 
Copyright © 2010 Jeanne Irelan

http://jeanneirelan.com/

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

FLOWERS AT HER FEET

BY

JEANNE IRELAN

The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. Song of Solomon 2:12

Chapter 1

"Property values are increasing all the time." The agent gave a proud sweep of her arm over the surrounding residential area in a possessive way as if she'd sold every house there. "You're fortunate to have inherited this place."

I gave a doubtful but still interested glance at the neighborhood. Some houses had been obviously renovated but others, like mine, had not. "Transitional," some termed the area, sometimes "historical," a little better. My own house was three-storied, rambling, uneven-roofed. "Queen Anne, Victorian, of course," said Janice Thompson of Thompson Realty, which prided itself on its ubiquitous presence in the Foxhill neighborhood. Janice (pronounced Ja-neese) was a gnome-like person with a large head of black curls and heavy squat legs. She wore expensive clothes and drove an Escalade. I seemed to tower over her though I was only a little over medium height and wore low stacked heels. Janice walked and gestured with supreme confidence, and I watched her admiringly. Lately, I felt either too tall, too thin, too pale, or too awkward in my movements. But to be fair to myself I had some good points–nice legs, for example; and my eyes, called "luminous" by some, were a light blue-gray framed by dark lashes and had routinely caused comments. At this time in my life, however, I couldn't shake the feeling I had misplaced my true self. Inheriting this house provided me with an opportunity–either to find myself or become further mired in mistakes and more self-doubt.

"You could sell it and make some money," Janice continued at my silence. "I could get a buyer for it within a week. There aren't too many areas like this left in Nashville. It's ripe for development. Yuppies are snapping up houses like yours as soon as they come on the market."

"I don't know. I think I'd like to live here. Keep the rooms rented since I wouldn't need all that space." Did I want to do that? I guess so. I heard myself saying so. An old house, lots of work, responsibilities. This was the moment of truth. Oh, I could have put off making any decision for a while, but for what? I needed to take the plunge now, while I could still talk myself into it. Adventure, romance—my life could stand a bit of both. True, the house didn't look too promising for either, but it had to be better than my present circumstances. Then too, I tended to take in things at a glance and go with my impression. Quite simply, I liked the house.

"Right. A little sprucing up inside and out, you could get a good clientele."

"A great deal of sprucing up," I murmured. The green trim looked dingy, the paint worn off in spots. Shutters hung askew with rusty hinges. Did the front porch sag a little? I tilted my head and decided no. The stone steps, once an impressive entry feature, were listing to the right. I didn't like that. Much to be done. But it was a lovely old place.

"A lick of paint, a little elbow grease and you'll have a lovely home or multiple dwelling,"

"It seems to be occupied now." A curtain moved at an upstairs window tucked in a gable. I saw a small face and bright eyes observing us. "My understanding was that after my aunt died, the place was to be vacated."

"Well, no. Some had paid up for a couple of months. They all seemed so attached to the place we just let them ride along until your aunt's will was probated. The rent money's in an escrow account, of course. You'll have a head start on money for repairs or maintenance." She gave me a knowing look. "You seem to have made up your mind."

I shrugged. "I'd like to try Nashville for a change. Except for my college years, I've always lived in a podunk town, more recently as the town librarian." I faltered a bit as I admitted this suddenly dull-sounding existence, but I continued gamely, "After all, I'm twenty-seven years old. It's time to make a move, don't you think? This house is my ticket." I'd be twenty-eight in September. Virgo. I must have been the consummate Virgo: virginal, precise, orderly, compulsively neat, critical–and alone. Surely there must be more to life, I told myself, than what I had been doing–reading the gloomy Romantic poets as my entertainment.

"Will you be getting a job besides being a landlady?"

I looked around as if I might see a job opportunity behind a tree. "I hope so. I'll have to have work. I doubt that I could make it solely as a landlady."

"There's a branch of the city library within two blocks of here. They might take you on part time at least."

"Yes." Janice probably thought my librarian background suited me to a T. And she was right. What else was I qualified for? It was a dispiriting thought. We climbed the steep flight of limestone steps from the sidewalk to the house. They were slightly hollowed from years of use. "Is everything done, so the house is legally mine, I mean?"

Janice nodded emphatically. "The attorney for the estate had contacted us to take care of matters. We have some papers for you to sign and then it's yours officially." She gave me a sidelong glance. "You're sure you don't want to sell? You could get a really good price. Start all over with a nice bank account, or a nice new house with little upkeep." She wanted this baby.

"I should do that if I were to be practical. But I'd like to see how it goes first here." Firm, in charge. But it wasn't just Janice that I was hoping to convince. Now stepping into a new venture, I had to overcome that feeling of resistance that assailed me with threats of failure.

We both turned at the sound of thudding footsteps and saw a jogger approaching below us on the brick sidewalk. He ran in a forward lurch style and had the haggard, desperate look of someone being chased. I hated running, myself. All that jiggling and thumping. It had to do things to one's body beyond repair. I liked to walk though. And this neighborhood promised some pleasant excursions. I could imagine myself strolling–at a brisk pace, of course–on the newly re-paved brick sidewalks among the tall trees. It was partly because of the quaintness of the area that I made up my mind so quickly. The place had charm and a kind of peace. But, of course, I knew nothing about it.

I turned back to the house and stepped onto the porch, a wide empty space covering half the front. I remembered this place vaguely as a hazy childhood event. I'd visited my aunt only once. Then she and my father had some unfortunate falling out. I knew the trouble between my father and his older sister had to do with their father's estate many years ago. They'd had different mothers and complications arose that caused hurt and recriminations. And even after Daddy died, Mother never encouraged visits because of his sister's unforgiving attitude. Amazing that Aunt Mary remembered me in her will. How lucky I was!

"You're very lucky to get this place." said Janice the mind reader. "See how there's renovation going on around here? There's a homeowner's group for the neighborhood. The Foxhill Association. They have a yearly tour of homes open to the public."

"Is it safe then? I didn't think much of the neighborhoods closer in to town."

"Perfectly safe in the immediate vicinity. Neighborhood Watch, that sort of thing." She kicked aside some leaves with her pointed toe and opened the front door. We walked into a large reception hall–high ceiling, a settee with frayed upholstery and a small table on rickety-looking legs. A stairway on the right and a closed door on the left. Janice unlocked the door to the left. "As you can see, it's very private for you. The renters have to come into this hall or use the back stairway. They park their cars either on the street or in that large turnaround by the garage."

"Where are the other doors?"

"Another outside door is on the side of the drive. It leads to the basement and from that hallway to your kitchen."

The front room had furniture everywhere. I was trying to sort things out when Janice brushed by me and went into the next room. "Dining room, big bay window, and back there the kitchen, breakfast nook overlooking the garden. Might want some new appliances, wall paper."

I could only peek into the spacious kitchen before Janice was ushering me down a long hall toward the rear. "Three bedrooms. The one nearest the dining room was originally a back parlor, but it would work well as a den. Double glass door–nice, huh?"

"Very. I like it." The original features of the house were interesting, but my general impression was of clutter and heavy, dark pieces of furniture. I can't stand clutter. I'd have to take stock of the furniture later.

We moved back to the front room. I looked at the ceiling. "When can I see what's upstairs and who lives there?"

"Anytime. There are three efficiencies–living room and bedroom combined with a tiny kitchen. They share the bath, a big bathroom. Each apartment has an air conditioner and radiant heat. There's an apartment on the third floor, the attic, that has its own bath. It's unoccupied."

"Do you know the renters?"

"Not really. I've seen their names on checks and talked to one on the phone, but we didn't actually meet. All women, though."

"Then I should see about getting acquainted right away."

"No hurry. As I said, they're paid up until the end of the month. If you want to evict anyone, you'll have to give them a month's notice anyway."

I held out my hand like a real person of business. "Thanks so much for the tour, Janice. I guess I can take it from here."

"Remember the papers. You'll need to come to the office to sign."

"I'll be there this afternoon."

"Are you going to move in right away?"

"Not until I get my affairs settled. Maybe two weeks. But I should talk to my renters and find out if everything is satisfactory." My renters!

"Paige Crowell's been my contact. Works at one of the banks; I forget which. A widow. Seems very responsible."

"Thank you again." I held the door for the agent and watched her totter down the steps in her high heels to her car parked at the curb.

Lilies and pinks were clustered around a large oak in the small front lawn and other scraggly flowers were rearing their heads next to the steps. Overgrown bridal wreath and forsythia were under the parlor windows and the corner of the house. Some needed to be taken out, others trimmed. I walked over to a driveway with broken pavement and followed it to the back. On the side of the house, wooden stairs went to a new-looking door between the first and second stories, obviously the interior stairs landing, and then proceeded up to the attic entrance on the third floor. Beyond the stairs an interesting feature stood out–a round two-story turret, which was my breakfast nook. I wasn't surprised by this architectural wonder, finding from preliminary research on the American Queen Anne style that a turret as well as front facing gables and a porch of some kind were practically de rigueur.

I'd parked my own car at the curb, but I saw a three-car garage at the rear of the property. One of the bays presumably held my aunt's old Chevy–part of my inheritance, so the lawyer had said. An unpainted wooden fence shielded the alley from the garden. More trees–maple and oak–and a rusting, ornate wrought iron bench. Attached to the garage, a crudely built potting shed with a window. I looked in and saw a gas powered mower and assorted tools and pots. I strolled back to the front entrance.

What have I let myself in for? I'd lived in my parents' house since a broken engagement had brought me back to Tarryton. It had seemed a good thing temporarily; I'd planned to strike out on my own as soon as I got myself together. Within a few months my father died from a heart attack, and I'd gotten an offer to step in as head librarian at the town library. Not a wonderful position, but Mother had seemed to need me. We were not a very prolific family with my father having only the one sibling and my mother having no brothers or sisters at all. I was an only child myself, so I took the path of least resistance and stayed close to home. But now, fate had led me to the big city and responsibilities, more than I maybe really wanted.

Chapter 2

A man came out of the house next door carrying a large plastic garbage bag and gave me a quick look. I smiled and greeted him with a cheery wave.

"Are you the new owner?" he asked, walking toward the driveway where I stood. Our houses were very close; not more than fifteen feet separated my driveway from his house.

"Yes, I am. I just inherited this place from my aunt. I'm Tessa Claiborne."

He put down his sack and came closer. "Aubrey Slinker. So you're Miss Claiborne's kin. She said she had a niece she hadn't seen for years." He took my outstretched hand and held it weakly. He was my height with thinning mouse-colored hair and a strangely unlined face, though I guessed his age to be between forty and fifty. He seemed only able to give me darting glances from his pale eyes.

"I wish I'd known her better." How many times would I have to acknowledge the strained relationship? "But here I am. Ready to get acquainted with the house and everything else."

"We're glad to have you in the neighborhood. Marianne and I hoped someone nice would take over." He bent his head questioningly. "You do plan to live here and not sell it?"

"I plan to live here, yes. I'm going to be moving from Tarryton in a couple of weeks."

Just then a large grey-striped cat emerged from a corner of Slinker's house and sidled up to me. It rubbed against my leg and started its motor.

"Come here, Marianne. Don't bother the lady." Aubrey reached toward the cat, but it slipped out of his grasp and bounded off toward my house. "She doesn't mind well."

Marianne! I'd almost asked him about his wife. "Most cats don't."

"I better get my garbage out. Trash pickup today. See you around, Miss Claiborne."

I watched him plow through his rather weedy back yard in his khaki shorts toward the alley. Probably a good enough neighbor. Quiet, to himself. I wasn't very impressed with his house, I must say. It was smaller than mine, a twenties frame bungalow. It could stand a coat of paint, and the enclosed front porch was heaped above the windows with stacks of boxes and furniture. The bushes needed to be trimmed worse than my own. I wondered if he'd lived there long. He didn't seem to fit Janice's picture of a yuppie dying to renovate.

In the front entry hall, a commotion on the stairs made me pause. An older woman was thumping her way down with a cane in one hand, grasping the rail closely with the other. She had a shiny black pocketbook over her arm. When she spotted me she smiled and called out gaily,"Wait till I get down there. I'm coming on a dead run."

This surely wasn't Paige Crowell, the banker and widow?

"You must be Miss Claiborne," the woman said as she got closer. "I'm Mignonette Morrison. Ridiculous name, isn't it. My mother had a thing for the French. Everyone calls me Mimi. I hope you will, too."

"Call me Tessa. I guess you must be renting one of the apartments upstairs."

"Yes, and I'm getting too old for it. These stairs and my bad hip don't go together. But I don't go out much anyway. Most of my friends are either dead or in worse shape than I am."

"Won't you come in?" I invited, opening the door to the living room.

"I don't mind. I've got a cab coming in a few minutes to take me to my weekly bridge game. Ha! We haven't played a serious game for years. I came down early in hopes I'd see you."

"I'm glad you did. I planned to visit everyone who lives here right away to see if you need anything."

"Honey, what I need you can't give me." She positioned herself in front of a velvet plush Victorian chair and lowered herself heavily onto it with a small gasp.

Mimi had pretty snow white hair carefully waved. Her face was round and delicately powdered and rouged. She had a sharp little nose in the middle to match her sharp eyes. A white owl. Her dress looked expensive and quite elegant–flowered silk, I thought, but she wore black orthopedic tie-ups on her feet.

"So what do you think of the place?" she asked, looking around the room. "Some nice stuff, some junk. I expect you can tell the difference. Mary couldn't, or wouldn't. Kept everything. I told her to clean out before her relatives had to, but she was too stubborn."

I agreed I'd have to make some changes. "Have you lived here long, Mimi?"

"About twelve years, since my husband died. I've got two daughters, but one lives in Knoxville, the other Lexington. I didn't want to take care of my house any longer or move away to a strange place. Luckily, I found this grand old house. It reminds me of my childhood in Atlanta. I'll tell you about it sometime. Well, here I landed and here I stayed–and here I hope to stay until I pop off or my daughters cart me off." She gave me a breathless look. "Are you planning on making any major changes?"

"Not really. As far as you're concerned, no. I haven't thought about it much yet. I do want to change the furnishings some and fix up things outside and in."

"Good. You'd better rent the third floor to a man–young and strong. It'll save you some time and money in the long run."

I burst out laughing. "Thanks for the tip. I'll keep that in mind. I'm eager to meet the others who live here."

Mimi nodded. "Paige won't be back until the end of next week. She's on a trip to Cancun with friends. Poor Paige."

"I hear she's a widow. Recent?"

"Not really. He died about a year ago. But six months later, she discovered he'd had a mistress for ten or so years before he died. Paige found evidence among his things, in old check stubs, photos, cards, that sort of thing. The son of a bitch hadn't even bothered to throw the stuff away when he knew he was dying. She's been trying to pull herself together ever since."

"She moved here about then?"

"Needed to get away from the house of memories."

"Who's the other renter?"

"Hallie Goldfarb." Mimi wagged her head a bit as she spoke the name.

"What's the matter?"

"Oh, nothing. She's something of a pill, though good hearted. She's what we used to call a spinster, a school teacher. How cliché, huh? In her fifties. Jewish. Expect you'd call her an ideal renter if you don't mind her brusque and busybody style."

"I see." Mimi seemed to be tarred by the same brush as Hallie Goldfarb, but I liked her anyway. "And she's been here long?"

"Oh my, yes. Since before I came. She practically adopted Mary. You can thank her for encouraging your aunt to have the downstairs centrally heated and air conditioned. Don't think she was hoping to cash in on any inheritance either. She genuinely believes she can help with all her advice."

The sound of a horn alerted the old woman and drove her painfully to her feet. "End of gossip. I like company, so come up anytime and split a bottle of beer with me. Beer's good for my heart, but a whole bottle gives me gas."

I showed her out and saw her into the cab that had parked on the driveway near the door. I waved in answer to Mimi's own cheerful goodbye. She was sharpish but amusing. I was glad I'd met her first and got the low-down on the other roomers.

I now had the time to carefully check out the downstairs rooms. I tended to think of the rooms in houses as something like the Dewey Decimal System. Certain things belonged in their appropriate surroundings. You'd never catch me with a bed pillow on a sofa, even temporarily, or a TV in the bedroom, for that matter. The dining room was a medium-sized room with a delightful country Hepplewhite drop leaf table and six Hitchcock chairs. A graceful caned settee was against one wall and across from it was a small plain sideboard of cherry with a tarnished silver tea set and dusty crystal candelabra. I'd get to sorting out all that later, but for now, that room could stay intact.

The bedrooms were fully–quite fully–furnished. The large one nearest the living room, the original second parlor, must have been Aunt Mary's bedroom. It contained, besides a couple of dead plants in unmatched china jardinieres, a double bed, a large highboy, several occasional tables, and a boudoir chair in flowered chintz. The furniture was reproduction Sheraton mahogany. Not bad. I might use it for myself in the back bedroom, the largest. The middle bedroom was a catchall for unused household items, but I would turn that into my guest room.

The kitchen last. The stove was a green enameled monster; it must have come with the house when my aunt moved in thirty-some years ago. I supposed I could cook meals on it for the entire household. But it had been well tended–probably not used much in Aunt Mary's latter years. A toaster oven on the counter seemed to have borne the brunt of it. The refrigerator was newer. It had been emptied but not cleaned. It gave off a sour smell. Lysol, definitely. The breakfast nook was fairly spacious, being in the round turret room. The nook could be a very attractive and sunny space after I changed out the Formica table and chairs and got new curtains.

The cupboards still had foodstuffs. Most of that could go. Dishes, a set of breakfast Spode was behind glass cupboards. Nice. A keeper. I saw odd cups and chipped plates that had probably been for Aunt Mary's everyday use. In a bottom cupboard were pots and pans and skillets from World War Two era. The kitchen was a showcase for an old woman giving up a number of things–entertaining, decisions, taste.

I sat down at the table and took out a notebook from my bag. A list. I always felt more comfortable with a list in my hand. I needed to make this place my own.

Chapter 3

I found I had underestimated the time it would take me to get shed of Tarryton and move to Nashville. I had an assistant at the library who was perfectly capable of running the show, but I couldn't walk out without giving the board enough time to replace me. On the other hand, I needed time off to make arrangements for moving. I had packing to do. And there were the on-going chores at Aunt Mary's–that is, my house, which kept taking up my time. Early May was growing time in Middle Tennessee, so consequently the lawn needed serious work. Mimi knew a man in the neighborhood who would at least mow. I also needed someone to help clean the house. Again, Mimi to the rescue. She had a woman who did her apartment and would free herself up for one day, maybe on a regular basis if she liked me. Mimi said household help tended to be very particular around here.

Altogether, it took four trips back and forth to finally say goodbye to Mother, now resigned to my leaving. She'd come with me one Saturday to see my new home. We walked from room to room, ending up in the front parlor.

"I can't imagine why you'd like living in this big old place. And with strangers in the house, too." She gave a mock shiver, hugging her arms to her slight frame. She was shorter than I and had kept her figure though now in her mid-fifties. We both had the same dark auburn hair though hers was a little faded and worn much shorter, softly curled back from her face. She wandered to the large window overlooking the street. "This neighborhood was terrible for years, run down. When they built the projects practically next to it, I told Mary to get out then–that was when your father and she were still speaking, of course–but she wouldn't."

I tried to reassure Mother. "But you can see how much the neighborhood's been restored. I think it's quite safe. I'll be fine. I like to think of it as an adventure." Brave words, but it wouldn't do to let Mother see how anxious I really was. She still thought of me as her baby. I wished again that she lived closer to her own parents who were in Chattanooga, though Grandpa and Grandma were seldom at home, spending their retirement years traveling.

"And no job to boot," Mother went on, "Have you heard anything yet?"

"I'll be interviewing with the library board next Friday. They'll probably give me something part time although I'll never be so lucky to get the branch near me."

Then an impulsive move changed all my plans. I had arrived after the two-hour drive from Tarryton at ten o'clock the following Friday morning, my last weekend before the move. As I drove down the street, I saw a few neighbors working in their gardens, painting trim, mowing. An industrious bunch. My own house--and Aubrey Slinker's–looked neglected by comparison.

I'd also noticed in the little business district a small building with a sign announcing, "Community News." After lunch, having to wait some hours before my interview later in the day, on a whim I walked the two blocks to the office to pick up a paper. Maybe there'd be an ad for something local wanting someone like me. I couldn't quite work up enthusiasm for another library job. Besides, there was always the possibility I'd not be hired. The newspaper office was a one-story building consisting of four rooms. Once inside, I saw through a doorway to an office a man engaged in doing something on a computer. He looked up and called, "Be with you in a minute. Got to finish something here."

Shortly after that, he came to the front desk and stood behind it looking at me inquiringly. "Sorry," he said, "I don't mean to be so peremptory. I've lost my Girl Friday and I'm trying to get out a paper with me answering the phone and waiting on people like you." He gave me a disarming smile. "I'm really quite a pleasant person when everything is copacetic." He must have been in his mid to late forties–no significant facial lines, but his black hair was turning an attractive salt and pepper. A scar cut across one eyebrow, giving him a slightly rakish look.

I hesitated before asking for a copy of the paper. His words had given me an idea, a flash of inspiration. I knew I could be a receptionist, if that's all he needed, and I wasn't planning on making much money, for I suspected newspaper work, particularly a small outfit like this, would be low pay. "I'm looking for a job," I offered. "I've just moved in down the block, inherited a large house with a few roomers, and I need something else to keep body and soul together. Do you think I'd do as your Girl Friday?"

He gave me a speculative look and smiled. "What's your work history?"

When I mentioned the degree and my position in Tarryton, he frowned. "I'd rather get someone not quite so qualified. You might get bored and not stay long for one thing. For another, there's not much writing involved. It's more of a secretarial and P.R. position, you know, with neighborhood folks coming in with their club happenings, wanting ads large and small put in for events, that sort of thing. I am not only ad manager, but also editor-publisher. And too, you'd do the billing for those ads, which is our main support, of course. The title is officially Office Manager. Are you certain this is what you'd like to do?"

"I think it would be perfect for me, wonderfully convenient, too. And I'm not wedded to the idea of library work. I'm sure I'd enjoy doing what needs to be done here. Will you give me a chance?" It seemed ridiculous to be so anxious about a job that a high school graduate probably could handle with ease, yet I felt this was my fate, karma, and I'd be horribly disappointed if he rejected me.

In the end, we came to an agreement, and I said I'd be moving the following week and could start work a week from Monday, if he could hold on until then. It would be pushing me a little with all I needed to get done around the house, but the job didn't seem to be very demanding and the hours were good, nine to four, Monday through Friday. The paper was put to bed on Tuesday and came out on Thursday, so the end of the week was the most relaxed time when I might get an occasional Friday off, according to my new boss, Hal Stensson. I didn't know much about him other than he'd owned the little paper for ten years after the Nashville Banner went out of business. I left the office feeling proud of myself for such decisive action. I was getting good at this. In the same spirit I called the library and cancelled my interview.

Two weeks later, I had gotten well into my job, which I found to be quite interesting. Hal Stensson was so-so at explaining the work–a little impatient, but recognizing his flaw and now and then apologizing for being short with me.

"You're really very quick, Tessa. I'm not a good teacher, as you can tell. Just land on me if I go too fast."

Even with so much information being piled on me, I believed I was getting the hang of the weekly newspaper business. "I'm taking notes, as you can see," I assured Hal, "so I should have the routine down pat in a few days. My mind is a little occupied, too, what with all the things I'm having to take care of at my house." My house! I still felt like a visitor to it as well as the neighborhood. I wanted to belong, though, to this exclusive place called Foxhill.

In fact, my neighborhood struck me as rather odd. Even though I'd lived virtually all my life in a small town where styles, periods, and conditions of houses varied all over the place, something unusual was going on here. Whenever I drove into the area, I had a sense that the houses were the real residents. They had personalities--some friendly, some intimidating, others indifferent. I'd brought home a book from the local library on the history of residential architecture in America to read up on the pedigrees of my neighbors. Luckily, I've a good memory for design, so I soon found myself comparing the houses in my new neighborhood with a critical eye, and to my disquiet, I also felt myself to be under some scrutiny.

From the first, I'd observed with interest an immaculate, buff-colored Eastlake cottage across the street. It always seemed to give me a smug look from its very clean windows beneath eaves painted in earth tones of sage and umber. I found from my reading it had been restored with great attention to authentic details. At the corner of the next block, two stolid, four square turn-of-the-century houses, one wearing yellow paint, the other white, faced each other grimly, as unmoved and weighty as two dowagers at church. Assured in themselves, they seemed to mark me especially for disapproval with my perpetually dirty car and my house that needed everything. But my house had its personality, too. It was like a frowsy old broad past her once glorious prime, winking at me from the long narrow windows with the drooping shutters and half-pulled shades. And Slinker's place might have been the disreputable poor relation, down-at-the-heels, but still gamely hanging on in hopes of a handout. There was a vacant lot on the other side of me and beyond that a freshly painted carpenter Gothic, overdressed with its restored gingerbread as for a garden party. It, too, would be on the annual tour, I supposed, like the Eastlake across the street.

With, as Janice said, "elbow grease" and money, I planned to change the character of my house. I'd hired a remodeling outfit to shape up the shutters and wood trim--mainly nailing things together, painting, and replacing some boards. No termites had invaded, thank heavens. It was foolish of me to take on this place without having had some sort of professional inspection first. But I'd been lucky, again.

My job paid little, and with my income nearly halved, I needed to get the third floor rented as quickly as possible. I had already decided that maybe Mimi was right. We should have a man around the house. I thought a pointedly worded ad in Craig's List might be the best way to go. I included the words "single" and "professional" in the ad, hoping to interest a respectable type or at least a gent without encumbrances.

What a rag-tag unprepossessing bunch answered the ad and had paid no attention to the requirements! I talked to couples with children, interviewed irresponsible looking students as well as a fellow with bloodshot eyes whose current residence was the Union Mission, who'd recently gone on Social Security and thought he could afford the rent.

Then I answered the door to a man in his mid-twenties, I judged. He looked like a real possibility, at least the most promising after days of unsatisfactory applicants. His name was Frank Wenger. He was designing some sort of computerized story-game while working in the "vault" of a music publishing company. A seemingly literate and certainly an entrepreneurial type of fellow.

He looked different, arresting. Not a particularly tall person, but several inches taller than I, he wore quite ordinary clothes, very wrinkled khakis and a faded polo shirt. I had a feeling he'd dressed up for the occasion. But his hair was stunning. It was reddish-gold and flowed like a mane down his back. It was very thick, and it waved, which might have come from braiding. His features were strong and heavy and very handsome in a leonine sort of way. He was somewhat overpowering, but at least he seemed intelligent and friendly and had a job. And he was the best prospect I'd seen yet.

I'd ushered him upstairs to the attic and we stood together looking at the large and gloomy space, which didn't bother Frank. "When I'm home I'm working on my computer program," he commented, "so I don't need many windows." The place was partially furnished, my aunt having supplied a bed and dresser in one alcove, a sofa and chair in the main area, and a small stove and refrigerator in the kitchen area. She'd not wanted people moving heavy furnishings up and down her stairs, according to Mimi.

"Looks great," Frank exclaimed enthusiastically. "I'm glad to see that air conditioner."

I agreed it would be unbearable up here without one.

"And baseboard heaters, too," he said approvingly. "So one wouldn't freeze in the garret during winter months."

"It should be very comfortable. But I wouldn't know from first-hand experience."

"You're new to the landlady business?" he asked on our way downstairs.

I explained about the house and he gave a whistle. "Good deal. It's a nice old place, too. I'd enjoy living here, I'm sure."

We had arrived in my living room where he handed me list of references–his boss at the music company as well as a former college professor and a lawyer in Knoxville, where he was from.

"Call them as soon as possible," he urged. "I'm ready and able to move here whenever you say." I remained non-committal, though, and after giving me a hearty handshake, he departed in his very old, red pickup truck.

The next morning, a Saturday, I telephoned him and told him he could move in as early as the first of the month, which was in twelve days. I hadn't bothered to check a single reference.

"Would you mind if I moved in today? My apartment has been turned into condos and I've been living on borrowed time. The management said they're going to get a court order to evict me if I don't get out immediately."

"Well . . . I haven't got everything cleaned up yet," I said lamely.

"Doesn't matter. I'll do it. Thanks a lot. I'll be right over."

He hung up before I could protest. I shrugged. What did a few days matter? And I could use the help in cleaning his apartment. Mimi was right; a strong back was worth something.

"He's a dreamboat," Mimi said when I went up to tell her about the new renter.

"How do you know?"

"I looked them all over. I know which one you picked. I would have, too."

"He's–ah," I hesitated for the right word, "unusual, not an ordinary bloke. I hope he's all right." I'd resolved to call a couple of people on the list he'd given me–eventually.

"I'd worry more about him when all of us renters get our hooks in him." She gave me a knowing smile.

"You don't really think we're so desperate for a man around the place, do you?"

Mimi nodded. "Those shoulders--that hair! Hard to resist. Looks like a lion."

"He does, doesn't he? Well, now we've got someone to lift and carry on the premises."

"I expect he might do more than that," Mimi chuckled.

If Mimi was suggesting some interest on my part, she could think again. He was definitely not my type. I've never been attracted to the outré. Besides, I wasn't looking for just any man to fill my life. I was beginning to feel more and more comfortable with my house, my new responsibilities, my job. A man would just mean complications.

Two hours later, I saw him in the driveway unloading his belongings from his vintage 1970s truck. I stepped quietly out onto the front porch and stood with my arms folded watching him. He turned sharply, as if sensing my presence.

"Hello!"

"Hi. That was fast work. Is that all you have?" I saw only a modular desk in all its parts, a small plasma TV, a card table and chairs, a couple of computers, and other pieces of electronic equipment. How glad I was that each apartment had its own electric meter! He also had a number of plastic milk crates loaded with odds and ends, including books, cds, and dvds.

He held out his empty arms. "I don't have all I need yet since my other place was furnished, but I'm taking care of that very soon."

"How so?" I smiled. His style was catching.

"Thrift shops, Goodwill, you know. That should be quick and easy to put together what little I need. I'm just grateful your apartment is furnished with the essentials." He was wearing jeans today with a T-shirt. He looked as if he lifted weights--or maybe he got his exercise hoisting boxes of tapes or records or whatever they stored in the music vault.

At any rate, I was glad he would be on the premises. He seemed a safe bet, even without checking references, a strong arm to have on hand. "I'm having a garage sale, mainly household goods, next weekend. Maybe you'd like to buy some old stuff at a bargain price."

"I like antiques."

I pointed to his truck. "I can tell."

He gave me a good humored smirk, squinting at me in the strong sunlight. His hair shimmered like a fusion of copper and gold and went a considerable distance down his back. He might have noticed my scrutiny, for he pulled an elastic band from his chest pocket and whipped his hair into a queue. "Will you sell any antiques like some of those in your living room?" "They are the living room."

He laughed outright, though it wasn't a particularly witty remark. His natural friendliness overflowed like his hair. His teeth were even and large and white. He probably had women falling all over him.

"Let me know, Frank," I said as I turned to go back inside, "if you need anything." I very much felt like a housemother. The day was humid, and my hair was lank and flapped like a wet rag around my ears.

"Thanks--Tess."

Tess! No one but my father had ever called me that. I went into the house a little shaken. He was too casual, too confident to suit me. He took everything for granted, as his right. I'd have to watch him carefully to make sure he didn't overstep himself.

Chapter 4

The other two tenants, Paige Crowell, finally back from Cancun, and Hallie Goldfarb–always at work or out somewhere whenever I happened by–had slipped under my radar. I hoped that now I had become settled in our paths would cross and give me an opportunity to meet them.

I made my plans for seeing Paige Crowell first. I didn't want to confront her Friday evening at the end of her work week. Thinking she might leave early to do her Saturday errands, I went upstairs bright and early through the large hallway with its rather threadbare carpet to the rear where I knocked softly on her door, feeling anxious. The woman apparently had gone through emotional trauma. How would she take another change--a new landlady?

The door was opened almost immediately by a tall, dark-haired woman in her mid-forties. She seemed serene and comfortable looking in a pink cotton robe tied at her slim waist, her hair pulled upward into a soft roll. She smiled questioningly.

"I'm Tessa Claiborne. I thought it was about time we met since we're going to be neighbors."

"Come in, Tessa. I've heard all about you from Mimi."

"Oh-oh. Mimi's probably got my most obvious flaws categorized."

"Not at all. We're really happy to welcome you. It seems funny that we should be the greeters when you're the owner, but with your aunt's sudden death . . ." Her voice was low and it trailed off before she said, "Would you like a cup of coffee?" I thanked her and watched her go toward the kitchenette in one corner. It was a Pullman-style arrangement partially screened by an oriental-looking divider.

While she busied herself in the kitchen, I sat down carefully in one of a pair of antique looking chairs upholstered in a brilliant flame stitch pattern and looked around, getting the impression of a charming place–rich, eclectic, warm. She handed me a china cup and saucer, the coffee black as I'd asked for, and took a seat opposite me on the couch, which was covered in a nubby, natural linen fabric. "I like your apartment," I said with sincerity, resolving to do something like this in my own place. "It's beautifully furnished,"

"It's a hobby of mine" She gazed around her apartment as if at a friend. But I also noticed long finger tips that thrummed continually on the arm of her chair. Her crossed leg bobbed nervously. I began to see that she had the control of one who needed a tight hold on herself.

"I think it's a pretty neat old place, too. Are you comfortable here? Only one room, having to share the bath?" She didn't look like someone who needed to conserve her money. She also didn't look like someone who would be a permanent renter, either. She would have to seek elsewhere for a peace that she'd not yet achieved. There was need and vulnerability in her gleaming appearance. She reminded me of a thoroughbred racehorse too highly strung. I decided at this point in her life she'd do well right out of the gate but then fade in the stretch.

She indicated with a nod of her head behind me and I turned to look. "I have the advantage of the turret, so it can serve as my tiny bedroom. For the time being, it's all I want to tend. I suppose Mimi told you my life history."

I shrugged. "A little. I'm sorry about your troubles."

"Thanks. The trick is trying to rise above them. It's hard to concentrate on anything when all you can think about is wishing you could kill someone who's already dead."

"It must be terrible to deal with." Still angry, bubbling over. Poor thing. Yes, she had a long way to go.

"Now, like it or not, I've started to see him in my dreams, confronting him the only way left to me."

"How long has it been since you found out about the other woman?"

"Well, let's see. He died in December of last year. I grieved properly until March when I had pulled myself together enough to clear out his things and tackle our business records, which had been his domain." She gave bitter laugh. "Ironic, isn't it, that I gave him carte blanche with our financial affairs when I was the banker. It was then that I discovered the grisly remnants of his romance, which, by the way, was still going strong at the time of his death. The worst of it is, the bastard–pardon my French–had given her hundreds of thousands of dollars over the ten years they'd been carrying on. He was a lawyer and she'd worked in his office as a paralegal."

"How ghastly!"

"Isn't it." She took a deep breath. "Enough about me. How's it coming downstairs? Are you going to have a sale?"

"I'll have to, I guess. There's too much clutter, too many things. I have some of my own stuff, too, although I've been living with my mother, so I haven't accumulated much."

"I'll help you get things together if you'd like."

"How kind! It'll be several weeks. I'm moving in next weekend, so I should get cranked up after that."

She asked me about my work and I explained I was embarking on a new venture. "It doesn't sound like much of a career boost, does it?" I laughed. "But for some reason I was eager to make a real break with my past."

She gave me a close look and commented quietly, "So you, too, are needing to forget something." Then she said hurriedly, "Sorry, I don't ordinarily pry into people's private lives–unless they're wanting a loan." She raised her eyebrows and we both laughed.

I left after a few more words about the house and a promise from me to call on her for help. I thought she needed the help more, but that might come with time.

Back in my bedroom, straightening up the closet, I decided it was not too early to confront Miss Goldfarb, as I thought of her. Surely she was moving around by now. Maybe doing her Saturday cleaning. I'd give her thirty minutes and then knock on her door.

I had plenty to do to keep me occupied. The curtains needed washing, those that weren't rotten. The heavy velvet ones I'd thrown away. I stripped the dusty unbleached muslin curtains with ball fringe from my bedroom windows, and hoped they would survive a washing. They would do for the time being. With an armful of curtains, I carefully navigated the steep stairs to the basement, not as dungeon-like as I had first supposed. It had a cement floor, and the walls had been plastered in the central area. Little windows at intervals around the room were high up and set in wells outside, which gave poor illumination and a mysterious feel to the space. The side rooms were a little intimidating with their moldering brick walls, but I kept those doors closed, thinking I'd have no call to enter, other than a hopefully rare visit to the fuse box or to introduce a repairman to the furnace and water heater.

The main room was dry and large and held more accumulation of Aunt Mary's life. She'd been a professional saver. And I suppose that was good in general, for she lived carefully but well. She had made it to Head Cashier at the Telephone Company, even weathering the corporate breakup successfully, so Mother had informed me. It was evident she took trips, for some of her souvenirs were stored here. Exploring earlier, I'd found a box of Mexican gimcracks, including castanets and a sombrero, another box of Hawaiian gear, another of Tyrolean. If I ever went to a costume party, I'd be well outfitted.

But her washer and dryer were up to date. They were stationed in a corner partially screened off by a wall but no door. Shelving held everyone's supplies. I assumed the middle one was my aunt's since the other shelves had the names of my tenants posted. I had noticed a clipboard hanging on a nail nearby with a sign-up sheet for using the machines. Hallie Goldfarb was scheduled this morning at eleven o'clock, but I'd have plenty of time to get my wash done.

At a little after ten, I went upstairs to meet my third tenant. Miss Goldfarb took a while answering the door. I thought she might be slow to get around on a weekend morning, but when she opened the door, I saw she was dressed in a pair of navy slacks and a cotton blouse, with a gash of bright red lipstick on her thin lips. She had a long plain face, her short hair scraped away from it with combs. Her eyes were interested and alert, used to spying out misbehaving children.

I introduced myself and easily insinuated myself through the door. I was curious to see her arrangement and if I'd approve. After all, I held the aces. I expected to see spareness and order, but it was as cluttered as Aunt Mary's living room had been. She invited me to sit on a thirties-era couch upholstered in gold brocade with a carved wooden frame. The floor was covered in an imitation Wilton rug and every table held framed photographs ancient and modern along with china and glass ornaments. Even with all the things displayed in an obvious attempt at refinement, it was cold and uninteresting.

"How nice!" I commented untruthfully.

"Thank you," she said with a mincing smile. "My mother died a few years ago, and I was delighted to get our family things. My brother and his wife weren't interested, particularly in the family pictures, but I think those mementos and objects d'art of an earlier age are what make a house a home."

We admired the room silently for a moment. Then I gave her a genial, landlady smile and asked her if she had any complaints or suggestions. I was suddenly aware of the soft strains of classical guitar coming from the stereo across the room. I was a little surprised at her musical taste. I might have expected something a bit more plebeian.

"Nooo," she said with hesitation. "Your aunt was the easiest person in the world to rent from. She just didn't want to be bothered by anything. But she kept up repairs around the house satisfactorily. Plumbing, the washer and dryer, that sort of thing."

"But--?" I'd heard complaint around the edges.

"I'm sure now that you're here, all those unfortunate little run down places outside will be taken care of."

"I certainly plan to keep up the place. Actually, I'm going to do quite a few things to improve the house and lawn."

"Oh, good."

"I've met everyone renting here now. I'm glad that you all seem so satisfied."

She nodded but didn't say anything. I didn't quite want to leave yet, though, so I said, "I met our neighbor on the west. Mr. Slinker. Do you know him?"

She rolled her eyes. "That man! He gives me shudders, always looking, looking, with that cat on his arm. Disgusting."

"Oh yes? I suppose he's a little odd. He doesn't keep his place up well."

"No, and the Association keeps getting after him, so Miss Mary said."

"You're saying my aunt was a member of the Foxhill Association?" I'd heard nothing about that from Janice.

"No, not really active. She didn't like to obligate herself, she told me. But she thought it was a good idea and chatted with some of the neighbors about concerns." She pursed her lips. "That's why it was so sad that she had begun to let the place go to pot." She leaned forward confidentially. "I think she just wasn't feeling up to it at the last."

"Do you have any family in town, Miss Goldfarb, or," I added bravely, "may I call you Hallie?"

She gave a pleased smile. "Oh, Hallie by all means. I don't like to stand on formality except with my children. You can't give an inch with those junior highers, you know, or they'll take a mile." Then she sobered up and considered. "Yes, I have relatives here. Our family is an old Nashville one, so I have not only my brother and his family, but also many aunts, uncles, and cousins. They're all in oil–salad oil, that is." She smiled at what no doubt was a familiar joke and named a brand still found in supermarkets. "Not that I see my people regularly, though. We pretty much lead our own lives."

"I expect that's what comes from everyone being so busy."

She sniffed, "And mainly incompatible. You can choose your friends but not your relatives, I always say."

I nodded but refused to get into details on that one. She seemed to have numerous clichés as conversation gambits. Probably practiced on years of students. But she was a decent sort, and that was the important thing. I parted from her with my usual stipulation to let me know if she wanted or needed anything.

Chapter 5

I found my work at the newspaper office to be a little more demanding than I had expected. A lot of people from the surrounding area apparently liked the paper and dropped by with their articles on club or neighborhood or church activities. As I looked them over, I felt I had no choice but to re-write most of them. Hal gave me the OK to do this.

"I've never had anyone working for me that was competent to rewrite, so go ahead." He smiled at me. "That will keep you mighty busy, though, since the standard of writing seems to be extraordinarily low."

"I don't mind, as long as I can get my other work done. Since the bills for ads this month have already been sent out, I have time to improve on the writing." It sounded a little immodest put that way, but it was true. Most reports handed to me were nothing but ads disguised as news stories so my intention was to turn the articles into genuine announcements without "y'all come" urgings and minus grammatical errors.

Hal Stensson had been right about his temper improving with circumstances: he was basically a kind and genuine person once the pressures of extra work had been taken off his back. He told me he was a widower with a grown son. A native Nashvillian, his married sister lived across town, and his mother was still living in the Foxhill area in the family home. He had joined me in the front office on Wednesday morning, a slow day for me with the copy having been electronically transmitted to the printer the evening before. Hal would soon be taking off to sell more ad space, but for now he was relaxing and chatting companionably across from my desk, his long frame sprawled in an ancient wooden chair with worn arm rests.

"So as you might expect, I'm really keen for all the improvements to keep this area alive and well. I'm glad to see someone like you has moved in and is getting involved."

"I'm still pretty much finding my way," I replied, "but I'm willing to do what I can. I'm having a garage sale, which will help clean out the detritus that's collected through the years."

"Yes," Hal said, "I noticed your ad. I might drop by myself and see how things are going."

"What about your house? Have you restored an old place?"

"Not as old as yours." He explained that he lived in a twenties craftsman bungalow a few blocks farther out from my house. "It's small but more spacious than it appears from the outside. It's a matter of proportion. I love it."

He seemed like the best kind of resident for Foxhill and I was suddenly very glad to be working for him and helping him in his work.

The sale was a stupendous success. People started coming at seven o'clock Saturday morning even before I'd had my coffee. I understood that Foxhill was a favorite haunt for garage sale junkies because of the old houses and long-time residents, many of whom were moving out. Quite a few neighbors dropped by also, but in the flurry I couldn't remember a single name. I was glad to see Hal, too, scouting around for "deco" design objects for his house. He ended up with a large bronze-like statue of a stylized dancer.

Paige was as good as her word, and had helped me price items two evenings in a row. I'd constructed makeshift tables from saw horses and Frank's milk crates using plywood sheets I'd found in the garage left over from some project. Aubrey Slinker loaned me his rickety redwood picnic table. Before the sale, he purchased a chenille bedspread and a dustpan.

Frank was one of the first to arrive and help with the customers. He'd scanned the goods the night before and picked out an upholstered chair, two end tables, and some lamps. I gave him a good price. Paige and Frank seemed to hit it off right away. I think his easy going ways helped take her out of herself. Hallie had joined us early, looking disapprovingly at my casual system.

"I wonder that you haven't lumped all the kitchen wares on one table instead of interspersing them with decorative items."

"I don't know," I answered distractedly. "We were so busy marking stuff last night, I'm afraid we only had time to put things out higglety piggelty. Maybe people will enjoy the hunt."

She raised her eyebrows. "Maybe. Of course, I would have been pleased to help out, but I wasn't asked."

"Oh, Hallie, I'm sorry. I actually didn't ask anyone. Paige came to me and helped price things, and Frank carried out most of the furniture. I would have loved more help, but I just didn't think."

She nodded and then offered to keep the cash register. "Or I could be a spotter."

"Spotter?"

"You know, look for thieves."

"Fine. Please watch the goods for me. And you can be my substitute cashier when I need a break." I left her standing guard over a table of linens and trays of costume jewelry. A large turn of the century oak frame was snatched up by two women at the same time and took a coin toss to determine the new owner. One of the two sofas in the living room went in the first hour, but after consideration, I put back a Victorian papier mache chair that needed only a little restoration. With Paige's encouragement, I priced three old pickle crocks that I found in the basement for $30.00 each and promptly sold them.

Knots of bargain hunters appeared and then unraveled in uneven strings. They seemed to disappear altogether around four o'clock as if summoned by some whistle. I ordered a pizza to serve everyone in the house, though Mimi declined, having a dinner date with a friend. I set out paper plates on the kitchen table and provided beer and cokes. Even Hallie thawed and seemed to enjoy the camaraderie. After eating our fill, we went outside and began to box up leftover items from the sale for the thrift shop to pick up Monday.

While the sun was dipping below the horizon., we moved the last of the boxes to the garage. I thanked Frank and Paige and Hallie for their help, and they climbed the outside staircase to their rooms. I felt fortunate to have such nice people living in my house. I'd taken in the money periodically and hid it in the oven in a cake pan. The late May day had been in my favor. No rain and a mild eighty-five degrees with mercifully little humidity. I'd even sold Aunt Mary's old car, still shiny from the last wax job.

As I made ready to go into the house, I heard rapid footsteps coming up the drive and saw a teenaged black boy, no doubt from the nearby projects. Other boys from that neighborhood had visited the sale earlier. We'd kept an eye on their roving around through the merchandise, and as far as I could tell they hadn't given any trouble. But years of scary news stories and my usual timidity gave me an anxious moment as the boy came closer.

"I'm afraid the sale's over," I called out in a brisk tone. I casually picked up a cane of Aunt Mary's that I'd hoped to sell but was now glad I hadn't.

"I know," he puffed. "I was here earlier." He plastered himself against the side of the house and looked anxiously towards the street.

I saw that what I had taken for dirt was actually blood. He had several head and scalp wounds. His arms were scratched badly, too.

"What's happened to you?"

"They're after me. I gotta get away from them. I shouldn't be here, y'know. If I'm caught in this neighborhood at night, I be arrested, too."

"The police are after you?" I quaked. My whole body was trembling. Did he have a knife or a gun that he would soon use on me or at the least brandish at me. Hostage!

"Prob'ly. So, they pick me up if they see a projects kid hangin' around. But I don't

care about no police. It's the Knights." He looked at my uncomprehending face. "Gang. They beat up on me 'cause I wouldn't steal something from you today. Only way to get in with 'em. I escaped, but they're after me. Hide me, lady, please." He looked around desperately. "In your garage maybe. Just for the night."

"Where's do you live?" I asked sternly. After all, he only looked to be about fourteen. "Your parents. They should know about this."

"I live with my granny. She don't know from nothin'."

This was terrible. He looked pathetic. "Why don't we call the police, and they can look for the--the Knights. That should put a stop to it."

"The gang'll kill me if you do that," he bleated with terrified eyes. "They don't allow no snitches."

I paced around the driveway. It was getting dark now, but Aubrey might have seen my visitor from his dining room window. Unlikely. His little den bedroom where he spent his evenings with Marianne (he told me) was on the other side of the house. I made a decision.

"Come on in the house then. I'll have to clean up those gashes. " I couldn't believe I was having this conversation or ushering into my private domain a street fighter. I glanced upward to the rooms of my renters, wondering if anyone would hear my cry if he attacked or robbed me.

I sat him down in the kitchen and got a basin of warm water and clean towels. I found out his name was Louis Terrell. I also found him to be meek and obedient. He was brave, too, when I cleaned the deepest wound on his cheek.

"You need to go to the hospital with this. It should be stitched."

"Can't you do it?" He looked at me hopefully.

"Certainly not. I'm not even a nurse type. This all kind of makes me sick." I waited but he made no move. "I guess I can use some tape to bind the edges together."

I left him alone to find my medicine box in the bathroom. When I walked back into the kitchen, it occurred to me I'd forgotten he might be dangerous. I'd also forgotten the money stashed in the oven not five feet from him.

"Here we go. Good old butterfly bandage."

"Butterfly?" He gave me a grin and immediately grimaced from pain.

After carefully cutting and applying the bandage, I doused the minor cuts and scrapes with antiseptic and pronounced his treatment finished. "Now, what am I going to do with you?"

"You don't have to do nothing, lady. Just let me stay here until I can get out without my ass in my hand."

I raised my eyebrows. Graphic. "But you can't stay here, don't you see?" I thought for a minute. I could put him the basement until he felt it safe to leave and lock the doors between him and me. Then I could sleep without fear of being robbed. As a matter of fact, I'd be happy if he took some of those boxes of souvenirs in the basement off my hands. I hadn't had time to go through them before the sale. But the likelihood of him posing a danger to me seemed much less than it had in the driveway.

"Where are your parents?"

"My mom's in Georgia working at a carpet factory. She don't like me much 'cause of my old man."

"What does your dad have to do with you?"

"He be in prison for selling drugs, and I guess she thinks I might be like him."

"But you aren't. You didn't steal today, did you?"

He looked at me from the corner of his eyes with a knowing smile. "I couldn't. You had too many watching."

"I see. Then you were willing to place yourself in jeopardy just to get in with a filthy gang that does that sort of thing!" I pointed to his slashed head and face.

"Got to. It's the onliest way I can live." He stood up, preparing to leave. "Thanks, lady, for fixing me up. I'll take my chances out there now."

"No, you won't. You'll wait in my basement, at least until early morning." There was a cot down there, and I had a sleeping bag stashed somewhere that would do temporarily. I wouldn't have blood on my hands for turning him out to wrestle with the gang or be picked up by the police. I asked about his grandmother worrying and he assured me if he could call her, she'd be all right. I pointed out the phone and listened as he spoke. He had to explain several times. He didn't give his location and was clear about the danger if she spoke to anyone about him.

"It be all right now." He looked around the room and even poked his head into the dining room. "I always wondered what these mansions were like. This is something!"

"Have you had anything to eat, Louis?" I'd left a pizza box with half a pizza on the counter. He didn't protest when I gave it to him and poured him a tall glass of milk. He was thin but had hard wires running up his arms and knobs for muscles. He didn't seem particularly dirty except for the blood on his clothes, but I insisted he wash his hands. I watched him with a great deal of satisfaction eat his dinner. Now I really felt like a housemother.
Chapter 6

I slept fitfully that night, waking periodically to wonder about my unexpected guest downstairs. Not that I was particularly worried about anything he might do. I was more concerned about his sleeping in that dark place. He could leave anytime, of course. I'd locked my kitchen door, as usual, to the downstairs. But he had access to the outside door if he decided he'd had enough of my hospitality.

At seven, I got up and went in my robe to the head of the basement stairs to listen. Nothing. I made coffee and ate some toast while reading the morning paper. Then I heard him stirring. My footsteps had undoubtedly awakened him. Strange, but I felt gratified that he'd stayed the night. In a minute I heard a timid knock on the kitchen door.

"Did you get enough rest?" I asked, letting him in.

He rolled his eyes. "Best sleep of my life."

"Really? That's wonderful. Do you like oatmeal or toast or eggs?"

"I'd take all three."

It seemed my recent fate to be saddled with males of an independent spirit. First Frank, now Louis. I think they recognized my secret shrinking self for what it was and instinctively took their advantage. I speculated to myself while preparing the breakfast feast what Frank might say about this episode. For that matter, what would any of my renters say? They might be very unhappy with me for getting involved. Who knows, the Knights might come back here seeking out their prospective member. But I didn't care. Surely no decent person could have turned the kid out on the street last night.

Louis ate heartily. I remembered what I always had heard about the stomachs of teenaged boys--a bottomless pit. And he looked as if the pit had had little going down for a long time. Or maybe he was so lean and wiry because of all that running.

"You say you're not a member of the Knights?" I ventured, busying myself with the dishes while he snarfed the remaining slices of bacon.

"Not yet. That was my 'nitiation yesterday. I failed the test, like I said."

"Good. What do you want to associate with hoodlums for? You seem to have good sense and a strong character. Do you need a gang?"

"Gangs are where it's at. Nobody makes it without a gang."

"I can't believe that! How old are you?"

"I was fourteen last month. April 10th."

I sighed. On the road to ruin and just fourteen. "Is your mother coming back to Nashville any time soon?"

"Dunno. We don't hear much from her."

"Can your grandmother manage on her own?"

"Oh, yeah. She have my aunt, my dad's sister, to come in and see her sometime.."

"Where does your aunt live?"

"In another part of town, I guess."

"Does she have a job?"

He shrugged. "She get what she can from men, I think."

My eyes widened. Did he just say she was a prostitute? "Isn't there any sort of youth group or something where you can do wholesome things?" I felt the absurdity of my question as I asked. I must have appeared to him like something from another world, which in fact I was.

I sat down opposite him at the table and looked at his face. He had large amber eyes and high cheekbones. His color was medium brown. He smiled slightly at my scrutiny but didn't turn away. "Look," I said impulsively, "I've just moved in, and I could use a hard working fellow to help out. Do yard work, for example, clean out the garage and basement. That sort of thing. Would you like to work for me?"

"Stay here too?" he said quietly.

"Absolutely not! I'm . . ." I almost said I wasn't running a rooming house. I thought for a minute. Maybe with a humidifier in the basement. What was I thinking of! But my mind flew to his grandmother's apartment in the projects, the lurking gang members. My lips tightened. "For a while, maybe. But I'll have to get permission from your grandmother. This day and age I could be hauled to jail for kidnaping a minor."

"You go talk to her, O.K.?" He seemed eager to stay. Who could blame him?

"Will she be at church?" It was Sunday, after all. But he explained she couldn't get out like she used to with her bad back. People came by from the church to visit with her and bring her things she might need. Between neighbors and Louis, she was pretty well taken care of.

I got her name and address; before I left, I made out a list of chores for him to do out back. There was trash aplenty to sort out, the garage to be swept, windows to be washed--oh, the list could go on and on.

"I'll give you some spending money, but not much, since I'm also giving you room and board."

"Fair, man, that's fair!" He jumped from his seat and sort of bobbed up and down in his impatience to get going. He seemed to have a lot of energy. I'd never known anyone like him. My friends and I at his age merely groaned when given household tasks.

The drive over to his home area didn't take long. It was little more than half a mile away. I drove dizzily around for a while once inside the projects, though, looking for the right place. Some of the numbers were missing from the doors, but eventually I found it.

This was my first venture into this place; it was what I might have imagined. Blocks of look-alike four story buildings. Graffiti on the walls, broken windows, screen doors askew, old air conditioner units dripping rust and water into the mud where babies played. A few of the entryways were neatly kept, some with pots of flowers or house plants. Most of the faces I saw were black, but some were not.

Louis's grandmother was a pleasant looking thin woman in her sixties, I'd guess, who invited me in before I even had a chance to introduce myself. Maybe she thought I was a social worker, some nosy government official. She was bent from maybe osteoporosis or arthritis and used a walker.

We exchanged names, and then I blurted out, "I wanted you to know that Louis is O.K. He's at my house not too far away. You may not have realized it, but last night he was beaten up by gang members. He needed a safe haven, so that's why I let him stay at my place." My tone was a little officious, come to think of it. The old woman looked distressed as I spoke. Her hand flew to her breast and beat it weakly.

"I wondered why the boy would stay off somewhere I didn't know. It was fine of you."

I softened my tone. "Look, I want him to be safe. After a while, I'm sure the gang will move on to other targets. But for the time being, I'm willing to put him up in my basement and let him work odd jobs for me around the place. He seems an honest, good boy." I had very little justification for saying that, other than he didn't try to rip me off, but I felt it to be true.

"Louis the sweetest boy in the world. He be a good worker too."

I agreed and told her of his eager acceptance of my list of chores and then added, "I'll have Louis check with you every day in case you need him for something." I didn't want to leave my name or number or address around in case she let something slip to one of Louis's friends.

"That be fine, I'm sure. You'll take good care of him, I can tell."

"At least he'll be safe." I hoped she wouldn't regret this commandeering of her grandson. And what about that aunt of his? Would she turn in a police report? Then there was his absent mother, who might return at any time. Oh, this could get sticky. But my mind was made up even as an inner voice gave a sickening scream, "Don't get involved!"

She bundled up extra clothes of Louis's for me to take. I hadn't thought of that. When I pulled into my garage, I saw Louis look up from his attack on the weeds next to the foundation. He ran over to me, shears in hand.

"It's all right. She says you can stay."

His face became creased with his smile, and he hopped back to his work.

"Would you like some lemonade, a soft drink?" I called. The day was warmer than yesterday and it was near eleven o'clock. I thought I might invest in one of those dorm refrigerators so he could keeps drinks and snacks down in the basement.

As I went toward the side door to my kitchen, closely followed by Louis, I heard a clatter on the stairs outside. Frank was coming down to go to his truck. Today, he wore a bright gold T-shirt that matched his hair tucked into cut-off jeans. "I like your outfit," he said, casting an approving eye on my white shorts and blue camp shirt. Then he gave me a questioning look as he pointed to Louis and said, "Who's this?"

"Frank, meet Louis, my new boarder and man-of-all-work. He's staying for the time being in the basement. Louis this is Frank. He lives on the top floor."

They silently shook hands, each giving the other a tentative smile.

"Come on inside for a minute, Frank, while I get Louis his drink."

I had my story ready. "Louis stopped by looking for work, and since I'd only have to hire someone besides, I decided to take him on."

Frank nodded, but instead of looking at Louis, who was thirstily gulping his lemonade, he looked at me with raised eyebrows.

Louis said he wanted to get on with his work and left by the back door. Only then did Frank give me a nod and a smile. "Mother Hubbard, eh? You can't resist us orphans of the storm."

"Not really. Look, Frank, Louis was in trouble." I decided to come clean and related the incident of the gangs and my rescue. "I've squared it with his grandmother. It's just temporary."

"Sure, and what happens when the gang spots him? He's a street kid, remember? You can't keep him isolated forever. He has friends who'll be on the lookout for him. And then he'll want to have fun occasionally, too."

He was right. That hadn't occurred to me, and nor to Louis either, apparently, for he'd not even mentioned time off.

"For a while, it'll be fine. We'll worry later if the situation changes," I said.

"How does the basement work as living quarters?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Not well, I'm afraid."

He suggested a shower hose attached to the faucets by the drain, and the small windows set half underground could be covered with shades of some sort for privacy. I thought a desk lamp left over from the sale and some crates to use for storage and as tables would work for a while. There was even an easy chair that hadn't sold which could be moved in from the garage.

"That all sounds well and good," Frank admitted, "at least temporarily, but he can't go straight to bed in the evenings."

I was silent for a moment, thinking, and then offered, "Well, I do have an extra TV. Aunt Mary had a fairly new twenty-seven inch set, which I moved from the living room to my den, so Louis can use my own nineteen-inch portable. I'll have to get the cable company to hook him up, of course."

This was getting complicated, I had to admit.

Frank didn't look particularly impressed as I related my plans. "It sounds like a lot of trouble," he said, "for a little hoodlum, who's likely to rob you blind."

I gave him a frown. "That's unfair. I think he's basically honest."

"I just hope you're not getting in over your head. It seems to me you're giving him expectations not in his future."

"How can you say that?" I replied hotly. "No one knows about anyone's future and the effect of change in one's life. This experience, I hope, will show Louis that a different way of life is possible."

"OK, so I was wrong. You're not Mother Hubbard, you're Mother Teresa," Frank laughed. "I've given you all the objections. But it seems to me you've taken quite a turning in your own way of life."

I could not disagree.

It had been several years since I'd sat in a kitchen with a man and just talked so intimately. I felt a sense of excitement and confusion, my heart pounding a little. He was so very male. His voice was deep and throaty, his bodily presence with his bunchy muscles and his features as alien to me as a machine was almost overpowering. I didn't know if it was Frank or if I'd been comfortable too long in the company of light-voiced females, living with my mother and working in a library.

He left soon after, driving outside of Nashville to spend the day boating on Dale Hollow Lake with some friends who had a lakefront weekend retreat. I watched him go, feeling wistful about my lonely life. I had virtually no friends in this city other than a few sorority sisters but none that weren't married as far as I knew.

I walked through the house and stood at my front window looking out. I saw a man and a boy come out of the Eastlake across the street. I knew from Mimi that he was an attorney, one of the few blacks who'd made it into a prestigious law firm in the city. Although he'd given me a curt go-ahead once when we both were trying to enter our driveways, I'd never met him. He didn't come to my sale. The boy wore a back pack, but stopped now and then to toss a baseball as he moved toward the BMW SUV parked in the drive. The man, after locking his front door, ran his hand along the door facing as if to check the paint. They made their way to the driveway in fits and starts like crickets, the man stopping to finger a plant or pick up a twig, the boy tossing and catching the ball.

Mimi had said he was divorced and his boy was living with his mother this summer, though spending weekends with his father. During the school year, he boarded at a fine boys academy--well, I suppose girls went there now. An idea dawned. But I doubted that it would work. The lawyer seemed snooty and probably would be horrified if I invited his son over some Saturday afternoon to toss a ball with Louis. Probably--or maybe not.

Chapter 7

I distinctly heard gunshots in the middle of the night. It was the weekend following the garage sale, a Saturday night. For some reason--full moon?--I wasn't sleeping as soundly as I usually do. I'd gotten up for a glass of warm milk and was reading in bed when I heard a faint concussion. Car backfire. But it was repeated. It reverberated in a way that made me think differently. My heart began pounding. I turned off my light and went to the front window to peer outside. I don't know what I expected to see--maybe lights turning on in bedrooms across the street, but the houses remained dark. So I went back to bed. I got up only once more when I heard a car close at hand. Someone, probably Aubrey himself, was pulling into his driveway. Out late, but then who wasn't occasionally. I was just jittery. I settled back down and eventually fell asleep.

While fixing Louis his breakfast, I asked him if he'd heard anything in the night. When he said no, I told him my experience.

"Don't doubt it. Shootings happen."

Late in the afternoon, I went upstairs to confer with Mimi about the perhaps non-event in the night. I happened to know she woke up frequently to go to the bathroom.

"No, I'm getting mercifully hard of hearing," she said, pouring my half of the Miller's Light into a pilsner glass. "It's amazing how calm one's world becomes when sounds are muffled--including most conversational remarks."

"Maybe I'll join the Foxhill Association. I got a handout on my doorknob. I'd like to know more about this neighborhood."

"I believe they have a set of rules and regulations designed to keep the riff-raff at bay. In any case, it makes them feel better, more in control."

"You don't worry?"

"Never! I try not to put myself in harm's way. But I'm fatalistic. I haven't met your new resident laborer, but from what you've told me, he's the one who's pretty much at risk."

"Yes, and it worries me. I can't keep him isolated in my basement and back yard forever. Yet the thought of turning him out haunts me." I sipped my beer thoughtfully. "At least I can maybe keep him safe for a while."

"Maybe," she said doubtfully," but aren't you taking on quite a lot of responsibility?"

"Yes, of course I am. I'm in such a quandary."

She reached across and patted my hand. "Good deeds never go unpunished. Take care, my dear, and don't let your soft heart take over your good sense. The longer the boy stays here, the harder it will be to let him go back to his home."

I knew she was right in cautioning me, yet I felt helpless in complying with any good sense that I might possess. I thought of my mother and how horrified she'd be if she happened by and saw the basement arrangement for Louis.

After a supper from the freezer that tasted like the box, I went upstairs to see Paige. It occurred to me she might like to come with me next Thursday evening to the Association meeting. She could stand getting out a bit herself, I thought. As I rounded the stairs at the landing, I saw Frank going down the stairway outside. He seemed to prefer that more private route rather than through the main hall. I wondered where he might be going and then remonstrated with myself for excessive interest in a relative stranger. Of course he had his own life, his own friends.

I knew Hallie was out. She'd been picked up by some woman who waited in her car, probably a fellow teacher or one of her acceptable relatives. But I knew I mustn't get too involved with my roomers, who could easily consider me a nosy landlady. I had to recognize the fact that I was beginning to take on the habits of all solitary souls, living vicariously through glass panes. Still, I couldn't help but notice the comings and goings of those living in my house.

Paige took a minute to answer her door, calling out first, "Who is it?" When she opened it, she was in a robe and her hair streamed down her back.

"I'm sorry! You were relaxing and I disturbed you."

"No, no, not at all. Come on in. I'd just gotten into something comfortable."

I told her my plan and she agreed to keep me company. She gave a wry smile, "I should do this sort of thing anyway as an officer of the bank--ginning up business."

"Sure. Why not?" But she seemed a little distracted, maybe in one of her blue moods, so I didn't stay longer than was polite.

I read in the Monday morning paper that a shooting had indeed taken place not a block from my house Saturday night and perhaps related to residents from the projects. Louis told me that a drive-by shooting had taken place last year near where Louis's grandmother lived, killing a sixteen-year-old and damaging the front of one of the housing units. As far as our neighborhood shooting, there'd been no witnesses, of course. There never was any who came forward, according to the article. The paper quoted the police as speculating it was a vendetta shooting into a car, which would explain why it went unreported. The feral youth of our city were at it again and such reflection cemented my intention to keep Louis safe.

He continued to work like a trouper. He was so industrious I wondered if I'd have enough to keep him occupied all summer. But one look at the mushrooming grass and gangs of weeds reassured me. And the basement could use a thorough cleaning. Although his grandmother had sent some clothes for him to wear, I confess I wasn't pleased with the choices. His shoes were good, impressive, actually. Fancy athletic shoes, they must have cost a fortune. But they were all he had, and I knew it must have pained him to soil them. And his shirts were worn out and out grown. I did some shopping after work one afternoon, guessing at the clothes sizes.

Then I cleaned out the ancient clothes and hat boxes from a wardrobe in the basement and put Louis's things inside. I should have gotten rid of the old clothes earlier, but with so much to do to make the upstairs livable, I'd closed my eyes to much of the accumulation in the basement. When Louis saw his new duds, including a pair of work boots, he seemed stunned.

"Why're you so nice to me?" he asked, fingering the khaki pants, some long, some short, along with an array of T-shirts in different colors and a couple of dress shirts.

"It's just a practical thing," I said in a matter-of-fact voice. "You can't work properly if you haven't got the right sort of clothes, roomy ones and good stout shoes."

"I never had this much even for my birthday or Christmas." He held the boot box tenderly in his arms like a baby.

"If something doesn't fit, let me know and we'll exchange it." I moved briskly from the room. Just a bunch of cheap clothes, for pete's sake.

I felt I was settling into my work nicely, it being a real change from the sort of responsibilities I'd had at the library. As the chief librarian, even in a small town library, I had little to do with the public, being concerned with ordering books and accessioning them, as well as managing library finances. In other words, I was mainly closeted in the back room. In my present job, I met members of the public daily. I began to know certain people who served as publicity chairs for their organizations. I saw Hal, my boss, very little, he being on the prowl most of the week for advertising to keep us afloat. One day I asked him if this was a profitable venture and he gave me a close look and said rather off-handedly, "We do all right. It's not rich-making, but I keep body and soul together."

"I wasn't meaning to pry," I said, turning a little red, I was sure. "I was hoping things were continuing to go well with community newspapers. Communications are changing constantly and I know the daily papers seem to complain regularly about subscriptions."

He nodded. "We're different, of course, with our emphasis on local events and businesses. I've not noticed anything but an increase in advertising and paper sales."

We didn't have subscriptions, but sold the papers at self-service stands positioned throughout the area. "That's good," I replied. "With the gentrification of the neighborhood expanding, I expect that will work well for us in the long run."

Hal interested me, I must say. For one thing, he was an attractive man, lean and dark. He had that pleasant, helpful side of his personality, but he had moods, too, when he hardly spoke. His wife had died many years ago, I assumed, though he only hinted at that, saying things like, "my son and I" did so and so when Josh was a boy. Josh was now at George Washington University on a scholarship. Hal seemed singularly uninterested in my own history and even current circumstances, never questioning me about either.

Sometimes, I interjected something personal about myself to see his reaction, but he was merely polite. Could he have an attachment with some unnamed woman? Of course he could. Or maybe not. I explained to myself that he followed the best rule for employer-employee relationships– keeping things on a business-like basis. Still, I was finding myself trying to stir his interest, dressing carefully in flattering outfits, giving a flip on the ends of my long hair for a softer look, trying out different makeup–all to no avail. I never saw his eyes light up appreciatively when he came in and saw me at the desk, beaming hopefully at him. I guessed my charms, as such, fell limply off Hal's radar, and I had to admit defeat, at least for the time being.

Thursday evening, Paige stopped by and knocked and we left hurriedly so as not to be late to the Foxhill Association meeting. We drove there, since our destination was over a mile away. The house where we were to meet stood on grounds that were four times the size of the lots of the other houses in the area. This was Foxhill, the estate whose lands had been periodically subdivided to make up the neighborhood. In its antebellum days, it had flourished as a plantation that enveloped a large section of what was now within the city limits of Nashville. The house had a Palladian style facade with Greek columns and a symmetrical design. I'd heard that the back entrance exactly duplicated the front, maybe as a gesture to the fox hunters who assembled in the rear to quaff the wine in their flasks and hunt cups.

The now elderly couple who'd purchased the house after World War II in the first stages of its decline stood at the door and greeted Paige and me. Mr. Walker led us to the front parlor where others sat in clusters, their speech muffled by heavy damask curtains, the various tones of their voices rising to the fourteen-foot ceilings like wisps of smoke. A fairly large group, twenty or more, had already arrived with others hard on our heels. I looked around for a friendly face. Not even Aubrey Slinker, my only real contact in the area, was in attendance, though I hadn't expected him to be there. The only vaguely familiar face was that of the lawyer across the street. He didn't seem to recognize me, however, his eyes passing coolly over mine without a flicker of interest. With my half-baked idea for Louis in mind, I took a seat next to him in an uncomfortable Duncan Phyfe chair with a back that seemed designed for a much shorter, well padded person. Paige had settled in the corner of what I recognized as a Victorian Belter sofa, with its massive design and curving laminate wood trim.

"I'm Tessa Claiborne. I believe we're neighbors," I said to the gentleman next to me, holding out my hand.

"I expect all of us here are neighbors." He gave my hand a brief squeeze and turned away.

Well! I didn't give up. "I've just inherited the big house across the street from you. May I say how much I like what you've done to your house."

He melted at that, visibly preening at my words and looking at me for the first time. "Thank you. I've worked like a dog to get it right. You say you inherited the house. I remember when the old woman died. Not a parent, I hope."

"No, an aunt that I didn't know very well. But I'm very interested in fixing the place up." I started to say more, but the meeting was being called to order, and so I turned my attention away from my neighbor, whose name I still didn't know, to the business at hand.

And very dull business it was. The president--I presume that was her title--managed the business efficiently. She was a nervous woman in her fifties, extremely thin as if her energetic movements were wearing her away. A publicity committee reported their work on a new brochure. Much discussion about where to distribute it. At this point, Hal stole in and casually leaned against a large mahogany secretary. He gave me a smile and nod and then turned his attention to the meeting. Another committee chair spoke about plans for the next Foxhill Tour, which wouldn't take place until the following spring. They still didn't have enough houses signed up. I momentarily considered putting mine on the tour but thought it was premature. It was hardly in showcase condition and might never be.

The meeting went on, passing around membership materials to be distributed to likely neighbors. I noticed the fee was a modest $25.00. I made out a check immediately and filled out the form. So far, no one had mentioned the shooting so close to our neighborhood. As refreshments were wheeled in on a tea wagon by the Walker's servant with Mrs. Walker distributing cloth napkins, the meeting subsided into general conversation.

Balancing a cup and saucer on my knee while eating a petit four, I asked my neighbor what was being done to protect us from incursions by the criminal element nearby.

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Not much. That's the penalty for living in what's become the inner city. Our neighborhood watch is supposed to act as a first line defense."

"What does it do?"

He pointed to the membership materials I'd stashed on the floor beside me. "It says there what your responsibilities are as a member of the Foxhill Association. We report anything unusual around someone's home by first calling the person–the names and addresses are on that sheet there. If that isn't possible, we call the police hotline. It's about all we can do."

I nodded. "I'm willing. Evidently, some gang members showed up at my garage sale, a pretty dangerous gang. I didn't realize it then, and I don't know what I could have done if I had."

"If they're not engaged in something illegal, you can't do anything. It is a free country."

Spoken in a lawyerly way, but he still wasn't particularly forthcoming. He turned from me and began a conversation with the person on the other side of him. I noticed Paige talking with a younger woman. Hal was by the side of the president chatting away. I sighed. No one seemed to care about anything very important, such as the inherent dangers in the area. It would have been nice, too, if someone had welcomed me. Just as I thought that, a tinkling of a spoon on glass quieted the room, and the president nodded at me and asked me to introduce myself and Paige. People smiled at me for the first time as if the official acknowledgment of my presence made me real. When they heard I was Aunt Mary's niece, some people approached me and spoke warmly about her. Two middle-aged women came up to me and introduced themselves as sisters--Linda Turly and Roberta Smith. Roberta or Bobbi, as she was called, was divorced and her sister unmarried; they lived together in what had been their parents' home.

They drew over to our circle a couple named Patterson, who lived in one of the large four-square homes on the corner of my block, the white one. They invited me to stop by "anytime," which I realized meant nothing firm, but was certainly a friendly overture. Other introductions followed in a kind of whirlwind of neighborliness.

"I feel," I admitted to Paige on the way home, "I could become part of this place."

"Oh, yes," she said, nodding. "You should be very happy here."

"It's a strange neighborhood, though. Almost like a small town, but without that awful suspicion of strangers."

"These people have a common purpose that motivates them. They're not completely comfortable yet, you know."

"No, I don't know what you mean." I pulled the car into the drive and sat with the engine idling so Paige could get out before I put it in the garage.

"It came too close to being lost as a neighborhood," Paige explained. "They feel themselves the new pioneers, I think. New settlers are welcomed."

"It's better than being shunned." Obvious comment, but meaningful under my circumstances, and I was warmed by my reception at the meeting.

Chapter 8

Friday, I went to the office as usual and worked like a Trojan, since the following week would be a short one for me, not scheduled to appear at work until after the Memorial Day on Monday. I stayed until a little after five, and I'd just parked my car in the garage and thrown my things on the dining room table when I heard a knock on my kitchen door. I hadn't seen Louis when I came in. Most often, he would be working out in the yard all day, but today, it was quite hot, and I thought I heard him stirring in the basement, probably starting on the cleanup there. He usually quit work when I got home at four, and I always fixed our supper by six if we didn't go out to pick up barbeque or hamburgers or Chinese. I found it was convenient for us to eat together at the kitchen table.

But it was Frank at the door, who happened to have followed me down the street, he said. He had the idea of us going out for a casual meal and afterward seeing a play produced by a local theater group that some friends of his belonged to.

I was flustered by his invitation, my mind whirling with the unexpectedness of it.

"How nice," I said. "Let me see. There's Louis and his supper, and--"

"I happen to know Mimi invited him to eat with her tonight. I heard her yelling at him out her window yesterday."

"Really? He didn't mention it." But that wasn't surprising. Young boys usually are not up on the social niceties.

"I guess Mimi wants to find out first hand who's occupying the basement," Frank said, laughing.

"Oh, well, then, I'd like to go, Frank. What time?"

"We'll need to be at the theater by 8:00."

I smiled at the idea of us going out together, wondering if he'd change for the occasion. If not, we'd make an incongruous pair--he in his cut-off jeans, me in a summery dress. "I'll meet you out back in about an hour then."

Was this some sort of date, or was Frank taking pity on his spinsterish landlady? I thought the latter. Nevertheless, I wanted to get out of my working clothes into something more festive, that summery dress in my mind's eye, for what I hoped would be an entertaining evening. At least it would be a change. The play was Edward Albee's The Zoo Story, and although he wasn't my favorite playwright, nor that my favorite play, I'd count as a fresh breeze the company of a group who was still sampling life rather than settling in. I selected a blue and white flowered sun dress with a full skirt that ended at my knees. I added navy blue high heeled sandals and gold hoop earrings and bangle bracelets, feeling dressed up for the first time in weeks.

When Frank saw me come out the door he raised his eyebrows and said, "Ah, the landlady transformed. Very nice."

I smiled. Compliments. He seemed to be good at that, and I appreciated it. I stepped out into a typical Nashville summer evening, the temperature in the high eighties and the humid air giving credence to the geological term, "Nashville basin."

Frank was not wearing cut-offs after all but looked conventional--and well groomed--in starched khaki pants and a red knit shirt that emphasized his physique. He was always so dramatic looking, especially with that startling hair, that I felt like a peahen in the company of a showy peacock. Why would he keep his hair like that? Vanity? Pride? Maybe economy.

"I've never gone out before," I said boldly as I climbed into the seat beside him, "with a man whose hair was prettier than my own." I gave him a mischievous glance.

He grinned back at me. "You have very pretty hair–silky, I bet. Would you like me to cut mine? I let it grow when I was in college, making a bet with myself that I'll tell you about sometime. I'm think I'm almost at the point where I can cut it; it's lost its former significance."

"You mean you're not like Samson, that you'd lose some sort of power if you cut it?" I was only half kidding. Did it mean more to him than he was letting on?

He laughed heartily. "You say the damndest things. I'll cut it, just to please you. I'm needing to look a little more business-like besides since I'll soon be peddling my material to people of substance."

I didn't say another word about hair. I hadn't expected him to take my comments to heart, and I was a little taken aback. But I hadn't time to reflect on that since at the moment I was concentrating on riding in the old truck, a novel experience.

In college, I remember plenty of guys who had unusual vehicles, but in recent years people I knew tended to drive cars that resembled each other. I was glad to be strapped in with the seat belt–no shoulder harness–as taking corners flung me from side to side. I laughed like a kid when he hit some bumps and we bounced up and down. Frank grinned at me.

"I'm in the process of restoring it. The shocks are next."

It took us a while to reach the neighborhood of the community theater, and during the ride our conversation was less personal and more general–mainly about restaurants in the city, with Frank parking at a restaurant near the theater. It was obviously popular with the younger crowd, a pub of sorts, and at Frank's recommendation I ordered a chicken and artichoke wrap. We each had a glass of beer. The place was noisy enough that talking was incidental, and we merely ate and occasionally shouted remarks to one another just to be friendly. It'd been years since I'd done this sort of thing. With each moment of this outing I began to feel younger and happier. The beer I gulped was relaxing; the conversations that swirled and eddied around us encased us in comradery.

Outside, we could walk to the theater, which we entered through a side door of a hardware store and walked up to the second floor, Frank taking my hand. The room there was deep and narrow, the stage built on the long axis with bleacher-like seats six rows high facing it. If the arrangement sacrificed illusionary effect it promoted intimacy for the audience, a sense of being drawn into the play.

In this particular instance, however, I might have wished for more distance, for the play wore me out with the character Jerry's endless talk. Afterward, we went backstage and spoke to the couple Frank knew, old high school friends, Sam and Sharon, who had various jobs with the theater group. I gathered she was a hopeful musician, and he was slogging along unhappily as a speech and drama teacher in a community college, writing plays in his spare time and occasionally directing little theater, such as this play tonight. We all had our disappointments.

We drove home in relative silence if one could call it that, considering the rattles of the truck. But then, going up the steps to the kitchen door, instead of parting, with him going up his own stairs, Frank dropped down and sat on a step, taking my hand and pulling me beside him.

"You didn't like the play much, did you?' he asked me.

"Repression, release, violence. Not much, no. It was exhausting to contemplate."

"True. If a play like that works, it's got to be visceral, not intellectual. I wondered about your reaction. I hoped it would be strong–for or against."

I turned to him in surprise, not saying anything for a moment. I was conscious of the night sounds–insects, distant traffic. And Frank's shaving lotion or cologne, a sharp, pleasant scent.

"Why did you hope that?"

He wrapped his arms around one knee, leaning backwards. He didn't say anything for a moment, and I felt on pins and needles as if he were about to psychoanalyze me.

"Why," I said again, "do you think that particular play should affect me strongly?"

"Because you're like someone who's been simmering for years. If you really let go of what's inside, what's holding you back, you might get a little excited yourself, maybe identify with or heartily reject material like we saw tonight." He gave me a look. "Instead, you don't allow release. You want to be removed from it all, you think. It's the old pressure cooker syndrome."

"Thanks, doctor. But I'm not simmering, as you say, and the play did not affect me strongly because it wasn't the sort of thing I admire. If anything, it bored me."

"Of course, repression, just like the play evinced."

"Nonsense. I suppose you just vent yourself at will and feel great," I retorted with good humor.

"Sometimes. Like now. I'd like to kiss you."

He leaned toward me, firmly cupping the back of my head with his hand, and without protest I let him bring his lips to mine. The pressure was slight, his lips soft and fuller to the touch than I would have imagined. I tried to tamp down the little thrill that ran through me. It had been so long that I'd been kissed by a man I reacted physically, I told myself.

"It is silky, as I suspected," he said, smoothing my hair and then releasing me.

I pushed away from him and ran up the stairs to the door, fumbling in my handbag for the key. Then I stopped and turned to him as he stood with one foot resting on the stairs. I could see in the light from the porch he wore a smile. "Thanks, Frank, for the evening. I–I enjoyed it, really, despite the play." I could hardly wait to escape from him. I felt confused, excited.

But the kiss had brought back memories, some joyous, some bitter and painful. I plunked down on a kitchen chair and reflected about the past. About Stephen, who didn't want to get married. Who wanted me as a live-in source of income while he went to Duke to work on his doctorate.

"How can we get married?" he would say. "We don't have any money. I'll be tied up in my program for another couple of years."

"Many people get married on less. You've got some good grants. You'll be doing some teaching. With my work, we could make it fine." But as I said the words, which sounded sick and pleading to my own ears, I knew we were through. Somehow, it had never dawned on me that Stephen hadn't been as committed to me as he was to pursuing his career. His abstraction, his lack of interest in my affairs, his less than passionate lovemaking I'd attributed to intense preoccupation with his studies. I felt at the time I'd been stupid, almost desperate. Then soon after our breakup, I Knoxville and went home, vowing never to let myself get in such a humiliating position again.

Those things were difficult to recall, or even live down. But to be fair, happy times abounded, too, particularly early in our relationship. I missed the long intimate chats, or in his arms as we watched a movie on TV. I felt alone, still bereft, even after three years. Plenty of time to have gotten over him. But the feeling of being duped persisted, and would remain, I feared, until someone came along to fill it. But as for that being Frank? No. Not really someone to take seriously.

Chapter 9

The next morning I couldn't get myself in gear. I sat over several cups of coffee in my robe, reading the paper in a desultory way, unable to stir myself into action. The evening before must have drained me. I'd been more keyed up for the date than I realized, but it wasn't just Frank himself who had caused this upset to my equilibrium. I simply hadn't gone out with a man, any man, for so long the novelty of it was unsettling. Also facing me was the long Memorial weekend when my mother would be driving in to spend a few days. That should have been something to look forward to, but I couldn't shake a disquieting confusion of mind.

I could hear Louis moving around. He'd been up when I came in the night before, watching TV. He didn't have to work on weekends, so I hoped to take him over to his grandmother's later today or tomorrow. It was time he saw her in person. But I was still shaky about letting him roam about with that gang on the hoof. Strange how he hadn't complained about not seeing his friends. But considering the terror on his face when he'd turned up at my place, I had to wonder how many were actually friends.

He came upstairs shortly and helped himself to cereal and orange juice, not speaking, knowing I was quiet in the morning.

"Would you like to see your grandmother today. Or tomorrow?" I asked. "We could go to a movie sometime this weekend, too, if you'd like."

"Yeah! Both would be good."

He ate while reading the comics and I started to clear the dishes. I went for my morning shower and after thirty minutes, I'd finished drying my hair and walked out to the living room to see if the room was too dusty to leave for another week. Mostly, my weekends were like

that–parceling out my time with cleaning projects. My aunt may have had household help, but they couldn't do much because of the clutter and the old appliances. That was something I also needed to change.

It had been two weeks since Louis had taken up residence and all seemed well. He seemed to be settling in with his work and I with my own job and the never-ending chores around the house on weekends.

I had my head in the bathtub and was working on thirty years of rust spots and lime deposits when I heard Louis calling me. I glanced out the window and saw Louis and the boy from across the street, tossing a ball. Louis had a mitt on. Well, good! That would occupy him for a while. Louis was turning into a little problem. I didn't want to get into this any deeper than I already had, but now what was I to do?

We met in the long hall, almost colliding. "Slow down, what's the rush?" I asked, holding him by his thin shoulders. I had high hopes of fattening him up, but his lean build was thwarting my best efforts.

"They asked me to go fishing. Is it all right?"

"Oh, well, I suppose so. I'd better get some more information."

From my own driveway, I saw directly into the neighbor's drive across the street. The lawyer and his son seemed to be loading the trunk of his sports vehicle.

"Hello," I called, walking toward him. Louis was following in my wake.

The man looked up. "Oh, hello. The boy, uh--Louis, says he works for you and is staying there. If he's free, Will would like him to come fishing with us." He gestured toward his son, a round-faced fellow with a dark complexion and big tobacco colored eyes that looked hopefully at me. "Will doesn't know any kids around here. He goes to boarding school and feels a little out of it when he's at his old man's."

"I can imagine. Where exactly are you going? Louis just works for me, but I am sort of in charge of him–temporarily." In loco parentis, I might have said, but didn't, not wanting to complicate matters.

"We're going to Dale Hollow and spending two nights at our camp there. We'll be back Monday afternoon, in time for any Memorial Day celebrations."

"That sounds like a real treat for Louis," I said, smiling.

"You're sure his folks won't mind?"

"I shouldn't imagine," I said dryly. Poor Louis, if anyone cared for his welfare, they hadn't made much noise.

"We're about ready to go, so if he could get his gear together."

"Sleeping bag? I've got one of those," I said, feeling panicky. I hardly was equipped with camping gear.

"No, no. We have a little cabin with beds. I meant just some clothes. I'll pack an extra pair of swimming trucks, too, if necessary." He handed me a card. "I'll keep an eye on him. Here's my name and cell phone number, if you need me for anything." Robert J. Shepherd, Attorney at Law, the card said. At least I now knew his name.

I gave him my name and number, thinking he may not have noted it at the meeting, and he jotted it down on another card and slipped it in his billfold. "I should let Louis's grandmother know about this," I said. "I'll make a quick phone call. When will you be ready to leave?"

"About thirty minutes. I should have mentioned this sooner," he said somewhat apologetically, "but we didn't realize the boy was staying at your house until Will and he were talking this morning. Take your time about getting his things together."

I thanked him and headed back to my house. Inside, I phoned Louis's grandmother, explaining about the trip and the nice neighbors who would be in charge of her grandson. She seemed very agreeable and presented no obstacles.

Meanwhile, Louis had gone to his room and filled his duffle bag with extra clothes. I went outside with him and we both progressed down the drive where Louis left me and ran across the street. I waved goodbye to their departing car with a grateful heart. It was only when I was cleaning up the dirty breakfast dishes that I thought about money for the trip. I paid him his wages regularly, not much, considering I was giving him room and board, but he should have accumulated several bucks by now. I'd not mentioned to him that he might want to carry some money along, but that could be sorted out when they returned, if he owed them for anything. An item I'd read in the paper that morning kept nagging me until I stopped my work and reread it. An update on the shooting in our neighborhood. The police now seemed to think it wasn't a gang related shooting after all. A witness claimed to have seen a lone man in a car that sped out of the area a little after the gunshots. For some reason, I felt relieved. If the gangs were not fighting it out and the murder was some personal vendetta, then Louis's chances of remaining alive once he returned to the area might be better. Poor boy. What were his chances of getting out of the ghetto whole–without being maimed in body or mind, impregnating a girl, turning into a thief? Not very good.

I was glad that Louis was out of the way for a couple of days. Mother's visit meant I needed not only to clean the house but also to spruce it up a bit–adding some fresh flowers to the rooms, washing a quilt I'd found in a chest to use for a bedspread in the guest room. She would arrive sometime during the morning, Tarryton being just a few hours away.

She hadn't come to see me since her initial visit shortly after I'd moved in. I'd asked her to wait to come until I felt the house was somewhat ready for a guest. And though I'd made great strides in cleaning out detritus from Aunt Mary's tenure, dirt still lingered in cracks and crevices–much more, it seemed, than in my mother's house, which also had some age on it. But then I hadn't been responsible for cleaning at Mother's. Furthermore, I hadn't told her exactly the truth about Louis's living-in arrangement. I had a feeling she wouldn't see it the way I did. And he would be due back before she took her leave.

It was too bad I'd broken my stride in cleaning. I'd lost interest in the project. Maybe I'd finish up later that morning before Mother arrived. The day was finer than usual for a summer day in Middle Tennessee, not so humid. I stepped out onto the back stoop and sniffed the air. I might like to walk the neighborhood. See what I could see at close hand.

My capris and knit shirt were presentable enough. I grabbed a tiny purse with a shoulder strap to carry my house key and money in case I wanted to stop somewhere for food or a beverage. In the front hall, I heard Mimi descending.

She smiled when she saw me and called out, "I've got a date for brunch!"

"How nice. With whom?"

"Someone I met playing bridge. He was subbing at the request of his sister, who's in my club. We hit it off and he asked me out for lunch. I'm on my way to get my hair fixed."

She looked immaculate as always in a pink linen dress, but her white hair did stick out in little tufts here and there like scraps of paper.

"Where are you going to eat?"

She gave me a delighted look and named a downtown hotel.

"Ooh, so he's a prosperous gent or else he's trying to impress you."

"Maybe both. I think he's not hurting for money. I must run, Tessa; my cab's waiting, but I'll see you and your mother for tea this afternoon. Don't forget!."

She had looked so energized, I was momentarily taken out of myself and my own feelings of dissatisfaction, which in spite of my good intentions and the pleasant walk began to return. Maybe these feelings indicated how much I was missing in my life. I'd wanted to delude myself that I was managing nicely on my own, but really I wasn't.

My work was a help, I'd found, and though I was still learning the newspaper business, Hal was hardly ever there so I continued to need answers that were not forthcoming. Then when he came into the office, he was frantically busy getting the ads entered in the Indesign program and had very little time for me and my questions. I was supposed to figure things out for myself, and for the most part, I did just that. I saw no immediate way out of that conundrum either. With these frustrations currently hounding me, I had hoped a walk might help clear the cobwebs and add some necessary endorphins to give a sense of well being.

I had set off toward town, veering from the main street into one that I'd passed by often enough but had no reason to enter. At the end of the block, two churches sat across from one another, one with a nice grassy expanse in front of its rather severe brick facade. It had a cornerstone dated 1925. The other one was close to the street, nearly upon it like a ship waiting for high tide. Steps led up to a wide portico fronted by massive columns. It was painted white–plaster? stucco?–with a peak at the top and a fat dome in the center of the roof. A bell tower had been attached to one end, obviously from the later neo-gothic period. But the church itself looked to have been built about a hundred years before its neighbor across the street. The Victorian improvers had installed their favorite decorative element, stained glass, and the old jewel-colored panes stared at me with a cross-eyed shimmer in the sunlight.

I walked over to examine the building more closely. It seemed sadly in need of repair. But even though the paint was peeling from the columns, its skin pock marked, and the roof patched, it stood proud and beautiful to my eyes. I tried the front door–with its high, huge handle it might have been fitted out for giants–and found it was open. Inside the foyer, which stretched from one side to the other, the air was cool from its thick walls and high ceiling. Small tables and chairs of a long ago style were positioned at strategic places around the room. Pamphlets, a guest register, boxes of collection envelopes, dedication plaques–all were familiar accessories to me. An oriental carpet partly covered the wooden floor, its boards burnished from the feet of thousands of parishioners for a hundred and eighty years. I heard a soft hun of voices inside somewhere.

The two sets of double doors to the nave were closed, but I eased one open and glimpsed in the dull light a tall, heavily built pulpit to the left, a smaller lectern to the right, and at the far end the high altar with a carved reredos behind it. The choir stalls with intermittent carved posts seemed to guard the narrow passage to the altar like wooden soldiers at attention. Two women were working on the flowers and arranging the communion vessels on the altar.

"May I help you?"

I jumped at the sound of a man's voice behind me as if I'd been caught shoplifting. "No thank you. I was passing by outside and thought I'd take a look at this historic place. It's very lovely."

"You're welcome to look around." He held out his hand and I murmured my name. His friendly expression disarmed me, and I relaxed. I smiled at him and he smiled back in a subdued sort of way. More youngish than middle-aged, of medium height, he wore a collar that told me he was the man in charge. "I'm Father Sarratt. Is there anything in particular you'd like to know? I give tours on the side." So he was the ironic type. He wore his very dark hair rather long, though above his collar, and in the indirect light, his eyes seemed almost black.

"I don't want to bother you. I live a couple of blocks away, just moved in a while back, and I wanted to get acquainted with the neighborhood. I was surprised to find the door open."

"We, sadly, can't do that on a regular basis, but I'm expecting a tour group in about thirty minutes and was getting ready for them. See, I wasn't kidding–I really do tours on the side. But come with me," he said, motioning, "I've got time to give you a quick look around." I moved with him toward a door at the end of the foyer.

"Here we have the bell tower," he said, ushering me through the door into a smallish, square room. It had stairs along one side that disappeared upwards out of sight.

"I suppose the bell is way up top?" I asked stupidly. "How do you ring it?"

He pointed to a thick rope wrapped around a hook on the wall. "It's a nice bell. Very old and very big. If you live within six blocks, you'll have heard it."

"Oh, yes. I remember now."

"Come along into the nave."

Again he guided me through another hallway into the semi-darkened interior of the church proper.

Later, after a cursory look at each nook and cranny, the memorial stone font, the hand-painted wooden tablet of the Ten Commandments, the kneeling benches with worn and beautiful embroidered cushions, and a row of rather gory Stations of the Cross, we ended up in the foyer.

"Thanks so much for showing me around. If collections get too low you could always moonlight as a tour guide," I said laughingly.

He laughed, showing nice white teeth. His dark eyes glowed, whether from zeal or the high windows in the room I wasn't sure. But he was very nice.

"Maybe," he said, "you'd like to come again for our Memorial Day ice cream social. The youth group is putting it on to raise money to refurbish their room in the undercroft."

"Ice cream social! I didn't know those had been revived."

"It's a tradition here that hasn't wavered through the years. Please come if you can."

"I will, thanks." I had a thought. "You say the youth group is putting it on?"

He nodded.

"I have a young man working for me this summer. He lives at my house, as a matter of fact, and I'm hoping to give him a little taste of a different life than he's been used to over there." I pointed in the direction of the projects. "Maybe I could bring him and he could help out, get to know some of the other kids."

"Yes, of course, that would be fine." Father Sarratt said. "He's from the projects?"

"Yes. He turned up one night hiding from a gang. I took him in to get him through the immediate danger, and so far, he's been left alone. I don't think they know where he is, and my neighborhood association doesn't let gangs roam the streets." I shrugged. "I don't know what's going to happen when it's time for him to go to school. He's a great little guy, about fourteen, with no father, an absentee mother, and an aging grandmother as care giver."

He gave me a penetrating look. "Remarkable story. You've taken on a great deal of responsibility, but it's understandable."

"I know I may have been foolish, but my concern is for his safety." We'd walked outside and stood under the vast columned portico. I held out my hand and he gave it a firm shake and me a warm smile.

He'd said or done nothing out of the ordinary, but my spirits were high as I walked around the block towards home. Louis might gain some new friends and find a place where help was available. This was something positive I could pass on to Mother and relieve what I knew would be her anxieties about my strange domestic arrangements.

Walking up my drive, I saw Aubrey Slinker standing at his front door staring right at me, as if he might have been watching me approach. What a creep. I nodded, and he opened his door and emerged, cradling Mary Anne in his right arm. He motioned me with his other arm to wait up.

"I've been noticing you have regular yard help," he said in his wasp-like voice.

"Yes, I've been fortunate to have Louis's services." Did he want Louis to do some jobs for him too? I didn't, though, so I refrained from offering.

"I wonder if you know much about him. We try to keep that kind out of the neighborhood, you know." He gave me a grin that looked more like he'd gotten a rotten peanut.

"I know that he's an excellent worker. Is that all, Mr. Slinker?" I turned to go up my steps, my top lip quivering as it always did when I got upset.

"I guess so. Just wanted to warn you. I can keep an eye on him while you're at work, if you want."

"That's quite unnecessary. One of my roomers is here most of the time and can help out." I wondered again how in the world did Slinker live, home all day, not needing to work?

Inside, I fumed about his stupidity, his prying. What business was it of his? I must be sure to tell Louis to avoid Slinker at all costs.

Mother arrived shortly before lunch as predicted. I put her one suitcase on an old cedar chest in the guest room while she hung up a dress in the closet. She looked around.

"This was Mary's spare room, you say? It's quite pretty, the way you've used the old quilt as a spread and picked up the yellow in the curtains."

"I should get the walls painted, and I will eventually, but there's been so much to do, just cleaning and throwing out." I gestured toward the comfortable slipper chair and bedside table. "I think you'll be all right here. You can't imagine how much Mary crammed into this room."

"It's a very big house. Too big for her. A big responsibility for you. I still can hardly believe you'd want such a burden."

I ignored the remark, which I'd heard stated in several different versions before. I took her through the place and outside around the house, ending up back in the kitchen, where I had lunch ready and waiting in the refrigerator. We had plenty of opportunity to chat about our respective affairs. She wanted to hear the specifics of my work, and I tried to make it sound more than the Girl Friday position it really was. But she caught on immediately.

"Rather a come-down, isn't it?" she asked. "I mean from running a whole library?"

I took a deep breath. "I wanted something different, Mother. This may be just a stop-gap anyway, but I didn't want too much responsibility since I've got the house to look after right now."

She gazed around her as if contemplating vast expensive renovations. "Yes, I can imagine."

That afternoon, I heard Mimi come back from her date and after giving her tine for a nap, I told Mother I wanted to introduce her to my roomer.

"She's asked us in for tea, and I think you'll enjoy meeting her."

They seemed to like each other, comparing notes about Atlanta, which Mother remembered well from her college days at Emory University. Then they ganged up on me, talking about me as if I were an old sofa, slightly damaged but with a good frame.

"A better job would help," Mother said. "She was the head librarian in Tarryton, you know. Now she just takes ads and club news."

Mimi eyed me speculatively. "Myself, I think a man would do the trick."

"Ohhh," Mother breathed doubtfully. "The last time, that proved to be a disaster." After explaining to Mimi about my broken engagement, she addressed me, "I talked to Stephen's mother last week, and she said he was working in Nashville. I don't suppose you've seen him."

I felt a horrid shock as she said the words. Not what I expected to hear so casually. But I dissembled well and said, "Hardly. I doubt if we move in the same circles. What's he doing?" I guess he had his doctorate by now.

"Teaching for different colleges, I believe. Just trying to get his foot in the door."

"I'd think," I commented dryly, "that someone with his superior education wouldn't find that too difficult."

"You should see the man Tessa went out with Friday night, Mrs. Claiborne, " said Mimi brightly. "He's gorgeous. Lives close by, too." She blinked her eyes, big and innocent of guile.

I sighed. "He's renting the attic apartment from me, but we're just friends. He's hardly my type."

"I agree he's too poor to be considered seriously," Mimi nodded, "but he has potential. He's got to hit it big someday with his computerized something-or-other program."

And so it went. We finally parted with an invitation from me to Mimi to go with us to the ice cream social at the church on Monday. She agreed with alacrity.

"My new friend is spending the day at his son's, so I'll be quite at loose ends. I'd love to go. I haven't been to one of those events for years, and I'm through worrying about my figure."

We left it at that, and we were in the hall starting to go down the stairs to my place when my greatest fear was realized, the arrival of Frank from his apartment, a route he seldom took, preferring the outside stairs. Of course, I had nothing to be ashamed of in Mother meeting Frank, but I didn't know what she might say. She might have gotten the wrong idea from Mimi.

Not surprisingly, it was Frank who took the initiative, coming up to us with a smile and an inquisitive look. "I bet this is your mother, Tess. I see the resemblance."

There was that overly familiar "Tess" again. I introduced them and noticed my mother looking Frank over closely. "Hello, Frank," she said warmly. "I've heard a lot about you and how helpful you've been. Can you join us for something to drink?" This after we'd just finished tea with Mimi.

I groaned to myself, but gamely seconded her invitation, proceeding down the stairs ahead of the two of them, who were chatting in a friendly fashion. Mother was chirping on about how relieved she was that a man was in the house. "Too many women living alone in a place could be asking for trouble."

"I'm always available," Frank replied, holding the door to my living room open for Mother and me. "All Tessa needs to do is whistle." With that he gave me a wink. He was wearing tight jeans and a bright blue shirt that brought out his eyes. I hoped he had somewhere to go and would be leaving soon.

"Let me fetch you a beer," I offered. "Make yourself at home, Frank." A hardly necessary suggestion, for he'd quickly settled next to Mother on the couch and the two were now deeply into a discussion of the safety of my walks around the neighborhood.

Eventually, Frank finished his drink, saying he had arranged to go to some friends for supper. Mother showed him out as if she was the hostess, and then turned to me. "He's nice, isn't he? Handsome, too. What about him?"

"Nothing about him. He's just one of my renters, you know. I like to be friendly with all of them."

She hadn't made up her mind about the idea of me being a landlady at all, but I didn't want to get into further details of my relationship with Frank and our disturbing proximity.

Chapter 10

Louis returned, as Robert Shepherd had promised, at the end of the long and dull Sunday. Mother and I had gone to a nearby church that morning, covered all the news and gossip that afternoon, and after watching a movie on TV, were starting in on her problems with household help when we heard the side door bang and footsteps clatter down the stairs to the basement.

I went to the head of the stairs and yelled, and Louis responded, saying he was putting his things away.

"Come upstairs and have something to eat, if you want. I'd like you to meet someone, too."

"I be right up, Miss Tessa."

"Ah, Louis is back safe and sound," I breathed thankfully to Mother when I returned to the living room. "He wasn't kidnaped, after all."

"What?"

Mother looked startled, and I explained I was joking, but I did still have some concerns and a sense of responsibility.

She pursed her lips disapprovingly. "I'll never understand you. Everything you do seems to be counter to your own self-interest. Why don't you concentrate on developing a social life instead of playing social worker?"

"I'm not playing social worker." I hesitated a moment and in the interests of honesty said, "But I may be skirting dangerously close to a legal problem. I've gotten acquainted with a priest from a neighboring church, and I'm thinking Louis could participate in some youth activities there to help get his head on straight–help him resist the gangs that are part of his own neighborhood. That's why I can't quite turn him loose to go back into what will ultimately be his downfall. I hope you understand what I'm trying to do." I looked at her imploringly. After all, I'd not always agreed with her old fashioned outlook, but she was sensible about practical matters. It would be nice if she saw my point of view.

To give her credit, she nodded reluctantly. "Yes, I see it's been a tough decision--once he turned up, you've been handed a task to accept or refuse. You accepted. But that doesn't take away the real problem. What's to become of him? You can't keep him forever."

I sighed. "I know. As I say, I keep grasping at straws, hoping his situation will be remedied magically without my intervention."

We grew silent as we heard his footsteps coming up the stairs. He seemed to bounce into the room, his face gleaming and happy.

"No need to ask if you had a good time," I said dryly.

"No, ma'am. It was wonderful. We fished every day and cooked the fish." He rolled his eyes. "Umm. It was go-od! And I got to drive the boat sometimes. We took a hike in the woods, and . . ."

"Hey, hold on," I laughed. "First, I'd like you to meet someone. Mother, this is Louis; Louis, my mother, Mrs. Claiborne."

He gave an embarrassed nod and muttered something about it being nice to meet her. Mother held out her hand to be shaken and encouraged him to continue his recital of weekend activities.

"Maybe you could eat a sandwich," I said finally when his narrative seemed to have run down. "There are some already made up in the refrigerator. Help yourself. My mother and I are going out to eat later, so fill up on whatever you want."

He darted off, and I raised an inquiring eyebrow at Mother.

"He's very cute," she said. "I can see why you wanted to take him under your wing. So we'll all go to the ice cream social, you say, tomorrow?"

"I thought I'd ask Hallie, another renter, too. Paige is still on a business trip in San Francisco, but maybe Hallie would like to have a little outing with us." I planned to take Mother around later this evening or tomorrow to meet Hallie.

For dinner, we traveled out to West End and on out toward the Vanderbilt University area, where I chose a restaurant with menu choices that overwhelmed Mother at first. She ended up with salad nicoise and a piece of grilled perch served with asparagus and wild rice. After sampling it, she nodded her approval.

"I wonder why we can't get something like this in Tarryton. Only barbecue, overcooked vegetables, and fast food places."

I tactfully didn't point out the price difference since I wanted to treat her, but I doubted that the worthy citizens of that little hamlet would go over ten bucks for a meal.

Later, we visited Hallie's apartment, where my renter seemed visibly impressed with my mother's dignified manner and status as a clergyman's widow. Hallie herself worshiped at the main Temple in Nashville.

She got flustered when I invited her to go with us and agreed promptly, thanking me profusely for inviting her. Poor thing! I wondered what kind of a spare private life she had to endure, being as particular as she was about her associations.

About nine o'clock Mother went to her room to read while I ironed some clothes in the kitchen. Louis was watching TV, I supposed, but I decided to check on him anyway.

He'd fallen asleep in his street clothes, lying sprawled on the bed with the TV as a night light. I woke him, and he sat up promptly, looking a bit dazed.

"Maybe you'd better make it official and get under the sheet." I switched off the TV. "I wanted to mention something to you about some plans I have for tomorrow. I thought after you do some yard chores for me, I'd drive you over to your grandmother's."

"That be fine. I miss Granny." He yawned and tried to gather his wits together.

"I'm sure you do, and I'm sure she misses you. Then later, we can go to an ice cream social at the church a few blocks over."

His eyes widened and he smiled. "I'd sure enough like that!"

"Good. Now here's the thing. I talked to the priest at the church, and he said the young people are putting on this social to raise money. You'd be welcome to help out, just to get acquainted and maybe have some extra ice cream to boot. Would you like that?"

"I guess so. Yeah, that'd be O.K."

He was hesitant, so I tried to reassure him that I'd not abandon him if he felt uncomfortable, and he relaxed. Not much personal confidence, I'd say, and with reason.

Memorial Day dawned hot and bright. I put on a pair of freshly ironed linen shorts and a T-shirt, unwrapped my new American flag and attached it to the stand, which I'd already screwed into the post on the front porch. I felt very domestic and neighborly, even waving at the peculiar Mr. Slinker when he stepped from his doorway to retrieve his cat from the bushes. He gave me what I took to be a smile and slipped back into the house. No flag for him.

But the man across the street, Robert Shepherd, and his son were honoring the day. They were fastening a huge flag to an in-ground pole. It was an impressive display. Another neighbor was lining the driveway with miniature flags. This seemed to be a fairly patriotic neighborhood.

I walked across the street. "Say," I called out, not quite sure how to address him–Robert? Mr. Shepherd? "I wanted to thank you again for taking Louis with you on your camping trip. He had a wonderful time, and he hasn't had many of those in his life. Do I owe you anything for food, for instance?"

"You don't owe a thing." He smiled and gestured toward his son. "Will was glad of the company. It wasn't that big a deal, and I think the boys had fun."

"I'm sure Louis did." I started to cross back to my house and then stopped. "I wonder if we can talk some time about my situation and Louis's. Professionally, I mean. Maybe I could even come to your office. Since you're a lawyer, I mean."

"Sure, and we may not need to begin with the formal office visit. What about next Saturday? I usually do yard work, but in the afternoon I'd be free to talk with you–Tessa."

So it was to be Robert, or maybe Bob, and Tessa."Thanks. I'll see you then." Somehow, just taking the plunge and involving someone who knew the law gave me a feeling of assurance that I hadn't had before. Was I, in fact, breaking the law? I had to know, after which I'd take it from there.

The gathering at the church began at 7:00 P. M., so we piled into my car a little prior to the opening. I thought if Louis wanted to help out, he'd have a chance to get acquainted before the crowd came along. Earlier, I'd taken him for a short visit to his grandmother's while I sat in the car waiting for him. He hopped back in after thirty minutes with his grandmother coming out to the car to greet me, painfully hobbling on her walker.

"It's mighty nice what you do for Louis," she said with a solemn shake of her head. "He seem to love working there and then his trip with friends and all. I'm grateful to you, ma'am."

I brushed off her thanks by telling her how helpful Louis had been around my place and what a good worker he had proven to be. We parted with my assurance that I'd keep her up on all his goings-on.

Now on the way to the church, Louis sat in back with Mother and Hallie, while Mimi, who had trouble negotiating back seats, sat in front with me. The boy was surprisingly at ease in this car full of white women. He chatted happily, answering questions thrown him by my mother as well as Hallie, who must have felt at ease herself with a child of the age of her students. She also pointed out some of the sights of the neighborhood.

"I grew up here," she said when Mother commented on her knowledge.

"Really?" I called back to her. "You didn't mention that earlier. Which house was yours?"

"Oh, it's several blocks over. My father was a schoolteacher, too, so it was a modest place, but the neighborhood was still fine in those days."

"I'm sure it was," commented Mimi, who always treated Hallie with great gentleness, never allowing herself the pungent quips she so loved. "It's coming back to its former glory, in my opinion. That's why I'm very happy to be here."

I pulled into the church parking lot and we disembarked, looking around for a way to get to the social event. I heard conversation and cries of laughter coming from beyond a brick wall that went along one side of the parking lot.

"This looks about right," I said, motioning to an open wrought iron door in the wall. A sign taped to one side announced, "Ice Cream Social." We stepped into a cloistered area abutting a courtyard, which was more deep than wide. The scene was charming. Tables had been set up among the clipped grass and paving stones. The wall extended to the back, which then turned into a brick building, probably the parish hall, at a right angle to the church. A chain link fence nearly covered with vines made up the other side of the courtyard or garth. Behind the fence were more houses, some quite run down, but we were closer to the downtown area, and this real estate was not as desirable. Sitting at a table by the door, a teenaged girl was in charge of the receipts.

After rummaging in billfolds and depositing the money, we stood for a moment until Father Sarratt spotted us and came up with his hand outstretched. He was even more the genial host today, smiling and ushering us to seats at a table under one of the large trees that shaded the courtyard. He looked hot, even with only a short-sleeved shirt and rabat, and he had a five-o'clock shadow, which gave him a darkly foreign look.

"Attractive man," Mimi said to me under her breath. "Too bad he's not available."

I snorted a laugh but gave her a warning look. One never knew what Mimi might utter.

The western sun was still burning on the horizon, so we were glad to get under some shade. Richard Sarratt took Louis by the shoulders after I'd performed introductions and piloted him off to join the other youths, who were hanging around a long table at the farther end of the cloistered area, dispensing slabs of ice cream and little flat wooden spoons, the kind I hadn't seen since my own ice cream social days.

I looked around to see who else might be enjoying a spot of refreshment; I didn't recognize any of the Association members I had met at the meeting, but we were early. Mostly, I saw little kids and their mothers, as well as a table of elderly, who probably came from the retirement center nearby in the big blue van that I'd noticed in the parking lot.

We were promptly served by two giggling girls, one of whom asked if we'd also like iced tea. She took orders and then after bringing our drinks, forgot to charge us for them until I reminded her.

"You won't make any money that way," said Hallie in her stiffly jocular manner.

Our ice cream was the old fashioned kind that came in cartons packed with dry ice. In the center of each piece was a red flower, which could also work as a Christmas poinsettia. It might have done double duty.

Louis whizzed past our table several times laden with plates of ice cream. He seemed to be in his element. One of his more endearing qualities was the pleasure he took in doing things for others. I winked at him and he flashed me a big smile.

After about thirty minutes, we decided to leave. I looked around for Louis to tell him we were going, but he must have gone inside to help. I found Father Sarratt, and asked him if he'd mind keeping an eye on the boy.

"I know you're busy being the good host, but I need to take these women home, and I hate to tear Louis away when he seems to be getting along so well."

"I'll be glad to send him along when we've run out of ice cream. If the crowd continues, that should be near our closing time of 8:00."

I thought I could trust Louis to sprint home on his own. It was only about five blocks, nothing for someone who was used to roaming this entire area. I had some sort of niggling fear that the bullies from that gang might show up, but I figured a church-sponsored event was an unlikely gathering place for them.

Still, I mentioned my fears to the priest. "I haven't seen any sign of them, of course, but I'd feel better if you'd call me if they show up." I hastily scrawled a number on the back of a sales slip rummaged from my handbag.

He smiled at me, indulgently, I thought, probably thinking I sounded like an over-protective mother, but he hadn't witnessed the harrowing pursuit of a frightened boy as I had.

Eight o'clock came and went, but Louis hadn't made his appearance. Mother and I watched television, but I had to admit to an uneasy feeling as nine o'clock drew near and I still hadn't heard the bang of the side door and the clatter of his steps going down the stairs.

"I'm going to run over to the church," I announced to Mother, "and pick Louis up. He's probably sitting around eating leftovers with the others, but I'd feel better if he didn't have to come home alone in the dark."

"Why don't you call the church?"

"Good idea." Why hadn't I thought of that? I found the number, but despite my letting it ring and ring, no one answered. Panic began to set in. Still, I told myself, Father Sarratt might be outside.

"I'm off!"

"I expect you'll meet him on the way."

But I didn't meet him on the way. I drove the only sensible route, the way we had come, realizing he might have cut through some yards, and ended up in front of a very dark and empty looking church. I parked in the deserted parking lot and without much hope rattled the door to the courtyard. Nothing. Could he have gone off with some newly made friend? I decided the best plan was to go home and wait for his call. Maybe he'd already phoned to let me know he'd be late. From the first, we'd had an understanding about his comings and goings. I was to be informed if he left the premises. I couldn't imagine that he'd take advantage of the opportunity of being on his own away from my house. If that had been an objective, he could have left anytime.

Mother looked at me hopefully when I returned and my heart sank. No call had come.

Chapter 11

Louis didn't come home that night. I was frantic. I slept not at all, darting to the window whenever I heard a rustle in the grass or the sound of a car. By morning, I'd imagined all sorts of horrors, first picturing headlines on the missing boy, followed weeks later by a predictable grisly outcome. I couldn't eat any of Mother's proffered breakfast choices, but I did manage to scald my tongue on a cup of coffee.

Yet I wasn't free to stew about it at home, needing to get to work at the appointed time. Hal had been good to let me off the previous Monday, so I could hardly ask for another day. I went into his office as soon as I arrived and confronted him with my story. He gave me a bemused look as I explained my situation with Louis and now his disappearance.

"You are rather amazing," he said finally, but refrained from reproaching me, only frowning a bit in concentration. He had nice warm eyes, however, dark grey ones with flecks of gold that always seemed to gaze at me in a friendly fashion. Not handsome in a standard sense, he was more the craggy type, emanating decision and control. I believed he'd tell me the right thing to do. "Have you called the police?" he asked.

"Not yet. I wanted to wait until morning, hoping he'd show up sometime during the night. Do you think I should let the police know now?" I shrank from the thought of bringing in the authorities, yet I knew what Hal would advise.

"Yes, after you've called his grandmother and the priest. If he turns up later, fine, but in the meantime the police can put out a bulletin."

Luckily for me, the paper was being sent to the printer today, so I'd have work to keep my mind occupied. For now, there were those calls I needed to make, which Hal gave me leave to do. With a dreadful sinking sensation, I called his grandmother and upset her too. No, she hadn't seen her grandson. Wasn't he at my house? I had to confess he'd disappeared from the church, but I promised to call her back if and when I heard any news.

While I waited for Father Sarratt to answer the phone, I tried to control myself to a notch below hysteria. He recognized my name without further explanations but seemed puzzled by Louis's disappearance.

"I saw him getting ready to leave alone about eight-thirty. It was getting dark, so I offered him a lift, but he said he'd walk."

"Oh, dear."

"There could be several explanations. I wouldn't think the worst yet."

"Did any of that undesirable element show up at the church--you know, from the gang?"

"No, no, they didn't, I'm glad to say. We've had them raid us before, and it gets a little harrowing, but we evidently weren't on their agenda last night. I think the police have been patrolling the projects more closely, too."

"Really? That comforts me some."

I told of my fruitless efforts–the drive around the area, the call to his grandmother, but he still seemed calm. Maybe years of dealing with emergencies had made him unflappable. I hung up feeling aggrieved, as if he hadn't done enough. He'd offered to say a prayer for the boy's safe keeping, which I appreciated, of course, but my nerves were crying for action.

"You'll have to let the police in on this, you know," Mother said, when I called home in the vain hope he'd turned up. I explained to her my intentions, each of us promising to call the other if we heard anything.

With a sense of foreboding, I dialed the number that would change everything, make it official, if you will. My message to the operator at the Metropolitan Police Department must have been confusing, or maybe it was some sort of screening routine, for I was sent to three different departments before someone named Detective Sergeant Richter got on the line.

"No, I'm not a relative," I said to his query between teeth clenched with tension. "I'm his employer, you might say, but I feel responsible for him since he's living at my house--with his grandmother's permission, of course."

"I'm wondering," Detective Richter drawled, "why a member of his family hasn't called. You're sure he hasn't gone to visit someone else?"

"I'm not sure of anything, but I think it's unlikely that he'd leave without letting me know. He's worked for me for over a month and has been very responsible. This is unlike him. Besides, he has just his grandmother here, who doesn't know his whereabouts either. I've checked with her." I didn't mention the aunt who lived God knows where doing God knows what. I didn't think it was pertinent.

"Parents dead--or just gone?"

"Gone, one in prison, and for all I know maybe the other dead, but certainly out of town."

After getting the address of the newspaper office as well as my home, he said he'd be over to the house after I got off work at four. I thought he seemed extraordinarily casual, but I was helpless to do anything about it. It was a busy time for me, so I began to work on typing the remaining articles to go into the current edition. Mother would be on duty to catch the phone.

I went home for lunch as usual, and after a quick, tasteless sandwich, I went upstairs to inform Mimi and Hallie about Louis. Mimi instantly saw how upset I was and made me sit down on her couch and drink a glass of orange juice. "All that tension depletes your body of electrolytes and vitamin C."

"I'll survive. I only hope Louis has."

"You've looked again in the basement? Maybe he crept in while you dozed off."

I nodded. "As soon as I came home. Now all I can do is give my information to the police, who'll be here later this afternoon."

"I'll tell Hallie, and if she's seen or heard anything, we'll let you know." She patted my arm. "You poor thing. I know this is hard on you."

"Thanks. I feel as if it's my fault. The ice cream social was my idea."

"Have you seen Frank yet? He might know something."

"I doubt it. Anyway, I heard his truck come in late last night, and he'll be at work for hours yet." I knew Mother was dying to talk to him again, probing for clues as to our relationship. I didn't need further complications right now, so I hoped to see him in his apartment later, if need be. "I'd better get back to work."

I worked speedily and with as much concentration as possible to help Hal put the paper to bed. Whenever the phone rang, however, I answered it with hope rising, only to be tamped down as someone explained their newspaper needs. Hal and I finished our work, and I sent the paper electronically to the printer earlier than I'd hoped so I could leave the office a little before four. Sergeant Richter knocked on the door within fifteen minutes of my arrival home. It was a relief to think the police took pains to be prompt. I looked past him to see if he had a patrol car–I wasn't interested in suggesting to the neighborhood we were having problems with the police–but luckily, it was an ordinary grey sedan.

"Please come in." I stood aside for him to enter the living room. He made the place go small. At least six-foot-four, his height was matched by huge shoulders. He nodded and spoke to my mother, who introduced herself at his polite greeting. His dark hair and eyes belied his obviously German ancestry, but he was a pleasant looking fellow.

He settled on one end of the couch, the most substantial looking piece of furniture in the room, and took out a notebook and pen from his breast pocket. He wore no wedding ring on his finger, but that didn't necessarily signify anything.

"First, I'd like the details of his disappearance; then we'll talk about his relationship to you. Okay?" He smiled reassuringly, which transformed his face into that of a friend, rather than one of officialdom.

I explained about the church social, his working there, and his leaving the church around eight-thirty.

"Any of his friends there?"

"He didn't really know anyone. I suppose he might have made a friend, but Father Sarratt said he left alone."

"Do you have a picture of him?"

"No, but his grandmother probably has." I gave him his grandmother's address, adding, "I don't suppose there's any way you could make this sound routine to her? No, that's silly. It's just that she's an old woman, and I hate to frighten her any more than I already have."

"Now, from your phone conversation, I got it that he'd been staying here since around the first of June, doing yard work and other chores. Is that right?"

I nodded. "Would you like to see his sleeping quarters?"

I led him through the house to the basement area, and we stood for a moment looking at Louis's pied-à-terre. He'd made his bed before he left yesterday. On the table by his bed were several comic books–Spider Man, X-Men. Sergeant Richter stooped to retrieve a little box on the lower shelf and rummaged through its contents. I was conscious of a feeling of revulsion, us prying into Louis's small life in such a matter-of-fact way.

"Not much to help here, I'm afraid. Some money–I guess he got wages from you?"

"Yes, and he may have gotten something from his grandmother, though I doubt it."

"An old belt buckle–hmm, CSA–he probably found . . .or stole."

"No! Louis didn't steal, I'm sure. He was an honest boy. He is an honest boy," I corrected, horrified by my slip into the past tense.

The detective looked around again, nodding his head. "You fixed this up nice for him. TV, bookshelf, wardrobe." He went over to the wardrobe and peered inside. The he knelt down and took out the work boots. He turned one upside down, then the other. A knife fell out.

"A pocket knife," I said carefully. "He probably found that, too, but he knew it would have been something he couldn't carry around."

Sergeant Richter tossed it in his giant paw. "When I was a boy we all carried them. Times have changed." He put the knife back in the shoe. "No clues here, I'm afraid."

Suddenly, I was thankful this man was the investigator with his innate good sense.

I turned off the light and we paraded upstairs. "What next?" I asked as we stood in the living room.

"I'll talk to the grandmother, some of his friends, and let you know. These disappearances can be difficult, Miss Claiborne. It is Miss or should I say Miz?"

"Either is fine." I felt my face redden as if he'd just called me an old maid. I spoke up quickly, "Before you go, could you tell me if I bear any legal responsibility for Louis's disappearance, whatever that might mean? I'm not sure what my situation really is."

"I don't know, Miss, but it wouldn't hurt to check with a lawyer." He touched his hand to his head in a quaintly polite way as if he had a hat to lift or a forelock to pull. "I'll be in touch. And you let us know if the boy turns up."

I assured him I would as I showed him out, after which I returned to the living room. Mother was looking at me with a funny expression on her face.

"What is it?"

"You were worrying about being responsible. Chickens come home to roost, dear. I won't say I wish you hadn't gotten involved with this child, but I do wish you'd consulted someone first, just in case."

I sighed. "I know, I know. Isn't hindsight wonderful."

"I can't help but being reminded of all those animals you brought home."

"And you wouldn't let me keep. Maybe if you had, I wouldn't have been so tempted in Louis's case." But this was not the time for excuses–or recriminations, and I believed Mother knew it. At least I hoped that would be the last time she ever even hinted of this being only my problem.

"At least the policeman seemed very helpful and interested. Rather nice looking, too," she added with a speculative look at me.

"What? For heaven's sake, Mother, I wasn't sizing him up! I happen to have other things on my mind."

Chapter 12

Mother got to see Frank after all. He knocked on the kitchen door and poked his head in, calling, "Anybody home?"

"Come in, Frank." I put a smile on my face and went to greet him. "My mother's in the living room. I'm sure she'd like to see you."

"Sure. I brought you some raspberries. My folks have bushes and I thought you might like some." Frank had been spending the long weekend at his parents' home in Knoxville.

"I love them! How sweet of you." I put them in the sink for washing later. He was rather nice, I had to admit.

Mother looked again with interest at my top-floor roomer. Frank was dressed in wrinkled khaki shorts, which showed to advantage his sturdy legs covered with fine, golden hair. He wore a red T-shirt emblazened with "Coors" and loafers without socks, and he hadn't yet cut his hair, if he ever intended to. When he came into the room, he immediately went over to her chair and held out his hand, which Mother took, smiling, extending two fingers and a thumb. Long practice as a clergyman's wife had given her the technique on adroitly managing to avoid bone crushing grips.

"Please sit down, Frank," I invited.

He took a seat on the same end of the sofa that had just been vacated by Sergeant Richter.

"I guess I should tell you the bad news." I explained the situation in a tense voice.

He sat silently for a moment after I finished my recital and then said, "Let's think about this a minute. He left the church alone, everyone expecting him to come straight here. No one had bugged him during the evening that you know?"

"No, if anything, he got along great with the others and seemed to have a perfectly good time. According to Father Sarratt, he was in good spirits when he left the social."

"So, somewhere between the church and this house, he must have been picked up. But by whom? The gangs generally roam on foot, don't they?"

"As far as I know. I suppose some one of them could have a car, but they didn't the day he was chased into my yard. If he got into a car, though, I feel he was forced. He'd never leave with them, being as frightened as he was that night at our garage sale."

"I suppose the police will check around the projects to find gang members. Boys that age aren't so hardened they can't be made to tell what happened under a little pressure. Wait until you hear from this detective fellow before you go off half-cocked."

"I'm not going off half-cocked."

"Oh, yes, you're about to," interjected Mother. She turned to Frank. "For someone who seems so collected, she's terribly emotional down deep."

"Mother!"

Frank grinned at me. "I have yet to plumb those depths. Does this mean I must go missing before you give me your undivided attention?"

"Weren't we discussing Louis?" I answered coolly.

"There's nothing much we can do," Mother said, "so why don't we try to get our minds off it for now. How's your work going, Frank? Didn't you say you do something on music row, too?"

"I tote things around and keep up with the records in a storage vault for a music production company. That menial work is the dog, to paraphrase the writer Robert Graves, how I support my cat, the inter-active video stories I hope to sell for the games market."

"Your real work does sound imaginative. Tell me about the kind of stories you write."

Frank and Mother chatted about his work, the changes in reading styles for today's youth while I tried to look as engaged in the subject as they were, even managing to throw in a few barbs about "literature for the intellectually impaired" and other teasing remarks, which Frank took with good grace. He was intelligent and clever and had enough confidence not to be offended by my little jokes. Besides, even at the library in Tarryton I had introduced many on-line and interactive educational videos to meet the needs of researchers and students.

Then, the subject of electronic books exhausted, Frank turned again to me and asked, "Do you think you'll get in trouble for making yourself Louis's temporary guardian and then misplacing him?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea. I'm going to consult the guy across the street. He and his son took Louis fishing this weekend, so he knows him. He's an attorney and I have an informal meeting with him on Saturday to ask about my responsibility toward the boy. But I am wondering about these absent relatives of Louis's. His mother, for one; his aunt for another. They may see this as a prime opportunity to get a little cash out of the deal. Oh, Lord. I feel sick." I held my stomach, which actually was cramping. "I may run over to the lawyer's as soon as he arrives home instead of this weekend."

"Good idea." He rose. "I'd better be getting some work done. I've got to make a list and then pick up some things at the office supply place before it closes." He took my hand and patted it. "I hope this all resolves itself quickly and that the boy is safe. I'm sorry, Tessa. Try to relax."

He left the room quickly, going back through the kitchen on his own.

"He seems very nice," Mother commented. "You two must be pretty good friends."

"Not really. He's been helpful, of course, and is an ideal renter. No fuss."

"He has beautiful hair. I can see why he wears it so long." She touched her own softly curling short do. "It seems so unfair that a man would be gifted with such locks--like a peculiar joke of nature."

She had actually liked Frank, taking him at face value! And she hadn't queried me about a romance waiting in the wings as I'd dreaded. "He told me he'd cut it if . . ." I hesitated, not wanting to admit his interest in my opinion on the subject.

"Really? You know, I wonder if he's a bleached blond. It's unusually thick for blond hair, don't you think?"

I laughed. "Oh, Mother, not really. I can't quite imagine Frank sitting at the hair dresser's having his hair frosted and permed. No, he's got a nice head of hair, that's all. But you're right. It seems unfair for those of us with this fine straight stuff that flies away and gets limp in humid weather."

By periodically checking between the blinds I spotted Robert Shepherd's car sitting in his driveway around six o'clock. I felt lucky that he'd come home at a reasonable time. But as I left my house and was traversing the street, a small sports car swung into his drive and parked. An attractive black woman in a linen pants suit, looking very soignee, got out of the car and began to walk toward the front door of Shepherd's house. I was right behind her.

She looked back as she heard my footsteps, and I held out my hand, introducing myself as a neighbor, needing to ask a question of Robert. She smiled carefully, I thought, and told me her name was Rita Williams, Robert's fiancé, who just stopped by on an impulse, hoping to take him out to dinner. She walked in without knocking and I followed. After she called his name, we heard a muffled response from the back of the house, and she left me waiting, rather self-consciously, in the living room. I looked around and saw that it was sparely but attractively furnished in mission-style furniture, some items reproduction, others genuine, I automatically calculated. I'd always admired the style, so far removed from the one I was living with. This furniture gave a clean, neat impression, whatever its antecedents.

Robert Shepherd came from the back of the house immediately, followed by Rita. He looked at me questioningly and then with concern as I explained about Louis's disappearance and my predicament. "Believe me," I assured him, "I'm much more concerned about Louis's safety right now than I am my own culpability, but I'm not sure if I should be doing more to find Louis's relatives. I have no legal guardianship, you know, and with the police now being involved, I–I don't know exactly what I should be doing." I held out my hands as if looking for some sort of a physical boon he might give me.

During my recital, he'd looked at me with an expression of sympathy on his face, making a few appropriate sounds of understanding. Yet, like the lawyer he was, his comments were carefully expressed to give me little direction or comfort. Eventually, he turned to Rita and asked, "What would you recommend?" And before she could respond, he said to me, "Rita's also an attorney and her firm specializes in Family Law."

"Before I say anything too definitive," Rita said crisply, "I'd need to spend a little more time investigating the relationship between Louis and yourself, as well as talking with the grandmother, and checking out the status of his parents. As for his disappearance, I'm concerned of course, yet I believe it has to be up to the police at this point."

"Yes, I understand that," I said. But I was a little discouraged by her business-like approach. This sounded like a fee in the offing. "My hope is that if the gang got him, they might release him after a day or so. He hadn't done any harm to any of them, according to Louis; he just failed the initiation, and had escaped their notice for over a month." I closed my eyes as I imagined his incarceration by hoodlums. "My God, I hope they don't hurt him."

Robert moved closer to me and patted my arm. "You go home and relax as much as you can. Leave it to the police, as Rita said, and we'll hope for the best."

"In the meantime," Rita offered, "I can at least check into your situation as far as legal responsibility. I think you'll be fine if you say the grandmother agrees she knew where he was staying. It's not much different than if he'd gone off to a boarding school, you know."

I looked at her with appreciation. "Yes, that sounds reasonable. But I will keep my fingers crossed that the police will locate him as soon as possible. Thanks so much for your encouragement." I nodded at them both and took my leave, feeling somewhat comforted by Rita's initial assessment and Robert's calm reaction regarding both Louis's possible captors and my own situation.

Yet as I crossed the street I realized nothing really had changed. I merely had a couple more people involved in my problem.

Mother and I ate a lackluster supper of pasta and vegetables with some toasted French bread. It was her last evening before her return to Tarryton, but I couldn't think of a thing to entertain her, including lively conversation. We watched an old movie on television and ate popcorn. I found my mind continually wandering, however, and had to keep pushing back terrifying thoughts

"I wonder if the cops will interview any of the neighbors around here?" I said during an interval.

"What? Oh, to check on Louis. I can't imagine why. It was dark, and I'd think it unlikely anyone would notice a boy getting into a car."

"I suppose so. Yet I think it would be a good idea. Someone might have seen something." I took another of those deep breaths that had become habitual. "I'm so grateful to have a job to go to during the day. Keep my mind occupied for a while."

"I think so too. Let the police investigate, and in the meantime, you find out from your lawyer neighbor or his friend about your liability. Let me know what they say." She, like Father Sarratt, promised to put Louis on the prayer list when she got back to Tarryton. "And you as well," she added.

Eventually, we decided to go to bed, where I read for a while and felt miserable. I got up and took a Tylenol PM and eventually fell asleep.

It was during my lunch hour the next day that I had an encounter which almost eclipsed my concern for Louis, at least temporarily. I went to a small but rather classy little restaurant as a treat to lift my spirits. It was convenient, too, since it was at the newly developed river front area featuring condos renovated from old warehouses, chic restaurants, and smart boutiques. After placing my order of lobster bisque and a salad, I looked around as one does, most often fruitlessly, hoping to see a familiar face, when I actually did see one. At a nearby table but turned a little away from me sat Stephen! He was lunching alone, perusing a folded newspaper while he ate a salad. He wore a blue striped shirt, heavily starched as he always preferred, with the sleeves neatly buttoned, and dark, well creased trousers. The waitress came up to him with his entrée, and as he made room for it, he turned toward me. He tipped his head unbelievingly and raised his eyebrows as if struck by surprise, which he probably was. His mother may not have been so prompt to communicate my whereabouts as my mother was his.

"Tessa--how nice."

"Hello, Stephen." I felt my face get hot. How terrible to be betrayed so obviously by one's internal emotions. I didn't believe for a minute I still cared for him. Could it be embarrassment for him and his cold-heartedness that caused my face to turn a different shade, or was it a remnant of the hurt I'd felt at his leaving me? I only know that I wished heartily I had picked any other place but this for lunch while at the same time realizing this meeting had to happen sooner or later.

He got up, carrying his plate, which contained what looked like prime rib on a bun au jus . "Mind if I join you? You aren't expecting anyone?"

"No, I'm not. Please do. I'm on my lunch hour, so I don't linger long over lunch."

"You're living here now, you mean? Working at the library in Nashville?"

I explained about my inheritance, my work, and even in a rattling on sort of way, my renters. "So you're a landlady. Funny, that doesn't sound as impressive as landlord, does it?" He smiled, and I noted the dimpled crease in one cheek that used to captivate me. I felt quite unmoved by it now.

"I expect they're completely different roles. Mine seems to be of the mothering variety," I said not exactly truthfully, thinking of Frank.

He nodded and said, "That would suit you," and absently picked up his knife and fork. I invited him to begin his meal, but just when he was about to refuse politely, the waitress came with my order. We both ate silently and swiftly as if food could fill the gap that time and circumstances had rent between us.

"So," I ventured, in between bites, "are you teaching this summer?"

"Yes, but only three classes, and at three different schools." He checked his watch. "Oh, oh, I'd better hurry up. I have to get to Tennessee State before 1:00." He drained his glass of iced tea. "Good to see you, Tessa. Are you in the phone book?"

"No, but information would have it."

"Good, we'll get together sometime."

"Fine. Goodbye, Stephen."

I had the feeling after he left that I had been speaking to a stranger in a Stephen suit. How could it happen that two people once so long and closely connected could close ranks completely over a relationship as if it had never been? And now I knew for sure that the pain really had abated, that it wasn't lying in wait beneath some hard protective surface. I could quit thinking of him as if I'd lost my one and only chance for happiness. I doubted that I would ever hear from him, and that would probably be a good thing.

Chapter 13

I returned to work a little earlier than I needed to, noting automatically that Hal's car was in his usual spot near our end of the building. He generally waited until I came back to go out himself, always wanting one of us to answer the phone or greet drop-ins. There were three businesses in the brick-faced building which housed the newspaper. We were on the end near the side street, with an insurance agency next door and on the other end a gift shop inexplicably called the White Orchid. Strips of grass abutting the street in front and on the side softened the commercial aspect, as did ornamental trees lining the area next to the side street. A paved area in back was for deliveries. Inside our office, to one side of the front room where I presided, was a restroom off a tiny hall also housing a supplies closet. Behind the front room was Hal's office and a workroom in the back with tables for layout and storage of extra papers and other junk.

The day had started out grey, like my mood, which I resented, as if the weather was taunting me. By the time I returned to the newspaper office it had become increasingly dark with low clouds scudding overhead. The papers had been delivered at noon to various locations around the area so I busied myself with measuring the ads and totting up the inches for billing purposes. Hal went out for lunch and to start getting ads lined up for the next edition, but he returned a little earlier than usual.

"Let's turn on the TV," he said, hurrying to his office where he had a little set that got the local stations. "I don't like the look of the weather."

I glanced out the large window facing me and saw leaves flying around when no leaves should be off the trees. I felt alarm for the first time. "I need to go see Louis's grandmother," I said, following Hal into his office, but he shushed me as the weather report showed something ominous coming toward Nashville from out of the west.

"You better be on your way," Hal said. "Things are going to get nasty, I'm afraid."

I hastily gathered up my things and drove off toward the projects, bad weather not withstanding. If I was upset by Louis's disappearance, his grandmother must be inconsolable. My guilty feelings made me dread the encounter. I could tell myself that Louis would have been even more vulnerable living in the projects, but I believed my interference in his life had provoked this unfortunate turn of events. If she refused to see me, I could hardly blame her.

But her face lit up when she saw me at her door as though I was a friend, not a foe. She'd been interviewed by the police, she said, but couldn't shed any more light on his disappearance than I could.

"I have fears, Miss Tessa, about this matter, that I can't shake. It ain't like my boy to go off, so I 'spect he's been taken."

"I know. I fear it too." I reached across to touch her hand, and she began weeping quietly. I've never felt as miserable as I did at that moment. I had no words of comfort, other than that the policeman seemed interested, and I was sure he'd do his best to find him.

"What about his mother. Does she know?" I asked anxiously.

"She don't stay in touch like she should. I hear from her ever' so often, but she ain't got a phone, so I has to let her calls happen when they do. I don't know how I'll tell her. I just keep hopin' and prayin' he'll come back before his mamma calls."

"Oh, yes, I do, too." If his mother found out, all hell might break loose.

When I left her house, the sky was abnormally dark for four o'clock in midsummer. It had become strangely still, and I looked with concern toward the west at the deep mounds of black clouds heading our way. An unusual spate of Canadian systems had been moving in and swirling around Nashville for several days. Hot, moist air from the Gulf was mixing with the cooler northern air, spawning tornados or bad storms both to the north and the south of us. We'd felt lucky to have been missed in their trail of destruction. I hurried home in the now gusting wind and put the car in the garage, feeling the sting of rain before I could get inside the house.

I went immediately to my little den and switched on the TV. The local stations had all gone to their high tech weather predictors--the sky trackers, radar, and electronic maps of the area with the incoming dangerous systems superimposed on them. The Storm Team spoke urgently of increases in the velocity, direction, and force of the winds, showing on radar the conformation of clouds and making much of a "hook echo" that was particularly ominous. I watched the roving reporters and weather experts who were on duty, stationed at various points in the projected path of what was now being termed a tornado watch.

Then a report came across the wires that a tornado had been sighted in the area. The storm was now upgraded to a tornado warning. Hard on the heels of that announcement, two more tornadoes had been spotted west of Nashville with the city directly in their path, looking as if they could breach our neighborhood if we were terribly unlucky. I wondered what I should do. There were no hatches to batten down. I called Mimi, who was the only one home, I'd noticed, from the absence of Hallie's and Frank's cars. Paige wouldn't be back from her trip until the weekend.

"I saw the report," she said calmly, "but somehow I can't see me scurrying to the basement to cower in a corner."

"Why don't we?" I countered, trying to keep my voice calm. "Not cower, but wait in a dignified way until the storm passes." I sensed a change in the light outside and through the window saw a greenish black pall overhead. "We can keep tuned to the news on Louis's TV," I said in an encouraging tone.

"Uhm. I suppose we could. Oh, shucks, I've got my muu muu on and my girdle off."

I laughed. "I think we'll be alone--no storm squads out checking to see if we're properly dressed. Come on down." I'd feel much more comfortable in the basement with the blackened skies and howling winds at our door. The rain had now changed to hail. I didn't like that one bit. From the time I heard it thumping on my neighbor's roof to when I reached the dining room window to peer out, the driveway was heavily spattered in quarter-sized white balls.

I got out my walkman from a kitchen cupboard drawer, tested it to make sure the battery was still OK, and after a second's hesitation, I snatched up a pitcher of purified water from the refrigerator, some paper cups, and a package of cookies as fortifications, just in case. Then I waited in the front hall for Mimi to descend. She emerged from her room quicker than I might have guessed from her cool response to my call.

Raising an end of her voluminous gown with one hand, she stepped carefully on the stairs, holding on to the rail with her other hand. "The danger will be past before I can negotiate two flights of stairs," she joked. An enormous lightning flash and almost immediate crash of thunder that made the phone ring stopped her progress momentarily.

"It's close, Mimi. I think we'd better hurry." My mouth was dry, thinking of the weather team's prediction of a tornado heading our way on the outskirts of Nashville. I tried to calculate how long it would take to reach our locale if it was moving at 60 miles an hour. Not long.

Finally, we closed the basement door behind us and went down into the meagerly lighted depths of the house. The electricity went out before we came to the bottom of the stairs, but we could still see enough to move around in the gloom from the ground level windows.

I led Mimi to a position under the stairs against the wall and began to fiddle with the radio to get some kind of word on our situation. I went from one local station to another with nervous fingers but didn't get anything, at least on FM. I'd just switched to AM when the advancing sound from outside made me hold my breath for several seconds. Mimi and I clutched each other in nameless terror as the avalanche of sound descended on us. The low roar was like nothing else I'd ever heard, but I understood how it was commonly described as a locomotive. This train seemed to have missiles exploding from it and hitting the house.

The two windows on the driveway side of the room exploded and rain drove in. Crashes and snapping sounds from above and around us continued for several more minutes, maybe only seconds, that stabbed me with fear. "My poor house," I groaned. Yet I was suddenly grateful it had been built in the 19th century and most likely wouldn't fall in on us even with a direct hit.

Mimi emitted a little squeal during an extra loud crash and thump. Then it was over--and quiet, and I crept with dread to a window to see what had gone on. A tree from Aubrey Slinker's back yard had toppled over, smothering the driveway. I turned back to Mimi and saw her sitting down in the old chair, rigidly in place, gripping the arms of the chair like a patient at the dentist's.

"We're safe, now," I said. I was surprised that my voice sounded so shaky and oddly pitched.

"Are we? Is it like earthquakes, with aftershocks? Maybe we're in the eye and the rest of the storm will be here again."

I managed a laugh. "I think eyes are in hurricanes. We might get some more rain and a little wind, but unless another tornado comes along, it should be all right now." I finally found a station on the radio that was still broadcasting and heard someone from the National Weather Service being interviewed.

". . . storm passed through, but counties to the northeast should prepare for touchdowns. We still have some dangerous configurations on the radar moving into the Nashville area with reverse air patterns. These cloud formations are known to spawn tornadoes, so we're not out of the woods yet." We were advised to keep tuned to continuing coverage and to use caution in moving around the area.

Mimi groaned. "Somehow, I thought that would be the case. It's still too dark outside."

"Nothing will happen to us here, so why don't we have a drink."

"A drink," she said, brightening.

"Water. It was the first at hand," I said apologetically. Something stiffer would have been a good thing.

After a few minutes, with the weather report indicating no new sightings nearby, I decided to venture upstairs and see what was left of my house. I told Mimi to stay where she was. She nodded, but instructed me firmly to hurry back.

"If it just didn't get into my closet, I'll be happy," she said and then covered her mouth. "Oh, Tessa, I'm sorry. I was thinking selfishly, when you have a much greater investment than a new ensemble at stake."

I couldn't help smiling even though I knew how serious the damage might be. I felt real dread when I couldn't get the basement door open at first push. Something was holding it in place. I got my back into it and shoved with all my might and it budged an inch. Mimi was yelling her concern. I reassured her that the door was stuck but I was gaining on it. More pushing and I could see that the outside door at the end of the tiny hall opposite had come off and blown against this one. But I believed I was making headway, at least getting it open enough for me to squeeze through. Which I finally did. The kitchen was a shambles; my breakfast nook aglitter with shards of broken glass. Tree branches had broken through some windows but were not heavy enough to penetrate the walls. I suspected the wind did most of the damage.

When I threaded my way past broken dishes, overturned chairs, leaves, and soggy newspapers into the dining room, I saw even more wreckage outside, but not my own. The roof of Aubrey Slinker's bungalow didn't seem to be there anymore. The house looked strangely denuded like the skin under a blister that had popped open, the top peeled away. My first thought was to dial 911, but when I picked it up and tried to turn it on, I found it was dead; obviously the lines were down. I realized I was in the middle of a catastrophe, how big I didn't know. Where was my cell phone, I stupidly pondered, realizing after darting around ineffectually it obviously would be in my purse, which was resting incongruously where I left it on the sideboard against the far wall. The dining room floor and tops of furniture were covered in glass from broken windows, but nothing else seemed disturbed.

I heard Mimi faintly from the basement calling my name.

"I'm all right," I hollered. "I'll be right down. You stay where you are." I checked the living room, but I saw nothing out of place. With no windows on the blasting side of the tornado, it breathed quiet, order, and calm which seemed peculiar under the circumstances. Stepping outside, I found my front porch littered with debris. I had some of the neighbor's roof shingles on the lawn, but mostly tree branches and leaves and someone's mail–a certain Marcia Anderson, I read, picking up an envelope. The tornado, which had been sweeping across the city due east, had winds, I suddenly remembered, that went counter clockwise and the vortex must have sucked up Slinker's roof and tossed it outward. How else to explain why it was mainly in the street instead of my dining room. Sirens were wailing in the distance, and I could only hope they'd soon be in our neighborhood. I gave a cursory glance at other neighboring houses, feeling helpless and depressed. I saw nothing as bad as Slinker's, at least from my front porch, but trees and branches lay everywhere.

Mimi was halfway up the stairs when I reached the basement door.

"What's happened, Tessa? You were gone so long I got worried." She tried to squeeze through the opening while I made more room for her broader girth, moving the broken outside door a few more inches by pushing it out through the opening.

"Quite a lot. So far, as you can see, the worst may be in the kitchen. It's sprouting."

"Oh, Tessa, how terrible!"

"That's nothing. Come with me." I led her into the dining room for a peek at the neighbor's house, a sight that made her gasp. I told her about the general devastation outside and suggested we take a look at the upstairs.

"Were you listening to any radio reports?" I asked as we slowly ascended the stairs.

"Yes, but evidently, the new sightings have changed direction and are moving north toward Kentucky. So far, so good."

"Yes. And I hope that goes for this house, too, structurally speaking." But I couldn't help feeling dismay, thinking of the cleanup, with glass from the broken windows in the hallway, the wet walls and carpet. "I hope that your rooms will be untouched since they're on the other side of the house–except for the bathroom and Paige's bedroom in the turret, which have windows on that side. And unless Frank's apartment got hit badly, we may have come through this fairly unscathed." I was fearful, though, for the attic room and Frank's precious computer programs.

"I bet your closet is just as you left it. Let's check it out."

She flung open the door and gave a deep sigh. "It looks good to me. May I never want for anything more." She wobbled into her room and sank onto her sofa.

"We may be awhile getting the electricity and telephone restored. Would you like to come down to my place?"

"I'll just sit here in the gloaming counting my blessings. Actually, I've got a few candles, if you notice."

It was true. She had many beautiful brass and crystal candlesticks with hand dipped candles on virtually every table surface.

"I think I'll pop up to the attic and take a quick peek at Frank's room. Then I might go outside and see if there are any neighbors who need help--food, first aid, that sort of thing."

"How nice of you," she said, laying her head back among the cushions. "You do that, Tessa."

Poor thing. The adventure had worn her out.

I went back to my kitchen where I found a flashlight and the set of keys for the apartments. On the way upstairs, my mind flew to my ever present concerns about Louis. Where had he been during the maelstrom? Would he have managed to escape from his captors while the excitement occupied their attention? Or was he lying unconscious--perhaps dead--in some rabbit warren of a house, struck down either by his enemies or the storm itself?

The attic rooms were in fine shape, but I assumed from from the dark, wet stain on the ceiling that the roof had been penetrated by debris. Still, I was thankful I wouldn't have many repairs to bother about. Frank kept his clothes in a similar wardrobe to the one Louis had in the basement so they'd be safe from any ceiling leaks. Aunt Mary had stationed several wardrobes around the house because of the paucity of closets. Other than that, Frank's own meager furnishings took up little space. The room looked barn-like, especially in the dusky light from the few windows. His computer system looked vulnerable to me, however, so I placed the keyboard in a drawer of the workstation, hoping that would suffice if more leaks developed. I then slipped out of the room, not wishing, for some silly reason, to get too personal a glimpse of how Frank lived.

Back in my own apartments, I checked the faucets to see if we had running water. We did, and I couldn't think of any reason, other than a direct hit on the water plant, for it not to be safe. Still, one never knew, so I decided to melt some ice cubes for more drinking water and tell Mimi to drink only that until we got word that the water really was safe. Then I looked into my first aid kit for supplies: bandages, tape, iodine. I used a whisk broom and dust pan to sweep the glass from the dining room table so I'd at least have a clean surface. The kitchen was useless in case I needed to bring in any injured neighbors to be treated. I hoped the ambulances arrived promptly. I felt inadequate for dealing with serious injuries. The sirens still intertwined in trios and quartets off in the distance, but none, as far as I could tell, had come down our street. I wondered if I'd have to look under a crawl space or in a darkened interior to assist someone or should I leave that kind of help to the fire department or other emergency help? No, I had to do something.

Chapter 14

Outside, the misting rain had stopped, but it was dark from the heavily overcast sky. I looked at my watch and was surprised to see it wasn't yet six o'clock. I hardly knew where to go first. Farther up the street, I saw a couple of women outside their house, supposedly checking for damage, but otherwise my neighbors must have been closeted inside or not at home. Then, out of the blue, I noticed a couple approaching, picking their way through the debris. They gave me hopeless smiles.

"Are you all right?" I called. "Is your house damaged?"

They stopped near the steps and looked up at me. They were very bedraggled.

"We don't know," the woman said. "We work in the same office building and met in the basement during the storm. Afterward, we drove until downed trees and hot wires stopped us. It's our children. They're at home with the sitter and we can't get in touch by phone."

"We're still at least a mile from home," the man said impatiently. "We'd better go on. It's hell not knowing if the kids are okay."

"Good luck."

I decided to see about my neighbor next door. He didn't work as far as I knew, so he probably had been at home and might have gotten injured in what looked to be catastrophic damage. The other houses surrounding me had shingles missing or shattered windows or evidence that showed they'd been in a storm, including Robert Shepherd's across the street, which had a two by four sticking from the roof. But Aubrey Slinker's house seemed to have borne the brunt of the whirlwind.

I stumbled over boards and tree limbs to what had been his enclosed front porch. It was now quite open. The roof and all the windows were gone, but the glass had been flung far afield and mysteriously disappeared. Those boxes that I'd grumbled about were soggy messes that had obviously held magazines Slinker hadn't the heart to throw out, evidently for many years. The floor was carpeted with old Saturday Evening Post, Life, and Look magazines and other assorted ruined reading material.

I peered around in dismay. The house was ghastly. There were no secrets now. "Mr. Slinker," I called as loudly as my quaky voice could manage. I heard nothing in response. Maybe he was too scared to emerge from his basement or was still there under a mattress. With careful steps, I threaded my way through his erstwhile living room. The floor was still firm, so I didn't think I'd sink through some hidden hole, but the rest--well, I'd never seen a sight like this. With no sign of the owner, I began to get a queasy feeling, looking more carefully under what furniture remained.

I found Mary Anne, which gave me a terrible turn. She was sprawled in a corner, half covered by a sofa cushion. I touched her side, but there was no answering pulse or sign of a breath. She apparently had been working on her tenth life. Slinker would not have left her alone upstairs, so either he'd gone out for an errand and couldn't get back, or else he too might be found among his destroyed things.

I heard the moaning before I saw anything. Slinker was wedged between a bed and the wall. He must have been knocked out. Now he looked at me with bleary, unrecognizing eyes.

"I'm not sure I can move this enough to help," I said. Had he been taking a nap before the storm hit and been caught unawares? Otherwise, why hadn't he taken shelter in the basement? I gave a few grunting tugs on the heavy Victorian bedstead.

With the slight movement of the bed, Slinker screamed, and I realized it was on his leg, and pinning him to the floor.

"Sorry." I couldn't manage it alone, but I thought if I got a thick board to use as a lever, I could lift it enough to slide a box or a chair under it as a fulcrum.

There seemed to be plenty of lumber. Maybe attic flooring or beams or something. While I was sorting through the mess for a likely piece of material, I heard a cry, very faint. For a moment I thought about Slinker's cat, but immediately realized it couldn't have been making the noise. And besides, it came from below me. Another animal, a person? How strange.

I'd heard of things and people being moved great distances during tornadoes, but how would someone end up in the basement? Slinker would have to wait. Terrified of what I might find, I worked my way carefully to the back of his small house and went into what had been the kitchen. A gaping hole revealed a stairway--down three steps and then a turning for the remainder. I tested the first steps but they were holding fine. Debris was scattered on them--splinters of wood, dishes, leaves.

The faint sounds were clearer now, and it wasn't a cat. Was it high pitched shouts? This whole situation was getting beyond me. I needed help. I asked myself if I should stand out in the street and try to flag down passers by or continue on with my timid rescue efforts. I proceeded slowly down the stairs, answering my own question.

After I went on down somewhat noisily, kicking aside impediments to my progress, I didn't hear the crying sound. I wondered if it was nerves, my overheated imagination making something of the sighing wind, very much present in this open place. Except for glass from the windows, the basement looked untouched, untouched by the tornado, that is. Aubrey Slinker's touch was everywhere. In the piles of trash overflowing their containers, shelves and tables of tools grown large and furry with rust, stacks and stacks of paint cans. (Did he collect them, I wondered, or did he actually paint something at one time?) Furniture from another age dominated the room as if he'd tried to create some semblance of maybe his childhood home. I saw a bed partially made up with a threadbare cover. Lying with its head on the pillow was a large doll. I pulled back the cover to see if its mechanism might have produced the sounds but quickly dropped it back over the naked figure, naked except for a sanitary pad strung on an elastic belt between its legs.

Standing quietly observing, listening as hard as I could, I heard nothing.

"Damn! This is ridiculous!" I said aloud, impatient with myself. Back to Slinker's rescue, like it or not.

"Miss Tessa," came a small voice from beyond a closed door.

"Louis? My God--" I ran to open the door, but it was fastened securely, luckily with a bolt, which I struggled to release. When I opened the door to this room, the odor of urine assailed me. Without windows, it was pitch dark. I fumbled with my flashlight, fingers shaking.

The little cubicle was bathed in a sickly glow from my light, but it was enough to make out the cage at the back of the room. Louis crouched uncomfortably in the small space, hanging on to the bars like an animal at feeding time. The cage would have housed a medium size dog. The smell of ammonia from his urine almost overpowered me as I drew closer.

"That son of a bitch." I yanked on the padlock to no avail.

"He's a bad man, Miss Tessa. I'm glad you found me. I thought I'd be dead by now."

"I'll go fetch help. Don't worry about that devil. He's upstairs in what was his bedroom, pinned to the floor. He can't move."

"What happened? I thought we'd been bombed. I hoped we'd been bombed."

"You might as well have. It was a tornado that by God's mercy hit this house. I came over to see if Slinker was all right." I snorted at the irony of it all. "Then I heard sounds from down here, but–well, I'm going now to get someone to help me break into the cage, but I'll make sure Slinker is still no threat."

"Hurry back. This is terrible. Miss Tessa!" he called as I turned to leave. His voice sank to a whisper. "He didn't let me go to the bathroom."

"I know, and I'm sorry. You couldn't help yourself. Take heart, dear boy, I'll be back and get you out in a jiffy."

Would that be so? I tore up the stairs, wondering where I should go. If a strong man happened along, that would be great, but most men would have been still at work when the storm hit. From the looks of the downed power lines and trees, no one would be traveling up our street for some time.

I went closer to where Slinker lay moaning and examined the position of the bed. He was thoroughly immobilized by the heavy frame of the antique bed. He still seemed weakened and dazed, so I simply had to trust that he couldn't free himself before I got back. The thought occurred to me that he might have the key on him, but nothing on earth could have persuaded me to rifle his pockets.

He gave me a glassy stare and said weakly, "Help me."

"Help yourself," I snapped. How fitting it was that he should be helpless and suffering.

I wished I knew more people in this neighborhood. Where should I go? I thought of Father Sarratt and decided to set off for the church or the rectory, which was next door to the church. It was hard to walk fast, let alone run, with my path strewn with branches, household items, and glass, as if spilled from a great container, but I hurried along the five blocks as best I could. The windows of cars parked along the curb were mostly broken out and the roofs dented, I noticed, probably from the hail. One car was completely upside down in the middle of someone's yard. The scene gave me an eerie feeling. I might have been in a nightmare.

I couldn't help but feel nervous about my boss, too. Had he left the newspaper office in time? It was out of my way, so I couldn't see for myself, but I trusted Hal would have had the good sense to evacuate a not very substantial building without a basement and too much glass.

Finally, I turned the corner and saw the two churches on the corner. Or what had been the a church–the one built in the 1920s. It too had taken a direct hit, so I guess my theory about Slinker deserving the blow as just retribution didn't add up theologically. Father Sarratt's church, across the street, was in better shape. As I moved closer, I saw that only part of the roof had left its moorings and some windows were broken. It certainly hadn't fared as badly as its Protestant neighbor. I presumed that the priest, if he'd been inside, had made it through the storm without coming to harm. Surely, with all those nooks and crannies and the large undercroft, he or others there would be sheltered.

I walked around to the back and found the gate in the wall was no longer--just an opening. Some of the outdoor furniture had tumbled onto the porch and lay at cockeyed angles. I walked through the back door into the kitchen area, which except for broken out windows was in pretty good shape. Farther in, I turned down a hallway to the right and came to the door of the nave. There, I found a small group assembled at the eastern end of the aisle, some looking at the ceiling above the rose window, others putting tarps and plastic sheeting over the altar, pulpit, and lectern. Daylight was streaming in overhead, yet the beautiful window was intact.

Father Sarratt obviously had some serious concerns, but nothing done to the physical structure could compare to Louis's plight. I marched up to the group of three men and a couple of women, and put my hand on the priest's sleeve.

"Hello!" he exclaimed, turning. "Is everything all right with you? As you can see, we've been subjected to the fury of the storm. Thank God no one was hurt."

"Yes, I can see that. I'm so sorry. But I've come on an extremely important matter. I need your help."

He gave me another look that urged me on, and drawing him away from the others, I explained about my finding Louis, about Slinker himself.

He was incredulous at first, but then he immediately began to mobilize the troops. He gave instructions to a man he introduced to me as Jim Wilson to locate the authorities. "Use your short wave if the cell phone won't go through. Send the police to--?" He turned to me inquiringly. "What address?"

I gave him my own first but specified that the kidnapper was in his own damaged house next door. "They can't miss it. It doesn't have a roof anymore. Can we hurry? I'd like to get poor Louis out of there."

"A dog cage, you say? Good God. We'll need a crowbar to either break the lock or pry the bars apart. I'll see what I can round up." He turned to a pleasant-faced woman he explained was Jim's wife. "Susan, get Tessa something to drink. I think there's some juice in the refrigerator." Then he said to me in a stern voice. "I want you to sit down for a minute, until I get back. Then we'll take off. Will you do that?"

"I'm all right. Really." I suppose he thought I was suffering from shock. Maybe I was, but I still seemed to be functioning normally.

But maybe I looked peculiar, for he took my arm and led me back through the hall to the kitchen, followed by Susan.

"Sit here while I get some tools," he said to me in a gentler tone, patting my arm.

The woman, who smiled at me cheerfully, retrieved a container of orange juice from the refrigerator and poured me--and her--a big glassful. We drank silently for a few moments.

"That does taste good. I didn't realize how dry I was." She seemed to be waiting for some communication about my problem, but I didn't want to get into the matter of Slinker and Louis. I forced my mind along conventional lines. "Do you work at the church?" I asked.

"No, not officially, but I'm chairman of the altar guild and live only two houses away. I was concerned about the hangings and the linens. We lost all of them that were in place--the embroidered altar piece and the matching ones for the pulpit and lectern. Oh, well. They needed replacing anyway--getting a bit dog eared. The carpet's soaked, too."

"That's a shame," was my conventional response. Oh, where was the priest?

"Father was just going to go over the place when you arrived. Evidently, some flying object took the peak off the roof. The rain damage inside is obvious, but we couldn't see much else superficially, so I hope we lucked out."

She chatted a bit more about what the church across the street had suffered as well as her experience during the storm. I thought I was managing very well, acting quite normally, but I could have screamed with frustration as her voice droned on. Then Father Sarratt came bursting into the room from the undercroft stairway brandishing a long metal rod and a heavy screwdriver, and I was forcibly reminded of the horrible scene awaiting us. I took a deep breath and prepared to go.

Chapter 15

We reached Slinker's house just as a motorcycle officer came up. It seemed amazing to me that the police had responded so quickly, but maybe he'd been in the area anyway. He was wending his way between a displaced car and a large tree limb jutting out into the street. With his boots and helmet and goggles, he looked quite imposing as he dismounted. I suddenly realized the effectiveness of the motorcycle cop: I was at once reassured and half-intimidated.

"You the folks that reported a kidnaping?"

"Yes," I answered. "I'd talked yesterday with Sergeant Richter, but I never had any idea that I'd find the boy next door to me and under such conditions."

"The Sergeant's been notified, but he can't get into the area yet. Is the boy all right?"

"Yes, that is, shaken, possibly hungry and thirsty, but when I left him to get help, he was talking normally and in extremely good spirits to see me and know that his captor can't reach him and do him any more harm." Of course, I didn't know what harm had been done, other than physical discomfort, but the mental stress at the very least must have taken a toll on the boy.

"He's been confined in a small padlocked cage, Officer," said Father Sarratt. "We brought some tools to rescue him since we didn't know if emergency personnel were available."

We walked single file up the steps to the broken-in porch, I leading the way. "And the perpetrator," the officer asked, "where's he?"

"He's here at the house," I said. "Luckily, he was pinned down by a bed and can't move. Otherwise, I don't know what I'd have done."

"Is it your son," he asked, coming up beside me and kicking aside the magazines as well as plaster and insulation in our path, "or another neighbor boy, or what?"

"He's sort of an employee of mine. He'd been missing for several days. I had no idea what happened to him. What I found is almost incomprehensible."

"Where are they?"

I pointed out Slinker's location in the bedroom where he called out to us in a weak voice. We all peered at him silently as if viewing a strange beast at the zoo, and then I quickly directed the officer to the basement stairwell. I guess we all mutely had decided that Slinker could wait.

We descended the stairs with care, since it was possibly dangerous, and then made our way to the door of the room where Louis was.

"Miss Tessa! That you?" Louis's voice had a frantic quality. He probably heard male voices coming toward him.

"It's all right, Louis; I've brought a policeman and Father Sarratt."

The two men were as bowled over as I'd been when in the beam from my flashlight they saw the conditions under which Louis had been kept. After Richard gave a few good tugs with the crowbar, the lock snapped and the door swung open. At first Louis couldn't move his stiff little body, but with help from Richard Sarratt's arms he came out of the cage like a new chick from its shell, wobbly and confused. He kept nodding his head back and forth, back and forth, saying, "I thought I'd be dead by now."

"Let me see about the gentleman upstairs," the officer said, once he got the particulars on Louis in his notebook. "Go ahead and take the boy to your house to get food and clean clothes before someone gets here from Juvenile or the Station. He'll probably have to be checked out at the hospital, you know."

"Let's go home, Louis, and you can get cleaned up." I was touched to see the look on his face, but when I heard his quick intake of breath and his upward glance, I guessed the reason. "We won't have to see the creep upstairs. I think we can walk right out through his kitchen to my house," I assured him.

"Would you like me to come along?" the priest offered. "I might be of some help."

Even knowing his thoughts must be straying continually to the condition of his church, I agreed. It was kindly meant and a genuine offer. Besides, it was getting too dark to do any more cleaning up that evening.

We could hear conversation from where Slinker still lay, but it seemed to be between the policeman and a rescue worker, who had just arrived. I wondered if the latter had walked or also had come on a motorcycle, which wouldn't be much help. They were deciding on the best way to get Slinker to the hospital, and from that, I decided he'd walked from where the emergency vehicle had to be parked. Father Sarratt and I, with Louis in tow, slipped out what had been the back door and made our way toward my house. It was rough going.

"We'll have to go in the front. As you can see, a tree has dibs on my side door."

"Wow!" Louis exclaimed, now able to take in some of the damage to Slinker's house. "The place was blown apart." He had a little trouble lifting his legs to climb over branches.

"I guess this neighborhood wasn't the only area struck either," Father Sarratt said. "I heard on my radio just before you came that the tornado cut a swath through the northern end of town and outlying areas northeast of here."

As we came onto the porch of my house, I found I'd left the front door unlocked. I've heard of looting after a disaster, but I doubted that anyone had ventured inside. There were few people on the street at this point, and those that were looked official, marking the curb with cans of paint where the gas lines were situated, according to Father Sarratt. Then I realized with a start that I my worry about intruders coming in through the front was asinine since I had no side door whatsoever. I gave a little laugh in spite of circumstances. The others glanced at me in perplexity, and I explained.

"You'll need to get some sort of temporary cover over that door," Father Sarratt suggested. "Is there somebody who might help you?"

"I have a man renting the upper floor, but he's at work. I'll have to see what I can manage on my own." I felt overwhelmed with responsibility, but there was nothing to do but proceed.

We entered my house to the unreal calm and order of the living room. It was gloomy inside, and I automatically tried to turn on a lamp, with, of course, no result. "Candles," I muttered. "There's a pair on the mantel, but I don't have a match."

Father Sarratt rummaged in his pockets for a minute and pulled out a matchbook and held it out for me. It came from a fine restaurant. "I pick them up," he said . "It's the only thing I routinely lift."

Louis giggled and said, "You'd fit right in with the gangs." Then he caught himself . "'Scu-use me!"

We all laughed. I was glad to see the boy was recovering enough to crack jokes. I gave him my flashlight and sent him downstairs to wash and change. "Are your legs strong enough to get down the stairs without stumbling?" I asked, and he assured me he felt absolutely recovered. Ah, youth!

In the dark quiet of the room, lit only by the dusk from the windows and the small pools of candlelight, Father Sarratt and I were encased in a strange kind of intimacy, unwarranted by our short acquaintance and hardly by the circumstances. He seemed warmer in his manner than I'd noticed before. But he appeared very dark to me tonight, not unexpected in his black clericals–trousers and a short-sleeved shirt. And he was a dark man besides, with chocolate-brown eyes and hair nearly black. Tonight, he also could have used a shave, and in the low light between us, his aquiline features were shadowed and strange. He might be called either forbidding or romantic looking. He was different from the Protestant ministers of my acquaintance, including my father, with their unfailing bonhomie, hearty manner, and suggestion of piety. I wasn't intimidated by him, but I was a little uncomfortable, as when in church I'd had to sight read an unfamiliar hymn, stumbling now and then over a note.

"Louis will be up in a minute, " I said, unnecessarily. We could hardly sit together in the candlelight and just stare at one another or the walls. "There's a pitcher of tea in the refrigerator. Probably some ice left in the freezer. Want some?"

"Love it."

I left the room but I heard him following me. He bumped into something and gave a mild oath under his breath. "I've noticed this house, you know" he said. "I saw it was being fixed up and wondered who'd moved in with so much energy."

I explained about my legacy, my inherited renters. "I'm liking it very much, though the change to my way of life is challenging. All this responsibility heaped on me suddenly after years of dependency–emotional and physical."

He picked up some small branches underfoot and threw them in the corner. "Really? You don't seem the dependent type."

I poured out three tall glasses of mint tea, my mother's and now my specialty. "I am though, but I'm improving, I think." I heard the shower turn off downstairs. "Louis!" I called, "When you're dressed, come up for a sandwich and a drink." I turned to Father Sarratt and said, "He must be starving, I doubt if he's had solid food for since Tuesday night. How about yourself?"

"I could eat something, now that the excitement's over."

"Good, I'll fix sandwiches. Be with you in a minute."

He nodded and wandered into the dining room, commenting on the amount of obvious damage here and there.

When I arrived in the living room with the food on a tray, he moved quickly from the window where he'd been looking out and took the tray from me, making room for it on the coffee table. I said what had been running through my mind ever since we got home. "I wonder if Louis is terribly traumatized by what happened."

"Yes, poor fellow," he said. "I think he needs to tell us about it, get it off his chest before it weighs him down even more."

"I'm glad you're here. Some things he might rather tell to another man, especially you, and maybe as preparation for the official inquiry. Someone should be along shortly, I expect."

"What do you know about this Slinker?"

"Not much. I haven't lived here long, you know, and he keeps to himself. I guess I can figure out why. I knew he was odd, but I didn't dream he was criminal. One doesn't think in those terms about people we meet face to face. Oh, yes, he also made some nasty remark about not wanting Louis's kind in the neighborhood. I guess the boy living here got under his skin."

"You're right, though, about not imagining the worst. The situation has to be threatening before we ascribe evil to another."

At that moment, Louis came thumping up the stairs and then walked more sedately into the room. He looked even leaner than usual, but he had a smile on his face. I had him sit on a taller chair next to a candle stand where he could rest his plate of food. He finished his meal in short order; he told us he'd been given only water during his imprisonment. In speaking about it, his face took on a sad and haunted look.

"He wanted you to suffer," I said. It was sickening to contemplate that the man had wanted to keep Louis barely alive in misery and terror, at least for a while. I picked up our empty plates and left the room. I could hear murmuring from the priest and a hesitant response from Louis while I was in the kitchen, so I lingered there for a few minutes, rinsing the dishes by flashlight, making plenty of noise. A trip to the bathroom wouldn't be out of order either, and I took my time about it, even combing my tangled hair into a ponytail.

When I returned to the living room, Father Sarratt was handing Louis his handkerchief. The boy blew his nose and then stood up, looking at me hopefully.

"Okay if I wait up here with you for the police, Miss Tessa?"

"Of course. With the roads in such a condition, I expect they'll be awhile getting here. Now that you're safe, we can all relax."

"I'd sure like my granny to know where I am. She don't know yet, does she?"

"No, I'll try calling her right now on my cell phone, but if our phone is out, I expect they are in her neighborhood, too." I had to wonder how the boy's home and his grandmother had fared from the storm, but I didn't want to speak about it in front of him.

"I should think the police might take care of notifying her," Father Sarratt said, "but I wouldn't count on it. What's her address? If I can get out tomorrow, I could drop by."

This talk of phone calls made me think of my mother and I jumped up from my seat. "I must try my cell phone again and see if I can get hold of Mother. She'll be frantic, I'm sure, wondering what's happened. I'll try your grandmother, too, Louis."

I went to the dining room and retrieved the phone from my purse. I had little hope of getting through, but the distant phone rang and my mother answered immediately. I managed a brief, broken up message to her great relief and promised more details later. I called out to Louis for his grandmother's number and dialed it, but when it continued to ring without an answer, I decided her service was probably out too.

I was a little surprised to see that Father Sarratt still lingered in his chair, chatting with Louis. I wondered if the priest had something more to say to me, but he didn't seem particularly forthcoming. Then he said with a deep sigh, "It's so peaceful here. I dread getting back to the hullabaloo."

"Maybe they'll have gone home by now. I'd think it will be morning before anything really practical can be done."

"I doubt if the church will have emptied by now. No. Well meaning folks will be reluctant to leave without seeing me first or rather, me seeing them." He rubbed his forehead. "Oh, that was unkind."

I laughed, surprised I was able to under the circumstances. "I'm a preacher's daughter. I know all about such things."

He gave me a smile. "And, like you, I'll have to get busy with insurance people, not to mention the challenge of getting temporary repairs to protect the church. Pray God it doesn't start raining again tonight."

Just then, the door from the entrance hall burst open unceremoniously and a very disheveled Frank came into the room and then stopped dead, looking at us in disbelief.

"Tessa! What–you're all right? I got here as fast as I could manage. When I saw Slinker's house so demolished I was relieved, to say the least, that yours had made it through."

Father Sarratt stood up as I introduced the two men. "Frank is the one I mentioned who has the apartment upstairs," I explained.

"I'm glad you're here," he said to Frank. "Tessa needs help in securing the back door, for one thing, and I'd hate to leave her and the boy alone even with police in the neighborhood."

At those words, Frank did a double-take at Louis, who had moved to a corner of the sofa where he'd sat quietly, relaxed for the first time in two days, I was sure. Frank himself took a chair and listened intently as I gave him a brief rundown of the events preceding his arrival. I further told him we were now awaiting Detective Richter or someone else in authority to take Louis to the hospital for observation.

Frank's arrival seemed to signal it was time for Father Sarratt to go back to his own bailiwick, for he didn't return to his seat but remained standing during my recital and then came over to me. We shook hands, and I thanked him for his help and he me for the food and tea. Louis stood up politely as he approached the boy, bending close to him and speaking softly into his ear. He took the longest time to actually go, until he finally began to move toward the door, as I showed him out. We commented on the ultramarine sky, and I urged him to hurry along, in case it began to rain again. Strangely, I had to feel sorry for him, knowing the demands that would soon be upon him. It must have been relief he'd felt at my house, being around those with no religious expectations from him, merely human and undemanding ones at that.

Chapter 16

Frank came back from checking his apartment and joined me in trying to make headway from the debris in the kitchen. I was called to the front of the house by a loud rapping at the door, which woke up Louis who had fallen asleep on the sofa. Sergeant Richter stood before me, looking careworn in a wilted shirt and baggy trousers. When he entered the room and saw Louis, his pleasant features lit up with a smile.

"This is a wonderful sight," he said. He took my hand in his and shook it for the longest time.

"Glad to see you got through the wreckage," I exclaimed, inviting him to sit down.

"They've made a path for emergency vehicles. When I got word about the boy, I dropped everything and headed out. If you will, tell me what happened." He sat stiffly on a corner of the couch next to Louis taking notes while I began to tell the story of the boy's captivity with Louis joining in. According to Louis, Slinker had seen him as he came through the night after the ice cream social. He'd asked him inside to help him move some furniture, but then at knife point proceeded to handcuff him, putting duct tape over his mouth before taking him to the basement. In the middle of the tale, Frank emerged from the kitchen, and I performed introductions. This was the most men I'd had around me since my college days, and it wasn't an unpleasant experience fielding their concerns.

The sergeant then carted off an unprotesting Louis to the hospital for observation, to be returned tomorrow. He said he'd stop by the boy's grandmother's house to let her see him. I breathed a sigh of relief for temporary respite, at least. But Louis's troubles were still far from over and my role in solving his problems still unclear.

Richter had no sooner left the house when Frank, more in a friendly rather than romantic fashion, surprised me by giving me a hug. Then he took me by the hand and led me to one of a pair of low upholstered chairs. He took the chair opposite. "You're looking very pale," he said solicitously. "How are you holding up?"

I smiled at him. "It's unreal, as is commonly said about disasters, I'm afraid. Dream-like, but I'll survive. Did you have a storm experience where you work?"

"No. We knew it was nearby, but other than the strange light in the sky and the wind, we simply stood outside and watched it pass through the area. I must admit I thought about you and the house, Tessa." His face in the soft light looked very handsome. His hair was neatly tied back but his knit shirt was dirty and had pieces of grass on it and was torn in a couple of places.

"Thank God for the storm, though, as far as Louis is concerned," he went on. "It's hard to imagine what the poor little guy has been through. I guess we all knew Slinker was peculiar, but holding the boy prisoner is unbelievable. I wonder if there were any other boys he's picked up through the years."

I shuddered. "I don't know, but if the police are on the ball, they should be able to put two and two together for any unsolved disappearances around the area."

Frank must have seen how exhausted I was, both emotionally and physically, for he said he probably should let me go to bed, promising to help with clean up the next day.

"We'll need to secure your door, but that'll have to wait until tomorrow, I'm afraid, unless you happen to have a large tarp in the garage that I could nail up." When I agreed we would be forced to leave the door as is, he asked if I wanted him to spend the night downstairs. I assured him I thought the area would be safe with the police presence on our street, stopping those without proper identification.

I walked upstairs with him and after bidding him goodnight, knocked on Mimi's door to see how she was coping. She was fine, she said, reading by ten candlepower and listening to her battery operated radio. She had food in the refrigerator that would last another day, at least.

"Do you think they'll have the electricity on sometime tomorrow?" she asked.

"I haven't seen any truck from Nashville Electric in the neighborhood yet, so we'll have to hope for the best, but I doubt if it will be very soon. If there's no electric service by tomorrow evening, I'll need to find motel rooms for us all since we can't live here without electricity. The insurance should take care of accomodations until repairs are made and electric service is restored." I kissed her on her soft old cheek for being such a good sport and descended to my own battered rooms. My bedroom had had glass thrown across the bed, and I knew it was foolish to try to shake out the coverlet with the possibility of embedded glass in the mattress. Instead, I took the guest room whose windows were on the other side of the house.

I hadn't seen Hallie at all, so I supposed she'd been with friends and wisely decided to stay on with them until things were a little more back to normal. Normal! I dreaded the thought of going through insurance claims, the various repairs to the kitchen, the windows, and the back door, not to mention portions of the roof and siding as well as carpets and furnishings. But I was beyond caring about break-ins and sank gratefully into bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

The next morning was spent as I'd envisioned--making do with lukewarm orange juice and a peanut butter sandwich instead of piping hot coffee and toast; calling the insurance office repeatedly, trying to get other than a busy signal; and finally talking to a secretary who took notes about my problem and promised an adjuster would be sent to my home within a couple of days. I said I needed to get certain repairs done sooner than that, if possible, since I was currently insecure in my house with a broken door. She gave me the location of their disaster team, who could help get things rolling, but she suggested I try to get a home repairs service for temporary repairs at least. I wondered how I'd get out of here. Somehow, my driveway had to be cleared.

I stood for a while looking helplessly at the mess, wondering where to start when I heard Frank coming into the front room, hallooing his presence.

"Good morning," he said. "I just checked in with my employer and they've given me the day off to assist tornado victims. That's you." He made his way over the branches in the mess in the kitchen, gathering up and throwing the scattered branches outside. He was looking remarkably cheerful, his face glowing with vitality. I felt quite wan in comparison.

"Do you have any garbage bags?" he asked.

I found a package of them and further suggested a couple of boxes I'd stored in the garage. Between the two of us, we got the downstairs in fairly good shape within a couple of hours. In the meantime, I found a small home repair outfit who agreed to come over to the house that afternoon and board up the broken out door and windows and check the roof damage. It seemed good to actually make some headway into the disaster. But I also found that small things took on great importance. For in the midst of it all, I had been dismayed to find my teapot, which had sat on the table top, smashed to smithereens. I mentioned to Frank that it was part of a tea set that had belonged to my grandmother. Tears came to my eyes.

"Write it down," Frank advised. "You can collect something for it, even though you may not be able to replace it exactly."

By then it was nearly noon and I was hungry. "We can't find much to eat around here until they get the electricity restored," I said, poking around in the now warm refrigerator. "I'll have to throw most of this out."

"Let's go to a restaurant. We can walk to where I parked my truck. You'll need to meet with the insurance team to get started on finding a reliable construction company."

I agreed this was a sensible plan, with most of the roads now clear enough to drive on. I left a note on the front door for the adjuster in the unlikely event he showed up while we were gone, and then we set off to walk the four blocks to Frank's truck. Across the street, I saw that Robert Shepherd's car was in his drive. His house seemed to have fared much like my own with battered windows and siding but looking structurally sound. Some houses farther on didn't do so well, I could now see in the clear light of day. It appeared our neighborhood had gotten badly damaged. It was sad to think of so many older homes that had been lovingly restored now needing to go through an even more strenuous remodeling.

I didn't have to worry that Sergeant Richter would return Louis before that evening. He'd said they were officially supposed to keep him for twenty-four hours, but unofficially, he might be brought back as early as dinnertime.

We had to drive a ways before we found a section of town that had electricity. But the restaurant was the kind that served a variety menu and wasn't very expensive. Besides sandwiches, we both ordered a beer. We chatted about inconsequential matters and laughed a great deal. Frank could be amusing, and I told him as much.

"I like puns," he admitted, "but I'm crazy about inadvertent humor."

"Such as--?"

"Funny captions in newspapers that editors don't quite catch. This should be of interest to you in your job. I remember seeing a wedding announcement that caught my eye. A Miss Primrose was marrying a Mr. Gardener. He also worked, come to find out, at the Agricultural Extension Office. The kicker was the next line that read, 'The weeding will take place at 7:00 P.M.' True story."

Still laughing, I asked him about his program, what genre was it.

"It's supposed to be literature, of a sort, with graphics. I have humor in some of it. Sight gags, of course, but also depending on the type of story, witty remarks--at least I hope they'd be considered witty. Other stories are more dramatic, scary even."

"And the viewer is allowed to make decisions as to the directions he wishes the story to turn? Sort of a multiple choice?"

"Sort of. But the choices are not spelled out. The viewer just clicks on a particular graphic that he thinks seems interesting or logical or exciting or whatever the story calls for. I then have written in several alternate devices for moving the story along."

"You're able to combine your talents of artistic imagination and technical expertise."

He wagged his head in deprecation. "We'll see. It's not altogether new, though I'm going at it from a different slant. I'll try marketing it one of these days. That will be the real test. If this fails, I can get into computer work. Or I can teach as one must who can't do," he grinned.

He wanted to pick up the check but I insisted on splitting it. As we drove along, I realized I'd had a good time without the strained emotions when we'd gone to the play. Not only was it a relief to temporarily escape the cares that soon would assault me but also this wasn't a real date but just a couple of friends having lunch together. For that was how I wanted to consider Frank. I knew he was someone who was paying rent to me, someone I maybe should have kept a decent distance from, but I didn't want to. I felt so alone in this city I welcomed Frank's including himself so persistently into my life.

He thought it would be prudent to see about engaging motel rooms for us all since he doubted we'd get electricity restored very soon. "There's a motel over near Music Row where I work which may be far enough away from this disaster area to still have some rooms available. I suggest we reserve rooms for you, Mimi, and myself. What about Paige?"

"Oh, dear! I'd forgotten she was supposed to come back today. Do you suppose she'll come into this mess? But of course she will. Where else?" Yet another thing to think about.

"I think we'd do better to go over to the motel in person," Frank said. "It shows you're serious and may get us rooms that they're holding in reserve. Sound okay?"

I agreed and within fifteen minutes we'd checked with the clerk at the motel, who could give us three rooms. I decided that if Paige came, we could share a room, and Frank said Louis could bunk with him. Next, we stopped at a large home supplies store, which was the site of my insurance company's relief squad. Frank went into the store to pick up some items we could use for outside cleanup while I stood in line waiting to talk to a representative. After twenty minutes, the young woman heard my story. She immediately wrote out a check for $2000 to get help in emergency repairs or needed supplies. She also gave me a list of accredited contractors, one of whom I might be able to hire. As I was finishing up with her, Frank joined me with an armload of supplies.

"Frank, you're an angel," I said with sincere gratitude. "Let me have the bill and as soon as I get home, I'll write you a check. Look what the insurance person gave me for emergency work on my house! It could be very useful to draw from for immediate needs."

On the way home, I asked if he could swing by the newspaper office. I wanted to see how it weathered the storm. Approaching the building, I was relieved to see it was still intact. Someone had already boarded up the windows all across the front. It was hard to imagine Hal being able to work inside, but I asked Frank to stop so I could see for myself. I tried the door but it was no go. He wasn't there, as I suspected. Today would have been his day to secure ads from the local merchants. I felt disconsolate as I thought about not only Hal's newspaper being temporarily suspended, but also all the other businesses in the area that had been affected by the storm. Running alongside those thoughts, however, was my perplexity that Hal hadn't tried to get in touch with me. Of course, we didn't know each other's cell phone numbers, something we might need to remedy for future emergencies, but I'd think he might have stopped by, living within a few blocks of my house.

Clean-up crews were hard at work in our neighborhood stacking broken branches on the grassy areas next to the sidewalk; some piles were six feet high. My street had been cleared for traffic, but a policeman stopped and checked our driver's licenses. As we approached my house, we saw that a car had pulled up in front.

A man and woman emerged, both staring at Slinker's house, and I saw that it was another of my renters.

"Paige's back," I cried. I didn't know who her man friend was, but he'd obviously picked her up at the airport.

Frank turned around in the drive and parked behind their car on the street; we walked toward the other couple.

Paige called out when she saw me, "I'm so glad the house made it through. We noticed coming into the area there was significant damage beyond this street. Did you know the storm was on national news?"

"No, I didn't. We don't have electricity yet."

"I was convinced there'd be only--well," she pointed at Slinker's decimated place, "something like that instead of the dear old house."

"It was close," I admitted. I looked inquisitively at the man, who'd been getting out Paige's luggage.

She performed quick introductions. "Fred and I work together at the bank, and he kindly offered to pick me up at the airport."

"I don't mind any excuse to get away from work." He looked again at Slinker's house. "The storm skimmed by the bank. My own neighborhood across town was missed completely. It looks really bad around here, though. I guess the tornado must have dipped down onto the house next door. Anybody hurt?"

"Just minor injuries." I didn't comment more, not wishing to tell the story to a stranger. Frank took Paige's luggage and we bid Fred goodbye.

"Can you stop inside my place for a minute?" I asked her. "I'd like you to know what's happened."

She looked at Frank. "You mean there's more?"

He shrugged and went on upstairs to set her luggage outside her room, calling out he'd see me later. He was going to haul off the broken door to a trash pile we were starting.

Paige and I settled into comfortable chairs, and I gave her the facts beginning with the ice cream social. Her face was a mirror of changing emotions–concern, shock, disgust, horror.

Finally when I finished, she put her hand to her head. "I feel quite dazed from all this. To think we've been living next door to that dreadful man, not knowing what he was capable of. Louis, I bet, had been on his list for some time. He was just waiting, the old creep, for an opportunity."

"I wonder why he didn't take him while I was at work?"

"Maybe because Mimi is always here."

"Or he might have wanted to do it under cover of darkness. He must have been on his porch that night and saw Louis on the street alone. Hmm, he thinks, this is my chance."

Paige shuddered. "Too horrible for words. Thank God he's locked up--or soon will be."

"To change the subject," I said, "how was your trip? You were at your sister's weren't you?"

"Yes, and it was wonderful." She paused and looked at her lap. "I met a guy, Tessa." She seemed bashful or embarrassed but also pleased, like someone who'd gotten a surprise gift.

"Oh, he must be nice."

She nodded. "I don't want to rush this. We just met, of course, and we live thousands of miles apart." She gave a brittle laugh. "He might never call me, but he's single and he's attractive and he's actually well off. Furthermore, he and I hit it off wonderfully. We like the same things--the same music, the same books, the same kind of houses even."

I looked at her with ill-disguised envy. Of course it would happen for Paige. She was an elegant lady with warmth, her confidence only bruised, not seriously damaged. People gathered around her quite naturally as if she were a center of gravity. The sadness and sense of betrayal that had sunk her so low had begun to lift. My envy vanished when I thought of what she'd been through. I was glad for her.

Chapter 17

The rest of the day was spent welcoming visitors. My house suddenly seemed like a terminal. The insurance adjuster arrived first, an attractive woman around forty in khakis with a voice like a rusty saw, who walked around my house, expertly commenting on needed repairs. "My dad was a builder," she told me when I asked how she knew so much about damages. "I always worked for him during vacations, so I learned a whole lot."

She looked at the names of contractors given me earlier and commented on several. "Good luck," she grated. "There's obviously a run on their services right now. But you do need someone to nail boards across your back door and windows. I could do it if I had the lumber."

"Yes, I've got someone coming to do that. They said they'd be here today. I hope they meant it."

Then, almost as I spoke, a couple of rough looking fellows in a truck arrived ready to do their best–or worst–on the windows, door, and roof. But I shouldn't judge from looks, I cautioned myself, and told them to start the repairs. The adjuster left, giving me unnecessary instructions to secure the services of a contractor at once and to call my insurance agent if I couldn't find one ready to help.

To my surprise and relief, Hal stopped by on his way to get some additional materials to board up his own windows. He said his damage was minor, but he too had suffered from the high wind whipping around his house and removing glass on one side. He didn't look tired or flustered at all, but his usual lean and attractive self in jeans and a blue chambray shirt with rolled up sleeves. As always, his nice gray eyes didn't light up particularly when he happened to look at me, and I suppose his interest was merely that of a boss's concern for an employee.

"I'm glad you lucked out," he said," gesturing toward Slinker's house. "That might have been your place if the tornado had stayed down. The two houses beyond your neighbor's are ruined, too."

"Yes, I noticed. Then after hitting the one next door, it lifted, apparently, and went streaking off to the northeast. I saw the newspaper office. Did we lose anything?"

"No, we made it okay. It was a mess inside, though, which I've pretty much handled myself. I'm planning on a paper next week, Tessa. How do you feel about coming in Monday–Tuesday at the latest?"

I took a deep breath and related some of my problems, starting with Louis. "But sure, I'll have to talk to a contractor and let them get started, and by next week if the authorities will let me continue to keep Louis here, I could probably put him to work outside. There's lot's of glass and paper in the yard as well as trees in the drive." It was hard for me to imagine I could leave this mess and be productive at work, but I felt I had to act like I could.

At my not-very-enthusiastic reply, Hal looked pensive for a moment. "Well, we'll both play it by ear. I'd better run along and get my repairs taken care of. Let me get your cell phone number and we can at least communicate."

Showing him out, I promised to do my best to help him with the paper if at all possible.

Frank came downstairs shortly after Hal left, saying he'd done as much clean up as he could, helping Paige in her apartment, but she couldn't stay there tonight. The turret room, her bedroom, was as bad as the kitchen, full of glass and debris. "It's a good thing we made reservations at the motel for tonight. Better get some things together, and as soon as Louis is returned we can leave."

I suspected he was glad of the excuse to get out. Without electricity, he couldn't work on his program and or use his air conditioner, and admittedly, most of the house was a very uncomfortable place. On the other hand, I hated to leave. It seemed as though I was abandoning my house in its time of need. But that was foolish. I planned to return during daylight hours to continue with cleanup and to meet with those who would help put the house and my life back in order–a builder, I hoped; utility workers who would be restoring services; probably officials on Louis's behalf, which didn't appeal to me at all; and I supposed Sergeant Richter with a progress report on the case against Slinker. It looked like a great deal was going to be happening.

"Have you noticed," Frank said, interrupting my calculations, "that when everything goes kaput from a storm, we go into a kind of disaster mentality? I remember this feeling from a flood in Knoxville when I was a kid. Normal life is almost totally suspended. As long as the disaster isn't too disastrous, it's exciting."

"I think you must be right, although this is my first disaster experience. Maybe most of us do lead lives of quiet desperation and are glad to escape from them, even temporarily, even during a calamity. I have to admit I'm relieved and almost delighted I didn't have to go in to the newspaper today and sit at a desk. True, I have a mess to attend to here, but I'd much rather be doing something physical to my environment. Also, I'm forced to make some changes, probably improvements, to my house, all because of the storm and that's exciting."

As we stepped out onto the drive to watch the boarding up of the windows, we saw a man and a woman coming towards us on foot. They both had egg-shaped faces and wore glasses. I recognized them as members of the Foxhill Association, though I couldn't for the life of me remember their names. In the nick of time the name Patterson was dredged from some wrinkle in my brain, but I wasn't sure if they were husband and wife or brother and sister. To be safe, I introduced them to Frank as the Pattersons.

They wanted to know about Aubrey Slinker's condition, if my place was damaged much, etc. I explained as carefully and briefly as possible about Slinker's arrest and confinement at the hospital. The Pattersons remembered seeing Louis working around the yard and were aghast at the tale.

"Let us know if there's anything we can do," Mrs. or Miss Patterson said as they took their leave. I promised I'd call them if I needed something. They were still in sight, pointing out to each other damages to other houses on the block, when a car drove up and parked behind Frank's truck. To my surprise, Father Sarratt got out and walked up the drive toward us.

After we greeted each other, Frank shanking hands with the priest, I pointed out our progress in getting temporary repairs done.

"Yes," he said, "I noticed the workmen and their truck. I stopped by because I don't have your cell phone number, and I never heard if Louis's grandmother was notified."

I slapped my head ruefully. "I'm so very sorry! Detective Richter took Louis by his grandmother's last night to see her before dropping him at the hospital. I forgot completely to inform you. Please forgive me."

He chuckled. "That's hardly the crime of the century, particularly under the circumstances. I expect you have a few tasks to attend to and many things on your mind."

I asked about the condition of the church and rectory and he assured me the repairs at both places were going apace. "The main thing is getting the huge hole in the roof covered up." He glanced up at the still overcast sky, which looked as if it could start spouting rain any minute. "And we desperately want to be able to use the nave Sunday morning. I think most of the mess can be cleared up, though."

"I saw the church across the street from you was pretty much destroyed," Frank commented.

Father Sarratt nodded. "We've invited them to have their service Sunday afternoons in our church. It's the least we can do, considering we aren't that bad off."

"Good show," Frank said, and then excused himself and went off to his room to pack for the motel.

Instead of leaving, Father Sarratt turned again to me and said, almost as an afterthought, "Things here seem under control and that's good. But I haven't been able to get Louis's situation out of my mind, and I've had a thought for his welfare."

"Really?"

"I have some parishioners who might come to the rescue. It seems obvious it would be bad for him to go back to the projects for his schooling, if for nothing else. You can't continue to be his guardian, unofficial though it may be, so if his actual guardian–whether it's his mother or his grandmother–would agree, we could probably arrange for him to be made a ward of the court. Then, if everything works out, his foster care could be assigned to the Joneses."

"Who are these Joneses?" I felt a wave of resistance come over me like a blanket, surprised at my strong feelings. I had no claims on the boy, and furthermore, I'd worried about the same sort of things regarding his future. Still, this attempt to wrap up Louis's life seemed too pat, too quick. I tried to keep my face in a rigidly pleasant mask of inquiry.

"Parishioners of mine. Good folks without children of their own. They've been helping clean things up at the church. When I told them about the ordeal Louis had been through and his tough family situation, they looked at each other and nodded. Something might be possible, they thought. Could they meet the boy and see how they get along. They have a strong desire to do whatever is needed to give him a decent, safe life."

"Are they black? Do they live around here? Would Louis have to continue at his same school?" The questions spilled out of my mouth so quickly, he laughed.

"Yes, no, no. Look," he said, "Let me ask them over sometime to talk to you. I have a feeling that Louis's care is getting too much for his grandmother besides, from what you've said. The mother apparently has been gone so long, she could be charged with abandonment of her child. So unless Louis objects strenuously and really wants to go back to that neighborhood, I think it might be a feasible plan if everybody gets along together."

His plans for Louis had made me protective of the boy, maybe unreasonably so, and I chided myself for feeling churlish toward the priest. "It sounds plausible, but I have an idea of my own about his schooling. I can't say more now, but we can talk about this again. Please have your parishioners come over when things get back to a semblance of normal so they can meet Louis. With everything topsy-turvy and considering the extreme trauma that Louis has experienced, I think we should wait a little while for the visit."

"Oh, absolutely," Father Sarratt expostulated. "I didn't mean for anything to happen immediately. I just mentioned it because the Jones couple expressed a real interest in the boy. , I'll get a meeting set up for later and let you know." He looked around. "Better go. I have a couple of calls to make. Some of my flock have had difficulties." He gave me a smile and another handshake.

He was, of course, a professional at drawing people in, making them feel part of his world. Well, I wasn't that easy. But was I being fair? If his concern resulted in a new and secure home for Louis, I had to admit to myself it would be the best thing that could happen. But before any discussion with the Joneses would take place, I had some other things to talk over with my neighbor across the street. But that, too, would have to wait for a bit.

Chapter 18

Louis seemed like a puppy returned from the vet when Sergeant Richter brought him back. He raced downstairs first to check out his domain, then swept around the house, asking multitudes of questions about the damage. He'd been too shocked the night before for the full situation to register with him. He seemed surprised that we still had no electricity.

"Why not?" he asked. Like many youngsters, I suppose, he'd grown up with the idea that our amenities came to us without effort, like sunshine.

"The crews have to work around fallen limbs and pieces and parts of houses. We're close in as the city goes, though, so I'd bet we get ours restored pretty quickly."

"I better get to work."

I laughed. "You can have a day off, you know."

"I'd like to do something to help you."

"Maybe you could work tomorrow on the yard." I then explained about staying at the motel, which thrilled him–his first time ever.

We walked around and looked at the mess. I decided that we needed to clear the driveway area right now, so I could get my car out and we wouldn't do any more tracking of mud and leaves into the house. Then tomorrow, he could clean up the broken glass which seemed to be everywhere. I had to raise my voice over the workmen's loud pounding as they tacked boards across the kitchen doorway. Louis darted off to get to work on the drive.

We ended the day by my paying off the little crew, and then with my roomers gathered in my living room with our various bags and suitcases we made ready to go to the motel. Frank said he'd packed a deck of cards, and was carrying a Monopoly game under his arm.

"Motels are such a bore," he explained.

It was an evening that gave me the feeling of a time warp as we went to the garage to get my car. Frank had already left in his truck with Louis. The streets were cleared of emergency personnel by now, so all we heard were night sounds all around us, crickets, trees sighing in the warm breeze, the distant hum of traffic like a soft sea. No sounds of air conditioners, or any other electronic buzz in the atmosphere. This sense of peace tricked me into thinking the troubles might soon be over, but a disturbing flash of what lay in store regarding testimony in Slinker's arrest, Louis's situation of his custody, and my own unresolved almost directionless life assured me that this quiet walk to my car was only a hiatus in troubled days ahead.

That evening's activities at the motel seemed to exemplify the unreality of our situation. We all, including Mimi, gathered in the room that Paige and I shared for a game of Monopoly. We placed the board on a small table surrounded by the available chairs with Frank and Louis hunkering on suitcases. It was diverting and the time passed swiftly until only Frank and Louis were left on the board with Frank eventually calling it quits. When the money was counted, Louis had won, fair and square, and was as pleased as if his take had been real coin of the realm.

It was only later as I lay sleepless in bed that unsettling feelings arose to keep me awake for hours. My mind was too active. I kept running over what I had to do to get my house in order along with Louis's problems. Finally, at around four in the morning I dropped off and didn't awaken until Paige gently shook my shoulder. It was nine o'clock. Everyone else had gone into the motel coffee shop for breakfast. I told her to go ahead and I'd join them shortly.

I stepped out of the motel doorway into a fresh, clear day under a feckless blue sky. No air could have been less humid for June in Middle Tennessee, even with the early morning temperature in the eighties. I had the impression of something new that was beginning, though I didn't know what. I laughed at myself for this suddenly nerveless feeling that made no sense. I supposed it was simply from being out of pocket and not having to deal, at least at this moment, with reality. That set in all too soon.

When we drove into our neighborhood, I noticed and commented on the fact that the police patrols were absent. Paige thought probably that the scores of insurance people, volunteers with CARE packages, and workmen of every kind and description must have discouraged the authorities from continuing to screen the traffic so assiduously.

Then the first of my anticipated new troubles arrived at eleven o'clock that morning. Louis was hard at work in the backyard. Mimi had stayed at the motel, for today she was being taken by her friend with the big car on a luncheon date. Paige and Frank had wanted to help clean up the outside, so we were all working together with garbage bags when an old car pulled up into the drive. I saw a black woman emerge and look the house over. She was thin and small and strangely dressed in black fishnet hose and a tight, short scarlet dress. I walked toward her slowly. She obviously had seen me, but she seemed to be ignoring my presence as she scrutinized the house. Could this be one half of the couple mentioned by Richard Sarratt who were interested in taking care of Louis? If so, I didn't much care for her odd attitude nor her attire, for that matter.

"Hello," I called. "Did you need to see me? I'm Tessa Claiborne."

The woman nodded rather ungraciously, I thought, and took a step or two toward me up the drive. I felt hostility bristling from her. As she drew closer I noticed what seemed to be a family resemblance in the shape of the face to Louis. My scalp prickled. His mother?

"I'm Nadell Johnson, Louis's aunt. You got the boy here?"

"What is your concern, Ms, Johnson? I've discussed Louis's situation with his grandmother, and she's quite satisfied with his work arrangements."

"Well, his mama's not! I been talking to her, and she's upset. In Atlanta and comin' home to see 'bout it."

I bit my lip, considering her words. I certainly had no legal right to hold the boy here, but not only his grandmother but also the police seemed okay with me as guardian pro tem. This woman was playing some game, and not a compassionate one. Could the dreaded law suit be forming up? I thought quickly, remembering what Louis had told me early on about his aunt's men friends, her lack of obvious employment.

"I'm not going to discuss this with you since you have no powers of guardianship over the boy." If she'd really talked to his mother and gotten legal permission, she'd be presenting me with some sort of notarized document asserting her rights. But I still believed that as nice as Louis was, his mother, though absent much too long, surely wouldn't be so bad as to give the boy to this woman of uncertain reputation. I decided to stand by my guns, praying that Louis would not come rounding the corner of the house. I had a momentary vision of the boy between us two women while we each tugged desperately on his arms.

"We'll see who has rights," she snapped. "I'll get the law on you for kidnaping. You'll pay for this. Stealing my nephew. Huh!"

But she left. She climbed into her car and backed out of the driveway with a reckless squeal of tires, causing a passing motorist to brake sharply and toot her on his horn. I felt relief, but it was shadowed by alarm. This woman was serious about making trouble, maybe at the instigation of Louis's mother.

"What's up?" Frank asked, coming toward me with a trash-laden garbage bag in his hand. I stood helplessly watching the car drive off, as if I could wish away the woman's threats along with her disappearing car. "I definitely need a lawyer."

"Oh, oh. Louis?"

I nodded. I told him of the disturbing conversation with his aunt. "I'm heading across the street. I'd talked to my neighbor earlier this week before the tornado. I asked him if I could count on him to help with Louis's situation and he agreed. I hope he's still on board."

I knew he was home, for his sturdy vehicle was parked in the drive. I wondered if his boy was there also, but no matter what I was quite determined to get some advice that I could rely on. I needed it at that moment, feeling more vulnerable than ever before.

His son answered my knock on their front door, and I re-introduced myself to him. Was his father available to see me? He apparently was, for the boy Will invited me in, calling "Dad, someone to see you."

I looked around again at his attractively furnished Eastlake bungalow. Damage from the tornado in the front room seemed to consist only of broken out windows, which had been boarded up. A broad border wallpaper of an intricate swirling floral motif drew my eyes and I saw a line of damp that indicated the roof was also damaged. I thought about Robert Shepherd's careful attention to appropriate decor and how much would have to be done over because of water and wind damage. The quiet approach of my neighbor startled me out of my reverie. We shook hands and he gestured to the sofa. He told his son to get a trash bag and start cleaning up the yard.

"I noticed you had a mess from the neighbor's house damage and the trees," he said in a friendly fashion. "Glad to see you have some help. Anything I can do?"

I thanked him and then blurted out my concerns without much preamble. "I'm taking you up on your willingness to help me with Louis's situation. I doubt if you know about all the excitement we had this week, but you'll need to hear everything. Maybe this needs to involve your friend Rita as well."

"Excitement beyond the tornado?" he asked lightly, but his eyes were serious.

I nodded. Taking a deep breath, I began at the beginning with Louis's disappearance, his imprisonment, the arrest of Slinker, the offer of foster care from Richard Sarratt's parishioners, and ended up with the recent confrontation with his aunt. I finished my tale on a hopeful note. "Do you think there's a chance Louis could remain with me for a while longer, at least until we see about who might take over Louis's custody?"

He looked at me thoughtfully for a moment without speaking. Then he asked, "Do you have anything in writing from his grandmother, acknowledging her acceptance of your--ah, temporary guardianship?"

"Heavens, no! I hadn't even thought of that! Is that a problem?"

"I'm glad you don't have anything in writing. With this criminal case pending involving the boy, you could be liable for prosecution from his relatives as the responsible party. But I doubt that will happen. As a matter of law, his mother, I presume, is still his legal guardian. The fact that she's been absent for months, apparently, says something about her, but she'd have little to say about him 'visiting' you for an extended period of time. If you'd had some quasi-legal document giving you the authority, we might need to get a waiver from his mother. "

"Do you like the idea of trying to get the grandmother's cooperation to make Louis a ward of the court and then placed in the foster care of these people--if they and Louis like each other, of course."

"I've always thought it a last resort to get a child into the juvenile system, but it may be worth it to get him removed from that environment. I'd like to see one young life salvaged."

"Yes, me too. What about the case against Slinker? How much will Louis and I be involved?"

"You'll both have to testify in front of the Grand Jury, of course. That should be pretty soon, so it might be best if you have a lawyer help you who's experienced in criminal law, just for consultation. I expect the Grand Jury will return a True Bill on Slinker. But it will be months, maybe a year or so before he goes to trial, so you won't have to worry about that for a while, and even then, you'll just be witnesses, not having to defend yourselves."

Visions of legal fees were dancing in my head when he added, "I'd like to do what I can for you and the boy pro bono, if that's all right. After all, you're caught in something that arose out of kindness, and Louis is a friend of my son's. The attorney I have in mind will be reasonable, too, for the consultation."

"How nice. I'm very grateful." I hesitated and then asked, "I have your business card with your phone and business address; do you still have my information?" We couldn't keep running across the street to consult one another.

"Yes, I've got your number handy." Then he jumped up and went to the back of the house, returning with several cards that he handed to me. "For Louis's grandmother or that aunt if she shows up again. Have her get in touch with me."

I felt a wave of relief wash over me. He really did intend to help in whatever way was needed. I held out my hand and again thanked him.

"Another thing has occurred to me," he said, opening the door. "Why don't you get hold of Louis's grandmother and Father Sarratt and ask them to meet here tomorrow afternoon. I'll be taking Will back to his mother's about four o'clock. Maybe five o'clock?"

"To talk about Louis's future?" I ventured.

"Yes. I think you've been in a tight spot quite long enough."

Crossing the street I saw Will and Louis, who had somehow found each other, succumbing to the temptation of all boys, chasing each other with long leafy branches, which they apparently were using as swords in a wild sort of harmless duel. They both were laughing almost uncontrollably. I felt cheered by Louis's good fortune to find a seemingly wholesome companion. But the knowledge that this was only temporary, that Louis's luck had only a small chance of holding out gave me a sad, hollow feeling inside. I could only hope his guardian angel was on duty. If I had optimistically once thought I could fill that role, I knew better now. My sponsorship had seemed to bring him out of one kind of trouble into yet another.

Chapter 19

That night I took a Tylenol PM and drifted off to sleep with hardly a thought in my head.

Of course, despite the cares that were assailing me, I'd worked very hard that day, and after going to a restaurant with the "gang" as we were starting to refer to our little band of survivors, we headed back to the motel for a quieter evening watching television–or at least that's what Paige and I did. She talked some about her trip to California and her new guy, whom she'd already spoken with several times on her cell phone. He'd called her once and she him twice. It seemed pretty cosy and I guessed she had been right to be enthusiastic about the promise of their future together, though she couldn't imagine how this long distance romance would work.

I awakened earlier than Paige the next morning, which was sporting a pearl grey sky, and set off for the coffee shop where I found both Frank and Louis chowing down on eggs, pancakes, and sausages. I ordered one egg over medium, whole wheat toast, and coffee.

"Is that all you're having?" Frank asked.

Louis agreed. "This is a free meal, Miss Tessa. "Can't you even get some bacon?"

"Hey," I laughed, "this is a big breakfast for me. I usually eat a piece of toast or a small bowl of cereal."

We ate silently for a few moments and then I broached what I had been contemplating since last night. "I'm going to find a church in my family's denomination somewhere close and go to it this morning. Somehow, it seems an appropriate gesture. Anybody want to come along?"

Frank and Louis turned to look at one another and raised their eyebrows almost simultaneously in consideration of my offer. Louis was first to speak, "Sure, Miss Tessa, I'd go."

Frank nodded at me and said, "Okay, but I don't have very dressy clothes with me. Do you think we should go back home to change?"

"I don't know. I hadn't planned on doing this last night so I don't have anything but casual dress myself. But I doubt if summer services are very dressed up, especially apres le deluge. They wouldn't be at my home church. If you both have a pair of long pants with you and a clean shirt, that would be fine; otherwise, we can stop off at the house. I need to check the phone book though and see about which church and what's the service schedule. I'll come over to your room when I find out something."

I was inordinately pleased that they chose to go with me. I had a thought that we'd look like an odd family strolling in, mismatched and overly casual, but I also felt very anonymous and decided if the Lord didn't care if we looked like orphans of the storm, and I was sure He wouldn't, then I certainly wouldn't either. I was strangely enthusiastic about this church visit. My whole being was engaged in a way it had not been before; to my way of thinking, religion had been for external use only, in spite of or maybe because of my father being a pastor. Even while living in Tarryton the last few years, I had attended church only spasmodically. I was almost twenty-eight years old and it seemed I was at some sort of crossroads in my life. I wasn't ashamed to admit I needed a guidepost. Through the various crises in my life–and my breakup with Stephen figured largely in such considerations–I'd always believed, without giving it too much thought, that I could handle things quite well, thank you, on my own. Now, I wasn't so sure. Also, I felt a need to express more or less official gratitude for being allowed to live another day after something so terrifying had come so close.

We didn't have very far to go to what was really a rather small neighborhood church, and once inside we made our way to seats more near the back than the front. Frank sang in a clear, tuneful tenor the opening hymn, while Louis stumbled and finally gave up and just listened and looked around with interest, I thought. The two of them sat on either side of me, so I got them started on the right page for the service, which was matins, and then left them alone. The familiar liturgy began to wash over me like a protective film, and I settled in to the routine. I tried to say a prayer for Louis's aunt as I knew I should, but the best I could do was ask for the boy to be protected from further harm. This church had kneelers, if one wished to use them, but mainly the service used the more modern form of standing for prayers. Afterward, we shook hands with the pastor, a youngish and very friendly fellow, who invited us back, and then saying little to one another, we went to the car.

"Let's head over to the motel,' I suggested, "and pick up Mimi and Paige if they're ready and then we can eat lunch before going home."

"Thanks for asking me to go with you," Frank said as we drove along. "It had been a while since I'd gone to church."

'I liked it, too," Louis said, "though it was a lot of words goin' on, but the music was fine."

We all laughed at that and I had to agree. "Such a service in a liturgical church takes a some getting used to, I'm sure."

We found Paige and Mimi most willing to leave. For lunch, we went to that same restaurant where I ran into Stephen. We all looked quite decent though dressed in what could be called our work clothes, except for Mimi, who always looked like she'd stepped out of a bandbox. I encouraged everyone to order a full meal since I figured the motel restaurant would serve for our evening fare. Frank and Louis weren't overly hungry after their enormous breakfast.

After I paid the bill, we drove directly to our neighborhood past power company and telephone company workers, but then we went on past our house to see what the damages had been farther out. It seemed horrible, unbelievable, to contemplate the devastation that had occurred to some houses. Again, there'd been pockets where some were virtually leveled or at least damaged to the extent of needing complete rebuilding, while next door to them, the houses were like mine and Robert Shepherd's–exhibiting merely superficial damage.

Home again, we stood beside my car discussing our plans for the afternoon. "Just clean up your own areas for now," I suggested. "We'll meet later this afternoon to go back to the motel where we can eat tonight or you may have plans of your own, but if you go to a restaurant, save the bill so I can turn it in to the insurance company."

Mimi said she had no plans to go anywhere and would join with anyone at the motel for supper, while Paige was meeting a friend later for dinner and a movie. We all, except Louis, who stayed outside to continue with the cleanup there, went in through the front entrance with each going off to their separate quarters. When I walked into my living room it suddenly seemed to come alive, startling me. Lights blazed, motors hummed, the TV sounded off. Thinking of all the conveniences now available, I actually welcomed the din. I settled the place down with a few flicks of switches and headed for the back of the house. Later I would go to the store myself to resupply the refrigerator so I could wallow in cold and hot things from now on, but I didn't think I'd want to cook anything this evening. There was still too much to do and too big a mess. This restoration of electricity would mean we'd soon be back living here, though, as soon as some needed furnishings could be replaced.

I began the removal of damaged items in my bedroom, stripping the bedclothes, pillow, and curtains, and putting them in bags to be thrown out. I looked at a charming slipper chair in chintz of my aunt's that I admired, which had been strewn with glass. Tears came to my eyes as I knew it would have to go, too, according to the instructions of the adjuster, who'd told me all upholstered pieces and carpets that had been pummeled with glass could not be salvaged. It wasn't an expensive, or even an antique chair, but it represented something about my aunt and her life in this house that I'd wanted to preserve. The storm had ruined so many things, yet I told myself if it hadn't been for the storm, I couldn't imagine what might have happened to Louis.

I'd heard that curbside pickup of throwaways would begin tomorrow on our street, so I made a mental note to ask Frank to help me move out what I could. I would also need to go furniture shopping quite soon and pick up a new mattress for my bedroom and bedclothes as well. Thank heavens I wouldn't have that responsibility for the roomers since they all had their own furniture. Louis and Mimi's beds had been spared the shattered glass, so that would help. And uppermost in my mind was my need to acquire the services of a contractor.

At least the house was temporarily patched up so it wouldn't leak if it happened to rain, and now with electricity, the boarded up windows mattered little, since I could turn on lights to dispel the gloom. Still, I was eager to get moving on fixing up the place, painting the walls that had been sprayed with glass and debris, replacing the furnishings so my life could again be normal. Suddenly, it occurred to me I'd promised Hal I'd come to the office in the morning if at all possible. Oh, dear. I decided on the spot I'd have to call in and tell him I would come in as soon as I got a contractor to agree to start work. That had to be my first priority. If that happened early in the day, I could go in to work later. Otherwise, I'd have to wait until Tuesday.

As it turned out, my insurance agent had gotten someone to give me a call early the next morning. The contractor promised to come out with his crew Tuesday morning, and I said I'd wait for him before taking off for the newspaper so we could confer on the needed repairs. Normally, he said, they were attending to the most damaged houses first, but apparently, my aunt had been practically a life-long insurer with the company, which I'd continued to use, and I was high on the list because of this loyalty.

So I went on to work only a few minutes past my usual time, after setting Louis helping Frank to carry out items for curbside pickup.

He stood in the messed up kitchen looking at me with his usual alert expression and I thought of his horrible experience just a few days ago and how quickly he seemed to have recovered. "Louis, do you feel ready to get back to work now, or would you rather go to your grandmother's to see her?" I knew it was taking a chance for him to get back into his old neighborhood, but I couldn't be another kind of jailer, making assumptions about his wishes.

"No, ma'am, I just saw Granny, and she's ok with me here, and so am I." He grinned at me. "I likes to work and I'm saving money, too."

He couldn't have been clearer, so I told him he would be on duty to show in a cleaning service, which I'd earlier arranged to come out for carpet removal in my bedroom and Paige's rooms. The dining room had a rug that would need replacing, but that had already been rolled up for disposal. I left the house, grateful to have Louis around to help out. Frank and Paige were also going to their respective jobs, so it would be just him and Mimi around the house. I was leery about his aunt showing up again, so I instructed him to let in only the man from the cleaning service and to ignore anyone else who came to the door.

Once at work, I put in a call to Detective Richter and told him about my being at work if he needed to consult with me about anything.

"Nothing at present, Tessa," he said, surprising me with his use of my first name. "I'll be over one evening this week to see Louis and talk to you about his situation."

I explained about his aunt coming to the house and her threats to take Louis away, but he assured me the boy's grandmother was still in charge and her permission was all that was necessary for the time being.

"Call me," he said, "if the woman shows up again and makes anymore threats."

Hal came in to the front office while I was on the phone and looked at me in puzzlement as I wrapped up my conversation with the detective. I hung up the phone and tried to explain something of the trials Louis had gone through in his short life and how I'd tried to protect him.

"Now it seems I only made things worse," I lamented.

"At this point," Hal said, leaning a hip on the corner of my desk, "it's hard to say what can happen with either the boy or yourself. I wouldn't anticipate anything yet. Keep me informed what your lawyer neighbor has to say about your situation."

I knew this was his way of telling me to put aside personal matters while at work, and I had to agree with him, yet almost immediately I answered the phone to hear Hallie on the other end. It took a few minutes to explain the most important things about the house, but I could at least give her the good news that her rooms were on the side of the house that had not sustained any damage. She was staying with relatives but was eager to get back to her rooms, so she said she'd see me this evening.

After the call, I regrouped and set to work typing into the computer some of the stories that Hal had picked up from neighbors and business owners while on his rounds. Much of this edition was concerned with stories of the tornado and its aftermath as well as changes in meeting times and places. I agreed that only the bare bones story of the arrest of Slinker should appear. The Nashville newspaper had an item about the incarceration of the "teenage boy" and Slinker being the "alleged perpetrator" now under arrest. As I typed, I wondered how soon we'd have to appear in front of the Grand Jury.

Louis called to tell me the cleaning service man had pulled up the carpet on both floors and the hallway upstairs. A separate runner on the stairs also had to be removed, so I would need to replace more than I first thought. I sighed, thinking of the frustrating delays in getting the house back in order, but now with electricity, we could think about moving back in.

Chapter 20

A week passed and I felt as if I were treading water. Despite daily consultations with the contractor, the house seemed to be in much the same state as when he was first hired. I knew things were being done, mainly to the roof and siding, but the windows remained boarded up, and the walls needed paint, which couldn't be done until the roof was completed and the windows replaced. Only then would carpet be laid, and so we walked around on the bare wood floors, which if I was so inclined to leave them bare and use rugs, definitely needed refinishing. Louis's work around the yard cleaning up glass and other debris, I discovered from another talk with the adjuster, would be covered by the insurance company, which was good. And we all seemed to be managing to live in a house with workmen and their trucks perpetually on the premises.

I expected to hear from someone about the Grand Jury appearance but so far nothing. Also, I was perplexed that the Department of Children's Services hadn't put in an appearance, though from what Louis had told me about his hospital stay, it had probably been one of their number who'd interviewed him there. Then, Sergeant Richter called me at work on Monday to say he'd like to come around that evening. He identified himself as Max Richter, and I had to extemporize a moment while I considered the implications of such an informal identification. When he arrived on my doorstep he again filled me with a calm reassurance just by his large presence and warm handshake.

"I'm sorry I didn't get back to you last week," he said. "I had a nasty little murder to attend to first. But nothing will be going on regarding the boy for some time, so I hoped you'd understand we weren't dealing with an urgent situation."

"Oh, no, no. I assumed you'd come by if you needed me for anything, Sergeant."

"Actually, it's Lieutenant, now. I recently got a promotion."

I congratulated him and was amused to see a little redness creep up his cheeks. "So what have you to tell us about Louis's situation? We haven't heard a thing from Child Welfare."

"You won't," he said cheerfully. "I've talked to them and after meeting Louis in the hospital and discussing his home situation with his grandmother, they feel he's in good hands here, that nothing you did caused his–uh, incarceration next door. It could have happened had he just been passing through the neighborhood and been lured into the house by Slinker."

We talked for a few more minutes about when we might expect to hear about the Grand Jury, an event that was obviously preying on my mind. The lieutenant assured me we'd be notified by mail shortly and not to worry. He'd be with us every step of the way. With that, he rose and I ushered him out, grateful that we had been so fortunate to have gotten such a remarkably helpful police officer.

I didn't mention his visit to Louis, however, but I was concerned about his having to rake up the ordeal. I wondered how he was handling it internally and to that end I asked him about his feelings as we cleaned up the dishes Wednesday evening.

"Do you have nightmares, Louis, about what happened to you? Sleeping OK?"

"I think about it, Miss Tessa, sometimes just before I go off to sleep. Like I'm in the cage again. That bad time comes over me. But I–" He hesitated a moment as he formulated his thoughts into words. "I know it's not good to hang on to that. Father told me to pray when it happens and I know how to do that. It helps make it go away and I can sleep."

A lump came into my throat. He was a brave little chap, but I recovered and spoke briskly, "That's good, Louis. It will fade more and more as time goes on. Just going through the tornado with Miss Mimi has bothered me, and I even have those drifting off terrors, I call them."

It was the next evening when the phone rang, rather late, and I answered it to hear Stephen's voice, once so familiar to me. "Are you all right, Tessa?" he said without preamble.

"Well, yes, of course, I am–now. I'm alive, anyhow, and grateful for that."

"I talked to your mother to get your phone number after I realized your neighborhood was the one hard hit. I was concerned."

I gave an inaudible sigh. "Thanks, Stephen, for your concern, but the contractor is supposed to have the house back in shape fairly soon, he says. Well, things are gradually getting back to normal."

"I'd like to see you, Tessa. Could we maybe meet for lunch?"

Without missing a beat, I answered, "I don't think so. It's probably better to leave things as they've been." I knew my voice was cold, dismissive, and I didn't make an effort to be diplomatic.

"I see. If that's what you want, then there's not much more to say, is there."

The conversation ended with me thanking him again for his concerns and his assuring me that he would always answer my call if I ever needed him. Polite, insincere effluvium. I realized after hanging up that my sentimental clinging to the memory of our relationship was over. Any sadness, regret, and sense of betrayal haunting me for three years had vanished. Maybe it was on its way out when we accidently met a month ago, but this conversation cemented the feeling. The knowledge that I was finally free buoyed me up considerably.

Another surprise awaited me the next morning at work. Hal asked me out to dinner that evening.

"Nothing fancy, I'm afraid," he said, with an ironic lift to his eyebrow, "but a nice place for someone I'm very glad I hired."

"Love to," said, barely able to hide my surprise.

"I'll pick you up at seven and since today is Friday, we can enjoy ourselves without worrying about getting out a paper. I can't tell you, Tessa, how important you've been to the paper, particularly these last couple of weeks."

It was true that I'd come to work at times when I wanted to hang around the house and oversee some project or another that was going on. Also, my one shopping excursion for a new mattress and bedding had to be sandwiched into my weekend schedule. I supplemented this by pouring over catalogues in the evening. But I never missed a day of work.

Still, our evening together promised to be on a slightly different basis than that of employee and boss and that, I had to admit, intrigued me. But to be honest with myself, Hal seemed so indifferent to me on a personal level I couldn't really credit this invitation as anything but what he implied–payback for my hard work. I should leave my imagination at the office.

When I got home that evening I found a summons in the mail for the Grand Jury, which was scheduled for the first of next month. As I walked through the house, Louis must have heard me, for he bounded up the stairs with an excited expression on his face.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Granny called and said I got something from the court."

I waved the envelope in my hand. "I got one, too. We have to appear to testify against Slinker. This is the first step in getting him to trial."

"Oh, boy," he said, sinking into a kitchen chair. "I have to tell about everything, don't I."

"Yes, but we'll have support from Detective Richter and that lawyer friend of Mr. Shepherd's." I made a mental note to talk to my neighbor this weekend and inform him of the upcoming hearing. "Also, the policeman who discovered you as well as Father Sarratt will both be testifying. Don't forget, there were quite a few of us at the house who will be witnesses, including the EMT who took Slinker off the premises. And I expect someone from the hospital might have to report on your condition when you stayed there. I really don't know how many of us who know the circumstances will attend, but there should be quite a number."

He seemed reassured by that, and I told him I was going out for the evening. "You can see if Frank wants to do something, or–oh, let me get that." The phone's ring interrupted my instructions, and when I heard Robert Shepherd's voice on the other end I had that eerie feeling of ESP when someone's name is mentioned and they suddenly are there.

"Tessa, I've just picked up Will for the weekend, and we were wondering if Louis would like to go out to eat with us and then go to a Sounds game."

When I asked Louis, he assented quickly and enthusiastically as I knew he would. How wonderful people could be. I felt easier taking an evening out. This was the first time Louis would have been left alone, and that had worried me though the boy seemed to be doing well.

Hal came to the door in his usual gentlemanly fashion to pick me up. He looked very nice in beige dress pants and a dark green shirt with a small design which I eventually discovered to be tiny palm trees. I myself had dressed carefully, looking quite different, I hoped, than in my usual slacks and casual shirts that I wore to work. My short skirt was tangerine colored with a white embroidered design at the hemline. I topped this with a scoop-neck, white cotton blouse. Before getting ready, I'd looked ruefully at my too-pale legs and decided to apply self-tanning lotion to give me a healthier glow, which expanded to include not only my legs but my arms and neck. I wore more makeup than usual, too, and when Hal saw me in the doorway, I noticed a look in his eye I'd not seen before. It was that of an appreciative male for an attractive woman. Things were coming up roses.

But the evening could hardly have been called romantic. I decided first off that Hal was too matter-of-fact and no-nonsense to be a Lothario or succumb to emotion even under the best of circumstances. We talked about our respective repairs to our houses, his son's career path, and my roomers. Louis's situation interested Hal immensely.

"How about his abductor?" he asked. "Is he securely locked up, no bail, or at least no reasonable bail possibility?"

I nodded, swallowing the last bite of a sinful chocolate dessert, and said, "The detective on the case mentioned he'd been arraigned and charged and won't be budging from jail." I told him about the Grand Jury appearance and Louis's remarkable overcoming of his ordeal.

"He's a tough little guy," I said. "But with that upbringing, he'd have to be to survive."

Then, as we both became more aware of the piano player, Hal asked me if I was musical. I had to admit to being only an admirer, not a maker of music. "Took piano, but wasn't very good, so I abandoned that. I sang in the church choir, though, and even a little in the a capella choir in college. That's the extent of my participation."

When Hal began to explain his own interests and his favorite music, it was then that I changed my mind about Hal's emotional life.

"Do you like opera?" he asked with a hint of excitement in his voice.

"I've only seen one in my life–Madame Butterfly, when I was in college. A production came to Knoxville, and I went to it with–a friend." I remembered it well, the lovely music, pitiful Cio Cio San, Stephen squeezing my hand as tears rolled down my face.

"Ah," he breathed, "one of Puccini's best. Another one of his is coming to Nashville next winter, La Bohème. I hope you'll make an effort to go. Of course, I love all the Italians' works.

But I don't discount the Germans." And he went on in a similar vein for some time, extolling the virtues of various composers, all romantic, including Wagner. He gave some credence to the classical composers such as Mozart for their contributions, but it was evident he'd been swept off his feet by those lilting, heart-rending arias. It was most instructive, and I liked him better for his secret and unexpected passion.

We'd gone to a nice restaurant across town, somewhat upscale but reasonable, and I had to admit the food was delicious, the service excellent. Lingering over our coffee, Hal reiterated his appreciation for my work, and I knew for sure his taking me out wasn't for my beaux yeux.

"You can't imagine how lacking most of my help has been. You're really the first one I can rely on to do almost everything. I expect you could take over if I have to miss work."

"Do you never take a vacation?" This one-man show certainly had its disadvantages.

"I have an arrangement with another editor of a community paper." He smiled. "I'll have to raise your salary if you keep on the way your going."

I didn't reply, not because I wanted to play coy, but because I wasn't sure if the newspaper business was where I wanted to direct my efforts in the long run. We rose after that and drove straight home. Hal pulled into the driveway, and I quickly thanked him for the dinner and hopped out of the car before an awkward moment could occur. He did wait until I had unlocked my door before driving off. A gentleman, yes, but I was glad I wasn't in love with him.

Chapter 21

The next week brought more surprises to the occupants of my house. Louis called me at work one day, all excited about strange things going on next door. We'd watched bulldozers doing their job at first with the anticipation of getting Slinker's house, or what remained of it, cleaned off the lot. A huge open boxcar had been moved onto the lot for depositing building materials. And eventually, crews had virtually swept clean the area and the boxcar had been mechanically removed by a special truck. But then, according to Louis, the scene had changed to include a team of police in battle dress with shovels and picks, descending into the hole that had been the basement.

By the time I'd gotten home, crime scene tape had been strung around the property, and Slinker's driveway and the curbing area were filled with various police vehicles. I longed to ask someone what was going on, but the sight was too forbidding for anyone to do more than stand a discreet distance away and gawk, which is what Louis and I did.

"What are they doin', Miss Tessa," Louis asked, "lookin' for evidence?"

"I don't know, but that seems likely. Who knows what Slinker had been up to for years."

"Boy, I'm sure glad that man is locked up," he muttered.

The window on my stair landing had been replaced by this time, and I noticed Mimi and Hallie positioned in front of it. They certainly had a good view of the goings on, and I suggested to Louis we hie ourselves upstairs to see for ourselves. Louis bounded away, and I followed, but as I stepped onto my front porch, I saw Lieutenant Richter coming up the sidewalk. I paused until he noticed me and we both waved. I retraced my steps and met him at my driveway.

"This is getting curiouser and curiouser," I said with a smile, pointing at the activity. "What are the police looking for, or can't you tell me?"

He gave me a look that was half amused and half teasing and said, "Now, now, we don't want to get ahead of ourselves and start rumors, but I will say that the site of the boy's incarceration bears more investigating. Just to be on the safe side." Then he took my arm and escorted me back to my porch. "I'll let you know if anything of interest emerges."

I turned to face him before entering the house. He didn't seem quite so imposing outside, and with his continuing interest in our affairs, I felt as if we had become almost friends. "We're so deeply concerned, I would appreciate your telling me if you find out more about Slinker."

"I'll keep in touch, never fear," he said, giving my arm, which he'd not relinquished, a little squeeze. He left me then and went lightly down the steps toward the goings-on next door. He moved well for a large man, I couldn't help noticing.

As far as seeing more from the landing window, even though the view was excellent, all we could determine was a lot of digging and work with pick axes, carving up the floor and walls. Soon, Louis tired of looking and said he was going downstairs to clean up. I agreed it was rather boring at this point, and that the lieutenant had promised to let me know if something was discovered. With that, Hallie and Mimi returned to their rooms, and I gave a last glance at the excavation, only to see a group of the officials now huddled around something. Well, I could only make gruesome guesses at this point. I decided it would be better to get the news, if there was any, from Max Richter than to see something I maybe would rather not, even from afar.

Instead, I kept an eye out for my neighbor across the street. He kept odd hours, I couldn't help but notice in a casual sort of way, mainly because he never parked in his garage, which was a very small outbuilding and probably wouldn't comfortably house his SUV. Louis and I ate a frozen lasagna and a green salad and after I put the dishes in the dishwasher and Louis retired to his place to watch TV, I again checked the drive across the street. I saw his car, so I got out my billfold and found the card he'd given me with his numbers on it. No more running across the street to accost him unannounced.

He didn't seem particularly surprised to hear from me, and said his lawyer friend was on board for the Grand Jury and would soon be getting in touch. I had told him earlier about the summons, and he had assured me then he was certain Thomas Banion would be happy to represent our interests.

"That's good, wonderful, but I'm calling about a different matter."

"Yeah," he said, "about the excitement going on next door to you?"

"Well, no, not that either. I did discuss it briefly with our detective friend, who's over there right now, and he said he'd let me know what the deal is if and when something is found."

"That sounds ominous. Bodies, I expect, don't you?" He sounded very cool about something so shocking, but lawyers tended to keep their cool, I was sure.

"Yes," I sighed. You're probably right. Like Scarlett, I'll think about that tomorrow. Right now, I wanted to talk to you about Louis's schooling next fall. I know Will goes to that nice boarding school south of Nashville."

"Yes, he does, and we all are pleased with it. Are you wondering if Louis might get in on a scholarship?"

"Why, yes, I am. What would the procedure be to see about his eligibility?" I tried to be as cool as he, but my heart was pounding. Was this asking too much for a boy from the ghetto?

"I'll find out and let you know. There's always an interest in helping deserving boys. I think his working for you this summer, the fact that he's not been in trouble with the law, and his terrible home situation will all work in his favor. Besides, that, he's a bright boy. I can tell that."

We left it that he'd get us the application information. Meanwhile, I needed to talk to Louis's grandmother, but I had no doubts on that score. She wanted the best for him too.

The activities of the police at Slinker's place went on through the night and into the next day and they were still at it when I returned home that afternoon. Mimi and Hallie's bird's eye view had given them a clue as to the progress of the authorities.

"They've been digging up bodies, for sure," Mimi shuddered, when I went up to her apartment to get the report. "And a cadaver van has hauled them off."

"And Louis?" I asked, concerned. "Where has he been during all this?" I knew he was in his quarters when I entered the house, for I heard the TV downstairs.

"Oh, he came up now and then to watch. Mainly, though, he's been working on the yard cleanup. It'll take him weeks to pick up the glass and other junk."

"Not too traumatic for him?"

Mimi waggled her head. "I don't think so. He seemed as fascinated as we were. Of course, none of us stayed the whole time watching, so we don't really know the complete details of the search." She gave me a sidelong smile. "Maybe your detective friend will enlighten you. I bet he's dying to get a call from you."

I gave a dismissive snort. "Don't be silly. His main interest is in Louis and bringing Slinker to justice. However, I may call him anyway. If Slinker's been involved in murder, I'm not sure how that will affect Louis's case.

"What about Louis's family? Heard any more from that aunt of his? Or his mother?"

"No, thank goodness, but I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. Yet I can't imagine his mother could protest since she's been gone so long. Her maternal interest seems to have lapsed about two years ago, according to Louis. She's been back only on occasional visits since moving away."

"Very sad situation," Mimi said thoughtfully. "The boy deserves better."

"He does. I'm hoping something can be worked out quickly without complications."

But, of course, nothing is ever that simple or pure.

I did put in a call to Lieutenant Richter, whom I decided to address as Max, since he had introduced himself to me as such, and he confirmed that bodies were being exhumed from the earthen floor of Slinker's basement. The Tennessean had gotten hold of the story, which would be breaking the next day. Slinker was now to be arraigned for murder. Would we still be needed to testify, I asked. Oh, yes, we would. Louis's confinement and narrow escape would verify the man's objectives and show he had undoubtedly killed the boys–and possibly a girl or two, according to Max, and buried the bodies. An effort was now underway to link any missing children with the exhumations.

It was after we chatted about the macabre findings that he asked me out for dinner. He didn't beat around the bush or make excuses or give a reason. He just said, "Would you like to have dinner with me, Tessa, maybe Saturday night?"

"Saturday is fine," I said without hesitation. I only hoped we'd have something to talk about other than crime. He said he'd pick me up at seven and we left it at that.

Then Father Sarratt called and asked if his prospective adopters could come by and meet Louis. He said they'd remembered seeing him at the ice cream social, so he wasn't entirely a stranger to them. I still felt funny about the whole thing. After all, Louis hadn't yet been declared a ward of the court. I asked if his grandmother had been consulted about any change in his status. Father Sarratt said he'd already talked to her, but for me to feel free to discuss the situation thoroughly with her too. We also didn't know Louis's own feelings on the matter. But maybe the two parties needed to take a look first. Then if things didn't work out, no harm done. So I agreed for them to come over Sunday afternoon. Over dinner, I told Louis that some people wanted to meet him and talk to him about his life with his grandmother in the projects.

"Social workers?" he asked. "I been watched by them before. Not much since Granny took me over though."

"Oh, no, Louis," I exclaimed. "These are friends of Father Sarratt, who are interested in you. It's just a social visit. You can talk to them freely."

He gave a judicious nod, a little smile on his face. "I never had so many folks thinkin' I'm somebody worth talkin' to. It's funny, Miss Tessa, but I like it."

We both laughed at that, and I had to agree life had become considerably more interesting for the boy.

After work on Friday I drove to see Mrs. Gleaves, for that was Louis's grandmother's name. I had called first to see if she'd be at home, and she said she would be, doing her alterations work for a local cleaners. She welcomed me in her usual friendly but reserved manner and invited me in.

"Ever'thing all right with my boy?" she asked.

"Oh, yes, fine. The case against his abductor is moving right along, and we'll be in front of the Grand Jury in a month or so. But I'm here about something else, Mrs. Gleaves." She gestured toward a chair and I sat down. "As Father Sarratt mentioned to you, Louis's situation has drawn attention from interested persons who want to help him. I, too, have been thinking about his future and how he can have more advantages that you've been able to provide–though I can't say enough about how good a job you've done in taking care of him. I know it's been hard, but he's a fine boy and smart, too. I think he could do well if he's given half a chance."

"Yes'm, I think he a real good boy. Always has been even when he had bad influences at home. I babysat him a lot, you know, when his folks was out workin' or worse," she said, with a sad shake of her head. "I always knew he was smart, though, like his momma, but she was impatient to be somebody, so she's off livin' with a new man in Georgia." She sighed. "I did wrong by her and her sister, though. I tol' em they were as good as anybody, but it made 'em slack in their ways and who they took up with. Money–that's all it's been for them." She brightened. "But Louis, now, he's different. It's like he come from a different mold. A sweeter boy you couldn't find. I can't tell you, Miss Tessa, how pleased I am you've taken him on. Anything else you can do for him, I want too."

Well, that little speech relieved me considerably, and verified my speculations about Louis's antecedents and character. Sometimes it happens that way. The worst environment seems to have no lasting impression on some people and they rise up from the squalor fresh and clean. I'd seen it before–simple goodness. I went on to give my opinion to the old woman about changes in the offing for him.

"I don't suppose you've legally adopted him?" I asked. For that was a consideration, which if true would require a different approach to assure his future.

"Oh, no. I been takin' care of him forever, it seem. But not legal-like. That what the preacher man asked me, too. He say a couple maybe adopt Louis if I say all right."

"Well, then, it would seem that his parents have abandoned him, and that would make it easier, if everyone is agreed, of course, for him to be adopted by a good family. In any case, I also have a plan for his going to a fine boarding school that my neighbor's boy attends. He's become a friend of Louis's and I think if we could get him in there, no matter what happens with the adoption plan, that he'd be happy and successful there."

Mrs. Gleaves began to fan herself with a scrap of paper she picked up from a side table. "I don't know how to wrap my mind around all these good things for the boy, but anything you can do to help him, I agree to. As long as he don't leave me altogether. He's my baby, you know."

"Absolutely not. He'll always belong to you in a way that no one else can match. He loves you and wouldn't forget you for a minute, that I can tell. Now, the fact is, Mrs. Gleaves, this adoption thing may not be the best solution, but I think it's something to be considered. His aunt came by the house the other day and seemed to be threatening something. I'm concerned she could cause trouble."

"Never mind about her," she snapped. "I'll take care of that. Money! That what it's all about with her. She prob'ly thinks she can squirm money from you. Leave her to me!"

"What is Louis's father in jail for?" I asked. I never brought up his father to Louis after finding out he had been incarcerated.

"He was dealin' but he weren't a bad man, either. When he marry my Lisa, he was in construction and did fine. A nicer boy I couldn't have wished for. Then he say the boss start hiring the Mexicans and he couldn't get on the crews regular, only part time. He off work a lot and ran out of money for his family. That what he say start him sellin' drugs." She wiped her eyes with her hand. I fumbled in my purse for a tissue and handed it to her.

"When will he get out? Do you know?"

"Not for 'bout ten years. I know his mamma, and she sick at heart. If he can get on with some better job when he get out, he be straight, Miss Tessa, I know he will."

"Will he have a problem about any changes for Louis?"

"Well," she mused, "he won't be around to raise the boy, will he. I don't think he have much to say. Louis and him can get together when Louis be all grown up and made a success of himself."

My interview ended with my assurances that either I or Father Sarratt would keep her up to date on anything pertaining to an adoption or Louis's schooling. But for all his grandmother's enthusiastic agreement, I still had some uneasy feelings about that aunt of his. Had she been in touch with Louis's mother and were they planning something? Extortion perhaps–or maybe even a lawsuit?

Chapter 22

Saturday night as I was putting the finishing touches to my outfit, a sundress in a swirling, watercolor design, I heard a knock on my living room door. This would be one of my roomers; only they had access to the foyer while visitors from outside, like Max Richter, would be ringing the doorbell at the front porch. I opened my door to Frank, and felt a senseless dismay that I might have to explain my date to him. He moved without hesitation into the room in his usual friendly and now rather familiar fashion when I greeted him.

"You look nice," he said, without preamble. I thanked him and he went on, "Louis seems to be doing all right, surprisingly," he said, "All the commotion next door has got to be something of a trial. I understand from Mimi bodies have been carted off."

"Yes," I said as I closed the door, "but he's taking it in his stride. I think he feels such relief he was rescued in time that he hasn't room for any residual sense of horror." I continued to stand and face him, but didn't invite him to sit down.

Frank nodded. He was dressed in his usual casual fashion in shorts and a polo shirt that showed off his strong physique and tanned arms and legs. But the most striking thing that struck me was his hair. He indeed had it cut to just above the shoulder. Not exactly a businessman's cut but considerably less dramatic than his usual mane.

I stared at him for a speechless minute until he laughed and ran his hand over his head. "I told you I'd do it. Feels good. How do you like it?"

"Frank, I–gosh, I think it looks very nice. I hope this was something you were ready to do. Your hair was kind of a signature, wasn't it?"

"Not really. I had decided not to cut it until I got my program written. It's close enough to being finished now. Maybe I need to look a bit more conventional if I'm going to sell my wares. I know you were kidding around when you suggested it, but I think it was a good idea. But enough about my hair. What are you doing tonight?" He looked me up and down, and then nodded sagely, "Oh, I think I know. That's a pretty dress. Who's the lucky guy, as if I didn't know?"

"Oh, Frank, it's the detective, Max Richter. Nothing serious. I hardly know him, and we'll probably be talking about the upcoming court appearance and Louis's situation. You know, police business." I hoped my face had not turned red. This explanation wasn't at all what I expected from the evening, not really.

Neither did Frank. "Uh-huh. Sure, Tessa, that's what these unmarried detectives do to get further information, take witnesses out to dinner on Saturday night." He smiled but didn't move toward the door. "Maybe some other time we can do something together if you can squeeze me in to your social calendar." Still, he didn't sound bitter and even gave a chuckle.

"I've hardly got a social calendar to keep up with. I've not made any lasting commitments, you know." How complicated these relationship things seemed to get. Had I really encouraged him? Well, maybe I had. I felt that familiar stirring of confusion whenever I was around him.

"Say," he said finally, "I wonder if I could go through your house to see Louis. I've got him started on a writing project and he seems pretty fascinated by the whole thing. I told him when he gets a chapter done, he can use my computer."

"He's writing a book?" I could hardly fathom it. What had been going on between these two?

"Well, sort of a memoir. A lot has happened to that fellow in his short life, and writing is a good a way to exorcize ghosts of the past. I told him to start with his earliest memories and work forward."

"Of course you can go through to his room," I said. "I think it's a wonderful idea, Frank. He should have quite a story to tell."

"You're part of what's gone on with him, too, and even going forward to the next phase of his life," he said, smiling and turned to leave the room. "I'm looking for good things to happen to him. It's a continuing saga," he flung back over his shoulder.

I stood there, pleased about the project, but also wondering why this encounter had been unsatisfactory in a way I couldn't quite explain to myself when the bell rang and I knew Max had arrived.

I grabbed my handbag and met him at the door. He took my arm and guided me down the steps like I was an invalid, but it seemed sweet and protective. As a matter of fact, his size and manner gave me the feeling of extra femininity, happy for him to take the lead. I reacted quite differently around Frank. Oh, he was sexy and intelligent and interested in me, I could tell, but up to now I seemed to be the one calling the shots. With Max, the reverse was true, and I didn't mind at all, at least for now. As we started off, he said we were going to a German restaurant and hoped I liked such food.

"I do, but I haven't had much of it. You're German, of course, judging by your name. There were so many immigrations; was your family among the early or late or in-between ones?"

"My original ancestor in America was a Hessian soldier. He stayed here and married locally, enjoying the fruits of independence. Luckily for me he wasn't killed by George Washington at his raid on the mercenaries's camp." He followed this up with a short history of how the family had prospered through the years with his branch moving south at the time of World War I. "I think the South was friendlier toward people with German names," he laughed.

The restaurant was crowded, but Max had made reservations and we were shown immediately to a table. We started with a lobster bisque, followed by schnitzel. Delicious Reisling wine that went down like water accompanied our meal and our conversation never lagged. I can't remember all we talked about, but I found out he was thirty-two years old, a native Tennessean with two older brothers, and a graduate of Vanderbilt, where he also got his law degree. I wondered aloud why he decided on law enforcement rather than its practice.

He shrugged. "It's the do-gooder in me, I suppose, wanting to get rid of the bad guys among us. I probably inherited that inclination from my mother, who took in strays, much like you do, only hers were in the lower species. She also was an inveterate hospital and nursing home visitor, but she'd lived here all her life, too, knew many folks, and was very involved with her church as were most women of her generation. She passed away last year, rather suddenly, and it's hit us all pretty hard."

I murmured my sympathy but he brightened as he began to query me about my background, surprised to find out I'd been a librarian.

"Not exactly Marian, are you?"

"I may be," I laughed. "I have a tendency to want things to be neatly pigeon holed, you might say, arranged in ways that I can easily comprehend and deal with."

"I don't believe it! For one thing, taking in Louis with no more investigation than you did belies that. I don't see you as the quintessential librarian."

I had to agree it had bored me, but my love of literature and disinterest in teaching had led me to that profession. "When I took over my house and my new role, all I really wanted to do was be a good landlady. From that innocuous beginning, life has become very messy indeed."

Max agreed I had dealt with more excitement in the last few months than most people have their entire lives.

"Sometimes, I think I might go for a little less excitement myself," he said.

"What does that mean?"

"I've given some thought to practicing law. Don't want to be a prosecutor, though. Maybe stay out of crime altogether and be a civil defense attorney."

"Sounds interesting," I said encouragingly. This sounded like something he was mulling over and not yet quite sure about.

We finished up our meal with a drawn-out cup or two of coffee after polishing off an apple strudel. All typical fare for this restaurant and wonderfully different from my usual salads and meals of careful calories.

Max admitted this was special for him too. "I'd never keep my girlish figure if I ate German food regularly, or at least this brand of German food."

I glanced surreptitiously at his figure, and it was good. Though a big man, he was lean and muscular. Very attractive, yes. In my driveway, he accepted my invitation to come in for a nightcap, but I told myself this was just to get better acquainted.

We sat in the darkened parlor, he looking terribly out of place on the delicate Victorian rococo furniture. Always he took a seat on the sofa as the most secure arrangement. I'd poured us a drambuie in one of Aunt Mary's tiny cordial glasses from the corner cupboard in the dining room. I fervently hoped Max wasn't going to try to push me into a more intimate relationship too soon. I know sex has been strangely considered by some as less personal than friendship, but that wasn't my own style or experience, for that matter. Maybe it was my upbringing, or my inborn reticence, but I wanted something deeper to emerge before I succumbed.

But he was either of the same mind, or perceptive to my unspoken desire to leave things pretty much as the evening started out–a sincere interest in one another that would unfold naturally if it was in the cards. He, like Frank, gave me a rather chaste kiss as we parted, and the last thing he said was, "Let's do this again, Tessa. I'll call you." He gave my hand a goodbye squeeze and left me wondering what I was to make of this man–and my own feelings.

The next morning Louis came upstairs with a request to go again to the church we'd visited weeks before. I was surprised, and a little discomfited. I didn't turn him down, but I suggested we might try another church, one of the same denomination but a few miles distant that I'd noticed while out shopping. Somehow, I didn't want the nice pastor and other friendly folks who greeted us to get the idea we might be prospective members. I didn't want to have to explain the odd circumstances of Louis and me being together. In other words, I wanted to continue with the comfort of anonymity.

"I liked the church, Miss Tessa. It was nice. It made me feel–I know it sounds funny, but I felt peaceful there."

Oh, dear. How could I refuse that? "Go ask Will if he'd like to go with us. I don't think I've ever seen Mr. Shepherd's car leave the drive on Sunday morning." Why not? Who else might I gather under my wing? How about checking again with Frank? No, I wouldn't go that far. I wanted to keep that relationship on a quasi-business-like basis, hard as it would be to rachet down what had gone on between us. Louis streaked out the front door, excited to offer something for once that he considered to be his very own treat to the neighbor boy.

I sipped my coffee slowly, thinking not of the church but of the promised visit that afternoon of Father Sarratt and his parishioners interested in Louis. I couldn't shake the feeling of dissatisfaction with the whole idea. Didn't it seem premature to start planning for adoption? Who were these people? Did they have so little else in their lives that they set out to attach themselves to a boy they'd never met? But that was unfair speculation. They could be magnanimous people of deep feeling, but would I be able to find out their true motives? Questions, questions, all rising like bile that I simply had to swallow. I had to put aside proprietary feelings about Louis and consider his overall welfare. I knew I shouldn't prejudge and admonished myself for negative imaginings.

The front door banged a little as Louis dashed back in. "He's going! His dad said he wasn't good about taking him to church, and he appreciated your interest."

All of a sudden, as Louis repeated the remarks of my neighbor, I realized the boy's speech has been subtly changing over the months as he associated more and more with speakers of standard English. Louis obviously had an imitative ear, which enabled him to change some speech patterns, learned at his grandmother's knee and gone uncorrected at his neighborhood school. I knew that was an uncommon trait, almost impossible for some of us. He still said some grammatically incorrect phrases, but they were fewer and farther in between, and such a talent would serve him well if a change in his schooling could be worked out.

Following the church service, we slipped out unobtrusively after a cursory handshake with the pastor. At my suggestion, we stopped to pick up a box of chicken with cole slaw and mashed potato side dishes. Will was happy to share one of Louis's favorite meals, which I allowed only occasionally, mainly because of the havoc it wreaked on my own figure. Because we had plenty, even with two hungry teenage boys, I called Frank to come down and share the meal with us, ignoring my own resolution to keep him more at arm's length. Still, what was the big deal in sharing a drumstick with a roomer? He popped in through the newly installed side door almost immediately.

"Smells great!" he exclaimed, setting a carton of cokes he'd brought with him on the counter. "Can I offer a drink to anyone?"

The meal took on the atmosphere of a party–almost. Frank was in high spirits, telling of his good fortune in securing an agent to help him sell his product. He'd made a connection through one of the recording artists where he worked. The two boys listened to us talk for a while, but then began their own conversation at the end of the table.

"Goes to show," Frank continued, "that who you know is makes a difference. I never thought my mundane job would give me a leg up in my endeavors."

But on my mind throughout the meal was the upcoming interview with the couple interested in Louis. Finally, Frank and Will left us and Louis went downstairs to work some more on his writing. I said I'd call him whenever Father Sarratt arrived with his parishioners.

They were right on time, and I let in the priest, accompanied by a couple in their late forties, I guessed, dressed informally and smiling. Father Sarratt introduced them as Anthony and Marcia Grant. We shook hands and I invited them to take seats while I left the room to call Louis upstairs. He arrived promptly, and I was glad to see he didn't seem uncomfortable meeting some new people–at least he seemed OK at first.

"Louis," said Father Sarratt, "these folks are the Grants, and they're interested to hear about your experiences at your grandmother's home, your school, and your friends."

Louis looked a little puzzled and shot a glance at me. I gave him an encouraging smile, but I began to doubt the value of this quizzing. How in the world does anyone tell the true story of one's environment? Louis hardly knew where to begin. I didn't help him either, so after nearly a full minute of Louis's embarrassed silence as he searched the carpet for a clue, Father Sarratt suggested he begin by telling the Grants about who his friends were in that neighborhood.

"Well, there's Marshall and Treat, just my age. They and me would play games when we were little, but lately, the gang got 'em, you know, to join."

"What about the gang, Louis?" Mr. Grant asked. "Are you a member, too?"

Again Louis looked at me. "No, sir, I tried to join but I wouldn't steal from Miss Tessa, that day, and they hunted me down and beat me up. That's how I come to be here." He shook his head and looked like he wanted to run. "Do I have to tell more about the gang, Miss Tessa?"

I looked helplessly at Father Sarratt, who ignored me and asked Louis, "Which teacher did you like best at your school this year? And which class would you say was your best?"

"Are you a good student?" Mrs. Grant asked.

Louis looked from one to the other, and did his best to respond to what seemed like a barrage. "I liked literature and Miss Toller, but I didn't do so hot in spelling. I did all right in arithmetic, but next year I'll have algebra." He frowned. "I don't know about that. But I think I'll like biology when I get to take that in high school. I heard you can cut up frogs and stuff."

"You like cutting things up?" Mr. Grant asked.

The questioning went on in this vein for some time. Louis did his best to respond truthfully, but balked when questions turned toward his family. He began to stammer.

I decided to put a stop to this. "I think you all might like to hear about Louis's duties around here. Ever since he's been with me, he's been my man-of-all-work, doing every kind of outdoor maintenance job I needed, including cleanup from the tornado. He's made friends, meanwhile, with the boy who visits his father across the street. They've taken Louis camping and out to eat occasionally. So he isn't confined to just hard labor," I said in an attempt to lighten what was seeming to be an inquisition. I devoutly wished they'd leave. I wondered about my father's technique that my mother always lamented as being too obvious: standing up in an encouraging gesture to motivate those who'd overstayed their welcome. But Father Sarratt had some sensitivity himself and rose from his seat. He walked over to Louis, who also stood up, and shook his hand. "It was nice to see you again, Louis. You seem to be getting along fine."

The Grants moved slowly, almost reluctantly, I thought toward the door, I closely following, as if herding them out. This had been one of the most uncomfortable encounters of my life, topping any job interview I'd had. From the corner of my eye, I saw Louis slip out of the living room and go back toward the rear of the house. The Grants thanked me for what, I didn't know, and making small talk the group went out the front door and down the steps to their car.

I stood watching them through the glass until I heard something on the stairs. Mimi said from the landing, "Well, what did you think?"

"That was horrible. Believe me, that's no way to get acquainted with a youngster. Maybe they're genuinely concerned, agreeable folks, but I couldn't wait to get rid of them."

"How did Louis react?'

"I'm sure he was embarrassed and confused by the whole thing. I'll not allow anything like that again to take place. He may be a boy, but he has his dignity, too, and doesn't deserve to be examined like a specimen under glass."

"I see," Mimi said, smiling, "You're turning into a regular mother hen."

"No, I'm not. You'd have felt the same if you could have witnessed the questioning. I don't mean they were cruel, but it's the sort of thing that seemed pointless and nosy, if you know what I mean."

"Then it's over. Maybe now Louis can find his own destiny." She turned to go.

"What do you mean?" I asked. But she didn't respond and continued to plod step by step upwards until she was out of sight.

Chapter 23

Saturday afternoon the other shoe dropped, the one I had been dreading–and with a particularly sickening thud. I was doing my twice monthly dusting in the living room, handling all my Aunt Mary's precious ornaments with care when the doorbell rang. I opened the door to face Louis's aunt, the oddly dressed and rather threatening woman who had accosted me a few weeks earlier. She looked a little less outré today in a skin tight top and jeans. With her was another black woman about the same age, similarly dressed, and rather attractive. The aunt, who Louis had told me was his father's sister, spoke first as I stared at them.

"We come to see Louis. This his mother."

"I'm afraid Louis is out with friends right now." In fact, he was across the street playing with Will, probably at computer games, for I hadn't seen them outside. I felt reluctant to direct them to the Shepherd house, even though this might actually be his long absent mother.

"I'll let him know his mother has finally returned to Nashville," I said, "and he can get in touch with his grandmother to make arrangements to see her." I addressed my remarks to the aunt, who then turned to her sister-in-law.

Louis's mother said, "I'd like to see where my boy is stayin', if you don' mind. His room. That should be my right." She was soft spoken but she didn't smile. I was clearly seen as the enemy. My mind hop-scotched all around her request, unable to put together a logical, on-the-spot decision, always one of my greatest handicaps. Too many options tended to perplex me. His mother. . . my temporary guardianship. . . his quarters. . . her parental rights. . . my home–well, in the end, I stepped aside for them to enter. So what if they saw how Louis lived.

"If you'll come this way, please," I said, leading them through the living room into the dining room and then the kitchen, which I traversed and then stood in the back hallway in front of the basement stairs. I switched on the stair light and gestured with the hand that still held my dusting wand. "Go on down, but watch your step."

I threw the duster on the floor and followed them, directing them toward the area fixed up as a little room for Louis. It looked quite presentable. He had thrown his covers over the bed, smoothing them out as I had earlier suggested. His old easy chair in front of the TV looked inviting, a card table and a couple of chairs to one side held some board games that he and Will played occasionally and also served as a table for quickie meals if I was going to be out. Mother had supplied a microwave and tiny refrigerator. I showed them his shower arrangement in one corner, feeling like a housemother pointing out the accommodations to parents of a prospective student. The women had little to say but wandered around the area in an inquisitive manner although once Louis's mother murmured, "Nice," which elicited a nasty look from the other.

The aunt then said, looking around, "Can't be good staying all the while in a damp ol' basement."

"But it's not damp," I protested. "The walls were resealed probably by my aunt, who owned this house. For such an old place, the basement is remarkably modern. Look at this cement floor. I'd guess this was poured at least thirty years after the house was built. No damp here."

Finally, acting like the spokesman with a prepared speech, Louis's aunt said, "But no matter how good this look, Louis was in danger living here, we know that."

I could hardly deny it. I knew I should say little, but some defense seemed necessary. "He was lured into the neighbor's house one evening coming home from a church social. Ordinarily, he would have come back with the rest of us, but he'd stayed late to help the other youths clean up. It was dark by then, so my neighbor, whom neither I nor anyone else ever believed to be dangerous, caught the boy off guard."

I took a deep breath and continued while the two women stared at me speechlessly. "It was the tornado that saved him from further danger. I had gone into the wreckage to see if my neighbor was all right when I heard Louis's voice coming from the basement. Luckily, if you can say that, he was only a captive for a day, but naturally I would have given anything if he'd never had to go through that."

Would that explanation satisfy them? What were they after? I waited a few seconds until Louis's mother, who had never really introduced herself, spoke. "We think he'd be better off with his own folks. Maybe," she glanced at the other woman who nodded and then continued, "you'd better talk to our lawyer, Mr. Jenks. He be callin' you sometime 'bout Louis."

I knew enough at this point to keep my mouth shut. I only said, "I expect you've seen enough, ladies. Up the stairs, if you please," and ushered them ahead of me. None of us spoke until we reached the front room where the aunt, whose name I suddenly remembered to be Nadell Johnson, turned and looked the room over intently. "Nice house you got," she said in a parting shot. I didn't like the sound of that.

"Tell me, Mrs. Terrell," I said to Louis's mother's back, "will you be in town long?"

"No, I guess–"

But her words were cut off by the other woman's retort, "She be here as long as it take to get justice for her son."

They swung through the door and I closed it behind them, watching them through the glass as they went to their car. I was interested to see their demeanor when they got beyond the house. They seemed to be smirking and talking with some animation. After they drove away, I went to the telephone and called Robert Shepherd.

I explained to him about the visit and the more than implied threat about the lawyer. I tried to fight off my recurring panic. How much trouble had I gotten Louis and myself into?

"Rita's coming over pretty soon, and she'll need to hear about this," Robert said in a calm voice. "I was just about to call you, as a matter of fact. We're going out for barbeque and thought Louis could go along if that's all right with you."

I immediately agreed, feeling relief on several fronts–soon to be getting some advice from an expert in family law and not having to explain immediately to Louis about his mother's visit. That would be on the agenda, I knew, but not this evening.

Rita came as promised about fory-five minutes later. I always felt like a bit of a frump compared to her svelte and fashionable appearance. Her hair was pulled back from her face today and her clothing casual but she still looked put together. She was the epitome of a successful professional woman who cared how she appeared to others, a quality I admired but somehow never managed to completely acquire. I invited her in and asked if she'd like a drink before I explained the situation. She agreed to a glass of white wine, which I promptly fetched for her and myself. I settled near her on a parlor chair and told of the visit by Louis's aunt and his mother.

"I suppose she was his mother," she mused, taking out a small notebook from her bag.

"Oh, I think so, considering they asked first to see him. They couldn't have known he was inside the Shepherd house. I believe this was intended to show some familial concern after months of neglect."

"Yes, that's the fly in their ointment, actually. It's hard to show devotion when one hasn't any contact for months. As far as you know she hadn't gotten in touch with Louis?"

"I asked him once when he last heard from his mother and he said she'd been home, at his grandmother's, that is, for Christmas. His real attachment is with his grandmother, who has raised him."

Rita wrote into her notebook and then asked, "Did the mother do any of the talking? Or was it just her sister-in-law?"

"The mother was the one to mention the lawyer, a Mr. Jenks, but I think, and I may be wrong, but I think this whole plot to extort money from me has been hatched by Louis's aunt, Ms. Johnson. The mother was quiet for the most part and even complimentary about Louis's quarters downstairs. The aunt wasn't pleased about that. Louis's mother's been taking the easy way out and I expect she knows it. I doubt if it ever occurred to her that she might have a chance of getting rewarded for being an absentee mother."

"Yes, this looks like a situation where they want money rather than the boy. But from what I understand, it would be a snap to have Louis made a ward of the court because of neglect. Then he could be fostered and eventually adopted. I don't think this family can show cause for kidnaping, for one thing, not with the grandmother giving approval. Even tacit approval would be recognized by the court as legal. She made no attempt to retrieve Louis from your care, for example. The mother has been gone too long with no good reason to abandon her child to claim rights. Of course, the father, being in prison is ineligible for custody. So, I think, Tessa, we should proceed with changing Louis's status. We'll confer with Louis and his grandmother and go forward on this."

"What about Mr. Jenks?"

"Oh, I know all about Jenks. He'll soon see there's nothing in it for him and turn the ladies down. I'll handle that." She stood up and smiled at me. "I can't promise anything for sure, but I think the odds are that this should work out for Louis just fine."

"I should tell you that the priest at the neighborhood Catholic church has a couple who have expressed an interest in him. They came here to meet Louis last week."

She looked startled for a moment and a small frown appeared. "Who are these people?"

I tried to explain their interest in Louis and who they might be, but having heard no more from Father Sarratt about the couple, I had little information to give her. "I guess they're a childless couple, who heard about Louis's plight and living conditions and want to rescue him."

"What did you think of them?"

I shook my head doubtfully. "Not much, to be honest. I formed an impression that they were of the do-gooder variety and made their offer too quickly. They may have the best of intentions, but somehow it didn't seem right for Louis."

"Well, we'll keep that situation in our sights just in case, but for now, let's concentrate on rescuing Louis from the clutches of hisaunt, who seems to be the ringleader and an unsavory character."

After she left I got a phone call from Paige upstairs, inviting me to share a chicken dish she was trying out and had more than enough to eat herself. "I'd love to have the company, Tessa," she said.

The diversion sounded good to me, too. I'd like a chance to hear more about her friend in California, whom I suspected she was dying to tell me about.

Paige's apartment was beautifully furnished with the kind of taste I should like to emulate someday when I had an opportunity to sell off my aunt's things. It was what was commonly called eclectic in various shades of sunny gold, accented by the reds of oriental rugs here and there. She had a mix of oriental art objects and English porcelains, notably a collection of Wedgwood Jasperware on a hanging shelf. Books were absent, though, which made it seem a little too cold for me; I needed the company of old friends in paper to surround me. Still, I liked the basics of her apartment and complimented her on it.

We had such an agreeable time with the good food and conversation, including a discussion of what makes for an ideal companion for life.

"I think too much ambition in a man has made many a woman unhappy," Paige claimed. "My own father fit that pattern and spent all his working life completely absorbed in his job. Mother, admittedly, was not a career woman herself, so she suffered badly from neglect."

"Yet, we don't want a wastrel, either–maybe a happy medium." I was reflecting on the demands of a cop and had to wonder if I would be up to the mark of being a policeman's wife if things should progress with Max. Then I remembered he'd said something about possibly changing careers to that of a more mundane civil defense attorney, and I wondered some more but only said, "I think I really need someone who is loyal and considerate. I'm too insecure to put up with a man who falls all over other women, even if he doesn't actively pursue them."

Paige gave a bitter laugh. "It has nothing to do with insecurity, Tessa. But I don't know how we ever know about someone's fidelity until we live with them. I thought my husband was mine alone until I found evidence after his death he had another woman in his life." Then she took a deep breath. "But I'm not completely jaded about men, even with that experience. I'm feeling good about David, and looking forward to his trip here. If all goes well between us then, he's suggested he would be receptive to getting a transfer to a bank in Nashville."

I sincerely wished her well, knowing how deeply she'd been hurt; then checking my watch, I found it was half past nine. "I must go. Don't want to overstay my welcome." Before I left, I gave her a hug. "I'm so glad things seem to be working out for you romantically. David sounds just right, and after his visit here, I bet you'll know for sure if he's it or not."

She sighed. "I hope so, Tessa. And you, too, need a break in the men department. I've got my fingers crossed for your detective."

I laughed. "He's not mine yet. We'll see." But I left her with a lighthearted step, reassured by Rita's taking over my concerns about Louis and looking forward to hearing from Max in the coming week. With my new status as a special friend of Max Richter, I no longer was suffering from wistful feelings of envy for my roomer. Max had told me when we parted last week that he was on duty this weekend and couldn't see me, but I should expect to hear from him shortly. It gave me a warm feeling of anticipation to know someone cared about me enough to seek out my company and appear to admire me. Was there a future with Max? It was a little too soon to know, but the prospects looked good.

Chapter 24

Sunday morning while Louis and I were eating breakfast, I broached the subject of his mother and aunt. "You were at the Shepherds' playing with Will, and they weren't here long."

"That right?" he said, resting his spoon in the cereal bowl. "She comin' back here?"

I stood up and retrieved a couple of pieces of toast. "I really don't know. Your mother didn't say how long she would be in town. Perhaps you might give your grandmother a call this morning." I hesitated while buttering the toast and then said, "I want you to be fully aware of what's going on, Louis. Your mother and aunt are going to make trouble for both of us, and I'm afraid the motive is money, not your welfare. I'm sorry to have to say it, but I believe that's the case. Anyone who knows your former situation would be happy you're safe here now, even considering your unfortunate experience with Slinker."

"No, ma'am, I reckon that was not your fault. You be–you've been good to me, Miss Tessa, and I love it here. I've never known anyone like you and the others in the house, and the Shepherds across the street. Will's my best friend and he says I'm his, too. I hope, oh, I hope nothin' happens so's I can't go to his school this fall."

"Yes, I don't want anything to interfere with that either. I'm getting ready to send in the application. I'm even getting a recommendation from Father Sarratt. I think he was surprised we'd gone ahead to make arrangements for your schooling, but he agreed this would be a great opportunity for you." I didn't mention and Louis didn't ask about the couple that had been considering an adoption if such could have been worked out. Meeting them obviously hadn't figured prominently in his life.

Father Sarratt hadn't said a word either about the Grants when I'd called him earlier in the week to request a letter recommending the boy. He agreed to provide one, saying he'd have it for me in a couple of days. Then I took the bull by the horns and asked about the Grants. I already had a pretty good idea of how uninterested they'd been.

"You know, Tessa," the priest replied slowly, "I'm sorry I let that go forward so quickly. I didn't realize the Grants were looking for, number one, a younger boy, and number two, one whose background was closer to their own–at least that's what they told me afterwards."

"You mean they hadn't been told he was fourteen and from the projects?"

"Yes, of course, I told them, but they weren't listening. They only heard about the horrors of his incarceration with Slinker and absentee parents, I guess. Anything else they blanked out. That's my take on it, because they simply said they'd think it over. To be honest, I don't expect to hear any more from them about it. I'll give them the benefit of the doubt, though, and say they had charitable impulses, but Louis didn't quite fit into their plans. I'm really sorry about it. Did it upset the boy?"

"Not that I could tell. I think he dismissed the couple as some people from your church who were visiting me and wanted to meet him. We've not discussed it since and I don't think it bothered him at all."

Father Sarratt had seemed both embarrassed and relieved, so that matter was resolved as far as I was concerned.

The rest of Sunday passed without incident. Louis talked with his grandmother on the phone and afterward told me his mother had already gone back to Georgia to her job and boyfriend. I thought it passing strange, but didn't say so, that she'd made only one attempt to see her son before taking off. Of course, I might have mentioned her visit Saturday night to Louis. Guilt assailed me until I thought about her long overdue attention to her son. She was only four hours away, for God's sake. She would not get my sympathy, not until I knew the extent of her duplicity.

Late Sunday afternoon, I was in the kitchen re-organizing a particularly messy shelf when I heard Frank clattering down the outside stairs and subsequently knocking on my door. I let him in, commenting again on the change in his appearance from his haircut.

"It makes you look more mature, I think," I said, inviting him to take a seat at the table.

He tilted his head and examined me closely. "You've let your hair grow since we've met, and it makes you look younger. Very flattering the way the layers frame your face."

I laughed. "According to our new looks, we might be the same age."

"How old do you think I am?"

"I'm not sure," I said, speculating. He'd graduated from college only two years ago, he'd once mentioned. "Twenty-four, twenty-five?"

"I'm twenty-eight. I guess you didn't know I followed my university education at Yale with a two-year course at a technical school to get qualified in computer language and other needed computer skills. Then I went back to UT and got my Master's in English. Slow going, but it served my purpose."

"I didn't know." Yale! Looking at Frank, a healthy and handsome specimen of manhood, I realized that if it hadn't been for Max Richter, I might have hitched my star to Frank's wagon. And how disastrous that would have been for me, I temporized to myself. I, who needed stability, would have been linked with a fellow whose life was bound to be feast or famine. He was in the creative field, and it would take a woman with a very different temperament from my own to tag along as Frank's partner without any complaints or being afflicted with a bad case of nerves. But somehow, I thought Frank would understand my reservations without my saying it aloud, and that we could remain friends, still interested in each other's welfare. Or so I thought.

I invited him to stay for a light supper of scrambled eggs, fresh asparagus, and sliced peaches that I was planning for Louis and myself, but he declined, saying he was meeting a friend. I wanted to tease him a little, wondering if the friend was female, but I decided it had not been quite long enough from the time of our date and that kiss for me to act like a maiden aunt, particularly since I now knew we were the same age.

By that evening, I'd made arrangements with Louis and his grandmother to go to Rita's office on the following Wednesday afternoon to discuss Louis's legal situation. I asked Hal at work Monday about getting time off, which I presumed would be fine, Wednesday being the day the paper was sent to the printer. He agreed, not even asking why, but in the interests of fair play, I told him my concerns about Louis, the threatening mother and aunt, and getting help from the family law expert.

"Got yourself in a mess, haven't you," he said in his usual laconic fashion.

I felt my cheeks get hot. Yes, I was defensive, knowing I had little to defend. "I guess I should have known people of that ilk might try some funny business. But Rita seems pretty assured I won't get into too much trouble. Oh, I might have to go to court, but my situation is so above-board, I shouldn't be that worried." I wasn't as confident as I sounded and Hal seemed to know it.

"I guess I'm one of those people who don't ever take much for granted when it comes to getting involved. I'd rather keep my nose clean, if you know what I mean. It simplifies life, I've found."

I nodded. "Yes, it does. And life can become pallid and uninteresting, too, when one keeps oneself to oneself, don't you think?"

"But safer, Tessa. My mantra is 'people are no damn good' and then when I find nice ones I'm pleasantly surprised. You should try it," he sent over his shoulder as he left the room for his office.

I had to wonder about his words as the day wore on. I was busy, but unpleasant thoughts intruded like a black fog hovering around me. What was just out of sight? I tried not to imagine the worst, but I couldn't seem to help it.

And maybe what actually happened wasn't the worst thing, but to me, inexperienced in legal matters, it seemed that way, for the very next day shortly after getting home from work, I was served papers informing me of an action directed against me. I answered the door to a man in uniform bearing documents which I had to sign for. With a shaking hand, I complied and absurdly responded, "You're welcome" to his thanks.

Hardly able to concentrate my mind enough to read the citation, I fumbled around until I found Rita's office number and luckily got hold of her before she'd left for home. With her voice calm and her words reassuring, she asked me to read aloud the accusations against me. Among the legalese I found "false imprisonment" and "negligence–with breach of fiduciary responsibility." The suit was brought by Louis's mother, I did notice, recognizing the name Aretha Terrell as hers.

"Those complaints sound worse than they really are in your case," Rita said. "We'll talk more about that later. The first thing I want to do is get hold of Robert's friend and confer regarding the charges. However, this lawsuit is right down my alley, Tessa. I've given much thought to changing Louis's status, making him a ward of the court, which looks favorable, and furthermore, I believe I can handle this lawsuit for you and win. But it's up to you to decide who you want to represent you. Maybe you'd rather a mediator sit down with the mother and her lawyer and try to come to some sort of settlement."

"No negotiations, Rita. I'm not paying her a penny or turning Louis over without a fight. I want to take it to court, but you know my circumstances–an adequate but meager income. Will it be long and drawn out, do you think?"

Rita chuckled. "I expect it will be wrapped up in a day–to your benefit . Don't worry about the fee. I have my reasons for wanting to do this."

I suspected I was the recipient of her generosity mainly because of her friendship with Robert Shepherd, and I could only thank her and my lucky stars. We made arrangements for me to see her the next day in her office accompanied by Louis and his grandmother, as we'd originally planned, to decide on the procedure for looking after Louis's welfare, but we couldn't discuss this new lawsuit among ourselves or even informally in her office, she said. She now wanted to depose all of us tomorrow.

"Also, we'll need to submit an answer to the complaint by appearing in court on the stated date, so we'll get organized on that, too."

"Sounds like a busy afternoon for you." Despite her matter-of-fact attitude, I still felt anxious and would continue to be so, I was sure, until all this was over and done with.

I was comforted that evening by a call from Max, who apologized again for his lack of attention for over a week. "It's like that in this work, Tessa. I haven't had much sleep and am only now getting caught up on personal matters." He laughed. "Some of the officers say we're married to the force and that's not much of an exaggeration. How's it been with you?"

When I filled him in on my own problem, he was indignant. "What nonsense! Children's services were happy to let Louis remain here at his grandmother's request and–well, I put in a good word with them myself. These complaints are spurious, to say the least. Rita will need to get Dolores from Child Services to testify since she's the one that interviewed Louis at the hospital. I'd be glad to speak to the court but since we now have a personal relationship, it probably wouldn't do much good. It might even hurt your case. But I have to agree that any judge and jury will see Louis's welfare has improved considerably by your taking an interest in him. How are the plans to get him in the new school coming along?"

"I'll be sending off the application for admission with a request for a full scholarship this week when I get his old school's transcript from his grandmother. Robert Shepherd says they'll be quick to respond–it's not a large school, but it is well funded and should be amenable to accepting Louis. Armed with that success the lawsuit will surely be seen as nothing but a ploy to get money from me. They're seeking damages for ridiculous claims."

Max murmured his disgust and then said, "Let's get together on Saturday. Barring a triple murder, I've got the weekend off!"

We both laughed, but our laughter had a rueful ring to it since I, too, knew how demanding his job really was. "Come for dinner, why don't you?" I said.

"I've got a better idea where you won't have to lift a finger," he offered. "As a matter of fact, I'd like us to spend the day together. Would you like that? It would mean a little driving, but I think it might be a nice diversion for both of us."

"That sounds intriguing. Let me check with Robert Shepherd and see if he can take Louis for the day. I hate to have him at loose ends with those awful people on his trail. I'll call you right back."

When I got hold of my neighbor, he didn't miss a beat but said, "I was going to call you anyway and ask if Louis could go with Rita, Will, and me to the Nashville Flea Market on Saturday. I always like to see if I can find some things to fit in with my Arts and Crafts house, and Will collects old toys–nothing expensive. Does Louis have any money to spend?"

"As far as I know he's got a bundle. I pay him weekly, and he's not had much occasion to spend it for anything. I'm sure he'd love to go with you and it would make me feel better to know he's not here by himself. I can't trust that aunt of his not to come around intimidate him when I'm out of pocket."

Robert said they'd be busy for most of the day and just to let him spend the night, too, which I also agreed to with gratitude in my heart. How fortunate to have such an accommodating neighbor that had been so very helpful in these uncertain circumstances.

So with Louis taken care of I called Max and told him I was game for a day of surprises. He advised me to dress casually and be ready to leave Saturday morning at 8:30 sharp.

Chapter 25

Wednesday afternoon, I went by the house to pick up Louis, who was dressed in his Sunday best and still a little damp from a shower. We went on to the projects to get his grandmother, who was waiting at her door and came out promptly to the car. We made polite conversation but nothing much was said about the lawsuit until Mrs. Gleaves blurted out, "Miss Tessa, I feel so bad about my daughter doin' this to you when you be so good to my boy. I don' want to give her anything. What goin' on in her mind, I say to myself?"

"I think she was put up to it by Louis's aunt," I replied calmly. This had to be sad if not embarrassing for her, having an opportunist for a daughter, who seemed to care little for her child's welfare, and only when she saw something in it for her did she protest his circumstances.

Rita's office was no surprise, being well organized with private offices for herself and her partner, and a small office staff consisting of a paralegal and a secretary. Rita made us welcome in the reception area and then called Louis into her office where a court reporter would be transcribing our depositions. While we sat waiting in the outer office, his grandmother and I talked a little in low voices, not wanting to disturb the busy workers. I asked about Louis's early years and found that she'd kept him from the time he was a baby, his mother having to work and his father absent most of the time.

Within twenty minutes, Louis emerged and his grandmother was called into the office. When she came out and took her seat, Rita signaled for me to come in where I took questions regarding my "rescue" of Louis after the garage sale, his injuries, my contacting his grandmother and getting permission to keep him overnight. From then, I told of his life in my house, his work, his pay, and amusements. I spoke about my interest in and pursuit of getting him into a boarding school. We seemed to cover every aspect of the boy's life since living with me. Then we had to get into the subject of Slinker. I expressed my complete surprise at his deviancy. Never had I heard a word about any activity emanating from that house, either from my roomers, near neighbors, or from the neighborhood association. In other words, there was no indication he presented a danger to anyone. Rita asked me to describe my confrontation with Louis's aunt and mother and I related as accurately as possible the two encounters with the aunt and the one with his mother when I was given to understand there would be repercussions of keeping Louis in my house.

After a few more questions Rita ended the interview and dismissed the court reporter. Rita shook my hand as I, too, rose to leave. "You've been very helpful," she said, "and this information you've given is really remarkable. I can't believe any judge or jury would think ill of you and what you've given the boy. I wanted to tell you that I'll be making application to the court to accept Louis as a ward so he can be fostered to you legally. His grandmother has agreed, of course, and I really think with her age and health and the absentee mother and father situation, it should go through promptly. I've already talked with the person from Children's Services who interviewed him in the hospital after his abduction and she's fine with his change in status."

That seemed to wrap up our business for the day, and we hurried out the door, glad to be shed of these procedures. Though I felt everything went well, it must have affected me more than I'd realized, for when I went to put in the ignition key to start the car, I found my hand was shaking.

Louis was sitting beside me, his grandmother requesting to sit in the back so she could stretch out an arthritic knee, and he noticed my struggle to place the key in the slot. "Want help, Miss Tessa?" He reached over and taking it from me plugged it in and gave it a turn. We both laughed as in relief from tension when the motor turned over with a roar. Thank God one kind of trial was over.

I had been looking forward to Saturday as a welcome break and was up and dressed, ready to go by 8:00 A. M. In fact, Max was a little early himself, coming to my door at 8:10.

"Do I need to bring anything?" I asked, thinking of a rug, thermos, or other necessities for maybe a picnic. I couldn't imagine what he had in mind for the day.

"Not a thing." He scrutinized me and nodded. "You look great and very comfortably dressed for a long, informal day."

I looked down at my denim capris and leather sandals. I hoped, like quite a few men I knew, he hadn't underestimated the formality of the outing. He, himself, was in very becoming jeans and a short-sleeved polo shirt.

"You might want to change your shoes," he suggested after a slight pause, "to a pair more suited to walking, though."

I raised my eyebrows, but went back to my room and found a pair of canvas sneakers to wear. What in the world was in the offing?

Driving out of town, now eastward on the Interstate, I described our visit to the lawyer's office. Max was in agreement with Rita and seemed to think we could beat the lawsuit, too. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer and said, "Now will you tell me where we're going?"

He laughed, and reaching over toward me, took my hand in his and squeezed. "It was a little mean of me to keep you in suspense. Actually, it may not be that big a deal for you, but I'm taking you to my sister and her husband's summer place in a little town called Rugby on the Cumberland Plateau. Ever heard of it?"

"I have, but I've never been there. How exciting! I know it's a restoration community, but that's about all. How far is it?"

"It takes a little more than two hours from Nashville. We're invited for lunch at Jane's, but there's quite a bit to take in. If we don't get bored and leave early, we can grab a bite to eat tonight at the café, which is a reproduction of the historic one and supposed to have good food."

"What fun, and what a great idea!" I really was excited. It was wonderful to have this kind of diversion from my troubles and with an interesting man, who seemed to have my welfare in mind as well. As we drove along the highway, Max filled me in on his connection with the little settlement. Apparently, Max's sister's husband was a descendent of one of the original settlers to the colony in the 1880s. I knew the place had become defunct as a going concern fairly soon after its founding by Thomas Hughes, the author of Tom Brown's Schooldays and the headmaster of Rugby, the English boy's school. But I didn't know exactly why it had failed. Now Max amplified my knowledge with a little more background information, saying the place, which had begun with such high hopes, primarily for the younger sons of landed gentry in England, had early on established a literary society, a still intact library, lawn tennis, and many other civilized activities. But ultimately it had not prospered as a utopian community.

Mostly, they had hard luck, with a fever epidemic and severe winters, but some speculate their knowledge of land use was also faulty. Within twenty years of its founding, it had become a virtual ghost town. But some few had held on to their properties rather than move away, and others outside the community began to buy the Victorian-style homes to renovate. Now, it had become a thriving tourist attraction with new restricted housing development for those wanting either a part time or a full time rural retreat.

Max's sister was a tall woman a little older than Max also with warm brown eyes, who welcomed her brother with a hug, giving me one as well after the introduction. Her husband had not yet returned from a trip to the local grocery store, but within thirty minutes of our arrival he'd come in while we had just begun to sip some delicious coffee and sample a sweet roll.

"I love your house," I said, looking around the neat living room, furnished authentically and looking very familiar to me, the house being of the same vintage as several of my neighbors..

"Tessa lives in a community of primarily Victorian homes herself," Max offered, and for the next half hour we discussed restoring old homes and in particular this little community.

After a while, Max and I took a little walk around town, returning in time for me to help Jane set the table for lunch. She'd fixed a shrimp and crab salad on lettuce with crusty bread and apple strudel for dessert.

"Now," Max said, "I think we could use a more strenuous walk. Where would you suggest?" he queried his brother-in-law who thought a walk in the woods would be pleasant as well as energetic.

We decided first to go on a walk in the woods behind the old church, a winding way that took the better part of two hours, ending up at the Gentleman's Swimming Hole. There, we found ourselves alone for a few minutes, other gawkers having just departed. We stood companionably close and then Max took me in his arms and gave me a kiss to remember. It took my breath away, literally, and I was momentarily speechless.

He released me and gave a chuckle. "Sorry, Tessa, you looked so–well, fetching, as the old residents of Rugby might say, when you stood gazing into the pool, I lost my head."

I smiled at him and said softly, "That's perfectly all right."

"Let's go back in another direction, shall we?" He took my hand and pulled me along the upward path.

After cocktails at the house, the four of us went on to the café for an early supper. We dropped off Jane and Phil at their house and said our goodbyes.

"You'll have to come back for a visit in September for the Pilgrimage, the house tour," Jane said. "There really are some fantastic renovations."

As we drove along, our visit seemed like a dream, an adventure in the Town That Time Forgot. And then there was that kiss at the pool. Following that, Max had been the soul of propriety the rest of the day, affectionate but almost brotherly. Once back in Nashville and at my door, he planted on me the same light kiss that had marked our first date. I had to remember, even though we'd seen each other many times on official or semi-official business, this was really only our second real date, so I thought it prudent that I keep my cool. But I wondered about the passionate embrace he'd given me at the edge of the silent waters.

It had been a lovely day with a man who was beginning take shape in my thoughts. Was Max Richter the one man who could break down the barrier to my heart that had existed since Stephen? For one thing, I recognized the fact that our association was marked by a lack of pretense, without games playing or even awkward moments. I reluctantly had to admit to myself that while Stephen and I were engaged, we always seemed to be having to apologize for hurts or misunderstandings, mainly what I had done to upset him.

Finally, several years after the breakup, I'd figured out that Stephen hadn't really loved me unconditionally, maybe couldn't love anyone selflessly. He was always too ready to take offense, too absorbed in his own feelings for us ever to be really comfortable with one another. How different was Max in his attitude toward me and his response to my concerns. Was this enough? Was he really the one? We seemed to be moving effortlessly toward a deeper relationship, and I had to decide if I was being honest with myself and Max in encouraging it. Or was I simply grateful for and flattered by the attention he was giving me?

Then all at once I seemed to be swimming in a sea of legalese. First, Rita and I had to appear in Chancery Court with our answer to the charges against me. I took another afternoon off and went again to Rita's office. From there, we left in Rita's car for the courthouse. This was my first venture into the Halls of Justice. The old images of cigar-smoking political hacks hanging about was abolished in favor of dark suited men and women striding purposely along the wide corridors. Footfalls echoed and with the soft hum of voices the place seemed to be alive. A gust of laughter came somewhat inappropriately from an open doorway as we passed by.

We had to wait about forty-five minutes before my case came up, but Rita handled everything, which remained forever in my mind a blur of unfamiliar terminology. Would the trial itself have that effect or would it be broken down into regular understandable speech? No use asking a lawyer that question; I would have to wait and find out.

So far, I hadn't heard or seen Louis's aunt, and his grandmother told me she, too, had been left alone. Rita would be calling her to testify, of course, when the case came to court, but for now, we could only all wait to see when it would be put on the docket. I must say, I dreaded the whole thing. I knew in my heart of hearts from the start it was a nuisance suit, and Rita agreed with me.

"They haven't got a case, you know," she said after we left the courtroom. "I think they really were hoping you'd come up with some bucks to keep Louis with you and to keep from going to court."

"I haven't got any real money to give them," I said. "Just because I own a big house with renters, I suppose they classified me as a rich landlady." I laughed at the absurdity of it all. "If it hadn't been for the tornado, I would have had to come up with the money, which I don't have, to put a new roof on the place. Thanks to my insurance, I got that taken care of. Now, I need to be saving what income I have for other needed repairs. Louis' help has actually been invaluable. It's hard to find a yard worker for those incidental but very needed tasks." I gave her a worried look as a thought occurred to me. "You don't think I'll be accused of exploiting him?"

"Heaven's no! You're giving him much more than he's able to give you. I've come up with some figures that will show his board and room and wages far outweigh what he could be earning doing odd jobs in the neighborhood, or babysitting, for that matter. He doesn't have to work every hour of the day, only do certain tasks on a regular basis, he told me."

Driving back to her office, Rita surprised me with an invitation. "I guess you don't know that Robert and I are getting married a week from Saturday," she posed expectantly.

"No, I didn't know," I said, not totally surprised, "but congratulations and best wishes."

"The thing is, we've already sent out the invitations–it's not going to be a large affair–just a few close relatives and friends and some colleagues, of course. But Robert and I have talked about it, and we'd love for you and Louis to come to the wedding and reception if you can."

"How nice," I said, now rather surprised. "Give me the details and I'll check my calendar."

Unworthily, I immediately started to contemplate what kind of a gift I might give them, when Rita broke in, "Since this is the second marriage for both of us, we've requested 'no gifts'. We don't want presents, just your presence." We chuckled at the pun.

She told me the ceremony would be held at 10:00 on the grounds of our neighborhood mansion, Foxhill, which the resident owners, the Walkers, rented out for special events. The gardens there were lovely, according to Rita, with a small gazebo as a backdrop. They were hoping for a continued dry spell, the usual weather condition for middle Tennessee in August, but they also had a tent on standby just in case. The reception would be brunch at a downtown hotel. We left it that I'd let her or Robert know if we could attend.

Rita drove into the parking garage and turned into a nearby place for her car, and as we parted for me to go to my own car, instead of shaking hands, she gave me a hug.

"I know you're nervous about this suit, and it all seems strange to you, but my experience tells me all will be well. Leave it to me." And with her words of assurance ringing in my ears, I tried to forget the lawsuit for the time being.

Later that same week, I had to report with Louis to the Grand Jury on the Slinker matter. We were to meet the criminal lawyer, Thomas Banion, at the courthouse after I'd only spoken with him on the phone a few times. He insisted this hearing would not be difficult for us, and his only advice was to tell the truth as we were asked about our experience with Slinker, who would not be present when we were testifying. Mr. Banion would monitor the questions to make sure our own rights were not being violated or we would not be incriminating ourselves. Basically, he thought it was a foregone conclusion that the jury would return a True Bill against Slinker, who would be indicted on several counts of murder and for kidnaping and other related charges.

And he was correct that the prosecutor was heading in a certain direction, which by all accounts we helped him do when we delivered our testimony. All seemed to go smoothly, and as we parted from Mr. Banion, he assured us we'd have no need of him from now on, that Slinker would certainly be arraigned and the next phase would be as witnesses during the trial. He didn't know when that would take place, but not to worry; it would be a slam dunk for the prosecution. I thanked him for his service, which seemed rather small but perhaps necessary, and that was the last I ever saw of Thomas Banion. I'd hoped I might run into Max, who also had to give testimony about Louis's condition after the rescue, but he must have been scheduled at a different time. I knew this Grand Jury was meeting for several days on Slinker's case.

Throughout all this coming and going, Hal had been very patient and tolerant, but he must have been wondering if he'd made the right decision in hiring me those few months ago. At least my trips to court and the lawyer's office had been on slow days for me; unfortunately, those were the days Hal liked to leave the office to sell ads, so all he could do was lock the place up and put the phone on voice mail.

I couldn't even assure him that I'd be a model employee from now on, never missing a day's work. I seemed to have gotten involved in too many issues to be an entirely free agent. As if to prove the point to myself, a few days after the Grand Jury appearance, I found a letter from the boarding school in my mailbox. I eagerly tore it open and read where the committee was requesting a personal interview with Louis. They'd set a date for a week hence, which was only a couple of weeks before the start of school. This was cutting it very close, I knew, but we'd gotten a late start. But as Robert had mentioned, it was a relatively small school, which could move quickly when necessary in making decisions.

That evening at dinner, I told Louis about the interview. "Are you nervous about meeting with the school officials?" I asked, for he sat with a little frown on his face after I gave him the news in my brightest voice.

"No, ma'am, not really nervous, but I wonder if they'll like me."

"You're uncertain about fitting in?"

He nodded eagerly. "That's it. I never had the kind of life most of those kids have, you know? If they take me, how's that gonna work?'

"You and Will got along right from the start, didn't you?"

"We did, yes'm. Right from the start. But not everyone's like Will. They be–there'll be white boys, girls too, you say, and I never was around them much."

I agreed with him that it would be a change, but in a school with a more enlightened attitude the students were encouraged to be fair and accepting. Truth be told, I could only assume that about the school, considering how impressed Robert Shepherd was with it. "What about your sports activities? What do you think you'd like to do–if you get accepted?" I had to continue to be cautious, but Robert Shepherd's enthusiasm had encouraged me to be hopeful.

His face lit up with his reflections. "I played recess soccer and was pretty fast, you know? And then we had baseball games in the vacant lot just for fun, which I liked, and we always shot baskets around my house, but I'm kinda short for basketball."

"I've heard that sports are a good introduction for any new student, so you should keep that in mind. Otherwise," I said in a reassuring voice, "let's not worry about something you can't help at the moment." My calm went no farther than the tone of my voice, but for his sake I had to maintain it until the votes were in. I had looked over his transcript that Louis's grandmother had procured and found his grades to be high average, mainly Bs with a sprinkling of As and a C in math. That was good. Also, I couldn't help but think anyone would be impressed with his demeanor and, if they had any sensitivity at all, his character, which shone from his face like a beacon. That was my hope, but this venture was a long shot, I knew, and I couldn't be more confident to Louis without perhaps giving him false hopes.

The next day, I got a call from a woman named Dolores Conners, representing Children's Services, whom Max had mentioned as being the social worker connected with Louis's case. She asked to see me on Thursday afternoon to discuss Louis's situation. I requested she come to the office. I simply couldn't get another hour off from my job, and I knew Hal would be out on his rounds. My tasks were easily handled by mid-afternoon, after which I should be free to talk to the social worker with only a phone call or two to interrupt us.

She was a pleasant woman in her late thirties, who seemed to know a lot about me and my interest in Louis. I guess she'd been talking to others connected with Louis before seeing me and coming to a judgment about his custody.

"You know about the lawsuit filed against me?" I asked.

"Oh, yes. I gather from Louis's grandmother it's a spurious suit, and your lawyer says it will go nowhere. I'm more concerned about your status as a single person. Can you afford the time to look after the boy?"

"Well, we've done pretty well so far. The horrible episode with the criminal next door happened because Louis had stayed too late at the church and been lured into the man's house after dark. I think we all know better now. But I have help, you know, with virtually all my renters. They have him for dinner when I'm busy," I was thinking of Frank's and Mimi's invitations, "and generally keep an eye on him if I need the help. It works very well. Then there's my neighbor, Robert Shepherd, who has taken a real interest in the boy."

I described the developing relationship of the Shepherds and Louis to Ms. Conners's nodding and scribbling in her notebook. Finally, she rose and thanking me with a last approving, I thought, smile, she left to go to the house and interview Louis. I'd prepared him for such and suggested he talk to her in the living room.

For the next hour, I stewed over Louis being alone with and at the mercy of Officialdom. Finally, four o'clock came, my usual hour for departing, and I hurried home. It had been an hour and a half since Ms. Conners had left me, but her car was still there, though no one was in sight when I entered. I heard voices, however, from Louis's domain, and eventually, she emerged along with Louis, who seemed to be showing her out through the side door.

"How'd it go?" I asked him.

"Fine." He smiled broadly. "I gave her the Louis treatment. I was real cool. No more living in the projects for me, I told her. I like it here!"

I felt faint alarm. "You were respectful, weren't you, Louis?" I wasn't sure what exactly he meant by "real cool."

"Oh, yes, Miss Tessa, I was very respectful. I tried to show her how happy I am here and how much better my life is with you." He smiled broadly. "I was cool."

Well, that might have done the trick, I thought, for after a nail-biting week, Rita called me with the glad news that Louis had been placed in my care officially as a foster child. But his grandmother, as primary care giver, had been the real clincher, Rita said, asking for my supervision, rather than her own or any other family member. Max Richter has put in a good word, as he'd promised, and according to Rita, my involvement in Louis's life had been seen as a benefit.

I felt quite humbled by the news and a little overwhelmed, now that it was official. I couldn't quite decide if this was what I really wanted, all the responsibility, but I tried to tamp down feelings of inadequacy. So far, we'd done all right for ourselves, Louis and I, so I mustn't borrow trouble. Besides, this guardianship was temporary. Who knew what was in the offing for Louis?

Chapter 26

Monday afternoon, I went reluctantly into Hal's office with my request to be off on Wednesday to take Louis to his school interview. Hal raised one eyebrow and asked me when I might expect these demands on my time to be over.

"I really can't say," I answered truthfully. I guess I could have tried to snow him with assurances that once the boy was accepted, which I wasn't sure about, I'd be a free agent again. Still looming was the lawsuit against me as well as my appearance as a witness at Slinker's trial to name just a couple of things that would interfere with my job.

"If you weren't such a good assistant," Hal replied, "I'd give you your walking papers, but I know eventually, these various matters will be settled." He gave a rueful chuckle. "And to think my impression of you as single gal with an uncomplicated life was so misbegotten!"

I smiled back at him sheepishly. "I know. I know. Believe me, you've been wonderful. I couldn't have managed with a stickler for a boss."

My phone rang at that moment and I thankfully went to answer it, relieved to have the conversation end.

It was Rita. "Tessa, I've gotten an idea that I'd like to run by you," she said, with a hint of excitement in her normally cool voice.

"I'd like your permission," she went on, "to talk to Jenks, Ms. Terrell's lawyer, just informally, you understand. I know you said no negotiations, but what if we suggested to the plaintiff that we are ready to bring a countersuit, accusing Louis's mother of desertion, neglect, and a few other choice charges I can come up with."

"Would that be wise?" I asked, incredulous.

"After getting the county to put Louis in your custody, it seems obvious. Of course, we'd need to get Louis's grandmother involved, too. I don't know if she'd be willing to sue her own daughter. Not that I think this suit would ever go to court."

"Oh," I said, comprehending, "then this is our own ploy to get them to drop the suit against me?"

"Absolutely! And I think it has legs, even with a greedy, possibly desperate lawyer. So with your permission, let's try it, OK? I know we take something of a chance in that we could be looking at prosecuting as well as defending, but I really think they will agree to our contention that nothing is to be gained by everyone suing everyone, now that Louis is a ward of the court."

I told Rita to go forward on this. Although I didn't want to feel premature relief, I couldn't help but be buoyed up by her enthusiasm. It seemed marvelous to me that she was so concentrated on this case with her wedding to take place in a matter of days. She'd warned me not to expect an instantaneous decision from the opposition, however. Still, she planned to give an ultimatum that needed a response within, say, a week.

"Next week?" I asked. "Won't you be on your honeymoon?"

She laughed. "Yes, we're going to an island to relax, but my assistant will take a message and give me a call. Then we'll talk after I return, which will be the following Saturday."

"I'll look forward to that day," I said fervently.

"Oh, by the way," she added, "please feel free to have a friend accompany you to the wedding if you'd like, someone besides Louis, I mean."

I hesitated just a short moment, thinking of Max, but it might seem a little too obvious to ask him to a wedding, particularly since I wasn't quite sure about our relationship long term.

I thanked her but said it would be just Louis and I attending the wedding; after that we'd anxiously await news about the countersuit with hope in our hearts.

Wednesday morning I didn't have to wake Louis. He was up and taking a shower before I made my morning coffee. Our appointment was for ten-thirty, but the drive would take at least forty-five minutes. Louis's grandmother had declined the invitation to go along, saying she'd rather I handled it. I took a folder containing papers of my official position as Louis's foster parent, hoping no discussion of the lawsuit would come up.

"I'm not telling you to lie about it," I said to him on the drive, "but we're not going to bring it to their attention. For one thing, nothing may come of it." I explained about Rita's proposal to lawyer Jenks and our hope that all this lawsuit business would fade into oblivion.

"I bet my aunt gave Mama the idea to sue you," Louis said, considering. "She–she's the one always after money, Miss Tessa. My mom's kinda weak but at least she's got a job that's honest, my granny says. Now she's tied up with the wrong man again." The boy sighed. "Guess she don't know how to escape."

"Doesn't know," I corrected automatically and then said questioningly, "Escape?" I thought I knew what he meant, but it seemed a dramatic way to express it.

"We all of us just go along, you know? If I hadn't run into you, I'd still be trying to be part of the gang. I didn't like 'em, but what else could I do to get along?"

"I know, I know," I murmured. We were silent for a while, Louis looking at the scenery.

"Never been in this direction before," he said. "When I went to the lake with Mr. Shepherd, that was the first time I'd been out of Nashville."

"Lots of new experiences, yes." How I hoped and prayed this school thing would work out.

The meeting took place in a small room in the administration building. While Louis waited in an anteroom, I faced five men, one of whom was the headmaster, and two women–the Executive Committee for Admissions. It was explained to me that this interview was conducted to appraise Louis's status as an entering freshman, that any consideration for grants or scholarships couldn't be considered until the following term if Louis was accepted as a student. In other words, to my dismay but not my surprise, we were considerably too late for any money to be distributed.

"I'm his legal guardian, you see, but it's only for Louis's protection, to keep him from having to go back to live in the projects. Of course, I'm very willing to be his guardian until he's of age." I explained about my first meeting with the boy, his attempt to escape his persecutors, even while he was trying to appease them. They listened sympathetically, I thought, asking me questions about his work habits, his character as I've come to know him, and even his leisure activities. To a person, however, they were non-committal, which was reasonable, I supposed. After all, they were still in the process of learning about Louis and his circumstances.

"Has he made any new friends?" a teacher asked. I hadn't caught many of their names.

"He's been with me only three months, so really, he's associated mainly with us adults in my house, all of whom are quite fond of him. But most important to Louis, I expect, is his friendship with Will Shepherd, one of your students, and his father, who are my neighbors. It's that acquaintanceship that inspired us to apply here for Louis's schooling. Mr. Shepherd and I believe he's an intelligent boy, needing a better chance in life to succeed, and we both believe this school could set him on the right path." I ended with almost a plea to give him every consideration, that he was a quick learner and would be a credit to the school, I was sure. I didn't mention again nor did I allow myself to think about the money needed for this first term. Again, like Scarlett, I'd think about that when I had to.

I sent Louis in for his interview with a pat on his shoulder and an admonition to speak slowly, for he had a tendency to rush through his thoughts, and also to be truthful about his background and his aspirations.

"Don't be afraid to tell them how you feel about going back to your former school and what might happen to you once you're back in that environment."

He smiled at me, and said, "Don't worry, Miss Tessa, I have belief in this." Tears welled up in my eyes at the hope and determination in his face as he turned to confront his interlocutors. Would it work out? I really had no idea. These things weren't magic, I knew. Schools had to operate for their own welfare as well as for that of their students, and I couldn't expect them to take on with no reservations a virtually homeless boy with no prospects except my and Robert Shepherd's recommendations. And Father Sarratt's, and maybe Rita's, although she hadn't mentioned sending a letter on his behalf. Would those efforts from us who knew him, and his quite good grades, as well as his winning personality be enough to get him in the door? If so, I had enough money in the bank for a down payment on his tuition and room and board. I'd already checked about partial payments, and I was willing to start him off. But I also knew I could never raise enough money in three months for additional funding.

I sank farther into the padded chair, waiting for Louis to emerge from what could be a horrible ordeal. Did they spend as much time with all their applicants? Surely not. Finally, he came out with the headmaster, whose arm was around Louis's shoulder. He'd been in there almost an hour.

"Thank you, Ms. Claiborne, for bringing Louis. We'll be getting back to you about his admission to the school." He extended a hand for me to shake, and I was irrationally encouraged by the firmness of his grasp and the lengthy contact.

He said to both of us, "You might like to go with Janna, here, one of our students, who can show Louis around the campus."

Again, I felt a leap of hope, yet I knew this was probably standard procedure which had nothing to do with Louis's chances. The little tour was most instructive for Louis, who seemed to be amazed at every turn, every building and the sense of order and cleanliness, his whispered comments to me indicating his excitement.

Back in the car, he was subdued as we drove onto the highway until I asked him how the interview went. "Fine," he answered, and then he burst out with a stream of quotes from the interview–who asked what, how did he reply, who said this or that, how nice they were, and so forth until I held up my hand to slow him down.

"I'm glad you feel it went well, at least from your perspective. The headmaster said we'd be hearing from them in a few days, so we'll wait and see. Let's keep cool until we know for sure. It may be that we're too late for admission this fall, and you'll have to wait, even a semester. That's not so bad, either." I was trying to prepare myself for disappointment, too.

Robert and Rita's wedding day dawned almost perfect, with plenty of sun but low humidity and a breeze. Louis and I, along with about forty others, gathered in the garden of Foxhill, the wedding party stationed in the gazebo, we guests ringed around it. A backdrop of Italian cypress trees accented by colorful crepe myrtle bushes and masses of white and blue periwinkle provided all the necessary decor. I was glad I'd decided to wear a wide straw hat, onto which I'd tied a pale blue scarf that matched my voile dress. As onlookers, we stood directly in the sun, but the ceremony, conducted by Rita's pastor, was relatively short.

The bride looked lovely in a yellow suit dress with flowers in her hair, carrying a bouquet of yellow and pink roses. Will was standing up with his father, wearing a navy blue suit that seemed to impress Louis, who himself was wearing his best dress pants and a white short sleeved shirt and a new tie I'd bought him. A guitarist, wearing a Hawaiian shirt, had wandered around playing softly before the ceremony, then played and sang a rendition of "Amazing Grace" before we broke ranks.

After that, the newly married couple emerged from the gazebo and walked around greeting guests; we were instructed to head out for the hotel brunch, which I thought was in the nick of time with the hot sun now beating down on us. Altogether, it turned out to be a happy occasion that swept all those thoughts of lawsuits and pending decisions from my mind. The wedding seemed to be a harbinger of good things to come. At least that's how I wanted to think of it. The ceremony, even in its untraditional setting, had apparently spurred Louis's interest in the spiritual, and on Sunday morning he asked to be taken to the church we'd visited before. I agreed and even checked with Frank to see if he'd like to go along, but he was in the process of getting ready to leave to be with friends on nearby Old Hickory Lake for sailing and a picnic. After church, we stopped to pick up chicken for lunch, and after changing our clothes, we ate rather silently. So much seemed to be going on in Louis's life, I knew he had the same feeling I did that to speculate about it might somehow jinx it.

"What do you want to do today?" I asked him.

"Dunno," he answered with a shrug. "I've been doing a lot lately, it seems. I wish Will was home, but he had to go to his mom's today, he told me. I guess I'll read a little and watch TV. Is there anything I can do for you around the house?"

"No, you can have the day off," I answered with a smile.

We suddenly were interrupted by the door bell. I went to answer it, puzzled and a little nervous. It was that unexpected ring that introduced me to Louis's mother and the unhappy news that followed. But it was Max, beaming at me.

"Hello," I said, relieved and pleased as he greeted me with a friendly hug. I hadn't heard from him since the trip to Rugby other than his apology for being on duty the previous weekend. I didn't want to make too much of our short time together, and with so many other issues facing me, I'd been quite successful in rationalizing my interest in him. He had taken the obvious role of rescuer, hadn't he? "So you're free today?" I asked in a studiously casual tone.

"I am, and I was wondering if you and Louis would like to go to the street fair across town. It's near my neighborhood, and from my experience in previous years, it's a lot of fun. I think Louis would enjoy it."

We were walking back to the kitchen where Louis still sat at the table. I mentioned the fair to him, and his eyes lit up as he nodded his assent.

Max and I laughed. "I think that's an OK," I said.

"I should have called first," Max said, "but I only thought of it a little while ago and saw my chance, hoping you'd be home." He took my hand. "You know I'd like to spend a lot of time with you, Tessa. It's my job that holds me back. I hope you understand."

This was the nearest he'd come to assuring me of what? I didn't know, but I was willing to wait and find out. I smiled at him, "Yes, I understand." I turned to Louis. "Take these scraps of chicken and put them in the trash for me, if you please. I don't like them sitting in my kitchen. Then we can go."

"Yes, ma'am," Louis said, scrambling from his chair and making short work of our leavings.

I grabbed my purse and we all met outside in the drive where Max's car was parked. On the way over, I told Max about the school interview, the wedding, and the countersuit that we still hadn't heard about. "Probably, it will be a week, at least, until Rita gets back to me and lets us know how it was received. I'm keeping my fingers crossed. If the original suit against me is dropped, it will be the happiest outcome I can imagine."

Max agreed, and we talked a little about the proliferation of private lawsuits. "My interest in private practice law," he said, "would most likely take the form of civil defense litigator. I have a friend who has a rewarding practice representing insurance companies. He's urging me to take the litigation course and see how I like the work."

"So the criminal element has driven you away from defending them?"

He agreed. "I couldn't force myself to do that, but civil work might suit me very well. Nuisance suits are increasing in number and helping to quell them seems like a good idea and maybe a good way to make a living."

The fair was held in a blocked-off street adjacent to a small neighborhood park. Louis took off on his own with instructions to meet us after an hour and a half to decide what we wanted to do after that. I had no fear of his being confronted by the gang who had earlier intimidated him as we were miles from their home base. This was in a highly respectable neighborhood, Max's own, he told me. I'd not known before exactly where he lived.

"I grew up around here. My folks live not two blocks away, and my own condo is on out about a mile."

We strolled around looking at the amusements and crafts, but I wasn't really interested in buying anything for myself. I bought a jigsaw puzzle of a dragon for Louis, as well as a handwoven scarf I thought my mother might like for her birthday. Max won a stuffed animal at a shooting gallery, which we decided he might give to a his brother's little girl. Then it was time to meet Louis, and we mutually decided we'd had enough of the fair. This was the last day, too, and vendors would soon be closing up, Max said. Louis had found a necklace of colored glass beads he wanted to give his grandmother, and he shyly presented me with a pair of pounded silver earrings.

"How lovely!" I exclaimed, rather touched. "You should be saving your money and not spending it on me, but I'll be delighted to wear them." I knew it was important for him to give me something, so I accepted his offering with pleasure.

Back at the house, while Louis streaked off to start on his puzzle, I invited Max to come in and watch a movie on TV, but he got a phone call from the station that signaled the end of his weekend. "Duty calls," he shrugged. "A knifing by the bridge, homeless, no doubt." He squeezed my hand as he prepared to go, and bent to give me a friendly kiss.

Tuesday afternoon, I picked up my mail to see the thick envelope from the school. It didn't take long to get the message–Louis had been accepted! Somehow, I knew it would happen. Two separate sheets were enclosed, one with the various costs itemized and payment instructions, the other a list of supplies and uniform requirements. I took a deep breath and decided I'd get him in the door and then worry about the second half of the semester's tuition. Maybe Father Sarratt had some sort of a fund, or I might speak to the pastor of the church we'd been attending sporadically. Something was bound to come up. For now, I ran to the head of the stairs to tell Louis, but he wasn't there. I went to the side door and yelled for him, but there was no response. I suppose I should have been alerted to danger after the Slinker episode, but strangely, I wasn't. I thought he might have run to the little market a couple of blocks away to pick up a treat or a comic book or something.

But by five-thirty and no Louis I began to think I'd better scout around for him, figuring he probably couldn't wait to give his grandmother the beads. It was when I dialed her number that my heart began to pound and a cold feeling of fear came over me. He'd not gone into that neighborhood without me being on the alert and whisking him inside his grandmother's house. Could he have walked those few miles and been seen by gang members? Could he have been so careless and unthinking? I knew that it was a human response to let down one's guard and be lulled into a false sense of security when one's life seems calm and secure. Is that what had finally overtaken Louis.

His grandmother answered the phone promptly. "Yes, my boy was here," she assured me. "Gave me the most prettiest beads he got."

"And he left when?" I asked, heart in my throat.

"Oh, 'bout two hour ago."

I thanked her and hung up the phone. I wouldn't get the poor woman upset–yet. My next call was to Frank, whom I knew to be at home. I explained my fears.

"I'll be right down," he said tersely.

Waiting for him, I began the dread recital in my head of what all might have happened to him, beginning with his capture by the gang, followed by their taking him to some hideout, concluding with some sort of beating or torture or worse.
Chapter 27

Driving us over in my car to the projects, Frank suggested we need to check again with Louis's grandmother.

I groaned. "Must we? It would just upset her further, and if she'd had any word from him, she would have given me a call."

"I think you're right. But it's important that we see who his friends are. Maybe he got together with someone in particular so we'll know where to look."

When Mrs. Gleaves answered our knock and saw us, her face fell. "Still can't find Louis?" she said, stepping back for us to enter. "Surely he not gone missin' again?"

"Not missing yet, ma'am," Frank said reassuringly. "Let's just say he might have forgotten the time, and Tessa thinks he should be home by now. Tell us who he could have hooked up with around here. Any one friend you can think of?"

She nodded. "That be Eron, who live two streets over. They be good friends and I 'spect Louis have gone off wif him."

We got the directions for Eron's home and left her with the assurance we'd find him and then let her know he was safe.

On the way to Eron's house, however, we saw a young boy, maybe twelve years old, shooting baskets into a rusty rim attached to the side of one of the apartment buildings. Frank pulled over and got out. I rolled down my window so I could hear the conversation.

"I'm looking for a fellow who used to live here named Louis Terrell. Do you know him and if so, have you seen him today?"

The boy nodded. "He be at the community center maybe. That where they always go."

"Who did he go with?" Frank asked.

"Some of the Knights."

I caught my breath, but maybe it wouldn't be too dangerous for Louis at the community center. I tried to visualize a game of basketball or ping pong and time slipping away before Louis ever noticed.

When Frank asked where the community center was located, the boy seemed to indicate a place difficult for a visitor to find. Frank said, "Would you mind taking us there and then going inside to get Louis to come out? There's five dollars for you if you will." He took out his wallet and waved the bill, which the boy snatched and then came with Frank to the car.

Following his directions, we drove to the outer block at one end of the projects where there was a field with a rough baseball diamond layout and wire backstop and a few low bleachers along one side. No one was playing, however. Beyond the diamond was a small shack. The boy pointed to it. "That it. That the place," he said. "The community center."

"What!" I exclaimed involuntarily. "That can't be it." Over the door was scrawled as if with spray paint the word, "Knights." This was nothing like a community center, but instead appeared to be the gang's clubhouse. My dread increased to the cold chills stage.

"It's the hangout," the boy explained. "Was a place once for a lawn guy's mower and tools but now the city sends a crew. The Knights use it."

Frank drove over to it and parked. "Run inside if you will and find out if Louis is there. Tell him someone wants to see him." The boy complied without a word and went inside after first knocking and then being admitted.

"Do you suppose he's all right?" I said, in a quaking voice.

But Frank didn't answer directly, shaking his head wordlessly, watching the door.

Then Louis came bounding out, looking perfectly at ease. He hadn't been beaten up, I could see. The relief I felt was immense. He grinned when he saw who it was and immediately got into the back seat. The boy who'd done us the favor declined a ride, saying he'd walk back.

"Sorry, Miss Tessa, I couldn't get to a phone. Sure glad you guys came along. But the Knights just wanted to hear about what I been doin' y'know? I was afraid at first, when they took me over to the center, that I'd be roughed up, but it's been OK."

"Because of that first beating they gave you," I said, "I was sure you'd been hurt. I think we'd better stop by your grandmother's and let her know that you're all right."

So that's exactly what we did. I thanked Frank profusely for his help when we got to my house. Did he want to come in for a drink? He did, since he had been in the process of just getting into his work when I'd called, and now a drink would be nice. Louis went off on his own with the list of his supplies for school to look at while Frank and I settled down with gin and tonics in hand, grateful for the happy outcome. I had gotten a pizza from the freezer and stuck it in the oven. A bag of salad greens and a tomato and cucumber would make a meal if Frank wanted to stay or not.

"I think Louis has been elevated in the eyes of those boys," Frank commented. "They put on a good show of being contemptuous of any reasonable success in society, but acceptance is really what they all crave, I'm convinced. Louis has made it out of there, and now they know it."

I nodded. "I'm glad things have worked out so far. I'll be very eager to hear from Rita when they get back from their honeymoon this weekend. Surely, we should know by then what Louis's mother intends to do, what her reaction to our threat of a countersuit is."

We chatted for the next fifteen minutes until the oven buzzer sounded and I retrieved the pizza. I threw together the salad and then summoned Louis and Frank who took their places at the kitchen table. This meal, with Louis safe and happy, seemed all the more pleasant because of my earlier anxiety, but I didn't mention my feeling. I realized it wasn't shared by the other two. Maybe it was a guy thing.

After dinner, Louis went back to his TV while I told Frank about my concerns for Louis's attending the school: Would he get along all right, and would we eventually get a scholarship for him. Frank stretched wearily, "I suspect it will work out fine. Well, Tessa, this all has been very relaxing, but I didn't get much sleep last night because of working late on my program, so before I drop off in front of you, I'd better go." We both stood up, and I though I moved closer to him for a hug, he took my chin and surprised me with a kiss.

All I could do was bid him goodbye and watch him go into the hallway and up the stairs.

The next day after work, Louis and I went to several stores, one of which was for a fitting of the various uniforms he would need–dress, school, and sports, as well as two pairs of required shoes. His boots were fine to take for hikes and other outdoors activities, the instructions said. He also needed underwear, bed linens, and towels and wash cloths, which could be of our own choosing. These last items would have to wait until the weekend to be purchased, though, as we'd run into the dinner hour and both of us needed a break from all this buying. I gave only a passing thought to the size of my credit card bill.

This school endeavor was probably the most rash and heedless thing I'd ever done in my life, but I still felt I really didn't have a choice. I told myself once I bought his supplies, he'd be covered for a while, at least. I thought his books could wait until I took him down for orientation the following week. If I'd had more time, I could have checked out some sites on the Internet for bargains, but that was out of the question, so I merely swallowed my concerns and carried on. Of course, I'd be getting some money each month for foster care, but that was designed to cover just the essentials. For now, I must try to not rue my decision to take on this responsibility and to look forward to all the good that was to come of Louis's changed life.

Late Saturday morning I got the call I'd been waiting for. Rita and Robert had just gotten back from their trip and she could hardly wait to give me the good news–the lawsuit had been dropped. "And so the ploy worked," I said.

"I thought it might," Rita laughed. "It's not a very good idea to sue someone for neglect when you could take the prize for Absentee Mother of the Year. What about the school?"

I told her about his acceptance and my outfitting him. "I'm going today to get the rest of the list completed so he can start school next week in good shape."

Rita was silent for so long, I wondered if I'd said something that was offensive. But then she asked me to stop over before taking off for the shopping expedition. I said I'd be there about one o'clock. I hung up the phone, puzzled at her tone. It wasn't angry, no, not that. But she sounded different, rather mysterious. Well, I told myself, don't stew over practical matters, my mantra that had worked well for me before. I'd find out soon enough. For now, I went to Louis's quarters and discussed with him his preferences in types and colors of underwear and towels. He made suggestions for certain toiletries, too.

"Do you want to come along?" I asked.

He nodded. "I never got to go shopping before, and I think it's kinda fun."

I laughed. Naturally, it would be a treat for him. I told him we'd plan to go about two o'clock, if not sooner. I couldn't imagine my audience with the Shepherds taking very long.

After lunch, I cleaned up the kitchen and then went across the street. I thought that though Rita sounded a little mysterious she probably had some details about the lawsuits she needed to discuss with me. Perhaps it was a money thing. I hadn't intended to get off scot free, and I certainly was willing to pay her for her time. I hoped she wouldn't be embarrassed to ask.

She answered the door and greeted me with a broad smile, inviting me in to the living room where Robert was waiting, equally friendly. He asked me about the weather while they'd been gone. I asked about the weather on the island. We sat in a small grouping around the fireplace, the Shepherds side by side on the sofa, myself across from them in a comfortable chair. Rita wanted to know if I'd like anything to drink.

"Oh, no, thanks. I just finished lunch," I said, wondering why the delay in broaching whatever subject was on their minds. "Louis and I are going to Abercrombie's to pick up the rest of his supplies. He's gotten pretty excited about his new school."

"I'm sure he is," Rita began, "and we won't keep you long. The thing is, Tessa, Robert and I had a wonderfully relaxing time on the island, away from our usual distractions–work and social obligations, you know, and we–well, we came to a decision we'd like to discuss with you."

Robert touched her arm and said, "Let me, honey." He smiled at me in a reassuring way and said, "We've kind of made an assumption that even though you agreed to sponsor Louis as a foster parent, you are not keen on adopting him officially. Are we right in this assumption?"

"Yes," I said, surprised. "I'm not really in a position to do that and have no intention of adopting him. Frankly, I don't think I'd be the best person for that permanent role. Why?"

"Because Rita and I would like to adopt him," he stated bluntly.

I had to admit I was shocked. This I'd not dreamed of, but at once I saw the rightness of the plan. "What a wonderful idea," I said. "Louis needs a father as his mentor and a mother who cares about his welfare. And how nice for him to have a brother like Will."

"Yes," Robert continued, "we love the boy already and believe he'd fit in extremely well. Such a fine fellow, with excellent personal qualities. We think it's an especially good idea since the boys have no siblings and get along so well."

"Indeed," I said, looking at Rita. Was she as enthusiastic as Robert about this? "Won't this be a change for you," I said matter-of-factly, without a question in my voice. "Suddenly becoming the mother of two teenage boys."

"I know it will be a challenge," she admitted, "but I think I can get used to that easier than adopting a younger child. But my interest in Louis extends beyond his personality, which is truly lovable." She hesitated a moment and then said, " You don't know this, Tessa, but I'm from the projects myself, born and bred in that environment."

I sat perfectly still without saying a word, and with that astonishing announcement, the room itself seemed to become hushed and expectant.

Rita's voice was low but unhesitating as she told her story. "I was raised by my mother, who was aided by my two older sisters. My father I never knew since he'd cut out on my mother before I was born. But I was lucky, for it had been decided that I was the one to break out, and all the family's efforts were expended to advance my options in school. Because of their efforts, I was able to go to the university in Nashville. Of course, there was no money for me to go away to school, but amazingly, I was able to get accepted at Vanderbilt Law School. Maybe I was their token black woman," she laughed, rather self-consciously.

"Nonsense," Robert interjected. "She'd scored extremely high on the LSAT, and could have gone almost anywhere if she'd been able to. But after that first difficult year, she got scholarships to see her through to graduation."

After giving Robert an almost embarrassed smile, Rita again took up her narrative, "After getting my degree, my hope was to help others like me to escape the bonds of the ghetto, to relieve the hopelessness they felt, and then maybe to make a difference in their lives. And so, my interest in family law. I had to take on other work, of course, to help pay the bills, but then five years ago, I was called in as one of the attorneys on a class action lawsuit against a pharmaceutical company that used female prisoners thirty years earlier as guinea pigs for a new medicine.

"They weren't forced to participate, but they were given perks and not told about possible long-term consequences. To make a long story short, we won the lawsuit, and the settlement was impressive enough for me to continue doing as much pro bono work as I wanted to without my practice suffering for it. All this is by way of saying that from my first meeting with Louis, I had a strong desire to see him remain out of his home environment so he can move into the mainstream of society." She looked fondly at Robert. "That was my first response after meeting him, but these few months I've come to know and love him. Now I, too, believe he'd be a wonderful addition to our family." She smiled. "Being the mother of two teenagers won't be so bad. Better than bottles and diapers."

We all laughed at that, and I could believe it. Rita was nearing forty, and whatever her motives in wanting to include Louis in their happy family, I didn't think that she would be a good prospect for pregnancy.

"Actually, Tessa," Robert said, "we are hurrying this up a bit with Louis needing to get settled at school. We had no doubt from the outset that he'd be accepted, for more reasons than one. Yes, he's bright and personable, but private schools need attendees to keep functioning, and it wasn't a surprise that they'd welcome Louis with open arms even if it meant eventually providing a need scholarship. But if all goes according to plan, we'll be taking care of his tuition and supplies. We can easily afford it between the two of us, and so we would wish to reimburse you for whatever school expenses you've incurred. Sorry to let this get so far advanced that you've had to take over his prep, but our wedding had been planned for some time, and we really didn't have a choice, did we?" he asked Rita, who nodded her agreement.

I sat for a moment, trying to process all that had been presented to me. Then Rita said, thinking I had reservations, I suppose, "Of course, we'll want to talk to Louis and get his feelings on the subject. He may rather have his independence than be tied up so completely to us."

"Oh, I don't think so," I demurred. "Louis would like nothing better than to belong somewhere. But, yes, you do need to talk to him about this whole proposal. Do you want me to get him now?"

"Yes, please," they both murmured in a kind of unison. Robert then said, "But feel free to come back with Louis and sit in on the discussion. You have a stake in this, too."

"No," I said, "I think I might be a restraint on him. Let him hear you out by himself, and then give him a day or so to decide if he feels ambiguous about it, but I don't think he will."

On the way to the door I stopped and turned back toward them. "Look, be sure to tell Louis that I'm all for anything he decides. Whatever he wants to do is fine with me." I left them then and ran across the street, my mind whirling. This was so unexpected I felt a strange confusion as if I should be making the decision about Louis's adoption. But I knew logically that wasn't my role at all. Inside the house, I called Louis upstairs and told him he was wanted at the Shepherds'.

"Why?" he asked. "Is Will there?"

"No, Rita and Robert want to talk to you about something. Go on," I urged, seeing his perplexity.

After he left, I was sorry I hadn't agreed to go with him, wanting so much to see Louis's reaction to the proposal. I paced around the living room, wondering how long this would take. After ten minutes, I decided I must engage my mind along other lines, so I went upstairs and knocked on Mimi's door. Her motherly and sensible attitude would be a comfort, I knew.

"Hi," I said to her as she gave me a pleased and rather surprised look. "This is a very informal call, but tell me if I'm interrupting anything."

"Honey, at my age, anything you interrupt can't possibly be of importance. Just come in and let's talk. I love the company, you know that." She leaned forward and gave me a kiss on the cheek and showed me into her room. She tended to wear caftans around the house when not expecting company, and today was no exception. The multi-colored silk swirled around her plump figure as she sank onto her favorite chair. "Now, what's up?"

I explained about Louis's new school and the Shepherds' plan. Mimi's mouth opened to a small "o" and then when I finished the recital, she said, "If that doesn't take the cake! I think he'll agree in a heartbeat. And to think all this couldn't have happened without your taking him in after your garage sale and keeping him, rather than hauling him back to the projects."

"Yes, I suppose that's true. But could anyone have sent him back to that place? He was bound to become either a victim, shot or knifed for resisting the gang or, heaven help him, a perpetrator of violence himself, just to belong."

"Knowing Louis," Mimi said dryly, "I think he was doomed not to have a future at all. He could never have become a part of that viciousness."

I got up and walked to her window and looked across the street. "Yes, you're right. I just hope he'll be treated as a real member of their family and not as a charity case." Then I turned to Mimi and said, "No, I don't mean that. The Shepherds, man and boy, have never been anything but accepting of Louis, and Rita seems a sympathetic sort, willing to open her heart to him. I'll have to trust in their good will."

"That's the spirit. Think positive. Louis has a good idea at this point who these people really are and if he wants to be part of their family. Trust to his judgment."

At that moment, I heard the front door slam. "Louis is back," I said, turning to leave.

"Let me know," Mimi called after me.

Downstairs, I could hear Louis calling my name as he went through the house. I found him peering into the basement, thinking I might have gone there.

"Well?" I said. "So what did you think about all that?"

He gave a great sigh, his face smiling and serene. "I don't believe it, Miss Tessa. How did this happen to me?"

"I know, I know."

He came toward me and we hugged, both of us laughing almost uncontrollably.

"I guess this means," I said, finally, "that you agree to their plan, and you're soon to become Louis Shepherd." I led him over to a kitchen chair.

"Yes, ma'am!" he replied, resting his head on one hand. "I just hope I'm not dreaming!"

Chapter 28

After I returned home from taking Louis to school, my memory of that occasion seemed just a blur of co-mingling parents and young people, cars exploding with suitcases and clothes on hangers, confused looks for directions, hugs, and finally, in my case, a last wave goodbye to a rather bleak face framed in an upstairs window. I know it must have seemed strange and rather frightening to Louis, a boy from the projects. His interview a few weeks prior had not fazed him, I believed, but with the reality of being left there, his world had suddenly enlarged to an unimaginable degree, and he was now going to have to become part of it or reject it. I thought I knew, however, what he would ultimately do. And Will would help. They were not roommates, but they would be in some of the same classes. We'd been given instructions to allow the students to settle in without contact from the outside until Parents Day the first weekend of October. By that time, the adoption will probably have gone through, but Rita and Robert had insisted Louis's grandmother and I attend the event with them.

As for my own reaction back home after his departure, I felt somewhat empty. Certainly my section of the house was empty. For nearly the first time since moving in, I was alone; no one whistling from the recesses of the basement or mowing outside or eating with me and telling me about his activities of the day. I shook myself into reality and tried to concentrate on my own life for a change. The following Saturday night after we'd just returned from a movie date, Max made no move to get out of the car as we parked in the drive, even catching at my hand as I started to open the door.

"What?" I said, wondering. Sometimes I invited him in for coffee, but we never had progressed beyond the goodnight kiss.

"Tessa, wait a minute. I don't want to push you in this relationship, but I'd like to talk a minute. We've not known each other very long, but I feel very close to you already, which I'm sure is no surprise to you, and I guess I want to know if you consider us a couple."

This disturbed me very much, his need to wrap things up when I wanted a leisurely uncomplicated period of adjusting to one another if that was to be our fate. I'd spent too much of my emotional capital on Stephen to no avail, in other words with a dead loss, and I wasn't all that keen in risking again my small store of assets, my affection and trust, until I was sure.

"I . . .ah, I think of us as a couple when we're together," I answered. But that wasn't what he was after as his next statement indicated.

"That tells me a lot. Look, I'm not trying to force you into a commitment, but let me put something to you. I'm going to take two weeks off starting on Monday and go to that litigation course in Atlanta to see how I might like the work. This will give you a chance to think about us, without my interference. I want you to understand that I'm very interested in our future together. As I say, though, I'm not wanting to go too fast either."

"I appreciate that, Max. I guess I do need some time. Clearly, I've backed off from intimacy, and you can guess why, perhaps, considering my last relationship. I know that sounds almost neurotic. It has been three years, after all, but I'd like us to take it slow for now. I'm not sure about an exclusive arrangement."

As I spoke the words, I realized I'd just taken a huge chance. Not many men would agree to that, would see it as rejection and possibly take their leave permanently. I felt qualms, but I had to make it clear that I couldn't commit at this point. Maybe all I was destined for was the life of an old maid, unable to shake the fear of betrayal. Or maybe I'd eventually come to a different conclusion if I was released from this seemingly inevitable attachment with the freedom to light where I would. Had I become like the butterfly that couldn't be chased?

"Fair enough," Max said, almost cheerfully. "I'm willing to give what we've got a chance, so I'll call you, if that's all right, when I get back, and we'll take it from there."

"Thanks for being so understanding, Max," I said, leaning toward him and he gave me a light kiss on the lips.

But then he held me to him for a few seconds, releasing me with a small sigh. "Goodnight, Tessa."

"Goodbye for now. Have a good trip." I ran from the car to my house, my hands shaking as I fumbled for the key on the porch. But I made it inside, and turned to watch his car back out and leave, maybe for good? I wondered about my sanity. I had what I was sure was the love of a good man, capable of earning more than a decent living, a man understanding and patient, strong and yet gentle. What was wrong with me?

The next day, after a night of long wakefulness, then half-sleep, and toward morning, strange dreams, I slept rather late and finally rolled out about 9:00. I stumbled into the kitchen and drank two cups of coffee, showered, and then spent the rest of the morning in unimportant activities. In the afternoon I started to watch a movie on TV and then impulsively, I called Frank on the phone. I knew he was in, having seen his truck parked in the turnaround out back.

"Tessa!" he answered, sounding surprised. And with good reason, for I'd had little to do with him for weeks. Of course, I knew he'd been very involved in getting his material ready for his agent to send out. "What goes?"

"Well, I don't rightly know," I said in a country accent, trying to sound casual. "Are you busy? Can I come up?"

"Not too busy to see you. But maybe I'd better come down. The place isn't fit for the landlady to visit."

Frank was down the outside stairs and into the kitchen in just minutes. I'd gone to the bathroom to freshen up, comb my hair and fix my face. I responded to his yell that I'd be right there. When I went into the dining room from the hallway, I saw him standing at the curving bank of long windows that overlooked what had been Slinker's house. I joined him silently and I felt a kind of kinship with him. In our short acquaintance this summer, we seemed to have gone through many experiences and emotions together. I sighed and he turned to me.

"What's that for?" He took my hand in his and looked at me searchingly. "Are you a little depressed?"

"Do I look it?" I said more brightly than I felt. With that, I could feel my face crumple and I broke down completely, even sobbing. He led me to the little settee that was along one wall. "Now tell uncle Frank what's going on? Not blue because Louis is gone. I know you're happy for him."

"Of course," I blubbered. "I couldn't have wished for a better outcome. I just don't . . .I don't know who I am anymore, I guess. Oh, that sounds foolish and self-centered. I'm not connected to anything. I don't know, Frank. But I'm miserable."

"What about that big strong detective of yours? He seems to be joined with you at the hip. I can't help but notice you see him most weekends."

I pulled a tissue from the pocket of my jeans and blew my nose. "He's gone to Atlanta, to take a course that will better his position in life, if it works out the way he hopes. We've agreed to back off for the time being because of my uncertainty. That's one of my problems. I can't make up my mind about him either. But that's not the only thing in my life I have to deal with. I can't decide if I should try for a better job. What are my chances of ever getting anywhere at that pokey paper? I feel useless and stupid, as if I'm on a treadmill."

Frank put his arms around me and pulled me to him. I let him hold me and gradually I felt myself relax, but more, I felt Frank's emotional temperature rise along with my own, our breathing increase until I pulled away, surprised, even horrified. "Frank, I didn't mean for this."

He knew what I was talking about. His face was very near mine, his one arm still around my waist. His expression was intense, his blue eyes serious. "Tessa, I have to tell you I'm crazy about you. I fell for you the first time I saw you, but I knew you didn't want anything more from me than to be a good little renter."

"Oh, Frank, that's unfair!" I cried. "You have meant more to me. I've tried to talk myself out of my feelings for you." As I said the words, I had to acknowledge to myself the truth of what I said. Not wanting to think of consequences, I leaned over and kissed him, and he responded as I knew he would. But I couldn't seem to help myself. I smelled his clean scent, felt the slight roughness of his chin, the strength of his arms that enclosed me and I was weakened, unable to do anything but what he wanted.

What he wanted was for us to stop. "Look, my darling girl, you're feeling lonely and I'm here, so let's be careful. Decide what you want, and I'll come back or not." He got up and touched my cheek and then left through the kitchen, the same way he'd arrived. I sat on in the dining room, now feeling detached and bereft of any emotion except a strange elation and confusion. I chided myself, wondering if this was just the most blatant disloyalty to Max, who had left me to think about our relationship, not to have it on with another man. Then suddenly I knew beyond all doubt that Frank wasn't just another man with convenient strong arms to comfort me. I had to admit I wanted him, but I had to think it was a bit unfair to have such considerate men letting me decide.

I'd made up my mind all right, no question about it. Over the next few days I contemplated my change of heart. I wanted to be with Frank, but I also wondered if it was quite cricket for us to further our new relationship until I could tell Max about it. Still, I reflected that Max and I had parted with an unspoken sense of finality, or so it seemed to me.

Frank and I talked on the phone Monday evening, and he told me he was working diligently on the next step for his program–making application for an intellectual patent, a complicated procedure. The upshot was that Frank would continue to be engaged with that task for the rest of the week. He didn't come right out and say it, but I suspected that spending much time with me was out of the question. But he needed to be convinced of my sincerity. And I couldn't blame him, for my capitulation had seemed almost too sudden.

"So you are sure? About us?" His voice still had a teasing lightness, a protection, I thought, against further hurt.

"More sure than I've ever been about anything, Frank. Don't ask me why it took so long, but I've had too many distractions, too many hangups to have wanted to admit my feelings for you but they've been there all along."

I heard him laugh softly on the other end of the line. "You really fooled me, Tessa. I still can't quite believe you're serious."

"I mean what I say, Frank. I want us to be together. You've been my helper and friend ever since you moved in, and you make me happy. I know we'll be good together."

"Whoa," he said. "I don't want you to get ahead of yourself. I'm sure about my feelings, as I said I was from the first time I met you, but I think you might need time. It's a good start, but I hope I'd be more than a helper and friend."

"You are! And I don't need more time. I'm sure now, believe me."

Frank laughed. "All right, sweetheart, call me tomorrow after work and we'll talk again. Sorry I'm so tied up right now, but just remember that I love you, and I'll be here waiting."

His voice, his words thrilled me, and I felt a sharp stab under my heart. For two cents I'd have run up those flights of stairs into his waiting arms. But his words of restraint and my own good sense kept me from what would have been a rash move.

Though I intended to get home early to call Frank, I was late the next day owing to a conference with Hal, who asked me in to his office just when I was getting ready to leave. "What's up?" I asked.

He motioned for me to take a seat in front of his desk. "I want to talk to you about my plans for the future."

I looked at him blankly. What was coming, I couldn't imagine, but I felt trepidation.

He fiddled with a pen, rolling it between his fingers. "I'm selling this paper. But that's not the end of our association, I hope. I plan to start a monthly magazine, centered around Nashville called small letters Nashville, big letters Cityscape. The range of stories that could be submitted by free lance writers is huge, considering the uniqueness of this area. Music, of course, but also history, education, business leaders, celebrities, recreation areas, maybe poetry and book reviews, to name the obvious. I'd be the publisher, and I already have investors lined up to get established. But I'd like you to be managing editor. I think we could start out with a rather small staff, with writers submitting articles for hopefully modest payments. I also see a need for an on-line presence, a Website, but I haven't a clue as to how that could work for us. We can worry about that later. I'd like your views on the subject." He sat back and stared at me expectantly.

"I'm rather taken aback, to say the least," I said, my head reeling. "You have been doing a lot of figuring when I didn't have a clue. What about the current city magazines? There's at least one I know of that's been around for a while."

Hal waggled his hand in dismissal. "Different concept, more news oriented. We'd want to sell subscriptions, of course, but we also need to be placed in supermarkets, bookstores, and kiosks in airports, those kinds of places to encourage readers to pick it up when they see a feature they're interested in, or an article on a person they'd like to read about."

"I do like the idea. So you think I could manage the day-to-day running of it," I said meditatively. "What tasks do you see for yourself? Not just holding hands with the investors, I suspect."

At that, Hal laughed. "No, I plan to continue with advertising sales. I'm pretty good at that, and I've got contacts that should serve us well. So you think it's a viable enterprise too?"

"I do. I don't think you'll make much money at first, but it sounds exciting. Thanks for your confidence in me, Hal. When do you anticipate this transition will take place?"

"I have a buyer for the paper, a woman with experience as editor of a small town weekly, who's moved into the neighborhood. She'd like to take over in six weeks. It'll take longer for us to get up and running, but I'll need your help to get organized. I think if we're lucky, we might be able to put out a December edition. I've got my eye on a building nearby and am in the process of negotiating a price."

"Sounds very intriguing. Count me in!" A heaven-sent opportunity? I hoped so.

Hal stood up and came around the desk, his hand outstretched. I rose and shook it warmly. Sink or swim, I was opting for a new and maybe shaky enterprise. So much for security and stability! On several fronts, I was now operating on faith: agreeing to manage a prospective magazine that might make it or not, and falling for a guy with an innovative but unsold creative work in his future.

Even though I was forty-five minutes later than usual getting home, Frank had not himself arrived. I kept an eye on the driveway, and finally saw his truck pull in to his parking space in the back. I intercepted him as he started up the stairs. He stopped in his tracks and came back down, giving me a look that produced that same little grind under my rib cage. Today he was wearing starched khaki trousers and a black knit shirt that set off his tanned skin and hair, bleached pale gold from the sun. He was also carrying a briefcase.

"Hello," he said, dropping the briefcase and giving me a kiss even before we went into the house.

With that, it seemed as if the floodgates let loose in me. I flung my arms around him and kissed him back. We stood on the back stoop, clinging to each other.

Breaking free at last, he said, "What have I done to deserve this?"

"Oh, Frank, I've been so foolish. I . . ." but along with my inclination to tell him of my love an inner cautioning voice made me hesitate. The last thing I wanted was for him to think I was emotionally needy, whether I was or not. "I can now show you how glad I am to see you, that's what!" I opened the door to the back hall and pulled him in. "And I've got some interesting news about my work that I wanted to tell you about." We went into the kitchen nook and sat down opposite one another, holding hands across the table. I explained about the magazine and he congratulated me.

"So your dead-end job has turned into something more exciting."

I gave a wry laugh. "If the magazine makes it. At any rate, my resume will be improved with the new title. But what about you, now that your creative work is done and your agent will be marketing the product?"

"That'll be in limbo until I get a contract. I have the patent application to complete right now, but all the creative material is finished until I find a publisher." He shrugged. "In fact, I've quit my job at the music vault, which was great as non-thinking work while I was in the midst of composition. I've taken a job teaching at a community college, an adjunct position, of course, as a stopgap, if not a career path. It all depends on selling my program."

I was stunned into silence for a moment. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, sweet pea, you've been otherwise engaged, what with Louis's situation and the aforementioned detective. I've just recently come into your ken, if you know what I mean." But he was grinning, his eyes shining.

"Oh, Frank. It's all moving so fast for us. Can we begin again?"

Then he squeezed my hand. "Yes, we can. Which brings me to an idea I had driving home from school. I've decided to go to Knoxville this weekend and pick up my other car. Since I'll be squiring you around, I think I need a more presentable one."

"And what is this car?" I asked, smiling. He was full of surprises.

"It's kind of old, too, but it's a Porsche."

I sat back in my chair. "That's very much more presentable."

He nodded. "I only brought the truck here because I wanted to take it to the lake cabin on back country roads, which I've done quite a bit this summer. I'll be too busy to do that anyway in the coming months. But my idea is that maybe you could come with me to Knoxville and meet my folks. I've met your mother, and I'd like for my family to meet you, too. And Tess, darling, don't you think a long road trip would work out well for us? We need to know more about each other that we really don't know so far."

I sat quietly for a few moments, thinking not only of the proposed trip, but also of the trip I'd taken with Max so many weeks ago, which in retrospect had seemed to sound, though faintly at first, the death knell of that relationship.

"Why not?" I said to Frank. "I'd love to meet your folks, and I haven't been back to Knoxville for years. It'll be like old home week in one of my favorite places." I also thought the trip might be a good test of this new romance, and I was eager to see how well we'd fare.

"Great! I'll tell Mom you're coming." He stood up then and said, "I've got to continue working on the patent application, so I need to cut out now. But only three more days and we can spend hours together."

Again, I seemed to melt in his arms, and we passionately kissed one another. Only by an extreme effort of will did we stop. I had to give him, not me, credit for that, but I've understood that men could compartmentalize different aspects of their lives better than women, who when in love always seemed to be totally absorbed by the emotion. At least I was.

29

Saturday morning, Frank and I set off for Knoxville. Nothing had changed my feelings for him since my declaration. If anything, I was in a state of wonder that I'd resisted him for so long. As we bumped along the interstate in the '72 pickup, I sat as close to him on the bench-style seat that the waist-only seat belt would allow.

"See," he said, putting an arm around me, "this old truck has advantages."

"You can manage with one hand on this straightaway, but I'll have to relinquish your arm to the wheel when we get into the foothills."

"OK, I'll tend to my driving when we get to hills and curves. Right now, I'm taking full advantage of you being this close."

On the three-hour drive, we talked non-stop, but for the most part we found out just the tiny, intimate things about one another that we should have discovered this summer had I not been consumed with other concerns. After about an hour and a half of it, I let him loose so he could manage the wheel, which was not equipped with power steering. I gazed at his profile, admiring the straight nose, square jaw and broad forehead, with that remarkable hair springing from it. He glanced at me from time to time until finally he pulled off at an exit.

"Where are we going? Need gas?"

"Not really," he said, wheeling the truck into the far corner of a filling station where he came to a halt and put on the brake. He unfastened his seat belt and took me in his arms. "This is what I've been wanting to do for miles. I love your eyes, but if you keep looking at me like that, I have to stop and do this." And with that I was treated to an kiss and embrace that I was beginning to crave.

Frank again fastened the seat belt and pulled back onto the road. "I've had my fix for the morning. I can go on now."

After that, the road took most of Frank's attention, and I thought briefly on the difference between my relationship with Stephen and this new and much more exciting one with Frank. Never had I responded to Stephen the way I was responding to Frank. It was as though I didn't know what had hit me.

At some point, I asked Frank about his parents. "I don't remember your talking much about them." He had mentioned them from time to time, but all the critical events of the summer had seemed to drive out mundane conversations about our lives beyond the boundaries of my house and the neighborhood. "Do you get along with them?"

"Absolutely," Frank answered. "I even like them. My dad's with the university, head of the physics department; he's a dean now, and my mom was an English teacher like me, only high school, who retired after twenty years on the job. Probably her retirement was due to her father's financial status, at least partly. He'd been a professional investor who early on got interested in cable TV. He and a small group of investors took a chance on a couple of channels that proved to be immensely popular. About eight years ago, they sold out for, well, I'm not sure exactly how much, but billions, I think. Anyway, he retired and distributed largesse to my mom and my uncle. He also set up an educational fund for his five grandchildren and eventually any great-grandchildren, and additionally provided us with a trust fund where we get a certain income until we're thirty. At that time we can get access to the capital. He and my grandmother retired to Asheville, North Carolina."

"You have a trust income?" I said, feeling a bit staggered. He'd always seemed to be living so close to the cuff.

"I've been banking it, actually. I thought I might need it later on, and I didn't want to be frittering it away right now." He looked at me. "I may soon be dipping into it for something."

The once familiar scenery that drew visitors from far and wide flew by my window unregarded as I reflected on Frank's situation. I kept having to revise my first and lingering impression of Frank as a loose cannon, or at the least a free spirit, living without a care, trusting to luck. First I had discovered Yale in his background, then a surprise teaching job, now highly educated parents and an independent income. What would be next?

Following my train of thought, I asked, "How did you happen to go to Yale? It's not that common for a Southern boy to go out East to school, is it?"

"I'm actually the third generation to go there, beginning with my dad's father, and then my dad, who grew up in Baltimore, and down to me. I'd like my son to go there, too." He gave me another look that seized at my heart.

Finally, we drove into an older but very nice section of Knoxville with large lawns and English-style homes built in the '20s, I'd guess, when that sort of architecture was all the rage. The neighborhood looked prosperous and well kept up, probably highly desired real estate.

Frank's parents' own house was brown brick with white trim. A large porch at one side was glassed in and topped by a balcony. The porch was partially screened by a row of upright yews. A peak over the front door had a leaded glass window that might be either the vestibule or from a stair landing. Large trees shaded the property, which was beautifully landscaped with shrubs and flowers near the house and at the perimeter. The drive was long, and Frank pulled his truck to the back in front of a three-stall garage, obviously a modern addition. I got out a mirror and lipstick and tried to repair the damage.

"Don't worry. You look beautiful," Frank said, opening his door and going around to open mine and help me down.

An attractive, blond woman in her fifties came toward us from French doors. "Frank, dear, how good to see you." She came toward him with outstretched arms, and Frank kissed her on the cheek. She then turned to me.

"This is Tessa Claiborne," Frank said, "my landlady who has recently morphed into my girlfriend." He then went to gather our suitcases from the back of the truck.

"That sounds painful, Frank," his mother said, chuckling. "But you're much too pretty to have remained just a landlady, I can see that. I'm Joan Wenger. Welcome to our home."

I greeted her with a handshake and then followed her toward what was a obviously the family room.

"Frank tells us," she said, "that you've had quite a summer, but now things seem to be going well for you."

"Yes, I'm happy to say, everything seems to be working out." I looked behind me to Frank with raised eyebrows, and he winked at me.

Frank's father wasn't in sight, but his mother explained he'd had to run an errand and would be back shortly. I looked with interest at the woman before me, my hostess. Frank had definitely gotten his looks from her. She, too, had the square jaw, straight nose, and springy hair worn short and curling around her face.

She turned to Frank. "Your sister and Jim and the kids are coming for dinner, so we'll just have a salad on the porch for lunch."

"Only a salad?" Frank asked, wrinkling his nose.

His mother laughed. "Not just a lettuce salad, dear, Nettie came over this morning and made chicken salad croissants, just for you." She looked at me. "Have you noticed he has a big appetite?"

The double entendre? Inadvertent, of course, but I agreed that he was insatiable.

"He's still young enough," Mrs. Wenger went on, "to get by with it, but the metabolism slows down at some point for most of us and we pay a price for enjoying food." She wasn't fat, but she wasn't exactly slim either. She reminded me of pictures I'd seen of the aging Grace Kelly, heavier but still a lovely woman.

We heard a car in the drive, and in minutes Frank's father came into the room. Through the introductions, he gave me a kind of professional attention, derived from perhaps long practice at his work with students. He was an entirely different type from Frank, tall and rangy with aquiline features and thinning brown hair, flecked with gray. I made a bet with myself that Frank's sister would also be thin, along with having lank hair and straight eyelashes. Frank's were very thick and curly.

After lunch, Frank and I went for a drive in his Porsche, sparkling clean with silver-toned paint and only five years old, in fact. He'd asked his father to take it out occasionally to keep the battery up and the juices flowing. It seemed to perform well. First he took me around to view my old haunts, including my sorority house. He then sped out of town on the interstate, wanting to "blow out the carbon" that he was sure had accumulated with just the occasional city drive.

But we didn't stay out long, Frank knowing his folks would be disappointed at too prolonged an absence. Before we returned, however, Frank stopped the car in a rural cul-de-sac and made sure he got his fix for the afternoon.

Sitting with Frank and his parents that afternoon on the air-conditioned porch, we chatted companionably about Knoxville, about their work, my work, and Frank's project as well as a myriad of other subjects, including historic architecture, in which both his parents showed much interest. Eventually, the cocktail hour loomed, so at Mrs. Wenger's suggestion, we went upstairs to change for drinks and dinner. There were three bedrooms, all off a large rectangular hallway. I had been given what had been Frank's sister's room, good sized and decorated in eyelet curtains and bedspread with robin's egg blue walls and an ivory, blue, and pink Chinese rug. I changed into a dress that I thought would be right for the occasion, a simple, short, though not too short, lime green linen that I'd managed to keep fairly unwrinkled in a hanging bag. I fastened a gold and peridot lavaliere around my neck and ran a brush through my hair, which had gotten straighter as the day wore on.

I happened to meet Frank in the upstairs hall outside my room and we went down the stairs together, with him following me, his hands lightly on my shoulders. "You look super, honey, and believe me, you're doing great," he said. "I know it's hard to be thrown into a family situation and hold your own."

"I like your folks. They're both charming. I hope they like me."

At the bottom of the stairs, we could hear from another room children's voices piping up over general conversation. Frank turned me around to face him."How could they help but like you, you're completely lovable." He gave me a quick kiss, and we walked hand in hand to the family room to greet his sister and her family.

Elizabeth had been trained as a nurse, Frank had said, but hadn't worked since their boys were born. Her husband was a doctor she'd met in school, like so many other nurses I knew. He was a rather remote person, not unfriendly but acting a little bored by the occasion. I was sorry I'd been the reason to take him from something he'd rather have been doing. Frank's sister looked much as I'd imagined, though not as thin. Her hair was medium length and was indeed brown and limp. I couldn't tell about her eyelashes. She and Frank embraced briefly, after which I was introduced to Elizabeth and her husband. The two boys were playing a card game at a table far removed from us, but eventually I met them and they politely shook my hand.

We had a pleasant enough meal, chicken in a casserole and fresh asparagus, which I ate without tasting, occupied as I was in addressing questions to various people and trying to respond intelligently to their comments. I was spared any mention of Frank's old girl friends although there was some discussion about friends still living in Knoxville, and how we should see them when we could be there longer. Finally, after the post-dinner drinks, the doctor and his family left and Frank and I and his parents went to the kitchen for cleanup, which went quickly with dishes being stashed in the dishwasher. Then after watching a movie on TV, with Dean Wenger falling asleep in his chair, Frank's parents excused themselves and went on up to bed, Mrs. Wenger admonishing us "not to stay up too late." We'd been invited to go to church with them, and from what Frank had indicated, that was something of a royal command, so we agreed.

Frank and I sat together on the couch oblivious to the movie, and too quickly we got very hot until I decided this was impossible. I felt a little guilty carrying on in his parents' house like a couple of teenagers. "I think we'd better split up for the evening."

Frank stretched out his legs, taking one of my hands in his. "I don't smoke, but I think I could use a cigarette. I guess it's pretty obvious you excite me tremendously."

"I'd be very concerned if I didn't, but we'd better cool it."

He pulled me up onto my feet. "Right. Come on then."

We ascended to our own rooms with a last kiss at my door. I wondered if I'd ever get to sleep, but I managed to sooner than I expected, waking up to the sound of birds outside my window, a mockingbird, to be exact, going through his repertoire.

After breakfast and then the church service, not so different from the one I was used to, we stopped at a restaurant for lunch. Frank told his parents he needed to get back and grade papers for his classes, and so we took our leave amidst hugs, even to me, and pleas to come back soon and stay longer.

"How different this is," I commented, as we set out in the Porsche, "from the drive to Knoxville." It seemed as though we fit perfectly into the car's contours, snugly encased in the leather bucket seats. And the motor hummed with a subtle, throaty sound that was reassuring, compared to the straining roar of the pickup.

"I still kinda go for that bench seat," Frank said. "I don't much like this console separating us. I don't like anything separating us."

I sighed, but said nothing. Then Frank said, "Tessa, this doesn't quite seem the right place for it, but I can't wait any longer. I love you and I want you to marry me."

This, as we sped along the interstate at sixty-five miles an hour. I caught hold of his arm and replied softly, "I will marry you. I love you too."

He gave me one of those special looks and said, "That's the first time you've told me that and here I am, strapped in this damned seat. Well, that's settled. I think it should be very soon. How long will it take to put together a wedding?"

I didn't have to mull long over this question. "Weeks, maybe months. And it would have to by necessity be a big wedding, what with my folks' position in our town and your folks' connections in Knoxville, not to mention any Nashville and out of town people and maybe relatives on your side. It's a big deal. Oh, dear," I had a sudden thought, "and with me obligated to Hal in getting the new magazine started." My mind was whirling. A wedding organizer? But that would be more expense. And now without Daddy, could Mother and I afford the wedding I'd just described even if we put it on by combining resources? The prospect seemed daunting.

Frank was silent for a moment and then said, "Tess, darling, we're not kids, and I don't want to wait. We need each other, don't you think? I'm all for elopement, but I know a wedding means more to a girl. What would you say to the idea of quietly doing the deed?"

"I'll do whatever you want." I meant it. I remembered all the plans with Stephen that finally had fallen through, and I was glad not to have that before me again. It would be perfectly proper to send out announcements later. "I'm sure Mother would give us a reception afterwards."

"Oh, right. And so would my folks. But you're really OK with elopement? Good show. In two weeks we'll have the long Labor Day weekend at our disposal. What about then? Maybe we could talk to that young pastor at the church you and Louis and I attended when we were at the motel."

"You've been thinking about this, I can tell," I said, trying to contain my bubbling happiness. "I'll call him tomorrow. Since I'm a member of that denomination, that will simplify matters. If he can't, maybe he'll suggest someone. I would like a religious ceremony, Frank, and it was perceptive of you to know that."

"Only because I love you so much and think I know you pretty well by now. Although, in a way, you're a changed person. Do you remember what I told you after we went to that play, that you'd repressed your emotions? After I accused you of that, I thought I'd lost you for good."

I laughed. "Yes, and I thought you were quite insulting. But you were right. For one thing, I was afraid to let go."

"Let go of what?"

"I suppose the past, the false sense of security I got from keeping myself to myself. Something my boss said to that effect about himself startled me into thinking what a defeated and dry way to live, and I wanted to break free."

"Louis helped you," Frank said thoughtfully. "You had to give part of yourself to that kid, and you found it didn't destroy your equilibrium."

"Perhaps. I hadn't thought of that. But then there was you, always available, it seemed, doing what was necessary in an unselfish way. I began to trust you and depend on you. You helped to break down my defenses, but it wasn't until Louis was gone and after Max left me alone that I finally turned to you. I had to admit to myself it had always been you, that I was in love with you."

"We're going to go this week to get you a ring," Frank said with conviction. But he'd get no argument from me.

Chapter 29

We got back to Nashville in time for supper at a restaurant near the house.

"I feel like a poor lover," Frank said, "but I won't be able to spend much time with you tonight. I've got forty-eight first drafts I need to go over with comments to hand back tomorrow. With classes just starting last week, I don't want to come across as a sluggard to my two freshman comps right off the bat. My other class is on-line, so it's handled differently, but I also may have some of those students' work already waiting for me."

As he spoke, I looked at him across the table from me and again treasured every nuance of expression on his face, the planes of each feature. How dear he had become to me. "It's all right, Frank. I understand, and isn't there some sort of saying that anticipation makes pleasure sweeter?"

"That must have been coined by a disappointed lover, but," he leaned toward me and said softly, "my pleasure will be the same, whether sooner or later."

And so we again parted reluctantly from one another at the back door with the promise of meeting after work the next day.

That night, I found sleep impossible with thoughts of imminent marriage occupying my mind. My excitement was intense, and at two in the morning I took a couple of aspirins to help me settle down. The alarm sounding off at seven was at first unwelcome, but then I thought of what Frank and I would be doing that afternoon, and positively leapt out of bed.

At work, Hal and I discussed plans for the new magazine, but I kept quiet about my impending marriage, even the engagement. I asked if I could get off an hour early, and Hal agreed.

I met Frank back at the house a little after 3:00 and we went immediately to his car. It still seemed a little strange to see that snazzy model in the turnaround instead of the old familiar truck. I was happy to report to him that I'd gotten hold of the pastor who agreed to marry us at 11:00 AM Saturday week.

"No need to bring witnesses," Pastor Geitner had said. "I'll make sure the ladies from the Altar Guild stay around." But he stipulated we were to meet with him sometime prior to the ceremony. Frank and I thought maybe next Saturday morning, if it was agreeable with the pastor.

"Where are we going, Frank?" I asked, as he headed the car toward the south side of town, for he seemed a man with a plan.

"It's a surprise, but I think you'll be pleased." He gave me another glance and said, "You're looking particularly fetching today."

I looked down at my black linen slacks and white sleeveless blouse with the scalloped front. "I'm glad you think so, but it's the same old me." And it was true, but our perceptions had changed in the blink of an eye and now we saw each other differently. How long, I wondered with a deep sigh, would our heightened impressions last and why had my own feelings for Frank been repressed for so long?

"What's the big sigh for?" he asked.

"I was thinking if I hadn't been so prejudiced and cowardly we might have been together like this all summer long."

"Prejudiced in what way?"

I gave a soft laugh and rubbed my hand against his strongly muscled arm. "I thought you were too–well, unconventional for me. I thought we were too different."

"Opposites attract. Actually, I thought we had some chemistry going from the start."

"Oh, chemistry, yes. I felt that too. But you arrived in an ancient truck, looking rather scruffy, bringing in furniture from Goodwill, in other words, living any which way. And I was busy making lists and trying to bring order to my life. What was I to think about us ever getting together?" I laughed at the memory.

"Well," Frank said, cheerfully, "I wasn't interested in shopping or planning then. I was in the throes of creating and didn't have time for order. The two activities, you know, are mutually exclusive. I just wanted a place to work that was quiet, that I could move into right away and had the basic amenities. When I saw you, though, I resolved to live there if I had to install running water and electricity myself."

"You needn't have worried," I retorted, remembering how quickly I'd accepted him as a renter, more susceptible than I'd realized to his friendly, almost mesmerizing manner.

I still wasn't quite sure where we were heading after Frank parked the car in the mall and guided me inside. Then I saw Tiffany's and knew. Inside the store, Frank asked for Dimitri, and a small man with a mustache and a pleasant smile came toward us. "I made a call myself, this morning," Frank said in an aside to me, and then introduced himself to the salesman.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Wenger. Let me get it out of the vault. I'll be right with you." He turned and pattered through a door to the rear.

I looked at Frank with raised eyebrows. "Is this something you ordered? How did you arrange things so quickly?"

"No, I just asked about something specific and they happened to have a ring on hand that might work. We'll see if you like it. Be honest and tell me if you'd rather have something else."

In a wink, Dimitri returned, carrying a velvet box in Tiffany blue, which he opened and displayed the contents for my benefit. I gave a gasp, for the large, pear-shaped diamond sparkled like a captured star.

"Platinum mounting," Dimitri explained, slipping the ring onto my finger. It couldn't have been a better fit. "Two point forty-five carats, not counting the baguettes."

"I love it!" I cried.

"Do you really?" Frank said. "They probably have something more–uh, conventional, don't you, Dimitri?"

The salesman looked as dignified as he could manage and said, "I must say none of our rings could be termed 'conventional.'"

I said hurriedly, "I'm very happy with this ring. Do you like it, Frank?"

"I think it's fine, so if you're content, we'll also need," he said to Dimitri, "the wedding bands, both hers and mine." He looked at me. "Plain ones?" And I nodded happily.

"When is the wedding to be?" the salesman inquired politely.

Frank and I gazed at one another and grinned, "Labor Day weekend," Frank replied.

"A short engagement," Dimitri said. "Charming. I'll just get the bands and if the gentleman will go to the cashier's desk we'll have the paperwork and the certificates for him in a jiffy."

"Apparently," Frank said in an ironic undertone, "whenever you get a diamond ring here, there's a birth certificate and social security number that comes with it."

"Shouldn't I be buying your wedding band?" I asked.

"Don't worry about it. What's mine is yours, and what's yours is mine or soon will be. Agreed?"

It all went so smoothly and with so little fuss that like the proposal it seemed almost anti-climactic. I sat on a couch, waiting for Frank to complete the sale, admiring the beauty of the ring, shimmering like stardust on my finger. I couldn't help but think again of my former engagement and how differently it had gone. Luckily, too, the other engagement ring I'd returned to Stephen had been nothing like this one, it being a round stone in a yellow gold mounting. I found myself thinking of the old song, "Stardust Melody" and doing a little dreaming. Weren't Frank and I now betrothed? It sounded lovely and forever.

On the drive back, Frank asked me if I wanted to include my mother at our marriage ceremony. I had to reflect only a moment before I stated, "Not really. If Mother's invited, then your folks would be hurt if they weren't there, and probably your sister and her family, too. Then there's the ladies upstairs at my house, who know us both. Louis, of course, and the Shepherds, my boss, your Nashville friends, who've entertained you at their lake cabin–well, you get the picture. Let's leave it the way it is."

"Fine by me," Frank agreed.

Back at the house, I told Frank I wanted to talk to him seriously about something. He gave me an exaggerated look of fear but said, "It's too late unless you're going to confess you have a husband secreted away out of town."

"Me? Not on your life," I laughed, catching his arm as we entered through the back door. "I'm not Holly Golightly." We went into the den and sank onto the couch. I turned on a table lamp and held my left hand up to the light. "How beautiful it is, Frank. You're a darling." I leaned over and gave him a lingering kiss, which started to turn into something else. I broke off and said, "Wait. I said I had to tell you something."

Frank sat up and nodded. "I'm ready. Lay it on me."

"The thing is," I began hesitantly, "the thing is, I know you know I was engaged once upon a time. But it was a peculiar relationship, really. We'd known each other since we were children, and after dating others the first couple of years at UT, we seemed to have found ourselves engaged. I don't know if it was because of Stephen or me, but we were more like brother and sister. We were never tempted to arrange things differently between us. That sounds impossible, I suppose, but that's what we were to each other, so in a way, it's no surprise that we eventually broke up. I didn't date anyone seriously before or after that. I . . . I, well, darling, I'm a virgin, a twenty-seven-year old virgin." I looked at my lap, unable to face him until I felt him shaking with laughter.

"I can remedy that," he said, and then more seriously, "You really thought that would be a problem? What man would object to marrying a virgin? In some cultures, it's a requisite for marriage, not that I'm advocating it. And I'm not worried, either, that you're a cold fish, not with the way you respond to me."

I sighed. "The engagement itself was about a year and a half, and things were very tepid between us, of course, but also, I thought he was going along with what I had been taught in my home and church. We just didn't ever talk about sex, believe it or not."

Then Frank got very serious and took my ring hand, kissing it. "Are you wanting something special from me, since you've waited this long?"

"I've been thinking about us, Frank–a lot. I'd like the first time to be special. This engagement has come about very fast. We have less than two weeks before our marriage. In this house, this fish bowl, everything we do will be noticed, talked about by those upstairs. And I'm not one that needs to live with a man to try out domestic life first. I have no doubts about you, Frank. You're the best thing that ever happened to me. But could we–would you wait?"

"Sure, honey. I want you, of course, but I'm not a sex maniac. I love you, and as I said, whether sooner or later, it won't matter to me. We're both having a lot to do right now. For one thing," he said, giving me a mysterious smile, "I have an idea about our honeymoon weekend that I hope will make it special. Would you let me take care of the arrangements?"

"I wish you would. I can hardly wait."

"Good. And I know you have some unfinished business with the detective, too. I'll be glad when that's tended to."

"Friday, I suppose, I'll have to tell him when he calls." I dreaded the prospect, but it had to be done. "Do you think I can tell him over the phone?"

"Sure. I'd prefer it, rather than a face-to-face. What's the point of getting together when you're saying goodbye?" He gave me another light kiss. "I'd better be off to prep for class tomorrow. I'm having to do new lectures and activities to cover the material, writing my stuff as I go." He rose from the sofa and I followed.

"You do understand my reasons for wanting to wait? It's not that I don't love you madly"

Frank gathered me in his arms and murmured in my ear, "You couldn't do anything to disturb me now except not marry me." And with that, he left me, and the room became a lonely place. How quickly I'd become used to his presence near me.

Chapter 30

Max called Friday as I anticipated, but it was after dinner when Frank and I had gotten back from a sandwich shop and were relaxing in front of the TV in my den.

At the ring of the phone, I looked at Frank and shrugged. "That's him, I suppose. I've never dumped anyone before, and it's not very pleasant to contemplate."

"I'll leave you to it, sweetheart. Be brave," he answered, rising and leaving the room. "I'll get myself a beer. Do you want anything?"

"Glass of wine," I called, "a large one," and then answered the phone before it went into voice mail.

I heard Max's voice greeting me in his usual friendly fashion. But I had no sense that I had made a mistake. The only mistake I'd made was encouraging a relationship that I knew down deep didn't have a chance though I couldn't quite be honest with myself at the time.

I asked Max about his class and he told me he'd gotten a lot from it and would probably pursue law as a career. "I have my friend's offer to join his firm, which I'll do in about six months. There are a few cases I'd like to wrap up first, if possible." Then he hesitated and asked the dreaded question of me. "Have you been thinking about what we discussed before I left?"

"I have, Max, and I suppose you know what the answer is. For me, it just didn't click between us. I'm so sorry, since you're deserving of someone who cares about you deeply, but I'm not the one." I hadn't been able to decide if I should confess my engagement or not. It sounded ridiculous, of course, that in the short space of two weeks after bidding him goodnight from a date, I'd turn up practically married to another man. I simply couldn't say it. But we didn't exactly run in the same circles, so I doubted that he'd hear about it, at least not for weeks or months. I heard him give a sigh–was it sadness, resignation, acceptance? I waited while the silence grew uncomfortable. I've always understood that the person with the highest anxiety level would speak first in an awkward or difficult situation. I resolved to hold my tongue and not rattle on nervously.

Then he said quietly, "I suspected this would be your answer, Tessa. I'm disappointed, but you can't help how you feel. Let's chalk up our dating to propinquity, the strange circumstances of Louis's abduction bringing us together. With that episode over and done with, maybe that's the logical end of anything between us, too. Anyway, I enjoyed the hours spent in your company, and I wish you the best."

A very gracious acceptance of my decision. I wished him the same for his future and hung up the phone as Frank came into the room with my wine. I gulped down a couple of swigs, reliving in my mind the conversation with Max. "Horrible!" I exclaimed. "Horrible!"

"I guess I don't have to worry about your going through that exercise with me," Frank said jokingly. He put an arm around me and gave me a hug. "I know it was tough, but these things happen. I felt somewhat the same as I imagine old Max does now when you ran from me after we went to the play. I figured that might be the end of it for us. Thank God I was wrong."

"You darling!" I gave him an affectionate little push away and turned the TV up. "It wasn't the same at all. How could I resist you? Well, anyway, I'm glad that's over."

The days seemed to fly by as the date of our wedding grew nearer. Frank was right; we were busy, both separately and together. For one thing, we'd met with Pastor Geigner, who spoke with us for an hour, giving us some Christian admonitions and respective marital duties as well as his personal good wishes. Frank and he discussed future plans for his confirmation studies. On the way to our car in the parking lot, we looked at each other in relief.

"Now, what's left to do?" I asked.

"Nothing, really," Frank said. "Unless we tell our folks we're engaged. "I guess that can't hurt anything. They'll not rush here on that account." He held open the car door and I slipped in.

"Oh, good idea, Frank," I said, as he settled behind the wheel. "I should have thought of that. Much less of a shock when they hear about our marriage. We'll call them today. Mother will be pleased, I'm sure."

And so that's what we did, and our parents' response was enthusiastic. Mother gasped, but said, how much she'd liked Frank. Mrs. Wenger ("call me Joan,") wanted to talk to me, and spoke most graciously of her and her husband's pleasure at having me for a daughter-in-law. I repeated to her what I'd told mother, that we'd let them know later about the wedding. I carefully couched my words so I didn't have to outright lie.

Later that day, I went upstairs to show Mimi my ring. She stood holding my hand and shaking her head until the white curls bobbed. "I knew it, I knew it, when I first saw Frank. You remember what I said, dear Tessa. I saw he was the man for you. Oh, I'm so thrilled for you both. Lovely, lovely." Then she gave a second look at the ring. "What a rock! And from Tiffany's you say? So he had even more assets than the obvious ones."

Laughing, I sidestepped the wedding plans, resolving to see Mimi before we set off for the church the following Saturday. Somehow, I wanted to share the excitement of that day with, if not family, a friend. And besides, she needed to know that we both would be gone for the weekend.

It seemed strange, in a way, that I wouldn't even be missing work before or after our wedding, but Frank had classes and we'd already decided we would have a real honeymoon maybe during Christmas vacation. I'd shopped after work one evening and found what I wanted to wear–an off white silk dress with a slim skirt to the knee and a wide silver lamé belt. With it, I planned to wear ivory sling back high heels that were nearly new. Frank came to get me at 10:30 Saturday morning, and I gave a little murmur of appreciation when I saw him in a suit for the first time. It was a pale grey summer weight, beautifully tailored, and with it he wore a dark grey linen shirt and a paisley tie.

"You look very handsome," I said.

"And you look absolutely beautiful." He handed me first a florist's box and I unwrapped a corsage of gardenias, a flower I'd once confessed to having a preference for. I attached it to my belt. Then he took a box, also in Tiffany blue, from the pocket of his suit and opened it. It contained a pearl necklace and matching drop earrings.

"Your wedding present," he said, taking out the necklace and fastening it around my neck. I attached the earrings and gave him a kiss.

"You are thoughtful, darling. I suppose you have our rings somewhere on you?"

"Of course," he said, patting his inside pocket. "They're loose, no box, no bulk."

I told Frank we had to see Mimi for a moment, to let her know we'd be gone for the weekend, so he accompanied me upstairs. She seemed flabbergasted to hear we were eloping and complimented me on my dress, my flowers, my pearls. Also, she seemed as impressed as I was to see Frank in such array. "Suits are a kind of uniform," she said, "and you know how we women love uniforms on our men."

"Why is that?" Frank asked, smiling at the old woman.

"Because they give that most important hard-body effect whether it's true or not."

I started to laugh, thinking I could have amplified that statement, but Frank stepped into the breach.

"We'll be back Labor Day afternoon. You're in charge of guarding the henhouse. No wolves at the door, if you please."

"Don't I wish," she joked.

Just as we were about to leave, I stopped. "Mimi, I wonder if I could borrow something? I'm all set with the old, my shoes; the new, my dress; and the blue, my sapphire ring."

"Anything special?"

"Just a hanky, maybe?"

She walked swiftly to her bedside table and rummaged around and then brought out a lacy handkerchief that carried a soft scent of lavender. She gave us both a kiss on the cheek and as we left her apartment, she called after us, "Much happiness forever, you two."

The church had more people inside than I'd imagined, not counting the two women from the Altar Guild, who stood just behind us in the first row. In fact, a little gathering of, I guess, church volunteers were at the rear of the nave during the ceremony. The spoken words went straight to my heart, and as I looked at Frank when repeating my vows, I thought again how lucky I was. After we knelt at the altar and received a blessing, we turned to go and the small group applauded. It seemed a nice, friendly thing to do.

"We'll be back another time," Frank said, shaking hands with the pastor in the foyer. He passed him an envelope, which I presumed was a contribution to his discretionary fund. Or maybe it was a check for him personally, or both. I didn't ask.

We drove off beaming at each other, and I said, "Now are you going to spring on me the surprise weekend? I can't imagine where one goes around here for a mini-honeymoon. Oh!" I exclaimed. "Let me guess. Is it Opryland Hotel?"

"I got us the best suite available," Frank said, almost apologetically. "The Bridal Suite was already engaged, but this one might be better, I think. It's one of the Presidential Suites."

"Frank, darling, how wonderful! I've never even stayed in a regular room at the hotel, let alone a suite. The Presidential sounds awfully expensive."

"Let's not worry about that now. I've denied you a wedding, so the least I can do is try to make the weekend memorable."

We checked into the rooms before going to lunch, and I told Frank that they reminded me of an old Hollywood movie set, ultra glamorous, ultra luxe with gilt framed mirrors, thick carpets, and decorative paneling that concealed a desk, a large flat screen TV, and even a well stocked refrigerator. The windows were dressed in a linen print over wood blinds. After touring the two rooms and bath, which sported a masseuse bench, a spa tub, and a hexagonal walk-in shower, I sank down in the sitting room on the deep, down-cushioned sofa and said, "I could live here."

"As far as I'm concerned, we will for a couple of days. We could even get room service if you'd like." Frank was loosening his tie.

"No, let's go down to get something to eat now. There's several nice restaurants to choose from. Tell me what you prefer." I suddenly felt shy, even a little awkward.

Frank pulled me up beside him. "I prefer you. I've suddenly lost my appetite for food. You look scrumptious."

"Let's look around the hotel, first.," I said, half pleading. "Shouldn't we change? I'd rather not look too honeymoonish, if you know what I mean." I extricated myself from his arms and grabbed my little train case, which I carried through the bedroom into the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and combed my hair. Then I took off my dress but belatedly realized the hangers were in the bedroom and my clothes were in the other suitcase, so I stepped out in my panties and bra and there was Frank, hanging up his suit, wearing just a pair of boxer shorts. He looked at me and shook his head.

"If you think I'm letting this moment pass, you don't know me very well." He took my dress from me and hung it on a hanger.

Then I heard the music, and I put my arms around him. "That song, you remembered." Once I'd told him how much I liked the music from the 1930s and '40s, and I heard playing over the music system, "Embracable You."

With that, he picked me up and carried me to the king-sized bed, which had already been half-turned down by the maid. Frank was both gentle and ardent that first time, and as I later recalled the weekend of our honeymoon, I remembered reading once about the words from the Rite of Holy Matrimony in the first English Book of Common Prayer, words that lamentably had been discontinued in later editions: "With my body, I thee worship. . . ."

Yet, that afternoon we did manage to tear ourselves away from each other long enough to take a walk around the immense hotel, and finally end up in a restaurant for an early dinner. Afterwards, we retired again to our room, and now I donned a peach silk and ivory lace gown I'd bought especially for the occasion on the same trip across town to buy my wedding dress. Frank admired it, but then he whipped it off over my head, saying my hair and skin were silk enough for him. I'd never in my life felt so loved. I didn't care that we'd not gone away for even a longer time. OK, maybe someday a European trip for about a month would be nice, but nothing could take the place of those thrilling two and a half days together. We were lovers in every sense of the word, and my dearest hope was that we'd remain so for the rest of our lives.

Chapter 31

One year later

It's hard to believe Frank and I have been married one whole year. So much has happened in our lives that the time has seemed to fly by. Louis is back in school for his second Fall Term after having had a very successful previous year, something I could have predicted when we all went to see him on Parents' Day last October. I say "we all" because he seemed to have a variety of parental figures, though his biological ones were missing. Robert and Rita were there with Louis's grandmother in tow. Frank and I, too, had been invited and were delighted to see the boy again and look in on his progress.

And that was remarkable! I couldn't help but remember the frightened, injured fellow who had turned up at my house just a few months earlier. He was proudly wearing his school uniform and greeted us enthusiastically as we walked toward his dorm by cannoning down the steps into my arms. I hugged him, as did Frank. Then he saw Robert and Rita, who were behind us, helping Mrs. Gleaves in her slow progress. Louis ran to his grandmother and gave her a kiss on the cheek, and then hesitating for a moment, he gave Rita a brief hug and Robert a more formal handshake.

I knew this was an awkward moment for him, but that became just a memory as the day went on, and before we left that afternoon, Robert and Rita, with Will and Louis, had seemed to bond effortlessly into a family. During the school vacations that year, Louis would run across the street to see those of us in our house, for Frank had taken up residence downstairs with a minimum of fuss, and my other renters were still in place for the time being, including Paige. In fact, Paige has decided not to move to California after all. She could not convince herself that marrying her new inamorata was the right decision for her.

"It's too great a distance," she admitted to me, "to really get to know a person well enough to marry them. And then, I'd have to move away from friends and family. It's too much."

Maybe as she said, the distance was the problem; maybe the simple fact of tying herself to a new man was impossible, considering her history. In any case, Paige resolved to get on with her life here and now and is looking to buy a charming little spinet-style house in Foxhill that's recently come on the market, less that two blocks from here.

Mimi admits that because her bad knees and hip are giving her fits, she might have to take up the offer to move into a guest house to be built especially for her at her daughter's in Lexington. "I hate to leave this lovely place," she said to Frank and me, "but I have a feeling you might be needing to turn it into a single family dwelling eventually anyway." She gave us an uplifted eyebrow and we laughed in acknowledgment. We are expecting in March, but we haven't decided when we should start making plans to change the house back to its original configuration. We knew we could make do for a few months after the baby is born, but we would have to give up either our den or our guest room if we kept the downstairs alone our home. Frank had wanted to continue using the attic rooms for his office, which has worked out well.

Hal's wish to get out the first edition of Cityscape for Christmas was unfulfilled, and we had to settle for January instead. I was genuinely proud of our efforts, especially with the contributors who had submitted wonderful, interesting stories. Hal had done a bang-up job in getting advertisers, but that may have been partly due to his clever plan to sign up a good number of subscribers, using Internet sources and huge discounts for a year's subscription. The advertisers then knew they had a large base of readers. I had a wonderfully talented assistant in the person of a recent graduate from a local college, and I knew she'd be perfectly capable of taking over my duties when the time came for me to retire. I guess I knew from the beginning of my marriage that this would be inevitable. I had no wish to submit my child to a nanny when I didn't have to.

Frank's agent had sold his program to a computer games company, and his royalties will bring in a certain income, which will be helpful, of course, but hardly necessary. Frank continues as an adjunct instructor but is enrolled this fall at Vanderbilt to get his doctorate so he can continue teaching. He said it seems to be in his blood, and he's decided he prefers contact with students to sitting endlessly in front of a computer screen. If he gets the creative urge, he thinks he might try a novel next time. We also know that our sojourn in the neighborhood will have to end someday. Foxhill just doesn't lend itself at this stage of its reclamation to families with small children. There are no playgrounds, no nearby neighborhood schools that are yet safe, really there aren't even other children to play with. Undoubtedly, after a few more years, we'll have to join the migration to the suburbs. Besides, if Frank gets a teaching job out of the city, we might need to move. But that was still ahead of us and not anything to be worrying about now.

And then there was the court case involving my erstwhile neighbor, Aubrey Slinker. The trial had been set for the middle of May, and Louis and I were both subpoenaed to testify. It was not particularly convenient for Louis, being at the end of his school year just before finals, but Robert Shepherd said he could pick him early that morning and run him back after he testified without his missing too much school. As we witnesses assembled in the ante-room, in walked Max Richter. I hadn't seen him since we parted those many months ago before my marriage, so we greeted each other with some restraint, though in a friendly fashion. He sat on the other side of Louis, and after talking to the boy about his schooling, he leaned across and asked me how I was doing. I showed him my ring and explained about the marriage. He congratulated me, and I asked him if he'd left the police force. He said it hadn't come about yet, but he was working on that very thing for the coming year. We settled back into our seats, and except for a comment or two about Slinker, nothing more was said about our personal lives.

The trial apparently went without a hitch, with overwhelming evidence to convict. And that's exactly what the jury decided, Slinker receiving the death penalty for his abductions and eight killings. Good riddance! I shuddered now and then as I thought about his close proximity and what had been going on for years in that shabby house with only the cat Marianne as a witness, until the tornado struck and Slinker's life of crime was literally exposed. Lately, I've heard that his cleaned-off lot has been sold and some brave and not very superstitious soul will be building on it.

As I reflect on the past year and more, I realize how blindly I had stumbled into my life, my real life. I'd found what I thought I'd lost–hope and assurance--through those gifts of love and acceptance and patience that came my way unbidden. Almost, I'd turned them away–sold the house instead of taking up residence; not rented the attic to Frank; sent Louis back to the projects, taken a job at the library instead of the newspaper. But as life in all its strange and wonderful manifestations unfolded before me, I finally began to see the flowers at my feet, the blessings from God that had been bestowed on me.

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