May 8th 1976

Today Saturday, I started discussing the floral arrangements for the wedding with Mom and Helen when Steve impulsively whisked me out of the house without so much of an explanation. When I asked him where he was taking me, he smiled broadly and told me to be patient; that I’d know soon enough. What was he up to again? I usually love his surprises but I harboured suspicions about that particular one. We drove to a small spread about five miles away from his parents’ place. There, he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and ushered me inside the main house with an ebullience that I had never known him to have. He was galvanized, crackling with energy as he went on to detail every inch of the house. He specified that it needed some mending but was quick to point out that he could easily do the repairs. It came with several acres of land, a stable with two horses included in the price, plus a small creek where he and the former owner used to do some fishing.

Before I could get a word in edgewise, he proceeded to boast about the master bedroom and the four other rooms for the little ones. When he mentioned our children, my heart leapt to my throat. I gasped in a breath, knowing what he had in mind. I was completely floored. He ambled up to me, clenched me in his arms and gently pressed his lips against mine, which were still forming a silent ‘o’. He pulled back a few inches from my face, smiled and said ‘What do you say we make it our home?’ Tears began stinging my eyes as my body cracked with emotions. I pulled him into a bear hug and was about to say yes when I suddenly realized that this dream could not come true. It was foolish of us moving to California when Steve’s job was back in Washington. Then he informed me of Oscar’s good news about relegating him to domestic assignments once he’s married. We will keep living in Washington and fly off to Ojai on weekends until our first child is born, then we’ll move in permanently. Thereafter, he will be assuming the functions of base commander at Edwards International Flight School.

Steve’s news left me paralysed. My heart was performing flipflop as the blood pounded at my throat. I could hardly breathe. I could tell he was pleased by my reaction. Out of the blue I gave him an impassionate kiss, one that loudly spoke my mind. ‘Is that a yes?’ he joked. He lifted me into his arms and twirled me around in the air. When he put me down, he lovingly traced the lines of my jaw and brushed his thumbs against my cheeks before he leaned in and kissed me. A prickling sensation travelled down my spine, sending shivers throughout my body. My heart was captured and my soul surrendered to this angel sent from above. His lips parted mine to find their way to my neck where they left a trail of feathery kisses before they found my mouth once again.

Dear Diary, this was a magical moment. I felt disembodied. I can’t wait for our wedding in five weeks. Can I wait that long? My heart says yes but my body is having a hard time at it.

June 11th 1976

Dear Diary,

This is it! Tomorrow’s the big day. I’m a nervous wreck! It’s almost midnight and I can’t sleep a wink. I need to get some shut eyes and fast or I won’t be able to rouse at 6 :30 in order to spruce myself up for the wedding ceremony at 10 :00. I can’t believe I’m actually saying it; my wedding!!!! Somebody pinch me! I’m squirming in my bed in anticipation of the climactic moment when Steve and I will be exchanging our vows. I can’t stand the waiting! In exactly two hours and seventeen minutes, I will be Mrs. Steve Austin. Alright, calm down Peggy! Tomorrow will come soon enough.

We’ve chosen to hold the ceremony at the Elgins’, outside, amidst Helen’s enchanting rose garden. A wooden arch has been erected and early tomorrow it will be adorned with white and pink roses. Mom and Helen worked themselves into frenzy over last-minute preparations while I helped dad, Jim and Steve in the backyard to get everything ready for tomorrow morning. I close my eyes to visualize the garden as it last appeared to me; just like a child searing into his mind the sight of the glinting Christmas tree with all the presents underneath.

I’m probably the only one who’s awake tonight. Is it safe to assume that everyone is out like a light? Steve is sleeping in his old bedroom while my parents have settled in the same guest-room as when they first came in early May. Usually the bride and groom lodge in seperate houses on the eve of their wedding, but since Steve and I aren’t supersticious, I’ve agrred to sleep at his parents’ to make it more convenient. We’ll try to avoid bumping into each other in the morning. Steve’s best man, Mr. Goldman, phoned in the evening to inform us that he and Rudy had safely arrived in town and that they’d be staying at an hotel. He spoke briefly with Steve about the wedding. It was amusing to hear Steve speak of ants in the pants. Joan, Alan and their families are also lodging in town. Helen wished she could put them all at the farm but it was getting too crowded. She can’t wait to see the young ones. It’s glaringly obvious she’s yearning for Steve and I to start a family. I can tell she’s going to be a doting grandmother and she’ll have plenty of opportunities to spoil the kids rotten as we will be living just five miles down the road. I just hope the children don’t grate on her nerves in the long run? Would you listen to me? I’m getting way ahead of myself. Instead of babbling, I should be concentrating on getting some shuteyes. At this rate I fear I’ll require three layers of make-up to mask the dark circles under my eyes or I’ll look like a basset hound.

Okay I will close here. Dear Diary, seeing how this is my wedding day tomorrow, don’t worry if I skip a few entry dates. I expect I will be…busy, if you know what I mean? I promise to relate to you the highlights of the ceremony and the honeymoon in Hawaii.

June 28th 1976

Dear Diary,

It feels great to be talking to you again. Since being married, I haven’t found much time to write, especially at nights when Steve and I have been busy working at starting our family. We’ve made love nearly every night since the wedding and today, I woke up feeling queazy. I was so excited. I thought for sure it was morning sickness. False alarm: it’s a mere cold. A nasty bug that precludes any smooching. Well, it’s only for one night, two at the most…I hope. We’ve proven once more that newlyweds can’t keep their hands off each other. You’d never think that by looking at us, but behind closed doors it’s a whole other story. Right now I’m sitting in bed, propped up against my pilows with the night lamp turned down low so not to wake Steve who’s sleeping soundly next to me. I want so much to reach out and touch him, but I’m afraid to wake him. He needs his rest, the poor dear. He’s been waiting on me hand and foot today. It reminded me of the first day he came to supper at my apartment and wound up sleeping on the couch. The next morning he woke up with the flu and I assumed the job of private nurse. Today, the roles are reversed. I was the patient receiving his tender ministrations. I have a bad case of the sniffles and running a mild fever. I hate catching colds during summer when it’s sweltering hot.

Gosh I don’t know where to begin. My mind’s swirling with millions of thoughts that it’s hard to home in on one just one. I’ll begin in chronological order with our wedding on that magnificent June Saturday morning. That day was the happiest of my life and I still break in gooseflesh whenever I look back on it.

On the eve of the wedding, I did manage to catch some Zs. I roused at 5 :30 and couldn’t get back to sleep. My heart was drumming so loudly that it resounded in my ears. So instead of lolling in bed and idle the time away by twiddling my thumbs and staring at the ceiling, I got up and went to take a shower. Steve was standing in the hallway, casually leaning against the doorframe when I exited the bathroom. I shrieked in surprise. He scared the living daylights out of me. He gave me one of his elfish winks and started teasing me about monopolizing the bathroom. Then he wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me good morning. I chided him about not abiding by the tradition that forbids bride and groom to see each other hours before the wedding. He chaffed me about being true only when there are people around but that since we were alone, it didn’t apply. Dear Steve, he’ll never change.

It was hard to pry myself apart from him but I had to be stern. It was only a matter of a few hours before the ceremony started, surely we could wait that long? Right? Wrong! Seconds after I entered my bedroom, Steve knocked on the door. I opened it at a slit and poked my head out. Steve leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss for good luck. Good luck? When he started walking back to his room, I stood in the hallway and asked him what he meant by ‘good luck’. Darn it! it was a trick to get me to step out of my room so he could clench me into a tight embrace. Oh God! I was mortified at the thought of kissing shamelessly in the middle of the hallway with our parents sleeping in the next rooms. What if a door should open and they’d see us in a liplock? My worries evanesced as our kiss deepened. At this point, I’d lost my will to fight him off and totally abandoned myself in the soul-stirring moment. Then when we heard a creaking noise, we both scurried back to our respective rooms, giggling like mischievous little rascals.

Later, Joan and Katherine were helping fix my hair and make-up when Helen and mom came to apply the finishing touches to my wedding gown. When mom mentioned the throng of guests waiting in the garden, my stress level skyrocketed. I felt the blood pounding at my throat and took several deep breaths to avoid passing out. I worried about stumbling over my vows or getting Steve’s name wrong in front of all these people. Helen eased the tension a bit by telling me about the basket case in the next room. From what Jim had told her, it’d been a tremendous hassle for the men to get a jittery Steve ready for the ceremony for he kept dashing to the bathroom every ten minutes.

Once the veil was fixed to my hair, dad came into the room and looked at me with such soulful eyes that nearly made me melt into tears. I was emotionally vulnerable and tried hard to retain my tears for fear they’d leave a smear of mascara on my cheeks. I draped my arm around his and we walked downstairs. Walked isn’t the right word, I was sort of gliding, my feet barely touching the floor.

Here comes the bride all dressed in white! The moment of truth. I’d never felt so nervous in my life. All those eyes dwelling on me as dad escorted me up the aisle to the arch. As Steve and I locked stares, events began appearing in slow motion, as though the whole world around us was fading into a murmurous, hazy background. All I could distinctly hear were the ringing in my ears and the pounding of my heart. I only had eyes for Steve, gazing at me with his heavenly blues and a fetching smile that nearly made my knees buckle. I tightened my grip around dad’s arm to avoid falling. He gave my hand to Steve and we both turned to the Reverend.

Dear Diary, I was in 7th Heaven. A tightness spread across my chest as Steve and I said our ‘I do’s’. When he slipped the gold band on my finger and the Reverend pronounced us man and wife, I nearly fainted, overcome by all the emotions that were gushing out. I took a deep breath and gazed into Steve’s glinting eyes before we sealed our union with a tender kiss. And that’s it! I was officially, lawfully, for-better-or-worse-richer-or-poorer-till-death-do-us-part Mrs. Colonel Steven Carl Austin. I promised myself I wouldn’t cry but a few errant tears escaped the corner of my eyes. Steve gently wipped them dry with his thumbs before he gave me another sweet kiss.

Thereafter, the guests gorged themselves on mom’s and Helen’s sumptuous buffet. They had slaved over a hot stove to prepare the selection of canapés and main dishes while dad and Jim handled the wines and spirits. Neither of them would hear of hiring a caterer.

There were so many people. Some familiar faces and many strangers, mostly business acquaintances and army buddies of Steve. I believe some of his old flames were among the crowd. It was amusing to see Steve blushed as they extended their warm wishes of happiness in a rather suggestive kiss. Steve and I mingled with the guests until the music started and we opened the ball with the first dance. As we slowdanced, I closed my eyes and cuddled up to him, nuzzling my face in his chest as he rested his head on top of mine. I could feel my heart beating in rhythm with his. Oh how I yearned for the hours to elapse so I could find myself alone with my husband to consummate our marriage. The fire was already consuming me. Our parents had rented the honeymoon suite at the luxurious Embassador Hotel where a night of unbridled passion awaited us. I’m breaking out in a cold sweat just looking back on that night.

August 10th 1976

Dear Diary,

I could hardly contain my excitement all day knowing Steve was returning from his mission in the Middle East. He’s been gone two straight weeks, which felt more like two years. He’d been assigned to a covert mission, one that required him to alter his appearance to such a degree that he was hardly recognizable. Once he infiltrated the terrorist group, he severed all contact with me to avoid blowing his cover. Between you and me and the gatepost, I was sick with dread. Some nights I would wake up drenched in sweat, filled with a sense of foreboding that he was in trouble, but you already know that.

Oscar graciously acceded to my request to finish work early so I could rush on home and put the duck to roast in the oven. Now that I have a grand kitchen with full facilities, I’ve been experimenting with new dishes. I was surprised at how luscious they each turned out if I do say so myself. One down side to my home cooking is that Steve hasn’t taken me out to a restaurant for quite some time. He insists we stay home and sample my cuisine. He’s so sweet! Sometimes I shudder to think that if I had turned down the job at the OSI, our paths may never have crossed. I thank the Lord everyday for my blessing. Steve and I are true kindred spirits.

When Steve entered the front door, I flew across the livingroom to greet him with my arms outstretched. I flung myself in his arms and clenched him into a soul-stirring hug. God it felt good to hold him. He pulled back and gave me one deep passionate kiss that lingered for a good minute. To be honest I don’t really know how long it lasted since it had skyrocketed me into the clouds where time stood still. The sweetness of his mouth intoxicated me and my skin tingled all over. I could feel his strong arms traveling up and down my back, pulling me close with such fervour that it felt as though my body was going to melt into his. I was inflamed with a passion that burned right through me. I was hurled down to earth when he gently pulled back and our lips parted. We stood with our heated bodies enlaced and gazed into each other’s eyes. I’ll never forget that romantic moment for as long as I live.

After dinner, we skipped dessert and went to the bedroom to catch up on the two missing weeks. God, I missed him. I missed his smile, his eyes, his lips, his touch, his smell. I prayed that this heated intercourse was it. I want to get pregnant so badly not only to give Steve a son but also to change his status to married with children, so that Uncle Sam will stop relying on his boy wonder to do his dirty job anymore. The post of Base Commander at Edwards International Flight School still awaits him, and so does our small ranch that we’ve been mending and tidying up during weekends, except for the last two, of course.

Earlier today, I went to see Rudy to pass a physical. We’re coming up on three months since our wedding and still no morning sickness. The home pregnancy tests I’ve been taking every week have turned out to be one mare’s nest after the other. Given the fact that Steve gets regular checkups at the lab, it’s safe to say he’s not to blame. I’ve come to the realization that there might be something wrong with me. I’ll know tomorrow when we get the results.

August 11th 1976

Dear Diary,

I’m pregnant!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I just had to write this down before Steve, Oscar and I go out to celebrate at lunchtime. I’m having a hard time grasping at the reality of it all. I can’t keep the pen still. My hands are trembling. How this happened, you ask? It seems the home pregnancy tests I’d been taking were false. Either I’d been doing it wrong or that they were out of date as Rudy said, but who cares! I’m pregnant!!!!

Early this morning while Steve was in a meeting with Oscar and an Air Force general, I was sitting at my desk having an anxiety attack over the imminent results of my physical. I jumped out of my skin whenever the phone rang, thinking it might be Rudy. When he did call, he asked me to come to his lab. Uh-hoh! Bad news I thought. I anticipated the worse. My chest tightened to a degree that made it difficult to breathe evenly. I kept swallowing hard the lumps constantly forming down my throat. I was scared stiff. What if the results showed that I was barren? No, my own gynecologist would have detected the problem. My mind swirled with unfounded speculations until Rudy gave me the wonderful news. I could hardly contain my ecstasy when I discovered I was five weeks pregnant.

However, a doubt lingered about the accuracy of the results. How could I’ve been in the family way for so long without experiencing any morning sickness or strange cravings? Rudy explained that some women have been known to enjoy a nausea-free pregnancy, and that I should be grateful that I number among those most fortunates.

I was a fountain of tears when I raced out of the lab to tell Steve. I burst in Oscar’s office without bothering to knock. I briefly apologized for my unruly conduct and fell into Steve’s arms. I studied his reaction carefully as I sprung the announcement that he was going to be a father. His eyes lit up like fireworks. I could tell he was thrilled to death. General Pinkett walked over to us to extend his congratulations and to my great relief he told Steve he wouldn’t be needing him on this next mission, given my condition. Oscar walked the general out of the office to give Steve and me a few minutes alone to assimilate the news of a baby.

I just got off the phone with mom to give her the news. She was thrilled. She’s going to be a grandma. I will wait for Steve to call Helen and Jim.

Steve and Oscar are just about to wrap up and in a few minutes, we’ll be off to the restaurant for a celebration dinner. I’ll be back tonight to give you all the details.

August 12th 1976

Dear Diary, I’m bursting at the seams. I need to write this all down or I’ll erupt. I’m so tired but I can’t sleep. I haven’t slept a wink since it happened yesterday afternoon. Rudy has given me a mild sedative to help calm my nerves but it’s not working. He can’t prescribe anything stronger for fear of its lethal effect on the fœtus. I need your help, Dear Diary. Perhaps by pouring my heart out to you, I may find a bit of peace and take my mind off things.

Rudy didn’t sound very encouraging when they wheeled Steve in for surgery two hours ago. The forlorn look he threw me chilled me to the marrow, but I’m sure he’s not giving up on him. He’s strong and has been through worse before. He’ll make it. He has to. I want my baby to know his father in flesh and not in memory. Please God, keep a watchful eye on him. Don’t take him away. We need him.

I’m consumed by an implacable rage directed at Harraway, the bastard that stabbed Steve. Because of him, my husband’s life is hanging by a thread. Please Lord, give me the strength to hang on. I need to be strong for the both of us.

How do I begin telling you about the horrific ordeal I went through? Remember two days ago, when I told you about my pregnancy? Oscar, Steve and I went to dinner at the Embassy Hotel to celebrate. Harraway must have been stalking Steve to know where we’d be. I berated myself for not spotting him. To this day, I’ve been heedful to my surroundings wherever Steve and I went. I sensed he was there, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to spring forth and sink his fangs into Steve. I was so euphoric about the baby that understandably, my mind wasn’t focused on Harraway. He chose that moment of inattention to lunge at Steve like a hawk on his unsuspected prey.

After dinner, Steve and I went to the restrooms while Oscar took care of the bill. I was brushing my hair when I heard this frantic man asking for a doctor. Puzzled, I walked out of the ladies room and was nearly ran over by Oscar who whizzed past me to breeze into the gents. Restaurant patrons were gathering at the door, trying to get a peek inside. I elbowed my way through the crowd and pushed open the door to be struck by lightning. There he was, lying on the floor in a pool of blood. My God! I’m shaking again. I can’t expunge that image from my mind. My knees buckled before I got to Steve. I fell onto the floor and crawled over to him. My legs were like lead as I dragged myself bodily across the floor to reach him. I was afraid to touch him. Blood was pouring out of his lower back, chest and neck. People grabbed paper towels to help Oscar staunch the hemorrhages but to no avail. He was bleeding to death. His face was livid and his lips were turning blue. I can’t believe Harraway almost got away with it. Luckily, the restaurant bouncers were quick to catch up with him just as he was getting into his car. They got his description from a woman who said she’d seen him walk out of the gents seconds before my husband went in. He’s the one who discovered Steve on the floor.

Oscar urged me to call Rudy and have him sent an ambulance. He had to shout to get me moving.

Oscar walked in just then. There’s still no news from the surgery, so I’ll continue.

When Steve was carried to the ambulance, I insisted to ride along with him. It may have been crowded, but I needed to be near him, feel him breathe. His respiration was alarmingly shallow, his bloody chest barely rising. While Rudy was rushing to stem the hemorrhages, I knelt down at the top of the gurney and stroked his cheeks. They were cold to the touch, so much that it chilled me to the bone. I leaned in closer and brushed my cheek against his, hoping to convey some of my warmth. I whispered comforting words in his ear, asking him to hang on for his baby’s sake.

When we got to the Medical Center, Steve was barely breathing. He’d lost several liters of blood and he didn’t seem like there was any hope of him surviving the attack. He was in surgery for four hours, four excruciating hours during which I felt my body shatter into pieces. Every fiber of my being hurt. Oscar tried his best to ease my mind but to no avail. I tried to think of the baby. A shock like that could be harmful to the little one. But as hard as I tried I couldn’t setttle my nerves.

When Rudy finally came out of the operating room, he wore a funereal expression that made my heart quail. He didn’t have to say anything: I knew it was bad. Steve had suffered five stab wounds, three inches deep, on in the neck near his proximal aorta. If the knife had penetrated a few inches further to the right, it would have severed his jugular and he would have been dead within seconds. Rudy nevertheless had to perform a tracheotomy. He had one stab wound in the chest that clipped the tip of his left lung. They had to…they had to crack open the chest to contain the internal bleeding. He was also clinically dead for nearly a minute before they were able to start his heart again. Two other wounds in the belly. They saved the liver but had to remove the spleen. The last one was in the lower back. Rudy is confident it didn’t do any serious damage to the spine. They managed to salvage the right kidney, which sustained capsular damage.

They settled Steve in ICU. I nearly fainted at the sight of all those tubes going in and out of him. He was deathly pale and lethargic. I hardly recognized him. It was hard to hold back my tears. I promised myself I wouldn’t wear my emotions on my sleeve in front of my boss. However when Rudy beckoned him out of the room, I broke down and cried. I felt all of my strength waning. I took his left hand and flattened it on my tummy, hoping he’d feel the life growing inside of me that would give him an incentive to fight with all of his might. I told him I didn’t want that baby to grow up without his father. I didn’t want to lose my husband so early in life. I sank into a slough of despair.

Early in the morning, he opened his eyes and smiled at me. He coudn’t talk but I know right away that he’d recognized me. He was a bit disoriented but lucid. He understood everything Rudy explained happened to him. He turned to me to speak but the hole in his trachea was preventing him from uttering a single word. So Rudy removed the tube in the neck and plugged the hole with his fingers to allow Steve to whisper. « love you » Those were the two most beautiful words that quickly filled me with a sense of foreboding Did he feel himself slipping away and didn’t want to die without telling me? Steve doesn’t usually say « I love you » to me. Love is mostly felt and not heard: the smiles, the looks, the touch, the presence. So having him saying « Love you » to me was…What? The end? Am I making too much of this?

I strongly believe that he felt his life ebbing away because less than an hour later, he suffered a severe pulmonary embolism. Rudy and his team wheeled him down to surgery. He’s still there. Oh God, I feel I’m losing him. Little one please, give your mommy some strength to hope for the best. I gave it all to Steve to help him fight. Now I’m so tired. I can’t see my way clear.

August 13th 1976

Dear Diary,

It’s nearly noon and Steve is still sleeping soundly. The surgery went well. Rudy was able to remove the clot before it engendered dire consequences. I kept a vigil at Steve’s bedside but I was so exhausted that within minutes, I fell like a log and slept for six hours straight. When I woke up early this morning, Oscar was sitting on the other side of Steve’s bed with heavy lidded eyes. He had taken the late night shift when I dozed off.

As he was about to leave the room to fetch us both some coffee, Steve’s eyes fluttered open. My heart brimmed over with joy at the weak smile that tugged at his mouth when I gazed down at him. I leaned in and gently brushed my lips against his. His mesmerizing eyes, those heavenly blues that never fail to make my knees buckle and set my heart aflutter renewed my faith in the power of prayers. They conveyed the assurance that my strong-willed husband wasn’t about to go down for the count.

When Rudy entered the room, I asked him about the blood-soaked bandage on Steve’s chest that worried me to some extent. He calmly explained that they used heparine to thin his blood to avoid the formation of a second clot, and that under these conditions it was normal for a small amount of blood to seep through the incision. His definition of small amount was for me a major haemorrhage. We’re not talking tiny stains, but large red streaks. Seeing how his explanation failed to ease my mind, he proposed that Oscar and I go down to the cafeteria to grab a bite to eat while he examined the patient and changed the soiled bandage. I reluctantly agreed to leave Steve’s side but only to stretch my legs, for I knew I couldn’t eat anything. My stomach was all churned up.

I had mixed emotions about the outcome of the surgery. Steve appeared to be holding his own. His eyes may be glazed but they weren’t dull or void of any expression. I discerned a glimmer of light, a flickering flame that told me that the fire was still burning bright within him and that the battle was just beginning. It revived the hope that had been slowly dwindling since he was first wheeled into emergency surgery. I admit to cultivating doubts about his survival. At some point, I even pleaded with God to bring an end to his suffering. I was confident that he would provide for me and the baby by giving me the strength to overcome my lost, and I knew Steve would always be watching over us.

Dear Diary, I’m sitting here by Steve’s bed doubting that the worse is truly over. The nurse applied a fresh bandage on his chest, but I can see smudges of blood already soaking through underneath his hospital gown. No matter how hard I try not to look, it’s screaming at me. Rudy said not to worry, but it’s easier said than done. He never spoke of a possible pulmonary embolism either before Steve threw one unexpectantly. So what am I supposed to think?

Dear Diary,

It is now close to 10 :00PM and thank goodness, the bleeding has stopped. Steve slept throughout most of the day only to rouse briefly late this evening while I was having chicken soup. Oscar has graciously offered to bring me a tray of food from the cafeteria so I could eat in the room. You know something, hospital food isn’t that bad. Maybe I’m saying that now because I am hardly finicky at the moment. I’d eat just about anything to keep my strength up. I assume the little one was hungry and urged his mommy to get him some nourrishment. When I think about the small bundle of joy growing inside of me, it bolsters my spirits. He won’t have me give up. I realize I need to be strong for my two precious angels.

August 16th 1976

Dear Diary,

Today, Monday, I returned to work. I was still wobbly on my legs and wasn’t sure if I’d be able to concentrate. I managed to channel all of my energies into helping Oscar organize his agenda for the next week. He’s flying off to Zurich on Wednesday to attend a summit on nuclear armaments. Steve was supposed to accompany him on this trip but under the circumstances, he’ll pass.

My work was satisfactory, considering. All that paperwork kept my mind focused and prevented it from wandering back to Steve.

Steve’s condition has greatly improved over the weekend. He was able to wiggle his fingers and toes and even lifted his arms and legs inches above the bed. This morning, Rudy plugged his trachea. When I drove to the hospital on my lunch hour, Steve greeted me with a wink and a whispering ‘Hi, beautiful.’ It sent me into transports of delight; I was in complete euphoria and I had to restrain myself from hugging him. I slid the brass rail down and bent over him to stroke his cheek. I gladly indulged him when he asked for a kiss. When I felt his hand at the back of my neck, caressing my hair, I then sensed his need to allow our kiss to linger. We both sought refuge from reality in that brief embrace and by the same occasion, it strengthened our love.

When he enquired about the baby, I put his hand on my tummy and assured him that we were both doing fine. He scared the wits out of me when his face suddenly puckered. He wore the same frightening expression the day he threw a clot. He assured me that he wasn’t in any physical pain, and after sniffing back his tears and recomposing himself, he confessed to me his fear of dying. He started to massage his bandaged neck as he went on to describe his fleeting vision on the day of the vicious attack. When Harraway first knifed him, he recalled seeing a flash of me holding our son before darkness engulfed him.

Our son? Was the vision a premonition or just the result of wishful thinking? I’m hoping for a little boy to carry on his father’s name, but whether God grants us a boy or a girl, that lambkin will be showered with love and affection. I still can’t believe it. Me, Peggy Callahan Austin, a mother? I am so grateful to the Lord for sparing my husband’s life and blessing us with a baby.

I overlapped on my lunch hour to lull Steve to sleep before I drove back to the office. I didn’t want to tell him now, but once he gets better, he’ll have to testify at Harraway’s trial to put that bastard behind bars for good. Now just wasn’t the time to break the news to him, not after his tearful confession. He’s so emotionally vulnerable at the moment. I asked both Oscar and Rudy not to tell him either. I’ll wait for the right moment. I’m sure he already has a hint of what’s ahead. He’s aware of the procedure, having faced the parade dozens of times before.

September 4th 1976

Rudy discharged Steve from the hospital this morning. Hubby was raring to trade the dreariness of his room for the convivial and serene ambiance of our home. The gloom fell over the household the day Steve laid hovering on the verge of death. My dog, Peter, was the only comforting presence always trying to cheer me up. I remembered the first night I spent by myself in the gloomy house. I would sit on the living room sofa and listen to the beat of my heart increae at the mere thought of losing Steve so early in our young married life, especially with a baby on the way. The nights were filled with dread, crawling into a cold bed and stroking the empty side of the mattress where Steve would lay every night. I’d close my eyes and imagine feeling the warmth of his arms as they gently enfolded me in a tender embrace. His lips pressed against mine as his hands explored my tingling body, his touch making my skin break out in goosebumps. Then suddenly, reality would hit me like a bullet to the chest.

I’d been tormented by Rudy’s decision to keep Steve under observation for an additional week. He assured me that it was a preventive measure to avoid further complications and ensure a safer return home. Oscar drove with us to help me assist Steve up the front steps and into the house. He was still feeling a bit tender and it was obvious that the long stretch from the driveway to the threshold had worn him out. We laid him on the couch where he soon drifted off. He slept through most of the morning, only to be roused around noon by the enticing aroma of my fresh baked apple strudels. I brought him a tray with a slice and a glass of milk.

Then the strangest thing happened. As he was eating his snack, I began caressing the back of his head, raking my fingers through his hair. Then when I leaned in to kiss him on the neck, he bolted upright and heaved a shuddering breath. I asked what was bothering him and he pretended to having a stomach cramp and that he needed to walk it off a bit. What was wrong? Was my going too fast the reason why he was so disdainful of my touch?

At night while lying in bed, I ventured the bold move of resting my head in the crook of his arm, as he was engrossed in reviewing the academic and professional qualifications of the candidates seeking enrolment in the flight school, a list that current Base Commander Joe Gordon had forwarded him. Given Steve’s medical condition, Mr. Gordon has agreed to postpone his retirement another month to grant Steve a long convalescence before he assumes his new position.

It was disturbing to see him wearing his pyjama top when he usually sleeps bare chest. When I slipped my hand through the opening to stroke his chest, he swiftly gripped my wrist and simply said ‘don’t’. I could feel his heart race and his breath quicken. It was glaringly obvious that my touching his scar greatly disturbed him. With a disconcertingly abrupt manner he closed the folder, set it down on the nightstand before he slid further under the covers and turned his back to me.

When he feel asleep sometime later, I got up and walked to the kitchen to fix myself a glass of warm milk, and settled down on the living room sofa in front of the television with Peter sleeping on my lap. I’m still here, feeling rejected when I know perfectly that I’m overreacting; that it’s only a matter of time before Steve allows us to be intimate once again. I just need to exercise patience. He was the victim of a gruesome assault that scarred him for life. The physical wounds heal fast but the emotional scars often fester without completely closing. I won’t let that miscreant son-of-a-bitch Harraway steal him away from me. Steve has to testify at his trial next week. I’d hate to think what this might do to him psychologically. Is he ready to relive the monstrous attack, the throes of agony he was plunged into?

Oh little one, give your mommy strength.

September 17th 1976

Dear Diary,

That’s it, we’re here! We’ve permanently settled into our farmhouse. This is our new home. We’re starting married life anew on our small spread where our children will be raised and grow up away from the hustle and bustle of the city. We bid a last farewell to our friends in Washington yesterday afternoon to fly to Ojai with Peter and the rest of our belongings, where Jim and Ellen welcomed us at the airport with arms outstretched.

We stayed at Steve’s parents last night and rose bright and early to move in the last of the furniture. Jim along with two of our new neighbors, Tom Hoskins and Bill Hagler, came to lend a hand, which gave us a chance to get better acquainted. They appear like nice, well-mannered folks. Tom has two boys, ages seven and ten, whereas Bill’s wife expecting her first child in early April, same as my due date. Over beers, the boys laid wagers on whose baby would be born ahead of the other. It was fun to see them act like boys, but it was Steve’s infectious laugh that truly set my heart aflutter. It was the first time since the stabbing that I’d heard him break into a hearty guffaw.

In late afternoon, I wandered into the toolshed in the back of the barn where I found Steve working on a small crib for the baby. The only unsettling sight was his shirt buttoned up to his neck, a constant reminder of his frigid responses to my touch. When I approached him and engaged in small talk, he flung his arms around my waist and gave me a deep lingering kiss. I felt he was teasing me, pretending he wanted me when tonight in bed he would shy away from me. He wished to enlace me as often as he could before my tummy grew to a size that would preclude any embrace. I gazed tenderly into his bewitching blues, willing him to kiss me once more. As our kiss grew passionate, we retreated in a small corner of the barn adjacent to the shed where we laid down on the hay and made love. Thank God only the horses saw us…shall we say…have a roll in the hay. It was heavenly. Tonight I no longer found a stranger in my bed. My husband was back.

Dear Diary, to what do I attribute this sudden turnabout in Steve’s conduct? My only answer is the move from the city to the country. Up here I feel rejuvenated; I’m one with nature. I’m sent into transports of delight, ones I’m sure are taking Steve along for the ride.

I feel a yawn coming on, time for me to sign off and nuzzle up to my slumbering husband.

October 5th 1976

Dear Diary,

Today was Steve’s first day on the job. I had hardly seen him so anxious since the day of our wedding. He asked me to accompany him to the Edwards Base where he introduced me to his collaborators and some members of the personnel. He had a vice-like grip on my hand, clinging to me like a lifeline. At some point I asked him politely to loosen his grasp when the blood started draining out of my hand. I told him to relax, to take deep breaths. He reminded me of myself on my very first day at school. He would put up a brave front, exuding confidence and professionalism, when behind this seemingly solid armour hid a quivering little boy. He was so cute!

I’m entering my third month of pregnancy and still no bizarre cravings nor morning sicknesses. Sometimes I wonder if this is normal. I asked mom about it. Apparently it was the same for her during the first four months of carrying my brother Alan, but that he somehow managed to kick the cravings in at around the seventeenth week…literally. He’d kick her awake in the hush of the night where she would get up and wander down to the kitchen to fix herself a disgusting snack. I felt nauseous at her description of a tuna sandwich with icecream. Yark!

I can’t wait to feel the baby’s kick. Mom advised me to stack up on plenty of rest for when the kicking starts, I won’t have a moment’s peace, especially if it’s a boy; they protest louder.

December 24th 1976

This morning I could have strangled my dear husband. I had set the alarm clock clock for 7 :00AM in order to start early on preparing the Christmas Eve supper for tonight. Instead, I wound up rising at 11 :00AM. Steve had deliberately turned off the alarm to allow me to sleep late following a night of sheer torture. Junior was restless, kicking up a storm in my belly for nearly two hours. When the painful twinges started, I went down to the kitchen to fix myself a glass of warm milk, hoping to satiate his hunger. He simmered down for a good fifteen minutes, during which time I finished my milk and headed back upstairs. I crawled into bed and had finally found a comfortable position when Junior resumed his kicking. My eyes shot wide open and I let out a small shriek that startled Steve awake. He spent the next ten to fifteen minutes rubbing my stomach and whispering sweet nothings into my ear and wouldn’t you know it, it worked! As soon as Junior calmed down, his mommy drifted off into a peaceful sleep. Despite it all, I insisted to be awakened at 7 :00AM so not to fall too much behind on the preparations.

At 11 :00AM, I bounced out of bed and went downstairs to the kitchen where Steve was already slaving over a hot stove. Before I could scold him, he enlaced me in his arms and gave me a soul kiss that stole my breath away and drowned me into submission. I was completely at his mercy and he knew it. He can be so wicked. How could I stay mad at this angel-faced devil that had bustled about in the kitchen since 7 :00 while I caught up on some needed sleep?

Steve has just left for the airport to meet my parents. He insisted I take a short nap upstairs while the house was quiet but I’m too anxious to sleep. I can’t wait to see mom and dad again. Junior is quiet. He hasn’t kicked me since last night.

You might wonder why I keep referring to the baby as Junior? Mom had warned me that boy protested louder and this one sure kicks like a mule. Thus far, only Steve is able to calm him down. When the kicking starts, I call on hubby to rub my tummy and give Junior a friendly scolding. He has the magic touch. Father and son have already forged a bond. Yep! I know it’s a boy.

Oh boy! He’s awake. Junior is getting restless again. I’d better close here and try to lull the bundle to sleep before mom and dad arrive. I’ll let you know tomorrow what went on tonight.

December 25th 1976

Dear Diary,

My father died early this morning of a massive stroke. I sensed something was wrong with him during last night Christmas Eve supper when he excused himself to make three trips to the bathroom. He’d returned feeling drained and looking deathly pale. Steve took me aside to voice his concern and suggested we drive him to the hospital for a checkup. Dad argued that he was fine, chiding us for making such a fuss over a mere stomachache. He insisted we continue with the celebration, which we did, reluctantly, with strained smiles and feighed delight, all the while keeping our eyes on dad.

Suddenly I saw all the blood drained from his face, shortly followed by a shortness of breath. He clutched his left side, face contorted with pain. Steve grabbed a hold of him before he crumbled to the floor. He laid him down on the living room carpet and feeling his pulse, he noted that he was in cardiac arrest. Helen called the ambulance while Steve began CPR. Mom was hysterical, kneeling by dad, she kept yelling his name. I stood there in Jim’s arms, frozen with horror. I felt my knees buckling but luckily, Jim had his arm around my waist and held me upright. Steve gave dad several cardiac thumps to revive but his efforts came to a naught. When the paramedic arrived, they successfully shocked dad’s heart back before they hauled him to the ambulance.

I wanted to go with mom and Steve to the hospital, I pleaded with him to take me along. Seeing my desperation, he nodded in agreement and assisted me to the door. We were rushing to the car when the baby rose in protest. The strong kicks felt as though I’d been stabbed in the stomach. Steve helped me back into the house and sat with me on the couch. My stomach was on fire. I was terrified at the possibility of a miscarriage. Steve leaned my back against his chest, rested my head on his shoulder and began rubbing my belly in a circular motion to quiet the seething bundle moving around inside the wound.

Jim volunteered to drive to the hospital instead so Steve could remain with me. He lifted me in his arms and carried me upstairs to the bedroom where he laid beside me on the bed and continued his soothing massage. He tried to appease my fears by holding me close and whispering comforting words. Normally his touch would have sent shivers of pleasure coursing through my body; instead, they released a stream of horrific images of past events, the worse being Steve’s gruesome stabbing a few months ago.

I was distraught to the point that only a strong barbiturate would have knocked me out, but somehow hubby’s hands worked their magic and managed to slowly lull me to sleep.

Hours later, I pried open my red-rimmed leaden eyes, feeling like a dead mass. Steve was sitting on the windowsill, head leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. I glanced at the alarm clock. It was 10 :27AM Christmas morning, a time when we would normally be downstairs unwrapping our presents and partaking in Steve’s and mine Christmas brunch. As I shifted onto my left side, a creak in the bed jolted Steve awake. His haggard expression told me he hadn’t found restful sleep. He looked beat, careworn. He sat next to me on the bed and pulled me to him, tightening his arms around me. He heaved a shuddering breath and began rocking me gently. I knew right then that dad had died. I sank my head deeper into his chest and dissolved into tears. I cried and cried and cried, releasing my anger, my pain, my grief.

The doctor came by this afternoon to give mom a sedative and by the same occasion, he gave me a quick once-over. Just to remain on the safe side, he instructed me to remain in bed for the next couple of days.

I can’t believe dad is dead, and on Christmas! He won’t see the baby. Oh God, why did you have to take him now! Wasn’t it enough that you tried to claim my husband’s soul? Will you come for my baby’s as well? I’m numb with grief. My mind’s in a clutter. I can’t think straight. I need to be strong for mom. She’s devastated. I don’t know how she’ll cope. I don’t know how I’ll cope.

April 8th 1977

Dear Diary,

Steve and I are the proud parents of a healthy baby boy. Blue-eyed, fairhaired, nine-pound-two-ounces Patrick Lee Austin arrived into this world at 7 :15PM on April 6th after a gruelling twenty hours of labor. I tell you, that litle one plunged his mommy into the throes of agony as he made himself wait. Steve was successful at quelling some of the labor pain from the first contractions but as they grew in intensity and number, I came to loathe his touch.

Okay, I’ll start from the beginning.

It was late Tuesday night. Steve and I were cuddled up on the sofa in front of a warm crackling fire, discussing the prospect of having mom move in with us. Following dad’s death, she sold the old house and moved into a tiny apartment. I hated the thought of her all alone and so far away from her children. I churned that idea in my mind long and hard before approaching Steve with it. He approved my suggestion of settling her in the guesthouse. That way she won’t feel like she’s intruding on our lives since we won’t be living under the same roof. Mom may have her faults but one thing she’s not is a meddler. She won’t drive me bonkers with advices on how to keep house and raise my children. I’ll expect she’ll be a doting grandmother. I might need her near for when I’ll stagger on the brink of postnatal depression.

It was a few minutes past eleven when we decided to head upstairs. We took turns in the bathroom, with me taking the first shift. When I crawled into bed, that’s when I felt my first contraction. At first I thought Junior was kicking me, but the pain was different. It felt more like a tear than a kick. I lay on my back and rubbed my tummy while I waited for Steve to exit the bathroom. My nightgown was wet. I felt the mattress and sure enough, my water had broken.

When Steve returned to the bedroom, I stared at him with a broad smile and told him that it was time. You should have seen his face lit up! The first words he uttered were ‘don’t panic’. When I assured him that I wasn’t, he said that he was talking to himself. I hadn’t seen him so fidgetty since the first day he assumed his functions at the flight school. He was so cute.

He dived into his trousers and snatched his shirt from the bedpost. Then he grabbed the already-packed suitcase from out of the closet and assisted me downstairs where we donned our coats. We treaded very slowly to the car in the driveway. I was walking on eggshells, heedful not to trigger another painful contraction before we arrived at the hospital. Steve kept quickening the pace, tugging at my arm in hopes I would follow his cadence. My contractions were still very far apart, so I knew I had a long wait ahead of me.

I was settled in a regular room up at maternity where they monitored my progress. Steve was beside me, standing at the ready to rub my tummy at first sign of a contraction. After awhile, he began kneading my back, which helped a lot during the first hours of labor. I held on to his hand with a vice-like grip, squeezing it with all of my might whenever a smarting contraction would wash over me. One good thing of having a husband with a bionic hand is that you don’t have to worry about crushing it. Ha, ha!

At some point during the night, he lay beside me and tried to lull me to sleep with soothing caresses on my cheeks and neck. I was slowly drifting off to the land of Nod when another painful contraction hurled me back to the cold harsh world.

At around 8 :00AM the next day, my obgyn came by to check on my progress. When he informed me that my contractions were only 30 minutes apart and that I still had a long way to go, I could have strangled him. I’d been in excruciating labor for the past ten hours and demanded to put an end to it. Steve was running on adrenalin and coffee, never leaving my side. The pain became so unbearable that I actually scolded him for his unkempt appearance.

When it seemed I was losing my mind, the doctor suggested to Steve to take a trip down the hall to stretch his legs while he stayed with me. Before hubby left the room, I clasped his hand and apologized profusely for my irrational behavior. He leaned close to my ear and whispered. « You’re doing fine, sweetheart. I’m proud of you. Just think : we’re having a baby. » I broke into a nervous giggle and squeezed his hand as he stroked my cheek and gave me a tender kiss on the lips before leaving.

Finally! They brought me down to the delivery room at around 6 :00PM. I was no longer in pain for the doctor had given me an epidural. I was floating on air. Steve accompanied me all the away to the doors where he gave me a goodluck kiss before they wheeled me in the rest of the way.

I won’t described all the gruesome details of the delivery, only that when the doctor laid that little wailing bundle on my stomach, the pain of those last twenty hours simply vanished. I couldn’t care less if the baby was all slimy and shrivelled… to me he was the prettiest sight I had ever beheld in my life…aside from Steve, of course. (wink) I was afraid to touch him, fearing I might hurt him in any way. Exhausted and elated at the same time, I couldn’t stop crying. I did it! I gave Steve a son.

Oh, I think Patrick is ready for his lunch. I’ll be right back.

Dear Diary,

That was a false alarm. When I heard a tiny gurgling sound coming from the crib, I thought the little cherub was rousing. I assume he was just dreaming. Ahhhhhhhh, he’s such a sight to behold. I could stand over the crib all day and gaze at him sleep. He is Steve’s mirror image when he was a baby: same eyes, ears, nose and tuft of light brown hair.

At the hospital a few hours after the birth, I awoke to a precious sight, one of a proud father cradling his baby son in his arms. When he saw me smile, he stood from his chair and gingerly laid the yawning bundle of joy in the crook of my arm, then perched himself on the edge of the bed. We gazed into each other’s eyes for a brief moment, our eyes beaming with blissfulness, before we exchanged a small kiss and turned our attention back to our son.

Our son. I can’t believe I’m actually saying it. Told you it was going to be a boy!

Jim and Helen were with Steve in the waiting room when the doctor announced that he was the proud father of a healthy baby boy. He told me he jumped on the phone to tell my mom the good news and by the same occasion, contacted Oscar and Rudy in Washington. We’re all expecting them this weekend. We’ve offered to make sleeping arrangements at the ranch for Oscar and Rudy but they opted for a hotel room, refusing to put us out even for one night, especially now with the new arrival. Mom on the other hand has agreed to stay for a couple of weeks to help with the baby. The effects of postnatal depression are considerably lessened when there’s a kind soul willing to help with the household chores while you catch on some much-needed sleep.

I’ve taught Steve how to change diapers. I must say he does it like a pro, and I’m not just saying that to flatter his ego into taking over the task more often. Late last night when the baby started crying, Steve volunteered for diaper duty but surprise! Patrick not only needed changing, he was clamouring for his midnight feeding. Steve teased me about my being better suited for this job than he was.

The poor dear, I believe he’s gotten less sleep than I have since the labor pains started. Luckily he took a three-week leave of absence from work, handing over the reins to his first officer in command. At this point we both need sleep, and I expect that with both grandmothers helping around the house and three hands that Steve hired to run the ranch, we’ll manage to catch up.

Oh, I think Steve and Jim are back from town. I’ll close here.