I enjoyed this one a lot. It's difficult to write small children, but I think you captured Iain's perspective well. In particular, the sense that he is operating on a different timescale than the adults — a few weeks feels like forever and he's very much present in the now, whenever that is. Everything feels big and dramatic — the subterfuge to get him on the boat, his worry over fairies, the not wanting to go and then not wanting to leave. I can just imagine a modern-day Iain driving Shirley and Mara up a wall when he refuses to go to preschool and then refuses to come home at the end of the day.

This chapter also had a lovely atmosphere. There are quite a few locations for a short chapter — the boat, the house, the outdoors around the house — but the first and last felt breezy and open, while the house was nicely cozy. I enjoyed Iain's musings on fairies and wonder what he will tell his cousins and playmates about all that. He has a keenly developed sense of drama. I find myself wondering in what circumstances you, oh not-so-benevolent author, might allow him to return.

Well, poor Kitty. All she wants to do is to edit her gossip column in peace (or, to be more precise, not so much hers as the paper's), but no chance of that with a brother like Teddy around. I did, by the way, see what you did there with that same gossip column and you got a laugh out of me, if nothing else. Talk about art imitating life, right? I do hope the scandalous couple, in art as in life, got to live a long, happy life despite the judgement of very many, very self-righteous people.

I do adore how committed Kitty is to always wrangling the best stories from various police people in her vicinity and I adore even more that she generally succeeds. I mean, they all know they shouldn't keep giving her exclusives and what Teddy is doing here (giving her a quote from the suspect *and* the victim's family) is probably against five different codes of ethics, but they're just no match for her investigatory skills. Once Kitty is on the scent of a good story, she won't be thrown off nor will she shy away from hardships like a Christmas party to get it and that, surely, is the mark of a dedicated reporter.

I also enjoy that despite her reluctance to attend social functions such as this, Kitty doesn't not care. She could throw on any old thing and turn 'not caring' into a statement, but this shinding is thrown by people she cares about and she was invited by Teddy, so she's making an effort. Of course, even making an effort can't make her see the logical reason behind the existence of fancy gloves, lace or purple handkerchiefs - this is still Kitty, after all - but I like that she's doing the shopping trip anyway so that Helen can have fun.

Also having fun with this, it seems, are Mara and Mhairie. It's still a generally bewildering business for Kitty, but she's clearly in competent hands with those two. Mara is her usual unruffeable self (yes, that's a word - at least it is at 6:30 in the morning on approximately 4 hours of sleep), but I especially enjoy that we get to see more of Mhairie's personality in this story. In the letters story she was mostly a vague presence as Mara's sister, but here, we're getting to know her much better and that's nice. It also looks like she and Kitty might become proper friends yet, at least if Mara has any say in the matter. Come to think of it, I don't know what they're know in this tangled family set up... would it be okay to call them cousins or something?

Alas, I'm five paragraphs in now and haven't written a word about Constable Odious. (By the way, I see what you did there to assure clueless little me that there are actually more than three police officers working in Kingsport!) Constable Odious is, of course, a slimy, disgusting little low life, so we probably shouldn't waste too many column inches on him. I will say he deserved to be decked by Teddy and while I have no doubt that Kitty would have stood up for herself as well (she sadly seems to have quite a bit of experience with impudent reporters in the newsroom), it was Teddy who dragged her there, so it's just as well he does the honour. Kitty, in true fashion, is already too busy composing the story in her head anyway, which really brings us full circle. There's not a good story she won't sniff out!

There's certainly no doubt that Mandy loves dancing as much as you do - or that you love it as much as she does. We already know you excel at the description of nature and the same talent shines through when you write about dancing here. The talent and the feeling, I should say. I'm decidedly not a dancer, but even I lived through those dances right with Mandy. And I do know all about pinching new shoes, so at least in that respect, I can totally relate!

I also enjoyed how this chapter gave us a new aspect to Mandy's personality. At first glance, it would feel more natural to peg Miri as the one enjoying the social fun of a dance and the dancing in itself, with Mandy being more the kind of girl to thrive in the solitariness of nature. However, there are more dimensions to a person and I like that Mandy's "new" dimension is a little unexpected. I've honestly not warmed overly much to Miri (perhaps because the first thing I really knew about her was that disastrous marriage decision), but Mandy is a lovely and caring girl for sure.

Jerry also manages to be mostly lovely here and I say this as someone who (as you know) does not know what to do with any Jerry in any universe. He's certainly a caring father to Mandy and I like that he takes her seriously and doesn't try to belittle her concerns. He doesn't talk to her like an adult, which would also not be right, but he doesn't talk down at her, which I appreciate. Having them dance that waltz at the end was quite the lovely picture, too.

The way Mandy worries about Jerry and anticipates what might be triggering from him is expected, because it's something often observed in children of parents suffering from mental health issues. It is worrying, too, because however often it happens and however much it's an expression of love, it's never truly healthy for the child. I have, however, already gone on the record as finding it concerning how Nan and Jerry both subjugate their children's needs to what Jerry needs, so while I definitely see it here once more, I shall not harp on about it again. I guess that's just a hill I shall have to die on ;).

I read something recently about how many children act as caregivers to their parents. Here Mandy does for it Jerry unquestioningly because that's just her reality. He can't listen to the music for instance, she doesn't explain it, it just is. I'm assuming it's PTSD in his case, somewhat like Josh in The West Wing. And then there's his back, even when she wants to kick him, she won't because it might hurt him. What you tell us without really saying is how even the men who returned left part of themselves over there.

You show us your love of dancing here, it's pure Alinya on the page. No one else could do it such justice because you bring such movement to it all. I love the bit about the joy of rubbing your sore feet between dances, it really grounds the whole scene.

Mandy's upset rings so true. When you're so angry you cut off your nose to spite your face and wind up angrier than ever because you can't think how to move forward. I think Jerry was right to apologise, parents don't do that often enough I think. But we get things wrong and disrupt lives all the time and our poor kids have no choice but to go along. No wonder she's mad. I did like nursing her wrath to keep it warm. Yet despite her anger she's still caring for Jerry, aware that her actions and decisions hurt him and striving to keep him safe. Despite her youth, it's a very mature outlook.

Another brilliant chapter as always, I loved it.

This seems like the companion piece to the execution chapter. Whether they are able to solve the crime or not, they all end up in their good suits with Uncle Jo, bearing witness to the end of an unloved person who stands in for all their unrecovered dead. It always strikes me as such a stark difference between the US and Commonwealth burial practices in WWI and WWII that the US repatriated their dead when families requested it, but the UK and Commonwealth countries don't repatriate. Even when the dead did get a marked grave, not very many Canadian families got a funeral.

Poor Jem, adding another symbol to his hauntings. "Perfect love" seems especially cruel. For the boy who always knew every flower and bird and bee, it must be difficult to have such wrenching associations with another flower besides the asters and, I suspect, mayflowers, not to mention the poppies and cornflowers and daisies. Roses are ok, though. Faith and pressed flowers seems unlikely, but that's canon for you, and you've noted the incongruity.

I do enjoy that your police seem to have mostly trained by reading crime novels. Where did the woman get the cyanide capsule? They may have a bigger problem if those are freely available.

I liked that you undercut the ending by ending with the early tulip. Usually, the pattern is that something harrowing happens and then Jem finds sanctuary with Faith and home and cozy firelight and maybe it's not "all's right with the world," but it is at least a respite. That does happen here, but you don't let it stand unpunctured, which I think was the right choice.

Parts I liked especially:
Great opening line.
"dying gasp of winter"
Faith calling the library.

I'm so glad that this little line provided you with fodder for such a charming farce. Superintendent Hassle indeed! I don't know enough about Gilbert & Sullivan to know whether they go in for aptronyms, but it certainly contributes to the Catch-22 vibes in this piece. Mary Hazard doesn't seem particularly dangerous, but perhaps she is just a mild sort of trap.

One of the things I liked best about this chapter was that we never actually caught a glimpse of the Superintendent. He is an all-seeing but incorporeal authority, not unlike God or some distant general pulling strings from off-stage. That was funnier than if we had seen him and his human frailties close up.

Does Jem object to tea with the corpses because it would put the living off their refreshments or because it is impolite to imbibe in front of someone who can't?

I'm glad you had fun with this one — it definitely has the feel of a comic libretto, so well done!

I adore your original characters and this chapter was simply a treat!

You have a few canonical characters you refer to at least so I guess you're safe. In your mind the books are just the jumping off point (though you can say that about all of us really).

I've never really thought of shoe factories, I mean I'm sure they exist, they've just never come up.

You bring your love of Scotland to the fore with this and the previous story. Personally I think I love it more as a memory than as a reality, but it was cold for me, whereas it was warm by comparison for you. Having said that, there are some favourite places I'd always go back to... I must have driven through Dunfermline, I certainly remember Kirkcaldy.

This is a sweet little character sketch, I do love what you're doing here, with this vast array of characters. I long since gave up trying to sort them all out, I just take them as they come.

Now I have to go look up the Lewis Bridal song and the Jute Mill song.

We shall call it extended fanfiction. Does that sound about right? Either way, we have a mention of Shirley Blythe in there and he's canon, so there's your tie alright. I say this chapter passes.

I must admit that Poppy was always the Swallowgate Girl that I felt I knew least (perhaps because she only ever became a honorary member of that tangled family web and escaped being ensnared completely), so it's nice to have something focusing just on her. And on Peter, I guess. He's a nice fellow and always has been, so we won't forget Peter. Peter can stay.

I don't think the story ever went into the details of why these two remain childless (and I still insists the should have gotten those flower girls!), but with how lovely they're with children, it's apparent that is wasn't by choice. They make the best of this though, by loving the children of their friends and their summer children, which is a very healthy way of going on about it. It certainly allows them to spoil children in a way parents usually can't, so there *are* advantages to this.

I really liked the ending of this chapter, because there's real contentedness and happiness there. These two are a team and they will continue to face the world as a team, which is really the best kind of way.

Ah, sweet little Iain, bless him. (Do you know I always have to go back to add that second I on there? Why *is* it in there, that second I?) It doesn't do to be torn apart when so little. Home is home, but this is a beautiful and happy place that *could* be home and that's all kinds of confusing, especially for someone now nearly as Grown Up as he'd like to be. He can come back, of course, but there's an ocean in-between and that makes the divide utterly impractical indeed. Mara learned this and now her son learns it, too.

That said, I almost wish for him not to go back anymore. The Scotland he saw through a child's eyes is clearly such a magical, other-worldly place that is reads like it's too good to be true. And, being realistic and cynical adults that we are, we know it *is* too good to be true. There's no wonderland on earth and when we truly grow up, we start to realise that. That's why I almost wish for Iain that he never sees this place with the pragmatic, knowledgeable eyes of an adult who sees more than a child does (and at the same time, sees so much less). I'd like for him to keep this memory of that summer and keep it untainted, without reality creeping in and make the childhood memory taste stale. Some things are better preserved as a memory

Turning to happier thoughts, I laughed at the beginning. It doesn't appear to me to be feline behaviour as every child all over the world, ever. Who doesn't have that memory of being *so very mad* and doing your best to show it to everyone, but the adults refusing to take it really seriously and smiling at each other behind your back. It's a most aggravating feeling and I think anyone who was a child once must remember it. Of course, the next step to resolutely turning your back is taking your favourite blanket and favourite toy and dramatically declaring that you're *moving out*, only to never make it past the front door. Somehow, the adults never took that seriously either ;).

Speaking of children, I enjoy, as always, your writing of them - or of Iain, specifically. He strikes me as very Jims-like here, in the way he observes and draws conclusions based on a very inherent logic, and you know I always like reading the Jims chapters. Iain is less practical and more fanciful than Jims in his observations, which is, naturally, why Scotland appeals to him so. The nature, the tradition, the entire fairy feel speak to him, whereas with Jims, we have him counting cars and reading up to learn the inner workings of some thingamabob. Their interests and leanings are different, but the way they think is similar enough, which, if you throw in Jem, almost makes this a family trait!

Last but certainly never least, I very much enjoyed the picture of Scotland you're painting for us here. Even if I hadn't known beforehand, it's apparent just from reading this that it's a place as close to your heart as it is to Iain's. The way you describe it, one finds themselves wishing to be there, ideally as a child who is still able to truly wonder.

What an opening sentence especially from a four and a half year old. I mean that is frightfully grown up, but still.

This was beautiful, your sense of place rang out very true and I was back on Scottish beaches for a moment there. It was wonderful how distrustful he was at first because he wasn't sure if these were real people or fairies and fairies could be mischievous but of course gradually he did fall under their spell. It was like a dream, an interlude. Much like the fairies would bestow.

I found the beach picnic and subsequent nap very evocative. You do it from Iain's pov but I can imagine Mharie sitting there with the sleeping boy in her lap looking out at the world around her.

Favourite lines include the light coming through the gorse in its yellowy majesty and Grandew is a perfect name and I am sure delighted Hugh. Everyone loves being christened by a child like that. My own grandfather had a name bequeathed upon him by my eldest cousin and that's how we all refer to him even now. I expect the same will be true for Grandew.

You call it My Heart is Not Here, but it does feel a bit torn, Iain's heart. Like he will always pine for that time. And honestly I think I will too.

Hahaha the tea notice! I had forgotten about that until I saw it here. I went back and looked in my notes, but all I found was a screen shot and a note that I had copied it out of Canadian WWI Service File. It’s good and re-lost now! I’m glad you were able to find a place for it.

This is a chapter where the title really pulls things together. It could be a short story about a lot of things — about grief, about brotherhood, about things looking very different in and out of their proper context — but the title pushes it in a particular direction.

The nub of the chapter is Jem’s close identification with Archibald Choke. He sees where the story is going before others do, and can identify with Archibald’s motivations (up to a point). I wonder whether he thought of being an officer as akin to being a doctor, having to detach himself from the individuals under his care in order to do his job. He doesn’t detach from his “patients,” as we have discussed before, in compensation. I wonder who Jem blames for it all. Archibald blames his brother for not being there to save his wife, and is filled with murderous rage. Who does Jem blame for what happened to Walter and Jerry?

I really liked the detail about Jem being glad to call up Shirley on a mundane matter. With Walter and Jerry both beyond his reach, having Shirley nearby must be a real comfort to him, even if they aren’t besties. There was definitely a pang there when Jem was describing the “poetry” of the murder, mentioned in such close proximity to his lost brothers. The world lost Walter’s poetry and whatever Jerry was supposed to become, and Jem is stuck trying to tend to the victims of elaborate murders rather than actually healing people.

Things end up cozy in the end, with a meal and a dog, and Faith being a champ, but I liked the middle section, where you were digging into the parallels between Jem and Archibald. I also enjoyed the relocation to the café and wonder if it might go on long if the trouble with the tea isn’t sorted out. The waitress was a nice touch to show how insular their interactions can be, and how people on the outside just don’t speak the lingo.

This was a nicely observed peek into Jem's experience. Even before the Yiddish/German confusion, I had noted down that he was crackling away with tension in ways that brought his war experience to the fore. There was a real intimacy to his autopsy — speaking to the unfortunate (and unfortunately named) Pelorous Choke as an acquaintance rather than a corpse, guarding his dignity against being left exposed "for just anyone to see — gave a real sense of the care that characterizes his work. Jem has purposefully witnessed deaths in the past in order to pay his cosmic dues, and here he renders tender, loving care to the dead, perhaps fulfilling obligations he could not meet in the war. It makes me wonder what happened to Walter's body in this version of the story, and whether Jem ever knew about that. I always assumed his body was never recovered, given Jem's speech in Rilla, but it's ambiguous.

The mounting tension in the butcher shop was nicely done. You really ratcheted up the tension with the narrow streets, the smell, the jumpy leg, and Minah chopping things in a menacing fashion. One gets the sense that Asher has seen more than one customer react badly to the sound of Yiddish, given that he knows what the problem is.

I'm not sure whether the dinner is a lasting rapprochement in Judith's relationship with her community, given how angry Minah was in the first scene, but Mendel must have said something persuasive in between. I missed Geordie in that scene — he seems to be there, but he goes unmentioned at the table, so I'm not quite sure whether that is him trying to be inconspicuous or what. Mendel seems very friendly and I am wondering what sort of relationship the two of them might build. I'm definitely curious as to what is in store for all these multi-lingual, ecumenical children. In the meantime, they continue in their cozy chaos. I am in awe of anyone who casually invites an extra 15 people for dinner and will hope Mendel did his share of the cooking and cleaning. The Buffalo might be less trouble.

Not really chapter-related, but there seems to be a formatting issue cropping up — it looks like italics are deleting the space after the italics close. I'm not sure whether that's my browser or FFN, but just offering a heads up.

I really enjoyed this one. The Buffalo has always been lurking, unexplained, at the margins of this story, heightening the absurdity of life in the Meredith house. This chapter is very much a companion to Puck’s debut, with Una’s incredulity not actually lessened by her familiarity with Carl and his ways, for all she thinks she has mastered the art of being “unfazed.”

I particularly liked the way you have portrayed Carl — not just absent-minded in forgetting things like John did, but slightly askew to world even when he is fully engaged. I do hope that he actually does take responsibility for feeding his menagerie, rather than just dumping his "friends" on Una and Li. But I would not trust him with making that cheese, which generally involves doing one step and then walking away for a while and then *returning at the proper time* to do the next step.

Puck’s indignation was glorious. He deserves it and I can only hope he won’t take out his tantrums on Una.

Favorite lines:
Buffalo definitely deserving a capital letter
Carl’s “It’s a buffalo.”
“Go forth and embrace the buffalo.”

I would also pay good money to see Una ship one of those hymn-singing mynas back to Glen St. Mary.

Help me out here, please. Does this murder case read so familiar because we already saw glimpses of it in an earlier story, because I got a preview of it at some point without remembering it or because I've turned psychic overnight? It felt like a deja vu, but I can't put my finger on *why* that is, so it would really help my peace of mind if you could solve this riddle for me. (It would *also* set my mind at ease if you could tell me who murdered our latest murder victim, because unsolved murder mystery crime cases always leave me feeling a little dissatisfied. I want to know!)

I was much amused by Tuesday and how *proud* he is of his grand find! I mean, a whole corpse! (Or almost whole, I guess.) For a Dachshund such as him, this is clearly a memorable day and should be noted by all and sundry. So there's a dead person, but who cares when it's Tuesday's Day of Great Importance? Jem really isn't suitably grateful for the gift of a severed hand he receives, which just goes to show that the two-feeters are not appreciative enough of Tuesday's amazing efforts as a detective dog. What's betting that if they'd put *him* on the case, he would not only have found the missing hand but the killer as well? Ignorant two-feeters, the lot of them! (But they have opposable thumbs to open food tins, so that's a point in their favour.)

I like reading chapters in Jem's voice. No matter the oddness of the situation he finds himself in, there's a wryness to his observations that really drives them home in a dry and poignant way. It sometimes reminds me of a more mature way of being in your Jims's head. They both have this trick of closely observing their surroundings and drawing conclusions that are absolutely logical to their way of thinking. That's not to say someone else might not make different observations and assessments, but when you're in the head of Jem or Jims, theirs appear to be perfectly consequent and utterly logical. Plus, they both have these demons of their pasts that pop up without warning and influence their thoughts and behaviours. This is not only very realistic, but I like the way you handle these memories, like with Jem being reminded of the war when smelling the mud. (It's really about smell with Jem, isn't it?)

As for the murder mystery case itself, I *still* maintain I'd like to see it solved (and I think I already whined about that when first confronted with this case, in whichever way it happened), because I'm all for closure. I realise a fair number of cases remain unsolved and for the investigateers not to figure out every murder is perfectly realistic, but I shall briefly turn myself into Davy and repeat that I do, indeed, want to know. Since I don't think you'll tell me though, I shall try and content myself with the parts of this case that they do figure out. I did enjoy how everyone worked together to get as close to solving as possible, with the different thoughts and ideas coming together to form a coherent theory about what could have happened to the handless man.

Apropos of nothing, all that talk of severed hands reminded me of a case I heard in the news the other day. Apparently, there was a man here in Germany who put his hand on a train track and had it be severed by an oncoming train, with a view to paint it as an accident and collect the insurance money. Sadly for him, someone cottoned on to him when they realised he'd taken no less than nine different accident insurances, so then the insurances refused to pay out *and* sued him for fraud. Long story short, he's now less a hand, still has not money and will spend the next 2.5 years in prison. I realise this entire story has no connection to your chapter but for the severed hands in both, but you must marvel at such pronounced stupidity, right?