The sheet was heavy and stuck to her naked bosom, but not even the stifling heat kept her from reaching her hand out, hoping to touch him, hoping for more before she needed to get up and begin the never ending routine. But instead her hand just drifted across damp percale.

Katy frowned and forced her eyes open. Five in the morning. Why was Owen already up? With a sigh, she shuffled off to wash and dress in her morning uniform. The day was obviously going to be another scorcher, she decided that if she started early she could rest later in the day when the heat and humidity would be unbearable.

These rare moments of solitude in the silent house gave her time to think as she prepared for the day. Katy frowned thinking about the very odd wedding between Mr. Thompson and the uppity Mrs. Schroeder. No doubt she'd be even worse now that she'd convinced the man to make it legal, although Katy knew Margaret Schroeder Thompson was no better than she should be. What had bothered her, though, was Owen. Owen looked pained throughout the ceremony. At first Katy thought it was because he was worried she'd get ideas (and she did have ideas, she didn't plan to spend much more of her twenties stuffed into someone else's attic), but watching his face she began to doubt what was making him anxious.

Over the summer Katy had noticed...things. She didn't like how Owen would let his eyes drift over Margaret, and more than once she'd noticed Margaret looking at Owen for longer than she should have. Finally, she'd asked Owen if there was something between him and their employer's mistress.

There was one tie between the two she knew Katy knew she couldn't compete with, and she feared that was the hold Margaret held over him. Katy was so young when she emigrated from Ireland that she didn't yearn for the rolling green hills in the way she knew Owen did. The way melancholy would roll over him like he was getting lost in a fog, it scared her. It scared her even more that she'd see the same in Margaret Schroeder.

Adding to the strangeness of yesterday was that very odd husband of Clara Thompson's showing up. Imagine having all of Clara's advantages and choosing that for your mate, Katy thought. Katy knew she was prettier than Clara, and also knew that if she'd been handed the advantage of being Enoch Thompson's daughter she'd have landed a much better husband. Still, although at first she thought Clara was a haughty princess when she came to the house, Katy had grown to like her during the time Emily had polio. Clara had attempted to clean the house, and had taken on the dangerous job of burning the children's belongings. Also, Clara listened to her talk about Owen like...like a friend, Katy thought. When Owen returned with Thompson from their trip Clara came up with a ruse so she and Owen could be alone for a few minutes.

It was obvious to anyone with eyes when Clara came to live in the house at the end of June that she was nursing a broken heart. Katy had assumed it was that very nice looking Jimmy Darmody (gossip said he and Clara thought of each other as siblings, but nothing other than blood would have kept her away from that, Katy knew) Clara was heartbroken over. It wasn't until Mr. Harrow showed up and taken Clara right from Mr. Thompson's grasp that Katy realized who she was in love with. The haughty girl all but swooned at the sight of the man standing in her father's foyer. Not that Katy blamed her. If Owen had ever came for her like that, she'd still be recovering.

Katy was almost in the kitchen when she heard the sound of the tea kettle. The new cook, Katy assumed, but then heard familiar footsteps on the linoleum tiles of the kitchen floor. Owen. She froze on the landing, unsure why he'd be down in the kitchen at this hour.

"No, you are going to tell me what is occurring," Margaret whispered loudly enough that Katy could hear, "Richard and Jimmy come bursting in yesterday looking like the world is ending, and Enoch lets them in! Even though he said he had to spend the rest of the day closeted with his attorney Bill Fallon to prepare for the trial, he let them in! And then Mr. Rothstein called late last evening to speak about Clara. Why? You came out of Enoch's office looking like the devil himself and still wouldn't tell me what's going on."

Katy leaned against the wall, willing herself not to breathe.

"It was a difficult day. Imagine what it's like to watch the woman you love marry someone else for his money," Owen said intently.

Only placing her hand over her mouth stifled her gasp, but the two in the kitchen were far to intent in their own conversation to hear her. Katy thought she could feel her own heart break. Owen loved Margaret.

"It wasn't...I had to make things right. I had to pay for my sins and correct my mistakes," Margaret whispered.

"So marrying Thompson was a penance, like saying three hail marys?"

"Don't laugh. And don't change the subject. Tell me what is happening. The children, Owen, the children depend on Enoch surviving this."

There was silence for a moment, and then Owen spoke again. "I don't understand it, Margaret. Someone took Clara from Darmody's house. According to Darmody's kid, she was screaming. When Darmody and Harrow told Thompson yesterday, I'd have sworn to it that his heart was breaking. But once they left, he didn't show any concern. He sent me on an errand, all right, but to get a copy of Harrow's dog tags from the Armory. And now, we're going to a private asylum on the mainland."

"He threatened her, back when she left with Harrow," Margaret said in an unsteady voice. "He wouldn't, he couldn't do something to Clara, could he?"

There was no answer.

Owen finally spoke again. "The important thing is that you are well, and that we can still..."

Fear finally broke through Katy's shock, and she silently walked backwards up the stairs to the main floor and then ran to her room. Owen, betraying her with Margaret. She wanted to be sick.

Once in her room, she paced the floor. She should tell Mr. Thompson, that's what she should do, she thought and started back out her door. No, she realized, if the man was willing to harm his own daughter what might he do to her for delivering unwelcome news? What might he do to Owen, she wondered, and hated herself for caring.

And poor Clara, what had Mr. Thompson done to her? Katy's mother had brought her up on tales of the Magdalene Sisters, and Owen obviously had thought Clara was locked in the sanatorium they were going to visit. Was Clara locked in some place similar?

Katy looked around her attic room, feeling trapped herself. What she needed, Katy thought, was an out. If she helped find Clara, then wouldn't Clara and her husband feel beholden? She already knew from gossip that Clara was caring for Darmody's son. Clara would need help. Katy had eaten food Clara had tried to prepare.

God himself knew that Clara would have to be easier to work for than Margaret Schroeder. And Katy knew she couldn't stay in this house.

Katy unwound the servant's cap from her head, replacing it with her own straw boater, and proceeded to sneak out of the house. Thankfully, she thought, she'd gone with Owen to take Clara's belongings. Katy set off on foot.

Richard pulled back up to the house and stared blankly at it. Mr. White was going to look for her. Lansky and Capone had promised to ask around. He and Jimmy had gone after the Butcher, and Jimmy had dispatched him for killing Angela.

There was still no clue as to who had Clara.

It was the one thing he thought he could do for her, keep her safe. Never let her be afraid. He'd failed time and time again since he ripped her from the safety of her father's house. He and Jimmy couldn't even keep Tommy safe. It was only Clara's game that saved the boy from whatever fate befell Clara.

Whatever fate. He closed his eye, trying not to picture her hurt or screaming or worse.

"Mr. Harrow," a woman's voice called from behind him.

Richard turned quickly, his hand going to the Glock in his waistband as he went. A brunette in a gray dress and straw hat stood in the drive. He had seen her before, he thought.

"I'm Katy Campbell. I'm one of Mr. Thompson's maids? I'm here because..." Katy took a deep breath. "I'm here because I think Mr. Thompson has Clara."

Before Richard could speak, he heard the sound of Jimmy's faulty clutch coming down the street. As Jimmy got out of the car, he stared at Richard and Katy.

"This is. Katy. She works. For Nucky. She says he has Clara," Richard said as Jimmy approached, not quite believing the words even as they came out of his mouth.

"Do you know where?" Jimmy asked, trying to keep his voice level.

Richard looked over at him, hearing in Jimmy's voice that he already knew. For a moment, relief flooded him. Nucky had Clara. She was safe, her father had her...

"In a private sanitarium on the mainland," Katy offered, subtly eyeing Jimmy. He was as handsome as everyone said, even with the limp, she thought.

"We have to call Leander," Jimmy said. "Miss Campbell, please go inside. Rich?" Jimmy motioned to the back of his car.

Both men looked through the back window of Jimmy's Ford, where Mickey Doyle lay bound and gagged.

"We gotta do something with him."

Clara's fingers closed around the cold metal tag. How odd, she thought. I've felt them brush against me, under the table in the darkness, under the blankets in the woods, in our bed but I've never actually touched them purposefully. Touching them felt like I would be invading something that was just Richard's.

No, that wasn't right, she thought, but she couldn't remember what wasn't right and somewhere in her mind she heard them as Richard sat them on the bedside table...

Richard,dead. Clara tried to breathe but her lungs wouldn't cooperate. For one horrible moment she thought she was going to vomit.

"How?" she managed to whisper.

"He and James were on a bootlegging run, something went wrong."

I'm so cold, Clara thought. It felt like ice water was flowing through her veins.

Clara closed her eyes against the hot tears forming. Her mind felt like a jigsaw puzzle upended from its box. Think, she commanded, and tried to feel for the right pieces in the darkness of her memory, searching for that last morning. At Richard's. No, she thought, at the beach house.

She could feel the side of Richard's mouth warm against hers, his moustache brushing against her lips. It wasn't a very good kiss, it was hurried, he had walls up...

And with each other, they didn't, almost never. Would he have always had walls up if she hadn't come upon so unexpectedly in Jimmy's room, she wondered? It had seemed such a good idea, but then she realized what sort of business Father's associate Mr. Torrio was running and she saw that girl with her breasts hanging out and those men had leered at her and she ran into Jimmy's room and Richard was there without his mask.

She'd been a mess, unable to reach for the affable, removed version of herself she hid behind to mask her shyness and anxiety. He was there without his mask, and she'd scared him and felt badly about it, but then it hadn't mattered because he listened to her like she was a person and not a means to an end and he teased her and made her feel safe. She had thought about him from the moment he left her in front of the hotel in Chicago until she saw him again sitting on the Boardwalk looking like he was about to come out of his skin.

But he had been far away from her during that kiss because...

Because he was going to kill someone, and he always went away inside himself then.

They were standing in the kitchen. Tommy was eating. Jimmy was eating. Jimmy, downstairs in the morning. When Richard kissed her so perfunctorily Jimmy had looked up at her and put his hand over hers. Because she was scared.

Because Richard and Jimmy were going to kill...Neary, whom they had known their whole lives. Jimmy's bootlegging empire was in tatters, it's why she thought they could all make a fresh start. Richard could have his hardware store, she could write, Jimmy could go back to school...

But if Richard was dead, they couldn't do that, and how could Richard be dead when they had only been married a little over two weeks? They had so many plans, so many things to do...

"If you ever want to get out, you need to sign these papers," her father said again, but he sounded so far away, and he said so many things.

This was wrong. It was all wrong. They weren't bootlegging, and Richard wouldn't leave her, because she couldn't take it, she'd fall into the ice pit she could feel in her mind and never be warm again. She had been cold before, she didn't want to be cold again.

"Where's Jimmy?" Clara asked. Jimmy would tell her what was going on.

"Where do you think, Clara? In a ditch with your precious Richard."

Darcy had kept trying to put his hand over her breast, and she was in the hallway pushing him away when Jimmy came through the elevator and she knew something was wrong before he started talking. He was leaving, he was going to Chicago, because her father insisted and Clara was so angry because the whole reason she had to let Darcy paw at her was for Jimmy to be in Atlantic City.

"No," Clara said urgently. "You promised that if I said yes he could stay in Atlantic City but then you made him go to Chicago!"

"Clara," Nucky said, with actual concern in his voice.

Clara swallowed around the lump in her throat, trying to push away from the ice encroaching around her. That was last year, she thought. This is now. "Bootlegging?" she asked, remembering what he had said earlier.

"Yes."

There was something else she should worry about. What? Her other hand closed and she could almost feel a hot, sticky little hand grabbing at it. "Tommy?"

Nucky blinked. "He's with his grandmother. He's her concern, Clara, not yours."

Jimmy, pushing her against the floor, his face looming over hers. "Gillian hurt Jimmy," Clara whispered.

Clara closed her eyes, trying to make a picture from all the jagged pieces in her mind. Neary, not bootleggers. Her father forcing her to accept Darcy and then breaking their arrangement. Always ignoring what Gillian did to Jimmy, always ignoring what he could not make benefit him.

Richard's hand sliding the ring on her finger. Their marriage didn't benefit her father.

Jimmy committed treason. In the end, that hadn't mattered to her. Clara forced her eyes open.

What mattered to her father, really, she considered, pushing away all other thoughts.

"What papers do you want me to sign?"

Nucky's eyes narrowed. "You are taking this well."

"What papers?" she asked again, trying to keep her voice steady, trying to keep away from the emotional cliff she knew she could not let herself fall from. If she fell, she was lost. Her fingers closed tightly around the dog tags. How did her father have them?

"Sign them and you will be free," Nucky answered.

"But what are they?" Clara asked, struggling and falling to sit up. "And where is Mr. Whitlock? He's my attorney, if you want me to sign something I want him here."

The door squeaked as it opened, and heavy footsteps echoed around the linoleum floors and bare walls. "I see Miss Thompson is awake," the man said in a voice that immediately set what was left of Clara's nerves on edge.

"Mrs. Harrow," Clara corrected, knowing she had to hold onto everything she knew to be true.

"She's still delusional," Nucky snapped at the doctor.

"We were married in Elkton, someone took my rings," Clara began.

"He's a goddamn corpse, Clara!"

Clara gasped, unable to stop herself from seeing it and the world spun madly around her.

"Sign these and we can discuss getting you out of here," her father said softly. "Of course this is all very difficult for you."

"Let me see them," Clara demanded, ignoring her father's words.

He didn't hand them over.

Clara turned her head back to the doctor, focusing on what was possible. "My attorney is Leander Whitlock. He lives at 101 South Montgomery Avenue in Atlantic City. Please get him here."

"Whitlock is not our family's attorney."

"No, he's mine! I hired him..." Clara's voice drifted off, trying to remember the difference between what was true and what was acceptable to say. Remembering she needed an ally, but also remembering she had a good reason she told everyone else..." to help me with the contract for my books. "

"Your books," Nucky scoffed and looked up at the doctor. "Clara believes she wrote two children's books."

Angela pouring her a drink the night before her first book came out. Richard buying the first copy. Tommy helping her paste stamps on a package. "More than that, now," she said softly.

"Another delusion. Your name isn't on those books, Clara."

Clara blinked. Of course her name wasn't on them. "No, because Mr. Stratemeyer..."

"You see what we're dealing with here. She's lost all basis in reality," Nucky snapped at the doctor.

"Clara are you going to sign the papers? The doctor will let you return home."

Asking for Leader wasn't helping her at the moment, Clara thought. What papers did her father want her to sign so badly?

Clara closed her eyes. "I'll sign them," she softly. "Please, I just want to go home."

The nurse came around and unbuckled her right wrist. Clara felt the cold metal of a fountain pen being placed in her right hand and the smoothness of the paper slide under it. Her hand felt heavy and odd, so it took her a moment to maneuver the pen where she wanted it, and then she snatched the paper and brought it close to her face.

Complaint for Annulment. Clara Susan Thompson, Plaintiff. Richard Harrow, Defendant.

"His middle name is Henry," Clara whispered. "His mother loved Shakespeare."

"There's no need for you to read them," Nucky snapped.

Why would she need to sign annulment papers, Clara wondered. Why would her father even want her to if Richard was...

"Why?" Clara whispered.

"I'm trying to clean up your mess," Nucky answered.

Clara shook her head from side to side, trying desperately to keep her thoughts in the proper order. "If Richard is...if he's...why do I need to sign annulment papers?"

"For once in your life, can you just do as you're told?"

"I want Mr. Whitlock to read them," Clara repeated. "I want to understand."

How the fuck had it come to this, Nucky wondered. How had Clara and Jimmy made mistake after mistake after mistake that left with him no choices but these? Clara's hair, now worn in that ridiculous bob, was plastered to her head and face. Her neck was raw and bruised from whatever the hell they'd done to her to make her cooperate. Couldn't she see how difficult this was for him? But everyone had to pay for their mistakes, and he couldn't let his love for her blind him to what must be done for everyone's sake.

Nucky closed his eyes. Jesus, he knew how foolishly stubborn she was. He should have anticipated this. He checked his watch. Damn it, he had to get to court.

"Do what you must," Nucky said to the doctor.