 
The Hawk Volume 3

By Anna Scott Graham

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2020 by Anna Scott Graham

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this eBook. It is the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, copied, and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this novel, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

This is a work of fiction. Names and characters, incidents and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For my husband. And for my Father.
Chapter 157

Lynne Snyder would never forget learning how President Kennedy had been assassinated. Seated at the kitchen table, Marek to Lynne's left, Laurie had answered the telephone. It was Sam, who had just heard the news from his father. Marek toted Jane into the living room as Laurie clutched Lynne's hand, walking slowly. Once Lynne was seated, Jane on her lap, Laurie turned on the television. The adults remained on the sofa for much of the afternoon, although Laurie did speak to Stanford, who called an hour after Sam did. Only after Jane was in bed would Laurie share the particulars of their conversation, but other subjects had also waited to be discussed in detail. That afternoon all Lynne, Laurie, and Marek could do was sit in amazement, often in silence. It seemed unfathomable to consider that the president had been killed, yet such mayhem was utterly true.

As a mother, Lynne's heart immediately went out to Mrs. Kennedy, followed by fervent prayers. Lynne also considered Renee, whose children were about the ages of Caroline and John-John. Lynne wondered how the Aherns and their families felt considering the Catholic connection. Had that been what drove this despicable action, or was it merely a political assassination, as Marek noted. Laurie wondered about the timing; Kennedy would have run for a second term, was that the motivation, or was it engineered by the Soviets? There were many possibilities, but regardless of why, the awful reality couldn't be dimmed. A man not much older than Stanford had been shot dead in broad daylight with his wife seated beside him. The governor of Texas had also been struck, but it seemed he would survive. Lynne prayed for Governor Connally and for those who loved John Kennedy most. Theirs was a large family, but close-knit, and here was another lost before his time.

What Lynne knew about the Kennedys wasn't much different than what most realized; oldest brother Joe had died in World War II, eldest sister Kathleen lost in a plane crash a few years later. But it was the second born who shone the brightest and now that man, the first Catholic elected to the highest office in the country, was ripped not only from his clan but his nation, and as Lynne had glanced at Marek, the world at large. Then Lynne pondered the violent manner in which her president had been murdered; what sort of world was Jane inheriting? As Lynne laid her daughter to sleep, she prayed for her children, and those that day made fatherless. Lynne closed the nursery door, taking careful steps downstairs. Reaching the living room, she gazed overhead, also praying for Eric's safe and swift return.

When she entered the kitchen, Laurie and Marek stopped speaking. Laurie stood, then embraced her. Lynne was grateful for his presence; she couldn't imagine waking with only Jane in the morning. As they parted, she smiled at Marek, who nodded. Then she sat between them, grasping their hands. Strong squeezes were exchanged and Lynne took a deep breath. Releasing the men's hands, she exhaled with another sigh of relief, in that Stanford had felt compelled to call. "So," she began, "what did he say?"

She looked at Laurie as he rolled his eyes. "Just wanted to share the news, or that's what he said."

"How did he sound?" Marek spoke softly, then leaned back in his seat.

"About as you'd expect. Shocked, but...." Laurie shrugged. "Maybe it's wishful thinking, but he seemed a little chastened. He said Agatha had come to work, but he'd sent her home as soon as, well, she was able to leave." Laurie cracked his knuckles, then sighed. "It doesn't seem real. How in the world can he be dead?"

Lynne nodded, then grasped Laurie's hands in hers. "I think about the Aherns and their families, what this means to Catholics all over. We've gotten so attached to that family in a few short years and now...." Lynne shut her eyes, then opened them. "The children are so little, only Caroline might remember him."

Then Lynne gasped, breaking into unexpected sobs. Laurie pulled her close and she wept hard. Marek patted Lynne's back, speaking in Polish. She didn't wonder what he was saying, for it sounded like the Lord's Prayer. Funny how that could be discerned, and she grew calm as Marek's gentle tone filled the room. When he was done, Laurie released her, and she stared at her pastor. "That was just what I needed."

He nodded, then smiled, blinking away a few tears. "I have a sermon to craft, but all good notions start with that prayer."

"I suppose you'll have a church full," Laurie said, also wiping his eyes.

"Indeed. I think I'll open up tomorrow as well." Marek looked around the room, then returned his gaze to Lynne and Laurie. "I'll call Sam and Renee in the morning. I'm sure they've been speaking with relatives all day."

Lynne nodded. "Will you write to...."

"I've been thinking about that." Marek folded his hands in his lap. "I don't have her phone number, otherwise I'd be tempted to call. But I am glad Stanford telephoned."

Lynne gazed at Laurie, who seemed nonplussed, although he tried to hide a grin. Finally his smile emerged. "We'll see what comes of that. Maybe between this and when Eric gets back, Stan might change his mind. My God, what the hell's this world coming to?" Laurie stood, then stepped to the far kitchen counter, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll tell you both this: I have no idea what happens now, not in my life or yours, other than your baby and Eric coming home." Laurie stared at Lynne, then at Marek. "And as for you, write to Klaudia, tell her there's no time to waste. We just have no, no...." Laurie threw up his hands, then shook his head. "No guarantees about anything. Last year during the Missile Crisis I felt helpless, but this is beyond anything I can dream up. Your husband Lynne, that's one thing. But this's...." Laurie grew angry. "This's a fucking waste, excuse my French. He was a good man, not perfect, nobody is, but he was a damn good president, a father, a husband, someone's son. They've already lost one and now another's dead. Thank God there's a lot of them, but you can't just replace him, he was...."

Marek stood, then approached Laurie. "He was blessed by God for this task. And now we're left in dismay, and in pain." Marek grasped Laurie's hands. "But from these ashes a better America will rise, of that I am certain. His legacy will go far beyond his call for space travel and such marvels. It will start here on this night, and in so many other places around the globe. Evil might triumph for a moment, but in the morning, hearts will recall his goodness and courage. In our confusion and sorrow, those are the traits we must gravitate to, making them our own."

Lynne felt as if the gist of Marek's Sunday sermon had been spoken. She joined the men, then grasped their hands. Marek again spoke the Lord's Prayer, this time in English. Lynne said it with him while Laurie remained silent, but he offered his affirmation by firmly gripping Lynne's hand. After Marek and Lynne said Amen, Laurie did too. Then he hugged Lynne, wiping her damp cheeks. His green eyes were cloudy, but he managed a brief smile. He said goodnight to Marek, taking his leave for the evening.

Marek didn't stay much longer, noting that he would reply to Klaudia, most likely as early as tomorrow. He would include his telephone number, which made Marek's eyes twinkle. Lynne nodded, her smile unhidden. "I hope she calls you, or at least writes back soon." Then Lynne patted Marek's hand. "I'm not surprised she named her son for you. But I am sorry he's...."

"Yes, it's a bittersweet honor. But as I said, God blesses us in myriad ways. Now I will be off for you need your sleep."

"Not sure how much I'll get tonight."

"I think it will be a restless night for many." Then Marek gripped Lynne's hands. "Eric has no idea this has happened. I wonder...."

"I was thinking that too. Nothing to this scale has ever occurred while he's been away. I suppose I'll tell him once he's cognizant enough."

"Yes, all in due time. Right, that's my cue." Marek walked to the coat rack near the door, then put on his jacket and scarf. Lynne met him there, a tin in her hand. Taking the slices of pie, Marek smiled, then kissed her cheek. "We'll speak soon."

"We'll see you Sunday."

Marek nodded, then opened the door, shutting it behind him. Waiting a few seconds, Lynne then locked it. A few dishes remained in the sink, but she left them. She was tired, but her mind buzzed. Turning off the lights, she checked the fire, only dying embers remaining. She placed the grate in front of them, then took the stairs, seeing no light from under Laurie's door. Lynne listened for Jane, but only heard soft snores. Then a mother headed to her room, shutting her door for the evening.

In Oslo, Klaudia sat in her kitchen, no sleep having been found. She had smoked half a pack of cigarettes, and her eyes burned. News that had greeted her long after her work day was done still seemed unreal, but America's late president wasn't the only man on her mind. What did Marek think of all this, she wondered. And had he yet received her letter?

Perhaps this would further delay him from writing; he was probably trying to soothe parishioners. She smirked at that idea, but soon she shivered. If she knew his telephone number, she would make a very long distance call and damn the charges. Sigrun would love that tidbit, but Klaudia wasn't sure if she would share such an impetuous notion, for then Sigrun would never let it drop. But that Klaudia felt so compelled was significant, yet the terrible news almost demanded an evocative response. Not that Klaudia was political, nor was she pro-American. But she couldn't get the images from her head, those of President Kennedy in West Berlin, of Jackie Kennedy in France, or countless photos of the couple and their small children. Their little boy reminded Klaudia of her son before Marek was so far behind his peers that Klaudia could imagine he was fine. Then she trembled. Marek Jagucki knew about his namesake and perhaps Klaudia hadn't needed to share any other detail to describe her feelings. Yes, her son was a teenager now, but Klaudia's heart was just as inclined as all those years ago. And on that early morning, her heart was exceedingly tender. Rare were such moments, she mused, lighting another smoke, inhaling deeply. She hadn't felt this way since.... Not for a very long time, she sighed, placing her cigarette in the ashtray. She turned around, staring at the phone near the kitchen counter. How difficult would it be to call him? She wouldn't need to use English, the operator would handle that. Then they would speak in Polish, which would confuse anyone trying to eavesdrop. That notion made Klaudia smile, then chuckle out loud. But what would she say once the pleasantries were made? He wasn't a native of The United States, she wasn't trying to console him. How did he consider himself, she then mused. She didn't think of herself as Norwegian, was she still Polish? Maybe they were citizens of the world, transplanted abroad due to a horrific....

Was what had happened to President Kennedy any worse that what she had suffered, or Marek? Why were they so touched by one man's death? He was merely one person, flawed of course, yet he was vital, or he had been. Charismatic indeed, with a beautiful wife and adorable children and a vast family who all seemed blessed. She frowned with that word, for how could one be blessed and cursed at the same time?

Unlike Americans, Klaudia had the good fortune to know a little more about the Kennedys, or at least about their eldest daughter. Kathleen had married an English aristocrat, who had not been Catholic. Klaudia didn't recall his name, but he'd been killed in the war, and Klaudia assumed the older Kennedys hadn't been overly troubled by his death. Klaudia hadn't been in Norway long when Kathleen died in a plane crash, Marek only a baby when it happened in May of '48. Then Klaudia shivered, for she clearly recalled reading about that incident, in an English newspaper no less. Gunnar had just taken away their ailing infant, leaving a distraught mother much time to contemplate other miseries.

Klaudia hadn't told Marek Jagucki any of that, would she ever share such intimate memories? While pining for her child, Klaudia had wondered if Rose Kennedy at all mourned her daughter, who had gone against the family in marrying a Protestant. Maybe their situations weren't that dissimilar, for even though Klaudia's son was less than a month old, his health was precarious. Gunnar had told her he was doing this for her benefit. The baby would die soon enough, he'd said coldly, and best that she not grow attached.

But fifteen years had passed, and Klaudia's son was still alive. Would Rose Kennedy have ever forgiven Kathleen for marrying outside their faith? What rubbish, Klaudia mused, picking up her smoke from the ashtray, taking a long drag. Religion was for the weak, although Klaudia had never thought Marek Jagucki was delicate. How was he that night, she wondered, again turning around, staring at the telephone.

Did he know anything about that family, did he feel a great loss had befallen a nation, was he thinking of her? Klaudia finished the cigarette, then stubbed it out. It was nearly five in the morning; how many hours back was it where Marek lived? She wasn't sure, but it certainly was enough that if she called, most likely he would be awake. Maybe he was having an equally hard time finding rest. How much would a call to America cost, and might the lines be jammed what with so many trying to contact loved ones? Did she still love him popped into Klaudia's head. He loved her, she knew that implicitly, and she had signed her letter with that sentiment attached. Could she be so bold as to....

The telephone rang, making her jump. She trembled all over as it rang again. On the third ring she stood, deciding that someone was trying to reach her at this ungodly hour. Picking up the receiver, she coughed. "Hello?" she said.

She didn't think how hello was similar in Norwegian, Polish, and English. Only as the speaker said the same did she realize the coincidence. And as that man asked to talk to Klaudia Lisowski Henrichsen she then knew exactly who was on the line. "Marek?" she said, her inflection distinctly Polish. "Is that you?"

Those words were said in her native tongue, and were answered exuberantly in that language. "Klaudia, oh my goodness. Yes, it's me."

"Oh my God, oh Marek!" She began to cry, feeling silly, also giddy, and so thankful that he'd had the same idea. "I was just about to pick up the phone to see if I could get in touch with you."

His chuckle warmed her all through. "Well, that is wonderful to hear. I received your letter today, this morning actually...." His pause was brief, but Klaudia felt a great power in that short silence. "Before I learned what happened in Texas. You have been on my mind a great deal today, and before I went to bed, I just had to try to contact you."

"Marek, I just can't believe he's dead." She sighed, for while that was true, even more strange was speaking to a man who for ages Klaudia had assumed was also deceased. "I suppose it's been taken very hard over there."

"Yes, it's an enormous blow. I spent the evening with friends and even now it's still quite unbelievable."

A small sliver of jealously reared within Klaudia, but she ignored it, gripping the receiver. "Well, I suppose as a pastor it's your job to look after others."

"Indeed, but one can only do so much." Again he paused and Klaudia concentrated on the sound of his breathing. She easily recalled their last conversation, joking about trivial matters only youngsters would consider. Then she had told him to sleep well, and he had grasped her hand, looking right into her eyes. How brown were his, she had thought at the time, and how warm was his touch upon her skin. That memory hadn't faded, although his voice was somewhat deeper. But the inflections were as she recalled. Did she sound differently, she wondered, then he spoke, but she missed the beginning of what he said. "....and so I'll be writing back soon."

"What?" Klaudia cleared her throat. "What was that?"

"I asked if you might consider a holiday to America. I realize it would be a long trip, and I don't want to take you away from responsibilities. We haven't seen each other in ages, but I'm willing to brave some initial awkwardness. I would be happy to pay your fare if you felt...."

She tried choking back sobs, but the idea of seeing this man not within a painting or as a ghost in her kitchen was overwhelming. Then she grew angry at herself, for this call was costing him a fortune and she was bawling on the other end of the line. But she couldn't speak, for never had she imagined actually laying eyes on him. Months ago Sigrun had mentioned such an outlandish idea, but only as a joke. "I, I...." Klaudia wasn't sure what to say, but she had to speak or Marek might wonder if she had gone off the deep end.

"Just think about it. Like I said, I'll be writing you soon. Maybe a trip after Christmas, if your schedule allows."

"Yes, I'll think about it, certainly." She took deep breaths, but she coughed, wishing to blow her nose. "Marek, thank you for calling. I, I...."

"I just needed to speak with you this evening. I wouldn't have gotten any sleep if I hadn't."

"Well, maybe now I can sleep." But she wondered how, although she yawned loudly. Then she giggled, which turned into a languid sigh. "Marek, again, thank you so much for this. I know it'll probably sound silly, but...." She bit her tongue, dare she say it? Then she smiled at herself. She had wanted to talk to him, but he had beaten her to it. "I kept thinking how this might delay you from answering my letter. I mean that at this time you'd be busy with your...." She sighed again. "Church. I'm sure you'll be very busy now."

"Tomorrow I do plan to accept anyone in need of comfort. But you have been in my thoughts all day. This evening a good friend reminded me that time is short and as he put it, there are no guarantees." Marek took a deep breath, then let it out with a chuckle. "I would like to see you again Klaudia, if you're amenable to that, and sooner would be better than later."

"Yes, oh yes." She spoke quickly and only for a second did she inwardly berate herself for that impertinence. "Marek, I'll tell you right now, I would very much like to see you."

Within the passing silence, she could feel his joy as if indeed he stood right beside her. "That would be delightful. For now let's agree on a 1964 reunion, perhaps in January?"

"Yes, January. Uh-huh, certainly."

"Might the end of January be all right? A sibling to the girl in the painting is due in the middle of the month. I'd love to introduce to you Jane and her little brother or sister."

Klaudia hesitated only for a moment. "Of course, that would be fine."

"Wonderful! And please let me know if another time would be better. We can make the arrangements in a few weeks."

"Yes, of course." Klaudia felt slightly numb. "Marek, thank you."

"Thank you for writing back to me. You can practice your English in the interim," he chuckled.

"Uh-huh, I'll do that."

"All right, I'll say good morning to you, although my prayers are for both of us to sleep at some point soon. Keep well and warm."

"Yes, uh-huh, I'll do that." She had already said those words, but nothing else came to her brain. Then she stared at the clock; it read 5:15. "Take care Marek and again, thank you for the call."

"You're welcome Klaudia. We'll talk again. Goodbye."

"Goodbye." As she finished speaking the line went dead. But she didn't hang up, as though the echoes of his voice could travel throughout her kitchen. Then she gazed at the receiver; instead of a phone it was like she gripped Marek's hand. She shut her eyes, then inhaled deeply. Exhaling, she opened her eyes, then hung up the receiver, wondering if that conversation was another figment of her imagination. She would say nothing about this to Sigrun. If Marek put an invitation in writing, then Klaudia would consider it as real.
Chapter 158

A little girl snuggled beside her mother as Friday turned to Saturday. Renee wasn't aware that Ann had joined them in bed until nearly four o'clock, but then Renee wasn't sure when she and Sam had actually gone to sleep. Ann lay in the middle, but how had she gotten there, Renee wondered, her daughter's small body warming her left side. All Friday afternoon and evening Renee had felt chilled, even when she curled next to Sam in bed. But Ann provided a different balm, although it had been hard for Renee to act like a mother when her heart felt so anguished. That pain again shot through Renee, yet Ann seemed to mute a good portion of it. Still, confusion swirled, as well as a need for the bathroom. Carefully Renee slipped out of bed, not bothering to put on her robe. She would return to this cozy nest as soon as possible.

Minutes later she was back under the covers, cuddling with her daughter, who over the last several hours had been cemented as Renee's offspring as though the last few weeks were a trial run. Would Paul appear differently as well, Renee mused, stroking Ann's hair, which lay haphazardly across the pillow. Many considerations had crowded Renee's thoughts as soon as Sam hung up the phone, looking sick to his stomach. The news still didn't seem real, although Ann had never slept with them. Now it was as though Ann often snuck in this room, quietly cajoling one of her parents, probably Sam, Renee decided, to plop her in the middle of the bed. Renee was certain she would recall such an action, or maybe after yesterday's events, Renee had been so altered that her past had simply been wiped away.

She wanted to go to mass that morning. She also wanted to fly to Dallas, find where Lee Harvey Oswald was being kept, then shake him thoroughly, perhaps slap him as she had Sam years ago. But no matter what Renee might do, the president would still be dead, a loss Renee had never considered occurring in her lifetime. It didn't matter whether John Kennedy had been assassinated due to his faith, political views, or an enemy's hated. The reason for his death was known only to God, and the fallout was a dark curtain that instead of providing heat had wrapped the cold tightly around Renee. Yet now she felt warm, even if Ann was wriggling in her sleep. Renee released the little girl, who then scooted beside her father. And Sam was this child's father, Renee observed, for unconsciously he placed his arm over his daughter, a tender smile on his face.

Renee blinked away tears; had Caroline and John-John known such paternal comforts, even within the White House? John Junior had been a baby when his father was elected and that mansion was the only home he knew. Within a matter of days, weeks perhaps, he, his sister, and their mother would move to some other residence where they would live without.... Renee closed her eyes, concentrating on Sam and Ann's breathing patterns. Sam's were much slower, deeper, lasting. Renee would always sleep with her husband, but on what Renee might consider one of the darkest mornings of her life, she couldn't ignore the sweetest gift in the guise of a little girl, not to mention the boy snoozing across the hall. Renee had heard Paul's snores when she scurried back from the bathroom. Yet, how was all of this possible?

Life, Renee decided, was a strange mix of the predictable constantly butting heads with the improbable. Husbands and wives woke together each day, but here she was with a child between her and Sam like she'd given birth to Ann herself. Renee still thought it slightly odd how quickly the kids had acclimated to their new life, even with the small wobble of the station wagon. Renee had assumed that vehicle would set back Paul severely, yet once Laurie drove it away it was as Paul's delicate soul forgot those days with Beth and Roy. Or was that loss so painful Paul had chosen to block it out, and once the station wagon was no longer seen, it was as if his Colorado life had never happened. Would Caroline Kennedy heal in a similar manner? Renee didn't think that would be possible, for her father had been a towering figure representing a nation and a religion. Jack Kennedy wasn't equal to Pope Paul, but Catholics worldwide would never forget America's first Catholic president.

Renee wasn't sure what had haunted her more upon learning this news; was it that fact, or that now Jackie was a widow? That issue was solely related to Renee's status as a mother, made even more stark by the similarity of Paul and Ann's ages to Caroline and John Junior. John-John would be three on Monday, while Caroline was nearly six; easily Renee recalled when President Kennedy had been elected, his son born shortly afterwards. That was only three years ago, three years! Renee stroked red hairs from Ann's face, which looked perfectly at peace. She was cradled against Sam as if he'd been snuggling with her since the day they brought this child home from the hospital. How tremendously awful that Caroline would never again feel the security of her father's love, and what a tragedy that John Junior would possess no memories of such a wonderful man.

And how blessedly fortunate was it that Ann and Paul seemed to have escaped virtually unscathed from a comparable catastrophe. Renee wouldn't pretend to understand why that was, although one day she might pose a query to Father Markham: why did God permit madness alongside miracles? Renee quietly took a deep breath, letting it out softly. Neither her husband nor daughter noticed, still slumbering peacefully. When they woke, Ann would continue to dwell in that calm state, or be relatively staid for a three-year-old. Sam, however, would assume the mantle of a husband, father, and mourning American. A Catholic American, Renee inhaled, exhaling a sense of extreme loss. But as she took another breath, a healing scent accompanied, that of a little girl in need of a bath. Last night Renee hadn't felt up to the task. It had been enough trying to explain what had happened, then attempting to continue with normal duties while watching the television, but struggling to keep the children occupied. Renee had considered calling Lynne, but instead spent most of her telephone conversations with her mother and siblings, Sam's family too. Frannie was especially downcast and Renee would call her later to see how she was faring.

For now, Renee didn't want to stir her family. In these fleeting moments, all was well, if not different. But renewal was a part of life, and sometimes it was painful. Renee prayed for Eric, who should be arriving home any day. How would Lynne tell him about what had happened, perhaps Sam, Marek, or Laurie could break the news. That news would linger beyond what any of them might want, yet, in those seconds, Renee could pretend yesterday's events hadn't occurred. Her life was this man, their daughter, and a little boy who was calling for his mother. Paul's small voice echoed along the hall, then reached Renee's bedroom door. She leaned forward, seeing him rubbing his eyes. Tears fell from hers as she nodded, then motioned for him. Paul ran to Renee's side of the bed, then hopped up, stirring Sam and Ann. Paul hugged Renee as Ann mumbled something. Then Sam's yawn made Paul giggle. Casually Renee wiped her face, but Sam reached for her cheek, removing what remained. He nodded, then gripped Ann, making her squeal in delight. The Ahern family didn't leave that bed for many minutes as parents steadied themselves for another day of sorrow while children soaked up another day of familial love.

Stanford met his father for lunch at their favorite restaurant, but few other diners joined them. The men spoke in low tones, only one topic on their minds. Well, Stanford couldn't stop thinking about Laurie, but he talked of what had usurped practically the entire world's attention. It wasn't only America mourning a president, and Michael remarked upon this, wondering how Catholics across the globe were handling such a loss. Stanford gazed warily at his dad, who usually didn't speak about religion. Then Stanford sighed heavily. Michael hadn't asked where Laurie was, but before the day's end, some sort of answer would need to be proffered.

In the meantime, Stanford noted that he would call the Aherns, although Stanford didn't give a timetable for that action. He'd considered contacting them that morning, but every time he went for the phone, he remembered Laurie's tone from yesterday, picking up at Lynne's. Laurie hadn't merely expressed sadness, but a more debilitating sense, which Stanford had been feeling all week. Having Agatha back was good, in that Stanford's home was orderly, but her bearing was that of a wounded woman. And when she left on Friday, Stanford had nearly escorted her to the subway station, for she had seemed to age suddenly, her shuffling steps like those his mother took before she became bedridden. Kennedy's death didn't only affect Catholics; he had reached across much of American society, now leaving great emptiness in his wake. The restaurant would normally be packed on a Saturday, yet Stanford could count on one hand the number of busy tables. It was as if the city was under siege, people staying within their homes, not willing to brave the attack.

What kind of world would emerge, Stanford mused, as his father sipped coffee. Stanford had coffee as well, but would have preferred a stiff drink. Maybe later, then he sighed inwardly. He wanted to speak to Sam, also to Lynne, but to again call the Snyders' house would arouse suspicion. He didn't want to hear Laurie's voice, or not that of a man so pained. Stanford merely wished to express his condolences to.... He frowned, then sighed aloud. The Aherns weren't any more deserving of consolation than anyone else, yet Stanford couldn't ignore his need to reach out to them as if they had personally known John Kennedy. He had voted for that man, but no one was apologizing to him. Yes, it was a terrible incident, and deserved an appropriate amount of deference. However, politicians were often targets for lunatics. That Kennedy was relatively young compounded the situation, his age and family and....

Why did Stanford feel such loss; was it the manner in which Kennedy had been killed, that it had happened in bright sunshine, his wife beside him? Was it that more than a leader had been murdered, but hope in the guise of.... Stanford wanted to ask his father, but Michael looked tired. And as they never discussed such emotionally charged events, it would seem strange. Stanford could have hashed this out with Laurie, but Laurie.... Then Stanford stared at his father, who was now gazing at him. "What'd you say Dad?"

"I asked if Laurie was in Brooklyn. Or is he still not feeling well?"

"He's, uh, he's...." Stanford exhaled loudly. "He's not here. He went to see Lynne."

Michael nodded like he already knew this, but had been waiting for confirmation. Stanford quickly wondered if his father had spoken with Agatha, or maybe he'd called Rose. Michael again sipped his coffee, then placed the mug on the table. "Are Eric and Lynne all right?"

Stanford almost shrugged. He assumed Lynne was upset, but was her mood only tied to Kennedy's death, or was Eric still missing? Then Stanford shook his head. "They're okay. Eric has been...." Now Stanford trembled. "He's not been well lately, so Laurie and I decided Lynne needed support. The Aherns have been busy, with the children you know, and now that Seth's...." The words fell from Stanford's tongue as though he fully believed all that Laurie had told him, what Lynne seemed to accept as well. Then Stanford stopped speaking, for his father was nodding, but not making eye contact. Laurie hadn't tried to convince Stanford's father of this hogwash had he?

"It's been such a hard time," Michael said softly, finally meeting Stanford's gaze. Michael's face was ashen, how he'd appeared this time last year when Constance was still alive, but the end had been in sight. "Well, hopefully Eric will take this news all right, and everyone will be where they're supposed to by year's end."

Stanford nodded, but wasn't sure if that was possible, not for the Snyders, nor for Laurie. Stanford had dreamed of his partner every night since Agatha had returned to work, dreams that at the time were pleasant, but upon reflection carried great pain. In the dreams, Stanford had accepted without question all Laurie had claimed, going as far as speaking to Lynne in depth about how this phenomenon had affected her life. But as soon as Stanford woke, the awful truth had returned like a smothering blanket. And this morning it had felt to suffocate him, yet he knew the reason for that additional anguish. A man much admired had been ripped away. What happened now was anyone's guess.

Suddenly Stanford felt ill and he stood from his chair. "I'll be right back Dad." Before Stanford could hear Michael's reply, he was sprinting toward the men's room, where he reached a toilet just as bile lurched up his throat. The taste was bitter and he closed his eyes for the room spun. Kneeling in front of the bowl, Stanford gripped cold porcelain. He shivered, then hoped his father wouldn't come looking for him as he had at Eric's exhibit this time last year. They had spoken about the world tour, which would continue through next March. Would Eric be home by then, Stanford wondered, not wishing to ponder where Laurie might be.

Five minutes later, Stanford rejoined his father, who didn't inquire about Stanford's well-being. Perhaps Michael chalked it up to yesterday's news, which wouldn't trouble Stanford in the least. Michael paid the check and Stanford left a larger than usual tip. Then they exited the restaurant, hailing a cab for Michael's building.

Stanford spent the rest of the afternoon there watching television, thinking about Laurie and Lynne, trying not to consider Eric. Michael sat beside him on the sofa, or he answered phone calls, most of which were from Stanford's sisters. Yet, Michael didn't ask his son if he wished to speak to Louise, Claire, or Melanie. At four o'clock, Stanford announced he should head home, that he wanted to talk to Sam Ahern. Michael told his son to give that man his best, and Stanford said he would. They didn't exchange any undue affections; Michael walked Stanford to the front door, then told him they would speak in another day or so. Stanford nodded, then left his father's apartment, heading to the elevator.

It wasn't until Stanford was in the taxi that he considered how odd it was that while he hadn't spoken to any of his blood relatives, more than once he had made the point of needing to call Sam Ahern. Michael hadn't questioned Stanford, which made Stanford wonder if his actions were so strange his father hadn't known what to say or.... Yet, Michael was the most tactful man Stanford knew. If he had felt any sense of impropriety, he would have discreetly steered Stanford in the proper direction. The only personal aside Michael had made was concerning.... The cabbie pulled up in front of Stanford's building and Stanford paid him, then walked into the lobby, which other than the doorman was deserted. That fellow appeared stricken and they nodded at one another, then Stanford headed to the stairs.

Taking the elevator seemed too easy and he could use the exercise. Several floors later, Stanford was winded, and his steps along the hallway were slow. He reached his door, unlocked it, then stepped into the foyer, closing his door behind him, locking it again. The apartment was silent and cool, making Stanford shiver.

He hung up his coat, then went into the kitchen, starting the kettle. A hot cup of tea would ease the chill, but as for the loneliness.... Stanford ignored that, considering what he would say to Sam. He hoped that man wouldn't have the audacity to mention Eric; this call was merely about.... Was Eric dead, Stanford wondered. He shook his head; Laurie would have sounded far more morose if that was the case. According to Laurie, Eric was on his way home because Seth had left the hospital. Stanford felt a little queasy, but if nothing else, John Kennedy was the only casualty over which to worry.

The kettle whistled and Stanford retrieved a cup and tea bag. Pouring the water, he inhaled the steam, which seemed to clear muddy thoughts. Stanford let the tea steep, then threw the bag in the trash. He took the mug to the kitchen table, sitting against the wall where Laurie usually sat. Stanford did this without thinking, then he stared at the counter, appliances catching his eye.

Typically on a Saturday afternoon, the men were milling about in this space, either reheating leftovers if they weren't going out, or clearing up that morning's dishes. Well, Laurie did the washing while Stanford looked over what parts of the newspaper he had saved for that moment. If they were staying in, they would share supper at this table, then perhaps retire to the living room, where Stanford might read a book as Laurie did the same, or on occasion something on television might capture their attention. But Stanford didn't want to turn on the TV; he'd heard enough about Kennedy for one day. More would be reported tomorrow, he was certain.

He needed to call Sam, then.... The rest of the evening loomed like a black endless night. Stanford sighed, tried his tea, which was too hot to drink. A few leftovers remained in the fridge from Thursday; Stanford would heat those up when he grew hungry. He would call Sam, then drink his tea, then.... The silence overwhelmed Stanford, maybe he would turn on the television, try to find something unrelated to.... Loss had seeped into every crevice of Stanford's life. Laurie was gone, Eric was too, and now another man had been shot dead. Placing his hands gingerly around the cup, Stanford wished for the heat to reach past his fingers, perhaps restarting his heart. He felt hollow inside and not even extending his condolences to Sam would warm him.

Eric was out of Stanford's reach and Laurie was.... Laurie was gone because Stanford had sent him away. But what was Stanford supposed to do with such ridiculous insinuations? And yet, if Stanford accepted that claim, everything that had troubled him regarding Eric would make perfect sense. Stanford shuddered as his hands grew warm from the tea cup. The reason his dreams had seemed so correct was that within those dreams, all of Stanford's long-held misgivings were answered.

Those questions had been swimming within his head since the first time he'd visited the Snyders years ago. Why had they chosen such a concealed property, in such poor condition no less? Yes, the studio was perfect for Eric, but the house had been in a derelict state, and Stanford had even waived a few commissions so the couple could finish the guest room to the dealer's standards. Why had Eric been so fascinated with hawks, and why after that long absence in 1960 had Stanford thought Eric's eyes were.... They hadn't looked right since that day, Stanford would swear to it. Then there was Eric's foot, which allegedly had been the impetus for that absence, although months later Lynne was pregnant. Details filled Stanford's mind, things he shouldn't know, things that were strange when considered apart from one another, but when bound by a single explanation seemed reasonable. For, if Eric did turn into a hawk, then all these pieces made up one completed puzzle.

Stanford closed his eyes, sighing in disgust. When he opened them, the emptiness was a stark reminder of the actual truth, which was that Seth had somehow convinced Laurie of a most harmful falsehood. Laurie had taken it a step further, persuading Lynne, allegedly Sam, Renee, and Marek too. Why had they all embraced this, this, this.... It was lunacy, for Stanford knew of no other way to describe it. It was madness and reality and.... What was real, he wondered, gripping the mug. Reality was John Kennedy lying in state in Washington. Reality was Lyndon Johnson as president, reality was a murder in Dallas having reached into practically every soul in this country, and how many more abroad. But how could that be real, even though Stanford had watched it unfold on television. Perhaps it was merely another cover-up for yet another conspiracy.

Except that for as ugly as it was to accept, Stanford knew President Kennedy was indeed dead, that Lyndon Johnson was the new commander -in-chief, that Eric was.... And there the equation stopped, even if Stanford's heart throbbed in his chest. If he could just accept that information, then after he spoke to Sam, he could call Lynne and tell Laurie to come home. How easy would it be, Stanford mused, toying with the cup's handle. Just take a deep breath, empty all plausible notions from his mind, and.... Bile again crept northward, burning Stanford's esophagus. He took a sip of tea, forcing it back down, as well as any possibility that Laurie had told him the truth. The truth was that Eric was hospitalized somewhere, that John Kennedy was dead, that America had a new leader, and God help them all. Stanford finished his tea, singeing his tongue in the process, but laying a soothing salve along Stanford's troubled mind. His heart still ached, but once he called Sam, Stanford assumed the pain would be lessened. If it wasn't, Stanford would make another cup of tea. And if he still wasn't appeased, then Stanford would retreat to the living room and turn on the television. Better to drown one's sorrows in a collective pool than to delve too deeply in one's psyche, he permitted.
Chapter 159

The Snyders and Aherns were at church the morning that Jack Ruby shot Lee Harvey Oswald, which was inadvertently broadcast on live television as Oswald was being transferred from Dallas' city jail to the county jail. Stanford and his father viewed that event as millions around the globe watched, equally horrified. In Karnack, Texas, which also happened to be the childhood home of President Johnson's wife Lady Bird, Walt Richardson wondered what the world was coming to, unable to answer his son's question of why no one was stopping that man from killing who allegedly had shot President Kennedy. Walt then stepped outside, not wishing to see any more turmoil.

It had been two days since life had turned upside down, not only for the Richardsons, but all they knew. Suddenly everyone Walt spoke to had voted for Kennedy, which of course was a bald-faced lie. Walt had gritted his teeth, for to air his views would be downright rude, although it was hard hearing these folks falling all over themselves about how a good president had been cut down in the prime of life. At least LBJ was a Texan, Walt wanted to say, his wife born in this tiny town. Yet Walt kept all those thoughts inside, just as he did most of his considerations. He hadn't breathed a word of this to Dora. She was as broke up as everybody else.

Only a few felt as Walt did, that the damn papist got what he deserved. Yes, it was awful that it had happened right in front of his wife, nothing fair about that. However Walt didn't ponder much beyond that when it came to the Kennedy family. They were all a bunch of.... Walt stared at what constituted his front yard, which wasn't much more than sand-covered hardpan, although grass grew around the back of the house. His truck was parked near the start of the driveway. Even though Oswald had been arrested, and was now dead, Walt hadn't wanted the kids getting far from the house. He had moved the pick-up further away, however, when Luke and Tilda got noisy yesterday afternoon, and he hadn't wanted to hear any more out of them.

Walt ran a hand through his thick black hair, some gray creeping in along his temples. He was only thirty-two, but he felt old, yet he didn't chalk that up to what had happened in Dallas. It was from further back, but maybe the assassination had aggravated what Walt never spoke aloud of, not even to Dora. Not that she was ignorant; they had known each other since grade school, dated since they were in high school. He married her two weeks after she graduated, then he was shipped off to basic training and.... Three weeks after he got home, she fell pregnant. She'd had two miscarriages, one between Luke and Tilda, another between Esther and Gail. They didn't talk about those either, what was there to say? Dora was six weeks along now, but they wouldn't announce it until after the first of the year. Maybe this one would be a boy, which made Walt smile. As quickly as he did, he grimaced. All this upset in Dallas might cause Dora to lose it. If that damned papist made Dora lose another baby.... Walt spat past the porch, the spittle landing in the dust. Dora and the girls had gone to church that morning, but Luke had asked to stay home. The boy had been unusually quiet all weekend, but Walt had too many other things to think over than to worry about his son. Luke was a good boy for the most part. At least he wasn't like that Hiram Bellevue, then Walt turned around, looking at the front door. Luke stood there, watching him.

"Whatcha looking at?" Walt said flatly.

"Nothing Daddy. Are you gonna tell Mama what happened today?"

Walt spat again. "Gonna hafta." Then Walt turned around. Luke had stepped out of the house, his hands shoved in his pockets. Luke had Dora's coloring, but Walt saw his own face on this boy. It was like looking in a mirror, which chilled Walt, for no child should carry such anguish. "What?" Walt asked his son.

"Nothing." Luke took his hands from his pockets, then walked to the edge of the porch, near where Walt had been spitting. Luke sat down, his legs dangling over the sides.

"I'll tell her when they get back. Don't you say nothing, you hear?"

"Yes Daddy."

Luke's plaintive voice made Walt shiver. Dora had insisted on leaving the television on ever since Friday, when her mother called with the news. Walt wasn't sure if listening to all that was good for his wife, but he hadn't had the heart to tell her to turn it off. And now here was Luke, acting like the world was falling apart. Damn better for Oswald to get his, Walt thought. No trial would have to take place, dragging it out even further. "Luke, c'mere."

The boy went to his feet, then stood in front of his father. Walt stared at this child, and prayed that the coming baby would be another boy. "What's wrong son?"

"Nothing Daddy. When's Mama coming home?"

Walt sighed. Church was probably over now, but what with everything that had happened, Dora would be gossiping with any and every one. Her mother had come for her and the girls, maybe they would have lunch together. Was that why Luke was asking when the rest were returning? "You hungry son?" Walt asked.

"What, oh yeah, a little."

Walt spat once more, then nodded. "All right, let's go see what's in the icebox."

"Yes sir," Luke answered, following his father into the house.

The rest of the Richardsons didn't return until nearly two o'clock. Luke spent most of the time loitering near his father's truck, wishing Hiram would wave from the trees near the road. Other than thinking about Lee Harvey Oswald getting what was rightly coming to him, all Luke pondered was what had happened to that hawk.

Yet, Hiram hadn't been seen since the boys split up on Friday afternoon. And since school was cancelled for tomorrow, Luke wouldn't get a chance to talk to him until Tuesday. If that hawk hadn't been killed right off, it must be dead by now. Thinking that way made Luke's stomach ache. Why had that bird stayed on the branch, didn't it know how surly Hiram could be, how determined? Hiram often got his way at school; he wasn't more than a bully, but Luke had always been nice to him, in part to save his own skin and that something about Hiram was attractive, maybe that underneath Hiram's bluster was a boy much like Luke himself, someone who wanted others to like him but was afraid of being made fun of. Hiram's daddy beat Hiram with a strap; Luke had seen the bruises, welts too on occasion. That was why Hiram was mean to other kids, although Luke wasn't sure how he understood that. Maybe it was just how things worked; if you were pleasant to others, they were usually nice back. Hiram had never known much kindness, so it wasn't surprising he acted as he did.

Luke had been born with a fair amount of common sense, a trait his parents and grandparents attributed to him being the eldest. Tilda was smart too, but she could be impetuous, and of course, the menfolk noted, she was female. Esther and Gail were too little for their characters to be determined, but at least Walt and Dora's first child had his wits about him. However, sometimes it was a burden for Luke to be so perceptive, although none of the adults realized it. Luke was aware his mother had lost two babies, and how much that had hurt her, as well as his daddy. Yet at this juncture of Dora's confinement, Luke was as ignorant as everyone else, save Dora, Walt, and Dora's mother Hannah. If Luke had known about the coming baby, he probably never would have accompanied Hiram to Caddo Lake.

What had happened at the lake preyed on Luke's tender mind. He considered Hiram's behavior, as well as his language. Luke wished he had seen that hawk first, then had somehow changed Hiram's mind, or at least moved them further along the shore. Ultimately, Luke accepted that Hiram had killed that hawk for no better reason that it was perched high in a tree where Hiram could see it. And since it was way up there, what else would Hiram want to do but bring it down as meanly as possible. Was that why Lee Harvey Oswald had shot President Kennedy, Luke had wondered, although he didn't feel that was why the other man shot Oswald. That was purely for revenge, Luke's daddy had said, during lunch, out of the blue. Luke had been thinking about Hiram and the hawk when his father made that statement. Then Walt had cleared his throat, telling Luke that when he was done eating to go outside until his mother got home.

But even after the Richardson women returned, Luke was still obsessing over the hawk. His mother had cried a little when she learned what had happened, and it was all Tilda wanted to talk about. Luke brushed her off, then went outside, walking until he reached his father's truck. His daddy was right, just revenge. Then Luke swallowed hard; that's why Hiram shot that hawk, like it was his father, getting ready to swat his backside with a strap. Luke felt chilled, then turned around, facing his house. He needed to find that hawk for by now it was dead and deserved a decent burial. President Kennedy's coffin was on display at the White House where thousands of people were waiting to pay their respects. The only way Luke could start to forget about that hawk was if it received a similar send-off. But what excuse could he offer his parents to suddenly want to walk to the lake, with a shovel in hand no less?

It had been larger than any bird Luke had ever seen. Then Luke shivered; after two days in the wild, there might not be much of it left. How could he have let Hiram shoot it down? Luke was so lost in thought he didn't hear Tilda calling his name. It wasn't until she stood a few feet away that he acknowledged her. "What, what is it?"

"Daddy wants you to come inside." Tilda stepped toward her brother. "You looking for Hiram?"

"No, I'm not looking for Hiram." Luke scowled, then kicked the ground, stubbing his toe. He bit his lip, then gazed at his foot where a thin trail of blood ran. "You see him at church today?"

"He was there, had a black eye. Said he ran into a door." Tilda raised her eyebrows. "He asked where you were, but Mama called for me, so I didn't hafta answer him."

Luke's stomach churned. "Daddy say what he wanted me for?"

"Nope. Hey Luke, Luke?"

Luke was already halfway to the house, but he stopped, waiting for Tilda to catch up. "Yeah?"

"Hiram looked scared."

"Well, no fun running into a door." Luke could picture Hiram's father causing that injury, but he wasn't sure if Tilda was that smart.

"Not about his eye." Tilda huffed, then put her hands on her hips. "When he asked about you, his voice was strange. He sounded like a girl."

Luke fought a smile. "What's that mean?"

"What'd you two shoot at the lake?"

"Nothing, we didn't shoot nothing."

"I don't believe you."

Inwardly Luke trembled. "I don't care what you believe."

He stalked toward the house with Tilda on his heels. As they reached the porch, Tilda called his name. Luke looked up, seeing his father standing in the doorway. But his daddy wasn't looking at Luke, he was staring at Tilda. Don't say it, Luke thought. Don't you dare....

"What'd you shoot, huh Luke?"

Luke wanted to turn right around, run up to his sister, then push her squarely into the dust. Instead he found his father now stepping onto the porch, gazing at him. "Yeah Daddy?" Luke's voice wasn't more than a squeak.

His father never took his eyes off of him. "Tilda, go in the house. Now."

"Yes sir." She ran past her brother, letting the screen door slam, which made their mother holler from inside. But Luke didn't hear more than his mother's curious tone. All his attention was on his father's face.

"Did you skip school on Friday?" Walt asked.

Luke tried shaking his head, but he couldn't. "Yes sir."

"Why'd you do that?"

Now Luke squirmed. "Because, well, you see...."

Walt grabbed Luke's arm, then walked him toward the truck. Walt didn't stop until they were past it, no way for anyone in the house to see them. Now Luke trembled, for the few times his father had spanked him it was out of his mother's view. "Daddy, I just wanted to, we were just gonna go, Hiram said he'd let me...."

"What'd you shoot?" Walt's voice wasn't more than a whisper.

"A, a, a...."

"A what?"

"A hawk."

"Oh sweet Jesus!" Walt released Luke's arm, then shook his head. "A hawk? What in God's name for?"

"It wasn't my idea. Hiram was just gonna let me use his new gun. But there was a hawk in a tree and he seen it and all he wanted was to...." Luke started crying. "He wanted to kill it and I tried to scare it away but it wouldn't leave. Oh Daddy don't, please don't...."

Walt's right arm was suspended in the air as if to strike Luke. Then Walt dropped his arm to his side. "What the hell were you thinking boy? Skipping school's bad enough, but what've I told you about guns?"

"I know, I just wanted...." Luke kept crying, shocked that his father hadn't slapped him. "I'll never touch a gun again Daddy, I promise."

Walt shook his head, then hit the side of his truck. "Well damnit, now we gotta go see if you boys killed that.... A hawk Luke, a hawk? Good lord." Walt kept shaking his head. "Might as well've shot your mother."

"No Daddy, don't say that!"

Walt had been heading toward the house, but he turned around, returning to where Luke still stood. Now Luke assumed his eye would be as black as Hiram's. But Walt didn't hit him; roughly he grabbed Luke by the shoulders. "If I ever hear you've touched a gun before you're eighteen years old, I will, I'll, I'll...."

Walt's face was beet red, dark eyes wide in his face. Luke nodded, uncertain what his father might do, but no matter what it was, Luke would deserve it. "I won't ever touch a gun Daddy, I promise, I promise!"

For a few more seconds father and son stared at each other. Then Walt let loose of Luke's shoulders, stomping away. "Stay here. I'll be back."

"Yes sir," Luke said, still shaking. He wanted to see if his father was going to the house, wished they weren't so far, or else Luke might hear something being said. Within a minute, his father had returned, his keys in one hand, a shovel in the other.

Walt set the shovel in the back of the truck. "Get in," he ordered.

Luke nodded, then headed for the tailgate. As he put one foot on the bumper to climb in, his father pointed to the other side of the truck. "No, get in the front."

The last place Luke wanted to sit was next to his dad. "Yes sir," he said, swallowing a hard lump in his throat.

By the time Luke was in the cab, Walt had started the engine. A few seconds later, they were peeling out of the driveway. From the side mirror, Luke could see Tilda and Esther standing on the porch. Tilda looked to be nodding while Esther waved the men goodbye.
Chapter 160

As the Richardson men drove to Caddo Lake, Laurie joined Sam and Marek in the Snyders' kitchen. Renee sat in the living room, reading to Paul and Ann. Lynne and Jane were upstairs asleep and while Laurie could hear Renee's gentle cadence, he didn't worry she would wake Lynne or her daughter. Laurie's main concern was when Eric might return; Lynne had taken the morning's news hard, and while Renee had soothed some of Lynne's upset, Laurie felt the expectant mother was on the verge of collapse. He gazed at the men seated near him, their faces showing similar worry. Sam's blue eyes were pale while Marek's brown irises were as dark as Laurie had ever noticed.

"I'm so glad you're here," Sam said softly as Laurie took a seat. "My God, I feel like we've all been through the wringer."

Marek placed his clasped hands on the table. "I wonder if Lynne should see her doctor this week."

"I asked her about it yesterday, said she'd think about it." Laurie sighed, then shook his head. "She woke this morning feeling pretty down. She's trying to keep a brave face, but...."

"It's hard, but he should be home any time." Sam inhaled, then let it out slowly. "Laurie, I don't know how much she's told you...."

Both men glanced at Marek, who nodded. "We'll be here for whatever they need."

"Well, someone's gonna have to be with him twenty-four seven. Unless he's smart enough to just go to sleep." Sam cracked his knuckles. "He needs lots of sleep, as much as he can get. Not sure how Jane's schedule will fit into that, but...."

"Laurie, you bring Jane to St. Matthew's. Mrs. Kenny and I will look after her."

Sam stood, then went to the kitchen doorway, closing that door. He returned to his seat. "Renee can watch our kids, it's mostly a matter of, well...."

"What?" Laurie asked.

Sam fidgeted, then gave Marek a distinct look. Then Sam faced Laurie. "Bedding will need to be changed and often. Lynne has plenty of sheets, so you shouldn't have to worry about that. He doesn't eat much right off the bat, then he'll just want soup, vegetable soup. I'll take care of the cooking, but there needs to be someone here besides Lynne. She's in no shape to...."

As the door opened, Sam stopped speaking. Lynne joined them, then she motioned for both Sam and Laurie to stay seated. She poured herself some water, then sat next to Laurie. "Couldn't sleep," she said. "Renee's outside with the kids."

"Jane too?" Marek asked, clasping Lynne's hands in his own.

"No, she's still napping." Lynne tried to smile, but she shivered. "I might have slept a little, I think I had a bad dream." Then she sighed. "So, what's being discussed in here?"

"Sam was just telling us some particulars for when Eric gets home." Laurie patted Lynne's shoulder. "Marek's offered to keep an eye on Jane, Sam's on cooking detail, and I'll be your personal assistant." He smiled, but it was forced. "Between all of us, we'll manage."

Lynne nodded, but a few tears fell. "I'm sure everything'll be...." She shook her head. "I know this sounds silly, but with all that's happened, I just want him to land, you know?" She gazed at Marek, then at Laurie. Finally she looked at Sam. "It's not gonna be easy, and to tell you the truth, I'm about ready to say Jane and I will spend Thanksgiving here. If he doesn't get home by tomorrow, he'll not be in any shape to...."

"We'll work around it, don't worry." Sam reached across the table, placing his hands atop Lynne and Marek's. "Vivian won't ask questions, neither will Frannie. All that matters is...."

Squeals from outside made the four adults look to the kitchen door. Laurie stood first, Sam right behind him. When Laurie opened the door, he saw Ann running away, Paul after her, both children giggling. Then Laurie heard a mother's reprimand for the kids to get back to the patio immediately.

Laurie closed the door, then turned to find Lynne weeping in Marek's arms. Sam shook his head, then pulled Laurie aside. "He usually lands in the scrub, you'll hear a big screech, you can't miss it."

"Are you sure?" Laurie asked.

Sam nodded. "I better take them home. Just call any time, day or night."

"I'll do that." Laurie sighed. "I don't know how much more she can take."

"You'd be surprised. But hopefully he'll come squawking in another day or two." Sam spoke softly, then cleared his throat, walking back to the table. "Lynne, we're gonna go. I told Laurie to just call us, okay?"

"Thanks Sam." Lynne gazed up, her face streaked with tears. "Are you gonna watch the funeral tomorrow?"

"Uh, yeah, we were."

"Well, so are we. If you wanna come over, I mean...."

Sam knelt next to Lynne. "We might. I'll call in the morning, see how you all are. If the kids don't mind, yeah." Then Sam glanced at Marek. "What about you, Pastor?"

"I'll be at St. Matthew's."

"Oh yeah, um, well...."

"But you could join us for supper, right?" Lynne's tone was teary.

"Of course. That would be a good way to end the day."

"I agree." Laurie appreciated the inclusive nature. If he was in New York, he wasn't sure where he would be. "Any idea what time the service starts?"

"I'm sure it'll be televised all morning," Lynne said. Then she looked at Sam. "Just come over when you're up to it. We'll be here." Lynne glanced at Laurie, who nodded at her.

"Sounds fine." Sam went to his feet, then squeezed Lynne's shoulder. "Okay, gonna round up the troops."

"Need any help?" Laurie asked.

"Uh, sure."

Sam gave Laurie a quizzical gaze, then led them from the kitchen. Laurie closed the kitchen door behind him, then stopped Sam in the living room. "I wasn't sure how much Marek wanted to know. I just...."

"He wasn't here when Eric left, although Eric invited him." Sam stared at the closed kitchen door. "We'll just play it by ear."

"I feel like everything is a play it by ear situation."

"These days it is." Sam looked at the dark TV screen. "Not sure I wanna turn it on tonight, no idea what's gonna happen next."

"Well, between us, I'm glad Oswald's dead." Laurie shook his head. It had been unbelievable to hear, once they were out of church, and to think it had been shown live made Laurie shudder. "As soon as I know anything, I'll call you."

"Thanks." Sam gripped Laurie's hand, then shook it firmly.

"I wish I could say my pleasure, but...."

"You will, one of these days." Sam smiled, then stepped toward the French doors, motioning to his wife. Laurie watched as Renee approached the house, then Sam swung wide the door with the new pane. Laurie never failed to notice it and he hoped Sam was right. Lynne needed this to end and only God knew how Eric was faring.

As the Aherns drove away from Lynne's front gate, Luke pointed to where he thought the boys had been stalking game. While Walt knew this side of the lake well, darkness was falling. Luke had wondered aloud if the hawk had landed in the lake and Walt was starting to assume that had to have been the case. Yet, he didn't want to leave the bird's carcass, or what might remain of it, out in the open for another night. A hawk deserved more than that, along with a memory stirred within Walt's subconscious. Rare were the times he thought of that day, but now it seemed all around him, what with eerie shadows being cast as the sun's last rays reflected upon the water.

"It's gotta be here," Luke mumbled, shaking his head. Then he met his father's eyes. "Unless you think something took it away."

"That's probably what happened." Walt shrugged, but only for effect. Then he squinted. "Show me again where you boys were standing."

Luke motioned toward a small grove of trees. "At first he tried from there, but he was too far away. Then he came here, I think it was here." Luke looked at their surroundings. "Yeah, this was where he shot from. It musta fallen in the lake."

"But you said you never heard a splash." Walt's boots were wet, for the ground was spongy around the tree itself. He walked toward it, then stared up like he could see the hawk in the uppermost branches. Luke had said it was a large bird, but even a small creature would have made a plopping sound.

Then Walt gazed to the right where another clump of cypress trees stood. "It might've flown over there once it was hit." If Walt was right, Hiram's gun would have shot a hole clean through the bird, but if he had only grazed it, maybe it had managed to get away, or at least not fallen into the water. Walt didn't want his son to see the remains, if there were any. "You stay right here."

"Yes sir." Luke seemed to understand.

Walt nodded, then walked toward the trees, the shovel slung over his left shoulder. If he found anything, he'd bury it with a few swift motions. The ground was soft and it wouldn't take more than a minute to dig the hole.

Luke watched, but by the time his father reached the trees, it was nearly dark. He wished they had a flashlight, but his dad probably knew how to get back to the truck without getting lost. Luke just wanted to go home. He never wanted to see a gun, much less fire it. And as for Hiram.... On the way to the lake, Walt had sternly lectured Luke that playing with Hiram at recess was one thing, but Luke was expressly forbidden to associate with Hiram outside of school. Luke appreciated that decree and if Hiram didn't like it, all Luke had to do was....

"Oh for the love of God!"

Luke's heart beat hard hearing his father speak that way. "Daddy, Daddy? What is it?"

"C'mere son, quick!"

Luke ran toward the trees, just enough light left to make them out. He saw his father kneeling on the ground next to what looked like a stump. "Daddy, did you find it?"

A sickly moan rose from where Walt still knelt. "Luke, you carry the shovel, you hear?"

"Uh-huh. Daddy, what is it?"

Walt stood, hoisting something large in his arms. Luke grabbed the shovel, then followed his father. "Daddy, what is that?"

The creature moaned again, making Luke shiver, then he stopped. "Daddy, what'd you find?"

"It's a man," Walt said sternly. "Now c'mon or it'll be too dark to get back to the truck."

Luke trembled, then ran to catch up to his father, who was taking long strides. Soon they had reached the truck. "Open the tailgate," Walt said quietly.

The tailgate was often stuck, so Luke leaned the shovel against the side of the truck. With two hands he did as he was told, then watched as his father carefully placed the man in the back. Walt didn't bother to close the tailgate, but he did put the shovel in the back, away from where he had laid the man. Then Walt approached his son, kneeling in front of him. "Luke, I'm only gonna ask you once, and I want you to tell me the truth. Did Hiram shoot a hawk or a...."

"It was a hawk, I swear Daddy!" Now Luke started to cry. "It was just us out there, nobody else. We made sure 'cause we didn't wanna get caught skipping school."

Walt nodded, then brushed Luke's hair from his eyes. "I believe you. Luke, I don't want you talking about this to no one. If Hiram asks, just tell him I buried the hawk. I found it, then buried it, you understand?"

"Yes sir. You found the hawk and buried it in the trees off to the right."

"Okay. Now get in the truck. I'm gonna hafta go slow, and when we get home, you go in and tell your mother to come out. Keep your sisters in the house and don't say anything to them, you hear me?"

"Yes Daddy, uh-huh."

Walt was in the cab before Luke was, and as Luke got in, shutting the door, Walt pulled away from the dirt road. It took them several minutes to get home. Once Walt turned into the drive, he stopped, then motioned toward Luke's door. "Go get your mother."

Luke hopped out, running to the house, where light blazed from the front window. Reaching the porch, Luke slowed considerably, but he panted as he opened the door. His mother and sisters were seated on the sofa and Tilda met Luke where he stood. "Well, you find it?" she said.

He ignored her, seeking his mother's gaze. "Mama, Daddy wants you."

Dora raised one eyebrow. "He say why?"

"He needs to...." Luke almost said show you something. Instead he cleared his throat, giving Tilda a sharp glance. "He just needs to talk to you."

Dora stood, handing Gail to Tilda. "All right." She ruffled Luke's hair, but Luke didn't turn around to watch her leave. He stepped to the sofa, sat down, then looked at Tilda. "Sit," he said with an air of authority.

"You don't tell me what to do," she said.

"Just sit, unless you wanna stand and hold Gail."

Tilda scowled, then joined her brother on the sofa. Esther scooted next to Luke and he put his arm around her, wishing he could see that man in the back of his father's truck.

Ten minutes later Dora entered the house. Luke turned to see her, but what he noticed first was the blood staining his mother's jacket.

"What happened?" Tilda asked. "Oh Mama, are you okay?"

Luke stared at his mother, her face ashen. Then Walt stepped inside, motioning for Luke, who got off the sofa. "Tilda, Luke and I found a wounded man on our way back. He's hurt bad and I don't know if he's gonna make it. He'll sleep in the shed for tonight and I'll be out with him. Now Tilda...." Walt approached the children, then knelt in front of his daughter. "You need to keep quiet about this. You know Luke and Hiram were out shooting on Friday, and Luke swears all he saw was Hiram aiming at birds. The boys split up after while, who knows what Hiram did afterwards. In the meantime, I don't want you saying nothing to nobody about this, you understand me?"

Tilda could be sassy to Luke, but she nodded solemnly at their father, her eyes stark in her face. "I won't say anything Daddy, I promise."

Walt nodded, then gently patted her cheek. "That's a good girl." Walt stood, then sighed. "Tilda, you keep an eye on your sisters. Luke, you come with me."

"Yes Daddy." Luke followed his father, but Walt paused at the table where Dora sat, her head in her hands. He whispered something to her and she nodded, sighing as she did so. Then Walt headed to the door and Luke was right behind him. Walt went around the left corner of the house, not stopping until he reached the large shed in the back. Tools were stored there, wood for the upcoming winter too. And sometimes Walt slept out here when Luke's parents were fighting.

Walt opened the door, then pulled on a string hanging from the ceiling. A dim bulb flickered, putting off just enough light that Luke could see a figure in the corner, lying where sometimes his father slept. The man was covered by blankets, looked to be shivering. Walt motioned for Luke to stay where he was and Luke nodded. The man moaned in pain and while Luke was curious, he wasn't sure he wanted to get too close.

Luke observed how his father checked the man's pulse, then Walt sighed. "Not sure you're gonna make it, but if you do, you're a stronger man than me." Walt turned Luke's way. "Son, bring me some water."

A bucket sat on a table along the wall and Luke dipped a cup into it, then brought it to his dad. The man was hard to see, for Walt's shadow fell over the bed. Luke could make out light colored hair, but the man smelled like he'd been in the wild for a long time. "Daddy, is he a...."

"A what?" Walt said, taking the cup from Luke's slightly quivering hands.

"Is he a sasquatch or something?"

"No Luke, just an injured man." Walt set the cup to the man's lips. "Here, drink this if you can."

Luke couldn't tell if the man drank any of the water. All he noted was how gentle was his father's voice and how poorly the man sounded, still moaning. "Daddy, what're we gonna do with him?"

"I don't know yet. Luke, run and get me some old towels. And the alcohol from the bathroom. If you can't find it, ask your mother."

"Okay." Luke walked away, trying to snatch a glimpse of the man. As he reached the door, he bumped into the wall, then turned around, seeing a figure approach. It was his mother, a finger to her lips, the items Walt had requested in her hands.

"Oh Mama, Daddy was just asking me to get these." Luke wore a brief smile, but quickly it turned to a frown as the man let out a sickly cry, which sounded more like a squawk. Luke turned back, seeing his father still at the man's side. Then his mother handed him the towels.

"Give those to Walt," she murmured. "Go on now, he needs them."

Luke returned to where his father and the man were, then heard what sounded like retching noises from just outside the shed. His mother was sick, but Luke felt a little ill too, from the scent of the man and from the smell of blood.

"Here Daddy." Luke gripped the towels and bottle, which he assumed was alcohol. "Mama just brought them out."

Walt turned around. "Where's your mother?"

"I think she's sick outside."

"Jesus Christ. Luke, just wait here. Dora, you okay?" Walt stood, then ran out of the shed. Luke could hear his parents speaking, their voices soothing his mind. Then he gazed at the man, who was moaning in pain.

The light was bad, but Luke's shadow was smaller than his father's. Setting the supplies on the ground, Luke stepped closer, making out that indeed the man seemed to have blonde hair, but his body looked strange, like his right arm was missing. Then Luke swallowed back bile; someone had shot this man, blowing away his shoulder. Luke wondered how anyone could survive such an injury, and was the man's arm still attached? "Hey mister, it's gonna be okay mister. My name's Luke and you're gonna be all right."

The words were borne of a hopeful but not expectant heart. So much had been lost that weekend, but Luke didn't think this man would want to live with the right side of his body so badly deformed. Then Luke wondered about Mrs. Kennedy; her husband had been shot in the head. What if the doctors could have saved him? He probably wouldn't have been able to be president anymore, but at least he would be alive. "Hey mister, you got a bad shoulder, but don't die, all right? Not tonight, and not this weekend. Listen, just go to sleep. You just sleep and you'll feel better tomorrow okay? Mister, you hear me? Just go to sleep and...."

Now Luke only heard his mother's tears, for the man was silent. Luke wondered if he was still breathing, and with great courage, he reached for the man's left shoulder. His skin was warm but grimy. To Luke's surprise, the man's chest rose, then fell, erratic breaths being taken. Luke remained in that place until his father returned. Walt whispered for Luke to go inside and eat. Luke nodded, then headed for the house. Tilda was waiting for him, holding open the door. Luke looked at her, but didn't see their mother. "Mama went to bed," Tilda said softly. "Is he alive?"

"Yeah, for now." Luke stared at his hands, he needed to wash them. Then he glanced at his feet, a feather caught between his toes. He removed it, then held it up to the light. It was the same color as that hawk, which made Luke shiver. But he didn't ponder it for long. After Luke washed his hands, he put Gail in her chair, then told Tilda and Esther to sit at the table. Luke said a brief grace, inwardly praying for the man in their shed. Then he filled four plates, telling his sisters it was suppertime.
Chapter 161

While three children played in the Snyder living room, Lynne watched John Kennedy's funeral procession with Renee on one side, Laurie on her other. When not watching television, Sam made lunch and he prayed. Those prayers encompassed his family and nation, the Kennedys, and one man over whom Sam felt an inordinate amount of dread alternating with formidable peace.

Those opposing waves were similar to sensations Sam recalled while in Korea, in the midst of fierce battles where he wondered if he would survive, then marveled at that very miracle. He didn't delve too deeply about how those sentiments related to Eric, although his friend was the basis for those feelings. Yet they could also be applied to what Sam glimpsed on TV as a family and country tried to comprehend a magnitude of loss. Sam was struck by how formal were the proceedings, yet also graceful, from the riderless horse to Mrs. Kennedy flanked by her brothers-in-law, to two youngsters in blue coats standing out amid a sea of black. When young John Kennedy saluted his father's coffin, Sam stared at his son, Paul happily chatting to Jane, who seemed to understand all Paul said. Sam strained to listen, but Paul's voice was muffled, yet it was cheery as though nothing being broadcast could possibly be true. Then Sam met his wife's gaze, tears falling down Renee's cheeks, also tumbling down Lynne's and Laurie's. Sam wondered where Stanford was, hopefully with his father. Sam glanced across the room to the French doors, where one clear pane stood out from the rest. Please let Eric come home today, Sam prayed inwardly.

By noon, the television was turned off, all gathered in the kitchen for lunch. Sam had briefly spoken to his parents, his father's voice shaky. Joe asked if Sam, Renee, and the children would like to join them for supper, but Sam declined, in part that Renee had turned down a similar offer from her folks, and that after lunch, Sam wanted to take his family home. Lynne looked exhausted, but Laurie would look after her, for which Sam was exceedingly grateful. He didn't like thinking about the New Yorkers' separation, but at least Lynne and Jane were benefitting. Then Sam sighed, for later Marek would join this group, but that too was good, for Marek shouldn't be alone, and if Eric came home today.... Since Friday, Sam had been too overwhelmed to count the days, but the number popped in his head. Ten days ago Seth had left the hospital, Eric finally on his way westward. Weather along the Bible Belt had been relatively mild, it truly was only a matter of....

Renee patted Sam's shoulder, her cheeks still splotchy, her eyes bloodshot. Laurie had played hide and seek with the children while the ladies stepped into the sunroom, having had a good cry. Sam had heard their soft sobs over Paul and Ann's shouts and Jane's giggles, making him wonder about the acoustics within this home as well as his developing paternal intellect. Before Friday, Renee had joked that she was waiting for the eyes in the back of her head to emerge, while Sam felt his hearing had improved, for he discerned the children's murmurs where before no sound had swirled. The last four days had cast a pall over those considerations, but perhaps after Thanksgiving, and once Eric was home, Sam wouldn't be so distracted. He kissed his wife's forehead, then stroked her cheek, which felt soft and slightly damp. Sam lamented Eric's absence, but he had Renee, two children, and good friends with whom to break bread.

Sam said a brief grace, then lunch was served, the children chatty while Lynne and Renee said little. Laurie seemed to have bonded with Paul and Ann; he was Uncle Laurie, and Paul peppered him with questions about New York and the rest of Laurie's sisters. Sam didn't mind that small fib and Laurie was animated, which balanced the quiet proffered by the women. Then Paul coughed, staring at Laurie. "Where's your wife?"

"I'm not married," Laurie smiled.

"Oh." Paul thoughtfully ate a bite of his sandwich. He gazed at Sam, as if seeking approval to inquire further. Sam coughed, then gazed at Laurie, who nodded first at Sam, then at Paul.

The little boy smiled shyly. "How long are you gonna stay here?"

"Until Eric comes back. Maybe until I'm an uncle again." Laurie was seated beside Lynne, and he gave her a one-armed hug. "Is that okay with you?"

Paul nodded with enthusiasm. "Oh yeah. You're nice." Paul drank his milk, then gave Laurie a sharp stare. "Are you ever gonna get married?"

"I don't think so. But I am thinking about looking for a little house out here. Winters in New York are pretty cold and summers are pretty hot. I have a lot of family in this town, not a bad place to settle down."

Laurie's tone was light, but Sam was stricken by his message, which didn't sound at all glib. Paul and Ann were delighted by the news and Jane laughed from the conversation's overall tenor. Then Sam looked at Lynne, who now leaned against Laurie's shoulder. A few tears rolled down her face, then Laurie kissed the side of her head. They didn't look like siblings, then Sam ruffled Paul's hair as Renee urged Ann to finish her sandwich. No one would guess these children weren't the Aherns' biological offspring, then Sam found himself staring into Jane's wide eyes. He smiled at her, then peered around the room as if seeking one more. Yet Eric's whereabouts remained a mystery.

Cookies were served for dessert, but only the children enjoyed them. Lynne apologized for not having baked, but Renee said pie would be a treat on Thursday. Sam wasn't sure how Thanksgiving would go, regardless of Eric's condition. But he kept that to himself as Renee gathered the children's coats. Laurie toted Jane, standing beside Lynne in the kitchen as goodbyes were said. Sam and Laurie merely exchanged glances. Sam could see the same unspoken worry festering in Laurie's green eyes.

Once at home, Ann took a nap while Paul and Renee worked on a child's puzzle in the living room. Sam had taken pork chops from the freezer and he stood near the counter, watching condensation form along the packaging, Renee and Paul's harmonious voices in the background. Sam wondered what Jackie Kennedy and her children were doing that evening; it was John's third birthday, newscasters had pointed out, and Caroline would be six on Wednesday. Sam doubted that Paul would remember much of this weekend, Ann and Jane carrying no recollections he was certain. John Junior would probably be spared, but the late president's daughter might think back to her childhood, noting the demarcation. Coupled with the eventual move from the White House, how could that little girl not realize the change?

Yet, youth would lessen the trauma, although her father would always be dead. Sam shivered with that notion, then grasped the counter's edge, keeping himself upright. Rare were the times he considered the worst occurring, and even if it did, Lynne would never have full closure. They would always be wondering, hoping, praying.... Would Laurie actually move west, Sam mused. Much of that depended on when and if Stanford came round, which of course hinged on Eric's return. And strangely, the longer Eric was gone, the more credence would fall to Laurie's assertion. Sam trembled, then stood upright, gazing at water droplets along the cellophane. Each passing moment led to another; here it was, Monday evening, after one of the most dismal weekends in Sam's memory. Yet tomorrow Paul would go to school, Sam was scheduled for time at the VA hospital. Thursday would be another interruption, then it would be nearly December. Eric had been gone for coming on five months. How much longer was he supposed to be away?

The phone rang and Sam jumped, then smiled. "Hello?" he answered.

"Hi Sam, it's Brenda. Is Renee busy?"

Quietly Sam sighed. "Uh, just a minute." He poked his head around the side of the doorway, meeting Renee's gaze. "It's Brenda," he said softly.

Renee nodded, telling Paul she had to take the phone call. Then she stood, stepping into the kitchen. Sam handed her the receiver, then went to take her place in the living room. He tried to ascertain the mood of the conversation, but Renee spoke softly when she did any talking. Sam wondered if Brenda had needed to vent, sometimes she called Renee just for that purpose. It was as if both sets of their siblings and in-laws still thought of them as before, with unlimited free time on their hands. Yet, Ann remained asleep and Paul was happy for Sam's attention. Sam focused on his son. Later that night, Renee would share what she felt was appropriate.

It didn't take long, for as soon as Renee was off the phone, she turned on the television, then gave Sam a look. He stood, telling Paul he'd be right back. Paul nodded, then sat cross legged a few feet away from the TV. Sam followed Renee into their bedroom, where she closed their door most of the way. "What?" Sam said.

"I might need to go over to the folks' later, seems Ritchie got really drunk watching the funeral. Mom called Brenda, I think she was hoping Brenda might talk to him, but he's in no shape to listen to anyone. Brenda was just giving me a heads-up. She sounds even more convinced she wants a...."

Divorce popped into Sam's head and he nodded as though giving his support. "Well, I don't know how much more she's supposed to take, not that he's living with her, but...." Then Sam frowned. How much more could Marie and Gene handle was another question. "Whatever you need to do honey. We'll be fine here."

Sam didn't worry about caring for the kids alone. Renee wouldn't leave until after the children were in pajamas, and honestly, Sam didn't expect Renee's parents to call unless Ritchie required a nurse. After that day's events, families needed to end their evenings peacefully, and Ritchie would probably sleep off his bender. Tomorrow was another matter, but if Renee was needed at the Nolan home, she could take Ann to either Frannie or Lynne's. Sam could collect Paul from school, and while he'd need to excuse Renee's absence, Paul was young enough not to question vigorously.

He had taken Laurie's explanations without further inquiry, although at the time, Sam had squirmed, yet not merely for Paul's inquisitive nature. But what was worse, covering for an alcoholic or fibbing about.... Sam thought Brenda's situation was more embarrassing, and that was why Sam felt they wouldn't get a call from Marie that evening. Not that Ritchie's problem was his parents' fault, but it wasn't anything the Nolans would wish to publicize.

Renee nodded like she understood all Sam had considered. "Well, I just wanted to tell you what's going on." Then she shook her head. "For a second I thought Brenda was gonna say she'd decided to take him back. I gotta wonder how much this weekend might have made her think twice, but if he's drunk again today...." Renee sighed, then sought Sam's embrace. He wrapped her close, having briefly pondered the same. Yet Brenda was doing the right thing, at least Sam saw it that way. She couldn't keep waiting for Ritchie to....

Sam's heart raced. How long had Renee held out hope for a family, how long might Lynne wait for Eric? How long had Eric waited for Sam to.... Josh's voice rang in Sam's ears, but living with a drunk wasn't good for Brenda and her children. "I love you honey," Sam whispered. "We'll just see what happens."

Renee sniffled, then pulled away, stroking Sam's face. "We should check on Paul. My goodness, too much drama for me."

Sam nodded in complete agreement, yet one loose end remained. Sam prayed for Eric, then led Renee back into the living room. Paul smiled at them, then patted the carpet. Sam motioned to the sofa and the boy scrambled to where his parents sat, snuggling between them.

In Texas, Luke had spent much of the day running between the shed and the house, wondering if that man was going to die on their property. Tilda, Esther, and Gail had been forbidden to approach the shed, but a few times Luke had seen Tilda and Esther peeking around the side of the house, their eyes wide, mouths open. The man had been in terrible pain until after lunch, then had spent much of the afternoon sleeping, although sometimes he cried out, making Luke's flesh crawl. The sounds weren't altogether human, and now as evening approached, again the man was making noise. Luke's father had taken care of him for most of the day, while Luke's mother spent time in the bathroom, often throwing up. Luke wondered what was making his mother unwell, for the man still smelled badly, and while Luke hadn't gotten another look at him, the memory from last night was fresh in his mind. The upper right side of the man's body had sloped downwards, like he had no right arm. But Walt hadn't mentioned anything so gruesome, only telling Luke to keep an eye on his sisters and to let Walt know how Dora was doing.

Now Luke wondered if his mama was having another baby, for how concerned his daddy was about her and how sick she was. Tilda didn't seem to have made the connection, which pleased Luke, for she acted like she knew everything. He wasn't sure if Tilda was aware of the two lost babies, then Luke shuddered. Taking care of a sick man was the last thing his mama needed, and tomorrow it would all fall on her, for Luke and Tilda would go to school, their father to work. Luke stood on the porch, inhaling the cool night and a large responsibility. Even if the man died, the Richardsons would carry the knowledge of his brief stay, maybe as meaningful as thinking to what had happened last Friday. Then Luke gripped himself. The man in the shed was even more striking, for Luke had never met President Kennedy, he was just a picture in the paper or on television. Luke would never forget how the man smelled, like he was a woodland creature, or the terrible sounds he made, like his body was being ripped apart. Then Luke trembled. Those sounds were similar to ones made by his mother when she lost the baby between Esther and Gail.

Luke clearly recalled when that had happened, and he'd overheard his parents talk about the other child they lost, between him and Tilda. Luke tightly shut his eyes, then prayed that if his mother was pregnant again, this baby would be all right. If God had to take someone, then take that strange man in the shed. Luke felt no shame in that request, for that man was hurt so badly, he shouldn't continue to suffer. It would be like putting down a mad dog, Luke surmised. Sometimes that was just what happened.

Opening his eyes, now the sky was black, a few stars twinkling overhead. Luke stepped off the porch, then looked toward the shed, where light shone through cracks in the walls and under the closed door. Luke could hear the television, his sisters' chatter, but his mother was quiet in the kitchen, other than the sound of dishwater sloshing in the tub. Luke had offered to help, but she had gently shooed him away, probably keeping him free if his father called for assistance. But Walt hadn't stepped foot from the shed since before supper was eaten. And he hadn't joined his family for that meal, taking his plate to the shed. Luke wondered if the man had eaten anything; he hadn't made much noise lately, perhaps he was dead. Luke tiptoed along a worn path that felt cool under his feet. He rarely wore shoes, especially since he'd been growing so fast over the last year. Plus in his bare feet, Luke's steps wouldn't be detected; he wanted to know if that man was dead or still living.

He reached the shed, could hear his father murmur something, which made Luke sigh; the man must be alive. Then a wave of guilt washed over the boy; he hadn't wanted the hawk to die, but this man's life wasn't anything so majestic or beautiful. From where had this man come, Luke then wondered. Who would have shot him, then left him to die near the lake; not Hiram, Luke decided. Hiram could be mean, but he wasn't that cruel. No one in Karnack possessed that sort of heartlessness, well, Hiram's father was a bad man, but Luke couldn't equate beating one's son with murder. For if the man died, it would be just like what happened to President Kennedy. Someone had shot him, then left him for dead.

"My God," Walt said, making Luke jump. "What'n the hell?" Walt added. Luke inhaled, then exhaled, wishing to ask if his father needed help. Luke tried to peer through a large crack in the shed wall, but all he could see was what looked like his father leaning over the figure in the bed.

"Holy Jesus!" Walt stood, then shook his head. Then he turned around and stared at where Luke stood. Luke shivered, for it was as if his father could see through the crack, finding Luke's eyes, beseeching him to step into the shed. But Luke was afraid; he'd never seen a dead man, only roadkill. Now suddenly he didn't want this stranger to die, especially not in their shed. It would be bad luck, Luke felt, and certainly not good for his mother.

"Luke, you there?"

Luke nodded, then realized he needed to answer his father. "Yes Daddy."

"Come in here son."

Taking a deep breath, Luke let it out as he blinked, then opened the shed door. Walt stood a foot from the bed, but the distance loomed large to the boy, like his father was on the other side of the Red Sea. Luke moved in that direction, not sure how his feet were being propelled other than by a divine hand, the same way God had held back the waters while Moses led the Hebrews from Egypt. Luke had paid special attention a few weeks back when their pastor told that story. Then it had been the Egyptians' destruction to catch Luke's attention, but now he imagined how the Hebrews had felt, water raging at their sides, but an amazing power had kept it from drowning them.

As Luke reached his father, Walt grabbed him, holding him close. Luke was grateful for that hug, pressing his face close to his dad, who now smelled like the man, although alcohol was strong, both in what came from their bathroom as well as whiskey, the origin of which Luke had no idea. But he understood what it was for, to numb the man's pain. "Is he dead Daddy?" Luke whispered.

"No, in fact, look here." Walt pulled back the blanket, releasing a foul odor into the air. That scent was then overwhelmed with a more pungent aroma which was new to Luke, a mixture of mop water the school custodian used alongside something that might be what heaven smelled like. Luke would keep that part to himself, but he stared first at his father, seeing Walt's small smile. Then Luke gazed at the man; his shoulder was still badly wounded, but now he had a shoulder. Luke trembled, then again sought his father's gaze.

"But Daddy, last night he looked different."

"I know. Don't ask me how, but sometime during the afternoon it healed." Walt sighed, but not in sadness. "I checked him after lunch, thought we'd lose him by suppertime. But I just looked now and by God, I just can't say what'll happen next."

"Daddy, did he have an arm last night?"

"Yeah, just hanging by a thread." Walt cleared his throat, then knelt beside his son. "I gotta work tomorrow. I'll come home at lunch to check on him. When you get home from school, I want you to keep an eye on him. Don't let Tilda in here, you understand?"

Luke nodded. "Will Mama, can she...."

Walt blinked, then gazed at the man. "We'll see what happens. In the meantime, go tell your mother to come out here. Take my plate with you."

Luke noticed that Walt's dish was empty. "Did he eat anything?"

"No, but that's all right. He's had some water, right now that's enough. Go on and don't forget to send your mother out here."

"Yes Daddy." Luke walked to the table, gathering the plate and fork. Then he gazed back at his father, who sat on a low stool next to the man. "Daddy, will I see you before bedtime?"

Walt nodded, but kept his back to his son. "Go on now Luke."

"Yes sir." Luke left the shed, but heard moans behind him. Then a loud groan resonated through the air. How had that man's shoulder gotten better, Luke wondered, reaching the porch. He took the steps, seeing Tilda waiting behind the screen door.

"Is he dead?" she whispered, opening the door for her brother.

"No, in fact...." Luke whispered the changes, making Tilda's eyes grow wide. "But Daddy says you have to stay back," Luke added. "Not sure what'll happen tomorrow."

As Tilda nodded, Luke looked for their mother. "Where's Mama? Daddy wants to see her."

"She's putting Gail to bed."

Luke nodded, then walked to the sink, where he put his father's dish and fork. Then he turned around, seeing his mother approach. Her face was pale and he sucked in his breath. She was having another baby, he was sure of it.

"Daddy wants to see you," Luke said softly. "The man's shoulder's better," he added.

She nodded, then took a deep breath. "Gail's sleeping, so you kids be quiet." Dora stroked Tilda's hair, then ruffled Luke's. She kissed the top of his head, then walked from the house. Luke stared at his feet until he could tell she had left the porch. Then he grabbed Tilda's hand, leading her to the sofa where Esther sat, watching television.
Chapter 162

It was an hour before Dora returned, Walt at her side. Esther was asleep as they came in, but she stirred, then Walt carried her to bed. Dora sat between Luke and Tilda on the sofa and when Walt returned, he knelt in front of them.

He gazed first at his wife, their conversation in the shed having been brief. What had taken so much time was the walk they shared afterwards, once Walt was sure the man was resting comfortably. He'd had two decent swallows of whiskey, followed by a cup of water. Again Walt would sleep on the floor in the shed, but he hoped by tomorrow evening he could rest in his own bed.

Dora nodded at him, then grasped his hands. They had stared at the stars, silently wondering from where this man had come, then remarking upon that fact, making the other chuckle. How many years since Walt had felt so connected to this woman, as if they weren't much older than Luke. Part of it was the baby, the other was.... Some strange innocence had been recovered, like his tour overseas and their two miscarriages had never happened. So much had been stolen from them both, for Walt had never dreamed of being drafted and of course Dora hadn't imagined losing.... He wiped tears from her cheeks, then smiled. "Luke, Tilda, you need to help your mama tomorrow. Come straight home from school. Luke, you're in charge of the shed. Tilda, you keep an eye on your sisters." Walt gazed first at his son, then at his eldest daughter. Both children nodded at him.

"I have no idea how long we'll be caring for him, maybe just until he's on his feet, but that might be a week or two. And most important, you keep this to yourselves. I don't want no one snooping around here, especially not Hiram Bellevue." Walt stared at Luke. "He make any kinda fuss, you tell me and I'll take care of it."

"Yes Daddy."

Walt stood, then shook out his shoulders. As he did, the right one ached, then he shuddered. How in the world had that man's body healed itself? Luke had been right in asking if the man's arm was attached; last night Walt had half a mind to take it off, but the man had seemed to sense Walt's intentions, moaning loudly every time Walt reached for it. Walt set that from his head, walking to the stove, pouring himself what was left in the coffee pot. He drank it slowly, watching how Dora clutched their two oldest kids in her arms. She'd said she was feeling okay, but Walt had made her promise that at the first sign of trouble, she would call her mother. Hannah wouldn't go poking around the shed unless she heard something, but Walt was going to give that man more whiskey in the morning. Maybe he would sleep until Luke and Tilda came home. Walt swallowed the last of his coffee, then put the cup in the sink. "All right," he said, "I'll see you in the morning."

Tilda and Luke got off the sofa, going to where Walt stood, hugging him tightly. "You two go to bed now, school tomorrow."

"Yes Daddy. I love you Daddy. Goodnight Daddy." The kids walked to where Dora remained on the sofa, kissing their mother goodnight. Then Luke headed to the back of the house, Tilda on his heels. They went into the room where all four children slept, closing the door behind them. Dora stood from the sofa, then joined where Walt waited.

"If you need something in the middle of the night...." she started.

Walt set a finger to her lips. "I just want you to sleep. Too much commotion, and you need your rest."

Then he set his hand to the small swell of her belly. His heart raced, for the other issue they had discussed was how much each wanted a son. But Walt didn't speak to that now. Perhaps their words had been reckless; another six weeks remained until they were out of the woods. Yet Walt felt strangely optimistic. "I love you," he said tenderly. "I'll see you before I leave."

She nodded, then kissed him. Dora pulled away first, but she walked him to the front door. He stepped onto the porch, their gazes not parting until he reached the steps. Right before he passed the side of the house, again Walt met her eyes. How he could see her staring back at him he wasn't sure, for the light was behind her. Yet he knew she was, and that knowledge warmed his heart and lightened his steps as he reached the shed, where for whatever reason that strange man still lay, taking one ragged breath after another.

In another state to the west, a different man was having trouble breathing; Ritchie Nolan was trapped behind the wheel of his car on the road halfway between his parents' home and where his wife and children resided. The car had flipped upside down, but had resettled on its tires, yet the steering wheel was pressed firmly against Ritchie's chest. Blood ran down his face, his hands trembled, but trying to draw air into his lungs was the hard part. Ritchie had been arguing with his father, who had called him a no-account drunkard. After what they had lost on Friday, Gene had hollered, what did Ritchie think his own life was about? Ritchie tried to focus on breathing, but his chest ached terribly, his mother's wounded cries resounding in his head, echoing with the faint memory of his wife's similar tears: you're gonna kill yourself, Brenda had wailed. Now it seemed his estranged spouse might be correct.

If he did die, Ritchie hoped Brenda would forgive him. He also prayed that his folks wouldn't blame themselves, for he had ripped the car keys out of his father's hand, then staggered to his ancient sedan, peeling out of his parents' driveway like the devil was on his tail. Yet, that was the truth, Ritchie smiled at himself, although he coughed, then tasted blood. He spat that out, then tried inhaling through his nose. Perhaps this was for the best; Brenda wouldn't have to live with the stigma of divorce, neither would his parents. All nine of his children would never again feel the shame of his drunken behavior, and maybe this would keep them sober. Maybe Tommy would quit, Ritchie hoped, taking as deep of a breath as he could. He closed his eyes, feeling weary. He was an alcoholic and better for him to die now than cause his loved ones more pain.

He didn't hear the siren approach, little oxygen reaching his faltering lungs. As sleep beckoned, Ritchie's last thought was that Renee's little girl wouldn't remember him. Her hair was so red, just like his sister's. But that child, her name having slipped from his mind, would carry no memory of an uncle that spent his last moments considering her. How ironic was that, Ritchie mused, again straining for air. How ironic was this life indeed.

It took several rings for Marek to hear the telephone, but as he reached the kitchen, the ringing stopped. He prayed it was Laurie and that Eric had returned. Or maybe it was Klaudia, just needing to hear his voice. Marek shivered, for the hallway was cool and he only wore pajamas. Then the phone rang again and he picked it up immediately. "Hello?"

"Marek, it's Laurie. Sam just called; Renee's brother was in a car crash tonight."

"Oh my goodness, is he all right?" Marek knew that two of Renee's older brothers were drinkers, and that one had been living with her parents. "Do you know his name?"

"That's the main reason I'm calling. Sam asked for specific prayers, it doesn't look good." Laurie relayed the details and Marek made mental notes. Then Laurie sighed. "Also I have a favor to ask. Can I drop Jane off with you tomorrow? Lynne wasn't feeling well tonight and she's gonna call her doctor in the morning."

"Of course." Marek gripped the receiver. "Laurie, if you need to take Lynne to the hospital...."

"No, I think she just wants to, you know...." Laurie cleared his throat. "Have someone tell her it's okay, I mean, the baby's moving around, it's not that."

"I understand. Bring Jane over whenever Lynne can get an appointment. And if you hear back from Sam tonight, do let me know."

"Thanks. He said he'd only call...." Laurie paused, then continued. "If Ritchie didn't make it, which unfortunately seemed to be Sam's understanding."

"I see. Well, I'll wait to hear from you, and my prayers are with us all. Give Lynne my love."

"I'll do that and we'll see you in a few hours." Laurie had another sigh. "Speak to you soon."

"Yes, goodbye." Marek hung up the phone, then glanced at the clock, which read three fifteen. He had gone to bed somewhat early, exhausted from all that weekend had wrought. Yet, now another crisis had emerged. Marek gazed at his coffeepot, then again at the clock. Perhaps just a cup of tea, he considered, not feeling sleepy, yet fatigue lingered. He filled the kettle, set it on the burner, then lit the flame. Then he prayed, wondering what one more death might accomplish. As that thought left his mind, he shuddered. The kettle whistled and he fixed his tea. Another long day loomed in front of him.

Walt Richardson spent Tuesday morning making subtle inquiries, but no one was aware of a man left for dead along the shore of Caddo Lake. It seemed an odd subject when only yesterday the nation's president had been laid to rest. Walt went home for lunch, which raised no eyebrows, and to his relief the man was still sleeping and Dora seemed better. Walt checked the man's right side, but it appeared as it had last night, bones and muscles intact, if not askew. Walt and Dora discussed if they should notify the doctor, but Walt still wasn't certain if maybe Luke could be blamed for the man's injuries. Walt assumed that Hiram had shot more than only a hawk, but probably not on purpose. Yet, the man had been stark naked when Walt found him, and feathers had been stuck to him. If Walt had time, he would stop at the lake on his way home to examine the ground where that man had laid. But Walt didn't relate any of this to Dora. If she felt up to checking on him, Walt didn't mind, but if he kept quiet, then Luke could look after him when he got home from school.

As Walt returned to work, Lynne was ushered into Dr. Salter's office. Lynne excused her presence due to emotional weariness, but the doctor didn't scold, taking Lynne's blood pressure, which was normal, then listening to the baby's heartbeat, also fine. The doctor gently inquired about Mr. Snyder, which brought Lynne to tears. Eleanor Salters had heard stories that the painter had abandoned his family, but having witnessed that man at Lynne's side during Jane's arrival, the doctor discounted the rumors. The women discussed where Lynne wanted to give birth, which was still at the Snyder home. Renee and her sister-in-law would be present, not to mention those supporting from downstairs. Dr. Salters asked if there might be custard again, to which Lynne nodded, adding a brief chuckle. The doctor wished Lynne a happy Thanksgiving, then told her to make an appointment for right before Christmas. Lynne shook her doctor's hand, then went to the lobby where Laurie waited. After making the appointment, Lynne led Laurie to the car, where they debated upon where to go next. Ritchie was still alive the last they had heard, right as they were leaving to drop off Jane. Laurie felt Lynne should rest, but Lynne asked if he minded taking her to the hospital. "I just wanna see Renee," Lynne said softly.

Twenty minutes later, Laurie escorted Lynne into the same hospital lobby where she and Jane had sat when Fran lost the twins. This time the waiting area was packed with Nolan relatives, and Lynne wasn't familiar with any of them. Many were young, maybe the offspring of Renee's siblings, Laurie whispered. Their parents were probably upstairs, closer to Ritchie's room. Laurie went to the front desk, inquiring about Renee's brother. Then he stepped toward Lynne, who waited near the elevator. "Well?" she asked.

"He's in intensive care, that explains everyone down here. I told her you were Renee's sister and she said we could go upstairs. If Renee's not there, I'll just find a pay phone and call Sam."

Lynne nodded, appreciating Laurie's acumen. Eric would have been just as astute, but Lynne barely had enough working brain cells to know her name. "All I wanna do is see Renee."

"Me too." Laurie smiled, squeezing Lynne's hand. "Then we'll go get Jane and take you two home."

"Or maybe stop and see Sam," Lynne added as Laurie hit the button for the elevator. Then she sighed, tapping her foot.

"What?" Laurie asked.

Lynne gazed at those gathered in lobby; were any of them Ritchie's children? Then she stared at Laurie. "I know this might sound silly, but when we get home, I'm gonna call Stanford. He needs to know about this and...."

Laurie smiled wanly, then led Lynne into the elevator. As the doors closed, he spoke. "Honey, he's not gonna care about Renee's brother."

"No, but he needs to know that in the blink of an eye life changes, lives end. Oh Laurie, you shouldn't be here holding my hand. You should be in New York, getting ready to celebrate...."

"You hush." Laurie smiled, then kissed Lynne's cheek. "I'm right where I'm supposed to be and we'll think about Stan later." The doors opened and Laurie gripped Lynne's hand, then patted it, gazing at her. "Let's go find us a carrot top."

As they followed the signs for Intensive Care, a few redheads passed them, men and women in their age group. Lynne had met most of Sam's siblings, but Eric had sketched the Nolan clans either at their homes or at Sam and Renee's house. People looked familiar, but Lynne couldn't put a name to a face. Then she stopped Laurie as they passed the restrooms. "I'll be right back," Lynne said.

"I'll be right here." Laurie released her hand, then shoved his in his coat pocket.

When Lynne emerged from the ladies' room, Laurie was speaking to an older fellow, then they were joined by a woman who looked like Renee. Laurie turned, then waved Lynne in their direction.

Laurie made the introductions; Renee's father Gene was pleased to finally meet Mrs. Snyder, while Renee's older sister Sandra smiled, then excused herself. Lynne didn't speak as Laurie carried their side of the conversation. Gene was grateful for their prayers, but they had just missed Renee. And as for Ritchie....

"It's touch and go," Gene sighed, then coughed loudly. "Doctors can't tell us much more than to wait. Renee said the same when she got here, but I sure appreciate your coming over. Marie's with him now and I'll tell her you stopped by."

Lynne nodded, but her heart felt stuck in her throat. During her career, how many times had she been approached by anxious family members, but often there was little concrete news to give. She wanted to speak, but if she did, tears would accompany. Gene seemed to sense that, for he smiled, grasping her hand. Then he let her go. "You take care now Mrs. Snyder. Renee will be in touch when there's something to share."

"Thank you sir," Laurie said. "Let's go Lynne."

She nodded as Laurie shook Gene's hand. Then Laurie put his arm around Lynne and they turned around, heading back the way they came.

By the time Lynne and Laurie collected Jane from St. Matthew's, Luke and Tilda were nearly home from school. They had run most of the way, then paused to catch their breaths, then sprinted as if making it a race. But only Luke would get to see that man, although Luke knew Tilda was tired of hearing about him second hand. Maybe if he was better by the end of the day, Luke could ask their father if Tilda could have a peek at him.

They reached their driveway at the same time, but Luke hadn't been trying hard to beat his sister. Now the thought of that man's care falling on Luke's shoulders was somewhat daunting. He let Tilda reach the house first, where their mother waited. Luke ran, seeing how she held Tilda's hand, Gail in her grasp. "Where's Esther?" Luke asked, once he was to the porch steps.

"Grandma's looking after her," Dora said. "She was asking too many questions."

Right before Luke took a step, he looked to the side of the house. "How is he?"

"Been sleeping all day. Your daddy checked on him at lunch, he was okay then. But he'll probably need some water now, and I made chicken soup. If he's awake and wants something to eat, you can try that."

Luke nodded, but trembled inwardly. The prospect of trying to feed that man was scary, but as Tilda stared his way, Luke straightened his shoulders, hoping she couldn't detect his fear. "Yes Mama. I'll go check on him now."

"Thank you Luke. Tilda, you take Gail. I'll be laying down if you kids need something."

"Uh-huh." Luke took a deep breath, then left his books on the porch. Tilda held their youngest sister, who pointed to the side of the house. Luke nodded as if Gail was prodding him. "I'm going, I'm going," he said.

"You wanna trade?" Tilda asked, a spark in her tone.

"No, I don't wanna trade." Luke stuck out his tongue, then headed for the shed.

The day had been cool, similar to the mood on the playground. All that everyone wanted to talk about was how Jack Ruby had shot Lee Harvey Oswald, or maybe that was what the boys discussed. If Luke had a minute, he'd ask Tilda what she talked about with the girls. Luke had stayed away from Hiram, but then Hiram seemed to feel the same. No one asked about his black eye, which Tilda had said looked a little improved from Sunday. It had looked ugly to Luke; maybe Hiram's father had beaten him on Friday, then Luke shivered. He could hear the man moving about, hopefully he would just go back to sleep after a drink of water.

Carefully Luke opened the door. "Hey mister, it's me, Luke Richardson. Daddy's still at work, but he told me to check on you." Luke didn't need to turn on the light, for a dirty window near where the man rested provided enough illumination. And now Luke could see more than blonde hair; the man's eyes were open, and they were gray. His jaw was sharp, his cheekbones protruding. The right side of his upper body was concealed by a blanket, but his left shoulder was bare, his skin almost yellow in appearance. "Hey mister, you thirsty, or maybe you're hungry. Mama made chicken soup and...."

The man had been nodding, then shook his head slowly. Luke wasn't sure what that meant. "So are you thirsty or...."

He nodded again and Luke brought over a cup of water. The man couldn't sit up, so Luke dribbled the water onto his lips. "Listen mister, I gotta get you upright." Luke breathed through his nose, for the man smelled terrible. Using all of his strength, Luke sat the man forward just enough to then put the cup to his mouth. The man drained the glass, then sighed, but to Luke it sounded like a squawk. Luke set the cup on a little table near the head of the bed. Then Luke eased the man back into a horizontal position. Luke wanted to study him, but the stench was overwhelming. "You need a bath mister, my goodness."

The man nodded, a small grin on his face.

Now Luke smiled. "Can you talk mister? What's your name?"

The man shook his head, then he let out a little moan, which again to Luke sounded like a bird's cry. "Goodness mister, you're in a world a'hurt." Luke peered toward the man's right shoulder; the blanket had fallen down when Luke sat him forward. Walt had bandaged the injury, but blood had seeped through the gauze. Still, it looked as if one day the man might be able to use his arm, although Luke still found that damage puzzling. Then he sighed. Everything about this man was strange. "Mister...." Then Luke sighed. "I don't like just calling you mister, that's not mannerly. I'll say some names and you nod if I guess yours. Is it...." Luke rattled off all the names of his classmates, excluding Hiram's. The man slowly shook his head for each one.

"Well that's all the names I can think of right now." Luke stood. "I'll be back in a minute."

The man nodded, then closed his eyes. As soon as Luke stepped from the shed, leaving the door open, he took several deep breaths. How had his father slept in there last night, Luke wondered, for the smell was dreadful. Luke walked to the house, but just as he went to open the door, Tilda waved him away. "Don't you come in here smelling like that."

"It's not my fault," Luke sighed. "It's worse in the shed."

Tilda scowled. "You tell me what you want and I'll put it on the first step. You get any closer and I'm gonna vomit."

Luke rolled his eyes. "Well, all I want is to tell you and Mama that he doesn't want no soup. He can't talk neither. He can nod though. I asked what his name is, but he couldn't tell me."

"Well, if he can't talk, how's he supposed to tell you his name?"

"I said some names and he shook his head at all of them, that's how."

"Oh," Tilda said, tapping her foot. "Well, it was a good idea."

"Thanks." Luke sighed, then sat on the bottom step. "How's Mama?"

"She's resting. Luke, she's not acting right, I mean...." Tilda stepped from the house, holding Gail's hand. They sat on the first step, then Tilda wrinkled her nose. "My goodness you stink."

"Tilda...."

Gail giggled, pointing at Luke. "You 'tink," she said.

"All right, all right." Luke stood, then sat five feet away, pulling his knees to his chest. He could see the shed, and if he squinted, he could just make out that someone was lying on the bed. Then he gazed at Tilda, who looked like she still had something to say. "What?" he asked.

"Something's wrong with Mama. She was sick a lot just now."

"Well, she had to take care of him and he doesn't smell good, or so you say."

"Maybe," Tilda shrugged. "I'm gonna ask Daddy if she needs the doctor."

Luke shook his head. "If Daddy brings the doctor out, he might hear him." Luke pointed toward the back of the house.

"Daddy can take Mama to the doctor, you know."

"It's none of your business Tilda." Luke peered at the shed; he felt very proprietary about the man, as well as his mother. Then Luke went to his feet. "Take Gail inside. Oh, and bring me some soup. If he doesn't want any, I'll eat it."

"What kinda man doesn't like chicken soup?" Tilda asked, again grasping Gail's hand.

"Dunno, but I like it just fine."

Tilda clucked, leading her sister into the house. Luke waited until Tilda returned, but she waved him back. "Don't you get any closer than that. Gonna make Mama really sick if she smells you."

Luke grumbled, then picked up the bowl. Carrying it with two hands, Luke slowly walked back to the shed, then cleared his throat. "Hey mister, I'm back. I left the door open, some fresh air might suit you. I know it suits me." Luke said that quietly, then entered the shed. He put the bowl on the main table, then stirred the soup with the spoon. Luke approached the bed, seeing the man's eyes were open. "You sure you don't want some chicken soup?"

The man shook his head, closing his eyes.

"Okay, well, more water?"

Again the man shook his head, but he opened his eyes, staring right at Luke.

"Do I know you mister, you sure seem familiar. Don't know how though, hmmm." Luke crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm gonna call you Mr. Doe. Mrs. Thompson, she's my teacher, she was reading us this story about a man who didn't know his name, and everybody called him John Doe. So until you can tell me your name, will that be okay?"

The man nodded, but Luke saw something was troubling him. "Mr. Doe, do you know your name?"

Now the man's lip trembled and tears fell from his eyes. Again he shook his head, then he tried to speak, but only managed some bird-like squawks. Luke pulled up the low stool, then sat beside the man, grasping his left hand. Luke squeezed gently and the man reciprocated. "It's okay Mr. Doe. We'll take care of you until you know your name. You're not going anywhere anyway, not with that bad shoulder. Just about lost your right arm, Mr. Doe, but God healed it, can you believe that? Don't worry Mr. Doe, it's gonna be okay."

The man continued to weep as Luke offered more soft squeezes. Then Luke looked to where Tilda and Gail stood not ten feet from the shed's open door. Tilda was wiping her eyes while Gail squirmed beside her. Luke nodded at his sisters, then motioned for them to leave. Mr. Doe didn't need two girls invading his privacy, Luke thought, even if he had no idea who he was.
Chapter 163

Leaving work early, Walt stopped at the lake, finding no trace of a hawk other than feathers. He could smell blood, which didn't surprise him, for that man's wounds had been severe. Walt didn't ponder the nature of the man's odd healing; perhaps he hadn't been as badly injured as Walt had first thought. By the time he reached home, all he considered was sleeping in his own bed and making love to Dora if she felt better.

He had thought about her for much of the afternoon, all the talk about Kennedy spurring Walt's considerations. As welding sparks flew, slivers of remorse had pierced Walt, for when he stopped to inspect his work, voices spoke about what a good man they had lost, his poor wife, and those fatherless children. Never mind that half of those men had previously berated Kennedy for this or that action; now all of them tripped over themselves to praise the damn papist as if The Second Coming had been in the guise of a Catholic president. Walt had kept his mouth shut, again hoping all this uproar wouldn't cause Dora to lose the baby, then feeling guilty for not realizing more sorrow. But he hated Catholics, and with that injured man to tend to, Walt had his own burden to carry.

Parking his truck, he had come to the conclusion that Luke and Hiram couldn't have shot that man. Hiram probably had a .22 rifle, more powerful than the BB gun Luke sometimes used, but nowhere close to whatever shotgun had nearly torn off the man's right arm. Walt stared at his house, lit now that dusk was falling, then he shivered. The man's arm had been hanging from what barely resembled a socket; Walt could have severed it with no more than his pocketknife. But the man had gripped it with his left hand, although Walt had no idea how, for Walt hadn't spoken, but the man seemed to have understood Walt's intentions. Then that arm was firmly, if not poorly, attached, like a surgeon had come to their house in the middle of the night, sewing that man back together. At lunchtime, Walt had again glanced at that ghostly handiwork, but a more thorough inspection was necessary, if nothing else to give Walt peace of mind. He'd seen plenty of carnage, but had never witnessed a spontaneous healing.

He looked up, finding Luke coming from the back of the house, Tilda and Esther standing on the porch. Esther pointed at her brother, waving him off. Tilda did the same, and Luke crossed his arms, then all the children gazed toward Walt's truck. Luke came running and Walt got out of the pick-up. "Daddy, oh Daddy, I'm glad you're home!"

Luke stopped ten feet from where Walt stood. "What happened?" Walt said, wondering why his son didn't come any closer.

"Mr. Doe's awake, but he can't talk. And he needs a bath."

Walt nodded, relieved but curious. "How long's he been awake? And why're you calling him Mr. Doe?"

As Luke answered the first of his father's questions, he maintained the ten foot distance until Walt stopped in the middle of the front yard. "Luke, c'mere."

Luke gave his father a cautious stare. "No Daddy, I don't smell good."

Before Luke could move, Walt stepped right beside him, taking a deep breath. "You don't smell that bad."

Luke's eyes went wide, then he pointed to his sisters, still on the front porch. "Daddy, can't you smell it?"

"Well, you need a bath, but...." Walt gazed at the girls, who were snickering. "What?" he called to them.

"Daddy, Luke stinks! So does that man." Tilda crossed her arms over her chest, then Esther copied her sister.

"I didn't smell nothing that bad at lunchtime." Had the man soiled himself, Walt wondered. He pulled Luke away from where the girls could hear. "Did that man have an accident?"

"I don't think so. It's not that kinda smell. He's just really dirty and...."

"What?"

"He smells like blood. Mama can't get near him, it's that bad."

Inwardly Walt trembled. Patting Luke's shoulder, he motioned toward the shed. "Let's go check on him. Girls," he called, "tell your mama I'm home, and that we might be out here a while."

"You gonna give him a bath?" Tilda asked.

"Maybe," Walt said, leading Luke around the side of the house.

It took Walt a minute to finally notice what everyone else could smell within seconds. Even the man, who Luke referred to as Mr. Doe, seemed aware, but like Walt, the scent didn't make him ill. Walt wondered if this man, who seemed about Walt's age, had been in Korea, for that was all Walt could think about once he remembered the odor's origin. It was of men living for weeks on end without bathing, surrounded by death. The blankets the man was using would have to be burned, Walt realized, and the pallet was probably beyond use too. Not that Walt felt he'd be sleeping out here anytime soon; he hadn't had a nightmare since Dora told she was expecting. But what would this man, or Mr. Doe, as Luke kept calling him, sleep on that night after Walt gave him a sponge bath?

Dora might have a few spare blankets, but now that Gail was out of the crib, sleeping next to Esther, no extra bedding remained. Tilda and Luke had their own twin mattresses, and Walt sighed; he would have to add onto the house in the new year, no way to cram one more child in that space. Besides, Luke was getting too old to be sharing a room with three girls. If the next baby was a boy, they could have a room together and....

"Daddy, where's he gonna sleep tonight?" Luke's voice was a whisper, but as Walt gazed at his son, he felt other eyes on him. He stared at the man, who nodded, then shook his head.

"I mean," Luke continued, "if we give him a bath, he can't sleep on this bed no more. He'll smell just the same in the morning."

Walt nodded absently, then knelt beside the man, finding the bandages were damp, but the blood wasn't fresh. "I don't wanna move you more than I hafta. Gonna need to clean this up anyways, probably call the doctor too, smells a little nasty."

"Do you smell something different Daddy?"

"Yeah Luke I do." Walt stood, then scanned the room. Nothing resembling a mattress caught his eye, then he smiled briefly. "Luke, you stay here with Mr. Doe. I'm gonna see if Mr. Bolden has any spare beds."

"Okay." Luke sighed, then looked at the man. "Mr. Doe, you mind if I sit near the door?"

The man shook his head, a small smile on his face. Walt chuckled to himself, for now that he recognized the scent, it wasn't pleasant. He disallowed the memories, concentrating on Luke's displeasure. And that the man felt well enough to understand the joke. "I'll tell your mother where I'm going, might take a while." Then Walt gazed at the man. "You hungry?"

The man shook his head as Luke spoke. "He didn't want no chicken soup, doesn't seem to like it. Daddy, am I gonna have to take a bath tonight too?"

Walt nodded, but kept his gaze on the man, who seemed to have made a vast improvement in only two days. That he couldn't talk didn't trouble Walt, but other notions were puzzling. "Yeah Luke, we both will." Then Walt faced his son. "The women won't let us inside unless we hose off out here first."

"That's what I figured." Luke sighed, then sat cross legged beside the open door. "Well, ask Tilda if she can bring out some soup. Sorry Mr. Doe. Maybe you don't like it, but I'm starving."

"I'll do that. Actually, Luke, you follow me." Walt gently patted the man's left shoulder. "I'll be back soon," Walt said to him, then he headed for the door, Luke on his heels. As they reached the front of the house, Walt pulled his son aside. "Why do you call him Mr. Doe?"

"He doesn't know his name, I don't think he knows who he is." Luke explained the one-sided conversation from earlier, making Walt shudder. But it was dark out, and Luke hadn't noticed his father's reservations, for he kept speaking, that Mr. Doe had fallen asleep after Luke ate the first bowl of soup, and that he had only stirred right when Walt had gotten home. "He seems a lot better after he naps," Luke added. "Maybe once he gets a bath, he'll sleep real good, then tomorrow he'll know his name."

"We'll see." Walt looked up, finding Dora standing on the porch. "How're you feeling?"

"Better," she smiled. "But you two aren't coming in till after you...."

"We know," Walt chuckled. "But first, that man needs a new bed."

"Mr. Doe, Daddy," Luke gently corrected.

"Where you gonna get a bed from?" Dora asked.

"Gonna go see Callie." Walt cleared his throat. "In the meantime, Luke needs some supper, just put a bowl out here for him."

As Luke backed away from the porch, Dora nodded. "But what about him, isn't he hungry?"

"Doesn't seem to be. I'll take care of him, you just...." Walt ached to hold her, but that wouldn't be for hours, and only unless she felt the same. He sighed, then gazed at the starry sky. "Gonna be a long night. Better be on my way."

Dora nodded, edging her way to the end of the porch. "Be safe," she said softly.

"I will. Luke, eat your supper and keep, uh, Mr. Doe company."

"Yes sir."

Walt inhaled, only detecting a hint of that odor. He wondered if Callie would smell it, he probably would. Both men had served in Korea, although not in the same units. If Callie Bolden asked, Walt wasn't sure what he might say. Callie would be neighborly and discreet. Right now, discretion was nearly as important to Walt as any kindness Callie might offer.

Walt returned with several ragged blankets, but they were clean, what Dora acknowledged with thankfulness in her voice, standing inside the house, the screen door separating her from Walt, who placed the makeshift bedding on the porch. "He say anything to you?" she asked her husband.

"Only talked about the weather and Thanksgiving." Walt smiled. "Said Susie would bring us a pie tomorrow."

Dora shook her head. "I got nothing to give her."

"He said don't worry about it, I think we're ahead of them anyways." Walt looked toward the shed. "Did Luke eat?"

"Two bowls," Dora smiled. "You hungry?"

"Just leave me some bread. Gotta get him cleaned up first."

"Walt...." Dora sighed. "Luke says his shoulder's, that it's...."

"I know. Don't understand it, but I ain't gonna question it neither. Just leave some bread on the corner, I'll send Luke for it."

She nodded, then watched as he slipped around the side of the house. Then Dora stepped onto the porch, but that smell lingered. She wondered how Walt hadn't noticed it yesterday, although she knew why. Yet, it had been so bad.... Dora collected the stack of blankets, not wanting them to pick up any trace of that foul odor. She inhaled them; they smelled like the Boldens, warm and friendly. Then Dora smiled, thinking of Susie's good sweet potato pie, and how that woman wouldn't ask a single question about why the Richardsons needed what amounted to practically a new bed. When Walt got paid next, Dora would buy some fabric and start a quilt for the Boldens, maybe setting aside scraps for a baby blanket. Then Dora shook her head, too soon to be thinking such thoughts. She left the stack on the far side of the porch, then went inside, slicing off a hunk of bread for her husband. As she took it out, Luke approached. He grinned at her, but stayed back. "Daddy got the man to his feet," Luke said. "Hope he doesn't mind a cold bath though."

"You neither," Dora smiled.

"Yeah, I know." Luke shrugged, then moved toward the porch. "Hope I don't smell like this tomorrow. Nobody will play with me."

"Don't worry 'bout that. Take that to your father. Maybe the man will have some."

"I told Mr. Doe I was going for some bread, he looked interested."

As Luke picked up the bread, Dora breathed through her nose, but she still detected that odor. She hid her tears as Luke trotted off, praying that none of this would stir Walt's nightmares. There was no place for him to sleep them off now, what with that man in the spare bed. Mr. Doe, she thought, stepping into the house, no longer smelling anything but chicken soup and her own home.

Luke didn't fall asleep until well past his usual bedtime, his sisters all snoring loudly. Those sounds didn't hamper Luke's slumber, for he was weary, also clean. So was Mr. Doe, he thought, as unconsciousness fell over him like a warm blanket. Luke dreamed of that strange man who couldn't talk, but by evening's end no longer smelled worse than a dead skunk.

Walt came to bed smelling of rubbing alcohol, but that was better than other things, Dora considered, as her husband pulled the comforter over their naked bodies. They made love, then he held her as she wept, for she had missed him, and had spent the evening thinking of melancholy events within their marriage. Her miscarriages were top of that list, followed by his spells of insomnia, always triggered by his nightmares. His tour in Korea had left no visible injuries, but his days as a sniper would haunt Walt until he died. Dora stroked his face, wondering if there was some way he could release that weight. Maybe caring for this man might ease his conscience, as he started falling asleep within her arms. His hand rested on their baby, and she didn't move from his touch. The only time he was soothed from those terrible dreams was during her pregnancies, not that she was again carrying a child simply to ease his mind. But it seemed more than a coincidence that when she was pregnant, he was calm, or more calm than usual. Maybe something about making a baby erased all the killing he had done over there.

Out in the shed, the man had started thinking of himself as Mr. Doe; he'd appreciated Luke's intellect for bestowing that name. But try as he might, the man had no idea of who he was, how he had gotten there, and why he was so injured. Although, he sighed, at least his arm was still attached. He couldn't feel anything along his right shoulder, but as Walt had pointed out while redressing that area, at least he had a shoulder now. The man took Walt's word for it, yet a memory lingered, that of his arm dangling loosely along his body as if one false move would sever it for good.

Now having been bathed and with a little food in his stomach, the man tried to remember what had happened; all he recalled was being watched, then wounded. But who had shot him and why? He was in Texas, Luke had told him during the afternoon, although it meant nothing; it was as if the man's entire history had been wiped from his brain. Yet, a few items had caught his attention; the thought of chicken soup made him nauseous, although the bread had been delicious. He couldn't talk, for he had tried when alone, and the only noises to escape his lips were animalistic. He had stood only when Walt supported him, otherwise he was extremely weak, but that was most likely from having been shot. The man glanced at his heavily strapped right shoulder, which now sloped awkwardly, through no fault of Walt. That man possessed a rudimentary knowledge of medical skills, yet no doctor had been called. The man wondered if that was due to suspicion on the part of the Richardsons; maybe fearing they were harboring a criminal, it was better to do what they could. The man also appreciated their wariness; maybe he was an escaped convict, a murderer even. That would explain his amnesia, he sighed to himself. Yet, within his heart, the man didn't think he was evil, only unlucky. Or perhaps blessed to have been found before he'd bled to death. Walt had mentioned that after Luke went inside for the night. Walt had spoken bluntly, that if they hadn't found him when they did, he wouldn't have survived. But Walt's voice carried a hint of astonishment, for after clearing his throat he noted how quickly healing was progressing. For now, the man would take Walt's word for it; he could just wiggle his fingers, but beyond that the arm was useless. Maybe in the morning, he yawned, a little more healing would have occurred. Luke's last words to him had been to sleep good. As the man closed his eyes, he prayed to do that, and tomorrow to at least remember his name.
Chapter 164

On Wednesday morning, Renee woke to Ann again asleep in the middle of the bed. Then Renee recalled how just hours ago, Ann had stood next to Renee, calling for her mama. While half conscious, Renee had lifted Ann onto the mattress, then quickly fallen back to sleep. Maybe Ann's presence had stirred Renee from a bad dream, plenty of reasons for fretful rest, she mused, staring at Ann and Sam, both still with eyes closed. Renee blinked away tears, then rose from bed, careful not to disturb them as she grabbed her robe, then put on her slippers. That morning she wouldn't rejoin them. Her rosary waited on the coffee table where she had left it last night. Ritchie was still among them, no one had called to tell Renee otherwise, and her prayers were necessary to keep him alive.

After using the bathroom, Renee headed to the living room, finding her rosary lying next to Sam's. They had sat out here until late, offering their supplications not only for Renee's brother, but also Brenda, the couple's children, the rest of the Nolan clan, and for the Snyders. Renee had spoken to Lynne yesterday afternoon, hearing how fragile Lynne sounded. Yet other than prayer, there was little Renee could do, not that Lynne had sought more than Renee's appeals on Eric's behalf. Lynne knew what Renee's priorities were and as Renee collected her beads from the table, she immediately laid those concerns at Jesus' feet. Grasping the beads, she ran her fingers over them, mentally preparing herself for whatever the day brought. She hoped it was closure for Lynne in the guise of Eric's return. And as for the Nolan family.... Renee inhaled deeply, uncertain what would be best for Brenda, Marie, Gene, and the rest. Ritchie had serious internal organ damage, as well as a badly broken left leg and hip. Several broken ribs would take ages to heal, if Ritchie managed to pull through. Renee's nursing instincts told her that this patient might be better off dead, but that information was tainted by her knowledge of his drinking. What Renee had often feared had come true, but thankfully no one else had been harmed in the crash.

Renee tried to pray, but couldn't concentrate; Brenda had seemed disconsolate yesterday when Renee saw her in the hospital. Only Renee and Sam realized it was the same one that Frannie had been in over a year ago, although Renee was sure Lynne had considered that when she and Laurie had stopped there right after Renee left. Renee had been touched by Lynne's thoughtfulness, for her father had mentioned it to her when she returned to see her brother. Ritchie had looked so helpless, a tube taped to his mouth, for he couldn't yet breathe on his own. Renee had held his hand, offering gentle squeezes, wondering if he was aware of any of them. Brenda had sat on Ritchie's other side, which had surprised Renee for how just days ago Brenda had strongly spoken about an impending divorce. But in that room, Brenda looked as if an alternate reality beckoned. If Ritchie survived, did Brenda think he'd stop drinking? He would leave the hospital sober, but Renee didn't expect that would last longer than it took him to realize a long rehabilitation loomed. Renee wanted to be optimistic, but her knowledge highlighted the stumbling blocks in Ritchie's way.

Yet, why had this occurred? She gazed at beads she'd had for years, a gift from Sam when he came home from his own stint in rehab. Renee had always assumed Ted had chosen this rosary on his brother's behalf, for Sam had been in the hospital all that time. The beads were periwinkle blue; sometimes Sam said they matched her eyes. She smiled, then wondered if that was sacrilegious. Then she closed her eyes, thinking of how great was her parents' sorrow, as though they had allowed this accident to happen.

Marie had gripped her beads all morning, then again that afternoon when Renee returned. Sam had accompanied Renee, but they had left the children with Frannie. Paul and Ann didn't know about the accident; yesterday morning they had been told that Renee was visiting her parents, and in the afternoon Sam had simply said they had errands to run for Thanksgiving. Neither child had complained, for they were happy at the Canfields, and the Aherns hadn't been gone long, plenty of others wanting to support Marie and Gene, Brenda and the kids. When Renee and Sam arrived to collect their children, Frannie had hugged Renee tightly, then grasped Renee's hands not merely like a sister-in-law or a woman who had spent time in that same hospital a year ago. Frannie regarded Renee as another mother who might pray with a heart similar to that of Mary.

Tracing her beads, Renee wondered how Mary felt throughout her life with the subtle awareness that her only son was.... Early on she had been told Jesus would be the most high Son of God. But even though Mary was without sin herself, she was also that man's mother, loving him with her beautiful, willing heart, then watching him die so painfully. Tears fell from Renee's eyes onto her beads as she considered her own mother and Frannie. Then Renee gazed toward where her husband and children still slept. This newfound vulnerability was another facet of parenthood; had Lynne ever felt it, Renee wondered. Of course Lynne knew it as a wife regarding Eric, but Jane's life had never been threatened. Renee went to her knees and the first supplications she made were for herself and her best friend, that while their husbands had been in perilous circumstances, may their children be spared such harm. And for them to accept God's will no matter what it might be.

Renee spent much of that morning at her brother's side or comforting those in the waiting areas. She also pondered how to tell Paul and Ann what had happened; Sam had taken Paul to school, then planned to do the last-minute grocery shopping with Ann in tow. When Renee returned for lunch, she and Sam would share this situation with their children. Not that either child knew Ritchie very well; they had only met him once. But if he pulled through, Renee would spend some of her time assisting in his recovery. She didn't want her children to revisit what was still fresh in their minds, but with the Canfield kids already aware, there was no way to shield Ann and Paul from this truth.

Maybe they would take it as well as they had the station wagon, or Paul would again quickly forget the significance. If the children were older, they might understand the reason their uncle had crashed his car. Renee wasn't going to explain Ritchie's drinking problem, perhaps the basic truth would be best; he had gotten into an accident, was under doctor's care. Renee would exclude the what if's until absolutely necessary.

Driving home, she wasn't sure if she would go back later that day. Sam would probably appreciate a break, even if it was just to double-check their kitchen cupboards. When Renee arrived, Lynne's car was parked in front of the house, making Renee smile, then wince. She would be glad for the company, but most likely Eric was still away. Renee parked in the driveway, and as she approached the house, she saw Paul peeking through the curtains, a smile on his face.

He opened the door for her, was wiggling with excitement. "Uncle Laurie's here," he said. "Aunt Lynne and Jane too. Can they stay for supper?"

Renee hugged her son, then kissed the top of his head. "They're coming tomorrow." She glanced at where Lynne sat on the sofa, Laurie beside her. Ann and Jane played with dolls on the floor, then Sam stepped into the room. He looked tired, but his smile lifted Renee's heart.

"Hello," he said, stepping her way. He picked up Paul, then put his other arm around Renee. Usually Sam wasn't that demonstrative, but Renee coveted the affection. "Lunch's about ready," Sam added. "You hungry?"

Renee nodded, then looked at Paul. "What'd Daddy fix?" she asked him.

"Um, sandwiches?" He gazed at Sam, then shrugged. "I dunno, but I'm hungry too."

Renee glanced at Lynne, who blew her a kiss. Then Laurie did the same, making Renee giggle. "Seems you're having a party. Good thing I'm here."

"Yeah, good thing. Mama, where were you? Daddy and Ann walked to school all by themselves."

Paul sounded worried and Renee stroked his cheek. "I'll tell you after lunch. Let's eat, I'm starving."

Paul laughed, then wriggled to be set down. Sam did so, then embraced Renee, whispering in her ear, "I love you."

"I love you too." As they parted, Renee blinked away tears. Sam headed to the kitchen while Renee walked toward the sofa. Laurie went to his feet, giving her a hug. Then he helped Lynne to stand.

Laurie and Renee traded places, and the women simply held each other's hands. Lynne was too large for Renee to embrace properly, and if they had, Renee might truly fall apart. Lynne's eyes were red, also haunted. Renee's brother might be injured, but at least she knew where he was. "How're you feeling?" Renee asked, her voice no more than a squeak.

Lynne tried to smile, but she ended up shaking her head. "How're you?" she asked.

"Okay." Renee gazed at where all three kids now played together, Laurie squatting beside Paul, blocks in their hands. "It's good to see you."

"I needed to get out so Laurie called Sam and...." Lynne placed Renee's hands on the baby. "Starting to feel a little stir crazy, I'll tell you."

"I bet. A few others are like that too." Renee thought of how shaky Tommy had been yesterday, not to mention some of Brenda's relatives, women as well as men looking in need of a drink. "Let's eat, we'll feel better after that."

Lynne nodded, then motioned toward the children. "Do you want us to go afterwards?"

Renee also looked in that direction. Then she met Lynne's gaze. "Actually, do you mind staying? It might be easier with you here."

Lynne wore a small smile. "Of course."

"Good. Oh, but if you wanna go home, I mean...." Renee sighed, not wishing to keep Lynne from her house.

"If he comes home and I'm not there, he'll manage. Maybe that sounds a little selfish of me, but it's not cold out and we left the sunroom doors unlocked. He can make his way inside and fall asleep on the floor if he likes. Right now I need to be around people."

As the baby rolled under Renee's touch, both women nodded. "Well I need to be around you. And you too," Renee said, gently patting Lynne's belly. "Let's go see what culinary feats await us."

"I brought a pie," Lynne said.

Renee stared at her friend. "What about for tomorrow?"

"I'll make more this afternoon, or tomorrow morning. But I woke up feeling so, well, you know." Lynne sighed, then glanced at her daughter. "I felt like I did when Eric was back, but wouldn't see me. Oh, I was so cross with him," she chuckled. "Then I baked and he got better. Maybe that's all I need to do."

"Maybe." Renee quickly offered a prayer on Eric and Lynne's behalf. "Well, if there's pie, I wonder if there's something to go with it."

"I think there is," Laurie said, then he laughed, getting off the floor. "C'mon kids, let's wash up."

Paul and Ann were on their feet, running toward the bathroom. Jane was right behind them as Renee and Lynne headed into the kitchen.

After lunch and dessert were eaten, Sam ushered everyone into the living room. He broke the news gently, but Paul started to cry while Ann trembled in Renee's grasp. Jane began to whimper due to the bleak mood, but Laurie noted that Uncle Ritchie was in a very good hospital; Laurie had been there and had talked with their Grandpa Nolan. And that while there wasn't much they could do but wait, they could pray, and know that their prayers were being heard.

Paul stared at Laurie. "Are you sure about that?"

"You bet. God hears all our prayers."

The little boy went from his father's grasp toward where Laurie sat in a corner chair. "Are you Catholic?" Paul asked Laurie.

Laurie smiled, shaking his head. "No, but I talk to God pretty often and since your uncle's accident, I've been talking to him every day. Actually, since I heard about you and Ann." Laurie placed his hand on the top of Paul's head. "When Lynne told me you were coming to live with Sam and Renee, I prayed for you, because I know it's been a hard few months. I asked God to take care of you, just like I'm asking him to take care of Uncle Ritchie and his family. And while I don't know what's gonna happen, here we are all together, and tomorrow's Thanksgiving, and we'll be together then too. Your daddy is the best chef I know, and believe me in New York there's a lot of good ones." Laurie chuckled. "I can't wait to taste your dad's Thanksgiving turkey."

Paul smiled, then looked back at Sam. "Are we still having Thanksgiving dinner?"

"Of course," Sam said.

"And are Johnny and Brad still coming over?" Paul asked.

"Yup," Sam said. "And Aunt Vivian too."

Paul nodded slowly. Then he gazed at Renee. "What if Uncle Ritchie dies tomorrow?"

Renee sighed softly. "If he does, we'll be with those we love most. I'll go to the hospital to say goodbye to him. But I won't be gone long."

"Can I go with you?" Paul asked.

Renee glanced at Sam, whose eyes were wide in his face. Then she gazed at Laurie, who offered a gentle nod. Renee stood, then walked to where Paul remained near an uncle he knew well. She knelt in front of her son, wiping away his few tears. "Yes Paul, you can say goodbye to Uncle Ritchie."

As Renee spoke, Lynne quietly gasped, but Renee didn't take her eyes from the child who nodded vigorously. Maybe this would be the closure Paul needed, if indeed Ritchie didn't make it. Renee felt a wound was healing as she embraced her son, who gripped her tightly. Laurie joined their hug, then Ann ran toward them, adding her frame. As Jane and Sam became a part of the scrum, Renee could hear Lynne's soft cries. Renee would comfort that woman in due time. For now she consoled a little boy being further knit into this clan.
Chapter 165

As Luke woke, his first thought was he didn't have to go to school that morning. Then he smiled at what smelled like turkey roasting. Then he frowned; Mr. Doe didn't seem to like anything connected with poultry. Good thing there would be a lot of other food for him to eat.

Ten minutes later Luke was dressed, seated at the table, having breakfast as his parents bustled about the kitchen, Walt with a cup of coffee in his hand while Luke's mother stirred something in a big bowl. Baked beans, Luke assumed; would Mr. Doe eat those? He wanted to ask, but his folks wouldn't know any more than Luke did. "Can I go see if Mr. Doe's awake?" Luke asked, his mouth half-full.

Walt turned around, sipped from his cup, then gazed at the clock. "Pretty early still. You let him sleep as long as he can."

Luke nodded. Sleep seemed to work wonders for their guest, although Mr. Doe still couldn't speak, nor did he know who he was. His arm was better, in that the nasty smell from the wound was gone, and while Mr. Doe couldn't move his arm up or down, he could bend his wrist. Walt had decided against calling the doctor, what Luke had overheard his parents speak about last night. Luke understood their hesitation; while they knew he hadn't shot Mr. Doe, they weren't so sure about Hiram. Luke thought they were being kind to Hiram, but then Luke had been there, and nobody had been around. If Hiram had shot Mr. Doe, it had been after they split up from Mr. McKinney's barn. But Hiram would have had to go back for the gun and.... Luke looked up, seeing both of his parents staring at him. "What?" Luke said.

"Go see if he's awake. Until he can make some noise, we'll have to check on him. And if you wake him up, well then we'll see how he's doing."

Walt's tone had been flat and Luke stood, not asking questions. Leaving the house, he was grateful for something to do. He didn't like considering last Friday, but didn't think those memories would fade for a long time.

As Luke headed down the steps, Walt took a deep breath. He exhaled, finished his coffee, setting the cup on the table. Then he embraced his wife. "Not sure what we're gonna do next," he whispered. "Kids aren't gonna keep this quiet much longer."

Dora nodded, gripping Walt tightly. "Thank goodness he was sleeping when Susie brought the pie." Dora released her husband, then glanced at the counter where that pie waited. "You never said if Callie asked you...."

Walt smiled, then caressed her cheek. "He didn't say nothing. Gave me a look, that was about it." Walt sighed. "If he knew who he was, at least we'd have some idea of what to do with him. I checked him out pretty well last night, no bumps on his head. Other than his shoulder, he looked okay, a little jaundiced still...." There was something strange about the man's skin beyond that yellow tint. It felt soft in places, prickly in others. Walt had noticed it when he gave the man the sponge bath, but last night, inspecting that shoulder, the light had been poor. Today, Walt would be home, and he'd give that man a proper once-over, maybe another bath, depending on how the shoulder looked. But there was still the issue of what to do with him. It was as though the man had been abandoned at the lake, no clothes, no possessions, and no memory. Walt had never met someone with amnesia, although a few fellows in Korea had acted like they'd lost all their wits. That was from shell-shock, but what had happened to the man in the Richardsons' shed?

"Daddy, Daddy!" Luke's voice was soft but urgent, his footsteps making the most noise as he entered the house. "Mr. Doe's awake, sitting on the bed!"

Walt ran from the kitchen, sprinted down the front steps, then raced around the house. Reaching the shed, he found the man gripping the side of what constituted a bed with his left hand. His right arm was strapped to his side, but it appeared he was trying to grasp the blankets with his right hand. The men stared at each other; Mr. Doe wore some of Walt's old clothes, although the shirt and trousers were much too big on him. Walt knelt beside him, then steadied the man's trembling right hand. "What'n the world are you doing?" Walt said gently. "Need to take a leak?"

Mr. Doe nodded.

"Luke, bring me that jug." Walt motioned to floor near the foot of the bed. "Musta put it too far for you to reach. Here." Walt handed the jug to the man. "Luke, go tell your mother to make up a plate for Mr. Doe. Just some toast for now."

"Yes sir."

Once Luke was gone, Walt helped the man relieve himself. Walt gazed at the urine; it was still streaked with red, but was mostly yellow. "Looks better than yesterday," Walt said, getting to his feet, putting the jug on the ground. "Gonna hafta figure out some way of communicating until I trust you're not gonna fall on your backside sitting up." Gazing around the shed, Walt saw a small wrench. He brought it to the man. "Ain't too heavy, but if you rap on the seat." Walt placed an old metal chair next to the bed. "Here, you try."

Mr. Doe gave the chair a couple of whaps. The noise resounded within the shed. Walt wondered if Luke and Dora had heard it. "I'll be right back," Walt told the man.

He got as far as the porch when Luke met him. "What was that noise?" Luke said.

"How Mr. Doe's gonna ask for something when he needs it." Walt explained, and Luke smiled. "Toast about ready?"

"Oh, lemme go see." Luke stepped back into the house as Walt waited. The morning was cool but a golden-pink sky to the east glowed. By now Walt would be inside the garage, a helmet over his head protecting him from sparks but shielding him from all else. Rare were the times he enjoyed the sunrise or the sunset. He inhaled deeply, giving thanks for this view and for the woman who stepped onto the porch, a plate of toast in her hand.

"Here," Dora said. "You think he wants any coffee?"

"Doubt it, but I'll ask." Walt smiled at her, then pointed to the horizon. "Pretty, ain't it?"

She peered up, then gripped her upper limbs. "Yeah, it is."

Her tone was glum and Walt joined her on the porch. "Dora, what?"

She met his gaze, tears falling from her eyes. "Go on before it gets cold. I'll send Luke out in a minute, see if he wants some coffee."

Dora stepped back into the house, wiping her face as she did so. Walt didn't worry that her sorrow was connected to the baby. Another notion weighed heavily, but he didn't share her feelings. Gripping the plate, he didn't look at the sunrise again, taking swift steps toward the man in the shed.

From the living room French doors Lynne gazed at a similar sunrise, although it was less pink, more orange-yellow. Her heart ached, although she tried not to think about where Eric might be. Yet her dreams had been full of various moments from their past; when they met, finding this house, watching him paint hawk after hawk. Then her dreams had become awash in color as he created her portraits, from those of her using blue yarn to depicting her as a lush field and coral reef. Finally the dreams had appeared in sepia with faint flashes of brightness; the silk scarves at Christmas after his awful illness, the daffodils when Jane was born, a gold glittering chain that still displayed that cherished opal, tucked safely under her nightgown, further obscured by her robe. When she'd stirred that morning, Lynne had noticed a deep chill, although she was covered by blankets. Her prayers seemed to be falling on deaf ears, although she didn't feel she was alone. God was requesting her faith, but unlike Christmas two years ago, Lynne was having a difficult time giving that trust. She shivered, then laid her hands on the glass panes. "Where are you?" she whispered, tears building in her eyes. She blinked them away, shaking her head at herself. "Why aren't you home yet?"

Taking a deep breath, she placed her hands on the baby, who moved about slowly. Lynne gazed at her belly, the robe tied off above it. Would Eric be here when.... Lynne sighed, then wiped her face. As she turned around, Laurie was coming downstairs, Jane in his arms. Lynne smiled, then approached them. "I didn't hear her."

"She was just babbling." Laurie kissed Jane's cheek, making her laugh. "Happy Thanksgiving," he said.

"The same to you." Lynne sighed, feeling little joy, although she was glad for Laurie's company, and that Jane seemed in a good humor. Lynne turned back to the French doors, wishing to see Eric walking toward the house, or perhaps he was a bird swooping past. She would run from this room, waiting at the edge of the scrub, which now went well past the studio. But something within her knew a different day loomed ahead. "I need to start the pies," she said absently. "Then we can head over to...."

She didn't want to be here on this day, easily recalling the warm camaraderie of last year's gathering, spent only with Eric, Jane, and their pastor. How simple yet complete that had seemed, but now Lynne wished for others. She faced Laurie, wondering how he felt, far away from his loved ones. "I'm sorry, I know this isn't easy for you either."

"But I know where Stan is." Laurie sighed, then gripped her hand. "How long will pies take?"

"A couple of hours." She patted his hand, then caressed Jane's face. "I was thinking about making a sweet potato instead of pumpkin. And maybe a peach or...."

Yesterday she had baked an apple pie, hoping somehow that would usher in Eric's return. Now she wanted to flee this house, and if pies made the journey, so be it. Then she sighed. "Sorry I'm so moody." She gave a wan smile. "Let's get some breakfast and...."

Laurie gripped her hand again, then cleared his throat. "No one expects you to do more than you can. Hell, right now, we're all about at the breaking point. But I meant what I told Paul yesterday." Laurie flashed a quick grin. "God is listening to us and I know he's with Eric, wherever he is. He'll come home Lynne, I know he will."

"Yeah?"

Laurie nodded. "He gave me back my brother. Maybe Seth's halfway around the world, but he's whole, he's healed. God wouldn't give him back to my family and keep Eric from you."

The conviction in Laurie's voice was sincere and while Lynne wanted to cling to it, something held her back. This crisis of faith felt isolating and Lynne closed her eyes, trying to rekindle that flame. Then another memory came to mind. "Laurie, would you start a fire?"

"Sure." He smiled, then glanced at Jane. "You want her?"

Lynne giggled. "Actually, take her to the kitchen. I'll start breakfast, but if you could build a fire...." She gazed at the dark hearth, then at her daughter. "I know we won't be here that long, but it'd make the living room warmer and...."

"Whatever makes the pregnant woman happy," Laurie chuckled, heading to the kitchen.

Lynne followed, smiling at his accommodating tone. She then prayed for more faith, tracing the opal pendant under her nightgown.

Sam called as Lynne put a sweet potato pie in the oven. Laurie spoke to Sam, confirming they would come over once the second pie was done, the contents of which Laurie declined to say. Sam chuckled at the mystery, noting that the turkey was roasting, and there was no change on another front.

Laurie wanted to note a similar story, but it would embarrass Sam if Laurie mentioned Stan. Instead Laurie asked if Renee had gone to the hospital, to which Sam said yes, but he expected her back any time. Paul had accompanied her, not that Ritchie had taken a turn for the worse, but Paul had asked, and neither Sam nor Renee had the heart to tell him no. Laurie was touched by that child's interest, then he closed the call as Jane needed attention. While Lynne prepared the second pie, Laurie entertained Jane, but he couldn't get his mind from all that was happening, about most of which Stan was ignorant.

Taking Jane into the living room, Laurie set her near some toys, then he added wood to the fire. Lynne had been right, for even though they would be leaving relatively soon, the house felt homier with the pops and sparks, which seem to echo as if calling out to loved ones far away. Laurie did feel that Eric would be home, although when was elusive within his mind. Yet, that point didn't worry Laurie, for as he'd said to Lynne, God had given Seth back to their family. That he was in Israel and not Brooklyn was simply a matter of logistics. Laurie imagined Seth had called his mother already, and while it wasn't the same as if Seth was sharing that meal with the Gordon clan, it was the first time in how many years that Seth was in his right mind. So much tragedy had filled the last week, but Laurie clung to that blessing. He'd written a brief note to Seth yesterday, would mail it tomorrow. Laurie wanted to write something far more encompassing to Stanford, but for now he had to give Stan space. Maybe he wouldn't try to reach out until Eric returned. Only then might Stan be willing to consider....

Jane's laughter caught Laurie's attention. He stared at her, she sounded like her father. Laurie walked to where she sat, surrounded by blocks and books and dolls. Kneeling beside her, he stroked her head. "He'll come home, I know he will. I wish I could tell you and your mother when though."

The toddler gazed at Laurie, her eyes wide, and so much like Sam's that Laurie chuckled. "You don't look a thing like him, but my God you sound like him. Maybe you've got that same magic right here." Laurie gently touched Jane's right arm. "I always wondered how he did it, but I never imagined...." Now Laurie shivered. He sat beside Jane, taking her in his arms. "He'll come home honey, I promise you that, but...."

Eric's message in the sand pit flashed before Laurie's eyes, which now sported tears in the corners. He shook his head; had Eric known the true meaning of those words, a weight that now bore down upon Laurie's shoulders as if Seth was again in the throes of depression. But it wasn't fair, Laurie wanted to shout, not to Lynne or the girl in Laurie's grasp or for.... Or for the man on the other side of the country, yet Laurie wasn't thinking of Eric. If Stan ever accepted this, a steep price would have to be paid.

Laurie tried to reconcile these feelings, which tumbled like sharp rocks inside his chest. Was this due to his renewed belief in God butting against his previously secular self or was this.... He had felt so torn when Seth told him about Eric; maybe indelible truths were what philosophers spent their lives analyzing, but Laurie had never asked to deduce the world's mysteries. He was an art dealer far from home, but as he looked up, finding Lynne's tender gaze upon him, another identity was discovered, that of one initiated into a most exclusive club where the improbable was indeed most possible.

He knew Lynne wouldn't join them on the floor, but she did pull up a chair, seating herself, then setting her hands on her belly. Her smile was a mix of emotions, similar to those within Laurie. She gazed at the fire, then caressed Jane's head. "What're you thinking about?" she asked.

"Oh my God, way too much." He chuckled, trying to concentrate on all that was tangible. For some reason this was his reality, which made him laugh out loud. "I'm an art dealer, not some...." He almost said family man, but that might have hurt Lynne's feelings. "What the hell am I doing here?"

Lynne smiled, but didn't meet Laurie's gaze. She continued to stare at the fire, taking deep breaths. Then she spoke. "One night when he was gone in 1960, I went upstairs, he was storing all his paintings in one room. There was one of a fire and Laurie, I swear to you it put off heat." She stared at Laurie, nodding her head. "Renee and Sam noticed the same about it, maybe it's just us," she giggled. Then she patted the baby. "The last week has been so hard, and so long. My goodness, I feel like December's never gonna get here. Maybe we'll still be waiting for him, and maybe you'll still be here, but that's, well, it's...."

"God's will?" Laurie said, raising his eyebrows.

"Yeah," she smiled, but she sighed afterwards. "It's funny, because sometimes I feel like I could wait forever for him, but lately I feel like every day is forever. And sometimes I consider how maybe we'll never know. Maybe he won't come back and we'd have no idea if he was...." She paused, but didn't cry. Then she stared at Laurie. "He's real, I know that, but maybe he was only for this."

She pointed to Jane, then glanced at the baby, giving another resigned sigh. Laurie trembled, then went to his knees, moving toward her. "Lynne, as God as my witness, I know he'll be back."

Laurie knew that like he knew his name, although Eric's physical condition wasn't certain. "I wasn't gonna tell you this, but right before I left Miami, Eric came to see me at Uncle Mickey's." Laurie explained the circumstances of that encounter, then he paused. That message was so cryptic, was it right to share it with this woman? Laurie stroked Lynne's face, then placed his hand on the baby. Then he sighed. "He left me a message in a sand pit, and basically it was a warning. I've been assuming it was about me and Stan but now...."

Lynne placed her hands atop Laurie's. "Do you really think he'll come back?"

"I swear to you Lynne, I know he's gonna come home."

As Laurie spoke, a dam burst within Lynne as a river of fear poured from her eyes. Jane looked up and as Laurie tried to comfort one bawling woman, he set a hand upon an inquisitive child. Yet, Jane didn't join in her mother's tears. She stood, then leaned against Laurie like a pillar of support while Lynne continued to wail. Laurie crooned it was okay as flames popped in the background, the fire's warmth a healing balm Laurie wished to send eastward for two men. He began to recite Psalm 100, how he remembered his dad used to say it, snatches of verse murmured in between bites taken from his mother and aunt's cakes. Laurie chuckled while he spoke, like his father stood beside him, acting as a prompt. As Lynne calmed, Jane left Laurie's side, stopping in front of her mother. Laurie watched as the Snyder women made eye contact. Then Lynne nodded, first at her daughter, then at Laurie. The fire crackled then hissed. "Shall I add more wood," Laurie said softly.

"No, it can die out now. I just needed...." Lynne's voice trembled, then she took a deep breath, exhaling as she picked up Jane, placing her on what remained of her lap. "Thank you Laurie, so much."

He smiled, then patted her leg. "I think I will call Stan before we go. He probably won't be home, but...."

"You could try him at Michael's," Lynne said, clearing her throat afterwards.

"Indeed I could. Maybe that's what I'll do." Slowly Laurie stood from the floor. "But first I have to call my mother. I'll never hear the end of it if I don't." He laughed, then squeezed Lynne's shoulders. "Should I check the pie first?"

"I'll be in there in a minute. Give her my best."

"Will do." Laurie kissed the top of Lynne's head, then went into the kitchen, where the fragrance of sweet potatoes made his stomach rumble. He wouldn't say more than Happy Thanksgiving to his mom, but when he saw her next perhaps he would relate some of that morning's revelations. The Abrams weren't overtly religious, but faith wove deeply through their family, connected by good food and better memories, he smiled, as Lynne checked the pie, a delicious scent wafting into the room.
Chapter 166

After Laurie talked to his mom, he called Michael Taylor. They spoke briefly, but Laurie was glad to have made the overture; Michael didn't ask how long Laurie would be at the Snyders, but he told Laurie to give Lynne his best, and that he hoped Laurie would be home soon. The way Michael enunciated home soon led Laurie to believe Stanford could hear everything his father said. Laurie told Michael he'd return to New York when Eric was back safely. Michael reiterated that part of the message, making Laurie stifle a chuckle as well as inwardly shiver. Right before Michael closed the call, he paused. "Will you be watching the President's address this evening?"

For a second, Laurie pictured John Kennedy seated in front of the official seal, then he shook his head. "What? Johnson's giving a speech tonight?"

"Yes, at six fifteen Eastern Time. It sounds like all the networks will be broadcasting it."

"Well, that would be three fifteen here. I'll mention it to Sam, I think he wants to eat around two."

"We'll be thinking of you all then," Michael said.

"We'll be thinking of you too." Laurie wore a bittersweet smile. "Give him my best, all right?"

"Of course. And Laurie, happy Thanksgiving."

"Happy Thanksgiving Michael." Laurie hung up the receiver, then stared at the phone. He turned toward Lynne, who wore a quizzical gaze. "Seems the new president's giving a speech on television tonight."

"Well, that'll be something to see." Lynne smiled. "Was he there?"

Laurie chuckled. "I think so. God, I love that man, both of them," he added. "Michael's father was...." Laurie paused, then told the story. Lynne looked greatly surprised, then she giggled, and Laurie joined her. "So while Michael and Constance weren't exactly jumping for joy when Stan introduced me, a precedent had already been set. Plus it wasn't like we were gonna get married. Better for Stan to fall in love with a Jewish man than a Jewish woman."

Now Lynne laughed out loud. "Well, when you put it like that, what else is there to say?"

"Exactly, and to tell you the truth, I'm sure my mother felt the same." Laurie wiped his eyes, but the tears weren't from sorrow. "Good lord, that's a lot to ponder after everything else that's happened."

Lynne nodded, taking a seat next to Jane. "But you know, like I said it's been a very long week. We'll never forget these days, but after today, I'm ready for something different, something good." She sighed, then looked at her belly. "Not you, you hear? You still have a few weeks to stay right where you are."

Laurie stood behind Lynne. "You tell that baby. And as for my sweetheart, if I don't see him until Junior arrives, there you go." Laurie sighed, then smiled, gazing at the counter where the sweet potato pie cooled. "So, what's the other pie?"

Lynne chuckled. "Apple, peach, and boysenberry."

"Jesus Christ, we'll never forget that either!" Laurie laughed. "All right, on that note, I'll take a quick shower, then if you wanna bathe, I'll watch Jane. No promises though if you find a slice of the sweet potato missing."

"I'll tell Agatha on you," Lynne teased.

"Oh, she'd fully understand," he smiled, tickling Jane's chin as he left the kitchen.

Laurie parked in front of the Aherns' house, then took Jane from the backseat. As Lynne got out, Renee joined them, Paul's hand in hers. "Need some help?" Renee called.

"Yes and happy Thanksgiving," Lynne said as Paul ran to meet Laurie and Jane. That threesome chatted as Renee reached Lynne. The women didn't speak, but grasped each other's hands. Then Renee gave Lynne a one-sided hug.

"Happy Thanksgiving," Renee said softly. "Pies in the back?"

Lynne nodded. "How's Ritchie?"

"The same." Renee collected the pies, then faced Lynne. "They're thinking of removing the tube today, see if he can breathe on his own."

"And how's Brenda?"

"This morning she said that if he wakes up and apologizes, she'll take him back." Renee sighed. "Not sure that's the best idea, but he's not my husband."

"What if he wakes and doesn't apologize?"

Renee stared at Lynne. "I dunno. She never mentioned that option." Then Renee smiled. "How are you feeling?"

"Better today. Laurie and I had a long talk and...." Lynne looked at the sky. "Did you see the sunrise this morning?"

"We did actually. Looked a lot like...." Renee paused. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too. Looks like we're only waiting on Marek."

Renee gazed at the cars gathered near her house. "Have you heard from him lately?"

"Not since we told him about Ritchie."

"Well, this isn't easy on any of us. C'mon, decaf's waiting."

"I'd love a cup," Lynne said, matching Renee's steps toward the house.

Pastor Jagucki arrived shortly after the Snyders and Laurie were settled, and Sam introduced Marek to Vivian as children were sent outside to play. The three youngest stayed indoors, but Ann, Helene, and Jane raised little fuss in the living room while Marek made small talk with Vivian, Louie, Laurie, and Lynne. Sam was the only man in the kitchen, but his wife and sister spoke about topics compatible to his nature, mostly to do with how the Nolans were coping that day, as well as the Kennedy family. Sam wanted to watch President Johnson's speech, and would serve dessert afterwards. The turkey was nearly done, potatoes peeled and sitting in a pot on the stove. Both Laurie and Marek had volunteered their services in the kitchen, bringing to Sam's mind that evening at St. Matthew's when Marek had gotten all the men to do the washing up. But Sam didn't consider what had happened after that meal; as Frannie and Renee laughed softly, Sam concentrated on his first Thanksgiving as a father. While Eric and Ritchie's conditions were precarious, many blessings sat in Sam's view. He gazed at his wife, who smiled at whatever Fran had just said. Fran chuckled, then she stepped Sam's way. "Time to start the spuds?" she asked.

He nodded and Frannie turned on the burner. Sam watched as Renee stood next to Fran, both talking at the same time. He didn't hear their words, only the lovely blend of motherly tones, one a little wiser than the other. Sam inhaled the wonderful fragrance of his family, and not merely that of his sister and her large brood. He stepped to the doorway, gazing at Ann playing with Helene and Jane at the end of the sofa where Lynne sat. When it was time to eat, there wouldn't be a free seat, but maybe that was how holidays at the Aherns would come to be remembered. Then Sam met Marek's gaze, which made Sam tremble inwardly. That man was how Sam used to be, even if Sam was married. Marek had a parish to oversee, but often he was alone. Sam longed to speak to that Pole, but there wouldn't be time today. Maybe in the next week, Sam considered, as Marek smiled, then joined Lynne on the sofa. Sam returned to the kitchen finding Frannie and Renee in a tight embrace. Fran motioned for her brother to join them, and as he did, Fran began reciting the Lord's Prayer. Sam added his voice, but Renee only sniffled.

Savoring his last bite of turkey, Marek gazed at those near him, the older Canfield children and Laurie, with Jane at Laurie's side. She seemed blissfully unaware of who was missing, but Eric's absence was glaring to the pastor, in part for having spent this holiday with the Snyders last year. Laurie's presence seemed to exacerbate Eric's nonattendance, although Marek knew Laurie longed for his other half. Lynne had invited Marek for supper tomorrow night, and while it wouldn't be leftover turkey, he relished the chance to speak openly to Lynne and Laurie, but not about the expected topics. He wanted to ask Lynne if she might be willing to play hostess to a particular guest even if the new baby was but a few weeks old.

When Marek wrote to Klaudia, proffering a written invitation, he left no question as to where he would prefer her to sleep, in the spare room at St. Matthew's. However, if she desired, he could find her alternate accommodations. Marek didn't care if his flock knew he had invited a guest to stay over, not even Mrs. Harmon's objections would change Marek's mind. If anyone raised an eyebrow, Marek would gladly inform them of his connection with Mrs. Henrichsen. And if further queries were broached, he wouldn't hesitate to reveal how precious was this reunion, that for over twenty years Klaudia had thought Marek was dead, alongside his entire family, at the hands of the....

Marek didn't believe it would come to that, nor was he certain just where Klaudia might feel most comfortable. Staying at the Snyders might actually be harder on her than if she slept a few doors down from Marek's room. But he would let her decide, and he smiled, hoping his written invite would soon reach her. He had nearly called her that morning, but it would have done little good; she was at work while he was celebrating an American holiday with an interesting assortment of Catholics, Protestants, and one Jew.

Yet Laurie's faith seemed to weave harmoniously among these people. Only Vivian Kramer stood out, not leaning toward the heavily Catholic side, nor did she seem aligned with Lynne and Marek. She wasn't Jewish, Marek smiled to himself, but had chatted amiably with Laurie, assuming he was Lynne's brother. Did she even know Laurie was Jewish, Marek wondered. Paul called him Uncle Laurie, and Ann had too. But Vivian had affirmed her relationship with her niece and nephew, bringing to Ann a stuffed bear. That toy had been given right before everyone sat to eat. Marek didn't know the story behind it, but Ann had seemed subdued afterwards, yet she'd clutched the bear all through the meal. Marek could see her seated beside Renee, that bear now laying across the youngster's lap. Marek would ask Lynne about it tomorrow if they needed a break in the conversation. Then Marek gazed at Ann, who was whispering something to her mother. Marek had no trouble assigning that term to Renee, not only for how much mother and daughter resembled one another. Motherhood had been lurking right under Renee's skin, and now she could freely claim that role, as she whispered something to Sam.

He leaned over Renee, then spoke to his daughter as naturally as Louie had admonished his youngest children throughout the afternoon. Marek hadn't minded sitting with mostly teenagers, for Laurie sat across, and tomorrow Marek would enjoy a pleasant discussion with Lynne and the man who filled Eric's shoes with aplomb. Not that Laurie was any substitute for Eric, but since Laurie's arrival, Marek hadn't worried about who would look after Lynne. That thought had troubled him all summer and fall, especially after Sam and Renee became parents. Marek wouldn't shirk from defending Klaudia's visit, but he'd had to maintain a reasonable distance from Lynne and Jane. Laurie had seamlessly woven his way into the Snyder household and most at St. Matthew's believed he was Lynne's older brother. Marek doubted than any of them knew Laurie was Jewish; he didn't wear a yarmulke on Sundays, only his New York accent set him apart. Marek smiled, for Laurie and Stanford had only come to St. Matthew's together once, for Jane's baptism. The Snyders hadn't yet been members of the church, and Marek rightly predicted that no one would recall Laurie's earlier visit, on Easter no less, when many unfamiliar faces filled the building.

Sam stood, catching Marek's attention; maybe Sam wanted to make a little speech. He had already announced that pie would be served after President Johnson's address, which Marek was eager to hear. He'd found himself quite wrapped up in all that had occurred last week, the outpouring of grief remarkable. Many parishioners had gathered at St. Matthew's last weekend, needing to mourn their president, a Catholic president even. But John F. Kennedy was remarkable on many levels, his religion merely one aspect of his character, although it was exceedingly important to most within Sam's home. The teenagers had spoken of Kennedy with great admiration in their voices and Frannie had wiped away tears when Marek hugged her. That sorrow wasn't solely connected to Renee's brother, although Marek felt Frannie must have considered her stay at that hospital over a year ago. Even Louie had seemed touched, strongly shaking Marek's hand. To these people, Kennedy had been a shining example of religious equality. His death was a crushing blow not only to his family, but to Catholics at large.

Marek waited for Sam to speak aloud, but Sam merely walked to where Lynne sat on the other side of their table. They were seated in the living room, while Marek and Laurie were in the kitchen. Laurie had his back to the others, but Marek could see how Sam knelt beside Lynne, then seemed to ask her a question. Lynne gazed at Ann, who nodded, then took the bear from her lap. She got off her chair, walking to where her father and Lynne waited. Ann handed over the bear, pointing toward Lynne's baby. Marek met Laurie's gaze, then motioned to the other room, where silence had now fallen over the table.

"Are you sure?" Marek heard Lynne say.

Ann nodded again, placing the bear beside Lynne's empty plate.

Lynne looked up, finding Marek's gaze. She seemed to seek his attention, and as he stood, Sam also waved him in their direction. Marek patted Laurie's shoulder as he headed into the living room.

"Yes?" Marek asked, as he stood next to Renee.

"Ann wants to give her bear to the new baby. And she'd like to know if you could bless the bear." Sam's tone had been sincere at first, then had turned tentative. Then Sam shrugged, making Marek smile.

"What a lovely gesture." Marek looked at Ann as he spoke. Then he winked at Sam. "I'd be happy to bless that bear."

As Marek made his way around the table, he noticed that Laurie had collected Jane, and now stood near Renee, the Canfield teens also joining the rest. Marek placed one hand on the bear, the other on Ann's head. He spoke seriously, but with an underlying joy for Ann's kindness. And that the baby would find great pleasure not only for this gift, but in Ann's friendship for years to come.

Ann looked especially pleased with Marek's comments and she happily skipped back to her chair. The rest appeared in various moods, from astonishment on Vivian to appreciation upon Fran and Louie. Helene looked intrigued, while from across the table, Jane seemed perplexed. Renee blinked away tears, then Marek met Sam's gaze, which was a mixture of all those reactions. Marek chuckled; Sam was probably most surprised that he was willing to bless a stuffed animal.

But it was the proper response on a day where counting one's blessings was paramount. Marek then glanced at his watch, noting it was nearly three o'clock; didn't they want to watch....

Before he could finish speaking, Sam nodded. "Oh yeah, thanks Marek."

"Should I turn on the TV?" Laurie asked Sam.

"Sure, thanks."

Fran and Sally had started clearing plates, then Will, Jaime and Denise began to assist. Renee tried to stand, but Fran waved her off, and quick work was made of the table, which was folded up, then placed in the hallway. Marek assumed it would be pulled out again for dessert, but as everyone found a place to sit, attention was focused on the television, where for the last week most of the news had been disseminated. Even Marek had turned on the little black and white set in the library, usually covered by a cloth, as Mrs. Kenny thought it disrespectful to keep a TV where books should be feted.

As the presidential seal appeared on the screen, a hush fell over the living room. Marek had never heard Lyndon Johnson speak and was immediately struck by his southern accent. Mostly Marek was drawn into how genuine were his words; Johnson probably hadn't written this speech, but it was delivered as though he had labored over every sentence. The sentiments weren't oppressive, but respectfully optimistic. And full of God's presence, which Marek found interesting. He observed those with whom he was gathered; even the teens paid attention. Lynne seemed at peace, although Marek was curious; did she empathize with Jackie Kennedy, wondering about Eric's well-being? Marek inwardly shivered, then as President Johnson concluded his remarks, Marek prayed for those with whom he stood and for those loved by these people, some of whom were gone. He glanced at Vivian, who showed no outward effects from her niece's death. Then he gazed at Renee, her brother's condition still uncertain. Then Marek thought of Klaudia; that she was alive was perhaps the biggest blessing within his life, even if she was far away. Would he see her in 1964? He smiled, then sighed, as murmurs wafted through the room, opinions about the speech mingling with requests for dessert. Marek headed for the kitchen where Sam already stood, slicing into pies. "Need a hand?" Marek asked.

"Sure," Sam said. "Can you get out the ice cream? I wonder what kind of pie Lynne brought besides the sweet potato?"

"I don't know," Marek chuckled, for neither she nor Laurie had revealed what fruit lay under that crust. Marek retrieved one container of vanilla, then closed the freezer. "What else can I do?"

"Just be ready to grab a plate and fork." Sam smiled, then motioned for Marek to have a seat. Others entered the kitchen, offering their assistance, and Sam told them much the same, although Fran started scooping ice cream as Renee set forks on plates with slices waiting. Within minutes dessert had been distributed, Marek taking his piece of sweet potato pie into the living room, sitting next to Lynne, who only had a caramel slice on her plate.

"No pie for you," he asked.

"I can have pie anytime," she smiled.

"Indeed. This is truly my favorite, you know."

"I know," she chuckled.

Marek savored his pie, not missing the bear, sitting on the coffee table. "What a lovely gift," he said quietly.

"There's a story behind it," Lynne said.

"I imagine there is. Perhaps you can share it with me tomorrow."

She nodded, then finished her caramel slice. "That was delicious. You'll have to show me how to make them."

"It'd be a pleasure." Marek looked at those gathered near, most of whom were Canfields. "Such a nice afternoon this has been."

"Yes, but I think we'll be on our way soon."

She sounded weary, which didn't surprise him. "Well, you let me know what time tomorrow."

"Anytime is fine."

He gazed at her, peace shining in her brown eyes. "How about mid-afternoon? That way if you can rest...."

"That's fine Marek." Lynne grasped his hand. Then she met his gaze. "He's safe, wherever he is. I have to believe that until someone proves otherwise."

Her voice had gone to a near whisper, but conviction rang through that quiet tone. Marek offered a solid grip, then released Lynne's hand. He agreed with her, but didn't need to note that affirmation.

In Texas, Dora Richardson stepped from her house, staring into darkness. She had watched President Johnson's speech with a heavy heart, although she found his cadence much easier to understand than President Kennedy's had been. Yet Lyndon Johnson's tone had been so subdued, even if his words were meant to lift this nation. Dora was glad the space center in Florida was going to be renamed for John Kennedy. She also agreed with Johnson's assertion that God had created all men, and of course women, in his image. Then she smiled. Walt believed that too, he was as neighborly with Negroes as he was with whites. The Boldens were probably their closest friends, but then Walt and Callie had Korea in common. Yet Susie had tended Dora when she suffered both of her miscarriages, and Dora had helped Susie when she'd birthed her youngest child. Dora's mother wasn't too keen on how friendly were the two families, but what if Hannah knew about the stranger still recuperating in the shed?

Dora and Walt had agreed that Hannah would have to be told, but hopefully as soon as Mr. Doe was walking on his own, he wouldn't stay much longer. Unfortunately, his memory was still gone, and while Dora had overheard Luke and Tilda speculating on possible reasons, Dora had decided the stranger wasn't much different than her own husband. Maybe he was luckier, she thought, for if you couldn't remember the past, it wouldn't hurt you. Dora gingerly ran a hand over the baby. This child was keeping Walt's nightmares at bay, and filled a hole in Dora's heart that maybe one day would heal. Then Dora blinked away tears, thinking of Mrs. Kennedy; had she and the president's family watched Lyndon Johnson's address? How in the world was Jackie Kennedy supposed to find any peace?

A breeze blew around Dora, and she shivered. She couldn't say any of this to Walt, yet it bubbled inside her. Then she flinched as a flashlight's glow appeared to her left. "Well," she said, clearing her throat, but not moving those notions from her mind. "How is he?"

Walt joined her on the porch, then grasped her hand. "He spoke, could barely make it out though."

"What'd he say?"

"Just thank you, he said thank you. Sounded like a bird chirping, but maybe tomorrow he'll be stronger."

"My goodness," Dora sighed, placing her hand over her heart. "Well, at least he ate a little today."

"Yup, seemed to like Susie's pie all right."

"He'd be a fool to turn down sweet potato pie," Dora smiled.

Walt tapped his foot. "He's still real weak. I know it's gonna be tough, but there's no way he's gonna be in any shape to do more than lay there for another good week. And if he still doesn't know his name...."

"I know, I know." Dora didn't like hiding him, but on this topic she felt the same as her husband. Then she sighed.

"Dora, you want me to, well, ask around some more?"

"Oh no, I mean...." She sighed again, then led her husband toward the front window. "I'm just tired, been a long day."

He nodded, then stroked her cheek. "I think he realizes it's Thanksgiving, Luke probably said something to him, not sure how much he understands though."

"Does he know about...."

"About what?"

"About the president."

Now Walt sighed. "Well, I didn't tell him. Not sure if Luke did."

Dora nodded, then looked at her feet.

"Honey, if he doesn't know his own name, he probably doesn't remember other stuff, much less who the president is."

"I was just asking."

"I know, I know you were." Walt grasped her hands again. "We'll give him a few more days, then I'll tell him. Let's see if he talks more tomorrow. I'll probably only work a half day, so we'll see how he's doing in the afternoon."

"Uh-huh."

"Oh Dora...." Walt pulled her close, and she permitted that embrace. But instead of collapsing against him, Dora held back a part of herself. Walt sensed that separation, for he let her go, sighing as he did so. "We're not gonna fight about this, are we?"

"What's to fight about? He's dead. Nothing for you to worry about anymore."

"Now Dora...."

"It's cold out here. I'm going inside." She walked around him, then stepped into the house, hoping that she was right. Kennedy was dead, nothing more for Walt to hate about him.
Chapter 167

On Sunday morning Lynne, Laurie, and Jane attended services at St. Matthew's, then stayed for lunch. A newfound closeness was realized between the three adults; Marek had shared his invitation to Klaudia while Laurie had mentioned his thoughts regarding Eric's return, upon which all three agreed. Lynne had told the story of Ann's gift to the coming baby, and both men had been silenced by that tale, also how initially that bear had been a way for Renee to finally address looking into adoption. But on that first day of December, conversations centered on more immediate concerns; Jane needed a new bed, which Laurie and Lynne would choose that coming week. And Marek had a recipe to share, those caramel slices quickly becoming a favorite of Laurie's. Then the talk turned to Renee's brother, who seemed on the road to recovery. Ritchie was breathing unaided and Brenda had agreed to take back her husband. That was qualified by several caveats, the main being that Ritchie wouldn't simply go right back to their marital home. A lengthy stay in rehab was necessary, for his left leg had been badly damaged in the accident. The last Lynne knew, doctors weren't sure if he would be able to walk unaided, perhaps requiring a cane. Yet for how severe were his injuries, it was a miracle that he was alert, also contrite. Once he'd been able to talk, Renee informed Lynne, all he had wanted to do was apologize.

Those apologies had been extended beyond Brenda and their children; Ritchie sought his parents' forgiveness, also his siblings' clemency. The family's priest had been visiting daily, but while Ritchie had taken communion, only the bread had been shared. Laurie had heard these details, but Marek was amazed, also cautious, as was most of Ritchie's family. Renee didn't believe her brother could stay sober once he was back home. But Lynne would continue to pray for that man's recovery, both physically as well as from alcoholism. According to Renee, Ritchie had confessed that ailment almost in the same breath as seeking Brenda's mercy. Renee had been there, on Friday morning, when her brother had finally regained consciousness, making that plea. Fortunately, Renee had told Lynne, Paul had been happy to stay at home when those declarations were uttered.

Eric wasn't mentioned during lunch, but as the foursome exited the church, Marek glanced upwards, finding a sliver of blue amid the clouds. It had been over two weeks since Eric had left Florida, and Marek sighed, then met Lynne's gaze. She nodded as though realizing the same details.

Yet, what was there to say? All three adults felt that Eric would return, or as Lynne had aptly said on Thanksgiving, until she had proof otherwise, she had to trust he would come home. Marek patted her shoulder, then smiled. "Thank you for joining me on this first Sunday in Advent."

"It was our pleasure," Lynne said. "Christmas will be here before we know it."

"Hanukkah's right around the corner," Laurie grinned.

"Indeed. How will you celebrate?" Marek asked.

"You know, I haven't really thought about it." Laurie looked at Jane. "Suppose I'll pick up a few treats for this girl. And maybe something for Ann and Paul too."

Lynne chuckled as Jane looked intrigued. "That will be quite fascinating to hear you explain," Marek said. "Please include me in those festivities."

"Eight nights' worth of pajamas whether I needed them or not," Laurie laughed. "But for this girl, something special, maybe a dress or new shoes or...."

"A piece of pie or a very small caramel slice." Lynne brushed aside Jane's curls. "Perhaps some new hair bows."

"That sounds perfect." Laurie winked at Lynne. "But in the meantime, Miss Jane needs a new bed. We'll take care of that this week."

"Indeed." Lynne patted the baby. "And on that note, time for two of us to take an N-A-P."

Marek chuckled. "Has it come to that already?"

"Oh yes," Lynne smiled. "In fact, I may have you teach me some Polish. She might find going to sleep is more easily brokered in that tongue."

Marek nodded, then spoke in Polish to Jane. At first she seemed surprised, then she nodded. Laurie laughed. "What'd you tell her?"

"Only that the baby was tired, and she could be a big girl and show her younger sibling how good it is to rest." Marek kissed Jane's cheek. "And with that, I bid you all a snoozy afternoon."

Embraces were exchanged, then Laurie and Lynne headed to the Snyders' car. Lynne got in the front passenger seat as Laurie put Jane in the back. Laurie waved to Marek, then got in the car, pulling away from the curb. Marek observed them leave, wondering when it would be Eric again behind the steering wheel, ushering his family to and from church.

As Jane was laid in her crib, John Doe stirred from his nap. He wasn't sure of the time, for the shed was mostly dark, although the window near his bed had been washed; Luke had done that on Friday, but since then the weather had been dreary, not much to see from where John rested. He had started to think of himself as John, although the way Luke said Mr. Doe also reverberated through the man's mind. So respectful was that youngster, his accent with a sing-song quality that had alerted the man to one part of his identity. John Doe was clearly not from this part of the country, which was east Texas, he'd also learned, Karnack being the childhood home of Lady Bird Johnson. Then the man sighed, for immediately that evoked a terrible incident which had deeply affected Luke's mother. Luke's father, however, seemed less troubled that President Kennedy was dead. Perhaps Walt preferred a Texan in charge.

John Doe had accepted that news with a modicum of sadness, although he had no idea if he'd voted for Kennedy or Nixon. Walt had told him about the assassination not long after Luke had washed the window. The family had been in and out over the weekend; John Doe had been introduced to Luke's younger sisters, then told of Walt's neighbor, who had provided the clean bedding. That man was named.... While John Doe couldn't recall any of his past, some new information was also hard to retain. From what Walt had said, John had been found near the lake when Walt and Luke went fishing. But the days had blended together, so the man wasn't exactly certain how long he'd been in the Richardsons' care. He'd be staying here indefinitely, mostly due to his amnesia. Walt couldn't fathom letting him depart until he knew who he was, not to mention his shoulder, which was healing, but still a mess. The man didn't need anyone to tell him that, for he couldn't move his right arm, and while he had been able to bend his wrist a few days ago, now he could barely wiggle his fingers.

At least he could talk now, although his voice was still squawky. While his tone wasn't similar to those of his hosts, neither was his language. He'd overheard Luke's sister tell her brother that Mr. Doe sounded like a teacher, although Tilda's voice had been kind. And if John remembered correctly, Dora had spoken something similar in regards to his hands. They weren't those of a laborer, had that been how she'd phrased it? But now only one of John's hands was worth anything; he made a fist with his left, staring at his fingers as he released it. Then he gazed at his right hand. He curled it as tightly as possible, but he couldn't close it into a fist, mostly due to pain. His entire right arm was affected, either numb near his shoulder or very tender further along the limb. He tried bending his wrist, but the ache was excruciating, and he closed his eyes as tears formed. The pain wasn't merely within his arm; his heart ached alongside that action, as if a great loss had been incurred. John sighed heavily, wiping his face with his left hand. Then he reached for the wrench, tapping it on the seat of the metal chair.

Within minutes Luke appeared, but as usual, he waited at the door. John knew it was decorum that held back Luke, although the little boy still joked about how badly Mr. Doe had first smelled. "Hey there Mr. Doe, how you feeling after your nap?"

"Fine," the man said. His voice was still hoarse, and he wondered if Luke had heard him.

The boy stepped inside the shed. "Oh that's good. You're sounding a little better too." Luke stood on the other side of the metal chair, a smile on his face. "You always seem better after you sleep. How's your arm feeling?"

The man sighed. "About the same." Actually the pain was worse, but he didn't wish to upset the child. "Is your father here?"

"Daddy's at Mr. Bolden's, but he'll be back pretty soon. What do you need Mr. Doe?"

John stared at Luke, those blue eyes reminiscent to something in his past. Luke looked like his father, although his coloring was all from Dora, as was his sisters'. Yet the girls appeared like their mother, or at least Tilda did. But Luke's eyes had stirred something deeply within the man, maybe it was just how kind was this boy, also responsible. John rarely saw his mother, although eventually his care would fall upon her. "What day is it?" he asked Luke.

"Sunday sir. Going back to school tomorrow."

Then Luke sighed, which made John smile. "Do you not like school?" he asked.

Luke shook his head, then he chuckled. "No, it's okay. You sure talk funny Mr. Doe."

"Do I?"

"Yup. You have this funny accent, but it's also the words you say: Do you not like school?" Luke tried to imitate John's accent, then both laughed. "My goodness Mr. Doe, where're you from?"

"I sure wish I knew. But I don't think it's anywhere in Texas."

"No sir, I agree with you." Luke sat on the chair. "So Mr. Doe, what can I get for you?"

"Maybe some lunch, or supper? What time is it?"

"It's two. Mama made a plate up for you, I'll go fetch it." Luke stood from the chair, ran to the door, then stopped. "Mr. Doe, are you still off chicken?"

John inhaled deeply, then let it out. The idea of poultry had bothered him yesterday, but as Luke spoke, that notion wasn't offensive. "You know what, let's try some. Leftover turkey?" he asked.

Luke chuckled. "Nope, it's a surprise. Be right back."

John smiled; the boy's exuberance was a tonic, yet it contrasted sharply with his parents' moods. John wasn't sure if that was due to what they understood about him and his injury, or perhaps they weren't as gregarious as their eldest. Tilda was a little shy around him, but from what John had overheard when she stepped from the shed, she was as lively as her brother. Then John concentrated. She reminded him of someone, but not from her looks. Her mannerisms were just like those of.... He closed his eyes, but nothing emerged, not a face or name or any hint to his past. He sighed in frustration, then shook his head. Yes, he'd known John Kennedy was president, that Lyndon Johnson was the vice president, but nothing attached to John's history was accessible. He hadn't yet considered if those details were permanently lost, but he had accepted that his right arm would never serve any useful purpose. He was right-handed, or had been; he wasn't adept at feeding himself, but was making progress. When Luke returned with lunch, John expected the boy would ask if he wanted assistance. And depending on how badly his right arm ached, John might let Luke do the honors. Sitting up for extended periods made him dizzy. Just how long would he be indebted to this family for his care?

Luke stepped into the shed, the savory scent of meat alongside him. "Okay Mr. Doe, this's one of Mama's special dishes, so if you don't like it, I'll be happy to finish it for you. It's chicken and dumplings, and oh my goodness, it's probably my favorite meal."

John took another deep breath, but this time he smiled. "It smells delicious."

Luke grinned broadly. "I'm glad to hear you say that. I mean, I'd have eaten it, don't misunderstand. But you need something more than bread and vegetables. Here, lemme help you...."

"It's all right, let's see if I can do it." John used his left hand to push himself forward. He moaned slightly, for to move his upper body was painful, but he had to start exerting himself as if in rehabilitation. He smiled thinking of it like that; if he said those words, Luke might laugh, or maybe not understand. As John leaned back against the wall, he sighed. "My God that hurts. But that smells so good. Luke, can you help me?"

The boy nodded, but looked subdued, spooning up a bite. "Here Mr. Doe."

John ate what had been offered, then gazed at Luke. "What's wrong?"

"Do you swear a lot Mr. Doe?"

John stared at the boy, then shook his head. "I don't think so. Did I say something wrong?"

"You took the Lord's name in vain."

"Oh yeah, I guess I did. I'm sorry." John pondered his statement, then wore a small grin. "I've heard your dad use that word sometimes."

Luke nodded. "He does. Makes Mama angry though."

"I'll try not to. Can I have another bite?"

"Oh yeah, sorry 'bout that." Luke offered another spoonful and John ate it thoughtfully. The taste wasn't overwhelmingly that of chicken; it was salty, although not brackish. Then he smiled at himself; that was a vocabulary word if ever he'd heard one. Maybe he had been a teacher, or someone well educated. "This's delicious. Your mother is a fine cook."

Luke nodded, then chuckled. "I'll tell her you said so. I think she was starting to worry you didn't like her cooking."

"I guess my aversion to poultry is gone."

John used aversion on purpose. As he expected, Luke stared at him, then shook his head. "Mr. Doe, you sure like big words. What's aversion mean?"

"Not liking. But Luke, I very much appreciate chicken and dumplings."

"Me too," Luke smiled, holding out another spoonful. "Aversion, aversion. I'll have to use that in school tomorrow, see what Mrs. Thompson thinks." Now Luke laughed. "She might give me extra credit for spelling, well, if I could spell it."

"How do you think it's spelled?"

"Um, I dunno." Luke pondered it, then gave it a try. John shook his head, then explained the S-I-O-N ending. Luke shrugged. "My goodness Mr. Doe, you must be a teacher, or maybe a professor, like at a college or something. Mama doesn't think you work with your hands, she says...." Luke abruptly stopped speaking, then cleared his throat. "You want more dumplings?"

"That I would, thank you."

Quickly John took a bite, which was followed by several more offered in rapid succession. He finished what was on the plate, which made Luke chuckle. "Guess you were pretty hungry Mr. Doe."

"I guess I was. Please tell your mother she's an excellent cook."

"I'll do that right now." Luke stood, gripping the empty plate. "You need anything else sir?"

"Just have your dad come out when he gets home."

"Okay, I sure will." Luke stepped away, but paused at the door. "Mr. Doe, what do you think you used to do?"

John sighed. "I wish I knew Luke, I wish I knew."

"Me too. I bet it's nothing I ever heard of before." Then the boy skipped away, humming to himself.

As John ate lunch, Walt shared a slice of pie with Callie Bolden. They had been discussing that strange man still dwelling in Walt's shed. As Callie heard the tale, he imagined that stranger would be hanging around the Richardsons' for a good while. "You sure nobody heard of him?" Callie asked, although he'd posed this question already.

"Nobody's 'fessed up to it." Walt sighed, then set his empty plate on the overturned box in Callie's small barn. "Who's gonna admit they shot a man? No one with any brains," Walt snickered.

"You think the Bellevue boy did it, doncha?"

Walt sighed again. "At first I did. Now...." Walt crossed his arms over his chest. "He'd have to have done it after he and Luke split up, but I'm sure Hiram just went home. Luke says Hiram was as scared as he was afterwards."

"Not surprised about that," Callie said slowly.

Walt nodded. "Heard he went to church last Sunday with a shiner. Now, if Pop thought Hiram'd done more than shoot a bird, good Lord. That kid'd be buried six feet under."

Callie rolled his eyes. "Pop Bellevue's crazy."

"I agree with you. That's why I don't think Hiram went back to the lake. Someone else shot that man there, and I mean right there. No blood anywhere but right where I found him, and there was a lot of it. Damn surprising he didn't bleed to death, he barely had a shoulder when I...."

Walt paused, but Callie didn't act as if he noticed. There was something odd about this man, and not just that Walt had found him at the lake. But Callie knew Walt well enough that if Walt wanted to tell him, Callie would have to be patient. Callie had seen the man just last night, but he'd been asleep. Walt had done a good job dressing his shoulder, or what was left of it. But the way Walt acted, it was as if something else had been wrong with him, although Callie knew he had amnesia. Callie had hoped the man might be awake, he'd never met anyone with that ailment. Again, patience was necessary, although like Walt, Callie didn't think anyone around Karnack would confess to having shot the fellow. And other than Pop Bellevue, Callie knew no one, Negro or white, with that much anger, or reason, to do something so cold-blooded. Especially now, Callie considered, the sting of President Kennedy's death still at the surface.

"Well, I should be going." Walt stood, then smiled. "Need to thank Susie for the pie before I leave."

"You know Susie, any reason to bake." Callie went to his feet, then followed Walt from the outbuilding. Walt headed to the Boldens' front porch, from where girls' voices could be heard. "Miss Susie, thank you for the pie," Walt called.

Susie Bolden stepped onto the porch, wiping her hands on a dishcloth. "You're surely welcome Walt. Give Dora my best."

Walt grinned. "I'll do that. Have a good afternoon!"

"You too Walt, you too." Susie waved, then stepped back inside the house.

Callie rubbed his balding head as Walt turned his way. "Well, thanks again for those blankets. Not sure when I'll get 'em back to you but...."

"No hurry. Lemme know if I can be of help."

"I'll do that." Walt gazed at the sky, then stared right at Callie. "You gonna be around tomorrow?"

"Uh-huh."

"Could you stop at the house? Dora's a little under the weather and I know work'll be busy."

"I'll stop around mid-day. Can he get to his feet yet?"

Walt shook his head. "I'll tell him you'll be by."

Callie nodded, then cleared his throat. "He won't mind that it's me, will he?"

"I don't think so, but I'll bring it up." Then Walt wore a funny smile. "He knew who was president, so he's aware of a few things. Wonder what he'll make of you."

Callie had a mischievous grin. "We could surprise him."

Walt smiled. "Oh, that would be something to see. Dora'd have my head though if I didn't tell him properly."

Callie chuckled. "I'll knock first at the house, make sure you've laid the groundwork."

"You do that, but I bet it'll be fine." Walt shook Callie's hand, then stepped toward his truck. "Sleep good tonight."

"You too Walt, you too." It was the men's usual farewell regardless of the time of day. As Walt started the pick-up, Callie waved, then watched as Walt drove away. Only when the dust had settled did Callie turn around, praying for Walt and that stranger as he stepped inside his house.
Chapter 168

Susie sent her husband to the Richardsons' with an apple pie, the scent of which filled the cab of Callie's old truck, making his mouth water as he reached Walt's property. Callie parked at the start of the driveway, although his truck was known all over that part of Harrison County. It was better to be reserved when approaching any white man's home, especially when the man of the house was away.

Callie didn't consider the stranger any representative of the Richardson family. He had talked about it last night with his wife and Susie felt God had sent that man to Karnack, although she didn't know the reason. Callie assumed his wife was correct, she usually was about things like this. She had accurately predicted the gender of all four Richardson offspring, although Dora's two miscarriages hadn't been expected. Susie seemed to think Dora was again in the family way, but Callie wouldn't insinuate anything so personal. He'd wait for Walt to tell him, which if Susie was right wouldn't be until well after the new year.

Carrying the pie in two hands, Callie hummed as he walked, staring toward the back of the Richardsons' house, but the shed door was closed. Callie wore a small smile, which widened considerably as Dora stepped onto the porch, little Gail in her mother's arms. Callie was fond of all the Richardson children, but after that last miscarriage, to see Dora with a healthy child.... "Good morning Miss Dora," he called, holding out the pie.

"Morning Callie. Now, what'd Susie do this time?"

He approached the house, but wouldn't step on the porch. "Oh you know Miss Susie. Too many apples in the barrel, she says." He put the pie on the front step, then backed away, taking off his cap and wringing it in his hands. "How you feeling today Miss Dora?"

Her smile was slow, then she chuckled. "Okay. And you?"

"Oh, you know, doing all right." But he didn't smile. Around Dora, Callie could let down a little of his guard, especially over a subject which he would never speak with Walt. "Still quite a shock you know. We're all just tore up over it."

Now Dora looked stricken, and for a second Callie regretted mentioning it. Then she sighed, kissed Gail's head, setting the child on the porch. Gail toddled toward the pie, making her mother giggle. "Don't you think about it girl." Dora picked up the pie, then smiled at Callie. "This's just beautiful. Susie's such a blessing."

"She is a blessing indeed." Callie grinned, letting the previous subject pass. Then he cleared his throat. "So how's he doing this morning?"

Dora looked to the side of the house. "Ate all his breakfast, urine's clear, finally." She sighed, then smiled. "Seems eager to meet you."

"Is he?"

Dora nodded. "I was standing by the door when Walt told him about you coming to check on him. Must know a few Negros wherever he's from. Says that sweet potato pie tasted just like home."

Callie laughed. "Well, that's a surprise. Hafta see if Susie's the best baker."

"Well, you let her know if he thinks she is. Otherwise, his opinion don't count in my book." Dora again gazed at the pie. "Callie, thank you. And please tell Susie...."

"She'll come with me tomorrow afternoon if Walt wants more help."

Now Dora looked pained. "Yeah, I've been not feeling so good lately."

"Well, you just take care Miss Dora." Callie looked at Gail. "And you take care of your mama, okay?"

"Pie?" Gail asked both adults.

"No pie now, but after supper...." Then Dora giggled. "Actually, Mama's got Esther for the morning. Maybe we'll have a slice when they come back."

"Well, give Miss Hannah my regards."

Dora had a sly grin. "Oh I'll be sure to tell her you said hello."

Callie laughed. "Indeed. All right, off to meet Mr. Doe." Callie tipped his cap to the ladies, then put it back on for the short walk to Walt's shed.

The first knock was soft, then was followed by two more. Those stirred the man, who had been dreaming about something from his past. He blinked, trying to recall the memory, then grunted in frustration. "Yeah, come on in," he mumbled.

"Mr. Doe? I'm Callie Bolden. Mr. Walt told you I'd be stopping by today."

"Come in, sorry, I was just resting." The man hadn't thought of himself as John since Luke left for school. He smiled, then looked up, a large Negro grinning back at him. "Nice to meet you," John said, then he chuckled. "I'm John Doe, at least for another day."

"Well Mr. Doe, it's a fine pleasure." Callie Bolden gripped a weathered cap in his hands, then stuck out his left, which at first confused John. Then he realized the significance and shook it warmly.

Their eyes met and John could only gape at the man. He looked so familiar, but the precise manner of similarity eluded. "Please, sit down," John said softly.

"All right, I will." Callie pulled the metal chair back a few feet, then sat, still gripping his hat. "How you feeling today sir?"

"Uh, okay." John hesitated, for that wasn't the truth, but only with Walt had he been completely honest. From his right elbow down, his arm felt as if on fire, while the upper part was totally numb. That numbness extended into his chest and neck, although sometimes he could feel the area around his collarbone. That morning he had stood on his own for nearly a minute, but then had felt so weak he thought he might pass out. Walt had stayed right beside him, then demanded that he not get up again unless someone was present. John took that to mean maybe Luke, certainly not Dora. But around this man, John thought it might be time to again get to his feet.

"Are you really feeling all right?" Callie asked, raising his eyebrows.

John chuckled. "No, actually I'm...."

He sighed, then explained his symptoms. Callie nodded, then placed his hat on the little table near the head of the bed. "All right, let's get you up, see what happens."

John nodded, then sighed loudly. "What?" Callie asked.

"Just that it's gonna hurt. But I don't have much choice, do I?"

"No sir, I'm afraid you don't. Why don't you sit up as best you can, then I'll lift you on this side." Callie gently tapped John's left shoulder.

"Yeah, that's probably the best way." Using his left arm, John maneuvered himself in a mostly upright position. Then he slowly swung his legs over the bed, letting them dangle until he found the floor. He pressed his feet onto the bare ground, which felt cool under his toes. He was still dressed in Walt's old clothes; did this man know that Walt had found him undressed? John stared at Mr. Bolden, how he thought of him. "How long've you known Walt?" he suddenly said.

Callie looked taken aback. "Um, well, we both was born and raised here, so I guess all my life."

John nodded. "Do you have any idea how I got here?"

Callie shook his head. "No sir, I surely do not. Mr. Walt don't have no idea neither."

"He said when he found me my arm was hanging by a thread." John looked at his bandaged shoulder. "Said he could've taken it off with a pocket knife. Then the next day it was like it is now. Except now it hurts like hell and I kind of wish he'd have cut it off."

Callie nodded. "Yes sir, I imagine it's pretty sore. But let's try and get you up sir. You'll feel a lot better if you can be up and about, yes sir."

John didn't try to move. "Mr. Bolden, something terrible's happened to me. Someone shot me and left me for dead, I don't know my name, and now this family's, they're, they're...." John inhaled deeply. "I don't wanna cause them trouble, you know what I mean?"

"Yes sir, I do understand. But you're not gonna get better by lying in bed."

John sighed, then nodded. "I know, it's just...." Now he shook his head. "Go on, lift me up, let's see what happens."

"There you go sir." Callie smiled, then gently hoisted John to his feet. John's legs wobbled, but it was easier to lean against Callie's bulk than on Walt's tall but slender frame. "Let's take a few steps Mr. Doe," Callie then said. "But just a couple, don't wanna overtire you now sir."

John chuckled. "You've done this before, haven't you Mr. Bolden?"

"What sir?"

John took a step, then one more, then stood still. "You know how to get someone to do your bidding."

"Oh now sir, I'm just a friend of Mr. Walt's, just helping him and Miss Dora you know."

John laughed. "And you have a wife who makes excellent pies."

"Well, Miss Susie does have a knack for pie crust, yes she does."

John chuckled, then he paused. "Something about that doesn't fit."

"What sir?"

John faced Callie, looking him up and down. "You remind me of someone, oh my God, someone I know well. Jesus, who is it?" John closed his eyes, then opened them, staring at Callie's head. "I don't mean to be rude, but when did you start losing your, well, your...." John raised his eyebrows, then looked at the top of Callie's head.

"Oh sir, I was just eighteen when this happened." Callie laughed, running a hand over his mostly bald head. "Well, maybe seventeen. Most of it was gone when I got home from...." He paused. "Let's get you back in bed sir, that's about all you need to do this morning."

"From Korea, you were gonna say Korea, weren't you?"

Callie was just easing John back onto the bed. "How'd you know that?"

"I don't know. But whoever you remind me of went to Korea too."

Callie pulled up the metal chair, then sat right across from John. "Don't tell me he was a Negro."

John smiled, shaking his head. "I don't think so. I do think he was in a need of a hat though."

Both men chuckled, then Callie again rubbed his head. "Well, if you remember anything else, be sure to tell Mr. Walt."

"I'll do that." John studied Mr. Bolden's face. "Something about Luke's eyes are familiar too, they're so blue. And his sister Tilda reminds me of someone. Christ, it's so damn frustrating!"

John slammed his left hand onto the bed. Then he inwardly shivered, recalling how Luke had chastised him for swearing. "I'm sorry, excuse my language."

"Don't bother me none sir. I heard much worse in the army."

Now John smiled. "I guess you did. So did my friend, he doesn't swear much either. But then he's Catholic so...."

John laughed, then he gasped. "Oh my God, I remember, his name is, it's.... Oh come on, come on!" John closed his eyes, but other than a balding white man, nothing more emerged. John sighed, then opened his eyes. As he did, he gasped again. Callie was shaking his head, twisting his cap tightly in his hands.

"What'd I say now?" John inhaled sharply, then let it out slowly. "Please Mr. Bolden, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...."

"Whatever you do, don't tell Walt, you hear me? Oh good Lord, don't you tell him at all."

"Why not?"

"I'll tell you why not, because Walt can't stand Catholics. He finds out your best friend's Catholic, he'll up and think you are too." Callie stood, setting the chair beside the bed. Then he looked at John. "Are you Catholic?"

"I dunno. I guess I must be if my best friend is."

"Well now, let's not get in a rush. Walt's probably my best friend and I ain't white."

John smiled. "You must not be Catholic either."

Callie laughed out loud. "Oh no, I ain't no papist, that's what Walt calls them. But between you and me, if I coulda, I woulda voted for Mr. Kennedy. But that's the past. Now like I said, you keep this fella to yourself, you understand? Although you said he was in the army, right?"

"Yeah, he served in Korea. God, how can I remember that and not my own name?"

"I don't know sir, but it's a start. You just keep all that to yourself and I'll tell Miss Susie how much you liked your pie. I brought another. Maybe you'll remember something after you have a bite."

"Maybe. I'll tell you though, your wife makes one of the best sweet potato pies I've ever had."

"One of the best?" Callie acted insulted, then he grinned. "I won't tell her that part."

"It's very good, but I've had it before and...." Now John's head ached. "Too much for one day. But thank you, it felt good to get up."

"Did it?"

"It hurt like hell," John smirked. "But I gotta start somewhere."

"Now that you can share with Walt. But not about your friend, you remember?"

"Yeah, I'd gotten the feeling he wasn't too upset about what happened."

"No, he wasn't. Now let me also tell you that while Walt is one of my very good friends, we don't share all the same views. As I said, if I coulda, well...." Callie shrugged. "It was a pleasure meeting you Mr. Doe. Maybe I'll come by tomorrow, we can continue our little therapy session then."

John nodded. "Mr. Bolden, that would be my pleasure."

"Oh now sir, you call me Callie."

"Only if you'll call me John."

Again their eyes met. "John it is," Callie smiled. He extended his left hand, which John shook with all the strength he had. Then Callie clasped John's hands in his own. "John, you take care today and I'll see you tomorrow."

"You take care too Callie."

"That I will do." Callie grabbed his hat, tipped it John's way, then waved as he exited the shed.

As soon as he was outside, he put back on his hat, then walked to the front of the house. Dora stood on the porch, but Gail wasn't with her. Dora's mouth twitched and she looked frightened. Callie glanced back at the shed; had she overheard them? "Well, I got him on his feet," Callie said flatly. Then he met Dora's eyes, which were large in her face. "Can't be up for long, but if you and Walt want, I'll stop by again tomorrow, maybe in the afternoon. I'll bring Susie with me if she's done teaching."

Dora nodded, then stepped to the edge of the porch. She peered around the corner, then gazed at Callie. "Did he say his best friend was...."

"Yup."

"Oh my Lord!" She clasped her hand over her mouth. "You think he's...."

"I don't know. Neither does he. And for now, what he don't know is just fine regarding that matter."

Dora shivered, then nodded. "Callie, I can't stop thinking about it. Can't tell Walt that, but...." She sighed, then folded her arms over her chest. "It's just so terrible."

"It is indeed. Miss Dora, all we can do is pray for Mrs. Kennedy and those children, pray for President Johnson, and pray for that man in there." Callie motioned toward the back of the house. "We'll pray he remembers who he is and then he can be on his way."

"Yeah, yeah, you're right." She wore a half smile, then she swallowed, covering her mouth with her hand. Before Callie could speak, Dora ran to the side of the porch, then vomited. Callie walked to where she still leaned over the porch, then he handed her a handkerchief.

She wiped her mouth, then stood, staring at him. "Thanks Callie, thank you."

"You're welcome Miss Dora. You gonna be all right?"

Her lip trembled and she gazed at the shed. The door was mostly closed, but Callie imagined John had heard Dora being sick. "I'll be all right. Give Susie my best."

"I'll do that. See you tomorrow?"

She nodded. Then she reached out her hand, the handkerchief grasped in her fist.

"You keep that," he said. "Might need it later."

Now she chuckled. "Did Susie tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Callie feigned ignorance.

"Go on," Dora smiled. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you then," Callie said, heading to his truck, hoping that if John was Catholic it would remain lost to the man, or at least unknown to Walt.
Chapter 169

The first two nights Jane slept in her new bed held little rest for a mother and uncle, but not due to a toddler's distress. By the third night, the adults were thoroughly exhausted, and if Jane had raised a fuss, they might not have heard her. Yet Jane slumbered with ease, and by the end of the first week of December, it was as if Lynne lived with a different little girl.

At nearly twenty-one months old, Jane was stringing together two and three words, eating with a fork and spoon, and had started using her potty chair as more than a spare seat. Jane preferred walking everywhere, although when she was tired, Laurie was permitted to carry her up the stairs. Lynne allowed Laurie that task, for she was eight months along and feeling every day of her confinement. She still did the cooking, although both she and Laurie joked how pleasant it would be if Agatha decided to take an impromptu vacation west. Yet they knew how vital was Agatha's current station; she was Stanford's only connection to this somewhat inexplicable world.

Lynne still wrote Stanford a weekly note, slipping in a photo of Jane. Did he notice the changes Lynne couldn't ignore, how Jane's curls were turning into large waves as hair settled along the middle of her back. That her once chubby arms and legs had grown muscular as she tried to keep up with Helene and Ann. That her blue eyes were turning a tiny bit gray, or maybe only Lynne saw that alteration. Sometimes when she gazed at her daughter, Lynne felt as if she was peering at her husband, or maybe she missed Eric so much she was tricking herself. But Lynne didn't speak of that, for she wasn't the only one separated from her beloved. And while Stanford had Agatha with whom to talk if he chose, both Lynne and Laurie knew that man would keep his feelings private. Laurie had recently chatted with Agatha, but she only reported that Stan was working long hours, then spending his evenings with his father. Agatha was worried about him, but other than prayer, her hands were tied.

On Friday, the Snyder-Abrams clan met with most of the Aherns for morning mass. Jane and Ann played quietly, coloring books and crayons strewn across the pew, while their parents and uncle absorbed the Advent readings. All six trooped to the altar, Laurie receiving a blessing right after Father Markham blessed Jane and Ann. Lynne relished taking communion, gripping Renee's hand as they returned to their seats. After Father Markham dismissed them, Lynne didn't immediately stand, although her back ached. She admired her surroundings, wondering when Eric came home, might they attend morning mass together.

"You okay?" Renee asked softly.

Lynne nodded, then she sighed. "I always feel at home here. Wonder what that means."

Renee squeezed Lynne's hand, then began gathering crayons. "Just that regardless of the place, your heart's aware of what matters most."

"That must be it." Lynne went to her feet, then laid her palms along the middle of her back. Sam and Laurie were waiting in the aisle, each with a girl in his grasp. Lynne smiled at them, Sam with Jane while Laurie held Ann. He was telling her he had a surprise for her and Paul, which would start next week. Laurie had already spoken to Sam and Renee about celebrating Hanukkah with the children; Marek had found a menorah at St. Matthew's, and while no one could imagine what it had been used for, Laurie felt it was auspicious. The first candle would be lit next Wednesday after an early supper shared by those with whom Lynne called family. Then she had a droll giggle, a Lutheran considering a Jewish holiday within a Catholic church.

Perhaps she would ask Father Markham to join them. He had given her a warm smile as the bread and wine was shared, then offered blessings in an equally sincere tone, even if Ann was the only one who would eventually join this church. Yet Jane would grow up with this faith as part of her spiritual heritage, then Lynne glanced across the room, flickering candles catching her eye. She looked forward to lighting those Marek had found, tucked alongside the menorah in a closet at St. Matthew's like they had been waiting for this particular Hanukkah. But their meaning wasn't the same as those lit at St. Anne's. Lynne's heart ached, but she took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. Then she gazed at Sam. "I'll be right back."

He nodded, adjusting Jane in his arms. Then Lynne caught Laurie's eyes. "Wanna light a candle with me?"

"Uh sure." He smiled at Ann. "Shall we light some candles together?"

"What for?" she asked.

"For those we love who're far away, like Jane's daddy and Laurie's...." Lynne hesitated for only seconds. "Other half."

Laurie smiled, but Ann looked confused. "Who's that?" she asked Laurie.

"Stanford," Laurie said.

"Oh, okay." Ann smiled.

Renee's soft giggle followed a trio heading across the church. A few older ladies were praying as Lynne found two tea lights. She lit them, saying a brief prayer for Eric and Stanford. Then she grasped Laurie's free hand, placing her other hand where the baby kicked from within.

"Are you all right?" Laurie said quietly.

"It's funny how little things make it easier. I didn't grow up with any religious symbolism, but I find such comfort in...." She blinked away a few stray tears. "They're just candles, yet...."

"All together there's a lovely glow in this part of the church." He chuckled softly. "Shall we come again on Monday?"

Lynne stared at him. "You wouldn't mind, would you?"

"As long as Father Markham puts up with me." Now Laurie laughed. "I just won't tell my mom."

Lynne nodded, then leaned against Laurie. Ann pointed to the flickering lights, then called for her mother as Sam, Renee, and Jane joined them.

That afternoon Lynne wrote Christmas cards while Laurie spoke to Rose. Jane napped during those activities, then she and Laurie walked in the garden while Lynne cooked supper. The weather was relatively mild, although cold temperatures were forecast for next week. Laurie didn't miss ice and snow, but other longings stirred within his heart. Rose had asked when he was coming home and he had finally admitted he had no idea, also telling her that he would be celebrating Hanukkah. She had given him her recipe for latkes, but hadn't asked about his separation from Stanford. Not that Laurie had wished to speak about it, but he had been ready with a reply. Yet now, as he put Jane into her tall seat, Laurie was grateful for his mother's discretion. Was Stan spending that evening again at Michael's, or was Laurie's other half alone in the apartment?

Was Stanford still Laurie's.... Laurie sighed, then sat next to Jane. Her cheeks were pink, as they had explored as much of the backyard as Laurie felt was safe. He'd avoided the studio, but no longer was Sam's unfinished portrait on display. At Lynne's request Laurie had put all the canvases into the storage building. Other than the sofa, stool, and a few tables, the studio now looked abandoned.

Laurie gazed at Lynne, who wore an apron over her clothes. He smiled, for she appeared enormous; had she been this large with Jane? Then Laurie sighed; for as sure as he felt about Eric's return, no such certainties existed when it came to where Laurie would go once that man stood in this house. Laurie clasped his hands on the table, then shook his head, folding his arms over his chest. Then he gazed at Jane, who stared at him. "I wonder what'll happen," he said absently. Then he inwardly chided himself. "My goodness, I'm getting old."

"Are you now?" Lynne brought two plates to the table, setting one near Laurie, the other in front of Jane. Then Lynne sat at the table, her own supper in hand. She took a bite, then patted Laurie's shoulder. "None of us are getting any younger."

"No, I suppose not." He took a bite, then chewed thoughtfully. Then he gazed at Lynne. "This's delicious."

"Thank you. Maybe you should call him tonight."

"He's probably at Michael's."

"Only one way to find out." Lynne wiped her mouth with a napkin, then gripped Laurie's hand. "If nothing else, I'll call him this weekend. Haven't heard from him about the exhibit lately. He hasn't written me since...." She sighed. "The assassination." Lynne released Laurie's hand. "I was giving him this week, sort of how Marek is still waiting to hear from Klaudia." Then Lynne smiled. "We're a funny threesome, all pining for those we love."

Now Laurie chuckled. "I sort of hope I'm still here when she visits." Then he sighed. "I'm sorry."

"To be honest, I hope you are too. Even if Eric comes home tomorrow...." Lynne again gripped Laurie's hand. "Stanford may very well not wanna accept the truth. Besides, two kids would be greatly disappointed if suddenly you weren't here for next week." Lynne giggled. "Have you decided how you're gonna explain Hanukkah?"

"Not yet. Mom thought it was interesting though." Laurie had a wry chuckle. "Sounds like Seth's doing well in Tel Aviv; Aunt Wilma got a letter from him. She's taking his decision to go over there better than Mom is."

"Maybe it's easier for Wilma than for your mother."

"Oh, I know it is. For how long did she...." Laurie paused, then he gazed at Lynne. "Aunt Wilma's a lot like you, living like someone she loved so much was always just beyond where she could reach him."

Immediately Laurie regretted his words, but Lynne squeezed his hand again. "You're right," she said, tipping his head to where their gazes met. She smiled, then looked at Jane. "But I never thought I'd have his baby, two of them even." She patted her belly, then released Laurie's hand. "I can't begin to fathom all that's happened, maybe that makes it easier for me to accept faith. There's no rational explanation, not for any of this. It's just...." She smiled. "A miracle, more than a few of them. But who believes in miracles these days?"

Her tone teased, making him laugh. "Indeed. I'll try Stan at home and if he doesn't answer...."

"Then I'll try him tomorrow. And we'll just keep trying until one of us gets through."

Laurie nodded, taking a deep breath. Jane giggled, making Lynne chuckle. Laurie relished their mirth, praying for others to know this joy.

By Saturday night neither Laurie nor Lynne had reached Stanford, but as Sunday dawned in Norway, Klaudia had started to believe she might travel to America in the coming year. Marek's written invitation had finally arrived, and her affirmative reply had been sent. Sigrun hadn't verbally said I told you so, but in so many other words that sentiment had gently been placed upon Klaudia's kitchen table, where the women casually spoke about the pastor's request as though weekly Klaudia received such offers. Klaudia had appreciated Sigrun's relatively subtle reaction, although once an actual date was set, Klaudia expected Sigrun's excitement would increase forthwith.

The women had discussed how Klaudia would travel; Klaudia didn't care, as Marek had said he would pick up her fare. Klaudia did wonder where she would stay, not overly keen on sleeping at the church, nor was she interested in staying with that painter and his family. She had enough vacation time for a ten-day trip, twice as long as she was away from home when she visited her son. She had no worries that something might happen to him while she was gone, and Sigrun would collect Klaudia's mail. But ten days away from her routine, even with its usual disruptions, would be the longest stretch since.... Klaudia sat in the kitchen, smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee. For over a decade the mundane had ruled, for other than visiting her son, Klaudia never went anywhere outside of the city. There had been nothing to interest her, she sighed, finishing what was in her cup. But now an adventure beckoned.

In writing back to Marek, Klaudia had revealed some of her excitement; she looked forward to a break in the frigid weather, and while she was terrified of using her English, she couldn't wait to hear Marek speak that language. Would he sound differently, or would it be as if he had adopted a slightly altered dialect? Might he call her on Christmas, she had also wondered, but not put within her reply. She couldn't deny a hopeful sense, but didn't wish to raise those expectations too far.

Sigrun had asked if she would buy new clothes, attire more weather-appropriate, Sigrun had then quickly added. Klaudia had sniffed at that, then later considered some new trousers might be useful, maybe a pair of boots too. She rarely spent money on her wardrobe, for there had been no one to impress. Then she had chided herself; did she wish to entice Marek? He was a minister, after all. Then she had found herself blushing; they were adults, and why else did he want her to travel all that way if not to.... If he asked, she wouldn't hesitate, and to hell with any of his uptight parishioners. Klaudia had laughed at that thought, and Sigrun had chuckled alongside her. Now reconsidering such a notion, Klaudia couldn't dismiss what might occur if they did sleep together. It wasn't another child she feared, only what making love with Marek might do to her heart.

As she toyed with the handle of her mug, she could picture him sitting across from her like this was his church kitchen, and they were sharing coffee on the morning after. His smile was.... She couldn't imagine how he might seem, for her recollections were from their youth. All she had to go on was that painting, his beard making him look much older, also causing him to appear vulnerable, or maybe that was due to the baby in his arms. Her heart started to pound, and she shut her eyes, but that image was burned onto her brain, how calm was the infant, how peaceful Marek seemed. Then Klaudia shook her head, opening her eyes. If they slept together, she would take precautions. Perhaps she would be so bold as to pack rubbers. Then she giggled, which turned into laughter. If Sigrun happened to remark upon such an idea, Klaudia would act as if she hadn't given it a single thought.

But what if Marek did ask her? He was a pastor, yes, but also a man, and.... After Gunnar's death, Klaudia had enjoyed a few flings, but none had turned into anything serious, not that the opportunity hadn't presented itself. Klaudia was single for a reason, and while she might use her son as the excuse, it wasn't his fault that she hadn't remarried. Had she subconsciously been assuming one day a figure from her past might reappear? She pondered that while getting up for more coffee. Then she stared out the kitchen window, the street covered with a fresh layer of snow. Thankfully it was Sunday, no need to leave the house. By tonight the street would be cleared, at least enough for tomorrow's buses to run. She smiled, having forgotten what she'd been considering. This was her life, in a country where winter lasted forever.

As she returned to the table, she glanced at the seat across, then trembled. A man's outlines hovered in that chair, as though Marek Jagucki was trying to get her attention. "I said I'd come," she spoke aloud. "What more do you want from me?"

The figure blinked, then vanished. Klaudia set the cup on the table, then retrieved a cigarette. She lit it, taking a long drag. Still holding the smoke, she sat down, setting the cigarette between her lips, again inhaling deeply. As she exhaled, the apparition seemed to flicker, then it faded away. Klaudia shook her head, then gripped her mug. She sipped slowly, for the brew was still hot. But the idea of being intimate with Marek made her shiver. Better that she stay with the painter's family than be close to someone so dangerous.
Chapter 170

On Monday morning, Renee and Sam dropped off Ann at the Snyders. The Aherns were meeting with their lawyer, a few papers to sign for the pending adoption, which would take effect in two weeks, two days before Christmas. But before they headed to the attorney's office, they stopped at the hospital where Ritchie was still receiving care. Renee's brother was healing at a rapid clip, and could be transferred to the rehab facility by the end of the week. He was also sober, which to Renee was as big of a surprise as how fast he was recuperating. Sam chatted with Ritchie as Renee spoke with the nurses, and the couple shared their conversations once in their car. Sam claimed it was as if Ritchie had been given a new lease on life, while Renee mentioned something along the same lines; the nurses had a hard time believing this man had previously been a drunk. Renee still wasn't sure her brother could maintain that sobriety, but Sam seemed to give Ritchie the benefit of the doubt. Just as Renee was going to question Sam's attitude, they arrived at the lawyer's office. The process was straightforward, as Vivian had already signed all the necessary forms. No other relatives could challenge the Aherns' request to make Paul and Ann Hamilton their children. In fourteen days, those orphans would legally be Sam and Renee's offspring.

On the drive back to Lynne's, Sam held many thoughts, but kept quiet as Renee noted how exciting it was, and what good timing. Her tone was giddy, then she grew hushed. Sam grasped her hand. "Honey, what?"

"You don't think the timing's bad, do you?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, just that it's been...."

At the end of the week, Eric would have been out in the wild for one month. Sam couldn't get that from his mind, regardless of what he was doing, be it caring for the kids, cooking, or counseling vets. He did very little of that now, but even when speaking with Ritchie all Sam could think was what if it had been Eric in that bed? Something had happened to him, although none of them had stated what was obvious. Sam squeezed Renee's hand, then he slowed for a yellow light. Then he glanced at his wife, a few tears along her cheeks. "Honey, he'd have wanted us to do this, of that I have no doubt. Maybe it seems a little strange, but we're the only ones to see it that way."

Renee nodded, for that was true. Their families were thrilled for them, even the Nolans tackling Ritchie's accident. Then Sam cleared his throat, for an issue he needed to broach. The light turned green and Sam hit the accelerator. "Renee, when Ritchie's out of the hospital, I wanna give him and Brenda the Bel Air."

"You wanna what?"

Sam stifled a chuckle for the shock in Renee's voice. "I've been thinking about it for a while now. They can use it and we'll still have two vehicles."

"But why not give them the old car? Sam, are you sure you've considered this?"

He nodded. "I have, and I'll tell you why." Sam took a breath, then shared what had been weighing on him over the last.... He sighed often as he spoke, for it wasn't just Eric's extended absence or President Kennedy's assassination. It was about giving Ritchie the benefit of the doubt, which Sam had not done for Lynne years ago, nor was Stanford doing it now for.... Sam stumbled over Laurie's name, but he continued, noting how maybe he'd be proven wrong, but it was better to err on the side of forgiveness than to assume the worst. Sam coughed as he said that, for every day Eric remained missing made Sam wonder if that man could possibly get home. He wanted to believe Eric would return, and while he'd never say anything to Lynne, doubts were creeping into Sam's head. He didn't allude to that with Renee, but his tone was that of a man torn by wishing to hope while facing reality. Sam would go to mass tomorrow, lighting a candle for Eric. Maybe he would do that every day until Eric returned.

Renee mumbled her assent, although Sam thought she was crying. As he reached the Snyders' road, Sam pulled over. Renee was in tears and he leaned over, embracing her. "Honey, we have so much and your brother and Brenda...." If that couple needed help paying Ritchie's medical bills, Sam was ready to offer assistance, and Lynne had said the same. "The old car runs fine and we've got the Impala. It's just a car Renee, but they could use it. No use taking up space in front of Lynne and Eric's house, although I know Laurie likes tooling around in it." Sam wore a small grin, then he kissed Renee's cheek. "You can ask Brenda, see what she says. I can't imagine they'd look a gift horse in the mouth and...."

"Samuel Ahern." Renee shook her head, then caressed his cheek. "Just when I think I've got you figured out, my goodness." She giggled, wiping tears from her face. "What'll you think of next?"

He rolled his eyes, then grinned. "Just that in two weeks Paul and Ann will have our last name, what could be better for Christmas than that?"

Renee nodded, then her tears restarted. Sam felt sheepish, then pulled her close again. He stared ahead, seeing their old car in the distance. Only one thing would be better than what Sam had considered, but that was out of his hands. He prayed for Eric's eventual homecoming, whispering to his trembling wife that it was going to be okay.

In Manhattan, Agatha returned from shopping, then ate a late lunch. She missed Laurie; occasionally he would join her for the noon meal. The few weeks he had been back seemed hard to recall; it was if Laurie had never come home, which made her teary. How many years had she been in Stanford's employment, taking it for granted that this couple would always be together. She didn't ponder where Eric was, only that Laurie was far from where he should be.

After lunch she wandered around the apartment, but there was nothing to clean. She stopped in the library, admiring the figurines. How funny that Seth had chosen to go to Israel, but it was probably for the best. She left that room, then headed across the hall, stepping into the guest room. She turned on the light, but nothing was amiss. She sighed, then went to leave. As she did, she saw the sketch on the dresser.

She picked it up, feeling a chill. But the warmth from Eric's vision traveled through the image, winding its way under Agatha's skin. Then she thought of another drawing, of herself, Belle, and Lynne. Indeed that woman had been expecting, but Eric hadn't realized it. Agatha giggled, unable to hide the joy she'd felt when asking Lynne how she was feeling. Now she was probably very tired of being pregnant, but that was typical. Good that Laurie was there lending a hand.

Yet, why wasn't he here? Not that anyone could be two places at once, but.... Agatha placed the sketch back on the dresser, then turned off the light. That morning Stanford had told her she needn't stay once she had finished the shopping, for he was dining with his father that evening. While Don might appreciate her home early, Agatha felt compelled to remain in Manhattan for a few more hours. She had something to tell her boss and if he fired her afterwards, at least she had spoken her mind.

Stanford was surprised by Agatha's presence; he was also pleased, but kept that to himself as he thumbed through the mail. No letters from Lynne had arrived, which also maintained the art dealer's good mood. When Eric returned, Stanford expected to hear of it via the telephone, although he wasn't certain who would make that call. Stanford would prefer Lynne, Sam Ahern even. But Sam wouldn't telephone unless Lynne wasn't well enough to speak, and that would only be the case if the baby had arrived or.... Stanford grimaced, then looked at Agatha, who was staring at him from across the kitchen. "Yes?" he said, forcing an authoritative tone.

"I have a question to ask you, that's why I'm still here."

"Well, ask." He sighed inwardly, having hoped she had stayed merely to make small talk. Yet Agatha wasn't that sort. He glanced at her, finding she had crossed her arms over her chest, a pose so unlike the one Eric had drawn of her in that sketch. Stanford hadn't seen it since the day he'd left it in the guest room, but assumed he would never forget the image regardless if he ever laid eyes on it again.

Agatha hummed for a moment, then cleared her throat. "Do you not love Laurie anymore?"

Stanford trembled at her words, then coughed hard for her plaintive tone. "What did you just ask me?" he sputtered.

"You heard me. Now answer the question. Do you not love...."

"How dare you ask something so, so...." He nearly stomped his foot, yet gazing at her, he also felt a great weight attached to her query. If he lied, he might as well give her two weeks' notice, although it would be more like she was firing him. They stared at each other, then he blinked. "What business is my personal life to you?"

"Oh for goodness sake!" Agatha threw up her hands, then placed them on her hips. "Do you love him or not?"

"I, I, I...." He shook his head. "I am not going to speak about this with you or anyone else. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to change for supper."

He turned around, but his legs wobbled. All he had to do was reach the dining room, then if he had to crawl to his room, at least he could do it behind that closed kitchen door. As he took one shaky step, tears could be discerned. He shut his eyes, but that didn't mask a sound he wasn't sure if he had ever heard before. Was Agatha crying, and did he dare investigate?

One awkward sniffle gave him pause, then he couldn't help himself, facing the strongest woman he knew. Lynne Snyder was another, but she had never confronted the obstacles that Agatha met daily, then rose above. Stanford couldn't bear to hurt her, yet her question had been intrusive. Or had it, he mused, as he approached her, then gave her his handkerchief, which she took, then used to dab at her eyes.

Then she met his, and the sorrow etched deeply along her brow and around those brown eyes took his breath. It was if someone had died, and he gasped, then shook his head. "Agatha, really, it'll be...."

"Don't tell me it's gonna be all right, because until he's here giving you hell, it's not gonna be anywhere near fine." Her voice was tight and he had never heard her swear. Then she continued. "He still loves you, didn't wanna go, although he's being put to good use. But Stanford, you have to let him back in. In this house and inside...." Gently she placed her palm over Stanford's heart. Her touch lasted for seconds, yet the sensation was so intense that Stanford expected to feel it resonate for.... He wasn't sure, although for the first time since that awful argument in the library Stanford's heart didn't throb.

The quiet lingered as Agatha shook her head, again folding her arms over her chest as if she was cold. Then Stanford cleared his throat. "He said things that couldn't possibly be true. How am I supposed to permit that?"

"Has he ever lied to you, ever given you any reason to doubt him, has he?"

Against his will, Stanford shook his head. "But I simply can't forget this, this incident." He sighed, then tapped his foot. "Unless he can apologize...."

Now Agatha caressed Stanford's cheek. "As long as I've known Laurie, all I've ever seen is how devoted he is to you. He loves you unreservedly, you know he does. Now maybe he said something that defies belief. But can you stand there and tell me that he said those things to purposely hurt you? Because I just can't believe he'd ever wanna hurt you."

You have no idea how I've tried to protect you... Those words wafted through Stanford's mind alongside the ragged tone Laurie had used during much of that argument. He'd claimed to be tired, but exhaustion hadn't been at the root of Laurie's altered demeanor. Then Stanford shivered. Laurie had changed, and if his assertion was taken as fact, someone else had as well. If Stanford shared that allegation, Agatha would probably roll her eyes, then pat Stanford's shoulder, offering her regrets. Yet Stanford couldn't relate that insane rubbish, he had to....

"Stanford, if I know anything in my life, it's that Laurie loves you. Now, I can't tell you what to do, but I will say this; you think living is what you've been doing for the last few weeks, well it's not. What you've been doing is pretending. And I'll also say this; if that's truly what you wanna do, all right. You're free, white, and well over twenty-one. So's Laurie. Maybe you'll find someone else, who knows? Maybe he will too. But neither of you'll be happy. You'll regret this for as long as you live. Trust isn't built in a day, Stanford, it takes years to accrue. Anything else is just empty promises. Has he ever given you a reason to not trust him, doesn't all of that count for something, or are you really just gonna push him out the door?"

Sam didn't throw his wife to the street... If Stanford called Sam Ahern, would he corroborate Laurie's statement? Did Stanford have enough guts to even ask such a nonsensical.... Then his guts rumbled, for even thinking about this made him ill. "Agatha, I do not wish to speak about this. Now as I said, if you'll excuse me...."

Yet he couldn't move, for the fear in her eyes pierced him. He hadn't answered her question, not that she required his verbal reply. But did Stanford still love Laurie, would he, God forbid, miss him if perhaps Laurie moved on? Would Laurie, could he.... Stanford sighed, then shook his head. "What he said was something I can't reconcile. How am I supposed to move past that?"

"Can you just trust him, can you do that?" she said softly.

"I, I don't know."

She nodded, then grasped his hand. "I trusted you."

He stared at her, momentarily confused. Then he sighed, recalling their first interview. He told her his roommate was a man and that they were.... Together was how he had phrased it. Stanford had decided to be honest with the prospective candidates, all of them Negros whom he most likely would never see again in his life. Agatha had been first on the list, and while she hadn't been the only one unruffled by his statement, she'd been his preferred choice from the moment she entered this apartment. Yet, was the level of trust comparable, for what Laurie had said was completely unacceptable. Although maybe to those women what Stanford had mentioned was equally unbelievable.

Agatha released his hand, then looked him in the eye. "When you told me, I thought, well, he seems to know his own mind. And he's honest, God help him. God help you both," she smirked. "But he has, all these years. I know it hasn't been easy, but you stayed loyal to one another, you trusted each other. Some of my kids don't have it as good as you and Laurie, not sure why that is." She shook her head. "But now, now...." Her lips trembled. "The last thing I want is for you to regret this. It's not just Laurie I'm thinking about." Agatha blinked away tears. "It's hard Stanford, Lord don't I know it. But trust is the foundation of what you two share. Love, yes," she smiled. "But for you two especially. He trusts you and you need to reciprocate. If you don't...." Again she placed her palm over his heart, but this time she left her hand in the center of his chest. "You'll wither into an old solitary man. That's the last thing I want for you Stanford, the last thing in this world."

He knew it was Agatha standing in front of him, but in those moments, his mother spoke through her. Stanford forced himself to remain standing, yet all he wanted was to collapse in Agatha's arms. She nodded as if aware, then removed her hand. The emptiness returned, yet a faint echo beat from far within him, a pulse warm and.... It was the bliss of Laurie's laughter, or how lovingly he whispered Stanford's name. It was the possibility of.... Could he, was it even feasible? Stanford wasn't sure how he felt, other than incapable of sharing a meal with his father. Yet hunger gripped him, and his stomach rumbled as if to second that notion. "Why don't you call Michael, tell him you'll meet him tomorrow night. I'll fix you some supper and...."

Stanford nodded, then stepped away. Reaching the kitchen door, he stopped. Turning around, he saw Agatha opening the refrigerator. From the corner of his eye, he could make out Laurie, seated at the table, reading a book. Stanford blinked, finding Agatha at the stove, her gentle hum drifting through the room. Laurie wasn't there, although Stanford would have sworn he was present. Stanford shook his head, then walked to the library, calling his father, rescheduling for tomorrow night.
Chapter 171

John had known Callie Bolden for one week, but it seemed more like all his life. Callie felt much the same, although while Callie reminded John of someone specific, Callie couldn't place John within previous situations. He'd talked about it with Susie, and some with Walt. Walt thought it must be from Callie's army days, to which Callie had outwardly agreed. But it wasn't merely from his tour in Korea, although Callie couldn't figure from where else memories of this odd man might have originated.

For Walt, the past week had felt much longer, but not all due to John Doe. While Dora was still pregnant, she was also very upset about what had happened in Dallas. The couple didn't speak about that subject, but when they had a few moments alone, they talked about the baby. Dora was almost nine weeks along; if they could get through Christmas, then New Year's.... Callie and Susie knew, although Callie hadn't brought it up with Walt. But Walt was glad for their knowledge; they stopped by when time allowed, giving Dora a break from John's care. Now that man was like any other wounded fellow Walt had encountered, although the mystery of how his arm and shoulder had reformed continued to puzzle Walt. And it puzzled Luke too.

Luke had managed to keep the secret, Tilda as well. But it was hardest on Luke, for Hiram pestered him to return to the lake. Other boys had heard about their adventure, but Hiram seemed to understand why Luke was avoiding him, for now Hiram treated Luke the way he did other kids, with a cruel eye seeking an advantage. Fortunately Hiram lived on the other side of Karnack. The Richardson youngsters walked home surrounded by their neighbors until they reached their driveway, where Luke would then break into a dead run, Tilda lagging behind.

While Mr. Bolden sometimes stopped by in the mornings, after school John's care was solely in Luke's hands. Luke made sure Mr. Doe had a fresh glass of water, that his pee jug was emptied, and that he was on his feet at least twice before Luke's daddy got home. Mr. Doe still couldn't remember who he was, although he had a few ideas about those Luke knew well. Mr. Bolden, for example, was like Mr. Doe's best friend, in part that both men had lost most of their hair. Luke had laughed at that, but something in Mr. Doe's voice had sounded sad. Luke assumed it was that no matter how hard Mr. Doe tried, he couldn't recall details that would help them find his family. But sometimes Luke wondered if he reminded Mr. Doe of somebody, for he would stare at Luke with the nicest smile, yet it was like when Luke's mother had been expecting Gail, something so good you just didn't know if it would last.

A few nights back Luke had almost asked his father if another baby was coming, but then Tilda had interrupted them. Luke's mother was still sick in the mornings, but she seemed better later in the day. Luke remembered that from when she'd been carrying Gail, so maybe all would be fine. Then Luke wondered if Mr. Doe knew, not that he'd said anything, but now Mr. Doe could walk around the yard if someone stood right beside him, usually Mr. Bolden when he visited or Luke's father around suppertime. Mr. Doe was still very thin, and he couldn't be on his feet for long. And of course he had amnesia. Luke wanted to tell his teacher that he could spell that word, but if he did, Mrs. Thompson might ask how he knew it. Mr. Doe was helping Luke and Tilda with spelling; for all Mr. Doe didn't know, he was certainly a smart man.

Mr. Doe knew plenty about baseball, the Boston Red Sox especially. He remembered the Cuban Missile Crisis, which Luke had overheard his parents talk about last year, one of the few times his father spoke about President Kennedy. Mr. Doe felt very bad that the president had died, but he thought President Johnson would do a good job. Luke liked speaking to Mr. Doe, for he explained what Luke didn't understand, whether it was ideas or new words. Then Luke would scratch his head; how did Mr. Doe know all these things, but not his own name?

They didn't talk about that, for the few times Luke had mentioned it, Mr. Doe became very quiet. Then he would stare at Luke as if Luke had the answer, but of course he didn't. Once he told Luke there was something familiar about his eyes, but he wasn't sure if it was the color or.... As Luke walked beside Tilda, he wondered about that. They were almost to their road, other kids behind them. Luke couldn't wait to see Mr. Doe and he waved goodbye, then ran toward his house. That day Tilda didn't try to race and Luke was in the shed speaking to Mr. Doe by the time Tilda reached the front porch.

But Luke didn't ask a question that made his friend uncomfortable. He was starting to think of Mr. Doe as his friend, and friends, or good friends, tried to make each other feel better. "So Mr. Doe, what can I get for you?"

Seated on his bed, the man smiled. "I think I need a haircut. Gonna leave this alone," Mr. Doe patted his left cheek, now covered by a thin beard, then he ran his left hand through his hair. "But all this could use a trim."

Luke laughed, then heard Tilda clearing her throat outside the shed. "Well, that's a job for somebody else." Luke pondered who might do it; his mother used to cut his hair, but now he sat in the tallest seat at the barber. But they couldn't take Mr. Doe there. "I'll ask Mama, see what she thinks." Luke looked around the shed; the water cup was empty, but the pee jug was full. Tilda was waiting to come inside; Luke could hear her shuffling just beyond the door. "I'll be right back," he said.

"Take your time, I'm not going anywhere."

"Indeed Mr. Doe." Luke chuckled as he walked to the door, finding Tilda a few feet away. "Don't go in there yet," he said to her.

"Why not?"

"I need to...." He grunted, then grabbed her hand, leading her away from the shed. He didn't speak until they reached the porch. "I need to do some things before you can go in."

"Like what?" She put her hands on her hips. "I can help, you know."

Luke shook his head. "Not with everything. C'mon, you leave him alone."

Tilda clucked loudly, taking her hand from Luke's grasp, but she didn't turn back for the shed. Together they went in the house, where their mother sat at the table, Gail on her lap, Esther in a chair next to them.

"Mama, Mr. Doe wants a haircut." Luke smiled, then kissed his mother's cheek. "How're you feeling today?"

Dora gave him a quizzical look. "I'm okay. A haircut huh. Well, I'll need to think about that."

Luke nodded, feeling very grown-up. Maybe that was his favorite part of taking care of Mr. Doe. This wasn't like keeping an eye on Esther or Gail, which was what Tilda was then told to do as Dora stood, setting Gail on the floor. "Tilda, you mind your sisters. Luke, I'll be out in a few minutes."

Luke nearly clapped his hands, for he knew his mother was going to get her scissors. "We'll be waiting for you Mama."

She nodded, then walked toward the back of the house. Once she was gone, Luke gave Tilda a triumphant glance, and she scowled at him. He raced out of the house, reached the shed, hollering that Mr. Doe was going to get a haircut. Then Luke emptied the jug behind the shed, and was waiting just beyond the shed door as Dora walked down the path, scissors in one hand, an old sheet in the other.

Ten minutes later John was seated on the metal chair outside the shed, covered by the sheet from his neck down. Dora stood behind him, cutting his hair as Luke stood in front, giving his opinion. In the distance Tilda and her sisters observed the proceedings, which John realized must be quite a show. He was glad, however, that his shoulder was concealed from the girls. While still heavily wrapped, it wasn't more than a sharp slope from the base of his neck to where his right arm hung limply along his side. Walt had kept the wound free from infection, but no doctor alive could repair the damage.

Dora had only asked how short did he want his hair. John had replied as short as possible without needing his neck shaved. She had giggled, which made Luke laugh, lightening the mood. John had still only seen Dora in passing, not that he could see her now, for she remained behind him, a snipping sound the only proof she was there. She reminded him of someone who preferred keeping themselves aloof. Tilda's familiar sassiness made John smile, but it was Luke who tugged strongest at John's heart, the boy's blue eyes like a calm in the storm. John gazed at those eyes, but other than that familiar hue, John couldn't place them.

Luke was chatty, making up for what his mother couldn't, or wouldn't, say. Luke talked about school, the weather, which was relatively mild for December, even in their part of Texas. He hinted toward Christmas, which was a little over two weeks away. John inwardly sighed; he'd been here for two weeks, and while he didn't like imposing, there wasn't much else he could do. Part of it was his injury, but most was simply from not knowing who he was or where he was from. The bits he recalled were fragmentary; he felt as if he'd lived in a rural setting, but not like Karnack. Yet he couldn't fathom what he did, if he was married, or did he have children. He still wondered if he might be an escaped convict, but Walt had disallowed that, for no reports had surfaced in the news. Walt had pointed out that other than his shoulder, John had no scars or marks that might speak to a violent past. Sometimes John's left foot ached, or maybe it was the memory of pain. Then John grimaced; why couldn't he recall anything of significance? His accent was more northerly, or perhaps from the west. Walt couldn't place it, neither could Callie Bolden. Callie's wife Susie had given John a good once-over last week, but other than noting that his arm, while healing slowly, was permanently crippled, she couldn't ascertain from where his inflection might originate. Then John smiled; it wasn't merely his tone, but the words he used, whether aloud or to himself. Not that these people were ignorant, only uneducated.

"Maybe this's good enough for now. Luke, whatdya think?" Dora stepped to where John could see her, but her arms were folded across her chest.

"Oh Mama, that looks much better." Then Luke laughed. "Not that you looked bad before Mr. Doe, just shaggy. Yes, he looks pretty smart now."

"Do you have a mirror?" John wanted to see Dora's handiwork. Then he realized he hadn't yet looked at his image. "Maybe just a hand mirror." He wasn't sure he wanted to see more than his face, which might appear unusual, what with the beard he'd grown since staying with the Richardsons.

"Tilda, go get my mirror," Dora called. Then she stepped in front of John. "I hope it'll be all right."

He ran his left hand through his hair, then smiled. "Feels better, thank you so much."

"You're welcome."

She glanced at him, her eyes the same color as her daughters, but not as blue as Luke's. Then John shivered, for as soon as she turned to the side, he could see she was pregnant. Quickly she faced the house, as if watching her youngest children. John wondered if that was why she'd been avoiding him; on occasion he'd heard her throwing up, maybe his injury exacerbated her condition.

Tilda ran toward them, a small mirror in her grasp. "Here you are," she said, stopping next to her mother.

Dora didn't turn to face John. "You can give it to him," she said to Tilda.

John smiled at the girl, her usual brazenness having disappeared. She grinned shyly, then held out the mirror.

"Thank you very much," he said, taking it from her. He stared at his face; his eyes were gray, which he hadn't known, his skin seemed slightly pale, but he'd been indoors for the last two weeks. His beard was the result of not being able to shave by himself, and his hair appeared.... Well groomed, he smiled. Then he looked at Dora. "This's great, wish I could pay you for it."

Dora met his gaze. "It's nothing. Been cutting the kids' hair, you know."

"Not mine anymore." Luke approached John, giving him the once-over. "I go to the barber in town now."

Tilda rolled her eyes, making John laugh. "Well, you look good Luke. But your mother does a fine job."

Dora's soft chuckle didn't escape John's hearing, nor did Tilda's huff. "She cuts mine real nice too."

"Yes she does." John met Dora's eyes. "Again, thank you so much."

She nodded, but her lower lip trembled. Then she walked behind him, taking the sheet from around his neck. She brushed off loose hairs, then balled up the sheet. "You should probably lay down now, been upright a good while. Luke, you help him. Tilda, you take the chair back in there."

"Yes Mama," the children answered in unison, but Dora was already walking away as they spoke. John stood, watching her reach where the little girls had stayed, even without anyone close to them. All four were well behaved and another would be added in the coming year.

That evening John ate his supper with Walt for company, although John had urged Walt to join his family. "It's all right," Walt said. "Maybe in another few days you can sit with us."

John smiled. "That would be wonderful."

Walt nodded, then leaned back in the metal chair. "Not sure what we're gonna do with you." Walt took a bite, chewing slowly. He swallowed, then sighed. "Been talking about it with Callie, he has no idea either."

"I've been thinking about this, but I just don't know." John had hoped getting a haircut might jog his memory. Then he cleared his throat. "Walt, can I ask you a question?"

"You can ask," Walt smiled.

"Fair enough." John chuckled, then he paused; while he was curious, it truly wasn't his business. Yet, if Dora was pregnant, it would explain her demeanor. "Are you and Mrs. Richardson expecting a...."

Walt's eyes went wide, then he nodded. "But it's still early days," he said softly.

"I wondered." John took a deep breath, then started to cough. He began to choke and Walt gently patted his left shoulder. No food was caught in John's throat, only a memory now making him tremble.

"You okay?" Walt asked as John took another breath. "What's wrong?"

"I just remembered my wife," John whispered. "Oh God, how could I have forgotten I was married?" He shook his head, then shivered. "She's expecting our baby and she's due soon, Jesus Christ!"

Walt leaned forward in his seat. "What else can you remember?"

John closed his eyes, but no image was present. Yet the feeling ran so strongly through him, making him bend over, grasping his knees for support. "Nothing, only that she's pregnant and...."

"And what?"

John sat up, looking at Walt. "We have a daughter, God, maybe Gail's age?" He wasn't sure exactly, but that seemed close. "I have a wife and a child and another on the way, so what the hell am I doing here?"

"Sure wish I could tell you. Are you certain?"

John nodded, then shook his head. "There's no proof, but...." Then John sighed deeply. "Luke's eyes are the same color as my daughter's. I knew there was something familiar about him."

Walt stood. "Lemme go get him, maybe if you see him...."

"No, don't." Suddenly John wanted to be far from this place, but not to find his family. Why had he abandoned his wife, their daughter, and.... "Just go, I need some time alone."

"You sure?"

John nodded, then met Walt's cautious stare. "Don't worry, I can't get far."

Walt gazed around the room. "I sure as hell don't wanna come find you hanging from the rafters."

The idea had already passed through John's mind. "I can't tie a decent knot one-handed."

Walt grunted, then took a deep breath. "Listen to me now. The last thing Dora needs is more upset, so you keep this to yourself. If I even catch you trying something stupid, I'll, well, just don't say anything, all right?"

John nodded. "Is she okay?"

"She's...." Walt cleared his throat. "We've lost a couple. Don't wanna lose this one."

"I'm so sorry."

Walt nodded. "Nothing we can do 'bout it now. And as for you, at least you're recalling something. It'll come back to you, I'm sure."

"Yeah?"

"Well, I can't imagine you'll be living in my shed the rest of your life. If you've got kin out there, they're looking for you. Maybe they'll be showing up before Christmas."

"But if I have family, why haven't they found me already?"

Walt wouldn't meet John's stare. "Dunno. In the meantime, think hard on it. We'll see what you remember tomorrow." Walt picked up John's empty plate, then his own, still with a few bites remaining. Wordlessly he exited the shed, leaving John with much to ponder.
Chapter 172

Without a rabbi to consult, Laurie turned to the Snyders' encyclopedias, but he found little information about Hanukkah. Memories from his childhood centered on food, gifts, and lighting the menorah, which he had decided would occur as close to sundown as possible once the Aherns and Marek had arrived. Laurie would light the shamash, which in the menorah Marek had found stood above the other candles. Then he would let someone else light that evening's candle, maybe Paul with Sam's help. By Hanukkah's end, Laurie would light all eight, and he prayed that Eric would be present on that evening.

Laurie had purchased a variety of small toys for Paul and Ann, but he'd followed Lynne's edict for Jane; hair bows would be supplemented by a small piece of pie or a caramel slice. If the Ahern children asked about Jane's gifts, Laurie would tell them that she wouldn't remember. Not that Ann would, Laurie had considered, nor did he wonder if this would be his only Hanukkah spent out west. But for the first time, this holiday possessed a significant meaning to Laurie. He'd decided to read part of Psalm 91 that evening, and would read all of Psalm 100 on the last night. He'd explained to Lynne why that Psalm was special, and it had made her cry. But her tears had been accompanied by a smile, for Laurie shared that memory amid other happy recollections of his father. And that his dad would probably be rolling over in his grave that Laurie had grown so close to Lutherans and Catholics.

A motley crew of gentiles, Marek had laughed, also present for that tale, relayed over lunch after church at St. Matthew's. Laurie wasn't sure when he returned to New York if his spiritual life would be satisfied merely by attending Friday night services. He joked with Marek and Lynne he might need to hunt down a Lutheran church, although he'd keep that from his mother. Rose was indeed pleased that Laurie was making the effort to celebrate Hanukkah, but she would raise her eyebrows if Laurie sought out a Christian place of worship.

Maybe she would equate it to his relationship with Stanford, but Laurie had kept that observation to himself. Yet over the last few days Laurie had pondered how his life was set to change. Part of it was his newfound interest in faith, but the bulk centered on something he had casually mentioned to Paul not long after meeting that little boy; Laurie had decided to look for a house. Once Eric returned and was well, Laurie wanted to give the Snyders their privacy. Yet, returning to New York wasn't a priority.

Laurie didn't want to go back until.... It had little to do with where Seth was, only the massive hole in Laurie's heart. He was keeping in close contact with a few of his sculptors, but with others, Laurie had encouraged them to find a new dealer. Rose wouldn't like this news, but Laurie couldn't imagine living in Manhattan unless things with Stan were back to normal. And as the days passed, Laurie had grown doubtful that they could find a way to bridge this gulf. For all his optimism over Eric's return, Laurie was deeply pessimistic about his own relationship.

He hadn't shared those feelings, but he wondered if Lynne could read his mind; more than once she had mentioned calling Stanford, yet the timing had never been right. Lynne slept every afternoon, usually overlapping with Jane's naptime. For the next eight nights, suppers at the Snyders would include others; Laurie was making latkes that evening, Sam was bringing chicken cacciatore tomorrow, and Marek had the next meal. The rest would be divvied up accordingly, but other than the occasional baking, Laurie didn't want Lynne to worry about cooking. They had finished Christmas shopping yesterday, including a few items for Eric. Laurie didn't contemplate what Lynne would do with those presents if her husband was still absent after the twenty-fifth. They weren't extravagant gifts, stationary and a new sweater similar to what Laurie and Stanford exchanged. Laurie hadn't mentioned that either. Thinking about Stan only caused heartache.

If Laurie bought a place here, would he go so far as to move permanently, or would he use it as a getaway of sorts? He considered this while wrapping the last of Ann's gifts. Then he walked to his bedroom window that faced the backyard; Eric's studio and the storage building stood out as trees and boysenberry vines were stripped bare. He didn't need a showplace, merely a cottage, preferably on this side of town. He would be known as Lynne's older brother, his accent setting him apart, also his solitary nature. He had no desire to replace Stan; Laurie couldn't fathom ever falling in love again. It might take the rest of his life to get over losing the only one....

He wore a wry smile, then walked back to where gifts sat on his bed. Eight for Paul, the same number for Ann, plus two small packages for Jane. He smiled at how strongly these people were now woven through him. They couldn't take Stan's place, but a deep bond had been fashioned, mostly due to the secret shared by the adults. Then Laurie sighed; was that why he had grown so close to Agatha, for she had kept a similar secret. He missed her, but had refrained from calling the apartment. He knew she was doing all she could, but perhaps there was nothing more to be done.

Laurie opened his door, but the house was still; both Lynne and Jane were resting. He walked along the hallway, taking quiet steps downstairs. He added wood to the fire, then found himself staring at that one glass pane. That trip had been over six weeks in length, then Eric was away for five months. Now that length had been surpassed, but according to Seth, Eric hadn't thought of himself as human since.... Laurie shivered, then said a prayer. He had to set aside those considerations, especially on that day. Maybe the Festival of Lights was only a legend; how could one day's worth of oil burn for over a week? Laurie thought to his chat with Agatha about miracles. He wanted to call her, but she was already headed home. Perhaps tomorrow morning he would try the apartment; he could tell her about Jane's first night of Hanukkah, then assure her that Lynne was in good health. He wouldn't ask about Stan; Laurie's heart pounded simply thinking of that man. Then Laurie closed his eyes, Eric's message from last month resounding in his head. Taking a deep breath, Laurie opened his eyes, sighing heavily. If Eric could return, Laurie would gladly give up who he loved. Uttering another prayer, he glanced toward the ceiling, where mother and daughter remained asleep. Then Laurie faced the patio, ignoring that one clear windowpane.

As Laurie fried latkes, Marek spoke Polish to Jane while Lynne crimped the last edges of pie crust. A sweet potato pie cooled on the counter, but this of apple, peach, and boysenberry had been a special request from Sam. Once Lynne put this pie in the oven, her kitchen work would be through. Marek had offered to wash dishes and Laurie had agreed to dry. Lynne assumed Renee would fill other gaps while Sam kept an eye on the children. Lynne didn't think past that evening; she would take each day as it came and be glad for the blessings within her midst.

"All right, this needs about fifty minutes." She handed the pie to Laurie, who put it in the oven as Lynne set the timer. They would have dessert after lighting the candles, but Lynne wouldn't attach any sentiments to those lights other than gratefulness for Laurie's presence as well as small children which at times still seemed a surprise to all of their parents. Three years ago Lynne had been relieved merely for Eric's return; as she gazed at their daughter, happy tears welled in a mother's eyes. Jane seemed to be speaking Polish to Marek, or at least a semblance of that tongue. It certainly wasn't English and Lynne giggled, wiping her face. She joined that twosome, sitting next to Jane, who smiled brightly. "I wonder how many languages she'll know one day," Lynne said, softly caressing her child's head.

"She's a smart girl, the sky's the limit." Marek's eyes twinkled. "And soon she'll have someone with whom to speak Polish besides me."

Lynne stared at her pastor, but Marek laughed, pointing to the coming baby. "Actually, Klaudia's terrified of speaking English, although her written grasp of the language is exemplary."

"How's her Polish?" Laurie asked.

"Just fine." Marek smiled. "I haven't spoken it with anyone other than Miss Jane, and what a joy that was." He said something to her and she giggled. "I hope Klaudia will take the opportunity to put her English into practice. I certainly don't know any Norwegian."

"It's all Greek to me," Laurie laughed.

"Me too," Lynne chuckled. "Makes me wish I'd kept up the French I took in high school. At least Jane and this baby will know more than one language."

As the adults laughed, a knock on the kitchen door heralded the Aherns' arrival. Jane clamored to be set down and Marek obliged as handshakes and embraces were shared. Paul asked what Laurie was cooking and as Laurie gave details, Renee and Lynne went into the living room, keeping an eye on the girls, who settled near a collection of toys by the sofa. Renee looked toward the kitchen, then caught Lynne's gaze. "Are we eating soon?" Renee asked.

Lynne nodded. "Then we'll light the candles. Laurie's so excited."

Renee smiled. "I have to admit, we're pretty excited too. It was all the kids could talk about this afternoon. Paul wanted to head over right after lunch, but I told him you and Jane were asleep."

"We were," Lynne laughed. "And I'm already feeling like it's bedtime."

Renee set her hand on the baby. "How are you?"

"Just very ready to have this...." Lynne placed her hand atop Renee's. "Boy or girl, I don't care which. Once Christmas comes, then so can this baby." Lynne didn't want a premature birth, but by the end of the month, the due date would be close enough. "How's Ritchie?"

"The doctor thinks he can be transferred to a rehab facility maybe by next week. Don't know how they'll pay for it, but...." Then Renee shook her head. "Not like that matters." Renee cleared her throat. "One of Brenda's brothers has organized a fund for them. I guess he's a recovering alcoholic, so maybe he's a little less biased than the rest of us."

Now Lynne gripped Renee's hands. "It's hard to be objective."

"Yeah, but...." Renee hesitated, then shared Sam's plan for the Bel Air. Lynne's eyes went wide, then she smiled as Renee nodded. "They'll get better use out of it than us, and now that I'm home, we really only need the Impala."

"So many changes," Lynne said softly. Then she looked toward the kitchen. "And speaking of changes, maybe it's suppertime."

Renee chuckled as Laurie called for them. Mothers rounded up their daughters, then headed to the kitchen where the men were waiting.

A cheese platter was served alongside the potato pancakes, a meal that Paul found very intriguing. During supper, Laurie explained the significance of latkes, how a small amount of olive oil kept the temple light burning for eight entire days. That conversation led into why they would light one candle that evening, right after sunset. Laurie asked Paul if he would like to do the honors. Paul glanced at Sam, who nodded. "Can Daddy help me?" Paul asked.

"Of course." Laurie smiled. "If everyone's finished, we can get started."

Paul was the first out of his seat, followed by his sister. The rest followed into the living room, where on the dining table sat the menorah, with candles already waiting. Laurie led the Ahern youngsters to the French doors. "Looks like the sun's set." He knelt beside them, then smiled. "Jewish holidays begin at sundown, which is great for lighting candles." Then he stood, extending his hands, which both children grasped. Laurie led them back to the table, then motioned to Lynne's Bible, waiting near the menorah. "I'm gonna read part of Psalm 91. Then Paul, you and your dad can light the first candle."

Paul smiled, then walked to where Sam stood. As Paul leaned against his father, Renee collected Ann while Jane rested in Marek's grasp. Laurie nodded at Lynne, then picked up the Bible, flipping to a bookmark he had placed there earlier. He cleared his throat, then began to read.

"He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High, who abides in the shadow of the Almighty, will say to the LORD, 'My refuge and my fortress; my God, in whom I trust.' For he will give his angels charge of you to guard you in all your ways. On their hands they will bear you up, lest you dash your foot against a stone." Laurie took a breath, then looked at Paul and Ann, who solemnly stared back at him. He smiled, rousing their grins. Then he continued reading. "Because he cleaves to me in love, I will deliver him; I will protect him, because he knows my name. When he calls to me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble, I will rescue him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him, and show him my salvation."

Laurie had skipped several verses, but had spoken what to him was the essence of Hanukkah. That it also resonated with Eric's absence touched all the adults, but Laurie had shared these specific verses with Lynne. He closed the Bible, placing it back on the table. Then he reached for the candle in the center of the menorah. "This's the shamash candle. We light it first, then use it to light the rest. Sam, would you do the honors?"

Sam nodded, taking that candle from Laurie, who lit it with a match. Then Sam handed it to Paul. "You ready?" he asked his son.

Paul smiled, gripping the candle, then lighting the one Laurie pointed to. Then Paul carefully placed the shamash back in the center of the menorah. The lights twinkled, reminding Laurie of his childhood. He closed his eyes, said a prayer, then looked at those with whom he stood. Now Lynne toted Jane, who pointed at the menorah while Renee kissed Ann's cheek. Sam was speaking to Paul, who then met Laurie's gaze. "Why does Hanukkah begin at night?"

Laurie smiled. "Because that's what the...." He nearly said Torah, but chuckled instead. Then he gazed thoughtfully at Paul. "Well, let's see what Lynne's Bible says." Laurie again picked up the Bible, going to the very front. "Jews call this book the Torah, but Genesis is the same no matter where you read it." Laurie led Paul to the sofa and the rest followed. Once all were seated, Laurie began to read. "In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, one day." Again Laurie had omitted some verses, but as he looked at Paul, the little boy nodded his head.

"Night turns into daytime," Paul smiled. "That makes sense." Then he grew somber. "What's a Jew?"

Now Laurie laughed. "I'm a Jew, like your parents are Catholic. It's just another way of celebrating God."

Paul glanced at Sam, who nodded. Then Paul looked back at the menorah, from where a soft glow emanated. "How long will the candles burn?" he asked.

"We'll give them half an hour. Then I have something for you, Ann, and Jane."

"You do? But it's not Christmas yet."

"Hanukkah's different than Christmas. In the meantime, maybe we can have some pie." Laurie looked at Lynne as he spoke.

"I'm not moving from this sofa," she giggled. "But I'll eat whatever someone brings me."

Marek stood, then was joined by Sam and Renee. "You two stay put," Marek said. "Laurie, a piece of sweet potato?"

"Please," he said, grasping Lynne's hand. "What do you want?" he asked her.

"I'm not picky."

He chuckled, as now they were the only ones in the living room, Jane having been led into the kitchen by Ann. Laurie placed the Bible on the coffee table, but still held Lynne's hand. Then he gazed at her. "I remember asking my dad that same question, why all our holidays were celebrated at night. And his answer has stayed with me all this time. He said it was because no matter how dark was the night, the day always came." Laurie squeezed Lynne's hand, then stared at the menorah. "And he was right." Now Laurie looked at Lynne, a few tears falling down her cheeks. He wiped them away, then kissed the back of her hand. "I'll call my mother tomorrow, tell her the latkes were a big hit."

"Will you tell her about the rest?"

He shook his head. "I don't know if she'd believe me, I mean, why should a bunch of gentiles care about Hanukkah?" He laughed as Lynne added her chuckles. "But this has been the most meaningful one I've ever celebrated."

"I don't think it'll be our last," Lynne said, motioning at the menorah. "Marek told me to keep it here. I need to find a proper place for it."

"Maybe I'll tell my mother you're thinking of converting."

"Would she believe you?" Lynne smiled.

"Nah, but I'm sure she appreciates...." He stood, then walked to where the candles flickered. "Dad always looked at life as why not? Why not give a three-year-old chocolate cake, why not find the good in any given situation." Laurie turned around. "I have no idea what he'd have thought about me and Stan, but maybe eventually, he'd have understood."

"Maybe I'll try calling Stanford again." Lynne's tone was soft.

"Well, I was gonna call Agatha in the morning. I'll call her, you try him and we'll see what happens."

Laurie walked back to the sofa, then sat beside Lynne, embracing her. As they separated, Renee brought each a slice of pie, sweet potato for Laurie, apple-peach-boysenberry for Lynne. Laurie savored his while gazing at the glowing candles, his father's hopeful voice a balm upon Laurie's weary soul.
Chapter 173

In the morning, Laurie called Manhattan, talking to Agatha for nearly half an hour. Then Lynne and Agatha spoke, even Jane said a few words. Agatha told Lynne that Stanford had no plans for that evening, as Lynne had mentioned trying to reach the art dealer. After goodbyes were shared, Lynne and Laurie wondered if Agatha's intercessions had done any good. Allegedly she had spoken her heart last week, but Stanford hadn't tried to contact Laurie. Maybe he had written a letter, Lynne mused, but Laurie doubted it. "I guess we'll know more tonight," he sighed. Then he smiled. "But it was so good to hear her voice."

"She's such a special lady." Lynne squeezed Laurie's hand. "If he'll listen to anyone, it'd be Agatha."

Laurie had a brief nod, then he gazed about the room. Lynne sensed his misgivings. He took a deep breath, then stared at her. "I'm thinking of looking for a house out here. When Eric gets back, I don't wanna be in the way."

"Oh Laurie, you're more than welcome. We'll need you, you know."

He gripped her hand, then smiled weakly. "You'll need time alone with your husband and this gorgeous girl." Laurie tickled Jane's chin, then he sighed. "I don't think there's much chance for things to change between me and Stan."

Lynne's heart raced, but she understood his pessimism. If Agatha's words hadn't moved Stanford's heart, perhaps it would only be softened by witnessing the miracle Lynne prayed for daily. Maybe she needed to stop those intercessions, in that she had laid that petition at Christ's feet, time to leave it there. But her heart was so inclined toward the man she loved, and so was Laurie's for his other half. Then Lynne took a deep breath; Laurie truly felt Eric would return, but nearly a month had passed. Lynne also needed to tell Frannie something, for Sam's sister knew that Seth had been discharged. "Laurie, please, don't do something...."

Would it be so terrible if this man relocated, what about his career? Lynne mentioned that and Laurie cracked his knuckles. "I've already informed some of my clients to find other dealers. I can represent artists out here, that would be new." He smiled, patting Lynne's hand. "I sure don't miss New York winters, let me tell you. It's just a thought, we'll see what happens after Christmas."

"Please don't misconstrue my feelings, but you belong in New York."

Laurie shook his head. "Last night showed me something I didn't expect. I belong with those who love me, for me as well as all you lovely folks." He chuckled, then cleared his throat. "I told Marek life is short, and it is. My mother'll pitch a fit, maybe my sisters will be offended. But honey, this is real, even if it's pretty unbelievable." Now he laughed. "You and Jane are my family, so are Sam, Renee, Marek, and those kids, good God. Where'd those two come from, like they dropped straight outta heaven." Laurie smiled, then sighed. "I need to write Seth, tell him we're still waiting. He wanted to know, and while a part me worries it might set him back, I can't lie. I couldn't to Stan, and I won't to my cousin. And I'm not gonna lie to myself. I don't wanna live where I'm constantly making excuses." He shook his head. "All these years Stan and I lived pretty freely, I mean, as openly as we could. But the last couple of weeks, even though I miss him like crazy, I've felt this liberty, and I don't mean because I don't have to hide how I feel about him, it's not that at all. It's...." He paused, then caressed Jane's face. "What if my family wasn't supposed to be me and Stan? I'll never love anyone else, but maybe we weren't meant to last forever."

"Oh Laurie, no!"

As Lynne broke into tears, Laurie stood, then sat beside her, embracing her. "Don't cry honey, oh Lynne...."

A mother wept hard, making her daughter whimper. Laurie regretted their distress, but he had to face reality. He gave Lynne a handkerchief, then collected Jane from her seat. She snuggled against him, reinforcing what he knew was inevitable. Yes, his mother would be upset, his sisters too. But he didn't want to return east to live alone. As Lynne began to calm, Laurie stroked her damp cheek. "I'll have to find the closest synagogue," he smiled. "Might not go every Friday night, but there's always St. Matthew's."

"Let me talk to him tonight, maybe he doesn't fully understand...."

Laurie shook his head. "What Stan comprehends is beyond what I can fix. And Lynne, I don't blame him. What I said isn't for the faint at heart, and he doesn't have the most abstract mind. Like I said, with Stan it's black and white, no room for...."

"But Laurie, how blatant is it that you wanna look for a place to live here? Maybe if he knew that...."

"If he knew that, he'd throw in the towel. It'd be like I was letting him off the hook."

Lynne sighed. "We've all felt that way, trying to come to terms with...." She gazed at Laurie. "Have you ever given him a reason not to trust you?"

Again Laurie shook his head. When Agatha mentioned that point, Laurie had wanted to collapse; nearly twenty years the men had been together and never once had either deliberately hurt the other. Stan wasn't doing that now, which Laurie accepted. "Lynne, there just isn't any other way for Stan to take this. The longer Eric's gone isn't gonna matter either, because Stan will just become more used to the situation. I wouldn't be surprised if when Eric returns, Stan drops him as a client. Oh, he'd be very tactful, but if I'm not there, there's no purpose for him to...."

"All the more reason for you to...." She stroked his cheek. "Go home."

"Home's here, Lynne. Maybe I'm not such a New York Jew after all."

He kept his voice light, but saying those words hurt like no pain Laurie had ever known. Not even over Seth had Laurie ached so deeply. He smiled, then stood, kissing the top of Lynne's head, then Jane's. Laurie left the kitchen, putting wood on the fire. He couldn't feel the heat, but maybe a long shower might help. He took the stairs, his resolve growing with each step. By the time he reached the landing, he considered finding a realtor. But first he needed to stand under the hottest water possible to ease a penetrating chill.

In Texas, the sound of pounding rain woke John from a deep sleep. Against the tin roof, drops sounded like hammers falling, but while the noise was reminiscent of something else, again nothing concrete came to his mind. He had ruminated over the notion of his wife, daughter, and another child due soon, but had managed to keep those details from Dora. Callie knew, for John had needed to speak of those.... They weren't memories, for he couldn't recall their names, and the only physical hint was that his daughter's eyes were the same color as Luke's. Otherwise they were ghosts, which Callie well understood. His recollections of fallen comrades in Korea were much the same.

Yet those men had names, Callie could picture them. All John possessed was the notion that he was married, had a child Gail's age, and another.... He felt awful, maybe he deserved what had happened to him, although Callie thought that sort of talk was bad for a person. They had spoken of this a couple of days ago when Dora had spent the morning with her mother. John had relished the privacy, standing on his own, walking as far as the shed's entry, then gripping the doorframe, staring out at.... He could see trees in the distance, framing the main road where later on Luke and Tilda raced each other, but they didn't wave at him until they had reached the house. He was still an unknown to the rest of Karnack, not even Dora's mother was aware. How the little girls had stayed quiet about him, John wasn't sure.

Maybe they had mentioned him, but their grandmother didn't believe their tales, for who kept a man in a shed without him being discovered? Yet John's presence remained undetected, not even his family had found him. That fueled his fears, for he had been missing for at least three weeks. Perhaps his presence wasn't necessary.

He sat up, which was a slow, painful process. Now his upper body ached when he moved, the numbness more a tingling sensation settling below his right elbow. He could still wiggle his fingers, but often it was as if he had no right hand, for he couldn't always feel the movements. He no longer drank the whiskey Walt offered, for John didn't want to rely on it. Turning into a drunkard was a possibility, he mused, as rain still fell, sounding like an echo to his former life. But other than the memory of the reverberation, he had no idea what it signified.

The rain continued for another half hour, by which time John had relieved himself, then walked slowly to the shed doorway. He steadied himself with his left hand, gazing at pools collecting in dips, water dripping off the roof of a house he had yet to step inside. Walt had mentioned him joining them for supper, but John didn't feel ready for that, especially now; how long could he keep his family from Dora? Callie had agreed that she didn't need to know, but he had told Susie, who was praying for John. Callie was too, he had smiled, but their prayers hadn't seemed to alleviate the situation. Then John wondered if he had shared their religious inclinations. Not that he was Baptist, but merely a believer. He wasn't sure, then sighed loudly. As he did, the rain suddenly stopped, making him smile. He shook his head, then took a deep breath, the scent of wet earth also familiar. Rain fell wherever he was from and he'd been near it more often than not.

He looked out for another minute, then turned around, heading back to his bed. To his surprise, Dora called after him. He gazed to the doorway, finding her walking along the path, avoiding the puddles. She was visibly pregnant, making his heart throb. "Good morning," he said.

"Just wanted to see if you were all right." She reached the doorway, a small smile on her face. "Been raining all morning, wasn't sure if you'd floated away."

"Roof's tight as a drum in here. Hope you're just as snug inside."

"We are. Walt and Callie redid the roof last summer." Then she took a deep breath. "Sorta gloomy, being out here all by yourself. You, uh, wanna come in for some coffee?"

He stared at her, for while the invitation was welcome, he wasn't certain how pleasant might his company be. He also wondered if being around Esther and Gail would exacerbate the pain. Or maybe they might spark a memory; he didn't want to decline Dora's first independent attempt at conversation. Their few words spoken when she had cut his hair was more of Luke's doing. "I'd be happy to come in for a bit. Not sure how I'll get up the stairs but...."

"We'll see what we can manage."

Her voice was slightly upbeat and John wondered if Walt had put her up to this. Maybe Callie was visiting that morning and could play intermediary. "Let me rest for a minute, been on my feet for a while." John walked to the metal chair, then sat, taking deep breaths. His shoulder was very painful and he didn't want Dora aware.

"I'll start a fresh pot of coffee, then we'll see how you feel."

"Sounds good."

She smiled again, then turned toward the house. John observed how she avoided the puddles, wondering if where his wife was, was she doing the same.

Ten minutes later, Dora returned, Callie on her heels. John inwardly chuckled, leaning against Callie as they walked to the porch, then it was mostly Callie's strength to get John up the few steps. He was visibly winded, also in great pain. Dora looked worried, but Callie nodded. "Got to get you moving," he said to John. "You're never gonna get better lying flat all day."

"I know," John said as they entered the house. He gazed up, then smiled, seeing Susie sitting at the table, a little girl on her lap. The child looked to be between Gail and Esther in age, her brown eyes wide. John chuckled. "Is this your youngest?" he asked Susie.

"She is. Marian, say hello to Mr. Doe."

The child nodded shyly, then wiggled in her mother's lap. Susie put her down and she ran to where the Richardson girls played on the other side of the sofa.

John smiled, then sat where Callie led him, to Susie's right. "She's beautiful," he said. "Marian's a lovely name."

"Named her for Marian Anderson," Susie chuckled. "Not sure she's gonna be a singer, but she's sure got a loud voice."

"Amen to that," Callie laughed, sitting on John's other side. That left Dora the seat across from John, but he kept his eyes from her, instead taking in the Richardsons' kitchen. It was homey, an icebox and stove the only appliances. He closed his eyes, could just picture where his wife cooked, but their house was much larger. Then he gazed at Susie; she reminded him of someone, but the connection wasn't linked to their gender, although pies were somehow a part of it. Then he laughed, spotting a pie on the counter. "Miss Susie, you're a very talented baker."

She laughed. "I hear you're a connoisseur of sweet potato pie."

He nodded, noting her use of connoisseur. "It seems I am. Yours is tops."

"It's my grandmother's recipe. I just follow her lead."

John sipped coffee that Dora had set in front of him. "Well, you come from a long line of great pastry chefs."

"Not that long," Callie said softly.

Susie gave him a look, making Dora giggle. "Did I miss something?" John asked.

"Only that the cooking gift skipped a generation." Callie rolled his eyes.

"My husband is trying to say that my mother didn't bake much." Susie's tone was firm, then she smiled. "Mama had other talents. Which brings me to you, Mr. Doe. Now, where did you first try sweet potato pie?"

"I wish I knew." John looked at Susie; who did she remind him of? Her accent and speech weren't like that of her husband, or the Richardsons. For a Negro living in Texas, she was somewhat refined, but it was more than what one could learn from a book. "Miss Susie, might I be so bold to ask if you're from Karnack?"

Slowly she smiled at him. "I was born in Chicago." She clasped her hands together, setting them on the table. "But my family's from Mississippi. Met Callie when he went north for basic training, then found myself here in Texas."

John smiled, then he stared at her eyes, so brown, so close to.... He glanced over at the children, playing together, which was also familiar. Marian caught his gaze, her eyes just like her mother's, just like.... "You remind me of my pastor," John said slowly, then he smiled. "It's your eyes, your eyes and...." She wasn't from here, although she was very much like these people. Her flair with a pie crust didn't seem relevant, or maybe it was, but not directly. "I can't tell you his name, but you're so much like him."

"Your pastor?" Dora said. "Not your...."

"I agree Miss Dora. Amen that you're a believer." Callie's tone was that of relief.

"You mean that I'm not Catholic," John said. "Guess I must not be if I have a pastor instead of a priest." John felt able to speak candidly, even if the children were near. Esther was too little to understand her father's prejudice.

Susie patted John's hand. "No matter what your faith is, the main thing is you have it."

"Or I did." John sighed. "Not sure what God means by all this." He looked at his right shoulder, then toward the door.

"Now Mr. Doe, God's got his reasons for all things. We might not have any understanding as to why or how, but that's not for us to know. All we gotta do is trust, you understand? Just trust in his will and know it's for the best."

Susie looked at John and he met her gaze. Then he saw how the women held hands. Nothing seemed amiss, although Dora was fighting tears. John wanted to shrug, not at all sure. Then Susie gripped his left hand. Her touch was warm and while his right arm still ached terribly, his heart felt a little less pained. "I guess you're right," he said.

"Believe me, after the last few weeks, there's been plenty to make me think otherwise. But even that has to be for some reason."

John wanted to look at Dora, but he kept his gaze on Susie. "I suppose we have to pray for more faith, right?"

"Oh yes, Mr. Doe. For more faith and more love."

"Please call me John." He squeezed Susie's hand.

"All right," she smiled. "Now, shall I slice us some good pie?"

"I've been waiting patiently," Callie chuckled.

Dora only nodded but Esther joined the adults. "Miss Susie, can I have some pie please?"

"Of course honey. Here, you take my seat." Susie stood, helping Esther into the chair. John observed the entire scene, feeling it was so close to something from his past. But the faces and names remained beyond a veil and try as he might, nothing emerged. He sipped his coffee, the mug starting to feel at home in his left hand. Then he gazed at Dora; her eyes were misty, but she didn't look away from him. He nodded at her and she smiled. Then she stood, putting Marian in her chair as Gail sought her mother's arms.
Chapter 174

Laurie didn't contact a relator, but he wrote to Seth, detailing his idea of moving west as well as Eric's continued absence. Laurie didn't dwell on the latter, but the notion of leaving Manhattan was one he fully explored, both on paper and inwardly. The only reason he didn't find a realtor was due to the impending holiday. Better to search for a home in the new year.

Throughout Hanukkah Lynne tried reaching Stanford, but her efforts were in vain. She did speak to Agatha, who said that while initially Stanford had taken seriously Agatha's admonitions, over the last few days he'd crawled right back into his shell. Lynne had nearly smiled at Agatha's tone, that of a frustrated mother. But the message was being lost as each day Eric failed to return, leaving Stanford free to assume those out west were playing a cruel game. Agatha never asked where Eric was, but she assured Lynne prayers were with them, and asked Lynne to keep trying to contact Stanford. And to give Laurie an extra hug in Agatha's stead.

Nearly a week out from Christmas, the last night of Hanukkah was celebrated as if no worries existed. Laurie was jovial as he lit all eight candles, Paul and Ann thrilled with their small presents, Jane pleased with a caramel slice. Lynne had spoken with Frannie earlier that day, but no effort to excuse Eric's absence was necessary, as Frannie seemed perfectly at ease with the status quo. Lynne wasn't sure why that was, and she asked Renee and Sam if they had said anything. Both Aherns shook their heads, but Sam wore a small smile. Of all his siblings, Frannie possessed a willingness to accept even the most elusive concept. Sam recalled when he was not much older than Paul how it was Frannie to explain communion, both its mystical and concrete elements. He couldn't recall what she had said, then he smiled. If she remembered, maybe she could tell Paul and Ann the same in the next few years. Lynne still felt a bit uneasy; Fran might be willing to overlook Eric's non-presence, but what about the rest of the Canfields and others? Renee noted how between Christmas and her brother's recovery, the Aherns and Nolans wouldn't raise questions. And if they did, Renee clucked, it wasn't any of their business.

Yet, one man knew why Eric was missing, and for as hard as Lynne tried, she remained unable to speak with him. Laurie had found it amusing; how many phone calls was Stan refusing in addition to Lynne's? Laurie joked that Lynne should try Stan at work; there was no way he could decline to speak with her if Emily Harold took the call. But Lynne didn't want to cause Stanford more anguish, although she knew Laurie was suffering. He might not mention relocating, but Hanukkah had reinforced Laurie's aspirations. Lynne felt torn, for she loved having him close, but was her need worth his heartache?

Then she considered the same about wherever Eric was; just as he had left to minister to his father, Lynne was certain he must be doing the same now for another needy soul. Waking alone was difficult, although she didn't sleep for more than a few hours at a time, the baby forcing her out of bed. But when Lynne did manage solid rest, she dreamed of her husband as though he had never left. It was Eric at her side as Jane adjusted to her toddler bed, Eric making breakfast for his family, Eric ushering them to St. Matthew's. As Lynne stirred from those dreams, she ached upon finding herself alone. Occasionally she cried simply to release that tension. Most times she prayed, seeking peace for her husband as well as herself. Then her intercessions covered those she loved, but no longer did she ask for Eric's timely return. Eric would come home when his task was done.

But throughout the day, Lynne was reminded of another couple's separation. Again unable to reach Stanford, Lynne called Michael, who didn't ask about Eric, but inquired as to Laurie's well-being. Lynne shared what she felt was appropriate, although she kept Laurie's moving plans under wraps. Like Agatha, Michael had implored Stanford to keep an open mind, which heartened Lynne, yet it seemed all their efforts were falling on deaf ears. Michael wished Lynne and Jane a merry Christmas, and for Lynne to give Laurie Michael's love. The older man's tone was as if Michael had two sons, and when Lynne delivered that message, Laurie smiled, then brushed aside a few tears. He announced he was taking a walk, but as Jane clamored to join him, Laurie only kissed her cheek. He put on his coat, leaving the house from the sunroom's French doors.

Jane fussed for a bit, then quieted as Lynne led her into the living room. Mother and daughter played with blocks, then Lynne read a few books, Jane growing sleepy. There wasn't room on Lynne's lap for Jane to rest, but the toddler was happy to snooze on the sofa. Lynne covered her with a blanket, then carefully eased herself from the couch, taking slow steps across the room to where the Christmas tree stood.

Laurie had admitted an affinity for this symbol; he liked the scent and lights, having strung double what Lynne usually wrapped around the tree. Familiar ornaments dangled from branches, stirring memories of past holidays, but Lynne didn't brood over those moments. Placing one hand on the baby, she studied the lights, then pondered how the Wise Men had followed a single star. How brightly had it shone, or had it flickered, holding that trio's attention? How best could Lynne get Stanford's attention, for clearly that man was doing his utmost to avoid her. She giggled inwardly, then sighed. Then she patted the baby, who wriggled from within. "He can't hide forever, just like you can't stay in there much longer."

The baby kicked, making Lynne wince, but a smile was stirred. "Indeed," Lynne answered, as if her unborn child had provided an answer. Lynne glanced at Jane, still sleeping. Then Lynne walked to a small desk in the corner of the room. Gathering some stationary, she stepped into the kitchen, then sat at the table, where half an hour later Laurie found her, but only with a glass of milk and pie waiting.

They said little, although Laurie got himself some pie, decaf coffee too. Lynne made small talk, then Laurie cleared his throat. "I've made a decision," he said, cracking his knuckles. "After Christmas, I'm gonna look for a house."

Lynne nodded. "When will you tell your mother?"

"Oh, maybe 1972," Laurie grinned.

Lynne chuckled, then reached for his hands. He grasped hers, meeting her gaze. "She's gonna be, well, not pleased." He sighed, then released Lynne's hands. "But I can't wait around anymore. This's my life too, and okay, he can't deal with it, I understand. But you've been trying to call him for over a week, what sort of bullshit is that?" Laurie shook his head. "I'm sorry, but he's not the only person in the world. I'll love him till I die, but I'm not gonna force him to...." Laurie cracked his knuckles again. "I spent so much time trying to help Seth, but ultimately it wasn't my job. And while I'm so sorry Eric got dragged into it, neither of us can make Stan, we can't make him...." Laurie took a deep breath, then ate a bite of pie. He chewed slowly, then had a wry grin. "I'll ask Sam to recommend a realtor, then in January, we'll see what's available. Maybe you'll be stuck with me for a while, depending what's on the market." He drank his coffee, then leaned back in his chair. "I will bring the figurines out here, guess I'll need to make a trip east, but not until winter's over. No more snow for me."

His tone was resolute and Lynne didn't try to dissuade him. She nodded, finished her pie, then looked at the clock. "Jane's probably done napping, or she should be if we want her to sleep tonight. Why don't you get her and I'll cut her a little slice."

Laurie chuckled, then ate his last bite. "Sounds like a plan." He stood, kissing the top of Lynne's head before exiting the kitchen. Lynne remained in her seat as Laurie gently woke Jane, then told her pie was waiting as soon as she was changed. Once that twosome was in the nursery, Lynne stood, quickly calling Renee, asking if she could stop by sometime tomorrow. The women agreed on lunch, but Sam wouldn't accompany, for he was scheduled to work in the afternoon. Lynne closed the call before Laurie returned, but noted their impending guests. Laurie asked if Marek was invited and Lynne smiled, saying he could extend that invitation. Laurie went to the telephone as Jane ate her pie, Lynne giving her daughter a knowing smile.

Lunch the following day wasn't more than peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but the conversation was lively for now that Hanukkah was over, Paul was ready for Christmas. Plans were made for the Aherns to attend Christmas Eve services at St. Matthew's, although Renee shared that Sam also hoped to get to St. Anne's for midnight mass. Renee wasn't sure if that was necessary, not wishing to be out so late with the children. Celebrating Hanukkah at sundown had been perfectly timed, and even going to St. Matthew's for a seven o'clock service would make for a late evening. The Aherns were having Christmas lunch with Lynne, Laurie, and Jane, and would stop by their parents' homes later that afternoon. Vivian wanted to spend some of Christmas Eve with her niece and nephew, but Paul and Ann had most wanted to share the holiday with this side of their family. Renee was pleased for those attachments, then she wondered how the children would react when Laurie eventually went back to New York.

Hopefully they would take to Eric as quickly as they had Laurie, then Renee prayed, seeking God's will. She stared at those assembled in Lynne's kitchen; Marek and Laurie spoke about caramel slices while Lynne chatted with Paul about Santa Claus. Ann and Jane laughed together, about what Renee wasn't sure, yet it seemed Ann understood Jane's garbled conversations. Renee would tell Sam how nice lunch had been, but she wouldn't explain these little details. Not that Sam would feel left out, but that Renee understood how God was present even in the most ordinary moments.

In years to come, would she recall this afternoon, as dialogue wove seamlessly around her. The voices were a lovely mix of youth and wisdom, hopes for Christmas blending with appreciation for good food and better friendships. This first Advent season as a mother had been a mixture of intense joy and bittersweet ruminations, what with Eric's absence and Ritchie's convalesce. Renee wasn't sure at all about those men's fates, but her heart was steadied by the incalculable delight as a mother of two. Just last night she and Sam had discussed that bliss, then made love like they could create another to join them. Intimacy between the Aherns was still hedged by Sam's limitations, but when they were together, Renee felt a deeper attachment, and Sam had agreed. Renee gazed at Laurie, her heart aching for him. She prayed that he and Stanford could be reunited. Then she looked at Marek. His laughter sounded richer, or maybe her joy conjured that notion. He caught her gaze, and while she momentarily looked away, she returned to knowledgeable brown eyes that hinted toward a good start for 1964.

Renee smiled back, then focused on her daughter, who giggled at whatever Jane had just said. Sometimes Renee wondered why she had been so blessed at a time that for another family was still so aggrieved. Renee shuddered when she heard Lyndon Johnson mentioned as president; she wasn't sure if she would ever get used to it. President Johnson had established a commission to investigate the assassination, but regardless of what was learned, a black cloud hovered over Renee's perception of her government. Secret Service agents hadn't kept John Kennedy safe, stirring anger within Renee's heart. Then she glanced at Laurie and Marek, her irritation calming. Bad things happened all the time, no one was immune. Renee then looked at Lynne, who smiled as Paul placed his hand where the baby must be kicking. Little room remained for such activity, Renee thought to herself. Would Eric be present for that child's arrival, she wondered.

Lynne met Renee's gaze, then nodded, but Renee didn't think Lynne had read her mind. Lynne seemed to have an agenda, although Renee couldn't imagine what it might be. As the children began to fuss, Laurie and Marek stood, leading the kids into the living room. Renee wondered if the men knew something she didn't as she took a seat closer to Lynne. "Everything okay?" Renee asked quietly.

Lynne grasped Renee's hand. "I need a favor."

"What?"

Lynne motioned to a kitchen drawer. "There's a letter I need you to mail. Can you drop it off at the post office today?"

"Well sure, but...." Renee looked in the direction of the living room, from where children's voices could be heard. "Who's it for?"

"Stanford," Lynne whispered. "But I don't want Laurie aware."

"Why not?"

Lynne sighed, then relayed an idea that made Renee's eyes grow wide. She stared at the doorway as Laurie spoke about what Santa might leave for Paul. Renee looked back at Lynne. "Are you serious?"

Lynne nodded. "But I don't want him to know about...." Again she pointed to where the letter waited.

"Of course, I'll drop it off today." Renee stood, then collected the envelope, placing it in her purse, which she then covered with her scarf. She retook her chair, shaking her head. "Do you think, I mean...."

Lynne shrugged. "Stanford won't answer the telephone." Then she smiled. "But I have a feeling he won't be able to avoid a piece of correspondence. Agatha will make sure he sees it."

"Well, there's that," Renee giggled. Then she frowned. "But you said Agatha's tried talking to him already. Maybe he won't believe it until...."

Eric came home, yet to say those words seemed to tempt fate. Then Renee cleared her throat. Lynne, Laurie, and Marek believed Eric would return, even Sam felt that way. Renee wanted to share in their optimism, but perhaps it was better to expect the worst. Jackie Kennedy probably never imagined losing her husband, bad enough she'd lost two children. Why were some people's lives so fraught with anguish while others knew little relative heartache? Then Renee's thoughts were halted by Marek's deep laughter. She glanced toward the kitchen doorway, reveling in that man's happiness, which seemed based upon something said by one of the children. He spoke in Polish, which of course was for Jane's benefit, yet Ann laughed, perhaps only for how different was that language. Laurie chuckled too, then Renee looked at Lynne, who wore a strange smile. "What?" Renee said.

Lynne gripped Renee's hands, then spoke softly, yet her voice was tinged with excitement. Renee almost couldn't believe Lynne's words, yet she knew this wasn't fiction. "He's been wanting to find time to tell you and Sam," Lynne smiled. "I don't think he'll mind me spilling the beans."

"When's she coming?" Renee asked.

"Sometime after I have the baby. Not sure if she's gonna stay here or at...." Then Lynne giggled. "We'll get to hear more Polish if nothing else."

"Does she speak English?"

Lynne nodded. "But he says she's not comfortable with it."

"Well, I certainly don't know any Polish." Then Renee clucked. "My goodness, who'd have guessed Mrs. Henrichsen was...." A flicker sparked in Renee's chest, making her blink away tears. "I should get that letter mailed." Glancing at her handbag, Renee stood, then stepped toward the doorway. "Kids, about time to go."

Paul and Ann both complained, but Renee repeated her words, adding that Jane needed a nap. The children trooped into the kitchen, looking slightly dejected. Lynne gave hugs, then Laurie and Marek did the same. Jane whimpered, but Laurie took her upstairs as the Aherns said their goodbyes. Renee smiled at Marek, then she giggled, leaving Lynne to explain. While Paul and Ann chatted about Santa Claus, Renee pondered the possibility of Christmas miracles, also for that goodness to extend beyond December twenty-fifth.
Chapter 175

The weekend before Christmas, John began taking his meals inside the Richardson home. Part of it was he felt more comfortable around Dora after that morning with the Boldens. The other reason was Luke; if John spent more time with that youngster, perhaps his memories would return.

The other children didn't stir John's past; was his family dead, had he run away from.... He didn't dwell much on that, although it remained a possibility, regardless of Walt's continued assurances that no one was looking for him. Not even Hiram, which pleased Luke most of all. John wouldn't have minded giving that boy a good talking to, for now that he'd spent time with the family, a few secrets had spilled; Luke and Hiram had cut school on the day President Kennedy was killed, and while John wasn't privy to the boys' exact whereabouts, he got the feeling they had been at the lake. From Tilda, John had learned that he was found two days later, but that Walt and Luke hadn't been fishing as Walt originally said. John surmised the boys had gone hunting and most likely Hiram had shot him unawares.

Yet, why had John been at Caddo Lake? He wasn't from here, which Susie had mentioned before she, Callie, and Marian left the other day. Susie had set her hand on John's forehead, gazing into his eyes as if looking for answers. During that weekend, John had wracked his brain, recalling nothing, but giving himself a terrific headache. He spent much of those afternoons sleeping, but at suppertime he sat between Luke and Tilda, able to eat with his left hand, his right arm still tightly strapped, occasionally numb, usually painful. After dinner, Walt had asked if John wanted a few shots of whiskey, but John had declined. Oddly enough he never had trouble falling asleep, and perhaps the pain might trigger a memory.

He'd been religious, which he had shared with Walt, finding relief in that man's eyes when John specifically mentioned his pastor. But something else flitted in Walt's dark irises when John mentioned Susie laying her hand on his forehead. John wanted to ask about that, but he wouldn't speak to Dora, and Walt hadn't shown any further interest. The Boldens were coming on Christmas Eve, which also seemed to be customary between the families. John didn't know if other whites and Negros in Karnack were as close as the Richardsons and Boldens, and there wasn't much way for him to find out. The Richardsons were going to Hannah's for Christmas dinner, and John would stay behind, much to Luke's displeasure. But John agreed with Walt and Dora; he didn't wish to be seen by anyone else, mostly for how gruesome was his injury.

On Saturday, Walt had removed the bandages; it had been four weeks since John had been discovered, and while Walt was still amazed at how the shoulder and arm had knit themselves back together, the right side of John's upper body was severely deformed. John had finally looked at the wound, which had never become infected, yet it was as if the corner of John's shoulder had been sliced off, leaving his arm strangely attached, but useless. John couldn't lift it, couldn't bend his elbow, no longer could move his wrist. He was able to wiggle his fingers, but he couldn't always feel those actions. Walt found it puzzling that for how much initial healing had occurred, now it was a matter of the scabs falling away while John learned to use his left hand for everything. Walt never speculated as to what John's occupation had been. Whatever it was, he would never be able to do it to his previous skill level.

John had never realized how important were two good limbs; sometimes he still wished Walt had removed his right arm, for the pain would have disappeared, as well as the sense of futility. Not that John had any hint to his former career, but that arm was now a nuisance in addition to always being sore. And sore wasn't even close to describing the pain, which at times did make John wish for something stronger than aspirin. Neither Walt nor Dora drank and it didn't seem the Boldens did either. John probably hadn't as well, for he never craved it. He ate chicken without issue, and he loved Susie's pies. Sweet potato was his favorite, but why that was seemed as mysterious as everything else.

On Monday the twenty-third, Luke and Tilda were home, no school for the next two weeks. Walt had to work, but would be off tomorrow afternoon, and might not go back until the following week. While redressing John's shoulder, Walt had said work was slow and wouldn't pick up until after the holidays. John didn't know how this family celebrated Christmas, although wrapped presents were starting to appear under the tree, stockings hung near the fireplace. All four children were antsy, but Luke and Tilda were the most excited. Over the weekend, Luke had confided to John that there was no Santa Claus, but they needed to keep that from the girls. John had nodded, finding himself drawn to these people while trying not to wonder what his own traditions might be. Had he lived with Negro servants, maybe that was where he'd eaten sweet potato pie. Maybe he'd been a writer, trekking about The South, looking for novel fodder. But no matter what John considered, he always returned to the family he'd left behind. As Luke and Tilda headed down the path, approaching the shed, John was reminded of his own clan. Chatter turned to whispers as the kids reached the shed. "G'morning Mr. Doe. How're you doing today?"

John had left open the shed door, but neither child stepped inside. "I'm doing all right Luke. Hello Tilda, how are you two this morning?"

Tilda smiled, but was still shy around him. She stayed behind her brother as Luke entered the shed, stopping at Walt's work table. "We're good, just wanted to see if you're ready for breakfast."

John had been awake for an hour, but hadn't wished to interrupt the family, uncertain how early the children might have stirred what with the two eldest off school. "I am, but I hope you haven't waited on me."

"We didn't," Tilda said flatly. Then she coughed. "Mama told us to eat, so we did."

John chuckled. "Well, best to mind your mother." He still didn't know how this girl figured into his memories, but her feistiness was a tonic. Maybe he'd had a sister like her or.... He shivered, never considering anyone other than his immediate family and that best friend. Were his parents already dead, did he have siblings? "I could use some coffee, certainly." He kept his voice upbeat, but enormous sadness filled his heart. "Let's start the day."

"Indeed Mr. Doe, just two days till Christmas, I can't wait!" Luke walked to where John now stood, and while John wouldn't need help until they reached the porch, he appreciated the boy's presence. Tilda waited for them on the path, then all three headed to the house, where Luke was used as a crutch while John gripped a wooden beam next to the steps. John could smell bacon, and there were probably eggs and toast waiting, maybe grits. John had come to like them, salted and buttered or with a dollop of jam.

But it was the coffee he craved and Dora always saved him three cups. He smiled at her, then took his seat, where a mug waited. As he sipped from it, a plate appeared, just what he'd expected, although the grits were plain. "Sweet or salty today," Dora asked.

"How about sweet?" John reached for the jam; the lid had been left off, probably for his benefit. His dexterity was getting better, but there was no way he could open anything with just one hand.

He managed to retrieve some jam, then began to eat, which was still a slow process. But the extra time allowed him to savor more than his food. He watched as Esther tugged on her mother's apron, which was tied above her growing belly. Was she having twins, John wondered. Walt had mentioned they had lost at least two babies, and he was greatly concerned about this pregnancy. Walt was a mystery to John, for while he harbored an intense dislike of Catholics, he was very close to Callie Bolden. He was gentle with his wife, a loving father to their kids, and he took good care of a strange man with no past. Callie had been in Korea, John considered; had Walt served as well? John set down his fork, taking a drink of coffee. Then he gazed at Dora, who had been staring at him. "This is delicious," John said, then he chuckled. "Both the food and the drink."

She smiled, nearly setting her hands on her apron. Then she dropped her arms to her sides. "Thank you."

She turned back to the counter, for which John was glad; her actions reminded him of his wife; they'd had a hard time getting pregnant. Then he closed his eyes, concentrating. The notion was fleeting, as were most of the snippets he recalled. They had been married for many years, and had only conceived in the last few. Why was that, John wondered, sighing aloud. When he opened his eyes, Luke stood across the table, staring at him. "What's wrong Mr. Doe?"

The boy's eyes were like the sky on a hot, cloudless day, as though John could grasp all of his life if he could just step into that blue, letting it envelope him. He smiled, perhaps he was a poet. "Nothing's wrong Luke, nothing at all."

The child nodded, then grinned, moving out of John's view, but now Dora faced him. Yet she could sense more than Luke, for she deftly placed a hand on her belly, then nodded. John smiled, he couldn't help it. Then he returned to eating breakfast, trying not to remember any more.

After breakfast, John explored the back acreage, Luke as his guide. They walked for twenty minutes, then headed back, Luke's chatter a pleasant distraction. John told the boy he was going to rest and Luke nodded, trying to meet John's gaze. John purposely didn't look at Luke, not wishing to see the child's eyes.

John slept fitfully, dreaming of his wife, but as usual when he woke, those dreams were only fragments, causing him distress. He sat up, staring at the closed shed door. No one disturbed him if the door was shut, and fortunately the weather wasn't dismal, permitting him to stay out as long as he wanted. For the first time since he'd woken here, he didn't want to see any of the Richardsons. Then John sighed. If not for the harm he might cause Dora, John would consider ending his life. A month had passed, his family not having found him. Maybe he wasn't a criminal, but perhaps he'd been a terrible person and they were glad to be rid of him.

Yet, that couldn't be true, for he and his wife had only just started a.... He sighed heavily, then got up, walking to the door, opening it. Sun shone, and his right shoulder would benefit from the warmth, but John didn't feel like stepping out. Just as he turned, he saw someone approaching. He gazed up, surprised to see Dora walking his way.

"You hungry for lunch?" she called.

He shrugged, which made him wince, both from pain and his previous thoughts. "Yeah, just woke up. I'll be in soon."

She stopped a couple of feet from the doorway. "Take your time." She looked at the ground, then gazed toward him, not meeting his eyes. "I suppose Walt told you about...."

As she spoke, she placed her hand on what John felt was more than one baby. "Yeah, he said it was early still."

She nodded. "Not yet three months, but maybe it's twins." Her voice lifted, then she sighed. "Saw the doctor last week, can't hear a heartbeat yet, but he thinks the same."

"When are you due?"

"July, but maybe sooner." She paused, smoothing down her blouse, leaving her hands at her sides. "I've lost two, so who knows?"

Unsure what to say, John smiled. "Well, so far, so good."

"Yeah, I've been plenty sick."

He chuckled. "I did hear that."

She huffed, then stepped toward him. "You have children, don't you?"

He hesitated, then nodded. "A girl Gail's age."

"Any others?"

He sighed. "I think my wife's expecting, but...." He shook his head. "It's only a feeling."

"I wondered. You're good with the kids. Plus Susie said...." Dora paused, then cleared her throat. "Lunch's ready when you are."

As she turned to leave, John took a deep breath. "What did Susie tell you?"

Dora stopped, keeping her back to him. "Only that she thought you had a family."

John stepped from the shed, walking to where Dora was still turned away from him. He didn't face her, but stood close. "Is Miss Susie somewhat psychic?"

Dora stifled a giggled, then met John's gaze. "She is, but don't say that in front of Walt. He doesn't believe in it."

John nodded. "What else has Susie said about me?"

"Just that you have a family, that your wife's pregnant, and that...." Now Dora trembled. "Lunch's getting cold."

She went to leave, but John reached out for her. He didn't grasp her arm, but as if he had, she stopped, not meeting his eyes. "Does she know something? God knows I've thought about this. If there's something you all know, please tell me."

Tears trickled down Dora's cheeks. "It's just that whatever you used to do, you won't be doing it no more 'cause of this." Gently she traced what remained of his shoulder. "Susie knew what I was having every time, even the ones I lost. Not that she knew what she was expecting," Dora had a soft chuckle. "Says she gets it from her mother, that her mother told her to marry Callie and come back down here," Dora added. "Her family'd been up north for more than thirty years, and the last thing she wanted was to leave 'em, but her mother said she had to. Plus she loved Callie and...." Dora sighed, then took a deep breath. "Goodness, running off at the mouth, that's me."

As she turned away, John patted her right shoulder. "Dora, did she tell you anything else?"

This woman had barely said two words to him, and here she was spilling her guts. John didn't consider his previous occupation, but if Susie knew more about his family.... Dora finally met his gaze, her cheeks still streaked with tears. "Just that nothing in your life's ever gonna be the same. It's all gonna be different from now on."

"How?" he asked. "Does she think I'll get home, what?"

"She didn't know. That's why she put her hand on your forehead." Dora smiled, then frowned. "Don't tell Walt I told you all this. He never puts any faith in all she says, though she's never wrong."

"I won't. But can I ask you something?"

"You can ask," Dora said.

John laughed. "Your husband said the same thing when I wanted to know...." John cleared his throat. "Did Walt serve in Korea?"

As Dora nodded, tears poured down her face. John ached to soothe her, but it seemed as if this outburst was necessary, for she wept, then wiped her eyes, continuing to nod her head. "Why in heaven he had to go, I'll never know. Don't tell him I told you, he didn't want you knowing that neither."

"I won't say anything. It was just a feeling I had, maybe because Callie went, I guess."

"They was both drafted. Served in different troops, of course."

"Of course." John nodded.

"Plus Walt was a...." Dora paused, then shook her head. "He came home, that's all that matters."

"Yeah, certainly." Something inside John wished she'd continued speaking. He coughed, then softly squeezed her hand, releasing it quickly. "Thank you, I mean...." He met her eyes, silently pleading for whatever else she felt able to say. But maybe there wasn't any more, maybe....

"He was a sniper." Her voice was a whisper. "But a Jew saved his life, can you believe it? Some Jewish guy." Dora smirked, then looked right at John. "My husband hates Catholics, but don't ever say nothing bad about Jews, crazy huh?" Dora shrugged. "Not that I've ever met one, but there was one in his platoon. From New York, which makes sense." Her tone was wary. "He never knew what happened to him, said he was sorta, well, not all there." She rolled her eyes. "But then Walt still suffers from...." Dora sighed. "Forgive me, you're probably starving by now."

John was hungry, but not only for lunch. Yet, he wouldn't press for more information, plenty to ponder with all she had said. "I'll keep this to myself."

"Thank you." Dora bit her lip. "Especially what Susie said. About you, I mean."

He nodded. "Mum's the word."

Dora inhaled, then looked toward the house. "Kids'll be wondering if you're all right." She started down the path, leaving John to follow. When he reached the steps, Dora stood on the porch, but she called for Luke. John glimpsed at the boy's eyes, but other considerations crowded out those familiar irises. Dora's revelations were a Christmas gift of sorts, and John slowly ate his meal, wondering when he saw Susie Bolden tomorrow, what else might she be able to tell him.
Chapter 176

On Christmas Eve morning Agatha arrived in Manhattan at seven o'clock, finding a quiet house and the mail on the dining table just as she had left it yesterday. Lynne's letter was still atop the pile and Agatha smiled, the legal-sized envelope not resembling Lynne's typical correspondence.

By the time coffee was brewed, Stanford had joined Agatha in the kitchen, but he wore his dressing gown and looked disheveled. For a moment she wondered if he'd drank last night. He didn't act like a hangover plagued him, a more crippling malaise dogging his steps. Agatha didn't speak, not wishing to hurt him, nor did she think her words would force his hand. She had said her piece, up to him to make the next move.

She fixed oatmeal, then placed a bowl in front of him, his coffee and juice untouched. She poured her own coffee, then joined him at the table, taking Laurie's chair. Stanford glanced at her, avoiding her eyes, yet she kept her gaze upon him, gripping her mug for warmth. "Good morning," she finally said, her voice flat.

"Good morning." He spoke softly, then cleared his throat, looking her way. "How long are you staying?"

"Just to make sure you eat something. Are you seeing your father today?"

"We're going to Melanie's for supper and...." He sighed, took a bite of oatmeal, then shook his head.

Agatha drank her coffee, then leaned back in her seat, which she had chosen deliberately. She stared at the man across, but he appeared more like a ghost. "Well, I'm glad you have plans," she said, still in a monotone. "Do you want me to come on Thursday?"

Stanford didn't reply, but he sipped his juice. Then he looked up. "Did you say something?"

Agatha took a deep breath, her heart racing. "I asked if you wanted me here on Thursday."

"Thursday, Thursday, um...." He gazed around the room, then met her eyes. "Oh yes, Thursday, certainly, I mean, if you want."

She nodded, but still her heart beat hard. He had read the letter, although he'd taken great pains to make it appear as if Lynne hadn't written, or had sent only a brief note. "Well, if it's all the same, I might stay home. Don wants to...."

She made up a story, for her husband had no plans other than to enjoy the quiet. Christmas at their house was a boisterous affair, especially that year, what with their youngest bringing his girlfriend. That child had spent Thanksgiving with the girl's family, about time he introduced her to his own kin. Agatha kept that to herself, although if Laurie had been there, she would have mentioned it. But this man was having a hard enough time dealing with breakfast. She nearly reached for Stanford's hand, but left space between them. He was like one of her own, although not that many years separated them. Still she cared about him and it broke her heart that he was isolating himself from those who truly loved him.

He should be out west, for Michael was getting along fine now, and Stanford's sisters, bless their hearts, held little understanding of this outwardly complicated soul. But Agatha knew what made his heart tick, art yes, and one man who for whatever reason brought Stanford to life. She didn't know why God had put those two men together, but together they would be until death parted them. Or Stanford's pigheadedness, she sighed.

That sigh caught his attention. "Did Lynne write to you as well," he asked.

"She sent a Christmas card last week." Agatha gazed around the room, then looked at Stanford. "I saw she sent you a letter yesterday."

He nodded, then toyed with the mug's handle. He gripped the cup, sipping slowly. Then he set it back on the table, meeting her eyes. "Laurie's going to buy a house out there."

Agatha wanted to gasp, but calmly she took a breath, then drank some coffee. "She say anything else?"

"She invited me to visit when the baby's born. She...." He flinched, then shook his head.

"She what?" Agatha inwardly trembled, yet maybe this sort of ultimatum was what Stanford needed. She had never seen him so rattled, not even when his mother was near death.

"She said she hoped to see me." He spoke like it was an unbelievable request. Then he looked quizzically at Agatha. "She said...." He ate some oatmeal, washing it down with coffee.

Agatha sighed. "She cares about you, about the both of you."

He nodded, then slouched back in his seat, staring at his breakfast. "I can't believe he'd actually...."

Agatha could, but Stanford had a hard time seeing the forest for the trees, although now the view was plain. She wondered what he would do; Lynne had three weeks of pregnancy remaining. Was that a similar countdown to what was left of Stanford and Laurie's relationship? "So, shall I come on Thursday?" she said as if that subject was all to matter.

Stanford nodded, then looked at her. "No, I mean, not if you already have plans."

"Plans can be changed you know."

His gaze was as if she had spoken a previously unconsidered truth. Then he stared at her, but she knew he saw someone else in that seat. His eyes, often so shielded, were for those moments open windows, which made Agatha blink away tears. He loved Laurie so much, and had tried desperately to hide from that realization, unwilling to face the accompanying pain. Now that anguish was threatening to overwhelm him, but maybe that was essential. Perhaps reaching rock bottom might force this man's hand.

His slight nod nearly made her gasp, but she remained impassive as he took another bite of oatmeal. Then he looked her way, and she met his gaze, those windows still open. She nodded, then reached for his hand, which he grasped with all the strength he possessed. To Agatha his grip felt weak, but she wasn't surprised. She placed her other hand around his, still nodding as tears fell from his eyes. Then she looked away, praying for peace, joy, and love. It was all any of them needed.

Later that same morning, the Ahern family visited Ritchie, a prearranged gathering as Brenda and the couple's youngest children were also present. Those kids were older than Paul and Ann, and they minded the youngest Aherns while the adults chatted. Then Sam stood, pulling something from his pocket. Renee observed how her husband handed Ritchie the keys to the Bel Air, saying the car was a Christmas gift for the whole Nolan family, even if it would seat less than a quarter of them.

Brenda began to cry, but didn't bother hiding her tears, which stirred the attention of her kids. Ritchie gaped at Sam, then shot Renee a look, as if this was a joke. Renee nodded while Sam explained the reason, eschewing the short-lived nature of the station wagon. Paul and Ann came to their mother's sides as Brenda was flanked by her offspring, who asked what Uncle Sam had given their dad. Then Renee gazed at her brother, tears welling in Ritchie's eyes. Renee stood, leading Paul and Ann from the room, Brenda and her children on their heels.

In the corridor, Brenda and Renee embraced. Then Brenda asked if Renee was sure and Renee grasped her sister-in-law's hands, giving Brenda their assurance. Brenda shook her head, but her smile shone, then she stared toward her husband's door. "Sometimes I don't know who he is, I mean...." She chuckled, wiping her face. "It's like he's a completely different man."

Renee nodded, feeling a brief tightness within her chest. "I imagine that must be pretty strange."

"Yeah, but then I look in his eyes, and it's like he was in there the whole time, hoping for a way out. Not that I ever thought he could do it, and maybe, well...." She glanced at her children, who were again keeping an eye on their younger cousins. "I gotta believe this's gonna work. If I don't, I might as well leave now."

Renee considered Lynne, then prayed for Eric. Then she hugged Brenda. "You're not alone, you know."

Brenda pulled away, laughing as she did so. "My family thinks I'm crazy, that I'm gonna regret not just...." She shrugged. "But I love him. For better or worse, I really do." She took a deep breath. "Maybe you understand, I mean...."

Renee chuckled. "Oh I do, believe me."

"Everyone's got some load to carry. And now we'll have an extra car. My goodness Renee, that's just, it's...."

Brenda broke down again, but this time relief echoed through her tears. Again Renee hugged her, then she heard Sam clearing his throat, their children calling for their father. Those sounds strengthened Renee, who still harbored doubts toward her brother's continued sobriety. As Sam joined them, Brenda went to hug him while Renee picked up Ann, Paul at Sam's side. They asked what was going on, but Renee didn't answer as Sam told Brenda it was going to be all right.

The Aherns didn't speak much on the way home, but Paul and Ann asked when Uncle Ritchie would come out of the hospital as well as where Santa might be. Then Paul asked when they were going to see Uncle Laurie and Aunt Lynne, and Jane of course. Renee giggled, then inwardly shivered for those missing from that group. "We'll meet them at church tonight," she said, grasping Sam's hand. He gripped back with force and Renee wondered how much of that was for Eric, or what Sam had said to Ritchie.

The adults didn't get a chance to speak until after lunch, once Ann was napping, Paul resting on the sofa. While the Aherns had decided to skip midnight mass that year, even St. Matthew's seven p.m. service wouldn't end until well after eight. Once Renee was sure Paul was still, she led Sam to their bedroom, closing the door. She sat beside him, holding his hand. He gazed at her, his eyes as blue as that night in Vivian's kitchen once both kids had finally collapsed. Renee leaned toward him, kissing his cheek. Then she laid her head on his shoulder, breathing in a deep peace.

"I love you," Sam said softly. "Merry Christmas."

"I love you too." Then Renee met his gaze. "Sort of unreal, you know?"

"So much to think about, to be grateful for," he smiled.

She nodded, but didn't speak. If Sam needed to share his thoughts, he would. Maybe it was enough to absorb the silence, which wouldn't last long once both kids woke. Then Renee giggled. "We have children Samuel. We actually have kids."

"That we do." His voice was light. Then he squeezed her hand. "We have all we need."

His tone was still jovial, but it was laced with intense thankfulness. Renee fought tears, but they trickled down her cheeks just as Ritchie's had right as she left his room. Could her brother stay sober, would he and Brenda remain married? Renee gently shook her head, then Sam wiped her face. His eyes were still that stunning shade of blue, but a little misty. Then he chuckled. "I know there's a lot of uncertainty out there, but you know what? Right in this house God's given me everything I always wanted. And I can't ignore that, what I told your brother. And he smiled, said he understood. I have no idea what he really thought, but it's the truth. I wish Eric was gonna be with us tonight, but Laurie'll be there, that's a blessing." Sam smiled. "And like I said, the kids are...." Sam paused, turning toward his wife. "Our children Renee, what could be a bigger miracle than that?"

She didn't know, but her heart felt so full. She grasped his hands, then kissed him. Sam pulled away, a little breathless. "Oh my goodness," he smiled.

Renee giggled, then looked at their closed door. "Do you think, I mean, do we have time?"

His eyes grew wide, but he nodded. "Maybe just enough time."

"Maybe," Renee teased.

Within minutes they were under the covers, celebrating a multitude of joys. They lingered only for moments afterwards, then were dressed, but still flushed. Renee remade the bed as Sam opened their door, finding all was quiet. Closing the door most of the way, he met her at the foot of the bed. "Whatever happens next, I know it's gonna be all right."

"Yeah?"

"It won't be what we expect." He motioned to the rest of the house. "But if that's not the message of what we're celebrating tonight, what is?"

She caressed her husband's cheek. "You're right. My goodness but God works in strange ways."

"Indeed he does." Sam smiled, then paused, looking at their door. Suddenly a knock was heard.

Both parents giggled as Paul asked if he could come in. Renee opened the door, finding her son smiling widely. As she embraced him, she gazed back at Sam, who blinked away tears. Then Paul asked when Aunt Vivian was coming, to which Sam said soon. Renee nodded in agreement as aloud Paul wondered if she was bringing presents. Perhaps, the little boy was told, as he led his parents to where the Christmas tree shone brightly.
Chapter 177

While the Aherns entertained Vivian, Marek reread a letter delivered that day. He marveled at how quickly Klaudia's reply had arrived; she had dated it less than two weeks ago. Marek inspected her handwriting, which seemed like a bright ribbon waving in the sun as she noted how much she wanted to see him, and that she would await further information in the coming year. Again she signed the letter Love, Klaudia, words that Marek allowed into his heart as though she stood beside him whispering the sentiment into his ear.

He didn't call Lynne, for he would see her, Laurie, and Jane soon for supper. Caramel slices waited on the kitchen counter, then Marek wondered if Klaudia would like them. He wanted to speak to her, but would try reaching her tomorrow. If he called right when he woke, he might get through, but lines would be busy with others connecting with loved ones far away. He briefly thought of Eric, then prayed over that man. Marek stepped into the vestibule, gazing toward the altar. Unlit candles stood on stands, a tree to the left, dark now, but lights would blaze after he returned from supper. He smiled, pleased that the Snyder-Abrams trio would be joined by the Aherns that evening, then all would be together tomorrow for lunch, seated around Lynne's dining table. Sam was cooking and it reminded Marek of his childhood, a variety of guests, but all were family. Marek walked toward the front of the church, where on the right a nativity scene was staged. Mary knelt over an open space, but Marek would place the baby Jesus in front of her before he lit the candles. He sat in the first pew, gazing at the figures, Joseph next to Mary, shepherds behind them, lambs and cattle framing the group. The main characters were Jews, which seemed an afterthought to most Christians. Since Hanukkah, Marek had felt drawn to that aspect, which now was stark to the Lutheran pastor. Jesus' Jewishness was more keenly noted at Easter, but on that afternoon, Marek couldn't escape that facet of his savior.

Was Klaudia at all religious, he wondered. Her family had been Catholic, as were most in their village. She had written nothing related to faith in any of her letters, then he smiled. In a matter of weeks, she would be standing near him, not the girl he recalled, but still she was.... She was the only living link to his past, a woman he had never been able to set aside. How much of a miracle was that, he considered, wishing Eric was there, for only with that man had he noted the depth of his feelings. Lynne understood, not that Marek had shared the inner workings of his heart, but he hadn't needed to. Klaudia had set the wheels in motion, and indeed Lynne was a perceptive soul. Marek looked forward to watching those ladies interact, if only that around Lynne, Klaudia would have a hard time hiding her emotions. Marek chuckled, then gazed around the building. He hoped she could see the beauty past wooden beams and stained glass, finding within this space such peace. Yet that peace emanated beyond the structure, and he stood, feeling a lasting warmth. He went back into the kitchen, gazing at the caramel slices. Then he looked at the clock; he was due at Lynne's in an hour. Klaudia's letter sat on the table and he retrieved it, then took a deep breath. He exhaled, then headed to his room, where he placed the letter with the others. He went to his knees, giving thanks for that blessing as well as praying for God's presence with one far from home.

Jane stirred from her nap just as Lynne woke. Glancing at the clock, Lynne saw it was nearly four, then she smiled, hearing footsteps along the hall. The nursery door was opened, Laurie crooning to Jane how nice it was to see her. Lynne was pleased that Jane didn't get up from her new bed, banging on the closed door like she'd been imprisoned. And a mother was grateful for an extra pair of hands to change Jane's diaper.

As Lynne exited her room, Laurie and Jane were stepping from the nursery. Jane leaned toward her mother, but Lynne didn't take her. "I wish I could explain why," she said to Laurie, patting her belly as if for emphasis. Jane looked confused, then leaned against her uncle. "At least she doesn't seem to mind," Lynne smiled.

"Nope, she's a smart girl." Laurie kissed Jane's cheek. "Feeling better?" he asked Lynne.

She nodded. "Gonna be a late evening, for me at least. But it's funny, I feel like...." Had she dreamt of Eric? Probably, yet this time her dreams seemed with a purpose. Or maybe she was appropriating the impending holiday's significance.

"You okay?" Laurie grasped her hand.

"Yeah, it's just...." She smiled, then shook her head. "After you two," she said, motioning to the stairs.

Laurie and Jane led the way, then the trio went into the kitchen. A pot of soup simmered, a recipe from Rose that Laurie had been keen to try, if only to tell his mother he'd made it. Lynne sat at the table as Laurie put Jane in her tall seat, then he brought water to Lynne, milk for Jane, accompanied by thin slices of pie for each. "What's this?" Lynne asked.

"Just a little Christmas Eve treat. I was thinking about having a piece all afternoon." He sat between the ladies, a mug of tea in his hand. "Finally about half an hour ago I broke down and ate the last of the peach, well, what was left after I cut some for you sleepyheads. I know Marek'll be here in a bit, but I couldn't help myself."

Lynne laughed, for a quarter of a pie had remained. She glanced at the counter, seeing only an empty tin. "What'll you eat for breakfast tomorrow?"

Now Laurie chuckled. "Gonna make French toast. Mom sent that recipe too, don't want her to think you're doing the cooking."

Lynne smiled, then ate her pie. Jane did the same, but she finished before her mother. She asked for more, but was told there wasn't any. Skeptically she looked at her uncle, then at her mother. "I don't think she believes you," Lynne said to Laurie.

"Well, it's the truth." He took Jane from her seat, putting her on his lap. She was placated, although she stared at Lynne's plate. "She's eyeing yours," Laurie snickered.

Lynne finished hers, then pushed the plate in the middle of the table. She gazed around the room, stopping at the cupboard containing cookbooks. The sketch Eric had made exactly one year ago remained in that cabinet and Lynne stood, walking that way. She retrieved the drawing, studying her image, but what Eric had drawn took on a new meaning. She brought it to the table, placing it out of Jane's reach. "It looks different today."

Laurie gazed at it, but he sighed. "I'm glad you think so."

Lynne wore a small smile, then retook her seat, leaving the sketch on the other side of the table. "Do you remember what I asked you when I first showed this to you?"

He stared at her, then nodded slowly. "Lynne, hell's gonna freeze over before Stan...."

Lynne laughed as Laurie apologized for his language, on that day of all days. She wouldn't tell him that she'd written to Stanford, but hope bubbled in her heart, and not only for that couple. "The day Eric drew this was the same day Sam and Renee learned...." She sighed only for a moment, caressing Jane's face. "Now they have Paul and Ann, my goodness a lot's happened this year. Laurie, just remember what you promised me."

"Yeah, yeah." He rolled his eyes. Then he glanced at the drawing. "Wherever Eric is, he's thinking about you today."

"I'm sure thinking about him."

Laurie put Jane on her feet, then turned his chair outwards. "Lynne...." Laurie paused, then again gazed at the drawing. Then he met her eyes. "He drew you, but not as a sacrifice. You're a conduit, maybe you've always been that for him, but this time it's different."

She nodded. "I was just thinking that. When he left before, he always came home so guilty, like he thought it would be his last time. But I knew he couldn't help it and now...." She smoothed her blouse over the baby. "Before he left for Miami, we talked about how he and Stanford would be alone. You had Seth then, now us." She picked up the illustration, setting it between herself and Laurie. "This's what Christmas is about, realizing how necessary is our very existence." She inhaled, then looked at her daughter. "Jesus came to free us, but he took the form of a helpless baby, asking us to care for him instead. God is magnificent, but I also think he wants our love as a much as a little one needs its mother."

Laurie motioned for the drawing and Lynne handed it to him. "Assuming that's right," he chuckled, "then I should be glad Stan threw me out. That he has to, oh my God...." Laurie laughed, then sighed. "Like I said before, from your lips to God's ears. But I just don't see how...."

Lynne placed his hand on the baby. "I was barren for years. Anything is possible, anything we could dream."

He bit his lip, then nodded, finally meeting her gaze. She smiled, praying for her husband to know not only God's peace, but her love. I love you Eric, she wanted to say. Merry Christmas, she added, as a baby wriggled under its mother's skin.

As Marek and Lynne prayed, a man in Texas sensed those intercessions, although he wondered if they were merely sensations stirred by a rather prophetic baker. Yet Susie Bolden's talent with pie crust was nearly as important as her psychic abilities, although in mixed company Susie kept mum about what she thought. John ached to speak with her about what she had told Dora and whatever else she might know. However, on Christmas Eve night, as children clamored to open just one present, simpler delights ruled.

To John, Susie's pies were so reminiscent of home that he alternated wishing he could squeeze in one more piece or just flee to the shed. But he remained seated in the Richardsons' kitchen, the rest in the living room, for to step away seemed sinful. He wasn't sure if that was due to Susie, the children, or the idea of.... Within that home fragments of his life were displayed, although he couldn't put a single name to any of the characters. And some were still beyond his grasp; Luke and Callie were clear, as was Callie's wife, although he couldn't imagine that his pastor made pies. Tilda was a relative of John's, but he wasn't sure how they were bound. Dora was a friend, distant at times, but also close, even if she might prefer to remain aloof. Now that she knew he had a wife and children, she alternated between speaking her heart or avoiding him. Whether or not Walt was present seemed irrelevant. And as for that man....

The more John got to know him, the bigger of a mystery Walt became. His prejudices, and those of whom he approved, seemed incongruous. He shirked from Susie's supernatural gift, but heaped praise upon her culinary prowess, also seemed indebted to her for what John couldn't tell. He knew his bed was courtesy of the Boldens and Callie was indeed Walt's best friend. And now that John knew Walt had served in Korea, the men's friendship was better understood, even though their races demanded certain separations. Yet on that evening the adults spoke harmoniously as children played together nearby. Luke was the oldest and while the Boldens only had daughters, he got along well with their eldest, Myrna. Noelle was their middle child, a little older than Esther. Her birthday was the day after tomorrow, hence her Christmas-themed name. But she only seemed interested in what Santa was bringing, Luke the only child not to believe.

John gazed at that boy, who nodded as if he had requested John's attention. Luke's blue eyes made John's heart ache, yet that strange peace kept him inside that house. As Luke approached, John's heart felt heavy. He glanced at the adults, wishing to catch their attention, but none gazed his way. Luke stopped a foot in front of John, smiling widely. "So Mr. Doe, how're you doing?"

"Just fine. And you?"

Luke peeked over his shoulder, then tapped his foot. "Well, to tell you the truth...." Luke stepped close to John. "I wanna open a present, but we hafta wait till the Boldens go home."

John hid a smile. "Really?"

Luke nodded, then stepped toward the door. John followed Luke onto the porch. "Yes sir." Luke spoke softly. "We get to open one present on Christmas Eve, but they, well...." He clasped his hands in front of him. "They wait till tomorrow. They ain't got much, you know."

John noticed Luke's humble demeanor. "Well, they seem to have all they need."

"Oh they do, I mean...." Luke shook his head. "It's just that...." The boy sighed. "Mr. Doe, do whites and Negros go to the same schools where you live?"

John wasn't sure, and he shrugged. "But Luke, do you realize that your father and Mr. Bolden are probably each other's best friend?"

Luke nodded. "Yes sir, I do. What I don't understand is...."

Walt stepped onto the porch. "Son, come inside. Time to say goodbye to our guests."

"Yes Daddy." Luke ran into the house, but Walt gave John a look.

John nodded, then followed Walt inside. Dora and Susie shared an embrace as Callie gripped his hat, his girls at his sides. Tilda, Esther, and Gail stood together and John studied the two sets of sisters. Then he looked at Luke, who shook Callie's hand, then received a warm hug. Luke nodded to Susie, who ruffled his hair, then she met John's gaze.

He learned nothing from her stare other than she was praying for him, but as he was no closer to recalling his past, there would be plenty of time for them to speak. That fact didn't bother him, which he chalked up to a Christmas miracle, which made him smile as Callie approached. "You have a good Christmas now John. We'll be seeing you before the new year."

They shook with their left hands, which made Luke laugh. John then extended that hand to Susie, who clasped it tenderly. She still didn't speak, but her warmth was a tonic. John nodded to the Bolden girls, who didn't meet his gaze, although Marian giggled as she walked by him. He remained in the house as the rest went to the porch, their goodbyes and wishes for a merry Christmas ringing through the air.

After the Boldens left, four children ran back into the house, hollering to open a gift. John took his leave and wasn't missed by any of the kids. He could hear their delights from the shed, the sound like a tinny recording lodged in the back of his head. He didn't go back inside once it was quiet, only Luke to come out, wishing him goodnight. John wished the boy a merry Christmas, then after Luke was gone, John closed the shed door, wishing he felt more tired.

Yet sleep eluded him and he stared at his surroundings. Then someone knocked. "Come in," John said.

It was Walt, who wore a light jacket. "You all right?" he asked.

"Yeah, just tired." It was a lie, then he sighed. "All the kids asleep?"

Walt shrugged. "They're in bed. Mind if I join you?"

John smiled. "No, have a seat."

Walt took the metal chair, facing John, who sat on his bed. "Just wanted to see if you was okay."

John gazed around the small room, the weight of this strange life starting to prey on him. "I'm fine," he said blandly.

Walt smiled. "Now that's a lie if ever I heard one."

John chuckled. "Suppose it is. But I am thankful for your hospitality." That was the truth and John smiled. "Tonight was nice, I mean, the Boldens are good people."

"I've known Callie all my life. He is a good man and Susie's...." Walt raised his eyebrows. "She makes a delicious pie."

"That she does." John wouldn't broach her other specialty, but he grinned. "She's not from around here."

Walt glanced at the floor, then met John's gaze. "Nope. Sometimes that makes it a little difficult. But usually there's no problems."

"Well, she and Callie have lovely daughters."

"They do," Walt smiled. "Dora helped with Noelle's birth and Susie named her Noelle Dorie, boy, that was a day."

As Walt spoke, a memory was triggered, making John queasy. He leaned over, taking deep breaths as Walt asked if he was all right. John couldn't place how that figured into his life, but the prompt was painful. He sat up, still felt nauseous. Then he gazed at Walt. "Sorry," John mumbled. "Just that it reminded me of something."

Walt leaned back in his chair. "Dora said she told you about the...babies." Walt coughed, shaking his head. "Not so sure about it, but I guess we'll see."

"Hopefully they'll be fine."

"Maybe," Walt shrugged.

Silence loomed and John wondered if Walt would simply stand, then say goodnight. Then John was gripped by a clear memory, which again made him sick to his stomach. He doubled over, retching even, bringing Walt to his feet. He then knelt beside John. "You all right?"

The notion of standing beside his wife in a Catholic cemetery was so strong it was as if John was back on that late summer's day, palpable grief swirling in the shed. Two tiny boys were being laid to rest, but they weren't his children. Those twins belonged to someone connected to John's best friend. John opened his eyes, half expecting to be standing amid a sea of mourners, yet it was only Walt beside him. "What is it?" Walt asked.

"Nothing, it's nothing."

"Bullshit! Now you tell me or...."

As John spoke, he expected Walt to stand angrily, then stalk away, maybe slamming the shed door behind him. Yet Walt only nodded as John explained the entire scene. He left out nothing, not even that it was someone related to his best friend. His sister, John suddenly blurted, again feeling that awful pain, although it wasn't only for the deaths of premature twins. Some other ominous event was connected, but that remained another mystery.

Walt quietly retook his seat, then folded his arms over his chest. Yet he gazed at John with what appeared like sympathy in his eyes. "Did they ever have another child?" he asked.

"I don't know," John sighed. "They named them Simon and Andrew." He shook his head. "How I remember all that and not my own name...."

"Sometimes we don't wanna think about the past." Walt snorted, then grimaced. "So your friend's Catholic, huh?"

John nodded, then smiled. "Hope that's all right."

"There's worse things." Walt cleared his throat. "Dora told you about me being in Korea, didn't she?"

"Yeah."

"She tell you about the Jew?"

John smiled. "She mentioned something about that."

"I figured." Again Walt crossed his arms over his chest. "I owe my life to that damned bastard." Then he smiled. "Only one man in that whole platoon was a better shot than me, and it was that little Jew boy. Who'd guess some New York Jew could shoot so good?"

"My friend was in Korea, but he never talks about it."

Walt raised his eyebrows. "Well, I'll just say this; I wouldn't be sitting here today if not for Gordon. He was a crazy bastard, but Lord almighty, he could pick off gooks like nobody's business."

John stared at Walt. "What was his name?"

"Don't remember his first name, we just called him Gordon. They all called me Richards, Richardson was too long, I guess. You probably can't remember if you went or not."

"No," John said absently. Then he gazed at Walt. "Gordon doesn't sound Jewish."

Walt smiled. "Nope. We used to tease him about that, he never said much though, just kept to himself most of the time." Walt seemed lost in the memory, then he stared at John. "I went home before he did, never knew what happened to him. Probably not much good." Walt shook his head, then he stood. "You remind me a little of him, I mean, he was blonde, had blue eyes though. When he looked at you it was like...."

"He wanted to be free."

"Yeah, just like that." Walt gripped the back of his chair. "He enlisted, never knew why. The rest of us, most of us anyways, was drafted. But that crazy Jew enlisted. Guess I'm lucky he did."

"I think I'm lucky too," John smiled.

"Maybe." Walt looked at John. "Best let you get some sleep. I'm, uh, sorry, for your friend's sister. Don't say nothing to Dora about it, you understand?"

"Of course."

"And uh, thanks, you know, for listening. You sure you weren't in Korea?"

"Who knows?" Now John was tired, also frustrated. He furrowed his brow, gazing at Walt. "That man, was his first name Seth?"

Walt shivered, then closed his eyes. When he opened them, he nodded. "By God, I think it was. How the hell would you know that?"

"I don't know." John trembled, then closed his eyes as a warm surge descended upon him. "His name was Seth Gordon from...."

"Brooklyn," Walt offered, again sitting in the metal chair. "He was from Brooklyn, New York."

John opened his eyes, but didn't know what else to say. Yet peace swirled all through him, although it wasn't merely associated with the tangled thread connecting him and the man seated across. Instead it was as if John's wife stood behind him, passing these snippets like a lifeline. John looked toward the shed door, wishing she would step inside, whoever she was and wherever she might be. I love you, he wanted to say, but he kept still as Walt spoke, at first in a halting tone, then in a rush as a flood of war-time memories spilled from that small shed in Karnack, Texas.
Chapter 178

On the last Sunday of 1963, Seth Gordon sat across from his cousin Tovah and her husband Ben in an upscale Tel Aviv restaurant. The reason for the party was twofold; Ben's best friend was leaving tomorrow for England, and all around the world New Year's was approaching. For Tovah, that western holiday remained significant, and in the past six weeks, Seth had found that Ben's family appreciated celebrating certain Gentile traditions. Nothing was planned for New Year's Eve proper, but this dinner had been on Tovah's calendar since Seth's arrival. And now he felt no wariness around these people, Ben's parents and the couple's friends well acquainted with him. He was considered an artist first, an American second. And for the first time in Seth's life, those were the main emphases of his character. He wasn't labeled as impaired, nor Jewish, which made him smile.

He wondered what Laurie would make of this group; often Seth found himself considering his cousin, whether Seth was busy with clay, out with Tovah, or merely observing life in a country where no longer were they the minority. But perhaps Laurie had never felt as torn as Seth when it came to their faith, which might have been due to Stanford, or that Laurie simply had never been so troubled. Then Seth sighed inwardly. Laurie's last letter had revealed the depth of his pain; he was going to look for a house next month, having all but given up on Stanford ever forgiving him.

Seth had read that letter with a brief sense of sorrow, which hadn't lingered. His life was wholly different now, thanks to Eric, Dr. Sellers, Laurie of course, and Seth's continuing treatment with Dr. Margolis. And to those with whom he sat; now Seth craved connecting with others, their experiences broadening his outlook, flavoring his work. He had created several figures, not enough time in the day for all he wished to bring to life. He woke early, a newfound rhythm to his days, which in part he chalked up to all the years lost to depression. Unspoken however was that for all Seth now wished to accomplish, he was the only artist working. But once Eric returned home, Seth looked forward to hearing from him. He wasn't certain how that correspondence would emerge, but as he didn't fret over Laurie and Stanford, Seth didn't ruminate about Eric Snyder. He was in God's care, and would get home at the appropriate time.

The only aspect of Eric's disappearance that bothered Seth was Lynne. Laurie had written that she was due in two weeks, which Seth hadn't forgotten. He thought it would be unfortunate if Eric missed that event, but Laurie was there, and while his cousin couldn't be a substitute, Seth felt peaceful about where Laurie was, even if that broke Laurie's heart. Seth wasn't altogether sure from where that calm originated; much was due to what had happened in Miami coupled with those he had met here. Out of a monstrous evil now grew a dynamic nation. Seth's own recovery reflected that miracle, how he thought of it. If Eric missed the birth of his second child, Seth would be pained, but Eric had accepted that possibility, or hadn't been able to change it. Now when Seth thought of the hawk, he pondered more than Eric's role in Seth's healing. An otherworldly sense was firmly rooted within Seth and would never be shaken.

As laughter rang out around him, Seth smiled, sipping his drink, inhaling a scene thought impossible twenty years previously. Jews had survived a grotesque madness, some Jews, Seth allowed. He didn't focus on those waiting in the blue barn, instead noting who had survived. And while he had never dwelled on European soil, he considered himself akin to those survivors, perhaps through Norah, or maybe because of Eric. That was quite a stretch, but then so was Eric's existence as a hawk, in which Seth truly believed. And if that was taken as fact, then exactly what was the meaning of life, certainly more than meals in fancy establishments or art or even a baby's birth. Of those three, Seth thought the Snyders' coming child was the most beautiful, but not even that event could return a father to where he ought to be. In the long run, what was more damaging, that Eric would miss his child's arrival, or all the days leading up to that moment? Seth had become philosophical during his time in Israel, but the last six months cried out for analysis, and while he'd been honest with Dr. Sellers about the hawk, Seth had yet to mention it to Dr. Margolis.

Only a Miami shrink and Laurie knew; Stanford did too, in addition to those Eric loved. Seth attached no unpleasant notions to his time at the Kerr Hospital, not even if Eric was still missing. It would be as if those with whom he sat constantly mourned all the Jews killed in The Holocaust. This was a day of celebration, their very lives were a miracle. Seth closed his eyes, then prayed for Eric, Lynne too. Then he inhaled deeply, letting it out as Laurie filled Seth's mind. It was imperative that Laurie and Stanford work through their disagreement, perhaps more important than Eric arriving home before Lynne gave birth. If Laurie bought a house out West.... Seth shivered, then finished his drink. He looked up, finding Tovah's gaze. He nodded at her, then chuckled. She looked a little like her mother, although she possessed none of Sheila's matchmaking tendencies. However for the first time in years, perhaps in his whole adult life, the notion of a wife lurked in the back of Seth's mind. He didn't think about Norah; she had carried a different purpose. Maybe it was merely considering how vital it was that Laurie and Stanford made amends. Then Seth permitted a sliver of anguish; Eric had sacrificed much to make his way to Florida, so had Lynne. Laurie had been away from Stan for months, then they had parted acrimoniously. As Ben stood to make a toast, Seth refilled his glass, then raised it with the rest. But Seth didn't listen to what was said. Again he prayed for Eric, Laurie, and those they loved. May 1964 bring back together couples separated, families apart. And if Seth might be so blessed, perhaps he too might share in such bliss.

Hours later at St. Matthew's, Lynne sat next to Laurie, both pondering many of the same notions. Christmas had been a jovial day, hard not to smile when surrounded by happy children. The last two days had been less cheery, simply due to those missing. Yet at church, both Lynne and Laurie recovered some peace, although in different manners. Lynne felt that one day Eric would again sit at her side, their children between them. She concentrated on that notion, not catching much of Marek's sermon, although at the end, his voice carried a distinctive ring of hope. She smiled, aware of one reason for his optimism; Klaudia would be arriving in late January, sleeping in the small room near the church kitchen. Marek had some clearing out to do first, but he had been visibly pleased Klaudia wanted to stay at St. Matthew's.

Laurie listened to all Marek spoke, but found it hard to equate such blessings with his life. Since Christmas, he had tried calling Stan several times, but no one answered the telephone. Finally yesterday afternoon, Laurie reached Agatha, who tearfully expressed that she had done all she could. Not even Lynne's letter seemed to have made a difference, although right before Christmas, Agatha thought Stanford had been ready to reach out to Laurie. Laurie hadn't commented on that letter, for he knew nothing about it. Had Lynne posted it ages ago and it had been lost in the holiday rush, or had she mailed it without his knowledge? He wanted to ask, but no time had seemed appropriate. And if Stan was still adamant that they were through, Laurie had to accept it. He ached all over, then he chuckled, as Lynne arched backwards against the seat. If she had the baby early, Laurie wouldn't be surprised.

If she did, then at least they could stop wondering if Eric would make it home in time. Did that thought pass through Stan's head, Laurie mused. How selfish was Stan being, Laurie then pondered. Maybe their relationship wasn't worth trying to revive, for how many times had Laurie endured Stan's boorishness, on occasion apologizing for someone who obviously didn't care whether or not they got back together. Then Laurie sighed as Lynne stood from the pew, her hands pressed firmly against her lower back. Was she in labor, he wondered. He wanted to inquire, but Jane was happy on his lap. He watched as Lynne took a few steps, then returned, shaking her head, a slight grimace on her face. Laurie smiled. She was merely uncomfortable, nothing either of them could to do alleviate that situation.

They remained seated as the service ended, but Jane fussed, so Laurie stood, toting her. He pointed out stained glass windows, the tree near the altar, the nativity. Something about that scene intrigued him, and he asked if he might inspect it. Lynne laughed. "Go ahead. I'm not moving for a minute or three."

He nodded, aware that once she had found a comfortable position, she wouldn't leave it until forced to find another. Candles burned, mixing with the scent of pine that Laurie found soothing. The tree was decorated with Christian symbols, fish and crosses made from white fabric. But he turned his attention to Mary, Joseph, and an infant that while Jewish at birth was solely connected to Christian worship. Jane pointed at the sleeping figure in the manger. "Baby," she said.

"Yeah, and soon you'll have one of your own." He smiled, then set her on the floor. He knelt near the assembled figures; the baby was blonde, Mary wore the hint of a smile, and Joseph seemed rather nonplussed. Laurie laughed at this sanitized version of a poor Jewish family. Allegedly, Joseph had hardly more money than the shepherds with whom he stood.

The Wise Men weren't part of this group; Marek had said he would set them out on the sixth of January, the twelfth day of Christmas. Laurie wondered if they might look more realistic, or perhaps only less bland. They would carry gifts in their hands, maybe their style of dress would be more elaborate. But then this was merely a representation of the holy family, no more correct than Jesus in a loincloth upon the cross. He would have been left to die naked, but that was far too improper, not even Michelangelo had sculpted him as such. David had been permitted to stand nude, but not the savior of the world.

Or the Christian savior, yet Laurie felt an affinity for Jesus, if for no other reason than how lonely his adult life had been. Surrounded by some rather dim-witted disciples, a Nazarene carpenter had spent his last three years in a strange solitude, occasionally broken up by those who wished to believe he was the coming messiah, and most of them had been the recipients of his miracles. Maybe all of them had, Laurie mused, having learned a great deal during Marek's sermons. Then he gazed at Joseph, wondering what that man must have thought of a baby which clearly wasn't his; was this child, as the angel had said, conceived by the Holy Spirit? Now Laurie chuckled, for to Joseph that must have seemed as unlikely as what Laurie had told Stan about Eric. An angel's words must have carried a greater weight, Laurie decided, for Joseph didn't divorce his wife, and did all he could to protect her and a baby he knew wasn't his son.

In his free time, Laurie had read Lynne's Bible, discovering the Holy Family's flight to Egypt, then their return to Galilee. Laurie found it fascinating how after that, Joseph was barely mentioned, but then that man wasn't meant for more than getting Mary to Bethlehem. Laurie glanced at Jane, who sat quietly, staring at the tree and flickering candles. Then he gazed back to where Lynne now spoke with Marek. They were the only ones remaining, but that was usually how they left church. Yet, Laurie provided Lynne a cover, maybe how Joseph had done with Mary. Not that Lynne was expecting any more than another Snyder, but her bond with Marek was special. If not for Laurie, Lynne wouldn't have this time to speak to her pastor, nor would Marek's frequent visits to the Snyder home be permissible.

Laurie's presence had been explained by a small fib; did people really think he was Lynne's brother? These same parishioners accepted a Jew as their savior, so what was the difference? Yet, Stan refused to believe that.... Laurie sighed, then went to his feet. Jane joined him, and he grasped her small hand, leading her to where her mother and pastor still spoke. But Laurie kept glancing back at the nativity. What caused a person to overlook what seemed indisputable for a fanciful reality? He smiled, for at this time of year he might entertain that Jesus was more than a Jewish carpenter. But in a few weeks would he be so inclined, and what about.... He cleared his throat, then grinned at the twosome seated in the pew. "So where are we having lunch today?"

"Here, if you're not adverse to sandwiches." Marek stood, then motioned for Jane. Laurie released her hand and she ran to her pastor.

"That sounds good to me, I'm starving." Laurie stepped toward Lynne, helping her from the pew. A few streaks marked her cheeks, but she smiled, stepping slowly into the aisle.

He wanted to wipe away tears that still fell, but she brushed them aside herself. "I told Marek to come for a proper lunch, but he insisted."

"All he'd find at your house is leftover pie, and not much of it." Laurie needed to go shopping; they were sharing New Year's Day with the Aherns, but meals needed to be considered in the interim.

"Caramel slices await us in the kitchen," Marek said. "I had some free time yesterday afternoon once Mrs. Harmon left."

"And what did she have to say?" Lynne smiled.

"Very little, thankfully." Marek chuckled as they reached the kitchen. "All she wanted was her cookie plate back. Seems she's accepted there's no getting rid of me, although her idea of Christmas goodies are woefully lacking in flavor."

Their banter was light throughout lunch, but much ran through Laurie's mind. Had Marek mailed that surreptitious letter to Stan on Lynne's behalf? The note was probably from weeks ago, merely delayed by Christmas. Yet Agatha had sounded especially pained, as if she actually thought Stan was going to change his mind. Laurie gazed at Lynne, who only looked tired. Then he grinned; she was one of the most subtle persons he had ever met. When they were home, whether Jane was asleep or not, he would ask.

They took their leave with caramel slices wrapped in one of Lynne's spare pie tins. The day was cold, so Marek only saw them as far the front church doors. Laurie carried Jane, who was nearly asleep, and on the drive home, Lynne remarked that even if she stirred, he could lay her down for a nap. Lynne would catch some sleep as well, what Laurie had expected. Mother and daughter snoozed daily, but Lynne said her naptimes were numbered.

Laurie spent his afternoon speaking with his mother, making a grocery list for tomorrow, as well as building a fire. Lynne woke first and he made them some tea. They ate caramel slices in the living room, joking that Jane would be cross if she found them with such yummy snacks. Then Lynne yawned. "I have to say, it's lovely finding tea and a fire and a treat." She finished her slice, then licked her fingers. "There's a pastry chef lurking under Marek's collar. I hope Klaudia will appreciate these."

"If she doesn't, I'll have hers." Laurie took a breath, then sighed.

"What?" Lynne asked, grasping his hand.

He hadn't planned on inquiring until Jane was in bed for the night. But sometimes Lynne excused herself right after Jane was asleep. "There's something I wanna ask you." Laurie turned to face Lynne. "Did you write to Stan, I mean, recently?"

Lynne nodded. "Did Agatha say something?"

"Yeah, Jesus, I guess she thought I knew. What'd you tell him?"

Lynne's smile was small. "Just that you were thinking about a change of address."

"Well, I suppose that's fair. But I didn't put that letter in the mailbox."

"I had Renee send it. Laurie, if I've overstepped my bounds, I apologize. I just felt that...."

He squeezed her hand, then shook his head. "According to Agatha, you nearly changed his mind. But reality won out, or what he can take as truth." Laurie sighed, then released Lynne's hand. "I was thinking about it earlier, looking at the nativity. Joseph believed an angel, guess it's gonna take something that supernatural to convince Stan we're not all nuts out here."

Laurie expected Lynne to comment, but she remained quiet. He tried to meet her gaze, but she stared toward the fire. He looked that way, then thought about the painting she had described, one of this very scene that according to her and the Aherns had actually emanated heat. Prior to summer, Laurie's world had been varying shades of gray, but always rooted in acceptable fact. Or maybe he was kidding himself, for his life with Stanford had been extraordinary and now it was.... He breathed in, feeling a sharp pain. "It's over Lynne. I'll always love him, but he just can't...."

Now Lynne tipped his face so their eyes met. Tears ran down her cheeks, but her smile was wide. She placed his hand on the baby who gently tapped under Laurie's palm. Why was it so hard for him to assume Stan might change his mind when this woman held such a miracle?

Again he expected her to speak, but she was silent, although she kept his hand on the baby. Any day now, Laurie thought to himself, and perhaps that was Lynne's thought too. Might Eric walk through the door in time for that event? Laurie prayed for that, but not for another's presence. Maybe it would take an angel to convince Laurie, as well as Stan, that such a reunion was feasible. Instead, Laurie pulled Lynne as close as the baby allowed while she continued to cry. Her tears weren't all in sorrow, for as she sobbed, Laurie knew some peace. He didn't question what it was about, merely letting it soothe his aching heart as the fire warmed his back, dulling anguish that remained.
Chapter 179

Rain had fallen on and off in Karnack since Christmas, but on New Year's Eve a storm blew through, ripping off a small piece of the shed's roof. John stayed inside the Richardsons' house while Walt and Callie repaired the damage. As those men chatted on the porch, John joined them, wearing an old coat Callie had brought for him. "So, how's my house?" John smiled.

"Not too much worse than before, although your bed's soaked." Walt spat into a puddle. "Gonna hafta sleep on the sofa tonight, maybe tomorrow too."

John looked away from the men, grimacing. Then he shrugged. "Beats sleeping on the ground."

Since Christmas night, John had realized little peace. At first he blamed it on the rain, then it seemed connected to that Jew; how had John known that man's first name? Walt still marveled upon it when they were alone. Otherwise it was as if all Walt had shared about his tenure in the army was as faint as John's true identity. Except that one other fact had come to that man; his wife was due in the middle of January, and unless John woke tomorrow aware of his real name, most likely his second child would arrive without its father present. John felt he had attended his daughter's birth, but it seemed impossible he would share in that moment this time around.

He hadn't dreamed of his wife in days, yet she had seemed so close while Walt unburdened his soul. Maybe John had been in Korea, perhaps he was like that Seth Gordon, who had probably suffered terribly from all the men he'd killed. Walt suffered from nightmares, although they abated when Dora was expecting. That was why a mattress had waited in the shed, although the children had no idea of their father's trauma. John then looked at Callie; how had that man set aside such brutality? Then John shivered. Perhaps for a Negro, war wasn't much different than everyday life.

John couldn't recall how his friend had gotten through his army career, but he was haunted by those lost twins; would his wife deliver all right, might she.... He shook his head, then gazed at the twosome standing on the porch. Callie was staring at him. "Did I miss something?" John said.

"Just asked if you was okay." Callie wrung his hat in his hands, water dripping from it. Then he shook it out, but didn't put it on his head. "Well, I should be going. Rain ain't gonna let up for hours."

Walt patted Callie's shoulder. "Tell Susie thanks for the pie. See you in '64."

Callie chuckled. "I will, and yup, see you next year." He approached John, offering his left hand. John grasped it, but felt little relief. Yet he smiled, for it would be rude not to. Callie nodded, releasing John's hand. He headed down the steps, running to his truck, not bothering to put on his sodden cap.

Walt laughed as Callie departed, then he stretched his arms over his head. "Might as well go inside. No use staring at the rain."

John followed Walt into the house, which was quiet. Dora and the little girls were napping, while Luke and Tilda watched television. But as the door closed, Luke stood, walking toward his father and John. "How's the shed?" Luke asked Walt.

"Wet. Mr. Doe will sleep on the sofa tonight."

Luke smiled, then put his hands in his pockets. He gazed toward John, but didn't make eye contact. "Well, that'll be a nice way for everybody to celebrate the new year."

John wanted to argue, but Luke's tone was too jovial. John had avoided the children, which had been easy, what with the poor weather. Yet sleeping on wet blankets wasn't appealing, so John forced a smile. "Indeed it will. My first new year's in Texas most likely."

Luke chuckled. "Wonder where you were this time last year?"

Walt coughed loudly. "Luke, put some wood on the fire."

"Yes Daddy."

As Luke walked away, John stepped to the table, taking his usual seat. The boy meant no harm, but John couldn't help his anger. The question was one he'd considered often while listening to rain pelting the shed's roof, along with why had he been shot, where was his family, and for how long would he be stuck in.... Pessimism was hard to dismiss; perhaps he would never remember his name, finding himself living in this southern hamlet with a crippled arm and no sense of.... John sighed heavily, tracing the table's wood grain with his left index finger. He stared at that hand, tried to wiggle his right, wasn't sure if he had done it. The whole arm was now numb, but had he used it for a noble purpose? Gazing at his left hand, it was as if all his previous talents were now shunted into this once aimless limb.

He glanced at the fire, then found himself lost in the growing flames. Sparks rose, then died out, pops and crackles reminiscent of home. He closed his eyes, but could still see bright orange and flickering yellow coals against white-hot wood burning into flat gray ash. Opening his eyes, he squinted, then shook his head. He stood, walking to where the fire now burned with vigor. Pulling up a nearby chair, he studied the flames, so lively, so.... His heart pounded as a vital memory teased, yet was as impossible to retrieve as though it dwelled within the center of the blaze. He only had one good hand, but was tempted to reach into the fireplace, like his whole life was waiting for him if only he had the courage to grasp it.

Then he shivered; what if he was there due to fear, had he run away from his family, why in the hell was he separated from his very pregnant wife? He loved her, a notion often stirring him from sleep, leaving him trembling in desire and sorrow. Did she miss him, or was she glad to be rid of him? Again he looked at his left hand; he wore no ring, not that many men did, but was that significant? Why after years of childlessness were they apart; nothing seemed to make sense.

John wasn't aware that both Luke and Tilda had been staring at him. Walt had nearly told them to stop, but the man seemed a million miles away. Occasionally Walt pondered some of the same questions about this stranger, but lately he mostly wondered how in the world had John known Seth's name. Now that man dwelled in Walt's dreams, but not like in the past, when Walt woke drenched in sweat, reaching for his gun, but of course no weapon was close. Now Gordon, or rather Seth, was a kindly figure, dressed not in fatigues but perhaps as Walt had previously assumed a New York Jew would appear, in dress pants and a respectable shirt. But Seth didn't look right in those clothes; he wasn't a businessman, but then neither was the amnesiac still staring at the fire. Those men were different, Walt believed, and not only due to their mental problems. Maybe that Jew had been a hell of a marksman, but only under duress. And as for John Doe.... Walt thought that man had never done a hard day's work in his life, or if he had, it wasn't like the work any of them around here did. Walt drank from his coffee cup, the contents grown cold, but John's presence would make for a late night. They might not speak much, but Luke wanted to stay up late and Tilda would probably argue to do the same. Dora would turn in early, leaving Walt with an odd trio to see in the new year. He stood, then poured what remained in the coffee pot into his cup. As he drank that, no warmer than what he'd just finished, he continued gazing at a troubled man and two curious children. This would be the strangest New Year's Eve in Walt's life, but perhaps it would usher in more predicable days.

As John tried to conjure his past, another man attempted to make sense of the present; Stanford stared at the drawing of Agatha, which again had made its singular way onto the dining table. Perhaps all those ignored telephone calls had brought out the sketch, as though a two-dimensional version of Stanford's housekeeper could answer the phone in Stanford's stead. He permitted that idea due to how odd was it that a piece of paper seemed to travel within his home unaided. Stanford had no manner in which to dispute that bizarre fact, although he continued to dismiss other equally inexplicable queries.

He hadn't destroyed Lynne's letter, although after Christmas Day he strongly considered throwing it away as he had Laurie's note. Something had held him back, perhaps it was Lynne's lovely penmanship or how harmonious were her words, even if the sentiments troubled Stanford's dreams. For the last week, he couldn't dismiss those nocturnal scenes, which unlike Eric's dreams in Texas were easily recalled in Manhattan; Laurie arrived, taking the figurines from the library, not giving Stanford the time of day. In some of the dreams Jane accompanied, still a toddler, but capable of speech. She told her Uncle Stanford that while she fully understood his reservations, time was running out. If he didn't travel west soon, he would miss....

Jane never finished her sentence, leaving Stanford to wonder if she meant the coming baby or Laurie's departure. But if Stanford did leave New York, would he return alone? Maybe Laurie hadn't waited for January; perhaps he'd spent the last week inspecting houses. Had he and Lynne gone together, Stan mused, gazing at Agatha's image. Probably not, for she was so close to delivering and.... Stanford picked up the drawing, fingering where he had nearly folded it in half. That crease remained, certifying to him that yes, this piece of paper was capable of independent movement. He sighed, wishing to shake his head, but the simple truth was within his grasp. This illustration had somehow found its way from the guest room to this table, and had done so without the intervention of human hands.

Stanford knew this because he had seen it lying on the guest room bureau just last night. He hadn't checked on its location in a good while, but had felt compelled to step into that room, flicking on the light, then spying the sheet where he had set it weeks before Laurie expressed the desire to buy property out west, before Lynne had written that letter, before Agatha had asked him an intrusive question. But Stanford's shock had been short-lived for her plaintive tone, sorrow nearly more than he could bear. She had sounded the same last week, although her voice had been less tearful, and yes, he had almost booked a flight upon that ultimatum, which wasn't more than information. Yet Lynne's letter had been sent with a distinct purpose. If Stanford didn't reach out for Laurie soon, what they shared would be finished. Or was it already too late; was anything left between them, perhaps not more than art. Would Laurie return for Seth's figurines? Stanford assumed he would, leaving this drawing in Stanford's care. Yet, he should give it to Laurie, for Agatha would remain a fixture here and.... Or would she leave him if Laurie moved west? Stanford trembled at such an idea, then he clucked loudly. She was merely his cook, and if Laurie wasn't coming back, maybe Stanford would make other changes. Without Laurie, Stanford could start fresh, no need for discretion. He could let Agatha retire to life in Queens, hire a new housekeeper, perhaps even move himself. This apartment would be too large for only one and....

He waited, but no pain emerged. Before when considering such notions, he would be seized by some malady. This time he felt no anguish, which for a moment frightened him. Then he smiled. Maybe that too was a sign; he didn't need Laurie or Agatha. Only his father, and Stanford grinned, peering at the table, finding to his horror the sketch was gone.

For seconds Stanford blinked, as though his eyes were faulty. The table remained bare, then he stooped, seeing nothing on the floor. He stood straight, crossing his arms over his chest, making a sweeping observation of the room, yet the drawing had disappeared. He wanted to throw his hands in the air, crying out uncle, but no one would have heard him. Instead he dropped his arms to his sides, walking slowly around the table, peeking at chairs pushed up, but upon none of them waited that sacred drawing.

Growing angry, he stalked about the apartment, carefully searching every room. His efforts turned up nothing other than a missing sock. He threw it toward his bed, but he missed, and instead of bending over to collect it, he went on all fours, reaching under the bed. The drawing didn't turn up, only another spare sock, but that one belonged to Laurie. Stanford gripped the white tube sock, wishing he wasn't alone, wanting to tell Laurie of his find. Laurie had lost that sock ages ago, and had only thrown out the spare when he came back from....

Now Stanford shook, and he sat on the floor, leaning against the bed. Gripping his own sock in one hand, he stared at Laurie's in the other; it was aged, as if from Laurie's school days. It was also covered in dust, but Stanford looked past those particles as though he possessed the man. How often had they sat on the edge of the bed, talking of this or that, or merely holding hands, no words necessary. Then Stanford glanced at a gray wool sock, also dusty, but newer. Stanford remembered buying this sock, or the pair, a few weeks after Laurie left. Out of boredom he had gone shopping, choosing these socks and some undershirts, trivial purchases now that he thought back on it. So trivial that he hadn't realized a sock was missing, for this one was so recent, it hadn't made any impression. As he glanced at his other hand, a sharp pain traveled from that arm right to his chest. He sighed, accepting the agony. He would never be the same if Laurie didn't return.

Did Lynne feel that way, then he sighed once more, for where was Eric? Lynne hadn't mentioned her husband, only Laurie's plans. If Stanford permitted Laurie's assertion, Eric should have arrived home no later than Thanksgiving. An entire month had passed, and the pain from Stanford's chest dropped into his guts. Was Eric dead, would they ever know? Stanford closed his eyes, but tears leaked from the corners, rolling down in waves. How crazy was it that Eric was gone, Laurie too, and where was that damned sketch? Stanford stood, leaving the socks at the foot of the bed. He wiped his eyes, marching from his room to the guest room, but the sketch wasn't there. He stomped into the dining room, the table bare. He swore, then sulked into the kitchen where he poured himself some water. He drained the glass, setting it on the counter. He inhaled, but choked upon exhaling; the sketch waited in Laurie's place on the small kitchen table.

"How in the world...." His voice was soft, but the words had to be spoken aloud. Approaching the table, he paused, then stepped quickly to where the paper rested. To his shock, no crease was evident, otherwise the drawing was as he recalled, Agatha dressed as a domestic, looking right at the artist, her gaze piercing Stanford's heart. He could never fire her; to do so would be like saying goodbye to his mother. But could he continue to employ her with half of him thousands of miles away?

What good was living if he couldn't give Laurie back that sock? What purpose did Stanford have if his most talented artist was missing, what reason did any of his life matter if it was spent with only this mystical illustration for amusement. Now Stanford laughed heartily. All the mayhem he had accused Laurie of was staring back at him in the guise of one woman who brooked no nonsense. But none of this could be deemed rational, it was all.... Stanford shivered, taking the paper from the table. Indeed the crease was gone; it was as if Eric had just drawn this, leaving it right where the pose had been struck. Had Eric snuck in while Stanford was sitting on his own bedroom floor, where was that damned man?

Stanford sighed, but this time no pain accompanied. It was late in New York, although still the thirty-first of December, 1963. It was certainly too late to call Lynne, for she must be asleep. What about Laurie? Usually they alternated ringing in the new year with their parents; last year they had celebrated with Michael. Were Rose and her daughters spending the evening together, was Wilma with them? Stanford didn't think about Seth, all he could ponder was Laurie; had he already found a new home, or was he waiting until the baby came to seriously consider his options. Laurie had options, for Stanford had made clear his feelings. But those emotions were now colored by this strange sketch and a tube sock and the realization of one missing painter. Eric wasn't in an institution, he never had been. Yet, could Stanford permit a most illogical claim that did answer all the nagging queries collected over the years. Had Eric Snyder actually turned into a....

The phone rang, stirring Stanford from that thought. He hadn't answered his telephone for days, although he called his father every morning. Yet, it was nearly midnight according to the kitchen clock, what Stanford thought as he approached the ringing phone in the library. Again he hesitated, not wishing to hear another voice. But what if Lynne was in labor, might it be Sam with such news? The ringing continued but as Stanford touched the receiver, the phone was silent. He left his hand there, hoping the caller would give him another chance. But minutes passed and no one attempted to reach him.

Most likely it was a wrong number, he assumed, walking down the hallway, going into his bedroom. Those two socks greeted him like an unexpected slap. The sting lasted as he lay down for sleep, then he noticed it the next morning when he woke. He had planned to spend that day with his father, but excused himself, staying by the phone all day. No one called, and the sketch remained where he had left it, at Laurie's place on the kitchen table. Every time Stanford entered that room, he couldn't look away from the drawing, finding no blemish on the paper. When he fell asleep on the first night of 1964, a question loomed, his dreams reiterating the issue. Jane tapped her foot, hoisting the female figurine into the air. "Are you coming to see us Uncle Stanford?" And within his dreams, Stanford nodded his head.
Chapter 180

Tears fell from Lynne's eyes as she hung up the receiver. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, then gazed at her wedding ring, which was stuck to her finger. She couldn't even twist the band, her digits so swollen. Then she smiled, having had ample opportunities to take it off, but maybe it was good to remain on her hand. Stanford was coming next week, and perhaps this ring would ease his mind.

It would signify that while Eric was absent, he would return. It might say, 'Love endures through the darkest moments.' It could provide a very stoic art dealer a tangible symbol to bolster what Lynne knew Stanford still didn't believe, yet he had booked a flight for next Wednesday, an open-ended stay, although probably not lasting more than two weeks. He had stated that with a rise in his tone, to which Lynne had agreed. Discreetly she informed him she believed the baby wouldn't arrive late, which had momentarily made him reconsider his plans; should he leave sooner? Lynne noted that five days out from her due date would give them ample time to chat before a pleasant interruption. She had kept her voice light, as though Stanford's plans were solely focused on one impending infant.

Yet, as he spoke, Lynne discerned a change. Something had happened to stir this reaction, and she was glad Laurie had taken Jane for a walk. Maybe Stanford realized Lynne could talk freely, although a caveat curtailed her speech; she never mentioned Laurie, neither did Stanford. But Laurie was all Stanford considered, for how plaintive was his tone, how willing he'd been to change the reservation, and as Lynne sat down, still wiping her cheeks, for the simple fact that this man was flying west. Perhaps Lynne would never know the exact reason for his change of heart, but the change was enough. Now Lynne had to hope that Laurie would stay true to his promise. She wouldn't broach it, not wishing to pressure him. But Stanford was coming and wouldn't leave until a child had arrived. Lynne would prepare the room next to Laurie's, but she sincerely hoped those efforts would be for naught.

Then she giggled, which turned into full-blown laughter. The baby kicked in response and Lynne chuckled again. "Your daddy might not be here, but a host of relatives can't wait to meet you." She caressed that bulge, again brushing aside tears, but these weren't painful. Suddenly she hoped Stanford's arrival wouldn't be too late, for now Lynne felt all the pieces were in place, or nearly set. Did she expect Eric to waltz in at the last moment, perhaps that was a pipe dream. She glanced at the phone, then at the clock; it was ten, and she smiled. How long had Stanford been waiting to call? Had he come to this decision yesterday, but not wanted to intrude on the holiday? But Lynne needed to speak to someone and best to do it now before Laurie and Jane returned.

As she reached for the receiver, a warm surge flooded her heart, stirring more tears. The notion of Eric missing their baby's birth had hovered even before he left for Miami, but she had set it aside, not wanting to dwell on it. Yet she was due in two weeks, and no word from her husband indicated that indeed he wouldn't stand at her side. Staring at her large belly, Lynne accepted that in all likelihood she would deliver without him. For the first time, that notion wasn't disquieting. "He'll be home as soon as he can," she whispered. "He's always come back to me."

Saying those words felt liberating, also taking her to when she lived here alone, yet it wasn't this exact home. Nothing in her life was similar to those days, for others knew, even Stanford was willing to.... What did he believe, she smiled to herself. Then she shook her head. What Stanford permitted wasn't her concern, but one other person was taking an odd situation on faith alone. Lynne reached for the phone, making her call. Fran answered, Helene hollering in the background. Lynne cleared her throat. "Good morning. How are you all?"

"I should be asking you that." Fran chuckled, then told Helene to hush. "We're fine. Any changes?"

"Nothing major." Then Lynne giggled. "Well maybe, but first I wanted to touch base with you about...." She paused, then continued. "Being here when I have the baby."

An audible sigh was heard on the other end. "I've been meaning to talk to you about that," Fran said. "Just haven't had a minute to myself. But Louie's taken the rest for a walk. Kids were starting to get a little stir crazy and...."

"School starts next week, right?"

"Yup. And I can't wait for a quiet house."

Lynne smiled, for her home would be anything but. She wanted to tell Fran that Stanford was coming, but of course Laurie deserved to know first. And while Fran and Louie would be pleased with Lynne's guest, a more pressing issue remained. "Well, enjoy your peace and quiet. I just wanted to...."

Fran took a deep breath and as she exhaled, Lynne wondered if Sam's sister had changed her mind. It was certainly a possibility, for if Stanford could alter his.... Lynne wasn't sure what she would do if that was the case as Frannie remained still. Then Helene asked to speak to Jane, which made both mothers laugh. "Jane's on a walk right now," Lynne said. "But I can have her call you when she gets home."

"Oh goodness, they're too young for that, although I'm sure our phone bills will be sky high by the time they're teenagers." Fran's tone was jovial, then she paused. "Actually Lynne, I'm so looking forward to it, but it's been a zoo here, no time for me to breathe let alone make a phone call. I was just talking about it with Louie last night, figuring out logistics." Fran chuckled. "Depending on when you need me, Louie will watch our kids and I'll bring Sally to help Sam." Fran laughed. "My goodness, more little ones than you can shake a stick at."

Lynne had closed her eyes while Fran spoke, feeling that calm all through her. Now Lynne glanced at the clock; Laurie and Jane wouldn't be out for much longer, so many good things to share with those she loved. "Well, that sounds just fine. Laurie or Renee will give you a ring once I know there's no going back."

"Sounds good." Fran hesitated again, then she spoke. "So, has he heard from, um...."

Lynne grinned. "Actually, Stanford called this morning. He's coming out next week." Lynne didn't feel she had betrayed a confidence and wasn't entirely certain how Laurie would take this news, probably not with as much joy as Frannie, for she thanked the Lord, then sounded tearful. "Oh Lynne, that's wonderful, I mean...." She cleared her throat, then chuckled. "Louie and I have been praying for them, but you don't have to tell Laurie that."

"We'll keep that between us." Lynne smiled, but felt like crying again. "And I'm so glad you still wanna be here when the baby comes."

"I wouldn't miss that for anything. Just call whenever. Shall I bring my camera?"

Lynne was struck by that query. "Uh, I guess, I mean...." Then she again closed her eyes. "Yes, please. Oh Fran, I'd appreciate that so much."

Pictures had been taken of Jane after she was a few hours old and while Lynne's camera contained a new roll of film, Fran might be more comfortable using her own. Lynne wanted photographs as soon as it was appropriate, then her tears began in earnest. Fran didn't speak, although Helene again asked to speak to Jane. As Lynne regained her composure, Helene was told she would see Jane soon enough, as well as Jane's little brother or sister. Then Fran sighed softly. "I just thought you'd want some snapshots. Our camera's pretty good and that way...."

Fran sniffled, echoing Lynne's mood. "Yes, that would be wonderful. Thank you so much."

"It's truly my pleasure."

Lynne nodded as though Fran was standing beside her. Soon enough she would be, but that didn't cause Lynne any anxiety. "Well, I should let you go. I just wanted...."

"Lynne, it's a pleasure and a privilege. Like I said, just have someone give me a shout and...."

Fran couldn't continue speaking, but Helene jabbered into the receiver, asking for Jane. Lynne mumbled that Jane would call Helene later, then Lynne said a garbled goodbye. Fran offered the same, the women laughing and crying. Lynne blew her nose several times, then sat at the kitchen table, pondering the morning's conversations. She patted the baby, who wriggled slightly. "Lots of folks waiting on you, sort of how we're all waiting on your daddy. But if you come first, I won't mind." Then Lynne burst into tears, a mixture of joy, small sorrow, and anticipation. Thankfulness prevailed, for while Eric might miss it, so many others would be gathered, a large family for a woman previously accustomed to solitude.

When Laurie returned, Lynne was eating pie, but two other slices waited on plates. Laurie changed Jane, then they joined Lynne, who noted that Renee had called, then spoke of her chat with Frannie. Laurie was grateful for another photographer; he would borrow Lynne's camera for more formal portraits. The shots Fran would capture might only be shared between the parents.

Laurie noticed a change in Lynne's mood. Not that she had been sullen since Christmas, but her voice was tinged with hope, although it didn't sound associated with Eric. "Everything okay?" he asked in between bites of pie. Ritchie was leaving the hospital tomorrow, but Renee hadn't mentioned how long her brother might stay at the rehabilitation facility.

Lynne smiled. "I also got a call from Stanford this morning."

Laurie nodded, then coughed. "Really? I don't believe it."

"Indeed I did. He's flying out next Wednesday, although he said if I went into labor early to please let him know."

Laurie had been ready to take another bite, expecting her to say just the opposite. He'd dreamed of that scenario, Stanford issuing proclamations, cutting Laurie out of his life. "Well I'll be damned." He put down his fork, shook his head, then laughed. "He say why he was coming?"

"Well, for the baby." Her smile was sly. "We didn't talk long, but he sounded chastened. Said he wanted to make sure he was here in time for the birth. And that he wouldn't book a return flight until after the baby arrived."

Laurie sat silently. Then he ate some pie, chewing thoughtfully. He swallowed, drank some coffee, then stared at Lynne. "He say what changed his mind?"

"No, and I didn't press. He was concerned that he might miss it, but I assured him if he came next week, that would be fine." She placed her hands on the baby. "You're due on the fifteenth, but I think it might be a day or two sooner." Then she smiled at Laurie. "We can make up the room next to yours, but hopefully...."

Laurie shrugged, although his heart pounded. "I bet Michael put him up to it."

"He never said. It was a brief call, but it didn't sound like he was at the office."

"No, probably not. Wednesday huh, Wednesday. That gives him a few days to arrange whatever needs to be done. Not much happens after Christmas, people are still getting over their New Year's hangovers." He clucked, then ate another bite of pie. "Wednesday, hmmm. I wonder what he'll tell his dad."

Lynne raised her eyebrows, making Laurie smile. "What," he chuckled. "You don't think he'll say anything to Michael?"

"He said so little, I have no idea. He might just note he needed a vacation."

Now Laurie laughed out loud. "Oh yeah, and why not fly all the way across the country?" Laurie shook his head. "Maybe he just wants to see if Eric's been here the whole time and we're conspiring against him."

Lynne grasped Laurie's hands. "He didn't mention you, but I could hear your name in every breath. Something's happened, but if we asked Agatha, I bet she wouldn't even know. Perhaps it's just that he got tired of wondering, or of being alone."

"Lots of risks in coming out here," Laurie said grimly.

"Yes, but a lot of love too."

Conviction rang through her words, yet, Laurie wasn't moved. "Well, we'll see. I'll make sure the other bed has clean sheets. Or maybe he'll wanna sleep on the sofa or...."

"Wherever he wants is fine as long as it's not the room next to Jane's." Lynne smiled. "That one's already taken."

Laurie nodded. "Yes it is. How're you feeling?"

"Strangely peaceful. Talking with Frannie was good; for a moment I thought she'd had second thoughts. But she's ready for a call from you or Renee any time." Lynne patted the baby. "And honestly, I'm ready too. There'll be plenty of pictures, goodness knows lots of people too. And between us, I'm fed up with being pregnant."

"Are you now?" Laurie laughed.

"Yes I am. It's been a long nine months and...." She paused, considering how she had learned, in Queens of all places, and this man was one of the first to know. Then Lynne thought of Stanford's initial awkwardness, which had quickly turned to muted delight, then blossomed into honest happiness. She blinked away tears; he couldn't replace Eric, but there was something very correct about the idea of Stanford pacing around this level of the house. "Laurie, you and Stanford have been connected to this child from its very conception." She giggled as Laurie smiled. "It means so much that he's willing to come out, for a variety of reasons. You're the biggest one, but like I said, he wanted to make sure he was here with a few days to spare."

Laurie continued eating his pie, but he wouldn't meet Lynne's gaze. He seemed overwhelmed by the idea of Stanford's presence, maybe feeling just as unsteady as the man back east. Lynne remained silent, but Jane asked for more pie. "How about some milk?" Lynne said, taking Jane's empty plate.

"I'll get it." Laurie stood, then returned with the carton. He topped up Jane's cup, pouring some into his mug. He took his seat, then stared into the room. Then he met Lynne's eyes. "I don't think I'll believe it until I see him in this kitchen."

"That's fair. He probably won't believe either until he's searched this property up and down."

"Believe what?"

"Whatever he's been thinking all this time. But that's the past. Something's changed Laurie. Something happened."

"Agatha probably gave him another talking to."

Lynne shrugged. "Whatever it was, he'll be here in less than a week. You'll probably be right where you are," she said to the baby. "And that's just fine. Let Uncle Stanford have a few days to get his feet under him before...."

"Uncle Stanford!" Jane clapped her hands.

"Yup, Uncle Stanford." Lynne kissed her daughter's cheek. "He can't wait to see you too."

Lynne left unsaid the main object of Stanford's affection as Laurie rose from his chair, excusing himself. He put on his coat and scarf, exiting through the main door as Jane continued to call out for her Uncle Stanford.
Chapter 181

Over the weekend, a flurry of activity occurred on both coasts as Stanford prepared for what might be his longest stretch away from the office while Laurie arranged the extra guest room. In Texas, the rain had cleared, providing John a place to hide from his hosts. His child was due soon, causing him great consternation, although faint hints of peace threatened to upend his bad mood. He didn't want to engage with anyone, and while the children mostly left him alone, occasionally Gail would slip away from a watchful eye. Going as far as the end of the house, she left a ten foot gap between herself and the shed. But while the closed door divided them, John could hear her hollering for Missa Doe. Then someone would fetch her, but John couldn't shake how earnest were her appeals. Did his daughter remember him, or had he been away so long.... Now John wondered just how lengthy was his separation from his family, maybe from late last spring. Gail was well over two, but John felt his little girl wasn't quite that old yet. It was one more issue over which to ruminate, which by Monday afternoon had driven the amnesiac into a deep depression.

After the children had fallen asleep, Walt and Dora discussed John's mental state. Dora had finally told her mother about John, and Hannah was aghast that they were caring for him; he must be a fugitive, she'd remarked. Walt had spoken to Hiram's father, Pop Bellevue his usually surly self, but not aware his youngest might have shot someone. For Hiram's sake Walt wanted to keep Pop in the dark, as well as what Pop might do to John if his existence was known. Walt wouldn't put it past Pop to show up unannounced, making sure John Doe remained a scarcely realized figure in their tiny town. What Pop might do to Hiram also plagued Walt, but fortunately those were his only immediate worries. Dora was feeling better and according to her doctor was definitely carrying twins. Two heartbeats had been heard that week and now it was a matter of taking each day as it came. Which wasn't much differently than how the Richardsons usually lived, but life had altered from the day John Kennedy died.

Walt didn't think of it like that, but Dora, Luke, and Tilda did. Walt thought of it as the day he lifted a nearly dead figure from spongy ground, also the day Jack Ruby exacted vengeance. It was similar to much of Walt's time in Korea when men sometimes died, or if they lived they were mutilated. Walt wasn't sure if John had served, but how else could he have known Seth Gordon? John didn't have a New York accent and he wasn't Jewish. He was moody like Seth; perhaps they had known each other in college, for John was well educated. He had probably been able-bodied in the past, but how in the world had he fallen into their care?

As Walt pulled into his driveway late on Tuesday afternoon, he saw Luke sitting on the porch. Walt parked the truck, then got out, watching Luke swing his legs, which almost touched the ground. Luke didn't look like a child anymore. Not that the ten-year-old was anywhere close to being a teenager, but a distinct change had overcome Walt's eldest. Right now Luke appeared perplexed, but he smiled as Walt approached. "Hi Daddy. How was work?"

"Fine. What're you doing out here?" When Luke was little, he used to wait for Walt to come home, his little legs far from where they now scraped the dry earth. Luke would be tall, Walt surmised, with a gentle character that reminded Walt of Dora. Walt hid a smile as Luke sighed.

"Just thinking Daddy." Luke gazed toward the side of the house, then met Walt's stare. "Something's really wrong with Mr. Doe."

For a moment Walt shivered. "You seen him today?"

"No, and that's the problem. I knocked, I mean, I called out first, right after I got home from school. He never said nothing, so then I knocked, and he told me he didn't need a thing. He sounded mad, I mean...." Luke shook his head. "Did I do something to make him mad?"

Walt joined Luke on the porch, but Walt's knees bent at a sharp angle. "He's just having a hard stretch is all." The children weren't aware that John's wife was due at any time, and Walt didn't want to betray John's confidence. "He's still hurting, you know, and it's been a good while that way. Sometimes folks get the blues."

Luke nodded, then again glanced at the side of the yard. "Daddy, you think his family's gonna find him?"

"I don't rightly know."

"I thought he'd get his memory back by now." Luke crossed his arms over his chest. "Maybe he's never gonna remember who he is."

"He will one of these days. But in the meantime, just leave him be. When he wants to talk, I'm sure he will."

"Yes sir." Luke dropped his arms to his sides, then stood on the porch. "Are you gonna go see him?"

"I will when it time for supper. Here, take this inside." Walt pointed to his lunchbox. "Actually, I'll check on him now, see if he's gonna eat with us."

"I hope he does." Luke headed for the front door. "But tell him it's okay if he doesn't. I don't wanna make him feel worse."

Luke's pained tone struck Walt deeply. He waited for Luke to go inside, then he stood, feeling small aches along his legs. They were slight, however, compared to what John knew, but it was doing Luke harm for John to be so sullen. Walt walked around the side of the house, seeing the closed shed door ahead. He didn't announce himself, but knocked hard on the door. No one answered and Walt rapped again. As he did, he wondered now that Dora was safely in her second trimester if this strange man had done something Walt had expressly forbidden weeks before. Luke said John had spoken to him a couple of hours ago, but a couple of hours was plenty of time for a man to.... "John, you awake or not?" Walt's tone was firm, but still no one answered.

"I'm giving you one minute." Walt kept his voice even, but his heart pounded as if he was lying low, waiting for the signal to be given. He and Gordon would then raise their rifles, shooting on command, clearing the way for the rest of the platoon to move forward. Gordon's vision was so keen and he rarely faltered, his composure steady as gooks fell dead. Walt sometimes trembled, but Gordon kept him balanced, and how was that? He was a slip of a thing, or Walt had viewed him as such. Maybe it was that Walt was so much taller, or that away from battle, Gordon seemed so fragile. Yet in the thick of a fight he had a backbone of steel. Those blue eyes were ice cold as Koreans were mowed down with every bullet Gordon fired.

Walt shook away that image, then rapped once more on the door. "All right, I'm coming in." As he turned the handle, hoping to not see a body hanging from the rafters, the door opened. John looked put out and Walt wanted to slug him, then embrace him. "What the hell took you so long?" Walt barked.

John glared at Walt, then he sighed. "Sorry, I just didn't wanna see anyone."

"Well that's too damned bad. You were scaring me to death." Walt remained standing just past the doorway. He wouldn't intrude into the shed, although he peered past John, finding the furnishings unchanged. Then he glared at the man in front of him. "My wife might be feeling better, but you sure as hell better not be thinking about doing something stupid."

From how John's eyes darted from view, Walt knew he had been considering ending his life. Walt inhaled, then leaned against the doorframe. "I know it's a hard time, and I also know you ain't feeling no better." He motioned toward John's right shoulder. "But I'll tell you straight out; if you're thinking about ending everything, then you hightail it off my property and don't look back. My boy's fond of you, I'm sure you know that, not to mention what something like that'd do to Dora. We've done the best we can here and I know you've been trying on your end. But I won't have that sorta business here, you understand me?"

Walt's tone changed with that last sentence, a harshness meant to protect his kin. Somehow this man had made inroads, but in no way would Walt allow John to disturb the relative peace Walt possessed. It might only last until Dora had their.... He sighed, then kicked the dirt. "You just gotta get through the next week or so. Believe me, I know life gets hard. But I didn't die over there and you're not gonna do the same here. Maybe your family's having a hard time finding you, but that don't mean they've stopped looking. So in the meantime, buck up. You ain't the first to have suffered."

Walt thought about Callie as he spoke and he nearly said that, but Tilda interrupted. "Daddy, Mr. Bolden's calling."

A smile crept over Walt's face and he looked at John, who seemed slightly shamed. "I'll be right there," he called. Then Walt cleared his throat. "I'll bring supper out in a bit. I don't want you eating with us till you can talk about something pleasant. In the meantime, you decide what you wanna do. Like I said, I ain't gonna come out and find you hanging from my rafters. If that's what you want, you can just clear out."

Walt didn't make eye contact, as he wasn't sure he wanted to know John's intentions. Walt headed for the house, not speaking to Tilda, who waited on the porch. He stepped inside, going straight for the telephone. "Everything okay Callie?" Walt said.

As Callie spoke, Walt half-listened, paying more attention to his wife stirring a pot on the stove, the children seated around the table, waiting for supper. Walt answered Callie's question, which concerned a trivial issue, then Walt smiled. Just how prophetic was Susie, who Walt was sure had prompted her husband to call at that moment. Shaking his head, Walt closed the call, hanging up the receiver, then meeting Dora's anxious eyes. "Just needed to ask a question," Walt said. "Is it time to eat?"

"Nearly." Dora looked at the front door. "Is that all right?"

"Yup." Walt washed his hands, then kissed his wife's cheek. She looked startled, then she smiled.

"Daddy, is Mr. Doe eating with us tonight?" Luke asked.

"Not tonight, son." Walt joined his family as Dora dished out stew. "Now you all eat up, Mama worked hard making such a fine meal for us."

Dora chuckled, which lifted Walt's mood. If John was gone in the morning, Luke and Tilda would be upset, but Walt had been adamant. It was a new year, and yes, John was far from his home, and Walt understood his fears about missing a baby's birth. But either that man was going to get past it or not. And if not, best that he leave sooner rather than later. Walt ate the stew, smiling at Dora, then at each of the children. He didn't think about the babies who hadn't lived, instead focusing on the two growing inside his wife. Walt felt a happiness usually reserved for moments alone with Dora, but he kept his joy hidden.

After supper, he told Luke to clear the table while Tilda watched her sisters. Walt led Dora outside, but they walked to the truck, where Walt spoke honestly. Dora shed a few tears, but only once did she look toward the shed. Darkness had fallen and the door was obscured. Walt set his hand on her belly, then kissed her. Dora sought his embrace and Walt wrapped her close. "I love you," he whispered.

Dora pulled away, then inhaled deeply. Exhaling, she wiped her eyes. "Whatdya think he's gonna do?"

"No idea. Just wanted you aware."

She nodded, then shook her head. "I thought he'd be gone by now. My goodness, what a mess."

"Yeah, but it's his choice. Tomorrow I don't want you out there, or Luke. I'll tell him, might be hard but...."

"Will you tell Callie?"

"Probably. Maybe I'll drive over there tonight." Walt gazed at the heavens, stars twinkling. Life was difficult, no getting around it, but here he was standing beside his wife, with two more children on the way. How many nights had Walt prayed to be reunited with his woman under this sky, but Texas had seemed very far from Korea. Those memories would remain as long as Walt lived, the nightmares too, but on that evening no ill feelings hovered.

Walt kissed Dora once more, then led her back to the house. The shed was dark, but Walt delivered John's supper, then drove to the Boldens. He didn't stay long; Callie said he would check on John mid-day tomorrow. When Walt got home, he pulled Luke aside, giving the boy strict instructions to not bother Mr. Doe. Luke expressed his disappointment, but didn't argue. Then Walt went to collect John's plate.

Three sharp raps passed before John hollered that Walt could come inside. Slowly Walt opened the door, the room dark. Walt pulled on the string, the light dim, but he could see John kneeling on the floor in front of the makeshift bed. An empty plate waited on the table, for which Walt was glad, but why was this man on his knees? "You okay?" Walt asked.

"Can you help me up?" John's tone was conciliatory. "I can't do it alone."

"What'n the hell were you doing?" Walt lifted John from the ground, leading him to the edge of the bed. "Did you fall?"

"I was praying."

"Oh." Walt stood back, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Well, that was a good idea."

"I guess. But then I couldn't get back up."

"Why'd you get on the floor?"

Now John stifled a chuckle. "Thought maybe that would help."

"Well maybe, but it sure as hell makes it harder to get up again."

John nodded, then motioned toward his dish. "That was wonderful. Please tell Dora thank you."

Walt glanced back at the table, then nodded. "What, you can't tell her yourself?"

John sighed, then stared at Walt. "Sounds like you want me outta here soon."

"I want you to make up your mind. Either you're gonna live or die, and if it's the second, then yup, you can do that somewhere else." Walt paused, then sat on the metal chair. "But if it's the first, then you need to do it with some sort of smile on your face. Ain't easy, but it's not impossible."

Walt then wondered what his wife or Callie would think, hearing such homilies from a usually staid man. Maybe the idea of two babies had changed Walt, or the absence of nightmares, or thinking about Gordon, Seth Gordon. Or maybe being aware that God did heal folks, even in this modern age. He gazed at John's shoulder. "You were more dead than alive when I brought you here. Now you can kneel on the ground all by yourself. Course, not much good if you can't get back up again, but prayer is a good way to start." Walt inwardly chuckled, for he wasn't a regular church-goer. "Tell you what, next time you wanna do that, wait for me or Callie, else you'll get stuck there for an age. Callie will certainly pray with you, I might even too. That is if you plan on sticking around."

John shrugged his left shoulder, then met Walt's gaze. "Not sure what I wanna do."

"Well, maybe by praying, you can figure that out. I was talking to God in foxholes and now here I am jawing with you."

John sighed, then shook his head. "But you came home in one piece. My arm's never gonna get better."

"Not all wounds are visible, you know."

John nodded. "But I can't even tell you my name."

"Your name's John Doe, or Mr. Doe." Walt smiled. "I'll never forget when Luke was going on about Mr. Doe this and Mr. Doe that. Pretty smart boy I've got, if I do say so myself."

Walt noticed how John didn't immediately answer. All the Richardson kids had touched various nerves within this man, but it was Luke who struck the deepest chord. Walt was fortunate that Dora hadn't gotten pregnant before he'd left for Asia; he would have fretted constantly about her from afar. He still worried now, a little. But whether the twins survived or not wasn't within his control. Neither was this man's fate in his own hands. "You're just gonna have to take this on faith," Walt said. "To me, if you weren't meant to be here, then you woulda died either at the lake or right after we brought you home. But somehow you're still taking up space in my shed. Don't ask me why, 'cause I surely don't know. But there's a reason, some reason." Walt nearly mentioned the babies, but that would have been cruel. Yet, if they arrived healthy, how much heartache would that heal in Dora, and Walt had to admit, within himself too.

John didn't speak of what he would miss, for how to compare that to Dora's miscarriages? Yet those unspoken issues filled the shed. Walt felt John's bitterness fading, while his own reservations slipped away. "We both got lots in our pasts that ain't good. Maybe you can't remember yours, or maybe this's the worst that's ever happened to you. And yeah, it's gonna be with you the rest of your life. But I can't think that God wants you to spend it here in this damned old shed."

Maybe Susie gave up living near her family to be with Callie and Walt would suffer from nightmares until his dying day. But how could this fellow not eventually recover his identity? "You think about that and I'll stop in before I go to work in the morning. If you wanna leave, you can come with me and make your way from there. But if you wanna stay, just remember you're gonna hafta stop brooding about what ain't. That kinda thinking poisons a man and God knows I live around enough folks like that to be an expert." Walt winced, for he could be describing himself. "You think about what others go through, then take a long look at what you got. You get along pretty well with Callie and Susie, so don't tell me you don't know about hard times. War's been over for nearly a hundred years, but sometimes it's hard to tell much's changed for colored folk."

Walt snorted, in part that Dora would have corrected him, Negro being the polite word nowadays. But Walt had grown up thinking and using colored, hard to set aside old habits. "Don't tell my wife I said colored, she'd box my ears." Then Walt smiled. "I'll knock in the morning and you let me know what you wanna do." He turned around, picking up the plate. Then he glanced back at John. "I'll leave around seven, all right?"

John nodded, but didn't speak.

Walt nodded back, then left the shed, slowly closing the door behind him.
Chapter 182

Stanford left New York on time; he was due to arrive mid-afternoon, and according to Lynne, would be collected at the airport by Marek Jagucki. Stanford had heaved an audible sigh when Lynne mentioned that, but she made no remark other than Marek had offered. As Stanford read a book, his thoughts weren't on the novel's plot, focused instead on Laurie's face. Agatha's voice also intruded, in that Stanford was to tell all those out west how much they were missed and prayed for.

By the time Stanford reached his stopover in Chicago, Walt was leaving for work unaccompanied. Again he'd found John on his knees in prayer, and again he'd helped that man to his feet. John's mood was lighter, although not completely joyful. Yet he had decided to stay in Karnack at least for the next couple of weeks. Walt wasn't certain what might occur in a fortnight, maybe that was all the amnesiac could safely accept. But it was a start and Walt said he was glad for John's decision, and that Callie would be stopping by later on. John smiled with that news, and as Walt reached town, he hummed along with a tune on the radio. Maybe 1964 was going to be a better year.

As Walt put on his welding gear, Laurie stirred from sleep. He was exhausted, for it had been fitful rest, and Stan wasn't due for hours. Yet, Jane would wake soon, and Laurie wanted to fetch her, allowing Lynne to remain asleep. She had been especially moody yesterday, which Laurie inwardly blamed on Stanford. He wasn't looking forward to that man's visit, more of an intrusion, Laurie considered. He was grateful that Marek had offered to collect Stan from the airport; Laurie wasn't sure if he could have made that drive without saying something that would have caused Stan to seek an immediate return to New York. Laurie wasn't certain what he would say when Stan arrived, other than a curt Hello, followed by a caustic How've you been?

When Lynne joined the rest in the kitchen, Jane had already eaten breakfast, and was asking for a slice of pie. Laurie laughed, for two pies sat in plain sight. Amid her teary outbursts Lynne had baked; maybe that had steadied her, for by last night she seemed calmer. He wondered about her mood now, for she was quiet as she poured herself some decaf, then seating herself at the table. "Good morning," Laurie said softly, grasping her hand. "Sleep okay?"

She nodded, then sipped her coffee. "Surprisingly yes after all of yesterday's upheaval." Then she smiled, gazing at the pies waiting on the counter. "Something soothing about baking. I did it when Eric came back but wouldn't see me, oh goodness I was angry with him." She chuckled, then stood, walking to the counter. "He thought I couldn't take how unwell he was." She sliced into what Laurie knew was a peach pie, cutting herself a piece, then a thin one for Jane. She glanced at Laurie. "One for you too?"

"Go on," he grinned.

As she did, she continued speaking. "I told Sam I was gonna bake, and for Sam to tell Eric that fact. And that maybe pie might be just the thing he needed. He was still my husband, regardless of what he looked like, and that no matter what...." She paused, then gazed at Laurie. "No matter what, I would never leave him."

Silence filled the kitchen as Lynne brought the plates to the table. Jane clapped, then picked up her fork, but Lynne and Laurie hesitated. Then Lynne gripped his hand. "I know it's hard, believe me, but he's making the effort. He loves you, he wouldn't be coming all this way if he didn't."

"He's coming for you."

Lynne rolled her eyes, then smiled. "He's coming because there's no other place for him to be."

"We'll see about that." A part of Laurie so wished to agree with her, but the rest of him was firmly set against such a notion. "Either way, there's plenty of room for us all to coexist until Junior arrives." He nodded as if to maintain his resolve. "So what shall I cook for tonight?"

"Marek mentioned something along the lines of soup. I'm glad he'll be staying for supper."

"God, me too. Okay, soup. What strikes your fancy?"

"I'm not picky," she giggled. "Call your mother and see what she recommends."

Laurie laughed. "I'd never get off the phone in time to cook." He ate another bite, then stood, heading for the cupboards. As he did, the sketch of Lynne popped into his head. Laurie stopped, then turned around. "You know, I will call Mom, tell her Stan's flying out. That'll give her and Aunt Wilma something to talk about."

He walked by Lynne, wondering if she'd noticed his halted actions. She said nothing, and he picked up the receiver, but stared across the room at where the cookbooks waited. Then he gazed at Jane, who was looking right at him. Her eyes were so blue, which reminded him of Seth, which again took Laurie to the sketch Eric had drawn of Lynne over a year ago. "I don't know if I can forgive him," Laurie suddenly said.

"I understand. I'm sure he's wondering the same thing."

"Of course he is." Laurie's tone was more gruff than he'd planned. "Sorry, I don't mean to yell at you."

Lynne stood, then put the receiver back in the cradle. "He's wondering if you can forgive him."

Laurie gazed at her quizzically. "Whatdya mean?"

"He knows he's hurt you, otherwise why would he be traveling? You've made it plain you're ready to move on, but...."

"You made it plain," he sighed. "I haven't said squat to him."

"Either way, he knew he had to do something. And he's doing it Laurie, he's heading this way right now. If he truly didn't care, he wouldn't have left Manhattan. But he's not an ogre." She led Laurie back to the table, where both retook their seats. "I knew Eric was afraid he wasn't gonna change back into a man, but I honestly didn't care, and I don't now either. Something's happened to him Laurie, that's why he's not home yet." Her voice quivered, then she cleared her throat. "Either he can't physically reach us or it's something mental or.... I realized this last night when I went to bed. All he wanted was to be here for this baby. He'd have moved heaven and earth to do so, but something's keeping him away. And it's harder on him than on us, even if we don't know where he is, because we have each other. It's been the same for Stanford. But he wants to make amends, I know he does. He has so much...." She laughed. "Pride, but he's willing to set it aside because he loves you, much more than he can admit, or maybe now he has." Tenderly she grasped Laurie's hands. "Finally he knows and I'm sure he's hoping it's not too late."

Laurie shivered from her words. "Maybe," he drawled.

"No maybe's about it." Her tone was chipper. "In the meantime, let's talk soup."

He shrugged, then gazed at the cupboard. Speaking to his mom no longer appealed, for she would badger him. Laurie again went to his feet, walking to where that sketch waited. He opened the cabinet, pulled out a cookbook, keeping his eyes from the drawing stuck between other books on the shelf. He closed the cupboard, returned to the table, then sat down, thumbing through the pages. But he didn't see recipes, only a jumble of words that made no sense. He leaned back in his chair, looking at the females nearby. Jane had finished her pie, but Lynne's was only half gone. Her eyes were closed, her hands clasped together, resting on her large belly. He didn't speak, but his heart raced. Did Stan feel remorse, could Lynne possibly be right? Gazing at the clock, Laurie wasn't sure about anything. But in a matter of hours, the love of his life would walk through the door, maybe with some answers tucked inside his suitcase.

Marek stood in the small terminal amid those waiting for loved ones. He smiled, a few nodding at him, for now he was becoming known in this town. And in a couple of weeks, he would again be here, but when Klaudia arrived, Marek assumed his palms would be sweaty, his pulse racing. Right now he wore a smile, hoping that Stanford and Laurie would come to some agreement, even if it was concurring to disagree. Like Lynne, Marek believed something had altered that man's perception of reality. Marek wasn't sure what that might be; he merely wished that when it was time for Stanford to return east, Laurie would be on the plane with him.

No such thing would happen when Klaudia went back to Norway, but Marek had spoken to her yesterday afternoon, for now another itinerary was set. She would arrive on Monday the twenty-seventh, flying home on Wednesday, February fifth, a week for which Marek was already quite nervous, also thoroughly excited. He had finally told Mrs. Kenny, who was at first taken aback, then outwardly pleased for Marek's guest. Carla had grown teary, for while Marek hadn't elaborated how he knew Mrs. Henrichsen, that she was a friend from Poland discreetly informed the secretary just how long the twosome had been acquainted. Marek then wondered how Stanford and Laurie's reunion would commence. Marek was staying for supper, but he assumed those New Yorkers might take a long stroll through the garden once the pleasantries had been exchanged. Or maybe awkward small talk would initiate Stanford's stay, the end of which had yet to be planned.

Marek thought that best, for who knew when Lynne would deliver, and how long it might take those gentlemen to set aside their argument. Unaware of the depth of Laurie's skepticism, Marek believed it was merely a matter of diplomacy; like how America and The Soviet Union had brokered peace over a year ago, the New Yorkers simply needed to call a truce. What better place than at the Snyders, for even without Eric's presence, Marek felt a soothing peace every time he visited. Like Lynne, he also believed that Eric was being kept away by an unfortunate incident. Although, if the worst had happened, they would never know. Marek shivered, yet he had to think positively. In a matter of weeks, Klaudia was coming, and as Marek peered out of the large glass windows, a plane was landing. Marek grinned, then cracked his knuckles. At least one couple was on the verge of reuniting.

People gathered at the windows, but Marek stayed back, not wishing to join the small crush. Sam had also offered to collect Stanford, but Marek had beaten him to it, and felt his presence would be less stressful on Stanford. Marek assumed the Aherns would call at the Snyders' home, but probably not for a few days. Sam and Renee would be at that house more than their own soon enough. Best to let Stanford have some quiet while it was still available.

The door opened, travelers filing inside the terminal. As groups headed to the baggage claim, Marek stepped toward the door, but no one else emerged. He smiled, hearing happy voices drifting away, how he and Klaudia might converse as he led her to where her suitcase would come off the belt; would they speak in Polish? Probably, unless she felt the anonymous setting would be a good place to try her English. He expected to translate for her when she was introduced to Lynne, Jane, and.... Who else might be present, other than a newborn? Hopefully not Laurie, although as the cabin crew stepped into the building, Marek furrowed his brow; had Stanford missed his connection in Illinois?

Marek walked to the doorway, then headed out to where the plane sat on the tarmac. As he looked around, a disheveled looking Stanford Taylor stepped from the main cabin door. "Hello," Marek called, staying where he was as Stanford headed his way. "I was hoping you hadn't gotten lost between here and Chicago."

"I wasn't feeling well during the descent." Stanford looked ashen, but he nodded briskly. "Took a minute to get my bearings."

"Was there turbulence?" Marek asked, although he wondered if perhaps nerves had been the issue.

"Um, yes, a little. It's a small plane, you know."

Marek nodded, leading Stanford back inside the terminal, which was now deserted. "Well, your case will probably be there. At least there's that."

"Indeed." Stanford cleared his throat, then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping perspiration from his forehead. "Thank you so much for waiting."

"My pleasure. I'll be doing the same in a couple of weeks, so it's good that I'm familiar with this place."

Stanford paused, then stared at Marek. "Someone from Europe visiting?"

Marek hid his grin, for Stanford hadn't been told of this news. "A friend from Poland. She'll be staying at St. Matthew's for a little over a week. Looking forward to catching up on old times."

Stanford nodded absently, then stared at the pastor. "Oh, well, how nice for you both."

Now Marek smiled widely. "Yes. I didn't know if she'd survived the war. She saw The Pastor and His Charge in Oslo, then wrote to Eric about it. We've struck up a correspondence, and after JFK was killed, I inquired if she might enjoy a holiday to America. But first a baby is due." Marek laughed, then pointed at the only piece of luggage on the belt. "Is that yours?" he asked.

"Oh, yes it is."

Marek nodded, then went to collect it. Stanford protested slightly, but Marek waved him off. "Allow me, but you can heft it once we arrive."

Stanford didn't argue, and his steps were halting. Marek didn't remark upon that, for it could be the effects of the bad landing, or for who was waiting at the Snyders. The men reached Marek's car and got in without words. Marek made a brief attempt at conversation, but Stanford was obviously preoccupied. The journey continued in silence, both with much to ponder.

Marek parked in front of the gate, which to Stanford's relief looked as it had the last time he'd visited. That had been.... Stanford sighed; Eric's show in August of '62 was the last time he had entered a world that now seemed as foreign as any Stanford had ever encountered. Yet other than Eric's absence and Laurie's presence, this home hadn't altered. Again Lynne was pregnant, although Jane was older. Stanford shivered, then opened his door, finding Marek taking his suitcase from the trunk.

"Here, I'll do that." Stanford grabbed his luggage, but his legs were weak. He cleared his throat, then watched as Marek closed the trunk, then locked the car. The Pole's movements were in slow motion, and Stanford took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind. Eric hadn't returned from.... Staring at the pastor, Stanford almost asked the question, for he knew Marek wouldn't lie. Yet he couldn't do that, for in coming here he was silently accepting what all these people assumed was the truth. Was Stanford ready to permit such an oddity, could it actually be possible....

"Shall we?" Marek said. "I'm pretty sure Lynne did some baking recently."

The Pole's smile was innocent enough and Stanford nodded. "After you."

Marek led the way and as Stanford entered the grounds, he smiled. Leaves were stripped from trees, but smoke rose from the chimney, the place looking like home. He wondered why that was, then he trembled. Laurie was behind the kitchen door, where else would he be? Unless, Stanford mused, Laurie had decided that western living held too much of an appeal, and regardless of Stanford's willingness to travel all the way across the country.... Stanford coughed as the front door opened, Lynne stepping out, waving at the men. She looked enormous, then Stanford laughed, for Jane peered from behind her mother, then clapped her hands, coming to Lynne's side. Jane's hair was much longer than what Stanford recalled from last spring, pictures not doing justice to her brown curls. She wasn't a baby anymore, but a copy of her mother. Yet, as Stanford approached, Jane's blue eyes shone, still the same hue as Sam's, Stanford inhaled, also noticing the women stood unaccompanied.

"Hello, oh goodness, it's wonderful to see you." Lynne's voice rang through the wintry air, but she didn't move from the doorway. Stanford nodded at her, then raised his hand in a half-wave. Jane laughed, then started toward Marek, who picked her up, pointing at Stanford. Marek spoke in English, for which Stanford was grateful. He felt like an interloper; where was Laurie?

"How was the flight?" Lynne asked as Marek and Jane went to her side.

Stanford was still a few feet away, his steps slowing as Laurie failed to appear. "Fine, well, a little rough on the landing. Otherwise no issues."

Lynne smiled, then brushed away tears. "Oh good. Well, come in. There's pie for now and soup for supper." She stepped forward, not stretching out her arms, but Stanford knew an embrace was necessary. He stopped a foot in front of her, put the suitcase on the ground, then approached her. He glanced past her, but didn't see Laurie. Stanford closed his eyes, his heart aching. But in Lynne's warm hug, albeit to the side, he felt some peace. Perhaps his trip was only to see this woman, for whom Stanford possessed very strong emotions.

Then he turned, finding Jane's little arms reaching for him. Did she recognize him, then he hoped so, for then she would recall.... "Hello Jane. Do you remember me?"

She nodded, although Stanford doubted her. But he happily took her from Marek, and Jane giggled, then laid her head on Stanford's shoulder. Again he closed his eyes, for the pain returned, as well as memories of toting her around the apartment while she fussed. She looked up, giggling at the doorway, motioning for Stanford to do the same. He hesitated, for he'd heard another's footsteps approach, but wasn't yet ready to see Laurie's face. In the first glance, Stanford would know if his trip had been in vain, although it had already done him good to receive such warmth from Lynne and her daughter. But the main person had taken his sweet time, although weeks ago Stanford had told Laurie to leave. Now Laurie was in Stanford's sight, if only Stanford would glance his way.

He inhaled, opened his eyes, then turned with care to where Lawrence Aaron Abrams stood beside Lynne. Stanford blinked, finding disdain upon Laurie's face. But as Stanford's mouth trembled, Laurie's did too. Their eyes met, how green were Laurie's, also moist. Then Stanford blinked, something caught in the corner of his eye. He attempted to wipe it away, but a tear rolled down, followed by another. Jane was taken from Stanford's arms, he wasn't sure by whom. Lynne stepped aside and suddenly it was only two New Yorkers, for Stanford felt the clear absence of all others.

"Hello Stan," Laurie said in a clipped but shaky voice.

"Hello." Stanford breathed deeply, then offered his right hand. "How are you?"

Laurie didn't move to reciprocate. He didn't speak either, continuing to stare at Stanford.

Stanford clasped his hands in front of himself, then looked past Laurie, finding the kitchen door was closed. How had that happened, and why was he there, for this man seemed in no need of.... "You're looking well," Stanford said. "Seems a western climate agrees with you."

Had Stanford imagined Laurie's damp eyes, for now they appeared as hard as emeralds. Laurie must have bought a house already, his demeanor that of a local, or at least not of one with whom Stanford had lived and would always love. He loved Laurie with all his heart, but that heart had taken too long to come to terms with an idea that made no sense. But what sense was there in loving someone forbidden by conventional rules? Stanford felt foolish, not for disbelieving Laurie, although he still wasn't convinced Eric defied nature. But Agatha had been right; Laurie had never previously given Stanford any reason to distrust him. Stanford broke into a sweat, then again felt like vomiting. The landing had been smooth, only his jangled nerves to cause illness. He'd probably be sick the whole flight home, which would be as soon as Lynne delivered, for to be near this man with such anger between them.... "I'm sorry," Stanford said. "I suppose my presence will only be painful."

"Why'd you come?" Laurie's voice was still shaky, but less angry than before.

"I, I, I...." If he mentioned the sketch, Laurie wouldn't believe him. Well, he might, but it wasn't only a strange piece of paper to bring Stanford to this property. "I came because I love you. I realize there're many issues to be addressed, but the truth is I do love you. If it's too late...."

Stanford closed his eyes again, too hard to see that man close yet a million miles away. He had waited too long and he rued his rational brain, but what had been expected of him? Why on earth had this happened, and where in the hell was Eric? "I suppose you haven't heard from Eric yet," he mumbled, now staring at the ground where his case waited. He wouldn't unpack; maybe he might fly back straightaway. Lynne would understand and when he got home, he could tell Agatha he had tried. If nothing else, Stanford had tried.

Now he blinked away more than something caught in his eye. If he kept staring at the dirt, tears would fall directly onto the ground. He inhaled, but his nose was stuffy, how could he lose his composure like this? He wiped his runny nose with the back of his hand, then a plain white handkerchief was thrust into his other. "Here, take this," Laurie said softly.

Stanford nodded, feeling utterly ashamed. He blew his nose, then looked up, expecting to see those cold emerald eyes. But tears fell down Laurie's face too, his eyes warm like a field in summer. Laurie nodded, stretching out his arms, his lips parted as if to speak.

But neither said a word as a kiss began, Stanford unsure of nothing more than the glorious warmth of affection shared. He wrapped his arms around Laurie, who clung to Stanford like the world was ending. Yet it couldn't be, for how needy were Laurie's clutches and the strength of Stanford's pounding heart. The kiss lasted until Stanford pulled away, merely to catch his breath. Then it was reignited like a flame. Stanford breathed steadily, purposefully. Suddenly his life again held meaning.

This time Laurie stepped away, but only to regain his footing. He placed his hand along Stanford's face. "I never thought I'd see you here again."

"I wasn't so sure about it either. Laurie, I meant what I said. I do love you, but if it's too late...."

Laurie shook his head, smiling as he placed a finger on Stan's lips. "It nearly was. An hour ago I threatened to take a long drive and not come back." Then he chuckled. "Lynne said I'd miss pie and soup and...." He sighed, then grasped both of Stanford's hands. "And I'd miss you, but I've been missing you for so long, and while I know there's a lot to discuss, you're here. You actually came all this way to...."

Stanford didn't want to think about anything except being as close to Laurie as propriety allowed. Kissing him again, he didn't consider Eric or Florida or even Lynne's baby. Only that Laurie had waited for him. He'd had to wait a long time, but in this place rules didn't apply. Only love mattered, what Stanford accepted as Laurie caressed his face, then placed his arms back around Stanford, who inhaled and exhaled a most potent force, not letting Laurie go.
Chapter 183

The rest of the day proceeded as close to normal as was possible; Marek detailed Klaudia's impending visit, Jane asked for more pie, Lynne tried to find comfortable positions either in a chair or on her feet. Laurie joked that perhaps she would deliver tomorrow, which made Stanford blanch. But as Marek said he would see them soon, Stanford finally accepted an oddity even larger than sitting next to Laurie in mixed company. Nobody spoke about Eric, for not a single person knew where he was.

Most jarring to Stanford was how Jane never mentioned her father. Last spring, Da-da was one of her few discernable words. Now she talked about pie and the coming baby as well as various babbles he didn't understand. She could say Laurie, Marek, even uncle, but she knew those men well, for she hugged Marek, then mumbled in what Stanford would swear was Polish as Marek kissed her cheek. Laurie walked Marek to the front door, but returned right afterwards. "He says to give him a call tomorrow or Friday, or sooner if need be." Laurie's voice was weary, but joy underneath that tone made Stanford's pulse race.

Lynne smiled, then scooted to the edge of the sofa. Laurie helped her to stand, and she chuckled as she did so. "Any day now is fine with me. Maybe tomorrow we'll take a long walk, see what happens." She glanced at Stanford, then giggled. "Now that you're here, I'm ready for the next phase."

Her voice was honest, also appreciative. Her smile was as if they had known each other for many years, but under far more intimate terms than what sat on the surface. Stanford nodded, wishing to speak, but there was so much to say, and very little of it was typical conversation. As Jane began to whimper, Laurie picked her up, soothing her. He brought her to where Stanford sat in the large chair. "Say goodnight to Uncle Stan," Laurie said tenderly.

Jane said what sounded like goodnight, then held out her arms. Stanford obliged with a quick hug, but a kiss landed on his cheek, making him chuckle. Then Laurie laughed, a rich liberated sound that again made Stanford's heart race, also stirring a deeper feeling. Laurie spoke to Lynne the way he chatted with his sisters. She smiled, kissed her daughter, then Laurie toted Jane up the stairs. Stanford realized the bond that had been fashioned since he'd told Laurie to leave; this family was now Laurie's own.

Rose would be displeased if she ever saw this, Stanford mused, although he wasn't threatened. For as Lynne looked his way, her gaze conveyed a similar feeling cast upon him. They would never be as close as she was with Laurie, but that was merely due to Stanford's reticence. Then Stanford felt a chill, for a slight sadness edged her eyes. To his horror, he understood an inexplicable fact; while she had no idea where her husband was, thank God Laurie had been here to care for her.

It had been no problem for Marek to collect Stanford from the airport, or for the pastor to have shared a meal with his parishioners. But there was no way Marek could have filled in the way Laurie had without arousing suspicion. The Aherns were busy with their new children, and while Stanford was surprisingly eager to meet those youngsters, he acknowledged how parenthood ate into a person's time. Laurie and Marek both had been kept busy looking after Jane, for Lynne was in no shape to do more than.... Stanford stared at her, for she was walking around the room, her hands pressed against the small of her back. "Are you all right?" he asked.

She smiled. "Oh yes, just thinking." She approached him, but didn't sit down. "It won't be more than a few days now. I'm so glad you're here."

"I am too." He stood. "Thank you for, um, sending that letter."

She nodded, wiping away a few tears. "Thank you for keeping an open mind."

Her voice was tinged with something Stanford hadn't wanted to fully consider. He grasped her hands, wishing to convey his.... Apologies for Eric's absence, and for having forced Laurie from their home, although perhaps that had been a blessing for Lynne. "I want, I mean, I wish to say...."

"We can talk tomorrow if you like." Then she chuckled. "I'm so tired I can barely keep my eyes open."

He nodded, then kissed her cheek. Then he blushed, but didn't care. "Sleep well."

"You too." She squeezed his hands, then smiled. "Tell Laurie goodnight for me."

"Oh, um, of course."

Lynne giggled. "If I go in the nursery now, I'll disturb the bedtime routine. I'll see you in the morning."

She walked to the stairs, taking each step with care. Stanford's heart ached, for Eric should be right behind her, yet she seemed all right. Stanford heard her go into her bedroom, then close the door. The house was silent, other than pops from the fire. He glanced at that blaze, which Laurie had tended all evening. Should another piece of wood be added? Stanford wasn't sure if Laurie was as exhausted as Lynne; did he want to talk before they.... Then Stanford shivered. Laurie had taken his case upstairs, but Stanford wasn't sure if it had gone into the main guest room or the one adjacent. There had been no time to discuss it, for as soon as the men stepped into the house together, pie waited, then conversation, followed by supper, then more chit-chat. Stanford heard another door being opened, then closed. Then footsteps were noted coming down the stairs. Stanford looked that way, finding Laurie heaving a tired sigh.

"Did Lynne turn in?" Laurie asked, reaching where Stanford still stood in the middle of the living room.

Stanford nodded. "Jane fall asleep already?"

"After a few stories," Laurie smiled. "She was asking about you, but seemed placated when I told her you'd be here in the morning."

"How do you understand her, I mean...." Stanford sighed, then gazed at the fire. Then he met Laurie's eyes. "I suppose it's been a while now and...."

"At first I didn't know much of what she said. And when Marek's here, a lot of it's in what's gotta be Polish." Laurie laughed quietly. "She's gonna be bilingual, but God only knows what she'll do with Polish for a back-up."

Stanford nodded, then smiled. He had so missed this man's sense of humor, his teasing voice, his.... "Well, it will be interesting."

"Yeah, it will." Laurie looked toward the fireplace. "I need to let that die out some before I close up for the night." Laurie cracked his knuckles. "Sometimes Lynne stays up, but the last few days she's being turning in early. Usually I don't add wood this late, but I didn't know how long Marek was gonna stay, so...."

"I suppose this evening was a little out of the ordinary."

"That's one way of putting it." Laurie smiled, then wore a somber face. "She's accepted he's not gonna be here, but now that you are, it's just a matter of time."

Laurie didn't say Eric's name, but Stanford felt a brief tightness within his chest as that man was noted. "Does she think, I mean...." He coughed, then folded his arms over his chest, although the ache had faded.

"I know he'll be back, and she does too, I mean, oh Jesus." Laurie shook his head, then stepped to where the fire still burned brightly. "I really don't wanna get into this tonight."

"Of course." Stanford stayed where he was, although he wanted to join Laurie. "She seems all right, I mean, physically."

Laurie nodded, keeping his back turned.

Stanford sighed inwardly. Then he cleared his throat. "Perhaps I'll turn in myself. It's been a long day."

Now Laurie faced him. "I put your case in my room. If you wanna sleep in the other, that's fine."

Laurie's tone was clipped, the first time since his initial hello. Stanford didn't wish to stir an argument. "I'll retire wherever you think is best."

"Oh Jesus, is this how it's gonna be?"

"Well, I don't wish to cause you any...." Stanford bit his lip. "I don't know what you want me to say."

Laurie took a few steps toward Stanford. "Guess I don't know either. Yeah, maybe you should sleep in the other room."

Stanford nodded, but his entire body trembled. "Whatever you prefer."

"Whatever I prefer? Well shit Stan, what I prefer is...." Laurie approached Stanford, then grasped his hands. "I wanna go back in time, I want Eric here, I want all of this to disappear. But it's not gonna, and he's probably not gonna walk through that door in time either. But you're here, damnit. Why the hell are you here?"

Stanford stammered, but how to describe that sketch, or try to speak about something that must be true, or else all of these people had lost their minds. And now Laurie was one of these people, he was.... He was still the same man Stanford had fallen in love with, but he was also changed. His accent was lessened, his face aged, his steps dogged. He also seemed younger; he had a deft touch with children, and his bearing was that of.... "I told you why I'm here. I love you and...."

Laurie shook his head. "What made you book the flight? Did Agatha say something or...."

Stanford inhaled deeply. As he exhaled, he squeezed Laurie's fingers. "I didn't want to lose you."

Laurie took a breath, then let it out slowly. "Really?"

"Yes. When I read that you were considering buying property here...." Stan sighed, but didn't release Laurie's hands. "I'm still not sure what I think about, well, you know. But Eric is gone, and I can see that Lynne has no idea where he is. None of you do, that's obvious. Jane doesn't even ask for him."

Laurie nodded. "Lynne talks about him, but it breaks my heart that Jane seems to have forgotten him."

"But she remembered me." Stanford was still struck at how all evening that little girl acted as though mere days had passed since she had last seen him. "Hopefully she'll, I mean...."

"Yeah, I thought about that too." Laurie smiled, then sighed. "Listen, it's late, and very late for you. I'll give the fire another ten minutes, should be low enough by then. We can talk about this tomorrow, if you want."

Stanford nodded, although he wasn't entirely certain what else there was to say. Eric's whereabouts were a mystery, but was it indeed possible that what Laurie had asserted months ago was true? Why else would Eric be missing now? Stanford released Laurie's hands, then looked around the room. Christmas decorations had been put away, although a menorah sat on top of a low bookcase. Stanford might ask about that, but as for the rest of his queries, perhaps better to keep them in the background. "Laurie, I want to sleep with you tonight, if that's all right."

Laurie nodded, but didn't seem as pleased as Stanford had assumed he'd be. "Or maybe I'll take the extra room," Stanford quickly added. "I suppose you get up with Jane in the morning."

"I do. Stan, oh Jesus." Laurie cracked his knuckles, then put his hands in his pockets. "Sleep wherever you want. I'll see you tomorrow."

Stanford shivered, then nodded. He took the stairs without looking back, but crackles from the fire followed as he reached the end of the hallway. He stepped into what was now clearly Laurie's bedroom, retrieved his suitcase, then went into the room next door. He only took his nightclothes and dressing gown from the case, used the bathroom down the hall, then closed his door. He waited for Laurie's footsteps, but fell asleep before he heard them.

In the middle of the night, Stanford woke from a disturbing dream, although he couldn't recall what had been so troubling. He used the bathroom, a light still on downstairs. A few faint pops resonated, but Stanford wasn't in his robe. He debated about whether or not to go back for it, then decided to investigate without it. The house wasn't particularly cold, and while he hadn't brought slippers, it wouldn't take more than a moment to see if Laurie had simply forgotten to turn off all the lights.

Lynne's door was shut, as was the nursery door. Stanford walked with care past those rooms, then slowly took the stairs. A few creaks announced his arrival, and Laurie met him at the bottom step. "You okay?" he asked, still wearing his clothes from yesterday.

"Yes. I saw a light was on and I could hear the fire. Are you all right?"

"Couldn't sleep, then I added more wood, then had to wait for it to burn down, but here I still am. Christ, Jane'll be up in a few hours and...."

"What time is it?"

Laurie sighed. "Nearly three."

"Oh my goodness."

"It's okay, gonna be a long night here pretty soon, depending on what time Lynne goes into labor. I'll nap when they do this afternoon."

Laurie returned to his spot on the sofa, where a crocheted blanket waited. Stanford joined him, but they didn't speak. The fire still popped, only a few pieces of wood on the hearth. "Go on up," Stanford said. "I'll keep watch, but you need some rest."

"No, it's okay. You go on."

"Laurie, really, go to bed."

"Jesus Stan, just go back up."

Stanford inhaled, then started to chuckle.

"What?" Laurie asked.

"Seems all we do well is argue."

Laurie shook his head, then he smiled. "Seems you're right. Oh God, this isn't at all how I envisioned you here."

"How did you picture it?"

Laurie laughed softly. "More like MacArthur returning to the Philippines. Hell, I have no fucking idea."

Previously that sort of language would have made Stanford cringe. Now he relished Laurie's epithets. "You asked what brought me here. There was something, but you might not believe me if I tell you what it was."

Laurie stared at Stanford. "Try me."

Stanford grinned. "That sketch he made, of Agatha." Stanford briefly furrowed his brow, more for not being able to speak Eric's name than the drawing itself. "I found it traveling around the apartment of its own free will."

"Seriously?"

Stanford nodded. "I kept finding it in places where I hadn't placed it, and I know it wasn't Agatha's doing. I even folded the side of it, not completely, but the last time I saw it, the crease was gone."

He still felt slight guilt for having tampered with that illustration, but the damage hadn't lasted. "I decided if that was possible, perhaps what you'd told me might also be permissible. Or that I was losing my mind, and why not throw all caution to the wind."

He chuckled as he spoke, then he gasped, for Laurie was now caressing his hand. "Oh Stan, good God. Maybe we're both crazy."

"Maybe," Stanford said in a husky tone. Then he cleared his throat, although Laurie still grasped his hand. "I could see it in Lynne's eyes; she has no idea where he is. Do you truly think he'll return?"

Laurie nodded empathically. "Of that I have no doubt."

Stanford sighed, for Laurie was telling the truth, yet his voice was tinged with pessimism. "But something is bothering you."

Laurie smiled, then kissed the back of Stanford's hand. "I can't hide anything from you, can I?"

"No. Laurie, what?"

Laurie released Stanford's hand, then stood, putting the grate in front of the fireplace. Then he met Stanford's gaze. "When he comes back, things will be different, and I don't mean due to how long he's been gone. Jane will remember him, she knew who you were, and the new baby won't be old enough to know any differently." Laurie looked toward where the menorah was displayed. "Stan, I have faith now." Then Laurie chuckled softly. "I mean, I did before, but now I really believe there is a God. That God is taking care of Eric wherever he is, but there's gonna be a price for that care. Which may sound crazy, I mean, if God's caring for Eric, why would it be qualified? Maybe it's like how God told Abraham to sacrifice Isaac even if Isaac was supposed to carry on the family lineage, as it were." Laurie sat back on the sofa. "Do you know that story?"

"Afraid I don't," Stanford grinned.

"Well, God promised Abraham he'd be the father of many nations. But how was that supposed to happen if he killed his son?" Laurie wore a wry grin. "I mean, there was Ishmael, but that's a whole other story. Anyway, God ordered Abe to take Isaac to the top of a mountain and, well...." Laurie made a slitting motion across his throat. "And what did Abe do? He tells Isaac they're going up for a sacrifice. And Isaac asks what're they gonna kill, but Abe doesn't answer that question. So they get up there and just before Abraham kills Isaac, God tells Abe to hold on a minute. Then a goat or a sheep suddenly leaps into the picture, I never remember which. Abe kills that instead, and voila, the future of the whole Hebrew nation is primed for action."

Stanford smiled all through Laurie's story for how animated was Laurie, and how wonderful to hear such humor. Stanford sometimes grew weary of Laurie's Jewish wit, but how he had missed this man's view of humanity. "So what you're saying is that God is aware of Eric's situation, but equally it's God's fault that Eric is in that situation, whatever it happens to be."

Laurie nodded. "But Stan, it's more than that. It's a helluva lot more, Jesus." Then Laurie chuckled. "Been thinking about him too."

Stanford raised his eyebrows. "Jesus?"

"Yeah. Don't tell my mother, but Marek's nearly got me convinced he's the Messiah." Laurie smiled. "If nothing else, he was more than a Jewish carpenter."

Stanford nodded. "I certainly won't tell Rose. Will you?"

"Not any time soon. Plenty to share, I mean, what with you here."

Stanford sighed. "I suppose there is." He gazed at the fire, which was dying out quickly. "Laurie, go to bed. It's so late and...."

Again Laurie grasped Stanford's hand. "Come with me, please?"

Stanford gazed into Laurie's eyes. "Yes, oh God, yes."

Laurie stood first, then checked the fire. As he turned back, Stanford was on his feet. Then Laurie caressed Stanford's face. "Maybe I'm a lot like Abraham. I had to do something that on face value was the most impossible thing. I knew if I did, well.... But here you are, oh God Stan, I never thought I'd see you here again, I thought we were over, I thought...."

Stanford had too, and yes, Laurie's homily was analogous to what had occurred last November. And if Laurie wanted to start regularly attending a synagogue, or even a church, Stanford wouldn't argue. He could do very little now as Laurie had moved his hand from Stanford's face to his chest. Stanford closed his eyes, permitting this exchange, although it seemed somewhat improper here in a home not their own. However, the Snyders were family, and they wouldn't flinch if the men displayed the most basic of affections. Yet now Laurie was pushing the boundaries, his other hand on Stanford's hip, kisses being ardently shared. "Take me to your room," Stanford murmured slyly.

"As you wish," Laurie laughed softly. They quickly took the stairs, walking to the end of the hall. Stanford entered Laurie's room, stripping off his nightclothes as Laurie shut the door. Within minutes they were under the covers, feverish love being made. Stanford fell asleep to Laurie's drones, those sounds a gentle background to Stanford's pleasant dreams.
Chapter 184

In the morning, Lynne came downstairs to upbeat conversation, which brought a teary smile to her face. The jovial banter of two New Yorkers was occasionally interrupted by requests for Mama, pie, and more milk. Lynne was first noticed by her daughter, who called for her loudly. Then she was hugged by Laurie, who looked exhausted but overjoyed. Then Lynne gazed at Stanford, who appeared relieved, happy, and at home, although his dress shoes looked out of place what with that man still in his robe.

"Hello everyone." Lynne sat in her seat as Laurie fetched her some coffee. "How did you all sleep last night?"

"Not well, but I'll grab forty winks when you ladies do. Stan needs some slippers, as I think you've already noticed. So as soon as we gentlemen freshen up for the day, we'll take Jane and do some shopping. Refrigerator looks pretty bare and you might be busy soon enough. Best that I bring in some food before a baby lays siege."

Laurie's laugh was infectious as both Stanford and Jane joined him. Lynne smiled, then was presented with a dish of scrambled eggs and toast, both of which had been fixed earlier. She didn't mind, for she was hungry and the company was most pleasing. Stanford looked years younger, and if not for the dark circles under Laurie's eyes, he too seemed at ease. Lynne hadn't been sure what moods would greet her that morning, but the best possible ones were prevalent. "Thank you for breakfast," she said. "Shall I make a shopping list?"

"Please do," Laurie smiled. "I should talk to Sam first, but you know best what you'll wanna eat after the stork arrives."

Lynne nodded, then felt like bursting into tears. She tried to contain them, but it was impossible. The baby was so close and Stanford was there and the New Yorkers seemed together and.... She started to bawl, then Laurie's arms were around her, his gentle whispers that it would be okay in her ear. She knew that, in fact, she wasn't immensely sad, merely overwhelmed. For months Eric had been foremost in her thoughts, the notion of having another child somewhat diminished. Or had she done that purposely, to not fret Eric's absence for this event. But with Stanford sitting at her kitchen table, in his robe and pajamas no less, the truth was inescapable. In a matter of days, a new baby would join this family, which indeed comprised Laurie and Stanford. Lynne included Stanford for how he had come to her other side, holding her hand as Laurie continued to croon. Then Stanford tried to reassure Jane that all was well, but she was wary, starting to call for her mother. Lynne inhaled, then chuckled. "It's okay baby. Mama's just having a little breakdown."

"Mama deserves it," Laurie said, sitting back, but offering Lynne a napkin.

"I don't know about that," Lynne said after blowing her nose.

"You deserve more than cold eggs and toast." Laurie stood, taking Lynne's plate.

"No, it's fine, really. About what I used to eat before you got here."

Silence engulfed the adults, although Jane continued to jabber. Stanford started to stand, but Lynne grasped his hand. "Please, I need to say something." She looked at Stanford, then Laurie, motioning for him to sit. "I realize this is, well, an odd situation for all of us, but then my whole life with Eric has been anything but normal, except that we've grown so used to it being that way, it became our reality. And now you're both a part of it, for which I feel like apologizing, because you never asked for this, but now there's no backing out." She gazed at Stanford. "I'm sure there'll be awkwardness, how can there not? But I also want you to know how very much it means to me that you're here, in so many ways, but mostly in that, well, that you and Laurie are...." She paused, smiled, then chuckled at Stanford's droll grin. "You're willing to get up with Jane, fixing us both breakfast, then offer to do my shopping. And let me tell you, I so appreciate it."

She glanced at Laurie, who nodded, his eyes damp. He kissed the top of her head, then patted her belly. "It's our pleasure, let me assure you."

"Indeed Lynne, it is. Especially since Laurie cooked breakfast, permitting me to do very little."

Stanford's tone was dry, then he chuckled as Laurie snorted. Jane laughed as if understanding everything, making Lynne giggle. "My goodness," she said, reaching for her coffee. "The next few days are gonna be interesting."

"Hopefully they'll be full of pie, sleep, and plenty of evenings like last night. Not sure how many we can rope Marek into attending, but maybe tomorrow we can have Sam and Renee over, then we'll see what Junior dictates." Laurie met Lynne's gaze, then he looked toward Stanford as he finished speaking.

Lynne didn't meet that man's eyes, but she assumed by tomorrow, he wouldn't mind the Aherns' presence. "Well, you call Marek about supper here either Friday or Saturday. After that, I'm at the mercy of this one."

She placed her hands on her belly, then inhaled deeply. Exhaling, several kicks followed, and without asking, she reached for Stanford's hand. Yesterday had seemed too soon for such an action, but as the baby wriggled under Stanford's palm, Lynne felt a calm descend. Stanford followed the movements, then removed his hand. "How is there any room for such activity?" he asked.

"No idea, but he or she still thinks this's home. Sorry baby, but only for a few more days." Lynne ate some breakfast, then drank her coffee, gazing at her guests. With Stanford here, Laurie looked settled, stirring Lynne's heart. Then she smiled. "Laurie, when you go, if the market's out of fresh flowers, stop at the florist. They probably won't have any yet, but if there's daffodils, buy several bunches."

She wanted to be surrounded by them, needing that touchstone in lieu of Eric's actual presence. A few tears fell, for the memory of that day was now as if it was yesterday, how could it be so fresh? She looked around the room; none of these faces had been there when she was in labor, maybe it was just in thinking of the daffodils, or in Jane's blue-grey irises. Stanford had remarked how her eyes were still like Sam's, but Lynne saw a different hue, maybe it was only her imagination. Then she smiled, for Jane had been here, not as the little girl she was today, but much like the child waiting to join this clan. Lynne cleared her throat, then stood, excusing herself. "I'm gonna take a shower, is that all right?"

"Of course." Laurie stood. "Are you okay?"

Lynne nodded. "I won't be long."

He kissed her cheek, then walked her as far as the doorway. Once she was on the stairs, her tears flowed, but she didn't wipe them away. Eric was gone, but another couple had reunited. Praying for her husband, Lynne stepped into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.

While the rest went shopping, Lynne surveyed the nursery. Newborn clothes waited in a box, but Lynne had hesitated going through them. Had she been waiting for Stanford to appear, or more rightly for Eric to come home? During her shower, small contractions had distracted her; they had been increasing over the last several days. Now she was eager for it to be time for Laurie to call Renee, then Frannie, and of course Dr. Salters. Stanford was where he should be, then Lynne wondered if one day those men would buy a small cottage out west, a holiday spot she imagined. Eventually this house would be full of children, driving Uncle Stanford right out the door.

Lynne continued to inspect the room; plenty of diapers were waiting, blankets and spit-up rags as well. She had overheard Laurie's conversation with Sam; that man had been cooking, then freezing meals in preparation. The only dish that was waiting was custard, which would be easy for Sam to whip up once the baby had arrived. Lynne caressed her child, then noted another low cramp. These were similar to pains she recalled from those last few days she had carried Jane. Lynne had baked the pumpkin pie for Marek's postponed visit, which now made her smile. Of the two she had baked on Tuesday, only a half remained. She hadn't asked Laurie what he and Stanford had eaten for breakfast, assuming pie had been the staple. "What kind shall I make," she said to the baby. "Uncle Laurie loves sweet potato, so does Uncle Marek. Uncle Stanford prefers peach, while Uncle Sam likes the peach with boysenberries and apples. My goodness, that's a lot of uncles."

She laughed heading downstairs, finding herself the only occupant. Would this be the last time she would find herself alone? How many years had she lived this way, but a large belly told her much had changed. The house wasn't the same, nor was she. Eric was gone, and she didn't know to where, but those might be the only ties to days Lynne had nearly forgotten. Now his visits had a purpose. Would he change again once he was back and recuperated? How would he be when he did come home?

He would be a father of two she smirked as the baby kicked. "Yes, your daddy will have plenty of time to paint after he's feeling better. And I imagine you and your big sister will be his top two subjects." Then she shivered, for how many nights would parents find themselves in the sunroom, her on the chaise lounge, Eric behind a canvas or beside her or.... She smiled, for while the last several months had seemed endless, one aspect was bound to alter, and would do so within the next week.

As she started pie crust, Lynne considered how if Eric was there, he would be right next to her, maybe sketching this activity, making her laugh. She would look at him, his brow furrowed, his pencil grasped tightly in his right.... Suddenly she trembled, gripping the ends of her rolling pin. Closing her eyes, she sensed more than a contraction, as if she was linked to her husband. "I love you Eric, it's gonna be all right." Her tone was shaky, but convinced. "I love you honey. Please know it's gonna be okay!"

Opening her eyes, Lynne gazed around the room; she was still its only occupant, but a scent filled her nostrils, that of when Eric had come home, reeking of hawk. She had slept where the New Yorkers did, unable to lie beside Eric for the stench was overpowering. Yet it had dissipated, and left behind was this same fragrant aroma, which now she recognized as similar to incense burned at St. Anne's. She inhaled deeply, then again, savoring that healing perfume, then exhaling, again drawing in that scent. The baby kicked in response, making Lynne laugh. "You can smell it too, huh? It's a blessing, oh my goodness, like your daddy's right here."

Yet an ache lingered within Lynne's chest, and no matter how deeply she breathed, the pain remained. Was it a harbinger of labor, she wondered, returning to her task. Then it faded, and she placed her hand over her heart, again lifting her husband up in prayer. She hadn't been praying for him much lately, or not for his immediate return. She had left that to God, but in the interim, his peace of mind required her petitions. His peace of mind and his.... She couldn't dwell on what Eric might be suffering, either in body or spirit. But whatever ailed him was something over which she could offer supplications. And there was something, Lynne knew that without a doubt. There had to be, or Eric would be standing beside her, or making love to her one last time before their baby was due.

When Laurie and Stanford returned, a pie was cooling on the counter, Jane asleep in Laurie's arms. While Laurie took Jane upstairs, Stanford carried in groceries, forbidding Lynne to assist. Instead she put away cold items, leaving the sundries for Laurie. He was in and out, for it seemed the New Yorkers had bought out the market, making Lynne chuckle. The last load was several batches of daffodils, some assorted tulips among them. Lynne wept, making Laurie laugh, while Stanford asked when they could have pie.

Lynne's tears dried quickly as she smiled at her guests. "Pie will be for later. It'll take a good hour just to put all this away."

"Well, I didn't want Sam to think he was doing all the cooking. Besides, there's an extra mouth to feed." Laurie pointed at Stanford, who grimaced slightly. Then he broke into a wide smile, telling Lynne these men were back on a secure footing. She wondered if Laurie had needed to explain much to Stanford, for he hadn't asked Lynne a single question concerning Eric. He had yet to mention that man's name in her hearing, although several times she had caught him looking around, as if searching for him. Lynne wanted to say she felt her husband was very close, and he was, in spirit. Then she cleared her throat, catching both men's attention.

"Yes?" Laurie stepped to her side. "Ask and we shall do your bidding."

"Might we go to St. Anne's in the morning? I wanna attend mass and...." She placed Laurie's hand on the baby. "Light some candles, if you don't mind."

"Absolutely," Laurie said. "Shall we call the Aherns, see if they wanna meet us?"

"That would be lovely. Then perhaps we could come back here for pie and coffee. Stanford, does that sound all right?"

He leaned against the counter. "Whatever makes you happy."

Lynne approached him. "Laurie and I have been going, when we're feeling up to it. Before Ann and Paul arrived, I was going with Sam, but now that's the time they take Paul to school. Maybe they can drop him off a little early, might be one of the last weekdays I'm able to go for a while."

Stanford nodded. "That would be fine."

"Good. In fact, I'll call Renee right now. Then we can make supper plans for Saturday, assuming I'm still looking like this." Lynne motioned to the baby. "But to tell you the truth, if we're at mass on Monday morning, I'll be somewhat disappointed."

"Are you sure you're okay?" Laurie joined them. "Maybe I should call Dr. Salters."

"I'm not in labor, I can tell you that. But once it starts, you two will be the first to know."

Lynne laughed, then considered her husband. "I wonder if Eric will be aware. While you were gone, I could swear he was right in this room. It was like I could talk to him, or maybe it was just wishful thinking. Anyways, we'll go to mass tomorrow, St. Matthew's on Sunday, and then we'll see what next week brings." She looked around Stanford, who was blocking where the pie cooled. "You know, maybe we can cut into that now. And honestly, if Sam's freezing meals, I should be baking pies. I hope you bought more flour Laurie."

"I did, and Stan made sure a couple of tubs of vanilla ice cream came home too."

"Just one," Stanford smiled.

"One will do for now," Lynne said. "I made a peach pie, will make a fruit combo later, assuming the Aherns can meet us for mass. Then on Saturday I'll make a sweet potato. And from there we'll wing it." She moved the pie to where she could cut into it, slicing three generous pieces. "Maybe Laurie you didn't need to buy all that food. We can just live on pie."

"Oh don't tempt me," he smiled. "Besides what would Dr. Salters say?"

"Probably that the new addition was starting off on the right foot," Stanford interjected.

"Indeed," Lynne said. "I'll leave the ice cream to you fellows. All I want is this." She took her plate to the table, while the men retrieved ice cream from the freezer. As Lynne ate her dessert, she thought back to when she first tried baking with peaches, two years ago and not long after Marek had cemented his place within their family. The bushel he bought last summer was nearly gone, but enough remained to make Sam's favorite pie tomorrow. So many blessings were in her midst, and while the biggest corporeal gift was absent, she needed to give thanks for what stood in her view. Laurie and Stanford spoke about pie while Jane napped, and another child was nearly in its mother's arms. Lynne patted her belly, again praying for Eric. As she closed her eyes, peace surged through her as though he sat next to her, grasping her hand, praying at her side.
Chapter 185

Callie stopped by the Richardsons' on Friday, just in time to see John stepping out of the shed, and what could be called a smile on that man's face. Callie waved his cap as John raised his left arm. They met just shy of the house and Callie couldn't help but chuckle. "G'morning. You're looking fairly chipper today."

John nodded. "I've been sleeping well the last couple of nights."

"Good rest can do a lot for a person. How's your arm?"

"The same," John shrugged, "but maybe I'm used to it now."

"Maybe," Callie drawled. "Well, just wanted to see how you was doing." He put his cap back on, then motioned toward the house. "Might we see if Miss Dora's up for visitors?"

"You bring any pie with you?"

"Not today," Callie laughed. "Miss Susie's down with a bug. But she told me to get out from underfoot, so here I am."

Callie had started for the porch, but John hesitated. "Is she all right?"

"Oh, it's nothing a day at home won't fix." He smiled, then pointed to the house. "Shall we?"

John nodded, then walked to where Callie stood. Callie let John take the lead; Walt had said John could nearly get up the steps alone. He was again eating meals with the family, as it seemed Walt's ultimatum had made an impression. Callie hadn't been sure if that was the right move, but Walt had been correct as John reached the front door on his own.

John knocked, then the door was opened by Esther, who called to her mother. Neither man entered the house until Dora appeared, Callie pleased to see her looking so much better. Just last night Susie told him she thought Dora was carrying boys, but Susie wasn't sure if they were identical or not. Callie wouldn't speak of this to anyone; if Dora wanted to know, she could ask Susie herself.

Dora did ask about Callie's wife, and again he told a small fib. Susie was on her monthly, and if John hadn't been present, Callie might have alluded to that with Dora. Instead Dora merely nodded at Callie, then asked if the men wanted coffee. Both said yes, taking seats familiar to them. Esther and Gail crowded around their mother, but Dora shooed them away. Gail approached Callie, who removed his cap, then lifted the girl onto his lap. "My goodness but you're growing. Gonna be a big helper soon enough."

"Mama's having another...." Esther giggled, then ran to the sofa, hiding behind it.

"Another cuppa coffee," Callie smiled, as Dora brought mugs to the table. "And what good coffee it is."

Dora grinned, then sat across from John. "Walt told the kids last night. Luke already seemed to know, Tilda too. I guess it's safe enough now, and I really can't hide it anymore."

"You're looking just fine there." Callie tested the coffee, then took a long drink. "How you feeling these days?"

She chuckled. "Much better, thank you."

"Oh that's wonderful. And John, you're looking improved too."

From the corner of Callie's eye he watched Dora as he spoke. John noted that he did feel better, but Callie hadn't meant his physical bearing. Dora nodded her head slightly, but stared at the table. Callie knew that John thought his wife was having their baby soon, perhaps she'd already given birth. Susie had no idea about that, but then she hadn't visited this home for nearly a week. John's previous dark mood had kept her away, then she'd started her period. But as soon as that was done, maybe she would come round, if she felt there was news to be shared.

As John spoke about the improving weather, Callie watched the interaction between that man and Dora. If Susie was right, twin boys would make up for the two sons Dora had lost. Of course, they had no proof if those babies had been boys, but Susie had correctly predicted the rest of Dora and Walt's kids, and Callie knew his wife well enough not to doubt her assertions. She was never mistaken, just as much of a seer as her mother was. Callie never felt that ability was wrong in the sight of God; every person had a gift. Susie was also a talented baker, although that trait had not been shared by her mother. Still, he had Susie's mama to thank for the life he lived. If not for her ordering Susie to go south, Callie wasn't sure where he would be.

He was as much a part of Karnack as Walt, but the man next to Callie remained a mystery. Yet that wasn't for Callie to ponder. He finished his coffee, then pushed the cup toward the middle of the table.

"You need more?" Dora asked.

"Oh no, that was just right. So John, since you're feeling better, might you be up to taking a drive?"

John gazed at Callie. "Uh, maybe." Then he looked at Dora. "Would that be a problem?"

She looked startled by the request. "I have no idea."

"I was just thinking how seeing some of Harrison County might jog your memory." Callie looked at John as he spoke. "If nothing else, might do you a world of good to get out for a bit. I won't go down no main roads, should be safe enough."

Susie had also mentioned this, that if John viewed more than just the Richardsons' property, his mind might be stirred. Callie hadn't spoken of this with Walt, but he did agree that John would benefit from different scenery. "I'm just thinking a little change would do you some good." Callie smiled, then grabbed his hat. "Shall we?"

John nodded. "That actually sounds like a terrific idea. If someone passes by, I'll just slink down in my seat."

"Daresay nobody's gonna be passing where we go." Callie would drive through Negro territory, where few families had vehicles. "Miss Dora, we'll be back sometime after lunch, if that's all right."

"Take your time." Her voice was thoughtful. "Ain't nothing he's gonna miss around here."

Callie caught a look on Dora's face as if she agreed with him. "Well, you never know what these little girls might do." Callie ruffled Gail's hair, then set her on the floor. He stood, put on his cap, then headed to the door, waiting for John to join him. They left the house together, slowly taking the steps, then John gazed back at the shed. "You need something?" Callie asked.

"What, uh, no, just that this'll be the first time since...." He smiled at Callie. "Thank you, I do appreciate this."

"Well, we'll see what you think when we get back." Callie led the way, helping John into the truck. Callie shut the door, then got into the driver's seat, and within a minute, they were rumbling along the drive.

Callie took roads that John felt might still be from the early part of the century; few were paved, and those that were possessed large potholes. The bumpy drive didn't bother John's arm, for he had decided to ignore the incessant pain, although the limb itself was numb. How something could ache so badly, yet have no sensation, John wasn't sure. But a bigger question lingered; how did he sense his wife's presence and still not realize a thing about her?

The last two days John could have sworn she was right beside him; he dreamed of her, but carried no resonance of her physical makeup upon waking. Yet as if she lay next to him, he'd felt less alone. He wondered if she'd had their baby, then was curious as to why he felt so.... She loved him, he couldn't escape that fact. Why he was in Karnack had no bearing upon how much he was loved.

Callie pulled over, then killed the engine. "Sorry the roads is so bad. You feeling okay?"

"I'm fine." John gazed out the window, then met Callie's stare. "It's beautiful country, thanks for the tour."

"Oh now, it ain't that pretty. But it's home, I mean...." He sighed. "Anything look familiar?"

"No, but it's different. If nothing else, I am not from East Texas."

"Oh ain't that the truth." Callie laughed, then took off his hat, rubbing his head. "You seem better, I mean, more peaceful. That's a blessing."

John nodded. "I'm sure Walt told you about.... And he was right. And between us, I've been feeling very close to my...." John smiled, then looked at the surroundings. "I think my wife's praying for me. If nothing else, she doesn't hate me."

"No sir, I'm sure she don't hate you none. I'm sure she misses you as much as you miss her."

John looked at Callie. "I wasn't so certain of that before, but now, well, yeah, I think you're right."

"There ain't no good reason for you being here, but sometimes the bad reasons are more important than the good ones."

"Yeah?" John shrugged, then shook his head. "I guess I don't know."

"Well, I could be wrong, but what I meant was nothing about you being here makes sense, but then the world's fulla all kinds of craziness. God's got his plan and best we leave the thinking up to him."

"I suppose that's the truth. Can I be honest with you?"

"Of course."

John inhaled, then let it out slowly. "I feel like I haven't had faith for long, I mean, been a believer. A Christian," he said with emphasis. "But I think I am, I mean, faith isn't something I don't understand. Or I didn't, before." He sighed. "I don't even know what before means, what was my life before I woke up in that shed, who I am, but now it's like, oh I'm John Doe, that's my name." He wore a small smile. "You all see me as this odd stranger with half his upper body missing, more unpleasant than not, but at least you have a firm grasp of who I am."

"Maybe starting to be a bit more pleasant," Callie teased.

"Well, maybe." John smiled. "But who was I before?" As he ended the sentence, his arm tingled, then he closed his eyes. "Before, before.... There's something about that word, something my wife said, it meant something to her. Jesus Christ!" He wanted to slam his left hand against something, but he refrained, for it was the only useful one he had. Then he looked at Callie. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to swear."

"Like I said, ain't nothing I never heard before."

Silence filled the truck. Then Callie cleared his throat. "Before's a funny word, because all we got is this moment. Susie's mama might have foretold a lot of things, sometimes Susie does the same. But that's the future, and we ain't there yet. We can relive the past a thousand times a day, still don't change a damn part of it. And whether you can remember it or not ain't gonna make a whole lotta difference right now. Right now you're sitting in my truck in East Texas, but somewhere your wife is thinking of you. Before ain't got no hold on what she's thinking right this second."

John let that sentiment settle. Then he spoke. "But if I did remember, I could go to her, I could be with her."

"Yeah, but not right this minute. It'd take a few days, you ain't from anywhere close to here. I'm thinking somewhere out west, you sound like a fella I knew who was from the west. California maybe, or Washington State. Even if you could get on an airplane, that'd still be hours away."

"Yeah, you're right." John sighed, then looked out the window again. Then he stared at Callie. "Is that how you felt in Korea?"

"Oh my Lord, yes it was. Kept waiting to get sent home, but even when I was it still took forever. Hadn't heard from Susie for a while, wasn't sure if she was gonna accept my proposal, and even if she did, could I get her to come down here. Nothing for me up there, all I had was farming my daddy's land and some odd jobs. But she was waiting for me, and even better, was willing to...." He peered out the dirty windshield. "She had a life up there, freedom. Not that we ain't free, but...." He chuckled. "We ain't equal. Up there, she just about was, just about. I couldn't believe how different it was up there, you know, like a different world. But this's my home, I ain't never gonna leave it. Gotta believe it'll be better for my girls, yes sir. Maybe President Johnson might make it a little bit better."

John didn't know what to say, but he sighed as if to agree. Callie nodded, then looked at John. "Just like you, every day you get a little better. Like today, remembering what before meant, or that it did mean something. And it did, no getting round it. Before was bringing us to today, then there'll be tomorrow and then...." Callie smiled. "Probably by Sunday Susie will be baking again. We'll come see you on Sunday with sweet potato pie. Who knows how you'll be feeling then."

"Much better if I know pie's coming." John smiled.

"Indeed."

John traced over his right arm, then gripped where the numbness and pain intermingled. "I used this to do something important. Yesterday around suppertime, I could feel her praying for me. It was about my arm, God, how can I know that and not remember her name?"

The frustration was nearly equal to the relief John claimed from those intercessions. He stared at Callie. "Did Susie know if you'd come home, did she have any idea?"

"She did."

"I see. You don't look like she told you about that though."

"No, she used to tell me in letters. Said she knew I'd be back in God's time."

"But?"

"But she wasn't sure if she'd come here. At least she was honest, but that didn't do me no good till she actually said I do. Even then, I still wondered." Callie put back on his cap. "All I can tell you is it's about faith, about trust. Like I said, nothing about you makes any good sense, but that might because we don't see as good as God, as good or as far. All we see is right now, or before." Callie smiled. "Or wishing we could see tomorrow. But here I am, sitting with this strange white man, and I say strange not because you're white or crippled but because you talk so smart, yet at times you act like you ain't aware of the smarts God gave you. You just gotta trust, first that you'll live to see another day if he wants it that way, and second that if he don't, that too is all right. Your wife's been okay all this time, still loves you, so she's keeping the faith. Now it's your turn to keep some of your own. She ain't alone, I can't imagine she is. Now maybe you're not there, but she's accepted that. She's accepted before ain't never gonna come again, but something else is, something new. That's all I'm praying for, a New Jerusalem, a day with sweet potato pie, and Miss Dora with two babies in her arms. That'd be new for certain. And if those things come to pass, halleluiah. And if they don't, halleluiah to that too, because that means something better than I can even dream." Callie chuckled. "I can dream a lot, let me tell you, but I never dreamed up you being here, so we just don't know what's coming next, but it ain't the end of the world."

John nodded, wishing he felt the strength of Callie's conviction. Then he closed his eyes, for another sense flooded him, others lifting him up in prayer. Many of them, he surmised, his best friend among them. He didn't know any of their names, yet a host of angels seemed to be thinking about him, and while the pain and numbness remained, his heart was eased. I love you, he wanted to say to them all, but especially to his wife. I love you and I promise I will come home.

When John opened his eyes, he saw Callie's were closed. John didn't speak, gazing out of the window, still feeling that enormous ethereal embrace. His wife's arms were the strongest, their baby waiting to be born. I won't be there, John thought, but I love you, and I'll be home as soon as I can. As that passed through his mind, Callie cleared his throat, then started the truck. No words were spoken on the drive back to the Richardsons', but John kept up a steady inward stream to those he loved, and he imagined Callie was doing the very same.
Chapter 186

The lobby was cold, but Klaudia was used to it; many times she had sat here waiting to speak to the chief physician. This Saturday morning was different; Sigrun sat beside her, shivering or blowing on her hands. Sometimes Sigrun did both, but she didn't complain about the lack of heat. January in Scandinavia was frigid and at least Marek was still alive.

Klaudia wasn't sure if her son would live to see the spring. She had decided not to cancel her trip, to which Sigrun had agreed, although Klaudia hadn't informed her host of this latest setback. She wouldn't call America unless Marek died, in which case she would bury her son, then.... Could she just up and leave if the worst happened, or was her son's death actually the nadir? She wasn't sure, then glanced at the clock. The doctor was late and Klaudia needed a smoke. She rummaged through her bag, grabbed a pack of cigarettes, then found her matches. She looked at Sigrun, who nodded. Klaudia lit two, then both women inhaled deeply.

They smoked those, then sat quietly, although Sigrun still occasionally trembled. Klaudia had loitered in this waiting room for many years and the décor never changed, as well as the iciness in the winter, not that it was much warmer in summer. The only difference was the mood of the doctors, which over time had grown progressively worse. But that wasn't their fault, it was.... Could Klaudia blame her son or was the error hers, she mused, wishing for another smoke if only for something to do. Maybe it was Gunnar's fault, then she huffed, for it was merely fate, which had gotten her out of Poland, even saved Marek Jagucki's life, but had stolen any semblance of humanity from a baby wanted, although perhaps not with its natural father.

Klaudia had always desired children; as a girl she cared for infants in the village, she played with those younger than her. Ania Jagucki had been one of her best friends, and three years had separated them. When Klaudia met Gunnar, she imagined having many babies, but her first son would be named for the most significant man she had ever known. Her parents died in a car accident only a year after the family had reached Oslo, which had probably thrown Klaudia into Gunnar's arms, then his bed, far more quickly than anticipated. They married and within weeks she was expecting. It was one of the happiest times of her life, although she felt awkward around her husband, in that once Klaudia had become pregnant, Gunnar's affections had cooled considerably. Maybe he realized the difference of their ages, maybe he thought her too easily swayed. Maybe he hadn't wanted to be a father so soon, but it wasn't her fault, and then her dreams had crashed into a heap when the doctor pronounced something was terribly wrong with....

"Mrs. Henrichsen?"

Klaudia stood abruptly, then grabbed her purse, Sigrun doing the same. The women looked toward the open door, where a nurse motioned for them. Klaudia led the way, both ushered into the office, which also appeared as usual. The physicians had rotated over the years; now it was a young man who barely looked old enough to have graduated from university. In December Klaudia had seen him in passing, assuming he was an intern. She didn't betray her thoughts, sitting in a chair while the nurse brought another for Sigrun. Klaudia would give much for another smoke, but unlike past doctors, this one didn't seem to approve of cigarettes, for there was no ashtray heaped with butts anywhere on the desk.

"I'm Dr. Rasmussen," he said, picking up a thick folder, then tapping it with his fingers. He gazed at Klaudia as though he knew she was Marek's mother. "I realize we haven't yet met, and I apologize for only now introducing myself. I wasn't here when Marek had his last seizure, but I've read over his notes, these and from previous years." He tried to smile, but twitched nervously. "I appreciate you coming on such short notice, and I'm also sorry you haven't yet been able to see Marek. Perhaps this afternoon, if you're willing to stay."

"Just tell me what's happened." All she knew was her son had suffered another seizure. She had received the call late last night and was only able to leave that morning. Sigrun had offered to drive and Klaudia had gladly accepted. She was relieved for Sigrun's presence, for bad news was waiting, Klaudia was certain of it.

"Well, for now we're not exactly sure. Marek's seizure was severe. He stopped breathing for a couple of minutes, then regained consciousness. He's sedated now, and we're keeping very close watch over him."

She sighed, then looked at the desk. "Do you mind if I smoke?"

"What? Um, no, of course not." The doctor looked horrified, which nearly made Klaudia smile. He motioned for the nurse, probably to find an ashtray, Klaudia thought, as she lit two cigarettes, giving one to Sigrun, who thanked her profusely. Now Klaudia wanted to laugh; this young man had dragged her up here to tell her that Marek was sedated. Well, of course he was on medication, was that supposed to surprise her? He hadn't even been expected to live and....

She took long drags on the smoke, the ash beginning to teeter, but the nurse placed a thick glass ashtray on the edge of the desk just in time for Klaudia to gently tap ashes into it. Then she placed the cigarette in the ashtray, clearing her throat. "So he's drugged but you couldn't just tell me that over the telephone last night?"

"Um, last night the doctor on call didn't feel it was necessary, but this morning...."

"This morning you came in and thought it best to sedate him. Well, you are the professional."

Klaudia thought she could hear a snicker from where the nurse stood behind them. Then she continued. "Dr. Rasmussen, do you realize that Marek wasn't thought to have lived this long, that we were told, my late husband and myself, that he would die before he was a year old. He's coming on sixteen, severely retarded, and is now having seizures that halt his breathing. Do you think sedating him is truly the best way forward?"

This doctor couldn't be more than thirty; what kind of experience did he have with such tortured individuals, and Klaudia wasn't thinking only of her son. Did he know how hard she had steeled her heart to not care what happened to her child? "Please don't misconstrue my words Doctor, but I was up here last summer with him, he barely knows who I am. I come every month, if you're not aware, but I was here after he'd had the first seizure. I'm here today, but to be honest, if he's sedated and I can't even visit him, I'm not sure why I traveled all this way."

She picked up the smoke, finished it, then stubbed out the butt. "Now if you have something new to report, I'll be happy to listen. If that's all you can tell me, and if I won't be allowed to see my child, Mrs. Vang and I will be leaving. A storm is forecast for tonight and I'd like to be safely home before then, if it's at all possible."

For years Klaudia had spoken two languages, Norwegian and that which she only used within this office. Sometimes the tongues were similar, sometimes like now she had to dredge from her brain the most precise yet delicate dialect; she was the mother of a damaged child and to limit her own pain she must keep Marek at arm's length. Yet she couldn't reveal the extent of that distance to doctors, for they would deem her an unfit mother. Nurses understood, Sigrun comprehended perfectly. But only Klaudia, and those in her place, had to actually utter the words, separating the pain from the practical. If they wouldn't let her see Marek, why was she there?

And if she saw him, was her presence expected to heal him? He wouldn't know she was there, but regardless of the sedatives, who she was to him was meaningless. She was his mother, but she might as well be the janitor for how her role had been reduced to.... She swallowed hard, for that wasn't this man's fault. Gunnar had denied her that opportunity, but he was dead and.... Klaudia smiled, but her heart was icy. "Dr. Rasmussen, I so appreciate all you and your staff have done for my boy. To be perfectly candid with you, it amazes me that after all this time Marek is in such good health. That's all your doing, but as I said, I don't wish to be in your way. Of course if his condition deteriorates, please don't hesitate to call. I suppose it's merely a matter of waiting to see what happens next."

Her tone had shifted to that of an apprehensive parent, hedged by the knowledge that she never had been given the chance to mother her child. She had nursed him for only moments, then at four weeks old he was taken from her as if she was the one broken. For years Klaudia had considered that as the problem. Not until Gunnar died did she have the courage to admit this had been perpetrated upon her by the man she was supposed to have trusted. Never once had Gunnar apologized, but thankfully she'd had the wherewithal to outwait him, then move on with her life.

Except that moving on had meant going nowhere but to work and this hospital. She didn't think about America or Marek Jagucki, only how best to extricate herself and Sigrun from this office so they could flee to Sigrun's car. They wouldn't reach Oslo until suppertime, but they would beat the oncoming storm, and a retarded teenager would continue to live as he had all his life, with no awareness of who loved him, or why that was so. Klaudia did love her son; she loved him as much as she believed he loved her. "Again," she said, exuding concern, "please don't hesitate to get in touch. It's difficult in winter to come up at a moment's notice, but I'm fully prepared." Inwardly she smiled, for she wouldn't tell the staff about her holiday until right before she was slated to leave. She planned to pass it off as an emergency trip, with Sigrun as the point of contact during Klaudia's absence.

The doctor was too young, and stupid, Klaudia thought, to hear past her anxious tone. He nodded, then sighed, then tapped his fingers along Marek's folder. "Well, I highly doubt there's any point to you seeing Marek today. He's heavily medicated, for his own benefit of course."

"Of course," Klaudia said.

"Well yes, there is little for you to do here, right now." The doctor raised his eyebrows, then sighed again. "I suppose you might as well head back. But if anything changes, we will certainly call you."

"Oh thank you." Klaudia leaned back in her seat, but it was for show. She nodded, clasped her hands in her lap, then reached for her handbag. For a second, she nearly pulled out some smokes, just to shock that young man. Instead she reached for a tissue, dabbing at her dry eyes, then blowing very little from her nose. This had been her most dramatic departure in a long time, but if they were going to start employing children to run this place.... She slowly stood from her chair, reaching over the desk, her right hand outstretched. The doctor stood as well, shaking her hand with what felt to Klaudia like a rather limp grip. She didn't care, however, as she calmly made her way out of the office, Sigrun on her heels.

They walked along the corridor, then increased their gaits once they were clear of the building. The weather was freezing, the winds strong, but inside Sigrun's car, some peace descended, mostly in the guise of several smokes enjoyed. Sigrun said little, taking them to the motorway, while Klaudia wondered how long that Dr. Rasmussen would keep his job. Then she berated herself for wasting the energy pondering such a notion. Marek might not even be alive when she left for America, or if he was, maybe he wouldn't last until spring. And truth be told, that might be the best for all of them. He wouldn't continue to suffer, she wouldn't be dragged up there every month, or less now. She had visited him right after Christmas, had planned to go up again before her trip. Now she wouldn't bother. What was the point of yet another bus ride over icy roadways to see someone who could care less if she visited? At least in summer they could walk about the grounds. Then she shivered; last year she had told Sigrun that she wouldn't go to just trek around the woods again. Those words were as fresh in her mind as what she said to Marek Jagucki the last time she had seen him, words she had considered over and over after she thought him dead, words that after all this time still reverberated within her head. How good it would be to see him tomorrow, but tomorrow never came.

When tomorrow rose, so did acrid smoke from what had been the Jaguckis' barn. Screams had preceded the billows, then an eerie silence overtook the entire village. That quiet had pierced Klaudia's heart for months, as though every morning Marek died all over again. Klaudia couldn't free herself from that image, nor from the sounds, but mostly it was the silence to haunt her, even with the loud hum of the pavement under Sigrun's wheels. Klaudia turned on the radio, tinny music crackling through the speakers. Still she could hear nothing, just how her home had sounded after Gunnar took their baby away.

Tears fell down her face, but she ignored them, not wishing to alert Sigrun, nor did Klaudia want to admit all her failings. She hadn't saved any of Marek's family, she hadn't stopped Gunnar from stealing her son. She hadn't healed that child with any of her visits or how often she had stayed away. That ridiculous doctor had no idea what he had done in making her appear there that morning, as though he was complicit in all the ways Klaudia had been wounded over the years. Yet, she couldn't shake how in some manner, this too was her fault; if she had been a better friend to Ania, a better wife to Gunnar, a better mother to Marek, a better.... She was never more than Marek Jagucki's friend, not his lover or partner or spouse. Why was she even going to America, she wanted to scream. For what purpose, reason, notion....

"Are you hungry?" Sigrun spoke softly. "There's a place up ahead, we could get something to eat, and I think we're low on cigarettes."

"Whatever you like," Klaudia said.

Sigrun hummed, then gently laid her hand on Klaudia's leg. "I think it was good, everything you said to him."

"Little bastard didn't hear a word of it," Klaudia snorted.

"No, but the nurse did. They're all who matter."

Klaudia glanced at Sigrun. "Yeah, I suppose." She inhaled, then coughed. "Thanks for taking me."

"Beats listening to Harald shout at the television all day. I'm so sick of football, I swear."

Klaudia wore a small smile. "Gunnar hated football, but every time we came over, he'd act just like Harald. Must be a man-thing."

"It must be."

Klaudia nodded, then sighed. She stared out the window, snow in drifts, bare trees poking up like they were abandoned, only wishing to be covered under the blanket of white. "I am hungry." She gazed at Sigrun. "Lunch and smokes are my treat."

"You're on," Sigrun chuckled.

Again Klaudia nodded. Then she spoke. "I don't plan on telling Marek any of this. As far as he knows, my son is the same."

"Of course."

"And if something happens, unless he's dead, don't call me there. I don't want you wasting the money. I'm only going for ten days, it's not worth the trouble."

"All right."

"And if they need to reach me, tell them I'm unavailable, I mean, unless he does die. If that happens...." She stopped speaking, uncertain of what might require her attention. She was going to have Marek cremated, no use taking up space in a cemetery. Gunnar had been cremated, his wishes not causing his wife any sorrow. She hadn't given any thought to herself in that situation. Previously, Klaudia never thought she'd get that lucky.

Was it luck that had kept her among the living? Then she trembled, her tears restarting. Luck had nothing to do with it, only the inevitable collision with a man she loved, also feared. Klaudia wept until Sigrun pulled over for lunch. They entered the small shop, where Sigrun bought smokes while Klaudia dried her eyes in the restroom. Meeting up again, Klaudia smiled, then gripped Sigrun's hand. Nothing more about either man named Marek was mentioned.
Chapter 187

Stanford rose first on Sunday morning, quietly walking past the nursery and Lynne's room. He went downstairs, seeing nothing beyond the French doors, darkness still in force. The house wasn't cold, although he was glad to have bought slippers, and he cinched up the tie on his dressing gown. He wanted coffee, but would wait until Laurie woke.

They were going to church that morning, although the Aherns would meet them here for lunch, then would stay for supper. Stanford was glad to have that brief break, although yesterday Renee hadn't seemed as annoying as in the past, and Sam was much easier to speak with, but that was probably due to what they didn't discuss. Sam gushed about his son and daughter, who had surprised Stanford for how accepting they were with the Aherns as their new parents. Stanford and Laurie had discussed it last night after Lynne went to bed; Laurie thought it was because the children were so young, and that they so closely resembled who they called Mommy and Daddy without a single hesitation. Stanford had no idea, other than this place was a source of what could be deemed singularities, yet there certainly were plenty of them.

He and Laurie could fall under that heading, for it was as if no issue had separated them, or maybe Stanford was ignoring the elephant in the room. He gazed around, but the house was still, and of course Eric remained missing. Stanford had uttered that man's name yesterday afternoon, speaking privately with Lynne before the Aherns had arrived. He still wasn't certain what he believed about Eric's absence, but if nothing else, he understood why after talking to Lynne before he left Florida, Laurie had been compelled to come here, then accept what everyone closely connected to the Snyders also believed. Lynne spoke about her husband's transformations with the sagacity of how very life-altering was such a conviction.

She hadn't pressed Stanford to swear an allegiance to such a notion, but she wouldn't perpetrate a falsehood, for to Lynne, Eric had been altering form since he was a little boy. She didn't know if his father's brutality had caused the changes, nor did she seem worried that Jane or the coming baby would inherit their father's penchant for.... Her tone had been candid; Stanford had detected no guile or hysteria in her voice. Slight remorse had hedged her words for having to speak about this; she knew it ran counter to all he ever assumed about the supernatural. She didn't apologize though, for which Stanford was grateful. He had come here with eyes open. He wasn't sure if her words had changed his mind, other than reinforcing what an amazing woman he thought she was. If she was lying, she had deceived herself thoroughly. And if she was telling the truth....

He set that aside, enjoying the peace, although he felt a little lonely. Yet it was merely that in the last few days, he had grown accustomed to the presence of others, how strange was that? Before he had been happy for it to only be himself and Laurie, with Agatha in the mix. He didn't like large gatherings, even if he knew everyone well. Or maybe he merely liked privacy in accordance to his relationship with Laurie. Last night with the Aherns and Marek, Stanford hadn't behaved any differently around his partner, keeping a safe distance between them. But after everyone went home, he found himself standing next to Laurie, even holding that man's hand when both were seated on the sofa while Lynne sat in the big chair. Then Stanford trembled. He had sat beside Laurie without hesitation; had he ever done that at his father's house or in Brooklyn? Never around Laurie's family, Stanford was certain, and probably not at his dad's. Yet within this home, it had occurred without anxiety on Stanford's part, and Laurie didn't mention it before they fell asleep last night. Just how strange was this property, Stanford mused, gazing at the living room French doors.

He walked that way, looking at nothing in particular, but as he got close, little fingerprints could be seen. He smiled, recalling those same smudges on his glasses last spring, how delicate were Jane's prints. He inspected the door, finding where the marks stopped, then he noticed one pane seemed newer than the rest. It was up fairly high, adjacent to the handle. How had this pane been broken, when had it been replaced?

Gingerly he traced around the wood; had this happened since his last visit? He'd never noticed it before.... That word struck him, for before he'd never shown any overt affection toward Laurie here, before he had pondered Eric's strange absences, before he had noticed Eric's eyes were altered, his foot repaired, his.... Indeed all those odd queries had a reasonable answer, if Stanford was inclined to accept the most bizarre occurrence. He shook his head, then again glanced at that new pane.

Did he truly want to know the details? Might Laurie be aware, he probably was, for over the last few days Stanford also had to accept just how completely Laurie was woven into these people. He was Uncle Laurie to Paul and Ann, and clearly loved. He was very chummy with Marek, and he was closer to Lynne than he was to his own sisters. Stanford understood why Laurie had considered buying property out here, for these persons, unique individuals themselves, were a family like no other. Different religions, nationalities, and temperaments were linked by devotion, and perhaps secrecy. Yet affection was the strongest element, but one was missing, and Stanford ached over Eric's absence. After Laurie, that was who Stanford most wished to see.

Was Laurie right, would Eric return? Stanford hoped so, not only for himself, but of course for Lynne, Jane, Sam.... For all of them, but wishing would do little good to further that event. Marek had said grace before last night's meal, and while he never uttered Eric's name, that man was on all their minds, and Stanford imagined he'd be thinking of Eric in a few hours at Lynne's church. Stanford had been the only one not to light a candle for Eric on Friday morning, but he couldn't get him from his head. Again Stanford gazed at the windowpane; if he stared hard enough, would he see why it had been replaced? Did he want to know was the bigger question. He was there, willing to accept what Laurie believed, what they all took as fact. He wasn't certain if he concurred, but could overlook what previously he'd considered as preposterous. Until Eric returned and either proved or refuted such a notion, Stanford had to keep an open mind.

When Jane stirred, Laurie rolled over, reaching for Stan. That side of the bed was cold, and Laurie quickly got up, putting on his robe and slippers, then headed from the room. Rubbing his eyes, he found Stanford at the nursery door, looking pensive. Laurie smiled, motioning for Stan to open it, which would give Laurie just enough time to use the bathroom. Laurie had found that successful parenthood was largely a matter of timing, and with an extra pair of hands, Laurie could start his day a little more comfortably than before.

Yet it was Laurie to change Jane's diaper, Laurie to make the coffee, Laurie to fix breakfast, but with Stan keeping Jane company, all those chores were as easy as slicing pieces of pie, which that trio ate while a mother slept. Stanford teased it wasn't all that difficult to care for a child, but Laurie only smiled. While being apart from this man had been murder on Laurie's soul, Lynne hadn't shouldered parenthood by herself. Then Laurie chuckled. "I wonder how much longer we're gonna have to wait."

Stanford raised his eyebrows. "For...."

"The baby," Laurie smiled. Eric briefly flashed through Laurie's mind, but Stan sitting just feet away negated any unpleasantness. "She was acting funny yesterday, I mean, she was quiet, didn't seem that hungry."

Stanford nodded, then he sighed. "What?" Laurie asked.

"We talked, you know. She had plenty to say then."

"That was before everyone showed up. She mostly sat on the sofa, I think she fell asleep a couple of times."

"Well, yes, I noticed that too."

Laurie let it pass, for he was fully aware that Stan and Lynne had spoken at length, and Laurie was certain of the subject. But he couldn't dwell on that due to Stan's presence, Jane's good mood, and because.... "I bet she's gonna go into labor today or tomorrow." Laurie smiled, then forked himself a large bite of pie.

"Perhaps. I suppose you know more about this than I do."

"I wish," Laurie chuckled. "All I know is she's starting to wind down. My mother mentioned this a while back. Pregnant women need to conserve their strength. I wonder if she'll still wanna go to church this morning."

"Indeed. Whatever she wants, I'm up for."

"Good. I'm gonna take a quick shower. You okay with Jane for ten minutes?"

Stanford gaped at Laurie. "Oh, um, well...."

"You go shower then," Laurie smiled. "I'll wait till Lynne gets up."

"No, I suppose we'll manage." Stanford grinned, then gazed at Jane. "Do you think we'll be okay?"

"More pie?" Jane asked.

The men chuckled, then Laurie got up, taking Jane's empty plate. "One thin piece. And more milk to go with it. Honestly, it's just vegetables and starch, no different than if she ate French toast." He gave her some sweet potato pie, then he kissed the top of Stan's head. "And speaking of which, I'll make that for Lynne. She needs protein."

To Laurie's surprise, Stanford gripped his hand. Laurie gazed at Stan. "What?"

"You're very good with her, with both of them."

Laurie knelt by Stanford. "You are too. It just takes practice."

"It's much more than that. You were wonderful with Paul and Ann as well. You would have made a very good father."

"I make an even better uncle."

"Yes, I suppose." Stan sighed, then stroked Laurie's face. "Go on, before she finishes this."

Laurie stood. "If she does, don't give her more. If she's still hungry when Mama gets up, they can both have French toast."

"I might want some too," Stanford smiled.

"All right, two breakfasts for the uncle-in-waiting." Laurie chuckled, then slipped from the kitchen before Jane noticed he had left. He pondered Stan's words all the way upstairs, and continued thinking about them in the shower.

Laurie drove them to St. Matthew's, glancing at Stan in the backseat. Lynne was still relatively quiet, although she had eaten a full serving of French toast, even having a second cup of decaf. Laurie hadn't asked her much more than if she wanted to attend church. Over that subject she'd grown animated, strongly squeezing Laurie's hand.

They sat in the back of the building, which Laurie knew pleased Stan; if anyone asked, Stan was Laurie's business partner in New York. But the church wasn't full, cold weather keeping most at home. Marek's sermon was engaging, although the subject was lost to Laurie once Marek stopped speaking. Lynne looked pale, often shifting in her seat. Laurie walked up with her and Jane for communion, but Stanford remained in their pew. After receiving a blessing, Laurie stared at Lynne, who took the bread and wine. But she seemed distracted and Laurie wondered if she was in labor.

As they returned to their row, she excused herself for the ladies' room. Laurie sat down, handing Jane to Stan, as he wanted to check on Lynne, however what was there for him to do other than loiter outside the restroom. Stan's comment about Laurie being good father material rankled in Laurie's head; he was only doing what any gentleman would in this situation. Then Laurie sighed. He wouldn't take Eric's place when Lynne delivered, but as if that hawk had implored Laurie to stand sentinel, Laurie would do whatever was necessary until Eric came home.

He wasn't going to be here in time, which Laurie had assumed, but now that the time was nearly upon them, Laurie felt a strange sorrow. Stan's comment seemed to have exacerbated that sense of who was missing, but Laurie knew Stan hadn't meant it as such. His words had been merely been in observing a situation that neither man had ever considered. If Stan pressed the point, Laurie would retort that he had never thought about parenthood because he couldn't have Stan's baby. Laurie smirked, then grasped Stanford's hand. Stanford shot him a look, but didn't fight Laurie's hold. They didn't break that grip until Lynne returned.

"You okay?" Laurie asked as she sat beside him.

She smiled, then nodded. Then she leaned his way. "As soon as church's over, we need to leave."

His heart raced. "Are you...."

She nodded, then giggled. "Are you ready for an all-nighter?"

"Jesus Christ!"

As soon as Laurie spoke, he winced, for the few in attendance all turned to see what had happened. Marek's eyes went wide, then he smiled, realizing what Laurie had learned. Stanford peered past Laurie, then poked him in the side. "What is it?" Stan asked in a rushed whisper.

"Whatdya think?" Laurie chuckled. "We'll go as soon as Marek gives the word."

"Oh my God." Stanford shook his head, staring toward the altar. Then he looked back at Lynne, then at Laurie. "Are you sure?" he seemed to ask them both.

Again Lynne nodded, then she reached across Laurie, gripping Stanford's hand. "There's still several hours to go, but yes, it's time."

The way she said time made Laurie shiver, and it seemed to cause an even deeper impression upon Stan, who did not release Lynne's hand. In fact, he reached out his other, Jane in between his arms, making for an awkward position, but Laurie didn't mind and Jane seemed oblivious. He watched how the toddler simply looked around the church, smiling then concentrating. Then she met his gaze; Laurie noticed her eyes didn't seem as blue as before. Flecks of gray shone, immediately bringing to mind Jane's father. A flash of pain stirred in Laurie's chest. Then it was gone, but Jane's irises still carried those hints of gray. Laurie blinked away tears, then stood, motioning for Stan to take his place. And for Stanford to give Jane to her other uncle.

Stanford did those things and while he cradled Lynne in an unpracticed hold, Laurie bobbed Jane in his experienced arms. "You're gonna be a big sister this time tomorrow," he said softly. "The baby's finally coming."

"Baby?" Jane said.

"Yup, your baby brother or sister."

She smiled, then played with her hair. Then she looked at her mother. "Mama's baby?"

"Yeah, and your daddy's too. He'll be home soon honey, it won't be long now."

"Mama's baby," Jane repeated. Then her eyes grew large in her little face. "Where's Daddy?"

It was the first time she had said where, what struck Laurie first. Her calm tone then hit him, for she glanced around, not assuming he was her father, nor was Marek. She did remember Eric, Laurie was certain. "He's on his way honey. He'll be here soon."

"Daddy," Jane said again. "Daddy home soon."

"Soon little girl, soon," Laurie said, his voice cracking. "But first, let's have a baby."

Marek gave the benediction as Jane clapped, repeating baby. Before they could leave the pew, a group surrounded them, asking if Lynne was all right. Laurie smiled at Marek, who laughed heartily as Lynne noted that she was fine and would see them in a couple of weeks with a newborn in tow.
Chapter 188

The Snyder house was full of people by the time Dr. Salters arrived, making the doctor wonder just who would assist in the delivery. Lynne assured her it would only be women in what was called the labor room; Renee's sister-in-law was on her way, which made the doctor stare at her patient. "You mean more are coming?"

Lynne laughed, now seated on the same bed where Jane had been born. "I realize it seems like a lot, but some of them will be gone by bedtime."

Lynne meant the Ahern children, but she wasn't sure if Jane would also sleep at Sam and Renee's house. Sally was accompanying her mother and would babysit her nephew and niece, but Lynne wanted Jane to meet the new baby as soon as was possible. If Lynne delivered late at night, maybe it would be best for introductions to occur tomorrow. But if Eric was here, Lynne assumed he too would want Jane to share in this moment, a thought which made Lynne teary. "Dr. Salters, don't worry. Once things get rolling the only ones on this floor will be ladies."

The doctor nodded, then cleared her throat. "Well, this is your show Lynne. I think you've already found that a second child seems to take care of itself."

Lynne laughed, although a contraction made her grimace. "On the contrary, I think a second baby brings people out of the woodwork."

Both women chuckled, then the doctor grabbed her bag. "Well, for the time being, do what makes you feel as good as can be. You've still got a ways to go."

Lynne nodded, glancing at her belly. She was less than halfway dilated, but contractions were now regular, and becoming stronger. In the meantime there was time for her to make a pie. She didn't mention that to the doctor, who helped her from the mattress. They walked down the stairs together, finding a contingent in the living room. Renee met them, Jane in her auntie's arms. "So, what time are we looking at?" Renee asked.

"Mrs. Snyder has several hours to go. I'll be back around four, but do call if things progress more quickly." The doctor tickled Jane's chin. "You'll be a big sister this time tomorrow."

"Baby," Jane laughed.

"Baby indeed," the doctor smiled.

Renee and Sam escorted the doctor to the front door, then returned, finding Lynne still on her feet, speaking with Laurie, who threw his hands in the air while Lynne giggled. "She wants to make a pie," he said. "A pie, now?"

"Well if not now, when?" Lynne grasped Laurie's hand. "Actually, I wanna make two. There're a lot of us, and more will be visiting. I might try three, but...."

"Two will be a God's plenty," Laurie laughed. "Whatever makes the pregnant woman happy."

"Happy is a state of mind," Lynne retorted. Then she inhaled deeply, another contraction hitting.

"You okay?" Sam asked.

She nodded, then breathed out slowly. "Okay, maybe one pie."

"One pie and we'll cut it into very small pieces," Marek said.

"Or you could make caramel slices," Lynne smiled. "Yes, one pie. Sam, you can pick up the slack."

He chuckled as Lynne, Laurie, Renee, and Jane headed to the kitchen.

By the middle of the afternoon, a boysenberry pie was cooling on the counter, but a sweet potato pie was in the oven, caramel slices waiting to go in. Lynne had retired upstairs, hoping to rest, while Jane did the same. Fran and Sally had arrived, then Laurie drove Sally, Paul, and Ann to the Aherns', although they would come back for supper, assuming Lynne wasn't having the baby. From how her contractions had slowed, Renee predicted Lynne would deliver sometime in late evening. Fran spoke with Marek as Sam took charge of the kitchen, leaving Renee and Stanford with little to do. Renee didn't wish to impede upon Fran's conversation; she was also a little wary of how Fran would react when Lynne was having the baby. Yet, another pair of hands was necessary and the Canfields did have a good camera. Fran had brought extra rolls of film just in case.

Laurie had mentioned using Lynne's camera, but the Aherns hadn't brought theirs, for neither would have a minute to use it. Sam would be cooking while Renee.... She smiled, thinking back to when Jane was born; while Eric wouldn't be here, so many others were. Renee understood the doctor's slight hesitation with such a crowd, but Eleanor Salters had no idea how necessary was each person. Even Stanford's presence was essential, although as he came Renee's way she bristled. He had been personable last night, asking how Ritchie was faring in the rehab facility, but neither she nor Sam knew his thoughts toward Eric. At least he and Laurie were back together, she mused, as Stanford cleared his throat, stepping to her side.

Renee faced him, then nearly giggled. Smudges edged his glasses, his shirt was rumpled, and he looked happy. "Well," he began, again clearing his throat. "I guess it's just a matter of time."

She nodded. "I hope she's getting some rest. It's gonna be a long night."

"Yes, we'll be drinking lots of coffee today."

"Yeah, the real stuff too." Renee chuckled. "After a while, decaf just doesn't taste right."

"I wholeheartedly concur," Stanford smiled.

Renee nodded, then gazed out the French doors, winter having settled over the area. No flowers bloomed, other than those Laurie had bought a few days ago. Several vases were full of them in the labor room, for which Renee was glad. Then she sniffled. Her prayers for Eric to be with them this day were being answered in another manner and she lifted up that man for God's peace. Then she sighed.

"Are you all right?" Stanford said softly.

"Oh yeah, it's just...." She smiled, then shrugged. "Like you said, it's gonna be a long day."

She stepped right in front of the French doors, staring at that new pane. Jane couldn't reach that high, but one day it would be decorated with fingerprints. Maybe then it wouldn't be so noticeable. Renee almost touched it, but didn't want to broach that subject, much less with Stanford. However, he traced the glass, making Renee suck in her breath. Stanford removed his hand, then placed it on her shoulder.

She fought turning to face him, but knew he wanted to speak to her. Finally she met his gaze, and then she gasped softly. His eyes were brimming with tears, which he didn't try to blink away. "Might we go in the sunroom to talk?" he said.

She nodded, then followed Stanford, who walked to the far corner of the room. He glanced out the window, wiped his face, then turned to where Renee stood. "When was that glass replaced?" he asked.

"A few years ago."

"Why?"

She looked at the floor; a few toys were strewn about, but Jane and Ann preferred playing in the living room for it was cozier. Renee shivered, not that she was chilled, but from a memory that while slightly faded would never leave her. Dare she be honest with this man, what did he assume concerning Eric?

"Please Renee. I realize it may be somewhat unpleasant, but...."

"Are you sure you wanna know?"

He nodded, but something in his eyes pleaded for a lie. He desired the option of believing the truth, as if he could will his own version to be factual. Maybe that was the businessman in him, supervising the situation. But one of the first things Renee had to accept when she learned about Eric was that no one controlled what happened, not that man, nor Lynne, nor anyone else who knew. Eric transformed, but in a way, they all took part. Stanford wanted to know, but not to participate. "Stanford," she began, "all I can tell you is that the door broke the day I learned about Eric. Lynne had it fixed right after he left. It's been like that for coming on four years."

For almost four years Renee's life had moved in a direction she'd never anticipated, but for the last four months the very same could be said. She had pondered how differently her role today would feel as Lynne had another baby, but changes wouldn't merely depend on Eric's absence, but Renee's own heart now as a mother of two. How much closer would this bind her to Lynne and the new child, and would she get to be a godmother again? She hoped so, and she smiled, no room for anything sad or worrisome. "Stanford, I know this's hard to wrap one's head around, I mean, oh goodness. It's, well, so strange, but it's also...."

"Here you are." Laurie came to their sides. "I asked Marek and Frannie and neither knew where you'd gone. Took me forever to get away, but when someone asks Uncle Laurie to read one more book...." His chuckle was soft. "Sally said to let her know when to give the kids supper, but if Lynne's still sleeping, I can go back for them so we can all eat together."

"That sounds fine." Renee was relieved for Laurie's presence, and it seemed Stanford felt the same, for he had stepped away from Renee, closer to his...other half, she smiled inwardly. Gazing at them, Stanford looked less pained, while Laurie sported a grin. Yet, it was hedged in slight apprehension. Would their relationship ride out this storm, Renee wondered. She hoped so, then prayed for them, adding all four Snyders alongside. "I'm gonna check on my husband and those caramel slices. And thank you Laurie for running the kids home."

"My pleasure."

She squeezed his hand, but didn't extend that affection to Stanford. Walking away, she heard their voices, but didn't try to discern what was said. Stopping at the stairs, no sounds were detected other than soft snores. Marek and Fran sat on the sofa, both with eyes closed, Fran's rosary beads in her hands. Renee relished the quiet, for it wouldn't last much longer, what she would tell Sam if he asked what she had been doing.

Lynne woke at four, by which time the children were back, supper only waiting on the expectant mother. After a jovial meal, Marek drove Sally, Jane, and the Ahern children to Sam's house. Marek would return once all three kids were sleeping, and had told Lynne he would pace along with the New Yorkers and Sam through the wee morning hours. Lynne had laughed, but it was interrupted by a squeal as a contraction hit. Now those pains were every few minutes, but Lynne was still far from delivering. Sam recalled this from last time, although it was novel for Laurie and Stanford. Those two tried to remain calm, but every time Lynne complained, both were on their feet as if the baby would arrive at that moment.

Sam remained in the kitchen, pots bubbling, but custard would wait until the newest Snyder entered the world. Renee teased that would be Sam's tradition, but it seemed fitting, for once Lynne had the baby, no one would sleep for hours. Sam had baked an apple pie, and would make sure no one went hungry; he relished the tasks, for a distinct emptiness filled his heart, and try as he might, no amount of cooking or conversation removed that vacuum. It hadn't been so noticeable when Paul and Ann were still here, but after they left, again Sam was stricken by a desolation that he knew was due to his new role as a father and the one missing this blessed event. Yet, he didn't feel that Eric was far, and while that eased some of Sam's mood, it didn't seem fair that they were celebrating together while the second most important person was.... He wasn't dead, Sam knew that, for over the last few days he sensed Eric was connected to them. Did that make it easier or more difficult, Sam wasn't sure. Lynne seemed to be holding up all right, Frannie too. Those were the ones Sam watched most carefully. Right after Marek and Sally left, Louie had called to check on his wife. Sam reported that she was doing well, and Louie let out a sigh of relief. He would visit tomorrow, but without Sally, it was up to Louie to keep his own household together.

Jane wasn't even two, but how differently was this than when she arrived, Sam considered. Then he chuckled inwardly; in two years he had come to terms with Laurie and Stanford, and was so grateful Stan was with them. A few times Sam had referred to that man by the nickname Laurie used exclusively. At first Stanford had given Sam a wary stare, then it was accepted as though Sam had been permitted in Eric's stead. Stanford was still calling Fran Mrs. Canfield, but Laurie said Frannie, making Fran grin. Would she be all right, Sam wondered, poking his head through the kitchen doorway. The New Yorkers sat together on the sofa and quickly Sam stepped back into the kitchen. Then the phone rang, and he answered it. "Snyder residence."

It was Marek, announcing he was heading back, asking if Sam needed anything. "Can't think of what it might be," although Eric's name was on the tip of Sam's tongue. "See you soon." Sam hung up the receiver as Laurie entered the kitchen. "That was Marek," Sam said. "He's on his way back."

"Good. Stan and I were thinking of starting a card game. You in for a hand of bridge?"

Sam smiled, shaking his head. "I'd say yes, but since I don't know how to play, you guys would kill me."

Laurie laughed. "Okay, well how about...." He rattled off several games, but Sam grew sheepish. For how well the Nolans played cards, Sam's family wasn't so inclined. "All I know is poker," he said. Then he laughed. "Good thing Renee's busy. She'd beat us all."

"Poker you say? Now that's a true man's game." Laurie smiled. "You think Marek might be willing to join us?"

Sam had heard about that pastor's ability to bluff. "Um, maybe. You can certainly ask him."

"As soon as he's back, let's get started. Who knows when that baby's gonna get here."

Sam nodded, but once Laurie was out of the room, he snickered. Then he emitted a belly laugh, in part for how surprised the New Yorkers would be at a minister's acumen with cards, and that if Renee was included, she would indeed fleece them all.

At nine p.m., the New Yorkers were down a few dollars each, while Sam was holding his own, Marek in charge of the game. Dr. Salters arrived at ten, by which time Laurie was five dollars in the hole, Stanford eight. Sam had lost about fifty cents, although he'd won back that much at various intervals. Marek said all his winnings would go straight into St. Matthew's coffers, which seemed to spur on the New Yorkers. However by eleven, the game was called on account of Laurie's empty wallet. He didn't want to know how much he'd lost, but Marek told him to be thankful Father Markham hadn't been invited. Laurie would have lost his shirt hours ago.

While Stanford put away the cards, Laurie walked to the bottom of the stairs. Other than the expected sounds, Lynne was facing this ordeal rather stoically. She never called out for Eric, nor had she screamed, and Laurie was grateful for her discretion. Then a loud groan was noted, and he gripped the hand rail, tempted to head up. He could hear a door being opened, then Frannie emerged on the landing. She smiled, but Laurie knew they were still waiting. "How's she doing?" he asked as Fran came down.

"She's incredible. Just need more ice." Fran patted Laurie's shoulder, then headed to the kitchen. He followed her, Marek on his heels, while Stanford remained seated at the card table. Sam stood at the stove, but looked in his sister's direction. The siblings didn't speak, but after retrieving ice from the freezer, Frannie approached Sam, kissing his cheek, then whispering in his ear. Then she turned to face Laurie and Marek. "I won't lie; it's tough and she's tired. Thank the Lord she slept this afternoon. The doctor thinks maybe by midnight, Renee feels the same."

"Another hour?" Laurie sighed. "Good God, how're we all gonna last?"

Frannie giggled, then patted his cheek. "Don't let Lynne hear you say that."

He nodded. "Is she really okay?"

"She is. When the baby arrives, I'll give a shout. She does wanna see you all, so no going to sleep, you hear?"

Fran chuckled, then headed from the kitchen. Marek followed, but Laurie couldn't move. Now he understood why the men in his family avoided such scenes, for the waiting was torturous. Then he wanted to kick himself; not only was Lynne doing all the work, but Eric wasn't beside her. She'd been waiting for her baby as well as her husband, and who knew when that man was coming back? He still was, Laurie didn't feel that was erroneous, yet for how much longer would Eric be separated from his family, how much of this baby's life would he miss, how was Lynne supposed to cope with a newborn and a toddler.... Laurie heard Stanford step into the room; all Laurie wanted was to go home and start over with Stan. But how in the world would Lynne get along without him?

"I don't know about you fellows, but I need some air." Stanford came to Laurie's side, but didn't attempt to hold Laurie's hand. "If something happens, just holler."

"I'll step out with you." Marek had reentered the kitchen. "Just need my overcoat."

Laurie gazed at Stan, who wore his heavy jacket and scarf. "What about a hat?" Laurie asked him.

Sam handed Stanford his hat. "I'd join you, but I've got too many pots to watch."

"I'll keep Sam company," Laurie said. "Too damn cold out there for me."

Stan smiled and Laurie imagined if they were alone, Stan would tease about the weather in Manhattan. Or maybe he wouldn't broach that subject, fearing Laurie would prefer to stay here. Laurie was torn; he wasn't looking forward to snow, but did desire his own bed, Agatha's coffee, even returning to work. But tipping the scales was a sense of duty, as well as how much he loved these people, especially the woman upstairs who would give him a telling off if she had heard him complain. He didn't mean Renee, for her tongue had softened since children had entered her life. Lynne had wormed her way deep into Laurie's heart, not to mention that baby. And who would take care of Eric and Jane and....

Suddenly Laurie found himself alone in the kitchen; had Sam stepped out as well, and how had Laurie not noticed? Then Sam walked back in, whistling a tune Laurie didn't know. "What'd I miss?" Laurie asked.

"Not much," Sam smiled. "Had to use the john. Marek said something to you, but you were a million miles away."

Laurie chuckled for Sam's colloquialism, and that indeed he'd been far away. "The john, huh?"

"An army leftover," Sam laughed.

"Yeah, I bet." Laurie sat at the table, then looked toward the front door. "It's cold out there, they'll be back soon."

"I agree, but I think Stan was getting antsy. Hard to wait, but truthfully, it shouldn't be too much longer. Fran said that Lynne's nearly ready to push. Once she starts, it won't be very long at all."

"Guess you know more about this than me."

"What I know is strictly third hand, but from very reliable sources."

"That I do believe," Laurie smiled. "How is your sister, I mean...."

Sam inhaled, then joined Laurie at the table. "I think this's good for her, in that it's been over a year and, well...." He looked at the doorway to the living room, from where a few cries were heard. Those sounds pierced Laurie, for it seemed Lynne might have called for Eric. But Sam didn't seem to have heard that name, or if so, it didn't bother him. "She'd been hinting if Lynne wanted to have the baby here, she'd be happy to fill in. That's all she ever said about it, I mean, about him being away, that she would fill in."

"She doesn't know, does she?"

"Last fall I told her he'd gone to see Seth. What she thinks now is between her and God. And Laurie, that's just fine with me."

Again Sam glanced toward the rest of the house. Laurie looked at the clock, which read eleven thirty. Was that possible, hadn't Frannie just been down for ice and to provide an update? But if she'd been correct, they wouldn't see her again until there was news to share. Laurie stood, then walked to the window closest to the front door. Were Stan and Marek hoping someone would magically appear? Was Laurie? "Sam, what's gonna happen after, I mean, after we go home?"

The word home nearly got stuck in Laurie's throat, but he had to say it, for he had promised Lynne that if Stan asked him to come back he would, and much to Laurie's surprise, Stan had uttered that query late last night. Maybe he'd felt it needed to be stated, for Laurie hadn't shied away from displaying how much these people meant to him, and that included the Aherns, Marek, and now Frannie Canfield. Laurie had spent Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, and Christmas here, also mourned John Kennedy. And the biggest event was taking place right over his head; he would be one of the first to meet the newest Snyder, but then he'd been one of the first to learn about that member of his family. How could he leave, but then how could he stay?

"Marek's friend will be here, not that she'll be much help, but she'll be around. Fran too, and my sister Joanie. And to be honest, I can't picture Renee much at our place for the next few weeks." Sam smiled. "We'll make do until he comes back. And in the meantime...."

"In the meantime, we have to wait, right?"

"Well, we're getting practice for that now."

Laurie smirked. "How will you handle it, I mean, taking care of him plus your kids. That's a big job, a couple of them."

Sam nodded. "God will put us on the right path. He's brought us this far, I gotta believe he'll keep steering the ship correctly."

Laurie wished he had Sam's depth of faith. "From your lips to his ears," Laurie said.

"That's all we can do." Sam smiled, patted Laurie's shoulder, then returned to the stove. He glanced at the clock. "It's a quarter to midnight. Those guys are gonna freeze out there."

Laurie went to Sam's side. "Time to start custard?"

"I think it is," Sam chuckled. "Maybe that's what the baby's waiting on." He retrieved a heavy saucepan from a cupboard near the stove. "Can you get out milk and eggs?"

"Sure."

Laurie collected those items, then gazed at the door. As he did, it opened, and for a second, Laurie trembled. Marek and Stan walked through the doorway and Laurie's heart throbbed in his chest. "Any news yet?" Marek took off his coat, placing it over a chair while Stanford did the same.

"Nope, but I'm starting custard. You guys hungry?"

Stanford came to where Laurie stood in the middle of the kitchen. "Actually custard and a caramel slice would hit the spot."

"Oh, that's a combination." Marek joined them. "Count me in for that."

"Too decadent for me," Sam laughed. "I'll have custard and apple pie. Laurie, what's your poison?"

"Oh, uh, just pie, thanks."

"You okay?" Stan asked him.

Laurie nodded, but felt anything but. Yet, as Stan headed out of the room, Laurie's heart sank; he loved that man so much that being separated from him even for a moment was unbearable. Stan probably had needed the restroom and Laurie stayed where he was. Marek and Sam chatted as Sam started a pot of real coffee, he noted, to which Marek said amen. When Stan returned, Sam asked if he wanted a cup, and Stanford said please. The four men stood near the stove, then Laurie glanced at the clock; it was nearly midnight.

A new day was set to dawn, one in which a child would enter the world while his or her father remained lost to those who loved him most. But as if this was New Year's Eve all over again, Laurie couldn't escape the sense of renewal. Stan was beside him, and how precious was that gift? Laurie's heart now beat hard as a sense of newness, also goodness, engulfed him. Love carried those emotions all through Laurie, his toes tingling, his ears ringing, his fingers tapping. He would write to Seth later that day, and of course he'd call Agatha and his mother while Stan told Michael. Then Laurie gazed at Stanford, who had sat down, his hands clasped together on the table. Sam's back was to them, Marek too, so quickly Laurie joined Stan, gripping his hands, then releasing them. Stan stared at him, a look of terror immediately changing to appreciation. Laurie wanted to burst into laughter; instead he bit his lip, then turned around as footsteps were heard entering the room.

Frannie shook, but she also smiled as tears fell down her face. Sam was beside her before Laurie could stand, but he joined them, Marek and Stan on his heels. "Well," Laurie asked, "what do we got?"

"A beautiful little girl, oh my goodness, she's just perfect."

"When?" Marek asked.

"Born at 11:52, ten fingers, ten toes, and the brownest eyes you can imagine. About like yours Pastor," Fran laughed, wiping tears from her face.

A collective shout was raised as Sam hugged Frannie. Stan and Laurie beamed while Marek patted their shoulders. Then Laurie approached Frannie, grasping her hands. "How's Lynne?"

"She's just fine, wants to see you all in fifteen or twenty minutes. Miss Caroline Emma wants to meet you too."

"Named for her grandmothers," Sam smiled.

"Yup," Fran said, still wiping away tears. "Lynne also wants pie and custard, hope you're making it."

"It's cooking and you can tell her so." Sam laughed, then wept, still smiling. "God bless them both. Oh my goodness."

Marek stepped toward Fran, hugging her. "Give that to Lynne in the meantime."

Laurie embraced Frannie next. "Oh yeah, give her our love."

"Well, she does wanna see you all. I'll be back when she's ready. Sam, if you could call Louie, I know he'd be happy to hear the news."

"Will do."

"And Laurie, Lynne asked me to give you this." Frannie placed a tender kiss on Laurie's cheek. "Said she'd be too tired to do it herself."

He nodded, then laughed, as tears rolled down his face. "Tell her I can't wait to see them both."

Frannie smiled, then once more hugged her brother. Slipping from the room, she left an exuberant group in her wake. They were also exhausted, but giddiness trumped fatigue. Raising their coffee cups, they toasted Lynne, Baby Caroline, and their own private joys, which for Laurie was culminated by Stan at his side. He'd nearly hugged him, but at some point tomorrow he wouldn't hide his affections. Glancing at the clock, it was still Sunday, the twelfth of January, 1964, and Caroline Emma Snyder had joined their world. "Welcome home baby," Laurie said softly.

"Here, here," Sam added. Then he sighed. "Wonder what they'll call her."

Laurie pondered that too. "Well, whatever it is, it'll be amazing. Did Fran say what color hair she had?"

"I don't believe so. Brown eyes though," Marek chuckled.

"Well, Lynne has brown eyes," Sam added. Then he looked at Marek. "But then so do you."

"One for each of her uncles," Laurie smiled. "Maybe the next one will have my eyes."

Laughter was hearty, but it died quickly. Then Stanford cleared his throat. "Better for them to have yours. Mine are the color of mud."

Laurie stared at that man's plain hazel eyes, but they sparkled so brightly, Laurie couldn't help himself. He grasped Stan's hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "A very intriguing mud, I must say."

Marek grinned. "If anyone has eyes the color of mud, I believe it's me."

Laurie smiled, but was still staring at Stan, and still gripping his hand. "Well for now, let's again toast little Miss Snyder number two. My God, what's Jane gonna think?"

Sam and Marek noted their observations, but Stanford said nothing. He gazed at Laurie, a small smile forming, squeezes being shared between them. Laurie couldn't look away from those hazel eyes, which weren't like mud, but a clear running stream or the brightest rainbow. Then a newborn's cry halted all speech, making the men run to the stairs. Renee stood on the landing, a baby in her arms. "Lynne's ready for visitors," Renee called quietly. "Sam, bring four bowls of custard and three big cups of coffee please."

As Sam laughed, Laurie was first up the steps. Renee lifted the blanket, revealing a now placid girl with blonde curls. "She has her daddy's hair," Renee warbled. "Go on in, Lynne really wants to see you."

Laurie nodded, taking one more peek at the baby. "What's she calling her?"

"Cary," Renee said. "Cary, meet your Uncle Laurie."

Laurie set a light kiss on Cary's tiny forehead, noting a scent he'd never before inhaled. As he stepped away, that fragrance led him to the bedside of a woman tired and bedraggled, but so beautiful. Lynne's face was streaked with tears as Laurie sat next to her. Then she was in his arms, crying hard, laughing too. "Thank you," she muttered between sobs. "Thank you Laurie."

He was too shaken to speak, but kissed her, stroking her head, knowing a deep peace. His world was completed when Stan stood beside him, telling Lynne how lovely was her daughter and how proud of her Eric would be.
Chapter 189

A cool morning dawned on a houseful, some sleeping, some awake. Lynne and Cary dozed while Renee and Fran drank strong coffee in the Snyder kitchen, Sam at their sides. The New Yorkers were in bed, Marek snoozing on the sofa, but Louie was on his way. He would stop at the Aherns where he would collect Sally and the children, then Renee would decide what happened next. Lynne had wanted that quartet to meet the baby, although Renee and Fran would wait until Lynne and Cary woke to make those introductions. In the meantime, Renee missed her kids, and Sally had gotten a full night's rest. At least one person would be alert for the morning.

Louie would stay too, if necessary, Fran had mentioned earlier, but Renee expected Laurie to rise with plenty of energy, or enough to last until others were rested. Dr. Salters had stayed the night, permitting Renee and Fran to nap, Sam too. For the next few days, people would take turns keeping an eye on the new mother and assorted little ones. Renee smiled, then squeezed her husband and sister-in-law's hands. How different was this from when Jane arrived, but no negative connotations hovered.

Fran squeezed back, then smiled. "My goodness, what a bunch of memories we all made tonight, or last night, or...." She yawned, then shook her head. "I will say this, I am not as young as I used to be. Louie and Sally better have slept well, 'cause we're gonna need reinforcements."

"I agree," Sam chuckled. "I'm not even as youthful as I was two years ago when Jane was born."

The siblings laughed together and Renee joined them, finding peace in their happiness, for which she was grateful. Fran had stayed strong throughout Lynne's labor, and all four women wept when Cary emerged, lusty howls quieting once she was set at her mother's bosom. A few times Lynne had called for Eric, but only as though to engage his spirit. Fran had told Lynne that her husband would be home soon, conviction ringing through Fran's weary tone. Then Cary arrived, looking to Renee like a blonde, brown-eyed version of her big sister. Sam had thought the same, Lynne too. The rest could give their opinions in another few days when they would have the proper perspective from which to judge. Renee felt a little proprietary toward newborn Snyders, for only she, Sam, and Lynne had seen both from the very start.

Tears welled in Renee's eyes, yet, Eric seemed present, although Renee wasn't sure how other than in Cary's blonde fluff. Maybe it was from how Lynne asked for him, or was she merely calling to him that she was now having their baby. Could he sense it, Renee wondered. Did he even know who he was?

If he was still a hawk, then probably not. If he was himself.... But if that was the case, why wasn't he here? Now that Cary had arrived, Eric's absence seemed ghastly. Renee fought tears, then stood, wiping her eyes. "Be right back," she said, going to her feet. She headed for the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

Sam glanced at where she went, then sighed. He'd been considering Eric's whereabouts, wondering if Renee was thinking the same. Then Sam gazed at Frannie, who gripped her mug, a wide smile on her face. Sam grinned back, although he was torn. Then joy rippled through him. "What a good morning it is," he said softly.

Frannie sipped her coffee, then nodded. "It's a lot of things and that's top of the list."

Her tone was conciliatory, yet she smiled. Sam nodded, then sighed again. "You okay?"

"I am. Wasn't sure how I was gonna feel, I mean, but it really is just fine." She inhaled, placing her mug on the table as she exhaled. "If I've learned anything over the last couple of years, it's life's a constant blend of sweet and...." She looked at her cup, then at her brother. "Educational." She patted Sam's hands. "It's wonderful, and it gets more so every day. But sometimes we need a little kick in the pants to remind us how beautiful it is. We get wrapped up in the busyness, but the most precious part is just beyond our grasp, and when we let go of what we're holding, there it is, right in our arms."

She had lifted her hands from Sam's, then placed them back again. "Renee cut the cord and I was sitting beside Lynne, and when Renee brought Cary over, Lynne had me hold her first. It was just for a moment, but long enough that I.... I didn't know if I could do it, I mean, I wanted to, but I wasn't sure, and then there was a baby in my arms, crying her head off." Fran had a small laugh. "Then I gave her to her mother and Lynne knew just what to do. A woman feels awkward with a first child, but then it's so natural, and I think a baby realizes it. Babies know where they need to be. And sometimes Sam, it's not where we want them but God knows best. He knows best for all of us."

Sam nodded all through her words, a few tears falling down his face. He wanted to ask his sister how she could be so insightful, also peaceful, yet a knock on the door interrupted, children's voices greeting them. Louie and Sally both tried to shush the youngsters, but Paul and Ann were giddy. Jane stared at those close, then reached out for Sam. He took her from Sally's arms while Louie went to Fran's side, Ann and Paul asking for their mother. Jane leaned against Sam's shoulder, then called for her mother. Then she asked for pie.

"Oh my goodness," Sam said. "Pie already?"

"She's been wanting pie and Lynne all morning." Louie chuckled. "How is everyone?"

Fran stood, then hugged her husband. "Sleepy or sleeping. Actually, I'll go see how mama and baby are. There's coffee in the pot, pie on the counter. Make yourselves at home."

Louie walked to where coffee and mugs waited while Sally seated Paul and Ann at the table. Sam still held Jane, but he watched as Fran left the room, Renee meeting her at the doorway. The Ahern children clamored for their mother and Renee sat between them, offering hugs and kisses. Then Jane again asked for her mama. "You'll see her soon, and your little sister," Sam said softly, kissing Jane's cheek. "Wonder what you'll think about that."

"We were talking about the baby all morning," Sally smiled. "She can't say Cary yet, but she says baby very well."

"Baby or Cary, either one'll do." Louie sat at the table, drinking his coffee. Then he gazed at Sam. "And everything else's okay?"

"Yup," Sam said. "Couldn't be better."

"That's wonderful," Louie smiled.

"Indeed it is." Sam stepped toward his brother-in-law, then patted Louie's shoulder as Louie clasped his hands around the mug, bowing his head.

When Fran returned, Laurie was with her, asking for pie and coffee. Renee laughed, telling Laurie it was now a self-serve kitchen, and Laurie chuckled, saying that was perfectly fine. Fran took Jane from Sam's grasp, noting that Lynne was awake and wishing to see her big girl. All who had seen Cary agreed, for Jane wasn't the littlest anymore. As she snuggled against Frannie, best wishes were sent for Lynne and Cary, then Fran and Jane left the room while Laurie squeezed in between Ann and Paul. "So, what do you two think, a new baby in the family," he smiled.

"Is she a good baby?" Paul asked.

"Oh, she's very good." Sam knelt beside his son. "You'll get to meet her soon."

"She can't do very much though," Paul said. He ate some pie, then glanced at Louie. "Is Johnny coming over today?"

The adults chuckled, but Paul sighed when he was told that Johnny was in school. Then Paul looked at Renee. "Am I going to school today?"

"Not today," she answered.

"Neither am I," Sally said. "We'll play hooky together."

"What's that?" Paul asked.

"Never mind," Sam chuckled. "You'll meet Cary soon, then someone will take you and Ann home." Sally would again look after the children, then Sam gazed at Laurie, who wore a small frown. But plenty of folks were available and Lynne was in good shape, according to the doctor. Then Laurie cleared his throat, but didn't speak. Sam nodded at him as Fran's words ran through Sam's mind. Maybe schedules weren't set in stone, but meals waited in Sam's deep freezer, plenty of food in Lynne's refrigerator, and lots of coffee to shore up tired eyes. Joanie had told Sam to just call and the New Yorkers weren't leaving immediately. Sam wouldn't consider anything past that morning, for soon enough it would be afternoon, then suppertime, and Cary would be nearly one day old. Best to enjoy each moment as it came, trusting that God would provide both for the physical and emotional needs.

Stanford then entered the kitchen, looking freshly showered. Greetings were exchanged and Sally stood, getting that man some coffee. He graciously thanked her, then sat next to Louie. "How is the new mother this morning?" Stanford asked.

"She's got both of her daughters at the moment," Renee said. "Actually, I'll go see if she's hungry, or maybe Eleanor wants something." Renee patted Sam's shoulder, then left the kitchen. While she had told Laurie to get his own coffee, Sam was happy to cook a real breakfast for any and all. "So, who'd like some eggs?" he asked.

"Me please," both Stanford and Louie said, making the children giggle.

"Me too, but put me to work." Laurie stood, then joined Sam at the stove.

Within minutes, an assembly line was organized as Sam fried eggs, Sally in charge of the toaster, Laurie getting out plates. Fran returned with Jane, and orders from the ladies upstairs. Then Marek entered the kitchen, looking sleepy but offering his services. "Pastor, you sit," Fran said. "As soon as most everyone has a plate, we'll need a special grace for all the blessings under this roof."

"That I can do with ease." Marek took a chair next to Ann. "Have you met Cary yet?" he asked her.

She shook her head, but didn't speak. Sam glanced at his daughter; with so many people, Ann probably wouldn't do more than nod.

"Well, she's very little. She has blonde hair and eyes like mine." Marek chuckled. "Most babies have blue eyes, but Cary has her mother's brown eyes."

Ann stared at Marek. "Are her eyes like yours or her mama's?"

"Well, I guess you could say they're like both of us."

"Are you Aunt Lynne's brother too?"

No one spoke, then Marek had a soft chuckle. "I am; I'm her brother in Christ. In fact, we're all related in one way or another. According to your mommy, Cary looks just like Jane did, except for her coloring."

"Well, that's nice." Paul nodded, then looked around the room. "This's a lot of people for one family."

Now the adults laughed. "I've seen bigger," Louie said.

"It's just the right amount," Fran smiled, approaching her nephew. She patted Paul's cowlick, but it sprang right back up again. "I'll run breakfast upstairs and when I come back, Pastor can say grace." Fran turned around, where on the counter were two full plates. Conversation buzzed in her wake, Sam hearing Ann asking Marek if the baby liked pie. Marek replied that not yet, but soon enough. Ann thought that was good, then she asked where Jane went. As Fran returned with that girl, a new round of questions began, but of course Jane had little thought toward her new sister. She went to Marek's lap and grace was said, with prayers for a new baby and her parents offered as well. Sam ate standing up, Fran at his side, while children asked if pie was for dessert.

Dr. Salters left shortly after breakfast, noting she'd be back in a few hours. Fran and Louie took the children to Sam and Renee's, but Sally stayed at Lynne's; she and Laurie would take the next shift, with Stanford and Marek as backup. Sam and Renee would nap in the room next to where the New Yorkers might later catch forty winks, but both of those men were running on new fuel, having managed a few hours of rest after some tender love had been made. Laurie would call Agatha again, for she had wanted a full update once the day was underway. Sally did the breakfast dishes, Marek assisting, as Laurie went upstairs to check on the new mother. "Do you need anything?" he asked, sitting next to where a baby rested at Lynne's side.

"Not really." Lynne smiled, then gazed at her daughter. "It's funny, because at this point after Jane was born, I thought I'd never recover." She giggled, then winced. "I'm achy, but it's different this time. Not so debilitating."

"Better you than me," Laurie smiled.

Lynne chuckled, then grimaced. "Don't make me laugh. Actually, I think she wants her uncle."

Laurie carefully picked up the baby, then kissed Cary's forehead. "I hear she looks just like Jane, other than her hair and eye color."

"She does. Which probably sounds silly, she's pretty squished looking. But maybe they'll look like each other."

"Maybe." Then Laurie sighed. "I thought it was special being here a few days after Jane arrived. I can't tell you what it's like now." He cradled the baby close. "She's just so damned beautiful."

"I fully agree." Lynne met Laurie's gaze. "And I meant what I said last night. I know it's been a long few months, but I don't know what I would've done without you."

"I can honestly say it was and still is my absolute pleasure." He stared at the baby, then back to Lynne. "And equally, I don't know how the hell I'm gonna leave here."

She smiled. "It won't be easy, but...."

"He asked me, Saturday night, if I'd come home." Laurie grinned, then grew somber. "Like he had to make sure I was going back. I told him of course I'd go home. But now, Christ." He stared again at the sleeping infant. "I keep thinking about...." Laurie hesitated. "Eric. I can't help it, I mean, this's so, so...."

"He's here Laurie, he really is."

Laurie glanced around the room, then met Lynne's hopeful eyes. "Well, I'm glad one of us thinks so."

She smiled. "At times last night I felt so alone, I missed him so much, and then suddenly it was like he was right beside me. And the closer the time came for Cary to be born, the more I felt him. And then she was here, and so was he. I don't know how to explain it other than that. I hope he felt that too, but I did, and I still do. He's right here." She placed her hand over her heart, then touched the knitted cap on Cary's head. "And her too, she's a blonde with brown eyes, can you imagine?" Lynne giggled, then groaned, then smiled again. "And when he sees her for the first time, she'll still have these pale curls and dark eyes, and maybe she'll be a little bigger, but not too big. Jane asked for her daddy, for the baby's daddy, and I told her soon. And I have to believe that Laurie. You'll go home, Eric'll come back, and...."

Lynne reached for Laurie's hand. "We'll be all right, don't worry. But I do have a question, for you and Stanford both."

"Anything," Laurie said, blinking tears from his eyes.

"Eric and I never talked about this, but I know he'd feel the same. I'm gonna ask Renee and Sam to be Cary's godparents. But I'd also like her to have some extras because there's so much for her to know." Lynne smiled. "I'd be so pleased if you and Stanford would be her godfathers. I wanna ask Fran and Louie too. You think about it and...."

Laurie nodded, then placed Cary on the mattress, wiping his eyes. "Oh Lynne, that would be an honor, Jesus Christ, absolutely!" He gazed at Cary, who didn't seem startled by his outburst. Then he laughed quietly. "I'm sure Stan'll agree, after a minute or two. Yes, please, count us among the godparents."

"Oh Laurie, thank you. I don't know if I'll have her baptized soon or.... I'd rather wait, just a bit. Jane was six weeks old, so we'll see in a month what's happened." Lynne beamed, then she breathed deeply. "Do you think you could be here for it, I mean, I know you'll have just been home a short time, but...."

"Oh honey, wild horses couldn't keep us away."

She nodded, her mouth trembling. "Good, oh that's so good."

Laurie placed his hand along Cary's side. "I have to tell you something, and maybe you'll think I'm turning into a sentimental old man, but last night I was scared shitless, I mean...." He laughed as Lynne smiled. "About how I was gonna leave here. I knew I couldn't break my promise to you, and I do wanna go home, but it was like how in the hell can I go, how on earth would that be possible? I was still feeling that way this morning, hell, I was feeling that way two minutes ago. But now it's like, don't worry Abrams. You'll be back in less than two months and maybe you'll even get to hold this little beauty while Marek works his Lutheran magic." Laurie chuckled while Lynne did the same. "Although I'm sure Renee'll have other ideas, but if she's feeling generous, I'd love to be the one holding Cary when that occurs."

Lynne nodded. "I don't think Renee will mind. Oh Laurie, I love you so and, and...." She began to cry, but her smile shone. "You're such a part of my family, of our family. Eric would want you here because, because...." She sniffled, then kissed her daughter's head. "You were the first we told and there was a reason for that, because of now. I want my girls to know just how special is their Uncle Laurie and their Uncle Stanford. Are you sure he won't mind, I mean...."

"He'll be shocked, then very pleased with himself." Laurie stood, then sat, leaning over, kissing the top of Lynne's head. "You mind if I go tell him?"

"Not at all. Bring him in here, that way it'll stay just between us for now. I'll tell Renee and Sam next, then the Canfields."

"Just like how we all learned about the girl here." Laurie caressed Cary's head. "Good God Lynne, I'm gonna have to call Agatha and my mother again. Neither's gonna know what to say."

"Well, if there's any way Agatha could be persuaded to travel...."

Laurie burst into laughter, waking the baby. As she whimpered, he picked her up, cuddling her. "We'll see. How could she resist?" Once Cary was quiet, he laid her next to Lynne. "Let me go get Stan and you can tell him. I wanna see his reaction."

Laurie reached the door, then turned back, watching how Lynne murmured to her baby. His heart raced, but peace was the result of such excitement. Leaving would still be hard, but not impossible if they were returning in a matter of weeks. As he stepped from the room, he shivered. Would Eric be away that long? Then Laurie closed his eyes, saying a prayer. As he reached the downstairs, he motioned for Stan, who had been reading, although it looked more like Stan was falling asleep. Laurie only said that Lynne wished to speak to them both. Stan sat up, then stood, coming to Laurie's side. As they took the stairs, Stan led, Laurie smiling all the way behind him.
Chapter 190

All day Saturday, John had felt something ominous was approaching, but he recalled nothing new, nor did Susie Bolden arrive with information regarding his family. On Sunday, John again sensed his wife was very near, but as the Richardsons left for church, nobody intruded. Walt had noted they might not be home anytime soon; Dora's mother had invited them for lunch. As the morning passed, John grew pensive, then he took a walk around the back acreage. The day was dry, although cool. Susie had brought John some better-fitting clothes, but he wore Walt's old coat, which Dora had taken in along the sides. It still hung on John, letting in some of the stiff breeze. He didn't use the right sleeve, perhaps that permitted the wind's intrusion. He trekked along the property's perimeter, then returned to the shed, wondering if he was once again a father.

John lay down for a nap, but it was interrupted by strange noises outside. He sat up suddenly, which made his shoulder ache, but he stayed quiet, hearing footsteps. He had no idea who it might be, other than perhaps the boy with whom Luke had gone the day President Kennedy was shot, which John had decided was probably the same day he'd been wounded. John wished to call out, but as the footsteps reached the front of the shed, he chose to surprise the visitor. Silently he moved to the door, then someone took a deep breath. John waited a few seconds, then as the knock came, he flung open the door, finding a chastened-looking youngster turning away.

"Hello," John said. "Are you searching for somebody?"

The boy shook his head, then trembled. "Luke said there weren't nobody here, he said...." The boy swallowed hard, then frowned, although John felt the youngster was more scared than angry. "Who're you and why're you hiding in this shed?"

"Who are you?" John asked, gripping his bad arm. "And do you always go snooping after folks leave for church?"

"I'm not snooping," the boy said, staring at John's right side.

"I think you're most definitely snooping, perhaps spying even."

"I ain't!"

"Are you Hiram?" John kept his voice flat.

The boy nodded, then immediately shook his head.

"Well, are you or aren't you?"

"I'm, my name's...." He paused, then smiled. "Fred, I'm Fred."

"Fred who? Luke's spoken of most of his classmates, but I've never heard him mention a Fred before."

The boy grimaced. "All right, I'm Hiram. But I didn't shoot you." The boy looked apologetic, also wary. "Rumors been going round, but I ain't never shot nobody."

John nodded, wondering if Walt knew that John's presence had been leaked, or maybe it was only this boy who was aware. John assumed Hiram had pulled the trigger, although now looking at the child, it wasn't done in malice, or not premeditated. Hiram was indeed frightened, but he used anger to deflect his fear. "Well, someone shot me," John said softly. "I'll never use my right arm again."

He released that limb, which hung limply at his side. John stepped into the doorway, allowing Hiram a full view of the damage. The boy gasped, then then moved back. "Oh mister, that looks just...." Hiram met John's eyes. The child was petrified, all fury diffused.

"Next time you think about shooting anything, you think about this. I hear you were trying to shoot birds. Unless you were planning on eating those birds, for what good reason would you shoot them?"

"I, I, I dunno sir, I didn't mean you no harm, I was just gonna...." Hiram shook his head. "It was Luke's fault. He wanted to shoot something and pestered me day and night, yes he did. And then, then...." Hiram bit his lip, tears falling from his eyes. "But I didn't mean no harm, no sir. I never meant to...."

Hiram had backed away and John stepped toward him. "How old are you son?"

Hiram couldn't stop staring at John's right side. "Eleven, sir."

"Eleven years old is far too young to be handling weapons, unless you or someone you love is starving or in harm's way. You never know who you might hurt."

Hiram nodded, then sighed. "We was just gonna shoot some squirrels."

"Well, you shot me instead."

Hiram shook his head. "No, I never saw nobody, just that...."

"That what?"

Hiram met John's gaze. "That hawk, it was just a hawk, but, but...."

As Hiram spoke, John trembled. "A what?"

"Luke saw it up in the tree. He was getting all scaredy cat on me, but dangit, we'd already skipped school and...." Hiram crossed his arms over his chest. "That dang hawk was staring at me like he was so much better than me. Stupid old bird." Hiram huffed, then kicked the ground. Then he gazed right at John. "No old bird's gonna get the better of me, not when...."

"But you didn't shoot a hawk," John said, although something within him felt deeply aggrieved. "You shot me."

Hiram dropped his arms to his sides, then stared at the ground. "Well, if I did shoot you, I never meant to."

"But why'd you wanna kill the hawk? What had it done to you?"

Now Hiram looked up, his dark eyes shining. "It was just sitting on that damn branch, staring like it thought it was so much better than me. And I, I...." Hiram jammed his hands into his sides. "Who are you anyways, and why're you in Luke's daddy's shed?"

"To be perfectly honest, I don't know who I am. I can't remember anything." John nearly said this was also Hiram's fault, but he didn't believe the damage to his right arm was linked to his amnesia.

Hiram's eyes went wide. "Whatdya mean you don't know who you is?"

"I have no idea where I'm from, how I got here, or what my name is."

The boy tapped his foot, again folding his arms over himself. "Well that's right strange. Hmmm...." He looked all around, then back at John. "Makes no sense, none t'all."

"I agree. Just like shooting a bird just because it was staring at you."

Hiram glanced at John, nearly offering a retort. Then the boy sighed. "It had a mean gaze."

"Maybe it felt you wanted to hurt it for no good reason."

"Well, it was staring at me first."

"Did I stare at you that way?"

Hiram had been ready to continue the argument, then he shook his head. "I ain't never seen you before in my life."

"That makes two of us. But if you didn't shoot me, who did?"

"I don't know sir."

The way Hiram said sir reminded John so much of Luke, yet it was the only way the boys' behaviors were related. Perhaps it was a southern element; respecting one's elders was so ingrained, but Hiram possessed much anger within him. "Can I ask you something Hiram?"

"You can ask," he said slowly.

John wore a small smile, also wondering if that statement was regional. "Has someone made you...." John carefully considered how to phrase the rest of his sentence. "Feel like they don't respect you?"

Hiram pondered this, then he nodded.

John nodded too. "Sometimes when someone makes us feel bad, we wanna take it out on someone else. But shooting a hawk, or anything else unless you're gonna eat it, isn't the way to get back at that person. Not that you should try to get back at them, that won't solve the problem. But taking it out on something helpless isn't the answer either."

"But...." Hiram raised his hands in the air, then shook his head. "Mister, I'm sorry your arm's all messed up, but I didn't shoot you." Then Hiram shoved his hands into his pockets. "How long you gonna stay here, in Luke's shed, I mean."

"Until I know who I am, or my family finds me."

"Hmmm, well, yeah, there is that." Hiram kicked the ground again. "Listen mister, I won't tell nobody about you if you don't tell nobody you think it was me who shot you. Not that I did shoot you, you understand. That sound fair?"

John nodded. "On one condition."

"What?"

"That you don't shoot any more animals unless you're gonna take them home for supper."

"But...."

John stepped toward Hiram. "You see this?" He pointed at his right arm. "Do you know how much it hurts? It's not just that I can't do anything with it, but every day and every night I'm in pain. Even if you don't kill an animal, if you wound it, it will always feel that until eventually it wishes it was dead. Now maybe someone made you feel bad and that's a terrible thing to do to a person. But you're a human being, and you can go to that person and tell them what they did was wrong. But animals can't do that. Do you want some bird or rabbit or squirrel going around feeling that way?"

At first John's words weren't fully comprehended. Then Hiram started nodding, tears falling down his face. "No sir, I don't want that sir."

"All right then. You keep quiet about me, I'll keep mum about you, and you don't go shooting anything but tin cans, all right?"

"Yes sir, I'm sorry sir!" Hiram nodded, then turned around, at first walking away, but by the time he reached the front of the Richardson's house, he was running. John remained there until Hiram reached the main road, going left toward Karnack.

The Richardsons didn't return until mid-afternoon. Dora apologized, then asked if she could fix John a late lunch. He smiled, noting that he'd made a sandwich, but that he would certainly be hungry come suppertime.

Luke and Tilda spoke of their afternoon, but John didn't mention his visitor until Walt appeared, sending the kids inside the house. Walt also extended his regrets for their delayed return, but Walt sounded more sorry for himself than for John, which made John smile. "What," he asked, "don't you and Miss Hannah get along?"

Walt rolled his eyes. "Usually, but all she wanted to talk about was the, um, babies." Walt sat on the metal chair, then cleared his throat. "Got kinda tiresome after while."

"I imagine." John wondered what had been harder for Walt to acknowledge, the notion of twins or that John's own child was due any time. "Well, seems like those babies are doing all right."

"Yeah, I must admit, maybe." Then Walt sighed. "How was your day?"

"I had a guest."

"Callie come by?"

"No, a boy by the name of Hiram."

Walt stared at John, then coughed. "Are you serious?"

"Yes I am."

Walt stood, then cracked his knuckles. "What'd he say?"

"He wanted to know who I was. Obviously, that wasn't a satisfactory conversation." John couldn't hide a smile. "I told him I thought he was the one who shot me. That sobered him up pretty quickly."

"You told him that?"

"Uh-huh. We made a deal; he says he won't tell anyone I'm here, and I won't mention that he did this." John looked at his right arm. "I also told him to stop hunting animals unless he was starving. We'll see if he keeps that part of the bargain."

"Good Lord." Walt sighed, then sat down again. "I can't believe he came round here."

"I accused him of snooping. He didn't like that much. A pretty angry little boy." John hesitated, but needed the truth. "Does his father beat him?"

Walt nodded.

"I figured. I tried to point out that taking out one's anger on somebody else doesn't do anyone any good. Not sure he understood, but he did get what I meant about hurting others for no reason."

"Well, I'll tell ya, some folks got to know you're here, I mean, I'm shocked nobody's asked. Callie says no one's asked him neither. But Hiram came here this morning. Hmmm." Walt scratched his head. "Gonna hafta see what happens tomorrow at work."

"Will his father ask about me?"

"Doubt it. Did Hiram, I mean, he have a black eye or anything?"

John winced, then shook his head.

"Well, if he ain't sporting marks, Pop has no idea. Pop ever find out Hiram shot anybody, even an outsider, he'd kill that boy."

Now John felt nauseous and his left foot ached. He stood, wondered if it was a cramp, but the pain resonated near his ankle. He bent it back and forth, but still a sense of agony persisted. "Well, I made it pretty clear that I knew he'd been the one to cause this." John again glanced at his right shoulder, but for some odd reason his ankle ached more. "I can't imagine he'd tell anyone about it, or about me for that matter."

"Hiram's no dummy, but he's just a kid. Like I said, I'll keep my ears open."

John nodded, sitting down. "Just wanted you to know."

"Pop don't never come to church. Sometimes Essie brings Hiram, although neither was there today."

"Is Essie his mother?"

Walt sighed. "Essie is Pop's third wife. Norma was Hiram's mama, she died not long after having him. Which might've been the best for Norma, but not Hiram. Anyways, Pop don't beat up too much on Essie, she don't stand for it. Not sure why she stays with him, but he beats the.... Hey now, you okay?"

John had leaned over, putting his head between his knees. Deep breaths didn't lessen the nausea, nor did thinking about anything else. John kept coming back to Hiram's anger at the hawk, then to a strange sensation as if he could hear Hiram yelling at that bird. John wondered if he had been abused as a child, or God forbid, had he hurt his own....

"Hey now, listen here! You ain't nothing like Pop Bellevue, so git that right outta your head. Pop's a crazy bastard, surprised ain't nobody taken him out to be truthful. A few's threatened, but Pop's always one step ahead. Now listen, I mean it, you just...."

"How do you know I haven't done something similar to my...." John didn't think he had, but it would explain why none of his family had found him. Yet, if that was true, why did he also feel his wife missed him, was praying for him, that she did love him? "Oh God, I just need to know who I am, why I'm here, why...." He inhaled sharply, then exhaled, gagging. The scent of bird was as though Walt had brought a dead hawk into the shed.

John looked around, but it was only the two of them. He breathed in deeply, but the smell had vanished. Then he stared at Walt. "Why do you think I haven't done anything to my wife?"

"Two things; one, you keep saying you think she still loves you. Now Pop's the kinda man who can forget on a dime, but I don't think you are."

"Oh you don't, huh?"

"Well, not stuff like that. You know what I mean." Walt frowned, then he sighed.

"What's the other?" John challenged.

"The other is Susie's never wrong. If she thought you was trouble, I'd have driven you to the state line ages ago."

"Has she said anything you haven't told me?"

"Nope."

"I hope she has some news soon." Then John sighed. "Sorry, maybe you don't like that kind of thinking, but right now I'd take any scrap."

"I understand. And I'll say this. If Susie thinks, well, if she knows something, she'll come tell you. Or Callie'll pass along the news." Walt said that with conviction, then he grumbled, standing up. "Dora's got supper cooking. Again, sorry we're so late."

"Sorry to be such a...." John went to his feet, looking Walt in the eye. "Pain in your backside."

Walt nodded, then smirked. "At least my life ain't boring no more."

"And in summer, boring will be the last thing you'll imagine."

John spoke confidently. He had to believe the twins would be all right, although he understood Walt's pessimism. Or maybe it had turned to guarded optimism. But now that Hiram had entered the equation, Walt was again leaning toward the negative side of the scale. John didn't blame him; Hiram might have agreed to John's compromise, but he was just a boy. If his father had any idea of what Hiram had done.... John prayed for that child, then for his own family. Maybe tomorrow he might hear from Susie Bolden. He hoped so, and that his first visit with Hiram Bellevue was also his last.
Chapter 191

All day at work Walt considered John's weekend visitor. Shortly before closing time, Pop Bellevue stopped by the garage, but he didn't give Walt any notice. Pop argued with Walt's boss, who promptly told Pop to leave. Pop grumbled, still not paying Walt any mind. Walt drove home relieved that at least for now Hiram's father remained in the dark about John.

When Walt reached his driveway, Callie was just pulling onto the main road. Walt rolled down his window, finding a wide smile on Callie's face. "Well, whatdya know?" Walt asked.

"Seems John's a father again. Little girl, born late last night." Callie chuckled, then grew somber. But his joy couldn't be hidden, for he laughed again. "Never seen that fellow look so happy, thankful too. Course, don't know much past that, but at least he don't hafta fret about that no more."

Walt smiled, although a small part of him inwardly flinched. He wished Susie had news to share with Dora about the twins, but strangely, Susie hadn't revealed any hint to whether they would survive. Sometimes Walt thought about the babies John had mentioned, but rare were the moments he also pondered those infants' faith. All he wanted to do now was gauge John's mood. And tell him that so far Hiram had kept his part of their bargain.

He also wanted to share that news with Callie, but as Callie gripped the steering wheel, then cautiously stared at Walt, maybe he already knew. "Well, that's good to hear," Walt said slowly. "He take it all right?"

Callie nodded. "Was a little quiet at first, I mean, just 'cause he wasn't there. Then he smiled, acted as if he might have known it already. Then he...." Callie gazed at Walt. "Told me about Hiram Bellevue coming by yesterday. You see Pop today?"

"I did. Didn't seem to know a thing about it." Or not yet, Walt nearly added, but could see that thought on Callie's anxious face.

"Well, we'll see how long that lasts. Hopefully he'll be far away before Hiram opens his big...." Callie cleared his throat, then inhaled deeply. "I better git. Susie and the girls are waiting."

"Give them my best and Callie...." Walt wanted to say thanks, but something held him back. "See you in a day or three."

"Yup." Callie rolled up his window, turning onto the main road. Walt watched him leave, then pulled into the driveway, his heart feeling lighter than it had all day.

Over dinner the adults didn't speak about Callie's news. Glances darted over the children's heads, although a few times John thought Luke might ask what was going on. Yet the boy remained quiet, his blue eyes giving John pause. He had a baby girl, but other than she was born sometime late Sunday evening, he knew no more about her. John was grateful for the information, but he did wish Susie had come, maybe hearing it straight from her might have elicited a spark of knowledge; had John and his wife discussed names? Callie didn't say why Susie hadn't joined him, although he apologized for only now getting round with the news. Callie had looked weary, and it was nearly suppertime. Finishing his last bite, John chastised himself; Callie had worked hard all day, his own supper delayed by stopping at the Richardsons'. Then John sighed inwardly. Callie worked his small farm, while Susie taught in the area's only school for Negro children. Their lives were far from leisurely, often fraught with danger. John possessed no sense that he'd lived in a similar manner, then he shivered. He must have to have been shot at Caddo Lake.

What sort of man was he, John mused, as Luke, Tilda, and Esther asked to be excused from the table. He was now a father of two daughters, which made him smile, then he frowned. One of those children was starting off with no father at all. Would he get back to his family or might he continue living in Walt's shed? John wanted to celebrate Callie's news, but many uncertainties clouded that announcement. John gazed at Gail, who smiled at him. John wished to pick her up, but she wasn't his child.

"Thank you for the fine supper," John said to Dora. She nodded at him, her eyes misty. He wondered if perhaps she had been observing him, for she tended to Gail, who had finished her meal. Dora looked at Walt, who then took Gail from her tall seat. Sometimes Walt would put his youngest on his lap, but that evening he set Gail to the floor. She didn't clamor for her parents, but walked to where her siblings had gathered near the sofa. Their voices were a pleasant hum as Luke read aloud comics from the newspaper. Only Tilda understood, but her gentle laughter stirred Esther's, and soon Gail giggled alongside them. John relished their collective delight, for he couldn't deny how it wound into him. He had spent time around other happy families, for these sounds were echoes to his past. Maybe they were related to his best friend's family, large Catholic groups with whom John must have spent considerable time.

He wanted to discuss that with someone, but neither Dora nor Walt would have been appropriate. Maybe the next time Callie stopped by, but perhaps such realizations were only for John to ponder. He knew so little that what he did recall felt to fill his entire head. And now at the top of that rather small pile was a baby girl, born on January twelfth. John stood, then took his plate to the sink, as had become his custom. At first Dora had complained, but John had retorted that it was the least he could do. Usually afterwards, John might sit in a chair near the window while Esther and Gail played quietly, Luke and Tilda now helping their mother wash dishes. That night John merely nodded to Dora and Walt. Then he slipped out the front door, walking slowly to the shed.

Twenty minutes later, Walt knocked. He had kept his eye on John throughout the meal, also wondering if Luke might ask what was between the adults. But Luke hadn't said anything to his father after John left, other than hoping Mr. Doe had a good night's sleep. The way Luke still called John Mr. Doe resonated within Walt. Long after John found his way home, Luke would recall their mysterious guest, but hopefully those memories would be pleasant ones.

"Come in," John called. Walt entered the shed, finding John seated on the edge of his bed. Walt didn't speak immediately, instead pulling the metal chair from the table, placing it a couple of feet from where John sat. Walt took that seat, then cracked his knuckles. He remained quiet while John tapped his right foot.

"Sorry I didn't stay longer," John began, still tapping his foot. "Did you see Hiram's father today?"

"Yup. Didn't seem to know a thing." Previously Walt had endured few scenes with Pop, who was a good twenty years older than Walt. "If he'd had something to say, he would've said it."

"Well, that's good to know." John's tone was weary and Walt nearly stood, offering his goodnights. Then John met Walt's gaze. "I was thinking about that most of the day, well, that and...." John sighed, cracking the faintest hint of a smile. "I will say I was sure happy when Callie arrived."

"I imagine." Walt permitted a small grin. "Congratulations are in order."

"Yeah, I guess." Then John cleared his throat. "I was trying to think if we'd talked about names, my wife and me, but nothing rang a bell. Guess it's enough to know I have another daughter."

"Two girls will keep you plenty busy," Walt smiled.

"Yeah, one of these days." John stood, then faced the window, but it was dark out. He kept his back to Walt. "I'm glad to know, I mean, don't get me wrong." He turned toward Walt, an odd look on John's face. "But it's like wondering about something that has no bearing on my life today." He turned back to the window. "I'm not there with them, I'm...." He sighed deeply, then looked at Walt. "I suppose someday I will be, better than thinking I won't, but in the meantime...."

"You wonder about what you're missing. I felt the same while I was in Korea. Not that we had any kids yet, but just how were Dora and my folks. Every day felt like the longest I'd ever lived."

John sat down. "You never talk about your parents."

"They died about five years ago, Dad first, then Mama. Both got the flu, went one right after the other."

"Do you have any siblings?"

"Nope, just me."

John nodded, then sported what to Walt was again the hint of a smile. "I don't have any either. Neither does my wife. For years it was just us, I mean...." He paused, then his eyes were wide. "And I mean just us, like something had happened that nobody else knew about." John looked around the small shed, then met Walt's gaze. "Maybe that's why nobody's found me yet. She's been pregnant and there wasn't anyone else to look for me."

"See, I told you there was a reason." Walt hid his hesitation. If this man's best friend was Catholic, there must be plenty out looking for him.

"Yeah, maybe." John chuckled, then shook his head. "But that doesn't make sense. If I was missing, wouldn't she've...."

Now John looked past Walt, but Walt didn't mind. "She's been busy. And now she's really got her hands full." Walt's tone was light. "When you get back, better expect to lend the hand you got. Might only be one, but it'll be much appreciated."

John nodded, then stared at Walt. "Do you think I'm gonna get home?"

"Of course," Walt laughed. "Like I said, you can't live in this shed the rest of your life."

"Oh no?"

"Nope. Where'm I gonna put Luke come summer? He can't keep sharing a room with a buncha girls. And speaking of which, about time for me to say goodnight." Walt stood, putting the metal chair back at the table. "You just concentrate on the good news you learned today. Tomorrow'll have enough of its own to deal with."

As Walt reached the door, John cleared his throat. "Thanks, I mean, for everything you've done."

Walt turned back. "Wish I could say it's my pleasure. And in a way, I guess it has been." Walt smiled. "Never had such a diversion, but then like you said, my life's never gonna be boring again."

"No, I don't think it will," John smiled.

Walt rolled his eyes, then waved. "See you tomorrow."

"Most likely," John said, as Walt stepped from the shed, closing the door behind him.

As an amnesic slept another night in Karnack, an American spent another day in Tel Aviv. Seth had received a brief phone call yesterday, his mother sharing news that Rose had given to Wilma. The Snyders had another daughter, named for her mother. Seth had been surprised to receive the information so readily; he had expected a letter from Laurie to be how he learned of the baby's arrival. And he still presumed a note was on its way, with more details than his mother had offered. Seth stared at a lump of clay on his worktable; they might call the baby some variation of Lynne, however Seth couldn't imagine what that might be. In another week he would know, and until then he carried the distinct pleasure that Eric was again a father.

Having not yet met Eric's wife, Seth concentrated on how Eric might be taking the news. He wasn't sure how he knew that Eric was indeed aware, but no longer was Seth troubled by what most would label as conjecture. Not that he'd discussed it with Tovah or Ben, or even Dr. Margolis. Someday he hoped to talk about it with Eric, although just when that might occur was as hazy as when Seth would return to America or Eric to his family. Seth spent his time fully present in where he was, which at that moment was at an artist's studio not far from where he still lived, with his cousin and her husband. But Seth had outgrown their small house when it came to his work. Now he spent much of his time around other artists who gathered in an airy loft where conversations were spoken in a mix of tongues. Fortunately for Seth, most of it was in English, although Tovah teased he was starting to pick up Hebrew.

Seth had smiled at her declarations, for he was hopeless with that language, relying on his cousin or Ben to translate when no other English speakers were close. Most of the time he got by fine with one language, his gift with clay his main outlet of expression. Initially his talent had seemed rusty, but several figurines had been completed, most already sold. He'd tried to give the money to Tovah, but she had refused. Seth used those earnings to rent a space in this studio, also to buy more supplies. Aunt Shelia and Uncle Mickey had paid for his ticket to Israel, but Seth would make his own way home.

When he thought of home, Brooklyn immediately came to mind, but just as quickly he considered a place never before visited, yet from Laurie's letters, the Snyder residence seemed like another extension of Seth's life. He gazed at where he stood, in a brightly lit large room, surrounded by others of a similar mindset. Creation buzzed in this space, be it via clay or paints and canvases. Seth had never previously worked so closely with others, and he fed off their energies. One woman in particular had caught his attention; Adrienne Ross was a painter who primarily used watercolors. She was younger than Seth, also spoke with a heavy Scottish accent. Sometimes they went for coffee during the afternoons, during which times Seth found himself captivated by her melodious voice, missing most of what she said. It had taken him four such outings to discern she had come to Israel on a dare from her older brother. That had been three years ago, and she had no plans to return to Glasgow.

All Seth had shared was that he was from New York, living with a transplanted relative. In a way, to say more would be diving back into a life Seth felt was no longer his to live. Eric had been right; Seth had needed to completely set aside his past, and what better place to do so than in a still emerging nation where many of the occupants were trying to do the same. But Adrienne was of a different generation, or she seemed that way to Seth. Her youth was part of it; she couldn't be more than twenty-five. Growing up in a part of Europe basically unspoiled by the war was another. She possessed no memories of overt hardship, or of gross anti-Semitism. She had a casual laugh, which meshed well with her light brown hair and green eyes. Her eyes did remind Seth a little of Laurie, but her gender and that thick accent made those irises all her own.

She wasn't like any woman he'd known before, or maybe he had been so mired in depression he'd never seen women past their immediate attributes. Other than Norah, Seth hadn't experienced any romantic attachment since his early teens. Not that Seth was attracted to Adrienne, although she was pretty. He merely found her interesting, as well as her choice of location. Yet her artwork reflected her heritage, landscapes depicting Glasgow scenes and those of vast green fields, which made Seth wonder if her family raised sheep. He glanced in her direction and she met his gaze with an inviting smile. Seth grinned back, then headed her way.

"So what are you working on today?" she asked as he came near. Then she giggled. "Don't tell me it's another hawk."

"No, I've exhausted that series." He had made several versions of Eric, selling all of them. "Actually I think you're going to be my next subject. A woman and her easel could be very interesting."

"Impossible," she said. "How in the world would you sculpt all this?"

She pointed to her work area, then crossed her arms over herself. Then she smiled at Seth like a challenge had been issued. He laughed as a strange mirth rose within his chest. "It'll be a surprise," he said softly, sitting on a nearby stool. "You always seem lost in another world when you're sitting here. Do you think of home when you paint?"

"This's home," she said quietly.

"Is it?"

Adrienne sighed, then pulled back her hair, letting it fall over her shoulders. Seth gazed at the floor, shivering as he did so. Watching her, he knew the same feeling as when Norah had touched his hands, a sensation so rarely explored that now stirred, he felt awkward. Yet he didn't move away, for she hadn't answered his question. Maybe she had, during one of their coffee breaks, but he hadn't paid attention. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't mean to pry."

She stared at him, then offered a smile. "Seems you haven't listened to much of what I've said previously, guess I don't feel like repeating myself."

He chuckled. "Well, I'm so engrossed by your accent. It's like listening to...."

His heart pounded, for it was similar to how Eric had communicated. How had that man, as a hawk, shared so much? Seth cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, perhaps that came off as rude. It's just that I've never met anyone from Scotland. I assumed you were going back at some point."

She sighed, then stared into the room. "I could, I mean, it's not like there's anything keeping me here." She brushed lint from her slacks. Then she looked at Seth. "You haven't been listening to me all this time."

Her tone was plaintive, striking Seth deeply. Then he inhaled sharply, as if Eric was near, placing more pearls of wisdom into his head. Norah's approach had been direct, but she was much older than Adrienne, also with a clear purpose to her actions. Seth wanted to laugh; Adrienne looked wounded and only now did he realize their chats over coffee had meant far more to her than the value he had gleaned. "You're right, I wasn't really listening to your words." His tone was sincere, then he smiled. "You just sound so incredibly Scottish. How in the world are you here?"

"I told you the last time we had coffee." Now she batted her eyelashes. "Don't tell me you didn't hear a thing I said."

He didn't mind her flirting, for now she had his attention, and it was what he deserved. "Maybe I could take you to supper to make up for my extremely boorish behavior, which is all in the past, I assure you."

She nodded. "I'd like that very much."

"I would too." He ached to grasp her hand, wondering how soft was her skin. He also was curious as to her age. "How old are you?"

She gaped at him, then grinned. "How old do you think I am?"

He rolled his eyes, then wanted to laugh at himself. "Well, I know you're younger than me."

"And you're...."

For years, he'd felt positively aged. "I'm thirty-four." Saying that, he noted how her eyebrows shot up. "What, do I look older?"

"No, you look...." She took a breath, then let it out slowly. "So much younger."

"Really?" He kept his voice flat, but again his heart throbbed. "Well, that's nice to hear, but the truth is...."

She reached for his hand, an electric shock felt by both, but neither flinched as Adrienne then gripped Seth with force. "I'm twenty-three. You don't think that's too young, do you?"

He shook his head, setting his other hand on top of hers. "You came over here at twenty, that's pretty young."

She giggled. "I guess you were listening."

"A little. A dare from your brother, if I recall."

She nodded, but glanced at the floor.

"Why don't we continue this tomorrow night?" He released her hand, not wanting to appear pushy. Yet her interest in him was obvious, and to Seth's surprise, his curiosity was also piqued, then he smiled. He was far more than curious, as though a veil had been removed.

"I'm busy tomorrow," Adrienne said. "What about Monday?"

"Monday would be lovely." He asked where she lived, then chuckled as it was just blocks from Tovah and Ben's home. "I'll come for you at six, if that's all right."

She smiled, then again grasped his hand. He clutched hers within both of his, staring at her green eyes. They weren't as vibrant as Laurie's, but just as familiar. Seth kissed the back of her hand, then stood, leaving her speechless. He returned to his work station, clearing his table, then gazed across the room. Adrienne sat quietly, her hands clasped in her lap, her head bowed as if in prayer.
Chapter 192

By Cary's fourth day, routines had been established, although they were fluid depending on who was slated to visit. Laurie and Stanford were Lynne's mainstays, but the Aherns, Fran, Marek, and Sam's sister Joan traded shifts, providing Lynne time to recuperate as well as giving Jane some much needed attention. She was adjusting well to the newcomer, but a few times she had wept uncontrollably, only soothed by her mother, Laurie, or Renee. Twice she had called for her daddy, but to the relief of all she wasn't placated by Laurie, Stanford, Sam, or Marek. When Jane grew that inconsolable, Lynne tended to her eldest, quietly reminding Jane that Daddy would be home as soon as possible.

Laurie noted to Stan how rare were the instances Jane had previously asked for her father, but Laurie carefully chose his words, for he hadn't wanted to infer how much time he'd spent out west or Eric's continuing absence. That the New Yorkers had been made Cary's godfathers had deeply affected Stan, and of course Laurie was thrilled for such a position. Renee had already told Laurie he'd be the one holding Cary during that ceremony, which Lynne had decided would be held on Easter Sunday, just as Jane had been baptized. No one mentioned whether or not Eric would be present, but the Canfields and McCampbells would attend, and Laurie thought Agatha might consider flying west. She had been so pleased for Laurie and Stan's inclusion in Cary's life, but the notion of not spending Easter with her own kin was much to consider. Laurie had written another letter to Seth detailing all this news, although he'd omitted Jane's few tantrums. But Laurie felt her outbursts were auspicious; if the painter's own daughter was asking for him, of course he had to come home.

If Laurie knew where to look, he'd leave at once, but Eric could be anywhere, and unless he was human again.... Laurie hadn't spoken of that to Stanford, but yesterday he'd raised that subject with Sam when the men were alone in the kitchen. Sam felt the same, yet they had nothing upon which to even start a search. Sam said he'd gone to mass that morning, lighting a candle for Eric, but Sam's tone hadn't been overly distressed. He'd smiled at Laurie, looking a lot like his oldest sister. Laurie appreciated Fran's acceptance of his relationship with Stan, as well as garnering a healthy respect for her depth of faith. For all she'd suffered over the last few years, a smile usually graced her face, which often put Laurie's fears to rest.

While he didn't worry too much about Eric, Laurie was acutely aware that his time on this side of the country was coming to an end. Stan hadn't broached their return to Manhattan, although Laurie's mother had pointedly asked for a date. Now that they knew when the baptism would occur, it was merely a matter of Laurie feeling that Lynne was recovered enough to take over her role as mother to.... One child had been a lot for her to manage alone, and while Cary needed very little at this point, she also required more than just Lynne. Laurie always heard that newborn's cries whether he was in the kitchen or sound asleep in bed. In the middle of the night, he would approach the master bedroom, knocking once, asking if Lynne needed assistance. Sometimes she said yes, which meant that Cary needed a diaper change. Lynne was on her feet, had even hinted she wanted to make a pie before the weekend, but the rigors of childbirth still dogged her few steps, and Laurie felt very proprietary about her, Jane, and a newborn who had claimed a significant portion of his heart. He chalked that up to being one of the first to know about her, being one of her godparents, and the simple fact that for the last few months he had been a surrogate for her father. For weeks it had been Laurie's voice that Cary had listened to, a tone unlike all the rest around her. But many different tenors surrounded that tiny girl, from a Polish accent to the rapid chatter of Ahern sisters alongside the calmer intonations of a mother, aunt, and uncle who knew a deep truth but didn't allow that oddness to flavor their speech. Lynne, Renee, and Sam were a trio unto themselves, and while Laurie felt to be a part of that group due to his knowledge, something set him apart. As he made coffee on that Thursday morning, the house quiet, he pondered that notion. Stanford was out of that loop, for while he accepted Eric's absence was somewhat mystical, Laurie still wasn't sure what Stan truly thought. They hadn't spoken about it, and Laurie wasn't sure if or when they would. That didn't bother Laurie, for the necessary element was that once again Stan trusted him. Laurie sat at the table, a smile on his face. Between a unpredictable sketch, then Lynne's words, at least Stan had permitted there was a possibility Eric did indeed turn into a bird.

But that didn't explain Laurie's feelings, which he hadn't noticed after Jane was born, or with any of his sisters' offspring. And it wasn't as if Laurie felt he was Cary's father, nor did Lynne seem to share that idea. Two nights ago Cary had cried so loudly that even Stan stirred, but that night Lynne had rebuffed Laurie's offer of help. Gently, of course, he chuckled to himself, but then only hours ago, when Cary had wailed, Lynne eagerly let Laurie change the baby, then he sat on the bed's edge as Lynne fed the somewhat fussy infant. The adults hadn't spoken, but a few times Laurie had gripped Lynne's free hand, receiving a firm squeeze in return. He had laid Cary in her bassinette, then left the room wordlessly, feeling a great swelling within his chest. But he didn't delude himself with thoughts about fatherhood, for it wasn't that at all. It was connected to....

He sighed, then glanced at the counter. The scent of coffee wafted and he inhaled deeply, wishing Agatha was there, for her brew was far superior to his. Then he laughed quietly; over the last week, he'd found Renee made the best coffee, almost as good as what he enjoyed at home. And to his surprise, home meant the buzz of Manhattan, Agatha's exceptional brew, visits to Brooklyn, work among sculptors. But just as Laurie absorbed those sentiments, he heard the faint whimpers of his goddaughter, then heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. Laurie rushed from the kitchen, finding Stan toting Jane, both looking sleepy. "Lynne could use a hand," Stan mumbled, wiping his eyes.

"What about you?" Laurie said.

Stan shook his head, then switched Jane to his other side. "Coffee made?"

"Yup," Laurie smiled. "I'll get you two some breakfast as soon as...."

Stan's grin nearly made Laurie laugh. "Just check on Lynne. I'll make toast. Then we'll see what happens."

"Toast," Jane nodded.

"Toast for two, it seems." Laurie kissed Jane's cheek, rousing her giggle. "Good morning and I'll be right back." He took the stairs, knocking once on Lynne's door, as a baby now howled. He didn't wait for Lynne's response, finding her setting Cary to her chest. There was little modesty between him and this woman, not that he'd seen more than the scene now in progress. But Lynne's grateful smile spoke for her, then she sighed. "She's pretty wet, but I don't think she'll leak through."

"She knows what she likes," Laurie grinned, then he sat next to Lynne. "I'll change her as soon as you're ready."

"Thanks. As soon as she started crying, my milk came in and...." Lynne chuckled. "Now that it's in, this's first on the agenda." Then Lynne shook her head. "Sorry if that's more than you wanted to know."

"Not a problem," Laurie laughed. "Though you would've made Stan go crimson."

Lynne nodded. "And let me also say how much I appreciate your liberal take on all of this."

"You're looking at a New York Jew. They don't come much more liberal than me."

She giggled as Laurie chuckled, then he grew still. That he was also homosexual usually followed those qualifiers, often trumping both. But that facet of his character now seemed unimportant; he wondered if that was solely due to how open-minded was the woman beside him, or the inclusive nature of this property. This place permitted a host of peculiarities, so maybe he and Stan weren't all that odd.

Then Laurie shivered as another truth wound its way into him. This was his family, but not as his relatives considered family, nor as Stan's did. Out west, family was a more ethereal concept that bypassed biology, religion too. He wasn't Cary's father, but forever he would be linked to her as a godparent, which seemed to fulfill a slightly paternal itch that Laurie had never before realized. He ached for Eric to return, slightly rued his own eventual departure. But even that no longer carried the trepidation of before. He smiled, then gripped Lynne's hand. "Thank you for...." He paused, for he'd already told her how leaving no longer seemed impossible. But how to fully explain this sense of.... He released her hand, then cracked his knuckles. "Letting us be a part of her life, of your lives. It's still gonna be hard leaving but...."

She nodded, a few tears falling down her cheeks. Laurie watched her blink away more, but he didn't try to remove them. For years she and Eric had lived such an isolated existence; how difficult had it been to include others, not just in keeping their secret, but the simple fact of opening one's heart and home to more? She'd been right when telling him how they had longed to share Eric's alterations if only to note that what the New Yorkers kept under wraps was understood. Never before had Laurie assumed he and Stan could live openly beyond their own home. But here, among so many, no pretense had been necessary. Not even around Sam's youngest sister had the men kept a necessary distance. Not that they had held hands, but for the first time they stood beside one another like any other couple. Laurie took a deep breath; not even at his mom's would Stanford have been so liberated. But here they were free.

Laurie wasn't sure he needed to say any of this to Lynne. He wasn't even sure he'd bring it up with Stan. He merely smiled, feeling a little like Cary, new emotions coursing through him, although he had a vocabulary with which to discern them. Then he chuckled as the baby pulled away from her mother, gazing in his direction. Her dark brown eyes were mesmerizing against her pale skin and fair hair. "She has Marek's eyes," Laurie said softly. "They're almost black." Then he shook his head. "I mean they're yours certainly, but...."

"They're darker than mine. We'll see if they lighten some." Lynne turned Cary to her other breast, but she seemed uninterested. Then Lynne handed the baby to Laurie. "Change her, then I'll try again. But at least half of me feels better."

Laurie stood, taking Cary to the changing table. The baby stared at him, her features still those of a newborn, but as if she had grown during the night, Laurie studied a face that appeared slightly changed, older perhaps, or just not as squished-looking as yesterday. He smiled, keeping that to himself, then cooed at the placid baby. "You've got a belly full it looks like, although your mama might like you to have a bit more."

Cary seemed to understand, or maybe she was just staring absently. Laurie changed the wet diaper, then wrapped her securely in a blanket. "I'll get some breakfast started," he said, handing the baby to her mother. "What would you like?"

Lynne set Cary to nurse. "Eggs and toast would be lovely. And if you send Stan up in about ten minutes, I'll join you all in the kitchen."

Laurie frowned. "Are you sure about that?"

"Yes indeed. I have a hankering for pie and I can't make one up here."

Laurie chuckled. "Well, I won't argue too hard about that, neither will Stan. Sam's pies are good, but they're not yours."

She grinned. "Give me ten minutes. Then one of you can come for us."

"It'll probably be me." Stan had been comfortable toting Jane downstairs, but Laurie doubted that man would want to usher a new mother and her baby along that same route. "I'll be back and breakfast will be waiting."

"Sounds good." Lynne wore a grateful smile, then gazed at her baby. "Tell Stanford thanks for getting Jane. I heard her, but Cary was starting to fuss and...."

Laurie was at the door and he stared at Lynne, but she didn't meet his gaze. "He threatened to make toast, better go inspect the damage."

Now Lynne looked Laurie's way. "Thank you for everything."

"It's my sincere pleasure," he smiled, opening the door, hearing Jane loudly asking for breakfast. Lynne must have heard it too, for her laughter followed Laurie out of the master bedroom.

By noon a sweet potato pie cooled on the counter, Ann asking when she could have a slice. The Aherns had arrived just as Laurie had shut the oven, both Sam and Renee gently chiding the new mother, who had allowed Laurie the duties once the tin was prepared. Lynne remained downstairs on the sofa while activity swirled around her. Stanford often sat at Lynne's side, although when Cary had grown hungry, he'd excused himself to the kitchen. Otherwise he seemed as relaxed as Laurie, yet he said little. Neither man had mentioned when they might be heading east, but Lynne expected them to announce their departure within a few days. Stanford had made some long distance calls, always telling Lynne to let him know the charges. She would do no such thing, for his presence had been essential, and not only for Laurie's benefit. He was a huge help with Jane, who was especially fond of the still somewhat stuffy art dealer, although Stanford was a changed man. Lynne might have undergone the leading visible alteration, but every person within her family was now different.

This included Paul and Ann; both looked bigger, as did Jane of course, but those two had taken great interest in Cary. Paul called her Cousin Cary, as he had referred to Johnny last fall. Ann liked to stroke Cary's head, seemed fascinated by her small size. Renee noted this was probably the first newborn Ann had seen, or that she remembered. Neither child seemed jealous by the attention their parents showed Cary, for their roles as godparents had been clearly made known. Renee had wondered if Paul would start calling Cary his godsister after the baptism, while Sam hoped that event would stir a similar interest in Paul and Ann. Lynne would leave all those musings for much later; while Easter was early that year, it was still a good two months away.

More on her heart was if Eric would be present, perhaps Agatha too. Stanford assured Lynne they would return in late March, his voice wistful, as though he desired a manner in which they didn't have to go back at all. Lynne considered how blessed she was for their continued stay, but instead of dwelling on its impending end, she gave thanks for the current state of her cozy home. The children could be heard in the kitchen while Stanford added wood to the fire, meeting Lynne's smile with his own. He came her way, clearing his throat. "Do you need anything?"

She was waiting for lunch, but her water glass was empty. "Something to drink would be lovely."

He glanced at the coffee table, then grabbed her cup. "Be right back," he said warmly.

She giggled after he left, wondering if his clients would notice a change. His father would, Agatha too. Maybe his secretary even, then Lynne smiled widely as Laurie brought her a plate. Stanford was on his heels, a glass in each of his hands. "Lunch for the mama," Laurie said, putting the plate on Lynne's lap. He sat beside her as Stanford placed the beverages on coasters. "Sam's talents never cease to amaze me."

"He's the best cook I know." Lynne took a large bite of the casserole, then smiled. "You two go eat, don't want it to get cold."

Stanford nodded, heading to the kitchen, making Laurie laugh. "His plate's waiting, I just didn't have enough hands to bring yours and the drinks all at once."

"I feel like a queen," Lynne said, taking another bite.

"You deserve it." Laurie patted her leg. "Renee thinks after lunch you should try to nap."

"Forever a nurse," Lynne smiled. "And she's right. But I also needed to be down here for a while." She gazed at the fire, burning brightly. "You're not gonna be here forever and...."

A lump swelled in her chest, but she ignored it, then took another bite of lunch. Laurie squeezed her knee, then cracked his knuckles. "Believe me, I wish I could be in two places at once."

She nodded, then met his gaze. "I feel so much better than yesterday. Dr. Salters had told me I'd bounce back more quickly this time, Frannie and Joan said the same. I think it took me well over a week to make a pie after Jane was born, so...." She smiled, although her heart still ached. "When are you two thinking of heading back?"

She assumed Stanford must have an idea of when he needed to return, although whether or not the men had actually discussed it was another thing. Yet Laurie's stricken face surprised Lynne. "We haven't made plans, I mean, unless you want us to go soon."

Tears welled in her eyes. She set her plate on the coffee table, then grasped Laurie's hands. "I just thought maybe you'd talked about it. I'm certainly not rushing you off."

Now he smiled. "Probably sometime next week, I mean, we can't stay forever, although...." He laughed, then brushed aside a few of his own tears. "To be honest, I'm surprised Stan hasn't mentioned it." He glanced toward the kitchen, then sighed. "I feel so at home here, so does he. Maybe going back isn't exactly what either of us wants."

"If there was some way you both could conduct business out west, I'd tell you to just stay put."

Laurie nodded, then released Lynne's hands. "My mother'd have both our heads, but I'd take you up on it."

He stared at her as if he had more to say. Then he shrugged. "I suppose by the beginning of next week Stan'll start getting antsy. But until he makes an issue of it, I'm keeping my mouth shut." He sighed, then smiled. "I made you a promise, and told him the same. But in the interim...." Laurie stood, then gestured to the living room. "It's like this's my home now, like...." His eyes twinkled. "Your husband doesn't corner the market on strange transformations, how about that?" His tone had been hushed, then he laughed out loud. "I can't tell you how differently I feel, and I don't just mean from when I arrived." Again he lowered his voice, rejoining Lynne on the sofa. "But it has more to do with me than with Stan." Laurie paused, then tenderly held Lynne's hand. "I realized it this morning, that here, we're just like everyone else. I might not dip him back in my arms...." Laurie chuckled and Lynne did too. "But out here there's no pretense, not even around others. Now maybe it's just this house," he drawled. "Lots of interesting things happen on this acreage. But I've never felt so, so...." His eyes grew wide and he spoke with conviction. "Able to love him. So much's been stripped away, but not just concerning Eric." Laurie cleared his throat. "To be honest, I still don't know what he thinks, he hasn't said anything blatantly, but it's also us Lynne. Something's changed with me and Stan; it's the separation in part, but also...."

He seemed hesitant, also eager, as if he spoke what lay on his heart another round of changes would occur. He smiled, then kissed her cheek. "I love you, I really do. And I love your girls. Being Cary's godfather means so much to me, to Stan too. And it's not just about Cary, it's Jane as well. But I think you know that."

"I do," Lynne nodded.

He smiled. "It's just that I came here feeling so...." He chuckled. "Absolutely shitty, to be perfectly honest. And while leaving's gonna be hard, it won't be anything like how I arrived. God, I wish I could explain it better, not that how good I feel's gonna be much help to you."

"Oh Laurie, it is. I love you too." She grasped his hand, squeezing hard. "And I care a great deal for Stanford. And that you two are together is so wonderful." She inhaled deeply as tears ran down her face. She wanted to infer that his happiness negated some of the impending loneliness, for Lynne knew that sentiment was inevitable. She missed Eric, but the household was so busy. Once the New Yorkers left, the emptiness would be hard to ignore. "I'll be counting the days till you come back."

"We'll be counting them too. Not sure if Agatha will accompany, but if not, I wouldn't rule out a summer trip for that woman."

"We'll be happy to have her anytime she wishes." Using a plural subject, Lynne didn't only mean herself and the girls. "I'll write her in a day or so, giving her the option. As long as you don't mind being without her for a week or more."

Laurie laughed. "For you, I'll rough it."

They chuckled together, then Laurie embraced Lynne. While neither stated the obvious, Lynne felt through that hug the conviction upon Laurie's heart. Eric would return. It was only a matter of time.
Chapter 193

One week later, Marek took the New Yorkers to the airport, although neither Laurie nor Stanford wanted to leave. Lynne's wellbeing was both men's main reason to stay, but then their motives diverged, yet Jane and Cary were mixed among their hesitations. Those sisters were Laurie's next concerns, followed by having to give his mother a rational explanation to why he and Stan had separated, and what had brought them back together. Laurie would also miss St. Matthew's, which he would not reveal to his mom, and he would pine for others, including the pastor who warmly shook his hand, then offered a strong hug. While Laurie awaited Lynne's opinion about Marek's coming guest, he hadn't spoken with Marek about more than Lynne's care, the occasional question about a sermon, or the tasty delicacies featured in Lynne and Sam's kitchens. But as they shared one last handshake, much more was inferred, for Laurie now possessed a deep bond with this man, who said he would keep in close contact with both New Yorkers.

As Marek joked he would be back at this airport in less than a week, Stanford considered how comfortable he'd been here, not only compared to previous visits, but as if this was his home. He loathed mentioning it to Laurie, only because it might unearth other issues which Stanford didn't wish to address. Primarily he didn't want to talk about Eric, but a close second was how good it had been to stand near Laurie without any fear of reprisal. Not even around Fran's daughter had Stanford felt a hint of judgment; Sally seemed perfectly at ease with the notion that the New Yorkers, as they were always referred to, were more than just friends. At first that term had irritated Stanford, but soon he realized what it symbolized; while he and Laurie would never possess any legal bond, they were as firmly committed as Sam and Renee Ahern, Fran and Louie Canfield, and Joan and Russell McCampbell. It was as if The New Yorkers was Stanford and Laurie's shared surname.

Only around Lynne had Laurie been so bold as to grasp Stanford's hand, which also initially stirred Stanford's anxiety. But quickly he'd warmed to Laurie's advances, and by last night, Stanford had been the one to initiate that gesture. He wondered if they would continue that sort of closeness in Manhattan or would going home aggravate things. For Stanford, returning to New York carried a host of problems.

He would worry about Lynne. He'd wonder how the children were coping without additional people to care for them. Jane's tantrums had lessened in the last ten days, but she'd remained clingy and to Stanford's shock, she seemed to like him best. She still went to Marek and Sam, but in the mornings, it was Stanford to tote Jane downstairs while Laurie fixed breakfast and fussed over Lynne. Stanford would fret about how Sam and Renee would juggle their offspring while keeping an eye on the Snyder ladies, and what about this Pole, who had a guest of his own arriving next Monday. Stanford gazed at Marek, then smiled, for the pastor wanted more than a goodbye handshake.

Stanford permitted an embrace, which seemed to ease some of his uncertainties. Then Stanford cleared his throat. "If you're ever on our side of the country, please stop in. I mean, you're welcome to stay in Manhattan."

Marek's eyes twinkled. "Depending on how next week goes, I might need a room for a night on my way to Oslo. But," he laughed, "that could be counting chickens long before they're due."

Stanford stared at Marek; he'd said little about his impending visitor, but from Lynne, Stanford had learned it was a woman from Marek's hometown. She wasn't staying at the Snyder home, but at St. Matthew's. Stanford wished to smile, for that seemed rather scandalous, but Marek projected no need to hide her, or his feelings. Stanford easily saw how excited Marek was, then Stanford gazed at Laurie, who seemed weary. Cary had cried much of the night and Laurie had tried calming the baby to no avail. That Jane hadn't stirred still amazed Stanford, but he couldn't dismiss how necessary had been their presence. Lynne required extra hands and....

And still Eric was missing. Now the full weight of that truth bore down upon all three men, yet the painter wasn't mentioned. Although, as Marek once again wished them safe travel, it was reiterated, for it should be Lynne's husband seeing them off. Instead it was her pastor, who would make the occasional house call, but within a week would have his own friend to entertain. Stanford inwardly shivered, aching to grasp Laurie's hand in part to gauge Laurie's mood as well as to shore up his own strength. But that action was impossible, for once again the pretense had begun.

For the last few weeks, Stanford and Laurie had lived in a special realm where none of the usual limitations intruded. Not even at his father's house would Stanford have dared to hold Laurie's hand. When Stanford's mother died, Laurie was comforting Stanford's youngest sister, and not for several hours did Stanford know Laurie's healing touch. How vital were those exchanges, which up until that moment Stanford had always disregarded. He was a man, with little need for outward affection, except that for much of January he'd been steeped in it. From Jane and Lynne to how warmly Fran Canfield had hugged him, or even this Pole, who had silently demanded an embrace. Then Stanford glanced at Laurie, who he loved most. That he couldn't reach out for him made Stan sigh. Laurie met Stanford's gaze. "You okay?" Laurie asked.

Immediately Stanford nodded. "Oh yes, just thinking about...." He prattled off acceptable notions; the length of their travel, getting back into the routine of work, of which there was plenty, foremost being the wrap-up of Eric's European exhibition. But thinking of that caused Stanford to again sigh, for considering Eric triggered two distinct pains. Eric was still missing and was it actually possible that he was, as the rest believed, a hawk?

Other than Stanford's conversation with Lynne and what he'd asked Renee about the French door, not a single whiff of that had been uttered in Stanford's presence. But to a very select few it was an indelible part of their lives, although the Canfields seemed unaware, as did Sam's youngest sister and her family. The Aherns' youngsters had no idea and Jane didn't understand either, although she had started asking for her daddy. Was that due to Laurie and Stanford, or might that toddler realize something none of the adults could. Stanford had to admit that Lynne's home was remarkable, but no longer could he equate the significance solely to Eric's talent. Only now that Stanford was preparing to leave could he sense how tremendous were those proceedings, some more positive than others.

Overall, most were good. In fact, only one held negative connotations. But as Laurie made noises about checking in for their flight, Stanford pushed aside the one topic about which they had yet to speak. Again Stan shook Marek's hand, thanking him for the ride. Marek wished them well, adding he would see them again in March. His tone was merry and he walked away without looking back. Stanford found himself wishing it was already weeks in the future, by which time Eric would have certainly come home.

In Karnack, John Doe wasn't any closer to recalling his identity, but no longer was his presence a closely guarded secret. At school Hiram had loudly boasted that Luke's daddy was keeping a man locked inside their shed. Luke had dismissed such nonsense, but other boys pressed for information, and while Luke tried to lie, eventually John's existence was admitted. Not that the Richardsons permitted anyone onto their property; John's privacy needed to be respected, and his injuries concealed. While the children and Walt, the Boldens too, were comfortable with his damaged arm, Dora still grew nauseous if she stared at John's right side.

That was the only time Dora felt ill. She often was fatigued, and now when Luke and Tilda returned from school they were kept busy with chores. But during the last weekend of January, Luke had time for conversation. Since Hiram had broken the news, Luke felt even more protective about Mr. Doe, although Luke didn't possess the worries of his father and Mr. Bolden. Luke only knew that other kids wanted to meet the man living in the Richardsons' shed, but Luke didn't want to share Mr. Doe with anyone.

Something had happened in the last couple of weeks, changing Mr. Doe. He could still be moody, and he didn't recall anything that might lead to him leaving, but Luke sensed Mr. Doe wouldn't be with them for much longer. Luke was still an insightful child, not the way Miss Susie could predict things, but he'd seen how Mr. Doe now paid more attention to Gail, how kind he was to Luke's mother, and that Luke's father was more chatty than Luke had ever witnessed. Around Mr. Doe, Walt was nearly as friendly as Mr. Bolden, although Luke's father possessed a formality that Luke chalked up to just how his daddy was and always would be. Luke was happy that his parents hadn't fought since Mr. Doe's arrival, for now there was nowhere else for Walt to sleep. Maybe that was due to the babies, Luke also considered. Then he wondered if the coming twins were something Mr. Doe remembered, but not how Miss Susie recalled things. Luke would never ask something so personal, so instead he brought up the weather. "Not getting warmer anytime soon," he said, looking toward the mostly closed shed door.

How Mr. Doe didn't catch cold out in the shed, Luke didn't ponder. Mr. Doe was a special man, but was he cursed? Some of the kids at school said so, why else was he living in Luke's shed? Luke hadn't denied that Mr. Doe had lost his memory, but he didn't provide any other reason for the man's presence. He never spoke about the day he and Hiram had skipped school, and thankfully Hiram had enough smarts not to mention it either. No one asked how long the man had lived at the Richardsons, and Luke hoped nobody would ever put those events together.

Yet now it was cold out and winter would last another good month, maybe even up to Easter. Would Mr. Doe be here then, Luke wondered, or might he even be living in this shed when the babies came? Luke wouldn't be sharing a room with his sisters then; his father and Mr. Bolden were going to add onto the house once the rains had stopped. Luke would have his own room, at least for a little while. If the babies were boys, or even one little brother, Luke would have a roommate. But better to share his new room with a baby, even one so small. It beat having to sleep in the same space with a bunch of girls.

Luke shared that notion with Mr. Doe, who smiled. "Sounds like you're looking forward to space of your own."

"Oh yes sir. And if one of the babies is a boy, I can tell them all about baseball and fishing and...." Luke rattled off his favorite pastimes, then sighed deeply. Hunting no longer topped the list. Then he stared at Mr. Doe. "I wonder what you used to like to do."

"I think about that too. I think I liked to paint."

"Really? What, like houses or pictures or...."

Mr. Doe shook his head. "I don't know exactly, but sometimes I find myself staring at the sky, and all I can think is what colors I would choose if I wanted to paint it." His voice grew sad. "Doubt I'll ever do that kind of thing again though."

"You could try with your left hand," Luke said.

To Luke's surprise, Mr. Doe smiled. "Indeed. It'd make for some pretty impressionistic pieces, more abstract to be honest." Then Mr. Doe laughed. "I can only imagine how those canvases might turn out."

Luke stared at his friend, who still used words Luke didn't understand. But more to catch Luke's attention was how Mr. Doe's mood changed, like he had remembered something. "Mr. Doe, you okay?"

John stood, gently fingering his limp right arm. "It's on the tip of my brain, like if I could just...." He walked to the shed door, opening it, then stepping outside. Luke followed, finding Mr. Doe staring at the flat gray sky.

"Whatdya see up there?" Luke asked softly.

"My life." Then Mr. Doe huffed. "Nothing more than a big hazy mess."

Luke sighed quietly, for Mr. Doe's voice was back to the same dismal tone of a few weeks ago. Then Luke swallowed hard. He might get a spanking for being impertinent, but he had to ask. Then he smiled; impertinent was a word he'd learned from Mr. Doe, describing Tilda, who reminded Mr. Doe of someone from home. Tilda hadn't liked it, but Luke thought it fit her perfectly. "Mr. Doe, you said Tilda reminded you of somebody, and I think Gail does too." Luke paused, for he didn't wish to cause Mr. Doe any unhappiness, then he continued. "Why does the sky make you think you used to be a painter?"

Now Mr. Doe stared at Luke. "You all remind me of people Luke. Gail's about the same age as my...." Mr. Doe took a deep breath. "I have two daughters, one was born a couple of weeks ago."

"Oh Mr. Doe, my goodness, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry!" Luke wanted to cry, but instead he stared at the ground. "Don't tell Daddy I was pestering you so."

Now John knelt beside Luke. "I won't say anything. It's okay Luke, don't worry."

"You sure?"

Mr. Doe nodded. "Actually, you have the same color eyes as my oldest. She's about Gail's age." Then he looked back at the sky. "But where they are and why I'm here, I just don't know."

Luke helped Mr. Doe to stand, but they didn't return to the shed. "Mr. Doe, if you were a painter, maybe you were here, thinking about painting the lake." Thinking about Caddo Lake made Luke's stomach hurt. "Maybe you were gonna paint it."

"Maybe."

Luke wished that Mr. Doe could use his arm, for at least that way they could test it. Sometimes Mr. Doe could grip things with his right hand, although not always. Luke had an idea, then told Mr. Doe he'd be right back. Before John could speak, Luke sprinted to the house, wondering if his father would approve.

Walt and Luke returned together, Luke carrying a pad of paper and two pencils. One was thicker than the other, both with newly sharpened leads. Luke had been surprised that his father wanted to accompany him, but as they approached the shed, Luke was relieved. If Mr. Doe didn't want to participate in the experiment, Luke could scurry back to the house, leaving his father to apologize on his behalf.

The last thing Luke wanted was to upset Mr. Doe. It was bad enough learning he had two children, one of which was just a few weeks old. Now Luke understood Mr. Doe's recent change of mood, all the more reason to try to stir his memory. He had a family to go home to, a new baby to meet. Luke's heart raced and he sprinted past his father, then waited at the closed shed door, still gripping the paper and pencils.

Walt knocked and Mr. Doe told them to come in. Hiding the supplies behind his back, Luke let his father go first. Walt cleared his throat, then spoke of Luke's idea. Luke watched Mr. Doe's face go from a look of surprise to doubt. Luke coughed, gripping the items behind his back. Then Mr. Doe gave a one-arm shrug. "What the hell?" he laughed. "Might as well give it a try."

Luke almost squealed as Walt chuckled. "Here you go Mr. Doe." Luke displayed the pad and pencils, then set them on the table near where Mr. Doe sat. Luke pulled out the other chair, then gazed at his father. "You wanna sit Daddy?"

"No, you go ahead son."

Walt stood opposite Mr. Doe while Luke took the seat on Mr. Doe's right. Luke wanted to speak, but as Mr. Doe picked up the thinner of the pencils with his left hand, Luke fell silent. At first Mr. Doe tried to draw with that hand, but nothing more than a stick figure emerged. "Well, this won't do," John said. He glanced at Luke, a small smile on his face.

Luke nodded, so wishing to put that pencil in Mr. Doe's right hand. That arm still rested at Mr. Doe's side, and Luke wasn't sure if Mr. Doe could even lift it. Maybe Luke was too close, maybe Mr. Doe felt embarrassed. Then Luke gazed at his father, but Walt's thoughts were hard to read.

"You need assistance?" Walt then said.

"No." Mr. Doe carefully lifted his right arm onto the table, then weakly wiggled his right fingers. Luke's pulse raced as each digit twitched. Did Mr. Doe have enough strength, had Luke been impertinent? Tilda had wanted to join them, but Walt expressly forbade it. Luke had seen his sister's frown, which now made him smile. Then he almost shouted, looking at the paper now within Mr. Doe's reach. The wider pencil was gripped awkwardly in his right hand, marks coarsely scribbled onto the sheet, but they weren't randomly applied. Luke saw his own face, crudely drawn but certainly recognizable.

"Hey, that's me!" He laughed, then stood, leaning over for a better view. "How'd you do that?"

"I have no idea, it just drew itself." Mr. Doe's voice was warm, also astonished. With his left hand, he ripped off the page, gave it to Luke, then drew another. Within a minute, Walt's face adorned the pad as Luke hooted in delight.

"By God, I don't believe it." Walt picked up the pad, studying it. Then he gazed at John. "You can barely feed yourself left handed, but Lord almighty, look what you can do."

Luke stood, joining his father, also peering at the paper. Walt's dark hair and eyes were no more than heavy marks from the side of the pencil lead, his dad's mouth a few brief strokes, yet this was Walt Richardson. Then Luke glanced at his image; he looked a lot like his father, although their coloring was different. "I wonder if Mama has a boy if he'll have hair like yours Daddy."

As Luke spoke, he realized his mistake. Walt gave him a stern look, but Mr. Doe laughed. "Maybe he will. You and your sisters all have your mother's coloring. Time for something new, I think."

Luke smiled, but retook his seat. Then he sighed. "Does doing that make you remember anything?"

"Not immediately. Just makes my hand ache." John tried gripping the pencil again, but he groaned. "Oh, now it really hurts." He tried making a fist, but couldn't do more than curl his fingers into the shape of a C. "Well, if nothing else, here you two go. If Tilda wants her own drawing, she's gonna have to wait."

"Well, I'll tell you Mr. Doe, she'll be bugging you daily till you feel better." Luke spoke lightly, in part that Tilda would be jealous, and that he didn't want Mr. Doe to get discouraged. "I just thought that if you could draw something, maybe...."

"Luke, go see if your mama needs any help."

"Yes Daddy."

Luke stood, not collecting his drawing. But as he reached the door, Mr. Doe spoke. "Take this with you."

Luke turned to find Mr. Doe holding the paper in his left hand. Walt's image remained on the table. Luke smiled, returning for his sketch. "Shall I take these inside too?"

He'd pointed to the pad and pencils. To his delight, Mr. Doe shook his head. "Unless you need them, just leave them here."

"No sir, don't need them t'all." Luke wanted to clap his hands for Mr. Doe's upbeat tone as well as the outcome of his experiment. At least Mr. Doe wasn't mad at him, although Luke wished Mr. Doe had recalled something important. He left the shed, nearly skipping back to the house. Tilda met him on the porch, demanding to know all she had missed. He didn't show her the drawing, instead letting his mother see it first. Dora was suitably impressed, while Tilda and Esther hollered they wanted their likenesses drawn. As Luke explained the scene, he didn't notice how long his father remained outside with Mr. Doe. When Walt returned, his sketch in hand, Mr. Doe didn't accompany him.
Chapter 194

It was late Sunday night when Klaudia finally closed her suitcase. The day had been fraught with more than what to wear, yet she had to leave Marek's care in the hands of professionals. Three more seizures over the last ten days had left her son bedridden, and as she told both Sigrun and the head nurse, if he died while she was away, maybe that was for the best.

If that occurred, Sigrun was to call Klaudia at St. Matthew's. Klaudia had Eric Snyder's phone number, but under no circumstances would she share it with anyone. She was surprised Marek Jagucki had given it to her, for that artist was now famous all over Europe. Klaudia had followed up on that exhibit, feeling a tad special for having access to one of the subjects, although she still felt awkward with the painter's phone number in her possession. She had certain ideas about that man and his wife, and of course their two girls. Klaudia wasn't keen on meeting Mrs. Snyder, and she was loathe to spend time with the babies. But she hoped to at least speak to Eric Snyder, if for no other reason to say she'd met one of the most talented painters of their generation.

Her flights started early tomorrow morning; from Oslo she traveled to Paris, then to New York, onto Chicago, then further west until she landed in a small town where Marek would be waiting for her. She wouldn't arrive until late in the evening, one of the longest days she would ever spend. She smiled at herself, not thinking of how tortured were those first days after Gunnar had taken away their baby, nor the weeks after the Jagucki family had been murdered. Tomorrow would be extended via technology, which was perfectly acceptable in this modern age. Klaudia smiled at herself, for this trip was noteworthy for multiple reasons; how few people traveled to America, meeting such a heralded artist, and that this visit wasn't costing her anything. She would buy something for Sigrun, but other than a souvenir, Klaudia wouldn't spend much money. And she had already purchased what she felt was her own kind of keepsake; condoms waited at the bottom of her luggage. She had bought them a few weeks ago at a drugstore on the other side of the city. Fortunately the cashier had been a woman of her age who had smiled at Klaudia as if approving. They were mature women who knew what they wanted, and what wasn't necessary. Babies were for those foolish enough to think life revolved around families. Klaudia had lost the need for kin after her parents died, for she had never felt that with Gunnar, even in the last stages of her pregnancy.

A family was more than a husband and wife; families were.... Superfluous, she smirked, then she inhaled deeply. She had also packed cigarettes; it might be a day or two before she could buy any after she landed, and without proper reinforcements, Klaudia would be miserable. The jet lag would usurp her first day, although she was prepared to struggle through it to get on Pacific Time. She was truly going to America, she then smiled, focusing more on the nation than the person she would encounter.

Walking from her bedroom into the kitchen, she didn't ponder that man, instead going for an open pack of smokes on the table. She lit one, taking long drags as though storing up for future days when everything would be new. She fretted using her English, but would try it in New York, in that she would never see those people again and best to start speaking it as soon as she could. Plus she didn't expect any of them to know either Norwegian or Polish, and the last thing she wanted was to appear as an ignorant foreigner. The memories attached to her family's arrival in Oslo still troubled her, how her uncle had to speak on her parents' behalf as if her father was a child. Her parents hadn't lived long enough to learn Norwegian, but Klaudia had picked it up quickly. Languages were to Klaudia like solving a crossword; a few key letters inserted made the entire puzzle fall into place. But reading and understanding were different than speaking, for to say the words aloud permitted the opportunity for ridicule. Yet, it had been better to try speaking Norwegian and be corrected than to use Polish, and Klaudia hoped for the same reaction in America regarding English.

That Marek had paid for her ticket was his choice, but she wasn't beholden to him for anything. Finishing the smoke, she smiled, then considered the rubbers; of course they would sleep together, not that it was the price of her sojourn, but why else did he want to see her? She wouldn't begrudge a few nights of pleasure, but that was as far as she would allow it to affect her. Then she laughed out loud; she wanted to have sex with him, in his church of all places. How better to defy what he espoused, what she found abhorrent. Religion was for the weak; many had made that claim and they were absolutely correct. Not that Klaudia would point out to Marek how poor had been his decision to enter the church, but she was fully prepared for any attempt he might make to change her views. She lit another smoke, placing it between parched lips. Inhaling, she allowed that after what he had endured, one either went mad, became a revolutionary, or gave their life to God. The latter was the simplest, she considered, requiring the least amount of courage.

Klaudia had never been forced to alter her life in such a manner. She was neither insane nor radical, simply a working woman on the cusp of a grand adventure. She sat at her table, peering around the room, wondering if Marek's ghost was waiting to spring upon her, chastising her secular notions. But she was alone in her house, just like always. She'd been alone for years, never permitting her few lovers to spend the night, which made her huff. Then she coughed, placing the nearly finished smoke in the empty ashtray. She hadn't been with anyone for over three years, then she wondered how long Marek had lived without.... He couldn't have a girlfriend now, he would have mentioned it. She felt chilled, then shook her head. He wanted to see her, he still cared for her, he.... Loved her, which then made Klaudia stand abruptly, smashing the butt against the bottom of the thick glass ashtray. She had signed her letters as if she felt the same, but she didn't love him anymore; she didn't know who he was past his role as a clergyman and transplanted Polish survivor of.... They were both survivors, she coolly accepted, calming her racing heart. This was merely a reunion of those who had lived through the war.

If they used the condoms, fine. If she brought them home, she would have them for later. They would be her souvenir, of which she would never share with anyone other than some man whom she found intriguing enough to sleep with. And if that was the case, she would need no other trinket to remind her of this trip, for it would slip from her mind like other memories which were supposed to have made lasting impressions upon her life. Marek Jagucki wouldn't be more than a faint shadow which would fade quickly as she returned to her usual existence. He wouldn't mean any more than her own Marek, who might not even be alive when she came home. And if that happened, how easy would it be to simply excise that name from her mind? Two Mareks could be wiped away, giving Klaudia needed peace. She nodded to herself, then yawned. Sigrun was taking her to the airport at six tomorrow morning, which was now less than seven hours away. Klaudia didn't care if she was exhausted getting onto her first flights. Sleep would be the best way to make the time go faster. Suddenly Klaudia wished she was already back, able to sweep aside the men who haunted her. Soon enough, she mused, checking that the front door was locked, then walking back to her room. Placing the suitcase on the floor, she looked at her alarm clock, set to ring at five. She nodded, turned off the light, then got under the covers, one last night where Marek Jagucki was only a figment of her dreams.

Marek spent that morning going about his usual habits, but seeing Lynne, Jane, and Cary enter St. Matthew's without Laurie and Stanford reminded the pastor of impending alterations within his own routine. That the Aherns accompanied the Snyders didn't lessen Marek's sense of modification; for the last few months Marek had grown used to Laurie escorting Lynne and Jane. Cary was placid during most of the service, but cried afterwards as parishioners thronged around Lynne, eager to meet the newborn. No one asked where Eric was, which didn't sadden Marek, nor did Lynne, Sam, or Renee seemed distressed. Perhaps it was easier this way; nothing had to be explained, nor was that subject mentioned around the children.

Paul and Ann seemed to take Eric's absence for granted, yet they'd never met him. Maybe they assumed Jane and Cary's father was a figment of all the adults' imaginations, another dead person who wouldn't reappear. Marek had considered Klaudia in a similar manner, but with her arrival hours away, he found himself trying to equate that girl with the person she now was, a single mother, a widow, a survivor. Marek didn't consider her life any less tortured than his own, in part for all she had suffered after leaving Poland. And for the catastrophe she had witnessed, even if from behind a closed door. He wondered how youth either exacerbated that event or muted it; Paul and Ann seemed relatively unscathed by the loss of their parents, to which Marek permitted God had blessed those children with his divine protection as well as providing people perfectly suited for their care. God had done the same for Marek, keeping him from harm. But Marek wasn't sure if Klaudia might view her life in that way. She'd made no mention of being a churchgoer, although perhaps she'd abandoned her Catholic faith in a Lutheran country. Or maybe she'd given it up due to what she had heard or perhaps seen in Poland, then definitely suffered through the birth of her son. Faith from one's earliest days could sometimes be lost when storms blew through, for often faith was taken for granted, as if no more than the clothing one put on, then removed, as day turned to night. Marek was glad that Sam and Renee weren't pushing for their children to be baptized, even if Paul was only a couple of years away from taking first communion. Faith needed to be carefully nurtured, lest it be trampled by harsh realities eager to crush it into dust.

Marek's faith hadn't been tested in a long time, although Eric's absence seemed unnaturally cruel. That Eric turned into a hawk didn't figure into the pastor's prayers; something like that was best left to God's wisdom. But now that Cary had arrived, what was the purpose to her father's continued disappearance? Maybe it had been for Stanford, for now that man was permanently altered. Marek had never pressed to hold Jane when she was in Stanford's grasp for she was happy there, as was the one holding her. Marek did miss the New Yorkers, but he more longed to speak to one with whom he shared a permanent bond, their friendship sealed by God's mysterious grace. It would be such a waste if Eric didn't return to those who loved him, also for the gift he proffered through his art. Marek wondered what Klaudia would think of the painting tucked away in the kitchen. He never mentioned it to any parishioners, for then he would never have a quiet moment in that space again. Fortunately Carla had kept still about it too; perhaps she also sensed the privilege of that canvas within the church house. Sometimes he found her admiring it, then they would share a smile.

Lately her smiles when viewing that piece were minimal. Not that she spoke of where Lynne's husband might be, but it had been.... Nearly seven months had passed since Eric left for Florida. According to Laurie, Seth was thriving in Israel, with no immediate plans to return. Marek thought it good he was starting over in a new country, but Eric should be with his wife, children, and.... Marek had hoped to introduce Klaudia to the person responsible for their reunion, but if Eric did come back soon, that meeting might be delayed depending on Eric's condition. Was he still a hawk, Marek hoped not. He wasn't sure what might be preferable, but the odds of Eric turning back into a human being after so long in the wild weren't favorable. Marek knew the details of Eric's previous sojourns, and how difficult it had been when he returned. Thankfully Lynne hadn't delivered while trying to manage Eric's convalescence. But now that Cary was here, where was her father?

Marek found that child's eyes a fascination. She was two weeks old, and still those irises were nearly black. She seemed to see out of them perfectly well, but her gaze was fleeting, what Lynne said was typical of a newborn. Marek had been around few babies, and had relished his role, although distance had been hard to maintain. Klaudia's visit was well-timed, providing another distraction, although some at St. Matthew's might find her presence disarming. Marek smiled, heading into the kitchen. The fallout of Klaudia staying at St. Matthew's would be minor compared to what some wagging tongues wished to spread.

None seemed offended by Stanford's presence, although it had been relatively brief. Many had asked where was Lynne's brother, and Sam had noted Laurie needed to get back to work in Manhattan. The authority in Sam's voice, as well as the glamour of Laurie's career, silenced further inquiries, as though Stanford was a bit player in Laurie's metropolitan life. Marek had bitten his tongue, then smiled while Renee noted how Laurie would return for Cary's baptism. She hadn't mentioned Stanford, but Marek knew both men had hated getting on the plane for New York. The reasons weren't solely related to whom they were leaving, but what would be discussed, or ignored, when they got home.

Marek's stomach rumbled and he started a late lunch, occasionally staring at his profile, wondering how he and Klaudia would initiate conversation. It might be as awkward as Laurie and Stanford's, although Marek wasn't planning on telling Klaudia anything that fantastic. He wasn't sure how he would explain his absence on the day his family was killed; he needed to ascertain her tolerance for the unexpected. Then he chuckled, taking a sandwich to the table, seating himself. How strange was it that after twenty years they were going to spend over a week together? His feelings toward her were still tender, although as her visit loomed, he tried to be rational; they might not hit it off at all. Her letters were devoid of any hint to her personality; all he had to go on were his memories, which were now aged, rose-colored too, especially when it came to her. All of his relatives' rough edges had been swept away, although his brother's slight superiority complex remained, but now Marek understood Dominik's demeanor. Marek's gift with languages was outstanding; he would have been the one the family would have sent to Krakow for university. Marek never gave in to what if's, but did Klaudia, and if so, was it only concerning their youth, or what had happened to her son? So much about her remained a mystery, much like where Eric was on that day. Marek ate his lunch, praying for them both, then placing other beloveds into God's care. Fretting about the future was a waste of time; the future would be here when Christ was good and ready for it.

That evening, all six Richardsons possessed caricatures of themselves, a word John had used when describing the simple yet touching illustrations. Gail was the only one not fully aware of her sketch, but even Esther has shyly approached Mr. Doe for a hug, giggling as she broke away, gripping her image in her hand. Dora had been the most grateful, for John had drawn her in profile, her curviness denoting the twins, which Luke had said aloud was just how his mama looked best. John had stifled a chuckle, but Walt broke out in laughter while Dora blushed, not wishing to hide her smile.

Tilda had been John's last subject, for he'd needed to rest his right hand. Tilda's image was of a child attempting not to frown, hair falling into her face. Dora thought it was beautiful, but Tilda wasn't certain about that. She had thanked Mr. Doe, for not to would have earned a sharp stare from both of her parents. Yet she spent the rest of that evening studying her drawing, wondering just how that man had done it.

He was so clumsy with his left hand, often leaving a ring of food on the table after he took his plate to the sink. His right arm was a mess, but unlike Dora, who avoided gazing at that side of John's body, Tilda would stare when she thought no one was looking. She wasn't sure if Hiram had shot this man, for while Hiram was mean, his gun wasn't more than a glorified BB gun. And if he had done it, how was it that nobody knew?

While Luke was insightful, Tilda was observant. Because she was a girl, few expected much from her, but she was intelligent, also aware of her position in life due to her gender as well as where she lived and Karnack's economic situation. She wasn't as bad off as some of her peers; she wasn't a Negro and she wasn't abused like Hiram. He had been at church that morning, again sporting a black eye. His stepmother didn't seem embarrassed about it, but Tilda wasn't sure Miss Essie was right in the head. Who could ignore their stepchild constantly showing up with bruises?

Tilda kept all these notions to herself; everyone knew, but nobody seemed able to stop it. It was like how could it be fair that Tilda and Luke went to a real school while Myrna and Noelle were taught with all the other Negro children in a one-room building with no indoor plumbing. No one complained when Tilda and Myrna played together, and Hiram never tattled on his father; he just picked on others, sometimes getting into trouble, then showing up a few days later looking worse than the last time. Tilda had tried talking to him after Sunday School, but he ignored her, then stomped off, waiting under an old cypress tree for his stepmother.

Walt didn't seem to mind if Tilda spoke to Hiram, but Luke stayed away from him. Tilda wondered if Luke missed their friendship, or was he glad their father had forbidden Luke to play with such a bully. Tilda sat up in bed, hearing the snores of her siblings, her father's loud drones, her mother's deep breaths. Tilda wondered how different it was carrying two babies, but she didn't possess her father or brother's concerns. As far as Tilda knew, the twins would come out just fine.

She lay back down, but the sound of cracking twigs made her tremble. Tilda looked at the window, yet the curtains were pulled; if she got out of bed, she might wake Gail. Again Tilda heard what she was certain were footsteps, heavy ones too, for now the crunching seemed like someone was walking toward the shed. Her heart raced, for even though the truth was out, Mr. Doe needed his privacy. Tilda crept to the end of her bed, then went to her knees, lifting up the bottom edge of the curtain. All she saw was darkness, and the sound was gone.

Should she wake her father? He might grumble, say she was just hearing things. But something felt tight within Tilda's chest, which frightened her. She went to her feet, carefully avoiding her sleeping siblings, then slowly opened the door. It creaked, which made Luke cough, while Esther murmured something. But it was Gail Tilda didn't want to stir, for if she woke, everyone else would too. Tilda waited a moment, then as Gail's breathing resumed to its normal pattern, Tilda left the room, walking to her parents' closed door.

She didn't knock, but turned the knob, which immediately halted her father's snores. "What?" Walt mumbled. "What is it?"

Tilda approached the bed, her father now turned toward her. "I heard something outside our window Daddy. It was somebody, I know it was."

She spoke softly, not wishing to wake her mother. To her surprise, Walt sat up, stepping into trousers lying on the floor. She stood back as her father buttoned the waist, then strode from the room. Tilda followed him as far as the front door, but Walt raised his hand. "Stay here, you understand?"

She nodded, at once terrified of her father going out alone, also relieved that he had taken her seriously. She remained near the door, but after Walt stepped outside, she went to the window, peeking through the break in the curtains. Enough moonlight shone, but only her father's truck was visible.

If someone was snooping, they might have parked along the road, then walked on foot. It was times like this Tilda wished they still had Rusty, but that dog had died shortly after Esther was born. Now Tilda wondered if her daddy would come home with a puppy, which might be extra work, but a dog was valuable in these parts. She considered what kind of dog he might pick, still peering out at the darkness. She wouldn't go back to bed until her father returned.

Several minutes passed, during which Tilda thought of all the different dog breeds she knew. Her feet were cold, but she heard nothing happening outside, and everyone in the house was unaware of Walt's absence. Then the front door creaked, making Tilda shake. As her father came inside, she ran to greet him. Walt picked her up and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. He stroked her head the way he did with Esther and Gail. Tilda hadn't known this sort of affection for a while, and while she was glad he was back, she was more relieved to know how much her father loved her.

"Daddy, what was it?" she said after pulling away. But she didn't wiggle to be put down as Walt walked to the sofa. He sat, still holding her, now letting her legs swing over his lap. He took a deep breath, but didn't immediately speak. Tilda shivered and he hugged her close. But still her father didn't say a word.

Tilda imagined it must have been a large animal, for Walt hadn't taken his gun, nor had she heard any arguing. "Did Mr. Doe need a walk round?" she asked. "Daddy, what happened?"

"Don't say nothing 'bout this to no one, especially not to Luke. I'll tell your mama in the morning. You understand me Tilda?"

She nodded, but wasn't sure if he could see her. "Yes Daddy, I won't say nothing to nobody. But what was out there? I wasn't dreaming, was I?"

The sound had been too sharp and her father's reaction too swift. Tilda expected him to say it was time for her to go back to bed, and she would do just that, also keeping everything to herself. She wasn't a little girl like Esther; she was coming on eight years old and....

"Matilda Hannah, what happened tonight is just between us and...." Walt hesitated, then quietly cleared his throat. "Our guest. I'll tell your mama, but under no circumstances are you to bring this up with her. She's got enough to think about already."

Tilda nodded, she also trembled. She couldn't recall the last time her father had used her whole name, but she wasn't in trouble. "Yes sir." She ached to know what had happened, but as her father kissed the top of her head, then lifted her from his lap onto the floor, she knew better than to ask again. She took a deep breath, then let it out as she started to walk away.

To her shock, her father spoke. "Tilda, just so you know. Mr. Doe won't be staying with us much longer."

She turned around, seeing that her father had stood from the sofa. "Well then, best we treat him kindly till he's gone."

Walt approached her, then patted her shoulder. "Indeed. In the meantime, Mr. Bolden might be around when you and Luke get home from school tomorrow."

"Are you gonna tell him about what happened tonight?"

"Yes, but like I said, don't say nothing 'bout this to Luke."

"Will Mr. Doe tell him?"

Walt took another heavy breath. "No he won't. Go on now and get some sleep."

"Yes Daddy. I love you Daddy."

"I love you too Tilda."

Walt leaned down, kissing the top of her head. She grinned, feeling to share a special link with her father, which led her to bed. She didn't hear him walk that way, for Tilda was asleep long before Walt returned to where his family slumbered peacefully. That was all Walt cared about, John too. And it was why, after all these weeks, that Walt had agreed with John Doe. The time had come for the Richardsons' mysterious border to move on.
Chapter 195

When Dora stirred, Walt's side of the bed was cool. Dora smiled, for sometimes Walt left for work early. She glanced at the clock, then furrowed her brow; it was six a.m. Getting out of bed, Dora slipped on her robe, for the house was chilly. She quietly walked past the children's door, hearing only snores. One light shone from the kitchen, making Dora shiver, but a note on the kitchen table soothed her; Walt had written that he hadn't been able to sleep. For a moment Dora wondered if he'd suffered from a nightmare, but his dreams were so violent, she always woke alongside him. Without the shed to flee to, Walt had merely headed to work, although she wasn't sure what he would do other than make a strong pot of coffee as the garage didn't open until eight for customers. Dora took a deep breath, allowing she would hear more when Walt came home, although maybe not until the couple went to bed. In the meantime, she was cold, and still tired. She put Walt's note in the pocket of her robe and returned to bed, where she quickly fell back asleep.

By the time Dora woke for the second time that morning, Walt had ingested several cups of coffee. He'd never gone back to sleep that night, sitting outside with John, discussing that man's plans. In the darkness, Walt felt drawn back to his days in Korea, when he and Seth Gordon had waited for the sun to emerge, but this time Walt had to face the coming day alone. He would tell Callie, for while Walt didn't wish to saddle his friend with all the details, Callie's assistance was necessary. Walt found it ironic that in his most anxious moments he had to trust a Negro as well as Jew. Then Walt smiled. If a Catholic appeared requiring Walt's help, it would be like Jesus himself was requesting Walt's aid.

Walt considered his reservations about Catholics, then chided himself. Perhaps John Doe was a papist, but now it was a moot point, and not simply because by the end of the week that man would be on his way westward. Walt had few close friends; maybe Callie was it, except now there was John, although that wasn't his real name. John wasn't any closer to knowing his identity, but he was eager to leave Karnack. Walt wasn't sure if what had happened last night would come back to haunt him; he more worried about John's conscience. He didn't know who he was, but the events of hours ago would live with him forever.

The only niggle in Walt's mind was what to tell Dora, for she would figure it out. He didn't fret over Tilda; she was smart enough to understand this had happened for the best, but too young to obsess over what it all meant. And now fueled by caffeine, Walt realized that Luke couldn't be kept in the dark. That boy's reaction overtook how Dora would cope with the news. Agony was last thing Walt wanted for any of his family, but perhaps he was being naïve. Life was full of trouble, no way to escape it.

But he could reduce the level of harm; Luke would miss John, but that man's departure was inevitable. Walt poured another cup of coffee; like he had said several times, John couldn't live in that shed forever. Walt would have preferred him to leave of his own accord, but circumstances had arisen and.... Sipping his coffee, Walt felt jittery. Then he shook his head, gazing out of a dirty window, the barest hint of morning now visible. One of the longest nights in Walt's life was nearly over. But what did this day hold in store?

As co-workers arrived, no mention was made to Walt's presence or that the coffeepot was warm but nearly empty. Only one topic of conversation ruled, although particulars were sketchy. Walt listened with an attitude of detachment, yet he soaked in every detail. His heart beat hard and he longed to talk to his wife, John, and Callie. Then Walt excused himself, walking outside. The sun was just peeking over the eastern side of Karnack, peachy-pink clouds lightening in color as Walt stared at them. He felt no guilt, just like in Korea. Yet, he wasn't standing on foreign soil and Seth Gordon wasn't anywhere near. As the sun slowly rose, Walt knew a strange peace, memories from over a decade ago slipping from his head. What had happened last night wouldn't stay with him long, not how his wartime deeds had haunted him. For if the rumors were true, Pop Bellevue had gotten what was coming to him. And perhaps John Doe could leave Karnack with no hint of scandal in his wake.

The morning dragged, but at eleven, Walt told his boss he was going home for lunch. Walt's first stop was Callie's, but the news had filtered to all sections of town, and Callie seemed aware of more than Walt knew; Essie Bellevue was in the hospital in nearby Marshall, while Hiram had been discharged, probably in the care of neighbors. Walt filed away this information, then coolly informed Callie of last night's activities. Callie nodded, but didn't immediately speak. Then he rubbed his bald head, staring right at Walt. "What happens now?"

"He still hasta go, but this'll cover him, at least for a while. Maybe for good," Walt added, then he sighed. "My Lord, I never thought anything like this would happen."

"Which part?" Callie asked.

Walt wore the hint of a smile. "All of it." Then Walt frowned. "Gonna be hard on Luke, but it's time."

"Yes sir, it's time all right. You want me to tell John or are you...."

Walt stood, glancing at Callie's front door. "I'm gonna head there now. I nearly called home, but didn't wanna raise suspicion."

"Well, probably wouldn't been too strange. Nothing like this's happened in a long time."

Walt nodded, then he swallowed hard. Nothing like this had happened to any white citizens of Karnack for ages. Then Walt considered how for the most part, whites and Negroes got along fine in this hamlet. No one wanted trouble, well, nobody but Pop, but now he was.... "I was gonna ask if you could stop by this afternoon, but now, well...."

"No need to if you're going there straightaway. Best to act like nothing's happened. In the meantime, I'll ask Jonah if he's going to Dallas on Friday, or you think Friday's too soon?"

"Nope, Friday should be fine." Walt smiled as if Callie had read his mind. Then Walt stared at his friend. "Susie say anything to you this morning?"

Callie chuckled. "Not at all. Actually, I'm looking forward to when she gets home. Might be some parties in the next few weeks once this all blows over."

Walt grinned. Pop had made enemies all over Karnack, but nobody would be celebrating immediately. Still, Friday would be enough time elapsed that John could catch a ride to Dallas with Jonah Thompson. Walt cleared his throat; other than the Boldens, nobody in Karnack had ever seen John, not even Dora's mother. "I might ask if John wants to shave his beard. Can't hide his arm, but...."

Callie nodded. "Was just thinking 'bout that. I'll talk to Jonah this afternoon."

"Thanks."

"Wish I could say it's my pleasure, but...." Callie stood, then approached Walt. "The main thing is it's over. Well, for us. John still has a ways to go, but Pop can't hurt nobody no more."

Walt nodded; he'd been thinking of Hiram on and off, and of course Essie. But first came Walt's family. He extended his right hand and Callie shook it firmly. They gazed at one another and Walt smiled. This colored man was Walt's kin too. "I'll stop by in the morning if that's all right."

"I'll be up. Give Miss Dora my best."

Walt smiled, for it was how Callie always ended their conversations. This chat had been one of the strangest, yet a veil of pretense now cloaked their words. "I'll be sure to tell her, and you give Susie our love."

"Will do. Be speaking to you in the morning." Callie led Walt to the door, but Walt hesitated. Callie nodded, his smile wide. "Don't worry Walt. It's all gonna be fine."

"You think so?"

"Can't think nothing but. Go give that man some peace of mind. Plus I'm sure Miss Dora could use some too."

Walt nodded, then took his leave, considering Callie's lightheartedness a good omen.

As Walt spoke to his wife and their border, Marek Jagucki ate pie in the Snyder kitchen. He wasn't alone, for Renee and Ann were also seated at the table, as well as Jane. Lynne fed Cary in the living room, but soon that duo joined the rest, the conversation centered on Marek's expected guest. Jane and Ann didn't understand, and their mothers didn't attempt to explain. Renee led the girls into the living room, then stood in the kitchen doorway, keeping an eye on them. "What time again does she arrive?" Renee asked.

"About ten this evening." Marek wiped his mouth with a napkin, then pushed his plate away. "Hopefully her flights have been on time."

Well, I suppose you'll know when you reach the airport." Renee smiled, then gazed at where the girls played. Then she cleared her throat. "What are you gonna tell her about...."

"Lynne suggested the truth, that he went to help a friend, and has been waylaid."

Renee crossed her arms over her chest. That excuse had worked for Frannie, even the McCampbells hadn't balked. But with Laurie and Stanford gone, reality had hit Renee hard. Maybe her brother's recovery was part of it; Ritchie was actually walking on his own, although he used crutches, and according to Brenda, might need a cane for the rest of his life. That he was still sober Renee chalked up to the rehabilitation center where he would probably stay for another few weeks. By the time Marek's houseguest had returned to Europe, Renee's brother might be back under his own roof, but how long he'd eschew alcohol was another story. Then Renee stared at Marek, who now held Cary. She was a placid baby, much like Jane, but then from her earliest days she had been surrounded by many. Perhaps she was used to always being held, although time would tell if her good mood would last. Jane had endured a bout of colic, then Renee shivered. Had that been tied to the absence of her godparents, and how would Cary react when Eric came home? Renee closed her eyes, having thought the same about Ritchie's family. All of them were eager for his return, but even if he managed to avoid liquor, he wouldn't be in any shape to support them. He'd be the one needing help and....

A strong tug on her leg stirred Renee from her thoughts. She looked down, finding her goddaughter gazing toward her. "Up?" Jane said in forceful tone, raising her hands.

"Oh sure, sorry honey." Renee hoisted Jane, then looked at where Ann still played in the living room. Then Renee faced Lynne and Marek, both with smiles. "My goodness, where was I?"

"Oslo perhaps?" Marek chuckled. "Or maybe New York. If nothing else, you're back with us again."

Renee nodded, feeling sheepish. Then she stepped in between Marek and Lynne. "I was just thinking about...." She coughed, then kissed Jane's cheek. "Your daddy and my brother." Renee pointed to Cary, still in Marek's grasp. "You have a little sister Jane, and I'm a little sister too." Then Renee looked toward the doorway to the living room. "Ann's a little sister as well." Renee's voice trailed off, for now she was merely making conversation. What would Marek say to Klaudia to excuse Eric's absence, or was there any way to disguise the truth? At least all the Nolan kids were old enough to understand what had happened to Ritchie, not that it was pleasant. Then Renee stroked Jane's hair. "You're far too young to comprehend any of this, thank you Father." Renee glanced at the ceiling, but didn't cross herself. Then she met Lynne's gaze; that woman seem to agree.

"I told Marek to tell her whatever he felt she would best accept. Fortunately jet lag will be on our side for at least a day."

"Maybe a couple," Marek grinned. "And I told Lynne it would be a couple of days before I could gauge what she might best believe. Several truths need to be explained, and perhaps Eric's absence isn't the most strange."

Renee nodded absently, then she stared at Marek. Sudden tears sprang to the corners of her eyes; how would this pastor explain his survival to a woman who for years had thought him dead? Renee's legs wobbled, so she set Jane to the floor, then walked back to her chair at the table. She sat with a plop, blinking away tears that stung. Then her hand was grasped by Lynne. Renee squeezed back, then laughed as Jane again tugged on Renee's side. "Auntie?" Jane called in a quizzical voice.

Only in the last few weeks had Jane said auntie. Perhaps just since Cary arrived, Renee thought, as she lifted Jane onto her lap. Then Renee spotted Ann entering the kitchen, but she went to Lynne's side. Lynne didn't pick up Ann, but she stroked the girl's hair, then hugged Renee's daughter tightly. Ann smiled, gazed at the baby, then at her mother. Tears again welled in Renee's eyes, but no heartache accompanied. The past was immutable, but that didn't mean it was damned, for so much good remained.

Marek stood, giving Cary back to her mother. Then he collected Ann, who laughed in his arms. He was Uncle Marek to her and Paul, but they never referred to Jeremy Markham other than as Father. Did they understand Marek's position was just as revered? And when Eric returned, would he one day be called uncle? Stanford had been graced with that title, although maybe it was solely related to how he was linked with Uncle Laurie, who was greatly missed by both Ahern children. Renee usually called Marek Pastor, but Sam used Marek's first name. How would they introduce Klaudia, not that Renee and Sam expected to spend much time with her, but would she simply be Mrs. Henrichsen or....

This time laughter broke Renee's reverie, and she found herself chuckling with the rest. "My goodness, you must think I'm on Mars." She hugged Jane, then sighed. "Sorry I keep losing focus."

"Plenty to keep our minds occupied." Lynne cradled her daughter, then smiled at Renee. "Marek was just asking when it might be good for all of us to get together. I told him it was more up to him and Klaudia. I certainly don't have anything planned."

"Oh, um, we don't either. Just let Sam know." Renee gazed at Marek. "He's scheduled for a few days at the hospital, but he can always get someone to cover for him." After Cary was born, Sam had mentioned taking a break from his volunteer position. Renee understood the real reason for that proposed sabbatical, but who knew when Eric would return? "Sam's schedule is pretty flexible right now, in fact...." Then Renee paused. She wasn't sure if Sam wanted to share that news. "Just give us a day's notice. Maybe something for this weekend?"

"That sounds lovely." Marek smiled. "Shall we go ahead and plan for Saturday? I'll do the cooking, you can all visit St. Matthew's."

"Okay, but I bet Sam would be happy to bring something."

"I'll make a pie," Lynne giggled. "But that will be it from us."

"A pie would be wonderful. And yes, I'll ask Sam about a side dish. But in the meantime, I'm off to catch a nap." Marek set Ann to the floor. "It's going to be a late night for this cleric."

Lynne chuckled again, but Renee only smiled. Something about Klaudia's arrival seemed ominous; maybe it was just that it had been months since this woman had made her presence known. And of course, it was through Eric that this reunion was occurring, which again caused Renee to blink away tears. He should be here, but Renee didn't linger on that point. Instead she stood, still toting Jane, who immediately leaned toward her uncle. Marek didn't take her from Renee's arms; he kissed her forehead, then spoke in Polish. Jane laughed, then mumbled in what to Renee sounded similar to Marek's native speech, stirring Renee's smile. "Pretty soon there'll be one more to speak Polish with."

"Indeed, and believe me, I'll have to be on my toes. Jane doesn't know if I'm using poor grammar, but Klaudia won't hesitate to mention my errors."

Renee gazed at Marek. "I suppose you won't be as harsh toward her English."

Marek smiled, shaking his head. "Perhaps she'll entertain us with some Norwegian."

"Maybe by the time she leaves, Jane will have picked up that too." Lynne didn't stand, but she set Cary over her shoulder. "Say goodbye to Uncle Marek now girls."

Ann and Jane said their goodbyes as Renee walked the pastor to the front door. "Let us know tomorrow that she's arrived safely."

"I will do that. And if you hear from...." Marek patted Renee's shoulder, then glanced at Lynne. "Please don't hesitate to call."

Lynne nodded. "Good luck."

"Thank you," Marek laughed. "I might need some of that over the coming days." He ruffled Jane's hair, put on his coat and hat, then opened the door. Renee and Jane saw him off, Ann at their sides, while Cary began to fuss. As Renee closed the door, Lynne set her baby to her chest, but neither woman spoke. Two little girls did the talking, about pie and dolls and simpler pleasures.
Chapter 196

After supper, Dora stepped outside with Esther and Gail. Luke then knew the rumors were true; Hiram's father had beaten not only Hiram, but his stepmother too. All day at school children had whispered about why Hiram wasn't in class, and those who lived near the Bellevues spoke about the sheriff and an ambulance from Marshall. Some of the older kids hinted that Hiram's father was on the run, but Luke hadn't wanted to think about such dramatic embellishments. As Walt cleared his throat, then told Luke and Tilda to step into the living room, Luke wondered just what his father knew.

The news was worse than Luke had imagined; Miss Essie was badly hurt and still in the hospital in nearby Marshall, the county seat. Hiram was staying with the Petersons, the closest neighbors of the Bellevue family. He too had gone to the hospital, but his injuries weren't serious. According to Walt, Essie had finally taken a stand against her husband's cruelty toward Hiram. Pop had been drinking, Walt said in a stoic tone, and had turned his anger upon his wife. No one knew where Pop was, but his truck had been abandoned near the highway. Walt's tone remained flat; the sheriff believed Pop had hitched a ride from there, was most likely in Louisiana. While Miss Essie would recover, it would take a long while, and if Pop was found, he would be arrested for attempted murder. Walt didn't mention Hiram, but Luke's stomach churned; how many times had Hiram sported the remnants of his father's temper? Luke felt badly for Miss Essie, but at least she had done the right thing.

"Do you think they'll catch him?" Luke asked.

"I don't know son." Walt took a deep breath, then crossed his arms over his chest. He had pulled a chair close to the sofa, where Luke and Tilda sat. "All I know for certain is what I just told you. Not sure when Hiram will come back to school. He ain't got no kin around here other than Miss Essie, and she won't be out of the hospital for a good week or more."

Luke nodded; Hiram's older siblings had moved far away, and never came home. Hiram had rarely spoken about them, as if his family was only himself, his father, and stepmother. "Well, does Miss Essie have family to come look after her and Hiram?" Luke spoke softly, hard to think of Hiram now practically being all alone.

"She does, but they're in Oklahoma. If nothing else, I doubt Hiram will be in school for a while."

Luke nodded, then glanced at Tilda. She seemed unusually calm, first meeting his gaze, then looking at their father. Then she stared at the floor, gripping the sides of the couch cushion.

"Daddy...." Luke paused, again peering at his sister. For the first time in his life, Luke felt Tilda knew something he didn't. But other than gossip some of the girls at school might have said, Luke wasn't sure what else there was to know. Their father had been honest, his tone unruffled. Everyone in town knew how mean Hiram's daddy was, and now maybe they would never see Pop Bellevue again.

"You have a question Luke?" Walt again spoke somberly.

"Well, no, I guess not." Luke would ask Tilda later, maybe on their way to school tomorrow. He grasped her hand and she clutched back. She did know something, but it must not be important, or she would speak up now.

Instead the children held hands while their father stood from his chair, then put it back to the table. Walt didn't have to tell them to keep this to themselves, that was why their mother had taken the girls outside. But now Luke heard Esther's voice, then Gail's. The front door was opened and Luke got off the couch, seeing his mother flanked by his littlest sisters. He ran to meet them, hugging his mama tightly. Tilda was on his heels and all but Walt made up the group. No one spoke, but that was for the little girls' benefit. Esther laughed while Gail giggled, yet those sounds didn't lift the weight on Luke's heart. Maybe Hiram was glad his father wouldn't beat him again, but forever he would live with the shame of being the son of a violent man. Luke looked at his dad, then smiled. Walt nodded, then stepped toward his family, ruffling Luke's hair. Luke again pressed close to his mother; he missed the tears falling down Dora's face, also how Tilda met her mother's damp eyes, nodding her head.

Walt didn't leave the house until he knew Luke was asleep. Walt still needed to speak to Dora about when John was leaving, but first he had to check on that man. John had been unhappy to hear about Essie and Hiram, but those pieces of information hadn't lessened his burden. Walt understood that, why he walked to the shed, even if Dora was waiting for him in their bed.

Walt knocked softly, then was told to come in. "Just wanted to say goodnight," Walt said. Then he paused, finding John sitting on the edge of his bed, his left hand clenching the pallet just as tightly as Tilda had gripped the sofa cushion.

Never before had Walt noticed his oldest daughter's intelligence, but he wasn't sure if he needed to say anything to her about what had happened. Luke might have more questions, and he would certainly complain when told about Mr. Doe's impending departure. That would occur on Friday; John would catch a ride to Dallas with Jonah Thompson, who, Callie assured Walt, hadn't asked any overt questions. Weekly Jonah hauled firewood into Dallas and in four days he would deposit an amnesiac into that city. Walt and Dora would give John some money, but he would be on his own from there, to where none of them yet knew. Somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, Callie believed, not due to anything Susie had shared, just a feeling of his own, Callie had smiled when Walt stopped at the Boldens on his way home from work. Once Walt knew that Jonah was willing to take John as far as Dallas, he had breathed a little easier since being stirred by his daughter very early that morning.

Walt was exhausted, but then John looked weary too; neither had slept once Tilda woke, although John had been awake longer than Walt. Walt yawned, making John do the same. Both men smiled, then Walt pulled the metal chair out from the table, sitting down. "How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Like I could sleep for a week, but every time I close my eyes...." John shook his head. "It's like I'll never fall asleep again."

Walt nodded. "Felt like that so many nights in Korea." He had felt that way here in Karnack too, although now all Walt wanted was to lie next to Dora, allowing sleep to work its magic. Then he chuckled, for the idea of never having another nightmare flitted in his head. Could that be possible, or even fair? Walt gazed at John, seeing a storm within that man's gray eyes. It was the same kind of turbulence that had wracked Walt since his first days in battle right up to late last fall when Dora told him she was expecting again. Would John get another decent night's sleep in his life? Walt wasn't sure, but he didn't utter those notions aloud. He quickly prayed for the man across from him, then took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "You'll get past it. Not easily, but you will."

"How?" John asked.

Walt pondered that query, then spoke. "No different than me in Korea. You did what you had to do. If you hadn't, you'd be dead now."

John nodded, then sighed. "You really think so?"

"I know so. Supposedly the sheriff was called around ten, maybe ten thirty. Tilda woke me at two. That's three hours and...."

John stood, then grasped his bad arm. "She knows, doesn't she?"

"I imagine so."

"Does Luke?"

Walt shook his head. "But don't worry, she won't tell him."

"How can you be sure?"

Walt stood, then set his hand on John's right shoulder. "She loves him, doesn't want him thinking anything bad. And," Walt added with a sly smile, "I think she likes knowing something he doesn't."

John sighed again, then stalked about the shed. Then he stood near the door, but didn't open it. "I remembered something today, although now I wish I hadn't."

"What?"

John faced Walt. "My father was a murderer. He died in prison. I went to see him; it's funny, I don't recall sitting with him, but I know I was there. He beat my mother, and me too." John gazed at his left foot, then back at Walt. "He did something to my ankle, although it's healed now. But for years I had trouble with it, in fact...." John's voice wavered. "That's why I wasn't drafted. I was crippled."

Walt smiled. "Well, it's starting to come back to you. Who knows what you'll remember by Friday?"

"Didn't you hear what I said? My father killed a man and now so have...."

Walt quickly stepped in front of John, grabbing both of his shoulders. "You did what you had to do, but no one's gonna be worse off for it." Walt swallowed hard; that only applied to those in Karnack. "Listen to me now. You can't never change it, but you can learn to live with it, just like your arm." Walt released John's left shoulder, but continued gripping the right one. "You've done a good job of working round it. That's all it is, working round it. And if you're remembering correctly, maybe it'll get better too. If you think something was wrong with your left foot, well, ain't nothing wrong with it now."

Walt removed his hand from John's shoulder, then pointed at that man's shoes. "Gonna need both those feet in a few days. Dora and I got a little cash to give you, but you'll be walking or hitching rides till you get home."

John shook his head. "I can't take your money."

"You gotta eat. And maybe give someone a little something for gas depending on how far they take you. For now, let's not worry about that. I'm going to bed, you do the same."

Walt headed to the door, but John's cough made him turn back. "What?" Walt said.

"I'm sorry. I never meant for any of this."

"Don't be sorry. Can't change it, just gotta move forward."

"But how?"

Walt wanted to smile, for Callie's voice filled his head. "After I came home, someone told me I just needed to trust. I had no idea what he was talking about. I couldn't trust myself and that left...." Then Walt grinned. "Callie told me that, guess there's no use lying to you now. He'd been home a few months and at first I thought he meant Dora, but he really meant...." Walt cleared his throat. "I had to trust God. I thought he was crazy, but damnit if he wasn't right. You're the same. Who else you got?"

"But how in the hell...." John sat on his bed, hanging his head. Then he looked right at Walt. "My father was a killer and now...."

"You're a survivor. Nearly dead two months ago, and now you're 'bout on your way home."

"But what if I don't remember? And even if I do, how am I supposed to tell my wife?"

Walt grimaced, for he had rarely spoken to Dora about Korea. "Concentrate on one thing for now, and that's getting outta Karnack. You'll have plenty of time to think about other things later. I'll stop by before I go in the morning. Just try and get some rest."

John didn't answer, but Walt didn't mind. He had peppered Callie with similar questions, and Callie had simply repeated his advice. It might have taken Walt years to follow it, but John was certainly smarter than Walt about most things. Perhaps John's conscience would be eased far sooner than the decade plus it was taking Walt's.

By the time John finally fell asleep, Marek was loitering in the airport alongside a few others waiting for the last flight of the evening. Marek was glad for the stillness, for all afternoon his heart had felt burdened. He wasn't sure if it was connected to his guest or to someone else. Perhaps it was only ancient memories rising to the surface. Yet Marek was eager to see Klaudia, running their recent conversations through his mind. Her voice had sounded older, but that was to be expected. She knew what he looked like, or an artist's representation of his current appearance; Eric's painting had been a faithful interpretation of a pastor. Jane was altered, but only from the passage of time.

At least Klaudia wouldn't mistake anyone else in the terminal for her host; Marek was the only one with a collar and beard. Marek focused on the large glass windows, a dark night in view. Blinking lights sparkled along the tarmac, then in the distance Marek saw twinkling lights in the sky. His heart began to pound, then it eased as he took deep breaths. He closed his eyes, said a brief prayer. When he looked out again, the lights were closer, and with every inhalation, they shined more brightly. He approached the large windows, others right behind him. All watched as the lights grew near, then the plane landed. Within minutes it was parked just meters from where they stood.

An airport employee joined them, noting that because it was late, they wouldn't be permitted to exit the terminal to meet up with passengers. Marek nodded, stepping away from the glass. The others did the same, but no one went far, leaving ten feet between where they were grouped and the double glass doors. Marek spied travelers departing the plane, then slowly trekking across the pavement. Marek couldn't tell which one was Klaudia, for they moved as a pack, not separating until the first came through the now opened double door.

It was a man, followed by a little girl. Two older women entered, trailed by a young couple. Finally a blonde woman, her hair in a ponytail, slipped through the doorway, her eyes darting around the terminal's expanse. Marek smiled, then waved his hand, walking in her direction.

She looked much as he recalled, although she was clearly older than in his memories. Her smile was wan, but she had been traveling all day. He approached her, his own grin broad. "Hello," he said softly in English. "I hope you had pleasant flights."

Her lip trembled as she nodded. "Yes, they were fine."

Her tone was stilted, which made him chuckle. "That's wonderful. Oh Klaudia, it's so good to see you."

She nodded again, gripping a handbag slung over her shoulder. "Marek?" She paused, then cleared her throat. Then she spoke in Polish. "Is it really you?"

He responded in that language. "It truly is. Let's get your case, then be on our way. I know it was a very long day and I'm sure you're...."

Her tears precluded him from saying more. Then she was in his arms, crying hard. They stood alone in the terminal as she wept, occasionally choking, then crying again. A few tears fell down Marek's face, but he ignored them, whispering to Klaudia that all was well. She calmed from his words, then pulled away, looking embarrassed. He offered her his handkerchief, which she used, then shoved into her purse. She straightened her shoulders, taking a deep breath, meeting his gaze with a vigorous nod of her head. Marek said nothing, but pointed in the direction of where her luggage waited. She nodded again, this time with less force, letting him lead the way.

By the time they reached baggage claim, hers was the only piece remaining. Marek carried it as she clutched his free arm, their few words in Polish those of a comforting nature. When he reached his car, she asked if she could retrieve something from her suitcase. He placed it in the trunk, then she opened it, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "You don't mind, do you?" she asked, still speaking Polish.

"Of course not." He smiled, then chuckled, recalling how nearly all the adults in their village had been smokers. He probably would have too, but tobacco had been scarce after the war, and he'd been too poor to afford what was available. She lit a cigarette, then closed the case. He shut the trunk as she got in the front seat, but she didn't close her door, letting the smoke escape.

"Shall I wait until you're done?" he asked, getting into his seat.

"Oh, um...." She glanced at him. "I just wasn't sure if you'd mind."

"I don't mind." He smiled, realizing how none with whom he closely associated smoked, not even Laurie and Stanford. "We can sit here a few moments. I don't mind that either."

She nodded, then sighed, staring at him. "I just can't believe I'm actually sitting near you."

"It does seem bizarre." He chuckled again, trying to inspect her features, but the glow from an overhead streetlight was poor. Yet her tone was nearly as when they were teens, although hers was somewhat gravelly, probably from smoking. "So your flights were all right?"

"Yes. Just a long day."

"Indeed." He nodded, then gripped the steering wheel. "Well, feel free to sleep in as long as you like. I've cancelled my usual activities this week. Only my secretary will be around, but Mrs. Kenny knows you're coming so...."

"Get me up when you wake. I want to get on Pacific Time as soon as I can."

The way she said Pacific caught his attention, for her inflection lost some of its Polishness. He smiled, then grasped her left hand. "I'll see if I can rouse you. But perhaps one day of solid rest might be better."

She had been taking a long drag, but coughed, then shook her head. "No," she sputtered, then coughed again. She breathed deeply, but another cough emerged, and Marek released her hand as she stood from the car. She threw what remained of the cigarette on the ground, smashing it out. Then she got back in her seat, closing the door. "I don't want to waste time sleeping," she said, her voice still shaky. "I know I'll be fighting jet lag a few days, but I don't want it to impede upon my visit."

"Whatever you like. I usually wake around six thirty, although not often am I out this late. I'll make a pot of coffee, then knock on your door, is that all right?"

She nodded, wearing what looked to Marek like the hint of a smile. In that brief flash, he recognized the girl from his youth, but instantly that figure was replaced by a woman who might speak in a familiar manner, yet she was a stranger to him. He breathed deeply, smelling tobacco mixed with an odd foreignness. Then he was glad it was late and that he wouldn't see her for several hours. Marek started the car, wondering who was this person who spoke his native tongue, even looked like someone from his past, yet seemed as unknown as those with whom he had stood in the terminal. Still inwardly cringing from her earlier outburst, Klaudia felt exactly the same, hoping this trip wasn't the biggest mistake of her life.
Chapter 197

Upon waking, Seth's first thought was to the time. It had to be mid-afternoon, and he smiled, then stretched, being careful not to completely extend his left arm. Adrienne slept beside him, and he didn't want to stir her. He lay flat on his back, the last vestiges of sleep dissipating. Yet the languid sense of lovemaking remained, which nearly made him chuckle. He refrained, only because he wanted a few minutes to himself. Once Adrienne woke, he wouldn't have time for contemplation until he was back under Tovah and Ben's roof, and this moment would be lost to history.

Adrienne's breaths were deep, making Seth inhale similarly, and again he wished to laugh. How odd that after their conversation in the loft, it was as if they had known each other for ages. Their few chats over coffee had been mild precursors to what had emerged since, now culminated with him in her bed, but she had gone far deeper inside his heart. Seth had written to Laurie about this young woman, but now he owed his cousin the truth, which had only been discovered that afternoon; for the first time in his life Seth was in love. He wished to share the news, but with only Laurie. Reflection was required, as well as delicacy. Seth had told Adrienne about his time in Korea, his stints in institutions, even about Norah. But Adrienne was unaware of Seth's biggest secret, yet he needed to tell her about Eric. Keeping that from her seemed inherently wrong.

Seth wasn't sure if Laurie would agree with him, although Stanford had made the peace, and while Seth hadn't heard from Laurie since he and Stan returned to New York, Seth assumed all was well, or at least the couple was working through whatever difficulties had arisen upon once again living together. Seth didn't presume their life in Manhattan would be as before, then he sighed softly. It was one thing to accept the unbelievable when it was staring you in the face. Distance blurred the edges, but hopefully Eric's return would smooth out any questions Stan still possessed.

For as much as Seth cared about those people, he set them aside as Adrienne began to mumble. Words were indiscernible, although her tone was agreeable. Then Seth heard his name, and he smiled, rolling toward her. She faced the wall, covered by a blanket, and he shivered, again wanting to make love to her. Aunt Sheila would be thrilled that Seth had found a girlfriend in Israel, although Seth didn't think of Adrienne as a local. Her accent was too strong, and her curiosity about America led him to believe a trip home was time in coming. Not that she had broached the subject, but Seth knew she would never return permanently to Scotland.

Maybe she had come to Tel Aviv just for this afternoon, which had been spent mostly in bed, and Seth's smile broadened. The last few weeks had been leading up to this moment, which was quickly turning into.... The rest of his days attached to a talented yet touchy Scottish painter, for there was no other place Seth wished to be other than at Adrienne's side. Lying next to her was intoxicating, but life near this woman was all Seth could imagine. Maybe they would only visit America, or perhaps she would fall in love with it there, and this locale would be a footnote. Seth had no firm plans other than loving her, then....

"What time is it?" Adrienne's voice was sleepy but inquisitive.

Seth glanced at the clock behind him, then laughed. "Oh my God, it's four."

Adrienne sat up, pulling the sheet over her chest. She peered across, then shook her head. "Four o'clock? How long've you been awake?"

"Not long." He stroked her cheek, stirring her smile. "How are you?"

She nodded, placing her hand over his. "Good. And you?"

"Fantastic." He closed his eyes, then opened them, seeing tears falling down her face. "There's so much I wanna tell you."

He wasn't thinking of Eric, but then that man popped into Seth's head. As that occurred, a deep pain welled in Seth's chest, making him again shut his eyes. The ache lasted for half a minute, during which time Adrienne released his hand. Yet he kept his upon her face, needing to confirm she was real. Something had happened to Eric and it wasn't good. Had he died, Seth wondered, as the pain began to lessen. He took a breath, then opened his eyes. Adrienne's were huge in her face and her tears had stopped. "Seth, what is it?"

He swallowed, then leaned toward her, placing a gentle kiss on her lips. Then he removed his hand from her cheek, sitting up in bed. "C'mere," he said, patting his leg.

She snuggled against him, and he stroked her hair. He had fallen in love so quickly, yet felt no apprehension, perhaps that was due to his age. He knew what he wanted, then he sighed, again considering Eric. Seth had counseled Laurie to be honest with Stan, and that same admonition rang through Seth's head as if Laurie stood close. But Seth wouldn't be so direct, for Adrienne didn't even know about the Snyders. "Do you ever get premonitions?" Seth said quietly.

Adrienne looked up, then nodded. "I knew when my brother died." She sighed, then sniffled, pressing herself against Seth's chest. "Mum rang a few hours later and I tried to act surprised but...." She wept, then sat up, wiping her face with the sheet. Then she set her hand in the middle of Seth's chest. "What's wrong?"

Her touch eased the pounding within his ribcage. "Something's happened to someone I know." He set his hand over hers, then grasped her fingers. "A good friend has been missing since...." He paused, then continued. "Right after I left Miami."

"Oh Seth!"

He nodded, then embraced her. "It's complicated. I don't know how to start, but I do need to tell you about him. He's a painter, probably one of the most talented artists I've ever...." Seth bit his lip, but a small smile escaped. "Had the pleasure to know. If I told you his name, you might've heard of him."

Adrienne pulled away. "Really?"

Seth nodded. "His work's been touring Europe since last year. I think the exhibit's supposed to close soon, maybe March? Laurie's boyfriend is his dealer, that's how I...." Seth inhaled, then let it out slowly. "It's how I know Eric. His name's Eric Snyder."

"Eric Snyder?" Adrienne gasped. "Oh Seth, are you serious?"

He nodded, finding her smile suddenly turning to a frown. "He's missing?" she added, her voice trembling. "I've been reading about him, but nothing's been reported that he's missing. Are you sure?"

Seth reached for her hands, caressing them within his. "Like I said, it's complicated."

"Was he, I mean...." She gazed at their clasped hands, then met his eyes. "Was he in hospital with you?"

Now Seth smiled. "Not exactly. He came to see me, in fact...." Seth squeezed her hands, then released them. "If not for Eric, I'd be in a straightjacket. Or dead."

Adrienne sat up, grasping the sheet around her body. She folded her arms over her chest, raising her eyebrows. "What's happened to him?"

"Nobody knows. We left Miami at the same time, but he hasn't made it home yet."

"His family can't find him?"

"No."

"Well, did he drive there?" She looked puzzled. "People just don't go missing, I mean, they do, but...."

Seth stroked her face, now understanding Laurie's misgivings about telling Stanford the truth. "He didn't drive, he flew. Somewhere along the way he went...." AWOL popped into Seth's mind, as did a Texas drawl Seth hadn't considered since Korea. Out of all the lives he had taken, one man had actually been the recipient of Seth's actions. Well, their platoon had benefitted, but Walt was different, for Walt had been at Seth's side, doing the same task. Where was he, Seth wondered, but the bigger question remained. "There's something I need to tell you, something you probably won't believe now, but that's all right." Seth sighed, then smiled. "I love you. I'm in love with you Adrienne."

Her eyes brightened. "Oh God, I love you too." She giggled, then grew serious. "But that's not what you wanted to tell me, or not all of it."

"It's what matters most." Then he grasped her hands. "But there is something else." He took a breath, releasing it. As he did, voices filled his head, murmurs of those with whom he'd fought in Korea, Laurie's laughter alongside their mothers' and sisters' chuckles. Stanford's earnest words in the art gallery near the painting of the blue barn resounded in Seth's mind, then finally the ethereal but true nature of conversation Seth had shared with Eric. Seth's existence was bound by tones factual and otherworldly, and now his life was also tethered to who sat across from him. He prayed that Adrienne wouldn't think him mad; maybe her youth would permit belief. Please, he asked, let her understand....

A kiss interrupted his thoughts, then he closed his eyes, allowing her touch to ease this from him, but not via speech. "I love you Seth," she muttered, then kissed him again. Seth nodded, wrapping himself around her. They made love, and when they were through, Seth told Adrienne about saving Walt Richardson's life, then how Eric had saved his. Adrienne was stoic until Seth spoke about the hawk. Then she began to cry, which turned to deep sobs. At first Seth worried that she thought he was lying. But as she calmed, nodding her head, he realized she took him at his words. Perhaps this was how Lynne had accepted Eric's bizarre transformations, although she had seen it happen. "Why do you believe me?" Seth asked softly.

"I don't know." Then she smiled. "Maybe I'd rather believe than think the worst."

Seth grinned, then chuckled. "You're the only one I've told here. Not even my shrink knows."

"Does she need to?"

Seth caressed Adrienne's face. "Not if you believe me."

"I do." Then Adrienne sighed. "When Mum rang, it was like I knew everything she was gonna tell me, all the details, the time, the...." Adrienne blinked away tears. "His last words, in hospital, even those I already knew. How'd I know all that?" She shook her head, then grasped Seth's hand. "It was as though I was with him, watching everything, but I couldn't work the brakes on his car, couldn't turn the wheel, oh God, like he'd sent me here not wanting to hurt me, but even from Israel I still felt it happening."

Now she wept again, and Seth pulled her toward him. During their first dinner together she had briefly mentioned her brother's death in a car accident, but nothing more concerning that loss. She dried her eyes, but her breaths were shaky. Seth inhaled deeply and she followed his lead. Soon both were breathing smoothly.

They lay down and he cradled her as she spoke at length about her brother. Then she huffed. "Listen to me, going on. Eric's missing!" She sat up, but didn't bother with the sheet. Then she stared at Seth. "You think something's happened to him, don't you?"

Seth nodded and a part of him wanted to smile. Adrienne possessed a flair for the dramatic; now that she knew, it was as if the unearthly element had been thrown aside. Seth sat up, moved beside her, then wrapped the sheet around them both. "Whatever it is isn't good."

"You think he's dead, don't you?"

"At first I did, but now...." Seth kissed Adrienne's cheek.

"What?"

He traced around her eyes, which over the last few days had seemed a deeper shade of green, almost as vibrant as Laurie's. Now Seth smiled, as though this woman's presence permitted him to contemplate a tragedy. "Something horrible's happened to him. Laurie thinks he'll come home, actually he knows it." Seth took a deep breath, then sighed loudly. "He told me Eric gave him a message right before Laurie left Miami. It was Psalm 100, one of Uncle Aaron's favorites." Then Seth chuckled. "Might've been the only actual Psalm he knew. Laurie said it kept him going, and why he knows Eric's gonna come home eventually."

"But...."

"He should've been home months ago." Seth shivered; Eric should have returned before Thanksgiving. "But now it's more than whatever's kept him away. God, I can't imagine what, but...."

Suddenly Seth's blood felt like ice and he trembled so badly that Adrienne had to hold him upright. "Seth, what?"

But Seth couldn't speak aloud what he knew so deeply to be true. All he could manage were prayers for Eric's soul, also prayers for Walt Richardson. Then Seth prayed for Laurie, hoping his cousin and Stanford were back on a secure footing. When Eric returned, he would need all the support possible.

While Seth and Adrienne found solace in bed, Stanford drank coffee in his office, inspecting the mail. This was Stanford's second day back at work, and while yesterday he had tackled the most necessary correspondence, these messages also required his consideration. Yet he couldn't concentrate, so he drained what remained in his mug, then leaned back in his chair. Since arriving home at the end of last week, Stanford had felt torn in half. His heart was back in this city, for so was Laurie, and Stanford never wished to again be separated from him. They had spoken of that at length, one of the few subjects they could be completely honest about with the other. Nothing about Eric had been mentioned, although Agatha had pestered both men about Cary, Lynne, and Jane. Photographs of the Snyder ladies were featured on the refrigerator, reminding Stanford of days that now seemed lived in an alternate universe. New York felt strange, as though Stanford had dreamed of his life spent in this city. He knew the reason for that oddness, but there was nothing he could do to change it. He would never have the freedom to love Laurie as he wished in any place other than behind the Snyders' property's walls.

But it wasn't merely time in bed that Stanford considered; it was standing beside Laurie with others near. It was moments with Jane and Cary and.... Stanford cringed when thinking of Lynne, who was shouldering parenthood alone, and might that forever be the case? Laurie remained certain that Eric would return, but Stanford wasn't as convinced. Not that he thought Eric was dead; it was less tangible than that. Stanford turned his chair to face the window, but found no peace in his beloved skyscrapers. A view that previously eased his heart was as foreign as the idea of the life Stanford used to live.

He found that maddening, for Laurie was home, wasn't that enough? Agatha and Emily still remained at their posts, Stanford's father was well, and while Manhattan was chilly, the city chugged along at its familiar frenetic pace. Everything was just as before, except that Stanford's chest felt strangely hollow. All weekend he'd noticed it, assuming it was being away from work. Once he stepped inside his office, the last piece would be firmly in place. But Monday had offered no respite and Tuesday felt just as disarming. Stanford considered calling home, but he didn't wish to worry Agatha, and Laurie was at his own office, buried under months of.... Laurie had been away far longer than Stanford, but last night he had seemed happy, if not exhausted. The men had retired early, in part to make love, then to fall right to sleep. But Stanford had stirred several times, although Laurie's snores had comforted. Maybe they needed to talk about Eric, yet what was there to say? Stanford wasn't sure what he believed, other than he was certain of what the rest assumed, and maybe there was strength in numbers. Perhaps if they had been able to stay longer, Stanford would have become one hundred percent convinced and.... All Stanford wanted was for Lynne to call, or maybe Sam, even Renee's voice would be welcomed, that Eric was home and all was well. Stanford remembered his conversation with Renee about that windowpane. She had seemed hesitant to speak about it, and for moments Stanford had hoped she would refute the whole business. But all she said was it had happened the day she learned about Eric, four years before. Four years, Stanford mused. In the last four years, Eric had turned into one of America's most heralded artists, but during those years, Eric had gone missing at least three times of which Stanford was aware. The longest stretch was ongoing; their last conversation had taken place right after Seth tried to kill himself in June. Now it was nearly February. If Laurie, Lynne, and the rest were lying, the alternative was most unpalatable. Eric was either as they all said or he was....

Stanford shivered, then turned away from the window. His office was unchanged, but he wasn't reassured. He longed to be back in Lynne's kitchen surrounded by.... He huffed, then picked up letters, but still couldn't focus. Closing his eyes, he imagined he was seated beside Laurie, Jane in her tall seat across from them, Lynne to Laurie's side, a baby in her arms. Perhaps Sam stood at the stove while Renee tended to their children in the living room, or was seated at the table between that boy and girl who behaved as if the Aherns had been their parents from the beginning. Now Stanford gave pause, for how strange was that family? And now Marek was hosting a woman he'd known in Poland who had also managed to survive the war. How was Stanford supposed to reconcile all these mysteries into a cohesive reality?

He shook his head, but the eeriness didn't leave him. At least Laurie was back and Agatha would greet Stanford when he stepped through his door. But to Stanford's surprise, her coffee had tasted bland, her cooking uninspired. He had kept that to himself, although Laurie had made a face this morning upon drinking his coffee. Maybe her touch had been off, the coffee rancid. Stanford would inquire tomorrow if it again tasted displeasing. Still he was troubled, but he couldn't pinpoint the cause. Then he sighed. Too many reasons swirled for him to choose only one. And the biggest was out of his hands. Once Eric came back, then everything would be fine.

Stanford concentrated on that, and within a few minutes, his mood lifted. Emily brought him another cup of coffee, and by lunchtime, he felt better than he had in ages. Laurie would be waiting when Stanford reached home, Agatha might have made stew. The afternoon sped past, and by three o'clock, Stanford wrapped up his day. He said a cheery See you tomorrow to Emily, easily caught a cab, then hummed a rather upbeat tune on his way home. The taxi driver was a young fellow who asked if Stanford liked the newest Beatles' record. Stanford stared at the driver through the rear-view mirror. "What did you say?" he asked.

"The Beatles are coming to New York, gonna be on the Ed Sullivan show I hear. You've been humming "I Want to Hold Your Hand", so I was just wondering."

Stanford huffed, feeling himself turning crimson. "I don't know what you're talking about." Although now that it had been brought to his attention, he had been humming that tune, yet from where had he heard it? Maybe Sally Canfield; she was the only teenager Stanford had recently encountered. He knew little about these Beatles, other than they were British. Would they actually appear on Ed Sullivan? Stanford shook his head, then inwardly trembled. He'd been thinking about what a pleasure it would be to see Laurie, how before he'd taken that man's presence for granted. Stanford still felt his color was high, so he stared out the window, and when the taxi pulled up at his building, he paid the cabbie, but didn't tip him. That impertinent young man needed a lesson in manners.

Entering the building, Stanford headed for the elevator, that tune filling his head; it must have been Sally to put it there. Then Stanford smiled, thinking of how affable was that girl, how enjoyable were all those days out west. How free he had felt, even if Eric wasn't there, which might have been the biggest surprise of all. New York was quite the metropolis, but there was something to be said for simple country living.

As Stanford reached his door, he paused, then said thank you under his breath. Maybe that was enough of a prayer, not that he missed Sunday mornings at Lynne's church. He unlocked his door, stepped inside, instantly smelling beef stew, hearing crackles from the fireplace, then footsteps approach. Laurie wore a smile, was dressed casually. Stanford chuckled, unable to hide his delight. "How long've you been home?" he asked.

"Not long." Laurie kissed him, then grasped his hands. "You smell that? She made a big pot, gonna be supper for the next few nights."

Stanford nodded, then sighed in relief. Laurie showed no ill effects from their return, in fact it was as if all of Stanford's worries were for naught. "I'll change, then join you."

Laurie nodded, then kissed him again. "We'll be waiting," he said.

Stanford went to their bedroom, again humming that tune. He smiled at himself, then wondered if Laurie or Agatha would guess its origins. He changed into eveningwear, then put on slippers. These were the ones he'd bought out west, and were more comfortable than his other pair. He headed toward the kitchen, not pausing at the guest room or the library, nor did he think about that strange sketch which Laurie had inspected thoroughly upon their return. Instead Stanford considered a chat with Agatha, stew for supper, then a night with Laurie, during which time Stanford would hold that man's hand.

He entered the kitchen chuckling to himself, but Laurie and Agatha were in conversation and didn't notice. Stanford stepped toward them, leaving space between himself and Laurie. "Good evening," Stanford said. "That smells delicious."

"Well, I made plenty." Agatha's tone was clipped, but her smile couldn't be hidden. Then she turned off the flame. "Let it sit about fifteen minutes or you'll burn your tongue off."

She gazed at Stanford, but Laurie laughed. "Whatever you say. My God, it's good to be home."

"Yes it is." Agatha wore the hint of a smile, then she sighed. "All right, time for me to go."

"So soon?" Stanford cleared his throat. "I mean, of course."

Laurie looked away, but Agatha met Stanford's gaze. "You need me to spoon it up for you?"

"No, but I just got home and...." While he looked forward to time with only Laurie, Stanford had grown used to a houseful. He sighed, then stepped back. "We'll see you in the morning."

Agatha removed her apron, hanging it on the hook to the left of the stove. Then she approached Stanford. "I'd stay longer, but I told Don I'd be home a little early tonight."

Stanford nodded; he had forgotten this detail. "Of course. I'm sorry, I simply...."

"You have enough to think about already." She smiled, then patted his shoulder. "See you at seven tomorrow."

"Yes, seven." Stanford spoke softly.

"I'll walk you out." Laurie's tone was conciliatory.

"I'm not gonna get lost between here and the front door." Agatha kissed Laurie's cheek, then again patted Stanford's arm. She exited the kitchen before Stanford could see her leave. He stared at the swinging door, then at Laurie, who wore a strange smile. "What?" Stanford asked.

"Where are you?" Laurie kissed him, then took two bowls from the cupboard. "She and Don are celebrating their anniversary tonight. I told her to go when I got home, but she insisted on waiting for you." Laurie dished up portions of stew, then faced Stanford. "Are you all right?"

Stanford nodded, feeling sheepish for not remembering. "I'm fine. Let's eat."

Laurie smiled, taking the bowls to the table. Stanford sat while Laurie retrieved spoons and crackers. They ate in silence, then Stanford gazed at Laurie. "Does this taste right to you?"

Laurie nodded, stared at the bowl, then took another bite. He chewed thoughtfully, then shook his head. "It's missing something. The coffee this morning tasted funny too."

"I thought so as well. I wonder what it is."

Laurie shrugged, ate another bite, then sat back in his seat. "Maybe it's an adjustment period."

"What?"

"Just, well, you know."

Stanford set down his spoon, then gazed at Laurie. "I suppose things will take a little getting used to."

"Yeah, Christ, the apartment's so quiet." Then Laurie smiled. "Were you humming when you came in?"

Stanford blushed, then chuckled. "I was."

"What was it? I feel like I should know it but...."

Stanford rolled his eyes. "If I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh."

"Tell me."

Stanford revealed the tune, then its probable origins. Laurie was chuckling all through Stanford's tale, then he abruptly stopped. "What?" Stanford asked.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but...." Laurie sighed. "I miss them."

Stanford nodded, leaning toward Laurie, who now sat up in his seat. "I do too."

"Yeah, God, it's good to be back. Work's crazy and my mother must've called five times today, asking when we're coming to Brooklyn." Laurie laughed. "Told her this weekend, just so you know."

Stanford nodded, a smile on his face. "I wondered when that was going to happen."

"Yeah, I feel like the next six months I'll be spending every Saturday at Mom's. But I'll spare you some of those visits."

"You're too kind," Stanford grinned.

"Something like that." Laurie reached for Stanford's hand, squeezing it tightly. "I'm glad to be home, don't misconstrue me. I love you, my God, I do." Laurie scooted closer to Stanford, then grasped both of his hands. "It's just gonna take a little time to get back into the swing of things."

"Would you think me crazy if I told you I felt the same?"

The words were strange to say, but Stanford needed to be honest. He was very grateful that Laurie was seated beside him, but the entire apartment now felt uncomfortable to Stanford. He wasn't sure if it was due to lingering emotions from their heated argument, the vast emptiness, or.... "I'm glad we're going out for Cary's baptism. Have you said anything about it to Agatha?"

"She said she'd think about it, but I don't think she'll go."

Stanford nodded. "Well, at least she knows she's welcome."

"Yeah, she seemed to appreciate the invite. Stan, there's something I wanna ask you."

"What?"

Laurie leaned forward in his chair, was inches away from Stanford's face. "Can you tell me what you're thinking?"

Stanford inhaled, then held his breath. At that moment all he could ponder was why did this apartment feel so temporary? Then he wondered what Lynne was doing. He tried to keep where Eric might be from his mind, but that was impossible. He mulled over if Jane was napping, and was Cary doing the same. Then he exhaled loudly, gripping Laurie's hands with all his strength. "Just how good it is to be with you. That's all that matters."

Laurie nodded, but didn't make eye contact. "Yeah, me too."

Stanford smiled, then released Laurie's hands. Then his whole body trembled. "Laurie, I'm also thinking about them, all of them."

Laurie looked up. "I can't get them out of my head."

Stanford took another deep breath, letting it out with some difficulty. He wanted to mention how not even work felt right, his gorgeous city vista merely a hollow backdrop. He did explain how much he'd accomplished that afternoon, but omitted how that peace had been attained, yet now thinking about Eric cast a pall over all Stanford had wished to do that evening. He'd simply wanted to spend it with Laurie, but a host of others seemed to intrude. Then Stanford smirked. "I feel like we're surrounded by ghosts."

Laurie nodded, gazing around the kitchen. "It's kinda like that." Then he peered at Stanford. "I can see them sitting here, that was coming on a year ago. Those days went by so fast and now...."

Stanford stared at Laurie. "What is it?"

"Nothing, it's nothing." Laurie scooted back to his space, then took a bite. He set down the spoon, then folded his arms over his chest.

"What's wrong?"

"It doesn't taste right. God, you know how much I wanted to come back and have Agatha's good coffee with you and the last two mornings it's tasted terrible." Laurie made a face, then smiled. "Not that I'm gonna complain, she'd never forgive me. But something's missing, something's wrong, something's...."

For a moment Stanford wondered if Laurie was hiding something. Yet, Stanford felt the very same. "Maybe you should call Lynne."

"I did when I got home," Laurie sighed. "Nothing's changed."

"Hmmm, well...." Stanford took a bite, but the stew had grown cold. He swallowed, then stood, getting a drink of water. He placed the cup on the counter, then looked at Laurie, who turned to meet his gaze.

Laurie stood, joining Stanford. They held hands, then both broke out in giggles. Then Laurie sighed. "Maybe nothing will feel right until he's home."

"Perhaps." But Stanford's heart lurched in his chest.

Laurie stroked Stanford's cheek. "Stan, you okay?"

"Something's happened. It's been too long."

Laurie nodded, tried to speak, but couldn't.

"Let's go lay down," Stanford said. "I'm exhausted and to be honest, I can't fathom having any more stew."

Now Laurie smiled. "Maybe it'll taste better tomorrow."

"If it doesn't, I will personally tell her so."

"I'd pay to hear that conversation," Laurie laughed.

"Well, we'll see."

"Yeah, I suppose we will."

The men stared at each other, then sighed in unison. Stanford grasped Laurie's hand, leading him from the kitchen. In bed they recovered some peace, but neither was wholly soothed. Sleep was hard to find, and again Stanford woke several times. An eerie dream reoccurred all night; Eric came home, but as though a stranger dwelled within his soul.
Chapter 198

Most of Klaudia's first full day in America was spent in a sleepy haze. If she wasn't actually napping, she couldn't focus, but she didn't blame all of that on jet lag. Being near Marek was overwhelming, and shortly after supper she offered a drowsy goodnight, to which he answered cheerfully that he would see her tomorrow. Even that ordinary statement rattled Klaudia, although she was so exhausted she didn't consciously dwell on his words. Within her dreams the oddity was noted, as Klaudia's mind created an alternative life, lived in America of all places, with a man who referred to her as his beloved. He wore a collar and a beard, but spoke in English, as did their many children. Klaudia did too, calling Marek her husband, although their offspring were nameless. Her own son didn't figure into her dream, which as she woke on Wednesday morning flitted as fragments, but enough remained to make her shiver. Then she pulled the blankets over her head as footsteps resounded along the corridor. She waited for Marek to stop at her door, noting the time, but minutes passed without any Good morning. She didn't smell coffee either, and while she didn't wish to emerge from her room, her bladder urged otherwise. The bathroom was right across the hall; might he hear her from the kitchen, she wondered. Then she clucked at herself; he had no idea of what she had dreamed, nor would he ever. Klaudia got out of bed, stepping from her room. She heard no sound other than the creak of the bathroom door as she closed it.

Minutes later, she stood in the hallway, peering to her left toward Marek's room. The door was open, he had to be awake. Looking to the right, she saw the church kitchen, then further down the hallway was the foyer. The chapel was to the left, but at that hour it was empty. She had been pleased he'd cancelled all of his church activities on her account, although she assumed that didn't include a Sunday service. She would have to attend that, for do anything else would be utterly rude. Would he introduce her or permit her to remain anonymous? Other than his friends and the church secretary, was anyone else aware of her presence? She shivered again, but this was only due to the chill. She retrieved her robe, also her cigarettes. She would go into the kitchen, have a smoke, and if he wasn't there, she'd wait for his return. Maybe he took an early walk, maybe....

By the time she entered the kitchen, a cigarette was lit and between her lips. He hadn't started coffee, so she did that, then she sat at the table, inspecting the décor, which hearkened to his time in Britain, or at least some of the wall hangings looked European. Nothing appeared Polish, but would he have taken such trappings upon leaving their country? Items her mother had brought were stored in Klaudia's spare bedroom, knick-knacks that had brightened Klaudia and Gunnar's first kitchen, but hadn't been necessary when they moved to Klaudia's current home. She didn't think of it much as her and Gunnar's residence, and it certainly had nothing to do with her heritage. It was the dwelling for.... She sighed, then gasped, catching sight of a painting nearly hidden from view. Klaudia stood, then walked to the sink, staring at Marek and a little girl she was loathing to meet. Or had been resisting, yet in profile, that child didn't seem frightening, or maybe Marek's broad smile eased Klaudia's heart. If nothing else, Eric Snyder had made these two safe for Klaudia to study. She smiled, hoping to be introduced to him soon.

But as she feasted upon the painting, the artist slipped away, for Klaudia was struck by how freely she could read Marek's mind; he adored the girl in his grasp, but only as a close relative would. He possessed no paternal feelings toward her, yet only her father might love her more. Klaudia took a deep drag, trapping the smoke in her lungs, then exhaling with a slight cough. Gunnar had never exhibited such devotion; once their son was born it was as if both parents would have been better off had the infant not survived. Gunnar had harped on that during the few weeks Marek had lived at home. After Klaudia's husband removed their baby from the house, it was like Marek had never existed. Only Klaudia went to see their child, and if she mentioned him, Gunnar would cut her off mid-sentence. When they moved house, other than Sigrun and Harald no one knew they had offspring. Klaudia hadn't been able to keep that secret, but the Vangs never spoke about Marek around Gunnar. After Gunnar's death, Harald hadn't asked Klaudia about her son, although he never questioned her monthly trips. Klaudia finished her cigarette, then stubbed it out in an ashtray on the table. But she returned to her spot near the sink, wondering how many parishioners had viewed this painting. Marek could make a mint if he charged admission, although he'd then never have any peace. St. Matthew's would be as busy as the gallery in which Klaudia had realized Marek Jagucki was still alive.

She approached the canvas, which was simply framed, but a fancy border would have been outshone by what was depicted. The little girl was older than in the other painting, but not by much. The blue of her right eye was just the same, or was it a tiny bit gray? Klaudia studied it carefully, but her memory was fuzzy, perhaps due to lingering exhaustion. Who knew if she would again see The Pastor and His Charge; if so, she would inspect the baby's blue eyes for any hint of gray. Her father must have blue eyes, or maybe her mother. Marek's brown irises were certainly those of an outsider, regardless of how deep was his affection.

Where was that man, Klaudia then considered, smelling the coffee. She poured herself a cup, thought about getting one for Marek, then hesitated, not wishing it to grow cold if indeed he had stepped outside. Then she grabbed a second mug, filling it, leaving it near the pot. She seated herself again but where she could still view the painting. If Marek asked what she wanted to do that day, she would deftly inquire about meeting Eric, using the painting as her excuse. She would prefer him to come here, and perhaps he would, not wishing to make her travel while still recovering from the long trip. But Klaudia would brave visiting him at his home, even if it meant meeting his family. An introduction to them was inevitable, but perhaps first she could offer her admiration to a brilliant artist. She smiled, lit another smoke, enjoying it slowly, then sipping her coffee. Sleep's fog was dissipating as well as any memories from last night's dream. Reality was her position as a guest, although this might be the only church she would ever visit. She was merely a tourist, and she took a long drag, not allowing more poignant considerations.

Several minutes passed, during which Klaudia gazed at the painting. She didn't hear Marek enter the kitchen, and only when he cleared his throat did she stir from her reverie. He was dressed as a clergyman, that collar an ugly badge in Klaudia's eyes, then she quickly glanced at the painting, finding his collar obscured within his profile. "Good morning," she said, meeting his eyes. She smiled, but it felt forced. Then she sighed, pointing to his mug near the coffeepot. "It's probably cool by now, sorry."

He picked up the cup, tried it, then took a long drink. "Actually it's perfect. I'm not overly fond of steaming coffee, although Sam prefers his very hot. I don't know how he drinks it without burning his tongue."

She nodded, then stared at him. "Who's Sam?"

Seating himself at the table, Marek wore a sneaky grin. "A good friend of mine, and the best chef I've ever known. You'll meet him and his family on Saturday. Not sure if I mentioned that yesterday; I'm hosting a little supper party here, just the Aherns, the Snyders, maybe Father Markham if he's free. Jeremy however will only stay for the meal. The rest will linger as long as Jane and Ann are good-humored."

His eyes twinkled as he spoke, making Klaudia tremble. "Is one of them the girl in the painting?" she asked casually.

He nodded. "Jane was much younger when Eric painted that." Marek motioned toward the canvas. "She'll be two in March, but more likely her little sister will dictate that family's presence."

"Of course." Klaudia wished to sigh, but she smiled instead. "I'll admit I want to meet Eric Snyder." She stood, grabbing her coffee cup. She refilled it, then motioned to the painting. "This's amazing."

She expected Marek to immediately agree. His silence caused her to face him, and his frown puzzled her. "I assume he painted this, or do you have another famous acquaintance in the wings?"

Her tone was glib, although as he shook his head, she regretted her flippancy. "I'm sorry." Klaudia returned to her chair, placing her mug on the table. She wanted to light another cigarette, but felt awkward. Then she met Marek's gaze, his brown eyes wide. "What?" she said.

Marek began to speak, then paused. Then he stood, looking toward the painting. "Eric's not here." Marek took a deep breath. As he exhaled, Klaudia shivered, for it was the same sound as when Gunnar announced he was taking away their son. Klaudia wasn't sure how a simple noise had stayed with her so vividly, yet she recalled everything about that moment, the way the sun glinted off the living room window, how silent was their house, how certain was Gunnar's tone, although his Norwegian had almost sounded foreign. What did he mean, taking away their baby? In Marek's familiar Polish, it was as if Klaudia already knew the truth. The truth was this talented painter was no different than any other man. That he felt able to leave a newly born child was a bit much, but Klaudia didn't need further explanations. She lit a smoke, took a drag, shrugging her shoulders. But Marek's next words were like a slap to her face. The painter had been helping a friend, was still away. And from Marek's glum voice, his imminent return wasn't expected.

Klaudia stared at him, then snorted. Marek might be a pastor, but he was also willing to lie for a man who must have a more sordid past than Marek wanted to divulge. "Well, that's rather unfortunate, I suppose." Disdainfully she shook her head. This visit wasn't at all what she had imagined, not only in that she wouldn't get to meet Eric Snyder. The man seated across from her seemed like most other spineless religious figures she had encountered. Granted, she hadn't actually spent much time with him, or many cognizant moments. Yesterday was a haze, last night's dreams those of a girl. This morning Marek appeared like all the other ministers and priests she had known, covering up for various misdeeds. Not even their village's priest had been willing to bury the Jagucki family's remains, as if to touch those piles of ash would put him in direct violation of the Nazis who had....

Tears fell from her eyes, burning her cheeks. She wanted to wipe them away, but didn't wish to admit to such weakness. Her sobs at the airport had been permissible, but an entire day had passed, plenty of time to assess her situation. Marek wasn't at all who she recalled, but then she wasn't the same either. This was neither's fault, and hopefully the next week would pass quickly. Then Klaudia sighed; she still had a week here, what on earth would they talk about? Maybe this missing artist, although she sensed Marek didn't wish to speak about him, or rather keep lying for him. How in God's name was she supposed to act toward his wife, what sort of relationship did Marek have with these people? Klaudia cleared her throat. "I hope his absence won't be a problem on Saturday. I thought you said the baby was just a few weeks old."

"She is, and no, it won't be an issue. Eric's been away since mid-summer, but...."

Klaudia stared at Marek. "He's been gone for months? My God." Now she felt nothing but contempt for this artist, not to mention scorn for his wife. She must be a sniveling sort to put up with such betrayal. Klaudia had possessed no recourse when Gunnar took away her baby, but afterwards she made it perfectly clear what she thought of her spouse. Thank goodness he hadn't lived long; Klaudia might have chosen a divorce if Gunnar hadn't conveniently made her a young widow.

Suddenly Klaudia felt chilled, her whole purpose in coming here a broken mess around her feet. Marek was a puppet of organized religion, Eric Snyder a philanderer. Klaudia closed her eyes, wishing she had never written to that painter, had he even seen her note? Opening her eyes, she stared sharply at Marek, who sipped his coffee. "He never saw my letter, did he?"

Marek shook his head. "Lynne gave it to me. Now I'm wondering if that was a good thing."

Klaudia had been ready with a retort, but Marek's woeful voice made her shake. "What do you mean by that?"

"We seemed to have gotten off on the wrong foot. Perhaps my idea of a reunion should have been given more time."

She nodded, although her heart ached terribly. His voice on the day Kennedy had been killed was clear in her head; it was the same voice she had known until she thought him dead. This man sounded nothing like that.... Who was more adult, the boy from her youth or this minister who seemed capable of lying to her face? "Why don't you just tell me the truth?" she muttered. "There's no need to cover for him, I'm not a child."

She began to light another cigarette, but to her great shock, Marek took it from her hand. "I'd prefer you to smoke outside, or at least not in the kitchen."

"Whatever you want." She stood, then wondered the basis for his request. Gazing at the painting, she ached for that Marek, a man animated if only two dimensional. Then she stared at him. His eyes were the only link to that person, or did his collar negate the rest of him in her view?

She began to walk past him, but he reached for her hand. "Klaudia, what I want is to turn back time. I want to tell you many things, but I don't know how much you want to hear. I'm sorry things between us are so...." He sighed deeply. "As I said, perhaps I was too hasty in inviting you here."

Klaudia fought tears, for now he sounded like the person she recalled. "Why did you ask me to come?"

He stood, still grasping her hand. "You just asked for the truth. Shall I tell it to you?"

She nodded, biting her lip so hard blood emerged. She swallowed it, but her mouth was dry. "Can I have my coffee?" she murmured.

He handed her the cup, and she drank what remained. She set it on the table, her pack of cigarettes and matches beside it. Facing him, she tried to avoid his gaze, but that was impossible. She felt like the girl in the painting, unable to look anywhere other than in this man's beautiful brown eyes. "What do you want to tell me?" she said in a trembling voice.

He smiled, tracing around her eyes. "You've seen and heard things no one should ever have to experience, both in Poland and in Norway. Depending on how things go, you might learn other strange truths here. For now, I want to tell you how sorry I am for all you have had to...." He gripped her hands; his were warm, calming her tremors, but inwardly her heart raced. "I can't even imagine what you all suffered, perhaps it was worse than what happened to my family. That day lives inside you, even after all these years. And over that I pray for you and everyone we knew. I was spared that day Klaudia, but everyone else in our village suffered."

She couldn't stop her tears, but anger rose within her. "How can you say you pray for us? What's that supposed to mean?"

He nodded, then sighed. "It's all I can do. There's no other recourse possible."

"You have no idea how feeble that sounds." She laughed, then coughed, wishing for the courage to slap his face. "You have no idea what it was like that day, where the hell were you anyways?"

He inhaled, exhaling slowly. "I was on an errand for my mother. She sent me out to look for food and...."

"And you were gone all day and night? Marek, didn't you hear what happened, couldn't you see the smoke, smell the...." Klaudia shut her eyes, wished not to breathe. All around her were the terrified screams, the acrid scent, the hollow laughter. Maybe that sound had been the worst, for as the Jagucki family burned to death, their desperate cries were drowned out by maniacal howls as if devils had lit the flames. Those horrible voices continued long after shrieks disappeared, then came the unbearable stillness, lasting all night as though the whole world had been destroyed. To Klaudia, it had, for Marek had perished in that fire, was no more than smoldering ash. All of her heart lay dead alongside him, her conscience too. Not a single person had tried to stop it; they were just as guilty as those who had committed the crime.

Yet one had survived, how had Marek survived? "You tell me how you didn't hear what was happening, or did you hear it?" If he had hid in the forest, she wouldn't question him further. Better that than what the rest had permitted. It was obvious only his family was being condemned as long as the village turned a blind eye to murder. "Just tell me Marek. Just tell me...."

He set a finger to her lips. "I never heard anything. I was so far into the wood, I had no idea until I came back the next day. It was dark by the time I arrived, just enough moonlight to see...."

He paused, wiping the tears still falling down her face. "I saw enough to know what had happened. I didn't stay because I feared they would return and do something worse. I wanted to tell you, oh Klaudia, I stopped by your window, I so badly wanted to leave you a note, but I just fled. I ran and ran and didn't stop until dawn. For a week I traveled only at night, I wasn't sure if they were aware I wasn't among my family, I couldn't think straight. When I reached the church, I couldn't even speak. It took a year for me to talk, to even tell anyone my name."

Now Klaudia was sobbing as hard as when she stood in the airport terminal. Marek embraced her, stroking her hair, as she breathed with difficulty. Yet, in his arms she knew some peace, for he hadn't been among those whose cries for help still rang in her ears. Dominik's voice, Ania's too, but not this man's. Marek spoke softly, telling her it was all right. She nodded, but one query stirred in her head. She pulled away, then met his gaze. "Why?" she warbled.

"Why what?" he said softly.

"Why'd you go so far into the wood? Why didn't you come right back?"

His smile was strange, as if tempting her into the forest of their youth, a magical wood that as they turned from children into teens became a place to explore, yet remained forbidding. She had never trekked further than an hour from their houses, for paths twisted back on themselves, creating a maze with no clear end. Few men of the village knew how to navigate that forest, which had turned into a hiding place for the Home Army. She had learned that years later, although it did little good now for her countrymen behind the Iron Curtain.

Yet, at the time, lives had been saved, like the man in front of her. "Marek, why didn't you come back?" She repeated her question, although it wasn't because he hadn't heard her. He stared into the room, then glanced over his shoulder at the painting. Then he sighed, stroking her cheek. She closed her eyes, imagining if he tried to kiss her, how would she respond? Would they make love that day, or might they simply spend it attempting to recover the pieces of their earlier years, feeling far too young to dabble in adult pursuits. Klaudia felt like a teenager again, that one question never entering her mind; could he have survived, was such an idea even possible?

"A hawk led me so far into the wood that it took a whole day to come home. I'd never seen such a commanding bird, like it knew me, and I had to do its bidding." Marek continued to stroke Klaudia's cheek. "I'm here today because that hawk wanted me to stay alive."

His voice was plaintive, also sincere. "A hawk?" she asked. Then she shook her head. "Are you telling me you followed a bird all day?"

He nodded. "I'd gathered a bucket of berries, that's what Mama said she wanted. But her eyes Klaudia, her eyes seemed to know what was coming. Because the way she said it, it was like she wanted me to take my time. You know how she was," he smiled gently. "If she'd needed berries, she would have made it plain I was to be home soon. But she acted like, like...." He sighed deeply. "She was telling me goodbye. I thought about it later, obsessed might be a better word. She sent me away for my well-being. I doubt she knew, how could she? Yet somehow she did."

Marek spoke with joyous gratitude, but Klaudia missed his inflection. "That doesn't make sense. I never saw any hawks in that forest."

"Neither did I until that day. I'm sure that's why I followed it initially. I was curious, and it let me get close enough, but not too close. Then I forgot all about why I was there and...."

Now Klaudia knew his underlying message. "And God saved you by sending a hawk to keep you safe."

"Something like that," Marek smiled. "He sent ravens to feed Elijah so...."

"And you felt compelled to join his army." Klaudia shrugged. "Well, I guess that explains why you became a minister." Then she sighed. "Or did you want to honor your uncle?"

"I simply did what I was asked to do."

"I see." Klaudia crossed her arms over her chest, then quickly dropped them to her sides. She wasn't sure what she made of his explanation; they had explored the forest together, along with their friends. None of them had wanted to go beyond the usual boundaries, not even Dominik, who often boasted of having investigated further on his own. Klaudia had never believed his claims; was she supposed to take Marek at his word now?

The supernatural didn't interest her, so she didn't question him again. But something rankled, then she gazed at the painting. Hawks had dominated Eric Snyder's initial canvases. Had that been a starting point for the men's friendship? "Don't tell me a hawk figures into Eric Snyder's life too. Maybe he's off chasing one right now."

Instantly she regretted her impertinence, for Marek's eyes became misty, then he turned to face the painting. He didn't answer her, quietly tapping his foot. Rare were the times Klaudia wished to have bitten her tongue, so she remained silent. Marek then reached for his coffee cup, pouring himself another. "Would you like more?" he asked.

She nodded, handing hers to him. He refilled her mug, placing it on the table near her cigarettes. But the desire for a smoke was oddly absent, although Klaudia craved the brew, taking a sip where she stood. Gripping the mug with both hands, she also wanted the warmth, for now she was deeply chilled. Was it from the memories of the wood, the deaths of so many, or the haunted pallor on Marek's face? If nothing else, no longer did she view him with disdain. Instead she regretted her own behavior, wondering if he could forgive her.
Chapter 199

Later that morning, Lynne received a call from Marek; supper on Saturday was still in the works, but he wasn't certain if he would bring Klaudia to meet the Snyder ladies until perhaps Friday. In his tone, Lynne heard disappointment, but she asked no questions, merely confirming the time, and that she would bring two pies. Marek's voice brightened on that detail, and he ended the call asking for her prayers. Lynne said those prayers right after she hung up the receiver, then the phone rang again. Frannie was on the line, asking if Lynne would like company. Plans were made for an impromptu lunch, and by noon, Jane and Helene were seated at the table, chatting in between bites of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Mothers enjoyed the same fare, their conversations punctuated by a baby's brief outbursts. After Lynne laid Cary down for a nap, the foursome moved into the living room, where little girls played on the floor while their mothers sat on the sofa watching the activities. Fran didn't inquire about Klaudia or Eric, but she did ask how the New Yorkers were getting along. Lynne's smile was genuine. "So far so good. Although," she giggled, "Laurie mentioned something about the coffee not tasting right." Laurie had called yesterday, and while Lynne had nothing new to say, he had noted the coffee, as well as how good it was to be home. "They're both excited about coming for Easter," Lynne continued, glancing at Jane and Helene. Then she met Frannie's gaze. "I can't believe it's nearly February already."

Since Cary's birth, Lynne had found time's passage somewhat alarming. In a way, she was comforted by how quickly the days sped along, but she rued what Eric was missing. Cary no longer looked like a newborn, her brown eyes taking in everything. She ate and slept well, and while Lynne was grateful for her baby's placid nature, Cary was changing so fast. Fran had commented on that fact, as did the Aherns, who stopped by about every other day. Lynne hadn't been surprised to hear from Frannie that morning; Renee and Ann had joined them yesterday, and Lynne wondered if Joan would call tomorrow, then perhaps Marek and Klaudia would come over on Friday. Lynne had noted all these visitors to Laurie, who had seemed eased that she wasn't alone. Lynne did miss both Laurie and Stanford's presence, but no longer did she feel lonely as she had last year before Laurie's arrival. Jane chattered to her baby sister and Cary made her own noise. Lynne ached for Eric, she couldn't deny that. When he came home, she only hoped he would embrace the present, not lingering on all he had missed.

She sighed, then Frannie gripped her hand. "How are you?" Fran asked, releasing Lynne's hand as she spoke.

"Nighttime's the hardest, although it seems Cary's usually asleep just when it's time to put Jane to bed." Lynne smiled. "We're doing okay."

Fran chuckled softly, then again grasped Lynne's hand. "Every night Helene and I pray for you all. Seems those prayers are being heard."

"Oh they are." Lynne gripped Fran's hand. "It's not easy, I won't lie, but it certainly could be worse." Lynne smiled, then felt a chill. She gazed at Frannie, who nodded as if noting it as well. Then Lynne breathed deeply. "I keep reminding myself it won't always be like this. I can't believe Cary's already two and a half weeks old. Where's the time going?"

"You'll blink and she'll be Helene's age." Fran patted Lynne's hand, then motioned to the girls. "I remember when she was Cary's size, my goodness. Then suddenly...." Fran paused, then looked at Lynne as if further reflection wasn't necessary. Then Fran chuckled. "Time's a funny thing, how when we were their age it moved so slowly, and now there aren't enough hours in the day." Fran inhaled deeply, as if considering her next words. Then she spoke. "When I was in the hospital, I wondered if I would ever get home. Not because of how badly I felt, but just that every day seemed like an eon. I'd stare at the clock, but the hands never moved." She looked at Lynne. "Sometimes those days are right at the surface, like I could step back into them, then I'll forget for what feels like an age as though it never happened. But it did, and now looking back, I wonder how did Louie and I get through that, but then I know how."

Initially her voice had been fraught with sorrow, yet her last words brimmed with hope. Again Frannie gripped Lynne's hand. "Never once in all those days did I feel abandoned, although sometimes I did feel alone. But there's a difference Lynne. Some paths we have to walk by ourselves, yet remembering we're hedged in on all sides. We might not see those around us, but they're there. It's just that we're being asked to...." Now Frannie smiled. "I've thought about this since Cary was born, and I've been meaning to tell you again just how thankful I am to have shared that with you. Louie and I were talking about it last night, maybe that's why I called you today. Thank you Lynne, so very much."

Lynne blinked away tears, then turned to Frannie, embracing her tightly. Lynne wished to share that she had been feeling the very same, but she kept quiet, in part that Eric's prolonged absence couldn't compare to Fran and Louie's terrible losses. Fran still hadn't asked Lynne a single question concerning Eric's whereabouts; that subject seemed to be another upon which Fran was simply willing to trust God's wisdom. As the women parted, a wave of peace coursed through Lynne, followed by a sense of strength, making Lynne's heart pound. She met Fran's gaze, those blue eyes much like Sam's. Lynne only nodded, as did Frannie. Then Fran grasped both of Lynne's hands, reciting the Lord's Prayer. Lynne joined in, their voices halting Helene and Jane's chatter. Within seconds both girls were at their mothers' sides, Helene delivering the final lines, punctuated by a hearty Amen. Jane repeated Amen, stirring laughter from the rest.

The Canfields left when it was time for Jane's nap. Lynne spent her afternoon tending to Cary while praying for all those she loved. While Eric was top of that list, Renee's brother, Marek's guest, and Laurie's cousin also benefitted from Lynne's petitions. When Jane woke, she found her little sister asleep in the Moses basket on the sofa. Jane asked when Daddy was coming home, and Lynne replied it would be soon. She didn't question from where that conviction sprung, leading Jane to the kitchen, where mother and daughter enjoyed thin slices of pie. They discussed the weather, the new baby, and how in a few days they would meet Uncle Marek's friend from.... There Lynne paused, for even though Klaudia wasn't Norwegian, Lynne had a hard time thinking of her as Polish. Perhaps when Lynne heard Klaudia speak in that language, but in the meantime Mrs. Henrichsen was from Oslo. Lynne again offered prayers for Klaudia, and for Marek too. He had sounded so weary that morning, but perhaps only Marek Jagucki could match Fran Canfield's depth of faith. Or, Lynne smiled, Frannie's willingness to trust.

Lynne kept Jane occupied in the kitchen while Cary slept, then all three ladies sat on the sofa while Lynne fed her baby. Sometimes she thought of Cary as her daughter, although she never considered Jane in that manner. Yet, as Laurie had repeatedly said, Eric would come home. Lynne didn't doubt that, but she was beginning to ponder in what condition he would be; she didn't think he'd return as a hawk, or maybe that image was too painful to contemplate. She wondered not only about his physical bearing; more important was his emotional and mental health. She hoped he wouldn't feel guilty having been away so long, or morose for having missed Cary's arrival. She pondered his state of faith; while hers wasn't to the level of Frannie or Marek, Lynne's sense of trust had substantially grown over the last several.... Since Eric left, she sighed inwardly, but perhaps that wasn't a surprise. Then she sighed aloud, catching Jane's attention while Cary pulled away from Lynne's breast, staring upwards. Lynne stroked Jane's head, then did the same to her infant, who returned to nursing. Neither child saw the anguish within their mother's eyes.

With both girls snuggled close, Lynne inhaled deeply, balancing a great pain alongside a firm pressure. As a former nurse, she immediately realized the distress being treated, yet it was ethereal in nature, and not only within her. Eric's heart pounded erratically; Lynne could feel it as though he lay right atop her. How many moments had she noticed that frantic beating, usually after he returned from.... Those previous flights felt like ancient days, although at the time they had seemed overwhelming. Then Lynne thought back to Frannie's words from earlier, how her stay in the hospital was the same. Lynne fought tears for that notion as well as how terrified was her husband.

Wherever he was, Eric was in dreadful pain. She didn't know if he suffered physically or emotionally, but the wounds were deep, and long from being healed. Now Lynne prayed, but instead of seeking others' well-being, she sought personal strength. Surrounded by her daughters, Lynne drew comfort from their warmth, also their innocence. When Eric returned, regardless of his condition, Jane and Cary would provide unfettered love. Lynne thanked God for those blessings, again lifting her husband to Christ's attention. Then she burped her baby, settling both girls into her lap. In a soft voice, Lynne told her daughters how she met their father and of the day she realized how much she loved him.

As that tale unfolded, John Doe knew a small sense of peace. Since early Monday morning, calm had been absent, regardless of how much he prayed or any news Walt or Callie provided. In two days, John would leave Karnack, although his destination remained unknown once he was dropped off in Dallas. He would follow Callie's instruction, heading to the Pacific Northwest. At least it was a starting point; John had no idea where else to travel.

Yet, as he sat in the shed, peace still descending upon his heart, maybe Callie was right. He had visited that morning, bringing with him a tattered U.S. map. They went over the best route, which was subject to what John might recall along the way as well as with whom he hitched rides. Callie recommended that John stay as close to the main roadways as possible, although hitchhiking was discouraged along the major routes. It would be the quickest way home, Callie said, but he'd left unstated what if John's memory failed to return. Yet, John had to think positively, and as that soothing peace increased, he wondered if he just might find his way back. His wife was praying for him, he knew that without reservation. Then he frowned, wondering if he deserved her affections. He was just like his father, and how could she forgive him?

How would he present himself to their daughters, to his best friend, to.... While names eluded the amnesiac, faces suddenly appeared; his best friend had blue eyes and a bright smile along with that prematurely bald head. That man's wife was a brassy redhead with the most opaque irises, making John's right hand ache. He stared at that useless limb, then winced from pain. He recalled having drawn that woman's image many times, but why couldn't he conjure her name?

John reached for the pencil and pad; he hadn't tried to sketch since last week. With great concentration, he managed a few strokes on the paper, but his hand ached badly, alternating with frustrating numbness. When that subsided, he gritted his teeth, then finished the illustration. With his left hand, he tore it from the pad, then stared at what he'd made. The sketch was as crude as those he'd done of the Richardson family, but he recognized the image. Then a smile crept over his face; while he didn't know the woman's name, he could call her Little Tilda. John laughed out loud, then gasped, for the sensation was so strong. He returned to sketching, again through gritted teeth. Within minutes he had produced the image of the woman's husband, and he laid those sheets side by side. What were their names, he wondered.

By suppertime, John had drawn three more images, those of his pastor, that man's secretary, and an older woman who was connected to the minister. Over supper, John explained all five drawings, recalling that he had painted the pastor's portrait, as well as that of his best friend's wife. He wasn't sure if he'd painted the man's picture; John felt uneasy when considering that action. Then he gazed at Walt. "Guess I must be an artist," John said. "Or I used to be one."

"Think you still are," Walt smiled.

"Hardly," John said. "Took all afternoon to draw these."

"But considering how little else you can do with that hand...." Walt wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Plus, this means your memory's coming back. Just about time."

John observed Tilda's reaction to her father's words; she nodded, then squirmed in her seat. Luke seemed unaffected, but John knew Walt and Dora had yet to tell their son what was happening on Friday.

Tilda made eye contact with John, then she asked to be excused. As she left the table, she approached John. "Are you done Mr. Doe?"

He nodded. Tilda then stacked his plate on hers, taking both to the sink. John looked down, finding a ring of food outlining where his dish had been. He tried sweeping the crumbs together, but Dora told him to stop. Then she gazed at her husband. Walt nodded, then cleared his throat. "Luke, when you're done with supper, I need to speak to you outside."

"Yes Daddy." Luke took some hasty bites, then hurriedly wiped his mouth, bunching his napkin onto his now empty plate. Father and son left the house, only John and Dora remaining at the table.

"Sorry it's come to all this," John sighed.

"Don't be. The main thing's...." Dora looked to where Tilda played with her sisters on the other side of the sofa. "Walt's right. You're starting to remember just in time."

"I never meant to, I mean...." John shook his head. "Friday can't come soon enough."

Dora shrugged. "It'll be here before you know it." She stood, gathering Walt and Luke's plates, then her own. She took them to the sink and didn't turn to face John.

He wanted to join her; she didn't seem to harbor any anger or fear toward him, only slight resignation. Perhaps she didn't want him leaving still uncertain of his destination, or in how Luke would take the news. John stood, but didn't step toward Dora. He walked to the front window, seeing Walt and Luke standing near Walt's truck. Walt gripped Luke's right shoulder, but John couldn't make out Luke's expression. The boy stared at the ground, seemed to be trembling. John wanted to flee to the shed, but didn't wish to intrude. Again he sighed, then returned to his seat at the table, listening to the murmurs of three little girls from the living room.

Ten minutes passed before Walt and Luke came back inside. Luke's eyes were red, and he didn't talk to John, walking straight toward the bathroom. Dora and Tilda were washing dishes and Walt spoke to them, then motioned to John. The men went outside, but Walt stopped on the porch. "He took it pretty hard. Kept asking how were you gonna get home, but I told him you're starting to remember, and that it'd be all right."

"He doesn't know, I mean...." John swallowed, but his mouth was dry. "The last thing I want is...."

"Didn't seem to put it together. Guess the talk at school's that Hiram's daddy's long gone from here." Walt wore a faint smile. "Could be all the way in Florida by now."

John's stomach churned, then he kicked the ground. "You think he'll ever, I mean...."

"Oh maybe one day, a long time from now. But you don't worry 'bout that tonight. I told him we'd have a special supper tomorrow night, but that you'd be gone early Friday morning. He knows to keep it to himself, even brought that up. Plenty for folks to gossip 'bout instead."

John nodded, but still felt nauseous. Had he been in Florida, and if so, why? He didn't mention that, not wishing to further burden Walt. "Well, I suppose I'll call it a night. Tell him.... No, don't say anything, poor kid."

"He's better off for having met you. All my kids are."

John stared at Walt. "How can you say that?"

"Better than thinking the opposite." Walt smiled. "Go get some rest. Gonna be the most comfortable place you'll sleep till you get home."

"All right. Tell Dora thank you for supper."

"I will. Sleep good."

John nodded, then slowly walked down the porch steps. It was dark out, the night cool. Moonlight shone along the path to the shed, and when he reached it, he looked up at the sky. Stars twinkled, a few clouds blowing past. John opened the shed door, pulled on the string for the overhead light, then shut the door, hoping that one day Luke would understand.
Chapter 200

Much to Marek's delight, Sam Ahern was the first to be introduced to Klaudia; the trio met at the market on Thursday morning, where Marek also coordinated what the Aherns would bring on Saturday. Klaudia tried out her English, which was much better than she had implied. Marek thought her command of the language was exemplary, and they spoke in English the rest of that day. It seemed an easier tongue in which to converse; Polish was fraught with memories that neither found pleasurable. Marek was also taken aback at Klaudia's disdain for Christianity; it was a subtle dislike, yet clearly she took umbrage at his profession. He didn't question why, nor did he attempt to explain further how he had escaped into the forest. She did reveal her son's recent bout of seizures, and that if Sigrun Vang called would Marek please accept it. That subject came up after supper, when to Marek's surprise, Klaudia spoke at length about her son, his illness, and how he'd been taken from her. Her hostility toward her late husband wasn't hidden, and Marek wondered if that incident had been the final blow to Klaudia's faith. He assumed his family's demise had eroded her trust, but Gunnar's actions had probably been the last straw. As Marek listened to Klaudia's history, he wondered how differently their lives might have been if not for.... He smiled inwardly, for it was impossible not to imagine such a situation. Behind her veiled fury he caught glimpses of the girl he had loved, mostly in her voice when she spoke of her son. She tried to be detached, but her teary eyes tugged at Marek's heart. Then he wondered how she would treat the Snyder and Ahern children; would she focus on Paul or snub all four? Marek couldn't recall if Sam mentioned the kids that morning, they mostly talked about Saturday's meal. Marek was going to make roast beef and Yorkshire puddings again, but Sam would fix the potatoes. Sam mentioned Lynne's provisions and Marek had watched how Klaudia offered no reaction. She had possessed a sweet tooth when they were younger, but perhaps she had grown out of it. If Lynne's pies made no impression, Marek would take it as a sign that this reunion was a one-off, although considering that stirred an ache within his heart. Klaudia wore a thick shell, which had probably kept her sane. But underneath that armor was there any remnant to who she had been?

He studied how she sat with her arms crossed over her chest; they spoke in the kitchen, as she had seemed uncomfortable in the library. Klaudia faced the painting, although Marek wondered how much of it she actually saw, for she never looked in that direction, usually glancing around the room, occasionally meeting his gaze. When she did make eye contact, it was furtive, as though she didn't want him aware she was looking at him. He wished she wasn't so angry, but accepted her life had been filled with disappointments. She had gotten out of Poland, but Norway hadn't provided her much happiness. Freedom yes, but.... Marek cringed as she started to light a cigarette, then she stopped. "Sorry, I forgot." She sighed loudly, placing the pack back on the table.

Marek hadn't said anything about it when she brought the pack into the kitchen, not wishing to further stir her ire. Now he wore a gentle smile. "It's funny in that most of my friends aren't smokers. Many of my parishioners are," he added with a chuckle. "I never could afford it at home, and by the time I arrived in Britain, it wasn't something to which I was inclined."

Now Klaudia grinned. "Gunnar taught me, isn't that odd? Perhaps he thought it would make me appear less...." Then she sighed again. "I never understood why he married me, maybe he thought he was saving the poor Polish girl from utter ruin." She huffed, fingering the pack of cigarettes, then pushing it away. "My parents were certainly relieved someone wanted me. As soon as I was Gunnar's wife, it was like...."

Her eyes filled with tears, then she gazed toward the painting. Marek wished he sat closer to her, for he would have reached for her hand. She probably would have pulled away from him, but at least he could have revealed an inkling of his affections. For much to his amazement, he was still in love with her, although it was tempered.

He thought her hostility to religion an unfortunate reaction to the war, compounded by her son. Yet she looked so much the same, a few wrinkles reminding him of the two decades they had been separated. But if time was erased, there sat the person to whom he had given his heart, perhaps unwittingly, and still it remained within her possession. Now he knew why Maggie's refusal of his marriage proposal hadn't caused him great distress. He had been in love with someone else. No other woman would have satisfied him.

But physical similarities weren't enough to rouse Marek's full affections. Then he chided himself; had he invited her hoping for more than a simple reunion? Maybe subconsciously, he permitted, as she continued gazing around the room, neither speaking. Perhaps he had wanted the Klaudia of his past, not considering how both had changed in the interim. Then he wondered how much Eric's absence played into this situation. Marek had longed for someone with whom he could speak honestly, and only that man had fully filled the void. Marek's chats with Lynne were of a different variety, his talks with Laurie and Sam of a similar nature. Suddenly a pastor desperately missed his best friend, which made Marek smile. They had known each other briefly, but a life-long connection had been forged. When Eric returned, Marek would tell him about this realization, and how thankful he was for Eric's homecoming.

"What?" Klaudia asked, her own smile showing.

"Just thinking about...." Marek paused, then sighed. "Those we love who are far away."

"Do you think about your family often?"

He nodded, grateful she assumed that had been his meaning. "When I do, I consider what they might think of where I am today." That was the truth, then he chuckled. "I'm sure my mother would never believe it, and my father would laugh, wondering how in the world I get along without the comforts of home."

Klaudia stared at him, then she uncrossed her arms, folding her hands in her lap. "I was surprised you were in America."

Her tone was plaintive, causing Marek to scoot his chair closer to hers. "It happened suddenly, in that there was an opening, and I was ready for a change." He smiled, wishing to grasp her hands, which were nearly within his reach. "That I came all the way out west was God's plan, although I'll admit I wanted more sunshine."

Klaudia smiled. "I imagine it's very different here in summer."

"Yes, more like home. We get enough rain year-round to keep it green, but it's not as soggy as England."

She nodded, then again gazed toward the painting. "Do you correspond with anyone there?"

Her tone carried a hint of jealousy, but Marek hid his grin. "No. That's a completed chapter of my life, as is Poland. I can't imagine returning unless the Soviets are gone, and I don't see that happening anytime soon."

He wondered if she held any desire to return, and in her sigh he detected a similar mood. For both Poland was home, although it was qualified. Marek would love to visit Warsaw and Krakow, but he never considered returning to their village. "For now, I'm very happy living here. My parish keeps me busy, I have good friends, and the occasional surprise to keep life interesting." He smiled broadly, then leaned forward, patting Klaudia's hands. "I can't tell you how good it was to read your letter. And now here we are, quite a miracle if I might say so." He looked at her as he spoke; she nodded, but kept her eyes downcast. "I realize we've both been through the wringer, that's an American expression," he chuckled. "But one can never predict the future. All we can do is keep our hearts open to the unexpected. This is certainly one of the most surprising events of my life."

He purposely kept God out of the conversation, which made him wince, not for Klaudia's sake, but that if he was speaking with Eric, Christ would be front and center. Was that what Marek missed most about their chats? Marek recalled the evening he told Eric about this woman, when Eric was struggling with his dual identity. The complexity of that conversation burned strongly within Marek; both men had shared their deepest feelings, and Marek so wished for someone with whom he could again speak about Klaudia, for now so much was known. She was different, also the only one he might ever love. How to reconcile those emotions, Marek mused, as Klaudia sat silently, grasping his hands within her own.

Her touch was soothing, also troubling; she stirred a longing within Marek, but it was met with a great need beyond physical gratification. If they were intimate, some of his desires would be satisfied, but a lasting pain would intrude, for she would never share in his love for God. He sighed inwardly; perhaps she might embrace faith, but it would be a long time in coming, if ever. Could he love a woman who held no respect for.... Marek shivered for how she continued to stroke his hands as well as finally understanding Eric's dilemma. Again he wished for that man's presence, if only to provide support. Both dwelled in two worlds, but at least Marek was in control of his choices.

Yet it wasn't easy to extricate his hands from hers, and when he did another shiver traveled through him, for he felt lonely, although she remained a foot away. He gazed at her and she nodded, maybe only in admitting it was too soon. Then he felt guilty; would he sleep with her before she departed regardless of their differences? He wanted her, that wasn't in question. But the cost of such passion would be high, the repercussions lasting. Marek stood, stretching as he did so. He was tired, but didn't expect to fall asleep soon. He offered his goodnights, aware he would first spend many minutes, perhaps hours, on his knees in prayer. Klaudia left the kitchen as well, walking to her room, closing the door behind her. Marek waited a moment, then headed toward the main chapel. He would start there, going to his bedroom once he was certain she was asleep.

Luke had spent much of Thursday keeping to himself. Now he wasn't sure if Tilda knew more about Mr. Doe's coming departure, although she didn't say much about it. They had walked to school in silence, then returned home the same. Luke felt what had happened at the beginning of the week was part of their quiet moods, and when Luke woke tomorrow morning, another change would be waiting. Luke had wanted to speak to Mr. Doe, but every time he tried, his throat grew tight and tears welled in his eyes. Now he lay in bed, listening to his sisters sleeping around him. But maybe that was better than if he was alone in his own room. Luke couldn't wait until his father and Mr. Bolden added onto the house, but he'd assumed Mr. Doe would be lending his good hand to help. Then Luke sighed, for that had been wishful thinking. Mr. Doe was leaving for Dallas with Mr. Thompson, and in all likelihood, Luke would never see Mr. Doe again.

Maybe they would get a letter from him once he remembered who he was and was back with his family. Luke didn't question why Mr. Doe was leaving now; he was starting to recall pieces of his past, and maybe he didn't want to burden Luke's parents any further. Maybe Hiram had something to do with it, Luke wondered, turning to his side, but still not feeling at all like sleeping. Would Hiram and Miss Essie stay in Karnack, or go to Oklahoma where Miss Essie had relatives? Luke felt badly that Hiram's life was such a mess, but at least his daddy wouldn't return to hurt him or his stepmother. Like everyone else, Luke knew if Pop Bellevue was ever found, he'd be arrested on attempted murder charges. Miss Essie was improving, Luke had overheard at school, but she remained in the hospital. Luke sighed softly, thanking Jesus that Mr. Doe hadn't died in their shed.

Then Luke remembered how badly that man had been hurt; Luke's father hadn't been certain Mr. Doe would live through that first night. Luke would always remember how awful he'd smelled, how strange his skin felt, and of course how his arm healed, though not completely. But now he could draw with his right hand and maybe someday.... Luke smiled, for a strange joy coursed through him, similar to how he felt when his daddy told him about the coming baby. Then soon it became two babies, which Luke felt was to make up for those that had died. Good things happened even though they didn't seem possible, like Hiram's daddy running away. Miss Essie would get better eventually, and if she and Hiram moved to Oklahoma, then Hiram could start over. Nobody there would know about his daddy, or at least no youngsters. Mr. Doe might not paint again, for he couldn't lift his arm, but maybe he could draw pictures of folks. Luke thought the sketch of Mr. Doe's best friend's wife looked a lot like Tilda. He wanted to tell Mr. Doe all this, but unless he woke early in the morning, his chance would be lost.

Luke sat up in bed, then crawled to the window, peering under the curtain. Some moonlight shone, but he couldn't see the shed, and Mr. Doe was probably sleeping. Luke wasn't sure of the time; he'd slept some, but now he was wide awake. He lay back down, but much ran through his mind. He could leave a note for Mr. Doe, but Luke wasn't sure if he was coming inside for breakfast. Walt had said that Mr. Thompson was leaving early; maybe he and Mr. Doe would stop in Dallas for something to eat. Then Luke grimaced; Mr. Doe wouldn't be welcome in any Negro diners. Luke wondered if his mother had packed food for Mr. Doe to take. Quietly he got out of bed, creeping to the door. His sisters didn't seem to notice, so Luke stepped from their room, closing the door most of the way behind him.

He heard his parents' snores, then he smiled. His mother was looking much bigger than she had with Gail, and there were still months before the twins were expected. Luke had hoped Mr. Doe would be here for that, but Mr. Doe had his own baby to meet. Luke couldn't be selfish; he had to accept this with a good attitude. He walked to where his school books waited near the front door. Taking a blank sheet of paper and a pencil from his satchel, he sat at the table, but the room was too dark for him to see properly. He hesitated turning on a light, not wishing to wake anyone. Finally he flicked on the switch, blinking as his eyes adjusted. Then he sat back down, quickly writing his thoughts. He signed it, Your friend Luke Richardson, then folded the paper in half, scribbling Mr. Doe in big letters. He gazed at the counters, then smiled, seeing a paper bag near the icebox. He looked inside, finding crackers, a thermos, some apples, and a bag of cookies. Luke put the note inside the bag, then turned off the light, slipping back into his room, closing the door behind him.

A few hours later, Luke woke to the sound of his father's footsteps. Voices followed, those of his daddy, Mr. Doe, and another man, who Luke guessed must be Mr. Thompson. Luke sat up, hugging his knees to his chest, wondering if Mr. Bolden had come too. But Luke didn't hear Mr. Bolden, only his daddy telling Mr. Doe to let them know when he got home.

Mr. Doe's voice was muffled, then footsteps were heard again, but these seemed to be heading outside. Luke could join them, but he might wake his sisters. His father never said Luke wasn't allowed to say goodbye, only that it would be too early in the morning. Yet he was awake, this was his last chance. He slipped from bed, cracking open the door. Tilda inhaled sharply, but Luke didn't care if she woke. He ran toward the front door, hesitating only for a moment; he could hear the men walking down the porch steps. Luke opened the door, seeing his father in front of him, Mr. Thompson's truck down the driveway. Walt turned around and Luke met his daddy's gaze. "What're you doing awake this time of night?" Walt asked.

Luke shivered, for it was still dark, the air cold around his bare feet. "I just wanted to tell Mr. Doe goodbye."

Walt nodded, then grasped Luke's hand. "C'mon so they can be on their way."

Father led son down the steps, but as soon as Mr. Doe smiled, Luke broke away from his dad, running toward a man who carried a paper bag in his left hand. Luke wanted to shout, but he remained hushed as he approached the men. Mr. Doe stepped toward Luke, then set the bag on the ground. "Good morning Luke. I didn't think I'd see you before I left."

Luke nodded, rubbing his upper arms with his hands. He gazed intently at Mr. Doe, who looked different without his beard. "I know, and I'm sorry sir. That's my fault, not yours."

"It's cold Luke, you should be inside."

"I, I had to say goodbye properly. I left you a note but...." Tears now ran down Luke's face. "I'm gonna miss you Mr. Doe, gonna miss you lots."

"I'll miss you all too Luke. But it's time."

Luke looked up, finding tears on Mr. Doe's face. "I know it is. Still, it's hard."

"Yeah, it is."

Luke sighed, then smiled, as his father gripped his shoulder. "Mr. Doe, you'll let us know when you get home, right?"

"Sure, I mean, of course I will." Mr. Doe wiped his eyes with his left hand.

Luke studied Mr. Doe's face; without the beard he looked much younger. He also looked uncertain. Then Luke smiled, gently grasping Mr. Doe's right hand. "You're gonna find your family Mr. Doe, I know you are. Just don't forget about us, okay? You'll wanna know if I get a baby brother in summer, maybe two of them." Luke laughed softly. "I hope one's a boy. I got enough sisters already."

All three men chuckled, then Walt cleared his throat. "Best we let 'em get on the road now son. Both have long journeys ahead."

"Yes Daddy." Luke released Mr. Doe's hand. Then he gazed at that man. "You're in my prayers. And I'll never forget you, never ever."

Mr. Doe knelt on the ground, looking straight at Luke. "I'll never forget you either. And I'll be praying for you too Luke. Especially if you end up with more sisters."

"Oh thank you Mr. Doe," Luke laughed. "Boy, will I need it."

"Time to go inside now son." Walt spoke softly while helping Mr. Doe to his feet.

"Yes sir." Luke bit his lip, then sighed. "You take care now Mr. Doe. We'll all miss you."

"You take care too Luke."

Luke nodded, then extended his left hand as he'd seen Mr. Bolden do when saying goodbye to Mr. Doe. But to Luke's joyful surprise, Mr. Doe put his left arm around Luke's shoulders. Luke completed the hug, wishing there was some way to keep this man in Karnack. But it was Luke to pull away first; he couldn't delay Mr. Thompson from his work, and Mr. Doe had to be on his way home. Luke then gripped Mr. Doe's left hand. "Godspeed Mr. Doe. I'll be waiting on a letter from you."

Mr. Doe smiled. "I promise to get it out as soon as I'm home."

Luke released Mr. Doe's hand, then leaned against his father. "You do that now sir."

As Mr. Doe nodded, Mr. Thompson headed for the driver's door. Mr. Doe then collected the paper bag and Walt and Luke followed him to the passenger side of the truck. "You need a hand?" Walt said, motioning to door.

"Please."

Luke stepped back as his father helped Mr. Doe into the truck. Then Walt shut the door. "Take care," Walt said as Mr. Doe rolled down the window.

"You too. Luke, you enjoy your new room and...."

An engine's roar drowned out the rest of Mr. Doe's words. Headlights flickered, then lit up the Richardsons' front yard. Luke was blinded for a moment, then he blinked away tears as the truck headed down the driveway. Within seconds Mr. Thompson turned onto the main road, then all Luke saw was a thin trail of moonlight shining along the ground. He shivered, then faced his father. "Will we ever see him again?"

Walt shrugged, then put his arm around Luke. "That's up to the Lord. Let's get you inside. Gonna hear from your mama if you catch cold."

"I'm fine," Luke said, although his feet were freezing. He ran to the porch, taking the steps softly. He waited for his father, then both entered the house. Walt quietly shut the door while Luke went to the woodstove, where a fire popped. He hadn't noticed that when he woke, nor had it been burning when he was writing the note. "Daddy, you been up a while?"

Walt joined him, holding his hands over where heat radiated. "A little while. Still pretty early though. Why don't you lay on the sofa? Maybe you can get some more sleep."

Luke nodded, then yawned. As he lay down, his father covered him with a blanket. Then Walt rubbed Luke's feet, making the boy giggle. "Daddy, I'm gonna miss him."

"I will too. But Luke, it's time."

"I know." Luke yawned again, then rolled onto his side, facing the woodstove. "Daddy, are you going back to bed?"

"In a bit. Gonna make sure the fire's burning good first."

"Okay. Good night Daddy."

"Good night son."

Luke fell asleep to the sounds of crackling wood and his father's steady breathing. In his dreams, Luke received a letter from Mr. Doe, telling all about his journey, his family, and how thankful he was for his time in Karnack. When Luke woke, his father was gone, but his mother was cooking breakfast. Luke shared his dream, making his mother dab at her eyes with the hem of her apron. Luke hugged her from the side, stirring her laughter. He laughed too, praying for Mr. Doe and the twins all to arrive safe and sound.
Chapter 201

Jonah Thompson didn't speak much on the drive, permitting John to ponder his next move. The paper bag contained more than the snacks Luke had seen; two sandwiches had been added, plus nuts and beef jerky that Walt said were a gift from Callie. John had food for the next couple of days, plus forty dollars, which John had tried to refuse. Walt had ignored those protests, leaving unstated that if John's memory didn't return, perhaps the amnesiac might be forced into difficult circumstances. John considered their brief conversation, which took place right before Luke stirred, then John gazed at the sunrise through the truck's large side mirror. Luke was probably just waking up, and according to the last sign along the highway, Dallas was about an hour away. Jonah actually had deliveries on the western side of the city, providing John a little extra time off his feet. Jonah would drop him off in Fort Worth, near Highway 287. John would follow that roadway until Amarillo, where it connected with Interstate 40, which if possible he would take as far as Albuquerque, New Mexico. Then.... John didn't wish to get too far ahead of himself, but the urge to see his family was so strong. Utah would be next, then Idaho, followed by.... He sighed softly, for those locations were according to Callie Bolden. John had visited with Callie yesterday while Luke and Tilda were in school. Callie had tried to give John ten dollars, but that money John had refused. Instead they enjoyed slices of sweet potato pie, one of which also waited in the paper bag. John had both the Richardsons and Boldens' addresses in his pocket, although he knew Walt's by memory. As soon as he was home, a phone call would commence, then letters would be written, most likely by John's wife. John could produce a crude drawing with his right hand, but nothing more.

As the Dallas skyline emerged, John concentrated, but nothing seemed familiar. Not that he thought Texas was home, but since Walt had mentioned Florida, John had started to wonder just how he had landed here. Landed wasn't the right word, or was it? He must have been looking for something to paint, for that seemed the most plausible reason, yet why would he have left his pregnant wife and their daughter? Had he lost his memory before being shot, and who had done that deed? John didn't consider Hiram, for that name stirred distressing memories. John sighed as the city grew closer. Just who was he?

As traffic increased, Jonah spoke about where they were headed; he didn't often make deliveries into Fort Worth, but it just happened that day he had several customers waiting. John thought it might be providence, or was it merely a coincidence? Jonah clearly thought the former, noting he needed the money and God always provided. John smiled, then asked how long Jonah had been at this job.

"'Bout three years now sir. It's a far drive from home, but beats going hungry."

John nodded, but didn't speak. Another sensation that had increased over the last few days was that wherever he lived, it was in relative comfort compared to his hosts. John wasn't sure if he had been a successful artist, maybe his family was wealthy, or his wife's. He had kept that to himself, but if it proved true, he would make sure the Richardsons, Boldens, and now Jonah Thompson benefitted. Jonah was a young man, but cutting and hauling firewood, plus so many hours spent on the road, would age him quickly. Jonah had recently gotten married, Callie had said, but there were few good paying jobs for Negros in Karnack, and his wife didn't want to move away from their families.

The men said nothing more as Dallas grew from a speck along the horizon into a sprawling metropolis; nothing about it stirred any memories, although John considered what had happened here last November. Then Jonah respectfully spoke about the late president; not long after the assassination, Jonah had driven past the book depository. It had been early in the morning and the area had been quiet, he remarked, sorrow in his tone. Then Jonah sighed, leaving John with a sense of displacement. He hadn't known about that tragedy until Walt mentioned it, and the magnitude hadn't hit John until days later. It wasn't just that his memory had been lost, but a part of his life was missing. Would he ever recover his sense of self?

He pondered that as Jonah drove through the city, then announced they were about five minutes from his first stop. John nodded, staring out at an anonymous neighborhood; was this Fort Worth already? John didn't imagine he'd ever be here again, so he took note of the buildings, cars, some people bustling about. All were Negroes on their ways to work, school, or.... Even if he knew a few concrete facts, so much remained a mystery. As Jonah parked the truck, fear struck John. What if he never remembered who he was?

"Won't take me long here," Jonah said. "Then I'll be dropping you off sir."

"All right." John smiled, but it felt false. "I'm in no hurry."

Jonah nodded, then got out of the truck. John hadn't offered to help; he probably would have been more of a hindrance. He began to stew, but watching Jonah carry armloads of wood to and from the vehicle alleviated his mind. He had many reasons to return home, if only to provide this young man with options.

Within minutes Jonah was back behind the steering wheel, negotiating them onto the highway. John would be dropped off just north of the city, where he might hitch a ride with a trucker heading toward Amarillo. Best that John catch a lift there, and not be walking along the highway itself. Callie had pointedly said that John's injury might draw added sympathy. If nothing else, John posed little threat to hardened truck drivers.

The truck stop wasn't more than a small café surrounded by older vehicles. Then John realized this was for Negroes. "You stay here a minute," Jonah said. "I'm gonna see if anyone's heading west."

John nodded, his heart racing. Jonah wasn't gone long, returning with a smile. He opened John's door, then helped him from the seat. "I got you as far as Amarillo. You won't get there till mid-afternoon, but it's a start."

"Thank you so much."

John put his left hand into his pocket, wishing to give a little money to Jonah. But Jonah shook his head. "Just travel safe and be sure to call Mr. Richardson when you reach home."

"I'll do that. Thank you for taking me this far."

"My pleasure sir," Jonah smiled. "All right, here he comes. Name's Watson, didn't say much else." Jonah pointed to a tall older man, who didn't seem surprised that John was white. He nodded to them both, then headed for his truck, motioning for John to follow.

John swallowed, but his mouth was dry. He stuck out his left hand, but Jonah didn't seem to understand. Then he chuckled, shaking with his left. He handed John the paper bag, closing the passenger door. Quickly John walked to where Mr. Watson waited. He helped John into his truck, and within minutes all three were back on the highway. Jonah returned to Fort Worth while John and his new companion headed westward.

Lynne was up early that morning, considering what kind of pies to bake for tomorrow as well as other tasks; laundry required her attention and Cary needed a bath. Lynne didn't specifically think about Eric, but he hovered in the back of her mind as Jane asked about her father. Lynne had been feeding Cary while during breakfast Jane posed that query. "What do you know that I don't?" Lynne smiled at her eldest.

Jane looked at her mother quizzically, then ate a bite of toast. Lynne chuckled, feeling rather lighthearted for her situation. She prayed for Eric, then switched Cary to her other breast. After both girls finished their meals, Lynne would bathe her youngest, then start the laundry once Cary was napping. The phone rang, but Lynne didn't attempt to answer it, although Jane pointed toward the sound. "They'll call back," Lynne said. "I only have two hands."

Jane laughed, raising both arms over her head. Then she returned to her breakfast while Lynne stroked Cary's small head. Blonde hairs stood on end, but the static electricity didn't deter the baby from her meal. Lynne inhaled a deep peace, considering how this moment had once seemed an impossible dream. In due time, Eric would return, and these days would be the anomaly.

An hour later, a mother was busy in the laundry room, Jane at her side, while Cary napped in the living room. After filling the washer, Lynne led Jane into the kitchen, where they had a small snack. As Jane ate, Lynne stepped into where Cary slept, moving the Moses basket to the sunroom. Then she brought Jane into the living room where they played quietly. Rain fell outside, but the house was cozy. Then the phone rang again but this time Lynne answered it. "Good morning," she said cheerily.

"Hello. I tried earlier, but thought you might be busy." Marek's tone was chipper. "I was wondering if you might enjoy some visitors today."

"That would be lovely. Cary's asleep right now, but probably won't be for much longer. When should we expect you?"

"Whenever you like. I made some caramel slices to share."

Lynne smiled. "Well come over now and we'll have an early lunch first."

"All right. We'll be there in about twenty minutes."

"Sounds good." Lynne closed the call, then looked to see Jane standing in the doorway. "We're going to meet Mrs. Henrichsen this morning. I wonder what she'll think of you and your sister."

Jane approached Lynne, wishing to be picked up, but Lynne wasn't yet toting more than her baby or half a basket of laundry. She led Jane to the table, then helped her into the seat. "We'll see what Klaudia thinks of caramel slices, unless she's already tried one."

Jane's eyes grew wide, making her mother laugh. "But you have to have lunch first." Lynne opened the refrigerator. "There's cold cuts for us, peanut butter and jelly for you." Then Lynne stared at her daughter. "I hope Klaudia doesn't mind something simple. Looks like I need to get to the market." Lynne sighed, staring at the large window where rain dripped down the panes. If Marek offered to watch the girls, Lynne would take the opportunity to do some shopping. She hadn't yet been to the store with both of her daughters, that seemed a little much. Sam and Renee had taken care of providing groceries, but even if Lynne felt Eric was on his way home, he wasn't there yet....

Lynne shivered; while she knew he would return, the idea that he was actually in route was new. She glanced at Jane; was that due to her question earlier? "He's on his way," Lynne said softly, walking to where Jane sat at the table. Lynne ran her hand through Jane's lengthy tresses, then leaned down, kissing the top of Jane's head. "Don't ask how I know, but he is, oh my goodness." Lynne blinked away tears, then sat beside her daughter. "But we'll keep it just between us. Uncle Marek has enough to consider already."

Jane smiled, then clapped her hands. "Daddy come home?"

Lynne nodded, placing her hands over her daughter's. "Yeah sweetie. I really think he's on his way." Then Lynne wiped her misty eyes. "Now, however, we have guests coming." She stood, again caressing Jane's head. "I'm gonna make a list and if Uncle Marek complains about the menu, I'll excuse myself to the market." Within minutes Lynne had compiled a substantial shopping list. She left it in full view, but would first gauge Klaudia's ability with small children. Then Lynne shook her head, setting the list out of sight. "There's no rush, he's not coming home today. But soon, oh Jane, I can feel it like, like...."

Lynne laughed as Cary began to cry. "My goodness, if it doesn't rain, it pours." Lynne walked to where Jane still sat, helping her from the seat. "Let's get your sister. Marek can see himself in, and Mrs. Henrichsen too." Lynne held Jane's hand, but the toddler ran toward the sunroom where her baby sister was now howling. Lynne wasn't bothered, for as soon as she sat on the sofa, Cary would quiet, or at least be moments away from her next meal.

Half an hour later Jane entertained her uncle and his friend in the kitchen while Lynne and Cary remained in the living room. Occasionally Marek had peeked in on mother and baby, but Cary was in no hurry, and Lynne only shrugged. Marek smiled, then returned to find Jane drawing circles on a large pad of scratch paper, a blue crayon in Jane's right hand. Initially Klaudia had been wary of the toddler, but Jane merely wished to draw, although one wouldn't guess her father was a heralded artist. Jane's attempts were true to her age, and she had gone through several pieces of paper. Marek rejoined the ladies, sitting to Jane's right. She smiled at him, then gave him her latest creation.

"Well thank you very much," he said in English. Then he chuckled, adding in Polish, "but I think you can give this to my friend. It can be the first souvenir of her trip."

Jane gazed at Marek, then looked at Klaudia. She handed the sheet to the dumbstruck woman, who was slow in taking it. Jane gibbered something, which at first Klaudia didn't understand. Jane repeated herself, making Klaudia smile. "My God," she said in Polish, "she knows what you're saying."

Marek nodded. "I've been speaking to her in Polish nearly as long as I've known her. Toddlers are smarter than people think. She has trouble with the verbal aspect, but her comprehension is incredible."

Klaudia met his gaze. "Say something else to her, something she could respond to."

"Why don't you try?" Marek said slyly.

Klaudia frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. Then she looked at the stack of pictures in the center of the table. "I think Marek would like one," she said in Polish to Jane. Klaudia nearly motioned to the papers, but refrained.

Jane looked at the woman, then at Marek. In her own way, Jane asked Marek if he wanted a drawing. He said that yes he would. She handed him one from the stack, then returned to coloring.

Jane used an odd dialect, but it was clearly more Polish than English, what Klaudia then said to Marek. Then Klaudia leaned back in her chair, again folding her arms over her upper body. "I've never seen a bilingual child at such a young age. She'll be fully...." Klaudia stopped speaking, then abruptly stood, stepping near the large window. Her arms remained tightly wrapped over her chest, and she shook her head. Yet she couldn't stop staring at Jane, who had immediately caught Klaudia's attention from the moment she and Marek had entered the house. It was Jane's blue eyes, although Marek found more gray in those irises every time he saw the little girl. Now he gazed at his guest, still staring at Jane, who continued coloring. Marek wanted to comfort Klaudia, but knew his efforts would be in vain. In their few days together he had learned she desired little in the way of consolation, at least in how she presented herself. Underneath he assumed she ached for a loving touch, but he wouldn't breach that barrier at the Snyder household. He wasn't sure if he might have a chance before she left next Wednesday.

But Jane had made a chink in Klaudia's well-built armor, for she couldn't stop looking at Lynne and Eric's daughter. Jane was a pretty child, but it wasn't merely her appearance, other than maybe her vibrant blue eyes. Part of it was her linguistic ability, and maybe her artistic handiwork had piqued Klaudia's interest. But something else had mesmerized Marek's guest. Then he shivered; had Klaudia and her late husband hoped to raise their son to speak more than Norwegian? Would Marek's namesake also have learned Polish, or perhaps English? Marek smiled at Jane, then stood, peeking in on Lynne. She was burping Cary, and he nodded. Then he turned his attention to Klaudia, still standing several feet away from the table. "Lynne is about to join us. I'll start some lunch for Jane, then we can eat in peace."

He used English in case Lynne could hear him. Klaudia nodded blankly, then met his gaze. "Do you want help?" she said slowly in English.

"Not necessarily. Just keep Jane happy."

"Of course." Klaudia returned to her seat, but scooted back a few inches. Jane didn't seem to notice, already working on another masterpiece, what Marek said to Lynne as she entered the kitchen with Cary in her arms.

"Sorry that took so long." Lynne stepped close to Marek, showing off the baby. Then she turned to face those seated at the table. "Sometimes she's a slowpoke. I'm Lynne, it's lovely to meet you."

Marek observed how Klaudia merely nodded, then she cleared her throat, standing and approaching where Lynne stood near Jane. The women shook with their left hands, as Lynne toted Cary in her right arm. Marek also noted how Lynne didn't immediately ask if Klaudia wanted to hold the baby. He almost chuckled, but refrained; Lynne was so astute, but Klaudia couldn't take her eyes off of the mother. Marek didn't think Klaudia wanted to hold Cary, but something about Lynne had caught Klaudia's attention.

Lynne didn't seem to notice, taking Marek's empty seat, then admiring Jane's drawings. "I see you've been busy," Lynne said to her daughter. Then she gazed at Marek. "I can do that if you wanna hold Cary."

"That would suit me fine." He rinsed his hands, then walked to the table where Lynne handed over the baby. Cary was alert, gazing up at him. Marek tickled her chin, then retook his chair. "Well hello Miss Snyder. How are you today?"

Cary made small sounds, then closed her eyes. She reopened them, and while she looked at Marek, he knew she wasn't focusing on him. Then he gazed at Klaudia; he could see she was full of questions, although she didn't wish to ask them in front of Lynne. He hid his smile; she could inquire in Polish, but that would be rude. Lynne spoke in the background, asking how were they and had they done any sightseeing. Marek answered on their behalf, occasionally making eye contact with Klaudia when she wasn't staring at either Jane or her mother.

Then Klaudia stood, walking to where she could inspect the baby. Cary made more cooing sounds, but Klaudia didn't ask to hold her. She looked right at Cary's face, then at Lynne, who was busy making sandwiches. Then Klaudia tapped Marek's shoulder, pointing at Jane, then at her mother. Her eyes, Klaudia mouthed in Polish. Where did Jane get her blue eyes?

Marek shrugged, yet if one believed in miracles, of course Jane had her Uncle Sam's irises, although they were becoming more like her father's gray eyes. Perhaps Klaudia hadn't noticed in all the paintings of Lynne that she had brown eyes, or maybe Klaudia hadn't examined more than the nature scenes, then finding herself staring at Marek's image. She retook her seat, still looking confused, but it was mixed with tenderness, making Marek's heart race. Klaudia pulled her chair back to where it had been before, then she scooted it even closer to Jane. In Polish, she told Jane she had beautiful eyes, and so did her sister. Her voice was that of a mother, the first time Marek had heard her speak with such affection.

Lynne didn't ask what had been said and Marek didn't attempt to translate. Jane smiled, then said something to Klaudia along the lines of thank you. Then Marek nearly gasped as Klaudia nodded, her eyes brimming with tears. She excused herself, asking Marek in Polish where was the bathroom. He directed her, then set Cary over his shoulder. Waiting until he heard the door close, he finally spoke to Lynne. "How long until lunch?"

"How long does she need?" Lynne said softly.

He stood, then came to Lynne's side. "Feed Jane certainly, but perhaps we won't stay much longer."

Lynne nodded, cutting Jane's sandwich into triangles. She took the plate to the table, removed the papers and crayons, then set lunch in front of Jane. She ate one bite, then looked around the room. Meeting Marek's gaze, she asked him where had the lady gone? Marek chuckled, then answered in Polish that Klaudia would be right back. Jane nodded, then had another bite.

"She's so smart," he said to Lynne. "But I'm glad we came today. This broke the ice if nothing else."

"Is she all right?" Lynne whispered.

Marek wasn't certain, but didn't want to worry Lynne. "It's been a strange week."

"I can imagine. Are you sure you want us to come tomorrow?"

"Oh yes." He smiled at Cary, then handed her back to Lynne. "The children will occupy themselves and Klaudia met Sam at the market on Wednesday."

Lynne nodded, cradling her baby. "Well, if you change your mind, just call."

"I'm sure it will be...." He paused as Klaudia reentered the kitchen. Her eyes were red, but she smiled, then sat beside Jane, asking in Polish how was lunch? Jane jabbered, taking another bite.

Then Klaudia met Marek's eyes. "What is she eating?" she said in English.

"It's peanut butter and jelly."

Klaudia wore a thoughtful gaze, then she looked at Lynne. "Could I try that?"

"Of course. I have strawberry jam and grape jelly. Which would you prefer?"

"Whatever Jane is having," Klaudia smiled.

"Strawberry it is. Marek, you can do the honors or take the girl here."

"I'll hold Cary," he chuckled. "You're the PBJ expert."

Lynne laughed while handing over her daughter, then she went back to the counter. Marek sat down, keeping Klaudia in his sights. She met his gaze, then in Polish asked what PBJ meant. He explained and she giggled. That sound pierced his heart, for it was as if they were seated in his mother's kitchen, waiting for a similar treat. Within minutes, Lynne set a plate in front of Klaudia, then asked Marek what kind of sandwich he wanted. He smiled, asking for the same as Klaudia. That made her giggle again, but this time he wished to return that joy into Klaudia like a transplant. Lynne brought Marek his lunch, then sat down with her own peanut butter sandwich. After Klaudia finished hers, she shyly asked Marek if she could hold the baby, so he could eat in peace. He smiled, setting Cary in Klaudia's arms. After he was done, Jane asked to be put down, but instead Marek hoisted her onto his lap. Lynne said nothing while Marek glanced at Klaudia, who was captivated by the drowsy infant. A few times Klaudia blinked away tears. Otherwise she gazed at Marek, wearing a smile as if time and circumstances had disappeared. His heart pounded, but he only chuckled as Jane started drawing another picture, of her father she said, who was coming home soon.
Chapter 202

The Aherns arrived at the Snyder home early on Saturday morning, but Sam didn't stay for more than one cup of decaf. Lynne had a long list, and while Renee watched the children, Sam headed to the market. The families would have lunch once Sam returned, but it wouldn't be the same as Lynne had eaten yesterday with Marek and Klaudia; Lynne had called Renee not long after her guests had departed, and Renee had shared those details with Sam. He mulled over those facts as he shopped, wondering how Klaudia would react to a host of children, one of them a boy. She had seemed amiable a few days ago when Sam met her, also slightly aloof, which he'd chalked up to her foreignness. Her English was good, but he wasn't surprised she'd been taken aback at Jane's comprehension of Polish. Renee had mentioned asking Marek to speak it to their children, and while it seemed a strange language in which to become fluent, what harm could it do?

Sam chose a few staples for his own kitchen, and when he reached the check stand, he helped bag groceries; Lynne had run low on many items, and Sam felt guilty for not having done her shopping sooner. Renee had been busy helping Ritchie and Brenda, for now Renee's brother was back home, and while the transition was going well, it was still much for that family to process. Sam had been caring for Ann most of the week, and had also given his notice at the hospital. His last day was set for next Wednesday, and perhaps it was the perfect time to free up his schedule. That morning Lynne had mentioned she felt Eric was on his way home, and while at this point it wasn't more than one woman's intuition, Sam wouldn't be surprised if Lynne was right. As soon as she'd said it, Sam felt a slight shiver, then a healing aroma filled his nostrils. He'd smiled, squeezed Renee's hand, then nodded to Lynne's declaration. Then he'd drained what remained in his coffee cup, excusing himself to the store. As he bagged more groceries, he laughed inwardly; he had bought a full trolley, and very little was going to his house. Then he wondered if he might shop again later; all the food he had made, then frozen for when Cary arrived, had been eaten. Perhaps Sam needed to do some extra cooking, for now there were many mouths to feed. Laurie had called a couple of days ago, asking how everyone was. He'd sounded slightly forlorn, as if searching for a reason to return. Sam wasn't sure if Lynne's premonition was enough to seek Laurie's presence, although if Sam had a choice, he'd prefer Laurie Abrams over anyone else in this situation. Marek had his hands full, and even if Klaudia was gone, that man wouldn't be the best for what Sam knew was coming. Then he sighed as the checker announced the total, but it wasn't the bill to cause him anguish. Sam wrote a check, thinking how Marek would look after Lynne and the children while Laurie could assist Sam with Eric's care.

Laurie and Renee, although Sam didn't wish to saddle his wife with more than what she had attended to the last time Eric required such convalescence. Maybe it was just that regardless of Eric's condition when he got home, he would feel better if surrounded by those who understood his battle with.... Sam thanked the bagger for his assistance, but said he could get the groceries to the car unaided. Sam needed a few moments alone; if Eric was still a hawk, who knew how long his recovery would take. If he was a man.... Sam sighed, quickly putting bags in the trunk of his car. That too was fraught with unknowns; what had happened to him between Miami and.... Sam shut the trunk, put away the cart, then got into his car. But he didn't immediately start the engine. Gripping the steering wheel, he closed his eyes, asking for peace and healing. God was keeping Ritchie sober, even if his leg would always cause problems. He limped badly, alternating between needing crutches and getting by with a cane. Yet according to Renee, he didn't seem troubled, nor did Brenda. Profound changes had occurred within the Nolan household, and perhaps another family was on the brink of reconciliation.

Sam started his car, then drove back to Lynne's, where Renee helped him bring in groceries. Lynne chuckled that Sam had bought enough for a month, then she laughed when he mentioned shopping again later. "Let's give it a few days," she said. "If nothing else, all this will feed an army."

Paul and Ann gathered around their father while Jane sat in Renee's arms. Cary was sleeping, which had given Lynne time to bake. The kitchen felt homey to Sam, smelling of sweetness and sounding like Frannie's house. He sat down with another cup of decaf, then took Ann onto his lap. "I spoke to Laurie recently," Sam began. "Do you think I should call him back?"

"Not yet." Lynne sat beside Sam, while Renee took a chair on his other side. "I can't tell you more today than what I knew yesterday. He's on his way, we just have to be patient."

"Who's on his way?" Paul asked, standing next to Renee.

"My husband Eric." Lynne smiled. "You haven't met him yet, but he'll be back soon."

Sam noticed the conviction in Lynne's voice, also the suspicion on Paul's face. "How do you know he's coming back?" Paul asked.

"God put a feeling on my heart." Lynne pointed to the center of her chest. "Actually, he told Jane first, then she told me."

Paul's eyebrows shot up and he gazed at Jane, still in Renee's grasp. "How does she know?"

"I'm not sure, but she said her daddy was coming home soon, then I had the same feeling. We just have to wait and trust."

Sam's heart pounded, for on the surface, Lynne's statement presented a host of questions. Ann seemed nonplussed, talking to Jane about dolls. But Paul still appeared apprehensive. Sam wanted to add to the conversation, but something held him back. He watched as Paul approached Lynne, staring right at her.

Lynne smiled at Paul, then caressed his cheek. "I know that might sound strange because Eric's been gone a long time. All you and Ann hear is us talk about him, but other than pictures, you've never seen him. Yet I've been married to him for a long time." Lynne giggled, then motioned toward the large window, where the sun shone intermittently as clouds streaked past. "He turned our backyard into the garden it is today, he painted the pictures at your house, and when he comes home, there's plenty of work for him to do, not to mention meeting Cary, you, and Ann. You can tell him how much you like the painting of the boysenberries, I know he'll love to hear it."

Sam blinked away tears; both Paul and Ann adored that canvas, bright fat berries captivating the children's imaginations. He wondered what they would make of the barn; he couldn't wait for that painting's return, perhaps by Easter. The exhibition would run through the beginning of March, and if Lynne was right, maybe Eric would be back by then too.

Paul nodded, then he turned to face Sam. In his son's eyes, Sam saw the desire to believe, also unwillingness. Sam ached for that reluctance, but other than prayer there was nothing he could do about it. Lifting his son and best friend to Christ, Sam then ruffled Paul's cowlick, which made the boy smile. But he didn't seek further attention, running from the kitchen into the living room. Renee started to put Jane on the floor, but Sam shook his head. "Just let him be."

Renee sighed, then nodded at her husband. Sam would treat this in the same way as he did his children's budding faith. He couldn't force them to believe in God, but maybe when Eric came home, Paul might better understand the idea of trust. Sam didn't think Paul would assume Roy and Beth might return; Paul knew his parents were dead. Then Sam shivered; Jane seemed to think just the opposite about her father. Sam gazed at Jane, her eyes not as blue as they used to be. She still looked just like her mother and perhaps she possessed Lynne's capacity for.... Sam stood, putting Ann in his chair. "I'll be right back," he said.

Mothers nodded as Sam stepped out of the kitchen. He found Paul at the French doors, his hands upon the panes. Sam cleared his throat as he approached his son, causing Paul to turn around. His face was somber, his blue eyes dry.

Sam smiled as Paul met him not far from the doors, the little boy shoving his hands into his pockets. Sam chuckled inwardly; it was like staring at a younger version of himself, trying to ponder difficult information. This wasn't as miserable as Paul learning his parents were dead, nor was it like when Renee told Sam the truth about Eric. Still it was hard for a five-year-old, and Sam knelt in front of Paul. "What were you looking at?" Sam asked.

"I dunno. What does Jane's daddy look like?"

"He's taller than me, skinnier too. He has blonde hair and gray eyes and...."

"Why'd he leave?"

"He went to help Uncle Laurie's cousin. It's just taking him a long time to get home."

"Do you really think he's coming back?"

Sam smiled as a wave of peace engulfed his heart. "I do, just like how I felt when I met you. I didn't really know you or Ann, but at the very same time I knew...." Sam paused only for a second. "I was gonna be your dad and Renee was your mom."

Paul nodded, then he sighed. "Why do things like that happen?"

"Things like what?"

Paul hesitated, then spoke. "Bad things, but then something good happens."

Sam's heart lurched, then he went to his feet. "Let's sit down a minute."

Paul followed Sam to the couch and both sat down. Paul left space between them, but Sam didn't mind. He prayed for the right words, then smiled at his son, who still looked skeptical. "Sometimes life goes along and we don't have to think too hard about what's happening. We get up, eat breakfast, go to school or work or...." Eric's voice popped into Sam's head: I know I'm new at this faith stuff, but he didn't spare his own son. Why shouldn't we expect some heartache along the way?

Sam couldn't share that verbatim with Paul, but how to impart what now hit Sam like a slap along his face. "Son, a good friend once reminded me that not everything's gonna be easy. But no matter how confusing it seems, or even painful, there's a reason for it. Now, we might not see any reason right away, or maybe we'll never know why." Sam blinked away tears, for fresh in his mind was the night he met this little boy and the girl Sam could hear in the kitchen, asking if she could go see what was happening between Paul and Daddy. Not quite four months had passed since that evening at Vivian's, four months of being someone's father, days spent wondering when Eric would come back, moments being thankful for this tremendous blessing. Sam smiled, wiping the tears still falling down his cheeks. "Jane's daddy told me that, and at the time I thought he was crazy." Now Sam laughed. "But he was right, because if we don't learn how to deal with the bad things, we'll never be able to help others when they're hurting."

Paul stared at Sam, then he began to nod. He also wore a small smile, then scooted next to his father. As Paul grasped Sam's hand, Sam squeezed back, then a sharp pain seized him in the center of his chest. Sam shut his eyes, but the ache didn't cease, although he was able to breathe through it due to the pressure of Paul's grip. Yet, inhalations remained painful, and Sam took care to breathe as evenly as possible. He was steadied by his son, although the ache persisted. As Ann ran into the room, Renee on her heels, Sam opened his eyes, smiling at his daughter, then finding Renee's relieved eyes. Those opaque irises went wide and her smile faded, but Sam merely nodded, gathering his children on his lap, hugging them tightly. Eric's words again rang through Sam's head, but instead of acting as a balm, they were a warning. Renee sat next to Sam, and he leaned against her while the children began to giggle. Still Sam's heart raced; as soon as he had a minute alone with Renee, he would share his thoughts. He wasn't certain if he would tell anyone else. No use worrying Lynne, Laurie, Marek, or Stanford unnecessarily.

The savory scent of beef met the Snyder and Ahern families as they entered St. Matthew's that evening. Marek joined his guests as they approached the kitchen, taking from Sam a large covered dish. Sam went back for the pies as Lynne and Renee ushered the children down the corridor, Cary making the only noise. Lynne stepped into the library to feed her daughter as Marek made the introductions; Klaudia shook Renee's hand, then nodded at Paul and Ann. They were shy, but Jane stuck out her arms to be picked up. Klaudia hesitated, but Jane insisted. Marek laughed softly as one little girl claimed a new member of her family.

Supper was served in the kitchen, children seated between the adults, although Klaudia paid more notice to the Snyder girls. Marek had wondered if that might be the case, and as he'd suspected, Klaudia seemed unable to give Paul much of her attention. He wasn't aware, happy between Sam and Lynne while Renee made sure Ann finished her meal. The promise of pie afterwards was reason enough, although the youngsters found the Yorkshire puddings interesting. Paul filled his with potatoes and gravy while Ann ate hers on its own. Jane put vegetables inside her pudding, making Klaudia chuckle. Marek relished that sound, finding honest joy on her face. That delight made her appear years younger and he had to look away, a growing discordance rising within his soul.

The talk centered around the weather, although Klaudia laughed at the group's idea of cold temperatures. Then she cleared her throat, as if having made a faux pas; that afternoon she had asked Marek several questions about Eric, finding Lynne's stoicism strange for her situation. Marek explained that throughout the couple's marriage, Eric had often been away on retreats. But Klaudia was still puzzled by how optimistic Lynne seemed. Finally Marek laid a small test at Klaudia's feet; he'd said that Lynne had great trust in her husband and saw no reason to mope. Klaudia said nothing more about Eric or his wife.

Sam chuckled, then helped himself to another slice of beef. "We've never had weather like what you're used to in Oslo, although you might find our summers pretty warm."

Klaudia nodded, then she sighed. "Yes, I suppose I would."

"Where do you live?" Paul asked.

Marek watched how Klaudia slowly looked toward Paul, who was staring right at her. "I live in Norway. It's close to the Arctic Circle."

"Where's that?" Paul asked.

"Near the North Pole," Klaudia said.

Paul's eyes grew wide. "You mean you live next to Santa Claus?"

The adults laughed, even Klaudia giggled. "Well yes, I suppose I do."

Paul smiled widely. "I bet he gets to your house first. Have you ever seen him?"

Sam and Renee still chuckled, but now Klaudia looked at Paul. "No, I never have. He gets to our houses before yours because we are several hours ahead of America."

That idea confused Paul; he shrugged his shoulders, returning to his supper. But Ann gazed at Klaudia. "Do you have any children?" Ann asked.

All the adults became quiet as Klaudia nodded. "A son. But he is much older than you."

"Does Santa still stop at your house?" Ann said.

"Not anymore," Klaudia answered.

Paul tugged on Sam's shirtsleeve. "Daddy, does Santa not visit grown-ups?"

"He only goes to houses where little kids live. He has to draw the line somewhere."

Sam's tone roused Klaudia's small grin and seemed to answer his children's inquires. Then Paul asked if Santa brought gifts to the older Canfield kids. As Sam struggled to find an appropriate reply, Klaudia stood, taking her plate to the sink. She stepped from the kitchen and while none of the children noticed, both Renee and Lynne looked at Marek. He suspected that Klaudia needed a cigarette, as well as a break. He smiled, then got out of his chair, heading after his guest.

He smelled smoke coming from the vestibule and he walked the length of the hallway, but she wasn't there. Then he turned left, finding her near the altar, a cigarette in her hand.

He'd found her smoking in there since asking her not to smoke in the kitchen. Initially her choice of location had irritated him, but he permitted it as it was too cold to ask her to step outside, although she probably wouldn't have minded. Perhaps he should have insisted she smoke outside from the beginning, but allowances had been made, and now he felt she came here out of defiance. He hadn't found ashes on the carpeting, then as he approached her, he noticed a small ashtray in her other hand.

He grinned at her inability to completely disregard convention, then cleared his throat. She turned around, immediately blushing. "Sorry," she said in Polish. "Just needed a smoke."

"No worries," he answered in their native language. "Just wanted to make sure you were all right."

She huffed, which turned into a cough, which she quickly tried to calm, but instead she began to choke. Marek came to her side, setting one hand on her back. She tried to wave him off, but kept coughing. He took her cigarette and ashtray as she finally cleared the blockage. Now a few tears ran down her cheeks and she looked nervous. "Thanks," she mumbled.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded, then met his eyes. Her tears continued, making his heart pound. "I don't think I can go back in there."

Marek set the cigarette in the ashtray, then placed that on the first pew. He grasped her hands, which were cold, gently rubbing them between his. The ache of his heart spread all through him, for she didn't try to move away, still weeping. "They know about Marek," he said. "Don't worry."

She stared sharply at him. Then she sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...."

"It's not a problem." He leaned close to her, stroking her damp cheek. Marek squeezed her hands again, then released them. As he stepped away, he lost his breath; Klaudia's eyes sparkled, her smile unhidden. She caressed his face, her lips trembling. She made no other advances, although she then grasped his hands and to his shock, hers were no longer icy.

He had never kissed her, although as a teen, he'd imagined it numerous times. As a man, he'd never considered it, for to do so would have been beyond painful. As she had thought him dead, now he realized he'd assumed the same of her, easier to move forward that way. He didn't consider their guests or where he was standing; Marek only knew that after years and years, he was close to a faraway dream.

Just as he leaned to kiss her, shrieks could be heard. He turned around, seeing Jane and Ann being chased by Renee and Sam. Marek smiled while Klaudia giggled as both little girls laughed hysterically.

"Oh my goodness Pastor, I'm so sorry." Renee sounded flustered as she finally reached her daughter, picking up Ann while grabbing Jane's right hand. Sam then hoisted Jane into his arms, the little girl still laughing.

"It's no bother, we were just...." Marek paused only for a moment. "Heading back to supper. Or did we miss the end?"

"Pie?" Jane smiled at Marek, putting her arms out toward him.

Collecting Jane, Marek laughed loudly. "Oh well yes, it must be time for pie."

Renee said that Cary was being fed again as Marek set Jane on his other side, closer to Klaudia. Marek didn't initiate handing Jane over, but Klaudia brushed aside some of Jane's hair which had fallen into her face. Never before had Marek wished for a child, but he couldn't deny that yearning now, and he wondered if Klaudia felt similarly. He fought meeting her gaze, but found himself turning her way. No tears lingered on her cheeks and again her eyes sparkled, her smile small, but as though in total agreement.

He ignored a sharp ache in his heart, instead kissing Jane's cheek. "Well, let's clear the table, then get out the ice cream. When Cary is done, we'll all have dessert."

"Yay," Ann said while Jane clapped her hands.

"We'll clear the table if you'll watch these two." Sam's tone was conciliatory, then he chuckled, ruffling his daughter's hair.

"We're right behind you," Marek said, handing Jane to Klaudia. Marek then grasped Ann's hand, and that foursome walked slowly back to the kitchen as Ann explained to Mrs. Henrichsen just how good were Aunt Lynne's pies.
Chapter 203

Lee Watson drove John Doe as far as Amarillo, neither man saying much. John wasn't sure if his race triggered Mr. Watson's silence, perhaps the man wasn't gregarious. John tried to give him some money, but Mr. Watson refused to take any. Then to John's surprise, he drove to a motel on the eastern side of town. Pulling out his wallet, he gave John a five dollar bill. "Get yourself a room. You'll need a good night's rest what with that shoulder."

For a moment, John was speechless; they hadn't said more than ten words over the seven hour drive. "No sir, I need to be paying you."

Lee Watson shook his head, then stuck the money into John's coat pocket. "Just git now, or do you need help with the door?"

John's heart raced for the man's odd kindness. While he didn't wish to trouble him further, he nodded. "I do need some help, and thank you so much."

Mr. Watson sighed, then quickly got out of the truck. By the time he opened John's door, John had the paper bag tucked against his right side. Mr. Watson gripped John's left hand, then hoisted John from the cab. The men gazed at one another, then John smiled. "Again, thank you so much. I can't tell you...."

"Go on," Mr. Watson said gruffly, shutting John's door. He thrust his hands in his pockets, then headed for the driver's side of the truck.

John stepped back, now gripping the paper bag. He watched as the truck pulled back onto the road, puffs of smoke coming from the tailpipe. John said a prayer, then walked toward the motel. One vacancy remained and John slept well, then ate breakfast at a diner next door. The clientele was all white, and he struck up a conversation with a man heading to Denver. Harvey Saperstein was a chatty fellow, asking John about his bad arm, his trek northward, and from where he had traveled. John revealed his amnesia, which at first Harvey didn't believe. By the end of their meals, Harvey told John about his cousin Benjamin, who had fought in World War II, losing much of his memory from a blow to the head. John listened to Mr. Saperstein with more than curiosity; something about this man was familiar, although John couldn't attach more than Harvey was Jewish, as was Seth Gordon.

Saturday was spent on the road, Mr. Saperstein still loquacious. John found it hard to concentrate, so instead of trying to remember anything, he allowed this man to share his life story. Yet, links between John's past and Harvey's life stirred John's memories; Harvey had been born in Brooklyn, but moved west due to the warmer climate. He remained in touch with his cousin, although the two rarely saw each other. "I spend most of my time on the road," Harvey laughed. "Mom just wishes I'd make a run to the East Coast every now and again."

John smiled. "You remind me of somebody, I just can't figure out who."

"Well, I can't say why that is. Don't imagine you meet too many New York Jews wherever it is you're from."

John smiled, then shivered. He did know a New York Jew, as Harvey had put it, but who was it? "You'd think that'd be the case, but I swear you remind me of...." The man's face was so clear to John; green eyes, blonde hair, a bright smile.... "Laurie, oh my God, Laurie!"

"Who's she?" Harvey chuckled.

John laughed. "It's short for Lawrence, but I can't remember his last name. He's the last man I...." Now John wished to weep; while he couldn't recall Laurie's surname, much about him was vital within John's mind. He was a witty art dealer, he was one of John's best friends. He was also.... "He's the last person I saw, or that I remember seeing, before I was shot." Now John grew still. Had that happened in Florida or had he been in New York, where Laurie lived with his.... John smiled inwardly, yet Laurie's partner was someone John also knew well, somebody much like.... Laurie's lover was a lot like Dora Richardson, and John had known that man longer than he'd known Laurie. John closed his eyes, wishing for any additional scraps. Then he sighed, opening his eyes, gazing at his companion. "I don't know his last name, suppose it doesn't help without that."

"Well maybe not, but you said you've been like this since the end of November. Maybe it's all gonna come back to you now."

John nodded, but didn't feel optimistic. Then he recalled Callie's words from their drive earlier in the month, ideas about faith, trust, and.... John would never forget the hope in Callie's voice when he spoke about life being better for his daughters. Perhaps John could play a part in that improvement. He smiled, then faced Harvey. "Maybe it will. Thank you Mr. Saperstein for more than I can say."

"Just call me Harvey and don't call me late for supper, that's all the thanks I need."

John laughed alongside his acquaintance. He would get Harvey's address before they arrived in Denver, wishing there was some way he could repay Lee Watson too.

The men reached their destination at suppertime. John hadn't remembered anything new, but felt that another good night's sleep might provide answers in the morning. Harvey was staying over as well, snow predicted overnight. They shared supper together, then took rooms at a motel on the north end of town. Harvey was going east in the morning, weather permitting, but John's destination was still westward.

All night John dreamed of those he loved; his wife and eldest daughter were clear in his mind, although their names remained lost to him. He didn't think much about his youngest child; instead he dwelled upon familiar personalities, a few clearer than others. He still couldn't conjure Laurie's lover's face, but John's pastor, the church secretary, and a cantankerous old woman who gave the minister no end of grief were set in John's subconscious. Mrs. Harmon especially, then John woke suddenly, wiping sleep from his eyes. "Mrs. Harmon," he said aloud, as if calling after a ghost. He didn't know her first name, and he laughed at his scattered memory. "I suppose you wouldn't be pleased for how I remember you. If I see Harvey in the morning, he'll get a laugh out of it."

John wondered the time, then sat up, staring into the darkness. Gripping his right arm, he winced, for the limb was numb. He tried to make a fist with that hand, but couldn't tell if he had done so. "You might not be good for anything," he said softly, "but that doesn't mean my head's just as screwed up." He closed his eyes, picturing Mrs. Harmon waddling along the sidewalk in front of John's church. Then the reason for her presence became clear; she was lecturing the pastor about missing daffodils.

Thinking about daffodils made John's heart pound, but what was significant about those flowers? He tried to focus on the pastor, but while that man's face was clear, his importance was also shrouded. John lay back down, then considered Laurie; was he connected to Seth Gordon? He must be, John allowed. How else would he know two Jews?

As John tried to fall back asleep, various faces teased, that of Mrs. Harmon, an unnamed cleric, John's best friend and that man's wife, Laurie, and.... John's wife's image wasn't at all clear, but early on that Sunday morning she was awake and was praying for him. Maybe she was up with their baby daughter, or had she merely stirred to intercede on John's behalf? "I love you honey," he murmured. "I swear I'm gonna find you and the girls and...." He started to weep for how deep were his feelings for her, as well as the strength of her love and the power of her prayers. He opened his eyes, but saw only the dark. "This's just for the night," he whispered. "It's gonna be brighter in the morning."

John fell asleep not long after that, then woke to someone knocking on the door. "Harvey?" he called out.

The knocking ceased, followed by a hearty laugh. "Yup. Just wanted to tell you goodbye. Storm wasn't as bad as they feared, so I'm making tracks while I can."

John got out of bed and reached the door as Harvey stopped speaking. Opening the door, John was met by a wide smile. "Sorry we didn't get to have breakfast together again," Harvey said. "But I didn't wanna go without saying how good it was to meet you."

John took a step outside, but it was still dark, and Harvey shook his head. "Freezing cold out here, best you stay put. Actually, if you're looking for a ride, you should head over to the café. Most fellas are still in bed, probably thinking they're snowed in for another day or more. Me, I like to be up early." He pointed eastwards, no light on the horizon. "I realize I got you outta bed, but I just couldn't leave unannounced."

"It's no trouble. I'd have hated not to have seen you before you left," John smiled.

"Well, good then. All right, I'll be off. Like I said, if you're looking to head out today, get over to breakfast early. You remember anything last night?"

"Nothing overly important. But I've got plenty to think about from yesterday."

Harvey stuck out his right hand, then laughed, offering his left instead. John shook it, then smiled. "Drive safely and thanks for the lift."

"My pleasure. Take care now." Harvey nodded at John, then headed toward where his truck was parked. John closed the door, watching him from the window. Lights illuminated the parking lot, then the truck departed. John remained at the window another minute, then got back into bed.

He wasn't certain of what to do next. He had no sense of direction, other than where Callie had noted. Harvey had paid for John's room; perhaps John might stay another night. But if the snowstorm fell that day, he might be stuck in Denver, and with limited funds, he didn't wish to run out of money before he got.... Where was home, he wondered, staring into the still dark room. Wherever it was, people were waiting for him. It would do none of them any good for him to waste a day in Colorado.

He showered, then dressed, making sure Harvey's address was still in his pants' pocket. The paper bag was almost empty, only some crackers and the thermos remaining. He would fill that with coffee at breakfast; perhaps he could make his way across the southern end of Wyoming and into Utah that day. If he was careful with the rest of what Walt and Dora had given him, he might have enough money to stretch over another three days, perhaps four. The weather was too cold for him to sleep outside, not even Harvey had wanted to sleep in his truck last night. But unless John recalled exactly where he was going, his destination was an unknown. He sat on the edge of the bed, drumming the fingers of his left hand along the mattress. He'd had no choice about leaving Karnack, and now his options seemed too numerous to contemplate.

All of yesterday John hadn't considered why he'd had to leave. He tried shutting that out, but the memory pushed aside everything else he'd recently recalled. He closed his eyes, trying to pray, but not even that was possible. His head was filled with an overwhelming sense of survival, stained by violence.

Then he gasped, gripping the edge of the bed with force; that wasn't the first time he'd had to defend himself. He hesitated, then probed his memory, but the glimpses made no sense; a barn figured prominently, mice scurrying about, a falcon falling to the ground, screeching in pain. John rubbed the back of his leg as if searching for scars. Nothing hurt there, and he bent his ankle. No pain was felt, or at least not in accordance with what had happened years before. Then he trembled as an impossible but concrete idea formed in his mind; he had attacked that falcon, but for what reason? John's whole body shook, his right arm the only part to remain still, but a sudden pain in his shoulder made him sick to his stomach, as did the scent of fowl, ripe within his nostrils. He coughed, then stood, heading to the bathroom. He gagged over the toilet bowl, but nothing came up. Yet the stench was thick and his arm throbbed. What kind of man was he?

An hour passed, during which he tried to pray, then rest, but he was still unsettled. Unable to fall back asleep, he got out of bed, then gazed out of the window. Morning had dawned, and the café across the road looked open. John put on his coat, shoving the room key in his pocket. Then he grabbed the paper bag, stepping out of the room, closing the door behind him.

He checked out, then walked across the road to the diner. He sat at the counter, ordering eggs, toast, and coffee. A few truckers sat in booths, but no one approached him. John ate slowly, getting a refill on the coffee. Then he asked the waitress about filling his thermos. She smiled, nodding her head.

Customers came and went without anyone taking a seat beside John. Then a burly man sat to his right, ordering coffee and pancakes. John's stomach rumbled, but he didn't speak. He finished the coffee in his cup, then cleared his throat. "Looks like the storm didn't land like they said it would."

The man nodded, then looked John's way. John still wore his coat, but the right sleeve was empty. It was too difficult to put his arm through it, plus by hanging loosely, his disfigurement was noticeable. The man grunted, then spoke. "What happened to your arm?"

John gazed in the man's direction. "I was shot, just lucky to be alive."

"I see," the man said. "The other fella get off worse?"

"I don't know," John smiled. "Never saw who did it."

Conversation was silenced as John felt eyes all over him. The man beside him sipped his coffee, then set the mug on the counter. "Well, that's a helluva story. Ain't heard nothing like that for a while."

"Well, I don't mind telling you the rest if you've got a minute."

The man laughed. "Don't hafta be in Salt Lake till nightfall. But I 'spose you got other places to be."

"Actually...." John noted his circumstances, finding slight shock on the man's face. "I can give you money for gas, but I sure could use a ride."

The man nodded, then looked at John's empty plate. "Well, all right. Ain't got nothing better to do than drive all day, might as well hear what you hafta say."

"Thanks. I appreciate it." John inhaled deeply; he wouldn't mention everything to this man, but at least he'd secured another day off his feet and out of the weather. And perhaps this fellow might prove as meaningful as Harvey Saperstein in uncovering more of John's memories. Introductions were made; the man only nodded as John gave his name along with a brief explanation. "And you're...." John said.

"Folks call me Hawk," the man smiled. "Guess we're both kind of anonymous, maybe that's for the best."

John grinned back, shivering slightly. "Well, it's very good to meet you, Hawk."

"We'll see if you're still saying that at the end of the day." The man set a dollar on the counter, gazing at John. "You pay your bill yet?" he asked.

"No."

The man nodded, added four quarters, then stood from his seat. "Well, consider it covered. Now let's get on the road. I believe you've a story to tell."

"Thanks." John went to his feet, then reached for the paper bag. Men stared at him, but he didn't meet their gazes, walking quickly behind his companion for the day. Hawk helped John into the cab, then got into the driver's seat. Within minutes they were on Interstate 25, heading north for Wyoming.
Chapter 204

Cary Snyder turned three weeks old that Sunday, the second of February. While she garnered plenty of attention from those at St. Matthew's, within her family circle she had easily settled into her role as a second child, a placid infant who didn't notice her father was missing. She appreciated being held by a variety of relatives, which on that morning included Klaudia Henrichsen. She sat in the back of the church next to Lynne, who had driven herself and her daughters. Sam had offered, but Lynne felt it was time, although once she'd parked, others were eager to escort the new mother into St. Matthew's. Yet it was to Klaudia Lynne had handed Cary once they stepped inside the vestibule, and now half an hour later, Klaudia still cradled the baby, who had fallen asleep right as communion was announced. To Marek's delight and Klaudia's slight chagrin, that meant Klaudia would now accompany Lynne and Jane for the Eucharist.

As the four ladies stood in line, Jane hummed while Lynne smiled at Klaudia, who seemed inundated with too many considerations. Jane's little song was Polish in origin, caring for an infant was new, and Klaudia craved a cigarette. Yet she swayed back and forth as if having raised several babies, keeping Cary contented while trying not to focus on where she actually was. Klaudia wasn't sure which was more novel, being in a church or holding a baby. To her surprise, neither was overtly painful, although she ached for a smoke. Then she gazed at Marek, handing out communion wafers; when she approached him, what would he do? What would she do, Klaudia then mused. She hadn't taken communion since right before her parents died; Gunnar had brought the Lisowskis to his Lutheran church, and while her mother and father stayed in their seats, Klaudia went up with her intended, eager to accept the Eucharist in a non-Catholic setting. Maybe her enthusiasm had been due to youth, or wishing to ingratiate herself with her new country and soon to be husband. Yet they rarely went to church after they married, and once he took Marek away....

Klaudia looked at Cary, who was still sleeping. Was it easier holding this child because she was female, or was it due to.... Klaudia shivered, keeping her eyes on the baby, who looked so different than how Klaudia recalled her own son at this age. Cary's face was peaceful, not anxious, her tiny fingers outstretched, not curled into painful fists. The only time Marek had been calm was when Klaudia had nursed him. Otherwise he cried often, rarely slept, or that was how it had seemed to a young mother with no family of her own to assist. If Klaudia's mom had been alive, would Gunnar dared to have taken away their baby? Klaudia wasn't sure, and she cuddled Cary as if that man stood near. Maybe Klaudia's parents would have agreed with Gunnar, yet that might have eased Klaudia's mind. She rarely considered such details, and was lost to the proceedings until suddenly she stood a foot away from the one man who would have made damned certain a tiny boy stayed right where he belonged. Marek Jagucki smiled at Klaudia, then set his hand on Cary's head, offering a blessing in Polish. Klaudia had to bite her tongue not to laugh as he did the same to Jane. He gave Lynne a wafer, then met Klaudia's gaze.

She nodded so slightly perhaps he would have been the only one to see it. The wafer dissolved in her mouth, then was followed by a sip of sweet wine which made her momentarily close her eyes. As she walked back to the pew, Klaudia felt drunk, then grew angry with herself. She hadn't meant to allow that sacrament to occur, and now that it had, she hated how easily the memories of communion tingled all through her; the joy of the ritual, then the deeper meaning of what it symbolized. If she wasn't holding an infant, Klaudia might throw up her hands in rage. Yet Cary remained asleep, her lovely face in direct contrast to all Klaudia felt. The baby didn't know any better, Klaudia thought. She was too ignorant to complain.

Within minutes, Cary began to whimper, which initially made Klaudia smile, then guilt swirled through her. Lynne retrieved her daughter, then left the pew. Klaudia watched her walk to what looked like a restroom as Jane scooted to where her mother had been seated. Then Jane snuggled against Klaudia's side. Slowly Klaudia set her arm around Jane, and the little girl began humming again. The tune was off key, but the melody wove through Klaudia like steel bands, reattaching forgotten memories. How many times had her father whistled that song, how often had she heard the man now closing the service sing it aloud? How had she kept it from her brain all these years was a better question, but the answer was simple; she'd resided where no remnants of her past could haunt her. Only Eric Snyder's painting had hinted to her upbringing, but that damned artist wasn't present to answer for his crime.

Now if she ever met him, Klaudia might slap Eric's face. She thought of him as Eric, for Lynne spoke like his return was imminent. What were the chances he would appear before Klaudia's departure on Wednesday? If she and Lynne were lucky, Klaudia would make her argument known. But Klaudia probably wouldn't be that blessed; he would likely waltz in right as her plane sped down the runway. Then she grimaced, staring at Marek. She never thought anything was blessed, but he'd just dismissed the congregation with that word. What in the hell was she doing in a church, having taken communion, thinking anything remotely religious? Resentment stewed in her gut, but strangely it didn't develop into the usual mass of fury. Then Klaudia peered at the reason for her relative composure; Jane still hummed that merry tune, swinging her little legs to and fro. Klaudia's mouth trembled and she fought tears while the song continued as though Ania Jagucki was seated beside her.

Marek didn't join those ladies until Lynne returned with Cary. The rest of his parishioners were gone, although a few older folks had lingered, hoping to get another peek at the adorable Snyder baby. Yet now it was merely Marek and his closest kin, how he thought of them as Lynne stood behind Klaudia as though they were sisters. They didn't look at all alike; Lynne's eyes sparkled with an inner happiness while a storm brewed in Klaudia's. Marek knew one reason for that gale, but they hadn't talked about communion, and he did give her the opportunity to refuse. He was somewhat pleased for having tendered that sacrament, but the repercussions might later outweigh the small victory. Yet he approached the women with no outward sense of achievement. "Well, it looks as if Cary outlasted all those wishing to see her."

Lynne smiled. "I wondered if anyone was still waiting. I'm glad they're not; she gets enough attention as it is."

Marek chuckled, finding surprise on Klaudia's face. "A few folks stayed longer than usual, however lunch beckons."

"Indeed. Cary got hers early, but we should be on our way." Lynne patted Jane's head.

"You're welcome to stay," Marek said. "There's leftover beef and potatoes."

"Pie?" Jane asked, looking first at her pastor, then to her mother.

Marek nodded. "I wasn't going to bring that up, but...."

"Wait till she can say caramel slice," Lynne chuckled. "Then you'll never hear the end of it." Lynne set Cary over her shoulder, then raised her eyebrows. "If you're sure we won't be an imposition."

Marek almost laughed, for Klaudia wore a small frown. "It's no trouble," he said. "Let's get the oven preheated, or maybe I'll warm everything in a skillet."

Klaudia remained silent as Jane clapped her hands. "I'll let you do the cooking," Lynne smiled. "I need to change the girl here, and Jane could use the potty too."

Marek nodded as Lynne reached behind Klaudia for Jane's hand. "C'mon," Lynne said to her daughter. Then Lynne gazed at Marek. "We'll meet you in the kitchen."

"We'll be there," he said, stepping to the middle of the aisle, giving Klaudia room to join him.

She didn't move until Lynne was at the other end of the pew, and then Klaudia's steps were slow. Marek let her set the pace, but still she dawdled. He reached the kitchen first, but waited for her. She had crossed her arms over her chest, her face in a pout. Turning on the light, he spied the painting, making him chuckle as if Eric was in the room. When that man returned and was well, Marek would reveal his heart. In the meantime, he had to hope Klaudia didn't jump down his throat.

But she said nothing as he took leftovers from the refrigerator, although she set the table. Then she excused herself for a cigarette and Marek wondered if she would return to share lunch with them. When the Snyder ladies appeared, Lynne didn't ask where Klaudia was, nor did Jane. Cary made small sounds and Marek stepped their way, finding that girl's eyes were still as brown as when she was born. "Three weeks old today," he smiled. "She gets more beautiful every time I see her, you too Miss Jane."

Jane didn't reply, peering around the room. She lifted the tablecloth, then gazed at the adults. "Auntie?" she said.

Marek sighed, then collected Jane, kissing her cheek. "Klaudia stepped out for a moment. Let's get you seated, lunch won't be long."

Jane said nothing more as Marek put her in tall seat. Lynne sat beside her, but she didn't speak either. Marek didn't mind the silence, it gave him time to reflect on what swirled within his heart; a great joy for those near him, but still that ache lingered. During the service it had pierced him sharply every time he glanced at the women; finding Cary in Klaudia's tender grasp was a scene Marek had never wished to view. It was his mother alongside Klaudia, or his sister with her own daughter in tow. It was the family he'd lost resurrected in a manner he'd not thought possible. Yet here they were, or most of them. Perhaps Klaudia would remain a ghost, but Lynne, Jane, and Cary were permanent.

Inwardly he praised God for that gift, then again glanced at the painting. He didn't see himself holding Jane; Eric stared into his child's eyes. Marek smiled, then turned to find Klaudia standing in the doorway. Her eyes were red, her jaws clenched. He wanted to motion for her to come to his side, but instead he permitted the distance. "Are you hungry," he asked.

She shook her head, then stared icily at Jane, who thought the question was directed at her. "Lunch?" she said in a chirpy voice.

"In a few minutes," Lynne answered, not looking to whom Marek had actually spoken.

Klaudia scowled at him, then took a deep breath. As she exhaled, Jane turned around. "Auntie!" Jane extended her arms, but Lynne grasped Jane's right hand, kissing the back of it. Jane began to laugh as though it was a game.

Marek checked the beef, then turned the flame to low. He wanted to lead Klaudia to the table, but she would bristle at his action. For a moment he regretted inviting Lynne for lunch. Then he smiled. "Sam made plenty of potatoes. Shall I heat up the gravy separately, or pour it over the meat?"

"Pour it over the meat," Lynne said. "What a sumptuous feast."

"The English do like their Sunday lunches." He returned to the stove, not paying Klaudia any attention. Within a minute, he heard her joining those at the table, Jane calling for her auntie over and over. When Marek looked their way, he found Jane seated on Klaudia's lap and what could be called a smile on that woman's face.

The chatter was lighthearted and after the meal pie was served, but no ice cream at Lynne's request. She wanted Jane to take a good N-A-P, and that word being spelled out roused Klaudia's giggle, which Jane immediately copied. The Snyder ladies left to chuckles all round, as Marek spelled out nap in Polish, followed by other words Lynne wished to keep from Jane's understanding. Marek walked them to Lynne's car, then stood on the sidewalk until the vehicle was out of sight. He didn't shiver from the cold until he stepped back inside St. Matthew's, the scent of cigarette smoke wafting from the altar.

He looked in that direction; Klaudia stood exactly where she'd been when he had given her communion. Was she aware of her location, or was it an arbitrary action similar to how she and her friend had gone to see Eric's paintings? But random wasn't how Marek considered any occurrence, especially not when connected to the woman tapping ashes into a container within her hand. He was relieved she still used an ashtray; he had half expected her to let those remnants fall to the floor.

Her disdain for so much of what he held dear would forever remain a hurdle, regardless of the sacrament she accepted that morning. Perhaps he shouldn't assume her lack of faith was without recourse. Then he smiled at himself, where was his trust? Yet she seemed so far from him, although she stood less than a meter away. She wouldn't meet his gaze, and if not for the objects in her hands, he predicted she'd have those limbs crossed over herself as tightly as possible. He was glad Lynne had gone home. Jane and Cary revived this woman, but not even those precious children could free Klaudia now.

Could he? Marek wasn't sure, nor did he wish to try. He was tired, his heart ached, and he wanted to take a nap. Then he smiled. "I think I'm going to lay down for a bit. An N-A-P is calling my name."

He spoke in English, still easier to converse with her in that language. He never used Polish during church services, but he'd blessed both Jane and Cary in that tongue, as if blessing Klaudia as well. Yet, he hadn't forced communion upon her, and he wouldn't press for a discussion now. "There's enough beef left for supper," he said, "unless you feel like something else."

She shook her head, to which he nodded, although he wasn't certain what she meant. "All right then, I'll see you in a bit." He smiled again, but the pain had turned into a miserable throbbing in the middle of his chest. He gave thanks it wasn't a headache like what had plagued him during the Missile Crisis, then he turned around, wondering how he might gain any meaningful rest. If nothing else, this might give her time to cool off. Perhaps the evening meal wouldn't be fraught with....

"How dare you give me communion?" Klaudia said loudly in Polish. "What the hell were you thinking?"

Marek paused as a wave of pain traveled from his chest to his temples. He closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, then prayed. Opening his eyes, the pain teased along his forehead, then slipped away. He faced her, but didn't smile. "I gave you time to refuse. Why did you come up if you didn't want it?"

"What was I supposed to do with the baby in my arms? Obviously Lynne wanted her to receive a...." Klaudia took long drag from her cigarette, then stubbed it out in the ashtray, which she then set on the first pew. "You had no right to...."

"I have a duty to offer that gift to all who step forward." Marek approached her, leaving two meters between them. "You did not resist, so I bestowed it upon you. If my actions were faulty, I apologize, but in the future you must take responsibility for yourself accordingly."

"Don't use that tone with me." She pointed her finger at him. "I'm no member of this church, you shouldn't even have offered it to me."

Marek stepped toward her. "The sacraments aren't mine. I am merely a vessel God uses to...."

"Oh, don't give me that. You baptize babies who don't know any differently, you bless children who have no concept of a god who allows...."

She trembled, then wagged her finger in his face, but she didn't speak. Marek wondered if that was due to not wishing to fully alienate him, or perhaps cut herself off from Christ. He'd seen her expression upon taking the bread and wine; it was as if she had glimpsed heaven, wondering if room remained for her.

He didn't think she was aware of how deeply those gifts affected her, she probably couldn't face such truths. Then he sighed, for she wasn't the only one looking for excuses. He longed to embrace her, erasing all the lonely years both had lived. But if he did that, how much of his heart would be lost? A large hole would remain, for she could never fulfill him while so steeped in hatred. But it wasn't merely God with whom she was angry. Klaudia loathed herself as much as she despised Christ.

Perhaps despise was too strong a word. She definitely scorned the Church, evident in how she continued to point at various items near the altar. Silently she accused candles, the stained glass window, finally motioning at Jesus upon the cross with her outstretched finger. As she turned back to Marek, her face was red, her eyes wide, her mouth twisted into an ugly frown. But panic was her most striking feature; she feared what might happen if her shield was removed.

In only one way would Klaudia surrender that armor, but if that happened, Marek would put himself in great pain. Not risk, for Marek was certain of God's faithful love. But anguish would ensue, of that Marek had no doubt. Was that what God wanted, Marek wondered, as Klaudia glared at him, although her resentment was bolstered by dread. Marek prayed for guidance as Klaudia tapped her foot, her arms again tight over her chest. As Marek inhaled the answer to his prayers, he exhaled the full acceptance of his impending actions. Perhaps this was how Eric felt last summer, turning into a hawk in order to save another man's life. One's own existence couldn't matter. Obedience came first.

But not always did obedience mean self-denial. Marek reached out, gently removing Klaudia's hands from where they were tucked against her upper body. Her fingers were cold, but quickly they warmed as he clasped his hands around hers. She released a soft sigh, followed by a slight groan, stoking Marek's passion which no longer was mired in uncertainty. She stepped toward him, leaving little space between them. He nodded at her, then smiled. Her mouth quivered as Marek leaned toward her, caressing her cheek, still clutching her other hand.

"Please," she whispered, as if his actions would free her from captivity.

"I love you," he said. Then he kissed her not as he'd dreamed when a boy, but as a man aching to bestow what humans could best give as the closest semblance to what God offered his beloveds. Song of Solomon was one of Marek's favorite Biblical passages, for God was an inconceivable lover, full of passion and tenderness and unrivaled affection. As Marek wrapped his arms around Klaudia, he knew for the first time a hint of that exceptional devotion, and he allowed it to possess him fully. He didn't care where they were standing, he didn't ponder what would happen afterwards. All that mattered was engaging with this woman who he loved. He'd had to tell her that first, for regardless of what occurred next, he would never have initiated this without making that clear. He was following his heart, but that desire had been born of the purest emotion humans could express. Klaudia broke the kiss, catching her breath. In her eyes, Marek saw freedom, also the wish to say the words he had offered. But he placed a finger over her lips, not wishing to cause her distress, or himself. Perhaps she felt the same, yet her declaration wasn't necessary. God loved first, Marek knew. Our adoration for him came much later.
Chapter 205

From Denver to the Wyoming state line, John regaled his companion with most of what he knew. John omitted the most distressing detail, yet as he spoke, a sense of danger permeated his thoughts. They weren't connected to the man next to him, although Hawk alluded to a few close calls within his time. John couldn't place the man's age or where he was from. John still wasn't sure of those facts about himself, although as they passed through Laramie, he felt Callie's theory was correct. Heading toward the Pacific Northwest seemed to be the right direction.

The terrain was covered in snow, although it looked familiar to John. He mentioned that to Hawk, who smiled. "Maybe you've been here before."

John chuckled. "Can't imagine when, but then how I'd end up in Texas?"

Hawk gripped the wheel, then cleared his throat. "Maybe you'd been helping a friend."

A slight shiver ran down John's spine. He closed his eyes, thinking about Laurie, yet something about that man took John back to Florida. Had he been traveling from one side of the country to the other, but how to explain being shot in East Texas? How were the only Jews John knew related? Laurie and Seth had to be connected somehow, but.... "Maybe," he said slowly. He hadn't mentioned that Laurie was a homosexual, but Seth wasn't Laurie's partner. Perhaps the key was how those men were linked; it seemed more than a coincidence that John knew Seth's full name. Then he smiled. "You believe in miracles?"

Now Hawk laughed. "Indeed I do. You got one to tell me?"

John nodded, explaining how he knew the first name of the man who had saved Walt's life. "He's Jewish," John added, "as is my friend Laurie."

"Well, Christians ain't got the corner on producing miracles, you know."

"I agree," John chuckled. Hawk might look rough, but he seemed to have an open mind. "They're both from Brooklyn, but...." Harvey Saperstein was too, but other than reminding John of Laurie, Harvey offered no other connection. Then John sighed, gazing out the window. The glare from the snow caused him to squint. As he did, he spied a large bird flying low to the ground. It looked like a falcon or a.... John trembled, making a fist with his left hand. His head pounded, his heart raced; at some point in his life he had inspected this terrain in this very weather. Then he felt sick to his stomach; his father had been incarcerated somewhere nearby. He'd visited that man not long before he died, which was just a few years ago. Then John opened his eyes. His wife had been pregnant with their first child, and when he got home, she'd had to care for him, for he'd returned terribly ill. So ill, he remembered, he had nearly died.

"You all right?" Hawk asked.

John shook his head, but didn't face his companion. Instead he eyed the landscape, but the hawk was gone. "I just remembered something."

"Was it another miracle?"

John looked at Hawk, who had spoken somberly. "Yeah, I think it was." He shared what he could recall, that he'd been delirious with fever, and that on Christmas Eve morning the fever had broken. John had stirred before his wife, gazing at her beside him, fully aware of how close to death he had been. He'd also realized his need to attend church that day, about which his wife hadn't argued. They had turned up at St. Anne's just as communion was being offered, shocking Renee and....

Now John smiled. "My best friend's wife's name is Renee, oh my God!" But what was her husband's name? John sighed, then brightened. "At least I remember Renee, my goodness she's like Walt's daughter Tilda." He stared out the window again. "But I don't remember flying or driving to see my...." He paused, then swallowed hard. "My father died in prison, he was a murderer. I went to see him, but I wasn't there when he died."

"But you made your peace with him it sounds like."

"Yeah, I did." John looked at Hawk, then back out the window. "I became a Christian when I got home, maybe that sounds funny, but I knew God had spared my life. My wife was already thinking about it, she'd been considering it since...."

John fell silent as a wave of memories overtook him. He'd been away several times, although not all of them had been to visit his father. Then he grimaced; he'd left his wife for months, that was when she started investigating religion. She had attended church with Renee and.... That man's name was still lost, but so much more about him was now known; he'd been shot in Korea and couldn't father a child. John had been in the middle of finally painting his portrait when....

"I'm an artist," he said softly, still gazing at the snow-laden ground. He tried to make a fist with his right hand, but could barely curl his fingers. The pain was tremendous, but for the first time, he didn't lament it. "I'll never paint again, but I used to. I know I did."

"No, I 'spose you won't. That gonna be okay?"

John met Hawk's gaze. "All that matters is getting home to my family, seeing my wife again." Then he shivered; he had said those same words before, or had at least acknowledged that sentiment. Slowly he faced the horizon; he had offered that pledge right here, although he hadn't been in vehicle or airplane. Yet he knew without a doubt this is where he had been, as if stepping back into that very moment. He'd been coming down with that awful cold, his wife was waiting for him and.... Now two daughters waited as well, offspring John and his wife had never thought possible. But it hadn't been her fault, although she'd assumed differently. John breathed deeply. "I don't know the circumstances, but I was here two and a half years ago, right before Jane was born." Tears rolled down his cheeks. "My oldest daughter, Jesus Christ, Jane, oh baby!"

He wept aloud, for he could envision her face, so much like that of her mother, although Jane's eyes were the same color as her Uncle.... What was that man's name, John wondered, wiping his face with his left hand. John then looked toward Hawk. "Do you have kids?"

Hawk nodded. "Hard being away from them."

"We couldn't for a long time, have children I mean. Then I came back and...." He flexed his ankle, the notion of it having been crippled clear in his mind. Then he chuckled. "Miracles do happen, they've happened to me."

Hawk flashed a smile. "Seems that's true. Although you've suffered some mighty bad luck recently."

John nodded, again trying to grip with his right hand. Now it was numb, and he sighed. "I'll never paint again but...." He stared at the snowy ground; so strong was the sense of coming home once before. He'd felt absolutely terrible, yet had trudged on, aware that his wife was waiting, and their baby, who was Jane. Now John laughed. "I just wanna be home, that's all that matters."

"I can understand that. However, I'm starving. We're twenty miles outta Rawlings, there's a truck stop. You mind if we get some grub?"

"Don't mind at all," John smiled. "My treat."

Hawk chuckled. "Sounds good to me."

Over lunch the men said little; John wasn't in the mood for idle chatter. He wanted to get back on the road to see how many other pieces of the puzzle could be located. As they walked back to the truck, Hawk paused, pointing at blue sky. "They call this God's country." Then he looked at John. "Wonder how you were here."

John peered at the vast emptiness above them, then shivered. "I wanna say I was flying, but...." It was the sense of being over the ground, yet close enough to experience the cold; it had been so cold. "It doesn't make sense," he said, kicking at slushy snow. "But then, how'd I get shot?"

Hawk shrugged, then led them to the passenger side of the truck, where he helped John into his seat. Within minutes they were back on Interstate 80, but further ahead the sky was dark. "Storm's coming," Hawk said. "But I think we'll reach Salt Lake in time."

John nodded. "Suppose I might have to stay there a day."

"Maybe," Hawk said. "Hard to say."

For half an hour neither man spoke. John focused on the darkening sky, wondering if Hawk still thought they would beat the storm. Then John cleared his throat, voicing his concerns. Hawk chuckled. "We'll get there before it starts, but I don't expect to be leaving anytime soon."

"Where're you headed?"

"California," Hawk smiled. "But it sounds like you wanna go more northerly."

"Yeah, I guess." John sighed. "Probably look for a ride to Idaho."

"Yep, that'd be my choice."

John wanted to say more, but sensed his companion desired silence. John closed his eyes, but didn't feel sleepy. Conversation with Harvey had led to several memories, and while John had recovered more with Hawk, perhaps that was all he would recall. His heart ached thinking about Jane; how much had she changed, and when was the last time he had seen her? It couldn't have been longer than nine months, for his wife had been a few months along with.... His youngest daughter was named for her grandmothers, although their names were just as elusive as those of his wife and best friend. Then John thought about Laurie; their friendship had undergone a trial, yet emerged even stronger. They hadn't known each other more than a few years, but as if John now had two best friends.... Then John considered his pastor; he was in the same circle, but wasn't an American. He was.... John chuckled out loud, how in world was he such good friends with so many different people?

"What?" Hawk asked.

"I just realized my best friends are Catholic, Jewish, and Polish."

"That's a motley crew," Hawk laughed.

"It is. What else's strange is that I've only know Laurie and my pastor a few years." John tried to recall the minister's name, then he sighed. "I've painted two pictures of him, the pastor that is. Both were with Jane, but I've never painted Laurie's portrait." John sighed inwardly. He had wanted to, but trying to get Laurie's partner to pose was the issue. The pastor had been a willing subject; John felt they shared a bond beyond their faith. John tried to imagine the connection, but again drew a blank.

"Sounds like you're surrounded with good folks." Hawk coughed, then smiled. "Can't say your life sounds boring."

"No, I don't think it is. But for a long time it was just me and my wife." John recalled how they had kept to themselves as if guarding a secret. He mentioned this aloud, wondering if his incarcerated father had been the cause. "But Laurie and Stan knew, I mean...." John abruptly stopped speaking. Stanford was his art dealer; he was also Laurie's....

"Who's Stan?" Hawk asked.

"I'm his client." John was thrilled for this revelation, yet kept his voice even. "He and Laurie know each other in New York."

"Laurie's an art dealer too?" Hawk asked.

"Yeah, I guess he is." Now John chuckled. "I've known Stan for ages, God, longer than I've known...." Renee's husband's name remained a mystery, but Stanford was now clear in John's mind. "He's pretty insufferable until you get to know him."

"Another unique friend you've got, it seems."

John nodded, but didn't hear anything derogatory in Hawk's tone. "Yeah, we're quite a bunch."

While trying to piece together this latest realization, John studied the western horizon. Dark clouds remained where they had been the last time John looked, making him smile; perhaps they would reach Utah before the weather turned. Then he gazed to his right; another bird was flying right alongside, this time so close that John could see its face. It was a hawk, and so familiar. Maybe he'd painted one, although all he recalled doing were portraits. "You see many hawks out here?" he asked.

"Some. Not too much for them to eat right now."

"Yeah, I suppose not." John glanced out the window, the bird keeping pace. "Boy, how fast do they fly?"

"I've heard up to fifty miles an hour. That's what I'm doing."

"God, that's...." John felt a tingle along his right forearm, but this was different than the usual pain he endured. The ache traveled up his shoulder, then headed to his left shoulder, going down into his left elbow. As it reached his left hand, it was more of sting, then it disappeared. He made a fist with that hand, slowly uncurling it. Then he gazed back to the window, but the hawk was gone.

During the next hour neither man spoke. John kept looking for the hawk, also wondering about the nature of that strange pain, which seemed somewhat familiar. It had nothing to do with having been shot, although it carried a sense of foreboding. The storm remained far in the distance, for which John was relieved. If he had to stay a couple of nights in Utah, maybe he could use that time to piece together all he'd learned. First names gave him comfort, but weren't enough information to put to good use.

They passed a small town, which Hawk noted was Rock Springs. The landscape hadn't changed much, although mountains loomed in the distance where dark clouds remained. John glanced to his right and he smiled as a hawk was again flying beside them. "There's that hawk," he said. "Wonder where it's heading?"

"Been following us since Laramie. Been watching it out the side mirror."

John chuckled. Then he gasped as that tingle shot up his left arm, across the top of his back, down into his right shoulder. It lingered there, then emerged as a sharp pain all the way into his right fingers. He tried to make a fist with that hand, but still couldn't do more than curl his fingers. "God that's strange," he said.

"What?"

John explained the sensation, then glanced at the hawk. "Never felt anything like that before."

"Or not that you remember."

Now John gazed at his friend. "Yeah, I guess." He flexed his left ankle, then stared at that foot. "Jesus Christ," he exclaimed, again bending his ankle. "I can't believe it."

"What now?" Hawk asked.

John reached down with his left hand, running his fingers along faint scars. "You might not believe this, but...." He told of what he remembered, from his father's brutal actions to waking up, finding he no longer needed to wear a corrective shoe. Then he shivered. "I'd been away from my wife for five months. Then suddenly...." Now he gasped, uncertain if he was recalling facts or something from a dream.

"Suddenly what? Don't leave me hanging."

John smiled at Hawk's inquisitive tone. "I swear my foot went from being deformed to just like it is today. A few scars remain, but otherwise it's fine."

"Another miracle it sounds like," Hawk chuckled.

"Yeah, seems like it." Then John closed his eyes; more than his foot had been healed. Six months later his wife was pregnant. He opened his eyes, then prayed for further healing. As he did, that strange pain emerged in his right hand, going up that arm, across his shoulders, then down into his left side. But instead of giving John peace, a bizarre thought coursed through him. He glanced out the window, where the hawk kept pace. It looked toward John, flapping its wings. Then it veered right, soaring out of John's view.

He sat forward, but didn't see it ahead. Then he looked left. "Is it on your side?"

"Is what?" Hawk asked. "Oh, I know what you mean." He glanced into his side mirror, then shook his head. "Musta decided to go somewhere else."

John's mouth trembled, but he nodded. Then he looked out his window, searching for that bird. All he saw was snow, which made him shiver. He'd been so cold, as though his limbs might freeze. Yet she was waiting, carrying a baby they never had thought possible. He'd had to get back to her regardless of the weather, his hunger, or a dreadful illness spreading into every part of him. That malady had almost killed him, then again he'd been near death at Caddo Lake. But what sort of man was he to continually find himself in such dire straits? Within John's mind stood a door; if he had the courage to open it, might the truth set him free, or would he wish himself dead?

That sentiment made him shake; for years death was all that Seth thought he deserved. The reasons were numerous, yet The Holocaust hadn't been his fault. John had intervened on that man's behalf, John and Laurie both. But while Laurie loved his cousin dearly, it had been upon John's shoulders to.... John gasped; Seth and Laurie were related, they were practically brothers. John had been in Florida where Seth had again tried to kill himself, where Laurie had been since late June. In early July, John had flown to Miami and....

The screech came from right outside John's window. He turned to see the hawk merely feet away, gazing at John, then looking straight ahead. John placed his left hand on the window, the glass frigid under his touch. How cold was it outside, he wondered, and how was that bird of prey traveling so fast? It was one thing for hawks to fly at top speed in summer, but in winter.... John shut his eyes, shaking his head as from deep within a terrible fact bubbled. Then he retched, for that bird's smell was all he could inhale. Both of his arms ached, and he leaned over, trying to catch his breath. Each inhalation reeked of bird, just like every time he returned home to his wife, who forgave him without reservation.

How had she done that, John wondered, still uncertain of what lingered in the back of his brain. Yet how else had he known this terrain, how else would he have suffered the cold? For what other reason would he have left his pregnant wife and Jane if not to fly to Miami for Seth, but John hadn't traveled by jet. Now the purpose for his amnesia was startling clear; who in their right mind could believe something so implausible and ungodly, a fact so disturbing that only a select few could accept it. Seth had, John's wife, his best friend and Renee, a Polish pastor, Laurie.... Laurie had fought the truth until John had spelled out his wife's name. What was her name, he wondered, and how in the hell had she stayed with him all these years?

He couldn't sit up, although the stench of fowl was gone. He doubted the bird of prey remained, but slowly John leaned forward, then gazed out his window. To his amazement, the hawk glided alongside, but didn't make eye contact. John nodded, although he wished the hawk would look his way. If that happened, no questions would linger. Then John had a sarcastic laugh. How much remained unknown, not the least of which centered on John's wife; her name, why she had stayed with him, why she'd borne him two children. He let out a cry, unable to hold it back. Sobs quickly wracked his frame and again he leaned forward. Then a hand was laid upon him, right between his shoulders. "It's all right Eric. We'll stop in Salt Lake and you can rest there."

The call of his name made Eric break down further, but the touch along his back alleviated his heaving sobs. Still Eric wept for the weight of his identity, the injury to his arm, the relief of Seth's healed mind. And for two key elements; who was his wife and where did his family reside?
Chapter 206

As Eric and his companion settled in for the evening, Lynne read stories to her daughters, expectant joy in her voice. All day she'd been feeling Eric was near, yet she had kept that notion to herself despite speaking with Laurie, who had news to share; Seth had met someone in Tel Aviv. Adrienne Ross was Scottish, also a painter, and from the delight in Laurie's tone, perhaps just the woman Seth needed. Laurie didn't ask about Marek and Klaudia, for which Lynne was relieved. She wasn't certain how that twosome might develop; at times Klaudia's bearing was so guarded, but when near either of Lynne's children, Klaudia softened considerably. Lynne looked forward to speaking with her pastor after his guest had departed. But perhaps their conversation might be postponed; Lynne wondered if her husband's return was merely days away.

Marek hadn't given his friend much thought, but as Klaudia slept soundly, a cleric stood in the chapel, gazing at where he had baptized Eric, Lynne, and their eldest daughter. In a few weeks, the couple's second child would receive that sacrament; would Eric be here to witness it? Marek hoped so, for Cary and her father's sakes, also for Marek's own well-being. Many ideas teemed within his head, but those were outweighed by all that rested upon his heart. The woman sleeping in his bed seemed completely unaware of his dilemma; while Marek had known a cost would be paid for their intimacy, now he understood more of it would be for Klaudia to bear.

Not that he felt peaceful, although he was sated. Marek sat in the first pew, gazing at Christ, who hung from a cross at the back of the church, his head bowed, arms outstretched, hands and feet nailed to planks of wood. A cloth was draped over his midsection, a crown of thorns atop his head, yet the image suggested nothing like what Marek assumed his savior had suffered. There were no gashes from where Jesus had been flogged, no marks from where he had been beaten. It was a symbolic piece, safe for all to view. But when Marek closed his eyes, a more realistic picture emerged; a man thoroughly ravaged both in body and spirit.

Opening his eyes, he again studied the figure, wishing modern churches could display the true bearing of a man who was God, a deity who had lived and loved and suffered and returned to alter the course of history, but for thirty-three years had also been just as human as those he called his own. Marek ached to discuss with another person all that troubled him, yet for now he prayed. Then he chuckled as though Jesus was seated beside him, offering his support and understanding. Marek concluded his prayers, lifting all four Snyders up to a most gracious and gentle savior. Then he went back to bed, falling into a deep sleep.

In the morning, Marek rose first, quietly slipping out of bed while Klaudia snored solidly. Marek had dreamed of her during the night; he'd also felt keenly aware of Eric's difficulties. Yet, that man was in the best possible hands, not that Marek would reveal such an idea to Lynne. Then he smiled, heading into the kitchen, making a pot of coffee. She was probably just as aware of her husband's situation, not that either of them knew where Eric was, but he was close. He was close, although.... Marek shivered as the percolator bubbled, the scent comforting, but something else troubled him. Part of it was related to his guest, with whom he would have words as soon as Klaudia was alert enough to comprehend what Marek wished to tell her. But even if Eric was almost home, something about his return left Marek uneasy. He got out two cups, then sat at the table, gazing at his and Jane's portrait. So much happiness was translated in that canvas; Eric possessed a fantastic capacity to relate life's joys. Then Marek was struck by a severe pain at his temples. He closed his eyes, but the ache was similar to his migraines during the Missile Crisis. Then the pain disappeared as quickly as it had set upon him, leaving him unsettled. Was it related to Eric or....

Shuffling footsteps paused at the bathroom door, which was then closed. Marek inhaled, then stood, exhaling as he approached the percolator. He waited another minute, then filled the cups, taking them to the table. He didn't set them next to each other; his was across from Klaudia's, for he needed to see her face. Gauging her mood was essential, for he had much to say, but didn't wish to overwhelm her. Perhaps little would be spoken. He hadn't shared a morning after in years, and Maggie hadn't been much for words. Now he knew why that was, for their times together hadn't been meant for more than those moments. But what he had experienced with Klaudia would never leave him.

He mulled that over while the coffee cooled; that they weren't married caused him no grief. He'd told her he loved her, which was tantamount to matrimony. Then he sighed aloud; he had never felt this attached to Maggie, perhaps making love with her had been wrong. Then Marek shook his head. He had given himself to her as fully as he had been able, which at the time had felt correct. He smiled, then sipped his coffee. He burned his tongue, then laughed at himself. Acting in haste, even under the best circumstances, could be erroneous. He blew on his coffee, but wouldn't take another sip until it was a cooler temperature.

Much of yesterday afternoon had been spent defining love; Marek had found it was animated alternating with moments of stillness which had only been punctured by the echoes of their heartbeats. He had never felt so naked but assured, even for the uncertainty of what this day would bring. He had been protected throughout their intimacies, and again he smiled; Klaudia had provided the prophylactics, but a more thorough defense had encased Marek's heart, allowing him to revel in pleasure while repercussions waited behind the door.

Now he sat outside that safety zone, and in this new day, a different mood clung to him. He wished to return to his bedroom, which was equally a space for another; they could drink their coffee, then fall back into one other's arms, discovering just how wonderful was the gift of physical love when grounded in.... He sighed, for they had used all the condoms, but more importantly he needed to tell her the truth. Yes he loved her, but....

She cleared her throat, then stepped into the kitchen, a small smile on her face, her blonde hair tousled. Wearing his robe, she sat where her coffee waited. She gripped the mug, but didn't make eye contact. Marek's heart ached, his pulse raced, and he longed for one more day without any intrusions. Not that Mrs. Kenny was coming to work; he wouldn't see her until Wednesday. He wanted to return to last night's perfect world, which only had space for himself and the vision across from him.

He smiled, for she looked in dire need of a cigarette as well as several cups of coffee. Her eyes were bloodshot, for at several points she had wept copiously, both while they made love and in the quiet afterwards. Marek was grateful she still had a day to recover, but that day might be fraught with as much tension as her first days last week. He briefly closed his eyes, asking for one more night with her undisturbed. Opening his eyes, he saw her smile, for now she looked right at him. Marek was struck by how honest she appeared, then he understood the need for a mostly unblemished savior; to view the true soul was almost too much for even him to take.

He leaned forward, reaching for her hand. She obliged and he gripped fingers that weren't cold. He inwardly shivered, for her digits had lain upon his skin, proffering adoration and affection and.... She had given to him all of her heart, or that with which she could part. He smiled, clutching her hand, again beseeching God to let yesterday's blessing continue through this day. He would be honest with her, but could he just have one more day....

"How long've you been up?" she asked in Polish.

That language made him tremble, although they had spoken entirely in their native tongue since their argument near the altar. He'd said I love you in Polish, as if to speak those words in any other dialect would have rendered them meaningless. Had he also done so to hearken back to when that love had first blossomed? He'd loved this woman a long time, although she wasn't the same as the girl he'd left behind. Now he understood how that had harmed her; he should have tried to assure her of his survival. But the past was unchangeable, all they had was this moment. God please, Marek begged, just let me have this moment.

"I've been up about half an hour," he said softly, reiterating his inward plea. "How are you?"

She smiled, then giggled, running her free hand through her hair. Then she gripped his hand with both of hers, her lips trembling. She released him, grasping her mug, taking a small sip. She inhaled the fragrance, then looked around the room, setting the cup back on the table. She met his gaze, her mouth still quivering, tears forming in her eyes. "I'm...." She couldn't finish, wiping her damp cheeks with the back of her hand.

Marek nodded, uncertain of what happened next. He didn't feel compelled to speak, but taking her back to his bed seemed presumptuous, although he assumed that was what she wanted even if they had no birth control. He wouldn't make love to her until that had been rectified, if they happened to find themselves again in that position. He smiled, then sipped his coffee, which was the perfect temperature. God had heard his petition and Marek would await the response.

"Are you hungry?" Her voice cracked. She cleared her throat, drank more coffee, then took a deep breath. "I could make us breakfast."

"I'm not particularly hungry. Are you?"

She shook her head, then nodded, then sighed. "What happens now?"

He still wasn't certain, but didn't want to worry her. "I'm not sure." He nearly chuckled, then grasped her hands, which were just starting to feel chilled. That made his heart race, yet he stayed seated. "A part of me wants to just sit and enjoy this, I never imagined anything like this you know."

He wanted to be as honest as possible and that was indeed the truth. Not even when he spoke to her the day President Kennedy had been killed did Marek conjure anything so.... He'd merely wanted to see her again; how naïve had he been, or perhaps again protected. If he had pondered such a connection, it might never have happened.

Now that it had, responsibility filled his heart, yet it wasn't merely toward her. His personal concerns were mixed; he loved her deeply, but she would return to Norway in two days, not to mention.... He sighed softly, for now she stroked his hands with definite intentions. Then she whispered his name as she had last night when no other words were possible. Tangled emotions raced through him, but the strongest set him on his feet, then led him to where she sat. He put out his hands, which she grasped, then she stood beside him. He kissed her, giving thanks for this blessing. As they parted he stroked her face, then led her back to his room where they remained until lunchtime.

Eric didn't wake until well after twelve noon. He wasn't sure what time he'd fallen asleep; all he recalled was getting into bed, hearing the door lock, then.... Now he sat up, taking note of his surroundings; the space was small, the paper bag resting on a shelf on the opposite wall. He'd forgotten about the thermos, which now seemed to belong to someone else; John Doe remained a part of Eric, but no longer guided his steps. Not that Eric knew where home was, and his wife's name still remained a mystery. But much had been revealed to him, although he wasn't sure where was the man who had brought him to this place. And just who was that individual, Eric mused, sitting up in bed, inhaling deeply. As he exhaled, he gripped his right arm, feeling a great loss had been incurred. He was an artist, or he had been, but as he had told Hawk yesterday, all that truly mattered was reaching his wife, their new baby, and Jane. Eric smiled, releasing his useless limb. He hadn't seen his family in nearly seven months; would Jane remember him?

Now that he recalled her, he wanted to get back on the road. Then he sighed, for his destination wasn't any clearer than it had been when he left Karnack. He inhaled, then exhaled, as two lives clamored within his brain. The man he had been yesterday morning felt like a stranger, yet his arm remained damaged and questions lingered. Then he closed his eyes, a weight having been lifted. His name was Eric, how had Hawk known that? Eric shivered, then stood, staring at himself in the small mirror under the shelf. Dressed only in underwear, he looked mostly the same, although the right side of his upper body was a mess. He gazed at his ankle, then shook his head. For years that limb had been a burden. Now it was his right arm, but he was alive, knew who he was, and his wife was thinking about him. Eric smiled, then spoke aloud. "I love you honey. I'm almost home."

The despair which had plagued him since late November was absent; he might not recall her name, nor that of Renee's husband, but much of Eric's existence was again his own. It was odd that he knew no last names other than Mrs. Harmon's, but he would continue to head northwest like Callie had told him, then.... Eric sat on the edge of his bed, Callie and Walt's faces like those of his ancient past. To them, he was still John Doe, maybe he always would be. He desperately wanted to find his wife and children, but just as important was making the Richardsons and Boldens aware that he had made it safely back to his family. Eric put on his shirt, then stepped into his trousers. Then he walked to the window, pulling aside the curtain. Snow had fallen overnight, but he didn't see Hawk's truck, although maybe he had parked elsewhere. A chill traveled up Eric's spine; just who was that man, and would Eric see him again?

Then Eric closed his eyes as a wave of nausea rolled through him. The other side of his identity settled like a thud upon his consciousness, and he staggered to the end of the mattress, sitting down before he fell. He set his head into his left hand, and while he didn't weep, he wanted to be sick. For two months he had merely been an ordinary man. Once again he was an aberration, which had nearly cost him his life. The pain hit him then, both of his useless arm and the tragic loss of his talent. Maybe he could manage crude sketches, but never again would he paint. Tears stung his eyes, a few rolling down his face. Maybe he wouldn't transform again, perhaps this had been the last time. Seth was better and Laurie knew the truth, but neither compensated for the magnitude of what had been forfeited for those blessings. Eric prayed for peace, then to see his wife and daughters. His life had been spared and Seth was well. The rest was in God's hands.

The reappearance of his identity also brought the return of his faith, to which Eric now clung. John Doe hadn't been at all certain, but Eric knew God had saved him that fateful day at Caddo Lake. Now God's presence was all Eric could fathom, then he shuddered; God had placed Eric into the hands of a man who at first seemed commonplace, but now Eric needed to speak to.... He smiled, then pulled out his money clip. The bills were undisturbed from how Eric had arranged them after buying lunch yesterday in Rawlings. His companion must have paid for this room, but where was he?

Eric put on socks and shoes, then pulled on his overcoat. The room key sat on the shelf by the paper bag; Eric put the key in his pocket, then opened the door. A blast of frigid air made him tremble, several inches of snow on the ground causing him to reconsider trying to find the person who had brought him here. A diner across the parking lot was open, but Eric couldn't see Hawk's truck anywhere. Eric's stomach rumbled, so he closed the door to his room, then slowly made his way to the café. Hawk wasn't there either, but Eric sat in a booth, ordering breakfast and coffee. He wasn't expecting to leave Utah that day, and didn't feel like making small talk with anyone.

As he ate, he considered all he had remembered; now he recalled Marek's name, as well as Mrs. Kenny's. The last names he knew were useless, but he didn't wonder why that was. He still had at least two more days on the road; he would find a ride to Boise, then go west to.... He sipped his coffee, gazing out the window. Myriad questions filled his head; why had this happened now topped the list, but not as he'd considered while an amnesiac. What he and his wife had often feared had occurred, yet he was alive. But how was she, and not only in regard to having just had their daughter? Yesterday's drive along southern Wyoming made him shiver; he'd flown over that terrain to see his dying father, coming home so sick. How had his wife continually coped with his extended disappearances, what kind of woman was she?

Had Laurie gone to see her after leaving Miami, and what about his well-being? Had he told Stan, and if so, what had he made of such a tale? Eric finished his meal, but the final bites were tasteless. He ate because he needed to maintain his strength. The answers were waiting for him further west.

Yet he wanted one thing solved that day, but maybe he would never see.... He couldn't help but smile thinking of that man, his name and bearing more otherworldly aspects of a life that again was Eric's reality. Easily he recalled perching on the cypress tree, watching the boys approach; why hadn't he heeded Luke's warning, why had he.... Eric wiped his mouth with a napkin, then stared at his good hand. That existence was firm in his mind, yet it was odd to consider himself left handed. He tried making a fist with his right, but pain made him close his eyes. When he opened them, he nearly gasped. Hawk stood at the table, motioning to the open seat. "Mind if I join you?" he asked.

"Please," Eric smiled. "I wasn't sure I'd see you again."

Once Hawk was seated they faced each other, then Eric glanced to the counter, wanting to get someone's attention. Strangely the place was empty; no waitresses, customers, or cooks. Eric gazed around, finding the entire establishment deserted. Then he met Hawk's eyes; that man simply nodded his head.

"Who are you?" Eric asked softly.

"You know who I am."

Eric nodded as the scents of St. Anne's filled his nostrils. He wasn't sure what to say, then he smiled. "Thanks for taking care of me yesterday."

"It was my pleasure."

Eric gazed at his empty plate, then back at the man's eyes. Their color was indiscernible and they sparkled. "What happens now?" he asked.

"Today I want you to rest. You need sleep, for the end of your journey awaits."

Eric nodded, he was tired. Then he grinned. "Are you still heading to California?"

The man chuckled. "In a manner of speaking."

"What happens tomorrow?"

The man clasped his hands together, placing them on the table. "You let tomorrow sort itself. Today just rest. You've done good work for me Eric."

"Have I?"

The man nodded, grasping Eric's hands. "You trusted me. There's still more to do, especially trust. But first, rest."

"What can I do for you now?" Eric trembled, wishing the man's touch would initiate healing. His right shoulder ached badly while his right hand was numb.

"Trust me, that's all." The man smiled, letting go of Eric's hands. Then he stood, pulling money from his pocket. He set the bills near Eric's plate. "Use what is necessary, then give the rest to whomever needs it. You have been greatly blessed, but you know that. And remember I love you."

Those words echoed inside the empty diner as Eric nodded his head. Then he turned around, but the man was gone. Eric glanced at the wad of cash, which seemed larger than what had originally been set there. He tried to count it, but his eyes grew teary; the magnitude of exactly who had been seated across from him was more than Eric could ponder. He peeled off a twenty dollar bill, then set it near his empty plate. He put the rest inside his jacket, too much to stuff into his pants' pocket. As he stood, he nearly bumped into a waitress, for now the diner was full of customers. He smiled, thanking her for a delicious meal. Then he returned to the motel with much over which to pray.
Chapter 207

Again Klaudia woke alone, but that morning no fears plagued her. She had one more full day in America, and while Marek hadn't mentioned when he would travel to Oslo, she felt his presence would accompany her back home. She wouldn't badger him to visit; this trip had cost him plenty, but the result of their reunion was more than money could buy. She smiled, then sat up slowly needing coffee, at least one cigarette, and a bath. Then she giggled; she had never felt this weary but so happy. Not even in their earliest days of her marriage had Gunnar satisfied this way.

Briefly she allowed it was love leaving her so sated; more she wondered just who was the man beneath the collar. Marek wasn't at all whom she had spent last week, or who she had known in Poland, yet at times over the last two days he had been within her grasp, an adventurous lad who possessed a quiet side, then Klaudia frowned. He'd been in Dominik's shadow for much of their youth, but during those last years Marek had distinguished himself as a budding linguist as well as.... She couldn't quantify how he was different from his older brother, then she tried to imagine how those young men had appeared; Dominik had been taller, but he was nearly seventeen when.... She shivered, then got out bed, aching for a smoke. Smelling the coffee she smiled, then put on Marek's robe which had been waiting at the foot of the bed. Leaving his room, she used the bathroom, then walked toward the kitchen. She could hear him shuffling about, and her heart raced. They had gone out yesterday for more condoms, otherwise her whole world was this building. Funny that she could find such peace within a church.

Yet, she hadn't returned to the chapel since Sunday; she had fixed meals for them, then slept in his bed. She had only gone into her room to change clothing, but today she needed to pack, for he would take her to the airport early tomorrow. That notion didn't bother her, for other than an act of God, they would never be separated again.

She grinned at herself, then cleared her throat. Stepping into the kitchen, she saw him at the table, her cup of coffee waiting like yesterday. Yesterday she'd had no idea what might occur, but after another full day doing little more than making love, Klaudia imagined the same would be on Tuesday's agenda. The first half of her trip had dragged, but now she resided in a different realm. She sat at her place, smiled at him, then reached for her pack of cigarettes, which she had left here last night. She wouldn't smoke in the kitchen, but holding the package soothed. She would drink her coffee, then walk to the foyer, smoking there.

For now she only wanted to stare at the man who.... He was the love of her life, which she had grudgingly admitted to herself yesterday. Today he owned her heart just as he had previously. A small part of her flinched, but maybe the impending distance would make it easier to accept such changes. How simple would it be to love him from afar, which calmed her heart. To love him every day in person might drive her mad. Then she giggled. "Good morning," she said in Polish, which was all they had spoken since fighting in the chapel. Then she laughed. "How are you?"

She said that in English, which made him smile. "I'm well," he answered. "Are we using this tongue now?"

"At least this morning. I do not want to look like an ignorant foreigner on my way home." She laughed as she spoke, then a chill overtook her. She'd had that same thought planning for this trip, but didn't feel at all the same to who she had been. She gazed at her coffee, then took a sip. Klaudia glanced at Marek, who was drinking his own coffee, looking the same as how Eric Snyder had painted him when Jane was tiny, then a little bit older. Klaudia then saw the adolescent he'd been the last time she had seen him, also a man much older, as if the weight of the world rested upon him. Was he already missing her she wondered, drinking more coffee. She wouldn't delve into that until she was on the plane, or perhaps not until Sigrun collected her from the airport on Thursday. It would take Klaudia two days to reach home, but maybe that was due to more than the hours separating America and Norway. It would be ages for her to understand all that had happened here, for it was as though her previous existence could no longer accommodate who she had become. She loved this man, and had been well loved by him. Neither of them would ever be the same.

She wished to say all this; she wanted to keep nothing from him, not how much she loved him or would miss him. For over twenty years she had regretted not being honest; how much pain had that caused her, and him too. "Marek...." Then she paused, for he met her gaze with a tortured look on his face. "What's wrong?" she said, putting down her cup and cigarettes. "Just tell me."

The sorrow in his eyes made her wish to run away, then she felt utterly foolish for her considerations. Yet, he must have some feelings for her; the love they had made yesterday was hard for her to qualify; she had never been so enraptured, nor so giving. He brought something out of her that had been dead since.... "Marek, what?"

He stood, then pulled out the chair beside her, seating himself. Grasping her hands, he sighed heavily. "I love you very much."

He spoke in Polish, his voice adoring and not at all akin with how distressed he still appeared. "I have loved you my whole life," he continued. "And I will always love you."

But.... That word hadn't been spoken in any language, yet it hung thickly in the kitchen and with every breath taken, Klaudia felt it crept down her throat, poisoning her lungs the same way Gunnar's words had as he told her what he was doing with their baby. Klaudia nodded to Marek just as she had to Gunnar, but with her husband her acquiescence had been that of a frightened young woman too stunned and sad to argue. What she had shared with Marek had been too good to be true, she coolly accepted, gazing at her coffee cup, then to her cigarettes. She took her hands from Marek's, removed a cigarette from the pack, and lit it. She inhaled deeply, exhaling away from Marek and the painting.

"I understand," she said in Polish, keeping her face turned away from him, her voice terse. "I suppose I should've known this is how it would end."

He cleared his throat, then stroked her hand. "I don't want it to end, not at all."

Now she looked at him, tears falling down his face. "Oh really?" Then she let out a small cry. "It certainly sounds like you're leading up to...." She couldn't say the words, for they seemed incongruous to everything she had shared with him over the last two days.

He nodded, then sighed. "I realize that's how it sounded, and I'm sorry. I didn't want you to think that, I mean...." He leaned back in his chair. "I do need to say something which might...." He paused, then sighed again. "I need to be honest with you."

While trying to fathom what he might say, she stared at him. Then she gasped, for he looked just like his father, wrinkles deeply etched along his brow and mouth, his posture slumped. As the Nazis rounded up the Jagucki family, Klaudia had peered from her bedroom window, trying to locate Marek among them. Instead she'd seen his father looking positively aged, Ania in his grasp as if shielding her from.... "Just tell me," she mumbled, then she cleared her throat. She took another long drag from the smoke, looking for the ashtray. She didn't know where it was, so she went to the sink, letting the ashes fall there.

He got up, then approached her. He caressed her face, and she couldn't move away from his touch. Only for moments had she peeked through her curtains, not wishing to be hauled out of her home, nor could she view the slaughter that was waiting. There were no illusions with the SS; that they had descended upon her tiny village was as if Satan had chosen that spot as another death camp, which is what it turned into once the first flame was lit. She glanced toward her cigarettes, but not at the pack of matches. Then she dropped what remained of her smoke into the sink, wishing to be sick. She coughed, which made Marek remove his hand from her face. Gripping the counter, Klaudia bowed her head, smelling smoke, hearing screams, then the awful silence, compounded with an even fouler odor, which hadn't lingered yet remained trapped in the back of her brain. All those elements now teemed in her mind, yet Marek was close, she could detect his breaths. He grasped her hands again and without thinking she squeezed back, needing to know where she was. She wasn't in Poland; this was America and he was alive and.... "Just tell me," she again muttered. Whatever he had to say couldn't be worse than what she had already endured.

"I love you so much," he began, his voice soft in her ears. "Nothing more would please me than to spend the rest of my life with you."

"But you can't because you have to stay here, right?" Possibilities raced through her mind; was he bound to wherever the church sent him? Maybe if he returned to Europe, they might want him to return to Poland. Then she met his gaze. "Does this have to do with my son?"

Marek shook his head. "This has to do with...."

His mouth trembled and for a moment Klaudia wondered if he would break down. "My God, sit down." She led him back to his seat at the table, then sat beside him. "Marek, what is it?"

She wanted to look at him, but all she saw was his father, who must have been fully aware of what was coming. Ania hadn't known, but then she'd been eleven, and no child could have predicted the disaster that was minutes away. Yet Marek's father had understood; his brother had hidden Jews, what Klaudia had overheard her parents discuss months later. Just as disturbing to her had been why this had occurred, although knowing the reason hadn't assuaged her pain. The children had been innocent, their parents as well. Why kill them all, she had wondered, but never did she broach this with her mother and father. Only later, when the full horrors of Nazi Germany were revealed, did she no longer mull over such incomprehensible facts, except for one detail; why had Marek not raised any dissent? Dominik had loudly argued with the soldiers, but Marek's voice had been strangely absent. Then she peered at him. "This doesn't have to do with how you got away, does it?"

Since he told her about the hawk, she had paid it scant attention. She still wasn't sure if she believed him, but something had kept him from the village. Had a penance been demanded? "Don't tell me that hawk made you promise...."

She felt ridiculous even mentioning it, then she fought a giggle. Was that why Marek had no wife? Yet, sex seemed to be permissible, and Klaudia found herself laughing uncontrollably. "Oh for God's sake, if you only wanted to sleep with me, just say so." She continued to chuckle. "Why do you think I packed the condoms?"

She had expected that to rouse his smile. Instead he shook his head, still looking like his father. Now Klaudia was stumped. She cleared her throat, crossing her arms over her chest. Strangely she didn't want a smoke, but another cup of coffee would clear her mind. Then she huffed. "Tell you what, when you have the guts to be honest with me, you can find me in my room. I need a bath and...."

As she stood, he did too, gently grasping her right arm. She looked at his hand upon her, then met his gaze. The pain in his eyes traveled through his touch into her heart, stealing her breath. It was as if her memories of that terrible day were now his too.

He began to speak, not about that tragedy, but of yesterday morning. How he had prayed for one more day with her, but now having received that treasure, perhaps he had been selfish. In Polish, he again reiterated how much he loved her, but that anything further between them was most likely impossible to consider due to.... Now she closed her eyes, hearing something as malicious as the laughing soldiers while shrieks from inside the burning barn faded away. Marek's God wouldn't allow him to pursue a relationship, although those weren't Marek's exact words. But that was his excuse; he loved her but her lack of faith wouldn't permit further contact.

If not for the grief in his voice, Klaudia would slap his face, or maybe spit at him. Her furor was only tempered by his sorrow, which she knew was genuine, although rage bubbled in her gut, itching to spew forth. She gritted her teeth to control what crawled up her throat, then swallowed hard, yet venom escaped. "You don't love me, you just wanted to screw me. That's why you brought me here, you bastard!"

She raised her hand toward him, but the agony on his face halted her actions. He was truly suffering, but how did his pain compare to that of others? Klaudia didn't think of herself, but of his parents, siblings, his entire family. "Do you know how lucky you are to be alive Marek? I don't think you actually do. I certainly can't fathom why you're here, your God must have a wicked sense of humor, keeping you alive, putting us in touch, putting me in your bed even, and now you tell me this?" She had a cynical laugh, but her heart pounded, her eyes filling with tears. "You can't be with me because I don't believe in your God, well, that's quite a statement. It certainly lets you off the hook. I'll be gone tomorrow and you'll have had your way with me and...."

He grabbed her by the shoulders, his eyes wide. "I love you, don't you understand? Don't you think if there was some way I could go back and change what happened...." He dropped his arms to his sides, but kept staring at her. "But I can't. And just the same I can't...."

He closed his eyes, shaking his head. Klaudia trembled from the anguish in his tone and from how badly her heart ached. His sentiments were truth; was it his plaintive voice, his bedraggled appearance, or that after two days' time had been erased? All their years apart counted for nothing, for once they had claimed the other, some new thing had emerged. She wanted to scoff at that, but inwardly she couldn't discount how free she'd felt since his first kiss, how happy she'd been since lying beside him, how complete he had made her feel. Yet for him there was a caveat, his fickle and feeble God who had allowed beasts to murder his family, who had brought them together and now was tearing them apart. That same God had given Klaudia a retarded son, and she lost her composure. "You can't love anyone but Jesus. All right Marek, you follow that savior of yours, see where he puts you. I'll tell you what good he did for your family, not very much at all. I can still hear Dominik's screams in my head, I'll never forget them. I was listening for you, but all I heard was your brother. He was calling your name, damn you, calling for your puny God too while the Nazis laughed at him. They laughed as he burned to death Marek, and where the hell were you? Out following a goddamn hawk!" She bristled at her language; for some reason speaking ill of a bird felt wrong. Then she shivered; that hawk had saved Marek's life, for some reason she still loved him. A wave of self-loathing crashed upon her and she again gritted her teeth, trying to hold back the worst of it. Yet, memories prickled at the surface, the most painful being those from hours ago when she had lain against his chest, listening to his beating heart. "I watched your father trying to protect Ania, I watched that Marek! But there was no protecting anyone that day, not the members of your family or any of us who were helpless." She smirked, then smiled. "Nobody did a goddamn thing to stop it, and when it was over, they left it all, they didn't even have the decency to bury the remains. I walked through it, wondering where you were in those ashes. People called me crazy, but I had to know, I had to...." Tears burned her eyes, then tumbled like flames along her cheeks. "We listened to them die, we couldn't get away from it. I will never forget those screams Marek, not as long as I live!"

Now she sobbed, but no longer was the recollection only hers. He wept, still shaking his head. "I'm sorry, dear God, I am so sorry Klaudia."

Anger seethed within her, and she slapped his face. Their eyes met, hers filled with indignation, his with.... She couldn't face the level of his pain, so she ignored it. "You're sorry, oh Marek, that means nothing to me. This whole trip was a farce, you disgust me." She stripped off the robe, standing stark naked. "This is all you wanted, well, I hope I suited your needs. I wish you'd died with the rest of them, I wish...." As sobs formed in the back of her throat she rushed from the kitchen to her room, slamming the door with all her strength. Then she flung herself on the bed, weeping hard. If Marek had thought his confession would reconcile her to his faith, he couldn't have been more wrong.
Chapter 208

All day Tuesday the weather in Salt Lake remained gloomy. Eric spent his time reading the gospels, having found both a Bible and the Book of Mormon in his motel room. He'd smiled at the latter, but the former held his attention while a few more facts were revealed. He recovered most of his memories associated with his pastor, even those related to the woman Marek loved. Last names still eluded Eric, but he prayed for Klaudia, feeling strongly drawn to both Poles. There was something connected to the minister that Eric couldn't discern, yet it was a vital point within their friendship. Eric missed his best friend, whose first name remained as elusive as that of Eric's wife, but a different level of fellowship existed between Eric and his pastor. Perhaps some of Eric's memories would never return.

He didn't think that would last when it came to two names right on the tip of his tongue. He felt even more akin to his best friend, for both men had.... Eric resisted that notion, but it was too strong to ignore. While he hadn't fought in Korea, his life was now tainted by a similar brush. He longed to speak with Seth, then Eric smirked. The few last names he knew were still of no use. Then he closed his eyes, offering a prayer of thanks. Perhaps tomorrow the weather would clear. He would find a ride to Boise, then maybe further west if possible. He hadn't counted the money Hawk had given him, but most of that from Walt remained. Eric didn't mind spending that cash, but Hawk's represented a different blessing. Eric smiled, wondering who would benefit from it.

He ate lunch and dinner at the truck stop, sharing conversation with men planning to head west the following day. One fellow was driving to Boise, and Eric arranged to meet him early the next morning. Frank Cooper wouldn't take any money, but Eric offered to buy breakfast, to which Mr. Cooper agreed. Eric slept well, then woke with newfound energy. He was animated during the meal, and by seven he and Mr. Cooper were on their way to Idaho. The sun shone and Mr. Cooper was a fast driver. He estimated they would arrive by noon and if Eric was lucky, Frank might find Eric a lift further west. Eric mentioned Portland as a possible destination and Frank smiled, noting that Eric could see that city by suppertime.

As the men crossed into Idaho, Eric grew quiet. He was near his home state, and for the first time since waking in the Richardsons' shed, an image of his property was firm in his mind. Boysenberry vines were prominent; he'd planted them right after buying the house. In fact, he'd done extensive gardening, for he and his wife had been downright poor. She had been a nurse while he painted, tending to the garden in his spare time. They had bought the place due to the abandoned greenhouse, which became his studio. The main house, however, had needed renovations, which later turned into.... He closed his eyes, then took a deep breath. He was a rich man, his paintings on display in Europe. Opening his eyes, he gazed at his right hand, resting on his leg. He tried to make a fist, but his fingers ached, then he felt nothing. Never again would he paint, which caused him momentary pain. Then he knew a wave of thankfulness; by lunch western Oregon would be merely hours away. He didn't live in Portland; another ride would need to be found, going southerly he decided. Maybe by tomorrow, he then smiled, again closing his eyes, trying to comprehend all that now swirled within his mind.

Mr. Cooper didn't speak, allowing Eric time to pray, also to plan; when he got home, after speaking to Walt, Eric wanted to send checks to both Walt and Callie. He would include one for Jonah Thompson, then he would write to Harvey Saperstein, then.... Eric grimaced; his wife would attend to the correspondence, although Eric would speak to Walt personally. Eric's abilities left-handed were limited, which again took his thoughts to painting. Could he teach himself to paint with his left hand? He stared at it, but felt no connection to it other than for simple tasks. Would he even be able to garden left handed? He smiled, recalling the pleasure of planting seeds, pulling weeds, harvesting boysenberries. Then he laughed out loud; his wife was an accomplished baker. It was her sweet potato pie he had eaten, a recipe from Agatha Morris, Stanford's cook. Then Eric shivered; that woman had been praying for him extensively, although he doubted Laurie had told her the truth. Thinking of Laurie and Stanford made Eric's chest tighten; how in the world would they take this news?

He didn't mean his return, which he felt was imminent. He glanced at his right hand as deep sorrow welled in his heart. Then Eric imagined a reunion with those men; a long embrace with Laurie would be shared and probably many words, privately spoken, concerning their time together in Miami. As a hawk, Eric had painstakingly pieced together selected verses from Psalm 100, and he still recalled how deeply those words had affected Laurie, who'd fallen to his knees onto the sandy ground. Eric then realized the bond between himself and that man, toward whom he now felt like a brother, the same way he thought about his best friend and pastor. But when Eric considered Stanford, reserve intruded. Eric had no idea if he knew the truth; if so, how had he taken it? And if not, how in the world had Laurie kept it from him? Both Eric and Seth had thought Laurie should tell Stanford, although it would have been much for the art dealer to face. Then Eric shuddered; he would never share with anyone what had driven him from Karnack, not even his wife. He couldn't bear the thought of her knowledge; it was a burden for him alone.

As the miles ticked past, Eric stared out his window. He could picture his wife; thick brown hair was sometimes cut to her shoulders, but he'd always preferred it lengthy, and had painted her portrait many times with her hair vividly displayed. Then he broke into a smile, thinking how he'd initially painted her nude, and how by one of those paintings he'd realized she was expecting Jane. He'd actually had to compare her image as a field to an actual nude, then he chuckled softly, remembering that as she had slept, he'd gone back and forth between canvases, yet he hadn't immediately asked if she was pregnant. He had given her time, for it was a difficult idea to accept. She had blamed herself for their infertility, yet it had never been her fault.

These pieces of his past were like gems, and he relished each one. Then he gave thanks for this rather strange manner in which to revisit his life, an existence he couldn't recapture on canvas, but only within his mind. Gently he rubbed his right elbow; he was coming home as a cripple, but had to believe a noble purpose was waiting.

He turned to face his companion; Frank looked to be in his mid-forties, and Eric struck up conversation, learning that Mr. Cooper was a father to three girls, calling Montana his home. He'd been a trucker for over twenty years, his wife a teacher. His dream was to retire early, then move back to Wisconsin, where he'd been born. He liked cold weather, he smiled, but Montana was so dry compared to his boyhood home.

Eric recalled that he'd been born in Portland, but he didn't regale Frank with the particulars of his childhood. That history was a closed book, and Eric didn't wish to linger over it. All he wanted was to see his wife and daughters, then the rest of his family. None were related by blood, but no longer was he a solitary entity.

He grew still and Mr. Cooper didn't press for further details. All Eric could ponder was that for years he and his wife had basically lived as hermits due to his transformations. Then Renee learned the truth, followed by her husband, and while Laurie had only learned last fall, it was as if Eric had gained a host of relatives in the span of a few years. There were Fran, Louie, and their large brood, Joan and Russell too, and now Eric could count Walt, Dora, Callie, and Susie among his kin. Then Eric considered Luke; if Eric ever had a son, might he be so lucky as to have a child so insightful? Then Eric frowned; a son could be sent off to war. Better that Eric had daughters, but did Walt feel the same?

A long silence followed the men across southern Idaho; Eric assumed he'd once flown over this terrain, but no memories were stirred. He considered past moments of his marriage, skirting around his previous occupation, concentrating on his wife and their garden. Then he pondered parenthood; now he had two children, but would Jane remember him? He ached to hold his new baby, but didn't think her name was Emma. Then he smiled, recalling fond memories of his mother, also how overworked she'd always been. That strengthened his resolve to somehow repay Mr. Cooper's kindness, but he wouldn't reveal his address. Eric didn't badger him, yet he also didn't feel Hawk's windfall was meant for this man. As they neared Boise, Eric mentioned buying lunch, which Frank accepted. Half an hour later Frank pulled in at a truck stop. Eric padded the left side of his coat; an inside pocket contained a large amount of cash, but Eric would pay for lunch with what waited in his pants' pocket.

The diner was busy and Frank knew some of the patrons. Eric excused himself to the restroom, and when he returned, Frank wore a broad smile. "Got you a ride to Portland. You'll get in sometime after eight, Rob's got a few stops along the way. He'll drop you off on the south end of town since that's where you said you'll be heading next."

"Oh thank you so much." Eric sat down, then gripped the seat with his left hand. He was overcome with emotion, but managed to compose himself. "Mr. Cooper, I'd love to drop you a line when I get home, or rather have my wife write a note." Eric chuckled. "If I could have your address...."

Frank shook his head. "I trust Rob'll get you to Portland. The Lord'll take care of the rest."

"I completely agree," Eric nodded.

Mr. Cooper stared at Eric. "You a believer?"

"I am indeed."

Frank smiled, motioning to a young man seated at the counter. "Well, you'll have a good ride with Rob."

Eric chuckled. "That sounds intriguing."

"Rob's got a few ideas about the man upstairs," Frank laughed.

They finished their meals, then Frank led Eric to where Rob sat. Introductions were made, then Frank said goodbye. Rob Reynolds paid his bill, then he and Eric left the diner. Rob gave Eric a boost into the rig, then got into the driver's seat, asking Eric exactly where he was headed. Eric chuckled inwardly; days before he wouldn't have known what to say, but after his encounter with.... He still thought of that man as Hawk, perhaps he always would. While Eric couldn't recall his wife's name, their deeply held faith was again his. And once again he put himself in the care of a stranger, who by evening's end would deposit Eric only hours from those he loved most. By sometime tomorrow, Eric smiled, he would be home.
Chapter 209

After taking Klaudia to the airport, Marek sat in his car for a few minutes. They had barely spoken since yesterday morning, and while he'd wished her a safe flight, she hadn't answered him, getting out of his vehicle, grabbing her luggage from the back, then slamming the car door. He looked at where she'd been seated, yet it was as if a ghost had visited, although the memories were fresh in his mind. He sighed, feeling as when he'd returned from the forest, his family dead but vivid in his head. Again he was faced with immense loss, but was it worse that Klaudia was still living?

He left the parking lot, driving aimlessly back toward town. Then he wondered if it was too early to stop at Lynne's. Checking his watch, he smiled; it was seven fifteen. Instead he drove to a café, ordering a full breakfast and coffee. A few parishioners joined him, their pleasant conversations lifting his heart. Yet it beat irregularly, as though Klaudia had removed one chamber, maybe more, taking it back to Norway.

Had he been rash, he wondered. But to have continued what they had shared wasn't fair to either. Did she understand that, he mused while trying to concentrate on what was being said around him. He then gave his full attention to a young couple who had been members of St. Matthew's for only a few months. They were newly married; Marek had performed the ceremony last autumn. Then he smiled; the woman had long brown hair, her husband was blonde. After breakfast, Marek would return to church, then call Lynne. He needed to be with family today.

For two days, Klaudia had been his.... He'd never thought of her as his wife, but no longer was she a dream-like figure within his existence. Except that now she was, and he flinched inwardly. The newlyweds made their goodbyes, then Marek was again alone. He sighed, for that state of being was well-known to him. Yet after what he'd shared with Klaudia, no other woman would ever be right.

Marek paid his check, then left for home. St. Matthew's smelled differently to him, but many within his flock smoked. Never before had the scent bothered him, now he wanted to air out the entire building. He smiled at himself; it was too cold for such nonsense, not to mention in a few days it wouldn't matter. But would this place ever be as it was before? Marek didn't think so. He sighed, then gazed at his watch; it read eight ten. He walked into the library, going for the telephone, dialing the Snyders' number. Lynne answered right away and would be happy to see him.

Twenty minutes later he was seated at her kitchen table, a slice of sweet potato pie in front of him, coffee as well. Jane chatted across from him, while Lynne sat to his left, Cary in her arms. Lynne seemed tired, but Marek was too; he'd been up since three that morning, unable to sleep. He smiled at Lynne, then sipped his coffee. "Has it been a long morning?" he asked.

"Cary was up about every two hours. Thank goodness Jane isn't bothered."

Jane smiled as if comprehending her mother's statement. Then she stared at Marek. "Pie please?"

Both adults laughed. "Not yet." Lynne motioned to what sat on Jane's plate. "You finish that, then we'll see."

Jane took a bite, then looked around the room. "Where's auntie?"

Marek sighed. "Aunt Klaudia's on her way home today."

Lynne reached for Marek's hand, squeezing it gently. "Will you hear from her when she arrives?"

"I'd be greatly surprised if I ever hear from her again."

Lynne nodded, then stroked Cary's head. "I'm sorry."

"I am too."

Marek wasn't sure what brought on a brief spate of tears; was it Lynne's anguished tone, or his own words? He wiped his face, then smiled. "I don't even know if I'm glad she visited. It's one of those blessings that seems without a clear purpose."

"We've had our share of those lately."

"Indeed." Marek gripped Lynne's hand, then released it. He longed to speak about what lay on his heart and would have no hesitation if Eric was present, but he couldn't talk to Lynne in the same manner. "If nothing else, I have my memories." His eyes watered, thinking how long yesterday had seemed after Klaudia left him in the kitchen. Had he eaten anything? He finished his pie, then took his plate to the sink. He sat on Jane's left, then gazed at Lynne. Tears rolled down her cheeks, but he was the only one to notice.

He stood, handing her a napkin. With one hand, she dabbed at her eyes, then clumsily blew her nose. Then she chuckled. "Hard to do much with a girl in my arms."

"Oh, let me assist." Marek relieved Lynne of the baby, placing Cary over his shoulder. Lynne stood, then left the kitchen. Marek heard her go into the bathroom, the door closing behind her. He walked Cary around the table as Jane called after her mother. Marek sat beside Jane again, urging her to finish her breakfast. In Polish she asked for pie, making Marek laugh. "We'll see what your mother says," he answered in that language, wondering if he would ever speak it with Klaudia again.

When Lynne returned, Marek stood, meeting her in the middle of the kitchen. He gave her a one-armed hug, then handed back her daughter. Marek cut a thin slice of pie, putting it on a paper towel. "I promised someone a treat," he said quietly, looking toward Jane.

"Go on," Lynne smiled. "It won't kill her."

Marek chuckled, taking the pie to Jane. She squealed in delight, making the adults laugh. "But just one piece," he said in Polish, feeling a chill as he spoke. He repeated his comments in English, then wondered how long he would go between tongues.

"Marek...." Lynne shook her head. "I'm sorry. Guess I'm not very good company this morning."

"Neither am I." He smiled, patting her hand. "I don't mean to intrude. Perhaps I'll be on my way."

Yet he didn't make an effort to leave. Then Lynne grasped his hand. "Don't go, I mean, it's so good to see you."

He met her gaze, finding tears again dotting her cheeks. "Are you all right?"

She shrugged. "For days I've been feeling like any minute he's gonna step through the door. And every day it's just me and my girls, our girls." She stared at the kitchen door. "Today's Sam's last day at work. Don't know if they've mentioned that. They're coming over for supper tonight, well, Sam's gonna cook here." Now Lynne wore a small smile. "Renee basically implied that would be the order of things until he...." Lynne's voice cracked, then she kissed Cary's head. "Until Eric came home. I don't know if they feel the same, it's hard to talk about that sort of thing now, what with young ladies around."

Marek nodded. "What's that saying, little pitchers have big ears?"

"Yeah, my father used to tell me that." Lynne sighed. "I've been thinking about my parents lately, not sure why, other than how in the world would they have understood any of this?" She motioned around the room. "Here I am, and where's that husband of mine?" Now Lynne had a long sigh, punctuated by a whimper. "I know he's on his way home, it's just that the last couple of days have felt like eons." Now she giggled. "I don't think Cary napped yesterday for longer than an hour at a time, then last night was hard and I'm just exhausted. If he doesn't get home soon, he's not gonna have much of a wife left."

"Shall I mind the girls while you catch forty winks?"

"Oh, I didn't mean that, but if you're offering." Then Lynne grinned widely. "I'll feed Cary, then lay down. Oh Marek, thank you so much."

"You're very welcome," Marek laughed. "Just looking after my flock."

"Well, you're a lifesaver today." Lynne stood, then headed toward the living room. Marek took Lynne's seat, telling Jane he was going to keep her company for a little while. He spoke in Polish, feeling no lingering sorrow attached to that language.

An hour after Lynne went to nap, Renee called. Marek explained his presence and Renee offered to join him. Marek accepted her assistance, and soon he was flanked at the kitchen table by Ann and Jane while Renee made coffee. Cary slept, but Marek hadn't taken her to the nursery. She rested in the living room, for he wanted Lynne to sleep as long as possible. He shared all of this with Renee, who agreed. "We came by yesterday," Renee said, "but we needed to get Paul from school, so we couldn't stay long." Renee stepped toward the table. "Did she tell you this was Sam's last work day?"

Marek nodded. "Will he go back once...."

Renee shrugged, then sat next to Marek. "He's not sure. We'll just wait and see."

"Yes, I supposed that's best." Marek inhaled, then gazed at Renee. "Did you make regular coffee?"

"Yes I did," Renee chuckled. "Lynne's been having a half cup of it now and again. I know she's been running on fumes the last few weeks. Laurie called Sam a couple of days ago, Sam said he sounded...." Now Renee paused. Then she leaned toward Marek. "Laurie's always said that he's coming back, but Sam thought his tone was a little circumspect." Renee snorted, then smiled. "It's like when I was waiting for Sam. Been nearly about the same length of time," she said softly. She wiped her eyes, looking right at Marek. "I just have this feeling. It's not gonna be much longer."

Marek grasped her hand, but didn't speak. He'd had no sense either way, but easily recalled Laurie's assurance that Eric would return. Lynne had shared that feeling as she'd rightly said until someone gave her proof otherwise.... Marek remembered their brief chat about that subject over dessert on Thanksgiving night. Now that seemed like ages ago, yet he had spoken to Klaudia a few days before that evening. Would they ever talk again, or had he bid her a permanent farewell at the airport? His heart ached, maybe not as much as Lynne's did, or perhaps the sense of displacement was the same. He'd loved Klaudia not quite as many years as Lynne and Eric had been married, but what did time matter when the heart was involved?

Ann asked her mother a question and Renee answered, then was drawn into the youngsters' conversation. Marek heard their voices, but his focus remained upon that query; God's love was timeless, yet he knew when his flock was due to return, not to mention that God was God. His love couldn't be compared to what humans experienced, yet the corporeal heart loved in a relative manner as Jesus had. Marek had followed his heart by allowing Klaudia into his bed, then summarily kicking her from that sacred spot. Had he been rash or prudent? She was avidly opposed to faith of any kind, she'd made that clear. Maggie had possessed a modicum of faith but never the desire to be wed to a cleric. Yet Marek had never truly loved that Englishwoman; his heart was always meant for another. Now he felt as weary as Lynne, waiting for Eric's return. Would Marek ever get another chance, had he done the right thing?

He wondered if Sam regretted joining the army, although Marek didn't consider it regarding Sam's subsequent inability to father a child, only for the months spent apart from his wife. Sam probably would have been drafted anyway, but he'd made the conscious decision to leave. If Marek had left open the door for further visits, would the eventual disappointment have been greater? He ached to speak about this with another, but the only one was still.... When would Eric return, or was the real question would he come home? Marek sighed softly; assuming Eric did make it back, it would be a good while before he could listen to such ramblings. Perhaps Marek wouldn't mention any of this, for what good would it serve? Klaudia was gone, their opportunity had been lost. Or maybe it was never meant to have been encouraged in the first place.

"Pastor, are you all right?" Renee spoke barely above a whisper, then cleared her throat. "Let me pour us some of that coffee."

Before she could stand, Marek gripped her hand. "Renee, would you pray for me?"

She met his gaze. "Of course I will." She squeezed his hand, then closed her eyes. Marek glanced at Ann while Renee made her silent appeal. Ann smiled, then closed her eyes, bowing her head.

Marek smiled as peace descended upon him. Renee released his hand, then she sighed softly. "How about some coffee?"

"Yes, that would be lovely." He looked at Ann as he spoke, finding she had lifted her head and opened her eyes. She smiled at him, looking so much like her mother. Marek chuckled, which made Ann giggle. Then she returned to her chat with Jane as Renee brought mugs to the table. Adults sipped their beverages while little girls asked for pie.

Just as Cary cried, Marek heard Lynne's footsteps along the stairs. He met her in the living room and she smiled, rubbing her eyes as she collected her daughter from the Moses basket on the sofa. Marek followed them into the kitchen, where Lynne sat near Jane while Renee fixed lunch. Cary ate first, the rest after Renee set plates on the table.

The talk was centered around what Sam would fix for supper. At that moment he was collecting Paul from school; they would have lunch, then head to the store, Renee noted, then would drive to the Snyders. Ann clapped her hands, saying she wanted to play with her brother. Jane clapped too, but didn't mention Paul. Marek was invited to stay for supper, but he hesitated. "I'll make a boysenberry pie," Lynne smiled. "It'll be like old times."

"You're on," Marek laughed. He hadn't wished to impose, but the idea of eating alone at St. Matthew's left him cold. Mrs. Kenny would be there tomorrow, plenty of church business to keep them occupied. He would preside over Bible study as well, his usual activities easing the sting, as well as time spent with these people. But would another soon join them?

Briefly Marek glanced at Cary, snug at her mother's chest. Then he looked past Lynne; when would Eric walk through the door? Suddenly the door opened. "Hi everybody," Paul shouted. "Here we are!"

Sam stepped right behind Paul, but Marek wondered if anyone was on their heels. Yet it was only a father and son, both carrying grocery bags. Paul's was small, but he proudly hoisted it onto the table. "Hey, are you having lunch already? Daddy said you'd wait for us."

"Cary got hungry," Lynne chuckled. "Then the rest of us did too."

"Oh yeah." Paul sat beside his sister. "Well, can I have a sandwich now?"

Renee stood beside Sam. "I'll make you both something as soon as I get the cold stuff in the fridge."

The banter was light, lifting Marek's heart. Then he glanced again at Cary, finding her perched over Lynne's shoulder. Lynne met Marek's gaze, nodding her head. She still looked tired, but her sorrow was gone.

Marek left his seat, offering to help bring in groceries. He followed Sam outside, but the day was chilly, and neither man spoke. Marek grabbed two bags as Sam lugged one and they quickly walked back to the house. Marek put away sundries as Renee fixed lunch for her husband and son. Then Marek was again placed on baby duty while Lynne started a pie.

Paul regaled everyone with tales from school. Ann expressed her desire to go to kindergarten while Jane hummed her usual melody. Marek tuned out all but that song, praying for Klaudia and Eric. He stepped to where Lynne rolled pie dough, cradling Cary in his arms.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked softly.

"Yes, thank you." Lynne smiled at him. "And thanks for staying for supper. Although if you need to leave, then come back...."

Marek chuckled. "Right now this is the best place for me."

"I agree."

Turning around, Marek studied those at the table, then he shivered, yet it wasn't from an unpleasant idea. He looked around the kitchen, then at Lynne. "Why a boysenberry pie?"

"Just felt like it." She looked at her baby, then at Marek. "I dreamed about him, it was like he was almost home." She went back to rolling out dough. "I just needed a nap, I guess. Sleep'll do wonders for a person."

Her tone was light and Marek smiled. "Indeed it will. I didn't sleep well last night, perhaps tonight will be better."

"I'm sure it will, especially if you spend all day here. Those three'll run you ragged." She laughed, then wiped her hands on her apron. Then she met Marek's gaze. Her eyes were like chocolate, then Marek wondered if Ania had lived, would she be at all like Lynne. He placed his free hand on Lynne's shoulder, then nodded at her. For a few seconds, Marek was afforded a miracle, finding in warm brown eyes understanding and forgiveness. He blinked away tears, then laughed out loud.

Lynne laughed too, squeezing Marek's hand, then tickling Cary's chin. "All right, time for me to get back to work. This pie won't bake itself."

Marek released Lynne's shoulder. To his surprise, she leaned his way, kissing his cheek. "I'll make a sweet potato too. If these don't do the trick...."

Lynne didn't finish her sentence and Marek only nodded. Again he glanced at the kitchen door, then to those at the table. He walked their way, taking a seat next to Jane, who spoke in Polish, asking for her daddy. "Anytime now," Marek answered in his native tongue. "Anytime."
Chapter 210

As a plane touched down, Sigrun lit another cigarette. She'd been waiting for half an hour, but hadn't wanted to be late. She peered out the large windows, then smiled. A jet slowly made its way toward the terminal and within minutes Sigrun would know if her friend would soon be making another trip.

Sigrun wasn't sure how to tell Klaudia the news about Marek; she'd nearly called America, but Harald had insisted she wait until Klaudia came home. Sigrun wasn't sure if that had been the right decision; she would have preferred a warning. She spoke with her daughters every few days, but her relationships with Astrid and Brita weren't comparable with what Klaudia shared with her son. Although, Sigrun wondered, maybe that was also set to change.

Klaudia would have a decision to make, Sigrun thought, taking another drag of the smoke. She exhaled, coughed, then frowned. Then she smiled as the gangway door opened, a few passengers already looking for loved ones. Sigrun finished her cigarette, then headed to where people were gathered.

Several minutes later Klaudia appeared looking bedraggled, but Sigrun wasn't surprised; Klaudia had been on airplanes for well over a day. Klaudia glanced at Sigrun, nodding her head, and Sigrun shivered, approaching her friend cautiously. Then Sigrun was glad she hadn't called America. Perhaps the news about Marek would balance whatever had occurred in Oregon.

"Well, how was the trip?" Sigrun asked. Then she sighed. "Your flights, I mean."

"Long, but all right." Klaudia's tone was weary. "Thank God I don't work till Monday."

"Yeah, you'll need a few days' rest to...." Sigrun paused, for a deep pain sat in Klaudia's eyes. "Get back on Oslo time."

Klaudia nodded, looking around the terminal. Then she met Sigrun's gaze. "Everything okay here?"

Now Sigrun smiled. "I have some news to tell you."

"Good news?"

"I think it is."

Klaudia wore a small grin. "I could use some good news. What, Astrid's pregnant?"

Sigrun laughed, then gripped Klaudia's hand. "Oh God, she better not be. Let's get your case and I'll tell you in the car."

Klaudia chuckled as Sigrun led them to baggage claim. Within minutes they had collected Klaudia's luggage, but nothing was said until Sigrun drove away from the terminal. She wasn't sure how to tell Klaudia about Marek, then asked for a cigarette. Klaudia lit two, handing one to Sigrun. She inhaled slowly, exhaled with force, then smiled. "So, your son was asking about you recently."

Klaudia had just taken a drag and began choking. "What?" she sputtered.

"Oh God, are you okay?" Sigrun glanced at Klaudia, who was still coughing.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Klaudia tapped the smoke into the ashtray. "Marek said what?"

"Damn Harald, I knew I should've called you. The hospital got a hold of me Sunday night. Marek seems to have made a miraculous recovery, he was asking for his...." Sigrun took a deep breath, then coughed. During Klaudia's absence she had smoked less, perhaps she really should quit. "He asked for mamma. The nurse said he'd been unconscious for days, he'd had another seizure. In fact, they thought he'd slipped into a coma again, but he opened his eyes and distinctly asked for you."

Sigrun wanted to see Klaudia's expression, but traffic returning to the city was busy. Klaudia took another drag, then stubbed out her smoke. "When did they call you?" she mumbled.

"Sunday night, it was pretty late actually. Not sure what time that was in America, well, in the West. I wanted to call you, but Harald said I should wait." Now Sigrun regretted having listened to her husband, although she understood his motives; what if Marek had immediately slipped into another coma? But Sigrun had checked on him yesterday; he was still awake, and had even gotten to his feet. And according to the nurse, again he was asking for his mother. She revealed these details, stealing glances at Klaudia, who didn't seem to fathom what Sigrun was saying. Klaudia sat motionless, looking straight ahead.

"Listen, if you want we can go up there this weekend. I'll drive. You just say the word and...."

"Sunday, you said Sunday, right?"

Sigrun nodded. "Klaudia, what happened in America?"

Klaudia shook her head, then leaned forward. She began to cry, covering her face with her hands. In an anguished voice, she kept repeating Sunday until sobs overtook her. Sigrun drove with one hand on the wheel, the other gently rubbing Klaudia's back until Sigrun needed to shift gears. Then again she laid her hand along Klaudia, who didn't stop crying until Sigrun reached their street.

Eric woke early that same day, having dreamed about his conversations with Rob Reynolds; Rob was ten years younger than Eric, but had been baptized at about the same time Eric and his wife were. Rob espoused his faith fervently, believing all Eric told him about Hawk, and promising to pray daily for Eric and his family. Rob had wished to take Eric all the way home, but needed to return to Boise, plus Eric still wasn't certain how far south he had to travel. Rob had gladly given Eric his address, and Eric said he would send a letter as soon as was possible.

Rob had dropped off Eric at a motel on Portland's southern side near a truck stop that Rob said would be busy come morning. Eric glanced toward the small window across the room, light just peeking through the bottom of the curtains. His heart began to pound, and he smiled widely. All he needed to do was shower, dress, then.... His eyes filled with tears, for the notion of seeing his family again was overwhelming; he had to find a ride to Eugene, maybe to.... He wasn't sure if Medford would be too far, then he shivered. Somewhere between those towns was home.

He sat up, trying to concentrate, then he laughed out loud. He just needed to do as Rob had advised, not think about it too much. People tried to dissect faith, Rob had said, but how could one even attempt such nonsense? Eric had smiled at the young man, who despite his youth seemed to grasp a fraction of the mystery of what God might be. Maybe Rob's age was beneficial, for he recognized his limitations. Then Eric considered what he'd been like at that age; he was just starting to come into his own with painting while at the same time having to face the possibility that he might never have a child. By then Eric had been married a few years and.... Then he smiled; why was he wasting time in that room thinking about his family?

An hour later, Eric sat at the diner's counter. He'd made small talk with the waitress, explaining his need for a ride as far as Medford. She had smiled, noting she would see what she could do, but Eric had finished breakfast and still no ride had been arranged. He tried to be patient, but his wife's face was so clear in his mind. As for the new baby, who knew, but Eric tried not to think about Jane. The last time he'd seen his eldest was through the nursery window. Renee had been holding Jane, waving the baby's small hand as if to say goodbye. By now Jane probably wouldn't need such assistance, unless she didn't remember him.

He set that from his mind, then took the last drink from his mug. He put it on the counter, gazing around the room, but no one made eye contact. Eric didn't want to monopolize his seat, but this was the best place in which to find transportation. The day was cold, he didn't want to hitchhike. He waited a few more minutes, then paid his bill, thanking the waitress for her efforts. She implored him to stay, but Eric shook his head. God had gotten him to Oregon. Perhaps the last stage of this journey was to be on Eric's own feet.

He stepped outside, the wind brisk, but the sky was clear and he smiled. He tucked his empty right sleeve into the waistband of his pants, but still could feel the breeze. Walking would warm him up, so he headed toward the road, the exit for Interstate 5 in view. He shivered as he reached it, but kept going.

He walked for fifteen minutes, then was picked up by a man driving to Salem. Eric said little on that stretch, but thanked the man profusely when he was dropped off. For another ten minutes he walked until a couple on their way to Eugene offered him a lift. Eric sat in the back of their sedan, his heart racing; Roseburg was next, then Medford, Ashland.... Eric inhaled deeply, then closed his eyes. He needed to reach Roseburg. From there everything would be discovered.

An hour later, Eric was once again on his feet, but the sun shone, the morning air still. He wasn't sure how long it would take to walk to Roseburg, yet memories surrounded him with each step; how he and his wife had walked through an orchard while still in college, a painting depicting that grove on display somewhere in.... Stanford must know where the exhibition was, and not long after Eric was home either Renee or Marek or.... Eric slowed his speed, gazing along the freeway. Renee's parents lived just outside Roseburg; Eric and his best friend had driven there together to collect Renee not long after Fran had lost the twins. Eric had forgotten all about that fight, then he smiled; two fights had transpired, one between Renee and her husband, another between Eric and.... What was that man's name, Eric wondered, then he laughed. Perhaps by the end of the day, all mysteries would be revealed.

For twenty minutes Eric walked, talking aloud to God, also to his wife and their daughters. Cars passed, but no one stopped, yet Eric wasn't dismayed. For days he had been inundated with people who most likely he would never see again. How many times in Karnack had he thought that about his own family, and now he was so close to them. His wife's beautiful voice filled his head, his best friend's tone alongside that of Renee's, Laurie's New York accent complemented by Stanford's dry inflection. Then Seth's voice stirred in Eric's mind, from his initial upset at Eric's presence to the warmth of the man Seth had become. Where was he now, Eric mused, and how was he? Eric picked up his pace, so many he longed to see.

A few minutes later a car pulled over; the driver said he was going as far as Roseburg. Eric smiled. "That's where I'm headed."

"Well, let's be on our way." The man introduced himself as Wayne Phillips, then asked for Eric's name. Eric chuckled, explaining himself. The man glanced at him, then looked back at the road. "How long've you had amnesia?"

"Since late last November. But I think I'm just about home."

"I see." Wayne inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly. "Well, whereabouts in Roseburg do you need to go?"

Eric had been wondering about that. "Is there a Lutheran church there?"

Wayne nodded. "I think there's one on the south end of town. Is that your church?"

Eric broke into a wide smile. "Yeah, it is! Marek Jagucki's the pastor and...."

"Oh yeah, I've seen that Pole around. Keeps pretty much to himself, well, at least he seems that way. Maybe you know him better though."

Eric trembled in excitement. Marek Jagucki; how had that man's last name evaded him? Then Eric wanted to weep. "I live there, in Roseburg." His voice cracked. "Not sure where exactly, but St. Matthew's isn't far from my home."

"What's your name again?" Wayne asked.

Now Eric chuckled. "I can't remember my last name, maybe that sounds strange." He paused, but still that fact was lost. "But I go to St. Matthew's, I'm a painter."

"What, like houses?"

"No," Eric smiled. "I'm an artist, or I used to be."

Wayne nodded. "What happened to you?"

"It's a long story." Eric sighed, then looked at Wayne. "I had an exhibition of my work in town a couple of years ago."

Wayne shrugged. "Sorry, I'm not an art lover."

Eric laughed. "That's all right. If you can just take me to St. Matthew's, that would be wonderful." He imagined the look on Marek's face, maybe similar to the last time Eric had seen him on the Fourth of July. Marek had wished him Godspeed, and how ironic that it was to St. Matthew's he would first return home.

Staring out the window, Eric blinked away tears. The landscape was familiar to him as if every mile traveled removed a veil from his memories. They were nearly to Roseburg when Eric gasped. "What?" Wayne asked.

"I know where my house is. You don't need to stop at St. Matthew's."

"You sure about that?"

Eric nodded. He would see Marek soon enough, but the town's layout was firm in his mind. "Just take the last exit, I can walk from there."

"You live out there?" Wayne asked. "That's a pretty exclusive part of town."

"Well, I'm pretty sure that's where I live," Eric chuckled.

"You must be a talented painter to own one of those properties."

"I must be," Eric said softly, gently touching his right arm.

Wayne said nothing more, leaving Eric to his thoughts, which were scattered. He still couldn't remember his wife's name, or that of his best friend. But Laurie Abrams and Stanford Taylor were solid, as were Fran and Louie Canfield, Joan and Russell McCampbell, Renee Ahern.... "Do you know the Aherns?" Eric asked.

Wayne shook his head. "Sorry. I've only lived in Roseburg a few years."

"Ahh." Eric inhaled, then started to cough as he spotted the sign for the last exit of Roseburg. "Here, turn here," he said.

"Yeah, I see it." Wayne veered right, then signaled left. Making the turn, he pulled over. "Okay, where do we go from here?"

Eric wasn't certain. His heart pounded, he needed a few moments alone. "Actually, I'll walk the rest of the way. Not quite sure where, and I don't wanna keep you. Thanks so much Mr. Phillips. If you give me your address...."

"If I see you around, you can buy me supper."

"I'll buy you the best steak in town." Eric smiled, then got out of the car, closing the door. Wayne waved, then turned back for Roseburg. Eric looked ahead; his road was fifty yards away. Tears fell down his face as he walked toward it.
Chapter 211

Sam and Paul held hands as they approached the Snyder house. Paul chatted about his school day while Sam wondered what his wife and Lynne had done that morning. Renee and Ann had left shortly after the family walked Paul to school. Sam had spent his time paying bills, then running errands. He hadn't given a single thought to the job he left yesterday; it was as if he'd never spent years counseling veterans. Yet now he mulled over that position while his son kept speaking. Sam gazed at Paul, praying this boy would never be drafted, nor wish to serve in the military.

Paul ran ahead, then opened the kitchen door, announcing their arrival. Sam also wondered if again Lynne and Renee thought that Eric had come home. Sam had seen the look on Marek's face yesterday; it was as if he had assumed one more was waiting to.... Sam looked behind him, but saw no one. He shrugged, then entered the kitchen to his wife's waiting embrace, followed by hugs from Ann and Jane. Paul was already seated at the table, a plate waiting beside him, which Sam knew was his lunch. He wasn't hungry, but took a seat, listening to Ann's conversation. Lynne wasn't in the kitchen, but Renee motioned to the living room. Sam nodded. Perhaps Lynne had needed some quiet.

"How's it going?" Sam asked Renee.

She sat across from him. "No change. Laurie called this morning, but they weren't on the phone long."

Sam nodded, then ate his lunch. He had made a pot of soup yesterday, and they would finish it that evening. Tomorrow he would cook.... He sighed, set down his sandwich, then leaned back in his chair. He gazed at his wife; Renee looked exhausted, although she had slept well. Sam had too, yet fatigue dogged his steps. "Any coffee left?" he asked.

Renee stood. "Yup and it's the real stuff."

"Lynne doesn't mind?"

"Not at all. And she said Cary slept fine last night." Renee poured two cups, placing one next to Sam. He drank it without checking the temperature; it was luke-warm, but tasted good. He finished it quickly, then looked at Renee. "Any more?"

"Shall I make another pot?" she smiled.

"Please."

"I love you." Renee finished her cup, then went to where the percolator sat. A few minutes later she returned to her seat. "You need to finish your lunch however."

Sam smiled, but Paul spoke. "Mama, I'm almost done."

"Not you," Renee giggled. "Daddy needs to eat his sandwich before he has any more coffee."

Paul gazed at Sam's plate, then at his father. "Aren't you hungry Daddy?"

"Not really. But I better do as your mom says or I'll be in the doghouse."

"Yeah." Paul chuckled. He quickly finished his lunch, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. "Mama, is there pie for dessert?"

"There might be." Renee glanced at the counter. "Maybe some sweet potato."

"Any boysenberry?" Sam asked.

"There is for those who finish their lunch," Renee smiled.

Paul laughed as Sam nodded. "All right, I get your point."

Slowly he ate the other half of the sandwich. Afterwards, Renee brought him another cup of coffee. "We'll have pie when Cary's done eating," Renee said.

"Why are babies so slow?" Paul asked.

"Because they know a good thing when they have it," Sam answered.

"Samuel!"

Renee shot him a look and Sam chuckled. "Well, it's the truth." He sipped the coffee, then made a face. "Burned my dang tongue."

"You deserved it." Renee crossed her arms over her chest, then began to giggle.

"That I probably do." Sam stood, then cracked his knuckles. "Listen, I'm gonna see if I locked the car."

Renee uncrossed her arms, folding her hands in her lap. "Go on. We're not going anywhere."

Sam walked to where she sat, then kissed the top of her head. Then he gazed at Paul. "I'll be back soon. If Cary's not done, you and I will have pie."

Paul smiled. "Can I come with you?"

"Daddy will be right back. You just stay here, it's cold out. Sam, don't forget your jacket."

He grinned at his wife, for he might be out a while. "Thanks honey."

"I love you Samuel."

He blew her a kiss, put on his coat, then stepped from the kitchen.

The Snyders' garden looked no differently than the last time Sam had inspected it, which was yesterday afternoon with Marek at his side. They talked about baseball, of which Marek knew little, then soccer, or football as Marek called it, about which Sam knew nothing. They had promised to teach each other the finer points of those games, then went inside and ate pie as soup bubbled and children yammered. Cary had slept most of the afternoon, Lynne had too. Sam was glad Lynne had gotten another decent night's rest, but he and Renee would continue to spend their days here until.... Sam sighed, wishing for the cry of a bird, the rustle of leaves, yet winter's chill generated an eerie silence. Sam headed for the front gate, wondering if he had actually locked his car.

Renee had driven the Impala, while Sam preferred the old car. Maybe they should have given the Impala to Ritchie and Brenda, but from what Renee said the last time she had spoken to her brother, the Bel Air was suiting that family fine. Sam checked both vehicles' doors, all were secure. Then he peered down the road, seeing a few stray leaves along the pavement. The street was bereft of cars or people. Not even a stray cat loitered.

As he turned back for the gate, something caught his attention. He looked to the right, then blinked. Was someone there? Sam walked ten feet in that direction, then squinted. Maybe it was one of Lynne's neighbors checking their mailbox. Sam sighed, then squinted again. Then he shrugged, heading back to....

"Sam! Sam Ahern!"

In those seconds a multitude of images passed through Sam's mind; watching Eric change form last July melded into the first time Sam had witnessed that transformation, which blended into the day he stood in Lynne's kitchen, seething with anger while dripping water on her floor. Then he was hurling a glass across his living room, watching it shatter as it hit the wall. Then he was sitting in a hospital corridor, his wife's handprint marking his face. Sharp pinpricks along his skin followed each image, which were then imbedded within his heart as again someone called his name. "SAM!"

He turned around, the figure making quick but clumsy movements along the street. Sam began to walk, picking up speed until he was sprinting down the lane. "Eric? Oh my God, ERIC!"

They met in the middle of the road; Eric wore a thin beard, his face was streaked with tears, and he looked frail. "Is it really you?" Sam said, his own face damp. He reached for Eric's right shoulder, but Eric moved away, nodding and smiling.

"Are Lynne and the baby all right?" Then Eric laughed. "Oh my God! I just remembered Lynne's name."

"They're great, you have a daughter, Caroline Emma, oh Eric!"

Sam couldn't restrain himself, hugging Eric with all his might. As he did, his chest throbbed, realizing something had happened to his best friend. Sam released Eric, then gripped his left shoulder. "What'n the hell's wrong?"

"I'll tell you, just help me get home. I don't think I can take another step without you."

"Here, lean on me." Sam shivered, putting his arm around Eric's left side. Then Sam gazed at Eric's face, that beard looking strange. "Eric, where've you been?"

"What's Lynne calling the baby? She's not calling her Caroline is she?"

"She's been Cary since she was born," Sam smiled.

Eric paused. "Were you here? Who was with her?"

"Dr. Salters, Renee, and Frannie. I was downstairs with Marek, Laurie, and Stanford."

Eric nodded, then chuckled. Then he stared at Sam. "Stan was here? Does he...."

"He knows, although nobody's certain what he believes. Let's keep walking. Lynne's been waiting for you."

Sam's heart pounded, his own steps wobbly. Eric couldn't move fast and Sam let him set their pace. Questions rested on the tip of Sam's tongue, yet, Eric was home, he was alive. Something awful had happened to his right arm, but God had returned this man to his family. Sam paused, then stood right in front of Eric. "I love you. I need to tell you that. I've missed you so much and...."

"I love you and I've missed you too." Eric's voice cracked, then he began to sob. Sam pulled him close, and again embraced him tightly. This time Eric didn't try to pull away.

Eric continued to let Sam steady him, but with each step Eric felt stronger. He had been near to collapse when he saw who he instantly recognized as Sam, recalling that man's name in the same moment. Lynne's name hadn't popped into his head until he'd said it, but seconds from his house, Eric began to jog. "C'mon Ahern, we're gonna be late for pie."

"How'n the world did you know?" Sam laughed.

"What else would she've been doing?" Eric said as they reached the kitchen. Then he gazed up; smoke swirled from the chimney, tree branches were stark. He gazed at the front door, then opened it, first seeing Renee surrounded by a red-headed girl, a brunette boy, then.... "Jane, I'm home."

Jane turned around, then smiled. "Daddy!"

"What?" Renee looked up, then burst into tears.

"Who's that?" the boy asked.

"This's Jane's daddy," Sam said.

Eric heard all these words, but his attention was on his daughter, who mostly looked the same. She was older, she could talk, and she knew who he was. She hugged his legs, which brought Eric to his knees. She smelled like pie and.... He looked up, finding Lynne beside Renee, a baby in his wife's arms.

"Oh God, oh my Lord, oh...." Handing the baby to Renee, Lynne went to the floor, crawling toward Eric and Jane. Eric reached for his wife with his left arm, nearly tumbling over. Then he laughed as Lynne kissed him.

"I'm home baby, I made it." He wanted to hug her with both arms, but the left made up for what the right could no longer do. Lynne clutched him, sobs wracking her frame, which made him tremble. Jane laughed beside them, saying Daddy's home. It was music to Eric's ears.

"Oh Eric, Eric, Eric...." Lynne kept repeating his name, then she pulled away, first stroking his bearded cheek, then gingerly tracing what remained of his right side. Unlike Sam, she didn't inquire. She nodded, wiping tears from his face, then from her own. "I love you," she said. "Thank you baby, thank you."

He nodded, then smiled. "Speaking of a baby...."

"Let's get you both vertical." Sam hoisted Eric to his feet, then helped Lynne to hers. "Sit here," Sam said. "Then you can meet your daughter."

"My clothes are filthy, although I did shower this morning." Eric wasn't certain he could hold the baby, yet he ached to see her, wondering how much of her life he had missed. Renee came close, kissing his cheek, then holding out a quiet bundle. Eric caressed Cary's head, then burst into laughter. "My God, she's a brown-eyed blonde!"

"The best parts of her parents," Sam said. "Renee, just put her in the crook of his elbow."

"Like you're an expert on holding babies," Renee huffed. She met Eric's gaze as if to confirm he could manage it.

Eric nodded. "Gotta try eventually."

She smiled, tears on her face. "She just ate, so this's the perfect time." Renee set Cary along her father's arm and Eric felt a surge from her presence. She stared at him, her eyes the same color as.... He sniffled, then leaned down, kissing her face. Then he gazed at Lynne, who was seated across from him with Jane on her lap. He inhaled slowly, exhaling with joy. Everything he'd endured had been worth it.

"I'm gonna call Marek, then Laurie," Sam said.

"Thanks." Eric kept his gaze on his wife, wondering how he had lived without her all those months. "Don't forget the Canfields."

"Don't worry," Sam chuckled. "Anyone else?"

"I have a number, but it can wait till later." Eric would speak to Walt privately. But he doubted the Aherns would want to leave anytime soon. Marek would come over as well, and if Laurie and Stan made arrangements to fly that night, Eric wouldn't argue. Then he thought of one more. "And don't forget to call Seth."

"It's probably too late to speak with him," Lynne said softly, grasping Eric's right hand.

"Yeah?" he warbled. He'd seen her reach for him, but couldn't feel her touch.

"He's in Tel Aviv," she smiled. "They're ten hours ahead of us."

"He's in Israel?" Eric laughed. "Are you serious?"

"Lots of stories for us to share," Lynne said.

"Yeah, a lotta stories."

"But you're here." She kissed his right hand, which to Eric's surprise he did feel. Her lips were warm and soft, making him shiver. "You came back to us."

He nodded, still entranced by how she gripped his hand. "Thanks be to God," he said in a shaky voice. "I'm finally home."
Chapter 212

Eric spent those initial hours surrounded by those who loved him, also meeting the newest additions to his family. He held Cary most of that time, but Paul and Ann were never far, although both children said little to this stranger. Yet Jane seemed to know her father well, which surprised everyone but Lynne.

She didn't think it was due to all she had said to her eldest, nor was it that she had repeatedly shown pictures of Eric to Jane. A deep bond existed, much how Paul and Ann had readily taken to their new folks, or perhaps Lynne allowed it was human nature; the pull to belong to a group had kept people alive for thousands of years. It wasn't merely embedded within the psyches of youngsters; Stanford had wanted to get on a plane that day, but after speaking with Eric, Stanford had relented to Laurie's wisdom. The New Yorkers would give those out west at least a couple of weeks to acclimate to Eric's return. Then Lynne had spoken to Stanford, hearing in that man's voice unprecedented relief. She had been staring at her husband, seated in the kitchen, children around him, even at his right side. The damage pained her greatly, but more important was that Eric had come home.

They hadn't told the New Yorkers about Eric's injury, for at the time its background remained a mystery. Lynne had made that decision, and the rest followed her lead. Eric had been in no frame of mind to speak over the phone about something to which he had yet to explain to the rest, and it wasn't until after Renee took Paul and Ann home that Eric could talk about the last two and a half months. Jane was in bed by then, and Lynne sat next to her husband on the sofa, Sam on Eric's other side with Marek in the chair across. Marek held Cary, for Eric broke down several times, first seeking Lynne's embrace, then Sam's reassurance. Lynne wept softly, praying for the Richardsons and Boldens. Eric had called Walt a few hours earlier, leaving the kitchen door closed during their brief conversation. Lynne felt two more families had been added to their sprawling clan, but she would let Eric dictate the pace of their inclusion.

However, a change had occurred within the Snyder family, and it wasn't merely that Eric had come home, nor was it Cary's still novel presence. As Eric revealed finding himself in dire straits in Walt's shed, Lynne felt the earth move under her feet. She held Eric's right hand, sometimes gently gripping it, occasionally finding him trying to do the same. Her husband had survived being shot, but the loss incurred was substantial; Eric never said he wouldn't paint again, but it was relayed in every long pause between his sentences, his somber tone, and in something Lynne couldn't measure, yet all through her a new world order rumbled. Perhaps the Missile Crisis had been averted, but a steep personal mountain loomed ahead for the Snyders. Lynne tried to set aside those feelings, but they wouldn't budge.

However as Eric managed to clutch her fingers, she smiled, then leaned his way, kissing his cheek. He had taken a shower, changed his clothes, even shaved with her assistance, but he was thin, very tired, and.... A heavy weariness hung over him, but as Lynne glanced at Marek, that man was also dogged by an equal heartache. A rift had occurred between Marek and Klaudia, something about which Marek might speak with Lynne's husband in the days and weeks to come. Perhaps that would usher in a reciprocal discussion for Eric with his pastor, or with Sam. Eric had been in a line of fire that Lynne might never understand.

Yet she could, and would in due time, soothe his other needs. They wouldn't make love for a couple of weeks, for she was still recovering from Cary's birth. But that night Lynne would lie beside Eric, letting him begin another phase of healing. However, this too was new, for never had he returned so debilitated, and with so much time having passed. Their lives had greatly altered in the last seven months, and for the first time in their marriage, those paths hadn't been shared. There was Laurie's long stay, Stanford's change of heart, as well as.... Cary began to whimper, and Lynne released Eric's hand, then went to her feet. "I'll take her upstairs," she said, relieving Marek of his charge. She shivered as that passed through her mind, wondering what the future held not only for the Snyders, but for Marek and Klaudia.

Lynne went to her bedroom where she changed Cary, then tried to feed the baby. Cary merely nibbled at her mother's breast, preferring the physical contact. Lynne caressed the infant's head, feeling more attached to her daughter than previously. "Daddy just needed to come home," Lynne whispered. "Not that I didn't love you before, but...."

Cary's eyelids fluttered, then she fell into a sudden sleep. Lynne giggled inwardly. "Maybe you needed him to come home too. Now everyone's right where they're supposed to be."

But something tugged within Lynne's chest; Marek wouldn't discuss Klaudia around Sam, nor would he burden Eric that evening. Marek was just as relieved as everyone else that Eric had made it back; a few times Lynne had seen tears on her pastor's face. This was a watershed for more than Lynne and her husband; perhaps the only one not affected was Jane.

Cuddling her baby, Lynne felt a distinct alteration within her heart, but she didn't chastise herself; she had given birth without Eric's presence, but they had made Cary together, and now together they would raise her as though the last three and a half weeks would be forgotten. Not that Lynne could forget, but Cary would never know differently. It was akin to Jane's month-long bout with colic; her placid nature had returned as soon as the Aherns set aside their differences, and now that Eric was home, Cary could be loved by both of her parents. Never before had Lynne realized the significance of Eric's role within their family. She had missed him greatly in a variety of ways. But as a father, he was irreplaceable.

Yet Jane seemed not to have suffered from his absence; was that due to how strongly Eric had figured in her early days? Laurie had kept the paternal presence aflame, then Lynne shook her head. Maybe she was overthinking it; what mattered most was that Eric was downstairs in the best possible hands. Then she blinked away tears, for Laurie was a part of that group, maybe Stanford too. Lynne smiled, wondering if the New Yorkers would visit before Easter. Then she sighed; once they knew what had happened to Eric's right arm, they might hesitate, especially Stanford. Eric was alive, but would never be the same.

That thought tumbled through Sam and Marek's heads as Eric spoke about his days in Karnack. After Lynne left, a break in the conversation had emerged, but within minutes Eric touched on ideas that a woman might find hard to hear. Sam imagined that one day Eric would tell Lynne these things, but certainly not in the company of others. It was similar to stories he'd heard from vets, how one's manhood wasn't realized until facing desperate situations.

Eric didn't recall what had happened right after Hiram had shot him, but he possessed vague recollections of intense pain. He didn't remember transforming, but had done so with alarming speed while unconscious, which Sam found amazing considering the loss of blood Eric must have suffered in addition to the horrific injury to his right shoulder. While Eric hadn't bared that wound, it was easily noticed for how Eric no longer seemed to have a right shoulder. His right hand was visibly smaller than his left, and Sam assumed the rest of that limb was withering from disuse. Eric never tried to lift his right arm; he could barely grip anything with that hand. All actions originated from his left, but it had been over two months, plenty of time for Eric to have acclimated. Some vets who had lost limbs recovered more quickly than others, and Sam wondered how Eric's existence as a hawk had facilitated this process. Perhaps a residual animal instinct had hastened the manner in which Eric had abandoned his right hand in favor of his left. At the time he hadn't known about that aspect of his character, which Sam thought was a blessing. Eric hadn't been required to lie to the Richardsons; strangely enough amnesia had spared him. Sometimes Eric's voice took on a newfound tenor, as though John Doe still dwelled within him. Eric admitted he had been a different man in Karnack, prone to depression and lacking in faith. Marek noted that wasn't a surprise, and that Eric might experience those elements for the rest his life. Eric had laughed off Marek's comment, but Sam had nodded at the pastor. Just because Eric was home didn't mean his ordeal was over.

Yet again, Sam felt Eric had suffered what every veteran did, not only for the length of his displacement. Something else led Sam to that conclusion, although Eric hadn't battled more than amnesia and a terrible injury. Then Sam reproached himself, for those were more than Eric should have suffered. He should have just had to deal with the burden of living like a hawk for months, as well as counseling Seth. But more had been exacted and Sam grew nauseous; Eric would never paint again, or never to his previous ability. For a second Sam felt comforted; his portrait would remain unfinished. Then he sighed as a tremendous loss flooded his heart. His lip trembled and he stood, excusing himself. He quickly headed to the downstairs bathroom, but didn't attempt to relieve himself. Turning on the faucet, Sam wept, praying for Eric's peace of mind, also to be forgiven for that fleeting sense of respite. He would pose for the rest of his life if only Eric could pick up a brush.

As Sam stepped away, Marek continued speaking, then he paused, for his thoughts had been disturbed. He gazed at Eric, who looked similar to the man Marek had known before, but the anguish in Eric's eyes wasn't connected to ministering to Seth or living without his memories for several weeks. It wasn't tied into Eric's injured arm, nor was it about how Eric had recovered from amnesia; Marek had no doubt to whom Eric referred as Hawk was similar to the bird of prey which had led him into the forest. Christ was as near as a person wished to permit him, and Marek was thankful for the gentle manner in which Eric's mind was healed. Or mostly healed; he found it intriguing how Eric had recalled some names before others. Then Marek was deeply affected at how Eric had learned firsthand the agonies suffered by Negroes, from his time with Callie Bolden, Jonah Thompson, and Lee Watson. Marek inwardly shivered that those experiences would never be expressed upon canvas. How much beauty and truth could be shared if only Eric possessed the capability. Marek glanced to where Sam remained; had that been what drove Sam to regain his composure, or was it the overall return of one never thought dead, but had been so greatly missed. Marek rejoiced over Eric's homecoming, yet a cloud hovered, and would never disappear.

"So, tell me a little of what's happened in your neck of the woods." Eric smiled as he spoke, then sighed softly. "I'm sorry to have missed Klaudia's visit. That must've been...."

Sam stepped into the living room, but Marek was glad for his return. He wasn't ready to speak about Klaudia, and would do so only with Eric. "Yes, she wanted to meet you. I'll be sure to let her know you made it back safely."

He tried to keep his tone light, for the Aherns knew nothing more than Klaudia had departed. Would Marek write to her? He hadn't planned on it, not wishing to cause her further harm. He had greatly hurt her, but wasn't sure what had been worse, initially making love with her, or then again engaging with her on Monday. He slightly regretted the former, heavily lamented the latter. He never should have asked for one more day; his selfishness had inflicted a wound as permanent as the one Eric now carried. Yet Marek loved her deeply, had needed to be with her. Now she suffered from that desire and his rejection, and he grieved for her pain. Why did people do these things to one another?

Marek gazed at Sam, his blue eyes looking far older than that man's years. It wasn't only Eric to have undergone a trial; this had affected all of them. Laurie might travel before Easter, but would Stanford accompany? Marek wasn't certain if that would be best, not on Eric's account, but for Stanford. Marek had no idea if Eric's damaged arm would prove that he'd been a hawk, but what might that injury to do Stanford? Perhaps after Eric, Stanford Taylor might be the most aggrieved by that loss. Marek lifted that man in prayer, Laurie too. Then he wondered how Seth would be affected. He spoke that thought, finding worry on Sam's face. Upon Eric, however, there was calm.

"One of the last things I told him was he had to let go of the past. That he could only go forward with open hands." Eric wore a small smile, but pain flickered in his eyes. He blinked, then met Marek's gaze. "Stan'll take this harder than Seth will. God, I wonder what he thinks of me now."

"From what Lynne said, he sounded greatly relieved that you were home," Marek smiled. "Perhaps that will temper any other notion."

"Yeah, he was happy, but...." Eric looked at his right hand. "I dunno, and probably won't till I see him. Don't know if he'll be able to wait till Easter. I'm so glad Lynne asked them and the Canfields to be Cary's godparents." Eric patted Sam's leg. "Not that you're chopped liver, but...."

Sam chuckled. "I've got my hands full at the moment."

"That you do. Sam, I'm so happy for you and Renee." Eric's voice cracked, then he wiped his face. "Those kids are carbon copies of you right down to Paul's cowlick."

Marek laughed while Sam stared at Eric. "How'd you know about my cowlick?"

"There's a family photo at Fran and Louie's, you look about six, and my goodness how'd your mother do anything with what hair you had back then?"

Marek's heart was lifted by Eric's teasing tone, then he grimaced. Only an artist would store away such details. What would Eric do once the shock of being at home had lessened? Granted, now there were two children to occupy his time, but after a period of mental and emotional recuperation, a gaping hole would emerge. Then Marek wondered how he would heal from Klaudia's absence, as well as his guilt for having hurt her. He felt tremendous remorse, hoping that Eric would soon be willing to hear his confession. Marek needed to clear this from his soul.

As Sam and Eric chuckled, Marek stood. He wanted to leave on a light note, and it was after nine, far later than he'd intended staying. "All right gentlemen, that's all for this cleric. Mrs. Kenny has plenty for me to do tomorrow, so I bid you both good night."

"Oh yeah, I should be going too." Sam stretched, then quickly lowered his arms. Marek had consciously not cracked his knuckles, but had seen Eric try to do so without success. Sam went to his feet, then extended his left hand to Eric. "Want some help?" Sam asked.

"All I can get." Eric grasped Sam's hand, then stood, shaking out his left arm. He started to speak, then shook his head. "I wanna say thanks for keeping the home fires burning, but there's so much more than that."

"Let's end this evening with prayer." Marek approached his friends, grasping Eric's right hand, then Sam's. He recited the Lord's Prayer, joined in by the others.

Eric said a rousing Amen, then glanced upstairs, chuckling. "Hope I didn't wake anybody."

"According to Lynne, Jane sleeps like a rock." Sam smiled, then cleared his throat. "But I suppose she did before too."

"From what I remember she did. A little sister in the house is different though, but she's had some time to adjust." Eric gazed at the stairs, then looked at Sam. "Not sure I can make all those by myself."

"Oh sure. Then we'll see ourselves out and, um...." Sam cleared his throat. "Just call tomorrow if you want company. Or if you need anything. I'll bring in more wood now and...."

"I'll do that, then meet you in the kitchen Sam." The Snyders needed time alone, but still required some assistance. Marek gently patted Eric's right shoulder, receiving a warm smile in return. Yet Eric didn't speak; he nodded, then headed for the stairs.

Sam followed him while Marek went out the French doors to the woodpile. He brought in an armload, then moments later Sam did the same. Marek placed the grate in front of the dwindling coals, then both men stepped into the kitchen, putting on their coats. Sam turned off the lights, locked the door, and they left the house without words. Only when they reached their cars did Sam speak. "Lynne was still awake. I told them to call whenever. Eric said we'd probably hear from him sometime after lunch, but he wasn't sure about supper together."

"That sounds fine. They know we're here for them, it's just a matter of letting him...." Marek sighed. "He needs time, so does Lynne. But God will guide us all."

"Yeah, that about sums it up." Sam sighed, then leaned against his car door. "Marek, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

Sam inhaled, letting it out with a beleaguered sigh. "Don't get me wrong, I don't wanna make something out of nothing. I mean, I'm so happy he's home." Sam paused, then kicked the ground, the sound reverberating through the stillness. "It's just that...."

Sam stopped speaking, then he huffed. "Listen to me, going on about nothing." He laughed, but it sounded forced. "I'll see you soon. Gonna be a busy time for all of us."

Marek grasped Sam's right shoulder. "Give him time. As you well know, it takes ages to properly process such trauma."

"Yeah." Sam sighed again, then shook Marek's now outstretched hand. "Sleep well Pastor."

"You too Sam."

Both men got into their cars, starting them at the same time. Sam pulled away first, Marek right behind him. Marek gazed into his side mirror, seeing only darkness. Like Sam, he too felt something important had been left unsaid. Perhaps it was only for a wife to uncover. Marek drove back to town giving thanks for Eric's safe return, and seeking peace for that man's bruised soul.
Chapter 213

In Manhattan, Eric's return was all one trio could discuss; Agatha had been present when Sam called with the news, and on Friday morning it was still the main topic of conversation. Sam had known little more than Eric had been in Texas for most of those weeks living as an amnesiac, and while all three New Yorkers were dying to hear why, Laurie would wait another day before calling. He had phoned Seth, who was thrilled for the information. Once Laurie had a better grasp on the facts, he would tell his mother and aunt. For now, he drank coffee, surrounded by those just as relieved as he. Agatha had burst into tears and Stan had shed some late last night. Laurie had wept as well, both for Eric and Lynne. He expected a letter would arrive with further details; he and Lynne were still dedicated correspondents, but perhaps their missives would decrease, at least in the next month or so.

Laurie wanted to fly west as soon as the Snyders were ready. Stanford did too, but Laurie would arrange their travel. Laurie's tenure as Lynne's housemate still sat awkwardly between the men, although not in a painful manner. Stanford never talked about those weeks, nor did he bring up what had sparked Laurie's departure. Laurie wondered if that would change now that Eric was home. He gazed at Stan, seated at the kitchen table, but he wasn't reading the paper. He spoke to Agatha, who sat on Stan's right, both with coffee cups in their hands. Laurie smiled, for it was as if that woman was Stan's mother. Laurie stood next to the percolator, then cleared his throat. "Anyone need a refill?" he said with a smile.

Agatha grinned at him. "Aren't I supposed to be asking that?"

Laurie brought the pot to the table, filling all mugs. "It's a special day. I'll do the serving."

Agatha chuckled, grasping her cup. She inhaled the brew, took a sip, then leaned back in her chair. "I'll tell you, I was starting to wonder. But all's well now." She paused, had another drink, then set down the mug. "Sure look forward to getting a snapshot of all of them together. And you be sure to have them take some of you with the girls. The both of you," she said pointedly in Stanford's direction.

Laurie fought a belly laugh as Stan took a labored breath. "We'll see." Then he smiled. "There will be plenty of photographs without the need for one with me in it."

Agatha patted Stanford's hand. "I'm not just asking on my behalf. I'm sure your father would appreciate one too. You're a godfather Stanford, it comes with the job."

Now Laurie chuckled. "Indeed. Gotta pay your dues Stan."

He shook his head, drank his coffee, then glanced at his watch. "Good Lord, it's nearly eight." He gazed at the paper, then stood. "I'll read that tonight. If you hear anything...."

Laurie gripped Stan's hand. "I'll be very discreet on the phone."

Stanford huffed, but did squeeze Laurie's hand. Then he gently grasped Agatha's shoulder, but didn't speak. He cleared his throat, then left the kitchen without a goodbye. Laurie wasn't bothered, and from Agatha's sly smile, she didn't seem troubled either.

Neither spoke, drinking their coffee, absorbing Stan's exit. Laurie wondered how long Stan would be that emotional, and if it would lead to a discussion about Eric's.... Laurie stared at Agatha, a different smile on her face. It was that of relief, but not curiosity. Laurie was eager to know what had kept Eric away for so long, but this woman didn't seem to require such resolution. He grasped her hand and she squeezed back much harder than Stan had. Laurie chuckled. "A penny for your thoughts."

She nodded, meeting his eyes. "It's gonna take time for them. Best you don't travel till Easter."

"Yeah?"

"Give them space Laurie. I know you wanna see him, Lynne and the girls too. But be patient. It's been a long time since...."

She hesitated, making Laurie squirm. What did she know, or more correctly, assume? Laurie hadn't told her when Eric left for.... He sighed, for other than noting Eric's absence, he hadn't relayed anything concrete. "I know, you're right." He sighed, then drank his coffee. It still tasted differently, but Agatha's cooking was back to what he recalled. He wondered how Eric had coped not knowing who he was or where he was from. Then Laurie trembled; had he known about being a hawk, or had that been forgotten too?

"Honey, it's gonna be okay, after while. Time has a special way of, well, healing, though sometimes it takes a hell of a long time." Agatha smiled, then sighed. "But for now, let them be. Lynne'll keep you in the know and Easter's not far away."

He nodded, feeling like a youngster awaiting a special occasion. He gripped her hand and she placed both of hers around his. "It's just that he's a brother to me and, and...." Laurie missed Seth, having heard in his voice such strength and optimism, traits never before associated with his cousin, yet it was as if that man had been waiting for release all those years. Eric was a similar sort, and all Laurie wanted was to embrace him, then thank him for bringing Seth out of that prison. Eric had done that, then been torn from his family.... Again Laurie shivered, then he shook himself, but still held Agatha's hand. He smiled at her, then brought her hand to his lips where he placed a tender kiss. She giggled and he laughed, then they finished their coffee, quietly pondering the miracle out west.

Lynne and her newborn woke early, but Cary soon went back to sleep. Lynne tried, but Eric snored loudly, although Cary didn't seem to notice. For a few minutes, Lynne watched her husband, but his depleted right side looked painful, even if covered by the blanket. She got out of bed, put on her robe and slippers, then went downstairs, starting a fire. The house was still and dark, but peace filled Lynne's heart. It was a different calm than previously, solely dependent upon her trust. In order to maintain this harmony, Lynne would need to take each day with a modicum of secure answers. It was as if she had returned to the earliest days of her marriage when Eric's absences and their infertility preyed on her mind. She smiled, watching sparks pop, the flames glowing brightly. How many fires had she sat near, fretting needlessly? Once again Eric had come home, and to a house and family far different than anything she had imagined in years past. Lynne considered how she too had changed, and she breathed deeply, giving thanks as she did so. She took an afghan from the back of the sofa, then snuggled underneath it. No longer did she feel alone.

She lay there praying, then pondering a letter she would write to Laurie later that day. After Sam had helped Eric up the stairs, Lynne and her husband spoke briefly about how to tell the New Yorkers what had happened. Lynne had already been considering revealing Eric's injury via the post, and he agreed. Lynne didn't feel able to share over the phone all that Eric had suffered, nor did she want him to relive it. Sam would tell Renee; had he informed her last night? Probably, Lynne surmised. She hoped the Aherns were still sleeping, perhaps she was the only one of their family awake. She smiled, aware those on the East Coast were already busy, and Seth was too. Eric had mentioned him, but Lynne wasn't sure if he wanted her to write to Seth, or for Laurie to inform his cousin. Without actually having met Seth, Lynne felt uncomfortable being the one to tell him. Better for Laurie to do it, she decided, pulling the blanket over her shoulders.

The other letter she needed to write was one for which she was eager; Eric wanted to send cashier's checks to the Richardsons and Boldens, as well as others who had facilitated his return. She would go to the bank next week, as well as write the accompanying notes. Eric joked she would be his secretary for the immediate future, but Lynne felt it wouldn't be long before Eric could print with his left hand. He would never paint again, but.... A few tears fell down her cheeks, and she wiped them, then rubbed the remnants between her fingers. He'd told her, Sam, and Marek about the rough sketches he'd made in Karnack, yet drawing wasn't the same as painting. Lynne closed her eyes, again breathing deeply. Peace returned to her mind, and she yawned, then giggled. She had left the bedroom door open to hear either her husband or their baby. No sounds were detected beyond the fire's crackles, which eased her to some much needed sleep.

Eric stirred an hour later, at first uncertain of where he was. Rubbing his eyes, he breathed in the smell of an infant, although Cary didn't possess the same scent as Jane had when she was first born. This was of a wet diaper, breast milk, and.... He smiled, then lay on his back. He wanted to turn to his right, but no longer could he do that without causing pain. Slowly he sat up, not wondering where Lynne might be, only gazing toward where his infant daughter snored very softly. He smiled, then scooted to the far edge of the bed, where the bassinet sat a foot away. Cary slept on her side, sparse blonde hairs making him smile. She looked just like Jane had, other than her hair and eye color. He wanted to cuddle her, but wasn't sure how to collect her with one hand.

Yesterday someone had put her in the crook of his left arm, but he wouldn't always have that luxury. He placed his left hand beneath her, then carefully lifted her up, keeping the length of her body along his arm. He sat on the bed, cradling her against him, reveling in the wonder of such a miracle. He and Lynne had created this new life, and now he could celebrate it in person.

"I know I wasn't here when you arrived, but better late than never." He spoke softly, then kissed her forehead. "I love you so much Cary, more than I'll ever be able to tell you or...." His heart ached for portraits he would never paint, then he smiled. "I'll draw you the best I can, then maybe you or Jane'll do the rest." His right side throbbed, but not even that diminished his joy. He'd told Walt how beautiful was his daughter, how grateful he was to the whole Richardson family, Callie's clan too. He wanted Lynne to send checks as soon as they could be arranged. Then further letters would be shared, with photos enclosed of Eric and his.... He looked to the open door; Lynne must have gone downstairs. He kissed Cary once more, then gently laid her against a pillow. He had needed to hold her, but didn't feel competent taking her downstairs one-handed.

He put on his robe, finding his slippers at the foot of the bed. He stepped onto the landing, the nursery door shut, but he heard a fire popping, and he smiled, taking the stairs slowly. Lynne slept on the sofa, the fire in need of more wood. He placed two pieces atop glowing coals, then set the grate in front of the blaze. All these tasks took far longer than before, but Eric didn't mind. It was part of the learning process, sort of like Renee's brother's rehabilitation. She had spoken about Ritchie during supper, and Paul had interrupted, which Eric had found just as fascinating as Ritchie's recovery. Paul and Ann acted as though Sam and Renee had always been their parents. Eric hadn't said much to the children; they'd seemed overwhelmed by him, but Eric wasn't sure if that was due to his bad shoulder or merely his presence. Jane had made up for their shyness, wanting her father's attention whenever possible. He looked forward to a quiet household that day, although maybe later he would change his mind. He wasn't certain how the day would progress, other than he wanted to spend as much time by Lynne's side as their daughters permitted.

He smiled, then sat near Lynne's feet. She stirred, then met his gaze with a beatific grin. "Hello," she said. "My goodness it's wonderful to see you."

"It's absolutely fantastic to see you too." He laughed quietly as she sat up, then scooted beside him. She wrapped her arms around him, and Eric closed his eyes. How many nights had he dreamed of this scenario, then he sighed inwardly. Within his dreams, he'd had two good arms, he'd painted his wife's portraits, those of their daughters too. He never recalled those details upon waking in Walt's shed, perhaps that had been a blessing in disguise. Sitting close to his wife was a great gift, even if much had been lost. "It's a lot to take in," he said. "I spent so many days certain I'd never see you again, oh Lynne, so many doubts clouded my...."

Now grasping his identity, Eric wondered who he had been during his time in Karnack. He faced his wife, staring into her gorgeous brown eyes. "How funny that Cary's eyes are just like yours. Yours and...." He chuckled. "A certain pastor. Our daughters have eyes just like their uncles."

Lynne nodded, caressing Eric's face. "When Cary was born, I knew you were with me, like you were right in the room. Maybe you didn't sense it, but I wasn't alone, oh Eric, there's so much I need to tell you."

"Yeah, it's gonna take ages before we're caught up."

Lynne traced along his right shoulder. "I love you, and I'm so sorry."

"It doesn't matter. All that matters is where I am right now. I truly wasn't sure I'd see you again, I was a different man there."

He shivered, not wishing for her to ever know John Doe. Then he smiled. "As I got closer, all those doubts just fell away. Now it's like okay, the shoulder's gone, but I'm here beside you. My God, I really am right here." He stroked her head with his left hand, then kissed her. For several minutes they necked until he pulled away, chuckling. "Oh my God, I really am home."

She smiled. "Is Cary still in her bassinet?"

"I left her in the middle of our bed. I don't think she's gonna get away."

"No, she won't go anywhere."

Lynne stroked Eric's chest, and he groaned. Then he flinched as she began undoing the buttons of his pajama top. But he couldn't speak, and she continued, then carefully removed his upper clothing. The living room was still dark, but he knew she was inspecting his shoulder, and not only as his wife. Her touch was light along what remained of his right collarbone, then she grazed over where his arm had somehow reattached itself. Only to this woman would Eric bare himself, for the ugliness of how he had been healed, and the pain which still came and went.

Then he gasped as she set her lips along the twisted skin. He nearly asked her to stop, but this was necessary for them both. She pecked all the way to his elbow, where she gently lifted his right arm. "Is this all right?" she murmured.

"Yeah, oh baby...." The pain was slight, for her actions engulfed all of Eric's conscious thoughts. She kissed each of his withered digits, then cupped his right hand within hers. Then she stared at him, nodding her head. "I love you, always and forever. Can I show you?"

"I think you already have," he said in a husky voice.

She smiled, still caressing his hand. "Oh Eric, I haven't even started."

"Oh dear God...." He laughed, which turned into a throaty moan as she continued touching him. Then he was lost to all other notions, except the most lasting; he was Lynne's beloved husband, what she repeated via her words and actions. Those activities were only halted by a baby's whimper, then a little girl's call for her father. Eric laughed as his wife moved from the sofa, heading upstairs, returning with their daughters. The family snuggled on the couch, Cary against Lynne's chest and Jane secure in her daddy's left arm.
Chapter 214

Two long letters headed east on Saturday morning; the one addressed to Manhattan detailed Eric's time in Karnack, leaving few stones unturned. Through Lynne's handwriting, Eric spoke to Stanford and Laurie, not wishing to hide much from either man. A few times Eric had nearly confessed to Lynne exactly why he left Texas when he did. But within his home, his wife and daughters never far away, Eric's actions as John Doe seemed like someone else's existence. Only when Eric found himself alone did he permit snippets of that persona to surface, merely as ragged fragments within his mind. When Lynne returned from taking the letter to their mailbox, Eric breathed a deep sigh of relief. Within a week, the New Yorkers would know the same as Marek and the Aherns, only a few Texans aware of the truth.

The other letter was bound for Oslo, but Marek wasn't certain if Klaudia would read it. He hoped so, not simply for the brief paragraph explaining Eric's return. Marek omitted the painter's devastating injury, but felt obliged to inform Klaudia that Jane and Cary's father had made it home. Marek phrased it in those words, not necessarily to pique Klaudia's curiosity, but it was the truth, and after noting that, another was revealed. Marek needed to apologize to one he had irreparably harmed.

He explained that their reunion had never been about more than giving thanks for their tandem survival. He would always love her, but regretted having acted upon that feeling when fully aware of her attitude toward the church. He admitted his failings as a man, wishing he had possessed more integrity, and he hoped one day she could forgive him.

At the end of the letter, Marek requested an opportunity to resume their previous correspondence. He wanted to know the state of her son's health, and would be happy to share Jane's progress in Polish. He didn't expect Klaudia to acquiesce, especially after noting he would continue to pray for Marek. That teen had been on his namesake's mind when Eric wasn't. Perhaps it was easier to pray for a boy long damaged than a man newly disabled. As for Klaudia, Marek wasn't sure about what to pray. As Lynne had done for much of Eric's absence, Marek left his beloved in Christ's care. If he never heard from her again, he would always have his memories of their time together, placing them in the blue barn when they became too painful to recall.

The Snyders didn't attend church on Sunday, but they hosted lunch for their pastor and the Aherns, who brought greetings from various Ahern and Nolan families. Lynne noticed Paul's wariness when around Eric, but Ann seemed to have overcome her initial reserve, smiling at Jane's daddy, then asking if he liked sweet potato pie. It was her favorite, Ann giggled, then she grasped Jane's hand, leading her into the living room. It was the first time Jane left her father's side willingly, although she snuck into the kitchen for brief moments until again summoned back to where Ann remained.

Paul sat between his parents, but he looked uncomfortable. Lynne met Renee's gaze, and they shared a nod. "Paul, you wanna go play with the girls?" Renee asked.

He shook his head, then crossed his arms over his chest. "Can we go home now?"

All five adults gazed at each other, then one by one they stared at the little boy. Sam put his arm around Paul's shoulder. "We'll go in a bit. Gonna have pie first."

Paul nodded, then he wiggled from Sam's hold. "Can I be excused?" His tone was petulant, and he didn't make eye contact with anyone.

"Of course." Sam pulled Paul's chair from the table and quickly the boy fled the room.

Cary made the only sound, whimpering in Eric's grasp. Lynne collected the baby, then sat next to her husband. She placed Cary over her shoulder, and the baby calmed, but tension filled the kitchen. "Is he all right?" she asked softly.

"He's been testy since...." Renee glanced at Eric, then to her empty plate.

"He's having a bit of a hard time." Sam's voice was circumspect, then he gazed at Eric. "I don't think he believed you really existed." Sam wore a small smile. "All this talk about Jane's daddy, then here you actually are."

"It'll take time," Marek said. "You're not the only one to have had a rough autumn."

Eric nodded, then took a deep breath. "No, I'm not." He gazed at Renee. "How's Ritchie doing?"

Renee looked flustered. "Oh, um, well, he's still...okay." She had nearly said sober, then she sighed. "He's keeping an eye on the kids while Brenda works. Not that there's anyone home during the day, they're all in school. But he, he's...." She paused, for to her surprise, Ritchie had refrained from drinking. Their parents were just as shocked, most of her siblings feeling the same. "He's keeping himself occupied. Not sure what he's gonna do work-wise, I mean, he's a millwright, but he'll never be able to do that again." She sighed, then shook her head. "Oh Eric, I'm sorry, I didn't mean...."

He chuckled, putting his left arm around Lynne's shoulders. "Actually, I'm glad you brought that up. We're lucky that Lynne's not gonna have to wear her uniform again. But your brother and his family could probably use some help."

"One of Renee's brothers-in-law's been coordinating a fund for them." Sam patted his wife's leg. "Charlie's gotten most of the hospital bill covered."

Eric smiled, then glanced at Lynne, who nodded. She stood, handing Cary to her father. Then Lynne exited the kitchen. The rest could hear her speaking to the children, telling them pie was only a few minutes away.

A collective hurray made the adults chuckle, but no one spoke. Lynne returned with a large manila envelope. She set it between Sam and Renee, then retook her seat on Eric's left.

"What's this?" Sam asked, picking up the envelope.

"It's for Ritchie and Brenda," Eric said.

Sam gave Eric a look. "Now you don't need to do this."

"I didn't," Eric smiled.

Renee took the envelope from her husband, inspecting it. It was closed via a clasp on the back. "Eric...."

He chuckled, then kissed the top of Cary's head. Then he met Renee's eyes. "I don't know if Sam mentioned who drove me from Denver to Salt Lake City."

Renee nodded. "He said something about that man."

"His name was...." Eric laughed softly. "Hawk, and I'll never forget him. Said he was going to California, where I suppose he headed after giving me that." He pointed to the envelope. "Other than a twenty dollar bill I left the waitress that morning, I didn't spend a cent. He told me to give it to someone who needs it and Lynne and I decided who better than Ritchie and Brenda?"

Renee started to cry, then she turned toward Sam, who wrapped his arms around her. Sam kept his eyes on Eric. He didn't speak, but those blue irises were wide.

"Lynne counted it last night. Not sure what Ritchie was making as a millwright, but that should cover the next couple of years until he figures out his next move."

As Renee wept, Marek stood, closing the door to the living room. Sam shook his head, then gazed at the envelope. Then he stared at Eric. "I don't know what to say."

"If he wants to know where it's from, have him call me. I'll be glad to tell him exactly where I got it."

Sam nodded, then whispered to Renee it would be all right. "My goodness," Sam then sighed. "It's an answer to prayer, I'll tell you that." Then he smiled. "He's not gonna know what to say other than thank you and thanks be to God." Sam chuckled. "You better expect at least a phone call. He might drive over to thank you personally."

"Maybe he can take me for a spin in the Bel Air," Eric smiled.

"Maybe." Sam flashed a grin, then turned his attention back to Renee, who only sniffled. He kissed her cheek, then handed her a handkerchief. Marek offered one too, and Sam nodded, giving that to his wife. Then he gazed back at Eric. "Thank you, I really mean it."

"You know who to thank. I was just the courier."

Marek chuckled, which seemed to lighten the mood as Lynne giggled too. Small raps on the door to the living room made Renee smile. "Just a moment," she warbled.

"Can we have pie now?" Paul asked.

"Give us another minute," Sam answered. "We gotta get out the ice cream."

"Oh goody!" Paul laughed, then repeated that to the girls.

Lynne stood, stepping to where Renee still huddled near Sam. She hugged them both, then took vanilla ice cream from the freezer. Marek joined her, and together they prepared eight plates. By the time Marek asked the children to return, Renee's face was dry, the envelope tucked into her handbag. Paul gave Eric a small grin, but sat between his parents, leaning close to his mother. The conversation centered on that night's guests on the Ed Sullivan show; The Beatles were all the Canfield teens could talk about. Sam noted that Will wanted a guitar for his upcoming birthday, while Sally gushed about how cute was.... Sam didn't know any of them other than the drummer. "Who ever heard of a name like Ringo Starr?"

"I think after tonight they're all gonna be household words." Lynne smiled. "Laurie called yesterday, said that Stanford's been humming one of their songs since last month. He said he's gonna watch them just to see if Stan got the tune right."

Everyone laughed, then Paul spoke. "Are Uncle Laurie and Uncle Stanford coming to visit again soon?"

"They'll be here at Easter," Sam said.

Paul looked at his plate, then toward Eric. "Do you know Uncle Laurie and Uncle Stanford?" Paul said softly.

"Indeed I do. Lynne, Jane, and I stayed at their house last year, and I sure can't wait to see them."

"They live together?" Paul asked.

"Uh-huh. They're roommates," Eric said.

Paul looked at his father, then shrugged. "Oh." He ate a bite of pie, then gazed at Eric again. "How do you know them?"

Eric laughed. "Stanford sells my paintings. I've known him a long time."

Paul nodded warily. Then he crossed his arms over his chest. "Why were you gone so long?"

"Paul, that's none of your business." Renee spoke sharply, then she sighed. "Finish your pie."

"It's okay Renee." Eric motioned to his right arm. "I'd been helping Uncle Laurie's cousin, and on my way home I had an accident. I hit my head, forgot my name, forgot just about everything. But some very good folks took care of me, and then I was on my way back home."

Paul huffed. "That doesn't really happen to people."

"Well, it happened to me."

Paul still looked skeptical. Then his eyes watered. He leaned toward Renee, and she took him onto her lap. He wept hard, burrowing against her.

Ann stared at her brother, then whimpered. Sam picked her up, then stood. "Maybe it's time for us to go."

Jane pointed at Paul, then she spoke to Marek. He answered her in Polish, then patted her head, looking at Lynne. "Jane wants to know if Paul will take home his pie."

"I don't want any more pie, I wanna go home." Paul now faced the rest, then he stared at Eric. "I just wanna go home!"

"We're going right now." Renee scooted away from the table, then put Paul down. She stood, collecting coats off the rack near the door. Paul grabbed his from her hands, put it on, then stomped to the door. It took the rest of his family a few minutes to get into their jackets and as soon as Sam opened the door, Paul ran out without saying goodbye.

That evening, Eric and Lynne were no different than many in America, receiving their first introduction to a band from Liverpool. Afterwards, the couple put Jane to bed, then Lynne fed Cary as Eric read a few letters that had recently arrived from Europe. He wasn't sure if he wanted to go through all those Lynne had saved. He did want to read Klaudia's initial query, but afterwards would let Marek keep it if he desired.

Marek hadn't said much about that woman, not that Eric was reluctant to listen. He itched to have a good conversation with his pastor, but shortly after the Aherns departed, Marek did too. Eric appreciated his discretion, for Paul's outburst had rattled Eric. He was delighted for Sam and Renee, and didn't wish to disturb their new family. Eric would let a few days pass, then call his pastor, but not for spiritual advice. Eric also wished to speak again to Laurie; they had only talked briefly yesterday afternoon, for Eric had lost his composure, and Laurie had sounded tearful too. Thankfully Stanford hadn't gotten on the line; Eric didn't know how to initiate conversation with him. Then Eric thought back to Paul's question of how Eric knew those fellows. For two and a half months, Laurie had been Lynne's roommate, for which Eric was exceedingly grateful, but the anguish suffered during the New Yorkers' separation had been tremendous. He wanted to see them, but not for a while. Fortunately Laurie made it clear that they would wait until Easter to visit. Stanford would be busy making certain all of Eric's paintings ended up with their rightful owners, only a few coming back to the artist. Eric missed the orchard, those of Lynne, and of a pastor and Eric's eldest daughter. A pang in Eric's chest caused him to set down a note from France, then he gazed at his wife and baby. He would never capture this twosome on canvas, and so many others wouldn't be depicted either.

He scooted up in bed, then smiled. He hadn't noticed how uncomfortable his pallet in Walt's shed was; he'd simply been grateful for a place to lay his head. Then he chuckled. "As soon as Cary's down for a nap tomorrow, you can head to the bank."

Lynne nodded. "We should send them by registered mail."

"I agree. Wish I could've gotten addresses for Lee Watson and Frank Cooper. But at least I have Harvey and Rob's." He would send them ordinary checks, but the funds he wished to give those in Texas were significant. Eric smiled, trying to imagine the look on Walt's face, Callie's too, when they received those sums. He would send enough for each family to build a new house and get another car. Callie could replace his old truck while Walt and Dora needed a large sedan, maybe a station wagon. Then Eric chuckled. "We need a new automobile."

Lynne smiled, setting Cary over her shoulder. The baby burped, then Lynne resumed nursing her. "We do. Maybe something like the Impala."

"Sounds good." Eric sighed, then caressed Cary's head. "Probably an automatic, unless you wanna do all the driving."

"An automatic is fine with me."

Eric sighed. "I never spent time wondering what it'd be like when I came home. Only at the end did I know I was an artist. So many things are gonna change."

"Some things." Lynne met his gaze. "But not everything."

"Suppose I can still garden one-handed."

"I suppose you can," she chuckled.

Eric turned to face his wife. "I'm glad you wrote to Laurie and Stan. But I'll be honest, I'm not looking forward to...." He thought back to Paul's tone when he asked how Eric knew Stanford. The child seemed proprietary toward his uncles, but Eric was clearly an outsider. "How did Paul react when he met Laurie?"

"Hmmm." Lynne closed her eyes, then opened them. "I think he was intrigued by his accent. Jane treated him the same as she did Sam and Renee, so Paul and Ann followed her lead."

"But something about me's different." Eric looked at his right side. "Do you think I scare them?"

"Ann likes you fine."

Eric nodded. "I wonder if I remind him of his...." To say father felt wrong; Sam was Paul's daddy, then Eric shook his head. "Hopefully after a few weeks he'll realize I'm not going anywhere and...."

Lynne had grasped Eric's right hand, but he wasn't sure for how long she'd held it. What he felt within her touch was healing, also slightly painful. He had never lied to her since telling her he was a hawk. But now a darker secret loomed, was that why Paul didn't trust him?

"Eric, the way Paul and Ann took to Renee and Sam was good, but so fast. Some might think it impossible that children would so quickly accept strangers to be their parents, but Frannie and I have talked about it, and basically we agree that God didn't want them to hurt any longer. But it's hasn't been all roses." She explained the station wagon, noting that for now, a four-door sedan would be all the Snyders required. Then she stroked Eric's face. "I'll never forget the day Ann asked if you were dead. Jane had no idea what she was talking about, but the look on Sam and Renee's faces, oh my goodness. Now Paul's asking the same in a roundabout way. You were this figment and now it's like you're back from the dead."

She bit her lip, tears spilling from her eyes. "Laurie was sure you were coming back, and his conviction held me up when I got low. Then, oh Eric, I knew something had happened, something terrible. But in the back of my mind was as long as you made it home, that's what mattered. And you have, and honey, while I'm so sorry that Paul and Ann had to suffer, even if Paul has a hard time now, they're right where God wants them to be. You are too, and I don't want that to sound flippant." She laid Cary on the bed, then placed her hand on Eric's ruined shoulder. "You have a road to hoe, maybe you and Paul can walk it together. I don't know, it's just that...." She moved her hand from his shoulder to his cheek, wiping tears that tumbled. "All we can do is take it not even day by day. I've missed you for so many days that I wanna be conscious of every moment, each minute. Oh Eric, I love you and...."

He kissed her, amazed at how she could still read his thoughts. Yet one remained only for him to bear. As Eric pulled away, Lynne smiled, then placed Cary in her bassinet. Then parents lay beside each other, allowing their tandem breaths to speak for them.
Chapter 215

A week passed, during which Klaudia and Sigrun visited Marek. The teenager was happy to see his mother, calling for her as soon as she entered his room. Klaudia nearly broke down at several points, then wept copiously as Sigrun drove them back to Oslo. The women spent the rest of Saturday together; Klaudia had already told Sigrun most of her American experiences, although she had omitted how enjoyable it had been holding Cary and speaking Polish with Jane. Then Klaudia mentioned a letter she had sent to that man, how she referred to Marek Jagucki. In precise Polish she informed him to never contact her again. That chapter, she huffed to Sigrun, was most definitely closed.

Sigrun didn't comment beyond asking how Klaudia might learn what happened to that painter. Klaudia sighed, lit another smoke, then shook her head. "I'll see what the papers say. If in a couple of years he doesn't make the news, well, maybe he never went home." Yet she ached to know if Lynne was still raising her little girls alone. Then Klaudia shivered. That man would be helping, as would the Aherns too. How strange that their adopted children looked as though Renee and Sam were their biological parents; Marek had revealed that to Klaudia at some point during their.... She clucked aloud. How long would it take before that man was merely a figment of her past? She inhaled deeply, but couldn't get him from her mind. Then she coughed, gazing at Sigrun who sipped coffee, but didn't hold a cigarette. Klaudia looked at the pack, not far from her own mug. Had Sigrun smoked any? "What, you quit while I was gone?"

Sigrun chuckled. "I've cut back. Put on at least two kilos, but believe it or not, I feel a lot better."

Klaudia stared at her friend. "You don't look like two kilos found you." Then Klaudia laughed. "I think they found me. Damn Lynne Snyder and her pie."

She didn't mention how many of Marek's caramel slices she had eaten and she frowned briefly. Then she smiled. "Actually, I didn't smoke much while I was there. Not sure why, but...." She bristled at the truth, which was a mix of factors. None of Marek's friends smoked, she hadn't wanted to do so near the painting in the church kitchen, nor had she felt right lighting up near Jane and.... Klaudia felt sick to her stomach, then stubbed out what remained of her cigarette. "Maybe we can quit together. That would give Harald something to think about."

Sigrun laughed. "He's already wondering if I'm hatching a plot." She finished her coffee, then cracked her knuckles. "But Astrid says it's good, so at least I have one person in my corner."

Klaudia reached over the ashtray, grasping Sigrun's hand. "Now you have another. Tell Astrid to keep me in her thoughts too."

"I will. She and Knut are coming for supper next Saturday, and I know she'll want a full report." Sigrun smiled. "Why don't you join us? Then she'll know I have a co-conspirator."

Klaudia shrugged. "Maybe, well, all right. Not like I have anything else to do." Her life post-America had felt empty, although she had been fretting over seeing her son. And while that had gone better than Klaudia had imagined, something about it still troubled her. It wasn't that suddenly she now thought he would turn into a normal teenager; every time the phone rang, she half-expected it to be the hospital with news that he'd had another seizure or was already dead. Then she grimaced; if Sigrun was correct, Marek had snapped out of his malaise at the same time she was.... She closed her eyes, unable to shut out lying next to that man, how hard her heart had beat, his too. How gentle was his touch while at the same time translating more passion than she had ever known. Damn him, she thought, blinking away tears. Damn Marek Jagucki straight to hell!

When Klaudia opened her eyes, Sigrun was gone. For a few seconds, Klaudia wondered if Sigrun had truly been in her kitchen, for in Sigrun's seat hovered an apparition, stirring goosebumps all along Klaudia's skin. Marek Jagucki looked deeply pained, then held out his hands to her across the table. She shook her head, so wanting to reach out, but even if he'd been real, she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. She inhaled sharply as Sigrun stepped back into the room, gazing at her chair as if she too saw the interloper. Then Sigrun yawned, stretching her arms over her head. "Goodness, but I'm getting old. Used to do drives that like in my sleep. Now I have to be careful not to snooze behind the wheel. I'll tell you, if Astrid and Knut are expecting a baby, better to do it now while I can still be helpful." She giggled. "Soon enough they'll be taking care of me."

Klaudia glanced at her friend. Sigrun didn't look old, but her daughters were adults. Back in Oregon, Klaudia had held a baby, but not feeling as if being a grandmother was right around the corner. Then she chided herself; she would never be anyone's babcia, but Sigrun soon might be a mormor. Klaudia laughed, Polish and Norwegian rarely intersecting within her brain.

Then tears dribbled down her face. Every time she'd held Cary, Marek had been near, that lovely girl as though their own. Cary had Marek's eyes, Klaudia's hair color, and.... Quickly Klaudia shook a cigarette from the pack, lit it, taking long drags. She chuckled falsely, but didn't gaze from the table. "Guess I'm not ready to give them up. I'll skip supper, don't want Astrid to think I'm a bad influence."

Sigrun didn't speak, nor did she sit back down. Klaudia's face was wet, and she didn't want to look up. She kept smoking, then stole a glance at Sigrun's mostly empty chair. A faint image peered at Klaudia, beseeching her forgiveness. She fought further tears, but they flowed as she shook her head.

"We'll speak about it later this week." Sigrun walked to where Klaudia sat, patting her shoulder. Then Sigrun placed a tender kiss on Klaudia's head. "See you Monday."

Klaudia barely nodded, all of a goodbye she could offer. She didn't look up until the door had closed. Immediately she set her unfinished smoke in the ashtray, laid her head on the table, covering it with her arms, weeping hard. There was no way to keep that man's face from her mind.

In Oregon, Lynne served dessert to those gathered at her kitchen table. Jane's dish was small, but the rest enjoyed large portions alongside cups of coffee, although Ritchie asked for a glass of milk as well. He joked that was a leftover from his childhood, before his Grandma Nolan had passed away. Marie's mother had been a baker, but had died of a stroke long before Ritchie's youngest siblings could remember her.

Lynne had never met Renee's eldest brother, but Eric had painted this clan's family portrait in the Aherns' backyard, and he seemed to get on well with Ritchie. Brenda was a quiet sort, but Lynne wasn't surprised; she had nearly divorced her spouse only months ago, and was now living with a new version of him. Lynne didn't miss the parallels between that relationship and her own marriage, but she said little, allowing Eric and Ritchie to carry the conversation, which initially had been stilted, but quickly turned pleasant. Once Eric had reiterated exactly where the money had come from, the Nolans stopped trying to give it back. They hadn't truly believed Sam's tale, yet Eric spoke honestly, buffeted by the occasional chuckle. God was indeed everywhere if one was willing to open their eyes.

Now quiet reigned, occasionally punctuated by Ritchie again noting how tasty was the pie. He finished his milk, then wiped his mouth with a napkin. "I know Renee's got it good with Sam, but he'll never top this pie."

"I almost made custard," Lynne smiled, "but I'd run out of eggs. I still don't think mine turns out as well as his."

Ritchie laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, he makes a mean custard. Still, ice cream goes good with just about anything."

Eric nodded. "It's better in summer, but I'm not gonna complain."

Lynne met Brenda's gaze; her grin was friendly, but she remained silent. Then Jane asked for more pie, although Lynne was the only one to understand. Lately Jane used Polish, but Marek had been stopping by most evenings. Not that he and Eric had spoken privately, but as if to merely confirm Eric was home. And, Lynne felt, to escape the emptiness of St. Matthew's. Marek hadn't spoken to either Snyder regarding Klaudia's departure, but ten days had passed, and while they'd been blissful for Lynne, Marek's unsettled mood spoke of a bitter parting between him and.... Eric tapped Lynne's leg, then she cleared her throat. "Sorry, I didn't mean to...."

Eric laughed, pointing at Jane. "None of us knows what she wants. I keep telling her to speak English, but she just shakes her head at me."

Lynne smiled, looking right at Jane. "Say it in English and we'll see what happens."

"More pie!" Jane giggled.

Brenda laughed. "Of course, what else would she have asked for?"

"What language was that?" Ritchie asked.

"Polish," both Lynne and Eric said in unison.

"Where'n the hell she'd learn Polish?" Ritchie laughed, then he looked sheepish. "Oh, excuse my French."

Eric explained as Lynne stood, bringing pie to the table. She cut a sliver, putting it on Jane's plate, then offered more to the rest. Brenda declined, but Ritchie and Eric each took another piece. Lynne asked if they wanted ice cream, but both men shook their heads. "I'll barely be able to get up," Ritchie said, gently patting his left leg. "Thank God I have a cane."

Lynne didn't look at that stick, leaning against the side of Ritchie's chair. He had a noticeable shuffle, and had sat down slowly, Brenda at his side. Lynne had been surprised the couple traveled here, but Brenda had said Ritchie enjoyed the drive. They would stop at the Aherns on their way home, as Paul wanted to see his uncle.

Lynne mulled that over as Eric and Ritchie bantered; Sam, Renee, and Ann had visited during the week, but only while Paul was in school. Just yesterday Ann had said Uncle Eric, which had made Lynne's eyes water. Eric had laughed, calling her Niece Ann, prompting Renee to explain what niece meant. Ann chanted Uncle Eric for the rest of the morning while Eric always responded with Ann's new nickname. Lynne had mentioned that to Marek last night when he came for supper. He had laughed, then said he might use that term to see how Ann responded. His smile had shone, but Lynne detected sorrow so slight Marek might not even have realized it. Since meeting him, she had wondered if a family would ever come his way. And while he was a part of their clan, Lynne didn't feel that was enough. Never before had he dropped in so regularly, not even when Laurie had been in residence. He wouldn't come by that evening; on Saturday nights he played poker with Father Markham. Lynne was glad Marek had a place to go, not that she wouldn't have wanted him there. He needed to speak to Eric about Klaudia's departure, and Eric could use one-on-one time with his pastor....

Again Eric tapped Lynne's leg. She smiled, then sighed. "My goodness, I'm so sorry." She blushed, not wishing their guests to think her rude.

Brenda laughed. "Oh don't apologize. I remember when our oldest kids were Jane and Cary's ages. I could barely remember my own name."

"God, that was a long time ago." Ritchie chuckled, gazing at Jane. "Now Cindy's a senior in high school, where's the time go?"

"And speaking of time, we should be on our way." Brenda placed her napkin on her empty plate, then looked at Lynne. "Thank you so much for having us over. Lunch was delicious and as for this pie...." Brenda looked longingly at what remained, then giggled. "Thank goodness I can't bake, I'd gain ten pounds."

A quarter remained in the tin and Lynne stood, stepping to the far side of the kitchen counter where another pie waited. She brought it to the table, setting it between the Nolans. "This is for you to take home. It's apple, peach, and boysenberry, Sam's favorite. Just don't tell him I made it."

She winked at Ritchie, who chuckled. "Good Lord, that's a combination. Hmm, maybe we won't go see them. We'll just take this home and...." He burst into laughter. "If we take it home, I probably won't get any."

Lynne covered what remained of the boysenberry pie, then set it next to the whole pie. "Here, take this too. That way you'll get a decent serving."

Brenda shook her head, but Eric smiled. "We insist. That way Lynne will bake later."

"But you have a new baby to look after and...." Brenda sighed, then smiled. "Thank you so much for everything, my goodness. I'll get these tins to Renee as soon as possible."

"No hurry," Lynne said. "I've got plenty."

Brenda stood first, then helped Ritchie from his chair. He leaned on the cane as Brenda collected the pies. Eric stood, then he and Lynne walked the Nolans to the door. Lynne saw how they tried not to stare at Eric, but Eric acted as if he didn't notice. Brenda blinked away tears as she said goodbye, then she followed her husband from the house, again calling out her thanks before Lynne closed the kitchen door.

Eric retook his seat as Jane said goodbye alternating English with Polish. Eric laughed. "By the time she's five we'll all be bilingual."

"Indeed." Lynne sat between her husband and daughter. "She's never spoken so much Polish, not even before Klaudia left." Lynne gazed at her child, then glanced at the clock. "Cary'll be up soon, I better clear these plates before...."

Again Eric touched her leg. "I can do it. You've been on your feet all morning."

His tone was definitive, which made Lynne shiver, then blink away her own tears. "You sure?"

"Yup." He smiled, then leaned toward her, kissing her cheek. "I'm the man around here and what I say goes."

Lynne laughed. "That sounds like something Ritchie might say."

"Or what he used to say. It was nice to see them again, I mean...." Eric sighed. "He's nothing like what I recall from when they posed. Well, his language is still colorful, but it's like he really is a different man. I think he'll stay sober, don't ask me why, but there's just something...."

Lynne nodded, although she had no basis for that sense other than how happy Ritchie had seemed, also peaceful. Then she gazed at her husband; Eric was staring around the room as though contemplating an impending departure. Her heart pounded, then she grasped his hand, which was cool, but warmed quickly within hers. He met her gaze, smiling as if nothing clouded his thoughts. She nodded, but still her pulse raced. "Eric, what?"

"Just thinking about when he gave me the money, telling me to give it to someone needy. At the time I thought he meant whoever was gonna get me home. I had no idea about Ritchie, but as soon as I was here, of course it was for them." Eric sighed, then gripped Lynne's hand. "Too bad I can't paint their portrait again. I'd love to capture him now."

Lynne smiled, but something sat under his words. Perhaps it was merely that wistfulness, which didn't surprise her. How many times had he expressed a desire to one day paint this or that, but now.... She embraced him, careful not to squeeze tightly against his right side. But even for the joy of his presence, an issue tugged at her heart. She prayed, then kissed him, then pulled away, giggling. "Oh that girl."

Eric nodded. "I hear her. Go on, Jane and I'll join you in a minute."

Lynne stood, ruffling his hair. She headed to the living room where Cary fussed in the Moses basket. Lynne sat down, retrieved the baby, then set her to nurse. As Eric and Jane entered the room, Lynne's heart ached, but not for how Jane clung to her father's withered hand. Eric's eyes held a distinct sadness, over which Lynne felt helpless. But she said nothing as he sat on her right, leaning against her. Lynne closed her eyes, praying for Eric's peace of mind. He'd returned, but still required that intercession.
Chapter 216

When Laurie came home on Tuesday, a letter from Lynne waited on the dining table. He picked it up, whistling a Beatles' tune on his way to the kitchen. That band had again been on Ed Sullivan, ending their spot with "I Want to Hold Your Hand". Stan had hummed it all last night, and Laurie couldn't wait to warble a few lines in that man's ear once Agatha left for the day. But she might stay later than usual while all three digested what Lynne had written. Laurie was a little surprised his name wasn't scrawled in Eric's handwriting, but maybe a letter for Stan from Eric would arrive tomorrow.

Laurie hadn't spoken to Lynne or her husband recently, but he had called Sam and Marek, and both noted that Eric was still recovering, and how well Jane had remembered her father. Sam also mentioned that Paul was having a difficult time, which had been hard for Laurie to hear, but upon reflection wasn't overly shocking. The Aherns visited the Snyders while Paul was in school, but Sam hoped to stop there that coming weekend. Laurie had felt slight envy, but he and Stan would see all four Snyders in just over a month. They had decided to stay for only a week, as not to overwhelm Eric, then possibly return in early summer if work permitted. Laurie had spent the last few weeks in close contact with his remaining clients, another reason March's outing wouldn't be a lengthy stay. Gripping the letter, he entered the kitchen finding an expectant smile on Agatha's face. She wanted to know the contents as much as he did.

He approached her, kissing her cheek. "Well, shall I open it?"

She nodded, then stared at him. "Unless you wanna wait for Stanford."

"Nah." Laurie reached into a drawer for the letter opener. "He won't mind."

Agatha smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. "I was hoping one of you would get home early." She stood next to Laurie. "I wrote to them last week, been dying to hear how it's going."

Laurie nodded, for he'd felt the same. It seemed slightly odd that neither Lynne nor her husband had been in contact, but they had been apart for more than half a year. A new baby needed her father's attention, not to mention what Lynne and Jane required. Laurie was thrilled that Jane had remembered Eric, and he hoped Paul's agitation would be remedied as easily as when Sam returned the station wagon. Laurie grasped Agatha's right hand as he began to read, but within seconds he gripped Lynne's letter with two hands, an icy shiver traveling along his spine. After a brief greeting, Lynne hadn't minced words, but in her gentle manner, those words contained no hint to what Laurie now pictured in his mind, for Lynne had rightfully assumed Agatha would be near when Laurie received the news: Eric had met with an unfortunate accident on his way back from Miami. His right arm was permanently disabled and he would never paint again.

Laurie shivered, tears falling down his face. He crumpled the stationary, feeling sick to his stomach. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no!"

"Laurie, what's wrong?"

He glanced at Agatha, so wishing she knew the truth, then wondering what had actually occurred; he would call the Snyders that evening, he needed to hear it from.... Not Eric, then Laurie bent over, dropping the letter, gripping his legs for support. "Jesus fucking Christ no!"

Agatha collected the pages, then rubbed Laurie's back. "Honey, it's gonna be all right."

He shook his head, then slowly stood up straight. Pointing to the letter, he wanted to speak, but tears still fell down his face. How would he tell Stan? "He's, he can't, he'll never...." To say the words felt wholly wrong. Laurie turned to face the counter, gripping it to keep himself on two feet. He wanted a drink, several of them, but there wasn't enough booze in the world to erase this disaster.

Agatha scanned the first page, then gasped. "Oh Lord, no!" She placed the letter on the counter near Laurie's shaking hands, one of which she clutched tightly. Laurie squeezed back, his eyes closed, his stomach still rolling. He wished to simply turn around, finding Eric, Lynne, and Jane seated at his kitchen table. The last time he had seen Eric was in this apartment, or the last time he'd viewed him as a human being. Laurie opened his eyes, not wanting to picture Eric as a hawk. How in God's name did he appear now, just how bad was the damage?

He peered at the letter, then read further; Eric had been shot in his right shoulder. Now Laurie felt dizzy; most likely he'd still been a hawk. Where had he been, Laurie wondered. Then he began to weep as though he was back on that Florida playground, sand clenched between his fingers, the hawk pecking at its right shoulder; Eric had been shot, but how in the hell had he survived? A ripple of peace wove through Laurie, for that was what Lynne conveyed in the next paragraph. Other than his right arm, Eric was fine, Jane so happy for her father's return. Then Lynne wrote of how thankful she was for Laurie and Stanford's support, Agatha's too, and that they all looked forward to seeing whoever traveled for Easter and Cary's baptism. Agatha hadn't mentioned flying west; now Laurie knew she would stay here. Then he trembled; would Stan still want to go? Laurie did; Eric was his brother, and he had to see him in person. Yet, Eric wouldn't be as Laurie remembered, was this even possible? How could Eric have healed Seth, then lost his.... "I gotta sit down," Laurie mumbled.

Agatha led him to the table and he sat in Stan's seat, Agatha on his left. He shook his head, glanced at the counter where the letter remained, then covered his face with his hands. Another wave of grief was released; while Laurie hadn't lost Seth, a magnificent painter no longer dwelled among them. "Oh God," he moaned. "I don't fucking believe this."

He sat up, taking deep breaths, but the throbbing within his chest didn't subside. "I need to call them, I need to...." He looked at Agatha, who nodded, but didn't speak. She stroked his damp cheek, her eyes brimming with tears. Then she stood, getting him some water. He drank it slowly, but felt no better, although he was grateful for Stan's absence. Laurie needed to wrap his head around this before bludgeoning the man he loved with such horrific news.

"You want something stronger?" Agatha asked softly.

"I do, but I won't." He had to stay sober, although once Stan knew, maybe they would both get drunk. "Jesus Christ, after everything they've gone through, now this?" Anger bubbled within him. "They don't deserve this, he was just trying to help, damnit!" Laurie banged his right fist on the table, then grimaced. Just how crippled was Eric? Maybe after time he could paint again, or perhaps draw. Laurie stared at Agatha; how much work had Eric planned for when he came home? There was still the Queens series, portraits of his new daughter, maybe some of Seth.... Laurie inhaled, then exhaled, but the fury didn't lessen. "What the hell's this all about?" he shouted. "He never hurt anyone, who in God's name woulda...."

Agatha grasped his hand. "Listen to me. This isn't the end of the world."

He stared at her. "How can you say that?"

"Something terrible's happened, I won't say otherwise. But he came back to them, to all of us. He's home Laurie, and right now that's enough."

He wanted to refute her words, but how she clutched his hand muted his contempt. Tears fell along her cheeks and now Laurie caressed her face; lines crowded around her eyes, furrows were etched in her brow and along her mouth. Yet she smiled, and while it was weary, it also spoke of trust. Laurie had always believed Eric would return and for now that bittersweet homecoming had to be enough.

Agatha left early, then Laurie called the Snyders. Lynne filled in the gaps, again making Laurie sick to his stomach. Yet she spoke with such optimism, which Laurie attributed to Eric's presence, albeit compromised. She would pray for Laurie that evening, leaving unstated the nature of her petitions. Who knew how Stanford would take this turn of events?

Then Lynne mentioned Seth; Laurie bristled, but agreed that his cousin needed to know. Maybe Seth's girlfriend would temper this news, and Laurie promised to keep Lynne updated. Then Lynne asked if he wanted to speak to Eric. Laurie sighed. "Uh, sure, if he wants to talk."

"He's right here, just has something he needs to say."

Laurie inhaled, then coughed, as Eric got on the phone. "Hey, I just wanted to again tell you thanks for being here. I know it was hard, but...."

"Of course, I mean...." Laurie closed his eyes, trying to picture Eric beside him, seated on the library's sofa, or standing beside Seth's figurines. "Eric, I, I...."

"Don't worry about telling Seth. I think he'll be okay with the news."

"Yeah?"

"He won't like it, but...." Eric sighed, then gave a weak chuckle. "I'm home Laurie. That's all that matters."

"Yeah, it is." Laurie still felt uneasy. He could write to his cousin, but had to tell Stan face to face.

"And Laurie, when you tell Stan, just make sure he knows...." Eric paused, trying to regain his composure. "Just tell him I'm okay." Eric's voice quivered. "I really am all right."

"Of course. That's all we wanted, you know?"

"I know."

Laurie closed the call, but felt little relief. Something in Eric's tone was different, as if a part of him had been killed in Texas. Then Laurie gazed at the trolley across the room. He ached for a drink. Instead he stepped toward Seth's figurines. He wouldn't tell Stan in this room, not in the kitchen or their bedroom either. It would have to be in the guest room, where neither spent much time. Laurie left the library, walking to where the Snyders had stayed last spring. Perhaps after tonight, Stanford might never step foot in this space again. Laurie headed back toward the library, again wishing for one gin and tonic. Just as he reached for the door handle, he heard Stan humming. Laurie winced, then straightened his shoulders. Then he prayed for strength, his steps slow along the hallway to where Stanford was waiting.

Dora stood on her front porch, a registered letter just having been delivered. It was addressed to Mr. and Mrs. Walter Richardson, but Dora wouldn't open it until Walt got home. The handwriting was lovely, then Dora blinked away tears, reading the return address; Mr. and Mrs. Eric Snyder. John's wife must have written all this, then Dora shook her head. It was hard to think of John as Eric, then Dora wiped tears from her cheeks. According to Walt, Eric Snyder was a very talented artist. Dora breathed deeply, then placed her hand on the babies. "I can't imagine what this is," she said softly. "But we'll wait till Daddy's home to find out."

The letter sat out of Esther and Gail's reach, but when Luke and Tilda got home from school, Dora explained what had arrived. Luke wanted to open it, but Tilda said little. Dora observed her oldest daughter, who must realize why John.... Dora inwardly chided herself. "I just hope they sent some photographs," she said. "I'm so curious as to what his wife and daughter look like."

"And the baby," Luke smiled. "What'd Daddy say her name was?"

"Cary." Dora ruffled Luke's hair. "Cary and Jane."

Luke sat at the table. "Mama, you think we'll ever see Mr. Doe, I mean, Mr. Snyder again?"

Dora sat on Luke's right. "I don't know." She gazed at where the letter waited, then looked around the room. A few nights back Walt had spoken about adding onto the house, but Dora knew as well as her husband the state of their finances and wasn't sure what they needed more, another bedroom or a second vehicle. She sighed softly, then glanced at Tilda, playing quietly with her sisters near the television. Dora wanted at least one son, but two would be better, if only to give her daughters more space in the large room. Best to add onto the house now. They could think about another car later.

Walt worked late, and supper was waiting as he stepped through the doorway. He kissed his wife, greeted his children, then gazed at where someone else had sat for several weeks. John had been on Walt's mind all day, then he frowned. Would he ever think of that man with his rightful name? Callie still called him Mr. Doe, then Walt chuckled. Perhaps it was better to think of him that way. Walt didn't expect to ever hear from him again, regardless of which name he went by. "Sorry I'm late," he said. "Did I miss supper?"

Luke chuckled. "Nope, but Mama's got a surprise for afterwards."

"Did Susie bring a pie?" Walt asked. "Luke, Tilda, sit down now." He lifted Gail into her seat, then scooted Esther up to the table. Then Walt took his chair. "What's the surprise?" he asked his wife.

Dora brought plates to the table, then sat beside her husband. "We got a letter from the Snyders, a registered letter."

"What's a registered letter?" Luke asked.

Walt stared at Dora. "Are you serious?"

She nodded, then looked at Luke. "Sometimes important mail requires a signature. I had to sign for it."

Walt glanced at the countertop, finding the letter on the flour canister. "Why didn't you open it?"

"I wasn't gonna till you came home," Dora clucked.

Walt retrieved the letter, then sat at the table. He studied the handwriting, a slight shiver running down his spine. He smiled at Dora. "Well, I'm here now." Then he gazed at Luke. "Should I go ahead and...."

"Open it Daddy, open it!" Luke said. "We've been waiting since Mama told us about it."

Walt nodded, finding a small grin on Tilda's face. "Tilda, you agree?"

She tried to hide her smile, then giggled. "I wanna see what he says."

"Me too." Walt pulled out his pocketknife, cutting through the seal. He pulled out the contents, which included a small envelope. "This's for Mr. and Mrs. Bolden," he said, placing that envelope back on the counter. Then he sat down, inspecting what had been sent. It was a letter, then Walt gasped.

"What?" Dora asked.

"It's a...." Walt swallowed hard, then handed the check to his wife. The sum was more than Walt would earn in ten years, enough to build his family a large home, even buy a new car. Then he stared at the envelope for Callie and Susie; Walt assumed a check was waiting for them.

"Daddy, didn't they send any pictures?" Luke's tone was exasperated.

Walt was now comforting Dora, who wept softly. "Not that I see son." He looked at the date on the check; it was from last Monday, the first business day that John had been home. "They sent this right after Mr. Doe...."

"Mr. Snyder Daddy," Luke corrected.

Walt stared at Luke, then smiled. "You're right, Mr. Snyder." Walt skimmed the letter, which he knew had been written by Mrs. Snyder, then he stopped speaking. "Oh dear Lord!"

"What?" Dora, Luke, and Tilda said as one.

Walt laid on the table a crude but clear drawing, that of a family. "He sent this instead."

Luke leaned over, then gasped. "Oh Daddy, that's him, that's Mr...." Luke sniffled, then laughed. "He doesn't look like how I remember him, he looks different now. Mr. Snyder," Luke said slowly. "And that must be Jane, and that's Baby Cary, and that's Mrs. Snyder. Well, that's a nice family he's got. Boy, I still hope he sends some snapshots. And we'll have to send some to them after the babies come."

Walt studied the sketch, wondering how long it had taken that man to fashion it. Luke was right; as Eric, John appeared happier than Walt had ever seen him. His wife's smile was wide, and from what Walt could make out, Jane looked like her mother. The baby wasn't more than a bundle resting against John's left arm, but she looked at home there. Then Walt turned his attention to Dora, who was crying, also laughing. He nodded at her, recalling their recent discussion about adding onto the house. "It's an answer to prayer," Dora squeaked. "I just can't believe they'd do this."

"Do what Mama?" Luke asked.

Walt inhaled deeply, then stood, stepping behind where Luke and Tilda sat, laying his hands on their shoulders. "Mr. Snyder sent us some money to thank us for taking care of him. I'm sure he did the same for the Boldens too."

"Well, that was mighty nice," Luke said. Then he gazed at his mother. "I'll write him a letter back. Maybe I'll draw a picture of all of us too."

Walt patted Luke and Tilda on their heads, then retook his seat. "I'll call him after supper so he knows we got the letter."

"Okay, but don't tell him about my picture. I want it to be a surprise."

"I won't say a word." Walt took a bite of his supper, which was growing cool. "Everybody eat up now, Mama worked hard to make such a good meal." He looked at Dora, who wiped tears from her face, but her smile shone. Walt grasped her hand and she nodded. Then she placed his hand on her belly. Walt chuckled, then broke into laughter. His children asked what was so funny, but Walt didn't speak. He glanced at the drawing, which to the untrained eye might appear as nothing more than random strokes along the paper. But the Snyder family was clear to Walt Richardson and he couldn't wait to speak to Eric once supper was finished.

Long after the Snyder and Richardson families were asleep, Stanford Taylor sat in the library, a whiskey in his hand. He had tried going to bed several times, but slumber was elusive, even after he and Laurie made love. Laurie had been restless for a while, then had fallen unconscious, but Stanford remained wide-eyed. Finally he'd left their room, walking aimlessly around the apartment, seeing Eric everywhere he went. Only one place remained where Stanford might find peace, albeit chemically induced. He was now drunk, but still alert. Sharp within his mind was the last time Eric had been in this city, the hug shared as the Snyders' taxi pulled in front of Stanford's building. Stanford would never again embrace that man, for to do so would be demanding of Eric a feat he could no longer manage. That was how Stanford had accepted Lynne's letter; never again would Eric hug anyone with both of his arms.

Laurie had gently broken the news, then given Stanford the crumpled pages of stationary. Lynne's handwriting was her usual lovely penmanship, but the words she employed were as ugly as the gutter talk of Bowery bums. Laurie reiterated what she had told him, making Stanford cringe both from the violence and that Eric had been a.... He'd been a hawk at the time, which now that Stanford was inebriated made sense. A youngster had shot Eric, but the small slug had done significant damage. Thankfully Eric had been found before he'd bled to death, Laurie had said. Otherwise they never would have known the truth.

But what was truth, Stanford considered, slowly sipping his whiskey. Eric had flown to help Seth, and now could no longer paint. That was the essence of what had occurred over the last several months. Yet truth possessed many sides; according to Lynne, Eric had been a hawk when attacked. Now he was a cripple, although Laurie never said it like that. Stanford didn't imagine Lynne had either. How did Eric see himself, Stanford wondered. He was a new father, perhaps that softened the blow. But a sucker punch had landed in Stanford's gut as though he'd been the one assaulted. The most talented artist Stanford had ever known would never.... Stanford swigged what remained in his glass, then slowly stood from the sofa. The room was mostly dark, but Seth's figurines shone like neon signs. For the first time Stanford understood Laurie's dismay connected to that man's lost talent. But Seth was working again, all thanks to Eric. Where the hell was justice in this godforsaken world?

Stanford poured himself another whiskey, then stared at Seth's sculptures. He approached them, finding no peace in the woman's call for help, nor any willingness to assist in the man's pose. Then he gazed at the deformed lower limb; Eric's foot was healed, but his right arm was.... It was useless, making Stanford blink away tears. He drank his whiskey, his throat burning, his eyes watering, his stomach woozy. But his chest ached most, although not as badly as when Laurie was gone. Yet this pain was substantial and suddenly Stanford realized it would be with him the rest of his life. He pounded the center of his ribcage; it felt hollow and the ache didn't go away. "Why him?" he said aloud, uncertain if Laurie might hear him. And Stanford wasn't sure which man he meant; perhaps Eric, maybe Seth, or was he beseeching the God from whom these figures sought mercy? "Why now, why him, why, why, why...." Stanford considered throwing his glass against the room, but he didn't wish to wake Laurie or clean up after himself. Then he laughed, for he was in no shape to do more than stumble onto the sofa and hopefully lose consciousness. Tomorrow Laurie would find him in here, tit for tat, Stanford mused, taking wobbly steps back to the couch. But he didn't sit; again he gazed at those figurines, wondering if Eric would ever admire them again. Not that Stanford thought the Snyders would avoid New York, but it might be better to put these out of sight when they did. No use causing Eric additional agony.

How did Eric actually feel, Stanford wondered, sitting with a clumsy plop in the middle of the sofa. He must be in considerable pain from such an injury. Yes, he was home, family at his beck and call, but what about the artist? Stanford felt he knew that person well, or he had. Now Eric Snyder was merely a husband and father. Did he think of himself as a painter, could he still draw? Stanford wanted to call Eric, but it was very late, and of course how could such queries be aired? Then Stanford shivered; how was he supposed to approach Eric next month? Maybe Stanford could gracefully excuse himself, yet he was Cary's godfather. He had to be there for the baptism.

Then he laughed aloud, not caring if he woke Laurie. Who was he to worry about those unrelated to him? Sometimes accidents happened, and this wasn't the first client Stanford had lost. He inhaled, feeling little pain, but he began to choke, unable to pull in any oxygen. He coughed several times, then finally dislodged the blockage. Taking slow breaths, he wondered how best to justify his absence. As he did, tears sprung from his eyes; he wanted to chat with Jane, wished to cuddle Cary, longed to embrace Lynne, and as for Eric.... Stanford began to weep, which turned to a howl. He bent over, his head in his hands, shaking as sobs wracked his frame. Moments later Laurie sat beside him, telling him it would be all right, and how much Laurie loved him. Stanford continued to wail, wishing he could alter time, snatching Eric from harm's way before he'd been.... "He's ruined, just ruined," he mumbled. "It's all gone to hell."

Laurie said nothing as Stanford wept, grieving for Eric as though that man was dead.
Chapter 217

Laurie waited until Thursday to call Seth, who took the news better than Laurie had expected. Seth was more worried for his cousin and Stanford, and Laurie spoke honestly; they were devastated, especially Stan. Laurie thought Stan might schedule an appointment with Dr. Walsh, which Seth believed would be helpful. Both knew that was Stanford's move to make, yet Laurie wouldn't permit Stan to brood over this. Laurie closed the conversation feeling oddly refreshed, then he called Lynne. She was relieved at how well Seth had accepted the news, and wasn't surprised at Stanford's reaction. Again she reiterated how thankful she was that Eric was home, but Laurie discerned something else in her tone. He didn't question her, nor did he ask to speak to Eric. Lynne noted that photos were in the mail and that she looked forward to seeing him next month. Laurie ended that call feeling somewhat unsettled, then he paused; rare were the times he gained more peace in speaking with his cousin than with Lynne. He wouldn't mention this to anyone, but said a prayer, seeking comfort for them all.

That afternoon Klaudia found a letter from Marek in her mailbox. She hesitated retrieving it, then wondered if perhaps Eric Snyder had come home. She collected all the post, unlocked her door, then went inside, leaving the mail on the table. She made a cup of tea, inspected what else had been delivered, then stared at the envelope from America. Had Marek received her letter yet? He must have sent this right after she left, but probably not after hers had arrived. What might he have to offer, she mused, lighting a cigarette, then seating herself near a stack of bills that separated her from.... A few tears welled in her eyes which she brushed aside, but they weren't all on behalf of that man. She had called the institution yesterday, curious to her son's condition, which was still improving. Marek Henrichsen had been moved from the infirmary back to his room, and while he spent much of his time in bed, he continued to ask for his mother. Klaudia was tempted to drive up there that weekend, in part that she wouldn't be around for Sigrun's supper party on Saturday. Klaudia didn't necessarily need proof of the nurse's words, but how odd that Marek had made such a sudden recovery. Then she grimaced; he was still nearly bedridden, yet never before had he asked for her. Klaudia wasn't even sure he knew the word mor. Tears rolled down her cheeks as she recalled Jane calling for Lynne, that child's tender voice not much differently from how Marek had asked for his mamma. After all these years, Klaudia was in the position of being someone's mother. She glanced at the letter from America, her heart throbbing. Setting her smoke in the ashtray, she tried her tea, but it was too hot to drink. Reluctantly, she opened Marek's letter, then began to read.

She smiled in learning that Eric Snyder had come home. At least Lynne wasn't raising two children on her own anymore. Then Klaudia gasped as Marek apologized for, as he put it, his lack of integrity. She stared at his handwriting, then reread that sentence, his Polish succinct. He had failed her as a man and her tears restarted as memories of those two days tumbled through her brain. Then she ached all over, recalling the bitter words she had said to him about his family's brutal deaths. Yet she had been devastated at how he'd dismissed her due to.... For a moment she bristled, creeping back into her shell where she was safe from this man's touch. Then she began to cough hard; he loved her and would continue to pray for her and her son. Klaudia began to shake and set aside the letter, gripping her mug. The heat wore through her chilly hands, reaching her heart; she was once again a mother because the one man she had allowed into her heart was seeking divine intersession on her child's behalf. If Klaudia considered more than that, she might break down thoroughly. Continuing to grasp her mug, she gazed at the cigarette, most of which had burned to ash. She could torch Marek's note as she had the others, but she would never extinguish the flame within both of their hearts. It would burn forever.

Slowly she drank her tea, looking at Marek's penmanship. She never read Polish anymore, but that language would dwell inside her as long as she lived. Would she love Marek for the rest of her life, how could she not? She winced, then picked up what remained of the smoke, placing it between her lips, inhaling deeply. She coughed again, frowning as she stubbed out the cigarette. Peering at the rest of the letter, she skipped to the end. Marek wanted to continue their previous correspondence, wishing to share Jane's progress in Polish as well as receive updates about his namesake's health. Klaudia shivered at both intentions, shaking her head as if Marek's ghost sat across from her. She looked up, but the chair was empty, which made her tremble more. How was that painter, she wondered, and had Jane remembered her father? Klaudia wanted to tell Marek that her son had asked for her, but she recoiled at the reason for his improvement. Then she returned to Marek's apology; knowing fully well her attitude toward the church, he never should have acted upon his feelings. Yet those emotions were tied into his gratefulness for her existence, which had been the sole purpose behind his desire to see her again. He'd wanted to fete their survival, nothing more. If she wished to decline his request for further contact, he would completely understand.

Again the decision was hers, but no longer did questions linger, and perhaps Marek had made it easy on her by noting that Eric Snyder had made it home. Klaudia could forget all of them in one fell swoop, enough here to occupy her mind. Yet she knew that was a pipe dream, for every time she visited her son she would be reminded of.... She finished her tea, then stuffed the letter back in the envelope. She would show it to Sigrun, not that she could read it, but then Klaudia wouldn't be hounded by her friend, or that man. She had already answered Marek, they were through. She wouldn't travel to see her son that weekend, nor would she go to supper on Saturday unless Sigrun made an issue of it. And even if she did, Klaudia would smoke all night. The shell fastened all around her until she felt fully secured. Then she lit another smoke, taking long drags as though sealing her coffin. After that smoke was gone, she lit another. She finished the pack before bedtime, coughing long into the night until falling into restless sleep.

Eric woke to an empty bed on Friday, but could hear his family; Lynne and the girls were probably in the living room. Eric smiled, although he was in terrible pain. He'd said little about that to his wife, and would hide it from Jane as long as was possible. Sometimes she tugged on his right hand, wishing to lead him around the house. Often his arm was numb, but on occasion it ached so badly that Eric wished Walt had cut it off. It had taken Eric hours to draw himself, Lynne, and their daughters for the Richardsons. Eric smiled despite the pain; Jane and Cary would eventually crowd out what had been lost.

Two weeks had passed and while Eric was thrilled to be home, unease plagued him, although he wasn't surprised from where part of it originated. It was easier than he'd imagined keeping Lynne in the dark about why he'd left Texas, yet now that he knew exactly who he was, he had to face that missing element of his life. He had yet to discuss this with anyone, too busy getting to know Cary and reintroducing himself to Jane while trying to live without considering art. Fortunately his days were full, but in the past when Lynne was tending to Jane, Eric had the luxury of waking with the day's agenda free for his perusal. Now he stirred debilitated, also feeling somewhat useless. He could keep Jane occupied, but couldn't help Lynne with the most basic chores; not only was his injury a death knell to painting, he wasn't able to change a diaper or take out the trash. He did manage to keep the fire burning, but he couldn't start it alone. His mind had healed, but much remained amiss.

He got out of bed, used the toilet, then put on his robe and slippers. Stepping onto the landing, he inhaled the warmth of the fire and his family, the homey scents of coffee and pie, and the awareness of massive alteration. It might take years before he was comfortable in who he now was, then he winced as Lynne giggled. What would she think if she knew the truth? They had yet to be intimate; could he make love to her as before, not due to his ruined arm, but with such a demon inside him. Thinking about it made Eric tremble. He gripped the landing, clearing his throat. "Good morning down there."

"Daddy!" Jane laughed, then appeared at the bottom of the stairs. "Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!"

Tears welled in Eric's eyes and he smiled, wiping them away. "Stay put girl. I'll be right there."

"Jane, come here," Lynne said. "Do you want some coffee?" she then asked.

"Are you feeding Cary?"

"Well, not really. Oh, maybe I am." Lynne chuckled as Eric came down the stairs. She looked at him, Cary against her chest. "She's been playing for the last five minutes, but every time I try to move, she starts nibbling again."

Eric sat on Lynne's right, then stroked Cary's head. "She's just like her big sister was."

Lynne nodded, blinking away tears. Then she leaned against Eric. He put his arm around her, closing his eyes as Jane climbed into his lap. He wanted to wrap her close to him, but all he could do was pat her leg with his right fingers. That action was very painful, but he did it anyway, hoping none of them noticed.

Lynne sat up. "Are you all right?"

He shook his head, biting his lip. Then he met her gaze. Tears were fresh along her cheeks, and he wanted to rub them between his fingers. Instead he gripped her left shoulder. "Just hurts a little today."

In her brief nod, he saw the nurse who had cared for him as well as patients. She didn't speak, looking at their baby, who rested along Lynne's breast. Eric's heart throbbed, for he had never imagined this scenario while trying to recall his identity. Reality was much different than all he had previously pondered.

"Laurie said that Stan might call his therapist." Lynne spoke softly. "Maybe he's not the only one who needs to see someone."

"Are you saying I should go to a doctor?"

Now she met his gaze. "Perhaps. If nothing else, you should give Marek a call."

Eric looked toward the fire, which needed more wood. "Jane honey, let Daddy off the couch a minute."

Jane scooted from Eric's lap. He stood, then placed two pieces on dwindling coals. Awkwardly he attempted to arrange them with the poker, then he sighed, replacing the grate. He remained on his feet, facing his wife and daughters. Jane had taken his spot, but Lynne was burping Cary. That was another task Eric couldn't perform, and he tried making a fist. Pain shot into his right shoulder, and it took all he had not to cry out. He turned back toward the fireplace, then gripped his bad arm. His elbow was numb, but pain in his shoulder made him nauseous.

"Could you keep something down?" Lynne asked.

He nodded, still gazing at the fire.

"Jane, let's go make Daddy some breakfast."

Eric didn't move until he knew he was alone in the room. As he turned around, he saw Cary in the Moses basket. He stepped toward her, finding she was asleep. "My little sweetheart," he murmured. "I love you all so much and I'm so damned sorry." Eric wanted to kiss his daughter, but might disturb her if he sat. Kneeling would be worse, so he walked away as Jane called for him.

Later that morning Eric sat in the kitchen at St. Matthew's. Mrs. Kenny was off that day, and Eric was grateful for the privacy. This was his first time back since he'd visited Marek on the Fourth of July. Eric could almost smile over that detail, but his shoulder still throbbed. He sipped coffee, then set down his cup, taking a cookie from the plate. "Thanks for picking me up this morning," he said.

Marek grinned. "Let me just say thank you for the telephone call. Carla wasn't coming in today and I wasn't sure what I was going to do. God had both of us in mind for this coffee klatch."

Now Eric chuckled. "I can't begin to tell you how much I've missed...." He sighed, took another drink of coffee, then moved the mug near his right hand. He was just able to set his fingers around it and the heat felt good. "Lynne said you had a visitor right before I got home. I guess there's plenty for both of us to discuss."

"I nearly spoke to Jeremy about this. He knows about Klaudia, in who she was to my past, but...." Marek sighed. "My goodness, here I am blathering on. Tell me, my friend, how are you?"

Eric leaned forward in his chair. "Marek, what happened?"

Marek had a long sigh, then unburdened his heart. Eric gripped his mug during much of the tale, but reached for Marek's left hand when the crux of the situation was explained. Marek squeezed back with force, which Eric appreciated. Sometimes Sam shook Eric's left hand the way Callie had, but Sam's grip seemed tentative. Eric wanted to write to Callie Bolden, but there was little free time to dictate a letter. As Marek spoke, Eric compared his pastor's heartache to Callie's when he'd wondered if Susie would accept his proposal. Her move to The South seemed comparable with what Marek and Klaudia had shared, yet Susie's faith had eased her into a hostile land. Klaudia had no such security upon which to rest.

"I'm sure she's received my letter, I suppose I'll have to wait to see if she responds." Marek stood, refilling the men's mugs, then retaking his seat. He ate a cookie, then sipped his coffee. "I guess I don't expect her to answer. She might, but...." He shrugged. "My actions weren't, I wasn't...." Marek frowned. "Never before have I behaved so selfishly."

"I don't think I'd have done anything differently in your place. You love her and...."

"And I sat in this kitchen the morning after only wishing for one more day with her. I knew better Eric. No good could've come from that and now I've hurt her more than perhaps I did when I...." Marek drank his coffee, then gazed toward the painting near the sink.

"Go on," Eric said softly.

Marek smiled, gently shaking his head. "You've let me confess some grievous sins." He ate another cookie, then chuckled. "Have I told you yet how good it is to see you?"

Eric wore a small grin. "Have I said the same to you?"

"How are you, and be honest with your pastor."

Eric breathed deeply. "It's not what I thought, I mean, I really had no idea who I was till I was almost home. Maybe I was being completely naïve, I dunno. All that mattered was getting back to my...." Eric paused, then smiled. "I didn't know Lynne's name until I saw Sam. What's that supposed to mean?"

Marek drank his coffee, then nodded. "It's intriguing how we misplace certain details. In your case, if you had recalled Lynne's name sooner, you might have remembered exactly why you were traveling through The South. And that element of your existence might have been, well, difficult to reconcile."

"You mean being a hawk?"

"That and a...." Marek sighed. "You've lost a great ability Eric. That needs to be mourned appropriately."

"It's hard, I won't lie." Inwardly Eric flinched, then he smiled. "I haven't told Lynne about not remembering her name, do you think I should?"

Marek stared at him. "I was honest and look where that's left me." Then Marek had a weary chuckle. "But Lynne isn't Klaudia. I'm sure she senses something is amiss within you, I see it on your face. I've seen it since...."

Eric shivered. "Yeah, I've been trying to decide if I should tell her and how. She brought up me talking to you today, then you called and...." Eric wouldn't go to a doctor, for there was nothing to be done about his arm. But if Lynne pressed him, he could spill one secret. "My God Marek, you don't know how this's been weighing on me."

Marek nodded, but didn't meet Eric's gaze. "I feel the same." Then Marek smiled. "I am so glad you're home, and that too is partly selfish, although I have cultivated a strong friendship with Lynne, Laurie too." Marek chuckled. "I'm so looking forward to seeing him and Stanford next month."

"Me too, although...." Eric shared the New Yorkers' reaction to Lynne's letter. "When Laurie called yesterday, he didn't ask to talk to me. It's gonna be a rough few days when they first get here."

"It was the same for Klaudia and me." Marek sighed. "I wonder why she was reintroduced into my life. God works in ways beyond my feeble comprehension."

"That seems to be the story of my life right now."

Marek reached for Eric's right hand, gently clasping it within his own. "I recall that very same sense of confusion. Please don't hesitate to speak about this Eric. We're here for you, and we're also praying for you."

Eric smiled, grasping Marek's hand with all the strength he possessed. "Thanks." He then used his good hand to wipe his face. "I need all the prayers I can get."

"We both do." Then Marek began the Lord's Prayer, but Eric didn't join him, unable to speak. When Marek finished, he offered intercessions on Eric's behalf as well as those both men loved.
Chapter 218

Marek ate supper with the Snyders on Friday night, during which Eric shared the contents of a letter from Callie Bolden which had arrived that afternoon. Callie admitted he and Susie were shocked by Eric's generosity, but would put the money to good use. In addition to a buying new car, Callie would add onto their house, as well as improve the building where Susie taught school. Eric didn't need to explain to Lynne and Marek the segregated nature of life in Karnack, but he lamented not sending extra money to the Boldens. "I don't want them spending all of it on indoor plumbing. Maybe we can send another check and...."

"I'm sure they've thought this through." Lynne patted Eric's left hand. "They're not building themselves a new house, so it will be fine." She stood, taking empty dessert plates to the sink. She returned with the coffeepot, filling the adults' mugs, putting the percolator back on the counter. She didn't retake her seat, standing behind Eric, gently rubbing his left shoulder. Cary rested in his grasp, Jane in Marek's arms. Lynne sighed softly. "He said they were surprised by what you'd sent. Astonished is probably more apt. If we ever visit them, you can reassess what needs to be done."

"Have you considered traveling there one day?" Marek asked.

Eric nodded. "Looking forward to meeting those babies. Might not be so small when we do head east." Eric gazed at his infant daughter, then chuckled. "Cary might have six months on those twins, but...." Eric's eyes watered; Callie had written that Dora was doing well, and that the furor of last month had all but disappeared. Essie and Hiram had moved to Oklahoma, but a warrant for Pop's arrest was still active, yet Eric hadn't mentioned those details to his wife and pastor. "We'll get out there one day. I wanna see Walt and Dora's new house, so there's plenty of time."

Eric spoke of those people like they were long-lost relatives. He harbored no ill feelings toward them, missed seeing Luke's bright smile. Every time he thought of Tilda, Renee's face popped into Eric's mind. He didn't wonder if that was due to what Tilda knew, or just that she was a southern version of Lynne's best friend. The Aherns were coming over tomorrow for supper and Eric hoped Paul wouldn't be troubled. Eric mentioned that, in part to change the subject. Lynne released his left shoulder, then sat back in her seat. "Actually, Renee called this afternoon. Paul's come down with a cold, so we'll try again next weekend."

"Well, that's too bad." Eric wondered if the child was truly sick. "Is Ann okay?"

Lynne nodded, but wouldn't meet her husband's gaze.

Eric sighed, motioning for Lynne to take Cary. Then he stretched his left arm over his head, but didn't ponder anything more than what he had previously taken for granted. His thoughts ranged from integrated facilities and cracking his knuckles to.... He felt as he had right after meeting Lynne, but before he told her about turning into a hawk. That news hadn't driven her away, yet if she knew about the Bellevues.... Eric stood, then caressed his wife's right shoulder. Who he had been in Texas needed to stay out of his life in Oregon. There could be no crossover other than correspondence with Walt and Callie. Maybe the Snyders wouldn't visit Texas for several years; perhaps Eric could let those relationships wither. He firmly squeezed Lynne's shoulder, then removed his hand. No longer was he John Doe, although who he was as Eric Snyder remained to be discovered.

Marek yawned, then chuckled. "All right, that's all for this cleric. Jane, I'll see you soon." He kissed the top of her head, then moved her from his lap. Marek stood, then approached Eric, shaking his left hand. "This day has been an answer to many prayers. Thank you Lynne for sharing your spouse this morning, and of course for this lovely supper."

She nodded, but didn't speak as Marek put on his coat. Eric stepped to the counter, where pie waited in a spare tin. How many evenings had they shared a meal, Marek taking home dessert, yet this felt wholly altered. Was it Cary, that Jane was so big, or.... Eric handed the tin to his pastor, who gazed at him kindly. Eric nodded, then gave Marek a one-armed embrace. Marek responded in kind and both men chuckled. "Be patient with yourself," Marek said softly. "My prayers are with you."

"Might see you on Sunday," Eric said after clearing his throat.

"That would be wonderful, but take your time." Marek then spoke in Polish to Jane and Cary, finally offering one more goodnight in English. He saw himself to the door as Jane called out her farewell.

Cary began to fuss, so the family moved to the living room. Eric added wood to the fire, then joined the rest on the sofa. Jane jabbered in English and Polish, making her father laugh. Lynne only murmured to Cary, then she stared at her husband. Eric nodded, holding her right hand in his left. Now he always sat on her right side, had that been the case before? He winced, then sighed. "Before is starting to irritate me probably the way it once bothered you. But all we have is right now." He stroked her hand, which stoked deeper sensations. Eric was overcome by youthful passions flavored by marital dependence. "I love you so much Lynne, but I have to tell you something." He paused, seeing in her eyes a need for answers. He swallowed hard, hoping what he was about to say would satisfy that desire. "Yours was the last name I recalled." He caressed her face, finding how soft was her skin as tears trickled along her cheeks. "I couldn't understand how I was remembering other parts of my life but not your name, then Marek pointed out maybe that was due to...." Eric recounted that conversation and Lynne nodded, but still she wept. He wasn't sure why she cried, but he prayed it was simply that he was making this confession. Then he asked God to let this admission be enough. "Anyway," he added, "I just couldn't keep this to myself anymore. I'm sorry baby, I didn't mean to make you worry or...."

"Oh Eric, I knew there was something you hadn't told me." Lynne began to sob, then she laughed, putting Cary in the Moses basket. She reached for a nearby burp cloth, wiping her face, then trying to blow her nose, but the material was too thick. Eric pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, and she used that, then chuckled. "Honey, you can tell me anything. I love you."

He nodded, but didn't speak, instead kissing her. If not for their daughters, Eric would have initiated further necking, but Jane started to holler, Cary wailing in harmony. Parents pulled from one another in laughter, then tended to their children. As Lynne again blew her nose, Eric smiled, relief flooding all through him. He would carry one secret to his grave, making certain his wife and daughters never knew that side of him.

The next day two letters arrived in Oregon; Luke's drawing of his family didn't disturb Eric's newfound peace, or his relative calm; all night Eric had dreamed of living in Walt's shed, Lynne knocking on the door, but Eric hadn't permitted her to enter. He pushed that dream aside, introducing his family to the Richardson clan. Luke's illustrations weren't much better than what Eric could muster, and Lynne attached the picture to their refrigerator. Eric glanced at it throughout the day, not feeling overt discomfort. Having proffered to Lynne a small portion of his guilt, Eric believed his past wouldn't further trouble him or those he loved.

Marek felt little peace upon reading Klaudia's brief note, in which she ordered him never to write to her again. Marek nearly called the Snyders, wishing to share this with Eric, but he refrained. He did telephone Jeremy Markham, cancelling their poker game for that evening. Marek spent the afternoon working on his sermon, then he put on his coat and wraps, taking a long walk. He ran into Mrs. Harmon, who seemed ready for an argument. But she merely lectured him about the impending daffodil season, then sheepishly bid him farewell. Marek inwardly chuckled, finding small relief in her abbreviated tirade.

When he returned from his outing, he made tea, then sat in the kitchen, staring at the painting, then to his usual seat; he sat where Klaudia had, and tried to see this room from her perspective. Yet her vision was narrow, also clouded, and how much of that was his fault? If he hadn't slept with her at all.... He sighed, sipped his tea, then burned his tongue. What I deserve, he thought to himself, again gazing at his image. He was grateful Eric had painted it in profile, for the joy Marek possessed when near Jane, and now Cary, was hard to hide. He cared about those little girls, had briefly wondered if fatherhood might ever come his way. Making love with Klaudia had exacerbated it, but Marek's feelings for that woman weren't solely tied into making a family with her. He ached terribly for again losing her, but this time no one else was to blame.

Marek considered calling her, although again that was an egocentric thought. It was the middle of the night in Oslo, and how furious would she be if he rang her now? He smiled, for how much angrier could he make her? She'd not had a temper when they were young; she was so much like his sister in that both girls were usually giggling about this or that. Marek closed his eyes, the image Klaudia had described now vivid in his mind. Ania was wrapped tightly against their father, but not at all safe. Yet Marek couldn't dwell on that catastrophe; his entire clan was happy and well inside Eric's blue barn.

Marek kept his eyes shut, concentrating on various relatives celebrating within that structure, however his presence wasn't sought. His parents mingled with their siblings while Ania and Dominik chatted with cousins. Warmth rose in Marek's chest, then he opened his eyes, a smile on his face. How grateful was he to have met Eric, and how blessed was that particular canvas.

The evening passed quickly; Marek finished the sermon, ate supper, then prayed in the chapel. As he rose from his knees, he felt dizzy, then seated himself in the pew nearby. He took deep breaths, his vision a little blurry. As it cleared, he focused on Christ's image behind the altar. Again he was struck by how sanitized his savior appeared. "Perhaps it's better this way," Marek said aloud. "If we were to see you as you had actually been...."

Marek gasped as pain in his temples cut short his words. Then he cried out in anguish, leaning over, gripping the sides of the seat. He felt as stricken as when the Missile Crisis occurred, wondering what disaster had brought about this, or maybe it was a delayed reaction to his own guilt. The headache lasted for several seconds, then disappeared as quickly as it had set upon him. Marek opened his eyes, blinked a few times, then stood, no aftereffects plaguing him. He returned to his knees, beseeching God's forgiveness, then prayed for all he knew. When he stood, he paused, but felt fine. He went to bed, praying until sleep overtook him.

The Snyders didn't attend church on Sunday morning, but the Aherns slipped into a back pew just as Marek began the service. When communion was offered, Renee got in line, Ann in her arms. As they stood in front of him, Marek noticed Renee's bloodshot eyes, although Ann was in a good humor. To Marek's astonishment, Renee sought out the bread and wine, and Marek offered those sacraments without hesitation. He blessed Ann, wondering what family issue had occurred.

After Marek gave the benediction, the Aherns remained in their seats until everyone had gone. Marek walked toward them; Renee seemed calmer, yet Sam looked as though he hadn't slept. Paul fidgeted while Ann colored on a large pad. "Good Sunday morning to you all," Marek said, joining them in the pew. "What a lovely way to begin my week."

Paul glanced at Marek, then returned to fidgeting. "Doesn't the week start on Monday?" the child asked softly.

"For most, but not us pastors. Do you have plans for lunch?"

"Do you have caramel slices?" Ann smiled.

Marek chuckled. "I'm afraid not, but there's a new package of baloney, or maybe some of Lynne's nice peanut butter and jelly sandwiches."

Marek said Lynne's name deliberately. Paul went to his feet, staring all around the church. "They're not here are they?"

"Who?" Marek asked.

Paul shoved his hands in his pockets, then frowned. "I don't ever wanna see that man again."

Marek grasped Sam's hand, a firm squeeze offered in return. Marek released Sam's hand, then stood. "Well, right now it's just the five of us. Shall we head to the kitchen and see what I can find?"

Paul sighed but Ann clapped her hands. "I wanna stay for lunch. Mommy, Daddy, can we?"

Renee nodded. "I'll take the kids to the restroom. We'll meet you fellas in the kitchen. C'mon kids, let's go." She gathered Ann's things, then stood, leading Paul and Ann to the other end of the pew.

Marek offered a hand to Sam, then helped that man to his feet. "What brings you here today?"

Sam shook his head. "Paul's having a bad reaction to Eric being home. We were supposed to have supper there last night but...." Sam sighed loudly, following Marek to the kitchen. "This morning he didn't even wanna go to church, then Ann brought up coming here. Renee and I thought he'd dismiss that too, but he said okay. Which seems strange, I mean, they could've been here, but I'll tell you, I'm sure glad they weren't."

Marek turned on the kitchen light as Sam sat at the table. Marek pulled cold cuts and jam from the refrigerator, then took peanut butter and bread from the cupboard. He left those items on the counter, taking a seat beside Sam. "What has he said about Eric?"

"Nothing more than he doesn't wanna see him. Maybe he thought just Lynne and the girls would be here today, hell if I know." Sam crossed his arms over his chest. "Sorry Marek, it's been a hard week."

"Well, you came to a good place today." Marek studied Sam's face; lines were prominent, but his eyes were as blue as usual. Marek felt as if the barn sat in Sam's irises, then children's voices made Marek look toward the door. Paul entered first, Ann on his heels, Renee behind them.

Paul sat on the other side of the table, also crossing his arms over his chest, staring at the floor. Marek hid a smile, for the boy looked exactly like Sam, yet he didn't make eye contact. "What will it be Paul," Marek asked. "Meat or PBJ?"

Paul barely lifted his head. "Um, peanut butter and jelly please."

"PBJ for two," Marek smiled. "Unless someone else wants one," he said, looking at Ann.

"Me too," she giggled.

"Sam and I'll have baloney. Actually Pastor, you sit. I'll...."

Marek shook his head. "Renee, allow me."

She nodded, walking to where Paul still glowered. She pulled out the chair beside him, but he shook his head vehemently. "Don't sit here," he mumbled.

"What did you say to your mother?" Sam asked.

Paul grunted, then mumbled what to Marek sounded like an apology. Renee gently ruffled Paul's hair, then sat next to him.

During the meal, Ann asked about Jane and Cary, Aunt Lynne and Uncle Eric. Every time she mentioned Eric, Paul flinched, although when she spoke about her uncles in New York, Paul took no notice. Several times Ann spoke to her parents, referring to them as Mommy and Daddy. When Paul did speak, he omitted any reference to who he was talking. Purposely Marek answered once on Sam's behalf, which caught Paul's attention. "I didn't mean you," he said.

"Then who did you mean?" Renee's voice was soft.

Paul shook his head, then motioned toward Sam.

"You mean Daddy?" Ann asked.

Paul nodded, then froze. Slowly he stood, then looked at Marek. "Can I be excused?"

Marek's temples pounded and he briefly closed his eyes. When he opened them, tears trickled down Paul's cheeks. "If your father says it's all right, of course you can be excused."

Paul stared at Marek, then he gazed toward Sam. "Can I?"

"Yes Paul, you can."

Paul ran from the room and Renee went after him as Ann asked what was wrong. Sam tried to stand, then he plopped back in his seat. Marek went to his feet, patting Sam's shoulder. "I'll be right back."

"Better you than me right now," Sam muttered.

"Daddy, what's wrong with Paul?"

Marek exited the kitchen to Ann's quivering voice, hearing from the chapel a little boy's howls and a mother's attempts to sooth them. When Marek reached the vestibule, he saw Renee on the floor in the middle of the aisle, Paul sobbing in her lap. Marek stayed where he was as Renee stroked her son's head, telling the distraught child how much he was loved and that no, they weren't going anywhere.
Chapter 219

A baby's cry stirred Eric from sleep. He slowly rolled from his left side to his back, a languid smile creeping over his face. Lynne's giggle made him chuckle, then he looked her way. Other than an opal pendant around her neck, she was naked, holding Cary at her chest. Eric sat up, which took a certain amount of exertion, but no pain dogged him. He wondered if that was merely a brief respite from the incessant agony which had plagued him lately, or was it directly related to once again making love with his wife?

"Good morning." Lynne said, meeting his gaze. Her grin made him laugh, but he couldn't help himself. He reached for her face with his left hand, then placed that hand on her bare shoulder. For over a week marital intimacy had ruled all their free moments, and during that time Eric hadn't lamented what else could have captured his attention. Perhaps the loss of his art would be overwhelmed by all he felt concerning this woman. He leaned toward her, kissing her forehead. Again she giggled, then stared at their daughter, who was unbothered by her parents' affections.

Eric also wore nothing, but he shivered, then grabbed an afghan from the foot of the bed, clumsily wrapping it around Lynne's shoulders. He scooted next to her, pulling the bedding over himself. "Are you warm enough?" he asked, watching Cary nurse.

"I'm fine. How are you?"

He chuckled. "Oh you know, perfect."

She nodded, lightly stroking Cary's cheek. Lynne inhaled as if to speak, then exhaled softly. Then she glanced at her husband. "You really are perfect."

"In this bed, we both are," Eric smiled.

"Maybe we are." Lynne sighed, but it wasn't in sorrow. Eric grew aroused by that sound, then slipped his left arm out from under the covers. Again he touched Lynne's shoulder, then laid his outstretched palm on Cary's head. The baby didn't flinch, seemed to settle more solidly against her mother's breast. Closing his eyes, Eric prayed for his daughter, then he considered Jane. But he didn't move from bed to fetch her. At times he felt his relationship with Cary was still uncertain, although she seemed to display no reservations. On that Leap Day Saturday, she was nearly seven weeks old, her father firmly in place. Or maybe now that parents had made love, Eric's role within this family was secure. Lynne had accepted his partial confession and while Paul Ahern hadn't visited since.... Opening his eyes, Eric sighed inwardly. Three weeks had passed since that little boy had been in this house and while Eric didn't take the snub personally, he worried what it meant for Sam and Renee. Three of the four Aherns stopped in every few days, Ann at ease with Eric's presence. Renee was too, then Eric grimaced. At times he'd found Sam staring at him as though that man knew the truth. At other moments, Sam wore a pitying gaze, or perhaps it was a look of regret. Their relationship remained in flux, although it seemed to be the only one. With all the rest, Eric was on an even keel, or with those he saw personally.

He wasn't sure how Stanford felt, although Eric had dictated a letter to him, not mincing words. It had been a little strange speaking his thoughts, but Lynne had recorded his considerations as if she'd always been his secretary. Part of the correspondence had been related to the exhibit, scheduled to wrap up that coming week in Lyon, France. The last Eric had heard was that the paintings would arrive home by Easter, and he wished to confirm that with Stanford, although it wasn't a detail requiring Eric to telephone his dealer. He had yet to speak with Stan, but not due to his own reticence. Laurie had made it clear that Stan was having a hard time with Eric's.... His injury, Laurie had said, distinct sadness in his tone. Now Eric spoke with Laurie as much as Lynne did, for he called weekly, although Eric detected slight despondency when they chatted. Or maybe he projected it due to Stan's silence. Not only had Eric not talked to his dealer, Stanford hadn't written a single line. Eric wondered if the New Yorkers would travel for Cary's baptism, but he wasn't prepared to ask that question. He would give Stanford time, for this situation was permanent. Only the level of pain varied, but as Eric still felt good, he dismissed those notions, concentrating on his wife who was now burping their baby. Cary let out a hearty belch, making both of her parents laugh. Then she looked toward Eric, brown eyes wide in her tiny face.

"What do you see?" he said quietly. Then he grinned, kissing her nose. She blinked, making what appeared to him as a smile. Then she frowned, releasing a whimper. Her lower lip wobbled, but before she could scream, she was at Lynne's other breast, stirring her father's laughter. "My goodness, she's a fickle one."

"She has her moments." Lynne glanced at Eric, then studied the baby. "But overall, we've been incredibly blessed."

Lynne sucked in her breath, but Eric nodded, patting her leg. "We are. I think about that more times a day than I can count. Especially now," he added, a husky laugh following his words. That tenor made Lynne giggle again, and he kissed her cheek. "Who needs art? We can just make love all day long."

"Or whenever the girls let us." Lynne sighed, then met Eric's gaze. "You seem to have been in less pain this week. Maybe that's something else which'll improve."

"Maybe." Underneath the blankets he tried to make a fist with his right hand, but a searing burn shot into his elbow. Yet it was mild compared to before. Then he laughed quietly. "All I know is how much I love you, and how damn good it is to love you again. Lynne, I wanna...."

Jane's voice could be heard from across the hall, followed by the sound of a doorknob being rattled. Lynne smiled as Eric sat up, putting on his pajama pants. By the time he reached the hallway, Jane was hollering, causing her baby sister to cry in unison. Eric brought Jane into the master bedroom as Lynne consoled Cary, then all four Snyders lounged together until Jane requested breakfast.

On the other side of Roseburg, Sam fried eggs while Renee started laundry. The house was quiet, both children still sleeping. Sam had hesitated to cook, but coffee had only held him for so long. He wondered how Paul might feel that morning; since the boy's outburst at St. Matthew's last weekend, he'd acted coldly toward Sam, but was warmer with Renee. The family had no plans for the day, although if Paul seemed amenable, perhaps Sam would call Frannie. At the Canfields', Paul could get lost amid his cousins, permitting Sam and Renee to have a heart to heart with Fran and Louie. It had been nearly a month since Paul had been to the Snyders and Sam wasn't expecting that to change anytime soon.

He wondered how naïve he, Renee, and Vivian had been last autumn, a smooth transition now lying in tatters at Sam's feet. Then he sighed, flipping the eggs. Ann had no problems around Eric, in fact she had grown fond of him. Was that because she was a girl, or that she was younger than her brother? Sam had no idea, had prayed over it extensively. He'd talked with Father Markham, even Father Riley, but neither priest had an answer other than to continue to offer petitions on behalf of a frightened child. Paul was scared of Eric, but Sam didn't think it had anything to do with that man's withered arm.

Sam, however, felt a strange guilt about Eric's crippled limb; did that spill over onto Paul, fueling his fears? There was no one with whom Sam could speak about it, so he set it in the back of his head as Renee entered the kitchen. She smiled at him, but her long sigh made Sam's heart race. He ached to be honest with her, in part to confess his festering guilt. And that now he fully understood her heartache when the twins died; Sam felt terrible about Eric's ruined arm, but no longer would he fret about being the focus of one of Eric's paintings.

Instead Sam reached out for his wife, and she snuggled against him. Then he was stricken by an even deeper wave of remorse, for he was using his right arm to hold her. Not only was Eric's career over, but what about the simple actions Sam took for granted? He had noticed how Eric never cracked his knuckles, and Sam refrained from doing so whenever he went to the Snyders. But Eric couldn't properly embrace his wife or daughters. He only cuddled Cary when seated, but the bigger she got, that might be curtailed until she was much older. Lynne still did most of the major household tasks, although Eric helped Sam fetch wood. Sam kissed Renee's cheek, thinking to how limited he had been after being discharged from the hospital upon his return from Korea. It wasn't only in the bedroom, yet eventually he had regained the full use of his legs, but Eric would never be that lucky. Sam closed his eyes, wondering about the nature of providence; did Eric feel cursed or blessed? It hadn't taken Sam long to choose the latter, for Renee had openly given thanks for his homecoming, then behind closed doors happily accommodated his limitations. Back then Sam had greatly lamented his injury, but over time it became less of a burden. And now children resided in their house, making Sam blink away tears. He inhaled deeply, then took the eggs from the skillet, putting them on a waiting plate. He turned off the flame, then set several small kisses along Renee's forehead.

She giggled, then stroked his face. "I love you Samuel. I'm glad the kids are still asleep."

"Me too." Sam stared into her eyes, caught by the intensity of her red eyelashes. Then he admired her scarlet eyebrows, gazing upward to her temples. A few white hairs were scattered amid her natural color, and he chuckled, brushing aside those strands. "I need this time with just you."

She nodded, then laid her head against his chest. He considered noting how they weren't getting any younger, but refrained, for she had probably seen those markers of time, and his bald head spoke of the same. Then he chuckled for how good she felt near him. Even if Paul woke up cranky, this woman always warmed Sam's heart.

They remained entwined until footsteps interrupted. Sam turned to see Ann entering the kitchen, rubbing her eyes, clad in her nightgown. "Good morning," he said, releasing Renee, who then walked toward the child. Renee picked up Ann, cuddling her close. Sam set two slices of bread in the toaster, then relit the burner. He waited a few seconds, then cracked more eggs into the pan.

Renee stood beside him, and when he was done, she handed him their daughter. Ann set her head on his shoulder, and with his free hand, he scrambled the eggs while Renee tended to the toast. Nothing was spoken, for Ann preferred quiet in the mornings, and Sam was happy to simply hold her. He peeked over his shoulder, but Paul didn't join them. Sometimes Ann woke before her brother and on that Saturday morning, Sam wouldn't rush his son out of bed.

Then Sam sighed; did Paul still think of him as his father? He called Renee Mama, but Sam hadn't heard himself referred to as Daddy or even Dad in days. Sam would have to let Paul dictate the pace of.... Sam sighed again, then took the eggs from the skillet. Renee had set out another plate, and while he was starving, Sam wanted Renee and Ann to eat first.

"Daddy, what's wrong?"

Sam looked at his daughter, her red eyebrows and lashes identical to.... He'd never seen Beth Hamilton, so the only resemblance had to be attributed to Sam's wife. Everyone said the kids looked just like him and Renee, even people they'd met recently. Eric had noticed it immediately, but he had a keen eye for.... "I'm a little tired, guess I got up too early." It was a partial truth, for Sam had been awake since five. "I'll feel better after breakfast," he smiled.

Ann stared at him. "Paul's still sleeping. Maybe he won't be so crabby today."

"Maybe." Sam didn't sigh aloud, but his heart ached. Even Ann had noticed her brother's mood. "Depending on how he feels, maybe we'll go see Aunt Frannie and Uncle Louie."

Ann clapped her hands. "Oh goody. I'll play with Helene and...." She pointed toward the doorway. "Oh hi Paul. How're you feeling? Daddy just said...."

Sam turned to see his son standing in the kitchen doorway. Paul's arms were crossed over his chest, but he looked weary. "Good morning. How'd you sleep?" Sam asked.

Until the last Sunday, Sam had almost always ended his sentences to Paul by adding son. Since that dismal lunch at St. Matthew's, Sam had eliminated that endearment, at times biting his tongue in the process. Yet this fearful little boy was his child, and Paul was terrified, blue eyes wide in his pale face. Sam gave Ann to her mother, then slowly approached Paul, leaving a couple of feet between them. Paul didn't shirk away, so Sam knelt in front of him, then sat on his haunches, clasping his hands in front of him. Some of the vets he'd worked with had required such careful handling, which made Sam cringe that he needed to apply similar tactics with his own child. Yet, counseling those men had provided Sam the necessary strength to care for Eric, and perhaps they had also been meant for this very moment. Sam breathed evenly, aware that Paul needed to make the next move.

But Paul was frozen, although his eyes flitted to where Ann was being seated at the kitchen table, Renee bringing their plates, then sitting beside her. Sam assumed his wife hadn't altered the family's usual seating arrangement, which meant only Ann could make eye contact with her brother, Renee facing the far wall. But from Ann's lively conversation, she probably wasn't looking at Paul, plying Renee with questions about a possible visit to the Canfields.

Sam fought a smile, for now Paul dropped his arms to his sides, visibly paying attention to Ann's happy tone. Renee gently admonished Ann to chew with her mouth closed, but Ann was too excited, going on about how she missed Helene, that perhaps Sally and Denise would play dolls with them, that maybe Aunt Frannie would fix those special eggs.... Ann cleared her throat, then spoke. "Daddy, what kinds of eggs does Aunt Frannie make?"

"Deviled eggs," Sam smiled.

"Deviled eggs," Ann repeated, then she laughed. "They're not like scrambled eggs at all."

"No, they're sure not." Sam said that softly, looking in his son's direction. Sam deliberately didn't make eye contact for several seconds. Then he met Paul's gaze. Tears welled in the boy's eyes, and he fidgeted. "Would you like to see Johnny and Brad today?" Sam asked.

Paul nodded, then stared at the floor, wringing his hands. Then he looked at Sam. "Just us?" Paul whispered.

"Yup."

Paul heaved an audible sigh, then took a step toward Sam. "Daddy, I'm hungry. But I don't want deviled eggs. Would you, can you...."

"Fry you an egg?"

"Yes, with toast please."

"Sure." Sam stood, acting as casually as was possible. "Do you want butter on your toast?"

"Um, yes. And Daddy?"

Sam had already turned toward the stove, his heart pounding as that paternal name reverberated in his head. He faced Paul, who still fidgeted. "What is it son?"

That word slipped, but it seemed exactly what Paul needed as he ran to where Sam stood, tightly hugging his father's legs. Sam leaned over, at first patting Paul's head, then collecting him in an embrace. Paul clung to him, shaking sobs alternating with gulps for air. As Ann asked if Paul was all right, Sam walked into the living room, but didn't sit. He whispered to Paul that he loved him, giving thanks to God for this small breakthrough. Paul might not warm to Eric for ages, but Sam had been allowed back into his child's heart.
Chapter 220

Paul's feelings toward his parents returned to their previous nature, but the Aherns didn't visit the Snyders as a foursome. They did have supper that week with Vivian Kramer, who knew of Paul's reluctance to accept Eric's presence. Like Sam and Renee, Vivian attributed Paul's wariness to the deaths of Roy and Beth, how Vivian noted those personalities. While she was grateful that her nephew and niece had so quickly taken to their new parents, Paul's recent setback wasn't a huge shock to the seasoned nurse. What she did find odd was how only Paul had been affected by Eric's return. She agreed with Sam that it was probably due to Ann's youth as well as Eric being a father figure. Ann still clung to Renee every time they visited Aunt Vivian, but Vivian wasn't offended. Privately she confided to Renee that in these circumstances Beth would have wanted her children to be happy. Hopefully, Vivian added, Paul's opinion of Eric would soon improve.

Renee had appreciated Vivian's comments, also that Vivian never asked where Eric had been or how he was feeling. Renee had thoroughly inspected Eric's shoulder, and like Lynne, she thought that for as traumatic was the initial injury, incredible healing had taken place. But Renee hadn't said that to Eric, only to Lynne and Sam. Renee had also seen the level of pain Eric suffered, but to her surprise, he never requested available remedies. She prayed for him several times a day, usually linking her intercessions alongside those for her brother, who was still sober. Occasionally Renee pondered those men's lives, and while she loved Ritchie dearly, she couldn't help but feel somehow Eric had been cheated. She kept that notion to herself, for it was similar to how she'd felt when Sam first came home from Korea. Some mysteries, Renee accepted, would never be fully answered to her satisfaction in this life.

Daily spring flirted, but a chilly rainstorm would fall, making daffodils droopy, although trees now sported tiny green leaves. Jane turned two in the middle of March, and the Snyders threw a party, which seemed a sort of homecoming for Eric as well. This was the first time most of the Canfield children had seen Eric since his return, and their reactions were mixed; the younger kids were unaffected, while Sally and Will tried not to stare. This was also the first time Paul had been to the Snyders since early February, but guests acted as a buffer. Paul never spoke to Eric, nor did Eric seek out a little boy who had again embraced Sam as his father. Jane enjoyed the attention, although she shared the limelight with her baby sister. Cary was only in Lynne's arms to nurse, freeing Lynne to visit with those she now considered family. The McCampbells stopped by briefly, but by the end of the evening, only the Canfields, and Marek Jagucki remained. Sam and Renee had left after cake and pie were served, not wishing to prolong the day for Paul.

Eric and Louie spoke about fatherhood while Lynne, Fran, and Marek discussed ecumenically minded subjects. Part of that was due to Cary's upcoming baptism, for which Frannie was quite excited. While Laurie would hold Cary during that event, Fran seemed to take her role as godmother with all due reverence. She asked if the Canfields might present Cary with an inscribed Bible, also bringing one for Jane. Lynne was touched by Fran's thoughtfulness, wiping tears from her face. While planning the birthday party, Lynne had considered another just a few weeks away, hoping that both New Yorkers would attend. Laurie had promised to come, but wasn't sure if Stan would accompany. Stanford had received Eric's letter, Laurie noted, but was still quite affected by Eric's.... Even Laurie had a hard time putting into words what had happened to Lynne's husband, but as Lynne glanced to where Eric and Louie laughed together, she wanted to reassure Laurie that despite the damage, Eric was just fine.

To Lynne, Eric's physical deficiencies were muted by his presence, both at her side within their home and at night in their bedroom. The first weeks he'd been back, but she wasn't yet able to be intimate, had probably been for the best, or maybe now that they did make love, Lynne could be so magnanimous. As Fran and Marek continued chatting, Lynne focused on her husband, who was engaged in conversation with Louie's youngest boys, Johnny and Brad. Without Paul, those two Canfields had grown bored, but Eric asked them various questions, making Lynne's heart pound. While Cary was only two months old, once she had weaned herself, Lynne wanted to try for another baby. She would be thirty-four later that year, and the idea of having a son no longer seemed.... She winced momentarily, for throughout her recent pregnancy, Lynne had only desired a daughter. But Eric's hearty laughter was somewhat different than what he projected when it was only the four of them. He would be a terrific father to a little boy, and Lynne smiled slyly. After everyone had gone, she might ask him when he wanted to try again.

She returned to the conversation, but Sally interrupted, Cary wailing in her arms. Lynne stood, taking the baby, thanking Sally for holding her. As Lynne headed to the kitchen, Fran followed, but the two mothers said little as Helene had found them, Jane too. Fran held those girls on her lap as Lynne nursed Cary, warm smiles shared between all. Then Jane began to yawn, followed by Helene, which stirred Fran and then Lynne's yawns. All four ladies laughed softly as Fran kissed the tops of both girls' heads.

"We should be on our way," Fran said. "Church's in the morning, plus I think Cary needs her sleep."

"Mama, can Jane come home with us?" Helene asked.

"Not tonight. But I foresee plenty of sleepovers for you girls in the future." Fran chuckled, then gazed at Lynne. "Ann too. What a trio they're gonna be."

"I agree, and Cary will be nipping at their heels." Lynne glanced at her infant, then to where Jane snuggled against Fran. No longer did Jane look at all like a baby, her long wavy hair pulled back by a headband. Several strands had escaped, curly brown ringlets along her face, her blue eyes a lighter shade than before. Since Eric's return, Jane's eyes seemed more gray to Lynne, although when Sam held her, it was as if their eye color was identical. She giggled at that thought, then yawned again. Perhaps she was merely tired, but her eldest wasn't as she used to be.

Lynne hadn't met Frannie until Helene was nearly Jane's age. Now Helene was a ringleader for the younger set, which Fran probably appreciated, for within her family, Helene would always be the baby. Lynne looked at Fran, who met her gaze with an understanding nod. Time's passage was most notable on little ones, but its healing propensities covered all.

Fran hadn't asked Lynne about Eric's shoulder, and according to Renee, Fran hadn't inquired of Sam either. Lynne wouldn't offer an explanation now; it didn't seem that Frannie required it. And the Canfield children would most likely follow their mother and father's lead, for Louie seemed the same as his wife. As he entered the kitchen, gentle laughter following him, Lynne's heart was calm, for Eric was right behind Louie, Johnny holding Eric's left hand, while Brad gripped his father's right. "Seems it's about bedtime for everyone," Louie said, stepping to where Fran sat. "A good party will do that to a person."

"A party's only as fine as those in attendance." Eric stood right behind Lynne. "It's been wonderful having you all here. Shall we do it again in two weeks?"

Johnny and Brad began badgering their parents while Louie laughed. "What was this, the practice session?"

"Something like that," Eric said, patting Lynne's shoulder. "If nothing else, Jane's had her big day, time for Cary to have the same."

Fran handed Helene to Louie, then stood, still with Jane in her grasp. "But for that party, you'll need to tell me what to bring, I insist."

"Deviled eggs," Eric said.

Lynne giggled. "I don't even have a menu yet." There would be a few more guests at the baptism, but their friends from St. Matthew's wouldn't be among them, families wishing to be together for Easter. "I'll think about it this week and let you know."

"How about Renee and I plan lunch? We are the godmothers."

"I'm sure Laurie will appreciate that," Eric laughed.

Louie chuckled too, as Fran nodded. "Sounds like a plan. I'll talk to Renee and one of us will call you Lynne. In the meantime, this little girl needs her daddy." Frannie approached Eric, who carefully took Jane in a one-armed hug. Jane wrapped her arms around Eric's neck, then settled against his left side. Lynne had watched that embrace evolve; it seemed Eric had enough strength to hold Jane in that manner, and Jane had learned to grasp tightly, although Lynne wondered if it caused Eric discomfort. She didn't see any on his face, only a beatific smile as Jane let out a happy sigh.

Louie rounded up the rest of the children as Frannie helped her boys into their jackets. Within minutes all nine Canfields were in their coats, offering Jane some last birthday salutations, then their thanks for such a wonderful party. Fran kissed Lynne's cheek, then clutched Eric's right hand. Lynne observed how Eric didn't flinch from her touch, smiling as she told him to sleep well. He walked Fran to the door, the rest already outside. Frannie nodded at Lynne, then wished them both a good evening.

Once Cary was asleep, Eric wheeled the bassinet just outside the master bedroom. Lynne laid her baby in it, then returned to bed, where Eric waited for her. They made a hasty but satisfying love, then she rested along his left side, his right hand placed along her hip. She had quickly grown used to these positions, also how lovemaking had changed. The sensations were more intense, the afterglow more tender. After so many months of separation, both Snyders only wished to be as close as possible.

While they'd made love, Lynne pondered her earlier thoughts about a having third child; she remembered feeling the same after Jane was born, but that was right after the birth. Lynne wondered if it was merely instinct, keeping the human race afloat all this time. But far within her another notion ruled; for how many years had she ached to have this man's baby, and now that she could, and he was home.... "Eric, once Cary's done nursing, I wanna get pregnant again."

As soon as she finished speaking, Eric lightly tapped her hip, although she wondered if he had wanted to affect more vigorous actions. She was pleased that he could move those fingers, yet a part of him seemed to tense up; was that due to her request, or his limitations. "Honey, I know that might sound crazy," she continued, "but I'll be thirty-four soon and...."

He had laid his entire right hand along her hip, making her cry softly. "Oh Eric, I can't begin to explain it other than I love you and you're home and, and...." Tears precluded the rest of her thoughts, which were a tangle; the largest was that she loved being his wife, also adored being a mother. Lynne felt more comfortable around Frannie than Renee when it came to parenthood, but she assumed after time those sensations would be equal within her. But trumping that was how she felt about her husband. "I love you," she warbled. "I just wanna have your...."

His kiss seemed to note his assent, and within minutes they were making love again. How precious was this man, she thought, as he lay along her body like they were of one soul. Lynne stroked his back, then gripped him as pleasure engulfed her. Eric breathed heavily, then whispered her name in a manner that made her shiver. It was as if he was still a hawk, crying out for her to save him.

When they were through, Lynne cradled him as she used to years ago right after he'd come home. Yet Eric had been back for over a month, but perhaps the length of his sojourn, as well as the damage to his arm, would take ages to overcome. Lynne gently caressed his right shoulder, the scars rough under her fingertips. "Is this all right?" she asked quietly. He nodded, setting several kisses along her skin. She continued tracing the scars, giving thanks for each one. They meant he had returned to her. She couldn't ask for more than that.

Then she smiled, for she had requested an additional blessing. "Eric, don't worry about what I said. It's just hormones." She giggled, for in part that was true. She was fully healed from Cary's birth, but as long as she breastfed, a different set of ideas ruled her heart. Then she sighed, very softly, hoping Eric hadn't heard her. She did want to be pregnant again, this time with her husband fully involved. Lynne would always be grateful to Laurie, and his presence had provided her with a sibling of sorts, which would last them the rest of their lives. But no one could replace Eric, and she closed her eyes, hearing his steady breathing, feeling it too, right along her chest. At times humans weren't much different than animals, she allowed, but no other creatures loved in this manner.

"Lynne, I'd love to have another baby with you."

She opened her eyes, then looked at him, still snuggled against her. "Oh Eric, really?"

He wouldn't meet her gaze, but he nodded. "Oh God yes." Again he pecked along her torso, then his kissed grew more ardent. Lynne inhaled sharply, then stifled a moan. Eric didn't stop until she begged him for more.

After they were through, Lynne lay flat on her back, Eric curled against her, but facing the wall. Often they fell asleep this way, for he couldn't lie on his right side, but he seemed to need to be as close to her as was possible. In a few minutes she would get up, open their door, but she wouldn't wheel the bassinet into the room. When Cary woke, Lynne would fetch her, leaving Eric to retrieve the bassinet, but that routine wouldn't last much longer. Lynne wanted to introduce Cary into the nursery, just so parents could have their privacy. And, she smiled to herself, if another baby came along sooner rather than later, all the better. Lynne didn't desire a family as large as the Canfields, but she definitely wanted more children, and hopefully one would be a son. She didn't mention that, and probably wouldn't, until the proper time permitted. But Eric seemed in agreement with her, and for now that was enough.

Eric's breathing had become rhythmic, making Lynne yawn. Carefully she got out of bed, but he wasn't disturbed. She put on her nightclothes, then opened the door, hearing Cary's rapid inhalations and Jane's gentle snores. Familial joy coursed through a mother, and Lynne got back into bed feeling sated and sleepy. She lay on her left, but didn't snuggle against her husband, not wishing to disturb him. But Eric seemed troubled, for he twitched, then groaned. Lynne reached out to touch him, but right as she did, he thrashed violently. She took back her hand, inching away from him. He plopped onto his back, mumbling to himself. Lynne couldn't make out the words, but the tenor was that of a man fighting for his life.

"Eric, honey, wake up. You're having a bad dream." She spoke softly, but as he remained agitated, she increased her volume. "Eric, it's okay, you're home now, no one's gonna...."

He sat up, but the room was dark, and Lynne couldn't make out his expression. He breathed hard, then turned in her direction. "It was a dream," he said. "A terrible dream."

"What happened?" Lynne scooted toward him, grasping his right hand.

"I dunno, just something awful." He placed his left hand on hers, gripping tightly. Then he sighed. "Hope I didn't wake the baby."

Lynne looked toward the open doorway, but heard nothing. "She's fine. I've been thinking about moving her to the nursery, maybe I'll try that tonight." She smiled, for while she was exhausted, another day was right around the corner, which was one more reason for them to not waste time in adding to their family; Lynne would nap when the girls did, but they probably wouldn't go to church that morning. They had yet to go as a family, but Lynne wouldn't rush it. If they didn't get to St. Matthew's until the baptism, plenty of Sundays were waiting.

She kept these thoughts to herself as Eric lay back down. She joined him, snuggling against his right side. "I love you honey," she whispered. "This's just gonna take time."

He grunted, which she took as his agreement. She was too tired to think anything else, and she drifted off lying next to him. When she woke a few hours later, Cary wailing in the hallway, Lynne noticed Eric wasn't in bed. She collected the baby, fed and changed her, then wheeled the bassinet into their room, placing Cary in it. Lynne put on her robe, then headed downstairs, where she found her husband sleeping on the sofa. Eric was in a semi-seated position, snoring softly. Lynne set another blanket over him, praying for him as she returned to their bed.
Chapter 221

Laurie called the Snyders on St. Patrick's Day, wishing he was there to enjoy Sam's delicious cooking. Lynne quietly noted that they weren't sharing supper with the Aherns that evening, explaining Paul's apprehensions. Laurie was shocked, then he sighed. "Guess the other shoe finally dropped."

Lynne had briefly considered the same, but kept that from Laurie. "He was friendly with me, but was pretty busy with his cousins."

"Well, he does get on well with Johnny and Brad." Laurie sighed again. "Hopefully it won't last long."

"He's in my prayers." Lynne glanced at Eric, but he didn't seem eager to get on the phone. "So Laurie, how're things there?"

Paul wasn't the only one on Lynne's mind; would Stanford make the trip in two weeks? Laurie made small talk, then noted he'd heard from Seth, who was still head over heels in love with that Scottish painter. "He sends his best to you all, not sure if he's written you yet, although he says he's gonna." Laurie paused, then continued. "I've got my ticket for Easter, but Stan's.... To be honest, I don't know if he's coming with me."

Lynne shivered, but not for her husband, who now stood at her side, his left arm wrapped around her waist. They hadn't spoken about another child, but Eric's intentions were clear, which eased Lynne's heart. "Well, we hope to see you both." She wanted to say more, but didn't wish to badger Laurie. Tears welled in her eyes, making further speech impossible. As she sniffled, Eric took the phone from her hand.

She walked out of the kitchen, not hearing what her husband said. The house was quiet, both girls napping. Lynne had nearly lain down too, but household tasks had kept her busy. Now she felt exhausted, but if she sat on the sofa, a baby would cry. Instead she wiped her face, then stepped into the sunroom, which was warm. She laughed at herself; she needed a bracing walk outside, but she remained where she was, breathing deeply, praying as she did so. Whether or not Stanford came for the baptism was out of her hands, as was how Paul reacted to Eric, and how Eric reacted to.... He'd had another nightmare last night, but Cary had slept in the nursery since Sunday evening. Only Lynne's slumber had been disrupted, but she might turn in once Jane was bathed and Cary was fed. Lynne inwardly checked off all that remained for the day, then turned to see Eric coming into the room. He wore an odd smile, which lessened some of her weariness. "So, what'd you learn?" she asked, joining him in the middle of the sunroom.

He stroked her face, then laid his left hand along her belly. "We had a good chat, my God I miss him." Eric chuckled, then continued. "I told him I understood, I mean, there's so much for Stan to take on board. He said Stan read my letter, but they didn't discuss it. I think that's what Laurie's most worried about. Stan doesn't wanna talk about it and...."

Lynne nodded, not noticing her husband's slight frown or his uncomfortable tone. "Do you think, I mean...." She sighed, then leaned against Eric's left side, embracing him. "I so want them both here, but it's out of our hands."

He kissed her cheek, holding her close. "It is, but that doesn't mean...."

Again he paused, and this time Lynne pulled away, finding anguish in his eyes. "Honey, what is it?"

He smiled, although Lynne still saw distress on his face. "Eric, did Laurie say something else?"

Eric shook his head, then pulled her toward him. She went into his one-armed embrace, closing her eyes, but no longer was she tired. Something was troubling him, something he was trying to keep from her. Had he changed his mind about another baby, did he fear Stanford's presence? She wanted to ask, but he kissed her. Lynne didn't fight the exchange, and within seconds she was lost in the wonder of this man next to her. He ended the kiss only to tell her how much he loved and needed her, and how he longed to have another child. Lynne began to cry, but her tears were cut short by Eric's passionate advances. They hastily stepped into the living room, plopped onto the sofa, then engaged in further necking. A few times Eric flinched, then they changed positions. Lynne knew either of their daughters could wake at any time, but she had lived without Eric for so long and....

Suddenly he jerked back, moaning not in pleasure, but from a pain that Lynne felt within her soul. She sat up, staring at him, again finding immense agony in his eyes, also etched in lines along his brow. "Eric, are you all right?"

"It just hurts a little."

His voice was terse, making Lynne tremble. "Honey, let me see...."

He flinched from her touch, then they stared at each other. She was reminded of their earliest days, before he'd told her about turning into a hawk. Even then she had felt a connection with him, but something had stood between them. After he told her, her own incredulity acted as a barrier, but it hadn't lasted for long. He changed form shortly after informing her of his secret, and never again had he kept anything from her. What was he holding back now?

She didn't ask, for guilt edged his eyes, then Lynne gasped softly. It was more than guilt, akin to how he'd appeared after divulging what she had found impossible to believe. She had thought him mad until witnessing him alter, then questioned her own sanity until he returned. After that, Lynne had accepted an inescapable truth, her life as if starting over. That same sense rumbled through her, although Eric acted as though nothing had happened. She caressed his face, but his skin was cool to her touch. Just as she was about to ask him to tell her what lay on his heart, Cary's shrill cries were detected. Within seconds, Jane's voice was heard, yet Lynne didn't stir. She also didn't move her eyes from Eric's gaze, silently imploring him to share his burden.

His lips trembled, then he glanced at the floor. "I'll...." He shook his head, barely making eye contact. "I wish I could get them, sorry."

The cries continued, and Lynne stood from the sofa, smoothing down her blouse. "I'll be right back." Quickly she took the stairs, and as she opened the nursery door, Jane sat up in her bed, pointing to the crib. Lynne patted Jane's head, then collected Cary, placing her over her shoulder. "Go use the potty Jane," Lynne said softly, bobbing Cary, who still wailed. "Mama will be right there."

Jane ran from the room, but Cary still wept. Lynne's milk came in, and she sighed, then stepped into the hallway. Eric had followed her, and he headed to the house bathroom. "Go feed her, I'll get Jane," he said.

Lynne nodded, taking the baby back into the nursery. A mother sat in the rocker, and within minutes Cary was settled at Lynne's breast. Jane and Eric reappeared, Jane holding her father's withered hand. Lynne tried not to stare at them, but it was as if Eric wanted her attention, even if it meant spilling his guts. As Lynne glanced his way, she fought tears. He still wore that anguished look, but it was tempered with deep shame. Lynne wanted to speak, but as with Laurie, words were impossible. Instead she nodded at her husband, then focused on their baby, secure at Lynne's chest.

Throughout the week, two couples avoided unpleasant subjects. It was easier for the Snyders, for not only did children distract, but Lynne knew that when Eric was ready, he would speak about what lay on his heart. For Laurie and Stanford, the looming silence was harder to breach, but on Saturday morning, Laurie had to say something. He was leaving for Oregon next Wednesday, and as it stood, he was flying alone. He'd mulled over how to diplomatically approach this topic, but as Stanford finished breakfast, announcing he was going for a walk, Laurie cleared his throat. "Before you leave, I need to ask you something."

Stanford didn't meet Laurie's gaze, folding the newspaper in half, then placing it in the center of the kitchen table. "Yes?"

Laurie rolled his eyes, then refilled his coffee cup, bringing it to where Stanford still sat. Laurie took his chair, placed the mug near the paper, then looked right at Stan. "Are you going to the baptism or not?"

Stanford fidgeted, then sighed. "I suppose."

Laurie inhaled deeply, feeling as if he was dealing with a truculent child. "Well," he said, exhaling with force, "do you have a ticket yet?"

Stanford stared at him. Then Stan shook his head. "All week I've tried to make the reservation. Every time I do...." He sighed again, clasping his hands on the table very close to where Laurie did the same. "There's just so much baggage now, but I imagine you feel the same."

Laurie nodded, but it wasn't to the depth that Stan suffered. He grasped Stan's hands, wishing to place a kiss along Stan's knuckles. They hadn't made love all week, not that Laurie hadn't tried to entice this man. Stan had closed himself off not only to Eric, but Laurie would be patient with his lover. He possessed newfound forbearance for Stanford's occasional bouts of moodiness, and this event certainly required a deft touch. Laurie smiled inwardly; he would manage Stan as if he was one of Laurie's most difficult sculptors, or, Laurie then winced, as though Stan was Seth in the throes of depression.

Yet Stan wasn't in need of a shrink; what could he tell Dr. Walsh without making the psychiatrist think he was certifiable? Stanford needed to see Eric, and then.... Laurie lifted Stan's right hand to his lips, placing a tender kiss on it. Stan glanced at him, then gently nodded. They didn't need to speak about what waited out west, for Stan would travel at Laurie's side, no other course of action possible. Laurie continued to grasp Stan's hands, for he felt the upset within him, although Laurie wasn't sure what bothered Stanford more, Eric's injury or having to face a fact about which he still wasn't certain. Either subject would give anyone pause, but together they formed a bulwark, yet Laurie also noted Stan's great willingness to believe. Laurie gazed at Stanford, who now owned several wrinkles along his eyes and mouth. This with the Snyders had aged Stan, but Laurie had to wonder if a softer nature now ruled Stanford's heart. Jane and Cary were part of it, although Stan might deny that outright. Lynne too had altered Stan, as if she was the sister he never had, one who fully accepted him. But Eric wasn't merely Stan's client. He wasn't a brother either, how Laurie thought of him. Just who was Eric to Stan now was the question, for the exhibition was over, paintings on their way to their owners. Would the blue barn be hanging on the Aherns' wall in a week's time, Laurie then mused. And if so, might it give Stan any relief?

"I love you," Laurie suddenly whispered, thinking of what Stan pictured within that barn. They never spoke about it, but now that image burned in Laurie's brain, also seared his heart. The inclusive nature of Stan's dreams probably had never stirred within that man's mind until Eric painted that canvas, yet over the years it became more strongly ingrained within Stanford, and now.... Now the notion of family coursed through Stan, not one formed with Laurie, but subtly knit together by.... Laurie's heart pounded at that idea; it had nothing to do with what most couples considered when it came to their immediate kin, but what two men could fashion, or more rightly, what Stanford had slowly permitted into his heart. He'd had no recourse, Laurie allowed, once Eric and Lynne had come east when she was pregnant with Jane.

From that time onward, Stanford hadn't been able to deny what dwelled within every sane individual. Even Seth had fallen in love, and while no mention of marriage, let alone children, had been raised, Laurie had discerned it in Seth's blissful tone and within his written words. He'd never dreamed to feel so fulfilled, and it wasn't sculpting to provide such ecstasy. It was sharing his soul with someone suitably matched in need, desire, and affection. Laurie fought a smile, for it might be several years in coming, yet he envisioned Seth and Adrienne as parents, much like Eric and Lynne and Sam and Renee. Seth would be much older than those men had been, but Adrienne was only in her mid-twenties. Then Laurie glanced at Stan. All he'd ever wanted, but was loathe to admit, was acceptance. His grandfather had married to maintain the outward lie, but Stan hadn't chosen that path. Still, he ached for a family that would embrace him despite his differences, and in the Snyders and those who came with them, Stanford had found that treasure. Now that dream lay scattered, as if Stanford had to traverse the American South, finding pieces of Eric, then somehow managing to set that man aright.

It was as if Eric was Stan's youngest sibling, although Eric was older than Melanie. He was the only brother Stan would ever have, although Stan might never admit to needing one. But even though Eric was several years Stan's junior, no space separated them. They were well-matched in intelligence, Eric perhaps the only person other than Laurie to best Stan when it came to wit. And through Lynne, Stanford had received the softer side of affection that none of his sisters could proffer. Only Stanford's mother had provided him with unbridled warmth. Agatha had her role, but it was that of another maternal figure. A man only needed so many mothers, Laurie smiled inwardly. But a sister's devotion was priceless.

Then Laurie's chest grew tight; not even his sisters understood him as well as Lynne did. He would never forget seeing her right after Cary was born, her words of gratitude bringing him to tears. She had gone further, placing him and Stan within her life, and those of her daughters, as if all were related by blood. Again Laurie kissed Stan's knuckles, then released his hands. Those bonds would never be shattered, but Eric's return had ruptured a seam. The scars he bore were like tears along the fabric of Stan's newly made family. Could Stan risk going west, the scope of what waited a great stress along those now fraying seams? Laurie was eager to see Eric, ached to hold the girls, and wanted to hug Lynne until she hollered. But Laurie's family had prepped him for such closeness. Stanford might wish for that sort of life, but it was another thing to accept it from outstretched hands.

Stanford sighed abruptly, making Laurie shiver; had he been reading Laurie's mind? Grabbing his coffee cup, Laurie leaned back in his seat, slowly sipping the brew. It didn't taste much differently than what Agatha made, then Laurie smiled wryly. Her cooking, as well as the coffee, hadn't returned to how Laurie remembered them. Both men felt that way, but neither had the nerve to say anything. Laurie chuckled, taking another sip. What he would give for a cup made by Renee Ahern. Sam was the best chef Laurie knew, but Renee had earned equal stripes in the kitchen. In a week's time, Laurie would have the best of everything.

Then he grimaced; only if Stan accompanied would that be true. And even then, those days might be as awkward as the initial ones in January when Stanford traveled for Cary's birth. Yet the difficulty had been set aside, and Laurie had to believe that would again be the case. Stan just needed to....

Stanford stood, interrupting Laurie's thoughts. "What?" Laurie asked.

Stanford glanced around the room, then met Laurie's gaze. "I should call the travel agent. Hopefully I can get the same flights you're on."

Laurie placed the mug where it had been on the table, then stood. "You sure?"

Stanford shrugged, then sighed. "I need to see him eventually. Better now than later."

"Well, when you put it like that." Laurie nearly rolled his eyes, but Stanford's tone was somber. "My information's in the library, I put the dates on your calendar."

"I know." Now Stan released a huff. "If we're on separate planes, I hope that won't be a problem."

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

Stanford raised his eyebrows, then turned to walk away. He took two steps, then stopped. "Laurie, just promise me one thing."

Laurie stared at Stan's back; he'd never been asked to promise this man anything. "What?"

Stan took a breath, then exhaled loudly. "Nothing, it's nothing."

Laurie fought the urge to ask again. He sat back down, then grabbed his mug, sipping his coffee as Stanford silently exited the room.
Chapter 222

On Monday morning Sigrun and Klaudia chose their usual seats on the bus. Sigrun had the window, but instead of admiring the hints of spring, she gazed at Klaudia; they had spoken little at the bus stop, but Sigrun was dying to know about Klaudia's weekend. Sigrun had been glad Klaudia went to see Marek, and she cleared her throat, but only for effect. Sigrun hadn't smoked in nearly two months and while she still weighed an extra kilo, her health felt much improved.

Klaudia however seemed to be smoking in Sigrun's stead; she'd been late reaching the bus stop, claiming she'd needed to buy cigarettes. Sigrun wondered if that was merely an excuse to not talk about Marek. When Sigrun pictured Klaudia's son, no other person intruded, but she assumed that wasn't the case for Klaudia. She might have told that pastor she wanted nothing more to do with him, but Klaudia was a terrible liar, or Sigrun knew her too well. Then Sigrun had a small chuckle. Her daughter Astrid had yet to make an announcement, but Sigrun would bet a whole carton of smokes that Astrid and Knut were expecting a baby.

"What's so funny?" Klaudia asked, glancing in Sigrun's direction.

Sigrun revealed her assumption, making Klaudia smile. "Has she said anything to you?"

"Not yet, but she's never been able to keep things from me, for better or worse." Sigrun raised her eyebrows, then chuckled again. "I think they meant to say something at supper a few weeks ago, but Harald was in a mood, so...." Sigrun rolled her eyes as Klaudia giggled. A grandchild might lighten Harald's heart, but perhaps Astrid and Knut were waiting until she was further along. "She's coming over on Friday, but Knut has to work. I'll see what I can wheedle out of her."

Klaudia nodded, then patted Sigrun's hands. "Well, give her my congratulations if she says anything." Klaudia sighed, then met Sigrun's gaze. "Suppose it's time, they've been married a few years now."

"Uh-huh. Time keeps moving along, no way to stop it."

Sigrun wanted to say more, but Klaudia seemed to understand, for she clasped her hands in her lap, staring ahead. For a minute neither spoke, then Klaudia cleared her throat. "Marek's better," she said softly. "I spent all Saturday with him, he must have called me mamma a dozen times."

Sigrun only nodded, but she wanted to hug Klaudia. "That's fantastic," she said flatly. Then she smiled, grasping Klaudia's hands. "I'm glad you went up there."

"Yeah, I nearly didn't, but the weather was fine and...." She squeezed Sigrun's hands, then sighed as she released them. "The doctors can't tell me the basis for the improvement, and the nurses seem stumped as well. But they're pleased, I mean, the nurses are. We took a short walk down the hallway. He's not fast on his feet, but he didn't need my assistance."

"Maybe by summer you two will be trekking around the woods."

Klaudia nodded. "I know I said I'd never do that again, but if he...." Her voice trailed off, then she inhaled deeply, coughing hard afterwards. "My God, I need to cut back." She coughed again, then laughed. "How're you doing it?"

"I'm not sure. Harald still thinks I'm plotting against him."

"And if Astrid has good news, all hell's gonna break loose."

Sigrun laughed out loud. "Indeed. But things change." She glanced out the window as she spoke. "Spring's not far away and who knows what else's waiting."

Klaudia grunted in agreement, making Sigrun smile, but she kept her face to the window. Another minute of silence passed, then Sigrun looked at Klaudia, who was wiping something from her eyes. "Do you have any plans for this weekend?"

"No, why?"

"Well, it's Easter. Astrid wanted to know if we could come to their house for lunch, I'm sure she wouldn't mind one more."

"But what if they plan to tell you about...." Klaudia fought a smile, but lost.

Sigrun shook her head. "If they do, you're like family. She never said Knut's folks were coming, so I doubt they'll say anything. You think about it, but if you don't have anything else planned...."

"Actually, I was thinking about going to see Marek. One of the nurses said my presence seems to make a difference."

Sigrun couldn't help herself, tightly grasping Klaudia's hands. "By all means, go see him."

Klaudia blinked away tears, nodding her head. "If the weather holds I just might."

Both women gazed out the window, snow covering the ground, but a few trees sported the tiniest hints of green leaves. "You visit with Marek, I'll gently badger my daughter. Then in a week, we'll compare notes."

"Sounds good." Klaudia again squeezed Sigrun's hands, both still staring out the window.

Later that day, Lynne called Marek; two New Yorkers were coming for the baptism. Laurie had telephoned with Stan's itinerary, which other than the first flight was the same as Laurie's. Marek offered to collect them from the airport on Wednesday afternoon, and Lynne gladly accepted. She asked if he would like to stay for supper that night, and Marek said it was a fair trade. He laughed as he spoke, but understood the extra company might ease Stanford's unrest. Marek closed the call, then glanced at the calendar; the New Yorkers were staying until next Tuesday, and perhaps Marek would leave that morning free if they needed a lift back to the airport. Sam could also take them, but perhaps Marek's position as a foreigner might be better for Stanford. Or maybe he considered all those out west the same when it came to Eric. None of them had any power to heal him, although daily Marek prayed for that miracle.

He sought that also for his namesake, but concerning Klaudia, Marek only asked for her peace of mind and to be forgiven. Her last letter remained with the rest, although her first one was in Eric's possession. Marek didn't need it back; the mystery of Mrs. Henrichsen was a footnote which now dwelled in the blue barn. That painting was expected to arrive home this week, as well as The Pastor and His Charge. Eric had asked if Marek wanted to display it at St. Matthew's, but Marek declined. A few parishioners had seen the one hanging in the kitchen, and it was becoming a bit of a distraction, although he never denied anyone access to it. He walked toward that room, stopping in the doorway. Gazing at his image, it was as if he saw a different reality; the little girl in his arms wasn't Jane, but Marek's own daughter. And a ghostly afterimage now emerged; Marek observed the outlines of a woman, watching from the distance. He stepped to where the canvas hung, studying it. Indeed there seemed to be a figure placed between Marek and Jane, or was Marek merely seeing what he wanted. He smiled at himself, for finding one's own life amid the subject was one of art's joys. He closed his eyes, prayed, then again viewed the painting. The figure was now accompanied by another, as though they were holding hands.

Marek made himself some tea, but took it into the library. Twenty minutes later Mrs. Kenny arrived, and he fixed her a cup as well, bringing a small plate of cookies to where both worked for over an hour. He didn't mention the New Yorkers' impending visit or what he'd seen in the painting. When they broke for lunch, he kept his eyes from that canvas, but caught Carla staring at it. Then she stood, stepping toward the sink, again gazing at Eric's handiwork. "Pastor, it looks different today," she said.

"Really?"

Carla nodded. "Maybe this sounds crazy, I mean, I've admired this piece since Mr. Snyder gave it to you." Her voice grew soft as she said Eric's name, but Marek didn't think she did it on purpose, for she kept speaking. "It's such a beautiful painting, but all his work is." Now she paused deliberately. Marek had told her what had happened to Eric, and her reaction had been akin to most who knew him. Perhaps only Fran Canfield seemed immune to the tragic loss, or Marek smiled inwardly, maybe Frannie had the deepest faith of them all.

"Pastor, do you see a lady here?" Carla pointed to the center of the painting, exactly where Marek had noticed that image.

He stood, then joined her, nodding his head. "Just this morning. At first I only saw the woman, but I don't think she's alone."

Carla put her hands on her hips, humming quietly. Then she gasped. "My goodness, you're right. She's holding hands with someone, a little boy maybe?"

"That's what I thought too."

They looked at each other, then Carla dropped her arms to her sides. "How many months has it been hanging here and we're just noticing that today?" she chuckled. "At least we both see it."

Marek grasped her hand. "I am relieved for your assent."

She smiled while squeezing his hand, then she released him. "Pastor, have I told you recently how much I enjoy working here?"

Marek smiled. "Mrs. Kenny, I too find it very agreeable."

"It's also never boring." She giggled, then grew still, absorbed in the painting. "Are you going to ask him about it?"

"I hadn't thought to, but maybe I should."

"Will you tell me what he says?"

Marek patted her shoulder. "Certainly." He wasn't sure how or when he might broach such a query. Maybe if Laurie also saw it, then Marek frowned. Laurie would have enough to consider, but perhaps the next time the Aherns were here. They hadn't attended St. Matthew's yesterday, but at Jane's party Paul hadn't seemed distressed. Marek would keep an eye on that boy on Sunday, leaving this latest mystery for further investigation. He was glad Carla also saw it, but as to what it meant, or if Eric had even intended such a.... Had he painted the blue barn conscious of all it would represent? Marek was eager to view that piece again, but what might now reside in the barn in addition to his family?

Then he trembled, for as he looked again at the woman's faint outlines, his family stared at him, the child holding its mother's hand now as clear to Marek as Jane's profile. Was that youngster supposed to represent Marek's namesake or.... His heart pounded, then his temples throbbed. Both aches were fleeting, but pain remaining within his soul couldn't be ignored. Carla again grasped his hand, which was slightly soothing, and Marek closed his eyes, praying for many, but mostly for whoever now resided within this canvas. As he opened his eyes, his pulse raced, but he breathed deeply, calming his nerves. Again he patted Carla's shoulder, then both returned to the table, finishing their meals.

In Tel Aviv, Seth and Adrienne shared supper with Tovah and Ben. Adrienne wasn't culinary minded, but Seth had coaxed from his mother a few recipes, although the one for chocolate cake hadn't been sent his way. He'd laughed at his mother's note; if Seth ever got married, Wilma might consider parting with that recipe. He hadn't taken her words as an impetus to advance his relationship. Perhaps his mom simply thought sending the recipe to Israel was far enough away to keep it from her sister's hands.

Seth wasn't sure how long he would stay here, although he had no other pressing place to be. Adrienne expressed interest in visiting America, but Seth wasn't ready to go back, or more rightly, he knew the timing wasn't right. He would love to embrace his mother, giving himself back to her in a manner she had probably never imagined. He ached to see Laurie, and would appreciate chatting with his sisters and the rest of the family. But if he took Adrienne to Brooklyn, a trip west would be expected. And while Seth wanted to meet Eric under normal circumstances, that man had much to work through in the interim.

That both Laurie and Stanford were going there for Easter was good; Seth had been relieved for Laurie's brief phone call just a few hours ago, not that Seth cared if the men shared most of the same flights. That Stanford had booked the trip was essential, and not only for Stan. Eric needed to.... Seth sighed, then gazed at his girlfriend. Adrienne knew everything, or all that Seth was able to express concretely. Eric's injury was terrible, but it wasn't the end of the world.

Maybe only Seth could view it as such; he didn't wish to diminish all Eric had lost, nor what would be denied to those who admired Eric's talent. Seth was simply relieved Eric had made it home, and the future would solve itself. He'd felt the same about Laurie and Stanford, and that had worked out well. Then Seth smiled, again glancing at Adrienne. There was no way any of them could predict what might happen. Life was too short to get caught up in foretelling tomorrow's events.

Seth was still living with his cousin and Ben, but after some recent sales of his work, he was considering moving out. He'd ask Adrienne to move in with him, and if that seemed shocking, again Seth wouldn't permit other opinions to sway his mind. He loved this woman, did want to marry her, and if she wanted children.... He chuckled, for that had been the evening's topic of conversation. Aunt Sheila was pestering Tovah about when she and Ben would start a family, and if moving to Miami was on their agenda. Seth didn't think Ben wanted to live in Florida, and Tovah seemed happy in Israel. Seth paid more attention to Tovah's voice than what she said; her tone was peaceful when speaking about Tel Aviv, strained when mentioning Miami. Then she broke into Yiddish, making Adrienne laugh, Ben correcting her. The chit-chat reminded Seth of his childhood, older aunts and uncles speaking a mixture of tongues. His and Laurie's mothers only spoke English, but Yiddish phrases permeated their sentences. Seth understood plenty, but speaking it was another story.

Adrienne's accent no longer sounded odd to him, then he wondered if that was due to loving her, or merely being used to so many inflections. Daily he met people from around the world, and no longer did their Jewishness stand out. He wondered what that meant, then found the room was silent. He smiled, glancing first at his girlfriend, then to his cousin. "Did I miss something?" he asked.

Tovah shook her head. "I'd been talking to you for ten minutes."

"Five maybe," Ben grinned.

"At least two," Adrienne giggled. She grasped his right hand, a pleasant warmth coursing through him from her touch. Then he shivered, hoping she didn't notice. He peered at their clasped hands; did Eric ever use that hand for anything, even reaching out for his wife?

"Sorry," Seth said absently. Then he smiled. "I was thinking about...." Being a Jew meant so little here; finally he was able to emphasize his art, but that had been stolen from someone far more talented, how Seth compared their gifts. But perhaps that was erroneous, for who was to say which man possessed a greater aptitude. Yet suddenly Seth felt a grievous loss within his soul, although unlike before, this wasn't due to anything he'd done, it wasn't even about him. He glanced at his left hand, then back to his right, Adrienne's still within his grip. He squeezed her hand and she reciprocated. Then she met his gaze, her green eyes wide in her face.

Ben cleared his throat, then took another serving of potatoes. Tovah mentioned how happy her mother was to have shared her recipe for upside down cake. Then Tovah stood, asking if anyone wanted dessert. Ben said he would, as soon as he'd finished what he'd just taken. Adrienne added her vote, then Seth found himself asking for a slice of cake. He gripped Adrienne's hand, then leaned toward her, kissing her cheek. She nodded, but didn't make eye contact. Yet drops splashed down on their still clasped hands. Seth tipped her face toward his, those green eyes filled with tears.

In bed later that night he explained his thoughts, although he didn't feel a trip to America was imminent. Then he sighed; was that how Eric had felt when another transformation loomed? He said as much, unafraid to speak about anything with the woman he loved, and Adrienne responded somberly that perhaps they would need to travel to the American West.

Seth nodded, then wrapped her close. "But not yet," he said softly. "Eric needs time."

"Are you sure that's best?"

"Yeah, although don't ask me to explain it."

She snorted, then kissed him. "You're Mr. Enigmatic. Good thing I find that enormously attractive."

Seth laughed, then stroked her face. "And you're...." He wasn't sure how to qualify her within a single word; many sentences could be fashioned, making up all her attributes. "You're everything I ever wanted in a...."

He almost said wife, but refrained, as she had started kissing his chest. Then they were making love, which seem to convey all they felt about the other. In that action, Seth murmured her name, attaching his last name in a heady undertone. Immediately Adrienne grew still. "Did you just say what I think you said?" she whispered.

He nodded, breathless but certain. Then he chuckled. "I love you. Will you marry me?"

"Are you serious?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I wasn't."

Her lower lip quivered, then she began to cry. "When, I mean, soon or...."

"Whenever you're ready."

Still she wept, but her tears caused him no pain. Instead he cradled her in his arms. "Adrienne Gordon," he said again, "if you'll have me."

"Oh yes, oh my God Seth, yes," she blubbered, trembling against him. Seth held her more tightly, wondering what his mother and Laurie would think. Hopefully they wouldn't mind missing the ceremony. Seth would make this woman his wife long before they visited the United States.
Chapter 223

Instead of calling long distance to share the news, Seth wrote to his mother and Laurie. Wilma would learn first, while Laurie might get the scoop from his mom while in Oregon. Seth didn't think Laurie would mind, he might even think it appropriate that Wilma and Rose told their families. Seth and Adrienne weren't planning on getting married until after Passover, which coincided with Easter weekend. Seth's next plan of action was to find an apartment to share with his impending bride, then he would consider setting a date.

In Manhattan, Laurie was busy packing, while Stanford chased loose ends related to Eric's completed exhibition. Some of the paintings had already reached their new owners, although the blue barn was yet to arrive in Roseburg. Stanford had spoken with Sam briefly on Monday, but they hadn't discussed the upcoming visit. Stanford was grateful for Sam's discretion, as well as his patience. If the painting didn't arrive while Stanford was in Oregon, he would personally track it down before heading back east.

Sam and Renee weren't overly concerned about their artwork. Renee was busy organizing the baptismal lunch with Frannie while Sam visited with the Snyders, Ann in tow. They headed home right as Paul was done with kindergarten, then the Ahern family spent their afternoon as a foursome. Paul and Ann had never celebrated the religious aspects of Easter, and while an egg hunt was on the agenda, Sam wanted his children to be aware of the holiday's true meaning. Gently he told them the story of Jesus' last days, but no matter how he might wish to exclude Christ's suffering, there was no getting around it. It seemed incongruous with secular symbols, the first time Sam had noted such a gulf. He asked his sisters how they worked in the Easter Bunny and Frannie noted that spring's renewal was best feted by being outside amid new plants and flourishing trees. Easter seemed to have two meaning for Sam's sister, and he thanked her for her wisdom.

On Wednesday morning, Stanford and Laurie left New York on separate planes, meeting up in Chicago, then flying together to Roseburg. Lynne spent that morning cooking, then caring for her family. Eric was slightly pensive, Jane thrilled for their impending visitors. Cary took a long early nap, then woke hungrily. After a hearty lunch, she was in a good humor, easing some of her father's anxiety. After Cary was laid down for another rest, Lynne could still see disquiet in Eric's eyes, but she didn't press him about it. The New Yorkers were due to land at three that afternoon, and would be there in plenty of time for supper.

Two pies waited and soup bubbled on the stove. Lynne would fix a more elaborate meal tomorrow, what with so many extra hands, although she expected Eric and Stanford to seclude themselves for a private conversation. Yet Laurie knew this household well, and Lynne was aware of how much he longed to see both of her daughters. She had no preconceived ideas about the men's initial arrival, other than Jane would be in one man's grasp, Cary in the other. Probably Jane with Stanford, Lynne smiled to herself, stirring the soup. Then she headed into the living room where Jane played on the floor with Eric, a fire crackling behind them.

"Cary still sleeping?" Lynne asked her husband, joining them.

Eric nodded. "Wonder if she'll wake before they get here?"

Lynne glanced at her watch; it was nearly three o'clock. "Maybe I should get her up and feed her. Then Laurie can have her while...." She motioned to where Jane tucked her baby doll into a makeshift bed. "She'll keep her Uncle Stanford busy enough."

"Yeah, maybe you should," Eric sighed.

Lynne stroked his face. "I love you. I wish...."

"It'll be whatever it's gonna be. I'm glad Marek'll be here tonight." Eric stood, then walked toward the fire. He poked at the coals, adding one piece of wood. Then he faced his wife. "It's like they're coming for the first time, one last big mystery to explain."

Lynne nodded. "I am glad it's the both of them."

"I am too, don't get me wrong. You know what it's like? It's like when he first took me on as a client. I knew I had talent, but I didn't wanna disappoint him." Eric smiled wryly. "Haven't felt that way in a long time."

"Maybe he feels much the same." Lynne kissed Jane's head, then joined her husband. "The dynamics are wholly changed. It's like when we all went there last year."

Yet that trip now seemed like someone else's life; not only was Cary among them, but Eric was.... Caressing his right shoulder, Lynne was almost accustomed to the unnatural slope. She grasped his right hand, the skin cool, his digits loose and small. While he wore long sleeves, he couldn't camouflage his hand. "I've been praying for all of us," she said softly. "We'll see how it goes."

He nodded, slowly grasping her hand with his right. Gently she reciprocated, then he placed his left hand over hers. Eric kissed her and Lynne relished their exchange, which didn't end until Jane started tugging on Lynne's apron.

Eric broke away in laughter. "Sorry sweetie. Mommy and Daddy were just giving thanks."

Jane stared at them, stretching out her arms toward her father. Then suddenly she turned to her mother. Lynne picked her up, but Eric stepped close. "C'mere Jane."

She leaned toward him, and Eric grabbed her. "Just hold onto Daddy honey. I promise I won't let go."

Jane giggled, then spoke in what sounded like Polish. Lynne blinked away tears, then glanced at the stairs. "I'll get Cary. We'll meet you on the sofa."

"It's a plan," Eric said, only a faint trace of sorrow in his voice.

As Laurie's greetings rang through the house, Lynne burped Cary in the living room. Jane got off the couch, running to the kitchen, then was carried back to where her parents waited, Laurie toting her. Eric swallowed hard, seeing a mixture of elation and remorse on Laurie's face, but joy far outweighed regret. "My good God," Laurie said, holding back tears. "It's damned fantastic to see you."

Eric met Laurie in the middle of the room. He nodded, unable to speak, yet the relief of seeing this man again in this house was overwhelming. Their hug was awkward, but not due to Eric's mangled shoulder. Jane insisted on being a part of it, stirring Eric's laughter.

"I can't put her down," Laurie chuckled, wiping his eyes. "Eric, Jesus." Laurie paused, then set Jane to the floor. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, blew his nose, then wiped his face. Then he set his right hand on Eric's left shoulder. "I don't even know what to say first other than thank you." Laurie's tears fell freely. "Thanks for giving him back to us, for making it home, Christ, for everything."

Now the men embraced fully, and Eric inhaled with ease. "Thanks for taking care of Lynne and the girls." Eric didn't pull away, needing to account for the weeks when all he could do was squawk and peck at his wings. "And thank you for believing."

Laurie nodded, then chuckled, pulling away, gripping Eric's left hand. But he didn't speak, tears still rolling down his face. He nodded, then looked at Eric's right shoulder. As he did, Eric gazed past Laurie, finding Stanford in Lynne's arms, Marek holding Cary, Jane pleading for someone to pick her up. But Stan was grasping Lynne as if for dear life, or maybe it was to avoid an inevitable reception. Eric nodded at Marek, who smiled warmly. Then Eric met Laurie's gaze. "Thank you for making the trip," Eric said, his voice no more than a squeak.

"No way in hell would I have missed this." Laurie used his handkerchief again, then shoved it back in his pocket. "I wanna ask how are you, but just to see you again, Jesus Christ. I knew I would, I mean...." Laurie chuckled, turning around to where Stanford and Lynne waited. Then Laurie looked at Eric, who inhaled deeply, nodding his head. Laurie stood aside, then called for Jane as Lynne led Stan in Eric's direction.

"Hey Stan, it's so good to see you." Eric spoke quickly, merely wanting to get this over with. Stanford wore a look of pity, then it was replaced with an odd smile. Eric put out his left hand, not certain if Stan could do more than offer his in response. Stanford acted accordingly, his grip tentative, then strong, then it felt to crush Eric's hand. Eric chuckled, then released Stan's hand, stretching out his arm for....

Eric still wasn't sure if Stanford could reciprocate such an intimate expression, not because Eric was a man, but due to his debilitation. Stanford took a deep breath, then spoke. "Hello Eric. It's good to see you as well."

Eric nodded, setting down his arm. "Your flights all right?"

Stan sighed, then nodded. "And how are you feeling?"

Eric blinked, then smiled. "Getting better every day."

"Good, that's...." Stanford paused, then glanced at the floor. He looked up, but couldn't meet Eric's gaze. "That's wonderful, it truly is."

"Indeed." Marek stepped forward, Cary still in his grasp. "And this little one is getting bigger every time I see her. Stanford, would you like the honor?"

"Oh yes, thank you Marek." Stanford tried to take the baby from Marek, but seemed afraid. Lynne placed Cary in Stanford's grasp, then led him to the sofa, where he sat down slowly.

A moment of silence passed, then Jane asked Marek something in Polish. Eric thought she wanted pie, which turned out to be the case, making Laurie laugh, even stirring a chuckle from Stan. "Let's go get some pie," Laurie said, heading to the kitchen.

"I'm right behind you." Eric stepped that way, taking a glance at where his wife sat with Stanford, who stared at Cary, all the while shaking his head.

Jane garnered most of the attention as three adults ate pie, quiet conversation shared between them. Laurie wished Stan, Lynne, and Cary were among them, but eventually the baby would need to be fed, and Stan would either wander into the kitchen or loiter elsewhere, unless Lynne took Cary upstairs. Would she, Laurie wondered, or might she force Stanford's hand? Laurie supposed that Lynne would take the baby to the nursery, which was probably for the best. Stan had fidgeted the entire drive from the airport, then lingered behind Marek as Laurie practically sprinted to the house. Eric's shoulder looked worse than Laurie had imagined, yet the damage was diminished by the mere fact that for the first time in almost a year, Laurie sat next to Eric, on Eric's left side as was their usual places in Laurie's own kitchen. Eric spoke as if nothing had happened to him, but he had many questions about Seth. Laurie talked about his cousin without any worry in his voice; most of his concerns now centered on the one who remained in the living room.

Yet even Stan's angst couldn't blot out a vital joy. Several times Laurie grasped Eric's left hand, patted his left shoulder, or simply made eye contact. Eric seemed to relish Laurie's attention, but not due to vanity. Perhaps what they had shared in Miami was just as altering as Eric's disfigurement, and if Eric needed to expound upon those days, Laurie would listen attentively, offering his own musings. But for now he ate pie, drank coffee, allowing this side of his family to seep into him. He felt pleasantly intoxicated, then laughed out loud as Jane spoke in Polish, what Laurie assumed must be a request for more dessert.

"You've had plenty of pie," Eric said, his tone light.

"You're starting to pick up the vernacular," Marek chuckled.

"For as often as she says it, I better have." Eric leaned back in his seat, then gazed at Laurie. "You probably know what she's on about too."

"I assumed that's what she wanted. Her vocabulary's increased since...." He paused, for the last time he was here, so much remained a mystery. But Laurie had no time to wallow in the past. "When Lynne asked us to be honorary godfathers, then I felt I could leave. Now again I'm wondering how the hell I'm gonna go back to Manhattan." He smiled, for it would be hard, but only for himself. How Stanford would last for the next six days, Laurie wasn't sure.

He heard him pacing, as well as Lynne making her excuses, taking Cary upstairs. But Laurie didn't leave to check on Stan, nor did he get up to pour him some coffee. The weather was cool but dry, and if Stan went for a walk, Laurie wouldn't be surprised. He forked a small bite of pie, then offered it to Jane. She smiled in triumph, then took what her uncle had offered.

"Oh don't do that," Eric laughed. "You won't get another bite for yourself."

Laurie shook his head. "I've got several days of pie whenever I please. I only get to spoil her when her mother's not watching."

Marek laughed, as did Eric, as Laurie took Jane from her tall seat, putting her on his lap. But instead of trying to take his fork, she settled against him. Laurie kissed the top of her head, then closed his eyes. All those lonely months were erased, even if Stan refused to join them now. That had nothing to do with Laurie, who prayed for his lover, then offered thanks for those with whom he sat.

"She looks at home there," Eric said softly, patting Laurie's shoulder. "I can't tell you how grateful I am that...." Eric's voice cracked, then he wiped his face with his napkin. Marek stood, then left the kitchen. Laurie opened his eyes, wondering if Stan had stepped outside, for Marek didn't speak to anyone. Then Laurie looked at Eric, those gray eyes damp but shining.

Laurie wanted to pour out his heart, yet maybe words weren't necessary. Then he nodded. "There's something I have to tell you," he started, but he choked up. He took several deep breaths, gave Jane another bite of pie, then Laurie chuckled. "That message you left me in the sand pit was my father's favorite Psalm."

Eric nodded, then blew his nose. "Really?"

Laurie smiled, ate some pie, then gave Jane the last bite. Then he met Eric's gaze. "When I first read it, I couldn't believe that you'd done it, or which one it was. Then as time passed, it held me together. While I knew you were coming back, other things weren't so clear." Laurie glanced backwards, then snuggled Jane close. "I'm sorry, I mean, Christ, that's so inadequate. But Eric, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for coming home."

Eric inhaled deeply, grinning widely as he exhaled. "If I said it was my pleasure, you wouldn't think I was being flippant, would you?"

Laurie shook his head, grasping Eric's left hand. "I can never truly thank you for what you did for him, for my...." Laurie wept, unable to restrain these emotions. "I swear to God you saved his life Eric, and I, I...."

Footsteps halted Laurie's next words. He turned around, finding Stan in the kitchen doorway, Marek at his side. "Hey, you ready for pie?" Laurie didn't attempt to conceal his tears. Yet, he didn't feel guilty for what Eric had sacrificed, although he loved Eric as much as he did Seth. There had to be a reason for this, Laurie knew. But how Stan saw the situation, Laurie had no idea.

"I checked on Lynne," Marek said, entering the kitchen. "She asked me to turn off the soup."

"Does she need anything?" Eric stood, but avoided Stanford, going around the far side of the table to where Marek waited near the stove.

"She said to pour her some coffee, and she hoped we'd left her some peach pie." Marek smiled. "I said there might be one small piece. Stanford, what can I get for you?"

Laurie no longer faced that man, instead concentrating on Jane, who still cuddled against him. She mumbled in a mixture of English and Polish, then began to hum. The tune was familiar to Laurie, also to Marek, who began to sing along. Laurie watched how Eric stood with his right side against the stove. From this angle, no hint of his injury was possible.

"Um, I'd like a slice of peach as well." Stanford then cleared his throat. "Coffee would be wonderful too."

"Take my seat," Eric said. "I'm gonna check on Lynne. I won't be long."

Laurie inhaled slowly as Stanford slipped into Eric's chair. Then Eric walked out of the kitchen, not looking Laurie's way. Marek made up two plates, brought them to the table, then served up coffee. "Laurie, do you need more?" Marek asked.

"Please."

As Marek refilled Laurie's mug, Jane sat up, then gazed at who had taken her father's place. "Pie please?" she asked.

Laurie stifled a chuckle as Stan peered at Jane. "Well, I suppose one bite won't hurt." He gave her one, then quickly ate a large forkful.

As Marek rejoined them, Jane spoke to him in Polish, but Marek shook his head. "Any more pie and you won't eat the delicious soup your mother made."

She complained in again what had to be Polish, then looked at Stanford. "More pie Uncle Stanford?"

Laurie burst out laughing. "Oh my God, she's bilingual!"

"When the moment calls for it," Marek chuckled.

Stanford ate another large bite, then drank his coffee. Then he looked at Laurie. "It's good, don't you agree?"

At first Laurie thought he meant the pie. Then he understood. "It is, the coffee, he means." Laurie said that to Marek, then he laughed again. "When we got home, both of us thought Agatha had forgotten how to make a decent pot of joe. To tell you the truth, all her efforts were, well...."

"Found to be lacking, but only those culinary." Stanford took another sip, then wore what to Laurie might be called a smile. "Who made this, it's delicious."

"Lynne, I assume." Marek drank his coffee, then shrugged. "Seems the same to me."

"I wonder what that means." Stanford said that absently, then glanced at Jane, who had been staring at him. "All right, but just one more. I don't want Lynne blaming me if you don't eat your supper."

"Thank you," she said sweetly, after eating what Stanford had offered.

"Jane is a good girl." Then Marek spoke in Polish, what to Laurie sounded like a compliment. Jane giggled, then leaned back against Laurie. She said something to Marek, making the pastor nod his head.

"What'd she say?" Laurie asked.

"Just that she's happy you're here. And that she missed you two very much."

"She probably missed the extra pie," Stanford said.

"I don't think so. She asked for you both at her party." Marek's voice took on a slightly sorrowful tone. Then he smiled. "When she was told you were coming for Easter, that seemed to appease her."

"Auntie come too?" Jane asked, sitting forward.

The anguish on Marek's face was brief, but Laurie didn't miss it. "No, Auntie will be in Oslo for Easter this year."

Jane slumped back against Laurie's chest, and he kissed her head. He glanced at Marek, who wore no indication of heartache. Then Laurie looked at Stanford, who donned a poker face. Laurie rolled his eyes, then smoothed back Jane's hair. He wouldn't fret over those issues, instead giving thanks for unexpected miracles.
Chapter 224

Stanford slept poorly that night, leaving bed as not to wake Laurie. The house felt chilly, but Stanford didn't start a fire. He sat on the sofa, placing one of Lynne's afghans over his lap. The Aherns might join them for supper that evening depending on Paul's mood. Stanford hoped that boy would acquiesce to his family's desire, providing an equally troubled man more with whom to speak. Stanford understood Paul's hesitations, although what Eric's deformity meant to Stanford was markedly different. But the level of discord raised was probably similar, for all Stanford wanted was to fly home.

Looking at Eric made him nauseous, but he wasn't sure which aspect bothered him more, the awful angle that remained of Eric's shoulder or his unnaturally small right hand. Those fingers were sometimes curled; other times they hung loosely. Lynne usually stood at her husband's right, and while Jane seemed at ease, an air of upset had drifted over the table during supper. Stanford permitted that Marek's bittersweet reunion in January contributed, but much of the trouble emanated from one who seemed mostly the same in wit, and certainly Eric's role as a father hadn't changed. The way he tenderly held Cary after Jane had gone to sleep had provided Stanford a glimpse into the past, until Laurie collected that infant. Eric couldn't hand her over; someone had to take her from him. He couldn't change a diaper, couldn't clear the table, couldn't.... Stanford shivered, pulling the blanket up to his chest. It wasn't only Eric's art to have suffered, but art had been the biggest casualty of this....

Then Stanford grimaced, for how that damage had come about, or allegedly how it had occurred, was just as confusing. Within the safety of New York's cosmopolitan confines it had made sense, but here it seemed a travesty, although here is where Stanford should better be able to accept it. The countryside was awash in spring's colors, yellow daffodils in the garden, tiny green leaves on the boysenberry vines, clumpy velvet grass past the studio. After Lynne, Eric, and Cary returned from upstairs, Stanford had taken a walk with Marek, finding nature somewhat peaceful, but now as he glanced across the room at the French doors, again he trembled. With how badly Eric had been wounded, it only made sense that he'd been shot while still a.... Stanford frowned, then wondered if he would have the nerve to ask Eric for the truth. Before Eric returned, Stanford had assumed they would speak about it in a rational manner, although he was certain Eric would make light of it, as was his way. Both Eric and Laurie were witty, but Eric's humor was warmer, or it was the difference between the coasts? Yet Eric looked aged, this trauma causing more than outward damage. Stanford shook his head; the debilitation wasn't only within his right arm, but further down, into Eric's soul.

Thinking of it like that made Stanford more upset, but he couldn't escape it, and now he felt less self-conscious about his own reaction to.... Who was Eric now, Stanford mused, wringing his hands under the blanket. He still remained Stanford's client, and was his friend, but their connection wasn't the same as what Eric shared with Laurie, or even Marek. It had always been based upon their business affiliation, but now that was.... Stanford yawned, but his mind spun. For the last few years he'd deeply admired Eric, based upon that man's tremendous talent. A further rapport had developed due to the Snyders knowing the truth about.... Stanford quietly huffed, then he sighed. That they accepted his and Laurie's relationship had mattered, but only right after Laurie made the point of the men's shared domicile. Stanford thought back to the brief conversation he and Eric had shared in the library, that for years Eric had assumed the men were partners. Then he'd been distracted by Seth's figurines and.... Did Eric blame Seth, Stanford wondered. He certainly had every right, but Stanford hadn't picked up any sense of finger-pointing last night. Something else was the basis for Eric's depression.

Then Stanford gasped, immediately looking around, but he was still the only one awake. Of course Eric was depressed, how could he feel any other way? He'd glibly masked it, or had gracefully done so around guests. But perhaps, if Stanford had the guts to speak with him privately, might that mask be dropped? Could Stanford risk hearing from Eric's own mouth what he still wasn't sure was possible while at the same time letting Eric be honest about all which had been lost? Maybe with no one else could Eric be completely truthful about his art. Possibly he felt some self-recrimination for having left Lynne and Jane, then returning so altered, not to mention missing Cary's arrival. Stanford permitted a small grin; of course Jane had remembered them, which had pleased Stanford more than he'd let on. But a little baby who had no idea who they were seemed at home in Stanford's still inexperienced grip. She had smiled at him, looking somewhat as he recalled Jane at this age. Her baptism was two years in the past, but Stanford hadn't forgotten that day, which now that he thought about it was quite remarkable. He didn't recall any particulars about his sisters' children from when they were little, maybe it was the passage of time. Or perhaps this family meant more to him than his own, which was probably the truth. He sighed again, wishing he had the courage to talk frankly with Eric. But the subjects were so outlandish, also delicate. Stanford's forte was art, not psychology. Did Eric even wish to discuss what no longer was within his ability?

As the oldest person within this collective, Stanford felt obliged to usher in some kind of dialogue, yet he felt wholly unprepared for such a calling. His father would have been perfect, but Michael had always possessed a knack for diplomacy. So had Stanford's grandfather, but that trait hadn't been passed to who now stood as the vanguard of his family's honor. Stanford wondered if that was due to his not having been married, few compromises made with Laurie, although the biggest had just been enacted. Could Stanford draw on that experience to help Eric now? Glumly he shook his head; while he cared for Eric, the level of concern wasn't the same. Or perhaps Stanford couldn't permit it to be, for to do so would threaten his equilibrium. Maybe he didn't need to know if Eric had been a hawk, what difference did it make now? He was crippled, would never paint again. However, he was home, and Stanford gave thanks for that. Eric had his wife, their daughters, and good friends. Stanford took a deep breath, twiddling his thumbs. His role would be diminished within Eric's sphere, but perhaps that was best for all of them.

When Laurie woke, he found himself alone. He wasn't surprised; Stan had tossed and turned until Laurie fell into a deep sleep. He got up, put on his robe and slippers, used the bathroom, hearing quiet conversation in the master bedroom. Laurie smiled, but didn't intrude. His role as surrogate father was over, but he was happy to be a resident uncle. The nursery door was closed, so he headed downstairs, finding Stanford snoring on the sofa. Laurie then went into the kitchen, starting the coffee. He sliced himself some pie, waited for the percolator to finish, then poured himself a cup, taking his breakfast to the table. He ate slowly, not thinking about Stan or Eric, only how strange it was being here without having to worry about Lynne and the girls. Palpable relief was mixed with a slight sense of loss, but he smiled, trying his coffee, which was almost ready to drink. He set down the mug, relishing the quiet, giving thanks that Eric was alive. He wasn't the same, but he was home.

For Laurie, Eric's loss was tied into a more noble purpose. Eric hadn't had a choice about turning into a hawk, and while it was disastrous that he'd been shot, he was back within the bosom of this family, to which Laurie felt to be an integral part. Maybe he didn't need to listen for Jane, but he'd changed a few diapers yesterday, and expected to continue being helpful until he and Stan flew home. Eric's injury went further than his former occupation; he couldn't manage many tasks, but then Seth had been just as limited. Granted, the rest of Eric's life would be so restricted, but Seth had been ill for half his life. Laurie tried his coffee, then took a small sip. It tasted good, making him smile; life in Oregon still appealed. What he would give to have a little house here, coming out for various holidays, or just when New York was too damn cold or oppressively humid. He ate another bite of pie, still hearing Stan's steady drones, which gave him comfort, even if Stanford woke exhausted. Laurie had never felt the need for more family, but now back in this haven, he didn't wish to leave.

Maybe he was lucky, or perhaps only he and Lynne might feel this way. Both had benefitted greatly from Eric's misfortune, although Laurie was the least affected. But Lynne didn't seem troubled by her husband's handicap, only grateful for his return. Laurie didn't think she was keeping something back, he knew her well. She seemed to have made a few allowances for Eric, but that hadn't surprised Laurie either. For how many years had she been accommodating Eric's.... Laurie sighed softly, drank more coffee, feeling a little guilty for how casually he was accepting Eric's injury. Yet his perspective was different than all the rest; Seth was alive, in love even. If Seth wrote that he and Adrienne were getting married, Laurie wouldn't be at all surprised.

Then Laurie sighed, thinking back to telling Stan about Abraham and Isaac. The Richardsons had done what they could, but no sacrificial lamb had saved Eric from disaster. Then Laurie considered how Walt and Seth served in the same platoon, what Eric had mentioned last night. Eric said he'd written to Seth about it, also confirming to Walt that Seth was alive and well. Laurie didn't know if Eric had relayed anything else, that was between Eric, Walt, and.... Suddenly Laurie missed his cousin desperately. For all Eric had endured, Seth was thriving, and Laurie wanted to share in that joy. His entire clan had earned the right to celebrate such a miracle and....

Footsteps were heard, and Laurie turned around, finding Lynne and Cary entering the kitchen. Laurie stood, taking the baby, who looked punch-drunk, her smile infectious. "Well good morning," he said softly, as Stan continued to snore. "My God it's good to see you."

He kissed Lynne's cheek, then set a tender peck on Cary's forehead. "Coffee's in the pot, and I've eaten. Looks like she has too." He ticked Cary's plump chin, making her chortle. "How in the world am I gonna leave next week?"

Lynne smiled, walking to the coffeepot, pouring herself a cup, then another. Laurie didn't ask when Eric would be down, but took that extra mug as a good sign. Lynne brought both cups to the table. "I might not let you go," she said, taking her seat. "I sure like having extra helpers."

Laurie heard a trace of weariness in her tone. "Well, if you hide my ticket, I could be forced into staying a few more days."

She giggled, then met his gaze. Dark circles hung under her eyes, but her smile was fetching. "Don't tempt me," she said, then sipped her coffee. "Oh goodness, this hits the spot. How long've you been up?"

"Not long. Eric coming down soon?"

She nodded, then leaned back in her chair. "Stanford have a bad night?"

Laurie nodded, then drank his coffee. "I've really missed this. I mean it, Lynne. When we left before, I had this to look forward to. Now...." He sighed, then kissed Cary's head. "Who knows when we'll be back?"

Lynne smiled, then sat forward. "I feel just the same."

Laurie fought to maintain his composure. The relationship he'd formed with this woman remained just as strong, but it wasn't only with Lynne. Laurie and Eric now possessed a resolute bond, forged from what seemed quite opposite as to how Laurie was bound to Lynne. Yet both attachments were of equal strength, and the idea of parting felt utterly wrong. Lynne still required assistance while her husband could use....

"Good morning," Eric said quietly, stepping into the room. He smiled at Laurie, then sat beside his wife. "Stan not sleep well?"

Laurie nodded, seeing fatigue on Eric's face, yet his voice was chipper. "Jet lag, I think," although Laurie hoped his hosts ignored his lie. He leaned down, gazing at Cary, who seemed to be staring at her parents. Then Laurie glanced in that direction; Eric's right side was altered, but how he sat so closely to Lynne was like old times. Clearing his throat, Laurie inwardly prayed for them, then drank more coffee. There were many things he wished to say, but he also wanted Stan to sleep while Jane did. And speech seemed unnecessary, for Eric's presence, albeit altered, was what all had been seeking the last time Laurie was here. He adjusted Cary in his grasp, ate his last bite of pie, stirring soft chuckles from Eric and a grateful smile from Lynne. Laurie wouldn't ponder when he'd have to extricate himself from this cozy nest, or how Stan would be pulling him onto the plane. Right now was all that mattered, and Laurie would savor the moment.

As Klaudia stepped from the bus, she considered a similar viewpoint; work kept her mind from the man in America, but to her surprise, coming home provided a newfound peace. She had decided to visit her son on Easter Sunday, although she had been tempted to join Sigrun and Harald for lunch at Astrid's house. Astrid was expecting a baby in late September, what she had finally confessed to her mother over the telephone last night. Friends had discussed it on the way to work, but Sigrun had left early on that Holy Thursday, although they would talk more about it tomorrow morning, both women off for the coming holiday. Klaudia was happy for Astrid and her husband, but she was especially pleased for Sigrun, and Harald too. Klaudia chuckled to herself, for according to Sigrun, Harald had nearly broken into tears with the news. Klaudia never would have guessed him to become so overwhelmed, but maybe he was hoping for a grandson with whom he could watch football matches. If the baby was a girl, he might lose some of his enthusiasm.

However, that was months away. For now, no cloud obscured Klaudia's mood, even if the sky was gray. Snow lay in scattered piles, but spring was coming, she could feel it within her bones. No longer did they ache, nor was her heart as sore as.... She didn't permit that man to intrude; her life was a strange mixture of new events, not merely Astrid's impending baby at the top of the list.

On Sunday, Klaudia would take oranges and chocolates to her son, the first time in years she had presented him with Easter gifts. They wouldn't go walking outdoors, but she expected to make a few rounds along the corridors, or whatever the nurses felt he could manage. She had considered going up on Saturday, but had decided to spend Easter itself, in part that it would excuse her from going with the Vangs to Astrid and Knut's for lunch. It was also to distract her mind from someone else who would probably be spending that day with others. Yet lately Marek Jagucki hadn't troubled Klaudia, and when she did think about her trip, her reflections were to those she had met in Oregon. Considering Jane and Cary wasn't painful; perhaps they had been set into her life to remind her how nice were little ones. Eventually Klaudia would spend time with Astrid's baby, for Sigrun had gone on about how excited she was to be a mor mor. Knut's family lived in Trondheim, which was several hours away by car, so upon Sigrun and Harald the roles of main grandparents would fall. And living just a few houses away, Klaudia would receive the spoils too.

She unlocked her front door, then went inside. The treats for Marek waited on her kitchen table; she'd bought them yesterday as now the shops were closed. Much of Norway shut down over Easter, but this year Klaudia was grateful for the break. She would sleep in, not rush on Sunday, although traffic coming home would be bad, many families having gone north to ski. Previously Klaudia had viewed this long holiday break with trepidation; she always felt like such a foreigner, but it wasn't merely due to her lack of religion. Norway had strong Easter traditions, most of them family oriented. But to her surprise, she did have someone who needed her, and that year Klaudia and Marek would celebrate in their own way.

She didn't light a smoke, having cut back all week. She changed out of her work clothes, then made a cup of tea. She wasn't hungry, but fixed herself a plate of leftovers, then sat in the kitchen, gazing at a pack of cigarettes in the center of the table. Had she smoked one that morning? She wasn't sure, didn't feel a craving for it. She ate everything on her plate, then laughed at herself. Sigrun wouldn't be the only one putting on weight; both Astrid and Klaudia might join her.

Astrid certainly would, then Klaudia sighed. She'd lost a kilo since coming home, some of that having been gained in America, but the rest had been from stress. She winced, then permitted a small smile. She was moving on from her past, maybe for the first time in her life. That man had caused her much heartache, but perhaps their tumultuous reunion would now provide her the means to leave him where he would never again hurt her. She could deal with her son's newfound gains, for they were small and non-threatening. And she could accept Astrid's baby, for it wasn't her grandchild. Klaudia glanced at the smokes, taking a deep, cleansing breath. For the first time in years, no pain accompanied.

An hour later, Sigrun's phone rang. She half-expected it to be Astrid, seeking motherly advice. Or maybe it was her other daughter Brita, requiring attention. The girls weren't competitive, but Brita had been married nearly as long as Astrid. Perhaps another grandbaby would follow, Sigrun smiled, as she picked up the phone. "Hello?" she said.

No one answered, although muffled tears were audible. Sigrun's heart pounded. "Astrid, are you all right?"

Still no one spoke, but sobs became stronger. "Oh dear God. Astrid, is Knut there? Put him on the phone honey." Sigrun fought tears, yet Astrid had said she was three months along. Had she gotten the dates wrong? "Astrid, oh sweetheart. Astrid?"

"Sigrun, the hospital just called." Klaudia's voice was barely a whisper. "Marek's, he's...."

Sigrun inhaled, immediately giving thanks it wasn't Astrid on the line. Then she exhaled, fearing the worst. "What's happened?"

"He had another seizure, he's in a coma." Klaudia paused, weeping hard. Then she continued. "They don't think he's going to make it."

Sigrun closed her eyes, feeling the depth of Klaudia's pain. When she opened them, Harald stood beside her, his eyes wide, his face ashen. "It's Klaudia," she said softly to her husband.

Harald blinked, but still looked pale. He nodded, then grasped her free hand. Sigrun gripped back, then stared at the clock; it was nearly seven, too late for them to drive that night. "Do you wanna leave in the morning?" she asked, still clutching her husband's hand.

"Yeah, if that's all right. I had chocolates for him, oranges too. I was going to give them to him on Sunday and...."

The agony of Klaudia's cries cut into Sigrun's chest. "We'll bring them, don't worry. What time do you want to leave?"

For several seconds the line was dead; Sigrun released Harald's hand, calling for Klaudia to answer her. Then waves of sorrow poured from receiver. Sigrun looked at her husband, Harald vigorously nodding his head. "Klaudia, we'll go tonight. Just hang on honey."

Klaudia didn't speak, still howling. Sigrun hung up the phone, then glanced at the table where plates from supper waited. Near Harald's was a pack of cigarettes, and she ached to light one. "Can you put those in the sink?" she asked her husband, pointing to the dishes. "I'll wash them when I...."

"Just go," Harald said. "Don't worry about anything but driving safely."

Sigrun nodded, tears stinging at the corners of her eyes. "Thanks. I'll try to call at some point."

"I'll be fine. Go on, she needs you."

Sigrun stared at him, his coloring less pale, his eyes not as wide. His tone was as kind as she'd heard in years, and she kissed his cheek, then headed for their bedroom, changing into warmer clothes. She didn't know how long she might be gone, but was grateful that by now the roads wouldn't be crowded with travelers. Sigrun didn't like driving at night, but Klaudia needed her, and Astrid was fine. With that thought, Sigrun kissed her husband, then left her house, prepared for a long evening ahead.
Chapter 225

On Good Friday morning, Sigrun called Harald; Marek was still in a coma, and couldn't breathe unaided. Klaudia had sat at his bedside once they arrived at the institution, holding her son's hand, calling his name, but in how Klaudia wept, Sigrun had heard someone else being summoned. Sigrun didn't mention that to Harald, nor did she give an estimate of when they might return, although she did expect to be home for Easter Sunday. Harald told her not to rush, and that he loved her, which made Sigrun teary. She hung up the phone, slowly walking back to the infirmary, hoping that Klaudia had fallen asleep.

Sigrun found her friend dozing near a bedridden teen; the tube taped to Marek's mouth looked as if an alien had invaded him, and Sigrun wondered for how long Klaudia would allow this procedure. They had spoken little on the drive; Klaudia had sobbed during much of it, and Sigrun also wondered how much her friend had been deluding herself about what had happened in America. Sigrun had that pastor's telephone number, but wouldn't call him yet. However, if Marek died, Sigrun would make a long distance call regardless of the time difference or Klaudia's opposition. Sigrun sat on Marek's other side, watching his mother sleep fitfully while a young man showed few signs of life.

An hour passed, during which time Sigrun had found herself nodding off, then she would jerk her head upward, but other than the occasional visit by a nurse, the others remained unconscious. Now Sigrun was awake, also hungry. She stood, stretched, then looked at the clock near the door; it was eight thirty. She sighed quietly, then left the room, gazing down the deserted corridor. As she looked the other way, footsteps were heard; she glanced back, seeing a nurse heading toward her. Sigrun approached her, asking if there was a cafeteria. The nurse shook her head, but noted that at the nurses' station around the corner she could get a cup of coffee. Sigrun thanked her, then walked that way.

She came back to the room with two cups, correctly assuming that Klaudia would require sustenance. Klaudia stirred as Sigrun entered the room. "Has there been any change?" Klaudia asked.

Sigrun shook her head, setting the cups on a nearby table. One of the nurses had mentioned a café not far, but from Klaudia's tremulous voice, Sigrun wasn't sure if Klaudia would leave her son. A link had been reestablished between them, but at a cost. Klaudia had never appeared so vulnerable, and if it wasn't Easter weekend, Sigrun would make that long distance call. Klaudia needed that pastor at her side whether she wanted him here or not.

"I'm going to the bathroom, I'll be right back." Klaudia spoke softly, then exited the room. Sigrun sighed, then grasped her cup, the heat warming her fingertips. She sipped slowly, staring at Marek. He looked dead except for his chest rising, then falling, in a hypnotic rhythm.

When Klaudia returned, Sigrun was seated, drinking her coffee. Klaudia retrieved her cup, taking a long drink but barely tasting it. She put it back, then stood near her son, yet he didn't look like her child. Then she gazed at her purse and a paper bag waiting on a lone table in the corner of the room. Easter treats waited in the bag, and Klaudia's stomach rumbled. "Do you want an orange?" she asked Sigrun.

"Oh, um, sure."

Klaudia walked around the bed, reaching those satchels. She took two oranges from the bag, giving one to Sigrun. Klaudia peeled hers, the scent tickling her nose. She wondered if Marek could smell it, he usually had a strong sense of smell. But he remained motionless, except for how his chest moved up, then down again. She shook her head, for those actions weren't indicative of any more than the machine next to his bed. "How long should I keep him hooked up to that thing?" she said abruptly.

"What?" Sigrun coughed hard. "What'd you say?"

"Oh, sorry." Klaudia sighed, then faced her friend. "He, he's...." The truth was stuck in her throat; the seizure had lasted several minutes, right after he'd returned from a walk after supper. But the worst part had been afterwards, when he had stopped breathing. The doctors weren't sure how much lasting trauma would result from the lack of oxygen, and they wouldn't know until Marek came out of the coma, if he woke from it, Klaudia permitted. The nurse who spoke to her later was more forthright; it had taken over two minutes to insert the breathing tube, not counting how long he'd already been deprived of oxygen. If Klaudia's son did wake, severe brain damage would most likely be the result. But Marek was already impaired, and Klaudia shivered. For all the gains she had witnessed since returning from Oregon, they were miniscule compared to where her child should be.

Then rational notions were pushed aside as she could hear him calling for her as though he was speaking at that very moment. Mamma rang through her head, tears now falling down her face. This wasn't fair, she thought, not how still he lay in bed, or the silence within the room, other than the dull rumbles of the breathing machine. It wasn't right that for the last several weeks Klaudia had gotten reacquainted with her son, and now he was basically the vegetable Gunnar had always claimed. Seething anger built in her veins, and she gripped what remained of the orange, dripping juice on the floor. Then the language of her youth eased her fury; Marek Jagucki's earnest voice whirred softly in her ears, reminding Klaudia someone was praying for her child.

Yet what was left now for that man to intercede.... Klaudia brushed back tears, trying to rekindle her fury, but a strange and soothing calm descended upon her. She went to her knees, dropping the orange, wrapping her arms around herself. She wept hard, not understanding why she was there, why her son had again been stricken, or how from so far away Marek was thinking of her and his namesake.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry. Klaudia, I am so sorry." Sigrun had knelt beside Klaudia. "Maybe we should get something to eat. Are you hungry?"

Klaudia nodded, then looked up, wondering if Marek's ghost stood near. All she saw was medical equipment. "Yes, let's find some breakfast."

Sigrun stood first, then helped Klaudia to her feet. They grabbed their handbags, told a nurse where they were headed, then left the institution. Sigrun drove them to the café, where they ate in silence. On the way back, Klaudia stared aimlessly out the window, a sunny day stoking those feelings of peace. They reached the institution, then returned to the infirmary, where they stopped at the nurses' station. "Has there been any change?" Klaudia asked.

The woman shook her head. "But the doctor was just here looking for you."

Klaudia shivered. "We'll be in Marek's room."

The nurse nodded as Sigrun grasped Klaudia's hand.

The women walked to Marek's room still holding hands. Klaudia ached for a smoke, sitting on Marek's left side while Sigrun took her chair on Marek's right. He showed no sign of being aware of their presence and Klaudia closed her eyes, beseeching.... She sighed aloud, then opened her eyes as footsteps resounded. A doctor she had occasionally seen approached her, and she stood, shaking his outstretched hand. "Mrs. Henrichsen?" he asked in a cordial voice. "I'm Dr. Olsen."

Klaudia nodded, then glanced at the floor. Then she met his eyes, which were blue, but not the same color as Jane Snyder's. This man's eyes were icy, and her heart began to pound. Klaudia cleared her throat. "What is your prognosis for my son?"

"Basically you have two choices." The doctor glanced at his patient, then back at Klaudia. "Marek can remain on life support indefinitely, however, the chances of him breathing voluntarily are slim." Dr. Olsen took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. "I know Nurse Iversen explained what happened last night."

"What's my other choice?" Klaudia fought the urge to run away, for she knew the other option.

Again the doctor inhaled deeply. "We will remove Marek's breathing tube."

"What if he...." Klaudia paused, fighting back tears.

"If he can breathe on his own, we will do everything possible to keep him comfortable." Now the doctor wore a tender gaze. "Mrs. Henrichsen, we can't predict how Marek will respond. But he was deprived of oxygen for many minutes last night. The odds of recovery are...." The doctor gently placed his hand on Klaudia's shoulder. "Not good."

She nodded, then looked at where Sigrun sat, staring at Klaudia's son. Klaudia recalled Sigrun's terrified voice over the phone last night, supposing something was wrong with Astrid. Staying here was futile, as was keeping Marek on life support. He was already.... Klaudia cleared her throat, then faced the doctor. "I don't want to be here when you take him off the machine. It will take us about three hours to get home. I want to be at home when you call me."

She needed to be in her own kitchen, coffee and cigarettes close at hand. She never wanted to make the drive here again, she needed to say goodbye now and.... Hot tears fell down her cheeks and she hastily brushed them away. "Take him off mid-afternoon. I'll be waiting to hear from you."

The doctor nodded, adjusting his glasses. Klaudia turned to see Sigrun wiping her face. They stared at each other, and Sigrun nodded. Klaudia sighed, but didn't gaze at her son.

It took ten minutes to fill out the necessary forms. Assuming the worst, Klaudia wanted her son cremated, which the institute would arrange with a local mortuary. There would be no funeral, but she wasn't sure what she would do with Marek's.... Thinking about his remains made her queasy, and the nurse said they would discuss that at a more appropriate time. Klaudia inhaled sharply, trying to keep the nausea at bay. She asked for a cup of water, drank it quickly, then inquired if there was anything else she needed to sign. The nurse rifled through the papers, shaking her head.

As Klaudia started toward the stairs, Sigrun gently pulled her aside. "Do you want to say goodbye to him?"

Klaudia trembled, then tapped her foot. "He has no idea of anything. I just want to leave."

"All right." Sigrun released Klaudia's arm, then followed her down the hall. They took the stairs, not speaking. Klaudia led them to Sigrun's car, and as she waited for Sigrun to unlock it, she absently gazed at her surroundings. A thick forest bordered the grounds, where she and her son had hiked last summer. Her declaration about not doing that again reverberated in her ears alongside what she had said to Marek Jagucki about his family. Klaudia tightly shut her eyes, got in the passenger seat, then closed her door. Within minutes, the car was on the motorway. Sigrun noted she would stop for gas, and probably some lunch, in another hour.

A pastor slept fitfully all night, and when Marek woke, his first thought wasn't that it was Good Friday. All Marek considered was Klaudia and her son.

Something had happened in Oslo; Marek had felt disturbed all through the Maundy Thursday evening service, then a terrible headache had stricken him right as he went to bed. The headache hadn't lasted long, but it took him ages to fall asleep, and he had gained little rest. He made a pot of coffee, trying to decide if he should call Klaudia. Glancing at the clock in the kitchen, it was nearly suppertime there, but he didn't head to the library where the telephone waited. Instead he sat where she had, staring at Eric's painting. The afterimage remained, but no longer did it appear to Marek that the woman was holding hands with anyone.

Marek closed his eyes, his heart throbbing in his chest. He tried to pray, but all he could conjure were visions of his relatives being marched into his father's barn. Rare were the moments he was so troubled, but Klaudia's descriptions of their deaths were sharp in his mind; he could picture his father attempting to shield Ania, while Dominik had probably embraced their mother. Had she told her husband she'd sent their middle child off on an errand that morning, did his father know Marek was safe from.... Marek wept, wishing the blue barn hung on the Aherns' wall. If he could see that painting, these feelings would be diminished. Every single member of his family dwelled peacefully within that structure, where no pain or death existed. Marek opened his eyes, wiped his face, then glanced at the canvas on his wall. He smiled at Jane, who laughed at him, while between them stood Klaudia, but now she was alone.

Several minutes passed as Marek finished his coffee, his stomach rumbling. He made toast, eating at the counter, still studying the painting. He had the telephone number of Klaudia's neighbor; perhaps he should ring her first, although he wasn't sure how they would communicate, which made him frown. Maybe all of this was conjecture, exacerbated by what that day signified. Whatever he chose to do, he needed to do it soon. He would be presiding over a Good Friday service that morning, and by the time it was over, it would be early evening in Norway. He didn't wish to disturb Klaudia's neighbors, and he sighed, washing his hands, then draining what remained in his mug. He left the kitchen, but didn't head to the library. He went to his room, changing into more appropriate clothes. Then he walked to the chapel where he went to his knees, praying for those in Oslo as well as for guidance.

When the phone rang, Klaudia let Sigrun answer it. They had been waiting together, although Harald had visited briefly right after the women returned. Klaudia had been grateful for his awkward hug, what she considered as Sigrun spoke softly into the receiver. Then Sigrun gazed at Klaudia. "Do you want to talk to them?"

"It's over, right?" That was all Klaudia needed to know. "If it's over, I don't need to speak to anyone."

Sigrun nodded, then returned her attention to the caller.

Klaudia shivered, half-listening to their conversation. The rest of her attention was focused on the sudden appearance of Marek Jagucki's ghost, seated in Sigrun's chair. Tears stained his cheeks, and he extended his hands toward her. Klaudia bit her lip, so wishing he was real, but she kept her arms at her sides, balling her hands into tight fists. As Sigrun closed the call, Marek's image faded away. Sigrun returned to the table, but she stood behind Klaudia, tenderly squeezing Klaudia's shoulders. "He didn't suffer," she said in a whisper. Then she gripped Klaudia's upper arms, placing a kiss on Klaudia's head. "He was gone within minutes."

Klaudia nodded, briefly closing her eyes. When she opened them, the ghost flickered, his arms still outstretched. As the apparition disappeared, a dull pain emerged in the center of Klaudia's chest. She lit a cigarette, taking a long drag, which did nothing for that pain, but it eased her nerves. Sigrun wept, releasing Klaudia's upper arms. Klaudia blinked away tears, taking another hit off the smoke. "There's nothing more I need to do now, right?" Her voice cracked as she spoke, so she took another long drag from the cigarette. "She said I'd signed everything, right?"

"Uh-huh." Sigrun sniffled back tears, then cleared her throat. "The funeral home will call you next week. Nothing more till then."

Again Klaudia nodded, that dull throbbing still noticeable. She stared at Sigrun's empty chair, wishing she had the courage to call.... Did she need to tell him, Marek wasn't their child. Then she let out a sharp cry, which turned into a momentary wail. She gripped the table with both hands, staring at how the cigarette shook in her right. The ash teetered, then Sigrun hastily moved the ashtray under it. Klaudia watched those remnants fall onto thick glass, what her son would soon be reduced to, just like all within the Jagucki clan.

The thud within her chest began inching toward her throat; she took deep breaths, but they halted as sobs escaped. She dropped what was left of the smoke into the ashtray, then tried to speak, but only cries emerged, and try as she might, those shrieks couldn't be halted. They weren't merely from that day, but from when Gunnar had taken their baby away, the day of Marek's birth, the last time she'd seen her home in Poland, the final scream as a barn burned, and, and.... Klaudia inhaled, then howled, shaking her head, again clutching the table. The pain resounded all through her as if she stood alongside Ania Jagucki while flames singed their skin.
Chapter 226

On Friday morning Laurie escorted the Snyder ladies to church while Eric inspected the garden and Stanford slept. Again Stanford had endured a poor night's rest, but Laurie didn't mind leaving him there. Eric hadn't seemed keen on going to St. Matthew's, and on the drive, Laurie learned that since Eric's return he'd yet to attend church. "Do you think it'll be awkward on Sunday?" Laurie asked Lynne in the car.

She shrugged, then sighed. "To be honest, we haven't talked about it."

Laurie nodded, keeping his eyes mostly on the road. Lynne had gladly acquiesced to his wanting to drive, and to Laurie it felt like old times, although Jane didn't try to make conversation with those in the front seat. She chattered at her baby sister, which took Laurie's mind from the chaps at home. "What's she telling Cary?" he asked Lynne.

"I have no idea," Lynne chuckled. "Sounds Polish to me."

"How often does she speak it?"

"Usually when Marek's around. And sometimes when he's not."

"God only knows what she'll do with Polish in her back pocket," Laurie smiled. "Maybe she'll be a translator if the Iron Curtain ever falls."

"If nothing else, I'm starting to pick it up." Lynne turned around, facing her daughters. "Jane, are you excited to see Pastor today?"

Jane giggled, then went back to babbling at her sister. Those sounds were magical to Laurie, and he sighed languidly. Lynne patted his leg, then she turned back, again watching her daughters. "When Klaudia visited, Jane was very taken with her." Then Lynne inhaled deeply. As she exhaled, Laurie wondered if she would expound upon Marek's guest. But Lynne simply faced the front of the vehicle. Laurie remained silent, only Jane providing conversation.

He parked across the street from St. Matthew's, taking Jane from the back seat as Lynne collected her baby. Other parishioners arrived, and to Laurie's surprise, he was welcomed as though a member. He made small talk as they walked up the steps, then he smiled at Marek, who was greeting those already at the front door. Laurie would embrace this man later, but for now he shook Marek's hand, then stared at the minister, who looked as weary as Stan had before he'd fallen back asleep. Laurie didn't question Marek, as others waited to enter the building. He followed Lynne to their usual pew, feeling very much at home within this structure. He'd confessed that to Agatha, but had said nothing to his mother or sisters. Yet it wasn't solely connected to Laurie's faith, more to do with whom he sat, as well as the man walking to the pulpit. But Marek's steps were slow, Laurie observed. When Marek reached the altar, he stood for longer than usual. Laurie wasn't sure if that was due to this particular service or if something troubled the pastor.

"Peace be with you," Marek said, having turned to face the congregation.

"And also with you," came the response, even Laurie speaking those words. As he did, a flash of pain seared his chest, and he blinked. Jane sat on his lap, yet she didn't seem to notice Laurie's momentary discomfort. But Lynne clutched Laurie's right hand, meeting his gaze. Her brown eyes were large in her face and Laurie nodded. Something was wrong with Marek.

The service proceeded without interruption; Laurie didn't know the hymns, but appreciated the respectful nature of those near him. The church wasn't packed, yet he recognized all in attendance. Then he stifled a chuckle. What was he doing at a Good Friday service?

As Marek gave the benediction, Laurie pondered that notion, also how comfortable he felt being there with Lynne, Jane, and Cary. He did wish Eric had joined them, then he wondered how long Stan would linger in their room. Laurie had made it clear he was taking Lynne and the girls to St. Matthew's, and that Eric was staying home. That twosome had yet to engage in more than idle chatter since Wednesday, and while the New Yorkers weren't leaving for a few days, their time would be full of activities. The Aherns were hosting supper that night, Lynne was cooking tomorrow, then it would be Easter and.... Laurie went to his feet, as the rest were standing. Marek walked past, giving Laurie a smile, but dark circles hung under Marek's eyes. Cary began to fuss and Lynne whispered she was heading to the ladies' room. Laurie didn't mind waiting, for he wanted to speak with Marek as well as others who waved as they passed through the aisle.

Laurie chatted with a few older ladies, all still assuming he was Lynne's brother. One inquired after Eric, and Laurie noted he would be joining them on Sunday. Nods were offered, making Laurie chuckle inwardly after the ladies had departed. He remained in his row, keeping Jane occupied, until the last parishioner had shaken Marek's hand. Then the pastor approached Laurie. "So good to see you today," Marek said, sitting in the pew in front of Laurie and Jane, sighing as he did so. "Where's the rest of your crew?"

"Stan was sleeping and Eric...." Laurie paused for seconds. "Wanted to inspect the garden. But you know me, I'm always up for a Lutheran sermon."

"I wondered who I might see from your contingent this morning," Marek smiled.

Laurie nodded. "Had to catch up with my friends, you know."

Now Marek chuckled. "Oh yes, several ladies ask after you. I think they miss your cosmopolitan charm."

Laurie grinned, then glanced at where Lynne had taken Cary. Then he met Marek's gaze. "And how are you this morning?"

Laurie kept his voice light, not wishing to cause Marek further distress. Yet discomfort was all over the pastor, from his tired eyes to his furrowed brow. Marek shrugged, which said more to Laurie than a verbal response. Then Marek spoke in Polish to Jane, stirring her giggles. She gazed at Laurie. "Caramel slice?"

"Oh, you'll have to ask your mama when she gets back." Laurie had no idea what Lynne's plans were for after church. He looked at Marek. "Do you know what's going on next?"

Marek shook his head, started to speak, then paused as Lynne returned, Cary over her mother's shoulder. Laurie went to his feet, taking the baby as Lynne gathered possessions strewn along the pew. "Good morning," she said to Marek. "That was a lovely service."

"Thank you." He sighed heavily, but Jane seemed not to notice, again asking for a caramel slice. Marek had a weary chuckle, then stood, collecting Jane. "There might be one or two left in the kitchen. If nothing else, I have a full tin of biscuits if you all have a minute to spare."

Marek's tone seemed to plead for company, but Laurie said nothing, preferring Lynne to make the decision. She smiled at Marek, then reached for his hand, giving it a squeeze. "Eric and Stanford can fend for themselves a little while longer. I'd love a cookie and some tea."

"I'll start the kettle as soon as I change into something less formal." Marek smiled, handing Jane to her mother. Laurie wondered how much of Lynne's choice to stay was for Marek's benefit or for the twosome back at the house. He didn't ask, following Lynne and Jane toward the kitchen. It was Lynne to fill the kettle while Jane clamored for a biscuit, and by the time Marek joined them, cookies and caramel slices filled a plate, three mugs for tea and a cup of milk waiting on the table.

At the Snyders', Stan woke to an empty house, the silence an eerie backdrop not assuaging his grumpy mood. Yet he was relieved for the privacy, taking a long shower, then dressing casually. He entered the kitchen finding the coffeepot almost empty, one thin slice of pie in a nearby tin. He ate at the table, sipping the luke-warm coffee, wondering when Laurie, Lynne and the girls would return. Laurie hadn't mentioned how long the service might be, or if they would linger afterwards. Stanford was glad he'd gone back to sleep, but he hoped the rest got back before....

"Good morning," Eric said, coming through the front door. "Any coffee left?"

Stanford mumbled an appropriate greeting, then shook his head. "Feel free to make more," he said absently. Then he cleared his throat, rising from his chair. "Or I can do it."

Eric chuckled, then waved him off. "Coffee I can manage. Did you get more sleep?"

"Some." Retaking his seat, Stanford's heart pounded, watching how Eric removed the percolator's lid, then dumped out the grounds. His efforts were clumsy and slow, but it looked as if he'd done this before. "Jet lag seems to be especially taxing this visit."

The lie came easily, for inwardly he'd rehearsed this speech, assuming that at some point Laurie and Lynne would leave Stanford and Eric to themselves. But Stanford had no other points of conversation prepared, for there were too many topics, none of them pleasant. Even if he mentioned the exhibit, how to speak of such a triumph now, as Eric seemed to have trouble putting the percolator's lid on correctly. Stanford fidgeted, wondering if he should lend assistance. Just as he went to stand, the lid popped on, and Eric laughed. "God, sometimes I'm all thumbs. Coffee will be ready in a jiffy."

Stanford nodded, but no words were possible; his throat felt tight, his eyes burned. He stared at his empty plate, wishing for another piece of pie, or even some toast. Bread sat near the toaster on the counter, but if Stanford stood, he'd have to approach Eric, with whom he had yet to do more than shake hands. Laurie wasn't so reticent around that man; they had embraced immediately, and it seemed every time Stanford turned around, Laurie was patting Eric's left shoulder or standing on his right, as Lynne often did. Stanford envied Laurie's accommodating demeanor, but there was no manner for Stanford to enact the same kind of.... He shivered, then slumped in his seat. A huge void had settled in his chest, comparable to how he felt after his mother forgot who he was. Stanford would never again share in the previous camaraderie he and Eric had possessed, too many elements having built an impenetrable wall. He sighed softly, shaking his head. When he looked up, Eric was staring at him.

Beads of sweat broke out over Stanford's forehead. He smiled, but it was forced. "Thanks for making the coffee," he said.

"You're welcome Stan." Eric gripped his right arm. "I'm sorry things between us are so...." Eric glanced at the floor, then released his crippled limb. "I don't know what you wanna know or not know and...." He looked over his shoulder as the percolator hummed. Then Eric sighed, facing Stanford. "It means a lot to Lynne and me for you and Laurie to be here, I will say that. But I apologize for how awkward it all seems."

Stanford cringed as Eric spoke, for acknowledging the disquiet seemed as awful as how uncomfortable Stanford felt. Stanford took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "It's not your fault."

"Oh no?" Eric chuckled, then again gripped his right arm. "Maybe not, but I sure as hell feel culpable."

"It's just that.... My God, I truly don't know what to say to you. I've never felt that way, I mean...." Stanford shook his head, then met Eric's gaze, in part that it was easier to stare at Eric's face than at his ruined arm. But Eric's gray eyes unnerved the art dealer, for while they appeared fully human, Stanford was returned to that moment when he'd wondered about their odd shape. That had been years ago, after Eric's foot was healed. But even then Stanford had noted the strangeness of Eric's eyes. Was what Laurie and everyone else purported the truth, had this man actually....

"I'll tell you whatever you wanna know, if you wanna know." Eric spoke softly, although something about his tone seemed hesitant. Stanford's chest ached, his temples as well. He picked up his mug, but it was empty. More coffee wouldn't soothe his ills; would Eric's revelations offer any respite?

Eric turned away from Stanford, pouring himself some coffee. He brought his cup to the table, then returned for Stanford's mug, which he filled, then set in front of the art dealer. Eric seated himself, then grasped his cup with his left hand, releasing it quickly. Again he set his fingers around the mug, then took them away, then again cautiously grasped the cup. Stanford wondered if the heat felt good, or did Eric need the practice? He seemed fairly adept at using his left hand for most tasks; Stanford had observed him, trying to equate who this man now was with the artist Eric had been. Eric Snyder had been one of the most gifted painters Stanford had ever known, much less represented. All of that amazing talent had been lost, taking with it a vital rapport. Suddenly Stanford wasn't sure which was worse, that Eric would never paint again or that the men's friendship lay in tatters.

For over a minute neither spoke. Then Eric picked up his mug, sipped from the edge, setting it back on the table, tracing the top with his left index finger. "For weeks, when I didn't know who I was, I wondered what kind of man I must've been, left for dead in the middle of nowhere." He stared at Stanford until Stanford met his gaze. "I had no idea about anything, it was terrifying actually. What I'm going through now pales in comparison. Not that this is a walk in the park; between you and me, I wonder how I'm gonna fill my days once the girls are in school."

Eric wore a small smile, then again sipped his coffee. "I'm not gonna lie about that Stan. I miss painting and all that goes with it. But for what seemed like an eternity, I was this empty canvas, if you will." Eric chuckled. "It's ironic, because all my life I've had to keep so much under wraps, then suddenly I was totally stripped of all that makes up a life, even one as chaotic as mine." Eric sighed. "Now there's a different sort of emptiness, or maybe it's just that literally my hands are tied behind my back, or one is." He glanced at his right arm, shook his head, then gazed at Stanford. "But I can't begrudge this because I'm sitting across from you. I have to take the bad with the good Stan, there's no other choice."

Yet for as forthright as Eric sounded, something clouded his declaration. And it was that sliver of uncertainty to which Stanford clung, not because the ambiguity might make Eric's handicap disappear. Perhaps there was another reason Eric had been shot, maybe Laurie and Lynne, Sam and Renee, even Marek, had lied to Stanford. Had Seth instigated this whole ridiculous story, then Stanford trembled as Eric blinked, his eyes appearing round and beady. Stanford couldn't look away from Eric's face, then he closed his own eyes. When he opened them, Eric was drinking coffee, looking across the room as if staring out the window.

The query rested on the tip of Stanford's tongue, all he had to do was ask. But even pondering such nonsense made Stanford's head throb. He cleared his throat, so wishing he had the guts to, to.... "So what will you do now?" he said softly, toying with the handle of his cup.

Eric continued to stare toward the window. "Lynne wants...." He chuckled. "Cary isn't gonna be our youngest. Fatherhood will keep me busy. Plus it's nearly spring; I'm thinking about planting some peach trees past the studio. They'll take a few years to yield anything, but we'll definitely use the fruit. Need to get the rest of the yard landscaped, and I'd like to have a playhouse built for the girls and whoever else comes along."

Stanford nodded at these details, but they held little interest for him. He swallowed hard, then spoke. "What about the contents of the storage building?"

Eric kept looking out the window. "I don't honestly know." Slowly he met Stanford's gaze. "As my dealer, what's your opinion?"

Stanford wasn't sure of the building's contents, but he didn't want to view whatever waited there. "Well, there's certainly no rush in scheduling another showing." Stanford cringed, for that sounded crass. "What I mean is...."

"No, you're absolutely right." Eric drummed his left fingers along the table, but the tempo wasn't fluid. "I guess you're looking at a former client unless the Aherns decide to sell a painting."

Stanford wanted to nod, but to do so seemed wholly wrong. "Eric, I'll represent you for as long as you like. Just because you can't...."

But Stanford couldn't continue. He coughed, drank his coffee, then stood, walking toward the toaster on the counter. He put in two slices of bread, then opened the refrigerator, taking out a jar of jam. He kept his back to Eric the entire time it took to toast the bread, then apply jam to each slice. He wanted to remain across the room, but decorum ruled, and he carried his plate to the table. "Do you want more coffee?" he asked Eric.

"No, I've probably had enough." Eric stood, taking his mug to the sink as Stanford seated himself. Eric waited for a few seconds, then walked passed Stanford into the living room. Frostiness was left in Eric's wake, making Stanford shiver. He ate his toast, hoping the rest would return imminently, feeling that next Tuesday's departure couldn't arrive soon enough.
Chapter 227

At the Aherns that evening Jane, Paul, and Ann played quietly in the living room, their mothers and East Coast uncles seated nearby. Sam and Eric chatted in the kitchen while Marek went between the groups, but a pastor said little, trying to absorb relief from the joyful conversations. He hadn't called Klaudia's neighbors, and now regretted that decision, but would he be so forthright in the morning? Perhaps after a night's sleep, then Marek sighed softly, stifling a yawn. Maybe his edginess was increased due to lack of rest, or in wondering how the New Yorkers would acclimate to Eric's injury. Laurie seemed to have adjusted, but Stanford was having a difficult time. Then Marek permitted a small smile; was it so wrong that Stanford had chosen to surround himself with women and youngsters instead of fleeing to the kitchen? Marek stood in the kitchen doorway, facing a contingent with one odd member, yet Stanford's warm chuckle eased Marek's heartache. Paul spoke earnestly to Stanford, who was a rapt audience. Then Marek caught Lynne's gaze, but her mood was hard to discern. He nodded as if she had asked several questions in a mere glance. Previously Marek wouldn't have considered speaking to Lynne about such details, but now he longed for her feminine perspective. Then he inwardly shivered; he didn't wish to burden Eric with his suppositions, although they had fully discussed Klaudia's departure. As Lynne stood, Marek glanced over his shoulder, spying Sam and Eric seated at the table, glasses of water in their hands. Then a pastor gazed at those in the living room, finding Cary in Laurie's grasp and Lynne standing at the large windows facing the front yard. He joined her, but she didn't look his way, although she gripped his hand. "I'm so glad we're all here together tonight," she murmured.

"I am as well." Marek also spoke in a hushed tone. "Paul seems...." Marek paused briefly, then continued. "Less troubled than before."

"It helps having Laurie and Stanford here." Lynne gazed toward Marek, but didn't make eye contact. Then she released his hand. "Renee said she would seat Paul near them, which will be good for all."

Marek nodded, having noticed the tension between Eric and Stanford even in the short time the men were in the same room. Then he nearly gasped as Lynne again clasped his hand in hers. Her grip was strong, then she met his eyes. "Are you all right?"

He shook his head, then swallowed hard. "I need to make a long distance call." Saying those words eased him, but still it would be a hard conversation. "I wish I spoke Norwegian, I wonder if her neighbor knows any French."

Lynne seemed surprised. "Can you not call her directly?"

Marek's heart felt like breaking as he again shook his head.

"Should I call her?" Lynne asked softly.

He sighed, then flashed a grin. "Thank you, but I can't even pinpoint what the matter might be." That wasn't the truth, but Marek didn't want to upset Lynne. He smiled more broadly, then gazed at the children gathered near a man previously uncomfortable around.... As long as Marek had known Stanford Taylor, only Eric and Laurie had seemed his contemporaries. He might speak with Sam, but most of that conversation was based upon complimenting Sam's cooking. Yet Paul, and even the little girls, were keeping Stanford amused, his chuckles honest and lengthy. Marek looked at Laurie, who exuded familial joy with Cary in his arms. But that bliss only exacerbated the great sense of loss Marek knew Klaudia was feeling, then he wished for a way to speak to her at that moment. The sorrow was how she'd felt after his family had been murdered, as well as when her baby was stolen from her. A fierce ache made Marek close his eyes, the pain traveling from his brain to the center of his chest. He gripped Lynne's hand, taking care not to crush her fingers within his. Then he dropped her hand, placing both of his along his temples. If he called overseas in a few hours, while the timing would be more appropriate, how would he converse unless he spoke to Klaudia herself?

"Do you need to leave?" Lynne's voice was a whisper.

"No, it's the middle of the night there and...." Quickly he explained his dilemma, then he shook himself. The pain vanished, but he wasn't sure if that was due to sharing his thoughts with another or.... He smiled at Lynne, patting her shoulder. "We should be getting back to the others."

She gazed at where Stanford and Laurie were still being entertained, although no longer did Renee sit with them. Marek could hear her in the kitchen, telling her husband that perhaps it was time to eat. Marek smiled; Renee might not be overly culinary, but her skills with people hearkened to her former occupation as a nurse. Yet that expertise wasn't the same as Lynne's, who again grasped Marek's hand. "Sounds like it's time for supper," she said. "I wonder if one of us will be at the children's table."

A card table was placed alongside the kitchen table, and it seemed Laurie was claiming one of the seats. Then Paul asked Stanford if he would join them, but Marek wasn't shocked when Stanford said yes. "It sounds as if those places have already been taken," Marek said to Lynne.

She nodded, then led Marek to where Laurie stood, still toting Cary, as Paul and Ann led Stanford toward the kitchen, Jane on their heels.

While Paul made no motions toward Eric, Ann gave him a hug right before the Snyders left for the evening. She offered Stanford a similar goodbye, stirring smiles from the rest of the adults. Marek drove the New Yorkers back to the Snyders, Laurie commenting that Eric needed to buy a bigger car. Stanford said little during the trip, and Marek didn't follow the men inside. He headed home slowly, considering his options. Reaching St. Matthew's, he entered the building, going straight for the altar. On his knees he sought guidance, and as midnight approached, instead of making a long distance call, he went to bed, falling into a deep sleep.

In the morning, Marek ate breakfast, then gazed at Eric's handiwork; the woman's image remained a solitary one, and if not for Mrs. Kenny's opinion, Marek would swear the painting had always appeared this way. He toyed with his coffee cup, finished the remnants, then took it and his plate to the sink. He had no plans for the day other than looking over his sermon and preparing the church for Easter morning. He'd accepted a supper invitation from Jeremy Markham, but their usual poker game would be deferred for at least a week. He was glad that Jeremy knew about Klaudia, but not as much as Lynne and Eric realized. Then Marek frowned; he had waited for Eric's return to speak about his actions regarding her, but now felt more at ease sharing his fears with Lynne. He wondered if Lynne would mention anything to Eric, then the pastor sighed. Stanford wasn't the only one feeling awkward, although Marek's hesitancy wasn't due to Eric's injury. Something was troubling Eric, not merely that he'd forgotten his wife's name until nearly home, but until he wished to speak about it, Marek wouldn't press. As it was, enough occupied his thoughts.

By lunchtime he had laid out the appropriate altar cloths, placing fresh flowers in vases in strategic spots throughout the church. The bright colors appeased some of his dour mood, tulips and daffodils reminding him of last summer when Eric appeared as a hawk. Marek couldn't help but conjure that moment, Christ's emergence from the tomb laying the foundation for other miraculous aspects in a pastor's existence. Hearing Klaudia's voice last November was a similar experience, then Marek closed his eyes, replaying the moment he saw her enter the airport terminal just weeks ago; within days she had been stitched tightly within his heart. Now hers was fractured, and he shivered. While he couldn't force Eric to reveal what bothered him, consoling Klaudia was within Marek's ability.

Perhaps she wouldn't want to talk to him, she might even refuse, but as he'd felt directed to call her the night President Kennedy was murdered, again Marek walked to the library, staring at the telephone. He prayed for God's will, then his guidance. Seating himself at his desk, Marek opened a drawer, taking out his address book. He thumbed to the L's, which roused a small grin; he had filed her information under her maiden name. Right under her entry was that of her neighbor, but unless a speaker of Norwegian suddenly waltzed into St. Matthew's, there was no way for Marek to talk to Sigrun Vang.

The phone immediately rang, startling Marek, who then smiled, picking up the receiver. "Hello," he said, expecting it to be Lynne. Instead a throat was cleared, with a foreign tongue spoken in the background.

"Hello?" Marek said again, his pulse racing, for the chatter continued, and it sounded vaguely Scandinavian. "Is anyone there?"

"Hello, may I speak to Pastor Marek...." The woman spoke in broken French, and she sounded young. She tried to say his last name, but grew befuddled, then continued. "Is this Pastor Marek?"

"Yes, I'm Marek Jagucki." He answered in French, which he knew well. "Who may I ask is calling?"

"I'm Brita, um...." She sighed, then spoke in that other tongue, then returned to the line. "My mother asked me to contact you on behalf of Klaudia Henrichsen."

Marek gripped the receiver, his heart pounding so loudly he wondered if this young woman could hear it. "Is Klaudia all right?"

"She is, but...." Brita sniffled, then spoke, but her words came in spurts, for her grasp of French was poor, as well as the news she had to convey. "Her son died on Thursday. Mor had hoped Klaudia could call you, but she's terribly upset and Mor only speaks Norwegian and...."

Marek was struck by several points, the main being that his namesake was dead. That explained the missing image in Eric's painting, Marek initially allowed, then tears fell from his eyes; he'd never met that teenager, but in way he'd considered him a part of his family. Now he dwelled in the blue barn, and while that brought Marek small comfort, it would do nothing for Klaudia.

Then Marek considered how Sigrun Vang had taken it upon herself to find a way in which to tell Marek this news; how blessed was it that her daughter happened to speak some French. But what hit Marek the hardest was that she felt it necessary to inform him. "Excuse me Brita, but is Klaudia all right?" Marek kept his voice even, in part for Brita's benefit, and that the middle of his chest ached fiercely. "Is she there, might I be able to speak to her?"

If he could just hear her voice, then Marek would know not only how she was, but if she'd forgiven him. At this juncture, the former was imperative, but the latter would be welcome news, even if she still harbored bitterness. Marek then heard Brita talking to who must be Sigrun, but that dialogue wasn't joined by another. Was Klaudia aware this conversation was taking place?

Brita cleared her throat, then spoke. "Mor says Klaudia can't come to the phone, that's why we're calling you. She needs...." Brita wept, then continued. "Is there any way you could come here?"

Marek closed his eyes, sensing clemency being proffered through Brita's halting French. If it was any other weekend, he would call church trustees, explain the situation, then be on a plane as soon as it could be arranged. But tomorrow he would baptize Cary Snyder, others too, in addition to preaching an Easter sermon. "I wouldn't be able to leave until Monday at the very earliest. Is there any way Klaudia could travel to America? I'd gladly pay her fare."

As Brita translated this offer, deep sobs could be heard in the background. Instantly Marek recognized them as Klaudia's and he winced, brushing aside tears still falling down his face. Were her cries due to his commitment to Christ or that he'd offered to bring her to Oregon? Three voices now intermingled, although Klaudia's sounded strange, not merely due to her breakdown. Speaking Norwegian, she sounded vulnerable, her great heartache easily discerned. Sigrun's tone was that of a protective mother, while Brita seemed to be hoping Klaudia could get on the phone. But that was beyond her capacity, for she broke into another round of sobs. Marek wondered if that was in refusing or accepting his proposal. Brita and her mother spoke, making Marek shift in his seat. Then Sigrun's voice could just be discerned, and Marek inhaled deeply, then exhaled with care. Sigrun wasn't talking to her daughter, but to Klaudia. Was she trying to convince her to travel or....

A minute passed, then Brita returned to the line. "Pastor Marek, are you still there?"

"Yes, I'm here. What decision has been made?"

"Mor says that yes, Klaudia could travel to America. She wants to know for when she should book the ticket."

Marek's heart still pounded, but no longer did it ache. "As soon as Klaudia could make the trip." He prayed, then spoke again. "Tell her to spare no expense. And that I...." Marek's voice cracked, then he smiled. "I'll be praying for all to go smoothly. Thank you Brita, and thank your mother for me as well. Please extend to Klaudia my most sincere condolences, and I'll wait to hear from you the details."

"Oh yes, I'll do that. And thank you again Pastor. I'll call you as soon as Mor makes the arrangements."

"I'd appreciate that." Marek hesitated, wanting to pass along a message to the one who would soon be on a plane. Instead he wished Brita the best, sending them all his love. As the young woman translated his words, Marek listened for any reaction from Klaudia. She continued to weep, although her cries didn't sound as painful as those from earlier. Marek waited on the line, then Brita said goodbye. He continued to grip the receiver after the line went dead, Klaudia's deep trauma trapped within his head. Only after he placed the receiver in its cradle did he slump back in his chair, then close his eyes. Covering his face with his hands, Marek wept for his namesake and Klaudia. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his eyes, then blew his nose. As he did so, he lifted in prayer those in Norway alongside his family in town. Easter Sunday now carried a weighty sense within his soul, God's immeasurable grace as wide and mysterious as never before.
Chapter 228

Marek's news of an impending visitor usurped most of Saturday night's conversations; Laurie openly lamented that they would miss meeting Klaudia, yet his tone was measured, not only for the reason for her travels, but the small children around whom he spoke. By the time Klaudia's trip was known, supper was being served at the Snyder household, the Aherns present. Paul and Ann were told that Mrs. Henrichsen was coming next week, but they didn't yet know why. Sam and Renee would tell them after Easter, which now seemed to possess a different meaning. Lynne was still excited about her daughter's baptism, but none of the adults could ignore the loss Klaudia had suffered.

That Marek wasn't among them was for the best, Sam said, once the children were playing in the living room. Lynne noticed how Sam led the discussion, and she wondered if anyone else thought Eric's silence was strange. She sat across from her husband at the expanded kitchen table, Laurie on Eric's right side, Renee on his left. Stanford sat beside his partner, and Sam next to his wife, also alongside Lynne. She held her baby, feeling deep sadness for Klaudia, then hoping Cary might assuage some of that woman's heartache. However, Lynne wouldn't be shocked if she saw little of Marek's guest, the length of whose visit had yet to be decided. Klaudia was arriving late on Tuesday, but no return ticket was booked. Lynne glanced at her husband, who had said little concerning this situation. He remained quiet as Laurie and Sam continued to discuss Klaudia, but Stanford didn't add anything, nor did Renee. Then a hush descended, only broken by the chatter of youngsters requesting dessert.

Eric stood, then excused himself outside. As if on cue, Paul, Ann, and Jane entered the kitchen as Renee got up, Sam as well, asking the kids what kind of pie they wanted. Laurie asked Stanford the same, a cacophony suddenly stirred within the kitchen. Cary began to fuss, so Lynne took her daughter into the living room, sitting on the sofa. Cary nursed eagerly, while her mother gazed toward the French doors, seeing Eric standing near the patio table. He had his back to the doors, gripping his right arm, and Lynne ached to know his thoughts. He could be pondering Marek's news, but something else was on her husband's mind, even if he pretended all was well.

Lynne didn't think it was due to how Paul still avoided him, or in how Stanford tried too. She didn't believe it was from how long it had been since he'd attended church, or in meeting the woman Marek loved. Maybe the rest assumed some or all of those points, yet a wife knew her spouse too well to be fooled. As Eric continued to stare into the dark sky, Lynne felt as if he was still in Texas, which made her shiver. Cary noticed, pulling from her mother's breast, staring right at Lynne. A mother smiled, but tears fell from Lynne's eyes as she stroked her baby's cheek with her nipple. Immediately Cary returned to nursing, but Lynne's heart throbbed.

"Hey, what kind of pie would you like?" Laurie spoke softly, walking toward the sofa.

Lynne didn't meet his gaze, shrugging her shoulders. Then she looked up, blinking away the last of her tears. "Whatever there's most left of."

Laurie sat beside her, then looked around the room. Lynne watched as he stared at the French doors; Eric remained on the patio, still grasping his right arm. "Is he okay?" Laurie asked.

Again Lynne shrugged, then she shook her head. "Don't worry about me for a while. Cary's in no hurry."

"You want me to talk to him?"

Lynne almost nodded, then she sighed. "He'll be in after while. He's letting Paul and Stanford eat in peace."

She added that last sentence as a test; Sam and Renee probably wouldn't bat an eye, but how observant was the man at Lynne's side? Laurie nodded, then gazed at the baby. "They're sitting side by side. I almost went for my camera, Michael wouldn't believe me otherwise."

Laurie's voice was light, then he stroked Cary's head. "I wish there was something I could say to them both, God, it's like how it used to be before you all knew about Stan and me. No, it's worse." Laurie removed his hand from the baby, patting Lynne's shoulder. "Maybe having Klaudia here will, Jesus, I dunno. He went through a lot in Texas; we just have to give him time. I'm sorry honey, I wish there was more I could do."

Lynne nodded, tears falling freshly down her face. Laurie pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping her cheeks, then he put his arm around her. Staring at the man still peering into the darkness, both prayed for Eric's peace of mind.

As a baby was baptized, a woman thousands of miles away seemed a part of the proceedings; Marek felt Klaudia was perhaps standing behind Fran Canfield, or next to Lynne. Marek sprinkled holy water on Cary's forehead, then wondered if his namesake had been christened. So many details remained unanswered, but Marek focused on those in his midst, although he avoided looking at Eric. He seemed set apart from the large group standing near the font, a plethora of godparents, some with youngsters in their arms. Sam held his son, Renee carried Ann, and Jane rested in Stanford's grasp. Louie toted Helene while Fran flanked Laurie, who cradled a mostly placid infant. Cary had fussed when Fran removed her cap, the same hat Jane had worn at her baptism. Now Fran returned the delicate hat onto Cary's head as Marek stepped back, gazing to those assembled close, then at the congregation. The church was packed, Canfield teens standing with their McCampbell cousins, Joan and Russell taking pictures just feet away. Marek appreciated the ecumenical makeup of that day's event, finding happy tears on Laurie's face, on Frannie's too. Then he glanced at the rest, and most seemed to sport damp eyes, even Stanford. Yet, when a pastor met a father's gaze, Marek found little joy on Eric's face.

Communion was a lengthy affair, but to Marek's surprise, all of the Canfields and McCampbells approached. He offered the bread and wine to those who requested it, blessed the rest, also blessing the New Yorkers. Marek wasn't sure why Stanford had accompanied Laurie, perhaps not to confuse Paul and Ann. The Snyders were the last to appear, Jane holding her father's right hand. Marek offered both adults a wafer, then the wine. As Eric partook of the sacrament, Marek saw hesitation in Eric's actions, as if Klaudia stood in Eric's place. Slowly the family walked back to their pew, then Marek heard a baby's wails. From the corner of his eye, Marek observed Lynne heading to the ladies' room, Frannie and Renee right behind her.

The church was empty when Lynne and Cary emerged from the restroom. Lynne had appreciated company for a time, then had urged the women to find their families. Frannie seemed aware of Eric's discomfort, but Renee only mentioned how nice it was that Stanford went up for a blessing. As Lynne headed to the foyer, she heard Marek speaking with Sam, Louie, and Laurie, but didn't hear her husband among them. She set Cary over her shoulder, then joined that quartet, the rest waiting on the steps and sidewalk in front of St. Matthew's. "Sorry it took us so long," Lynne said.

Marek smiled, setting out his arms, into which Lynne placed her daughter. "Not a problem, although a few parishioners were loitering, hoping to see this beautiful girl one more time."

Lynne grinned, for his tone was upbeat. "Well, they'll be able to see her next week. She might not be so gussied up however."

Laurie laughed. "I'm so glad Joan and Russ took pictures. Agatha certainly will appreciate it, Stan's dad too."

Lynne turned toward those gathered nearby, not seeing her husband, Renee, or Fran. Stanford chatted with Russell, Paul at Stanford's side. Lynne was pleased for that, but wondered where Eric was. She assumed the women had gone to arrange lunch. Joan was missing too, her daughters laughing with their cousins, who were tending to the younger children, Jane among them. Flashing back to when Jane was baptized, Lynne was grateful for so many sharing the day with them, or with her. Eric seemed to have removed himself from the proceedings, but there was nothing she could do about that now.

Laurie grasped her hand, and she responded with a strong grip. Their eyes met, he seemed to know her thoughts. "Renee, Fran, and Joan went to set up the buffet and Eric offered to help."

Lynne nodded, releasing a soft sigh. "Well, we should all be on our way, unless they wanted us to wait here a little longer."

"Nah, we can get going. Eric went in Renee's car, so I'll drive yours and Stan can go with Marek."

"That's if Paul lets him get away," Louie laughed. "Seems that boy's found himself a friend."

All gazed at where Paul and Stanford stood, Russell still chatting with the art dealer. "We brought two cars," Sam said. "Stanford can ride with us."

"In the front seat or back with the kids?" Laurie teased.

"Whichever Paul says," Sam grinned.

"Well, I'll meet you there. Just need to change into something more comfortable." Marek handed Cary to her mother as Sam and Louie headed down the steps. Lynne was escorted by Laurie, and within minutes families were loaded into vehicles. Stanford did ride with Sam, although he sat in the front, and Laurie and Lynne laughed about that budding friendship on their way home. Cars lined the street in front of the Snyders' residence, but space had been saved for Lynne and her daughters. As Laurie collected Jane, Lynne considered last winter when Laurie had driven them to St. Matthew's. Blinking away tears, Lynne forced a smile, finding in Laurie's eyes similar musings. He held Jane's hand as Lynne took Cary from the baby seat. Together they walked through the front gate, hearing children's squeals welcoming them to the party.

Sitting at the patio table, Eric watched the sunset glinting across the studio's glassy roof. He was alone, although the sunroom's French doors were cracked open, and sounds from inside could be heard; Laurie and Stanford entertained Jane while Marek and Lynne reflected upon the day's activities. Eric had felt like a bystander, then he grimaced; he'd made that distinction, in part not to trouble Paul, or that was his excuse when someone approached, asking if he needed more to eat or drink. Louie had nearly led Eric back to the group, but ultimately even that man had let him be. Eric had appreciated Louie's attempts, for he'd known great pain. But he hadn't been the instigator of that tragedy, not that Fran had either. A few moments she had stepped Eric's way, but each time he'd shirked back, and Fran hadn't intruded. He felt her prayers directed at him, but they hadn't comforted. It wasn't that his shoulder ached more than usual, his right arm either a dead weight or feeling as if on fire. It wasn't the number of people that had graced his home; lately he'd felt out of place regardless of who visited. Then he shook his head. Taking communion that morning had aggravated him deeply, although he wasn't sure why. What had he expected attending St. Matthew's to be like, he wondered, finding rays of light dissolving behind the studio. Before he would have studied this setting, placing it into his brain for further inspection. Now it mattered little, for it was simply the end of another day, and tomorrow would present him with a new one. Each day had started to feel the same, guilt edged by pain, surrounded by three women who seemed as far away as when he stewed in Walt's shed.

Eric had tried to find joy in his daughter's baptism, and for fleeting seconds he'd known pricks of excitement, when Fran slipped the cap from Cary's tiny head, when Jane pointed at the water being sprinkled on her baby sister, when Ann leaned against her mother's shoulder, their hair intermingling.... Then Eric had grown angry, for he'd never get to paint any of those scenes. Then he had stared at Marek, wondering how he felt about his upcoming visitor. Eric didn't care if he met Klaudia, although he felt sorry for her loss. Since the awkward conversation with Stanford on Good Friday, Eric had found himself becoming detached from those for whom he previously cared deeply, including his wife and daughters. That had been two days ago, he mused, as an orange-pink sky beckoned for his attention. He watched as the colors blended together, but couldn't muster any enthusiasm. Then he heard Lynne's laughter, followed by Laurie's. Eric's chest felt hollow and he blinked away tears. She knew he was keeping something from her, but there was no way in hell Eric could ever....

"The sun go down yet?" Laurie spoke with a chuckle. "Eric, c'mon inside. You gotta see what Jane and Stanford made with blocks."

"In a minute." Eric didn't turn Laurie's way, continuing to gaze at the now dusky horizon. April was right around the corner, but the days were still short.

"Eric, let's go for a little walk."

Now Laurie stood next to the table and Eric glanced in his direction. "I thought you wanted me to go inside."

Laurie smirked. "What I want and what I'll get you to do are two different things. Which would you prefer?"

Eric stared at Laurie, whose tone had taken on that of an elder brother. Did Laurie assume they were now related due to his position as Cary's godfather? Eric shook his head. "Laurie, don't be offended, but right now I'm not really...."

"Get up Snyder before it's too damn dark to see."

Eric was startled not only by Laurie's words, but his voice, which was like when Eric had been a hawk wanting to show Laurie the message in the sand pit. Eric sighed again, then slowly got out of his chair. "All right, whatdya you need to show me?"

Laurie was at the bird fountain, motioning toward the studio. "This way."

"It's too dark now," Eric muttered, taking a few obligatory steps. "Can't you show me in the morning?"

"No, I can't. Now c'mere."

Eric shook his head, going to where Laurie stood, just past the fountain. Laurie pointed at the sky, where a few dusky-pink clouds were quickly losing their glow. "What?" Eric asked.

Laurie continued gazing at the sky, which was now nearly dark. "For the Lord is good and his love endures forever; his faithfulness continues through all generations."

Eric shivered, then gripped his right arm. That was the last verse of Psalm 100, which he had left for Laurie in the sand pit. "What about it?" he said.

"I told you how much that psalm meant to my father, and to me after Stan kicked me out." Laurie chuckled, then faced Eric. "While I knew you'd be back, I really had no idea about Stan and me. It was funny, Lynne seemed to think we'd be okay, and when she got discouraged about wherever the hell you were, I'd tell her it'd be fine." Laurie took a deep breath, then carefully placed his hand on Eric's right shoulder. "And while this isn't at all fine, you're here Eric. God brought you home to Lynne, to all of us. I know it must seem like...."

Eric moved away from Laurie. "Listen, go back inside. I just need some time alone and...."

Laurie stepped toward Eric, but didn't reach out for him. "You wrote that message for me, but it wasn't only for me, or for last fall. I'm not gonna try to tell you what you already know, that we love you, we're here for you." Laurie huffed. "Well, maybe I am because obviously you need to hear it. And while none of us knows everything you're feeling, we've all been there at some point, to some degree. But don't shut us out, especially not...." Laurie paused, then cleared his throat. "Lynne's worried, okay? Maybe you already know that, but if you don't, she is. Stan and I'll be gone in two days, not sure when or if he'll come back, and you probably know that too. But there's no getting rid of me, and as for your wife...."

"Leave Lynne out of this."

Laurie stepped back, then crossed his arms over his chest. He tapped his foot, then dropped his arms to his sides. "You saved Seth's life. I know the cost to you was horrific, but you gave me back my little brother. And in the process you became my brother. And damnit Eric, just because I have one of you doesn't mean I don't want or need you both." Laurie's voice cracked. "Today I held your daughter while Marek worked his Lutheran magic, and something about that hit me right here." Laurie gently set his finger against Eric's chest. "I won't ever tell my mother, but there's more to your Jewish carpenter than woodworking. I have no fucking notion why this happened to you, but there's a reason. Please Eric, don't let this ruin you, don't let Stan or Paul's issues spoil the wonderful person right here inside you." Laurie pressed against Eric's chest, then removed his hand. "You have a fantastic family inside that house waiting for you, your daughters need you. Lynne needs you. Don't stay lost to them after all it took you to come home."

For a few seconds, Eric wished to blurt the truth, which he assumed would make Laurie take back all his presumptions. The sound of a toddler's laughter rang through the night air, followed by a baby's whimpers. Tears burned down Eric's face, and he released an aching sob. Then he found himself in Laurie's strong grasp, his left arm wrapped tightly around this man who had been just as skeptical only months before. As Lynne, Jane, and Cary approached, Eric wished to spill the whole story, yet he hesitated as Stanford called after them, Marek on his heels, answering Jane's questions, which were spoken in Polish. A wall had been dismantled, but while Eric was grateful for Lynne's embrace, he bristled at Stanford's presence, was also unnerved by Marek's hand on his left shoulder. Anger rose in his gut, while shame burned along his skin. He hoped Lynne couldn't sense such rancor as she whispered how much she loved him and how thankful she was for his return.
Chapter 229

On the New Yorkers' last full day in Oregon, Eric and Stanford inspected the studio and contents of the storage building. Lynne, Laurie, Jane, and Cary acted as buffers while Eric wryly joked that his daughters could decorate the blank stretched canvases which had been meant for the bulk of the Queens series, as well as whatever else Eric had planned to illustrate. Eric's mood was light, but Laurie knew it would be a long time for the two men he most cared about to once again be comfortable around each other. Lynne felt the same, but unlike Laurie, a wife sensed deep pain within her husband's soul, and it wasn't about paintings that would never be or a relationship in disarray. She focused her attentions not merely on her spouse, but upon Stanford, who was as unsettled as Lynne had ever seen him. She gazed at Laurie, who stood near the bird fountain with Jane, finding in his weary eyes similar notions. Yet, Lynne was relieved that only she realized the burden Eric carried. She sighed softly, wondering if her husband would ever truly find peace.

As the group walked back to the house, Lynne cradled her baby, seeing the property as if she was viewing it for the first time. Years ago the entire place was in shambles, but it had been a haven for Eric as well as space for his art. They knew their lives would be lived in secrecy, their infertility well established as was Eric's need for privacy. They didn't yet know the Aherns, and Lynne had never expected to quit working. She glanced at Laurie, who now held Jane's hand as she led them to the patio. Lynne hadn't even met this man, and tears welled in her eyes. She had occasionally longed for a sibling, and who could be better than the older brother Laurie now was to her, and to Eric as well. Lynne hadn't been certain what might happen when Laurie left the house to speak to Eric late yesterday afternoon, but as Lynne's husband walked away from Stanford, approaching Laurie and Jane, Lynne smiled. The men embraced, Laurie gently slapping Eric on the back. Jane clamored to be included and her uncle obliged. The trio laughed heartily, music to Lynne's ears.

She caught up to where Stanford now stood alone. "We'll sure miss you all," Lynne said softly. "Jane will pout for days."

Stanford coughed, then tapped his foot. "Well, Marek's guest will be a distraction."

Lynne kissed Cary's forehead, then watched as the others entered the house. "Perhaps not."

Stanford faced Lynne. "What do you mean by that?"

"Klaudia was quite taken with the girls after time. Now I don't know if being around them would be helpful."

Stanford nodded, putting his hands in his pockets. "Lynne...." He sighed, looked around the patio, then cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I've made things so...."

"It's no one fault. Just now I was thinking to when we bought this place, how much we needed to keep secret." Lynne glanced back at the studio, her heart aching from the memories of love made in there, as well as the treasures Eric had created. A small flicker in the center of her chest eased the pounding, and she prayed for that calm to resound all through her, and to those within her family. That included Klaudia and Marek, and as she grasped Stanford's hand, she hoped he also sensed her missives.

He gripped back, then coughed again, releasing her hand. "If Eric wishes to sell canvases, of course I'll be happy to facilitate." Then Stanford grimaced. "I must admit I'm disappointed the Aherns didn't get back the blue barn yet. Tracking down that painting will be my task this week."

Lynne nodded, hiding her smile. Speaking about work, Stanford sounded like himself. He seemed to have ignored Lynne's comment as he continued, that as far as he knew only the Aherns' canvas had failed to reach its owners. In his tone, Lynne heard a man aching for a return not necessarily to New York, but to how life used to be. But she didn't feel he wished for his ancient past, when Eric had first become his client. Stanford gazed toward the French doors, where Eric, Laurie, and Jane had entered the house. He was thinking of more recent days, before Eric had traveled to Miami.

Maybe he even longed for the weeks spent here in January, days where Eric hadn't intruded. Even if he had come home unharmed, Stanford would still be wrestling with what the rest accepted. Lynne smiled, unable to fight the small mirth rising within her. Stanford still wasn't certain what he believed about Eric, and while the men's friendship was strained, perhaps that fracture was easier for Stanford to contemplate. Again she reached for his hand, and he reciprocated. Then he glanced at her, a tiny grin on his face. Lynne couldn't guess his concerns, other than he might wish to hold a placid baby.

"She's quiet, would you like her?" Lynne asked.

He nodded, his smile broadening.

She placed her daughter into his grasp, which was now as competent as anyone else's. Lynne then fought tears, wondering how Eric might have translated this moment onto canvas. Stanford tenderly gazed at his goddaughter, speaking to her in a gentle cadence, that while he wouldn't see her for a while, she would never be far from his thoughts. Neither would her big sister, he added, and not from Uncle Laurie's either. The way Stanford spoke that man's name made Lynne step away, wiping streaks from her face. She had no idea when Stanford might again travel west, but a sizable part of his heart would remain here. Lynne gazed at the French doors, finding Laurie observing them, nodding his head.

Supper was a simple affair; Laurie made grilled cheese sandwiches while Lynne heated tomato soup, which Laurie noted was a very popular meal the last time he was present. Lynne was surprised by Laurie's flippancy, but Stanford remained impassive. Eric chuckled that it was a meal even he could manage, other than opening the can of soup. Laurie then mentioned the proposed peach trees; Eric joked that three or four trees might suffice, while Laurie laughed, requesting they turn the entire empty acreage into an orchard.

Jane chatted throughout supper, then sat on Stanford's lap during dessert. Lynne had found he was as generous as Marek when it came to sharing pie, but Jane seemed unaware, asking in English for more. Lynne had noticed Jane's decreased use of Polish during the New Yorkers' stay, then she inwardly sighed, wondering how much of Klaudia the Snyders would see.

"Haven't heard much Polish from the girl lately," Laurie said. "Wonder if she'll revert to being bilingual after we leave."

"I was just thinking the same," Lynne giggled. "I'll let you know."

Laurie nodded, then leaned back in his chair. "Jane, I have pie left."

She glanced at him, then gazed up at Stanford. She shook her head, then slumped against Stanford's chest. She closed her eyes, then began to hum.

"I think she's very happy right where she is."

Stanford's tone carried a hint of victory, which again made Lynne giggle. "Well, I'll sure miss you both. Someone will be more than a bit put out for the rest of the week without her admirers."

"Do you think...." Laurie paused, then sighed. "I wonder how much of that other guest you'll see."

Lynne shrugged. "I'll let you know that too."

"Wish we weren't leaving tomorrow," Laurie said. Then he quickly added, "Only that I'd love to meet her, but certainly at a more favorable moment."

Lynne nodded, noticing how Eric and Stanford remained silent. "She only has a one-way ticket. I suppose we'll see her if she's here more than a week."

Lynne looked at Eric, who nodded. Then he sighed. "If she wants to meet me, of course."

"I can't see how she wouldn't," Lynne said. "You're the reason for her...."

Lynne paused, but not because she didn't want Jane enlightened further. Had Klaudia been reintroduced into Marek's life for him to soothe her now? Lynne studied those with whom she sat, then that gentle joy again coursed through her. She recalled when Laurie first mentioned his cousin Seth while asking Sam about his days in Korea. That conversation had only been a few years back, yet it seemed more like decades for what had been added to all of their lives. She squeezed Eric's right hand, then gazed at her baby. "I've been praying for her, Marek too, that somehow this might bring them back together." She didn't look up from Cary's face. "None of you saw them, but I know Renee would agree with me, maybe even Sam. Not that losing her son could be excused as a reason for...." Lynne sighed softly, then made eye contact first with Stanford, then Laurie, finally reaching Eric's gaze. Again she gripped his lame hand. "For whatever is meant to happen now. We can't predict the future, all we can do is give thanks for this day."

"Hear, hear," Laurie said.

"I agree," Stanford added.

Eric didn't speak, but he nodded at his wife, who saw a fierce struggle in his tired gray eyes. Most of him was relieved to be at her side, but a sliver wished to be anywhere else. Again Lynne squeezed his hand, then lifted it to her lips, placing a gentle kiss on his knuckles. She had never been so demonstrative around the New Yorkers, maybe not even in front of Renee and Sam. But for all the days Eric had been gone, now he was near, or much of him was back within her grasp. That which remained apart would be returned to her in God's time, just as Eric himself always came home. Lynne inhaled that certainty, wishing to pass it along to her husband. But she wouldn't demand his trust, and she set his hand back on his right leg, out of sight. He nodded at her, a few tears welling in his eyes. The only sound was that of their eldest daughter's soft hum, while a mother gave thanks for the family around her.
Chapter 230

On Tuesday morning Sam drove Laurie and Stanford to the airport; Marek had offered, but Stanford declined, not needing to mention Marek would be making a trip there that evening. At the terminal, Sam hugged Laurie, then shook Stanford's hand, promising to keep them abreast of Eric's progress. Stanford assured Sam he would track down the barn painting, but Sam wasn't worried about it. His biggest concern was Eric's well-being, and when Paul would be as comfortable around that man as Ann was.

Sam didn't think of that situation as an if; it was a matter of time, as was Eric's healing. Sam briefly pondered Klaudia as Laurie retrieved his ticket, Stanford doing the same. Then the men waved goodbye, walking alongside the other toward the check-in desk. Sam observed Stanford's formal demeanor, while Laurie seemed his casual self. But nothing in either's bearing revealed their relationship, of which Sam was now very accepting. If Stanford had initiated an embrace, Sam would have reciprocated, in part not to be rude, also in how Paul had grown fond of both New Yorkers. Uncle Laurie this and Uncle Stanford that had been Paul's chatter since last week, and he'd been subdued on the walk that morning to school. Sam headed to the terminal's exit, appreciating Paul's joy among some people, sighing slightly at the lad's apprehension around one other.

When Paul was home from school, Sam and Renee would tell their children about Klaudia's impending arrival. They had also decided to tell them why, hoping it wouldn't be too much for them to absorb. Adults weren't the only ones to die, Renee had said gently, when she and Sam discussed what their kids needed to know about Marek's returning guest. That Klaudia's son had been retarded wouldn't be mentioned, only that he'd been ill, and hadn't survived. Sam shivered thinking about that conversation, then looked overhead as a plane took off. He glanced at the airport, praying that Laurie and Stanford had safe travels home, also praying for Klaudia, already on her way. Sam reached his car, got in, then drove carefully out of the parking lot. Life was precarious for all of them.

At home, he found his wife and daughter making cookies, a habit Renee had started after Klaudia left last month. Sam ate a cookie as Renee brought him coffee. "Did everything go okay?" she asked.

He nodded, then sat at the table. Ann approached him, and he lifted her onto his lap. He hugged her, wondering if Klaudia had been with her son when he died. Sam inwardly trembled, wishing he didn't have to broach this subject with his children. Would it further drive Paul away from Eric or.... "Laurie said something about coming back in summer. I told him we'd love to see them again."

Renee raised her eyebrows as Sam chuckled. "Well, it's the truth. Although Stanford didn't say anything about it."

"Will Uncle Laurie really come back?" Ann's voice was plaintive.

"They will, one of these days. They have busy lives in New York and...." Renee's words flitted in and out of Sam's head. More to capture his attention was how forlorn Ann sounded. Recently Vivian had mentioned that Beth and Roy had kept mostly to themselves. Neither child had gone to any sort of preschool, but now they had many relatives and not only were they Aherns and Nolans. Sam smiled, thinking of how Paul had told Stanford to send him a letter, not that the boy could read, but he had made a connection with the otherwise aloof art dealer, who in turn seemed fond of Sam's son. Maybe Paul would follow in Stanford's business footsteps, maybe....

"Sam, Earth to Sam." Renee tapped her foot, hands on her hips, almost glaring at him. Yet maternal kindness shone in her eyes, which made Sam's heart flutter. This version of his wife was still new to him, but something about her stance reminded him of the first days of their marriage. Parenthood might have come later to them than most, but they'd always been meant to raise children. He chuckled at that, but his wife and daughter assumed his laughter was due to not having been paying them attention, for they teased that all the cookies were gone, and he'd only eaten one.

"What about a cookie for Paul?" Sam looked at Ann, then at Renee. "I hoped you saved one for him."

"We did," Ann giggled. "But Mama said you didn't get any more."

"Oh she did, huh?" Sam kissed the top of Ann's head, then took her from his lap. He stood, walking to where Renee waited by the stove. He embraced her, whispering how much he loved her as Ann came to their sides, wanting to be included. Sam picked her up as Renee wiped her face, then Ann leaned toward her mother. Sam handed her over, but stayed close to these ladies, giving thanks for them, then praying for all those he loved.

Marek spent that morning preparing the guest room, alternating between brooding over Klaudia, then praying for her. After lunch he took a long walk, running into Mrs. Harmon, who chastised him for the pitiful state of the daffodils. It took much inner fortitude for Marek to bite his tongue, yet he maintained an outward smile, which seemed to further irritate the woman. As she walked away, he marveled at his slight temper as well as how if Klaudia had been there, Mrs. Harmon might never bother him again. Then Marek sighed, wondering how his guest was, still many hours for her to travel.

She wouldn't arrive until late that evening, but Marek had decided against taking a nap. He'd had a cup of coffee with lunch, and felt very alert, but wanted to sleep that night as soon as he stepped into his room. He wasn't sure how much conversation they would share, perhaps she remained furious with him. Yet he didn't think Sigrun Vang had forced Klaudia to make this journey. While Marek was deeply sorry for the reason, Klaudia's return was necessary. Too much was at stake for her previous stay to have been her only one.

Since speaking with Sigrun's daughter, Marek had prayed extensively for Klaudia, as well as considering why this had happened now. He had included Eric in his missives, but more on a pastor's mind was the woman entrenched in his heart. His love for her hadn't abated, although maybe he'd convinced himself otherwise right after she'd gone back to Europe. Now Marek knew the depth of his affections, not that he expected to share anything with her physically. But no longer could he delude himself, and no more did he blame himself for having hurt her. He'd apologized, and she was heading this way. Part of her had forgiven him, but how large a part remained unknown.

By suppertime, Marek was tired, so he had a cup of tea with his meal. Afterwards he worked on that Sunday's sermon, then received a phone call from Lynne. At first, Marek was surprised, then he chuckled, as Lynne said she had felt drawn to speak to him. They chatted for several minutes, by which time he was more alert. Marek nearly asked to speak to Lynne's husband, but Jane hollered in the background, followed by a baby's cries. Marek closed the call, his mood lifted. Then he left the library, walking into the chapel. He stared at where he had stood near Klaudia on that fateful Sunday, remembering their kiss, which had led to two of the most wonderful days of his life. Those moments as her lover had confirmed to Marek the purpose of his existence, but her ensuing anger had diminished that discovery. Now he reclaimed it, regardless of how she might feel. As he had once said to Lynne, his memories belonged to him, no one could take them away.

But memory wasn't the same as daily experience. Marek sat in the front pew, gazing at Christ, easily recalling taking communion for the first time, his Uncle Alex bestowing that sacrament. At the time, Marek had no plans to enter the church; languages had been his focus, and while they still came in handy, God had possessed other ideas. Marek was grateful Brita had known some French, otherwise Klaudia would have had to get on the telephone, and perhaps that would have derailed the plan now in action. Marek glanced at his watch; he still had over an hour before he needed to leave. Yet by evening's end, Klaudia would be meters away from him.

However, this visit was wholly different than the last; she would get to meet Eric, but what would she make of his injury? How would Jane react to her auntie, but Marek didn't smile. Would Klaudia want to see any of the youngsters, or perhaps only the girls. Would Paul remind her of her son.... Marek shivered, his heart aching terribly. Either this would drive her permanently from him, or open a door previously thought locked. Did Klaudia's son die so Marek could have another chance with her? He shook his head, but the notion didn't leave him.

Marek remained on that pew for over half an hour. Then he stood, gazing at his savior, seeing a different figure on the wall, one beaten and bloody, but with arms outstretched. Marek nodded, giving thanks for such grace. It was also grace for him to extend, but if Klaudia refused it, Marek wouldn't be disheartened.

An hour later he mulled over that image, waiting with a few others for the last plane of the day. This time he didn't face the windows, but as men rose from their chairs, he did the same, lingering until he was alone. Muffled voices told him the plane was taxiing on the runway, but he remained apart, for he knew Klaudia would again be the last to depart the jet. As reunions took place, Marek finally turned to where those first off the plane embraced or shook hands with family and friends. Just that morning Sam had brought Laurie and Stanford here, now the day was ending with Marek and....

He spotted her as she stepped through the doors, her demeanor just as last month, a furtive look on her face. Marek had no clue to how she felt about him as she met his gaze with no more than a slight nod. He approached her slowly, but then they stood close. She gripped her handbag, her eyes dry, ringed with dark circles. She looked in need of a cigarette, Marek thought, clearing his throat. "Your flights okay?" he asked in Polish.

She seemed startled by that language, then nodded vigorously. "I'm just tired," she said, also in Polish.

Marek nodded, then turned toward where her luggage waited. "Shall we?"

"Oh yes, my case, of course." Her voice was clipped, then she sighed. "I only packed one bag. I don't know for how long I'll stay."

"There's no rush, at least on my account." Marek stepped slowly, uncertain of how tired she might be. "When do you need to be back?"

"Um, not for a while. I have plenty of holiday time saved, so...." She paused, then continued. "My boss told me not to rush."

"That was kind of him." Marek didn't face her, but was mindful of her steps, which seemed nearly matched with his. He inwardly smiled, then stopped walking, as they had reached baggage claim. One suitcase waited, which he recognized as hers. "Shall I?" he asked, still not looking at her.

"Oh yes, please."

He collected the case, then went to where she stood. Now he looked right at her, and for a second she glanced down. Then she met his gaze, but he didn't know her thoughts. He fought a grin; she didn't seem to know them either. He motioned toward the exit. "You must be exhausted."

"It has been a long day."

"Well, feel free to sleep in tomorrow."

"I'll do that."

Again her tone was curt, which almost made him chuckle. Last month she had wanted to get on Pacific Time as quickly as possible, but that visit had a distinct end. Marek nodded, then headed for the parking lot. She continued a half-step behind him, and when they reached his car, she didn't ask him to open her case. She got into the front passenger seat, closed her door, then stared out her window. Marek started the car, and wordlessly they traveled to St. Matthew's. Upon their arrival, Marek announced he would be busy in the morning, but that the afternoon was free. Klaudia nodded, then stared at him. A question loomed in her eyes, but several issues remained between them. Standing in the church foyer, Marek glanced toward the chapel, but his thoughts were firmly rooted in that moment. He cleared his throat, then spoke. "All right then, I'll see you sometime tomorrow. Sleep well and if you need anything...."

He stopped speaking the moment she grasped his hand. He first studied their entwined fingers, then her face, tears rolling down her cheeks. With his other hand, he wiped away that wetness, whispering her name. She nodded, then trembled, as sobs formed in her throat. Marek squeezed her hand, placing his other along her cheek, still wet with tears. She nodded, tried to speak, but sorrow overtook her. Marek then pulled her toward him, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She didn't fight his embrace, now weeping hard. It reminded him of how she had broken down in the airport terminal last month, yet this was borne of different emotions, one of which was clemency. She couldn't say it, but in how fiercely she clung to him, Marek knew some of his transgressions had been pardoned. He blinked away a few tears, again whispering her name, then telling her how sorry he was, also how glad she was there. She nodded, then pulled away, taking deep breaths. The pain in her eyes made him shiver, but it wasn't solely connected to how they had parted in February. How much she had loved her son lingered, perhaps was only being discovered right then. Marek reached for her hands, grasping them tenderly. He wanted to erase her heartache, or even ease it. "Klaudia...."

"Take me to your bed," she whispered. "Please Marek?"

He nodded, then lifted her hand to his lips, setting a kiss there. She gasped, then cried again as he released that hand, leading her down the hallway. These actions sprung from a place within Marek's soul which needed to console, as well as requiring physical comfort. Reaching his room, Marek paused, then caressed her face. "Are you sure?" he said softly.

She nodded, and he didn't ask again. Instead Marek kissed her, in part wanting to assure himself of her request. She didn't hesitate to confirm her words, and he prayed as the kiss ended, seeking guidance as well as giving thanks. In his bed, love was made, heady in practice and healing in nature. Then Klaudia again wept, but Marek heard snatches of joy in her tears. He fell asleep to feelings of sorrow and relief, bordered by intense thankfulness, and not merely his own.
Chapter 231

On Friday, Klaudia sat in the Snyders' kitchen, still pondering the story Marek had told her of how Eric had returned with such a debilitating injury. She had met the painter on Wednesday, at which time she was still reeling from how easily she and Marek had resumed their previous intimacies. She hadn't yet spoken of her son, but he'd had plenty to tell her, and again near such a talented artist, Klaudia felt deep loss. It pained her differently than her son's death, which seemed to have had a reason, for here she was back in America, involved with a man she loved, and slightly loathed. But her need for Marek was greater than that irritation, and while that also bothered her, she had decided to forgo her usual hesitations concerning personal pleasure. Part of that was due to the limited nature of her stay. The other part was sitting in front of her in the form of Eric's mangled right arm.

He was nothing like she had imagined; he was warm and witty, and a wonderful father. Jane adored him, and Cary seemed taken with him too, as if he'd been in this house since the day she was born. Now at two and a half months old, she was a happy, bright-eyed infant, so unlike.... Klaudia couldn't escape how differently was this baby compared to her own, the only one she had ever spent time with as an adult. Those she'd tended as a girl were lost to her memories, but Cary Snyder was alert and pleased for her world. Klaudia had yet to hold her, for she rested in her father's capable one-armed grasp. But Klaudia wondered what more Eric could do for her. She would wait until the baby fussed to see how this family coped with such limitations.

Lynne seemed mostly the same, although something about her troubled Klaudia, not that Lynne was distressed that her spouse had returned, nor was she uncomfortable at why Klaudia was again present. While Eric seemed like an open book, Lynne was shrouded in mystery; when she mentioned having gone to church that morning, Klaudia smiled inwardly, chalking up Lynne's behavior to religion. Klaudia found it odd that Lynne had attended the Aherns' church, until Marek spoke fondly of its priest. He then asked Klaudia if tomorrow night could they host Father Markham for supper, and if so, would she like to play poker with them.

Eric chuckled. "Make sure you have some spare dollars in your pocket. They might play for pennies, but they're serious about it."

Klaudia stared at Marek, who smiled, then nodded. "It's true, although Jeremy is the one who plays to win."

"I'll watch," Klaudia said, mirth in her tone. She then smiled, pleased for this information. "Shall I cook?"

"If you like." Marek gripped her hand, and she blushed. She squeezed back, then glanced at where Cary now whimpered. Lynne collected the baby, then sat in her chair, unbuttoning her blouse. The last time Klaudia visited, Lynne had fed Cary in the living room, but perhaps that had been for Klaudia's benefit. Klaudia couldn't help but watch as the baby nursed, Lynne's gaze on her infant. Eric stood, then asked if anyone wanted more coffee. Marek replied yes, and quickly Klaudia said the same. Eric retrieved the pot, slowly filling their mugs, then his own. Then he asked Jane if she needed more milk. She sat beside Klaudia, coloring on a large pad. She shook her head, but smiled at her father, making Klaudia's heart ache. She had expected Eric to be haughty, or at least aloof. Perhaps he'd been that way before, but now.... Klaudia inhaled deeply, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. Marek hadn't said exactly how this artist had been shot, in fact the details had been few. He'd been coming back from Florida, was injured in Texas, and would never paint again.

Canvases from the European show now hung in the living room. Klaudia had greatly admired the orchard, been stunned by the one of Lynne on the stool, then again had been pierced by that of Marek and Jane, but Marek wasn't immediately taking it with him to St. Matthew's. He'd asked the Snyders to keep it until he chose an appropriate place to display it. Eric mentioned another painting, that of a barn, which had finally arrived at the Aherns' home. Marek was pleased for its return, telling Klaudia she needed to see it. She had nodded, but only to be polite. It seemed a travesty to talk about these works when the artist would clearly never create another. Yet, as he sat back down, Eric seemed at peace, which again shook Klaudia. How in the world could he be so calm?

Jane showed off her latest picture and Klaudia gave it due praise; Jane seemed to possess some of her father's talent, or maybe other toddlers might be so inclined. In Polish Jane asked Klaudia if she wanted the drawing, and Klaudia said she would. Jane smiled, then began another, making Eric laugh. "If she asked what I think she did, you'll have a stack before you in no time."

Klaudia smiled, looking at Jane. "She's very good for a two-year-old."

Eric chuckled again. "She is, not sure where she gets it from though."

Marek laughed, even Lynne giggled. Klaudia met Eric's gaze, his gray eyes mostly open to her. She had met a few artists, but none had this man's generous spirit. Yet there was something strange about him, perhaps she attributed the notion to how he'd been maimed. Otherwise he seemed unremarkable, although very kind. She gazed at Marek, a good way to describe him too. She sensed a strong friendship between the men, then she glanced at Lynne, still feeding her baby. These people were now Marek's family, which seemed to include her too. She wasn't sure what she thought about that, then Jane presented her with another picture, jabbering in what sounded like Polish. Jane went back to work, and Klaudia's eyes watered. She excused herself, heading for the house bathroom.

Marek watched her walk away, hearing her sniffle before she exited the kitchen. He looked at Eric, who seemed in a better frame of mind, then he gazed at Lynne. That she'd attended St. Anne's that morning hadn't shocked him, but that Eric hadn't accompanied did surprise. Marek assumed Lynne had taken the girls, but perhaps Eric wasn't ready to worship regardless of the church. Marek was glad the blue barn again hung on Sam and Renee's wall, and said so. Eric nodded. "I think Stan was more worried than Sam was."

"Sam asked if we might all get together," Lynne said, now burping Cary. "It seems that could very well be possible."

Marek smiled, even though Klaudia hadn't return. "Indeed. I'll talk to her about it, then call Sam."

Lynne nodded, then stood. "I'll be back. Someone needs a new diaper."

Marek observed Eric as his wife and baby left the room. He seemed less depressed, but Marek still sensed disquiet within his friend. Perhaps Eric didn't want to burden Klaudia. Marek sighed softly, then picked up one of Jane's drawings. She asked in Polish where Auntie had gone, and Marek offered an excuse. Then he gazed at Eric, who was staring at the growing stack of pictures. "She's quite the illustrator," Marek said.

"Yeah, she lets us know when she needs more paper."

Marek nodded, a dull throbbing at his temples. Distance sat between him and Eric, and never had that been the case. He sipped his coffee, then cracked his knuckles. The sound reverberated through the room as Jane looked up, then went back to her coloring.

Eric acted as if he didn't notice, but he seemed to flinch, then Klaudia and Lynne returned. Marek smiled as now Klaudia held Cary, and she sat next to him, a pleased grin upon her face.

"How is that girl?" Marek asked.

"She's very good tempered." Klaudia's voice was mostly flat, although Marek discerned small joy in her tone. Cary cooed, then made what sounded like a chortle. Marek laughed as Klaudia giggled. "She's a happy baby," Klaudia continued. "But she has a good family around her."

"Indeed she does." Eric chuckled. "Especially her big sister, right Jane?"

Jane looked up, nodded, then returned to her task.

Marek smiled, then stood, joining Lynne at the sink. "I was about to say we might leave soon," he whispered. "But perhaps we'll stay a bit longer, if you don't mind."

"She met me at the bottom of the stairs and asked to hold Cary. I was happy to hand her over."

"Thank you." Marek wished to turn back, but let the light chatter coming from the table assuage his curiosity. "How was St. Anne's this morning?"

Lynne sighed softly. "Very peaceful, even with the girls." Then she smiled. "Maybe I'll ask Renee to join us next week."

Marek grasped Lynne's hand, but didn't speak. Then he faced the table, finding bliss all over Klaudia's face, even some on Eric's. Jane continued to draw, then spoke Polish to the woman beside her. Klaudia's eyes watered, then she met Marek's gaze.

He nodded, then spoke to Lynne. "Jane asked if we could stay for lunch. I hope she's not overstepping her bounds."

Lynne chuckled. "No, that would be lovely. Eric, you hungry?"

"Sure."

Marek inwardly shivered, for the tones used between the couple sounded weary. Lynne began making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while Marek helped Jane put away her crayons and paper. Klaudia held Cary the entire time, Eric joking that he wasn't alone in eating one-handed. After lunch and slices of pie, Lynne put Jane to bed, then Marek and Klaudia made their goodbyes. Their drive back to St. Matthew's was in silence, but as Marek parked the car, Klaudia cleared her throat. "What really happened to him?"

Marek turned off the engine, then faced Klaudia. "He was shot in Texas and...."

"That makes no sense." She shook her head. "Someone would have contacted Lynne right after he'd been injured."

Marek sighed. "He suffered from amnesia. He only regained his memory on his way home."

That detail had been omitted, for when they spoke of this, love had just been made, and Marek hadn't felt able to talk of more than the initial incident. Klaudia hadn't required further illumination, but now her eyes were large in her face. "Amnesia? But I thought you said he'd been shot."

"Yes, but he also didn't know who he was. There was no way for those who found him to inform Lynne. We're just grateful he was cared for so well."

That thankfulness resounded through Marek as if he was revisiting those long uncertain months. Then he shivered, for part of Eric was still missing, and Marek grasped Klaudia's hands. "Don't be fooled by his glib manner. He's happy to be home, but he's lost a profound gift. There is much for him to process."

Klaudia nodded, then sighed. "He's not at all like I imagined. Was he like that before?"

"Yes." Marek paused, then continued. "But he is moodier now." Marek gazed at St. Matthew's, wondering when Eric might again come for worship. "I feel about him similarly to how I view you being here. Much has been lost, but...." He took a deep breath as Klaudia gripped his hands. "As I've prayed for you, I pray for him. I can't begin to fathom what it all means, only to be cognizant of these blessings."

He needed to be honest with her in regards to that part of his life, which had yet to be mentioned. She nodded, then sighed, releasing his hands. She glanced out her window, then stared at the dashboard.

Marek watched her fidget, then saw Mrs. Harmon down the sidewalk. He fought a grin, but couldn't halt his chuckle. Klaudia looked up, then around. "What's so funny?"

"My nemesis is approaching. Goodness knows what she'll make of us in my car together."

Klaudia stared at the woman heading their way. "She looks harmless."

"Appearances can be deceiving," Marek laughed.

Klaudia snorted. "Well, I need a smoke." She rummaged through her handbag, found her cigarettes and matches, then got out of the car. Marek waited to exit until Klaudia had shut her door, then he slowly walked to where she lit a cigarette as Mrs. Harmon stood a few meters away.

The older woman stared at the one younger, a sour look on Mrs. Harmon's face. Klaudia tossed back her hair, then leaned against the car's hood, making exaggerated motions with her cigarette. Mrs. Harmon marched to where Marek stood, but didn't immediately speak. She then glared at Klaudia, who wouldn't make eye contact.

"Mrs. Harmon, let me introduce you to an old friend. From home," Marek added, his Polish accent strong. "This is Klaudia Henrichsen. Klaudia, meet Mrs. Harmon. She's not a member of St. Matthew's, but a neighbor of mine."

That Mrs. Harmon didn't attend St. Matthew's had never been broached, but after their last encounter, Marek had tired of this woman's meddling. She seemed shocked by his insinuation, then she shook her head. "I may not be a member of this parish, but as your neighbor, I do find your lack of care toward the flowers unacceptable."

Klaudia exhaled in Mrs. Harmon's direction, tapping ashes on the gravel. Then she peered at the flowers near the church steps. "Seems a very nice garden to me."

Mrs. Harmon flinched, and Marek wondered what surprised her more, that Klaudia understood English or that she had rebuffed the older woman's complaint. Mrs. Harmon again shook her head. "Well, all I know is before Pastor came, the flowers always bloomed on time, and in far greater numbers than they do now."

"Perhaps that is due to the weather. In Norway, where I live, we're so happy for spring that any foliage is welcome."

Again Mrs. Harmon looked shocked, but Marek was also stunned, having expected a more stinging retort from his guest. Mrs. Harmon merely grunted, then turned around, going back the way she came. Marek chuckled once she was out of range while Klaudia finished her cigarette. She smashed it out in the gravel, then looked at Marek. "If I leave it there, will she report you to the authorities?"

Marek laughed. "She might, but as you can see, yours isn't the only one." Other cigarette butts were scattered amid the stones. "She would have a hard time proving which is yours."

Klaudia rolled her eyes, then stared at where Mrs. Harmon could just be seen at the end of the block. "A thorn in your side, as they say."

"Oh yes, but barely a pinprick. Come, let's go inside. I'll make some tea and...."

Klaudia stood close to Marek, then stroked his face. "If I kiss you now, will that give her more to complain about?"

Her tone teased, but Marek merely grasped her hand upon his cheek, then placed it at their sides. "Perhaps. But further irritation is unnecessary."

Klaudia stared at him for seconds, then meekly nodded. Marek kissed her cheek, then led her to the steps, where they admired daffodils and emerging tulips before entering St. Matthew's together.
Chapter 232

Supper with Father Markham provided Klaudia with much entertainment, as well as lessons in a card game in which Marek excelled. Eric had been mistaken in claiming it was the priest with an eye for victory; Marek won four dollars that evening, all of it going into St. Matthew's coffers. After church on Sunday they hosted the Snyder ladies, Eric feeling unwell, according to Lynne. Unless Cary was being fed Klaudia had baby duty, and she lamented the family's departure, although it was past Jane's naptime. While Marek spent time in the chapel, Klaudia started a letter to Sigrun, noting some of her observations, but omitting how she had spent every night in Marek's bed. Then Klaudia paused, for she had yet to discuss the reason for her trip with that man. She shuddered from attaching that phrase to Marek, then shivered for the words they still had to speak. Then she cleared her throat, as though Sigrun sat across from her, asking when Klaudia was coming home. Surprisingly, Klaudia felt no desire to return to Oslo, even if dwelling within a church for the rest of her days seemed distasteful. Too many contradictions swirled around her, not only connected to the man she loved.

Even that affection was mired in conflict. She hated that he put religion first, yet she also respected him for that strange affiliation. She felt the same toward Lynne, who no longer seemed so perplexing. She was merely a woman caring for many, looking to God to ease her burdens. Their conversation over lunch cleared a few mysteries; for many years Lynne had been a nurse, unable to have a baby until recently. Klaudia didn't inquire what had ushered in parenthood, but she now understood Lynne's devotion to family, which included her pastor, but Klaudia wasn't jealous. Lynne reminded her of Ania, but she considered it was due to their similar coloring. During lunch Klaudia had stared at Jane and Cary, wondering if Ania had lived, would she have had a daughter like Jane, or a son like.... Marek had no offspring, which the more time Klaudia spent with the Snyders seemed a tragedy. Then she had excused herself, although it had been easy to slip out of the kitchen, for Lynne was nursing her baby and Marek held Jane. Klaudia had gone outside to smoke, standing near Marek's car, enjoying a glorious spring reminiscent of her youth. She had kept watch for Marek's annoying neighbor, but that woman was nowhere to be seen. By the time Klaudia had reentered the church, Lynne was preparing to leave, Jane crying from exhaustion in Marek's grasp. Klaudia wouldn't write all about that to Sigrun either, for soon enough she'd have her hands busy with a grandchild, no need to remind her about weary toddlers.

Then Klaudia sighed; Marek hadn't said anything about her eventual departure date. Her boss had told her not to hurry back, but anything over another week would seem superfluous. And, she allowed, another week might make her departure more painful. Or maybe by then she would have tired of Marek and.... She blinked away tears as that notion made her heart ache. While his occupation was objectionable, she loved him, and being far from Norway she felt no pain connected with.... Now she wept, but these tears didn't bother her, for she was alone, and had leaned back in her seat, not getting the letter wet. Then she laughed softly at herself, for in America she was a different woman. Children pleased her, although she had yet to see the Ahern youngsters. Marek's neighbor deserved a tongue-lashing, yet Klaudia had restrained herself, not merely for Marek's benefit. The woman was clearly prejudiced against Poles, but Klaudia had known that in Norway and.... She sniffled, for even thinking of that country elicited pain. Perhaps Gunnar had been right, that their son should have died at birth, sparing his mother from ever becoming attached to him.

Now her temper flared, for he'd only said that once, right after he returned alone. She had begged him to bring their baby home, but he'd cut her off, saying he had done this for her. That the baby would die soon, and this way she could forget about him. What an asinine statement, she fumed, wishing for a smoke. Had he truly thought Klaudia would forget her firstborn, which turned into her only child. Inwardly she berated him, then she smirked, for he was long dead, and now their son was with him. Suddenly Klaudia hoped there was a heaven, and that Marek was giving Gunnar a good dressing-down. She chuckled, then sighed, wiping her face, then staring at where she sat in the kitchen. She had chosen a different chair, not wanting to be distracted from her letter by Eric's painting. She leaned forward, but could only make out a corner, where he'd signed his name. A few stray tears rolled down her cheeks for what had been lost, but no one was immune from misfortune.

Twenty minutes later Marek found her still seated in the kitchen, but she was sealing the envelope as he said hello. He got himself a glass of water, then sat where she usually did, although he didn't glance at the painting. Instead he gazed at her, wondering for how many more days would he enjoy this mostly blissful chapter of his life. She smiled at him, placing the letter on the table. "I'd like to post it tomorrow if that's all right."

She spoke in Polish, all they had used since her arrival, but her accent was faint. He nodded, inwardly wondering if writing in Norwegian affected her tone. "We can go in the morning, I need to get stamps myself."

"Thank you." Her voice wavered between a Scandinavian accent and that which made Marek's heart pound. He'd found hearing fluent Polish eased his mind, and he hoped Jane would become adept with the language. These moments with Klaudia seemed fleeting, not that Marek was generally pessimistic, but for how much longer could she stay?

He wanted to ask, for he assumed that within the letter she had said something to her friend about a potential departure date. Yet he didn't want her to think he sought her absence. Even for their conflicting opinions concerning faith, much bound them together, not merely language or memories. He smiled, thinking of how perfect she was to love, a notion he had never explored with such enthusiasm or depth of purpose. In his bed, she allowed healing to occur, both from the loss of her son as well as from years of loneliness, disappointment, and dread. Marek's heart also felt restored, Eric's absence from church and lunch not as painful as Marek had feared. Eric might not accompany his wife and daughters on Sunday mornings, but Marek knew exactly where that man was.

He sighed slightly, then smiled, finding Klaudia's pleasure briefly interrupted. "I was just thinking about Eric not joining us today. But at least I know where he is." Marek gazed at the painting, focusing on the afterimage. He wanted to ask Eric if he saw it too, but wouldn't say a word about it to the woman Marek knew was being depicted.

"Now I understand Lynne better," Klaudia said. "So while you missed her husband, I guess I'm glad he didn't come." Then Klaudia shook her head. "That didn't come out right. What I meant was...."

Marek had moved from his chair, seating himself beside Klaudia. "I understand. And you're right. He's not ready to embrace this part of his life yet. It's all time in coming."

Marek had grasped Klaudia's hands, and as he spoke, she gripped his. Then she released him. "And what if he never comes back here, other than to visit you?"

Her riled tone made Marek smile. "Then I'll be grateful for those social calls."

"Much like mine here, I suppose."

"Yes, I'm thankful for these too."

She stared at him, then crossed her arms over her chest. "I wrote to Sigrun that while I didn't yet have a ticket, I'll probably book it for the end of the week, or the beginning of next at the very latest."

"I wondered if that would be your timetable." He gazed at the letter, then clasped his hands together on the table. "I'll miss you very much."

She nodded, then stared at him as if he had omitted something. Yet Marek had nothing more to say, for in bed he had spoken his heart, that he would love her for the rest of his days. But the reason for her trip now wasn't because she wanted to be his life partner, and it wasn't his responsibility to state the truth of her presence. She nodded as if he had identified these reasons, but instead of answering them, she sighed, then grasped the letter, staring at it.

Marek assumed she hadn't said more than pleasantries to her friend, maybe a little about the Snyders, then of course just as she said, that her departure date, while unknown, was looming. He ached thinking of her far away, but at least the rancor of their previous parting had been overcome. Then he sighed, for the price she'd paid was steep, although Marek felt his namesake was in a much better place than before.

He clasped his hands around hers, careful not to crumple the envelope. She permitted that, then set the letter back on the table, turning to face him. They gazed at one another as if she was leaving tomorrow, then Marek leaned toward her, kissing her. She reciprocated, but not as though time was short. Marek nodded, for in their actions she revealed a desire to stay, also the longing to never leave. Yet the truth lingered in how she moved away, tears on her face. A few more days were theirs, Marek knew, but goodbye waited on the horizon. It wouldn't be as hostile as last month, but more painful. Marek accepted that, again leaning toward her. This time Klaudia initiated the kiss, which led them to bed, where they stayed for the rest of the evening.

The next day they ran into Sam at the post office, and Marek accepted a supper invitation for Thursday. That ushered in a conversation returning to St. Matthew's as to Klaudia's trip back. She didn't want to return to work immediately after getting home, so Saturday was chosen. Marek called a travel agent, and flights would be arranged. The agent would call them when the tickets were ready to be collected.

Klaudia spent the afternoon in the garden, reveling in what to her were warm temperatures. Marek joined her, wearing a sweater, and she laughed at him. "That should go in the garbage. There's more holes in that than in a block of Swiss cheese."

"I know, but it's my favorite. I bought it in London at a second hand shop, and can't bear to part with it."

She stood, brushing dust from her trousers. "Did you like it there?"

"I did, but then it was time to move on."

She furrowed her brow, then stared at her handiwork. "What brought you to America?"

"Fate, you might say. I wanted something different and...." He could tell she was fishing for more personal facts, but Maggie was a closed chapter. "I heard about the need for pastors in the United States, which might sound odd, but there are few Lutherans in England, far more here. I had my choice of parishes, and decided to see if the West Coast was as wild as the stories. It's not," he chuckled, "other than my struggles with Mrs. Harmon. A gunslinger from the old days might feel the same."

Klaudia giggled, then reached down for her cigarettes and matches. Marek had noticed she had been smoking less and he wondered if that was indicative of how much comfort she'd found. She lit one, then walked to the gravel. Marek followed her, but didn't speak. Neither did she, but she smoked slowly, as if pacing herself. She had bought one pack since arriving, which compared to last time was a significant reduction. Then she coughed, shaking her head. "I've been trying to cut back, Sigrun's quit entirely. Thought I might surprise her by joining her, but just when I think I don't need it, I do."

"It's a hard habit to break. As you can see, many can't."

Abandoned filters covered the gravel, some from yesterday. While ladies loitered in the foyer or on the steps, their husbands gathered here to chat and smoke. Marek wasn't bothered that Klaudia smoked, although he was pleased she was attempting to cut back. They shared small talk about Sigrun having quit, her coming grandchild, then Klaudia sighed. "It was her idea to call you, but of course she doesn't know any English, or Polish for that matter. Brita offered, although her French isn't great."

"It was good enough."

Klaudia nodded, then met his gaze. "Who knew all those years ago how valuable your linguistic skills would be."

"Indeed. Sometimes I think my family would find my exploits nearly unbelievable."

Again Marek held his tongue, but he could tell she was getting close to speaking of her son. Her voice was soft, her Polish accent thick. She sounded like the girl from his memories, her stolen innocence having been restored. He closed his eyes, recalling Eric on the front church steps, his beady eyes far more humane than his animal appearance. Then Marek wished to weep, for while this woman was being returned to him, another much loved was still far away. Would he ever have both within his grasp? He opened his eyes, but sorrow sat in Klaudia's. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"You look so sad," she stammered, trying not to cry. She released a soft sob, dropped her cigarette on the ground, then wrapped her arms around herself. Marek approached her, and she stumbled into his grasp, weeping hard. He gently spoke her name, telling her he loved her. She continued to cry, calling out for her son, what Marek knew without hesitation. They might share the same name, but her tone was that of a mother who had never been allowed to fulfill that role. Part of that was due to her child's affliction, but much was the fault of her late husband. Marek continued to whisper that he loved her, and how sorry he was. He longed to say more, that her child was safe in Christ's care, that he was whole and healed. He wasn't sure if he would ever be able to share those truths, which pained him nearly as much as her grief. Yet he was relieved for her sadness, for she needed to release it. Then Marek inwardly trembled, wishing to speak to Lynne. Once Klaudia was gone, he would make a point to talk with her alone, probably after a Sunday service. Jane might be present, but perhaps Marek could discreetly inquire as to Eric's mental state. Klaudia kept weeping, but Marek wasn't bothered, for her tears were an essential step of mourning. And perhaps he only needed to minister to one of his beloveds at a time. Silently he prayed for Klaudia, also for Eric. Both were keeping their distance from Christ, and Marek would respect their wishes. His role wasn't to save, merely to love.
Chapter 233

As children played in the living room, adults and an infant shared conversation in the Aherns' kitchen; Eric and Sam spoke about baseball while Lynne and Klaudia chatted about spring flowers, that discussion having been sparked by a comment Marek made concerning Mrs. Harmon. Renee cuddled Cary, who cooed affectionately, holding much of her godmother's attention. Renee also listened for the chatter between the youngsters, wondering if anyone else noticed Paul's demeanor. He hadn't approached Eric, but since the return of the blue barn, Paul had seemed less fearful, even asking when Jane's family was going to arrive that night. Several times Renee had caught him studying the canvas, but she'd refrained from questioning what he saw in it. Ann had already told her parents how much she liked it, finding all sorts of baby animals inside. Renee had remarked the same, for no longer did she find birds within it, merely cows and calves, sheep and lambs, mares and foals. The only fowl residing in it now were hens and their chicks, a rooster nearby, which Renee had mentioned in passing to her husband. As far as she knew, Sam hadn't asked Paul anything about the painting, but perhaps in the coming days, she might gently inquire.

Glancing at those around the table, Renee smiled for how well the evening had progressed. Klaudia had been warmly greeted by all three children, and she'd responded in kind. A few times she had held Cary, and while Renee was relieved for that, she'd been pleased when Lynne handed over her daughter once Cary had been fed. Klaudia and Marek had done the supper dishes, and soon pie would be served. As that passed through Renee's mind, Ann and Jane ran into the kitchen, asking for dessert.

Sam stood, laughing at their request. "I was just thinking about getting out the ice cream."

"Oh please Daddy?" Ann called, grabbing Sam's hand.

"Please?" Jane added, going to Sam's other side.

The adults chuckled, but Renee noticed Paul hadn't joined the girls. She stood, placing Cary over her shoulder, as lively chit-chat stirred. Renee exited the kitchen, tenderly patting Cary's back, peering around the living room. Paul stood in front of the blue barn, gazing intently at the structure. She observed him for half a minute, then softly cleared her throat, walking toward him. He glanced back at her, his small frown making Renee's pulse race. As she reached him, he pointed at the picture. "Mommy, what do you see in it?"

Slowly Renee knelt beside him, still keeping Cary over her shoulder. "Lots of animals, mostly mothers and their babies."

"Hmmm." Paul nodded, then met her gaze. "That's what Ann sees too."

"Uh-huh," Renee smiled. "She's told me."

Paul turned to face the canvas again, crossing his arms over his chest. "I don't see any animals."

Renee bobbed Cary up and down, listening to those in the kitchen, who didn't seem to notice she had stepped away or that Paul was absent. Cary made babbling sounds, which caught Paul's attention, as he looked toward his mother. Now a small smile sat on his face. "I wonder what Cary sees," he said.

Renee giggled, then sat on the floor. "I dunno. In a few years we can ask her."

Paul nodded, then glanced at the carpet. He shoved his hands in his pockets, then again stared at the painting. "Mommy, I like this picture."

Tears welled in Renee's eyes. "I do too honey. Eric's created many beautiful paintings, but this one's my favorite."

Paul had been nodding, then he stopped, turning to face Renee. "Jane's daddy painted it?"

"Uh-huh. He painted the boysenberries too."

Renee and Sam had told both of their children that fact, but perhaps it had been an obscure detail while Eric was gone. Paul gazed toward the doorway, from which Eric's laughter could be heard. Renee discerned slight tension in his joy, did Paul? He continued gazing that way, then Cary chuckled. Paul looked at the baby, his own smile wide. "I wonder if she knows that's her daddy."

Renee shrugged, wondering if Paul meant Eric's laughter, or that he'd painted the barn. "Too bad we can't ask her," Renee said.

Paul walked up to Cary, stroking her cheek. "She looks like Jane. I wonder if they'll paint pictures when they get bigger."

Renee had pondered the same, and said so. Then she smiled. "Shall we go see about dessert?"

"Oh yeah." Paul turned around, running to the kitchen. But he stopped just shy from going in, smiling at Renee. "Mama, I'll wait for you."

"Thanks honey." It took Renee a moment to stand, then she joined her son. He stood close to her, then they walked into the kitchen together.

Klaudia sat beside Marek on the Aherns' sofa, occasionally stealing glances at the same painting Paul had admired. But Klaudia couldn't view the canvas for more than a few seconds at a time. Her son stood inside it, along with her parents and others from their village. She didn't see any of Marek's relatives within the structure, but would ask what he thought once they were alone. She also wanted to know exactly what bound this group so tightly, for all evening she had felt like an outsider, although not as though she'd been ostracized. She'd had a pleasant chat with Lynne and Renee, and had exchanged brief words with Eric, although now she longed to say more, but wasn't sure how to express her thoughts. His paintings were exceptional, yet it seemed cruel to mention what he could no longer do. She'd found the boysenberries so lifelike, but the barn had truly taken her breath; how had she missed it at the exhibit? Or would it have been too much to accept, what with the painting that had yet to find its way to St. Matthew's. Klaudia would gently pester Marek as to when that piece would come home, then she sighed. Was that church her home, how was that even possible? Marek laughed, and that sound pierced Klaudia's heart. Wherever that man sat was where Klaudia wished to be.

Inwardly she trembled, again thinking of him with that phrase; they had two more nights together, and a part of her dreaded leaving America. But as Jane whimpered in Marek's lap, Klaudia accepted that while these people were now his kin, she sat outside their ranks, but not merely because her son was dead. Condolences had been offered, and she'd graciously acknowledged them, no one wishing to ignore the reason for her presence. But something was being concealed, although Klaudia couldn't imagine what it might be. Eric wasn't the philanderer she'd originally assumed, the Aherns without any obvious mysteries. Then Klaudia flinched; Eric's arm was a gruesome sight, and Sam had been maimed in the Korean War. Their wives had tended to the sick, as did Marek in a manner of speaking, was that the link? It must be, Klaudia decided, not wishing to feel excluded. She gripped Marek's hand, and he reciprocated. They were the only ones without offspring, then Klaudia coughed, her throat growing tight. "Excuse me," she stammered, releasing Marek's hand, then standing from the sofa, going toward the kitchen.

Marek stood, setting Jane in Sam's grasp, following Klaudia from the living room. Eric wondered if previously would Marek have placed Jane with him, but she was tired, and Sam could better cradle her. Eric had enjoyed being away from his own house, but he'd avoided looking at the barn, and now wished to leave. Gentle murmurs wafted from the kitchen, Polish in nature, but Jane didn't seem interested in that conversation. She slumped again her godfather, Eric finding an odd look on Sam's face, pleasure for the warmth of a small child mixed with guilt, which Eric felt was cast in his direction. He wasn't sure why Sam felt culpable, other than he could hold Jane with two arms. Eric glanced at Lynne, Cary in her grasp. She nodded at her husband; they could depart as soon as Marek and Klaudia returned.

Klaudia's presence eased Eric's mood, or maybe it was that Paul hadn't scowled at him. Eric permitted a grin, but it was small, for his arm ached, and his head was filled with the muted cries of what seemed like a flock of birds. He'd heard that from the moment he'd stepped into this house, but without the din of children, it seemed to have grown louder. Paul and Ann were in bed, where Jane would be as soon as.... Eric's concentration was broken as Marek and Klaudia stepped back into the living room. "About time for us to take our leave," Marek said softly. "Sam, Renee, thank you for a lovely evening."

As goodbyes were shared, Eric gripped his right arm, but that did nothing to lessen the pain. He stood as Klaudia approached him, then shook her outstretched left hand. Her eyes were red, and she tried to smile, but instead glanced at the floor. Eric wasn't bothered, although it was probably the last time he would see her. She was leaving early on Saturday, and this night had been an unspoken farewell supper. Marek also shook Eric's hand, but he didn't try to make eye contact. Eric inwardly sighed for the distance between them, which was his doing. Then he watched as Sam walked that twosome to the front door, offering them one last goodnight.

Now Renee held Jane, who was nearly asleep. Eric approached Lynne, wishing he could take their daughter, but that was impossible. Instead he softly spoke. "Time to go?"

She nodded, then went to her feet. "If you grab the baby bag, I think we're ready."

"That I can do." His tone was light, for he didn't wish to end the evening on a sour note, even if he felt subdued. As Sam returned, Eric collected the baby bag, then joined the rest in the middle of the room. "Thanks for another fine meal," Eric said, just avoiding Sam's gaze. But his eyes landed on the blue barn, from which he couldn't look away. That moment burned within his memory, how had he forgotten it? How had he not remembered any of these people, how had he....

Another memory sent acid to the base of Eric's throat. He tried clearing it, but didn't want to wake Jane. "I'll meet you at the car," he mumbled, hoisting the baby bag over his sloped shoulder. The pain was excruciating, but it wasn't what made him wish to vomit.

Outside Eric coughed hard, but bitterness remained lodged in his throat. He leaned against the hood of the car, watching as Lynne stepped from the Aherns' house, Renee right behind her toting Jane. The women placed the children into the back of the vehicle, then Renee stepped to where Eric stood, near the front passenger door. He couldn't see her face, for the porchlight was behind her, but she patted his left shoulder, then kissed his cheek. As she walked away, he got into the car, Lynne waiting behind the wheel. Wordlessly she started the engine and within minutes they were on their street, both of Eric's daughters sound asleep.

It was Lynne to carry their girls into the house, Eric bringing in the baby bag. He locked the door, then sat at the kitchen table, staring around the room. When he'd come home, nothing mattered but holding his wife and their children, embracing others so loved. Now all he knew was darkness, but lights shone overhead. He stared at the windows, wishing to disappear.

"The girls went down fine," Lynne said, stepping into the room. She sat in her usual seat, clasping her hands on her lap. "Can I get you anything?"

He shook his head, not looking at her. Then he sighed. "Maybe some aspirin."

She nodded, getting up, then walking toward the sink. She returned with a glass of water and four tablets, which she placed in front of him. Eric took the pills, drank most of the water, then gripped it. Did he have enough strength to break the glass, but that would solve none of his problems. Then he gazed at his wife; had his return harmed her more than his absence? "Sorry tonight ended so...." He sighed, unsure of what to say.

"I love you. We'll just take each day as it comes."

Again he stared at the darkness. "Lynne, sometimes I feel so...." Displaced came to his mind, but he didn't say it. "I don't know what I feel, to tell you the truth." Then he shook his head. "Honey, I'm so sorry for everything."

She grasped his left hand, stroking it gently. "Eric, there's nothing for you to be sorry about. You're home, that's all I wanted."

"Is it?"

She nodded, still caressing his hand. "I imagine you want more, and while I can't do anything about that, that you're here with me is...." She smiled, wiping her face. "It's a gift Eric, it really is."

He nodded, but wasn't sure why. Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly. "Thanks for being so patient. Hell, you're more patient than I am."

"There's far more for you to process." She placed her other hand on his, yawning as she did so. Then she smiled. "I'm going to bed, but take your time." She released his hand, then stood, kissing the top of his head. "Oh, I'm going to St. Anne's with Renee in the morning."

Eric nodded, but didn't respond.

Lynne rubbed both of his shoulders, then kissed his cheek. "I might go to their house afterwards, but I just wanted to let you know. I love you honey."

As she left the kitchen, Eric continued staring toward the darkness. When the living room clock chimed ten, he stiffly got up, turned off the kitchen light, then headed for the stairs. As he reached the landing, he gazed down at the French doors, then at the closed nursery door, finally at where his wife lay sleeping. Tears fell down his face as he entered their bedroom, Lynne's gentle breathing calling to him. Eric longed to embrace her, but instead he shed his clothes, clumsily put on pajamas, then crawled into bed, lying along the edge of the mattress as far from his wife as possible.
Chapter 234

Six weeks after Klaudia left America, Seth and Adrienne were married, with one overseas guest; Laurie flew to Israel for the ceremony, serving as Seth's best man. Laurie's stay was brief, but in addition to meeting his newest relative, it was as if two men were reintroduced after years of separation. Seth was like the teen Laurie could still recall, exuberant about sculpting, but now seasoned joy sat in that man's eyes, healing alongside heartfelt love. Seth and Adrienne postponed their honeymoon until after Laurie departed, then Adrienne mentioned visiting Laurie and Stanford in New York. Seth heard more than a desired vacation in her tone, yet he didn't ask about moving from Tel Aviv. Sharing such a special occasion with Laurie had been exactly what Seth needed, but he wished to begin married life where no preconceived notions might dog his steps. He considered Eric, who in Laurie's words was having a difficult time readjusting to life at home. Seth wasn't surprised, another reason he didn't yet want to travel to the United States. There would be those out west to meet, plus a reunion with Walt Richardson in Texas. Laurie had mentioned him when speaking about Eric, but before talking to a painter, Seth would first correspond with Walt, who could perhaps shed some light on Eric's days in Karnack.

Those in Roseburg were thrilled for Seth and Adrienne's news, celebrating it vicariously through Laurie. Weekday mornings Lynne attended mass with Renee, lighting candles at St. Anne's for her husband, the newly married couple, the Richardsons' impending twins, Ritchie Nolan's continued sobriety, and Paul, who had yet to tell his parents what he saw inside the blue barn. Lynne also prayed for Marek and Klaudia; every time Marek spoke of her, Lynne heard deep affection in his tone, which since Klaudia's departure had taken on a more Polish flavor. Lynne took her daughters to St. Matthew's every Sunday, and they usually stayed for lunch, during which time Marek regaled the Snyder females with news from Oslo. Lynne still detected a poignancy in Marek's voice, but it wasn't merely about the woman Marek loved. Lynne knew it herself, and not only at the churches she visited. Within her own home she often felt as she had last summer and autumn, when Eric was gone but before Laurie's arrival. Lynne didn't think Jane had discerned her father's depression, neither had Cary. Maybe depression wasn't the right description of what now plagued Eric; it was as if he ached to again change form, then fly away, but never return home.

When Lynne tried to talk with him about it, he dismissed her comments, and for a few days his malaise would lift. But his joy never lasted, although he was upbeat around their daughters. Jane and Cary stirred something within their father that not even Lynne could manage. She wasn't angry, but relieved that their girls could reach into him. The couple still made love as often as before, but outside of that action, Lynne found a thick shell had formed around her husband. The Aherns noticed it too, in addition to Marek, but none of them had an easy answer. It would take time, Marek said, and while time had brought Eric home, Lynne now pined for those early days of her marriage when soothing her spouse after his transformations had been comparatively simple.

Motherhood eased some of Lynne's angst, although now she was hesitant to mention having another baby. Lynne still wanted to get pregnant once Cary was weaned, which as May turned to June seemed entirely possible. Cary now enjoyed cereal and strained fruits, was a cheerful baby who slept well, and brought joy to all who knew her. On Saturdays Fran, Sally, and Helene visited the Snyder home, and while Frannie said little to Eric, she and Lynne tended the garden while Sally minded the children. Eric stayed upstairs during Fran's visits, allegedly reading letters sent from Europe during his absence. The window to that room didn't face the back garden, allowing the women privacy, and to Frannie Lynne revealed her heart, shedding some tears in the process. Frannie said an impromptu prayer, which immediately strengthened Lynne, making her ponder the mystery of God's grace within all their lives. Eric seemed to have benefitted from Fran's intercessions; he went to St. Matthew's that Sunday, but refrained from taking communion. The Snyders didn't share lunch with their pastor, and Jane complained about it on the family's drive home. Eric ignored her protests, but Lynne assuaged their daughter that perhaps Marek would come for supper later in the week. They hadn't hosted Marek since Klaudia had visited, which Lynne didn't need to say in front of her husband. Other than Fran, the Snyders hadn't opened their home to anyone.

Lynne did see Renee every day at mass, which had led to Lynne spending a couple of mornings a week at the Aherns, which meant she saw Sam too. Jane asked about her godparents as Lynne parked in front of the gate, and Lynne replied they would see them tomorrow at church. Jane was appeased, but Eric grunted as the family walked toward the house. Lynne inhaled the heady scent of summer; grass was thick, but lumpy in places, for sod had never been laid. The boysenberries were ripening, vegetables that Lynne and Fran had planted thriving. In the distance, Lynne imagined peach trees would be flourishing, then she cleared her throat as all neared the kitchen door. "Eric, do you still want to put in peach trees?"

He stopped, Jane at his side, both turning Lynne's way. "What'd you say?"

She smiled despite his frown. "You and Laurie talked about it, remember. Have you changed your mind or...."

He grunted again, and Jane did the same, making Lynne giggle. "I was just wondering. Behind the studio there's plenty of space for one or two."

She clearly recalled their conversation, then fought breaking into tears, for how different was her husband now. Eric still frowned, but Jane had released his hand, running toward the back. She shouted the names of all the pies her mother made as though they could plant pumpkin and sweet potato trees as well.

Then Jane screamed, and both parents ran toward her. She had tripped over uneven ground, her left knee skinned, blood trickling down her leg. "Give me Cary," Eric said hoarsely. Carefully Lynne put the baby along his left side, then knelt beside Jane, who still cried hard. Lynne inspected both knees; the right was merely stained by grass and loose dirt, but the left required a mother's care.

Lynne toted Jane into the house, Eric and Cary behind them. Eric put Cary in the playpen while Lynne took Jane upstairs where she washed and dressed Jane's knee in the bathroom. Jane held her mother's hand as they went downstairs, then she ran toward her father, who sat next to the playpen, where Cary whimpered. "I think she's hungry," Eric said softly. Then he patted his lap. "Jane, can Daddy hold you?"

"Yes," she pouted, climbing onto her father's lap as Lynne collected Cary, then seated herself on the sofa. Lynne unbuttoned her blouse, then placed the baby to nurse, but Cary did little more than root. Having been eating solids for a few weeks, Cary seemed to want more than milk. Parents stole glances at each other; Jane slumped against Eric's chest, but Cary wanted nothing to do with that sort of consolation.

"Maybe she wants something more significant." Lynne used an even tone, not wishing to remind her husband of her wishes for another child. She stood from the couch, taking Cary into the kitchen. Cary wasn't quite big enough for the high chair, but could be fed from a bouncy seat that Jane had also used. Lynne set her baby into it, then placed it in the center of the table. She mixed some rice cereal into applesauce, then offered Cary a small bite. Within minutes Cary had finished that portion, and was being entertained by her big sister, who sat in a seat nearby.

In a chair next to Jane, Eric spoke to his daughters about peach trees. Jane started chanting peach trees, then asked for pie. Lynne smiled, bringing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches to the table, setting a plate in front of Jane, then Eric. He mumbled thank you, and quickly a hush descended. Lynne made her own sandwich, joining her family. Cary offered the only sounds, babbling in delight.

After Jane finished, Lynne cut her a thin slice of pie, but didn't ask Eric if he wanted any. She took Cary from the bouncer, then walked into the living room. After a few minutes of coaxing, Cary nursed briefly, then fell asleep at her mother's breast. Lynne gazed at her daughter, only five months old, but perhaps Lynne would transition Cary to a bottle. Not that Eric could help with that feeding, but Lynne didn't feel like tackling another battle. Then she looked up, Eric holding Jane's hand. "I'll put her to bed," he said.

"We'll join you." Lynne stood, following her husband and eldest daughter up the stairs. Once both girls were settled in bed, Lynne closed the nursery door, walking into her own room. She changed from her nursing bra into one smaller, yet didn't mind the sensation of feeling bound. Her husband was suffering a worse fate, but there was nothing Lynne could do for him.

She returned downstairs, finding the living room French doors open. Eric sat near the patio table, facing the grounds. As Lynne stepped outside, he turned her way. "They asleep?" he asked.

She nodded. "It was a rough morning, Jane might sleep for a couple of hours." Inwardly Lynne sighed, for in the past, she and Eric would take the opportunity to make love. That day she didn't feel at all amorous, in part due to her heavy breasts. The rest of her mood lingered in the vast space between a husband and wife, for Eric hadn't stood to join her, nor had she moved any closer. Lynne would respect Eric's need for solitude, yet it pained her deeply.

She turned to leave, but Eric cleared his throat. "I'm sorry about not getting the landscaping taken care of. I'll call a gardener first thing tomorrow."

Lynne heard guilt in his voice, then she spoke. "I should have done it last fall, but...."

He stood, coming her way, grasping her hand. "That was the last thing you needed to deal with." He sighed, then released her hand, caressing her face. "I'm also sorry for being such a...."

He couldn't finish, his lips quivering, then he stared at the ground, yet his hand remained along Lynne's cheek. She could feel his internal struggle, and for a second was truly frightened by the discord within him. Then she closed her eyes, praying for this to pass. She didn't expect an immediate answer to her missives, but at least she had prayer at her disposal.

When she opened her eyes, she gasped. Tears fell down Eric's face, but no longer did he seem contrite. Anger swirled in his gray irises, although his touch along her face remained gentle. Never before had Lynne witnessed such torment within her husband; it wasn't reminiscent to when he'd come back years before, shame burning within him. This agony was darker, making Lynne shiver. Eric noticed her tremors, dropping his hand from her cheek.

"Whatever it is, you can tell me." She whispered that, longing to grasp his hand again, wishing to remove all the pain within him, or at least the emotional injury. But he shook his head, making her heart pound. They had never been so far apart, not when he was in Florida or missing in Texas. Then she gasped softly, as Eric reached for her hand. His fingers were like ice, but as he tried to pull away, she gripped tightly, then grasped his right hand. She stared at him, beseeching Christ's presence, recalling how she'd prayed with Marek, feeling they were joined by one more. Yet God was firmly shut out of this encounter, Eric not permitting more than the woman who wouldn't let him go.

Lynne bit her lip, then leaned toward her husband, offering a simple kiss. He didn't refuse her, and it led to several others. The couple still held hands, but now their grips alternated with tender caresses along palms and forearms. Then Eric initiated an embrace and Lynne obliged, but they didn't speak, although Lynne wished to tell him how much she loved him, that she would never leave him. Memories of those lonely days from last year returned to her, but seemed less troubling than how she had previously considered them. Whatever had happened to Eric in Texas was haunting him here, and there seemed no way for Lynne to reach him.

"Come to bed with me," he murmured. "Please honey, I'm sorry for everything and...."

Lynne kissed him again, nodding as she did so. They pulled away from the other, quickly walking into the house, taking the stairs quietly. But once behind their bedroom door, passion ruled, although Lynne didn't remove her bra. Afterwards, Eric asked if she was going to wean Cary. Lynne answered that it seemed Cary was weaning herself.

"I know you wanna get pregnant again," Eric sighed, "but honey, I just...."

"There's no rush." Lynne forced a smile. "Let's just enjoy our girls for now."

He nodded, then sat up in bed. In the daylight, Lynne studied his right shoulder, the mass of scars trailing as far as his elbow. If he did happen to change form, would he be able to fly? She doubted it, then fought tears, yet they fell. Since she had first learned about his transformations, she'd always wanted them to end. Perhaps now they had, but the cost to her husband, and their family at large, was exacting. Then she inhaled deeply. A familiar scent was detected, and she breathed in again, closing her eyes. So soothing was that aroma, easing her fears, reassuring her of a greater good.

"Lynne, what is it?"

She kept inhaling, then exhaling, as again Eric asked what was the matter. That he didn't notice the fragrance was a small hindrance, but Lynne would accept this gift, or more rightly, a request for her trust. She smiled, opening her eyes, then wiping her face. "I was just thinking how much I love you. How much I, I...."

She was interrupted as he buried his face into the crook of her neck. He trembled, then began to wail, as if denying her assertions. But Lynne needed to relay her feelings, and again she did so, not merely for Eric. Inwardly she gave thanks to God for her husband again within their bed. The rest of Eric's healing was in Christ's capable hands.
Chapter 235

The next morning all four Aherns attended mass. School was out for the summer, and Paul had been excited to join his mother and sister, which had surprised Sam and Renee. They had discussed that perhaps Paul would prefer his entire family's attendance at functions for a good while, also wondering if this might open the door to Paul desiring a closer relationship with God. He would be six next month, still a good year from being confirmed, but since the return of the blue barn, Sam had seen signs that Paul was pulling out of his funk. At St. Anne's, Sam had hoped Eric would be seated with his family, but Lynne and her daughters had been waiting for the Aherns, Jane overjoyed to see Paul. Now Sam held Cary, feeding her from a bottle, while Renee and Lynne watched over the youngsters. Sam wondered if Lynne had ceased nursing, or was this a temporary measure? Cary swigged intently as Father Markham's peaceful cadence eased Sam's mind. Eric was missing, but Paul's presence overrode Sam's previous anxiety.

After mass, both families headed to the Aherns' home, where Cary fell asleep. The children played outside while adults spoke in the kitchen, enjoying coffee and cookies. Renee claimed they weren't as good as Marek's caramel slices, but Lynne disagreed. "They're perfect for a light snack."

"Well, now that Paul's done with school, he's been happy to help make them." Renee smiled, then walked to the window, gazing at the kids. She rejoined those at the table, then sipped her coffee. "It's been great having him out of school, hard to imagine Ann will be off to kindergarten year after next."

"They grow so fast." Lynne finished her coffee, then clasped her hands on the table. She glanced at Sam, who nodded, but didn't speak. He deeply lamented Eric's absence, yet he knew where Eric was, brooding at home.... Sam sighed, then finished his cookie. Looking up, both his wife and Lynne were staring at him.

"What?" He grinned as he spoke, but the women wore somber faces. Nothing was said, stirring slight guilt within Sam. It wasn't his fault that Eric hadn't come to church that morning, but Paul was better due to the blue barn and.... And what Sam would give to again pose for Eric, not only in front of a vehicle. Sam envisioned myriad scenes Eric could have painted, of Sam in combat, convalescing in the hospital, or simply standing beside his wife, surrounded by their children. Sam inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly, then stood from his chair. "I'm gonna check on the kids."

He left the kitchen through the back door, finding his son and daughter searching for Jane. He'd heard the kids counting off for a game of hide and seek, then he wondered where Jane could have hid. He scanned the backyard, then spotted her, peering out from behind a tree. Ann saw her next, running that way as Paul trotted behind her.

The trio laughed and embraced, making Sam smile, as he pictured Cary on their heels in what wouldn't be more than another couple of years. The kids grabbed each other's hands, then Paul led them around the grass, hollering as they ran. Unbeknownst to Sam, Lynne had joined him, and he was startled as she gripped his hand. "They're magical to watch," she said tenderly. "A part of me can't wait for Cary to join them."

Sam nodded, then gazed back at the house. "When did you start the bottle?"

"Today at St. Anne's." Lynne smiled. "I thought either you or Renee would be a good candidate for the first attempt, seems it went just fine."

Sam smiled, then faced Lynne. He wouldn't ask anything personal, but was curious. Hopefully the women had spoken about it in his absence, and Renee would fill him in later. Then he shivered; Eric couldn't give Cary a bottle, why Lynne had waited for that morning. Sam knew that when weaning a baby, it was best for anyone but the mother to initially offer the bottle.

"Sorry Eric couldn't join us." Sam flinched as he said it, but didn't wish to gloss over a subject he could discuss. "I've wanted to come over, but we've been so busy since Paul got done with school."

"Well, feel free to pop over anytime. We're not doing anything important."

Lynne's tone was warm and Sam gripped her hand, then released it. "I'll do that."

"You're all welcome. And Sam, don't think that you need to call first."

Now her voice quivered and Sam faced her. "Are you okay?"

She nodded, wiping her face. "It was so good to be with you all this morning, then to come here. I need this right now, not to mention you giving Cary her first bottle." Lynne's smile shone, but still she wiped her damp eyes. "I'll write to Laurie that on his next visit, he can do the honors."

"Are they coming out anytime soon?"

"No, but now that he's gone all the way to Israel, flying here won't be so overwhelming."

Having forgotten Laurie's former unwillingness to travel, Sam and Lynne spoke about that man's recent journey. Then Sam cleared his throat. "Lynne, do you want me to talk to Eric?"

"Just keep praying for him." Lynne smiled, then sighed. "That's all any of us can do right now."

The resignation in her voice made Sam shiver. "Lynne, are you, I mean...."

She grasped his hands. "I can't tell you how much it means to me that Jane knows St. Anne's about as well as she does St. Matthew's. The last few nights she's asked about lighting the candles, how precious is that?" Lynne released Sam's hands, then motioned toward the children, still running around the yard. "She was so excited to see you all today, and she'll be plenty tuckered out when we leave."

Sam discerned relief in Lynne's voice in the nature of Godly protection. He nodded, then gazed at the children, who now were seated in the middle of the yard, still holding hands, but their heads were bowed. A baby could be heard, then Renee stepped from the house, Cary in her arms. Renee handed Cary to her mother, then stood on Sam's other side, grasping his hand. Sam gripped back, giving thanks for those with whom he stood, then lifting both Eric and Lynne in prayer. As youngsters finished their intercessions, Sam was overwhelmed by Christ's presence right there in his backyard. Paul ran toward them, asking Sam if they would go to St. Anne's again tomorrow and if Jane and Cary would come too. Sam nodded, picking up his son, embracing him tightly. Paul reciprocated, whispering to his father how much he loved him.

In New York, Laurie spent the morning in meetings, then shared lunch with one of his favorite sculptors, drinking iced tea while his client celebrated with champagne. Laurie hadn't become a teetotaler; he'd enjoyed alcoholic beverages in Tel Aviv, but those were to note a far grander event than what this lunch signified. Laurie had taken a few snapshots of Seth and Adrienne at the behest of the cousins' mothers. But Laurie would forever carry the mental image of a newly wedded couple, Seth's blue eyes wide with love for a young woman Laurie had immediately added to his growing collection of sisters. Adrienne hadn't usurped Lynne's place in Laurie's heart, but her feisty nature was a welcome addition to those for whom he cared greatly. Adrienne's presence seemed to assuage a noticeable hole that not even Seth had filled, but Laurie could do nothing for Eric other than lift him to God. The cousins hadn't spoken about Eric beyond his connection to a man with whom Seth had served. Lynne had sent Walt's address in her last letter, and Laurie had passed it along accordingly. If Seth learned anything of importance, Laurie knew he would share it.

In the meantime, Laurie relished the memory of hearing his cousin say I do, then Adrienne's similar response. The ceremony was performed in English, but at supper afterwards, Yiddish was spoken by Ben's relatives, Laurie grasping much of what was said. The reception was held at Tovah and Ben's home, then afterwards Seth and Laurie had an hour to themselves, which at first Laurie thought was strange; didn't Seth wish to escape with his new bride? But Seth had assured Laurie these moments were for them alone; Adrienne knew all of Seth's secrets, including one that within Laurie's domain was rarely discussed. Laurie had wept as Seth recalled how at the end Eric had completely forgotten about his human nature, then Seth lost tears as Laurie recounted his and Stanford's trip over Easter. But Seth recovered quickly, assuring Laurie that Eric would work through his issues. Laurie wasn't as certain as his cousin, but he hadn't argued. That Seth could feel so optimistic was an additional point to celebrate.

As another sculptor drained his glass, Laurie returned to the present, finishing his iced tea, then paying the check. He left the restaurant feeling refreshed, then laughed at himself, wondering how much of that was due to abstinence. Laurie hadn't had a drink since.... He hailed a cab, then considered it on his way home. He'd enjoyed cocktails in Brooklyn after returning from Oregon, then several in Israel, but since then.... Laurie hadn't even had a drink on any of his flights back to New York. He found himself mildly pleased by that realization, then wondered if Stan had noticed. While they kept a fully stocked bar in the apartment, Stan never drank, and they seldom entertained. Some of those bottles might be from years ago, and Laurie would pour them out that evening. At that moment he craved a cup of Renee's coffee, with a slice of Lynne's pie or one of Marek's caramel slices. Lynne had written that Renee was baking cookies, and the idea of that former nurse wearing an apron made Laurie chuckle. But she was a mother now, and most moms he knew donned oven mitts more often than not.

Then Laurie broke into quiet laughter; he couldn't imagine Adrienne dressed so domestically. She had mentioned Wilma's chocolate cake, which brought up Shelia's upside down cake, which Ben then asked Tovah to recreate. Laurie had observed Tovah's reluctance to replicate a family tradition, but Adrienne seemed eager to sample her mother-in-law's famous dessert.

While Seth hadn't alluded to any impending visits to America, Laurie assumed within another year or so the newlyweds would find themselves flying west. But would that be merely to New York or further onto.... The taxi pulled up in front of Laurie's building, briefly interrupting Laurie's thoughts, but as soon as he paid the cabbie, he again considered when he would next see Seth, and when might Seth and Eric exchange greetings? Laurie continued pondering that until he found himself at his front door. He smiled, then went inside, seeing a letter from Seth on the dining table. Laurie collected it, heading toward the kitchen, hearing Agatha's hum on the other side of the door.

Over cups of coffee, he shared the letter's contents, full of newlywed bliss. Agatha brushed aside a few tears, but Laurie laughed. "Adrienne was asking all about Aunt Wilma's chocolate cake. Maybe we'll be seeing them sooner rather than later."

Agatha nodded. "I look forward to meeting them both."

Laurie grasped her hands. "I can't wait to introduce you." He sighed afterwards, then smiled. "It's like he's who I remember, but also someone new, but not in a bad way."

Then Laurie shivered; he could easily be describing Eric. Agatha squeezed his hands. "You need to keep praying for them. He'll come round one of these days."

Laurie met her gaze, wondering what Lynne had expressed to this woman. Maybe a lot, or perhaps just enough to guide Agatha's prayers accordingly. He sighed again, then smiled. "You're right and Seth's the proof. He's a married man now for Chrissakes." Then Laurie laughed. "If that doesn't prove miracles happen, I don't know what will."

"Indeed. We just have to keep the faith."

Laurie stared at the woman beside him, who still held his hands. Hers were soft despite years of hard work and disappointments. Laurie lifted one to his lips, placing a tender kiss on her knuckles. "Agatha, I don't tell you enough how lucky Stan and I are to have you."

She grinned wryly, taking back her hand. "Honey, it goes both ways."

"Does it?"

"Of course." Her tone was dry, then she smiled. "Why else am I sitting here?"

He laughed, then leaned back in his seat, gazing around the table. He would give many things to have gathered those he loved most within this kitchen, and maybe someday that might occur. Laurie again grasped Agatha's hand, but this time he closed his eyes, saying aloud the last lines of Psalm 100. To his surprise, Agatha joined him, and they finished the verse together. Opening his eyes, he found a few tears along her cheeks. He didn't believe they were solely related to those out west, and gently he wiped them away. She nodded as he did so, then stood, retrieving the coffee pot. They drank their coffee in silence, occasionally exchanges squeezes, until both were finished. Laurie took their empty cups to the sink as Agatha remained at the table, her prayerful meditations providing Laurie a less burdened heart. He would share Seth's letter with Stan later that evening, but the afternoon's activities would remain between the two who had partaken of them.
Chapter 236

Twilight lasted long into the evening in Oslo and Klaudia spent many of those nocturnal hours either writing to Marek or thinking of their two weeks in April. Upon Klaudia's return to Norway, Sigrun bluntly stated she was surprised Klaudia came home, and at times Klaudia felt the same. Marek had extended an invitation for her to stay, but Klaudia had declined. Which now, as yet another day began with little darkness separating it from the one previous, Klaudia felt like kicking herself. She yawned in bed, rubbed her eyes, then closed them, wondering for how much longer sleep would elude her at its proper time. She napped on the way to work, again on the way home, thankful for Sigrun's hard poke on the bus, lest Klaudia miss their stop. She had been drinking too much coffee at work, probably why she couldn't fall asleep in the evenings. It was a vicious cycle that she seemed unable to break.

That night, Klaudia was distracted by a letter from Marek, in which he described another unpleasant encounter with Mrs. Harmon, then a far more enjoyable evening at the Aherns. Klaudia wished she'd given that old woman a piece of her mind, then she paused, rereading Marek's description of helping Paul and Ann bake cookies. In Marek's recent letters, no mention had been made of time spent at the Snyder household. Klaudia had been at their home once in February, then again once in April, but her days spent in America had been doubled. She assumed Marek saw the family on Sundays, and she scanned the rest of the note, finding that Lynne and the girls had recently stayed for lunch. There was no mention of Eric, and Klaudia frowned. While Marek hadn't extrapolated about the men's friendship, the depth was evident in the two paintings of a pastor and his charge. Also in how dejected Marek had sounded when speaking of his friend.

Perhaps no one else would have discerned his disappointment and Klaudia traced his handwriting, feeling as though he was beside her in bed, initiating physical intimacies. She kept his letters under her mattress as she had concealed his notes when they were teens. After she thought him dead, she had placed those brief missives under her pillow, crying herself to sleep considering his awful death. Right before her family left Poland, she had buried them in the same spot she'd assumed was his grave. The ashes had blown away, but where that barn had stood remained a marker to Klaudia, although now it was merely for his family. She closed her eyes, picturing Ania and Dominik, but as tears burned along her cheeks, thankfully Marek hadn't perished with them.

Yet a distinct sorrow rang through his letter, then she furrowed her brow, wondering if she was reading too much into his words, or rather, what he hadn't cited. She finished the letter, then went over it again; Eric wasn't mentioned at all, and again she brushed away tears, which fell on behalf of two men. Then she ached all over, missing her lover as well as wishing she could comfort him. Why had she come home, and why was that painter causing Marek so much....

Klaudia wiped her face, got out of bed, then walked into the kitchen, where her smokes and matches waited on the table. She sat in her usual chair, fingered the package, but didn't take out a cigarette. She hadn't smoked since coming home, maybe that had figured into her poor sleeping pattern. Yet she hadn't thrown out the pack, leaving it and the matches where she could see them. Were they a link to America, or a reminder of her past? She didn't often think of her son, feeling that child was no longer suffering. Was Marek in heaven, Klaudia then wondered, grimacing slightly. She shook her head, but not because she thought he was in hell. Then she huffed, but it was combined with a yawn that made her cough. Then suddenly she found a smoke between her fingers, her other hand on the matches. She squeezed the tip of the filter, inhaling the faint scent of tobacco. This pack was from her trip, did smokes grow stale? Did she want to find out, she considered, the urge to light up overwhelming.

Instead she snapped the cigarette in half, placing it in the empty ashtray. She stood, walked to the sink, and got herself a drink of water, gazing at the twilight from her kitchen window. She had appreciated the full darkness in America, especially all those nights spent in Marek's bed. It would have been so easy to have stayed, too easy, she mused, gripping the counter. Besides, living in a church would have quickly driven her crazy, not to mention what her presence would have done to Marek's reputation. She smirked, thinking of that intolerant old woman who deserved a good scolding. Why hadn't Klaudia spoken up when she'd had the chance, why had she....

Turned the other cheek popped into Klaudia's head, immediately making her furious, also crave a smoke. She glanced back at the broken cigarette in the ashtray, what a waste, she thought. Yet she didn't move from the sink, gazing again at the dusky sky, wishing Marek was standing beside her. Was he seated at her table, beseeching her to turn around, begging her to come back to Oregon? He hadn't mentioned anything of the sort in his letter, nor in any previous. He'd made the invitation, but wouldn't badger her. Again Klaudia would have to choose her own path.

Yet, another journey to America wouldn't be due to an ancient dream or a dead son. Klaudia shivered, staring at the outlines of houses so familiar; she had never thought of living anywhere else. Her life had followed a predictable course, for she'd never expected her son to actually.... She blinked away tears, gripping herself, taking deep breaths. But a wave of grief couldn't be contained, and while her cries were silent, she again grasped the counter to remain upright. In Oslo, even with Sigrun only a few houses away, Klaudia was alone. Her son would never need her again, he was as lost to her as Ania and Dominik and the rest. Then she fell to her knees, weeping loudly. While she cared a great deal for Sigrun, the one she loved most, and who loved her, was so far away. Marek was alive, but this time Klaudia had left him.

Several minutes later she got up from the floor, walking slowly to the table, seating herself. She toyed with the broken cigarette, then contemplated retrieving another. As she pulled one from the package, she gazed up, finding Marek's apparition staring at her. "What," she said hoarsely. "It's my house, I can smoke if I want."

He shrugged, which made her angry. "I haven't had a smoke in weeks, maybe that's why I can't sleep." Klaudia set the cigarette between her lips, grabbed a match, then struck it. Right before she lit the smoke, her lips quivered. Marek's ghost lingered, but now he gazed at the ashtray. "Just leave me alone. You know why I couldn't stay with you...." She began to cry again, placing the lit match in the ashtray, where quickly it burned out. Minor reasons waited on the tip of her tongue, but they were baseless; her child was dead, Sigrun didn't need her, nor was she essential at her workplace. Her boss had been glad for her return, but the world wouldn't stop if she left Norway.

Yet, what was her place in a little American town, residing with a pastor? He hadn't asked to marry her, then she snorted, making Marek's ghost flicker. But just as she thought it would fade away, he reached out one hand to her, staring right into her eyes. Klaudia blinked several times, until finally Marek was gone.

She peered around the kitchen, as if trying to locate him. But she was alone, which made her tremble. For years her child had been in poor health, but never had she thought he would die. And just as she was adjusting to the presence of one long thought dead.... Without hesitation, Klaudia picked up the cigarette, lit it, taking a long drag. To her surprise, she didn't cough, but felt calm, then somewhat giddy. She finished that smoke, nearly lit another, but a sudden weariness enveloped her, and she headed back to bed, where she fell instantly to sleep. Her dreams were vivid, of life in Oregon as Marek's spouse, but she didn't recall any of them in the morning.

Later that day in Roseburg, Sam met up with Marek at the market. They chatted for a few moments, but cold items in their carts precluded further conversation, although much remained on their minds. Sam asked if they could continue their discussion, and Marek smiled, asking Sam to come for coffee the next day. Sam gladly accepted the invite, offering to bring a treat. Marek chuckled, and the men went about their shopping.

The following morning, Sam arrived at St. Matthew's with freshly baked cookies, also the knowledge that neither he nor the pastor had talked in depth to Eric in weeks. Sam had exchanged a couple of words with him over the weekend, but only because Lynne needed help around the house, and Eric hadn't been able to do more than keep an eye on the girls. Eric had looked thin to Sam, also pale. Just that morning at mass, Lynne revealed that unless he was attending to Jane and Cary, Eric spent most of his time inside, reading letters from Europe. He refused to speak to Laurie when he called, and Lynne imagined if Stanford ever got on the phone, Eric might not even talk to his dealer. Sam had been stunned, but afterwards remembered his own depression upon returning from Korea. He'd actually told Renee if she wanted an annulment, he wouldn't fight her. Then she had slapped him....

Carrying the plate of cookies up St. Matthew's front steps, Sam recalled how badly his face had stung right after she'd hit him, but more pained had been his heart, seeing the tears falling down her face, her beautiful eyes bloodshot red. He knocked once, careful not to lose his grip on the plate. Renee and the kids had made these right after coming home from mass, and Sam had been instructed to not bring any back, Renee's veiled way of telling Sam to take his time.

He smiled as Marek opened the door. "What have you there?" Marek took the plate from Sam. "Goodness, I've grown fond of Renee's efforts."

Sam followed the pastor inside the building, then down the hall to the kitchen. "To be honest, I can't you who has more fun making them, her or the kids."

"Well, I certainly enjoy eating them." Marek put the plate in the center of the table, then motioned for Sam to have a seat. "I made coffee this morning, but if you prefer tea...."

"Some joe would hit the spot." Sam sat where he could just see Eric's painting. Then he gazed around the kitchen, but it was the only canvas. Marek brought cups of coffee to the table, seating himself to Sam's left. The pastor reached for a cookie, then leaned back in his chair.

Sam did the same, relishing the quiet. Having Paul home from school had initially been wonderful, but together the kids could make a lot of noise. Renee had suggested asking Vivian to watch them for an afternoon on the weekends, and now Sam thought that would be a good idea. He sipped his coffee, ate another cookie, then gazed at Marek, who smiled broadly. "I'm so glad we ran into each other yesterday," Marek said, taking another cookie from the plate. "I've been meaning to give you a ring, but it's been busy here lately."

"That's okay, I mean...." Sam sighed. "Been busy at our house too. I think Renee's gonna call Vivian about taking the kids for a few hours." Sam drank his coffee, then crossed his arms over his chest. "I thought the vets could get wound up, but that's nothing compared to youngsters."

For a few minutes they discussed Sam's children, during which time Sam's slight weariness faded away. Fatherhood had happened so suddenly, but with Paul in school, some of the demands had been diminished. Then Sam wondered if Marek had ever considered parenthood; he was so good with children, regardless of their ages. Sam ate another cookie, nearly forgetting why he was there. But as Marek finished his sentence, a hush descended. Sam gazed at the pastor, who wore a poker face. Sam chuckled, finished his coffee, placing his mug near the half-full plate of cookies.

"More coffee?" Marek asked.

Sam shook his head. "So I saw Eric over the weekend." Sam paused, hoping Marek would note the last time he'd seen him. But Marek merely nodded, taking another cookie. The pastor had one bite, chewing slowly, so Sam continued. "He looks pretty bad, to be truthful. I barely spoke two words to him before he hightailed it upstairs. Lynne says he spends a lot of time reading mail sent from overseas."

Marek drank his coffee, then set his cookie on the table. "I haven't spoken to him directly since Klaudia's visit. He's come to church once, but didn't stay for long afterwards."

"I wondered if that might be the case. Marek, I know he needs time, believe me, I felt the same when I came back. But something's wrong, I mean really wrong. Lynne won't say anything, and honestly, I don't think she knows. The couple of minutes he was downstairs on Saturday it was obvious there's distance between them and...."

Sam paused, in part that he felt bad in gossiping about the Snyders. But what troubled him more was how in those brief moments Eric had practically ignored Lynne, and not truly paid much more attention to Jane. Then Sam inwardly trembled; Eric had turned into a different person since Cary's baptism, had the New Yorkers, or more rightly Stanford, said something to cause a dramatic change in Eric's demeanor? All that had mattered to Eric was being home with his family and friends, what he'd said over and over in the early weeks of his return. Sam's physical recovery had taken months, but right after Renee had slapped his face, a breakthrough had occurred within his mental and emotional health. Eric seemed to have taken many steps backwards, and Sam felt utterly helpless. Not even when Eric had been transforming into a man years before had Sam known such despair.

He voiced that notion, clearing his throat a few times, hoping not to offend Marek. But the pastor nodded, clasping his hands together on the table. "Sam, a part of me wants to say all we can do is continue to offer prayer. Another part of me wishes to confront him. I'm having a difficult time keeping out of it, but then...." Marek sighed. "I'm also being asked to trust about another situation. To be truthful, I'm about at the end of my tether on both fronts."

Sam nodded, curious to which person was causing Marek more anguish. Sam and Renee had wondered if Klaudia might remain in Roseburg, but again they hadn't talked about it in depth, feeling odd discussing Marek's personal life. However, Marek's tone was that of a man seeking advice. Sam accepted that if Eric was okay, he'd be the one sitting at this table while Marek revealed his heart. Sam cleared his throat again, then looked at the pastor. "Do you wanna talk about it?"

As soon as Sam spoke, he wished he'd said nothing. But to his surprise, Marek nodded. "She thinks my family's deaths are her fault. I asked her to stay, but until she can set aside...." Marek shook his head, then met Sam's gaze. "It's rubbish, of course it wasn't her or anyone else's fault but those who perpetrated it. And until she accepts that...."

Marek kept speaking, but Sam tuned out, all of his thoughts focused on why had Eric left Texas when he did. That query hadn't been posed by Sam, for at the time it had seemed irrelevant. Yet, Eric had never stated what made him hitchhike across western America without a concrete notion of where he was going, other than the Pacific Northwest. And even if he was driven to Salt Lake City by.... Sam believed Eric had been blessed by a holy encounter, but that was well after he was halfway home. Had he told Marek more than Sam knew? Sam asked, but as Marek smiled, again shaking his head, Sam turned red. "Sorry Marek, I didn't mean to change the subject like that."

"It's all right. Actually, maybe there's a correlation between what both Eric and Klaudia are struggling with, although...." Marek sighed deeply, then grabbed his unfinished cookie from the table. He ate it in one bite, sipped his coffee, then stared toward the painting. "I need to choose a place for a certain canvas. Once I do, I'll pay the Snyders a visit. If you learn anything in the interim, would you please let me know?"

"Of course." Sam glanced in the same direction, then stared at his coffee cup. "Marek...." Sam paused, unable to verbalize his thoughts. The only time he'd ever seen Eric remotely angry was when he'd had trouble changing back into a human being. Not even when Eric had challenged Sam to a fight when the Aherns were separated had the painter been bad-tempered. Inwardly Sam trembled, praying that Eric hadn't been forced to defend himself. In gazing at Marek, the same notion was etched in the pastor's anguished brown eyes.

It was the same sorrow Sam had seen in Renee's right after she slapped him, but that anxiety had dissipated as soon as Sam reached out for her embrace. Whatever Eric was keeping inside would destroy him if he couldn't release it. Sam then prayed for Klaudia, as well as the one who loved her. Sam and Renee had been given a second chance, and other couples deserved the same.

Then Sam grasped Marek's hand, beginning the Lord's Prayer. Marek responded, and when they said Amen, Sam added all four Snyders. He smiled, releasing Marek's hand, feeling less burdened. "Thanks for today's invite." He chuckled, ate another cookie, then stood for more coffee. He brought the pot to the table, filled both men's cups, then retook his seat. "I won't eat much lunch today, but I sure feel better."

Marek sipped his coffee, then smiled. "I agree. Give Renee my thanks for these. I haven't had time to make caramel slices, and Mrs. Kenny will appreciate a treat later on."

Sam nodded, then stood, returning the coffee pot to the stove. As he did, he gazed at Eric's painting, finding such joy on both Marek and Jane's faces. Cary looked just like her sister, other than her blonde hair. Then Sam peered intently at the canvas; was there a figure standing between Marek and Jane?

He walked to where the canvas hung, staring for over a minute. Turning back to Marek, Sam found a sly grin on the pastor's face. "Did you see something Sam?"

"There's somebody there, just an outline actually, right between you and Jane. I've never noticed it before."

"I know. One of these days I hope to ask Eric about it."

Sam had been studying the painting as Marek spoke, then he met the pastor's gaze. "When you do, let me know what he says."

"Maybe we can ask him together. In the meantime, pray for Klaudia. While I know much of how she feels, I don't know everything." Then Marek chuckled. "And pray for me to be attentive to all those over whom I keep watch. Lambs occasionally go astray, and our eyesight is at times quite poor. Thanks be to God for his perfect view."

Sam nodded, again staring at the image. "Indeed Marek, indeed."
Chapter 237

On a warm June evening, Stanford sat by himself in Rose Abrams' living room, the rest gossiping loudly in the kitchen. All night Seth and his new bride had been the topic of discussion and while Stanford was happy for Laurie's cousin, he had little to say on the subject. He checked his watch, but it was only eight o'clock. From the lively chatter, Stanford deduced he and Laurie wouldn't be leaving for another hour, perhaps longer. Stanford permitted this lengthy Brooklyn sojourn, as he'd successfully excused himself from previous Abrams' Saturday gatherings. Stanford was surprised to be the only one to have fled the kitchen, but the news about Seth and Adrienne was so good, all his relatives wanted to share their opinions.

Hearing Laurie's broad laughter, Stanford sighed softly. While Laurie was thrilled for Seth, someone else preyed upon both men's minds. Stanford had considered calling Eric, for in letters from Oregon, Lynne merely noted how Cary now took a bottle, that Jane was talking in sentences, and loved being a big sister. Previously Lynne had addressed her notes to only Laurie, but on the last letter Stanford's name had been included. Upon viewing the envelope he had initially flinched, then a more solemn mood had overtaken him. Since leaving Roseburg in April, he hadn't exchanged any information with Eric other than one note, right after the New Yorkers had arrived home. Stanford had written a summary of the exhibit, a rather dry description now that he considered it. Before, Stanford had enjoyed corresponding with that client, but the thought of writing anything to Eric now seemed without purpose. There was nothing of importance to relate, for no longer was Eric the artist Stanford had always admired. Over the years, Stanford's respect had grown in direct proportion to Eric's increasing abilities, but after Stanford had viewed the blue barn, a new level of appreciation had been reached. That it was suddenly followed by a distinct air of mystery connected to the painter hadn't overly bothered Stanford; occasionally when artists attained greatness, eccentricities accompanied. But even with an explanation for Eric's absences, Stanford now felt uneasy, for the reason as well as the resulting injury.

How had Eric's career come to such a dismal end, Stanford ruminated as happy tones attempted to lift his worsening mood. He ignored those in the kitchen, instead permitting darker voices into his head; Laurie's drunken assertions that Eric turned into a hawk, Renee's hesitant admission of how the Snyders' French door had been broken, the complete acceptance by all those out West of what truly defied belief, and.... Stanford stood, then glanced at the coffee table where an empty tumbler waited on a coaster. While Laurie had stopped drinking, Stanford continued to imbibe socially. He'd had one cocktail before dinner, half a glass of wine with the meal, then another drink after dessert. He wished for one more, just to set these awful notions from his head, but nothing would erase these details, whether some were true or not.

Returning to New York after Cary's baptism, Stanford hadn't been able to shake the gloom associated with Eric's situation, and still it haunted him. Seth had found happiness, and while Stanford didn't begrudge him of that joy, it didn't justify what Eric faced. Stanford wouldn't breathe a word of that to Laurie, but Eric's talent was the greater gift, or it had been. Had been made Stanford walk to the cabinet where Rose kept a few bottles for celebration. Stanford mixed himself a drink, then slowly sipped it, wishing with each swallow to forget a fraction of agony. Instead the pain was intensified, and he quickly downed the cocktail, furious to have succumbed to such depths.

He retook his seat, crossing his arms over his chest as laughter spilled from the kitchen, again Laurie's the loudest. That bliss acted like a knife into Stanford's chest, as hurtful as when Laurie told him that Eric turned into a.... Stanford couldn't erase the memory of Laurie's drunken tenor, in addition to the inanity of his confession. But how else would Eric have suffered such a debilitating wound, why would he have forgotten his identity, been kept away from all of them for months? He'd even missed Cary's arrival, then Stanford shook his head, fighting tears that welled in his eyes. Seeing that child just moments after her birth had altered him, although at the time he hadn't been aware of it. Now he knew, and being far from that family caused terrible pain. He berated himself for having had one more drink; alcohol had weakened his defenses, which up until Eric's first long disappearance had never been breached. The night Lynne took him into the studio had been the first chink in Stanford's armor, viewing paintings that at the time Stanford had thought were amazing. But what came afterwards was even more dazzling, and upon reflection, most bittersweet. Eric had been on the cusp of true genius, but never would that brilliance be achieved.

As pleasure rang out from the kitchen, Stanford contemplated another cocktail. He laughed at himself, then stood, feeling only a little wobbly on his feet. If he left Brooklyn with a weave to his steps, he didn't rightly care. Laurie and one of his brothers-in-law could help him to the taxi, although Stanford didn't think it would come to that, as he walked back to where he had just refreshed his glass. Again he filled the tumbler, from which he drank in the vain hope of finding relief. But this time a deeper ache accompanied each swallow, for it wasn't only Eric who Stanford had lost. His connection to Lynne, Jane, and Cary was being severed, regardless to whom Lynne addressed her letters. Perhaps Laurie might travel west, but Stanford never would. He smiled sardonically as he finished his drink, inhaling a familiar reserved calm. While Eric's predicament was quite unfortunate, no longer would Stanford have to associate with that family. Momentarily he shivered, then brushed it off, again refilling his glass. Then he slowly walked toward the kitchen, leaning against the doorway, staring at Laurie, who met his gaze. Sipping from the tumbler, Stanford merely nodded, then turned back for the living room, guarded peace resurging through his veins. He wouldn't need another cocktail to maintain that sensation; the mere mention of Eric's name would serve as the best reminder of how important was dealer and client separation, not to mention distance from those who loved the artist. Only then did Stanford waver in this newfound peace, but he gripped the tumbler, gulping what remained. Placing the glass back on the coaster, Stanford studied framed photos on Rose's wall, but instead of her relatives, he viewed Lynne and her daughters, the Aherns and their children, even that Polish pastor. Their eyes beseeched him to abstain from such detachment, but not even Paul's smile reached into Stanford. His family constituted his father, Laurie, and Agatha. No one else could ever matter again.

That same evening another home bustled with excitement; Paul had turned six that day, relatives from both the Ahern and Nolan clans celebrating the event. The entire Snyder family had attended, as well as Vivian, who along with most of those present was unaware of the discord within Eric. That evening he smiled as if having just returned from Texas, but some saw through his false gaiety. Renee was slightly alarmed at how easily Eric chatted with her brothers, both Ritchie and Tommy eager to speak with the former painter, how Eric laughingly described himself. Sam was aggrieved at how Eric basically ignored his wife and daughters, although no one else might presume that to be the case. Lynne gravitated to Frannie and Joan, Cary in the arms of those familiar, while Jane played with Ann and Helene. In the past, Eric would have sought out his wife and children, but that night he chatted with men he rarely encountered.

The only other one Eric avoided was Sam's brother Ted, however the priest found lively conversation with Marek. Occasionally Sam dropped in on that duo, who was then joined by Henry Ahern. Sam left once those three began discussing ecumenical topics, not because the dialogue became heated, but it simply went over his head. He smiled, hearing his most spiritual brothers in a warm exchange with a Polish pastor, then Sam was stopped in his tracks, finding Paul and his only living blood relative staring at the blue barn.

Since speaking with Marek, Sam had stopped fretting about Eric, yet Sam's thoughts were often brought back to that man, as Paul had starting asking about him. Paul's curiosity had centered on why had Eric painted the barn blue, what had happened to the mice, and what about the tiny hawk in the upper right corner. Paul had noticed there was no hawk in the painting of the boysenberries, which had made Sam consider when Eric had eliminated that marker from his work. Sam had then inspected the portrait at his parents' home, as well as the one of Frannie's clan and of Joanie's. All of those sported a tiny hawk, as did that of Renee, hanging in the Aherns' master bedroom. Those had been done in spring of 1961, right before Lynne had gotten pregnant with.... Sam heard Jane coming up from behind him. Turning, he also saw Ann, with Helene on their heels. The girls were laughing, and Sam ushered them to the side, half listening to them while still glancing at his son and Vivian, who remained in front of the blue barn. Vivian knelt beside Paul, who pointed at the structure, then looked at his aunt, who was brushing tears from her eyes.

Sam kissed his daughter, patting Jane and Helene's heads, then he sent the girls toward Renee, who stood in the kitchen doorway talking with her mother. Sam slowly walked in the direction of his son, who was nodding at whatever his aunt had just said. While the room was crowded, Paul and Vivian remained undisturbed and Sam would leave them as such, but he wished to overhear their conversation. He stood three feet away, but Paul's voice was drowned out by other discussions. Then Vivian stood, and she met Sam's gaze. Her eyes were misty, her mood hard to gauge. Yet she nodded at him, then motioned for Paul to head that way.

Only then did Sam peer at his son, a strange smile on Paul's face. Then Paul grinned broadly, looking around the room. He walked to where Sam stood, tugged on his father's hand, then gripped it tightly. "Daddy," Paul said softly. "Where's, um, Mr. Snyder?"

While Ann addressed Eric as Uncle, Paul hadn't adopted that term in regards to Jane's daddy, how he usually asked about Eric. Sam glanced around the room. "I don't know son. Do you need to talk to him?"

Paul nodded, then glanced back at Vivian, who had been joined by Marek. The pastor had put his arm around the older woman, for she still looked upset. Paul shrugged his shoulders, but Vivian nodded emphatically. Then Paul sighed. "Yeah Daddy, there's something I need to tell him."

Sam ruffled Paul's hair, then gazed to where Lynne sat with Fran and Joan on the sofa. Whatever Paul had to tell Eric would probably require Lynne's presence, even if her husband might wish otherwise. Sam led Paul to the couch. "Sorry, don't mean to interrupt," Sam said. "Paul says he needs to talk to Eric."

"Um, I'm not sure where he is. Outside maybe?" Lynne's eyes were wide, Fran and Joan appearing similarly surprised. Lynne stood from the sofa, then smiled at Paul. "Shall we go find him?"

"Yes please," the boy said.

Lynne grasped Paul's other hand as Sam led them toward the kitchen doorway. Renee also wore a look of shock, and she followed them out of the house to the backyard, her mother, Frannie, and Joan right behind her.

Adults had gathered in small groups while Ahern and Nolan cousins played outdoor games, but in the corner of the yard Eric sat with Ritchie and Tommy. Sam didn't want Eric to feel he was being ambushed, yet Marek and Vivian had also stepped outside. Ritchie pointed at the oncoming group, then Louie stepped their way. Sam swallowed hard, but what his son needed to get off his chest was more important than what Eric might be feeling. Sam then gazed at that man, who appeared slightly ruffled, then he smiled. "What's up folks?"

Sam inwardly trembled, for Eric's lighthearted tone was as Sam recalled from ages ago. But his smile was false, pain evident in how hard he gripped his lame arm. Sam prayed, then smiled back. "Paul says he needs to speak with you."

Eric released his arm, then leaned forward in his seat, gazing at the little boy. "Well, what would you like to tell me?"

Paul tightened his grip on Sam's hand, but the child's palm was sweaty. Then Paul let go of his father, slowly approaching Eric. "I just wanted to say sir, um, thank you."

Sam watched at how Paul had shoved his hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet on the grass, at which the boy stared. His voice had barely been above a whisper, but now the entire collection of relatives was silent. Sam then observed Eric, beads of sweat trickling down his forehead. The afternoon had been warm, but now it was early evening, a light breeze prickling the hairs on Sam's neck.

"You're welcome Paul," Eric said with hesitation in his voice. "I'm not exactly sure for what, but...."

"For the painting, the blue barn. You painted that barn and now my...." Paul removed his hands from his pockets, motioning back toward the house. "My other parents are in there, but they're okay. You gave them a place to stay just like how Aunt Vivian's husband and son are in there too."

Paul turned around, scanning the group until he saw his aunt. Vivian came to his side, then knelt beside him as Paul continued. "Aunt Vivian told me the rest of her family's in the barn. We were just talking about it and she thought I should tell you thanks, 'cause maybe you don't know, I mean, what we see inside it. I didn't know where they were, I mean, besides heaven. Mommy and Daddy say they're in heaven, but they're also in the barn. And I just wanted to thank you for giving them a place to be."

In addition to Paul's words, Sam heard many sniffles, several coughs, and a few gasps. Lynne stepped to Paul's other side, gently squeezing his shoulder. "What a beautiful thing to say Paul. My parents died when I was a little older than your cousin Sally, and you know what? I see my folks in there too."

Tears trickled down Sam's face, and he reached for Renee's hand, grasping with appreciation. He'd never wondered what Lynne might see in that structure, but Sam had no doubt what Eric beheld inside it. Not his mother, certainly not his father, but a variety of feathered birds, maybe every hawk he'd ever been. Sam knew that from how Eric trembled, also in how he shirked back as Lynne tried to hold her husband's hand. Sam ached for that couple's detachment, but he quickly gave thanks for his son's declaration. He stepped to where Paul was surrounded, kneeling behind them. Paul turned around, his face streaked with tears. "Oh Daddy, you told me they were okay and you were right!"

Paul embraced Sam, who spoke in croaky whisper. "Yup, they're safe with Jesus and Mary right inside that wonderful barn." Sam cleared his throat as Paul took a step back. Then Sam smiled. "They're never gonna be far away."

Paul nodded. "And I have Mr., I mean...." Paul looked back at where Eric still sat. "Can I call you Uncle Eric?"

Eric's lip trembled as he slowly nodded. "Of course." Eric coughed, then wore a small smile. "I'd like that very much Paul."

Sam heard truth in Eric's statement, also fear. Paul walked toward Eric, and Sam wondered if an embrace would be forthcoming. Paul was a demonstrative child, and previously Eric had never shied away from expressing his affections. Sam held his breath, then exhaled in relief as Paul wrapped his arms around Eric, who responded with a strong one-armed hug. A joyous chorus as well as light applause resounded across the yard, and Sam's heart beat hard, hearing soft cries from his son. Sam gazed at Eric, but his head was bent over, leaving Sam to wonder the impact upon him.

After presents had been opened, Sam took Vivian aside, thanking her profusely. She kissed Sam's cheek, noting that Beth and Roy would be so pleased for how much love their children had found in the Aherns' care. After Sam spoke with Vivian, he talked with Marek and Ted, then to Frannie and Joan. By then Lynne was making her goodbyes, and Sam only squeezed her hand, saying he would see her at mass on Monday morning. Lynne merely nodded, her eyes damp. Fran walked the Snyders to their car, and Sam didn't say more to Eric than goodnight.

Hours later, Sam snuggled against Renee in bed, pondering that evening's admissions. Renee hadn't known what Lynne saw in the barn, and the couple discussed that, as well as how peaceful Paul had been. He was, in Renee's words, back to the little boy they had brought to this house not even a year ago. Sam agreed, then sighed softly. He was grateful for such a blessing, but Eric's unrest was now more evident.

"Sam, remember what Marek told you." Renee scooted back to her side of the bed, then stared at her husband. "We just have to be patient with him."

Sam had shared most of that conversation with his wife, although he hadn't told her about the extra image in Marek's painting. "I know honey, it's just that...."

Renee hummed, then stroked Sam's face. "I watched him, Eric I mean, while Paul was talking. I was watching Lynne too, she was looking right at him. This's a rough patch for them, but Sam I gotta believe...."

"I know honey, I know." Sam nearly huffed, then saw his wife's smirk. "What?" he asked.

"Samuel Ahern, I think we've traded places."

"Yeah?"

"Uh-huh, maybe just for this. Or maybe it's harder on you because Eric's your best friend. But Sam, he came home and Paul's...." Renee wept, then quickly composed herself. "Maybe this's how my parents feel every time they see Ritchie sober." Renee wiped her face, then again caressed her husband's. "If Brenda and Ritchie can work it out, Lynne and Eric'll be fine."

Sam nodded, but inwardly he flinched. Never before had he associated the Snyders with Renee's volatile relatives. "You're right honey," he said, not wishing to dwell on it.

They cuddled for a few minutes, then said their goodnights. Renee fell asleep with ease, but Sam remained awake. Not wishing to disturb his wife, Sam got out of bed, put on his robe, walking to the living room. A shaft of light from a break in the curtains illuminated the blue barn, and Sam stared at it, still seeing horses and ponies within the structure. Then he squinted, finding a lone hawk gripping an upper beam. Sam blinked, and the hawk was gone. He shivered, prayed for Eric, then rejoined his wife in bed, finding fitful rest amid dreams of serving in Korea, Eric fighting at his side.
Chapter 238

The next morning, Eric accompanied his wife and daughters to St. Matthew's, where he eagerly took communion. The Snyders shared lunch with their pastor, ambiguously discussing Paul's words from last night. Eric hoped to remain as an uncle to Paul, while Lynne and Marek were relieved to hear familiar joy in Eric's voice. Marek nearly asked about the ghostly image in the painting, but refrained, instead enquiring when The Pastor and His Charge could be hung.

"Did you pick a place for it?" Eric smiled, tickling Jane's chin as she leaned against him at the table.

"I did, in the library. Actually it was Mrs. Kenny's idea. She's been pestering me about it, gently of course," Marek chuckled.

"Well, what about today?" Eric looked at Jane when he spoke. "Shall we help Uncle Marek hang a very special picture of you both?"

Jane nodded, then pointed to her sister, sleeping in Lynne's arms. "Cary too?"

Eric kissed the top of Jane's head, offering a languid sigh. "No, just of you and Marek."

Small regret lingered in Eric's tone, but a pastor didn't dwell on it. "Jane, let me show you where Mrs. Kenny thinks we should hang it." Marek stood from his seat, taking Jane from her father's lap. They chatted in Polish as they left the kitchen.

Observing her sleeping baby, Lynne inhaled slowly, then met Eric's tender gaze, wondering if last night's revelations had been a turning point for more than only Paul. Once she had put the girls to bed, Lynne had found Eric waiting in their room, where few words were spoken, but a very passionate love had been made. Then Eric had wept hard, pleading for her forgiveness, which Lynne had bestowed without reservation. He never acknowledged why he sought clemency, and while Lynne was grateful for his apologies, she wasn't certain Eric's upbeat mood would last. Then she inwardly berated herself as he stood, moving his chair close to hers, then grasping her hand. His touch made Lynne shiver, for it had been several weeks since he'd been so affectionate. Not since Cary had been baptized, Lynne considered, as Eric stroked her fingers, then caressed her cheek. "I love you," he whispered. "You're the most important thing in the world to me."

"I love you too." Her voice trembled, then she softly cleared her throat. "Do you really wanna hang the painting today?"

"You bet." Eric smiled, then stroked Cary's blonde fluff. "We can do it after the girls take their naps. Cary's got a head start on Jane, but I wanna see that canvas where it belongs."

Lynne nodded; it was the last painting from the exhibition still without a home. She wondered if that had been part of Eric's troubles, then she smiled as Cary stirred. "Well, let's be on our way. She hasn't been asleep long and...."

Eric interrupted his wife with an intimate kiss. Lynne closed her eyes, reveling in both the pleasure and Eric's attentions. They only broke away from each other when Cary began to fuss. Eric returned to his seat, again caressing her head. "Sorry little girl. It's just that I really love your mama and...."

"Mama, Daddy, let's go, let's go!" Jane ran into the kitchen, stopping at her father's side. "Gotta hang the picture."

"My goodness, you're right." Lynne blinked away tears, then chuckled, placing Cary over her shoulder. "Let's go take some naps, then we'll come back with the painting."

Marek entered the room, a smile on his face. "I'll make some T-R-E-A-T-S while you're gone. And depending on how long it takes, perhaps we can share supper as well."

"That sounds perfect." Eric stood, then held Jane's hand. He helped her onto his chair, motioning for her to clutch his left side. Within seconds she was in his grasp, leaning her head on his shoulder. Lynne went to her feet, her heart pounding from the memory of Eric's kiss and the hope that once the girls were asleep, parents could enjoy a few moments of intimacy. Lynne ached to reconnect with her husband, and she prayed that by doing so, his peace of mind would be strengthened. Marek walked them to their car, spelling out caramel slices as they drove away.

That night, as Eric lay beside his wife, a strange calm ran through him. Some of it was due to carnal exhaustion; the couple had made love while their daughters had napped, then again only moments ago. Lynne's breathing was rhythmic, but Eric was alert, although he wouldn't move from bed until certain she was asleep. She had been up early that morning with Cary, had helped Marek hang the painting, and while she hadn't needed to make supper, running their household was on his wife's shoulders. Eric didn't consider how his sour mood had added to her burden, wishing that depression was gone for good. With Paul's change of heart, as well as Marek's painting where it belonged, Eric now hoped his recent malaise was over. This was his life, there was no going back.

He inhaled the permanence of that statement, still listening to how peaceful Lynne sounded. For how many weeks had he longed to be with those he loved, to even know his own name? The rest of his history couldn't matter, for again he slept beside his wife, could hold his children, was surrounded by his dearest friends. These essential details were in full need of his focus, and his gratitude. Seeing The Pastor and His Charge hanging at St. Matthew's had provided Eric a flash of joy, recalling when that same painting was displayed at the Roseburg Library. While that memory was connected to an awful tragedy, Fran and Louie had recovered, and if that was possible.... Eric didn't equate his situation with their great losses. He was alive, back with his family, end of story.

He slowly sat up, then moved from the mattress, Lynne now deeply asleep. Eric didn't bother putting on his robe, for the night was warm, and it would have taken more effort than it was worth. He had grown used to his cumbersome arm, but the physical awkwardness was nothing compared to how hard stepping back into his role as a husband and father was proving. And an uncle; Eric had nearly broken down while grasping Paul as the boy cried hard. Later that night Eric had released a flood of emotion, Lynne offering him not only her beautiful body, but her open heart. Again she'd had to wait for him, but how much harder had it been, what with him right in her sight. He walked down the stairs, glancing at their door every few steps, as though he could hear her breathing. She needed several good nights of sleep to make up for how insufferable he'd been.

Reaching the living room, Eric quickly gazed at paintings which Laurie and Stanford had helped hang; the orchard seemed to shine in the darkness, but a brighter glow led Eric to the sunroom where the painting of Lynne on the stool was displayed. While it was a nude, the Snyders had decided to show it off, in part for how much bliss was relayed in Lynne's mischievous smile. Eric hadn't wanted it hidden away and to his surprise Lynne had agreed. It would mark not only Jane's beginnings, but Cary's too. And, Eric sighed softly, maybe another child, far in the future. Lynne hadn't spoken of trying again, but Eric assumed eventually she would make an issue of it. He grimaced slightly, the first time in his marriage that he hadn't wanted a baby with his wife. It wasn't connected to the possibility of having a son, which before had somewhat colored his view. This was solely related to the man he now was, both in being handicapped and....

Eric shut his eyes, but the radiance from the painting burned through his eyelids. He stared at it, blinking occasionally, trying to recapture within himself the eagerness from when he'd created this piece. Some part of him had withered along with his arm, for the artistic drive was absent as well as a sense of.... He shook his head, but that dead part of his soul couldn't be revived. If he and Lynne had another child, could he love that baby as much as he did Jane and Cary? He was thankful his youngest daughter hadn't been lost to him, although at times he felt apart from her, but that was usually due to not being able to cuddle her as he had Jane. Once Cary was bigger, she would learn to grasp at his side, then be hoisted in the air, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. Jane had quickly realized how best for Eric to tote her, but it wouldn't last more than another year or so, for while his left arm had grown strong, eventually she would be too big for him to lug around. Then Cary would be too large, and then....

Eric shivered, then sighed, guilt edging its dangerous way back inside his heart. Another baby would add to Lynne's troubles, and if it was a son.... Eric gripped his bad arm, feeling a strange pain coursing through it. It didn't remind him of when a transformation was imminent, nor was it the usual draining ache or frustrating numbness. His arm felt hollow, as though he'd never painted anything at all. He stared at that mangled limb, squeezing it hard, but felt nothing more than vast emptiness, which began creeping toward his chest. He clenched his jaw, inwardly begging for that agony to disappear. But his words weren't formed as a prayer, merely a silent cry. The desolation abated, then as he gazed at the portrait of his wife, it slipped away as quickly as it had tried to overwhelm him.

Lynne was the key, Eric inhaled, then breathed out with conviction; as long as she remained.... Eric stepped toward the painting, running his left index finger along her outstretched arms. Then he traced the length of her torso, not realizing he was making the sign of a cross. Instead he concentrated on his naked wife, growing hard as he did so. He smiled, then headed to the stairs. If she woke up, Eric would make love to her. If she stayed asleep, there was always tomorrow.

As a new week began, Eric's mood was nearly to what Lynne remembered from before. She noticed occasional flashes of irritation, but they were minor, and never connected to the girls, or to her. Eric's few low patches seemed relegated to what could be expected, when she needed help with a household task and he was unable to assist. While he didn't accompany her to mass on Monday or Tuesday, he did go on Wednesday, at Paul's request. Those two sat side by side, but Lynne sensed uneasiness in her spouse, although Eric did go up for communion. While she lighted candles with Renee, the men watched the children. The rest of the day was as Lynne expected, a few grimaces from her husband, but his loving nature overrode her concerns.

On Thursday, rain greeted the Snyders, as did mail from Laurie, addressed to the entire family. Eric was subdued as Lynne read the note aloud, then he excused himself, saying he wanted to inspect the garden. Jane begged to accompany him, but Eric smiled, telling her he wouldn't be long, what with rain still falling. Jane was appeased while Lynne hoped this was merely a blip in what had been a happy week.

Eric didn't return right away, leaving Lynne to assume the brief respite they had enjoyed was over. She busied herself with chores, then gave Cary a bottle. The baby fell asleep halfway through it, which had become her mid-morning habit. Lynne took Cary to the nursery, put the bottle in the refrigerator, then sat with Jane, who played in the sunroom. Lynne didn't see Eric anywhere, and she hoped he'd gone into the studio, although since the baptism she hadn't seen him approach that building.

Just last night she had reveled in the notion that perhaps Eric was indeed home; the man she'd been living with for the last two months wasn't anything like her husband. She had considered writing to Walt Richardson, seeking information that could possibly explain Eric's haunted.... As rain pelted the ground, Lynne shivered, for Eric had seemed plagued by something far worse than turning into a hawk. She sighed softly, then stood, going to the French doors, peering at the gray, gloomy day. She didn't think Eric had transformed into a bird, but did wonder if his few peaceful days had come to an end.

The phone rang, and she headed to the kitchen, answering it. The caller was a woman who gave her name as Susie Bolden. Lynne smiled, gripping the receiver. "Oh hello! Is everyone all right?"

"Oh yes, just wanted to let you all know two little boys have joined the family. Dora's doing just fine, and she and Walt wanted me to share their news."

Tears fell down Lynne's cheeks as Susie spoke; John Caleb was born first, followed by Steven Baines. The twins had arrived a few weeks early, but seemed in good health, and Dora was expected to come home from the hospital in nearby Marshall perhaps as soon as next week. Susie asked for Lynne's prayers that mother and babies would continue to fare well, then Susie paused. "Excuse me for asking ma'am, but how is Mr. Snyder these days?"

Lynne cleared her throat. "Um, okay. I know this news will be music to his ears."

Susie chuckled. "Well, please give him our love, and tell him Luke sends a big hello. Walt said he'd call you folks in a few days, but right now he's got his hands full."

"Indeed he does. You're all in our prayers too. Thank you so much for calling, Mrs. Bolden."

Susie laughed. "Mrs. Snyder, it was my pleasure."

As Lynne hung up the receiver, she continued to cry, great relief rushing all through her. The memories of speaking with Louie's aunt when Fran lost the twins were surprisingly fresh. But the Richardson boys were healthy, and Lynne wondered if the eldest was named for merely the late president. Steven sported Lyndon Johnson's middle name as his own, maybe Walt and Dora had wanted to honor both presidents, but Lynne would bet money John's name was also related to the mysterious stranger who had dwelled with that family last winter. Then she heard Jane calling for her daddy, and Lynne quickly walked into the living room, finding Eric standing on the mat, somewhat damp. He wasn't soaked, but she wouldn't ask if he'd spent all that time in the studio.

He looked weary, and she smiled. "I just got off the phone with Susie Bolden," Lynne began. "Dora had twin boys and everyone's fine."

"Oh my God, really?" Eric trembled, then shook his head. "Jesus Christ, are you sure that's what she said?"

Lynne nodded, stepping close to Eric, then grasping his left hand. "She said Walt would call you in a few days, and that while the babies are a little early, they're all expected to come home from the hospital next week."

Eric looked on the verge of tears, and despite his wet clothes, Lynne pulled him into her embrace. Now he wept, clutching her with his good arm. Once he recovered, he stepped away, wiping his face. "My God, I'm so glad everybody's okay."

"And Luke sends you, as Mrs. Bolden put it, a big hello. I'll get a card in the mail for them today."

"Yeah, that's a good idea." Eric seemed to ignore Luke's greeting as he gripped his bad arm, absently staring around the room. Lynne felt a slight chill, for Eric wouldn't meet her gaze. Perhaps he'd thought the same about the Richardson twins as she had, hard to separate that from what had happened to the Canfields. Yet these babies were healthy, and one was even named for.... Lynne wanted to tell Eric their names, but more she hoped he would ask. He made eye contact with her, but the exchange was brief, and it made Lynne inwardly shiver. The dark curtain which had shrouded Eric for the last few months had returned.

She grasped his right hand, making him flinch. "Honey, I love you. Please tell me what's wrong."

He stared at her hand on his, then sighed loudly. "Nothing, everything's fine." Then he gazed at her, but his gray eyes seemed vacant. "What did they name them?"

"John Caleb and Steven Baines."

Lynne didn't elaborate, waiting for Eric's reaction. At first he merely nodded, then he tried to squeeze her fingers. The motion was slight, but Lynne tenderly squeezed back, then placed her other hand atop Eric's. "I don't know how much they weighed, we didn't talk long. But she sounded happy, so everything must be okay."

Eric nodded, then took a deep breath, exhaling with resignation. "Walt hated Catholics, not sure why they named one John. LBJ's wife is from Karnack, maybe that's why it's Steven Baines."

Lynne fought tears, but they tumbled down her cheeks. She caressed Eric's mangled hand, then stroked his face. "They named John for you, honey."

He turned red, stepping away from her. "God, I hope not."

"Eric, please, I just got you back and...." All of Lynne's recent stoicism disappeared as she broke into tears. "Honey, I realize this news might bring back some memories, but it really is wonderful. Susie sounded so happy and...."

Lynne stopped speaking as Eric had turned his back to her, his left hand on the French door's glass panes. He stared out at pouring rain, and not even Jane calling for him seemed to faze him. Lynne went to his side, but refrained from touching him, how she had occasionally approached him ages ago after he had returned from the wild. "Eric, I'm begging you, please don't shut me out. I love you, I need you, and so do our daughters. Please honey, don't...."

He roughly opened the door, then stomped outside, not bothering to close it behind him. Lynne stood in the open doorway, rain pelting her, but she didn't move, watching her husband standing just off the patio, raising his fist toward the sky. Then he stalked off, passing the studio, heading to the acreage beyond it. Lynne wept, wishing to call after him, but she didn't want to upset Jane. Instead she slowly stepped back into the house, closing the door, still keeping her eyes on Eric, who continued walking, hanging his head as if in deep shame.
Chapter 239

Rainy weather continued as June turned into July, but Eric didn't spend time reading letters from Europe. Amid mild sprinkles he traversed the Snyders' property, but during a downpour he sought shelter in the studio. At first he'd nearly gone back into the house, but facing his wife and daughters seemed impossible as now there seemed to be no escape. While Eric was grateful for Dora and Walt, his own actions couldn't be ignored, and how to reconcile that with the man he had been before....

How could Eric permit Lynne, Jane, and Cary to get close to someone who had committed.... The memories of that night permeated nearly all of Eric's attention, and they were especially vivid inside the studio, the sound of rain hitting the roof the same as when Eric had resided within Walt's shed. Eric thought what had occurred there would stay in Texas, but he'd been kidding himself, what he realized as water drummed along the studio's roof, reminiscent of gunshots from Hiram Bellevue's rifle as well as.... Eric hated the scents within the studio, oil paints and turpentine alongside those trapped within his mind; so much love had been made in this space, but he couldn't bear thinking about it. He fell asleep on the sofa, only going into the house when severe hunger pangs couldn't be ignored. But he didn't share meals with his family, taking food back to the studio, where he fell into fitful rest well after the sun had set.

While Eric brooded, Lynne took her daughters to St. Anne's, but she didn't speak of her husband's misery. Instead she gave thanks that President Johnson had signed the Civil Rights Bill, telling the Aherns about the Richardson twins and seeking their prayers for those babies' health and Dora's too. Lynne chatted over the phone with Frannie, wrote letters to Laurie and Agatha, and cared for her children as she had in Eric's absence. Mostly she spent that time in prayer, regardless of whatever activity kept her busy. Her missives weren't always a conscious litany sent heavenward, but a calm guidance of her actions, or directed moments of rest, to which she gave little outward thought. She missed her husband desperately, but was fully aware that Eric was in God's care. In the evenings, bathing her daughters, she laughed at their antics, feeling strangely unafraid. Eric's affliction didn't touch her, and rarely did she wonder exactly what that issue could be.

On Friday, the third of July, Sam called, asking Lynne if she and the girls would like to join the Aherns to celebrate tomorrow's holiday. Sam didn't breathe Eric's name, but Lynne declined anyway, feeling as she had when Eric had been on his brief sojourns, the need to be at home strong within her. Storms had subsided, but Eric hadn't spent more than moments inside; he'd showered yesterday while the girls napped. Jane never inquired as to her father's whereabouts, leaving Lynne to assume she wasn't the only member of her family being protected during this crisis. Weather was supposed to be sunny on the Fourth, but Lynne wouldn't dwell on how best to keep Jane from playing outside, perhaps finding her father fretting in his studio. Since telling Eric of Susie's phone call, Lynne had been living day by day. Yet it was so altered to how her days had been spent years before when he was gone. After Sam's phone call, Lynne considered all the ways in which her existence was now different, from the Aherns' awareness of Eric's bizarre transformations to her own life lived in faith. She gently smiled at those corporeal and ethereal elements, then sighed deeply as Jane called for her.

Lynne walked into the living room, finding Jane grabbing the top of the playpen, inside which Cary hitched on all fours, reaching for a block. At nearly six months old, Cary was close to crawling, but in extending her left arm, she crashed onto her belly. She didn't cry, however, slowly getting back onto her knees, again staring at the toy.

Lynne knelt beside Jane, who now pointed at her sister. "Mama, take her out."

A mother smiled. "In a minute honey. I wanna see what she does." Lynne wasn't merely curious if her baby might crawl; she'd noticed that Cary seemed to favor her left hand when grasping for her bottle as well as playthings. The baby again attempted to grab the block, inching forward on her right knee. Jane clapped with enthusiasm as her sister creeped, then again crashed. This time Cary burst into tears, but Lynne chuckled, getting to her feet, then collecting Cary from the playpen.

She gently soothed her baby, walking to the sofa with Jane on her heels. Then Lynne told her daughters a story from her own childhood, praying for her late parents as she did so. Cary grew sleepy and Jane yawned alongside her. Lynne tenderly rocked her baby to sleep, then quietly asked Jane if she too wanted a rest. Jane nodded, and followed her mother up the stairs. Lynne put Cary in her crib, covered Jane with a light blanket, then firmly closed the nursery door. Once assured both girls were sleeping, Lynne secured the baby gate at the top of the landing. She wasn't sure how long she might be outside, and didn't want to allow Jane the run of the house.

First Lynne checked the mail, finding a card from the Richardsons. She opened it, a birth announcement accompanied by a note from Dora, that photographs would be on the way soon. Lynne scanned the babies' lengths and weights, appropriate to their gestation, also signifying to the former nurse that in all likelihood the twins would be fine. Lynne took the card into the kitchen, listening for the girls, who made no sound. Then she made two sandwiches, putting them on a plate, adding an apple alongside. She retrieved the birth announcement, then grabbed the plate, leaving from the kitchen door, heading to the studio.

The day was warm, the air somewhat muggy from recent rains. Lynne admired her garden as she walked, praying for twin boys in Texas, her daughters to remain sleeping, and for her husband to.... Reaching the studio, Lynne sought peace for Eric, finding him staring at the back wall where she had once stood, posing for him. Lynne cleared her throat, merely to alert him to her presence. He didn't turn toward her, but she didn't mind, opening the door. An acrid scent greeted her, that of bitterness mixed with various smells she usually associated with this space. Somehow regret didn't blend well with turpentine and oil paints, but she hid her displeasure, setting the plate on the table, but gripping the birth announcement in her hand. "I brought you some lunch," she said. "And this came in the mail today."

Eric sighed, then faced her. Lynne inwardly trembled, for he didn't look at all like the man she loved; unshaven stubble was turning into a thin beard, he was gaunt, and irritation flashed within his eyes, dark circles beneath them. She briefly closed her eyes, seeking Christ's mercy on this man who, as she opened her eyes, glowered at her. This was John Doe, Lynne realized, yet, glimmers of Eric Snyder stood before her, in how he blinked away tears, his bearing similar to the artist for whom she had posed, and greatly loved. Lynne didn't approach him, feeling a hedge of divine protection around her. She placed the announcement near the plate, then clasped her hands together. "It's from the Richardsons," she said softly. "Dora said she'd send pictures soon."

Eric barely nodded, then sighed again. "Are the girls asleep?"

"Uh-huh," Lynne smiled. "Cary's about ready to crawl. And while I could be wrong, I think she might be left handed."

Eric had been staring at the items on the table, but upon Lynne's last words, he shot her a confused glance, then frowned. "How the hell do you know that?"

She ignored his language, but was stung by his angry tone. "She was reaching for a block, that's why she tried creeping. But I've noticed she likes holding her bottle with her left hand."

Lynne didn't assume Cary's partiality to that hand was due to her father's predicament, although none of their parents had been left handed. Then Lynne shivered as Eric gripped his right arm. Had his father been left handed? She had never asked, it hadn't seemed important. She posed the question and Eric grunted that he didn't know. Lynne nodded, then gazed around the room. No canvases remained, although in her mind she saw many, from those Eric had painted when they had moved here right up to last summer's work on the Queens series and a few of her from when they had learned she was expecting Cary. Those paintings, as well as the unfinished one of Sam and the Chevy, were safe in the outbuilding. From her husband's seething tenor, Lynne wondered if any had been in here, perhaps they would have been destroyed for how unbalanced Eric appeared.

Yet, she wasn't frightened of him, although she sensed that perhaps he wished her to be, if only that she would leave him alone. But regardless of Eric's mood, Lynne knew her place was in that studio, and she seated herself on the same stool upon which she had posed when first pregnant with Jane. Lynne didn't speak, not needing to say what was clear in her actions; she wasn't leaving until he had told her the truth.

Eric's belly rumbled, but he was loathe to walk to the table, not wishing to be any closer to his wife than necessary. Her mere presence was like a knife into his heart for how terribly he felt, his unkempt appearance a reflection of a deep self-hatred. Over the last few days Eric had considered suicide, but each time he'd pondered how, a wave of love had flooded him, smelling not like his wife or anything connected to painting. It was the scent of St. Anne's, Marek's caramel bars, and something trapped within the crevices of his brain which he just couldn't identify. For a time that mystery had distracted him until more recent memories pummeled his will to live into near submission. But every night that beautiful aroma returned, allowing him much needed sleep, also peace. He fought that calm upon waking, but now with Lynne so close, Eric's defenses were crumbling. Yet he didn't imagine approaching her, not wishing to sully her with his guilty hands. "Just leave," he barked, then he coughed. "Get the hell out of here."

"You know I can't do that. I love you and I'm never going away."

"Why? I left you constantly, all the fucking time." He spat those words, but a foul taste lingered on his tongue. "Just take the girls and go."

"This isn't only your home. It's ours, together, as a family." Lynne's tone held conviction. Then she sighed. "I'm sorry for whatever's troubling you, believe me I am. But Eric, I took you in sickness and in health, till death do us part. Those vows mean more to me now than ever in our marriage. I'm afraid you're stuck with me."

Slight glee edged her voice, and while it irritated him, tangible relief couldn't be ignored. Eric shrugged, then walked to the plate, taking one of the sandwiches. He ate it quickly, but had no water left in his cup. He grabbed the apple, savoring the juice, as well as Lynne's foresight. He stared at her, but she wasn't looking at him, gazing at the far wall of the studio, where she had stood when he painted her just around the time they conceived Jane. Back then Lynne's hair hadn't been as long as what he'd depicted in the portrait, although now her tresses were nearly that length. She hadn't cut her hair since his return, and he mumbled aloud why.

"Been too busy, I suppose," Lynne said, running a hand through her hair. "Keeping it in a ponytail makes me forget about too."

He nodded, then shook his head, not wishing to let any connection to her build, yet that was impossible, for now he couldn't stop staring at her, although she made no eye contact with him. Her hair was pulled back, a few crows' feet around her eyes, faint lines in her brow. Stray white hairs graced her temples; were they new or had he purposefully ignored them, not wanting to actually view her, for he would never capture her on canvas again.

How often had Eric focused on this woman, not merely in love or desire, but for the actions an artist employed upon any subject, yet his wife could never be deemed merely an object for him to recreate. Then he shivered, needing her so much, but equally not wanting to harm her. If she knew the truth, how quickly would that erase her statement about never leaving him. She had spoken somewhat in jest, that he was stuck with her, but never would Eric force her to stay married to a....

"Lynne, please, don't make this harder than it has to be." He spoke plaintively, every fiber in his body aching as much as his right arm. He stared at the floor, taking shallow breaths, for little oxygen seemed available. But he didn't deserve her, he was just like his....

"Eric, I love you and that will never change. Nothing you could do or say would make me...."

"I killed a man." The words slipped before he could take them back. Then Eric heaved a deep sigh of regret. "In Texas, in Walt's shed. I took a man's life Lynne and...."

A wife's tender kiss interrupted a husband's confession, but Eric didn't attempt to halt Lynne's actions. One last kiss, he thought, but it went further, as Lynne clutched Eric's torso. He'd expected her to recoil in fear and disgust, but she set her hands along his waist, then ran them across his back. Eric permitted these actions, in part that if she continued, maybe that awful night might somehow be expunged from existence. Then he responded to his physical need for the only woman to whom he had bared his soul. But this confession wasn't like when he'd told her about turning into a hawk. This was more heartbreaking, for as soon as she pulled away from him, he imagined she would then say goodbye.

Yet, Lynne didn't cease her advances, leading him to the sofa, where they clumsily sat, still enmeshed in one another. Awash in her love, Eric momentarily forgot what he'd just stated, reveling in the passion of more recent days, as though he'd not left his family nearly one year ago. Tomorrow, on the fourth of July, would be a year since he'd last changed form, flying to Miami....

Eric wrenched himself away from Lynne, panting hard. "Didn't you hear what I said? I killed a man, Christ, I murdered him."

"I don't believe you Eric." Tears edged Lynne's eyes. "There's nothing inside you that would do something so violent."

He shook his head. "I knocked him over the head with a wrench Lynne."

"Why?"

Her voice was soft, and genuinely curious. "Why? Because he was trying to...." Eric paused, the entire scene replaying in his mind. He had stirred to the same sounds as Tilda, someone snooping around the Richardsons' property. The wrench Eric had used to alert the family early in his stay had been the only weapon close, and when Pop had burst into the shed, Eric had been prepared to defend himself if necessary. Defense had been essential, for Pop had drunkenly lunged at Eric, mumbling that he was going to kill him. Eric hadn't known who this stranger was, then Pop spoke about Hiram, that nobody was going to take his son from him, least of all a crippled SOB hiding out in Walt's shed. Eric had rolled away from Pop, then as Pop tried to strangle Eric, Eric hurled the wrench against Pop's skull. Pop fell to the floor, pounding at his chest. Moments later Walt appeared, checking the body for a pulse, but indeed Pop Bellevue was dead.

"He was trying to kill me," Eric said, sweat pouring over him as it had that night. "It was Hiram's father, the boy who shot me, but instead I killed him."

Lynne traced around Eric's eyes. "Sounds like you were defending yourself against being murdered."

"My God Lynne, aren't you listening? I'm just like my father, nothing more than a killer." Eric shook his head, scooting to the corner of the sofa. "I had that wrench in my hand, I was waiting for him, I...."

Lynne leaned toward him, placing her palm against his chest. "You'd just spent months as a bird of prey. Those instincts stay with you far longer than you realize. And those same instincts that kept you alive in Miami only knew one course of action that night. Eric, if you hadn't picked up that wrench, you'd be dead."

She sobbed briefly, wiping her face. Then she caressed his. "This isn't any different than when you fought against the falcon years ago. You were protecting yourself, it was self-defense Eric, not murder." Again Lynne set her hand on his chest. "That action has no relation to the crimes your father committed, and while I'm so sorry for how you're suffering, I'm glad you did what you did. If you hadn't...." Again she wept, gently grasping his ruined shoulder. "All that man taught his child was to harm others. Your mother inspired you to have hope despite your father's cruelty. And Eric, never in all the years I've known you have I been scared of you. I've worried about you, yes, but...."

"Lynne, as I child, when I was a hawk, I killed other creatures. I'd forgotten about it until I was in Florida. I killed just for the sport of it and...."

"My goodness honey, you weren't aware of what was going on. You can't judge yourself against actions like that. Eric, please, forgive yourself. Don't let this ruin the wonderful man I love."

Something in her voice triggered his assent; Eric wasn't sure if it was conviction, her offer of absolution, or maybe the tenderness he'd known since the first time they had made love. Whatever it was, coupled with that mysterious scent raining down upon him, caused Eric to nod, then start to weep. His cries turned to howls, but within Lynne's embrace, those sounds didn't breach the walls of the studio, where the couple remained until Eric felt able to breathe without difficulty. Together they walked to the house, where to his surprise their daughters remained asleep. Eric and Lynne sat on the sofa, holding hands in silence. He assumed she was praying, but he felt unable to ask for divine clemency. That his wife seemed to have forgiven him was a start, although Eric still wasn't certain he deserved it. But the desire for mercy burned within him, as well as the need for Lynne's love. And when their daughters woke, Eric wanted to hold them too. But for now, he rested in his wife's gentle grasp, wondering if he would ever feel right within his skin.
Chapter 240

On July fourth, Eric woke in his own bed, having slept soundly all night. He wasn't sure if that was from the comfortable mattress, how sated he felt, or having unburdened his heart. Probably a mix of the three, he assumed, hearing light chatter from downstairs. He got up, used the toilet, put on his robe, then stared at his face in the mirror on Lynne's dresser. He needed to shave, then ran a hand over his thin beard. During the night, Lynne had caressed his face several times, and while she never asked him to keep that facial hair, for the first time Eric didn't mind it. He wasn't John Doe, this wasn't Walt's shed. He shrugged at his reflection, then left the room, heading downstairs.

Jane met him as he entered the kitchen, her arms outstretched. He wanted to hold her, but apprehension lingered. Lynne smiled at him, so did Cary, sitting in the high chair, bolstered in the seat by old towels. The last time Eric had shared breakfast with his family, Cary had still been in the bouncy seat. Eric looked at Lynne, who nodded. "We tried this yesterday and she didn't fall over. I think she likes being able to see everyone."

Eric sat beside her, then hoisted Jane upon his lap. When he'd stepped into this kitchen back in February, all he'd wanted was to absorb this family, his family. He stroked Cary's cheek, making her laugh, then watched as she picked up small pieces of banana with her left hand. She ate hungrily, then banged on the tray, looking around for her mother. Jane giggled at Cary's antics, then leaned back against Eric's chest. He kissed the top of her head, wondering why he possessed such treasures.

The morning proceeded as if the last few days had never occurred. Laurie called, wishing them a happy holiday, but neither Sam nor Renee got in touch, making Eric wonder if Lynne had spoken to them recently. She hadn't gone to church yesterday, would she go tomorrow? He wouldn't, and wasn't sure if he could ever step inside St. Matthew's again. Somehow he could accept Lynne's forgiveness, but the thought of speaking about Pop with anyone else was repugnant. For how much time he'd spent outside his house lately, he didn't want to go out that day, and Lynne didn't insist that he do so. She took the girls out at mid-morning, and from the sunroom he watched Jane run around while Cary practiced crawling on a blanket. He longed to join them, but remained apart, hoping his need for separation wouldn't last long.

After lunch the girls napped. Lynne suggested going to bed, but Eric declined her request, although he didn't want to be far from her. While she started laundry, he sat at the table, staring at the high chair, then at Jane's tall seat. The house felt empty, not that he wanted more children, but on that day a year ago Sam and Renee had been here, although not Marek. Eric sighed as Lynne returned from the laundry room. "Are you okay?" she asked.

He shrugged, then shook his head. "I wonder if this's how Paul felt leaving Colorado, then his aunt's house, like would he ever feel he was in a place that was truly home."

Lynne sat on Eric's left. "It's funny, because Ann was quite shy in the beginning. Paul had school for a distraction, but being a little older than her, he could grasp what had happened. When we would talk about you, he never said much, but Laurie was here and...."

"I don't ever want him knowing what happened."

Lynne sighed softly. "Eric, I know he'd feel the same as me. None of us will hold this against you."

"You can't speak for everyone."

She grasped his hand. "Maybe not, but I can assume they'd agree with me. And I do. Especially...." She kissed the back of his left hand, then met his gaze. "Sam would perfectly understand."

Eric nodded, feeling that man was the only other one he might tell. "Still, I don't want anyone else aware."

"All right." Lynne released his hand, then folded hers, placing them in her lap. She stared at the far wall, then suddenly brushed tears from her eyes.

Eric shivered, wondering if even talking about it made her uneasy. To his surprise, she then looked his way, a smile on her face. "Honey, I am so, so sorry, I really am." She wiped her eyes, then clasped her hands around both of his. "I can't begin to ponder any kind of reason, but...."

He leaned toward her, kissing her while gripping her hands not only with his left, but what little strength he could muster from his right. He didn't want to think about anything remotely religious. He would probably tell Sam, but Marek hadn't wanted to witness last year's transformation, and Eric shuddered, then pulled away from Lynne, but not in displeasure. He stroked her face, finding unfathomable clemency within her eyes. Her smile was broad, how could she be so merciful?

He wanted to ask, but as she nodded, a memory provided him with the answer, actually several recollections from times when he had disappeared for mere days, coming back scratched or bearing bruises. While he'd felt enormous guilt, she had always welcomed him home, and perhaps those occasions had seasoned her for this. He wouldn't question her absolution again, otherwise he'd be forever uncertain. On that day, Eric took the first step in putting Pop's death behind him, graciously accepting Lynne's bountiful mercy. They left the kitchen, quietly taking the stairs, then stepped into their bedroom, closing the door firmly behind them. The love that was made refilled an empty chamber within Eric's heart, but three others remained in need of care.

The Snyder family held no elaborate celebrations that evening, but after the girls were asleep, Eric stepped outside, not looking for fireworks, merely staring at the sky. One year ago seemed much further back, like ten or fifteen years, then he wondered if that transformation was indeed his last. He gazed at the growing darkness, and as his eyes adjusted, stars began to appear, similar to skies he'd seen in Texas and Florida. Yet these stars felt like home to him, and he sighed softly, grateful for Lynne's understanding.

All afternoon they had remained close together, either seated on the sofa or playing with their daughters. Cary was quickly learning to crawl, pleasing her sister immensely. To Eric's shock, Cary did seem to display a fondness for her left hand, and he wondered if that would be a significant element of her childhood. Jane asked her father about his beard, and Eric had then glanced at Lynne, who wore a sly smile. Eric would leave it until she asked him to shave, then he shivered as a slight breeze turned into a brisk wind. He wasn't ready to go inside, but the air was turning cool. Eric looked toward the studio, but didn't want to go in there. He glanced in the direction of the storage building; no wind would touch him within that structure.

The key for it waited in his pocket, and he considered why that was; that morning he'd grabbed it from the ring. In his recent past, he would have laughed at himself, wondering what God had in store for him. But now his thoughts were similar to when often Eric had no decent reason for most of what happened within his life. He'd grown up that way, and perhaps not until nearly dying a few Christmases ago had his existence possessed meaning, other than loving his wife and painting. He didn't consider it now, walking toward the storage building, pulling the key from his pocket, then unlocking the door.

He flicked on the light, squinting momentarily. Then he took stock of what he'd inspected with Stanford some weeks ago. Strangely, Eric didn't care if his dealer knew the truth; perhaps then Stanford would diplomatically drop Eric as a client, and this part of his past could slowly be overcome by boysenberry vines, disappearing from existence. Yet, he would never forget these creations, many of his beloved wife and eldest daughter, some of Agatha's relatives, and one unfinished portrait that now Eric realized had never meant to be completed.

The canvas' vast space caught Eric's attention, so much he'd planned to put there, but only a man and the outlines of his car remained. Sam looked tense, had Eric truly painted him that way? Anger bubbled in Eric's gut, but he ignored it, instead thinking of how much Sam had never wanted this painting to exist; why had he agreed to pose? Then Eric sighed, considering Renee's about face concerning Jane. And now Renee had her own children, yet that family would never find its way into an Eric Snyder exhibition. Of all those Aherns and Nolans Eric had painted, the core family would remain undocumented.

But then Cary would never be captured, and Eric made a fist with his left hand. A sudden fury beat in his heart, compounded by confusion; why had this happened to him? He raised his left fist into the air, then grabbed Sam's unfinished portrait, dragging it outside. He wanted to rip it apart, or maybe let it rot there on the ground. But he didn't wish for Jane to trip over it, bad enough that she had hurt herself on the back acreage. Eric still needed to arrange for that area to be landscaped, but first another project required his attention.

After twenty minutes, Lynne went searching for her husband, but as soon as she stepped outside, she knew where he'd gone. The scent of burning canvas was thick in the night air, flames shooting up behind the studio. Lynne blinked away tears, wondering what Eric had chosen to destroy.

Perhaps a stray hawk had needed to be excised, but beyond that, she had no idea, until she rounded the corner of the studio, a huge painting burning brightly. Lynne's heart raced while she watched what remained of Sam Ahern being burned to ash. Eric faced the glowing embers, his left hand on his hip, his right arm dangling loosely at his side. Lynne wasn't certain if this would aid in her husband's healing, but she said nothing, feeling little warmth as the fire died down.

After a minute had passed, she cleared her throat, then stepped toward Eric, who had turned her way. She couldn't make out his expression, the night sky merely lit by stars. He couldn't see her either, but as he got close, then touched her face, he found remnants of her tears. "Oh Lynne, don't cry. I needed to do this and...."

She embraced him, smelling smoke, the vague hint of the studio, and much regret. Yet as he clutched her, no longer did he feel guilty for her love. She welcomed that, stroking his bearded cheek, then kissing him. They stood together for several seconds, then Eric pulled away, glancing at what now were fading embers. He sighed, then faced Lynne. "He never wanted me to paint him anyways, now we can both forget it."

"Can you?" she murmured.

He nodded. "It's like that part of me never existed, not sure why that is." Eric's tone was honest, which made Lynne inwardly shiver, but perhaps for now he needed to set aside many parts of his past. Then she wept, wondering if that included them having another child. She still desired his baby, but maybe that too had been purged along with....

"Honey, I'll call him in a day or two, maybe next week. You were right, I need to tell him, or more I need his advice." Eric spoke with resignation. "But I'm also gonna tell him this stays just between the three of us." Eric glanced back at what remained of the canvas. "It's none of Renee's business."

Eric spoke in a manner new to Lynne's ears, as if he'd never been an artist, merely an entrepreneur pondering a deal gone sour. Again Lynne's heart pounded, but she remained silent as Eric continued, that he would call Stanford in the morning, ending their business relationship, which would probably sever any last personal ties. Eric noted that while Stan had offered to continue their partnership, what was there to display? The European show was his last, Eric said curtly, then he came to Lynne's side. "Thank God there's plenty of money in the bank."

"Indeed," Lynne said softly. "Thanks be to God for such blessings."

Eric snorted. "Lynne, I won't be going to St. Matthew's with you anymore. Or St. Anne's."

She nodded, then grasped her husband's hand. "I understand."

"It would be hypocritical of me to do that. Now, I mean," he quickly added.

"Uh-huh."

Eric sighed. "Honey, I don't know what the hell anything means anymore. The last thing I want is to lie about that." Then he huffed. "You do whatever's best for you and the girls. Maybe one of these days I'll change my mind."

Lynne nearly asked about the man who had driven Eric from Colorado to Utah, but an inner prompt delayed that query. "Whatever you need to do Eric. And I'll go where I'm led."

"Okay." Then he coughed. "Lynne, I need you, I didn't mean...."

"I know. I need you too. We'll just take it day by day."

"Yeah, day by day."

Lynne placed her other hand upon his, giving a gentle squeeze. Eric responded, then put his left arm around her. Leaning her head on his shoulder, Lynne prayed for her husband, their daughters, and herself. Then she let Eric lead them back to the house, where he retired to bed. Lynne remained downstairs, meditating on the sofa, then going to her knees. She stayed there until Eric came looking for her. The couple went to bed, but didn't make love. Eric fell asleep first, while Lynne listened to her husband's ragged breaths. He was dreaming of Pop, she was certain, but again she paid attention to that inner voice, not waking her husband.
Chapter 241

After the holiday Stanford went back to work with renewed vigor, Eric's terse phone call having been just what the dealer needed to wrap up a rather confusing chapter of his life. He hadn't expected Eric to end their partnership that suddenly, but after chatting with Laurie, then his father, Stanford accepted it was inevitable. He'd shared that thought with Laurie, but not the underlying relief which had initially emerged in mild waves. By mid-week, Stanford was thrilled to no longer represent Eric, although he wondered how that former painter would fend off requests for interviews and exhibitions. Lynne could handle it, Stanford decided, removing the entire Snyder clan from his thoughts. Of course, he wouldn't ask Laurie to take that family's photos off their refrigerator. Stanford wouldn't glance at that appliance anymore, but if forced, he would lump them alongside Laurie's relatives, whom he rarely considered.

Laurie had taken Eric's phone call much differently than Stan, and was still in disbelief days later. He'd spoken with Lynne on Wednesday, but from her clipped answers, he knew Eric was nearby. Laurie wrote to Lynne, asking for the motivation behind Eric's decision, noting Stanford's reaction, which Laurie understood, but didn't appreciate. Over the course of five days, Stanford had turned back into an aloof businessman with no concern for his extended kin. Agatha had noticed his altered demeanor, and Laurie hadn't lied to her about the reason. Yet until Laurie heard from Lynne, all he could do was speculate, and his suppositions weren't pleasant. Seth had alluded to a terrible tragedy having occurred in Texas, but as far as Laurie knew, Seth hadn't learned anything concrete from Walt Richardson.

Lynne had taken her daughters to church every morning since Eric burned Sam's unfinished portrait. While she hadn't stayed for lunch with Marek on Sunday, she did share morning coffee with the Aherns at their house. Paul was disappointed that Uncle Eric hadn't accompanied, but the boy was satisfied with Lynne's excuse, that Eric's arm was bothering him. Sam and Renee didn't believe that was the reason, but around the children Lynne didn't elaborate. Eric had specifically asked her not to say anything to Sam until Eric spoke to him first, but by Friday Lynne wondered if her husband was going to reach out at all. Again she accepted Renee's invitation for coffee after mass, but it was hard to converse with her best friend, also difficult to speak to Sam. He excused himself from the kitchen, but Lynne didn't relay anything of importance to Renee. After finishing her coffee, Lynne told Jane it was time to go home. Ann and Paul complained as Lynne packed the baby bag, and she promised them a longer visit next week. Sam escorted the ladies to their car, and after both girls were put in their seats, he walked to where Lynne stood at the driver's door. "Everything okay with you folks?" Sam asked.

Lynne's lip quivered, making Sam's pulse race. "Eric needs to talk to you. I was hoping he'd have done it this week, but...."

"We're not busy this weekend." Sam tried to keep his voice even. "I hope he knows he can call anytime."

Lynne nodded, then she sighed. "Maybe I'll see if you can come for supper tomorrow. Sam, pray for him, for all of us." Lynne blinked away tears. "He, we, it's...."

Since Eric's return, Sam hadn't seen Lynne so upset. He wanted to give her a hug, but didn't wish to cause a scene. He glanced at his house; Renee and the kids had been standing on the front porch, but were now inside, the door closed. "If we don't get an invite, I'll just come over tomorrow." Sam smiled, but it was forced. "You're in our prayers Lynne, all of you. Listen, drive home safely, okay?"

"I will and thanks Sam." She wiped her face, offering a wan smile. Then she got in the car, Sam closing her door. He went to his driveway as she started the engine, watching as she turned around, heading home. Sam stayed outside for several minutes, then Renee and the children joined him. He shrugged to his wife, not mentioning a possible get-together. Then Sam prayed for Eric, wondering what that man needed to discuss.

When Lynne reached home, Cary was nearly asleep. Eric met his family just inside the gate, leading Jane to the patio while Lynne took the baby into the house. After laying Cary in her crib, Lynne found her husband and daughter exploring the acreage beyond the studio. Eric smiled, then pointed at a large tree. "The landscaper's coming next Monday. I told him about making that tree into a treehouse for the girls, although it'll be a few years before they can enjoy it."

Lynne nodded, hearing optimism in her husband's tone. "That'll be really nice."

"In the meantime, I thought about having a little playhouse built here, or maybe closer to the patio, so we can see them. Jane, would you like a little house to play in?"

Jane gave her approval as Lynne studied Eric; he seemed as happy as when he'd first returned, but faint sorrow lingered in his tone. She was glad she'd told Sam what she had, although neither Ahern knew Eric was no longer being represented by Stanford. Maybe that detail would satisfy Renee, at least for a time. Then Lynne's heart ached terribly as she heard Eric say to Jane how the treehouse would only be for her and Cary. Jane asked about Ann and Helene, and Eric laughed, that of course they were welcome, Paul too. Jane was placated, then ran to the tree, gazing up at the branches. Eric followed her, but Lynne remained where she was, wondering why Eric had spoken in that manner. She wouldn't ask in front of Jane, but Lynne needed to know where her husband stood on the matter of more children.

While Eric tended Jane, Lynne spent the rest of the morning writing to Laurie. Just as Cary woke from her nap, Lynne sealed the envelope, then collected her baby, thinking of all she'd wanted to tell Laurie, but Lynne had respected Eric's request. Crumpled stationary testified to how hard it had been to keep quiet, and Lynne wouldn't immediately throw away those sheets. Not that she would send them later, but so Eric might see how important was honesty.

Lynne made lunch for her family, observing Eric's tender demeanor around his daughters. Lynne blinked away tears, then brought sandwiches to the table. She fed Cary, but the baby hollered, waving her arms toward Jane's plate. Lynne chuckled. "No way are you ready for a PBJ little girl. Here, have another bite of this."

Cary rejected what sat on the spoon, waving her head as if saying no. Eric laughed, then leaned forward in his seat. "She's far more opinionated than Jane was at this age."

"She is, bless her." Lynne broke off a little corner from her sandwich, then set it on Cary's tray. The baby picked it up, squishing it in her small hand. Then she put it in her mouth, but the peanut butter was sticky, and she began to cry.

"See, you're too young for that." Lynne grabbed a nearby bottle, offering it to Cary. She sucked, then licked jam from her fingers, again eyeing what sat on Jane's plate.

"I don't think so," Lynne said, slipping the spoon into Cary's open mouth. The baby looked surprised, then swallowed, turning her attention toward her mother.

Lynne was able to feed Cary most of what sat in the bowl before the baby was again distracted by her older sibling. Lynne wanted to remark upon this new addition to parenthood, but instead she was quiet while Eric and Jane chatted about a playhouse. Lynne stood, getting a rag from the sink, washing Cary's hands and face, then Jane's. Lynne took Cary from the high chair, putting her in Eric's grasp, then she ate her lunch. Eric spoke to his youngest as earnestly as he conversed with Jane, making Lynne's eyes water. She sniffled, trying to keep her tears from Jane's attention. But Eric had noticed, asking Jane to give her mother an extra napkin.

Quickly Lynne finished her sandwich, then she helped Jane from her seat. The girl ran into the living room, but Lynne didn't take Cary from Eric's lap. A mother returned to her chair, then gazed at her husband and their baby. Cary was happy in her father's one-armed hold, babbling in a similar manner to Jane, although none of it sounded Polish. Lynne missed those who'd often graced their table, and she cleared her throat. "Eric, there's something I wanna discuss."

"Anything honey."

His tone was almost to what she recalled from a year ago, but Eric's inclusive nature, which had emerged after the Aherns learned about his transformations, was absent. How quickly she had come to think of their home as a haven for others, and she couldn't help but giggle.

"What's so funny Lynne?"

She expressed that notion, then sighed. "I want...." Lynne paused, looking around the room, which now seemed enormous with only her immediate family. Lynne caressed Cary's head, then stared at Eric. "Do you not want another child?"

He started to speak, but stopped, glancing at the table, then the floor. Lynne studied their youngest daughter, who did resemble her big sister, but was developing her own personality. Cary reached for her father's napkin using her right hand, making Lynne smile. "Maybe she won't be left handed, or maybe she'll be ambidextrous. It'll be interesting to see how she...."

"I don't know, to be honest with you."

Lynne gazed at her husband. "Are you talking about Cary or another baby?"

"Both, I guess." Eric nuzzled Cary's head, making blonde hairs stand on end. The baby turned toward her father, showing a wide grin. Eric laughed, then he sighed. "I'm not much help to you now, and another would just be worse."

"Is that how you truly feel?" Lynne fought to maintain her composure, but Eric's resigned tone sounded more dismal than his words.

He shrugged, leaning back in his seat. "I'm not the same man you married, not physically or...." He sighed again, then continued. "I know you're used to more people here, and I'm sorry I'm turning into a hermit. That makes it harder on you, I guess that's what I meant."

Lynne started to speak, then stood instead, gathering the dishes, taking them to the sink. She gazed out the window, recalling how just a few years before, she had come downstairs after a nap on the day she and Eric were supposed to go to Renee and Sam's for supper. Lynne was just pregnant with Jane, but hadn't yet said anything to her husband, although Eric was aware. Recalling the overwhelming joy in his eyes made her spill tears, but she wept alone, for Eric couldn't join her, still with Cary in his grasp. Much of parenting fell upon her shoulders, but after so many years, now Lynne could conceive, and she wasn't getting any younger. She turned to find Cary tracing the tears falling down her father's face. Lynne rejoined them, taking Cary from Eric's lap, while he wiped his cheeks with the back of his left hand. "I'm sorry," Lynne whispered. "I didn't mean to...."

Eric shook his head, then grasped her hand. "I never meant to hurt you like this, Jesus Christ, I am so sorry baby."

"We'll just...." Lynne wanted to say wait, but that word seemed ominous. Eric's arm would never recover, and would his mood remain unchanged? "It's just that I love you so much." Lynne left unsaid how she now longed for a large family; perhaps that was a dream that needed to die like Eric's artistic talents. Sacrifices were being demanded from them both and Lynne inhaled that revelation, then gripped Eric's hand.

"Honey, just give me some time. I won't promise you anything, but right now, God, sometimes I feel like why am I here, what good am I to you? Maybe it would've been better if I'd died at Caddo Lake."

Hopelessness rang through Eric's voice, making Lynne cry. "Oh honey, don't say that."

Eric looked at the floor, then spoke in a whisper. "I often considered suicide. Walt was aware, but once he told me about Dora's pregnancy, I knew I couldn't do it."

"Do you feel like that now?"

"Only when the pain's really bad and...." Eric slumped in his seat. "Lynne, I just don't know who I am anymore and that's not fair to you or our daughters. Another child doesn't deserve that either."

"Can you call Sam? Honey, you need to talk about this with someone who can help." Lynne wanted to mention Marek, but refrained.

"I've been putting it off, but...." Eric nodded, then met Lynne's gaze. Terror edged his gray eyes, but she wasn't sure if that was due to what he'd tell Sam, or in simply admitting what had occurred. Lynne gently stroked her husband's face, the beard feeling odd against her fingertips; John Doe resided within Eric, perhaps he always would. Eric leaned against her palm, then stroked her upper arm with passionate intentions. Lynne nodded in agreement. Once Eric had called Sam, Lynne would put the girls down for naps. Then a husband and wife would retire for as long as their children permitted. Lynne could proffer one manner of therapy, but would Eric turn to another member of his family for further healing?
Chapter 242

By mid-July, Renee was still uncomfortable with the notion of Eric and Stanford's dissolved partnership. She and Sam hadn't mentioned it to their children, in part that it wasn't relevant to youngsters, except that Paul asked about his Uncle Stanford daily, and Renee wasn't sure what to tell him. She'd received a letter from Laurie, which rarely happened, and while his claim about visiting in autumn was reassuring, Renee hesitated writing him back, asking if he would be traveling alone. To Renee, Eric needed more than Sam with whom to talk, although she thought it good that those men were speaking a few times a week. The entire Ahern family was again welcome at the Snyder home, but often the men were separated from the rest, either outside behind the studio or upstairs if contractors worked on the back acreage. Paul and Ann were thrilled with the idea of a treehouse, but the playhouse near the patio would satisfy them until Renee felt they were old enough to tackle heights. Sam had mentioned perhaps having one built in their backyard, and Renee was considering it. Yet she didn't want to give Eric an excuse to again close off his home to those who loved him.

She sighed, mulling that over in Lynne's kitchen, missing the one member of her extended family who had yet to be reintegrated into the fold. Marek hadn't been present in any of the Aherns' visits, and while Renee understood part of the reason, she wondered if Marek was offended. Sam was again acting as a counselor, although Renee thought a pastor's insights would be just as helpful. It wasn't her place to mention that, at least not to Lynne, who sat across from Renee, Cary nearly asleep in her mother's arms. The Snyder ladies had attended mass, then the Aherns had followed them here, where Eric was waiting with coffee and pie. Renee and the children had baked cookies, but those would be enjoyed after lunch, then Renee and Sam would take their children home. Ann might lay down for a brief rest, but at nearly four years old, she probably wouldn't sleep. Renee and Paul would work on a jigsaw puzzle while Sam caught forty winks, then that evening they were having supper with Ritchie and Brenda's family. Renee's life as a mother was busy and now with Sam again somewhat occupied.... She sighed softly, sipped her coffee, then placed the mug on the table, gazing at Lynne, who wore a melancholy face. "Do you miss nursing her?" Renee asked.

Lynne nodded, lightly brushing stray blonde hairs from Cary's temples. "But I can't complain really, she's such an easy baby."

Renee wanted to ask if Lynne and Eric were thinking about another, but held her tongue. Then she smiled. "Laurie mentioned coming out this fall. He'll be happy to give her a bottle."

Lynne still studied her daughter. "Actually I've told him to wait. Eric's not ready for...." Lynne met Renee's gaze. "Not that Stanford would've come with him, but other than you, Sam, and the kids, he's not comfortable with others right now."

"I wondered. Does that include Marek too?"

As soon as Renee spoke, she felt guilty, Lynne's eyes filling with tears. Renee moved from her chair, taking one beside Lynne, putting her arm around that woman, who was trying hard to regain her composure. As Lynne began to cry, Renee collected Cary, taking the baby to the nursery, laying her in the crib. The window was open, somber voices drifting from the garden. Renee closed the window, then peeked at the sleeping baby, who thankfully knew none of her parents' turmoil. Renee left the nursery, shutting the door behind her, then used the toilet. Lynne had been tight-lipped about her family's well-being, and Renee wouldn't badger her.

Taking her time, Renee went downstairs, finding the children in the sunroom, drawing on large canvases. That had been Eric's idea, and Paul had been pleased for the opportunity, although all three youngsters used Jane's crayons. Paul showed off his efforts, and Renee smiled at her son's impression of his family. Stick figures represented her, Sam, Paul, and Ann, while a sea of circles, some with simple faces drawn in them, were his relatives. Renee chuckled, for Paul and Ann now possessed a vast collection of kin. Paul pointed out Aunt Vivian, his cousins Johnny and Brad, then his Uncles Stanford and Laurie. All of those faces had small stick figure bodies, positioned to the left of Paul's immediate family. "When will we see Uncle Stanford and Laurie again?" Paul asked.

"I'm not sure," Renee said. "They're pretty busy with work right now."

Paul sighed, then went back to coloring. "Can they come out for Hanukkah?"

Renee giggled. "I'm not sure."

"Well, can you ask them?"

Kneeling beside her son, Renee glanced outside, wishing she could see her husband. If Sam was standing upright, maybe by December Eric would appreciate visitors. But if Sam's shoulders were slumped.... Renee smoothed down Paul's cowlick, then kissed his head. "We'll see what happens." She stood, admired Ann and Jane's drawings, which to Renee's surprise looked about the same, even if Ann was a year and a half older than Jane. Jane had inherited her father's talent, which pleased Renee, then she tapped her foot, telling the children that Cary was sleeping, and lunch would be ready shortly.

Returning to the kitchen, Renee found Lynne making sandwiches. "I just told the kids we'd be eating soon." Renee stood at Lynne's side, but Lynne didn't turn to face her. "After that we'll be on our way so Jane can get her nap."

Lynne nodded, then placed the last sandwich on a plate. "Sorry, it's just been a hard few weeks."

"I totally understand." Renee gently patted Lynne's shoulder, then took two plates to the table. When she returned for more, Lynne was gripping the counter, her head to the floor. Renee trembled, not having seen Lynne so distraught since.... Renee wasn't sure, for even when Eric had been away, Lynne rarely had allowed herself to get depressed. "Lynne, if you need to talk, I'm always here for you."

Eric wasn't the only one requiring a listening ear, but Lynne shook her head, then sighed, wiping her face with the hem of her apron. But Renee's heart ached as Lynne met her gaze, deep sorrow etched in lines along Lynne's face. "Oh Lynne, I'm so sorry!"

Renee's first thought was had the couple tried for a baby, then suffered a miscarriage. Cary had been weaned for long enough, and a few in Renee's family had endured similar heartaches. Then Renee sucked in her breath as Lynne mumbled that Eric didn't want more children. Lynne seemed to understand her husband's reasons, but her anguished tone conveyed a deeper agony than of which she could speak. Then Lynne collapsed in Renee's embrace, crying hard. Renee felt the weight of Lynne's distress, not only as a woman unable to bear a child, but as one who knew maternal joy. Two children were enough for Renee, but Lynne had previously talked of having a large family, once Eric returned. That had been discussed not long after he'd left for Florida, then the idea had been set aside with his lengthy absence. Renee had assumed once Eric was adjusted to life without painting, fatherhood would replace art. She calmly told Lynne it would be all right, praying as she did so. Renee breathed smoothly, then Lynne did the same, pulling away, wiping her face again with her apron. "Thanks. I didn't mean to saddle you with this, but...."

"I love you Lynne. Anytime you need to talk, I'm here."

Lynne wore a weak smile, then gazed toward the windows. "They'll be coming in soon, better get these to the table."

"Paul and Ann can help and I don't hear Sam's rumble yet." Renee glanced at where Lynne still stared. "Let's sit down a minute."

Lynne nodded, then followed Renee to the table. They took their usual seats, then Renee offered the Lord's Prayer. Renee then sought further intercessions, grasping Lynne's trembling hands within hers.

Sam said little on the drive home, Paul and Ann chatting with their mother about the treehouse and drawing on Uncle Eric's canvases. After returning to the house, Sam had admired their work, then the group ate lunch, Lynne noticeably troubled, or at least Sam had discerned her unease. Yet Renee hadn't seemed overly anxious, and Sam looked forward to speaking with her once the kids were resting. While he wouldn't reveal Eric's trauma, he needed to know how Lynne was taking her husband's revelations.

Once Eric spoke about Pop Bellevue, Sam had taken several sighs of relief, not that he was happy Eric had needed to resort to such a definitive method of defense, but that Eric was finally sharing what haunted him. Eric's thoughts were similar to the vets with whom Sam used to converse, and Sam had told Eric as much, which seemed to ease a little of Eric's guilt. But a different thread of remorse ran through Sam's best friend, and Sam wasn't sure of how to tackle it, other than prayer. Eric felt like a hypocrite, having lectured Sam about God's will when Frannie lost her twins. Now Eric wanted nothing to do with religion, although he didn't extend his aversion toward Lynne and the girls attending church. Eric was angry with God, Sam recognized, but more he was furious with himself for having resorted to violence. Eric confessed his desire to have ended his life in Karnack, although now he wasn't certain if suicide was possible, although the thought still crossed his mind. He loved Lynne, Jane, and Cary, but wasn't sure if coming home to them had actually been best for everyone.

To Eric's relief, Sam had taken the opportunity to clear his own conscience, admitting that he hadn't wanted Eric to finish his portrait. The men had gently laughed over that canvas' demise, then Sam felt chilled, for now he fully understood his wife's agitation when Frannie was pregnant, then her guilt after the twins had died. He never mentioned that to Eric, but would love to speak about it with Renee. Sam had promised to keep Eric's exploits in Texas to himself, and wasn't sure how to equate his newfound insights without revealing Eric's actions. He would pray about it, and see where the Spirit led him.

Sam had many issues requiring prayer, most of them related to Eric, but he wanted to know what was on Lynne's heart too. Sam had never felt so taxed working with the vets, but strangely he didn't feel his friendships with the Snyders were being compromised; his deep knowledge of them was necessary, and not only for their healing. Sam would have to figure out a way to talk to Renee without betraying Eric. It was simply a matter of....

"Daddy, is something wrong?"

Sam looked around, finding he had pulled into their driveway, even turned off the car. Yet he still wore his seatbelt, although Renee had removed hers. Sam smiled sheepishly, then took a deep breath, letting it out with an accompanying chuckle. "Just thinking about things. Are we home yet?"

Renee gently patted Sam's leg while both Paul and Ann giggled. "We're home Daddy. Can we get out of the car now?"

Paul's amiable tone was music to Sam's ears, and he glanced back at his son, nodding his head. "Indeed we should. Can't bake cookies in the car."

"Cookies!" the children shouted, as Sam and Renee got out of the vehicle, then helped their kids do the same. Sam held Ann's hand as Renee grasped Paul's, but Renee nixed the idea of baking, noting that both children could use a rest. Paul asked about the puzzle he and Renee had started, but to Sam's surprise, Renee announced that it had been such a busy morning, everyone needed a nap, adults included.

Paul sighed, then ran to the front door while Ann wriggled free of Sam's hand, then extended her arms. Sam obliged, toting her inside, then kissing her cheek. She leaned her head on his shoulder, and Sam wrapped her close. He'd been grateful to see Eric equally engaged with Jane, Cary too, but something had been missing in how Eric used to interact with his eldest. Sam wondered if Renee had noticed, maybe that was why Lynne had been so upset.

Fifteen minutes later all four Aherns were resting, although Sam and Renee had no intentions of falling asleep. Renee cuddled against Sam, and he relished her presence, still wishing to share one last admission. Renee sighed, rolling to her back, then she sat up. "Lynne said Eric doesn't want another baby."

Sam nodded, for Eric had mentioned that, although Sam had detected uncertainty in Eric's voice. "Is that why she was so upset?"

"Yeah." Renee looked Sam in the eye. "What happened to him in Texas?"

Sam sighed. "Honey...."

He paused, expecting her to roll her eyes or badger him, but all Renee did was nod. "Sam, we should go to St. Matthew's this Sunday."

"Oh, um, sure. Why?"

"Because Marek could use the company."

Now it was Sam to stare at his spouse. "Are you planning on inviting ourselves to stay for lunch?"

Renee shook her head. "I'll call him after while, see if he'd like to come over here. And if Lynne and the girls wanna join us, the more the merrier." Renee wore a small grin, then she traced around Sam's eyes. "While I'm glad to be going to Ritchie and Brenda's for supper, there's other folks in our family I miss."

"Are you gonna tell Marek about...."

"No, but he speaks more than English and Polish. He'll figure it out."

Her casual tone piqued Sam's interest. Lynne had looked heartbroken during lunch, and Eric hadn't been able to face her. Sam didn't expect Eric to accompany his family to church on Sunday, but he did look forward to visiting with Marek. "So Renee, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

Sam swallowed hard, then sat up, grasping her hand. "Don't take this the wrong way, but you seem, well...." Sam longed to admit what sat on his heart, but there seemed no way in which to tie together what happened with Frannie to that which troubled Eric.

Renee stroked her husband's face, tears brimming in her eyes. "Sam, we're here together after how many storms threatened to tear us apart, and our beautiful children are just across the hall. Miracles happen every day, and we've been the blessed recipients of so many. I have to believe that Lynne and Eric will be too. He didn't come home for them to be miserable, just the same as me coming back to you."

He patted her hand, then paused, for he'd expected her to end that sentence differently. He wanted to speak, but tears rolled down her face, although she didn't look sad. Waves then poured down Sam's cheeks, but Renee brushed them away, then kissed him. In that exchange, all Sam had wanted to confess was lifted from his heart, greeted with complete absolution. While the couple didn't make love, they returned to snuggling, silent admissions from deep within their souls being shared.
Chapter 243

Marek did join the Aherns after church, as did Lynne and her daughters. Eric stayed away from that gathering; he did miss Marek's company, but felt utterly unworthy of associating with him. While the notion of worship remained distasteful, Eric didn't fault his pastor for that. Eric had set aside his faith, as if it too was a casualty of being shot in Texas.

The week which followed reminded Eric of having the house remodeled, workers completing the playhouse and treehouse. Gardeners arrived to address the lawn, and by the end of July, Jane explored most of the back acreage unhindered, when she wasn't busy in the playhouse. The Aherns visited and Paul scrambled up to the treehouse while Ann remained on the ground with Jane. But soon Paul came down, not wishing to play alone. Sam remarked that if Johnny and Brad Canfield were there, it would take significant bribes to get those boys out of Eric's backyard.

Yet no mention was made of a get-together; Eric was only comfortable with the Aherns. Lynne greatly missed Marek, but she said nothing to her husband, for Eric was still agitated, although he tried hard to mask those feelings. Their daughters were unaware, Ann had no idea, but Paul sensed Eric's unease. Lynne knew it by how the little boy attempted to pull Eric into conversation, as though making up for his previous aloof behavior. To Lynne's surprise, Eric tried hard with Sam's son, occasionally breaking into a chuckle. But ultimately Eric excused himself into the house, pain in his arm the reason. Paul didn't argue, stepping away from where the adults had congregated on the patio, running toward the playhouse to join Jane and Ann.

Sam got up, heading into the house, as Lynne bounced Cary on her knee. Renee sipped iced tea, gazing at the glory of the Snyders' backyard; boysenberry vines were heavy with fruit, the vegetable patch was thriving, then Renee stood, walking to the edge of the patio, peering into the distance. She headed that way, hearing the jovial chatter of her children and goddaughter, stopping just past the studio. Grass seed had been planted, protected by hay so birds wouldn't gobble the seeds. To the far right a large section of freshly tilled earth caught her attention, and she headed back to where Lynne and Cary waited. "What's that big unplanted area for?" Renee asked, retaking her seat.

Lynne broke into a wide smile. "I'm having peach trees put in next spring."

Renee grinned, partly for that news, but mostly for Lynne's joy. "That's a terrific idea. How many?"

The women discussed Lynne's hope for a couple of trees, then perhaps more in the coming years, various fruits forming a makeshift orchard. Renee laughed, thinking of how pleased Marek would be. Then she sighed, wondering if Sam was making any headway with Eric. She hoped the men were talking, as neither had returned. Then she gazed at Lynne, who looked tired, but not as depressed as previously. "How're you doing?" Renee said softly.

Lynne shrugged, then kissed her baby's head. "This time last year things were so different, for all of us." She glanced back at the playhouse, from where youthful voices emanated. Then she stared at the house, tenderly bobbing Cary on her lap. "Sometimes I think back to before the renovations, even before you and Sam knew about Eric." Lynne looked right at Renee. "Who'd have guessed we'd be mothers, that Laurie would be such a part of our family, Stanford too, whether he wants to be or not." She smiled wryly, then sighed. "Seth is healed and I so hope to meet him and Adrienne someday. Then there's Marek and...." Lynne paused, brushing away tears. She composed herself, gently smoothing down Cary's hair. Static made the baby's blonde fluff stand on end, although Renee thought it was starting to grow out a little. Cary laughed as though her mother had tickled her, making Lynne giggle. She turned Cary to face her, setting kisses along the baby's plump neck. Renee chuckled, the warm breeze feeling good against her skin, as if all their troubles could be blown away in the wind.

The women said no more, happy sounds of their children providing the only noise. Sam rejoined them, saying it was probably time for his family to head home, mentioning nothing about Lynne's husband. Renee collected her offspring, slight groans accompanying, but Lynne promised to see them the next day at mass. Ann clapped her hands, but Paul gazed at the house. "Will Uncle Eric come too?"

"I don't think so." Lynne set Cary over her shoulder, then patted Paul's head. "But maybe we can do some baking at your house afterwards."

Paul smiled, then shyly grasped Lynne's hand. "Will you show me how to make a pie?"

"Sure," Lynne laughed. "What kind?"

"Um, apple." Paul grinned at his parents. "Mommy's always saying how much she wishes she had pie for dessert."

Lynne nodded, recalling how often she used to bake. "Paul, I'd love to teach you and Ann both. You're never too young to learn."

"Indeed," Sam chuckled. "I'll get the apples, you bring the tins."

"We have spare tins." Renee walked toward the living room French doors, Ann's hand in hers. "I'll call Marek and see if he can join us."

Renee stepped into the house as she spoke, finding Eric seated on the sofa. She glanced at him, finding wistfulness on his face, then a frown. Renee smiled at him, feeling a strange but certain joy within her heart. "Maybe we can write to Uncle Laurie, asking if he wants to visit this fall."

"Don't forget Uncle Stanford," Paul said, as the rest entered the house.

"Oh I won't," Renee replied, looking right at Eric as she spoke.

After the Aherns left, Eric inspected his property, pausing at where Lynne wanted the peach trees planted. Enough space had been tilled for several trees, reminding him of the orchard from their college days. He couldn't recall what trees those had been; his memories of that time revolved around the joy and relief that Lynne had walked at his side. He recalled holding her hand, how permanent was her grasp. Gazing at the fallow ground, he sighed heavily. He'd reneged on how many promises made in youth's fervor, but still within his chest beat an undeniable need for her. He winced, as Marek's voice rumbled through his mind, the same feelings voiced for a woman far from Eric's pastor. Eric kicked at some loose sod, sending a chunk of dirt all the way into the forest. Again he thought about Marek, who was his friend, or had been. Eric was grateful for Sam, but the absence of someone else pierced Eric's soul.

It wasn't Marek's fault, Eric mused, returning to where he could see Lynne sitting at the patio, giving Cary a bottle. Jane could be heard in her playhouse, which made Eric smile, despite his wishing to be separated from his family. He didn't deserve them; Walt should have left him at the lake to die. But that notion was hard to balance against the vibrant expanse of Eric's home, as well as the women who loved him. Jane stepped from the playhouse, smiled at him, then ran in his direction. Eric ached to collect her in a bear hug, but he did stoop as she reached him, embracing her with his good arm. She giggled, calling Daddy Daddy, which made Eric's eyes water. He kissed her cheek, then stood, gripping her hand as they walked together toward Lynne and Cary.

Jane chattered, but Lynne said nothing as Eric sat across from her. She looked tired, but she smiled at him while Cary babbled at Jane, who stood at her mother's side. In Karnack, these three had been Eric's sole focus as his memories of them had slowly returned. When Callie Bolden brought the news that Eric had a newborn daughter, suddenly a distinct purpose had emerged within.... Eric's heart ached as John Doe reared within him, the pain in Eric's right arm overwhelming. But he ignored it, gazing at his wife, their children, and behind them a stunning array of flora, much of which he had established. He then glanced at the studio; another kind of existence had proliferated there, was now stored in the outbuilding. Maybe they should plant ivy at the base of it, then within a few years it would be concealed from view.

Then someone grasped Eric's hand; Jane again called after him and he focused on her brown eyes, hair to the middle of her back. He caressed her face, then pulled her onto his lap. Closing his eyes, he could imagine that the last year of his life had been a dream. Instead of flying to Miami, he'd stayed home, caring for his family, present at the birth of his second daughter.... An ache in his chest halted his reverie, would he and Lynne only have two children? Why had he renovated their home, cleared the back acreage, then had a playhouse built? Opening his eyes, he looked at his wife, her attentions upon a baby Eric had indeed helped to conceive, although he'd missed much of her life. Yet, he was there now, having wondered just months ago if he would ever find his home. He'd located the people, but where was his place?

Lynne met his gaze and for a moment he looked away, then again he stared into brown eyes not as dark as Marek's, but knowing him far better than he knew himself. Lynne's eyes were the hue of where she wanted to plant their own orchard, although she hadn't used that phrase. Yet she'd alluded to more than merely peach trees, perhaps an apple, maybe a pear, possibly an apricot or cherry. If Lynne got her wish, they might fit over half a dozen trees, plenty for them to walk through as the years passed, more than enough for her to use in baking. He'd heard Paul's request about learning to make pie, having stood near the open French doors, but just out of view. As everyone had approached the house, Eric had stepped to the sofa, then felt a brief flash within his chest as Renee stared right at him, speaking about Stanford. That flash hadn't been physically painful, but it was stirring, and again it ran through his ribcage, making him blink. He hugged Jane, then inhaled deeply as she leaned against his chest. Exhaling, Eric started to thank God for these blessings. Then he stopped himself as Lynne cleared her throat. "What do you want for supper tonight?" she asked softly.

He shrugged, feeling embarrassed, as if having been caught out. He stroked Jane's hair, then sat up slowly, keeping his daughter close to him. "Whatever you feel like cooking."

Lynne nodded, then placed Cary over her shoulder. "She's asleep, although she probably won't be out for long. What do you think about a sweet potato pie?"

Jane clapped her hands. "I like pie."

Eric wore a small smile, wondering if his wife would then infer a certain Polish pastor also preferred that treat. But Lynne said nothing, going to her feet, walking toward the house. Jane peppered her father with questions, but Eric said he wasn't sure if they would have pie for supper or dessert. He also wasn't certain whether Lynne would invite Marek to join them. If she did, Eric would be cordial, but he still felt wary of associating with a man so opposite to him.

By the time Eric and Jane reached the kitchen, Lynne was starting a pie crust. She hadn't baked in ages, as Renee and the kids made cookies instead. Jane remained close to her father, and they watched Lynne's actions from the table. Eric had seen her make countless pies, but today it was as if he was watching for the first time, her movements as though he wasn't sure what she might do next. Yet Jane seemed aware, asking when she might get a piece of leftover pie dough. Eric chuckled at her enthusiasm, then returned to observing his wife, the way her hands gripped the rolling pin as if she was grasping for him.

He'd painted this scene years ago, finding in her tentative stance a way to ease her onto his canvases. Recalling how she had first posed for him without clothing, Eric was flooded by how much he loved her, and how a long-held dream was becoming their reality. That same feeling had nearly overwhelmed him when she gave birth to Jane, and in some way had reassured him in Texas after Cary arrived. Experiencing it again there in the kitchen, he ached to embrace his wife, feeling a glimmer of hope within his chest. Then he winced; that had been the sensation he'd felt just hours ago when Renee spoke of his former art dealer. After canceling their partnership, Eric had considered Stan solely in the past tense. But now Eric couldn't deny the optimism bubbling within him, connected not only to Jane, pies, or an aloof New York businessman. Could Eric's life contain a purpose, might there be an actual reason for his return?

The phone rang, but Lynne's hands were dusty with flour. Without being asked, Jane slid from her father's grasp, pointing at the telephone. Eric hesitated answering it; could Marek have sensed Lynne's actions, might Renee need to again reiterate her point? Lynne caught her husband's gaze, then smiled. "If it's important, they'll call back," she said.

Eric walked toward the phone, rolling his eyes, but not at his wife's statement. Picking up the receiver, he huffed to himself, then spoke. "Hello?"

To Eric's relief, it was Walt Richardson. "Hello yourself. Haven't had much time to do more than change diapers, but I've been meaning to call you." Walt's Texas drawl was music to Eric's ears, much to his surprise. He'd been dreading having to speak to Walt, although he'd wanted to know how Dora and the twins were faring. From Walt's effusive tone, Eric ascertained mother and babies were fine, as was everyone else too. Walt didn't mention Luke other than to say both he and Tilda were a big help, and Walt wasn't sure what Dora would do when those two went back to school. Eric made a mental note to send the Richardsons another check, as well as one for Callie and Susie. Then Eric paused, unsure if he'd heard Walt correctly. "Who wrote to you?"

"Seth Gordon. Seems he and his new wife are planning a trip to America next year, although he didn't give me any dates. Wanted to know if they could pay us a visit. I haven't written back yet, although Dora keeps pressing me to."

Now Walt paused, and Eric swallowed hard, then asked what had been in his mind as soon as Walt mentioned Seth's name. "Did he ask about me?"

"Yup. That's one of the reasons I'm calling. I wasn't gonna tell him anything unless you said otherwise."

Eric sighed, grateful for Walt's discretion. The last thing Eric wanted was another person aware of his awful actions in Karnack, but if anyone would understand.... "Tell him whatever you think's appropriate." A wave of self-loathing rushed through Eric, but he ignored it as Jane grasped his right hand. "And thanks for asking me first."

Walt continued speaking, but Eric heard little of the conversation. Jane's hold on his hand was soothing, as was the way Lynne set the prepared pie into the oven, then quietly noted she was going to get Cary from the nursery, not wanting the baby to oversleep. When Lynne returned, Eric was promising to send Walt a letter soon, closing the call. Eric wasn't sure what he had to tell him, but Walt said photos were in the mail, and it would be rude not to offer some sort of reply.

Then Eric gazed at Lynne; she deserved to know about Seth, although she asked nothing about that part of the conversation. "How are Dora and the boys?" she asked, sitting at the table, Cary still snoozing in her mother's arms.

"They're good. Walt apologized for not getting in touch sooner, but he's been busy." Eric mentioned sending them some money, to which Lynne agreed. Then Eric sat beside his wife, Jane requesting to be included. Eric hoisted her onto his lap, then he stared at Cary. She did look so much like her older sister; would Walt's tiny sons appear anything like Luke? Eric owed that boy a letter, and would dictate one when Lynne had free time. Then Eric cleared his throat. "He said Seth contacted him, that he and Adrienne were coming to the U.S. sometime next year. Walt said Seth asked if they'd be welcome in Texas and of course Walt said yes."

"That's wonderful news." Lynne shifted Cary to her other arm. The baby's eyelids fluttered, so Lynne began bobbing the baby on her knee. "Did Walt say anything else?"

Eric nodded. "He said Seth asked about me." Eric sighed, then smiled as Lynne again shifted the drowsy baby. "She doesn't wanna be awake."

"No, but if she sleeps more now, we won't get to her bed till late tonight."

"Cary, you want pie?" Jane's voice was soft, then she leaned toward her sister, grasping the baby's hands. "Pie Cary? You like Mama's pie."

The baby perked up, making her parents laugh. "She's our girl," Eric said. Then he winced at that flash within his chest. Would Seth inquire about visiting Oregon? Was Laurie aware of his cousin's plans? Thinking of Laurie made Eric inwardly tremble. He missed talking with him, although not as much as he missed speaking with Marek. "When will the pie be done?" Eric asked.

Lynne glanced at the counter, where the timer ticked. "Another half hour, plus it'll need to cool."

Eric nodded, then kissed Jane's head. "I wonder if...." He would let Walt speak on his behalf when it came to Seth, who was thousands of miles away. Eric shook his head, then gazed at Lynne. "Maybe it's time for Cary to try her mother's signature dessert."

"Maybe," Lynne said.

"Uncle Marek too?" Jane asked.

"Not today," Lynne said. "But maybe soon."

"Perhaps," Eric said quietly, as Lynne grasped his hand.
Chapter 244

Over Labor Day weekend, the Canfields held a barbeque on Friday while the Aherns hosted supper on Saturday. The Snyders attended both functions, but Eric didn't accompany his family to St. Matthew's on Sunday morning. However, Lynne extended her pastor an invite for lunch the following day, assuring him of Eric's approval. Marek readily agreed, offering to bring caramel slices. Jane voiced her assent, and the Snyder ladies left church promising sweet potato pie for dessert.

When Marek arrived at the Snyders on Monday, he didn't immediately get out of his car. He studied trees along the road, some having lost a few leaves, others sporting summer's remnants, although even with recent rains branches appeared dusty. Perhaps Marek's view was skewed due to how long since he had been here, Klaudia's visit in April the last time. While he had spoken with Eric in the interim, nothing of importance had been shared, other than Paul's appreciation for the blue barn. Marek had witnessed a small breakthrough on Eric's part, but had yet to speak with him about it, or what else was troubling Eric's soul.

Opening his car's door, Marek inhaled smoke drifting from chimneys as well as a fragrance reminiscent of his youth. He breathed in deeply, but wasn't able to place the scent, yet it made him smile. He briefly wondered if Klaudia would have recalled it, grinning at the thought of her. They didn't speak by telephone, but their frequent correspondence made it seem as though she had just been here, spending a pleasant afternoon with.... Marek trembled, then retrieved the plate of caramel slices. He got out of the vehicle, wishing she was there now, in part that he missed her tremendously, as well as wanting someone else with whom to speak. He wasn't sure how conversation with Eric would proceed, but he could use Polish with Jane and Cary.

A pastor entered the property through the front gate, admiring gold-tinted trees and leafy vines along the walls. Lynne had mentioned a robust boysenberry harvest, of which Marek also knew from chats with Fran, with whom he spoke every few weeks. Visiting that family had filled part of the gaping hole within his social schedule, although he hadn't mentioned that to Klaudia, not wishing to burden her with Eric's insecurities.

Approaching the house, Marek heard Jane's voice from the backyard. Then came Cary's laughter, so he headed that way. Lynne's warm tone emerged and Marek smiled despite Eric's absence. If he chose to stay inside, Marek wouldn't impose upon him, too much to admire in the Snyders' garden. As Marek rounded the side of the house, even more caught his eye; the playhouse reminded him of homes from his village. As Jane stepped through the open doorway, Marek shivered; she looked like his sister when Ania was little. Then he laughed as Jane ran toward him, calling for him in Polish. He answered in that language, setting a plate of caramel slices on the patio table, then scooping her into his arms, receiving a strong hug.

While Jane continued to chatter in Polish, Marek turned to face her mother, Cary in Lynne's grasp. The baby grinned as Lynne spoke softly, welcoming Marek as if no time had elapsed since his last visit. He approached her, kissing her cheek. Lynne giggled, switching Cary to her other hip. "Happy Labor Day," Lynne said. "It's so good to see you."

"It's wonderful to be here." Marek gazed at the altered landscape. "I notice a few modifications have occurred."

As Lynne nodded, Marek took stock of more than the playhouse; boysenberry vines were stripped of their fruit, the barren vegetable garden needed to be tilled, yet he didn't feel as if the impending change of seasons signaled the usual emptiness. Something new was coming, although Marek wasn't sure exactly what he anticipated. Klaudia hadn't mentioned an immediate return, nor were the New Yorkers flying west, although Laurie had recently written about a possible trip in November. Marek had been pleased for that, also curious if Stanford would join his partner. What would they make of the backyard, Marek wondered, spying the treehouse in the distance. He laughed softly, telling Jane in Polish how much this reminded him of home. He said the same to Lynne in English, a languid sigh following his words. Then he coughed slightly as Eric stepped through the living room's French doors, a small grin on his face. "Hello there," Eric said, walking to where Lynne stood. He kept his eyes on Marek, then gazed at his wife and youngest daughter. "Lynne's got soup simmering and pies are cooling."

"Sweet 'tato pie," Jane said proudly. "I help."

"I helped," Lynne corrected gently. "And yes you certainly did. Shall we go inside?"

"In a moment," Marek said. "I'd love a tour of Jane's new playhouse if that's all right."

"Mine and Cary's house," Jane said, wiggling to be released.

Marek set Jane to the ground, watching as she ran toward the little house, long brown hair flying behind her. Marek then turned to the adults, finding Cary growing animated in Lynne's grasp, her parents wearing smiles. Eric slowly walked in Marek's direction. "I'll give you the full tour, including where the peach trees are going in next spring."

Marek nodded, having heard of this from Lynne as well as the Aherns and Canfields. "How many are you planning?"

"Two for now." Eric motioned toward the studio, then glanced back at Lynne, who was chuckling. "However if my wife gets her way, we're gonna become farmers before long."

"Sounds delightful to me," Marek said.

Eric met his pastor's gaze. "Yeah, we thought you'd agree."

"Daddy," Jane called from the playhouse doorway.

"Coming honey." Then Eric sighed softly. "Shall we?"

"Lead the way," Marek replied.

Conversation was jovial throughout the meal, Cary adding her share from the high chair, upon which Marek commented briefly. He didn't wish to point out all the changes, not that this family had undergone massive alterations, yet Eric was still furtive, although Lynne seemed aware of her husband's issues. Marek noted this in how closely the couple sat, how often she stroked his right arm, and in how little she said. Eric spoke about fruit trees, the prodigious boysenberry harvest, and that Lynne was teaching the Ahern children how to make pie. Marek knew of that, but remained hushed as Eric continued, the discussion turning to current events. While Eric said little of the recent race riots in Philadelphia, he mentioned Lyndon Johnson being nominated as the Democratic Party's candidate. Then Eric spoke about the Richardson family, wondering aloud if Karnack would become a tourist spot assuming LBJ was elected.

Lynne noted that the president's wife was from that hamlet, and Marek nodded, facts that Eric had told him months ago. But one element remained under wraps, not that Marek expected it to be aired around Jane and Cary. He also didn't assume Eric would pull him aside, for distance remained between them, in how Eric wouldn't make eye contact for more than seconds. Lynne gazed at Marek, her brown eyes bearing a heavy weight. Immediately Marek lifted this family in prayer, also giving thanks for again sitting among them.

Jane asked for dessert and Lynne stood, bringing her daughter a caramel slice. Cary protested, but she was given a thin sliver of sweet potato pie, which Eric slowly administered with his left hand. A large slice was set in front of Marek, but he waited for Lynne to sit with her own plate, Eric's in front of him. Little was said, other than Jane requesting more, but Lynne told her one caramel slice was plenty. Then Jane turned her attention toward Marek, smiling as she asked for pie in Polish. All three adults laughed, then Marek gave her a small bite. She mumbled thank you in English, glancing at her mother. Lynne explained that please and thank you had been that week's vocabulary lesson, and if Marek was game, he could continue that task in his native language.

Jane enjoyed a few more bites of pie while mastering those phrases as Lynne took Cary upstairs for a nap. When Lynne returned, Jane was seated on Marek's lap, the table cleared. Eric had poured coffee and Lynne retook her seat, relishing Marek's presence, ignoring the slight tension. Jane didn't sense it, repeating in Polish every word Marek was teaching her, which seemed to be various household items. Some sounds were easy, some not, but she was an apt pupil and after several minutes was speaking in what sounded to Lynne like three and four word sentences, although a mother had no idea what her daughter was saying. Marek nodded, occasionally correcting Jane's pronunciation, and Lynne blinked away tears, grateful her child hadn't lost all the Polish Marek had already taught her. It was a strange language to know, but as Laurie had said, perhaps one day the Iron Curtain would fall and Jane would have a use for this foreign tongue.

Then Jane asked Marek about Klaudia, and Lynne stifled a chuckle, although Marek laughed out loud. "Auntie is just fine," he said in English. "She asks about you and Cary often."

Jane smiled, then spoke in Polish. Lynne focused on Marek's mood, which had grown wistful. Smoothing back Jane's hair, he spoke in Polish, then in English. "I hope she comes back soon. I do miss her."

"I miss her too." Jane sighed, then looked at her parents. "More pie please?"

Lynne shook her head as Eric laughed. "Actually I think it's time you had a rest. Say goodbye to Uncle Marek."

Jane pouted, then stretched out her arms. Marek gave her a hug as Lynne approached them. Marek handed Jane to her mother, then Lynne walked toward Eric, who stood, kissing Jane's head. The child slumped against Lynne's shoulder and said nothing as she was taken to the nursery. Lynne had left the door cracked open, but she closed it after putting Jane to bed.

Lynne didn't immediately return downstairs. She used the toilet, then stood on the landing, making sure Jane didn't wake her sister, also giving two men a moment alone. Voices wafted from the kitchen, but Lynne couldn't make out what was said, although it was all in English. She smiled, pleased for how loquacious Eric had been during lunch. The subjects hadn't been as before, but recent civic developments had made for intriguing conversation. Then Lynne sighed softly, taking the stairs. She wished Eric would talk to their pastor about more than politics and race riots. As she neared the kitchen, those topics were again being discussed, but she didn't wish to hear more about them. Lynne walked into the sunroom, staring out at the garden. From here they wouldn't see the peach trees for several years, but she could picture them as if they had planted them right after buying this house. Then she smiled, her imagination fueled by memories of walking through the orchard with Eric's hand in hers, their words few but amorous in nature. Or they spoke at length about the future, which hadn't come to pass as they had dreamed. Gazing at the playhouse, Lynne sighed inwardly. She had two children, both were miracles. Eric's return was another marvel, and that they didn't have to worry about money was an additional blessing. They had sent checks to those in Karnack, as well as a sizable donation to the school where Susie taught. Sometimes Eric lamented those who had driven him home whose addresses he hadn't been able to obtain, but he never spoke about the one who had taken him to Salt Lake City. Were he and Marek still discussing recent events or might they be....

Lynne only heard men's laughter, which made her smile. Perhaps one day Eric would share with his pastor all that had occurred in Texas, and maybe that would usher in another child for Lynne and her husband. She wouldn't harass Eric on that subject, just as she expected Marek wasn't pressing Eric for personal details. Lynne returned her attention to the backyard, which might speak for all of them, what with the recent additions as well as those waiting on spring. Maybe, years from now, Lynne and Eric would be walking through their own orchard, and he might ask if she was still inclined to....

A sharp squawk took Lynne from her thoughts, and she glanced toward the sky, then at nearby trees. She saw nothing, but her heart raced, and she headed to the French doors, letting herself out. She scanned the area, but heard nothing other than the twitter of small birds. She looked back at the house, perhaps one of the girls had cried. Yet Lynne knew only one creature made that noise.

She stepped to the edge of the patio, breathing deeply. Closing her eyes, she recalled various times Eric had spent in the wild, waiting for that telltale screech announcing his return. Then she detected it from the direction of where trees would be planted. Quickly Lynne walked past the fountain and birdbath, around the studio, where now a thin green lawn was growing. Stray bits of hay stuck to her shoes, but she ignored those, stopping where the open expanse began. Two acres loomed in front of her, plenty of room for several trees. She gazed toward the forest, but again only heard faint chirps. She said a brief prayer, then smiled at herself, heading back for....

This time the squawk was loud, and she turned to find a lone hawk in the center of what would one day be her own orchard. The bird wasn't large, but it stared at her intently. She knew it wasn't her husband, for Marek hadn't come looking for her. Lynne smiled, then approached the broken sod. The hawk didn't move, but it squawked again, then hopped in her direction.

Lynne paused, leaving two yards between herself and the bird. "Hello," she said softly. "I wonder if you know where you are."

The hawk seemed to nod, making Lynne laugh. "This will be my orchard one day, mine and Eric's." Lynne shivered saying her husband's name. "If you're looking for him, he's inside. He's...."

The bird stretched its wings, then launched into the air. It made a few passes over Lynne's head, then disappeared into the forest. Lynne waited for a minute, then walked back to where grass had sprouted. She looked at the fallow ground, finding bits of hay making a trail where she'd encountered.... Would Eric notice her tracks, asking why she had come out here? She shook her head, fully aware this was only for herself, then walked back to the house.

Reaching the patio, she could hear her husband and pastor chuckling in the living room, then Eric opened one of the French doors. "Hey, we were just gonna send a posse out after you."

"Just needed a bit of air," Lynne smiled. "Girls still sleeping?"

Eric nodded. "Marek's about to go."

"Oh, let me slice him some pie."

Lynne stepped to where Eric stood in the doorway. "Already done," he grinned. "And we get some caramel slices."

"Jane will like that." Lynne smiled, both for Eric's friendly tone as well not having to explain where she'd been. She followed Eric inside, then embraced Marek, who didn't seem troubled by her absence. The trio walked to the kitchen where Eric asked if Marek would join them for supper in the coming week. Marek noted he'd consult his diary, but assumed at least one evening would be free, and that he would call to confirm which day. Lynne stood at Eric's right side as Marek retrieved a pie tin from the counter, goodbyes shared. After Marek's departure, the couple remained together, then Lynne stepped away, gazing at the caramel slices on the table. She took one, savoring Marek's handiwork, considering who exactly had she just encountered in her own backyard.
Chapter 245

That autumn, letters kept loved ones apprised of vital news; Lynne told the New Yorkers of how fast Cary got around the house, sometimes to Jane's displeasure, as when a little sister knocked over block towers or interrupted tea parties. Marek received updates from Klaudia about Astrid's impending bundle of joy, and how nervous Sigrun and Harald were about becoming grandparents. From Seth, Laurie heard tales of married life, and that the newlyweds were considering a summer tour of America, while Seth and Walt came to speed on all that had happened over the last several years. To Seth's delight, Walt was more loquacious on paper than he'd ever been in Korea. And to Seth's relief, Walt wrote honestly about Eric, who on occasion Walt still referred to as John. Walt even told Seth his part in Pop's death, and how no one had reported finding a body in Caddo Lake. Sharing much of Walt's information with Adrienne, Seth had omitted that grisly fact from their discussions. Walt revealed that as far as he knew, no one else was aware of what had caused Eric's return home, other than that man's wife. Seth wouldn't tell Laurie, although he longed for an explanation. Cousins exchanged frequent notes, Laurie's full of angst regarding Stanford's cool stance toward the Snyders. Seth was glad to learn that Laurie was planning to go west for Thanksgiving, although his mother wasn't thrilled. The question remained, however, if Stanford would accompany him.

Marek had invited Klaudia, but she had yet to commit to another overseas trip. He didn't think Sigrun's grandchild would prevent Klaudia from traveling, although he prayed for that side of Klaudia's family. Marek smiled when he considered that, for Jane spoke often of her auntie, prompting Ann and Paul to ask about Klaudia. Marek didn't mention those inquiries, yet she had been integrated into an American clan of which he felt very much a part. While Eric hadn't been forthcoming, the men's friendship was slowly being reestablished, although Eric didn't visit St. Matthew's. But now Marek joined the Snyders on Sunday afternoons, or he drove to the Aherns, where the Snyders would also congregate. Paul was friendly toward Eric, yet Marek noted an undercurrent between them, as if Paul sensed Eric's continued unease.

At the end of September, Marek received a phone call from Klaudia, that Sigrun's daughter had given birth to a son. Astrid was in good health, and the grandparents were overjoyed, what Klaudia relayed in a tearful but happy tone. Marek wanted to ask if Klaudia had considered his invite for November, but he merely offered congratulations, then asked the baby's name. Klaudia sniffled, relaying the child had been named for his father Knut, also for his Morfar Harald. And that Sigrun was calling the baby Harry, much to everyone's slight chagrin.

The couple didn't speak for long, and Marek wished them his best. He shared the news with Lynne, knowing she would inform those who might take an interest. Then Marek wrote to Klaudia, again reiterating a possible trip in November. Perhaps by then she might wish for a few days away from an infant, although she had never shown such signs when holding Lynne's baby. Had it made a difference that Cary was female, but soon enough Marek would know one way or another. He went to the post office, sent the letter, then returned to St. Matthew's, meeting up with Mrs. Harmon. She glared at him, but said nothing, making Marek chuckle as he took the church steps.

Right as he grasped the door handle, a squawk resounded behind him. Releasing the knob, Marek slowly turned around, finding a hawk on the pavement just shy of the first step. The bird looked nothing like Eric had last summer, yet it stared intently, making a pastor shiver from a memory over twenty years old. Marek breathed evenly, but gripped his keys tightly. The hawk squawked again, then hopped along the concrete just as how Marek had been led from his village during the war.

"Shall I follow you too?" he said softly, then chuckled to himself.

The bird seemed to shake its head, then pecked at the ground. Then it flew off, but not far, landing on the hood of Marek's car.

Marek took the steps, not seeing Mrs. Harmon, or anyone else. The wind stirred, but Marek wasn't chilled, although inquisitiveness reared within him. He walked toward his vehicle, the hawk pecking at itself. As Marek neared, the bird again peered right at him. Marek nodded, taking a deep breath. As he let it out, the hawk seemed to nod. Marek cleared his throat, then spoke. "What do you want me to do?"

He hadn't said anything to the hawk which had led him into the forest. However now Marek was older, and while no obvious trauma loomed, he appreciated a guiding hand being placed upon him. He didn't fear for himself or those he loved, nor did he worry about Sigrun's grandson. Marek would merely accept this gesture with the faith of a child. Again he chuckled, although his curiosity remained. "Should I expect to see you here on occasion," he asked in Polish. "Or is this our only meeting?"

The bird squawked, then launched itself into the air, landing on St. Matthew's first step. Marek laughed, heading back that way. As he got within a meter of the hawk, Marek then shivered. "What am I to tell her?" he said in Polish.

The bird squawked several times, then hopped off the step onto the grass. It pecked at the ground, then stared at Marek. In that silence, Marek wondered if this was how Eric and Seth had communicated in Miami. For the hawk's message was clear to the pastor, although in what depth Marek would reveal Eric's transformations to Klaudia remained a mystery. Yet, in addition to that, Marek was also presented with a manner which might usher in further conversation with his friend. However, that was up to Eric. If nothing else, Marek now had more to discuss beyond the latest headlines.

"Thank you for these insights," Marek said to the hawk. "Now, if you have any notions of how to deal with Mrs. Harmon, I'd appreciate those as well."

The bird squawked, then stretched its wings as if shrugging its shoulders. Marek laughed out loud, putting his hands in his pockets. "It's not a problem. Certainly you've provided enough for me to consider." Then Marek tapped his foot. "However, I do hope to see you again. And if not...."

The bird launched itself into the air, leaving Marek speechless. He remained outside for several minutes, but the hawk didn't reappear. A sudden blast of cold air blew leaves into the street, making Marek shiver. He hurried inside St. Matthew's, heading to the kitchen, where he made a strong cup of tea. He drank it while seated in Klaudia's chair, gazing at the afterimage in Eric's painting, another issue that it was time to address.

Eric gladly accepted Marek's invite for an impromptu lunch, surprising his wife as well as a pastor. Part of Eric's willingness sprung from a recent letter from Seth, who had informed Eric about key elements of his correspondence with Walt. Eric hadn't shared that letter with Lynne, but was relieved one other knew the truth. Yet, as he sat in St. Matthew's kitchen, he didn't wish for Marek's awareness. On the drive they had chatted about the release of the Warren Commission Report, and Eric expected similar dialogue to continue. As Marek brought mugs of coffee to the table, Eric again mentioned the commission's findings, slight skepticism in his voice.

"I agree, but I doubt the truth will emerge in our lifetimes. However, that's not why I asked you here today." Marek smiled, sipped his coffee, then leaned back in his seat. "Though I will say if not for that tragedy, I might never have worked up the courage to get in touch with Klaudia."

Eric smiled, grasping his mug, but he didn't drink from it. The coffee was hot, and the heat felt good on his fingers. "What's the latest you've heard from Oslo?"

"Not much since she rang about the baby." Marek smiled, then sat up. "But there's something I've been meaning to ask you about and...."

Clenching his jaw, Eric held his grin by force, gripping his mug until the heat burned his palm. He released the cup, still smiling, but never in a million years would he tell Marek about....

"....and when Mrs. Kenny saw it too, I was most relieved. I did briefly worry if my eyes were failing me."

Eric shook his head, then stared at Marek. "What? I missed the beginning of your sentence."

"I wondered." Marek laughed, motioning toward the painting near the sink. "Sam's seen it as well, but he only found it after the child's image disappeared. In between Jane and myself there's a faint outline of who to me looks like a woman. I'll be honest, I think it's Klaudia. Previously she was standing beside a child, holding its hand. Right before her son died, I no longer saw the youngster, and like I said, neither did Mrs. Kenny. So Eric, did you mean to paint them or...."

Marek stopped speaking as Eric stood from his seat, gently rubbing his still aching left palm against his leg. Eric walked to where the painting hung, recalling when Marek placed it there, Eric offering his assistance. Gazing at the canvas, he immediately saw what Marek was referring to, but had no recollection of creating that figure, nor could he make out the accompanying outline, although perhaps that was good, as no one saw it anymore. Sam hadn't mentioned this to Eric, but that wasn't overly surprising, for Eric and Sam didn't talk about more than Sam's battles in Korea, or that's what Sam spoke of while Eric listened halfheartedly. While he'd told Sam their experiences could be lumped together, Eric didn't place himself where Sam had stood on foreign soil alongside other soldiers. Eric's misdeed was far more vile, and he glanced at his left palm, which now barely tingled. He could almost imagine blood dripping from his fingers, although Pop's death hadn't been gruesome. Still, he was dead because Eric had....

Now Marek stood beside him, but he didn't speak, staring at a painting Eric clearly recalled creating as if he could step back into that sunny afternoon, hearing Jane's laughter, which sounded more as Cary now chortled. Eric closed his eyes and instead of St. Matthew's kitchen, he was in his backyard, sketching Jane and her pastor, who spoke to Eric's daughter in a gentle Polish lilt. Then Eric inhaled, finding himself inside the studio, deftly placing paint upon a canvas, bringing that illustration to life. But nowhere in any of those memories was a hint of the image he couldn't deny, opening his eyes and seeing a woman's outlines. Eric took a step closer to the painting, peering with intent. Yes, he had included another within this piece, but now she stood alone. Eric's heart beat erratically; Marek might see Klaudia, but Lynne's solitary pose brought Eric to tears. He could imagine her holding hands with.... Eric blinked, but tears fell down his cheeks. He wiped them away, taking deep breaths, wondering why he hadn't simply died that day at Caddo Lake.

Eric waited for Marek to speak, but the pastor was unusually hushed. They remained side by side until Eric returned to his chair, drinking his coffee, which was still warm, but the heat felt good going down his throat. He glanced around the room, which seemed to be spinning, although he didn't feel dizzy. He was as uncertain as when he woke in Walt's shed with no notion of his name, his history, or how in the world he'd been injured. He sighed, wondering if he would ever recover a sense of self. Then, as Marek retook his chair, Eric felt a suffocating wave of recrimination. This man had lost his entire family to fiendish murderers. How could Eric even sit across from him?

"There's another reason I asked you here today." Marek smiled, but Eric felt sick inside, and stared at his coffee cup. He didn't feel at all hungry, and after Marek finished speaking, Eric would ask to be taken home. He wanted to run into the studio, but with the open expanse behind it, there was little shelter to be found. Maybe he would spend the rest of the day in the storage building, yet ghosts lurked on canvases. Where could Eric go to escape the evil of his actions?

"I had an auspicious visit from a hawk recently and ascertained some rather interesting information."

Marek spoke flatly, but his words caught Eric's attention. "You what?"

Marek chuckled, gazing at the clock. "My goodness, it's nearly lunchtime. Shall I fix us some sandwiches?"

Eric's stomach grumbled, he no longer felt ill. Did curiosity stave off nausea, he wondered, trying to digest this news. "Did you say you saw a hawk?"

Marek nodded. "It landed right in front of the building not moments after Mrs. Harmon passed by. At first I wondered if she was related to its arrival, but soon enough I knew the actual purpose." Marek sipped his coffee, then made a face. "It's grown cool. Shall I top us both off or...."

"Marek...." Eric sighed, then felt a tickling sensation within his chest. He fought the urge to smile, but it was hopeless. His grin led to a chortle, followed by hearty laughter. "Good Lord," he said, still chuckling. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

Eric shook his head. "Make me go from distinct misery to wanting to shake you until you tell me...." Eric paused, then sighed again. "I'm feeling rather unsettled this morning," he huffed. "First you show me something I can't remember painting, and now you tell me you've seen a hawk, which wants you to do something. Jesus Christ, I guess this's what I get for not coming to church."

Silence greeted Eric's words, and he shook his head again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

Marek leaned forward, clasping his hands together and setting them on the table. "The hawk wants me to tell Klaudia the truth about you. Why I don't know, and I'm not very certain of exactly how either. I've invited her for Thanksgiving. If Laurie does come, it'll make for quite a motley crew, and I don't even know where we'll be feasting but...."

Eric cleared his throat. "Lynne mentioned having it at our house. I told her that was fine."

"Well, Sam hosted last year, so that sounds like a lovely trade off. I wonder if the Canfields will join us." Then Marek laughed out loud. "Klaudia won't know what to make of Fran, but I know Frannie would love to see Laurie again."

Eric nodded at the sly joy in Marek's eyes. "That would be an interesting duo, Fran and Klaudia that is."

"Laurie's so charming, he'd diffuse any misunderstandings that might arise." Marek smiled, then stood, refilling both men's mugs. "But getting back to what I need to tell Klaudia. Actually, maybe I should write to Laurie for advice. If nothing else, he'd understand my quandary."

Eric gazed at the man across from him, trying to decide if Marek was serious. His eyes continued to twinkle, yet his tone was considerate. Eric didn't mind that Laurie wanted to visit, for Stanford's presence hadn't been broached. But how did Marek expect to convince Klaudia of anything vaguely supernatural, much less why was he so inclined? "Is there any reason you need to tell her, I mean...." Eric didn't care if she knew, which made him grin. "She won't believe you no matter what you say."

"Oh, I know. But when the spirit prompts, I know better than to ignore it. Like this morning, asking you here. And inquiring about the image in the painting, and telling you I've seen a hawk. I know these aren't easy issues for you to consider, but I required resolution, or at least enlightenment."

Now Marek's eyes teemed with kindness, his voice tinged the same. "I see Lynne in the painting," Eric muttered. "I don't remember doing it, but there is she."

Marek nodded. "When I showed it to Sam, he merely acknowledged he saw something. I wonder if I ask him again might he extrapolate further."

Eric said nothing, remorse weighing upon his heart. But that burden was lifted as Marek began whistling the same tune Jane hummed most mornings. Then Marek stood to prepare lunch. He continued whistling until he brought plates to the table. He sat down, folded his hands, saying a silent prayer. Then he smiled at Eric. "Bon appetite," he said.

"The same to you." Eric took a bite of his sandwich, feeling slightly forlorn at Marek's solitary prayer. Other thoughts filled Eric's head, but his own misdeeds weren't at the top of the list. That realization brought a small smile to his face, and it grew as Marek grinned at him. Eric swallowed, drank his coffee, then spoke. "This's wonderful. Maybe we can do it again next week."

Marek nodded. "I'll make something more challenging than baloney sandwiches."

"Just make some caramel slices, or I'll bring half a pie."

"It's as you Americans say, a deal."

Ignoring the guilt in the back of his mind, Eric smiled. He then stared toward the painting, but couldn't see more than the frame. Was that Lynne or.... Eric returned to his lunch, not wanting to think about it. Instead he considered what Marek might say to Klaudia, or if Klaudia would speak to Frannie. Now Eric hoped Laurie would attend Thanksgiving, if only to assist Marek in what to Eric seemed a curious notion. He finished his lunch not dwelling on the bearer of that message, instead pondering the image in Marek's painting. He decided against mentioning it to Lynne. And if she ever asked him, he could honestly tell her he didn't recall putting it there. But as he left the kitchen to use the bathroom, Eric glanced at the canvas. His heart ached for Lynne's singular stance. Then he blinked; was she alone? To Eric, it now appeared as if the figure was surrounded by others. He bit his lip as his heart raced. The additional images were of children, at least four that he could count. Eric shook his head and quickly walked to the bathroom. When he returned to the kitchen, he didn't gaze at the painting, but at the clock. Lynne would be putting Cary down for her nap and Jane would soon follow, leaving parents time for....

Eric sighed, then stood with his back to the painting. Cookies waited on a plate on the counter, and Eric stepped that way, taking one. He ate it on his feet, prompting Marek to ask if Eric wished to return home. Eric nodded, offering his thanks for lunch, reiterating his desire for another get-together. As Marek gathered his keys and wallet, they decided to meet up again in a week, at which time Marek hoped to have heard from Klaudia about November. Eric allowed Marek to lead them outside, then he scanned the sidewalks as Marek locked the door. There was no sign of a hawk, nor, as Marek said, a rather disagreeable neighbor. Eric chuckled as they walked to Marek's car, and he continued looking for birds of prey as Marek drove toward the Snyders' home. When they pulled up in front of Eric's gate, Marek refrained from getting out, asking Eric to pass along his greetings. Eric exited the vehicle, then watched as Marek drove away. No hawks had followed them, and Eric entered his property smelling smoke from the chimney, although the day wasn't chilly. He met Lynne just outside their front door, her cheeks ruddy from gardening, she said. He kissed her, then led her to their bedroom, where a feverish love was made. Lynne dozed beside him afterwards, but Eric concentrated on the faint sounds from his backyard, those of leaves rustling and the chirps of small birds. No loud squawks were noted, and Eric fell into a peaceful sleep, only waking as Jane called for him.
Chapter 246

Weekly lunches between Eric and his pastor didn't lead to the entire Snyder family attending services at St. Matthew's, but Lynne noticed a distinct change in her husband's mood. Eric was less agitated, although certain subjects remained off limits; he didn't mention adding to their family, nor did he speak about his former art dealer. Yet by the middle of October, Laurie had made travel arrangements for Thanksgiving, as had Klaudia. Lynne was aware of what her pastor wished to share with Klaudia; the Snyder females usually shared lunch with Marek on Sundays and Marek had happily informed Lynne to expect another guest at her Thanksgiving table. Lynne and her husband also discussed that reunion, although they didn't speak of the reason for it. As October came to a close, the Snyders' conversations revolved around the recent Olympic Games in Tokyo, Reverend Martin Luther King receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, and if Lyndon Johnson would be elected president.

Lynne answered letters from Laurie, also writing back to Dora Richardson, with whom she had struck up a correspondence. Lynne acted as Eric's secretary as he dictated notes to Walt, also a brief reply to Seth, who had asked about visiting the Snyders next summer. Lynne sensed that if Eric could legibly write with his left hand much more would be stated between those men, however Eric related that of course they would be delighted to see Seth and Adrienne. Lynne had giggled inwardly when writing that line, for meet would have been a more accurate verb, however she tried to transcribe exactly what her husband said. She smiled as she folded that letter, slipping it into the envelope. She addressed it, but didn't apply a stamp. She would take it to the post office after attending mass the following day and Seth would receive it in due time.

Lynne stood from her desk, then walked into the sunroom where Eric was minding the girls. Jane was trying to teach her sister how to stand, but Cary preferred stacking blocks, then knocking them over. Lynne admired her family, going to Eric's side. He was seated on a stool, which Lynne had retrieved from the studio. He leaned against her, and she trembled, but not from distress. Since his lunches with Marek, Eric's passions had returned to what Lynne remembered from before he went to Miami. His arm was no better, and while he hadn't told Marek about Pop, Lynne felt the men's discussions were beneficial. As Eric sat forward, she stepped behind him, rubbing his shoulders. Her touch was gentle on his right, vigorous on his left. He nodded and she continued, still gazing at their daughters who chatted to each other, Jane using Polish, which Cary tried to emulate.

"My God," Eric laughed, "at this rate they're both gonna be bilingual."

"We'll need to take lessons or we'll be left out."

Lynne caressed Eric's upper arms. The right was now so small she could fit her entire hand around it, but his left was more muscular. She stroked it with intention and Eric stifled a groan. He looked back at her with a curious smile, making Lynne's heart race. He still wore a beard, but a familiar twinkle shone in his gray eyes. If Lynne was alone with her husband, she would make love to him right in that room. Instead she kissed the top of his head while continuing to stroke his upper arms. He leaned back against her, humming a variation of Jane's Polish tune, while little ones chattered in a language known only to them.

In bed that night, Eric and Lynne expounded upon that afternoon's affections, then lay curled beside one another. Neither spoke, although Eric longed to tell his wife about the figure in Marek's painting. Every time Eric saw it, Lynne's image became clearer, yet the number of children surrounding her remained a quartet. He hadn't mentioned that element to Marek, or to Sam, who had asked him about it the last time they spoke. Perhaps that foursome represented the total offspring between the Snyders and Aherns, although while Lynne had been massaging Eric's shoulders, he'd wondered just how much more work another baby would mean. Maybe they could hire a nanny, but that thought had slipped from his mind when Lynne's actions had grown more demonstrative. Then the girls had required their attention, and only now in the stillness did the notion reverberate in Eric's mind. How many nights in years past had the couple lain so closely together, both aching to conceive a child? Eric sighed softly, lying on his left, Lynne tight along his side. He appreciated her warmth, also that she couldn't see his face. Maybe the beard masked what now swirled through his mind, causing his heart to race. But if they had another baby, Lynne would have so much to do and....

"Eric, you still awake?"

He remained motionless, then nodded. "What is it honey?"

She traced along his bare hip. "I was just wondering." Her tone was soft, then she giggled. "I suppose I should let you get some sleep."

As she started to move away, Eric turned toward her, letting out a little groan. He ignored the pain in his right shoulder, finding her misty eyes from the faint light shining in their bathroom. "Lynne, what?"

Her smile was wide, as though she had a secret to tell him. He shivered; was she pregnant? He didn't think so, she'd just gotten her period a couple of weeks ago, and had used her diaphragm since then. But for the first time since telling her about Pop Bellevue, Eric longed to do away with that barrier. He shook his head slightly, then sighed. "Are you okay honey?"

She nodded, then caressed his face. "Would you shave your beard?"

"Uh, sure." He slowly sat up, still ignoring the searing pain in his right arm. "Why?"

"It tickles my face."

"Oh," he chuckled. "I'll do it tomorrow, or you can."

"I'd be happy to."

He patted his right leg, and she carefully snuggled against his side. He wanted to touch her with his right hand, but couldn't move it. Instead he reached over her, softly stroking her left arm with his own. She murmured her assent, cuddling against him.

They remained in those positions until a wave of pain forced Eric to groan out loud. Lynne moved away, sitting beside him, but she didn't touch him. He took deep breaths until the ache subsided. Then he rued his previous thoughts; the last thing Lynne needed was....

Her lips traveled along his mangled limb until she reached his ruined shoulder, extinguishing any lingering pain. At first Eric moaned quietly, but as Lynne moved to his chest, husky tones emerged. Those were halted due to fervent kisses, which led to passionate lovemaking. In the afterglow, Eric felt as if he and Lynne had never been separated, for no pain dogged him, or niggling doubts. It was as if time had moved back to when....

"Eric, did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Lynne sat up, then turned to face the window on her side of their bed. "It sounded like a...." She sighed softly, yet didn't continue her thoughts.

Eric glanced in her direction, but didn't attempt to sit forward. "Lynne, what is it?" He didn't hear either of the girls. "Honey, what?"

"Nothing, it was nothing."

She lay back down, then rolled to her right. Her breathing was rapid; Eric knew she wouldn't fall asleep right away, but she still remained apart from him. He wished to lay on his right side, however that was impossible. He scooted next to her, but she didn't attempt to roll toward him. Eric trembled, but she didn't react. After several minutes, her inhalations were steady. If he backed away, it would only take moments, then Lynne would be unconscious.

For the first time since his return, Eric felt disconnected from her, but not of his doing. He wanted to address it, but it was well after midnight, and she had been up early with Cary and.... The idea of another child was ludicrous, he mused, as Lynne's rhythmic breathing told her husband she had fallen asleep. Eric waited another few moments, then slowly scooted to his side of their bed, where he then lay on his left side. Usually her smooth breaths lulled him to slumber, but that night Eric remained restless. And when he did stir late in the morning, Lynne wasn't beside him.

A note on their kitchen table informed him that she had taken the girls to St. Anne's, and would mail Seth's letter afterwards. Eric drank luke-warm coffee and ate toast while staring at Lynne's handwriting, wondering what had caught her attention late last night. As he wiped his mouth, crumbs fell from his beard. Could he shave it by himself? Walt had done the honors on Eric's last night in Karnack, and Eric stood, leaving his dishes on the table. He walked upstairs, into the master bedroom, then he smiled; the unmade bed reminded him of last night's activities, in addition to Lynne's request. Eric sat on the end of the mattress, staring toward the bathroom door. He would wait for Lynne to return, then she could shave his face.

Eric remained seated, considering what Jane and Cary might think; Luke had noticed when Eric was preparing to leave Karnack, but more to matter was that Mr. Doe didn't forget them. Yet, since returning to Oregon, all Eric had wanted was to shut out those months, as well as the people connected to that miserable time. But the twins' birth announcement had brought Eric back to his own family, then Eric trembled as the idea of having another baby with Lynne rippled through him. He glanced back at the tangled linens. Last night was as close as those rumpled sheets, the man he once was hovering nearby as if all Eric had to do was get rid of his beard, then his arm would be healed.

He moved from the bed, going into the bathroom. Eric opened a medicine cabinet where his shaver waited. Beside it was Lynne's diaphragm, and he alternating staring at both items. Was that why she wanted him to get rid of the beard? Eric studied the contents of the cupboard, also pondering Walt's words about trust. Yet Eric wasn't comfortable with those thoughts. He sighed, then closed the cabinet. He used the toilet, then took a shower. Afterwards he made the bed, although his efforts weren't to Lynne's standards. Would she be irritated that he'd gone to the trouble, or would she merely smile, offering wordless thanks that he'd attempted it at all.

Eric's stomach rumbled, making him glance at the clock; it was nearly noon. He left the bedroom, but didn't hear anyone downstairs. Often he spent time here alone, but that day the house felt strangely desolate. He took the stairs, went to the kitchen, making himself a sandwich. Sun shone through the windows, beckoning him outside. He put on a jacket, then grabbed his lunch, heading out through the front door.

Cool temperatures were a contrast to the bright day, and Eric shivered, then briskly walked to the back of the house where patio furniture needed to be put away for the winter. Sam had offered, as had Marek, but Lynne had wanted to leave out the table and chairs as autumn had been so pleasant. Jane liked her playhouse while Cary had romped over the grassy expanse, often trailed by Ann or Helene. Eric still escaped upstairs when Fran visited, yet he'd gotten into the habit of watching from the nursery window, unable to keep away from the happy shouts of children's laughter. That was why he'd enlarged the house, even before Jane and Cary were born. Before they were conceived, he then chuckled, yet the overwhelming silence remained. Still he smiled, seating himself at the patio table, eating his sandwich. Stray leaves on trees rustled, birds chirped, and the fountain bubbled. He and Lynne had made this property a haven, each doing their part, although lately she owned most of the responsibilities. Or maybe it had been that way all along due to his frequent absences. Perhaps they had been brief, but Lynne had never possessed a sense of permanence in connection to her husband. It was this house that had kept them grounded, then children provided further stability.

Even when Eric was in Miami, this place hadn't been without a male influence; Laurie's fingerprints were evident from the menorah which Jane pointed out from time to time. Marek's caramel bars were a staple and Sam could cook anything in Lynne's kitchen. Eric had overseen the renovations, but walls and windows were merely the shell. Those inside the house were what made it a home.

After finishing his lunch, Eric headed toward the studio. He kept going until he reached the end of the lawn. Ahead of him lie barren acreage and to the side stood a dense forest. Jane never expressed interest in exploring it, but she loved teetering on the edge of the thick grass, pointing to where peach trees would be planted. Eric smiled, for once Cary started walking, he and Lynne would need to keep a sharp eye on her. She followed Jane everywhere in the house, and it would be the same outside. Eric imagined picking fruit with his daughters, the Ahern and Canfield clans alongside, Marek and Laurie as well. Eric didn't consider Stan among them, nor did he spot a bird of prey that had just landed ten feet from where Eric stood.

The hawk peered at Eric, however it didn't squawk. As Eric tapped his foot, the bird studied him, still keeping its distance. Yet the space between them was minimal, certainly enough for a hawk to be spotted. Eric continued tapping his foot as though waiting for something, then he reached for his right hand with his left. He attempted to crack his knuckles, but did no more than stretch out withered digits.

A chilly breeze ruffled the hawk's feathers, then the bird launched itself into the air, unseen by the man close by. As the hawk circled the property, Eric gazed at fallow ground, then toward the forest. He was glad Jane seemed uninterested in it, but was pleased at her excitement for the peach trees. Then he sighed softly, shaking his head. He walked back to the house, brushing stray crumbs from the patio table. The wind had increased, making Eric shiver. If Lynne was amenable, perhaps while the girls napped that afternoon, parents would put away the patio furniture.

Eric's family returned shortly after he reentered the house. Cary was almost asleep, and Jane was drowsy. As Lynne took the baby to the nursery, Eric sat on the sofa, Jane on his lap. He told her that maybe when she woke, his beard would be gone. Jane traced her father's face, making Eric blink away tears. She nodded at that prospect, then snuggled against Eric's chest. By the time Lynne came downstairs, Jane was fast asleep.

Lynne toted her upstairs, then joined Eric on the sofa. She thanked him for making their bed, then described her morning. Renee had invited them for lunch, and Lynne had wanted Eric to sleep as long as possible. Eric nodded at her words, but had little to say in reply. Then he smiled. "I thought about shaving my beard, but decided you'd do a better job."

"Shall I do it now?"

"If you think the girls won't wake up."

"Cary ran Jane and Ann ragged all over the Aherns' backyard," Lynne giggled. "Well, she crawled them ragged." Lynne stood, offering her hand to Eric. "They'll both sleep all afternoon, and I bet Ann takes a rest too."

Slowly Eric went to his feet. He gazed at his wife's fetching smile, then felt as though he was being watched. He turned around but through the French doors he noticed nothing other than patio furniture. Facing his wife, he stroked her cheek, but her eyes looked past him, toward the garden. "Lynne, what?"

Again Eric turned, finding only Jane's playhouse and the fountain amid swaying branches sporting few golden leaves. But Lynne stared intently at a hawk, perched atop the seat Eric usually inhabited. The hawk nodded and Lynne said nothing, casually leading her husband upstairs. They didn't make love until after Lynne had shaved Eric's beard, the shaver placed back in the medicine cabinet long before Lynne's diaphragm was returned to its spot on the shelf.
Chapter 247

A few days after Lyndon Johnson became the 36th President of the United States, Stanford Taylor took stock of his client list. Since Eric terminated their business relationship, Stanford had devoted more time to the rest of his roster, but in doing so, he had found a few of those painters were no longer worthy of his representation. Pragmatically he was thankful that without Eric's canvases to promote, he could give proper attention to the rest of his clients, yet acknowledging a slight reduction in commissions. He'd been distracted by the election, but now Stanford could focus solely on work. And at the beginning of the new year, he would implement changes, dismissing poor performing painters to make room for upcoming talent.

He'd discussed this with his father, who had quietly agreed, although Michael's usual eagerness for such talk was absent. Stanford mentioned it to Agatha, who coolly received the news with no further comment. He'd broached it with Laurie, but only in passing, for Stanford was fully aware of his lover's opinion when it came to Eric. According to Laurie, Stanford should have fought tooth and nail to remain that man's dealer, but Eric had been the one to sever their partnership, and Stanford wouldn't have insisted with any of his other artists.

Yet Eric had never been merely another client, not even in the initial days of their relationship. Perhaps it had to do with his western upbringing, as well as being the son of a single mother. Few details had been shared between artist and dealer, for Stanford hadn't cared to delve deeply into the lives of his clients. But Eric and Lynne Snyder had subtly woven their way into his life, not that they had meant to. In fact, Stanford was partly responsible in permitting them such an inclusion, from the time he groused about having to use their only bathroom during his overnight stays. As Stanford reviewed his current list of painters, he considered how a guest room at the end of the hall had been transformed after the Snyders' home renovations. Not only had the room been made larger, but the single shower stall had been upgraded to a spacious tub. Stanford knew that Eric had designed that specifically for both Stanford and Laurie, not that the sentiment had ever been stated aloud. A large closet had been added as well, enough space for both men to feel welcome for an extended vacation. Laurie hadn't taken much with him when he flew west this time last year, nor had Stanford packed more than a single case when he traveled in January, but if they ever did require the extra space, it was waiting for them.

Stanford sighed; Laurie wouldn't be gone long when he went out for Thanksgiving at the end of the month. Maybe Eric's foresight had been in vain, unless Seth and Adrienne required plenteous room. That couple's plans were already on Laurie's calendar, although not in ink. Stanford wouldn't place those dates into his diary until Seth had bought tickets, but the notion of seeing that man didn't bother Stanford. Would it trouble Eric? Stanford grimaced, placing the list of artists back on his desk. What should he care how Eric reacted to Seth, yet the image of them shaking hands wouldn't leave Stanford's mind. Might Seth extend his left hand, as most did when approaching Eric. Eric had offered his left to Stanford, who at had first gingerly shaken it, then gripped it with force, so wishing to have then embraced Eric. But Stanford didn't proffer such an intimate manner of endearment last spring, and now that he thought about it, he rued the omission. Not that he longed for a return to their friendship, but that he had probably appeared impolite. However it was a moot point, for now none of the Snyders were involved in Stanford's life.

He ignored the ache in his chest, then drank his coffee. Business ruled his days, and again he sighed; hopefully the nation's vigorous approval of LBJ would translate into an equally dynamic surge in creativity. Stanford would have to step out of his comfort zone to seek new talent, but perhaps losing Eric was the only way for such an endeavor. Rumors floated that Eric had fired his dealer, but Stanford wasn't bothered by gossip, for no others had exulted about snaring such a catch. Eventually the stories would die away as other painters usurped Eric's brief tenure as America's most talented artist. A slight shiver ran along Stanford's spine, but several sips of coffee warmed him. Artists came and went, a mere handful embedded upon the consciousness of collectors. That Eric had enjoyed a European exhibition might extend his fame, but by the next presidential election, the blue barn and portraits of Lynne disguised as nature scenes would be forgotten. Stanford smiled, finishing his coffee. He cleared his throat, then swiveled around to face New York's skyline. It too was in constant flux, the nature of business regardless of the medium. He cracked his knuckles, then paused, gazing at his hands. Shaking his head, he turned back to his desk, adjusting his glasses, setting the past far from his head.

Laurie was elated at Johnson's landslide victory, mostly for how humiliating was Goldwater's defeat. Laurie also eagerly anticipated his Thanksgiving sojourn, but said little about it to his mother, instead chatting about Johnson's planned anti-poverty programs. Around Agatha, Laurie could express his excitement to travel west, but they didn't consider LBJ's Great Society. Agatha preferred hearing about those whom Laurie would visit, including Marek's friend from Norway; once Stanford left for the morning, Laurie lingered in the kitchen, warmly discussing Klaudia, as well as the rest in Roseburg. Yet a trace of poignancy laced his tone, which Agatha didn't reference other than by softly squeezing Laurie's shoulders. He shouldn't be traveling alone, but Laurie wouldn't force Stan to accompany him.

Hanukkah began early that year, and Laurie was planning to stay throughout that celebration. He had joked with Agatha he would need two suitcases to accommodate all the gifts for not only the Snyder and Ahern children, but also Fran and Louie's clan as the Canfields were coming for the first night of Hanukkah. Laurie's eldest sister had offered suggestions for the teenagers, but Laurie had enjoyed choosing small toys for Johnny, Brad, and Helene. He'd briefly wondered what Klaudia would make of so many youngsters; perhaps Sally, Will, Jaime, and Denise would cause anxiety, more to the age of Klaudia's late son. But according to Lynne, Marek had said Klaudia was pleased for all the planned activities. Third-hand news might not be accurate, but at this point it was all Laurie had.

It was better than what he encountered on a daily basis at home, Stanford's detachment grating on Laurie's nerves. Laurie was relieved that Stan had reduced his drinking, however a thick shell now cloaked Laurie's lover, going so far as the couple's bedroom. It was as if Stan was afraid of permitting Laurie into his heart, although at times Laurie wondered if he was merely projecting such feelings. He had no one with whom to speak about this, certainly not Stanford, who didn't want to talk about anything but work. Maybe Lynne might be a receptive ear, or perhaps.... Laurie wished Seth was closer, too expensive to hash all this out over a long distance call. And Seth would be honest, but then so might.... Could Laurie speak about this to Eric? He'd listened to all Seth had needed to expunge, but the circumstances were so different and.... Laurie pondered this on his way to work, then again in the taxi coming home. Once he stood near or within his building, such ruminations seemed impossible to contemplate objectively.

At home, Laurie wished for escape. Yet it wasn't to the same degree as what he'd suffered last autumn, aware of Eric's split identity but unable to share it with Stan. Now it seemed that Stan knew too much, and perhaps his reserved demeanor was the only way he could keep his grip on reality. As Laurie mulled this over in a taxicab, he sighed loudly, making the driver ask if everything was all right. Laurie knew this cabbie well, an older Italian chap who was quick to give advice. But these issues weren't the sort Laurie could share. He smiled, then shrugged. "Just troubles with...." He paused, for with most cabbies he would speak about his wife. But this man had driven Laurie and Stanford to various locations, even as far as Brooklyn. "My other half," Laurie sighed, wondering if his hesitation was for the euphemism or the growing distance which Laurie couldn't ignore.

The cabbie nodded, but said nothing, making Laurie stifle a laugh. A Catholic had sat in the White House, but times hadn't altered that much. Yet Laurie didn't care if this fellow knew the truth. Then Laurie chuckled. "I suppose domestic problems get to everyone eventually."

Again the driver nodded, but didn't make eye contact through the rear view mirror. Laurie inhaled quietly, then exhaled with force, gazing out the window. A chill overtook him, for he couldn't discuss this with Lynne, and Eric had enough to deal with. And while Laurie loved Agatha, she was too close to Stanford to be impartial. It seemed as if Stan had accepted the truth about Eric, but an unforeseen issue had done far more harm than Laurie would have dreamed. Suddenly Laurie wanted to convince Stan to travel for Thanksgiving. If Laurie went alone, how easy would it be for Stan to then excuse himself from further holidays, perhaps avoiding events in Brooklyn. The space between them would widen with each passing celebration until....

"Ya gotta do all ya can to make the peace." The cabbie's Italian accent resounded through the car's interior, stirring Laurie from his thoughts. He glanced at the rear view mirror, catching the driver's understanding gaze. Laurie shivered, then nodded, but couldn't think of what to say. Might this old man be a homosexual was Laurie's initial thought, then he pondered the driver's advice. How was Laurie supposed to broker any sort of harmony when Stan wouldn't even admit there was anything to solve?

"It's hard," the cabbie continued, "but I've been there, and lemme tell ya, don't matter how long ya been together, it's too hard finding somebody to replace 'em."

The cabbie then grumbled under his breath, swerving hard, making Laurie grip the seat cushion. Then the cabbie stopped for a red light. Laurie wondered if he should speak, but instead he again gazed at the rear view mirror. The old man merely nodded, making Laurie do the same. No more was said, but upon arriving home, Laurie left a hefty tip, thanking him for the advice.

Inside the apartment, Laurie shared that encounter with Agatha. To Laurie's surprise, she agreed, although she didn't elaborate. But her approval bolstered Laurie, and later that evening, he approached Stan, who was working in the library. "So, about Thanksgiving," Laurie began, taking a seat on the sofa. "Are you sure you don't wanna join me?"

Stanford didn't look up from his papers. "I thought we'd fully discussed this."

His voice was flat, but Laurie was undaunted. "We have, but I just wanted to make sure."

Laurie's tone was also definitive, on purpose. He didn't expect Stan to change his mind, but didn't want him to assume this decision was satisfactory. As Laurie expected, Stan gazed up from his work, a slightly quizzical look on his face.

Quickly Laurie stared at Seth's sculptures across the room. "I suppose it's for the best, I'm gonna be gone several days. I've been joking with Agatha I'll need another piece of luggage just for the Hanukkah gifts. I should get out another case, I can pack those things now."

Laurie kept his view on the figurines, but so wished to see Stan's reaction. Laurie's travel dates were on the calendar where Stan was seated, but had Stanford truly realized the length of Laurie's trip? He would be in Oregon for two weeks, which was brief compared to last year's stay. Yet Laurie's mother had complained, and he'd promised to spend New Year's in Brooklyn. Laurie kept a straight face, but inwardly he chuckled, for now Stanford was shuffling papers on the desk, but trying to do so silently. Then Stanford huffed, and Laurie imagined he was crossing his arms over his chest, shaking his head.

But Laurie didn't look toward his partner, studying the lovers Seth had fashioned nearly twenty years ago. As Stanford arranged his papers, Laurie trembled, although not due to Stan's reticence. Quiet strength emanated from the sculptures, as well as reciprocal need. Together these pieces offered comfort, but if admired separately, the message was incomplete. Next summer Laurie would ask Seth if he remembered sculpting them. But for now Laurie set them alongside the message offered by the cabbie. Then Laurie laughed, the man's slightly sarcastic voice not undermining his meaning. Laurie wasn't too old to look for someone to replace Stan, but he wanted no one else. Last year's separation had been difficult, but what was harder for Stan to face, that Eric turned into a hawk or that he'd lost the ability to paint. The supernatural seemed easier than an injury, and Laurie chuckled. Stanford was actually more accepting than one would think. But love seemed to be the hardest hurdle.

"What's so funny?"

Stanford tried to keep his tone even, but Laurie heard confusion in his voice. "Oh, just thinking about a chat I had today with a cabbie." Laurie paused, then stood from the sofa, slowly approaching the desk. He again glanced at the sculptures, but not for his own pleasure. Then he met Stan's gaze. "We've been together a long time you know, maybe we take each other for granted."

Stanford's eyes grew wide and he shook his head. "I can't believe you'd say that after what happened last year."

"Well, I'm gonna be gone for a couple of weeks, seems that doesn't bother you."

"Of course it does, I mean...." Stanford crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you want me to do, beg you to stay?"

"A little fuss wouldn't have killed you, would it?" Laurie smiled.

"Oh for God's sake." Now Stanford glared at Laurie. "You're being ridiculous. I have work and...."

"And it's just too hard seeing him so maimed." Laurie paused for only a second. "Yeah, I understand. Best you stay here."

Laurie turned to leave, but stopped at the door as Stanford cleared his throat. "I just can't go there. There's nothing left."

Laurie gripped the doorknob, but faced Stan. "What about Lynne and the girls? Cary's our godchild Stan."

While Laurie had gifts for all the Oregon youngsters, with Agatha's help he'd picked special presents for the Snyder girls. He'd shown them to Stan, but no reaction had been stirred. Yet now Stanford trembled, and again he shook his head. "You're the spiritual one, not me."

"It's not the same religion," Laurie laughed, "but okay, I won't bring it up again." He turned the doorknob, still chuckling, but only for effect. As he closed the door, he could hear Stan's choppy breaths, papers again being rifled on the desk. Laurie stepped away from the library, closed his eyes, then opened them, darkness on all sides. He headed to the living room, then turned back for the corridor. "I'm going to bed now, see you in the morning," he said as he paused in front of the library's door. Stanford mumbled what sounded like goodnight, then Laurie slowly walked to their room. The space felt chilly, so Laurie dressed in long pajamas. He fell asleep before Stanford came to bed, dreaming of picking peaches alongside Jane and Cary in the Snyder garden.
Chapter 248

Mid-November days were growing cool in Oslo, but Klaudia didn't feel overly chilled. Travel plans to America warmed her heart, as did weekly visits with Sigrun's grandson Harry, who at six weeks old smiled genuinely, although his mormor claimed Harry's grins had been sincere from the start. While Klaudia knew that wasn't true, Harry seemed a placid baby, much like Cary Snyder. Klaudia didn't ponder more than that, yet she often mentioned Cary while holding Harry when Sigrun or Harald permitted. Harald liked to cuddle his grandson while watching football matches and Sigrun often complained that her husband was a better grandpa than he'd ever been a father.

Despite Sigrun's claims, Klaudia was glad for Harald's soft touch, noting that once the baby was old enough to require actual tending, little Harry would be relegated fully into his mormor's care. Sigrun glumly agreed, making Klaudia laugh heartily in the Vangs' kitchen. Astrid and Knut were due to arrive soon, and would leave Harry here for the morning. Klaudia would stick around until lunchtime, getting what Sigrun had jokingly called her 'baby fix'. Klaudia had scoffed the first time Sigrun said it, but now she made a point of keeping Saturday mornings free to admire a newborn who was swiftly changing into an infant. Yet Harry's further development would be new territory for Klaudia; her own son hadn't been in her care past his first month, and the time she'd spent with Cary Snyder had been minimal. To Klaudia's relief, the notion of becoming acquainted with a little one carried no upset. She didn't ruminate over why that was either, although in her dreams she openly thanked Marek Jagucki for looking after her.

Klaudia was heading for Oregon right before the Thanksgiving holiday, staying for ten days. Marek had noted she wouldn't be the only out-of-town guest, a man from New York attending as well. Klaudia couldn't recall his name, but he was staying with the Snyders, and relatives of the Aherns would be present for the meal too. Klaudia didn't mind all these newcomers; her English was acceptable, not that she planned to chat with most of them. She would focus on those she knew best, using as much Polish with Jane as was polite. Harry might remind Klaudia of Cary, but Jane Snyder had captured much of Klaudia's heart. She allowed it was due to how much Jane looked like Ania Jagucki, and how quick Jane was with a second language. But now when Harry smiled at either of his grandparents, Klaudia was hard-pressed to ignore what might be the biggest draw to Lynne's eldest daughter; Jane was clearly fond of Klaudia, even referring to her as auntie. It had taken Klaudia's son years before he understood who she was to him, maybe why at the end of Marek's life his calling for her as mamma had affected her so. No one else had expressed a need for her, not even Gunnar. Klaudia didn't mention that to Sigrun, nor to the man with whom she would sleep in Oregon. But as Astrid and Knut arrived, greeting her warmly, she considered her role in Harry's life. Would he call her auntie, as Jane did? Perhaps, Klaudia smiled, as Harald snatched the baby from his wife's grasp, making Astrid and Knut laugh out loud. Sigrun fumed quietly, but said little in front of her daughter and son-in-law. The young couple left for a few hours of solitude, although Sigrun gave Astrid a shopping list. "That will keep them busy," she said to Klaudia after the new parents left.

Klaudia nodded, sipping her coffee as Sigrun sat beside her. No smokes or an ashtray waited on the kitchen table, although Harald still lit up regularly, although not when holding his grandson. Hearing Harald explain what a yellow card meant, Klaudia giggled. "Your husband is a changed man, you realize that?"

Sigrun rolled her eyes, then smiled. "If Harry'd been a girl, she'd be on my lap right now. But yeah, he's come around." Sigrun glanced at the doorway to the living room, then sighed softly. "He always wanted a boy, but not enough to try for a third. I think he figured we'd have another girl and...."

Klaudia nodded, having assumed the same. She chuckled, then gazed at Sigrun, who wore a somber face. "What?" Klaudia asked.

"I didn't mean that as it sounded."

For a few seconds, Klaudia was confused. Then she grasped Sigrun's hand, squeezing with force. "I'm not bothered. It was a long time ago."

As those words emerged, a pain struck Klaudia in the center of her chest. The few years between her and Sigrun suddenly felt like decades; Lynne Snyder was just getting started with motherhood, as was Renee Ahern. Klaudia could easily be a mother again and tears burned along her cheeks. She wiped them away, but the ache inside her heart felt as agonizing as when the institution called, telling her that Marek was dead.

Klaudia stood from the table, then took clumsy steps to the sink. For as much as she wanted to see Marek Jagucki, this pain was his fault. Or maybe she could lay the blame at Gunnar's grave; she had begged him for another baby, but he'd coldly refused her requests. Breathing deeply, she tried regaining her composure, but as Harry began to cry, Klaudia's tears restarted. She heard Sigrun get up from her chair, then walk into the living room. But Sigrun didn't bring the wailing baby into the kitchen, muffled words shared between a wife and husband. Harald turned up the volume on the television, briefly making Klaudia smile. But as Harry continued to bawl, Klaudia's heart felt pierced by knives. Then she laughed at herself; how crazy was she to feel as she did?

Several minutes passed, although Sigrun didn't return to the kitchen. Maybe the baby had a tummy ache, or had needed to be changed. Harald always left that task for Sigrun, which was usually how she managed to wrangle Harry from her husband's grasp. Klaudia smiled, for Harald Vang had altered greatly in the last few weeks, or maybe Marek's death had set the stage for a kinder man to emerge. Klaudia sat back in her seat, wishing for a smoke, at least for something to pass the time until Sigrun returned. How much of Klaudia's tobacco habit was merely a distraction, she wondered, drumming her fingers along the table. Then she halted those actions as Sigrun stepped into the room, a quiet infant in her arms.

Klaudia's heart raced, although she wasn't sure of the exact reason, perhaps the need for a cigarette or the hope that Harry would remain still. Or was it how badly Klaudia wanted her own baby, and how easily she might accomplish that feat. Her period was due any day, and by the time she arrived in Oregon.... She bit the inside of her cheek until the taste of blood hit her tongue, smiling all the while. "Seems you tamed the wild beast," she muttered, pain in her mouth settling alongside the ache in her heart. "Was it a messy diaper or...."

Sigrun shook her head, then sat down across from Klaudia. "Would you warm up the bottle in the fridge? He's not quite asleep, but if he had a little milk...."

Klaudia stood, grateful for a task. Water in the teakettle was still hot, and she poured some into a large mug, then took the bottle from the refrigerator, placing it in the cup. Harry began to whimper, so Klaudia tested the milk on her wrist, finding it was warm enough. She set the bottle in front of Sigrun, who then offered it to the baby. Harry fussed for a few seconds, then sucked greedily.

The women said nothing, the only sound being that from the television and Harry's occasional clucks. Klaudia hadn't retaken her seat, instead washing the breakfast dishes. She deliberately examined the familiar plates and cups, not wishing to consider anything remotely related to babies or Marek Jagucki. She would buy plenty of condoms, then she laughed at herself. The last thing she needed was....

"What's so funny?" Sigrun spoke in a whisper.

Klaudia didn't turn around, placing dishes into the drainer. "Oh nothing. Well, just that while Harry didn't have a dirty diaper, you managed to get him out of Harald's arms. What'd you do, pinch him?"

Sigrun had a soft chuckle. "Nope. Maybe he suddenly became allergic to football."

Klaudia smiled, then faced her friend. Sigrun's gaze was gentle, and Klaudia appreciated Sigrun's tactful nature. "My God, if that happens, Harald won't know what to do."

"If that happens, he might start calling this boy after his father." Sigrun set the bottle on the table, then placed Harry over her shoulder. He burped twice, then was quiet.

Klaudia dried her hands on a towel, then returned to the table, taking her seat. Harry had sparse brown hair, and looked small against his grandmother, who softly whispered what a good boy he was. Klaudia glanced at the bottle, which was nearly empty. She almost asked if it should go back in the fridge, then Sigrun lifted the infant from her shoulder, again setting him in the crook of her elbow. She tried giving him the bottle, but Harry was asleep. Sigrun glanced at Klaudia, who then stood, taking the bottle to the fridge. But Klaudia didn't retake her chair, drying the dishes instead. She heard Sigrun leave the kitchen, then return. "I laid him on the sofa," Sigrun said, seating herself. "He'll probably nap until Astrid and Knut get back."

Klaudia nodded, drying the last plate. "Well, I'll get out of your way. Give them my best." She didn't want to see Sigrun's daughter again that day, nor did Klaudia want to face Harald, not that he would have said anything of a personal nature. He'd lost some of his hard shell, but Klaudia didn't need his pity. She inhaled deeply, aching for a smoke. She still had a few left at home, and would light up as soon as she was inside the safety of her own....

Sigrun now stood next to Klaudia, and was gripping her hands. In Sigrun's warm grasp, Klaudia realized how icy were her own fingers. Sigrun remained hushed, yet she tenderly kissed Klaudia's cheek. Then she released Klaudia's hands, glancing at the drainer. "Thanks for that. I owe you."

Klaudia nodded, but couldn't speak, tears waiting to spill down her face. She merely reached for her coat, then put it on. She mutter a feeble goodbye, quietly closing Sigrun's door, then walked quickly back to her house where she stayed the rest of the day.

Several hours later in Oregon, Renee bobbed Cary over her shoulder in the Snyders' kitchen while Lynne rolled out pie dough with Paul, Ann, and Jane. Sam and Eric were in the garden, although rain was just starting to fall. The men had been outside for most of the morning while Thanksgiving plans had been finalized inside. Then Renee's children had asked to do some baking, and lists had been set aside. Cary was nearly asleep, and once the pie was in the oven, Renee would take her goddaughter into the nursery for a nap, then help Lynne fix lunch. Renee hadn't asked if Marek might join them; Eric's depression had lifted considerably, but she wasn't certain how reintegrated the Snyders' pastor was within this household. Yet she knew that Eric shared coffee once a week with Marek at St. Matthew's, so maybe Eric's return to church wasn't far away.

She didn't expect to see him at St. Anne's anytime soon, but felt her and Sam's fervent prayers had played a part in Eric's lighter mood, as well as Lynne's more joyous disposition. Renee was relieved for this family's relative happiness, and she stood slowly, Cary having slumped over her godmother's shoulder. Renee met Lynne's appreciative gaze, then left the kitchen, heading for the stairs. Sam and Eric were just stepping into the living room through the French doors, but paused their conversation as not to wake the baby.

Renee put Cary to bed, then used the toilet. Before going back downstairs, she walked to the guest room, peering into where next week Laurie would be staying. Renee wished Stanford was coming too, then said a brief prayer for the New Yorkers. She and Sam had dedicated much prayer to the Snyder family, but something within Renee's heart pulsed differently, another couple in need of her attention. Then she smiled, hearing Sam's footsteps on the landing. What about Marek and Klaudia, Renee wondered, as her husband went into the house bathroom, closing the door behind him.

One of the children must have been in the downstairs bathroom, Renee decided, or did Sam need an excuse for a minute alone with his wife? Renee loitered near the guest room door, watching rain pelt the window on the far side of that room. Laurie might be traveling alone, but she was eager to see him. Then Sam exited the bathroom, stepping her way. He wore a strange smile and Renee's heart raced. "What is it?" she asked softly as Sam stood beside her.

He kissed her cheek, which stoked her curiosity. Then he ran his fingers through her short hair. "Just wanted to tell you how much I love you."

Renee nearly rolled her eyes, but instead she nodded, then squeezed Sam's hand. "I love you too Samuel." She brushed a few raindrops from his shoulder. "Seems you didn't get too soaked out there."

"We managed to get in right before the clouds dumped. Eric likes showing off that back acreage. Gonna be nice once they get the trees planted."

"It will." Renee closed her eyes, imagining several trees laden with various fruits. Then she sighed softly, recalling when Eric had led both her and Sam to that area long before it had been cleared. Jane had been tiny then, while her father was.... Renee opened her eyes, considering all that had changed. Sam seemed to know her thoughts, for he tenderly traced around her eyes, then kissed her on the mouth. They shared a few moments of passion, then Sam pulled away. Renee studied his face, that odd grin still beaming. "Sam, what?"

He shook his head, but still wore a smile. "We should get back downstairs. Lynne was starting lunch and...."

Renee nodded, following her husband along the hallway. She wouldn't question him again, not wishing to pry. As they entered the kitchen, Renee felt an overwhelming joy, finding Paul seated beside Lynne's husband, Ann and Jane chatting next to one another, while Lynne brought sandwiches to the table. Sam offered to help, but Lynne motioned for him to join the rest, her smile genuine. Renee took a chair on Paul's other side while Sam sat next to Jane. Lynne retrieved the last of the plates, seating herself alongside Ann. Sam offered the grace, but Eric's amen was hearty. Renee gave thanks for those with whom she sat, then prayed for others who would join them soon. She included Stanford Taylor in that group, giggling inwardly as she did so, the blissful sounds of children resonating in her ears.

That evening, Renee asked her children what they had enjoyed most that day. Ann noted how much she loved to bake, also how fun it was playing with Jane and Cary. As Ann spoke with enthusiasm, Renee paid attention to Paul's reaction. He smiled, waiting patiently for his turn to talk. How different were these youngsters from a year ago, Renee mused, as Sam picked up Paul, joining them on the sofa. "And what'd you like best?" Sam asked his son.

Renee observed how Paul leaned against Sam's chest, as well as how much father and son looked alike. Only in the years to come might it be obvious Paul wasn't Sam's biologically if Paul sported a full head of hair. Renee smoothed down Ann's tresses, then blinked away tears as Paul said how nice it was to talk to Jane's daddy. Uncle Eric had spoken about Uncle Laurie coming for Thanksgiving, as well as staying for Hanukkah. Then Ann clapped her hands, wondering if they would get presents again each night Uncle Laurie was here.

Sam laughed, telling her that only for the eight nights of Hanukkah would there be gifts, but Renee was amazed that Ann remembered. None of the adults had said a thing about celebrating that event, merely to keep the kids from pestering them about it. Paul recalled how much he had liked lighting the candles, then he looked at Renee. "Can I do it again this year too?"

"Maybe on the second night," she said. "Aunt Frannie and Uncle Louie's family are gonna be with us for the first night. Maybe Johnny or Brad might do it."

Ann wiggled in Renee's grasp. "Oh goodie! Helene will be there and so will Denise and Sally."

"Yeah, there's gonna be a horde," Sam chuckled.

Paul nodded, but didn't speak. Renee could tell he was considering something from how he crossed his arms over his chest, tapping his fingers along his elbows. It wasn't an action she or Sam did, perhaps something Beth or Roy had done. Paul smiled, then gazed at Sam. "Daddy, is Uncle Stanford coming too?"

"No, he has a lot of work right now. That reminds me, we should invite Aunt Vivian." Sam laughed. "One more isn't gonna matter."

Paul nodded, then met Renee's eyes. "Mama, is Uncle Laurie gonna stay a long time again?"

"Not this year honey. He promised his mother he'd spend New Year's with her."

Sam chuckled as Renee spoke, for that detail had been shared by Lynne. Renee assumed Stanford would be in Brooklyn too, having spent Christmas with his father. Both Stanford and Laurie would be with Michael, perhaps at one of Stanford's sisters' homes. Yet it seemed wrong that Laurie would be flying west alone, not that he needed a traveling partner, but for the one left behind.

Paul sighed, nodding to Renee's explanation. Then Renee reached over, grasping her son's hands. "But in the meantime, we can pray that Uncle Stanford won't get too lonely while Uncle Laurie's here."

Paul smiled, but Sam's eyes grew wide. While children were aware the New Yorkers were roommates, Renee's tone had insinuated a closer bond. Yet Renee didn't mind if her son and daughter grew up with the knowledge that Laurie and Stanford shared more than an apartment. Perhaps by the time Paul and Ann were adults, the love between the men wouldn't need to be concealed. "Heavenly Father," Renee began, "we pray for both Uncle Laurie and Uncle Stanford that they'll know your peace even when they're apart. And we thank you for them in our lives, and we ask for their presence to remain among us always. In your name Jesus we pray, amen."

The children both said amen in unison, but Sam was a beat behind. Only Renee noticed, as Paul then asked if they could get Uncle Laurie a Hanukkah gift. Ann said Uncle Stanford would need something too, and Renee chuckled both for their thoughtfulness and the items suggested. At bedtime, it had been decided to give Uncle Laurie a tie, while Stanford's present had yet to be chosen. Renee told her children to consider it in their dreams, then she kissed them, turning off the bedroom light to sleepy voices discussing what might Uncle Stanford like.

Renee found Sam in the kitchen doing the last of the supper dishes. She stepped to his side, then began drying plates in the drainer. "Kids are down," she said. "So what else did Eric say to you before the rain hit?"

Sam glanced at her, then plunged his hands into the soapy water. "Oh, just talked a lot about trees. They'll have a proper orchard before it's all said and done."

Renee nodded, but inwardly giggled. Sam had probably expected her to bring up the New Yorkers, but she hadn't forgotten his strange mirth from earlier that day. She wouldn't speak about Laurie and Stanford, at least not in front of the kids, not wishing to make more of Laurie's solitary visit than necessary. If Sam wanted to talk about it, she would leave that up to him.

He said nothing, and they finished the dishes in silence. Then he mumbled something about wishing Marek had been there for lunch, and Renee agreed. But Sam didn't elaborate, and they said no more about family, sitting down to watch television. Yet after a few minutes, Sam shut off the set, then turned toward Renee. In his knitted brow she saw what he wished to broach, yet the actual words were hard to speak. "Sam, one of these days the kids are gonna figure it out. Best that we don't make a big deal of it now. I don't want them thinking it's any different than what we mean to each other."

Sam started to speak, then nodded, looking sheepish. Renee grasped his hands, squeezing gently. "There's enough in this world that's gonna make them wonder why we bother getting up in the morning. What the New Yorkers share is small potatoes compared to bigger problems."

As Renee spoke, she prayed, hoping that Stanford might change his mind. She didn't expect him too, but Eric seemed better, and Klaudia would be joining them for the holiday. Then Renee gasped as tears fell down Sam's face. "Oh honey, I love you." Renee scooted toward him, then embraced her weeping husband. She didn't ask Sam what was wrong, merely lifting him in prayer. Quickly Sam composed himself, then inhaled deeply. As he exhaled, Renee sensed most of his outburst wasn't related to the New Yorkers, but to whatever he had discussed with Eric. Or maybe it was some faint trauma connected to Sam's time in Korea. Sam hadn't suffered from nightmares recently, but occasionally he murmured in his sleep. Renee had recognized those sounds but hadn't mentioned them, not wishing to intrude on the confidences Sam and Eric had shared. She didn't bring it up now, tenderly assuring Sam that she loved him, then praying in a soft but steady voice for him. While others needed her intersessions, this man required Renee's focus. They remained on the couch for over an hour, alternating cuddles with reverent missives. Then they went to bed, making love that surprised them both. Sam slept solidly, while Renee stirred a few times, confirming her husband's peaceful slumber.
Chapter 249

On Tuesday, November twenty-fourth, Klaudia and Laurie headed west. Both knew of the other's plans, but Klaudia was only half-heartedly interested in the Snyders' guest. Laurie, however, was keen to meet Marek's girlfriend, how he described her when speaking to Agatha. To Stan she was defined as Marek's old flame, which always made Stan shake his head. The days leading up to Laurie's departure had been filled with such moments as Laurie refused to curb his enthusiasm, while Stanford kept his emotions on a taut rein. Those feelings were quite mixed, although Laurie hadn't assumed that Stan would change his mind and travel for Thanksgiving. Their last words spoken before Stan left for work were as if Laurie was spending the next couple of weeks in Brooklyn; Stan only told Laurie to call when he reached Roseburg. He didn't ask Laurie to extend any sort of greeting to Eric and Lynne, nor did he wish Laurie a good trip. Agatha clucked loudly as Stanford exited the kitchen, but Laurie merely prayed for his lover while sipping his coffee, eager to be on his way.

His flights were timely, and by mid-afternoon he was collected from the airport by Sam and Paul. That trio headed to the Snyders, where Renee and Ann also waited, as well as Marek, who to Laurie seemed slightly anxious. But to Laurie's relief, Eric showed no outward apprehension, warmly embracing Laurie, then standing close to Lynne, who shed a few tears. Within her arms, Laurie felt a weight had been lifted, yet something remained closed to him. Pulling away, he studied her face, finding a few lines around her eyes, as well as stray white hairs along her temples. Yet she was as fetching as ever, and he set aside small niggles. On that first day in Oregon, Laurie soaked in the wondrous sensation of being among family in a place like a second home.

After supper, Marek said his goodbyes, and that he would see everyone on Thursday. Laurie had several questions about Klaudia, but would pose them once the Aherns had gone, not wishing to color Paul and Ann's view of Marek's.... The children seemed to consider Klaudia only as Marek's good friend, which was also what they called Stanford in relation to Laurie. How was Uncle Stanford had been Paul's refrain since the ride from the airport, and Laurie had listed several jobs that were keeping Stan busy. While Paul had been placated, Laurie saw minor grief in Lynne's eyes, but larger relief on Eric's face. Renee and Sam didn't stay long after Marek left; Paul had school in the morning, but it was his last day for the week. Laurie didn't know what was planned for Friday, but expected to see the Aherns often during his stay.

While Lynne bathed Jane and Cary, Laurie chatted with Eric, mostly about the planned orchard. Laurie laughed that since his last visit, those few peach trees had blossomed to more than half a dozen saplings in a variety of fruits. Laurie observed Eric's body language, how still was his right side, but he gestured with his left arm as though a farmer scattering seeds. Eric's frame of mind was markedly improved, but a barrier remained, although not like the secret Eric previously hid. Laurie couldn't imagine what was more peculiar than a man turning into a hawk, then he inwardly shivered, not wishing to consider what Eric had suffered in Texas in addition to being shot. From Seth's most recent letters, Laurie had discerned a truth revealed, although Seth hadn't betrayed the confidence. Laurie was slightly pained that Eric wasn't being wholly honest, but would respect his desire for privacy. As Lynne came downstairs with Cary in her grasp, Jane on her mother's heels, Laurie met them, taking Cary from Lynne's arms. The baby was chipper, and not at all tired, although Jane yawned, also asking to be picked up. Laurie shook his head, but pointed to the couch. "You'll cuddle with Daddy."

Jane smiled, then scrambled onto Eric's lap as Laurie retook his spot on the sofa. Lynne added wood to the fire, then smiled slyly, heading to the kitchen. Sam and Renee had done the dishes, but Laurie understood Lynne's desire for a little down time. Cary would soon get a bottle, and both girls would then be ready for sleep.

Eric and Jane spoke about tomorrow's plans, but Klaudia wasn't mentioned. There were pies to bake, leaves to rake, and maybe a trip to the store for any necessary groceries. Laurie reveled in the hominess, noting how excited he was to see the Canfields. Jane clapped her hands at that prospect and Cary copied her sister's actions. To Laurie the girls looked just like their mother, who entered the living room with a bottle in hand. Cary reached out for it and Laurie laughed as she then held it herself, although she did recline in Laurie's arms. Jane snuggled against her father and Laurie briefly closed his eyes, immense joy made bittersweet by Stan's absence and Eric's injury. But when Laurie opened his eyes, the poignancy dissipated, for Lynne sat on Eric's other side, her arms around him. Some part of Eric might be off limits to Laurie, but a husband and wife were reunited.

Eric told his daughters a bedtime story, and Cary was asleep before her father finished. She had taken most of the bottle, Laurie feeling like an old hand at parenthood. As Jane yawned loudly, Lynne nodded at Laurie, who stood, then took Cary to the nursery. Within minutes Lynne joined him, Jane over her shoulder. They placed the girls in their beds, then left the room, Lynne closing the door behind her. Laurie headed back downstairs, suddenly feeling quite sleepy. He warmed himself by the fire, recalling this time one year ago. So many issues had been resolved, then Laurie gazed at Eric, still seated on the sofa. Laurie yawned, which made Eric chuckle. "A long day for you," Eric said. "I think we'll all sleep well tonight."

"I agree," Laurie smiled. "Others will too."

Eric laughed softly. "Yeah, I think so." He stood, then stretched his left arm over his head. "Don't suppose you'll meet Klaudia till Thursday, but I believe she's here for ten days. Plenty of time for you to get acquainted."

"Well, I'm certainly eager to meet her."

Eric approached Laurie, standing with his right side to the fire. "She's kind of like Stan, actually a lot like him." Eric sighed, then gripped his right arm. "I can't imagine those two in the same room. They'd stare each other down, not sure who'd blink first."

Laurie chuckled. "Maybe one of these days we'll find out."

"Maybe."

As the fire crackled, neither man said more. Laurie then noticed that Lynne hadn't returned from upstairs. Was she hoping Eric might make a confession, or had one of the girls fussed? Laurie listened, but the only sound was of the dying flames. "Suppose I should head up, although surprisingly I'm not that tired." Something about this home revived Laurie, then he yawned, which stirred his laughter. "Or maybe I'm ready to sleep for a week. It's just so good to be here, you know?"

Eric started to speak, then smiled. He released his right arm, then with his left hand he grasped Laurie's shoulder. Tears welled in Eric's eyes, falling down his cheeks as he blinked. Laurie's throat grew tight, but he nodded, not wishing to cause Eric further upset. Eric breathed deeply, exhaling slowly, then released Laurie's shoulder. "Sleep well," he croaked. "And thanks so much for being here."

"It's my pleasure," Laurie said, his voice trembling.

Eric nodded, then stepped toward the kitchen. Laurie gazed at the fire, now low enough to be left for the night. He placed the grate in front of it, calling goodnight to Eric, who remained in the kitchen. Laurie took the stairs, but didn't offer Lynne any greeting, not wishing to wake the girls. He went to his room, dressed for bed, and within half an hour was snoring soundly, dreaming of Stanford at his side.

As Laurie drifted off to sleep, Marek reached the same airport in which Laurie had landed just hours ago. Not many were gathered in the terminal, and Marek kept his distance, contemplating what the next ten days might mean to his life. He felt nearly as unsure as when Klaudia had arrived in April, but this time his uncertainty centered on just how he would tell her about Eric. He smiled, for that revelation was days away, or at least Marek hoped for a brief stretch of simply loving a woman whose plane was now taxiing down the runway. He stood at the large glass windows, watching the jet approach, his heart racing. He'd purchased enough condoms to last through the weekend, then laughed inwardly at himself. His parishioners might cast him dubious gazes for the next few Sundays, but Marek was going to enjoy the presence of the woman he loved.

After the plane landed he chuckled out loud seeing who looked to be Klaudia sprinting toward the terminal. He quickly walked to the open doors, meeting her as she entered the building. Their embrace was interrupted as others stumbled through, yet Marek again enfolded her in his arms. She set her head on his shoulder, calling his name softly, and he slowly ran his fingers through her matted hair. Tomorrow would be a day of rest for them both. Marek had already written Sunday's sermon, and Mrs. Kenny wouldn't impose for an entire week, but perhaps by then Klaudia might appreciate a little space, if for nothing else than to ponder another man's fate.

Marek led his beloved toward baggage claim, asking in Polish how were her flights. Klaudia murmured the basics, exhaustion in her tone. Marek collected her case, then they walked to his car. She didn't request a cigarette, merely getting in her seat, then closing her door. Marek did the same, exiting the airport while Klaudia clutched his hand on the gear shift.

Their drive to St. Matthew's was in silence. A couple of times Marek wondered if she had fallen asleep, then she would again grip his hand. Just as they reached the church, she cleared her throat. "Did the Snyders' friend arrive safely?"

"He did. I spent a lovely afternoon and evening with them." Marek parked the car, then faced Klaudia. "But we'll see them on Thursday."

"Maybe we can go there tomorrow, unless you have something else planned."

"I don't," Marek smiled. "Are you sure?"

"I'd rather meet him without so many others around." She giggled. "And I want to see the girls."

Marek chuckled, then leaned toward her, kissing her forehead. She then offered her mouth, and Marek obliged, momentarily not wishing to encounter anyone until Thanksgiving. As they parted, he sighed, then smiled. "You are the boss, as the Americans say. I can ring Lynne in the morning to check their schedule."

"Oh, I don't want to intrude."

Marek opened his door, cool air making him shiver. Klaudia did the same, and they got out of the vehicle, retrieved her luggage, then headed for the front steps. Once inside the building, Marek set her suitcase on the floor, then grasped her hands. "All I know is Lynne has some groceries to buy. I'm sure they'd appreciate a social call."

Klaudia nodded, looking visibly relieved. Marek's pulse raced, pleased that she wanted to see Jane and Cary. Maybe the last few months spent around a newborn had softened Klaudia's heart, then he gasped as she stepped close to him. Her kisses were ardent, and he reciprocated, his mind solely focused on the woman beside him. As she pulled away, Marek was left breathless. He laughed as Klaudia giggled, sounding like the girl from his memories. Despite her ragged appearance, she looked as though no time had passed from when they were teenagers. What a power love had, Marek considered, stroking her face, not seeing her wrinkles, only tenderness shining in her eyes. He grasped her hand, caressing it within his own. "But for now," he said, "let's be off to bed. We'll decide our agenda over coffee in the morning."

Again Klaudia nodded, yet something in her eyes caught Marek's attention. Time near a baby had indeed altered her, but he wouldn't question her about Sigrun's grandson. With his free hand, Marek grabbed her case, and they walked to his room, then undressed. A hurried love was made, then slumber followed, which was interrupted by further passions. Klaudia went right back to sleep, but Marek laid awake, listening to her rhythmic breathing, hearkening back to their adolescence. They had never even kissed, but when near the other, calm had enveloped his heart, making him believe one day they might share a life together. That she was sleeping in his bed stirred Marek's mind, but more to capture his attention was the peace he'd seen in her eyes. Her previous visits had been fraught with anxiety, even if so much of her last stay had been shared within this room. This time Klaudia's heart was open to him, which caused him momentary worry; would telling her about Eric again set a wedge between them? Marek smiled, not wishing to dwell on it. He would follow where the Spirit led him, and he settled against his pillow, falling unconscious to the sound of Klaudia's steady inhalations.
Chapter 250

Eric woke to the smell of coffee and the faint sounds of children's laughter. Lynne's side of the bed was cool, but he didn't feel bad for having overslept. Laurie's joy could also be discerned, and Eric rose slowly, in part from immense pain in his right shoulder as well as sated bliss for how he and Lynne had gone to bed last night. While she'd used her diaphragm, Eric had nearly asked her to not to, although as he stood, he was grateful for her wisdom. The entire right side of his upper body throbbed, and he flopped back on the mattress, nausea plaguing him. He closed his eyes, unconsciously praying for relief. Immediately the ache subsided, and he opened his eyes, half expecting to see Hawk standing nearby. The room was empty, and Eric stood, stretching out his left arm, then gingerly grasping his right. It was numb, but didn't hurt. He attempted to raise his right shoulder; while the action seemed fruitless, no pain accompanied. He shrugged, then used the toilet. After washing his hands, he opened the cabinet, peering first at his shaver, then at Lynne's diaphragm. Eric shook his head, but after closing the cabinet, he stared at himself in the mirror. Faint stubble would require attention, but that would be Lynne's job. Eric exited the bathroom, put on his robe and slippers, then headed for the stairs, Laurie's laughter and children's squeals battling for attention.

When Eric entered the kitchen, Jane saw him first. "Daddy, Daddy!" Eric sat beside her, across from Laurie, who held Cary on his lap. Jane motioned to sit with her father, and with his left arm, Eric retrieved her from her seat. Jane leaned against him, then pointed to the empty chair on Laurie's right. "Where's Uncle Stanford?"

"He's in New York honey." Laurie sighed as he spoke, then smiled at Eric. "Good morning."

"It is a good morning." Eric kissed the top of Jane's head, then grasped the mug Lynne had placed near his left hand. He sipped slowly, but the coffee wasn't hot, so he took a long drink, then set down the cup. "Did you sleep well?" he asked Laurie.

"Like a rock."

"Two little ones will do that to a person." Lynne chuckled, joining those at the table.

Laurie tickled Cary's chin, making her giggle. "I don't know what you mean by that Lynne. All I know is there's pie for breakfast, no roar of traffic, and the best company." Laurie lifted Cary into the air, making her laugh. He set several kisses on her face, then bobbed her on his knee. "Who needs more than this?"

As parents agreed, the phone rang. Lynne answered it, then returned to the table with a sly grin. "Seems we'll have guests for lunch. That was Marek." Lynne gazed at Laurie. "Klaudia wants to meet you without the distraction of others."

"Really? Well, I don't know who's more curious about the other, me or her."

"Actually, it sounded like she wants to see...." Lynne nodded first at Cary, then toward Jane. "Not that you aren't interesting," she added, looking at Laurie.

He laughed soundly. "Well, I'd rather be the one studying her than being observed." Laurie stood, handing Cary to her mother. "However, I'm definitely in need of a shower. Won't be more than twenty minutes." He blew kisses to the girls, then headed from the kitchen. Jane called after him, then pointed at his unfinished pie.

"Uncle Laurie will eat that when he gets back." Lynne stood, then inspected her cupboards. "Marek said he'd bring some treats, and that it didn't need to be more than sandwiches." Then she glanced at Eric. "But I do need to get to the market before the end of the day."

"Why don't you go when Laurie's out of the shower? Did Marek say what time?"

"Around ten thirty. He didn't want to disturb Cary's early nap."

Eric nodded. "We'll keep an eye on the girls, then you'll be all set for tomorrow."

Lynne smiled, then returned to the table, pulling her seat next to Eric's. She sat beside him, putting Cary on her left knee. With her right hand, Lynne caressed Eric's face, making him shiver. "Shall I shave this off before I go? I don't think the girls will mind a few minutes in the playpen together."

He nodded, then chuckled. "Was thinking about that when I woke." He trembled again, recalling his other thoughts. "Lynne, there's something I wanna...."

The phone rang again, making Eric shake his head. Lynne giggled, then stood to answer it. "Oh hello Marek." The conversation didn't last long, then Lynne closed the call. "He offered to watch the girls if I needed to go shopping. Well, he and Klaudia both." Lynne's smile was wide. "After lunch I think I'll do just that. Now," she said, switching Cary to her other hip. "Was there something you wanted to say?"

Eric nodded, but just as he started to speak, a searing burn ran from his right shoulder all through that arm. He gritted his teeth, but the pain was worse than what he'd felt earlier. "Just that I love you," he mumbled.

"Do you want some aspirin?" Lynne asked.

"Yeah. Sorry honey."

"There's nothing to apologize for." Lynne retrieved the tablets, which she set near Eric's left hand. "Jane, let's go get dressed. Uncle Marek's coming over this morning."

Eric managed to set Jane on her feet, then Lynne grasped Jane's hand, leading her from the kitchen. Eric stared at the tablets, then swallowed them with some coffee. The pain abated, then disappeared altogether. Eric shook his head, then moved from his seat, making himself some toast, which he ate standing up. When Lynne and Jane returned, Laurie was with them, toting Cary. Lynne spoke about fixing a pot of soup and Laurie offered to mind the girls. Eric excused himself for a shower, several thoughts running through his head.

Marek and Klaudia arrived just as Cary fell asleep. Klaudia seemed somewhat disappointed, but quickly her attention turned to Jane, with whom she spoke in Polish. Laurie wished he knew the basics of their conversation, but Jane seemed quite capable with her comprehension, although her pronunciation was garbled. Klaudia wasn't bothered, sitting at the kitchen table with Jane on her lap while the toddler colored on a large pad. Marek sat on Klaudia's right, chatting with both Eric and Lynne. After lunch, Lynne would head to the store and Eric would accompany her. Laurie wasn't sure when was the last time parents were alone, much less seen together in public, but he said nothing more than between two uncles and one auntie, Jane and Cary would be well looked after.

Laurie was grateful to have been introduced to Marek's girlfriend today, not only for the chance to get to know her. He found her interest in Jane intriguing, and was keen to see how she behaved around Cary. Klaudia was a pretty woman, although she looked older than Lynne. Laurie knew they were nearly the same age, and he wondered how much of Klaudia's appearance was due to her upbringing during the war, her dead son, or the man beside her. Maybe they had been apart for two decades, but Laurie didn't miss the subtle manners in which affection was relayed, from how closely they sat by one another, to how inadvertently Marek would touch her hand, or tenderly glance her way. It made Laurie miss Stanford, but if Stan was there, Klaudia might not be as sociable. Then Laurie fought a chuckle; he and Marek had fallen for similar personalities, or at least the woman Klaudia now was seemed very much like Stan. A pleasant sensation rippled through Laurie; for as aloof as Stan could be, Laurie loved him unreservedly. Maybe Marek and Klaudia could forge an equally satisfying relationship, albeit via long distance.

Nothing was mentioned about Klaudia visiting again at Christmas, or at least not in a language Laurie understood. But what Jane and her auntie seemed to be speaking about wasn't more than Jane's drawings, which to Laurie's trained eye were accomplished for a two and a half year old. Lynne stood, stepping to the stove, checking on the soup. Laurie joined her, kissing her cheek. She smiled at him, tears in the corners of her eyes. He nodded, both aware of the miracles within that room.

"Do you wanna eat soon?" Laurie asked, grasping Lynne's hand, squeezing it firmly.

She nodded, then brushed the streaks from her face. She tried to speak, but smiled instead, clearing her throat. Laurie embraced her, considering how his prayers from last autumn had been answered. If Stan was present, all those Laurie loved most would be accounted for, but again Laurie didn't lament one man's absence, and not only for Klaudia's benefit. Eric's hearty laughter spoke volumes, as did the way he patted Marek's shoulder. Life would never be perfect, but to Laurie, it was damn close.

Lynne retrieved bowls from the cupboard as Laurie grabbed boxes of crackers, then asked where might he find a plate for them. Lynne motioned to a cupboard on the other side of the room. Jovial conversation flowed around Laurie, and he found the dialogue between Jane and Klaudia almost discernable. He laughed quietly while opening the cabinet, where Lynne kept holiday dishes and cookbooks. Scanning the contents he found an appropriate plate, but a loose sheet of drawing paper caught his attention.

It was larger than those Jane used, looking more like what Eric would have employed. Laurie shivered, for he knew what had been illustrated, an image of Lynne appearing much like a crucified Christ. Last Christmas Eve Laurie and Lynne had discussed that picture and at the time Laurie had been convinced what he shared with Stan was over. Laurie's heart pounded, again reminded of how much good had occurred in the interim. He glanced at Eric, who briefly met his gaze. But despite Eric's smile, a secret loomed in that man's eyes, one that made Laurie inwardly tremble.

Lunch was a pleasant affair, and Cary woke up midway through it. Laurie went to collect her, but he wasn't alone, Klaudia asking if she could assist. They didn't converse while taking the stairs, but once inside the nursery Klaudia spoke in Polish, making Cary giggle. Klaudia offered to change her, and Laurie gladly accepted, but he remained in the room, listening to Cary's responses while Klaudia continued speaking Polish. Then she abruptly stopped. "My God, you must think me rude. I was just telling her...."

"Not at all," Laurie smiled. "I never realized how easily a child could become bilingual. I think it's fantastic."

Klaudia smiled. "When I came the first time, I couldn't believe how much Jane understood. Marek's written that Jane speaks to Cary in Polish, I just wanted to see how she'd respond to another who spoke it."

"Seems she likes it just fine." Laurie tickled Cary's feet, her laughter broad. She reached out for him, and after Klaudia fastened the last snap of Cary's playsuit, the baby was in her uncle's grasp. Yet she stared at Klaudia, babbling in what to Laurie was clearly a Polish-tinged accent.

"She'll be speaking it before she's Jane's age," Laurie laughed. "C'mon, it's just about time for treats."

The trio headed back to the kitchen. Laurie handed Cary to Marek, but he only held her long enough to bestow some kisses. Then she was given to Klaudia, who seemed surprised, but quite happy. Laurie helped Lynne bring dessert to the table and within minutes the room was hushed, although Klaudia wasn't eating, instead cuddling Cary, content in her auntie's grasp.

After caramel slices were finished, Lynne and Eric left for the market. Laurie washed dishes as Marek and Klaudia entertained the girls, then Laurie stepped to the living room doorway. Jane sat on the sofa with Marek, books between them, while Klaudia flanked Cary, trying to stand alongside the coffee table. Laurie said nothing, wondering if this couple had found one another years ago, just how many children might they have had.

He hid his smile; possibly there was still time, although one of them would have to make a big move. Perhaps Klaudia could be persuaded to come to America; while it had been a hard loss, her son's death now freed her to do as she wished. Laurie would prefer that, and he continued observing this quartet; Klaudia and Marek spoke in rapid Polish, but Marek read to Jane in that language more slowly. Klaudia also spoke slowly to Cary, but her tone was like that of Lynne when encouraging one of the girls in a new endeavor. Laurie sighed; Klaudia had been never been fully allowed to embrace the role of motherhood. Yet as Cary stood on shaky legs, gripping the top of the table, Klaudia could be mistaken for the baby's mother.

Jane and Marek applauded as Klaudia steadied the wobbly infant, then Laurie cleared his throat. "Well done Cary!" He walked toward the coffee table, then knelt beside Klaudia. "I wonder if this's her first time on both feet."

"It might be," Marek said, sitting forward. "I've never seen her stand alone before."

"She's not even eleven months yet," Klaudia said, still offering assistance. "She'll be walking before you know it."

Pride rang through her voice, and she looked right at Marek as she spoke, that man with a wide smile. Laurie felt like an interloper as Jane chatted in Polish to her sister. Then she scrambled off the sofa, coming to Cary's side. Again she spoke in Polish, trying to hold Cary's hand as if to lead her away.

"She can't walk on her own yet Jane, but soon she'll go anywhere you wanna take her." Laurie gently removed Jane's hand from Cary's.

"And after that you'll be shooing her away," Marek laughed.

Laurie chuckled, but Klaudia was quiet. She collected Cary, then stood from the floor, softly speaking to the baby in Polish. Laurie wondered what she said, then glanced at Marek, who wore a thoughtful gaze. Klaudia kissed Cary's cheek, and the resemblance was strong. Laurie went to his feet, then picked up Jane. She leaned against his shoulder, mumbling in Polish. The words were familiar to Laurie, and he looked again at Marek, now with a smile on his face. "Did she ask for pie or a caramel slice?" Laurie said.

"Both," Marek laughed. "But a nap might be more timely."

"No nap," Jane sighed, still with her head on Laurie's shoulder.

"A nap is just what you need." Laurie stepped toward Klaudia. "Give your auntie a kiss first though."

Klaudia looked mildly stunned, but quickly kissed Jane's forehead. "I'll see you later," Klaudia said in a thick Polish accent.

Marek joined them, also giving Jane a kiss. "Yes, but right now it's time for a rest."

"Cary too," Jane whimpered.

"Yeah, Cary too," Laurie smiled, walking toward the stairs. "She and Auntie Klaudia are right behind us."

The girls were still sleeping when their parents returned. Laurie helped Lynne put away groceries while Eric, Klaudia, and Marek sat at the kitchen table where coffee and caramel slices were enjoyed. Then Marek made a duo's farewells, promising more treats tomorrow.

"We'll have enough to feed two armies," Lynne said. "I hope those Canfield teenagers bring their appetites."

Marek laughed, then patted his stomach. "Well, I won't eat a large breakfast in the morning. What time should we arrive?"

"Whenever you're ready to watch the girls." Lynne smiled at both her pastor and his guest. "Sounds like Cary's gonna require eagle eyes now that she's on two feet."

Marek stood, then brought Klaudia her jacket. "We'll arrive mid-morning. Want to make sure we earn our supper."

"No worries for that." Eric stood, then offered Marek his left hand, which Marek shook. "We'll keep you plenty busy watching the girls."

Laurie embraced Marek, then approached Klaudia, grasping her hand and kissing the back of it. "So lovely to meet you," he said.

Klaudia smiled. "And the same to you."

"Shall I walk you out?" Eric asked.

"That would be wonderful. Laurie, Lynne, we'll see you around ten." Marek waved, then followed Eric from the kitchen, Klaudia's hand clasped in Marek's.

Laurie watched them from the window, then turned to find Lynne seated at the table. "I'm so glad to have met her today," Laurie said, taking a chair beside her. "But I'll tell you, your daughters are gonna be fluent in Polish before Jane starts kindergarten."

"I know," Lynne smiled. "I've told Marek he needs to teach me the basics."

"We all could use a few lessons." Laurie ate the last caramel slice, then leaned back in his seat. "Klaudia was great with Cary. She's good with Jane too, but...." He chuckled softly. "You won't see much of your girls tomorrow."

"No, but that's fine. Actually, beyond making pies, I won't be doing much of the cooking. Sam said he'd be here at eight to help. If he wants to take charge of the turkey, I won't stop him."

"This's as much his kitchen as it is yours," Laurie laughed.

Lynne nodded, then grasped Laurie's hand. "Thanks for being here, and for letting Eric and I get away, even if it was just to the market."

"My pleasure. It was as much fun observing Marek and Klaudia as it was watching the girls."

Lynne chuckled, then released Laurie's hand, standing from the table. "And on that note, I best get to work. Pies won't bake themselves."

Laurie also went to his feet, scanning the room, imagining how many would be gathered there tomorrow. Then he peered at the cupboard where Eric's sketch remained. He walked that way, but didn't open the cabinet. Then he cleared his throat. "Need any help?"

"Just your company," Lynne smiled.

He nodded, then again glanced at the cupboard. Then he met Lynne's gaze. Her smile was gentle, but she said nothing. Laurie stared at the cabinet until he heard the front door's rattle, then walked to where Eric reentered the kitchen. Both sat at the table, sipping coffee as Lynne prepared pie dough, chatting only of tomorrow's expected guests.
Chapter 251

Stanford called the Snyder residence early on Thanksgiving morning, although Sam was already present, stuffing the turkey. Lynne spoke to Stanford briefly, but Eric refrained, although Laurie did ask Eric if he wished to say a few words. Sam wondered for which man's benefit Laurie had done that, but Eric didn't seem troubled. In fact, he was quite cheerful, toting Jane while Laurie held Cary. Sam was glad to have arrived when he did, not merely to assist with the cooking. The jovial camaraderie reminded of him of last November. That Eric stood among them was a tremendous blessing, taking the edge from what else Sam recalled of that day. He and Renee had prayed extensively for the Kennedy family, but that sorrow was overwhelmed by the miracle of Eric's return.

His presence seemed even more marvelous for his chipper mood. Sam easily looked past Eric's mangled shoulder as Jane laughed in her father's grasp while Eric bantered with Laurie. Lynne's gentle tone wove through the men's repartee, then Jane and Cary added to the harmony, making Sam momentarily wish Renee, Paul, and Ann were there. But perhaps that would have made for too many voices. Lynne slipped from the room, taking Cary with her, then Eric set Jane to the floor. She ran after her mother and sister, leaving a noticeable gap in the conversation. But quickly Laurie picked up the slack, and while the topic wasn't profound, just hearing that New York accent alongside Eric's was music to Sam's ears.

Laurie spoke about Seth's travel plans for next summer, of which Eric was aware. Joyful anticipation rang through Laurie's voice, as well as gratitude, and Eric seemed eager to host those visitors. Sam placed the turkey in the oven, washed his hands, then poured himself a cup of coffee. He brought it to the table, then peered into mugs. "Anyone need more before I join you?"

"Oh please," Laurie said as Eric nodded in agreement.

Sam smiled, fetched the pot, then filled their cups. He returned the pot to the counter, then sat next to Laurie, sipping his coffee. "Should make another pot soon," Sam said. "But at least the bird's taken care of."

"I'll do it," Laurie offered, going to his feet. "God knows we'll need more joe."

Eric chuckled. "Sam, when's Renee coming over?"

"Probably around eleven." Sam glanced at the clock. "She wanted Cary to get a decent nap first."

Eric nodded, but didn't comment further. Yet he smiled as Lynne and girls returned. "The big table's set," Lynne said, putting Cary on her father's lap. "Fran's bringing two card tables, we'll see how many more place settings we'll need."

"I can call Renee if you need another," Sam said.

"We have one too." Lynne smiled as Laurie stepped to her side. "That'll give Sally and the rest something do to."

Sam chuckled. "Thank goodness it's dry today. The kids can run around outside."

As Laurie retook his seat, Jane clamored to be picked up. Sam observed how tightly knit was this group, as if Laurie truly was Lynne's older brother. And for the first time since Eric's return, Sam felt no discord emanating from him. Lynne sat next to her husband and Eric's gaze toward her was tender. As Cary leaned against her father, Sam thanked God for this peace. Then the phone rang, and Lynne stood to answer it. Sam drank his coffee as Jane asked for pie, making her father and uncle chuckle.

Lynne wasn't on the phone long, then returned to the table. "That was Fran, just wishing us a good morning and confirming the time." Lynne sat down, then retrieved Cary from Eric's grasp. "I think I'll dress the girl here, then take a shower. Seems everything's under control for now."

"Turkey's roasting, coffee's brewing, and pies are baked," Laurie said. "What more does a person need?"

Laughter was hearty as Lynne departed the kitchen, only returning long enough to set Cary into Sam's arms. Eric poured the men more coffee as Jane reiterated her request for pie. Again Sam was struck at how lighthearted Eric seemed, as if the events of last year had never occurred.

By noon the Snyder house was teeming with people, Vivian Kramer the last to arrive. She was introduced to Klaudia, but that was all those women spoke as Vivian gravitated to the Aherns and Canfields while Klaudia stuck close to Marek. To Sam's amusement, Klaudia didn't speak much to Frannie, although Fran often seemed to have Cary in her grasp. Yet Jane sought out her Polish auntie, usually with Ann and Helene on her heels. Paul spent his time outdoors with his cousins, the day remaining cool but dry. While Sam managed the kitchen, Lynne mingled with her guests, and Eric held court with Laurie and Louie in the living room. Marek drifted between groups, Klaudia at his side unless he approached Sam's sister. Then Klaudia headed to the kitchen, where Sam always had a task waiting. She didn't say much until again Jane would locate her, then Klaudia spoke in Polish until Sam's daughter and niece arrived.

At two p.m. dinner was served, happy chatter punctured by brief bursts of silence. Talk of Hanukkah was rife, but Vivian respectfully declined an invitation to that event. Yet the Canfield teens were full of questions, which Laurie answered, seated in between Sally and Will. Sam hadn't been surprised that Laurie sat with those much younger; the generations seemed perfectly interchangeable. Then Sam smiled, seated near Klaudia, who was next to Marek at the formal dining table. Last year's gathering seemed far away from this meal, then Sam glanced at Eric, who spoke to Louie at the head of what could be called the adults' table. After Vivian, Louie was the oldest, and maybe Eric hadn't wanted to be the focus of attention. Yet he was animated, and Sam was relieved for Eric's amiable mood.

The room thinned out as youngsters finished, heading back outdoors. Sally and Denise took charge of the little girls, although Cary remained inside, now in Klaudia's grasp. Sam was amazed at how much they looked alike, then he studied what could be called a familial unit as Marek leaned close to Klaudia. Cary's brown eyes twinkled as merrily as her pastor's, and Klaudia's smile shone. Sam glanced to where Renee chatted with Fran and Vivian, but he couldn't catch his wife's attention. He would mention it when they were home, wondering if she'd noticed the same.

Lynne stood to gather plates, and was joined by Laurie and Fran. Sam offered to help, but Eric collected silverware, motioning for Sam to sit. "You did most of the cooking. Let us earn our dessert."

Louie began to stack plates while Sam chuckled. This holiday also reminded him of those from his youth, homes full of relatives often only seen once a year. He gazed at Klaudia, wondering if she had stirred that notion, yet this was her third trip to Oregon in less than twelve months. In how closely she cuddled Cary, as well as her proximity to Marek, Sam felt she had been initiated into this clan. But it would be a good while before she extended her presence to the rest. She spoke softly to Cary, alternating English with Polish. Then Cary slumped against Klaudia, having missed her afternoon nap due to dinner. "She looks about asleep there," Sam said. "Wonder if Lynne wants to keep her up."

"I'll go inquire." Marek stood, but Cary didn't move.

Klaudia finally met Sam's gaze. "Did he wake her?"

"Nope. She's out solid."

Klaudia nodded, then smiled. "She's a very good baby, I mean, she's good around people."

"She is," Sam said. "You have a special touch with her."

Instantly Sam regretted his words, although Klaudia showed no outward notice. Marek returned, patting Klaudia's shoulder. "Lynne says she can sleep for now. And if you're agreeable, she doesn't need to go into the nursery. Sam, did you want to serve dessert soon?"

Sam shrugged. "Um, shouldn't you ask Lynne that?"

"She told me to ask you," Marek chuckled.

Klaudia giggled softly as Sam rolled his eyes. "Did she say how long she wanted Cary to nap?"

"Only half an hour or so."

"Well let's all digest for at least that long. Then Cary can have a little sweet potato pie along with the rest of us." Sam stood, then met Marek's smile. "I'll go start dishes and...."

"Fran and Vivian have beaten you to it, although I'm sure they wouldn't mind a hand with the drying." Marek retook his seat, glancing at his watch. "We'll give Cary thirty minutes, then check your progress."

"That sounds fine." Sam headed to the kitchen, but before reaching the doorway, he turned back, finding Marek's arm around Klaudia's shoulder. Grateful for Marek's tactful nature, Sam joined those at the kitchen sink. If Cary slept for an hour, Sam wouldn't mind.

Lynne's worries about too much food faded as the Canfield family prepared to leave. Frannie took some of the leftovers, but her children had indeed brought their appetites, and Laurie openly lamented they might have to cook in a day or two. Frannie mentioned bringing a dish for Sunday's supper, but for the first night of Hanukkah Laurie would fry latkes and told Fran to just make her deviled eggs. He kissed her cheek, then walked that family to their car along with Eric, who spoke to Louie. After some final goodbyes, Laurie and Eric returned to the house, which seemed quite depleted, although the Aherns, Marek, and Klaudia remained.

Lynne, Renee, and Klaudia were giving three little girls a bath while Paul sat at the kitchen table with his father and Marek. Laurie and Eric joined them, and the conversation centered on Sunday's event. Paul spoke with an air of knowledge, then smiled at Laurie. "I told Brad he could light the first candle. I'll get to do it on Monday."

"You certainly will." Laurie ruffled Paul's hair. "I'm sure looking forward to it."

"Me too." Paul smiled, then grew serious. "Um, Uncle Laurie, do you have, well, you know...."

Laurie held back his grin. "What Paul?"

"Well, enough Hanukkah presents for all my cousins."

"You know what?" Laurie leaned close to Paul. "I actually brought an extra suitcase. I think I counted right, there's seven kids in Brad's family. Then there's you and Ann, Jane and Cary. That makes...."

"Eleven!" Paul glanced at his father, then at Laurie. "Wow, that's a lot of presents."

"And that's just the first night." Laurie chuckled. "Not sure what I'll take home in that suitcase though."

"Caramel slices and pie, methinks," Eric laughed.

"God, I wish," Laurie said. "Or rather Stan and Agatha would appreciate that."

"Who's Agatha?" Paul asked.

"She's our cook and housekeeper." Laurie again ruffled Paul's hair. "If I took caramel slices with me, she might just move out west."

The men chuckled, but again Paul looked concerned. "Does she live with you and Uncle Stanford?"

"Nearly," Laurie smiled. "She takes the train from Queens every day. We couldn't get along without her."

Paul was quiet for a moment, then cleared his throat. "Uncle Laurie, can I visit you someday?"

"Oh Paul, Uncle Stan and I would love that. Your whole family is more than welcome to stay with us."

Laurie winked at Sam, who seemed to blush. Then Laurie glanced at Marek. "You too Pastor, maybe on your way to Oslo sometime."

Marek smiled, then looked toward the kitchen doorway. "What have we here?" he said as the ladies returned, each holding a little girl. "What a bevy of lovelies I see."

Toting Cary, Klaudia rolled her eyes, while Lynne and Renee set their charges into the arms of those girls' fathers. Ann collapsed against Sam while Jane snuggled next to Eric. Then Paul yawned, leaning toward his dad. Sam collected his son as Renee sat beside them, Ann drooped over her mother's shoulder. Klaudia and Lynne found empty chairs, and quiet chit chat emerged. Once Ann's hair was mostly dry, Renee handed her to Laurie, then began to gather the children's coats. Goodbyes were shared, then Laurie walked the Aherns to their car, giving Renee a strong hug, even embracing Sam.

Laurie returned to the house finding only Marek and Klaudia at the table. Laurie excused himself to the bathroom, and afterwards located Eric and Lynne with their guests. "Girls go down okay?" Laurie asked.

"Oh yes." Lynne said. "And I'd be surprised if they stirred all night."

"It was a marvelous day," Marek said. "I think everyone will rest well." Then Marek patted Klaudia's hand. "Shall we?" he asked her.

She nodded, but remained seated as Marek went to retrieve her coat. To Laurie they seemed as settled of a couple as the rest, although their childless state set them slightly apart. Eric and Lynne stood, offering hugs, then Laurie went to his feet, doing the same. Klaudia was receptive to Laurie's efforts, and she smiled at him as they parted. Eric offered to walk them out and Marek declined, but he gladly accepted a covered pie tin from Lynne.

Once the kitchen door was firmly closed, Laurie breathed deeply, followed by languid sighs from Eric and Lynne. Then all three chuckled, yet the kitchen was spotless. "What an evening," Eric said, retaking his seat. "Glad we'll have a couple of days until Hanukkah."

"I agree," Laurie said. "Won't have to do any serious cooking until then."

"Just coffee in the morning." Eric glanced at the counter where pie tins waited. "I see breakfast right over there."

"Breakfast for you two," Lynne giggled. "Just don't let the girls know."

"If they sleep in, no problem. Otherwise I'll be happy to share." Laurie yawned, then stood. "Now if you'll excuse me, I need to find my bed or else you'll be dragging my snoring corpse up the stairs." He kissed Lynne's cheek, then patted Eric's shoulder. "Thanks for such a...."

Tears falling down Lynne's face halted Laurie's words. He gently wiped them away, then kissed her again. "Sleep well," he said softly, exiting the room.

Eric scooted his chair closer to his wife. "Everything okay?" he asked.

Lynne giggled. "It was such a wonderful day. Never in a million years did I ever dream of so many relatives."

Eric laughed, stroking her still damp face. "Me neither. You ready for bed?"

"Not yet." She grasped Eric's hand. "I feel like I could fall right to sleep, but I just wanna sit for a few minutes." She looked around the room, then met Eric's gaze. "When you thought about renovating the house, did you consider something like tonight?"

Eric nodded. "But it wasn't these exact people, I mean, I knew Fran already, Laurie too, but...." Eric inhaled deeply, then let it out slowly. "Seems we have a pretty nice collection of kinfolk."

Lynne folded her hands together, placing them on the table. Eric studied her face, wishing he could paint her expression, that of immense thankfulness mixed with much wonder. His right arm throbbed for a moment, then the pain was replaced with.... He winced, glancing at the cupboard where Lynne kept extra dishes and cookbooks. Was the sketch he'd made of her a few years before still within that cabinet? Not that her current appearance was similar; this day carried no trace of upset. Not even Stan's absence bothered Eric, in fact, he felt fine.

Leaning toward Lynne, Eric kissed away the last vestiges of her tears. She offered her lips, and they necked for several minutes. Eric drew husky breaths as Lynne giggled. "Shall we head upstairs?" she asked.

"I think we should." Eric laughed quietly, going to his feet. Lynne checked that the door was locked, then they stepped from the kitchen, both confirming the French doors were also secure. Eric followed Lynne up the stairs, hearing only the gentle snores of their daughters and louder drones from the guest room. Eric closed the master bedroom door as Lynne headed to their bathroom. "Wait a minute honey," Eric said.

Lynne turned to face him. "What?"

Eric met her near the bathroom door. "I don't want you to...." He paused, wondering if he was actually considering another child. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled with a smile. "Don't use your diaphragm tonight."

"Are you sure?"

"I think I am," he chuckled. "I had the house enlarged for more than hosting Thanksgiving."

Lynne's lip trembled, tears again spilling down her face. "Oh Eric, oh my goodness...."

He interrupted her with ardent kisses, then pulled her against him. Her period was due soon, had that influenced his decision? Yet Eric couldn't ignore another yearning, and he didn't ponder exactly why he now felt so inclined as Lynne stroked his hips, further fueling an immense need for her coupled with the instinctive desire to add to their family. Half an hour later, lying flat on his back, all Eric realized was a familiar sated bliss, Lynne tight against his side.
Chapter 252

On the first night of Hanukkah, Laurie chose the Canfields' middle child to light the candle. Denise was shocked as Laurie made the announcement, but she quickly rose to her feet. A quiet girl who looked much like her mother, Denise often stood in Sally's shadow, but she smiled broadly as Laurie guided her through the ceremony. As two candles sparkled in the menorah, Denise's younger siblings crowded around her while Paul noted that Jews celebrate holidays after sundown, what Laurie had told him last year. The adults were stunned by Paul's memory, then Frannie asked if she could take a photo of the children gathered around the menorah. Several shots were taken, then Laurie handed out presents. The teens were gracious while little ones squealed with delight. Then Paul approached Laurie, a wrapped box in his hands. "Happy Hanukkah," Paul said, giving Laurie the gift. "We have something for you to take to Uncle Stanford too."

"Well, this sure is a surprise." Laurie chuckled as he opened the box, finding a dark blue tie. "Oh Paul, I love it!" Laurie held up the tie for all to see, then embraced Paul, who wore a wide smile. "I'll wear this the next time one of my clients has a gallery showing."

Jovial conversation followed as dessert was served. Klaudia had found the entire evening very entertaining, even remembering all the Canfield children's names. But most intriguing was the way Paul had offered Laurie his present, then remarked about one for Laurie's roommate. Stanford's name had come up occasionally on Thanksgiving, but clearly there was more to the men's relationship than merely sharing an apartment together.

She wouldn't inquire about it that night; instead she would wait to see what was revealed over the next few evenings spent with most of these people. While the Canfields wouldn't share another Hanukkah night here, Laurie had specifically mentioned that Klaudia and Marek were welcome for the remainder of her stay. She wasn't flying home until Thursday, and expected to be at the Snyders most of those evenings. The company was so pleasant, even that of the Canfield teenagers. Will and Jaime looked nothing like Klaudia's son, while Sally was busy watching the little girls. Jane, Helene, and Ann were a happy trio, much like Paul, Brad, and Johnny. Klaudia wondered where Cary would fit into these groups, then she gazed at Lynne, sitting on the sofa next to her husband. Perhaps Cary would be the ringleader if that couple had more children.

Then Klaudia trembled as Marek gripped her hand. "Are you having a good time?" he whispered in Polish.

She nodded, but still she shivered.

"Are you cold?" he asked.

Klaudia shook her head, then took a deep breath. Exhaling, she stared at Jane and Ann, Helene at their sides. The girls all shared their mothers' coloring, even if Ann wasn't Renee's biological daughter. Then Klaudia gazed at the boys; Brad and Johnny were brunettes like Louie, but Sam Ahern had so little hair, Klaudia couldn't compare Paul to a man clearly the boy's father. "I wonder if Sam's hair was the same color as Paul's," Klaudia murmured in Polish.

Marek chuckled. "According to Eric, it was. Sam even had a cowlick once upon a time."

Klaudia stared at Marek. "How would Eric know?"

"He saw a photo of Sam at Frannie's from when they were kids."

Klaudia nodded, then glanced at Laurie, who sat next to Lynne. "They could be mistaken for siblings," she said in Polish, subtly motioning toward the couch. "Not in looks, but...."

Marek squeezed her hand. "He was here last fall when Eric was away. My parishioners believe he's Lynne's older brother."

"I've gathered that." Then Klaudia cleared her throat. "And Stanford is his...." She paused, then smiled. "Partner?"

Marek nodded. "They've been together since right after the war."

Klaudia looked at Marek. "That long?"

"Indeed." Marek grinned briefly, then sighed. "But Stanford's having a hard time accepting Eric's injury, which isn't unexpected, but is unfortunate. I don't know when he'll next travel to Oregon."

Klaudia nodded, then observed Laurie; he was a handsome, witty man with impeccable manners, yet was as lighthearted as Eric. His choosing the Canfields' middle child to light that night's candle had been a surprise, but upon reflection, was the perfect decision. Initially Klaudia had found his unmarried status puzzling. But he wasn't single, although matrimony was out of the question, as was fatherhood. However he was a fabulous uncle, and not only to the Snyder girls. The Ahern and Canfield offspring all called him Uncle Laurie, and again Uncle Stanford was mentioned. Paul revealed that Stanford was receiving stationary, to which Laurie replied was the perfect present. "Expect him to use it in writing a thank you note," Laurie laughed. "And I might borrow a few sheets too."

"You don't have to write a note," Paul giggled. "You already told us thanks when you opened it."

"Well, I might steal a few pages, we'll see if Stan notices."

As Paul laughed, so did the adults nearby, who seemed aware of Laurie's orientation. Yet their mirth wasn't focused on him, more to do with the character of Laurie's partner, who to Klaudia seemed a boorish sort. While Eric's injury was awful, Stanford had been Eric's dealer. Klaudia snorted, then met Marek's considerate gaze. Folding her arms over her chest, Klaudia tapped her foot while Laurie and Paul continued to banter, Sam and Eric adding their voices. The words went over Klaudia's head, but the warm tones reminded her of events celebrated within the Jagucki household. Closing her eyes, Klaudia pictured Ania at her side, Marek and Dominik and their cousins nearby. Tears welled in Klaudia's eyes and she opened them, finding only Marek. He led her into the kitchen, where they began washing the supper dishes. As Marek dried the last plate, Fran entered the room. Klaudia bristled as Fran asked if she could help, but Marek chuckled. "I'll call for you next time. How are the children getting along?"

"Helene's exhausted, but the boys could play for hours. Just came to extend my pleasure upon meeting your guest." Fran then turned to Klaudia. "It's been lovely getting to know you, and I hope we'll have more time to chat when you visit next."

Klaudia nodded politely, then cleared her throat. "Yes, it's been a pleasure. You have a beautiful family."

Fran laughed. "They're something, all right. And on that note...." Fran kissed Klaudia's cheek, then did the same to Marek, who also requested a hug. Their embrace was lengthy, rearing slight jealousy within Klaudia, but it faded as Fran left the room to the sound of her offspring's tears. Maybe Helene, Klaudia wondered, or one of the younger boys.

After several minutes, the Canfields trooped into the kitchen, all giving Marek their best. Klaudia was also acknowledged, but she said little, busying herself at the sink. When the door closed, she breathed deeply, then chastised herself. The children were charming, but something about Fran irritated. Chalking it up to the woman's religious beliefs, Klaudia then stepped to Marek's side. He and the remaining adults spoke about tomorrow's menu, which Lynne said she would cover. Then Sam and Renee made their excuses, and soon only the Snyders and Laurie remained in the kitchen.

Laurie and Lynne took Jane and Cary upstairs as Marek collected his and Klaudia's coats. The men made small talk until Lynne and Laurie returned, then goodbyes were shared. Marek held Klaudia's hand as they walked to the car, a cold wind now blowing. They said little on the drive home, but Klaudia wanted to know more about Laurie and Stanford, although it wasn't any of her business. And strangely enough, she was curious about Fran Canfield. Renee was equally bound to her faith, but Klaudia liked her, and Sam too.

Arriving home, Klaudia headed to Marek's room, but he didn't follow, having gone into the chapel. He would spend perhaps half an hour there, but Klaudia didn't mind, requiring some space as well. Once he joined her, they wouldn't be separated until morning, and she giggled while putting on her pajamas, then getting into bed. Then she grew still, hearing only the wind gusting outside. Their day had begun with a church service, which she had attended with Lynne, Laurie, and the girls. Eric hadn't accompanied his family, and Klaudia wondered if that bothered Marek. He and Eric certainly seemed friendly enough, but perhaps Laurie's partner wasn't the only one having a difficult adjustment period.

When Marek returned, Klaudia was nearly asleep. She slipped out of her nightgown, rolling into his waiting embrace. Yet he seemed distracted, but Klaudia wasn't bothered, yawning loudly. "Shall we just go to sleep?" she said softly.

Marek chuckled. "Perhaps. I didn't realize how the time had flown. I didn't mean to wake you."

Klaudia nodded, then she sighed. "Why doesn't Eric come to church with his family?"

Marek started to speak, then paused. He stroked Klaudia's face, then lay on his back. "If I answer you now, we might begin a lengthy discussion. I can tell you my thoughts, or it can wait for the morning."

"Well, now I'm awake." Klaudia snuggled against Marek. "So why doesn't he?"

"He feels tremendous guilt for something that happened when he was missing. While he hasn't confided to me the exact nature of what occurred, I know him too well to suspect anything else."

Marek's tone was wary, sparking Klaudia's interest. "Do you mean in relation to how he was injured?" She knew that Eric had been shot, suffering amnesia in the process. "Or do you think...."

Her train of thought was interrupted by Marek's advances, and within minutes they were making love. Only afterwards did Klaudia realize he had purposely distracted her, but she was too drowsy and sated to ask again. She fell asleep wrapped in his arms, dreaming only of them as youngsters, exploring the forest together.

In the morning, Klaudia woke to an empty bed, but she could smell coffee waiting for her. She rose, used the toilet, then joined Marek in the kitchen. His smile was bright, as though last night nothing had been shared but passion. Klaudia grinned slyly, but she hadn't forgotten their conversation. They made small talk about that day's plans, then Marek cooked breakfast. Klaudia ate heartily, having a second cup of coffee. She hadn't smoked much since arriving last week, but after her last bite, she craved a cigarette. She stood, then excused herself, going back to Marek's room where she dressed warmly. As she headed toward the foyer, she called to Marek where she was going, but didn't say why, assuming he would figure it out. She giggled to herself, gripping her cigarettes and matches; she wanted to know more about Eric, but didn't wish to appear like that busybody Mrs. Harmon.

The air was brisk, but mild compared to weather in Oslo, yet Klaudia shivered as she walked to where Marek's car was parked. Cigarette butts littered the ground, probably from yesterday's service, she considered, lighting a smoke and taking a long drag. While that action felt necessary, Klaudia wondered for how much longer she would continue the practice. Sigrun had completely quit, even Harald had cut back, or at least when Harry visited his grandpa smoked less. Then Klaudia trembled; she had grown used to thinking in English, although she and Marek only spoke Polish to one another. Had it been all those Americans yesterday, she wondered. Could she live here, she then pondered, grimacing at herself as soon as the thought passed through her mind. Marek hadn't insinuated that notion, but he also hadn't mentioned traveling to Norway. Klaudia had another drag of the smoke, then glanced down both sides of the street. That meddlesome old woman wasn't around, but Klaudia felt she was being watched.

She gazed at the church steps, but Marek hadn't stepped out. Klaudia continued smoking, although the pleasure had faded. As she threw the mostly finished smoke on the ground, she gazed at the sidewalk five feet away. A large bird had landed, was pecking its right wing. Klaudia shivered, then smashed the butt with her foot. The hawk seemed to be staring at her when it wasn't poking at its wing.

How did she know it was a hawk, she wondered, then she scowled. Marek's story had been burned into her consciousness, but perhaps she would never forget it, akin to forever recalling the fates of his family. Tears flirted at the corners of her eyes, but she took deep breaths, willing them away. Still a few fell down her cheeks, and she wanted to light another smoke, but the bird kept staring at her, then pecked at its wing. Then it hopped in her direction, stopping two meters away.

Klaudia's heart pounded, then she giggled nervously. "What, are you going to lead me away from Marek?"

The bird seemed to shrug, which made Klaudia laugh out loud. "Go away," she said, motioning with her hand. "He's safe now, there's nothing...."

A loud screech halted her speech, then the hawk launched itself into the air. Klaudia covered her ears, crouching low to the ground, yet she gazed up, trying to spot the hawk. Immediately she stood, scurrying to the sidewalk, but in scanning the skies, she didn't see it anywhere. She remained there for over a minute, still peering about, then growing chilled, she snorted, turning back for the front steps. As she reached the main door, it opened, Marek's smile a welcome sight.

"I was just coming to look for you," he said as she stood back. Marek patted her shoulder. "Mrs. Harmon wasn't giving you a bad time, was she?"

Klaudia shook her head, then glanced to the street. "No, there was nobody here."

Marek nodded, then gripped her empty hand. "You're cold. Come, I'll pour you more coffee."

She followed him to the kitchen, wondering if that bird had been an illusion. She sat in her usual seat as Marek brought her some coffee. She gripped the mug, which was quite warm, but the heat was necessary. She sipped from it slowly, closing her eyes, trying to decide if the hawk had been real. Marek sat across from her, his eyes wide, as though he had something to say.

"I saw a bird out there, a hawk." Klaudia spoke as if it was a commonplace occurrence. Then she began to cry. Grasping her mug, she wished she had never gone out for that smoke. She would quit that day; nothing was worth such upset.

Marek had moved to her side, and she leaned against him, weeping hard. But what was so distressing about that bird? Maybe that a similar creature had saved Marek's life. She couldn't fathom being apart from him, even if separation was days away. If he asked her to move to Oregon, she would consent immediately, regardless of how weak she might appear. She needed him, she loved him. Nothing remained in Oslo to keep her from his side.

Once she could breathe smoothly, Marek gave her his handkerchief. Klaudia blew her nose, wiped her face, then sighed loudly. "You must think me mad," she said, then blew her nose once more. She chuckled, then drank her coffee. Taking one more deep breath, she smiled at Marek. "Forget I said anything about it. Now, you were going to tell me about Eric last night."

Marek stroked her face and Klaudia closed her eyes, reveling in his gentle touch. As she opened her eyes, his ashen coloring made her gasp. "Marek, what's wrong?"

He spoke softly, caressing her hand, but not meeting her gaze. His words were in Polish, but sounded so odd that Klaudia wondered if he was using another language, he knew so many. Was he speaking Spanish or Dutch perhaps, maybe Ukrainian? When he finished, Klaudia could merely stare at him. His woeful countenance was the only hint that what he'd uttered might possibly be believed.

She glanced around the room, feeling disconnected from a space that had moments ago seemed so welcoming she'd actually thought about relocating here. Yet Marek had again driven a wedge between them, and anger built within her veins. "Did you just tell me that Eric Snyder turns into a bird?" Her tone was incredulous, although she wasn't sure what was more cruel, the impossible notion or what lay behind it.

Marek nodded, then sighed. "I wasn't sure how to tell you, but I suppose this was the only way."

"What was the only way?" she stammered, trying to restrain her rising fury.

Marek cracked the hint of a smile. "The hawk you saw. I'd told Eric what I needed to share with you, although I had no idea how it would emerge. And while I know it sounds quite bizarre, it's the truth." Marek's smile then slipped away. "If we are going to forge something lasting, I don't want any secrets between us."

Until his last sentence, Klaudia had been prepared to slap his face. Suddenly she felt depleted, as when the institution had called with the news of her son's death. No matter how she tried to steel herself, some awful tragedy emerged. "You expect me to believe this, this...." She gritted her teeth, trying to will a spark of anger, yet great loneliness was all she knew. She shook her head, trying to halt the tears rolling down her face. "I don't understand you Marek. First you tell me there's no chance for us because of your God, and now this? What am I to you, a puppet to manipulate? Do you take some perverse pleasure out of, of...." Her heart was broken in more pieces than she had considered possible. She stood, but her legs trembled. Marek went to his feet, yet she hesitated going into his proffered embrace. But she finally did, if only to not fall onto the floor. Then she began to bawl, fueled not only by that terrible looming isolation, but that she had allowed this man to once again cause such pain.

Marek seemed to sense her displacement, for he crooned that he loved her, wishing only for her to understand. He then told her the true reason for Laurie's lover's absence, although like the rest, Marek assumed that Stanford had accepted some level of this phenomenon. "If Eric had come home unharmed," Marek said, "I don't know if Stanford would have believed it. But now that Eric's career is over, it's as if Stanford doesn't have to accept it. Perhaps that's easier for him, if not unduly unfortunate."

Klaudia pulled away from Marek, glaring at him. "Do you think by speaking that way I'm going to actually believe you?"

Again Marek flashed a grin. "All I can do it be honest. What you choose to believe is out of my hands."

She nearly slapped him, but instead she balled her hands into tight fists. Yet her whole body quivered, for one truth remained; Marek had never lied to her. His story about being led away from their village had seemed farfetched, but how else could he have survived? Yet, this with Eric was unworldly, impossible to prove, profane. "So am I supposed to confront Eric and Lynne with this, this...." Klaudia snorted, then crossed her arms over her chest. "This outrageous accusation. What am I supposed to do now?"

"The Aherns know, Laurie of course, although not the Canfields or Vivian Kramer. And the children have no idea." Marek sighed softly. "If you would prefer to skip this evening's gathering, I know they'll understand."

She nodded, then thrust her hands onto her hips. "What, are you going to tell them what you've told me?"

"As I said, Eric is aware that I was going to share this with you. I'd considered asking Laurie for advice, but there was never a good time to speak to him privately. Klaudia, there are moments in this life, in our existences, when we have to take things on faith. When you left in January, I had no idea what would happen next. And I'll admit I wasn't optimistic. Yet, when Brita called, I had to believe that bringing you here was for our mutual good. And you seem to have assumed the same, for here we are. And as impossible as that seemed at the time...."

Slowly he approached her, tenderly caressing her damp cheek. She wanted to move from his touch, but couldn't step away. Instead she closed her eyes as he kept speaking in a soft murmur that he loved her, didn't wish for anything to come between them. Klaudia nodded weakly, but again a rift had developed. Unlike before, she couldn't muster the necessary anger to flee from him. But as she acquiesced to his embrace, neither could she fully surrender to his devotion. The image of that hawk burned within her mind, making her question if she could ever wholly trust this man again.
Chapter 253

Paul lit the candles on the second night of Hanukkah, but Marek and Klaudia didn't participate. Lynne received a call from her pastor early the next morning, Marek explaining his and Klaudia's absence of the previous evening, and that he wasn't certain if they would be present that night either. Lynne assured him they understood, although she wasn't sure why Marek had felt so inclined to reveal Eric's transformations. She said nothing about that over the phone, merely noting they hoped to see them that evening. When she closed the call, Eric and Laurie were staring at her, but Jane's presence at the table precluded Lynne from sharing her thoughts. She sat beside her husband, sipped her coffee, then spoke. "I suppose we'll have to wait till tonight to see what happens."

"To be honest, I'm glad she knows." Eric then smiled slyly. "God, I can't believe I actually said that."

Laurie nodded, then chuckled, which turned into laughter. Eric joined him, even Lynne giggled. Jane gazed quizzically at the adults, then began laughing, Cary adding her chortles. Once the mirth had subsided, Eric cleared his throat, then squeezed his wife's hand. "When he told me he needed to tell her, I thought he was kidding." Eric sighed, releasing Lynne's hand. He stared at Laurie, who nodded, then Eric stood from his seat, gripping his right arm. He remained near Lynne, who held Cary on her lap. Releasing his crippled limb, Eric then stroked his wife's shoulder. "If she can take it half as well as Stan did...." Eric paused, then shook his head. "I'm sorry Laurie. It's just that...."

"No, I mean...." Laurie shrugged. "Suppose we'll find out if they show up tonight. I don't think he'd come without her."

"It didn't sound that way." Lynne kissed Cary's head, then leaned back in her chair, thankful for Eric's touch as well as his honesty. "I wanna think he was hopeful they would join us but...."

Jane caught her mother's eye, halting Lynne's speech. "Regardless of who's here, I best get some pies started. But first...." Lynne smiled at her eldest, who nodded with enthusiasm. Standing from her chair, Lynne embraced her husband, but didn't hand Cary to him. Instead she gave the baby to Laurie, then led Eric from the room.

Lynne walked to the sunroom's French doors, then grasped both of Eric's hands. She trembled, both from Marek's wistful tone and a similar look in Eric's eyes. Tears then trickled down Lynne's face and gently Eric kissed them away.

Great love beat within Lynne's chest, the other sound she had heard in Marek's voice, but while his emotions were tempered by Klaudia's disbelief, no doubt hovered in Lynne's mind concerning Eric's change of heart about adding to their family. Eric stroked her damp cheek, then smiled. "Should I call him back?"

"If you like, but even if you told her yourself, I don't think she'd automatically believe you." Lynne smiled, kissed her husband, then grasped his hands again. "When you told me he was gonna do this, I, well...." She still wasn't certain about the purpose, and explained that to her husband. Then Lynne prayed inwardly for her pastor and his beloved, squeezing Eric's hands as she did so. Eric flinched slightly and Lynne met his gaze. "Oh honey I'm sorry, I was just...."

"Praying for them," he said. "They need it."

"Don't we all."

Eric nodded, glanced at the floor, then turned around as Jane's voice rang through the house. She ran toward them, Laurie toting Cary right behind Jane.

"Mama, you gonna make pie?" Jane said, reaching her parents. To Lynne's surprise, Eric squatted down, embracing Jane with his left arm. Jane snuggled against her father, but Eric didn't try to lift her. Lynne then knelt beside them, brushing aside tears that now tumbled down Eric's face. Laurie remained on his feet, crooning to Cary, as Eric expended a brief sorrow. Lynne didn't think it was related to their pastor, nor was in regards to adding to their family. Maybe it was just that like Stanford, now Klaudia's view of him would be altered. As Lynne gazed at Laurie, the same notion stood stark in his eyes. Yet, if Klaudia distanced herself from them, Marek would be the most affected.

The Aherns arrived that evening, yet only Sam and Renee realized what Klaudia now knew. Paul and Ann had asked if Uncle Marek was coming to light candles, but Paul had also included Klaudia, mentioning her only to his father. As Ann began to play with Jane, Paul moped in the living room, where Laurie found him. They chatted about Paul's day at school, and by suppertime, Paul's mood had lifted. The adults, however, found it hard to make more than trivial conversation. Then Jane asked where her auntie was, Uncle Marek too. Paul met his father's eyes, but Sam merely said maybe that duo would join them on Wednesday.

None of the children were aware that would be Klaudia's last evening in Oregon, then Paul asked Laurie when he was going home. "Next Monday," Laurie smiled. "You're stuck with me till then."

"I wish you didn't hafta go," Paul sighed, picking at his plate. He set down his fork, then looked at his mother. "Can I be excused?"

Renee nodded, although Paul hadn't finished his meal. The boy scrambled from his seat, but right as he reached the doorway, he turned back. "Thanks for supper Aunt Lynne."

Before Lynne could answer, Paul sprinted from the kitchen. Sam stood, going after him, as Ann asked if her brother was okay. Renee soothed Ann, but a pall hung over the rest. Only Jane finished her supper, then Laurie made conversation with Ann, but the child was clearly distracted. Sam and Paul hadn't returned, then Ann leaned toward her mother, Renee taking the girl from her chair and cuddling her on her lap. Jane requested the same, but she was seated near Laurie. As Ann whimpered, Jane mimicked those sounds. Lynne rolled her eyes, as did Renee, making Laurie chuckle. Cary imitated her uncle, stirring Eric's smile, and within a few minutes, sounds in the kitchen were of a joyful nature.

As the laughter died down, a knock was heard at the kitchen door. "Come in," Eric called.

Marek and Klaudia stepped through the doorway and Jane began clapping her hands. Ann scooted from her mother's lap, calling for her brother as Laurie stood, warmly shaking hands first with Marek, then Klaudia. Greetings were exchanged, hugs too, although Klaudia refrained from embraces. Then Sam and Paul reentered the kitchen and Paul ran toward Marek. "Oh I'm so glad you're here!"

The little boy hugged Marek's legs, then was lifted into a pastor's embrace. "I am too Paul. Happy Hanukkah."

Soft laughter filled the room, for Marek's happy tone was genuine. Paul was set to his feet, as Marek turned to those still at the table. "Sorry we are late. I hope we didn't miss anything."

"You're just in time," Eric said. "There's plenty left if you're hungry."

Marek shook his head. "We've already eaten, although I did save room for dessert."

"You're a smart man," Laurie said. "But first we have some candles to light." He glanced at Paul as he spoke, and the boy vigorously nodded.

"Let me have your coats." Lynne stood, then approached her pastor. Marek removed his jacket, giving it to Lynne. Slowly Klaudia did the same, but she wouldn't make eye contact with her hostess. Lynne took the jackets into the dining room, placing them over unused chairs. She smiled at herself; if Marek and Klaudia had joined them for supper, the meal would have been shared at the large table. Only coats graced these seats, but soon everyone would be gathered in here to light the menorah.

She returned to the kitchen finding Marek seated next to Eric, Klaudia on the other end of the kitchen table beside Renee. Jane was in Klaudia's grasp, Ann on her mother's lap, while Paul and Cary were held by Marek and Eric respectively. Lynne caught Laurie's eyes, and found similar thoughts; Paul might have warmed to Eric, but the absence of others upset the youngster. Lynne didn't think it was for Paul's benefit that Marek and Klaudia had decided to join them, however Lynne wasn't certain what had prompted their attendance.

Marek didn't offer a reason, making small talk with Paul while Jane spoke Polish to Klaudia. Ann tried to copy Jane's words, but she gave up, instead snuggling against her mother. Ann too seemed to have been affected, but not to the same degree as her brother. Jane was blissfully unaware of any distress, over which Lynne was relieved. Then a mother smiled, as in Polish Jane requested dessert. Klaudia giggled, then cleared her throat, finally meeting Lynne's gaze. But Klaudia didn't speak, as if to do so would acknowledge a truth that was clearly outside of Klaudia's boundaries. Lynne inhaled deeply, then nodded at the woman, but not in accordance with Jane's wishes. Klaudia's eyes grew wide, then tears hovered. She kissed Jane's head, then turned to her other side, where Laurie was seated. She handed Jane to that uncle, then stood from the table, hesitating only for seconds before she left the room, passing by Lynne as she did so.

In the sunroom, Klaudia composed herself, wondering for how long could she actually stay among these people. If it was only the children, then Klaudia winced. Previously the youngsters had caused her difficulty, and she gripped herself, staring into a dark night. She hadn't spoken much to Marek since Monday morning, although they had made love, but their intimacy was colored by.... She huffed, wishing for a smoke. She would fly home in two days and for the first time since her initial visit, she merely wanted to be far from.... Tears finally tumbled down her cheeks, in part from loneliness, also anger. She loved Marek, but what was he trying to do to her?

Did he want to break her, if not to turn her to his God, then to accept what was blatantly.... Klaudia wiped her face, then heard footsteps. She wanted to shoo away whoever felt the need to check on her, but the overwhelming sense of isolation no longer comforted. She needed people, and to her great shock, it was this assortment of Americans who best suited her. Then she grimaced. If it was Marek, she might send him back to the kitchen.

"We'll be lighting the candles soon." Lynne spoke softly and Klaudia nodded, then turned to face a woman who now again confounded. At first, Klaudia had thought Eric's wife a fool. Then she became nearly a martyr. But a smile shone, one that Klaudia didn't recognize. It wasn't patronizing, nor was it innocent. A shiver traveled along Klaudia's spine; Marek's words were madness, but this woman seemed to think otherwise.

"I didn't know why Marek felt so inclined to speak with you," Lynne said. "And I can't say I'm any more informed, but I want you to know I completely understand what you're feeling. It's as if...." Lynne paused, then stepped toward Klaudia. "The most precious gift suddenly has the biggest string attached and there's no way to recover it, no possible manner in the world." Lynne paused again, then reached for Klaudia's hands, squeezing them tenderly. "Perhaps it's similar to what happened after your son was born. There was no way to change that, and I can only imagine the pain you suffered. When Eric told me, it was awful. I loved him so much and it seemed all he wanted to do was drive me away."

Tears fell down Lynne's face, but Klaudia held hers back, although she sniffled, her heart aching as it had when Sigrun took the call from the institution. Yet Klaudia didn't wrench her hands from Lynne's, that gentle touch attempting to ease this preposterous notion into Klaudia's brain. Gunnar's actions had torn Klaudia to pieces, but Lynne's motives, while equally bizarre, proffered a purpose Klaudia couldn't reckon. Or at least there seemed no basis for her.... Then Klaudia gasped, as Lynne continued. "Please don't blame Marek, because once Eric told me, even though I had yet to see it happen, a part of him was freed. Even if I'd left him, he'd been able to share that, and for those few days, even though I thought he was crazy, there was something different within him, not that that alone would've convinced me." Now Lynne chuckled. "I had to see it with my own eyes, but just in sharing that part of himself...." Lynne's tone had turned wistful, and she wiped her face. "We're trying for another baby, which might sound outlandish what with Eric's limitations, but I'm not getting any younger and...." Again Lynne wept, but these were happier tears. "At first he was fine with it, then he hesitated. But we'll see what happens. He came home and if we only have our girls, those are blessings aplenty."

Klaudia nodded, gripping Lynne's hands as if only those last sentiments had been broached. Yet more swirled within Klaudia's brain, not the least of which was how close she felt to this woman. It was as if Ania stood in Lynne's place, assuring Klaudia that nothing was her fault, that all who had perished in the Jagucki barn were indeed safe and well. Then Klaudia began to tremble, and she collapsed in Lynne's embrace, weeping hard. How could any of this be possible, the notion of forgiveness as absurd as what Lynne seemed to be stating concerning Eric. Klaudia shook her head, all of it beyond her comprehension. But in Lynne's strong grasp, a link was formed, one that Klaudia couldn't sever. As Marek joined them, speaking in Polish, Klaudia nodded, although she still didn't believe him. But Lynne's confession seemed plausible, if only that as a mother she understood Klaudia's pain. Accepting that bond, Klaudia then went into Marek's embrace, but she gazed at Lynne, mouthing thank you in English, tears streaming down both of their faces.
Chapter 254

On Sunday night, Marek lit the last of the Hanukkah candles, then he chanted in Hebrew, not that it was one of the languages he spoke. Laurie had asked Marek specifically to recite a part of Psalm 100, and to Laurie's surprise, Marek chose to share those verses in a tongue that didn't sound awkward rolling from his lips. Later he joked that Scandinavian dialects were beyond his comprehension, but only the adults garnered his true meaning. Klaudia had left on a relatively peaceful note, but Marek wasn't certain of their future.

Laurie's impending departure now took precedence, and as the Ahern family prepared to leave, teary embraces were shared between Laurie, Paul, and Ann. Laurie promised to return soon, although no date was mentioned, nor was Stanford's name broached. Sam and Renee had noticed that after Klaudia left, their children didn't speak about Laurie's roommate, how they had described Stanford earlier during Laurie's visit. Renee knew her children hadn't forgotten Stanford, but their hearts were still tender when considering the absences of those they loved. Only days before they had showered Klaudia with kisses and hugs, and now did the same with Uncle Laurie. Then Paul cleared his throat, blinking away tears. "You'll make sure to give Uncle Stanford our present, right?"

Laurie nodded, wiping streaks from his face. "He'll open it right when I get home. It'll be like an early Christmas gift."

Paul smiled while Ann clapped her hands. Renee collected her daughter, smoothing back Ann's tresses, then receiving a strong hug. Ann nestled against Renee's shoulder as Sam picked up Paul, who also sought reassurance. But as the family headed out of the kitchen, Paul asked to be put down. He grasped Laurie's hand, who had offered to walk them to the gate. Renee gave thanks for her son's peace of mind, crooning to Ann that she was loved.

When Laurie returned to the house, Marek was seated at the table with all four Snyders; Cary was almost asleep in Lynne's grasp, while Jane slumped against her father. Laurie sat beside Eric, and immediately Jane leaned toward him. Now it seemed she realized what the Ahern youngsters knew, and she whimpered slightly as Laurie embraced her. A searing ache burned in his chest; he greatly missed Stan, but this was his family too, and there were more of them. He smiled, although the pain persisted. "Gonna be damn hard leaving in the morning. Stan better appreciate me when I get home."

He laughed softly, but Jane clung to him more tightly. Laurie closed his eyes, wishing Stan was there now, just to know how difficult would be Laurie's departure. Stan would feel equally torn, even if currently he was lying through his teeth. They had spoken over the phone briefly that morning, Stan wanting to confirm Laurie's flights. Laurie knew that man far too well to miss the wistfulness in Stanford's tone, not for pie or witty conversation, but familial camaraderie that oozed from every corner of this house. Laurie felt it in similar measures at Sam and Renee's, at St. Matthew's too. He wondered if Klaudia recognized it, but like Stan, if she had, she'd probably ignored it. Then Laurie chuckled. "God, can you imagine if Stan had come with me? He and Klaudia would have hightailed it right out together."

For a second, Laurie regretted his words. Then Marek laughed soundly, followed by Eric and Lynne. Cary joined them, then Jane began to giggle. Laurie met Marek's gaze, and in his gentle nod, he saw no offense had been taken. In fact, Laurie wondered if Marek felt the same. At least Klaudia would have had someone with whom to commiserate.

Yet she had been gracious when Laurie wished her farewell, even allowing him to embrace her. She knew the truth about his relationship with Stan, but that seemed completely permissible when compared with an otherworldly notion. Her awareness seemed to have little bearing on Eric and Lynne, but had mattered greatly to Marek, and Laurie sighed. At least Marek had been able to talk about it with the person he loved.

Lynne had also spoken to Klaudia on that subject, and maybe that was what Stan needed, an honest conversation with the one woman Stan loved. Laurie inwardly chuckled, discounting Agatha in this situation. Stan required time with a sister of sorts, but Laurie wouldn't ask Lynne to telephone Stan. She had taken the initiative with Klaudia, but for this, Stanford had to make the first move.

"Well, I should be getting home." Marek stood, then stretched. "It was such a lovely evening and Laurie, as usual your presence lights all hearts."

Laurie also stood, Jane still in his grasp. They walked toward Marek, who then took Jane from Laurie's arms. She snuggled against her pastor, speaking in Polish, but the rest understood her words, concerning pie and caramel slices. Gentle laughter was stirred as Marek kissed her forehead, then gave her back to Laurie. Lynne was also on her feet, and Marek caressed Cary's head, then went for his jacket.

When he returned to the kitchen, pie waited in a tin, but Jane now sat with her father. Laurie would walk Marek out, not that Laurie had any more to say about Klaudia or Stan. Marek waved to the Snyders, then took his leave, Laurie behind him.

The night was cool, but Laurie didn't mind not having put on his coat; weather in New York would be much colder. Stars shone, and he glanced at the dark sky, then back to Marek. They reached the gate, then Marek paused. "It truly has been wonderful seeing you again. Klaudia greatly enjoyed your company."

"As I did hers." Laurie smiled, then rubbed his upper arms as a brisk wind arose. "Not sure when I'll see you folks again, well, summer certainly." Seth's impending visit to America had been briefly discussed over supper, and Laurie smiled. "But maybe not till then."

"Whenever we meet will be a blessing." Marek embraced Laurie with his free arm. As they pulled away, Marek sighed. Laurie nearly questioned it, but Marek then chuckled, gripping the pie tin. He waved at Laurie, then slipped through the gate.

Laurie quickly returned to the house, finding only Eric in the kitchen. "Lynne took the girls up for a bath," Eric said. "Jane spilled milk all over herself right after you and Marek headed out."

"Does she need a hand?" Laurie said.

Eric shook his head. "Told me to tell you to stay put, although Jane will want some bedtime stories read."

Laurie nodded, retaking his seat. Again his heart ached, yet this wasn't his home. Work waited in Manhattan, he'd promised to spend New Year's in Brooklyn.... He sighed, then smiled. "I really hate thinking about leaving tomorrow."

Eric drummed his left fingers along the table. "We're not exactly thrilled you're going."

A moment of silence passed. Then Laurie cleared his throat. "I told Marek I'd be here in summer when Seth and Adrienne visit. I hope I'm here before then, we'll just see how the year progresses."

Eric nodded. "Any idea of how long they're thinking of being in the States?"

"Several weeks, or at least that's what Mom says." Laurie spoke of the couple's planned itinerary; time in Brooklyn would be followed by trips to Texas and Oregon. "But I suppose Seth needs to confirm those dates with you and Walt."

Eric sighed softly, then met Laurie's gaze. "I bet you're excited to see them again."

"I am. She's a lovely young woman, reminds me a little of Renee."

"I'm so glad he found someone," Eric smiled.

"Me too."

Laurie would have extrapolated further, but youngsters' voices could be discerned. Then Lynne and her daughters entered the kitchen, both girls dressed for bed. Jane went to Laurie as Lynne set Cary in her father's grasp. "You read me a story?" Jane asked her uncle, and Laurie nodded, kissing her damp head.

He stood, toting Jane to the living room, as Lynne made Cary a bottle, leaving it on the counter. Lynne approached her husband and baby, Cary settled against Eric's left arm. "I'll feed her, then...."

"See if she'll hold it herself. I know she's tired, but maybe she can do it."

Lynne nodded, the first time Eric had asked to perform this task. Cary was capable of holding her bottle, but in the evenings Lynne took this chore upon herself. She retrieved the bottle, gave it to Cary, who grasped it with both hands, then tipped it back, sucking greedily. Cary used a sippy cup during the day, but a bottle remained part of the bedtime routine.

Eric spoke softly to the baby while Lynne went to check on those in the other room. By the time she returned, Cary was nearly asleep, the bottle leaning against Eric's leg. Lynne took it from him, then collected the baby, gently burping her. Cary released one small belch, then sagged over her mother's shoulder. Eric stood, stroking the baby's hair, which was now dry from her bath. He smiled at his wife, then kissed Lynne's cheek. No words were spoken, but tears spilled down Lynne's face, yet not over the guest who would be leaving tomorrow. Eric nodded, for while Lynne had gotten her period, the desire to add to their family still beat within Eric's heart. Regardless of when Laurie next visited, perhaps another Snyder would be on the way.

In the morning, Sam joined the Snyders for breakfast, which was pie for everyone but Cary. Even Jane had a sliver, then she cried as Laurie prepared to leave. Laurie wept too, but he laughed, for Jane also requested more pie. As Laurie stepped from the house, even Cary was chuckling.

Sam had offered to take Laurie to the airport shortly after the New Yorker's arrival, and as they headed that way, Sam wondered where the last two weeks had gone. Anticipating both Laurie's visit as well as Klaudia's, now Christmas loomed, for which Sam was excited, yet that holiday seemed somewhat dimmed compared to the activities of Hanukkah. Sam mentioned that to Laurie, who laughed. "Don't tell your priest. You might be excommunicated."

"I might not even tell Renee." Sam chuckled, thinking about the conversation shared with his wife and children before he left that morning. All Paul and Ann could speak about was Santa Claus. Sam sighed softly, grateful that his kids were learning about more than a man in a red suit. Yet would they be confused later? He shook his head, then glanced at Laurie, who also looked deep in thought. Sam nearly questioned him, then remained quiet. If Laurie was pondering Stanford, Sam didn't want to appear nosy.

Then Laurie sighed. "Wish I could split myself in half. You know, maybe I should look for a little house out here. Although then I wouldn't be able to enjoy pie for breakfast." Laurie chuckled. "It's just that New York is so damned cold this time of year and...."

Laurie sighed again, staring out his window. Sam longed to say that he would love Laurie to have a place in Roseburg, for he felt this man was like another of his brothers. Yet Sam didn't want to cause Laurie further distress. Sam cleared his throat, then spoke. "Wish you had a place here too. Frannie often tells me how much she likes your jokes. Says they're much better than Louie's."

A moment of silence passed, prickling the hairs on Sam's neck. Inwardly he berated himself, yet it was true. Fran had called Sam over the weekend, asking him to again thank Laurie for including them in Hanukkah, especially allowing Denise to light the first candle. That girl was still talking about it, Fran had laughed, as well as wondering if they would celebrate that holiday next year.

Laurie faced the windshield, then folded his hands in his lap. "Frannie is one of the dearest women I have ever known. I love my sisters to pieces, but there's just something about everyone out here." Laurie sighed again, then chuckled. "I've always heard us East Coasters are an uptight bunch, or maybe it's just that you all are special." Then Laurie laughed out loud. "Well, you are special, living with a miracle in your midst."

Sam glanced at Laurie. "You know, I don't think of it like that."

"I do. Every time I get a letter from Seth, I thank God for Eric. It's not entirely fair now, but it's the truth."

Sam nodded, but didn't speak. From the moment he learned about Eric's transformations, a negative undertone had been attached, and that was a mild way to put it. He still recalled dripping water on Lynne's kitchen floor, seething with anger at what had to be the most heinous lie. The memories of Eric changing back into a man remained strong within Sam's mind, as well as the thrilling joy of running toward Eric as he limped down the Snyders' lane. But the hawk that Laurie had seen in Miami wasn't at all what Sam knew, and yes, Laurie was right. Eric had saved Seth's life, even if it had cost him greatly. Sam gripped the steering wheel, then relaxed his hands. "I look forward to meeting your cousin this summer. When you know the dates, be sure to tell us."

"I'll do that," Laurie smiled. "And expect Stan to join us. He skipped out on this visit, but I'll be damned if I'm coming without him next time."

Sam nodded, then blushed, as Laurie chuckled. Then Sam laughed, picturing Laurie dragging Stanford onto a plane. It might take brute force, but it wouldn't merely be for Stanford's benefit. Sam thought of Eric, as well as Sam's own son. As strange as Eric's alter ego were the relationships formed due to that oddity. Sam sighed, then laughed, as Laurie described the bribes necessary to get Stanford to fly west and they were still laughing as Sam reached the airport. He parked the car, then helped Laurie retrieved his suitcases from the trunk. Sam hugged Laurie tightly, then Laurie grasped his cases and Sam cleared his throat. "Hope we see you before summer."

"Maybe at Easter. You know me, always up for a good Christian holiday."

Sam nodded, then laughed, as Laurie waved, heading into the terminal.
Chapter 255

On Saturday, the ninth of January, Lynne and Eric threw Cary a birthday party. She didn't actually turn a year old until Tuesday, upon which date a smaller group gathered at the Snyders, sharing supper and warm memories. Eric's were included; he had spoken to Walt earlier that day, happy to hear the twins were finally sleeping through the night. Eric didn't mention that he and Lynne were attempting to add to their family, but in celebrating Cary's special day, he couldn't deny an anticipatory thrill. A year on, Eric felt those initial missed weeks had been fully accrued.

Other issues were still in limbo; Lynne had started her period over the weekend, but that hadn't dampened her mood. Eric had attended St. Matthew's Christmas Eve service, yet he'd refrained from escorting his wife and daughters to church on Sundays. He still met weekly with Marek at St. Matthew's where they discussed current events in addition to the latest news from Oslo. Marek had invited Klaudia to spend her summer vacation in America, specifically over the Fourth of July holiday. Seth and Adrienne were flying to Oregon for that event, which was on the calendars of all those in Roseburg as well as some of Sam's relatives. Laurie's travel plans were also booked; he would accompany the Gordons west, but return to New York while Seth and his wife headed to Texas.

Eric didn't consider the reunion between former platoon mates, although he and Lynne had chuckled about Dora and Adrienne's possible conversations. According to Laurie, Seth's wife wasn't overly chatty, but then neither was Walt's spouse. Yet Lynne looked forward to meeting Seth and Adrienne, mentioning that she hoped for Stanford's presence too. Unspoken were her wishes to be pregnant by then, yet Eric knew her thoughts, in how she praised Cary for being such a big girl as their youngest toddled slowly about the living room. Jane loved having a bipedal sibling, holding her sister's small hand, leading her around the main level of the house. Cary permitted Jane's assistance for a time, then she would drop to all fours, crawling away, only to stand on her own, again taking hesitant steps. She was definitely left-handed, blonde hair just reaching her jaw. When Eric studied her face, he saw a strong likeness between Cary and her sister, then wondered who a third child might resemble.

That he wanted another baby occasionally surprised him for how firmly had he convinced himself otherwise last year. But Eric wasn't sure how practical was such a decision. Lynne never spoke about wanting a housekeeper, although Sally now came over every other Saturday to watch the children, usually bringing Helene with her. Sally had her driver's license, would graduate from high school that June, and the Snyders paid her a fair wage. Helene was nearly five, but played with Jane as if no age gap existed. Yet there was a difference between those girls, which privately Lynne remarked upon as if confirming Eric's approval in adding to their family. He would nod to her comments, then if time allowed, make love to her leaving no doubt to his desires. Yet when she took their daughters to church, either at St. Matthew's or for daily mass at St. Anne's, Eric couldn't help but ponder his inability to join them. Another baby seemed promising, but partaking of the Eucharist was not.

The week after Cary turned one, Lyndon Johnson was sworn in for his first full term as president. Eric and his pastor shared lunch that day, Father Markham joining them, witty conversation a pleasant contrast to rainy weather. Father Markham didn't stay long, mentioning various homebound parishioners in need of communion. Eric flinched slightly, but the priest didn't notice, warmly shaking Eric's left hand. Marek walked his guest to the foyer, and in the solitude, Eric stood from the table, gazing at the painting near the sink. Four children still surrounded the afterimage, which on that day looked exactly like the painter's wife.

Then Eric shuddered; he no longer thought of himself as an artist, yet there was Lynne, created by his own right hand. He stared at that appendage, dangling loosely at his side. Fingers were curled, the limb itself looked shrunken. Eric tried to move it, but only felt twinges along his sloped shoulder, shooting through his arm as far as his elbow. Yet the pain wasn't as agonizing as previously. He wondered if perhaps he was merely used to it, or was it being within this building, even if only the kitchen. Or, he sighed, was it the depiction of his wife surrounded by offspring.

Eric pondered those notions, then realized Marek hadn't returned. Moving to the window, Eric watched rain pounding the pavement. He scanned the street, but didn't see Jeremy Markham's vehicle, only his own. There was no sign of Marek, but the view was limited. Eric walked to the foyer, then peered into the sanctuary, but Marek wasn't anywhere to be seen.

Loitering in the entryway, Eric gazed at the bulletin board, notices for myriad activities posted. He spotted his last name, then stepped closer, finding Lynne had signed up to do the readings for that coming Sunday. She hadn't mentioned it to him, but they never spoke about her attendance here or at St. Anne's. Eric wondered who would look after Jane and Cary while Lynne stood at the podium. Maybe she had become friendly with fellow parishioners, and one of them would hold Cary, keeping Jane occupied.

Suddenly the front doors opened, Marek stepping into the foyer. "My goodness but it's wet out." He laughed, shaking off rain. "Please forgive me, but I best go change clothes."

"Something wrong with Father Markham's car?" Eric asked.

"Oh no, it was just...." Marek paused, then smiled. "I'll change, then we'll chat."

Eric nodded as Marek headed down the corridor. Yet Eric didn't go directly back to the kitchen. He gazed at his wife's handwriting, finding she had signed up for other Sundays too, once each month throughout the rest of the year. Had she been doing the readings previously, he wondered. He would ask Marek when they resumed their conversation.

Ten minutes later both men were again seated at the kitchen table, tea brewing in a pot on the counter. Marek's hair was still damp, but he smiled, getting out a plate of cookies as well as slices of pie Eric had brought. "I should have offered Jeremy's to him before he left," Marek chuckled. "But alas I will have to eat it myself."

"If I'd known he was joining us, Lynne would have made a whole pie," Eric smiled.

"Well, if I don't get to it tonight, I'll leave it for Mrs. Kenny tomorrow." Marek brought cups of tea to the table. "It's a good day for a cuppa," he then said, taking his seat. "I never imagined again living where it rains as much as London. But summers here are much nicer."

"I imagine they are. So, what kept you out in the rain?" Eric was curious about that, but more he wanted to inquire for how long Lynne had been actively participating in church services. As Marek spoke, Eric didn't consider his answer, picturing his wife behind the lectern, reading various Old and New Testament passages as well as verses from the Psalms. Had she read from Psalm 100? Laurie had again mentioned how meaningful it was, and Eric could still recall piecing together fragments from it. His existence as a hawk might never be repeated, but it dwelled so deeply within him. Even there in St. Matthew's kitchen Eric could easily imagine he was outside Seth's room at the hospital, standing in the rain. A much warmer rain than what currently fell outside, but just as wet and....

Ominous silence took Eric from that memory, then he glanced at the man seated across from him. Marek's smile was small, but not without meaning, yet Eric hadn't been paying attention to anything his pastor had just said. "Oh, I'm sorry," Eric said. "I was thinking about...." He sighed, then shook his head. "God, you must think I'm completely rude."

"Not at all. What were you contemplating?"

Eric didn't wish to share those memories, but he smiled warmly. "Your command of English is so good. It was one of the things I noticed when I met you, I even told Lynne about it afterwards."

That recollection took Eric back to that day, nearly three years before. Lynne was nearly due with their first child and all Eric wished was for her to find this pastor likeable. Well, he was eager for their baby's birth, but when he'd left this kitchen, Eric's main thought was for Lynne to feel as welcome here as he had.

Now their positions were reversed, although a baby was again on their minds. Eric didn't consider all that had happened within those three years; he was solely concerned with that day in 1962, meeting this man, then feeling strongly drawn to learn more about the Lutheran faith. Tears welled in Eric's eyes, how simple his life had been then.

"Are you all right?" Marek asked gently.

"Yeah, just thinking about when I first came here, right before Jane was born."

Marek smiled, sipped his tea, then set the cup back on the table. "I often ponder that day, so auspicious for us both."

"Yeah, it was."

"And now nearly three years have passed, which seems odd for all we have learned, as well as how quickly the time has sped." Marek chuckled, took another drink of his tea, but kept the mug in his grasp. "May I repeat what I was saying earlier?"

"Of course," Eric sighed. "I feel terrible for having ignored you."

"I took no offense. Actually, I wasn't surprised." Marek took another sip of tea, then placed his mug on the table. "I spotted a hawk right after Jeremy drove away. It landed near my car, and I needed to...." Marek laughed. "Hear what it had to say. Perhaps hear isn't the appropriate word, but I think you get my meaning."

Eric stared at his friend, then gazed at his cup, steam rising from the mug. He then looked at Marek, that small smile still affixed. "Did you say a hawk?"

"Yes. He's been visiting me since last autumn, not the one I knew from home, mind you." Marek sipped his tea, then chuckled. "While I didn't mention it before, it was that hawk which informed me I needed to share your past with Klaudia. Today's revelations weren't as earth shattering, although," Marek then sighed, "for having to stand in the rain, you might expect more of a message to have been shared."

Eric nodded, but felt chilled. Reaching for his mug, his left hand trembled. Instead he inhaled, then stood, gripping his lame arm. He glanced around the room, wondering if this was how it had appeared on that initial visit, then he stared at the painting of Jane and Marek. Purposefully he studied their faces, not wanting to see Lynne standing between them. But he couldn't keep his eyes from that figure, and to his shock, it had changed; now she stood in profile, visibly pregnant.

He blinked, then again stared at the canvas. The children were hazy; no longer could he accurately tell how many accompanied their mother. Eric's heart beat hard, unusual thoughts swirling in his head. He turned back to face his.... Was Marek still his pastor? Eric didn't regularly attend this church, other than weekly lunches. And what about this talk of a hawk? "So you stood out in the pouring rain talking to a hawk." As he spoke, Eric couldn't help but smile. "Does Klaudia know about it?"

"She saw one herself and that was how I told her about you." Marek sighed softly. "And now I'm telling you about it. It's been keeping an eye on you, but you don't seem to see it."

Eric shivered, then retook his seat, grasping his cup of tea. He didn't drink from it, merely needing to feel the warmth. "I haven't seen any birds of prey."

"I realize that. But as I said, it's been watching you."

Eric finally sipped his tea, then placed the cup back on the table. "Any idea why?"

"I have several, but none are for my benefit, well, not now that I've told Klaudia the truth." Marek's tone had been flat, then he chuckled. "Goodness only knows if she'll ever believe me. But at least I don't have to keep it to myself any longer."

"Or that you've been chatting with a hawk," Eric muttered. Then he sighed. "I'm sorry, it's just that...." He hesitated, not merely from this news. "I saw Lynne's signed up doing the readings on Sundays." He wanted to turn around, wishing to know if her image in the painting was again changed. Instead he gazed at the window, rain still falling. "She never mentioned it."

"She did one during Advent. During lunch afterwards, Laurie mentioned she had lovely speaking voice, and I'm always looking for volunteers."

"I had no idea." Eric grasped his mug. "It's my own fault, I suppose."

"All these things take their course. Just like telling Klaudia about you, Seth's road to recovery as well." Marek smiled. "I so hope Klaudia will join us this summer. I'm greatly anticipating meeting Laurie's cousin."

Eric nodded, then stared at Marek. "I wanna come back here, it's just...." A confession sat on the tip of Eric's tongue, yet he couldn't forget what had happened nearly one year ago. His youngest daughter had been born, then he'd....

"When the time is right, I have no qualms that you'll rejoin Lynne and the girls here. I pray for you daily my friend. Of that, rest assured."

Eric stared at his mug on the table. Then he turned around, finding the image of Lynne unchanged. Bile crawled up his throat, yet as he took a sip of tea, he was able to swallow it back down. Subconsciously he sought forgiveness, wondering if what Marek proclaimed was at all possible.
Chapter 256

While the Gordons weren't traveling to America until June, relatives in Brooklyn were eagerly planning for Seth's homecoming. A small party, doubling as a wedding reception, was being arranged, Rose assisting Wilma with those preparations. That date was on Laurie's calendar as well as Stanford's, but Laurie had yet to get Stan to agree to fly to Oregon after that bash. Yet Laurie was determined, and told Agatha that if Stan didn't purchase a ticket, Laurie would do it for him. Agatha hadn't disagreed, but other events weighed upon her mind. On the twenty-first of February, Malcolm X was assassinated there in New York; Agatha didn't wholly approve of that man's politics, but his murder greatly shook her. Laurie and Stanford asked if she wished for a day off, but she came to work as usual, although her mood was subdued, a precursor of events to come.

In Roseburg, emotions in the Snyder household were tumultuous, but for better reasons; by the end of February, Lynne suspected she was pregnant. Only Eric was aware, and while overall he was pleased, at times unrest clouded his thoughts. Most of his disturbance was related to how little help he could offer, Lynne beset by nausea, although fatigue was the overriding issue. She stopped joining the Aherns at St. Anne's, even missing a Sunday at St. Matthew's. While Renee didn't badger Lynne, Sam called Eric, asking if everyone was all right. Eric told a white lie, that Jane wasn't well, but after seeing Dr. Salters and having the news confirmed, the Snyders hosted supper for their best friends and pastor, sharing their joy with the adults. All were thrilled, and would keep it from the children until after Jane's birthday. Not that Lynne would be three months along by then, but she would be somewhat further into her confinement. Plus, other than not telling the New Yorkers, the Snyders didn't believe they could keep it under wraps much past Jane's party. Lynne didn't worry for her baby's health, although she would turn thirty-five later that year. In fact, she didn't speak much to her husband about their pregnancy, in part to keep Jane unaware as well as not wishing to trouble Eric. He'd told her about the hawk Marek had seen, and Lynne then admitted to spotting a bird of prey where the peach trees would be planted. Yet, since learning she was pregnant, no hawk had appeared. Eric tried not searching for one, but every time he went outside, chirping birds caught his attention. Spring had come early to Roseburg, Lynne's pregnancy another sign of new life.

On Sunday, March seventh, Eric accompanied his family to church. He joined his wife for communion, but wouldn't meet their pastor's gaze. Retaking their seats, Lynne motioned that she needed the restroom, then asked Jane if she had to use the potty. Eric was left to manage Cary, who wanted to follow her mother and sister. Eric sighed as Cary whimpered, then a father grasped his daughter, Cary leaning her head against his shoulder. Eric studied the stained glass, finding a strange peace in the artwork. He hadn't wanted to return to worship, but Lynne wasn't well enough to manage both children, and Eric hadn't been able to refuse her request to attend church. He felt somewhat hypocritical trying to comfort Cary, who still whined softly. How in the world would he and Lynne raise a third child, he wondered, as Marek led the congregation in a hymn.

Before the song ended, Lynne and Jane returned, but Cary remained in her father's grasp. Eric knew Lynne was staring at him, but he hesitated meeting her gaze. When he did, tears formed in his eyes, for her smile was that of when she was pregnant with their daughters, gratitude blending with immense love. He nodded, pondering why he was so blessed, then he grimaced slightly, considering that word. Yet no other sufficed, for there he was next to his wife and two children, with another on the way. Would anyone ask Lynne, yet she wasn't showing, and since Jane had gone with her to the ladies room, perhaps that could be the excuse. Jane was fully toilet trained, but was still a little girl.

Would another daughter make it a trio, Eric then mused, as Cary lifted her head from his shoulder, gazing at those now standing, as Marek offered the benediction. A hearty Amen was spoken by all in attendance, even Jane adding her voice. Eric smiled, then looked at his wife, tears now falling down her cheeks. Was she glad he'd come with them, or merely pleased for Jane's assent?

They lingered in the pew, and no one stopped to chat, although Eric felt a few stares cast in his direction. As the last parishioner walked past them, Lynne then stepped to the aisle, the baby bag over her shoulder, Jane's hand in her mother's. Eric still toted Cary, and they made their way to the foyer, where Marek stood. One of the double doors was open, but a cool wind swirled in the entryway. Eric shivered, but wasn't certain it was all due to the breeze, as Marek laughed with Jane and Lynne.

Then the pastor cleared his throat. "Good to see you this morning Eric."

"It's, uh, nice to be here." He wasn't sure if that was the truth, yet it wasn't a complete lie. Cary squirmed, so Eric handed her to Marek. He spoke to her in Polish, and while she only giggled, Jane answered on her sister's behalf, that she too wanted a caramel slice. Eric fought a grin as Marek then asked Lynne if they had lunch plans. She glanced at Eric, who shrugged his left shoulder. If she felt up to staying, he wouldn't say no.

Within minutes all four Snyders were seated at Marek's kitchen table, Cary in her father's lap, Jane on a tall seat between her parents. Eric faced the painting near the sink, Lynne still appearing as he'd seen her last, looking several months pregnant. His heart raced, for now she was expecting, and he grasped her hand underneath the table. She wept, then laughed, her mood prompted by excess hormones, yet that they were all together played a part of her joy. Eric felt it too, but it was diminished by guilt he couldn't expunge. He sighed, then smiled, gripping Lynne's hand, then releasing it as Marek entered the room.

"What can I do to help?" Lynne asked.

"Not a thing. Just relax and I'll have lunch ready in a jiffy." Marek laughed as he spoke, and within minutes baloney sandwiches were doled out to all. Eric ate his, as Lynne now held Cary, then Eric stared at those seated around him. Marek and Jane chatted in a mixture of Polish and English, Lynne speaking softly to Cary. That foursome often shared Sunday lunch, but Eric didn't feel like a fifth wheel. He felt.... Inhaling deeply, he noticed a familiar fragrance. Taking several deep breaths, he wasn't able to identify it, yet it was calming. He smiled, then ate the last of his sandwich. "Here, I'll take her so you can finish," he said to his wife.

Lynne nodded, then set Cary on her father's lap. He kissed the top of her head as though nothing had ever separated them. Suddenly a searing burn shot through his right arm and he gritted his teeth, yet the pain was overwhelming. He closed his eyes, but they watered, and before he could open them, Cary was taken from his grasp. Eric looked to see who had her, then he sighed aloud. Lynne's tears fell again, but this time no joy was present.

"It's okay," he muttered. "It was just a little achy."

Lynne wore a frightened countenance, but Eric leaned her way, caressing Cary's cheek. In those seconds right as he'd kissed his daughter's head, peace had flowed all through him, as though he had never flown to Miami, hadn't been shot in Texas, and hadn't killed Pop Bellevue. Then Eric gazed at his pastor, who was speaking to Jane in a gentle Polish lilt. Eric needed to make a confession or wouldn't be able to again share lunch in this space. "Marek, can I talk to you?"

Lynne gasped, then began to cry, yet it wasn't a painful sound. Marek nodded, telling Jane in English that he would be back in a few moments. Eric stood, followed by his pastor, as Jane asked her mother where the men were going. Eric left the kitchen, heading to the sanctuary, and Marek walked beside him, his left hand placed lightly on Eric's sloping right shoulder.

That afternoon the Snyders were joined by the Aherns, all four adults seated in the living room, still attempting to fathom the events from that morning in Alabama. Negro activists had tried marching from Selma to the state's capital of Montgomery, but were viciously attacked by law enforcement. State troopers had used tear gas as well, violent scenes displayed on the nightly news shocking not only those in Oregon but Americans everywhere. Lynne had shivered when first learning of it, then she wept hard in her husband's grasp, but some of her outburst was related to what Eric had told their pastor earlier that day. While she was thankful Marek knew the truth, now her heart was overwhelmed. Pop Bellevue had been the kind of man who would have stood with a club in his hand, and Lynne was glad he was dead.

She hadn't had time to speak about that with her husband, for as soon as they returned from church, Sam had called with the news from Alabama. To Lynne's slight surprise, Eric invited the Aherns over, yet once they arrived, Eric pulled Sam aside, and Lynne knew the basis for their brief conversation. When the men returned, in Sam's blue eyes Lynne saw relief for Eric's honesty, although Sam's wife remained unaware. Renee was busy tending to the children, for Lynne hadn't felt able to do more than sit on the sofa, listening with half of her attention to the television. The commentary wasn't overt, but the images had been stark, one Negro woman beaten to unconsciousness.

Lynne pondered what Agatha and her relatives thought about the brutality, praying for them as well as all who had taken part in the march. Then Lynne considered her pastor, having suffered a similar atrocity; she had never spoken to Marek about it, although he had mentioned members of his family. Then Lynne gazed at her husband, who sat on the sofa next to her. Eric had been forced to fight for his life, and not only as a bird of prey. What inside the human heart made it so afraid?

Fear was all Lynne could consider, for to ponder hate was impossible. For some unknown reason these men who wielded nightsticks and tear gas were afraid of Negros gaining equal rights; was it due to ignorance which had enslaved Negros over one hundred years before? What made a person less of a human being simply due to the shade of their skin, then Lynne burst into tears, Marek's family perishing because one member had assisted Jews.

As Eric embraced her, Lynne shook her head, then inhaled deeply. She lived a relatively sheltered life, although much of that was by design, and she gripped her husband, thankful for his presence. Then she pulled away from him, glancing at the television. The news had gone to a commercial, and she nodded, then stood. "I'm gonna start supper," she said to the men.

"Want any help?" Sam asked.

"No, but thanks." She stroked her husband's cheek, then patted Sam's shoulder as she passed by where he sat in the big chair. Youthful tones welcomed her into the kitchen, and she was grateful the children knew only joy.

Lynne didn't speak to any of them, but she smiled at Jane, who colored alongside Ann and Paul. Renee held Cary, who then joined Lynne at the stove. "How are you?" Renee asked softly.

"In need of food and no more television." Lynne pulled cans of tomato soup from the cupboard, then emptied them into a large pot. "Grilled cheese okay?"

"Sure. I can do it if you like."

Lynne had a wan smile. "Just keep the kids happy." Then she kissed her baby's cheek. "A part of me wonders if we're doing the right thing by having another. A small part," Lynne added, then she sighed. "It's just so, so...."

"Hard to understand," Renee whispered. "I can't imagine what it must be like to live there, for whites or Negros. So much hatred and fear and...."

Lynne nodded, then breathed deeply as Jane laughed at something Paul said. "All we can do is teach them to love. Maybe as mothers that's the most important lesson we can impart." Lynne glanced at the table where youngsters still giggled. Grasping Renee's free hand, Lynne placed it where her unborn baby rested. Renee nodded, tears falling down her face.

In bed that night, Eric tenderly made love to his wife, for Lynne had been teary all evening. She didn't ask him what he'd said to Marek, but the purpose of that confession seemed lessened. Or maybe Eric now had a different perspective by which to judge his actions. If able, Pop would have stood with those state troopers, and while Eric still felt somewhat culpable, at least that man would never harm another soul.

As Lynne fell asleep, Eric wondered about Hiram. Might he end up as bigoted as his father, or had their brief encounter laid the seeds of change within that boy. Eric didn't fear for any of Walt's children, although his heart went out to Callie and Susie, raising their girls in a segregated community. Then Eric's pulse raced; he too might be a father to three daughters, or might Lynne be carrying a boy?

They hadn't spoken much about the baby, not because there wasn't anything to say, but due to.... Eric sighed, then listened to his wife. Her steady inhalations made him smile, for he had loved her to that unconscious state. They might not talk about her pregnancy, but he couldn't get it from his mind. Other issues had tried to intrude, but within their room, in that bed, parents had feted their love, and what emerged from it. Eric sat up, glancing at where his spouse lay. Again Lynne was expecting their baby, and this time Eric wouldn't leave her side.

He inhaled that as if it was the most solid truth, and not merely due to his crippled limb. As he'd known when she carried Jane, again Eric was certain he wouldn't miss a moment of this confinement. Tears fell down his face, which he wiped with the sheet. Marek had prayed aloud, then silently after Eric told him what had happened in Karnack. Then Marek had gripped both of Eric's hands, praying for Eric's entire family, including the baby in his missives. Eric hadn't noted any hint of disgust in his pastor's words, only gratefulness both for Eric's survival and his honesty, albeit belated. They had arranged to meet for lunch on Wednesday, but Eric would confirm that date in the morning. Perhaps Marek might want to open the church for noontime prayers or maybe....

The events in Selma weighed heavily upon Eric's heart, and he would call Laurie tomorrow evening, after Agatha had left for the day. He wanted to speak to her, but would first gauge her mood. Lynne had wanted to talk to her, but had been in no shape for conversation. Plus they didn't want to tell those in New York about the baby yet, and.... Eric sighed, wondering if that news would make any impact on Stanford. What had been his reaction to the violence, then Eric shook his head. While he'd been able to tell Marek, no others could know.

Lynne turned onto her back, but was still asleep. Eric couldn't make out her face, but enough light shone through their curtains that he could see her hair spilled out over the pillow. He ached to paint her, but set that thought aside. He lay down, also on his back, but left space between them. Then she rolled his way, scooting beside him. Before he would have gone to his right side, then embraced her, but instead he remained flat. Yet she set her arm over him, then was tight along his side. He blinked away tears, for in a matter of months these positions would be impossible. Then his heart pounded; while he couldn't document her as she changed shape, he wouldn't miss it either. A prayer formed on his lips, offered silently, but with great fervor, for those suffering all over America due to racial injustice, followed by intense thankfulness for being home. Then Eric wept openly, for a baby conceived due to his wife's deep love. As in the earliest days of their relationship, Eric took on faith her affection, wondering how he had been so blessed.
Chapter 257

Images from Alabama became imbedded upon the public consciousness worldwide; on the bus and within their kitchens Klaudia and Sigrun discussed the plight of American Negros in addition to Klaudia's summer invitation to Oregon. Sigrun was taken aback at Klaudia's disinterest in attending a Fourth of July celebration, yet both women were horrified by the hostility displayed toward those who sought equal rights, which included white ministers, one of whom died from injuries suffered after another march had taken place. Klaudia read how in the ensuing days, President Johnson met with both houses of the American Congress, urging them to pass his new voting rights bill. While Klaudia knew little concerning the United States' political system, she wrote to Marek about what she referred to as the mess in The South. Emotions ran high in her letter, but she declined to commit to her vacation plans for July, still uncertain about those in Roseburg.

Her insecurities weren't merely to do with Marek, but the Snyders, about whom she cared greatly, much to her chagrin. She would never admit to Sigrun what Marek had asserted about Eric, but upon reflection, Klaudia wondered just how much truth could be attached to a notion that initially seemed without any credible basis. The news from Alabama was just as bizarre; to Klaudia, it was as if all that had happened less than thirty years previously had been forgotten. Then she became teary, unable to set aside memories that would forever haunt her. That catastrophe felt far more difficult to reckon than what Marek had claimed and what Lynne had affirmed was indeed true. Then Klaudia had wondered if she was losing her grip on reality. Traveling to Oregon would be fraught with sentiments she had spent her adult life attempting to ignore, but her heart could no longer deny those feelings. On Monday, March twenty-second, she received a letter from Lynne which included a repeat of Marek's invitation along with the news that the Snyders were expecting a third child. As demonstrators again set out from Selma to Montgomery, Klaudia felt swept along with them, heading toward a destiny tinged with probable disappointment, yet bound in feverous hope for a better future. She permitted the optimism was due to Lynne's pregnancy, yet she ached for the pleasure of Marek's embrace. That evening she penned a hasty reply to Lynne, then mailed it the following morning. Klaudia nearly missed her bus, but only told Sigrun she had been listening to news about the activists on their way to Alabama's capitol.

The Snyders and Aherns spent much of that week in each other's company as thousands joined those heading to Montgomery. On Wednesday evening, Marek joined Father Markham and other clergy at St. Anne's for prayers and reflection. Lynne, Eric, Sam, and Renee brought their children to the service, the church filled with likeminded townspeople. The two families agreed to share lunch on Thursday, when the marchers were due to arrive in Montgomery. Little was spoken as to how they would be received, but Lynne carried a great joy within her that their reception wouldn't be as how others had been brutally attacked over two weeks previously.

She woke that morning suffering from nausea, but her optimism remained undimmed. Preparing breakfast for her family, she hummed the tune Marek had taught Jane, then was joined by her eldest. Cary tried to sing along, but ended up laughing at herself, stirring Eric's chuckles. Lynne appreciated that her daughters were unaware of what their parents had been considering all month long. Not even Paul or Ann realized the tumult, although Lynne wondered for how much longer could they be spared. It was an ugly blot upon the nation's landscape, and yet in The South it was deeply ingrained. Eric had seen it with his own eyes in Karnack, albeit on a milder scale. Lynne prayed for a peaceful outcome of the march, and for far reaching ramifications as a result.

Then a mother sat with her family, finding a smile on her husband's face. "What?" Lynne asked.

Again Eric chuckled, scooting his chair next to his wife's. "I know it's a strange morning, but I haven't felt this eased in a long time."

Lynne blinked away tears; was his mood due to having shared the truth with Marek, was it the coming baby.... "I know what you mean. I wonder if Klaudia's gotten my letter yet."

Now Eric laughed out loud. "Probably. I hope it'll give her added incentive to visit. Not that you'll be close to delivering, but...." Eric leaned toward Lynne, giving her a tender kiss. "Marek hasn't said so, but I think he wants to ask her to be here when the baby comes. Maybe if he tells her Laurie's planning on it, she'll say yes."

Lynne giggled. She had called Laurie over the weekend, informing him and Stanford of the good news. Laurie had been thrilled, even Stanford wishing Lynne the best. Yet he hadn't asked to speak to Eric, although Laurie then got back on the line, chatting with Eric for several minutes. Laurie said to keep the guest room free for at least two weeks in autumn, then again for Hanukkah. With another Snyder arriving, Laurie joked he might stay through the end of the year.

Lynne was due in mid-October, and while she hadn't mentioned it, if Laurie chose to stay longer than a few weeks, she wouldn't argue. Renee had her own children to tend, and Lynne didn't wish to hire help. Assistance would be necessary, at least in the beginning, especially if Cary was as keen on wanting to go up and down stairs as Jane had been at that age. Lynne didn't feel that Eric would be far away, it was simply that with another child, Lynne and her husband would be outnumbered.

She caressed his right hand, so wishing he could squeeze her fingers, yet equally grateful for his presence. Then she grew teary, thinking of all her blessings, and not merely the family around her. They were free in ways many Americans were not, and she sighed, then wiped her damp face. "I wonder when the marchers will reach Montgomery."

"Shall I turn on the television?" Eric asked.

Lynne shook her head. "I was just thinking out loud, somewhat dangerous these days." She glanced at their daughters, conversing in garbled Polish. "Although it doesn't seem they know we're here."

"No, but what you wanna bet if we slipped out of the room...." Eric chuckled, then placed his left hand over Lynne's, still stroking his right.

His touch made her giggle. "You keep that up and I might just put them in the playpen."

"I dare you."

Eric's eager tone drew Lynne's gaze; his smile was broad, his eyes twinkling. Lynne's pulse raced and she giggled again. "Are you serious?"

"I'll find something appropriate for them on the television. You put them in the playpen and we'll see how long we get."

Lynne laughed, which caught Jane's attention. "What Mama?"

"Daddy and I need to...." Lynne paused for only a second. "Do some chores. You and Cary are gonna go in the playpen for a little bit. Will you be a good girl for Mommy?"

Jane nodded, then spoke in Polish to her sister. Cary clapped her hands, then raised her arms up as though wanting to be collected.

"Wonder what she told her," Eric said.

"We'll never know, but it doesn't seem bad." Lynne stood, helping Jane from her chair. A mother then picked up her youngest, taking Cary into the living room. Jane and Eric were behind them, and within minutes parents headed upstairs, the sound of chattering girls in their wake.

Marek joined them for supper, the conversation centered upon the march's peaceful and somewhat successful finale. A petition demanding that Alabama's Negros be given the right to vote was handed to one of Governor Wallace's secretaries, yet the number of demonstrators had been vast, and in Marek's words, would only increase. "The more light cast upon the forces of evil, the more quickly that evil will be defeated."

It was the harshest words spoken in front of youngsters, who didn't seem to hear their pastor. Their chit-chat was part English, part Polish and part toddler, but none of the adults could discern which was the overriding element. Cary didn't say more than Mama, Dada and Jane, but she seemed to understand all that her sister said, despite which language Jane used. Then Marek spoke in Polish to Cary, and she clapped her hands.

"What did you tell her?" Lynne asked.

"I inquired if she wanted a caramel slice," Marek smiled.

"We should've guessed from her response." Eric chuckled, then leaned back in his seat. "But the question begs, did you bring any?"

"He did," Lynne said. "But you need to finish your supper." She spooned another bite into Cary's open mouth, then all three adults laughed. "She's much smarter than we realize."

"They both are. I must say, I never expected Jane to grasp another language so easily. And Cary has heard it from the beginning. What a blessing, as well as a lesson in never misjudging the mind of a baby."

Lynne nodded, but a shiver traveled up her spine. She didn't fear for her unborn child, and in meeting Marek's gaze, she saw the same notion in his eyes. Yet he hadn't mentioned Klaudia, nor was he aware Lynne had written to her about more than the coming baby. If Klaudia came for the Fourth of July, perhaps she might be persuaded to visit again in fall. Lynne wouldn't overtly meddle in her pastor's personal life, but having been honest with Klaudia about Eric, Lynne felt able to make the overture.

After supper, dessert was shared, then Lynne took the girls up for a bath. The men retired to the living room, but Eric didn't turn on the television. Instead he stoked the fire as Marek sat on the sofa. Neither spoke, and Eric felt uneasy in the silence. This was the first time they had been alone together since Marek learned the truth. Children's gentle laughter could be discerned from upstairs, but Lynne's words were muffled. Eric sat in the big chair, leaving the sofa for his wife and daughters. Marek would read the girls a story or two, then most likely be on his way.

"I wonder when your congress will consider the voting bill." Marek's tone wasn't that of a question, then he sighed. "I imagine the wheels of government won't turn as quickly as Negroes wish."

"Probably not. But at least now it's a real issue."

"Indeed. And one that will eventually be settled. If nothing else, the march has raised vital awareness. The violence too."

Again Marek's voice was circumspect. Eric nodded, gripping his right arm. Then he gazed at Marek; since telling him about Pop, Eric felt able to again truly consider this man as his pastor. Eric would go to St. Matthew's on Sunday, and if Lynne wanted to visit St. Anne's in the morning, he'd accompany her there as well. She hadn't mentioned it, was it too late to call Sam to see if they were going....

Marek had been speaking, but Eric hadn't paid attention. "I'm sorry," he said. "What were you saying?"

Marek wore a small smile. "Only that I'm glad to be here this evening. The last few weeks haven't been as unpleasant as the Missile Crisis, but certainly on a similar scale. For Negroes, perhaps just as noteworthy. Living under segregation probably seems no worse than the threat of nuclear war."

Eric considered that statement, then recalled how wistful Callie had sounded when they had spoken of the future, that perhaps it would be better for his daughters. And that he wished to have voted for John Kennedy. "You're probably right." Eric relayed the conversation he and Callie had shared, then Eric sighed. "The Civil War was a hundred years ago, but so little has changed. What kind of people are we?"

Marek leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him. "Not much different from those in Europe who fought an appalling conflict, then twenty-five years later did it all over again."

"I guess." Eric glanced at the fire, then listened for his family. Only faint noises could be heard as though Lynne had closed the bathroom door or was dressing the girls in the nursery. But better for Jane and Cary to know nothing of what was being discussed. Eric shook his head. "Will we ever set aside this need for...." He paused as tears filled his eyes. "I'm no better than the Klansmen or the Nazis or...."

"What you did was in defense of your life." A pastor now knelt in front of Eric, grasping both of Eric's hands. "If I had been in your place, I would have done the very same."

"Yeah?" Eric muttered, weeping hard.

"Yes. Sometimes I wonder if I had been with my family, would I have made it into that barn alive."

Eric inhaled sharply, then stared at Marek. "Really?"

Marek nodded. "Klaudia has only told me the basics, but in all honesty, I can't say I wouldn't have fought tooth and nail. My brother was a level-headed sort, although he often pretended otherwise." Marek sighed. "Maybe they thought if they didn't fight back, some would have been spared, the women perhaps. But Eric, had I been there, most likely I would have been shot dead long before the first match was lit."

Eric closed his eyes, but tears still poured down his face. Marek's grip was strong, then he began the Lord's Prayer. Eric mumbled it, and when they finished, Marek released Eric's hands. It took several minutes for Eric to compose himself, during which time Marek tended to the fire. Then they were joined by Lynne, Jane, and Cary. The girls didn't notice their father's disheveled appearance, sitting with their uncle on the sofa. Lynne knelt at Eric's side, but she didn't speak. She kissed his cheek, then held his hands as in Polish Marek told little girls a bedtime story.
Chapter 258

Agatha filled Laurie's coffee cup, then sat beside him at the kitchen table. "You're gonna be late for work." She smiled, patting his hand. "But maybe that's my fault, missing the train and...."

"It's been a strange couple of weeks." Laurie grasped Agatha's fingers, then met her gaze. "But the news from Oregon's pretty great."

"It is indeed." Agatha sighed softly as Laurie released her fingers. "Gonna be quite a houseful out there this summer."

Laurie nodded, yet he wanted to shrug; Stan was still adamant about not traveling in July. The activities in Alabama hadn't seemed to sway his mind, although Laurie had discerned delicate cracks in Stan's armor. Lynne's pregnancy was part of it, not that Stanford would ever admit that aloud. Seth's impending visit could also be considered, and if nothing else might be what ultimately convinced Stan to join those heading to Roseburg. If propriety forced Stanford's hand, Laurie wouldn't mind, but he'd prefer Stan to make the decision voluntarily. Then Laurie shook his head. They hadn't spoken about the Snyders since Johnson was elected, as though Stan had never met Eric or Lynne. Laurie had continued to mention that family in conversation, but Stan acted as if Laurie had been speaking Polish. Laurie chuckled, then sipped his coffee. He looked at Agatha, who now gripped her mug with both hands. "Seems there's an impasse as big as Selma right here in Manhattan."

Briefly she raised her eyebrows, then Agatha nodded. "Can't imagine what will change his mind though."

"Neither can I." Laurie wanted to be optimistic, but doubt filled his heart. He shivered inwardly, then sighed. "I guess we'll see what happens." He finished his coffee, then stood from the table, taking his cup to the sink. Lingering at the counter, Laurie closed his eyes, imagining Eric, Lynne, and Jane in that room, hearing Cary's chortles from Hanukkah as if she too was nearby. Stan hadn't seen their godchild since her baptism, and it broke Laurie's heart that perhaps she might forget him.

Jane wouldn't, especially since Paul and Ann spoke of Stanford as though he was related to them. Would Cary only know that uncle vicariously through the rest? Opening his eyes, Laurie noted the emptiness, although Agatha remained in her seat. Stanford was being ridiculous; eventually the Snyders would find their way back to this apartment. Laurie wondered if he needed to state that fact. He didn't want to twist Stan's arm, but....

"Honey, you have to leave him be." Agatha joined Laurie at the sink. "He's never dealt with something like this before, something...." She grasped Laurie's hands. "So far into his soul. I know he saw that psychiatrist, but this isn't like sitting on a couch once a week. This isn't even like what he faced with his mother." Agatha paused briefly. "Parents die, but the Snyders will be with him for the rest of his life and bless his heart, he has to figure out how to make room for everybody."

Her tone was hopeful, and she continued. "All we can do is pray for him. You can't badger him, mostly 'cause it won't make a bit of difference." She rolled her eyes, then caressed Laurie's face. "I know you wanted him there last fall, I did too. But he has to decide of his own volition. There's nothing any of us can do, regardless of how much we love him."

Laurie nodded, but his heart ached fiercely. If not for the recent struggles of those in Alabama, he would argue. "I don't want Cary to forget him," he finally mumbled.

"She won't," Agatha said. "He'll come around, just give him time."

As she began to walk away, Laurie cleared his throat. "But you just said you had no idea what would change his mind."

Agatha turned back, a grin still affixed. "I don't. But something will."

Now Laurie rolled his eyes. "I don't know what."

"Good thing it's not up to you then, is it?" Agatha smirked as she exited the kitchen. In her wake, Laurie began to chuckle, which turned into broad laughter.

The hawk had been trailing Stanford right after the first attempted march to Selma. Initially he assumed the bird was prodding his sense of civil justice, or that's what he told himself, peeking over his shoulder as a lone example of nature swooped through metropolitan skies. He wasn't the only one to see it, which had eased his mind, but only slightly. Despite what was occurring in Alabama, that hawk meant more than a Negro's right to vote.

Stanford had ignored other possibilities until last weekend, when Lynne called. Hearing that she was again in the family way firmly disallowed any other reason for that bird's presence, and as he again walked toward his building, a hawk flew above his head. The distance from where he'd stepped from the taxi was minimal, but the bird seemed determined, and Stanford peered over his shoulder, watching how it hovered. It never tried to make eye contact, merely asserting itself. Stanford sighed, then slipped between revolving doors, inwardly shivering.

He spent that day mostly on the telephone. Occasionally he glanced out the window, but never saw more than Manhattan, for which he was grateful. He wasn't sure how high hawks flew, then fleetingly wondered if Eric had ever.... Shaking his head, Stanford turned back to his office, yet it looked surreal; he should be seated amid woods, a vibrant meadow, or some other natural landscape. Hawks didn't appear in cities, but one had been keeping its eyes on him.

The dates for Laurie's trip were on Stanford's calendar both at home and there at work. Other than emotional factors, nothing would impede Stan from accompanying his partner, as well as Seth and Adrienne. And now that Lynne was pregnant.... Grasping his coffee, Stanford sipped slowly, the mug's contents having grown cold. Emily Harold, his longtime secretary, was out sick, and the temp hadn't bothered to refresh Stanford's cup.

He rued Emily's absence, then chastised himself, getting up from his chair, the mug still in his hand. He stepped from his office, but the young woman, whose name he didn't recall, wasn't seated at Miss Harold's desk. A handbag sat conspicuously near the telephone, several items spilled out of it, and Stanford shook his head. Filling his mug, he then stared at the walls, where several canvases were displayed. After Michael retired, Stanford had chosen to rent this small collection of rooms. Only a couple of paintings were from when father and son had worked in tandem. The rest had been gleaned from Stanford's own clients.

A tiny hawk glared from a far corner of the room, making Stanford tremble; he had forgotten all about this landscape, one of Eric's earliest paintings. Stanford recalled hanging it, with Laurie's assistance, right after signing Eric to a contract. This nature scene didn't compare to Eric's most recent series, but it was still a fine piece, and would be quite valuable if Stanford chose to sell it. Why was it still there, he mused, taking a drink from his mug. Once Stanford no longer represented an artist, he immediately removed their canvases from this waiting room.

At home, he possessed a few paintings from former clients, but only due to their worth. The same could be said for this one, yet it didn't belong here, and Stanford tapped his foot, considering how might the remaining pieces be arranged to make up for this painting's exclusion. He'd remove it soon, although not that day. He sighed, then again sipped his coffee, hoping tomorrow Emily would be at her post. How had she not seen this error, he wondered, but the painting was small, placed in a corner, and to Stanford it looked dusty. He inspected the rest, which appeared recently cleaned. Again tapping his foot, he would mention this to Emily when she returned, however explaining it to Laurie would be a more delicate conversation.

Laurie's probable reaction made Stanford cringe, and while he wanted to upbraid the temp about his cold coffee, instead Stanford returned to his office. No paintings decorated this space; only a few family photographs adorned the walls, that of his parents, his grandparents as well. There was no tangible sign of Laurie, then Stanford huffed aloud. Laurie had never asked about Eric's painting in the lobby, had he forgotten it? Where might they keep it in the apartment? Would Laurie suggest the library, then Stanford shook his head. The guest room would be the best place, since Stanford no longer stepped foot in there.

He couldn't fathom selling it, that seemed wholly wrong. Then he sighed, for displaying it where no one would see it was just as improper. Perhaps Michael would appreciate it, and Stanford smiled, an appropriate solution. He would give it to his father and....

Stanford broke into a sudden sweat, then felt dizzy. He placed his mug on the corner of his desk, then gripped the wood to keep himself upright. He gazed out the window, but no hawk loomed. Then he closed his eyes, a pounding within his chest making him weak. Removing that painting, even to give it to his father, would be like cutting the artist out of his life. Yet Eric had been the one to end their business relationship, Stanford had merely acquiesced to a client's request. But truthfully, their association had been severed from the moment Eric was shot in Texas.

That was a truth Stanford could permit. Everything else related to that incident was up for debate, well, the man who had cared for Eric also possessed a connection to Seth. A weight settled upon Stanford's shoulders as he opened his eyes, taking deep breaths. He wasn't overtly looking forward to seeing Seth, but the reason had more to do with Eric than Seth himself. Damn all this hawk nonsense, Stanford wanted to shout.

The rest of his workday passed without further rancor, once the temp appeared with the day's mail, sheepishly apologizing for not refreshing his coffee. Stanford was somewhat cool toward her, but did wish her a pleasant evening when he left for the day. Stepping from his building, he looked upward, but saw no birds of prey. He caught a cab, considering if he would mention Eric's painting to Laurie, or would he take care of that errant detail personally. Then he sighed; if he gave it to his dad, Laurie would see it eventually. Best to speak of it now, Stanford decided. As soon as Emily returned, he would let her tend to its disposal.

Hopefully Michael would display it discreetly, then again Stanford sighed. Maybe he should sell it, then it would be forgotten. But that was ludicrous, for he would never be able to set it from his mind, just like the Snyders. To his surprise, he didn't become angry thinking about them; a strange sensation emerged, first in his chest, spreading all through him. It was cold, causing him to tremble. Then it stirred a flash of heat, perspiration breaking out over his forehead. As sweat trickled into his eyes, he blinked, then shivered. A hawk perched on the hood of the taxi, and was staring right at him.

"Hey, wouldya look at that?" the cabbie said. "Never seen a bird that big in this city before."

Stanford wanted to run away, the creature's piercing eyes like knives into his heart. It continued glaring at him, as if to say there was no escape. Taking a hankie from his pocket, Stanford wiped his forehead, but his eyes were drawn back to the hawk, the same one which had been following him. It launched itself into the air, making the taxi driver again exclaim. But Stanford heard a different sound, that of a bird being shot, the cries eerily human in nature. As the cabbie continued to ramble, Stanford brushed aside stinging tears, then peered out his window. Only the usual traffic was noted, yet it brought little peace to the art dealer. He wouldn't tell Laurie about this, nor would he mention Eric's painting at the office. Stanford slumped back in his seat, no longer hearing those ethereal wailings. Instead he was haunted by children's laughter, Jane's voice in particular, asking where her Uncle Stanford could be.
Chapter 259

On the first of April, the Snyders received three letters. Those from Laurie and Agatha weren't a surprise to Eric, but he hadn't expected Klaudia to reply so quickly to Lynne's news about the baby, or traveling to Oregon in summer. To the Snyders' delight, Klaudia said to tentatively expect her in July. Lynne wondered if they should mention this to Marek, and Eric nodded, a smile on his face. Having returned to church, as well as attending morning mass at St. Anne's, Eric had regained a sense of inner peace, although he still didn't wish to tell others about what had taken place in Karnack.

He read the other notes with a slightly guilty conscience, not in keeping Pop's death from Laurie and Agatha, but for how the events in Alabama had touched their lives. Agatha didn't conceal her frustrations, yet she also wrote of a tide having been turned. Laurie expressed similar sentiments, but between those lines, Eric discerned another subject. He laughed about that with Lynne, Laurie back to his previous manner of implied missives, but no longer was he referring to his cousin. Stanford hadn't yet agreed to travel in July, but in veiled prose, Laurie asserted he wouldn't be flying west merely with Seth and Adrienne at his side.

Weeks ago this would have given Eric cause for concern, but after the events in Alabama, plus honest dialogue with his pastor, Eric didn't fret about facing his former dealer. The coming baby had also heightened Eric's awareness to what truly mattered, and that now meant arranging the addition of peach trees. By the middle of April, six trees were planted in the back acreage; three peach, an apple, one cherry, and a pear. Lynne wouldn't use the latter to make pies, but it had seemed a good idea, and as May arrived, Marek had teased that Lynne would find a way to incorporate pears into her baking. The trees wouldn't immediately bear useful fruit, but Eric was pleased for the notion of an orchard on his property. He and Lynne spent several spring evenings walking amid the spindly trees, speaking of how dreams made by youthful hearts had sprouted into concrete realities, Jane and Cary toddling alongside their parents, another child nipping at their heels.

By then, Klaudia had booked a ticket to spend the first ten days of July in Oregon. Seth and Adrienne were flying into New York in the middle of June, then would head with Laurie to Roseburg on July first, a Thursday. Plans were made for a casual supper at the Snyders on Friday night, then Sam and Renee would host a larger gathering on Saturday the third, the Canfields and McCampbells in addition to Ritchie and Brenda Nolan's family having been invited. Yet for the actual Fourth of July, only the Aherns would join Marek and Klaudia, Seth and Adrienne, Laurie and.... Stanford was still undecided, but Laurie had laid claim to the guest room while that initial weekend Seth and Adrienne would stay at a Roseburg motel. Eric had permitted Seth that distance, although Lynne hoped the Gordons would join Laurie at the Snyders after the holiday.

The New Yorkers, which now included those traveling from Israel, were spending two weeks on the West Coast, then Seth and Adrienne would fly to Texas. Lynne had learned these plans via Laurie, although Eric had received a letter from Seth, relaying the same details as well as personal news; the Gordons were considering a move to America, at least temporarily. Seth revealed a need for new scenery and that Adrienne wanted to become acquainted with her in-laws. Eric mentioned this to Lynne and they chuckled that how once ensconced in Brooklyn, Rose as well as Wilma would be reluctant to let the Gordons get away. While Rose was happy the Snyders were adding to their family, she wasn't pleased that Laurie would likely stay in Oregon for much of 1965's end. Whether or not Stanford joined his partner remained an unknown. The Snyders knew it would depend upon Stanford's inclusion for July fourth. And by May's end, his presence was still an uncertain factor.

As June began, Eric and Sam spoke about protests concerning the conflict in Vietnam. Many of the demonstrations were taking place in California, yet anti-war sentiments were increasing nationwide. Sam was grateful none of his nephews were currently old enough to be drafted, although some in Renee's family were of that age. The Korean War hadn't lasted long, and while Sam possessed no strong feeling about what was again happening in Asia, he didn't believe these hostilities would drag out endlessly.

Eric didn't talk about Vietnam with Lynne, more pleasant subjects on their minds. She was over morning sickness, tending to the garden with the girls at her sides. Eric had helped with the planting, but left the weeding for Lynne and Fran, who brought Helene. Sometimes Sally joined them, minding the little girls while mothers conversed on the patio. Eric didn't intrude, inspecting trees that now sported leaves on thin branches. Occasionally he felt he was being watched, but no bird of prey was visible. Lynne hadn't mentioned seeing any more hawks, nor had Marek. Then Eric would return to the house, finding Frannie's warm smile cast his way. He would grin back, but not disturb the ladies' chatter.

On one such afternoon, Eric received a phone call from Laurie, that Seth and Adrienne had arrived safely. Eric was relieved for the news, but surprised that Laurie had felt a long distance call was necessary. Then Eric shivered as Laurie continued. "I also wanted to let you and Lynne know Stan's coming with us. I think he didn't want to appear that big of a bore. I know he wants to be there when Lynne delivers, guess he figured he'd better break the ice before then. He wasn't able to get the same flights, but will be there next month."

"Well, good to know." Eric glanced at the kitchen table, imagining Stan seated there, but others would grace this space. Then Eric smiled. "Lynne'll be glad to hear he's coming."

"How's she feeling?"

Eric shared the latest, but didn't stay on the line long. Closing the call, he again gazed into the room, a wave of gratitude coursing through him. Was it that Stan had decided to travel, or that other guests would act as a buffer? Eric shook his head, then heard a bevy of feminine voices. Denise Canfield had also come that day, perhaps as a sitter in training. Sally would be going to college in the fall, leaving for her younger sister several little girls to tend.

Eric met the group in the living room, then was beset by another chill, although this wasn't in regard to Laurie's news. Toting Cary, Denise looked to be the same age as Sally when Eric first met her. Helene had been tiny; now she held Jane's hand, both girls in rapturous laughter. Eric asked his wife what was so funny, Sally also in giggles.

"Jane's trying to teach Helene Polish," Lynne said.

"As you can imagine, it's going over like a lead balloon," Fran laughed. "Although they seem to understand each other."

"Perhaps that's all that matters." Eric chuckled as again Jane spoke in Polish, but Helene only offered a garbled reply.

"Do you know what she's saying?" Fran asked Eric.

"Sounds like something to do with pie." Eric knelt in front of the girls. "Jane, Helene doesn't know what you're saying. Use English."

Jane frowned, then whispered in Helene's ear. The girl nodded with enthusiasm. "Pie please."

"I think that can be arranged." Lynne took Cary from Denise, then led the youngsters into the kitchen. Denise and Sally followed, but as Eric stood, Fran remained in the living room. Eric brushed off his trousers, then looked her way.

Fran smiled, her hands clasped in front of her. "The trees are really coming along. Lynne took us for a tour, gonna be quite an orchard out there."

"Yeah, it's more than we were originally planning, but I think Laurie will be pleased."

"Stanford too," Fran laughed.

"I agree." Eric wouldn't tell Fran about Laurie's phone call, wanting to first inform Lynne. As he considered that, he missed how Fran had stepped toward him. Then Eric gasped softly as Frannie placed her hand on Eric's right shoulder.

Fran didn't flinch, nor did she speak. Her eyes were closed; she was deep in prayer, which lasted over a minute. Releasing Eric's shoulder, she then grasped his right hand, but now she met his gaze. "I could tell what you were thinking when we came in. Denise looks so much like Sally did when I first met you." Fran brushed away a few tears that had fallen down her cheeks. "It's hard to believe how much time has passed, but Eric, I wanna thank you for capturing that day."

He nodded, but assumed her gratitude hadn't been the basis for her prayers. He hadn't felt altered by her touch, at least not in his right arm. But his eyes grew misty and again he nodded, then placed his left hand upon hers, still grasping his right. "It was my pleasure," he croaked. Clearing his throat, Eric smiled. "You have three beautiful daughters."

"And we'll know in four months if you'll have the same," Fran chuckled. "Although I told Lynne today I think it might be a boy. Don't ask me why, but...."

"Mama, come get your pie!" Helene raced into the room, then tugged on her mother's blouse. "And Aunt Lynne has one for us to take home."

"We're coming honey." Fran gave Eric another squeeze, then released him, picking up her youngest. "What kind of pie did Aunt Lynne make?"

Helene answered her mother as Fran headed to the kitchen, leaving Eric a moment to compose himself. When he joined the ladies, a plate waited for him between Jane and Sally. Fran sat across, but didn't make eye contact. Yet Eric longed to see her face, wishing to thank her for that prayer, as well as her forbearance. Later, in a one-armed hug, he relayed his thankfulness, to which Frannie responded by again laying her hand along his sloped shoulder. Then he walked with her to the Canfields' car, Lynne on Eric's other side, as daughters of varying ages surrounded them.

That night in Brooklyn, Laurie sat across from Seth at Wilma's kitchen table, Seth's wife and mother flanking the men. Busy with clients, Stanford hadn't joined Laurie, and Rose Abrams had already said her goodnights, leaving a half-eaten chocolate cake among the foursome. Adrienne had noted it was the best dessert she'd ever eaten, but that accolade wasn't the only means in which Seth's new wife had won over her mother-in-law. Laurie thought that Adrienne could have been a serial killer and Wilma wouldn't have cared. That the young Scot made Seth supremely happy was enough for that man's mother.

Yet Adrienne seemed to have been tailor-made for this clan, her occasionally excitable manner a complement to her husband's newfound peace. For the first time, Laurie saw his younger cousin as a full-fledged adult, a different version of Seth than even when Laurie had stood alongside him as the newlyweds said I do. Laurie wasn't sure if matrimony alone had stirred this distinction, but Adrienne didn't look any differently than a few months back. Only Seth seemed altered, but if what he'd said to Laurie was true, soon enough Adrienne might appear changed.

The new couple was trying to get pregnant, and to Laurie, maybe they had already found success. Seth's hands were entwined with his wife's as they sat very close to one another. Laurie couldn't recall Seth exhibiting such affection previously; a few adolescent crushes had been all Seth had permitted, then.... Laurie blinked away random tears, then laughed at a joke Adrienne told, one that made her mother-in-law wipe away streams rolling down her cheeks. But Wilma wept not merely for Adrienne's humor; she too was stunned at how healthy was her son, and how in love. The last time Wilma Gordon had seen Seth was right before the Snyders flew to New York two years ago.

There was no reference to that family, only of those within Wilma's reach, plus a brief mention of Uncle Mickey and Aunt Sheila, about which Wilma teased that now with Seth and Adrienne talking of moving to Brooklyn, Sheila would pester Tovah to return to Florida. Over Ben's dead body, Seth had chuckled, making Adrienne giggle profusely. Mirth was rife, and Laurie was glad to have come alone. Having made travel plans for next month, Stan was starting to show signs of anxiety. Laurie might suggest his lover to also make an appointment with Dr. Walsh, but wouldn't mention that unless it was absolutely necessary. For now, Laurie was content to revel in a miracle of sorts, how he considered not only Seth's buoyant mood, but the besotted woman now in Seth's grasp.

Adrienne yawned, then shook her head. "Forgive me, but I think I'll say good night before I fall over."

Laurie stood as Seth did the same, helping Adrienne from her seat. Wilma then yawned too, and all four chuckled softly as Adrienne gripped Laurie's hands, then turned to Wilma, kissing her cheek. Wilma nodded, again wiping her face, as Seth led his wife from the room.

Retaking his chair, Laurie then turned toward his aunt. "You go on, I'll take care of these dishes."

Wilma smiled. "Thanks for being here this evening. Sorry Stan couldn't join us."

"I'm not," Laurie grinned. "Tonight was just for family."

Wilma chuckled. "Well, I hope we'll see him before you all head west."

"Oh you will." Laurie glanced around the room, then back at his aunt. "However, tonight was...." Again Laurie blinked away tears. It was magical, and he didn't need to belabor that point. Wilma merely nodded, then stood, patting his shoulder. She stacked dessert plates, taking them to the sink, then kissed the top of Laurie's head. A whispered goodnight was all she said as she exited the kitchen, leaving Laurie alone.

He waited for a minute, then got up, tending to the plates in the sink. Hearing footsteps approach, he turned, seeing Seth coming his way. "Need any help?" Seth asked.

"You can dry if you like. Adrienne okay?"

"Just jet lag," Seth smiled, grabbing a nearby dishtowel. "Glad we'll have time to acclimate before going to Oregon."

Laurie nodded, rinsing the last of the forks. Setting them in the drainer, he dried his hands, then leaned back against the counter. "Seems she hit it off with everyone tonight."

"Yeah, but I figured as much." Seth paused, then chuckled, gazing at his cousin. "She loves Mom's cake, wants to ask for the recipe. I told her if we stay, I can't imagine Mom would continue keeping it a secret."

"Oh God," Laurie laughed. "My mother will throw a fit if that happens."

"I know, but maybe Aunt Rose will understand." Seth placed the dishtowel back on its hook. "I told Mom we're not planning on returning to Tel Aviv anytime soon. As you can imagine, she was fine with us living here."

"I bet she was," Laurie smiled.

Seth nodded, then glanced around the kitchen. After a moment, he met Laurie's gaze. "She doesn't know we're trying to get pregnant," he whispered. Then he shrugged with a smile. "But she probably assumes as much."

Laurie shivered, but not from fear. To even hear Seth express such an idea seemed as much of a treasure as this man's return from.... Now Laurie couldn't halt the tears running down his face. Seth nodded, then embraced him. Laurie didn't think about Eric, only how precious was the one who grasped him tightly, Seth's happiness and sanity a heavenly phenomenon. As they parted, Laurie laughed, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief. He blew his nose, then gestured to the dishes. "I told Aunt Wilma I'd take care of these, suppose I'll go home with all my chores accomplished."

"Just one more thing for you to do," Seth said.

"What?"

Seth grasped Laurie's hands, then closed his eyes. In Yiddish Seth murmured a simple prayer, but it struck Laurie deeply. When Seth finished, he released Laurie's hands, then smiled. "Before I call a cab, you take a seat. Wanna split another piece of cake?"

Laurie nodded, hearing in Seth's jovial voice a link to their childhood, as if the last twenty years had occurred far differently. Laurie sat down as Seth cut two slivers of cake, setting a plate and fork in front of Laurie. "I'll wash these plates, and Mom will never know."

Again Seth sounded so altered, and Laurie had to do a double take. This man was indeed who Laurie had visited in Israel, had stood beside in Miami, had supported at how many mental institutions all over America. Then Laurie gazed at his cousin, who smiled slyly while eating chocolate cake. Laurie took a large bite, finding a secretive joy in Seth's green eyes. Was Adrienne already pregnant? Laurie wouldn't ask that evening; while Adrienne was younger than Lynne, if she was expecting, the news might remain under wraps until.... Laurie chuckled, finished his cake, then gathered his jacket as Seth called a taxi. When Seth walked him to the front door, another hug was shared. Laurie waited outside, not wishing to make the cabbie honk and perhaps wake those already asleep. If Adrienne was pregnant, she needed all the rest possible.
Chapter 260

While Eric encountered no hawks, Lynne and Marek spotted the creatures, Stanford, Laurie, and Seth did too. Klaudia saw them with Sigrun at her side as the women cared for Sigrun's grandson. Klaudia had never mentioned a hawk's significance to Sigrun, but in English Klaudia told Harry all about one particular bird which had saved the life of her.... Klaudia didn't label Marek as her boyfriend or partner, but beloved slipped from her tongue in an affectionate tone, making Sigrun look her way. Sigrun knew no English, but had been pleased that Klaudia was using it with Harry. Klaudia had explained that Marek had done the same with Polish around the Snyder girls, yet Sigrun wondered if there was more to Klaudia's actions than merely teaching Harry another language. Klaudia would soon be leaving for her American holiday, and Sigrun highly doubted her friend would return. The women didn't discuss that notion, nor did either comment on the hawk which followed them through various parks or flew alongside their bus on the morning commute. Yet Sigrun observed how Klaudia stared at the creature as if asking what to do.

Stanford tried hard to ignore the bird which still shadowed him to work, then back home again, although it didn't accompany Stan and Laurie to Brooklyn. Meeting Adrienne at Rose's home, Stanford was gracious, as well as curious, as Laurie had mentioned that Seth and his new wife were attempting to start a family. Laurie had broached this subject in front of Agatha, which had stirred her approval, forcing Stan into making a comment, which wasn't more than an ambivalent huff. Yet his heart had raced, for it reminded him of Lynne. Stanford wasn't certain how he would react when again seeing Eric, but Seth and his new wife would have plenty about which to speak to the Snyders. Having again permitted that family under his skin, Stanford wanted to be in Oregon when Lynne delivered her third child. An ache within his chest, coupled with continued sightings of that hawk, hadn't caused him to resume his drinking, only to wonder what sort of man he had become.

He stood in a corner of Rose's living room filled with all of Laurie's immediate family, Wilma's daughters present as well. Most of them had already met Adrienne, and she was treated like a long-time member of this clan. Stanford didn't begrudge her that status, one that he had earned ages ago, yet he'd never received the affection being showered upon Seth's wife. Or perhaps it was merely the consideration, and Stanford smiled slyly as Laurie laughed soundly, Adrienne making a wry remark. Her accent intensified the witticism, and the rest chuckled as Seth added his opinion. Stanford noted wistfulness on Wilma's face, small shock upon Rose's. Then Adrienne was surrounded by women, Seth in Laurie's grasp. Laurie caught Stanford's gaze, nodding enthusiastically. The Gordons had announced that Adrienne might be expecting a baby.

Already? popped into Stanford's head, then he sighed, but a smile slipped, followed by a chuckle. Adrienne was still being tightly embraced, but Laurie had released his cousin, and was approaching where Stanford had spent most of the evening, tucked out of the way. Laurie's grin was broad as he paused a foot away from Stan. "Pretty good news, huh?" Laurie said.

"I suppose. Are they certain?"

"I think so. They must be to announce it tonight."

Stanford nodded, feeling a brief chill, but only in relation to how early they had made this public. Laurie briefly gripped Stan's hands, as if to agree. "She's been pretty sick," Laurie then whispered. "They probably felt it was impossible to hide."

"Indeed." Stanford inhaled deeply, then again stared at the young Scot, who was now being embraced by her mother-in-law. "Will this change their plans for Oregon?"

"Nah. But I think Mom's hoping it'll derail mine for the end of the year." Laurie peeked over his shoulder, then shrugged. "I'm still spending Hanukkah in Roseburg, but I'll definitely be back for this."

Stanford was aware of Laurie's lengthy sojourn out west, however after Lynne delivered, Stan would fly home. Not that he didn't want to celebrate Thanksgiving with his partner, it was simply too difficult to imagine.... He sighed, then nodded. "Assuming all goes well, when is she due?"

Laurie stared at Stanford, then smiled. "February. You almost sound excited."

Stanford rolled his eyes, wishing for a drink. Then he trembled, as Laurie stepped closer. "Believe me, Seth wouldn't have said anything unless, well...." Now Laurie caressed Stanford's hands. "We'll hope for the best and pray for them regardless."

Stanford nodded, then cleared his throat. Laurie released his hands, then Stanford motioned to where the expectant couple stood between Wilma and Rose. "I should give them my congratulations."

"That would be lovely," Laurie smiled.

Stanford let Laurie lead them to where Seth and Adrienne stood. Stanford shook Seth's hand, then he gazed at Adrienne. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and it took all of Stanford's inward mettle to hold back his own. She was so young, like his sister Louise had been when first pregnant, yet that miscarriage wasn't foremost in Stanford's mind. Instead he pondered when Laurie told him that Lynne was expecting Cary, who was now nearly eighteen months old. His godchild, he then permitted, as he hugged Adrienne.

She warbled something he couldn't understand, but her accompanying laughter seemed to translate. Then she stepped away, still giggling. "Hope you'll both be here and not in Oregon."

"We will," Laurie said. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Stanford said nothing, but he saw Rose's fervent nod. He fought a grin, but lost. "I'm sure we'll be within shouting distance. Again, best wishes to you both."

The room fell silent, and Stanford felt all eyes upon him. Rare were the times he attended large parties in Brooklyn, but even more unusual was the humor attached to his conversations. Seth laughed, then patted Stanford's shoulder. "We'll be pleased to share you both with the Snyders. I know if Laurie had his way, he'd be moving west permanently."

"Over my dead body," Rose said, glaring at her son.

Women chuckled as Laurie hugged his mother. "Oh Mom, you know I could never be that far away from you."

Laurie's sisters expressed comical doubts as Rose clucked that Roseburg was across the country. Stanford found it amusing in that Seth had dwelled much further away, yet Wilma said nothing. Then Stanford gazed at that man, who held his wife close. He murmured something to her and she nodded, wiping tears that still fell. In those motions Stanford saw another couple, and his throat tightened. He glanced toward where Rose kept alcoholic beverages, aching for a drink. It would be perfectly acceptable, what with such celebratory news. But no one suggested a toast, and Stanford wouldn't make the initial overture. Instead he waited for Rose to let go of her son, again shaking Seth's hand. Peering into that man's blue eyes reminded Stanford of Jane, Seth's gentle smile much like Eric's. Stanford remained silent, then returned to the corner of the room as Laurie endured further teasing. Seth's foray into parenthood would bring Laurie back from Oregon, but for how long remained unstated.

Eric prepared for the upcoming holiday by trying his left hand at painting. The results weren't too different from the abstract pieces he'd made years before, which were still at the Caffey-Miller Institute in Minnesota. Eric didn't paint in the studio, instead capturing his family in the orchard, or near the patio, once Lynne set up his easel and palette. After a few canvases had been completed, Eric showed Jane how to paint, also giving lessons to Paul and Ann. The Ahern children quickly grew bored, but Jane seemed to possess her father's interest in art. As the last days of June ticked past, Eric spent his time instructing his eldest on the basics while Lynne organized the house for more than two New Yorkers.

All four traveling from the East Coast were referred to in that way, although Paul and Ann had been told that Laurie's new sister-in-law was from Scotland. Neither child asked if Seth was also Aunt Lynne's brother; Sam and Renee expected Seth and Adrienne to be somewhat overshadowed by Klaudia's attendance. She and Marek would probably join everyone for supper on Friday at the Snyders, but Marek would leave that decision up to Klaudia. Her flight wouldn't arrive until everyone else was fast asleep.

On Thursday, the first of July, Eric woke before his wife, having been stirred by a dream. He sat up in bed, hearing the faint chirping of birds from outside alongside Lynne's steady breaths. He wasn't surprised she was still sleeping; all week she had been preparing the house for guests. The extra room next to Laurie and Stanford's was ready in case the Gordons chose to cut short their hotel stay, and Eric hoped they would, only in that more people under his roof would provide a buffer between him and Stanford. Eric sighed inwardly, then got out of bed, moving with care as to not wake his wife. He used the toilet, found his slippers, but didn't put on a robe. The next few days would be warm, glorious weather for the upcoming holiday.

He left the master bedroom, noting small snores from the nursery. He smiled, then headed down the hallway to the vacant rooms. The one for Seth and Adrienne would eventually be Jane and Cary's bedroom, but not until sometime next year. Eric's office could be converted into extra accommodations, but Laurie and Stanford's room would remain as the designated guest quarters. Eric shivered, reaching the end of the hall, gazing into where the New Yorkers would reside. Since this space was added, it had been for Stanford, but now Laurie came first. Eric gently gripped his right arm, then walked into the room. The double bed was made, fresh flowers in a vase on the dresser. The curtains were open, and Eric stepped that way, stopping at the window. The new trees could be seen and he smiled, knowing how pleased Laurie would be for this view as well as that small orchard. What would Stan think, Eric wondered, peering at the rest of the property. The treehouse was to the left, the studio and outbuilding closer to the house. He couldn't see Jane's playhouse from here, but the garden was lush, boysenberry vines heavy with ripening fruit. The forest was far in the background, and he gazed that way, considering how many times he'd arrived home amid that dense undergrowth. Yet, he'd never landed that far into the wood; previously that had been the middle of the property, but having been exposed, it now looked somewhat vulnerable. Eric wouldn't clear any more of it, there was plenty of land for children to roam, and another couple of trees could be planted if Lynne desired.

This setting was exactly what he and Lynne had wanted when buying this expanse, yet they hadn't predicted how their lives might turn, or they had been very wrong. Eric smiled, again grasping his crippled limb; there was a discernable peace, albeit it at a steep price, but the intangible benefits were more than he could tally. That this room was now considered as Laurie's first was only one of the blessings, and Eric chuckled softly, both for how Laurie had usurped Stan's place, and that the term blessing was again within Eric's vocabulary. Those traveling from the East Coast wouldn't arrive until mid-afternoon, and if Lynne wanted to go to St. Anne's that morning, Eric would gladly accompany her and the girls. His return to faith was a work in progress, but no longer did he feel wholly alienated from it.

A clock on the side table noted there was plenty of time for morning mass, and Eric smiled, then again peered out the window. The sun was up, but rays had yet to shine on the garden. He ached to be outside, painting this scene, but he wouldn't wake Lynne to set up his easel or palette. His abilities weren't up to the skill necessary to capture what he saw, but for the first time in ages he could view the landscape as if his right hand still functioned. Tears welled in his eyes for that gift, and he breathed deeply, as though he could draw it in far enough to heal his right arm. While that was impossible, his heart seemed to profit, for now he observed his backyard with fresh eyes, finding the sun glinting off the studio roof, making green leaves shimmer on the various fruit trees. The walls of the treehouse shone deep amber, caressed by emerald laden branches, as if inviting Eric to clamber up the ladder, then find rest there. That had been why he'd perched in the cypress tree at Caddo Lake, needing a quiet place to sleep. But what happened afterwards didn't haunt him. Eric brushed away tears, then exited the guest room. His family was still in slumber, so he took the stairs, then made his way from the house, heading past the fountain and birdbath, around the studio, reaching the edge of the grass, where a newly formed orchard waited.

His slippers were wet with dew, but the morning wasn't chilly, and he breathed deeply, finding tranquility in the scent of damp earth. He couldn't wait to share this with Laurie, then Eric sighed briefly thinking of Stan. He wasn't sure if he wanted that man to see his recent canvases, then Eric shook his head. He had no control over what kind of friendship, if any, might emerge with his former dealer. Maybe relationships with Lynne and the girls were all that Stanford wished to maintain. Eric wouldn't attempt to initiate any more than what decorum required. There were bonds to rekindle with Seth, the first time they would meet face to face.

Eric smiled, then made his way into the orchard, thankful for that man's return to sanity, also looking forward to meeting Adrienne. It had been two years since Eric had left for Miami, and for the first time since his return, no angst plagued him, not even concerning Stan. Had using his left hand for painting been a key step in that healing, was it the coming baby? Eric gazed back toward the house, the studio catching his eye. What would become of that structure, maybe a return to its former occupation as a greenhouse. Even if Jane took to painting, this wouldn't be her eventual home. Pondering that, Eric felt he was being watched. He turned around slowly, scanning the area. Still the sensation lingered, and he stepped toward the forest. Brambles appeared menacing, but only due to how Eric was attired. He paid attention for any strange noises, but only chirping birds were heard.

Moments later a familiar squawk rippled through the quiet, making Eric tremble, but no bird of prey could be seen. Eric walked close to the wood, yet it was a thick tangle of dense shrubs and trees. He spotted a few squirrels and what might be a raccoon, but those were the only creatures. Then a sharp chill ran up his spine. With great care he turned around, finding a hawk watching him from the middle of the orchard.

He wasn't sure if it was the same one that had accompanied him as he'd traveled toward Utah, but it was a large bird, with piercing eyes. Eric tried to look away, but its empathetic gaze held his attention. Then Eric broke into a grin. "My God, this must've been how Seth felt when I arrived at the institution."

The hawk seemed to nod, then pecked at its right wing. Eric took a few steps in the bird's direction, then paused. "Are you the same hawk Lynne's seen?"

The bird looked away, then pecked at its left shoulder.

Eric gripped his right arm, then released it. "I guess I'm glad to have finally seen you. Don't think I'll bring this up today however. It might just drive Stan off the property."

The hawk seemed to shrug, which made Eric laugh out loud. "I'll tell my wife, maybe Marek and Sam. It'll make for interesting conversation if nothing else."

Now the bird stared right at Eric. It squawked again, then hopped forward. Eric didn't move, unsure of the hawk's purpose. Then as he began to ask, the bird launched itself into the air. It flew around the orchard twice, then headed toward the forest, slipping from Eric's view.

He waited there several minutes, but the hawk didn't return. As the sun rose, Eric no longer felt chilled, other than his damp feet. He walked back to the house, leaving his wet slippers on the patio by the living room French doors. Going inside, he heard girls in the kitchen, Lynne softly humming the tune Marek had taught Jane. Peace reverberated all through Eric, brought on in equal measures from his wife and daughters as well as the creature he had just encountered. He gazed at the clock, finding there would probably be time for them to get to St. Anne's. Eric smiled as he greeted his family, wishing Lynne and the girls a chipper good morning. He would call Sam momentarily, asking if the Aherns wanted to meet them for mass. He'd leave his encounter with the hawk for later consideration, but felt it was a good omen, or maybe only an apt precursor to meeting Seth. As Lynne kissed his cheek, Eric set his hand to where their baby waited. Closing his eyes, he gave thanks for these blessings, then praying for all those heading to Oregon.
Chapter 261

While both Sam and Marek had offered to collect the New Yorkers from the airport, Laurie instead drove them to the Snyders in a rental car. Seth had arranged that detail, at least for this initial weekend while he and Adrienne resided at the hotel. If they chose to spend the remainder of their stay in the room next to Laurie and Stanford, the vehicle could be returned. Seth didn't mind that Laurie had offered to drive, and he sat in the sedan's back seat beside his wife, butterflies in his stomach. He couldn't help it, even if he felt little time had passed since he'd last seen Eric. Those two years were hard to qualify in regard to linear time, his days in Tel Aviv sometimes like a dream but for the woman next to him. He grasped Adrienne's hand, and she trembled, which made Seth chuckle. Her apprehensions were for different reasons, although none were due to the baby. She hoped to make as good of an impression upon Lynne as she had with Seth's family, for unstated was the distinct notion of how tied into the Snyders Seth already was. He hadn't pondered the initial introductions, only that after he and Eric had exchanged embraces, another brother of sorts would be added to Seth's kin. If Lynne turned into an older sister for Adrienne, Seth would be thrilled.

He knew the women would chat about motherhood, and in that topic the ten years between them would disappear. Adrienne leaned against Seth's shoulder, a long sigh emerging. She was exhausted, the main sign of her pregnancy in addition to morning nausea. Her mum had been the same, she'd told him, and while she hoped her mother would travel from Scotland to be with them next February, Seth and Laurie's plenteous relatives would pick up any slack. Then Seth smiled, thinking of how relieved his Aunt Rose was for their news, mostly in that it guaranteed Laurie's return from the West Coast. But for how fondly Laurie spoke of their immediate surroundings, Seth knew his cousin was considering making Roseburg a second home.

Stanford said little, but that didn't surprise Seth. Adrienne had already mentioned that if everyone hit it off well, she would be happy to sleep in the spare guest room at the Snyders. Seth had been pleased to hear that, but was still glad that at the end of this night, they would have privacy, in part for Adrienne's condition, but mostly for Eric. Seth didn't want to stir any anxiety in that man, and from Stanford's continued silence, some strain would be present. Perhaps it would only be between an artist and his former dealer, and if that was the case, Seth and Adrienne would cancel their remaining hotel reservation. Adrienne had thrived in Brooklyn's familial bustle and Seth imagined a similar mood would reign here.

It wasn't merely the Snyders, but the Aherns and that Polish pastor; Laurie had spoken of these people as though all were closely related to him. Aunt Rose had no idea of the strength of Laurie's affection for this place, but Seth understood his cousin's feelings, having found a similar kinship in Israel. Or maybe it was in meeting his beloved, and he chuckled, then kissed Adrienne's hand. Laurie laughed, then met Seth's gaze in the rear view mirror. "What, am I boring you?"

"Not at all," Seth said. "Just thinking how Aunt Rose really has no idea how much you like it here."

"Don't tell her or I'll never hear the end of it."

"She wouldn't believe me anyway." Rose Abrams was in many ways just like Seth's Aunt Sheila, both women bound to their homes and families. But as Cousin Tovah had relocated to Tel Aviv, perhaps Laurie would migrate to Roseburg. However, Seth smiled inwardly, Aunt Rose had much better odds of occasionally seeing Laurie, not merely due to Oregon being one of the contiguous states. Seth couldn't imagine Stanford living anywhere but Manhattan, and for that alone, Laurie's westward treks would always lead him back to New York.

How funny that Laurie had turned into such a seasoned traveler. Seth sighed, but a dark mood didn't linger. Laurie had followed Seth regardless of where depression had taken him, then flying overseas to witness the greatest bliss Seth had experienced. Laurie would again get on a plane when Seth and Adrienne became parents, but a different sort of joy was moments away as Laurie turned onto a quiet lane, flanked by large trees, houses set away from the road. Stanford's breathing turned choppy, but Seth's heart beat steadily in his chest. He again met Laurie's eyes in the mirror, his cousin's smile wide. Stanford might be wishing they were anywhere else, but Laurie was coming home.

Laurie parked by the front gate, his heart racing. He hadn't been able to ignore Stan's apprehension, but in glancing at Seth, he appreciated that at least one person comprehended his joy. But Laurie didn't immediately open his car door. He closed his eyes, offering a prayer for those in that automobile and who waited on the other side of the wall. These first moments would set the tone for the entire visit, and not only between Stan and Eric. Laurie opened his eyes, first looking to his right, Stanford fidgeting. Laurie reached for that man's hands, which were sweaty. Then Laurie took one more peek into the rear view mirror. Seth had embraced his wife, but then found Laurie's gaze. Seth nodded, then unbuckled his seat belt. Laurie smiled, then opened his door. The rest followed suit, and within minutes Laurie was leading them through the front gate, hearing Jane's laughter in the distance.

If Laurie was alone, he would run to the back of the house, but he maintained an even gait, yet Stanford wasn't at his side. Laurie was now the ringleader, would make the introductions, which might only be between Lynne and the Gordons. How would Eric react, and not only to Seth? Then Laurie's pace increased, for now Cary giggled alongside her sister. Then Lynne spoke, that she heard someone heading their way. Eric piped up that the New Yorkers were here, and by then Laurie was sprinting, glad to have left their cases in the car. As he rounded the side of the house, there was Jane in Eric's one-armed grip, Cary in Lynne's grasp, and two youngsters clapping their hands in unbridled glee. Laurie first approached Eric and Jane, kissing that girl's cheek, meeting Eric's misty eyes with tears falling down Laurie's own face. Then he stepped toward Lynne. "My God," he said in a croaky voice, hugging her tightly. "It's so good to be home."

She nodded as Cary squealed, but Laurie had to make this declaration, for while he would return east when Seth and Adrienne had their baby, this western corner was permanently stitched within his heart. As he pulled away from Lynne, he saw in her damp eyes a similar notion. Then he turned around, finding anxiety on Stan's face, but peace in Seth's eyes. Adrienne was tight at his side, yet they stood near Eric, who wore a broad smile.

Laurie didn't hear their words, but it was as if he was back in Miami, once a hawk had brokered the initial peace with one who Laurie greatly loved. Seth chuckled, which was echoed by Eric's laughter, as Jane was set to the ground. Then an embrace was shared, as though Eric had been another of Seth's platoon mates, Eric's injury due to a grievous battle that both men had survived. In a way that was the truth, Laurie believed. Seth released Eric, then grasped Adrienne's right hand. She shook Eric's outstretched left with her own, but it quickly led to another round of hugs. Jane pleaded for one of them to pick her up, then she studied who remained. Her smile lit as she spotted a lone figure off to the side of the patio. "Uncle Stanford," Jane exclaimed, running in that man's direction.

As Lynne placed Cary in Laurie's arms, Stanford gazed down at the child who stared up at him. He had lagged behind the rest, but hadn't been surprised at Laurie's enthusiasm once the girls' voices could be discerned. He'd wanted to join his partner, only to see the children and Lynne. But as Jane stretched out her arms, begging him to hoist her into the air, Stanford trembled. Once he collected her, Cary would be next, then Lynne, and then....

"Uncle Stanford, please?" Jane's small voice sliced several arteries in Stanford's chest, and without another thought, he grasped her in his arms. She hugged him with all her strength, making his eyes water. "It's so good to see you Uncle Stanford," Jane giggled. "I'm so glad you're here!"

He nodded, his heart aching so badly that he wondered if he might topple over. Yet other thoughts provided enough of a distraction that he was able to remain standing. The first was how Jane's vocabulary had altered; she spoke like a child, not a toddler. Then he gazed at Cary, blonde hair at her jawline, her features so much like her sister and of their mother. Then he met Lynne's gaze, her happy tears pleading for him to rejoin their collective. He glanced at how closely she stood beside Laurie, whose ringing laughter was both a tonic and an alarm. Laurie set his hand on Lynne's sizable belly, then Seth did the same to Adrienne's slimmer frame, how that couple's news was announced. Eric laughed, then again embraced that twosome while Lynne began to cry in Laurie's grasp, Cary wiggling between them. All the while Jane clung to Stanford, repeating how relieved she was to see him.

He paused in his observations, had Jane actually said relieved? He wanted to question her, but to do would earn the group's attention, and all Stanford wanted was to disappear, or simply become invisible. He could observe this chummy assembly without having to partake of interaction, although Jane's hug was an unexpected healing balm. Now he ached to hold his goddaughter, laughing in Laurie's embrace. He so wanted to congratulate Lynne with more than a glance, and what he would give to shake Eric's right hand. Stanford tried to stare at that man without anyone noticing, but all he could make out was Seth and Adrienne flanking Eric. Then a familiar voice pierced Stanford's heart, Eric's witticisms emerging as if no harm had ever come his way. Finally Stanford focused on his former client; Eric was gesturing beyond the studio, where the orchard waited.

Stanford would inspect those trees in due time, maybe spend much of the next fortnight in the back acreage. As Jane squirmed in his grasp, he made an excuse, that the suitcases remained in the rental car. Stanford set Jane down, then turned to leave. Before he could take two steps, a hand rested upon his shoulder. "First there's something you need to see."

A mother's tone was shaky, but only Lynne could have made Stanford pause. Slowly he turned back, finding a surprise in her eyes. Yet he knew about the peach trees. "The orchard," he said, then he coughed. "But of course. Then I'll retrieve the luggage."

Lynne shook her head. "Not the trees, but we can go there next. Eric has something he wants to share with you, with all of you."

Stanford wore a puzzled gaze, but he wasn't alone, finding that sentiment on Laurie and the Gordons. Lynne grasped his hand, but didn't place it on the baby, although Stanford wouldn't have minded that contact, one tangible in a place where so many elusive notions existed. Lynne kissed his cheek, placing her hand along his face. The contact was brief, but so necessary, as if she could read his mind. "C'mon," she said softly. "It's in the studio."

He stared at her, then shivered inwardly, recalling when she had led him to that building when Eric was missing, the first time Laurie had accompanied Stanford out west. Lynne had wanted Stanford aware of the scale of Eric's talent so his absence wouldn't later be held against him. Now the reason for Eric's disappearance, or the alleged purpose, stewed in Stanford's gut. He nodded at Lynne, but so wished to proffer any excuse to run as fast as his feet could carry him. He wouldn't stop at their car, but head as far as he could manage, not wanting to face....

Lynne removed her hand from his cheek, then patted his arm, escorting him toward the studio, but they wouldn't be the first to reach it, Eric and Laurie leading the way. Eric opened the door, then stood aside as Seth and Adrienne went in first. Laurie toted Cary as Jane waited beside her father. Lynne paused just shy of the studio's entrance, then reached for Jane's hand, taking her in.

Stanford breathed deeply, then met Eric's gaze. They hadn't yet said hello, but that seemed superfluous. Stanford didn't know what greeting would be appropriate, then he sighed. "How are you?" he finally mumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"I'm good Stan, really and truly. And I'm very grateful you came. Step inside, there's something for you to see."

Stanford nodded, but kept his eyes downcast. For several seconds he studied the studio's floor, also recalling the images Lynne had shared, paintings Eric had made of his wife busy with her hobbies. Stanford then wondered if she ever did needlepoint anymore, was there time for knitting? She still baked, for which he was grateful, then he looked up at where Laurie, Seth, and Adrienne had gathered. Lynne stood next to Seth, motioning toward the back wall.

"What is it?" Stanford said absently.

"Just something I've been playing around with," Eric replied with a smile.

His heart beating erratically, Stanford approached those huddled together. Seth placed his arm around his wife, Adrienne's tears audible. Laurie also put his arm around the now distraught young woman, then he turned to face his partner. Tears rolled down Laurie's face, but he nodded, a strange grin like a beacon.

"C'mere Stan," he said, wiping his face. "You won't fucking believe this."

"Watch that language Laurie." Seth laughed, then kissed his wife. "Little pitchers have big ears and there's a lot of them in this room."

"I know, I know," Laurie chuckled. "But I swear to God Stan, you gotta come see."

As Stanford walked to where the paintings waited, Eric remained apart from the group. He'd only decided to share these canvases that day, after meeting the Aherns at St. Anne's. He'd briefly mentioned to Sam about seeing a hawk that morning, then spoke about these pieces, of which Sam and Renee were aware, but had yet to view. He hadn't expected to share them with anyone, had even considered burning them. Lynne had asked him to wait on that action, and now he was thankful for her wisdom.

He was also relieved for how she supported Stanford, who had joined the others with trepidation, and now seemed to sway. What might Stan think, not that Eric's recent output could be featured in an exhibit, but merely that a painter had attempted what couldn't even been called a comeback. It was far simpler, also incredibly complex, much like life itself. Eric inwardly chuckled at that observation, then stared at how Stan now wept in Lynne's grasp. Eric had never witnessed Stanford break down, and while he was sure Laurie had, even he was taken aback at how thoroughly Stanford grieved. Then Eric trembled for that huge outpouring of sorrow. He'd hoped these paintings would erase the gulf between them, yet it seemed to have had the opposite effect.

"Jane, come show me your playhouse. And the treehouse and the orchard too." Laurie spoke softly, meeting Eric's gaze as he led Jane toward the studio's door. He still toted Cary, who pointed back at the crying man in her mother's embrace. Jane seemed unbothered by Stan's collapse, eagerly chatting about all Laurie had mentioned.

Seth and Adrienne remained near the paintings, and as Eric walked that way, Seth came toward him. "They're beautiful," he said, grasping both of Eric's hands. "Even more amazing than the ones in Minnesota."

"I just made them on a whim," Eric whispered.

"No you didn't." Seth gently patted Eric's left shoulder, took another look at the canvases, then smiled at Eric. "Adrienne and I will start bringing in bags. We'll meet you all in the house."

Eric nodded, wondering if the Gordons would cancel their hotel reservations, or maybe Stanford would switch places with them. Wishing to approach where Lynne still comforted their guest, Eric remained several feet away. Harming Stan hadn't been his intention in sharing these pieces. As Eric turned to leave the studio, Lynne called his name. He met her gaze, shrugged, then nodded, walking that way.

As he reached them, Stanford stood upright, struggling to pull a handkerchief from his pocket. Finally he did so, blowing his nose, then taking off his glasses, wiping his eyes. He put back on the specs, seemed to want to make eye contact with Eric, but instead glanced at the paintings. Finally Stan met Eric's gaze. "Why?" he warbled, then he cleared his throat. "Why did you do this?"

"I didn't have a choice." Eric wondered if Stan meant only the artwork, for now the dealer stared at Eric's mangled shoulder. "If I could have done anything else, believe me, I would've."

Lynne kissed Eric's cheek, then left the studio. Eric assumed Stan would follow her out, but he only watched her go. Stanford then studied the paintings, wrapping his arms tight across his chest. Eric knew Stanford's dilemma, part of which was the artwork, but much was related to an unproven phenomenon. It was one thing to know the truth, something else to believe it.

But perhaps these canvases were similar to Eric's previous incarnations as a hawk. His ruined shoulder testified to that irregularity just as these abstract pieces hearkened to his former talent. Maybe Seth thought they were comparable to those in Minneapolis, but Eric saw them with more honest eyes; they weren't much better than what Jane produced, more was that Eric had actually attempted painting with his left hand. He wished Marek was present, for he might be able to explain the soul's return from the abyss, or at least Eric's homecoming at St. Matthew's. That was what these canvases signified to the artist. But nothing about art was objective.

"I'm sorry Stan, for a lot of things, but I just wanted you to know I've come to terms with what's happened, or every day I'm getting closer to making peace with it. That's all these mean to me." Eric smiled, then continued. "I didn't want this visit to get off on the wrong foot, but here we are. Listen, I'm gonna check on Laurie. Just close the door when you leave."

As Eric took a step, Stanford grasped his left arm. "Just tell me, is it true?"

Eric nodded. "But if it's any consolation, I don't think it's gonna happen again."

Stanford stared at him. "Why?"

"I can't fly, not like this. There wouldn't be any point."

Stanford nodded, then visibly trembled. He returned to staring at the paintings, but cleared his throat. "I just can't believe it, it's nonsense, it's...." He shook his head. "I'm sorry Eric. There's just no way I can accept it."

"I understand. And I'm sorry too Stan, I really am." Eric placed his left hand in his pocket, then walked from the studio. Lynne waited at the patio table, her hands on their unborn baby. Eric gazed at her, and she nodded, then met him at Jane's playhouse. Together they headed toward the orchard, where Laurie and the girls could be heard.
Chapter 262

The Gordons didn't sleep at the Snyders' home that first night, but on Friday morning, Seth cancelled the remainder of their hotel reservation. He and Adrienne returned in time for breakfast, which to their delight was pie and coffee. Everyone greeted them, except for Stanford, and Adrienne sat beside Lynne at the table. Lynne gently grasped Adrienne's hand, then chuckled. "Laurie can make something more nutritious if you like."

"This's fine for now." Adrienne blinked away tears, then laughed. "Well, maybe a glass of milk."

"I'm on it," Laurie said as Seth sat on Adrienne's other side.

Within minutes, all were seated, the chatter centered on whether or not Marek and Klaudia would come for lunch. She had arrived safely last night, but Eric wondered if that twosome would wait for that evening's meal.

Lynne didn't comment, still holding Adrienne's hand. The young woman seemed in need of the reassurance, but Lynne wasn't certain for the reason. Not that Adrienne was skittish of them; she had quickly warmed to Jane and Cary, who had found her Scottish accent delightful. Neither did Adrienne appear worried about Stanford's trepidation; Seth's wife knew the truth about Eric, what Seth had mentioned privately to Lynne and Eric while Adrienne took a brief rest before supper. The Snyders were somewhat surprised, but upon reflection, Lynne considered that to others, Seth's recovery from depression might be as unbelievable as Eric's previous alterations. She wished Stanford could relate those issues, but he had distanced himself from the rest, spending much of his time in the orchard. Lynne had accompanied him for a while, and had sensed his small desire to accept the impossible. Yet it had been too much to allow, and she wondered if this might be his last visit to Oregon. It wouldn't be Laurie's, for which she was grateful. She was also pleased for the Gordons' coming baby, and as Adrienne gripped her hand, Lynne kissed the young woman's cheek. Adrienne began to cry, but she laughed as well. Lynne's unborn child kicked hard, and Lynne placed Adrienne's hand where the movements were strongest. Then Lynne's eyes watered, but she didn't wipe away those tears. Adrienne nodded, then again giggled, and Lynne did too. When she'd been Adrienne's age, motherhood had seemed an unattainable dream. Then Lynne laughed loudly, shaking her head. "It's going to be quite a circus the next time we visit New York. More little ones than we can count."

"And when might that visit be?" Laurie said slyly.

"Perhaps in spring," Lynne smiled.

"That would perfect." Adrienne reached for a napkin, then wiped her face. "We'd love you to meet the baby."

"That would be wonderful." Lynne glanced at Eric, who nodded in agreement. Then Lynne gazed at Laurie, who also nodded, but she detected faint apprehension in his green eyes. They would stay in Queens with Agatha's family for part of it, but perhaps the Snyders might also reside in a Manhattan hotel. Lynne wouldn't put any more stress upon Stanford, who had yet to join them.

The conversation then turned to when the Snyders would fly east, but Lynne excused herself, heading upstairs. She didn't hear Stanford's familiar drones, or the sound of anyone taking a shower. She went into her room, made the bed, then dressed for the day, hoping Marek and Klaudia would join them for lunch. Stanford required a wide buffer, then Lynne giggled. Klaudia knew the truth too; maybe they could bond over something so implausible. Then Lynne shivered as her baby shifted positions. She smoothed her blouse over her belly, recalling how farfetched pregnancy had once seemed. Adrienne's clinginess was merely due to having someone with whom to share her situation, but when Lynne had first been expecting Jane, there hadn't been a single soul with whom to discuss her apprehensions.

Lynne wouldn't mention any of this to Stanford, or to Klaudia. But she prayed for them, as well as the rest under her roof, then again caressed her wide belly. "Maybe you're the biggest miracle of all," she said softly. She smiled, stepping from her room, hearing the guest room door open at the end of the hallway. Stanford walked toward her, looking freshly showered. She waited for him to join her, then kissed his cheek. Grasping his hand, she silently led him downstairs, praying for him with every step.

They found the kitchen deserted, although a note waited on the table; in Laurie's handwriting, Lynne read aloud that Marek and Klaudia had arrived, and everyone was in the garden. Stanford sighed audibly, in what sounded like relief to Lynne. She asked if he wanted breakfast, but he shook his head. "Just some coffee please."

"Pie to go with it?"

Lynne's tone was playful, and Stanford nodded, smiling as though against his will. Lynne hid a mischievous grin, slicing into a peach pie, then pouring Stan some coffee. He was seated in his usual space, but as Lynne brought his breakfast to the table, he stood, taking the mug from her hand. "I could have done that Lynne, you should be resting."

"I'll get plenty of downtime over the next two weeks. It's a pleasure having you here."

He shrugged, then retook his seat, but Lynne wouldn't gloss over her feelings toward him. She set his plate in front of him, then returned to the counter, filling her coffee cup. She sat across from Stanford, who had already eaten half of his pie. Lynne chuckled. "I can also fix some eggs to go with it."

Stanford met her gaze, unable to hide a smile. "Well, now that you mention it...."

She stood, and within minutes set another plate in front of him. They didn't speak, but she felt some of his anxiety had faded. Then voices were heard approaching the front door. Marek entered the kitchen, Klaudia behind him. Lynne stood, exchanging greetings, then she made the introductions. Klaudia nodded, but didn't speak, yet Stanford stood, warmly shaking Marek's hand.

"Have you had breakfast yet?" Lynne asked her guests. "There's plenty of pie and coffee."

"Ah, the customary morning fare." Marek's tone teased. "Laurie ushered us right out to show off the orchard. I do wonder if enthusiasm can hurry along those trees. If so, you'll have fresh peaches next summer."

"So I take that as a yes on pie and coffee?" Lynne smiled.

"Yes please," Klaudia said softly.

Marek laughed, motioning for Lynne to be seated. "I'll take care of the serving. How were your flights Stanford?"

"Oh, um, fine." He cleared his throat, then gazed at Klaudia. "I should be asking that of you."

"They were fine as well." She drummed her fingers on the table, then smiled at Lynne. "How are you feeling?"

"Better for all of you here." The women made small talk as Marek brought plates and cups to the table. He refilled Stanford's mug, then sat next to the art dealer. Yet the men didn't converse, not that they seemed intrigued by the ladies' chatter. In Klaudia's slightly dismissive tone, Lynne discerned a judgment having already been passed, Stanford falling short of Klaudia's expectations. Stealing a glance that man's way, Lynne saw shock upon his face, as if for the first time he had been found lacking in character. Lynne stifled a giggle as Klaudia kept speaking; Eric had shown them the paintings, after other introductions had been made. Klaudia was in awe of what he had produced, remarking that perhaps his career wasn't completely over.

Marek remained silent, but Stanford quietly excused himself, taking his empty dishes to the sink. He did pat Marek's shoulder, then left the kitchen, heading into the living room. Lynne heard him take the stairs, but she didn't remark upon it, as Klaudia continued to ramble. Yet her comments were scattered in nature, then she sipped her coffee. She gazed at where Stanford had been seated, then shook herself, rising from her chair. "I'll be back in a bit."

Lynne nodded, watching as Klaudia stepped to where her purse hung over a different chair. She retrieved a pack of cigarettes and some matches, then exited through the front door. Lynne waited a few seconds, then spoke. "That was interesting."

Marek nodded, then laughed out loud. "She hasn't said anything about what I told her last time, but knows Stanford is aware too." Marek paused, then sighed. "Funny what our brains will permit. She'd rather believe in a hawk than in...."

Laurie, Seth and two small girls entered the kitchen, but Lynne knew how Marek would have finished his sentence. "We left those European gals to chat," Laurie said. "Though Eric's with them, so one Yank's represented." He glanced at the table, finding Stanford's seat hadn't been pulled up like the rest. "Everyone awake?" he asked tentatively.

"Stanford just finished breakfast," Lynne replied. "I think he went upstairs."

"I'll be right back." Laurie led Jane to where Marek sat. The pastor took Jane upon his lap as Seth sat near Lynne. Cary remained in his grasp, but she stared at her mother, then at Klaudia's plate, a few bites remaining. Marek laughed. "She's eyeing the remnants. But I know Klaudia won't mind."

Lynne shook her head. "These two have been eating pie all morning. But I should start more for tonight's dessert." Lynne stood, then kissed her youngest daughter's face. "You chaps can be on baby duty."

"I need the practice," Seth laughed.

"Shall we take them outside again?" Marek asked Lynne.

"Sure. When Laurie returns, I'll send him your way."

"Wonderful." Marek stood, as did Seth, leaving Lynne alone in the kitchen. Within minutes Laurie returned, but his mood was pensive. He approached where Lynne rolled out pie crust on the counter. "What happened between Stan and Klaudia?"

Lynne detailed the brief exchange, then added Marek's truncated comment. Laurie's eyes grew wide, then he sighed. "Well hell. Didn't quite expect that, but I suppose he's right."

"When the Aherns get here, it'll be easier," Lynne said. "Paul won't let Stanford brood."

"That's true," Laurie smiled. "And Klaudia can chat with Renee and Adrienne. Any idea when they're coming?"

Lynne glanced toward the telephone. "Not until later, but you can certainly invite them now. Just make sure they know pie's in short supply, but that I'm working on it."

"I'll do that," Laurie chuckled.

He stepped away, then returned, setting a kiss upon Lynne's cheek. She met his gaze. "What?"

"Just for being...." He paused, then laughed. "So understanding. But I guess you've had plenty of experience."

Lynne gripped Laurie's hands. "A few landmines to negotiate, but even if this's his last visit...." Tears precluded her from saying more, and Laurie nodded, then kissed her again. Then he laughed, wiping flour-covered hands on his khaki shorts. Soon he was speaking to Sam, requesting that family's presence. As Eric and Adrienne entered the kitchen, Laurie was making more coffee, announcing that the Aherns were on their way.

Within moments after the Aherns' arrival, Stanford stood outside near where overhead Paul played in the treehouse. Stanford's chuckles were earnest, for which Laurie was thankful, the rest as well. Little girls ran in and out of the playhouse, keeping Renee, Klaudia, and Adrienne busy, as Sam was shown Eric's latest work, Marek and Laurie getting another look at those canvases. That left Seth and Lynne, both seated at the patio. Lynne observed how Klaudia wanted to collect Cary, but she was determined to keep pace with her sister and Ann. Lynne giggled, placing her hands on her baby. "And soon enough you'll be running around with them. Never a quiet moment to be had by that point."

Seth smiled. "It was like that for me and Laurie with all our older sisters. Well, until they turned into teenagers, then it got quiet again."

Lynne gazed at her guest, but Seth didn't appear sad. "Now you're adding to the mix. Perhaps your cousin Tovah will too."

Seth laughed. "They will, but Aunt Sheila's gonna be doing some traveling let me just say."

Lynne nodded, then gazed to where Paul was scrambling down from the treehouse. Laurie stepped from the studio, then joined his partner and Sam's son. Paul seemed to be asking Laurie to join him in the tree, and Laurie nodded, then easily scaled wooden boards which led to the small structure. It had been solidly built to accommodate many youngsters, and the Canfields teens had already proved it worthy. Laurie waved down to Stanford, motioning for him to climb up, but Stan merely shook his head.

"Laurie would've made such a great dad," Seth said softly. "But he is a fantastic uncle."

"He's had a lot of practice," Lynne said.

"Yeah, but it's different here." Seth glanced at Lynne, then toward his wife. Then he smiled. "And Stanford's not bad either. Laurie told me a little about how Sam and Renee adopted their kids. You'd never know it from looking at them together."

Lynne nodded, gazing at Ann with her mother, a twosome so similar, and not only in appearance. Then she studied Klaudia now holding Cary, how much they looked alike, with Marek's brown eyes in Cary's lovely face. Lynne sighed, then met Seth's gaze. "To be honest, I never imagined such a gathering when Eric and I bought this property." Lynne giggled. "But I'm glad Sam and Renee are hosting tomorrow."

"The Fourth will seem downright mild in comparison." Seth chuckled, then grew quiet. Then he grasped Lynne's hand. "Thank you so much for...." He paused, then released Lynne's hand. "Guess you didn't have any way to stop it, but I wouldn't be here now if not for your husband."

Lynne turned to face Seth. She inhaled, so much she could say on this subject, yet if she started to speak, tears would intrude. She gripped Seth's hands, then glanced at her daughters. "Renee led me to faith, and Sam's cared for Eric. We're all part and parcel of the whole." Then she giggled. "A very unique conglomeration, I will admit, but each piece is necessary."

Stanford's ringing laughter traveled throughout the garden, making all look in that direction. Lynne's heart ached for that happy sound, also for how briefly it lasted, then Seth squeezed her hand. "Every piece is vital," he said, "and don't count him out. It might take a long time, but then so did I."

Lynne brushed aside tears, nodding in agreement. Then she saw her husband exiting the studio, Sam and Marek behind him. Seth released Lynne's hand, then stood from his seat. He began walking in that direction, stopping where they had gathered, near the treehouse. Then Seth motioned to Sam, seemed to be asking a question. Sam nodded, then those men headed toward the orchard.

Two veterans didn't rejoin the rest until lunchtime. Sam's eyes were red, Seth's were too, but their smiles spoke of relief. Renee didn't pester Sam about what he said to Laurie's cousin, but Adrienne did lead her husband from the group, although they weren't away for long. Lunch was served on the patio, a card table and extra chairs hastily arranged. Lynne asked if Renee would need additional seating for Saturday's festivities, but Fran had already volunteered those items.

The chatter was light, although Stanford and Klaudia said little. She sat beside Marek, while Stanford was flanked by Paul and Laurie. Renee's son was chipper, and didn't seem to notice Stanford's dour mood. Adrienne's melodic accent blended well with Marek's, and when Klaudia did speak, it was to the young Scot, who seemed completely at ease with people she had only just met. Perhaps it was her youth, or having lived far from Scotland, and soon she would again call a new place home. Renee liked her, Seth too, and she hoped they would make New York their permanent base. It was certainly closer than Tel Aviv, she smiled.

Lynne and Eric stood, taking their girls into the house for naptime. Jane protested, but Cary was slumped over her father's shoulder. Renee looked at Sam, wondering if they should make their goodbyes. But Sam continued chatting with Marek, oblivious of Renee's attempt to catch his attention. She nearly clucked, but Seth met her gaze, a strange smile on his face. He nodded toward the playhouse, then stood, and Renee went to her feet, following him.

She wondered what he wanted, assuming it had to do with the talk he'd shared with Sam. Instead Seth asked if the Aherns would stay a little longer. "There's something I need to do," Seth said, then he cleared his throat. He seemed slightly nervous, but a quick grin lit his face. "Actually...." He then whispered in Renee's ear, sending a shiver down her back. But she nodded to his request, inwardly saying a brief prayer. Seth then grasped her hands, nodding his head as if praying with her.

They returned to where the rest sat, as did the Snyders. Ann fidgeted in her seat, but Paul spoke to Stanford, who was captured by the boy's tale. Renee smiled, retaking her chair, as Marek noted that he and Klaudia had made caramel slices for dessert. Both of Renee's children looked in the pastor's direction, Ann clapping her hands in delight.

"How about I take you two with me to retrieve them?" Renee said, glancing at Seth, who nodded.

"That's a splendid idea." Marek stood. "I'll assist."

"Oh goodie!" Ann said, wriggling from her seat. Paul was already on his feet, and the children ran toward the living room French doors.

"Be quiet going in," Renee said, feeling as if Christ stood beside her. She looked around, but only Marek was close. Again she trembled, but not in fear. She gazed back, seeing how solitary Stanford appeared, although Laurie remained seated next to him. Sam glanced at her, a question in his eyes, but Renee merely nodded, as if imploring him to stay put. Sam nodded, then folded his hands in his lap as Renee reached the French doors. Her eyes were then drawn to that one glass pane. She grazed over it lightly, then grasped her daughter's hand as Marek reached for Paul's. The foursome entered the house together, then Marek closed the doors behind them.
Chapter 263

For a few minutes, nothing seemed amiss. Lynne had closed her eyes, reveling in the peace. Jane and Cary had gone down for their naps rather easily for all the visitors, but Lynne had chalked it up to weariness from playing with Ann, as well as with Klaudia and Adrienne.

Laurie also noted the quiet, especially now that Paul no longer sat on Stan's other side. Reaching for his partner's hand, Laurie offered a gentle squeeze and Stanford reciprocated, then took his hand from Laurie's grip. Stanford inhaled deeply, then excused himself, standing from his chair. But Seth also went to his feet, offering a wide smile. Laurie watched as Seth motioned for Stanford to return to his chair as if reminding Stan of promised treats, although the others had yet to step from the house.

Klaudia looked in that direction, wishing she'd gone with Marek, but she hadn't wanted to appear as though trailing behind him. She crossed her arms over her chest, then studied those who remained. Lynne's eyes were still shut, perhaps she too was catching a rest. Stanford had sat back down, but looked anxious. Klaudia didn't like his overbearing manner and wondered what Laurie saw in him. Adrienne seemed the perfect wife for Laurie's cousin, who was still on his feet, stretching his arms. His deliberate actions seemed to mock Eric's inability to do the same, yet that didn't fit into Seth's personality, or what Klaudia had discerned. He wasn't as jovial as Laurie, but didn't seem mean-spirited.

Stanford watched how Seth continued to stretch out his arms, first over his head, then outwards, finally cracking his knuckles. He gazed at each person, lingering longest on Sam, who nodded, then glanced at the ground. Then Seth peered at Eric, as he had stepped behind where that man sat at the table. Eric looked up, smiled at Seth, then grasped Lynne's hand. She opened her eyes, sleepily regarding her husband. "Yes?" she said softly.

Then Seth met Stanford's gaze, a beseeching look on Seth's face. Stanford shrugged, then chuckled dryly, licking his lips, but his glass was empty. He wished Renee and Marek would return with the children, then he sat up, about to again move from his seat. "Please wait Stan," Seth said. "Please?"

Everyone stared at Stanford, who meekly nodded. Sam was glad Seth had spoken or he would have, although he wasn't sure why. He was also grateful his wife and Marek had taken the kids indoors; it wasn't that the youngsters had interrupted lunchtime conversations, and Sam hoped for the more of the same tomorrow when Frannie, Joan, and their families joined all these folks in Sam's backyard. He admired the flourishing garden, could envision the boysenberry vines laden with fruit, the spindly peach trees waving their small leafy branches in the light breeze that cooled the sweat on Sam's forehead. Then he shivered, wiping beads with the back of his hand. He wondered why was he perspiring, then noticed how Seth had grasped Eric's shoulders.

From the moment Seth laid his hands on Eric, a strong wind blew, making Eric tremble. As the gust passed through the yard, Eric felt more than mere hands upon him. Seth then gripped Eric's shoulders, but not hard enough to cause pain. In fact, Eric felt no ache whatsoever, other than a slight searing in his left elbow.

Seth didn't speak, neither did he move. He offered a distinct pressure, then eased his grasp. Eric continued to hold his wife's hand, and now Lynne provided a similar grip, making Eric's heart beat hard. His left fingers twitched, then he released Lynne's hand, wriggling those digits. He tried to do the same with his right hand, but nothing happened.

A familiar niggle made him gasp; the burn began in his left hand, inching its way up his forearm, into his elbow, where it lingered for seconds. Then it crept to his left shoulder, where Seth now gripped with intent. Across Eric's upper back the burn traveled, settling in what remained of his right shoulder. There it intensified, making Eric grimace. Slowly it wound into his withered right arm, past the elbow, shooting into each of his right fingers. They convulsed, the pain significant. Then just as it had appeared, the ache vanished. Eric looked up, finding tears on Seth's face. "There was something you said I needed to do with my hands," he said. "Something good, and I think this's it."

As Seth finished speaking, he released Eric's shoulders. Immediately Eric clutched his gut, bending over. Now the pain was formidable, also familiar, that deep ache within his bones heralding change. But this time, Eric wasn't alone, nor was he able-bodied. He'd just told Stan he doubted another transformation could occur, had he been wrong? He sat up, grasping the left side of his chair, his knuckles white. He looked at his right hand, the fingers still twitching, pain accompanying. Then he gazed at each of those seated near him. Laurie and Sam wore hopeful gazes, Lynne's the same. Adrienne's cheeks were streaked with tears, then she stood, rushing to her husband. Klaudia's gaze was of hesitation, turning to humble awareness. Then Eric looked at Stan, his face that of confusion. To that man, Eric merely smiled. "It's happening again." Eric scooted back his seat, then stood awkwardly due to the massive upheaval within him. "I don't know if I can make it off the ground, but I...."

His voice trailed off, but he could still view those around him. Then he gazed up at fluttering curtains from the open nursery window. He pointed at them with his left hand, which had started to sprout feathers. He smiled as the window was promptly closed, then he turned to find Stanford shaking, Laurie attempting to steady him. Eric looked at his wife; Lynne nodded, but didn't try to touch him. He opened his mouth, releasing a squawk, then shook out his arms, his left stretching out as a wing, the right unable to fully extend.

As a man turned into a bird, those around him could do nothing more than observe, yet each noted different elements; Laurie was shocked at how quickly it happened. Sam wondered how Eric withstood the pain, then remembered how much agony Eric had felt in previous alterations. Recalling Eric's healing words in Miami, Seth wept, then gripped his wife, who cried for the realization of her husband's admission. Klaudia could only stare at Eric, her beloved's confession of the hawk which had saved his own life running through her mind. Lynne prayed for healing, and not only for her husband. She looked at Stanford, still trembling in Laurie's arms.

Stanford alternated between peering at Eric, then tightly shutting his eyes. Yet the squawks couldn't be ignored, and finally Stanford stood, at first walking, then sprinting to where Eric had run, past the studio toward the orchard. When Stanford reached the trees, there was no sign of a human being, or of a creature that simply could not be real. Yet where had a man gone?

"Eric," Stanford called loudly. "Where are you Eric?" Shielding his eyes from the bright sun, Stanford looked up, then at the forest, then to where he could see Laurie approaching. A ringing screech made Stanford fall to his knees as a large hawk swooped over the peach trees, heading north of the wood.

"Oh my God, he can fly!" Laurie now stood next to Stanford, pointing to where Eric had gone. "He's got both wings back, Jesus Christ!" Laurie then knelt beside Stan. "Are you okay?"

Stanford shook his head, then looked around, but they were alone. "Did I see that, I mean...."

"You tell me Stan."

Stanford's heart pounded, his pulse racing. Sweat poured from his brow, but he couldn't refute what had happened; Eric had turned into a.... Again the hawk flew past as if fleeing for its life. Stanford felt it was in no danger, other than from disbelieving minds. Yet how could he continue to doubt what indeed he'd witnessed with his own eyes. Eric Snyder was that hawk, Stanford had watched it happen. But had Stanford been privy to an even greater miracle?

Getting to his feet, Stanford brushed dirt from his slacks. The day was warm, and while the rest were appropriately attired, he had insisted upon wearing trousers. "I need to change into something cooler," he said to Laurie, then he sighed. "But I don't want to miss his return."

Laurie looked around, then smiled. "I'll get you some shorts. You can change behind the studio, no one will notice."

Stanford nodded as Laurie turned to leave. Stanford then reached for Laurie's left hand, making Laurie pause. "What Stan?"

"Just this." Stanford caressed Laurie's face, then kissed him with vigor. "Hurry," he then whispered. "It's hot out here."

"Indeed," Laurie laughed. He ran back toward the house, hollering that Eric had flown off, but Laurie was certain he'd return.

As Laurie raced into the house, he missed those gathered in the kitchen; Marek and Klaudia stood near the front door, Klaudia trembling in her lover's embrace. After Eric's transformation, she had left those on the patio, finding Renee speaking to her children in the Snyders' living room. Marek had met Klaudia as she entered the kitchen, and as Laurie bolted back outside, Klaudia still shivered. She had only asked Marek one question; who had closed the nursery window? Marek said Renee had done it, and that both Jane and Cary were still asleep.

Yet so many queries remained, Klaudia didn't know where to begin. She had alternated between watching Eric, then studying Stanford's reaction, and wasn't certain which of those had been more revealing. She was relieved to now grasp this bizarre truth, reaffirming that the man in whose hold she remained hadn't been lying. But with that being the case, other issues pummeled her heart; could they be true as well?

"Would you like some tea?" Marek asked in Polish, stroking her hair. "Or perhaps something stronger?"

Klaudia pulled away, finding slight mirth on Marek's face. "Like what?"

"I believe there's some wine in the cupboard, maybe even some whiskey," Marek chuckled. "Goodness knows a few stiff belts, as the Yanks like to say, might be called for."

Klaudia shook her head, then sighed. "Some tea please."

Marek led her to the table, where she sat with a plop. The only sounds were of Renee and her children, but Klaudia couldn't make out what Renee was telling them, and what about Jane? Thankfully Cary was too little to know differently, but.... Klaudia sighed, for what would it matter? Perhaps that ethereal upheaval was merely for Eric and Stanford. And Seth, Klaudia allowed. Just last night Marek had explained the relationship between Seth and Eric, and if nothing else, closure had been affected. Klaudia shook her head, then crossed her arms over her chest. She wanted a smoke, then sat up. "Do you think he's returned yet?"

Marek turned around, then approached her, caressing her shoulders. "Sam will come tell us."

"I suppose so." Klaudia leaned back against her lover. Then she sighed again. "I wonder if...."

Marek hummed, gently stroking her upper arms. "Possibly. If nothing else, Stanford knows the truth."

Klaudia nodded as Marek released her. He returned to the stove as the kettle began to whistle. Klaudia watched him fill a teapot, several mugs on the counter. Then she stood, stepping toward him. "You knew what was going to happen, why didn't you want to see it?"

"I didn't need to, and Renee required help with the children."

Gazing to where Renee could still be heard, Klaudia then stared at Marek. "Have you ever seen it happen?"

"No, but as I said, I have no need of witnessing it."

She nodded, then glared at him. "But I did?"

Marek smiled, then poured tea. "Do you want sugar?"

Klaudia shook her head, tears forming in her eyes. "Why'd you leave me there, why?"

Marek set the pot on the counter, refilled it, then turned to face her. Tenderly he grasped her hands. "On faith you accepted what I told you about Eric. But sometimes proof is necessary, although not always."

Her lips quivered and she tapped her foot. Then he kissed her cheek. "Now, would you like some sugar?"

"I want to know...." She spoke angrily, then began to tremble. Marek wrapped her close as tears poured down her face. She wept for many notions, but the largest was from an awesome sense of.... It was a love beyond anything she had ever experienced, not even comparable to what she felt for the man holding her in one piece. Then she began to laugh, for how absurd was it to more readily allow a man changing into a creature over the religious dogma Marek spouted. But it wasn't merely a philosophy he claimed, and she cried hard, wondering how she could possibly leave in a week's time. Sigrun hadn't said anything in relation to Klaudia's return, perhaps she too had known.

As Klaudia calmed, Renee entered the kitchen, clearing her throat. "Sam just tapped on the door. There's still no sign of him. It could be awhile."

"How are the children?" Marek asked, still soothing Klaudia.

"Fine, although...." Renee smiled. "I'm not gonna say anything till he gets back."

"I agree." Marek released Klaudia, then motioned to the counter. "I've made tea, would you like some?"

Renee nodded, stepping toward them. She opened a cupboard, pulling out a whiskey bottle. "Put a splash of this in mine. Laurie and Stanford might need some too."

Marek chuckled, then looked at Klaudia. "And some in yours?"

She nodded, wiping her face. "Actually, I'll have a shot first, then the tea."

"If not for my kids, I'd do the same," Renee said.

The women gazed at each other, Renee with a smile. She hugged Klaudia, then reached for the mug Marek had prepared. She blew on the cup, steam rising. "I'll let it cool a little, don't wanna burn my tongue. But this one's mine," she giggled, offering Marek a quick embrace. "As soon as Sam gives the sign, I'll let you know."

"Thank you Renee." Marek set her mug in the middle of the counter as she returned to the living room. Then he faced Klaudia. "Do you want to wait here or...."

She nodded, then emptied the shot glass Marek had prepared, placing it near her mug. Then she shivered. "Actually, I'm going back outside. I want to see him...." She paused, then continued. "What happens after this?"

"I don't know. What would make you happy?"

Klaudia hadn't expected him to say that. "I, I...." She sighed, then shook her head. "I'll be waiting for you."

Marek caressed her face. "I'm sure we won't be long."

She nodded, aware that he spoke on Renee's behalf. Yet, in heading back outside, Klaudia wondered if he meant something else as well.

Fifteen minutes had passed since Eric departed, but Lynne didn't worry he would be gone all afternoon. That he had regained full use of his.... She had smiled when Laurie exclaimed that Eric was flying with both wings, also relieved that the nursery window had been closed. Lynne didn't ponder what Renee might be telling Paul and Ann, nor did she wonder how Klaudia was feeling. She had returned from the house, offered Lynne a hug, then quickly walked to where all four New Yorkers were waiting, probably in the orchard. The only one still at the patio table was Sam.

Lynne had exchanged few words with him, both spending these moments in prayer. Seth had clarified the basis for his actions, that in Miami Eric had told him there was something he would one day do with his hands, something for good. At the time, Seth had only imagined it was a return to sculpting, but even that had seemed a farfetched dream. Lynne breathed deeply, then smiled, standing from her chair. She glanced overhead, white puffy clouds fringing a bright blue sky. Then she gazed at Sam, also studying the horizon.

They smiled at one another, then he went to his feet, approaching her. "Been nearly twenty minutes," he said. "Maybe we should head to the trees."

Lynne looked that way, then nodded. Then she giggled, which turned to laughter. Sam laughed too, then hugged her. They held hands walking down the worn path, hearing nervous chatter as they passed the studio, the orchard in sight. The clothes Eric had shed lay in a pile on the edge of the lawn and Lynne met Laurie's gaze. He motioned toward those items, then smiled, stepping her way.

Another embrace was shared, and within Laurie's grasp, Lynne sensed more had transpired than Eric's transformation. Stanford's place within their family was assured, for which Lynne shed a few tears. He was speaking to Seth and Adrienne, but Klaudia stood with them, and no longer did she frown in Stan's direction. Lynne studied her, finding a youthful glow on her face. Lynne wiped her cheeks, then stroked Laurie's. "Is Stanford all right?"

"He's damned ready for Eric to come back," Laurie whispered. Then he chuckled. "I think we all are."

Lynne nodded, then scanned the horizon, but only saw her developing orchard. Tears tumbled down her face, thinking of how she and Eric had walked through a similar setting, his alterations a heavy burden. This time, how many weights had been lifted? She wouldn't dare suppose how he might be upon his return; Seth's words about having to affect change could be translated in a variety of manners. If Stanford's peace of mind was all that occurred, Lynne would be forever grateful, yet....

"Seth explained what precipitated this," Laurie said softly. Then he smiled. "But I gotta think it's for more than just Stan's benefit, or Klaudia's."

Again Lynne nodded, then she glanced toward the peach trees, straining to hear what might be a faraway squawk. The rest grew quiet and Lynne stepped to where they had gathered. Now the screech was noticeable; within minutes Eric would return.

Sam remained with them; Lynne knew he wouldn't collect those in the house until Eric had fully turned back into.... What kind of man might he be, Lynne finally permitted herself to wonder. She caught Stanford's attention, his smile unlike she had ever noted on him, that of an inner joy waiting to be fully realized. She knew his hopes, saw the same on Seth's face. Then she gripped Sam's hand, feeling he too wished the same. But as long as Eric changed back into her husband, Lynne would be satisfied.

She giggled inwardly; of all his previous absences, this would be the shortest, but might it be his last? Then she trembled as another squawk rang through the air. She glanced upward, shielding her eyes from the sun. The hawk swooped past those assembled, then flew toward the wood. Stanford led those now running to the forest, all but Lynne and Sam. Sam gathered Eric's clothes, then walked beside Lynne as strange sounds emanated from the far reaches of the property.

"Eric?" Stanford called. "Is that you?"

"Give him a few minutes." Laurie pulled Stan from where thick brambles grew.

"Maybe he just flew over it," Klaudia said. "Maybe he's still in the air."

"The squawks started here," Adrienne pointed. "Or at least that's what it seemed like to me."

Seth stood back from that quartet, then was joined by Lynne and Sam. Seth nodded at them, then motioned toward the wood. "Lynne, you should meet him. Laurie, Stan, let his wife see him first."

Klaudia and Adrienne stepped back as well, but Sam escorted Lynne toward shrubs and small trees. Sam kissed Lynne's cheek, then went to where the rest waited. Lynne's pulse raced, for she could hear bird-like chirps alternating with human groans. Those sounds weren't as painful as in the past, perhaps due to the brevity of Eric's flight. Then Lynne shivered as aching shrieks emerged. Sam returned to her side, then wrapped her close. "Oh honey," Lynne warbled, tears falling down her face.

Several minutes passed, and now the rest stood right behind Lynne and Sam. Eric's agony had abated, but he remained in the wood. Lynne called to him, but his responses weren't human in nature. Then rustling was detected, and all but Lynne and Sam stepped back. Lynne began to cry in earnest as her husband emerged, a few feathers stuck to his chest. Then she gasped, running toward him, both of his arms outstretched, seeking her embrace.

"Oh my God, oh Eric!" Lynne wasn't sure which was more remarkable, that her husband could move his right arm, or that upon momentary inspection, his right shoulder again appeared normal. But how he grasped her with two strong limbs told her that Seth's actions had indeed been for good. Eric murmured her name, gripping her awkwardly, but only due to their unborn baby. Then Eric laughed, stroking her belly with his right hand, which was wholly restored. Husband and wife exchanged glances, tears on Eric's face. His grey eyes shined as if the sun rested within them, but Lynne knew a deeper peace ruled his heart.

Words were subdued, yet Lynne heard hushed exclamations; He's healed was the refrain, spoken in accents from around the world. But in Stanford's awed tone, Lynne detected thanks being proffered for more than an artist's homecoming. Stan then stood near the couple, and Lynne pulled from her husband's embrace. Sam was close too, offering to Eric his clothes. Quickly Eric put on his briefs and shorts, but remained shirtless. A few scars were the only testament to what had happened at Caddo Lake, and Stanford traced those faint marks, then stared at Eric. "I wouldn't believe it except I saw it with my own eyes. My God Eric, I don't know what to say."

Eric's lips quivered, then he laughed. "I hope there's room for another artist on your roster. Although I might need a little time to...."

Stanford's outburst precluded further conversation. As others gave thanks, Lynne watched her husband console the sobbing art dealer. Laurie then embraced Lynne, that man also in tears. Sam hugged Klaudia, who spoke in Polish. To Lynne, it sounded like the Lord's Prayer.

"I'm gonna go get Renee and Marek." Sam wiped his damp face, then laughed. "Sure hope she told the kids something that'll explain this."

Laurie released Lynne. "I just wanna hug Eric, then I'll join you."

Sam nodded as Laurie approached where Eric still held Stanford. "Hey, time to let someone else test out these arms," Laurie chuckled.

Stanford cleared his throat, then released Eric, but didn't step far away. Laurie wrapped Eric in a bear hug, then gently patted Eric's back. Eric gripped Laurie's upper arms, then waved toward Sam. "We'll meet you on the patio. I wanna hold my daughters, both of them."

"Hopefully Cary won't fuss being woken early," Laurie laughed.

"I'll deal with those consequences later," Eric smiled, "but for now...."

Seth and Adrienne interrupted Eric, needing to offer their love as Sam and Laurie ran toward the house. Klaudia went after them, which didn't surprise Lynne. Yet she was taken aback at how Stanford still trembled. She grasped his hand, then embraced him, whispering how grateful she was for his presence. He could only nod, glancing at how Seth again laid his hands upon Eric. But now that shoulder was healed.
Chapter 264

For as much proof as adults required, youngsters didn't need more than simple admonishments; Laurie's cousin had prayed for Eric, then a miracle had occurred. Paul and Ann were in awe of how Jane's daddy could now carry his daughters at the same time, how he hugged them tightly with both of his arms, and that his bad shoulder no longer looked strange. Paul pointed at Eric's right hand, then whispered to his father. Sam nodded, then led his son to where Eric sat at the patio table, again with Jane and Cary in his grasp.

"Uncle Eric," Paul said, "will you still teach us how to paint?"

The talk had been rife that soon Eric would again be creating art. Eric kissed Jane's forehead, setting her to the ground. Then he tickled Cary's chin, handing her to Stanford, who hadn't moved far once everyone converged on the patio. Leaning forward in his seat, Eric grasped Paul's right hand with his own. "I would love to keep teaching you and Ann both, but only if you'll show me the best way to climb to the treehouse."

"Can we do it right now?" Paul smiled.

Eric nodded, standing from his chair. "Let's go."

All the grownups held their collective breaths, for the last time Eric had been in a tree, calamity had ruled. Quickly Paul led them up the wooden steps, then both looked down at the rest. Eric met all of the adults' gazes, then blew his wife a kiss. Then he laughed soundly as though his time as a hawk had never occurred. He scrambled down the tree, followed by Paul. Together they returned to where Klaudia and Adrienne wiped their eyes, Stanford blowing his nose. Laurie laughed, meeting them at the edge of the patio. "What'd you see from up there?" he asked.

"More blessings than I can count." Eric ruffled Paul's hair, blinking away tears. Then he chuckled. "So, didn't Marek and Klaudia bring caramel slices? I'm starving."

"Oh yeah." Paul ran toward his parents, but Renee was already on her feet. Ann joined them, and they headed inside the house. Eric retook his chair, then cracked his knuckles. Stanford flinched, but the rest laughed. Then Eric glanced at his wife, tears on Lynne's face. He stood, going to where she sat, kneeling beside her. They didn't speak, but words weren't necessary as Eric placed both of his hands on their baby, who moved from the pressure. Then Eric wiped Lynne's tears, rubbing them between his right thumb and index finger. There was no pain, not even a hint to the damage. He stared at those digits, then stood, an eager smile on his face.

"What is it?" Laurie asked.

"Something I need to do," Eric said, offering Lynne his right hand. Slowly she stood from her chair, then Eric motioned toward the studio. "Before I give any lessons, better find out what I can manage."

Everyone but Stanford nodded, going to their feet. Eric then walked to where Stan remained. "C'mon, I can't do this without you."

Stanford glanced at the ground, then to the house. "Perhaps I should wait for Renee and the children."

Eric laughed. "They'll know where we've gone." With his right hand, he grasped Stan's shoulder. "Please?"

Stanford nodded, then stood. Eric then walked alongside Stan as the rest congregated at the studio's door. Lynne opened it, but waited for her husband and Stanford. "I'll be right back," she told them. "But go ahead and start without me."

Eric nodded, then kissed her. Then he chuckled as Jane asked to paint. "I'm coming honey," he said, as Lynne stepped away.

By evening's end, several canvases were drying in the studio, but only one had been fashioned by an accomplished artist. Laurie, Stanford, and Seth were all shocked at how easily Eric had applied oils to canvas, but even more amazing was how readily Sam had posed, flanked by his wife and children. Lynne had stood beside them, Seth and Adrienne to her left, Marek and Klaudia on the Aherns' right. Laurie and Stanford had been in the back, Jane in Laurie's grasp, Cary in Stanford's. Eric said he would hang it in the sunroom, a collection of his closest relatives.

A larger gathering of kin awaited tomorrow, and Eric was curious as to how his healing would be accepted. As two Poles and four Aherns made their goodbyes, Eric embraced them in a manner in which only that morning had been impossible. Yet he wouldn't deviate from what Paul and Ann had been told, for it was the truth. What occurred right afterwards was only for his dearest relatives. And it remained an event to ponder, as Eric waved goodnight to two carloads. Then he turned back for the gate, finding Laurie with a smile.

"Gonna be interesting tomorrow," Laurie said, leaning against the wall. Then he chuckled. "I'll write to Agatha tonight. Probably won't say more than what you told the kids."

"That's certainly plenty to chew on." Eric stretched his arms over his head, then stared at his right hand. He led Laurie through the gate, then slowly they walked back to the house. Lynne and Adrienne had been bathing the girls, and Eric wanted to be the one to set Cary into her crib. Then he laughed soundly.

"What?" Laurie asked as they reached the front door.

"So many things I took for granted and now it's like I've been given back not my life, but...." Eric sighed, then set his right hand on Laurie's shoulder. "I don't think I'm ever gonna turn into a hawk again." He glanced at the dusky sky. "But that's okay with me."

"Me too," Laurie smiled. "God, I just can't believe...."

"I know," Eric said, now initiating an embrace, which Laurie completed. "I know exactly what you mean."

The men entered the house finding Stanford reading to Jane and Cary in the living room while Seth and Adrienne sat nearby. Lynne wasn't present, so Eric went upstairs, finding her in their room, gazing out the window which overlooked the garden. Darkness had fallen, and Eric went to her side. "You okay?" he asked.

She nodded, leaning against him. Then she chuckled softly. "Adrienne was gonna handle the bedtime stories, but Stanford insisted." Lynne then turned to face her husband, gently stroking his right shoulder. "How does it feel?"

"Like my ankle after I came back, my God that was a long time ago." Eric wiggled both shoulders, then only the right. "I told Laurie I don't think I'm gonna change again. There was something different this time when I turned back into...."

Eric grew quiet, then stroked Lynne's cheek with his right hand. "I never thought I'd get to do this again. Now it's like how can it be so simple?" Eric then placed Lynne's hands on their unborn child. "Like this baby, like you." He sighed, then smiled. "How often does someone get to restart their life, how many new beginnings do we get?"

"Perhaps one happens every time we get up in the morning. We just don't view it in that manner. Life seems so rote, but maybe every day is a miracle."

Eric chuckled, then kissed his wife. He grasped her left hand with his right as they exited their bedroom, joining those downstairs. Cary was asleep in Laurie's arms, Jane nodding off in Stan's. The Gordons were outside, Laurie whispered, enjoying the stars. Lynne announced it was bedtime for the girls, and while Stanford toted Jane upstairs, Laurie handed Cary to her father. She slumped over Eric's right shoulder as though she'd been doing it all her life.

Stanford placed Jane in her bed as Eric laid Cary in the crib. He brushed blonde hairs from her face, then watched as she rolled to her side. He set a blanket over her, then stepped from the room, finding Stan just down the hall. Eric smiled, then walked that man's way.

"Thanks for reading to the girls," Eric said.

"It was my pleasure." Stanford smiled, then sighed. "What will you tell people tomorrow?"

"Sam was gonna call Fran tonight. Hopefully it won't be the main topic of conversation for too long."

Stanford stared at Eric. "How can you say that?"

"There's Seth and Adrienne to introduce, Klaudia too. I don't think Joan and Russell have met her yet."

"But...." Stanford shook his head, then shrugged. "I suppose for them miracles aren't too far off the beaten path."

Eric chuckled, then led Stanford downstairs. They didn't join those in the living room, as Eric motioned for Stanford to follow him to the kitchen. Eric cut two slices of pie, bringing them to the table. "You know how wonderful it is to do this with both hands?" he said, setting Stan's plate in front of him.

Stanford said nothing, taking a bite of dessert.

Eric sat across from Stanford, then forked himself a bite with his right hand. "I almost used my left," he said. "That's gonna be an adjustment."

Stanford nodded, tapping his foot. Then he gazed at Eric. "How can you be so, so...."

"Blasé?" Eric smiled.

"Yes." Stanford took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, it's just that...."

"It's okay," Eric chuckled. "It's been a long, strange day. But my wife just pointed out to me a pretty basic truth, so we both have a lot to consider."

Stanford nodded slightly, but didn't speak. As Eric finished his pie, he could hear Seth and Laurie's pleasant banter, Lynne and Adrienne's softer tones alongside. Then Eric yawned, followed by a chuckle. "I think it's time to hit the hay. I'll see you in the morning Stan."

Right before Eric exited the kitchen, Stanford cleared his throat. Eric turned to face his art dealer. Considering Stan in that manner made Eric smile broadly. "Yeah Stan?"

Several seconds passed, then Stanford rose to his feet. "I'm sorry for my previous behavior toward you, Lynne, and the girls. I just...." He coughed, then clasped his hands together. "I had no way of knowing how to...."

"I wasn't the easiest person to approach. But hopefully those issues have been laid to rest."

Stanford nodded. "I was speaking with Laurie earlier about his schedule for autumn, well, our plans." Stan coughed again. "I know he wants to be here when Lynne delivers, and I hope my presence will be permissible."

Eric laughed, patting Stanford's back. "We couldn't manage without you."

"Well, I don't know if that's entirely true but...." Now Stanford smiled. "We'd like to stay through Christmas. Perhaps my father might join us for Thanksgiving, if that's all right with you and Lynne."

"Would Michael mind flying alone?"

"Not if I returned and accompanied him westward."

"Sounds like a fabulous plan," Eric chuckled. "The girls will be thrilled, not to mention Paul and Ann. I'll mention to Sam tomorrow that we'll host Thanksgiving. Shall I ask Fran if they wanna be included?"

Stanford shrugged, then grinned. "I suppose that would be fine."

"Great. Maybe Klaudia might be persuaded to return too."

"I'm sure Marek would agree."

As goodnights were offered in the living room, Eric looked past Stanford, seeing Lynne in Seth's embrace. That man caught Eric's gaze, smiling broadly. Then Seth escorted his wife to the stairs, calling goodnight to those in the kitchen. Eric and Stanford proffered their replies, then headed to where Lynne and Laurie were seated on the sofa. Stanford took the large chair, while Eric sat next to his wife. "Seems we'll have houseguests when the baby arrives," Eric said.

"Indeed." Lynne grasped her husband's right hand, caressing it tenderly. "Although if Laurie has his way, it won't be for long."

"What, Seth make you promise to be home for Hanukkah?" Eric looked past Lynne, finding mirth on Laurie's face.

"Not exactly," Lynne giggled.

"What then?" Eric said.

Laurie chuckled. "Didn't you tell him Stan?"

Stanford shook his head, then crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well, is someone gonna enlighten me?" Eric laughed quietly. "Or have we all had enough happen today already?"

"Stan and I are gonna buy a place here in Roseburg. Not sure if we can finagle it before Junior arrives, but definitely before Christmas." Laurie chuckled softly. "No idea how I'm gonna tell my mother, but we're hoping to become West Coast homeowners before the end of the year."

Laurie detailed how he would transition his business to Oregon, while Stanford would keep his Manhattan office. They would also maintain their apartment, perhaps letting Seth and Adrienne move there if quarters grew too cramped in Brooklyn. That was a number of years in the future, Laurie admitted, but his eyes shined as he spoke. Stanford raised his eyebrows occasionally, but didn't refute anything his partner said.

Of course, they still needed to find a suitable property, then Lynne mentioned a small house at the end of the road had just gone on the market. Laurie clapped his hands together. "I'll find a realtor on Monday. Hopefully someone can show it right after the holiday."

Eric and Lynne chuckled, but Stanford grew somber, and Laurie said nothing more. Lynne gazed at her guests. "What? I think that's a fine idea. You can look at houses before you head back."

Laurie stood, then knelt between Eric and Lynne. "How are you two feeling about the Fourth of July? Maybe we should just...."

Eric placed his right hand atop Laurie's. "You're not planning on leaving for New York tomorrow are you? There's a lot to celebrate."

Laurie didn't try to stem the tears falling down his cheeks. "Nope, you're stuck with us for another ten days."

"Sounds like plenty of time to pick a house." Eric then cleared his throat. "Just need to figure out an excuse for your mother."

"God, that's gonna take more than ten days," Laurie laughed, wiping his face. He stood, then walked to where Stan sat. "Okay, now that the cat's outta the bag, it's probably time to let you folks have some privacy. We'll see you in the morning."

"Oh yes, see you tomorrow." Stan stood, heading for the stairs. Laurie was behind him, but before Stan took a step, he turned back, sitting beside Lynne. He grasped her hands, but looked at Eric. A slow smile crept over Stanford's face and he kissed Lynne's cheek. Then he returned to where Laurie waited, both men taking the stairs together.
Chapter 265

Miracles were readily accepted by those gathered at Sam and Renee's on the third of July; Ritchie Nolan joked that Seth could try again to work his magic, while Fran and Eric spent time apart from the rest. When they emerged, smiles lit their tear-stained faces. Ahern and Nolan youngsters didn't seem overly surprised, in that their parents weren't shocked by Eric's appearance. Initially Klaudia and Stanford found these subdued responses odd, but in speaking with their partners, both were reminded of all that had happened to Sam's sister and Renee's brother. Catastrophes occurred in a variety of manners, but life continued.

Klaudia spent that day close to Marek, also chatting with Joan and Brenda. As the Canfields prepared to leave, Fran approached Klaudia, offering her goodbyes. Klaudia flinched slightly, then smiled, grasping Frannie's hands. The women didn't speak of their losses, merely kissing one another's cheeks. Then Klaudia went to where Jane and Cary played with Ann. Cary scrambled onto Klaudia's lap, snuggling close. Klaudia found Marek observing them. He hadn't said anything about her staying in America, but his wide smile seemed like an invitation. She nodded and he laughed, coming her way.

They didn't speak in Polish, in part that Jane would have understood, perhaps Cary too. Klaudia hadn't been prepared for Cary's level of comprehension, even Ann with a slight grasp of the basics. Marek set his arm around Klaudia's shoulder, and she leaned his way, then shivered. The memory of all that had happened yesterday, coupled with how easily it had been accepted by these people, wasn't something Klaudia could easily dismiss. Then she gazed at Marek; his existence was just as unpredicted. She shook her head, then kissed the top of Cary's. The girl giggled, then looked up, her smile like that of her mother. Klaudia's heart pounded; Cary looked like Lynne, but her eyes were more reminiscent of the man Klaudia loved.

In Polish Cary mumbled what sounded like I love you, then returned to where she had almost been asleep. Klaudia wiped her face on her shirtsleeve, then Marek gave her a handkerchief. She dabbed at her eyes, but needed to blow her nose, yet didn't want to disturb the toddler now snoozing in her lap. Then Marek set another hankie to Klaudia's face, and she blew hard, but Cary wasn't bothered. Klaudia giggled slightly as Marek again set his arm around her as though they had been married as long as those surrounding them. She studied those couples, finding similar affection shared, even between the New Yorkers. Laurie didn't try to hold Stanford's hand, but they stood beside one another, speaking with Sam's youngest sister and her husband. Russell said something to make Laurie laugh, and Stanford couldn't stifle a chuckle. Klaudia still wasn't certain what had drawn those men together, but they seemed to make each other happy.

Then Klaudia looked at Marek. They had spent much of that morning in his bed, but he never referred to her as more than his beloved, which was an endearing term, yet.... Was he merely content for her occasional visits, or did he desire a more permanent arrangement? In addition to chatter about Eric's healed shoulder, the talk had been for a large gathering at Thanksgiving to be held at the Snyders' home. Ritchie and Brenda's family had been included in the invite, but Marek hadn't asked if Klaudia wished to return for it. She tapped her foot, then sighed. Cary shifted, but didn't wake. Klaudia whispered to her in Polish that everything was all right, yet Klaudia's mind wasn't settled.

Jane and Ann ran off to play with Paul, but Cary didn't notice. Lynne approached and Marek pulled up a spare seat, but Lynne shook her head. "Are you two okay with her?" she asked, motioning to her sleeping child.

"Of course," Marek said. "Unless you're ready to leave."

"Oh no," Lynne grinned. "Just that she might sleep a while. She didn't get a nap this afternoon."

"She's fine here," Klaudia said softly, stroking Cary's head.

"Indeed she is." Lynne smiled, then walked to where Eric sat with Sam and Ritchie.

Klaudia glanced at her watch; it was after five, but if Lynne didn't mind, Cary could remain where she was until Marek was ready to go. Klaudia glanced at him, finding an odd smile on his face. She had no idea to his thoughts, and in Polish she asked when he wanted to leave. He replied there was no hurry, to which Klaudia nodded, but a part of her was irritated. He seemed in no rush to do anything.

Then he grasped her hand, making her tremble. "How would you like a roommate?" he said softly.

"What?" Klaudia gasped. "What did you say?"

Marek chuckled, still holding her hand. "I've been considering making a request to my bishop, seeking a leave from call. I'd love to master a Scandinavian language, perhaps Norwegian. What do you think?"

After yesterday, Klaudia imagined nothing could shock her again. Yet Marek's query was as inexplicable as all she had witnessed. "You want to come live in Norway?"

"With you, of course. I realize it might seem a little strange, but it would be a fabulous opportunity." His tone had been jovial, then he grew serious. "I could ask you to move here, but perhaps it would be better if I went to Europe. After time, we could investigate other options."

"But what about...." Klaudia wanted to cry; she had grown fond of these people, yet the idea of sharing Oslo with this man appealed greatly. Sigrun and Harald would love him, and their grandson Harry would have one more English speaker from whom to learn. Then Klaudia began to cry; moving to Oregon had seemed daunting, but never had she dreamed Marek might wish to live anywhere else.

"It's not that I want to leave these folks," Marek said in Polish, gesturing to those nearby. Then he gently patted Cary's head. "And I would miss these girls tremendously. Yet, this way the Snyders will have another vista to explore, and since the New Yorkers are getting their own house, a guest room will always be waiting for us." Marek then knelt in front of Klaudia. "I love you and want to marry you. And if we're so blessed...." He smiled, again setting his hand on Cary's head. "My stay here is coming to a close. Time to see what happens next."

Klaudia nodded, then began to cry, but Cary was unaffected. Eric had noticed, and stepped to where Marek attempted to console his lover. Taking Cary from Klaudia's lap, Eric placed his daughter over his right shoulder as Marek lifted Klaudia into his arms. They walked into the house as Klaudia murmured her assent to all Marek had spoken.

Those plans weren't revealed until late in the afternoon on the Fourth; to a much smaller group, Marek announced that he and Klaudia were engaged, and would marry in Oslo. He wasn't certain when their nuptials would occur, drawing astonished looks from all as he broached his return to Europe. Lynne burst into tears, but her sorrow was short-lived as Marek promised to spend holidays in Roseburg. Klaudia said little, but wore a look of appreciation as congratulations were offered.

Eric and his pastor went to inspect the orchard. Eric didn't ask more than how long Marek felt he would remain in America. A pastor sighed, then spoke. "My hope is to be in Oslo before winter begins."

Eric nodded, then kicked some loose sod toward the base of a peach tree. "What brought this on?"

"It's merely time." Marek smiled, also kicking at the ground. Then he met Eric's gaze. "I know she would have moved here, but I think it will be easier for her to adjust in Norway. I would love to come back at some point if God is willing."

Eric left unsaid the issues Klaudia needed to address. "Well, I'll sure as hell miss you." He sighed, then cracked his knuckles. "Guess we'll make a trip across the Atlantic in the next couple of years."

"My friend, that would be most appreciated." Marek also cracked his knuckles and both men laughed. "For now, you have plenty on your plate. Painting, another baby...." Marek smiled. "Fatherhood will keep you occupied."

"It will, and maybe you too?" Eric's voice was hopeful.

"Perhaps. Again, may God's will be done."

"Indeed." Eric gazed upwards, then at his pastor. "I'm just getting used to you as my pastor again. What will Mrs. Harmon think?"

Marek laughed soundly. "Oh, she'll find something unsuitable about my replacement, I'm certain."

"Probably," Eric smiled.

They said nothing in returning to the house, where the children played tag in the garden. Marek studied the landscape, then gazed at Eric, who appeared to be doing the same. Yet that man's mind was elsewhere, and Marek prayed that despite distance, their friendship would continue. Eric then nodded, smiling at Marek. "You'll never be far away," Eric said.

"Nor you. Whenever I see a hawk, happy memories will accompany."

"Was that always the case?" Eric asked.

"No," Marek said. "But it will be now."

They patted each other on the back, then were surrounded by youngsters. Marek hoisted Jane as Eric collected Cary, Ann and Paul flanking them as they entered the house.

On Monday Laurie contacted a realtor, and by Wednesday he and Stanford had made an offer on the house at the end of the Snyders' road. On Friday, as Marek received a response from his bishop approving his request for a leave from call, two New Yorkers could claim Roseburg not as home, but a house away from Manhattan. That was how Laurie was going to describe to his mother the two-bedroom bungalow that in another month would belong to him and Stanford. That evening a goodbye supper was held for Klaudia, who was leaving the next morning, as well as celebrating the Snyders' new neighbors. Seth and Adrienne weren't unhappy with Laurie and Stan's news, for as Seth joked, his Aunt Rose wouldn't let Laurie move lock, stock, and barrel to Oregon until she was dead. Laurie agreed, but in his twinkling green eyes, Lynne and Eric knew eventually Rose Abrams would be coming west to see her son.

Michael Taylor's plans weren't mentioned; Stanford would keep one foot on the East Coast, although Laurie had privately told Eric and Lynne that after Michael's passing, Stan would move to Oregon for good. Laurie had added that of course that was years away, and maybe the Jaguckis would have returned from their European vacation by then. That was how Laurie considered Marek and Klaudia's news, probably how his own mother would view his impending change of address. Then Laurie had proffered a languid sigh; even living down the road, he would miss pie for breakfast. Lynne had giggled, noting that once the baby arrived, she would expect Laurie back in his old digs for at least the first month. And after that he was welcome to join them for pie any time of the day or night.

Once the girls were bathed and dressed for bed, the Aherns said their farewells, warmly embracing Klaudia. Nothing was mentioned as to when they would see her next, and Renee wiped away tears, but her smile was bright. She then hugged Marek as if he too was departing, but Sam said they would see him on Sunday morning. Eric walked them to their car, receiving strong hugs from all. Before Sam got into his seat, he cleared his throat, then met Eric's gaze. "So, about that painting...."

"What painting?" Eric asked.

"The one you never finished of me and the Bel Air."

"Why Sam Ahern, are you serious?"

"I am. Although, if you wanna change the setting, I don't mind." Sam smiled, then patted Eric's right shoulder. "Think about it. In the meantime, my folks have asked if you might do a family portrait of me, Renee, and the kids. For Christmas, you know."

Eric smiled broadly. "I'd love that. You name the time and location and I'll bring the easel."

Sam nodded, then glanced toward the end of the road. "Gonna have your hands full soon enough helping the New Yorkers get settled. How about after they leave, end of next week maybe?"

"I'll put it on my calendar." Eric blinked away tears. "And I'll be thinking about that other canvas. I, uh, yeah. That needs to be completed."

"All in due time. Sleep well." Sam smiled, then got in his car. Eric watched until the Aherns were gone, recalling how just a year ago he had burned Sam's portrait to ash. He'd never told Sam, but perhaps now it wasn't necessary.

Eric returned to the kitchen, finding Marek and Klaudia preparing to leave. Her eyes were teary, so were Lynne's, but over the last several days an expectant mother had been somewhat moody. She laughed as Laurie offered to take over Marek's pastoral duties, freeing the clergyman to accompany his betrothed to Oslo, and Klaudia giggled too. She hugged Eric, then grazed her hand over his right shoulder. Wonder filled her face, also gratitude. She stepped toward the door, Marek on her heels. "See you Sunday," he smiled.

"With bells on," Laurie chuckled.

Marek nodded, then escorted Klaudia outside. Eric went to the large window near the door, observing as they walked away hand in hand. Eric didn't move until he saw them exit through the gate, then he sighed softly, turning to find Lynne watching him.

"Oh sorry," Eric said, joining her. He stroked her face, then patted her belly. "Just feeling sort of strange, saying goodnight to people." He noted Sam's request for two paintings, then embraced his wife. "I feel like I've said so long to Marek as well, although I don't think he's leaving tomorrow."

As Eric pulled away from Lynne, he wiped her tears. "Oh honey, I love you. It's gonna be okay."

She nodded, then placed her hands back on their baby. "But I'm gonna miss him so much."

"Me too. Good thing others are coming this way." Eric smiled as the baby kicked. "And not just you," he chuckled. "Uncle Laurie thinks he'll be living at his own house, but only when he can sneak off for a nap."

Lynne giggled, then they joined those in the living room. Adrienne was reading to the girls while Laurie and Seth chatted. Stanford, however, was absent.

Laurie gestured to the sunroom. "He's in there."

Lynne sat beside Adrienne as Eric went to the back of the house. Stanford stood in front of the large painting Eric had affixed to the sunroom wall just yesterday. Upon inspection, Eric noted places where his technique could use a refresher. Then he smiled, thinking of all the canvases he'd stretched, with Seth's help, since the second of July. After the New Yorkers left on Tuesday, Eric would paint his own family's portrait, and once the girls were asleep for the night, the chaise lounge would return to its rightful spot in a room where Eric had created how many scenes of Lynne. More would be added, and he laughed inwardly, thinking back to the first nude, disguising his wife as lush field. Perhaps he might one day revisit that series, but only when he had exhausted all other avenues. Which, he chuckled out loud, might be years away.

Eric stepped to where Stanford remained, admiring the canvas. "What do you see Stan?"

Stanford clasped his hands together, then gazed at Eric. "Quite a collection here."

"Yup. Gonna miss Marek, glad he and Klaudia are in this picture."

"I'm surprised he's going to Norway." Then Stanford cleared his throat. "I imagine you will miss him greatly."

"We will, but it'll be wonderful having you and Laurie close."

"Well, mostly Laurie."

"Of course," Eric laughed. "Or maybe Laurie and Agatha."

Stanford raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps on occasion." He stepped toward the canvas, then took off his glasses, peering at the artwork. Then he moved away, put back on the spectacles, again staring at the painting. He sighed, then thrust his hands into his pockets. Finally he met Eric's gaze. "The brushstrokes are a little rough, but considering you haven't painted in two years...." Stanford shook his head, then took his hands from his pockets, shifting from side to side. Something caught his attention, and he walked as close as he could get to the canvas, first looking at the lower left corner where Eric had signed his name, then to the upper right corner. A tiny hawk made Stanford cross his arms over his chest. He tapped his foot, then slowly turned to where Eric stood. "You haven't done that in years."

"Not since the first nudes of Lynne." Eric recalled exactly when he had stopped marking his work with a hawk. "Just felt like it, I guess."

"Will that once again become your trademark?" Stanford asked.

"Maybe. Right now I can't honestly say."

Stanford nodded. Then he approached Eric. "Do you know how unreal this all seems?" He motioned to the painting, then stared at Eric's healed shoulder. Stanford started to speak, then paused. Eric could hear Seth now reading to the girls, Laurie and Lynne talking with Adrienne. Marek and Klaudia's accents would be greatly missed, but others would fill those empty spaces.

Eric smiled. "I do, sort of like you buying a house a few hundred yards from here."

Stanford rolled his eyes, then went back to studying the painting. He stepped back, then stepped forward again. Meeting Eric's gaze, he pointed at the left side, then the right. "Did you put those there?"

"What?" Eric asked.

"Those images. Afterimages," he corrected himself. "There and there," he again pointed.

Eric stood beside him, and sure enough saw faint outlines of faces; Walt and Callie, Luke and Tilda, even Hiram Bellevue. They were gathered on the left, while on the right were those who had driven Eric from Texas to Roseburg. Above Stanford and Laurie, in the upper center of the painting, was Hawk. Eric approached the canvas, then traced that man's outstretched hands. A few tears trickled down Eric's face, recalling how he'd broken down as soon as Hawk had called his name. Closing his eyes, Eric could still hear that gentle voice as though Hawk stood beside him.

Taking a deep breath, Eric exhaled slowly. Then he looked at Stanford. "I did the same to The Pastor and His Charge. Didn't realize it then, and here it seems I've done it again."

Stanford stood next to Eric. "I look forward to seeing what you paint next."

"Next is Lynne and the girls, then Sam and his family." Eric smiled, then patted Stanford's back. "Unless I can get you and Laurie to pose before you leave."

Stanford visibly shivered, then again removed his glasses. But instead of studying the painting, he walked to the doorway of the living room. Eric did too, finding Laurie laughing at something Seth had said, while Lynne wiped her eyes. Those tears weren't in sadness, nor was the way Stanford then grasped Eric's right shoulder.

"If you paint us, might the girls be included?"

"However you like." Eric said.

Stan nodded, then released Eric's shoulder. He put back on his glasses, then walked toward Laurie. Lynne met her husband's gaze, Eric with a wide smile as Stanford revealed tomorrow's project.
Chapter 266

In early September, Marek preached his last sermon at St. Matthew's Lutheran Church. Laurie was present to hear it, but his heart ached, wondering who might fill this clergyman's shoes. Laurie sat next to Eric, the Aherns on Laurie's other side, the Canfields and McCampbells nearby. As Marek finished speaking, Laurie heard someone crying from behind him, but he didn't turn around, not wishing to embarrass whomever was so affected. As the person stood, then walked from the building, Laurie peered over his shoulder, seeing a short, squat woman visibly distraught. Eric glanced that way too, and seemed to recognize her. After the service, Laurie learned the lady's identity; she wasn't a member of St. Matthew's, but one of Marek's neighbors, or more aptly a thorn in his side. Yet Marek had been thankful for her attendance, even if Mrs. Harmon had caused him so much trouble.

The Snyders had hoped their pastor might stay in Oregon to see their next child arrive, but a position at an Oslo Lutheran seminary had opened, and while Marek's Norwegian was poor, his strength in other languages had earned him a job in teaching. He joked he would learn Norwegian more slowly than how Sigrun's grandson would pick up English, yet all knew he was eager to be with the woman he loved. Marek and Klaudia would marry before the end of the year, and had already planned a trip for next spring. Laurie had made Marek agree it would be well after he was back from meeting Seth and Adrienne's first child. With that promise secured, Laurie and Marek traveled east together; Marek spent a few days in Manhattan, then flew on to Oslo, where he was met by a teary Klaudia. Instead of greeting her beloved in Polish, Klaudia used Norwegian, making Marek chuckle. They celebrated his return to European soil with a sumptuous meal featuring Polish dishes as well as caramel slices, much to Sigrun and Harald's delight. A wedding date was set for the end of October, not that they expected any of their American friends to attend. Lynne would have just delivered her third child, and all hands would be in Roseburg assisting in that event.

Laurie and Stanford both flew west once Stan wrapped up an art exhibit. A showing for Eric's recent work wasn't planned, although he had been busy throughout the end of summer and into early autumn. As well as finishing the New Yorkers' portrait, Eric had produced several canvases of his wife and daughters, a piece for Sam's parents, and those for friends far away; from memory he recreated the Richardson family, but likenesses of Walt and Dora's twin sons were courtesy of photos Dora sent every few weeks. Eric would send that painting to Karnack, along with one of the Bolden family, in time for Thanksgiving, as well as a surprise that would make its way to Oslo for Marek and Klaudia. While Marek had asked the Snyders to keep The Pastor and His Charge, Eric had created a similar piece, featuring Cary, Paul, and Ann as well as Klaudia. That painting would arrive in Norway shortly after Marek and Klaudia were wed.

Lynne spent her time preparing for a baby, also entertaining St. Matthew's new pastor, a young man from Connecticut, Arthur Bradbury. He was recently married, and his wife Janet was expecting their first child in December. While the Snyders greatly missed Marek's presence, Reverend Bradbury was witty, his wife the same. Most weekday mornings the Snyders attended St. Anne's, meeting up with the Aherns, Laurie often joining the group. Ann had been enrolled in preschool, and Lynne and Eric were considering the same for Jane in the new year. At three and a half, she was bright and inquisitive, but never did she ask how her father's shoulder had been healed.

Eric's injury hadn't been forgotten by the adults, yet as Lynne's due date approached, minds were focused elsewhere. Lynne had asked Renee and Frannie to again assist Dr. Salters with the birth, and of course Eric would be at his wife's side. Sam, Laurie, and Stanford would tend the girls, and both Seth and Marek had requested a phone call regardless of when the baby arrived. So had Walt and Callie, but while Laurie would announce the news to his cousin and Marek, Eric would inform the Texans. Eric and Lynne spent those early October days inundated with relatives, but once Jane and Cary were put to bed, friends left an artist and his model to themselves. Canvases of Lynne were stacking up, Eric laughed to his wife, but few of them were viewed by others.

Those which Eric shared were appreciated not only for his ability to again create art; Lynne's large form was vibrantly displayed, both at rest upon the sunroom's chaise lounge or in outdoor scenes amid the Snyders' garden. The orchard's golden leaves reminded the couple of the earliest days in their relationship. Yet as Lynne sat flanked by her daughters, Eric painted with newfound energy, as though his past had never existed. He spoke of that with his wife, also with Sam, who felt somewhat the same. His time as a soldier seemed hard to conjure what with fatherhood now a prominent aspect of his life.

On Sunday the tenth, the Snyders went to church, Laurie and Stanford in tow. Pastor Bradbury preached an engaging sermon, and afterwards he was approached by Eric's entourage, as Lynne had dubbed their group. The term New Yorkers had fallen from use, mostly at Laurie's insistence. He still kept clothes in Manhattan, but felt Oregon was home. While he wouldn't become a member of St. Matthew's, he still went weekly, and enjoyed a fellow East Coaster's take on spiritual life. That morning he chatted amicably with Reverend Arthur, as the cleric preferred to be called, while Stanford and Eric chuckled with Mrs. Bradbury. Lynne had taken Jane to the ladies room while Cary was toted in her father's arms. As the pastor went to speak to other parishioners, Laurie scanned the sanctuary; it looked as it had when Marek was in charge, but a different essence ruled, although Laurie couldn't discern what was altered. Then he glanced toward the restrooms, but didn't see Lynne. He knew Jane had needed to use the toilet, had Lynne waited too long to take her? "I'm gonna check on the ladies," he said.

Eric nodded, switching Cary from his left side to his right. Laurie smiled at that adjustment, made merely due to the toddler's size. Renee had noted that once the baby came, both Snyder girls would seem to have grown overnight, but Laurie had been shocked when returning from New York at Cary's burgeoning vocabulary. Despite Marek's absence, both she and Jane still spoke Polish, although Laurie wondered if it would fade from their lexicons. As he approached the restrooms, he heard Jane speaking English to her mother. He smiled, then cleared his throat. "Everything okay?" he asked.

"Mama's having the baby," Jane chirped.

"What?" Laurie rushed to the ladies room door. "Jesus Christ! Lynne, are you okay?"

"I'm fine, but could you fetch Eric please?"

Her laughter somewhat calmed his pounding heart, but Laurie raced to where Eric and Stanford still spoke with the pastor's wife. Eric didn't need to hear Laurie's request, handing Cary to Stan, then sprinting to the back of the church. Laurie was on Eric's heels, as was Stanford. Eric had stepped into the ladies room, and Laurie knocked on the door. "What's happening?"

He stood back as it opened, Lynne emerging, a wide smile on her face. "My water broke. Looks like we're having a baby today."

Eric followed his wife from the restroom, Jane's hand in his. He led her to Laurie, then chuckled. "Thankfully Jane was here to check on her mother. But let's get everyone home. Need to call the Aherns and Frannie, not to mention Dr. Salters."

"Well I'll be goddamned," Laurie laughed. "What a good day to add to the family."

"Indeed," said Lynne, as the pastor and his wife approached. The news was shared, and Reverend Arthur said an impromptu prayer. Then Eric led his wife to the foyer, Laurie and Stanford toting youngsters behind them.

By mid-afternoon, Fran and Denise Canfield had arrived; Denise would help watch the children, although Paul wished Brad and Johnny had come along too. Sam was grateful for his niece's assistance, fatherhood having stirred deep emotions within him. Sam wondered if Laurie knew a similar sensation, for he seemed reflective, or maybe it was that no imminent departure loomed. Laurie wouldn't head east until January, although Stanford had business waiting in November. Yet he would celebrate Thanksgiving in Oregon, his father as well. Michael Taylor might even stay for Christmas, which that year coincided with Hanukkah. Sam chuckled inwardly; Paul and Ann had already asked about that holiday, and if their older cousins would again join the celebration. Laurie and Stanford's jovial tones, hedged with slight apprehension, made Sam shiver. So much had changed since the start of the decade, as if he had stepped into another man's shoes.

Sam moved from the stove, pausing just past the kitchen doorway. He studied how Laurie played cards with Paul while Stanford read to Ann and Jane. Cary played dolls with Denise, but who would join this group of youngsters? Fran hadn't come down in over half an hour, at which time Lynne had been close to delivering. She was having the baby in the spare guest room, which would soon become Jane and Cary's room. The New Yorkers' former quarters would be vacant for some time, as Stanford's father would stay with his son and Laurie in their new home. Sam didn't think this baby would be Eric and Lynne's last, not from their recent conversations, although he didn't foresee them having as large of a family as Fran and Louie. Maybe one more, Sam mused, as the telephone's ring interrupted his thoughts. "I'll get it," he said, heading back to the kitchen.

"Hello? Oh hey Louie. Nope, haven't heard anything yet. Yeah sure, I know Paul would like that. Should be any time. Okay, see you soon. Bye." Sam chuckled as he hung up the receiver. Louie had sounded as anxious as the New Yorkers, and was bringing the rest of his brood. Only Sally would be absent, away at college. Sam grinned, recalling when she was born, and how quickly those years had passed. Then he blinked away tears as steps could be heard coming down the stairs. "It's a boy," Fran cried. "A beautiful little boy."

Sam met his sister at the last step, embracing her tightly. Frannie trembled, then pulled away, tears pouring down her cheeks. "He's absolutely adorable and Lynne's just fine."

"What's his name?" Laurie asked, wiping streaks from his face.

"Mark," Frannie laughed. "For his Polish uncle."

"That's perfect." Sam hoisted Cary in his arms as Stanford collected Jane. "You have a little brother named Mark," Sam said to Cary. Then he gazed at Frannie. "Mark what?"

She giggled. "Eric will be down in bit, he wanted to tell you."

"I bet I know what it is," Laurie smiled. "Mark Samuel."

"That's not it." Sam said.

"How do you know?" Frannie asked.

Sam grew sheepish. "Well, we were talking about it and...." Sam laughed. "He mentioned they'd like to use Samuel for the next one, maybe even Samantha if it's a girl. But he didn't offer any more than that."

"Huh," Laurie said. "Wonder what it'll be."

"Well," Fran smiled, "you'll know soon enough. I'll call Louie and...."

"He's already on his way." Sam explained, wondering just what middle name Eric and Lynne had chosen for their son. Glancing at the New Yorkers, he didn't think it would be Lawrence or Stanford, only in that the Snyders wouldn't wish to snub one of the men. Maybe they had used Eric or Lynne's father's name, then Sam looked toward the stairs, seeing Renee approach. Paul and Ann ran to her and she patted their heads. "Eric will be down soon. I just wanted to give them a little time alone."

"They're not gonna get much of that from now on," Laurie laughed. "So, any hints to Mark's middle name?"

Renee smiled slyly. "Let me just say it's perfect. Sam, any coffee left?"

"Yup. Joe for everyone?"

"Oh please," came a chorus of voices.

Sam and Renee went to the kitchen where immediately Renee hugged her husband. Sam felt her tremors, yet only for the thrill of new life. Renee giggled as she pulled away, then wiped her teary face. "I'll tell you Samuel, I will never get tired of being a labor and delivery nurse."

"You thinking about going back to work?" he teased, pouring coffee into mugs.

"Not at all, just that Lynne was already talking about their next baby."

Sam stared at his wife. "That's crazy."

"Yup," Renee laughed, "but I wasn't gonna argue with her." She sipped her coffee, then motioned toward the phone. "Don't call Oslo until after Eric comes down. Then you can tell Marek the whole scoop."

"Sounds good." Sam stepped to where Renee stood near the table. He stroked her face, then kissed her cheek. "It's different this time," he said softly.

"I felt the same. It was amazing with both Jane and Cary, but now having been a mother for a while...." Renee wept, but quickly composed herself. "Oh Sam, I am just so happy for them."

"Me too. Listen, you think Lynne will wanna eat soon?"

"Yeah, make up a plate for Eric too." Renee gazed toward the living room doorway. "Is that him?"

Sam glanced in that direction, then nodded. "Let's hear what he has to say."

Clasping Renee's hand in his own, Sam squeezed tenderly. The Aherns headed to where Eric now stood near the rest. His face was damp, but his smile shone. Eric met Sam's eyes, and in that glance, Sam felt a deep joy course through him. A Samuel or Samantha Snyder would be time in coming, but what had Eric and Lynne chosen for Mark's middle name?

"Lynne's dying to see you all, but first I'd like to announce the arrival of Mark Ellis Snyder." Eric tickled his daughters' chins, then kissed Jane, ruffling Cary's blonde hair. Jane started clapping as Laurie burst into laughter. Sam pondered the name, then couldn't stop chuckling as Paul and Ann asked what was so funny.

"Oh my God, that's quite an honor." Laurie wrapped Eric in a hug. Then he patted Stan's back. "Whatdya think?"

Stanford raised his eyebrows. "Well, it's a fine name, but...."

"There wasn't any diplomatic way to choose one New Yorker over another," Eric grinned. "But Lynne came up with the perfect solution. And like I told Sam, the next one will be named for him."

Stanford cleared his throat, then shook his head. "Is someone going to clarify the significance for me?"

"Ell-is, get it?" Laurie sputtered in laughter. "Our initials, L and S. I'll tell you Eric, your wife is one of the smartest ladies around."

Stanford nodded, stepping away from the group. As adults explained to the children for whom Mark had been named, Eric walked to where Stanford had gone into the sunroom. Stanford stood at the back, gazing into a sunny October afternoon. Eric smiled, the baby born with brown curls and dark blue eyes. Lynne had rested in Eric's arms as Frannie spoke the Lord's Prayer, Renee at the doctor's side, pronouncing a son's arrival. Eric couldn't wait to see Stanford cradling a newborn, but first Eric needed to calm a man clearly shaken.

Stanford trembled, but turned to face Eric. "Are you sure Lynne is all right?"

"She's fine. Tired," Eric chuckled, "but fine."

"You should go back." Stanford wiped his eyes. "I'm sure she misses you."

"Come with me," Eric said. "She can't wait for you meet our boy."

Stanford pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket, then blew his nose. Dabbing at his eyes, he smiled. "I don't know what to say."

"I don't think words are necessary, just this." Eric initiated an embrace, and to his surprise, Stanford instantly reciprocated. The art dealer laughed heartily, then gently patted Eric's right shoulder. "All right, I'm ready." Stanford followed Eric toward the stairs where everyone waited. Eric took Jane from Laurie's grasp, while Frannie held Cary. All trooped upstairs, a newborn's wails in their ears.

With Renee resting in the main guest quarters that evening, Eleanor Salters bid Eric and Lynne goodnight. If Lynne felt at all in need, her doctor would return, but that seemed unlikely. Mark was nursing well, Lynne had no fever, and in addition to Renee, Laurie was asleep on the sofa. Stanford was merely a phone call away, while Sam was also within easy reach. Paul and Ann had gone home with Fran and Louie, but Eric didn't expect that arrangement to last more than one or two nights. That Laurie had felt it necessary to stay over was more for that man's benefit than Lynne's, but neither new parent had the heart to refuse his request to remain there.

While Lynne had delivered in the room next to where Renee would slumber, now a new mother relaxed in her own bed, her husband beside her. Their tiny son laid between them, a baby Lynne had birthed rather easily, although now exhaustion weighed heavily. Yet she forced her eyes open, gazing at a little boy who was a mix of relatives. That he had made his Uncle Stan weep openly had been one gift, then Lynne smiled as Eric caressed her cheek. "You need anything honey?" he asked.

"Not a single thing." Lynne closed her eyes, then giggled.

"What?"

"I'm so tired, but I don't want this day to end."

"I feel the same," Eric chuckled. "But tomorrow will be just as awesome."

"It will be, but...." Lynne wasn't certain what had been her favorite part of the day; Laurie's exclamation after Jane announced that her brother was on his way, how Stanford had embraced her the last time she had been downstairs, or the soothing way Frannie had prayed as a new life entered their world. Then Lynne wept, recalling Eric's strong arms around her as their family made room for one more, his appreciative voice in her ear, his tender kisses along her face. Renee had handed to them a son, her opaque eyes like beams of heavenly light. Sam's bright blue irises had matched that intensity as he'd cradled Mark, and Lynne couldn't wait for next spring when Marek and Klaudia visited.

"It's perfect, you know?" Lynne whispered. Then she sighed languidly. "So many dreams made real Eric, and ones I never imagined. My heart feels so full and...."

Soft snores made Lynne pause. She opened her eyes, finding Eric's were tightly shut, yet a radiant peace emanated from his weary face. Lying on her left, Lynne reached over their sleeping baby, lightly caressing Eric's cheek. His breaths were steady, permanent. Lynne shivered, then again closed her eyes, giving thanks as her tears fell. Within her heart, a solid truth beat that never again would this man alter form. And, she inhaled with gratitude, neither would their children inherit that odd phenomenon.

A baby's soft cry stirred his sleeping father; Eric wiped his eyes, then met Lynne's gaze. "Oh God, I'm sorry honey. I just couldn't stay awake."

Lynne smiled, setting their baby to nurse. "I'll feed him once more, then we all can get some rest."

Eric nodded, then got out of bed, heading to the bathroom. Lynne observed her baby; he looked much like his oldest sister, and a mother inwardly giggled, thinking to her daughters' reactions; Jane had cooed gently while Cary wanted to play with Mark as if he was another of her dolls. Yet both girls had showered their brother with affection, which Lynne thought was directly related to how much love had been shown to them when this tiny, continuing to that very day. As Eric got back into bed, Lynne considered his last activity before Dr. Salters had departed; an easel stood in the corner of their room, although the painting Eric had started was in the spare guest room, waiting to be completed. It was of the new parents, their three children, and a host of relatives. Eleanor Salters had been Eric's stand-in, stirring laughter from all but the youngest members of Lynne's family. Stanford had commented that it was Eric's first attempt at a self-portrait, then the room had gone to a hush, only broken by the doctor's comment that there was a first time for everything.

Later Stanford had apologized, but Eric had laughed, noting it was true. His life as a hawk was some ancient chapter in their past, much like Seth's lapses into depression or his time as a sniper. Or Sam's tenure in the army and Renee's long wait for motherhood. Marek had been reunited with his beloved while Laurie had waited decades to see his cousin in the throes of happiness, not to mention finding his own road to faith. And what about Stanford allowing others into his heart? Now with the unspoken yet concrete assurance that Eric would never again transform into a hawk, Lynne possessed a calm not previously experienced. She didn't wonder what might require such tranquility, perhaps the demands of motherhood or what being the wife of a heralded artist entailed. Stanford had subtly inquired when Eric might wish to exhibit his work, paintings of which had yet to be considered. But Lynne knew Eric was mulling over ideas, she had seen it in his eyes since Seth had healed him.

For now, Lynne viewed a man more than healthy; from Seth's actions peace of mind had been proffered, as well as Eric's return to art. He smiled at her, then with his right hand softly stroked their son's small head. The baby continued to nurse, and while Lynne's body ached, she smiled. "I love you," she whispered. "Thank you for all these blessings."

Eric leaned over the baby, laying a kiss on Lynne's forehead. "Thank you. And thanks be to God for...." He quietly laughed, then looked around the room. Lynne watched as he stared at the easel. She saw nothing out of the ordinary, but Eric seemed to view something additional. He wiped his eyes, then turned back to her, tears on his face. "It's a wonderful life honey," he said in a shaky voice. Clearing his throat, he smiled, again caressing their son's head. "And on that note, I'm done for the day. Is he finished?"

Lynne nodded, then placed the baby in Eric's grasp. He kissed their son, then stood from bed, burping Mark, then setting him in the bassinette. Eric lay back down, pulling the blanket over his right shoulder. Faint scars were the only reminder, as though he had never been away or injured. Eric scooted back, leaving a small space, but Lynne moved his way, placing her right hand upon his healed shoulder. He mumbled I love you, and within minutes was again snoring softly. Lynne fell asleep to that sound, also to that of a silent but heavenly choir singing over their heads, made up of all those within their house and around the world lifting them in conscious and slumbering prayer.

_______________

Liner Notes

I started this novel in October 2013; at the time I assumed I'd be penning another short story, the form I had been working in for much of that year. However, The Hawk turned into a far larger project, the scope of which I never imagined when this tale began. Having finally reached The End, I am grateful to all who supported me in its creation. I am also thankful to you readers for joining me on this journey, which has been a search for my Father as well as Eric's. Comments are appreciated and can be sent to annascottgraham at gmail dot com.

About the Author

Anna Scott Graham was born in 1966 in Northern California. A mother and grandmother, she lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, some hummingbirds, and numerous quilts.

Other books by  Anna Scott Graham are available on Smashwords.
