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From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} "Formez vos Bataillons" 2/4 -- Uther -- (MF MF wl)
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Date: Fri, 16 Jul 2010 16:10:02 -0400
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<1st attachment, "vos-2-hld.txt" begin>


  This material is copyright, 2010, by Uther
  Pendragon. All rights reserved. I specifically
  grant the right of downloading and keeping one
  electronic copy for your personal reading so long
  as this notice is included. Reposting requires
  previous permission. 
  If you have any comments or requests, please e-mail
  them to me at nogardnePrethU@gmail.com .
  All persons here depicted, except public figures
  depicted as public figures in the background, are
  figments of my imagination. Any resemblance to
  persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
  
  
  Formez vos Bataillions -- 2/4
  Uther Pendragon
  nogardneprethu@gmail.com
  
  MF MF
  Continued from Part 1
  
  
  The Chicago Brennans came out into the yard. Bob
  and Jeanette kept well away. Cat came racing over.
  The temperature, which had fallen to a quite
  comfortable range overnight, was fast approaching
  sauna levels again. That sapped Kathleen's energy;
  it didn't seem to effect seven-year-olds. Which
  reminded her, she'd need to finish wrapping Cat's
  birthday present and sneak it to Jeanette.
  
  "Cat, come back," Bob yelled. "Maybe they want to
  be alone."
  
  "That's all right," Charles answered, "The
  conversation is over." He picked Cat up, swung her
  around, and set her down. She raced back to her
  parents. Charles and Kathleen ambled after. 
  
  "Would you mind taking over chid-care duties?" Bob
  asked. "Five adults showering in the morning is a
  ridiculous idea, especially when Mom serves a
  special breakfast. But we feel all grungy after the
  tip. We thought we'd take our showers now."
  
  "Good idea," said Kathleen. "We might take the
  after-lunch shift." Charles, who had had a shower
  the previous night, couldn't see where that was
  going, but he kept his mouth shut. His devious wife
  was probably being devious. They stayed in the yard
  for another half hour, then went inside. Cat's
  books were in Bob's room, but Kath went up to find
  some of her old ones. They were beyond Cat's
  reading level, but she enjoyed having Charles read
  them to her, anyway. Bob came down in a short-
  sleeved shirt.
  
  "Like you, I've decided to exercise my second-
  amendment rights." It took Charles a moment to get
  'the right to bare arms.' He decided it wasn't
  worthy of a groan. "Bored your uncle, yet?" he
  asked Cat. 
  "We're never bored with her. Now, she, on the other
  hand..."
  
  "Looks remarkably content. You're maybe her
  favorite person, among her favorites, anyway." Mom
  would be ahead, and he could still remember whose
  side Cat took when she thought Charles had made
  Kathleen cry. Of course, his proposal had made
  Kathleen cry -- just not the way Cat thought. 
  
  "Among, certainly. This young woman seems to love
  all the world." Actually, Cat was easy to
  entertain. What had Jeanette said? Something about
  making sure she didn't hurt herself or annoy
  strangers. When Cat got tired of this book, she
  would be quite able to think up something new. Then
  he need only figure whether that was dangerous to
  her or somebody else. They could always go back to
  the Marseillaise.
  
  "Snack Cat?" asked Bob. "I think Memere has a
  pickle." He knew damn well that Mom had a jar of
  pickles. He'd checked. He'd even checked that they
  hadn't spoiled. "You can wash your hands down
  here." Cat ran to the downstairs half bath. "Sorry
  to take her away. What were you reading?" Charles
  showed him the Nancy Drew.
  
  "I think it was beginning to bore her. I'll mark
  the page, maybe finish it myself. Ashamed to say I
  want to know how it comes out."
  
  "No shame there. Whenever I start a mystery, I
  finish it. Jeanette, now, reads them all the time.
  Library. Local branch has a wall of mysteries and
  some more in the paper-back section. Always use a
  library for mysteries; they aren't any good second
  time around. Macdonald, on the other hand, aren't
  really mysteries -- crime stories, it's fun to
  reread them."
  
  "The Brennans!" Now, Cat had come back and they
  followed her into the kitchen. Bob grabbed the
  telephone book on his way through the dining room.
  "Did Kath really read all of Britannica?"
  
  "Whatever she tells you. I thought it was all; now
  she says she skipped parts of articles. It was over
  years, of course. You get bored. There's only so
  much to read. It's better than the art-history
  books and the economics texts. Pictures in the art-
  history books are better, of course. Though I had a
  list of pictures in Britannica, too, at one time."
  
  "Pictures?"
  
  "I was post-puberty." He gestured to Cat who was
  nibbling on her pickle. "Figure out what sort of
  pictures interested me."
  
  "Right." Cat finished her pickle. She decided that
  Sharl wouldn't give her another with Papa right
  there. She wiped her hands on the paper napkin and
  climbed down from her seat. 
  
  "Thank you, Papa. May I be excused?"
  
  "Go wash your hands." Bob picked up the saucer and
  rinsed it under the faucet before putting it in the
  dishwasher. "I wonder how often Mom runs this when
  she is alone."
  
  "I have no idea, dear. When it looks full, I run
  it. Does it look full." Kate had returned to the
  kitchen.
  
  "No." He opened it to show her.
  
  "Cat." Charles went back into the living room.
  "More of the book, or do you want to do something
  else?"
  
  "Book!" Cat decided. She waited for Sharl to sit
  down and then sat down in his lap. She was a big
  girl, but -- as long as Sharl didn't make a point
  of it -- pretending to be a little girl who sat in
  laps to have books read to her was fun. 
  
  "Cat was telling me," Kate told Bob in a voice she
  hoped Cat couldn't hear, "something about a
  'Billy.' Do you know anything about that. It
  happened on the train, I think." She hadn't been
  paying attention, and she felt guilty. Next time,
  she'd know the context.
  
  "Woman was breast-feeding a baby on the train. Cat
  was fascinated. Jeanette called her off, hoping the
  woman wouldn't be embarrassed. Later we talked to
  them. The baby was named Billy, and Cat was still
  fascinated when the woman was dressed. Not much
  interested in her, but fascinated by Billy."
  
  "So it was all right then?"
  
  "I hope so. It would be ironic if Cat dissuaded
  someone from nursing a kid." Cat, of course, had
  been breast-fed herself. 
  
  Lunch was tuna salad sandwiches. Jeanette hoped Cat
  wouldn't say that they'd had them the day before.
  Her father's daughter, Cat ate hers with good
  appetite. Cat had food dislikes, but she never got
  tired of something she liked. And, with chopped
  onions and pickles in her grandmother's recipe, Cat
  would like these better. Bob added catsup to his,
  which was less nauseating when it wasn't something
  she'd prepared. Katherine, who was a much better
  cook than Jeanette would ever be, looked blithe.
  Well, Bob was her son; she was used to his foibles.
  It wasn't as though Bob had been normal and turned
  weird.
  
  After lunch, she made some calls. She'd grown up in
  this town, and Bob had spent his high-school years
  here, too. She'd kept in touch with many old
  friends; not all of whom had moved away. Bob,
  pushed, had three friends he'd like to see again.
  Marcy Thompson Blaire was her first call. She'd
  been a bridesmaid after sharing many classes
  together.
  
  "I'd love to see you and Cat. But you know who
  really needs a visit? Remember Mrs. Groghan?" She'd
  taught French -- the school's one French teacher.
  "She is now in a nursing home, and really
  depressed." So Jeanette called the nursing home.
  They recommended against bringing out an unrelated
  child. She and Bob decided to go anyway.
  
  "Can we leave Cat with you?" she asked Katherine.
  
  "Always, dear. Pull out an outfit for visiting,
  anyway. Many of my friends would like to see Cat."
  So that is what they did. They borrowed Katherine's
  car. After the first minutes of the visit, Jeanette
  was happy that they hadn't brought Cat. Mrs.
  Groghan was not only depressed, she was anxious to
  spread that depression around. 
  
  "I feel like a bad hostess, dear, leaving you two
  here alone." Kate told her daughter. 
  
  "Don't worry, Mom. We came here to relax. Your
  friends will love Cat, and vice versa. Take as long
  as you want. Don't worry about using the car. Bob
  could have borrowed ours, and you'll put fewer
  miles on it."
  
  "That's very generous, dear." Actually it sounded
  like Kathleen wanted some time alone with Charles.
  Well, aside from the decades when she'd interfered
  with Kate's desire for some time alone with Russ,
  why not? And, after all, taking revenge on your
  grown daughter for having been a child was petty.
  "In that case, I might take Cat to the library
  afterwards. Jeanette brought books, but some
  temporary ones couldn't hurt."
  
  "That's a splendid idea. Char was reading Nancy
  Drew to her, and her attention was wandering." 
  
  So Kate made a few calls of her own. She found
  three friends who would be home. The first visit,
  however, was not one she had given warning. She
  went into a drugstore and stood behind a man
  picking up a prescription.
  
  "Did you call your prescription in?"
  
  "No, Mr. Jacobs. This is Jeanette's daughter Cat.
  I'm Kate Brennan." She figured that 'Mrs. Brennan'
  might bring the response 'Jeanette, you've aged.'
  She didn't know what she'd expected, but the glance
  -- furtive glance if she weren't imagining things -
  - towards the front of the store was a surprise. 
  
  "Hello, Mrs. Brennan. Hello Catherine." At least he
  knew his granddaughter's name, though she was
  'Catherine Angelique' when she was 'Catherine.' But
  maybe that was only in her grandmother Katherine's
  house. Even if not, knowing what she'd been
  baptized isn't knowing what she was called. He
  probably remembered as much as he'd been told.
  
  "Hello." Cat didn't know what to call this man.
  Memere had called him by name, but only once. She
  stuck out her hand. The friends of Memere liked to
  shake hands. He didn't seem to see. He was talking
  to Memere.
  
  "Does Jeanette know you're here?"
  
  "No. Does it matter? I'm a grandmother, and enjoy
  my granddaughter's presence. I thought you deserved
  at least a look."
  
  "She hates us. She rejected us. We never hear from
  her."
  
  "She feels that you rejected her. After all, you
  gave her the choice of marrying Bob or going to
  college. Maybe you'll be happy to know that she's
  finally finishing her education. If you want to
  send her a letter -- she's moved several times --
  send it to me. I'll be sure to forward it." And, at
  her request, Jeanette would probably read it
  instead of marking it 'refused -- return to
  sender.'
  
  "Moving all the time. Doesn't sound stable." That
  sounded like a criticism of Bob.
  
  "Well, she married a college student. You wouldn't
  want him to keep that as a permanent career." Not
  that Bob hadn't seemed to have made being a student
  a permanent career for a while. "Bob is now an
  associate professor at Northwestern. It's a good
  university."
  
  "Too good for a druggist."
  
  "The two of them don't consider themselves too good
  for a schoolteacher. As I said, Jeanette doesn't
  think she's rejecting you. She thinks you've
  rejected her." And, in front of his granddaughter,
  an adorable granddaughter who was standing there
  behaving herself while she was being ignored, he
  could only think to criticize his daughter. If not
  rejection, that was certainly grounds for
  Jeanette's coming to town without calling him.
  "Anyway, it's not my quarrel. You've seen Cat, and
  I'm holding up the line. I'll go now." And, go she
  did. The only interruption was a customer.
  
  "Mrs. Brennan?"
  
  "Yes?" she couldn't place the man.
  
  "Johnny Dedmon. You wouldn't remember me, certainly
  wouldn't recognize me. I hardly recognized you from
  this angle." Dedmon was a tall man, taller than Bob
  or Charles. He held his hands down at about the
  level of Cat's head. "I had you in third grade.
  Heard about your loss. Sorry." 
  
  "Thanks. This is Cat, my granddaughter. Cat, this
  is Mr. Dedmon. I used to teach him." 
  
  "What Grade are you in Cat? Do you like school?"
  
  "Second. I guess I like it." Cat would be in second
  grade when school resumed. Kids either hated school
  all the time or hated it some of the time. Was Cat
  learning to give polite answers?
  
  "Are you going to be in your Grandmother's room
  next year?" Kate could answer that one.
  
  "Cat lives in Chicago. Even if she were here, I
  don't think that would be a good idea."
  
  "Well, she was a good teacher to a lot of us.
  Probably having her for a grandmother is even
  better." So, Kate thought, Cat visited the
  grandfather who'd not seen her in years. She had a
  longer conversation with a perfect stranger -- a
  man who had been Kate's student long ago. Well,
  Jeanette's parents had deserved a chance to see
  their granddaughter. Both parents had now received
  their chances. Kate wouldn't make any other
  overtures.
  
  The next visits went much better. Betty Daniels
  taught with Kate. You'd think she would have had
  her fill of kids. Instead, she welcomed them both,
  fed Cat a cookie, and talked with her. On a later
  visit, Alice Spiegel inquired after Wot.
  
  "He stayed home. He tears easily now." Actually,
  Cat thought she was much too old for a stuffed
  elephant. But, she didn't want to tell Wot that. It
  was mean to say you'd outgrown someone. Like Tante
  Kathleen calling herself 'K'leen.' She'd talked
  like that as a baby, and Tante Kathleen had thought
  it cute. Being a baby wasn't cute. But she liked
  Tante Kathleen and didn't want to tell her she was
  treating her like a baby. Anyway, the lady offered
  her a cookie. On the way to the library, Memere
  pulled over into a gas station.
  
  "New car, Mrs. Brennan?"
  
  "My daughter's car. My son is driving mine. Don't
  ask." Bob had borrowed her car before she had
  really decided on the trip. Kathleen had been quite
  willing to lend hers. Which made her wonder again
  what was happening while she was gone. One returned
  a borrowed car with a full tank of gas. And, if
  Kathleen and Charles were making love, she wanted
  Cat well away until they were quite done. Well, a
  library would keep her busy. 
  
  The library did. The borrowing limit was ten books.
  When Kate took the ten books to the desk, there was
  a crisis. She already had one book out. Cat was
  reasonable. They left one book and took out nine. 
  
  "Memere, all those books were in English."
  
  "Yes, dear, but I was getting them for me and
  Charles to read to you. Do you have French books in
  the library near your home?"
  
  "I don't think so. Only English and Spanish. Maman
  says that we'll take out some Spanish ones next
  year when I read better." Whatever limitations
  living in Chicago placed on Cat, and the real
  limitation was that Kate was deprived of her
  granddaughter, she saw a diverse world. Kate drove
  home wondering how Kathleen and Charles had fared.
  
  They'd fared much like they had intended. When
  they'd watched the car out of sight, they'd looked
  at each other. It was a 'are you thinking what I'm
  thinking?' sort of look.
  
  "All alone," said Charles. "How can we possibly
  amuse ourselves?"
  
  "Well you can finish Nancy Drew if you want. I'm
  going upstairs."
  
  "I'm at a scary part. I don't want to read it all
  alone. I'll go upstairs with you." And they went
  upstairs and into their room together. By the time
  they'd reached the room, Charles had his shirt
  unbuttoned. Even so, Kathleen had her clothes off
  before he did. Charles had been wearing laced
  sneakers. When they kissed, their glasses collided.
  "Maybe we should have them off for now."
  
  "Maybe." She took her glasses off before kissing
  him again. Then she took off the bed spread and
  rolled the top sheet down to the bottom of the bed.
  She lay down.
  
  "Much better." Kath was enough shorter than he was
  that even kissing her mouth involved bending over.
  He started kissing at her ankle, and worked his way
  up the leg to its junction with the other. He
  kissed her labia before working up to her breasts.
  Then he lay down beside her. While he kissed one
  breast and then the other, his hand stroked her
  thighs. He parted her labia.
  
  She lay delighting in his magic fingers and ardent
  lips. She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling
  his head against her whenever her passion ran
  higher than usual.
  
  "You are so good at this. Those hands are wasted on
  babies and pianos. But I don't want to share you; I
  don't even want to share you with the babies. Oh,
  yes. Right there. Oh, Char!" She was right up there
  when Char withdrew both hand and mouth. She felt
  bereft, even though she knew it was temporary. She
  moved to lie diagonally with one hip on one edge of
  the bed and her head on the other edge. Char knelt
  between her legs and kissed upwards towards the
  lips which were leaking moisture by this time.
  
  He tasted Kath when he licked her labia. It wasn't
  sweet, but it was intensely arousing. His tongue
  parted her labia majora, gathering more juice. He
  swung his arms under her legs and up the bed until
  his hands reached her breasts. He cupped both
  breasts as he parted the labia minora. He tweaked
  both nipples as he licked her clitoris. He wasn't
  going for teasing; they had had enough foreplay. He
  was going for her first orgasm.
  
  She felt the sensations from Char's fingers and
  tongue rushing at each other like three express
  trains. When they met, the crash sent her higher
  and higher. She felt her body spasm. But the
  sensations kept coming. After the second set of
  spasms, her left breast felt cool. After the third
  set, his fingers were entering her pussy. When she
  rose again, she was clasping around those fingers.
  
  He tried to keep in position while Kath bucked
  under his face and her legs pressed down on his
  shoulders. He kept licking while he pulled his
  right hand back. When he could, he inserted two
  fingers to seek her G-spot. He paused in licking
  when he found it. After that, he alternated between
  rubbing her G-spot and licking her clitoris. After
  she moaned, he went all out; he rubbed her G-spot
  as well as he could through an orgasm, sucked on
  her clitoris, and pinched her nipple. He kept those
  up as long as her orgasm lasted. When it ended, he
  withdrew.
  
  She soared, and crashed, and soared again. The
  series of climaxes went on forever. And it ended in
  one which went on forever all by itself. She was as
  limp as a dishrag when Char left her, but he wasn't
  gone long. First she felt him insert her diaphragm.
  Then he turned her legs up on the bed and helped
  her straighten up. He walked around the bed and lay
  beside her, cuddling her. The cuddle felt good, but
  the insertion had been a total waste of time. She
  wouldn't be able to move, much less be on top, for
  hours. 
  
  "Darling Kath, lovely Kath, sensual Kath," Charles
  murmured into her hair. She was all of those
  things, but he also wanted her to feel safe and
  cherished. He'd get his, maybe now, maybe tonight.
  He really needed the occasional orgasm, but the
  experience of her writhing in his arms and under
  his tongue was more sensual than any orgasm he'd
  experienced. The safer she felt after such an
  experience, the safer she'd feel going into
  another. When she turned to face him, he kissed her
  on the lips and then licked between them. "Taste
  yourself."
  Tasting herself didn't do anything for her. For
  that matter, Char's lips had less of her taste by
  that time than his chin would. She knew things like
  that based on past experience. The kiss, however,
  was nice. And the feel of his cock against her
  thighs reminded her that this wasn't over. Well,
  she had her strength back, and they still had the
  house to themselves. She moved to the edge of the
  bed and reached for her glasses.
  
  "Don't need the lamp," she noted. "Move towards the
  foot of the bed." When he raised his knees and
  scooted lower, she straddled him and leaned over
  until the tip of her left breast was an inch from
  his lips. He closed that inch and sucked. She
  reached behind her to find his cock. With it in her
  right hand, she spread herself open with her left.
  Then, she slowly lowered herself onto him. Her butt
  struck his thighs. 
  
  "Hold yourself up," he told Kath. He spread his
  thighs. "Now lower yourself slowly." As she did, he
  felt the smooth warmth of her vaginal walls slide
  over the head and more and more of the shaft of his
  prick. She was still against his thighs instead of
  his pubis. "Up a little." When she raised herself,
  he moved his right foot off the bed-- then he moved
  his left foot off. His legs were widely split, and
  his calves were on each side of the foot of the
  bed.  He reached over for his glasses and put them
  on. Suddenly Kath's sexy-but-fuzzy shape was in
  sharp detail, and even sexier. The nipple he'd
  sucked was longer and more deeply colored than the
  other.
  
  The motions needed to fit themselves to each other
  and to the narrow bed had been quite practical.
  They'd also involved Char's cock sliding into her
  and up and down inside her. Her arousal was rising
  again. But this one was for Char's arousal. She
  grabbed her own glasses after he'd put on his. Then
  she watched his face as she raised and lowered
  herself on his cock. He was nearly leering as he
  watched her. Soon though, his expression grew
  concerned. She leaned over to support herself with
  her hands on his shoulders. She slowed her motions
  while watching the changing expression. 
  
  He'd been attracted to Kath the first time he'd
  seen her in class, fully dressed and ignoring him.
  Now, naked, hunched over, staring at his face, she
  was the sexiest sight possible. But the sight was
  nothing compared to the feeling. Her motions were
  stroking her vagina all along his cock. Slow as she
  was moving, she wasn't teasing im this time. He was
  climbing the mountain, and she was leading him up.
  When she tightened her vaginal muscles while
  gliding slowly downward, his hips drove upward to
  meet her and speed that delightful, but tantalizing
  friction.
  
  She smiled when Char bucked under her. He was
  close, and his expression showed it. She tried to
  slow even more for the next three strokes. His
  expression grew more serious. She did another Kegel
  on the up stroke, and watched his grimace. He tried
  to speed their motion by retreating, but there was
  a mattress in his way. At the top of the stroke she
  relaxed her grip and then tightened around his head
  again. As she sank down, he bucked again. He buried
  himself in her before her weight bore them down.
  She sat back erect while tightening her Kegel once
  more.
  
  He was in agony, about to erupt but not quite
  there. And she had stopped moving except to
  straighten, He saw her towering over him like a
  goddess with her breasts flaring out, He felt her
  vagina caress his prick. Then, at last, she moved.
  As she rose, her vaginal walls stroked the length
  of his prick and he could feel the juice boiling up
  through it. When she stroked back down he yelled
  and erupted.
  
  She could see the grimace turn to agony. "Kath!" he
  shouted as he bucked under her. She felt him
  throbbing within her as she rode him. Then his face
  slowly relaxed from agony to bliss. She bent over
  to kiss him, losing him as she went. Well, she
  could hug his body. When his breath slowed, she got
  up. 
  
  "I'm going for a shower. I don't think anyone is
  home." Considering the last shout, nobody better be
  home. She wore her robe and tossed the sheet over
  him, just in case. In the shower, she considered
  removing the diaphragm. It was a little soon,
  however. There was plenty of time. Let the sperm
  wear themselves out. When she came out, Char
  watched her dress. Then he went for his own shower.
  She put on her sneakers and went downstairs. All
  the adult books were down here, and she felt in a
  mood for old masters. Mom's art-history books had
  seemed boring once, but after spending hours
  listening to people talking -- or, often, not
  talking -- about the events which had made them
  most emotional, communication without words was a
  treat.
  
  Charles used the toilet, then took his time sitting
  there resting before his shower. This was what a
  vacation should be, but it took the energy out of a
  man. Still, it was a great way to go. He enjoyed
  the shower, slowing even there. When he heard the
  door slam, he was drying himself off and musing
  about how sexy his wife was when she could relax.
  He wrapped his towel about his waist, put on his
  robe, and rushed to the room. He'd been through a
  residency; he could dress in seconds.
  
  Kathleen left her book on the dining room table
  when she heard the door slam, (Reading there was
  more comfortable than holding the huge art book up
  in a living room chair, and being in her room --
  where she'd normally read for her entire life in
  this house -- seemed, suddenly, suggestive of what
  she had been doing with Char.) She found Mom and
  Cat in the living room.
  
  "Cat, shouldn't you close the door more quietly?"
  
  "Memere!" Now Tante Kathleen was making rules like
  Maman. And it was a rule that she hadn't even
  broken.
  
  "I closed the door, dear. Sometimes people want to
  know when others are in the house." She smiled at
  her daughter. Sometime, she had to communicate to
  Kathleen that ones sexual activities are perfectly
  acceptable but not for public discussion. Of
  course, Cat was here. That required subtlety which
  wasn't all that bad. Subtlety is what Kathleen had
  to develop. Good, she was blushing. Well, some of
  this could be done without Cat watching. "Do you
  need to use the bathroom, dear?" Cat went into the
  downstairs half bath.
  
  "Really, dear. I'm your mother. I had two babies.
  Med school should have told you the preconditions
  for that."
  
  "You laid out the consequences long before med
  school did. You never before talked about your own
  activities."
  
  "And I won't do so again, dear. Ladies don't talk
  about their own activities." And now Charles was
  coming down the stair. "Good afternoon, dear. So
  nice of you to adjust your shower schedule so that
  there isn't a line in the morning. We used to be
  stressed with four. We never thought ahead to six."
  
  "Mrs. Brennan..."
  
  "'Kate,' dear. Jeanette calls me 'Katherine' which
  might be confusing since she was so kind as to name
  her child after me."
  
  "Kate, you've been so hospitable."
  
  "Pure selfishness, dear. I was just thinking last
  night how much more comfortable the house feels
  when I know people I love are in it -- even when
  they are asleep."
  
  "Sharl. look what I've got." Cat had been quite
  patient. First she'd been scolded for something she
  hadn't done. Then nobody had seen that she'd washed
  her hands.
  
  "More books. Do you want to read them now?" The
  conversation with Mrs. Brennan was in danger of
  getting mushy. And paying attention to Cat was
  always acceptable behavior in this house. He got
  the books on a table next to an easy chair and
  himself in the chair. After Cat was in his lap, he
  reached for the first book of the three. 
  
  Kate put the other six books where she could find
  them when she needed to. She went into the half
  bath to flush the toilet. Cat had remembered half
  her tasks. Another time, she'd have reminded her of
  the need to flush, but Cat had had a busy
  afternoon. Kate washed her own hands and headed for
  the kitchen. Katherine followed her.
  
  "Really, Mother." She took a minute to think how to
  express herself. Mom looked at her quizzically, but
  stayed silent. "You might not talk about your own
  activities, but you've talked loads about the first
  time I brought Char here."
  
  "Only about what you said, dear." Kate had quite
  forgotten reporting that both beds were slept in,
  on separate nights. "And it's less that you asked
  for Charles to share your room than that this was
  the first time we'd heard about him. We met several
  of your friends when we came to your graduation.
  You could have introduced one more. I don't say
  that you should have described how far that
  friendship had gone. Indeed, as I said, ladies
  don't talk about that. Even married ladies don't
  talk about it to anyone but their gynecologist.
  Your husband, of course, but who says you're a lady
  in the bedroom?"
  
  "Mom!" First she lectures on being a lady, then she
  gets bawdy! And with barely a breath in between.
  
  "Well, dear, some things you do say to your
  daughter that you don't talk about at table. I
  never worried about your being too circumspect with
  Charles. After all, you are positively blatant in
  front of us. But, if you think that there is
  something I would disapprove in the marriage bed --
  'bed' is figurative, of course. How you behave in
  your own apartment is your business. Circumspection
  here, around Cat, goes without saying. Anyway, how
  you behave in the marriage bed is your own
  business; so long as neither of you is injured, I
  not only don't have to know, I give my blessings."
  
  "You're being much more permissive than you were
  when I was growing up. And there were reasons we
  didn't tell you earlier."
  
  "More permissive than before you were married,
  dear. I don't approve of premarital sex for my
  children. And, yes, you wanted to keep your private
  fling private. And, then, you wanted to introduce
  us to the love of your life. I can see both
  motivations. I just feel that you had options in
  how you moved from one to the next. "
  
  "You didn't say that you disapproved. Did you
  expect me to come to the altar a virgin?"
  
  "Well, I thought I implied it. And approval is one
  thing; expectation is another. I assigned you and
  Charles to different rooms his first trip here.
  That is disapproval of your spending the night in
  the same bed. Then we closed and locked our door.
  That is expectation that there would be traffic in
  the hallway."
  
  "Don't ask -- don't tell."
  
  "That's now, dear. We told you quite clearly that
  we disapproved, then. Now, you don't tell me of
  your actions, and I try to keep out of the way.
  It's much more pleasant that way. On the other
  hand, I certainly hope that you are happy in your
  marriage. And, marital happiness almost always
  requires an enjoyable sex life. It's just that you
  don't have to make a point of it in company. Bob,
  whatever his faults, never ground your nose in his
  bed-time habits."
  
  "Well, I knew about them. I can remember the
  rocking chair!"
  
  "Yes, dear, but he didn't say 'I want to borrow the
  rocking chair so I can share it with Jeanette.' He
  did give you and Charles a rocking chair for a
  wedding present, which was quite pointed enough.
  But I can't think of a subtler way to pass on the
  wisdom. And, after all, when Bob is your criterion
  for subtlety, you are already in a weak position.
  
  "And, dear, this is a mother-daughter conversation.
  I'm being much franker than I would be in company.
  Traditionally, we would have had one before you got
  married, but I didn't have one before I got married
  -- the tradition had already died out. You had
  already been living with Charles. Maybe I should
  have, not what you do in bed but what you say in
  company."
  
  "You don't believe in frankness, do you?"
  
  "I respect frankness in moderation, dear. I
  specifically object to exhibitionism."
  
  "So you slam the door when you come in?"
  
  "Right! I object to exhibitionism, and I object to
  snooping. After all, I didn't interrupt anything,
  but I didn't know what I might interrupt. I might
  have overheard a fearful row, you know. It isn't
  only what a married couple enjoys but wants to keep
  private, it's also what they don't enjoy."
  
  "Charles and I don't have rows."
  
  "That's nice, dear, but it won't be the end of the
  world when you do." During this discussion, Kate
  had been preparing dinner. Kathleen, trained in
  this kitchen, had helped. 
  
  "Memere," Cat had appeared suddenly. "May I have a
  pickle, please."
  
  "It's too close to dinner, Cat. When Maman and Papa
  get here, we'll all eat.
  
  Bob and Jeanette spent a long, not particularly
  pleasant, time with Mrs. Groghan. The sky to the
  west was getting cloudy as they drove back. As she
  got out of the car, Jeanette heard the Marseillaise
  coming from inside. She got there in time to join
  in the last verse. 
  
  "How often have you sung it to Memere today?" she
  asked Cat. It had been a nice surprise, but she
  hoped Katherine hadn't had it inflicted on her
  every hour.
  
  "Deux seulement." She was still in the francais
  mode. Besides, she knew she was being accused of
  something else she hadn't done.
  
  "The repetition was my idea," said Charles.
  
  "We were waiting for you, dear. Dinner is in five
  minutes, if you care to wash up." Jeanette went
  upstairs. Bob, who had no compunction about being
  heard urinating, used the downstairs half bath. 
  
  "And how was Mrs. Groghan?" Kate asked when they
  had begun eating.
  
  "Depressed," Jeanette answered, "and -- frankly --
  depressing. She told us that she doesn't get many
  visitors. I can understand why. Marcy seems to be a
  regular every two weeks, and I think she's running
  for sainthood. I was reminded of my calls to my
  parents. 
  
  "You don't know, Charles, but the first Christmas
  after our marriage, my mother's plan for the
  vacation was that I spend all of it in my house and
  Bob spend all of it here. Six months newlywed.
  Somehow, the idea didn't strike my fancy. Actually,
  I'd been happy to escape that house. Ever after,
  until Cat was born, we spent Christmas dinner with
  them. I called on Mother's Day and Father's Day.
  Every call, every visit, was agony. I'm surprised I
  didn't develop an ulcer. When we took Cat there for
  a Christmas dinner, it was no better. A dutiful
  daughter might have an obligation to inflict that
  on herself. A good mother has an obligation not to
  inflict that on her child. They haven't seen Cat
  since."
  
  "And, Cat, do you want to tell about the library?"
  Kate didn't want to discuss whether Cat had seen
  Jeanette's parents since. Cat told all about the
  library, and nothing about the other visits. She
  ended up saying that all the books in the library
  were in English. "Cat was telling me about your
  library, that it has Spanish books. Does it have
  French books, too?"
  "I don't believe so," said Jeanette. "Bob?"
  
  "None I've seen. It has more Russian than Spanish
  books, I don't think any of them are for kids.
  Remember the Mariel boat lift?"
  
  "Yes, dear. Did it bring Russian books to Chicago?
  I would think Spanish ones if any?"
  
  "Well, yes. But the idea. We said to Castro, 'Free
  your political prisoners.' He freed a good deal
  more than the political ones." Cat's presence
  cleaned up Bob's vocabulary the way that his
  mother's presence hadn't for decades. "He sent us
  his criminal class. They found the pickings much
  better in the USA.
  
  "Well, we said Jews in the USSR are oppressed --
  which they were but not extremely for the USSR.
  They let bunches of their Jewish retirees leave,
  and we let them all in as refugees. Then, since
  they were no longer in their country, the soviets
  didn't pay them pensions. Lots came to our
  neighborhood. I don't think there are any Russian
  kids, though I wouldn't bet on it. I wouldn't give
  odds against Eskimos in the local school."
  
  "So," Kathleen summarized, "the Chicago library has
  books in English, Spanish and Russian. Eskimos are
  out of luck."
  
  "Our branch library has books in English, Spanish,
  and Russian. If Jeanette wanted to borrow French
  books, I'm sure there are some in the system. The
  branch does take one French-language magazine,
  though. It's Jeune Afrique, but I don't know what's
  jeune about it."
  
  "That's 'young,' Bob." Jeanette couldn't understand
  how Bob could miss that. His French vocabulary
  wasn't great, but it should contain 'jeune.' Didn't
  he call Cat 'jeune fille' sometimes?
  "Yeah. 'Young Africa.' But it's more like Newsweek
  than Cricket or Boy's Life. The guys on the cover
  have all been old except when Obama was elected.
  For that matter, Obama is older than I am. I don't
  look younger than Obama. I sure don't feel younger
  than Obama."
  
  "Well, dear, I'm sure he feels older than you. Some
  days, he probably feels older than me."
  
  "'Mr. President,'" Charles said, "'A plane carrying
  the Polish president and half his cabinet has
  crashed in Russian air space. The two countries
  haven't gone to war -- yet.'"
  
  "Oh, it's a job to turn your hair white, all right.
  It just hasn't."
  
  "Those two don't have an ounce of fat between
  them," Jeanette contributed. "And she's borne two
  children."
  
  "Do I detect a tiny amount of jealousy there,
  dear?"
  
  "Nothing tiny about it. Those birthers are barking
  up the wrong tree. How about proof of Sasha's
  birth? What I want to see is a picture of Michelle
  pregnant, preferably nine months pregnant. I'd have
  it blown up and stick it on my wall. 'I'm thinner
  than you were then!'"
  
  "Well, you've got your figure back, dear."
  
  "My figure, perhaps. Not hers. And my waist is two
  inches larger than it was before Cat -- three at
  the wrong time of the month."
  
  "But I like your figure."
  
  "You, Bob, liked my figure when I was pregnant."
  
  "I like your figure now. You were so sleek then.
  Sexy."
  
  "I take back the wall poster. You'd just lust after
  it."
  
  "Well, we got some new books to read, but they were
  all in English." Kate didn't like the discussion of
  Daddy's lusts in front of Cat. And Cat, who was as
  capable of carrying on her own monologue as any
  other Brennan, was following this conversation. 
  
  Indeed, although it was at the Brennan table, this
  had been one conversation. Soon that record was
  shattered, as was the conversation. Cat told Maman
  about the three books Sharl had read to her,
  Charles and Bob discussed the history of Russian-
  Polish relations, and Kathleen brought up one issue
  her conversation with her mother had raised that
  she could discuss in front of Char.
  
  "Was I way wrong in saying that the plane crash
  risked war," Charles asked.
  
  "Probably not. The governments involved may have
  been certain, but the State Department was probably
  less so. After all, the potential for taking
  offense was on the Polish side, and there wasn't
  much of a Polish government to go to war. On the
  other hand, those countries have been invading each
  other for centuries."
  "Russia invading Poland, for sure. But I though
  that was only the communists."
  
  "Short history of Russia. Back before the time of
  Christ, there were Slavic tribes all over Eastern
  Europe. Not quite everywhere, but almost
  everywhere. They'd displaced someone else, to be
  sure. Finns, maybe. But historians only study what
  has happened when somebody around writes things
  down. Anyway, a bunch of Scandinavians conquered
  the area that you might think of as the Western
  Soviet Disunion. They established a trade with
  Constantinople by river and the Black Sea. They
  used to gather annually in Kiev to form convoys to
  protect themselves from river pirates. The Slavs
  called their Scandinavian conquerors 'the Russ' or
  the redheads.
  
  "Time passed, the Russ were conquered by
  descendants of Genghis Khan. They looted and
  devastated Poland to create a cordon sanitaire, and
  ruled Russia from Astrakhan. They figured that was
  as far west as they could live full-time and keep
  up their Mongol lifestyle. Each year, they'd wait
  for the rivers to freeze solid enough. Then they'd
  ride north and west on those rivers.
  
  "But their turn came to weaken. The Polish
  aristocrats conquered a big swath of territory from
  them. They called it "The Frontier," or, in Polish,
  "The Ukraine." Ever wonder why the country is
  called "The Ukraine," while other countries aren't
  called the France or the England? So when the
  Russians got their own act together and threw off
  their Mongol yoke, huge swaths of the people who
  spoke like them were in The Ukraine or in
  Byelorussia, White Russia. White Russia had other
  conquerors. Later yet, the tsars reconquered both
  countries. When they got to the border between The
  Ukraine and Poland, they didn't stop. By the First
  World War, Poland was divided among the German, the
  Austrian and the Russian empires. 
  
  "Anyway, conquest not only wasn't a communist
  invention, it didn't go only one way."
  
  "History is more complicated than I thought."
  
  "Yeah. I can recognize a cold or a broken leg. I
  bet most of what you see is something I could
  diagnose right maybe eighty percent of the time."
  
  "Some."
  
  "But we want you to see it. Because my child may be
  in the twenty percent. All specialties are niggling
  details. Another thing about history is that loads
  of people tend to think that countries have some
  sort of natural boundaries. Australia, maybe. But
  most boundaries are where the armies stopped
  fighting. Smithia sees their natural boundaries at
  the greatest extent that the have held; Jonesland
  sees their natural boundaries at the greatest
  extent they have held. A huge swath is in both."
  Both dug into their food for a moment.
  
  "Remember when Bob and Jeanette were first
  married?" Kathleen had asked. "They came home for
  Christmas?"
  
  "Indeed, I do, dear. You could have cut the
  attraction between them with a knife. And, while
  she is much more modest than Bob, it seemed mutual
  to me." Kathleen thought that was damning with
  faint praise -- dogs in the street are more modest
  than Bob. And she had her own memories to assure
  her that the attraction was mutual. Some of those
  memories involved her intense jealousy of that
  feeling between them when her life had seemed so
  deprived of love back then.
  
  "I'd more-or-less broken up with Terry Randolph.
  He'd propositioned me."  
  
  "I thought that something like that had taken
  place, dear. I tried to make myself available; you
  were having none of it. You preferred Jeanette. I
  was glad she was available. You could have done
  much worse. Worse than Jeanette, I mean. Terry was
  truly unsuitable."
  
  "You ever said so."
  
  "Saying so worked so well for the Capulets, it's a
  pity more parents don't try it. No, dear. And he
  was perfectly suitable for a boyfriend and dance
  partner. He was so staid, he would have never done
  as your life partner. I waited, and you saw that.
  Then you went back to being a high-school dating
  couple. The hardest part of parenting is knowing
  when to hold back. And, really, we felt more
  comfortable when he was taking your time. He never
  tried to use force, did he?"
  "Heavens, no! Terry?"
  
  "Well that is the greatest danger. You knew our
  rules; you could keep them or break them. You knew
  enough to take precautions." Cat, after all, was
  present if not evidently listening. "The greatest
  danger was some boy who would use force. Your 'no'
  wouldn't count. Your sensibility about precautions
  wouldn't count. And Terry didn't look like that
  type. What he did look like was an incredibly
  conventional boy. He was in high school, and he had
  fun because that's what you do in highschool. But,
  if you'd taken him for life, he would have stopped
  having fun. And, inescapably, so would you."
  
  "You never said any of that."
  
  "Well, first of all, we didn't particularly want a
  romance between the two of you. Why provide
  parental opposition? That's the surest fuel for
  romance. As I said, I made myself available; you
  turned to Jeanette. That was less adolescent
  rebellion than you practiced when you were
  technically out of adolescence, but it didn't bode
  well for a parental ukase.
  
  "And, in the second place, you were going to fly
  out of the nest and go to college. We weren't sure
  of medical school at that time -- although you were
  -- but we weren't so stupid as to regard it as
  certainly out of the question. So, you needed a
  social life then that wouldn't block your academic
  life in the future. Terry was -- if not perfect --
  a very good fit. Bob had been bad enough."
  
  "You love Jeanette."
  
  "That I do, dear, did even before Cat. There was
  nothing wrong with Bob's choice except the timing.
  And that messed up Jeanette's life rather than
  Bob's."
  
  "You keep talking of 'messing up' my life."
  Jeanette had been following both the other
  conversations. "Really, I've quite enjoyed my life.
  Someday I want to hear the specifics of the career
  I gave up to become Mrs. Bob Brennan. Because that
  was my dream from sometime in high school. 
  
  "Well, dear, we'd planned to support a single Bob
  through college and law school. We saw you as a
  tremendous block in that road. Your sacrifice
  removed that block -- eased our financial burden,
  actually. But it was a sacrifice."
  
  "If I were to list the hundred most pleasant
  moments in my life, few of them would have been in
  the classroom -- even the thousand most pleasant
  moments of my life. The best thing about the degree
  is going to be holding my head up at faculty
  events. There is now no reason for Bob to be
  ashamed of me."
  
  "You told us not to come, dear. You said the
  master's was in the future."
  
  "And so it is. I'm done with course work, but I
  still have a thesis to write. My adviser --
  advisers official and unofficial -- don't think
  that will take too long."
  "You know, dear, Russ never planned for that. Maybe
  we should..."
  
  "I'm embarrassed enough already. Honestly, we can
  pay my tuition. It's bad enough he left that
  special money for the last year. And this tuition
  isn't all that much, anyway." Jeanette hid her
  embarrassment by turning her attention back to Cat.
  She was managing her meal quite well, but welcomed
  Maman's attention.
  
  "I couldn't help hearing, er..."
  
  "'Kate,' dear. I've said that already."
  
  "Kate, I couldn't help hearing your assessment of
  Kath's former boyfriend. I'd love to hear what you
  first thought of me."
  
  "Well, dear, aside from thinking that she should
  have mentioned you much sooner, you were almost the
  opposite of Terry. His problem was one that Russ
  and I could see, but we were certain that Vi --
  that Kathleen -- couldn't. There was nothing
  particularly wrong with the boy; it was the man he
  was growing into.
  
  "The problem with you and Kathleen, on the other
  hand, was glaringly obvious. It would take an
  absolute idiot to ignore the problem of a cross-
  racial marriage. Neither of you were anywhere close
  to idiots. Our minds totally approved of the time
  you took worrying about it. I supposed, of course,
  that this was what you were working through. There
  might have been several other problems which were
  invisible to us, but that wouldn't be my business.
  Anyway, you were working through your problems
  together, and our minds approved."
  
  "You keep saying 'our minds."
  "Well, dear, our hearts wanted you to get on with
  it. We tried to hide that. After all, it would be
  your whole lives. You deserved the time to think
  the process through."
  
  "Well, you'd have consequences, too."
  
  "Only social consequences, dear, and minor ones. If
  you'd said that the wedding had to be in
  Philadelphia because of fears about how our
  neighbors would react, we'd have attended it there.
  That was already decided. And, dear, Tar Heels are
  really not that bad."
  
  "South Carolina," Bob put in, "was the first state
  to secede; North Carolina was the last."
  
  "Of course," Kate continued, "if you two had
  decided to never see each other again, we would
  have consoled Kathleen. Still, as much as that
  would have solved the Charles-and-Kathleen problem,
  and I got the impression that you had already done
  that once..."
  
  "Well, yes." From which confession, Kate got the
  impression that they'd done that more than once.
  That was an opening she was anxious to close.
  
  "However much it would have solved the problem of
  Charles-and-Kathleen, it wouldn't have really
  solved the problem of Kathleen. So, by the time you
  proposed, we had been praying for a resolution.
  And, dear, that was the only real resolution by
  then. Anyway, it happened. And Russ walked his
  daughter down the aisle."
  
  "I'm a little ashamed of the games I played about
  that," said Kathleen.
  
  "Well, dear, it wasn't the most splendid example of
  maturity you've ever demonstrated, but your father
  was happy, anyway."
  
  "You were happy, then?" asked Charles. They,
  especially Kath's father, had seemed happy.
  
  "As I said, dear, it was Kathleen's decision. We
  would have supported her either way. Yours, too, of
  course, but our attention -- if you'll forgive us -
  - was on our daughter. Still, if you're going to
  support your child, you'd rather rejoice with her
  than console her. And that was the only decision
  for which we could rejoice with her. If she'd given
  her heart to someone else -- not Terry, but an
  abstract someone -- she might have had an easier
  life. But, having given her heart to you, it was
  either a marriage or a tragedy. I keep speaking of
  the engagement as a resolution, a conclusion. Of
  course, engagements aren't. But if our celebration
  was anticipatory, the anticipation was justified in
  this case."
  
  "She means, Char, that we did get married."
  
  "I sort of followed that. I used to think your talk
  was convoluted." Indeed, he still felt her talk was
  convoluted, just not for her family.
  
  "Mom and I together, Mom and I arguing against each
  other, can't compete with Bob. 'Confuse, change
  sides, and still confuse.' And, brother dear, the
  misquotation was deliberate."
  
  "Well, I think it was Galbraith who said that
  expression should be as simple as the situation,
  but no simpler. Y'know, I write articles which are
  peer-reviewed. Nobody says that my expression in
  them is convoluted."
  
  "The man specializes in the politics of nineteenth-
  century Europe, and he claims his expression is no
  more complicated than his subject." Charles was
  ready to defend Kath against attacks. He could see
  that, this time, she was the aggressor. Bob didn't
  seem offended. Jeanette didn't even seem
  interested.
  
  "Done, mon chat? As tu mange tous tu desires?"
  
  "Les conserves au vinaigre?"
  
  "Apres ton bain."
  
  "If you are good about your bath," put in Bob,
  "then you may have one pickle." He was afraid that
  Cat would insist that 'les' was a promise. "Sorry,
  Mom. Now, I'm giving away your food."
  
  "Quite all right, dear. And, dear, do you want us
  to save your plate?"
  
  "Please," said Jeanette. She and Cat went upstairs.
  
  "How," asked Kathleen, "can one be bad about a
  bath?"
  "You can throw a tantrum against taking one."
  
  "At one time, dear, we felt that when the bath mat
  could be wrung out that you hadn't behaved
  properly. When the bath mat had to be wrung out
  before you were clean, that you had behaved very
  badly."
  
  "Was I really that bad?"
  
  "You were a child, once. As were we all. Her
  parents want Cat's best behavior to show to her
  family, and who can blame them? But, sometimes,
  their worries start to look like 'we're shocking
  the old bat.' Well, the old bat can remember
  behavior which quite puts Cat's worst in the shade.
  My third graders have all behaved well on average,
  but over the decades... For that matter, of the
  three small children named Brennan I've seen, Cat's
  tantrums are by far the mildest."
  
  "Not," Bob said, "that you've seen her worst." 
  
  "That's true, dear, and Jeanette may have seen
  everything I did. But a misbehaving child is a
  child and not a monster. When an infant senses that
  something is wrong, he wails. His mother puts it
  right. It's quite annoying when you can't, or when
  you are trying to find out what's wrong, or when
  you are putting it right -- changing the diaper,
  for example, or heating the formula -- and he keeps
  on wailing."
  
  "The Kitten used to wake and cry softly," said Bob,
  "The second cry was moderate. The third cry shook
  the rafters. Unless you were watching her at the
  time, sometimes not even then, you couldn't pick
  her up before she deafened you. If she were wet or
  hungry, of course, picking her up was only the
  first step."
  "And, dear, she couldn't communicate the problem.
  She could only communicate that there was a
  problem. And, often, the problem isn't something
  you can solve.
  
  "Anyway, that's programmed into our genes. Babies
  who don't cry don't have their problems solved.
  They require adult help to survive. Babies who
  don't cry don't have babies of their own. Long
  before there were humans, mammal babies cried."
  
  Thank you," said Charles, "Mrs. Darwin."
  
  "Well, I learned evolution long ago, and probably
  very sloppily. But, dear, I learned education much
  later -- you'd still think it was long ago -- and
  much more thoroughly. I've heard babies cry. As a
  means of dealing with their environment, it is
  terribly effective. Not even Kathleen is going to
  put the effort into understanding what you want and
  getting it for you as is the mother of a crying
  baby. Of course, every once in a while, crying
  babies are murdered. But it works the rest of the
  time, and all of us learned that it worked. 
  
  "Then, we need to learn other ways of getting our
  way. And, the Sunday schools tell us, we also need
  to learn to accept not getting our way. The second
  is much harder; I don't know that I've managed,
  yet."
  
  "Mother!" said Kathleen.
  
  "Mom," said Bob, "you are the least selfish person
  I've ever met."
  "Am I, dear? You visited Mrs. Groghan; I remember
  Jeanette's description. Are you planning to go
  back? Are you planning to visit Jeanette's parents
  any time soon? I always have pickles in the 'fridge
  for Cat's visits, you might possibly call that
  generous. You couldn't possibly call it unselfish.
  You two -- now you three -- have brightened all my
  Christmases but two since your wedding. And you had
  me as a guest for one of those two. I can't say I
  enjoyed that time, but nothing you could have done
  would change that.
  
  "Anyway, I got what I wanted from you. The loss of
  Russ aside, and I can't manipulate God, I've had a
  life I enjoyed. Really, dear, damn little of that
  was given me -- your father, of course, gave me
  much. Some was luck. And, all of it was luck in the
  sense that I didn't suffer disaster. But, after
  being given that my husband didn't die in the first
  heart attack and that I didn't come down with some
  major disease, I made things work. Kathleen, what
  would you have said if I had said that you were
  welcome here but Charles was not?"
  
  "Good bye."
  
  "Jeanette was more generous. Still and all, though,
  I've had more than my share because her mother said
  the equivalent. I can't know what she wanted, but I
  don't think she was more selfish than I was."
  
  "Then," said Jeanette who had just come down the
  stairs, "you don't know her. Mommy was the epitome
  of selfishness. You are the epitome of generosity." 
  
  "Mom was just explaining how it's all enlightened
  self interest."
  "Well, I can't stay. A certain Cat wants a pickle
  rather than a saucer of milk."
  
  "Would you mind terribly, dear, if I took it up to
  her?"
  
  "No."
  
  "And would two pickles be rewarding not-quite-
  rebellious behavior?"
  
  "Two would be fine, but not selfish. Cat's a
  Brennan; when she rebels here's nothing borderline
  about it. But she needs to brush her teeth, use the
  bathroom, and wash her hands before bedtime. Just
  call, if you want me to do it." That sounded like
  she was putting it all on her, but she knew
  Katherine's preferences.
  
  "If you think it unselfish, dear, you don't know
  what I want. And, good night, all. I'll not come
  back down. No news for me tonight."
  
  "And, Charles," said Bob, "I hope you don't think
  that not welcoming you was something that Mom
  actually contemplated. It was something that
  Jeanette's mother, mutatis mutandis, had tried to
  do."
  
  "I didn't think it was. It was quite unlike her,
  and quite unlike Kath to take the suggestion so
  calmly if she'd suspected that it was serious. But,
  really, ego aside, I can see why I might be an
  unwelcome son-in-law to a white southern lady. I
  can't see why you would be. Are you so different
  than you were back then?"
  
  "Different? He's Bob. That's reason enough to
  reject him."
  
  "For you, Kathleen. As I've told you, I don't claim
  he was a good brother; I do claim he's a good
  husband. You're prejudiced. And what makes him a
  good husband is what made him an unacceptable son-
  in-law. I was, still am but was back when it
  mattered to Mommy, happy with Bob. Even before the
  marriage, Bob could calm me down, make me happy
  sometimes."
  
  "You should have held out for somebody who could
  make you happy all the time."
  
  "Nobody's happy all the time. Not even you, with
  your parents, were. And, when I was living with my
  parents, making me happy even once was a major-
  level miracle. Anyway, there Bob was defying her --
  making me happy when she wanted me miserable. I
  don't think she'd have accepted any suitor, but Bob
  was especially objectionable because he was in such
  a stark contrast to her."
  
  "You must be exaggerating."
  
  "I used to think so, Kathleen, but nothing I saw
  about her contradicted Jeanette's analysis."
  
  "Maybe I'm too self-centered. Greg's life wasn't
  any bed of roses, either. So, if your mother was
  talking about enlightened self interest, I think
  Mommy's self interest trumps Katherine's
  enlightenment, great as that is."
  
  "Memere!"
  
  "Hello, dear. Now, sit in this chair, and I'll get
  your snack ready." Cat dutifully scrambled up and
  sat with her hands folded. Kate set down the
  saucer, unfolded a tray table in front of Cat's
  chair, and set the saucer and a paper napkin on the
  table.
  
  "Two! Thank you, Memere. Merci beaucoup."
  
  "Il ne fait rien." Kate could manage that much
  French, and that trifle wouldn't corrupt Cat's
  accent. "Now, eat them very slowly. I'm going to
  leave you for a few minutes, but don't get down.
  I'll be back, dear." She hurried through her
  bathroom ritual and returned. Cat was sitting there
  quite obediently. "Use your napkin." Cat did,
  obviously not for the first time. Kate removed the
  tray table, and helped Cat down. 
  
  In the bathroom, she helped Cat up to the high
  seat, listened while she voided her bladder,
  watched while she wiped. When Cat turned towards
  the wash basin, she spoke. "What did you forget,
  dear?"
  
  "Oh, yes." Cat flushed the toilet. "Sorry Memere,"
  
  "That's all right, Cat. It's something you are
  learning." Cat washed her hands. "Toothbrush?" Cat
  ran off to her parents room without saying
  anything. Kate decided that she'd interpreted the
  question as an order. She came back with the
  toothbrush in a cylinder and a tube of toothpaste.
  "Do you want to try Memere's toothpaste, dear?" Cat
  thought about it.
  "Please." Kate wet the brush and spread a bit of
  paste on it. Cat brushed vigorously, if
  horizontally and only on the outside of the teeth.
  When had she taught Bob and Vi better brushing
  techniques? Whenever it was, it was not the age
  recommended today. She'd check with Jeanette to see
  if she should start with Cat. Cat spat as
  enthusiastically as she had brushed, cupped her
  hand under the faucet for water, sipped it, and
  then spat again.
  
  "Look at me, dear." When Cat did, Kate wiped a bit
  of paste off her mouth with Cat's towel. Then she
  handed it to her. Cat dried her hands and then hung
  the towel on her own, low, towel rack. "Do you want
  me to keep you toothbrush here?"
  
  "Please." Jeanette had indoctrinated Cat with one
  rule of manners. Kate hung it from the other side
  of the holder from hers. "Do you want to use
  Memere's toothpaste the rest of this visit?"
  
  "Can I?"
  
  "Yes, you may, dear." That was definitely not the
  term to teach at this age, not even to Bob's
  daughter, but you might as well have her hear it.
  "Now take the other toothpaste and this cylinder
  back to your room where you got them. Meet me in my
  room." Cat, with several times the distance to
  travel, was in the door by the time she got the
  lamp turned on. "Can you turn off the overhead
  light, dear?"
  
  "Yes." She was as literal as her father. But, at
  least, she did flick the switch. Kate set the timer
  for four hours and dug out the album before getting
  into bed.
  
  "We'll read some of the books we got from the
  library," she said as Cat climbed in after her.
  "But I have a special book that I want to look at
  with you, first."
  
  Cat was happy to look at anything in Memere's bed
  and in Memere's arms. And these pictures were of a
  baby. It didn't look like Billy.
  
  "Do you know who this is, dear?" Of course she
  didn't. The name was written in cursive, fairly
  fancy script, to boot. "This says 'Catherine
  Angelique Brennan.' These pictures are of you."
  
  "I look like that?" She didn't think so. Her hair
  was longer, and this baby was fat.
  
  "Not now. These pictures are of you when you were
  very young. This one is the very first picture,
  when you were a teeny-tiny baby."
  
  "And I was in the stomach of Maman." They always
  said so, and it didn't seem possible.
  
  "Not then, right after. Let me say that better.
  These pictures were taken a day of two after you
  came out of your mother's stomach. You were still
  tiny then. We called you 'The Kitten' 'cause you
  were so small. Look here." A few pages later, Bob
  was holding her on his arm. Her diaper fitted his
  palm, and her head was in the crook of his elbow.
  "That shows how big you were then -- how small you
  were then.
  
  "Does Papa measure your height against the wall?"
  She knew he did. She wanted to make a point.
  
  "Yes."
  
  "And are you taller than you were the last time he
  measured you?"
  
  "Yes."
  
  "That means you're growing, dear. You aren't
  growing as fast as you were back then, but you're
  still growing. Well, when you were very little,
  Papa and some others took these pictures. She went
  back to the front of the album and leafed through
  it. She could look at these pictures forever, but
  Cat had a limited attention span. She also didn't
  relate to the baby in the pictures. Kate reached
  for the library book. 
  
  Cat settled back when the story began. The second
  book was a Dr. Seuss. Her beloved Memere recited
  verse just like Papa did. Cat relaxed further. She
  made it almost to the end of the book. When Kate
  turned off the light, her namesake was deeply
  asleep. Before following her, Kate breathed a
  silent prayer.
  
  "Thank you, Lord, for Cat and for everything." With
  the warm, well-loved, lump in her arms, Kate
  dropped off as soundly. The timer was beeping
  slowly and plaintively when it woke her in the dead
  of night.
  
  The middle generation didn't stay downstairs that
  much longer. The other three relaxed while Jeanette
  finished her meal. 
  "Sorry to keep you," she said.
  
  "Nobody at this table," said Kathleen, "begrudges
  you the food that you missed tending to Cat.
  Begrudging you time with Cat, on the other hand..."
  
  "Now, Kath, don't be selfish. They were away all
  afternoon. We had Cat's attention for gobs of
  time."
  
  "Well," Bob said, "we're grateful that you kept her
  occupied. Cat can be sweet, but she also can be a
  handful."
  
  "That was The Kitten. She's grown into a lapful."
  After the laughter, Bob went to lock up while the
  others cleared the table and filled the dishwasher.
  There seemed to be plenty of space for breakfast
  things, so they didn't run it. Bob trailed the
  party to the stairs, turning out lights as he went.
  Jeanette was conscious that he was just far enough
  behind her on the stairs to have his eyes on the
  level of her butt. This pattern was too old to
  raise either resentment or desire; it was just Bob.
  To Bob, the sight of Jeanette's hips flexing as she
  mounted the stairs was as familiar, but it involved
  desire along with comfort. And Mom was tending to
  Cat. That was another level of comfort, not that
  Cat disturbed them often, not that they let that
  possibility keep them from sex. But the knowledge
  that she wouldn't disturb them tonight guaranteed a
  more relaxed and receptive Jeanette. Bob was quite
  unaware of the fragment of attention he turned
  towards Cat when he made love at home.
  
  They'd established an unspoken schedule for
  bathroom times. Jeanette, Bob, Kathleen, Charles.
  They followed it. When Bob locked the door,
  Jeanette took off her robe and nightgown. She hung
  them on a convenient chair. Bob tossed his robe and
  pajamas over the rocker. Then he moved them to the
  seat of the chair where Jeanette's nightclothes
  occupied the back. 
  
  "Do you think?" he asked. He gestured towards the
  rocker.
  
  "Well, we have our own."
  
  "Which we hardly ever use because of Cat. She's
  safely occupied."
  
  "There's something about this room that increases
  your libido."
  
  "I spent years here lusting unrequited after
  Jeanette Jacobs."
  
  "She was a young girl who is gone forever, never to
  return."
  
  "She went off to a better life as Jeanette Brennan,
  but someone who looks just like her is in this
  room." Jeanette couldn't deny it had been a better
  life, although she hardly looked like the teenage
  track athlete who'd never borne a child. Still, it
  was nice that Bob desired her even now. And it had
  been a better life. For all the hostages she'd
  given fortune, it was years since she'd felt the
  anxiety which was the normal state of her
  childhood.
  
  "Well, all right. Sit down." Bob sat in the rocker
  and she sat crossways on his knees. They shared a
  sweet kiss before Bob started petting her. The
  rocker creaked once when she leaned against his
  chest. Otherwise, it was still. Jeanette, herself,
  was still for a bit. She sat there and enjoyed the
  body supporting her, the hand caressing her, and
  the lips kissing her cheek. It had been a trying
  day, and this was a comforting end to it.
  
  After a while, though, the comfort gave way to
  desire. She got up and shifted position. This time,
  she was straddling Bob when she sat down. Bob bent
  to kiss her breasts before stroking the spread
  thighs. His fingers reached her clit at almost the
  same time as his lips reached the left nipple. She
  pulled his head hard against her breast.
  
  Immobilized, Bob sucked and stroked. He could
  barely get air through his nose, and his mouth was
  blocked by breast. If he had to go, however,
  suffocation by breast was the way to go. Finally,
  Jeanette let go of his head. She grasped him and
  raised herself up. When she came down it was around
  him. He felt himself enter her moist warmth until
  he was completely enclosed. He began rocking. The
  motion moved him only slightly inside her, but that
  friction was gloriously exciting.
  
  "Oh, love," he whispered.
  
  "Darling." she kissed his forehead. She was above
  him like this.
  
  "Sweet!" He grabbed her haunches and pulled her
  against him. This buried him another millimeter 
  into her depth. The motion of the rocker barely
  pulled him out, but it rubbed him against her both
  inside and out.
  
  This time, it wasn't his finger rubbing her. The
  result was less demanding, but even more arousing.
  As the feeling grew, she gripped his shoulders. Her
  whole body felt warm, the warmth began where they
  were joined, but spread to her head and her toes.
  Then, a fire burst forth in her center. The fire,
  too, spread.
  
  "Oh Bob!" 
  
  He heard her cry an instant after he felt her first
  contraction around him. He sped up the rocker and
  then lifted her an inch by her haunches. As he
  pulled her down again, he speared through the sweet
  clutches around him. Then he was buried in her and
  pulsing. And pulsing.
  
  "Whew!"
  
  "Whew," she replied. "I love you. Can I stay a
  minute?"
  
  "I love you, too. As long as you want. 'Til Cat
  knocks in the morning."
  
  "We can't sleep like this, and your legs would fall
  off. But one more minute." And they sat hugging
  until she felt him slip out, followed by all the
  little Bobs. She reached for a Kleenex before
  raising herself. She wiped before stepping away.
  She handed him another Kleenex. He wiped himself,
  including the thighs on which she'd dripped. After
  he got up, he wiped off the rocker.
  
  "That was fun," he said, "but I always forget the
  trip to bed afterwards."
  
  "Three, four, feet?"
  "They seem like miles." They got into bed. He
  switched off the lamp, and she backed into the
  spoon position. "Love you," he breathed into her
  neck. She squeezed his hand before carefully
  placing it back on her breast.
  
  Meanwhile, Kathleen had been naked in bed when Char
  entered their room. He got in bed equally naked.
  She rolled onto her right side, and they kissed. At
  the end of the kiss, she held her finger to his
  lips. He nodded. Then she turned over onto her left
  side and slid back against him. Soon, Char's magic
  fingers were playing over her body. 
  
  Charles enjoyed the kiss, nodded when Kath signaled
  for silence, luxuriated in the softness of her body
  against almost every inch of his front. He had his
  own plans, and they would fit in with Kath's desire
  for silence. He listened for telltale sounds from
  the next room. What sounds there were didn't
  suggest that Bob and Jeanette wouldn't hear them.
  Well, he had gone too far with Kath for her to
  wait. Sound was her worry, let her suppress them.
  He felt the delightful softness next to his body
  turn stiff. She reached up to grasp the far side of
  the pillow.
  
  She felt Char's magic fingers stroke all of her,
  then concentrate in the most critical place. Then
  it was one finger, stroking her lips and over her
  clit. She stiffened, hung at the edge. Then, when
  she'd been right at the edge forever, she pulled
  the pillow to her mouth. As the flame leapt in her,
  she moaned into the pillow. When Char stopped
  stroking her, he kissed the back of her neck and
  her shoulder. She felt his hand return to her
  breast and his erection firm against her butt. She
  should do something for him, but this position was
  too comfortable for her to move yet.
  He nuzzled and petted Kath. Then, finally, he heard
  a rhythm from the next room. Bob and Jeanette were
  significantly older than he and Kath and had been
  married much longer; he'd feared that they might
  have subsided to a schedule of infrequent sex. But
  that was the rocker he heard, and it sounded like
  it held two. He reached for the diaphragm bag. But
  it didn't seem to have the diaphragm in it.
  
  She'd never removed the diaphragm Had the dose of
  jelly expired? This wasn't the time to make that
  calculation. She grabbed Char's hand and held it
  over her mons. 
  
  "It's in here," she whispered.
  
  "You okay?" She nodded yes and began to turn over.
  He held her in position. When she relaxed, he
  reached to raise her thigh. A minute later, she
  felt him right at her entrance. He slid in from
  behind, and his finger returned to her clit. She
  hadn't quite come down from the previous climax,
  and he was teasing her towards another.
  
  As he eased into Kath, the sensations were both old
  and new. Her vagina was as warm and juicy as ever,
  but angle provided new sensations. And her buttocks
  against his thighs and abdomen had always been
  arousing, but they were even more arousing when he
  was in her. He suppressed the instinct to drive in
  and out. Instead, he returned his finger between
  her labia. When he stoked her clitoris, there was
  an answering clutch of her buttocks touching him
  and a squeeze of her vagina.
  
  As her feeling soared, the sensations from Char's
  finger were joined by sensations of his sliding in
  and out of her. The movement wasn't the firm long
  strokes he used when he was on top, but the
  friction was arousing in a new way. The excitement
  built. Then, the fire flared again. He continued
  exciting her as she gasped into the pillow. Even
  when his finger withdrew, his strokes continued.
  They grew longer and faster. Not until she'd
  finally begun to come down did he clutch her
  hipbone, thrust deep and pulse within her.
  
  Being in Kath was always delightful. Being in her
  vagina from this direction was especially so. But
  being in her vagina when it began its orgasmic
  contractions was heaven itself. He lost his
  control. He drove in and out through that clutching
  tube. Finally, he grabbed her, pushed himself into
  her depths, and erupted. Her last contraction
  squeezed his last drops out of him. The noise from
  the next room was conversation before he recovered
  enough to speak.
  
  "Sleep like this?" She nodded, but before she was
  truly asleep, she'd felt him slip out. 
  
  
  To be continued in part 3
  Formez vos Bataillions 
  Uther Pendragon
  nogardneprethu@gmail.com
  
  
  My thanks to Denny for his help with this story.
  
  
  The index to almost all my stories:
  /~Uther_Pendragon/index.htm
  
  All the stories written so far about Bob and Jeanette Brennan:
  /~Uther_Pendragon/brennan.htm
  
  The entirety of this story:
  /~Uther_Pendragon/brennan/vos.htm "Formez vos
  Bataillions"
  
  The first story to include Bob's sister Kathleen and mother Kate:
  /~Uther_Pendragon/brennan/now.htm "For Now"
  

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