
around her.  "So Nurse Katie, where is my rival for
your attentions?"

"Rival?" she asked.  "Which one?"

"Very funny.  The young one who hangs on your every 
breath.  The one that belongs to that scarf over there,"
he said, pointing to the striped fabric hanging on a
peg by the door.

"Ah, Kevin," she said.  "He left that behind the last 
time he was here.  I hope the poor child isn't too cold 
without it.  I haven't seen him all day."   

And that was unusual.  After his initial resistance, Kevin 
Kryder had become a frequent patient, displaying bruises 
and scratches, though most of his complaints were vague.  
His stomach hurt, his throat was sore, he ached all over.  
The boy hung around so often, Katie had finally put him 
to work, unpacking supplies and minding young children 
while Vincent examined their parents.

"I don't think he likes me very much," Mulder said.

On one of his visits to the clinic, Mulder had chatted 
with the boy, asking him if he played stick ball, liked 
to go to the moving pictures, had ever ridden in an 
automobile--topics that were sure-fire hits with young boys.  
Kevin had offered no more than one word answers and 
flinched when Mulder patted his shoulder.  

"He's rather protective of me, Mulder.  I think he's a
bit jealous when you come to the clinic."

"Probably.  Since I to have a clear field, have 
you had lunch yet?"

"Not yet.  Vincent is out on a housecall, so 
I was just going to fix myself a sandwich."

"Well, then, this is your lucky day.  I just 
happen to have a tasty picnic lunch with me."

"My goodness, Mulder," Katie laughed as he retrieved
a large basket from beyond the door.  "How on
earth did you manage to get away from the office
and do all of this?"

She led him to her small office and they spread
the checkered tablecloth he'd brought over her desk.
Inside the basket was cold chicken, a bowl of 
potato salad, Cook's homemade bread and butter 
pickles and a flask of cold tea.

"My new protege is a godsend," he said.  "With 
Krycek's help, I think that trip to Italy could 
really happen."

Images of canals and cathedrals drifted through
Katie's mind.  "That would be lovely," she said.  
"But who is Krycek?"

"I told you.  Alex Krycek.  My assistant."

"You never mentioned his last name before."

"Does it matter?" Mulder asked.

As they began their lunch, Katie wondered how to
answer his question.  She remembered a conversation 
at her mother's boarding house.  She remembered the
rambling warnings by Mr. Fenig.

"One of my mother's boarders talked about a man who 
always seemed to be at the center of any agitation.  
The man's name was Alex Krycek," she told him at last.

"Which one said that, the professor?" Mulder asked.

"No, not Mr. Burke.  It was Max Fenig."

"Fenig?  Oh, the crazy one," Mulder said.

"He reads a great deal," Katie defended him.  "You
know, Mulder, people said Thomas Edison was crazy
too."

"Well then, if you think there are real grounds, I'll
look into it," Mulder said.

"As long as you don't leave this to your assistant,"
Katie said, leaning forward to offer Mulder a bite
of pickle.  

"There are certain tasks one must do for himself,"
Mulder replied, pulling Katie close and kissing her
soundly.  Her heart was racing by the time he 
released her.  

The next day, Mulder accompanied Katie and Mairead
on their weekly visit to the Scully house.  Katie 
knew her mother was not comfortable visiting them
at the Mulder house.  So every Thursday, Katie 
brought Mairead to the boarding house, where they
spent the afternoon and had supper.  Katie hoped
this would give her daughter an understanding of
how life was for all but the fortunate rich.

"Ack, what a beauty," Maggie said, taking Mairead
out of Katie's arms and removing the baby's little 
blue tam-o'-shanter.  "Such flashing eyes.  Such
rosy cheeks."

While supper cooked, the adults sat around the kitchen 
table over mugs of coffee.  Surrounded by the toys
Maggie Scully kept available for visiting grandchildren,  
Mairead banged a wooden spoon against a small pan.  

"Buh buh buh," Mairead babbled.  Her vocalizations were
enthusiastic nonsense, though Mulder insisted she'd
said Da-da the other day.  Katie and Miss Muir
could not corroborate that, however.

"Mother Scully, Katie mentioned one of your boarders 
might have some useful information," Mulder said over 
the din of Mairead's activity. "Is Mr. Fenig at home?"

"That one," Maggie replied.  "Who knows?  He's out
o' work, that much I can tell you.  Sneaks up to his 
room like a thief in the night. Three weeks past due 
with his rent, he is, and I'm this far from throwing
his skinny arse out on the street."

"Would you mind if we went up and checked?" Mulder
asked.  

"Suit yerself.  Ah, macushla, let Gran look at you,"
Maggie said, lifting Mairead onto her lap.  She turned
to Mulder. "Fenig's room is upstairs, second door on 
the left."

Katie led the way to Mr. Fenig's door.   There was no
answer to her knock, though she heard the rustling of
paper.  "Mr. Fenig!  Mr. Fenig, it's Katie.  May I come
in?"

It was several minutes before the door was unbolted and
opened.  The interior of the room was dark, the shades
pulled down tight against the last rays of afternoon sun.  
The only source of light was a small lamp next to the 
tumbled bed.  

Newspapers were stacked on the dresser, chair, bed and 
table.  Rolls of it covered the floor like drifts of
snow.  Max Fenig stood just behind the door, only his
bright blue eyes visible in the dark.

"How are you, Mr. Fenig?" Katie asked.  

"Not so very well, Miss Scully," he answered, stiffening
as Mulder entered the room after his wife.  

"You remember my husband," Katie said.  "His name is
Fox Mulder."

"I know who he is.  Everyone knows who he is."

"May we sit down?" Katie asked.  Fenig nodded slowly.
Katie and Mulder sat on the rumpled bed while Fenig
pushed a pile of newspapers off the lone chair and
sat.

"Katie told me how very knowledgeable you are
about current events," Fox said.  "Reading so many 
newspapers, you must have picked up a lot of 
information."

"Yes," Fenig said warily.  "I read more newspapers
than anyone else at the service."

Max Fenig made his living scanning the nation's 
newspapers for articles of interest for the
news service's clients.  The work was seasonal, 
though, and Fenig was laid off periodically.

"Mr. Fenig, I think you may know something about an
employee of my husband.  An Alex Krycek."

"Krycek.  Yes, yes.  The man who is everywhere and
nowhere."  Fenig's eyes flitted around the room.

What do you know about him?" Mulder asked.

Arms wrapped tight around his midsection, Fenig began
to rock back and forth.   

"I wondered, I wondered, I always wondered. . . And
it's you."

The little man stopped rocking for a moment and shot
a wide-eyed look at Mulder.

"You sent him to Pittsburgh."

Katie glanced at Mulder, whose nod was almost imperceptible.

"Roosevelt's your man.  Roosevelt and the square
deal."

Mulder opened his mouth, but closed it again when
Katie laid a gentle hand on his arm.  He sat back,
and closed his mouth.  

"Then Charleston."

"Charleston?"  Mulder echoed in surprise.

"Vote for La Follette!  Fighting Bob, the people's
friend!"
 
A chill snaked up Katie's spine.  She chanced another
glance in Mulder's direction. 

"Chicago," Fenig recited.

"More railroad business," Mulder told Katie under his
breath.

"Eugene Debs."

"Alex Krycek rallied for La Follette in Charleston,
and Roosevelt in Pittsburgh.  And spoke for Debs in
Chicago?" she asked.

"No, no, no.  Debs spoke.  Krycek, he didn't speak. 
But a generous donation.  From your husband, I guess."

"He spent two weeks in Chicago, for two days' worth of
work," Mulder said quietly.  "I should have pressed
for the details."

"Terre Haute, and then Wisconsin," Fenig said.

Mulder shook his head gravely.

"I've given him free rein when I should have been
watching him."
  
"Where are you sending him next?" Fenig asked.  

"You've been very helpful, Mr. Fenig," Katie said.

"I just read what's in the papers."

"Thank you," Mulder said.  "Your assistance has been
invaluable, Mr. Fenig.  I'd like to do something for 
you.  Let me cover your rent for a few weeks."

"Wh....why?  Why would you do that?"  Fenig seemed 
panic-stricken.  "What do you want from me?"
 
"Max," Katie said, softly.  "My husband is a very
good man.  He just wants to help you get back on
your feet.  I promise he won't harm you."

That seemed to mollify Fenig who gulped and nodded.
After pulling the door closed behind them, Mulder
whispered into her ear.

"Krycek's been campaigning to have me send him to
Germany.  I think I'd better do a little checking
before I agree to that."

Before they left, Mulder pressed enough money into
Margaret Scully's hand to keep Fenig in clean sheets
and chicken dinners for half a year.

Mulder spent more time at the office after that,
much to Katie's dismay.  She'd grown to enjoy his
impromptu visits.   Fortunately, the clinic was 
busy, so she was almost too busy to miss him.

Katie's hard work and long hours were a source of
puzzlement to her new friends.  Camilla Schroeder
expressed admiration, but seemed confused when 
Katie declined invitations to luncheons and matinees.

"It's by George Bernard Shaw!  He believes in
everything you do," Cami implored her by 'phone one
evening.

"I'm sure he's wonderful, but I'm needed at the
clinic," Katie explained.

"Sometimes you sound just like a man," Cami said.

With Mulder back to late nights at the office and
Teena's return to social engagements, Katie found
herself putting in longer hours as well.  It was past
seven and already dark as she locked the door one
night.  An angry voice greeted her from the shadows.

"You've been spreading lies about me."

She whirled to face her accuser.

"Mr. Chaco!  Your startled me."

"Tainted meat.  That's what you said."

Walter Chaco owned a butcher shop on Orchard Street,
but Katie couldn't recall criticizing his products.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"Mrs. Budahas and her kids, with their bellyaches.  
Food poisoning, you told her.  Ptomaine."

Katie remembered the housecall.  Mrs. Budahas
splurged for a chicken dinner, and the next day the
whole family was in a misery of vomiting and diarrhea.

"I didn't even know where she bought the chicken!  But
Mr. Chaco, I do hope you know how important it is to
keep meat and poultry properly cooled.  Hygiene and
handwashing--"

"You got some gall, sister.  That woman is all over
the place telling people how I poisoned her, and
you're telling me to wash my hands!"

Belatedly, Katie wished she had called Dunham to bring 
the car.  The butcher was no threat to her, but she 
would have liked an easy way to end the confrontation.  

She was no more surprised than Mr. Chaco when a
stranger intervened.

"Is there a problem here, Mrs. Mulder?"

Her rescuer was a colored man in business attire. 
Katie hadn't heard him approach, nor had she seen him
watching.  It was as if he simply appeared.

"Who the hell are you?" Chaco demanded.

"Is there a problem?" the man asked again.

Chaco gave a snort of disgust and shook his head
before he walked away.

"Are you my bodyguard?" Katie asked the colored man. 
It was obvious he'd been watching for her, and she
could well imagine that Mulder would have secretly
hired someone to protect her.

"I am merely a good Samaritan," the man said.

"If you say so."   
 
"A simple thank you will suffice."

"You know my name.  And I don't know yours," she said
pointedly.

The man's expression turned from bemusement to
something harder, and he seemed to take her measure.

"Xavier," he answered at last.  "My name is Xavier."

"Then thank you, Mr. Xavier.  Although I didn't
require your assistance."  She turned her back on him
and walked away quickly.  

As she made her way home, Katie reflected on the 
changes that had taken place since that conversation 
with Max Fenig.  He barely had time to talk with her
these days.  He'd apparently hired a bodyguard without
so much as a word to her.  

By the time Mulder got home from the office these days, 
he was usually tired and grumpy.  She knew he missed 
his time with Mairead, as the baby was usually asleep 
when he arrived home.  And Mulder had been out of town 
more than he liked, since he didn't trust Krycek on 
his own.

"I wish you didn't have to work so hard," Katie told
him one night as they lay in bed.

"Barely a fortnight ago I suggested a trip to Italy,
but you were too busy with your clinic."

Her sympathy turned to resentment.

"Then you've found a fine way to repay me," she said.

"What does that mean?" he asked.

"You're never home, and even when you are, your mind
is still at work."

"I could say the same for you.  While you're counting
pills with Vincent Vitigliano, my daughter's alone
with that chain-smoking chimney."

"That's ridiculous and unfair!"

Mulder turned toward her and raised himself on one
elbow, then let himself flop back onto the bed.

"I know," he said, suddenly deflated.

"She's not alone.  She has Miss Muir and Skinner
watching her."

"You're her mother."

"And you're her father."

"I only meant that your word would carry more weight. 
You said it yourself--Skinner can't keep her from
Spender when Mother brings him in as her guest."

Katie sat up in the bed, almost too frustrated to
answer him.  As if her wishes carried more weight than
Teena's!  She deferred to her mother-in-law on a
thousand different things, in order to keep the peace
and save what little influence she had for the things
that mattered.

It all but broke her Ma's heart when the baby was
baptized at Trinity Church and not St. Brigid's.  But
why bring that up now?  Mulder would remind her that
she had agreed to it.

"If your own mother refuses to respect your wishes
about your only child, I hardly think she'll listen to
me," Katie said.

"My mother doesn't understand.  I thought you did,"
Mulder answered.

"And I thought you understood about the clinic.  Our
clinic, Mulder.  Yours as much as mine."

Mulder turned onto his side, away from her.

"I have an early meeting tomorrow.  I need to get some
sleep," he said.

Katie lay in the dark, reminding herself that her
husband could be thoughtful and reasonable as well as
self-important and pigheaded.  He held himself still
as a stone, but she knew he was wide awake.

"Mulder?"  She touched his shoulder.  "Ma used to say
you should never go to sleep on an angry thought."

He sighed.

"I miss you," he said.

"I miss you too, love."

He didn't move, so she turned instead, curving her
body against his back and bringing her arm across his
shoulder.  

She woke alone the next morning.  His pillow remained
dented from the weight of his head.  Her finger traced 
the depression and Katie sighed.  It tore her up
to see her husband so troubled.  

She knew he loved her and respected her, but Mulder was
becoming bowed by the pressures of business.  Katie
needed to reconnect with him, even if it meant precious
time away from the clinic.  

Katie got out of bed and went about her morning ritual,
bathing and dressing before going up to the nursery.
Every morning, Katie spent time with Mairead.  The
baby was waiting for her breakfast this morning, already
seated in her high-chair.   

"What's on the menu?" Katie asked as Miss Muir approached
with a covered tray.  

"Cook has prepared a nice soft-boiled egg and toast for
our Miss Mulder, this morning."

"Oh, her favorite," Katie said as she sat before 
Mairead.  The baby was, indeed, excited about the 
prospect of breakfast, crowing and trying to stand.
Katie guided her back onto the seat.  "Easy, love."

She spooned egg into Mairead's eager rosebud mouth.
With a piece of toast in each hand, the baby was in
heaven.   

"Muh," Mairead said. It was the one-year-old's all-purpose
word, meaning Mother, Father, Mairead and most importantly,
"more."

"Since the weather will be good, Mairead and I are going 
to the park," Miss Muir said.

"Won't that be fun?" Katie asked.  "Mairead is going to
the park!"

"Muh!" 

While Miss Muir washed Mairead's hands and face, Katie
went downstairs to eat breakfast.  The dining room was
empty, and Edgar informed her that Teena was taking
breakfast in her suite.  Katie had a momentary flash of
guilt at the relief this news brought.
 
After downing a bowl of oatmeal and some coffee, Katie
went to speak to Cook before Dunham drove her to the 
clinic.  She gave him instructions to come back for her 
at noon and to bring the basket that Cook would
have ready.  

Patients already filled the waiting room chairs as
Katie walked into the clinic.  Shayna moved about the
room with a clipboard, making notes as she spoke with
each person.  

"Good Morning, Katie," Shayna said.  "Old Mr. Arden's
cough is getting worse, Polly Turner has a fever and
rash on her chest and Mrs. Haskell says she hasn't
been able to keep anything down for two days."

"Is Vincent here?" she asked.  

"He's in the examination room."

"Let's see the Turner girl first," Katie said.

The morning seemed to last forever as Katie
and Vincent saw patient after patient.  Finally, it
was noon and Shayna shooed the patients into the 
hallway and locked the door.

"I was thinking about a nice hot plate of goulash
for lunch."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Vincent.  I have plans today."

Dunham was waiting for Katie at the curb.  She
climbed into the car.  The interior was filled 
with delicious scents from the picnic basket on 
the front passenger seat.

"Mulder & Traut," she ordered.

Dunham drove them through the streets, finally 
turning onto Broad Street.  After assisting Katie 
in disembarking the automobile, Dunham followed 
her into Mulder & Traut, carrying the picnic basket.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Mulder," Morris Fletcher 
greeted her.  "How might I help you?"

"You *might* let my husband know I'm here," Katie
said.  She had little patience for Fletcher's 
impertinence.

"Was he expecting you?" Fletcher asked.  Katie 
was tempted to tell him to go to blazes, but
she refused to give him the satisfaction.

"No," she answered.

"How unfortunate for Mr. Mulder to have missed
such a charming surprise," Fletcher said, a
smile flickering over his lips.  "What a shame
he isn't here.  He and Mrs. Fowley left an hour 
ago."

"Mrs. Fowley," Katie murmured.  

"Why yes.  She meets with Mr. Mulder from time to
time.  I'm afraid they might be gone for quite
a while."

To be continued....