This, I think, will probably be the section that gives the most offense, partly because it hits on uncomfortable real-life topics not covered in the Dark Shadows Canon, takes place away from that claustrophobic estate, introduces some new characters.

But that's why I called this whole project "Commonplace Evils"---

I wanted a comparison between real issues and the fantastic, and to demonstrate a possible connection between the two. Horror stories of almost every type ARE generally based on an exaggerated, or sublimated, version of our deepest fears, and our perceptions of their relative significance. Every real-life quandary here has a counterpart in the "vortex" of Collinsport, and every evil, while not supernaturally induced, is held, in Western religion, to give delight to a definite Demonic force, who thrives on human weaknesses, sorrows, and confusion.

Lorraine A. Balint.

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PART THREE----CHAPTER NINETEEN

Cellie avoided seeing both her husband, and Barnabas, as much as possible during her stay at the Old House, while she helped Julia care for Walter. She slept on a cot in her father's room, and rose every time either he, or the baby in her portable bassinet, made noises in their sleep. She had to call her father's office, and repeat the cover story about the "stomach flu" that would keep her father laid up for at least another week. She and Walter came up with a story to explain the visible stiffness he would experience in his chest and shoulder for a few weeks, after he returned to Boston. "It's just too embarrassing, having accidentally shot myself with my own father's antique gun," Walter said. "I'll tell them I tripped going down the stairs right after recovering from the flu."

"That's perfect, Dad," Cellie agreed, tonelessly.

"Are you feeling alright yourself, Princess? Don't you miss your husband? You don't go out with him when he comes over to see Sarah Teresa."

"No, Daddy," she sighed. "I don't think you and I will ever spend quite this much time together again, and I'd like to make the most of it."

"I'll probably be hitting the beaches at St. Thomas, after my next caseload is clear," Walter said. "With this delay, that should be around May. My invitation is still open to you and my grand-daughter. Maybe I could call Mag--Maddy when I get back to Boston, and we could all go down together. I kind of miss her."

"I thought she was going with other men."

"Last I heard, through the grapevine, she was free."

"Whatever you want, Dad," Cellie replied, dispiritedly. She left her father with the sleeping baby, and wandered downstairs. Her aunt was sitting in Barnabas's favorite chair by the fire, staring into the flames. "Aunt Jule, I need to get out for a while. I've been trying to figure out how to get hold of that letter from Lester Arliss."

"It's been three days. How do you know he doesn't have it already?"

"Do you you think he'd waste any time, in his rush to tear up here, to check out the dirty details, if he did read it? I saw my Dad's copy. Old Uncle George was pretty thorough outlining his allegations."

Julia said, "I always pitied Sheriff Patterson, in a way. He came so close to the truth so many times, and every time, Barnabas managed to make him look quite foolish. I had times when I wanted to shout the truth to that earnest, good-natured face, especially when Barnabas kept pressuring on me to go far beyond the limits of the slightly unethical activities we were already involved in." Julia stopped abruptly, when she saw Cellie's face. "Oh, Cellie, don't cry. I know just how you feel."

"Do you, Aunt Jule? My Dad was just talking about getting back together with Madeline, for God's sake."

Julia turned toward the fire again. She thought about Maggie--- the pathetic way she still asked for Walter, and the excuses about the stomach flu with which Julia kept fending her off. The results of the latest test was due the morning she was to be released from the hospital. The whole situation was a dreadful mess. But Barnabas had a valid point about Walter's unstable emotional state when it came to his lover. He would have to be kept from her, at least for the time being. If only Julia and Virginia hadn't made such a terrible miscalculation about their patient in the first place. . .

"When is Maggie getting out of the hospital?"

"The day after tomorrow. She'll want to see your father, as soon as his 'flu' clears up. I don't know how we can avoid it."

"You won't hypnotize her again?"

"No, I can't. There are certain. . .details about her after-care, that depend on her memory of the affair. She will continue to receive counseling and other forms of therapy, if necessary. But she has to be fully aware, if only to fight off the entity which might still plague her."

"Aunt Jule, you're hiding something from me, I can tell. . . And yet you're going along with Barnabas's orders."

"I can't tell you more. Not right now, Cellie. He's been my first loyalty for almost seven years. I can't change the way I feel about him, or the urge to defend his interests above all others. And now that I'm finally bearing his child. . ." Julia touched her middle.

"Okay, okay, Aunt Jule," Cellie said, soothingly. "I'll change the subject. Back to getting that letter. . . I think I'll cultivate Lester's acquaintance a little bit more. Perhaps I can intercept the letter."

"Cellie, be very careful. You wouldn't like to end up in prison, I'm sure. And there's another thing. . . The last couple of times we've run into Lester, I've noticed the way he looks at you. You're going through a bad time with Willie right now, and---"

"He let himself be brow-beaten by Barnabas, again! I couldn't bear to see that. But he barely even stood up for my point of view.

I would have appreciated it, even if I did cave in at the end."

"How do you know that yours is the right way to go, and not Barnabas's? You knew what was at stake for months."

Cellie replied sadly, "It breaks my heart, to know how Maggie has suffered in the past, and will, apparently, continue to suffer in the future. I'm certainly anxious about March. But the rest of life must go on, somehow, no matter how that comes out."

"Your daughter will someday be in the forefront of determining just how life will go on. Do you want her determination be based on what she's learned from you, or what she's learned from Nicholas and

his minions? Sometimes, sacrifices must be made for the greater good."

"I know. . . But sometimes, compromises can be made. . ."

"When you figure out where there can be compromise in this situation, I'll be the first to support you. Until then. . ."

Celie put on her leather jacket, and headed toward the door. "I'll be back in a while, Aunt Jule. Sarah's gone to sleep, and Dad wasn't far behind." She jumped in the Beetle, and headed downtown. She looked at her watch. Ten A.M.--- the Collinsport mailtrucks had barely begun their run. She drove past the police station. Lester Arliss's car wasn't in its parking space. Then she remembered, that on Tuesdays, unless he was actively involved with a case, Lester's shift began at

twelve. She wondered on what pretext she could meet him in his office.

She couldn't talk about Jack Knowlton, for legal reasons. The District Attorney had notified her that the separate trials for both her assault and Melinda's murder would not be held until April, with the murder trial coming first. He'd assured her that conviction in the first trial was almost a given, so she shouldn't worry even if Jack was acquitted in the assault trial. But a change of venue, due to pre-trial publicity, was already being sought, and that was worrisome. There was

the tiniest chance that the charges would be threatened if a suitably uninformed community within the state could not be found. "You mean, he could go free, even though he confessed several times, and everyone knows he's guilty?" Cellie wailed.

"It almost never happens, Mrs. Loomis. But toward that end, I've had my office request that newspapers in the area cut back on their coverage of the case, so that the memories of potential jurors can recede a bit."

Cellie was somewhat reassured by this, but it closed off one subject that she and Lester had in common, which wasn't too personal. She knew there was a risk in befriending Lester more than she had. But he was very repressed in many ways, typical, she thought, for someone who'd grown up in a small town, with all eyes on him. She would even have been willing to bet that, though he was approaching the age of thirty, he was still a virgin.

She sometimes wondered what would have happened, if she hadn't gotten tied up with Willie so soon after her arrival in town. She knew she wouldn't have stayed with Jack for long, and she doubted she would have been romantically interested in David. She was certain, now, that she could recall times when Lester had come up her checkout aisle at the Superette. Perhaps he gazed at her the same way Willie once had, maybe even with the same half-lustful, half-reverent expression. He was so ordinary, unlike Willie, that she simply never noticed. Of course, she was still under-age then. But she believed that a bit more tolerance

would have been extended to a relationship with such an eligible, steady young member of the Collinsport mainstream, one who would have waited to push its legal limits.

Cellie parked her car at the Collinsport Inn Coffee shop. She sat, trying to collect her thoughts. When had she started thinking this way? Why was she thinking this way? Was she so bored with her marriage, so disgusted with the way of life that relationship had opened to her, that she was willing to consider infidelity with a sweet cipher like Lester? She had felt flashes of attraction for the newly-elected Sheriff, who was also as easy to "read" as her husband (though without the added complications of an easily excitable temper, and the baggage of Willie's many traumas.)

She was beginning to understand what people meant when they'd warned her she was too young to marry, and that Willie was too old, too intellectually-challenged, and too set in his ways, to hold her interest for the rest of her life. She couldn't even think of loving her husband, now that he'd shown, again, that, like her Aunt, his first loyalty was to Barnabas. But as soon as she thought of leaving Willie, the same fatigued, hopeless feeling would envelop her. Her abilities depended on him. And then, there was the baby. . . If she and Sarah Teresa left Willie, he would never get over it. Cellie, his "helpmeet", couldn't destroy their family. She'd find a way to get over her ennui, and her resentment at being throttled by her Uncle.

She didn't realize that she'd been clutching the part of her coat under which she could feel the outlines of her Mizpah pendant. There was a knock at the car window. She looked up. Lester Arliss was observing her, with a concerned expression on his face. She rolled down the window.

"Are you okay, Cellie?" he asked. "You're grabbing at your chest. Are you in pain?"

"No--no, Les. I have a necklace on under my clothes. It was scratching me, so I was adjusting it. How are you?"

"Fine. Really fine, now." He smiled. "Where's the baby?"

"Oh, my aunt's watching her right now, so I could have a little break. I was just going into the Coffee Shop, for late breakfast."

"Don't you work with your family at the Antique Shoppe anymore?"

"I'm going there, for a while, later, with the baby. But my aunt had the day off, and I was spending time with her. She didn't feel like going out, so she told me to go ahead. She wanted to spend some quality time alone with Sarah Teresa. She said she needed to get in as much practice as she could, before her own baby arrives."

"That's really an amazing thing, if you don't mind my saying so, that she and your uncle should be starting a family this late in life."

"Hey, it happens, sometimes by accident. At least this was a happy accident."

"It gives hope to the rest of us, I'm sure. Say, Cellie. . ." Lester turned red. "I was just on my way in to have breakfast, myself. Do you think you could join me? We could sit at the counter, so it won't look like we're having a rendezvous or something."

"Sure, Les. I have no problem with that."

They walked into the coffee shop, but not exactly together. When they sat next to each other, none of the other customers even looked at them. The waitress worked the stove and the coffee-maker at the other end of the counter, so Cellie and Lester were able to chat in relative privacy.

"You don't get out much with Willie anymore, do you?" he asked.

"That's the way it goes, when you have a child. But we still---we still have a nice time together, I guess. We try to appreciate what we have, after what happened." Cellie stared into her coffee.

"Do you, really, Cellie? You seem sad. Is there something I could do for you?"

"I'm just worried. About the trials, but I know we can't talk about that. I'm also sad about sick friends. . ."

"I heard about Maggie Evans. That poor woman, after all she's been through. . . I guess you didn't know we went to school together?"

"Oh, Geez, I never thought about it. But you are about the same age, come to think of it. It's just that, when I spend time with her, she seems much younger, and then, when I see her with my--my Dad. . ." Cellie's voice trailed off.

"She seems older, somehow. I understand. But it's true, we the same age, almost to the day." He smiled again. "Seriously, though, I wish her the best. We never dated or anything, but we moved with the same crowd. We were 'jocks', I guess you'd call them, with me on the football team, and Maggie on both the volleyball team, and cheerleading squad. She was just a skinny kid with a big head of hair back then, but nobody ever put more oomph into a cheer than she did. Especially when that Joe Haskell was on the field. . ."

"That's right. You would have known all those people."

"Yes, but we've lost so many, you should have seen our tenth-year reunion. The war's partly to blame for that, but in the past five years, the attrition rate has really speeded up. Maggie wasn't there, she was tied up with her art store, but I really think it would just have been too sad for her. It sure was, for me. No Joe Haskell. God knows where he is, these days. One of the Jennings boys dead, and

the other, out in Vegas, and none too well, I hear. A couple of girls moved out of town, when there was a series of attacks on young women some years back. Most of them settled where they were, and married. I guess they didn't want to bother coming back. Then, there were the war casualties, at least four that I can think of. I was sorry to hear about your brother-in-law, hurt like that when the whole damn thing was about to end, for the Americans, anyway. I was just lucky, I guess, that my number never came up."

"I know I'm glad," Cellie smiled. "This town needed you. We needed you. I don't know how Will and I could have made it through that night, if you weren't on duty."

"That's the nicest thing anyone ever said to me, I think," Lester replied, blushing again. "I'm just kind of sorry, though, you had to deal with Fred Beardsley, and not my Uncle George. I remember him saying, he used to feel kind of sorry for Willie, in spite of whatever

he did. He would have given him a fair hearing."

"What was your uncle like?"

"He was a quiet guy, too gentle, in a way, for his job, but he always did his duty, as he saw fit. He'd had heart trouble for awhile, before he retired, but the early symptoms were masked, I believe, by his anxiety over the goings-on around here, like I said, six or seven years ago. When he died, so suddenly, while he was finally enjoying himself, I felt all the worse, because I knew what he'd been through."

"He wasn't married, was he?"

"He was, right after college, but his wife died in a car crash a couple of years later. She lived just long enough to become my godmother, but I don't remember her at all. Uncle George never got over her death. I don't think I even heard of him going out with anyone, after. I hope I don't end up like that, but I haven't been out

at all, since before I became Sheriff. Not that I ever went out too much to begin with." Lester stroked Cellie's hand with his finger, then stopped when she looked at him.

"You'll find a wonderful woman some day real soon, Les," Cellie said. "If you can't find one in Collinsport, maybe you could try that computer dating stuff."

He brightened a little. "Hey, maybe I got a letter from a secret admirer today." He opened his briefcase, which he'd carried in with him. "Usually, I like to read my mail while I'm here. Let's see. . ."

Cellie snapped to attention, staring into the briefcase. She made out a large manila envelope. She thought she could see a Boston postmark over the half-dozen-or-so stamps that covered the upper right-hand corner. Lester seized that one right away. "My, this is a surprise," he said. "I don't know anyone from Boston, except for you and your folks."

"Maybe it's the world's biggest chain letter," she joked uneasily. "I got one like that once. They wanted me to make twenty copies. . ."

Lester opened the envelope carefully, and drew forth the contents.

"What--?" he exclaimed, perusing the pencil-scrawled sheets. "This looks like my Uncle George's handwriting! How could someone in Boston have a letter my uncle wrote? He didn't have any Beantown penpals, either." He began to read with Cellie sitting right next to him. She felt sick. Truly sick. Violently sick.

"Les," she whispered. "I--I have to run to the ladies' room. I'm think I'm gonna toss my cookies."

He shoved the letter back into the envelope, and into the briefcase, which he snapped shut, and gave to the waitress behind the counter (another old classmate of his, he said). He rose, and took Cellie's arm, leading her quickly to the restroom. He waited patiently until she came out, patting her face with a damp paper towel. He walked her back to their seats, and the waitress handed him back his tightly-shut briefcase.

Cellie's predicament had attracted a flurry of attention from the customers. She whispered to Lester, "Just had dry heaves. Can't understand it."

He whispered back, "Cellie, you're not preg---oh, I'm so sorry, I forgot."

"That's okay. No, it was just something that came over me." She felt a hand patting her shoulder, gently. She turned around.

Anissa Sheridan was sitting beside her. "Hello, remember me?" she said. "Are you all right, now?" She wore a concerned look on her face, and her large brown eyes (rather protuberant, Cellie noticed, now that she was able to study the woman's face closely) were wide open, and surprised-looking.

"Yes, thank you for asking. Les," Cellie said, "You remember this lady? This is Anissa Sheridan. I heard she helped Pavlos the night I was attacked, and she spent some serious time in the hospital waiting room, after."

"I remember. I wondered what happened to her," Lester replied.

"Oh, I went away for a while," Anissa said, "but I followed the story in the papers, so I knew just where to go, when I came back to find out how everyone was doing. You were a deputy then, and now I see you've become the sheriff. Congratulations."

Cellie began to "read" the blonde woman, as she'd wanted to do before. She sounded sincere enough, but as Cellie probed Anissa's inner state, she ran into a maze of confusing colors and sensations. This Anissa was just another "hard read." At one time, Cellie would have let it go, but time had taught her that she'd better keep working until she got results. The more she tried to force an entry, the more Anissa seemed to block her. Maybe she just had private feelings she'd rather not have revealed, but then again. . .

Anissa turned from her, to ask the waitress for a cup of coffee. The sunlight from the window nearby played on her profile. Cellie glanced at her briefly, just once more. Something about Anissa's face caught Cellie's attention, just out of the corner of her eye, they way a light seemed to flicker up brightly when one glanced at it quickly. Cellie looked at Anissa once more, then turned back to Lester, who was

once more perusing the contents of the manila envelope.

"Well, what's the skinny?" Cellie asked, nervously.

"I can't make heads or tails of it," Lester said in a puzzled tone. He took out the sheets, and examined them closely. "It appears that there are a couple of pages missing."

The waitress, who was filling Anissa's cup, said, "I sure didn't open your briefcase, Lester. Even if I wanted to, you have that crazy combination lock. You remember, I never even got the hang of the combo locks on my school locker."

"I implied nothing of the sort, Candie," Lester said. "It's just that, whoever sent this package spent a whole lot on postage, for practically nothing, it seems. Three pages, one of which just has the tail end of a paragraph. 'That someday, someone would make a more aggressive investigation. . . A real human need to learn the

truth. . .' "

"But the rest?" Cellie panted.

"Oh, just a review of Uncle George's earliest cases, and and an interesting little story about an automobile accident Roger Collins had, over fifteen years ago. Now that's a coincidence, after what we were just talking about, before you got sick," Lester said, reading the second page. "There's a mention of Maggie's Dad. I remember him pretty well. He was a bit of a lush, but the nicest guy you'd ever want to meet, otherwise. I guess he was a witness to Roger's accident. Too bad, though, the reference is cut off in mid-sentence."

Cellie took the papers and read them. She was relieved to find only the skimpiest references to the Collins family's foibles, and the very beginning of an account of Maggie's travails. She'd seen her father's well-worn copy of this very epistle, and she knew it to be nine pages long, including the nearly-empty one with the truncated paragraph. She couldn't believe that Simons would have sent only part of the report, even by mistake. She breathed a sigh of relief, thanking God,

(if, indeed, God was the One to be thanked in this instance) that some unknown agency had reached out and eradicated the most damning portion of the late Sheriff Patterson's reminiscences.

She turned around, to see if Anissa was watching the proceedings. The blonde woman was gone, having left half a cup of coffee, and a half-dollar tip.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Lester walked Cellie back to her car. "It was nice, seeing you like this," he said. "I wish we could do this more often, but,

well. . ."

Cellie hung her head. "I know, Les. You're a good friend, but if we hang out too much, people will talk. I wouldn't dream of causing a scandal for you."

"You sound more like you're more afraid of screwing up my job, than messing up your marriage. I thought you and Willie were solid."

Cellie sighed. "I--I thought so, too. But, sometimes, when people are married, complications arise. What you've always believed in can get skewered, when it comes up against a reality that existed before you even met the person."

"As I understood it, you knew all about your husband's past before you married him. At least, you must have learned enough by now."

"It's not just him, Les. . . I can't say any more. God, I'm tired." She sat in the Beetle. Lester crouched beside her, sheltered from view by the open door.

For the first time, Cellie had an opportunity to really study his appearance. She'd already observed that he was a few inches taller than her husband, and probably weighed about the same, but Lester looked as though he worked out. Perhaps the memory of his uncle's early fatal heart attack motivated him to stay in shape. He was going bald already, like his uncle, whose framed picture she had noticed on his desk, the night she had gone to see Willie in jail. Lester had a rather ordinary, gentle face, again, like his uncle's, but the expression in his bright blue eyes made him appear almost handsome. The smile he now wore, completed the illusion.

"Cellie, if the day comes, when you decide you can't go on living with these 'realities', as you call them, just find me, and I'll show you a different reality." Lester touched her face, and kissed her gently.

She turned her head away, before the kiss lasted any longer. "Don't, Les. If the wrong person catches us. . . at the very least, I'll be hurting the case against Jack Knowlton. They'll say I'm getting special treatment from the Collinsport Police, that I'm really the tramp he accused me of being---"

"I'm not really involved with testifying, or anything like that," Lester replied. "But you're right, I should try to hold myself away from anything that might jeopardize his conviction in both trials. And it would kill me, if I did anything that made you look less than a total victim of Jack's jealous vengeance." He paused, and asked, "Cellie, do you still love your husband?"

"I wish I knew." Cellie fiddled with her wedding ring. "I do love my baby. I don't want to create a situation that would separate her from her father. Those two have a very strong bond, really unusual for a father and an infant that age. Maybe it's because he got to spend so much more time with her right after she was born, but still. . . It's very special. I have no right to sunder it."

"I would never stand in the way of Willie's rights to his child. I know how much she means to the both of you."

"That's a sweet thing to say, Les, but remember who you're talking to. As old as I was, when my folks broke up, it was hard to get my relationship with my Dad back on track, and I couldn't even live with my Mom, with the state she was in. Imagine how much harder it would be for a baby to stay close to her own father, growing up, almost from the beginning, with a stepfather who would be spending the most time with her and her mother. I'm afraid Will would get lost in the middle of such an arrangement."

"I understand, believe me," Lester protested. "MY father remarried a couple of years after he divorced my mother. But my stepmother never interfered between us, or said anything about my Mom. My dad was firm about that, though I can't say our own relationship was, or is, that great. I did learn from his example, at any rate. I think I could stand back from the situation, and still provide all the rest of your needs, and the baby's."

Cellie shook her head. "If I was to leave Will, I think I'd stay single, finish my education, get a decent job, and take some time before I got tied down again, if only to ensure that Will remained a significant influence on Sarah Teresa's life. It's more vital than you'll ever know. There's a lot of things that I don't think I could explain to you, not at this point. Something's coming up, very soon, that is going to demand my fullest attention, and Will's. Maybe, after that, we'll all have our answers."

"Well, just remember, when you're finally free to make that decision, if you ever need a refuge. . ." Lester's voice trailed off. He stood up. "I won't pressure you," he said. "I'll be seeing you around."

As Lester walked back to his car, Cellie's mother approached the Beetle. Janice looked almost angry. "Cellie, I was on my way to pick up some early lunch for Roger and myself, when I saw Les Arliss kiss you," she said. "Honey, what on earth's the matter with you? Just for starters, if I could see you, so could other people, probably. Then there'd be gossip, and it would get back to Willie, believe me. I don't understand this. You have the most devoted husband in Collinsport,

a husband you risked death to catch and keep, and now, he's not enough for you? Sometimes, Cellie," Janice said ruefully, shaking her head, "You act more like your father than you're aware of."

"I'm sorry, Mom," Cellie wept. "There's no excuse for what I just did. I know it. All I can say is, I'm really, really confused right now."

"I think you'd be less confused if you went back to the Antique Shoppe with your husband, and settled it with him, rather than hashing it out with the Sheriff. I'm sure your father must be better by now. I don't know why you got stuck taking care of him, when you have a baby to worry about."

"He was---he was really upset about Maggie. I was the only one who could help him feel better, so he'd get well faster. But you're right, Mom. I guess I have to face Will. I'll tell him right away."

"No, no, no, Cellie. You don't have to tell him you were kissing another man, and his friend, at that. I have to give you some credit, at any rate. You DO own up to your mistakes, quite UN-like your father. Still, a total confession isn't necessary. Just go back home! Love your husband up a little. He's been like a lost puppy, without you around. He was crying when he came to the Koffeehaus last night. Pavlos and I took him to my new apartment, and he stayed until almost midnight. But when Pavlos tried to get him to tell exactly what was bothering him, all he would say was, 'It's all my fault. Cecily doesn't want me anymore, and I don't blame her'."

"I don't KNOW if I want him anymore."

"Cellie, I know I'm going to sound like a throwback to the pre-feminist days, but, if you still think you want my advice, this is it. You go back to your husband, A.S.A.P., jump in bed with him, and keep going until you do want him again. And you will. In that respect, you DO take after me. That's how I felt about your father."

"And look how he let you down, again and again."

"Still, to preserve our family, it was worth trying. At least, in this case, the fault is not on Willie's side. He'd do anything to please you."

"Not 'anything', Mom. Most things. But not some things that are really important."

"You have a child to think about. That's important. All your other idealogical differences can wait on that. Even Pavlos would say the same thing. He said it's extremely important that you two stay together in the next couple of months."

"If you must know, that's kind of what I told Lester just now. But there are other things. . . I'll know what I should do, as soon as Dad's better, and Maggie's out of the hospital. I know what you're going to say about that, but bear with me. It's just going to be a few more days."

"I hope you have that much time left."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Cellie spent a few hours at the Antique Shoppe, serving up her version of Portuguese sweet bread, demonstrating the proper use of a spinning wheel, and using Sarah Teresa as a prop for a display of an ornately-carved cradle. The whole afternoon, she managed to avoid saying more than a few words to Willie. Finally, before Cellie was about to pack up and head back to the Old House, her husband tugged on her arm, and pulled her toward the stairs. Cellie broke from his grasp, and picked up Sarah Teresa before she went up with him. When they got there, she refused to leave the baby alone in her nursery.

"Cecily, please. She looks like she's going to sleep, anyway." Willie firmly took the dozing infant, and put her in her crib. Then he pushed Cellie across the landing, to their bedroom. He embraced his wife forcefully, and kissed her, almost painfully. He made her sit on their bed, but she refused to lie down. "Why are you punishing me, again?" he asked, in despair. "We loved each other so much. We fooled around only a week ago, just before everything happened, and you enjoyed it. I miss you in my bed. Can't you just put the thing about your father out of your mind for an hour?"

"How can I put it out of my mind? Maybe you can forget your brother for an hour, and you can forget about what you and your 'master' made me do, for another hour. But I can't! How can I enjoy making love with you, when I know how empty life is going to be for Maggie? How can I relax when I know my Dad is going back to Madeline? I think she must have hurt him before he went to Europe, or he wouldn't have been so open to a brand-new relationship. And don't, what ever you do, tell me that it's all THEIR problem. It's my problem, too. I'm chin-deep in it!

I can't even get away from the problem! I'm trapped, and you're trapped, until March, at least!" She beat on his chest, but he held her tighter, and pushed her down on the bed.

Willie covered Cellie's mouth with his, and began to pull up her blouse. She tried all her newly-learned self-defense moves (though she'd missed a couple of classes, due to her protective care of her weakened father), but Willie put his full weight on her. She turned her face from his, and said, quietly, "Don't rape me, Will. You never forced me. . ."

He released her, and sat up. "I want you something terrible, Cecily, but you're right, I never forced you, and I want to keep it that way. But, for God's sake, tell me you will come home to me, soon, with my Sarah Teresa. I need you both. You have to learn that His way is the best way, most of the time."

Cellie still lay against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling. "I didn't spend all this time, working with you, building up your self-confidence, to have you relapse into that state where Barnabas's will, and anything Barnabas wants, is paramount."

Willie countered, "Instead, I'm supposed to fall all over myself doing everything YOUR way. You talk about equality, and sharing decisions, but you really want the power for yourself. Well, I may not like Barnabas a whole lot, but at least he's been around a lot longer than you. He knows more than you, including about me."

"So, you freely choose to listen to him."

"That's right."

"Then, it's hopeless for us, I guess."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Back at the Old House, Cellie came down stairs for some herbal tea, before she went to bed. She found Barnabas watching the eleven o'clock news. "Ah, the world of modern electronic media," she teased,

a little bitterly. "Now, it's not enough to have your own troubles to worry about. You get a full dose of everyone else's the instant it happens."

"Life in the past was a bit more claustrophobic, I guess you'd say, but what was true then, is still true today," her uncle pontificated. "Perhaps knowing of all these current events can give you some perspective and a sense of proportion about whatever crisis you're going through. But, no matter what's going on in the world, Cellie,

you still have to take care of your own business first."

"I wonder how much of this misery comes from, say, a worldwide conspiracy, and how much comes from simple human cussedness."

Barnabas replied, "In the old days, when even the most powerful individuals were separated from the masses by difficulties in travel and lack of communications, the latter may have been almost the whole truth. But these days, when unscrupulous individuals can gain the necessary access to those same normal, 'cussed' humans, it's a team effort. It's as though some outside force has broken down ordinary resistance and restaint."

"You really amaze me, Barnabas. Here, you're talking quite sensibly about unscrupulous behavior, and yet, look what you have wrought. You and my husband. You ARE two of a kind, I must say."

"I can also separate what I have done, from the mass of unethical behavior that goes on daily. Is that what you mean? You longed to participate in these adventures, and yet, you became squeamish when you were faced with one of the inevitable consequences."

"I just want my life back, and my father's."

"He will soon be gone, back to Boston, where, hopefully, he'll vanish back into the woodwork, so to speak, and not interfere with us, again." Barnabas suddenly noticed big tears rolling down his niece's face. "Cellie, please don't cry again. You'll see your father, after our ordeal. . . Perhaps you should return to your home. You are being cruel to your husband, and yet, he saved your father's life. Walter acknowledged as much."

Cellie stood stock still. "What transpires next, between Will and myself, is not subject to your orders, or even your recommendations."

"I would definitely recommend that you tread carefully around our new Sheriff Lester Arliss. He is one of those outsiders to our way of doing things, that we've discussed in the past. He does not fit into the delicate balance that exists between you, me, your husband, and David. Cellie, I've been in the thick of many a romantic triangle,

myself. It's not safe, and it's not healthy for your marriage."

"Well," the girl sniffed, "if I hadn't chosen to 'tread' with him this morning, I wouldn't be able to report that you have nothing left to fear from George Patterson's memoirs. Lester had the envelope with him, and we both examined the papers, and it turns out, that either Simons wasn't paying attention when he packed those things, or that some sympathetic force was at work on our hehalf."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, the worst part of the report was missing. As of now, my father's copy of the report is the only complete, valid version of that document."

"How could that have happened?" Barnabas wondered.

"Well, at first, it appeared all the papers were there, Then I got really sick, and Les put the envelope back, locked up the briefcase, and let the waitress, a long-time friend of his, look after it, while he waited for me to get better."

"The waitress didn't open it?" Barnabas asked.

"I doubt she'd have done it in front of everyone in the Coffee shop, and anyway, to hear her tell it, she's no whiz with combination locks. It was still locked, alright. And guess who we saw at the Coffee Shop?"

"Not Nicholas, I trust!"

"No, Anissa Sheridan. The girl who was hanging out with Pavlos the night of our attack. The blonde."

"She didn't touch the briefcase, did she?"

"I doubt it. She kind of showed up out of nowhere, and took off when I stopped paying attention to her. I tried to 'read' her, but her inner self was covered with emotional brambles, like Sleeping Beauty's castle."

"I wonder if she's involved in these events."

"Well, there's one thing I discovered, that makes me wonder, too. I was looking at her up close, in the restaurant, and I first noticed that there was something funny about her eyes. Then the sun hit her profile, and I knew what it was. She wears contact lenses! I couldn't tell if they're real, or if they're just tinted."

"If they're tinted, that could mean she's hiding her eye color for some reason. If only there was a way to find out. Still, I don't see the point. So far, she's only performed helpful functions."

"Maybe that's her 'assignment'. Protect the baby, as best she can, while trying to get her away from me at the same time."

"As your aunt might say, it sounds like the perfect paranoid fantasy, but still, we'll have to find out more about this Anissa Sheridan."

* * * * * * * * * * *

With Walter feeling stronger, Cellie returned to Ralph Baracini's tutelage, with Hallie. After class, they always headed for a small diner for lunch. Cellie felt confident enough about her father's safety to chance an extra hour away from him. She was locking her Beetle when she noticed Hallie talking with a young nun, whose face Cellie couldn't see. The nun handed the blonde girl a pamphlet, and hurried away as Cellie approached the pair.

"What was that all about, Hal?" she asked breathlessly. "I though I was the Vatican liaison around here."

"She had to get back to her convent, I guess. After what she just told me, I'm not sure I'm hungry anymore." Hallie handed her friend the pamphlet.

Cellie read it through quickly. "It's just an ad for some new doctor in town. Thank God, another woman gynecologist in the area! Dr. Hurley is swamped as it is. Even Aunt Jule gets calls from women who want a female doctor, only to have to refer them back to Dr. Hurley."

"If that's all it was. . ." Hallie sounded sad. "But the nun told me that she heard this doctor will also do abortions, on the sly of course."

Cellie's blood turned cold, recalling the time her father tried to browbeat her into having a "safe, discreet", but illegal termination. "But that's all over, that's all over," she told herself. She turned to Hallie. "Even assuming that's true, I'm sure the police will bust the place, when they have proof. I can't imagine such an operation going over very well in this area, even if it was made legal, which, if what I've been reading is true, will probably be soon. This isn't New York City. This isn't even Bangor or Portland, where there would be the anonymity of a city to hide the doctor and her patients."

"Still, it's going to happen. I wish I could go to the police right now, but as you just said, there's no proof. Not yet, anyway. Maybe I could protest, or something. I would have protested the war, but it's coming to an end. Though, at least in that situation, the soldiers had weapons and training to protect themselves the best they could."

"War also kills kids," Cellie pointed out. "Kids who are out there already, running around. THAT may not come to an end right away."

"I know, I know. If they hold a rally for THAT, I'll be in the first row. Until then, I need something to sink my teeth into. The self-defense classes are wonderful, but they're not enough. Maybe it's because of them, I want to help defend the defenseless. Does that sound wierd to you?"

"Not at all, Hal, but remember, signing up for O.O.M.A.A. in the first place was almost too much for you. I know you've become very religious, and that you're coming out of your shell to face your future with Paul, but this may be pushing the envelope too much. You could end up protesting your whole life away, and your heart may well be broken, from frustration if not defeat."

"How will I know what my heart will bear, if I don't try, Cellie? And you're a mother now. You talk about children dying in wars. What would you have called it if Jack had killed Sarah Teresa while she was still inside of you?"

"That was different," Cellie answered shakily. "She was developed enough to live outside me by that time, with a little help, of course--"

"It would have been murder, inside or outside of you! You know about fetal development. They have all the parts before three months!"

"As it happens, I WAS presented with that option, Hallie, but I knew it wouldn't have been right for me, no matter what was going on around me. But I would have to know a lot more about another woman's situation before I could even make a guess about what would be right for her."

"If you were alone, and terribly upset by your condition, YOU wouldn't know what was right for you, either!"

"You have a point, Hallie," Cellie admitted. "Well, it seems you've found your cause. I'll support you, and maybe even find you a big soapbox to preach it from. It sure wouldn't do any harm to keep

an eye on that place, at any rate. You're closer to it than I am.

A driveby once in a while wouldn't hurt."

* * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER TWENTY

Cellie sat on her father's bed. She and Walter were rolling the baby back and forth between them. Sarah Teresa was waving her arms and legs, and laughing, as she faced her mother, first, and then her grandfather. Finally, Cellie said, "Enough. She needs a break, or she'll spit up."

She lifted her daughter to her shoulder. Sarah Teresa pushed herself away from her mother, and amazed Cellie for the hundredth time, by the steadiness with which she held up her head, a skill she'd mastered before she was three months old. Sarah Teresa looked directly into her mother's eyes, and spat out evolving words. "Mih! Mih!" she pleaded. "Jih! Jih! Jih!"

"What, she's saying 'Mama' already?" Walter asked.

"Kind of, I guess," Cellie replied. "And 'Jih'---she was doing that even earlier. I think it's her word for 'Dada'. She misses Will a lot."

"She'll get over it, Princess. He comes over, less and less, as it is. It's different for a father, than a mother. A father usually shows as much interest in his children in direct proportion to how well he's getting along with the mother. They may tell you different, but twenty years of dealing with divorcing parents, and becoming one, myself, has taught me quite a bit."

"I guess it's true enough, in a way, we two have made our peace since you and Mom buried the hatchet. But, Dad, didn't you think about me, and Ernest, at all, while you were gone?"

"Yes, Cecily, you may not believe it, but the two of you were always on my mind. But I knew you both were siding with Janice, and of course, you were having your rebellious spell, so my perceptions were colored by my opinion about how you were running your life. But, now that you and Willie seem to be coming to a parting of the ways, and Madeline sounded receptive to my proposal for reconciliation, I can foresee harmony, and some big plans ahead for all of us."

"I don't think I'll be joining in on these big plans, Dad. I'm settled in here, no matter how it works out between Will and myself. And he will stay interested in our daughter, have no fear. I should call him, and have him come over for dinner. I hear he's been spending too much time moping around the Koffeehaus, and hanging out with Pavlos and Mom. He's not the cruising type, any more. He needs me and the baby."

"Just don't be too hasty about rushing back to him, Princess. You have other options, including love options."

"Just like you, Dad," she said, acidly.

"Are you angry at me for some reason, Cecily?" Walter asked.

"No. I'm sorry. Say, Dad," she asked, in a brighter tone, "There's something I've been meaning to ask you, but I kept

forgetting--- when you were 'sick', you said a strange name, I guess

it was. 'Catriona'. What put that into your head? Who was she?"

" 'Catriona'. Wow. I must have been out of it, to think about her, after all these years. She was one of our ancestors. My mother once told me, that she sometimes appeared to members of our family who were on the verge of some violent end. She must have told Julia, probably when my sister was at an age when she thought our mother was full of hot air. I think she also told Ernest. She might have thought you were too young and sensitive to hear the tale, and by the time she would have told you, she'd had her stroke and couldn't talk any more. It just never occurred to me to talk about Catriona, and Ernest, I think, was as frightened by the story, as you might have been."

"Good heavens! What happened to her?"

"She was burned as a witch, back in the early 1700's. They were kind of skittish about imposing that penalty in the Colonies, but, in the Scottish Highlands, they had few qualms about that sort of thing."

"But, what did she do, that made people think she was a witch?

I mean, she really wasn't one, WAS she?"

"Aside from following some of the rural traditions of her primitive ancestors, I'd say not. She was said to have protested her staunch Calvinism, right up to the bitter, burning end. Tracing her story was one of the first investigative jobs I ever performed, while I hung around in Scotland, after the war was over. I thought, since

I was stationed there, anyway, I might as well look up some of the illustrious Frasers. Well, what I found was more sorry than sterling. Catriona's execution was one of the most tragic episodes in our history, until what happened to you, Princess."

"How did it come about?"

"To begin at the beginning, she was the daughter of a mistress to one of the rather extensive ruling family, the Stewarts. Such arrangements were extremely common in those days, but her mother, a Fraser, always claimed there was a secret marriage. Her man was on record as having never officially married anyone else. And, in Scotland, a formal license wasn't always necessary, although the nobility usually followed conventions, for estate purposes. If a couple was known by reliable witnesses to be sleeping together on a regular basis, they could be considered married under the common law. The existence of the fair Catriona, who was said to resemble her aristocratic father in looks and height, and her mother in her coloring, was certainly sufficient to prove the connection.

"Well, the time came when Catriona sought out such a connection herself. She was about twenty when she was betrothed to an older, wealthier Fraser cousin, Angus. They were pretty fond of each other, and she went to her wedding in the family way."

Cellie smiled sadly. "So, I was just carrying out a great family tradition, of sorts."

"This isn't eighteenth-century Scotland, honey," Walter admonished. "You should thank God it's not. Anyway, her life wasn't all roses. Her Angus had a mistress, but that was pretty common, too. The important thing was, Catriona's children would inherit the lion's share of the estate, with just the leftovers going to any offspring of the other relationship. Instead of counting her blessings, and feeling fortunate she was even going to inherit anything at all, the other woman, Alvina by name, accused Catriona of witchcraft. This was too easy to do in the first place. But it was almost impossible for Catriona to defend herself, because she supposedly had a gift that could be mistaken for magic. She was alledged to be what one might, these days, call tele-kinetic. She could move objects with the power of her mind. Pretty far out, eh?"

"Not as far out as you might think, Dad," Cellie said. "This town has a pretty hairy history of mysterious events and witchcraft trials."

"Even allowing that such a thing might exist, and that it existed in her case, the plain fact is, Catriona had never been known to use this 'power' to harm anyone. In fact, she was said to be rather useful, especially when the shepherds and cowherds needed a little help, keeping the livestock in line---they'd summon her, and within a half-hour, she'd bring the herds in more efficiently than a dozen dogs. All was well, and she'd borne a son to Angus, when the hammer came down. Alvina claimed that Catriona had used her power to drop a large stone on her rival's house, killing Alvina's son instantly. Now, no record exists of the actual incident. Alvina's child could have been caught in a rockslide, or, more horribly, Alvina could have done the deed herself. At any rate, she convinced the townspeople, and, one morning, after she'd kissed her husband and helpless infant son good-bye, Catriona was dragged to the town square, and tied to a post set in the midst of a great pile of kindling."

"That is awful!" Cellie cried. And yet, in the midst of her horrified dismay, she did have another piece to her puzzle. A woman who'd been able to move objects with her mind. . . Now Cellie understood how the empathism of her Sisk grandmother had become augmented with the power to transfer the effects of different emotions. It suddenly occurred to her, that, if what her father said about Catriona's visitations to some of her descendants on the verge of violent death was true, perhaps she'd come to aid Cellie in her final moments with Jack, probably in concert with Sarah. All those spirits seemed to know each other, even if they hadn't lived in the same time, like Angelique and Ock-wen-uck.

Cellie wondered why her Aunt Julia hadn't made the connection. Maybe the part about the unjust accusation of witchcraft had driven the telekinetic detail from Julia's impressionable, yet dismissive, pubescent mind. Again, it was possible that Grandmother Muriel didn't explain that part very well. Perhaps, Julia was even ashamed, after all she'd learned about real witches during her association with Barnabas. At any rate, she had never reported such an appearance during her times of trouble, but then, she was protected, first, by Sarah, and afterward, by Barnabas.

"So, what happened after?" Cellie asked. "Did Alvina get her man?"

"Apparently not," Walter said. "For, as poor Catriona began to burn in earnest, between protestations of her fidelity to the Scottish Covenant, she did manage to say something which served to convince her fellow citizens of the rightness of their actions. She brought down a curse on her rival. Of course, the poor girl was in terrible pain, and even if she had been rescued somehow, it was probably too late, anyway. I guess she felt she had nothing to lose."

"What was the curse?"

"That Alvina would bear no further heirs to Angus Fraser, or anyone else. At first, naturally, Alvina chose to ignore the warning. Angus had been browbeaten into promising a legal marriage to his mistress, if she became pregnant, and bore a healthy child. About a year after Catriona's execution, Alvina gave birth to a son who died within an hour. She and Angus tried again. The second time, she

delivered a premature, stillborn daughter. The last time they gave it the old college try, Alvina miscarried. That was more than enough for Angus, who left her to join his small son by Catriona, whom he'd sent for safekeeping to Fraser cousins in Aberdeen. He never came back to his home village."

"And, what of Alvina?"

"There was little mention of her, except to say that, by the end of her association with the Frasers, she was pretty well shunned by the neighbors. She had been a kind of a drifter before she met Angus, and some said she went to France, where she supposedly had Huguenot relatives."

"How much of this stuff does Aunt Jule know?"

"Only the bare bones, I'm sure. A lot of the details, I dug up for myself. I didn't have the heart to share the worst parts with my mother, and, as I told you, Julia didn't care all that much for the old stories in those days. The fact that we had periods of estrangement between ourselves didn't help matters much. Now, she might be more interested. One of us should get around to telling her."

Cellie thought that was necessary. If the "gift" had passed to her, there was a possibility it might also appear in Julia's baby, and Ernest's.

Walter continued, "When I found the papers, before I moved from our old house, I gave them to Ernest. If you ever get down to Boston, again, you'll have to ask him to show you."

"Now that Paul Loomis is there, I'll have an excuse to go, soon. I promised Hallie I'd go with her, and I owe Will that much support, I guess."

"Don't use this as an opportunity for a second honeymoon, Princess."

"Dad, don't start, please. . ." They heard someone knocking, hard, on the oak door downstairs. Cellie carried Sarah Teresa downstairs with her, and opened the door. Maggie Evans stood in the doorway. Cellie blanched.

"Hello, Cellie. Is Walter still here? It's very important that I speak to him, right away." She was smiling, a little uncertainly. She did appear, to Cellie's inner and outer eyes, to be more colorful, and more vivid, as though she was finally lit by an unflickering flame.

"Yes. He's doing much better, or I wouldn't be here, today, with the baby. I must say, you look wonderful, yourself, after all--"

"Thanks. I do feel one-hundred percent better now. I had the best care in the world, I think. Your Aunt, and Dr. Hurley, and

Pavlos. . . I have to see Walter right away, Cellie."

"I'll get him, and then I'll just disappear, for a while. . ." Cellie ran up to get her father. She was just anxious that this ordeal should be over, soon. "Dad, you have a visitor. Maggie Evans. Please, come down."

"Maggie? Oh yes. Why would she want to see me? I don't know her

that well."

"Well, um, she heard you were sick, and she was in the neighborhood, and she just wanted to see you, I guess. Please, come down."

Walter followed Cellie down the steps. Maggie's face lit up. It was almost unbearable for Cellie to watch. It was even more unbearable to watch her father's polite, rather blank expression. "I'll set up some coffee for you two, then I'm going to take a little walk with the baby," Cellie said.

"Oh, Cecily, you don't have to leave," Walter said.

"I want to enjoy this little January thaw we're having, and I was going to visit David at the Great House anyway," Cellie replied.

"Oh, well, run along, then, honey." Walter turned to Maggie. "So, how are you these days, Maggie?"

"I'm--I'm fine, Walter. I just got out of the hospital this morning."

"Oh, that's right. I think I overheard Barnabas and Julia talking about it. What was the matter?"

Maggie began to shake, a little. "Walter, don't you remember? You took me to the hospital in the first place. You visited me just over a week ago."

"I did? Oh, that's right. I seem to recall you being sick to your stomach. Appendicitis?"

Tears filled Maggie's eyes. "That's not what happened, Walter. I---what was wrong with you, that you don't remember?"

"Why, nothing, anymore. I had a bad stomach bug, and I was quite nauseated, myself. Then, I sprained my shoulder, tripping down the stairs here. I guess I was still pretty woozy." He smiled blankly. "Why are you so concerned?"

"Because I love you, Walter. You love me, don't you?"

"I didn't know you were that fond of me. You're a nice girl, but I don't know you well enough to say whether I love you, or not. I have a girlfriend back home, anyway. Madeline. I must have told you."

"You broke up with her, months ago!"

"A silly misunderstanding. We've been making it up, over the phone. Maggie, what's the matter? I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings in any way. I'm sure I didn't mean to lead you on. Did I lead you on?" He looked genuinely puzzled.

"Walter. . .don't you remember what happened, the day you were missing? What happened, later that night? At my place?" she pleaded.

"I was missing? And what happened after---oh. We were intimate?"

"I---I guess not. Not really. I'm sorry I came over, Walter. It's just that, I thought I had something important to tell you, but---well---forget it. I'll take care of it, myself, somehow." She wept, almost noiselessly.

Walter put his hands on her shoulders. "Maggie, Maggie. I'm sorry if whatever we did hurt your feelings. But we're both adults. Things like this happen, sometimes. I hope we can be friends."

Maggie broke away from him, and ran out the door. She pitched herself, pell-mell, up the first clear path that met her sight. In a few minutes, she realized she was on the pathway that led to Widow's Hill. Good, she thought. In another minute, she came around a blind curve, to find the seemingly limitless stretches of ocean stretched out, beyond the absurdly short safety rail. She went straight to it. She leaned in such a way, as to suggest that she might be about to clamber over it. A firm hand grabbed at her shoulder. "Walter?" Maggie sobbed, as she peeked behind her.

Cellie met Maggie's frantically unhappy countenance, with a firmly

serene gaze.

"Cellie. . . I thought you were at Collinwood with David. The baby?"

"Right here." Cellie pointed to the stroller, half-hidden by the bench. "We needed to get off by ourselves, as it turned out."

"It's like you were waiting for me."

"Could've been. I have a little bird who tells me where I should be when I'm needed." Cellie tried to smile, but her eyes welled up at the sight of Maggie's despair.

A crushing sensation, familiar, but remote in time, grew in Cellie's chest. A feeling of exaltation, and fear, of cocoon-like security and the feeling that the ground was about to be torn from beneath her feet. A sensation of fullness, and yet, a wrenching emptiness; an promise of the future aligned, confusingly, with the weight of life's finiteness, and the breaking of every promise ever made. When had Cellie had these feelings, these anxieties? She looked toward her child, who returned her glance calmly. She turned back to Maggie.

"Maggie. . . You're pregnant."

Maggie hung her head. "Yes. How did you guess? The 'little bird', again?" she asked bitterly.

"Maggie. . .I know from your look, from what's in your heart. . ."

"Julia said you were sharp, like Pavlos. I guess that's part of it."

"I knew, because I felt all that you're feeling now, when I first found out I was pregnant, and the world was crashing down around me. Did you tell my father? I know it's his."

"No. . ." Maggie started to cry again. "He--he acted like he didn't remember anything about us. I even had to remind him we were sleeping together. . ." She crumpled against the railing. Cellie lifted her gently, and embraced her as she sobbed. "I--I never thought this would ever happen to me. . ."

"Nobody does, even if they're planning for it. It's always a surprise. Look at Julia and Barnabas," Cellie said, soothingly, though her own heart was terribly angry.

"You don't understand. . . Before I met Walter, I never---I never slept with anyone before. . . Not that I never came close, but he was the first man I ever felt comfortable enough with. Almost safe. Maybe that's a feeling you don't associate with your father, after he left your mother. . ."

"That's not exactly true. I could have been safe with him, if only I did just what he wanted, giving up Will. . . But when I was a little girl, he was all the world and its brother, to me. He still is, in spite of everything." In spite of what she had done to him, and now, apparently, to Maggie, through him. Damn Barnabas.

"He was certainly that, to me. But there's more. I never expected this to happen to me. I thought I was barren."

"What do you mean, barren? You're not even thirty! You never had

an operation, did you?"

"It was a result of my illness, so long ago. I had a kind of menopause for nearly two years. . . So neither I, or Walter, took any precautions. Now, Dr. Hurley tells me, perhaps it was because I had so much repressed anxiety, or that I was working too hard, or that I wasn't eating right, or that I was exercising too much. . . or a combination of all these things, working with the original problem. Julia said all the excitement I was experiencing might have helped set things back in motion--- a hormonal reaction, she said. It's been known to happen that way.

"So, now I'm pregnant, and the man who once told me he loved me, and would marry me the minute I got better, forgot all about me in a week. Cellie, what was really wrong with Walter? Did he really have one of those small strokes, that could've messed up his memory? Maybe that's also why he's not clear about where he was, that afternoon in October. Or did he hit his head when he fell down the stairs? What am I going to do now? You've been through this. I helped you get Willie back. You have to help me now, or else. . . Oh, God. The green lights! I can see them again. . ."

Cellie made up her mind in an instant, as she had when Barnabas threw Willie on the stairs, and Marcus C. had his convulsion, and when Barnabas had been in the pit of despair over Nicholas's insinuations. She had spoken of compromise to her aunt . . . She knew, now, there was no compromise. There was only the need that arose at a moment's notice. She would cope with the consequences as they presented themselves. "Maggie, I want you to go home, right now. Go back to 'Sam's Place', get really busy. I'll bet Bernice is really backed up, even though I

know she's had a couple of temps working there, since you've been in the hospital. I will deal with my father. At the very least, you will have his financial support."

"I didn't just want Walter's money!"

"I said, 'at the very least'. I know I can do better than that. Get a move on, Maggie. Just keep busy, and try to ignore those green lights."

"I'll try. . .You know, now I'm thinking about my own father. How he would have wanted a grandchild, even under these circumstances. If only he wasn't blind, at the end. I can almost see him, sitting with a little red-headed toddler in his lap, helping the tiny hand hold a piece of charcoal, or chalk, teaching him or her to sketch, like he once taught me. . ."

As Cellie shoved the stroller, and urged Maggie up the path, she said, "That's good, Maggie. Keep thinking about that. Your Pop is probably watching over you now, from Heaven."

Cellie saw Maggie drive her white Mustang, very slowly, down Widow's Hill. As soon as the car disappeared from sight, she pushed the stroller back to the Old House. She walked in, to find her father, still sitting there, an odd, confused expression on his face. "Cecily," he asked, "Did you run into Maggie out there, by any chance?"

"Yes, Dad. We talked a little, and she went back to Ellsworth.

Why'd you ask?"

"Well, see, we--we had a disagreement of sorts, and she was upset. She ran out of here. I called the Great House, and asked for her, but she hadn't gone there, then I asked for you, and you weren't there either. I was concerned about both of you. I would have gone out to find you, but I caught such a wave of dizziness when I walked to the door. Then I realized, I wouldn't have known the first place to look

for either of you."

"I found her. That's all that's important. Are you okay to stay here, for a while longer, by yourself? I'm going to make a phone call, then I have to go see Barnabas at the Antique Shoppe. I promise, I won't be gone more than an hour. Then you and I are going to have a long talk, about Maggie, and a lot of other things."

"You're taking the baby?"

"Yes, because I want you to go upstairs, and get a good rest while I'm out."

* * * * * * * * * * *

When Cellie walked into the Antique Shoppe, she was greeted by Willie, who wore a look of hope on his face. He kissed her on the cheek. She didn't kiss him back, but she did hand him the baby, who was delighted at finding her father again. "Jih! Jih!" Sarah Teresa cooed, as she wriggled against him.

Barnabas was sitting in his open office, writing in his ledger. Cellie swept into the tiny room, and shut the door. He looked up at her. "Cellie--" he began.

"Barnabas, I don't have to tell you this at all. I could go ahead, and do what I'm going to, anyway, without giving you any warning whatsoever. I know I'm even taking the risk that you'll get right up, and try to stop me, somehow. But it doesn't matter, anymore."

"What are you saying, Cellie?" Barnabas snapped the ledger shut, and walked around the desk. They stood, eye to eye, as he put his hand against the door.

"You can try to intimidate me, but it's not going to work, Barnabas. You can only scare someone who knows nothing about you at the outset. Just remember that. You and I are equals, in many respects.

I came to announce my plans, just out of mutual respect, and in fair warning."

"What brought on this burst of independence, Cellie?"

"I'm surprised Aunt Jule didn't tell you. Maggie's out of the hospital. And guess what? She high-tailed it over to the Old House, to see my Dad."

"Ah, I understand. Her plight moved you to consider reversing your father's situation."

"How much of her 'plight' do you know about, Barnabas?"

"Not much, actually. I know she attempted suicide twice, but otherwise, Julia hasn't shared any of the details. I don't like to pressure her, what with the state she's fallen into since her brother's injury." Barnabas winced. Julia had become as cold and remote to him, as Cellie was to Willie. He would try to hold her, but she would push him away, and, for several days, he hadn't been able to sleep, because

he could hear her sobbing. Yet, she resisted his attempts to even sit on her bed to comfort her. And, when he finally slept, he could see the sad, reproachful face of his sister in his dreams. But Sarah never spoke to him, perhaps because it might cause her to leave the baby's body again.

"I will enlighten you shortly," Cellie said. "But you're exactly right. I'm going to give it all back. If it's possible. Even I'm not sure I can."

"Have you thought about the consequences? I thought that, after you had made all your objections, you did understand the essential truth of my point of view."

"I still do, but circumstances have changed. I'm worried as Hell about March. But I have identified a great need, and I must relieve it. I've found, in the short hour since I became aware of the situation, that I cannot live with myself, and look my child in the eye, if I was to turn my back on it. So, do your damnedest to stop me. I only wanted you to know, so you could prepare for the results. Have you done anything about what's in the mausoleum?"

"As a matter of fact, I have", Barnabas replied. "I managed to open another, smaller tomb in the cemetery, near the caretaker's old cottage. I personally scooped Jason's remains into my coffin, and, with Willie's help, deposited it in the other mausoleum. It's nearly as old as the Collins tomb, and has even fewer visitors. The coffin actually looked as if it belonged there, once we were done! I chose this course over, say, digging a new grave elsewhere. The casket was too large to be transported in any of our cars, and, even if we tried that, God Forbid that we should be seen on the road! And, of course, we could hardly rebury it near the cemetery, as I figured that Arliss might be more likely to discover recently-disturbed earth. Burning it seemed out of the question as well, since the flames and smoke might have attracted attention. The area around there IS more populated than it used to be, even a few years back."

"That all sounds eminently sensible. Then, you won't mind if--"

"I do mind. As I said, there might be traces. If your father talks. . . I destroyed his copy of Patterson's letter, but that Simons might have yet another."

"I'll convince my father to keep quiet."

"He might go after me, again."

"After what I have to tell him about Maggie, I wouldn't be surprised if he just takes her back to Boston, and lets us be."

"And what is that? What could be so wrong with Maggie, that you would take this risk?"

"She's pregnant with my father's child."

Barnabas looked shocked. "But that can't be! Walter said that I had rendered her unable to bear children!"

"I talked to Aunt Jule before I came here, and she tried to explain the original mis-diagnosis. Now that I've guessed, and Maggie's chosen to confirm it, there's little point in further secrecy. We're talking about my sister, or brother. Even you wouldn't deprive a child of its father, once you knew about it, anyway," Cellie said, remembering the seance that led to Jeremiah Collins's revelation about Josette's ill-fated pregnancy. She continued, "You didn't, for mine and Will's baby. And you won't, for Maggie's. You owe her that much."

Barnabas sighed, and let his hand drop from the door. "Very well, then. That is a moral mean even I have no right to violate, not in this instance, anyway. Do what you must, even though your own child may suffer in the end, as well as mine."

"I tell you, I will see to it that no-one suffers on this account. What would you have me do, Barnabas? If Maggie is driven to such despair as to attempt suicide again, and perhaps, succeed, will you still feel that the goal is worth the cost? Do you want to sacrifice two lives for two lives?"

"No, never again! And, especially, not Maggie's."

* * * * * * * * * * *

Maggie had arrived back at Sam's Place. Bernice was already hard at work, taking breaks from restocking shelves, to deal with customers. A temporary cashier was ringing up a sale. As Maggie walked behind the counter, the cashier, one of Maggie's art students, said, "Just out of the hospital, and you're ready to jump into the old routine, Miss Evans?"

"I'm supposed to keep busy, Tommy. Doctor's orders." Maggie smiled.

"Miss Tallberg--" (that was Bernice's last name) "--will be happy to hear that. We had some wild times during Christmas season, and Inventory is next week."

"I'm up for anything, these days." Maggie gazed on her father's self-portrait. His eyes seemed to squint directly at her, with the half-humorous, half-serious expression she remembered. When Maggie thought of her father, she never pictured him as he was in the last weeks of his life, newly-blind and bitter, in pain from being attacked by that scarred, mentally-deficient derelict he had befriended. In his daughter's mind, Sam would always be as Maggie had left him early in the evening before he'd lost his vision: cheerfully humming, as he put finishing touches on a picture of a yacht.

If only Sam was here now. He would have been a little angry, at first (mostly at Walter), but when he saw the tiny, soft face of his first grandchild, all would have been forgiven, she was sure. He probably would have pulled out a sketchpad, and started drawing a whole series of baby pictures while standing in front of the nursery window, and bragging, "This'll give Wyeth a run for his money."

If only, if only. The afternoon passed in a pleasant haze. It was amazing, how much better she felt after she talked with Cellie. Maggie was able to ignore the green eye-lights the whole ride home, and during the busy hours that followed. At last, she prepared for bed. She was wistful for Walter's presence, but it still felt better than trying to sleep in the hospital. She wondered why neither Cellie nor Walter had called yet. Maybe Walter needed a little time to adjust to the news, in his addled state. She herself had tried to call, and kept getting a message that she was dialing incorrectly. Some crazy computer glitch, she supposed. After trying once more, she dropped off to sleep almost immediately.

She heard a voice, familiar and dear to her. "Maggie, Maggie, wake up. Time for work!"

She opened her eyes, to see that she wasn't in her bedroom over the art store, or even her old, sea-scented room at her father's cottage. She was in a dingy, ill-kempt room with peeling wallpaper, and her bedsprings squealed as though in pain. "Pop, I'm up! Where are you?"

"I'm right here, where else would I be?" Her father's voice sounded angry. She could see Sam, wearing the ugly dark glasses over his blinded eyes, hunching over an old crib. A crib from which a miasma of foul odor was arising. A baby cried frantically. "Maggie, get up and change this brat's diaper!" Sam bellowed. "You know what happened the last time I tried to do it. Pinned her in the butt, and gave her an infection, damn it! Fifty bucks for antibiotics! One-third your pay from the cannery, and rent was due that week! You and I didn't eat for three days!"

"I don't work in the cannery, Pop. I own an art store!" she protested.

"Not since you had to sell it to pay the hospital and all the damn doctors," Sam answered gruffly.

"Okay, Pop, Okay," Maggie began to sob. She lifted the squalling infant to her shoulder. "There, there, little Vicky. Mommy will make you feel all comfy."

"Don't waste too much time!" Sam yelled. "Carter said, the next time you're late, you're not getting any more reprieves from Roger Collins. He said he doesn't owe us any more favors. Next job you end up getting, will be as barmaid in that scummy Blue Whale!"

"Well, at least I'll get to see you in the evenings, Pop!" Maggie retorted.

"Oh, no, Missy. You're not screwing up the deal we have with the only babysitter who'll put up with the hours and the low pay."

"Who, Cellie Loomis?"

"Cellie who? Another Loomis? As if I'd let anyone connected with that nutcase near my grandkid. God, no. Melinda Knowlton. You know, my 'main squeeze'?" Sam began to snicker like a dirty old man.

"Melinda? No. . ."

There was a knock at the door. "And here she is, now!" Sam swung the door open, to reveal Melinda, clad in the too-tight stirrup pants and halter-top Maggie remembered from when they had been neighbors. Melinda favored Sam with a messy "soul kiss". Sam patted her rear end.

Maggie cringed, while shielding the baby. "No. . .No. You're dead! Melinda, you're dead. Stay away. . ."

"Hell, I'm not dead," Melinda smirked. "I'm with you always, Maggie, now that we're in the same boat, so to speak. Your fancy-pants lawyer boyfriend didn't come through for you, so you're stuck with me. Who else will take care of your little geek?"

"What do you mean, 'little geek'? My baby's the prettiest, sweetest--"

"Look again, Maggie," Melinda warned.

Maggie gazed down at her baby's face for the first time. The red-headed Little Vicky's eyes were pebble-like, blank, staring into space. Now that she had ceased screaming, her tiny mouth hung slackly. She was cutting teeth, two, to be exact. There was something odd about the position of her teeth, spaced across the front of her gums as though they were. . . fangs?

"NO! NO! NO!" Maggie screamed, dropping the limp infant back into her befouled crib.

"That's what happens," Melinda smirked, her green cat-eyes full of malicious merriment, "When you try to fool Mother Nature! Ha-ha-ha!" Sam joined in the ugly laughter.

Maggie shrieked and cried, clawing her way up from sleep. She panted heavily, as though she'd been running for miles. She turned on every light in her room, her own room above "Sam's Place," where she and Walter had been together the first time, where she was almost certain her baby was conceived. Her baby. There was going to be something terribly, horribly wrong with her baby. She started to weep. The baby was almost better off dead. No, that wasn't true. She had to call Walter, or Cellie, or Julia. Julia would know what to do. Maybe all pregnant women had bad dreams and fears like the ones she was having.

She dialed, first, the Old House, and then the Antique Shoppe. She got the same queer message about dialing improperly. When she dialed "Operator," she heard a buzzing noise. She decided to go out and use a pay phone. She looked at her clock. It was barely nine o'clock. She would go to the Lakeside Tavern, and use the phone there. The tavern would be noisy and full of people she knew, so she would feel safer.

When she got dressed, she made herself a cup of instant coffee, and grabbed a pear from a gift basket Bernice and Philip had saved for her homecoming. While she ate, she glanced at the accumulated stack of mail that her partner had collected for her. She plucked an odd, amateurishly-printed flyer from the top of the pile. The flyer advertised the opening of a doctor's office in Chartville, a full-service female gynecologist. The expectant mother read it with interest. She noticed that the office was set to open the next morning.

Maggie thought it might be worth checking out, especially if it saved her a trip to Collinsport every time she needed to see a doctor. Chartville was about five miles closer than Collinsport.

Her white Mustang disappeared around the corner, as a green Volkswagen Beetle came around the opposite corner.

* * * * * * * * *

When Cellie returned to the Old House from the Antique Shoppe (she'd left the baby with her husband), she was met by Julia. "Good," Cellie said. "I don't know how much I'll be able to do for Dad. He may need a little hypnotic help."

"Why? What did you do with his emotions when you removed them?"

Julia asked.

"I have them. But I transmuted them from male-to-female-directed, to female-to-male-directed. You can see why. I keep them pretty well dammed-up, but if I should lose control, they'll spill out over my psyche. Aside from the benefit to Dad and Maggie, I'm kind of relieved to be doing this. I started getting headaches this afternoon, after Maggie left. And, then, all the extra emotions. . . with no place to go. . ."

"You are afraid of what's happened between yourself and Willie, and you're even more afraid of your reactions to Lester Arliss. Is that it?"

Cellie looked ashamed. "Yes. I guess I'd be a little attracted to Lester anyway, but this does make resistance that much harder."

"We can't have that, any more than we can have Maggie in further despair over her unwed motherhood. You and Willie must work out your differences, somehow. You remember how Nicholas works. 'Divide and conquer'. And all without seeming to have lifted a finger."

"And the green-eyed blonde lady?"

"It will be easier to rout that mystery with a clear field of action."

"After this, I'll give it another try with Will. I promise."

"Don't just 'try'. Just do it."

Duly chastened, Cellie, followed by her Aunt, went up to Jeremiah's Room, where Walter lay, stretched out on the covers, reading "Tom Jones." He smiled as he saw his daughter and his sister walk into the room. "I like this motel," he joked. "No sleazy paperback novels, or just the Gideon's Bible, to keep oneself occupied, if not amused. Only the classics."

Julia examined Walter's shoulder, and then, smiled back. "It's healed enough so that, whenever you want, you can vacate this motel room, and get back to Beantown. I'm sure Liz Taylor, or Zsa Zsa, must have left some messages with your secretary by now."

"Oh, Julia, you know I don't get those high-profile divorces. But that's fine with me. I don't have to work half as hard, and I make quite a respectable living, thank you."

"And then some, I'm sure. Must be kind of lonely, though, having that huge apartment, and that house in St. Thomas, and no-one to share it with."

"I'll be seeing Maddy as soon as I get back."

"I wonder why, Walter. Didn't you tell me, privately, that you caught her, in your own apartment, after work--"

"Not in front of my daughter, Julia!"

"Oh, Cellie's an old married lady by now, just like me," Julia said, soothingly. "She's heard, and seen, quite a bit for such a young woman, and yet, she bears it well." She reached into her pocket, and withdrew a jeweled pendant. "No, Walter, I meant a more permanent companion, a nice woman, whom you could love, as you once loved Janice. If not more."

"If you meant that Maggie who was here this afternoon, she seems very sweet, but she's a lot younger than I am--"

"So's Madeline," Cellie reminded him.

"Well, Princess, my set of expectations is different for Madeline. We're just in it for fun. All is forgiven, as far as that goes. As for Maggie, well, I felt a little cloudy around her. She ran off, and you know I was a little worried. She's nice, but she appears to be rather unstable."

"She's not, really," his sister said. "She's quite fond of you. And, believe it or not, you were quite fond of her. In fact, you were going to give her this." Julia held up the pendant.

"Why, that's the first piece of jewelry Father ever gave to Mother, when they first came to America." Walter turned to Cellie. "Even though it's just colored rhinestones set in brass, Mother treasured it as though it was the Hope Diamond. Maybe more, since she said it only brought her good luck. She wasn't a very superstitious woman, but she set a store by that pendant. And I was going to give it to Maggie, Julia? I don't remember."

Julia turned on the bedside lamp. The small light caused the colored stones to shimmer and glint. "You will, Walter. In a little while, you'll remember everything. Just keep looking at the jewel in the center."

Cellie felt her father's resistance. She put a little internal pressure on him, to experience his old feelings for his mother, to stare at the tiny prisms with wonder, as he must have when he was a child. Walter's face became very soft-looking, even a little slack. Finally, his gaze was transfixed on the bright center rhinestone.

At a hand signal from her aunt, Cellie looked into her father's eyes, and "saw" the "well" she'd drained just a week ago. She began to transfer the lost love, the lost longing, even the lost hatred with which the love was entwined, back. A couple of times, it seemed as though the flow was being blocked. Those damned green lights again. "Green is for Go!" Cellie snapped at them, mentally.

She tried to summon some image that would unjam her "pipes." She thought of her baby. Walter adored his grand-daughter. And Sarah Teresa had some kind of love for her grandfather, even at such an early age. Cellie recalled the time the baby had cried so when Walter was missing, before Sarah Collins took that necessary leave of absence. Then there was that rather shocking incident, as the baby bled along with her mother, during Walter's operation. These phenomena were certainly frightening, but, in a strange way, they were also reassuring; Cellie knew she and her child were in sync. Maybe Sarah Teresa could sense was going on now. Thinking of that helped. Then, Cellie thought of her husband. Her husband, who wanted to save her father for her, and the baby, and for Maggie. . . Before she worked on her father, the last time, Walter had spoken of Willie with something approaching indulgence.

The last hurdle was scaled. Redirecting the emotions, gender-wise, turned out to be less complex than Cellie had feared. Love and hate, she discovered, tended to find their own pathways, once they were settled in a specific mind. As far as she was concerned, the task was complete. Julia brought Walter out of his hypnotic state.

"Walter," she began, "Do you remember Maggie?"

"Maggie. . .my Maggie. . ." he muttered dreamily. "My Maggie. . . and--and-- Barnabas!" He sat up instantly. "Julia, why are you keeping me here? Where's Maggie? I'll get Barnabas again, and this time, that poor fool son-in-law of mine won't stop me!"

"NO, Daddy," Cellie said firmly. "Do that, and next time, we'll wipe your mind clean for good."

"Cecily, how can you say such a thing? I almost died. I--I was shot." Walter rubbed his shoulder. "I don't get it. I was bleeding all over the place--"

"That was almost two weeks ago, Walter," Julia said. "You have to get a grip. Barnabas is no longer a threat to you. Cellie and I will make sure of that."

"Two weeks?" Walter roared. "What happened to Maggie? So help me, Julia, if she's dead, or in your snakepit--"

"Dad, calm down!" Cellie exclaimed. "Maggie is fine. She was here, earlier. Don't you remember?"

"Maggie was here?"

"She was upset, because you acted like you didn't remember even the most obvious details of your relationship," Cellie replied. "Especially the most important one."

"Oh, my God. How could you do this to me, Julia?"

"It wasn't Aunt Jule, Dad. It was ME." Cellie's face was very red. "I took your love away, the same way I took your pain. I also took your hate. I couldn't help it, it was twisted with your love like the strongest cable."

"Why, Cecily?"

"Barnabas thought that if you didn't succeed in killing him, you'd at least get him and Will arrested. You do remember calling Simons, don't you?"

"Yes. . .Now I do. I remember everything. He sent the letter Patterson wrote. Lester got it, I presume?"

Cellie replied, "Yes, but it turned out that a lot of it was missing. Even I don't know how that happened. It was like a miracle. Maybe you don't think so. . ."

"No, Princess, I don't, but that's all right. I wanted it held back, so your heart wouldn't be broken, like mine and Maggie's." He sighed. "Where is Maggie, now?"

Cellie said, "She went right back to work at her store. I told her to keep busy until I got you straightened out." She smiled. "Dad, we have to tell you something very important. But when we do, you have to promise to take Maggie away, and not bother Barnabas again. I need his help, in the next couple of months. You have to agree, even if you don't really understand. Someday, I'll tell you, like you told me about Catriona."

"Who is Catriona?" Julia asked. "Oh, that story Mother told us. Terrible thing, even considering the time it happened."

"You don't know the half of it, Julia. Cecily will tell you. Very well, Princess, I'll think about it. Why shouldn't I bother Barnabas?"

Julia said, "Because the main reason you were angry at him turned out to have no basis in fact. Maggie is pregnant."

Walter's voice dropped to a whisper. "My Maggie. . . pregnant? How could that be? She said that you and Virginia told her the dead blood cells screwed her up!"

"I'm terribly sorry, Walter. We made a mistake. We were so sure Maggie was sterile, we almost forgot to take the standard pregnancy test, when she was first admitted. A nurse who was perusing her chart pointed it out. Good thing, because Maggie would have been treated with all the standard anti-psychotic drugs, and tranquilizers, with possible deleterious effects on the child."

"Does she know?"

"Yes, we told her after we'd taken several tests. You see, even we couldn't believe the results. She had all the symptoms of early menopause. Now, we believe it was stress, and dietary factors that, if they didn't actually cause the condition, certainly exacerbated it. She was coming to tell you, and I couldn't stop her. I take it she didn't."

"No. . .and I talked about getting back with Maddy! Oh, Christ!"

"It's okay, Daddy," Cellie reassured him. "I told her I'd take care of things with you, the way Pavlos took care of her. He does the same things I do, and he patched her up, until she can get back with you. You have to see her today, if possible. And, like we said, just don't mess with Barnabas anymore. He wants to live a normal life, and he doesn't want to hurt anyone, if he can help it. I believe he was really sorry, after I told him about Maggie. He wants Maggie to be happy. Just go to her, and marry her, and take her to St. Thomas."

"I'm a bit disgruntled that Barnabas heard about this before I did," Walter said.

"Maggie didn't want anyone to know, until she was sure she was going to recover from her suicidal tendencies," Julia replied. "Now, of course, I realize I should have told you immediately. I was just honoring her request. I am truly sorry, Walter. This whole mess could have been avoided."

"No help for that, now. I'll go call Maggie." Walter went downstairs, followed by Julia and Cellie. He dialed, and listened, with a puzzled expression. "There must be some problem with the lines," he commented. "I'll wait a few minutes, and try again." A few minutes later, the response was no better.

"Let's head over to Collinwood, and try," Cellie suggested. She didn't know why, but she was worried.

At Collinwood, the line to Maggie's store was still impaired, and a similar situation was proven to exist when Walter tried calling the Antique Shoppe. They quizzed Mrs. Johnson, who swore up and down that, not only was she able to call her daughter during the day, but that several incoming calls had come in, with no trouble whatsoever.

Cellie was frantic to go down to the Antique Shoppe to check on her family. She took Walter in the Beetle, with Julia following in her car, because if they found everything in order there, Cellie and her father were going straight on to Ellsworth.

When they arrived at the Antique Shoppe, they were relieved to see

Barnabas and Carolyn, totalling up the day's take. Cellie ran upstairs to find Willie on their bed, holding Sarah Teresa, who nursed at her bottle while her father watched T.V. Cellie was so happy to see that they were all right, she leaned over the bed, and kissed Willie ardently. He reached for her, and pulled her down next to him. "Can't stay, Hon," Cellie whispered breathlessly. "I have to take Dad to see Maggie."

"So you went ahead and fixed him, huh?" Willie asked. "I kind of thought you'd pull something like that. Sarah Teresa, here, was awful quiet for the longest time, today. It's like when she bled the same time you did, for her grandpa. I hope you know what you're doing, Cecily."

"Didn't Barnabas tell you? Maggie is going to have my father's baby. I'm going to have a sister or brother."

"No, I guess Barnabas had a lot on his mind, since you blew in here this afternoon. Still, that's really nice, Cecily. If I could have a kid, after all I went through, so should Maggie. But it would be better if Walter took Maggie away for now."

"He will, you'll see. Say, Hon, did you try calling the Old House from here while I was gone?"

"Yeah. Strangest thing. I kept getting this dopey message about redialing the number. I'm glad you came back. Will you be back again, later?" He regarded her with a wistful expression.

"Yes. We'll give it another shot." She kissed him again, and Sarah Teresa, and rushed downstairs. She saw that Carolyn had left. Walter faced his brother-in-law. Julia stood close to Barnabas.

"Barnabas, I don't want any more trouble," Walter began.

"You won't get any from me. From the beginning, I only wanted peace with my wife's family. You, and your insatiable desire to know everything--- I understand how you feel about Maggie, but let the dead past bury its dead. There's nothing to be gained if we try to destroy each other now, and everything to lose. . ." Barnabas put his arm around Julia.

"Still, Barnabas, you tried to turn a young girl against her father. I will never forget that, or what happened to Maggie years ago. I'll never understand how my sister and my daughter can live in this--this vortex. I think I heard Cecily call it that, when I was trying to sleep after my--my operation. But I'll let you be. Getting Maggie back is all that's really important. We were trying to call her, and this place, from Collinwood, and we kept getting strange recorded messages. Did you try to call us?"

"I did have some trouble with the phone, and so did Willie."

"Well, Cecily and I are going out to Ellsworth to see Maggie. I'll try to get in touch from there. Something odd is going on. Or maybe, something perfectly ordinary, for Collinsport."

"Nothing is impossible around here, Walter," Barnabas said. "I'm almost as anxious as you are about Maggie, whether you choose to believe me, or not. Since I was relieved of my former condition, I have tried mightily to make up to my former victims for all the wrongs I did them. As you know, I arranged to reunite Cellie and Willie. I've long sought a similar opportunity to assist Maggie. In marrying Julia, and bringing your daughter back here, I seem to have found the solution, inadvertantly. I am truly sorry for what I put the both of you through, again, inadvertantly."

"You know what, Barnabas?" Walter said. "I'm actually starting to believe you." He turned to Cellie. "We'd better not waste any more time, Princess."

They arrived at Sam's Place just as the tail lights of Maggie's Mustang disappeared around the corner. Walter was all for going to the police right away, but Cellie convinced him to wait a while. Ten minutes later, Maggie came back. Walter jumped out of the Beetle to embrace her. She stood, with her arms hanging down, as he held her. Cellie, watching from the Beetle, was dismayed. Just as she thought that Maggie wasn't ready to forgive Walter, and that, perhaps, she'd better get out of her car to intervene, Cellie saw Maggie's arms slowly rise to return her lover's embrace. In a minute, they were kissing right there, out on the sidewalk. Cellie closed her eyes, until she heard them approach her car.

Walter had his arm around Maggie. He said, "I guess we've made it up for now," he said. beaming. "I'm going to stay the night. I don't know if the phone's still out of whack, though. . ."

"I'll get to a pay phone, and alert the masses," Cellie offered. "I'm going back to the Antique Shoppe, tonight, anyway. Good Luck, you two. Buzz me in the morning. And, Maggie. . .I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry, Cellie?" Maggie asked, puzzled. "Everything's fine, now, like you promised."

"Just. . .just what I said. Take care, folks." She rolled up her window, and drove away.

As they mounted the steps to Maggie's apartment, Walter said,

"Honey. . . I know you said you forgave me. But if you don't feel up to--to sleeping with me, right now, I'll understand. I'll sit with you until you're asleep, and sack out on the couch, if you prefer. I don't want to get you upset again. I want to do my best to take care of you and our baby. Our baby! Maggie, does it bother you that when he or she graduates from High School, I'll be just over seventy?"

"As long as you're still here, and the baby grows up bright and healthy enough to even attend High School, that's fine with me, Walter." Maggie opened her door, and they stepped inside.

"You sound a little sad, even now, Maggie. Do you have some reason to believe that the baby won't be normal?"

"No, not--not really. I had a bad dream before, though, that it wasn't. I guess it's because I just missed you so much." She wound her arms around him, again. "You can sleep with me tonight, Walter."

That's just what Walter did. He found, when he tried to make love to Maggie, they were both somewhat shy and uncomfortable around each other. At first, Walter believed it was because of the sight of all the bandages they wore. Maggie's wrists were still covered with small gauze patches, and Walter, of course, had one near his shoulder. He improvised an explanation for his wound. "When I fell down the steps, I jabbed myself on the newel post, and got a nasty scrape."

He quickly realized the bandages, and what they represented, weren't the problem. "That's okay, there'll be plenty of time for that, anyway, sweetheart," he reassured his fiancee. "You know what? I'll call that Reverend Brand tomorrow, and get the ball rolling to arrange our wedding. I have to get back to Boston by Monday night, but we'll go apply for our marriage license first thing Monday morning, maybe even get our blood drawn, if Virginia Hurley can fit us in for an office visit. Then we can wait until our wedding night, if you want."

"That's fine with me, Walter," Maggie replied in a faltering, far-off tone.

"Are you sure you're all right, Maggie? You're not getting, you know, that way, are you?" Walter asked fearfully.

"No, I'm not 'that way', " she snapped. "I'm just tired. Virginia told me I'd feel extra sleepy." She curled up against him, and sighed. "I'm sorry, my love. I'll feel better in the morning. Really."

* * * * * * * * * * *

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Hallie Stokes drove by the modest brick building for, perhaps, the twentieth time since she'd received the flyer from the nun, several days before. She knew the doctor was due to open her office on this day; Hallie had deliberately missed her self-defense class with Cellie, to hang out her for a while. She was surprised that nobody seemed interested to visit, even for the free coffee and donuts many professional people offered on their first day of business. She saw a sports-car in the driveway, so she knew that the Doctor, at least,

was in.

She parked, and emerged from her own car. She shivered, and tried to shield herself from the chilly breeze. The breeze found a way to penetrate her good wool coat. She was sorry she'd come.

She sighed. Cellie had been right. She was getting in over her head, without stopping to consider all sides of the question. Sometimes, she went too far in her zeal to do what she believed was right. She had managed to alienate some of her classmates at the University, with her constant proselytizing. A couple had even called her a "Bible-thumping nut," which made her run away, to hide her childish tears. Much as Hallie loved the friends she already had, such as Cellie, Mrs. Stoddard, and Carolyn, it hurt to know that she wasn't likely to make too many friends in college. Her action today just served to separate herself even further from her peers, if they heard about it, or, God Forbid!---drove by and caught her here!

Well, she'd spent enough time here, Hallie thought. Maybe, she thought, the whole thing was a mistake--- this woman doctor was on the level, and whoever wrote the flyer was as full of quick suspicions as Hallie herself. She rose, and was about to head back to her car, when the nun who'd given her the flyer appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and took her by the arm.

"Giving up so soon?" the nun asked, pleasantly.

Hallie felt put on the spot, so she made a tactful response. "Maybe I'll come back sometime, if I hear through the grapevine that what you told me was true, and if I can get people from my church to join me. I go to college, so I'm sure some of the girls will be looking for that kind of doctor sooner or later. I don't think I'm getting anything accomplished here, really. If there's REALLY anything to worry about in the first place."

The nun insisted, "There IS. Trust me. Please stay." Her light eyes, shaded by the small modern wimple that held her veil in place, became dark with intensity.

Hallie studied the nun's face closely, for the first time. She was certainly the prettiest nun Hallie had ever seen. A wisp of pale hair fluffed out from under her short, modern veil. "You talk about my giving up too soon, but YOU only just got here!"

"We've simply missed each other, I'm sure," the nun said. "If you stick around just a bit longer, we may accomplish something after all."

"For my part, I HOPE this turns out to be a false alarm, Sister--Sister--I didn't catch your name," Hallie said, politely.

"Dymphna. Sister Mary Dymphna."

"Wow, what a coincidence! My best friend went to a special school called St. Dymphna's."

"Indeed. That IS a coincidence." Sister Dymphna led Hallie to the parking lot. They watched a white Mustang pull in. It looked just like Maggie Evans's car. Wait! That WAS her car! Maggie got out, and made her way to the front porch.

Hallie broke away from the nun, and followed Maggie up the walk. "Maggie, what are you doing here?"

Maggie, who stood very straight, and seemed to be marching, replied without looking at the blonde girl, "Going to the doctor, that's all."

"You have a doctor--a couple of doctors-- in Collinsport!" Hallie exclaimed. "Why take a chance with a new one?"

"Take a chance?" the older woman said blankly. "It's a doctor! She can perform a service I require. Why should I go all the way back to Collinsport, only to be refused the service I require?" Maggie's blank expression was briefly replaced by a look of despair. Unconsciously, she touched her abdomen.

"Doctor Hurley and Doctor Collins wouldn't refuse to perform any service for-- oh!" Hallie gasped in sudden understanding. "Oh, my God! Maggie---I had no idea---Please, come with me. I know what that doctor does, and I know you too well. I know how crazy you are about children. You're going to be very unhappy, if you go through with this. Did you have a fight with Mr. Hoffman--" She tugged on her former tutor's arm.

Maggie turned and looked at Hallie as though she didn't know her. "Please, let me go. I have to---you don't understand." She went up the steps, and spoke through an intercom. The door opened instantly, and she disappeared inside.

Hallie returned to Sister Dymphna's side. "She's right. I don't understand," the girl wept brokenly.

"You know the lady. I take it you know her young man?" Sister asked gently.

"Yes. I know him, and his daughter, and--and everybody."

"Do you think he knows about this?"

"Something about this whole set-up tells me he doesn't," Hallie sniffled.

"Well, then your way has been revealed to you. You must contact him, before it's too late."

"I'm not sure if I have the right. Who knows, maybe he's really nasty to her, and she just wants to forget him."

"Then, call his daughter," the nun urged. "She might be able to do something."

"How do you know it's not too late already?"

"I know something about what goes on. It takes a while, to make everything look legal. The patient has to fill out some dummy paperwork, get an examination, get blood drawn. . .But you should hurry, especially if your other friend lives any distance away."

"She does. I'll get right on it. I'll call the police first--- they should get here head of anyone." Hallie turned toward her car.

"In the meantime, I'll try to find some other way in," Sister Dymphna said. She dashed away so quickly Hallie didn't hear her.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Cellie returned to the Antique Shoppe from O.O.M.A.A. She was rubbing her arm. "That Ralph!" she thought. He was harder on her than all the other students. "That's because you are going to be my Masterwork, Cecily," he'd taunted her.

"To Svengali, thanks for everything, love, Trilby," she'd replied sarcastically, before she tumbled him.

"That almost calls for a lollipop for my star pupil," he'd snapped, as she went back to the women's dressing room.

Her arm hurt so much, Cellie found it diffcult to drive. And yet, it only appeared to be bruised. "No wonder they call the place 'Ooh-Mah'," she thought. "That's what you feel like screaming at the end of a lesson!"

As she walked in, she saw her husband talking to David. Willie got up, and wandered toward the showroom. He looked like he was in shock. "Will! Is Paul--Is Paul---" Cellie stammered.

"No," he whispered. "When you hear, you're not gonna believe it, either."

"What's this all about!" Cellie nearly shouted.

David, who was rocking his God-daughter on his lap, explained.

"I got here as soon as I could. Cellie, we have to get out to Chartville, right away. Hallie called me, in a panic. Apparently, she tried to get you here, and even tried calling the Old House to talk to your Dad, but there's been this problem with the phones--- Anyway, she got through to my phone, and I ran to the Old House, couldn't find your Dad, then I hurried over here--"

"What happened in Chartville?"

"You know how Hallie's been fretting about that new doctor out there? Well, she just saw Maggie Evans going there, and when Hallie tried to talk to her, Maggie made it clear she was going for an abortion! Look, Cellie, I know whatever your Dad's been doing is none of my business, but I heard some things about Maggie's stay in the hospital, and I think she's just going over the edge. She always wanted kids! Hallie wondered if she had a fight with your Dad."

"No! I left them together, last night, and they looked happy as clams at high tide. I don't get it, either. Come on, we have to go right now." Cellie took the baby to her husband.

Willie said, "No, Cecily. Leave her with David. I'll drive. You'll plow into a tree, with the state you're in."

As they went out the door, Cellie called to David, "Get to the pay phone down the street, and try to call my Dad, at Sam's Place. If HIS phone doesn't work, call Bernice, she'll get him! Maybe Dad can meet us at the doctor's. And the police. . .it's still against the law!"

"That's another wierd thing," David mused. "Hallie had a Hell of a time calling the cops, as well! But I'll keep trying."

Over Cellie's protests, Willie chose to take the station wagon. "Stop squawking!" he yelled. "I just tuned it up, changed the oil, and gassed it up. If we have to bring Maggie home, we're gonna need the back seat!"

They didn't speak at first, but Willie did reach for his wife's hand, when they had to stop at a red light. She squeezed his hand back.

He took the older, shorter route, the one that passed by the cemetery. As they approached it, the car began to buck. Willie had to slow down. Then, it stalled out completely. The couple jumped out, to check the engine. "I'm sorry, Cecily. We should have taken the Beetle, after all. I doubt I'll get this fixed in time."

Cellie almost wept with impatience, as she helped him fiddle with this part and that. Finally, at his instruction, she started the ignition. The station wagon roared back to life. "Let me drive, now, hon," she said. "You know I can drive fast and still avoid speed traps."

"Spoke too soon," she complained, as she glimpsed flashing lights in the rear-view mirror, just before they crossed the town line. Then, she sighed with relief, when she saw Lester Arliss getting out of the police car. At the same time, she sensed a great tension in her husband. She seldom saw Lester when she was with Willie, so, up till now, she hadn't suspected that her husband was so jealous of the Sheriff. Well, she had to exploit Lester's affections, at least this one last time.

"Cellie! Willie! What's the hurry? You're doing sixty in a thirty-five mile zone!"

Cellie said, "Les, give me a ticket, quick. Give me one, for later! But you have to let us go on!"

"Is there an emergency?"

Cellie explained quickly, to her husband's consternation.

Lester looked upset. "Maggie Evans? Who ever thought she'd do

something like that? She can't be fully responsible for all her decisions, after what she's been through lately. Not to mention it's still illegal. I'll waive the ticket, and lead you to the place."

"Oh, thank you so much, Lester!" Cellie breathed. As the Sheriff walked back to his car, she said, "Better than I hoped for. Now, we have a police escort who'll let us go as fast as he's going."

"You didn't have to tell him it was Maggie. She'll be so embarrassed, and he might arrest her!" Willie said.

"Geez, hon, how else was I going to convince him? Lester won't arrest Maggie, or expose her. He likes her. They went to school together. Did you know that?"

"No, but you would find stuff like that out." He sounded irritated. "I heard you had lunch with him, when you were supposed to be staying with your Dad." He looked out the window. The scenery was a long blur as they sped past it.

"It was just a coincidence, that we ran into each other. We weren't meeting on purpose. Geez, we even sat at the counter, in front of everybody. It didn't occur to me to tell you, because it wasn't a big deal. If it bothered you, why didn't you give me Hell about it before?" she asked, her eyes clamped on the Sheriff's tail lights as she strove to keep up with him.

"I guess I never thought about it much, until I saw the way he just looked at you."

"Hey, what's all this?" Cellie tried to smile. "I did come back to you last night, didn't I?"

"Yeah." Willie brightened a little, remembering. They'd both been too tired to do anything, but he was just glad to have her next to him in bed, again. "I'm sorry, Cecily. It's been a rough week for me, too, you know. It reminded me too much of all the bad times in the past. I guess it's really gonna take some more time before me, and Barnabas, and Julia learn how to live like normal people for good."

"Well, if we can pull this off, I'd say, there goes one of the bigger obstacles, short of Nicholas, of course. God, I hope someone was able to tell my Dad, and get him over there."

When they arrived, Cellie jumped from the station wagon, and ran ahead of her husband, though Lester managed to follow her closely.

Hallie grabbed Cellie from behind. "Oh, God, Hal, don't ever do that again. I was almost ready to toss you!" she cried.

"I'm sorry, Cellie. You have to hurry."

"Have you seen my Dad?"

"Cecily!" she heard Walter shout. She wheeled around, to see him stepping out of a cab. They almost knocked each other over, as they embraced. Cellie stepped back, and gazed on her father's face.

Walter had the same haggard expression as he'd worn when he was first shot. "Cecily. . ." he groaned. "Christ! I don't get this. Maggie seemed a little distant last night, but she seemed happy enough, and I let her know how happy I was, about the baby. I think she was worried over whether it was normal. . .She said she'd had a bad dream--"

"The green lights! She must have seen them, again!"

"So did I, last night, in my dreams. I tried to wake up, but it was as though something was sitting on my chest. . ."

"A succubus! That's what they call it! It happened to ME, once, when Nicholas was around! And it kept you from waking up, in time to stop Maggie!"

"Yes, Princess. I was frantic when I finally got up and she was gone. I didn't even suspect she might have come here, though I found a flyer that must have fallen from her purse as she was running out. I tried to call the police, but the damned phones---I was just about to GO to the police, when I almost collided with Bernice coming up the porch steps, shouting at me about David's call! What could hate us so, to do

these things? I realize, now, it wasn't Barnabas."

"This isn't exactly his area of expertise," Cellie said. "It's hardly mine, either, but---"

"I'm sorry about that, too, Cecily. Maybe this is my punishment, for trying to force this on YOU."

"GOD wouldn't do this! But I know who might--- Let's get in there." Cellie hooked her arm in her father's. Led by Lester, and followed by Willie, and Hallie, they approached the brick building.

Lester said, "You folks stay out here. This is my job."

Walter said, "Wait, Les. This is too easy. Like a trap. You've told me you're as superstitious as any other Collinsporter. This doctor lured Maggie here. If you just barge in, further harm may be done, to her mind if not her body. This doctor may also be a mistress at protecting herself, and covering her tracks. God knows, your poor uncle was stonewalled, often enough."

"Any other way would waste time," the Sheriff protested.

"The nun who was here said she'd try to get in---" Hallie offered.

"I don't see how--" Lester protested.

"We CAN'T have violence," Cellie insisted. "And we can't have Maggie's mind hurt any further, even by humiliation."

"Okay, you two go in first. I'll cover your backs," Lester said.

Before she mounted the first step, Cellie glimpsed a small, glittery object on the walk. She bent to pick it up. "It's a Greek Orthodox Cross, like the ones Pavlos wears."

Walter said, "I noticed that last night. Maggie said he gave it to her." Cellie slid the necklace into her jean pocket.

Cellie turned to Willie. "Go back to the station wagon, and be ready to start it up at the earliest notice."

She pressed the intercom button. "Do you have an appointment, young lady?" A receptionist's voice came out of the speaker with a tinny echo.

"No. I just came through town with my boyfriend. We have your flyer. I need help---Please, let us in. There's a cop here---"

Cellie heard a tinny sigh. "Alright, then." She heard a metallic clank, as the bolt shot back. She went in, still hooked to her father. A heavy wave of despair blew over her like a hot wind, as Cellie crossed the thresh-hold. Lester brought up the rear.

They passed through a short foyer hallway, lined with two empty benches. Maggie was nowhere to be seen.

Cellie clung to her father's arm, to the reception desk, which was shielded behind a heavy-looking oak wall, with a tiny plexiglass window. Very strange set-up for an ordinary medical clinic, that was for sure, she thought.

A short, pert-looking black-haired girl looked up. Just as Cellie was about to stammer out a story that would guarantee her admittance to the "operating" room, the receptionist peered at her closely, then, at Walter, and announced, "I know who you are! You're that Loomis girl who was beat on by that Knowlton. What's going on here? What, did you get religion or something from that, and your minister told you we were doing something we shouldn't here? Well, you're wrong about us. I'm calling the police--"

"We have a police escort, as it happens," Cellie smirked, pointing at Lester, who emerged from the foyer. The receptionist blanched. "We're not here to hassle you, if what you say is true. But we have a friend who came here about an hour ago. Well, she's my friend. This man, here, is the father of her--her--- condition. She did not consult with him about her visit to this doctor, and, since she's a former mental patient, we have reason to believe she isn't entirely responsible for her decisions right now. We demand to speak to her, if it can be arranged, before she goes--- wherever one goes, in here." As she said this, Cellie noticed an elevator door in the far corner of the office.

An elevator in this tiny building?

The only door into the office was undoubtedly under the control of the receptionist. Cellie peered in at the desk, and saw a control board with several buttons, for the intercom, the front door, the elevator, and, in all likelihood, the office door.

"The woman's name is Margaret Evans," Walter said. "It's imperative that I see her."

"I'm sorry," the receptionist said. "We have a rule of confidentiality."

Lester replied, "As an officer of the law, I have the right and obligation to demand that rule be breached, if it's being invoked to conceal an illegal activity."

"I TOLD you, nothing's happening here, and I believe you need a warrant to search this place, anyway."

"Listen, Miss--" Walter read her name tag "--Willert, I am an attorney. I may not have the right to forbid Miss Evans's, er, consultation, but, since she knows that I know about her pregnancy, I do have a right to at least discuss this matter with her. I promise, I won't badger her, but I must talk with her."

"I'm sorry, sir, that isn't allowed--"

Walter's face became red, and he spoke in a tone of controlled anger. "You are going to call downstairs, and see if she's still in a condition to discuss it. Because, if you don't, my good friend, the Sheriff of Collinsport, WILL call the local judge, and ask him to issue a restraining order, AND a search warrant. And then, I will call my sister, who's treated Miss Evans for her mental illness, and have her convince the same judge to declare Miss Evans incompetent, until further

notice. Do I make myself clear?"

The receptionist, unused to such expert resistance, looked defeated. "Very well, Mr.--"

"Hoffman. Walter Hoffman. Call now!"

The receptionist called. She said, "Please, Doctor Dessaureau---

I know, I know, but he's a lawyer, and he's got the Sheriff with him, ready to make a huge stink--- I'm sure you don't want to get arrested--- She's what? Oh, my God. . ." She hung up the phone. "I'm very sorry, Mr. Hoffman, but Ms. Evans is already--- she's already ---"

"NO!" Walter shouted. "My Maggie. . .my baby. . ."

Lester commanded, "You have to let me get down there, and stop this!"

"I'm awfully sorry, but I can't do that," the receptionist said. "It's too late, anyway--"

"If she just got in there, it may not be!" Cellie shouted. "I'll go down there. Maggie will need me. And, as for you---" She looked directly into the receptionist's dark eyes. Miss Willert began to squirm, and clutch at her chest. Cellie hissed, "Something inside

of you contains a great deal of buried guilt."

"What are you doing to me?" Miss Willert whimpered.

"What the Hell is Cellie talking about?" Lester asked, shocked and puzzled.

"I'm helping her face her conscience! Now, let me in, Miss Willert!"

The receptionist pressed her button, and let Cellie run in. The squeaky elevator door opened before she reached it, and she jumped in. The boxy compartment fell like a stone. It landed with a thud, and the doors popped open. Cellie ran down a short, dank-smelling corridor.

To one side, she saw a kind of recovery lounge, quite empty. There was another, dimly-lit room containing a couple of gurneys. To the other side, there was a dressing room, with lockers, where, she presumed, a patient would leave her belongings. This room, too, was empty, save for one hook, which held what she recognized as Maggie's coat.

There were two "examining" rooms at the end of the hall, one closed, and one open. Cellie glanced into the open room, at the wall, without thinking. Then, she realized---white bricks. Hadn't she "read" Maggie, and sensed something about white bricks? Her father had told her, before he got on the train, over two weeks ago, after he first brought Maggie to the hospital, that she'd complained of visions of the green lights, and white bricks. It was then, that Cellie knew for

certain, that Maggie had been drawn here by the same force that almost drove her to suicide. It was like a sick joke, created specifically to take advantage of a nervous woman's confusion. But, to what purpose, and by whose agency had it come about?

Cellie ran to the closed door of the operating room. She heard voices. Two loud, upset voices. One, an authoritive female voice said, "Since you said you haven't eaten since last night, I'll give you a general, and you won't feel a--" Cellie heard a metallic clatter.

"--Wait a minute! My instruments! How could the tray tip over, just like that! I can take care of this. YOU just STAY on that table!"

At that moment, the door burst open, and Maggie, clad in a hospital gown, and clutching a gauzy paper sheet around her middle, collided with Cellie.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Maggie had arisen at the appointed hour. How considerate of the clinic to have someone on duty so late, the night before, to make arrangements, though she'd had her doubts, inquiring about the possibility of receiving such a service. Even though, when she had arrived back at her apartment, Walter and Cellie were there to greet her, so full of concern. She had to put a good face on it, to hug and

kiss Walter when he expected it, talk to Cellie, who seemed to be upset about something, and then, try to respond to Walter's insistent attempt at lovemaking. Thank goodness he didn't give her a hard time, when she appeared disinterested. Then, he was asleep, and she had confidence he would sleep until she had gone.

Maggie almost didn't make it to the door of the clinic, once Hallie Stokes tried to pull her back. For a second, she almost relented. At least, she wanted to explain---the dream had come back, even while Walter, who loved her so much, wanted to help her so much, lay next to her. This time, it had been worse.

Little Vicky, who had appeared to