By Char Chaffin
char@chaffin.com

MSR, Skinner/ScullyFamily Angst, Future AU
Rating:  PG
Spoilers:  Season Nine
WARNING:  Minor Character Death

This is the next installment of my ongoing series, "A Life".  It
would probably help if you have read the previous stories:

"A Life:  The Hitcher"
"A Life:  Far From the Madding Crowd"
"A Life:  You're Still You"
"A Life:  A Necessary Family"
"A Life:  Small-Town Man"
"A Life:  Maple Syrup Sunday"
"A Life:  Air-Mail Love"

Dedication:  My darling Jay BayBee is having a birthday!  Happiest
of days, my IWTB BayBee!

Thanks to:  Tess and Sallie, as always their guidance, friendship
and beta advice means the world to me!

Summary:  'Her whole world dwells there...'
 

"Spring Clean-Up"
 

The condition of Emmett Road has slowly improved over the past
month, but not because of snow plowing done by the state.  The
residents of Simmons and the outlying farms and houses dotting Bluff
Ridge have taken turns clearing the only road that winds into town.
Twenty-one miles of curving, steep mountain road has been kept
relatively snow-free all winter long.  Using a rotating roster, the
calls have gone out whenever snow has been predicted - and although
there has been some melting, there has also been unexpected snowfall,
hitting Simmons and the Bluff the night before Easter.

Frank runs his plow on the slippery road, early Easter morning.
He'd arisen in the dark, gotten dressed in the bathroom so as not to
disturb June, who'd had a rough night of indigestion and leftover
coughing from her bout of bronchitis and hadn't slept very well.
He'd leaned over her sleeping form to kiss her and the feel of his
lips on her cheek had stirred her, enough to croak, "Mulder...
where're you going in the dark?"

Frank had passed a gentle hand over her hair, soothing her.  "Shh.
I'm plowing the Ridge.  It's been snowing and it's my turn.  Go back
to sleep."  With another kiss he'd slipped out the door and padded
quietly down the stairs and out into the back mudroom to retrieve his
snowsuit and heavy boots.

Bundled into the cab of his Cat, Frank takes the more difficult
route first, the road going north up along Bluff Ridge.  It's still
very early in the morning but he knows folks will be rising soon and
there will be activity on the road.  Even on the Lord's very special
day, Miller Kendell will still have to get to town with his eggs and
Peg Brightner will drive in from Little Bluff Road in her old school
bus, picking up other Bluff residents without vehicles who need a
ride into town for the day.  Peg's tire chains are worn and Miller's
four-wheel drive went out on his truck last week.  And this far up in
the Bluffs, cleared and dry roads can be a matter of life and death.

Frank whistles under his breath as he maneuvers the Cat up the far
side of the road.  He always makes sure to clear as wide a swath as
possible; Emmett Road is typically narrow and winding.  Last month a
truck full of Bexley kids driving to Bluff Lake for a snowmobile
party had run off the road at Mid-Point Curve, and had gone over the
embankment.  Thankfully no one had been seriously injured but the
group had totaled one snowmobile and crumpled the front of their
truck.  If the road had been plowed a little bit wider Frank doesn't
think they would have slid quite so badly.  He and the other Ridge
farmers had talked it over and they'd all decided to scrape as far
left and right as possible.

As he passes Adele Pennington's place, Frank notices it's still
deserted, the Northrup family having already moved out over a month
ago.  He knows Adele has been out of town visiting family in Boston,
and hasn't been actively searching for a new tenant.  He also knows
that her finances are less than sound right now and that she needs to
rent that house, and soon.  Frank has toyed with the idea of buying
it from her, but he doesn't want to be tied down with owning two
houses.  There's no way of knowing when he and June may have to pick
up and leave, quickly.

They have been lucky so far, living in Simmons.  The town is well-
hidden and relatively unknown even to other Vermont residents.  They
rarely get strangers in town except during ski season and then only a
handful at a time.  It's as if everyone has forgotten Simmons - and
that's exactly why he and June like living here.  But in the two
years since they've become Simmons residents, Frank has never let
down his guard.  He could be ready to move within a few days, if he
needed to.  And although he loves it here, he's a practical and
cautious man.  He's had to be.

Still... as he climbs further up the winding road Frank thinks how
nice it would have been, to own Adele's place.  The house is smaller
and the acreage only about half as much as he has with his own farm -
but the lay of the land is sweet and the house would be the perfect
size, for his mother-in-law to live in and his brothers-by-marriage,
to visit.  They could come, and stay as long as they like, any time
they like.  There are four small bedrooms in the house and two
fireplaces.  It's a great place - and just as he's thinking those
particular pipe dreams again, Frank lets them dissipate into the cool
air of the Cat.  There's no way.  He knows it. June knows it.
Somewhere, Maggie Scully knows it...

Frank shakes off the gloomy thoughts and turns around in front of
the boat launch at the southern tip of Bluff Lake.  Time to plow on
back down the road, take the Cat into town for a quick gas-up and
then turn around and head on home, to pancakes and hot maple syrup.

****************

The sun shines high and the day is bright.  New grass is coming in
sparsely, nurtured carefully by the groundskeepers of Falls Church
Memorial Cemetery.  There are robins chirping in the trees nearby and
in the cool crisp air there is a promise of renewal.

At a gravesite in a small corner of one of the older areas, mourners
gather slowly, individually and in small groups.  There are mounds of
flowers; urns and baskets and swags stacked in graceful order around
the gleaming rosewood casket.  A double row of chairs has been set up
underneath a dark green canvas awning and they are slowly filling
with family, and friends.

Some of them wear black and others are garbed in less traditional
colors.  Some carry single long-stemmed sterling roses that they
gently lay upon the closed casket, and others clutch handkerchiefs.
Their murmurs are low and meant to comfort, as they gather around the
occupants of the first row of chairs.

Bill Scully Jr. is not talking to anyone, barely answering his wife
and children.  His eyes are rimmed in red and his face is drawn in
pain.  Next to him his brother Charles is in a similar condition, one
hand clasping his older brother's and the fingers of his other hand
twined through his wife's reassuring grip.  Deborah Scully cries
openly, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face.  They slip
down her pale cheeks silently.  She isn't speaking, either.

On the other side of Bill, Tara Scully holds her youngest child,
Mary, on her lap.  Matthew sits next to her, solemn in his dark suit
and polished shoes.  This is the third funeral he's attended in his
short life.  Matthew hates funerals - hates their significance.  His
dark eyes ache; his heart hurts.  He leans his head into his mother's
arm and feels the kiss she brushes over his hair.  It helps to ease a
little of the coldness he carries inside.

The priest takes his place next to the casket, clears his throat.
Opens up the Bible in his hands, and begins to read the Twenty-Third
Psalm.  It's a favorite of the family's, and they specifically
requested it be read.  Father Bishing hasn't bothered to inform them
the Psalm is read at every graveside service he performs.  It's his
responsibility to give the bereaved family anything they want and to
agree with them in their time of need.

As the words of the Psalm are spoken softly and reverently, Bill
Scully bows his head and harsh sobs wrack his body.  Beside him his
brother releases both occupied hands and wraps his arms around Bill's
shaking form, trying to soothe him, support him.  And behind their
chairs, Walter Skinner presses a strong and comforting palm on each
man's shoulder.

None of them could have predicted this day.  It caught them by
surprise, the suddenness of it, the shock.  It should not have
happened.  And yet, it did.

Skinner remembers reading the obituary in the paper.  Remembers the
utter surrealism, of seeing her name listed there.  Remembers the way
she looked, the last time he saw her... at her children's funeral,
five years ago.  She'd been dressed in navy blue, and her smile had
been sad and genuine and her hand had pressed his gently when he sat
beside her under an awning very like the one that covered them today.

She'd murmured, "Thank you for coming, Mr. Skinner.  I know Dana and
Fox would have wanted you right here, with the family."

And he'd nodded, unable to say much to her, hanging onto her hand as
if he held a lifeline.  Which in a way, he had... for never in his
adult life had he met a stronger person than Margaret Scully.  She'd
watched a husband's ashes cast upon the sea he so loved; had buried a
daughter in this cemetery.  Was burying another this very day, in the
same family plot - along with her grandson and the man who'd fathered
him and loved her Dana.  Three beloved children and a grandchild, a
family unit - side by side in the Scully plot.  She could bear it,
the overwhelming grief - because she was a Scully and the Scullys
were made of tough stuff.  She still had two sons, and they were a
source of comfort to her, now.  Their wives were her daughters, now...

Skinner remembered her strength and had always admired her for it.
He lost track of her after the funeral.  He grieved for the loss of
them, the loss of Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, of their son William.
Gone, all of them - and he missed them, five years later.  He missed
them every day.

Now, he stands with his hands on Margaret Scully's sons' shoulders,
and knows he'll miss her every bit as much.  Once she had graciously
and fondly lumped him in with her family, and he'd felt such a warm
surge.  How long had it been since he'd been part of any family?
Maybe five years had passed since he'd last seen her but her warmth
could still be felt, a live thing amongst all of them.  She was his
last real link to the agents - and friends - he'd lost years ago.

Skinner bows his head, fights back the tears.  He's always been a
tower of strength to those who needed him, and he won't compromise
that strength today, though in his lifetime he'd shed some tears.
And later, alone... he'll shed some, for today - for her.  And for
her daughter and family.  He'll cry for them.  But right now her sons
need strength and compassion, and that's what they'll have, from him.

His eyes sting as they gaze at the rosewood coffin, covered in a
blanket of pale yellow carnations and sprinkled with fragrant
sterling roses.  Surreal, that's what it is.  He can see her face, in
his mind he can feel the warmth of her smile...

Yes, Walter Skinner will miss Margaret Scully, very much.

******************

These are busy days for Frank and June, after Easter holiday.  The
ground is warming up fast and has lost enough of the spring chill for
them to begin tilling the soil.  June has dragged Kevin and Briggs to
town three times in the truck, spending a small fortune at the garden
and feed store.  This year they are trying a new crop of potatoes and
Kevin has expressed a desire to have his own little garden, filled
with odd things like blue taters and popping corn.  Yesterday Frank
helped him stake out a sunny corner of the garden, promising to have
it tilled by nightfall - and Kevin is bouncing in his seat all the
way to town, at the prospect of getting to choose his own seeds.

June parks the truck across the street from Cameron's Dry Goods, and
Kevin snaps on Brigg's leash, the excited dog trying very hard not to
strain against his young master's hold.  June waves to several
familiar faces, as she and Kevin walk the three blocks to Simmons
Farm and Feed.  It's good to be out walking, after being stuck on the
Ridge with lingering bronchitis.  Nearing the end of her pregnancy,
she waddles a bit now, and Kevin pokes fun at his ungainly, pretty
mother.

"Look, Briggs!  Is it a bird?  Is it a plane?  No, it's... Duck-
Woman!"  He runs ahead of her, imitating her walk and making her
blush and giggle helplessly.  Briggs prances in a circle, yapping
with enthusiasm and winding the leash about Kevin's legs.  He trips
and they tumble to the wet grass in a pile of fur and silly boy.
June laughs at them so hard she gets a stitch in her side and has to
stop and rub at her belly.

"You deserved that, Kevin - making fun of your poor mother.  Come
on, we're going to be late getting back."  As her grinning son
untangles himself from the long leash, June waves at Adele
Pennington, who has just come back from her lunch break.  Adele veers
from the door of her real estate office and hurries across the street
to give June a hug.

"You've finally been sprung from prison, huh?  You must be feeling
better, you certainly are glowing, my dear.  And look at you!  How
much longer?"  Adele gently pats June's tummy.

June grimaces.  "Two more months.  Honestly, I feel as though I have
been pregnant for an eternity.  I haven't seen my feet in so long I
can't help but wonder if my toes are intact!  And I'm hungry all the
time.  I have to be more careful about what I put in my mouth,
otherwise I'll never lose the baby weight, after Megan pops out."

Adele smiles fondly at her.  "Such a sweet name.  Megan... I like
it.  Is it a family name?"  Her question is expected, yet June feels
the sad little tug, when she responds.

"My maternal grandmother's name - and my mother's middle name.  It
seemed fitting, that I could honor them both at the same time."

June's eyes carry a sadness that Adele has seen before.  She is not
a prying woman.  She has never asked too many questions, not where
this family is concerned.  She suspects they have seen their share of
rough times, in the past.  And she knows that here in Simmons they
have found a peaceful - and safe - kind of living that only small-
town life seems to offer.  She also knows they have both suffered
family loss; she has seen it in Frank's eyes, the few times he's
mentioned his family.  And she sees it now, in the way June tears up,
just a little, when she talks about her mother.  But Adele Pennington
will not pry.

Thoughtfully, she changes the subject.  "My dear, I have great news!
You can tell Frank to stop worrying about me and my empty house - I
found someone to rent it.  A lovely woman, elderly.  A widow.  From
Indiana; Gary, I think.  Name's Cora Bledsoe.  Drives a little red
Honda sedan; you might see her from time to time, on Emmett Road.  I
had Harv next door help her move her things in; poor dear didn't have
very much."

June is curious.  "Did she sell everything before she left Gary?"

Adele shakes her head, sadly.  "No, the poor woman lost most of her
possessions in a house fire.  Killed her husband, and her dogs.  I
understand she was on her way home from work; she volunteered at a
local day care center.  Drove up her street, in time to see fire
trucks and police cars, everywhere.  Well, she went berserk.  Broke
through the barricade and dashed into the burning house, before
anyone could stop her.  When the firemen chased after her and by the
time they'd caught her, she'd managed to get through the front door
and she was screaming for her husband.  She got burned badly, on her
face, and her hands."

"Oh, how awful for her!  When did this happen?"

"About two months ago, she said.  She still has a lot of scars; has
had some grafting and plastic surgery done.  But her face is in rough
shape, and I think a combination of grieving and her injuries is what
will keep her on the Ridge.  I would bet we don't see much of her in
town.  Martha over at Cameron's tells me that she has arranged to
have groceries delivered to her place, twice a month."

June is sympathetic.  "Well, I can certainly understand her need to
bury herself away, after what she's been through.  I'll tell Frank
about her, and caution him to leave her be while she gets settled.
You know Frank; he'd be out there with the lawn mower and tiller,
offering his help, as a one-man welcoming committee!"

Adele laughs, knowing June is right.  Frank is a gregarious man,
generous with his time and always determined to give back to others
the blessings he's received himself.  It's just the way he is...

"Well, I'd give her a few weeks, then maybe stop by and welcome her.
She seemed very shy to me."

June nods and calls to Kevin, who's found a couple of his school
pals and is busy chatting with them, Briggs right in the thick of
their boyish banter.  Kevin obediently trots over, is engulfed in
Adele's loving embrace and good-naturedly suffers his young pals'
verbal teasing, as they watch him being hugged.  Adele ruffles his
hair.  "You get bigger every time I see you, Kevin!  Are you being a
good boy and helping out your folks?"

Kevin nods dutifully, "Yes, Mrs. Pennington.  Hey, guess what?  I'm
getting my own garden!  I'm gonna grow purple potatoes and popcorn
and baby carrots!"  His little face is flushed with enthusiasm and
there's a smear of Adele's pink lipstick on one cheek.  June thinks
there couldn't possibly be a more adorable child on earth than her
Kevin - and for one brief moment she allows hot tears to gather in
her eyes, at the thought that she'd give anything if her mother could
see Kevin, just as he looks right now.

Then the moment passes, and she and Kevin are hugging Adele
Pennington goodbye, after extracting a promise from her to join them
for Sunday dinner.  Half an hour later they've finished their
shopping and are back in the truck, headed home, the bed of the
pickup loaded down with bags of fertilizer and assorted peat and
potting soil.  A large bucket holds blue tater starters and another
bag contains seeds.  Briggs hunkers down between bags and bucket,
happily gnawing on a large Greenie that Kevin bought for him with
part of his weekly allowance.

In the warm cab June drives with both hands on the wheel and Kevin's
head snuggled in her lap, asleep as always, when he travels in a
vehicle.  She spares him a quick glance and a tender smile, then lets
her mind drift a little, as they climb Emmett Road, headed for the
Ridge.

Seven miles away, Frank is tilling their garden.  Seven miles from
here, their farmhouse is warm and full of spring sunlight.  Her whole
world dwells there, the world she helped Frank create and the place
that spells safety and permanency, for all of them.  There will be
more of these moments, June knows - when she'd do anything in the
world to have her mother in her arms.  She also knows that Margaret
Scully didn't raise any weaklings.  She will hang tough, stay strong -
because she is a Scully, and that's what Scullys do.

June drives through the Bluffs, hands steady on the wheel and the
warmth of her dozing son against her leg.

*******************

The little satellite post office stands in the late afternoon sun,
parking lot filled with vehicles owned by postal patrons eager to
pick up their mail before the lobby closes, ten minutes from now.

He walks to the back and unlocks Box 121.  Pulls out the manila
envelope and slips it into his jacket.  Locks up and walks out to his
car.  He drives away, taking it slow, nosing through traffic...
pondering.

It saddens him to think this envelope will go no further than his
own hands.  He's sure its contents are wonderful and sweet.  If he
knew of a safe place to store it, he'd keep the envelope, maybe open
it and look through the priceless contents.  But there isn't a safe
place in the world right now, that can hold it - of that he's sure.

An hour later he pulls off onto a narrow side road, stops the car.
Gets out, and squats in the dirt on the shoulder of the road.  Pulls
out the envelope and lays it on the ground.  Removes a lighter from
another pocket, and carefully sets it on fire.  Watches sadly, as it
burns.  He is sure he'll regret not looking through the contents -
just as sure as he is, that looking through them would also hurt all
the worse.

Five minutes later the envelope is a small pile of charred ashes
that blow away in the early evening breeze... and he is back in his
car and driving away. And as John Byers heads for home, he wipes away
the moisture in his eyes.

***************
To be continued