Just a Dream

Chapter 16:

Friday—24th December 1954—27 weeks Pregnant

"There's no way to know for sure what it is, is there?" Emmett asked as he drove us home from the bus depot.

"I'm afraid not. But I was thinking about naming her Julie, or Jacqueline… or even Jane—"

"I take it you have a flair for "J" names, then?" he asked, giving me a dimpled grin.

"Not necessarily. I also like Mary, Eleanor, and Wendy."

"Well, what if it's a boy?"

"I haven't really thought about it being a boy. I just really think it's going to be a boy for some reason. You know, a lot of expectant mothers can guess correctly what their babies will be, before they're born. My doctor says it's just a mother's instinct… and besides, I think you'd like to have another girl to have you wrapped around her little finger." I said lovingly.

"Well, firstly, you do have me wrapped around your little finger, honey. Secondly, I'd be happy with any child as long as they looked like you. And thirdly, just how accurate is that statistic? I mean, it's either a boy or a girl, so you've got a 50% chance of getting it right anyway."

"Oh… hush," I playfully swatted his arm, making him laugh. I leaned back against the seat, just looking at him in awe. "Oh lord, Emmett… do you have any idea how much I missed that laugh?" I said adoringly. He chuckled and reached over across the seat to tenderly brush the hair back from my face and he said, "I'd imagine being something like how much I missed yours."

When we arrived back at the house, Emmett jumped out to help me out of the car and held me around the waist all the way up to the porch, to make sure I didn't slip and fall on the icy sidewalk. I opened the door as he ran back to get his bag and I started flipping on the lights.

"Are you hungry?" I inquired when he finally came into the kitchen and noticed all the foil-covered dishes and the beautiful cherry pie that had been prepared by me and by various members of our families. "Because there's enough food here to feed an army," I laughed, untying the scarf from around my head and unbuttoning my coat and placing both items in the laundry room.

Emmett appraised the kitchen table, "Whoa…" he chuckled. "We having a party or something?"

"Well, there's a couple people coming over for coffee and desserts later this evening. But I promise it's just a small gathering; the only people I invited are our parents. But all this was brought over this morning for tomorrow. Christmas dinner is going to be here. Judy made the bread pudding, the beans and cranberry salad are from Mom, I made the cherry pie, and Mom's going to help me make the turkey tomorrow. But you can have whatever you like." I said as I leaned back against the counter next to the stove and watching the light from the window dance across the face that had danced in my dreams every night since he had left. But instead of answering, he closed the short distance between us and took me into his arms, holding me tightly and pressing his lips down onto mine.

"You know?" he said. "I've been craving something for the past six months that nothing on that table can satisfy," and with that, he scooped me up and carried me, giggling as I wrapped my arms around his neck, back through the house and to our bedroom.

5:45 P.M.

After dinner, Emmett insisted that I let him do the dishes while I go sit down, but I ended up drying them and putting them away. As we were working together, I suddenly gasped and Emmett dropped one of the plates in the sink, splashing dishwater everywhere. "What? What is it?" he asked, concerned.

I giggled slightly. "Oh, I'm sorry Emmett. It's just… well, would you like to feel the baby kick?" I asked as I placed both hands on my belly and smiled up at him. I watched that big dimpled smile spread across his face and I couldn't help but laugh as I grabbed his hand and pressed it against the top left portion of my belly and said, "There… do you feel it? That little thump-thump-thump? That's the heart." I said, "Whoa! And here…" I chuckled, moving his hand to the lower right portion, "is where she's kicking me," I laughed and Emmett laughed, he still in amazement.

"Wow…" his lips formed the words but no sound came out, he was in awe. When he found his voice, after the baby stopped kicking, he placed both hands on either side of my belly, knelt down—much like he had done at the bus depot—and he pretended to scold our baby. "Now, young lady, it's not very polite to kick one's own mother. Not even by mistake. Boy! Would my dad have given me a whooping when I a kid if I'd ever kicked my mother," I laughed as he did, leaning down to plant a kiss on his head.

"Well, what do you say we finish the dishes and then we can get ready for company later tonight," I said.

"Oh, that's right… company…" he groaned good naturedly. "So we have to?" he pretended to whine as he wrapped his arms around my middle like a child begging his mother for a treat. I was about to speak but he started tickling me, making me shriek with laughter just as the doorbell rang and we stopped.

"Huh, I guess they're early." I said. I'd told everyone to come around seven for coffee and dessert and I'd only invited my parents, Emmett's father, and none of them were the type to show up an hour early without notice. So I went to the door, hoping that my mother had not told everyone she knew about Emmett's temporary homecoming. But I was disappointed to open the door and find a few of my more distant relatives on my doorstep, each baring a concealed dish of some sort and a huge grin.

"Merry Christmas!" the adults all cried out in unison and my face fell when I realized that the intimate gathering I had promised Emmett had suddenly become a houseful of guests. I looked from face to face and recognized everyone but one person. I saw my mother's brother, Jim and his wife, Fran, their daughters, Beverly and Colleen, and a young man with an unshaven face and too long of hair for a boy and wearing clothing that I found less than tasteful. But noticing who was not there, I took him to be their son, Scott. I couldn't imagine my uncle Jim being too thrilled with his son's new appearance and I was hesitant to accept the sixteen year-old into my home. I knew about the protestors that had greeted my husband and the other soldiers upon their return to the country. I hadn't even invited them. But if I knew my uncle Jim, than it hadn't been his idea to come over without a formal invitation and that he had been dragged there by Fran, who I had never taken to be the most pleasant of people to be around. Frankly, the woman coddled her children too much and gave off an air of entitlement. This was not the first occasion I had heard of her inviting herself to places and dragging her family along with her. I did not graciously invite her in.

"Um, Merry Christmas," I replied, rather astonished to see them. "W-what are you doing here?" I asked anxiously.

"Oh, well a little birdie said that a certain soldier was back from the war." Said my uncle's wife as she invited herself in, passing me in the doorway and looking around for my husband. Beverly and Colleen, only ages seven and ten, followed their mother uncertainly, but paused to hug me on the way in. Jim stopped at the doorway and looked down at me apologetically. "I am so sorry," he said quietly as Scott rudely shouldered his way around his father through the door, passing me without even so much as a hello. "I tried to keep her away, she overheard your mother telling me on the phone." Jim apologized, and I could tell that he meant it.

"Um, no, no, it's fine. Please, come in. I'm always happy to see you, Uncle Jim." I made a point not to say all of you, because frankly I was not pleased to see the rest of them; particularly uninvited and over an hour early. But I could hardly blame him for being incapable of controlling his overbearing wife. I slipped my arm through his and led him into the front room where the others had flocked around my astonished husband. I gave him an apologetic look as I invited our guests to make themselves at home, almost immediately regretting the decision when Scott sat down and propped his feet up on my freshly polished coffee table.

"Scott! Feet off the table!" Jim snapped at his son, who glared resentfully back at him. I sensed the tension of a previous fight between the two that had yet to be resolved and my face colored in embarrassment. I hadn't even had the chance to get properly dressed yet, and Emmett was still wearing trousers and an undershirt.

"Um…" I began uncomfortably. "Well, I only put the coffee on a few minutes before you arrived, we weren't expecting guests for another hour, but you all are more than welcome to help yourselves to the pop in the refrigerator, um…" I paused, grabbing Emmett's arm and started backing my way out of the living room. "Please excuse us for a moment." And then we hurried back to our bedroom where I closed the door as quickly as possible without slamming it, and we argued while we were dressing.

"What are they doing here?" Emmett said angrily and he stepped out of his trousers and pulled out another pair in khaki and stepped into them.

"I'm sorry, I didn't invite them. Jim said he tried his best to keep Fran from coming but—" I was saying as I pulled off the loose fitting maternity top, not even bothering with the buttons in the back of the garment.

"You didn't invite them? And you still let them in?"

"What else could I do? I couldn't very well send them out in the cold when we were already expecting company anyway,"

"But not for another hour!"

"What would you have me do, Emmett?"

"I don't know! Can't you tell them we aren't prepared to have so much company?"

"As them to leave?" I said in a hushed voice. It was stressful enough to argue at all, but to argue while trying to keep from being overheard was horrible. "I can't do that, that would be rude, Emmett!"

"Well they're being rude by just showing up uninvited! What, am I really expected to believe that they've just suddenly developed an interest in us simply because I've been overseas for the past six months? They never had much to say to us at our wedding, and I don't remember you telling me they'd sent a card or had come to visit when you found out you were pregnant!"

"That's not fair, Emmett. Jim has always been nice to me—"

"I'm not talking about Jim. I'm talking about the rest of them! And I don't like the looks of that Scott kid. He looks like a damn beatnik to me—"

"Emmett! I don't have that kind of language in this house!" I hissed, but he didn't apologize and rebuke his statement.

"Oh come on, Rose. Look at him! Did you see the way he looked at Jim? His own father, for Christ's sake!"

"Emmett, it is not any of our business how they raise their children—"

"The hell it isn't! And it's not any of their business if we invite a few people over for coffee every once in a while."

"I know that, but honestly Emmett, I swear I wasn't expecting them to just show up. I swear! I don't know why they're here, but the fact is, they are. So please just put a clean shirt on and be nice. All right? Now please help me button this dress." I said as I pulled on the sleeves of my emerald maternity dress. Once it was buttoned I hurried over to the vanity to quickly apply some makeup and fluff my hair and Emmett angrily tucked in his shirt and retied his shoes before storming out of the room. We didn't say another word about it to each other after that.

By the time I finally came back out into the living room, Emmett was in the other room with the guests and he kept trying to change the subject away from matters of the war but between Fran and Scott, he was powerless. The girls were uninterested and sat on the floor playing with their dolls and no matter how Jim tried to intervene and steer the conversation in more civil areas, like what did Emmett and I plan to do after his deployment; had we given any thought about what to name the baby; how his father was getting along, things of that nature. But to Emmett's great frustration, the conversation kept going back to Vietnam. I walked past them and into the kitchen, coming back out with the tea set I had hardly gotten to use since we'd received it as a wedding gift. The coffee already poured into four cups with saucers, and three bottles of pop for the kids. I set it on the coffee table and handed out the beverages, making sure everybody had one before sitting down on the couch next to Emmett, who by now I could tell was fuming.

"All I'm saying is that there are better ways to settle a situation than by going to war. I mean, what's the big deal if Vietnam wants to be communist? What's so bad about communism? At least then everyone would be equal. It's not our problem. So why are the morons in the White House sending troops over there to try and stop them? All they're doing is killing innocent people who are just trying to do what they think is best—" my husband tried very hard to hide his discontent as he interrupted Scott and argued,

"Well, I don't think you really understand what it is we're doing over there. And by the way, it's Congress that declares war. Not the president. Which just goes to show exactly how ignorant you are about the war."

"Hey! I'm not ignorant. And who cares? It doesn't really matter anyway—"

"Doesn't really matter?" Emmett repeated in astonishment. "Alright, you listen here you little snot!" he snarled, rising from his spot next to me.

"Emmett, darling, please—" I tried to calm him, but he interrupted me.

"No, Rose. He needs to hear this." Turning back to Scott, who sat in the arm chair across from the couch, his jaw risen in defiance, Emmett snarled. "I have spent the last six months in a godforsaken jungle where everybody hated me and everything that I stand for. I watched a dozen of my friends who I went to school with be blown to smithereens less than one arm-span in front of me; good, honest men! Some with wives and babies of their own! And I had to help drag their bodies back to safety because in times of war, no man is left behind. And do you wanna know what was there to greet me the second I got off that plane? A group of goddamned beatniks and protestors calling my comrades and me "baby-killers"! So you know what? I don't really give a damn about what you have to say about the goddamned war in Vietnam! Go tell it to the bastards who drafted me in the first place!"

I had to hand it to my husband; he was an intimidating sight when he wanted to be. The bulk of his muscle paired with his height of six feet two inches, his beautiful face laced with a menacing snarl as he glared at my cousin; the poor boy was quivering, wide-eyed in his chair. But Emmett didn't stand there for long, he stormed over to the coat closet, grabbed his jacket, and was out the front door before I could hardly stand up all the way.

"Excuse me," I said to our guests before following my husband out the door, quickly pulling on my own jacket. When I got outside, I found Emmett sitting on the front porch steps, smoking a cigarette.

"I thought you gave those up," I stated as I carefully sat down next to him, supporting myself on his shoulder.

He sighed, blowing out a mouthful of smoke, looking straight ahead. He chuckled in spite of himself and looked down, shaking his head and said, "I did too," We sat in silence for a few moments before anything else was said. "I'm sorry about the way I went off in there, Rose." He said, looking over at me. "I know you don't like that kind of language in the house, or shouting either… I'm sorry I did," I sighed heavily and took the cigarette from him, studying it for a while before I brought it to my lips and inhaled deeply.

"I'm not," I said at last. He looked at me. "No, really. You said what that kid needed to hear. Lord knows that Jim's probably tried everything he could to make a point to him. He was good for him to hear it from you… Jim will probably be wanting to shake your hand before they leave," I said before taking another drag from the cigarette. As a thought occurred to me, I chuckled. Emmett looked over at me and asked what was so funny.

"Do you remember the first time we shared a cigarette?" I asked him through a fit of giggles. He thought for a moment before he started laughing with me.

"And I burned off my eyebrows?"

"Yeah, god was my dad mad when he caught us!"

"Well, it was your idea to hide in the basement…"

"Oh come on! I was ten years old, you were older, you should have found the better hideout," I teased him.

"Uh… I was only eleven and I did find a better hideout, remember?" I laughed again. I had forgotten about the old clubhouse he and his dad had built together when he was six and still thought that I had cooties.

"That doesn't count, you never let me in there. I had girl-cooties, remember?" I said, emphasizing the words in a spooky ghost-story-telling voice. He laughed and he wrapped his arm around my back and he kissed me and I asked him, "but aren't you glad you caught 'em, now?"

"Mmmm…. Boy, am I." He laughed. But then added, "Even though I happen to recall a few other things I caught from you…"

"It wasn't my fault! I didn't mean to give you the chicken pox!" I laughed. "Just be thankful it wasn't polio!" I said, playfully elbowing him in the ribs. He tickled me and I squealed just as my father's car pulled up on the street and we both sobered at once. Emmett stood and helped me up as my mother came up, holding a platter of hors d'oeuvres. My father appeared out of the car door and went to help Emmett's father out of the back. They had picked him up on the way over, Mother explained as she kissed my cheek and told me that the hors d'oeuvres were Fancy Franks. But I pulled her closer to me so I could whisper softly to her,

"Guess who decided to show up over an hour early uninvited?" I said. My mother's eyes grew wide as saucers and she grimaced.

"Oh, honey. I am so sorry. I told Jim not to tell Fran—"

"He told me that she overheard your telephone conversation." I repeated what Jim had told me and I sighed, folding my arms over my chest. "But I'm afraid that they can't stay, Mother. I'm sorry, I hate to seem rude, but they've already insulted Emmett—"

"What? What did they say?" I explained the argument, one of my arms around Emmett's middle, his around my shoulders. "…and I followed him out here,"

"Oh, honey. I am so sorry. I'll go talk to Jim right now."

"It's not Jim that's the problem, Mother. If I could have him here without the rest of them we would love to have him, the problem is his family. They don't know how to act when they're guests at someone else's house,"

"No, dear. I completely understand. I stopped inviting them to parties years ago, it's just Christmas and Thanksgiving that I can't keep them away."

"Hey, Pop!" Emmett interrupted our hushed whispers as my father and Frank McCarthy finally approached.

"Hey there, son!" Frank said, sounding much chipper than even the last time I had spoken to him. But how could I blame him? "Well, isn't this the greatest Christmas ever? I got a grandbaby on the way and my son's come home from the war in one piece," exclaimed an excited Frank. We all laughed in agreement as I invited them inside. My mother ran in ahead of us to find a place for the hors d'oeuvres and to speak with Jim as privately as possible. By the time the rest of us came in, Jim was already coming to me directly.

"I cannot express just how sorry I am for the way my family has behaved. I know we've been less than cordial. Your mother tried to give me a talking to but I've already talked to Fran and the kids. Don't worry about me, you just worry about yourself and that baby," He said fondly. "And have a wonderful Christmas. And if you ever need anything, just remember I'm only a telephone call away." He said as he kissed my forehead, then turning back to his family and saying sternly, "Alright. Let's go kids, you too Fran."

I walked them to the door and watched them leave. Scott still seemed rather shaken and Fran's face was flushed with embarrassment and she did not meet my eyes directly as she wished me a Merry Christmas and steered her children out the door. I was ashamed to feel so relieved to have them gone, but I was glad that it was back to just the five of us now. My mother helped me collect the teacups and half drunken pop bottles and take them into the kitchen. I had used all the fancy teacups and had to use a mismatched collection of coffee mugs with napkins instead of saucers, and I had to break into another bag of cookies. But overall it was a wonderful visit and later that evening as Emmett and I walked them all to the door and watched them drive off, he turned and took me into his arms and said, "I'm sorry I shouted at you earlier. I should have known that you hadn't invited them. I was a real ass to you and I'm sorry."

I smiled as I wrapped my arms around his neck and brought his lips down on mine in a tender display of affection and I said, "It's alright. Merry Christmas, Emmett."

"Merry Christmas, Rose." And as we kissed again, I knew that it really was going to be a merry Christmas.

Author's Note: Well, what do you all think? I'm sorry it's been so long since I've updated. I've just had the worst case of writer's block in history! But I am back now and I intend on finishing this story before leaving again. What did you think about Scott? I kind of wanted to throw in an argument between Emmett and someone with a hippie's point of view, and also I figured that if Emmett and Rosalie didn't have a fight over something every once in a while, than their marriage wouldn't seem believable. So tell me, really. How do you think I did? Read & Review!