

Starlight's Hearts

by Dorothy P. Freda

writing as

Marianne Dora Rose

© August 24, 2017 by Dorothy P. Freda

(Pseudonyms - Paula Freda and

Marianne Dora Rose)

SMASHWORDS EDITION

Exterior and Interior Bookcover photos

Licensed by Dorothy P. Freda

from Dreamstime and iStockphoto

Blue Jay and Sparrow bookcover

© 2005 Thomas Mark Freda and Dorothy P. Freda

Roman Catholic Prayers as the Priest dons his sacramental vestments - Wikipedia

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof. This is a work of fiction; names, characters, places and incidents are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Starlight's Hearts

(Henry and Richard's Story)

by

Marianne Dora Rose

DEDICATION

With thanks to my Dear Lord Jesus and his Blessed Mother Mary whose strength, guidance, and her Holy Rosary, are my anchor in this troubled world, I dedicate this book to my husband, Domenick, whose love and loyalty over the past 48 years have kept my dreams and view of the romantic alive and vibrant.

I dedicate this book also to a very dear friend who passed away early September, 2017. Dorothy R. Brown, age 101, passed away of natural causes. She was a gentle and kind woman, a friend for many years, a fellow writer, and alert to the last day. Mid August, I received a brief letter from her. She wrote, "Here's my new story. Now it has to be made into a book. I love you, Dot." There was nothing attached to the letter, so I assumed she forgot to enclose it. But I suspect now that the blank spaces following her first name, and the absence of the nameless story she mentions, was her way of telling me that her life story in this time was soon to be over, and a new story to begin. I believe there is more to us than just this life. And I believe Jesus and Mary are with us always, guiding us and helping us to endure, no matter what life throws at us. Over the years, Dot and I had helped each other with our writing. She wrote many books, including a history of Hicksville, Long Island, New York, from World War II to the late 90s. Several of her books can be found in the Hicksville Library. I will treasure this last communication from her for the rest of my days. One day we will meet again, in God's good time.

Dorothy Paula Freda  
writing as Paula Freda and Marianne Dora Rose

For your ready reference Characters in the Driscoll's and Carlson's Series:

The Driscolls - Seth and Leatrice \- owners of the Bar LB and the Triple R (from my novella, Driscoll's Lady)

Tom Driscoll \- Driscoll's elder son, a History Teacher at Montana Tech (from my novella Love's Timeless Secret Revealed)

Lexie Driscoll - Seth and Leatrice's daughter (from my novella, Driscoll's Daughter)

_Calvin Driscoll_ _\- Seth and Leatrice's younger son and current supervisor of their two ranches (from my novella_ Wild Yellow Clover and Honey Wheat Sage)

Tanner and his wife Linda -Tanner - previous loyal, long-time foreman on the Driscolls' ranches in Montana (from my novella - Driscoll's Lady)

Walt \- the bigamist and a ranch hand on the Driscoll's ranches (from my novella Cinderella Ice)

The Carlsons - Cybelle and Mark (from my novella The Blue Jay and the Sparrow - Roses in the Dark)

Henry and Richard - Cybelle and Mark's sons (from my novella Starlight's Hearts)

Jessica (Jessie) Carlson \- younger daughter of Cybelle and Mark Carlson (from my novella Cinderella Ice)

Carol Carlson and Herbert DeLuca \- Carol is Cybelle and Mark Carlson's elder daughter, Jessie's elder sister (from my novella, Silvereye's Hummingbird)

Henry Carlson - Cybelle and Mark's elder son (from my novella Starlight's Hearts)

Richard Carlson - Cybelle and Mark's younger son (from my novella Starlight's Hearts)

Harriet and Val (from my novella Henderson Sands)

John Sands -younger son of Harriet and Val Sands) from my novella The Lark and Robin Red)

Michael Sands \- elder son of Harriet and Val Sands (from my novella Cinderella Ice)

Sharon Sands \- Val and Harriet's daughter (from my novella Sharon and the Beast)

Geraldine and Harry Henderson \- Harriet's parents, the Carlson's Housekeeper and Handyman/Gardener on the Carlsons' property overlooking the Hudson River Valley in upstate New York (from the Carlson's Series)
INTRODUCTION

Dear sweet Evie was like a breath of fresh air. Her eyes reminded him of his mother's eyes, dark and flashing, as when she'd greeted him at the door, excited, bouncing on the tips of her toes, in an attempt to welcome him with a hug. Spontaneous, that was the word that best described her. He was never sure how to respond to spontaneous. He was like his father, in that respect. Everything planned and organized.

Yes, he thought, Evie was perfect for Richard. Even her career choice would blend well with his brother's quiet, patient, see-the-goodness-in-all personality. And her spontaneity would shake his complacency and awaken his need for a keen enjoyment of life at its best. Joie_de_vivre, he thought with enthusiasm.

"Social Services is a good choice, Evie," he said. Turning to his brother, "Don't you think, bro?" he asked.

"Yes, a very good choice. Especially for Evie. I remember her in high school. Always into charitable activities — collecting clothes for storm victims, or helping out with charity benefits anyway she could."

"Yes, I recall," Henry said. "In fact, you both were on the team that decorated the school hall for my senior prom. You guys did a fabulous job!" Memories were flooding back. "And didn't you take her to your senior prom, a couple of years later?" he asked Richard.

His brother shook his head. "No. Not that I didn't ask her, but she had someone else in mind."

"Oh, well it's been a while. So who did you go with?"

"Karen, one of the basketball cheer leaders."

"I don't remember her," Henry said, honestly.

He asked Evie, "How about your senior prom? Richard and I were both gone by then."

"I never went to my senior prom, or your brother's," Evie replied.

"Why the heck not?" Henry asked.

Evie said, "In both cases, the one I wanted to ask was unavailable."

"Foolish man," he quipped. "Didn't know what he was missing."

A heavy silence followed his remark.

Somehow, the conversation had taken a somber turn. And worse, Henry thought, pausing a moment, and realizing too late, that unavailable fool was himself. Had he forgotten her crush on him? You idiot, he scolded himself. He'd hurt her feelings. He could tell by her wistful expression, her eyes glancing down at her plate, not seeing the half-eaten pie, but some unhappy memory.

So much so for his ingenious plan. Or for thinking so highly of himself. He could be dense, sometimes. He glanced at Richard. Something in the way his brother gave him a nod and a quick conciliatory smile, said without words, what he, Henry, had totally glossed over. Had all at the table realized his blunder? Evie's crush on him had never faded. Oh, this did not bode well, for him or his plan. Still, there might be a way to salvage his original intention...

CHAPTER ONE

The interior of the Carlson Mansion, Cybelle's cherished haven for the past forty years, today felt constraining. Even the large elegant living room. One untoward word said to her, no matter how well-meaning, made her dark eyes flash and her petite figure vibrate with annoyance.

Everyone at the Mansion knew Cybelle well enough to keep their distance from her today. The housekeeper Geraldine and her husband Harry, the gardener, both semi-retired, and functioning more as supervisors of the cook, maid, and landscaping help, were cloistered in their living quarters. Even Mark, beloved husband and father of Cybelle's children, now grown to adulthood, had withdrawn to his office in the Mansion, with the excuse that he had some business calls to make.

Mark had worked for years for a government plant that researched worthy patented inventions. A few years ago, he had semi-retired and opened his own consulting firm that utilized the services of patent lawyers, including his elder daughter's husband, Herb. Both Carol and Herb were presently abroad managing Mark's new branch recently opened in Switzerland.

Cybelle recognized the reason for the unrest she felt this morning — her excitement and anticipation as she awaited the arrival of her two sons, Henry and Richard. Henry had graduated with a Master's Degree in Business Management. He had great respect for his father and hoped to join him in the management of the firm.

Cybelle worried about Richard. Richard had opted for a Bachelor in Humanities and graduated with excellent grades, but he had never clearly expressed his goal in life. He was the gentlest of her children, calm, kind, understanding, close to his siblings, especially Henry. As children, she had never needed to seat the two brothers apart at the table because of average sibling rivalry. No, not Henry and Richard. Richard was always giving, to the point where she worried that his self-esteem suffered. Luckily, that had not been the case, because his older brother Henry was an exemplary child, and never bullied his younger siblings. His role model was his father. And Cybelle could find no fault with that.

The calming scenery visible through the glass-paned sashes of the double-window draped in pale beige damask beckoned to her. The Hudson River Valley was especially lovely today, conforming to what was expected of the late Spring season. Cybelle headed into the wide foyer and out the door, past the front columns and around to the rear, to the garden. She kicked off her low-heeled shoes. In her present state, they, too, felt constraining. At a brisk pace, she crossed the grassy expanse that led to the four-foot high stone wall bordering the rear of the estate and overlooking the verdant hill that sloped down to the river. She relished the feel of the cool breezes carrying up to her the musty smell of the waters undulating below.

Her children growing up, had played and rough-housed here, though strictly forbidden to climb over the wall, slide and tumble down to the river's edge. As far as she knew, they had obeyed her, except for Carol and her constant companion and protector, tubby Herbert. As Carol and Herb matured to adulthood, transforming them into beautiful and handsome, so did their relationship transform, bumpy at first. They were married now, adoptive parents, and seven months pregnant. Silvereye and Hummingbird, that's how she thought of them. Moonlight gave Herb's grey eyes a silver glint. And he often joked lovingly that Carol was his hummingbird.

Jessie was another matter altogether, Cybelle sighed, impatiently. Too much like herself, during her younger years, she was the rebel in the family, from the moment she said her first word, "No!" She was not mean, not selfish in the true sense of the word, just stubborn and self-willed. In school and at home with her sister and brothers, she refused to bend, no matter the reason. Nearing her nineteenth birthday, she had pleaded, and finally insisted, to spend the summer with Leatrice, the family's best friend, who lived in Montana. Leatrice and her husband Seth owned a horse ranch and a cattle ranch. They had three children, slightly older than Jessie. Though not related to her biologically, Jessie considered the couple, her aunt and uncle, and their children her cousins, because of the long, close friendship her parents shared with them.

Jessie had recently graduated high school. "She was through with school," she insisted. No amount of Cybelle and Mark's attempts, or her siblings' efforts, to reason with her, exhorting the benefits of a full college education, had any effect. "At least attend college for a year," they entreated, hoping that she might mature in the interim, contemplate her future, set a goal for a career, or simply develop a liking for improving her mind. There was no convincing her. Finally, at wit's end, Cybelle and Mark called Leatrice and asked if Jessie could stay with them for a while, as she wanted. It might, after all, be good for her to view life from a different perspective. Ranch life at the Bar LB was more physically demanding than the pampered living Jessie was used to at her parent's mansion.

With her grown children each off on their own course, Cybelle missed the normal hustle and bustle of a home filled with four rambunctious nestlings. Thoughts of Henry and Richard returning today, planning to at least stay until each decided to live elsewhere on their own, heightened her excitement at having them home again. She checked her watch. They should be arriving any moment. They were bound to be hungry after the long drive. They'd always had good appetites. She headed back home, entering from the rear garden.

Geraldine and her helpmate, Evelyn, Evie for short, were already in the kitchen, a huge, brick floored room, with an authentic colonial hearth, and furnished with a long dark wood table and high-backed chairs with rush seats. The modern utilities were in an adjoining alcove. Evie was in the midst of setting the table.

Cybelle asked Evie, "Are we using our best china?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Only the best for the returnees," Evie quipped.

"Good girl," Cybelle praised. Evie was not actually a servant. She was a helper for Geraldine, who was getting on in years. Geraldine, or Ger, as Mark during his childhood had nicknamed her — housekeeper, cook and nanny — and her husband, Harry, the gardener, had worked for the Carlsons for many years. The old couple was more like family. Mark's parents had employed the couple and built for them their own living quarters connecting to the large colonial kitchen.

Evie was a foundling who was raised at a local orphanage nearby run by the Sisters of Our Lady of Mercy. When the time had come for her to leave the residence and forge her own future, the Mother Superior and Evie's close friend and counselor, Sister Maria Bernadette, both with whom the Carlsons were acquainted, had suggested they hire Evie. The girl had attained her high school diploma, was respectful of her elders, and good-natured. Except for a bit of a loner, she'd gotten along fairly well with the other orphans and her classmates. Unfortunately, the orphanage did not have the funds to pay for their charge's additional education. It was up to each young man and woman to work their way through college or trade school.

The Mother Superior did not have to ask twice. The Carlsons hired Evie immediately as a live-in help. The elderly Geraldine was overjoyed. Evie would occupy the room that once belonged to her daughter Harriet, who was married, with grown children of her own, and lived with her husband in a lovely home in a nearby town.

The doorbell rang. "They're here," Evie exclaimed, running into the large foyer to open the door. She peered through the narrow floor-length windows that flanked the door. "Yes, it's them," she called back to Cybelle and Geraldine, coming up behind her.

She opened the door. Henry and Richard greeted her warmly, hugging her and then Cybelle and Geraldine, in turn. Evie's gaze was fixed on Henry. Cybelle could not help noting her enraptured gaze. A touch shocked, she thought, how strange she had never noticed before. Evie was in love with Henry. But he wasn't in love with her. She was just a childhood friend. A very dear childhood friend.

Ah, that enraptured gaze, she thought, with nostalgia. She could well identify with that look. So similar to her own those first years she had spent in the mansion as Mark's ward. And more years until he permitted himself to admit his love for her. Not until she reached her mid-twenties. Not until he gave her every chance to meet and fall in love with a younger man more her age. In the end, his defenses in shreds, he'd surrendered his heart and his loyalty to her. All these years later and four grown children, their love endured.

Evie was lovely both on the outside and within, Cybelle thought. She'd make her son a good wife, and her and Mark, a fine daughter-in-law, that is, if Henry was not in love with someone else. He never talked much about the girls he'd dated. An occasional comment about a concert he'd attended with so-and-so, or reservations he planned to make for two at some exclusive restaurant. He had never mentioned anyone special. Dark eyes narrowing, Cybelle speculated, perhaps Evie stood a chance.

Mark's footsteps hurrying into the lobby to meet his sons, had everyone turning and joining in fatherly handshakes and bear hugs.

CHAPTER TWO

Geraldine and Evie served freshly baked sliced roast beef, arugula and baby spinach salad surrounded with sautéed button mushrooms and wedges of hard-boiled eggs. A centerpiece of fresh picked carnations and rosebuds from the garden at the rear of the mansion, baskets of Italian and Rye Bread, decanters of apple and peach nectar completed the luncheon.

Cybelle breathed a sigh of contentment. This was among the settings she loved the most, her family seated around the table, Mark at the head, to her still as handsome and debonair as the day he had come into her life. The years had increased the white strands that once dabbed his brown hair only at the temples, but his love and guidance remained as intense, and had never wavered. His fear that the age difference between them might one day become that visibly apparent as to dampen her feelings for him, and tempt her to desire a younger man, had never come to fruition. She loved and admired him even more now that silver strands wove through her cocoa-brown hair. She recalled her words to him just before he'd finally allowed himself to admit his love for her and surrendered his heart to her, Mark, give in. Marry me. Give me a few years and three or four kids. I won't look so young to you.

"Mom, you're staring. Are we eating too fast?" Henry broke into her reverie.

"Oh, dear, I'm sorry. I was just basking in the moment. Having you both home with us, sitting with us at the table."

"We've come back often during holidays and vacations," Henry consoled.

"Yes, of course, but it's never the same as it was before you left for college, when you were both still part of our daily lives. It will never be like that again. And I don't really want it to be like that again. What's natural and should be, is to see you happy in your own independent lives."

Her younger son sat nearest to her. He covered her hand with his. "We understand, mom. Henry and I are adults, ready to set out and try our wings, to start our lives. But you, mother, you started on your path years ago, and we are your life."

Cybelle glanced at Mark. He smiled at her, not commenting or remarking, as he sometimes did, on her straight-from-the-shoulder frankness. He understood her feelings. He knew well how much she loved him and her children.

"I'm being maudlin." Cybelle said. "I apologize." She addressed both sons. "Tell us about yourselves. What now?"

"Well, Mom," Henry said, "I'll let Dad make the announcement that we've discussed on the phone these past few months, that is, if he hasn't changed his mind. Dad?"

All eyes turned to Mark. He chuckled. "Why would I change my mind? My eldest son making me proud to accept a full partnership in the firm."

The excited gasp came from the girl standing by the buffet and hutch, cutting pieces of apple pie and placing them on dessert dishes. "It's agreed, it's final?" Evie asked excitedly.

The foursome turned to gaze at her. Geraldine, in the process of choosing cups and saucers from the hutch, ladled Evie a shocked glance. Considered a family friend or not, Geraldine was a stickler for propriety.

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry," Evie yelped. "Please, please go on with your meal." Red-faced, she turned quickly back to her chore.

"Evie, dear, you're more family than mere paid help. In fact," Cybelle glanced at Mark for reassurance, "we intended asking you, and Geraldine and Harry to join us at the table for coffee and dessert."

Mark nodded, adding, "We've never stood on total formality with the Hendersons, and neither with you."

"Thank you," Evie acknowledged, a timid smile.

"Yes," Henry seconded. He sent her a wide grin.

Cybelle studied his expression. She gazed back at Evie, an impish gleam in her dark eyes.

"Young lady," Mark whispered to Cybelle for her ears only, "what have you got up your sleeve?"

Cybelle glanced at her plate. "Wh-what are you talking about?"

One disadvantage, among many advantages, of marrying Mark, was that he'd suffered with her through most of the ups and downs of her mid-teens, beginning with her depression and rebellion stemming from the loss of both her parents, and separation from her home and friends, not to mention her popcorn character in opposition to his reserved, disciplined, confirmed bachelor existence. Then, to top it all off, she'd gone and fallen in love with him. And for years, until she reached her mid-twenties, he'd had to fight his own feelings, and do all morally and decently possible, to disillusion her. In her case, her feelings for him proved real and unchanging, not a crush or based on a spur of the moment.

"Why would I have something up my sleeve," she whispered to her husband innocently.

"I know that look in your eyes, and that firm set to your mouth," he admonished in a soft whisper. "What are you planning?"

No use, bluffing. He'd always seen through her excuses. "All right, Mark. But don't you see it."

"See what?"

"The way they're looking at each other."

"What way are they looking at each other?"

"Oh, honestly, Mark, sometimes you can't see the fire, for the smoke."

He would have pursued the matter further, but his younger son, drew everyone's attention with his own announcement.

CHAPTER THREE

"Dad, Mom, I don't quite know how you'll take this, but it must be said, although it may not be a complete surprise, especially to Mom," Richard announced. He glanced at Cybelle. Her expression had grown serious. Yes, his mother already had an inkling of what he was about to tell them. His father was the one he'd surprise. And Geraldine and Evie. He directed his voice toward Mark. "Dad," come December I'll be entering the Seminary."

No one spoke for a moment. Mark cleared his throat to mask the sudden tightening of his vocal chords. Finally he asked, measuring his words, "Have you thought about this ... life choice for a while, or was it a spur of the moment decision?"

"For a long time, Dad," Richard answered. "And I'm not proud to say, I've fought the calling. I wasn't sure it was genuine. I dated. Tried to fall in love. I broke a couple of hearts along the way. You and Mom raised us as practicing Catholics, and noticed from early on, that of your four children, I was the one who best enjoyed participating in Church activities. I remember Mom saying on the morning I first received Holy Communion that I practically glowed with joy. The other children showed respect and knowledge that they were receiving the Lord for the first time, but compared to me they were acting more from catechism instructions. I think I knew even then, although I was a mere child, that I had a vocation to the priesthood, the closest I can be to Christ in this life. I remember thinking, how wondrous to be granted by Christ the gift of turning a simple wafer and wine into His Body and Blood, invisible to the eye, and yet fully and truly, His body and blood. And with that done, to feed his people, and save as many souls as I was capable of. A deep thought for a child of eight, but it was there. Perhaps not as clear as it would become through the passing years. But there all the same."

He tried to read the expression on his father's face. "Dad, are you shocked? Are you upset? No doubt you contemplated my joining, if not your firm, some other business. I always excelled at Math, and for a while, I seemed headed for an engineering career. But that was only me, staving off my true vocation." He waited for his father to reply. "Dad?"

Mark hid the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. This was his son being upfront and honest, and asking his blessing on his life choice, a life choice that would demand a vow of celibacy and chastity, of poverty, and life service to the Good Lord and His people, along with loyal obedience to Christ's Church and His faith. He swallowed, clearing the knot in his throat, He felt Cybelle's gentle, encouraging hand on his arm, helping him to keep his emotions in check and form a reply.

"Richard, you are your mother's son, in kindness and in your determination. I should know," he glanced at Cybelle with affection. "Loving her and our children, I want only the best for my family. With that in mind, whatever life choice you make, I — and I know I speak for your mother as well," he said, turning to Cybelle, who nodded, dark eyes agleam with tenderness and understanding. "Yes, son, whatever life choice you make, we stand solidly behind you," Mark ended.

Richard stood up, went to his father, and threw his arms about him in gratitude.

Along with the others, Henry congratulated his younger brother. He should have guessed, he thought, warm affection flooding him. All the same, he had hoped for more for Richard. Marriage to a good woman, children. Nieces and nephews — cousins to the children he, himself, hoped to father someday together with the woman he chose to love and be loved in return, and marry. There was, he reasoned hopefully, the chance that once at the seminary, Richard might change his mind. Find the rules and regulations too stringent for a young man raised in a well-to-do family, who had never lacked for affection or material goods.

Honestly, Henry thought, a vocation to the priesthood held no appeal for him. He loved life's attractions too much. Knowledge, good clothes, good food, dating beautiful, intelligent women, as he searched for that special one for whom he'd forsake all other women. The one he'd be loyal to for the rest of his life. I'm a bit of dreamer, he thought, chuckling to himself. An idealist, I suppose. Still, life can throw a wrench into my neatly planned future, as it did to my mother when she was only sixteen. The accidental house fire that killed both her parents and removed her from everything safe and familiar to her. Like Evie, her parents had been orphans with no living relatives. On the strength of an odd premonition, Cybelle's father, in his will, had named Mark, his best friend, as her legal guardian. I'm glad, Henry thought, that as the years passed, love blossomed between the two.

Evie placed a crystal bowl of peaches and apples on the table. She's a good kid, he thought, recalling how they played together as children. She had reached her eighteenth birthday and per the orphanage's rules, was required to set out on her own. Mark, this time with Cybelle at his side, had offered Evie employment. She always rooted for me at my high school basketball games, he thought, automatically returning her warm smile.

Henry took a ripe peach and sliced it into eights, reiterating to himself, his resolve to excel in his father's firm, earn his father's respect and a partnership. And one day ... far into the future, he hoped ... carry on for him upon his full retirement.

CHAPTER FOUR

As promised, Mark and Cybelle insisted on Geraldine and Evie joining them for dessert, and coffee or tea, whichever they preferred. Henry saw this as the perfect opportunity to begin implementing his plan of bringing Richard to his senses regarding his life choice.

"Evie, how are your studies coming along?" Henry asked, as Evie served herself a slice of peach pie.

"I'm not quite decided yet," Evie replied. "But I am saving every cent possible to register at a community college. I believe I'm best suited for a social services career."

"Yes, sounds promising," Henry said.

During his college years, he hadn't thought much about Evie. When she greeted him at the door, it was no surprise to him that she had filled out and grown into a lovely young woman. That was to be expected. The last time he'd seen her was during his senior year at high school. She was average weight for her fourteen years, on the short side, somewhere around five feet, shoulder length hair a darker shade of chestnut brown pulled back into a ponytail. Three years younger than him, that made her presently about nineteen years old.

He had a clear memory of her. A freshman in his senior year in high school, and a regular attendee at his basketball games. Of all the girls interested in him, she cheered the loudest. Of course, she had a crush on him, like several of the girls in his school. He was, after all, one of the school's lead basketball players, tall and sinewy for his age. But she ought to be well over her crush for him by now.

Evie was perfect for Richard. Brought up in an orphanage run by nuns. Held in high esteem by his parents. Just starting out on her own. There was something fresh and vibrant about her, that even he found appealing, although she was definitely not his type. No, he preferred attractive girls, on the sophisticated side, college-educated, with that certain aura of savoir-faire, a polished personality.

Dear sweet Evie was like a breath of fresh air. Her eyes reminded him of his mother's eyes, dark and flashing, as when she'd greeted him at the door, excited, bouncing on the tips of her toes, in an attempt to welcome him with a hug. Spontaneous, that was the word that best described her. He was never sure how to respond to spontaneous. He was like his father, in that respect. Everything planned and organized.

Yes, he thought, Evie was perfect for Richard. Even her career choice would blend well with his brother's quiet, patient, see-the-goodness-in-all personality. And her spontaneity would shake his complacency and awaken his need for a keen enjoyment of life at its best. Joie_de_vivre, he thought with enthusiasm.

"Social Services is a good choice, Evie," he said. Turning to his brother, "Don't you think, bro?" he asked.

"Yes, a very good choice. Especially for Evie. I remember her in high school. Always into charitable activities — collecting clothes for storm victims, or helping out with charity benefits anyway she could."

"Yes, I recall," Henry said. "In fact, you both were on the team that decorated the school hall for my senior prom. You guys did a fabulous job!" Memories were flooding back. "And didn't you take her to your senior prom, a couple of years later?" he asked Richard.

His brother shook his head. "No. Not that I didn't ask her, but she had someone else in mind."

"Oh, well it's been a while. So who did you go with?"

"Karen, one of the basketball cheer leaders."

"I don't remember her," Henry said, honestly.

He asked Evie, "How about your senior prom? Richard and I were both gone by then."

"I never went to my senior prom, or your brother's, two years earlier," Evie replied.

"Why the heck not?" Henry asked.

Evie said, "In both cases, the one I wanted to ask was unavailable."

"Foolish man," he quipped. "Didn't know what he was missing."

A heavy silence followed his remark.

Somehow, the conversation had taken a somber turn. And worse, Henry thought, pausing a moment, and realizing too late, that unavailable fool was himself. Had he forgotten her crush on him? You idiot, he scolded himself. He'd hurt her feelings. He could tell by her wistful expression, her eyes glancing down at her plate, not seeing the half-eaten pie, but some unhappy memory.

So much so for his ingenious plan. Or for thinking so highly of himself. He could be dense, sometimes. He glanced at Richard. Something in the way his brother gave him a nod and a quick conciliatory smile, said without words, what he, Henry, had totally glossed over. Had all at the table realized his blunder? Evie's crush on him had never faded. Oh, this did not bode well, for him or his plan. Still, there might be a way to salvage his original intention.

"I wonder, bro," he said, "would you mind double-dating with me this weekend. Anne, that's my date, we were in the same graduating class, planned a homecoming get together tomorrow."

"Sure," Richard nodded.

"How about you, Evie?" Henry asked.

Evie glanced up. "Me?" she asked.

"Yes, why not? If we're double-dating, Richard will need a date.

She gazed at Richard, hesitating, eyes questioning.

Richard said, "Yes, why not? Might be fun?"

Evie looked at Cybelle and Mark. Even though they treated her as more family than help, she wondered if she were overstepping her place.

Cybelle read her expression correctly. "I think it's a wonderful idea. Definitely, yes."

Mark didn't comment. He watched Cybelle curiously. And she knew what he was thinking. But he added nothing contrary.

Geraldine hadn't said a word. She was old school. She just listened and watched.

"So it's agreed," Henry said. "Tomorrow we're off. The beach, lunch and dinner, a movie, a walk along the riverside. Mom, Dad, you won't see us until the wee hours of the morning," he laughed.

Cybelle nodded, with a wide smile. "Perfect," she said, glancing sideways at Mark.

"Perfect," Mark repeated, minus the smile.

CHAPTER FIVE

Henry's date drove up from her parents' home near Bear Mountain. Cybelle noted the moment Henry welcomed her into their home that in appearance she was definitely his type. Tall, burnished blonde, hazel-eyed, svelte, sophisticated, all twenty-four years of her, voice melodious and grammatically accurate, his peer, with a Bachelor in Business Management equivalent to his. Poor Evie, Cybelle thought, a small crocus in competition with a full-blown hydrangea. Well, hadn't she herself once been a crocus competing for Mark, older, reserved, debonair.

Of course, if her elder son really cared for this woman, she would never interfere, as long as Anne really cared for him in return. She'd have to wait and see.

Introductions made, Cybelle returned to the kitchen to help Evie and Geraldine with picnic baskets for the young group's trip to the beach.

Evie, are you all ready to leave with Henry and the others?" she asked.

"Pretty much," Evie answered. "I had to dig out my old bathing suit I used during my last year at the home."

Cybelle grimaced. "I gather it's conservative compared to today's beachwear."

"It's not a bikini, but not old-fashioned. It's a one-piece, black, with a short pleated skirt around the upper thighs. I haven't grown that much in the past year. I did try it on last night. Still fits."

"You might want to lose the pleated skirt," Cybelle advised her.

"I could do that. The suit's bottom is boxer styled."

Cybelle sighed. "Or maybe, best to leave the skirt piece on. Your beauty shines from within. If he can't see that, then he's blind as a bat."

"Who, ma'am?" Evie asked, frowning.

"Henry, of course." Cybelle answered. "Hey, I'm older, but not stupid. And, you're so much like I was at your age. I'm rooting for you."

"It's that obvious?" Evie asked, face reddening.

"Oh, I've suspected for a long time. Ever since that night at the basketball game, when Henry scored his eighth basket and you screamed and jumped up so high, that you nearly fell off the bleacher. Luckily. Richard was there to catch you. Mark and I were attending the game as well that night."

In a motherly tone, Cybelle added, "Keep being yourself. Spontaneous, sweet natured, kind-hearted, whether it's Henry or some other young man whose heart you capture when he recognizes how special you are. Now, let's get you ready to leave with the others. It's a beautiful day. Go join the others for a quick breakfast in the garden. And have fun!"

Evie nodded. "Thank you, ma'am," she said, wishing she had the right to hug Cybelle.

"Don't call me ma'am. Call me Cybelle or Cy."

Evie shifted uncomfortably.

"Okay," Cybelle added. "If you're uncomfortable with the familiarity, Mrs. Carlson will do. All right?"

Evie nodded, a quick smile teasing her lips.

Unexpectedly, Cybelle hugged her affectionately. "Go have fun!" she advised.

After a breakfast of sconces, buttered scrambled eggs with cheese and parsley, and fruit juices, in the garden, the young group piled into Henry's Ford Sedan and headed for the countryside. Anne chatted away about her homecoming and the surprise that awaited her when the butler opened the door to the foyer. "He showed me inside with a Welcome Home, Miss Anne. Mr. and Mrs. Hastings each called ahead to tell us you were arriving. They will be working late, but look forward to having breakfast with you in the morning.

How are they? I asked. They are fine, miss, he replied, his tone stiff and noncommittal.

Elton has been with the household for as long as I can remember, and for as long, he has never shown emotion. Stiff, efficient, non-intrusive. A human version of a computerized robot, programmed to be stiff, efficient and non-intrusive," she repeated with emphasis in a well-modulated, clear, crisp voice audible enough for Richard and Evie seated behind them to hear,

"What I really wanted to know," Anne explained, "was whether my parents had reconciled, or gone ahead with the divorce." She shrugged, annoyed. "I need not have waited until morning. I should have guessed when Elton mentioned that they had each called to inform the staff of my arrival. Their divorce was declared final a month ago. Neither of them had called to inform me at school. But I suppose they didn't wish to upset me so close to my Finals."

"I'm sorry to hear their divorce is final," Henry said. "I know how much you were looking forward to their reconciling." He felt truly sorry for Anne. He knew how he'd feel if Mark and Cybelle ever separated. But they were old school, not only in love with each other, but committed to one another's happiness. Uncommon nowadays. One of the reasons he'd held off proposing to any woman. He hadn't found her yet, the one whose feelings toward him promised commitment in good times and harsh. Not even Anne, whose friendship he valued most among his peers. Case in point, her reaction to her parents' divorce ... annoyance ... not heartbroken. Something not right there, he thought, turning into a narrow, less used road."

"Where are you going?" Anne asked.

"Somewhere, you and Evie have never been."

"Richard, what's your brother up to?" Anne asked.

"It's okay. I know where he's headed. I think you'll like it."

Henry drove for about a mile. Along the way they passed a weathered signpost that read Unnamed Waterfall. The paint filling the letters carved into the wood that once had been a bright yellow, was now faded and chipped.

"I may know where he's headed," Evie said, unexpectedly. "If it's where I think, it's a beautiful spot. It's the waterfall by the fallen oak log, hidden in a vale among the trees. Am I right?" she asked, her voice eager.

"Yes, that's it," Henry replied. "I'm surprised you've been there."

"The nuns took us there on a hiking trip, a few years ago. I never forgot it. The streams of water are crystal blue and emerald green. They cascade down a long stretch of rocks and boulders and form a pool at the bottom, clean and cold, a good eight feet in width and five or six at its deepest point, and you can see clear to the pebbles under your toes."

"Yes, that's it," he repeated. She had described it exactly as he remembered it, those times he and his brother, just entering their teens, had explored the surrounding countryside; times they'd been late for dinner and worried their poor mother sick, not to mention earning their father's dreaded displeasure. He was never abusive; they hardly remembered a whack across their backsides, but the memory of being grounded for a month with no television, no games, no telephone, only books to read and homework assignments to complete, was enough deterrent to keep their escapades at a minimum.

"Sounds quaint," Anne said. "Is it far yet?"

Henry gazed at her. She smiled at him, superbly attractive in her chartreuse designer tank top and shorts, her composure calm, unflappable, open to new ventures. He glanced behind him at Evie. Her smile was wide, enthusiastic. Her body, simply dressed in a short-sleeve blouse, a light shade of blue, and brown pedal pushers, thrilled with anticipation, dark eyes flashing. Her anticipation was contagious. He felt his own increase. He hardly noticed Richard watching him, a curious expression on his face.

"It's just around the bend," he said, slowing, reaching the bend as he spoke. The paved road gave way to a footpath overgrown with blotches of grass and weeds. He inched the car into the narrow opening, crushing the wild growth under the wheels. When he was well off the road, he stopped, placed the car into park, pressed the doors unlock button, and turned off the ignition. The sound of crisp, clean spring water cascading and its misty aroma wafted through the open windows.

"Everyone out," he said, opening his door and climbing out.

Evie, closest to the passenger door, scooted out, with Richard following her. Henry hurried after the two, forgetting in his excitement to go around to the passenger's side at the front, where Anne sat, and open her door. Anne watched him run after the others, as excited as a child. She was still there waiting a few minutes later as he sauntered back, shamefaced. "Oh, sorry, Anne. I got caught up in the moment."

She gave him a quick nod. "It's okay, Henry. It's understandable."

The footpath ended by the bank of a stream that flowed around and over boulders of various sizes wide enough to walk or skip over to the other side. Evie and Richard had already crossed over. Henry offered his hand to help Anne.

She waived his hand away. "It's okay. I've crossed streams like this one before, albeit it's been a while."

"Okay, but if you need to grab on, I'll go slow."

She didn't argue, but followed him across. They walked alongside the stream for a few yards, and came to the place where the earth and the boulders sloped and dipped into a small vale. The stream flowed downward, over a rocky edge and spread into a billowing cascade emptying into a pool the size of a small den.

Evie and Richard were halfway down the boulders. Richard hollered up to Anne and Henry over the water hurling down. "Be careful, the rocks are slippery."

"Yes, I remember," Henry hollered back. He turned to Anne. "Stay close to the bank's ridge. The rocks are drier there. I'll go first, test them out for you."

"Maybe not," Anne said.

"If you feel afraid, it's okay. I only planned to stay a few minutes," he offered.

"No, this is a great place. Beats a crowded beach. Go on down, I'll be along."

"Anne, I won't leave you up here alone. This is a group outing and —" He was about to say that it would be the height of impoliteness to leave her standing there, but her suddenly pulling the tank top over her head, gave him a start and a jolt. He hadn't mentioned anything about skinny-dipping. "Anne, No—" The skimpy bikini top with swirls of color silenced him. He made himself look away as she removed her shorts, despite he reasoned there'd be a bikini bottom, no less skimpy, he thought, swallowing. She had a beautiful body, difficult to ignore. Not that he hadn't seen her in a bikini before. As classmates, they had dated for the past couple of years. But by mutual agreement, they had decided to keep their relationship light and temporary. They were at school to learn and prepare for their chosen careers, not a love affair.

"Where's the deepest part?" she asked, walking a few steps further along the ground past the waterfall.

It struck him what she intended. "Anne, maybe you ought to reconsider," he began.

"Where's the deepest part?" she repeated.

She was a good swimmer, he recalled. Done a few stints as a life guard on one of the beaches near her home. Not that she needed the money. Her parents were wealthy and generous. More of a whim, doing something she enjoyed that involved swimming.

Henry pointed to the center of the pool.

Before he could advise her further, she stretched her arms above her head, fingertips touching and dove into the water.

Henry prayed. His prayers were answered. A few seconds later, Anne's head and shoulders popped through the surface.

"Hey, join me," Anne shouted up to him.

His pride reacted to her challenge. He glanced at Richard and Evie. Their faces mirrored his thoughts. Inadvisable. He was a good swimmer, had jumped high boards, but those jumps involved deep pools supervised by lifeguards. Anne's jump had gone smoothly. But she was shorter than him and weighed less. One hundred twenty-five pounds to his 195. She required a lot less water depth than he did to make a safe jump from where he stood.

Inadvisable or not, Anne's challenge baited his pride. Maybe he ought to—

"Henry, please don't." A gentle voice filled with concern made him turn. Evie had climbed halfway back to the top of the waterfall with Richie following behind her. "We all know you're a good swimmer. No need to prove it. And you promised us a visit to the beach, a picnic, and dinner and a movie."

Evie had such expressive eyes. They were lovely, Henry thought. She was lovely, her concern intense and earnest. He hoped Richard saw how special she was, and what a wonderful wife she would make him, if he reconsidered his life choice and asked her to marry him. Nothing at all like Anne. He looked down at her. She had moved to the side of the pool to give him room to dive, her challenge still apparent, not in the least aware of, or worried, that he might break his neck to appease his pride.

"Anne, time's wasting. I have a lot planned for today. Come back up. Richard will help you if you need." He motioned to his brother, with a whispered, "Please." He didn't trust himself to go down to the pool and be subject to her persuasion.

"Come on, Evie," he said, as Richard headed down the boulders to the pool where Anne waited. "Let's go back to the car. There's a fine beach nearby. We can have a swim there, and have those sandwiches you made and packed in the picnic basket."

Evie nodded, smiling, heaving a sigh of relief.

Odd, he thought, how well she'd read him, and how clear her thoughts were to him. "Thank you, Evie." She'd possibly saved his life this morning. "Thank you," he repeated.

"Always, Henry," she replied. "Always."

CHAPTER SIX

Anne's mood improved once they arrived at the beach. The sand was warm, pale beige and rock free, nothing at all as the cold rock and boulder strewn grassy earth around the waterfall's pool. She was first to plunge into the foam crested blue-green waves and swim laps to and fro. At length, exhausted, she turned on her back and floated, serenely, eyes closed, opening them occasionally to check her whereabouts.

"Anne, are you angry with me?" Henry asked, swimming up to her side.

She opened her eyes and gazed at him, her expression staid. "No, why should I be angry with you?"

So she was upset with him, Henry thought. And she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction, or the chance to explain or apologize. Anne was like that. When crossed, she clammed up. Her ideology allowed that everyone was entitled to their own opinion, but she didn't have to deal with them.

No use pursuing the matter, Henry thought. When this morning's occurrence was only a memory, she might bring it up and abstractly comment on it. Anne didn't deal with potential problems; she just pushed them aside and didn't bother with them. One of these days, she might come up against a problem that refused to be pushed aside, and she would have to deal with it. Might be interesting to watch how she handled that day.

He swam back to the shore. Evie and Richard, in their swimsuits, still wet from their swim, knelt on one of the oversized cotton blankets spread over the sand, removing beverages from the cooler and wrapped sandwiches from the picnic basket.

"Hungry?" his brother asked.

"Famished," Henry replied, accepting a paper plate with a wrapped sandwich from Evie, and a cool beer from Richard.

"Thanks, Evie."

"It's mortadella and sliced provolone. Your mom said that's your favorite combo."

"Yes, it is. My dad's too."

Richard wrinkled his nose. "Italian bologna seasoned with splats of fat and bits of peppercorn."

"What about you, Evie, do you like Italian cold cuts?" Henry asked.

"Dried pepperoni sausage is not my favorite. But I have eaten Mortadella. It's not bad. Kinda like bologna, but larger and spicier, and yes, as Richard puts it," she chuckled, "splats of fat and bits of peppercorn. On special holidays, the nuns served it with other cold cuts in the holiday lunch platters. One of the home's benefactors was an Italian restaurant owner. We got to taste a medley of his Italian dishes."

"Richard doesn't care for Italian food. He does eat it at home. Growing up, we ate what was put on our plates. And Dad, descendent of a long-line of immigrant Italian colonists, was no stranger to their cuisine. If it wasn't for Geraldine with her Anglo-American and European dishes, and my mother's taste for French cuisine, we might never have known the pleasure of diversified cuisines."

"Here comes Anne," Richard said. She looks a bit tired.

"Well, it's been a hectic couple of months for her," Henry said. "What with the finals, graduation, returning to a broken home, albeit her parents will simply call it, a readjustment." Henry shook his head. "No wonder she's been tetchy," he said. "I think we should make allowances for her."

"Let's keep her smiling," Richard said.

Evie addressed Henry. "I have Ham and Cheese, Egg salad, and Tuna sandwiches. Which one should I offer her?"

"Ham and cheese, minus the ham. She guards her figure with a vengeance." Henry replied. She doesn't eat pork, nor lamb. Too fatty."

Evie quickly unwrapped two sandwiches labeled Ham and Cheese, removed the ham and substituted the two slices of cheese. She tore off the labels and rewrapped the sandwiches. "Cheese sandwich for Anne. I'll have the ham."

"You like Ham?" Henry asked.

"Yes, no problem."

Of course not, Henry thought. Evie was always so accommodating. He supposed it was the nuns' training. She put herself last. And did it with a smile.

They ate, drank their beverages, and then lounged on the two oversized beach blankets Evie had packed for the outing, waiting their turn at the volleyball net. Evie might be only 5' 2", but she ran and jumped like a trout swimming upstream, squealing whenever she managed to hit the ball, eyes flashing, her laughter real, unrestrained. Henry found himself again comparing Evie to Anne, with regard to his brother. Anne was tall like himself and Richard. She didn't have to jump. She was slender and lithe, with what he often referred to, an Audrey Hepburn neck. She played well, with the proper excitement and vociferous laughter. Attractive, seductive, beautiful, desirable, especially in that skimpy bikini. Evie, more than once, tripped on her own bare feet as she followed the inflated ball's trajectory over the net toward her and Richard. But she sprung right up and was back in the game. In the end, he couldn't deny the disturbing thought, that Evie, in her simple black swimsuit, with the pleated skirt that flapped merrily about her thighs as she hurled herself up to reach the oncoming volleyball, was lovelier and more alive than Anne at her most desirable.

CHAPTER SEVEN

After another dip in the ocean, they applied sunscreen lotion liberally to their skin. Anne asked Henry to help her with spreading the lotion on her shoulders and her back. She was a pro at sexual innuendo, tilting her head to one side, sweeping her burnished blonde hair off the curve of her neck, a wordless inducement for Henry to kiss the tempting curve.

"Is something wrong?" Anne asked.

Henry shook his head to clear it. He had not realized he'd paused applying the lotion. "Sorry, Anne, my mind seems elsewhere. He quickly dabbed some lotion on both sides of her neck, getting some of it on the ends of her hair.

"Henry, my hair!" Anne reproached.

"Oh, sorry." He handed her back the bottle. "There isn't much left. Richard has a spare. I'll ask him for some for myself."

Richard gladly shared.

"Evie, do you have your own?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm all set," adding, "Shoulders, arms and legs well protected," she laughed.

"What about your back?" he asked Evie. He gazed at his brother, hoping he interpreted the hint.

Evie replied, "I don't need help. I'm all set." She quickly stretched out at a discrete distance from Richard who followed her example, remarking, "Nothing like a short nap and a tan after a swim before the sun gets too hot."

Henry frowned. Both of them seemed to be going out of their way to avoid physical contact.

"Okay," he said. Guess I'll lie down as well." Anne followed his example.

He fully expected she'd scoot close to him. Instead, she kept her distance, lay on her stomach, turning her face toward the ocean.

"Mind undoing the clasp on my bikini top. I want my back and shoulders to tan evenly."

He did as she asked. "Thank you, Henry," she said, yawning lazily.

"All right, Anne," Henry exclaimed, in an impatient tone. "You're still mad at me for not diving into the pool from the top of the waterfall."

"You're wrong, Henry. That's not what I'm mad about."

"Well, then, what are you mad about?"

She didn't turn her head to face him. Just kept watching the foamy waves rushing to shore. In a matter of fact tone, she said, "Since early this morning, you've been comparing me to Evie. Don't bother denying it. I'm very perceptive about myself."

"There's no comparison between you and Evie."

"I know that. But somehow, I'm coming up short."

"Anne—," he started, impatiently.

"Really, Henry, this isn't the time to discuss it. Richard and Evie may be listening."

Henry glanced at the two. Their blanket was spread a good foot away from his and Anne's. Their eyes were closed and the two appeared oblivious to them. Besides which, he'd been speaking in a whisper. Anne, also. And if Evie and Richard had heard the exchange, they were the type that wouldn't interfere."

"Evie is a nice girl, kind and generous," he said. "She's perfect for Richard. She's a lot like my mother, and everything my mother would want for my brother."

Anne finally turned her head to gaze at Henry. "And for you, Henry," she added in a tone loaded with implications.

"Don't be ridiculous. You know me; Evie's not my style."

"Henry, in the time I've known you, there's one indisputable fact about you I learned. You hold your parents in high regard. Especially your mother. In your eyes, she can do no wrong. And likewise, anyone lucky to be like her."

"All right, yes, I do admire and respect my parents. And ever since I reached the age of reason, they admire and respect me as well. And I dare say they like and admire Evie as well."

"Add to that," Anne said, "I suspect your mother would be thrilled to have Evie as a daughter-in-law, whether via Richard, or you."

"Anne, my parents like you very well. What makes you think my mother has designs for Evie and myself?"

"You're smart, Henry, and resourceful, but when it comes to women, dense as rock. Evie is in love with you. Probably has been for years. And I've seen the way your mother looks at her, and at you. There's nothing better she'd like than to see you as a couple."

Anne turned on her back, keeping a hand pressed to her bikini top. She met Henry's gaze head on. "Richard has made his decision to enter the Priesthood. And from what I can tell thus far, he's not going to let any woman, no matter how compatible, interfere with what he feels is his vocation."

In all honesty, unable to refute her words, Henry paused to ponder them. In regard to women, he wasn't as dense as she thought, although she was right about Evie. It didn't take an Einstein to discern Evie's affection for him. But he still wasn't convinced that the Priesthood was the right life choice for his brother. He glanced at the pair on the adjoining beach blanket. They appeared to be napping, their bodies glistening between the sunscreen lotion and the heat of the sun.

It was hard for him to picture his tall, lean, lanky brother in a clergyman's cassock and Roman collar. As children, Richard had always referred to him as his big brother. They rarely fought. He overheard him say to a friend, once, "My brother is smart, a lot smarter than me. But he never puts me down. And he's always there for me." Richard idolized him, listened to his advice, and in return, Henry did his utmost to set a good example for him. Their Christian upbringing, their parents' undying love for each other and for their children, kept him and Richard close and rarely at odds. They had their ups and downs, but that love and respect they shared for one another kept them closeknit.

As for Evie, he admired her. He liked her. She was lovely and full of life, kind and gentle, eager for new experiences. Flashing dark eyes, a smile that warmed his heart. He could spend hours in her company and never be bored. The thought struck him, do those adequacies constitute love? Could I return her feelings? I've never thought of her in that way. To desire her as a woman.

Henry ran a nervous hand through his hair, a darker brown, damp from his swim. For some reason not quite clear to him yet, he did not feel comfortable desiring Evie as a woman. She was too young, too fresh, too innocent, too capable of encapsulating his very soul. That was it, he reasoned. Someone like her expected, no demanded, a perfect love; a pedestal to be placed upon; a being to be protected, understood, and admired. Evie, in her uninhibited laughter and blitheness of spirit, was far above him, far too good for him. That was it, he concluded, the reason he felt uncomfortable desiring her as a man desires a woman. Opening his heart to her would require she encapsulate him, body and soul.

He turned on his stomach, face pillowed in his arms. He needed to clear his mind, a short nap with the sun warming his back and shoulders. He had an analytical mind, a lot like his father's mind, and one of the reasons he'd chosen business as his major. But to analyze his feelings regarding Evie, and his wants and desires, the sum total of his education and degree was not enough!

Chapter Eight

Henry's prediction that they wouldn't return home until the wee hours of the morning did not happen. If Evie and Richard overheard Henry's whispered conversation with Anne, neither of them mentioned it. And Henry preferred to believe they hadn't heard. Whether he imagined it or not, when Evie stood up, proclaiming her suit was dry, and shrugged back into her pedal pushers and short sleeve blouse, a gloom seemed to have settled on their planned activities. The foursome ate a quick dinner at a fast food diner on the boardwalk, and sat blandly in the car parked at the drive-in movie, with an occasional comment about the romantic thriller playing out on the silver screen.

Anne felt distant to Henry. He guessed long before they arrived at his parents' home, that their relationship was over. When they had all entered through the front door into the lobby, Evie kissed Richard on the cheek, gave Henry and Anne a smile and a "Thank you for a lovely day," and quickly headed for Geraldine and Harry's quarters.

Anne was to stay the night in the guest room and leave in the morning to return to her parents' home in the Catskills. A week ago, on the day of their graduation, Henry and she had made plans to visit each other often during the coming year. But he no longer entertained illusions as he listened to her parting words. He made no attempt to dissuade her, as she told him, "I think it's best we don't see each other for a while, until we're sure of what we really want for our future."

Henry climbed the stairs to his bedroom, his mood somber. Richard's room was next to his. He felt a compulsion to know for certain if Richard had overheard his whispered conversation with Anne. He knocked on his brother's door. "Rich, are you up?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm still up," came the reply, followed by footsteps and the door opening.

Henry stood there a moment, wondering how to phrase his question so as not to arouse his brother's curiosity, in case he hadn't heard his conversation with Anne. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough time, and he was too tired and forlorn, to think of the right words. Besides, Richard had always been super-sensitive to other's feelings.

"What's wrong, bro?" Richard asked.

"Can we talk, privately?"

"Sure, come on in."

The bedrooms in their home each had a sitting room, either a boudoir for the women, or a den for the men.

Richard sat on the couch; Henry in the wing chair on the side.

Still unable to phrase the question without sounding stupid, he said, "Anne and I have split up. We don't seem to have the same goals in life any longer."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Richard said. "Maybe you two weren't meant for each other."

Henry nodded. "I guess so. It was easy in college. Our studies were similar. We looked forward to our time together. Carefree, nothing to worry about but studying and having a good time in-between. We were careful not to be intimate. Didn't want any surprises complicating our plans for the future."

"That was the smart thing to do," Richard said. "At least each of you can start fresh, without recriminations or bitterness."

"You don't think I should have tried harder to keep our relationship going?"

"No," Richard said, with surprising adamancy. "You didn't love her, and she didn't love you. If you both had loved each other, you wouldn't be asking me for my opinion." Richard shook his head. "Bro, I don't want to antagonize you, but honestly, I never thought she was right for you. You're too sensitive and kind for her. Too much like Dad for her."

"I'm too sensitive and kind for her?" Henry asked, taken aback. "Wait a minute. Who's the one who is always putting himself last, and thinking of others first?" he asked in earnest. "Who is the one who plans to give up his freedom and dedicate himself to his Faith?"

"Henry, I'm not giving up my freedom. I'm giving up everything that would inhibit my soul's freedom to love and serve my God and his people. As a priest, first, I don't have to feel uneasy about being called, a goodie two-shoes. I can freely give my all to help others in need. And above and beyond all of this, as a recipient of Holy Orders, I will have the greatest gift, the ability to change a simple piece of flour and a plain cup of wine into the Body and Blood of Christ, and be the Lord's representative on this earth so in need of His love. With what you hear each day on the news, and all around you, our earth is spiraling to self-destruction. I am not giving anything up. I am accepting the Lord's call to a vocation, to be His hands and feet, His heart and soul, His forgivingness and redemption, and His love, the reason He died for us on the Cross, the reason He continues suffering for us each time humanity turns its face from Him."

Henry sat speechless. He'd never seen his brother so enthused. With every word he'd spoken, his voice, his face, his eyes seemed to glow with ecstasy. "I had no idea you felt this strongly about your vocation. How long have you felt this way?"

"I can't say for sure, but I suppose it's been coming on since my First Communion, and growing stronger through high school. I felt shy in the beginning speaking of it among my peers. Then, in college, I felt surer of myself. My Faith in the Lord gave me the wisdom to realize only the Lord's opinion of me, and my reply to him, mattered. That's when I knew for certain my vocation was real."

Henry bowed his head, awed by his brother's words. "I am sorry," he said. "Sorry I doubted you. Sorry I tried to dissuade you. I may not have as strong a devotion to the Lord as you, but I do hold fast to my Faith. Mark and Cybelle brought us up as practicing Christians in thought and in deed. And as such, I'm glad you're my brother. In fact, I'm proud of you."

Henry left the wing chair and went to sit beside Richard. He shouldered his brother affectionately. "I promise, bro, no more trying to change your mind. And," he chuckled, "no more throwing lovely women in your path."

Richard laughed warmly. "Speaking of lovely women," he said, "How do you feel about Evie? Is there any chance you might consider asking her out?"

Henry sighed, a frown creasing his wide brow. "Honestly, I don't know. I don't dislike her. In fact, I like her very much. She's pleasant, sweet, genial, and honest to a tee."

Richard interposed, "Those are fine qualities to look for in a woman, especially in a partner for life. I've never heard you suggest that marriage wasn't in your future plans."

"No, I never have. Bachelorhood for the rest of my life does not appeal to me. Seeing how close mom and dad have always been, even when there were differences of opinion, never soured me to the thought of marrying. If two people so opposite in character could make their marriage work, then there is someone out there for me as well."

Richard added, "Mom and Dad are opposites, but they have two similarities that outweigh all the differences: Their faith in the Lord, and their need and love for each other and the children born of that need and love."

"I know what you're getting to. Evie's my opposite, but like our mother, she's special. And I should give myself a chance to see if I can requite her feelings for me."

Richard nodded. "Exactly. Love at first sight is not always the case. In fact, in most lasting relationships, love comes slowly, gently, until suddenly it becomes clear as sunlight." Richard clasped Henry's arm. "Give Evie a chance," he advised.

Part of Henry wanted to agree wholeheartedly, but part of him wasn't sure he should agree. Coming away from Anne, her body voluptuous and desirable, her intellect his equal, along with her goals for a career in management, like his, it felt unreal to think himself capable of feeling the same about a simple, sweet young woman, a delicate rosebud, who he suspected, was as innocent as she was naive.

He was glad she was working at his home toward a college education in social work. She'd make an excellent social worker, an honest one, devoted to the women and children entrusted to her care. At the same time, though, he feared she'd be hurt, because some charges were not as honest and trustworthy as she was. And often, a good-intentioned social worker had to learn to be practical in certain situations and often she might be misunderstood, as unkind or uncaring. These would be the struggles she'd have to face in her planned career. She would need someone strong and unbiased to keep her vision clear. Someone like his father. Someone like himself.

Cybelle had often told him that he was more like Mark than any of his siblings.

"It's getting late," Richard told him, his fingers squeezing Henry's arm affectionately. "There's no hurry. Evie won't be starting college until after Christmas, attending classes at night, while she earns her tuition, working with Geraldine for Mom and Dad."

Henry nodded. His brother sensed his dilemma. Both of them had always sensed when there were problems weighing on them. He acknowledged his brother's hand on his arm, placing his own over it and squeezing in like manner. "Yes, you're right. Things will look clearer after a good night's rest. Thanks, Bro." He rose and left quietly.

CHAPTER NINE

For two days he mulled over Richard's suggestion regarding dating Evie. Careful she didn't notice, he watched her as she went about her chores helping Geraldine. At mealtimes especially, he noted how she served each of his family's members, including himself, with always a smile on her untinted lips and genuine concern in her gaze. He remembered the skinny teenager who greeted him with a "Hey!" whenever they passed each other in the school. She had attended Grammar school at the orphanage with the nuns. By the time he was a high school senior, she was a freshman. It felt odd that he recalled the actual first time he'd seen her, because over the first three years of high school, lots of girls had greeted him, their gazes eager to strike up a friendship. All he could attribute to his remembering her more clearly than any of the other girls, was her sincere expression and the warmth in her smile, a special combination of shyness and forwardness in greeting him without fear. It took him time to understand that. Finally, he deduced that her greeting was selfless. Nothing wanted from him, except perhaps an acknowledgment of his willingness to allow her to say hello. "Hello," he responded, without feeling that "Hello" would somehow compromise him. And that is how their exchange of greetings remained until he graduated high school and left home for college and campus residence.

Oh yes, he also recalled the times in high school that he'd excelled in the basketball games, making basket after basket, and Evie's unabashed excitement, dark eyes agleam with admiration, and her loud cheering from the bleachers. The time she jumped so high, she came close to falling off the bleacher, if it wasn't for Richard who happened to be sitting beside her. That was also the time when his brother and Evie had grown close. Not as girlfriend-boyfriend. Just good friends. The rest was due to the efforts of the orphanage's Mother Superior and of his parents that brought Evie into his home.

Henry insisted he was not in love with her. He liked her, but he felt no special attraction toward her. Still, he was curious what dating her would feel like. Not sure how to approach her, he took the direct route the following evening, when her chores done, she took advantage of the garden, empty at the moment, under a starlit, moonlit sky.

He made sure to tuck the tails of his mauve short- sleeved shirt neatly into his waistband and adjust his collar straight with only a couple of the top buttons loosed. It was a warm evening, with cool breezes wafting up from the river. He entered the garden from the rear of the house. She'd undone the ponytail and her hair sofly cradled her shoulders. The moonlight accentuated its dark chestnut color along with the soft yellow of her short-sleeved blouse and the pale beige of her slacks.

"Evie," he called as he drew near, to avoid startling her. Her gaze was centered on one of the rose bushes in full bloom. She tensed and her back and shoulders straightened as she turned at the sound of his voice.

"Oh, I was just on my way back. Such a lovely evening, I-I didn't see anyone in the garden, and—"

"Evie, it's okay. You don't need to excuse yourself. The garden wasn't in use. You and Geraldine and Henry work hard enough to keep our home and the grounds lovely and attractive. Why shouldn't you have access to it when it's not in use?

"Thank you," she said, her stance easing. "That's very kind of you."

He didn't realize how intently he stared at her until she shifted nervously from one foot to the other. "I only came out for a minute. I have to get back to my room."

It was now or never, he thought, saying, "Sorry. I think I made you uncomfortable. You don't see from your perspective what a lovely cameo you create standing there under the moonlight with the roses behind you."

She didn't reply, but he read the surprise on her face.

"You've grown into a beautiful young woman."

"Thank you," she said. "That's a lovely compliment."

"It's the truth," he said. "Evie, would you go out with me?"

She seemed completely taken aback at this question. A quick breath to recover, and she chuckled, "Oh, I see. You're teasing me. Intimating there ought to be some nice young man wanting to date me. I-I have had a couple of requests, but I don't have the time for dating right now. I'm concentrating on earning my college tuition and obtaining my degree towards social work. Not that I look at social work as a career. But I want to work in that field and be and do the best I can for those in need. Growing up in an orphanage, you see a lot of loneliness, children from broken homes with nowhere to go. The nuns at the orphanage were strict, but kind. They taught us to rely on our faith in the Good Lord, but not to expect a rose garden. Everyone has free will, everyone, good or bad. And love must be earned." She paused, glancing away. "I'll go in now. But thank you for the compliment. Coming from you, it-it's very nice." She started to walk away.

"Wait," Henry said, closing the distance between them. "I wasn't teasing you. I really do want to date you, openly. Believe me, my parents will be quite pleased to see us date. We'll keep it platonic. And see what comes of it. There's something about you that draws me to you. You liked me during my senior year in high school. Without sounding disrespectful, you made it obvious you had a crush on me."

By the serious expression on her face — was it a glare — he wasn't presenting his case well. "All right, I'm botching this up. Forget everything I said from platonic to the high school crush. You've grown up and no doubt well over teen crushes. I've also grown up, and my ego deflated enough to help me mature emotionally. I do want to date you. I want to get to know you better. I don't want to spend the rest of my life dating women who think like Anne. I certainly would not want to marry Anne. Someone like you, I'd seriously consider marrying. So, please, before I make a total fool of myself, would you go out with me?"

Evie studied his face, his eyes, trying, he supposed, to determine his honesty and his earnestness. "You really want to date me, with possible marriage as a prospect?"

Henry nodded, swallowing. He'd never felt this unnerved and so unequal and undeserving in his entire pampered life.

A timid smile teased her lips. "All right. We'll give it a try."

"Okay," he nodded, his nervousness lightening. "Great." His breath rushed out.

"Oh," she added, a definite twinkle in her eyes. "Just to start out honestly, I did have a terrible crush on you in my teens. But now, it's not a crush, any longer. I admire you and what you've achieved so far. You've made your parents proud of you. Grown into a fine man, a gentle man."

"You do have a way with words, Evie," he said, thinking, Richard was right about her. She is special.
CHAPTER TEN

As summer whisked by, too quickly for Henry, dating Evie a couple of evenings a week, and on weekends, felt not enough. She was wonderful company. A sprite, at times unconventional, often old fashioned in her views, but never holding back voicing those views. He had to remind himself constantly that Evie was brought up in an orphanage run by chaste nuns, kind servants of the Lord. Intelligent, gentle women, thankfully, not as some he'd heard about who abused their calling. But as is often the case, social media focuses on the bad, and forgets the majority of good.

That majority of good nuns had raised Evie, and she was as no one he'd ever dated. Most of the women he'd known were interested in him only for their own edification. Conquest of the hero. Any hero would do, as long as he fulfilled a hero's requirements. Handsome, strong, sexually virile, intelligent, a candidate for a promising career and ability to accumulate wealth and support his mate accordingly.

Evie didn't have the slightest similarity to those women. She enjoyed being with him, and she showed it without qualm or embarrassment. She was a lady, of course. Respectful. Seemed to know by instinct when to prance around like a teen on a joyride, and when to restrain her behavior, so as not to embarrass him to his peers. She made him laugh, belly laughs from his deepest core.

There were times, like now, as they stood in the garden at the rear of the mansion, Fall turning leaves to glorious shades of orange and russet, that he sensed her loneliness. Times when he happened to be verbally reminiscing about his childhood, his siblings, his parents, his friends. She'd never known her parents, or if she had siblings somewhere. She'd been left in a woven basket on the front steps of the orphanage one evening. Whoever had brought her there, had made sure to stand out of view of the peephole and ring the doorbell insistently until one of the sisters answered. But by the time they unbolted the door, there was no one in sight.

A small folded note was hand sewn to the pink and blue striped baby blanket in which she was wrapped. The words scripted on the note, read, "Call my daughter, Evie, short for Evangela. And may the Angels of the Lord, guide and protect her."

"She — my mother perhaps," Evie told him, one morning as they sat on a fallen tree, time and weatherworn, near the edge of the waterfall to which they had returned, alone, "she must have been educated. The handwriting was smooth and sweeping and legible. The sisters kept the note with my file to show me as I grew, the only connection to my birth. They wanted me to know that my mother had feelings for me. I had the handwriting analyzed. Sentimental, gentle, kind, affectionate, heart-centered, friendly, loyal, with a tendency toward impulsiveness."

"A lot like you," Henry said.

"Yes, that's what Mother Superior said. Sister Maria Bernadette added that I had a lot of potential to make a difference in this world, to make it a better place for humanity. She's the one who inspired me to seek a career in social work. She's an excellent counselor. All the orphans at the home swear by her advice. She's patient and kind, and never criticizes, but neither does she hesitate admonishing us if she feels we're headed toward the wrong path. Myself included, all the children at the orphanage feel she's the closest person to a mother we've ever known."

"If you are an example of her rearing, then she didn't fail with you in the least."

"She thinks so, but I feel I could be a better person. I tend to clam up when I feel overwhelmed. I give up too soon where I should forge ahead. And at the other end of the spectrum, I tend to daydream, expect miracles I don't deserve. I'm far too candid, and —," she chuckled, looking away, remembering, "I develop crushes on boys far above my worth."

Henry frowned, and gently clasping her arms, he faced her squarely. "Never, never think that anyone is far above your worth. You are lovely. And your soul is exquisite. I don't know where my head was all those years I never noticed the priceless jewel before me."

How long had they been dating? Henry pondered. Six months? Christmas was only a few weeks away. For the first time he felt the full impact of his attraction to Evie, precious, sweet, humble, unassuming to a fault, disbelieving that he, Henry, could find her desirable. It was true that he often thought too well of himself. Wasn't that the reason he'd dated Anne, because he felt she was his equal. Truth be told, she was his equal. But now, maturing, readying to join his father's firm, he'd finally realized that Evie was not his equal, true. She was his better. He finally understood the saying, my better half.

"Will you marry me," he blurted out, suddenly afraid that if he missed this opportunity to ask her, it might not come again and he'd lose her.

Evie's eyes widened with surprise. She seemed shocked. She stammered a reply. "I-I didn't ex-expect a proposal. You've never even told me you love me."

Evie, I didn't realize it myself until just now that I've fallen in love with you, head over heels."

She glanced away, mouth tightening. Not at all the reaction he expected.

"What is it? What's wrong? Henry said, recalling her earlier words ... Just to start out honestly, I did have a terrible crush on you in my teens. But now, it's not a crush, any longer. I admire you and what you've achieved so far. Made your parents proud of you. Grown into a fine man, a gentle man. "Foolish me," he said, disconsolate. "You said earlier, I did have a terrible crush on you in my teens. But now, it's not a crush, any longer. You went on to describe what you now admired about me. I misunderstood the word admire for love. Forgive me, Evie, for taking too much for granted."

And yet, he thought, fool that he was for waiting for so long to see where his affections truly dwelled, he might still stand a chance at winning her heart. Quickly he regathered his wits. "All right, Evie. Let's consider this my first proposal, but definitely not my last. I need to win your heart again ... unless ... is there someone else who has already won your affections?"

Evie hesitated answering. So, he thought miserably, I've missed my chance. He glanced at the rose bush that his mother had always admired and made sure that Harry, Geraldine's husband, carefully tended. He recalled a poem a young Cybelle had written when it seemed she stood no chance of winning his father's love.

Roses in the dark will not unfold

their precious cargo to bloom.

Without the sun's delightful touch

they live in dismal gloom.

Before the comforting rays of dawn

their fragile petals cry with dew.

Like the roses in the dark,

I ache to know

the touch of all that is you,

For without the warmth of your

tender love

each and every day,

Whatever is beautiful within me

droops, shrivels and withers away.

"There is someone else, isn't there?" Henry asked, bowing his head, disheartened.

"No, Henry, there is no one else," Evie told him.

Henry's gaze shot to hers. "No one else?" And when she shook her head, he blurted, "Then I still stand a chance?'

Again she didn't answer him. But she drew the back of her fingers in a soft caress down the side of his face. "Your mother waited years for your father to feel sure that her love for him was not simply a ward's gratitude. He refused to believe that her love was real and lasting because he was sixteen years older than her. You're not that older than me. Four, five years. But you are much older than me in life experience, and in character and sophistication. To tell me that you just realized you're in love with me, doesn't ring true to me."

"But it is true," Henry protested.

Evie quickly added, "I realize you mean it to be true. And I am so honored. Four years ago, hearing your admission of love, I'd be treading clouds in seventh heaven. Now, a bit older, I recognize a spur of the moment attraction that you may regret as time passed."

He cringed, feeling a gap opening between them as she backed away from him. "I think we should stop dating. In a few weeks I'll be starting night college. You will be entering your father's firm. We'll both be very busy beginning our futures. It's not as if we're parting company. You will still be living here and, unless I'm discharged, I will still be working here during the day. Our friendship won't change."

"Evie, how do you expect me to hold back showing you how I feel, seeing you each day?"

"You'll date other women."

"And you'll date other young men?" Henry said, a lump forming in his throat.

"Maybe not," she said. "I know I won't be looking for other young men to date. I'll be too busy working and studying towards my degree."

Evie nipped at her lower lip. Her eyebrows drew closer as if she were reflecting on an idea. "Tell you what," she said, "I will have an answer for you, but not now. I'll have the answer for you on the day I graduate, my degree in hand, and a social service or a counseling job waiting for me. If you still feel for me as you do this moment, ask me again to share my life with you?"

Henry closed the distance between them and clasped her hands into his. "But what if I lose what feelings you presently have for me by that time."

"You can't lose them. I've loved you forever," she said. "The question you should be asking yourself, is, will I, Evie, have lost the affection you presently feel for me by then?"

"In other words, Evie," he said in a plaintive tone, "I didn't love you all those years I knew you before. Why should I suddenly be in love with you now?"

Evie nodded. Henry noted tears moistening her dark eyes, making them glisten in the moonlight. She hadn't stopped loving him. That's what she'd meant by I did have a terrible crush on you in my teens. And how she now admired him. Her teenage crush had matured into respect and sincere love.

"All right, Evie. I'll do as you say. And I'll prove to you that my feelings for you will not diminish during these next two years, but grow until you feel as completely sure as is possible of the permanence of my love for you."

Evie nodded.

"Then we are agreed," he said. He released her hands, a coldness of spirit enveloping his. He missed her already, despite he'd be seeing her regularly between their separate routine comings and goings, the difference being he was denied the freedom to show and express his affection. A friend as before, when she meant so much more to him now.

"Good night, Henry," she said simply, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. "I love you," she said, turning away, and running back into the house and into Geraldine and Harry's apartment.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Shoulders slumping, Henry climbed the stairs heading for his bedroom. As he passed his brother's door, Richard swung it open. Richard took one look at him, and reached for him, pulling him into his room. "I heard your footsteps, but they don't sound the footsteps of a happy man. You proposed, didn't you? And she turned you down."

"Yeah, how'd you guess?"

"You forget, bro, we've always sensed each other's problems. And besides, I've seen it coming from how close you two have grown this past summer."

"Two dumps in a year," Henry chuckled, trying to lighten his mood. "First Anne, now Evie."

"But Evie's hurt a lot more," Richard said. "I was sure she still felt the same for you as she did in the past."

"The odd part is that she still does care for me," Henry said, sitting down on the couch.

Richard sat beside him. "She does, and she turned your proposal down?

"It's complicated," Henry said.

"Oh, that. Well complicated, requires explaining. I'm listening."

Henry gazed intently at his brother, and for the first time, he imagined him in a clergyman's cassock and Roman collar, in a confessional, listening to a penitent, advising, consoling, and guiding. Henry began to talk, unburdening, blaming, wondering, confiding, seeking advice, no longer the alpha brother.

"Be patient," Richard advised. "She's only asking you to wait a couple of years to give yourself time to be sure of your love for her. Evie is, after all, only nineteen. And in our day and culture, in the northeast, that's a bit young to commit to a lifetime with someone."

"I understand that. She wants to obtain her degree in social services. The one she aiming for is two-year degree, followed by internship and experience in the field. It's not so much the wait, although I'd marry her tomorrow if she'd let me. It's the wait without being able to show her how much I care and desire her. She wants me to treat her simply as a good friend, free of any promise to be loyal to her and to my feelings for her. How can I do that? Seeing her every day, falling more and more in love with her, unable to show my love, and ask for her love in return."

"Well, that's the test, Bro. Imagine that some terrible illness ... Lord forbid ... suddenly made physical love between the two of you impossible, would your love survive, in all its ardor and strength of this day?"

"Richard, I would love her the same, and more, because we'd need each other that much more."

"You say that now, and you do mean it, but in my years deciding upon my vocation, I've paid close attention to couples who have gone through harsh times. And I have seen love grow cold in the face of despair. The exceptions I noted were those couples whose strength lay in their true friendship and their compatibility. Desire, romance, two people marrying, coming together, becoming one, it's all wonderful. But without real friendship and admiration and respect for one another, love and desire can die.

Henry, don't despair. Two years, three, whatever time it takes, if you are soulmates, the love between you two, silent, physically unexpressed, will grow until it can no longer be denied."

Oh, yes, Henry thought, listening to his brother, two years his junior. No doubt remained in his mind that this young man had been called by the Lord to feed and guide the souls of His people. Richard's vocation was true along with the quantity and intensity of kindness and perception the Lord had nurtured in his soul.

He sighed deeply. "All right, I'll do as she asks. It won't be easy. But I will prove my love, even should I lose hers."

CHAPTER TWELVE

"It won't be easy," the understatement of his life, Henry often moaned as the weeks passed, turning into months, and into years, four years, the day of Evie's graduation. The planned two-year course had taken double the time because of the part-time evening classes and Evie's insistence on earning and paying her own tuition.

Two years into his wait, on Evie's twenty-first birthday, Henry convinced his parents to offer to pay Evie's tuition in full, with the proviso that she would pay them back in as much time as she needed. He swore them to secrecy about the suggestion coming from him.

Expressing her undying gratitude, Evie refused, reasoning she did not wish to start her career owing loans that would take years to pay. And thus, the torture continued, seeing her daily, but only for brief glimpses as she worked aiding Geraldine with the housekeeping chores, and serving meals.

As his father hoped, he did well in the firm, taking over more and more responsibility until Mark declared he was ready for full partnership. Henry applied himself to his work, often staying at the firm late into the evening, distracting himself every way possible from thoughts about Evie. He tried to follow her advice. Date other women, Anne among them. No dice, he thought miserably. They were lovely, sophisticated, available, but none of them had Evie's dark eyes, flashing with warmth and enthusiasm whenever she spoke of a subject close to her heart. None of them had her smile, earnest and unassuming. None of them was Evie.

One consolation made his ordeal bearable. Except for allowing for an escort to an occasional college dance, or the weddings of close friends and relatives, including his sister Jessie's true wedding, Evie kept loyal to her words, "I know I won't be looking for other young men to date. I'll be too busy working and studying towards my degree." The light in her bedroom in the housekeeper's quarters was daily on until late in the night and often into the wee hours of the morning.

And then it happened, a few months ago. A young man called the house phone to speak with Henry. He asked for a private audience. Henry granted him an appointment at the firm, in his office, the door closed for privacy. Henry sat at his desk, working on files spread across his desktop. As the young man approached his desk, Henry pushed the files aside and stood up, as he would for a prospective client.

The young man, tall, medium weight, handsome, proper in dress and deportment, introduced himself, respectfully offering a handshake. "I'm Brian, a fellow student in Evie's class."

Hearing the affection in his voice as he spoke her name, Henry's heart plummeted. He reminded himself that he was a gentleman, not a caveman defending his right to his mate. He accepted the handshake. He motioned to one of the two guest chairs in front of his desk. "Take a seat. What can I do for you?" he asked, keeping a tight rein on his emotions.

"I guess Evie has never mentioned me."

Henry shook his head. "Should she have mentioned you?"

"No, of course not. I'm merely one of several young men who have asked her out ... unsuccessfully. With one difference, though, I believe. I'm sincerely in love with her, despite she's never given me any encouragement. She's a very private person, yet respectful and kind to everyone. But anytime a conversation with her fellow students turns to matters of the heart, she excuses herself politely. It's a continuing rumor among her classmates as to whether she is already involved with someone on the outside."

"Well," Henry said, breathing a sigh of relief, at least temporarily, "why haven't you asked her personally if she already has someone special in her life?"

Brian's smile was not unlike Evie's. Earnest and unassuming. Oh Lord, Henry thought. Was this man one day to deny him any further chance of winning Evie's heart?

"I can't just come out and ask her," Brian replied. "As I said, and you probably know, Evie's a very private person. Never speaks of her personal life."

Henry noted the perceptible straightening of Brian's shoulders, along with a determined pause.

"That's why I've come to you," Brian continued. "You have known her for a long time. I thought perhaps you might put in a good word for me ... or at least, inquire if she is seeing someone else. Coming from you, a long-time friend, that sort of question would not seem as intrusive."

The green-eyed monster severely tempted Henry to usher this young man out the door, as sincere as he appeared. Sensing his fingers about to clench into fists, he dropped his arms to his sides, using the desk as a blinder.

He could lie, create a fictional lover, or just deny he exercised any influence on Evie, the girl he loved above and beyond himself, a woman unafraid to speak her mind, gentle, kind, loyal. What would she say in his place? The truth, kindly, with concern for the one listening.

Henry felt the jealousy ease. Of course, the young man loved her. Nothing unusual about that. She was easy to fall in love with. "I can empathize with you, but I can't help you, Brian. You see, I've been in love with her for a very long time, myself. I won't stop you from courting her. She is a free woman with the right to choose for herself to whom she finally gives her heart. But be aware, I am your rival."

Brian's shoulders tensed. He stood up. "I've made a terrible mistake coming here," he said.

"Don't worry," Henry said, reading fear in Brian's eyes. No doubt, he expected reprisal and hostility.

"Don't fear me," Henry said, falling back on his status-quo. I'm not the vindictive type. I love Evie to distraction, but for that very love, I will never interfere with her freedom of choice. But be also aware that there was a time she yearned for my affection, and I was too blind to see how special she is. There is a deep bond between us, but the final outcome will be her choice."

Brian stood up. "Thank you for your honesty. And forgive me for my intrusion. I am your rival, but I can see why, the few times she's spoken of her employers, it's always been with admiration and respect. I wish us both good luck. May the best man win her affections." Brian left.

Henry ran a nervous hand through his hair, blonde at birth, darkening to a deep brown as he grew. The urge to ask Evie how she felt about Brian was strong. But to what avail. He rather not know. Her studies were nearly done. Graduation was scheduled for June. Her words four years earlier that had kept his emotions from overwhelming his reason, repeated in his mind, as they did anytime his resolve to adhere to their agreement threatened to atomize. "I will have an answer for you, but not now. On the day I graduate, my degree in hand, and a social service or a counseling job waiting for me. If you still feel for me as you do this moment, ask me again to share my life with you?"

He swallowed hard, then breathed deeply. He delved into the files on his desk, forcing himself to blank all other thoughts.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Graduation Day

At last it dawned, warm but rainy, forcing the commencement exercises inside the College auditorium. The graduates, in blue and gold tasseled caps and gowns, sat patiently on wood folding chairs through the professors' congratulatory speeches, and the triumphant, hopeful promises of the valedictorians. Henry sat in the parents' section with Mark and Cybelle and the Hendersons, Geraldine and Harry. Two very special guests had also joined the Carlsons, Mother Superior and Sister Maria Bernadette.

Midst the scores of graduates, Evie glanced at them periodically. Richard was away at the Seminary, preparing for ordination. The Carlsons and the two nuns, though not blood relations, were what constituted, by their continued insistence, her adoptive family. She thanked the Lord for providing her with the substitute family, making her day for which she'd studied and worked so hard, and sacrificed so much, a reality. Sacrificed so much, she thought, sadness tingeing the joy, her gaze resting on Henry, handsome and debonair, a lot like his father. She nurtured no false hopes that Henry still longed for her and would propose again. Four years was a long time to keep alive a spur of the moment desire. The first year perhaps he might still have proposed, but after that, she had watched his interest in her wane. He barely glanced at her as she helped Geraldine serve the meals.

She found the Holidays the hardest to endure, and made sure to keep her distance from Henry, despite the Carlsons' insistence that she and the Hendersons personally join the festivities in the mansion. She felt it was imperative she maintain Henry's respect and not make him feel that she held him to his promise to wait for her. It was clear to her now, as he sat with his parents, that his attendance was more for their benefit, than hers. The way he shifted nervously in the folding chair, a bit narrow for a man of his height and breadth, indicated to her he was uncomfortable and impatient to be off on his own errands.

It will be over soon, she thought. She'd passed with high grades, her persistence rewarded with a degree with high honors, and a position secured with the local Social Services Department for Displaced children. In addition, Mother Superior had obtained the Bishop's request that twice a week she fill the position of Counselor at the orphanage. Her future was secure, if not wealth wise, at least fulfillment wise. She would now be able to afford her own apartment and life expenses. And she could love Henry from a distance, watch him finally find a good woman to love, marry and start a family, and never need remind him his one-time romantic interest in her. Evie glanced away. I will love you forever, her thoughts whispered.

The speeches over, the Dean began the roll call for the graduates to receive their degrees. Cameras flashed and sighs of relief and joy from proud parents filled the auditorium. When her turn came to receive her degree, a camera flashed. She thanked the Dean, then turned to look who might have taken her picture. Cybelle had her camera still focused on her. Another camera flashed. This time it was Sister Maria Bernadette. Evie waved the hand holding her degree, grateful for the two women's attention.

With the ceremony finally over, families joined their offspring to offer hugs and congratulations on their achievements. The Carlsons and Mother Superior along with Sister Maria Bernadette hugged Evie in turn. Henry respectfully waited his turn. Fighting her instincts to feel his arms about her one last time, Evie waved her hand with an automaton like "Thank you" on her lips meaning to spare him any unwanted show of affection. She glanced quickly away.

"Evie," he called, tone plaintive.

She hadn't meant to be rude. Quickly she closed the gap, ready to accept a hug, and bear the pain of knowing it was merely a formality.

"Yes, Henry?" she asked.

He extended his arms and she leaned into them, feeling their warmth, as she had done a thousand times in her dreams. His breath tickled her ear, and spread softly down the curve of her neck, sending shivers of pleasure down her spine.

"Evie," he whispered for her ears only. "I don't hold it against you, forgetting our promise to wait for one another. Four years is a long time. I did try to forget what you meant to me. I followed your advice. It seems to have worked for you, but not for me."

Evie uttered a shocked gasp as Henry dropped to one knee. "What — No, you mustn't — "

"Yes, I must," he said, "Even though I don't expect you to accept, or even an "I'll think about it. Four years is a long time and for sure by now you've met far better suitors than me. Nonetheless, I have to ask because I've never stopped loving you, or wanting to spend my life with you at my side, forever."

He slid his hand under the lapel of his suit jacket, toward the inside pocket in the silk lining and drew out a green velvet ring box, snapped it open to reveal an exquisite platinum Marquise Cut Diamond Engagement Ring.

"I bought this ring shortly after my first proposal. I've kept it, here, close to my heart. Every day for the past four years I've fought the yearning to ask you again and again, Will you be my wife?" His voice shook with emotion. "This moment," he went on, "as you hold your degree in your hand, and the promise of assured employment in the field you love the most, I ask you, Evie, will you be my wife? A simple Yes or No will seal my fate." He extended his hand holding the boxed ring and waited.

Evie's heartbeat clamored in her chest. With his parents watching them anxiously, Cybelle's expression desperately hopeful, and students and parents gathering about them, smiling, curious to see the outcome, this didn't feel like the right time or place to say all that was on her mind.

"I will love you forever," she replied.

Henry's brow furrowed. Pain shone in his eyes. Was she cushioning her refusal? He steeled himself for the worst.

She took the offering, gently lifted the ring and slipped it on the fourth finger of her left hand. "Yes, Henry, I will marry you. And I will love you forever."

It was all he needed to hear, all he wanted to hear. He rose and clasped her in his arms. "As will I, Evie, all the days of my life and forever." He sealed his promise with a passionate kiss, returned in kind, to his complete joy.

Cybelle's "Yes!" nearly knocked Mark off his feet. Mark chuckled. There was no denying her efforts had paid off. And he was happy for his son. He placed a supporting arm around Cybelle's waist. "Easy, sweetheart, easy," he advised. "We're not that young, anymore." He should have known better.

Cybelle's short pert nose rose haughtily along with her chin, and dark eyes flashing, she remarked "Says who?"

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Within three months, Henry and Evie sealed their vows in Church. In their case, only the groom's side of the family filled the pews. But when the priest pronounced them man and wife, and they kissed and turned to the warm applause, Evie fully realized for the first time in her life, that the well-wishers in the pews were her family. A large family, that included Henry's parents and his three siblings and their families, along with relatives and friends including Geraldine and Harry and her daughter Harriet with her husband Val and their children.

One thing was missing, but there was no help for it. Her biological parents, whoever they were. She remembered the words scripted on the folded note hand sewn to the pink and blue striped baby blanket in which she'd been wrapped and left on the front steps to the orphanage, "Call my daughter, Evie, short for Evangela. And may the Angels of the Lord, guide and protect her." Would that woman be proud of her today, and happy for her?

As Evie accompanied Henry down the aisle toward the open doors giving way to the lawn at the church front, her gaze met that of Mother Superior and Sister Maria Bernadette. Mother Superior beamed with pride and deep affection. Tears filled Sister Maria Bernadette's eyes and her face radiated a soulful expression of total awe. Something about her eyes, about the expression, so proud and thankful, so much love. Something about the way she kept her arms to her side, but they trembled, as if they ached to embrace her young charge.

Evie suddenly stopped walking, her gaze riveted on Sister Maria Bernadette. Something inside cried out for her to reach for the nun. Something about her eyes, about the expression, so proud and thankful, so much love. Did she sense the connection, was it only a wild thought.

Forever would she remember the way Sister Maria Bernadette gently shook her head, and place a forefinger against her lips as they curved about a whispered "Shhh."

It suddenly all made sense. Maria, as she was first known, had come to the orphanage and been hired as a domestic, shortly after the baby Evie was found on the doorsteps. A couple of years later, she asked to join the order and on the recommendation of Mother Superior, she was accepted.

Another thought soared. The handwriting, of course. She'd never paid attention on the times she'd come across Sister Maria Bernadette's notes, doctor visit slips, homework remarks. She wasn't thinking of her handwriting. It was lovely handwriting, slanting, smooth, clearly legible. But Evie wasn't analyzing the handwriting along lines of comparison to the script on the note hand sewn to her baby blanket.

"Oh my God," she whispered.

"What's wrong, Evie?' Henry asked. He halted with her, but she'd quickly resumed walking. "Is everything all right, dearest?"

"Oh, yes," she exclaimed. "Everything is wonderful. Today, the Good Lord has given me the greatest gifts, far above anything I could deserve."

Henry smiled, and he squeezed her hand ardently, with deep affection.

Someday, she would tell him, but not for a long time. She understood Sister Maria Bernadette's silent message. No one must ever know. It was her secret.

Long ago, repenting a wild past, a young woman left a child on the steps of the orphanage. She had no idea who the father was, she'd been so inebriated that night at the bar. Soon after, she took a job at the orphanage as a domestic. Later, she joined the order. No one must ever discover her secret or her plan to be near her child, while living a life of penance for her past indiscretions to save her soul.

EPILOGUE

Richard Carlson entered the Church's Sacristy. The altar servers, a boy and a girl in their early teens had prepared the sacramentals for the Priest to say the Holy Mass. They had made sure the altar candles were lit and the bowl with the Communion Wafers filled, the small crystal water and wine decanters filled half way, and the water bowl and white linen towel ready for Father to use for the washing of the hands to symbolize Pontius Pilate's washing of his hands when he consigned Jesus to the hands of his false accusers and Crucifixion. They laid out the Priest's vestments. Next they placed the prayer book, and the other sacramentals in their proper place, the Purification Linen, the Chalice, the paten with the large wafer to be consecrated along with small Communion wafers for the Congregation. Richard washed his hands, reciting the prayer,

"Give virtue to my hands, O Lord, that being cleansed from all stain, I might serve you with purity of mind and body."

He placed the amice, a rectangular linen cloth with two long cotton strings, over his neck and shoulders, criss-crossing them over his chest and around his back, and front waist, and tying them. As he did so, he prayed,

"Place upon me, O Lord, the helmet of salvation, that I may overcome the assaults of the devil."

Next, he donned the Alb, a long white garment, a reminder of his Baptism, when he was clothed in white to signify his freedom from sin, purity of new life, and Christian dignity, as he prayed,

"'Purify me, Lord, and cleanse my heart so that, washed in the Blood of the Lamb, I may enjoy eternal bliss."

As he tied the sacramental tasseled cord twice around his waist and knotted it, he prayed,

"Gird me, O Lord, with the girdle of purity, and extinguish in me all evil desires, that the virtue of chastity may abide in me."

Next, he placed a long stole, several inches wide, about his neck and shoulders, and slipped the ends under the cord at his waist. The stole signified his liturgical role. He prayed,

"Lord, restore the stole of immortality, which I lost through the collusion of our first parents, and, unworthy as I am to approach Thy sacred mysteries, may I yet gain eternal joy."

Finally, he slipped into the white Chasuble adorned with gold colored embroidery that formed a Cross over his chest and arms, symbolizing the virtue of charity and the yoke of unselfish love. He prayed,

"O Lord, who has said, My yoke is sweet and My burden light, grant that I may so carry it as to merit Thy grace. Amen."

Father Richard Carlson entered the Altar proper and faced the congregation gathered today to celebrate Holy Mass and the Baptism of his new niece, Alessandra Carlson, Evie and Henry's baby girl.

In her white lacey Baptismal finery, Alessandra wiggled tiny fingers, looking for the familiar feel of the one who was always there to care for her. The one whose heartbeat comforted and whose arms always made her feel secure.

Evie, sensing restlessness in her daughter, hugged her closer. Henry stood beside the two, his arm protectively around his wife and child.

Father Richard Carlson smiled at Henry, his brother, the proud Dad, and nodded a greeting to his two sisters with their families in the front pews, standing to greet him, warm affection and fond memories clothing their festive garments. He sent a special smile to his parents. He noted his father's attempt to hold back tears of pride and love for his younger son. Cybelle's, however, allowed her tears to flow freely, and she did not hold back throwing Richard a kiss. He waved his hand in acknowledgment, then beckoned to Evie and Henry, and the Godparents, his sister Carol and her husband Herb, to join him at the Baptismal Font, below and to the left of the main altar dais.

Richard struggled to maintain his composure, not to show the rampant joy and fulfillment he felt ever since his ordination. He belonged to Christ. He was the Lord's representative on this earth. Each morning he said the Mass and at the Offertory, he held the host wafer in his hands. Through the Lord's most precious gift to him and to the world, he changed the simple wafer and the plain wine into the Body and Blood of Christ, invisible to the human eye, but real all the same, the miracle of the Holy Eucharist.

In the presence of his family, he spoke the Baptismal prayers, dipping the brass ceremonial shell into the water inside the Baptismal Font, and gently pouring the blessed droplets over Alessandra's forehead. "I Baptize thee in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit."

As the Holy Water trickled across her brow and back over the short brown curls that had recently made their debut, the child squirmed in Evie's arms, and squealed to the accompaniment of "Ohs and Aahs, and good-natured chuckles from grandparents and uncles and aunts, relatives and dear friends.

Only two dear ones elected not to attend the Baptism. Mother Superior and Sister Maria Bernadette, had respectfully declined, citing prior commitments. Later that week, Evie visited Sister Maria Bernadette, bringing her photos of the Baptism and the reception at the Mansion following. Truth be told, she needed confirmation of what she'd strongly suspected this past year. As she and Sister Maria Bernadette walked arm in arm in the convent garden, they paused by the statue of our Lady of Graces.

Evie spoke softly for Sister's ears only. "You are my mother, my biological mother, aren't you? I always felt a special connection to you that I didn't understand."

Sister replied in a whisper, "No one must ever know. And I cannot associate with you personally. But when you come to the orphanage occasionally to revisit old friends, bring your children. I can then fill my eyes with them and bless you all on your way out. It is so much more that I deserve and ever expected."

"I'll do that, I promise," Evie said.

Miracles do happen, Evie pondered as she drove home to Henry and her child. You just have to recognize them.

♥♥

Thank you for reading my romance novella. I hope you enjoyed it.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Dorothy Paula Freda, writing under her pseudonyms Paula Freda and Marianne Dora Rose, is a wife, homemaker, mother and grandmother, and former off-the-desk publisher of a family-oriented print small press, (1984 thru 1999), The Pink Chameleon, that she now publishes on line,

www.thepinkchameleon.com

She was raised by her grandmother and mother, and has been writing for as long as she can remember. Even before she could set pencil to paper, she would spin her stories in the recording booths in the Brooklyn Coney Island Arcades for a quarter per 3-minute record. She states, "I love the English language, love words and seeing them on display, typed and alive. A romantic at heart, I write simply and emotionally. I love writing, despite that I still have much to learn, and am grateful for any constructive feedback. Although I've no fancy that I will ever be famous, or even want to be, my hope is that my writing will bring entertainment and uplift the human spirit. If someday in the future, someone reads my work and feels the better for it, then I have fulfilled myself."

One of my former editors kindly described my work, '...her pieces are always deep, gentle and refreshing....'"
If you are curious as to how the Driscoll and Carlson Sagas began, it"s all here in the book that started it all ...

Roses in the Dark

Brief Description

In a garden overlooking the Hudson River Valley four close friends meet for lunch. The hostess, the youngest of the four, requests each to compose a toast that epitomizes or symbolizes their search for fulfillment and happiness. As each of the four composes their toast, their stories unfold.

**THE Blue Jay and the Sparrow** \- Cybelle laughed. "Yes, to what shall I toast?" Her pixie features belied the flash of her dark eyes. She thought a moment, then added blithely, "To the sparrows!" (Sparrow thrust from your nest, Fluttering, twittering your very best, Lonely, helpless, you fear, What the next moment brings, For a blue jay has swooped And caught you in its wings.) - Cybelle, feisty, petite, sort of a combination Sandra Bullock/Molly Ringwald popcorn character, in love with an older man, who will not admit his feelings, because he, Mark, loves her too much to ignore the age difference.

**DRISCOLL'S LADY** \- Leatrice raised her glass high. "To blue skies and candy mountains," she toasted wistfully. (Vast pastures shading to soft fawn Snowcapped mountains shrouded In pale blue mist Lush grassland, buttes and Rising hills Blue skies and candy mountains Driscoll's Lady cowpunching?) - Leatrice, elegance, finesse, classic beauty, intelligence, wealth and popularity, all rolled into one, in love with a Montanan horse rancher of moderate means, a man of the land, who has achieved his present status through long years of conscientious, hard-riding, backbreaking work. Although initially attracted to Leatrice, Seth Driscoll's conception of eastern women is stereotyped, especially regarding wealthy idle women. Not at all what he is looking for in a wife. Give him a woman of the land, Montanan bred.

**ADVENTURE IN PANAMA** \- Doreen bowed her head as she searched through her thoughts for a proper toast. "All right, she said, "To rhinestones, and sea-green veils." (The mold is set, the cast complete; The prison walls have captured love. But love cannot be caged. With rhinestones in her hair And sea green veils, Love dances, laughs, unlocks the door.) While visiting Panama, Doreen, wealthy, refined, herself, hailing from a distinguished family succumbed to the charms of a Latin lover, Esteban. They married and for a short time she was ecstatically happy living with him on his huge estate in Panama, along with his dowager grandmother, and sibling twins. As her efforts to conceive children met with failure she could no longer abide living in an old custom world environment that she felt was suffocating her, but her husband entrenched in old world pride and deeply in love with her refused to let her go. Not to mention the rumors about his involvement with the stripper at his club.

**HENDERSON SANDS** \- Harriet's words rushed out. "Yes, a toast. To Thor of lightning, and Neptune of the sea, to sea nymphs and wandering angels. ("A gentle man has no need of iron gloves and magic hammer. Rather gentle springs and warm streams. Thor of lightning and Neptune of the sea, let sun rays bathe sea nymphs and wandering angels.) - Harriet, a New York waitress, remembered always fearing and disliking the opposite sex. Recurring nightmares haunted her anytime she came close to involvement. With Val (Thorvald) the nightmares had not come, not yet, possibly because she found him the most intense, most handsome, vital man she had ever met. Strolling with Val the decks of the ocean liner cruising the Mediterranean, she accepted his smooth words with a grain of salt; a shipboard romance. She knew that once the ship docked in New York, she would never want to see him again. Then fate stepped in, and Harriet found herself stranded with Val on an exotic island in the Mediterranean, an island they christened Henderson Sands after their surnames. Harriet could not deny her attraction to Val, yet how could she permit herself to find him devastatingly appealing? Wasn't he like most men...?

These stories are also available as stand-alone novellas, paperbacks, ebooks, and large text editions.

Silvereye's Hummingbird

(Carol's Story)

(A clean, feisty, light-hearted romance

by Paula Freda)

Backcover Blurb

A sweet, gentle girl, Herbert mused. Sometime during her high school years, Carol had changed. Herbert suspected that change began the day she met Evan.

Herb sighed. Whatever did he have to do, or say, to convince her of his sincerity and earnest wish to be her friend? If he could only win her friendship, that he might stand the slimmest chance of winning her heart.

"Hmmm," Carol whispered under her breath. Why couldn't the fates have given him Evan's features and gentle ways? She would have married him by now. Contrary to what she made him think, she wasn't blind to his qualities, or to his affection for her. She'd never let him know how well he saw into her character, or how his piercing grey eyes sometimes discomposed her, especially in the moonlight, when they glinted metallic silver.

And then Alouette entered their lives, a sweet, beautiful, disabled nine-year-old orphan who stole their hearts. "I want to adopt her," Carol told Herb adamantly, despite the Home's restriction that only married couples could adopt. Will you marry me? she asked Herb.

Cinderella Ice

(Jessie's Story)

Backcover Blurb

At the age of nineteen, Jessie eloped with Walt, a ranch hand she had met on the ranch of her mother's best friends, the Driscolls, in Montana.

It took Jessie only three months into her marriage to learn the reason Walt had responded to her advances. Alone with her, his true nature surfaced. Right to her face, he told Jessie the real reason he'd married her, and how sick he was of her cloying, adolescent affection. Hurt and disillusioned, Jessie's rose-colored glasses shattered. But reality wasn't finished with her. She woke in the morning to find Walt missing. On his side of the bed, a two-sentence note. "I'm gone. Don't look for me."

All the same, for two years she waited, with never a word, until one afternoon, the Driscolls brought her authenticated documents, proving that when he married her, Walt had a wife and two children under another name.

Indoctrinated since childhood in fairytales with happy endings, her spirit, her view of life and the pursuit of happiness, severely scarred, especially regarding the story of Cinderella and Prince Charming. She swore off any future relationships, and turned her nose up at the need for a Prince Charming.

Cinderella Ice. Like the Snow Queen.

Jessie made up her mind. Yes, that's what I'll be from this day forth — Cinderella Ice.

Wild Yellow Clover and Honey Wheat Sage

(Macey and Cal's story)

Backcover Blurb

Tanner and Linda hoped that their daughter had finally learned her lesson, when because of her ill-placed stubbornness, she was almost killed in a cave-in.

Morally at heart, Macey is a decent girl, when steered in the right direction, away from her wild side, sweet as clover and as potentially toxic. Nearing her twenty-first birthday, her habit of developing unrequited crushes has taken its toll. She has been fortunate the groups she hung with were decent young people. No one regarded her seriously, or took advantage of her vulnerability. Macey was pretty, blonde, slender, with attractive curves. But she distanced prospective suitors with her flirtatious over anxiousness to form a relationship the moment she met someone who fit her idea of the perfect hero and offered her a friendly smile. The few who fell for her first, but did not fit her view of the perfect physical specimen, she steered away from, or with the utmost kindness, firmly rejected them, even Cal, the Driscolls' younger son, a fine young man, and new foreman on their ranch. He saw past the silky blonde hair, the pretty face and slender form, and the curves, and the ill-placed stubbornness. He saw into her heart, morally and intrinsically kind. She just had not figured out where she fit in. He wished it was in his arms, but she didn't want him. If he'd been as handsome as his older brother, Tom, and as smart, teaching History at Montana Tech, she'd be his wife by now. But, no matter, he thought. The Driscoll stubbornness ran in his veins. He would protect her, appreciated or not, at least until she found someone who saw her as he did, and captured her heart.

Excerpt 1

Another man approached the table. This one was the youngest of the three. He had blonde wavy hair, and beautiful blue eyes. And they were gazing at her with deep interest. "She has grown into a beautiful young woman, Cal." He bent and took the hand she had snatched from the Englishman. "You don't remember me, do you? But you were very young when my parents and I spent a week at the Driscoll's ranch. I only saw you a couple of times when your father worked as foreman at the Bar LB."

Macey rummaged through her memories. Her father had brought her down to the Bar LB on several occasions. But she had no memory of the blonde Adonis standing before her and holding her hand in a tender clasp. "I don't remember you at all," she said honestly.

He smiled, and Macey swallowed.

He said, "I know, we were both very young, and I didn't take well to strangers. I'm Michael Sands. My parents and Cal's parents have been good friends for many years."

EXCERPT 2:

... "Excuse me." Michael said. "May I," he asked Cal.

Neither she, nor Cal, had noticed him approaching them.

She felt Cal tense, then relax. "Of course," he said. He let go. Macey experienced the weirdest sensation — a sudden void. But Michael taking her into his arms, redirected her thoughts. He fit her image of the perfect man, and the way he looked at her as they danced, gave her hope. Admiration. That's what she saw on his face. Admiration from someone who fit her image of a man she could fall in love with, someone who sent warm tingling flashes up her spine, as he twirled her under his arm and bent her backwards to place a kiss on her lips.

It was a memorable moment in her life, spoiled only with something she caught sight of from the corner of her eye. Cal standing at the perimeter of the dance floor, watching, resigned, turning away, dreams shattered.

Love's Timeless Secret Revealed

(Tom's Story)

Backcover Blurb

Marianne Dora Rose presents two love stories entwined, one-hundred twenty-five years apart, yet linked by one thread, Love's Timeless Secret.

Thomas Driscoll, elder son of Leatrice and Seth Driscoll, teaches Montana History at his local college, along with an Adult Ed course. When he suggests an optional paper on memoirs and stories garnered from his Adult Ed students' own past relatives, Janice Miller, the plainest student in his class, prim and proper, every facial feature in its place, but no spice, bland, brings him a diary she discovered in an old trunk in her attic, scripted by her great grandmother, several times removed, Elspeth Gillian. A lonely young woman, not beautiful or alluring, passed over for prettier and docile, younger ladies, her only recourse is escape or a forced marriage of last resort, even if her escape should lead her to yet another uncertain future. She needs to be loved, not used. At a time in history when women had few rights, and even less say in their futures, Elspeth has the courage to create her own future.

As he reads the diary, Tom can't help visualizing Janice as Elspeth, as he discovers Love's Timeless Secret.
Other Novels, Novellas,

Short Stories, Articles

By Paula Freda

Aka as Marianne Dora Rose

E-Books

Roses in the Dark

(Also available as four stand-alone Novellas)

The Blue Jay and the Sparrow

Driscoll's Lady

Henderson Sands

Adventure in Panama

Rubies, Sapphires,

Red, White and Lavender Blossoms

(Four Inspirational Romance Novellas)

The Heart Calleth

The Sketchbook

Inspirational Stories - Set I

Inspirational Stories - Set 2

Inspirational Stories - Set 3

Blonde Angel

The Ugliness Without

The Lord's Canine

Is There More To Life Than What The

Realists Claim

(with a special bonus)

The Giftless Christmas

The Camellia Lady / My Three Fathers

Cathy and the Dolphin

A Valentine Bouquet

Stardust (Old Woman in the Park)

A Cup of Humanity

Shannon and the Angel (A Mortal Man)

Welcome Home, Amy

The Scent of Camellias

The Intangible

The Lonely Heart

A Ghost of a Story

The Gently Cursed

The Offering

The Good People

The Novices Guide

To the Art of Writing

The Adventures of Grace Quinlan and

Lord William Hayden

(five stand-alone novellas)

The Adventures of Grace Quinlan and

Lord William Hayden

(the complete novel)

Blossoms in the Snow

Sunrise in Paradise

Lilac in the Spring

Sapphire Blue in the Straw (Jenny's Story)

Orange Blossoms in December

The Consequential Heart

I Dream of My Lady in Red

The Girl in Blue Velvet Who Fell From The Stars

Wild Yellow Clover and Honey Wheat Sage

Audrey's Mr. Darcy

Beautiful Dreamer

Silvereye's Hummingbird

(Carol's Story)

Cinderella Ice

(Jessie's Story)

and

Sharon and the Beast

(Sharon's story)t

written under my pseudonym

Marianne Dora Rose

Paperback Editions

Time Encapsulated (Poetry of the Soul)

Romantic Short Stories

Science Fiction and

Fantasy Short Stories

Inspirational Short Stories

The Complete Collection (Sets 1, 2, 3)

The Novices Guide to the Art of Writing

The Adventures of Grace Quinlan and

Lord William Hayden

(the complete novel)

Roses in the Dark

(Also available as four stand-alone Novellas)

The Blue Jay and the Sparrow

Driscoll's Lady

Henderson Sands

Adventure in Panama

Rubies, Sapphires,

Red, White and Lavender Blossoms

(Inspirational Romance Novellas)

Heartsongs

Blossoms in the Snow

Sunrise in Paradise

Lilac in the Spring

Sapphire Blue in the Straw (Jenny's Story)

Driscoll's Daughter

(a sequel to Driscoll's Lady)

Orange Blossoms in December

The Consequential Heart

I Dream of My Lady in Red

The Girl in Blue Velvet Who Fell From The Stars

Wild Yellow Clover and Honey Wheat Sage

Audrey's Mr. Darcy

Beautiful Dreamer

Silvereye's Hummingbird

(Carol's Story)

********

written under my pseudonym

Marianne Dora Rose

Cinderella Ice

(Jessie's Story)

Sharon and the Beast

(Sharon's story)

Loves Timeless Secret Revealed

Starlight's Hearts
Paula Freda's Websites

www.angelfire.com/falcon/dpfenterprises.com

www.thepinkchameleon.com

VIEW VIDEO TRAILERS OF SEVERAL OF MY BOOKS AT MY WEBSITES

Remember to trust in the Lord through good times and bad. Trust in Him through Jesus and Mary. Say the Rosary to Mary, often. The world may throw you twists and turns, but their love will give you the strength to endure.

Wishing you all peace of mind and spirit.

Paula Freda

Writing as

Marianne Dora Rose

113

