Welcome to the third installment of the saga!

Lyric credits in this section include: "Save The Country" by Laura

Nyro; "Your Cheatin' Heart" by Hank Williams (via Patsy Cline);

"Music" by Carole King; "Have Another Piece of My Heart" by Janis

Joplin; Ruby Tuesday" by Mick Jagger and Keith Richards (via Melanie).

"Cellie's poems" are, as always, my creation.

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CHAPTER THIRTY

Cellie and Willie enjoyed the most peaceful period they had ever known since their marriage, as June passed into July. Cellie had taken her husband's and aunt's admonitions to heart. When she wasn't working the abbreviated schedule Barnabas insisted upon, she immersed herself in domestic pursuits, and also gave her fullest attention to her husband's health and schoolwork. In spite of her previous attitude, she did settle down to knit and crochet a dainty sweater, a crib afghan, a bonnet, and and booties. She became so obsessed with finishing these projects, she would sometimes stay up until one or two in the morning. Willie, who couldn't sleep if he sensed his wife wasn't lying next to him, would wander downstairs, and lead the dazed needleworker up to their bed.

Cellie, who had a way of letting her own appointments with Dr. Hurley slip her mind (she tired of hearing the same admonitions about using her ability), made sure Willie saw the internist her doctor had recommended. Willie went, on his own, and only complained mildly about the tests he had to undergo. The internist, to Willie's and Cellie's combined relief, found no ulcer or more serious condition, although he warned about the long-term effects of stress and anxiety. "Try to

relax more, Mr. Loomis," he advised, while writing up a prescription for the strongest antacids he knew of.

Cellie quizzed Willie the night before he took his American history exam, and then shared his delight at the 'B' he earned. "I guess I have that much to thank Barnabas for, besides you," he told his wife. "All that yacking he used to do about how things were, way back when. . . Even when he got over his problem, he would still read books about it, trying to catch up with all the other stuff that happened after 1796, and he'd say something to me, when I passed by him, doing my chores.

I guess he had to share it with someone, and all he had was me. It seems more of it stuck than I really thought about at the time."

Willie took Cellie out for dinner to celebrate that , and the arrival, by special delivery (courtesy of Mrs. Texeira), of Cellie's diploma, with an honors citation tucked into the leatherette case.

"I suppose I could have been valedectorian, or that second banana, the

saluta-what-cha-ma-call-it," Cellie commented. "But I'm just as glad, that Hallie was valedectorian. She's really come a long way, being able to give a speech in front of all those people, even with all of her worries over Paul on her mind." At least, she thought, Paul's latest letters contained no hint of falling-tree imagery. Either he hadn't had to shoot anybody lately, or something in Hallie's latest epistles had convinced him not to report on that aspect of his service, for the time being.

Willie said, "She's gotten to be a lot like you. She can put the bad stuff out of her mind, and then go in and do the job. She'd probably fight the war and get it over with for Paul, if she could."

After dinner, Willie took Cellie to visit the Detweiler-Braithewaites in Chartville, before he took her dancing. Lisa and Arnold's baby, Seth Detweiler (they had agreed to adhere to the patronymic tradition for their children), had been born at the end of April, and this was the second time the Loomises had seen him. Cellie whispered to her husband, "He's going to be a little Arnold for sure. All he needs are those glasses." Willie forced himself not to laugh out loud. But they

both admired the way Arnold carried his son all over the place, introducing him to customers, constantly kissing him and loving him up.

"I can't help it," Arnold said. "I had a younger brother who died of leukemia when he was six, and I was eight, and I was the only kid left. So you could say, I developed an appreciation for children, the hard way. If Lisa doesn't object too strenuously, I hope we have a dozen."

"We're looking for four, ourselves," Cellie said, "a couple of years apart."

"I'll take 'em when I can get 'em, and I've already decided, they're all going to be jewelers and goldsmiths. Seth already goes nuts when he sees the boxes of loose stones his mom works from. Keeps his eyes busy, that's for sure. They like glittery things, I guess, even at his age."

"Kids aren't the only ones who go nuts for that stuff," Willie sighed.

Cellie stroked his back, and said, brightly, "I can see Seth, when he's,

liketwo, with jeweler's tools in his hands, just like his Mom." She gave Arnold the present she'd brought for Seth, a rubber teething toy, shaped like a big silver-grey ring, set with an absurdly large yellow "diamond". The baby reached for it immediately, to everyone's amusement.

After they left "Lisarnold's", Willie took Cellie to a tavern in Chartville to dance. Though she got bigger and felt more uncomfortable every day, Cellie still got worked up when Willie held her, and she could sense that he was getting amorous, even before he whispered a suggestion in her ear. (Dr. Hurley, who had some modern ideas, didn't give them a specific deadline to desist from lovemaking, saying instead, "You'll know when to change your habits." And they had, in some ways, but they weren't about to give it up completely.)

"Let's get home right away," Willie said, pulling Cellie toward the door. Outside, it was extremely warm and humid.

"It's a good thing you let Barnabas give us that air conditioner, after

all, hon," she said.

"When he and Julia said it was a graduation present, I wasn't about to squawk about it," he chuckled. "It's the least they could do, after what we went through, to get their love life squared away." Julia and Barnabas were back in the Old House, and had reported no further disturbances; in fact, they said they felt completely alone in the house for the first time since Cellie had moved out. What was more, they felt that there would be no further trouble, even when they brought back Josette's furniture from Bangor the next week. Barnabas had been coming into work, looking a little peaked these days, and when Willie and Cellie went to dinner at the Old House, they both noticed that Julia looked more cheerful than usual. "I guess we know what they've been up to," Willie commented. Cellie counted the passing of the days, until she should hear the announcement her aunt was dying to make.

* * * * * * * * * * *

"No, Cellie. I guess it wasn't meant to be, this soon," Julia said, sadly. "We're still going to try, but Dr. Hurley says, now, that it may only be a matter of months before it's too late."

"Don't get too desperate yet, or you'll freeze it up, Aunt Jule. You know, I can work on getting you relaxed, but I doubt Barnabas would let me get that close."

"Well, if next month goes by, and nothing happens, desperate measures may be in order. I had Dr. Hurley call a clinic in Boston. The earliest appointment they can give me would be the second week of August. If I end up going, maybe you can come with me, and we can visit your mother and Ernest."

"If Will lets me go. I want to see Mom again, before the baby comes. And since Ernest passed the bar, finally, he and Lillian are working on starting a family. Apparently there's a little problem there, too. You and Lillian can commiserate." Cellie sighed. "I wish Dad was still in Boston. Even if he doesn't want to see me, if there was an emergency, I'd like to know he was available. He'd come see me if something went wrong, wouldn't he, Aunt Jule? If he got sick, or had an accident,

I'd go see him in a heartbeat."

"I'd like to think so, Cellie, but at that time, he was adamant. He has a way of being stubborn about things, but then, we both do. Once he had a friend who became a prosecutor, and of course, the day came when Walter had to argue a case against him, and lost. I don't think he ever spoke to his friend again. And then, I had a boyfriend, Mark, back when your father and mother had been married about a year, and already had Ernest. Our father was terminally ill, and Walter, being ten years my senior, felt he had the right to act in loco parentis. Well, when we went to dinner at Walter's house, Mark just said a few things about lawyers, and as the conversation degenerated, somehow he managed to imply that he'd gone all the way with me, which wasn't, well, exactly true. At that time, I was already planning to become a psychiatrist, and my head was full of scandalous psychological ideas, so of course I had to put in my two cents. Walter and Mark almost came to blows. Janice held Walter back, and I had to make Mark leave.

"Afterward, Walter told me I would not be welcome in his home if he heard I was still seeing Mark, or, in fact, anyone who so much as reminded him of Mark. I wasn't that crazy about Mark anymore, after he'd been so indiscreet, but I thought Walter was far too harsh. He said some things that really hurt my feelings. So, as he'd requested,

I didn't visit him, or talk to him, even in the hospital, when we happened to visit our father at the same time, or at our mother's place, for almost six months, until my father's funeral. And then, I had to make the first move, acting as though it had all been my fault."

"That's perfectly awful, Aunt Jule," Cellie said. "But it's different now. I mean, I can understand why he was angry with me. I really did something wrong. I own up to it. But I'm married now, I'm trying to make it good. Barnabas came to understand, even if it was for his own reasons. You understand. My Mom understands, and so does Ernest, and practically everyone else, except the Knowltons. It makes me sad to think that my Harvard-educated father could have the same obstinate viewpoint as a loser like Jack Knowlton."

"As you've probably figured out by now, one's level of education has little to do with one's deepest inner feelings and thoughts," Julia sighed. "The most education can do is to give you some guidelines for dealing with problems, and, hopefully, a little perspective, even if you can't solve them. And, remember, with the exception of Ernest, all the men in your life, including your husband, are very posessive. You're stubbornly independent, and posessive in return. You're simply fortunate that Willie is so easy to manage."

"I don't want to manage Will! I want him to be able to manage himself.

And as for my Dad, I want to share what's going on with in our lives, even if he's not with Mom. I'm having his first grandchild, damn it." Cellie began to cry. "I used to climb in his lap, and he used to read to me, whatever he was reading. And he carried me on his shoulders, and he taught he how to throw a ball like a boy, and he used to pull my braids and say that my hair was more exactly like his, and Grandma Muriel's, than Ernest's or yours. 'We'r-r-re the r-r-real Fr-r-rasers ar-r-round he-r-re, lassie,' he'd say, imitating Grandma Muriel's burr. And now, I don't know if he'll ever do those things with my baby. That's all I want from him now. He doesn't have to love me, but if he doesn't soften up for my baby. . ."

"He might, someday, Cellie. You were his favorite, and that's one reason he acted as he did. And you did something as wrong as he did, and that unsettled him. But even if he doesn't come around eventually, you'll still have all of us. Whether or not Barnabas and I have our own baby, you'll always like our own daughter, and while Barnabas is hardly the playful type, he'll happily treat your child with the same affectionate regard he has for you. Your child may learn how to throw a ball from Willie, but he or she will probably learn classical Latin from Barnabas. Both of these skills are valuable, in their own way, especially if they're taught with love."

"And my skill? Why can't something positive happen between me and my father from that? Why must we always be in opposition?"

"A close similarity in temperaments, an ability to block out each other's emotional needs. . . who knows?" Julia sighed. "I hope he comes around. . . I hope no such estrangement ever occurs with a child of ours. But things like that have a way of happening---history tends to repeat itself, over and over."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Margene and Marcus Sherbrooke, with baby Marcus Cecil in tow, visited the Loomises the first week of July. Cellie and Willie offered their own room, bravely determined to sleep in the hot spare room, but were secretly relieved when Margene said, "No, that's okay. We saved some bread we got at our wedding. We didn't have a honeymoon, and we hung onto it so we could take a little vacation. If the baby was a better sleeper, though, we might have taken you up on your offer. I'd rather keep some other tourists up nights, than my old Cell-mate and her cell-mate."

Willie was puzzled by this reference. "I though they treated you good in that Home. They didn't punish you for anything, did they?"

"It's just a private joke, hon. It's true, though, getting used to being pregnant and being kept away from you made me feel like a prisoner, I guess."

Margene said, "It was a little worse for my girlfriend here than the rest of us. Many's the night she would be up till, like three A.M., staring out the window, or writing those poems." At that moment, Baby Marcus, a plump infant, who resembled his mother, began to whimper. Margene reached into a large carry-all bag she always kept at her side, extracting a bottle full of formula, and a small notebook. As she popped the bottle into her baby's mouth, she said, "This little

guy is on a diet already, if you can believe it. The doctor freaked when the scale said seventeen pounds! I have to write down everything he eats or drinks."

In a few minutes, Margene was rocking the baby on one arm, and recording his intake with her free hand. Cellie noticed that Margene's red pencil bore her name, stamped in bright gold. "My folks gave me a big box

of these on my thirteenth birthday," Margene informed Cellie. "That's

a teacher's idea of a lasting gift--- I STILL haven't used 'em all up! That reminds me, Cellie---what did you do with those poems you wrote

at two A.M. every night? You had a whole shoebox-full!"

"I still have 'em, upstairs. You want to go through them with me?"

"Yeah, maybe when I come back by myself, tomorrow. Marcus G. promised me a whole afternoon off from Marcus C., just so we could hang out together."

Cellie clapped with delight. "That's so neat," she sang. "I'll have

to take you to visit my friends Hallie and David, and Pavlos at the Koffeehaus. You remember all of them from my wedding reception."

Willie felt a little left out. His wife would be out all day with her young friends. He was always welcome at the Koffeehaus, but even that establishment was more oriented toward a young crowd. Not for the first time, despite Cecily's insistence that it didn't matter, he was aware of the age gap between himself and his young wife. He sensed the collapse of their idealistic illusions even before he left their bedroom every morning. He wondered what would happen, as the years went by, when Cellie approached the prime of her life, while he felt he'd already passed his own, that day five years ago. . .

Cellie sensed her husband's growing sad resentment. She reached for his hand. "We'll have to come back early, though, to look over those poems, and then, I'll be starting on a very special dinner, to which you and your two Marcuses are invited, of course."

Margene watched the interaction between Cellie and Willie. She saw how

he brightened when she announced that she wouldn't be spending as much time away from him as she'd implied at first. "Poor Cell-mate," she thought. "That old man of hers sure is jealous." Marcus G. wasn't nearly so possessive; in fact, Margene sometimes thought he was too detached (though he was, at least, devoted to the baby.) Margene was a little fearful for her friend. Then Willie bent to kiss his wife, and touched her middle, in a touchingly un-self-conscious manner that made Margene change her mind. "He needs her, even more badly than she needs him, I guess," she thought. She said to Willie, "Maybe you and Marcus can do something together while we're here. I know you don't think you two have too much in common, but he's really a good listener, and he follows all the sports, and he might give you a rough idea of what you're in for when Will Junior shows up."

Just then, Marcus G., tall, solemn, and bespectacled (not the wild-eyed

radical activist Cellie had imagined), having just been given a guided tour of the Antique Shoppe by Barnabas, came into the kitchen, and scooped the nearly-sleeping baby from his wife's lap. Baby Marcus came awake, and was about to roar, but smiled and reached up when he saw his father. "Margene," Marcus G. said in a serious tone,"Did I hear you say something about me?"

"Just taking your name in vain, babe," she said. "Seriously though,

I was planning your week for you. We're invited for dinner tomorrow night, and probably for leftovers the rest of the nights."

"Oh, cut it out, Margene," Cellie laughed. "We were planning a boy's night out for you and Will, Marcus. I'm sure you'll be thrilled."

Marcus stood and rocked his son, who was almost sleeping again. "Well, maybe we could watch the Orioles game, on Thursday, I believe. I see you don't have a television here, though."

"It's up in our room," Willie said, almost apologetically. "We don't look at it much. It only gets three channels, anyway."

"The one in the room at the Inn works fine. We'll split a six-pack."

Willie looked at Cellie. He hoped she didn't think he was going to get

drunk or something. She smiled at him in an approving fashion.

"I guess that would be okay," he said.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Cellie sat with Margene at the kitchen table in the Shoppe, poring over the hundred-or-so slips of paper scrawled with Cellie's poems. The two girls had spent a busy morning, picking up Hallie and visiting with David at Collinwood ("Now that I finally got a good look at that monstrosity, I can see how you might think ghosts were busting out all over," Margene commented privately to her friend.) When David and the girls hit the Koffeehaus, Pavlos treated them like V.I.P's, serving them special "on the house" sandwiches, and dubbing Margene with one of his whimsical sobriquets. After hearing her harmonize with Cellie on a couple of blues songs, he called her "Diva."

Cellie almost didn't want to leave. She convinced Margene to sing one

more song. David accompanied them.

"Come on people, come on children,

come on down to the glory river. . .

Gonna lay that devil down,

Gonna lay that devil down. . "

"Cell-mate," Margene said, "You're sure hung up on the Sixties. The moldier the oldie, the better."

"That song is only, what? Six years old? You should hear the stuff that turns Will on. Some of his favorites are older than I am."

"They work, though, don't they?" Margene winked, and nudged Cellie.

"Damn straight. And here's the living proof." Cellie rubbed her ever-expanding girth. "What works for you and Marcus?"

"Anything that gets the kid to sleep for more than twenty minutes."

Cellie and Margene came back to the Antique Shoppe around one, and were making a rush job of reviewing Cellie's poetic efforts. Every three poems or so, another customer came in, and Cellie jumped up to assist Carolyn. Then, there was a lull in the business, and Carolyn took the opportunity to go out for a late lunch. While she was gone, Cellie cut up some vegetables to accompany the main dish she'd prepared the night before. Margene offered to help, but Cellie said, "You're the guest. Tell you what. Read a couple of those things aloud."

Margene began, "As the dark green of shame gives way

To the orange sun of desire. . ."

She made a face. "Yuck. Not one of your better efforts. What were you thinking, girl?"

"Hormonal surge, I think. Try another."

Margene scrutinized the next paper. She then read, solemnly:

"The moon sits in the sky.

A silver coin tossed high,

And held in place.

(It wears my face.)

Never to fall,

And settle, once and for all,

Must I stay or shall I fly?"

The two girls were so engrossed by what they were doing, that neither heard the front door bell, at first. Then they both turned their heads, to see an attractive, tall, well-dressed, bearded middle-aged man leaning against the kitchen doorpost, apparently enjoying the reading as much as they were.

Cellie dropped the carrot she was peeling, and said, in a regretful tone, "I'm so sorry, sir. Nobody's come in for at least an hour, and I guess we got preoccupied. How may I help you? Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"I have some items in mind, but I'm in no great hurry. In fact, I found the poetry reading inspiring. Is that a regular event here?"

"No, no, my friend Margene was just reading me some stuff I wrote, so

I can hear how it sounds. Having authors come in and do readings from their works---now that's a new idea. I'll have to sound out my boss about it. I'll demonstrate some antique tools, though, if you'd be interested."

"Not the swivel candlestick holder, though," Margene laughed. "She just

told me she was getting so-o-o tired of turning that old thing up and down."

"Margene!"

"Oh, that's all right," The man chuckled. "Your friend is quite humorous. You can just show me around, I suppose, after I hear some more of your work. I'm an editor in a small publishing house, and publishing new writers is one of our specialties."

"May I ask your name?" Cellie said.

"Bernard Neville, of Paugasset Press, at your service. We're based

in Connecticut. Our bread-and-butter work includes travel guides, cookbooks, and such, but, as I said, we have division for new works. It's sort of a sideline, actually, but when our writers move on, and become famous, people go back and purchase the earlier works published by our outfit. It's not the richest division, but we do better than break even, and the new writers get the exposure they need." He took Cellie's hand. "And what is your name, my dear?"

Cellie tried immediately to read this almost aggressively friendly stranger, and found, to her dismay, that there seemed to be a wall around his inner self. In Cellie's experience, this didn't necessarily mean trouble. Many people were almost as hard to "read." Cellie decided it would do no harm to keep him talking, and, hopefully, she would make a sale, either of an antique, or of her poems. She did wish that Carolyn, at least, was there to lend a hand, in dealing with this customer, who behaved more like a glib, fast-talking used-car salesman than a book editor.

"I'm Cecily Loomis, and this is my friend, Margene Sherbrooke, who's

visiting us this week."

"I'm on a little vacation myself. This is a wonderful part of Maine, so full of the quaintness of the other tourist attractions, but nowhere near so crowded."

"So you've visited here before?"

"Yes, I've passed through these parts, in days gone by." Mr. Neville's face had assumed a faraway look, almost wistful. "Loomis. Loomis," he mused. "That's a familiar name."

For some reason, Cellie began to feel uneasy. Maybe this man knew something about Willie's past. She said, hesitantly, "My husband. He works here." Willie was in the shed out back, but Cellie didn't want to let the stranger know, until she had more time to size him up.

"And your boss. . .You have two, I observe. The sign outside says

'Barnabas Collins and Carolyn Hawkes, proprietors.' "

"You know them?"

"In passing. . . It's been some years. They probably wouldn't remember me."

"You'll find out soon enough. Carolyn will be back in about twenty minutes."

"Mr. Collins isn't in, then?"

"No, but he'll be in around four, if you'd like to see him."

"That's alright. I'll have to be on my way before then."

"Perhaps you'd like to be shown around right away, in that case."

"May I look at some of your poems first?"

"I suppose so." Cellie pulled out a chair for Mr. Neville, then sat down herself. She was relieved to have an excuse to sit. Even though her ankles weren't swollen, her legs were tired, and her back ached, from transporting the extra burden.

Margene got up. "I have to get going. We'll all be back at seven. I'll go out and say 'ciao' to good old Will out back." She went out the kitchen door, and saw that Willie was coming back to the house.

She said, "Cell-Mate's got a tough customer in there. Pushy son-of-a-gun. I don't like the dude. You better check him out."

"Is he bothering Cecily?"

"You have to see for yourself. Tell me what you call it." Margene flounced out the gate.

Willie peeked in through the screen door. The man in question, his back to the kitchen door and his face not visible, was leaning rather close to Cellie, while reading some of her papers. Willie wondered why his wife was showing off her private cache to a total stranger, when even he hadn't had a chance to sit down and go over the poems with her.

He heard the man say, "These verses all seem to be specific to a particular event. They build up to a kind of conclusion."

"I wrote most of them while I was separated from my fiance. I gave him

the last one, when we got back together, and married. He keeps it with him at all times."

Then Cellie got up, and walked to the espresso machine. She saw Willie,

and beckoned to him. She was filling two cups, as he walked in. When she'd set them on the table, she said, "Mr. Neville?"

The man lifted his head. Willie was sure he'd seen the man before, but he couldn't, for the life of him, remember where. He could tell, from the way Neville looked at him, that he knew him. Was this some friend of Jason's that he had nearly forgotten? They had been involved with so many different people in those days. His memory was so quirky, and right now, it was positively cloudy. He hoped the man wasn't someone who'd tracked him down in order to get even with him over something.

"This is my husband, Will Loomis. Will, this is Bernard Neville. He's vacationing from Connecticut. He's a book editor in a small publishing company that might be interested in printing some of my work."

Mr. Neville rose, and shook Willie's hand. "My pleasure, Mr. Loomis.

Your wife's poetry displays a true, budding talent. If you don't mind, I'd like to take some of these papers with me, to send to the senior editor at Paugassett Press."

"No. Not right now." Willie sounded stern.

"Why not, Will? This would be a good way to get a little writing career going for myself. And if it really sells, well, we sure can use the money." Cellie smiled, patting her belly.

Willie tried to think quickly. He knew his wife would be able to tell he was a little jealous, but there was more to his uneasiness than that. For reasons even he couldn't understand, he simply didn't trust Mr. Neville. At the very least, he might take the unsigned papers and have them printed under his own name. Willie was surprised that his ordinarily shrewd, sophisticated big-city bride didn't even stop to consider this.

He thought up an explanation that would satisfy everyone, and still not spoil Cecily's opportunity, if the guy was really on the level. "It's just that they're in a, what do you writer people call it? A rough draft condition. Cecily has very nice writing, but she wrote these in a hurry, and some of them are just a scrawl. Give her a chance to type them out, at least." And sign them, he thought. And take them to some legal eagle to make sure this smoothie couldn't rip them off.

Cellie was, initially, irritated at her husband's interference, but she began to see the sense in his advice. She felt like a curtain was lifting from her eyes, as she said, "That's all very true, I'm afraid. I didn't write under the best of conditions, and it shows. Let me type them out, and edit them a bit. My husband and I haven't even discussed between ourselves which of the poems we'd like to see published. We're kind of close, that way."

Mr. Neville smiled, but both Willie and Cellie had a feeling he was, at least, disappointed, if not disgruntled. "Of course. I understand. By all means, pick out what you'd like to share, and type them out." He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small business card. He reached for a pencil on the table, and wrote a phone number on the back of the card. "I'm staying at a private home near the beach for at least another week. If you finish typing by then, give me a call. If not, you can reach me at the company. Now, if you don't mind, Mrs. Loomis, I'd like to have a look at your merchandise. I have very specific items in mind, an ormulu clock, and small hand mirrors."

"We have quite a few, and if they don't suit you, I can call on other dealers. Right this way." Cellie walked with Mr. Neville into the showroom. Willie could hear her ask, "Mirrors, Mr. Neville? For yourself, of a lady friend?"

"For myself. I'm a collector. I don't gravitate toward any particular style or period, but I like them small. And lidded, like lockets, if you have any."

"We have some."

Mr. Neville paid over a hundred dollars, in cash, for an Edwardian ormulu clock, and three mirrors of more recent vintage. Cellie carefully wrapped and packed the delicate items in a wooden crate. Willie offered to carry the box to the customer's car, but Mr. Neville insisted on carrying it himself. Cellie held the door open for him as he made his way to a blue Dodge parked some distance up the street. When she'd closed it, she said to her husband, "Will, why did you make such a big fuss over the papers?"

"I spent five years working with a crook. That Neville has 'con man' written all over him, like Jason. I don't want anyone to pull one over on you. I just don't get why you were so ready to just hand those poems over to him without even putting your name on them. You're way smarter than that, Cecily."

"I'm sorry, hon. I don't know what came over me. Must be this pregnancy business. Just makes me susceptable to easy compliments,

I guess."

"That's not true either. It's that Neville. There's something familiar about that guy, but I just can't put my finger on it. I got a memory like a sieve sometimes." He put his arm around his wife. "If it means that much to you to get those things printed, we'll get Tony to check out this Paugasset Press place, and if that doesn't work out, we'll find some other publisher. Only, let ME read 'em first, please?"

* * * * * * * * * * *

Carolyn Hawkes ran up the sidewalk to the Antique Shoppe, trying to shove her keys into her purse as she moved. She brushed them against the clasp, and they sprang from her hand to the cement. She stopped abruptly, and bent to retrieve them, almost knocking over a man carrying a large crate. She straightened up and began to apologize immediately. She glanced quickly at the man's face, and, at first, he was unfamiliar to her. She thought, "A beard but no mustache. Like an Amish!" Then she looked into his eyes, and suppressed a gasp. She didn't want him to

know she recognized him.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she stammered.

"Yes. No damage done," he said pleasantly. Carolyn rushed into the Shoppe. As he turned to watch her go, he thought, "Long time no see, Mrs. Hawkes. From the look on your face, I believe something must be done to keep you from tattling to Barnabas, until I'm ready to deal with him, myself." He walked on down the street.

The first thing Carolyn did when she came in was to find Barnabas. Fortunately, he had just come in through the back entrance at the same time she'd come in through the front, and had gone directly to his office. She poked her head in, to see Willie already talking to Barnabas about the visitor.

"He bought a clock and some mirrors, for cash. That was straight enough, but I didn't like the way he almost got those papers away from Cecily. Maybe he does work for a publisher, but he was, like pressuring her, without being nasty about it, if you know what I mean. I thought up some good excuse that made Cecily think twice, and he was out of here, right after he bought the stuff."

"I have to commend you for your cleverness in this instance, Willie. Perhaps there's nothing to be concerned about, but, at the very least, those poems are highly personal, and reflect a unique empathic experience Cellie had. They may be publishable, but some discreet editing may be necessary."

"Margene read some of them."

"Margene very likely believes they were simply an outgrowth of the unwed maternity experience she and Cellie were both going through. If there's anything that strikes her as odd about them, she may be a good enough friend to keep her reservations to herself. She certainly looked after Cellie while they were at the Home."

"She's the one who put me wise to Neville in the first place. I think, like me, she was afraid he'd rip Cecily off. That's what I don't get, Barnabas. Cecily is usually hip to someone who's trying to fool her, and there she was, kissing up to that guy, like we were living in a country that only had one place that printed books, Paugasset Press.

He gave her a business card, and a phone number, but that doesn't prove anything."

"That can be checked out easily enough. Perhaps Tony knows of a good private investigator," Barnabas said, looking toward Carolyn who'd been standing, quietly, in the doorway of the office. "Is something wrong, Carolyn? To coin a phrase, you look like you've seen a ghost." He smiled at his little joke.

"I just ran into your mystery man. Literally. He seemed very. . ." her voice trailed off. She couldn't remember what she wanted to say.

"Very what, Carolyn? Willie was saying, before you came in, that this

Bernard Neville seemed familiar, but he couldn't place him. He seemed to know something about us, and this place. Is he one of your acquaintances?"

"I--I can't say. I'm not sure." Carolyn turned to leave the room. Before she stepped away, she asked,"Where's Cellie? I don't know why, but I'm worried about her."

Willie said, "She's upstairs, trying to decide what tent she's going to wear later when the Sherbrookes come to dinner. I suggested it, so I could talk to Barnabas alone."

Carolyn said, "She's not going to be too happy about being treated like a helpless doll, even if it's for her own good."

"We're just comparing notes," Barnabas said. "If there's something to worry about, she'll be warned in due time. I just don't like the fact that this man had such a strong effect on her judgement. She's become so good at analyzing even her faintest impressions."

"That's another thing, Barnabas," Willie said. "Just before she went upstairs, Cecily said, 'you know, Will, I couldn't even read him. He was like a block of ice.' What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Carolyn suddenly remembered what she wanted to say to Barnabas. "Barnabas, I know who he is. His name isn't 'Bernard Neville.'

I didn't recognize him at first, but that's because he didn't have---

I mean--" she lost it again.

"Try harder, Carolyn," Barnabas urged.

The knowledge floated up, like soap in a murky tub. Carolyn grabbed at it. "He was--he was--" her tongue thickened, and she began to choke a little. "I have to tell you--" She gagged violently, as Barnabas and Willie hovered above her.

"Write it, Carolyn," Willie suggested. He grabbed a pencil and paper from the desktop, and put them in her hands.

She tried to form letters, but the pencil fell from her fingers, and she crumpled to the floor. Just then, Cellie, who heard the commotion as she came downstairs, ran into the office. She saw Carolyn on the floor, and observed the thickened tongue clogging her throat. Without hesitation, she inserted her finger into Carolyn's mouth, and gently manipulated her friend's tongue, until she cleared a small airway. Carolyn took a couple of short breaths, but was still terrified.

Cellie began to absorb some of Carolyn's fear. The older woman relaxed. Cellie took her finger out of Carolyn's mouth. Carolyn tried to speak, but choked up again. Cellie kept moving Carolyn's tongue.

Then, breathing freely, and calm again, Carolyn had an inspiration.

She pushed Cellie's hand from her mouth, and managed to rise on her

own. Without speaking, she led the others to the Shoppe bookshelf, and ran her finger down the rows of volumes until she found a name printed on the spine of a particular book. She pulled out the old book with elaborately decorated binding, and covered the first words of the title. Before she covered them, Cellie saw that they read, "A Visit From

Saint--." The name she left unblocked for the others to see, was "Nicholas."

"Nicholas Blair." Barnabas's voice was grave. "Oh, my God. I thought

he was dead! How could he have survived? What is he doing here?" He gazed at Cellie with a concern so intense it made her feel ill.

Carolyn could feel her tongue begin to shrink back to its normal size. She sighed deeply, as she said, "That's what I was trying to tell you. I didn't know him right away, either, until I looked into his eyes. He's got a beard but no mustache. He looks completely different that way. Younger, too, as though he's had plastic surgery. But I suppose

a warlock doesn't need plastic surgery."

"A warlock?" Cellie asked. "Oh, yeah, now I remember. He was buddy-buddy with Cassandra, I mean Angelique."

"He certainly wouldn't be, now," Barnabas said. "Actually, she hated him even when they worked most closely together. And he punished her when she defied him. Much of her defiance came from her stubborn affection for me."

"You said he was dead!"

"Well," Barnabas explained, "We thought, the last time he was here, that

a curse intended for Carolyn's late husband had been turned against him. I guess he managed to negotiate a reprieve for himself, when he was pitched back into Hell. He's done that before."

"I wonder what he's got against the Collins family this time."

"I'm worried about that, but I'm even more worried about his effect on YOU. Thank God, Willie thought of a way to keep your poems here. Not only do they detail your empathic state, but they are in your own handwriting. I wouldn't let any personal posessions get into his hands."

Cellie thought a moment, and said, "Margene's pencil! She took it out of her purse to do some spelling corrections, and he used it to write on this card!" She pulled the business card from her pocket, and handed it to Barnabas, before she ran into the kitchen to search for Margene's personalized pencil. "I can't find it! He probably hooked it, and we

never noticed. He wouldn't do anything to Margene, d'you think?"

"Perhaps not," her uncle said. "She's nothing to him, unless she obstructs him in some way. Maybe you should cancel this dinner tonight."

"But she did do something against him, Barnabas," Willie said. "She told me to keep an eye on him with Cecily, and that led to me telling him not to take the papers."

"I don't want to cancel, Barnabas. Maybe it would be a good way for me to keep an eye on them," Cellie said. "I just wish they weren't staying the whole week."

At that moment,the phone rang. Cellie answered. "Hi, Margene, I was just about to call you---what? Little Marcus has a fever? Just came on like that? Well, if it gets worse, Dr. Hurley is in practice with a good pediatrician, Dr. Heard. . . You already called him? That bad?" Tears ran down Cellie's face. "The emergency room? Sweet Jesus. Okay, I won't keep you. If you want, we can come down to the hospital to wait with you. Okay. Okay. Faith, Margene, faith. Babies get high

fevers sometimes. Okay. Love to you and the little guy. Love to Big Marcus." She hung up. "That God-damned Bastard!"

* * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Willie and Cellie arrived at Collinsport General Hospital just minutes after Marcus G. and Margene carried in Marcus C. They stood behind their friends as they stammered out their problem to the admitting nurse. Cellie touched them both lightly, when their responses were delayed by tears. Surprisingly, Margene was the first to calm down.

"He got a fever of 104 degrees within, like, an hour."

"Examining cubicle three. Dr. Heard is waiting." The nurse motioned for the Loomises to stay in the waiting room, and led the Sherbrookes down a corridor flanked on both sides with curtained-off partitions.

Willie sat with Cellie in his lap. She hid her face in his shoulder, crying quietly. "It has to be that Blair. It's too much of a coincidence," she sniffled. "If he wants to get to me, for whatever reason, why drag poor little Marcus into it?"

"Like Barnabas said, before we left, he may be after our baby. I just remembered, we were invited to dinner with Lisa and Arnold next week. We'd better cancel that. I don't want someone else's baby to get sick."

Just then, Marcus G. came back into the waiting room area, walking directly toward the Loomises. He'd obviously been crying. Margene had told her friend that he acted less than deeply involved with his family. But Cellie sensed that he was, in fact, almost too attached to Margene and his son, his feeling deepened by the guilt he carried over having nearly given up on them, before little Marcus's birth. He just couldn't express himself, and now, he was overwhelmed.

Marcus G. said, "It doesn't look good. He had a convulsion, right there on the examining table. I'm going to call our folks back home. This will kill them." He sobbed quietly. "My little boy. He's dying,

and I can't do anything to help him." He couldn't speak. Cellie held him and Willie patted his shoulder awkwardly.

Willie said, "I know what it's like to see something terrible happen to somebody you care for, and you can't do anything about it. Even way back when I was a kid. I had to take care of my baby brother when he had measles real bad, and my Mom was stuck working. She had to, or else there'd be no money for the doctor when we finally had to get him.

I thought Paul was going to die, but he got better, somehow. Maybe there's still a chance for little Marcus." Willie got a faraway look in his eyes. "Midnight," he said, and was silent.

Marcus G. lifted his head. "What does that mean, man? You mean if he lives through midnight? The doctor says there's little chance of that." He began to cry again. Cellie rubbed his back, and carried his sorrow with her own before she fed it back to him. After a while, he sighed, and said in a broken tone, "I guess I'm pulled together now. I'd better go make those calls." He stood up. "I didn't want Margene to be in there on her own, so I asked the doctor if her friend could come

in while I was gone. He was going to say no, until Margene told him who you were. He said, as you are 'Julia's niece' and you're also a patient of his partner, Dr. Hurley, of course you were welcome to join Margene in the examining room."

Cellie walked down the row of curtained cubicles, and, hearing Margene's

voice behind a curtain, pushed it aside to join her friend.

Margene was alone, standing over a crib-like examining table. Baby

Marcus, so lively and cheerful earlier that day, now lay, almost rigid, breathing hard. Margene said, an a dazed voice, "He's burning up. Almost 105 degrees. Dr. Heard is calling in specialists from some big hospital in Bangor. That's so far away. By the time they get here, my baby will be dead. Dead. Dead! How didthis happen!" She began to scream, her control gone at last.

Dr. Heard rushed back in, to find Margene clenched tightly in Cellie's arms, as the younger girl tried to get a fix on her friend's hysteria. "I think a tranquilizer might be in order," he announced, regretfully. One of the emergency room nurses heard the commotion, and came into the cubicle. Dr. Heard motioned to her, and ordered a medication.

"Don't knock me out, Dr. Heard! I'll calm down, really, I will," Margene begged. "I don't want to leave my baby."

"It's a very mild tranquilizer, Mrs. Sherbrooke," the doctor assured her. "You'll be able to stay with your baby, don't worry." The nurse came back, with a cup of water and two pills.

Cellie looked the doctor in the eye, just before Margene took the pills, and decided he was telling the truth. She nodded to Margene, who obediently swallowed the medication.

In a minute, Cellie was sorry the doctor didn't give Margene a knock-out pill. The baby began to convulse again. The doctor, joined by two nurses this time, attempted to relieve the child, while Cellie and Margene watched, clutching hands. Marcus had come back, and held his wife.

Cellie wondered if there was something she could do to the baby, to ease its distress. She tried to "read" little Marcus, but her mind was already overloaded with the emotions from the adults in the room: Big Marcus, nearly hopeless; Margene's tranquilized being still bursting with despair: the medical people concealing their own feelings of increasing helplessness, even as they kept working, quickly and efficiently. A voice in her mind said, "Not alone. Not alone.

Not alone." Cellie reached her hand up to her throat, and touched

her cross. Nobody noticed when she turned on her heel, and left the curtained cubicle.

She passed through the waiting room. Willie was talking to Barnabas

and Julia, who had come home from work just in time to get her

husband's call.

"He's still hanging on, but he had another convulsion," Cellie said.

"I don't know how much longer this can go on. I don't know what can be done to counteract the spell or whatever it is, that's on the baby, but I just had an idea of how to keep him going, until. . .until. . ."

"Midnight," Barnabas said. "Why midnight?"

"The 'witching hour,' " Cellie said bitterly. "Maybe there's a natural lull in Nicholas's power around that time, or maybe that's when he goes to sleep. Whatever. We have to run with what we have." She looked toward the pay phones. "How much change are you folks carrying on you?"

"Who are you going to call, Cecily?" Willie asked.

"Well, first I'm going to try Father Rondini. Then, I'm calling St. Dymphna's."

"Are you going to ask the Father to perform an exorcism? I think it's a

bit more complex process than just giving a priest a call," Julia said. "If I recall correctly, the bishop has to become involved. . . it might call to much attention to this situation, and possibly move Nicholas to even more drastic action."

"I know all that. I'm just going to ask them to pray their brains out for this baby. There's help somewhere, but something told me that we couldn't do it alone. I trust the Lord has still got one up on Nicholas. If there is a God, and not just light and darkness."

"What makes you think this baby's special enough to be saved, when so

many others die every day, in spite of the most fervent prayers?" Julia asked.

"This baby is a stand-in for my baby. Mine is special enough, or so I was told. Marcus C. is special enough to be made to take the fall for my baby. That's all I have to know. Either this works, or it doesn't. What do we have to lose?"

Julia went up to the admitting nurse, who recognized her, and consulted in whispers for few minutes. Then, she came back, and said, "You can save your change. There's another phone, in an empty office down the hall." She led Cellie past Marcus C.'s cubicle. One of the nurses was wheeling the crib, with the baby's parents close behind, towards an elevator. Cellie ran to Margene.

"They're taking him up to Intensive Care," she said in a dead voice. "He just keeps hanging on. His fever's up to 106. The doctor said, if he lives, he'll be messed up. Well, he didn't put it quite that way. But it's like, we'll probably wish he had died. I went through so much to have him, you know?" Margene's voice was that of a little, frightened girl.

Cellie took both of her friend's hands, and looked deep into her eyes.

"You're not alone. Do you hear me? You and Marcus are not alone. I have to do something first, then my aunt will see to it that I can go

up to join you. But, till then, you are not alone."

"I'm not alone," Margene repeated. Marcus, who'd gone ahead to the elevator, signalled his wife to join him, as the doors opened, and then closed around the sad procession.

Cellie trotted down the hall, to the office, where Julia was standing. Julia said, "You know I have consulting privileges at this hospital. I might even call in Virginia."

"Margene said Dr. Heard called doctors from Bangor."

"It'll be some time before they show up. I'm here, and Virginia is ten minutes away. What's more, they know I've been involved with cases like this, before. I'll go up to talk to Dr. Heard You get busy with your calls." She left the room.

Cellie talked to Father Rondini first. "Of course, I'll come down to the hospital, if you'd like," he said. "Are your friends Catholic?"

"No, but my friend lived with me at that school I told you about. And I

don't know the minister of the Baptist Church around here. This child needs all the help he can get."

"I'll call Reverend Parkins. Even if he can't make it, I'll be there in a while."

Then, Cellie called St. Dymphna's. As she'd hoped, Sister Innocent

answered. "Cellie," she said happily, "What a pleasant surprise! We love getting your letters, but it's a treat to hear your voice. How are you, my dear? And your husband? All is well there, I trust?"

"We're okay, Sister. How's George?"

"His doctor is trying some new treatment. He's still hanging on. Where

there's life, there's hope, as they say."

"I hope it works out. I almost wish I didn't have to tell you why I called tonight."

"What's the problem, Cecily?" The nun's tone became grave.

"It's Margene's baby, Sister. She and her husband were visiting us

this week, and the baby got very sick, all of a sudden. He's got a record-breaking fever, and he's not expected to live, probably beyond midnight."

"That's dreadful." Sister's voice broke. "Margene was one of our favorite girls. There are still some girls here who remember her, and talk about her. What can I do for her? Is she there with you?"

"No, she's with Big Marcus, in the I.C.U., watching Little Marcus pass

away." Cellie began to cry.

"Have you tried to do for them what you did for me?"

"Yes, Sister, but their combined grief is too overwhelming. I had to take turns with them, and right now, it's only coming in spurts. That's why I called. I already called the local priest, and he'll try to get a Baptist minister. They'll be here soon. But I need you to pray. Maybe it won't save the baby, but something tells me that's what has to be done. We'll know by midnight."

"Of course. I'll get the other nuns, and any of the other girls who are so inclined. It shouldn't be difficult. For the first time since I can't remember when, they're all Catholics."

Cellie had one more call to make. There was a lot of noise on the other end of the line, when Pavlos answered. He shouted, "Wait! Dimitrios, hang this up when you see me signal from my office." A minute later, there was silence behind him, and his richly accented voice boomed. "Little Flame! To what do I owe this honor?"

"Depends on what you consider an honor, Pavlos."

"You are sad, Cellie. Is your Willie in one of his bad states?"

"No, thank God, he's okay, and so am I. It's Margene, you remember,

we came to visit you today?"

"What is troubling our Diva?"

"Her baby's horribly sick, and might die."

"So suddenly? I know well, the little ones take sick , and recover, just as quickly. He is far worse than that, then?"

"He's here at the hospital. They don't know how he'll survive the fever he has, or if it's even worth trying to save him at this point."

"It is always worth a try, Little Flame. I know what you want. I will pray for Diva's Marcus C. And for her husband. I can imagine his state of mind. Everyone gathers around the mother, while the father feels alone."

"I got that covered, Pavlos."

"Of course you do. You are one who thinks of everything. I will leave now. Dimitrios can handle things here. I will be at the hospital soon. The child may not survive beyond midnight?"

"How did you know?"

"That's a favorite cut-off point for crises of this kind, as I recall."

Cellie hung up the phone, awed, thinking about how much she didn't

know of Pavlos's life, and how he knew about so many things.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Cellie sat in the waiting room of the Intensive Care Unit. One had to wait for a special signal from the nurse's station to be able to visit a patient. Only relatives were supposed to visit, but Dr. Heard had that taken care of. So, Cellie waited patiently, alone, while the specialists from Bangor made their examinations. Finally, the nurse signalled. Cellie passed by the two unfamiliar doctors, who walked with Dr. Heard. One of the doctors was from India. He leaned close to Dr. Heard, and said, "Remarkable. The child survives convulsion after convulsion, and hangs on by a thread. It's as if he's waiting for something to happen, before the fever takes a turn, either for the worse, or the better."

"The child will be fortunate if it doesn't recover, at this point. Amazing, though, the strength of his survival instinct," the other doctor said.

"There's more to it than that," Dr. Heard said. "Did you see the brace of clergy and well-wishers downstairs? It's more like, he's not being allowed to go. Well, power to them, I say. We've done all we can. It'll be midnight soon. We'll know by then." The three doctors vanished into an office.

Cellie walked into the cubicle where little Marcus lay, tubes inserted into several body orifices. Margene sat near him. Big Marcus stood by a tiny window, which looked out onto the roof of the small parking garage. Seeing them separated thusly, Cellie wondered what turn their relationship would take, once the main reason for its existence was gone. She knew they loved each other, but maybe the weight of this tragedy would prove to be too much.

Big Marcus said, "I just need to go downstairs for a few minutes. I'll get some coffee. Margene, why don't you come with me? I doubt anything will happen, and Cellie will watch over him for us."

"Don't want to leave," she muttered. "See if you can bring it in here."

Marcus stopped as he left the tiny room, and kissed his wife gently, on the ear. Margene drew a sobbing breath, and Marcus, putting his hand to his face, departed hurriedly. A nurse came in briefly, checked the child's temperature, noted no change, and then looked over the equipment. She left.

It was so quiet in the room. The baby barely breathed, as did Margene and Cellie. Cellie held Margene's hand. Cellie closed her eyes briefly. Willie had wanted to take her home, but she insisted on staying. Dr Hurley told him, "If she collapses, she's already in the hospital. Anyway, this should be over soon." Willie, loyal to the end, camped out in the waiting room, getting an update from his wife now and then. He hovered over Marcus G. when he came down, needing a break from the tension upstairs, following him to the hospital chapel. and then to the coffee machine.

Margene squeezed Cellie's hand, in something like a panic. Cellie jolted awake. "Is Marcus--is Marcus--?" She saw a mist forming by the plastic bassinet. Sarah Collins stood before them, with a tiny cloth bag in her hands.

She walked to Margene, and proffered the bag. Margene didn't believe it

was a real bag, until she held it gingerly in her hand. It was made of linen, and was rather heavy, for its size. Margene said, "I remember you. You came to the Home."

"I saw you. You looked so silly, hiding under the covers like that. But you're nice. You were ever so good to Cecily, when she missed Willie so much." Sarah turned toward the crib. "Marcus Cecil is a sweet baby. I like babies. When Cecily's baby comes I'm going to be around it all the time, 'cause she said we're close, like buds."

"Buds. How nice," Margene faltered. "You didn't come because Marcus

is going to die, did you?"

"No. No. I came because I help Cecily, and she loves you. I have to help anyone she loves, if I can. I came because I was real sick once, the way Marcus is now."

"That's not how you--how you---ended up like you are, now."

"No, that happened, later. This is different. Someone bad is making Marcus sick. Someone made me sick, too. But then she gave me medicine, and I got better. Almost the same kind of medicine will work for Marcus. She gave it to me. It's part of her penance."

"Why didn't you come before?" Cellie asked.

"All those prayers blocked the bad person, but I still had to wait until he was weakest."

"So, what's in this medicine? How do we use it?" Cellie took the bag, and sniffed the contents. She recognized the pungent smell of Yarrow.

"Cellie, we can't use that stuff. Maybe it's really poison."

"No it's not, Margene," Cellie replied.

"It's just dried flowers from around here, and some kind of tree bark," Sarah said. "You mix it up with hot water, and you feed the baby some of it, and put the rest in a poultice on his chest. But you have to do it by midnight, or all is lost." Sarah pointed to the clock. It read twelve minutes to twelve.

Margene's dull eyes lit up. "I haven't got a choice, it seems. Okay, I'll do it. Thank you for thinking about me."

"And one more thing. While the bad person is here, you have to go home.

I don't know when he'll go away. But I know your baby will only get better if you use the medicine, and then you can go." Sarah kissed Margene, then Cellie, and vanished.

Margene looked at Cellie. "The bad person. I'll bet I know just who she meant. If I ever get my hands on---"

"Forget it, Margene. Look what he was able to do, just using your pencil."

"That's right, I did miss it after I left your place. Okay. Get me to a hot-water faucet." They swiped a small, new plastic vomit basin from the maintenance gurney. They went into the ladies' room, and got the water hot. Margene mashed the herbs with her hands. They rushed back to the room, and, to their dismay, a nurse was there. "Six minutes, Cell-mate." Margene began to sweat. Cellie hid the vomit basin behind her back.

Fortunately, the nurse was ready to leave. "I wondered what happened to

you, Mrs. Sherbrooke," she said.

"I had to go, and Cellie came because she thought I might fall over.

There's no change, one way or another?"

"No. But the poor little fellow's still holding on, God knows how."

"Yes. God knows," Cellie commented. The nurse walked out, just missing

the sight of Cellie switching the basin around. "That was close," she breathed.

"We'll try rubbing it on, first," Margene said. She took a handful of the mixture, and plastered it on her baby's chest. The baby didn't move. He was as breathless and hot as before. "Oh, damn. I don't know how I'm going to get this down his throat."

"Take some on your finger, and see if he'll suck. We haven't much time."

Margene inserted some of the greenish, odd-smelling stuff into little

Marcus's mouth. At first he recoiled, but instinct took hold, and he sucked greedily, gasping loudly between swallows.

"Margene, what on earth are you doing to that child! What is that muck?" Marcus G. stood in the doorway.

"It's the only way, Marcus. It's almost midnight!" Cellie said.

"I won't have my child tortured with some nature-food cure you thought up, Cellie. Did this come from some old book you read?" He seized the vomit basin.

"Please, Marcus, please. I have to. . .He's going to die, one way or another. The doctors just about gave up," Margene wept. "My little baby. . . I wanted him so much, and now---" It was three minutes to midnight.

Margene and Cellie began to wrestle Marcus for the basin, when a nurse came in, followed by Julia. Cellie looked wildly at her aunt. "Please, Aunt Jule. Make him let us do this!"

"Let your wife and my niece have that basin," Julia said in a steely voice.

"They're going to kill him!"

"I don't think so. Do you want to take the chance you're wrong? I'll call Dr. Heard, and the other doctors. They know I've seen cases like this before, and the cures can be unorthodox."

"I'll sue all your asses, and have my wife and your niece tossed in jail, if you're wrong," he threatened.

"That's your prerogative, Marcus." Julia looked him directly in the eye. "Give Margene the basin."

"No, I---ow! My appendix!" Marcus clutched his abdomen. Margene grabbed the basin, and fed the baby as before. Thirty seconds. The baby had a couple of spoonfuls left to go.

"Home stretch," Cellie said, releasing her grip on Marcus's insides.

Suddenly, the baby began to convulse again. Margene would not be able

to get him to swallow the last mouthful. She began to cry. Marcus grabbed her, and held her, not in anger, but to shield her from seeing the final moment.

Cellie suddenly recalled what Dr. Hurley had said about her empathic spells being like convulsions. She might be able to absorb

the baby's convulsion long enough for Margene to shove the last dregs

of Sarah's cure down his throat. The minute hand on the clock had passed midnight, but Cellie figured, "Midnight lasts sixty seconds.

And maybe, this clock is fast, and there's really more time." She concentrated on the baby with all her might.

She hit the floor at thirty seconds past midnight. Everyone bent to help her, but she managed to gasp, "Feed! Feed!" Margene rose, and scooped the remainder of the herbs into the mouth of her now-relaxed son. Cellie writhed as the baby swallowed. The minute hand cleared 12:01. Cellie lay still, as Margene announced, "He's sweating! He's sweating! He's drenched! Thank, you Jesus!"

Julia took her niece's pulse, as the Sherbrookes stood over their son with relieved expressions on their faces. Cellie's face was almost as red as a beet, but she breathed normally, and her eyes opened. Dr. Heard came in. He was followed by Dr. Hurley, who'd come in to consult on this case, and had ended up having to spend some time with one of her Obstetrical patients, who'd arrived in labor, and had rather quickly given birth, shortly before. Marcus G. turned briefly from his wife's side to gently lift Cellie to a chair. Dr. Hurley checked Cellie over, and said, "For all intents and purposes, she's had a convulsion, and yet, she has no condition that would have predisposed her to such an event. Even her blood pressure is normal. Still, she should stay overnight, just in case something else goes wrong. What on earth was she trying to do here, anyway? I've warned her about the strain caused by exercizing her empathy."

"I had to. I had to save the baby."

"What about your own baby?" Dr. Hurley asked, sternly.

"I wasn't alone. I wasn't alone. My baby knows, I can feel it. And I won. I won."

Dr. Heard turned from Baby Marcus's bassinet. "A miracle. Whatever this crud is, it helped break the boy's fever. His responses are all normal. I'd like to have this stuff analyzed. Maybe it's a once-in-a-lifetime, may-never-work-again kind of a thing, but there may be something worth studying."

Marcus G. said to Cellie, "I don't know where to begin, to tell you how

grateful we are, and how sorry I am about what I said before. You were right, and so was Margene. My boy is going to get well. My God. . ." His voice trailed off.

Margene said, "I took care of my Cell-mate in the Home, and now she's

taken care of me. Of us. How can we make it up to you?"

"You can repay me in one way. Take a mutual friend's advice, and take little Marcus home, until everything's safe around here," Cellie whispered. "We'll get together again soon, God willing."

Margene asked,anxiously, "But will you be safe?"

"I'll get by, somehow. I couldn't leave, much as I want to. I don't think it would do any good. I have to see this through."

* * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

The next day, Willie brought Cellie home from the hospital, and put her to bed. When she fell asleep, he went downstairs and confronted his employer. As usual, Barnabas said, "Please don't fret about the hospital bills, Willie."

"Again, she almost got herself killed, doing your dirty work," Willie said. "I have to get her away from here."

"If that would really help, I would be the first one to endorse the idea, pack your bags, buy your tickets, and put you two on a plane to miles from nowhere," Barnabas said. "But you cannot escape Nicholas."

"Sarah said Margene and her family would be safe."

"Margene wasn't Nicholas's original target. What happened to little Marcus was in the nature of a warning. Well, we're heeding the warning, so he should no longer have any use for the Sherbrookes, as long as they pose no further obstruction to his plan."

"But what are his plans? Even I would have figured out it had something to do with our baby, sooner or later. Is the baby like Cecily? Why didn't he just go after Cecily, months ago, before we made the baby?"

"Perhaps, as Julia, Elliot, and I have conjectured, Cellie's powers were increased by your intimate experiences, and by pregnancy. Maybe Nicholas had to wait until her skills were improved by this natural progression."

"They're improving too damn much," Willie complained. "I noticed, she doesn't even get sick, anymore, from easing someone's sadness, or making

someone else feel bad. But having someone else's convulsions!"

"I know. Don't you believe me when I say it's frightening to me, too? Even without the threat of Nicholas Blair hanging over our heads! I love that girl like my own daughter."

"I guess I believe you, up to a point, Barnabas. But, far as I'm concerned, you still got quite a way to go before love, to you, doesn't mean using somebody. I hope you get that straight, even before Julia runs off to that baby-making doctor in Boston."

"I'll learn that, the day YOU realize that love doesn't mean trying to hide someone from from facing her destiny."

Willie sighed, and stood up. "So, what are you going to do next?" he asked.

"Well, actually, I've done quite a bit, this morning. I called the Connecticut number on this business card, and I found out that, yes, there is a Paugassett Press, located just two miles from St. Dymphna's Home for Girls. There was, indeed, a Bernard Neville, who was the editor-in-chief of their fiction department."

"You said 'was.' Let me guess. He's pushing up the daisies somewhere."

"Inelegantly put, but, alas, very true. Mr. Neville suffered a most unfortunate end, in a totally inexplicable automobile accident, shortly after he left the diner near the Home, back in March."

"Blair caused it."

"It wouldn't be beyond him. Perhaps he'd gotten wind of Cellie's poetic

efforts. Apparently they were well known, and a source of comment,

when she lived in Fairbeach."

"What's your next move gonna be?"

"After the Sherbrookes are safely on that train, tomorrow morning, I will be tracking down, and then, paying a little visit to 'Mr.

Neville'."

"He'll love that. So much that he really socks it to my Cecily."

"I've been giving her protection a lot of thought. For one thing, until Blair is gone, I don't think Cellie should be left alone for a minute. I'll be passing the word to Carolyn, David, and the Stokeses. Another thing, Willie--- I think you two should come stay at the Old House, or at Abijah's Cottage. You would be surrounded by people every day at work, and you'd have instant access to myself and Julia at night."

"I'll tell Cecily when she wakes up. I have to check on her, right now."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Cellie and Willie stood on the train platform with Margene and Marcus G. Cellie held the wriggling Marcus C. "He lost a little weight," she commented.

"Yeah," Margene said. "The doctor wanted to keep him a little longer, because he got dehydrated so fast, with all that sweating. But we're anxious to get away from here. It was nice of your mother to invite us to stay at her place in Boston, overnight. And I can't wait to see Sister Innocent and show her our little guy is okay. Cellie, I was never one to believe in all that prayer jazz, but you really knocked yourself out, organizing the whole thing, and it worked."

"I guess it really works best when a group of strangers focus their thoughts on one purpose, one wish, one vision."

"Well, if you're ever in need, I'll get the whole diocese of Baltimore cracking." Margene began to cry a little. "I'm going to miss you, girl. When all this trouble is over, you and your Will can visit us. We'll do the town right. I'll even take you to see Edgar Allan Poe's grave, so you'll feel right at home. He's buried near this really spooky church with folks buried downstairs. It's said you can hear

'em, sometimes."

"I'm always happy to make new friends," Cellie laughed. "Seriously, though, Margene, I live for the day we're free to leave, and not have to worry about bringing tragedy along with our luggage."

"All we want to see with your luggage is a basket with your baby in it,"

Marcus G. chimed in. Cellie gave him his son, who grabbed at her bright braid in his reluctance to leave her arms.

The train slinked up toward the platform. Cellie and Margene clutched at each other. Margene hugged Willie, then took baby Marcus from her husband. Marcus G. embraced Cellie warmly, and Willie awkwardly. Cellie heard him whisper, "With me the whole time. Thank you, brother." Aloud, he announced, "When you come down our way, Willie, I'll take

you to an Orioles game."

After the Sherbrookes boarded the train, Margene managed to jam the

window open. She stuck out her arm toward Cellie, and the last words Cellie heard, as the train moved away, were "Remember, Cell-Mate!

Gotta lay that devil down!"

* * * * * * * * * * *

Barnabas had traced Nicholas to a cottage just down the street from where Julia, Cellie, and the Stokeses used to live. He drove down the sand-dusted beach road, full of gloomy foreboding about the upcoming confrontation. Alongside his anxiety, a trivial thought rose, that it seemed like years since he and Willie had met Cellie in one of these cottages. When he realized he could no longer recall which cottage, he felt, absurdly sad, as if he'd lost an irretrievable part of his past,

a past where Cellie was still young and innocent, Julia was looking forward to a placid marriage with Elliot, and he and Willie had a lonely, but peaceful future ahead of them.

So much, turned around in just nine months, and all because a precocious, good-hearted girl found something to pity, then love, in a misfit. Two misfits, really. Barnabas hadn't realized how far he'd parted from normal human affairs until Cellie forced the issue and made him see the light. They had their differences, but she had developed into a valuable apprentice, almost as much as he'd hoped for, when he discussed her future with Julia, so many months ago.

And now, he went forth, to defend her right to continue in the life she had chosen, with the man she'd chosen, and their coming child. Her choices had angered and chagrined him, but she couldn't reach her goals without them; he'd heard it for himself.

Barnabas had no idea what he could do to Nicholas, now that he was mortal, and had to defend other mortals. If only Angelique was here,

he mused. She ultimately couldn't control Blair, either, but she acted as a check on some of his activities, until she irritated him beyond tolerance. Barnabas grimaced as he remembered when Nicholas had turned Angelique into a vampire. She had almost turned Barnabas back into one, and succeeded in turning Tom Jennings into one. Her influence had caused poor Joe Haskell to betray his cousin, Tom, and to break off from Maggie, the first in series of traumatic events that eventually

led to his confinement in WindCliff, and then, his departure from the area, once he recovered.

Of course, in the end, Angelique had succeeded at turning the tables on

her tormentor each time Nicholas tried to throttle her.

Cellie was right about one thing: having been a vampire's victim seemed to be more traumatic for a man than a woman. Barnabas recalled his own dismay at his weakness then. Women were more used to not being in control of things, he supposed. Then he would think of Cellie, and the deft way she handled catastrophe after catastrophe, without even stopping to consider the notion of impossibility. He wondered, fearfully, what would happen if she was ever exposed to that

horrible condition.

Whatever Blair had in mind would surely prove as devastating. Barnabas parked his car in front of the house closest to the beach. Blair, he recalled, seemed to have a preference for being near the sea. The

light was on in the living room window. Barnabas approached the door with trepidation. It opened before he had a chance to knock.

"Mr. Neville, I presume," Barnabas began. He, like Carolyn, was amazed

at the difference in Nicholas's appearance. Perhaps he resembled the deceased Neville this way.

"No need of pretences between such old acquaintances, Barnabas. Do

come in," Nicholas said, pleasantly enough.

"Well, at least you didn't say, 'between old friends'," Barnabas replied, as he entered. He observed that the parlor, similar in size and structure to Julia's old cottage, was virtually nondescript, containing only the bland, cheap furniture one found in these rented places. Nicholas was obviously determined not to attract too much attention to himself on this trip.

"An old adversary is much the same as an old friend, I suppose. There's a similar knowledge of each other's strengths and weaknesses, and an appreciation for each other's personality, that, in any other circumstances, would bring them together on the same side." Nicholas motioned Barnabas to sit. "So, Barnabas, you've been through a few

life changes since we last met. How's the wife and family?"

"You know perfectly well. We would all be fine if you were elsewhere.

What is your game, this time, Nicholas?"

"Who said anything about a game, Barnabas? Of course I'll tell you why

I'm here. It won't cost me anything, as regards my plans. I enjoy letting people know every detail about that which they can do nothing to change." He opened a liquor cabinet. "Today I purchased what I've been assured by the wall-eyed proprietor of the local package store is the finest 'Char-doh-nay' available in these parts. Join me in a drink, Barnabas?"

"As if I would. I'm surprised at you, Nicholas, sinking to the level of living in a dumpy little cottage, and drinking cheap wine. Your Master must be displeased with you, perhaps, on account of your last failure, with the Leviathans."

"Nonsense," Nicholas said, though it was clear he was stung by the remark. "Just a little incognito. Of course, it didn't work too well for you and Carolyn. I'm sorry I inflicted that little joke on dear, dear Carolyn. You know, Barnabas, after all the years, and all the women I've entertained, I'm always surprised to make a new discovery, especially of someone I once took for granted. Now that I've had

plenty of time to recover from my last disappointment, I believe I can say that Carolyn has emerged as my favorite. But, alas, she squandered her favors on Jeb even after he lost his powers, on that miserable creature Adam, and, I understand, is currently doing so with someone I recall very well. Tony Peterson. She's seeing him, tonight, even as

we speak." He extracted a small, lidded mirror from his pocket. Barnabas recognized it as one from the Antique Shoppe. Nicholas opened the mirror. "Hmmm. Interesting. She's rather inhibited, but she's giving it the old college try. Too bad. I daresay I could show her a better time. Want a look, Barnabas?" He held out the mirror.

Barnabas looked away, quickly. "I will not look at your mirrors. Tell me how you survived , and what you came back to town for."

"Or else what, Barnabas? Don't worry, you'll know in due time. I can

share a few details of my seemingly miraculous 'resurrection'. Suffice it to say, my Master knew that I was still useful, and also knew that I would always put His will first, forever after, if He allowed me another chance. I have satisfied His whims on so many occasions since the Leviathan debacle, that He personally entrusted me with a new assignment in this neighborhood, because I already knew the territory so well. Say, Barnabas, what would you give for that which you most desire?"

"I have everything I desire, and all without foolish or dangerous bargains."

"Of course you do," Nicholas smirked. "You have a clingy, middle-aged

wife who's probably barren, a tiresome business to run, and a toothsome niece who's married to your former slave. And now, he uses her body, even as it is now, to satisfy those puny lusts he had to hold back, while he was forced to watch you pursue the objects of your lust. Ironic, isn't it, Barnabas? Willie got the prize you would have killed to have, once. But you have all you desire. I understand. Pity. I wanted to have a reward in store for you, in case you chose to assist me. It doesn't matter, all that much. I'll get what I want, without your help, but I thought it would be considerate to ask anyway, seeing that we're such old acquaintances."

"Stop it, Blair!" Barnabas protested, though his face reddened. "What you say about my relationship with my niece--- it's a damnable, filthy, grotesque lie! I love my wife as a husband should, and I love my niece, like a father. Even if I did want her in that way, she's happily married, and she's expecting Willie's child. I had the idea, that's what you were after, Nicholas. This whole dismal business with the Sherbrooke child. . . It's Cellie's baby you want, isn't it?"

"Anything to evade those deep personal issues, eh, Barnabas? We'll

explore those again, later. But yes, you've caught me, in a way. I am interested in your dear niece's child, and I will endure not even the most trivial interference. By the way, you must congratulate your niece on her perspicacity. She certainly proved herself worthy of better things, even if she doesn't appeal to my Master. I had no intention of killing the Sherbrooke child, but once I realized that she would take on the challenge, I allowed matters to take their course, in hopes she'd turn matters around at the last minute. Which she did, literally.

A splendid example of empathic transference."

"That was a cruel joke, indeed, Nicholas. I can imagine Cellie's feeling of sorrow and guilt if her sacrifice had failed. She knows

why Marcus C. was stricken, and already believes herself to be the

cause of his suffering."

"That is precisely why she is not suitable for my plans, and my master's. She has, in spite of her failings and missteps, an immutable, almost solid conscience, and a massive dose of compassion for the unworthy. Without these drawbacks, and with her gifts of intellect and charm, imagine what power she could have had! It's come to my attention that she favors biographies of powerful, brilliant women. Catherine the Great, Boudicca, Elizabeth the first, Eleanor of Aquitaine. All of them enjoyed long-lived success because of some intuition they had about

men, whether the men were their spouses, or those leeches who knew they could not gain power on their own without currying their ladies' favor. But alas, while our Cecily has both pragmatism and determination, she lacks the ruthlessness that would ensure her dominance in a man's world."

"So, you intend to take over her child, and inflict it with these essential qualities. Tell me, Nicholas, what have you discovered about Cellie's child that makes it suitable for your plans?"

"Need you ask, Barnabas? Isn't it obvious? The child will be an empath, perhaps to a degree beyond its mother. And much, much more.

I can tell you that it will be telepathic, as well. The possibilities open to such a being, even in a mortal state, are virtually endless! You notice, I hold but one secret. The child's sex. That's purely for innocent fun, and even I agree, there's little enough of that when I'm around. Baby Loomis's parents deserve at least one pleasant surprise,

I suppose. It will comfort them while their little one is being brought up to rock their world. That is, if I permit them to live, longer than it's necessary to bring a healthy child to term. Willie is most solicitous of Cecily's vitamin intake, and her regular check-ups. She may be a stickler for detail, but she's atrociously negligent when it comes to her prenatal care."

Barnabas replied, "You create a situation that brings risk to her condition, and then you complain because she forgets doctor's appointments!"

"No more than you did, a few weeks ago, when you cajoled her into helping you tie up some loose ends with your uncle and former fiancee."

"Touche. Still, you forget one thing, Nicholas. Whether or not its mother survives, the child could inherit Cellie's character, and her virtues. That could throw your plans out of whack."

"It could just as easily inherit its father's so-called character, and lack of virtues," Nicholas pointed out. "The unpleasant aspects you robbed from Willie's personality, could resurface in his offspring,

male or female."

"A child with his attributes may inadvertantly defeat you!" Barnabas said, with an odd feeling of satisfaction at the concept. "Even before we became 'acquainted', Willie was a decidedly inept criminal, when

left to his own devices."

"I rather doubt that the father's ineptitude would surface. Willie's wife has an I.Q. approaching 200. Even half of that would be sufficient to lift the child to the degree of competency necessary to fulfill what I have in store for it. And I'm confident he or she will inherit a good deal more than half."

Barnabas became quite depressed, as the conversation went on. He felt like he was slowly, inexhorably, sinking to the bottom of a deep well. "I suppose there is nothing I can say, or do, to change your mind."

"An opportunity like this only comes along once every couple of hundred

years, or so, Barnabas. I would, indeed, be remiss if I didn't permit myself to take advantage of it. Admit it, you've considered some similar arrangement to serve the purpose of what you, in your presumption, call 'Good'."

"I would never separate a helpless infant from its mother, or threaten the lives of both parents!"

"That brings us back to our original discussion. I, too, have grown rather fond of the delightful Cecily, as I'm sure you already are, much more than you care to admit."

"Nicholas--"

"Please, Barnabas, hear me out. I wouldn't harm a hair on her head, if I could avoid it. Sound her out about my idea. Let her understand, she wouldn't be shut out entirely, from her child's life. And, if you succeed, in return, I could make it possible for you and

she to part, amicably, of course, from your current spouses---"

"I'll do no such thing! I've told you before, and will, again and again, I harbor no such feelings for my niece. My NIECE, Nicholas. It's incest, even without a blood tie between us."

"I could make that possible, too, if you're obstinate. It's clear,

from her poetry, that Cecily has, at least, a nodding aquaintance with that way of life."

"Her knowledge of that is purely second-hand. I don't think foisting vampirism on either of us would be practical, if you wish to maintain an appearance of normalcy about these arrangements. And then, there's no telling what Cellie might do in return. In order to save her child from you, she may go to an extreme. She's already gone to extremes to save her husband, as well as the Sherbrooke child."

"Ah, the troublesome Willie. He's more of a bother than your wife. Julia might be persuaded to go along with matters for your sake and her niece's. Willie, in his childish posessiveness, may give trouble, initially. Still, if you feel squeamish about eliminating him, he can be transformed, again, into a most tractable and compliant underling, useful for any purpose you and Cecily can dream up."

Barnabas's face was dark red. "I don't know. . . I don't know. . . How can I stop you?"

"Well, you can forget the prayer vigil manuever. That only works

sporadically, I'm afraid."

"I was surprised that you haven't harmed any of those who participated."

"Remember, I didn't originally intend to kill that child. And quite frankly, it would have been tedious, picking them off. It would have drawn a lot of attention. The whole point of the exercise was to

teach you and your niece a lesson. That was successful."

"What about the spirits who've been assisting her?"

"You know, as well as I do, that spirits can do some harm, but their ability to help humans in any way is extremely limited. I, myself,

have a limitation or two, but I can handle that obstacle, easily." Nicholas held out the mirror again. "Want to take a look, Barnabas?

I can bring forth images of the recent past, as well. I have

in mind, one special night, about a week ago. " He held the mirror close to his face. "Oh, my," he said, leering. "I had no idea Cecily was still so limber, at this stage of her condition. And Willie---why, I've never seen him so kinetic, if you catch my drift." He thrust the mirror at Barnabas. "Come on, Barnabas, you must, at least, be

curious. See his skin pressed to hers, his fingers in her hair, his mouth, well. . . Compare that to your deflated passion for the over-eager, but uninspiring Julia."

"I'll never look!"

"I can arrange it so that every reflective surface you encounter

shows you an image as sharp and vivid as though you were present in their bedroom."

"I shall not give in. That much dignity, you can't take from me."

"I can take that, and so much more. Think about it very carefully, Barnabas."

"You won't harm her---them, at this time?"

"I already told you. I want a healthy child, and even someone as powerful as myself can't get that from a dead mother. In my own way, I'm as concerned with their welfare, as you are. You could say I've

got my eye out for them." Nicholas snapped the mirror shut, and chuckled.

"I must go, and consider what you've told me."

"Absolutely. Things work so much better if there's mutual consent."

"Good evening, then."

"Just try to have a pleasant evening, yourself, Barnabas."

Barnabas got back into his car. He was just about to look in the rear-view mirror, when he remembered Nicholas's warning. He would have to try to look back, over his shoulder, for oncoming traffic. He swung his car onto the deserted beach road, and had traveled less than a mile, when the interior of his car lit up. A car was following too close behind his. He pulled to the shoulder, and let it pass. When he was ready to go again, he looked over his shoulder again. He had to back out a little, to avoid hitting a large rock just ahead of him. A car zoomed up behind, from around the bend, and almost rear-ended him. Instinctively, he glanced at his rear-view mirror.

What he saw made him sit in the parked car for such a long time, that

a policeman driving by, slowed to ask him if he needed assistance. Barnabas turned his head away as he replied, "No, thanks, I'll be

fine in a moment." His eyes were filled with guilty tears. He felt pain in his heart, and his stomach. The truth was, he didn't think

he'd be fine, ever again.

He arrived at the Old House. He almost didn't want to go inside. He didn't want to face Julia. Fortunately, he wouldn't have to face his niece and her husband right away. Willie had decided to take Cellie to Abijah's Cottage. If what Barnabas had seen was typical of their nocturnal activities, it was probably just as well.

He went in, and tried to put off going upstairs as long as possible.

He made a cup of tea, and only drank half. He couldn't look at the television; the screen surface was highly polished. He was too distracted to read. Finally, he had to go up; if he didn't, Julia

would come down to look for him, anyway.

She was half-asleep in her own bed, but rose when she heard him come in. He sat on his bed, his head turned from her. She sat next to him with a look of concern on her face, and put her arms around him. "How did it go with Nicholas? What sort of danger are we in for, this time?"

"He wants Cellie's child. The baby will be empathic and telepathic.

He made it clear there's little to nothing any of us can do about it."

"Barnabas! Of course we'll think of something. I've never seen you so defeated, this early in the game. I wonder why you didn't immediately go to the cottage to tell Cellie and Willie."

"Perhaps I didn't see the point of disturbing their rest. What can they do about it at this hour of the night?" He covered his face with his hands. "You tell them, Julia. I can't face them, with my--my failure."

"I don't understand, Barnabas. It's too soon to tell if you've failed. And it's not all on you, to see this thing through. Cellie is strong and resourceful, and she's got both earthly and spiritual support in every sense of the word. You must tell them, anyway--- only you know all the details. What has Nicholas done to you, to make you feel this way? Did he threaten to turn you back--"

"Among other things. That's not the problem, Julia." He took her hand.

"You believe I love you deeply and truly, don't you, Julia?"

"Of course I do. And you know I love you." She kissed him gently on the forehead. "You know you can tell me anything, Barnabas. You always have, before, even the worst things. What happened to you? Why can't you look at me?"

"Nothing I can't handle, I suppose. Perhaps I'll feel better in the morning."

"Would you like me to stay here, in bed with you? Would that help you sleep, or do you also need a sleeping pill?"

Barnabas felt uncomfortable about having his wife in bed with him, when his mind was so full of those disturbing images, but he was reluctant to arouse her suspicions by refusing. "Yes, to both proposals," he said, managing a smile.

"Perhaps Cellie can help you, if you're still this tense tomorrow," Julia said, as she rummaged through her medical bag for the pills. "Here," she said, holding out a vial. "Take two, with a whole cup of water."

Barnabas, careful not to glance into the vanity mirror as he left the room, went down stairs to the kitchen, to avoid facing the new bathroom mirror. By the time he came back up, Julia had dozed off, again, in his bed, and this time, she didn't wake up when he came in. Barnabas laid down on her empty bed, and fought the temptation to get up and gaze at the mirror.

* * * * * * * * * * *

It was Julia, ultimately, who called Willie the next morning, and carefully explained to him what little she had learned from Barnabas.

"I'll get Cecily right away, and we'll head over to the Old House," Willie said.

"Not just yet, Willie. There's something wrong with Barnabas.

I have the impression that he'd rather not see either of you, but he's very specific that he doesn't want to see Cellie, at least. I'd rather you not say anything to her, at this point, but you might be able to get him to give you more details. Perhaps he'll be willing to talk with her, later."

"Well, she was planning to go to the beach this morning, with David and that Annette. I was against it at first, but if what you say is true, she and the others will probably be safe. I don't think Nicholas is going to scare up a tidal wave, or anything. Maybe by the time I pick her up, Barnabas will be okay. I'll come over as soon as Cecily leaves."

"He's already gone to the Antique Shoppe. It's as though he couldn't bring himself to stay here. He didn't even have breakfast."

"It's eight in the morning! He must really be upset. He's never in before nine-thirty, even during tourist season. I'll be down there in

a while."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Barnabas sat alone in his office, staring at the collection of framed family photographs on his desk. Pictures taken at his wedding, at Cellie's and Willie's reception, and the most recent, taken by David, of Willie standing behind Cellie, his hands over hers, tenderly rubbing her abdomen. This last was set in a double frame, the space beside it empty. David explained that it was meant to be a "before and after picture"; when the baby was born, he would shoot the parents in

a similar pose, but holding the baby over its former location.

Just then, a shaft of sunlight hit the glass on the frame in such a way, as to create a reflection of the window behind. Barnabas shut his eyes just as the image began to shift to the one he both feared and craved.

Barnabas wracked his brains to think of ways to avoid his niece in the near future. She only worked a couple of hours a day, now, and he could easily arrange buying trips during the time she spent at the Shoppe. Avoiding Willie was, however, impossible. Willie burst into the office just after eight-thirty. He saw, right away, that something was amiss with his employer.

"I know you're not okay, so don't tell me different," Willie began. "You look like I used to feel, way back when. Nicholas pulled something on you, like he did to me and Cecily, and Carolyn. I already heard from Julia, that he told you what he wants from us, and he's worked you over so you can't talk about it much. Is that it?"

Barnabas looked at his desk, and was silent. Then he whispered, sadly, "Willie, don't press me."

"You have to tell me, so I can protect my family, Barnabas. Look, I'm not mad at you for not telling right away. I know how that can happen. But you're the strong one. You have to snap out of it, somehow."

"I don't know if I can, this time, Willie. I'm so sorry."

"When Cecily's here, later, she could, you know, work on you a little bit. I know you don't like the idea of her messing with your head, but she understands what to do with you, even more than Julia, I think."

Barnabas turned away. Willie could hear him sob. Barnabas, of all people, breaking down in a crisis!

Willie said, reassuringly, "Honest, I really don't mind what you and Cecily got going, if that's what's upsetting you. Or her and David, not much, anyway. She's really gotten me to think over all the bad stuff, and I kind of understand, now, we were all suffering, through that time. You and me, we're kind of stuck with each other, I guess." He patted Barnabas's shoulder. "I'm supposed to pick her up at twelve, but I could get her earlier, if you want. I might, anyway. She's sure to get sunburned as hell if I don't. She doesn't think about stuff like that, and David will be too busy with Annette to notice."

"I can't let her see me like this. I can't."

"You'll have to, sooner or later. But if you can't hash it out with Cecily, or Julia, or me, you have to spill it to someone. Go see the Professor, at least. He remembers what happened with Nicholas."

"I believe I shall, Willie. Thank you for suggesting it. After all the times I hurt you. . ."

"It's past. We have to stick together now. It's like these cats my mom

used to have. They just couldn't get along---always fighting over the food dishes, the windowsill, the porch, you name it. And the older cat lorded it over the other. But just let another cat come into the yard, and, man, were they ever buddy-buddy then, ganging up on it, and chasing it away. That's how we are when someone tries to take away something

we both want."

Barnabas forced himself not to turn his head away when he caught the last phrase. After Willie convinced him to have some coffee and a piece of Cellie's zucchini bread, Barnabas felt up to visiting the Professor. He called first.

Elliot heard the strange, sad note in Barnabas's voice, and told him to come over right away.

"I'll drive you over, if you still don't feel good," Willie offered.

Barnabas thought about how difficult his drive to the Shoppe had been,

this morning, stopping everytime the mirror caught his eye, and

starting out again, always having to look back for oncoming traffic. But at least, he'd been alone. If he rode with Willie, he might catch sight of the station wagon's mirrors, and then be mortified when Willie saw his reaction. Or, he could sit with his eyes closed, and arouse Willie's curiosity.

"I'll walk. It's a pleasant morning, and the air will do me good.

The bungalow is only a mile away."

Twenty minutes later, Barnabas arrived at the Stokes' home. The

Professor, attired in a Hawaiian shirt and slacks, for a picnic he planned to attend at the Ellsworth Portuguese Club with Fatima

Texeira, welcomed Barnabas in. "I just called Fatima, and told her

an emergency came up, and to go on to the picnic without me. It'll

be going on all day, so I won't miss much, before I get there."

"I'm so sorry to interrupt your plans."

"Nonsense. You sound like you need help desperately. What's happened

to you, Barnabas? I realize dealing with Nicholas can be difficult,

but even I can see you're depressed, almost to the point of requiring medical help. Didn't you talk to Julia?"

"I could only share so much with her. It's too--too upsetting."

Elliot put his hand on Barnabas's shoulder, and looked directly into his eyes. "What did Nicholas do, Barnabas? Whatever you tell me will be kept confidential, though I hope I can change your mind about telling your wife."

"This is what I was able to tell Julia, and Willie. I didn't want them to tell Cellie, just yet. Nicholas has foreknowledge about Cellie's baby. The child will be telepathic, as well as empathic."

"You believe him? How do you know this isn't some scheme of his to

get even with you for disrupting his Leviathan endeavors, and for

nearly getting him killed?"

"That's part of it, but the main point is, he wants Cellie's child, to rear in such a fashion, as to cause great harm, not only to the Collinses, but to the world at large. He would make a deal with both Cellie and myself, but he is determined to prevail, even if that doesn't come about. I believe his determination is, indeed, fueled by his earlier failure---perhaps this really is his last chance. I don't

know. But this time, I don't think he will fail." Barnabas fell into that peculiar, sorrowful silence.

"What does he have on you, Barnabas? The last time I saw you in nearly

this much despair, was back in 1970---just before you went back to 1840. The situation was grim then, but we won that round against the powers of darkness."

"In 1970, I didn't have the most tantalizing offer put before me, if only I should desist from pursuing my quest."

"What will Nicholas give you, if you hand him Cellie's baby?"

Barnabas said, "I can't even tell you, Elliot."

"You are sorely tempted, I can tell that much. But you are resisting,

somehow, so I know your heart is still in the right place. But, Barnabas, you know his offer is a lie. He won't come through, even

if you give him every child Cellie may have in the future."

"I know that, but he's created a situation, where I can't miss seeing what I might possess, if I take him up on his offer. In every

mirror---he loves playing with those damnable mirrors--- I catch a glimpse of the prize that, until he showed me, I didn't even realize

I wanted."

"Is it a woman, Barnabas? If so, I can see why you wouldn't want to tell Julia, but I believe, based on your past history with her, she would understand completely."

"Not just any woman. If only it was any other woman. I couldn't hurt Julia that much, to tell her that I would even consider such a vile offer."

"Very well, if you can't tell Julia, perhaps Cellie can--" Elliot broke off, when he saw the stricken look on Barnabas's face. "Dear God," he whispered. "He offered you Cellie? I hope you told him no."

"Of course I did, Elliot! If it had ended there, I woul

dn't be here now. I almost had several accidents, because I can't bear to look in the car mirror, or even the bathroom mirror this morning." Barnabas fingered several small shaving cuts. "I will never be able

to look my wife or my niece in the eye again. When Willie showed me compassion in my distress this morning, my shame was so great,

I craved death. How can I relieve this crushing lust in time to help

my family gird themselves against the real threat before us?"

"I could try hypnosis, but in this case, it would only be a temporary measure. I can't help you get around seeing Cellie. You can't abandon her because you're facing up to an uncomfortable fact of life, that no matter how happily and deeply one is committed to one's marriage, one can find himself or herself attracted to other people. Sometimes, the attraction can be strong. You and Cellie have a lot in common, and she is, even in her condition, a beautiful girl. But you understand

the limits of the attraction, and, if she has similar feelings for you, she must, also. I have never known her to be less than affectionate to her husband. And as for you and Julia, well, you both are more reserved, but I notice the way you look at each other, and talk with each other. You both are far better together, than apart."

"Coming from you, Elliot, that is a compliment, indeed."

"I have forgiven, and all but forgotten, that misunderstanding.

I get on very well with Fatima."

"Thank God someone is sure of their affections in this world."

"You are, too, Barnabas. But for some reason, that goes beyond just

pandering to a normal middle-aged man's fantasy, Nicholas is able to reach his fingers into your soul, and shake it to its foundations, with his tricks. There is more to this, than a fear of seeing sordid images in a mirror. It reminds me of those awful days when Roger was married to Cassandra. I've asked you, time and again, if there isn't something else that happened to you in the past, with her, or Nicholas,

to justify this obsession you have about concealing details of your early life."

"Someday, Elliot, when I truly feel all these travails are truly behind us, if that day ever comes. . . My family knows, and they support me.

I wish I could be as forthcoming with them, right now, as I have been, in the past."

"I know one thing, Barnabas. If you can get past this obstacle, you will find it easier to deal with Nicholas in the future. I just don't have an answer for you at this point. There must be a solution. We can't give in."

"I don't want to," Barnabas said, gloomily. "But defeating Nicholas is usually more a matter of luck than strategy."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Carolyn was at her station, behind the jewelry counter at the Antique Shoppe, when Willie came in with Cellie around eleven o'clock. "My

God, Cellie," she said. "You look like you escaped from the lobster pot at the Inn."

Cellie examined her reddened arms, and glanced toward an elaborate mirror over the red velvet settee, at her sunburnt nose, cheeks,and chin. Her eyes had an odd, raccoon-in-reverse appearance, dead white where her large sunglasses had covered them, contrasting with the red skin around them. The upper part of her bosom, exposed by the low-cut bodice of her sundress, was crimson. Even her sandal-shod feet were bright pink. Only her legs, shaded by the long skirt of the

tent-like dress, were shell-white.

"I told you, with skin like yours, you have to stay covered up, or under the umbrella," Willie admonished. "I can't believe you never got burned like that before, the way you forget."

Cellie answered with asperity, "I didn't just want to sit under that umbrella for three hours, and it was too hot to put anything else on. And my hat blew away on the ocean breeze. Next time, I'll make sure you're around, telling me what to do every minute I'm trying to relax." She folded her arms, and winced. The insides of her elbows were red, and it stung to bend them. She examined a wound on her arm. "Oh, Geez, what's this?" she asked in dismay.

"It's a blister, and it's opened up," Willie replied. "Come on upstairs, I'll take care of it for you." He gently touched her

shoulder.

"Ouch," she complained.

"Cecily, you have to be more careful. People with real pale skin can get sick from too much sun," he said.

"That's true. I got sun poisoning when I was about ten," Carolyn

chimed in.

"Okay. I bow to your superior wisdom, Will. I'll go quietly."

Cellie took her husband's hand, as he led her upstairs.

Carolyn watched them go, with concern. Their bickering seemed so trivial, in the face of the threat before them. Even without Nicholas to worry about, it was hard to believe that they would be adequate parents to a helpless infant. Willie was barely competent as a

pretend-daddy to his young wife, and, in spite of her flashes

of maturity, Cellie occasionally behaved like a petulant, rebellious thirteen-year-old.

Then, Carolyn tried to shake the anxiety from her mind. Of course, they would be able to pull themselves together, and care for their baby. She was just a worry-wart these days. Tony commented on it, last night. She'd told him about Nicholas's return, without going into detail about the probable motivations for his visit. Tony tried

to comfort her. They almost ended up in bed, something that had happened twice already. She couldn't unwind enough to let that happen; she couldn't tell if it was because of her current anxieties, or if it was her upbringing catching up with her. She thought she had changed from the naive bride she had once been. It was almost three years since she saw Jeb's agonized face slip beyond her view, to those rocks beneath Widow's Hill. . .

She began to cry a little, wiping her tears with the back of her hand like a child. She realized what held her back from being with Tony.

It wasn't morality, or anxiety. When Tony looked at her in a certain way, she recalled how her late husband had gazed at her in their few secure, relaxed moments, up till the evening he was killed. When Tony wore that lazily-affectionate expression, all she could see were the rocks that had waited for Jeb, obliterating any good thing that had happened up to that moment, mocking the meaning of any tender gesture,

any loving touch. "Sound and fury, signifying nothing," she thought, dispiritedly. "I guess I know what that means, now."

Something moved near her. She rose, half-expecting to see Cellie standing there, waiting to console her, as she had a couple of times before.

It was Willie. "I have to run to the drugstore," he said. "I got Cecily's blister bandaged up, but she needs some salve for the rest

of her burns. You need anything from there?" He looked closely at

her face. "You were just crying."

"I'm worried. About Nicholas, and Barnabas. About you and Cellie. About a whole lot of things."

Willie touched her hair in a comforting way. "You and Tony ought to

get away from here," he said. "Is he gonna marry you, or what?"

"I think it's too soon to tell."

"Cecily and I were able to tell in way less time than that. You have

to get busy. We're stuck, but there's a chance for you."

"I'm a trouper. I wouldn't desert you guys for the world. And there's the rest of my family to consider. This, too, shall pass, I'm sure."

"Well, if you ever need someone to straighten Tony out--- call Cecily." Willie smiled. "Look how she has me trained." He turned to go. "She's resting right now, but if you need her down here, she'll come. Just don't go off anywhere. Barnabas said she can't be left alone. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

Carolyn listened to the noise of the station wagon, as Willie drove away. She went into the kitchen to get some coffee. The front door bell rang. She went into the showroom, coffee cup in hand. She almost dropped it.

Nicholas stood before her. "Mrs. Hawkes. I'm sorry I didn't

re-introduce myself to you, when we nearly collided a few days ago. Confusion of the moment."

"No confusion on my part, Nicholas," she replied, hostility in her voice. "Why can't you leave us alone?"

"There's just something about the Collins family that draws me back,"

he said, moving closer to her, and stroking her arm. She pulled away, spilling some her coffee on the rug. She set the cup down on an old

end table. "Oh, Carolyn," Nicholas continued, "You know I've been interested in you for several years. Even when you married Jeb."

"I thought you wanted me to be with him," she replied. "I don't

recall that you wanted me, particularly. I can't remember too many details clearly, but there was to be a ceremony, and you were there

to officiate. . ."

"I assure you, giving you up to Jeb was a tremendous sacrifice on my part. If he and I could have changed places, I would have, in a heartbeat."

"He wouldn't have let you. And as for a sacrifice, your so-called friend killed him, anyway. Are you going to do something to Tony,

too?" Tears ran down her face.

"Tony isn't significant enough to warrant killing. I suspect he isn't

satisfactory to you, either."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Nicholas grabbed Carolyn, and held her tightly, while he kissed her

with a curious mixture of viciousness and tenderness. He loosened

his grip, but she held on, and kissed him back. Then she turned away, panting, red with shame. "Don't look away, Carolyn," he said sternly. She faced him again. He looked into her eyes. He ran his fingers along both sides of her face, and gently pressed them against where her jaw joined her neck. He ran them lightly down both sides of her throat,

and down her shoulders. He kissed her again. She moaned softly.

"Nicholas, don't. . . someone may come in. Why hasn't Cellie come

down---" Carolyn gasped, as though she'd revealed a state secret.

"Yes. Cecily will be down shortly, but you won't be here. You have to go downstairs."

"Downstairs. Yes. You'll come with me, won't you?" She asked, in a dazed voice.

"Not right now, but we'll get together, later. Would you like that?"

"I have to see Tony tonight."

"For the last time. Then we'll get together, at my place. You'll

know where to go, when the time comes." Carolyn turned to go downstairs. She gazed back at Nicholas with longing.

Cellie came down from her room. She had been mulling over what Willie told her while taking care of her arm, that their baby would be able to read minds as well as emotions. She was still worried about Nicholas, and about the possible problems raising such a child might entail, but she was rather proud. She put aside these thoughts, when she sensed Carolyn's distress. But she couldn't bring herself to get up right away, and leave the comfortable breeze generated by the air conditioner.

Maybe Carolyn and Willie were right about getting sick from the sun. Cellie fought off the logy feeling, and was finally rewarded with a burst of energy.

"Carolyn, are you okay? Sorry I couldn't get down here sooner--" She came to the last step, and stopped when she saw Nicholas. He walked directly to her, and took her hand.

"Mrs. Loomis. Cecily. Just the person I wanted to talk to. How are the Sherbrookes these days?"

"Just swell, no thanks to you." Cellie yanked her hand away. She tried to read him, and, as had happened before, came up against an icy stone wall.

"Maybe you should thank me. Maybe I had more to do with their baby's cure than the God you pray to."

"On the other hand, maybe not. I prefer to think so. It's my baby

you want, that much I know. And my husband told me why. Where's Carolyn? Why won't Barnabas see me?"

"Cecily, Cecily." He carressed her arm, as he had Carolyn's. But Cellie was untroubled by repressed lust. She pulled her arm away. "Dear Cecily. I'm only here to ask you a question, and then you won't have to see me for a while. What do you fear most, and what do you desire most?"

"You really think I'm going to tell you?"

He took her by the arms, and kept trying to catch her eye. She moved

around. Finally, he grabbed her roughly, and forced her to face him. She fought, but she was becoming weaker. He said, "Tell me what you fear, Cecily. What you desire."

"I desire you to get your filthy hands off me."

He squeezed her until she gasped. "Let's get serious, Mrs. Loomis."

"Alright, alright," she said. He released her. Cellie thought of some

inoffensive answers. "I fear death in childbirth, okay? I fear my husband won't live to see our baby grow up. I desire to go to

college. I desire to be happily married until I'm a hundred. Do I

get an 'A', teacher?"

"Don't play with me, Cecily. You're as evasive as Barnabas.

He's another fine one for not admitting certain truths to himself."

"So, you pulled this crap on him, too, huh? It must have been a dilly of a head game. Well, maybe he wasn't ready for you. But I am."

"A child like you? What, are you going to 'read' me, and give me cramps, like you've even done to your husband on several occasions? Tell me how you feel when I tell you that, not only can I block your readings, but I can cause you to misinterpret and misdirect them? Want to take me on now, Mrs. Loomis? You know, I don't want it to be this way. You are going to bear a very special baby, Cecily. I don't wish to deprive you of it, not completely. If you go along with me, I can make it worth your while. And your husband's while, if he agrees."

"I don't think so. We'd all be better off dead than living in the type of world you envision, with my child as its dictator."

"My kind of world would have a good deal more stability and order, than

the one you now inhabit."

"Hitler gave Germany stability, and made sure the trains ran on time.

Did that justify his actions?"

"Even I would have to admit, he did go overboard, and, as the saying goes, there was Hell to pay." Nicholas smiled at his joke. "I can assure you, though, the same mistakes would not be made by your child. Your little one was destined for a great future from its conception. You and your Willie should be proud of yourselves, getting it right

on the first try."

"We didn't conceive a despot, we conceived a baby to bring us joy,

and hope for our future. It's not yours. It's ours."

"Cecily, even if the child was ordinary, you couldn't guarantee either its future happiness, or your own. My outcome would be guaranteed.

You and Willie, and any other children you have, would only benefit

from a new world order."

"I spit on your new world order!" she sneered defiantly. "Give me disorder, any day of the week. That's how things really get done."

"You want disorder? What if I showed you the truth about what you most

fear, and what you most desire? What will you do, when you discover, they are one and the same?"

"That's bullshit, and you are the biggest bullshit artist I've ever met."

Nicholas pulled Cellie toward the mirror in the showroom. "Look into the mirror, Cecily."

"I'll do no such thing. And let me go. You're hurting my sunburn."

Nicholas stood, considering, for a moment, then said, "Well, looking in any mirror may not be necessary in your case. I have a feeling you're going to find out, on your own, very soon."

"I'll do that, and then call you up so I can laugh my ass off over the joke."

"You won't laugh, when you find out." He let her go. "Give my regards to your husband, and Barnabas, if he ever comes back. And tell Carolyn she can come upstairs now. It's been wonderful, doing business with you Cecily. I'll have to call again, sometime."

* * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Barnabas still would not return to the Antique Shoppe, or the Old House, even though he knew Julia wasn't there. She'd had to go to WndCliff to tie up loose ends, delegating some of her patients to the care of other doctors, so she could obtain the free time she would require to help her family through this latest crisis.

He walked around town, aimlessly, not looking into windows, in a haze of despair. Elliot had wanted to accompany him, but Barnabas insisted he needed to be alone. Heading back in the general direction of the Shoppe, Barnabas found himself near the Koffeehaus. The dark, stained-glass windows had an opaque sheen in the afternoon sun, an attractive sight to a man who'd spent the entire afternoon studying the sidewalks in an effort to avoid glimpsing a polished surface. Barnabas entered the brick building.

A few people sat around the stage, listening to a woman playing guitar. Barnabas glanced at her. A small sign near the stage indicated that this was Latilda, whose song had transmitted the missing clue that led Cellie to guess the truth about himself. She wasn't singing right now.

He approached the bar. He watched as Pavlos and a younger man, who also appeared to be Greek, prepared sandwiches, and then filled two espresso urns, both much larger than the one at the Antique Shoppe. The reflective surfaces of the urns were so distorted, Barnabas didn't fear seeing any disturbing images. Pavlos turned from his labors, and saw Barnabas, clutching his still-damaged cane. (Cellie had suggested that Barnabas let Lisa the silver-and-goldsmith have a look at it, and that

if she couldn't fix it, she might know someone who could. Barnabas, who felt he needed a palpable reminder of his harsh behavior back in February, had, so far, refused to even consider it.)

Pavlos came right to him, grabbing a cup and saucer along the way, and

placing it before him. "Ah, Mr. Collins," he said pleasantly. "This is only, what? The third time I've seen you since our Flame's wedding party. How are you?" He studied Barnabas's wan face. "You are not feeling well, I can tell. Well, have a cup of coffee, and tell Pavlos. Regular or espresso?"

"Regular, please. And don't fret about me, Pavlos. I don't want to keep you from your work."

"Talking to people---that is what I like best about this business. You needn't tell me your secrets. A little idle chit-chat can be just as rewarding." Pavlos got the regular coffee pot, and filled Barnabas's cup. "I've run into your wife at the Superette. A lovely woman. Her niece doesn't take after her much, though, but for the hair. She is much more like her delightful mother. I should have liked to get to know Janice better, but she kept talking about a fellow called

'Justin.' "

"Janice's employer. At that time, she fancied him. As far as I know, though, she's still available."

"Ah, well, if she visits you again, I would like to see her, very much."

"I'll have to tell Julia."

"And Cellie---how is she this day?"

Barnabas stared at the bar. "I haven't seen her today."

Pavlos observed him closely. "Are you having a dispute? You seem upset. I know how fond you are of each other. Is it about Willie?"

"Not--not exactly. I'd rather not say."

"I tried to call her today, to tell her the audition tape is finished. But she's out, at the beach, I understand."

"Yes. With my cousin David, and his girlfriend. What's an 'audition tape'?"

"A demonstration tape, to send to a recording company, for an audition.

It was supposed to be a surprise. You see, my cousin, Aristotle, owns

a professional recording studio in Boston. About three weeks ago, I

had him send in some equipment and one of his recording technicians, to record some of our amateur hours, to be editted into record form. The records should come out around Christmastime. It's a promotional gesture, so the records will be quite inexpensive. There were some professional-calibre performances, and your Cellie was one of

them. A record executive from New York heard her sing, and we were preparing a separate tape, with just her solo."

"That's wonderful. This is the first I've heard of it."

"Like I said, it's a surprise for her nearest and dearest, except for Hallie, who faithfully accompanied her on her walks. Even Willie

didn't know. Perhaps you would enjoy hearing some of it. It might cheer you up."

"I suppose. I'm in no hurry to get back to work."

Pavlos led the way to his office, a small room with a tiny window, filled by his desk, an ornately carved cabinet with icons of some of Pavlos's favorite saints displayed on top, and a stereo with very

large amplifiers. There was a cassette player hooked up to the amplifiers. Pavlos closed the door, and popped in a cassette.

Cellie's clear alto soprano rang out, accompanied by a piano, guitar, and drums.

"Your cheatin' heart will make you weep.

You'll cry and cry, and try to sleep.

But sleep won't come, the whole night through.

Your cheatin' heart will tell on you."

Barnabas became uncomfortable. He tried to cover his embarrassment.

He commented, "An interesting choice, for a song to impress record executives."

"Cellie wanted samples of several different styles. This one is a bit more positive."

"Music is playing inside my head,

over and over and over and over again,

My friend, there's no end to the music.

Ah, summer is over,

But the music keeps playing

and won't let the cold get me down."

"That, I've heard her sing to herself, around the Shoppe," Barnabas said. "Very spirited."

"It was one of her most popular performances. She dances around, till she gets dizzy. Occasionally, people bring children in here, and they go wild for her. Cellie has one particular fan, a young girl who comes around by herself, dressed in a most unique old-fashioned style. Very independent little person. Cellie assures me she can take care of h