October 1941

There was a knock on Jonathon's office door frame and he lifted his head. Mrs. Gibson, his secretary, was standing just outside with a stack of documents.

"I have the monthly reports here for you to sign," she said. He waved her in and turned his attention back to the letter he was reading. "They're all here, except engineering," she said, setting them on his desk.

"Why don't I have the engineering report?" he asked sharply.

"Mr. Murphy hasn't been in yet this week. I think – it's because of his father," she said with a pained expression.

"What?" he said with outrage. "The funeral was on Saturday, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Today's Wednesday!"

"I know, Mr. Blackwell."

"Did he call in sick?"

"No."

"Call him and tell him he's fired," Jonathon said through gritted teeth.

Mrs. Gibson's mouth dropped open. "I understand he was quite upset, Mr. Blackwell," she said, clasping her hands as if she was begging him to understand.

"Is that so! Well, my–" He bit back what was about to say, and took a moment to calm himself. "If he's too weak to carry out his duties, I don't want him here," he said levelly. "There's no excuse for it. I was here the day after my father's funeral."

Mrs. Gibson dropped her eyes. "I understand, sir."

"Clear out his belongings. Send them to his house along with his last paycheck."

"Yes, sir."

"And tell engineering I expect that report on my desk by the end of the day!" he said, picking up his letter.

"I will, sir."

He kept his eyes on the paper as she walked out, but he couldn't see the words, anger still boiling through him. How dare Murphy think it was okay to stay home for so many days? Was he supposed to let everyone stay home for as long as they felt like it after a death in the family? It was a ridiculous notion. The business would collapse in short order if he did that, and they should know it.

An hour later, he pulled on his coat and draped a scarf around his neck, preparing to make his rounds outside. When he headed through the large open office, a hush fell over the room, but he pretended not to notice. It was obvious word of Murphy's firing had traveled through the office.

He pushed the door open and stepped out into a biting wind. Everyone probably felt he'd been too harsh, but he didn't care. Trudging across the parking lot, he pulled his fedora down further to keep it from blowing off, and tightened his scarf. It wasn't like he held any of them to a higher standard then he set for himself. If they couldn't keep up, that wasn't his fault.

~~

When James drove up next to the house that evening, Jonathon put the engineering report he'd been reading back in his briefcase and closed the snaps. He climbed out of the car, and held onto his hat with his free hand as a gust of freezing wind swept across the large yard. With the sun low in the autumn sky, lights were already on inside the house, casting yellow pools on the brown grass outside, and he hurried to get inside out of the cold.

Billy was coming down the stairs when Jonathon closed the front door behind him.

"Hi, Johnny," he said when he reached the landing.

"Hey, Billy," Jonathon said, handing his briefcase to to Billy so he could take off his coat. In the past year, Billy had shot up and was now nearly as tall as Jonathon. "How's Mother today?"

Billy's face darkened. "Not good. It's been two days since she's gotten out of bed."

Suppressing a sigh, Jonathon turned to the closet. While he hung up his coat, he pushed away his sadness so Billy wouldn't see it. He didn't want to cause his brother to worry more than he already did. "I'll go talk to her. Take my briefcase to the library and wash up. I'll be down in a few minutes and then we'll eat."

Billy dropped his head.  "Okay." 

Jonathon watched him head into the library with his shoulders hunched, and then went up the stairs. With each step he climbed, he felt the weight of everything that was going on at home pressing down on him further.

At his mother's bedroom door, he knocked and waited. After a moment, it was opened by her nurse. "Good evening, Mr. Blackwell," Mrs. Sullivan said quietly, coming into the hall and closing the door behind her.

Jonathon was dismayed at the serious expression on her face. "Billy said she didn't get out of bed again today," he said nearly in a whisper, not wanting his mother to overhear.

"She's been much weaker this last week. She's eaten less and less, and today she didn't eat at all. If this keeps up, I fear the doctors may have been optimistic when they said she'd make it to December."

Jonathon raked his fingers through his hair. How could she be going downhill this fast? "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"Cancer is a terrible disease. Once it spreads to the other organs..." She shook her head sadly. "The most important thing is to keep her comfortable – and we're doing that."

"Is she awake?"

"She was napping, but she might wake for you."

She held the door open for him, and he stepped into the darker room. On the way to the bed, he breathed shallowly, trying not to take in the peculiar sick smell that now permeated his mother's bedroom. He despised it. It smelled like death to him.

He sat gently on the bed next to his mother's small form. "Mother," he said, placing his hand on her shoulder, and she stirred.

"Jonathon?" she said faintly, and blinked her eyes open. Her face seemed more gaunt to him today, and her eyes were more sunken in, but maybe it was because of what Mrs. Sullivan had said.

"How are you doing?" he asked, and kissed her on the cheek.

"I'm good," she said, giving him a faint smile, and he took her hand. "How was work today?"

"Oh, it's the same as it always is, but things are going well. Even though we're heading into winter, we're staying busy."

"That's good."

"Mrs. Sullivan said you didn't eat today," he said, steering the subject back to her.

She sighed deeply, and managed a pout. "I wasn't hungry," she said petulantly. In that moment, she seemed more like her old self, and it made him smile.

"You know you need to," he chided gently. "I worry about you when you don't eat."

"I've tried, Jonathon. Honestly, I have. The last few days, I've felt full after a few bites, and if I try to eat more, it's like I can't swallow it down."

On the other side of the bed, Mrs. Sullivan was placing a pitcher of fresh water on Mother's bedside table. From the look on her face when she straightened, Jonathon knew this wasn't good news.

"Well, do the best you can," he said, patting her hand.

"I will. You shouldn't worry about me," she said more quietly, and then blinked hard.

He dropped his gaze to her hand that he was holding. If she started crying, it would be harder for him to keep from breaking down in front of her, and he couldn't do that. He didn't want to be the cause of any suffering for her, especially when she had so little time left.

"You're just like your father," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "So strong and smart. You've done such a good job taking over the business after – after..."

"Thank you, Mother," he said roughly, and then cleared his throat.

She tightened her hold on his hand. "I want you to promise me something, Jonathon." The more firm tone in her voice made him look up. Her eyes were watery, but filled with determination. "I want you to promise me you'll look after William."

"Of course I will."

"I worry about – how he's going to manage. He's always been such a sensitive boy."

"You don't need to worry about him," he said, trying to give her a reassuring smile. "He's stronger than we give him credit for sometimes."

"I want you to promise you'll keep him safe, Jonathon!" she said more urgently. "He's still so young, and he needs – he needs someone to look out for him." A tear ran down her cheek.

"I'll keep him safe," Jonathon said firmly, brushing it away with his thumb. "I promise I will."

She managed a wobbly smile. "I'm proud of you, Jonathon. I know your father would be proud of you too."

He leaned forward to kiss her forehead, so she wouldn't see his face.

"I think – I'll go back to sleep now. I'm extra tired today," she said, her eyes already closing.

"Alright, Mother. Sleep well."

"I will."

When he stood, he pulled her blankets up higher, and tucked them around her like she used to do for him when he was little. Looking down at her, he couldn't help thinking how small she was. She'd lost so much weight, her body hardly made a mound under the covers. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he gave a nod to Mrs. Sullivan, and left.

Once the door was closed behind him, he leaned against it, squeezing his eyes shut. She was slipping away. He could feel it, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

When he'd recovered enough to face his brother, he headed down the stairs. On the way to the dining room, he debated whether he should share what Mrs. Sullivan said with Billy.

He'd often thought about the day Father had collapsed, and how he'd kept his worries from his brother. He hadn't done it intentionally. He'd never expected Father was going to die, but he knew he'd given Billy false hope, and it had probably made the shock of losing Father that much worse for him.

He couldn't allow Billy to be blindsided this time, he decided. If they didn't have as much time with Mother as they thought, Billy should know so he could prepare himself.

Billy was already at the table when he walked in, and Ingrid was setting the last of the dishes down.

"How is Mother?" Billy asked, as Jonathon took his seat.

Jonathon put his napkin on his lap, stalling until Ingrid had left and the swinging door to the butler's pantry was still. "She's – she's not doing well, Billy," he said, finally meeting his brother's eyes. "Mrs. Sullivan isn't hopeful she's going to make it to December."

Billy slumped, and then he looked at Jonathon with desperation. "But why? Why is it happening so fast?"

Jonathon shook his head. "I don't know."

Billy wiped his eyes, and then took a deep breath as he straightened, trying to put on a brave face.

"Why don't you go up and see her after dinner," Jonathon suggested. "You could read to her. I think she'd like that."

Billy nodded while handing Jonathon his plate, but he kept his head down. He remained silent, and Jonathon decided it would probably be best if he didn't say more on the subject either. It would only cause them both more pain.

The fifteen months since Father had passed away had been hard for all of them, and finding out Mother had cancer had been the worst blow yet. Jonathon had never imagined his life could be filled with so much tragedy over such a short amount of time.  But it seemed especially cruel that Billy was going to lose both his parents before he turned eighteen.

No kid should have to go through that, he thought bitterly, spearing a pork chop and putting it on Billy's plate.

~~

The next morning when Jonathon came out of his bedroom, Mrs. Sullivan was coming up the stairs with a breakfast tray for his mother.

"Good morning, Mr. Blackwell."

"Morning," he said, nodding as he passed her.

He was glad he'd decided to hire a live in nurse when he'd found out how serious Mother's condition was. Knowing Mrs. Sullivan was constantly at her side, taking care of her and monitoring her health, it gave him the peace of mind he needed so he could concentrate on the mine.

Billy was already at the table, digging into a bowl of corn flakes, and Jonathon took his seat. "I forgot to ask last night," he said, unfolding the newspaper next to his plate. "How did your English test go yesterday?"

"It went okay," Billy said while he chewed, and then swallowed when Jonathon pointedly raised his eyebrow. "I think I'll get an 'A'."

"I'm glad you're keeping your grades up. I know it can be–"

"Mr. Blackwell."

Jonathon looked up to see Mrs. Sullivan standing at the threshold to the dining room.

There was no mistaking the grim expression on her face, and he suddenly felt all the air leave his lungs. Billy had noticed it too. He was frozen, his spoon half way to his mouth as he stared at her.

"What is it?" Jonathon asked, when he was finally able to speak.

"Can I – speak to you privately?" she said, glancing at Billy.

Jonathon stood slowly, his chair scraping across the wood floor.  He intended to follow her out of the room like she wanted, but after taking a step, he stopped.  He couldn't do that to Billy.

"Whatever it is, you can say it in front of my brother," he said.

She looked between the two of them, and then took a breath. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Blackwell, Billy," she said, gazing sorrowfully at them. "Your mother has passed away." Billy's spoon clattered on the table as he let out a small cry. "I checked on her at 5 a.m. and she was resting peacefully, but when I went to bring her breakfast, she – she's gone."

Jonathon couldn't speak. While his brother cried quietly into his hands, he struggled to maintain his composure.

"Would you like to go up and see her?" Mrs. Sullivan asked after a moment.

Jonathon cleared his throat. "Yes, I think we will."

She left, and Jonathon went to his brother. "Come on, Billy," he said, gripping his brother's shoulders. "Let's go." Billy wiped his face and let Jonathon steer him out of the room. 

In their mother's bedroom, Mrs. Sullivan was raising the blinds in the front window, letting in the morning light.

"I'll be downstairs if you need me," she said soberly, heading for the door. "And when you're ready for me to make the necessary phone calls, let me know."

"Mrs. Sullivan," Jonathon said, stopping her. "Can you tell Ingrid?"

"Yes, I will." After giving him one last mournful look, she quietly closed the door.

His mother was lying on her back, her hands placed together on her chest.  As Jonathon approached her, he could see that Mrs. Sullivan had taken the time to comb her hair and straighten her bedding.

Billy walked up beside him, and then collapsed to his knees, burying his face in her blankets. "Mother," he cried out in a strangled voice.

While his brother sobbed, Jonathon studied her face. She looked exactly like she had when he'd left her the day before, like she was asleep. He reached out and put his hand on hers, and then immediately pulled it away. As soon as he'd made contact with her skin, he could sense she was no longer with them. 

Billy lifted his head, and wiped his eyes. "I'm glad – I'm glad I talked to her last night."

"I'm glad you did too."

"She said she was proud of me," he said with wonder, looking up at Jonathon.

Jonathon immediately remembered his mother had said the same thing to him. Did she sense it was her last chance to talk to her sons?

"It was good she told you that, Billy."

"Yeah, I was surprised. I didn't think she felt that way about me."

Somehow, that statement made Jonathon even more sad. "She had good reason to be proud of you. You're a good kid."

"You really think so, Johnny?"

"Yes, I do."

Billy stood and gazed at her for long moment. Then he turned to Jonathon with a sigh.

"Are you ready?" Jonathon asked, guessing his brother wouldn't be able to say it.

"Yeah."

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Jonathon said, "I'm not going to eat breakfast. I don't suppose you'll want to finish..."

Billy dropped his head and shook it.

"Go tell Ingrid we're not eating. I need to talk to Mrs. Sullivan, and then we'll leave."

Billy's head shot up. "Where are we going?"

"You have school, and I have to go to work."

"I can't go to school!" he said, tearing up again.

"Well, you're not staying home."

"No, Johnny! Don't make me!" he cried.

Seeing the anguish in his brother's eyes, he relented. "Alright, you can come to work with me."

"But I don't want to go there either!"

"Listen to me," he said firmly. "It'll help if you get out of the house and do something. You'll see.  Working will make it easier."

Billy shoved his hands in his pockets.  "Okay," he muttered, still unconvinced.

At that moment, Mrs. Sullivan appeared, coming down the hallway. Jonathon opened the closet and took out Billy's coat. "Go tell Ingrid we're not eating, and then have James get the car ready." he said, handing it to Billy.

He waited until Billy had disappeared before he spoke to Mrs. Sullivan. "Will you tell the funeral director we don't want a public funeral? We'll just have a graveside service for the – for me and my brother." He was about to say family, and then realized that two brothers hardly made up a family.

"Are you sure that's what you want to do?" Mrs. Sullivan said, clearly surprised.

"Yes, I'm sure!" he said bitingly, turning to get his coat and fedora. He didn't want to go through another funeral like his father's, and he wasn't about to put Billy through that either.

"Just – just have him make all the arrangements," he said after he'd closed the closet door.

"Alright."

She waited somberly, and he knew there was more he should discuss with her, but he could feel his grief beginning to take hold. "I'll be at work today," he said, already moving in the direction of the kitchen. "If there are questions, they'll have to wait till tonight."

"Yes, sir," she said, but he was already halfway down the hall.

Heading through the dining room, he wished like hell he was at the mine already. Throwing himself into his work was the only way he knew to make the pain go away.

****

The hits keep coming for poor Jonathon, and it's probably clear in this chapter how much he's being changed because of them.   I'm sure you can spot the many hints of the older Uncle Jonathon here.  But now that his mother has passed away, I'm sure all of you are thinking along the same lines right about now - does this open things up with Helen?  You'll find out!

I have a question for you about this chapter.  Do you feel that it's too large of a jump in time from Father's death to Jonathon's mother dying?  I'm thinking it could be jarring and/or confusing for readers and I'm wondering if there needs to be a chapter between this one and the previous one.  Please let me know what you think!

Thank you so much for reading!  I know I say that every chapter, but I really do appreciate it!

The picture shows a very serious looking Dirk Bogarde aka Jonathon.

Cheers!

Katherine