 
Copyright © 2010 Jeanne Irelan

http://jeanneirelan.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

NEIGHBORS

BY

JEANNE IRELAN

. . . the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favor to men of skill; but time and chance happens to them all. Ecclesiastes 9:11

Chapter 1

They looked a bit out of the ordinary to her, but in this neighborhood, she knew from living here for almost five years, first in the apartment, now in her own place, non-conformity was the rule, not the exception. People of all ilks seemed eager to move into an historically important place, including herself, Paige Crowell. She considered herself a responsible sort of homeowner, the kind the Foxhill Association loved, widowed, just under fifty, presentable, and gainfully employed. In fact, she was still able to attract the opposite sex as she sometimes told herself. She thought less and less, though somewhat ruefully, of her short-lived romance she'd ended a couple of years ago; but no, she wouldn't lament over that.

Now, she was settled quite happily into her own early 1900s piano box or spinet style house, looking with interest at an aging hippy and his wife, who were moving in across the street. This identity of theirs Paige felt quite certain about as she noted the man's sandals over a pair of socks, his shaggy beard and little pony tail, as well as his wife's long straight hair, now graying, and her gauzy shirt over a long cotton skirt. How inappropriate, Paige thought, for transporting boxes and furnishings over the broken sidewalk going to their house and through the tall grass if she took a shortcut. Sometimes, the woman stepped on her skirt as she traversed the three stairs leading to the porch. One or the other or both of them probably wore a peace symbol on a chain close to their heart. They seemed like impractical, other-worldly types, always rather endearing people to Paige's buttoned-up banker's heart.

She was observing them from the white painted wooden bench on her front porch. She'd gone out this Saturday morning to enjoy the late spring air and, by happenstance, view the activity on the corner, an obvious activity with a U-haul truck parked in the drive. The house had sat empty for nearly six months before being sold. The elderly Glenn sisters had died, one after the other in the space of a year, leaving the 1900-era four-square house looking rather seedy and unkempt. The neighbors had anxiously awaited a sale in the hope some eager fixer-uppers would buy the old place and restore it. Next door to Paige and a twin to the house across the street, the Metcalfs' house gleamed with its white paint and dark green trim, its red tile roof and new copper flashing on the chimney.

Paige knew all about the history of the matching four-square houses: the grandson of the original plantation owners of Foxhill, now the name of the neighborhood, presented to his twin daughters matching homes upon their marriages, a double wedding, no less. Paige's neighbors, Martha and Hank Metcalf, had lived in their house for twelve years, Hank having plenty of income as an insurance executive to restore it to pristine condition. The bane of their existence was the ever increasing dowdiness of the yellow painted twin across the street from them.

"When we bought our house," Martha had confided to Paige, "we were the ones who had to scramble to get up to standard. The Glenns were still living off the benefits of their parents' will and keeping their place immaculate. Gradually, though, it went downhill as the poor dears got in worse and worse shape, both financially and physically."

Martha Metcalf was an attractive, athletically inclined woman with crisply curling black hair and warm, tobacco colored eyes. She was near Paige's own age and had one son, Rick, in his senior year at Duke. Looking every inch the handsome, successful scion of a pair of successful, talented people, Rick had recently arrived home for the summer and planned on doing some computer work in his father's office.

Paige always looked at the Metcalfs admiringly, almost enviously, the family characterized by beauty of person, including not only Martha and good-looking Rick, but also the very attractive Hank. Then too, even the grounds surrounding their house seemed perfection, being immaculately groomed like a park. Martha herself slaved over the iris and tulip beds, regularly keeping the gold mound shrubs under control, even wrestling with tree shears and whacking off the tough, low-hanging limbs of the male Osage orange that grew like a giant umbrella in the back yard. Luckily for its existence, only the female tree produced the nasty green "oranges." The mowing was handled by a lawn service, who also took care of periodic fertilizing and pest control. Paige had tried to mow her own small yard herself, but gave up after a harried summer at her job and engaged the same service.

She wondered how the new neighbors would landscape their place. These two corner houses in Foxhill called attention to themselves, being large and in a prominent location from the main and side streets. She hoped they would remove or at least trim the scraggly forsythia on one corner of the house as well as the overgrown bridal wreath in front. It was a very large house, but she saw no sign of a family to fill it up. Maybe they worked at home and needed the space. She was sure to find out soon, for Martha would make it her task to inquire, probably with a neighborly pan of brownies or a casserole. Also in her hand would be the sheet of Foxhill Association rules and regulations, which as secretary of the Association she felt it her duty to present to all newcomers in the area.

Always a concern to Martha and others in the Association were places like the large Victorian Queen Anne next door to the corner house. It seemed quite naturally to turn a blind eye to the moving-in activity, with renters as the sole occupants. It had been divided into apartments years before and though the owners lived elsewhere, it was fairly well kept up, so far, but with renters and absentee owners, neighbors were on the alert for signs of disintegration. The apartment occupants were young working people who took little interest in the neighbors, coming and going from work to entertainments, Paige supposed, for she seldom saw any of them for any length of time, except a man who jogged through the neighborhood each morning.

Paige couldn't see the Metcalfs' driveway from her vantage point with the two projecting ells on either side of her porch enclosing her, but she heard the low purr of Rick's sports car as he backed out. Before he got to the street, however, he saw her and gave a friendly wave. A nice young man, Paige thought, though she had very little personal knowledge of his attributes, other than he had a friendly manner and the fact that he was managing to stay in college. So many of the professional people she knew had problems with their children. Odd, really, that prosperity ruined so many. At least in her lonely, childless state she was spared that worry.

She went back into the house when she noticed the new neighbors had noticed her. The man nodded and she smiled, but she decided her scrutiny might seem a bit pointed if it went on too long. Besides, she had things to do today, her cleaning and errand day, always busy for a working woman, and it was nearly nine o'clock. But after her chores around the house were completed and she was sitting in her art deco kitchen eating a bowl of cereal, her doorbell rang. She couldn't imagine who'd be calling on her, but she hurried to the front door. Martha stood before her, holding with oven mitts a large covered dish, her eyebrow raised, her lips pursed in one of her assumed dramatic poses that she used for various effects.

"What's all this?" Paige asked, standing aside for her to come into the room.

"Have some chicken confetti spaghetti. They don't want it," she said with a head gesture toward the house across the street. She spoke emphatically but not really in an angry tone.

Paige looked with dismay at the large casserole being offered to her. It would take days to down it by herself, and she hadn't planned on having any dinner parties. Her innate sense of fairness obligated her to at least make the attempt to eat all of it. Well, there was always the freezer, the saving grace of leftovers.

Martha zoomed though the living room into the kitchen, with Paige following, where she set her dish on the stove. "I thought I'd be neighborly, even though I'd already decided they didn't look our sort, and I fixed this complicated casserole, not that I minded. You know me, Paige, it's what I do. Well, guess what? They're vegetarians. Thanks but no thanks, they said. Didn't even invite me in. What do you think of that?"

"I–I don't know. They're very busy, it looks like. And I suppose people have a right to not to eat meat."

"They seem a certain type, wouldn't you say?" Martha continued, her normally smooth brow furrowed. "The artsy-fartsy type, maybe?"

Paige laughed. "I wouldn't be surprised. Actually, I've dealt with the 'flower children' crowd before and usually they lead simple lives in an attempt at some sort of purity, according to their thinking. For the most part, they pay their bills and cause no problems at the bank, that's for sure. Hate to take out loans, for example."

Martha gave a sigh and turned to go. She seldom stayed long at Paige's house, always claiming to have a multitude of tasks awaiting her. "We'll see," she said after a long pause, "if you've analyzed them accurately." She turned and sailed out of the room, flinging back at Paige, "Enjoy the casserole!"

"Wait, wait, Martha," Paige cried, pursuing her, "you're the one with big eaters over there. Don't you think you should keep it?"

"Made two," she said, letting the screen door slam behind her.

Chapter 2

But it was Paige who discovered the facts about the new neighbors in a most satisfactory and unexpected way. She had been at work the next week, as usual seeing customers in her office, those wanting to open a new account or apply for a loan. Paige worked in a branch of the bank located near her home, and as one of two vice presidents in charge there, she had to handle a variety of transactions.

She didn't recognize at first the couple that entered her office on Wednesday and sat down across from her desk. She smiled at them and gave her usual pleasant opening, "And what can I do for you?" when it occurred to her they just might be the people she'd seen moving in across the street. She looked from one to the other as the man said they wished to open a checking account. Yes, she was sure it was her new neighbors that she'd viewed from her porch, dressed more formally now, but only just, the man in a plaid shirt worn outside a pair of wrinkled slacks, the woman, who up close was rather attractive in a gaunt, au naturale sort of way, wearing a butcher linen dress with a long, straight skirt and strands of colored beads around her neck.

As Paige took out the various forms for the couple to fill out, she asked, "Are you folks newcomers to the city, by any chance?"

"Yes," the man said, "I'm Stewart Carpenter, and this is my wife, Noreen. We just recently moved to Nashville. I've just gotten on with the Symphony. I'm an oboist."

"Oh, that's very interesting," Paige said enthusiastically. A respectable musician, no less. That will be something to report to Martha. "I believe I'm your neighbor," she went on, continuing to take her measure of the two. Noreen hadn't yet said a word. "I live across the street in the little piano box house it's called, for the style of 19th century pianos. I saw you last Saturday when you were moving in."

"Ah," said Stewart, nodding. He turned to his wife. "We were too busy to notice neighbors, weren't we, hon, but one lady came over with something to eat, which because of our dietary restrictions, we were sorry to refuse."

"We don't eat meat," Noreen said in a voice stronger than Paige might have imagined. She looked meek, but that might be a misjudgment. "Or fish or eggs, for that matter," the woman persisted.

Paige hardly knew how to respond to such information. "I see," she said, and then changing the subject and getting back to business, she explained about their choices in checking and savings accounts. The couple looked at one another and made up their minds, presenting a cashier's check to Paige to open the account.

"We have savings at our bank in Birmingham, which we can move out later," said Stewart.

"Of course. Whenever it's convenient. Now if I can have your signatures on this card–and we'll get your check deposited." While they were complying, Paige said in a friendly fashion, "Do you have family? That's a nice sized place you've bought."

"Just our daughter, Aurora," Stewart replied, "we'll be picking her up at Berea this weekend. We're real proud of her. She's got a full academic scholarship, but she'll be looking for work this summer. I don't suppose there'd be anything here," he added with a grin through his blondish beard. His wife looked around the office as if she might spy an available job.

"I'm afraid we've already selected our two summer interns," Paige responded. "Is your daughter majoring in finance?" That seemed most unlikely, given her parents.

"Not really," her father said, "but summer jobs are kind of hard to come by." He looked at his wife. "I guess Aurora could help Noreen in her business."

Paige raised her eyebrows inquiringly. "Oh?"

"That's why we love our new house," Noreen said. "It will give me room for a kiln–in the basement, I mean."

"Ah," Paige gave a knowing nod, "so you're a potter."

"Indeed she is," her husband said proudly. "She's won prizes–her things are in porcelain. That's pretty rare, you know."

"I'm sure it is. I'd love to see some of your work." Paige rose and ushered them from her office, leading them to a particular cashier to make their deposit. The couple took turns shaking Paige's hand before she went back to her office. She wasn't put off by them, but she wasn't particularly impressed either. She was pretty sure they'd not become fast friends. Aurora? As best she remembered, that was some sort of goddess. She quickly checked on her computer and found it was the goddess of the dawn, "the rosy-fingered one." Of course.

Paige wasn't the sort of person who dropped in casually at her neighbors. For one thing, she wasn't particularly close to any of them. The Metcalfs had their own busy lives, both Hank and Martha involved in numerous activities that seemed to keep them constantly on the go. Paige felt little connection to them other than gratitude that they were highly respectable and responsible neighbors. On the other side of her house, the resident in a red brick, 1929 English style two-story was elderly and apt to be nosy. A daughter periodically came around to check on her and take her to various appointments, according to Mrs. Hammond, the lady of the house that Paige had met outside when she was moving in and now occasionally over the rose bushes out back. This was fine with Paige, who tended to keep to herself and her long-time friends.

Yet, the information collected at work about the new neighbors Paige felt Martha would be pleased to know, having been so definitely rebuffed in her attempt at neighborliness. As Paige passed her living room window after work on Friday, she saw Martha's car pull into the drive and around back to the detached garage, enlarged several years ago to hold three cars. Paige made up her mind and went swiftly to her back door, intercepting Martha as she started for her house.

"Martha!"

The woman turned and gave Paige a look of mock surprise. "Hello, neighbor. What's going on?"

Paige joined Martha and walked slowly with her toward the Metcalfs' patio. "I found out some interesting facts about our new neighbors, which I was sure you'd like to hear." Martha gestured for her to sit in one of the wrought iron chairs around a matching umbrella table, where she joined Paige.

"What, for heaven's sake?" urged Martha. "Is he a registered sex offender? Does she do palm readings? I'd not be surprised at anything."

Paige laughed. "They're seemingly respectable, if different." Paige gave Martha the run-down on the Cartwrights' occupations, watching Martha's face change from avid curiosity to surprise to a kind of acceptance.

"Artsy-fartsy, just as I suspected."

"Yes, but not far out, really."

"Oh, really?" Martha countered. "We'll see. I just hope they are conventional when it comes to taking care of the house and lawn. They can do whatever in their private live, eat tofu, play the sitar, whatever. Just so they keep up appearances."

Paige hesitated a moment and then said, "They asked if there might be something for their daughter in the way of work this summer at the bank. Of course, we're a small branch with little summer hiring, so I couldn't help, but maybe if Hank put in a word at his company, just a word to the H.R. department, she might be taken on."

"Isn't that carrying neighborliness a bit far?" Martha said. "I mean, we don't know them, or the daughter at all. What's her name? Aurora? How peculiar, but I guess it's better than the girls names I hear all about me now–Taylor, Macy, Shepherd, Quincy–oh, well, times change, don't they, Paige?"

Paige had a moment of embarrassment as she reflected her own name wouldn't pass muster with Martha, who continued on with her musings. " I'll tell you what, you say they're bringing her home this weekend? Well, if I see them outside, I'll make a point of greeting them–again. If I can meet the daughter, I'll see what I can do. I'm nothing if not persistently friendly!" She gave a peal of laughter.

Paige smiled in agreement. "That would be nice of you. I had a feeling they might be operating pretty close to the vest. I doubt that a Symphony member makes that much. I've heard they have to do a lot of moonlighting, and how much work can an oboist get?"

With that, Paige parted from her neighbor, feeling she'd done her good deed for the day and not quite knowing why she'd bothered. There was something about the new neighbors that evoked her interest.

Chapter 3

Saturday morning, Paige opened her mailbox to find from the Metcalfs an invitation to a "Start of Summer Bash" to take place in two weeks. This seemed unusual, since in the two years she'd lived in her house, the Metcalfs and she had not socialized, other than friendly informal meetings, generally outside. She shrugged mentally and fastened the invitation to her refrigerator with a magnet. She'd give it a couple of days before responding, not that she wasn't quite sure she'd be free, but she didn't want to seem pathetically eager to attend. In fact, her social life was woefully inadequate, and it was all because she'd made the fateful decision to forgo her California connection and stay put. Now, her life was nothing but a round of work, shopping, home, and a few visits to old friends. Speaking of which, she'd be curious to know who might be invited to this party, such as Tessa and Frank Wenger, her former landlords.

And it was to that very purpose after finally giving Martha her assent to the invitation she asked, "And will this be for others in the neighborhood?"

"Oh, yes, indeed!" Martha replied enthusiastically. "Of course, Hank and I know several nice couples from the Association. We're trying to keep the age group close to our own, but that doesn't mean we're not asking younger folks. Your friends the Wengers, for instance, are invited. And I had to include some of Rick's friends, too, just to keep him from tearing off to Durham to see some girl he's enraptured over. I'm not impressed with what he tells me. She's a town girl that he met at a bar. She works there. Uhm."

The disapproval was unmistakable even over the phone. "Well, not everyone gets to go to college right off the bat. Maybe she'll be working her way through when she earns enough money. I wouldn't worry; Rick seems to be a sensible sort of fellow." Paige tried to be charitable about it even though she agreed in principle that it was hard for two unevenly educated people to find much in common. Obviously, this was a physical thing.

"Yesss," Martha reluctantly agreed, "but he just got home and Hank and I think it's ridiculous to head back to North Carolina so soon. I'd like to keep him here for a little while, hence the party and allowing him to invite his friends, too."

"And our new neighbors?"

Martha gave an audible sigh. "Of course. As long as we're living cheek by jowl, we may as well be friendly. Also, Hank can get a clue about their daughter–if he thinks she might work out all right in his office."

"Anyone else I might know from the neighborhood?" Paige felt like an insecure teenager, but as an unmarried middle-aged woman, mixing with couples and young people at a party sounded less than appealing.

"Let's see. I haven't yet gotten an RSVP, but we've invited Hal Stensson, the magazine publisher."

"I know him. At least I know the name. He was Tessa's boss both at the community paper and now he's the publisher of Nashville Cityscape."

"He's single too. His wife died, I heard, about fifteen years ago. His son works in some other city, I believe. I gleaned all this from sitting next to him at an Association meeting."

"I guess you've gotten pretty well acquainted with Foxhill residents with your official position." As she said this Paige felt a bit guilty for her non-attendance at most meetings.

"I have, and we've invited some that have served the area well, including the Shepherds, who've done so much legal work for the Association, and the Rodriguezes. Lanny Rodriguez is the treasurer, you know, and they live in that lovely Carpenter Gothic a couple of streets over. Then, too, we've invited personal friends outside the area, so it should be a nice mix."

"I'll be looking forward to it," Paige said truthfully, now that she saw the crowd would be large enough for her to find friendly faces. This single life didn't lend itself to many invitations from couples, even sociable ones, so a party like this might be a real treat.

Before leaving her house the night of the party, Paige surreptitiously kept checking the arriving guests from her living room window until she noticed Tessa and Frank strolling down the sidewalk hand-in-hand. They were such a cute couple and good friends, too, even though the Wengers were much younger. Paige grabbed her wristlet that contained tissues for her allergies and some antacid tablets in case Martha's catered food was a little too rich. Stepping outside, she heard clearly the light strains of a guitar. The party was to be outside, weather permitting, and the day had cooperated fully. The June air was warm but not as sultry as sometimes happened in the Nashville Basin during the summer months.

"Hey, you two," Paige called to the couple crossing the street.

The Wengers both waved and upon reaching Paige, took turns giving her a hug. "I'm so glad to see you," Tessa cried. "Why don't you come by and see us occasionally?"

"I know you're busy, what with the renovation work on the house, not to mention the young scion. How is little Jonathan, by the way?"

Chatting together, Paige and Tessa walked more slowly than Frank, who went on ahead down the Metcalfs' drive. Compared to his rather outré appearance when he had first come on the scene several years ago, Frank's beautiful blond mane was shorter now, but his muscular build still called attention to his looks. Paige noticed an accumulation of guests was crowding the patio and now spilling over into the yard, which had been strung with lanterns. The guitarists, for there were two, sat at the rear of the lawn with the side of the garage as a backdrop and soundboard. Food, however, was on tables inside the screened porch.

"That's a good idea," Tessa commented. "I never like to eat food that sits outside."

"Leave it to Martha to do the prudent and appropriate thing. She's the hostess nonpareil."

The two women were greeted almost immediately by Martha, who started querying Tessa about the Wengers' activities and Tessa's own plans for resuming her work at the magazine.

"Your old boss said he'd be here this evening," Martha said.

"Oh, good. I haven't seen Hal for months. We don't seem to run in the same circles. You know how it is," she said rather apologetically.

Paige watched the two women as they conversed, so different in looks and style. Martha's sturdy figure was ill-disguised in a sun dress, her dark hair even curlier than usual from the slight humidity. But Tessa! How lovely she looked. Tessa would be just thirty now, still slender and lithe, with rather long auburn hair pulled back from her face, beautiful gray-blue eyes fringed in dark lashes and a perfect peaches and cream complexion. She looked the same as the day Paige had met her three years ago. Then single and somewhat shy acting, she now presented herself with assurance, though she was somewhat diffident to Martha's overwhelming enthusiasms.

Then Martha, who apparently had eyes emerging from various orifices, turned suddenly and said, "There's the new neighbors. I must welcome them. Come and meet them in a little while and make them feel at ease. I see they've brought their daughter, too. Good." And with that, she breezed off to greet the Carpenters, who stood in an awkward threesome, looking unsure of themselves. And who wouldn't in this assemblage of strangers. Paige wondered how much time Martha considered "a little while" appropriate for her and Tessa to approach them. Was she planning on introducing them to some others first? She guessed she shouldn't try to over-analyze Martha's remarks.

"We have new neighbors, as you might have guessed, in the house across the street," she told Tessa as well as Frank, who had come up to join them. "They're going to drive Martha crazy with their different way of life, I'm afraid."

"Shouldn't we get acquainted?" Frank asked.

He'd never met a stranger, Paige knew, and so she agreed to introduce them. "They were at the bank a couple of weeks ago. But I've not met their daughter. Pretty, isn't she?"

The girl was a strawberry blond, with petite features. Her parents had turned to meet some others brought forward by Martha, and the girl stood alone for a moment, looking at the musicians toward the rear of the property. The fading sun seemed to spotlight her richly glowing hair, and in her turquoise silk blouse and white capri pants, she was a stunning figure. Then before Paige and the others reached her, she seemed to be instantly surrounded by Rick and two of his friends, screening her from view.

Paige and the Wengers found their way to the Carpenters, now shaking hands with the Shepherds, also neighbors of Tessa and Frank. Everyone greeted each other and introductions were performed. Paige said to the Carpenters, "Noreen and Stewart, isn't it?–large affairs like this are at best rather trying, to say the least, and terrible when you know almost no one."

"So many names to remember," Stewart agreed. "I've about given up trying."

"Everyone seems friendly, though," said Noreen to Tessa, whom she seemed to gravitate toward. Paige felt she had done her duty and moved onto the porch to pick up a plate of food. She'd not eaten a thing beforehand, knowing how complete a hostess Martha tended to be. No one would go away hungry. She found herself next to an attractive man with dark hair graying at the temples, lean and tall.

"Everything looks delicious–and too tempting," Paige commented.

"I can't complain. My bachelor meals leave a lot to be desired." He put down his plate and held out a hand. "I'm Hal Stensson. I've seen you before, but I can't call your name. Sorry!"

"I'm Paige Crowell. I used to live upstairs at your former employee's house–Tessa's. We possibly met somewhere, at an Association meeting perhaps? Even after buying the house next door, I haven't been a very reliable member, I'm afraid."

"Since I'm in publishing, I find myself in perennially charge of publicity, thanks to Martha's insistence," he laughed, "so I've been involved, like it or not."

Paige amended her earlier misgivings about the party. This could prove to be an interesting evening after all.

Chapter 4

Martha was in the process of cleaning up the leftovers after most of the guests had gone. The only ones still clinging to the evening were Rick's friends, including the Carpenter girl. Her name was Aurora, Martha reflected, priding herself on her memory for faces and names. Through the screen, she could see a small group of young people clustered around a table on the patio in earnest debate, the individual words that occasionally erupted meaningless. But at the farthest corner Rick and Aurora sat together talking, Rick nodding occasionally in agreement, Aurora laughing in a flirtatious manner, Martha thought.

Martha was joined by Hank coming from the kitchen, who carried a large tray to receive the dishes of cheeses and dips, crumbled crackers, and sandwiches with the edges curling up. Hank had already checked with the young people on the patio to see if they wanted more food or drinks, but all had declined, saying they were either full or were nursing their last drink. The giant tub of ice had been dumped on the lawn after Hank stashed the remaining cans of soda in the pantry.

"It went well, didn't you think?" Hank commented to his now subdued wife.

"I wonder why we bothered," Martha said.

"What do you mean? About having a party?" Hank looked at his wife in surprise, but kept his voice low.

"Yes, the party," Martha said in a stage whisper full of emotion. "I only did it for Rick to keep him from running off to see some girl. Now, he's taken up with someone else unsuitable."

Hank looked first at his wife in astonishment, then turned toward his son and the girl on the patio. "Look, dear," he said, "we don't know that he's done anything of the kind. Rick is being friendly to someone new, that's all. I talked to the girl and she seems fine. I wanted to meet her before committing myself about helping her get a summer job at the office. Maybe a bit young for her age, but I told her to stop by Human Resources next week where I'll put in a good word for her. I don't mind helping her out."

Martha loaded the tray wordlessly for a few minutes. Then she sighed and said, "If you'll take the tray in, I'll get the tablecloth." The two went about their tasks, ending up in a kitchen that was only partly straightened up. Martha never used paper plates at her parties, and the dishwasher was already churning clean one load of china. It would take at least one more load to get everything cleared up, but she decided that could wait until morning.

"Don't mind my fussing over Rick, darling," she said, "I'm probably getting worked up over nothing. But Rick has a long way to go in his education, another year before he starts law school. I know how a girl can complicate such plans. I guess I'm just being the over-protective mother."

Hank put his arm around Martha and kissed her on the forehead. "You mean well. But Rick has always come out a winner. Don't borrow trouble, my dear. He'll have plenty of girl friends before he finishes his education."

Yet, despite Hank's assurances, Martha stayed wakeful for another hour until she heard Rick's footsteps in the hallway as he went to his room. When she the last of the cars left a few minutes earlier, she had fought herself from looking out the window to see if Rick walked the Carpenter girl home. He had a tendency, she knew from his high school attachments, to gravitate toward girls of a different class. Before she fell asleep, she wondered what it was that attracted him to these "lesser" types. She'd tried to conscientiously put suitable girls in his path, but it had been to no avail. Except when last summer he and Missy Enderby dated. She had hoped they'd resume their friendship, and though she'd been invited to the party tonight, they had not seemed particularly close. Martha thought again about the bar girl at Durham, and now about the waif-like Aurora. Could there possibly be something odd about Rick's estimation of himself? She remembered something that stuck in her head from a long-ago course in psychology suggesting people select mates based on their sense of self. She'd have to think about this later when she wasn't so tired.

Noreen sat at her dressing table braiding the tail end of her long hair that lay on her shoulder. Stewart was propped up in bed perusing a seed catalogue. She looked at her husband in the mirror and asked, "Shouldn't Aurora be home by now? It's getting late."

"What?" He looked up at his wife. "I guess so. She'll be along shortly. I wouldn't worry since she's just across the street."

"I'm not exactly worried, but those young people there didn't quite seem her type." Noreen finished with her hair and turned on the stool. "It's been bothering me all evening. You know what I mean; they are privileged. Probably spoiled. Just the sort that we've kept our girl away from."

"She's sensible, hon, don't worry. Gosh, she's not made any local friends yet, so I expect she's enjoying the party."

"What do you think of our neighbors, the Metcalfs?" Noreen persisted. "They seem so–I don't know–country club Republican, or something. I swear that Martha woman doesn't approve of me because I don't dress the way she thinks I should. She seems to look me up and down. And didn't you notice, you were the only man there with a beard?"

Stewart shrugged. "Most were businessmen, and they don't wear them, generally speaking. I admit we didn't have much to talk about, except Nashville. When they found out I was with the Symphony, the conversation dried up. But I wasn't any better with conversational gambits about their lives either. I actually got along pretty well with the women, who seemed interested in the cultural life of the city. And I did meet a nice young fellow, named Frank, who lives down the block and teaches at Vanderbilt. He's also designed story boards or something creative for computers. He was interesting."

Noreen sighed, and snapped an elastic band onto her braid. "That's good. I guess I've just been put off a bit by Martha, who is rather daunting, you must admit. I feel she'll keep an eagle eye on us and our house."

Stewart nodded. "Martha is just one of those nervous, efficient types that drives everyone crazy if you let them. Still, I don't see the Metcalfs as anything but just neighbors, and for now, we need to get along if we want Aurora to have a decent job this summer. Before we left for home this evening, I talked to Hank, and he said he'd put in a good word for her next week. Keep that in mind and don't get all worked up over nothing. I doubt if we get any more social invitations from them anyway. "

Noreen sat silently for a moment before removing her robe and climbing into bed. She had misgivings about Aurora's situation this summer. They'd kept her carefully sheltered, even insisting on her attending Berea, which as a small private school in Kentucky had the students taking part in the workings of the place, gardening, carpentry, and art projects to name but a few of their home grown activities that earned money for themselves and the school. Aurora was majoring in art history and eventually hoped to work in a museum house. Now in Nashville, this neighborhood, she was being exposed to a very different element, much to Noreen's surprise. When they bought this house, the neighborhood was seemingly made to order for them, according to the real estate agent, having a long history of mixed residents, a sense of individuality, not the least in the houses themselves. Yet, the neighbors she'd met this evening could have been transplanted from affluent suburbs, considering their level of sophistication and seeming conventionality. And as much as the girl needed a job this summer, what kind of people would she have to deal with at Hank's company, if she was hired?

She settled back among her pillows with a novel, planning on staying awake until her daughter returned from the party. She resolved to keep her own counsel about the Metcalfs, and in particular her daughter's associations, at least for the time being, until she saw which way the wind was blowing. Aurora was impressionable, young for her age of nineteen, and as her mother she would fight to keep the girl's soul pure and free from the taint of the crassness of the world.

Chapter 5

Sunday morning Paige woke up to a feeling of anticipation, and she couldn't figure out why. Nothing of any major significance had happened at the party to give her a sense of well being, but in fact, she felt happy. These moments came upon her so seldom they were always worth noting, she thought without bitterness. Oh, how hard it had been to live these past years with that betrayal, whose perpetrator could never be confronted. Paige stirred slowly in her bed and stretched, thinking again of the drawn-out and painful death of her husband four years ago, the sadness that permeated their lives, her devotion to the end. As she reflected on the grief that within six weeks of the funeral had turned to shock, she no longer had the wrenching in her gut. It had grown less through the years, but not until she found David on that trip to California a few years ago had the sting of that memory been banished. It had not visited her again, despite her refusal to move to California and the ensuing breakup. She sometimes wondered at those times when her heart was light if the thought of Terry's infidelity and uncommon cruelty would ever be relegated to a completely unemotional memory.

Spooning the coffee into the espresso basket, she almost wished she'd accepted the invitation of Tessa and Frank to go to church with them. They'd both urged her as they prepared to leave the party to accompany them the next morning.

"Having a child has made a difference, I expect, in being more punctilious about attending church," Tessa admitted. "And too, church-going is in my background and Frank's as well, though he didn't have a pastor as a father to make any other choice growing up almost impossible."

Paige's thoughts immediately went unbidden to her own father, who had bailed out on her mother and herself at age ten, whom she saw again only twice in her life–once at her wedding, when he'd shown up after running into Paige's mother beforehand, and another time years later at the bank. Then, she'd noticed the worn looking man before he saw her and slipped into an office to–well, she had to admit–hide from him.

But Tessa was continuing her explanation of the attraction to their church. "We're happy in the life there, and we especially like Pastor Geitner and the parishioners. I know since it's your old church where you and Terry went, it may have been uncomfortable for you. But maybe now you can face it. Frank and I are hoping you might get reacquainted with the place."

But she had demurred, not wishing, for some obscure reason, to get into a situation where extricating herself might prove difficult if she didn't feel comfortable with the association. Maybe she'd try out their church some Sunday on her own. How silly she was to worry about such things. Always she hovered on the edge of any real commitment. Had she always been like that? She couldn't remember–or didn't want to. But her unwillingness to put herself into obligatory or certainly binding situations seemed to have gotten worse after Terry died, when she'd discovered those telling cards, the explicit letters, and even photographs of the woman among his things.

Thinking now of that discovery and her sense, first of disbelief, then horror, and finally intense, hot anger, she almost laughed. She had been so trusting, so much the helpmeet she could never have suspected such duplicity in her husband of fifteen years. The woman, she finally pieced together, was a paralegal at Terry's office, and their affair had been one of long standing. When she found his separate bank account, it all became clear–those many business trips, the late night meetings, his reluctance to move to a larger house in a better neighborhood. Fully half of his generous earnings as a lawyer was going to help support this other woman. It was almost as if he were a bigamist. What she could never understand or forgive was his keeping all the mementos for Paige to find. His was not a sudden death; he'd had time to save her feelings and dispose of the evidence, but he'd chosen not to. Why? That was the question that angered and eventually haunted her. Did he think she'd want to remember him as a man loved by a younger, very attractive woman?

The day was going to be warm, she reflected as she walked down her driveway to collect the hefty paper, full of ads that she would eventually sort out for the recycling bin. She had glanced at the Metcalfs' backyard strewn with paper lanterns, tables and chairs, and party debris before going into her side door. She shuddered, thinking of the cleanup that would take their energies today. Should she volunteer to help Martha? She had a regular cleaner come in a couple of days a week, but knowing her neighbor's impatience with disorder, her restlessness, she doubted that a pin would remain out of place by nightfall. Yes, Paige, decided, she'd walk over later in the morning and offer her help. Martha was nothing if not generous in her own neighborly offerings. True, she didn't work outside the home, but her normal activities would make a twenty-year-old wilt.

Paige finished her simple breakfast, then went to her one bathroom to shower. It was a hall bathroom, as were all from the era, but she loved its art deco look, the one-inch white and black tile floor and pale green tile surrounding the matching green built-in tub, toilet, and square, pedestal sink. The sink was so big she could use part of it almost as counter space, but she also could use the adjacent, narrow linen closet to keep her towels and toiletries. After her shower, she made the necessary enhancements to her appearance, blow drying her short, wavy hair into the usual flip, making up her face, and dressing in linen slacks and a sleeveless top. The day was warm already. On her way over to the Metcalfs' she saw the new neighbors across the street, sitting on their porch in Adirondack chairs drinking out of coffee mugs. She waved and they waved back. They might surprise everyone, especially Martha, by fitting in well to Foxhill standards. She would try not to pre-judge, but those studiously off-the-wall personas they wore as identifiers gave one pause.

As she suspected, Martha had made impressive inroads to her kitchen by the time Paige entered the room. She was in the middle of unloading the dishwasher, but she immediately invited Paige to sit down at the kitchen table where she urged a cup of coffee on her.

"No, thanks. I was just wondering if there's something I can do to help you." Paige asked, looking around the spotless room. "What about outside–stacking the chairs or something?"

"Heavens, no!" Martha exclaimed, in mock horror. "You look bandbox neat, and I won't be lacking in strong arms. Hank went to borrow his brother's truck so the tables and chairs can be loaded up and taken back to the party store. He and Rick can do the heavy lifting and field strip the lawn." Martha looked at the clock. "Which reminds me, I'll have to roust Rick from bed in another few minutes. When does youth get over the need to sleep for hours in the morning?"

Paige laughed. "When they have a regular job, I expect. Didn't you do the same thing?" It was hard to imagine Martha lazing in bed, but she laughingly admitted such behavior.

"I guess so. I remember my mother yelling at me on Saturdays to get up. She had many chores planned for me. What about you? Were you obliged to help out around the house, too?"

Paige nodded. "My mother worked after my father left, so I had quite a bit of responsibility even after we moved to a smaller place. Then when I was in high school, my mother remarried, and for a short while my life was almost idyllic. My stepfather is a fairly successful writer of how-to books, who just last year was on the New York Times best seller list, as a matter of fact." She mentioned his name and Martha confessed she'd read one of his books.

"Speaking of writers," she said, looking at Paige closely, "I saw you and Hal Stensson spending some time together. You seemed to get along like house-afire. What do you think of him? Anything going there?"

Paige shrugged. "I liked him, but we just talked about the neighborhood, our jobs. Nothing personal, of course. He seems a good sort for Foxhill, very interested in preservation."

"Oh, preservation," Martha said, dismissively. "I thought he stayed pretty close to you all evening. No invitation for a date?" She clucked at herself. "Sorry! I'm interested in seeing singles get together, that's all. I don't mean to be nosy."

Is that so? Paige reflected, but only smiled, shaking her head. In fact, Hal had invited Paige to stop by the magazine next week during her lunch hour. Paige's bank and Hal's place of business were within walking distance. He planned to take her on a tour of his operation and then to have lunch at a nearby café, famous for gourmet sandwiches, where diners sat on high stools around a large central counter or at tiny raised tables for two. Very European, Paige always thought, but sidestepped Hal's invitation. Too soon, she told herself. But she didn't reveal such to Martha, only saying, "Your party was a delightful beginning to the summer, Martha, but since I can't seem to do anything for you, I'd better run along. I always have my home chores to attend to on Sundays."

"Of course. The penalty of being a working woman, living alone."

Paige escaped out the back door, remembering with gratitude and a little guilt that she probably wouldn't have another close encounter with her busy-body neighbor for a month at least. She always felt like she had played a hard game of singles tennis after a "little talk" with the well meaning but tiring Martha. Hank must be unbelievably patient and talented in tuning out the demands of his wife. Paige wondered if her son had the same talent.

Chapter 6

Rick took his tray and scanned the company cafeteria for a table. He had been working at his father's company for just the week following the party and knew no one his own age, so his choice was to find a small table where he could eat in peace and read the paperback detective novel stashed in his pocket. He walked slowly toward the back of the room and did a double take, for sitting alone and eating a salad was the new girl who lived across the street–Aurora. He headed in her direction and standing before her smiled as she looked up at him.

"Hi. I can't believe my luck," he said. "Mind if I join you?"

She indicated the chair opposite and he sat down. "This is my first day," Aurora said, "in Actuarial, typing endless reports," she laughed. "But I'm glad to have the work, thanks to your dad, and I'm grateful."

"Yeah, I know what you mean. I'm sitting in front of a computer all day myself. Up until this moment, I wanted to get on as a lumberjack in Oregon or a roughneck on an oil rig. I didn't think I needed to be this sedentary. But now I don't mind a bit being here."

They both laughed and eyed each other discreetly with appraising glances. Rick had talked with Aurora mostly near the end of the party last Saturday, but they'd stuck pretty much to their school experiences and activities. Rick had to admit he'd been entranced by her soft yet assured voice, her delicate features and coloring. To be actually in the same building with her day after day the whole summer seemed a bonus. Today, she was wearing a black dress with sprigs of pastel flowers and a short-sleeved black shrug, both of which set off her fair coloring.

"Maybe you could join a health club this summer," Aurora suggested jokingly.

"I do have a lapsed membership at one, which I'll probably have to reinstate, just to keep in condition. What about you? Do you do any sports?" He took a bite from his hamburger.

She shrugged. "I play tennis occasionally. Mainly, though, I help my mother with her pottery business when I'm home. I'm not sure how much I can contribute this summer, working full time here. I like to run, though, and our neighborhood seems to be a good place for that. Sidewalks, you know." She sipped on a tall glass of iced tea, looking up at Rick through long, dark-tipped lashes.

"Ah, yes." He looked forward to seeing her in running shorts. "I might tag along if you'll let me."

"Won't I be too slow for you? Let's see, you must be six feet tall. I'm only five-foot-four. I don't think we'd match up very well in strides."

"You let me worry about that," Rick said.

But all too soon Aurora was looking at her watch and rising to leave. "Already?" Rick asked. "You should have until the half hour."

"I had to leave for lunch a few minutes early to suit my boss, so I must hurry back now. See you!" she called as she took off before Rick could think to make plans with her. He finished his lunch contemplating the attractions of this girl, appreciative of the fact she conveniently lived across the street.

That evening, he pulled into the drive, but before going inside, he stepped across the street and went up the cracked sidewalk that led to the Carpenters' front porch. Well, they really only had been settled for a couple of weeks, and the house was left in pretty poor condition by the old folks who had formerly lived there. He eyed the peeling paint of the porch as he waited for someone to open the door. When it was answered by Mr. Carpenter, Rick started, as if he'd been caught peeking through a window.

"Oh, hello, sir. I'm Rick, from across the street," he gestured behind him. "We met last Saturday at the party."

"I remember you," Stewart Carpenter said in a level tone, without asking Rick inside.

"I was wondering if I could see, uh–Aurora for a minute?"

"Aurora's not home from work yet."

"Oh! I didn't think about that. Sorry. I'll get with her later." Rick turned abruptly and trotted back to his house, wondering why he'd been such a fool. Did the girl have a car? He couldn't remember seeing anything but an VW Jetta in the drive. Maybe they had only one car. He went around the back of his house and in through the porch to greet his mother, who had a perplexed expression on her face.

"I saw your car in the drive a few minutes ago. Where were you?"

"Oh, just across the street. I had something I wanted to ask Aurora, but she hadn't gotten home from work yet."

His mother said nothing but watched her son leave the room.

Rick ran an electric razor over his chin and applied more deodorant, keeping a watchful eye on the house across the street. But he had no idea how and when Aurora would come home. Did she ride with a friend who also worked in the city? Did she take the bus? Then he saw her from his window as she walked past his own house and began to cross the street. He bounded down the stairs two at a time and slammed out the door.

"Aurora!" he called, causing her to stop on the sidewalk in front of her house.

"Oh, hi, Rick," she said as he came toward her. She gave him the smile that was her transforming feature.

"Are you taking the bus to work?" he asked.

"Yeah, it's only a couple of blocks to the stop. I don't mind. I can get off practically in front of our building."

"Well, I was thinking, it's ridiculous that I'm driving there every day, too, and you might as well ride along with me. What do you say?"

She tipped her head speculatively. "I guess that would be fine. Thanks so much. When do you leave in the morning?"

They settled on the time for Aurora to be over, but instead of parting from her, Rick asked if she'd like to go to a movie the next evening, Saturday, at a theater downtown. "They show arty or vintage films. I don't know what's playing, but if you don't want to go to that one, you can pick another movie. I really don't care. But I think we could get something to eat later if we go to an early show when it won't be so crowded." He spoke uncharacteristically fast, almost breathlessly as if he was afraid she'd run off.

Aurora gave a little delighted laugh. "I'd love to Rick. You're so nice to me, making me feel very welcome. You decide on the movie. I'll wait for you to give me the time, whenever we need to leave for the first show." She walked on after touching his arm in a friendly farewell.

After returning to his own house, he entered the kitchen, giving his mother a kiss on the cheek. "Something smells good. I'm hungry as a horse." Rick couldn't help but notice his mother was in a mood.

"Just meatloaf. But I'm glad to see you'll be here for dinner. I wasn't sure what was going on with all that running back and forth across the street. Did something happen?"

Rick took a carrot stick from a relish tray on the counter and munched on it before answering. "I just wanted to offer the Carpenter girl a ride to work. She doesn't have a car and since we're going to the same place, I thought it was better than her having to take the bus."

Martha nodded slowly. "Yes, you're being polite. That's a nice thing to do." Then she frowned in thought. "We invited those people to our party last weekend to be polite ourselves. I like to think we can get along with our neighbors if they give us half a chance. But that doesn't mean they'll become our friends, if you know what I mean."

Rick stared at his mother uncomprehending. "No, but I wouldn't expect you to be friends with all our neighbors. But we can be neighborly, can't we? Are you objecting to my offering Aurora a ride?" He didn't feel it was an opportune time to mention his date with her.

"Well, it sort of ties you up, doesn't it? What if you have something planned after work with friends? That sort of thing?" Martha busied herself wiping the counter, not looking at her son directly.

"Then I should make my excuses and she could always take the bus home."

Martha turned with a smile. "Just be careful not to jump into something you may regret. We don't really know these people, dear, so let's find out more about them before we get too chummy."

"Sure, Mom, but Aurora seems to be a pretty sharp kid. I talked to her at the party, and she's got a head on her shoulders. I know her folks seem kind of hippy-like, but Aurora's planning on a real job when she gets out of school."

"Still–those home influences count for something, and her college is rather odd, too. Just take it slow, Rick." She handed him a stack of plates. "Set the table for me, will you, that's a good boy. You know Mama's just looking out for her favorite son." They both laughed.

Chapter 7

The Carpenters were both seated at the dining room table, Noreen cutting out fabric for a summer dress for Aurora, Stewart sipping a glass of iced tea. Rehearsal had been short that day since they had a concert the following evening. Typically for summer, he'd discovered, it was to be an outdoor venue on the grounds of Foxhill manor virtually in their own neighborhood. This was a promotional thing for the Symphony that took place at times during the summer at historic homes around Nashville. Stewart hadn't been thrilled when his number came up and he was scheduled to perform in the truncated group. He'd worked before outside during Tennessee summers, and he knew the humidity made playing his instrument a trial, while the heat wore out everyone. But the concerts were well attended, he'd been assured by fellow Symphony members, and they seemed to increase ticket sales for the regular season.

"Isn't Aurora home yet?" he asked, looking around as if he might spy his daughter in a corner of the room.

"It's just past the time for her to be leaving work. Don't worry–she'll be along soon enough now that she's got a lift with Rick, the boy across the street. You knew that."

"Yes, I remember." Stewart sipped silently for a few minutes, gazing sightlessly at the water colored material on the table. "You know, I can't get it out of my mind that I've seen his mother before. Does she seem familiar to you?"

Noreen looked up. "How could that be? I just met her. No, she's a complete stranger."

"I can't put my finger on it, but I can't remember the context. That's what keeps bugging me. What was her name again?"

"Martha."

"Yeah," Stewart nodded. "Martha, but that doesn't ring a bell either. Yet there's a connection that I just can't come up with . . . ."

"She's an attractive woman," Noreen said with a smile and a glance at her husband's face.

"No, no, that's not it. Don't be ridiculous. Well, maybe it'll come to me. What's for supper?" he asked, slipping back into the present.

"It's ready. A cold meal tonight, salmon and potato salad," Noreen said, and then, off on a new tack, began to iterate her plans for the garden. "I'm going to work on it this weekend. No time to lose now that we're pretty much settled in. I want ground cover out front. With that maple tree there, we can't get a good stand of grass anyway, so I'm thinking ajuga, maybe, which flowers in the spring. It has dark green leaves all winter except if it gets too cold, but even then it comes back early in the spring. And hydrangea on both corners in front. Maybe ferns, too, since we face the north. What do you think?"

"Fine. You do like your plants, don't you?" Stewart said fondly to his wife, who to him looked much as she did when they first met at a concert in '76. Her hair was only barely streaked with grey but was in the same style, streaming and straight. She'd never worn makeup and now though her skin wasn't glowing like it had been, she still looked her natural self and only a little worn. But she was as slender as ever, even well into her fifties. "What about your flower garden out back? You always want a big garden with flowers for cutting and drying."

"Yes, and herbs, too. I'll want a patch outside the kitchen window for herbs. But about the flowers–I'm wondering if it's too late for planting coreopsis and star asters. I've got to get going on those plantings right away. They'll bloom in the fall and will come up year after year. I'd like lantana, too, if it doesn't get too cold for it. I'm only going for perennials, from now on."

With all the talk of plantings when Stewart next remembered about his daughter, he was shocked to see it was nearly six o'clock. "Hey," he said, interrupting Noreen's planting recital, "isn't it getting late for Aurora? She gets out at five, doesn't she? What's taking so long?"

He rose from his chair and went to the living room where he surveyed the front of the house and the street. To both his relief and annoyance he saw his daughter and Rick sitting on the front steps of Rick's house chatting away like old friends. He debated with himself as to the merits of calling out for his daughter to come home or leaving it to her own discretion. He decided he couldn't humiliate her by treating her as a child, but he stood within full view of the couple in the wide window if they happened to look up, which they didn't for another five minutes. Then he saw Aurora spot him and rise to her feet. The couple stood talking for another minute before his daughter ran across to her own house, Rick watching her go.

"Sorry, Dad," she said, coming into the front door. "You're not waiting supper on me, are you? Rick and I were talking about the big bike race coming up. He does it every year, and he wanted me to join the fun. But I don't really have a bike that would take me that far," she said gaily, going past her father to the stairs and on up to her room.

Stewart stood in silent perplexity, wondering about the dos and don'ts of raising a daughter. It had been relatively uncomplicated in the suburb of Memphis. Aurora had gone to a small church school, which kept her somewhat protected from the seediness of the world. Her college had been chosen carefully with an eye for not only expense, which was of paramount importance, but also for reputation. So far, her acquaintances had been exemplary, and she had given her parents no cause for complaint. Her activities had been geared toward the arts, including designs for the yearbook, making posters for the college's recruitment efforts, and of course, helping Doreen at home with her pottery work. Boys had been there but so far Aurora had pretty much kept to group fun, or at least there'd been no "steadies."

Stewart had to admit his protectiveness stemmed from remembering his own less than scrupulous past when it came to women. He'd been in his twenties, a college guy, tuned in and turned on, who'd just been young enough to avoid Viet Nam, when he'd met Noreen, and her innocence, her sweet nature had changed him entirely from more predatory tactics. Still, they'd married pretty promptly after that, and Aurora wasn't exempt from a man being led into a marriage proposal, no matter what his background. It was that transformation of his daughter from a schoolgirl into a married woman that was difficult for him to face. She seemed so young, still. He sighed and went back to join his wife, now setting the little table in the kitchen.

"Can I help with anything?" he asked, meekly. He felt as if she knew his innermost thoughts about losing his daughter, and he also knew if he admitted too much to her she'd only scoff at him. Did all fathers of girls react this way or was he completely out of line? But it was more, too. The idea of being linked in any way with that family across the street seemed unpalatable. That was part of the problem. Yes, he had to admit it. He poured tea into their glasses and kept his mouth shut.

Paige couldn't help but notice the young couple walking from Rick's car to the front of the Metcalfs' house along the drive. They made a cute pair, she thought–with him dark and handsome and her all light tones and so very feminine. She didn't spy on them further, however, having more on her mind than young love. She'd gotten an invitation to the outdoor concert Saturday night from–of all people–Hal Stensson, who called her the previous evening, acting as if she might not have remembered him from the party.

"Well, of course, I know who you are, Hal," she replied, pleasure streaming from her voice. He was notably laconic, according to Tessa, and he certainly didn't go overboard in his invitation to her, yet he seemed quite enthusiastic about the event. Considering she'd not taken him up on his invitation to tour his magazine, she was especially surprised by his call.

"I love opera the most," he admitted, "as far as classical music, but the concert is in our own backyard, and if you don't mind braving the elements, it should be fun. I'll bring a bottle of wine and a couple of lawn chairs and we can enjoy Ravel and Khatchaturian."

Well, she could only accept and ask if she should bring anything herself, but Hal said he thought they'd be well supplied. "A portable fan, maybe," he joked, "would be appreciated. I think it's going to be rather warm, so dress accordingly."

That evening, Paige called Tessa and asked if she and Frank had planned to attend the concert. When Tessa said they had another engagement and couldn't, Paige was disappointed and said so. "I hope we get along all right, just the two of us alone," she said.

"Why, Paige," Tessa said, laughing, "you sound like a school girl. Hal's very approachable, particularly when it comes to music. I doubt if you'll have any awkward moments. You two seemed to hit it off at the party, that was evident. Apparently Hal thought so too or he wouldn't have asked you out."

"I know. And I liked him, I admit it. But I have my reasons for not wanting a tete-a-tete, right now."

"Look, the David thing didn't work out, but that was your choice. Now it's time to move on. Don't turn into a recluse, please. You're too young and vibrant to settle for a solitary life."

Paige gave a rueful laugh. "I know you're right, dear. I feel so vulnerable still. I can't seem to shake it."

"Dip your foot in the water, just a bit more, and you'll not drown. Persist. Remember, I had my own problems with deceit and betrayal and I thought I was the loser of all time. But I ended up trusting someone again, and see how it worked out for me."

"Frank always adored you. That was evident from the start. And then there was Max. Believe me, you'd never remain alone for long."

"You neither, Paige, if you'd just give someone a chance. It may not be Hal, of course, but don't be afraid to get out of the house with a man."

"I did accept his invitation, and I'm looking forward to it–sort of. I do wish you'd be there as a buffer, though."

"You'll be fine. Talk to him about restoring his house–you both have art deco homes–or music, or publishing."

"Thanks, Miss Lonelyhearts," Paige said with a chuckle. "I guess I'm making too much of this. I'll let you know later how the evening goes."

Tessa's last words were, "Quit worrying and just plan on enjoying yourself. You have trouble letting go of niggling or fruitless concerns, Paige, dear. Please try on this occasion to take things as they come and be grateful for small favors."

Chapter 8

Rick was unaccountably restless before his date on Saturday. He spent some time helping his dad cleaning tools that had gotten rusty in the damp basement, then went over to his friend Eric's to hang out for a while. Though they'd run in different circles in high school–Rick with a more athletic crowd, Eric with the science guys–they had became friends at Duke when they wound up in the same English class and found they were quite compatible. Today, they decided to go for lunch to a dog town restaurant near Eric's house where they'd be sure to find some of the Vanderbilt crowd and maybe see some familiar faces.

"Glad you called, Bro," Eric said, wolfing down a hamburger. "This could be a very boring summer."

"I have to admit you weren't my first choice," Rick said with a grin.

"Well, thanks a lot!" Eric feigned indignation and looked questioningly at his friend.

"That girl at my party, you know, Aurora. She and her family moved in across the street. Very nice."

"Yeah, I remember you monopolized her. So you're seeing her, huh? She's good looking, I'll admit."

"Good looking? She's a knockout, and she's very sweet, too. Only she was having to help her mom get their house in order. They haven't been there very long."

"Take it easy friend. She'll still be there tomorrow."

"Hey, Rick!"

He turned and saw someone approaching their table that he knew from the private academy in Nashville they'd all attended. "What's up, man?"

When he came up to their table he and Rick high-fived. "Not much. You home for the summer? Where is it, Duke?"

"Yeah, and you're still at Vanderbilt? Jamie, you remember Eric Richardson. He's at Duke too." Rick didn't invite Jamie to sit with them, however, remembering him to be a gossipy bore in school. And before departing, true to his reputation, Jamie rounded up information on various old classmates in a voice that had the quality of a buzzing insect. He finally left them when the server came to the table to take their order.

The boys slowly ate lunch and chatted aimlessly, as far as Rick was concerned. He felt like he was just marking time until that evening when he'd get to be with her. His mind kept running toward different views of Aurora as he remembered seeing her–sitting in the cafeteria at work, when he'd been so pleased to run into her; her presence next to him in his small car; her lithe jogging across the street to her home. He forced himself to the light conversation expected of him with his friend.

"Want to play a little tennis at the club tomorrow?" Eric asked as they left the restaurant.

But Rick had hopes of seeing Aurora sometime during the next day so he only said he'd call "if things worked out." He dropped Eric off at his house and cruised home, wondering how he was going to occupy himself for the next four and a half hours before he'd see her again.

Aurora awoke early as was her habit, so contrary to her friends' ways at school, where sleeping till noon on weekends was the norm. She called herself a morning person since she'd always enjoyed the feeling of awakening to a new day. She had a spiritual bent to her nature and early mornings gave her a personal sense of renewal and hope, especially when she could sit alone and drink her morning cup of coffee, or now at home, a double latte made in the little espresso machine. Her mother was no doubt up but must have been somewhere in the big house doing something; her father was at the kitchen table eating a bowl of cereal and reading the paper. He nodded at her cheerful greeting, but paid no more attention to her as she completed her coffee making and took the mug out to the porch. A temporary arrangement of card table and chairs had been set up since the Carpenters had not had a porch in their former house and consequently no appropriate furniture.

The day was sunny and though the back yard was overgrown and needed work, it had a woodsy, back-to-nature feel that Aurora took pleasure in contemplating. She thought she could help her mother find some appropriate furniture for this porch, maybe at garage sales, for she knew her parents couldn't afford to go to a patio shop and buy furniture like the Metcalfs had on their identical porch. Thinking of the house across the street, Aurora thought it peculiar that she and Rick were living in houses that were mirror images as they faced each other. Idly, it crossed her mind that he might be in the same corner front bedroom as she, but there were two to choose from since the master bedroom was the big room overlooking the back garden. A small bedroom, most likely a maid's room originally, was off the kitchen. Her father wanted to equip that as a computer room and study, or to use for his practicing on the oboe.

She planned on helping her mother this morning first with planting some flowers, and then later going with her to a couple of thrift shops to see about getting furniture for the extra room. She had her own laptop computer to do her schoolwork, for which she needed a desk this summer. After she went back to school in the fall, her father said he'd then consider getting a computer for home use. She hoped to find a bookshelf and a comfortable chair for reading to go in the room if she could spot some nice ones and get them into the van. She'd found out when quite young that her mother had no talent for or interest in household design.

Using as the basis some good family pieces inherited from a great aunt many years earlier, Aurora had made several cautious suggestions when still in high school to improve the looks of the living room. Even as a child, she'd felt pained at the mishmash and clutter that exemplified her parents' taste in furnishings. Her mother surprisingly welcomed her remarks, and it was through this developing interest that Aurora found artistic expression. She'd not inherited her father's musical ability, nor did she especially care for hands-on crafts, but furniture and design elements became her speciality and her college focus. She was becoming quite knowledgeable in American furniture and hoped to get into museum work after graduation, not a very lucrative profession, she knew, but she wasn't ambitious in that way, being content with small means. Then again, she'd not been associated with moneyed types in her entire life, so she'd had little to complain about.

She didn't give too much thought to the evening ahead. It was her way of dealing with events that might have engendered speculation in a more excitable type. She looked forward to being with the attractive and seemingly attentive Rick, but thinking too much about what was in store was abhorrent to her. Nothing ever had turned out the way she imagined it would, so she'd trained herself not to think too far forward. Just enjoy the moment, which didn't mean she wasn't already planning what she'd wear for their date. But as far as any thoughts about Rick, who seemed certainly agreeable, she really didn't know much about him or his character at this early stage of their acquaintance to plan for the future.

She sensed her father was not pleased at this burgeoning relationship, however, seeing his little frown when she told her parents at their evening meal she and Rick would be going to a movie. Her mother merely nodded and said he seemed like a nice young man–and good looking.

"He has interesting coloring, doesn't he," she said. "Black hair and green eyes."

"Now what does that have to do with anything?" Stewart growled, scraping up the last of his potato salad.

"Nothing, really," Noreen said. "Just my artistic notice of color combinations."

This stopped further comments from her father, but Aurora felt he had a hidden agenda regarding Rick or maybe the entire family across the street. Now reflecting on the tense moment, she mentally shrugged and finished her latte. She was not a confronter, so she couldn't ask her father outright what was bothering him, but he would eventually say something if it was anything serious, she knew from experience.

"Why didn't you have the movers take Mom's pottery to the basement?" she asked, when she re-entered the kitchen. "Aren't those boxes going to be too heavy for you to cart downstairs?" The collection of Noreen's output was stored in cardboard containers stacked against the back wall of the porch. They were labeled, Aurora knew, with the various designs employed by her mother, all having to do with the earth: "Desert," "Mountain," "Woods," "Prairie," and so on.

"She said leave them there, since there's a craft show coming up and she wants to go through everything to pick out her choices to sell."

"Is Mom upstairs?" The house was quiet since the Carpenters had never got in the habit of watching TV news in the morning. Aurora couldn't hear her mother's steps anywhere.

"She's off to that big nursery to get plants. They open up at seven o'clock, so she thought she'd get an early start. Are you going to help dig?"

Aurora nodded and explained her intention to help choose the furniture for the study, which seemed agreeable to her father. He was cheerful this morning, which wasn't always the case before a concert, but the weather was promising to be almost humidity-free and would affect his playing, always a harbinger of his mood. Before going off to college, Aurora had usually attended a few important concerts during the Symphony season, but Stewart had never insisted she or Noreen always be present when he played. It was a job, he said, and other men didn't require their families to accompany them to work.

When Aurora went upstairs to shower and wash her hair, she thought about her date that evening and what she should wear. Clothes were of interest to her, and though she and her mother disagreed about style, Noreen would stitch up whatever pattern her daughter requested. The new dress she'd just completed would work well tonight. Aurora liked short, flowing dresses for summer in her favorite colors of yellow and coral and aqua, which set off her strawberry blonde hair and her turquoise eyes. Of course she wanted to look her best. Why wouldn't she?

Chapter 9

"Nice evening," Hal said at Paige's door. They both agreed the concert was enjoyable though Paige couldn't say that either the music or the date seemed particularly romantic. Hal was something of a mystery and that in itself was intriguing. She had to wonder why he asked her out. He'd made no moves that might have been expected–or should they have been. Did see her as a convenient person to take to local affairs and not someone he might get even more interested in? Now at the end of a pleasant evening, Paige felt confused. He'd been the soul of politeness and consideration from the time he picked her up and drove off toward the Foxhill grounds.

"Are you a native Nashvillian, Paige?" he had asked. The week before at the party they'd talked, but only about general things, somehow skirting the personal. As they drove along Paige decided that Hal seemed to want to know more about her.

"No, I went to school here and got my first job in Nashville. My mother lives in Louisville where I was raised along with my sister, who still lives there with her family. My father died about ten years ago. And you?"

"My father died a few years ago, but my folks moved to Nashville from Minnesota when they were first married. Actually, it was they who got me interested in the Foxhill neighborhood. My mom lives only a couple of blocks from me in a nice Italianate job."

"It must be strange and somehow difficult to move away from one's home. After all my years here, I couldn't . . ." Paige stopped herself from saying she'd couldn't move to California and instead said, ". . .stand the thought of making a whole new set of friends, particularly as I get older."

Hal said he believed the moving phenomenon ran in families. "Tracing my own ancestors, I found several lines that started out east and just kept moving farther west every generation, and then with my folks, moving south. Call it wanderlust, ambition, a sense of adventure–I don't know what."

"Maybe confidence?" Paige suggested. "It takes courage to move out of one's comfort zone. It's the sort of attitude that settled this country. Are you itching to move on?"

"No," Hal laughed. "I'm pretty sure I'm here to stay. I was born here and then I got my first job on the old Nashville Banner. When that shut down, I contemplated getting going to work for another newspaper out of town–out of state, actually; then I found the community newspaper was for sale, and the thought of being my own boss became appealing. Now that I'm even more deeply involved in entrepreneurship, I'll probably stay here forever." He gave Paige a quick glance. "I agree that's got to be a sign of middle age. Settling in doesn't sound bad at all like it might have when I was in my twenties."

They'd nearly reached the mansion grounds and were in an area Paige seldom had seen, not being on a route she customarily followed. She turned her head as she closely observed an elaborate three-story Italianate house set among smaller, newer houses like an overlord. It had a distinctive cupola perched on top of its flat roof like a tiny top hat.

Hal noticed her scrutiny and said, "That house was built by the son of the original owners of Foxhill. Must have been quite a show place in its day. My mother's house is a similar style but not quite so large."

Paige murmured her fascination with the style, but then they were heading into the public parking area of the mansion grounds. Foxhill itself loomed over the area in Greek Revival majesty with its full complement of white columns under a Palladian pediment. Paige had been inside when she'd attended a couple of meetings of the Foxhill Association. Once parked, she offered to carry one of the lightweight lawn chairs, but Hal took them both. "If you'll carry the wine and cups, that will be fine. I brought extra cups in case we sit with someone we know. I won't be able to have more than a couple of drinks and drive home anyhow."

And they did see the Metcalfs who were seated at the front to one side. They waved to Hal and Paige, indicating they should join them.

"Didn't know you folks were music lovers," Hal said, as he set up the chairs.

Martha nodded toward the small group of musicians who were arriving and settling into their seats. "Our son didn't see the necessity of attending this concert himself, but he suggested we show our support for this neighborhood event. I wonder why," she said in a wry tone.

"Why did he?" Paige asked, perplexed. "That doesn't sound like Rick."

"We have a new Rick on our hands," Hank said, laughing. "He's in love and we're to be especially nice to our new neighbors in aid of his courtship. Her father is playing tonight."

"Oh, Hank, don't be ridiculous! He just met her. I suppose he's wanting to impress her as he would anyone he's dating. It just happens this girl is our neighbor, unfortunately."

Hal raised his eyebrows and asked Martha, "Don't you like the girl? I remember meeting her at your party, and we spoke briefly, but she seemed a pleasant enough person. Or is it her parents–quite different, I admit, in their interests from the average."

"That's just it," Martha said. "They're not our sort. But I shouldn't worry, should I, Hank? Rick goes from one girl to another. I just don't like the propinquity, that's all." She turned to the front as the orchestra began tuning up. "I think they're about to begin. And we didn't come here just on Rick's say-so, anyway. We wanted to support Foxhill activities."

Hal and Paige looked at one another and smiled. Martha was nothing if not predictable to those who knew her. She would have turned inside out to please her son. Yet, Paige thought, her resistance to the girl was also understandable. A problem for her neighbors was on the horizon.

Then the conductor came to the mike and after a few words of welcome mentioned the upcoming Symphony season and how to get season tickets.

"You ever do that?" Hal asked Paige.

"No, only because it's no fun to go alone and I haven't any friends who are that interested in music."

"I always get tickets for myself, so if you decide, we could go together."

"I'll think about it." Later, after he'd dropped her off following the concert, she wondered about the casual invitation to join him if she decided to get a season ticket. How strange that was! She was half put off by his almost saturnine looks and laconic manner. She felt she'd done her part in keeping the conversational ball aloft, but he hadn't made it easy. Was he shy or just diffident about women? He seemed to chat easily enough with Hank Metcalf. She wondered if he would call her again or was he now going to wait for an invitation from her for a home cooked meal? Well, she could do that, she supposed, and include Frank and Tessa, to keep the same non-committal attitude going without being discouraging. But did she want to be encouraging? So many questions about a man who was intriguing to her despite or maybe because of his style.

She also, in passing, wondered about the odd attitude of Martha toward the cute neighbor girl, Aurora. Was there something she wasn't telling about the girl or her family, for that matter? Paige settled down in front of the TV in her bedroom and found a movie to distract her thoughts. Too many unknowns to ponder, but she also had to admit, it was stimulating to have something other than her own sad state of affairs to consider. Yes, she had been in a funk for too many years, and it was time to get over it. Tessa had suggested as much, but at the time, she thought her friend was being insensitive. It was hard to forgive such a hurtful transgression from her late husband, but her religion, what remained of it, she knew taught she wouldn't have peace until she did just that. Paige took a deep breath as if clearing out more than her lungs and felt a strange sense of well being steal over her. Maybe it was possible, after all.

Chapter 10

The theater was an old one, dating from the thirties, Rick speculated to Aurora as they took their seats. "I went here once with my folks years ago, and I seem to remember my mom saying that about the place."

"I agree, Rick," Aurora said. "This really is Art Deco at its height, the machine age emblazoned all over the place. Look at the stylized decorations on the loges upstairs. It's a very elaborately furnished theater but I guess being downtown, it was the place to go for the latest from Hollywood."

"Right," Rick agreed. "This movie just might be interesting; I have to admit I don't know much about art films. I hear Bergman can be off the wall."

"Very much so, and usually his stuff is rather depressing with that typically Nordic melancholia. The Passion of Anna doesn't sound too gloomy, does it?"

"May even be racy," Rick laughed. "Did you happen to mention what we were seeing to your folks?"

"I did say a Bergman film, which meant little to them. I think they may have thought Ingrid, rather than Ingmar. They're not movie goers."

"If you noticed, there's no popcorn and cokes available, but I understand at Intermission there will be wine for sale. You are twenty-one?"

"Y-yes, I am; this all seems quite different from what I'm used to."

"And what are you used to?"

"Nothing so glamorous, I'm afraid," Aurora said, "but this will be an experience."

The theater was filling up with supposed afficionados of the genre or maybe just the curious like Rick and Aurora, who sat quietly chatting until the lights dimmed.

Rick had a desire to take Aurora's hand as the opening credits came on the big screen. He glanced at her face, the perfect features outlined in the soft light, her hair as a frame. He restrained himself, however, not wishing to act like a high school Lothario. Despite her age, she had something of an innocent about her. Yet he had discovered in their drives to and from work

that she also was knowledgeable about seemingly arcane matters–ancient architecture, therapeutic plants, that sort of thing–more than he, for sure. The contrast of innocence and knowledge was one of the things that made her so intriguing. He'd never met anyone quite like her. She constantly delighted him. He gave a quiet little sigh. What was going on with him? Was this love at first sight? He could hardly believe he'd known her only a week and that this was their first date. Take it easy, he cautioned himself.

Afterwards, driving to the restaurant, Rick said, "It was pretty much of a downer, didn't you think?"

Aurora confessed she'd looked up the movie on a data base earlier. "It was Bergman's attempt to deal with his breakup with Liv Ullmann, though he had her as the star of the movie."

"And what was all that about the slaying of animals on the island?"

Aurora laughed. "I don't know, honestly, other than it contributed to the sense of despair, and a nightmarish environment."

"Beautiful photography, though."

"Oh, yes," Aurora agreed excitedly. "I'm glad you noticed. It gave a certain ambience to the drama, uplifted it in a way. And it sure needed uplifting!" They both burst out laughing.

But the conversation didn't dwell on the movie during dinner, with Aurora asking Rick about his plans after graduation the following year.

"I'm thinking law school. I'm taking the LSAT this summer to see how I do and if I can get into a good school."

"Very ambitious. So your father's business doesn't appeal?"

"I'm sure it's a worthy endeavor, providing insurance for people, but it sounds like a fall back plan to me. I wouldn't like it particularly, but if worst came to worst and I found myself out on a limb, I guess I could manage to carve out a career there."

Aurora swallowed a bite of her veggie burger and nodded her agreement. "We sometimes have to make do in life, don't we, depending on so many things–family situations, money, opportunities, and of course, our own abilities or ambitions. We have choices, but the limitations have to be acknowledged. Sometimes they can be overcome, sometimes not. I see my life as a road with a few forks along the way that call for a decision, not too original a thought," she said with a smile, "but I believe it's an analogy that works."

Rick looked at her appreciatively and said softly, "You are a wise girl for your age. Most of the women I know from school have little thought about anything larger than the immediate vicinity of their own person." Then he hurriedly said, "Not that I mean to slam my fellow students at Duke, but I must say they do seem pretty narrowly focused."

"I've probably had a very different upbringing and schooling," Aurora admitted. "As far as my folks, they like to think they're above the fray–and that's given me a better sense of self since we don't exactly live for the regard of the world. I've had to do a lot of thinking about how people live and work. On the other hand, I've not had traditional religious instruction at home, but I did go to a church sponsored school, so despite my parents' lack of–well, faith, I guess, I've come to a different way of looking at life than my parents' way."

"And all of that is what's given you a real philosophy to live by," Rick stated. "It may not be complete, but it's a terrific start."

"What about you?" Aurora asked. "Have you formed your philosophy of life–at least the beginning of a philosophy?"

"I think I've had too soft a life to have a mature philosophy. My folks have done their best to smooth my way, and I don't know that such an upbringing develops character."

"Rick!" Aurora exclaimed. "Don't sell yourself short. Just the fact that you acknowledge a life of privilege means you do have character. Many great people had it easy, but that didn't stop them from developing their minds or even making a contribution."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Aurora," Rick said, smiling.

"I mean it! And furthermore, I think you're quite perceptive to realize the value of suffering and even privation, which can make or break a person."

They didn't really disagree on anything significant, Rick was coming to realize. It was a novel experience for him, not to be playing games with a girl, mindlessly flirting, talking about the obvious.

And so when he walked her to her front door it was a natural thing for him to lean forward, and putting his arm around her shoulders, give her a kiss, a kiss that she returned slightly but unmistakably. It was enough for Rick to leave her with a feeling of euphoria. The evening had seemed, he reflected as he entered the door of the back porch, like a river of ideas with waves of emotion generated from Aurora's presence. Rick walked swiftly toward the stairs, but he had to pass the door of the little den off the dining room where his parents were watching TV.

"Rick," his mother called. "Come say goodnight."

He grimaced to himself. He didn't want to discuss anything about the magic of the evening. Still, he knew his mother, and there was no slipping off without a cursory recital. He told them he enjoyed the date, that the movie was different but interesting, and yes, they ate at J. Alexander's, and he thought Aurora had a nice time.

"You like her, don't you?"

"Martha," Hank interrupted, "no more third degree. He's entitled to his privacy."

"Sorry," she said meekly, "but I'm just curious about your friends. I'll leave it alone."

"Thanks, Mom. I'll be sure to inform you if we decide to elope."

The look on her face was so horrified, Rick laughed, and went to his mother to pat her on the shoulder. "Just kidding, of course. Night, folks." He escaped to his room, his former mellow mood broken as he knew it would be. He undressed, turned on some music, and found the study guide for the law school graduate exam. It might be a good idea to sign up for a class that was being offered to teach tips on taking the LSAT.

Chapter 11

Martha took up a dish cloth and dampened it. This Tuesday morning, almost ready for her regular table of bridge players to arrive, she wiped the pristine, off-white marble counter for the sixth time that morning. The group met once a week, alternating at their homes, bringing their own sandwiches with the hostess providing soft drinks and a dessert. Martha had made a pan of lemon squares, which Hank and Rick would also enjoy that evening. Her bi-weekly maid, La Jasmine, had shined up the house the day before and also set up the bridge table and chairs in the living room.

Two of the women were long-time friends, Martha having made their acquaintance at her short-lived foray into the workings of the Women's Club organization fifteen years earlier. She had found it boring with little scope for her energies and skills with too much make-work for bored housewives and had left after a year. But during that year, she got acquainted with Charlene Campbell and Marie England, both of whom lived across town from the Metcalfs. The fourth member, Sheri Johnston, was a neighbor of Marie's, who had recently joined after their fourth member moved away. Martha enjoyed playing with the women and chatting about news of the city, for the women were all active in various civic and cultural organizations. Martha believed herself to be in a comparable social strata as these women and was as comfortable with them as she could ever be, considering.

Even though it had been many years since her last humiliation, Martha could never quite still the anxiety she felt at the thought of discovery–again. She had spent all her adult life safely, she hoped, in the Nashville area, including the years at Peabody College for Teachers, which merged with Vanderbilt University just prior to her matriculation. Her former life was all but forgotten. Her paternal grandparents were both dead, and it had been years since she'd seen her brother, who lived in California. They hadn't been together since she had traveled alone to the Memphis area when her grandmother died twelve years ago. Keith and she had a tacit understanding, though, arranged when Martha set off for college, that she would never be able to acknowledge her parentage if she was to get along in her job and make the kind of friends she desired. To that end, she began to use Martha, her middle name, rather than Mary, her first name.

She still felt a measure of shame that through the grief she felt during her sophomore year in college at the news of her parents' death from a head-on collision she also felt relief. She particularly loved her father, a moderately successful dentist in a Memphis suburb, and never wished him harm, but his presence in her life had complicated everything. His father had been a cotton planter near the Mississippi River and had married his housekeeper, a light-skinned black woman before civil rights held sway in the south. They'd married in Illinois, but lived together in Tennessee for over fifty years, having three children together. Martha's father may have suffered discrimination but he never overtly complained, for he married a white woman and set up his practice in a mixed race suburb of Memphis.

With his prosperity, the family moved to a new neighborhood and a fine home when Martha had to transfer her sophomore year to a new high school. Her younger brother, whose facial characteristics were more pronounced as to his racial blend, was three years younger than his sister and still in middle school. For the first time in her life, Martha was accepted on her own merits as a white girl. She joined the drama club and got a part in a play. She didn't go out for sports of any kind, mainly because she feared competition with the other high schools in the area and the ultimate discovery. But it happened anyway, this time at the beginning of her junior year while waiting for Spanish class to begin.

"Hey, Martha," called a boy from across the room, "we've started going to a new dentist, a Dr. Jeter. I don't suppose he's any relation." He laughed and said in an aside. "Black guy, our dentist, but he's really nice. Good, too."

Martha could feel her face turn hot, but she bravely acknowledged he was her father. The boy who posed the query said nothing, but that wouldn't be the end of it. She knew what would happen next–and it did, even though this was supposed to be the enlightened seventies. The news spread through the large school like a virus, and before long a friend took her aside and said she'd heard a bad rumor, that she was a "mulatto."

"You don't look like one," her friend said, "and I can't imagine who got such a story going."

But Martha was nothing if not brave and she told her friend the truth–that her mother was white and her father had come from a mixed marriage himself. She felt as if she'd spent her life spelling out the circumstances of her family's heritage. Well, she amended to herself, not her whole life, for she'd been eight years old before she knew the difference between herself and her friends. She'd not been invited to an all white birthday party, and with hurt feelings she'd asked her mother why. It took other slights and almost abuse from cruel kids before she hardened her shell against such things and tried to live with what she considered her handicap. After being "outed" she lived the rest of her high school years in an imposed isolation, not wishing to put her friends in the position of having to reject her.

Safely ensconced in college at the time of her parents' death, she decided never to return to Memphis. Her maternal grandparents were from Iowa, where her parents had met, her father going to dental school at the University of Iowa. Her grandparents had retired to Florida and beseeched her to stay with them during vacations and even work there summers. She loved their home, which was on a barrier island near Melbourne. It was a modest three-bedroom house, and her grandparents were highly evolved beings, who treated her like she was a treasure they had found on the beach. She talked to her grandmother, in particular, about the discrimination she met with in her growing up years, and her grandmother agreed she needed to "pass" in order to get ahead.

"You've been raised in the South, and schooled there, so it's likely that's where you'll get a job teaching. No one needs to know anything about your father's family." Her grandmother squeezed her hand as they sat together at the kitchen table, "And don't for heaven's sake feel guilty about it. You are in a unique situation, and it's ridiculous that the revelation of such a minor thing would affect your life, but we both know it would. So keep it to yourself. Gramps and I are your family now, and that's all anyone needs to know. Keith is welcome here, too, but he said he plans to make his home with his other grandparents."

"Yes," Martha agreed, "Keith has had it easier, and I don't know why exactly. He runs around with both blacks and white, but he's an athlete, too, and a good one, which makes all the difference." She envied her brother's acceptance in both worlds, but it wasn't a role she could manage herself. In the end, she took her grandmother's advice and effectively divorced herself from her other family.

Now, twenty-five years later, she continued to wonder if she'd be "outed" by someone, somewhere. Could it make a difference, she wondered, even now? Both her parents and later her grandparents had counseled her about it making no difference to enlightened people, the ones who would be her friends, and intellectually she believed this. But in practical terms, she knew her life would change, people would view her differently, search her face for tell-tale characteristics, which even she could imagine were there, the mark of Ham? When she was pregnant with Rick, she kept reassuring herself that Hank would have to have the African genes for them to turn up with a baby of obvious mixed race, but Hank had a pure, well documented German and English ancestry, Ellis Island Germans on one side and early New Englanders on the other. He never knew her secret and she hoped he never would.

Martha looked at the clock on her stove and wiped the counter one more time. The girls would soon be coming, and she was almost ready for them. She would put the coffee on now, her favorite Columbian, perfectly brewed, which everyone always complimented her on. They didn't nibbled on snacks, everyone cognizant of their slightly spreading, late forties figures, but they would happily indulge in Martha's famous lemon squares for dessert. She sighed. All-in-all, life had finally worked out well for her, and she should be able to relax.

Chapter 12

"I thought we got along quite well, actually," Paige said. She was talking on the phone to her friend Tessa about her date to the concert with Hal Stensson. "He came back to the house and stopped in for coffee and a dish of ice cream after the concert. Yet it's been almost two weeks and I've heard nothing. Shouldn't he at least have called and told me he had a good time?" Tessa having worked with Hal at first his community newspaper and then the new magazine was well aware of her former boss's idiosyncrasies.

"Let's see," Tessa said meditatively, "two weeks, and for Hal that's nothing. I can assure you he's been wrapped up entirely in getting his magazine to the publisher. I'd guess he hasn't given your date a second thought, not because he didn't like you but because his mind was on his priorities. Frankly, Paige, I was pleasantly surprised to hear he'd asked you to go with him even on a cheap date. He's not a ladies man, you know. His wife has been dead for many years, and as far as I know, he's devoted himself to his son and his work. He's probably completely forgotten the niceties of dating."

Paige sighed. "I suppose you're right, but I'd sure like to know what to expect from him. I have to admit he appeals to me mainly because I haven't been rushed by him."

"But Paige, that's what most men do, given the right circumstances and they like you–they move on it."

"I know, I know, it sounds implausible but I guess I want to keep control of the relationship. I can't be swept up in the moment again."

"Yet you're feeling abandoned by Hal for not moving faster."

Paige gave a rueful laugh. "I'm a little surprised at myself for wanting more so soon. But he is a very attractive man, and I'd like to get to know him better."

"Why don't you hie yourself down to his office and ask him out for lunch tomorrow? I think the current edition should have been sent off by now. He'll be ready to relax."

"Me, ask him? I–I don't know if I could." She thought for a moment and then said, "Well, heck, why not? What have I got to lose? I think I'll take your advice. I'll let you know the outcome."

Paige decided the best approach would be to drop in casually as if interested in seeing the magazine's operation. Before leaving the bank the following day, she went into the restroom and carefully redid her makeup and combed her short dark hair. She knew she was wearing a becoming outfit–a white blouse with a small ruffled collar that extended down the front placket. With it, she had a short, full, black and white plaid skirt that she wore with black patent heels. Wearing them, she'd be nearly five-foot-eleven, but she didn't have to worry about towering over Hal, whom she figured to be over six feet tall. She timed her arrival at the magazine office as close to 11:30 as possible, which would surely catch him before he took off–if he was planning on going out for lunch.

An attractive young woman at the front desk asked Paige if she could be of help.

"I'd like to see Hal, if he's available. Tell him his neighbor Paige is here."

The associate dialed a number and Paige heard a faint electronic buzz from the back of the office. The place was a one-story building, not new but in seemingly good shape, with a number of rooms off the main reception area.

Immediately after the message was relayed, Hal came from the back, rolling down his shirt sleeves and grinning. "Hello! Come to take a tour, I hope."

"I was curious, I admit, to see how a magazine is put together. I'm taking a long lunch break today, so I'm not in a hurry. Also, I hope to drag you out for lunch if you're available. "

"I think that can be arranged," Hal said, looking surprised but pleased. He seemed more animated and warm, Paige thought, probably comfortable in his own milieu, and like Tessa intimated, also probably not under any immediate pressure by having an edition completed and at the printer's.

The tour was relatively short as there were only four main rooms, but Hal's explanations were rather lengthy and Page tried to ask intelligent questions. After she covertly checked her watch, she noted that if she wanted to get back to the bank within her two-hour limit, they'd need to leave immediately for the nearby restaurant she'd picked out.

"I pinned my hopes on your agreeing to lunch and made reservations for 12:15," she explained.

Hal agreed it was a time to go, and leaving instructions for the girl at the desk in case a call came in he was expecting, he slipped on a khaki sport coat and taking Paige's arm led her out the back door to his own car.

"I don't mind driving, really," she protested, laughing.

"I'm taking you. I meant to get back to you after you treated me to the coffee and ice cream and thank you properly, but I seem to get too tied up with this enterprise for my own good manners sometimes. You'll have to pardon me. Now, it's to be my treat."

They arrived in good time at the restaurant, which was only a few blocks away with convenient valet parking, and were soon seated at a table near a window that overlooked the Cumberland River. Conversation continued to be easy, ranging from comments about the downtown businesses to again music, one of Hal's favorite topics.

"Did you ever play an instrument?" Paige asked. "Your interest in music is so very keen I would have expected you to be proficient in something yourself."

Hal shook his head. "Sadly, no. I took some guitar lessons in college, but I was never going to do anything magical with it so I kind of forgot it as life in earnest took over."

At this stage of their association, the subject of their late spouses had not come up. Paige could wait to tell the tale of her deceitful husband if she and Hal became closer. She had gotten beyond the bubbling over stage, which is where she was when she first met Tessa three years earlier. In fact, the luncheon conversation was so enjoyable, Paige lost track of time and when she came to her senses and looked at her watch, she rose from the table rather abruptly and stood smiling at him. "I'm sorry, but I really have to get back. This has been great."

Hal stood up across from her, ready to go, having earlier taken care of the check. At that moment, whether it was from the relaxing conversation, the superb prime rib sandwich, or the company, he gave Paige a look that was different from what had previously gone on between them. She saw admiration, appreciation in his eyes, which made heat come to her cheeks. Swiftly, she turned and walked out ahead of him, pleased and a little shaken. She silently thanked Tessa for having a very good idea. There was no question in her mind that he would be calling her again–and she didn't mind how soon it was to be.

Their parting at the magazine was almost formal as if delicacy was required. Paige thought Hal had had the same sort of presentiment that she had that moment at the restaurant, and it had fostered a solemn, unspoken understanding between them that promised more to come. She still didn't know if Hal was to be in her future, but she thought that they both would be wanting to explore the possibility.

That evening she got a phone call from Hal, thanking her for coming around to the office and getting him "off dead center." He reiterated how much he enjoyed the lunch with her and asked if she'd be agreeable to doing it again the following week. ". . . before things get too hectic at the magazine."

"Here's maybe a better idea. I love to cook, but I don't like to bother for just myself. How about next Friday you coming here for dinner? I'll ask Tessa and Frank if they'd like to join us."

Hal agreed with alacrity and after a few more minutes of conversation rang off. Paige immediately called Tessa and extended an invitation to her and Frank. "Bring Jonathan along, if you wish. You could put him to bed here if need be."

Tessa laughed. "Thanks, but when we have an evening out, we do better to get him a sitter–better for him and for us."

Then she adroitly turned the conversation to Paige and Hal's lunch date, suggesting it must have been a success. "So Hal agreed not only to go to lunch with you, but now also to have dinner at your place? Aren't you carrying the taking control bit to the extreme?"

Paige explained the turn of events, still a little unbelieving as she heard herself relating how well they seemed to get along. I mustn't put too much stock in this as the start of something, she told herself, I really mustn't. But to Tessa she kept her voice strong and confident.

Chapter 13

Sunday afternoon, Noreen was lamenting she'd not taken the time that week to go across town to pick up some groceries at her favorite store. It was the only place in Nashville that sold mainly organic products and meat ostensibly free from antibiotics. Noreen ate a little meat now and then, so she didn't consider herself a vegetarian, but she had a certain revulsion when she actually thought about meat processing. Certainly Stewart would have his steaks and roasts. Aurora offered to drive over to the store for her mother, but debated whether to take the family van, a large, clumsy vehicle she disliked driving or to suffer in the old VW Golf that was without air conditioning. She decided on the latter.

By the time she arrived at the busy market, she was damp and red-faced, and the frigid air inside the store was a welcome relief. She decided to delay her shopping and have an iced tea at the sandwich shop in a corner of the store to cool off. She was paying for her drink, when the person behind her in line said, "Haven't we met?"

She picked up her change and turned to see a young man that looked familiar enough, but she wasn't quite sure of his name. "Yes, we met at the Metcalfs' party a few weeks ago. I'm Aurora Carpenter."

"Eric Richardson. How're ya doin'?" He seemed to be following her to a table, so she gave him an invitational smile as she set her glass down.

"Fine, I'm about to do some shopping for my mom but I needed a pick-me-up. It's so hot outside."

"I missed lunch, myself, and wanted one of their great hamburgers. I try to eat here about once a week. I can't find any place as good in Durham."

"I remember now. You're also at Duke."

"Yeah. Rick and I kind of got reacquainted after going to high school together. Funny how things work out. And you're at—?"

"I'm going to be a senior at Berea in Kentucky."

"Never heard of it. Must be small. That's okay, though, I know lots of girls like to go to those smaller schools. What's your major?"

When she mentioned art history, Eric made a little face. "What do you do with that?"

Aurora gave a good natured laugh. "Museum work, or interior decorating, or even working with architects. I'll need to get a Masters in the direction I want to go."

"You and Rick seem to be getting pretty serious real fast. He's talked about you a lot."

Aurora took a deep breath. "I wouldn't necessarily say that. We ride together to work, you know, since we're both at his father's company. We date, but I'm not sure I'd call it serious."

"Sounds like it from Rick's point of view. I hope you're discouraging him there. He's going to be entering law school after he graduates, and from what I hear, that's no picnic and there's not much time for girls, at least not until the third year. What is it they say? First year they scare you to death; second year they work you to death; and the third year they bore you to death?" Eric laughed boomingly.

Uncertain how to respond to what seemed an unfair accusation, Aurora only smiled and quickly finished her drink. "I must go now and get my shopping done." She stood up. "It was nice seeing you again, Eric."

Eric didn't stand up, but he put down his sandwich and gave her a smile. "I guess I was a little blunt about giving advice, but I've known Rick for quite a few years, and I know he's all about enthusiasms, sometimes not to his advantage. I kind of wanted to warn you, if you know what I mean, not to get too carried away."

Aurora cocked her head questioningly. "I really don't know for sure what you meant. I thought you were telling me to back off for Rick's sake, though I didn't realize I was such a threat. Only now you seem to be telling me not to get my hopes up anyway, that Rick doesn't know his own mind. I guess I'm a little confused by your advice, so I'll have to play it my own way, won't I? It was an interesting conversation, though." She gave him a smile and walked over to fetch a basket for her groceries. In fact, she was shaking a little. It had been foolish of her to challenge him like that. He was, after all, Rick's friend, and they'd be together all next year. She hoped they weren't roommates at the apartment house where Rick lived, or he'd obviously be very free to bad mouth her regularly. Had he, like her father, seen her as not quite right for Rick? Was it true that they came from such different kinds of environments that they'd never be able to get together? It was something to consider.

Then on Monday morning, as she and Rick sat together in his car, he informed her he'd signed up for an LSAT review course, to be held after work at a downtown business college for three weeks, starting the following Monday.

"This is something I really need to do. I'm lucky to be getting into the class, but I know it's leaving you in the lurch. You'll have to take that damned bus again."

Aurora laughed. "I don't mind, Rick. It's good you'll be getting some prep for taking the exam. When will that be?"

"In July. I can take it again in August if I don't like my score, but I'm hoping this class will be helpful. I heard that in one of the premier law schools out East, for three hundred slots, the committee had to sift through eleven thousand applications."

"No kidding! I'm sure you'll do well, Rick. Are you hoping to get into an Ivy League school?"

"Not necessarily. I plan to get a job at a law firm in the South, so the prestige wouldn't matter that much. I'll apply a few places out East, but I've got several other schools in mind a little closer to home."

She didn't speak for a time, thinking about his future and her own. Eric had been right. There was too much ahead, not only for Rick, but also for her, for them to get serious. It would maybe be up to her to keep an even keel on this relationship. Rick seemed clear-headed, and she couldn't say he was the impulsive type, but he was ardent, too. She would have to keep her cool if it came to his wanting more. She looked at his strong profile and sighed. It would not be easy, for she had to admit she was falling in love.

As if reading her thoughts, he reached across and took her hand. "I'll hate like hell being so far from you this fall. But for both of us, it's our only choice if we want to graduate. Maybe we can plan together for our respective graduate schools."

"Maybe," she said, but it was without conviction. There were more and more obstacles to their eventual getting together. It was very possible that what was going on between them amounted to no more than a summer romance. Once he got back to that big university and all the sophisticated sorority girls she'd be nothing but a memory, a kind of strange romance between relative strangers.

"You're very quiet today," Rick said, releasing her hand to shift. "Are you OK?"

"Sure. I was just thinking . . ." and then her voice changed and took on an enthusiastic ring, "how much fun we'll be having this summer, anyway."

"Absolutely! We'll make the most of it." Then he said more seriously, "I have a feeling your father isn't too enthusiastic about me. I don't feel very welcome."

"Oh, I don't think it's anything more than his being a father, you know, watching out for his little girl. He still thinks I'm thirteen." They both laughed, but Aurora thought Rick was perceptive about her father's reluctance to approve of him. It was true she'd never dated anyone seriously before, only in groups or with "just friends." It wasn't because she hadn't been asked, but she'd kept herself to herself, not feeling any particular attraction to those who had asked her out. Maybe now it was simply that her father wasn't used to her dating someone exclusively for a time. And probably it was only for a time. She had to keep reminding herself of that.

Chapter 14

Paige's dinner turned out not to be. On Wednesday evening, she answered her phone to hear the voice of Hal Stensson. He was nothing if not to the point.

"Paige, I'm very sorry to have excuse myself from your dinner party Saturday."

"Oh, what's happened?"

"One of those unpredictable things. An out-of-town friend called last night to ask if we could get together Saturday. She's traveling from her home in Florida to see relatives in Illinois. I felt I couldn't refuse since she plans to stay in Nashville only the one night."

Paige's social manners kicked in automatically, and she gave a gracious reply–of course, she understood, and yes, they'd talk later about having dinner. The conversation seemed to be over in seconds. After she hung up the phone, she realized her feelings were less of disappointment and more of abandonment. Foolish, foolish woman, she chided herself. It was just as he said, an unpredictable situation. Yet, after reaching Tessa to inform her of the canceled dinner, she admitted she had doubts Hal was telling the whole truth about his unexpected guest.

"Coming from such a distance," Paige said, knowing her complaint sounded petty, "you'd think she might have gotten in touch with Hal much sooner to make arrangements to see him. He also didn't say if she was staying with him or at a motel. But why should he tell me anything?"

"He didn't explain their connection? Someone from his past? An old school chum, a neighbor, employee, or a shirttail relative maybe?" Tessa said lamely.

"He didn't feel the need, apparently, to fill me in on the details. Oh, I have to believe him, of course, but it seemed too coincidental, the timing, I mean. Wrong of me to wonder about that, but I can't seem to help myself." She expected Tessa to contradict her and defend Hal, but her friend seemed to understand the futility of challenging her feelings.

"So did you reschedule the dinner?" Tessa asked.

"I was so taken by surprise and assailed by such a sinking feeling, I suppose I couldn't think. Oh, Tessa, that sounds infantile and possessive, but that's how I felt, if I'm honest about it." Paige let out her breath with a puff.

Tessa was quiet for a moment and then said, "Here's an idea. I agree it would be awkward for you to reschedule what was a nice, impromptu invitation after he suggested dinner. Instead, I'll give a little party, inviting you and Hal to meet our new neighbors, that brave couple who have built on Aubrey Slinker's hell hole plot. He's an architect. He's done a remarkable job in obliterating any suggestion of the former house in the design, don't you think?"

"Yes, it's a clever blend of the contemporary and elements that indicate the history of the area. I'd love to meet them. How old are they?" With Tessa and Frank in their early thirties, she and Hal would probably be the old timers, both nearing fifty. That age difference was not important for her, but from time to time she wondered how Tessa and Frank thought about having friends from another generation. Again, she silently chided herself for doubts of their friendship. She would not turn into a basket case again, just when she was getting her confidence back.

"They're fortyish, I suppose. Their names are Stella and Guy Grayson. She's a pediatrician, and considering the nature of the crimes and that children were the victims, her profession seems appropriate in some strange way. Ironically, they have two older teenage boys, too. What do you think about that plan for dinner?"

"I don't like to put you to so much trouble, but it would solve the awkwardness problem and keep things open between Hal and me, at least until I can discover what Hal wants, and what I want, for that matter. I–I don't seem to know my own mind." She gave a little laugh.

"That's the way it goes with some relationships. I can tell you, from working with Hal over the years, that he's not easy to get to know. He keeps much of himself to himself, a protective barrier, maybe, particularly since he lost his wife so tragically at a rather young age. You'll have to give him time. He has depths I never could plumb."

"That's fine with me as long as he wants to continue seeing me."

"Now, Paige, don't start imagining things because he's having to entertain an unexpected visitor. And I'm sure that's the situation. Hal is painfully honest."

"Right. I'll shut up about it for now. When you decide on a date for this dinner, just let me know. I'm fine with any weekend in the foreseeable future," she finished dryly.

Tessa said she'd talk with Frank and the Graysons and call her back sometime in the next few days as to when they would all get together.

Paige didn't have to wait long, for on Saturday while she was wielding a duster, Tessa called. "You said you could come any weekend," Tessa said immediately.

"I did. Have you gotten something arranged already?"

"Next Saturday worked out for everyone. I'm actually glad it happened this way. Our new neighbors seemed to be happy to get further acquainted. And then, I wanted to do something neighborly for them as well as help you out, so that's that! It's going to be too hot for anything outdoors, but let's keep it casual, of course."

Paige laughed. "Of course. Oh, for the good old days of men in black tie and women in evening dresses at a sit-down dinner. I think they only did that in England and in American movies of the thirties, though. Still, that would have been fun."

"Gotta have servants to pull that off. I'm not into 'come as you are' but comfortable clothes are de riguer."

"And Hal?" Paige waited to hear more about what she was beginning to think of as the mystery man.

"Accepted right away. I wouldn't be surprised if he didn't give you a call and arrange to drive you over here. At least that's what he told me."

"I could walk, you know. It's only a couple of blocks."

"No, in this heat, you definitely need a ride," Tessa said in a mock serious tone.

Before the following Saturday night gathering, Paige had a wonderful feeling of anticipation. She seemed to have gotten over her misgivings about Hal's defection and accepted his excuses. He had, as Tessa predicted, called her during the week to say he'd pick her up to go to the Wengers' and Paige accepted. Again, there was no chit-chat on the phone, merely the exchange of necessary information.

Even though Tessa had stressed comfort in clothes and a casual atmosphere, Paige was careful, as was her custom, in dressing for the evening. She had no real artistic talent–she could never draw or paint anything, nor could she sew, nor did her house look like the pages of a home decor magazine–but she considered her person her palette. Her brown hair shone like glass and waved away from her temples, revealing her smooth forehead, slightly blushed cheeks and rosy lips. She used a mixture of blue and gray shadow for a smoky eye effect, which she thought would be fine for evening.

Her clothes she considered carefully. A cotton designer outfit of cropped pants in a subtle pattern in pastels with a silk tee under the matching cotton top. She wore high heeled wedge sandals in an aqua shade that complemented her clothes. She was rewarded for her care when she opened the door to Hal, seeing his eyes widen at her appearance.

"Very nice," he said. Though laconically uttered, it was enough.

She steeled herself to inquire politely about the friend from Florida, but Hal only said they'd known each other years ago when they both were married. "We ran around as young couples, before everything changed. She and her husband got a divorce not long after my wife was killed, and she moved to Florida to start a new life."

"Did she marry again?" Paige asked, knowing the answer.

"No, and I can see why. He was a louse as a husband and a drinker to boot. I suppose it made her gun-shy about marriage."

"I can understand those sentiments," Paige murmured, but didn't expand on her own situation. She briefly wondered if Hal knew her own story from Tessa. She'd never asked her to keep it confidential since none of the marital mishaps was of her own making.

And then they were there. Hal thought he could park in the drive since the other guests were next door. After helping Paige out of the car, a difficult feat since it was a large SUV, they both looked closely at the newly built two-story house.

"A lovely design," Paige said and Hal nodded in agreement. Then she said in a low voice, "Do you believe in hauntings?"

"Ghosts?" Hal took her arm and guided her toward the stone paved walkway. "You know, I wouldn't want to live on that land, but maybe it's because we know too much. But no, I've never experienced anything like the occult, so I'd have to charge my qualms to imagination."

Chapter 15

In spite of Tessa's estimation of the couple's ages, Paige's more practiced eye placed Stella Grayson closer to her own age than to Tessa's–the slight droop of jaw line and the little puckering of the neck telling the tale. True, her husband, Guy, like most men, was harder to place, age-wise. Stella was certainly attractive, though, and had a lively, almost ebullient manner. She had a way of focusing on whomever she conversed with, which Paige decided was not altogether natural, but learned as a technique–effective nonetheless. In contrast, Guy was more sober, though not unfriendly. It wasn't hard to imagine him working alone with his drawings while the more people-oriented Stella would have legions of devoted parents hanging on to her every word, her mere presence making them and their children feel better. Guy contrasted with his wife in looks as well, he being tall and blond and she petite and dark-haired.

Paige knew from past experience and an honest evaluation of herself that she was slow to accept strangers, so she tried to be less critical and more accepting, realizing the Graysons were the strangers here and it was up to her to help them feel at ease.

After dinner, while they were having coffee and brandy in the living room, Hal brought up his idea for a feature story in his magazine, addressing the Graysons:

"Your house has given me an idea for publicizing Foxhill. It's been three years since the tornado struck, and as far as I can tell, those affected by it have rebuilt or restored their property. I really am impressed at the way you've taken contemporary design and softened some features to blend with the neighborhood. Foxhill doesn't reflect any one period, but it's a continuum of family dwellings from various eras. Would you be willing to have your place included?" Hal asked the Graysons. "I wouldn't mention the recent history concerning Aubrey Slinker, since that's unimportant to my thesis, but I think it's about time Foxhill told its story to the larger community. I can't remember when anyone did a piece on this area. What do you all think?"

"It sounds like a wonderful idea," Paige exclaimed. "How many styles will you feature?"

"I'm thinking maybe about six or seven, beginning with the Foxhill mansion in the 1830s and ending with the Graysons' place."

"We'd be delighted to have our house featured. Right, Stella? Do you do your own photography?" Guy Grayson asked Hal.

"Not for anything this important. I've got someone I contract with for really artistic effects, and this would qualify."

Several conversations began at once, one between Tessa and Stella, who were sitting at one end of the room while the men had congregated at the other. Paige, nearer to the women, overheard the men talking about construction with Frank admitting to a new hobby. She turned to Tessa and asked, "Does Frank really do woodworking now?"

"Oh, yes," Tessa laughed. "He's needing that physical kind of employment. You remember when we first met, he was working at a music publishing house lifting heavy materials in the vault. Of course, he called that work his dog, to paraphrase Robert Graves, to support his cat, the computer program he was developing. After he sold the program and we got married, he took the teaching job at Vanderbilt, and now he feels he's too sedentary. Besides, there's an artistic component to his hobby. Did you notice the wooden valences in the dining room?"

"I did," Paige said. "Frank actually made them? The scrolling is lovely."

Just then, Frank turned to the women and said, "I'm going to show the guys my workroom in the basement. We'll just be a few minutes."

Paige looked around the room, which had been completely transformed from the days when Tessa had just inherited it from her aunt. "I like the way you've done this room," she said.

"Thanks. I've tried to keep the Victorian atmosphere without the Victorian clutter and lack of comfort."

"I think the key," said Stella, "is your comfortable upholstered pieces mixed with authentic accessories, including the tables and chests. Very nice indeed." Then she turned to Paige. "So how long have you and Hal being going together?"

Paige gave a brief, almost embarrassed laugh. "We're hardly going together. This is only the second time we've been out."

"Oh, I guess I made an unwarranted assumption. Hal said he lived in the neighborhood, too, like yourself, and I just thought . . ."

"I knew about him, of course, because Tessa worked for him, and I was living upstairs at the time. I recognized him when I attended from time to time the Foxhill Association meetings, but somehow, we never talked–not until a neighborhood party a few weeks ago." Paige thought they sounded like a couple of misanthropes even as she spoke.

"Hal's been very busy," Tessa said, "first with running that little newspaper almost singlehandedly, and then starting the magazine. He's pretty much devoted himself to business. I'm just pleased you finally met. I don't know why I didn't instigate something between you and Hal myself. I guess I'm not much of a matchmaker. You do like him, don't you, Paige?"

"He's interesting and intelligent, and yes, I like him."

At the sound of the men coming upstairs, Paige rose. "I think it's the witching hour. I know you and Frank have an automatic alarm clock." She nodded at the baby monitor beside Tessa on a little marble-topped bombé chest of drawers. "When does Jonathan wake up?"

Tessa also stood up. "He's an early to bed, early to rise type like his father. He'll be chomping at the bit ready for his breakfast by seven o'clock. I can barely stare a cup of coffee in the face at that hour, but he'll be young only once, and I don't want to sleep through it."

"I remember well those days," Stella said. "Now we just get frantic phone calls needing money when they're in school, or when they're home, repeated requests to use the car."

Paige knew the Graysons had two teenage boys, one a rising sophomore at some Eastern college, the other at a prep school in Nashville.

"I suppose most parents nowadays think it's easier to give in and let them have a car. Are they working this summer?" Paige asked, smiling at Hal as he joined the women. "I was asking about the Graysons' boys."

"I haven't seen them around," Hal confessed. "Are they here for the summer?"

Stella explained about their activities, a construction job for the college guy and summer school for the younger one. "In case you're wondering, they're fine about the history of the property. It was something we decided as a family when we considered buying the lot. The price was excellent, naturally, but we put those horrible events in the past and never looked back. The fact that those boys' bodies were finally unearthed was a blessing, we thought."

"That's a sensible way to look at it," Hal observed. Then he gave Paige a nod. "Ready?"

They said their goodbyes with thanks to Frank and Tessa for their hospitality and left the house en masse, the Graysons stepping across the drive to their own house.

In the car, Hal said, "Pleasant evening with nice folks, don't you think?"

"Absolutely! Of course, I'm very fond of Tessa and Frank, and the newcomers seem like a wonderful addition to the neighborhood." Her comments were appropriate and sincere, yet all the while they were driving away, she wondered about what she should do at the door. It would perhaps be better to invite him in, maybe for a nightcap. That would tell her if he had more of an interest in her than merely as a neighbor.

After he pulled into the drive, she suggested a drink, and to her surprise, he agreed to come in. "The night is young, and you're so beautiful," he said, startling her. "Song lyrics from another day and time," he said in a light, joking tone.

"You scared me for a minute," Paige said. "I thought you'd suddenly turned romantic, indulging in, well, sweet talk, which didn't quite sound like the Hal I'm beginning to know."

"Oh, I can be charming if I want to," he said, taking the key from her and opening the door to her house. "It's just that my charm has gone towards persuading advertisers for the magazine, not women. I've been away from the game so long, I don't know how to act around a lady."

"Not really. You're doing fine. Now then, what would you like to drink?" Paige asked. She had started the very personal conversation and now she wanted to end it. Did she want to encourage him or not? How awkward would it be for him to take his leave from her without a gesture? But would it be a kiss or a handshake? She busied herself getting a couple of glasses of white wine from the kitchen, but when she turned around to close a cupboard door, Hal was right behind her.

He took her in his arms and kissed her without preamble. She was momentarily speechless, but then recovered her poise pushing gently away from him..

"I wasn't asking for anything, you know," she said. "All that business about being romantic." She smiled at him. "But I'm not objecting. Here's your glass. Let's go to the living room." She walked quickly out, wondering if she really was willing to take the plunge.

Chapter 16

"I've invited the Alexanders," Martha said to Rick, "including Bitsy, for dinner Friday night. They couldn't come to our party, if you remember, and Bitsy just got back from France, her Junior Year Abroad program at Wellesley." Martha looked beseechingly at her son. "Please say you'll be available. I know you don't have the law exam class that night, and it would be lovely for you young people to get together again."

Rick gave his mother an exasperated look. The two were in the kitchen Monday evening, shortly after Rick got in from his class. Hank was in the den watching TV. "Mom, what are you doing? You know Bitsy and I haven't had anything going on since we dated a couple of years ago. That's over. I'm not going to be party to this little maneuver of yours. Sorry, but you're presuming too much. I won't be available Friday night." He turned and left the room.

Martha stood for a few minutes, feeling somewhat abashed. She knew her son was right, that she'd overstepped the bounds. Rick was twenty-one and his own man. But Bitsy would have been so perfect for him. She couldn't understand why they hadn't clicked. When she thought of that little non-entity across the street, she grew sick. Vapid, low-class, and peculiarly raised, she could tell. Not at all what was best for Rick and his potential. She sighed. Maybe their attachment would fade away once they both got back to school in the fall. She could only hope. Now she'd have to gather herself together tomorrow and call Sarah Alexander about Rick being "too busy" with his law school classes to attend the dinner party. Of course, Bitsy would be welcome to come anyway, but if she thought being alone with the old folks too boring, Martha would understand. Martha actually wasn't too disturbed about making that kind of call. She'd been on too many committees to be embarrassed about such obvious excuses. She was quite confident Bitsy would decline.

And the next morning before her bridge group arrived, she made the call to Sarah Alexander, which went much as she expected, with her friend assuring her that "the children" could get together on their own later. Martha was content with the outcome of the call as she hung up the phone, but she felt a little silly. What with her attempt to shove her son into a relationship not of his own choosing, she now had to arrange an unnecessary dinner party. Customarily, the Alexanders and the Metcalfs got together socially only at large affairs, although Bitsy had hung around the house one whole summer, and so this dinner was a bit unusual. Oh, well, she thought philosophically, she deserved her punishment. But that didn't stop her worries about Rick and the girl across the street. If she could do anything in the world to discourage that connection from going forward, she wouldn't hesitate a minute.

Across the street that evening at the Carpenters, Noreen addressed Stewart, who was enjoying his soy burger and french fries. "Do you think we're obligated to have those folks," she indicated the Metcalfs with a nod of her head, "over to our house since they invited us to that party?"

Stewart chewed meditatively and then shook his head. "I think there was such a crowd, they'd be busy from now until Kingdom Come accepting return invitations if that was a rule. We were invited to what I recall was their annual Start of Summer party. Isn't that what they called it," he asked his daughter.

"I believe so. No, Mama, I don't think you have to respond but it wouldn't hurt to have them over for, say homemade ice cream some Sunday afternoon, for example."

Aurora thought her mother looked a little startled. She wasn't a social kind of person, didn't care for entertaining, and Aurora knew this. Still, she thought it would be nice of her folks to try to establish friendly relations with Rick's folks. They were very different sorts of people, she recognized, but that didn't necessarily mean they couldn't neighborly.

"I suppose that might be possible," Noreen said with uncertainty. "What do you think, Stewart?"

"I could make the ice cream without any problem," he said.

"Oh, dear," Noreen went on as if to herself, "I'd need a new set of matching bowls. Would we invite their son, too? I guess so. Maybe you could make some cookies, Aurora."

"I'll help get it going, Mama. Don't worry about it. Can we maybe get some porch furniture, too, before we have this grand event?" She smiled at her father, who seemed until this moment detached from the arrangements.

"What's that? Oh, furniture, yeah, I suppose we need some. Right, Noreen? Do you have something in mind, either of you?"

"I do," Aurora said quickly. "I'd like to have a few pieces of wicker, a settee and a couple of chairs, white painted. I bet I can find what I want at junk stores and thrift shops, or maybe Craig's List. Also I'll get some extra wooden chairs and little tables. I've been thinking the back wall of the porch should be a pale lavender with white woodwork. Then Mama and I can make some cushions with a floral pattern of leaf green, hyacinth purple and white. It would look cool and inviting."

"Good, " Stewart nodded, smiling at Aurora. "How much is this going to set me back?"

"Not that much, Daddy. If I'm lucky, under $100. I'll do the work myself if I can find the basic furniture."

"And how does that sound?" Stewart asked his wife.

"Whatever Aurora wants is fine with me. You know I couldn't care less about decorating the house. I'm too busy right now getting ready for the Crafts Fair. I'm having a little booth there, don't forget, and I'll need the rest of the summer to get enough pots made." But she went on with a smile, "I can help with the cushions, though. That shouldn't be a problem."

"You know," Stewart said, still musing, "I can't help thinking I know that Metcalf woman. Her name wasn't Martha, though, and I think my recollection must go way back." He put down his fork and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. "Maybe it will come to me when I see her again up close at our little afternoon gathering."

So Aurora had her mandate, which oddly enough had been instigated by her mother, who had no real interest in the project. Aurora had no illusions that the two sets of parents would magically hit it off, but it seemed important that they know each other better. She had a sense of destiny as far as Rick was concerned, that the families were linked, for better or worse, and at least an attempt must be made to try to allay fears and possible objections. She didn't know from anything Rick said that his parents objected to her, but the lack of interest in getting to know her better told the tale. She was also curious if it was just his mother, his father, or both. The prospective afternoon affair would be an opportunity for them all to become better acquainted, at least. That couldn't hurt anything.

In the meantime, she continued to see Rick every day, though with his classes Monday through Thursday after work, she had to take the bus home. They usually went to a movie or once they attended a concert. Mostly they went out on Saturday night and sat in his driveway afterwards talking and necking, which was getting pretty hot and heavy, Aurora knew. Yet she was sure they were on the same page as far as sex was concerned. She was not inclined to go all the way, hadn't so far, hadn't wanted to, and Rick acted protective of her, stopping himself before it became a problem between them. She could hardly believe they'd known each other only a few weeks, just over a month, really, since they'd grown so close almost immediately. Where was this going? she wondered more and more frequently. And she also wondered if this romance would or could continue after they went their different ways this fall. She was beginning to think of Rick as hers, feelings that were heady and unique to her, but whether it was wise or not, she couldn't say.

Three weeks later, Martha answered the phone to hear someone called Noreen inviting her family over for homemade ice cream. She hesitated, confused, her mind racing until the woman said, "I'm sorry I didn't mention it, but we're your new neighbors across the street."

"Oh, of course," Martha exclaimed, now so embarrassed she accepted the invitation almost enthusiastically. "We'd love to come. Thanks so much. Is there anything I can bring?"

When Noreen declined her offer, Martha again said, "Thank you, and we'll see you Sunday." She hung up and considered. It promised to be a boring time of it. She dreaded mentioning it to Hank, who loved his quiet Sundays. Oh, well, Rick probably was behind this somehow, so she'd have to put a good face on it. Showing disapproval of that family had only gotten a frown from her son. Maybe seeing them in their usual habitat would indicate more than she could how inappropriate was his connection to the girl. She'd have to find out her name before they went over, though. For some reason, as good as she usually was on names, that one always eluded her. She seemed to recall it suggested a sprite or goddess or something very odd like maybe Artemis or Ariel.

Chapter 17

On Saturday morning, Paige was sitting on her patio reading the paper and drinking her second cup of coffee. A narrow lattice to one side of the patio nearest the Metcalfs' had a white jasmine vine nearly covering it, wafting its sweet aroma toward Paige. She had awakened early enough to enjoy being outside before the heat of the day made it unbearable. Putting the paper aside for a moment, she looked with pleasure beyond her immediate vicinity to the back of the lot where her garage stood. Two large Rose of Sharon bushes were blooming at each corner of the building while sunflowers marched down its length like a row of colorful soldiers. A tall hedge, which took an occasional pruning at the hands of her yard man, obscured the alley. Separating her driveway from her neighbor Mrs. Hammond's place were several rose bushes, one of which was being clipped by her elderly neighbor.

"Hello, Mrs. Hammond," Paige called out.

The old woman, who carried a flat basket over her arm to catch the deadheads, turned sharply and, shading her eyes from the rising sun, said, "Well, good morning, Paige. I didn't notice you. Aren't you up early this fine morning."

Paige laughed. "I am at that. How are you?" She risked a long account of her neighbor's state of health with this question, but her mood was light this morning, and she almost welcomed hearing the usual "organ recital" as her mother termed her friends' descriptions of ailments.

But Mrs. Hammond only replied, "I'm fine, thank you," coming around a rose bush and crossing the driveway to reach Paige. She was wearing a brightly flowered duster and huaraches on her feet that made a squishing sound when she walked. "I'm glad to see you, Paige. It's been ages, it seems."

"Won't you sit down?"

"Oh, no. I've got to get back to the roses before it gets too hot. But I'm so glad to see you. I've been wanting to invite you to church. I remember when you and your husband were regulars, and I keep hoping you'll join us again. I know you went through a hard time, but it might be a good thing if you came back to us. We have a new minister since you left, you know. He's a fine man, is Pastor Geitner. He's not a family man, of course," she gave a little disapproving frown and then said, "but I understand he's been so dedicated to his work, he never married. He came to us from the mission field, you know."

Paige gave an inaudible sigh, "Yes, I've heard about him from Tessa ." But the invitation today was not as oppressive to her as it had seemed in the past. "I just might visit tomorrow. I've been missing something in my life, and I think it's been a long enough time since all that trouble I went through. I thank you for inviting me."

"Wonderful!" Mrs. Hammond beamed at Paige and then set off for her own garden, calling out, "See you tomorrow. We're in summer hours, now, so the service is at 10:00."

Paige wondered at her easy acquiescence to her neighbor's invitation. Why now? True, she had not been experiencing for some time those awful moments of despair and anxiety that had periodically overtaken her since Terry's death and the subsequent discovery of her husband's betrayal. She had always regretted she wasn't the bounce-back type of person, and she hated that about herself. Her memories were long, her feelings deep, but it was true that since moving to this house, she'd begun to feel peace again. Heaven only knows she'd prayed for that. But how would she respond to the environment where she and Terry had once been regular attendees? Of course, five years in the life of a church was quite a while. Oh, there were always the old timers like Mrs. Hammond, but nowadays, it seemed, people came and went; even the pastor was different, so perhaps she could fit back in more easily than she had imagined.

She remembered admiring that church from the time she and Terry had decided to find a place compatible with their upbringings. It had a history in the city that went back to the late 1800s when a wealthy German manufacturer helped organize the parish and build a neo-gothic edifice. One distinction of the architecture was the large stained glass Tiffany windows from New York. Three of them, depicting scenes from Christ's ministry, were along the south wall and lit up in splendor as the morning sun progressed. The altarpiece was a tall and elaborate carving of the Last Supper by German craftsmen who were brought over specifically for the work. Surmounting that was a Rose window, also a Tiffany masterpiece, whose myriad beauty caught one's breath in the eastern light. But it wasn't the altogether the charm of the building that drew Paige to the place, which in fact wasn't that large or important a church in the city. What convinced her to join was the message she heard from the pulpit and the kindness of the people she met. Terry had agreed and gotten involved almost immediately, taking on various jobs and eventually getting elected to the church council. He had always been a "joiner" and liked the attention he got from his participation.

Now Paige could only wonder at his sub rosa adulterous activities and the dreadful duplicity that he engaged in for so many years. She realized, as she sipped the last of her coffee, that she no longer felt anger when she thought of him, only amazement that someone as ordinary as Terry, who didn't appear evil, had seemingly felt no concern for his immortal soul.

When she went into the nave of the church the following morning, she immediately spotted Frank and Tessa sitting about half-way down. But she didn't want even a whispered confrontation with Tessa, so she sat at the back, knowing full well the psychology of seating in public places: no involvement for those who sat as far away as possible. But that was appropriate for her now. She looked and listened with interest to Pastor Geitner, who was tall and boyish looking, but spoke with authority and yet in a winsome manner that Paige found mesmerizing. During the singing of one hymn, "O Perfect Love,"she found the words so apt they touched her heart, and to her horror she felt tears come to her eyes and roll down her cheeks. She had to retrieve a tissue from her purse. She was grateful she'd sat in the back pew, and could only hope her extreme emotion might have gone unnoticed. Because she felt sure she wasn't in good standing after so many years of absence, she didn't go to the altar for communion or even for a blessing, again not wishing to call attention to herself.

After church, she shook the pastor's hand and introduced herself as a "lapsed member." He gave her a questioning look with his deep blue eyes and said with a smile that he hoped she would be returning to the fold. There were crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and she saw he wasn't as young as she'd thought from a distance. "If you'd like to talk to me about anything," he said quietly, "I'm at the church every morning except Mondays."

Paige thanked him and then waited a moment in the foyer for Tessa and Frank to catch up with her. People swirled around her, some coming up and shaking her hand, others introducing themselves, not knowing her at all. But everyone was polite and didn't ask any questions. Tessa gave her an astonished look, then a hug, while Frank looked bemused, saying, "Nice to see you, Paige. Pardon me while I go get Jonathan in the nursery."

"I'm really glad to see you," Tessa exclaimed. She took Paige by the arm and led her to a quiet corner. "You're finally branching out from your long-time pattern of work and home, work and home. What propelled you to church today?"

Paige shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know. A word from Mrs. Hammond yesterday morning was the impetus, but I think I'm ready to revisit old haunts again. Not that the church is haunted anymore for me, but in a funny sort of way, it really seemed to be for years. I couldn't face it or the people who trusted Terry. He deceived them, too, and I felt I was part of it."

"I'm glad you're finally getting beyond that. Little by little, your life seems to be more regular, more wholesome."

"Well," laughed Paige, "I don't want to push the envelope too fast, too far. I feel better, true, and this is just a tentative step along with a few other steps I've been taking. I do love this place, you know, but I think I'll take off for home now. I'm not really up to socializing here, yet."

"I understand. I'll call you later." And Tessa gave Paige's hand a goodbye squeeze.

Such a small thing to most people, Paige thought to herself as she drove home, but she felt like someone winning a race, or making a successful dive into a pool. Why the sports analogy, she wasn't quite sure. And the pastor's offer. Would she take him up on a "talk" some morning or not? Maybe she would. He seemed very approachable. As it happened, the following week she would be off on Wednesday, having Saturday duty at the bank. She would give the matter some thought.

Chapter 18

Sunday afternoon, just before their guests were scheduled to arrive, Aurora gave one last tug to a pillow on the wicker couch and decided the porch in general was to her liking. She knew the day was too warm for company to eat ice cream out here, but inside the house would have been impossible. At least the colors and the lightweight furnishings gave the appearance of coolness.

It took very little time after the Metcalfs arrived for Aurora to see how ill matched the two sets of parents were. And, not unexpectedly, how socially inept her parents were, she thought sadly. Her heart went out to them as they tried to look comfortable passing out bowls of homemade strawberry ice cream. But it was the friendly and urbane Hank Metcalf and Martha with her practiced interjections who tried to dispel the awkwardness of the situation.

"Lovely bowls," Martha said to Noreen. "Are these some you made yourself?"

"Oh," Noreen said with a surprised look on her face, "no, I don't do this kind of ware. I do pots and some sculptures. Actually, I got these bowls at Pottery Barn. But I thought they were pretty."

"So, Stewart," Hank said, "are you folks planning any changes to the house? I know the Andersons who had this house for maybe thirty years kind of let things go."

"Yeah," Stewart said, settling back in one of the porch chairs that Aurora had found at a thrift shop, "we're starting this summer on decorating the rooms, mainly. Painting, you know, that sort of thing. Noreen says the kitchen needs updating, so we'll do something about that when we can."

"Don't forget about the bathroom, Daddy," Aurora said with a laugh. "It's circa 1950, I'd guess. Of course, they must have gotten quality stuff to last that long, but no question about it, change is in order." She looked pointedly at her mother, who didn't say anything. Aurora had been plumping for new fixtures in the one and only bathroom in the house ever since they moved in. Though the two houses facing each other had been built to identical specifications in the early 1900s, the Metcalfs had made improvements more in keeping with contemporary standards, than with strict historical ones, including, Rick had told Aurora, turning what had been an under-the-stairs closet off the front hall into a lavatory cum powder room.

"So how long did you live in the Memphis area?" Hank asked during another conversational lull, looking from Noreen to Stewart.

"Memphis had always been my home, or a suburb of it actually, but Noreen and I met in college, Auburn University. Noreen came from Birmingham, originally." He looked at his guests, focusing particularly on Martha, "and you folks, have you always lived in Nashville?"

"We met in school, too," Martha said hurriedly. "Vanderbilt. I wasn't from Nashville, but Hank was–or nearby Franklin; I spent most of my vacations in the Orlando area of Florida at my grandparents, so I didn't know much about this city until after we married."

"I see," Stewart nodded. "But you're not from Florida? I detect a Southern accent, which most Floridians usually don't carry with them."

Martha gave a tight little smile. "No, I'm from the cotton country of Tennessee, too, near the Mississippi."

Aurora wondered why she looked so uncomfortable as she spoke.

Rick stepped into the breach and said, "I hope to take up my law practice, if and when I get my degree, here in Nashville myself. I can't think of a nicer place to live. How do you all like it so far?"

There were comments from the Carpenters that could be termed as satisfied, yet they didn't expound on the subject, so Aurora said, "This neighborhood is really interesting, certainly from my point of view as an art history major. I'm very aware of the architectural importance of Foxhill and its influence on its residents."

After this comment, Hank pressed her to elaborate and she went on, a little embarrassed by everyone focusing on her in rapt attention. "Well, I think where a person lives has an effect on their self-image, actually. Take those "little boxes" that were built in the mid to late twentieth century in various communities across the country. They were stamped out with the developers' cookie cutters, and maybe that had something to do with ultimate dissatisfactions with society, with crime in these areas heating up."

"Yes, I can see that," Hank nodded in agreement.

Aurora continued, unabashedly warming up to her theme. "People tend to think of themselves in relation to their community, and when they feel anonymous, as if they had no responsibility toward their neighbors, trust is broken. Nowadays, I believe the trend is for individuality. Sometimes," she laughed, "to the detriment of taste, of course, but at least people can feel free to take their place in some special way in their community or neighborhood. That's my thinking on the subject, based on some of my studies, but I might have gotten it wrong." She gave an apologetic shrug.

"Very interesting observation," Martha said. "I think you have an unique idea about how we live in America. I'm all for expressing oneself, so to speak, in decor, but I rather like certain standards to be maintained in neighborhoods. Too much individuality," she said with a little laugh, "can be quite upsetting, if not detrimental to house values." She continued to smile, declining another helping of ice cream proffered by Noreen.

"Oh, absolutely," Stewart agreed. "People shouldn't be allowed to let their places go to seed. I suppose we'll be going to the Association meeting when they next meet so we can get to know our neighbors. When do they meet?" he asked Martha, who held the office of secretary and had early on presented the Carpenters with a list of Association rules and regulations.

There followed a discussion about the Association, giving Rick and Aurora a chance to wander together to the other end of the porch so they could quietly talk and make plans for the following week.

"I'll be finishing up this LSAT course the end of week," Rick said, "which means I'll be free next weekend. Have you reserved it for me?" He smiled at her and Aurora felt a quiver of excitement as she thought about being with him alone again. They'd hardly seen one another between their work and Rick's classes and homework. Yet the look he gave her showed no lessening of interest.

"Of course. What shall we do, where can we go?" She didn't mean for her words to sound so desperate, but Rick responded quickly and with a soft pressure to her hand.

"I want to talk to you about something. Maybe we could just go to Centennial Park and sit on the steps of the Parthenon. I don't know, away from here and other distractions. Oh, I guess," he said , amused at her look of perplexity, "we can get something to eat, too. Does that sound like I have something up my sleeve?"

"Yes, it does.. I'll look forward to it." She turned toward the parents where a complete break in their conversation had brought all eyes to Rick and Aurora.

"Is everybody happy?" Rick said, causing chuckles.

Somehow, to Aurora's relief, and she figured, to their company's also, an hour had gone by, a decent enough time for Martha to stand up and say, "We've so enjoyed your treat, Stewart. Thank you ever so much." Hank also rose, followed by the Carpenters. Martha turned to Rick and said, "Are you coming along, too?"

"I'm on my way, Mom." He took Aurora aside. "I've got some studying to do right now, unfortunately. Tomorrow night I take the first sample exam; I don't want to completely blow it. Remember, we have a definite date Saturday, but I'll see you tomorrow morning." She nodded and waved goodbye to his parents as they left the porch for home.

She helped her mother clear up the dishes as her father tended to the ice cream freezer. Noreen gave Aurora an anxious look. "Did you think it went all right?"

"Fine, Mama. It was a nice thing to do, and now you have absolutely no more obligations to them."

Chapter 19

Paige happened to be in front of the large window in her living room when she saw Martha and Hank coming across the street. For a moment, Paige's sense of logic left her and she thought the couple were leaving their own place and heading toward her house. But of course, they had been visiting the Carpenters in some inexplicable gesture of neighborliness. Not the sort of people Martha Metcalf would have sought out, Paige believed, but there they were before her eyes. Then Rick emerged from the back of the Carpenters' house and sprinted across the street. So the young people surely must be the explanation for the unlikely sociability, Paige reflected, feeling a bit too much like her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Hammond, who kept an eagle eye on the local happenings from her front window.

Paige turned aside and sat down heavily on her sofa, the nubby white fabric oddly comforting. She took up a novel she'd been trying to finish for several weeks, but her mind continued to be restless and she found it difficult to concentrate. She had wondered, for example, if Hal would be interested enough in their relationship advancing to ask her out again. He'd stopped by one night after dinner, when she was relaxing in front of the TV. He said he was on his way home and thought to see how she was getting along.

"I've really been involved with this pictorial essay on Foxhill," he admitted, almost sheepishly, "otherwise, I would have taken you out for dinner or something."

"So the idea has taken hold," Paige smiled. "It's nice to see you're so excited about it."

"I've engaged my favorite photographer, who is a genius, in my book, at photographing buildings. And I've decided on which of the houses and the eras I'm going to focus on. But it's a real task to meet with people and interview them about their houses, how they authenticated the restoration process, and then get a schedule set up to photograph the places." He sat back in his chair and took a sip of the wine she had provided. "I can tell you most everyone works, so I am not only all day at the magazine, but I'm also spending evenings and weekends at my neighbors. And I've only gotten hold of three of the owners of the six houses I intend to feature."

"You didn't ask me about my house," Paige said teasingly.

"Well, no. Your style is an anomaly of the era. I love it, and what you've done to improve it works, but I'm looking for really representative styles, and the twenties, which is actually the last historic era, if you will, before I get into the more recent contemporary structures, is best represented by the bungalow. It isn't as stylish, in a way, as your place, but they are quite ubiquitous, you'll notice if you drive through certain blocks on out toward the edge of the neighborhood proper."

"I know. I realize you're doing a kind of documentary, and I was kidding about my house. I'm afraid I didn't do any real research when I had it painted and repaired. I just kept to white with black trim. I guess that's okay, though, since I didn't have Martha getting on me about it."

They both laughed. Hal finished his drink and shortly thereafter took his leave without making any arrangements for them to get together again. He was friendly but still holding back something of himself, as if he was resisting further intimacy. Thinking about Hal, Paige mentally shrugged and decided she felt fortunate not to have fallen for him. He was nice and could be agreeable as a date, but he hadn't put stars in her eyes.

She had been much more excited when she met David, her California connection, who had nearly swept her off her feet a few years ago. But even that had not seemed right enough to give up her life here in Nashville and take off for California to be with him permanently. Paige put her head back on the sofa and stared at the coffered ceiling, one of the nicest features of her house. That was always her trouble, a kind of malaise that permeated her relations with men. She couldn't seem to care anymore. She wasn't miserable but she wasn't quite happy either. Maybe it was a spiritual thing, as Tessa seemed to be suggesting, wanting her to get back again to churchgoing. Funny, Paige had always thought of herself as spiritually inclined, interested from the time she was a youngster in the mystical sense that inflamed saints and religious leaders and even once or twice affecting her own experience.

But that interest had stopped abruptly, it seemed, with her anger and bitterness. She tried to go forward in her life, but she was aware of some deep, lingering sadness that she simply couldn't overcome. It was inexplicable. Her job was going well; she had friends that loved her; men who were attracted to her; a lovely home of her own, so why did she continue to feel so incomplete? She decided she would call Tuesday to set up an appointment with Pastor Geitner. She didn't exactly relish the idea of talking to him, but his offer had a sense of inevitability, as if for the last five years her life had been marking time until the moment she made the decision to see him. It was an absurd reflection, she knew, but it struck her just so, and she felt helpless to deny her inclinations.

The following Tuesday, the church secretary put her through immediately to the pastor, who remembered her and said he could see her at 11:00 the next day. They didn't have any conversation other than that, and Paige hung up the phone with a feeling of unreality, as if someone else had made the appointment. But there it was; she had committed herself to–what? Bare her soul? Heaven forbid! She would simply explain her interest in getting back to the church and finding out what was required, if anything, from her. Yes, that would be sufficient.

But the conference in the pastor's office didn't go that way at all. Paige sat comfortably ensconced at the side of his desk in a padded chair while Pastor Geitner, after greeting her with welcoming words, sat back waiting for her to begin. His expression was kind and interested.

"I believe I'm at a spiritual crisis in my life," she blurted out, shocked by her words and by the emotion that had suddenly overwhelmed her.

"Why don't you tell me what's been going on in your life that has you so upset?" he suggested.

"Yes, yes, I need to tell you, but I feel so foolish clinging to a bitter memory. But I can't seem to get over it." She proceeded to tell her story and its aftermath, the hatred she felt that finally was tempered by time to a touchstone that continued to remain inside her. She spoke for twenty minutes with occasional questions from Pastor Geitner asking her to clarify certain points.

"So," he nodded after she finished, "although your feelings aren't as violent as when you first found out about your husband's unfaithfulness, they continue to plague you."

"Yes, I guess that's it, since I'm not at peace."

"If you give the matter some thought, right now, I believe the answer is clear why you are still struggling with bitterness. What has been missing from this whole story?"

Paige thought for a moment and then said, "I guess it's forgiveness, isn't it? I can't forgive Terry, even though he's dead, even though my life has gone on. Is that it? Is it so important?" She put her face in her hands. "Oh, how can I? I still feel wronged, a stupid fool for loving him, believing in him. How can I get over that?" She looked at her confessor and was seized with the certainty that something important was happening to her.

"That's where the confession you just made, that you haven't forgiven him, will be the start of your healing. Our Lord made that very clear, remember, after being asked how much should we forgive, and he said, 'seventy times seven,'" which translated into what our response should be, that we can't hold out for our wounded feelings. We have to get over it and put our trust elsewhere. Look," he said with a smile, "someone suggested that holding resentments is like having a little snake in a basket that you carry around with you. Periodically, you open the basket and take a look at that snake. You never go anywhere without the basket, which becomes a burden, but you're afraid to throw it away, since it's become so familiar, a part of you. I think you've reached a milestone today, and can finally throw away that basket with the nasty snake whose presence has been a torment."

Paige laughed. "That's an image I'll never forget. And you are so right about not forgiving Terry. I didn't want to let go, but now I believe it's actually possible. I do have a sense of lightness." And it was true; it was as if a weight had been lifted from her. However reluctant she was to leave his presence, which still seemed welcoming, surely she had taken up too much of his time. She looked at her watch. "Goodness, it's past twelve. I'm keeping you from your lunch." She stood up and held out her hand. "Thanks so much. You've brought me to a new understanding."

"Not I," he said, keeping her hand in his for a time. "I like to give credit where credit is due. You've simply opened yourself up to the Grace of God. That's who you can thank."

He walked with her across the office and then took her arm as if to hold her from leaving. "Say, you're off work today, aren't you, Paige? Well, I've got calls to make this afternoon, but it's still early, and I've been wanting to try out that little café along the river front. Would you care to join me?"

"I'd love to. I had no other plans and I've not been there myself. My car or yours, Pastor?" She was surprised, but pleased by the invitation, which seemed very natural.

"Let's go in mine, and on this occasion, call me Ken."

Chapter 20

With a little prodding to reveal his history, which seemed only fair, Paige thought wryly, Ken revealed how he got into the public ministry. He'd been late at it, he admitted, thirty-five, with a successful insurance agency in Kansas City. He had had a fiancé, who wouldn't agree to marry him until her recently diagnosed leukemia either went into remission or was cured. Unfortunately, it went neither way, and her death brought him to a life-changing crisis. He entered seminary, and after two years went into the mission field in Guatemala.

"The usual tour of duty was three years, but I re-upped for another three," he said with a shrug, "and then once back in the States, I hoped to get a call from a Midwestern or Southern parish that was in need of a pastor. I did, and I landed in Nashville. I hope I'll be able to stay forever." He smiled at Paige across the table. They'd lingered longer than was necessary at lunch, now having coffee. "You're living in Foxhill, but I think you said you've not been there long." It wasn't a question, but Paige nodded.

"Yes, my plan was to leave as much of my old life behind as I could, without actually leaving Nashville after Terry died and I–well, you know all about my feelings. I even asked for a transfer to a different branch, sold our house, and moved to an apartment in what is now the Wengers' Queen Anne style house, which completely charmed me. So much happened after that with Tessa inheriting the property, the tornado and its aftermath, a serial killer discovered next door, the rescue of one of the little boys from the projects, well–it was an amazing time. Despite the excitement, or maybe because of it, I grew quite attached to the old neighborhood, and so I bought my own house a few years ago. That pretty well brings me up to date," she laughed, a little self-conscious at his attention. He was probably some years younger than she was, maybe in his mid-forties. He had short brown hair and those nice blue eyes that hadn't left her face as she talked. He was tall, over six feet, she judged, and still lean and fit. He was wearing his collar with a black rabat and grey poplin suit.

She checked her watch and exclaimed, "Good heavens, we've been here over an hour and a half. I mustn't keep you any longer from your duties." They looked at one another and laughed.

"I haven't complained," Ken said, but he picked up the folder that contained the bill, slipped in a credit card, and signaled the server.

"This wasn't exactly a business lunch for you, I don't think," Paige said, getting out her billfold. "I want to split the tab."

"No, it was a personal lunch," he said, "and it's on me. I asked you, remember?"

"Then I must pay you back. Would you come for dinner, say, Saturday at six? I can cook."

He tilted his head in acceptance and said, "That sounds great. I'll be there."

On the way back to the church to retrieve her car, they talked of casual matters–favorite restaurants, their families, and colleges. They said goodbye with Ken leaning toward her and surprising her with a quick hug. Paige mumbled her thanks for the lunch. "And I'll see you Saturday, then." She was afraid her pale skin had flushed with color, though she cautioned herself it was no big deal: she'd noticed on Sunday morning that he was a hugger.

"Wonderful. I'll bring the wine."

Later, as Paige reflected on the whole day with its emotional beginning and the very friendly and relaxed ending, she decided she wasn't quite comfortable dating a cleric. Still, to be fair, he was fun and attractive, so why shouldn't she try to forget he was a man with a mission in life, at least until she got to know him better? She was somewhat puzzled by his interest in her. Was she a challenge to him? Did her messed up life inspire pity? His motives would emerge eventually, as they continued to meet either at church or privately. If this interest was merely pastoral care, well, she'd find out soon enough.

On an impulse, she called Tessa, who answered promptly and said she was free to talk. "Jonathan's taking his nap, and I just put a chess pie in the oven. Thank you again for that oil crust recipe. Without it, I'd never be treating my husband with a pie occasionally. What's up?"

Paige gave a self-conscious laugh. "I seem to be all of a sudden knee-deep in men. I could use some advice, considering you know them both."

"Both? I know about Hal, of course, and think he's a great guy–a little slow on the uptake when it comes to women, but nice. Who's the other?"

"It isn't really a relationship yet, but he took me out to lunch today, after meeting me for the first time Sunday, and I've reciprocated by a dinner invitation for Saturday night." She took a deep breath. "It's your pastor, Ken Geitner."

For a few seconds silence reigned, then Tessa almost yelled, "What? How did that happen? He's reliably known as the most elusive bachelor in town. Of course, I understand how you probably knocked him off his feet. You're not exactly a crone, darling, but tell me, how did this come about?"

"I–I hardly know myself. I went to see him today, this morning, for counseling, and he did help me understand myself better, and he allowed me to find the answer to my misery. I think I've finally gotten over Terry's betrayal at long last."

"That really is a milestone, and I'm happy for you, of course, but what about this going out together routine? How did that happen?"

"It may have been nothing more than a casual invitation for lunch, which we lingered over for more than an hour and a half. But I wanted to reciprocate and invited him for dinner Saturday. Now I'm wondering if he considers this to be just another 'have the pastor over for a chicken dinner' kind of occasion. What do you think?"

"No, I think you've intrigued him beyond that of pastor to parishioner. Actually, he's made it clear for a number of years he prefers not to get those invitations for meals, kindly meant as they might be. He let it be known through different channels that it might trigger competition and jealousies, and he didn't want to be the instigator of anything detrimental to the parish."

"Oh, my," was all Paige could utter.

"Yes, ma'am, he's obviously interested. And what about Hal?"

"I haven't gone out with him for a while, several weeks, although he stopped by after dinner one evening, pleading extreme press of work, what with his Foxhill project and need to interview homeowners at night and on weekends, and his meetings with the photographer. I understood, of course, and didn't worry about being neglected. He and I are friendly, but I don't have a clue about his real feelings toward me–nor mine toward him."

"Paige, you astonish me. Ever since I've known you, you've been carrying around a burden that kept you from getting close to any man, except for that California interlude, which practically screamed, 'impossible relationship'. But something seems different now and I couldn't be happier for you. Any preference at this point, between the two men, I mean?"

Paige laughed. "No, it's too early for that. I've really only just met both of them, so I'm in a predicament if either wants to pursue something. By the way, I think I'm older than Ken."

"Who cares! You look ten years younger than you are, and that's what matters. Chronological age is greatly over-rated. In fact, you still turn heads, what with that dramatic coloring of yours. Just enjoy the attention, and don't worry about details."

"Thanks for the encouragement. I suddenly feel like a teenager, actually. Rather unseemly at my age, I think. But I'm willing to go with the flow. I wonder what I should serve Ken Saturday night. Do you happen to know of anything he's ever mentioned he likes?"

"His father is German, his mother Scottish, so that doesn't help much. I'd stay away from casseroles. Most men don't go for them, but I'm not sure about his tastes. How about rack of lamb? Expensive but different. I can tell you where to get a good one at a good price . . . ."

And food talk went on until Tessa's oven timer ended the conversation, which was just as well, Paige thought. She didn't want to make too much of this dinner, as if it was a seminal event in her life. Ken had obviously seen her as needy and single, and in the goodness of his heart decided to offer, lightly and temporarily, companionship–despite what Tessa suggested. She would approach Saturday night as a casual meeting between two lonely people, for wasn't it possible his own social life was poverty stricken? If he'd discouraged his flock from entertaining him, he had only fellow clergy and their families to meet with, and maybe, just maybe, he was ready for something different. She guessed she'd been the right person at the right time. She must remember to see this whole thing in that light. Tessa was such a romantic!

Chapter 21

From her workshop in the basement, Noreen heard the porch door slam as Stewart went outside. But after twenty or so minutes had gone by, it occurred to her that he'd not come back in. It was near four o'clock in the afternoon and as usual, Stewart had arrived home from rehearsal around 2:00. They'd eaten a light lunch together and Noreen went back to her pottery. Now, she wondered what her husband was doing outside in the heat of the day.

After putting a wet cloth on her latest creation, still in the modeling stage, she wiped her hands and went upstairs. Beyond the side porch, at the far end of the property, the old wooden doors of the small garage were wide open like flying buttresses. Stewart's car, just outside the garage in the shade of the neighbor's tree, blocked the view within, so Noreen ambled slowly toward it, curious. As she went, she looked at their grounds, weedy and uninteresting. Sunshine soaked hotly into the garage roof and patches of browning grass.

A vision of her perfect garden floated behind her eyes, a garden filled with the old fashioned plants she respected–coreopsis and sweet william, heliotrope and lantana. Not for her those over-ripe hybrids with unreal flowers. She wanted to have the plants in borders on the perimeter and alongside a gravel path that would wind around the maple tree to the friendly group of old dogwoods and a redbud now standing at the back corner. A dilapidated stockade fence separated their lot from the alley, but hollyhocks and a couple of forsythia bushes would disguise it adequately, at least for the time being.

She went around the car and peeked into the garage. "What are you doing?" she asked her husband. He obviously had been emptying cardboard boxes of books and papers they had left untouched, having not yet decided where to put them in the house.

"Where did we pack stuff like old annuals?"

"What kind of annuals?" she asked, perplexed, her mind still on flowers.

"You know, high school. Mine, in particular. Where could they be?"

"I think they'd be in a box marked 'den' since they were in the window seat along with your old music scores."

"Oh, right." Stewart moved among the boxes until he found one that Noreen suggested. He used box cutters to cut the tape and ripped open the box; then after scrabbling through the contents, he closed it up impatiently and went looking for another.

"What's so important?" Noreen asked.

"I've had something on my mind for a while and I want to see if I'm right." He straightened up from his search and asked his wife, "Did that Metcalf woman ever say to you she was from Memphis?"

"I don't think I remember that. She said something about the Mississippi, river, I guess. Is that what you remember?"

"I got the same impression. She didn't exactly say yes or no about the Memphis area." He went on searching until he found another box marked "den" and began to tear into it. "Aha!" he exclaimed triumphantly, brandishing several high school annuals. "Got them!"

"I don't understand, Stewart. What's so important about your annuals?"

"Maybe nothing. Let's take them into the house. It's stifling out here."

The two took chairs next to each other in the kitchen and Steward began to leaf through the first annual. "This is my freshman year, but as I recall, the girl I remember didn't come into my notice until my sophomore year. She was in the class ahead of me."

"Who?"

"What's her name, across the street? Mary?"

"No, Martha. You remember her from high school and she didn't remember you? So what? I suppose she'd be popular, and an older, popular girl would never notice a band jock younger than herself, if that's what you're upset about."

"I'm not upset. Here," he said, "I think this is who I'm remembering as the Metcalf woman." He pointed to a senior picture of an attractive girl with long, thick dark hair, brilliant eyes and pale lips. "Look familiar?"

"I–I'm not sure, but it does look very much like a younger version of our neighbor. But Stewart, the name of this girl is Mary."

"Yeah, Mary M. Jeter. M is for Martha. It's her all right. She was outed in her junior year as being part black. Her father was a mulatto. It went all over the school because she was so prominent in school activities."

Noreen sat back, stunned. "What! I can't believe it! You're sure it's the same person?" She peered again at the photo.

"I have no doubt. When I met her, she seemed strangely familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I never mentioned I grew up near Memphis, but when asked where she was from, she only said she was from cotton country on the Mississippi. I was suspicious, so that's why I wanted to look her up in my annual. It was as if she didn't want to be too specific. I knew if she was someone from our joint past, she'd probably seem familiar to you too, so it had to be from my high school years. It's her. My God, I'm sure of it!"

"But is this so important now? After all, she's a grown woman with a new identity, I suppose, married to a successful white man. Why should you care about that old scandal?"

"Because our daughter is in love with her son, that's why."

Noreen stared at her husband, frowning. "I still don't get it. So what if they love each other. Maybe they'll break up. Rick is planning on going to law school. That doesn't sound much like marriage to me. And even if they marry someday, I don't get your concern."

"Oh, they could marry anytime, you know, with Aurora helping to pay the bills, if not his fees. But that's not my concern. Haven't you ever heard of a throwback?"

"Yes, but can that really happen?" Noreen still didn't feel the alarm that seemed to be overtaking her husband. "I thought that might be an old wives tale."

"If I remember my genetics correctly, there has to be a gene from both sides. You're the one from the deep South, adopted, without any real information on your forbears. All it would take for Aurora and Rick to have a black baby is for you to have mixed blood in your ancestry."

Noreen paused, uncertain. "Isn't that being an alarmist?" She spoke in a mild tone, but his words had shocked her. Is that how he thought of her? A foundling without a pedigree?

He stood up and began pacing around the kitchen. "It's being practical. I remember how ostracized Mary, or Martha as she now calls herself, was in high school. You think people don't mind anymore, but they do. Where do those unfortunates belong in society? It's too hard on the kids, even thirty years later. Race still matters."

"I don't care. It's nonsense you're talking. For one thing, you don't know for sure if the girl in the yearbook is the same as Martha Metcalf. And even if she is, we don't know where the little romance of Aurora and Rick is going. It's futile to worry about it. And what can you do, even if all that you suspect is true? Nothing!" At this, her voice rose in a vehemence that was uncharacteristic.

Stewart turned to look at her, astonishment on his face. But he only shook his head and gathering up the annuals, left the kitchen , heading toward the back room where he had his study and practice area. Noreen heard the door shut firmly, not quite a slam, but close enough to indicate her husband's agitated condition. She hoped he would not say anything to Aurora. Or worse, that he would try to establish the clear identity of their neighbor with pointed questions.

Noreen headed for her workshop, her anxiety, as well as her disappointment in Stewart lessening with each step down the stairs. Taking off the still damp rag on the half molded clay, her mind went to the design she had been contemplating. She was pretty sure about the glaze she wanted, but the shape was still eluding her. Maybe if she played with it a while longer it would emerge from her head to her fingers, or was it the other way? She never could decide about inspiration. Such a mystery, a wonderful thing that she was ever grateful for.

Chapter 22

Paige was using the hose and the watering attachment Wednesday evening, her mind barely registering the gold mound spirea that she was spraying. It had been several days since she'd been with Ken and she should be taking such a social engagement in her stride. But the fact was, she felt quite school girlish when she thought about her dinner with him last Saturday night. Had she been less than candid when she told Tessa she had no preference between Ken and Hal? Probably, though that had been before the evening she and Ken had spent together. The meal itself, so carefully planned, had gone well from the start. He had tipped his head appreciatively when she brought in the rack of lamb, sizzling and rare from fifteen minutes in a hot oven.

"Very appropriate when entertaining a minister," he said with a smile.

"What–I, oh dear," Paige laughed, "I get it. 'We are his people and the sheep of his pasture,' to name just one of the myriad references. I hadn't thought of that, honestly."

"I couldn't be more pleased. It's one of my favorite foods."

And the whole evening seemed to go like that, both enjoying the same jokes, appreciative of stories each told of past adventures–well, Paige thought, her head had become quite turned by his seemingly rapt attentions to her. She had begun to get feelings of–she wasn't quite sure yet. A word learned in a long-ago Spanish class came to mind as to their relationship: simpatico. Yes, muy, muy simpatico. And at the end of the evening, when Ken took his leave, early so he would be fresh for his Sunday work, he'd touched her cheek along with the hug, and murmured, "Lovely," and given her a brief kiss. Her heart gave a small lurch both then and when she later thought about that moment.

Of course, she'd gone to church the following day and found herself staring at him like she used to do to a young professor in her freshman World Civ class. She was memorizing his features–the broad brow, his startling blue eyes that crinkled at the corners, a strong chin. Now, three days later she had to admit she had it bad. And how did Ken feel? She'd said something to him about his rule of not accepting invitations from parishioners for dinner while they were eating and he'd assured her he meant it.

"But you're different. I'm dating you."

She hadn't replied, but she held his words close to her and brought them out like a prize whenever she began to doubt his attentions.

Her reverie and watering were suddenly interrupted when Martha, watering can in hand, hallooed her from across the driveway. "I hope we're not in for a drought this summer. I'm about to do what you are so we don't lose our roses."

"I'm not much for gardening, as you know," Paige responded, "but I've got to get water to these bushes under the eaves. Unless we get a hard rain, they always have to do without and they haven't been in the ground all that many seasons." She looked more closely at the bushes and in front of them the scraps of left over leaves from spring flowering tulips and daffodils. The spirea was still yellow-green and flourishing while the spent leaves looked like pigs ears. She could never decide if she should cut them to the ground or let them wither away naturally. Someone had once told her that bulbs got nourishment from the leaves after flowering, so she tended to leave them alone.

Martha strolled across the lawn toward Paige. "I wanted to let you know some exciting news–at least exciting for us." She was dressed in a neat linen pants outfit, not in gardening clothes, as if the watering was an excuse for talking to Paige.

"Oh," Paige said with the enthusiasm she knew Martha expected. "What's happened?"

"Hal Stensson has decided to use our house as one of those he's featuring in his magazine. He came over last night to discuss the layout and the piece about our property. He'll be sending the photographer over in a couple of days. Hence," she gestured with the watering can, "my attentions to the roses."

"Well, congratulations!" Paige turned off the hose and smiled at Martha. "If any house deserves to be featured, it's yours."

"Thank you. We've tried to do a good job, heaven knows. Actually, Hal said he would have liked to show the so-called twin across the street as well and explain about the building of them for the founder's great-granddaughters, but the contrast is too obvious. Kind of a shame," she concluded happily.

"Maybe if the story had been next summer, the Carpenters would have the lawn and house in better shape," Paige said, looking across the street. The evening breeze combed the tall grass in front of the new neighbors' house.

"I wonder. You know, I hate to say anything, but they are a strange couple. For some reason, they invited us, including Rick, of course, over Sunday afternoon for homemade ice cream. Now, I grant you that was neighborly, but we'd hardly be candidates to socialize with them. They're quite different from us in many ways. You know, they seem so very narrow."

"I don't know them at all," Paige said, uncertain where this conversation was heading. What possible difference could it make if the Carpenters had a more circumscribed life as opposed to the Metcalfs? One didn't have to be bosom friends to be friendly with neighbors.

"I mean," Martha persisted, "Mr. Carpenter–his name is Stewart–talks, oh, he talks plenty, but doesn't really say anything of interest. His wife, on the other hand, says almost nothing. I think she's into her own little world."

"And the daughter?"

"I guess I'd have to say she seems sharper than her parents, but what kind of background does she have? Limited associations at home, and then a school that is on the fringes of academia, as far as I'm concerned."

"Berea, isn't it? I've heard it is rather highly rated, actually."

"Well, I don't know about that," Martha said dismissively. "But Rick seems quite taken with the girl." Martha shook her head despairingly, glancing at the house across the street as if she hoped it might not be there. "I've tried to suggest he look elsewhere for someone more in keeping with his background, but he's absolutely intransigent."

Paige couldn't help emitting a little laugh. "He's a little old for you to be telling him whom to see or not. Maybe when he was ten years old that would have worked, but not now." Martha looked so stricken, Paige apologized. "Sorry, Martha, but it's true. Remember when you were over twenty-one and thought you knew better than any adult. You'll have to trust to Rick's judgment."

"But that's the trouble, Paige. I think the girl has bewitched him. He hasn't any judgment about her. That's all I've been trying to do, give him a bit more information to go on."

Paige turned her hose back on. "I think you're beaten on this one. Better make the best of it, since the attachment is not likely to go away soon."

"We'll see about that," Martha said grimly, turning to go back to her own house. "I haven't shot all the arrows in my quiver."

Poor Rick, Paige thought, watching her neighbor walking off with that characteristic purposeful stride. Or maybe poor Martha, if she goes too far and drives Rick and the girl to desperate measures. Martha would be much better off to be a friend to the young people and see through whatever might come of the relationship. Maybe nothing.

Paige spent little more time thinking about Martha and her concerns as she continued her watering and her reverie about herself and Ken. He'd called last night and asked her to breakfast with him on Saturday morning. He recommended a nice little café with some interesting breakfast choices and would pick her up if she could go with him. Of course, she consented immediately. She thought now and then about his reluctance to socialize with his parishioners, and although he'd made an exception for her, she knew instinctively that she might appear on the radar of certain people in the church. There might be those who liked their pastor the way he was, unattached and available, and would see Paige as a spoiler, an interloper.

Yet, she mused, from Ken's point of view, seeing someone from his own parish, even a half-lapsed member, would be preferable to going outside the church to date. It seemed likely that once he'd gotten his own church, his single state was perhaps, as Tessa suggested, because of his being extremely occupied with church business. She did wish his work didn't involve what amounted to 1500 board members, some of them with loud, demanding voices. Would she be strong enough to withstand the pressure if their acquaintanceship continued? She considered herself to be leading a dull but exemplary life without scandals or reckless behavior, yet it wouldn't be hard to pick out her flaws like weeds disguising themselves in a field of grass if someone was so inclined.

She sighed. Why couldn't she be interested in a man free of encumbrances?

Chapter 23

Aurora entered the living room, looking questioningly from one parent to the other. Her father had just summoned her by calling to her upstairs to join them. She sat down on the edge of a chair facing her parents who were on the couch in front of the fireplace and said, "What's this all about?"

But instead of answering her, Noreen addressed her husband. "Are you that sure," she asked quietly. "So sure that you want to say it aloud to Aurora?"

"Of course, I am," he replied testily. "I knew something was wrong from the beginning without being able to put my finger on it. But after seeing the yearbook picture, I know for sure, and I want to warn our daughter."

Aurora sometimes saw colors in certain situations, and right now the room seemed to take on hot colors–first orange and red, and then settling to a golden glow. "What are you talking about?" she repeated.

"We have something to tell you–concerning our neighbors across the street," Stewart said.

Aurora frowned. "About the Metcalfs? What's wrong with them?" This had to do with Rick, she was now sure. But she would wait patiently to hear her parents out with their explanations and excuses as to why she shouldn't see him.

"We don't think they are quite what they seem," Stewart said, rather lamely, looking toward his wife. But Noreen didn't offer anything further.

"You think they're phonies?" Aurora demanded. "Is that it? Because they have social pretensions? Rick isn't like that, and it doesn't matter to him that our family doesn't go in for that sort of thing. He's not like his mother."

"Uh, it's his mother that concerns us," Stewart went on, "but it doesn't have anything to do with her social life." He stood up and went to the fireplace where he faced Aurora like a Victorian father.

Now Aurora felt a vague alarm. How foreign was this confrontation to the style of her normally easy-going parents. "His mother? What's wrong with her? Too snooty-acting?"

"No, this has to do with Mrs. Metcalf's heritage," he said. "I have reason to believe that her father was a black man, at least half black."

Aurora jumped up. "What? Father, this is absurd! I can't imagine what rumors you've heard, but that has nothing to do with Rick and me, anyway. I'm appalled that you would listen to silly stuff like that. And who cares!" She began to move out of the room.

"Sit down, Aurora, and let me finish."

"Do you think this is such a good idea?" Noreen said. "After all, Stewart, you don't have proof positive, just a suspicion from an old high school picture and your long-ago memory of a girl you didn't even know personally."

"I know I'm right, but if it will satisfy you, I'll find out what her maiden name is," he said grimly. "If it's Jeter, it's her."

"But, Daddy, why do you care? What does it have to do with my seeing Rick?" Aurora had sat back down, her face furrowed with confusion.

"Because your mother and I know how close you two have become in such a short time. You haven't gotten acquainted with any other young people, and if things proceed in the natural course of events, you might eventually marry. It's better to know the situation early on and avoid heartache."

"I still don't know what you're talking about. I don't care what his mother's racial heritage is, and I don't see why it concerns you either. I didn't know you were so anti-black." Aurora spoke hotly now, looking steadily at her father.

"We're not," her mother said. "Daddy has played many a gig with black musicians, and we've gone out with them to social events."

"Right," Stewart concurred. "I happen to sit next to a fine fellow–a black viola player as a matter of fact, and we occasionally go out to lunch together. The problem arises if you actually did marry Rick and have children. Your mother is adopted, you remember, coming from somewhere in Georgia. She doesn't know her background, and it was not uncommon for adoptions then to be kept secret from the children and the adoptive parents with only maybe educational information about the birth parents. In other words, her heritage could contain black individuals, maybe a racial scandal that caused the adoption in the first place. Now, genetically, it is possible for two people with a certain racial strain to have children that show marked evidence of that strain, either in skin color or facial characteristics. You'd be taking a chance that one or more of your children would be scorned and discriminated against. White society pretty much rejects those who show such characteristics. I remember how much Rick's mother suffered in school. And she obviously was concerned enough to pass into white society by leaving her heritage behind. Has Rick ever mentioned his maternal grandparents?"

"He said they died in an automobile accident years ago," Aurora said dully. "But this speculation about Mama's ancestry seems too far-fetched. Nothing to back up this fear you have that I may carry genes that could combine with Rick's to produce a black child. Isn't that absurd on several levels?" Aurora looked disgusted as she spoke to both parents.

"I think your father is overreacting myself," Noreen said. "I intend to find out more on my own background, as soon as possible. I can contact the adoption agency in Georgia and probably get the information about my parents that will satisfy your father. Isn't that right, Stewart?"

He shook his head. "I doubt that you'll get much more than the most cursory information, but it won't hurt to try. If you can show me positively that you haven't any black strains in your blood, I'll not pursue this farther."

Aurora's eyes had filled with tears. Noreen looked from her daughter to her husband. "Stewart, I'm very sorry you started this. You're wrong to pursue this, you know, and I don't think it will make a difference in the feelings of those two young people even if I show up to be racially mixed and Martha is who you say. This is a tempest in a teapot."

"You didn't see what I saw in high school. Martha Metcalf has not been the only child to experience such heartache. This blending of the races seems fine and morally advanced, but I know that the children are the ones to suffer. I wouldn't want my grandchildren to go through such pain and rejection, not to mention the burden on Aurora, having to explain how such a thing happened." His face was contorted with what?–fear maybe, concern–an expression unlike his usual bland acceptance of events in their lives.

Aurora left the room, this time without any protests from her parents, and went upstairs where she threw herself on her bed. Although she didn't break down and cry aloud, she felt a deep sadness in her heart. Those strange and suspicious words had been so very unlike the father she'd always known. Her upbringing had never suggested racism, but her father's concerns brought such ideas to the fore. Yet, was his fear justified? Were children of mixed marriages still discriminated against? And if she and Rick both carried black genes, were their chances good of having a child born with black characteristics? And if such a thing happened, it wouldn't be her or Rick who'd be looked at, it would be their parents.

She knew that their relationship was moving faster than she could have imagined. Her father was right about that. She did deeply love Rick, of that she was sure. Never had she felt toward anyone, boy or man, what she felt about him. They seemed destined for one another, agreeing about so many things. Their very different backgrounds seemed insignificant, as if their souls had joined together instantly, and all other considerations were secondary.

Rick had said the previous Saturday evening on their way home from a movie how he couldn't bear the thought of parting from her in August, less than a month away, when they had to return to their respective schools. "I don't want to take a chance of losing you," he said.

"Oh, Rick," she said, leaning toward him in the small car, "you can't think I'd forget about you, no matter how many miles and months we're apart. We can phone, text, and maybe occasionally get together if our fall breaks correspond."

He snorted derisively. "As if that's possible. Duke doesn't give more than a couple of days, and it's unlikely we could manage trips back here at the same time. It's not ideal, is it, sweetheart." He didn't speak for a few minutes as they traveled closer to their homes. Then he reminded her that his LSAT was the following Saturday.

"Wish me luck. I've been doing pretty well in my classes with the sample tests, so I don't feel overwhelmed, but it's been my experience they always manage to throw a ringer in on you."

But she knew he'd be fine, and she assured him of her confidence in him. Rick would always come out on top. He was that kind of person, and nothing about him, or his mother for that matter, could sway her feelings or dissuade her from a more permanent attachment, if it came to that. But looming ahead after graduation would be his enrollment in a law school with three more years of grind. Forces seemed to be conspiring to keep them apart. Could their love sustain such complications?

Chapter 24

The TV drama kept up a hum of voices with scenes flashing by, unnoticed by the two people in the small den. Hank had drifted off to sleep in his roomy leather chair while Martha reclined on the sofa. She had finally, reluctantly, put together Stewart Carpenter's questions about where she was from, his stares at her when he thought she hadn't noticed, and decided her nightmare had come to pass. She'd gone to the cedar chest upstairs after dinner and dug out her old annual from high school and began the search. She didn't think he'd been in her own class, but in a school of 1500 students, he very likely was in a lower grade and not someone who had ever come into her ken. When she'd located him in the junior class pictures, her blood seemed to do what novels suggested in such circumstances–it ran cold in her veins. Yes, that was an apt description, she thought.

The worst of it was she had no one to discuss this with. Only her brother would be left in her family who knew the whole truth, and she didn't have a clue where he was anymore. And what in God's name would Hank think if he ever found out she'd deceived him about her ancestry? She was deathly afraid that this Stewart fellow would let it slip, somehow, to someone, if he hadn't already. She had friends on the Symphony Board. She groaned softly to herself.

For the first few years at Vanderbilt and then after she and Hank married and took up residence in Nashville, she anxiously looked around every new group she associated with, wondering if someone from her past might show up. She recalled her first tentative steps into Nashville society, steps almost demanded of her with Hank's advancement in the insurance company. Would there be someone from her old high school that recognized her in Junior League or on the Performing Arts board as well as at purely social occasions? But as the years went by,

she worried less, knowing her looks had changed, particularly with her heavily frosted hair and plucked eyebrows. Her first and last names were different, of course; and it became less likely that people of her age would be moving into town. How ironic and horrible was the fact that these new and rather unsuitable neighbors would be the ones to have the potential to ruin her life

For an insane moment, she wondered if Hank would consent to retire and they could go to some island where discovery would be remote. She thought about such a scenario for a blissful moment and then came back to reality. Oh, how ridiculous that was! Did this mean she was soon to go into a new phase of her life? The fate of Thomas Jefferson's children by Sally Hemmings came to mind, and she remembered how some went into the white world quite successfully, while others stayed with the black community. Yet, those who passed did so without much fear of disclosure, their former lives as slaves at Monticello not as likely to come to light as easily as her own background at a suburban Memphis high school. She, in fact, was much more vulnerable. But what would exposure mean in practical terms? There was always the possibility that the Cartwrights might not care about her ancestry, and nothing would ever come of his knowing about her. But if he was careless in his talk, maybe hoping to keep their children apart, she would be helpless unless she could reach him intellectually, emotionally–whatever. She was hoping that at this meeting, an understanding between them would influence even a bigoted attitude. As far as preventing a closer association between the two young people, that would be her wish also. To her regret, she realized she couldn't control Rick; that was becoming more and more evident. He was his own man, and if he decided that Aurora was for him, that would be it. Paige was right, she had to admit. She would be the one to suffer as being non-supportive.

She got up and walked toward the mahogany chest of drawers inherited from Hank's family. Above it, she looked into a small Queen Anne style mirror. Nothing much about her appearance that indicated her ancestry. She had full lips, but that was popular and attractive. Her skin was olive, but so were many people's, and her hair was soft and lustrous, kept in excellent condition by her clever stylist. She suspected that if rumors were started, maybe anyone knowing her would scoff and consider the suggestion as gossip instigated by jealousy. Still, rumors could be dangerous and lasting.

Slowly, a resolve seemed to build in her, and she stood quietly in front of the mirror before returning to the sofa. The matter would have to be addressed, privately with her neighbor and at great risk to herself. What if he hadn't put two and two together and she was jumping the gun? No, she had to take the chance that he'd remembered her and the school scandal. She would have to confront Stewart Carpenter about his knowledge of her background and see what he intended to do about it. She would set up a private meeting with him, for she wasn't interested in any discussion of herself with his wife, and that would pose a challenge. Probably a meeting following his work. She could easily find out how long the Symphony members rehearsed. A note to him at the hall would be her best bet, she reflected, with a meeting suggested that very day. He could call her if that wasn't convenient. That way, he'd have little chance to discuss her request with Noreen.

The next morning she sat at her little secretary in the bedroom and got out her note cards–no, that looked too much like an invitation or thank you. She pulled out the box of stationary and began writing. Her request took only a small paragraph where at the conclusion she added her phone number for his response. He'd get this tomorrow, so the meeting was for Friday afternoon. The Symphony had no concerts on Friday, that she knew, so unless he had family matters that interfered, she hoped he'd be able to meet her that day. She sealed the letter and addressed it in care of the symphony's headquarters, placing it in the mailbox for the letter carrier to pick up. There! The deed was done. She felt a strange sort of relief as though she had let out a long breath. Right or wrong she was committed to this path. All day Friday, Martha found herself going over and over in her mind what she might say to him. Would he be sympathetic to her need to maintain her hidden identity?

The phone call came a little before one o'clock.

"This is Stewart Carpenter," the voice said. "Is this Martha?"

"Yes, and thanks for replying to my note," Martha said, her voice quavering slightly. "Is it possible to meet sometime today, just for a brief time?"

"Rehearsal's over at three, so anytime after that would be OK. Here at the hall or where?"

Martha named a restaurant near the rehearsal hall, and Stewart agreed to meet her around 3:15. He didn't inquire as to the substance of the meeting, but his very lack of inquisitiveness told Martha he knew what this was about.

As the time for the meeting approached, she felt almost faint, but like an automaton she reapplied her makeup, combed her hair, and dressed in black gabardine slacks and a cream silk blouse. The restaurant had a parking lot that was half empty at this time of day, and after she wheeled her car to a stop, she sat for a moment, gaining control of her emotions.

Not since those terrible weeks her senior year when stories were flying around the school had she ever had to deal with the question of her ancestry. She had loved her father, a kind and intelligent man who had understood her wanting to enter the white world. After all, her mother was white, and they had friends in their church and among other dentists and their families who also were white. Her father's race had not seemed important until the rumors started at school that she was black. Now, she would be rehashing the same story, pleading silently if not aloud for understanding from someone who had no reason to care, one way or the other. Stewart Carpenter

had the power to ruin her life, change the relationship between herself and her husband, and place her son in a kind of limbo.

Inside the café, she saw him sitting in a booth near the door. She slid into the seat opposite and smiled pleasantly at him, nodding a greeting.

He half raised up in his seat in an old fashioned mark of respect, and said, "Hello," and then, "would you like to order?"

When she said, "coffee," he raised his hand for a server, who came to their table for the order. He had a glass of tea that he'd been stirring when she arrived. Both started to talk at once about the dry weather, and both laughed self-consciously. After the coffee came, Stewart looked expectantly at Martha.

"I know this seems very mysterious, but my need to talk to you is because of something very important to me. I have a feeling you know exactly what I'm referring to. You went to the same high school that I did, right?"

Stewart nodded and said, "You're Mary Jeter, aren't you?"

"I was," she said firmly. "I suppose my question to you is–well, I really don't know," she finished lamely, faltering in how to present her case.

"If you're wondering about my spreading the word here and there, of course I won't. My thoughts are about our children and their great interest in one another. I think it could lead to marriage, and I have concerns about grandchildren. Can you recognize my concern?"

Martha frowned in perplexity. "No, I really can't. The racial strain would be very diluted at that stage. I don't see what's the big deal, unless you just don't want a grandchild with any black blood running through his or her veins." She tried to be calm, but her pulse was racing now. This might have been thirty years ago, having to explain her family to her friends. Yet, she wasn't blameless herself, keeping secrets from those who were closest to her. "Look, Stewart," she said in a more placating voice. "My immediate family doesn't know about my ancestry, but I realize I'm bound to tell them now. What I need is time."

"Your family doesn't know? How in heaven's name did you keep that a secret, if it's any of my business."

"My parents were killed in an automobile accident when I was at Vanderbilt. I, alone, from our high school went there, so no one knew about my family. I spent my vacations at my maternal grandparents' retirement home in Florida." She shrugged. "I don't know exactly how, but the subject never came up. Even after meeting Hank, I was cowardly, and I didn't know how to broach it. Maybe I was afraid he'd reject me. That sounds stupid, I know, but that was my early fear. When so many years went by and my background went unremarked, it became less and less important to tell my family about it." She looked at Stewart, who shifted his eyes to the glass of tea in front of him.

He spoke then in a low voice. "The thing is, I'm not sure about Noreen's ancestry. She was adopted from a Georgia orphanage, and it's not clear about who her parents were, racially speaking. She's never had any information about her father, and I've always been a little suspicious about that. She has a certain . . . look about her. Do you understand the implications if she has black blood?"

"Not really. It can't be much, considering her features and skin tone."

"It's possible for a throwback when each parent carries the gene. If our kids marry and have children, one might turn out to be noticeably black."

Martha recoiled from the heartlessness, the inanity, of his speech, but she knew she had to be diplomatic in order to maintain her own position of secrecy. "I see. That sounds like a remote possibility, but if you can prevent Rick and Aurora from a further attachment, that's fine with me."

At that, she slid out from the booth, saying in her most pleasant voice, "I think we understand each other," and quickly left, taking the bill with her. Driving home, she knew it was time to confess to her family, and she resolved to do it that evening while her courage was up. It should have been done years ago, but the occasion for such a revelation never seemed to arise. Somehow, she had tried to convince herself, blurting out the truth to her husband, and now to her son, seemed unnecessary; she'd practically forgotten who she had been, for she now believed herself to be an altogether different person than the Mary Jeter that Stewart Carpenter had remembered.

After dinner that evening, she asked Rick if he could wait awhile before taking off for his date with Aurora. "A little family conference," she explained in as lighthearted a manner as she could conjure up. This mustn't take on the seriousness of an unreconcilable situation, though if she were being honest, it would amount to just that. How would Rick respond to her revelation and the need for him and Aurora to break up? She took a deep breath and smiled at Hank's puzzled look.

"I know this will be a shock to both of you." She gave a nervous laugh. "I'm not planning on any changes in our life, so don't look so worried. The fact is, I've kept a secret all these years. It's about my family, which even your father doesn't know, Rick." She looked at her husband beseechingly. Please don't let this make any difference to us, darling, was her unspoken cry.

"The thing is, I lost my parents in an automobile accident, as you know, when I was in college. Somehow, that accident seemed to eliminate the need for me to say anything about them. By that, I mean I didn't want to bring up what would have been obvious if they had lived, that in fact, my father was half black." She looked at both her husband and son to see what was registered on their faces at this pronouncement and saw surprise but no revulsion.

"So what?" Hank said with a shrug and a smile . "That probably puts you at about a fourth or fifth of the population in the South, having African-American ancestry. Yours just happens to be a little closer to you and, as you say, more obvious if we saw your father. I always wondered why you never had any family pictures, just pictures of you, or some of you and your mother holding you as a baby. What were you so worried about, hon?"

"Well, as you say, this is the South, and twenty-five or thirty years ago, such news would be headlines in my social circles, particularly at Vanderbilt and later in the clubs I joined when we were first married. You can't deny that admitting to such a heritage wouldn't have been scandalous. That information would have followed me everywhere and tainted anything I did."

Hank agreed that only in recent times had attitudes finally begun to change where mixed marriages were concerned. "But it wouldn't have mattered to me, you know. Did you think I'd reject you?"

Tears came to Martha's eyes and she swallowed. "I couldn't take the chance, growing up as I did with such discrimination and ultimately rejection when my classmates found out. I had experienced such attitudes, so how could I take the chance?"

It was then that she looked at her son, who was frowning, but in seeming perplexity. She asked, "Does this change anything for you, Rick?"

"No, of course not. I guess that makes me an eighth? So it's really of no consequence, huh? I mean, what difference does this make, Mom?"

"It shouldn't make any difference, but that man across the street, Aurora's father, happened to go to the same high school that I went to, and when my father moved his dental practice after we moved to a new neighborhood, someone from school asked me if I was related to Dr. Jeter, a black man, 'but really nice.' I'll never forget that moment. I admitted he was my father, and that changed everything for me the remainder of my high school years. Stewart Carpenter suggested, not too subtly, that he remembered me. I decided I needed to meet with him privately, which I did at a downtown café. It was there he confronted me with some cock-and-bull story that he suspected his wife may have some black blood, that she'd been adopted in Georgia and wasn't sure of her ancestry. If the two of you became even closer and thought to marry, he said he was fearful of a throwback, an obviously black child being born to you. But his main point in talking to me was to intimate rather pointedly that he could and would spread the word about me." She gave a brief laugh. "Sounds ridiculous, I know."

"It's nuts!" Rick said. "Is he crazy?"

"It does sound a bit demented," Hank said thoughtfully, "but if he made a point of talking to you, threatening you with exposure because of his racial abhorrence, who knows what he might do. I don't know what to advise, Rick, but I don't think you're going to have an easy time dating this young lady, as interested in you as she seems."

"I didn't tell you this to change anything in your life, Rick," Martha said, rather untruthfully she knew, but it wouldn't do to bring out her objections to Aurora just now. "It is important, though, that you have a clear picture of your heritage, and I've been remiss and unfair to you both in not telling you about it." She looked from her son to her husband.

"Yes," Hank said, "you have, but I can see you'd been hurt before, so I understand your reluctance to reveal this, even to me. You don't carry any of the characteristics of the race, either, so being able to pass as completely white would have been easy." He leaned toward her and gave her a kiss. "I forgive you. It makes no difference to me."

Martha took a deep breath. "Another thing I must confess. I have a brother in California, who does show his black heritage. He and I parted ways after our parents died, and we haven't taken up with each other since. I feel bad about that. I really do, and I think about him often."

Hank looked troubled. "Honey, I think it would be a good thing to try to locate him. I have a feeling this will haunt you forever if we don't meet with your own brother."

"Yes, I know," Martha agreed with a sigh. "It's maybe a good thing that Mr. Carpenter had it out with me and forced me to the truth at last."

"So why," Rick asked, still looking puzzled, "did Mr. Carpenter confront you about this and his wife's suspected ancestry? I still don't get why he threatened you with exposure. What did he say exactly?"

"He wants you and Aurora," Martha said blithely, for she felt horribly relieved at her husband's response to her news, "to break up, of course. He thinks it would be the wrong thing to pursue the relationship."

"I see," Rick said. "And you two? What do you folks think, if I need to ask, which I don't, since I'm over twenty-one, free, and considered white." There was a bitter tone now.

"Dar--ling!" Martha exclaimed. "We're not forbidding anything, but Stewart Carpenter has made it clear that he'll fight us on this matter. If your father and I encourage you young people, he's in a position to spread the word about me without any compunction. Of course, I can't let that influence you. It's really a matter of knowing about the Carpenters, these people that we're dealing with. What kind of upbringing Aurora has had. You'll have to consider that."

"Fine. All I really know is the kind of person Aurora is, Mom," he said harshly. "She's a fine person, intelligent, sweet, talented, and not prejudiced. I don't know exactly what you're saying, but I think I hear that you're not going to support us because you're afraid her father's going to what–take out an ad saying you have black blood?" He let out his breath in disgust, and with that, he left the table, flinging back, "I'll see you guys tomorrow. We going to a party and I'll be in pretty late."

"'Bye, Rick. We'll talk some more," Martha called weakly. She had said the wrong things, but Stewart Carpenter's threat had been sincere, and who knows what lengths he would go to in trying to prevent this attachment. For different reasons they both agreed the two children should never marry, so how else could she have put it? Hank's reaction had been so mild and unconcerned, he wouldn't understand, wouldn't know how she again had to dread the sideways looks, the comments behind hands. Rumors do spread impossibly fast, that she knew, even in a city like Nashville. Their position in the community, the relationship with her friends would be compromised, she sincerely believed. No, it would never do to take such a chance. She had to convince Rick the girl wasn't right for him.

Chapter 25

The party that evening was at a friend of Rick's who lived across town. It was still going strong at midnight when Rick and Aurora made their excuses and left. Aurora had had a nice time and seemed to get along, in her quiet way, with the other young people, some of whom she'd already met, and others who were new to her. She had dressed as Rick had suggested, in jeans and a tee-shirt, which she hoped would help her fit it, be with it, as far as the gang, Rick's gang, was concerned. Still, she thought she was able to hold her own in the conversations through the evening. Though they weren't too impressed with her college, most were interested in her artistic major and the areas open to her after graduation.

"I wanted to talk to you anyway," Rick said in the car. He had been driving in an unaccustomed silence for most of the trip home, which puzzled Aurora.

"What about?" she asked. Even with Rick's studies for the exam, they had become impossibly close this summer. Seldom were they able to spend more than a few hours a week together, but each moment was precious to her. She'd not ever felt so keenly about a man before, and the thought of their separation coming so soon was abhorrent to her.

"I think I'd better park the car on this side street first," Rick said, wheeling to the curb adjacent his house. He shut off the motor and then turned in his seat as best he could to face her. "I'd never before realized how much this car was like a bundling board," he laughed.

"I know. But maybe that's been a good thing. Neither of us have much will power, do we, when it comes to this relationship."

"That's what I want to talk about. Aurora, honey, I want us to get married–wait a minute, hold on," he said, interrupting her protests, "I know you've got to finish your senior year, and so do I, but we still could be secretly married and be able to be with each other occasionally during the year. I want you for my very own, and I can't think of being separated from you for a whole year."

"Rick!" Aurora exclaimed. "I don't know what to say. I love you, you know that, but married? I hoped for this to come about some day, of course, but maybe after we got our bachelor degrees. Even then, you've got a long way to go with law school."

"That's no big deal. You can work at whatever you want wherever I go to school. But would it matter to you if we got married now, this summer? And I mean elope, since neither of our folks would approve, I know."

"No, they wouldn't. As a matter of fact, I don't know why they're against us going together." She said, jokingly, "I'm a perfectly respectable girl with prospects for either a good job or motherhood, and you're a great catch, according to my standards." She then leaned across the bucket seat and gave him a kiss.

But Rick drew away. "Don't tempt me with a kiss before we decide what to do. Will you think about it? Would it make any difference if we just went ahead and got married? Then our folks couldn't have anything to say. It would be a fait accompli."

"It sure would! I will think about it, and give you my answer–when?"

"As soon as possible, please, sweetheart. I figure once I get the results from the LSAT, we could take off on a Friday as if we're going to work, except we'll be heading to Chattanooga. I'll get the license and get hold of a justice of the peace ahead of time. It won't be that complicated, I promise."

Aurora nodded in the dark of the car. "All right. I'll think it over and decide by next–shalll we say–Wednesday?"

"Good. You don't know how happy you'll make me if you say you'll marry me." Now Rick leaned over and as best as he could in the cramped quarters took Aurora in his arms.

Chapter 26

Ken stopped by the house Saturday morning but before he could get out of the car, Paige ran out to join him. Seeing him smile at her as he held open the car door gave her a pleasurable feeling, almost a proprietorial one, and she quickly told herself to cool it. Yet, she couldn't help thinking there was something strangely intimate about having breakfast together, even at a restaurant.

Seated across from one another, they didn't speak at once, as if both sensed this was an important meeting. Their booth was isolated, in the corner Ken had pointed out to the hostess as his preference. A server arrived with two cups of coffee, which they both accepted. She gave them more time to order, a matter of almost indifference to Paige, who ate lightly in the morning, if at all. Always, whenever she ate out in the morning, she got the same thing–one egg, over medium; whole grain toast with jam; and orange juice. Ken had much the same, only with two eggs, and after giving their orders, they looked at one another. Paige started to sigh, but squelched it, not wanting to appear nervous; in fact, she was. She smiled instead, and Ken reached across the table to where her hand was resting near her coffee cup and took it in his own.

"I know this isn't the proper venue for anything as momentous as what I'm about to say, but I suppose my motives are suspect. You probably won't walk out on me or kick me out if you're offended." He looked nervous himself.

"What do you mean?" Yet, she knew, with a quaking heart, what was coming and she wasn't sure she wanted to hear it even as she longed for him to say the words.

"Paige, darling, I love you. I never thought I'd fall so hard and so fast for someone after all these years of bachelorhood, and don't say anything for a moment, please." He took a deep breath and looked away as if to gather his thoughts. "I've been so busy with my life, the years in seminary, Guatemala, getting situated in Nashville–a woman in my life seemed the most remote possibility. Until I met you. I don't know your feelings, of course, but I can't believe you don't feel something of the chemistry between us, the bond of friendship that's formed so suddenly. How is it for you?"

She continued to stare at him, seeing the features she had begun to love, but inexplicably she pulled back from him, withdrawing her hand. "Ken, I–I understand the feelings you're describing very well. I've thought about you so much, and even though we've known each other for such a short time, I do care about you. You know about my marriage, my attempt to recover from feelings of betrayal. For me to step into close relationship with a man has been almost impossible. I don't want this between us to end, but I also can't say for sure where I want it to go right now."

Just then, the waitress arrived with their order, and it took some time to get napkins and silverware situated. Ken began to eat, and Paige noticed as she had before, his mannerly way of eating. He was also adept at conversation between bites.

"I don't want to press you, Paige," he said. "I know we're just beginning to know each other well, but," he looked at her with a grin, "you've absolutely mesmerized me. I want us to be married, you know, and the sooner the better." He put his fork down. "There! That has to be the most unromantic proposal in history. I just couldn't wait, though. Don't give me an answer yet, but promise me you'll think about it. Please?"

Paige laughed and nodded her agreement. "Ken, you have really swept me off my feet, and I'm not unresponsive, believe me. But being a preacher's wife is a staggering thought for me. I haven't even been a good churchgoer lately, you know. Talking to you about my faith has helped immensely, but I'm still shaky. I don't know that I'd make a very role model. Not that I'm much of a candidate for scandalous behavior, but I'm a career gal not given to religiosity."

Ken laughed then. "Times have changed, and you wouldn't be expected to head up the women's organization or bring cookies to Bible School or even sing in the choir unless you felt the call. I'd only ask that you be my helpmate in whatever way you can. I'd be your supporter and defender always. You haven't said if you'd think about it."

"I will, Ken. I'm flattered that you want me, and I can't deny I have feelings for you. Believe me, I'd never have let things go even this far if I hadn't, but we've dated less than a month." She gave him a look of mock horror. "Are you sure you want to step off this precipice with an unknown quantity like myself?"

"But that's just it. I feel I know you so well. Don't you have the same feeling? I think you're telling me just that." He was suddenly serious, as if their potential life together depended on her agreement.

"I admit I felt a strong pull from the first time I met you. I was terribly pleased you wanted to see me as someone beyond a parishioner. But it's still been a whirlwind sort of thing, don't you know? I'll give you my answer, but I need some time to consider. You're sure, and I'm almost there, but I still have to think about everything connected to this new role I'd have. Everything would change. Am I ready? I'm not sure yet." Now she put her hand over his and said, "Don't be hurt by my need to reflect on this. We're coming from two very different backgrounds, remember."

"I do understand, Paige. I'm so crazy about you, I'd wait 'til you went to the moon and back if it meant you'd eventually consent to be with me forever. I know we have to talk more about what's in store for us, and I'll pick a better place to do it, but I just wanted to know if I had a chance."

After that, they spoke about mundane matters, agreeing to more coffee from the perceptive waitress, who hadn't bothered them while they were eating and talking so earnestly. Paige felt a new tenderness for Ken with his vulnerability in addressing her so wholeheartedly. When they reached her house, he walked with her to the door and stepped just inside to say goodbye. He took her in his arms and kissed her, and this time it was neither chaste nor brief.

"Wow," Paige gasped, emerging from the embrace. "Is this what happens at breakfast with you?"

He laughed and said, "Try it again and see. I think you should come to my place for a meal. How about next Wednesday evening?" She nodded her agreement, and he gave her another quick kiss, leaving her then. She watched him walk to his car in the driveway, moving with his customary quick athletic stride. He turned to her before getting into the car and mouthed, "I love you." She threw him a kiss, smiling. He was a darling; so why was she hesitating? It had been six years since Terry died as had her trust in marriage vows. But surely with a good man like Ken, she could open up her heart again unreservedly.

Was it love she felt? She knew it was not uncommon to get a crush on a mentor–a teacher, doctor, psychologist, minister–and certainly she exhibited all the right symptoms. For his part, Ken seemed to have absolutely no doubts about his feelings, even though they'd seen each other so comparatively little. David, the California banker who had wooed her four years ago, had apparently fallen hard in a short time also, and for a while she had convinced herself she might be able to connect permanently with him. Yet, ultimately, she balked at the commitment and broke it off, telling herself and others she was defeated by the long distance relationship. She suddenly had a horrible thought: was she, in the old vernacular, merely a tease? Was she sending out signals that were meaningless to her though suggesting much more to an attractive man? She'd had some evidence of that during her marriage with different men, such as from a close friend of Terry's, then with a neighbor, and even with a fellow banker at the office. All of them had made what she could only call advances, looking for a response from her, she supposed, to carry things further. She'd brushed off such obvious ploys to start an affair with a kind of good humor but a definite "No."

Reflecting on those episodes, she realized she should have been flattered, in a way, and look upon such rather tawdry suggestions as a testimony to her attractiveness. Instead, she'd dismissed them and focused on Terry's need to shove her into the background while he took up in his mentor-like way with a paralegal, a youngster captivated by the older lawyer looking to add another notch to his belt. Paige nodded to herself. Yes, she had to understand, once and for all, that Terry's infidelity had nothing to do with her, as friends and counselors had repeatedly told her. It was his own flawed character that caused him to go astray. Please, God, she prayed, let the dead bury the dead, now and forever. The past was just that, and she begged for release from harboring those negative thoughts, from the shrinking of her heart. Let her be open and trusting again.

Chapter 27

But even with her heartfelt prayer that gave her some comfort, at first seeming to calm her mind, Paige wanted more than anything to talk to someone about her predicament, for that's how she thought about Ken's proposal. Her sister lived in Louisville, quite near their mother, who never had been a good confident, and her sister was equally disappointing. Anne Marie perpetually wrapped her life in social activities and shopping excursions, and in conversations she seemed insulated from Paige's concerns. As the years went by, it had become nearly impossible to have a conversation of any depth with her, and all they ever discussed were the dinner parties she gave or attended and her clothing buys.

Paige went into the kitchen and picked up her phone, punching in a familiar number. Tessa answered on the first ring. "Hi, honey," Paige said, "are you in the middle of something that can't be interrupted?"

Tessa gave a chuckle. "Oh, I'd love it! I'm cleaning out kitchen cupboards. Frank has Jonathan in tow, so I screwed my courage to the sticking point and dived in, but it is not one of those essential tasks that I can't forgo. What do you need?"

"Oh, just an ear, maybe a shoulder. Could you come over for an hour? I'll provide whatever sustenance you'd like–coffee, cookies, lemonade–you name it, and you've got it."

"I'm on my way. Something cool like lemonade would be great."

The two had hit it off almost from the first when Tessa had taken over the old house that had been broken up into apartments. That house, initially owned by Tessa's aunt, was where Paige had fled after being widowed and then crushed again by ensuing revelations about her late husband. Even though Tessa was fifteen years Paige's junior, they had a bond that seemed to grow only stronger with the years. Paige knew Tessa would be a good sounding board for her concerns.

Within minutes, Tessa was opening the front door and calling, "I'm here!"

Paige invited her to the kitchen and t\hey gave each other a quick hug. "Even in this heat on a Saturday filled with household chores," Paige said to her friend, "you manage to look cool with that peaches and cream complexion. How do you do it?" She gave her friend an exaggerated once-over.

Tessa laughed. "See, my hair is in a pony tail, and I don't tan, so I just look cool. Actually, my skin was the bane of my existence in high school. All I could ever do was burn, but since I've given up trying, I feel better about it."

"So how're your men?" Paige asked. "Are the boys, big and small, doing fine?" She provided each of them with a tall glass of lemonade and took a seat at the kitchen table across from Tessa.

"Oh, absolutely. Frank loves to take charge on weekends. He keeps talking about Jonathan and him going camping, but I'm dragging my heels on that one. He should be at least cub scout age, I say."

"You were lucky, knowing your mind so well when you found Frank."

"I didn't, though! He found me. Don't you remember how crazily I behaved? I thought Frank was so different I couldn't see him fitting into my world. In fact, it took a crisis for me to see Frank as the great guy he is. No, I was very slow off the mark. Frank was patient with me, that's all." Tessa tipped her head and looked questioningly at her friend. "What's this all about? It's not about Frank and me, that's for sure."

Paige gave a brief laugh and then became serious. "No, I'm having to decide about Ken. He's asked me to marry him."

Tessa looked astonished for a moment, and then exclaimed, "Why, that's great! You two will make a perfect couple. Why the hesitation?"

Paige shrugged. "It seems so fast." She turned her glass around and around. "I'm wondering about his good sense getting attached to an older woman when he could snap his fingers and have a young, nubile beauty."

"Oh, pooh. You're only a couple or three years older, and he's not wanting a kid to groom to his liking, unlike Terry, who couldn't accept his own aging. No, Ken is mature and you appeal to him as a good partner and very desirable woman, obviously. What do you feel for him?"

"Oh, I'm very attracted to him, of course. And he's a good man, intelligent and thoughtful. I–I may even love him, Tessa. I know at some point I have to decide, but must it be now?"

"Don't look so gloomy," Tessa said in a chiding voice. "I think it's wonderful with my two favorite people, outside my family, getting together. I think you suit each other very well."

Paige laughed. "I guess that's why I invited you here to talk. I sort of knew what you'd say. And maybe that's the answer inside myself. But I'm still not ready to rush into marriage." She gave a purposeful nod. "I'll have to tell Ken I want a longer courtship. I know he'll be disappointed, and with good reason. It must be difficult for a pastor to be in this situation. I remember hearing a single minister tell about how much of a problem it was to date when he also had to keep parishioners happy. There must be an awkwardness to having one's private life examined by so many interested parties. I understand that. But my instinct is to go slow. I'm not the impulsive sort, and maybe it's the banker in me, but I want to be guided by both my head and my heart."

"That sounds very wise and prudent," Tessa said, looking at Paige with amusement. "You may be surprised at the strength of Ken's persuasive powers once you tell him, 'yes, but' and think he'll settle for that. No, dear, you'd better be very clear in your head and your heart if he's the one for you, since as you say, you've reached the point of decision-making quickly but no less surely."

"What makes you think he'll push me for an answer? It doesn't seem particularly urgent as far as I'm concerned that we decide immediately. Do you have an idea about his wanting us to move quickly?"

"Not many people know this, but at the time of our marriage, an elopement, if you recall, Frank and I had a meeting with Pastor Ken, and he told us about an early attachment he had that ended tragically. I don't know all the details, but she must have died or been killed in an accident. I guess he's had difficulties setting that love aside. I remember him saying that his dealing with her death caused him ultimately to enter the ministry."

"Yes," Paige nodded, "he told me about it when I was discussing my resentment about Terry's duplicity. It was all about letting go, I suppose. The fact that he told both of us about that ill-fated romance of his own suggests he had a ghost to banish himself."

"You apparently have made the past bearable for him, and he must be not just in love with you but terribly grateful for what you give him."

"But I hardly feel I give him anything! We talk, we agree, we laugh, and it wouldn't be hard for us to love, that I know."

"Sounds ideal," Tessa said, smiling.

"And to clinch the deal, for the last two weeks he's given me a daily call if we aren't seeing each other in person. We don't necessarily talk long, but he just seems to want to connect with me. How sweet is that!"

Tessa took a long swallow of her drink, examining her friend over the rim of the glass. Then she said, "I get it that you're feeling pushed too hard. Would you want him to back off? Would you really want that?"

Paige didn't answer for a moment; then she shook her head and gave a brief laugh. "I don't know what I want. He's invited me for dinner at his house next Wednesday. I don't know what to expect from that, but I guess I'll just take it as it comes. Sometimes I wish I were twenty years old and willing to rush headlong into a relationship just because it pleased me to do so and I was happy that someone loved me enough to marry me."

"Yes," Tessa agreed, "it seems to me you might be a little too cerebral about this. Don't worry so much. It will work out. Those who love you are holding you in our thoughts and prayers. Have you told your family about this attachment yet?"

"Almost. I tried to tell Anne Marie the last time I talked to her, but she only half listens before she goes off on her own tangents. She'll approve, no matter what since she doesn't care that much either way. Mother is so mellow now, she'll always think I'm doing fine. So, no, my family isn't exactly in my confidence. And besides, I really have to decide for myself first. You're so valuable for your support, dear. You know that's what I really rely on from you."

"Thanks, and ditto. Well," Tessa said, looking at her watch, "if you can spare me, I'd better run along. Those cupboards still look like they're ready to fly with open doors and empty shelves. Back to the grind."

The two parted with affection, and Paige watched her friend go to her car, mulling over their conversation. Did their talk help make up her mind? Tessa was positive about the relationship going forward, but Paige had expected that, and to be honest, maybe that was the reason she'd asked her over.

Chapter 28

Paige made sure she arrived a few minutes early at Ken's house, thinking she might help him pull the meal together. She parked in front of the condo, which was in a fairly new complex, and when she approached the door, Ken opened it before she could ring the bell as if he'd been looking for her arrival. She had offered earlier to bring something, but he'd told her he had the dinner under control.

He greeted her with a light kiss and then held her at arms length, his eyes admiring. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you," Paige said, shrugging modestly and touching her flowing skirt of magenta silk. With it she wore a sleeveless blouse of a lighter shade than the skirt, and at her neck a triple strand of iridescent coin pearls.

She remarked on the strange car she'd noticed in the driveway of his condo and wondered if others might be included in the dinner party.

"We are dining with some friends of mine, but that car belongs to Abby Gleaves." Ken explained that his twice-weekly housekeeper cum cook was in charge of the meal. He called to the slender black woman in her fifties who at that moment was bringing in a vase of flowers for the dining table, which was in an alcove at the end of the living room. "Abby, will you come here for a moment." She came forward, looking with interest at Paige, and Ken performed introductions while the two women shook hands. "She'll have everything ready to go when my other guests arrive," Ken assured Paige as Abby went back to the kitchen.

"Who are these other guests?" Paige asked, smiling. He always looked different, certainly more approachable, without his collar, tonight wearing a long-sleeved light blue shirt and beige linen slacks.

"Some friends I'd like you to meet from the other side of town. Jim Connolly, a fellow seminarian, and his wife, Cindy. He, like me, had gotten into the ministry later in life. He'd been a high school teacher in St. Louis, and it seemed pretty remarkable that we both ended up getting calls in the Nashville area. We get together occasionally, and this seemed like a good time for you to meet them since our churches don't have Wednesday night meetings or services during the summer months."

As if summoned by their conversation, the doorbell rang and Ken went to open the door, greeting his friends and bringing them in to Paige, who hadn't yet taken a seat. The Connollys appeared to be about the same age as herself, a friendly and attractive couple. Cindy was a tall, dark blonde while Jim was little taller than his wife and rather stocky. For Ken's sake she wanted to warm to them, and her first impression was positive as they greeted her. Cindy asked her if she lived nearby and when Paige said her house was in the Foxhill neighborhood, she remarked on their own interest in that historic district.

"We even thought about moving there when Jim got his call to our parish," Cindy said, taking a chair near Paige's, "but we decided the drive across Nashville would be too inconvenient, so we ended up in a '20s era house but in a mixed neighborhood, near Vanderbilt, some with more contemporary homes, some about the age of ours."

"I like that section, though," Paige said, "being close to Centennial Park and interesting restaurants."

"Yes," Cindy agreed, "at least it has neighborhood character, you might say. I shouldn't sound sneering about new neighborhoods, though, since the older, interesting ones were new at one time. And I've been in some of the more recently built houses, and they have amenities I'd like–high ceilings, a great room rather than a parlor, well-designed kitchens." She looked around the living room, which had a high cove ceiling. "This condo is a good example, just on the edge of Foxhill. It's very livable, don't you think?"

"It's perfect for a single man, that's for sure," Paige said, getting a little uncomfortable. Did Cindy and Jim know of Ken's serious interest in her? "I think it has only two bedrooms, though. I haven't seen the entire place, so I can't speak to the other features."

"Oh," Cindy said with surprise, "this is the first time you've been here? Well, I guess that's not unexpected. Pastors have to be careful about getting too close to parishioners as Ken must have told you. We tend to limit our social life to others in the field, which sounds like we're being too exclusive, but it's for a good reason." She gave Paige an appraising look. "Ken says you're very special. How long, if I may ask, have you two been dating?"

"Not long–only about a month." She wished her role was not so ambiguous. It would have been much simpler if she'd accepted Ken's proposal on the spot. Now she remained in a kind of relationship limbo that she wanted to explain but couldn't. She glanced at Ken as he conversed. He was a good looking man with a fine character as far as she knew and certainly devoted to her–and she wondered again at her hesitation. She could love him, she felt, if she'd let herself go.

"–a babysitter, but we have so many free offers to help us out," Cindy was saying. "Still, it's better not to get too obligated to certain parishioners." She laughed. "Oh, it's a more complicated life than one could imagine. The 19th and even early 20th century model of unquestioned respect and admiration for men of the cloth made it so much easier for the wife. She just accepted all the largesse as their due. Now, we try to be as democratic as possible and probably spend far too much time weighing attitudes and gratitudes."

Paige laughed and said she could only imagine the difficulties, but at that moment, Abby came into the room and announced that dinner was ready. The foursome took places at the round table where Ken indicated, with Paige sitting on his right and next to Cindy. The dinner was to be served family style with a sliced pork loin on a platter and bowls of mashed potatoes and garden fresh green beans. No salad was in evidence, but a baked apple was in a small saucer by their dinner plate. Ken gave the blessing, and passed around the food, first to Paige. When she took a roll, she commented they looked homemade.

"That's one of Abby's specialties." Ken patted his stomach. "Too much of a good thing if I have them available, so I limit her to just special occasions."

The dinner service looked like bone china, Paige silently observed, along with a nice set of heavy silverware and linen napkins. Ken had told Paige his parents lived in Kansas City, where his father had retired from his practice as a surgeon. Probably the tableware was provided by a thoughtful mother with good taste. His brother was also a doctor, married with a couple of kids and living in a suburb of Chicago, so the family was spread out, though close in their own way, according to Ken, with frequent phone calls and e-mails, and even occasionally getting together at some vacation spot.

Somehow, almost effortlessly, it seemed to Paige, the conversation ebbed and flowed into areas of the arts, especially music, which interested the Connollys. They had season tickets for the Symphony, and hoped that both Ken and Paige might join them for a concert next fall.

"I have some new neighbors just moved in this summer and I know he's with the Symphony," Paige commented.

"Really?" Jim said with interest. "What instrument?"

Paige explained she really didn't know as they weren't well acquainted. "I only met them once at a neighborhood party. He carries a smallish case on his way to work, I've noticed, and it's not shaped like a violin." Everyone laughed. She wished she could have been more helpful so she said, "I think it would be delightful to go to a concert." Her eyes were drawn to Ken's, and they shared a quick intimate moment. "I've neglected the arts," she went on, "being much too engrossed in my work andh in getting settled in my house, which needed plenty of attention."

From then on, it seemed, the conversation took a turn first into banking and then inevitably, the ministry, which was fine with Paige. She wanted to get the lowdown on what she might expect if she and Ken were to be together permanently. It was all very illuminating, she reflected later, when she said goodbye to Ken at his door. The Connollys had left at an early hour, which suited Paige, who had to go to work in the morning.

"I don't know what I was thinking of," Ken said, holding her close, "letting you drive over here. Sorry, honey. Now you'll have to go to your house alone in the dark."

"I'm used to it. I don't put the car in the garage when I come home at night, so it's just a hop, skip, and jump to my front door well lighted from the corner street light. I'll be fine. Thanks for a wonderful evening, Ken. I so enjoyed your friends."

"I hoped you would. They're good people and interesting, too, don't you think?"

Paige agreed. "Everything was lovely." She was having trouble breaking away, but she

forced herself to turn from him and go to the car. He followed her out and opened the door for her.

"I'll call you," he said, giving her another kiss.

Paige took his face between her hands, and her lips clung to his for a moment before she pushed him away and closed the car door. Then she sighed and drove off, feeling a little shaky. It couldn't go on this way for long; it may have to be love him or leave him.

Chapter 29

Paige and Rick arrived at their respective homes from work about the same time on Friday, and after parking her car in the garage, Paige walked across the lawn to the back door. The neighbor girl, Aurora, had hopped out of Rick's car, given Paige a quick wave, and then sped across the street.

"So when will you get the results from the LSAT?" Paige called to Rick, who was emerging from his car. She knew from Martha how anxious he was to get a good score.

"It takes a couple of weeks, but I feel pretty good about it. I expect I'll hear something by the end of next week." He strolled closer into Paige's yard.

"Well, good luck, Rick. Where are you hoping to apply?"

"I'll probably go for Duke since I'm already there, but I wouldn't mind Vanderbilt or even the D.C. law schools. I'm staying away from the Ivy Leagues and California. I have no wish to go into a huge law firm on either coast."

Paige nodded her approval. "That sounds very reasonable." She thought again what a good looking boy he was with his tanned, even features, dark wavy hair, and the same melting, tobacco-colored eyes as his mother. What a contrasting pair he and Aurora were.

"Well," Rick said in his usual friendly manner, "see ya," and went off to his house.

Paige inserted the key into the lock of the back door. She knew she'd not be hearing from Ken this evening, for he was officiating at a small wedding. He told her he felt an obligation to attend the reception, which was at the couple's home. It was a wedding of two long-time members, who over the course of several years had lost their spouses. They'd not wanted to make a big splash with a publicized wedding, so only family and very close friends had been invited. Paige knew the couple only to speak to, but her neighbor, Mrs. Hammond, had her nose considerably out of joint.

"Why," she'd told Paige one evening when they'd met as usual in the back yard over the rose bushes, "I've known Mary Scott and Clyde Wilken for thirty years, at least. I can't imagine who they'd invite if they left me out."

Paige had tried to assure her from what Ken had said: that almost no members of the parish had been included hoping there'd be no hard feelings. She thought how tricky these church matters were in balancing one's wishes against people's expectations and feelings. She sighed, tossing her purse onto the counter. Ken and she would be together in the morning for what had become their usual Saturday breakfast date. She'd begun to look forward to that rather intimate time together. Yet, she still felt ambiguous about marriage, and her inclination was to banish the thought.

Saturday, she woke up with a strangely exultant feeling. Had she experienced a particularly sweet dream that she couldn't recall but had left her happy? Maybe it was the sunshine streaming in from a window at the foot of her bed for she had overslept her usual waking time. And she wasn't quite ready to leave when she heard the doorbell. Quickly fastening a belt around her white sundress, she ran to open the door, inviting Ken inside. As she shut the door behind him, he turned toward her, and as she saw on his face such a winsome and hopeful look, she impulsively put her arms around him. He reciprocated, and they stood close together for a moment. Then Paige, seemingly without volition said, "I love you." And it was true. Suddenly, as if learning a new language, she continued slowly. "I'll marry you, Ken. I know now that I don't want to do without you–ever."

He kissed her then, and held her to him so tightly, she laughingly protested. "I can't breathe, darling."

"Sorry, sweetheart. I'm overcome with happiness. I'd prepared myself for your refusal, and all I could do was try to imagine life without you. Now, I'm so very happy I don't know what to say. For once, I seem to be speechless."

Paige laughed, the relief of decision flooding over her like a cleansing ritual. "I think we should have breakfast here, so we can talk more freely. I can cook, you know." She broke away, and taking his hand, led him into the kitchen. "How about a couple of eggs?"

"Anything you do will be perfect for me. Can I help? I know my way around a kitchen, too, you know."

"Sure, get a couple of glasses down, in the cupboard there, and pour us out some orange juice. And while I get started on the eggs, would you fill the coffee pot with water? The coffee is in the freezer." And the two settled down to more quotidian pursuits after the emotional earlier scene. Paige hadn't planned on either, the acceptance or the breakfast, but they both seemed right.

They laughed at a near collision as both turned at the same time. Ken set down the coffee on the counter and taking Paige in his arms kissed her. "I love you," he said softly.

"I guess you know how I feel," she said with a smile, "but we'll never get to eat if you don't let me cook."

Eventually, they sat down and between bites, discussed the practical. "So can we set a date?" Ken asked.

"I'm ready anytime you are. You're the one with all kinds of scheduling conflicts. Do you have any vacation time?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. It's always been convenient to take a couple of weeks at the end of August, and that's only a week or ten days from now, give or take a few days. What do you say to a ceremony very soon?"

Paige put her hand on his arm. "Now that the die is cast, I'm ready whenever you are. My own schedule is flexible. I haven't put in for vacation, but with my seniority, it shouldn't be a problem. Shall we say let's get married when you can get a pastor to do the deed?"

Ken nodded, thinking. "I'll talk to Jim Connolly and see if he can help us out. We'll need to notify family and whatever friends we want to include. Is it going to be too disappointing to do such a quick and rather unceremonious wedding?"

"Heavens, no!" Paige exclaimed "I had all that ceremony at my first wedding, and see where it got me." She sighed. "I'm not a kid, and neither are you. We know what we want and what we need, and it's not a lot of fuss and feathers. Try to arrange it with Jim, and we'll simply call friends and family to invite them. I'm fine with that."

"I think it will be better, too, for this to take place during my vacation. We probably should have the ceremony at Jim's church. I suppose my parishioners will want to host an official reception, but that can be arranged later. I will have to inform the Elders, of course, prior to our marriage. Luckily, I've already got a supply pastor to fill in for me during my vacation Sundays."

"Yes, but Ken, will the parishioners be offended at our going away to Jim's church to be married?"

"Some might, but they'll get over it." Ken laughed. "I really think they'll be so stunned they won't bother to get upset. Besides, with your sweet manner you'll win over any who might feel left out."

Paige tilted her head in a parody of modesty and said, "Thank you, sir. I'll do my best to be a good preacher's wife." Then she sat up straight. "Oh, brother! What am I letting myself in for?"

"I know," Ken said ruefully. "I wish I could hand you a manual that gives instructions. But you'll be fine, as I've said. Don't worry about it."

"Actually, I feel surprisingly free from worry," Paige said in a kind of wonder.

That afternoon, Ken called to say that Jim and his church would be available a week from next Wednesday if that was agreeable to her. She said it would be fine, that she could easily take vacation time from that Monday through the following week. Yes, she agreed, it all seemed to be going fast, but that was maybe better. Ken said he'd arrange for a short honeymoon, and in the meantime, they'd need to move some of his things over.

"I'm pretty sure you don't want to move into my digs," he said laughingly.

"You guessed it! Why don't you plan on bringing over what you'll need when we get back from our little trip. Now, darling, you know we don't need to go very far on our honeymoon. Will you promise me not to go overboard?"

"Does that mean no sea voyage? I'll make no promises. Still, I have an idea in mind that should please you. Will you leave it to me?"

"Oh, all right!" She let out a little puff of air. "Whew! We really have quite a bit on our plates, don't we? So much to think about for the next week or so. Can we really pull this off?"

"For me, the summertime is ideal since the church has fewer activities with so many of my flock on trips of their own. It would be much harder to arrange things so quickly if it were fall, believe me."

"Yes, I can see that. All right. Let's get organized for the big change in our lives." And with that, Paige mentioned a few things she'd been wondering about since that morning, such as a license and blood tests. Ken agreed they'd have plenty to do. They seem to come to instant agreement on several issues of responsibilities. As she hung up the phone, Paige felt, in a strange sort of way, that she'd known Ken all her life; his ideas were so compatible, his ways so familiar. She spent the next hour talking to first her sister and then her mother. They were shocked.

Chapter 30

"Married?"

Paige watched with amusement as her neighbor's face registered first surprise and then as if being washed in a bath of decorum, pleasure.

"How wonderful–and exciting," Martha exclaimed. "You'll have to tell me all about it."

They were in Paige's living room Saturday morning. Paige had invited Martha for the express purpose of giving her version of the engagement before the rumor mill started cranking out stories.

Paige hesitated a moment, and Martha, her curiosity aroused to nearly the shrieking point, persisted, "Who's the lucky man? I didn't even know you were seeing anyone, you sly thing!"

"We actually haven't been going together long. It seemed so right for us, from the start, and we're old enough to know our minds, you know, so waiting wasn't much of an option. He's my pastor, Ken Geitner."

"Yes, from the Lutheran church, I've heard of him." Martha lifted her eyebrows as she considered. "Well, I can understand why you're going ahead. Every so often, it's mutual, love at first sight, so to speak, and the outcome is inevitable and unstoppable." She reached across to where Paige was seated and stretched out her hand to clasp Paige's. "I wish you every happiness."

Paige smiled. "Thank you, Martha. I'm sure it will be right for both of us now."

"Oh, has he been married before, too?"

"No, but he had a bad time many years ago when his fiancé died from leukemia. We both have hovered instead of committing to a relationship. But we don't have any qualms now." As she spoke those confident words, she wondered if she was convincing herself anew. No, of course, she wasn't. She loved Ken, and he was a wonderful man she could put her trust in forever. She must banish such thoughts. She also knew, down deep, that it took time to develop trust when one had been betrayed. This, she couldn't say to Martha, and only Ken and a few friends and family members knew how deeply she'd been hurt. But she wouldn't give in to qualms, seeking reassurance when none was needed. Ken's devotion, his insistence on a quick marriage was proof enough she could rely on his love. For now, that had to be enough.

"Are you taking some time for a honeymoon?"

Paige nodded. "Oh, yes, we're going to the mountains for a few days. Ken has some friends who have a supposedly posh bed and breakfast near Asheville. They keep a nice suite open, actually it's where they stay, for unexpected VIPs, which apparently Ken is. They go to their son's place nearby when they give up their own rooms. Ken says that's not unusual for them to do."

"That sounds lovely. You seem to have worked out everything in a very short space of time." Martha looked genuinely happy for Paige, her words spoken with sincerity.

Paige then adroitly changed the subject and asked Martha about the magazine article that Hal Stensson was working on.

"He had the photographer come for pictures," Martha said, her voice rising with excitement, "while the crepe myrtle and hosta were blooming. And inside, he absolutely raved about the decor being so perfect for the era. Most of what we have isn't authentic Mission-style furniture, though we do have a Stickley mirror and occasional table. But our stuff is a pretty good contemporary adaptation of it in the living room and dining room as well as the master bedroom. That's the extent of our being faithful to the period."

"It looks lovely, Martha, and I bet your house will show up wonderfully well in the article. I'm thrilled for the neighborhood about Hal's doing this. It will only increase interest and ultimately make our properties more valuable."

"You're not moving out, then? Your husband to be will join us in the neighborhood?"

"Yes, Ken likes the house very much, and he can either sublet his condo or put it on the market. I think he'll love Foxhill."

With the subjects of mutual interest being exhausted, Martha rose from her chair and said, "Well, I must run along. Hank and I are going to Whole Foods for some items." She again took Paige's hands in hers and repeated, "I wish you every happiness. I'll be very eager to meet–what's his name, Ken? Yes, I'm sure he'll be an asset to the neighborhood."

Martha swung out the door, leaving Paige without giving her a chance to reply. She was left with the same feeling of amusement that had come over her at Martha's initial reaction to the news of her marriage. But her neighbor, she knew, was good hearted, if somewhat obtuse about the feelings of others, so she never really got seriously annoyed with her.

Paige's family arrived from Louisville the day of the wedding and after checking in at their downtown hotel, came out to her house. Ken had been occupied all week with his parents who had come from Kansas City on Sunday. Paige had met them when Ken brought them over to her house Monday. She had taken a two week vacation, which she needed to help arrange for Ken's occupancy of the house, as well as her own preparations for the wedding and honeymoon.

His parents were cordial and rather sophisticated, his mother an attractive, slightly graying brunette in her seventies, his father even larger than Ken, rather blustery in style but very friendly. She had offered them coffee and some cake, which they ate at her dining room table. Any awkwardness she might have expected was dispelled by his father's jovial relating of their flight and his mother's interest in the house and neighborhood. She wished her own family had been as easy as Ken's when they all met a half hour before the ceremony at Jim Connolly's church.

Anne Marie and her husband seemed to hang back as Ken's parents chatted with Cindy Connolly and the Wengers. They, along with Ken's brother, Richard, and his wife, who had flown in that day from Chicago, were the only other guests invited to the wedding. Ken, Richard, and Jim were ensconced in the pastor's study in keeping with the tradition of waiting to see the bride when she came down the aisle. Paige planned to walk by herself, and was feeling decidedly nervous. Her mother was always a little out of her element when confronted by strangers, so Paige took her aside and asked about mutual friends, in order to distract, not just her, but Paige herself, from anxieties.

"You look very nice, Paige, in that pearl gray silk," her mother said. "I meant to tell you that at home, but Anne Marie goes on so much sometimes, I didn't have a chance."

"Thanks, Mother," Paige said. "I had to do some emergency shopping, but I felt fortunate to find this jacket dress. I figured it would go with whatever flowers Ken would give me." She smelled the posy of gardenias and roses, which she'd requested rather than a corsage. He had remembered her mention of her favorite flowers.

Then, in a ritual she could hardly recall later, so blurred were the details, they were married. Afterwards, they all, including the Connollys, left the church together for dinner at the same hotel where her family were staying. Ken and Paige would spend the night at their home before taking off the next morning for the mountains.

Finally alone and together, Paige thought to herself that here she was with someone who two months ago had been a virtual stranger, and now they were about to become one, in the most intimate act two human beings could engage in. He was more passionate than she might have imagined, but she, too, felt a release of emotion that surprised her. For the first time in years, she relaxed, now free to love unreservedly.

The next morning, they didn't rush off, but took some time over breakfast to enjoy their new domesticity. Ken helped to prepare the food, and after they ate, he stacked the dishes in the dishwasher.

"I think I got a good deal" Paige laughed, "marrying a bachelor. You're really very proficient around the house."

Ken shrugged. "I have my limits, mainly with cleaning. Thus, my need for Abby to help out. I'm glad we can continue to have her in at least once a week."

Then it was time to set off and even that seemed a new adventure, no matter that Paige had spent more than a few vacations in the Smokies. With Ken, everything was different, exciting. After four hours of driving the GPS system directed them to the inn, which was on the side of a mountain, looking like a hunting lodge. Ken's friends, the Alberts, Marci and Ray, greeted him as a long lost friend and also welcomed Paige with hugs.

"We're so happy you chose our place for your honeymoon," Marci exclaimed, taking Paige's suitcase. "You'll be our very special guests, so if you need anything at all that we haven't provided, just let us know."

"Everything looks lovely," Paige said, as they entered the high-ceilinged great room. "We appreciate your accommodating us so unexpectedly." A few guests were chatting together quietly.

"Not at all. Let's go to your rooms." The couple led Paige and Ken to a hallway and then into a suite of rooms. Beyond the sitting room was a spacious bedroom with a large, handsome bed and matching wardrobe and bedside tables. A couple of windows looked out onto deep woods. Heaven!

Chapter 31

"It was great to be incommunicado for a few days, wasn't it, sweetheart?" Ken took his hand off the steering wheel and squeezed Paige's that was lying in her lap.

"I have a feeling," she laughed, "that your life is hardly your own, so we'll have to make the most of our private times."

"Absolutely! But except for emergencies and my usual duties, which have similar hours to your own, we'll still have our life together at home, pretty much uninterrupted."

They hadn't gotten off until after luncheon, a lovely meal, Paige thought, provided by the Alberts, who made them promise to visit again. The drive from the mountains was usually a pleasant one, moving through the foothills into the long geosyncline that was Middle Tennessee. But they hit rain just outside of Crossville, and with the curving roads and heavier than usual Sunday night traffic, Ken had to slow down and concentrate on driving. Eventually, they approached the turnoff that led to Foxhill. Paige took a deep breath, realizing as if for the first time how different her life would be from now on. Their meeting, romance, engagement, wedding–all had transpired so quickly she hardly had had time to adjust, but she would. She turned to gaze at her husband, whose profile was now so familiar and loved. It would be a pleasure, deeply felt to grow even closer to him.

When they approached their house through a blinding rain, Paige was surprised to see a number of cars at the Metcalfs'.

"Looks like our neighbors are having party," Ken commented, deftly wheeling the car into the driveway. "Too bad it's so rainy."

"I usually hear about such things from Martha," Paige said, still looking at her neighbors' house. "This seems out of the ordinary for them."

"Coming home with you seems a bit out of the ordinary for me, but I look forward to it."

"I know, darling, me too," Paige said before getting out of the car and opening an umbrella. But she felt uneasy, continuing to look at the lit up house next door occasionally while taking out her suitcase from the trunk.

"I'll put the car in the garage later. Let's hope the rain will let up" Ken said.

"That's a good idea," Paige agreed. She happened to glance across the street at the Carpenters' house and noticed lights blazing, with a couple of strange cars in the driveway. They both dashed onto the shelter of the porch, and Ken unlocked the door allowing Paige to precede him inside. "I don't know why I feel so good about coming home, but I do," she said over her shoulder. "We had a wonderful honeymoon, yet I love being here alone with you."

"Maybe that's it," Ken said, setting down his suitcase and taking Paige in his arms. "We really are alone now, and our life together begins."

As if on cue, like an electronic tap on the shoulder, the phone rang. Ken groaned, but Paige said, "I doubt if that's for you. Your parishioners know to call an elder, that you're on vacation."

She went to the kitchen to answer it and to her surprise, heard her next door neighbor's voice.

"Paige, thank God you're back. I'm sorry to jump in on you newlyweds, but we just brought him home from the hospital, and I happened to see your car. Could we possibly impose on your husband. We don't know what to do with him. He's out of his mind. Hank's sisters and their husbands are here, but no one can reach him."

"What? What in heaven's name are you talking about, Martha?"

"No, of course, you don't know about the accident. Oh, Paige, Rick and Aurora eloped Friday morning, and on their way to Chattanooga, near Monteagle, their car was struck by a semi that went across the median. It was a head-on collision, and poor Aurora was killed instantly. That damned little car of Rick's." A sob broke in her voice.

"How horrible!" Paige exclaimed, her scalp prickling. "And Rick survived without major injuries?"

"By the grace of God. We haven't got much from him, but according to the Highway Patrol, it appears he saw it coming and tried to avoid a crash by turning sharply into the median himself. The whole passenger side was wiped out. Rick blames himself."

"What can we do to help?" Tears had come to Paige's eyes and her throat was thick with emotion.

"We aren't church members anymore, you know. We used to go when Rick was young but we just fell away from it and now we need help and don't know where to turn. Could Ken come over and talk to Rick? I'm really afraid for his safety." She broke down then and sobbed. "Nothing we say seems to matter to Rick."

"I'm sure Ken will do what he can. We'll both be over in a minute." She put down the phone and stood alone in the kitchen for a moment. "Ken," she called weakly.

It must be, Paige thought the next morning, the working of some unseen plan that mere mortals without faith would call coincidence or luck, while the faithful would credit God, who brought ease to the devastated Rick and his hapless family in the person of her husband. Ken had spent most of the night with Rick, and just before dawn, had come home to assure Paige that Rick was finally asleep with the aid of only a couple of aspirins. The doctor had discharged him at the hospital the day before with a good prognosis as to his recovery from a severely broken shoulder and a concussion. But his emotional state was precarious, Ken said to Paige, who had gone to bed earlier but, sleeping lightly, had awaken at his return.

"The poor boy," Paige said. "But we'll talk about this later. Right now, you need to rest yourself. I'll stay in bed a little longer, too, but you can sleep as long as you need to."

"I'll want to talk again with Rick and his parents, so don't let me sleep past nine." He turned over, adjusted the sheet and fell asleep instantly.

Paige remained awake for another hour, thinking of the repercussions of the accident. She had thought many times since hearing the news from Martha of the poor Carpenters losing their only daughter. Martha's only concern seemed to be with Rick, which might be somewhat natural under the circumstances. After all, she'd not encouraged the relationship, and Rick's defying her wishes must have been galling. Yet, she couldn't credit Martha with being entirely cold hearted about the girl's death. Surely, she'd rally around the Carpenters once she came to her senses. They knew almost no one in the city, yet the two strange cars remained in the drive as late as midnight when Paige went from the Metcalfs' to her own house. Possibly relatives had arrived from out of town. She couldn't imagine how bereft they must be and how much they would need consoling.

Martha and Hank had a large coterie of friends who would rally around, and Rick had survived, so their needs wouldn't seem so urgent. Paige determined she would bring over to her other neighbors a tray of meat and cheese for sandwiches she would pick up from the grocery store this morning. Then she could find out about the funeral or memorial service. She dreaded the sad encounter with the grieving parents, but it was the right thing to do.

Chapter 32

Paige had asked about the funeral arrangements on Sunday when she and Ken had taken over the food offering to the Carpenters. Noreen answered the door and invited them inside to the entry hall, taking the tray from her. Paige could hear voices from the back of the house, probably the kitchen.

"I know there's nothing I can say that can help," Paige said softly, "but I wanted you to know how terribly sorry we are for your loss. She was such a sweet girl."

"Yes," Noreen said distractedly, "thank you for your kindness. It's been very hard." She motioned toward the back of the house. "Stewart's sister and her husband are here. My parents are coming sometime today, so that helps. Stewart would appreciate your coming over, I'm sure, but he can't see anyone right now except Father Cronyn. "

"I'm glad he's getting some spiritual help," Ken said. We would like to attend the funeral if it's not a private one."

"It's to be Wednesday at Annunciation. Eleven o'clock. The announcement will be in the paper tomorrow. There's been so much to attend to. Maybe that helps you get through something like this. I've heard it does." Then she said apologetically, "I should ask you to join us. Please come and meet the family."

Both of them demurred as gracefully as they could. "Thank you, but you've got so much on your mind now," Paige said. "We can see them later, if you have visitation." She gave the woman a brief hug of sympathy; then Ken shook Noreen's hand, and they left.

Tuesday evening at the funeral home, she and Ken were standing in a queue near Noreen and various members of her and Stewart's family. They introduced themselves to the relatives and expressed those conventional sentiments so meaningless to the grief stricken, yet so essential. Stewart was not with the tight little group.

Paige and Ken eventually joined a group of neighbors: the Metcalfs, the Wengers, and old Mrs. Hammond from next door. Paige asked Martha how Rick was bearing up.

"It's very sad, Paige. We thought it best he not come to the visitation, but he'll be at the funeral, of course."

"Has he spoken yet to the Carpenters?" She looked over at the family, and saw Stewart emerge from another room.

"Oh, yes. He went over to talk to them the minute he got home from the hospital on Saturday. There wasn't much to say."

It was such a tragic situation, Paige could hardly bring herself to make even casual conversation, but now she needed to speak to Stewart, who stood somewhat apart from the others. Surprisingly, he took that awkwardness away when he saw her looking at him, and walked toward her. Ken was still with the neighbors.

"Thanks for coming. It means a lot to us."

Paige spoke to him about Aurora–her beauty, her gentleness–everything she knew about the girl. When her own parents had died, she realized for the first time that it was important for those who were suffering a loss to hear about their loved ones. From that time on, she felt no awkwardness in referring to the deceased.

And with Stewart, her words seemed to help. He nodded and shook her hand. "I'm glad you'll remember her like that. It will be very hard to overcome this, but strangely enough, this really does help." Ken came over then, and Paige left him to console Stewart while she walked to the front of the room and stood alone, staring at the pure white, closed casket on a flower bedecked bier.

The funeral Wednesday morning was heralded, appropriately, Paige thought, by thunder and a downpour that ended in a gloomy drizzle one hour before the ceremony. In comparison to the visitation, the ceremony seemed almost routine, which wasn't a bad thing, Paige thought. The words, nearly the same in her own church that she now heard repeated by Father Cronyn, were impersonal yet universal and comforting, joining Aurora with the "saints" who had gone before.

Then it was over. Once back to their own house, Paige visibly wilted and turned to Ken, who held her close as she sobbed, "I can't get over this sad thing, when I should be happy for us. It's too much to bear, too confusing to understand."

"Don't try to understand yet," Ken said soothingly. "We have to go on with our lives as we're supposed to do. Time has a way of sorting out difficulties if we let God help us out and not trying to rely on just ourselves."

She sighed and wiped her eyes on a hanky he gave her. "You're right, of course. I'm afraid I lost it for a minute."

"It was a shock, of course, and coming on the heels of our marriage it seems a particularly hard fate for those two young people." He and Paige walked slowly to the kitchen, their favorite gathering spot. Ken started to get out sandwich fixings, for the service had taken them past the noon hour. The burial would take place later in Stewart's family plot in Memphis.

For the rest of the day, they studiously kept the conversation on other matters, for one thing trying to decide about the reception that was in the offing at church, proposed by one of the many "Marthas" that were eager to serve.

"It will be a pretty big deal for the church, I suppose," Ken admitted with a laugh. "It isn't every day their pastor gets married, and most of them were unaware I was even courting someone."

"Should it follow a service, or do you think a Saturday afternoon, maybe a fancy tea?"

"I don't know about the food, but yes, I think a Saturday would be best. I'll have to tell Linn Roberts our preference. She's always the one in charge of these things. She had a catering service for years, and is the acknowledged expert."

"I sort of dread a big affair, but everyone has been so nice to me, the wayward member, that I should only be grateful for further attention."

"Oh, you'll get plenty of attention," Ken said with a wry smile.

Chapter 33

"It's been two weeks," Noreen said, confronting Stewart, who sat in front of the TV in their little den. "Are you planning to get back to work next week? You haven't said anything. You've hardly spoken to me. You, know, Stewart, work is good. I've found it helps me to get into my pottery. I don't think about it so much."

"I'll never quit thinking about her," Stewart replied, not stirring.

"Of course, I didn't mean that, Stewart. I meant the accident, the blame. They were eloping after you had told her to quit seeing Rick." Her mouth tightened. "I have to wonder who's to blame."

"The truck is to blame," Stewart snapped. "Why don't you attend to your pottery and leave me to my own affairs. I plan to go to rehearsal on Monday."

"Good." Noreen walked from the room. She wished she felt more sympathy for Stewart, but he acted as if she didn't care as much as he did. It was true he looked haggard. He hadn't been eating much, but he had to get hold of himself. It was true, what she told him, that her work had helped her get through this. And getting back to her faith, once a part of her life, but over the years seeming to slip away from her. An irregular churchgoer for years, she attended Mass last week, while Stewart had hardly budged from the den since the trip to Memphis for the burial. The fact was, if he wouldn't help himself, no one else could help him either.

The Metcalfs were having a family conference around the kitchen table. Rick was drawing circles with his finger on the place mat while Hank was frowning at his son.

Martha was trying to control her anxiety and spoke as gently as she could manage. "But of course you're going back to school. It's been hard, we understand, to feel anything is important now, but you have to think of your future, dear."

"I can't imagine a future without her," Rick said in a lifeless tone that heightened Martha's anxiety.

"Look, son," Hank interjected, "we haven't wanted to say anything to push you, but you'll be late to classes if you don't go now. For Pete's sake, don't blow it. You're in your last year, and I'm sorry to have to say this, but life goes on. It's a sad business, but that's how you have to start thinking now. If you miss classes this fall, that will put you back another whole year for law school. Maybe that's all right but you need to think about it."

"I know, I know," Rick said dully. "I just dread the thought of being around happy people. I can go on living my life, of course. And Pastor Ken has given me some hope to overcome this sadness eventually, but right now, I feel I need time."

Martha and Hank looked at one another. She willed her husband to speak, for her own urging on other occasions when the subject of his schooling had come up had only served to annoy Rick. But Hank remained silent, and then abruptly rose from his chair and left the room. Rick also started to rise, when Martha said desperately, "Please tell me you'll consider going back to Duke this semester."

Rick gave his mother a long look. "I don't want to," he sighed, sitting back down, "but the thought of loafing around here doesn't sound too hot either."

"That's right. It might help, be less painful if you changed your environment, kept busy with your studies." She began to feed her hope that he was closer to being in his right mind after the last couple of weeks when she worried about his sanity.

He nodded, avoiding her eyes. "Okay, you're probably right. I'll start packing."

Martha knew enough to restrain her satisfaction and only said, "I've got everything clean and ready to go. Let me know if I can help in any way."

Rick nodded and left the room.

The reception arranged by Ken's parishioners had been set for Saturday afternoon. Paige had decided to wear a blue silk dress, with careful pearls at her neck and ears, and comfortable pumps with kitten heels. Checking herself in the mirror above her dressing table, she approved of the image, but at the same time felt a little depression creep over her.

"I hardly feel right having a celebration with such a tragedy for our neighbors. I guess it was right not to invite any of them to the reception, but I'm still uncomfortable."

"I know," Ken said, attaching the collar to his rabat, "but our wedding just happened to coincide with the sad event. Hardly anyone in the church even knows what happened. And" he continued, giving her a kiss on the back of her neck, "must I remind you that we have duties, one of which is to acknowledge the generosity of the good people of our parish, who want only to wish us well."

"I know that, darling. I'll be fine; it's just that I seem to be like a sensitive plant that you can't touch without it folding up. I wish I were more resilient. I hang in there, but it takes me longer to get over the buffeting that life brings."

"I know that you're like that, and I happen to find that trait endearing. You feel, and that's not bad. I hope I can help ward off upsets to your tender psyche in the future." He grinned at her when he said this, and she popped him a fake blow to his chin.

"Just get me through this reception, and I'll be eternally grateful. I'm counting on you to stick close by and ward off disappointed single women, who might resent my capturing the most eligible bachelor." She looked at him, half joking and half serious. People were people, and she knew she'd virtually come out of nowhere to marry their pastor. She had a remote history with this church, but had seemed to abandoned it when Terry died. How this new role of hers would go over, she couldn't imagine.

And as Paige walked into the parish hall on Ken's arm, she was astonished to see what looked like the entire congregation assembled. And interspersed were tables set in a striking combination of white tablecloths and baskets of purple pansies. A long serving table held sandwiches, slices of filet and ham, rolls, fruits, and desserts, with a tea urn at one end and wines at the other.

"Can't have a gathering," Ken murmured in her ear, " without everyone getting stuffed with food."

"How very nice of them," Paige said. "It looks so professionally done." She walked over to Linn Roberts, who stood beaming near the tea urn. "This is absolutely wonderful," she said to the woman.

"We're so thrilled for Pastor, that he's found a companion at last. And you have a wonderful husband." Linn shook both their hands, and as the crowd became aware of the arrival of the Geitners, they spontaneously applauded.

The afternoon went much as Paige had expected with mainly well-wishers, but hearing the occasional remark that might be considered a little snipe: "You used to go here years ago, as I recall," said Gail Grissom, a heavy-set woman in her forties, whom Paige had met on an earlier occasion. "You seem to have come back to the fold just at the right time." She held Paige's hand too long, making Paige uncomfortable since she couldn't withdraw it on her own.

"Yes, I did. It's good to be back, and particularly in my new role. I hope to get to know everyone in short order."

"Oh, you will," interrupted Rosalee Grigsby, who though admitting to be seventy, was a vibrant brunette with only a few threads of gray in her hair and a slim figure that any woman would envy. "It takes a little while, but being Mrs. Pastor Geitner will work well for you, I can tell. That's how the Germans would address you," Rosalee added jokingly behind her hand. She routinely came to church alone, but Paige knew she had been happily married to a non-churchman for years. Paige felt she could become friends with Rosalee.

And there were so many others–some whose faces she remembered but remained nameless in her memory after they returned home. Still, she knew she was on track to readily learn who was who, that she could do it.

"Did I tell you that you handled it all beautifully, darling?" Ken said as if reading her thoughts. He put an arm around her shoulders as they stepped into the bedroom to change clothes.

"As matter of fact, you did, a couple of times." Paige gave him a light kiss.

"You're good at this gracious hostess business."

"Don't act so surprised," Paige laughed. "I do have to meet the public in my job, of course, and for years Terry and I had an active social life. Since you've known me I've simply been coming out of my cocoon. Now you're seeing the butterfly in action, or maybe just a moth, but at least I'm flying."

Chapter 34

One Year Later

Paige and Tessa were walking through the neighborhood one evening as dusk approached. September was just around the corner.

"For a change, the air isn't muggy or the temperature stifling hot," Paige said.

"Yes, be grateful for small favors," Tessa replied. "We have a long way to go before it gets into cooler fall weather."

Because the sidewalks in this particular area were old brick, they didn't walk as quickly as they might have on a different surface; they kept glancing downward to avoid missteps.

"I don't call this very rigorous exercise," Paige said, "but after sitting all day at the office, it's better than nothing."

"Why don't you join our health club? I think Ken might like it too."

"We just might do that. Married life has added an inch or two around his waistline as it has mine." She took in her friend's slim figure and athletic stride in a sideways glimpse and commented without any envy in her voice, "You stay in great shape. I expect Jonathan keeps you pretty active, too, along with exercise."

Tessa chuckled, "Like any three-year-old boy, yes, he does. But I get a break on Tuesdays and Thursdays when I deposit Jonathan at the Parents Day Out program at the church. I can also do my shopping after exercising."

"Do you miss work?"

Tessa hesitated a moment before she answered. "Not yet, not really. Probably when Jonathan's in school all day I'd like to get back into the publishing world, and I must say, whenever I see Hal, he asks me if I'm ready to return to work."

"I just got the September issue of Cityscapes. I could hardly wait to read the article on Foxhill. Have you seen it yet?"

"Oh, yes, Hal always sends me an advance copy," Tessa said, "so I read it a couple of weeks ago. Nice, isn't it? I like the main caption he gave the article: "Foxhill Proper." Suggests a couple of things, doesn't it? It's so good that I'd want to move to the area if I didn't already live here."

They both laughed, and Paige agreed with Tessa's assessment. "I thought it was a wonderful article. I'm a little surprised it took so long for it to be published. Why wait a whole year from the time they took the pictures and interviewed the home owners?"

"It usually takes about three months for a picture layout and a story that extensive to go to press, but Hal said he wanted the flora to be seasonal, and it wouldn't look right for a November issue to have certain plants blooming. A year-long delay is done quite a bit in those house and garden magazines–for that very reason."

"Makes sense," Paige said. "I especially liked those close shots of historic architectural details on some of the houses along with the landscape shots of the houses themselves. And weren't the pictures of the Metcalfs' place great? Martha will be very pleased and proud."

"Won't she though! That exterior long view and then the interior with the authentic furniture made their place the most interesting of all the featured houses. To me, what gave it particular interest was its 'twin' or what had started out as a twin across the street. I didn't know he could do it so cleverly, but Hal managed to include a rather flattering shot of the Carpenters' house. Of course, it was before Mr. Carpenter moved out when it's gotten even more seedy-looking. I hear it finally has sold."

"Yes," Paige said, "I haven't a clue who bought it, but maybe I can see Noreen before she leaves. I hear she's going back to Georgia, where she has some family."

"Do you believe Aurora's death caused the divorce?"

"I suppose their daughter was the only thing holding them together, and when she died, so did their marriage. They simply couldn't deal with such a horrible blow together. So sad."

"Have you heard how Rick has managed this year? Is he going to law school after all? I've seen him at church, surprising to me, since the Metcalfs never went there. We just briefly greet each other before he's out the door, so I don't know much about how he's getting along."

They paused at a corner to let a car speed past, and then they resumed their walk. They were getting closer to the antebellum home that gave its name to the neighborhood where they would turn around to complete their walk of three miles.

"No, Rick's not going to law school, much to his parents' chagrin, I suppose. You remember, Ken suffered a similar trauma when he wasn't much older than Rick, and like him, Rick's thinking seriously about the ministry. I don't think I'm telling tales out of school since he's now broken the news to his folks and is looking into seminaries."

"Really! I am astonished, just because as far as I know, the family hasn't participated much in religious activities. You know what I mean; he really hasn't had a background for that."

"I guess some chaplain at Duke last year was helpful, and even Ken, so Martha claims, was influential as to the choice of a church since he's fairly new to the faith. He's not yet sure which seminary and has been checking them out this summer."

"You haven't mentioned this before so I suppose he just recently decided on this?"

"I haven't said anything," Paige said, "because I really didn't know for sure what he was going to do until a few weeks ago. His accepting the call is recent. He'll probably stay around here this fall and hope to get in at the seminary for Spring term. He shouldn't have a problem, though."

"I can understand that because he went through so much heartache life has taken on a different meaning for him," Tessa said thoughtfully. "When Ken had a similar experience, his call was absolutely providential, and I hope it will be the same for Rick."

"He's a great guy, and his sad loss hasn't made him bitter, I'm glad to say. He's very intelligent, too, and should do well with all that Greek and Latin, not to mention Hebrew," Paige said, with a smile. "In a way, he'll still be involved with the law, so to speak, though a different kind."

"But now he'll have the Good News, too, to go along with the law."

"Yes, indeed, and apparently, that's what he's been looking for this past year."

They walked on, chatting companionably of incidental matters until the gracious old home loomed before them, its rosy brick softly gleaming in the light of the setting sun. The two women turned and crossed to the other side of the street and headed home.

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