From: ephemeral@ephemeralfic.org
Date: 10 Feb 2006 02:35:16 -0000
Subject: NEW - Forgive Us Our Trespasses by Taffy Northwood (20/?) by taffyxf
Source: direct

Reply To: taffyxf@yahoo.com


Title: Forgive Us Our Trespasses
Author: Taffy Northwood
E-Mail: taffyxf@yahoo.com
Rating:  NC17 (now and then)
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 1911 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 - Mr. and Mrs. Fox Mulder's
story - Part 20

"Welcome back, sir."

Morris Fletcher looked up from his desk, wearing the
canary-devouring smile that always unnerved Mulder.  

"Any 'phone calls while I was out, Fletcher?"

"Mr. Leamus called.  He'll have the contracts
for the textile mill finished by Wednesday."

"Good," Mulder replied.  "No other calls?"

Something wasn't quite right.  Fletcher was far too
pleased this afternoon to be innocent.   He seemed 
to derive some smug pleasure from Mulder's afternoons 
with Diana. He could barely restrain his sniggering 
as he answered.

"No, sir.  No other telephone calls."

"Well, then, you must have been able to accomplish
a lot without interruptions."

"Thank god, you're back," DT said from the doorway
of the outer office.  "Something has come up."

Mulder followed Dewitt Traut into his office, with a
worried glance over his shoulder at the benignly
whistling Fletcher.

"I fear the great Atlantic Ocean has become no more
than a puddle," Traut said, sighing heavily.

"I haven't the time for your philosophizing, Uncle. 
Is there a matter that requires my attention?" Mulder
asked.  

"You've read, no doubt, of the unfortunate mine
accident in England?"

"Three hundred lives lost in the Pretoria Pit," Mulder
said.  The number was too large to truly comprehend. 
How many grieving wives and children, mothers and
fathers?  It left him numb.

"A perilous occupation, mining.  But a necessary one,"
said DT.

"My secretary, Mr. Skinner, comes from a mining
family," Mulder said.

"Perhaps he should accompany you," Traut said.  "To
England."

"I have some urgent responsibilities closer to home,"
Mulder said.

"This is closer to home than you realize.  We have an
interest in that mine, though not directly.  We have
mines here, and smelters, and railroads."

"Then we will endeavor to learn what we can from the
disaster.  We can't send men beneath the ground
without doing everything in our power to keep them
safe."

"My god, Fox, think what you're saying!"

"There are breathing apparatuses now, and other
equipment.  Skinner lost his father to a fire in the
mine."

"That accounts for his feelings then, but not for
yours. Open an orphanage or build them a library, but
don't forget that you're a businessman.  Mining is a
business, and it would be best if the inquiry
commission in England remembered that as well."

"Is that why you wanted me in England?  So I can
remind the weeping widows that mining is a business?"
Mulder asked.

"The bank needs someone on hand to observe and
mitigate the radical responses, without becoming
caught up in the hysteria.  You do understand?"

"Perfectly."  Mulder felt heavy and weary as he got to
his feet.  "I'll send an appropriate representative."

"Your man Krycek?  Do you think he's ready?"

"I think not, DT.  I fear Krycek may be a Socialist."

DT laughed.  "I wonder if you've ever seen a
Socialist.  That's not how they look."

"Then perhaps there's a different reason he passed
money to Eugene Debs."

"Sometimes I wonder if you give any thought to the
things you say," Traut said, frowning his disapproval.

Mulder met his eyes coldly.  Sometimes he wondered if
the older man gave any thought to the things he did.

"I won't send Krycek.  I'm making some inquiries into
his credentials.  I don't want him handling sensitive 
matters until I'm sure of his honesty."

Alex Krycek had come to Mulder & Traut with impeccable
letters of recommendation from several prominent firms.  
Perhaps they'd been too good to be true.  

"Perhaps it's best that I go to England," Traut said, 
after a moment of hesitation.  "Frankly, Fox, I don't 
know that you're sufficiently unbiased on the subject."

"Because I think miners' lives are not a reasonable 
sacrifice on the altar of almighty profit?"

Traut's telephone rang, and Mulder was spared from 
further discussion on the matter, though not from
DT's withering look of disapproval.  

After leaving DT, Mulder sequestered himself in his 
office, instructing Fletcher that he wasn't to be 
disturbed.   Alone at his desk, Mulder held his head
in his hands.   He wished, sometimes, that he could
go back to the days when he would grab his camera 
and disappear for hours.

Raising his head, Mulder reached for the telephone.
He instructed Fletcher to place a call to Morton
Bocks, an agent of inquiry he used from time to time 
for work matters.  

"Nothin' yet, sir, on what we talked about last week.
I'm trackin' down a coupla leads," Bocks said.

"I have another job for you, something more routine.  
The work history of one of my employees."

"Right up my alley, sir."

"And I'm sure it goes without saying that this requires
the utmost discretion."  

Mulder disengaged the call and spent the next few 
hours sorting through the tangle of railroad 
contracts from Dewitt's last attempt at railroad
investments.  

For the first time in what seemed like months, 
Mulder rose from his desk at five o'clock.  He
stuffed some papers in his briefcase and without
a word to DT, Krycek or Fletcher, left for home.

If Edgar was surprised to see him home so early,
he hid his shock well.   

"Is Mrs. Katherine at home?"  

"Not yet, sir.  I believe she is still at the
clinic."

Mulder frowned as he traveled down the wide 
central hall.  The stench of cigarette smoke 
permeated the air.  He'd grown to hate that
smell.  

Over the years, Mulder had learned to be wary
when he caught the scent of his father's cigar
smoke in the front hallway.  It invariably meant
that his father was defying Teena Mulder's decree
against smoking in the drawing room.  Now, Mulder
would give almost anything to smell his father's
Perfectos.  

William Mulder would not have allowed that 
reprehensible man in his home.  Mulder felt powerless
to stop him in light of Teena Mulder's 
friendship with him.

"Hello Mother.  Mr. Spender," he said as he 
entered the room.  Cornelius Spender lounged on 
the sofa, cigarette dangling from his fingers.  
Teena Mulder's cheeks were flushed pink.

"Fox, darling.  You're home early."  

"Thought I'd spend some time with Mairead before
dinner," Mulder answered.   "Where is she?"

"Upstairs with her nurse, I should think," his 
mother answered.  "Little Margaret was a bit 
out of sorts, so I asked Miss Muir to put her
to bed."

"Too bad Katherine is still at the clinic," 
Spender observed.  "Family time is so hard to
come by."

"Katie's nursing skills are needed there," Fox
said, stiffening.

"But, of course," Spender agreed.  "Still, it's
a pity when the benefits to the clinic are at the
price of her own safety."

"What are you talking about?"

"Fox, dear," Teena Mulder said as she rose from
her seat and placed a hand on his arm.  "Dear Cornelius
was just telling me that one of his employees happened 
by the clinic one evening a few weeks ago, just as a 
man was harassing Katherine.  I shudder to think what
might have happened if he hadn't been able to intervene."

"How surprising that Katherine neglected to tell you about
it.  But then, I suppose there are always a few
secrets between husbands and wives," Spender said.

Mulder took his leave brusquely, more troubled than he
cared to reveal.  

His cares lifted as he approached the nursery.
Mairead was engaged in placing her copper bowl first
on her own head, and then on Miss Muir's, as the two
sat on the floor facing each other.

"Is that your hat?  Oh, it's my hat," Miss Muir was
saying.

"No, that's my hat," Mulder said.  Mairead crowed with
delight and clamored to her feet.  Mulder waited as
she toddled toward him, although he cringed when she
lost her balance and landed on her well-padded bottom.
Unconcerned, Mairead stood again and completed her
journey.

"Da-da-da-da!" she sang when she reached him.  Mulder
swung her up into his arms.

Miss Muir began to tidy the room.

"My mother said she was out of sorts," Mulder
commented.  The child could hardly have been more
cheerful.

"She had some definite ideas about her wardrobe, sir,"
Miss Muir told him.

"My mother?" 

"Both of them, sir.  Mr. Spender brought the baby a
new dress, and Mrs. Mulder had me put it on her. 
Mairead seemed not to care for it."

Mulder hugged the baby tighter.

"She fussed and cried, and Mrs. Mulder told me to
bring her upstairs and put her to bed," Miss Muir
continued.   "Too much lace and starch.  Some babies
don't like that."

"Miss Muir, I want you to know how much we appreciate
you," Mulder said,  Mairead sense his serious tone and
complained.

"Ah!  Da-da-da-da!"  She pulled his tie, and when he
removed it from her hand, she pulled his hair.

"Thank you, sir.  I'm glad to know that," Miss Muir
said.  "If you don't mind, sir, I'll go down to the
kitchen for a bit."

"That will be fine," he said, glad to have some time
alone with his child.  Mulder lowered himself to the 
floor and sat crosslegged as Mairead brought him 
various bowls and pots.  Together they cooked up an 
imaginary meal.  

"Mmmm, delicious," he said as Mairead offered him a 
taste.   Mulder rubbed his belly and made appreciative
sounds, causing the baby to giggle so hard she lost her
balance and dropped down onto her bottom.

As they played, Mulder's gaze strayed to the grandfather
clock in the corner and over to the door and then back to
the clock as the minutes ticked off.   After an hour, 
Mairead became fussy, toddling over to her father as 
she rubbed her eyes. 

Gathering the child into his arms, Mulder cuddled her 
and inhaled the sweet scent of her skin.  "Poor mite, 
you won't be seeing Mama tonight, will you.  Come on, 
let's go find Miss Muir and get you to bed."

He carried the baby into the corridor where he found
Miss Muir returning from her supper.   Kissing Mairead 
goodnight, he handed her to the nurse. 

Mulder went downstairs to the sitting room and poured
himself a drink.  The room was dark, lit only by the 
flames from the fireplace and the light of one lamp.
He was on his second scotch when he heard footsteps 
and the swish of petticoats.

"Mulder!" Katie exclaimed when she realized he was in
the darkened room.  "I didn't expect you to be home."

She switched on some lights and entered the room, her
movements precise and measured.
  
"And yet, here I am.  And have been for some time.  
Mairead is asleep.  She missed you, you know.  Where
the hell have you been?"

"We had an emergency down at the clinic, for your
information.  Mrs. Villareal went into labor right
in the middle of the waiting room.  Are you satisfied
that my reasons for being late *one* evening this
week are valid?  After all, you've missed dinner
every night for the past three weeks."

"You know very well why I've had to stay at the office
so much, Katie.  There's far too much at stake there.
And I'm not in danger on Broad Street.  You can't say
the same, can you?  Except that you were never going
to say anything at all."

He jumped up from his chair, pacing the room.  The ice
in his scotch clinked against the side of the glass.  
Tilting his head back, he downed the rest of his drink 
in one quick swallow.

"Mulder, what on earth are you talking about?  I'm
not in any danger."

"Spender told me all about the little episode at
the clinic.  He said if it wasn't for his manservant,
some man might have assaulted you."  

"That man works for Spender?  I had no idea who he 
was--he just materialized out of the dark."

"And you chose to say nothing?"

"Nothing happened!  I was never in any danger.  Why 
would you listen to Mr. Spender, anyway.  He's a 
horrible, disreputable man and you know it."

"I fail to see why Spender would lie about something
like this.  What I don't understand is why you never
told me.  I have a right to know what happens to my
wife."

Katie laughed, shaking her head bitterly.  "You have
a right?  And do I have similar rights, or is that 
strictly a masculine privilege?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I know all about Diana Fowley, Mulder."  Katie's
blue eyes flashed with anger.

"I...what do you mean, you know about Diana?" 

"How long has this been going on, Mulder?  Did it 
start at Mrs. Schuyler's birthday party or has it
been longer?  Morris Fletcher told me all about your
meetings at your office."

Mulder slammed his glass down on the table and turned
to Katie, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

"Fletcher would like nothing better than to stir up
trouble for me.  He's angry that I haven't promoted
him and a vindictive little bastard."  

"So Morris Fletcher is lying and you didn't leave
the office today with Mrs. Fowley?"

"Any meetings I may have had with Diana Fowley were
strictly business."

"Business?  What kind of business?"

"I...I can't talk about it, unfortunately.  It's
a confidential matter," Mulder said, trying to keep
his voice calm and even.

"I may not have had the same advantages as you, Mulder,
but I'm not a fool."

Head held high, Katie left the room.  Mulder sat down,
his legs suddenly too unstable to support his weight.
He dropped his head into his hands.  

That night, Katie slept on the daybed in the nursery.

The next days were a study in polite distance.  Katie
may not have been brought up in the climate of social
masquerade common among the wealthy, but she managed
remarkably well.  

Mulder did whatever he had to in order to be home for
dinner each night.  Katie was usually already up in the
nursery when he arrived and together, they played with
Mairead until Miss Muir took her off to bed and the 
adults changed clothes for dinner.

In the evenings, Katie would read in the sitting room while
Mulder retreated to the library to review the paperwork he'd
carried home in order to leave work at a reasonable time.  
Each evening, Mulder would return to their suite only to 
find it deserted.  

One evening, as he drank scotch and looked over contracts,
Edgar knocked on the door to report that Mulder had a
telephone call.

"I got a couple of questions for you, Mr. Mulder. 
See, I got a name and a place of business, but there's
something here that just doesn't fit."

"Tell me what you've learned," Mulder said.

"Hold your horses--"

"Mr. Bocks, I'm paying for this investigation."

"Yes sir, and I hope I don't sound disrespectful--"

"I won't ask you again," Mulder said.  Sometimes it
seemed that everyone in his life took pleasure in
defying him.

"OK!"  

Bock gave up his information in a breathless rush, and
Mulder ended the call, his patience exhausted.  He 
called Edgar and said he was leaving for a while.  
 
He collected the Pierce Arrow, using the new electric
starter that Ringo Langly had installed.  It was
always a happy surprise when the thing worked, but the
Little Dynamo partners insisted that a foolproof
device was only a few months away.

Unfortunately the starter didn't perform such tasks as
opening and closing the carriage house doors.  Perhaps
the boys could work on that next.  Mulder locked the
bolt himself before he drove away.

The location Bocks had named was notorious, and the
detective had offered to accompany him.  Mulder's
precipitous refusal might have been a mistake;  the
little man was annoying, but he carried a sidearm.  
Mulder felt a measure of anxiety as he parked the motorcar.  
The hour was late, but the street was alive.

"Hey, mac," he called to a beefy man in a reefer coat.
"Two bucks to watch my car."

The man stepped out of the shadows.

"I'll keep me eye on it," he said, and nodded his
understanding when Mulder handed him half the payment.
 
It was hard to find the address in the dark.  Voices
called to him from windows and doorways, and several
girls approached him directly.

"Maybe you ain't lookin' for a girl," one man
suggested.

To all of them, Mulder shook his head.  He located 
the doorway he was looking for, but the room that he
entered was as sad and squalid as the street. 
Empty-eyed girls and women stood leaning against the
walls or sat on the floor on bare, stained mattresses.

"See anything ya like?" a red-faced, fat man
greeted him.

"I'm looking for Sweet Betsy," he said.

"Huh.  That dumb Litvak run off a week ago."

"Litvak?" he asked.

"Yeah, greenhorn bitch right off the boat.  Din't know
enough English to ride the trolley."

Mo Bocks' "Sweet Betsy" fit the age and the physical
description, but the girl Mulder was looking for would
have spoken English.  

"Is anyone else called Sweet Betsy?" Mulder asked.

"I'm Sweet Betsy," crooned a girl wearing something
constructed out of red feathers.

"Oh, they're all Sweet Betsy," the fat man assured him.  
"Every one of 'em a beauty."  
 
Mulder withdrew from the premises with a weary sigh. 
He walked back to his car, keeping to a steady pace that 
would convey purpose but not fear.  The flesh trade was 
the primary occupation of the street, but mugging ran a 
close second.

"Hello, kind sir.  May I offer you my company and any
pleasure you desire?"

Mulder grimaced at the question because the voice was
clearly that of a child.  Pity made him reach into his
pocket, but then he got a better look.

His accoster was not a girl, as he had originally
thought, but a boy, in velvet britches and a flowing
shirt.  His cheeks were red with cold or rouge.  With
a shock, Mulder realized that he knew him.

"Kevin!"

It was the young boy who made such a fixture of
himself at Katie's clinic.

"Mr. Mulder, I didn't see it was you.  I'm sorry!"

"It's cold, Kevin.  I'll drive you home," Mulder said.

"I'll walk, sir, but thank you all the same," Kevin
said, his voice trembling.

"It's freezing, son.  Come with me."  Mulder reached
for his shoulder, and Kevin leaped away.

"I have to go home!" Kevin broke into a run, but he
didn't get far.  A tall man in a heavy coat stepped
out of a doorway and shoved him against the building.
 
"Are you stupid, kid?"

"I'm sorry," Kevin whispered.

"Maybe you like gettin' a beatin', huh?"  The man
raised his fist. 

"Don't touch him," Mulder warned.

The man turned to Mulder.  His demeanor changed 
completely as he fixed a smile on his craggy
face.

"He's a nice boy, ain't he?  You won't do no better."

"Come with me, Kevin."  Mulder tried to convey
reassurance and protection, but when Kevin came to him
it was with shame and resignation.

"You want him for the whole night?" the man asked.

Mulder gritted his teeth.

"Yes," he answered.

Kevin was crying quietly when he got into the car.  

"Kevin--"

"It's all right, Mr. Mulder.  Just don't tell Miss
Katie, and I won't tell her neither."

To be continued...

Forgive Us Our Trespasses - Mr. and Mrs. Fox Mulder's 
story - Part 21

Katie tiptoed down the back stairs to brew herself a
cup of tea.  She didn't want to disturb the servants,
who seemed to take it as a reproach if she did
anything for herself.   

Mulder was working in the library.  She could have
tapped on the door to ask if he wanted a cup.  It
should have been a simple thing to do, but things had
never been simple for them.

She sat in the kitchen, waiting for the kettle to
boil.

Mulder had business with Diana Fowley, business he
wouldn't discuss.  Katie could have pointed out that
Mulder & Traut had half a dozen vice presidents, not
to mention another partner, who might have taken on
the burden.  For that matter, Fowley Steamships could
hardly be a one-woman operation.  But no, this
business had to be carried on by Mulder and Diana
alone.  Alone together.

Katie knew what Missy or Shayna would think, if she
had confided to either one that her husband was seeing
his old fiancee on the sly.

But they would be wrong.  Mulder was domineering,
moody and sometimes quite blind, but he wasn't
unfaithful.  Something was going on between him and
that horrible Mrs. Fowley, but it wasn't that.

The kettle bubbled on the stove, and Katie filled the
teapot.  Maybe she would surprise Mulder with a cup of
tea.

She could bring him a cup of tea and tell him in all
sincerity that she did trust  him.  It distressed her
that he conducted secret meetings with Diana,
especially given her history of manipulation and
deceit, but Katie knew down to her bones that Mulder
loved her, and she loved him as well.

Mulder would be as glad as she was to end their
stalemate.  The tension would melt from his jaw, 
and he would take her in his arms.  

But she wouldn't let him, not right away.  First they
had to come to an agreement about the clinic.  Mulder
knew what it meant to her, and he knew she was needed
there.  He would have to stop berating her about the
hours and the so-called danger.  

She poured a cup for herself and sat down at the table
to drink it.  

Why was Mulder so stubborn, believing Spender's
version of the argument with Chaco?  To hear "dear
Cornelius" tell it, Walter Chaco would have positively 
killed her if Mr. Xavier hadn't intervened.

Nobody asked "dear Cornelius" why his manservant just
happened to be there, waiting by the clinic door. 
Katie couldn't ask him either, not without driving
Mulder into a panic.

There was a creak from the doorway, and she looked up
to see Walter Skinner push past the swinging door.

"Katie."  He sounded surprised as he greeted her.

"I was just having a cup of tea.  Would you like
some?"

He took a cup for himself and sat down at the table.

She knew he must be wondering why she was alone in the
kitchen, with Mulder upstairs, but she was grateful
that he didn't ask.  She returned the favor by not
mentioning the deepening friendship between him and
Miss Muir.  

"How is your book coming along?" she asked instead.

He shrugged.  

"I've put it aside for the time being."

Katie smiled.  Sparking and courting took far more
time than Walter Skinner had probably realized.  It
was no wonder he hadn't gotten much writing done 
with the lovely Eustacia Muir around.  

Both of them turned at the sound of the back door
opening.

"Come on, let's get you something to eat..."

Katie froze, the teacup half way to her mouth.  She'd
been wrong--her husband had not spent the evening 
sequestered in the library after all.

Mulder entered the kitchen, a small figure emerging 
from behind him.  Katie gasped at the sight of Kevin
Kryder, dressed in outlandish clothing, tear tracks
staining his cheeks.   The teacup clattered against
the saucer as she set it down a bit too quickly.

"Mulder, what's going on?" she asked, rising from 
her seat at the table.  

"I...ah...ran into Kevin," he answered, his gaze
flicking from her to Skinner across the kitchen 
table.  "It wasn't safe for him to stay where he
was, so I brought him home."

Katie nodded, rising from the table and crossing
to them.  "You poor child.  Are you hungry?"

Eyes cast downward, Kevin shrugged and turned his
face away.  "I gotta wash my face," he murmured.

"I'll show you where you can wash up," Skinner
said, rising from the table.  Kevin eyed the 
stranger in the room warily, but Skinner's 
calm, steady kindness seemed to reassure the 
boy as he nodded and followed the big man out
of the room.

Katie took Cook's apron from its hook by the
door and covered her dress, wrapping it nearly
twice around her slim waist.  She took eggs, milk
and butter out of the ice box and set them on the
table.  She cracked three eggs into a shiny copper
bowl, a recent replacement for one that now 
resided in the nursery.

"I didn't even know you'd gone out," Katie said,
her back to Mulder.  "Where did you find him?"

Mulder hesitated, to Katie's exasperation.

"Then don't tell me," she said, turning to face
him.

"The Bowery.  I was down on the Bowery."

"At night.  You didn't go to look at a property 
in the dark," she said sharply, because surely 
that would have been his explanation.

"I'm sorry, Kate, I can't tell you more."

There was an agony of frustration in his voice.

"Then don't.  Just don't lie to me," she said.  

He held her gaze, but any reply was left unspoken
as Skinner and Kevin returned to the kitchen.

The boy's face was now clean, the edges of his
hair damp.  His flowing shirt was covered 
by a navy blue sweater of Skinner's, the sleeves 
rolled up and the hem nearly at his knees.

Katie beat the eggs with a bit more force than
was necessary, then spooned some butter into a
frying pan.  As she cooked the eggs and cut some
bread, Katie watched Mulder take a seat next to
Kevin at the table.  She couldn't hear what Mulder
said, but Kevin shrugged and shook his head.

"Who is this boy?" Skinner asked, quietly, as he cut 
a large slice of bread and buttered it.   

"He spends a lot of time down at the clinic," she
replied, as she piled the eggs on a plate.  "I 
think he's been mistreated very badly."

Skinner didn't reply, but she watched as his 
expression softened.  He poured a large glass of
milk for the boy and brought it over to the table.

"Here you go, Kevin," Katie said as she set the
plate before him.  For a moment, the boy looked as
though he was going to cry as he reached for the
fork she'd laid by his the dish.

Kevin made short work of the eggs and bread.  He 
took a long drink of milk, wiping his mouth with 
the sleeve of Skinner's sweater, which caused the 
big man to wince.

"It's pretty late," Skinner said.  "Why don't we
find you some place to bed down?"

The boy stiffened, then relaxed, as he realized
he was in a safe place. 

"OK," Kevin said, finally, stifling a yawn.  

After Skinner ushered Kevin out of the kitchen, 
the only sound was the ticking of the large clock 
over the table.  

"Would you like some tea?" Katie asked, her voice
sounding unnaturally loud in the quiet room.  "I
think it's still hot."

Mulder nodded, and she got up and poured them both
cups of tea.  As she sipped hers, she watched Mulder
spoon sugar into his cup and stir.  

"You asked me not to lie," Mulder said, his eyes 
trained on his cup.  He seemed to have trouble
controlling his voice.  "I love you.  That is the 
truest truth I know, Kate.  I wouldn't do anything 
to hurt you.  You have to believe that."

"I believe that you love me," she replied.  Mulder 
released a breath and looked up with shining eyes.  
"And I believe that you wouldn't hurt me intentionally."

They drank their tea, each consumed with their own 
thoughts.  

"Let's go upstairs," Mulder said, reaching across the
table for her hand.  His fingers felt warm from 
holding his tea, and Katie nodded.  She missed
him; it was as simple as that.  She  missed his
loving touch, his teasing humor.  She missed the
way his body felt when he held her in his arms.
She was tired of fighting the need.

Leaving the dishes in the sink, they walked up to
their suite.  Mulder's arm was firmly around her
waist as they climbed the stairs.  

Once inside the suite, Mulder drew her into his
arms, raining hungry kisses on her face and down
her neck.  He cursed softly as he fought with the
dozens of buttons down the back of her dress. 
Eventually, persistence won out and they managed
to rid each other of their clothes and were pressed 
together, skin to skin.

She moved as if in a dream, aware only of the
sensation of Mulder's warm, firm flesh under 
her hands.  His mouth was everywhere, kissing and
nuzzling and driving her wild.  She could no more
resist him than she could stop breathing.  

She didn't want to resist, though.  She wanted to
feel him moving inside her, wanted to straddle his
body, and watch his face as he climaxed.  She wanted
to feel the slow bubbling of her own orgasm and 
collapse over him as she rode the waves of release.

She woke in Mulder's arms the next morning.  

"Good morning, sleepyhead," he said, smiling at her.

"Good morning."  She stroked a hand along the smooth
skin of Mulder's back, enjoying one last delicious
touch before disengaging from his embrace.  She 
pushed herself up to sit against the headboard.

"I missed you," he said, simply, as he sat beside
her.  "More than I could bear."

"I missed you, too."  She took his hand between hers,
holding it on her lap.  "Tell me more about Kevin."

"Katie, I had heard of girls being forced into such 
lives, but I had no idea that boys were victimized 
in the same way.  This horrible man tossed Kevin 
around like a rag doll and then "sold" him to me 
for five dollars."

"Dear God," Katie exclaimed. 

"He was in tears when he got into the car.  It took 
me two blocks to convince Kevin that I didn't have 
any intentions beyond getting him someplace safe.  
I can't imagine what his life has been like--we have 
to help him, Katie."

Another man might have been repulsed by the 
child.  Her husband wanted to help him.  "Do you 
know how much I love you?" she asked.

"Probably as much as I love you."  He could not
hide his pleasure at her words; his grin was 
unrestrained.

"Could you find him work at Mulder & Traut?
Maybe he could stay with my mother," Katie
suggested.  

"Of course I could give him a job, but maybe it would
be better to send him to the country."

"But Mulder, the city is all he's ever known."

"It's not a wholesome place for him. We have a farm in
Connecticut, and the family that runs it is very kind.
Lots of kids, fresh air, room to run and play . . ."

"We'll think about it," she said.  She imagined Mulder
delivering a bewildered Kevin to the startled family. 
It was a naive solution, no matter how well intended.

"They would take him in if I asked them," Mulder said.

Katie frowned.  More and more these days, Mulder took
it for granted that people would obey him.

"Poor Kevin. I always knew something was wrong," she
said. "Vincent had told me about boys and girls who
sold themselves to survive, but I never guessed that
Kevin was one of them."

"You knew about this?"

"Vincent had shown me some reports on the children."

Mulder was silent for several moments.  

"You need to distance yourself from the clinic," he 
said at last.  "It's far too dangerous for you to
be directly involved."

"We've already discussed this, Mulder."  She rose from  
the bed and reached for her dressing gown.  She slipped 
into it and belted it tightly around her waist.  "I'm 
needed there."

"You're needed here.  Find another nurse.  Find three
of them--money is no object."

"That's not the point, Mulder.  I don't just want
to throw money around and stay home.  I enjoy working
at the clinic.  Being useful is important to me.  I
need it."

"Do you need it more than your husband?  Your child?"

"How dare you ask me that.  You might as well ask me
to choose between air to breathe or water to drink.
Which do I need more?  Which is more important?  I 
won't be dictated to, Mulder."

She stalked into the bathroom, not giving him the 
opportunity to reply.  Katie felt anger burn 
inside her as she opened the taps and watched water
rush into the bathtub.       

How had things become so explosive between them? 
It felt as if they were circling a powder keg, each
of them striking matches and tossing them blindly
into the air.  It was a matter of time before one
of them said something final and unforgivable.

She had foolishly thought that if she tried to 
accept Mulder as he was, with his need for 
unconditional trust, he'd accept her need to work.  

As Katie sank into the hot water, she could no longer
hold back her tears.  If Mulder heard her, beyond 
the bathroom door, he kept to himself.  

Finally, she washed and climbed out of the tub.  
As she stood, water streaming from her body, she
remembered their honeymoon.  She'd become chilled
from their first swimming lesson and Mulder had 
tenderly washed her and poured warm water over her
hair.  Katie sighed as she remembered how he had 
made passionate love to her.  Could that love survive 
their differences?   

After she dressed, Katie returned to the bedroom.
As she stepped through the door, she found 
Mulder sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows 
on knees and head in hands.   

"Are you hungry?" she asked, sitting next to him
on the bed.  "I'll order some breakfast."

He nodded, though he didn't look at her.  "I
won't fight you."

"You don't have to eat if you don't want to,
Mulder."

"No, I mean about the clinic.  I won't fight
you if it's what you really want."

Mulder seemed resigned to her work over the next
few weeks.  He didn't criticize the time she 
spent at work, or voice his concerns about the 
dangers involved.  

For her part, Katie tried to be home early as
often as she could.  Maybe Mulder had a point
about hiring another nurse.  With more help, 
perhaps she could shorten her hours a bit.

Fifteen-month-old Mairead was a delight.  It was 
still light out when Katie came home from work most 
days, so she was would bundle Mairead up and take 
her to the park.  Often, Katie would turn to see 
Mulder striding across the grass to meet them and 
the family would enjoy the waning sunlight before 
going back to the house for dinner.

So, on an unseasonably mild Saturday in March,
Katie found herself glancing at the clock.  She 
looked over at Shayna's impatient face--apparently 
she wasn't the only one who wanted to go home.
 
"Michelangelo!  Enough already!"

"Is that your expert opinion, *Doctor* Berkowitz?"
Vincent asked, smiling without looking up at her.  He
was working to close a jagged cut on the forearm of a
squirming child, and the tiny stitches required
focused concentration.

"Some of us want to go home," Shayna answered.

Katie couldn't fault Shayna for her eagerness.  Shayna 
had locked the clinic doors an hour ago, reckoning 
that the waiting room was full enough to occupy 
them until closing time.

"You're such a brave boy," Katie told the little patient 
as she held his arm still.

"I'm tryin' my hardest," the child answered through
his tears.

"The Unicorn Tapestry didn't take this long," Shayna
complained.

"You can leave, Shayna.  I'll lock up," Katie said.

"Don't worry about me.  It's my poor husband who's
been home all day with the monsters."

The Berkowitz family managed to take care of two 
small children and a hefty teenager, largely 
because Shayna's husband worked nights.  

"I'm sure Izzy will be helping out," Vincent needled
her.  Izzy wasn't a bad boy, but he had never yet 
been described as "helpful."

"Izzy's working," Katie reminded him.  

"Seven bucks a week, thank you very much," Shayna 
said proudly.

"Seven dollars!" the patient marveled.

Katie felt her face color.  To the Mulders, seven
dollars wasn't enough money to bend over and pick up.
To these people, it meant the difference between 
hunger and food for a week.

Vincent finished suturing.

"I'll dress it," Katie said.  Vincent nodded and went
to wash his hands.

"Ach, another production!" Shayna complained.  

"A little bandage.  Don't make such a megillah out of
it," Katie laughed.

"I'm putting everything away.  You just finish what
you're doing and get out," Shayna warned her.

"Another customer," Vincent called.  "I'll let them
in."

Katie heard it too, someone banging on the locked
clinic door.

"Go away!  Nobody home!" Shayna shouted.

The voice from the hallway brought Katie a chill.  It
was Izzy Berkowitz, but despite his deep voice, he
sounded like a child.

"Mama!  Mama!  Mama!"

"Izzy," Shayna uttered in a whisper, pale as she ran
to the door.

Katie helped her patient down from the exam table and
back to the waiting room, where she gave the mother
some hurried instructions and sent the pair on their
way.  Izzy was sobbing in his mother's arms, and Katie
felt sick with apprehension.  His face was grimy with
soot and he reeked of smoke.

"Izzy, what happened?" Vincent asked.

"Fire.  The factory," Izzy sobbed.  

"Are you hurt?" Katie asked.  His hands were bleeding,
and he might have other injuries.

"I seen Sadie with fire on her, Mama.  I seen Ida and
Ben, and then I didn't see them no more."

"Rifka? Bessie?  Yetta?" Shayna asked.

"I don't know, Mama."

"Vincent, the Triangle company.  On Washington Place,"
Katie said urgently.

"Let's go,"  he answered grimly.

They could see and smell the black smoke as they
walked westward, joining a somber throng of others. 
As the crowd grew thicker and more anxious, Katie held
on to Vincent's arm.  

Pressed among so many bodies, she couldn't tell
exactly where they were.  She felt an elbow against
her back, and she almost tripped over a curbstone.

Vincent began to shake, and she squeezed his arm.

"What?" she asked.  

A patrolman was trying to direct people away from the
scene of the tragedy, to the Mercer Street police
station.

"That's where ya go if yer lookin' fer someone," he
explained.

"This man is a doctor," Katie told the cop.

"OK, we can use him here."

Now Vincent took her arm.

"Go home, Katie.  We can't help these people."

"The policeman said they need us."

"I know what he wants.  I can do it alone."

Stacks of broken bodies, and a string of wagons to
take them away.  

"Dead.  Dead.  Dead," Vincent pronounced, and at his
word the victims were removed.

"Where are you taking them?" Katie asked one of the
drivers.  The city morgue couldn't hold so many.

"The pier.  They got something set up there," he
answered.   

"Katie!  One's alive!"

It was a miracle, but a cruel one.  

The girl must have been among the last to jump, her
fall broken by the pile of bodies on the ground.  Her
face and body was blackened, and her breath rasped
from her lipless mouth.  

Katie turned to Vincent, to ask him what she should
do, although she knew that nothing could save this
girl.  But Vincent had moved away, continuing his
morbid task.

She leaned over the girl, fighting her revulsion at
the stink of burned flesh.

"Are you in pain?" she asked, expecting no answer and
getting none.

The breath sawed in and out through the soot-gray
teeth.

Katie didn't want to touch her.  

"Hail, Mary, full of grace. . . "  She stopped
herself.  The girl might be Jewish.  

"The lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. . . ." 
The words came to her.  Perhaps they gave some comfort
to the blackened body before her.  As she finished the
psalm, she saw Vincent return and signal to one of the
drivers.

"Dead," he said.

Two men lifted the girl onto a wagon and wheeled her
away.  Katie turned to survey the scene.  Smoke and 
ash still filled the air, along with the stench of
burned flesh and scorched fabric.  Stained red with
the blood of the victims, water from the firehoses 
ran through the gutter.

Men wept openly, mumbling in languages Katie didn't 
understand.

Through the turmoil of smoke and milling crowds, a
familiar tall form appeared.  His face was smeared 
with soot, his trousers were soaked to the knees.  
Mulder stumbled once as he made his way to her, his
eyes dazed and haunted.

"Mulder?"

"Thank God, I found you," he said.  "I've been 
searching everywhere."

"How did you know?" she asked, her throat hoarse
from smoke and emotion.

"I thought I'd pick you up from work today.  When
I got to the clinic, Shayna told me what happened."

"You're wet." she said, looking down at his legs.  
His suit was ruined; the pocket of the
jacket was torn and a streak of blood graced the
lapel.

"I was trying to help," he answered, with a shrug.  
"They never had a chance."

"Vincent has to..."

"Pronounce the dead," he completed.

She nodded.  "Then we're going to the hospital.
They need all the help they can get."

"I'll go back to the clinic.  Shayna has her hands
full."
 
To be continued...

Author's note:  To learn more about the Triangle Shirtwaist 
Factory fire, go to this website:  
http://www.ilr.cornell.edu/trianglefire/

Forgive Us Our Trespasses - Mr. and Mrs. Fox Mulder's 
story - Part 22

Tonight the questions were simple.

Where is my sister?  Has anyone seen my daughter?  Is
my brother OK?

Tomorrow the questions would be more profound, but
somehow easier to answer.  How did this happen?  Who
is to blame?

The waiting room at the clinic was crowded, with men,
women and children sitting on chairs or standing
together in clusters.  Occasionally someone wailed or
broke into loud sobs that would quickly quiet and fade
back into the general rush of voices.

The languages were strange but required no
translation.

Shayna made her rounds as briskly as ever, clutching
her clipboard and writing down names.  Mulder saw that
she'd appointed deputies, who circulated with
clipboards of their own.

Shayna approached him, her face frozen with grief.  

"We gotta do somethin' about feedin' these people,"
she said.

Mulder tried to measure if it was Shayna or himself
who was not making sense.

"At a time like this?" he asked.

"It don't help the dead to starve the living.  Make
some coffee."

There was a percolator in the kitchen, and some cups.  
But there were dozens of people milling around the 
clinic, and probably more to come.  The problem 
coalesced in his mind and turned into one he could 
solve, with the help of a telephone.

"Edgar, I need coffee and sandwiches for. . . about
two hundred," he instructed the butler.  "At Mrs.
Katherine's clinic, as soon as you can arrange it."

"Very good, sir," Edgar answered.

Mulder walked through the exam rooms in the back,
where Shayna's squad of helpers had brought those who
were too distraught to tolerate the waiting room.  In
one room he found Izzy Berkowit, stretched out on the
floor, sketching on a yellow pad.

"Drawing?" Mulder asked.

Izzy didn't look up.

"I shouldn't be here," he said flatly.

"Come help up front."  Izzy was a big, strong kid. 
Mulder could find him a useful task.

"Go chase yerself."

"I can take you home," Mulder offered.

"I oughtta be dead."

There was no quick answer, but Mulder felt obliged to
respond.

"That's not for us to decide."

Izzy shrugged indifferently, his pencil moving rapidly
on the page.

"She's pretty," Mulder said, nodding at Izzy's
portrait.

"She's dead."

Mulder had no words of wisdom or even of comfort, and
he left Izzy to his sketching.  In the next room he
found two young girls, sitting side by side on the
exam table and clasping hands.

Again words came hard, and Mulder found himself
asking:

"Are you hungry?"

The smaller girl looked up.

"We got potatoes 'n cabbage 'n a big bone with even
some fat on it," she said, tears flowing down her
face.

The older girl spoke in a whisper.

"Her supper's all ready but she ain't comin' home."

"I'm so sorry," Mulder said.  "Your mother?"

"My big sister Rosie," the girl said.

"Ma died when we was kids.  Then Rosie took care of us.  
And now me and Ruthie, but Ruthie's too little."

"I'll take care of you, Goldie.  I always will."

Mulder pressed some dollars into her hand, disgusted
with himself as he did so.  He couldn't stay in the
room.

One of Shayna's clipboard ladies found him in the
hallway to call him to the telephone.  Grasping the
candlestick body, he held the receiver to his ear.

"Sir, I called to speak to Mrs. Mulder, but they say
she isn't there."

He recognized the voice of Mairead's nursemaid.

"Miss Muir, is something wrong?" he asked.  The
tentative voice on the phone gave him a jagged shock
of fear that ripped through his numbness.   

"Nothing's wrong that I could say, sir, but I think
you would want to come home."

"Is Mairead ill?  Did something happen?" he asked
sharply.

"Mairead is very well, sir," Miss Muir said.  "Your 
mother had me bring her to the drawing room to visit 
with Mr. Spender."
 
"I will be right there."   

He emptied his pockets and gave Shayna all he had,
promising to make good on any needed expenses.  He
drove uptown, wishing that Katie was beside him but
unwilling to take the time to find her.  Home at last,
he left the Pierce Arrow idling by the curb and ran up
the steps two at a time.

"Where is my daughter?" he asked Edgar.

"In the drawing room, sir, but I'm sure you'll want 
to dress for dinner."
 
Mulder realized that his trousers were wet and torn,
and his coat was filthy.  He peeled off the coat and
shoved it at the butler before he ran to the parlor.  

"Please see to my motorcar," he called over his
shoulder.

With soot on his own face and smoke in his nose and
throat, Mulder saw the cigarette before he smelled it.

"Fox!  What have you been doing?" Teena asked as he
burst into the room.  

His mother sat on the divan.  On the floor, long legs
crossed gracefully beneath him, sat Cornelius Spender,
and not an arm's length away sat Mairead.

"Again, again," she cackled.

"If the lady commands it, I must obey," Spender said. 
He shot a smug glance at Mulder, then launched into a
cheerful rendition of "I'm a Little Teapot."  Mairead
laughed and clapped her hands at his antics.

"Oh, Cornelius, you're like a child yourself," Teena
said.  "Can you believe this, Fox?"

"No, Mother, I can't," he answered, scooping his child
from the floor.

"Papa, no!" she complained.

"Come with me, Mairead.  We can play upstairs until
bedtime."

"No, no, no!  More gampa!"

"Games upstairs, my darling," Mulder said.  Mairead
stiffened and jerked, her face turning red.

"Honestly, Fox.  You and Katherine leave Margaret to
her own devices all hours of the day and night, and
then you fly into a rage because Cornelius shows her
some kindness."

"It's just fatherly pride, Teena, and perfectly
understandable.  Why not let Mairead enjoy another
rousing song while you wash up, Fox.  It can't be 
good for her to be near you like that."

Mairead's furious shrieks stung Mulder's ears as he
carried her upstairs.  At least it spared him from
hearing anything further from his mother or Spender.

In the nursery he found Skinner and Miss Muir, the
latter looking apprehensive.

"I hope you didn't find me impertinent, sir--oh, Mr.
Mulder!  What happened to you?"

He gave his angry offspring to the nursemaid.

"A terrible fire at one of the factories," he said.

"Anyone hurt?" Skinner asked.

"Miss Muir, if Mairead could have her bath now,"
Mulder said, quietly.

"No bath!" Mairead screamed as Miss Muir carried her
away.

"How many?" Skinner asked when they were alone.

Mulder turned away, his face twisted.  He didn't think
he was going to cry, but he might vomit.

"Fifty?  A hundred?  I don't know," he answered when
he regained control.

"Good lord," Skinner said.

"I went to look for Katie.  The bodies were in piles
and more piles, and the stink was like meat."

"I'll get you a drink," Skinner said.

"I don't want a damn drink!  Do you think those poor
girls got a drink?"

Skinner absorbed the outburst.

"Go on," he said.

"I never thought about the smell, Skinner.  In those
Brady photos, with all the dead, I never wondered
about the smell."

"Is there anything we can do to help?" Skinner asked
calmly.

"I won't leave while Spender's here.  You go to the
clinic--" Mulder stopped in mid-sentence.  The big man
standing before him was not only his employee, but also
his oldest friend.  "I would *appreciate* it if you
would go to the clinic.  People are gathering there
for news of their loved ones."

"Fire.  It will be impossible to identify everyone who
died," Skinner commented.

Mulder pictured the blackened bodies on the sidewalk, the
lifeless girls loaded onto carts and wagons.  

"I shouldn't have asked you," Mulder said.   Skinner
didn't need to be immersed in the pit of grief at the 
clinic, not when his own father died in a fire.

"I'll go.  I want to help."

"It's too much.  And I need you here."

"You don't need me here."  Skinner thumped him heavily
on the shoulder.  "Draw your own bath."

Mulder bathed and dressed hurriedly, and when he
returned to the nursery his daughter had recovered
from her tantrum.  Mulder took her in his lap and held
her against his heart.

"Mama, Papa, May," she said.

"That's right.  Mama, Papa, Mairead.  Mama is helping
people who are hurt, and then she'll come home to
Mairead."

"Mama come home?"

"Soon, darling, soon."

"Would you like me to take her, sir?" Miss Muir asked.

"Thank you, no."

"Then I'll have my supper now, if that's all right."

Mulder cradled his child.

"Sing, Papa," she said.

When Katie sang, Mairead was delighted and entranced. 
Mulder's songs never found that same reception.

"Are you sure, darling?  Are you very, very sure?"

"Sing!" Mairead giggled and squirmed.

He cleared his throat.

"Cuddle up a little closer, lovey mine. . . "

"No, no!  Like Mama!"

"If you like-a me, like I like-a you. . ."

"Like Mama!"

"Mairead, Papa can't sing like Mama.  Only a magpie
can sing like Mama."

"Sing!" 

Mairead thought it was a wonderful game, and Mulder
had to agree, marveling at how his tiny daughter could
brighten his spirits.

Soon she grew sleepy, and Mulder settled her into her
crib.  Eyes closed, her chubby little hand rooted around
until it touched her favorite flannel blanket.  She pulled
the edge of the blanket up to her cheek.  Mulder closed
the door quietly behind him.  

He wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed with
Katie, but she wasn't here and Cornelius Spender was. 
Mulder descended the front stairs to make peace with
his mother and impose some limits on her guest.  He
considered stopping in his suite for a short glass of
whiskey but chose not to.  

Spender was alone in the drawing room, smoking as
always. Mulder found he still couldn't smell the
cigarette.

"Your mother retired for the night," Spender said.

"How kind of her to go to bed, so that you might
finally go home," Mulder said icily.

"You're quite outspoken when your mother isn't here."

"Be sure to inform her, so that I may be suitably
chastised."

Mulder glared, but Spender looked away.

"I didn't want it to be like this. Please, might we
start again?"

"I hardly see the point," Mulder said.

The old man stood up and walked to the sideboard
where he poured two generous portions of whiskey
from the heavy decanter.

"Let's share a wee drop, as your wife's people say."

"Gladly, if this is the parting glass."

"I understand your resentment, Fox, but in truth I've
always been your champion. I want nothing more than
your success and happiness."

"Then perhaps you will grant me a favor."

"I won't turn my back on your mother, if that was your
request. Are you so selfish that you can't see what
my attention means to her?"

"It doesn't concern my mother. It's for another one
of your dear friends. Diana Fowley."

"I would do anything for the lovely Mrs. Fowley."

"Good. Bring back her daughter."

Spender nodded to himself as smoke curled from his
nostrils.

"Diana Fowley is the widow of Hirum Fowley, and there
were no issue from that union," he said.

"As we both know," Mulder said.

"You do realize, Fox, that it is only because nobody
knows of her daughter that Mrs. Fowley has retained
her place in society."

"She wants to see her daughter. If you had a child
of your own, you would understand."

"You seem quite certain that I don't," Spender said.

"You have no right to keep Diana away from her
daughter."  Mulder was careful to say "daughter," 
and not to reveal that he had learned the girl's 
name.

"After arranging for the girl's safe upbringing and
keeping the secret of her birth for all these years,
I'd say I have every right. Have you taken a moment
to consider the daughter's feelings?"

Mulder had to admit, if only to himself, that he
hadn't.

"If that is truly your concern, the daughter need not
know that Diana is her mother. A simple meeting is
all she asks."

"Your Katie is a generous woman. Most wives would be
vexed if their husband took such pains to help an old
lover," Spender said.

"Do you know where the daughter is, or don't you?"
Mulder asked.

"I'll consider your request," Spender said, with a
sly, sickening grin. "I must remember to congratulate
your wife on her tolerance."

"I've told you that your friendship with my mother is
acceptable, but I forbid you to bother my wife and my
daughter."

"Mairead is a beautiful, precious child. Why are you
so determined to keep me from her?"

Mulder's voice grew calm and deadly.

"Leave her alone," he said.

Spender proffered his packet of cigarettes before
selecting one for himself.

"Why are you afraid of me?" he asked.  "Because I 
sing silly songs to please a baby?"

"Why are you so interested in my daughter?"

Spender lit his cigarette, then settled into a chair.

"Please, have a seat," he said, as if he was the
master of the house and Mulder was his guest.  "I
gather Mrs. Fowley has you convinced I snatched the
baby from her arms and made away with her."

Mulder sat down, enduring Spender's manners to hear
what he would say.

"You know where her daughter is."

"I arranged for the child to be raised in the country.
Vermont.  A lovely setting."  He eyed Mulder.  "The
family is named O'Connor, and they called the child
Grace."

"Grace O'Connor," Mulder repeated.  It confirmed what
Moe Bocks had uncovered.

"Unfortunately, she ran away from home.  As headstrong
and foolish as her mother was at that age."

"Where is she now?"  Mulder asked.  Bocks was certain
that Grace had arrived in New York, but there he had
lost the trail.  At least she was not working in the
flesh trade, as Bocks had first suspected.

"I don't know, Fox."  He pursed his lips and released
a plume of smoke.  "You don't believe me?"

"You tried to force Diana into marrying me, in
exchange for the whereabouts of her daughter."

Spender nodded, apologetically.

"A blunder, I confess."

The man's gall was beyond measure.

"You threatened harm to her daughter if she failed to
snare me," Mulder continued.

"Simple bluster.  A silly, regrettable business, and
I'm glad it's over."

"Fowley Steamships suffered heavy reversals when Diana
disappointed you."

Spender laughed.

"Your very public, very humiliating repudiation of the
engagement struck the first blow.  A company with a
lovesick, delusional woman at the helm does not fare
well."

Mulder was well aware that he had hurt Diana and her
company when he announced that there was no engagement
and would be no marriage.  His remorse had only grown
once he learned the circumstances that had forced
Diana to her single-minded pursuit.

"I struck the first blow, but not the last," he said.

Spender nodded.

"You're very astute.  I had my hand in the merger of
the two Hamburg lines, but that was simply sound
business.  In any event, Fowley Steamships has
recovered nicely, thanks in large part to your
generosity."

"Sound business practice," Mulder said, although his
maneuvers had been motivated by guilt as well.

"We're both men of the world," Spender said,
stretching comfortably in his chair.  "Your partner 
is more of a provincialist."

Dewitt Traut was currently in England, and Mulder was
all but certain that Spender knew it.

"Oh, he's an Anglophile, and a firm friend of Sir
Warwick, but he doesn't grasp that the dollar forges
its own alliances," Spender continued.

"Something you see very clearly," Mulder said
cautiously.  

"Most of the great Jewish banks have an interest in
Germany.  Many got their start there."

"And Germany has become an increasingly inhospitable
place for them to conduct business," Mulder said.

"A misfortune for the Kaiser as well as the Jews.  An
opportunity for others."

"Hm," Mulder said.  

Spender was correct when he said that the dollar
forged its own alliances.  When you sent it abroad
your allegiance went with it, and in the tangled web
of European coalitions and federations that was an
uncertain proposition.  But risk was not the only
concern.

William Mulder had never allowed his purse to
determine his loyalty, and his son shared that
principle.

"It's time for American business to drop their
chauvinism," Spender said.

The sentiments were not unique, but the language was
familiar.  Alex Krycek, the gifted protege that Mulder
had come to mistrust, spoke in similar terms, and with
similar passion.  

It took all Mulder's will to maintain a neutral
expression, but he couldn't help grinding his teeth. 
Spender had somehow insinuated his agent into the
firm, and Mulder had chosen to take him on as his
assistant.

"The trouble with foreign investment is that you can
find yourself backing both sides in a single match,"
Mulder said, casually.  

"That doesn't have to be a problem."

"You could find yourself betting against your own
country."

Spender leaned forward.

"Not if your sphere extended into the government of
your country, as well as its finances.  We spoke of
this once, shortly before your father died."

"You accosted me in the street, but you wouldn't tell
me your name," Mulder said.  

"We discussed your interest in helping the poor, and
how a career in politics could support that goal.  I
assured you that your marriage to a Catholic girl need
not be a hindrance."

"You all but offered to place me the Presidency."

Spender smiled.

"I have considerable influence."

"Among deranged anarchists."  

Spender dropped his cigarette, which bounced from his
leg onto the floor.  Hastily he leaned down to snatch
it back.

"Assassination is so crude," he said.

"Forgive me if I don't find you particularly subtle."

Spender stubbed out the rescued cigarette and withdrew
a replacement from his pack.

"I like you, Fox."

Instead of answering, Mulder sipped his whiskey.

"I don't care if you like me.  I'd rather have your
respect," Spender continued.

Mulder wished, suddenly, that he had his own
cigarettes, or a cigar, or something to do with his
hands.  

"You may be rude and sarcastic, but you do respect me.
You respect my power and you respect what I can
accomplish.  You're intelligent enough to see that
power has its own agenda, and you're enough of dreamer
to hope that it can be used for good."  Again Spender
proffered a cigarette, and this time Mulder took it.

"You're a practical man, Mr. Spender.  I am as well,"
he said.

"I'm pleased to hear it."

"The girl known as Grace O'Connor. . . You have no
reason to wish her harm," Mulder said.

"None whatsoever."

"And Mrs. Fowley herself?"

"I bear her no ill will.  But these are small
matters--"

"I trust that you'll inform me of Grace's whereabouts,
it you learn them."  Mulder rose and offered Spender
his hand.  Spender stood to accept it.  

"I'll see myself out, Fox.  I know the way."

Mulder lowered himself into an armchair, his legs
no longer able to support his weight.  In the distance,
he listened to the sounds of Spender's retreat.  Energy
drained out of him like water though a sieve and his
head dropped back against the back of the chair.

Mulder's head was spinning and he wished Katie were 
there.  If only he'd been able to tell her about
Grace O'Connor and why he'd been so evasive, but
Diana had begged him to keep her secret from everyone--
even his wife.

Spender worried him, more now then ever before.  There
were pieces of a puzzle before him, all of them having
to do with Cornelius Spender.  The picture that was
emerging as the pieces fell into place was one of either
evil or madness.  Mulder wasn't sure which was more
frightening.

The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to
question Alex Krycek in the morning.  Krycek hadn't 
come back after lunch.  Morris Fletcher actually seemed 
to enjoy delivering the news that Mulder's prodigy
was unaccounted for.

Mulder got up and poured himself another drink.  The
house was quiet now.  The ticking of the grandfather
clock was the only sound except for the occasional
footstep on the backstairs as the servants retired
for the night.  Earlier, he'd spoken to Edgar, who told
him that the entire staff had assembled that evening 
to make sandwiches.   They must have finally finished 
cleaning the kitchen.

He was on his third drink when weariness finally overtook
him and he dropped into a restless sleep.  He woke to 
the smell of smoke.  If that lying, smoking bastard had 
returned, Mulder would kill him.

"Mulder?  Wake up, love."  A cool hand caressed his
cheek.  He opened his eyes to concerned blue eyes 
staring out of a soot-covered pale face.

"Katie," he breathed.  He pushed himself out of the 
chair and drew her into a fierce embrace. 

"I'm filthy," she said, pulling out of his arms.
"I need to wash up."

She was swaying on her feet, probably tired enough to
drop.  

"Come on," he said, putting an arm around her waist.
"Let me take care of you."

Mulder left Katie slowly unbuttoning her grimy blouse 
while he ran her bath.  When he returned to the bedroom, 
he found her standing, hands frozen on the little pearls.

"Here," he said, pushing her hands aside.  "Let me do 
that."  

Mulder helped her out of her clothes and into the
warm bath water.  After washing her hair, she lay 
against the back of the tub, her eyes closed.  

"Every bone in my body aches," she said as she slid
down until the water reached her chin.  She didn't
talk about the horrors of the day and neither did he.  
It was enough to have been there and seen it.

"My poor Katie," he said, stirring the surface of the
water with his fingers.  "I had a letter from Jim
Parker.  He said Kevin seems happy on the farm."

"It has to be hard for him," she murmured, sleepily.   
"He only knows the city."

"Parker said Kevin milked his first cow."

"Oh dear," Katie smiled.  "That must have been 
something to see."  

"Did I ever tell you about my first time?" he asked.
"I was eleven and my parents sent me to the farm to 
get me out of their hair.  Father had given Jim orders to
put me to work, so he took me out to the barn and pointed
to the cow.  I'll admit to being a bit apprehensive as I
sat down on the stool and reached for the udder with both 
hands.  I'm not sure where I went wrong--perhaps my hands 
were cold.  But one thing was clear--the cow did *not* 
like my technique.  The great beast let out a mighty 
bellow and I fell ass over teakettle off the stool."
 
Katie sputtered with laughter, as he'd hoped she
would.  It was a sound he'd missed more than he 
could have imagined.

"I wish I'd been there," she said, yawning.

"I wish you'd been there too," he said.  "I could have
used an ally.  It looks like you're ready for bed."

Mulder helped her out of the tub, wrapping her in
a towel.  His arm was around her shoulders and she
leaned into him, dampening his clothes.  When she was
dressed in her nightgown, Mulder toweled her hair
dry.   While he sometimes missed her beautiful long
locks, but he had to admit short hair was far more
practical.

Mulder stripped off his clothes, suddenly too tired
to find his pajamas.  He climbed into bed behind
Katie, holding her in his arms as they fell asleep.

It was a poor night's sleep for both of them.  
Katie's tossing woke Mulder up more than once.   
Before dawn he gave up on sleep, pulled on some
pajamas and climbed the stairs to see if Skinner was
awake.  Finding no sign of activity and concluding
that his friend was either sleeping or had not
returned, he went to his sitting room and telephoned
to the clinic.

It was Mrs. Tibby who answered the phone.  The old
lady seemed to instinctively turn up wherever she was
needed.  Mr. Skinner, she informed him, was busy with
taking people to the morgue to search for loved ones
lost, and seeing they got home safely from there.  

Mulder returned to his chambers to dress, thinking
perhaps to relieve Skinner of his morbid task.  He
found Katie awake, and Mairead dozing in her arms.

"I needed to hold her," Katie explained
unnecessarily.

He sat next to her, curving an arm around them
both.  Katie nuzzled her head under his chin and
sighed.  

"All those girls, Mulder.  Their mothers held them
and rocked them and now they're gone.  Why?  Why
did this happen?"

"I don't know why," he said.  "The only thing
I know for sure is that you will do everything in
your power to help."

"Well, I had best get moving if I'm going to do that,"
she said, placing Mairead in his arms.  She disappeared
into the dressing room and Mulder looked down at
his child.

Mairead's eyes were open, though she seemed confused
at waking in her parents bed.  

"May pobbige now," she announced, seriously.

"Yes, Mairead should have her porridge.  Shall Papa
call Mr. Edgar?"  Mairead squirmed with joy at the 
prospect of breakfast.  Mulder made the necessary call
to Edgar and played with Mairead until breakfast
arrived.  In the sitting room, Edgar placed a large 
tray holding several dome-covered plates, a coffee 
service and cups.

"What do we have here?" Mulder asked, removing the 
warming cover on the bowl of porridge. "Oh, it's 
Mairead's breakfast."

He sat at the table, holding Mairead on his lap and
dipped a spoon into the porridge. 

"Me do!  Me do!" Mairead crowed, reaching for the
spoon.

"You'll both be wearing it, if you let her," Katie
said, entering the room.  She poured coffee for them
both.

"Me! Me!"

Thirty minutes later, Mairead was handed over to 
Miss Muir for a bath and Mulder changed clothes.  

"I'll drive you to the clinic," Mulder said as they
descended the stairs.  Katie looked up at him and
smiled.  

Church bells rang out in the cold air.  Countless
homilies would be spoken that morning, offering
comfort to the families, attempting to make sense
of a senseless loss. 

"Are you coming in?" Katie asked, as he pulled up
in front of the clinic.  A crowd was clustered
by the front door, with more people visible through
the front window.  

"I have something I must attend to," Mulder said,
squeezing her hand.  "But I'll be back as soon as
I can."

For weeks, Mulder had known that Alex Krycek was 
not his loyal assistant but rather a shadowy figure 
with unfathomable motives.  He had postponed a
confrontation so that he could uncover Krycek's
purpose.  Now he could wait no longer.

As he drove to Krycek's lodgings, he was glad he 
had kept his suspicions hidden.  He would approach 
Krycek as a friend and seek his advice on several 
matters.  Undoubtedly Krycek would be startled by 
the early morning visit, but Mulder would explain,
apologetically, that the hideous tragedy had 
unsettled his routine and his manners.

He parked the Pierce Arrow and found Alex's address
without difficulty.  He climbed the few stairs to the
building entrance and pressed the buzzer labeled
"Krycek."  After two more attempts he pressed the
buzzer for the concierge, marked "Froelich."

The woman who responded regarded him sternly through
thick spectacles.   She was wrapped in a stiff, gray
and white striped dressing gown, though she seemed 
wide awake.

"Are you here to see the rooms?" she asked.

"I'm here to see Mr. Krycek."

"Then you're a day late.  But if you'd like a nice,
clean place to live, you're right on time."

"Very good.  I would like to see the rooms," Mulder
answered.

The woman brightened.

"Right up the stairs."

She led and he followed.

"Murray Hill.  Very fashionable here.  And you 
look like a respectable young man."

"You say that Mr. Krycek moved out?"

"Yes he did, and very sudden too."

"Did he say why?"

"He was needed at home."

The woman's cheerful disposition made it obvious 
that Krycek hadn't left in arrears.

"Where is his home?" Mulder asked.

"I don't think he mentioned."

They reached the second floor and continued up the
stairs.

"I must explain about the colored man," the woman
said.  "He's only here to collect what Mr. Krycek 
left behind."   

"Mr. Krycek left without his things?"

"Just some envelopes and papers.  He told me a 
colored man would come to get them, but very clean 
and polite."  

"He's here right now?" Mulder asked.

"I don't rent to them, you understand.  He's only here
to collect Mr. Krycek's things."  

At the third floor, Mrs.Froelich turned the knob on
one of the doors.

"He locked it," she said, puzzled.  She rapped
vigorously.  "Open up, boy.  You open that door."

The lock clicked and the door opened.

"My humble apologies, m'am."  Soft words spoken
quietly, yet Mrs. Froelich took a step back.

"Oh. . . no need to apologize."

The man was impressive without being unusually tall 
or muscular. His very posture conveyed power and
confidence. Yet when he noticed Mulder standing 
behind Mrs. Froelich, his stony expression changed 
to surprise.  Mulder was sure that the man 
recognized him.

"Do you know Mr. Krycek?" Mulder asked.

"I'm leaving now."

Mulder could have blocked his passage to the stairs,
but instead he turned and followed.

"You didn't see your rooms!" Mrs. Froelich called
after him.

Just above the second floor the colored man stopped
and whirled around.

"Go back upstairs, Mr. Mulder."

"Who are you?  What do you know of Krycek?" Mulder
asked.   "And how do you know my name?"

"If you persist in following me I'll be forced to
break your neck."

"Unless I break yours first," Mulder said.  

"Look at the rooms, Mr. Mulder.  Look carefully."

Mulder couldn't say what he read in the man's steady
gaze, but he turned and ran back up the stairs.  For 
a while Mrs. Froelick watched as he examined the
furnishings, opening drawers and looking under the
rugs.  Then she grew bored and told him she would be
downstairs when he was ready.

He stood in the center of the room.  There was no 
trace of Krycek, not so much as a scrap of paper.
He opened the clothes cupboard, finding nothing but
bare hooks.  The shelf at the top was empty, but when
Mulder ran his hand over the wood, he felt slippery
paper.  He pulled down several photographs, all of
his family.  One picture showed Miss Muir and Mairead
descending the front steps of the brownstone, another
showed himself and Katie as they pushed Mairead through 
Central Park in her pushchair.  

Mulder felt the chill of fear as the fingers holding
the photographs went numb.  He had to go home, had
to make sure that Mairead was safe.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Froelich asked as she
followed him down the stairs.  "Those rooms will be
snapped right up.  You can reserve them for a small
fee."

Mulder pushed past her without a word.  The photo
still in his hand, he got into the Pierce Arrow and
drove for home.

"Is everything all right, sir?" Edgar asked as Mulder
tore through the front door.  

"I hope so," Mulder muttered as he passed Edgar and
took the stairs two at a time.  "Is my mother at home?"

"Yes, sir.  I believe she's in her sitting room."

Mulder stopped, turning to face Edgar down in the 
foyer.  "Has Mr. Spender been here this morning?"

"No, sir.  Not to my knowledge."

He needed to speak with his mother, but first, he had to 
know that Mairead was safe.   Someone was tracking his 
family, watching their comings and goings.  There were 
forces at work, people whose motives were hidden and 
probably dangerous, and his family was of interest to
them.

He found Mairead happily playing in the nursery, 
stacking blocks with her nurse.

"Papa," she said, looking up at him and raising her 
arms to be picked up.  

"I'm sorry, sweetness.  I can't play now.  Papa just 
wanted to make sure you were safe.  Miss Muir, 
please keep Mairead indoors today, while Mr. Skinner
is tied up at the clinic."   

"Certainly, sir," she replied, worry crossing her
face. 

"It's just a precaution--there's nothing to worry
about as long as you stay in the house.  And now,
I'll leave you two to build your tower."

He knocked on his mother's door, entering to find her
sipping tea.
 
"Fox, dear.  Where have you been this morning?"

"I had an errand to run.  Mother, do you have plans
today with Mr. Spender?"

"I did, dear, though I'm not sure why that should matter
to anyone but me.  His manservant came by early this
morning with a note saying he wouldn't be able to visit."

"His manservant?"

"Yes, dear.  A most unusual man.  Very articulate, 
well-dressed.  You don't expect a colored man to 
speak so well."

Mulder swallowed hard, as the importance of that bit of 
information registered.

"Do you know where Mr. Spender lives, Mother?"

"I'm not sure...wait a moment," she said, crossing to 
the escritoire.   She removed a sheet of paper from
an envelope.  "His note was written on stationery
from the Plaza Hotel."

"Thank you, Mother," he said as he rose and walked
to the door.  

"Fox?" Teena Mulder called after him.  "Will you be
home for luncheon?"

"Probably not, Mother."

He could barely keep his hands from shaking as he
drove to the Plaza.  As he entered the lobby, he
remembered checking in with Katie when they returned
from their honeymoon.  That seemed so long ago.

"Excuse me," he said to the desk clerk.  "I'm looking
for Cornelius Spender."

"Ah yes, Mr. Mulder, isn't it?  I believe Mr. Spender
went into the Oak Room a little while ago."

Mulder nodded to the man and strode off in the direction
of the bar.  Even in late morning, the nearly deserted 
bar was dimly lit.  With its oak paneling and mural of 
old New York, it spoke of money and power.  

He smelled Spender before he saw him, the plume of smoke 
from his cigarette rising above his grizzled head.  He
lounged back in his chair, a glass of whiskey on the 
table before him.

"Ah, Fox," Spender said.  "I thought you might come to
visit.  Sit down.  Sit down."

Mulder remained standing, fists clenched at his sides.

"I will not have you intruding on my family."

"How selfish of you.  Your mother and I have been
close friends since before you were born."

"Stay away from my wife and daughter."

"Mairead claps her hands when she sees me."

Mulder's voice grew calm and deadly.

"Leave my family alone," he said.

Spender stubbed his cigarette out in the large glass
ashtray on the table.

"So dramatic, Fox."  His smirk changed to a sneer. "A
modern Hamlet, wailing because his widowed mother
shares her favors with an old friend."

Bile rose in Mulder's throat.

"Only a devil would utter such calumny."

"The truth is never slander.  Your mother and I have
been far more than friends since before you were
born."

"You bastard."

"And what does that make you?  Your mother, while
utterly delightful, is not the lady you thought her 
to be."  He eyed Mulder as he lit a new cigarette.  
"The man you called your father, so dismissive, so 
quick to find fault. . .  It all makes sense now."

Mulder felt as if time itself had ceased, and
Spender's words came to him from far away.

"Your uncle Dewitt, trying to smooth the way, because
whoever you were really, you were the Mulder heir and
namesake.  Your own grandfather--the man you thought
was your grandfather--he must have known as well.  And
when you were in England, Sir Warwick never so much as
hinted.  Every person who might have told you the
truth chose to lie to you." 

It doesn't matter, Mulder told himself.  In his world
of three, nothing had changed.  

"If you hurt my daughter in any way I will kill you,"
he said.

"I would never hurt her.  After all, she is my 
granddaughter."  

To be continued....
 
Forgive Us Our Trespasses - Mr. and Mrs. Fox Mulder's 
story - Part 23

"Mulder?  Are you coming to bed?" Katie asked
gently.  

Mulder sat at the desk in the library, a glass of
whiskey in one hand and a photograph in the other.

"Soon," he said, his eyes still on the picture.

"You've been so contemplative, lately.  I'm 
worried about you."

"I'm fine, Katie," he replied.  "No need to worry."

He finally looked up, and Katie saw the weariness in
his face.  

"What are you looking at?"

He turned the photograph to show her.  It was "Quitting
Time," the picture he'd taken of the factory girls 
leaving work on payday.  Their arms were linked and 
they were joyful.  

"I took this outside the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory.
It was only today that I recognized the location."

"I wonder if any of them survived," Katie said.

"This was the first picture I'd ever sold.  God,
that was so long ago."

"Not so long," Katie said.  "I remember that day.  
We went to Coney Island to celebrate."

Mulder smiled.

"We went to the moon," he said.  "And then when I 
came home, Skinner battered me until I saw stars."

Katie stroked his head.

"I lied to you, and you forgave me," Mulder said.

"I think, now, that they weren't really lies.  When
you were with me, you believed them," Katie answered.

He seemed to flinch, then took a long drink from his
glass.  Katie stood behind him, rubbing his shoulders.
She felt his bones more distinctly; she was afraid
he wasn't eating properly.  Many nights, he came home
late and went right to the library, refusing any dinner.
She had assumed he was still upset about the tragedy,
but now, she wondered if something else was on his 
mind.

They had talked about the fire, about the losses,
about what needed to be done.  Mulder had confessed
that he'd foreseen this type of disaster, and that he
should have done more to prevent it.

Katie wondered why she found herself better able to
carry on than her husband.  Perhaps she'd seen more of
death than he had, or perhaps it was because her work
let her feel she was doing something to help.

"Then I'm a fool," Mulder said.

"Never, love," Katie reassured him.

"If I believe in lies, I'm a fool or a madman."

With a sigh, Katie pulled an armchair closer to 
the desk and sat down.  

"I was looking for my lost sister--another lie,"
Mulder said.  "She wasn't lost, she was hiding."

"Not from you, from your parents.  From a 
marriage she didn't want."

"And now she's leaving New York.  But I'll see no 
less of her than when she lived here," Mulder said.

He had acknowledged the wisdom of Sean Pendrell
establishing his Little Dynamo factory in Michigan, 
but Katie knew he saw it as a final end to his hope 
of bringing Samantha closer into his life.

Sitting up half the night and drinking whiskey 
would only bring him more melancholy.

"I'm quite exhausted," Katie said.

Mulder moved the photograph to a corner of this desk.

"Then we must get you to bed," he said, rising at
last.  "And please, love, think about what I said.  
I want you to hire more nurses for the clinic."

Katie nodded sleepily.  If only Mulder wasn't 
forced to work such long hours.  As it was, 
Morris Fletcher saw more of her husband than 
she did, and Miss Muir saw more of her baby.

If only hiring more nurses was as easy as Mulder
seemed to think. Katie had advertised for more
help, hoping to find a compassionate woman with 
good nursing skills.  It had proved a depressingly
difficult task.

She contacted nursing employment agencies, but they
were accustomed to placing nurses for special duty
with wealthy patients.  The few nurses they sent
for interviews were uncomfortable working with the 
poor and fled almost immediately after taking a tour 
of the clinic.

Some of the candidates were well-meaning, but 
lacked experience.  Others had grown hard by 
working with the poor.  It amazed Katie that the
women who had pulled themselves out of the slums
seemed to be the least sympathetic, as if the only
way they could rise from poverty was by turning
their backs on the poor.

"Honestly, Mulder, I've tried.  Shayna thinks I'm
being too finicky."

"Perhaps she's right.  You'll have to settle for
someone less than perfect, because there's only one
Katie Mulder," he said.

His fingers were caressing her bottom in a manner she
would have appreciated more if she had not been so
tired.

"Would you be able to help me?  I have no experience
in hiring, and you have so much," she said.

"I don't know when I would have the time.  I can send
someone over to help you," he said with a sigh.

"I shouldn't have asked you."

"You know I'm shouldering DT's share, in his absence,"
Mulder reminded her.

"That's the only thing I miss about having Mr. Spender
about.  While he was our constant visitor, you managed
to be home for dinner."

Some two weeks ago Mr. Xavier had delivered a cartload 
of flowers to the mansion, along with the message that 
Cornelius Spender would be away on business.  Teena's 
disappointment had been predictable.  Oddly, Mulder 
had greeted the news with suspicion rather than relief.

Mulder's hands stopped their play.

"What are you implying?" he asked.

Somehow her simple observation had irritated her moody
husband.

"Your mother has been lonely, since his departure.  It
would be nice if you could be home more," she said.

"Did my mother complain to you that she was lonely? 
That her days were empty without 'Dear Cornelius'?"
Mulder asked.

"Why, no.  I only thought--"

"Then don't concern yourself with my mother's
activities."

"I...I wasn't trying to meddle," she said, placing
a gentle hand on his arm.  "Mulder, is something 
the matter?"

"Nothing is the matter."   His muscles felt like
steel cables under her hand.  "You should get to
bed."

"So should you."

"Later, love.  Right now, I have some preparations
to make for a meeting in the morning."

He kissed her forehead and left before she could
protest.  As Katie undressed and got ready for
bed, she puzzled over Mulder's outburst.  He'd
been out of sorts for weeks, working late at
the office, sequestered in the library for hours
every evening.  The glass of whiskey seemed to be
a permanent fixture in his hand.

Katie fell asleep worrying about her husband, rousing
briefly when he slid into bed beside her.  When she
woke in the morning, his side of the bed was empty,
a depression in the featherbed the only sign that 
he'd been there at all.

She took her breakfast in the nursery.  Spending 
time with Mairead usually cheered Katie, but today, 
even the baby's chatter couldn't raise her spirits.  
 
"Mama go bye-bye?" Mairead asked, as Katie bent to 
kiss her smooth, pink cheek.  There were no tears, 
no protests, just a happy child making a 
matter-of-fact statement.  Katie wanted to cry.

"Yes, sweetheart.  Mama has to go bye-bye, but she'll
come back soon."

Mairead's attention returned to her breakfast.  With
great concentration, she spooned a bit of egg into 
her mouth.  Sighing deeply, Katie left the nursery.  

Dunham held the car door open as she stepped in.  
The morning was bright and clear, though a bit 
chilly.  She settled back against the seat.

"Would you please stop and buy a newspaper," she 
asked as they pulled away from the curb.

"Certainly, Mrs. Katherine."  

Teena maintained that well-bred women didn't read 
the newspaper.  The news coverage was far too coarse 
and upsetting for ladies to be exposed to.  Katie 
usually read the paper in her suite, or away from 
the house, in order to avoid a lecture.

Katie hadn't known Teena before William Mulder's 
illness and death, but she remembered a woman from 
the early days of her marriage who was fairly 
knowledgeable about current events.  Katie suspected 
the disapproval of the news was courtesy of Cornelius
Spender, who would read aloud the articles he thought
Teena would enjoy, saving her delicate sensibilities 
from any ugliness.

Dunham pulled over at the corner, running over to pay 
a newsboy for the paper.  He presented the newspaper 
to Katie.  

"INDICT OWNERS OF BURNED FACTORY," the headline shouted.
Shaking her head, Katie read the article.  It was much
as Mulder had predicted--blame and public outrage.

In the weeks after the fire, terrible details surfaced
about the tragedy.  Of the 143 victims, all but fifteen
were women, most of them young and hardworking.  But
the doors on the ninth floor were locked, reportedly
to prevent the theft of fabric.  The workers were
trapped.  Many chose to leap from the windows,
rather than be burned by the flames.  

Now, Isaac Harris and Max Blanck, joint owners of the 
Triangle Waist Company had been indicted for 
manslaughter.  The Women's Trade Union League was
calling for reform.  Katie hoped some good would come
out of this horrible tragedy--that safety and working
conditions would improve under the public scrutiny.

Patients already crowded the waiting room when Katie
arrived at the clinic.  Shayna circulated with her
clipboard, clucking her tongue in sympathy at the
various ailments.

The clinic had returned to its function as a  medical 
facility, no longer a gathering place for the families 
of the victims, but it was no less busy in the aftermath.

Broken fingers, cuts, and burns were testimony
to minds that were too preoccupied to pay attention
to work.  Some of the victims still suffered from
the effects of smoke inhalation, so the clinic treated 
numerous respiratory ailments.   Sorrow was hard on 
the human body.

"We've got a sore throat, an earache, a swollen ankle
and a bellyache," Shayna announced as she followed
Katie into the kitchen where Vincent stood drinking
coffee.  "What's yer pleasure?"

"I'll see the earache first," Vincent said.

"Good, he's in the examining room, already."  

"Why do you even bother asking if you've already
made the decision?" Vincent asked, laughing.  

"Just trying to make you feel important."

He left for the examining room. shaking his head.   
Katie poured herself a cup of coffee. 

"How is Izzy doing?"

"Oh Katie, all that boy does is mope around the house
and draw pitchers."

"Pictures?" Katie asked.  "Pictures of what?"

"Of girls.  Girls with fire, girls standing at the
window.  It scares me, Katie.  He don't talk.  He
don't play stickball.  I don't know what I'm gonna
do with him."

Katie thought about Izzy during the long day.  Like
all the survivors, he was plagued with questions.  
Why did they die?  Why did I live?   There were no
answers to give him.

The day wound down and the clinic was finally empty 
of patients.  In her office, Katie gathered up the 
clinic's books to work on after Mairead went to sleep 
when she heard voices in the waiting room.

Arial Luria was speaking quickly and in Yiddish to
Shayna.  Katie's Yiddish was extremely limited, but
she gathered that Arial was worried about her father.

"What's the matter?" Vincent said as he came into the
waiting room.  

"Her father must be sick or hurt.  Jacob Weiss," Katie
said.

"Please, he is barely alive," Arial begged, in
English. 

"I'll get my bag," Vincent said.  

"I'll come with you," Katie said.  It seemed like much
more than a few years ago that Katie had helped Arial
and her husband with their sick baby.  

"Are you sure, Katie?" Vincent asked, as he returned
with his coat and satchel.  "You should get home to
your family."

"This sounds serious," she replied.

They piled into Vincent's automobile and he drove 
to the building where Jacob Weiss shared a flat with
the Luria family.  

Isaac Luria met them at the door with three-year-old
Sofie in his arms.  

"I'm so sorry, my darling," he said. 

"But the doctor is here.  He will be all right now!"
Arial protested.

Isaac tried to hold her back, but she followed
Vincent into the back room, leaving Katie by the door
with little Sofie.

"Zaydeh went to sleep," Sofie announced.

From the rear of the apartment came a piercing scream,
and then sobbing.

Katie took the little girl onto her lap.

"Mama's crying," Sofie said.  "Papa cried too, but
he didn't make noise."

When Arial reappeared, she was silent.

"Mama?" Sofie said.  Arial looked at her in surprise,
as if she'd forgotten she was there.

"Mama's going to get some air," Arial said, heading
for the door.

"Mama, your coat!"

Katie pressed Sofie into Vincent's care and hurried to
follow Arial.

"Where are you going?" she asked, when she caught up
to Arial on the staircase.  The other woman didn't
answer.

Katie soon understood that Arial had no destination,
and they walked up one block, down another.  The
evening was a little cool, and Katie took off her own
coat and hung it over Arial's shoulder.

"You are wondering what kind of daughter would let her
father die," Arial said at last.

"You are the best, most loving daughter there could
be.  It's not in our hands who lives and who dies,"
Katie said.

"He was like a lost person, after the fire.  He didn't
eat, he didn't sleep.  Heartache, I thought, because I
felt sick in my own heart as well," Arial said.

"Of course."

"Then I caught a fever.  I was so tired with just
cooking and cleaning, I didn't think to take care of
my father.  Grief needs time, I thought, that he just
needed time."

Katie shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself.  As
they passed under a streetlight, Katie saw tears rolling
down Arial's pale face.

"The other morning Sofie spilled her milk.  Tateh
screamed at her like a crazy person, and then I had
angry words for him too.  He went back in his bed and
he stayed there.  And then I should have known he was
sick."

"You mustn't blame yourself," Katie said.

"The next morning I knew.  I made him go to our bed,
in the bedroom, and I made Sofie be quiet.  I took him
a glass of tea, but he couldn't drink.  He couldn't 
even take a breath without coughing and coughing.  
He felt like it was cannonfire inside his head.  
And he was hot then, a terrible fever.  But I waited 
for Isaac to come home before I went for the doctor."

"Arial--"

"Downstairs they have a telephone.  I shouldn't have
waited for my husband."

Katie sighed, helplessly.  Arial was right, that grief
needed time.

They walked in silence for several blocks, and then
Arial headed for home.  The apartment was full of
people when a worried-looking Isaac opened the door
for them.  Arial hugged him, then her daughter, then
both together.

"Please come in," Arial invited her, but Katie said
she would call later in the week.  

"Thank you for taking care of her," Isaac said.

It was late by the time Katie got home.  The house
was quiet, the servant's bustle over for the night.
It had been many hours since she had eaten last,
but Katie had no appetite tonight.  

Leaning heavily on the banister, Katie climbed
the stairs.  Yellow light shown from under the 
library door, and she was tempted to knock on the
door.  She would love nothing more than to wrap
herself in Mulder's warm arms.   With a sigh,
Katie passed by the closed door.

Things had been so strained between them, lately.  
Of course, their life together had never been simple.  
In the beginning, their relationship had been built 
on an untruth.   She'd hoped they'd moved past
that, that their love was strong enough to be a
new foundation for their lives.  

But in the last few weeks, Katie had begun to wonder.
Mulder was hiding something from her, an anguish 
that he apparently didn't feel he could share with 
her.   Silence from Mulder was not new--he'd kept 
secrets over Diana Fowley, but Katie feared that 
whatever was bothering Mulder now was far more 
serious.   She'd hoped that by this point in their
marriage, Mulder would trust her with anything,
but whatever this thing was, he chosen to bury it
inside of him.

The nursery was darkened; no light was visible from
under Miss Muir's bedroom door.  Moonlight was the
only illumination, but it allowed Katie to see
Mairead's sweet face as the child slept in her crib.  
The baby lay on her back, rosebud lips parted, 
chubby hands gently curled on either side of her head.  

Katie caressed Mairead's soft cheek, and the child
turned her head toward the touch.  A wave of need
passed over Katie and she gently lifted her child
out of the crib.   As Katie settled them into the
rocking chair, Mairead snuffled softly, nuzzling
her head into the hollow of her mother's neck.
Katie drew a blanket from the crib around them
both.
   
"Hush," she whispered as Mairead started to rouse.  
"Sleep, my sweet."

She sat, rocking and inhaling Mairead's sweet baby
scent.  A noise from the doorway caught her attention
and she looked up to find Mulder leaning against 
the doorjamb, arms crossed, as he watched them.

"It's late," he said.  "Miss Muir put her to bed
hours ago."

"I needed to hold her," Katie said, quietly. 

Lips pursed, Mulder shook his head slowly.  "I 
don't understand you, Kate." 

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"When Samantha and I were small, our mother rarely 
spent time with us, and as far as I could tell, that 
never bothered her.  In truth, I believe she preferred 
to keep contact at a minimum.  But you...it obviously 
hurts you a great deal to miss time with Mairead.  
And yet, you haven't done anything to change that fact."

Katie gathered Mairead more closely against her.
Mulder's expression was unreadable as he watched
her from the door.  

"I'm going to bed," he finally announced.  "You
should do the same."

Later that night, as Katie lay awake, beside Mulder, 
she thought about what he'd said.  Examining her 
life as an observer might view it, she saw a woman 
whose life was spent helping the less fortunate, 
and who loved her husband and child beyond all 
reason.  So, why did the woman spend more of her 
waking hours with the poor than with her loved ones?  

Mairead had everything she could possibly need.
Miss Muir was firm, yet loving.  The child had
more toys than she could ever play with, more
dresses than she could ever wear.  The truth
of the matter was, Mairead was growing to be
a happy child and Katie's presence or absence
didn't seem to make much difference to that 
outcome.

Was she vain to think her presence at the clinic 
made a difference?  Was she selfish to crave the
satisfaction she drew from her work there?

Mulder toiled as long and hard as she did, but 
she feared that he did it without satisfaction. 
Photography was the work that brought him joy, but he
no longer had the time.

Katie woke up the next morning with a plan to spend
less time at the clinic.  She would redouble her 
attempts to hire more staff.   

She pulled on her dressing gown and climbed the stairs
to the nursery.  At the doorway she heard the happy
sounds of Mairead and Mulder at play, and she waited
quietly to enjoy their nonsense without interrupting.

"Now what is this one called?" Mulder was asking.

"May!"

"Mairead!  She has the same name as you do."

Katie smiled.  Most of Mairead's dolls were named
Mairead, except for one particularly ugly specimen
known as Edgar.

"Bad girl."

"She is?  What did she do?"

"She yelled!"

"I can't believe it.  I've never heard her make a
sound."

"She yelled, Papa."

"I'm sure she had a good reason," he said, replacing
the doll on the shelf.

"Not there!  There!"  Mairead pointed to show him the
doll's proper spot.  "Silly Papa!"

"My humble apology.  Is this one also called Mairead?"
He chose a different doll from the extensive
collection.

"She go bed."

Mulder placed the doll in the toy cradle, but Mairead
snatched it out and gave it back to him.

"No, Papa!  Shoes!"

"How silly of me," Mulder said.  He sat down on the
floor next to the cradle, squinting at the tiny
buttons on the doll's shoes.

"Give her blanky."  Mairead held out the ragged
flannel blanket that was probably her most prized
possession.   

"There she is, all snug in her bed."

"Good Papa."

Rapt, Katie barely heard the approach of Lucy, the
parlormaid.

"Begging you pardon, Mrs. Katherine, but Mrs. Mulder was
asking for you to join her for breakfast."

"Thank you, Lucy.  Please tell her I will be there
presently."  She caught Mulder's eye, but he made no
move to leave the nursery.

Katie dressed quickly to join her mother-in-law at the
dining table.  Edgar poured her coffee.  Teena
dismissed him with a nod, before she spoke.

"Good morning, Katherine.  I'm hoping you can persuade
Fox to see reason."

"Good morning, Mother Mulder.   You're looking very
well this morning."

"I very much fear it was Fox's spiteful attitude that
drove dear Cornelius away from our home," Teena said
plaintively.

"You must miss him very much.  How fortunate that you
have other dear friends."

"Fox has the most fanciful notions.  Perhaps you can
reassure him that Cornelius is only concerned for his
well-being."

"How curious that Mr. Spender would take such an
interest," Katie commented.

"Katherine, dear, you sound quite like a man when you
speak that way."

Katie tried to turn her laugh into a cough and found
herself choking on her coffee.

"Mother Mulder, Mr. Spender has been a friend of the
family for many years.  How is it that Fox only made
his acquaintance so recently?" she asked when she
recovered.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."  Teena was
growing flustered, and Katie wanted nothing more than
to end the interview.

"I was only wondering--"

"Cornelius is a busy and important person.  And Fox
was away at school, or touring with his tutor."

"I see," Katie said.  

"I wonder if you do.  It must seem odd, to one from
you background, that children would be educated away
from the home, or that gentlemen would have to
travel."

"Mother Mulder, if you like I will relay your thoughts
to Fox.  I've always found him to be fair and
intelligent, but I will apprise him of your concerns."

"After consideration, I would prefer if you did not. 
I'm sorry that I troubled you."  

Teena left the table abruptly, to Katie's relief. 
Teena was obviously offended, but she wouldn't be
carrying her complaints to Mulder, under the
circumstances.

Katie was pleased and a little surprised when Mulder
sat down beside her.

"I thought about taking breakfast with Mairead and our
many granddaughters, but I'm running out of ties," he
said.

"Isn't she a gem?  I don't think Missy's boys were as
clever at her age."

"She's growing so fast.  I need to take more
pictures."

"Oh, yes, Mulder, you should do that," Katie said. 
She and Mulder had their disagreements, but they were
one in their admiration of their marvelous daughter. 
 
Edgar poured the coffee, but Mulder's refusal of
further sustenance brought Cook herself into the
dining room.

"I'm fixing your favorite, and I'll have no argument,"
she said.

"Very well.  Thank you," Mulder agreed.

Katie shared Cook's concern.  When Mulder's mind was
dark, he drank more and ate less, and the weeks since
the fire had taken their toll.  

"Mulder, is it only the fire that's troubling you?"
she asked.

"I'll never forget what I saw.  Will you?"

"No.  But I wondered if this might have something to
do with Spender.  He's gone, but it's as if he left a
piece of himself behind."  

She saw his face harden, and she wanted to slap
herself for losing the chance of a pleasant meal with
her husband.

"That's a lovely thought, Katie."  He pushed himself
from the table.  "I'll try to be on time tonight.  I
hope you will do the same."

"But your breakfast," she protested feebly.  "Your
favorite."

"Give Cook my regrets.  And don't tell her I haven't
been able to abide it since I was ten years old." 

Katie did her best to soothe Cook's ruffled feathers
when she brought out Mulder's "favorite."   With her
own appetite gone, Katie choked down a piece of toast
and a cup of coffee before leaving for work.

"Would you like a newspaper today, Mrs. Katherine?"
Dunham inquired as he drove her to the clinic, but
Katie declined.  It seemed sure that Harris and Blanck
would be convicted and that some good would come from
the tragedy, but as Ma always said, you can't fry your
fish while it's still in the stream.

The waiting room was packed that morning.  

Coughs and wheezes filled the room as Katie passed 
through.  She waved off Shayna who approached her with
the ever-present clipboard.  

"In a minute, Shayna.  I have some phone calls to make
before the patients."

"Don't take too long," Shayna replied.  "We got a lot
of sick people today."

Katie tried to keep the calls as brief as she could.  
She renewed the advertisement in the newspaper and called
the nursing agencies again.  The Mulder name was a
powerful one, and though Katie hated to trade on it, 
she was desperate for help.

In the end, both of the agencies Katie contacted agreed
to conduct a search and send over any suitable, and
interested candidates.

The only good thing about busy days was how fast they
passed.  The stream of sick people kept all of them busy
and it was past seven o'clock when Shayna finally was
able to bolt the clinic door.  

Katie arrived home in time for dinner, but not in time
to do more than peek in on Mairead's bathtime and kiss
the child goodnight.  She rushed to wash up and dress
for dinner, hurrying downstairs to find Mulder already
at table in the dining room, a glass of whiskey in his
hand.

"It's just us, tonight.  Mother has a sick headache."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Katie said as Edgar pushed
her chair in.   "I'll look in on her after dinner."

"You're so good, Kate.  I doff my hat to you."  He took
a long swallow.

Edgar brought in their first course of turtle soup. 
Katie could barely taste it.  Mulder pushed his plate
away, untouched.

"Mulder, how much have you had to drink?" 

A flicker of anger was gone so quickly, she wasn't sure
it had been there at all.  

"Not nearly enough, I think."

"Mulder, I'm worried about you."

"Please don't trouble yourself with me," Mulder said as 
he rose from the table.  He leaned over and pressed a kiss 
to Katie's cheek.  "I'm really not hungry and have a lot 
of work to attend to.  If you'll excuse me."

Tears stung Katie's eyes as her husband left her alone
for the second time that day. 

Edgar said nothing as he cleared the full soup bowls 
away and brought one dinner plate into the room.  Katie
could barely bring herself to eat.  She abandoned the
meal and went up to the comfort of a hot bath.

Katie tossed and turned before falling into a fitful
sleep.  It felt like the middle of the night when 
Mulder slipped into bed.  The sheets rustled as she
turned to face him.  He touched her face, wiping a
stray tear from her cheek.  

"I'm sorry, Kate.  So sorry."

She didn't answer, just drew closer to him and finally
slept.  

The next days brought more sickness, fever, wracking 
coughs.  Katie and Vincent made many housecalls, climbing
endless steps to cramped apartments where sometimes
two or three people lay in one bed.  

Katie dragged herself through the days, weary beyond
anything she'd ever experienced.  Even in the early
days of her pregnancy with Mairead, she'd never felt so
exhausted.   A permanent ache had settled between her
shoulder blades.  

The only bright spot was the morning Katie arrived to
find Rebecca Waite in her office.  Rebecca had impressed
Katie years ago with her nursing skills when William
Mulder was felled by a massive stroke.  Her calm, 
efficient demeanor had comforted the whole family 
during that terrible time.

"I understand you're looking for some help," Rebecca
said as Katie took her hands.   

"You're a gift from above," Katie said.  "We need you
so much."

But even with Rebecca's help, the needs of the sick 
outstripped the clinic's ability to cope.  The hospitals 
were overwhelmed with cases where what started as a 
simple fever or malaise progressed with inexorable 
cruelty.  Pneumonia, nephritis, meningitis--many 
succumbed, and many who survived never fully recovered.  
As many of the poor were terrified of hospitals, the 
clinic was their only source of care.  

No matter how hard she tried, Katie couldn't manage to
get home in time for dinner.  Mulder no longer commented
as he found her rocking the sleeping Mairead late at
night.  He'd just watch from the doorway, shaking his 
head in worry or sadness--Katie was too tired
to figure it out.    

One night she was woken from sleep when Mulder reached
for her hand.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Sorry, love.  I didn't mean to wake you."

He tried to release her hand, but she held fast,
horrified to realize how rare it had become for him to
touch her.

"Mulder, I told you once that you could keep your
secrets," she said, bringing his hand to her lips.

"They don't concern you, Katie.  I love you."

"But you're burdened, Mulder, and that is my concern. 
You barely eat, and you're angry all the time."

He turned to her.

"My obligation to Diana Fowley should be filled soon,
perhaps this week."

"That isn't what's troubling you, is it?"

"No," he answered, simply.

"It's Spender," she said, feeling suddenly certain.

His sigh confirmed her insight.

"Don't press me," he pleaded.  "If it were only about
myself I could tell you, but it's not."

She moved closer to comfort him.

"You have no obligation to him.  You don't have to
honor a promise made under duress to a scoundrel."

They held one another as they had not done for weeks.

"I promised him nothing.  It's for my own sake that I
must keep my silence, and for the sake of everyone I
love."

"Whatever you're hiding can't be so terrible that I
couldn't help you bear it."

"You are helping me, every moment you're with me."

"All right."  She stroked his back.  

"Thank you for understanding."

"I don't understand.  I think you're making a mistake.
But I won't torment you when you're already
tormenting yourself."

She slept in his arms, and the next morning they both
ate breakfast in the nursery.  As always, Mairead
insisted on feeding herself, but most of her porridge
arrived safely in her mouth.

"Mama go bye-bye?" Mairead asked cheerfully.

"Yes, love.  Mama go bye-bye," Katie answered.

"Why does Mama go bye-bye?" Mulder prompted.

"Help people!" Mairead answered triumphantly.

He had taught that to her.  He complained about the
long hours, but he understood.

Mulder drove Katie to work, instead of Dunham.

"I'll try to be home on time," she said, as she
climbed out of the car, but she repeated it so
often that the phrase had lost its meaning.

"I might be late myself," Mulder answered.

Katie found the waiting room full, but not as
crowded as it had been over the last few weeks.

"It doesn't seem as busy as yesterday," Katie
remarked.

"Shush," Shayna warned her.  Shayna subscribed to the
belief that mentioning something positive could cause
it to disappear.

"Oh.  Then I won't tell you that Dr. Oppenheim will be 
covering our housecalls today," Katie said.

"Good.  And I won't say how nice that new girl is
working out."

Katie and the others kept a brisk pace all morning,
though it was leisurely compared to the endless grind
of the weeks gone by.  At twelve o'clock, they were
able to take a break for lunch.

"Shayna used to insist we take a lunch hour every
day," Vincent told Rebecca.  "A very civilized
custom."

"The way these two work, if I didn't remind them
they'd never stop at all," Shayna said.  "Looks like
you're the same."

"I like to keep busy," Rebecca agreed.

Rebecca was a hard worker, but she had a calm
efficiency about her that Katie appreciated.

"I'm more tired than hungry.  I'm going to lie down,"
Katie said.

"Are you feeling all right?" Vincent asked.

"You're not pregnant again, are you?" asked Shayna.

"I'm fine.  Or I would be if it wasn't so hot
in here."

"What hot?  It's not hot," Shayna said.

Katie's back ached and her head was pounding.
"I just need to take a nap."

"You need a nap," Vincent said, rising from the table.  
"But you need to take it in your own bed.   I'm going 
to drive you home, Katie."

Katie wanted to protest, but she couldn't summon the
energy.  Vincent stood waiting as she pushed away
from the table.  Wearily, she gathered her things
together and let Vincent lead her to his car.

She couldn't keep her eyes open on the drive home.
The afternoon was sunny and warm, but Katie shivered
and pulled her jacket more tightly around her.  

"Let me help you in," Vincent said as he parked
the car in front of the Mulder brownstone.  

"No need," Katie said, rousing from her restless
doze.  Before he had a chance to come around and
open her door, Katie was out of the car and on
her way up the front steps.  That little show of 
strength took far more of Katie's energy reserve
than she thought and spots danced before her 
vision as she got to the top.

She turned and waved just as the front door 
opened.  She was never sure how Edgar sensed the
return of one of the family, but he never failed
to pull the door open in time.

"Mrs. Katherine," he said.  "Is everything all
right?"

"It's fine, Edgar.  I'm just going to go up and
see Mairead."

The room seemed to spin as she stepped onto the
first stair and she couldn't feel her feet and 
hands.   The room went dark and Katie crumpled
to the floor.  Somewhere, far away, she heard
Edgar's voice calling her name.

To be continued... 

Forgive Us Our Trespasses - Mr. and Mrs. Fox Mulder's 
story - Part 24

"Lunch was delightful, Fox, but I thought you'd called
me because you had news."

"I do have news," he replied.

They walked down 42nd Street in the bright spring 
sunshine.  Diana's hand rested on Mulder's arm and
she glanced at him from under the brim of her hat.

"Well, then, what is it, pray tell?   Why don't
you tell me?"

"I'd rather show it to you," he replied.  In truth,
he wasn't sure how Diana would receive the information
he had for her.  "And here we are." 

"Fox, I don't understand.  Why are we at a moving
picture theater?"

"Come on, they're waiting for us."  

Mulder had been so concerned about Diana's reaction
to what he had to show her, he'd rented the whole
theater so they'd have some privacy.

"Ah, Mr. Mulder," the theater manager said, as he
ushered them through the dimly lit lobby area.  "I'll
give word to the projectionist as soon as you're 
ready."

They passed through the velvet curtains to the 
theater proper.  Mulder chose two seats on the
aisle, turned and nodded to the proprietor.  The
curtains closed behind him and in a few minutes,
the whirr of the projector was heard below the
piano introduction.

"Fox, what's going on?" Diana hissed as the 
screen lit up with the words "A Biograph Picture."

He hushed her, as the title card changed, showing
"Directed by D. W. Griffith," and finally, "Her
Heart's Desire."

The movie opened in a department store where a young
woman waited on a haughty customer.  A young stock boy
pulled an amusing face, nearly causing the girl to 
burst into laughter.  

"That's your daughter," Mulder whispered to Diana.  
"That's Grace."

"On my God," she gasped, one hand flying up to cover 
her mouth. 

They watched the young woman on the screen.  Her face
was so mobile, every nuance of emotion playing across
her features.  She wasn't beautiful, as one would 
expect an actress to be, but what her face conveyed
was somehow more than beauty.

Mulder had searched for months, hiring Moe Bocks to 
find Diana's illegitimate daughter, the product of a 
girl's indiscretion with a young composer.

Young Grace O'Connor had left her strict Christian 
home and come to New York City.  With Bocks initial 
report, Mulder had feared the girl had wandered onto 
the rough streets of the Bowery, possibly succumbing 
to a life of degradation.  

Bocks hadn't discovered how Grace had made the 
fortuitous connection with Biograph Pictures and
D.W. Griffith, but in a matter of months, the girl
had risen to featured player.  Appearing under the
name of Louise Grace, Diana's daughter was one of
Biograph's young stars.  Watching her luminous
face on the screen, Mulder had no doubt that her
career would soar.

He tried to follow the story of the young shopgirl
who attracted the attention of the store owner's 
playboy son.  Mulder's mind insisted on straying 
to Katie, picturing her in the place of the naive 
young girl and himself in the part of the 
ne'er-do-well rich boy.  

The girl rejected the playboy, who accused her of 
stealing a silver comb from the display case and 
planted the evidence in her coat pocket.  The girl 
was fired, thrown out of the store in disgrace.  

Louise was heartbreaking as she wandered the streets, 
crying and shivering.  The stockboy exonerated the 
shopgirl, unmasking the playboy as a cad.   As the 
stockboy took the swooning shopgirl in his arms, 
the placard reading "The End" filled the screen.  
Mulder turned to Diana.

"Grace is safe," he said.  "My source says she's 
hard-working and extremely well-respected.  And 
she's making quite a substantial salary--reportedly 
$100 a week."

"Oh, Fox, thank you for finding her."

"She's wonderful, isn't she?"

"I couldn't take my eyes off her.  She was absolutely
incandescent."

"My man hasn't yet contacted her directly.  His instructions
were to make any inquiries with great discretion.  I can 
have him speak to her and set up a meeting whenever you
wish."

"No!  Oh, Fox, no.  I couldn't.  She's doing so well, and 
I'd only complicate her life."

"It can be handled very carefully.  Grace is aware of
her adoption, though I understand she knows none of the
details.  She's probably wondered about you as much as
you've wondered about her."

"But, Fox...she's an actress.  I can't reveal myself 
now--think of the scandal.  It might be damaging to 
her career."

"Damaging to her career or damaging to your character,
Diana?"

"Both.  You know as well as I do, how important it is 
for a woman to maintain an impeccable reputation in the 
community.  The hint that a woman had an indiscretion 
in her past...let's just say that society can be 
unforgiving."

"I see," he said.  There was something about the look 
in her eyes that gave him pause.   For a moment, he
wondered what she might know of his own past.

"I do wish someone could give Grace some guidance.   
That's quite an income for a young girl, and I'd hate
for someone to take advantage of her.  Perhaps, you
could advise her, Fox."

"Diana, you're more than equipped to advise her."

"I can't, Fox.  I couldn't risk exposing myself."

"She doesn't have to know you're her mother, then.  
I can arrange for you to meet her casually."

"It's out of the question.  Really, it's for her
good as much as mine.  I'm sure I don't have to tell
you how awkward it would be for her.  I do want to
be involved, but it has to be from a distance.  But
you could guide her in my place."

"Diana, it's out of the question.  How it would
look for a married man to concern himself with the
finances of a young actress?"  

"Oh, Fox," Diana laughed.  "Don't be so provincial."

The lights in the theater came on, and Diana took
Mulder's arm as she rose from her seat.

"You call me provincial when I talk of decorum, yet
you allow the fear of public censure keep you from
your only child," he said.

"It's entirely different for a man.  A lady is utterly
ruined by a scandal, where a gentleman merely appears
more rakish and interesting."

Mulder shook his head.  Diana's fierce drive to locate
her daughter had come close to ruining his life.  Now
the daughter was within reach, but the mother was
satisfied with the flickering image.

He didn't understand women.  In particular, he didn't
understand mothers.  

Teena had started hounding him on behalf of "dear
Cornelius."  She no longer pressed him to welcome
Spender as adviser and friend, but she had taken to
issuing orders regarding her holdings, orders that
always conflicted with his own decisions.  Before 
Spender had insinuated himself into their life,
Teena had been content to let Mulder follow his own
judgment.  

When he coaxed his mother to tell him the truth about 
Spender, she responded with indignation.  His partner 
and mentor had been equally uncooperative, but in Traut's
obstruction Mulder found the answer.  Spender's contumely 
had been the truth.  The patriarch of the Mulder dynasty 
was a cuckold, and the heir was a bastard.  It was an 
ugly secret that would only grow uglier if exposed.

"My driver will bring you down to Broad Street," Diana
offered, as he helped her into her carriage.

"I'll walk," Mulder said.  

"Fox, it's miles," she protested, but he closed the
door and waved the driver on.

He'd been an avid walker once, walking to work and
back, walking the narrow streets of the East Side. 
Spring had arrived, and he thought that he and Katie
might take advantage of the mild weather.  Perhaps on
Sunday they could show Mairead the city beyond Central
Park.  Perhaps they could introduce her to an egg
cream or some chop suey.

He was relieved that his business with Diana was
completed.  At some point his motives had become less
altruistic, and he had hoped that she would offer up
some useful intelligence about Spender.  All she'd
given him was her advice that the reeking smoker could
be a powerful ally, and that Mulder would do well to
stifle his distaste. Spender, she said, was a lonely
old man who could be won over with a show of
cordiality.  

Uncle Dewitt had endorsed a similar strategy.  While
never acknowledging the blood between them, DT had
hinted that Fox could expect more consideration from
Spender than most.  More leniency.  More mercy.

DT had yet to resume his normal activities at Mulder &
Traut.  He'd returned from the continent a week ago,
then preceded almost immediately to Washington.  They
spoke by 'phone every evening, but as always Traut was
coy and cryptic.  

Mulder hoped desperately that he'd be able to cut back
his hours at the office, when DT came back to work. 
His shoulders sagged as he reached his destination,
and he passed through the massive doors wondering how
many hours would pass before he'd be able to leave.

"Any messages?" he asked Morris Fletcher.

"Oh, the usual.  Mr. Traut calling from the capital. 
Edgar asking you to telephone at your very earliest
convenience.  I suppose even the head of the largest
bank in North America has to step lively where his
mother is concerned."  

"Ah, but he doesn't need her permission to fire 
impudent office boys."

Fletcher's smug grin fell away.
 
"Mulder!  I been waitin' for you!"  Charlie Scully
came rocketing from across the broad corridor lobby, 
the hitch in his gait in no way impairing his speed.

"Have you now?  What can I do for you?"  

"Lemme show you."

Mulder ushered Charlie into his office, as Fletcher
seethed outside.

"Pitchers!"

Mulder had given him a Brownie camera, and the boy was
an enthusiastic novice.

"Very nice, Charlie."

"How about this one?"

"It's beautiful," Mulder said, sincerely.  His
precious daughter, flanked by her two cousins.  

"Took me three tries for 'em all to smile at the same
time," Charlie said.

Mairead, who had been photographed so many times,
peered directly at the camera.  Michael, who held her
hand, seemed to be gazing at her.  Jimmy stood
on the other side, a grudging smile over his obvious
pout.

"I'd like to have this," Mulder said.

"Gosh.  I was saving it for my ma."

"It's a photo, son.  I can print enough for everyone."
 
"Oh, yeah.  So one for you, one for Ma, and one for
Missy, OK?"

"Certainly.  And don't forget yourself, Charlie.  The
proud uncle and gifted photographer."

"Thanks, Mulder.  But I better get back to work."

"I won't keep you.  And please ask Mr. Fletcher to
come in."

Charlie beamed as he left the office.  Fletcher
entered a minute later, bearing coffee.

"Fresh and hot, sir.  I made it myself."

"Thank you.  Please get Mr. Traut on telephone."

"Very good, Mr. Mulder.  But it might take a while."

Mulder acknowledged the warning with a nod, and turned
to the reports on his desk.

He wondered what prompted Traut to call in the
afternoon; it might mean only that he had plans for
the evening.  Traut 'phoned to inquire about
conditions in New York, to share his observations
about the political and even social scene in
Washington, and to gauge Mulder's opinion on assorted
matters.  When the telephone on his desk rang, Mulder
picked up the earpiece.

"Fox, my boy.  Hope I'm not infringing on your midday
socializing."  Traut sounded cheerful; Mulder guessed
he'd indulged in a cocktail or two.

"I gather that you've enjoyed a pleasant luncheon
yourself."

"You've met the President."

"Yes, socially."

"What's your opinion?"

Mulder shifted on his chair, puzzled.

"You've heard me voice it, often enough.  He's a
decent man.  Rather stubborn on the tariff issue.   An
unfortunate prejudice against certain industries--"

"How do you think he'd measure up in a war?"

"Uncle, you know my feelings about Mexico.  If we're
to interfere at all, we should be on the side of the
rebels."

Traut laughed.

"Mexico!  I'm talking about a real war."

Fox stared at the 'phone.

"You sound like Spender," he said.

"Oh, don't be alarmed.  We have to consider every
possibility."

Mulder was glad to end the call.  There were troubles
enough in the world without imagining more.

He placed his call to home without Fletcher's help. 
Edgar's voice was urgent as he pressed Mulder to hurry
home without delay.

"Is my mother in one of her states?" he asked.

"No, sir, it's Mrs. Katherine," Edgar said.  In all
his years of service to the family, Mulder had never 
heard such worry in Edgar's voice.   "She's very ill.
I've taken the liberty of calling Dr. Wieder."

"I will be right there," Mulder said, disengaging the
call without further comment.  His hands were shaking.

Katie was sick enough to frighten Edgar, and Mulder had
been wasting time with Diana Fowley.  Nausea rose in
his throat.   

He rushed past Fletcher, who looked at Mulder as if he'd
lost his mind.  The seconds seem to pass as slowly as
they did in dreams as Mulder ran to his automobile
and thanked the heavens when the starter worked on the 
first try.

Mulder drove like a madman from Broad Street to Fifth
Avenue, narrowly missing several vehicles.  As he 
arrived at the Mulder mansion, Mulder stopped the
car, barely taking the time to pull it to the curb.  
Dunham could take care of parking it.  

"Sir!" Edgar said as Mulder pushed through the door,
nearly knocking the butler off his feet.  "Thank God,
you're home."

Mulder flew through the foyer and up the staircase,
taking the steps two at a time.  Edgar huffed and
puffed after him.

"Dr. Wieder is in with Mrs. Katherine now, sir."

"Mulder, where the hell have you been?" Skinner
asked as Mulder burst into his and Katie's suite.
"Edgar called your office hours ago."

"I got the message a little while ago," Mulder
said, embarrassed at his lie, but unwilling to 
explain further at the moment.  His hand was on 
the bedroom doorknob.

"You should wait until the doctor comes out," Skinner
said.

"The hell I will," Mulder said as he opened the door.

"Ah, Mr. Mulder," Dr. Wieder said from Katie's bedside.
He'd removed his jacket, and his sleeves were rolled up
to the elbows.  "I'll be able to speak with you in a 
moment."

Katie lay in bed, her face pale and waxy with fever.  
Even from his position by the door, Mulder could hear 
the wheeze in her breathing.  Her maid, Daisy, sat 
on the side of the bed, dabbing at Katie's face and 
neck with a damp washcloth.

Mulder nodded and left, closing the door behind him.

"I knew this would happen," he said to Skinner as he
paced the room.  "I begged her to get more help at the
clinic, but she worked herself into exhaustion.  And 
now, she's sick with God knows what."

"Stop it, Mulder.  Blaming Katie for this won't do her
or you any good."

Mulder startled as the bedroom door opened, and Dr. Wieder
came into the sitting room.  He unrolled his sleeves, 
brushing the fabric down and fastening each with cufflinks 
he pulled from his pocket.

"Let's sit down," Dr. Wieder said, indicating the 
table in the sitting room.  "Might I trouble you for 
some water."

Mulder gratefully sank onto a chair, his legs threatening 
to give out on him.  Skinner filled two glasses from a 
pitcher on the sideboard and brought them to the table.  
He set one before Wieder and the other in front of Mulder 
before moving toward the door.  

"Stay," Mulder said.  In his present state of mind, 
Mulder wasn't sure he could retain all the doctor had
to say.   Skinner took a seat at the table.

"Mrs. Mulder has pneumonia," Wieder said after taking
a long drink of water.

"Dear God," Mulder gasped. 

"I won't minimize the gravity of the situation, but
Mrs. Mulder is young and healthy.  There's no reason to
assume the worst.  Things will reach a crisis over the
next day or so.  When the fever breaks, her lungs should
start to clear and she'll recover."

"What can we do?" Mulder asked, plaintively.  "There has
to be something we can do for her."

"Bed rest, plenty of fluids.  Her fever may become quite
high--we must be aggressive with that.  Skilled nursing
will be important, of course.  Daisy is doing a fine job."

"Should she be in a hospital?" Mulder asked.  Despite
the assurance that Katie's youth would help her fight
the pneumonia, Mulder was terrified.  Half the damn 
obituaries in the newspaper cited pneumonia as 
cause of death.  How could Wieder remain so calm?

"Mrs. Mulder can be well cared for in the comfort of
her own home, and she might benefit from the familiar
surroundings.  However, I am concerned about the other
members of the household.  Pneumonia is highly 
communicable.  Your mother should consider staying 
elsewhere until the danger has passed.  And, of 
course, you must send your daughter away.  Young 
children are in particular danger."  
 
With that, Wieder took his leave.  The doctor had 
no sooner gone and Mulder felt as if his knees were 
going to give out.  If Skinner hadn't taken his arm, 
Mulder was sure he'd have fallen on his ass.  

"Come on," the big man said, pushing him into a
chair.  "You're not going to do Katie much good if
you crack your skull open."

"She has to get well," Mulder said, more to himself
than to Skinner.  "She has to."

"Katie is strong, Mulder.  She's going to fight this."

"I have to see her," Mulder said, pushing himself
from the table.  He moved on shaky legs to the bedroom.

Daisy wrung out a dripping cloth over a basin of cool
water as Mulder entered the room.  The sleeves of 
Katie's nightdress had been pushed up as far as they
could go and Daisy swabbed one bare arm and then the
other.  

"S'cold, Daisy.  Stop," Katie mumbled, her eyes closed.
Her breath came in little wheezing pants.  As he came 
closer to the bed, she opened her eyes.  "Mulder?"

"I'm here, love."  He sat on the bed, taking her hand.
It felt warm and dry.

"I'm sorry, Mulder.  So, so sorry..." Katie erupted into
a volley of coughs.  

"Shhh.  It's OK.  You need to rest."

He stroked the hair from her forehead, his hand moving
gently until she closed her eyes.   Holding tight to
the covers, her hands were bunched under her chin.  It
seemed to be a massive struggle for Katie not to 
cough.  Finally, he was quite sure she slept and he
eased himself off the bed.  With one finger over his mouth
as a signal to Daisy to remain quiet, Mulder left the
room.

He needed to talk to his mother and to give Miss Muir 
instructions to get Mairead's things together.  Leaving
Skinner in the sitting room with orders to call if 
Katie needed him, Mulder found his mother in the 
conservatory.

"Oh dear, Fox!  Pneumonia?  Poor Katherine.  I suppose
it was inevitable, though.  Working at the clinic,
with people who live in such filthy conditions--it was
a matter of time before Katherine brought something
dreadful home."

"Dr. Wieder warned it was highly communicable.  For
your safety, you'll need to leave the house."

"And you too, dear."

"I'm not leaving," Mulder said, with finality.

"But it's almost summer, Fox.  We could open the Maine
estate and have a lovely rest, while Katherine
recuperates."

"It's not open to discussion.  I want you and Mairead
out of the house, and as soon as possible."

Teena seemed at last to grasp the severity of the
situation, and her voice was low and serious when she
spoke again.

"Perhaps it would be better if we stayed in town. 
I'll send a note to Mrs. Schuyler and I'm sure she'll
offer her hospitality."

He gave her a quick hug and proceeded to the nursery. 
To his surprise, Miss Muir was preparing Mairead for
an outing to the park.

"I thought I was clear that you should limit your outings
to the garden when Mr. Skinner was not available to 
accompany you," he said sternly.

"Mr. Skinner said we were to take a footman.  I'm sorry 
if that was wrong," Miss Muir explained.

"I would prefer if you stayed at home.  And please
prepare Mairead and yourself for an extended visit."

He didn't care to discuss Katie's illness in front of
the child, and he was relieved when Miss Muir met his
eyes and nodded her understanding.  The whole
household had to be aware that the younger Mrs. Mulder
was gravely ill.

"Mama come home?" Mairead asked.

"Mama is home, sweetness.  She's sleeping," Mulder 
said, a catch in his voice.

Mairead pursed her lips, confused.  Then, very
solemnly, she gave her father the ragged bit of
flannel that accompanied her almost everywhere.

"Give her blanky," she said.

"Why don't you keep blanky for Mama, darling,"
Mulder said as he handed it to Miss Muir.  He 
lifted Mairead, kissing her soft cheek.  Separation
from his child would be as painful as having
a limb removed, but keeping her safe was vital.

"You can help Miss Muir pack some of your toys.  
You're going on a visit, sweetheart.  Won't that 
be fun?"

Mairead seemed hesitant about the prospect of a 
visit but was more than happy to carry one toy 
at a time to Miss Muir.  With his daughter occupied,
Mulder left the nursery.

Skinner stood as soon as Mulder entered the sitting
room.  The big man seemed poised to leave, 
uncomfortable at Mulder's return.  A man's voice
could be heard coming from the bedroom.

"Who is that?" Mulder asked, his voice loud in his
ears.  

"Dr. Vitigliano came by." 

"Damn it," Mulder said, crossing to the bedroom
door.  

"Mulder," Skinner said, sharply.  "He cares about
Katie.  And he's her friend."

Mulder shot him a fierce look before pushing the
bedroom door open.   Daisy carried a basin out of
the bathroom, the water sloshing dangerously as she
startled at the intrusion.

Vincent Vitigliano, who could have foreseen this
disaster and prevented it, sat in a chair next to the
bed.  Katie's eyes were closed and her face was
flushed with fever.

"I didn't call you," Mulder said.

"I had to see how she was."

"And now you've seen."

Vitigliano stood.

"She's awake," he said, very quietly.

"Then we will talk outside," Mulder answered, barely
mouthing the words.

"Mulder?"  Katie's voice was a low whisper.  "I want
him to be my doctor."

He wanted to remind her that Vincent was the one who
had made her sick, but he answered gently.

"Dr. Wieder is taking care of you."

"He's excellent, Katie," Vitigliano said.

"I want Vincent."  

"I know Dr. Wieder.  I'm sure he would allow me to
participate in your wife's care," Vitigliano offered.

Dr. Wieder was the chosen physician of those who could
have any doctor they pleased.  Vitigliano took care of
people who had nowhere else to turn.

"That would be acceptable," Mulder said, grudgingly.

Vitigliano retreated, and Mulder followed him out the
door.

"I'm tolerating you for her sake," he said.

"Likewise."

"Daisy will show you out."

They would have parted on that note, Mulder full of
blame and resentment for the man who usurped his
wife's time and finally her health, except for
Vitigliano's parting comment.

"Dr. Wieder is a fine man, but I've attended hundreds
of cases of like this, and I doubt if he's seen more
than a dozen in people under sixty."

Not half an hour later Mulder received a telephone
call from Dr. Wieder.

"I've had the opportunity to consult with Dr.
Vitigliano," he began.

"I apologize if he was presumptuous.  Unfortunately my
wife holds him in high regard."

"So do I," Wieder said.

"Oh.  Good."

"Based on his recommendations, I'm dispatching an
elixir to relieve the cough and a powder that will
quell the fever and make her more comfortable."

"If you think so."

"Dr. Vitigliano also apprised me that, by his
observations, influenza is most communicable in the
prodromal phase."

Mulder stared at the telephone, as if it might be
responsible for what sounded like gibberish.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand."

"I've reconsidered my recommendation regarding your
mother and daughter.  There's little to be gained by
sending them away," Wieder said.  

Mulder felt a helpless anger.  He relied on Dr.
Wieder's expertise, and hearing the man revise his
earlier advice was extremely upsetting.

"Anything else?" he asked, icily.

"I'll see you this evening."

Mulder returned to Katie's bedside.  She had fallen
into a fitful slumber so he silently gestured for
Daisy to take a break.  He sat in the easy chair
as shadows overtook the room and afternoon crept
along.  

Katie appeared dwarfed in the big bed.  Sometimes he
forgot how very small she was.  She always seemed so
much bigger than her size.  It frightened him to
see her like this--his Katie was strong, invulnerable.

Daisy returned carrying a paper sack.  "Dr. Wieder
sent this along for Mrs. Katherine," she whispered.

"Let her sleep," he replied, his voice matching her
tone.  "As long as she's resting, the medicine can
wait."

Mulder slipped through the door, finding Skinner
waiting for him in the sitting room.

"Your mother is almost ready to leave.  Stacy...I
mean Miss Muir, has Mairead packed and ready."

Both doctors felt, now, that it was unnecessary for
his mother and Mairead to leave, but Mulder hadn't
halted their packing.  

"They won't be far," he said, to himself as much as
Skinner.

"It won't be for long," Skinner added.

Mulder shuddered, thinking of the "crisis" that Dr.
Wieder had predicted.  In a few days Katie's fever
would peak, and either she would begin to recover 
or...

"Katie's stronger than steel, Mulder.  She'll come
through," Skinner said, as if he could read the terror
in Mulder's thoughts.

A diffident knock on the door announced the presence
of Gretchen, Teena's maid, who dipped her head
respectfully before she spoke.
 
"Your mama wants you should see her before she go."

Mulder marveled at the quantity of luggage assembled
in the entrance hall.  Two large trunks and assorted
valises for Mother.  A trunk and several valises for
Mairead and her nursemaid.  Mother was nowhere in
sight, but Miss Muir sat on the antique Chinese bench 
as Mairead played among the luggage.  

"Look, Papa!"  She crawled up onto on of the valises,
stood, then jumped to the floor.

"Magnificent!" Mulder exclaimed.

"Now you do!"

"I think I would rather have a big hug.  Is there
anyone who could give me a great, big hug?"

"Me!"

He swung her up into his arms, and Mairead hugged his
neck and pressed a noisy, wet kiss against his cheek.

He wanted to hold her forever, but was determined to
keep their parting light and cheerful.  He set her
down on the marble floor.

"Look, Papa!"  

Mulder watched as she stomped away, then turned around
and stomped back.

"How wonderful," Mulder said, but Mairead narrowed her
eyes in disapproval and repeated her routine, smashing
her feet against the floor as if she would break it.

"She's marching," Miss Muir explained in a helpful
whisper.

"Mairead, you're marching!  That is the finest
marching I have ever witnessed."

"Now you do!"

Thus it was that Mulder and his daughter were marching
noisily around the hall, singing "Yankee Doodle," when
the doorbell chimed. 

"Mika come?" Mairead asked hopefully.  Missy's eldest
had grown into a swaggering five-year-old, and Mairead
idolized him.

"More likely it's Mr. Dunham, come to take you for a
ride," Mulder answered.  Also likely was that Edgar
would chide him for using the front entrance.

But it was neither.  

"Mr. Cornelius Spender," Edgar announced.

"Teapot!" Mairead exclaimed happily, running to greet
the malodorous visitor.

"Why, who is this big girl?  And where is Mairead?" 
Spender dropped to one knee and stretched out his
arms, and Mairead would surely have greeted him with a
hug and a kiss if Mulder hadn't scooped her from the
floor.

"Put out that cigarette," Mulder commanded.

"How thoughtless of me."  Spender got to his feet and
handed the cigarette to Edgar, before approaching
Mulder with his hand extended.  "I was horrified to
learn of your wife's illness, Fox.  I have every
confidence that she'll soon be on the mend."

Mulder avoided the handshake, both arms holding his
child.

"Your kind sentiments are noted," Mulder said.  "I'm
sure you understand why we aren't receiving visitors
today."

"Your mother explained everything.  I will keep
Mairead and her grandmama safe and entertained until
they can return home," Spender said.  

"You're very much mistaken about that," Mulder said.

"Cornelius, dear," Teena called, descending the
curving stairway.  "You're my knight in shining
armor."

"At your service," Spender answered as he smiled
and made a little mock bow.

"I don't understand, Mother.  You planned to stay 
with the Schuylers," Mulder said.

"But Cornelius reminded me of the disruption a baby
brings to a household.  We both thought it better 
that we take a suite at the Plaza," Teena said.

"My driver will attend to the luggage," Spender said.

"Edgar will see that he has some assistance," Teena
said, nodding at the butler.

Mulder felt rage boil in his veins, but he held it 
in check.

"Miss Muir, please take Mairead up to the nursery. 
There's been a change in plans."  The nursemaid
snatched the child as if she'd only been waiting for
his word.  Mairead's cries sailed down the stairs 
as Miss Muir carried her away.

"I'm disappointed, Fox, that you would be so selfish,"
Spender said.  

"Mother, Dr. Wieder changed his mind about the need
for you and the baby to leave.  He decided that it
served no purpose," Mulder explained urgently.

"Then he's quite as bizarre and capricious as you are
yourself!" Teena sputtered.

"You can ask him about it when he calls tonight,"
Mulder said.

"I won't be here.  Let us go, Cornelius."  She nodded
at the trunks and valises.  "Edgar?"

"Yes, madame."  Edgar bowed his head.

"Fox, I beg you to reconsider," Spender said, as Teena
took his arm and led him out the door.

Mairead was sulky and indignant when Mulder joined her
and Miss Muir in the nursery.

"Who will march with me?  Will you march, Mairead?"

Mairead shook her head stubbornly.

"Then I will march by myself."  Miss Muir fought off
the giggles as Mulder marched about the room, beating
on a toy drum, but when he broke into a falsetto
version of Yankee Doodle, she burst into laughter.

Even Mairead was won over.  

"My drum!" she insisted, so Mulder gave her the drum
and she marched behind him.

After an hour of play, Mairead was ready for her
supper.  Mulder left the nursery marveling at her
energy, and resolved to increase Miss Muir's salary.

His heart lightened when he found Katie sitting up in
bed, propped up by a mountain of pillows.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Much better," she said, but a paroxysm of coughing
overcame her.  

Mulder held out a glass of water, but she waved him
off, tears in her eyes and her face tight with pain.

"Better if I whisper," she rasped, when the bout
ended.  "Talking brings it on."

"Dr. Wieder sent you an elixir," he offered.

"Had some," she said in a hiss.  "And the powder. 
Bitter."  She made a face.

"But it's done you a world of good."

He took a few minutes to telephone his office, where
he made what arrangements he could for his indefinite
absence.  He left a message for DT at his hotel in
Washington, urging his partner to return to New York.

The last phone call was the hardest.  Mulder telephoned
Maggie Scully with the news that Katie was sick.  
After calling on half a dozen saints for protection, 
Mrs. Scully said she would run to catch the streetcar.  
Mulder said he would send Dunham to pick her up, but Mrs. 
Scully wouldn't have it.  

"Won't be any help to Katie if that speeding madman drives 
me into the side of an ice wagon.  I'll take the streetcar."

Katie seemed comforted to see her mother.  Maggie spoke
soothingly and straightened out the bedcovers.  Mulder 
looked on in awe at the sight of Mrs. Scully brushing 
Katie's hair until it looked like a halo on the pillow
beneath her head.  In his entire childhood, Mulder 
couldn't remember his mother tending to him when he was
ill.  

When Mrs. Scully went to the nursery to spend some
time with Mairead, Mulder resumed his place at 
Katie's side.
 
He read to her, he sponged the perspiration from her 
face and arms, and when Daisy brought up Cook's special
baked custard, he fed it to her, coaxing spoon after
spoon past her cracked lips.

As the evening wore on, Katie's temperature climbed.
By the time Daisy showed Dr. Wieder into the room for
his evening check, Katie's eyes were hazy and unfocused.  

"Run a cold bath," Wieder told Mulder, who shuddered at
the thought.  Maggie Scully frowned and caught Mulder's
eye as he went into the bathroom to draw the water.

"Make it warm," she whispered when he passed her.  

As he drew the bath, holding his hand under the stream 
of water to test its temperature, he heard Maggie Scully
talking to Dr. Wieder in the bedroom.   The bathtub filled,
Mulder turned off the taps and emerged from the bathroom.

"Me daughter is a lucky girl to have such a fine doctor
to look after her."

"Why thank you," Wieder said.  "I shall do my best for her."

"The bath's ready," Mulder said.  He pulled the covers from
Katie and scooped her warm, limp body in his arms.  Wieder
made a move toward the bathroom, but Mrs. Scully clucked 
her tongue and told him that she'd be able to help Mulder.

"Very well," Wieder said.  "If you don't mind, I have a few
'phone calls to make."

"Please feel free to use the 'phone in the sitting room,"
Mulder said.   "Daisy, make up the bed with fresh sheets."

Once Mulder had Katie in the bathroom, Maggie closed the
door.

"Doctors think they know everythin'," she whispered 
conspiratorially.  "But I raised four children and a 
warm bath works just as good as a cold one.  We'll add 
some cool water a little at a time so we don't shock the 
poor dear."

Mulder steadied Katie while her mother pulled the nightdress
from her body.  Her skin felt hot and dry and Mulder knew
he was the only thing keeping Katie from dropping to the
floor.  

He carried her to the tub, lowering her body into the warm
water.   Katie moaned and thrashed weakly, splashing Mulder's
shirt.

"It's all right, love," he murmured.  "We're going to cool 
you down a little."  

Mrs. Scully filled a pitcher with cool water, gradually 
adding it to the bathwater.  Katie began to tremble, the 
surface of the water moving against the sides of the tub.  

Mulder was pleased to note that Maggie Scully did, 
indeed, know something that Dr. Wieder did not.  The 
warm bath did what she said it would and Katie began 
to come around as her temperature dropped.  

They dried her off and tucked her into the clean 
bedding.  To his satisfaction, Katie dropped 
into a restful sleep.

Mulder spent the night on the chaise in her room, having 
had Edgar settle Maggie in a room for the night.

Katie slept for hours before waking in a fit of coughing 
some time after midnight, and complaining of aches so bad 
she couldn't rest.  When he felt her head, Mulder realized 
the fever had gone back up.   He gave her another dose of 
Wieder's potions, and she slept comfortably until morning.

The next day brought more of the same.  The medicines 
helped, and Mulder was mildly cautious.  Katie slept a 
great deal, but was able to swallow some of Cook's excellent 
soup when Mulder spooned it into her.  

He encouraged Maggie Scully to go back to the boarding 
house.  She had responsibilities to attend to, boarders 
that expected meals and clean sheets and he was more than 
capable of seeing to Katie's needs for the night with a 
house staff to help him.  

Maggie left in time to cook dinner for her boarders, 
promising to come back after breakfast the next morning.  
Mulder offered Dunham's assistance, but, again, Mrs. 
Scully chose to make her own way.  

When he looked back on it later, Mulder would marvel at 
his overconfidence.  Skinner always said Mulder's life 
had been too easy, that only people who'd fought their 
way up understood that catastrophe was always lurking 
out of sight. 

But that night Katie's fever began to rise and nothing,
not Dr. Wieder's powder, not cool baths, could bring it 
down.  The crisis was on them, and Mulder was shocked by
its ferocity.

She burned with fever, shivered with such violence that 
Mulder could barely hold her in his arms.  Her teeth
chattered until he thought for sure they would break.  
Mulder could hear the rattle in Katie's chest as she 
struggled to breathe.  Little, half-hearted attempts at 
coughs were all her weakened body could manage.

"So cold," Katie whispered.  "I'm so cold, Mathew."

"Then we'll have to get you warm," he said, drawing the
comforter around her.  It was hard for Katie to breathe
when she lay flat, so Mulder had climbed behind her, 
holding her against his chest.  The heat from her body 
burned through her nightdress and his shirt, reminding 
him of times he sat too near a fire.

"Any word from Dr. Wieder?" he asked Daisy.  Skinner had 
been trying to reach Dr. Wieder for an hour.  Daisy shook 
her head.  "Ask Mr. Skinner to come in here."

In a moment, Skinner opened the door.  "How is she?" 

"Where is Dr. Wieder?" Mulder asked, unable to contain his
impatience. 

"He's performing emergency surgery at the hospital," 
Skinner answered.  "He sent word that we should call Dr.
Vitigliano."

"No," Mulder said, his arms tightening around Katie.  
After a moment he looked up at Skinner.  "Yes.  All 
right.  Call Vitigliano.  And...you'd better call Mrs. 
Scully, too."

Skinner left to make his telephone calls.  Daisy went 
down to the laundry room to fetch clean sheets leaving 
Mulder and Katie alone.

With every breath she took, Mulder felt the rattle in 
Katie's chest as it vibrated against his own.  Her 
head rested on his shoulder. 

"Mathew...oh Mathew...I'm so sorry," she whispered.  

"Why are you sorry, love?  You've done nothing to be 
sorry for."

"I...lost...faith."  She drew a raspy breath, a cough 
punctuating the end.  "I didn't believe...you would 
come back.  Forgive...forgive me."

"Shhh.  Don't try to talk," he said, tears in his eyes 
as he remembered when he'd thought he had lost her forever.  
He'd been a fool.  The panic-stricken boy of years ago 
couldn't possibly comprehend real loss.  

Vitigliano arrived within minutes of Skinner's call.  A 
stack of linens in her arms, Daisy led the doctor into 
the room.  

Dr. Vitigliano opened his satchel and removed his stethoscope.  
A frown creased his face as he listened to Katie's chest.

"You're doing the right thing by keeping her upright.  She 
has fluid in her lungs."   Vincent produced a thermometer 
and proceeded to shake the mercury down.  "Katie, I need 
you to open your mouth for me."

"She's so weak," Mulder said.  "We haven't been able to get
the fever down."

After a few minutes, Vincent removed the thermometer and 
held it up.  "One hundred and four," he said.  "We have 
to get that down."

"We gave her some of the powder an hour ago, but it hasn't 
worked."

"We'll have to try something else.  If her fever breaks, 
she'll have more strength to cough and clear some of the 
infection from her lungs. Daisy," Vitigliano said.  
"Bring a basin of cool water and some towels."

They propped Katie up with pillows, pulling the covers off 
the bed.  They swathed her in towels that had been rung out 
in cold water, soaking her nightgown.  She shivered and 
moaned, the towels becoming warm far too soon after resting 
on her skin.  

The room was quiet, the only sounds the rasp of Katie's 
breathing and the drip of water as Daisy wrung out the
wet towels.  The knock at the door seemed unnaturally loud.

Maggie Scully stood in the doorway, clutching a 
handkerchief in her hand.  "My poor lamb," she said as 
she crossed the room to Katie's side.   "Katie, darlin', 
it's Mama.  Please, love, open your eyes."

Katie blinked, her eyes sunken.  "Too bright. 
Hurts," she whispered.

Mulder turned the lamp down, casting shadows around the 
room.

"I asked Father McCue to come," Maggie said.   

"Why?" Mulder asked, his voice rising in panic.  "Why 
would you do that?"

She looked at her daughter and then back at him.  "I won't
let her immortal soul be in danger, Fox.  Now, calm down."

If he lived to be a hundred, Mulder would never understand
mothers.  They needed to fight for Katie's life, not accept
her death.  His Katie would leave him only if she was torn
from his broken, bloody fingers.  He paced the room, running
a shaking hand through his hair.  His eyes never left 
Katie's pale face.
 
Father McCue came dressed in priestly garb, carrying a 
small black case adorned with a gold cross.  He glanced 
at Mulder, smiling sadly in recognition.

"Ah, Mr. Mulder, the young man who listened to my sermon 
three times one Sunday.  God bless you, my son."

Mulder wanted to take McCue by that damn collar and 
frogmarch him out the door, but Katie was looking at 
the priest with silent expectation.  

McCue opened the case he'd carried in, removing the 
tools of his trade and setting them out on the small 
table by the bed.  "Might I trouble you for a chair?" 
he asked Daisy, who immediately complied, carrying over 
the small, carved chair from Katie's vanity table. 

"Katherine, would you like to confess your sins?" he asked
leaning close to the bed.  "No one will hear but me."

"What sins could she have?" Mulder cried.  "What has 
she ever done but take care of others?"

"Quiet, Fox," Maggie Scully said.  "No one is without
blame except for our Lord, Jesus Christ."

McCue bent over the bed, his ear inches from Katie's dry, 
cracked, lips.   She was unable to do more than mumble a 
few words.  The priest nodded, laying a gentle hand on 
her forehead.

"I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, 
and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  And now, we will
pray as our Lord instructed us...Our Father, who art in 
Heaven..."

Maggie Scully spoke the words along with the priest,
as did Daisy and Dr. Vitigliano.  Katie's lips moved,
though no sound escaped.  Mulder could do nothing but
stand, his hands frozen into fists at his side.

"And forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those
who trespass against us...."

When he had finished, McCue opened a tiny silver case
and removed a paper-like wafer.  Katie's eyes never
left the priest.  She opened her mouth, managing only
a tiny fragment of the host.  McCue intoned more 
prayers, and then after anointing Katie's forehead
with Holy Oil, began to pack up the items like a 
workman who'd finished his day's work.

Mulder had long considered himself a coward, but the
terror he was feeling now dwarfed every fear he had
known before.  Katie was dying, and her mother and her
priest were content to let it happen.

"What are you doing?" he demanded of Father McCue.

"There is nothing more for me to do here, my son.  
The Lord has opened His arms to Katherine and He 
will gather her to Him."

"The hell he will," Mulder shouted.  "You're a priest!  
I let you in my house, now save her!"

He was aware of Maggie's disapproval and Vitigliano's
pity, aware too that his anger was irrational.

"Fox, there's no call for that kind of talk.  You're
upset, and I understand that better than anyone, but
you have to stop this," Maggie said. 

"You've given up on her!" Mulder shouted.  "You can
pray until you turn blue, but that's what it amounts
to."

"My son, we haven't given up on Katherine and neither
has God.  But you have to understand that we're only
on this mortal plain for the blink of an eye.  Our
real life begins at Our Father's side in Heaven."

Eyes stony, Mulder stalked off, forcing himself 
to keep his hands at his side, lest he punch the old
man in the face.  He was vaguely aware that Daisy was
showing Father McCue out of the room, Maggie Scully
following behind him.

"You're acting like a spoiled child," Vincent said.  
"Katie needs her husband to be strong.  Now, go to her."

Vitigliano gathered the basin and wet towels and went 
into the bathroom.  Grudgingly, Mulder felt gratitude
at the doctor's restraint. 

"Mathew. . ."

With Katie's weak whisper, Mulder's anger receded,
leaving only fear and sorrow.

"I'm here, love," he said.  The chair was not close
enough; he sat on the bed and gathered her in his
arms.

"Don't leave me."  She forced the words out, one 
by one.

"Don't you leave me either."

Katie coughed weakly, making barely a sound.  He
pulled her closer, adjusting her to a more upright
position.  She patted his knee, then his arm, 
then his chest.

"Mathew. . . so thin."

"I love you," he answered.

Her head pressed against his ribs as she turned it
right, then left.

"What a grand room," she sighed.  

He kissed her, first briefly on the lips, then her
forehead.

"Are we. . . ."  Again she broke into her feeble
cough, shaking with the effort.  "In Venice?"

"We're married," he told her.  "Forever."  

Vitigliano began to pat a damp towel against Katie's
arm, but Mulder took it from him.  Mulder heard
footsteps and then the door open and close
as Vincent left the room.

"Feels nice," Katie said.

Beads of sweat stood out on her face and shoulders,
and Mulder wiped them away.

"Venice. . . so hot."

"Yes, love.  Hot and humid."

"We're married?  Truly?"

"Truly, truly."  He swabbed her arms.  She didn't
resist the cool cloth, but rested languidly against
his chest.  If she slipped away now, he would know
that the end had come peacefully.  He could tell 
that to his daughter, one day, that her mother had 
left this world gently.

"Married.  And Shayna called you a shnorer."  She
laughed, but a fit of coughing overwhelmed her.
"Hurts," she gasped.

"Here, love.  Medicine."  He stretched to take the
bottle and a spoon from the nightstand.

Still coughing, she managed to swallow a dose, and
then some water.  At last the coughing stopped and 
she sank back against his chest, exhausted.

"Don't cry," she whispered, stroking his wet cheek. 
"Just a cough."

"Don't leave me." 

"Never.  Just need to rest."
 
She dropped into sleep, and Mulder gave up fighting
his tears.  Katie slumbered against him, her breath
thick in her throat.  He stroked her damp locks and
toweled the perspiration from her brow and neck,
indifferent to his own wet face.   

A heavy calm descended on Mulder.  The agony of 
losing his wife would be infinitely greater than 
the agony of death.  And he would die, one day.  
Why couldn't it be now?   

But he had a child to raise.  He would have to 
wait to join Katie.  

Katie stirred, her head pressing painfully against
his rib.  She snored, and not softly.  Mulder 
cherished the pain and the sound.  He knew he 
mustn't sleep, that he had to savor what was left 
to him for as long as he could.

He awoke with a start, terrified that he'd fallen
asleep.  But Katie was stirring.  Thank God.

"Ugh," she said.

It was the most beautiful sound he'd ever heard.

"Like an oven," she said, pushing against the
blankets with surprising strength.

He touched her forehead, soaked again with
perspiration.  

"Here, love."  He patted the wet cloth against her
face, then her neck.

"I'm so hot."

Mulder settled her against the pillows as he got out
of bed.  He removed the blankets, then eased the
saturated nightgown over her head.

"How's this?" he asked as he pressed the cool towel
against her chest.

"Good.  Mulder, you're crying."

He wanted to answer with something jaunty, but the
words were out before he could stop them.

"I was so afraid."

"Poor Mulder."

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"I feel. . . terrible," she answered.  "Too tired to
move.  My chest hurts.  So hot--I can't stand it."

He smiled.  Relief flooded through him as he realized
Katie had survived the crisis.

The next days passed very happily for Mulder.  Katie
was utterly miserable, complaining of pain, heat,
thirst, fatigue and finally boredom.  

"Mulder, I want to see her," Katie said as she reclined
on the sofa in the sitting room.  After a week in bed, 
she'd begged for a change of scenery, and this was the 
best Mulder could offer.  

"She'll tire you, love," he said.  

"No she won't.  I haven't seen my baby in so long.
Please, Mulder?  I promise not to do anything more 
than lie here and watch her play."

Mulder looked at her as she smiled encouragingly
from the couch.  She was still pale, still prone to
coughing jags as her body rid itself of the last of
the infection in her lungs.  

"Very well," he said, with a laugh.  "But only for
a little while.  One yawn from you and it's back to
the nursery with her."

He missed Mairead, too, if the truth be told.  His
visits with her had been all too short over the last
week and Mairead was often asleep when he stopped in
the nursery in the evening.

Miss Muir reported that the baby missed them as well. 
She turned down her favorite breakfast because Mama
wasn't there to watch her eat it.

In the nursery, he found Miss Muir mending one of
Mairead's petticoats.  She put one finger to her
lips as he entered the room, nodding at the crib
where his daughter slumbered.

"Would you bring Mairead to the sitting room when
she wakes?" he whispered.

"Mrs. Katherine is feeling well?" Miss Muir's 
pleasure was not hidden by her soft tone.  At 
his nod, she smiled.  "Mairead should be awake
soon.  I'll bring her right in."

Miss Muir and Mairead arrived within the hour,
much to Katie's joy.  Mairead's face was flushed 
pink from her nap, her blanky clutched in her
fist.  Sleep seemed to still have a hold on the 
child, as she rubbed her eyes.

"Mama all better?" she asked as she crossed to the
couch.  She patted Katie's arm, leaning against
the sofa.  "Mama play?"  

"Mama still needs to rest, sweetness," Mulder
said, crouching down by the child.  "You know,
I think we have a basket of toys by the fireplace."

Mairead brightened at that, running to dig into
the basket.  She brought a small doll over to show
Katie and then a book.  "Mama read to May? Please?"

Katie opened the book, settling Mairead next to 
her on the sofa.  

"The Tale of Peter Rabbit," Katie began.  "Once
upon a time, there were four little rabbits, and
their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail and..."

"Peter!" Mairead shouted.  

Katie continued with the story, to Mairead's 
delight.  Mulder enjoyed watching his two loves
together, but he became alarmed when Katie
seemed to struggle for breath.  Still, he held
back until she was consumed by a coughing fit.

"Darling," Mulder said, "We have to let Mama
rest her voice.  Papa can finish Peter Rabbit for
you."

"No, no, no! Mama!  Only Mama read,"  Mairead's
lower lip was trembling and tears glistened in
her eyes.  

"It's fine, Mulder," Katie said.  

"You're getting tired," he said, scooping Mairead
up.  She wriggled in his arms, fussing and crying,
her little hands pushing against Mulder's chest.  
He rubbed her back, murmuring to her as he tried to
calm her.  She stopped struggling finally, laying
her head on his shoulder.  

Mulder's hand ceased its movement on Mairead's
back and he frowned.  He touched the baby's soft,
pink cheek, panic rising in his gut.

"Mulder?" 

"Oh my God," he said, softly.  "She's burning up."

To be continued...

Forgive Us Our Trespasses - Mr. and Mrs. Fox Mulder's 
story - Part 25

"Hush little baby, don't say a word.  Mama's gonna
buy you a mockingbird," Katie sang, her voice hoarse
from overuse.  "And if that mockingbird don't sing,
Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring."

Mairead fussed in Katie's arms, unsoothed by the 
movement of the rocking chair.  The child's skin was 
hot through the muslin of her nightdress and she
pulled at her hair with restless hands.  Vincent had
prescribed a fever reducer, but Mairead's temperature
remained high.

Katie hummed the rest of the song, her throat too 
tender to keep singing.  Tightening her arms around
her child, Katie's eyes filled with tears.  So many
nights she had come home late from the clinic and 
lifted a sleeping Mairead from her crib.  How
selfish she had been, thinking only of her need and
not Mairead's safety.  

Guilt coursed through her, like blood through her
veins.  This was all her fault.  She brought this
thing home with her from the clinic, a gift from
the impoverished carried into the luxurious home
of the wealthy.  

Mulder stood by the window, watching them and looking 
more thin and tired than Katie ever remembered.  
His eyes burned with something that Katie couldn't
fathom, much as he had those nights she'd crept into
the nursery and picked up her sleeping child.  

In the days since Mairead fell sick, Katie and Miss 
Muir had managed to rest for short periods of time.
Katie was out of her own sickbed for only a few 
days and tired easily.  But Mulder wouldn't allow
himself to leave the nursery.  If he napped at all,
it was in a chair by Mairead's crib.  

Katie knew he was frightened, perhaps even more
terrified than he'd been during her own illness.  
Mairead was so small and helpless and her condition
seemed to worsen with each hour.

As the days wore on, Vincent Vitigliano came to the
house many times.  He brought medicines but nothing 
seemed to help.  Vincent's frustration was palpable, 
but it paled in comparison to Mulder's.

Fox Mulder had grown up in a world where he every 
material wish was granted.  It always surprised Katie
that Mulder didn't seem to care about the things his
wealth provided.  The intangible had been much harder
to acquire for him--the love of his mother, the 
approval of his father.  It was the insubstantial that
Mulder ached for and now the thing he wanted most
desperately--his child's vitality--was slipping away 
from him.

Each day, Mairead's cough became more uncontrollable,
her breathing more labored.  The crackling sound in
her chest terrified Katie.   As Mulder held a 
blue-lipped Mairead, his eyes wide with fear, Katie 
had telephoned Vincent in panic.

Though it felt like ages, it was only a short while
before Vincent arrived in the nursery, along with 
several boxes.  Miss Muir hurried to help him unpack
the equipment he'd brought.

As Mairead lay in her arms, Katie held her own
breath as she watched her child struggle to draw air
into her lungs.  Mairead cried, a frightening whistle
the only sound.  No tears rolled down her cheeks as
if the fever burned them off before they had a chance
to pour forth.  

Arms stretched over his head, Vincent fought
to assemble the portable oxygen tent he'd gotten from
the hospital.   He hung the framework over Mairead's 
crib while Miss Muir stood by, handing him items as
he asked for them.  

"Do something for her, damn it," Mulder cried, his 
eyes wide in terror.  As frightened as Katie was, 
Mulder seemed even more panicked.  

"That's what I'm trying to do," Vincent said from 
between gritted teeth.  He draped the canopy over 
the metal framework, attached the tubing to the 
oxygen canister and turned it on.  "All right, 
let's get her in."

Katie lowered Mairead into her crib, propping her with 
pillows.  The child looked confused when the canopy was
lowered over her, but was too weak to do more than 
look at her mother through the transparent window.   

The four adults hovered around the crib, listening to 
the little grunts the baby made as she inhaled.  Katie
gripped the railing as if it was the only thing keeping
her upright, her knuckles bleached white.  Finally, she
relaxed when Mairead's breathing seemed to ease,
and the child fell into an exhausted sleep.  

"You should rest, Katie," Vincent said at her elbow. 
"We don't want you to relapse."

"I'm fine," she answered.  Mairead's color improved,
her lips a little less blue as the oxygen did its job.

She was aware of Vincent's concern for her health.  
She hadn't been out of bed for more than a few hours 
when Mulder had discovered the baby's fever.  Katie 
had been adamant that she would be at her child's side. 

Katie had seen how quickly sick children declined and 
how quickly the lucky ones recovered, but the speed with 
which the pneumonia had progressed shocked her.  For all 
his panic, she wasn't sure that Mulder understood how 
dangerous the illness was in someone as young as their
daughter.

"I'll stay with her.  You two can get a bite to eat,
at least," Vincent said.

"That was our mistake all along," Mulder said, his
voice so low and mumbled that Katie could barely
understand the words.

"Pardon me?" Vincent asked.

"Putting our needs above hers."

Katie knew he was right.  She couldn't meet his eyes. 

"Perhaps you could ask the staff to bring them
something," Vincent asked Miss Muir.

"Yes, sir," she answered, and Katie realized she was
crying.  

Edgar's quiet arrival followed immediately on Miss
Muir's exit.  He looked to the crib, then to each of
the adults, but he addressed Mulder.

"Mr. Cornelius Spender asks to see Miss Mairead," the
butler said quietly.

"No," Mulder answered.

"He instructs me to say that he implores you, for the
love of God," Edgar reported.

"You may tell him that you have done so."

"Very good, sir."

Teena Mulder had come back home when Mairead became ill,
but Katie wasn't sure it had been her mother-in-law's
choice.  Cornelius Spender hovered downstairs, barely
restrained by Edgar and Skinner from climbing the stairs.
Katie had no energy to reassure Teena, who dithered over 
the possible danger of holding her ailing grandchild.  
Katie was relieved when Teena stopped coming to the nursery.  

Katie would have welcoming her own mother's help, but
Maggie Scully was sick herself.  Katie prayed that 
Maggie's enormous strength would allow her to get well.

Miss Muir returned bearing a silver tray, which she
set on the nursery table.

"Cook sent this as well.  A parcel of herbs to restore
her strength," she said. holding up a small cheesecloth 
bouquet garni.

"It couldn't hurt," Vincent said.  

Miss Muir reached to hang it from the crib finial
but in an instant Mulder was upon her.

"Get it out of here!" he commanded. 

"She was only trying to help,"  Miss Muir offered
timidly.  "She loves Mairead.  We all do."  She held
the sack ahead of her as she hurried to the door.  

"That stupid old woman hasn't been right once yet,"
Mulder said, a catch in his voice.  He turned to
Katie.  "She served foods to give you an easy labor."

This time she met his eyes.  She had wondered if he
understood the gravity of Mairead's condition, but now
she knew.  She went to him, or he to her, and they
embraced.  She pressed her face against his chest and
he held her close.  She tightened her face against the
tears.

"Our baby," Mulder whispered.

"I--I did this to her," Katie said.

"I let you do it," he answered.

She clung to him until she felt him stiffen and pull
away.

"Go get some sleep," he said.  "She's resting now and
you should too."

"Will you eat, then?" she asked.

"Yes. love.  I'll eat if you'll sleep."

Mairead looked small and distant, through the oxygen
tent, but also relaxed.  Only the outline of her
ribcage, rising sharply with each breath, gave
testament to her struggle.

"We need our strength," Katie reminded him, but her
heart ached as she left the room.

She couldn't remember when she'd bathed last, so she
set the taps running before calling Daisy, her maid.

"You must wake me in an hour," she instructed her.

"But you've barely slept in days, m'am," Daisy
protested.

"I won't be able to sleep at all if you don't 
promise me."

"Yes, m'am.  And Mrs. Katherine, Mr. Spender says 
he begs a moment of your time."

Katie was about to respond with an emphatic refusal,
then decided on a different course.

"Very well."

Cornelius Skinner did not belong in this house.  If 
he didn't have the decency to remove himself, she 
would have him removed.

She found him in the drawing room, with both
footmen standing by the door like sentries.  

"I'm in your debt," Spender said, rising to his feet
when she entered.

"My husband has made his wishes plain.  You may not
see our baby," she said.

"There's something that you don't know."

"Nothing that will change our decision," she said.

"Please, won't you sit?"

"I'm asking you to leave, Mr. Spender."

"Katie--Mrs. Mulder," he corrected himself.  "You must
wonder at my devotion to Mairead, at my continued
interest in your family."

"Is there a problem, Mrs. Mulder?" 

Skinner's gruff tone as he entered the room was
definitely welcome.

"Mr. Spender will be leaving now," Katie said.  Each
minute she spent with him was a minute away from her
baby.  Only the desire to spare Mulder and herself
from his continued petitions held her to her task.

"Look at me!" Spender urged her, and despite herself,
she did.  "I haven't slept in days.  I haven't had a
cigarette since I entered your home."

"Because I took them," Skinner said.

"Look at my face!  Don't you see who I am?  He has my
hair, my forehead."

Katie heard his desperation but felt only
indifference.

"My footmen will see you out," she said.

"Don't do this to me!  Don't keep me from my
granddaughter!"

Katie took a step back as Spender moved forward, and
in that instant Skinner was between them.

"Excuse us, Mrs. Mulder, while we carry out your
instructions," Skinner said.

"Best if you go now, m'am," said the senior footman,
who was moving into place beside Skinner.  

The footman had Spender by the elbow, but the old man
shook his arm out of the grip.  "Very well," Spender
said, straightening his spine.  "I'll leave.  But I
implore you, Mrs. Mulder.  Intercede for me with your
husband for all our sakes."
 
"Goodbye," she said, as she turned and left the
room.  She could feel every muscle, every bone in
her body as she climbed the stairs and went to 
her suite.

Katie bathed and donned fresh clothing.

"I'll wake you in an hour, m'am, as you instructed,"
Daisy said as she helped with the buttons.

"No need.  The bath revived me," Katie said.  She
ignored her maid's mute protest and returned to the
nursery.

Vincent's face was grim. 

"Katie--"

"My God!"  

She ran to the crib, where Mulder leaned over the
rail, holding their baby's hand under the canopy of
the oxygen tent.  Mairead's little rib cage rose and
fell as before, but perhaps more slowly.

"Mama and Papa love you so much," Mulder said, his 
mouth close to the canopy and his voice low.  "Can
you open your eyes for me, sweetness?"
 
"I tried to rouse her so she could take some water,"
Vincent said.

"No," Katie whispered.  "Please God, no."  Her legs
felt shaky as she lowered herself into the chair 
Vincent pushed under her.  "Mairead?  Sweetie, can
you hear Mama?  Can you hear me?  I love you, 
darling."

The house was quiet as they sat by Mairead's crib.
Katie was vaguely aware of Miss Muir and Vincent 
moving in the room, but her eyes never left her 
baby's face and her hand never stopped stroking
the soft skin of Mairead's arm.

Mairead's chest still moved, but the interval was
longer between exhalations.  Tears streamed down
Katie's face and she swiped at them with one hand.
Mulder was sobbing quietly, his face turned away.
Katie's mouth opened in a soundless keen as she 
realized her child was gone.

Under her hand, Mairead felt cooler, but Katie took
no comfort in that.   With an impatient hand, she
pushed the oxygen tent aside and lifted Mairead's
limp body out of the crib.  

Mulder lifted his head and turned to her, sorrow 
written on his face.  Her poor Mulder.  He seemed 
to have aged ten years in the space of a few weeks.  
Their eyes met, an unspoken question in his gaze.
She nodded slowly and he enfolded them both in his
arms.  She felt him tremble as sobs racked his body.

"My baby.  My baby."  Katie said it again and again,
as if a chant could stifle her pain.  Mulder's agony
was wordless, almost inhuman.  Then suddenly he
stopped and broke away.

"This can't be right," he said to Vincent.

"I'm so sorry," Vincent said.

"But you can save her."  The hope in his voice scalded
Katie.

"She's at peace," Vincent said, straining not to cry.

"But . . ."  The word faded on his lips.

"There's nothing I can do," Vincent said quietly.

Mulder's head fell forward and his shoulders dropped. 
Katie feared he would collapse, and Vincent must have
thought so as well, for he reached to catch him.

Mulder shook him off.

"Kate," he said.  

"Mulder."  She wanted to feel his arms again.  

"Things.  Things to be done," he said woodenly.

"No.  Please, Mulder, no."

Let this moment last.  Let this moment full of pain go
on and on, because the pain was all that remained of
their daughter.

He came and embraced her again, kissing Mairead's face
and arms and head.  And then he released her and
walked to the door.

"Things," he said.

Kissing the top of Katie's head, Vincent took Mairead 
from her arms.  Miss Muir, her face wet with tears, 
guided Katie from the nursery and to her suite of 
rooms.

"That poor, poor little one," Cook cried as Daisy 
admitted her to the sitting room.  "She was the 
most happiest baby I ever saw."  The woman's shoulders
shook as she covered her face and sobbed.  Not knowing 
how an aristocrat would handle such a thing, Katie drew
Cook down to the sofa and sat with her arm around the
old woman.  

They all came to weep before Katie.  Each housemaid,
every footman and groom.  She bore it alone, her 
penance for the sin of bringing death into the 
house.  Mulder couldn't bring himself to face them,
retreating to the library.  

Miss Muir was ghostly pale and trembling when she
came to the sitting room to see Katie.  

"I...I'm so sorry," she said, her voice shaking
with emotion.  "I want you to know how much I loved
your little girl."

"Mr. Mulder and I do know that.  No one could have
taken better care of her than you did."

"I would have given my life for her," Miss Muir said 
before dissolving in tears.  Katie put an arm around 
her shoulders.   

"I know."  Katie had no trouble believing Stacy Muir.
 
Skinner went to the boarding house to tell Maggie
Scully that her only granddaughter had died.   
Katie was more grateful to him for that than she 
could ever tell him.  

After he left, she wandered from room to room, 
unable to rest.  Katie went into the library where 
she found Mulder on the telephone, a glass of whiskey 
in his hand.  

"Yes...yes...that will be fine.  Thank you, Father
Manning."

He hung up the phone and looked up at Katie.  "I told
him the funeral would be limited to the family."

"You called Father Manning at Trinity Church," Katie 
said.  

"Naturally.  That's where she was baptized."  

Maggie Scully had been devastated when Mairead had
been christened at Trinity instead of St. Brigid's.  
Katie had gone along then, wanting to make peace with
her new family and believing that God would accept
and love Mairead no matter which church her baptism  
took place in.  

"I thought perhaps we could call Father McCue." 

"You may call him if you wish, but the funeral will
be the day after tomorrow at Trinity Church.  I'm 
going out," Mulder said, putting down his glass.

"Mulder, please," she said, laying a hand on his arm.  

"I...I need some air, Kate, that's all.  I won't
be long."

He squeezed her hand, but pulled out of her grip and
was gone. 

When Skinner returned from his sad errand, he had 
someone with him.  

"Katie, oh my God, Katie," Missy said, enveloping her
sister in a fierce embrace.

"Is Ma okay?" Katie asked.  Missy had been nursing 
Maggie through her illness.  Katie wasn't sure she 
could handle another tragedy.

"Ma's fine.  Weak as a kitten, but she wanted me to 
come," Missy said.  "Said she didn't want you to 
be alone."

Those words untied the knot of Katie's emotions and
she fell into her sister's arms and cried.  Her own
tears flowing, Missy held her sister, rocking slightly 
and murmuring low until Katie fell asleep.

When Katie woke, the bedroom was quiet and dark,  
the streetlights outside the only illumination. 
Mulder stood in the doorway, shaking with exhaustion,
his eyes haunted and his clothes wet.

"Have you eaten?" Katie asked, rising from the bed.

"I'm not hungry," he replied.  As Katie crossed the 
room, she could tell that Mulder had been crying.

"You're chilled through," she said, laying a hand 
along his jaw.  His skin was clammy.  "Come on, I'll
run you a hot bath."

"I'm sorry I woke you.  Go back to bed," he said,
sounding raw and numb.

He should go to bed himself, she knew.  He should
change to dry clothing.  

"You're going to the library," she said, feeling all
too certain.  He would sit in the large leather chair
and stare into the unlit fireplace, drinking whiskey 
until sunrise, or until sleep overtook him.

He turned his face away, then turned his back and left
the room.   

She returned to bed.  Mairead was gone, whether Mulder
was warm in bed or drunk in the library.  It was as
if Mulder was on the other side of an ever widening
fissure and her arms ached too much to reach across.

Exhaustion and grief formed a dull patina that
protected her as she moved through the next day.  
She could exchange platitudes with her mother-in-law,
discuss arrangements with Father Manning or give 
directions to the servants.  Her lips could form 
the needed words, without ever speaking the only 
ones that mattered.

Mairead is dead.

Katie felt like a ghost among the living as she sat in
the church that wasn't her church and tried to focus
on the service.   Mulder was at her side, another
ghost.   She was surprised when he took her hand,
surprised it was possible that two ghosts could touch.

She heard sobs from the farthest pews, and knew it was
Cook.  Only on Katie's express orders was the
household staff permitted to attend.  Mairead was dead
whether the servants were here or at home, but these
people had been part of her life, much more so than
Samantha or even Teena.

Samantha and her husband sat in the front pew.  Katie 
knew there had been some discussion about where to place 
them, but she'd been entirely indifferent.  

Maggie Scully did not attend, still weak from her
illness.  Missy was there with her oldest son, who sat
stiff and somber.   At the mansion that morning, Michael 
had been unable to control his tears, and Mulder, who 
could barely  force himself to talk to his wife, had 
gotten on his knees to console him.

"She loved you very much," he had told the sobbing
boy.

In the row behind them, Cornelius Spender sat with
Teena Mulder.  Mulder had glared and said something 
to Spender that Katie hadn't heard when the other 
man had tried to follow Teena into the first row.  
When Spender had deferred and moved back to the 
second pew, Teena had followed.  

Spender's eyes were red-rimmed and grief had lined 
his face even more deeply than usual, but Katie 
could not find the energy to care.  Mairead was
dead.  It was the only thing that mattered.

Father Manning performed the rites and rituals of
death and spoke the words of comfort but Katie 
couldn't take her eyes off the tiny white marble 
coffin and the bouquet of pink roses atop it.

Mairead would have liked the casket.  Katie could
picture her clambering on top, could almost hear her
piping voice:  "Mama, look!"

Mulder squeezed Katie's hand and passed her his
handkerchief.  It was soaked.

At length the service ended, drawing them one step
closer to the last farewell.  Mulder took her arm and
guided her from the pew.  She felt weightless and
helpless, and  it reminded her of their time at
Twin Pine Lodge, when Mulder's strong arms kept her
afloat in the icy lake.  Mulder had kept her safe. 
Mairead was safe too, then, safe inside where nothing
could hurt her.  

They passed through the gauntlet of mourners who waited
at the front of the church, and Katie was grateful
Mulder had insisted on a private service.  People
murmured their condolences, and Katie found the
strength to thank them.   

Skinner took Katie's hand, the eyes behind his spectacles
full of sadness.  "Please don't hesitate to call on me,
Katie, for anything at all."

"Thank you, Walter.  Your kindness is deeply appreciated."

Stacy Muir whispered a few words, her face a white mask.
Mairead spent more time with this young woman than she
did with her mother.  Miss Muir had seen more toothless
smiles, heard more babbles, received more sticky hugs.
Katie felt a sharp stab of jealousy as she offered her
hand.

Shayna Berkowitz had no words to offer, just shook her 
head in sorrow.  Her son Izzy stood beside her, his 
shabby suitcoat tight across his chest.

"Miss Scully, I'm sorry your baby's dead," he said. 
 
"Thank you, Izzy," Katie said.

"At least she didn't burn," he finished.

"Izzy!  Katie, darling, I'm sorry.  He's never been in
a church before," Shayna apologized.

Strangely, Katie took some comfort in Izzy's words,
but she couldn't tell him because she was crying
again.  

"Thank you, Izzy.  She went peacefully," Mulder said. 
He gathered Katie to his side, stiff and straight as
he conducted her down the steps and into their
carriage.  Then, when the doors closed, she felt him
slump against the padded seat back.

Katie wanted to scream when the hearse pulled into
place ahead of them, but she held it in.  Mulder was
very quiet, his face almost slack.

The ride to the cemetery was too quick, and Katie
wasn't prepared for it to end.  Mulder helped her out
of the carriage.  

The Mulder mausoleum was squat and gray, an ugly house
for the dead.  Her poor baby was going to be laid in
that cold, cold house with only the other Mulders
to watch over and comfort her.  If that horrible old
man was to be believed, Mairead was no kin to the 
inhabitants.

It was only Missy's strong hand around her arm and
Mulder's around her waist that kept her upright through
the interment.  Katie wasn't sure how Mulder remained
on his feet.  His face was a mask of pain, his grip 
tight enough to leave bruises.   

If the journey to the cemetery was too short, the 
trip home seemed to take forever.  She wanted to jump 
from the carriage and run back to the mausoleum
where her baby lay.  Instead, she looked through the
back window of the carriage as the cemetery became
ever more distant.  

The gathering at the house was hushed and serious.  
It was an odd collection of mourners.  Only a few of
the wealthy were in attendance, shoulder to elbow with
residents of Clinton Street.  

The servants had changed clothes as soon as they'd
arrived back at the house and were now circulating
with hot coffee and dainty sandwiches.  Edgar 
personally brought a tray to Katie.

"Please try and take a little coffee, Mrs. Katherine," 
he said, his voice cracking.  "I made it with 
extra milk and sugar for you."

"Thank you, Edgar," Katie answered, ignoring the 
sandwiches he brought, but gratefully taking the 
coffee.  Shayna tried to get her to eat, but Katie 
was only able to choke down a few bites.

Dewitt Traut was there, subdued and rather awkward, 
as if all his social experience could not have prepared 
him for such a tragedy.   He spoke quietly with Teena.
Her mother-in-law seemed lost without Spender, who 
had wisely chosen not to risk antagonizing Mulder.

The Schroeders attended, though Katie had lost touch
with Camilla over the last year.   Cammie embraced
Katie with genuine emotion, whispering that she 
hoped God would bring Katie peace.  

Edgar admitted a somber Father McCue to the drawing 
room.  The priest crossed the room, taking Katie's 
hands in his.  She hadn't expected him since they 
hadn't baptized Mairead in the church.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Katie," he said.  "I 
know little Mairead is cradled in Our Lord's own 
arms today."

"Thank you for coming, Father," Katie answered.  
His words were well-meaning, but the only arms Katie
wanted to cradle Mairead were her own.  

People stayed only as long as decency demanded, and
Katie was sorry to see them go.  Not because she was
comforted by their words or their presence, but
because the end of the gathering carried her further
still from her daughter's life.

"I have to go, honey.  Michael is worn out," Missy
explained unnecessarily.  

"He was a very good boy," Katie said.  "Thank you for
coming, Michael."

He nodded in reply, wiping his sleeve across his face.

"I'll have Dunham take you home.  And no argument,"
Katie told her sister.

Dewitt Traut found her next.

"I can't express how sorry I am," he said.

"Thank you."

"Fox insists he'll be back at work tomorrow.  Try to
convince him he needs more time."

"You're very kind," she said.

Almost everyone was gone.  Katie saw Mulder alone,
staring out the window, and she crossed the room
toward him.  She watched as Samantha approached him, 
laying her hand on his arm.   Samantha said something
inaudible, but Katie heard Mulder's reply distinctly.

"Be glad that you don't have children," he said
bitterly.

With one simple declaration, he repudiated Mairead's
existence.

"Mulder!"  Katie gasped, forgetting to use his given
name.

"Katie,"  Samantha turned to her.  "I haven't had the
chance yet to tell you how very sorry we are about
poor Mairead."

Katie thanked her briefly, her eyes drilling through
Mulder's back.

"How could you say that?" she asked him.

Mulder turned from the window, facing her at last.

"How could you ask me that?"  He held a glass of
whiskey, which she should have expected.  

"Our daughter, our precious child. . ."

"But look what we did to her."

"Fox, you mustn't think that way," Samantha said.  
"You were loving and devoted parents."
 
"I will never forgive myself for carrying this disease
to her, but I cannot wish that she hadn't been born,"
Katie said.

"Katie, you mustn't blame yourself," Samantha said.

"You survived," Mulder said.  

Katie covered her mouth, holding in the shocked
cry that threatened to escape.  

"Fox, please," Samantha exclaimed.  "You mustn't 
say such things." 

"You don't understand, Samantha.  We think we're
privileged, but in fact we're weak.  If Mairead 
didn't have our frailty, she wouldn't have died."  

"I wish it had been me.  Don't you know that, Mulder?"
Katie asked.

"Kate, no."  He reached for her, noticing the drink
in his hand.  With one swallow, he downed the whiskey
and put down the glass.

"You have to stop blaming yourselves," Samantha said,
gently.  "You had no control over what happened to
Mairead."

"I should have been like Father," he said.  "I should
have insisted that Katie stay home from that cursed
clinic.  Father wouldn't have been so weak."

"I killed her," Katie said, her voice sounding
as if it belonged to someone else. 

"Stop it," Samantha said.  "You're both exhausted.  
Have either of you eaten?  Let Edgar bring you some
food, please."
  
"Yes, you should eat, Kate.  I...I'm not hungry.  If
you'll excuse me."  Mulder nodded to his sister and 
rushed out as if he could not bear one more minute in
the room.

"He isn't thinking clearly," Samantha told her, taking
her hand.  "He loves you very much."

"I know," Katie said.  In her heart, she knew Mulder
would always love her, but she feared that love would
always be tainted by grief.  "I think I'd like to 
rest for a while."

"Yes, certainly.  Sean and I should be going."

Leaning heavily on the banister, Katie climbed the
stairs.  She was weary beyond words, but knew she 
would never be able to rest until she spoke with Mulder.
She knocked lightly on the library door.  When no 
response came, she held her breath and pushed the door 
open.

Mulder sat at the desk, his head in his hands.  Clutched
in one of those hands was a familiar little scrap of
fabric.

"Oh my God," Katie gasped.  She'd searched the house for
Blanky the day Mairead had died.  Now she understood why
the blanket couldn't be found.  

"Kate," Mulder said, raising his head.  His gaze dropped
to the sad remnant in his hand.   

"I looked everywhere for that.  She couldn't sleep without 
it.  Oh Mulder, how could you?"

"It's all I have," he said, his fingers reflexively 
squeezing the blanket.  "There's nothing left."

He turned away, his shoulders slumped.

"Mulder..." she said, her hand reaching for him and then
dropping down to her side.  "Don't do this.  Don't close 
yourself off.  You need..."

"I need to be left alone," he shouted.  "I need
my child back."

"I'm sorry," she said.   That was the one thing neither 
of them could ever have.

"Kate, please, just leave me alone.  I...I can't bear 
to look at you."

Stunned, Katie backed toward the door.  Her fingers 
scrabbled at the knob and she finally managed to 
escape the room.  Her head was swimming, the echo
of Mulder's words ringing in her ears.  

Katie felt weightless, insubstantial, as she moved
through the house.  The servants were busy tidying
the drawing room, the occasional sniffle punctuating
their silent work.  

Teena had retired to her rooms.  Samantha and Sean
Pendrell had left for their hotel. 

Katie climbed the stairs, hesitating as she 
passed the nursery.  They'd closed it off
and Miss Muir had moved her things to another 
bedroom.  As Katie passed by, she saw Miss Muir
closing a brown leather suitcase.

"Where will you go?" Katie asked from the doorway.

"Walter...Mr. Skinner helped me find a room."

"Good.  That's good," Katie said.  "Thank you, 
Stacy...you took good care of Mairead."

"She was easy to love," Miss Muir replied.

"Yes.  Yes, she was.  Mr. Mulder will write
you a letter of recommendation.  I'll leave
him a note."  

Stacy Muir looked puzzled at that but Katie was 
gone before she could ask any questions.

"Mrs. Katherine," Daisy said as Katie entered
the bedroom.  "Shall I run a bath?"

"No, thank you, Daisy," Katie replied.  "Would you
get my valise?"

"Your valise, Ma'am?"

"Yes, please."

Daisy shot her a worried look but obeyed, opening
the bag and laying it on the bed.  

"You may go, Daisy," Katie said.  "I won't be needing
you for the rest of the day."

Once the maid had left, Katie went into the closet.
Her fingers roamed briefly over the bright silk 
dresses, settling for a moment on the gown she'd
worn so long ago to Mrs. Schuyler's birthday ball.
She pushed it aside and pulled four of her plainest
dark dresses out of the closet and laid them in the
valise.   

She packed quickly, taking only the essentials.  Her
prayer book went into the bag, followed by two small 
framed photographs, one of Mairead and one of her
and Mulder on their wedding day.   

She crossed to the jewelry box on her dresser.  Mulder
had been generous since their marriage and the box
was filled with diamond necklaces, ruby and emerald
bracelets and more rings than Katie had fingers.  
She left them all except for the sapphire necklace 
Mulder had given her that first Christmas together 
and her grandmother's cameo.  

Snapping the valise closed, Katie lifted if from the
bed.  She had a bit of money put away, a pittance
by Mulder standards, but enough for Katie's needs.
She put the money in her handbag and left the room.

"Mrs. Katherine, where are you going?" Edgar asked 
when she instructed him to have Dunham bring the car 
around.  

"Goodbye, Edgar," Katie said, offering no explanation.
She walked out into the bright afternoon sunlight and
stepped into the car.  "Take me to the train station,
please."

The truth was, she had no idea where she was going.

To be continued....