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 herself."

"Sarah," Barnabas thought. "Pavlos sees her. When will she return to me?" Aloud, he said, "People should be more careful, looking after their children. They can be snatched from us in the blink of an eye."

"Indeed. The age of the child doesn't matter. And death is not the only loss. Loss of trust, loss of innocence---they sear the soul. Ah, well. One must rise to the challenge of the threat of loss. " Pavlos pressed the button again. "I suspect this is Cellie's favorite."

"And each time I tell myself

Well, I think I've had enough,

I'm gonna show you baby,

That a woman can be tough. . .

Take another little piece of my heart. . ."

"That is how I like to think of her, standing up to someone or something that would hurt her, and turning it around to her advantage. Or making peace with that someone or something, if possible."

"You know her pretty well. That is how I prefer to think of her, myself." Barnabas thought, "Better to think about her that way, than

to think of her in bed with her husband. . ." His respite from his unhappy thoughts had been brief. He felt restless again. The brittle sense of encouragement crumbled, as he rose to leave.

Pavlos said, "We will make her a star, one way or the other. She will be the famous author-artist-singer-psychologist-lawyer-housewife-mother. So much, rolled up into one. I have faith, there will be time enough for everything. You must have faith, too, as she does."

"I don't know. . . My faith is shaky, these days."

"Just getting into your car, and trusting that you'll arrive at your destination safely is an act of faith. Sometimes, one must cross the deepest river, or the thickest forest, on faith, even if there seems to be no reason to believe."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Willie arrived back at the Antique Shoppe a good while later than

he'd intended. His station wagon had stalled out at the drugstore,

and he had a hard time finding anyone willing to help him jump-start

the battery. He walked into the kitchen in time to see Carolyn, standing over Cellie, who was resting her head on the table. "What happened?" he asked, anxiously.

"She won't say. She was like this when I came up from the cellar," Carolyn replied.

"You should have closed the store, and sat with her upstairs."

"I might as well have. There haven't been any customers in hours."

"That's wierd. But only just as wierd as my car stalling out like it did, with a new battery. Are you sure nobody's been around?" Willie studied Carolyn carefully. There was something different about her. She was a little breathless, a little hyper, not fretful like before. Something was up, but Carolyn wouldn't tell him. He would have to get Cellie to tell him.

"Cecily, Cecily," he whispered. "I got some medicine for your sunburn, my girl. We'll go upstairs, and I'll put some on you."

"Can't go. Gotta wait for Barnabas," she mumbled.

"He still hasn't been back?" Willie asked.

"No," Carolyn replied. "Elliot called here to say he went for a

long walk, and didn't want company. Then Pavlos called. He stopped

at the Koffeehaus, and left, as depressed as when he came in. I think we all took turns calling Julia. If he doesn't get back in an hour, we'll have to go looking for him, maybe even call the police."

"Why wait? You sit with Cecily here, and I'll take a run in the Beetle.

I don't trust my car too much right now."

"No, you stay, and call Collinwood. David might be home by now, and he

could help search. I'll go. I need some air right now, anyway. Any ideas about where I should look first?"

"You could scope out the side streets, and then head out of town a ways. He's a fast walker when he wants to be, but he might have taken a taxi if he wants to go out further. I just don't like him being out there with Nicholas, God-knows-where."

Carolyn left. Willie locked the Shoppe, called David (who agreed to join the search), and coaxed his wife to stand up, and put her arm over his shoulders, as he half-carried her upstairs. He was astonished to see bruise-marks on her sunburnt arms. Someone had gripped her so tightly, the large bandage he'd placed over her blister was askew. "Cecily, who was here while I was out?" He demanded. "Nicholas was here, wasn't he?"

Cellie nodded wearily. "He wanted to ask me something," she whispered.

"About the baby?"

"Yeah, kind of. What do I desire? What do I fear?"

"Don't think about that right now. Wasn't Carolyn here? I told her not to leave you."

"I think he did something to her. Turned her on so good she couldn't think straight. The orange light I saw, when she came up from the cellar, stung my eyes like peeled onions. But she got better by herself. Good thing, because Nicholas tired me out. She doesn't seem to remember a thing, and I do think she'll really look for Barnabas, at least right now. I just wish he was back here."

"I'll call your aunt, and then I'll take care of you." He left, and returned five minutes later. "She's almost ready to leave WindCliff. She'd have left sooner, but one of her pet patients went ga-ga at the last minute, and refused to be calmed down by anybody but her."

"Do you detect a pattern here? All these delays?"

"Could be. Or it could all be a coincidence."

" 'Paranoia will destroy yah'," she sang. Willie helped her off with her sundress. Cellie removed her chains. He rubbed the salve he'd bought all over her upper back, and shoulders. He kissed her back and neck. "Oh, Will," Cellie said, "Not while there's a crisis."

"It's just a kiss, Cecily."

"Okay. I want to rest again. So I'll be ready when Barnabas comes back."

"You want your dress back on?"

"Not right now. It feels good with the A.C. blowing over that cool stuff you put on me."

Willie was going to join her, when he noticed his shirt was dirty, probably from dealing with the car in the heat of the day. He took it off, as well as his chains, and lay beside her, holding her hand, as

she lay on her side, facing him. He kissed her again, but she closed her eyes firmly. In a few minutes she began to snore lightly.

He stayed awake, touching her middle, which vibrated under his palm, and listened for any noises downstairs. He almost dozed off, when he heard a loud rattle at the kitchen door. He looked out of the window closest to the bed, that didn't contain the air conditioner.

Barnabas stood below, looking up at the window. For some reason, when he glimpsed Willie, Barnabas got a queasy expression on his face.

Willie opened the window. "Why are you at the back door, Barnabas?"

"I forgot my keys when I walked out this morning. But the gate was open."

"Okay, wait a minute. I'll be down." Willie turned off the air conditioner, and woke his wife. She protested, but he said, a little loudly, "Come on, time to get dressed, Cecily. He's back."

Cellie raised her arms so he could slip the dress over her head. He

put on a fresh shirt. In their haste, they left their chains on the nightstand.

Cellie stopped in the bathroom, before she came down. Willie went on ahead, and opened the door. Barnabas walked in, and sat without

looking at him.

"We were worried, Barnabas. Nicholas was here, while I was out, and he hassled Cecily and Carolyn. Carolyn and David went to look for you. I thought it was best to stay with my wife."

"I'm sure it was," Barnabas said, a little angrily.

"What's the matter, Barnabas? You sound sore. I don't understand why."

Barnabas, remembering Willie's bare shoulders, thought, "You were so

worried you took the opportunity to make love with her."

"I'm gonna call Julia. Maybe she hasn't left work yet."

"No, that's all right. She'll probably stop by here on her way home,

in any case." Barnabas turned to stare at the shiny new toaster on

the table. He savored the image that met his sight. No use pretending he didn't want to see it, or that he cared about whether Willie noticed.

"Barnabas, what are you looking at?" Willie was frightened, now. Barnabas wore almost the same expression of contempt as when he caught Willie and Cellie coming out of the shower together, five months ago.

Cellie scampered down the stairs. Barnabas snapped his gaze back down to the floor, and all she could sense was heavy shame and sadness around him. She stood next to where her husband sat. He automatically put his arm around her, and rested his cheek against her belly. The baby moved around. Cellie knew Willie held her like that as much for his own reassurance as hers. He was afraid of Barnabas again.

"Barnabas," she began. "What happened to you? How can I help you?"

He looked up. She sensed a deep orange wave of lust emanating from Barnabas. He was evidently experiencing a monstrous imbalance of some kind. She realized he wanted her, desperately, painfully, as much as Willie had wanted her when they first got involved. She felt a strange sensation in her chest, a reciprocal chord of desire in her own heart. She told herself it was merely a reflex, and shook it off. At that moment, Barnabas turned his head away, and she could now feel his intense shame, again, and the self-hatred she'd discovered in him,

back in February.

She approached him cautiously. Willie tried to hold her back by her reddened arm. "I don't know what's wrong with him," Willie said.

"I thought, before, that you could fix him, but now I'm not sure you

should even try. At least, not until Julia gets here."

"I want to, I feel like I should," she answered, hesitantly. "I don't know--"

"Don't," Barnabas begged, his eyes filling with tears. "You don't know how bad this is, and your baby might be damaged. Next to defeat by Nicholas, that is the thing I would hate most to see happen."

"What did Nicholas do, Barnabas? Did he make you feel this way?" Cellie gently inquired.

"He cannot make me feel something that wasn't there to begin with.

I'm sorry, my dear. And Willie. Sorrier than you will ever know."

"Feel what?" As soon as he asked, Willie knew. Years of experience had taught him the probable answer. "Cecily, don't go near him. You know what he's thinking about. Maybe you always did," he concluded in a voice of defeat. He began to wish he'd let her shoot Barnabas two months ago.

"But he doesn't want to feel this way. I have to help him. And you don't get it, Will. As long as he's like this, it's more painful for

my insides than if I work on him."

"Cecily, remember what happened the first couple of times you took over

MY emotions? The first time, you damn near starved to death. The second time, you ended up in the hospital. You've been straining it

the past couple of days, with the Sherbrookes and their kid. And Nicholas came by and wore you out."

Barnabas temporarily rose above his brooding, dark feelings. "Cellie, what did he say to you?"

"Oh, he tried to play the mirror game on me, Barnabas. What did he

make you see in his mirror, Barnabas? I can't help you if you don't tell me."

"Cecily, don't get too close. Wait for Julia," Willie urged.

"Please, Will. If you can't bear to watch, I'll go with him into the office."

Willie looked at her, so pretty in her low-cut sundress, even with all that sunburn; her coppery hair tied back so hastily, half of it tumbled around her shoulders. He'd be damned if he left the two of them alone. He knew he had the ability to break her concentration if he deemed it necessary, but she would just get angry if he prevented her from doing what she felt she needed to do. So he sat silently, hoping she wouldn't probe too deeply.

"Now, Barnabas," Cellie said, as she knelt before him, taking his hands, and gazing into his dark, tortured eyes with her clear, innocent-looking blue-grey ones. "Tell me just what Nicholas said."

Barnabas whispered in her ear. Cellie said, "It's a lie. Barnabas, what do you see when you look at me now?"

"I see you, and--and Willie---I know you two were doing something upstairs when I came here just now---I hate him!" Barnabas cried.

"Hate who, Will or Nicholas?"

"Both. I hate them both. But Nicholas will give me what I desire. Cellie, if you give Nicholas the baby, you and I---we could be together."

"And what will happen to my aunt and my husband?"

"They'll be provided for."

"Like hell they will. And I won't give up my child. I wouldn't give

it to nice, well-to-do white Christians. I'm certainly not giving it to the original Devil's Advocate."

"Cellie, please." Barnabas grasped her by the shoulders. "This was meant to be. I'm no good to Julia, and as for you and Willie--"

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY WIFE!" Willie yelled. He tugged on Cellie's arm. "She's MY wife! MINE! I LOVE her! I got to her FIRST! She

only sleeps with ME! She's having MY baby! YOU got your OWN wife! Julia loves YOU, and you know you love HER. THIS IS CRAZY! Barnabas, PLEASE don't take my wife away from me. You tried to before. I'll

KILL you if you take my Cecily away!"

"Nobody's taking me anywhere. Will, let me go! I can't--can't deal with two heavy emotions at one time. I have to--have to make a

choice--" Cellie shook her husband off, and grabbed Barnabas's hands. "Barnabas, this has to--has to stop. I won't leave my husband."

A painful wave of longing swept over her. What was happening? she thought wildly. "I don't want this, I don't---Do I?"

Willie, sobbing now, grabbed her, but he felt her tremble violently.

He couldn't stop what was going on. An odd thought popped into his mind. Something about the jewelry they'd left upstairs. Why should

he remember---then he knew. Those crosses. "Cecily, please, come with

me, upstairs. . ."

Cellie released Barnabas's hands. "Will, it's--it's okay.

I'm fine, really, I think."

"The baby, the baby!" Willie rubbed her belly. His baby moved under his hand. "Barnabas, are you okay?" He didn't really care, but he

was so relieved his wife and child seemed to be alright, he was willing to forgive and forget.

"I feel light-headed, empty. Cellie, aren't you supposed to cleanse the

emotion and transmit it back?"

"I thought I did. It felt like it. I guess there's only one way to tell." Cellie broke from Willie, and impulsively embraced Barnabas.

"I don't feel anything at all," he began. Then, without warning, Cellie kissed him passionately, trying to force him to open his lips. Willie went into a rage. He reached for her, and tried to tear her away. She kicked him behind her. He didn't want to hurt the baby,

so he forced himself to wrestle her away more gently.

In the first instant, Barnabas responded to her kiss, a physical rather than an emotional reaction, and pulled her from her husband. But he felt the baby thrash about as he held her close. He ran his hands down her back, not to caress her, but to find a way to ease her from the embrace. As soon as Willie saw Barnabas trying to extricate himself from Cellie's grasp, they began to work together to pry her off.

Cellie resisted at first. She said to Barnabas, "You know, we

can make him"---indicating Willie---"Do anything we want him to do."

"Cellie, you don't mean that."

"Oh, yes. If we go upstairs, we can even make him watch. Can't we?"

She looked confused.

Willie took advantage of her hesitation. He got her freed, and

forced her to sit on his lap. She had become very fatigued, suddenly, and rested with her face, hidden by her hair, against her husband's shoulder.

"Are you satisfied, now, Barnabas?" Willie asked, hostility in his voice.

"Willie, I'm sorry. She chose--"

" 'Sorry' don't mend the wounds. And damn it, she's still a kid.

A brave, smart kid, but she really jumps in head first sometimes. There's some choices she shouldn't have to make. Barnabas, Nicholas

or no Nicholas, I have to get her away from you."

"Perhaps you're right. I regret the fact that I'm not the wholesome

influence on her, that I believed myself to be."

"Maybe you're a good guy sometimes, Barnabas, but there'll always be something about you---the way of life you left behind. What are you going to tell Julia when she gets here?"

"I honestly don't know. This may be the end of the road for us. No woman of her worth should even have to consider forgiving such an offense."

"She'll hate Cecily, too. My God."

"I doubt that. It's my fault. I could have broken from her, before

she started. I was in such misery, I couldn't think straight. Now I know how it was for you."

"I just hope this little make-out session was the last of---OOOW!" Willie screamed. "Cecily, what are you doing? Stop! STOP!" He jumped up, Cellie still clinging to him, her face under its drape of red hair. Willie was rough with her now, trying to shove her away, but she hung around his neck. Tears ran from his eyes.

Barnabas pulled at her, but she wouldn't budge until she was done. Willie finally held her away from him. Her teethmarks were on his neck, close to his shoulder. She'd managed to break the skin in some places, and blood trickled down the front of his shirt. Willie gazed at Cellie with anger, grief, and disgust. His blood stained her finely-shaped lips, her dainty teeth. She smiled slyly. "You're HIM!" Willie shouted.

He slapped Cellie across her sunburnt face. The sound echoed in the kitchen. She began to weep. "You hurt me," she mourned. "You said

you would never hit me."

"Cecily, Cecily. I'm so sorry. My girl. You're you again," her husband said, crying now, himself. "Forgive me, please. I had to

make you back into YOU. Please, I couldn't let you be Him."

"She isn't me," Barnabas said. "Not anymore. I can feel it now.

She is herself."

"Who is me?" Cellie wept. "Who is Cecily? Is she you?" She faced

her husband. "Or you?" She turned to Barnabas. "Or David, or Carolyn or Aunt Jule? Am I ever really just me? I can't remember when I was just me. Maybe when I was a kid. Even when I'm me, I'm two people." She rubbed her abdomen. "I don't know where Cecily is. She goes away when the others are here. 'In the brightest light, or in the dark of

night,' " she began to sing, in a sad little voice. " 'No-one knows, she comes and then she goes. . . When I change with every new day, who's going to miss---Cecily. . . ' "

Willie could endure no more. He covered his mouth as though he was going to be sick, and ran out the kitchen door.

"Willie, come back! Don't leave her now!" Barnabas turned to

his niece, towards whom he no longer felt that poisonous, vicious

lust. She had taken it, and transformed it back into the gentle, fatherly feeling once more. But at what cost? She knelt now, crying hard, against the seat her husband had just vacated. Barnabas decided that if Julia, Carolyn, or David didn't come back within ten minutes, he might have to take her to the hospital. He called home. No answer.

White mist gradually appeared near the stairwell. Sarah walked

directly to Cellie, and touched her arm. Cellie looked up. "Sarah," she sniffled. "Who am I now?"

"Why, you're Cecily. You're my bud, remember?" Sarah touched Cellie's red face. "Poor Cecily. You're so hot. It's not good for ladies in a delicate condition to strain themselves. Mama always said so. You go upstairs, and wash your face, and lie down. I'll come up and see you in a while. Go on, you'll be safe, now." Cellie trudged up the stairs, looking back at Sarah as she went.

When she was gone, Barnabas sat, gazing at his sister with deep sorrow on his face. "My God, Sarah. I'm so horribly sorry. How can you stand the sight of me?"

"You're my big brother, and I love you, and I want to help you."

"But I inflicted the traces of my former self on a helpless pregnant girl, and caused her husband to abuse her because it made him relive what I used to do to him. I lusted for my niece. I can't face my

wife. I betrayed everyone I care for in one sweeping gesture."

"Barnabas, it wasn't your fault this time. The bad person made you

see shameful pictures, and it hurts you that Cecily has to be a real person when she's with her husband. She had to help you, you wouldn't have gotten better any other way, but she went in too deep."

"There's so much more to it---the baby. Nicholas will take it from her."

"All is not lost yet, Barnabas."

"Sarah, Sarah, what can I do to make amends? I asked you that before,

and I did what was right. But now?"

"Barnabas, stop feeling sorry for yourself. This was necessary. Like

a test. Cecily had to use her power. Nicholas may have set it up,

but it will work against him, in the end."

"But she may grow weaker as her pregnancy advances."

"Not if she has Willie. They work together like those bumpy wheels that

turn each other."

"You mean gears?"

"Yes. And you will be a better man from now on, so you'll help.

And, Barnabas?"

"What, my best little sister?"

Sarah smiled. "Oh, Barnabas, you know I'm your only little sister. Barnabas, you have to show her love. From now on, you won't be

bothered with the old fears, and needs, and desires. Your love for

her is clear as spring water."

"But what about Willie, and Julia?"

"It will take time. Willie is going to be a sad man all his life, but Cecily is the bright sun for him. He just has to know she isn't going away from him, that nobody is going to take her away from him. And Julia will understand."

"What will I understand, Sarah?" Julia stood in the passage between

the showroom and the kitchen.

Sarah stared at her with an expression of pity, and disappeared. Barnabas looked at the floor. Julia could see his face turn red.

"What happened here today, Barnabas? Why did I see Willie peel out

of this street? Where's Cellie? Carolyn? Why couldn't they find

you

this afternoon?"

"I was trying to escape what I thought was the truth about our future, and Cellie's with Willie. Cellie and I drove Willie away, and I fear that he may not return."

"And what truth was that? What would make Willie leave a wife he loves

so much?"

"That I will never leave my past behind, and Cellie wants to be like

me to the point of co-opting my former habits."

"She read you, and tapped into your old vampire feelings. How clever

of Nicholas, to divide and conquer in the nastiest way possible. Of course you scared Willie away. That's the central trauma of his life."

"You should have---No, I'm glad you didn't see what she did to him.

He slapped her, to snap her out of it. That made him leave, as much

as what she did."

"He doesn't want to return to behaving like the rotten creep he used to be," Julia said. "Oh, God, Barnabas. Now we have to reunite Cellie with her husband, and fight Nicholas. We can't prevail without their standing together."

"What about you and I?"

"Barnabas, I'm a psychiatrist. You don't think I saw something like this coming? It does hurt me. But I can see she fixed you up. And probably injured her own psyche doing so. But, of course, it was necessary." Julia sighed, rather bitterly, and touched her husband

on the shoulder. He held her hand. "Where is Cellie now?"

"She went upstairs to rest."

"I'll look in on her." Julia went quietly up the stairs, and tiptoed into the bedroom Cellie shared with Willie. The girl lay propped up with all the pillows on the bed, on her side, facing the door. Julia thought she was awake, but when she walked closer to the bed, she heard Cellie snore. Cellie's sunburnt face had a fresh-scrubbed look, but Julia could see spots of blood on the bodice of the sundress.

Julia glimpsed a crucifix pendant on the nightstand, and hung it on

the bedpost over her niece's head. She stroked Cellie's hair, and

then left the room.

Julia came down again, and sat next to her husband. "She's sleeping peacefully. Now, we have to figure out where Willie is.

And Carolyn was supposed to be out, looking for you, as well as David. We have to reconnoiter, somehow."

"I could go out, and check the taverns. Maybe I'll run into David or Carolyn on the road."

* * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Cellie woke up thinking she'd slept for hours, but when she checked her alarm clock, it read seven o'clock, just an hour-and-a half since she'd collapsed on the bed. For a few seconds, she glanced around, looking for Willie. Then the realization hit her like a ton of bricks. He was gone, and he wasn't coming back. She was Barnabas, as he'd once been, long enough to frighten her husband and turn him against her forever. The baby kicked her lightly. Even this very special child wouldn't be enough to draw him back. Knowing that Nicholas would stop at nothing to get it was just another good reason for Willie to stay away.

Cellie buried her head in her pillows, and began to cry, a painful, tearing wail she managed to stifle, just in case anyone downstairs

heard it. She felt a hand on her arm, and heard a female voice say, "Whatever Nicholas showed you, it's the truth only so long as you

choose to let it be the truth."

It wasn't Julia's voice. Cellie lifted her head. A woman in a long white dress sat in the chair by the bed. Cellie lifted her eyes to

the woman's face.

She was beautiful, probably the most beautiful woman Cellie had ever seen. She was blonde, and had light ocean-blue eyes set in a delicately-molded face. She gazed on Cellie with a benign, almost tender expression.

"Angelique," Cellie whispered.

"Barnabas must have described me well," Angelique said. She had the "lilting" voice, and the slight foreign accent Cellie had heard about.

"He also said you were good now."

"Well," the spirit laughed, "I would say, as far as my salvation goes, I'm definitely on the recovery list, but I have quite a way to go

before I'm cured. That's why I'm here."

"Nicholas. You're going to help me--us--fight him. You gave Sarah the medicine that saved little Marcus."

"Yes. Only don't think, for one moment, these are all altruistic gestures on my part. This is part of Sarah and Ben like to call 'penance', but I also have the utterly selfish desire to get even with Nicholas. I'll have to pay for that, also, but it will be well worth it. Not that I don't like you, my dear. I can't recall, exactly, the last time I liked another woman, and one whom Barnabas fancied, at that. That part of my redemption must be taking hold. I'm not in the least jealous of you, or Julia, either."

"That's a relief. I kind of admired you, when I heard about you.

I mean, not the bad stuff you pulled. I love the people you hurt,

too much, to condone that. But you never let anyone get away with anything. I don't take crap from anybody either."

"Unless you love them. That's how I came to be zig-zagging back and forth in time, tearing after Barnabas. I won him over in the end,

you know. But that Trask fellow who shot me---if you want to avoid making enemies, Cecily, don't ever go killing someone's father, and

then stealing her or her betrothed. I paid for Barnabas's doings,

that time, and after narrowly escaping a death sentence, too. All to please him by helping his friends."

"I'm his friend."

"Rather more than that. But you re-balanced matters. Your aunt and your husband, even if they don't believe it, certainly have nothing to fear from your relationship, not now, at any rate. You have grown in your skills. Every time you use your gift, the distinction between

what emotions and images you've absorbed and your own become clearer, and the use you can make of them diversifies. When the time comes for you to face Nicholas again, you will be ready for him."

"How? I'm pregnant. Every time I read someone, it tires me out,

unless my husband is with me, and on my side. He's gone." Cellie

wept.

"You will be able to stand on your own again, someday."

"But Nicholas won't wait for that! He'll be right outside the

delivery room, waiting to grab our baby as soon as it's out."

"Perhaps, but then again, perhaps not."

"You can stop him?"

"Not forever, and not for long. I am no longer in the real world,

but in the spiritual plane, so my powers are limited. But it can be arranged so that you may be able to learn what to do when the time comes."

"His heart is like cold, dark stone."

"You must seek the back door. There is always a back door. Seek out the colors. Someday you will know what all those colors really mean, Cecily. Only then, will Nicholas be done for. But that will only

save your child for a time. When the child is older, a choice will be presented to him, or her, as to how his or her talents will be best used."

"Can I prevent that?"

"Could anyone have prevented you from making the fateful choices you

made? From giving yourself to the man you later married? From using your power, for good or ill? I could not be dissuaded from my own course. But that is a part of life. Innocence was almost designed to be lost. The trick is to have accepted enough guidance to know when

one must part with innocence, so it is to one's advantage, rather than to one's grief. And it's most important, that the individual makes

the choice for himself or herself. That is what will be gained for

your child, if we can defeat Nicholas."

"I guess I can accept that."

"I knew you would. You are most sensible. And you continue to learn.

Who do you think has been dusting off those books for you?"

"You! I thought it was Sarah, or Ben, but they never said, and I just

assumed---or I thought, maybe, it was the Indian."

"Indian?" Angelique appeared to be very interested.

"Yes. I believe he was killed in a massacre by Nathaniel Collins,

back in 1643. He wants me to help him find someone. But I didn't

think the Indians of that era read English."

"No, no. They didn't, unless they spent time with missionaries." Angelique suddenly seemed anxious to change the subject. "Well.

You attract some interesting friends, my dear. You can count me

as one. Go back to sleep, now."

"But I have to go look for my husband."

"Sleep. It's most important that you sleep, right now. Sarah is

here now. She will sit with you."

Cellie looked to the foot of the bed. Sarah approached her, and held herhand in that peculiar light, warm clasp, like resting her hand in

a pile of down-feathers. Cellie felt her eyelids get heavy again.

The last thing she heard before she drifted off was Angelique's voice,

saying, "Two more things, Cellie. Never doubt your own identity. And we will meet again."

* * * * * * * * * * *

David Collins tooled around the outskirts of town in the very beige Buick. He'd searched every street in Collinsport, first, for Barnabas, and, having checked back at the Antique Shoppe to find Barnabas conferring with Julia, he headed out again to look for Willie. He backtracked to Collinwood, and searched around the grounds, even peeking, a bit fearfully, over Widow's Hill.

He headed back to town, when he'd satisfied himself that Willie wasn't hiding in one of the familiar places, or dashed to death on the rocks. He'd actually walked into the Blue Whale, something he'd never done before, on the chance that Willie might be in there. An ugly, slobbery middle-aged blonde woman tried to follow him out of the bar, but she

was called back by a sailor with whom she'd been drinking. He called her "Melinda."

"Jack's Mom," David thought, with both pity for Jack, and disgust at Willie. He'd overheard Carolyn talk with Maggie about the time they dragged Willie home, just as he was about to be picked up by this Melinda person, while Cellie was in Connecticut. "Oh, well," David thought, "Obviously Willie's not looking for a date with that critter tonight."

Emboldened now, he went into the other, newer bars that had

opened up on the recently-restored Main Street, and finally went into the Koffeehaus. Pavlos had already received calls from Barnabas, and shook his head, as soon as he saw David.

On the road again, David was running out of places to go. He decided

to take a short run up toward Chartville. Maybe Willie had

run to the home of his and Cellie's newer friends, the Detweiler-Braithewaites. If not, it might prove worthwhile to check the bars

in Chartville. David hoped he wouldn't have to drive

to Ellsworth. He wondered if Carolyn had ever stopped back at the Antique shoppe, discovered Willie was gone, and headed there herself. He hoped so, for the last time he'd been there, nobody had heard from her in hours, either. "Damn," he thought, "I'll be out all night looking for the whole family before the night's over."

He turned onto Eagle Hill Road, the older, shorter route to Chartville. He hadn't been up this way since the strange, sad little funeral of Natalie De Pres. He shuddered when he recalled Forbes's dog, and the sword singing as it flew through the trees. Cellie had helped them all that day, and he recalled the way she cleaved to Willie, when that dog would have torn out both their throats. "The good little helpmeet,"

he thought. He couldn't believe what Barnabas had said, about what

Cellie had done to her husband. "If you'd only seen her when she brought him home from the cemetery back in May, Barnabas. She knew how he suffered. She couldn't inflict that on him. She lived it, through him. And she knew where to find him."

"Where to find him." David wasn't surprised when he saw the station wagon parked near the cemetery. For someone whose most horrible memories centered on this place, Willie seemed to be inexhorably

drawn to it when he felt his worst.

David got out of his car, and, even though it was getting dark, easily found the path to the mausoleum. Its gate was open; that was no surprise, either. What surprised David was the sight that met his

eyes when he entered.

Willie stood in front of the secret door, holding a small pistol to his temple. He fingered the trigger. David resisted the instinctive urge to wrestle it from him. Instead, he said, "Willie. For God's sake. What a stupid thing to do. What are you going to prove by blowing your brains out?"

Willie said, in a tiny voice, "That He won. This is where everything began. This is where I have to finish it."

"And what will Cellie think, when she wakes up tomorrow, and looks around for you, and we have to tell her what you've done? What will

she be able to tell your kid about its Dad?"

"She'll be taken care of. The baby will be better off without me,

like we were when my Dad left. They'll be able to protect it better, without me around."

"That's all bullshit, Willie."

"She doesn't love me, anyway. She hurt me, like He did."

Then, David saw the bite-mark on Willie's neck. It hadn't really bled all that much, but the blood had stained Willie's thin shirt extensively, and the wound itself was starting to fester. "So much for husbands and wives being able to share germs," he thought. Aloud, he said, "Willie. Put the gun down. Come home with me. I won't take you back to Cellie and Barnabas. We'll go see Julia. She'll help you take care of your, uh, hickey. You have to do something about it, or you'll get a huge infection."

"Where I'm going, I won't have to worry about infections." Willie held the gun firmly, and tickled the trigger again. David knew he'd probably have to get it from him the hard way, after all. Willie continued, "No more infections. No more having to do what I don't feel up to doing, anymore. No more worrying about what He's gonna do next. I'll have peace at last. I'll be free."

"Right. You'll be free. You'll have peace." David's voice dripped with contempt. "You'll have peace, all right, just like Josette had, and Jeremiah, and all the other self-destructive cowards this boneyard is chock-full of. Did death give them a rest? Hell, no. And your case is worse, Willie, because you have responsibilities to live up to. Josette wandered around for almost two hundred years, before Cellie got her problem licked. Someone like you, leaving a pregnant wife, who can't do the job she was put here to do without your help, leaving your

sister and brother behind like you did before, leaving your friends---I'd say you were good for at least four hundred years of miserable ghost-walking! So, go ahead, pull the damn trigger! Find peace!"

Willie stood still, as though he was considering the younger man's words, just long enough for David to jump him, knocking him to the marble floor. David grabbed the fist that clenched the pistol, and banged it against Naomi Collins's crypt. The gun dropped, and fired, missing David and Willie by inches. David used every move he'd

learned in football practice to tackle the older man, and get hold of the gun. He struggled up, and aimed it at Willie. "Get up right

now. Move!" David tried to sound like a cop in a T.V. show.

It was a good enough imitation for Willie. He stood up, arms hanging listlessly at his sides. "I don't have to raise them, do I?" He

asked, seriously.

"No! No, man. You know, it's a good thing I'm not a cop. I'd have

to arrest you. Attempted suicide with an illegal weapon. Where did

you get this thing? It looks more like a statue of a gun, with all

that carving on it."

"It's Barnabas's. I snuck into the Old House to get it."

"He'll be mad as hell. Well, Willie, time to face the music. I don't know if I trust you to drive your car back to the Antique Shoppe."

"Don't worry, I'm going back. I guess I have to talk to Cecily."

They got into their cars, David following Willie's closely. They came to an intersection. To the right was the beach road. Willie caught sight of Carolyn's yellow Mustang heading down that road. He called

out his open window to David. "Where does she think she's going?"

"You got me. I thought she was out all day, looking for Barnabas, and then, you. We'd better check it out." They took the right, following Carolyn's car.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Most of Nicholas Blair's cottage WAS quite ordinary. It was galling

to him, that he hadn't been provided, this time, with the necessary resources to make himself comfortable while he exerted himself on his Master's behalf. He couldn't even count on his own carefully-conserved earthly investments; the worldwide economic slump some of his brethren had been fomenting had affected them adversely. For the first time since he could remember, he was, according to his standards, almost poor. He tried to be philosophical about it; if he succeeded in his present mission, both earthly and infernal rewards would be his.

Still, in the meantime, he managed to maintain some of his old style, including the furnishing of the master bedroom. He had refurbished the shabby boudoir he'd found himself saddled with, and turned it into an adequate den of seduction, complete with the sorts of cushions, satin sheets, and implements that women, these days, seemed to prefer. While he awaited the object of his desire, he occupied a smaller, sparsely-furnished bedroom.

Now, he surveyed his handiwork, wondering if, perhaps, the effect

wasn't a trifle garish, rather like a "honeymoon suite" in a cheap motel, or the best room in a bordello. He remembered, the rooms at Collinwood were tastefully, if eclectically, furnished. What he'd managed to create here wasn't been up to his usual standards, but one had to do the best with what one had to work with, he thought. He

was sure that Carolyn wouldn't complain.

Nicholas came out to the parlor to gather the bottles of Champagne he'd gone all the way to Ellsworth to purchase. As he reached for them, he heard a familiar, tinkling laugh. He turned around.

"Angelique," he whispered.

"I just can't go anywhere without being recognized these days," she sighed.

"What are you doing here?"

"A tiresome rhetorical question. What, Nicholas, haven't you been gleaning from your mirrors today?"

"I've been busy. I'm expecting company. Very special company."

"Yes, I can tell. Busy-ness becomes you, Nicholas. You look younger than you have in years. I guess your mirrors told you it was time to draw out that dainty chin of yours with a beard, and to get rid of that scratchy mustache. It's about time they told you something worthwhile. You know, Nicholas, I've always felt that it was your voyeuristic tendencies that held you back from greater things. The mirrors are a tool, not an avenue for your lustful entertainment."

"The lot you know about lust anymore, my dear, moving in righteous circles as you're doing, these days. My Angelique, becoming an angel

at last. It's almost funny."

"I don't view it as a disadvantage at all, Nicholas. I see it as an opportunity for new, and different adventures."

"Attitude is everything, I'm sure. How's Barnabas these days? Miss

him much?"

"Surprisingly little!"

"And yet, you're working for his cause. How typical of you." Nicholas's expression became crafty. "It wouldn't take much, you

know, for me to put in a good, er, bad word for you in the right

places, and we could join forces, almost as before. Allowing for

your current limitations, of course."

"I don't think so, Nicholas," Angelique shrugged. "I'm not into

instant gratification, anymore. I found it wasn't really instant, or gratifying, either. And I've discovered a late-blooming affinity for members of my own sex. I'm no longer locked in perpetual rivalry with Barnabas's other women."

"If you had seen him with the luscious Cecily this afternoon--"

"But I did! And I knew immediately, who was the author of that ugly incident."

"Not so ugly, really," Nicholas smirked. "They make a splendid couple. They certainly sent Willie packing. Packing heat, that is. I decided he could be dispensed with, after all. I haven't checked lately, but I'm sure his tortured brains are decorating the walls of the Collins family tomb, even as we speak."

"How did you know he wouldn't come back and kill his wife and Barnabas?"

"I leave nothing like that to chance."

"If that's the case, check your mirror."

"Perhaps I will." Nicholas picked up an antique mirror, and lifted the lid. What he saw made him drop it. The glass shattered on the plain wooden parlor floor. "He's driving his car, and the Collins boy is behind him. They're headed in this direction. I shall have to do something about that."

"You'll do NO such thing, Nicholas."

"And how shall a mere ghost stop me, Miranda?"

Angelique turned her head, at the sound of her original name, the name

she'd left behind when she was granted immunity for testifying against her mentor in witchcraft, Judah Zachery, back in 1692. Then she

looked Nicholas in the eye. "I have ways and means," she replied in

a level tone.

"I'm shaking in my shoes, Miranda. The deed is done, even as we speak.

By the way, speaking of this sisterhood you seem to have joined, have you heard from your own sister lately?"

Angelique's normally confident expression dissolved into one of grief.

"I--I have no sister. Not anymore. . ."

"Of course you do," Nicholas crooned. "Medorah Du Val. Your little sister, who admired you so, until you were whisked away by the authorities, and sent into exile. Well, she followed your example, and joined our little gatherings. We needed fresh blood, once you were

gone and Judah was dead, more or less."

"I told her not to join the coven, to stay where she was, and have a normal life if she could. I thought she grew up, married, and died

when it was her time, like anyone else."

"Well, she's had husbands and lovers over the years. And she even became a Francophile, just like her big sister. She left Maine, and went to France, and then down to Haiti. She even took a new name,

like you. She's been calling herself Desiree, though she has many

other aliases. If you allow me to pursue my course, not only will I spare your friends, I will see to it that you and your sister are reunited."

"That is a LIE, Nicholas. You've already sabotaged Willie and David, and my sister is surely lying in her grave."

"Don't believe me, then. It's nothing to me, one way or the other.

I will win."

"As I SAID, Nicholas, I have ways and means."

"What, your little spirit friends? Sarah and Ben, and maybe Jeremiah and Josette? Please don't humiliate yourself more than you have

already done."

"As if I would. No, I'm not relying on my little spirit friends, as you call them. I'm relying on a gift. I have a special gift for you."

"Beware of ghosts bearing gifts. This wouldn't be of a Christian nature, would it? Even though I have little trouble with such trinkets, I still hate to get them."

"No, but it's quite unique. I think you'll appreciate it. It's pretty, really."

"Oh, well, show it to me, then. I can overcome the spell on any talisman you taunt me with."

Angelique held out her hand.

What Nicholas saw, made him turn away, made him blanch. "Where--where

did you get that?" he demanded.

"A little something I picked up on my travels, from a mutual friend, you might say." She dropped it on the coffee table, next to the Champagne.

It was a necklace, delicately wrought of purple quahog-shell beads,

with stations of carved pink quartz wolf's paws. At one station, there was, anchored between two white-quahog beads, a large, pierced English guinea, with a worn date that read "1610."

"Tell me where you got that!" Nicholas roared, "Or I'll--I'll--"

"You'll what, Nicholas? Disperse me? I don't think so. The message

is clear, don't you think?"

"Yes--yes. You've won this round, Angelique. You and--and your friend."

"You know what you have to do then. And do it with dispatch."

"This doesn't mean forever, Angelique. I will return, and even that--" he pointed to the necklace "-- won't stop me."

"We'll see about that," she said, and vanished, leaving the necklace where she'd dropped it. Nicholas picked it up. Holding it gave him a burning sensation in his fingers. He laid it down, gently.

Carolyn would be here soon, but he realized he had no time to deal

with her. There was just time to arrange the other small matter.

That having been done with a swift glance at another mirror on the table, he prepared for departure.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Willie and David had a hard time keeping up with Carolyn. She sped on down the road, around corners, getting lost in the maze of nearly identical beach cottages. Finally, when Willie thought he had a clear idea where she was going, he tried to slow his car to take a corner, onto a street that would be a short-cut directly to the beach. The station wagon continued speeding, going down the tiny hill. Willie hit his brakes, again and again. To make matters worse, he noticed David's Buick, following close behind, seemed to have the same problem. They were both going to crash, probably into the lone tree he saw on the corner, and into each other.

Willie's last thoughts, before he hit the tree, were of Cellie and the baby. David had risked his own life to save Willie for his family, and now, both friends were going to die anyway. Willie fought the urge to close his eyes.

The two cars stopped dead, just inches from the tree, and each other.

A couple of cottage-dwellers, who'd heard the squeal of the tires in the final seconds, came running out, to offer help, and to gawk. Willie got out of his car, unaided, and went up to David's Hupmobile. David sat, shaken, but in one piece. Willie said, "We have to go on, before one of these summer people calls the cops and gets us tied up with drunk tests. Your brakes work okay now?"

David pressed the pedal. "Feels like it. I guess we were saved, this time."

"Yeah. For dessert," Willie replied, half-smiling. "Let's get out of here. I think I know where to go."

They waved off the small crowd that had gathered, and went down the road Willie had intended to follow. They came up behind Carolyn's Mustang, now parked in front of the last house on the dead-end road, closest to the beach. She sat in the car, staring at the cottage.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Carolyn had been driving around for hours, looking for Barnabas. She was about to turn back to the Antique Shoppe, in the hope that he'd finally returned on his own. She drove by the building Tony lived in, and, as it was after five, decided to stop by, and see if he was home. She wanted to tell him that their date had to be postponed, on account of her continuing search for Barnabas. What was to have been a simple announcement turned into a major argument, and she didn't know why.

Tony was still out on the sidewalk, locking his car, when Carolyn pulled up. He'd said, "Of course, I understand, Carolyn. I'll get back in my car, and help you search, if it's still necessary. Why don't you call the Shoppe from here, and find out if Barnabas is back?"

"No, no---I don't want to go inside, alone with you." Carolyn's tone had changed, from gentle concern to petulance.

"Oh, you're thinking about last night," he said, sadly. "I'll go and call if you like, if you'll just wait here." He went in, and, returned a few minutes later. "He's back, safe and sound. Now they're looking for Willie. My offer to help still stands."

"That's quite all right. His choice of possible destinations is

smaller than Barnabas's. Either David or I will be sure to run into

him somewhere, soon."

"If he turns up and all is well with him, will I still be able to see you tonight?"

"Is that all you think about?" she demanded.

"No. I'll understand, try to, anyway, if you don't feel up to it, after driving around all day. I just wanted to re-connect with you, to assure you that I'm not an uncontrollable sex maniac because I want to be with you, in the absence of a marriage license."

"I was looking for consolation, and ended up rolling around on your bed."

"You seemed to want it as much as I did, at first. Then you froze up. That's okay. I understand. We've both had painful experiences, in the past few years. We're not getting any younger, but it's hardly too late. We have time. I've become a rather patient man, and I do love you. If it bothers you so much right now, there's no hurry. Maybe we'll get to the point where we can start talking about marriage, and then we'll end up waiting for the wedding night anyway."

"I don't know if I'll ever be able to bring myself to get married

again. I don't know if I can stand the possibility of being hurt like that again."

"You said it youself, Carolyn, you know whose doing that was. But,

then again, perhaps it was meant to be this way. Just like my break-up with Lee Anne."

"How can you COMPARE the two events? Didn't anyone ever tell you that you should never say 'it was meant to be' to a bereaved person? Or that you shouldn't compare a major loss to a trivial one? Some lawyer you are, with your foot always in your mouth. It's a wonder you can argue

a case."

"Carolyn, that's not how I meant it at all."

"I don't think I will concern myself, any more, about how you mean anything. I'm going." Carolyn started her car.

"If that's how you want it, Carolyn." With a heavy heart, Tony stood on

the sidewalk and watched as she drove down the street, and disappeared around a corner.

Carolyn drove around aimlessly for another hour or two, when she felt

a sensation in her head, like a lightswitch flicking on in her brain.

She remembered what she was supposed to do, and she knew where she had to go.

As she drove to Nicholas's house, she felt a pleasantly uncomfortable twinge. In spite of what she'd said to Tony, she did crave lovemaking. Just not Tony's lovemaking. She was panting, as she approached the cottage at the end of the beach lane. She even ignored the fact that Willie and David seemed to be following her. Nicholas would make them go away. And they did for a time, until she parked her car in front of the last house on the isolated street.

Both David and Willie got out of their cars, and tried to keep her inside hers. "Let me out, you morons!" She shouted. "I have an appointment with Nic--Mr. Neville."

"No way are we letting you go have the most fun you've had in years, Carolyn," David said, with an uneasy laugh. "You'll just have to try to find Mr. Right someplace else. If you let that creep touch you, we might as well kiss Cellie's baby, not to mention Cellie, good-bye. Bad enough I almost had to kiss Willie good-bye." He shuddered.

"Just stop it with all your dopey jokes, David," she hissed. "This has

nothing to do with Cellie--"

"Damn straight, it does," Willie yelled. "If he even gets to just one of us, it's all over. David stopped me before I could work up the

nerve to shoot myself, and in the mausoleum, yet."

This news proved sobering to Carolyn. She knew Willie wouldn't joke

about something like that. She sat quietly, considering. As they waited there, the darkening sky suddenly filed with light. The windows of Nicholas's cottage became unbearably bright. David, Willie, and Carolyn closed their eyes. They heard a whistling noise. When it stopped, they opened their eyes. The windows had gone completely black.

"What the Hell was that?" Willie asked.

"It's like a nuclear bomb imploded in there," David commented. "I hate to show concern for someone like Nicholas, but I kind of hope he wasn't, like, killed or anything. I'd hate to scrape HIS guts off the walls.

I REALLY hope we didn't become radio-active, standing here

like this."

"I have to find out," Carolyn shouted. She opened her car door, and broke away from her cousin and her friend before they could stop her. She ran up the short walk, to the front step, and tried the door. It was unlocked. She gingerly flipped a switch, and was surprised to see the light turn on. She explored the interior. David and Willie came

to the front step, reluctantly. She stepped out to join them, clutching something in her hand. She pulled the door shut.

"He's gone. No luggage, not a trace of human, or other habitation,

in there. It looks as though it's been empty for months. Except for this." She opened her fist. They saw an oddly pretty necklace, of purple and pink beads, with a large, brown coin for a pendant.

"I wonder why he would leave a thing like that," Willie said. "It

looks Indian. Maybe Cecily will be interested in it."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Cellie woke up for the second time. The alarm clock read seven-thirty. The sun illuminated the drawn shades. It was morning, and still,

Willie wasn't beside her. She began to cry, as she rose, slipped on

her sandals, and tiptoed downstairs.

She saw her husband at the table, his head resting on his arms, sleeping. He had a large bandage on his shoulder, and a different shirt. She heard the hiss of the espresso urn. She walked quietly

out to the table in the showroom, and saw David working the spigot, filling a cup.

"Torchtop," he whispered. "back in the land of the living, I see." He kissed her cheek.

"What happened? Where's Barnabas and Aunt Jule? Where did you find Will? Did you catch up with Carolyn? I had a sneaking suspicion she might have been sneaking off to Nicholas's lair."

"Rhymes with 'Blair'. Browning has nothing on your poetry, Cellie. What a lot of questions! To start, Barnabas and Julia went home as

soon as Carolyn and I dragged Willie in. When I told them where I

found him, they didn't get angry at all, thank God."

"Where was he, David? What did Barnabas and I drive him to?"

"Straight to the mausoleum, the birthplace of all his sorrows. He almost shot himself, Cellie. As you can see, I managed to stop him

in time."

"Oh. Oh God." She wept. "He almost died because of me. What I did to him. What I did with Barnabas."

"No, Cellie, not because of you. You gave Willie a bad scare, but by now he should understand how your power works. He really went off the deep end because he's full of himself, in a way, like Barnabas. He lets his old problems make him forget what he should be doing, what he really wants to do. The first thing he said, when he got calmed down, was 'I have to talk with Cecily.' He'll be okay. He helped me rescue Carolyn, only it turned out, she didn't need rescuing. We almost did, though. We lost our brakes, going down the beach road, but were saved at the last minute."

"Nicholas, Nicholas, Nicholas. His scummy fingerprints are all over this mess. So, what do you mean, Carolyn didn't need to be rescued?"

"Old Nick's gone, Cellie. Lock, stock, and barrel. We thought he spontaneously combusted, but I guess simulating the bombing of Hiroshima was just his way to avoid paying a cabdriver to haul him

out of here."

"You'll have to explain it to me in detail, later. But I can tell you who may have been responsible for his timely departure, and your rescue. Your former stepmother. Barnabas's ex. Angelique."

"Why would she---oh, yeah. Almost forgot. She hated Nicholas. Just

so long as she doesn't hate any of US anymore."

"I don't think so. I'll have to tell Barnabas. What did he and Aunt Jule do when you all came in?"

"Willie wanted to wake you up right away, but your aunt said you needed your rest. She wanted to take him to WindCliff, straightaway, but we---including Barnabas, talked her out of it. She ended up giving him some pills, and agreed to leave him be if I stayed with him. As for Carolyn, she was all wrung out, like a dishrag. I think she had some kind of fight with Tony, before she headed for Nicholas's."

"Well, if she has trouble settling it, I'll help her, later. Now I have to spend some quality time with my husband. Thanks for bringing him back alive, David." She hugged him.

"Anytime, Cellie. Anytime. I would do anything for you. You know that." He kissed her forehead. "It's not something I can explain to Annette, or any other girl. It's a funny feeling, love that isn't thoroughly corroded with lust. A little bit, but I'm holding my own with it."

"The earlier you learn how, the better. The right girl will come your way, David. You have to be patient."

"I'll try. Now, I'll be out of here, as soon as I drink this, and

have a piece of whatever cake you have here. I'll bring your stuff

back from Abijah's cottage. Just call me to tell me when you're ready."

After he left, Cellie went into the kitchen, bearing the soiled utensils. She wondered if Barnabas would be opening the Shoppe later that day. Now that they were free of Nicholas for the time being, perhaps it would be best to immerse themselves in the trappings of normal life as soon as possible.

Willie stirred. Cellie wondered how anyone could sleep for hours in that position. She decided to get him awake, find out where she stood with him. She gently shook his shoulder.

He looked up at her, and threw his arm around her waist. She kissed the

top of his head. She could sense his internal struggle---the traces of his anger and sadness competing with his love and contrition. "I'm sorry," he began.

"No, no, hon! It's MY fault. I don't listen to you when you warn me. For a while there, I thought I really screwed things up. The thought that you might be dead now, except for David---It's all my fault. I couldn't stop myself."

"How did it feel to be Him, even for a few minutes, Cecily? How did it feel when you chewed on me?" Willie said, with a weary, taunting edge in his voice. "It's not enough that I do everything you want me to, I guess. I hated Him once, but I always loved you. I loved you even when you did that. I know you couldn't help it. But did you feel love, or hate, or anything, when you were Him?"

Cellie thought for a minute before she answered. She looked at the floor, trying to keep from crying, which was what she felt like doing when she saw Willie's tired, defeated face. "It's hard to call it a feeling. It's not like what I got when I had your emotions. It was

a--a totality of obsession, I guess you'd call it. Obsession with dominance, and power, but no heart in it, no joy in the trappings of power. It's as if you were living in a beautiful castle with all those jewels you used to love so much, but the delight has been snuffed out. You only know you have to have the stuff around you.

"Even the sexual part of it---I wouldn't have cared for the feelings or pleasure of the other person. It wouldn't have mattered to me if it was Barnabas, or you, or both. There would be no real feeling of pleasure, period, except in the demolition of someone else's will. The destruction of dignity. I guess, like rape, but worse, because, in this case, the rapist doesn't even give a damn about what he's getting out of it, he's just stuck on a rape treadmill." Cellie sank to her knees next to her husband, laid her head in his lap. "Now I know what you've tried to get away from, and I understand why you think you can't."

Willie stroked her hair, and looked into space. "I just had that hopeless feeling, like I can't ever get away from Barnabas, and what

He did, in the past. You have too much in common with Him, Cecily. You're both control freaks. I let both of you gang up on me, and run

me around. But I guess it must be what I really want."

"Not if you wanted to kill yourself, to escape."

"I don't think I was really going to shoot myself. I was standing in that mausoleum for a long time, holding that gun to my head, and trying to decide if I wanted to go through with it. I was always afraid to die. Barnabas always played on that---if I wasn't so afraid of dying,

of the way He might have made me die. . . Well, maybe once, I worked up the nerve, in the beginning. I caught Hell for that. After, I could just barely talk Him out of stuff he wanted to do, but I could never fight with Him. Maybe I'm a better guy than I used to be, but I'll never really be brave, not in that way."

"If you still want to live, and stay with me, and you can still tolerate Barnabas, you're probably braver than you give yourself credit for."

"That's a real nice thing to say, Cecily. But I got such a pain in my mind, as much as in my neck, when you did that---I tried to tell you how much I was messed up before. I just wanted it to be over. Still, it's wierd---just like back then, I hated doing whatever He made me do, but it was a kind of, I don't know, closeness to someone. You understand what I'm saying?"

"Will, we're close, you and I. Do you think our closeness hurts you? Or do you miss being close to--- Is this really about MY relationship with Barnabas, or YOURS?"

Willie turned away, his face turning red. "Sometimes. . . But then, I get with you, and it drives all that out of my mind. I want to believe we're just normal newly-weds, jumping all over each other the way we do, even though I heard enough from other guys, that usually doesn't happen when the wife is as far along as you."

"So now, there's something wrong with me because I still want some kind of lovemaking? Do you think you're wierd because you still want me?

Do you use me to forget your other problems?"

"Maybe, maybe not. I can feel you work on me when we do that, a lot more than I used to. I want that, as much as the sex. It's closer than close." Willie tipped Cellie's chin up, and kissed her. He said, "It's kind of strange that other guys still seem to want you, too."

"Some men like pregnant women, I've heard. But you shouldn't have to worry about that anymore. Barnabas is better, maybe for good. And David accepts that we can only be friends."

Willie said, "I'm always trying to tell myself, Barnabas is really okay now, and you just react to the vibrations he puts out. But it's more than that. This time, you did what you once told me I always did, defending Barnabas, choosing him over me."

"I guess it won't do any good to argue that it wasn't a conscious choice, anymore that it was when I shielded you on the stairs, back

in February, or, last month, with the dog. I admit, I was unfaithful

to you, in a way, and I hurt you." Cellie touched Willie's bandage.

"How can we get past this? Where do we go from here? Do you still

love me? Do you want to leave me, or would you like us to move? I guess we can just as easily face down Nicholas anywhere else."

He stood up, lifted her to her feet, and held her. "No, we don't have to leave. I don't want to take you away from everyone who knows and accepts us, and start all over someplace else. Not till after the baby's born, and safe, anyway. What happened with Barnabas. . .It's what you had to do, I guess. It's part of who you are. I'm sorry I smacked you."

"It's what you had to do."

"I won't stop you if you want to leave me because I hit you."

"After what I did to you, you want to stay with me. Will, we're still decent, and we still love each other. This isn't something we're going to do, everyday, continuing the 'cycle of abuse' in the Loomis family, or the slave-master hate-love thing you had with Barnabas. It's just

a blip on the radar screen. Now that Nicholas is gone, we can concentrate on getting back to where we were before he showed up.

Even though he showed us ugly things we keep buried most of the time,

I know we were in a good place, once. It's not so far away. We can

go back there, right now." Cellie led Willie upstairs.

"See," he said, "We can't get enough of each other. I wonder what

it's going to be like, when the baby's here."

"We'll start fussing and obsessing over it to the exclusion of everything else, and never leave it alone for a second. There's no half-way measures in the way we do things. The baby will probably get tired of us, long before we're tired of it."

When they were lying down in their room, Willie said, "Later, you'll have to see this necklace thing Carolyn found at Nicholas's. Barnabas was supposed to take it to Professor Stokes's this morning.

It looks like your Indian pal has been busy."

* * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Barnabas came back to the Shoppe late that afternoon. He walked in, very quietly, as though he was afraid he'd wake someone up.

Cellie was at the sink, peeling potatoes for a huge bowlful of her casserole recipe. She had sent Willie to the Superette for supplies. She sensed Barnabas's presence before she heard him---taking over his emotions had widened the scope of her ability to read him, almost as thoroughly as she could read Willie.

She put down the potato and her peeler, wiped her hands, and went into the office. She didn't speak at first. He was generating waves of dejection, and a little shame.

"Cellie, I want you to know, last night, I offered your aunt the option of divorce, or even annullment, after confessing to what we did."

"Oh." Cellie found her voice. She asked, quietly, "What did she say?"

"She was terribly hurt. She wept, and so did I. She said you're too headstrong and heedless in the use of your ability, and that I am so 'hung up', as she puts it, on what I perceive to be my mission in life, that disaster was almost inevitable. In short, what happened, would have happened, Nicholas or no Nicholas."

"Will said pretty much the same thing. I don't know how he can still love me after what I did, what I almost drove him to do."

"You weren't entirely to blame."

"I know that! But it hurt him something awful, seeing his worst fear come true. He's always terrified that I'll be unfaithful to him, and you're the first natural target of his anxiety, followed by David. I love all of you, but it would make things easier if we could get away from here, at least for awhile."

"Even if you didn't have to worry about Nicholas, would that really help?" Barnabas asked. "There are other men who might become interested in you, and you in them. That's what Nicholas tapped into, the temptation. Willie would become jealous all over again, and then, there would be no telling what he might do. At least here, you, David, and I have come to understand the rules and limits of our relationships, and Willie is held back from drastic action by his memories of what

went before."

Cellie looked at the floor. "I wanted a normal marriage, without having to resort to intimidation and fear to keep what I have intact."

"This IS what you want, Cellie. You knew, in the back of your mind, what you were getting into when you committed yourself to Willie, and even before, when you read Ben's diary, and Sarah came to you. Perhaps Willie was a means to an end."

"No, no, no!" She cried. "I love Will with all my heart. I wanted him from the day we met, before everything started. And he wants things to be normal, too."

"Sometimes, I wonder about that. Willie complains and balks at what he's called upon to do, but, even in the absence of what made him participate before, he still goes through with it."

"He admitted to much the same thing," Cellie said. "It's like, he

was angry and unhappy, but in the end, we kissed and made up, like we always do. How can people get over things that easily, and return to the fray as if nothing happened?"

"It wasn't easy for Julia and myself. She stayed in the cottage overnight."

Cellie concluded, sadly, "So it's over. Nicholas won this round,

after all. He got two pairs to break up. I don't know what to do

about Carolyn and Tony, either."

"No, he DIDN'T win. Julia DID come back this morning. She forgave

me and you. She'll come by, later, to tell you. She's had years of practice, forgiving me." Barnabas recalled the morning's events. He couldn't sleep for most of the night; even if Julia didn't share his

bed on a regular basis, until the last few days he always felt

reassured when she was nearby. At last, he'd managed to get an hour's sleep. Then, suddenly, his eyes flew open. He glanced at the other, empty bed--- but it was empty no longer. Julia sat there, watching him sleep, with an inscrutable look on her angular face. "I've come to give you my answer, Barnabas."

Barnabas rose from his bed, and sat next to his wife, with a supplicant expression on his face, and in his voice. "Whatever you've decided, will be alright with me, Julia. I hurt you terribly. Perhaps I was over-optimistic about our chances for success in our marriage. But I swear on my mother's grave, I DO love you. If you forgive me, I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you. If we must part, I would beg you to consider remaining my friend, as you were before. . . Alright, that IS a tall order. Then, let us be allies, for Cellie's sake, if you're disposed to forgive her---"

"I have! She wasn't responsible for this mess. And, after a long night of wondering what's been happening to you, as I spent so many nights in the past, I can't do anything else but forgive you as well. You're a weakness of mine, Barnabas, an addiction, without which I can't survive long." Julia sunk her head on his chest. He held her for a while, then, like any other husband making up with his wife, pulled her down on the bed, and sealed their truce with an enthusiasm that surprised them both. "You ARE human, after all, Barnabas," Julia whispered afterward. "Now, if only a child could result from this. . . It would be like a new beginning for us." For once, her husband put aside the impulse to make his standard arguments against such longings, and simply nodded.

Barnabas became very warm when reliving that part of his memory, something that didn't go unnoticed by his niece, who smiled understandingly. Then, Cellie said, "Will's just getting started on a lifetime of forgiving me. You know, Barnabas, I sense that, every time he forgives me, he's forgiving YOU, little by little."

"Perhaps, what you're doing is akin to homeopathy, where he receives small doses of his former ill-treament, and becomes a little better able to withstand the pain of his memories."

"That's not how I would have chosen to help him, if I really had a choice," Cellie replied. "I was sickened by what I did, once I got straight. When I saw his blood smeared all over my mouth, I threw up."

"That's precisely what I wished I could have done, the first time I attacked someone," Barnabas said. "You see, I wasn't immediately transformed into the cruel wretch I later came to be. For a long time after I was cursed, until I was chained in the coffin for so many years, I tried to maintain my old interest in human concerns, and I hated to cause suffering."

Cellie stared at the floor. "I know I do. I knew it even before I ever turned someone's stomach. It's not what I want to do with my abilities. I don't want Will to confuse what I can do with what you did."

"Admitting that you're capable of such behavior, and wanting to change it, would be the first step, in your case. You are fortunate, in that you can learn to control your actions, and even refuse to practice your skill. Even though I restrained myself on many occasions, I had no choice, in the end, but to find another. . . resource."

"It had better not be too late, for me and my resource," Cellie said.

"I think Will's been comparing us since he first noticed that I could relieve his temper. He called us 'control freaks.' You know what that complimentary phrase means, don't you?"

"You and I have similar characters," Barnabas admitted. "That much is clear. We both like having things, and people go our way. But there's a parting of the ways, when it comes to love, and being honest with oneself as well as with others. You are also not the self-justifying type. I realize you are honestly dismayed at the paths your abilities sometimes lead you down, and that you are confused at times. But you aren't afraid to voice your doubts, or ask for help, or just advertise your distress in hopes that the answer will come to you. Perhaps, as you once told me, it is the heightened expectation for red-headed boldness that carries you along."

He smiled, then continued. "I was always a quieter sort. I carried that reserve into my night-life. The necessity for self-preservation dictated that reserve govern every part of my existence, and once I was cured, I still had to hide my past. I couldn't just shake it off, even when I married your Aunt, who knows everything about me, and loves me anyway. And as for making excuses for myself! It's like I told you that night, two months ago. I justified every terrible thing I felt compelled to do, by telling myself it was worth it to advance my family's interests, even if it meant snuffing out certain family members, or permitting them to be snuffed out."

"What about now?" Cellie asked. "How does Aunt Jule feel about your future?"

"She told me she still wants to try to give me a child."

"Even with this threat still hanging over our heads?"

"You will give birth soon, yourself. We must live as normally as possible, while we have a respite. Having a child is betting on the future. It gives one a reason to fight for a future, to make that

it's a good one."

"You're right. And we have help in the fight."

Barnabas pulled the shell necklace from his pocket. "The Indian has

been at work, I see. Elliot identified this trinket as being a part

of a sachem's ceremonial dress, either for a funeral, or as a talisman used in rituals to bring vengeance down on one's enemies."

Cellie said, "I believe the Indian was summoned by someone who's interested herself in our mission, someone you know very well. Angelique. She appeared to me last night, and announced that defeating Nicholas is a part of her penance that she won't find particularly distasteful."

Barnabas replied, "I guessed she wasn't far from us, when you told me about baby Marcus's cure. That's just what she did for Sarah, once I agreed to marry her--- the biggest mistake of my life, I used to think."

"Perhaps it wasn't a big mistake, in the long run, if her desire to help is sincere. I sensed that it was."

"That still doesn't explain why a Native American talisman should cause Nicholas to up and leave, when all his plans seemed about to come to fruition."

Cellie replied, "I remember, Angelique's ears perked up when I mentioned the Indian, and then she clammed up quickly. It's as though she recalled something she'd forgotten, and was saving the information for future reference."

"Now that you mention it," her uncle said, "when Nicholas taunted me about the spirits who might come to our aid, he mentioned neither Angelique, or the Indian. He must have blind spots and vulnerabilities we haven't guessed at. He and the Indian must be connected in some way."

"I told Angelique, I thought the Indian was one of those massacred in 1643. The coin on the necklace, Barnabas. It has a date on it. Is it from 1643?"

"No. It says 1610. I wonder---wait a minute. Nathaniel Collins was born in 1610. It could have been his. Perhaps his father gave it to him, as a memento of his birth, or christening. He was said to be a great friend of the sachem whose family he ended up killing. He may have given it to him, in friendship, or the Indian may have seized it, to use in a ritual of vengeance. But this would mean the chief survived his family's murders. That part was never made clear in the family and Native histories."

"What about Nicholas? Was he involved? Just how old is he, anyway?"

"That's part of his mystery," Barnabas mused. "I used to believe he entered mortal life during the time of Nostradamus. He certainly affected the trappings of an earlier age during his preferred rituals. But he could have been present at the massacre, or, what seems more likely, incited it in some fashion. Gross physical violence was never his way. The games with mirrors, and visions, and psychological manipulations are much more to his taste. These separate him from the actual acts, and make it harder to pin him down."

"Well, maybe we'll have to incite him to some physical act, in order to catch him at his game," Cellie suggested grimly.

"I hope that won't become necessary. But we have a little time on our side, now, to learn more about the threat, and to prepare ourselves to meet it."

"Thanks to Angelique. By the way, Barnabas, she's what one might call 'liberated' now. She assured me she had no problem with you being married to Aunt Jule, or with what we were doing yesterday."

"It's always amazing when I get to thank Angelique for anything.

It's more amazing that she's become a, what do they call it these

days? A 'sister.' "

"Like they say, 'Sisterhood is powerful.' " Cellie grinned. "May it keep working to our advantage."

Barnabas handed Cellie the necklace. "Keep this around, for the day

Nicholas comes back. That's what your 'sister' would have wanted."

* * * * * * * * * * *

A couple of days later, everything was almost back to normal. Cellie was grateful for the rapid recovery from near-disaster. Business had returned to its high summer level. Cellie had reconciled with her aunt. Willie returned to his classes. As for Carolyn. . . well, it was a bit harder for her life to fall back into place. She knew she'd truly hurt Tony, even though she understood she'd been under Nicholas's influence at the time, and in spite of the fact that Tony had injured her feelings with his comments. She came into the Shoppe every morning, smiling when facing a customer, fighting tears when left on her own. At night, she went out alone, fortifying herself with liquid courage in the new, slightly classier taverns on Main Street.

Cellie couldn't very well call Tony up and beg him to come by to see Carolyn. The best she could do was to station herself between Carolyn and Willie, and try to draw off some of the older woman's dejection.

It was getting harder and harder to do this; her pregnancy seemed to have caught up with her.

She could, she thought, probably muster up enough empathic energy in an emergency, but it was so much easier to work with her husband. He experienced so many extremes of sympathetic emotion when he observed suffering, that it was relatively easy for his wife to absorb a little at a time, to jump-start her functions. Without it, Cellie became as fatigued emotionally as she was physically and mentally. As it was,

she spent more time sleeping these days, and seldom spent more than

four hours a day working in the Shoppe, on and off.

One day, Carolyn walked into the kitchen and observed Willie and Cellie kissing, while the husband tenderly massaged his wife's ever-expanding middle. Cellie put her arms around Willie's neck, and whispered something that made him chuckle and turn red. He hid his embarrassed smile in the ruffled shoulder of her sundress.

Just then, Cellie sensed a great chord of despair, which vibrated in

her mind like the snapping of a harpstring. She had gradually acquired the ability to distinguish who in the vicinity was experiencing strong emotions. She knew it wasn't a customer in the showroom. She broke away from Willie, and faced Carolyn.

"Sorry I interrupted," Carolyn said, trying to laugh. "You'll have to restrain yourselves during working hours, kids. The customers are looking for their sugar-carbohydrate fix."

"What does that mean?" Willie asked.

"My extra coffeecake. They polished off the first three

already?" Cellie asked. She had been too tired the night before to

make more than four, even with her husband's assistance, and now, it

was only five o'clock. Three-and-a-half hours to go, and only one coffeecake left!

"The cool snap really whets their appetites, I guess. Cellie,

I'm disappointed in you. You usually make at least six."

"I know, but I got so logy last night, and it was almost ten-thirty by the time we finished. Will helped me, but he had to get up extra early this morning to take that trip to Augusta, so he collapsed at eleven on the dot. You know, I haven't noticed any contributions from your end lately. You and your oven aren't speaking these days, Carolyn?" Cellie sounded a little angry.

"I've been on five buying trips this past week, and it's not fair to

ask Mrs. Johnson or my mother to make up the deficiency."

"So it's all on me," Cellie replied. She tried to hold back her irritation. "Tell the truth, Carolyn. You don't need to make all

those trips. Barnabas was all set to go on at least three of them,

but you nearly begged him to let you go, instead."

"I had to get out of here. All your romancing and fussing over Junior is driving me wild!"

Cellie'as face turned dark red. "Our what? Carolyn, this isn't the first time you've walked in on us necking. Do you suddenly have a problem with husbands and wives showing affection? Maybe you're

just jealous."

Carolyn began to cry quietly. Willie said, "Cecily, go take care of the customers right now. When you cool down, come back."

Cellie bowed her head. "Yes, hon. Sorry." She took the cakeplate out to the showroom.

Carolyn was surprised. "She's obeying you these days, Willie," she commented. "That must be a novel experience for you."

"I'm not bossing her around, and you know it. It's just that she's listening better when I make a suggestion. She may be the emotion expert around here, but the pregnancy thing is throwing her out of whack. She's moody as Hell, sometimes. When she gets like that, I have to step in. I'm all that stands between you and the worst belly-ache you ever had in your life."

"She wouldn't be that petty, would she?"

"I wouldn't blame her if she went ahead and---Carolyn, why are you like this? So cranky? Why aren't you making it up with Tony? Cecily doesn't want to fight with you. She tells me, all the time, that she would help you if you'd just let her get close enough. She can't fix

it on her own. I wouldn't let her, if she could. We're coming down the home stretch with the baby, and I wants things settled, before she really gets stressed out."

"It's not something that can be settled easily and conveniently, in

time to accommodate Cellie's confinement," Carolyn sniffed.

"Well, all I can see, is that you're acting up almost the way I did

when Cecily was sent away. You work like a dog during the day, and I know you've been hitting the Main Street bars by night."

"David's been tattling to his big pretend brother, I see."

"He's worried," Willie insisted. "Your mother's worried, I heard.

We all are. You're going to crash, Carolyn, and maybe nobody will be around to save you, like you and Maggie saved me in the nick of time."

"Maybe I don't want to be saved. I thought seeing Tony would save me, and look what's happened."

"It DID save you. You just had a stupid fight. Cecily and I have stupid fights, and serious fights all the time. You can't break up just because of a fight."

"I picked a stupid fight. You should have heard me."

"It was Nicholas. He tried to mess everyone up."

"It wasn't just Nicholas. He was someone to run to, to get away from the real problem."

"What was the real problem, Carolyn?" Cellie stood in the kitchen doorway. "Will, the lady out there wants the small desk with the inkwell put into her station wagon. Now scoot, and let the expert

take over." Willie left the kitchen, pulling on his wife's braid as

he passed her. She made a pert face at him.

"Are there any other customers out there?" Carolyn asked.

"Yes, but Barnabas came out of the office finally. You'd think he was preparing the state budget, the way he locks himself up with those ledgers." Cellie walked into the kitchen, and checked the cabinets.

"If I'm to bake for the masses, I'll have to get Will to take me to

the Superette."

"Cellie, I'm sorry I nagged you about that. I really don't have anything to do later, so I'll bake tonight. I'll go to the bakery in

a while, in case we run out of cake this evening."

"That's not the problem. You're going around in circles, and I'm following you. Let's get to the point. What's keeping you from

working things out with Tony?"

"That I was ready to let Nicholas have his way with me."

"That isn't news to me. I knew he put the move on you the minute you came up from the cellar that day. But, like Barnabas said to me, he couldn't make you feel something that didn't already exist. You were already upset with Tony. I was up in my bedroom, and I could feel your sorrow, before Nicholas even came in."

"I was feeling down. I wasn't able to---" Carolyn broke off, and blushed. "I don't know if I should tell you."

"What can you tell me that's any worse than what I've heard since I

came to town? Some people say they've heard it all. I can say, I've heard it all, and felt it all. But if you'd rather talk to my aunt,

or some other doctor, I won't press. Just promise me you'll talk to someone."

"I don't need professional help," Carolyn protested. "I'll get over it, somehow." Suddenly, she leaned over the table, clutching her middle. "It hurts so much."

Cellie knelt, close to her. "What hurts, Carolyn?"

"I love Tony. I really do."

"I know you do. What went wrong?" Cellie held her friend's hand.

"My whole life. Screwed up since day One."

"It's only as screwed up as you allow it to be, at this point."

"I tried to explain it to you, months ago. The fatal flaw strikes again. I loved my husband, and he's gone. I love Tony, and he loves me. He wants me. I thought I wanted him, but I'm afraid."

"Afraid he's going to die like Jeb, is that it?"

"Afraid it won't be worth the effort, if it ends badly anyway. He looks at me sometimes, like Jeb did, on the good days."

"They weren't all good days, then?"

"No. Something important had been taken from him. But he said I made

up for it. Then, one night, when we thought we were finally safe and free, we made plans to leave, and we were happy until--until---it

turned out neither of us were safe after all. . ." The pitch of Carolyn's voice rose from a near-whisper, to near-hysteria. Cellie barely managed to keep her friend quiet enough, so as not to be overheard in the showroom. Carolyn continued, "Jeb died to save

me. . .It looked like the rocks swallowed him up!"

"And Tony reminded you of that day? The good days, anyway?"

"Yes! It scared me and made me happy at the same time! But I couldn't

stay in bed with him, because I was more scared, it turned out.

Still, I would have gone back, and tried again, until he said. . .

he said. . ."

"What did he say?" Cellie couldn't even imagine Tony saying anything cruel to Carolyn.

"He said, maybe Jeb's death 'was meant to be.' Like his broken engagement."

"Oh, Carolyn! I'm sure that's not how he meant it. The worst thing you could say about what he said was that it's a tactless remark. But don't you see? It may be true. You loved Jeb an awful lot. I know how that is. Yet you said he was unhappy. Maybe you'd have ended up unhappy too, I don't know. If he really loved you, though, he would have wanted you to go on with your life. Not right away---there has to be grief and mourning, and you did that. For over two-and-a-half years! I'd say you fulfilled that obligation, and then some."

"I just thought it was more 'over' for me than it was."

"So what will you do now?" Cellie asked. "Take more pointless buying trips during the days, and toss down more Harvey Wallbangers at night?"

"I don't know if he'll take me back."

"Carolyn, Tony was so upset about breaking off from you in the first place that, according to my brother, he didn't even date anyone for

two years after he moved to Boston. He missed you so much after five years, that he put off his wedding at least three times before he saw

an opportunity to be near you again, and broke his engagement for good. He must just be one of those men who wait for one particular woman.

A rare, and precious breed. I wouldn't let this one get away."

"Maybe you're right. The roadblock story you told. I remember.

I'll call him right away." Carolyn went to the phone, dialed, asked

for Mr. Peterson, and listened. Her face grew downcast. "He's not

at his office. His secretary told me he was going out of town on business. To Boston." Unspoken were the words, "Back to Lee Anne."

"Maybe he's still home, packing."

Carolyn dialed his home number, and stood listening. "Twenty rings. He's gone. Maybe you were wrong, after all, Cellie." Carolyn began to cry again.

"I don't think I am. Maybe it's just an innocent business trip."

"You're just a hopeless romantic, Cellie. At my age, I have no

business being one. I have to get out of here. I think I'll put in a special guest appearance at the Blue Whale. At least I won't have to worry about drinking and driving. Maybe I'll even catch a ride, if you know what I mean." Carolyn ran to the cabinet where she kept her purse, yanked it out, and headed through the showroom, past where Barnabas was talking to the new customers, to the front door. She opened it without really watching where she was going, and bumped into a man coming in. She looked up, half-expecting to see Nicholas there, just like she had

a couple of weeks ago.

"Tony," she said, falteringly.

"Carolyn," he replied, glancing towards Barnabas with an embarrassed expression. He said, more quietly, "I wanted to talk with you before

I took my trip. Where were you going in such a hurry?"

"No place special," she fibbed. "Early dinner, I guess."

"If you don't mind, I'd like to join you, briefly. I have a train to catch, but there's some things we should discuss. I believe there'll

be enough time." Tony touched her hand.

Carolyn simply answered, "Yes. Please."

* * * * * * * * * * *

A few days later, Cellie was getting dressed to go to the Superette. Willie always insisted on making an occasion of their few trips away from the Shoppe. He still got a charge out of people looking at him parading around with a pretty young wife, even though she was quite large already. Cellie was tolerant, and even kind of pleased to be displayed in this manner. She always attracted surprisingly favorable attention, and curiosity from her friends. She knew they were dying

to find out how she could stand to spend days and nights with such a dangerous character as Willie, but they were also counting on her to provide the inside scoop on being pregnant. She was nothing, if not blunt about her discomforts. She told her husband, "I guess

I'm a trailblazer. Blazing a trail right to the nearest Planned Parenthood clinic."

She wished she could spread the news about just how special her little "mistake" was going to be. But that was out of the question. The problem of Nicholas Blair aside, she and her husband didn't have a

clue as to how they were going to bring up such a child, without

having the added pressure public disclosure might bring.

Cellie managed to force such thoughts from her mind when she was going

out. There was no point in borrowing trouble. She had enough anxiety about her upcoming ordeal. She and Willie had attended one natural childbirth class, and it became clear they weren't going to go that route. ("Just kick up a fuss till they knock you out just to shut you up," Margene had advised.)

She examined her appearance. Willie loved buying those frilly sundresses for her, especially if they had a trace of turquoise in the pattern, as the one she was wearing now. She wondered what she was going to do with them when she had the baby. (She didn't intend to get pregnant again for at least three years.) She did look pretty darn good, she thought, now that her sunburn had peeled and faded. But she missed her jeans.

Willie had been lying on the bed, watching her primp to his specifications. She was braiding her hair on one side, when he got

up, and went to shave. "Hey, not so fast," she said, grabbing his

belt-loop as he passed by. "I told you I want to see a beard by the time the baby comes."

"It's just not going to work," he said. "I never got more than patches of fuzz here and there, except over my lip, and you don't care for that by itself. I just can't figure it out."

"Okay, okay," she said. "I guess your male hormones had better things

to do than grow facial hair." She gently bumped him with her bulge.

"They did good work," he replied, as the bulge jiggled visibly beneath the thin cotton fabric.

A half-hour later, they arrived at the Superette. As always on a Saturday, the parking lot was jammed full of half the cars in Collinsport. Willie found a space near the exit, quite a long walk

for Cellie, but he didn't like to drop her off, go scouting for a parking place, and then try to find her in the crush of Zoo-Day customers. He had done that once, and Cellie had narrowly missed running into Melinda Knowlton.

Willie and Cellie, in their forays around the parking lot, had looked out for the vehicles of troublemakers. They didn't detect any.

They went into the store. They walked around, conversing amiably, unlike most of the married couples who were in there. Among the partners who weren't arguing outright, there was a fair percentage of situations where one spouse, usually the husband, pushed the cart

along in dispirited silence, becoming bored and resentful.

Willie wasn't the silent type. He showed his usual obsessive concern with his wife's care and feeding. After loading the cart with extra-large sacks of flour and sugar, plus a few other baking ingredients,

he led Cellie around. He picked up extra bottles of vitamins, reading to her from the labels, and selected all the green vegetables that made

her gag, especially broccoli and Brussels sprouts. (He was kind enough to leave some of his former selections, such as his personal favorite, cabbage, off his list, when she complained of feeling queasy after eating them.) Cellie was sometimes annoyed at his bossiness, and when Willie read aloud, even quietly, she felt embarrassed. But she smiled, replied sweetly, and patted his arm indulgently. He meant well, she knew.

People watched them as they made their way through the crowded aisles.

The crowd seemed a bit on edge today. The brief cool snap had been followed by several days of record-breaking heat, which may have quelled the usual bemused tolerance others displayed when confronted by the former felon and his teen-aged bride. When Cellie, who was pushing her cart, inadvertantly cut off another shopper coming around a corner, the other woman was downright hostile, waving away Cellie's profuse apologies, and muttering about "tramps and thieves" under her breath.

Tears sprang to Cellie's eyes. She was getting so sensitive these days.

She hoped she would return to her former level of impeturbability as soon as possible after the baby was born. "Oh, Geez, I still have

post-partum depression to look forward to," she remembered. That would be all she needed---to catch everyone else's misery, and mix it up with her own.

Willie hadn't heard what the woman said to his wife, but he saw Cellie's reaction. He walked closer to her, with his arm around her waist,

like they were out taking a stroll in the park, ignoring anybody who

saw them. In a few minutes, Cellie sighed and relaxed. They resumed their former attitude, taking turns pushing the cart, talking quietly.

They made it to the checkout line. Hallie and Annette both had registers open, but Willie chose a different one because it had a shorter line.

"Hon, how many times have I explained it to you," Cellie admonished,

"The reason a line like this is so short is because some nitwit

pulled out a check-book, and that means Jorge Texeira has to

practically contact the F.B.I. to make sure her checks are good?

We'll be here till closing, with all the stuff that twit has in her cart. Jorge hates those $100-plus checks."

"Well, we're here now, and there's two other carts behind us already.

I don't see the other lines moving. We're better off staying put."

"I guess you're right," she sighed. "Hey, I just remembered something!

I had a box of laundry soap I wanted to return. It's in the station wagon. Would you be a sweetie and go out to get it, and then bring it up to the courtesy desk for me, while I'm stuck in line? Here's the original receipt," she said, opening her purse, and retrieving a small slip of paper. "Geez, I hope the stuff hasn't melted into rock formation, in all this heat."

"Sure. And when I get back, if you're still in line, I'll

relieve you. You could go sit on the bench over there," he said, pointing to where it stood, near the door.

Cellie had quite a wait ahead of her. She moved in small steps, and finally had a chance to start emptying her cart, just as she saw

Willie return with the soapbox, and get into the (mercifully) short Courtesy line.

The cashier, a young girl whom Cellie didn't recognize, began to

examine the items for the prices, even though Cellie was careful to put all the price stickers face up. No wonder the line had been moving so slowly! Cellie wished she had the nerve to tell this stranger that she would be better off if she let her customer ring up the sale, and get it over with. Cellie looked around for Jorge. She suspected he'd probably let her do it. But he was manning the Courtesy booth while the

regular girl was on her break.

Cellie hit a snag when it came time to ring up the large bags of sugar and flour. The cashier had evidently been told she had to personally check all price stickers, and wouldn't accept Cellie's price quotation. Cellie huffed, indignantly, "I used to be the second-after-the-head-cashier in this store. I know what I'm doing."

"Rules are rules, Ma'am. There were too many mistakes made in the past.

I'll call the bagger. He'll haul them up for us." The girl signalled to a tall, dark-haired boy in a red, white, and blue smock, a few

aisles down.

Cellie was leaning over her purse, checking her coupon supply, and hiding her irritation. She didn't pay any attention to the bagger at first. Then he spoke.

"Hey Cellie. How's life with Crazy Willie?" His tone was mild, though not quite friendly.

"Jack. Um," Cellie began, a little uncertainly, "How are you? When

did you start working here?" She was reading him. He was under great personal restraint, but she could sense it was crumbling, as they spoke.

"I grabbed this piddly job as soon as I got canned from the cannery," Jack laughed. "I got into a fight with old man Carter when he said something about my Mom. She's his best worker, and there he was, carrying on about how she split a brew in the coatroom with the floorboy, damn it. I lit right into him. He didn't know whether he should fire me on the spot, or what. So he had to ask that blue-nose Roger Collins. HE said I wasn't performing my duties up to snuff, anyway. What a kicker!"

"I'm sorry. Why didn't you go out with your father on the lobster boat?"

"Bad case of Red Tide this season. He had to go out, farther than he ever has, to get an untainted catch, and he left a couple of weeks early, before either of us knew I would need the work."

"That's too bad, Jack. I'm truly sorry. This isn't a bad place, though, once you get going. I had to bag at first, even though I worked in stores before."

"It's lousy for me." He lowered his voice to a whisper. "And the chicks here look down on a bagger. They're nowhere near as hot as you anyway, even with that fat stomach."

Cellie turned red. She strove to be understanding. A back door.

A back door. Angelique said there was always a back door to someone's emotions. Maybe she could practice the principle on Jack, and solve that problem, at least. She concentrated, but the process had slowed. Jack didn't seem to be affected. Cellie needed more time.

The cashier commented, "You two must be friends. You know," she said to Cellie, "I've never seen him talk to any other customer before. The cashiers, though. . ." She rolled her eyes, and shrugged. She completed the order, and took Cellie's money. She counted out change.

Cellie accepted it gratefully, for she was eager to get away from Jack, as soon as she could complete running through his emotional center. She stood behind him, making a show of counting the money she had left. She could see that her husband was still stuck in the courtesy line, behind a woman who was getting a hard time from Jorge. From what little Cellie could hear, apparently she'd charged a number of items that she wanted to return now, because she'd overreached her credit limit. Willie stood, with surprising patience, behind the troublesome customer. He looked in Cellie's direction, and beckoned her to join him. Apparently, she blocked his view of Jack, because he didn't appear anxious or

upset, seeing her still standing at the end of the checkout aisle.

She shook her head and smiled, still playing with her wallet. Jack turned around, and noticed that she was still there. He whispered

to her.

"Hey Cellie. Crazy Willie still throwing you a good poke now and then?" he asked. "You'd better get over to him right away, or he'll use it on that heifer ahead of him in that line. He was never the kind to wait."

"Shut up, Jack," Cellie whispered back. "He'll see you talking to me, and all hell will break loose."

"Like I give a damn. I could take him in an instant, like I did to Carter, and the lead guy who tried to break us up. Cellie, how does he do it these days, anyway? Oh, yeah. I forgot the old saying. 'Where there's a Willie, there's a way.' " He laughed bitterly. Several people were looking at him now.

Cellie felt paralyzed, rooted to the spot where she stood. She saw that her arms had turned redder than they'd been when she had sunburn. She could imagine what her face looked like. Still, she felt she had a lock on the reservoir of self-hatred and self-pity she'd noted in other men, including her husband and her uncle---even her father. For an instant, she wondered why so many men should be eaten up alive from the inside like that, with the women and children they hurt serving as dessert

for their inner demons.

Jack leaned close to her. "Maybe you'd like what he did with my Mom. Remember what I told you, Cellie? Cellie with the big belly," he chanted.

"Jack, how could you?" Cellie asked gently. "I want to help you,

don't you see--"

"There's only one thing that would have helped me, and you let HIM

have it!"

Cellie blinked twice, and swallowed hard. Jack doubled over, moaning with pain. "What--why--I had my appendix out years ago. Damn, I must be getting a rupture. You and your damned flour sack--"

"What on earth is going on here?" Jorge Texeira stood before them, Willie standing close behind. "Cellie, your husband noticed Jack was harassing you, and he tried to bring it to my attention in as unobtrusive a fashion as possible. But I can see it's already too late. Knowlton, what's wrong with you? First your mother causes trouble, and then you."

"I--I hurt myself, picking up a heavy load for her. I must have bent over wrong, or something."

"That's bull, Knowlton. You were picking on the girl, and she's not the first you've picked on, so now you're pretending to be injured to cover up for it. I gave you another chance, and you've just about blown it, young man."

"I don't take crap from a Porkchop," Jack hissed, still clutching his stomach. "I'm in serious pain here."

Jorge chose not to respond to the ethnic slur. "Jack, you're fired," he said quietly.

"No!" Cellie cried.

"Cecily, what's the matter? He was giving you a hard time. He can't get away with it," Willie admonished.

"You don't understand. It was my fault, in a way. I should have gotten

away from him as soon as he started in on me, but he seemed to be easing off. I just wasn't paying attention, I guess."

"That's no excuse, Cellie," Jorge said. "As I said before, he's had these little run-ins before. I was prepared to be tolerant, but--"

"No, please. Don't fire him, not right now. I'll just be extra careful not to come in here when he's on duty, the same way I watch out that I don't run into his mother."

"Cecily, why should you have to run around with your tail between your legs because of something he did?" Willie asked, astonished.

"I don't know. I just don't want even more trouble, I guess."

"Well. . . I'll think it over," Jorge mused. "Maybe this was just the wake-up call Jack needed. But, until I make my final decision, Jack, I want you to punch out right now, and you're on suspension without pay. I'll let you know by Wednesday."

As she walked by Jack, who was beginning to stand up straight again, Cellie heard him whisper, "Thanks for nothing, twidget."

As soon as they were in their car, Willie turned to his wife, and asked, "Tell the truth, Cecily. What the Hell did he say to you?"

Cellie looked out the window. "I'd rather not repeat it."

"Cecily, Cecily. . . We don't have enough to worry about, without you trying to get nicey-nice with Jack. You didn't think he'd appreciate it, did you?"

"Maybe." She sighed. "I suppose I should thank you for not coming on like gangbusters when you saw he was bugging me like that."

"You're always preaching self-control. I put it into practice, to please you. I guess I screwed up anyway." He sounded bitter.

"No, no, hon. But you don't get it, Will. I was working on him. Really working on him. I almost cleared a path into his gut feelings, when he made one nasty crack about your deviant habits, too many."

"My what? Oh, God. Not the thing about his mother, again. Jack's been

out of our hair for months already, and Melinda too."

"Like I said, he put his foot in it for the last time. I 'zapped' him, but I knew, if I just had another minute, I could have broken through."

"Then I showed up with Jorge Texeira. Oh, Jesus."

"I don't think I'll ever get another clear shot at him again, Will.

I had my chance with him, and it was very difficult, as it was. That's why I tried to save his job. He has to have something to stick with, and progress in. If he was fired on my account, you could just imagine his bitterness. I don't want that hanging over our heads, along with Nicholas and his problems. And I'd truly like to see him straighten out, like you did. If he ever does, now, it will be a miracle."

Willie put his arm around her. "If only I could build a time machine, Cecily. Then I'd shove him into it, send him back to 1967, and drop

him off in that secret room. Because we have so much in common, I think that's the only way he'd ever be broken."

"I don't like to think of anyone having to be broken, like a wild bronco."

"I wouldn't be here with you, now, if not for that. But you're right, it's not the best way, and it's not the fair way. It's the hard way, like the atom bomb. But that's what it takes, sometimes." He started the station wagon. "Not too many opportunities around, like I had, back then," he laughed ruefully. "I think I used up the last one when

I sprung Barnabas."

"That's not funny. I'll just have to pray that Jack finds inner peace in a less distressing manner."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Cellie and Julia stopped at the Koffeehaus, after dropping off their perishable groceries in the Antique Shoppe's refrigerator. They had spent an amiable afternoon, shopping and talking, as they had during what Cellie had come to think of as the "Good Old Days." Cellie was excited about their upcoming trip to Boston. Julia had allowed one extra month to go by before confirming her appointment with the fertility specialist. She kept her promise to take Cellie to see her mother one last time before the baby's birth.

"I just wish Will could go with us. Barnabas could've tried harder to find some extra help, to take his place for a week. And I know that Will's bummed out because we didn't get up to see his sister this summer. That'll have to wait, until after the baby comes, and we're clear of Nicholas." Cellie sighed, and fiddled with the sugar spoon

she used to stir her coffee.

Julia smiled. "Both Willie and Barnabas should be grateful to have a little peace and quiet, before the imminent, proverbial 'pitter-patter of little feet' is heard around the Shoppe, and then at the Old House."

"I don't know. Will likes it when I make a racket. I've come to the conclusion that it's because his life was so quiet and desolate, before I jumped into it. It must be sad, only hearing the sound of your own breathing all the time. And as for Barnabas, I remember visiting him before you decided to marry him, and I found almost the same situation. A little pitter-patter will be music to their ears."

"Not the crying for colic, though."

"I already have reservations made for the quietest baby they can come

up with. When your treatments succeed---and notice, I said 'when', not 'if'---I'll order up one just like it for you." Cellie became quieter. She read her aunt, and sensed an edge of despair mixed with her calm good humor. "I don't know, Aunt Jule, am I joking around too much? I don't want to hurt your feelings."

"No, it's good to have a little sense of humor about it," Julia replied quietly. "It means I've got some sense of proportion, that even if it doesn't work out, I'll still have a good life ahead of me, with Barnabas. Cellie, you're not still feeling bad about that night,

are you?"

"A bit. I don't understand all this forgiveness and forbearance, even though I've had to do a lot of it, and I've had a lot come my way."

"That's probably the only truly good thing that emerges, time after time, and makes it all seem worthwhile. I've found that one forgives, or one perishes, drowning in bitterness."

"Like Jack."

"Even worse. But forgiveness is the glue that keeps us working toward the common good, which we all want. Don't get me wrong, I was dreadfully upset when Barnabas told me the whole story. A part of me still is." Julia sighed. "If it were anyone else, I might have taken it better. . . and yet, I know he's over it, and it wouldn't take much for me to discover whether you're really over it."

"You don't have to hypnotize me. I'm over it! You know, Aunt Jule,

I put everything I had at the time on the line when I finagled around, trying to get you and Barnabas together. I didn't do that just so I could eventually be responsible for you two breaking up. You're almost a second mother to me, and as far as I'm concerned, if Barnabas wasn't around, I wouldn't have a father at all."

"I'm sure Barnabas would appreciate that little testimonial, but you do still have a father," Julia pointed out. "Your time is close at hand. There's always a chance that Walter will reconcile with you, eventually."

"I hope so. Forgiveness is a pleasant sensation for both parties, once you clear the last hurdle and just do it."

"Maybe we'll be lucky, and run into your father in Boston. He must be back from his European tour, by now. We'll call him. We don't have to tell your mother."

"Agreed. Let's order. I'm dying for a gyro and espresso." Cellie waved to one of Pavlos new "hostesses" (his dignified sobriquet for waitresses), who was standing at the counter, some distance away. As she approached, Cellie was surprised to see that it was Hallie. She hadn't seen her friend in a couple of days, and had been so busy, preparing for her trip, she simply forgot to call her. "Hallie!"

Cellie exclaimed, "I'm sorry I haven't called lately. You never told

me you were even considering a job here. What happened at the Superette?"

"Oh, I still have it. I'll be working a few afternoons at each, until it's time for me to go to Orono. Then I'll have to choose one. I just wanted to try something new. And it keeps my mind off Paul." Her face darkened when she mentioned his name.

"How's that going?" Julia asked, gently.

"I just don't know, anymore, Doctor Collins. Three days was too little to build on, I guess. And yet, every time a week or two goes by without a letter, and I think I'd better give it up and find someone else, a new envelope arrives with all those wierd, official-looking cancel-marks on it. And each letter tells me, he will see me when his hitch is over, and to hold on until then."

"How long will that be?" Cellie asked.

"Eight more months, if the war isn't over by then."

Julia said, "I don't know how to advise you, Hallie. Expecting you not to socialize with other young men in the absence of an official engagement and on the basis of three days' acquaintance, seems to be

an unfair demand. Especially when you don't really know what's going

on with him."

"He doesn't say much about how he spends his days, or what he does when

he and his buddies aren't fighting. I've heard rumors about what they do in their spare time, though." Hallie sighed. "I'll try to make myself understand---"

Cellie said, "Hallie, I think you should go out with other guys for a while. Don't go steady or anything, but if someone nice asks you out to a movie or something like that, go right ahead. You can decide what to do about Paul when he gets back."

"Oh, Cellie, how could you? Paul will be angry when he finds out, I'm sure."

"I doubt it. He mentioned the possibility a few months back, before you hit the senior prom with David."

"That's different. There was no chance I was going to really date David, after that. I just don't want to get stuck with some guy who wants to make out or get serious."

"Take your own car, and stay in public places. How hard is that? Hallie, you're in a different situation than me. You're not painted into a corner, not just yet. You'll still be going off to college,

and okay, you'll probably end up marrying Paul in the end, but for you, it may be too soon to make big plans. And you don't have to lie to him. Just refer back to his previous letter. Say you're going around with friends. That will be the truth."

"What if he gets mad, and decides never to see me again?"

"I just have a feeling that won't happen. Before I was sent away, you remember I was estranged from Will. I went out with a couple of boys, but Will took me back. He's taken me back since then, even though. . . never mind that. But if Paul's anything like his brother, he'll understand. He expected you to understand about the 'falling trees'."

"I--I don't know. You're probably right, but I need time to think it over. I'll ask Paul before I do anything."

"That's fair enough. Are you okay, now, to take our orders, Hal?"

"Yes. I'll bet you want a gyro. Chicken, right?"

"Chicken's your dish, Hal. Beef's my choice. And espresso. A manly meal, because I need all the manly strength I can get, from now until September 25, or thereabouts."

"And you, Doctor Collins?"

"I could use a little manly strength, myself, to face those Boston traffic circles in a rented jalopy next week. I'll have the same."

When Hallie went to the counter, Julia turned to her niece and asked,

"What was that about the falling trees? I know they were using some chemicals to clear away the greenery over there."

"I suppose that had something to do with it. Maybe Hallie will let me tell you one day."

Pavlos brought the gyros and the coffee. "I came to tell you that

your demo tape was a hit, Flame. The record people are anxious that

you should go to New York, and audition in person. But I told them it would have to wait until the blessed event. Even so, there was still some enthusiasm. As soon as you're up to it, I will personally conduct you safely to the studio, and then back to Willie. That is, if you'd like to get a singing career going. It may not turn out to be a major career. You may even have the option of considering what level of involvement you would be interested in. Background vocals, and such."

"I'll have to think it over. A lot of it depends on how healthy the baby is, and what happens when it's not in my care. I don't want to run off and leave it in Will's lap all the time, so to speak. I'll see how it goes."

"Yes, one can never really know just how the future will turn out. One can make an educated guess, or, like a small boat splashed onto an ocean beach, one can receive a premonition tossed up from the seas of time. But it all boils down to human choice." Pavlos sighed. "Perhaps, after lunch, you'll be up to singing, Cellie."

After she ate, Cellie mounted the stage, carrying a tambourine, accompanied by Latilda and her "magic" guitar. Cellie announced to the lunch-time crowd, "This is my farewell performance, as a solo act. Next time you see me up here, I'll be half of a duet." She smiled, patting her middle. The crowd laughed, mildly. "This kid hears so much Sixties music already, he or she is just going to hate it. So I'd better get it out of my system now. Hit it, Tildy," she said.

". . .It's a long, long journey,

So stay by my side,

When I walk through the storm,

You'll be my guide. . ."

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

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Willie and Barnabas saw their wives off at the Collinsport train station. Willie and Cellie clung to each other for a long time. He rubbed her belly, now quite large for just starting the eighth month. (Dr. Hurley had told them she wouldn't be surprised if the baby---and there was only one---ended up weighing almost nine pounds. She had even discussed the possibility of surgery, if it came to that.) The baby, as always, moved when Willie felt for it. When Cellie told him the baby wasn't constantly in motion, Willie was thoroughly convinced the little

he/she knew his touch. On this occasion, the baby gave a powerful kick. Cellie gasped a little. Willie said, "Just like you kicked that door at the Koffeehaus. That's gonna be one tough kid."

They both felt a little sorry for Julia, whose rather formal farewells to Barnabas didn't last nearly as long. Considering that Julia was going to a special doctor to receive medication in order to get pregnant, both Willie and Cellie thought it was odd that she and Barnabas didn't appear more affectionate. Cellie told Willie her aunt had confided that Barnabas was still uneasy about pursuing the clinic procedure.

So, in spite of Julia's entreaties that he, too, needed further testing than Virginia was able to provide, Barnabas had decided to remain behind, allowing his wife to receive whatever treatment she could, which didn't require his immediate presence. "If there's anything else you need to take while I'm in the vicinity, so to speak," he'd told his wife, "have them send the medication to Virginia to adminster. I've agreed to this much, but I won't undergo more uncomfortable testing, or answer more embarrassing questions. Besides, there's still a chance---"

"They won't find out anything!" Julia had protested. "And without

this treatment, there's almost no chance that anything will happen naturally."

"Doesn't that tell you something about this whole project?" her husband had replied, but very sadly, Julia later told her niece.

So, Cellie was still worried about them. Willie thought it was sweet

of his wife to be so concerned when she'd had so much to deal with herself. But Cellie now had leisure to fret over the travails of others. The threat from Nicholas Blair seemed like a storm that had

come near, but was now far across the horizon. And as for Jack, except for the one incident at the Superette, he seemed to be staying away, also.

In the meantime, it would be good for Cellie to see her mother before the baby came, and if there was an emergency, she would be near some of the best hospitals in the country. At last, Cellie and Julia were aboard the train, looking out the windows at their men. Willie waved enthusiastically. Barnabas was more reserved. They both left the platform, and got into the station wagon, in a state of amity which they had never known before.

Barnabas said, "I hope this trip will prove worthwhile for Julia. I've told her, again and again, it doesn't matter to me if we end up never having children, as long as we have each other."

Of course Willie didn't tell Barnabas what Cellie had told him, but he felt bold enough to reply, "You can keep saying that. But if this works, and you feel that little guy moving around inside of her, you'll say it was worthwhile, all right."

"Amazing, how wise you've grown in the past few months, Willie."

"As someone I know once said, I learned to appreciate kids the hard

way. And everything else I have." He started the car. "I hope

Cecily doesn't have any trouble down there, having the baby early. After getting this far, with all the awful things that happened, it would be a lousy shame if just taking this trip brought it on."

"I'm sure your fears are groundless. Things are finally looking up for everyone."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Melinda Knowlton was dangerously bored. She'd been making the rounds

of the local taverns all afternoon, after she got off from work at the cannery, and, as usual, ended up at her headquarters, the Blue Whale. At least they served some decent sandwiches. She munched on a huge hard-roll with seafood salad, while considering an offer from one of her usual male companions, to drive up to Ellsworth and sample the liquor

in their establishments. She sure couldn't go home, what with her kid hanging out there again. She told Jack, over and over, to go to his dad's place and hassle old Nancy for awhile. "I mean, hell, Jack,

I don't even cook for you, and you're cramping my style. Again."

"No, Ma, I'm just watching out for you," was his usual reply. Well, it

wasn't too terrible, having Jack living with her again. He was gone for hours at a stretch, working at the Superette, and bringing home some money to help out, so she didn't object too much. But he'd almost

blown it, hassling that prissy carrot-topped wife of Willie Loomis's.

"Cripes, that chick is big as a house already," Melinda thought, when

she'd observed Cellie at the store, earlier that week. Cellie had been walking and talking with her aunt, the doctor lady. Jack was always bragging about how impressed that Doctor Collins had been when he talked up a storm about how he was going to be a hot-shot lawyer someday. Well, that little pipedream of his came crashing down when the doctor got Al and Nancy to send Jack to live in Bangor. His grades went right down the toilet, they did, and all that money he might have gotten from scholarships disappeared like so much toilet paper. And all because

of that little twidget Willie ended up having to marry.

Anyway, Melinda overheard all about Cellie's little trip to Boston. That gave her an idea. She still thought about Willie from time to time. She was still kind of mad about how Jack had torn Willie from her, years before. She felt justified in not helping her son during the fight that had ensued. Hell, why should she have risked getting punched out by either one? As it turned out, she'd caught it good from Al when he came back from his lobster run, and then Jack was out the door with his father anyhow.

That Willie, he sure was something else back then. Then, just a few months ago, she'd had a golden opportunity to snap him up again, when that tender flower of his was out of the picture, nursing her morning sickness, probably. What did he see in that Beantown snob, anyway?

It really cut Melinda up when she'd been outmanuevered by that Carolyn Hawkes, and Maggie Evans. Cripes, she remembered old Sam, Maggie's father. He never gave her a tumble, either---too hung up on the dear departed wife---but he was always a joker with her, a good guy, for an artsy-craftsy sort. Maggie was kind of a snippy kid once, too, but when that kidnapper or whatever got a hold of her, she'd become as prissy as the Collinses. (Melinda had heard Willie was mixed up in that somehow, but it only increased his allure, as far as she was concerned.) It had really hurt when that Roger Collins played along with his niece and Maggie, and made a date with her, only to stand her up. She'd thought she was too old to fall for that "going to the men's john" trick ever again.

Well, Willie's Mrs. was out of town, again. Melinda knew a thing or two

about the husbands of pregnant women. She got the notion to turn down the ride to Ellsworth, and saunter over to that Antique Shoppe place, after hours. Maybe she could get Willie to invite her in. She'd probably have to suffer through a cup of that reeky java they were so ga-ga about at that snob hangout. Then, who knew where things would end up? "Hell, at least I don't have a big belly to clamber over," she thought. As a good will gesture, she'd even stop by the package store and bring over a bottle. She left the Blue Whale, after announcing her intentions to some close personal friends, who made bets on her success. Melinda walked down the street to the liquor store, trying to remember just what Willie was drinking the last time she'd been with him.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Willie missed Cellie immediately. He found himself listening for her voice. All he heard was Carolyn's, giving orders. Now that they were short-handed in the espresso-service department, things seemed to be awfully busy, even though it was already mid-August, nearly the end of tourist season. Carolyn and Barnabas had often rejoiced at the dearth of competition from other antique businesses in the area, but on a night like tonight, they wished someone would take the pressure off. Carolyn commented to Willie, "I guess this is what Cellie meant when she talked about 'Zoo Day' at the Superette." Dozens of cups of coffee were drunk, followed by the sale of several hundred dollars' worth of merchandise.

"A red-letter day, indeed," Barnabas announced cheerfully to his partner

when she finally got to lock the front door.

"I just can't wait to count up the receipts, and haul myself home,"

Carolyn sighed, wearily. "I had a date tonight, but I'm going to call Tony, and tell him to put it off till tomorrow." She saw Barnabas gazing at the jewelry counter. "Oh, Barnabas, you're not going to take it home just because Cellie's not here? I think we can trust Willie alone with the stuff, already."

Barnabas smiled. "Of course I'm not going to take it home. I'll just put it in the safe here. I'm sure it will all be fine tomorrow." He hadn't told Carolyn that he'd gotten the combination changed when he heard Willie could open the safe. But, even if Willie figured out the new combination, Barnabas wasn't unduly worried. Willie was unlikely to do anything that would displease Cellie.

Barnabas and Carolyn were gone by eight-thirty. Willie went around the

store, checking the locks and alarm system, as he always did. Then, he emptied the espresso machine. He heated the contents on the stove, and took a cupfull, with a small bowl of Cellie's potato casserole, up to their room. The night air was warm, but dry, and there was a slight breeze, so he didn't have to turn on the air conditioner. He watched T.V. for a while. It wasn't as much fun as when his wife was there. She sassed back at the T.V. when some talking head said something she disagreed with. Sometimes it was annoying, but more often Willie laughed at her commentaries.

He shut off the T.V. He had promised Cellie to look over his schoolbooks while she was gone. He dutifully perused them for about fifteen minutes. Then, he had a better idea of how to pass the time. He opened a tiny drawer in his night-table, and drew out a small

cache of Polaroids he'd taken of his bride when they got away for a weekend soon after they were married. There wasn't anything dirty

about them, she'd insisted on that, but she was posing in her bikini (she'd brought it because the motel had a heated indoor pool.) She looked like a model in a magazine, Willie thought, tall and shapely, even with a little roundness already showing in her belly. He even liked the way she was now--- she was lucky not to be swollen all over, like his poor mother was, the last couple of times she was pregnant.

He began to doze off. He snapped awake, hearing a noise downstairs.

Then he realized, he'd forgotten to lock the gate to the backyard.

He hoped nobody was down there except a stray dog. He ran down the stairs, and realized someone was knocking loudly on the kitchen door. He grabbed a broom, for want of a better weapon. He wished he still

had the gun he'd used on the rabid dog back in June, but it was at the Old House, along with the others that had been in the set. (The old gun which Cellie had nearly shot Barnabas with, was there, also.) Then he heard a boozy female voice. Melinda! What the hell was she doing here?

Willie swung the door open. Sure enough, it was Melinda Knowlton, in all her faded glory, clad in a halter top, tight jeans, and sandals. She had one of Cellie's last surviving lilies stuck behind one ear.

She was swinging a bottle of Wild Turkey around. "Talk about your

stray dogs, " he thought. He said, loudly enough for the tipsy

Melinda to understand, "Go on home, Melinda. You're not welcome here." He didn't want to be mean about it, not just yet.

"Aw, Willie, can't I come in for some of your world-famous mud? Even

trade. Wild Turkey for your coffee. I'll bet you're lonely without

the not-so-little woman around for the week," Melinda said slyly. She pushed into the kitchen. Willie grabbed her by the shoulders, his anger rising, and no Cellie around to help him control it.

Melinda began to rub against him, as she had four months earlier, before

Carolyn and Maggie stole him away. She tried to work her way into his arms, buthe pushed her away roughly. It was no use. He wasn't drunk, and she couldn't get him that way.

She tried one more tactic. She untied her halter top. That did stop him in his tracks. She threw herself at him, and tried to kiss him and grab him at the same time. He kept shoving her, trying not to hurt her. "Oh, Willie," Melinda squealed in what she thought was a snooty Boston accent, "that blown-up redhead of yours sure has you pussy-whipped!"

"Get the HELL out of here, you BITCH" Willie was screaming now. He took Melinda by both her arms, kicked the screen door open, and threw her onto the porch. She bounced off, onto the grass. She didn't know if she was hurt. She tried to get up, shouting obscenities at the top of her lungs, until she cried out in pain. Her ankle had gotten twisted when she fell.

Willie was instantly at her side, trying to get her out of the yard before someone came by. This time, Melinda whacked him away like a mosquito. "I'll be alright, damn it," she complained. "Just leave me the hell alone, and I'll leave your precious yard."

"You won't be needing a ride, then? I'd be happy to call Jack to come get you," Willie taunted.

"No way! I said, just back off. I just need to catch my breath. Go on, get in the damn house!" Willie did as he was told. He not only went inside, locking the door against Melinda, he went back upstairs, with the intention of coming down again in about five minutes to make sure she was gone. In his room, he turned on the T.V. to distract him, but he kept pacing around the room.

In the meantime, Melinda, cursing Willie for not even leaving the porchlight on, finally heaved herself up. She retied her halter top. She found her bottle, which rested, unbroken, in the grass. She turned toward the gate, when she heard a noise. Maybe Willie had changed his mind. If not, she'd sure tell a fine story about the two of them anyway, once she made it back to the Blue Whale. She looked

hopefully toward the porch. It was the last thing she ever saw.

Melinda was grabbed from behind by powerful hands which quickly locked around her neck. She grasped at them, a futile gesture, and tried to scream, but her windpipe was blocked off before she could make a sound. She was pushed to the ground, and her head was knocked up and down on the cement walk. She did tap her feet against the porch, but Willie, who was still pacing around upstairs in front of the noisy T.V., couldn't hear that. Finally, Melinda lay nearly still. She twitched

a little at increasing intervals, but she was dying. Her assailant wasn't quite finished. There was a loud crash, as the bottle was

broken against the porch. The attacker "decorated" Melinda quickly, then dropped the bloody, jagged neck of the bottle right by the door.

Willie did hear the crash. "That damn Melinda. If she broke a window,

I will kill her," he thought. He looked out the open bedroom window, but he couldn't see directly down to the porch from that angle. He ran down the stairs again. He turned on the porch light and peeked out the kitchen window, which was still intact. He walked cautiously out the door. He almost tripped on the bottle neck, which he absent-mindedly picked up, cursing Melinda for making a mess on the porch.

Then he saw her, lying with her head on the walkway, her foot, no longer wearing the sandal, just barely touching the porch. With fear turning his insides to water, he crept near her, praying she was still alive, and knowing she couldn't be. When he got a good look at the killer's handiwork, he scrambled up, slipping on the bloody grass, and ran to grab the porch railing, already retching. He was still clutching the bottle neck. When he'd recovered, he realized what he was holding.

He ran into the kitchen and got a small towel. When he was sure he'd wiped his own fingerprints from the fragment, he tossed it near the body, rolling it with his foot as close to the bloody corpse as possible. Then he went in, washed his hands, and called the police. After that, he called Barnabas and Carolyn.

Willie thought of changing out his blood-stained clothes, but he had no time. Four police cars, three of which carried two patrolmen each, and one which trans-ported the sheriff and a plainclothes detective, arrived within five minutes. An ambulance followed close upon them. The noise of the sirens attracted a small crowd of passers-by. Two of the police cordoned off the area. One was taking statements from some of the onlookers on the sidewalk. Two were with the body. Another was already calling for more assistance.

The sheriff and the detective had Willie more or less cornered in his chair near the kitchen sink. The officer who'd been talking to the people on the sidewalk joined them. Willie tried to calmly explain about how Melinda intruded on the premises (without mentioning how

she'd come on to him) and that he had no idea what went on once he went upstairs. The effort was too much for him, and he retreated into his familiar whine.

The three policemen looked at his bloody clothes and shoes. The patrolman who'd been outside said, "Several of the people outside said they heard a loud altercation out there about a half-hour ago, a man

and woman yelling some pretty ugly stuff at each other, and a sound

like someone falling hard. What do you have to say about that, Mr. Loomis?"

Willie shrunk into his chair, looking ashamed. His mind was frozen--- he forgot all about his rights and protecting himself. "It's true we had a bad argument. Me and Melinda never got along, and since I got married, well, I haven't seen her around. But she suddenly came over tonight 'cause she heard my wife was out of town, and she started

giving me a hard time."

"A hard time about what, Mr. Loomis?" This from the plainclothes detective.

Willie said, "I can't tell you--my wife--"

"Mr. Loomis," said the detective, "No-one's accusing you of anything--"

Willie sat silently, thinking, "Not yet." He knew what was coming, and was resigned to it already.

"We just need a clear picture. Perhaps someone was hanging about outside the fence, listening to your argument, waiting for an opportunity to strike at Mrs. Knowlton, or yourself, or simply break in. But you must tell us everything."

"Look," Willie said, with all the tiny bit of asperity he could manage,

"Melinda came over to see if I would--would sleep with her, because my wife is away. I won't do anything like that, and I told her so. She got pushy, and said bad things about my Cecily, and I just got real pissed off and shoved her off my porch. I'm sorry about that. I tried to help her, and she said, leave her alone, so I went upstairs to wait for her to clear off. Again, I'm sorry. I should've hung around to

make sure she was okay. I heard a sound like she broke a window or something, and I came down. I found her like she is, now. I got sick, from looking at the blood. Then I called you guys."

The patrolman watched Willie, while the detective and the sheriff discussed matters in whispers at the other end of the kitchen. Willie could hear words like, "prior record", "motive", "end up like this."

He tried not to listen. He knew what the score was. He thought how funny it was, how he'd gotten off when he'd killed those other guys,

and now, he was going to be put away for something he really didn't do. He thought about Cellie and the baby. He'd have to tell those cops,

when the time came, that he didn't want her to see him in jail.

Barnabas, followed by Carolyn, rushed in through the front entrance of the store. They stepped into the kitchen just in time to see the patrolman handcuff Willie while belatedly reciting his rights. Afterward, Barnabas was allowed to speak to his hapless employee for

a few minutes. "Willie, I don't want to believe you did this," he said.

"I didn't, I swear, Barnabas." Willie looked at the floor, at his bloody shoes. He continued, in a tearful whisper,"I think I was set up, but I don't know by who."

Carolyn, who was weeping quietly, said, "We'll make sure you get the best defense lawyer. I'll call Tony, he'll recommend someone."

"Thanks, Carolyn, but I don't think it'll do any good anyway. I guess

I always knew something like this would happen someday." Willie sighed.

"Barnabas, you have to make sure that you don't let Cecily come see me in jail, or ever, if you can manage it. I'll divorce her before I'm sent up. Whatever little I got in the bank, it's hers and the baby's."

Barnabas got angry. "Stop talking like that, Willie. You don't know yet, if you'll be, as you put it, 'sent up.' As for Cellie seeing you, I can try to keep her away, but I doubt it will be for long. You must believe you will come through this."

" 'Must'? Must is fine for you, Barnabas. But you're not running this show." The policeman standing by indicated it was time for Willie to go. He turned to Barnabas and Carolyn one more time. He said, "Tell Cecily I love her and I'm sorry I screwed up her life."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Early the next morning, the phone rang in Janice Hoffman's spacious apartment. Janice, who was in the kitchen, drinking her morning coffee (not made by her daughter), had to run to answer it. She got it on the fifth ring. The connection was a bit scratchy. "Hello, Hello," a young male voice said. "Is this Mrs. Hoffman? Is Cellie up yet?"

It didn't sound like Willie. "Who is this?" Janice asked.

"This is David Collins, Cellie's friend from Collinsport."

"Oh, yes, now I remember. How are you, David?"

"Okay---I don't have time to talk about me. Is Cellie up yet? She didn't see the paper or turn on a TV or radio yet, did she?"

"I'm not sure, David. What's this all about?" Janice began to feel nervous. She looked at the Boston Herald, still folded on her coffee table.

"Listen. No matter what, don't let Cellie do any of those things, not until Barnabas talks to you and Julia first." There was a commotion in the background on David's end, and the sound of someone else taking the receiver.

"Janice, it's Barnabas." Janice recognized the deep-toned, British-accented voice. "I will tell you first, then get Julia."

Janice said, truly panic-stricken now, "What in God's name is going on now? Has something happened to Willie?" She tried not to cry.

"Yes, a terrible thing. Willie's been arrested for murder, last night. The victim was a local woman with whom he'd had trouble before."

"Oh my God, he didn't really do it, did he?" Even as she asked, Janice

thought what a stupid question that was. Obviously, the police thought he did, and most of the time, they were right.

"I'd like to believe he is innocent, but the circumstantial evidence is overwhelming. The woman was killed right in the backyard of the antique store, after it was closed. Willie was known to have fought with her, then he said he went indoors, leaving her alive. He said he heard a noise, and came downstairs, and found her, strangled and cut up. Unfortunately, he got quite blood-soaked himself. He called the police, who naturally thought he was responsible. There were already various reporters from all the media around, when they brought him to the police station, so it may well appear in your paper, or on your stations this morning. Now, please, get Julia and check on Cellie."

Janice went into the room which Cellie and Julia shared. To her dismay, she saw Cellie's bed was empty. Then she remembered, Cellie had said she'd probably take a little early-morning walk around the block, which was in a pretty safe section of town. Janice got Julia up, and both went to the phone. They sat together, when they saw Cellie walk in the front door. She held another newspaper in her hands, and her face was ashen. Julia dropped the receiver, and both of the older women

ran to catch Cellie as she dropped to her knees without a sound.

They got her to the couch. Cellie picked up the receiver. She heard

Barnabas shouting, "Is anyone there?"

In the meekest of voices, she answered, "It's me, Barnabas. I know everything. I couldn't sleep too well, last night, for some reason.

I went out early this morning, and stopped in little store that carries out-of-state papers. I bought the first one I saw that came from Maine. The Bangor Dispatch, or something. It wasn't exactly a banner headline, but it was there on the front page. Want me to read it to you?" She began to weep, a keening wail that rose in intensity. Janice thanked God her upstairs neighbors had already left for work. Still, she hugged her daughter to her breast, trying to quiet her down.

Barnabas said, "Cellie, are you still there?"

Cellie collected herself. "Barnabas, I know he didn't do it. I mean, he could probably hit her, but all that blood? He really has this thing about blood---I guess I know why," she said in a dead-calm voice. She remembered when she and Willie went to the natural childbirth class. The instructor screened a movie showing a birth--- from a doctor's-eye view. To Cellie, it looked merely unpleasant, but Willie had to excuse himself. When they left the class, he told her, with every apology he could fit into a twenty-minute drive, that he didn't think he was up to being in the delivery room; "All that blood," he shuddered.

Of course, if he was mad enough at Melinda, that would be different---

or would it? The paper said it appeared she was strangled first, and her head beaten on the cement walk. (She recalled what he'd told her about the man he'd killed in Brazil. Willie may have been prepared to fight with the man, but when he took his knife, it was in self-defense. "It wasn't like I hacked him to bits. . . it was over quick.") If Willie had done anything, Cellie thought, it would have stopped with the beating, before there was too much blood. . .

Cellie continued, "Barnabas, I'm coming home, right away. I have to

see him. I'll bet he said not to let me see him in jail."

"You know him very well, Cellie. If you don't believe he did it, then

I don't," Barnabas said firmly. "Just call up either the Old House or Collinwood when you know what train you're taking. Someone will relay the message, and either I or David will meet you at the station. Now, put your aunt on again, please."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Both Barnabas and David were waiting for Cellie and Julia at the train

station. Janice had to straighten things out with her boss, Justin, but promised to arrive in Collinsport by the next morning at the latest, hopefully with either Ernest or Lillian. David held Cellie's hand in the car. "Hallie's at Collinwood. I guess Paul writes to her as much as possible, and she wants to be on hand for the latest developments, for when he finds out."

Cellie wondered if Hallie believed that Willie had killed Melinda, after what she'd told her a couple of months earlier. If she did, apparently she was keeping it to herself, out of consideration for her best friend and her own boyfriend.

David continued, "Your sister-in-law Fran calls at least once an hour, crying like her heart is breaking. We let Mrs. Johnson handle her."

Cellie smiled sadly. "A little starch from Mrs. Johnson won't go a long way with poor Fran. After I see Will, I'll call her myself."

Barnabas spoke from the driver's seat. "Cellie, you already know he's said he doesn't want you at the jail. I could respect his wishes, but I know you'll probably get out, yourself, later, and go alone. There will still be reporters and other hangers-on at the police station. I would rather go with you."

David and Julia both said the same thing. Cellie said, "Please, could you take me now?" Barnabas and the others agreed. He turned the car down a road that led to where Willie was being held.

As Barnabas had predicted, there was a crush of reporters, some with regular cameras, some with television equipment, ringed around the sidewalk at the police station. Barnabas parked some distance down the street, as it was clogged with the media people's vehicles. He and David, followed by Julia, surrounded Cellie as they walked down the street. Cellie broke away, and stood as straight as she possibly could with her burden. The baby wasn't moving right now, so it wasn't too difficult to hold herself up. The reporters seethed down the street when they saw her coming.

"Mrs. Loomis, do you think your husband did it?"

"Mrs. Loomis, are you aware of his past history, kidnapping that Evans

girl, going to the asylum?"

"Mrs. Loomis, do you fear for yourself or your baby?"

"Mrs. Loomis, what made a former honor student like yourself take up

with someone like that?"

Barnabas and David were going to shield her, but Cellie looked a few of the reporters in the eye. She took a deep breath, and simply said, "I have no comment at this time." She thanked God she'd spent a lifetime watching Boston politicians. "Those guys could put off questions from Saint Peter, himself," she thought. Then she had an inspiration. Boston papers and news programs covered a wider area than the Maine media. She could try to manipulate the coverage of her husband's case, to some extent. "Are any of you from Boston?" she demanded.

A few answered in the affirmative. "If I talk to anyone, it'll be

from my hometown first," she promised. She and her small entourage passed into the police station. She told Barnabas, "Let the vultures chew on that for a while."

She stood before the desk of Sheriff Fred Beardsley. The beefy,

middle-aged law enforcement official eyed the pregnant red-haired girl up and down. He remembered her from when she worked at the Superette. So this was the one whose honor Loomis thought he was defending. "Even with a bun in the oven," he thought, "she's still a looker." That Melinda would never have stood a chance against this---what was her first name again?---Cecily.

"Mrs. Loomis," he said, not without a note of sympathy in his voice (God, how old was she again? Eighteen? He had a daughter who was seventeen. That's how old this one was when she took up with that

homely lech in the holding cell. "Disgusting," he thought.) "I'm sorry we have to meet under these circumstances. I can assure you that your husband isn't too uncomfortable, or in danger from the others being held here. He'll be moved in the morning, to a larger facility. I do

regret to inform you that he has specifically requested that you should not be allowed to see him during his stay in jail." ("And long may that be," he wished fervently. It was a wish that he'd cherished for years, since Loomis first came to town.)

"I'm sure he doesn't really mean it, Sheriff. I want to see him right now. I came all the way back from Boston to be with my husband,"

Cellie pleaded. "Please." She was on the verge of tears.

"Sheriff Beardsley, she won't give up, believe me. Willie will surely change his mind when he sees her, " Barnabas said reasonably.

The sheriff looked irritated. "Look, Mrs. Loomis. Even if he changed his mind, I'm not sure I would let you in there. I have a couple of really nasty fellows being held in there, who might say some things you wouldn't want to hear."

"I"ve already heard the worst thing. My husband is in jail for something I know he didn't do!"

"Mrs. Loomis---can I call you Cecily? Cecily, you weren't there last night. I was. Would you like to read your husband's statement? If you'd seen what I saw---I could show you the pictures--- you wouldn't believe what he said either. I go back a long way with your husband, back to the whole Maggie Evans thing. I wish you could've seen what he did then. Ask your aunt. She treated Maggie, and then Willie at that WindCliff place after HE got out of the state bin. If you were my daughter, I would tell you what a lot of sensible people have probably told you already. Forget Loomis. Divorce him ASAP, give up that little half-Loomis you're toting around, and get out of town. Find a decent guy."

"My husband has never been less than decent to me. And I'm keeping

our child. I know all about my husband's history. I know Maggie

Evans. She forgave Will years ago. And as for his being shot---

My God! I can't keep count of the scars." Cellie tried to "read"

the sheriff. All she "saw" was what she knew already---the contempt, the disgust. He had to have a weak spot she could play on.

Suddenly, it came to her how she could find out.

"So, Sheriff Beardsley, you were involved in the Maggie Evans case.

I'm curious about some of the details. In what capacity were you involved?" Barnabas, David, and Julia watched her in some amazement. What was this all about?

"If you must know, Mrs.--Cecily, I was one of the officers who had to bring him down, as they say."

"What happened right after he was shot?"

"Why, nothing. Two of us had to guard him, though one would have

done as well. He wasn't going anywhere. Why are you asking all this, anyway?" he demanded. Cellie read him now. Bright yellows, and a

touch of green. Anger and a little shame. She knew she had him.

He'd said, "Two of us." Not "Two officers," or "Two other cops." "Us."

A nice, incriminating little word.

"Oh, so you were one of the guards?"

"Yes."

"Then, perhaps, you might recall a conversation you had with the

other guard, standing right over my husband. Something about

'finishing him off to save the state some dough'?"

"That's enough!" he bellowed. "God, I didn't know someone who was

nearly a stiff could hear all that! Then I heard he went wacko right after, and couldn't remember anything!"

Cellie shrugged, and smirked at the sheriff. "He got better."

"Get out of here right now, young lady!"

Cellie looked at him with slitted eyes. "I'm not going anywhere.

I want to see my husband, or else I'm going outside to tell those

nice reporters that the head of Collinsport, Maine's law enforcement department is abusing the spouse of an accused person. That he once threatened to --ah--euthanize, that's it, a suspect who was already helpless on the ground."

David chimed in, "The Boston guys first, remember."

The sheriff's face was red. "So what? Now Loomis is up on murder

charges. Nobody gives a tinker's damn about his welfare around here, anyway."

"I know you're already a cop, but being sheriff is an elected

position," she observed. "Don't you have other political ambitions beyond being the sheriff of a dinky town like this? Those who read

big-city papers, or watch big-city news might think twice about

electing an official who based his law-enforcement decisions on a personal vendetta."

"You're too much! Go, see your scum husband. " Beardsley looked at

the brace of Collinses that had accompanied Cellie. It certainly wouldn't be politically correct to ruffle the feathers of the town's leading citizens. "Deputy Arliss, take Mrs. Loomis to see Mr. Loomis. Let her stay as long as she wants, within reason." Hopefully, that

won't be too long, he thought. He couldn't wait for Loomis's transfer in the morning.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The Deputy, a quiet young man, took Cellie downstairs to the holding cells. He had secretly enjoyed her sparring with the sheriff, who, he thought, was both a bit of a blowhard and a political hack. He played politics, too, but he had no interest in making people more miserable than they already were. He personally had nothing against that

Loomis---he was the quietest prisoner Arliss had ever tended. If he

was the vicious killer they said he was, he was very good at hiding it. Or maybe there really was such a thing as temporary insanity, and he was over it now.

There were, of course, the expected catcalls from the other inmates. "Oh, Willie, the cheerleader's here!" was probably the most tasteful

and complimentary.

"I wasn't a damn cheerleader!" Cellie announced.

"Sorry, then maybe you were a go-go dancer instead?" The anonymous voice suggested, almost respectfully.

"Mrs. Loomis, don't talk to them," Arliss said, wearily. They came to

a cell at the end of the hall, a little apart from the others. Willie sat, curled up into himself, on his bunk, against the wall.

"I told you guys not to let her in here," he said quietly. He looked

at the wall.

"Will, you wouldn't believe all the work I had to do to get the sheriff to let me in here. Please, just for a few minutes." She began to cry.

"Mr. Loomis, I can testify to that. I'm going to open the cell now." Arliss admitted Cellie, then locked the door. "When you want out, Mrs. Loomis, or if there's a problem, I'll be right up there." He pointed to a small desk they'd passed when they entered the holding cell area.

"Thanks awfully, Deputy Arliss. You've been way too kind."

"I know," he said, smiling at her in an encouraging manner. "That's

why I'll never be sheriff, I guess."

"I'll be sure to vote for you, anyway," she replied. She turned to her husband. She sat next to him, put her arm around him. It was easy to grab his beltloop---they didn't allow prisoners to wear belts. Or chains either---his Mizpah half, and his cross were missing. They'd also taken his watch. Even his wedding ring was gone. (She wondered

if they would give her his jewelry; she'd have to ask that nice

deputy.) And though he'd had to change and clean himself up (they'd taken his bloody clothes for evidence, as well as hair samples and

stuff from under his fingernails), there was still a little dried

blood in spots on his skin.

Cellie kissed him. She "saw" mauve grey, and knew he was all worn out in his spirit. He said, "Cecily, please go. I love you but if you hang around here, it's gonna to be hard for you, and the baby. You ought to have stayed in Boston. I'm gonna be convicted and sent to prison. What are you gonna do? Visit me once a week, behind a window, for the next fifty years?"

"Whatever I have to do for you, I'll do. I've done quite a bit already. You should have seen what I did to the sheriff. He was sweating bullets when I left him."

Willie sat back, and sighed. "You can't do that, Cecily. Use up your power on this, I mean. This isn't a game where you can call the shots." He did relax to the point of putting his arm around her. "You could end up in big trouble yourself. I don't know who killed Melinda, but I know whoever it is, he's still out there."

"Or she. Maybe it's some jealous wife who finally lost it. Anyway, the killer wouldn't be dumb enough to come around here, not right

away." She sighed. "I kind of feel sorry for Jack. He was living

with his mother, you know. I guess they were finally getting along.

I wonder how he's taking it."

Willie smiled at her, the first time he'd been able to smile since the whole mess began. He kissed her . "You would feel sorry for Jack,

even after all the crap he put you through. It's my fault I guess, because of what happened five years ago." He held her closer. "That Melinda, she never got over what we did."

Cellie snuggled against him. "She's over it now. May she rest in peace."

"Cecily, there's still no answer to what we can do. Carolyn and Tony got me a fancy lawyer, but I know I'm going to end up in prison. Prison! I did time there once, when I was my old self. I could handle it then. But mostly, I've been in and out of local lockups like this one. You know all that. It wasn't any picnic, but at least I didn't have to worry about big fights and guys going after guys in showers and stuff. Look at me. The way I am now, I wouldn't last a week in prison." He began to curl up again. "And you and the baby. You know, this time yesterday, I was thinking about how great it's been, when we didn't have some other problem hanging over our heads. I mean, the nice, normal things other people take for granted---planning for the kid, going to school. It seems like nothing good lasts

for us. We just said good-bye to Nicholas, and now this happens."

Willie was crying now. Cellie hung over him like she was protecting him. She felt a pain like heartburn, but she knew she was literally sharing his pain. She rocked him a little. They both sobbed quietly. Then Cellie took his hand and put it on her abdomen. The baby moved

for its father.

"You're going to get past this," Cellie said it firmly, though she didn't believe it, and wept while she said it. "You're going to see

the baby too, and be around for him or her. And we'll have more some day. Will, pick two names for the baby. Boy and girl names. If we don't use one now, we could use it for the next baby."

Willie sniffled. "I don't know. Just don't name it after me, or my Dad. His name was Harold. I guess you could call a boy, uh, Tom or something simple."

"Thomas Loomis. No, I don't think so. Too many S's."

"Okay, Jonathan. That would sound nice. But if it's a girl, we have

to name her after my mom. Teresa. Teresa Loomis."

"Then, it's settled." She kissed him, and stroked his face. "I'll be here in the morning when they move you."

"Yeah, they're hauling me to the county lock-up. It'll be a long ride for you."

"I'll do it, don't worry. It'll serve 'em right if I give birth in the courtroom during your trial. " They kissed again. Willie patted her middle. Cellie signalled to the deputy. He came right over. "Deputy Arliss," she began. "What time do visiting hours end here? I'd like to come back later and bring Will a change of clothes, and maybe something extra to eat, from home. If it's allowed, of course."

"Well, we usually shut down at nine. But the sheriff will be leaving at eight tonight. I'll be on duty till eleven. Come after eight, and you can stay till I have to go, if you want. I'll just have to check what you bring."

"You can have some of the food I bring, if you want. Oh, there was something else I need to know. Could I get Will's jewelry released to me? I hate to think of them in some envelope, forgotten in some file cabinet. I want to be able to put them back on him myself when he's cleared of this charge, especially the wedding ring."

"I would have to check the regs, but I don't see any problem with that.

I'll get them to you, when you come back here, later."

"Thanks ever so much." Cellie and Willie hung on to each other for a

minute or two. "I'll see you later," she whispered. "I love you."

"I love you too, Cecily. Make sure someone goes with you back to the

Antique Shoppe. I'd rather it was Barnabas."

On her way out of the police station, Cellie was as good as her word. She collared reporters from the Boston Herald, and the Boston Globe, and, in tones of injured dignity, gave them both brief interviews.

* * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

After Cellie was settled in her old room at the Old House, and was all but force-fed by her aunt (Cellie was too nervous to eat much anyway) and had called her sister-in-law, she and Barnabas set out for the Antique Shoppe. By the time they got there, all the police were gone. What evidence there was had already been collected or photographed.

Barnabas brought Cellie in through the front entrance, so as not to see the bloodstains in the backyard, or near the kitchen door. He drew out his own small pistol, and kept his finger on the trigger, while they walked through the Shoppe. He led the way, turning on lights everywhere, as they checked the house and cellar. Everything seemed to be in place. Barnabas relaxed, and slipped the gun into a deep pocket in his jacket.

He left Cellie in the bedroom, to gather fresh clothes for Willie, as well as a few extras for herself. When he left, Cellie sat on the bed and began to cry again. It was going to be hard, being brave for her husband, but she'd done it before, and somehow, things had worked out. She looked around. She put Willie's coffee cup into the dirty bowl he'd left. Then she saw the little pile of pictures that Willie must

have been looking at when Melinda showed up. He'd wanted to take

a new series of pictures of the way she looked now, but she was embarrassed by her stretch marks. Now she was sorry she hadn't

let him.

She stuffed a couple of his things into a shopping bag she brought.

She listened downstairs. Barnabas was walking around the showroom. Then she heard nothing else. He must have sat down. She came downstairs, carrying the full bag and the dirty dishware, and went straight into the kitchen to check the refridgerator. She put the

cup and bowl on the counter near the blood-stained sink. She peeked around the table. There were many stains on the floor between the

door and the sink. She wondered how she would be able to clean it all up. Lots of bleach, she thought. But she got queasy from the smell of bleach even before she got pregnant. It might not be good for the baby, either. Maybe they could hire a special cleaning service to come in,

as soon as the police said it was okay.

She looked into the fridge. There was nothing in there that needed to be removed for a couple of days. The big casserole bowl that held the potato mixture was nearly empty. Cellie looked at her watch, debating whether there was enough time to go to the Superette to pick up a pound of their potato salad, which she thought tasted a lot like her recipe, only cold. She turned toward the showroom, and called, "Barnabas, I'd like to stop at the Superette for a minute before we go to the jail." There was no reply. She went into the front of the store. Maybe he

was in his office. She found him lying face down in front of the

office door.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Willie was much more lively, and talkative, after his wife left.

Deputy Arliss, who'd also noticed Cellie at the Superette, and had

come to like her very much in their brief acquaintance, made the time

to listen patiently, as Willie enumerated her virtues. Arliss told

him about what she'd said to Sheriff Beardsley. Willie said, "I feel like telling her to zip her lip, sometimes, but she's usually right.

I thought there was something familiar about him. I just hope he doesn't turn around and use it against us."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much, Willie. Beardsley likes to

sound off like a tough guy, but, really, he's basically well-meaning. Whatever he said, years ago, well, sometimes you see things when

you're a cop that make you so angry, and you can't do anything about them. Sometimes you say things that you wouldn't even think at any other time. It's no excuse, but he probably wouldn't have said that

if he really thought you could hear."

"It's not like I didn't deserve it," Willie admitted. "What happened was bad. But Maggie knew I was sorry. And Cecily understands."

"She's a phenomenon. I must say, she'd make a fine lawyer. She also

handled those reporters. She's going to make you a cause celebre."

"What's that?"

"It just means she's going to try to get all those papers and news

shows to believe you've been falsely accused."

"Do you think I'm guilty, or what?"

"Every suspect is considered innocent until proven guilty, in the

eyes of the law, if not in anyone else's eyes. The truth is, I'm

only concerning myself with your welfare because of my respect for

your wife."

Deputy Arliss turned to go back to his desk. Before he walked away,

Willie asked, "What time is it?"

The deputy looked at his watch. "A few minutes after eight."

"It's not like Cecily to be late. Well, maybe she had to run an errand."

Deputy Arliss smiled. "I'm sure that's all it is. Someone that determined wouldn't let anyone stop her if she really was set on

doing anything."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Cecily grabbed the door knob of the office, to lower herself into a crouch near Barnabas. There was a little blood on the back of his

head, just starting to congeal. It didn't appear to be a shotgun wound. Then she noticed a lump that had formed under his hair. She felt for a pulse. Barnabas was alive. Now she could make out that he was breathing. She performed these functions in a daze. Her heart began

to beat very slowly. She was torn between staying with Barnabas, and trying to flee. The baby began to pound at her insides, as she rose. Her chest heaved, as if a lead weight had been dropped on it. When she blinked, a blinding white light stung her eyes. HE was here. She almost tripped over Barnabas as she ran to the door. From out of nowhere, her arm was nearly wrenched from its socket as she was pulled back. She was whipped around to face---

"Jack," she said, weakly, as she flailed her free arm, striking his face. He grabbed that arm, too. She fought for emotional control, as she had every time she'd had to face him. With each encounter, she'd grown less resilient. Her pregnancy, once a sustaining force, had come to drain her of strength as it advanced, but she figured if she and the baby were going to die, she was going down fighting to the bitter end, anyway. For a moment she thought of Willie. She stifled a sob, stopped the tears that sprang to her eyes, and clamped her brain shut against anything that might dampen her resolve.

"Little Mrs. Willie," Jack scoffed. "For a smart-ass from Boston, you sure are stupid. It must be contagious among the Loomises. But then," he said, poking her stomach, "You're a Loomis by injection." Celliee watched his jabbing finger with a kind of relief. It was clear he didn't have Barnabas's gun. Barnabas must have fallen in such a way,

as to both conceal the weapon, and keep it from going off.

"What--why are you here? How? We checked the building."

"I used to play in this dump when it was vacant. I know a place in

the cellar. I came back when I saw your uncle's car heading in this direction. I knew the cops had cleared out already. And that lousy alarm system only goes off when you break in the door or windows in

this building. I jumped the fence and got in through the shed door,

out in the backyard. That moron you're married to probably forgot to lock it." He dragged her into the kitchen. "Too bad you're so big.

We could've had a swell time upstairs, in Willie's bed, at least

until--- Anyway, this will be enough fun for me." He swung her around. She tried to duck, but it was no use, as he slapped her across the face a few times. He threw her on the floor, right into his mother's dried blood. He straddled her across the chest. He indicated his zipper. "Your choice. You could give me a nice time, or, I could pound your head on the floor. Quit kicking the table, or I'll smack Willie Junior."

"Pound away," she hissed. She fidgeted and strained. Her arms were pinned to her sides. His weak spot, his weak spot---if only he had one. The haze of his hatred, focused totally on her, clouded her confused efforts to work on his emotions. She'd lost her one chance, at the Superette, and it was difficult for her to work on anyone these days, without Willie in the vicinity. Cellie didn't detect the smell of liquor on Jack's breath---she had long theorized that alcohol impaired her abilities, as well as the intoxicated person's, but in Jack's case, it may no longer have been necessary, for the purpose of blocking her "reading." He just would not be distracted from what he was doing long enough for her to find a "back door" into his mind. Maybe she should give in---"No way!" she thought, disgusted. A tiny voice in her mind said "Ask questions. Even if you don't get the answers. Keep asking." Barnabas had told her that once. It seemed like a hundred years ago. "Jack, Jack, why?" she demanded. "Your mother. Why your mother?"

He slapped her again. "Don't talk about Melinda. That bitch let her stud beat the hell out of me, so she wouldn't get her dainty self

banged up. When my Dad took me away, I was still dumb enough to miss her. Then I found out she was still tearing after Willie."

"He didn't want her anymore after that."

"It doesn't matter. He screwed up my family. I got to watch my Dad beat Mom up when he decided that Willie was the injured party, and didn't want to press charges." Jack brought his face close to hers. "Then I met you. I wanted you so bad, and you didn't let me touch you. I got rid of the other guys. I just didn't figure on Crazy Willie getting into your pants ahead of me." He put his hands around her throat, and choked her just a little. Cellie lost the fix she was getting on his inner state. "You whore. Just like my Mom. Couldn't get enough of Willie. Melinda still chased him around. I wanted to talk to her yesterday. I went down to the Blue Whale, and they said she came here to make nice with your old man. I mean, she bragged about it! They made bets on it!"

Cellie freed one arm, and clutched at his hands around her throat. He said, "Don't make me finish you off before I get to tell you, Cellie." She withdrew. The baby moved. She hoped Jack didn't feel it.

"I got to watch the whole damn show from those bushes, way out back.

She even dropped her top for him. Oh, no, he was too good for that.

He tossed her off the porch. When she hollered at him, he ran inside like a scared puppy. Real gentleman you got there, Cellie. Knocks a woman down and leaves her in the dirt. And that bitch, she got up

and went back for more. I couldn't take it anymore. I had to stop

her already. After, I got the idea to make it look like Willie did

it. Boy, did he ever fall for it. He made a fine mess of himself.

I thought when he puked, it would screw things up, but no. I watched from the bushes and had to keep myself from laughing."

He pulled back from her, and began to throttle her, tapping her head

on the floor, as he had his mother. Then he changed his mind. Cellie gasped, "If you kill me and Barnabas, they'll know Will didn't kill

your mother. They may guess you did it, and he'll be free. Why bother at all? Just get away."

"I couldn't care less about what happens to me anymore. And if Willie is

freed, so what? He won't have anything to come home to. He won't even have a home. That's enough for me." Jack began to beat her up in earnest. He punched her. He raised his fist up in the air, and brought it down. Cellie managed to free her pinned arms, but she was so weak already that it was no trouble for Jack to smack them away while he kept hitting her. Jack must have chosen this method because it reminded him of when he was beaten by Willie.

Even though Jack talked about hitting her belly, something kept him from doing it. Maybe the baby was holding him back? But that was impossible. Cellie's own abilities hadn't emerged until puberty.

This was an eight-month's fetus. Jack must just be squeamish about that. Hard to believe, after what he'd already done. He probably figured it would be more torture if the baby died slowly within her. Cellie wondered if Jack would complete his work by carving herself

and Barnabas up, as he had Melinda. A knife wouldn't be hard to

find---the silverware drawer was right above her head.

Cellie was dying slowly herself. She saw a whirl of colors. She let herself think of Willie one last time. What a price to pay for one afternoon of foolishness, so long ago. She felt like she was taking

the fall for him, as he had for Barnabas. Barnabas! She was losing consciousness. In the last moment before she would have gone out, she reached out for his heart, the beat of which Willie once told her

had signalled him to the mausoleum, and began the journey that had brought them to this pass. It felt as if her empathic reach was being buoyed, maybe by her baby, maybe by something else that could help her in no other way. "Sarah?" she thought, dazedly. "Angelique?

Please. . .please. . ."

She heard, through the swirling darkness around her, the sound of Barnabas stirring. She wondered if Jack heard it. He did. "Damn, I thought that guy was dead," he said. Cellie hung on to consciousness tenaciously, but played dead. Jack, apparently satisfied that she was dead, or nearly so, rose to take care of Barnabas. He took a look at Cellie's abdomen, and made a sudden decision. He pulled his foot back. Cellie, looking out of the slit of her half-closed eye, threw out an

arm over her baby, and braced herself as best she could. Jack released his foot, and kicked her in the belly. Cellie moaned.

Jack was about to kick her again, when Barnabas literally fell upon

him. They rolled around on the floor. Jack wriggled from the older man's grasp, got up, and opened the back door to escape, before

Barnabas could scramble up in his dizzy state. He was fumbling for

his gun, and pointed it toward the door, but Jack was gone. Barnabas decided it was just as well; he couldn't have fought off Jack if the younger man had tried to take the weapon from him. For a moment, he wished he was in his former state, with the power to catch up with,

and finish off his opponent. He turned his attention to his niece,

who was writhing in agony, both her arms clutched around her abdomen.

Jack, meanwhile, ran to the locked gate, and managed to climb over it. He almost bumped into Pavlos and his new lady friend, who had prevailed upon him to take her to see the murder site. Pavlos had been reluctant, but the lady, Anissa, her name was, made Pavlos some outrageous promises if he would grant her this one favor. For once, Pavlos was to be glad he had given in. He recognized Jack under the streetlight, and gave chase, but then Anissa called him back, saying she'd heard agonized voices in the building. Pavlos couldn't scale the gate, so he helped Anissa over. She couldn't unlock it, so she ran boldly in through the kitchen door, right past the murder scene she'd come to see. In a minute, she came back with some keys.

"Quick, Pavlos," she said. "There are two injured people in there."

Pavlos rushed in, to see Barnabas kneeling over a delirious Cellie. Barnabas recognized him. He said, "Jack pulled the phone wire in here. There's another phone in my office, but if I get up, I get horribly dizzy and fall down again." He took the keychain Anissa held. "This key is the one. Please, God, let that phone be working."

It was. Pavlos made the calls, then went to kneel beside Cellie. He and Barnabas, tears in their eyes, held her hands, while Anissa went outside to direct the ambulance and police to the proper location. Pavlos murmurred a prayer in Greek. Cellie wept in her delirium. "Hush, little Flame," he whispered soothingly. "The Holy Mother will help you and the little one."

* * * * * * * * * * *

It was after nine o'clock, and Cellie hadn't arrived at the police station. Willie paced back and forth. Every now and then Deputy Arliss heard him pound the wall. Arliss was becoming deeply concerned himself. Cellie, he felt, would never stand her husband up for a trivial reason. He called down the aisle, "Willie, I'm going to find out what's going on. Hang in there." Just then, Sheriff Beardsley opened the door a crack, and gestured for Arliss to come into the front room. Arliss guessed immediately that the Sheriff's return must have something to do

with Cellie.

Beardsley and Arliss stood close together by the sheriff's desk. "This is about the Loomis case, isn't it?" Arliss inquired, trying to keep his voice calm.

"I got a call at home. Apparently, the real killer showed up again at the Antique place. This time, he assaulted Barnabas Collins and damn near killed Loomis's wife. There's going to be Hell to pay around here. I had orders to guard that place until tomorrow morning. Some cost-conscious bozo from City Hall withdrew the guards, an hour before

Mrs. Loomis and Mr. Collins arrived. What the Hell were they doing there, anyway?"

"Mrs. Loomis wanted to pick up a fresh change of clothing for

her husband tonight. I would assume Mr. Collins went with her for protection." Arliss asked quietly, "Who did they say the murderer

was?" Before Beardsley could answer, the phone rang.

Arliss waited anxiously, as the sheriff asked several two-word questions. When he hung up, he announced, "They got him. It was Jack Knowlton."

"My God, Sheriff. His own mother, a pregnant girl, and one of the Collinses! What happened?"

"He was caught speeding on the road outside Collinsport. When the

patrolman asked for his license, Jack shoved the guy away, and tried to flee on foot. The patrolman shot at him, but Jack ended up tripping on some fallen branches in the dark. With a gun pointed in his face, Jack began to sing like a canary. The patrolman was a smart boy. He shut Jack up long enough to call for backup. When the other guys got there, he did the Carmen Miranda." (This was Beardsley's whimsical name for reading the rights.) "After that, Jack confessed the whole thing, but at least our rear ends are covered, even if Mrs. Loomis isn't able to give a statement." He continued, "You can have the honor of springing Loomis. I know you've been dying to, ever since he came in, Les. Run him down to Collinsport General." He sighed. "Les, you know I thought that girl was a colossal pain in the ass. But she backed the right horse. And---Christ, Les, I got a daughter around that age. If something like that ever happened to my Debbie, I don't know what I would do."

Deputy Arliss turned to the door to the holding cells. He couldn't look at the Sheriff. Tears were filling his eyes. Telling Willie was going to be the hardest thing he'd ever done. "Sheriff Beardsley, sir, I was supposed to go off duty at eleven. If it's permitted, I'd like to stay on at the hospital for a while, until we find out how Mrs. Loomis is doing, " he said, in a husky voice.

Beardsley slumped at his desk. "Go ahead, Les. They'll be bringing

Knowlton in any minute now, and I'll have my work cut out for me, between Jack and the press, until Hanson shows up. Tell Loomis a couple of things for me. One, it wasn't personal. I honestly thought he did it. Two, tell him there's a lot to be said for a woman who'll stand up for her man like that. Three, tell him, someone that stubborn has to come through this. There's no justice in this world at all if she

doesn't make it. And that baby too."

Before he left the office, Arliss went directly to the file cabinet, unlocked it, and took out the small envelope containing Willie's chains, watch, and wedding ring. The sheriff said, "Go ahead, Les. We'll mess with the paperwork for that, tomorrow."

Beardsley watched as Arliss went through the door, and closed it.

He could hear his footsteps going down to the end of the line of

cells, even though the other prisoners, already disturbed by Willie, were making noise. Then he heard an anguished scream.

"CECILY!"

In the wake of the ensuing racket, when it became apparent that Willie was trying to tear up his cell, Beardsley realized that the

other prisoners had fallen into dead silence.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Deputy Arliss drove Willie to the maintenance entrance of the hospital, where they were to be met by a security guard. Arliss had called ahead to arrange this, as he believed both the main entrance and the emergency entrance might be blocked with reporters who'd gotten early word about the attack. As it was, they had to fend off two reporters who had hung around the maintenance entrance just in case. Arliss had feared Willie's reaction to the interference, but, after his initial frightening outburst of grief and rage while still locked in his jail cell, he had sunk back into the attitude of defeat and apathy he'd exhibited before his wife came to visit. The security guard led the way through a maze of downstair halls and service stairways.

Arliss kept his hand on Willie's shoulder. This wasn't merely for reassurance; he actually had to push the unhappy husband gently, whenever they slowed down. It was as if Willie's mainspring had

broken. Willie was clutching his hand over his abdomen, as if he felt pain there. That's how Arliss had found him, when he first went to

his cell to break the news to him, before Willie went out of control. Arliss hoped his former prisoner wasn't about to have some kind of attack, before he had a chance to check on his wife's condition. "Willie, are you okay? We'll have a doctor look at you when we're up there, if you want," Arliss said kindly. Willie shook his head "No," but said nothing else.

They had arrived in the waiting room reserved for the families of

those who were undergoing surgery. There was a small crowd there already. Julia was there, of course, leaning over Barnabas, who sat

in a wheelchair, with a cap-like bandage over his head. (He had argued with the doctors for the right to sit and wait with the others, rather than go directly to his hospital room. ) David and Carolyn sat together, clutching hands. Elizabeth stood behind them. Hallie was talking earnestly to Janice and Ernest, who had arrived in town just in time to receive the appalling news. And a pretty blonde woman, whom Willie didn't recognize, sat in a corner, looking toward the door.

This was Anissa, who, interested to see how everything turned out, had accompanied Pavlos. Now she waited for him to return from the chapel, where he'd spent most of the time since they'd arrived.

When they saw Willie come in, Janice and then Carolyn embraced him,

followed by Julia. He hugged them back, but let his arms fall in a dispirited manner. They cleared a space on the long vinyl couch for him. Arliss stood beside Anissa, the other outsider in this group,

and learned some details from her that made him anxious for Willie's future state of mind.

Julia spoke first. "She's already being operated on, Willie. They're going to deliver the baby first, then they'll have a clear view of any other damage, and try to repair it on the spot. There's an ambulance

on standby, in case they have to take either Cellie or the baby to the bigger hospital in Bangor."

Willie looked at the floor. In a dead voice he asked,"How long will it take?" Then he looked at his hand, still clutched on his pain-filled middle, as though he hadn't noticed he was doing it before. Of course he would know when the operation was done, and if she survived. If she didn't, and the baby---he couldn't think about that. He covered his face with his free hand, and began to weep bitterly. Damn Jack. Damn Melinda. Damn himself. If he hadn't been such a wild one back then,

if he hadn't been such a coward last night, none of this would have happened.

Julia reached out and rubbed his shoulder. "I don't know, Willie. When I talked to Dr. Hurley, she said herself she'd never seen anything quite like this happen to a pregnant woman. I suppose, though, the baby should be delivered---" (she was always careful to say "delivered" and not "removed", a far more hopeless term) "--within a half-hour or so, as I recall from my obstetrical training."

David had wheeled Barnabas around to face Willie. Barnabas's

own expression was a mask of profound sorrow and desolation. He understood the significance of Willie's posture, the hand across

the same place his wife had been injured.

Barnabas was, as always, surprised by the ever-increasing range of Cellie's empathic reach. When, in her extremity, she reached out to

his inner being with a last gasp for help, and caused him to rise,

he felt, even then, she was being helped in her weakness by some

other agency; Sarah, he supposed. Perhaps the same force kept Willie

in contact with his wife even when they were separated.

"Willie, I'm sorrier than you'll ever know," he began. "We checked everything, we thought. After all, the police had left such a short time before. I didn't even know what hit me, until. . ."

"It's not your fault, Barnabas," Willie replied. "Jack and Melinda

were my problem, and you and Cecily just got caught in the middle.

I'd rather go back and spend the rest of my life in prison, if it

would have kept this from happening. If this is what it took for me to be freed." He whispered something. Barnabas bent his head to listen,

even though it brought on a dreadful headache. He caught the

words, "Like I took the fall for you."

Barnabas felt the same stab of guilt in regard to his employee that he'd experienced when, months earlier, Willie had pleaded with him to bring Cellie back after she'd been sent away. Willie had, unintentionally and inadvertantly, paid a high price to keep Barnabas, whom he had hated, safe, and now, in a mean twist of fate, Cellie was, also inadvertantly, paying the price of saving Willie, whom she loved. Barnabas said softly, "We've all made mistakes, Willie. But we all love her, and she loves you, so it can't all be a mistake. Some higher power is watching over her and the baby, I'm sure. Pavlos believes. Maybe you should go down to the chapel and talk to him."

"I'll go with him, Barnabas," David said. "I need to take a walk, anyway. Anybody else?" Janice went over to her son-in-law, and he

stood up with her. Carolyn rose, and went into the hall, to wait.

As he passed Carolyn, David whispered, "I have to go make a few calls

that I didn't get a chance to, before. To Margene, and that priest at St. Ann's, and the nuns in Connecticut---it worked for Margene's kid." He walked down the hall, toward the phones.

Anissa, who'd been looking at Willie sympathetically, said, "I'm just going to tell Pavlos I have to get home." She patted Willie on the shoulder and took Janice's and Julia's hands. "Pavlos will keep me posted. I hope everything turns out alright."

Willie was roused from his heartache enough to inquire, "Who was that girl, anyway? Someone who worked with Cecily at the Superette?"

Elizabeth, who'd taken a minute to talk to Anissa when she first arrived, explained, "She was out walking with Pavlos near the Antique Shoppe. They saw Jack running away, and then helped out when they

found Barnabas and Cellie. Her name is Anissa Sheridan. She seems

like a nice girl, to be so concerned with people she doesn't even know."

* * * * * * * * * * *

The hospital chapel, just upstairs from the waiting room, was the size of a regular hospital room. In fact, the three pews (one of which had kneelers attached) and the makeshift "altar" were designed to be moved, in case the room was required in the event of an emergency. This being a non-denominational chapel, there were no religious symbols displayed. There was a small bookshelf in the corner, holding both the Catholic

and King James bibles, a Jewish prayer book, and even a worn copy of the Koran (left by an African-American nurse with Islamic leanings.) The "altar", in reality a tray stand used by bedridden patients which

was covered with a pretty tablecloth, held a vase containing flowers donated by the Ladies' Hospital Auxiliary. Carolyn thought she recognized her mother's contribution, unique flowers they grew only at Collinwood.

After greeting Pavlos, who knelt in the middle pew, she and David sat in

the first pew. Anissa talked to him briefly, and left to call a taxi. Janice sat near Pavlos. Willie sat in the third pew, in a corner, as far from the others as he could get in the small room. He sat close to the bookshelf. Cecily would have read everything on that bookshelf if she could have, Willie thought. If only she lived to have the opportunity. He reached for the King James Bible; it looked shorter.

He remembered his mother read something in there aloud to her children. Something about shepherds, water, and a valley. Cecily had showed him the name of the chapter once. It was spelled strangely. "Why don't they just spell it Salms, instead of with the 'P'?" he'd asked.

"I don't know. It's all Greek to me," she joked, then realized she had to explain the joke, too. She was very patient with him. Willie found the passage. He skimmed down till he came to the last paragraph.

"Yea, though I walk through

the Valley of the Shadow of Death,

I fear not, for you are beside me."

He wasn't afraid when Cecily was beside him. But now she might die,

and the baby, and he didn't know if he had the nerve to walk through that Valley with her, and then return. What would he do without her? He couldn't think about that. Even the Deputy---he was a nice guy, that Arliss, he even told Willie to call him by his first name, Lester---told him the sheriff said someone like Cecily had to get better.

He drenched his mind with thoughts of their life together, from the beginning. Amazing how, in less than a year, being with Cecily had gradually blotted out thoughts of his old life, and made it seem as if this was the only life he'd ever known. He remembered how she had the courage to stand between him and Barnabas, willing to take his beating, and to take over his anger and fears, cleansing them in her heart.

And how she'd defended him a few months earlier, when he'd been so

haunted by memories of his life before and after he'd discovered Barnabas. She'd chosen to stay with him, even when she knew the

extent of his criminal past, believing in him when he told her that

part of his life was over for good. He stuck with her when she experimented with her abilities, and both almost went over the edge,

helping Barnabas. They learned to stand together when threatened by forces of evil, both worldly, and otherworldly.

He thought about when they made love. Then he was afraid. Maybe God would get mad if he thought about that stuff in church, even if it was

a put-up job like this one. Still, he did the right thing and married her, so God couldn't get all that mad about it. Willie wondered why, when he thought of God, he had the same uneasy feelings he had about Barnabas.

He was thinking about how, just a couple of hours ago, Cecily was with him, trying to make him feel better when he knew she was around the bend with their shared sorrow. They shared everything, even this terrible pain he now had in his gut. She talked about the baby, and he felt better for a while. Only a couple of hours ago, and now, she might be dead within the hour. If the baby died, too, he knew he would want to kill himself, no matter what she would have said against it. She always tried to get him to believe he could be as brave as she was.

He wept, thinking about the God who was going to take her away from him. How could He let that happen to someone who only wanted to do good things in the world, for the people she loved? Everything else had been taken away from him. Why should this be any different?

He didn't realize he'd been crying that loudly. Janice was with him

in an instant, holding him in her arms like he was her own child, whispering comforting words through her own tears. David and Carolyn stood by him, rubbing his shoulders, and sobbing. Pavlos stood over him, like some kind of a saint in bellbottoms. Among the many chains

on Pavlos's neck, Willie could make out a couple of those double-winged crosses he'd seen on the Greek church in Ellsworth. Tears ran down Pavlos's face, also, but there was a kind of a glow around it. He said, "Willie, no matter what, she will never be completely apart from you.

I have this feeling. Come, sit with me, and we shall talk about what

is in your heart." If it had been any other guy but Pavlos saying something like that, Willie would have gotten angry, even though he was so sad. But Pavlos was different. Willie rose, and went to sit with Pavlos in the front pew. Within minutes, he felt the pain in his middle begin to ease up.

* * * * * * * * * * *

In the operating room, Dr. Hurley looked down at the wreck that was Cecily Loomis, and wondered, as she had since the girl had been brought in, how one person could deliberately inflict so much damage on another human being. Great dark bruises and contusions were the very least of it. There were a couple of broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder and wrist, and untold sources of internal bleeding. For reasons only Jack knew, he hadn't actually punched her face, but the hard slaps had damaged the tendons in Cellie's jaw, swelled her eyes, and

given her a copious nosebleed.

They began the Caesarean section. There were two other surgeons operating with Dr. Hurley. Seasoned professionals as they all were, they couldn't resist reacting to the damage they began to encounter

when the incision was made. "Jesus," whispered one, "Look at that." He pointed to a swelling. "It'll be some work to avoid hitting that

for the length of time we need to get the baby out." Even as he spoke, he worked on. The other surgeon said, in a regretful voice, "Dr. Hurley, I think we both know what must be done. Even though she's such a young girl, and may lose this child." Dr. Hurley sighed. The baby was soon delivered. The staff pediatrician, Dr. Heard, and two

nurses took it into another room and tended to it while the surgeons began their search-and-repair work.

The baby was rather large for a premature child, just over six pounds. Even though the skin was very red, there were bruises evident on the right arm and side. There had been damage to the ribcage, and the arm. The pediatrician hoped that was there was no further internal damage. They'd have to do X-rays. Suddenly the baby, who had cried just briefly and wriggled feebly, stopped breathing. Dr. Heard, who fought off a bleak sense of despair, did all he could to revive the nearly-lifeless infant. He requested more assistance. In minutes, two more doctors joined the fray. They worked frantically, occasionally getting a response, then failing. One of them said, "Even if we get things going here, there may be tremendous brain damage." Still, they kept it up for a short while.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Cellie felt like she was traveling in a far-away land, floating above all the travails and cares of the worrisome world she'd left behind. There were such pretty colors all around the sky she saw. If only Will and the baby could see this, she thought. Then she began to weep, as the colors became darker and darker. She approached a narrow channel that would have sucked her up if she didn't see the angel. It looked like an angel, anyway. Then it got closer. Cellie recognized the being. It was Sarah, who looked at her, as though Cellie had given her something she'd always wanted. "Come on. There's something I want you to see," she said. Cellie took her hand, and they left the colored

sky-place.

In a second, they were in a hospital room, where a lot of people stood around a table, around a baby. Cellie knew it was her baby. "Teresa," she said. There was something wrong with Teresa. Instead of being red or pink, she was blue. She wasn't moving. Cellie began to cry. All that waiting and hoping, and Teresa was dead. Jack had won. Sarah gazed at Cellie, with a question in her eyes. Cellie felt her love, and knew what she wanted. "Please," Cellie whispered.

Sarah kissed her, and said, "I have to go now. I won't see you anymore, but I'll be with you always." Sarah then walked over to the table, and wove herself into the group of doctors standing there. They didn't notice at all. But there was a buzz around the table. "I can't

believe it. She's alive! Look at her eyes. TRACKING, for God's sake! A miracle. A miracle." Teresa was turning a bright pink. She began to wave her arms and legs around. Cellie reached out, but something

pulled her back.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Dr. Hurley walked into the waiting room. Except for Anissa, everyone was still there. She walked straight to where Willie sat between his mother-in-law and Julia. He rose, as though he was about to be sentenced.

"Willie, your wife and baby both survived the surgery. There were

times when we thought we'd lose them both. But Cecily is now in the recovery room, and the baby is in the part of the nursery reserved for premature infants. The prognosis for your wife is guarded--- that is, we feel she will get better eventually, but we don't know if all the repairs we made will take hold. She may need more surgery. But we're optimistic about the baby. You have a six-pound, two-ounce daughter."

For an instant, Willie was elated. Cecily wasn't going to die, or the baby! He said, "I have a girl. My Teresa." He asked, with pathetic eagerness, "Does she look like my Cecily?"

Dr. Hurley smiled pityingly. "I don't think it's possible to tell yet, Willie. She doesn't even have much hair to speak of. That's the way

of it with premature babies. But she's very large for her stage of development, and after some trouble she had at the start, breathing, she's quite vigorous for a preemie. However, she was injured in the attack on her mother, and her handling will have to be left to professionals until we determine the extent of the injuries."

Willie was downcast again. "That means we can't hold her yet, I guess."

Dr. Hurley said, sympathetically, "You will be allowed to go into the

nursery to see her, and you can touch her. In the meantime, we can give you some instructions on her care, and so forth. She may recover in time, so that you can bring her to visit Cecily when she's up to it." She said, in a lower tone, "There's something I must explain, about the surgery we had to perform on your wife. Please, come with me to my office. I'd also like to see Cecily's mother, and Julia, too." Janice and Julia rose. Willie became afraid again. Janice took his arm, and Julia followed, as Dr. Hurley led the way to her office.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Willie sat in the nursery, next to a plastic-walled bassinet. He was gazing at his daughter with mingled joy and sorrow. His child, he thought. His only child, as long as he was married to Cecily. His eyes filled with tears again, as he recalled Dr. Hurley's words. "I'm so sorry, Willie. This is probably only the second or third time in twenty years I've had to perform a hysterectomy on such a young woman. Believe me, if the damage hadn't been so extensive--- but we had no choice. Her other womanly organs are intact, so your marital relations shouldn't be affected. But she will never be able to bear another child." She'd put her hand on his shoulder and looked directly into his eyes. "You must pull yourself together, Willie. I've seen the evidence of the symbiotic nature of your relationship. If you act defeated by this, she will probably pine away in despair over your disappointment. You must remind her, every day if necessary, that you love her, and you understand it's nobody's fault but Jack Knowlton's that this happened. You have one child, whose survival is a miracle, plain and simple. Direct your energy towards cherishing and protecting her. Many couples have only one child, for whatever reason, and they get along fine."

Willie studied the thin, red-faced baby for evidence of a resemblance to

her mother. So far, all he could identify were traces of resemblance to himself---Teresa's eyebrows and earlobes, for example. Cecily once said, "Why do guys always have such great earlobes, when they don't usually piece their ears? We could hook rocks to these things--" she tugged on his earlobes "--and they wouldn't even droop." Well, Teresa would one day be able to wear the clunkiest earrings with no trouble. And she had tiny dimples in her chin, like his. Cecily, at least,

had gotten her wish; the baby in the bassinet was going to look like the baby in Willie's mother's treasured portrait.

He spoke to the baby. "Hey, Teresa," he said. It's your Daddy talking.

The guy who always pats you, then you jump around, remember?" The baby looked up at her father with bright blue-grey eyes both knowing and focussed. Willie was pleased, but a little unnnerved. He reached over the opening of the bassinet, and, with gloved hands, began to stroke the baby's head. Teresa's eyes followed his movements with precision. She began to wriggle, as if in appreciation. Willie tried to tell her to keep still, on account of the tubes and bandages she had to wear.

There was a little soft fuzz on her head. Willie could see it, but couldn't feel it through the gloves. The sparse strands, in the

subdued light, had a hollow orange-gold color. Willie was happy.

He would be able to tell Cecily that their baby was going to have

red hair.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Cellie opened her eyes for the fourth time. The first time, she was

awakened by nurses in the recovery room. It was dim and quiet, and

she fell asleep, again.

The second time, she was in Intensive Care. She woke to the sound of machines and the voices of medical personnel. Once or twice, as

though she was looking through a fish-tank full of water, she had the impression that her mother's and her husband's faces were swimming before her.

The third time, the nurses woke her again, before removing the

breathing tube from her throat. Cellie gagged a little, and felt queasy for a while, as they'd warned. Then Dr. Hurley came in, and told her it was okay to go to sleep again. But Cellie refused to sleep until she was fully aware of her body's sensations. When she'd assured herself that she could feel all those aches and pains, she felt safe enough to doze off.

When she woke once more, she was in a regular room. Sun was streaming through the windows. The light stung her eyes. She turned her head,

a difficult thing to do with the pains in her head and neck. She had some kind of brace under her jaw. She looked up and saw her mother.

"Mom," she croaked through stiff lips. It was hard to open her mouth with that brace thing. "My baby, my baby." Her mother poured a cup of water, and Cellie managed to slurp a little through the straw.

"She'll be fine, darling," Janice replied. "It turned out she wasn't as

severely injured as the doctors were afraid of. We'll bring her in to see you in a couple of days. In the meantime," she said brightly, holding up a couple of pictures, "a nice nurse in the preemie nursery took a couple of Polaroids for you. Apparently, they get a lot of requests like that, because in an emergency, most people don't think to bring their cameras." She didn't see any need to mention that, in many cases, these could be the only pictures distraught parents would ever have of their babies. Baby Teresa would make it, as would her mother, and that was all that mattered to Janice.

Cellie looked at the pictures through her still-swollen eyes. A funny

sensation came over her, as though she'd seen her baby, up close and in person, before. As her mind cleared, the poignant memory came to her, stronger and stronger. She knew it really happened. She couldn't tell her mother. She might tell Barnabas later, but she wanted Willie. "Mom, is Will--is Will--" a tear slid down her cheek.

"Yes, darling, he's free. He's been here all the time, since the first night, worried sick about you, as we all were. He was sitting here

with you till a few minutes ago, but I made him go get a bite to eat. I'm sorry, honey," Janice said in a teary voice.

"No, no, I know he must have been starving," Cellie said. "He can't eat

when he's upset. I told him he must have been upset a lot at one time, 'cause he was so skinny. I fattened him up," she whispered proudly.

"Of course you did," her mother replied, relieved. It was wonderful to hear that sense of humor coming through. It would make it easier for Cellie when she had to face the new, hard facts of her life.

"Mom, how many days? How many nights?"

"Four nights. Today is the fifth day. I know it seems like a lot, but they say you've really made more progress than they expected."

"Mom, did anyone tell Dad?"

"We're working on it, honey." When Janice talked to Madeline, she had

the impression that Walter wasn't getting along with the girlfriend he had to leave behind, while he traveled to Europe. Janice wondered why she hadn't accompanied him in the first place. Still, Madeline sounded genuinely sympathetic, and assured Janice that she had a copy of Walter's itinerary, and would track him down.

A few minutes later, Willie came into the room. His face lit up he

saw his wife was awake. Janice rose and left them alone. Willie

jumped into her chair. He reached for Cellie's hand that had a wrist cast. (The other hand, with an I.V. attached, protruded from an arm cast.) He leaned over, and kissed her dry lips. With his other hand, he gently stroked her hair. He feared giving her pain by touching her swollen face. "My Cecily, my girl," he crooned. "I was so afraid--"

(then he remembered Dr. Hurley's injunction) "--but you're going to be okay. And we have a pretty baby. My Teresa. Our Teresa, I mean."

He withdrew his hands, picked up the pictures, and pointed to the baby's head. "Cecily, guess what? She's got what looks like red hair. Just like you. You'll be like twins," he prattled.

Cellie couldn't make out the hair in the pictures, but went along with him. "Red hair, huh?" she whispered. "The Hoffman genes strike again. Or maybe I should say the Fraser genes. My grandma Muriel had the reddest hair when she was young, and she still had streaks of it till she died."

"Maybe Teresa will have your other colors too. When that redness goes away, I bet she'll have your white skin, like a flower petal. But her eyes come from both of us. They're big, like yours, but they're silver mixed up with blue. I know babies have blue eyes to begin with, but hers look permanent to me. Oh, yeah, and she's going to be a smart one, too. You should have seen how she looked up at me, like she knew me.

I didn't think babies could do that, till they were older, at least not early ones. She's special."

"You don't know how special, Will." Cellie became uneasy. She hoped Sarah hadn't taken over the baby's whole spirit, that there'd be some Will-and-Cecily that came through. "I had a--a vision, or an out-of-body experience, whatever you call it, when I was 'under the influence' in the operating room."

Willie became very still. "What do you mean by that?"

Cellie forced the words through her stiff lips, fortified by sips of water Willie gave her. "First I was floating around in space. Then, I thought it was all over, like I was really going to die. An angel kept me from dying. It was Sarah Collins. You know how much she loves me. She took me to the room where they were caring for Teresa. I could describe the whole thing, and what they were saying and doing perfectly, Will, so you would know I wasn't making this up."

"I know you're not making it up. I've had my own supernatural headaches."

"But this was good. The baby was on this table. I saw it was a girl.

I saw she appeared to be dead. I cried for her, for us. Sarah said goodbye to me, and went to the table, and vanished. The baby got better immediately. I know she's in our baby, keeping her alive."

Willie sat silently. Then he said, "Maybe it's not forever, only just until the baby can survive on her own better."

"I'd bet on forever, if what Sarah said about never seeing me again but staying close to me is true."

"Pavlos said something like that about you and me, when we went to the

chapel last night, that we would never really be apart. I had this pain in my stomach, like where Jack kicked you, and it went away when he said that."

"I guess we're all linked in some mystical way. I was able to get Barnabas to rise after Jack hit him, so he could at least stop Jack from finishing us off. I think Sarah was helping me, even then. I'm grateful to her. And now, she'll have a chance to have the full life she was denied, years ago. I just hope our baby is her own person, and like us. Will, could we give the baby 'Sarah' as a middle name?

It would make a nice tribute."

Willie wasn't overly enthusiastic. He knew, as well as Cellie, whose sister Sarah was. If this had been a normal situation, he would have said, "Call her 'Frances' for my sister." On the other hand, it would also please Barnabas, who had suffered in this attack almost as much

as Cellie. And Willie certainly wasn't about to deny his wife anything. "Why not? We both have middle names. Give her half a dozen, as much as there's room on the birth certificate for." All those names, he thought, that would have gone to the children they would never have.

He dreaded the inevitable visit of Dr. Hurley, who would

be coming by in an hour.

Cellie was sounding out, "Teresa Sarah Loomis," and thought it had an awkward rhythm. "Sarah Teresa Loomis" was much better. She wondered

if she dared ask. She gave it a try. "It's not because I think Sarah is more important than your mother. I'll always call her by both names, if you want. It just rolls off the tongue better. Like 'Cecily Muriel'

is a little better than 'Muriel Cecily." She began to sense a great anxiety in her husband, that went beyond disagreement over the name.

He kept looking at his watch, as if he had some appointment he dreaded.

"I have to think about it," Willie groused. Then he made himself

calm down. They talked about their other plans for the baby, until

Dr. Hurley arrived. Wisely, she gave Cellie a tranquilizer before she talked to her.

After she left, Cellie lay silently, as if in shock. Willie thought she was taking the news very well. Then, in spite of the tranquilizer, she began to weep, wracking sobs that hurt her incision and made her groan with pain. Willie rang for the nurse, who brought a painkilling injection. When she left, Willie removed the safety rail from Cellie's bed, and leaned over her, careful not to lean on her chest, resting his face against her hair, holding her hand, until she calmed down.

"Cecily, listen to me," he pleaded. "I love you more than my life. I'll stick with you forever, no matter what. Jack did this, not you or me. We got our daughter. We just have to be very careful with her. But we were gonna be extra careful with her anyway, you remember why. My Cecily. I married you when you were going to have our baby, and I told you then it was okay, we just started having kids a little sooner than we wanted. And now, we're stopping sooner than we wanted. I didn't marry you to be a baby factory, Cecily. I married you because I never felt the way I do now about things until I met you. Having you around makes up for all the awful things in the past. It's like you saw that

I was hitting the bottom, and made me believe there was no place for me to go but up. I wanted a woman who could put up with the way I am, and being with you makes me want to be better than I am. Being with you is what's important, no matter what kind of crap the world throws at us. Do you feel the same way about me?"

She whispered, falteringly. "Yes. I never thought I could feel comfortable with anyone, because of what I can do. I know you were after me at first because you liked my looks. But you accepted all the stuff that came with the package. And we went through so many terrible things already, and we stayed together. Can you accept this, and stay with me, the way I am now? I'll love you forever, but I'll let you go if you change your mind."

"Not a chance. You're my lady, and we got a nice little baby right here. We'll do okay. " Willie kissed her, with some passion. It hurt her mouth a little, but Cellie didn't mind. He touched the sore places as lightly as a feather. "When you're better, Cecily, and all these marks go away, we'll have the best time. If the baby lets us have fifteen minutes off, anyway." He chuckled, and Cellie smiled.

He whispered, "Of course I'll still want you."

"Even with this big scar I'm going to have?"

"I got scars, too, remember? Now, I guess, we're even." Willie reached into his pocket, and took out the yellow envelope containing his pendants and wedding ring. "I know you want to put this stuff back on me yourself. I'll be getting your stuff, later. When your arms are better, we'll do that. But you got the wedding ring on, at least."

"That's 'cause I cried when they tried to pry it off," she whispered. "If you put your hand near the one my wrist cast is on, I think I can put your wedding ring back on." Willie positioned the ring in Cellie's stiff fingers, and held his left hand close enough for her to slip it on. He kissed her again.

"Back on track," he said. "And Cecily, one more thing. I thought it over. From now on, the baby is Sarah Teresa Loomis. You're right, it does sound better."

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

I was always looking outside myself for strength and confidence, but it comes from within. It is there all the time.------------------------------------------------Anna Freud

BOOK TWO---THE PATHFINDER

PART THREE--- The Prodigal Fathers

CHAPTER ONE

The "Up" arrow above the hospital's elevator door lit up. A well-dressed man in his early fifties emerged from behind the sliding metal panels. It was clear that he was in an unfamiliar place. He was acquainted, however, with the general layout of a typical hospital floor, and this one was more typical than most. He found the nurse's station without asking directions. A pretty, dark-haired nurse with a warm smile greeted him pleasantly.

"Ah, you almost didn't have to tell me your name," she said. "The family resemblence is quite striking. Your daughter's room is two doors down, on the left, just after the lavatory." She pointed down a corridor.

"Please, before I go in to see her, tell me where the nursery is," he said, his voice shaking a little. "I think I'll start there. I'd like to see my new---my new grand-daughter. I guess I'm a little nervous, I'm sorry."

"No need to be," the pretty nurse replied. "It's been a trying situation, and everyone has reacted differently. Does your daughter expect you?"

"Not exactly," he said, hesitantly. "But I don't think she'll be surprised. I talked to my ex-wife and my sister before I came. The nursery, please."

"It's down this corridor." The nurse pointed in the opposite direction from the patients' rooms. At least half-a-dozen people stood, gawking into a large window. "You can see, there's an audience there already," she commented. "Aside from all the attention your daughter's situation has attracted, it's been a bumper week here, on Maternity. Seven

babies in three days!"

"Must have been a cold winter," the man joked. "Thanks so much,

Miss--Mrs.--" He examined the nurse's I.D. card. It simply read. "Maria F. Texeira, R.N."

"Miss. The 'F' is for Fatima."

"My daughter mentioned she had a teacher or counselor or somebody by

that name, in her school. Quite a friend of hers, I understand."

"My mother. We're all quite fond of your daughter too, Mr. Hoffman."

A quiet buzzer sounded, and a tiny light on a switchboard blinked. "Well, I have to tend to someone in a room down the hall," she said.

"I hope things work out with your daughter. And, in case nobody's

said this to you yet, congratulations on the birth of your grand-daughter. She's a fine baby."

"As a matter of fact, you're the first to actually say that. Thank you. And thanks for taking good care of my daughter." He thought, "even if that screw-up of a husband of hers didn't."

Walter Hoffman walked down to the nursery. His heart pounded.

Strange, he thought. He didn't feel this anxious before he saw his

own two babies for the first time, and it wasn't as if Janice had an easy time giving birth to either of them. She had been in a terrible state when Cecily was born, after thirty-six hours of labor, with forceps at the finish. Quite unusual for a second child, they said,

and the wizened baby with the tuft of red hair had only weighed six-

and-a half pounds. But Cecily was a fighter. Still was a fighter, if what they said about all she'd endured was true. And that baby of

hers---the Hoffman blood must have overcome that whiny, wimpy Loomis strain. How else could she have survived?

Walter became quite proud of his as-yet-unseen grand-daughter. Cecily

would surely become almost abject with gratitude, if he acknowledged her contribution to the Hoffman-Fraser family line. He didn't know how he was going to deal with his son-in-law, yet. When he was a young lawyer, just starting out, Walter had to deal with many such as Loomis, who were stupid enough to let their instincts and impulses draw them into traps they hadn't the brain power to imagine. And, given enough time, they usually succeeded in dragging down those who should have known better, like his daughter, and some of the other lawyers he'd worked with, who let their compassion overwhelm their common sense.

When he learned that his precious daughter, and newly-precious grand-daughter nearly died because of that murdered whore Loomis had been with years ago, Walter felt like hiring a hit man to follow his son-in-law until the time was right, and then. . . Unlike a Loomis, though, he would never give in to such an impulse. And Cecily was smart enough to figure out a plot like that. She wouldn't have approved. Well, there were gentler, sneakier, and oftentimes, more effective ways to undermine an undesirable relationship. Walter would just have to choose his method, and his moment.

He came to a stop, in front of the nursery window. There were, indeed, quite a few babies in there. Aside from noting which blankets were pink, Walter couldn't make out the namecards on the bassinets, in order to determine which was his own unique, outstanding grandchild. He looked at the group of observers. They were strangers to him, except for one young man. He recognized Tony Peterson, who was standing with an attractive blonde woman.

Before he greeted them, he followed their gaze, to a bassinet set behind the others, near a fearsome-looking machine. The machine's wires and tubes led into the bassinet, and were attached to a tiny, red infant, who, in spite of gentle restraints, was vigorously trying to break free of them. A man in scrubs, with a cap, gloves and a surgical mask, leaned over the bassinet. A middle-aged woman, similarly dressed, regarded them both with a tender look in her eyes. Loomis and Janice! Walter thought, with annoyance. Janice caught a glimpse of him, and tapped her son-in-law on the shoulder. He looked up, with a benign gaze, rose, and came toward the door to the hall.

Willie emerged from the nursery, pulling the mask from his face, the gloves from his hands. "So you came, after all," he said, in a mild tone.

"Of course I did. I hope you don't object."

"No. Why should I? Once Cecily started feeling a little better, she kept asking if you were going to come. She cried about it, until Janice told her they reached you in Italy. It hurt me to see her so upset, after everything else she's been through. She loves you a lot, and she's afraid you're still mad at her."

"She shouldn't be. Though I must say, Loomis, perhaps you should be."

Willie turned away, briefly. He was obviously fighting for some kind of control, whether of anger or sorrow, Walter couldn't tell. When he turned back, his face was bland again, but his eyes were red. "I've been over that in my mind, again and again. But I'm not going to apologize for something I didn't do, something I would have given my life to prevent."

"And indeed, you shouldn't, Willie." Tony, with the blonde woman at

his side, stood near him. "Walter," he said. "Thank God you made it back from Europe so soon."

"Yes. Of course, this wasn't reported in the American papers that one can buy over there. But Madeline was good enough to track me down,

as soon as she talked to Janice. She was quite broken up about it, herself. She remembered all the times Cellie used to visit me at my office, when she was younger." (Madeline, Walter's on-and-off girlfriend, had been first, his secretary, and then, his paralegal

aide.) "I had a bit of trouble, though, with my passport, and some other documents I required. Some beaurocratic snafu that required almost seventy-two hours to clear up! Thank God my daughter didn't

pass away while I was still stranded there." His voice became husky. "Or my grand-daughter."

"Why haven't you gone in to see Cellie yet?" Tony asked.

"I don't know. I guess I wanted to tell her that I already saw the baby, and compliment her. Will I be able to go in the nursery and see the baby, too?"

Willie, who'd been gazing back through the nursery window, replied,

"I don't know why you couldn't. I go in almost anytime I want, and Janice, and even Julia. She's not what they call 'immediate family,' but she's a doctor. You just have to tell the nurses, so they can suit you up, and teach you the do's and don'ts."

Walter was amazed at Willie's lack of resentment over what he'd just said to him. "I'm surprised you don't mind."

"Like I told you, it's for Cecily. I want you to make it up with her, and be our baby's grandfather. I spent most of my life without a father, and the one I had wasn't worth the name he put on my birth certificate. It's rough on a kid, even a grown-up one like Cecily.

I want her to be happy again."

She'll be happy a lot quicker, if I can get you out of the picture, Walter thought.

"Willie always thinks of Cellie's welfare first, Mr. Hoffman," Tony's companion asserted. "I believe that if he hadn't been taking such

good care of her all along, she wouldn't have survived, or maybe even wanted to."

"You have loyal friends, Loomis. I'm sorry, Miss, I didn't catch your name," Walter said.

"I'm Carolyn Hawkes. I own the Antique Shoppe, with your brother-in-law, my cousin, Barnabas. I've seen Willie and Cellie together practically every day since she came to Collinsport, so I know what I'm saying is true."

"Well, I'll have to re-consider my opinion, then. Truce, Loomis?" Walter held out his hand, reluctantly.

Willie shook it, just as reluctantly. He didn't like Walter's firm grip. It reminded him, vaguely, of Barnabas's. "Yeah. For Cecily."

"I'll have to speak with you, again, later." Walter found Willie's light, moist clasp just as disagreeable. How could Cecily stand it

when he touched her? "I have to meet my grand-daughter. Sarah Teresa. That's rather pretty."

Willie brightened up. " 'Teresa' is for my mother, and 'Sarah'---

well, it's a name in the Collins family. Cecily thought it would sound better, like that. And I tossed in 'Hoffman', too. We probably would have used it for a boy some other time, just like my middle name was from my Mom. But," his voice began to break, again, "There isn't going to be a boy. Ever."

For a brief moment, Walter felt pity for his son-in-law, then shook it off. Cecily was the real victim here. He would save his sympathy.

He managed to mutter, "So sorry about that, Willie," and patted his shoulder as Carolyn led him away.

Tony eyed Walter, as he turned toward the nurse's station. "I hope you

aren't planning anything, Walter."

"I'm not thinking about anything but my daughter and her child, Tony."

"I'm just warning you. Cellie and Willie have suffered more than their share, already, without you undermining them. I know you, and your methods too well. That's why Ernest refused to work for you, when he went to clerk for McAuliffe's firm, and why I resisted every time you asked me to leave McAuliffe's, to join you. Divorce lawyers are a necessary evil, but I've heard rumors that you've conspired against those of your clients who would have reconciled, because you were

afraid of losing your share of their settlements. You and your handyman, Simons."

"That's libel, Tony."

"In the absence of absolute proof, it may be libel, but in reality, it's probably no lie."

"In any case, Tony, whatever I dug up on Loomis had no effect. My

daughter still married him. And will likely stay with him, at least until circumstances force her to take a second look at him."

"She's stubborn, like you."

"Not in the ways I'd prefer. Oh, well. I'll be seeing you around, Tony. Give my regards to your lady friend."

Walter suffered himself to be swathed in hospital whites, masked, and

gloved, and to patiently listen to the almost childish instructions.

Of course he wouldn't lift the child while she was still attached to that spider web of tubes and wires! "I know this seems extreme, Mr. Hoffman," Nurse Texeira smiled, "but you'd be surprised how many people forget these things, in their enthusiasm."

Walter smiled tolerantly, and went up to the bassinet. Janice still

sat there, as though she was waiting to be relieved from guard duty. "Well," she said. "I see you managed to get through those tricky

first moments without clobbering him."

"Janice, Janice. I've come to an understanding with L--Willie.

For Cecily's sake. I'm surprised you weren't there, acting as mother hen, shielding him from my wrath."

"Actually, I offered to, but Willie wanted to face you on his own.

I'm rather proud of him for that. You know, the more time I spend with him, the more I understand what Cellie sees in him. You should see him, consoling and reassuring her. And the almost mystical bond he

has with this baby---"

"Oh, spare me, Janice. It's easy enough for him to comfort a traumatized girl in the hospital, with so many other people around to tend to her needs and distract her from the real cause of her misery. And it's so easy to fondle a baby, and smile and coo at her, when you know there's an army of nurses to handle her basic care. I fear for when Cecily and Sarah are home alone with him, and some minor crisis arises."

"I believe you're wrong, and rather a lot of people would agree with

me. Look, Walter, I don't want to argue with you right now. Let's

just try to enjoy this moment. Look at our grand-daughter. Check

out that reddish wisp on her head. Remind you of anyone?"

Walter turned his attention to the baby, who had quieted down, and was gazing up at him with the most concentrated expression he'd ever seen

on any infant. She was pretty for a premature baby, prettier than Cellie was when she was born (and full-term at that.) She had, indeed, a hint of orange fuzz on her tiny, nicely round head (a result, he supposed, of her Caesarean birth), and her eyes were large and clear blue already. But, to his dismay, Walter noticed that, in all other respects, Sarah Teresa Hoffman Loomis (the entire cumbersome label was carefully hand-printed on the I. D. card over her bassinet) resembled her father to an almost uncomfortable degree.

Oh, well, he thought, at least she had an intelligent look about her, unlike Willie. Her gaze did make him a bit uneasy, as if she knew him, and knew just what he had in his mind. He tried to think gentler thoughts, then chided himself over his discomfiture. This was a helpless premature infant, six days old, for goodness' sake.

Then, Sarah Teresa smiled, not the funny grimace associated with a baby's gastric distress, but a real smile that made her resemble an older child. Walter, without thinking, smiled back, and stroked the fine, fluffy strands above her brow. He was in love. 'Wunderkind',

he thought. That's what his grandmother, who'd come straight from Dresden, and his father, who'd only visited Germany once but spoke the language like a native, would have said. Walter couldn't even remember feeling this strongly about Cecily when she was born. But then, she didn't look at him, or smile at him in that way, until she was a few months old.

"She's something else, isn't she?" Janice asked. "Everyone who sees

her acts the same way. Moonstruck, almost. I guess it's because her survival was so miraculous. As Cellie's friend Pavlos says, the angels are still around her." Janice turned red, thinking about some of the other pretty things Pavlos had said to her in the past couple of days, compliments that put her infatuation for her boss right out of her mind.

"That's what my grandmother used to say," Walter said, dreamily. He

had a vision. He was traveling through Europe with Sarah Teresa, who was only ten but spoke five languages already. He was at her

graduation from Harvard Law School, Summa Cum Laude. He was tottering to her Inauguration as the first female President of the United States, posing with her, and his fabulously successful grandson-in-law and their four or five red-haired children (honor students all) for their first official photograph. Oh, Cecily, and Ernest's family, and even Janice

were in the background there, certainly. Especially Cecily, who'd become the highest-paid CEO in the country, and had helped tutor her daughter. But when the reporters asked Sarah Teresa to whom she attributed most of her success, she would point to Walter, and say,

"My Grandpa---"

"Walter!" Janice interrupted his reverie. "Maybe it's time you went

to see Cellie. You can come back later, if you want. They've been very liberal with our visiting privileges, because of the circumstances."

"Yes, yes. Of course. I lost track of time there, for a minute.

Just 'seeing the world in a grain of sand'. " Walter released his grandaughter's tiny hand.

"There's hope for you yet, Walter," Janice sighed.

Walter walked back up the hall, glancing back at the nursery window,

in much the same longing manner as his son-in-law had. Now that

Walter was thinking realistically, he knew that in order for his

bright dreams to come true, something, somehow, would have to be done about Willie. He knew Barnabas didn't care for him much, either. Walter imagined Barnabas tolerated Willie's presence in that Antique Shoppe so he could keep an eye on what he did with Cecily. Even though Walter had some serious reservations about his brother-in-law, based

on some investigation he had done on Barnabas, perhaps he would make a useful ally.

When he reached Cecily's room, Walter met a tall, good-looking teenaged boy with a gentle, aristocratic face and an odd, curly mop of hair.

The boy waited at the door of the room. He clutched two pieces of poster board in his hands.

"Oh, hello," the boy said. "You're Cellie's Dad, I'll bet. I'm David Collins. She's my best friend."

Walter looked him up and down. He didn't care much for the boy's hair, and his careless clothing, but he was young, and would surely improve with age. Being one of those Collinses, this David almost wouldn't be able to help it. Walter wondered at his daughter's taste in men. If this young man had been her lover, Walter would have encouraged her to snare him by any means possible. Perhaps a future relationship could be encouraged between them.

"I'm happy to meet any of my daughter's friends," Walter said. "I just came back from the nursery, and saw the baby. I wanted to tell Cecily that, the very first thing. Why are you waiting at the door?"

"She can only have one visitor at a time, except when Willie's there, and she's got Barnabas with her now."

"Oh, well, if you were here first, I can wait," Walter offered graciously.

"No, no. I'll be hanging around for a while yet, peeking through the nursery window. You're her Dad. She's been asking for you."

"What are those?" Walter indicated the poster boards.

David smiled wanly. It was evident the boy had been deeply worried about Cecily, Walter thought. David said, "I wanted to show these to her. I'm kind of into amateur art, so I've been designing a birth announcement and a christening invitation. My Aunt Elizabeth knows a printer who's willing to copy the designs, and engrave them for me, as soon as Cellie's well enough to settle on a date for the christening. I'm going to be the God-father."

Walter examined the elaborate lettering, the cute sketch of a stork holding a banner that read "Arrived Safely" on the announcement, the fancy cross on the invitation. "You're very talented, David. I'm

sure she'll love these. Are you taking lessons?"

"Not really. But I have a kind of art guru. Maybe you'll meet her, later. She's been coming here every day, since she heard the news."

"A girlfriend?" Walter smiled. He hoped not. It was hard to break

off from those artistic types.

"No, not exactly. An old friend. My old governess, actually. She owns an art store now."

"That's nice. So you're going to be a God-father. Who's the lucky God-mother? Your cousin Carolyn?"

"Most likely. I'm not sure. Cellie picked on me, so she wants Willie to choose the God-mother. He has a sister. Maybe he'll pick her."

God Forbid, Walter thought.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Barnabas emerged from the room, his head still bandaged and aching (though he was due to go home with Julia that afternoon), a sad look on his face. It hurt him to look at Cellie now, to hear her pathetic questions. "I'm grateful Sarah showed up in time to keep me out of that tunnel, and save my baby. But where were Sarah, and Angelique and the others who were supposed to protect us, when Jack first showed up?"

He had no good answer. "I don't know, Cellie. Perhaps Nicholas

blocked them somehow, but I know he didn't want any real harm to come

to the baby. Jack may have been a wildcard even he didn't anticipate. Jack was, I'm sure, acting on his own volition. It may have been inevitable, given his history. I'm just sorry something couldn't have been done about him earlier. You know, Cellie, for a moment I wished

to be a vampire just once more, so I could have dealt with him like I dealt with the murderer of Carolyn's husband, and those others."

"But that's just it. You would have been acting, after the fact. Why can't spirits prevent? Why doesn't God? Why do we have to go through these things?"

"If I had the answer, Cellie, and I shared it with you, it might make both of us very wise, but I doubt it would comfort either of us. I suspect, it has something to do with facing your own human destiny, making your choices, enduring the consequences of other's choices.

A test of faith, the preachers would call it. The spirits have already been through all those tests, and they can do no more than ameliorate the evil effects, as Angelique did when she gave Sarah the medicine for little Marcus."

Cellie said, "The good fairy arrived late at the feast, and all she could do was ensure that the princess would merely sleep for a hundred years, and not die outright, as the evil fairy decreed. But Sleeping Beauty still had to go through the big sleep. What did she learn from that? What will I learn, and will it help my family?"

"That the evil can be overcome, and that there may be rewards at the end

of your ordeal. You might even forgive those who hurt you, because you learned a valuable lesson."

"That's pretty trite. I had a talk with Aunt Jule about this, just before we went to Boston, about all the forgiving we have to do with each other. That's hard enough. I doubt I will ever forgive Jack.

I tried to help him, and understand him, honest I did, and what did I get in return?" She cried quietly. Barnabas stroked her free arm. "Barnabas, in one of the neighborhoods we moved to, there was this lady

on the next street, Mrs. Eckstein. She always used to think I was Irish. Good thing, because I'd heard she hated and feared Germans,

even those who were born here. If you're up on your modern history,

you might be able to guess why.

"One day, she called me over, to help her lift a rock in her garden. Up until then, I'd never seen her in anything but long-sleeved shirts, even on the hottest days. On this occasion, she rolled up her sleeve, and I saw the numbers they put on her arm. I never said a word. After, she sat with me, and we split a Coke. "Irish girls," she said. "So nice. I met an Irish nurse in the refugee camp. I was so alone, all my family gone, and she was so nice to me. You're just like her.' I didn't have the nerve to tell her. . . It wouldn't have struck a blow for tolerance, or forgiveness, or anything. To this day, I hope she never found out the truth."

"Perhaps you didn't have to tell her," Barnabas commented. "You were taking a kind of a risk. Someone might have come by, and told her

while you were still there."

"Just lucky, I guess. I was there for at least an hour. She told me stuff about her old family and her new family. She was the one who first told me about the Mizpah pendants. She had one, with her second husband. She held it while we talked."

"The way you hold yours. And the way I've seen Willie clutch his, sometimes. A symbol of a common purpose. . .Something was gained, a lesson learned, after all. You see? One doesn't have to hold

parades to make a point."

"I wasn't making a point. My parents taught me to help older people, and I did it, without thinking. I did a lot of stuff like that. Helping old ladies. Bringing home bedraggled kittens, most of which

my parents took to the animal shelter and were probably put down immediately." She looked away, into the distance, with the mark of

that old hurt in her expression.

"Cellie, whatever this experience has shown you, don't become cynical

or bitter. I know that's a tall order, but the one thing I do have faith in is your character. I've sensed it, and seen it in action. What happened hurt you terribly, I know. I wouldn't belittle your

loss, or Willie's. But you must look to the future, and face its challenges, with what you have left. You have a marvelous child.

You have your husband. And you have yourself."

Cellie began to smile a little. "Even Mrs. Eckstein remarried, and had a couple of other kids when she came to this country. That's a big leap of faith, after what she must have gone through. And if I need

any more examples of how life can go on after the most hideous events,

I just have to look at the people around me. But it's damned hard."

"Nothing worth doing is ever easy."

"Again, a trite saying, but when you're living it. . . Barnabas, I've been thinking. How much of my baby is your Sarah, and how much is our Teresa? How will I know? Did my baby's soul depart? I'm so afraid.

I don't want Nicholas to get my baby, or your sister."

"This sounds more likewhat happened to Josette's unborn child. His soul was a 'silent partner', so to speak, in the body of another, fully actuated and articulated child, who may not even have been aware of his presence. Though sometimes, you read of young children, mostly in the so-called 'undeveloped' countries, sometimes exhibiting a knowledge of the lives of people they've never met, or even heard of through their families. It's akin to reincarnation, but the children do have their own personalities, except in extreme cases. As for the threat from Nicholas, I'd say Sarah's presence is added insurance against his

plans. She's like you, in a way. As time goes by, she herself discovers talents made available to her by her condition. She is a

good deal more powerful than she used to be."

"I just remembered something, though. " Cellie frowned. "The christening ceremony, even in the Protestant church, is a form of exorcism. Sarah won't be exorcised, will she? I fear her absence

from my baby for even the few minutes the service would take. Maybe

she wouldn't even be able to get back in. I won't have her christened,

I guess."

"I don't think there would be any harm," Barnabas assured her. "The 'exorcism' removes the stain of the original sin, and evicts any demons that may afflict the person being baptized. Sarah is, of course, no demon. If you believe in God, or a Prime Mover of any sort, and I know you do, you have to believe it's His or Her will that Sarah is even here. And a christening would shore up the baby's own defenses against Nicholas's plans. But that, I'm afraid, is a decision you must make."

It was with this last uncertainty, that Barnabas left Cellie to her unhappy thoughts. He faced his brother-in-law for the first time since that day in March. "Walter," he began. "Thank God you've come, after all. Cellie will be glad to see you. Did you see the baby?"

"Indeed I did. She's beautiful. And brilliant, I can tell. Like her mother. I can't wait to tell Cecily."

"And Willie---did you see him? I doubt you would have missed him. Every minute he's not with Cellie, he's in the nursery."

"He isn't, at the moment, I'm afraid. I did meet him, and, before you ask, no, I did nothing to him. We were very civil to each other. But he was suddenly overcome with emotion, and your lovely cousin Carolyn took him away, to the chapel or the cafeteria, I have no idea."

"He needs a break, poor soul. This has been a horrible thing for him, first being falsely accused of murder, then almost losing his wife and child. In the past, an ordeal of this sort would have driven him to desperate action. As it is now, I stand in awe of his attitude, his increased maturity, his devotion to his family. Even I, who probably know him better than anyone except for his wife, would never have

expected him to endure it as well as he has, so far."

Walter was dismayed. Here was not the ally he'd counted on. If you want a job done right, he thought, you have to do it yourself. He

said, "He's become a paragon, I'm sure. Well, I'm going in to see my daughter. I won't say anything to upset her." He turned around. "I'm glad to have met you, David, I hope to see more of you soon. Keep up the good work, with the designing and so forth."

Walter entered the room. He was appalled by what he saw. His pretty daughter was bandaged and casted up to her chin, and her face

was still bruised and swollen in spots. She stared dully at her blanket, apparently not interested in either the television or the

books people had brought her, and ignoring the fragrant bouquets stationed around the room. There was a small vase on her nightstand full of red carnations and miniature roses, with a card that read,

"To my girl from her man" in childish print. Walter winced. The

whole place resembled a funeral parlor, with all those flowers around.

"Cecily," he whispered. That anxious feeling had come over him again,

and real sadness. For an instant, the years melted away, and she was, no longer, the defiant young woman who had angered and revolted him

with her choice of a mate. She had become, again, his little girl,

his Princess, who was hurt, and needed him. He remembered, whenever she'd fallen and gotten scratched, she would come looking for him, first. Tears stung his eyes.

Cellie looked up. "Daddy," she began to weep. "You came back!"

Walter sat by her bed, and embraced her as best he could, with all

that equipment around her. "I got here as soon as I could, sweetheart. I booked a flight as soon as Maddy called me, but I got stuck when they decided my papers were screwed up. I sweated bullets, worrying that I wouldn't get here in time. I even told them, and I think they speeded things up a little on that account."

"I guess it brought the good out in some folks," Cellie sighed. "Madeline actually called me, and she was nice, like I remember her being when she first went to work for you. She even cried, telling

me about a similar attack on her brother. Stuff like that hurts the same, all over."

"I'm glad you two could talk. But I regret the circumstances that

made it possible. My little girl. How could that creature hurt you this way? Why?"

"I sort of know, Daddy. Jack talked to me while he was doing it.

Once he lost it and killed his Mom, it was an like an avalanche.

He knew he'd never get away with it, so he made sure everyone would

go down with him. And he almost succeeded."

"Did you tell the police all this? A confession of premeditation will go a long way in blocking an insanity defense, which I heard is being considered for him."

"Little by little. The sheriff and the deputy are real mad. They're mad, too, at whoever pulled the guards from the Shoppe. They believed it was some jerk from City Hall, but now they think it could have been Jack, himself. Come to think of it, Jack does sound like the sheriff,

a little. That's the one thing he didn't tell me."

"A lawsuit might be in order."

"The First Selectman himself came to the hospital, and said the town would pay my hospital bills, with assistance from Collins Enterprises. I don't want to sue anyway. What's the point? I doubt this will ever happen again. And, in a way, maybe that's how it had to be. Even if they finally figured out Jack really did kill his mother, my Will would have had a trial, and maybe even been convicted in the meantime."

"Cecily, do you really think that man is worth what happened to you?"

"Dad, don't start." She began to cry again. "I love him. I always will. He didn't hurt me. My jealous ex-boyfriend, the one who was going to be a lawyer, did."

"Ouch, Cecily. Lawyers didn't do this to you, either. But your husband's actions in the past, led to this day."

"Dad, I know all about my husband's past. What he did to Jack, back then, doesn't justify what Jack did to us. And as for the change in him, you wouldn't believe how that came about---anyway, he is a good man, to me. And he's been close to the baby, since he first found out we were going to have one. This is my life, now. My husband and my baby. My only baby." She sobbed.

"Okay, Cecily. I won't argue with you. I want to do things for you, and my grand-daughter. Sarah Teresa. I saw her, as soon as I got here, Princess. She's beautiful, just like you."

"You're lucky," Cellie sniffled. "All I get to see are pictures. Will must have shot ten rolls in the past five days." She moved her head a little, pivoting it in the neck brace, in the direction of the nightstand. Walter noticed, for the first time, a pile of Polaroid pictures in a neat stack, hidden by the vasefull of red flowers. He picked them up, and quickly ran through them. The baby had that toothless, Chessy-cat smile in at least half of them.

"Like I said, she's lovely. And I know she's bright as a diamond. We'll have to make special plans for her education, Cellie. But

right now, I want to take care of you."

"My husband and everyone here will help me, Dad. Don't worry."

"Still, Princess, I was thinking of a good place for you to recuperate. I just bought a house in St. Thomas, in the Carribbean. I didn't even tell Maddy about it. Maybe you'd like to come down there, when you're better, with the baby, of course. I even have a friend who owns an airplane, more comfortable and luxurious than the best airliner, who could fly you two down. The island is owned by the U.S., so if you

need a doctor or anything, it shouldn't be too difficult to get what

you require."

"I don't think so, Dad. Not right now, anyway. I'd like to get used to my circumstances as they are--" (she also thought about Nicholas) "--and then, there's the promise Will made to me. He wants to take me down there, himself, someday, when we can afford it ourselves."

"You don't mind others paying your hospital bills."

"We always offer to repay, a little at a time. I tried to make a deal like that with Barnabas, from the other times I had to come here. Even if they refuse the offer, well, someday, I know I'll have a degree in something or other, and Will might get a better job once he gets his G.E.D., and I'm sure we'll still be in the area, so maybe we can pay back by serving our community."

"That's very noble, Cellie. I won't take your little dream away from you and your husband. But consider my offer. You can take me up on

it any time."

"Thanks, Dad. You saw Mom in the nursery, didn't you?"

"Yes, and we managed to appreciate our grandchild without a seriously bitter word between us."

"That's a step in the right direction, I guess." She sighed, and then, groaned.

"Dear God, Cecily. Let me get a nurse."

"No, no, Dad. I just moved the wrong way. They told me to expect that. I'm up to my quota of painkillers for now, anyway."

"Cecily, you've always been a fighter. Even now, fighting for control of the horrible pain I'm sure you're feeling."

"But that's just it, Daddy. I'm so tired of fighting. I don't want to fight, anymore. Fighting means someone's stuck being in the wrong, even if they're right. Fighting means someone or something gets hurt. Fighting means someone has to lose. Fighting means someone has to pick up the pieces, even if they're dead-tired. Fighting the pain makes it more intense when I lose the fight. Why do we have to keep fighting?" She was crying again.

"I don't know, Baby, but we do it, or we die. Remember, what doesn't kill you, will make you strong." She sobbed louder, and Walter tried

to hold her. "Come on, honey, you'll make the pain worse, crying like that."

Willie came into the room. "Cecily, are you okay? Did he make you cry?"

Walter was about to make a reply, but Cellie forestalled him. "No, hon," she said. "He was trying to make me feel better."

"Oh. I didn't want to accuse your Dad of anything, but I could hear

you out in the hall, and I know you had a lot of heavy stuff to work out. I'll wait out here, till he goes, if you want."

"No, I'll be going now. I'll stop by the nursery again, to see the baby." Walter fished a small card from his pocket. "Cecily, this is from the Inn. If you want to call me there, just have someone dial

this number, and tell the clerk my room number. I wrote it on the

back. I'll see you tomorrow. Okay?" He kissed her bruised cheek.

"Yes, Dad. Thanks for everything."

Willie sank into the chair Walter had just vacated. He leaned over

and kissed his wife on her lips, which were almost back to their

normal size, and were no longer sore. He plucked a tissue from a box, and helped her wipe her eyes and nose. "Cecily, are you sure he

didn't say anything to hurt your feelings? I know he was kind of mad

at me when he first came. Maybe he said something to you without

really meaning to."

"Not really. Nothing I didn't expect, anyway. But he does love me,

and he's crazy about the baby."

"That's not hard to figure out. She's the top baby in this hospital."

"So, what did she do today?"

"Well, she tried to walk, but she would have had to stop doing somersaults first." Willie chuckled. Cellie smiled. "Seriously, though, my girl, you'll be seeing her later. They just told me."

"How? It takes a gaggle of nurses to move me around just so I can dangle my legs. I'm not even wheelchair material yet."

"That's the best part. You don't have to go anywhere. Dr. Heard said

Sarah Teresa got better so fast, she doesn't need to be hooked up to any

machines. He's amazed. So am I, but I know why she's better. They're going to bring her to you."

"That's the best news I've heard all day, aside from my Dad

coming back. Maybe we're almost out of the woods, at last."

She grew quiet, suddenly.

"Cecily, are you in pain again?"

"I'm just overwhelmed. I'm going to hold her, finally."

"And me, too. I could have, a few minutes ago, but I wanted to be

with you."

"I was thinking about something else. The christening." She didn't know if she should tell him about her concern, just yet, but she

thought she would ease into it gradually. "Did you pick a

God-mother yet?"

"I really don't know who to pick, without someone feeling left out. There's your Aunt--"

"She's my God-mother already. She told me I could be God-mother to her baby, if she was lucky enough to have one. Good thing those clinic people felt sorry enough for her to shift someone else's appointment around early next month."

"Okay, there's Carolyn, or Hallie."

"Top picks, both, but Carolyn told me, once, she's David's co-godmother."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, when David was born, he was, like, the cutest baby alive, and

she got all excited, and begged and begged Roger to let her be the godmother. Of course, she was only about ten at the time, but Roger enjoyed spoiling her, and so, over her mother's objections, he allowed her to hold the baby throughout the ceremony, while a friend of Elizabeth's stood as the official God-mother. And no, despite evidence to the contrary, she didn't drop him." Cellie giggled.

"How about Hallie? She's sort of Paul's girl, and you're still close girlfriends."

"I'd say, okay, but she's been troubled by the waiting she's been called

upon to do. She's about ready to have a date with some local guy. Paul pretty much gave her permission to, in the past, but he may have changed his mind. If there's a blow-up between her and Paul, when he gets back, I don't want the baby to get caught in the middle. What about your sister?"

"I would have had her, but see, when she married Steve, she converted to Catholic. If we were going to St. Ann's, she would have been perfect, but then you couldn't have had David."

"I wonder if I could have had Pavlos. Orthodoxy isn't so very

different from Catholicism, I think. But I wouldn't be raising it Catholic, in any case. And I did promise David, months ago." She sighed. "This is a decision that can wait, I guess. Maybe the person you pick should be someone who really needs to do it. I can't imagine who it is, but you'll know." She closed her eyes. "Now, I need to rest a little, before they bring her in. I've been yacking all day."

"I'll sit with you, for a while." Willie held the hand with the wrist cast.

Cellie dozed off, easily. She was getting used to the collar. Still, she moved around a little when she could feel it chafe in her sleep.

She jerked herself awake. Willie wasn't in the room with her, anymore. He must have gone to eat. She relaxed, until she saw the bassinet in the corner of the room. She couldn't understand why they hadn't pushed it closer to her bed, so she could see her baby. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light in the room, she could see it was empty.

A man was sitting in the extra chair that stood in the corner, near the

bassinet. He was holding a pink-blanketed bundle in his lap. He was cooing to it, and dangling a shiny object over what Cellie could barely make out as the baby's head. The man was dressed expensively. Cellie recognized him.

"Daddy," she said, turning on her bedside lamp. "Why didn't you wake me

up when they brought Sarah Teresa? Where's Will? You didn't argue with him, did you?"

Walter smiled at her, a peculiar Mona-Lisa smile she'd never seen him wear before. "No, Princess. He's just gone. Gone. He couldn't handle it. I'll look after the baby now."

Cellie began to cry. "Daddy, give me the baby. Please, I can't get up.

Hand her to me."

Walter's face began to shift and change. Cellie's eyes ached, from the

strain this distortion brought on. She blinked. Before she opened them, she felt an icy sensation. Her heart pounded, as she peeked at her father.

Nicholas faced her. He still held the shiny pendant, which Cellie now knew was one of his mirrors, over the tiny pink bundle. He clutched at the baby tightly. "I told you, I had to take care of Sarah Teresa, Cellie. The best care. The very best. I'll see you, Cellie." He vanished, with the baby.

Cellie jerked herself awake, and screamed.

"Cecily! Cecily! What happened?" Willie asked, frantically.

"My baby! My baby!"

"The baby is fine, my girl. You just had a bad dream. I'm here for you, like you were always there for me. Tell me about it," he said, stroking her hair and her arm, kissing her bruised cheek.

"What's the problem?" A nurse they didn't recognize poked her head

in the door.

"She just had a bad dream," Willie explained. "She'll be okay."

"Well, if she needs anything, buzz me, and I'll get the doctor.

Maybe a little tranquilizer--"

"No, really," Cellie said shakily. "I'll be fine."

The nurse shrugged, and left. "Now, tell me," Willie urged.

"I just---I just dreamed my Dad was back, and holding the baby. You were gone. Then he turned into--into Nicholas. I could feel his coldness, it was so real. Nicholas took our baby away." She cried.

"He's not here, Cecily. You must have been more upset by your Dad's visit than you let on. Don't worry, we're still safe. Barnabas and Julia and Elliot are working on the situation day and night. They

don't feel, now, that he'll be back to bother us until the baby's a little older. So try to relax."

"Alright." Her tension began to melt.

Nurse Texeira looked in on them. "Cellie, are you better? Nurse Fedders said you were having a bad time."

"I'm better now, really."

"I didn't know whether to bring your baby to you, or to wait."

"Yes. Please. Bring Sarah Teresa in. That'll make her feel even better," Willie said. "And me, too."

The nurse disappeared for a few minutes. Then the door opened wide,

and Cellie got excited when she saw the bassinet, seemingly moving on its own. Nurse Texeira followed, pushing the unit, which was, evidently, heavier than it looked, with all her might. Willie rose, and helped her manuever it towards Cellie's bed. Nurse Texeira said,

"You have to get a scrub jacket, and wash your hands, but you're finished with the gloves and mask." Willie left the room for a couple of minutes, and came back, properly attired.

In the meantime, the nurse prepared Cellie. She placed a large, flat pillow across her lap, and placed her free arm beneath it, for support. When Willie returned, it was he who lifted the baby and placed it on

the pillow.

"Well, how do you like her?" he said, beaming.

"I think I'll keep her," Cellie replied, smiling.

"That's a good thing, because we don't do exchanges or refunds," the

nurse joked.

Cellie studied the delicate features, the silky red-gold strands framing the tiny, round face, the knowing look in the grey-blue eyes. "She's reading me, I believe," Cellie said. "Hey, stranger. I'm your Mommy. What do you think of that?"

Sarah Teresa wriggled. Willie pulled the pink blanket aside, and revealed thin arms and legs, with perfect hands and feet attached.

"Go ahead, count the fingers and toes," he said. "I've been doing it every day, almost every time I've seen her. I could probably tell you how many hairs she has on her head."

Cellie said, "I don't think people will take us for twins, that's for sure. Except for her coloring, and the shape of her eyes, nobody will ever be able to say she isn't yours. Thank God. She's just the way I wanted her to be." The baby smiled. Cellie was enchanted. "My little angel. May the Good Lord watch over her when we can't."

Nurse Texeira said, a little uneasily, "Cellie? There's something I want to---have to tell you. Something about what you said about the Lord."

Cellie became afraid. "What's the problem, Fatima?"

"I don't know how you'll feel about this, but---the night she was born, right after she started breathing again, I took her to the nursery. She was still kind of weak, and I was afraid she would die anyway. So I got a little sterile water and---and baptized her, just in case. It's something any Catholic can do in an emergency, and this was the first time I ever had to handle this kind of emergency. I know you're not Catholic, but you're friendly with the priest and nuns. I thought you'd understand, especially if she did pass away, after all."

Cellie asked, "Did you recite the whole ritual? The exorcism part, and everything?"

"As much as I could remember, I guess."

"And she was okay through the whole thing?"

"If anything, she got better."

Cellie sighed with relief. Her fears had been groundless, after all. "I do understand, Fatima. And thank you. You did the very best thing. There's just one problem. I guess we won't be christening her in the Protestant church, then?"

"I'm not sure. I know that when the baby belongs to a Catholic family to begin with, they can repeat the ceremony in a church, with a priest, to make it official, and to have a celebration, of course. You'll have to ask Father Rondini."

"Did you give her a name?"

"Well, yes. I called her 'Manoela' after my grandmother."

"That's pretty. Well, the baby has four names so far. One more won't do anything except keep the beaurocrats busy, trying to fit it onto legal documents and such."

"You don't have to keep the name. As I said, it's not entirely official."

"You don't understand. I'm very grateful. Until I heard this, I was

afraid---well, afraid she wouldn't make it to a church in time. Of course we're keeping the name, even if we can get her christened in

St. James's Episcopal."

Willie said, "When it comes to names, Cecily's the boss. It's a big name for such a little peanut." He rubbed the baby's tummy. She

looked into his eyes, as if signalling her personal endorsement of the extra name.

Soon, it was time to bring the baby back to the nursery. Willie took a picture of Cellie with the baby on her lap, then held Sarah Teresa Manoela up for her mother to kiss. He kissed her himself, and gave her back to the nurse. After they left, he sat and held Cellie's hand again. "Now, are you as afraid as you were before?"

"No, hon. Sometimes fate throws you a little bone. I would have understood, I suppose, even if Fatima inadvertantly exorcised Sarah,

but fortunately, she seems to be cemented into place for the duration."

* * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER TWO

Julia was standing at her grand-niece's bassinet with her brother. Walter caressed Sarah Teresa's tiny arm, and was rewarded with a tiny handclasp around his index finger. This went a long way toward relieving his irritation. "Julia, why can't I see Cecily today?" he complained. "I keep telling you, we had a nice visit yesterday.

I didn't say anything to her, to justify my being kept away from her."

"It's not your fault, Walter," his sister said, soothingly. "Cellie

had a bad dream right after you left, and, according to the nurses, apparently had another last night, where she kept mixing up your name with that of a person who---who was giving her a lot of trouble a few weeks ago."

"Not that Jack Knowlton!"

"No, no. A man who resembles you somewhat, a professional type, and an equally elegant dresser. I can't go into details, but he caused a great deal of grief for us. I just thought Cellie needed a day or two to work the confusion through. She associated her anxiety about how you might act toward her and her husband, with what this fellow tried to do."

"Which was? Tell me, Julia, or I won't be able to accept this separation."

"He was a kind of threat to the baby. But he hasn't been around since, and hopefully, will not return."

"This story sounds a little too crazy to be true. Why wasn't such a person arrested, for God's sake? What kind of a place is this? Psychotics roam the streets, either marrying silly young girls, or killing helpless women, or threatening their children. I went out to

a quaint waterfront tavern, that Blue Whale place, last night, and I actually heard grown men talking about incidents in the past that suggested supernatural activity of some sort. Vampires and ghosts, and animals who walk as men, and so forth. A lot of this tommyrot centers around your husband's family. Are you aware of this? How much do you know about your husband? When I was in England, I admit, I tried checking him out. Force of habit, I guess. I couldn't find anything on him, not a birth certificate, birth or marriage certificates for any of his purported ancestors, anything!"

Julia grew visibly uncomfortable. "His family came from a part of London hardest hit by the blitzkreig. The records were, no doubt, destroyed."

"All of them couldn't have been destroyed. In Europe, everyone has

some kind of documentation available. He would have needed some for a passport, back when he first came here. There's no record of anything, until he went back for a visit last autumn. Then, he presented some medical documents, and he did manage to provide a Social Security Number. God knows how he came up with that. Please don't tell me he was a stowaway, or that he married you to keep his green card.

There's no record with the Immigration and Naturalization Service, either."

"You were pretty thorough, Walter."

"Look, my daughter is married to someone who was in prison for aggravated assault and armed robbery, then kidnapped a woman, and THEN, merely spent a few months in mental hospitals, including the one you work in. You're married to a man whose past is pretty much a blank sheet before 1967. Now, I have a grand-daughter, a helpless infant, mixed up in this." He picked up the baby, and cradled her in his arms. "If my daughter wants to throw away her life, that's her choice, much

as I'd like to rescue her from her foolishness. But this child---I can't stand by, and allow her to be raised in this schizophrenic millieu. I have to know that she's safe." He kissed Sarah.

"Walter, I've lived in this town for five years. I know as much about Barnabas and Willie as there is to know. And so does Cellie. There was a lot of trouble here at one time, but, for the most part, it's over. It's very quiet around here, now. But if you want the baby to be safe, you're going to have to let her remain here, in the care of her mother and father, and under the protection of the Collins family. It's the only way, Walter. I'm not crazy about the situation, but I know that's how it has to be. Just promise me you won't interfere."

Walter gently placed the baby back in the bassinet. She gave him that unbearably sweet smile. "We'll see about that, Julia."

He left the nursery. He passed David Collins talking to a pretty, auburn-haired woman who appeared to be in her late twenties, as he walked by the nursery window. Walter wondered if this was the "art guru" former governess. David hailed him as he passed, but Walter

said, "Later. Something's come up," and took the elevator to the cafeteria floor.

When he walked in, he saw Willie sitting alone, in a corner, drinking the wretched coffee they served there. He went directly to the table, and stood over his son-in-law. Willie almost dropped his cup.

"Is something wrong with Cecily or the baby?" He asked, fearfully.

"The baby is fine. I wouldn't know about my daughter. I'm not allowed to see her today. Something about a bad dream, I hear."

"Yeah. I'm sorry about that. I didn't know Julia would take it that seriously, after I told her how scared Cecily was. But she knows best, I guess."

"Sometimes I wonder. And so what if she had a bad dream? People have

them all the time. That's no reason to bar parents from visiting hospitalized children they haven't seen in months!"

"A bad dream is never just a bad dream around here, Mr. Hoffman. The man who was bothering us was real bad news."

"That's all I hear around here. What was his name? I'll call in the Feds, for God's sake."

"Nicholas Blair. And forget the Feds. I doubt they can find him anywhere, and it they did, they couldn't stop him anyway."

"You know, Loomis, what gets me? The way nothing goes through normal channels around here. By rights, even you should still be locked up

in the state bin, and yet, here you are, free as a bird, playing the concerned husband and father."

"I am concerned, damn it. More than you, maybe. You just showed up here, after being out of the picture for months. I've been looking after Cecily all this time. While you were running around Europe, I almost lost the only reasons I have to get up in the morning. Cecily, and now Sarah Teresa, mean everything to me."

"I find it all just a little too fairy-tale perfect, to believe."

"It isn't a fairy-tale. We work real hard, and we have bad days, but many more good days than bad. It'll be the same when I finally get Cecily and the baby home."

"Tell the truth, Loomis. Are you really up to this? Do you really understand what it means to be a father? How does that fit into the come-and-go lifestyle you used to enjoy?"

"I guess I didn't enjoy it all that much. I sort of left it behind,

a long time ago. What I got going here is just what I want, with your daughter, and our kid."

"Never get the urge to roam, eh?"

"Oh, yeah, once in a while. But it passes."

"Will it pass when the baby gets colicky on a night that Cecily has to stay late at that University to do a research project? Will it pass when Sarah needs glasses, and braces, and lessons? Will it pass when she makes a mistake that makes you want to smack her around? Will it pass when you want to go amuse yourself, but you have to pay the rent instead? Will it pass when my brilliant daughter wakes up one morning, takes a good look at the rut she's crawled into, the fears she never

used to have, the chores she never dreamed she had to deal with? Will it pass when she finally faces the truth about the man who robbed her, not only of a good lifestyle, but her peace of mind and her ability to bear more children?"

"I didn't do that! Jack did that!"

"It's because of you, Loomis. I can sympathize with the reasons you took up with my daughter. Such a pretty girl, so sweet and soothing to someone as used up as yourself. And the fantasy of fatherhood---making up for your own rotten childhood. And it's a nice plus that, while we're hardly in the same league with the Collins family, I'd say Cecily comes from a comfortably well-to-do background, and can look forward to an inheritance."

"I didn't marry her for her money! You cut her off, anyway, but I

still married her. You got a hell of a nerve ragging on me for not being family-man material, when you took off on your wife and kid,

and not even dropping a post-card once in a while."

"My wife and daughter were never in danger of destitution, and I was

always able to be reached. They just didn't try very hard to contact me. That was fine with you and my daughter, I'll bet. And you forget, I did come back to them. It was Janice who evicted me the last time, due, in part, to her unaccountable sympathy for you. You must have known, in spite of my angry words at the time, I'd at least interest myself in the baby. And you're receiving help from the Collinses,

as it is."

"Not all that much. And we work for it. As for me, I go back even further with Barnabas. I'm sort of getting back pay, you might say."

"I'm sort of curious about your working relationship with my brother-in-law, but I'll let it pass. Listen, Loomis. You know someday, the call of the world will once again ring in your ears. I could make it very easy for you to answer that call."

"You're trying to buy me off. Forget it."

"Could you forget ten thousand dollars?"

"What!" Willie remembered a time, not so long ago, when five hundred

dollars would have been enough to make him leave town.

"I thought that would interest you. You should see the look on your face. Shy, but eager."

"It--it doesn't interest me. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving my family."

"Remember, the colic, the diapers, the crying, the sleepless nights, the expense, the arguments. . ."

Willie began to sweat. He hated to admit he was tempted. Painfully tempted. He loved his wife and his baby, but he recalled the reasons he'd left his own mother and younger siblings. The mess, the noise,

the work. . . He did kind of miss the high life, and, now that he was

so good at rationing his meager pay, he could make ten thousand last a long time, and still have fun. And it wasn't as if Cecily would be

left to fend for herself, or have to give up the baby. Everyone would be better off. Wouldn't they?

What the HELL was he thinking about? He must just have had one too

many sleepless nights already. So Sarah would have colic, and keep

him up once in a while. He thought about how nicely that tiny bundle fit into his arms. She was as light as a feather. Walking and rocking her would be no burden. As for diapers, well, that was easier to take than some of the messes he'd had to clean up in the past, and if Sarah Teresa was as smart as he believed she was, she'd be up and trained in no time. Same thing went for the crying. Surely, she would be an

early talker. Sarah had a quiet cry, anyway, and she was easily comforted when he picked her up, and looked into her beautiful eyes. Even now, he could feel her tiny hand curling around his finger. She was worth any trouble, and any expense. Any argument, too, but he and Cecily didn't argue much, anymore. They'd been through too much. He knew he wouldn't live very well, or, perhaps, very long, without Cecily. He had meant everything he'd said to her after Dr. Hurley's visit. He had! He had! He was starting to think he'd better get away from his father-in-law, and get back to his wife.

"No. I WON'T do it. I'm sticking with my girls. I love them too much. I'm sorry, Mr. Hoffman. I'm trying to prove that I can take care of my own, but it's not enough for you. Too bad. I hope you won't take it out on Cecily." Willie stood up. He could see David coming into the cafeteria, followed by someone, but he didn't get a chance to see who it was, because Walter blocked him.

"Now, you listen to me, Loomis," Walter said, quietly and deliberately.

"I tried to get you to go the easy way. No dice? Fine. I could fix it so you go the hard way. There must be outstanding warrants I could have dug up. See, I don't want my daughter hurt any more than she has been, and I just don't trust your history not to keep catching up to you. It's this Blair person one day, then a Jack Knowlton another day. Who else is going to show up from your glamorous past, Loomis? I'm still boggled over what you must have done to rile that boy. As far as I'm concerned, you'll always be as guilty of Cecily's misfortune as he is."

"No, he's not!"

Walter wheeled around, at the sound of the angry female voice. He saw the woman he'd glimpsed downstairs, standing before him now, David at her side.

"Maggie, don't get mixed up in this," Willie said.

"I just couldn't stand by and listen to that bull. For starters, Mr. Hoffman, you could stand aside and stop acting like you're going to arrest Willie yourself."

"Who are you?" Walter asked.

"She's my ex-governess. I told you she'd be coming by. You know how bossy governesses are," David said, mischievously.

"Maybe I do, but that's neither here not there. Right now, I'm having

a private conversation with my son-in-law."

"I can just imagine how it's been going," Maggie said, her voice rising ever so slightly as she went on. "Willie looks like he wants to disappear into the floor. He hasn't looked like that since before he married Cellie. Thanks for the memories, Mr. Hoffman. That brings

back some memories for me, too. You want to know about whose fault

Jack Knowlton's actions are? His own damn fault, that's whose. And that prize package mother of his. I knew them quite a bit longer than Willie. They were my neighbors. Willie and Cellie didn't know what they were getting into, when Willie thought he was just going to have a little fun, years ago, and later, when Cellie went out with the big man on campus. Jack couldn't handle the truth, that his Mom preferred shacking up with the scummiest sailors on the dock, to taking care of him. He couldn't handle it that his girlfriend would prefer anyone to him. That Cellie happened to get together with Willie was an awful coincidence. But I think anyone could have gotten caught in the crossfire between Jack and his mother."

"This wasn't predestined. There was cause and effect."

"Nothing that was worth what Jack did to his mother, Willie, Cellie, Sarah, and Barnabas," Maggie replied.

"Still, my daughter will never have a chance to recover fully until she's removed from the scene. How she can even talk to this man is a mystery to me."

" 'Life is strange. Sometimes it get strange in your favor.' That's what Cellie said, once. Being with Willie is the best thing for both of them," David said. He put his hand on Willie's shoulder. "Come on, man, I'll take you upstairs. Cellie was worried about you. You know?" He winked at Willie.

"Yeah. I was going, anyway." Willie leaned toward Maggie. "Thanks.

Again, you helped me out."

"It gets easier as time goes by," she replied. "You just go up and see your girls. I'll be there in a while."

As he and David left the cafeteria, Willie realized how he could repay her.

Walter watched Maggie get some coffee in a take-out styrofoam cup with a

lid. "Going so soon?" He said. "I just wanted to apologize for my behavior. I do come on rather strong sometimes, but it's been a trying time, and I wasn't permitted to see my daughter today."

"If I know anything about Willie, he'll probably ask Julia to lift the ban, just to keep the peace, for his wife's sake."

"That's hard to believe, after the way I treated him."

"If you knew what Willie's had to put up with---" Maggie broke off.

"Anyway, when he says his family means the most to him, you'd better believe it."

"You seem to know a lot about him, Maggie, um---"

"Evans. Maggie Evans. Yes, you could say I know him pretty well."

The name was familiar. Maggie Evans. Margaret Evans. In the Loomis dossier---this was the woman Loomis had kidnapped! How could she be so

tolerant? "You're the one he--" Walter began. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business, I'm sure."

"You wonder how I can defend him, after what you think he did to me.

Let's just say, over the years, I've finally come to understand the circumstances. He wanted to help me, but he was acting under duress. As you might have noticed, he's no mastermind. Never was, either, when he first came to town and was really wild."

"This isn't one of those situations where the kidnap victim comes

to identify with his or her kidnapper, is it? You are understanding, and almost sympathetic."

"As I said, I know what went on."

"You said he wasn't the mastermind. Who was, and why wasn't he caught?"

At this, Maggie turned her head away. Her mind always got fuzzy, when someone asked her this question. She clearly remembered Willie now,

and some of the mistreatment she'd undergone, but, other that that,

she only saw a shadow, even in her most detailed dreams. She would fight to remember, but putting the memories together was like

assembling a large jigsaw puzzle, and finding out, at the end, that a few crucial pieces were irretrievably lost. She answered, "He kept his identity well-hidden. Whoever he was, he's long gone, anyway. Willie paid for his crimes. He was almost killed! He's done some bizarre things since then, and I had more trouble with him later. But the strange thing is, I don't think he really ever acted out of malice. He hasn't hurt anyone else in years. He's become pretty law-abiding. And now, I believe he deserves a chance to prove he can have a normal life."

"My daughter and my grand-daughter aren't life-laboratory experiments."

"I've seen Willie and Cellie, on and off, over the past year, and the change in him has been all but miraculous. Your daughter is a very special person. She knows just how to handle him. You have a right to be concerned, but I've come to believe this will work out."

"I just don't understand this place. Criminals are defended by their victims. Cousins appear out of the blue. What's normal around here? Is your life back to normal, Miss Evans?"

"I'm doing well. David said he told you about my art store."

"A little. What I mean is, have you found someone to take the sting of the past away, like your fortunate acquaintance Willie?"

"I'm not seeing anybody, if that's what you mean." She turned away from him.

"Not for years, I'll bet."

"That's none of your business. I have to get upstairs." Maggie pushed past Walter, and headed for the double doors.

He tugged on her arm as she went by, but very gently. "Margaret---

Maggie---Would you be willing to come out with me, later? Except for visiting here, I've been alone most of the time. I'll take you to dinner anyplace you'd like."

"I thought you had a lady friend, back home."

"It's an open-ended thing as of now. She's been seeing other men, since before I went on my trip. I haven't seen any other women, since we've been easing away from each other. ." He looked embarrassed. "You're the first person I've told about this. Not even my daughter. . ."

"I'm sorry about that. Still, if this is one of those 'rebound'

things--- It could end up being very, well, 'uncomfortable'. . ." Maggie rolled her eyes heavenward, and sighed.

"Don't worry, I'll be as gentlemanly as you like. Or don't like."

Walter smiled.

"I'll have to think about it. It's hard to accept a date from somebody I was just arguing with a few minutes ago."

"I promise, I won't say a contrary word the whole time. And I won't mention my son-in-law, or your prior experiences. I might bore you to death, showing you some pictures I took on my recent European tour.

I was fortunate enough to find a twenty-four hour developer yesterday afternoon, and the pictures will be ready around four. Since I won't get to show them to my daughter tonight, you're the lucky audience for my anecdotes."

"Alright, then. I'll meet you at the Inn at five. I have to make an early night of it, because I have to get back to Ellsworth. I'll be opening 'Sam's Place' early tomorrow."

"What a charming name for an art store."

"Thanks. I named it for my late father. He was an artist."

"You'll have to tell me more, later. I have to make a call. See you at five, then."

Maggie went upstairs. She sipped her coffee, which had gotten cold, on

her way. She finished it before she reached the nursery window. Willie stood there, waiting.

"What took you so long?" He asked. "He didn't chew you out, too, did he?"

"No. He asked me for a date."

"That figures. You didn't accept, did you?"

"I guess I let myself get talked into it. I could cancel, if it causes trouble. But I think I got him calmed down."

"No, it's okay. Maybe Cecily will get a kick out of hearing about it. I didn't tell her what he tried to pull on me. He tried to pay me to leave her."

"He did what?! I'll go call the date off, right now."

Willie said, "No. I think he really respected you, when you stood up to him. I wish I was better at doing that. Maybe he'll be nicer if he goes out with you. Just don't mention what I told you."

"Well, he did seem contrite. And he even seemed a bit lonely. I guess going with him this once, won't hurt. But if it doesn't work out, don't expect me to keep seeing him. I did my part to help you."

"I'm just trying to keep on his good side, for my girls' sake. I already asked Julia to let him see Cecily tomorrow. She's thinking it over." He put his hand over hers. "Hey, Maggie, I have to ask you a personal question. What's your religion?"

"Now, that's a question I would never have expected from you. If you

must know, even though I haven't been to church in years, I come from

a long line of Episcopalians."

"That's good. But maybe you should go to church more, to practice up.

I'd like you to be my baby's God-mother."

"Oh, Willie. I don't know what to say. Have you thought this through?

Did you tell Cellie? Won't Carolyn be disappointed?"

"You took up for me a couple of times when I was really in a jam. Nobody understands why, except the two of us, and Cecily. She said, 'Pick someone who needs the job.' She liked the idea. So did David. Carolyn might be a little disappointed, but she's pretty busy these days, and we do favors for her all the time, anyway."

"Well, then, how could I say no? I'm honored. And the baby is so sweet. Maybe this will build a bridge between you and Walter. One thing, though, we'd better tell him this was Cellie's idea."

"That's fine with me."

* * * * * * * * * * *

The night was warm, and the sky full of stars. Maggie led Walter to the large brick building.

"This is a big old factory, isn't it?" Walter asked.

"The Templeton Textile Mill," she repiled. "This Pavlos has turned it into the hottest spot in Collinsport, and without serving hard liquor. Quite a few major bands have played here, already, and his amateur

hours are famous all over Maine. Cellie was singing here on a regular basis, until just before she and Julia went to Boston. I've heard she may even get to record professionally, once she recovers, thanks to her performances here. That is, if Willie ever lets her out of his

sight again."

Walter ignored the reference to his son-in-law. "Well, it looks more

interesting than that Blue Whale."

"It's a pity about that place. Time was, when the Blue Whale was the only game in town. And now, it's just a dive." She sounded sad.

"You went there a lot, in the past?"

"Yes. I had fun there, and times that weren't much fun, but it was never dull, and even the Collinses would pop in once in a while."

"For a small town girl, it sounds as though you've led quite a full life."

"In some ways, I suppose. One doesn't have to live in a big city to have plenty of problems."

"What about good things?"

"It's hard to fill one's life with good experiences. They're so few

and far between, they're usually over so fast, and you can't force

them to happen. Bad experiences, on the other hand, tend to multiply with little or no provocation, and they eat up your time and attention. But they are compelling."

"You're too young to be so cynical."

"I'm not too young, and I'm what circumstances have made me, I guess."

"I think you're just tired, and bored. And scared, whether or not you

admit it."

"Not that scared, or I wouldn't have come out with you."

"That's not courage, that's just good common sense," Walter laughed.

He squeezed Maggie's waist for the second time that evening. For the first time, she didn't flinch. He embraced her, and she didn't resist. He lowered his face to hers.

Maggie did pull away at this point. "Let's go in," she said, a little too brightly.

They entered the Koffeehaus, and Walter paid what he thought was a rather high cover charge, for what he encountered inside. He could see that little had been done to conceal the Koffeehaus's industrial past. Dirty-looking beams, exposed heating ducts, and ugly outlets stuck out everywhere. Walter almost tripped on some uneven surfaces set in the floor. When he studied them, he realized they were bolts which had

once held machines in place. Big machines, from the size of them. "This place is a lawsuit waiting to happen," he reflected.

Maggie pulled him toward the large, shiny, oaken bar. Dozens of people sat around it. Walter saw a large man, about his age, ridiculously dressed in clothing that was not only too young and too tight for him, but some years out of style. "Pavlos," Maggie said. "The Revered," she joked. "Seriously, he's a pretty wise fellow. He's been wonderful to Cellie and Willie. He's wonderful to everybody, really."

"He's certainly being wonderful to my ex-wife," Walter said, irritably. Pavlos was leaning over the bar toward Janice, stroking her cheek, and stealing little kisses, in full view of his patrons. Janice wasn't objecting, that was for sure. She appeared to be giggling, like her daughter still sometimes did.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Maggie said. "I didn't know. We'll go."

"No, no. This place is big enough, and crowded enough, to hide in. We'll grab a table by the stage."

They were lucky. One couple vacated their table just as Walter and Maggie approached. A pretty girl with a long blonde ponytail, wearing an apron, a pad and pencil in her hand, stepped up.

"Hallie!" Maggie exclaimed. "You work here now?"

"For a couple of weeks, already. It's fun, but the hours are tough. When school starts, I'll just stick with the Superette until I can get

a job closer to the University. So how are you? And, I recognize you, Mr. Hoffman. How are you, and how are Cellie and Sarah? I didn't get

a chance to run up there today. Tomorrow, definitely."

"Miss Evans and I are both fine, especially Miss Evans," Walter joked. Maggie looked puzzled by the remark, but she smiled. "As for my daughter, well, she wasn't feeling too good today, so I couldn't see her, but the baby is fantastic."

"I did talk to David, today, and he said the same, " Hallie said. "Congratulations, Maggie. So you're going to be a God-mother."

"I hope you're not too disappointed, Hallie."

"No, I'm sort of at sixes and sevens these days, getting ready for school, working a hundred hours a week, it seems, and worrying about my soldier boy. You're much more settled down. That's probably why

Willie picked you."

Maggie looked stricken. "LOOMIS picked you!" Walter roared. "What kind of a deal is that?"

"A very nice deal, Walter," Maggie said, recovering. "I was very flattered. The whole idea has Cellie's full endorsement. And if you have any problem with that, well, you can take me back to my car at

the Inn right now."

"No, no, that's alright. I think it's nice of you to do that---

for my daughter. I guess I'll never get used to the way you do

things around here," Walter said, shaking his head. "Well, Hallie, what exactly do you serve here?"

"Wine and Beer are the strongest things we serve here. All the rest

is coffee, regular, expresso, and now, cappucino, plus a couple of sandwiches. Pavlos always says he's a lousy cook, but he sure comes

up with some interesting, and, I might add, tasty sandwiches. Want

to see a menu?" Hallie pulled a laminated sheet about the size of a greeting card from her apron pocket.

"No thanks, unless Maggie wants something. I'll try your cappucino,

though."

"I'll have the same, Hallie. We just ate, anyway. Who's playing up there, tonight?"

"Later on, we're hosting the 'Cannery Row Refugees,' which, as you might guess, are a very local band. They're kind of, well. . ." Hallie made a sour face. "So-so. Actually, I like some of the amateurs better. They've got a way to go, though, before they hold a candle to Cellie."

"We'll hang around for the amateurs, then, I guess," Walter said. When

Hallie left, he pulled his chair closer to Maggie's, and draped his arm around her shoulders. She leaned toward him.

They waited for a few minutes. "Hallie must have gotten other orders along the way," Maggie said. "I have to take a little safari. See you in a few," she said, patting Walter's head.

As soon as she'd left, Pavlos approached the table, carrying a serving tray. He set two cream-topped cappucinos on the table. "Ah, Mr. Hoffman," he boomed. "Janice pointed you out. I wondered why you didn't stop by to speak to us."

"Oh, if you wanted a report on Cellie's condition, Janice had the inside scoop on that, anyway. I didn't get to see her today," Walter groused.

"I'm sorry to hear that. But I know she improves daily. I'll probably pop in there tomorrow. I trust you'll be re-instated on the visiting list by then."

"You're pretty trusting."

"You make it sound like an insult."

"Sorry. I was having a rough day, until a couple of hours ago."

"Would you believe me if I tell you, I am not insulted, and that I'm glad you are out and about tonight?"

"I can tell you're glad my ex is out and about."

"Of course. Actually, your sister had a hard time convincing Janice to take a little time out for herself. She needs it, and I needed to see her. And I am pleased to see you with Maggie."

"You approve? You think I'm the right sort for her?" Walter wondered why, suddenly, it was so important for him to have Pavlos's endorsement.

"She appears to be having a wonderful time. You must be bringing out some long-lost liveliness in her. She was adrift for so long. She's come in before, with Carolyn and David, and Cellie, and she would smile and laugh, but the smile would never reach her eyes. As I came to your table, she passed by me, and I noticed the change in her. Rather like the change that came over Willie after he met Cellie."

"That's not all they had in common, I'm afraid."

"Mr. Hoffman, try, in this case, to understand before you condemn. You

can do it for your clients. Why not your son-in-law? Perhaps, there is a pattern here, a plan."

"Spare me the mystical talk. Oh, Hell. . . Sorry again, Pavlos. No reason for me to bite your head off. I guess I just got rattled when

I saw you with Janice. I never thought of her going around with

anyone, I guess, unless it was that boss of hers she's so ga-ga over."

"You are upset that your ex-wife has moved beyond you. I was sad when

my ex-wives found other men, though I found other women. But I accepted that our time together was over. My time with Janice is now. Perhaps it will be a long time."

"What will happen to you when she goes back to Boston?" Walter was surprised at himself--- why should he care?

"I like to think that we will always be close, in a way, no matter how far apart we are. I have been lucky---I have managed to stay on good terms with the other women I've known, even though we could no longer be together. And as for you and Maggie, what will happen to her when you depart?"

"I--I don't know. I thought this date was just going to be a one-time thing."

"Take this time to think, again." Pavlos trotted away.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Maggie stood before the large mirror in the ladies' room, combing her ruffled hair. Janice came in, taking a place beside her. "I'll bet

he told you it's over with Madeline," Janice began.

"Not exactly," Maggie replied. "Look, Janice, I hope this whole thing

doesn't bother you. I'm just seeing Walter this one time. I don't

want to get tied up with someone who lives, what? Two hundred miles away? And I'm not sure he's the sort of man I want to go with on a regular basis. He kind of browbeat me into coming out. Not that I haven't had a good time, but that's as far as it goes."

"I'm not bothered. It's just that, you're Cellie's friend, and I don't want to see you hurt the way he hurt us."

"I'm not going to be spending enough time with him to get hurt. I don't spend that much time with anyone---" Maggie shoved her comb back into her purse, and turned to leave.

"Maggie, are you okay? I didn't mean---Look, just because it turned out

badly for me and Walter, doesn't mean he's a total ogre. He has his flashes of humanity, once in a while. Just be careful."

"Are you careful with Pavlos? He's been married three times. I'm always careful. Careful, careful, careful. I told Cellie to be careful around Willie, once, and she wasn't. But you can count on me. I'll be careful. I think I'd like to go home now."

Maggie stalked out of the restroom, and went back to the table. She sat

beside Walter, without a word, and drank her cappucino in three gulps. "Walter, I have to get home earlier than I thought. Please take me back to the Inn."

"What, did you call Bernice?" (Bernice was Maggie's business partner.)

"Did something come up?" Walter became concerned. Maggie looked upset.

"Was there a robbery?"

"No, but there was an emergency. Please."

"Okay. I'm kind of sorry to go, I was just getting used to the place, but an emergency is an emergency. Why don't you tell me what happened? I can give you legal advice, anyway." Just then, Walter saw Janice emerge from the ladies' room. The truth began to dawn on him, but he wanted to get Maggie out of there before he pumped her for information.

He left to pay for the cappuccinos, then hustled her out of the Koffeehaus. They got into Walter's rented car without a word. Once inside, Walter put his arm around Maggie. She twitched away from him. "Maggie," he said, gently, "What did Janice say to you?"

"Nothing I haven't been thinking, myself. It's not Janice's fault."

"Look, if it's about Madeline, I was telling you the truth. We even lived together, but that's over now. Maggie, we were having a great time, up until a few minutes ago. Remember how you were laughing, at dinner, when I told the story about the other American traveler I got stuck with, on the train out of Paris? Those pictures of those hop-headed draft-dodgers tripping over the cheese wheels in Amsterdam?

The pictures I took at that art gallery that came out all dark?"

Maggie smiled faintly. "I had fun. But it's over now."

"Why, because I want to do this?" He tried to pull her close again. "It's just a hug. You are scared. With the exception of my daughter, who's never been afraid of anything in her life, and my sister, who's

a law unto herself, I think half the women in this town are spooked."

"Look, I'm sorry I don't get physical on the first date."

"What about the second date, or third date? How long has it been since

you've gotten that far in a relationship, Maggie?"

"I was engaged, once. I've had relationships since then. Just not recently, that's all. A couple of years. And being kidnapped had nothing to do with it."

"Not entirely, maybe, but it's there, in the back of your mind. And from the looks of things, I'd say that wasn't the end of the traumatic events in your life."

"Now you sound like Julia, or Cellie."

"I've had considerable experience talking to rather a lot of unhappy people extricating themselves from unfortunate relationships. That's my job. That, and getting them the best possible settlement to compensate them for their misery." Walter grinned.

"I'm not suing anybody," Maggie said. with some asperity. "I wouldn't

know where to start, anyway. Who would I sue? My mother, for dying when I was young? My father, for getting himself into a fix that troubled him so much he became an alcoholic to ease the pain? My fiance, for having a nervous breakdown and leaving me? Willie?

That man who--who--- even if I could tell you who he was, that

wouldn't help."

"You don't have to sue, but you don't have to let them stop you from relaxing your guard and building a new friendship. If you don't,

that's when you'll know, and they'll know they've won."

"Is this a pitch to build a 'friendship' with me, Walter?"

"Could be," he admitted. "But I was speaking in general terms."

"I just feel driven to be cautious. Careful. Looking over my shoulder constantly. I did a lot of that, at first, after I got away from--whoever--and then, when I worked at Collinwood."

"I heard stories about that place. And yet, all the people who live there, whom I've met, with the possible exception of my brother-in-law, are as pleasant and normal as you please. Carolyn, and David, and Carolyn's mother---"

"They're used to it. It's in their blood. And Cellie, as you've observed, was never the sort to be frightened. She loved living there. She'll love it, when they send her there to recuperate."

"I just wish she'd come with me. Oh, well." He parked in front of

the Inn. "Maggie, do you really have to go home this minute?"

"Well, it's getting too late to go anywhere else."

"Why don't you come up to my room? Don't look at me like that. I rented the biggest suite in the place, an efficiency with a small living room. I promise, no hanky-panky. If I try something, you

can tattle on me to my daughter."

"I don't know." She looked down at her hands.

"Please, Maggie. Maybe there's a movie on T.V. At least, let me

make you some coffee. I was pleased to discover a very good electric percolator in the kitchenette, and a supply of decent coffee."

A short while later, they sat together on the couch, drinking coffee, and watching "Now, Voyager". "This doesn't bother you, Maggie? This

is about some poor girl who spends time in an asylum," Walter commented.

"But she gets better, and becomes stronger, as a person," Maggie insisted. "And that trick with lighting two cigarettes always cracks

me up. Too bad she doesn't exactly get the guy, though."

"She gets all she really wants, I guess. I remember, Cecily was watching this, the first time I ever caught her staying up all night, when she was about twelve. I didn't want to make a fuss and wake up

her mother, so I sat and watched with her. I dozed off, but she poked me awake, at the end, and said, 'Oh, Waltie, why ask for the moon'--"

" 'When we can have the stars'!" Maggie giggled.

"And then she said, 'Daddy, why did Charlotte put up with all that

crap? Why didn't she just tell her Mom where to get off? As for that Jerry, all he would have to do is call you, and he'd get his divorce, and his daughter, and enough money left over for the moon and the stars.' All I could say was that I hoped she learned something from the story. And she replied, 'Yeah. Don't let anyone talk me into buying such ugly glasses.' " Walter and Maggie both laughed. He pulled her closer.

She leaned against him comfortably, and laid her head on his shoulder.

"I'd better get going, soon. Even after drinking this coffee, I'm a little tired, and it's twenty miles to Ellsworth."

"Why don't you just close your eyes? I think I've already proved I can be trusted. If you can't drive, I'll take you home. Do you live near your store?"

"Just upstairs from it."

"Well, then, if you leave me your keys, I can come up with David, or even my sister, and bring you your car, tomorrow. In fact, I'll call David right now." He reached for the phone on the table beside him.

"Thanks," she said. David cheerfully consented; he thought it was cool that Cellie's dad was interested in his former governess, and he was dying to drive Maggie's white Mustang. After the call, Maggie dozed off on Walter's shoulder. Walter kissed her lightly while she slept, and studied her face. She looked younger when she slept. She was like Janice, in a way, one of those women who stayed young-looking most of their adult lives. She looked younger than Madeline, either sleeping or awake, even though he supposed they were about the same age. Walter wondered what it would be like to wake up to this face in the morning, and what Maggie's reaction would be if she woke up to his. Around ten, he decided to give it a try.

He said, softly, "Maggie, sweetheart, time to get up." She opened her eyes, her expression bewildered at first, but as she got used to seeing him, her face relaxed, and acquired an almost trusting look. He kissed her deeply. At first, she coughed a little, and tried to push him away, but in a minute she woke up completely, and was kissing him back. "I wish, now, I didn't have to leave," she whispered. She clung to him even more tightly than he held her.

He stroked her hair. "Maybe, someday, you won't. Let's just take it easy at first. I have to go back to Boston, but not forever. I'll be around often, now that I have Sarah Teresa's progress to monitor. Of course I'll have to keep an eye on her God-mother."

Before they left the suite, the phone rang. Walter answered. It was Simons. "Make this fast, " Walter said softly.

"Have company, eh?" Simons snickered.

"Right. What's up?"

"I have the new information you requested about your son-in-law. Two outstanding warrants, and the statute of limitations isn't up on these babies. Plus, I dug up some interesting dirt on your brother-in-law. Proving again, some things are difficult, but not impossible for the Maestro. I'll send some copies on to you, ASAP."

Walter looked at Maggie, who gazed at him with a fond, questioning expression. He wondered how she'd react if she heard he could have his daughter's husband arrested for something he'd done years ago. Not in

a positive manner, he was sure. He didn't know much about her dealings with his brother-in-law, but if she found out about that investigation, he could certainly come up with an acceptable explanation.

"Listen, Ted, sit on the first deal for now. But you can send me the skinny on the second proposal."

"Getting along with Wild Willie these days, but not Brother

Barnabas, eh?"

"Let's just say I'm allocating my resources where they might be used to the best advantage, at this point, Ted. I have to run, now. I'll call you in the A.M."

"I thought you were just a divorce lawyer, Walter. I didn't realize

you had other interests," Maggie commented.

"First and foremost, Maggie, the proper term isn't 'divorce lawyer.'

I practice what is euphemistically referred to as 'matrimonial law'. Believe it or not, I do work for couples who stay together." (Though not often. Walter had, indeed, found it more rewarding to help tear down marriages, than build them up, and had used his skills to protect himself during his own divorce.) "And as for my other interests, well, I'm always looking to enhance my lifestyle, not only to my benefit, but to that of my children, and now, my present and future grandchildren. Without boasting, I can tell you, I've been able to juggle both interests rather successfully, and it shows. You have no objection?"

"Oh, not at all. Still, wheeling and dealing, even at this hour of the night, Walter?" Maggie asked.

Walter embraced her, and they kissed for a couple of minutes. "One has

to make the most of his opportunities, no matter when they present themselves. That's how I get almost everything I want. Except for you. Discovering you was a total surprise."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Julia sat with Barnabas, as he lay on his bed. She was adjusting his pillows. "See," she said, tenderly, "I can be a nurse as well as a doctor."

"It's certainly cost-efficient, especially since you're a fine cook into the bargain," he replied with a smile.

"Now that's the kind of talk I missed hearing. You're back to your old chauvinistic self, again," she laughed. She bent to kiss him.

"And I missed you terribly, Julia," he said, seriously. "I've feared death, and I've feared separation from you. But almost never so much, I believe, as in the past few days."

"Perhaps, because you've seldom been so vulnerable."

"Not in years. And then, I never feared for someone who was in my care,

as much I did for our niece. I'll be sorry about this failure for the rest of my days."

"That wasn't your fault. Terrible things happen to many people, Barnabas. That's just part of the disadvantage of normal, mortal life."

"So I am re-discovering, daily. And yet, there are advantages, too. I hope it's not too late for us to discover more of them." He pulled her down to his side. She rested her head on his chest.

"Now, Barnabas, you aren't supposed to be moving your head

around too much. That's not just Dr. Keleman's orders. They're mine

as well."

"Too bad. I wish you could, at least, sleep with me, tonight. Feeling you near me, would be worth the headache. You know, Julia, I've been thinking. When you go to that clinic next month, I'll be at your side. I'm sorry I wasn't a bit more enthusuastic about it, before you left."

"Your objections were valid, up to a point."

"I've re-thought those, also. When I see the joy Cellie and Willie

managed to prize out of this tragedy, it became clear to me that it might well be worth running the risks." He rubbed his wife's flat stomach. "I would like to feel a 'little guy in there, moving around,' as Willie put it."

"And if it doesn't work, will you be as disappointed as you once were disapproving?"

"No. I've told you before, no matter what, I will always love you.

We were meant to be together, in the end, and the presence of children isn't the only valid outcome of marriage. Again, this is something else Cellie and Willie will have to face. Our lives seems to be running down parallel paths when it comes to these matters. They learn from us, and we learn from them. However our aspirations turn out, though, we will be able to share in Sarah Teresa's development." Barnabas smiled.

"She is a miracle. I just hope we have some peaceful times with her, before Nicholas makes his next move. Much as I'd like you with me,

next month, perhaps you'll have to stay here, and keep an eye on the family. I'll only be gone a few days."

"We'll see. Still, Elliot and I have reviewed the available information, and, as I've told you, he may not be back for months.

We were 'zeroing in', as they say, on his true identity. Cellie, as

you know, suspects he was connected with the terrible massacres that took place in this area in the spring of 1643. This may turn out to be

a significant date, as regards Sarah Teresa's situation. When Cellie's up and around, she might be able to help in the research."

"Between midnight feedings, dirty diapers, and trying to live down one of the worst traumas I could ever imagine for anyone," Julia replied. "But that's our Cellie. Even when she's down, she's never down and out. She's just like my brother, in that way."

"Walter certainly would like to rule the roost, as far as Cellie and little Sarah are concerned," Barnabas commented with a smile. "I can't blame him, entirely. If I could build an impenetrable fortress around the Loomises, I would."

Julia shook her head. "I don't think his fortress would have room for Willie. I doubt he will ever really accept Willie as anything, except as the sperm donor who inadvertantly produced the most wonderful grand-daughter he ever hoped to have. And there's something else, Barnabas. I hesitated to tell you this, but matters have been moving too fast. I'm sorry I can't spare you this. Walter is very suspicious of you."

"Oh, is he?" Barnabas shrugged. "I've been the target of suspicion before, both justified and unjustified. I managed to evade most of

the consequences."

"You don't understand. I've been talking to Tony Peterson. Apparently, Walter has access to one of the most effective and efficient private investigators inthe country, and he's no slouch, himself, when it come to the investigative arts. If you recall, he did have quite a lengthy report compiled on Willie, and now, he's told me, he managed to dig up some facts about you, including the fact that you have no substantial paper trail leading back beyond 1967."

"Still, we can temporize, gloss over some details, the usual. As long as he doesn't discover the other document-juggling we've managed to pull off, so far. . . Julia, I hope you don't find this an insult, but your brother is no different than some of the brightest minds who've tried to discover my secret. Look how long we've known Elliot. This is his area of expertise, and he still hasn't ferreted it out."

"I wouldn't be too sure of that. He almost found out on one occasion, when you went back to 1897. Perhaps he knows by now, but he's too fond of both of us, and Cellie, to even let on."

"Be that as it may, I wouldn't worry about Walter. And don't you, either, Julia. Even if he figures something out, I wouldn't harm him, for your sake, and Cellie's. We'd find another way."

"What if I told you he had a date tonight with Maggie Evans?"

A shadow crossed Barnabas's face. "He met Maggie? And she consented

to spend time with him? I shouldn't have thought he was her type."

"One never knows what 'type' one would be interested in. I would

never have thought myself interested in your 'type.' But it happened. My brother had the devoted loyalty of his wife for over twenty-five years, and I would say that, personality-wise, Janice and Maggie have much in common. I'm actually more concerned about Maggie's happiness than the possibility that he'll find out any-thing about your previous condition from her. Remember, her memory was so thoroughly erased, between myself and Nicholas, that she couldn't tell her father

or her fiance, or any of her subsequent men friends. I don't think she discussed it with Vicky Winters, and I doubt she could even tell Cellie. But you never know. The other men avoided the issue. My brother wouldn't let up, if he had a suspicion. He may abuse her mentally, if she can't tell him anything. To make matters even more complicated, Willie's chosen Maggie to be Sarah Teresa's God-mother."

"You couldn't dissuade Willie or Cellie from making a choice that might

re-open old wounds and suspicions?"

"When they explained it to me, I didn't have the heart," Julia sighed. "Willie has a powerful need to make up to Maggie for all he did to her in the past. And as as Cellie is concerned, without Maggie's strategic appearance at the Blue Whale on a certain afternoon in March, Willie would not have been available, or in any condition, to marry her. And that's how Walter came to meet Maggie in the first place, according to David. He was berating Willie, and Maggie showed up, just in time, to put in a good word for him."

"I suspect that Maggie remembers more of that whole incident than she

lets on, in spite of all the hypnosis and spells," Barnabas insisted. "It may be too powerful a trauma to ever be permanently, totally

erased. At least, she seems to remember Willie's small attempts to

help her. Still, she has never even intimated that she recalls my

role in her suffering."

"Well, as long as Cellie keeps an eye on the whole situation. . .If she could be released from the hospital earlier, I don't think I would worry as much, even if Walter eventually married Maggie."

"God Forbid! Oh," he said, apologetically, "I'm sorry, Julia. If he does, and he makes Maggie happy, I suppose there's nothing I can say against it, any more than I can say anything against Willie's choosing her as Sarah's God-mother."

"I hope no-body else gets any funny ideas about that, either."

"Well, Julia, people do like stories of apotheosis and redemption, even if they don't put the good ideas to use in their own lives. I've been reading newspaper accounts of these past few days, and they've slanted it around so that Willie has become an almost mythic symbol of

mindless persecution and needless suffering. Much of this has to

do with those interviews Cellie gave, just before she was attacked.

They keep referring back to her words. Unoriginal of them,

I suppose. But, perhaps, our anxieties about a possible scandal

are over-rated."

"Odd to think of our Willie in the same light as the Kennedys, for example. But you may have a point about the power of the press."

"I also have a point about making use of the public sympathy Willie currently enjoys for our purposes. Perhaps, instead of alienating

your brother, we should cultivate him. We can try to show him the circumstances that surround Cellie and Sarah Teresa, and demonstrate that he needn't worry about Willie's past or future behavior toward them, or Maggie. Now that I'm back home, we could invite Walter to

stay here."

"I doubt he'll go for that, with Janice staying just a stone's throw away, at Collinwood, and Willie living in the cottage. And, now that he's started 'cultivating' Maggie, he'll likely protest he needs privacy."

"He wouldn't seduce her, would he?"

"I don't think he needs to. Maggie is under a great deal of tension, including, I suspect, sexual tension, if you don't mind my being so blunt. She's been alone too long, for such a young woman. She may overwhelm Walter! But still, I don't want any of us to be made uncomfortable, if they're really fond of each other, and yet seeing

them together bothers you."

"It wouldn't." Barnabas clutched his wife's hand. "We can invite

them to dinner here, at least."

"We'll start out by inviting Walter, alone, as soon as your headache goes away. That should take a few days. Now you rest, and think of some way to turn my brother's head around, while I get your pain pills."

* * * * * * * * * * *

HANG IN THERE! Part 3A IS COMING!