. 06

Author's note:

This is, in all its seven parts and their many chapters, one very,

very

long story. If long stories bother you, I suggest you read something else.

No part of this story is written so as to stand on its own. I strongly suggest that you start with

the beginning of Part 1

and read sequentially—giving up at any point you choose, of course.

All sexual activity portrayed anywhere in this story involves only people at least eighteen years old.

In fact, nowhere in Part 6 is there any explicit sexual activity. (This should surprise no one who has read Part 5.)

This entire story is posted only on literotica.com. Any other public posting without my permission in writing is a violation of my copyright.

Neither of us had an exam scheduled for the last day of finals—the last Friday in January—so we arranged to drive up to visit Ellen's parents. This meant most of a day's driving each way, and there wasn't any point in driving that long just to spend the night, so we were coming back on Sunday. We had discussed this with Pastor Mac, and he had agreed that this was a good idea. I didn't want to miss the first day of classes, though if we had car trouble or something that still might happen. Of course, the main purpose of the trip was to make up for not being with them when we got engaged.

We arrived in the late afternoon, and the welcome could hardly have been more different that the one I'd experienced before Christmas. Mrs. Chan gave me a hug, and it was plain that I was very welcome—not just formally, as her daughter's friend and intended husband and—now—fiancé, but on my own account as well, and as a future son in law. Mr. Chan was slightly more reserved, but I thought that was just a difference between the two of them. They both admired the ring, but once again I thought perhaps he had a better grasp of the artistry involved.

We got settled in, and went to the kitchen to talk and to help with getting dinner on the table. The table talk was varied, and as enjoyable as the food. Ellen and I described the holiday dance, and both of the elder Chans seemed to be quite interested, so after dinner I searched on line and found that some videos from the dance had been posted. Ellen and I were visible from time to time, as partners or not—and my parents as well, so we pointed them out. The costumes—of those who were in costume—were admired and came in for some discussion. The whole of Sir Roger was there, which led to some explanation of the differences between English country dancing and contradancing.

Ellen and I slept surprisingly well, Just after we had gotten to bed, Mrs. Chan knocked on the door and came in to ask us something. I thought she was pleased that we were both in modest nightclothes plainly not busy making love. We had actually been about to snuggle for a few moments and kiss goodnight, so it was probably as well that she hadn't come a minute or two later.

The next morning, Mr. Chan left for his office right after breakfast. I asked what I might do to help, and was told to relax and enjoy being a guest. I wasn't sure whether to press, so I was waiting for some obvious opportunity, but Ellen knew how I felt. She said, "Mother, he really does mean it. He's not just a guest, he's family. He would have just gotten to work, if he were sure what you would find helpful. But even when he stayed with Sam's family, before his apartment was available, he helped with things like dishes, laundry, and vacuuming, and some yard work too." She added to me, "Sam told me, but Sally said things too, at Thanksgiving." To her mother, she added, "John and Sally are older, and I think the yard work was especially helpful."

I put in, "Some of that was a bit strenuous for him, and he's not supposed to go up on ladders, so I did quite a bit of pruning, and cleaned gutters too. I think I saved him having to hire someone to help with those things."

Mrs. Chan appeared to think for a moment, and then mentioned several small jobs around the house. They took me less than an hour, but I thought my willingness to pitch in was established, and that this was a good thing. In the immediate situation, I wasn't sure whether she was pleased or whether she saw this as some sort of criticism of her housekeeping, but it soon became obvious that she approved—thinking of me as a future son in law, rather than as a guest. Possibly if I had just looked around for things to do and then done them, she might have seen it as criticism, but as it was I thought she might have decided that it was no more than a recognition that there was normal housekeeping to be done.

We did have time to talk, the three of us. When Mr. Chan joined us, at lunch time, after some general conversation, I brought up what my father had said about Ellen's family having been investigated. I said, "I'm sure this isn't news to you. Some of those who were asked must have told you about it. I should say, I'm really pretty ignorant of Dad's work. He just doesn't discuss it. I don't think there's anything specially confidential about ninety-five percent of it, but once you start talking it's hard to draw the line. And even a lot of the non-confidential stuff, he'd be talking about what particular people said, and it could turn into gossip all too easily, so he just doesn't get started.

"But anyway, he said that you had also had people asking about me and my family, and I thought I should let you know that I'm aware of it. And I'm not offended or anything. I'm glad you care enough about Ellen to want to know about this man she's preparing to marry—since you have the contacts and resources to do so."

Mr. Chan laughed. "I was pleased by everything we turned up, and now even more that you've said what you did. Many people, in your position, would either be offended or feel they shouldn't bring this up."

Ellen said, "Father, you need to know this about Phil. He's not comfortable keeping secrets, unless there's some good reason. He's honest and trustworthy, and he just doesn't feel comfortable deceiving people, even by holding back information. You'll eventually see that this makes him tend to give you much more information than you want."

Mr. Chan laughed again. "He told me this himself, the first night you arrived at Christmas. He mentioned this as a reason he might not make a very good teacher. At any rate, though, I appreciate your telling me what your father said to you. You're right, I knew they were asking questions, the same way they knew I was." He smiled. "Of course, their concern is for the safety of the country, and mine for the happiness of my daughter. Not quite the same thing."

Again, I was glad this was his reaction. Ellen was right about why I'd felt I needed to say that, but I was glad of anything that made the Chans approve of me.

I got most of the dishes into the dishwasher as we continued talking, and then we all sat at the table and spent the rest of the afternoon in the same way. I really felt happy. I enjoyed the conversation for its own sake, as it was often interesting. But far beyond that, I no longer felt that I was on trial. Possibly the Chans still felt that Ellen might have done better—I didn't know. But if so, they were resigned to our marriage in a few months, and they had decided that I was at least an acceptable husband for her, and their concern was now to get to know me better.

There was one point where I was afraid for a moment that we were going back to square one, though. We said something about our plans for the reception, and Mr. Chan said, "Make sure all those bills get sent to us."

I started to demur—actually, I was again getting ready to dig in my heels—and my beautiful bride-to-be simply said, "Nonsense, Phil! Mother and Father, of course we accept. Thank you!" She said to me, "Remember what Martha said about Scott."

She was right, and I backed down. But then we had to tell them a little about that week, the week of the big dance. I tended to find myself saying, "That awful week," and then having to make clear that it had really been absolutely wonderful—just impossibly hectic. Ellen did not at all go into my falling apart on Scott's playing those two songs. She simply said that Martha had seen some strong similarities between Scott and me, and come and talked to her about them, giving her lots of helpful insights and suggestions. She got across clearly that both of us had seen Scott and Martha as a couple we admired and a model we wanted to emulate. And she told me, "Remember what she says to Scott? 'Discuss, don't dictate.'"

I said, "And who just cut off discussion and dictated?" This was taken as I meant it, and everyone laughed. I apologized Mr. and Mrs Chan, saying, "It's only that I've already arranged for it, and accepted the cost. But Ellen's right, my reluctance to accept such a large gift really is the wrong kind of pride, and we really are grateful to you. Both of us." I thought that my wish to be self-reliant and my willingness to let that go somehow both counted as good points, in their eyes.

Mr. Chan made clear that he meant everything, including the fee for using the church building, the flowers, and the rehearsal dinner.

I said, "Isn't the rehearsal dinner traditionally up to the groom's family?"

"You're right, but I know how much your father earns—better than you do, I'm sure. It's not a pittance, but we can afford it a lot better than they can. Ellen's our only daughter, and we don't have any reason to hold back on something like that."

I thought a minute. "You understand, I had been expecting to pay for all this, myself? Well, after the wedding it will all be Ellen's too, so I should say 'ourselves.'" He started to interrupt me, but I just went on. "No, Ellen's right, we'll happily accept it as a gift from you. But I really do think my parents should have a chance to be generous, too. So I'll call them, sometime after they get back from wherever Dad was sent this time, and tell them what you want to do. I'll tell them to talk to you about it, even if they're happy to just let you take care of it. If Dad wants to argue, I'll let the two of you settle it, and I warn you that he's pretty stubborn. I'll just insist that you two discuss it, and we'll abide by what the two of you decide. I don't think he'll be attached to the tradition, as such. I think he may not like letting you pay for everything."

Mr. Chan beamed at me. "That will be fine."

I told him about the deadlines I was aware of, and gave him the church's number, and told him Mrs. White was the only one he should talk to—unless of course she said otherwise.

After dinner, we played the video of my formally asking Ellen to marry me, and of her enthusiastic response. I'd been a little worried about their reaction to the kiss, but it seemed they approved.

Sunday morning we got off to a fairly early start. We told them that normally we would have gone to church, but that we thought we really needed not to get home late. They sent us on our way with affectionate farewells.

As I drove, Ellen told me, "You didn't need to worry so much. They had already decided you'll do, and in fact that you're not a bad choice at all. But they're even more satisfied than they were already. You can just be yourself with them. Once we're married, and even more once we start having children, they'll be plenty proud of you."

We got home, got things ready for the morning, and did some studying for our first day of classes. I did my taekwondo. We even managed to get to bed a little early.

A week or two later, I talked to Mom and Dad, and reported on all this—and all the rest. Dad didn't sound all that eager to insist on paying for an expensive dinner for that many people, but I'd been right, he felt pretty strongly that the Chans shouldn't be responsible for everything. And a few days later, Mom and Dad called to say that the Chans, both of them, had been charming when they talked, and that they were all looking forward to meeting. And that the Chans were paying for the dinner. I didn't ask whether there were any other adjustments about what anyone was paying for.

Near the middle of February, we got a call from Sam. That three-hour lag always made things difficult. Sam knew our schedule, but of course that was just repeating commitments. When she called, Ellen was out, and she definitely wanted both of us. "Call me as soon as she gets home, then," Sam told me. "Even if it's kind of late here. I guess if it's after eight, your time, it needs to wait until tomorrow." We chatted just a minute or two. As soon as we disconnected, I sent Ellen a text saying to hurry home as soon as she could.

When she got home, I called Sam back right away. Sam said, "You really deserve to be the first to hear this, but I'm afraid you aren't—but almost. It's—'official' isn't the word, but I don't know what is. 'Definite,' maybe. 'Decided.' I'm not fighting it any more. I know God really is in control, and that's right. You forgave me, and Maggie did too, but you two weren't the ones I'd wronged most. But that's really the only way I can begin to understand God's forgiveness. You really did forgive me, even though I'd hurt you so much that forgiving me was hard, and you loved me anyway. Remember how you insisted on holding me, to comfort me—when you just couldn't stand it!—because you cared about me? When I think of all the wrong I've done—and you and Maggie are just the biggest things—and what it cost God to forgive me—not just me, of course—I feel the same way I did back then.

"So I've got to thank God for doing that, for sending his Son to pay what I owe and never could pay. But thank you for forgiving me, too, Phil. I never would be able to understand this, now, except that you showed me how it can work." She stopped, and I was pretty sure it was because she was crying too hard to go on.

I was choked up enough myself that I couldn't really respond. Ellen looked at me, and took the phone away from me. "Sam, that's wonderful! You know Phil would be the one saying that, but he's about to cry too. We both know it's a hard decision, because you feel like you're letting go of good things with everything else. But you know, the good parts of what you and Phil had, they're still there as much as they ever were. Let go of them, and they're still yours. Trying to keep hold of them, you were just making more and more clear that they weren't—that they were a gift, not something you were entitled to and that you had a right to keep."

It was a long couple of minutes before Sam responded. Finally, she said, "Thanks, Ellen. I know. You're absolutely right. It's just—You didn't see it as much as Phil and Jenny both did. When I asked Phil to forgive me, and he did, for a while it was like I couldn't really believe he had. I'd hurt him so much! We would pass each other, and he was always careful to greet me, but I always felt like he was doing it because he thought he ought to, not because he really meant it. And that was wrong, he meant every bit of it, and I knew it, but it still didn't feel like it, until after we'd gotten together to talk more. Then he really made it clear that what was going on was that it still hurt too much, but he meant to forgive me, he wanted desperately to let go.

"And now, I've been putting this off so long, when I knew I had to do it, that it feels a little like that. I should have been saying yes, but I was still pretending that maybe was an option. One more thing I did that I shouldn't have, and it's taken away a lot of the joy I would have felt if I'd said yes to that first sermon. I just couldn't bear to let Phil go, with that whole other week ahead.

"I'm so glad he has you! It would have been even harder if he were there alone, or finding someone new. I think of both Kelly and Elise, from everything you've said, but he met them because of you, of course.

"Phil, I still love you more than I can tell you. I need to love God more than I love you, and it's still going to be hard for a while. Please, you two take good care of each other." And not surprisingly she was crying hard again.

"Sam, I think Phil was almost to the point where he could say something, and now he's not, again. Listen, you need to know some things about that. We're working on getting him so he doesn't completely fall apart so easily, and he's making progress—he comes out of it faster, at least when he needs to. And we've learned some things. But he absolutely agreed when I said this is wonderful news! Remember, we both owe you a lot, and Jenny does too. You will tell her too, won't you?"

"For sure. While I was waiting, I called Uncle John and Aunt Sally and told them, but I said I was waiting to hear back from you so I needed to hang up. And I talked to Pastor, too. But otherwise, you're the first to hear. And I couldn't have done it without your support. Both of you!

"It's late enough here that I've got to hang up with you, too. Assume that if you don't hear something from me by tomorrow—this time, say—I will have talked with Jenny, and you can say anything if you talk to her. I love you both, and I'm grateful to you forever."

I was struck by a thought, and managed to calm down enough to jump in at this point. "Sam, sometime soon, call Pastor Billings. Or write him or something. I'm sure Uncle John and Aunt Sally will pass it on to him, but I know he'd love to hear this from you. And you maybe owe it to him."

"Thank you! I don't know that I ever would have thought about that, and you're right, on both counts! Phil, you know me better than I do myself, sometimes."

I added, "What you were saying earlier, about trying to put off deciding. I don't mean to try to say it doesn't matter, or anything like that. And if I ever do really believe, I'll have a much bigger load of guilt on that than you ever could—and that's looking more and more likely to me." Ellen looked troubled, but I continued. "But there's one comfort in it, I hope. At any rate, I'll give it to you. When we were with Uncle John and Aunt Sally at Thanksgiving, in the sermon I told you about, Pastor Billings cited Calvin's commentary. On Isaiah 49, 'In an acceptable time have I heard thee, and in a day of salvation have I helped thee.' Look it up, but he said, more or less, that it's useless to ask why God didn't save us at some other time than he did—because it's his sovereign choice, not our decision, that's the driving force. I wish I could quote it for you. And I'm sorry, I wasn't up to speaking, when you said what you did."

We spoke for maybe one minute more before disconnecting. Ellen held me, and after a minute I told her, "I'm afraid she was right. I meant to forgive her, and I wanted to forgive her. I knew it would be wrong not to. But somewhere deep inside I was holding on to my hurt and refusing to give it up. And yes, in a way I really hadn't forgiven her, I was just going through the motions. I'm still ashamed of it.

"But you know, sometimes not just your feelings but your will have to follow along while you do what you can. I confessed to her that I wanted to hold her and comfort her, and asked her to let me try again. Well, it was a bust, I just let go and stepped back almost right away. Except as we talked, she needed comforting again, and it lasted a little longer. And a little longer the next time. We kissed, and for her it must have been like kissing a wax man. Or maybe an inflatable plastic one, since I flexed a little.

"And then we were assigned as partners. I could sort of kiss, and I could fondle and lick, and she wanted me so very much that a lot of that was really good for her—partly because she could see that I really was trying for her sake. And she got me to come with her mouth. She'd gotten me big enough to go in, but I couldn't come in the normal way, so she tried. None of the kissing and so on was arousing me, but I could actually do it, by the end of this.