26. Chapter 26
Chapter twenty-six
Kate
Cece clings to her father, pleased as punch that she’d put one (or several) over on the college students who had kidnapped her. First, she’d whined and pouted for drinks, then she threatened to pee on the girl holding her until the young woman had let go of her and set her down. The youngsters had argued about it, but finally decided to put ashore so they could all attend calls of nature.
While they were taking turns watching her, Cece had fooled around with the oars to their boat and lost one to the river current (oops). When they’d put ashore, she’d used the knife she filched from the boy’s tool belt to stab a hole in the lifeboat before taking off up across a steep cliff face.
“I climbed it just like the climbing wall on my pirate house, Miss Kate,” she explains. “I know that scared you, but I practiced with Daddy in his big gym in our old house. And it was much bigger and taller!”
Cece gives an extra little bounce on her daddy’s lap. Charles gives a muffled cry of pain and turns white as a sheet .
“Daddy?” Cece turns to her father, sliding off his lap.
“Sorry, Punkin, Daddy doesn’t feel so good,” he grits out between clenched teeth.
“Charles! Your hip?” I kneel down at his side, gently easing Cece away from her father.
“Yes,” he nods. His face is white, with two high spots of color on his cheeks.
“Old war wound?” Gregory asks.
“Yes,” I affirm. “He has an artificial hip, and it has been giving him trouble for several months. But he has a deathly fear of hospitals. His wife,” I swallow, knowing the information about myself I was giving up here, “passed away in the spring. She was hospitalized for Covid.”
“Mommy went to heaven,” Cece confirms. “The big heaven where it is too far to come back.”
“That’s tough,” Gregory says. Then he speaks into a microphone attached to his lapel. “Call off the teams, the girl is found. But we got a wounded warrior here, needs the special trauma unit.”
He listens a moment, and into the silence, Charles says, “Kate…you and James have custody. Manuela knows where the papers are. Tell her, thanks for everything.”
“Charles Emory,” I snap, fear making my tone sharper than I intended. “You are going to live through this. You have a bum hip, not a fatal disease.” Then I soften my voice. “Gregory knows all the right people. He’ll get you there, and Cece and I won’t be far behind. James might be a little longer, since he’s under observation for concussion.”
I know that Charles knows that. But it doesn’t hurt to remind him that he isn’t the only ‘wounded warrior.’
“Sorry,” he says. “It’s just it hurts like hell, Katie. Don’t tell Cece.”
“I’m right here, and I’m sorry, Daddy,” Cece says, her lower lip trembling .
“Not your fault, Punkin,” Charles says, pulling himself together for his daughter’s sake. “Just a dirty old mine someone forgot and left in the road.”
“We got you covered, sir,” Gregory says. “I’ll witness your intent to leave your daughter with Kate. Just hang in there; we’re going to airlift you to KC. There’s a guy there who is the best with artificial hips.”
After that, there is a flurry of activity, and Charles is bundled into a mummy bag and loaded onto the helicopter that had landed at the hospital.
James is wheeled back to the hospital for observation, and Grace doesn’t want to leave him. So Larry winds up being our driver for the long road trip home. Our car is surrounded by guys from Gregory’s reserve unit, their jeeps easy to spot in spite of the growing dusk.
I ride shotgun while Cece sleeps in the back, worn out from all her adventures.
“Who are you, really?” I ask Larry.
“FBI. We knew that Mr. Emory had been getting death threats, and kidnapping threats, but we didn’t know why. I was working as a custodian, hoping we could get some idea of what was going on. It was a stroke of luck, or so we thought, that he liked my military record and hired me as part of his security.”
“You suspected him of something?” I ask indignantly.
Larry shrugs, looking sheepish. “His wife had some odd connections. You know, Doctors without Borders...”
“That’s not odd!” I protests. “That’s humanitarian!”
“I could tell you stories,” Larry says. “But in her case, you are right. She was a bleeding-heart, liberal humanitarian who lived her creed. The world lost a good person when she passed.”
I sigh, glancing back towards Cece. “I’m glad. I wouldn’t want to have to be the one to tell her daughter she was anything else. But why was Cece kidnapped?”
Now it is Larry’s turn to sigh. “Bunch of idiot kids playing politics. We picked up the four that took Cece off the boat. We had to rappel down and get them, after we rescued Cece. She’d managed to disable their boat, so they had a choice of climbing or swimming. Seems they were too heavy to climb, and none of them knew how to swim. Don’t know how that little girl managed it, but she’s going to be a formidable woman someday.”
I feel a flush of pleasure at his praise of my star pupil. “What about the kids? Did they talk?”
“Oh, yeah. Didn’t even take much persuasion to get everything out of them. They were holed up in this old motel off campus near Point Lookout. Had some weed, bunch of pamphlets of all sorts, and some peyote. No meth, thank the powers that be. There’s more to it, I’m sure, but these four are out on bail, released into parental custody.”
“You suspect something more?” I ask.
“Yeah, and a good chance that their adult puppet master will contact them…then we can get to the real bottom of this mess.”
“I hope they don’t get hurt,” I say sleepily. “They could have been a lot harder on Cece.” Then a thought strikes me. “On bail? But what about the guy that was knifed?”
“That’s an odd bit,” Larry admits. “The kids say they didn’t know anything about it. Questioned separately, their stories match. We think there was someone else involved.”
“Puppet master?” I ask.
“Or another puppet they didn’t know about. You might as well get some rest, Miss Bailey. It’s a long drive to Kansas City.”
I didn’t think I could sleep, but I guess I did. The bright city lights wake me as we pull onto the busy streets. It is snowing again.
We don’t go to the main hospital. Instead, we go to a long, low building that looks more like a residence.
A staff nurse in floral scrubs meets us at the door and escorts us down a quiet hallway.
Charles is sitting up in bed, a cup in his hand.
“Daddy!” Cece exclaims, running across the room toward her father.
“Whoa up there, Princess,” the nurse exclaims, catching her shoulder. “Your daddy had emergency surgery just a few hours ago. Let’s not go jostling anything loose.”
“I’m sorry,” Cece says, slowing down.
“Go wash your hands, then you can hold his hand, and give it a gentle hug,” the nurse says, releasing her.
Cece dutifully washes her hands, then walks to her father’s bed. I wash up and follow her.
“I’m going to leave you,” the nurse says. “But remember: no hugging, no face-to-face kisses, and wash your hands before you leave. We’ve kept this facility clear of Covid, and we don’t need to introduce it. Most of the guys here have been through enough without that.”
I nod. We sit and talk for a while. Then James comes in.
I can’t believe my eyes. “I thought they were holding you for observation?”
“They tried. Didn’t really want to let either of us go, but Gregory persuaded them that he could keep an eye on us. So we checked ourselves out and followed you.”
“Manuela booked us all a suite of rooms in the airport Hilton. Two suites, actually, so we can have Gregory and his team with us.”
“I’m glad,” I say. “It’s better to have us all together.”
“Take Cece with you and go to the hotel,” Charles says.
“Are you sure?” Grace asks. “I mean after last time . . . ”
“That certainly was not your fault,” Charles states firmly. “I’d like some time to talk with Kate — grown-up talk.” He looks significantly at Cece. “Besides, it is way past somebody’s bedtime.”
“I’m awake!” Cece says. Then yawns and giggles. “Maybe not,” she admits.
“I’ll send some of my people with them,” Gregory says. “If we put enough layers around your big girl,” he smiles at Cece when he said this, “surely she will be safe. Or maybe the rest of the world will be safe from her.”
Cece giggles at that, then grabs Grace’s hand. “Come on,” she says. “The sooner we do what we’re supposed to do, the sooner Daddy and Miss Kate will be ready to come with us.”
The adults all laugh, then hasten after our very own little Red Chief.
When they are all out the door, I give Charles my full attention. He looks tired, but the hectic red flush on his cheeks is gone.
“How are you, Charles?” I ask.
He smiles at me. “I’m going to live. Although the doctors here tell me that my daughter did me a favor. A sliver of metal from the landmine that got my truck had embedded itself in bone and apparently got missed by the first surgery team.”
“They missed it?” I’m horrified.
He makes a gesture to negate my feelings. “I don’t blame them. There were twenty of us in that truck, and some of the guys were worse off than I was. They did a pretty good job of patching me up, and the doctors at the naval base got me walking again. This was a sneaky little thing that eventually worked its way out to lodge between bone and the titanium hip replacement. Then it got infected.”
“Oh, Charles! It was a near thing, then?”
He nods. “It was. But here’s what I need to talk to you about. It will heal, and I can give you a fun time, but probably not any children. Somehow, the doctors think the fever cooked my little guys into a sterile soup.”
I laugh. I’m so relieved. I thought it was something serious.
“Kate!” he exclaims. “It isn’t a laughing matter!”
I put my head down on the arm of my chair and explode with mirth. “Katie! You’re hysterical. I’ll call the nurse. Please stop, tell me what’s so funny.”
I lift my head. My face is wet with tears, I had laughed so hard. “Charles, you know how I’ve been feeling tired all the time?”
He nods.
“I’m pregnant. I’ve never been with anyone else, so it has to be yours. So you don’t have to worry about your virility. And even if you are or will be, did you think I would care about that?”
“You’re pregnant?” Charles exclaims. “Oh, Katie, sweetheart, are you sure?”
I nod. “About two months along, if my notes on my calendar are right. We’ve just been so busy, I didn’t pay close attention.”
He sighs happily and leans back on the bed. “You’ve found one new way to make me happy. No, two, because you aren’t worried about having more.”
“I’m not the least worried,” I assures him. “Cece’s enough of a handful all on her own. If this precious bean I’m carrying turns out to be anything like Big Sister, they will keep us hopping. If the pair of them aren’t enough, and we can’t start more, we’ll adopt.”
Charles lets out a weary chuckle. “In that case . . . this isn’t how I was going to do this. I talked to your brother, and even made a trip out to discuss it with your parents. Your dad couldn’t stop shaking my hand and saying how glad he was that his Katie had found a war hero. I don’t see myself as that much of a hero, but if it makes him happy, I’m for it.”
I stare at him, trying to figure out what he was saying to me.
He notices my confusion, squeezes my hand, and goes on. “I had it all planned for Christmas morning, I wanted to put it in your stocking. But with as uncertain as things have been, I don’t want to wait. My clothes are over there,” he gestures toward the far wall, “in a cabinet. Will you please go check my jacket pocket?”
“All right,” I say, feeling more than a little confused.
I go to the cabinet, pull out his neatly folded jacket, and search through the pockets. A small package is in one of them. I bring it over to him.
“Oh, good,” he says. “I was afraid they might have put it somewhere for safe keeping or that it might have fallen out.”
He turns his face toward me and holds onto my hand. “Katherine Ann Bailey, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
I gasp in surprise. “Charles, you don’t have to . . .”
“I know that,” he says, exasperated. “I could pay child support and view this kid from afar, but I think that’s a bad deal for all of us. I’d rather formalize our arrangements and have this little spitfire where I can keep an eye on him or her as the case may be. Come on, Katie,” he coaxes, “I’ve been trying to get up the nerve to ask you since the first time we went glamping. I thought maybe I might get it across to you with music, but I guess I need to learn more about how to use my words. Please, please, just say yes. It’s the easiest way, and it will make me happy.”
“Yes,” I say. “It will make me happy, too.” Mindful of the nurse’s instructions, I cuddle his hand to my face, then kiss his fingers, and cry happy tears. Cece is safe. Charles is safe and will get well. And we are getting married! My world is as perfect as it could ever be.
“Katie! Don’t cry,” Charles says, in alarm.
“I love you, Charles,” I tell him. “I’ve been trying to get up the nerve to say it ever since the night of the tornado.”
“I love you, dainty Kate,” he says, pulling my hand to him and kissing each finger in turn.
“For all cates are dainties?” I ask roguishly, smiling through my tears.
“Delicious, nibble-able dainties,” Charles says. “As soon as I am well enough, I plan to show you just how delicious. I want to offer you my kingdom, such as it is. And I promise I have absolutely no desire to ‘tame’ you or change a single thing. You are perfect to me.”
“And you are perfect to me,” I say softly.
“How soon can we get married?” Charles asks. “I want to make absolutely certain there is no question about the security of you or your little bean. You are mine, and I want to make it official as quickly as I possibly can.”
“Maybe there’s a chaplain here somewhere?” I suggest.
“Sure to be,” Charles says. “We can get married tonight.”
Of course, it didn’t happen quite that fast. First, we had to wait for the chaplain to be on duty in the morning. Then we had to get a license. Even with James running back and forth with papers to sign, closed offices and bureaucracy delayed everything until after Charles was released from the hospital. Then, someone – and I suspect the matronly nurse who ruled her ward with an iron hand – put a medical hold on our wedding! I had no idea that was even a thing, but she somehow managed to do it.
On Valentine’s day, when Charles is finally cleared for moderate exercise and mostly normal activity, we are wed in the living room of our new bio-ark. The chaplain is overjoyed to officiate at a wedding, and he does not allow official roadblocks to keep him from the pleasure of officiating. He got a special dispensation and helicopter transportation. He is accompanied by the stern head nurse, properly masked, and gloved, but her eyes shining with happiness for us. Grace and Gregory are witnesses. James and Cece represent our families. But cameras are ranged around the walls and a huge monitor screen is hung on one wall. Big as it is, the screen is crowded with tiny squares of the many people who are attending via Internet – Mom, Dad, Manuela, and her family, all the Weber clan, as well as employees, partners, and business associates from around the world. All the living members of the unit that had served under Charles are also there—perhaps explaining the odd hold on the wedding, because it had taken a while to track them all down.
Cece and Grace are my only attendants. But of all the people in the world, except perhaps my mother, they are the very ones I wanted.
Grace carefully adjusts the faux fur on the neckline of my white, wool gown. The scoop neckline is my concession to fashion. It is far too cold to wear silk or cotton. Even my veil is a soft, woolen scarf that I am tempted to wrap around my neck. The sun is shining outside, but the weather is crisply cold. The ark is reasonably warm, but it is new and the earthworks had not fully absorbed heat from the big fireplace.
When Grace is satisfied with the way my dress drapes, Cece walks out of the bedroom where we are putting final touches on my appearance and scatters rose petals on the living room earth-friendly carpet. I know that Charles has been seated while waiting for me, but by the time we step out, he is standing, leaning on a cane, by the podium that serves as an improvised altar. My face is wet with tears, even though I am smiling so wide that both my cheeks hurt.
Our ceremony is simple. The chaplain keeps his address to us brief, ending with, “I know that both of you will always do your best, and that your best is very fine indeed.” Then we say those beautiful words, “. . . to love, and to honor, till death do you part.” With his “I do”, Charles slips the wedding band onto my finger, where the beautiful engagement ring with all our birthstones and a decorated space for the newborn baby already is in place. “Love you forever,” he says and doesn’t wait for the chaplain’s permission to engulf my mouth in a passionate kiss.
“Ladies, and Gentlemen, and all others,” he intones, “let me introduce Mr. and Mrs. Charles Emory. May they live long and happily, and never know the end of true love.”
Thunderous applause bursts from the speakers around the room. We toast each other, and around the world, family, friends, co-workers, employees, partners and business associates raise glasses of a special wine vintage that had been shipped out from Emory Wineries the week Charles left the hospital. The cake is wheeled out. We cut it and dutifully fed each other bites, while the video guests unpack cupcakes and join us in celebration. We serve slices to the few people who are physically present and accept best wishes from the many other attendees.
After about twenty minutes of this, Charles whispers in my ear, “I’m beginning to tremble. I don’t hurt, but I do need to sit down.”
I knew that the fever had taken a lot out of him. I signal the nurse who gladly triggers the sound cue for the recessional, and we pace the short distance across the room into our bedroom. Charles locks the door behind us. Cece is remanded to Grace’s care for the night, and neither of us want to take a chance on my brother deciding to burst in.
The bed is magnificent. It isn’t a waterbed – that would have presented both heating and logistical problems with Charles’ hip. But it is a gorgeous four-poster, complete with canopy and drapes. There are two steps up to make getting onto the best inner spring mattress money could buy, topped with the best memory foam comfort, easier. The sheets are soft cotton flannel – perfect for the season, and the comforter is snowy wool from a local farm and stuffed with the best goose down – also from a local supplier. The pillows are a combination of foam, fiberfill and goose down. “We are surrounded by the love and craftsmanship of our people,” Charles says reverently. “It almost seems profane to climb into such a work of art.”
“That’s what they made it for,” I say, steering him toward this magnificent work of art. “We would be showing an extreme lack of appreciation not to use it.” I help him up the steps and steady him as he carefully lays down.
“Oh, this is heaven,” he says. “All I need now is my special angel to make it complete.”
“You might be a little overdressed,” I say, beginning to unlace his shoes. First one shoe, then the other. I pause to admire his long, athletic feet. Someone had done an expert pedicure, cutting the nails correctly and attending the callouses. I begin to gently massage them, and he groans.
“Kate, are you trying to torture me?”
“No,” I say softly, “I’m trying to make it last. Wedding sex is special. We have a license for it.”
He begins to laugh. “That reminds me of a dream I had not long after I first met you. In the dream, you said to me, ‘I don’t know how to sign this. We can’t do this if the paperwork isn’t signed,’ or something like that.”
“How rude of me,” I say, taking the hint and beginning to work on his belt and trouser fastenings. He is ready for me, but I want to see all of him. He so often makes much of me, I want this to be about him. I take my time unbuttoning his shirt and easing him out of it and his jacket.
“Kate,” he protests as I make a show of hanging them up, “ You’re killing me. If you keep this up, I’m either going to wilt or explode.”
“I want to see you,” I say. “All, every bit of you.”
“I’m pretty much like any other guy,” he protests. “And I’m getting cold.”
But he isn’t like any other guy. He is Charles. He is long, lean, and yet muscular. There is still some scarring from the surgery, but that doesn’t detract from his gorgeous masculinity. If anything, it’s enhanced, like scars on the warrior he was. His hands and feet are long and slender, like Michelangelo’s David. But there is one marked difference. The statue is, um, a little short. Whereas Charles’ equipment is long and slim, like his fingers. Yep, that’s right…a definite correlation there. And there is another difference. David looks dreamy and distant. Charles is looking at me hungrily, and his equipment is eagerly erect as I slowly unbutton my wedding gown and slip out of it to reveal the sexiest underwear I was able to find.
“Oh, Kate,” Charles says huskily. “You are absolutely gorgeous!”
“Are you sure?” I ask, suddenly a little shy. My pregnancy is just starting to show.
“Yes!” he insists. “Come here! I could look at you all day, but you are wearing three scraps of fabric. You and the baby are going to freeze to death!”
I giggle at that. “It is a little chilly in here,” I say.
“Let me warm you up.” Charles holds out his arms to me.
I go to him. There is an awkward moment when we are wrestling the comforter and top sheet out from under him. Then we snuggle under the covers, spooning together, his shaft between my legs from behind.
“I love your ass,” he says. “It just fits my hand. And I love your breasts. Are they getting bigger?”
“Yes,” I say. “I think so, anyway. ”
He tickles my nipples, sending a wave of molten heat right to my core. I moan, not trying to be quiet. With these thick, strawbale walls, I don’t have to worry about sound.
Charles is lying on his good side, and he begins to move, rubbing against my thighs, tickling my labia. The movement teases and tantalizes, hinting at possibilities, teasing me. He eases the hand beneath me down, cups my mons venus in his hand, and begins rubbing, then slips his fingers inside me. It is the most incredible sensation – trapped between his penis behind, and his hand before.
I wriggle, changing my position slightly, giving him access to my vagina and gently guiding him in.
He rocks gently inside of me, using his hand to help make sure we didn’t slip apart. With his other hand, he tenderly caresses my breasts. He kisses the back of my neck, finding the sensitive nerves there. It is pure bliss. I am warmed by him, pleasured by him, and wrapped in the scent and feel of him. I ride on a wave of sensation that rises higher and higher, finally cresting and leaving me wallowing in a trough of bliss.
But Charles isn’t done. He eases out of me, turns me to face him. He rests the knee of his injured leg on my thigh and slips inside me again. He begins the same slow, blissful rhythm, and soon I am riding on that wave again. It is like pumping up a swing. Done correctly, it is almost effortless – or so it seems. With each stroke, the pleasure grows more intense, more deep, until my world explodes in a sensation of light. Charles follows suit, and we lay tangled together, basking in the last aftershocks. “I love you,” Charles says.
“And I love you,” I reply, drowsily. It has been a long day, and I am in my favorite place in all the world – cuddled up next to Charles. “Best wedding ever,” I murmur.
Charles pulls me in a little closer. “Yes,” is all he says.
* * *
Spring comes. Cece’s pirate playset is installed in a fenced backyard with a net over it so Mr. Fluffy can have outside time. Ours becomes a cheerfully busy neighborhood, and our love grows, as does my pregnant belly.
There is every indication that Grace and James are likely to have the next wedding. They visit often, frequently taking Cece and Gidget for walks around the central green. Flowers begin to bloom. Charles steadily gains strength, and I cannot think how I might be happier.
Larry visits one day and tells us confidentially that while they had picked up all the teens involved, they still have not found the adults who masterminded the plot. Until they do, we will be extra cautious. Our neighborhood of bio-arks become a gated community.
To me, it doesn’t matter. I have the people I love about me. Soon, there will be one more. Someday, Charles and I will renew our vows and have another big, beautiful wedding, this time with all the people we love physically present. Although, I think our wedding had been amazing, with people from everywhere around the world attending, and I certainly have no complaints about what happened after.
The greenhouse part of our new home is my favorite place. Charles and I sit there in the evenings and take turns reading to Cece. Sometimes, we set up the television and watch her favorite movies. Sometimes, we just sit and hold hands, watching whatever weather there was through the skylights.
“It’s not the penthouse,” Charles says one evening.
“No,” I say. “That was a very special place, but this is our home. What will happen to the penthouse now?”
“I’m renovating it,” he says. “The building beneath it has already been restored. We might want to visit the city now and then. We can stay there instead of renting rooms, and it is still a good place for business meetings.”
I think of the garden and the golden mesh dome. “I think I’d like to go there, sometimes. But not during tornado season.”
Charles laughs. “No, I think we would do better to be here when the whirly winds get going.”
“You make beautiful places,” I say.
“You mean your brother makes beautiful places. I just sign the checks,” Charles says. “But it is beautiful here, both inside and out.”
“Yes,” I agree, starting to stand up. “Whooo…speaking of inside and out…I think someone is getting ready to come out and join us.”
“Now? Right now?” Charles stands up in alarm.
“Plenty of time, I think,” I say. “Although I’ve been feeling strange all day. I think there is time for the midwife and the emergency wagon to get here.”
At three o’clock the following morning, Abigail Emory is born at home with the assistance of a licensed nurse-midwife, with a state-of-the-art emergency medical ambulance waiting outside. Neither Charles nor I wanted to risk any of our family in a hospital environment. At eight o’clock in the morning, Cece is allowed to hold her baby sister, while Charles and I supervise.
James and Grace take pictures. We have them framed and hung in the front hallway. It is, as the old commercials put it, a Kodak moment. But just a moment, for we had many more joyous ones after that – which is as close to happily ever after as anyone can get.