#leslie sheppard 51: april showers bring may flours

[sergeant-spoons]

51. April Showers Bring May Flours

Leslie Sheppard

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Nothing of much excitement had come to pass since Leslie and her friends bade farewell to London and returned to the Airborne. They reminisced about their trip often; where the boys missed restaurant food, the girls missed comfortable beds, and everyone missed having a break from their training. George sang the concert's entire repertoire on the daily. Don found it a bit hard to fall asleep without Leslie beside him for the first few days. Tink prayed less but attended mass more often. Still, these were all small effects, and relatively private and personal.

Then mid-April came to pass and brought an unexpectedly welcome visitor to the town.

It was two days after Easter Sunday when Captain Eades' niece and grandniece came to visit her in Aldbourne. The niece, Pearl, was married to a Scotsman who'd been on furlough the past week. She and her daughter had gone down to Plymouth to visit him, and now they were heading back northeast to Perth. Mama E had arranged to have them stay for two weeks with Mrs. Witchetty, who was more than happy to take on the small family for a short time—it had been a long time since she'd heard young laughter pealing through the house.

As soon as little Beth arrived, she became the darling of the household. Everyone down to the cats adored her, and she delighted in being doted on so dearly. Beth was only four years old, but she had already acquired the motor skills to run about like she was constantly in a race against herself. Her energy was only matched by Meatball, who seemed to have come alive ever since meeting Beth. They ran throughout the house as they played, and from his behavior, one might have inferred that Meatball was a small dog (and not a cat) if they didn't look closely enough. Socket, on the other hand, slept more, and if Beth was by some miracle sitting still, Socket could be found dozing at her side or with her warm, furry body tucked around Beth's back.

When she met Tink, Beth thought she was her de facto sister because they shared the same pale blonde hair. Tink didn't bat an eye and immediately went along with the imagination, and when she was home, Beth followed her reverently. Adorable hijinks ensued more often than not, and Tink always took the blame, pretending not to hear Beth giggling into her hair as Tink carried her around piggyback-style. The little girl liked Tink's friends, too. She was especially fascinated by Kiko's curls. She once asked her mother if she could keep the color of her hair but have curls like Kiko, and the three mechanics boarding with Mrs. Witchetty spent the rest of the afternoon curling her hair as close as they could get to Kiko's (which wasn't very close at all, but Beth was more than satisfied). Leslie, meanwhile, snuck her treats from the cookie jar and showed her how to fly a kite, and it wasn't long before Beth was asking her mother for a pair of overalls like Leslie's, too.

The only person who visited Mrs. Witchetty's more than Mama E had to be George. He showed up almost every day, and Beth squealed every time he walked in the door, scampering to hear whatever joke he'd prepared for her this time. She'd fall over herself giggling, and if her mother was busy, Tink would scoop her up and tickle her as she greeted George with a broad smile. Leslie could tell just by looking that George was falling in love all over again, watching Tink interact with this little girl who looked like she could be Tink's daughter. Having a little one in the house also got her feeling some kind of way, all fluttery and bittersweet and hopeful. She mentioned that to Don once, and though she'd meant it a bit offhandedly, he almost choked on his breakfast.

"I like the name 'Beth'," she mused once he was sipping at his water, mostly recovered. "What would you name a daughter, if you had one?"

"Helen," Don answered after some thought. "Helen, for my mother."

"That's sweet," Leslie replied with a smile. "I don't think my Ma would want me naming my kid 'Mildred', though. Maybe Merle, for my Dad. Yeah, I could make Merle work."

"Maybe as a middle name?" Don offered a bit weakly.

"Yeah, there you go! Hmm, 'Helen Merle'."

Leslie scrunched up the side of her mouth, and Don shrugged with feigned nonchalance.

"We'll workshop it."

"Yeah," she laughed, bumping her shoulder against his as if this was just another one of their jokes, unaware of how she'd made his heart pound with the implication of this imagined daughter being theirs. "We'll workshop it."

Tink left for Cardiff at the end of the first week. Her request for a six-day furlough had finally been approved, and her brothers and cousin Janie were just as eager to see her as she was to see them. She'd be there in Cardiff for four days with two more on either end reserved for travel. The day of her leaving, practically everyone and their mother (in Beth's case, quite literally) stopped by for the send-off. That morning in the garage, a few friends of theirs in the Mechorps gave Tink a small toolbox they'd assembled to give to her brothers. Around noontime, Beth, Pearl, and Mama E said their goodbyes; they needed to run an errand in town and wouldn't be back by the time Tink was gone. By mid-afternoon, when Tink finally had to leave to catch the train, they'd assembled so many friends that they had to borrow a car from the garage in addition to filling every available seat (and then some) in Mrs. Witchetty's car. Leslie drove with the guest of honor in the passenger seat, and she had to keep swatting away hands that reached forward from the back to pat Tink's shoulder, offer her a party horn, or get her to hold a pinwheel out the open window and let it spin in the breeze.

After they all came back from the station and dispersed, Leslie went into the kitchen for a snack and found George sitting at the table. She'd thought he'd gone back to the base with the others, and when she came in, he only hummed a hello, lost in thought. There was clearly something on his mind, so Leslie made no mention of her surprise and asked him instead if he'd like a few crackers while she had them out.

"Can I talk to you about something, Leslie?"

She slowed, looked at the cracker box where she'd taken it halfway out of the cupboard, and put it back.

"Of course." She came around to the other side of the table and drew up a chair beside her friend. "Is everything okay?"

"I'm in love with Tink."

"Ah." She clasped her hands before her, understanding the gravity of the matter. "And that means...?"

"It means everything is not all that okay."

"Gotcha."

George sighed, sagging in his chair and indenting his cheek as he leaned it upon a loose fist.

"I know I can't do a damn thing about it," he said morosely, "but I just had to tell someone."

Leslie blinked. "Whoever said that?"

"Said what?"

"That you couldn't do 'a damn thing' about it." She leaned sideways against the table, turning to meet George's gaze more fully. "You love her," she said, "and he-" They both knew who she was referring to. "-doesn't."

"You know that," George refuted sadly, "and I know that, but she doesn't."

"But she will!"

"Sparky-"

"Don't lose hope, George." Leslie reached over and took his hand, squeezing it in reassurance. "I know patience is hard when it comes to this kind of thing-"

He barked a laugh, interrupting. "Says you!"

Leslie, reasonably puzzled, drew her hand back and replied, "Yeah, says me."

Something seemed to dawn on George, and he sat up straighter, eyeing her with what almost seemed to be excitement.

"Says... you."

"Yeah, George, that's what I've-"

"Is there something you're not telling me, Leslie Sheppard?"

Leslie's freckles creased up as she emphasized the confusion of her expression.

"No..."

"I think there is." George was grinning by now. "I told you a secret..."

Finally realizing just what he was implying, Leslie put on a pitying face and quickly diverted the conversation.

"A secret? Oh, George—I, uh, I hate to be the bearer of bad news..."

His eyes went wide.

"She knows?!"

"She's just about the only one who doesn't," Leslie confessed, grimacing sympathetically, and George harrumphed.

"And you're just about the only one who-"

He broke off, looking guilty, but such a strange and bitter retort was so unlike him, and Leslie was so taken aback that she pressed him to tell her what he'd been about to say. She'd only gotten the first few words out, though, before Beth came racing into the room, skidding across the floor in her socks, and Leslie had to jump up to keep her from colliding with the oven. Unphased, Beth grabbed Leslie's leg and hung on, looking up at her with a wide, curious grin.

"Leslie?" That was Pearl, poking her head through the kitchen door. "There's a soldier here with-"

"Cimanim!" Beth shrieked excitedly. "Cimanim hair!"

Leslie relaxed. "That's my friend, Donald Malarkey."

Beth released Leslie and dashed over to George, grabbing his sleeve and tugging. "Marky's here!" she announced as if it was the most serious thing in the world, and beamed when George nodded just as gravely.

"Why don't you stay here, pumpkin?" Pearl suggested, then added to Leslie in a lower voice, "Your friend's got something for you. Thought you might want the chance to open it yourself."

Beth did have a habit of tearing open gifts that weren't meant for her. She still associated the word 'present' with herself and only herself, and she was still learning that just because something was in a box, a bag, or wrapped with newspaper didn't mean it was that kind of 'present'. Accordingly, Leslie went with Pearl, but not without shooting George a look over her shoulder—This conversation isn't over. He pretended not to see, now sitting on the linoleum floor with Beth as they played patty cake.

"You wanna know a secret?" he asked, and she nodded happily.

"I keep secrets good!" she exclaimed. "Mommy says so."

"I'm sure you can," he agreed, still patting his hands against hers, talking with the same rhythm to make her giggle. "Well, here's the secret: I have two friends, and they love each other very much, and they're going to live happily ever after."

Beth burst into raucous laughter, rolling onto her side, then popping back up just as soon as she'd gone down.

"Why's that a secret?!" she gasped with wide eyes.

"Because," he told her, giving in to her contagious laughter, "they don't know it yet!"

Beth tumbled about a little more, still giggling, and then stumbled to her feet and dashed out of the room to find her mother. She nearly ran into Leslie in the doorway and latched onto Leslie's pant leg, chattering about how 'Uncle George' told her secrets and how good she was of a secret keeper. Declaring for all the world to hear that she wanted applesauce, she ran off to ask her mother if she could have some from the 'refwidawader', a word she was still learning to say. Leslie quirked a brow at George, and he, smiling fondly—and a bit secretively—shook his head. So he hadn't told Beth about his feelings for Tink, then, it was another secret, no doubt a harmless one. 

"You've got a spring in your step," he remarked as she came fully into the room, and she beamed, presenting the lidless, octagonal box in her arms.

"Look! Don bought me a new hat."

"Oh," George mused, peering at the handsome russet newsboy cap. "Very nice."

"He bought it when we were in London, he said—I didn't even notice him slipping away, he was so quick about it—and it just came in the mail today, so he brought it by to surprise me." Still grinning, she cradled the box in her arms, looking at the cap in its bed of tissue paper. "I'm going to send it home, of course, for safekeeping, seeing as the war's still on—not to mention, Mama E's already a little unhappy with the girls and I keeping so many personal things, even when we're not on the base, so..."

Though he was clearly listening, George had started chuckling as if he knew something she didn't, and Leslie trailed off with a mild frown.

"What?"

"He bought you a hat?"

"Yes!"

Her smile returned, but then George smirked, and it waned again.

"A hat."

"Yes, a hat."

"Not a ring?"

Leslie could feel the heat blooming pink across her cheeks, and she cleared her throat, squeezing the hatbox as she looked aside. George was plainly amazed by her reaction, but she was saved from having to explain herself by Beth hurtling back in, unstoppable in her mission. While Leslie went through the bowls and helped Beth pick the nicest one (only the best for her applesauce), George watched them, shaking his head, his smile one of incredulity.

Sheesh. Maybe I'm not the most hopeless case after all.

"No, three!" Beth insisted when Leslie tried to hand her a spoon, holding up three little fingers. "You eat, too!"

Leslie looked over at George, and when he shrugged, she turned back to Beth and reached back into the silverware drawer.

"Three spoons it is."

Although April might have been a slow month, a great deal happened in May of '44. Tink returned from Cardiff on the 2nd completely rejuvenated, loaded with stories, jokes, photographs, and love from her family. To all those who knew her well, it was evident in her lightness of spirit that Charlie Hammond and his tomfuckery—as Leslie referred to it—hadn't crossed her mind once while she was away. Pearl and little Beth left a few days later. Beth was so distraught at leaving Tink so soon after getting her back that she was only assuaged by Tink gifting her a locket with a curl of her own hair inside, then going with her all the way to the station and waving from the platform until the train was well out of sight. Though Tink's uplifted heart noticeably boosted the moods of her friends for the next several days, their shared delight was soon overshadowed by the announcement of Operation Overlord. Some internalized the news better than others, but they all understood the same that this was really it. They'd be seeing real warfare in a matter of weeks, and it didn't matter all that much how prepared they were—no one could know just what lay ahead.

Over the course of the month, their training was increased, bolstered, and specified. Easy Company and the Mechorps saw each other less and less; on the days their schedules aligned to share a lunch hour in the mess hall, they dragged out that time as long as they feasibly could without making trouble. Though everything seemed a bit more solemn, they still found their ways to have fun, and not everything felt serious—at least, not until the mutiny. Those two days were tense beyond belief. Men all throughout Easy camped out at Mrs. Witchetty's for a few hours, hiding from a vengeful Sobel and a furious Sink. By evening of the second day, still with no news from Regiment, at least half of the Company had cycled through, some more than once. Every single non-com involved in the mutiny had showed up, most of them in pairs; if Leslie found one of them crying from the stress in the upstairs bathroom, she never told.

Fortunately, the most stressful period of the entire Spring turned into the highlight of the season when the news broke that Captain Sobel would be transferred to a new jump school at Chilton Foliat, effective immediately. Two of Easy's sergeants had been demoted, and one of the same was borrowed out to the Pathfinders Division, but otherwise, the non-coms were released with no repercussions but a slap on the wrist. This stroke of luck took a great deal of weight off everyone's shoulders, and there was even a little bit of a party at Mrs. Witchetty's that night after supper. There was a general air of satisfaction, and Leslie was not the only one practically delirious with relief, not by a long shot. As soon as she found Don in the crowd, she kissed him square on the mouth, but she did it so quickly that he didn't have time to respond. She jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his torso, and as he held her up, he buried his face into her neck, hoping she would hear his laughter and miss the tears suddenly pricking at his eyes.

The following day, a Tuesday, dawned bright, clear, and warm, a nice change from a previously cloudy and cold week. Leslie and Kiko left the garage early and went into CP, nodding politely at a few officers in the Intelligence division as they crossed the hall into the lounge adjacent to Mama Eades' office. They settled into chairs by the phone on the wall, waiting to hear from Mrs. Witchetty, who'd gone into Swindon for a doctor's appointment and needed someone to come pick her up and drive her back to Aldbourne. The girls had volunteered, and though only one of them needed to go, it was such a nice day for a drive that Leslie wanted to take her motorbike and follow Kiko into town just to enjoy the sunshine. A few officers came and went throughout the next half-hour, exchanging small talk and cigarettes as they poured their morning coffee. The only ones to pay any mind to the girls by the office door were Lieutenants Winters and Speirs, who each greeted them with a nod and returned their genial salutes. Just after 10:00 that morning, a familiar face from Easy popped in just as Leslie started on her third mooched cup of coffee.

"Hey, Sparky, you hear the news?"

Both Leslie and Lieutenant Speirs looked up, then at each other. Noting the shared nickname, they exchanged a slight smile—Huh.—then turned back to Skinny Sisk, who Leslie was just now noticing seemed unusually jittery.

"Sergeant Sheppard," the private corrected, turning a little red in the face at the thought of calling an officer such a friendly nickname. "Have you heard the news?"

"What news?" Leslie asked, chewing on the end of her pencil as she squinted at the newspaper on her knee (she'd never been much good at crosswords).

"We're moving out."

"We're moving out," Leslie mumbled absentmindedly, then bolted upright, her pencil pitching to the floor and her elbow nearly sending her coffee to the same fate.

"We're moving out?!"

Kiko rose from where she'd been sitting by the phone, amazement and curiosity creasing her brow.

"When?" she gasped.

"Yeah, when?" Leslie echoed.

Speirs gestured with his coffee at both women.

"What they said."

Sisk told them what he knew, sprinkling in a few 'sirs' just in case. He said that their drop zone would be in France but he didn't know where exactly, that there would be a lecture about it tomorrow morning for all of the 506th, and that they'd be leaving for some airfield further south by the end of the week. When Leslie asked if "all of the 506th" included the Mechorps, too, Sisk could only shrug. Speirs supposed it was likely, and as Leslie turned over the new information in her head, he turned to Sisk and sent him to deliver the news to the rest of Easy. The lieutenant himself went to inform Dog Company, and Kiko started after him, but she'd barely gotten a foot out the door when the phone rang. Kiko looked between it and Leslie, torn, and Leslie shook her head, darting past her friend to catch the door before it shut.

"You handle that. I'll go tell her."

As Kiko backtracked to the phone, Leslie jumped back inside, realizing she'd forgotten her jacket and cap, then hightailed it out the door as Kiko cupped the receiver to her ear.

"Hello? Yes, Mrs. Witchetty, it's Kelani- No, Mrs. Witchetty, I can hear you just fine-"

Leslie burst into the garage like a hurricane was on her heels and nearly ran right into Danny Huff. At the commotion, Tink and Eli Shackley looked up from the project they had splayed across their workbench. Tink wore a bandana to keep her hair back and thick sautering gloves on her hands; as she tilted her head inquisitively at Leslie, she moved to wipe sweat off her forehead and smeared a bit of grease there instead.

"Where's the fire?" she teased, but her smile quickly fell when she saw how wide her friend's eyes had gone and how her chest heaved from a greater pressure than the exertion of her brief run.

"France," Leslie panted in reply, "in France."

The whole room went quiet. Danny, Eli, Sal McDermot, and seven or eight others looked over at Leslie with bated breath. Even Kent Hudley, who had steered clear of the girls since the misunderstanding at the bar, couldn't help but poke his head up and listen in.

"It sure is France," declared Captain Eades as she came in the side door, dropping her keys into her upturned cap and tossing them as one onto her desk as she broke the silence. "I sure hope you lot like baguettes."

That next morning, Don arrived at Mrs. Witchetty's before the sun had finished cresting the horizon. He wedged himself between two hedges to get around the side of the house and threw pebbles at Leslie's window until she let him in. In the two hours before he had to get back to the base for the start of the day's training, they sat on the carpet in the upstairs sitting room and made a bundle of letters for their families. Nibbling on Mrs. Witchetty's heavenly lemon biscuits as they wrote and arranged, they included well-wishing notes from their friends, several paper boats made by Leslie (flattened to fit into an envelope), a few British pence and bottlecaps from British beers as souvenirs for their younger siblings, and two photographs. The first image featured the two of them plus Skip and Penkala, standing on the road that led up to the Aldbourne base, and the other of Leslie, Tink, and Kiko, standing on the front steps of Mrs. Witchetty's. Leslie pressed a kiss to the envelope once they'd sealed it, then had Don do the same. She went alone to the post office in town but passed by Easy Company on their morning run on her return route and waved to her friends, laughing as they cheered for and whistled at her mere existence.

That afternoon, training was canceled for all the enlisted men and women in order for the officers throughout the 101st to use the time for a long meeting. Accordingly, Leslie, Skip, Tink, and George spent the afternoon making gingerbread cookies for the entirety of Easy. Mrs. Witchetty had read in a newspaper column that there was going to be a shortage of molasses, but as it turned out, the report had been entirely incorrect; there was to be a shortage of mustard seed instead (whoever wrote the column seemed to have gotten their grocery list 'M's mixed up). Unfortunately, Mrs. Witchetty had already panicked and bought an exorbitant excess of baking ingredients, which was where Leslie and her friends came in. Don, who'd come along with Skip and George, was suffering a biting headache and had taken to petsitting upstairs while he waited for it to pass. In the kitchen, however, things were not going quite so easily.

"What's this for?" Skip asked, holding up the mixer, and Leslie, tying a floral apron around her waist, looked at him funny.

"To... mix things."

"And this?" chimed in Tink, waving a thin whisk around.

"It's a whisk."

"Okay...?" Tink twirled it again as if Leslie hasn't answered her question at all.

"And you... whisk with it."

"What about this?" Skip poked himself with the cake tester and winced. "Ow."

Leslie slowed down from where she stood whisking some of the dry ingredients and looked over at her friends.

"I feel like I should help you two," she said without moving to do anything. With a sigh, she turned and looked at George on her other side to see how she was doing, and discovered he was, miraculously, cracking eggs one-handed into a bowl with the rest of the wet ingredients laid out before him.

"George!"

"Hmm?" He looked up, tossing the eggshells into the trash bin as he went to the sink to wash his hands. "What?"

"Since when do you bake?" Skip asked, leaning around Tink to eye their friend.

"Since I was a kid," George answered with a shrug, drying his hands on a linen towel heavily embroidered with figs. "Why?"

"Have I ever told you how amazing you are?" Leslie exclaimed gratefully, grabbing his arm and dragging him over to where Tink and Skip were trying to figure out all of their tools. "I'm putting you in charge over here."

"You're the boss."

As George tried to combat the chaos of their baffled friends, Leslie grabbed the cinnamon and returned to her dry ingredients bowl. Less than a minute had passed before Don wandered into the kitchen to see how things were going with Meatball lounging and Socket trotting curiously after, her whiskers wiggling as she sniffed the air.

"What's going on in here?" he asked, quirking his head at George teaching Skip and Tink how to operate simple baking machinery, then grinned at Leslie's floral apron. "You look nice."

She snorted, squinting into the mortar in which she was grinding cloves with a pestle.

"I look like my Granny."

"Nah." Don chuckled, then paused. "Well..."

"Oh, hardy-har-har."

"Put some flour in your hair, and maybe."

"You silly." She stuck her tongue out at him just to make him laugh. "And to answer your question, about what's going on in here?"

She caught the handle of the whisk just before it would have slipped down the metal sides of the bowl and sent up a cloud of flour, sugar, baking soda, and various spices.

"Havoc."

"Sounds like my idea of fun," Don decided, setting Meatball down on the couch before he came around the counter, grabbed an apron from the hook by the oven, and went to wash his hands. "How can I help?"

Relieved, Leslie dusted her flour-spotted palms on her apron, then leaned on Don's shoulder, wrapping her hands around his arm and giving a gentle squeeze.

"What would I ever do without you?" she sighed, and he pointed at their friends right as Skip turned the mixer up to the highest setting.

"Have to explain to Mrs. Witchetty why it looks like her kitchen went through the apocalypse!" Don replied, raising his voice about the noise, and Leslie stifled her giggled against his sleeve.

"But really," he added once George had unplugged the mixer and Don himself had recovered from the sudden tidal wave of fondness he felt toward Leslie, "what can I do to make this run a little more smoothly?"

Don had baked a dozen or so times with Leslie over the years, so he knew the ropes well enough to get the gist of things without much direction.

Leslie situated him right next to her at George's abandoned wet ingredients station, and he got right to work. Their elbows kept bumping as they mixed and reached for ingredients, and every time, they'd look at each other and laugh with cheeks just a little bit pinker than usual. Meanwhile, George managed to corral Skip and Tink by giving them the task of sorting through Mrs. Witchetty's extensive cookie cutter collection to find some good shapes.

"Well, shit," he said gamely as he came back around the counter. "Malark's taken my spot."

Don grinned and tossed his hair back a bit clumsily, unable to tuck it back with his fingers covered in batter.

"You know it."

"Don!" Leslie bumped her hip against his. "Be nice."

"S'alright," George chuckled, "this is a much nicer domestic picture."

He framed them with his thumbs and pointer fingers as if he was taking a photograph, and when Leslie and Don turned to look at one another, they were both surprised to discover the other blushing. Don glanced aside, flustered, only to notice Socket clawing at her namesake across the room. He rushed over to stop her, wiping his hands on his apron, and inadvertently gave up his place to George.

"Hah! Score!" George happily picked up where Don left off but made sure to mutter to Leslie out of the corner of his mouth, "I know I'm not quite as good company as darling Don there-"

She wrinkled up her nose and flicked batter at him, and a playful fight would have ensued had a grinning Tink not skidded up to George to show him a cog-shaped cookie cutter that she insisted must be used for all of the cookies.

"All of 'em?"

"All of 'em."

Knowing full well that George couldn't say no to Tink's smile, Leslie pressed her lips together to try and suppress a smirk and teased, "Kiss him and you'll get your wish."

Tink laughed. "I thought you had to rub the lamp!"

As Leslie turned aside to hide her laughter and George turned beet red, both of them hearing the accidental innuendo Tink had just made, Tink, oblivious, grabbed George's face and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. He melted, and Leslie didn't bother to hide her smirk any longer as she went to fetch the cookie sheets from the cabinet over the oven.

"Told you so."

The majority of the cookies did end up as cogs, save for a dozen that Skip managed to steal away for his own designs when Tink wasn't looking. He preferred the robin cookie cutter and used the cap of a pen to indent eyes into each bird. He might have gone on to find a way to texture the feathers had they not needed to get the cookies in the oven, and by then, a crowd was gathering outside. Leslie put Skip, Tink, and George in charge of distributing the cookies while she and Don finished baking the rest. Meatball and Socket slipped outside at one point, but they didn't go far, staying close to Tink as they eyed the crowd. By the end of the afternoon, the friends had managed to collect a sizeable donation without ever asking for the money. As they sat around the kitchen table, looking at the bucket of change without a clue what to do with it, Tink suddenly leaped to her feet, swinging her fist with the excitement of her idea.

"We'll ask Mrs. Witchetty! She bought all the ingredients, so in part, it's her money, too."

The group hastened into the living room and clustered around the old widow, who was knitting in her favorite armchair. She looked at their smiling faces and squinted through her glasses, thinking they were up to some mischief. Then they posed their question and her frown turned into a look of fond pride.

"Oh, you darlings," she hummed, wiping away a tear. "Give it to the Red Cross. They need it more than we do."

And that's precisely what they did. Leslie volunteered to deliver the donation, and Don was quick to join her. They took her motorcycle for the drive into Swindon and found the Red Cross outpost without much difficulty, as it was two doors down from the hospital.

"You know, Don," Leslie said, thumbing her belt loops as she and Don returned to the warm May evening, "I think we've done a good deed today. Good enough that we deserve dinner on the town—my treat. Don't you think so?"

Smiling, Don looped his arm around hers, and when she immediately tucked herself against his side, he pecked the side of her head in a kiss.

"You know, Les, I couldn't agree more."

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