

### The Magic Mirror

### Michael Gemignani

### Copyright 2010 Michael Gemignani

### Smashwords Edition

### This book may be copied and distributed freely, but not used for

### financial profit without my permission.

The Magic Mirror

Into the Forest

Behind the weather-beaten house of my youth was large yard half covered with items that my parents had thrown there when they broke and could not be fixed, or when my parents simply tired of them. The discards included an old wringer washing machine with the wringer busted out and, a rusted push lawnmower.

The grass, what there was of it, had grown up around and through the trash. Immediately behind the yard was a forest. The roots of some of the trees closest to our yard broke through the ground and sapped much of the nutrition from the soil. The trees also cloaked the yard in shade much of the day and further hindered growth. My parents had half-heartedly tried to start a garden on one edge of the yard, but gave up when all they got were scrawny shoots and no mature plants.

We struggled daily to keep the forest from invading our property. Seedlings were a constant presence in our yard despite its poor soil. My parents pulled up the infant trees before they could firmly root themselves. Even as uneducated as they were, they were smart enough to know that if the seedlings were allowed to prosper, they would eventually overwhelm us. My parents paid more attention to the seedlings than to me. I suspected that our poverty made them resent having to spend the meager amounts needed to feed and clothe me. I was not sure they wanted me in the first place. I may have been merely a byproduct of what passion they could muster shortly after their marriage. In any event, they were cold and distant. I had to fend for myself, and I became cold and distant toward them.

The forest was a dark, foreboding place. My parents warned me not to venture far into it, to stay always close enough to the house that they could hear me shout if I got into trouble, to never go deep enough that I could not easily find my way home. I think they were more afraid of what the neighbors would say if something terrible happened to me than caring about my safety, nor did they want to have to go to the trouble of looking for me if I got lost.

Dark and foreboding, but I was never sure what lurked in the forest that I should be afraid of. Were their fearsome animals, bears perhaps? We did see wildlife in our yard often enough, but these were harmless rabbits, squirrels, deer and raccoons.

My father would sometimes shoot a deer, dress the carcass and place the meat in our freezer. Venison was a staple of our diet, but I was sad for the deer and felt guilty whenever I ate it. Occasionally, my father would shoot a squirrel. He considered squirrel a delicacy, but I could not bring myself to eat squirrel. Eat deer but not squirrel? Well, I had to eat something. We were among the poorest of the poor.

Still, the forest beckoned. I was quite familiar with the area close to our house. There was even a narrow path leading into the forest from our yard that I had followed until I feared I had wandered farther than my parents wanted me to. But the path went on even after I had turned back; and I resolved that one day I would find out where it led.

That day came one afternoon when I had followed the path to the point at which I had always before turned back. Why not go on, I asked myself. As long as I was on the path, I could always find my way back. If I sensed any danger, I would immediately run home as fast as I could. Of course, I would not tell my parents what I had done. But what danger could there be? We had never seen an animal more dangerous than a large dog in our yard, and even the dog showed himself to be friendly. If there were bears, or wolves, or tigers in the forest, why had we never seen evidence of them? I pressed on.

I must have lost track of time, so engrossed was I in my adventure, that suddenly I realized that darkness was falling. I realized that the sun was going down, though I could not see the sun through the trees. There was no chance of my reaching the house before total darkness set in. The path could not guide me home if I could not see it.

I was seized by fear. I could not even see my hand in front of my face. Clouds covered the sky so I did not even have faint light from the stars or moon. I had never experienced such complete darkness, such awful blindness. I could never even have conjured it up in my imagination. My imagination created images, sounds, speeches. But now there were no images, and what sounds there were came from creatures I dared not imagine. I began to cry softly at first, and then I broke into loud sobs.

But tears, I realized, would not save me. I prayed. I shouted. AGod, if you exist, save me. Show me the path home. Keep me safe from the dangers of the night.@ There was no reply.

Surely, though, my parents would start to search for me when I did not return home. I feared what they would do to punish me for my transgression, but I feared the darkness even more. I called out with as much force as I could muster, AI am here. Your son is here. Help me, my mother and father.@ My words disappeared into the darkness leaving nothing behind but the void of the all-enveloping night.

Despite my anxiety, I was tired beyond exhaustion. I knelt and felt the ground around me. The path beneath me was bordered by tall grass. I lay down along the path, using my hands as a pillow. If I were not first devoured by some beast, the dawn would enable me to find my way home. If I awoke, I would know I was still alive. If I did not wake up, . . . If I did not wake up, how would I know I did wake up? Had my spirit been less drained, I would have found that thought amusing. In a short time, I feel into a deep sleep.

My blanket of sleep was suddenly shaken off by my unconscious mind which had detected something peculiar. Then I heard voices in the distance and saw faint lights flickering in the darkness. I could tell from the voices that there was a man and women, and from the flickering of the light, I guessed they were carrying torches. My parents, my parents were looking for me after all. I called out, AHere I am. Here is your son.@

The voices were louder now, and I could make out the flames of the torches, but the faces were still too far away to see clearly. When I cried out AI am here,@ my rescuers seemed to move more quickly, though still slowly picking their way along the narrow path by what pale light their torches could provide.

They were within perhaps ten feet of me when I finally could make out their faces. They seemed to be my parents, but I was not sure. I called out again, AHere I am, your son.@

They came closer and stood over me. I tried to stand, but I did not have the strength. AHelp me. Help me to stand,@ I begged.

The woman held the torch down to better illuminate my face. AHa,@ she laughed, Athis is not the one we=re looking for.@

The man then studied me by the light of his own torch. AI=m afraid you=re right,@ he agreed. AHe is definitely not the one we=re looking for.@ He, too, burst into laughter. Then they turned and walked away down the path from whence they had come, still laughing. Their laughter faded into the distance along with the flames of their torches.

I lay there again in complete darkness. I must have fallen asleep again, for when I opened my eyes again, it was day. My thoughts were confused, chaotic. Were the two that found me last night really my parents? Perhaps the encounter was not real. Perhaps it was a dream, or perhaps the spirits of the forest were playing a practical joke. I don=t know. I may never know.

I rose and began walking down the path again away from my house.
A House in the Forest

I kept moving forward down the path with little sense of time. The sun was now high in the sky, and the air was hot even in the shade of the forest. I had not eaten since yesterday=s lunch and my stomach was beginning to hurt. I had risked a drink from a stream near the path because I was so thirsty. I thought that, surely, I would have reached the edge of the forest by now, but there was still naught but trees and brush on all sides.

Still, I dared not leave the path. In a forest so vast, I could easily become lost. At least the path must eventually lead somewhere. Others must have used the path recently since it had not been overgrown. But I had, as yet, met no one else and was not sure how I would react if I did. If they were going my way, I might ask to join them since I was feeling quite lonely and unsure of myself.

Perhaps I had made a terrible mistake in striking out of my own. Perhaps it was not my parents who had abandoned me last night. Even if it was they, it was I who had disobeyed their command not to stray so far into the forest. I could still return home and they would have to accept me, however little they loved me. I would apologize and ask them to forgive me. It would take the remainder of the day to retrace my steps, but I could, I thought, reach the house before nightfall.

Yes, my home, food, a place to sleep, safety. If I ran much of the way I might reach home by late afternoon. I turned and gasped. I closed my eyes, hoping that when I reopened them what I had seen was only an illusion. I opened my eyes and stared. The path back to my house and my parents had been reclaimed by the forest.

I saw that the forest was no longer just a mass of trees and undergrowth. Though seemingly immobile, it had a mind and a will of its own. And its will, apparently, was to keep me from the safety of my home. What if it now chose to block my path forward as well? I hurried down the path as quickly as I could, hoping to escape before the accursed trees chose to imprison me.

As I ran, I noticed an area ahead to the right where the light seemed brighter. As I approached it, I saw there was a clearing; and when I came to the clearing, I saw a house in the middle of the clearing.

I had never expected to find a house in the forest, but neither had I expected the trees to move and block my way home. The house might well be a trap. It might not even be a house at all, just as a path might suddenly not be a path.

Oddly, the house itself looked much like my parents= house, but it was much better kept. The paint was not peeling or faded, and there was no rotten wood close to the stairs to the porch. It looked like my house might look like if we were not so poor as to be unable to afford to keep it up.

The house was surrounded was green grass, nicely trimmed. The lawn was free of trash and bare spots. What was I to do? I was ravenously hungry as well as thirsty. I would have to take the chance that this was a trap. Perhaps I would be murdered, or even eaten for dinner. My exhaustion and hunger overwhelmed my fear, and I climbed the porch steps and stood at the front door.

A sign beside the door read, AWelcome, please come in.@ There was no doorbell, and so I knocked on the door three times. After I waited a minute or so and no one came, I knocked on the door more loudly and for a longer time. Still, no one came. But the sign invited me to enter, and, screwing up my courage as best I could in my weakened state, I grabbed hold of the doorknob and turned it.

To my surprise, I was able to push the door open. Surely, I thought, anyone living here would lock the door to prevent intruders. But they did invite me to come in, didn=t they? I stepped across the threshold and stopped in stunned disbelief. The inside of the house was exactly like that of my old house, except that it was neat and well-kept. I was in a hallway with the living room on my right and the dining room on my left. A table just like the one we ate at at home was set with three places. There were also three bowls containing potatoes, string beans and cabbage, a platter of what appeared to be beef, and a large pitcher of water.

I looked about and saw no one. How odd, I thought, that such a sumptuous meal had been prepared and there was no one around to eat it. Of course, I was fearful of what would happen to me if I began to eat and the owners of the house came in and discovered me. But my hunger overcame my fear, and I loaded one of the plates with meat and vegetables and quickly devoured it all. Then I ate a second helping almost as large as the first and washed it all down with two tall glasses of water.

I was full to overflowing and enjoying my sudden turn of luck when I heard a voice from behind. ADid you enjoy your dinner?@ it asked. .I was so surprised that I almost fell off my chair. I stood up rapidly and turned to face my inquisitor.

I know I must have turned pale with fright because standing opposite me was a man who looked exactly like my father; yet, I knew he was not my father, just as the house was not my house although it was so similar. Yet, I could not help but ask, AAre you my father?@

ANo, child, but I am what your father might one day be.@

I didn=t understand the man=s answer, but I knew he might be angry. I stammered an apology for intruding as I had and for having eaten so much. I assured the man that I had intended no harm but had gotten lost in the woods and was so famished that I would have fainted had I not had something to eat. The man stood silently observing me as I continued to run on with my excuses and explanations.

Soon, though, he lifted his hand in a clear signal that I was to be silent. AYou are welcome here,@ he said gently. AI prepared the table for you, and I knew full well that you would eat your fill. You ran away from home, didn=t you?@

I hung my head, afraid to look into his face. AYes, I did. But I was going to run back to my parents when the path was blocked by the forest, so I had to keep going. I would have become hopelessly lost if I had tried to find my way without the path to follow.@

AWhy did you run away, my son?@

ABecause my parents don=t love me,@ I responded earnestly. Having said this, I found tears welling up in my eyes. I felt ashamed, ashamed of my tears, ashamed of accusing my parents of failing to love me. And, yet, why should I be ashamed because I felt sure I had spoken the truth.

AYour parents love in their own way,@ the man replied gently. AThere are many people in the world who love, but who do not know how to express their love. Some express their love in ways that do not seem like love. Or, even worse, some love but are afraid to show their love.@

ABut why,@ I asked, Awould my father or mother not know how to show me they really loved me. Or why would they be afraid to love?@

AThose who themselves have never been well loved have never learned how to give love well. One must have been loved well himself to be able to love others well.

AThose who have tried to love and had their love ridiculed or rejected are often afraid to show their love again to others. Love is the gift of ourselves. The one you love holds your heart in his hands, and if the one you love abuses that love, or cruelly rejects it, your heart is grievously wounded, your soul is torn, and you are afraid to risk enduring such pain again by loving another.@

AIs that then,@ I asked, Awhat happened to my parents that they had such trouble loving me? Did I somehow reject their love so that they felt they could not trust me with their love again?@

ANo, my child, that is not what happened. Your parents never learned to love themselves so they could not then love others. They had been abused when they were young and made to believe they had little value to anyone, that they were bad children and unworthy of being loved. And, for this reason, they hated themselves. Self-hatred is a terrible disease that must be cured before the sick person can love both himself and another.@

AWill my parents, then, ever be cured of this disease?@

AIf you learn how to love them in spite of their inability to return your love. If you can show them a love that they have never before experienced, this may cure them. But this is a difficult and painful task. You yourself will feel great pain in the process of healing your parents.@

ACan I try then to heal them?@

ANo, my child, you are not yet strong or wise enough to attempt this yet.@

AThen how do I become strong and wise enough?@

AYou have begun that process here in this house. I have shown you love by letting you enter and feeding you. I could have locked the door against you, or I could have punished you for stealing my food, even though you were starving, and I gave you cold water to quench your great thirst. But you still have much more to learn before you can teach your parents to love.@

AHow, then, can I learn it?@

AYou must leave this house now. The path back to your parents is open now. You can return today, if you wish. Because you are still young in the lessons of love, you cannot yet teach others how to love. But the choice is yours. If you return now, at least you will understand your parents better, even though you will not be able to help them.

ABut I will give you something to help you whatever your decision may be.@

The man went into the kitchen and returned quickly with a small box. AAfter you leave here, but not before, you may open this box. Treasure what you find inside. You will not realize its value at first, but, as you learn to use it, you will want it with you always. Now go.@

AWhere shall I go?@ I asked anxiously as I took the box from his outstretched hand. But by the time I got the words out of my mouth, my benefactor had vanished.

I searched the house, calling for him, but I could not find him. I glanced at the dining room table. It was now bare. I opened the front door and stepped outside. The paint seemed duller and more blistered than it was when I had entered. The grass that was so green seemed more withered.

I walked back to the path, clutching the box tightly. The path was open behind me as far as I could see. I was certain that if I followed it back, I would be able to reach my home again. I thought of what the man had said. Perhaps he would give me better instructions if I returned to the house again and asked him. He must still be there somewhere, even if he was hiding from me.

I turned to looked toward the house, but it had vanished along with the clearing in which it stood. I saw only a wall of trees. I was still for several minutes, thinking of how strange this all was. I was not frightened, only puzzled.

What was in the box? I quickly snapped open the cover and peered inside. The treasure in the box was a small mirror. What was I to do with a mirror? Well, the man had said that it was valuable, and his house was clearly a magical house. He himself had to be a powerful sorcerer. So the mirror must be a magic mirror. But what was its magic?

I had to decide: go home or continue down the path wherever it led. I set off down the path in the direction away from my home.
The Magic Mirror

I was still walking on the path leading away from my home. It was, as best I could judge, late in the afternoon, and there was no end in sight to this seemingly endless forest. Though I had had a fine meal and had drunk my fill at the house, I was now thirsty again. Of course, I realized that night would fall in a few hours, and I had no place to sleep except in the awful darkness of the forest.

I had taken the mirror I had been given and placed it in a pocket in my shirt. I had looked into it only briefly before storing it away and noticed nothing special about it. It seemed like quite an ordinary mirror, but the man had told me that it was a special mirror, a magic mirror. Perhaps it could help me now.

I took it out of my pocket and looked into it. At first I saw only my reflection, or, at least, what I thought was my reflection because the face in the mirror seemed older that I was, even though the face was clearly my own. What good did it do me to look at my face? I began to think the man had played a joke on me.

AMagic mirror,@ I thought to myself, Aif you are magic, show me how to get out this forest.@

To my amazement, the image in the mirror changed. I could see the path and the trees, but the path soon opened out into a broad meadow. I could see from the pale light in the sky over the meadow that it was early evening, and the sun was setting. I took all of this to mean that if I kept moving down the path that I would leave the forest around evening and emerge into the meadow that the mirror was showing me.

With renewed energy, I started down the path again, forgetting my thirst, and, hopeful, that I would soon find . . .find what? I would find a meadow, but what then? The question to that question would have to wait. In the meantime, I wanted more than anything else to get out of the forest before night fell and I would again find myself in total darkness.

Just as the mirror had told me, I stumbled out of the forest into a broad meadow just as the sun was setting. The sky was cloudless, so I would have at least the light of the moon and stars to sleep by. I was so tired that I slumped into the soft grass and lay on my back, looking up as the sky darkened and the stars flickered on. A quarter moon hung to my left about half-way down the horizon. It glowed ever brighter as the dusk faded into the evening. Countless stars formed a canopy above me. A particularly bright spot near the moon had to be a planet, but I did not know which one it was.

I lay there marveling at the glory above me revealed by the darkened sky. Never before had I appreciated the beauty of the night sky or realized how numerous were the stars. With the grass as my mattress and the sky as the roof above me, I was soon fast asleep.

When I awoke, light was spread across the sky in the direction of the rising sun. Now that I was rested and awake, I could no longer ignore my intense thirst and growing hunger. Of course, I had no idea whatsoever where I was, except that I was now safely outside the forest. The path ended at the edge of the forest, and the trees formed a wall barely a stone=s throw away.

The day was growing lighter, and I could see a house about a quarter mile away. Was it an enchanted house like the one I had visited in the forest, or a real house in which real people lived? But the magic of the forest was also real. I had experienced it for myself. What is the difference between magic houses and real houses? Well, I supposed, real houses do not suddenly disappear.

I got up and started toward the house. When I reached it, I saw a car parked in the driveway and a dirt road that bordered its front lawn. The car appeared quite old and well-worn, but, unlike my parents, the people of this house were at least prosperous enough to own a car. I was hoping that the presence of the car indicated that someone was home, I walked quickly to the front door and knocked loudly.

I waited a minute or so and knocked again. I tried the handle but the door was locked. At last I heard someone undo the latch. The door opened. Facing me was a stooped, old woman not more than five feet tall wearing a red and white checkered apron over a green smock. The skin of her face was heavily wrinkled, and her hair was white as white could be. She was thin and her arms were so skinny as to let their bones stand out. Her appearance might well have frightened me that it not been for the kindness I saw in her face.. Her eyes were a deep brown and shown like jewels. When I looked into those eyes, I found I could not be afraid.

AYes, son,@ she said gently, Awhat do you want?@

AI ran away from parents who don=t love me,@ I blurted, Aand I am thirsty and hungry and lost.@ Now I was near tears. AWill you help me?@ I asked, half whimpering.

ASamuel, come here,@ the woman turned and called. I saw a man as old and wrinkled as the woman walk slowly up behind her.

AWhat is it, Martha?@ he asked. Then he saw me and smiled. AAha, we have a visitor. You know, son, we don=t get visitors very often. Most of our friends have either died or moved away. Come in, come in. We=re just letting the flies in by keeping the door open.@

I stepped inside. I smelled fragrances that of food that whetted further my hunger. The woman must have been cooking, and I could tell from the smells that she was a good cook indeed.

AWell, you might as well have breakfast with us and tell us your story,@ the woman said as she and Samuel led me toward the kitchen. Martha went to cupboard and retrieved a plate and a cup and made a place at the table for me. Samuel put a knife, fork and napkin beside my plate.

AI know you must be thirsty,@ she said and poured me a glass of cold water from a pitcher in the refrigerator. I drank it all in one long gulp.

Martha refilled the glass and put it down at my place at the table. Samuel had pulled up a chair for me. Samuel sat and invited me to sit as well. Martha remained standing to serve us the scrambled eggs and bacon she had cooked on the stove. After she had placed an ample helping of eggs and bacon on each plate, she opened the oven and pulled out a tray with four slices of toast. She put two on Samuel=s plate, one on mine and one on her own, and then pulled a jar of strawberry jam from the refrigerator and placed it in the middle of the table.

We began eating. It must have been clear how hungry I was by the way I attacked my food. I finished off everything on my plate, including the toast with an ample helping of jam, before Samuel and Martha had eaten half their bacon and eggs.

AHe must truly be famished,@ Samuel remarked to Martha. AHere, son, have another piece of toast.@ He placed one of his piece of toast on my plate.

ASamuel, you know how much you like . . .,@ Martha blurted out, but Samuel interrupted her immediately. AThe child is hungry and needs it more than I do.@

ABut, son,@ Martha continued, Ayou haven=t told us anything about yourself other than you think your parents don=t love you. Why, we don=t even know your name. I think it=s time we learned more about you.@

AMy name is Adam,@ I began. AI live, or used to live on the other side of the forest. My parents are very poor and our house was small and run down, but that is not why I ran away. I would not have run away if I had felt my parents loved me and wanted me to stay with them.

ABut they were always telling me what a burden I was to them, how much more they would have to eat if they did not have to feed me. They let me play in the yard all day, but they never came to play games with me. I did the jobs they assigned me, but they never thanked me for doing them, but they would hit me if I failed to do them exactly the way they wanted me to.

AThey did not want me to go far from our house, but I finally decided I wanted to explore the forest. I thought if I got lost, or some fierce animal ate me, I wouldn=t really care because my life was so miserable. I was sure my parents wouldn=t are either. My dying would relieve them of the burden of caring for me.

ABut once I was deep in the forest I was frightened. It was terribly dark at night, and I had no place to sleep except on the path. I don=t know if it was a dream or real, but I saw my parents coming down the path with torches. They seemed to be looking for me, but when they came to me, they started laughing and turned away, telling one another that I was not the one they were looking for. They left me in the terrible darkness.

AI continued down the path and found a small house that looked exactly like my own. Inside was lots of food and a man who looked exactly like my father, but he was kind and gentle and let me eat and drink my fill. Then he and the house disappeared, and I found myself alone once more on the path.

AI continued down the path, but I was afraid that I would not be able to leave the forest before night fell and I would have to be alone in total darkness again. But I used the mirror that the man gave me. It showed me that I if I walked quickly, I could leave the forest and enter the meadow behind your house by evening. I slept last night in the meadow. It was so peaceful there with the stars and moon overhead.

AWhen I woke up, I saw your house, and here I am. I am so grateful for letting me come in and for feeding me.@

Samuel and Martha looked at one another, and then at me. Samuel spoke first. AWe had a little boy who grew up and moved away. We have not seen him in a long time, and we miss him. You look a lot like he did when he was your age, so I am glad you came to visit us. You remind Martha and me of our own son.@

AYes, I was thinking the same thing,@ Martha said with a hint of sadness in her voice. AHe even sounds a lot like Robin.@

AYour son=s name was Robin?@ I asked.

AYes, it was,@ Martha replied, Aand we miss him a great deal. But he, like you, wanted to find out what the world was like. We gave him all the love we could, but this house was too small for him, and we are far from our nearest neighbors. He was lonely in spite of our love, and so one day he left. He did not even say goodbye.@ Tears were forming in Martha=s eyes and slowly running down her cheeks.

AI=m sorry,@ Martha blurted.

AThere=s no need to be sorry for anything,@ Samuel retorted. ARobin had to do what he had to do. We did the best we could for him. We gave him all the love we could, but, apparently, it was not enough. Perhaps he is happier now.@

AHow would we know he is happy?@ Martha said, sniffling. AWe don=t even know where he is.@

Martha wiped her eyes and cheeks with her napkin. ABut we shouldn=t bother this child with our troubles.@

She turned toward me. AChild, we are happy you came to our house. You can stay as long as you wish. We still have Robin=s bedroom. It is small, but you are welcome to use it.

ADid I hear you say something about a mirror that someone gave you that told you how to get out of the forest. Is that what you said?@

ANo,@ I replied, Athe mirror did not tell me how to get out of the forest. It=s true that I asked it to show me how I could get out, but it just showed me that the path I was on led to a meadow, and it seemed that I could reach the meadow by that evening if I kept walking.@

AI never heard of such a thing,@ Martha said. AWhat else does this strange mirror do?@

AWell, to be honest,@ I answered, AI don=t know. I=ve only it used it once.@

ACould it,@ Martha asked excitedly, Acould it tell us where Robin is?@

I answered again that I did not know what the mirror could, or could not, do. I did not even know how to ask the mirror questions. But I would ask the mirror a question and see what happened.

I pulled the mirror out from my shirt pocket and showed it to Samuel and Martha. They each in turn examined the mirror and looked into it.

AThat=s strange,@ said Samuel, AI don=t see my reflection. I just see the wall behind me.@

Martha did see her reflection, but she remarked that her face looked even more wrinkled and older than it did when she looked in her bathroom mirror that very morning. I remember then that I my reflection looked older than I was. Did the mirror add years to our age, and, if so, how many? What if someone could not see their reflection? Did that mean . . . I dared not complete the question, even if just in my mind.

Martha handed the mirror back to me. For the second time, I spoke to the mirror. AMirror, show me how to find Robin, the son of Martha and Samuel.@

My image vanished from the mirror, and in its place I saw a large building surrounded by other large buildings. The streets near the buildings were crowded with cars, and many people were on the sidewalks. I described what I was seeing to Martha and Samuel. They each got up and came to look over my shoulder.

AHow strange,@ Samuel said. AClearly, these buildings are in some large city. If your mirror is telling the truth, that must be where Robin is. At least it is an indication that he still alive. That is a great consolation.@

ABut it doesn=t tell where he is, or whether he ever thinks of us,@ Martha sighed. ABut I, too, am happy that he is alive.@

I remained silent reflecting on the loss of their son and the sadness it had brought Martha and Samuel. I wonder if my parents were sad because I was gone. I thought of how pleasant it would be to remain with Samuel and Martha. I would be safe and have plenty to eat, and they seemed so much more interested in me than my parents. But I suddenly found myself asking, AWould you rather that I stay here with you, or would you want me to leave and try to find Robin?@

I don=t know what led me to ask this question. Perhaps I instinctively wanted to this old couple who had showed me such generosity.

Both Samuel and Martha were silent for a moment as they continued to look over my shoulder at the mirror. Then Martha spoke, ARobin left us when he was just a bit older than you, and we have been alone ever since. It would be so pleasant to have you stay with us. You could not replace Robin, but we would treat you like a son, and when we died, we would give this house and all we own to you. We would love you as best we could, and perhaps you would forget the pain that your parents caused you and forgive them. But I would so like to see Robin again before I die.@

ANo,@ Samuel said, Ayou may be a gift sent to us from heaven. It would be too painful at our age to lose another son. Stay with awhile. This is not the time to make so hard a decision.@
A Mission of Mercy

With Samuel and Martha unwilling to let me leave their home to seek their son, I made

Robin=s bedroom my own and became a part of the household=s routine. Samuel and Martha

were early risers, generally getting up for their morning ablutions even before the sun rose.

Martha would then go the kitchen to prepare breakfast while Samuel went out to tend their

vegetable garden and feed their two goats, five hens, a rooster, and one goose. Actually, caring

for the garden and the animals took more time than was available before breakfast. Indeed, after

breakfast he would spend the rest of the morning in the garden and the small barnyard that

housed his little flock.

I soon found myself rising early myself and helping him with his chores. I would collect

and clean eggs, carry water in a pail from the house to the bowls from which the animals drank,

and helped clean the small henhouse and the barnyard. Samuel and Martha were delighted to

see me help without being asked. Robin, they told me, had helped them only grudgingly,

complaining about how primitive their lives were. I, however, found the simplicity of their life

delightful. They had shown me love by taking me in and treating me as one of their family, and I

felt great satisfaction in reciprocating that love by doing whatever I could do to help them.

But the shadow of Robin still fell heavily across the house. I dared not remove his

pictures and mementoes from his bedroom, even though it was now my bedroom, . . or was it?

However much Samuel and Martha welcomed me and embraced me with their affection, even

calling me >son,= they and I knew that I was not their son. Worse yet, I knew I reminded them of

Robin. They had told me that I looked much like him and spoke much like him, so I wondered if

my presence continually brought to mind the sad memories of Robin=s leaving.

The man in the forest had told me that I had to learn how to love before I could return and

teach my parents how to love. And now I lay awake at night wondering what it meant to love

Martha and Samuel. I wondered as well if they loved me for my own sake, or because they were

giving me love that properly belonged to Robin. And, in the end, did the motive for their love or

mine really matter? I was comfortable with our arrangement, as clearly they seemed to be as

well.

Yet, I was pursued by the question: Was it more loving for me to leave them to seek their

true son and bring him back to them than to stay and let them love me in Robin=s place? If I left

them as Robin did, would not their sorrow be compounded? They would then have lost two sons

and be alone to grow older and more feeble with only one another as companions. I dared not

raise my questions with Samuel and Martha lest they think I was ungrateful for their taking me in

and because it might seem that I was seeking an excuse to run away.

One evening, about two months after I had arrived, we all were at dinner together. I had

noted that Samuel seemed to be moving more slowly as he worked that morning, and now I saw

that his face appeared more worn and haggard.

He turned to me. ASon, he said, AI sense that I may not have that much longer to live.@

ANo, no,@ Martha interjected forcefully, Adon=t even say such things. We are going to

grow old together.@

Samuel stretched out his left hand toward Martha. ANo, Martha, let me speak. We have

already grown old together. Our love for one another has stretched over sixty years in times good

and bad. But you and I will each die someday, even though we may not know when death will

take us.@

I saw tears forming in Martha=s eyes and begin to run down her cheeks. She tried to dry

them with her napkin, but then broke into open sobs. Samuel rose and walked to stand behind

her and placed his hands gently on her shoulders. ANo, Martha, I wish your tears would wash

away the sadness that we both feel, but my heart and the boy=s mirror both tell me that my time

on earth is drawing to a close.@

AWhat do you mean the mirror told you?@ Martha sniffled.

ADon=t you realize, dearest Martha, that the mirror allows us to see our reflection at some

point in the future? Your reflection was yourself at an older age. When I looked into the mirror,

I saw no reflection at all. You will outlive me, but I must make certain that you are well cared

for when I am gone.

AI do not know how much time I have left. Each day it is a greater struggle for me to

complete my work. Someday not long from now I may not be able to work at all.@

ABut we have Adam with us now to help with the work and take care of us when that time

comes,@ Martha countered.

ABeloved wife, humor me,@ said Samuel softly. AI must see Robin again and tell him that

I forgive him for what he did and for the anguish he caused us. He is our son and we don=t know

where he is, or anything about him now except that, according to the mirror, he is still alive. And

if he is alive, I want to reconcile with him. I do not want to die without seeing my son again.@

Martha turned her head to look up into her husband=s face. ABut we have Adam now. He

is our son.@

AYes, Martha, Adam is a great blessing to us. But I do not need to be reconciled with

Adam. He may have been sent to us, not to adopt as our son, but to help us find the our son who

ran away and bring him back to us before I die.@

AAnd if he can=t find Robin and bring him back to us, then we will have lost both Adam

and Robin.@ Martha started to cry again.

Samuel stood quietly for a moment. AYes, Martha, you are right. We do not want to lose

both our sons.@

Then he turned toward me and asked, AAdam, if we ask you to look for Robin and you

either cannot find him, or he will not come home with you, will you come back and stay with us

again?@

I felt tears forming in my eyes. I did not want to leave. I was enjoying my life here, and I

had finally found parents who loved me. But I knew Samuel was right. His loss of his beloved

son was an open wound that would not heal until he could once more embrace Robin and find

reconciliation.

AYes,@ I answered, AI will seek your son because you love him. And because you have

loved me, I will return to you, either with Robin or by myself if I cannot find him or he will not

return with me. How much time do you want me to spend on my search before I must come back

again?@

AI think I will still be able to do what I need to do for at least three months,@ Samuel

answered. ABy the end of three months, return, one way or another.@

Martha had stopped crying now that she had heard me say I would return. A@Son, please

do not stay away for more than three months. I could bear to lose a second son.@

I promised them that I would come back again in not more than three months, with or

without Robin.

Samuel walked out of the kitchen and return a short time later with an envelope. AHere is

money to last you for the time you will be gone. I will drive you in our car to the nearest town

where you will be able to find transportation to wherever else you want to go. I am hoping your

mirror will guide you to Robin.@

That night I slept poorly. I thought I heard footsteps outside my bedroom door and

suspected that Martha and Samuel had trouble sleeping. The next morning I rose as usual,

helped Samuel and then had breakfast. After breakfast, I went to my room and packed the and

clothes and other belongings in a knapsack that had belonged to Robin that Martha retrieved

from a hall closet. The mirror and the envelope that Samuel had given me I put in my shirt

pocket.

After an especially lavish lunch that Martha had fixed in my honor, I gave a tearful

farewell to Martha, hugging her tightly before going to the car with Samuel. I threw the

knapsack in the back seat and got in the front seat next to Samuel.

Samuel pulled out of the driveway and started down the dirt road that ran to nearest town,

creating a cloud of dust behind us. I looked back briefly and saw Martha standing in the

driveway wiping her eyes and waving goodbye.
A City Apart

Samuel turned right off the dirt road on to a two-lane asphalt road that became a divided,

four-lane highway as the entered the outskirts of the town. We had driven about one hour when

Samuel pulled into the parking lot of a shopping center. AThis is where your mother and I come

to buy new clothes on those rare occasions when our old ones are too worn to wear,@ Samuel

observed. AThe people here are not at all friendly, but it the next nearest town is miles further

down the road.@

We both got out of the car and Samuel came toward me and embraced me, trying hard not

to show the emotion that was evident in his voice. AThis is where I will leave you, son. Do your

best to find Robin, but if you cannot find him, remember that you promised to return to our home

within three months. Martha and I are counting on you.@

I felt more alone and frightened than I had ever felt before in my life. I was further from

my real parents than ever both in distance and in feeling. Though I was still learning the meaning

of love, I was certain that I loved Martha and Samuel, and I knew that they loved me. Now I was

leaving behind the first real home I had known to try to find someone I had never met and was

not sure I would recognize him if I found him.

To make matters worse, although this town, whose name I still did not know, seemed of

modest size, I have never before been in a town this large, having lived almost all of my life

within walking distance of the home of my birth. I was lost in more ways than one, but I had

made a promise to Samuel and Martha that I intended to keep. That much I knew, though I could

not yet imagine how I would keep it.

I watched mournfully as Samuel pulled out of the parking lot and headed for home.

So now I was on my own. What to do first? I had enough money to rent a room to sleep

in, but with only three months to find Robin, I could not remain long in one place. Perhaps

Robin was somewhere in this very town, but I doubted it because I saw no tall buildings here like

those that had appeared in my mirror.

As I stood there, I saw a man walking rapidly across the parking lot. Seeing that he

would pass close to me, I called, ASir, sir, could I ask you the name of this town?@ But he passed

quickly by without paying the least attention to either me or my question. Perhaps, I thought, he

was preoccupied with a deep concern, or so focused on what he intended to buy that his mind had

no room for anything else.

I walked to the intersection of two streets that bordered the lot and noted that I was at the

corner of Main and Elm. A woman stood there waiting to cross the street. AMa=am,@ I asked,

Awould you please tell me the name of this town?@

She looked at me with a perplexed expression. AYou are here and you don=t know where

you are? You are a strange child.@

I was about to explain my predicament, but the light changed and she stepped over the

curb and walked quickly to the other side of the street. Then it occurred to me that I didn=t need

to know where I was because where I was was not my final destination. Robin was not here, so I

had to move on. But move on to where?

The only tool I had to assist me was my mirror, so I took it from my shirt pocket and

spoke to it. AMirror, show me the way I must go to find Robin.@

The image in the mirror at first reflected the corner on which I was standing, but then the

image began to turn until I was looking down Main Street far into the distance. So that was it. I

had to go in the direction the mirror indicated. And then I would have to ask the mirror for

directions again. And again, and again, until it would finally lead me to Robin.

I crossed the street so I begin my journey, first down Main Street, and then . . . Well, I

would have to ask the mirror. I had only walked four blocks when I noticed a car parked by the

curb with its hood up and a man B the driver, I assumed B peering anxiously at the motor. The

man was young with blond hair, about my own height and of slender build.

I approached him. ASir, I don=t know much about cars, but if I can help you in some way,

I would be happy to do so.@

The man pulled his head out from under the hood and looked me over. AYou=re willing

to help me? You are the first person I=ve met in this entire town who offered to help me in any

way.

AI came from another town to this one because there were no jobs to be had where I was

living, and I hoped to find work here. But all I=ve found here are people who do not trust

strangers. In fact, I do believe that they do not even trust one another. They have been so

unfriendly to me that I was leaving this horrid place, but then, to top it all, my car broke down.@

Of course, I didn=t know the first thing about fixing a car, but I was still testing the

powers of my magic mirror, so I took the mirror out of my pocket and asked it what was wrong

with the car. The man looked at me like I had lost my mind, which perhaps I had, because I had

no idea what the mirror would do. To my surprise, the mirror displayed a gasoline service station

and someone pumping gas into a car that looked exactly like the one before me.

I asked the man, AHave you checked to see if you any gas?@

He appeared startled. ANo, that=s the one thing I haven=t checked.@ He opened a car door

and peered at the gas gauge. AI don=t know what you have in your hand, but that=s the problem.

I=m out of gas.@ And he laughed good-naturedly.

The two of us managed to maneuver the car into a gas station at the next corner, one that

looked exactly like the one in my mirror, and stopped it next to a pump. He filled his tank and

went into the station=s office to pay. When he emerged again, he asked me where I lived and

offered to give me a ride home.

I told him that I also was not from this town, and I, too, had found folks here less than

friendly. I told him that I was looking for someone and that I had to travel a long way down

Main Street to continue my search. He smiled and offered me a ride because the next town he

intended to visit was also in that direction.

By now, it was almost dinner time, and I offered to buy him dinner when we reached

what seemed like a nice place to eat. He readily accepted, and we both set out on our quests

together: he looking for work, and I looking for Robin.

Because we were going to be companions for awhile at least, I mentioned that he had not

yet told me his name. I offered my hand and said, AMy name is Adam.@ He laughed and shook

my hand, telling me that his name was David.

We drove a short distance and found a small diner at the edge of town. We stopped, went

in, and seated ourselves at a counter. A man behind the counter eyed us suspiciously. AYou=ve

never been here before, have you?@

ANo,@ I answered, Amy friend and I are both from out of town. We=re going on down the

road now, but we wanted something to eat first.@

AWell, since you=re leaving, I=ll serve you,@ he said as he gave us menus.

I was taken back by the man=s attitude; after all, we were paying him for our dinners. I

turned toward David. ADavid,@ I said, Ait is clear that this town does not like strangers. I

wonder if that is the way it is everywhere, or did something happen here to make the people here

so unfriendly?@

The man behind the countered overheard my question, walked over to us, and studied us

both carefully. AJust passing through, I suppose you never did hear what happened to make us

distrust outsiders.@

ANo,@ I said quickly. AWe have no idea what happened here, but it must have been awful.

Would you tell us about it?@

AWell,@ the man said slowly, as if thinking about whether he should tell us, AI suppose I

will tell you. Order first, and while you=re eating, I=ll give you the story of why the people of this

town don=t like strangers.@

And so the counterman began his story.
The Counterman=s Story

I can still remember the day when they came to town. It was a hot, clear day in the

middle of summer. We had been without rain for some time, but no one was much worried

about it because we had gone for long spells without rain before in summers past.

There were two of them, two men, tall and well-dressed, mind you. One, named Daniel,

was dark haired, and the other man, named Robert, was blond. It was the dark haired one that

did most of the talking with the blond man agreeing with him all the time. We were a welcoming

town then, and we gave them the same warm welcome we gave every visitor.

But these folks were different. They didn=t just come to buy stuff or take in some of the

sites. After visiting many of the business folks in town, they went to city hall and asked to see

the mayor. Joe Higgins was mayor then, may he rest in peace. They say he died of a broken

heart, but you never can be sure about those things. Anyway, he=s dead. Probably better off that

way since life here hasn=t been the same since . . . Oh fuddy, I=m losing my train of thought here.

Anyhow, these men asked the mayor to call a special town board meeting because they

said they had a great deal to offer us. I almost forgot.

Our town was named Henryville then. Henry Johnson was the man who built the first house and store in these parts to serve the farmers here around. Oh fuddy, there I go again running off at the mouth.

Anyhow, as I said, these men claimed they had an offer that the town would be foolish to

refuse because it would make us all rich and provide high paying jobs that would bring in a lot

more folks to settle here.

Well, the mayor thought it couldn=t hurt to hear what they had to say, and the men offered

to buy the town board a handsome dinner they could eat while they made their presentation. So

the mayor called the town board together, and they feasted on shrimp and roast beef with all the

trimmings while the men talked to them B the dark haired man, as I said, did most of the talking B

about what they wanted to do.

I was there at that meeting myself. They had visited my diner and told me how delicious

the food was and how great a cook I was. I was puffed up with pride that outsiders would tell me

such things because I assumed that these men must have eaten at some mighty fine restaurants.

So I was interested in hearing what they were thinking of doing for our town.

I can still remember the speech that the man Daniel gave, and there beside him was

Robert, just grinning and nodding and agreeing with everything that Daniel said. Well, Daniel

told the board members that he really loved this town. He had visited many towns, but this was

the friendliest that he had ever visited. We were so friendly and welcoming that he and his friend

were going to do us a favor and make us all wealthy.

Henryville, Daniel told us, sat on a big pool of oil. The town had been built right over the

oil without anyone even knowing it. Now this oil was worth a lot of money, more money than

anyone in Henryville had ever seen. So, Daniel told us that because we had been so good to him,

he would be good to us. If the board allowed him to pump the oil under the town, he would give

the board half the profits he made, and they could use it to do wonderful things for the town, or

even give every citizen a handsome sum to use as they wanted.

The board and the citizens in attendance were enthusiastic about the whole idea B mainly

the idea of getting rich B and they thought they deserved it because they were so friendly to

strangers.

Now Daniel did put some conditions on the deal, but the board did not give much thought

to them at the time. They were thinking too much about all the money we were going to get.

Anyway, Daniel explained that to get the oil out, he would have to put up rigs to drill wells, and

build storage tanks for the oil that came out of the well, and lay pipes in to move the oil from the

wells to the storage tanks. Then big tankers could come to pick up the oil in the storage tanks to

take it to a big city where it would be turned into gasoline and other stuff.

It all sounded very complicated, but Daniel assured us that he would bring in folks who

knew all about how to do what needed to be done, and the town might be torn up just a little bit

for awhile, but, after all the oil had been pumped out, his workers would take everything down

again and make the town just like new, only a lot richer.

The problem was the town board liked the idea so much that they never asked some

questions they realized later they should have asked. Would the townspeople get jobs? How

much trouble would it cause Henryville to get the oil out of the ground? How could we be sure

that Daniel=s company would clean up whatever mess they made? How could we be sure that

any money the town received was really half the profits that Daniel made?

We were blinded by our greed and the Daniel=s smooth talk. He told us that he really

loved us and cared about us and was doing us a great service. And we believed him because we

wanted to believe. And, to make it worse, we thought we deserved all that he promised us.

But there was one additional condition that Daniel insisted on. Because he was giving the

town so much, he wanted the board to change the name from Henryville to Danieltown. The

board told him that that would involve a lot of trouble and expense. But he assured us that the

expenses involved would only be a small fraction of the oil money, and, to prove his good will,

he would pay those expenses himself. All the town had to do was to change the name and send

him a bill for all the expenses, and he would pay it.

The board voted to do all that Daniel asked them to do and even more. It was a whole lot

of work to change Henryville to Danieltown. The state and post office both had to approve the

change. I don=t even want to think about it, but we did it. Why did we do it? Because we were

all sure we were going to be rich. And, though we were proud of our town, we knew that

Henryville was not much, and few folks outside of those who lived here knew about Henryville

or cared a hog=s behind about it.

But Daniel was going to make us rich and put us on the map. People would hear about

Danieltown and envy us and the wonderful things we would do with our new wealth: a hospital,

a city park, better schools, the list was endless. I guess you might say that the future blinded us

to the present. Daniel seemed so sincere telling us how much he loved our town, and how much

he was going to do for us, and we believed him . . . I supposed we believed him because we

wanted to believe him. We wanted someone from the outside to love our town and tell us how

wonderful we were, because we truly believed we were wonderful.

The counterman paused a moment, his face a portrait of sadness, a tear running down his

right cheek. After about a minute, he regained control and continued his story.

Well, I suppose you can guess the rest. Daniel brought a lot of outsiders into the town

instead of giving the folks here jobs. He moved in lots of equipment and began to drill oil wells

and to build storage tanks to put the oil in. He tore up our roads and our fields, and his big trucks

kept hauling all the oil out of town.

The town board kept asking for payment, but Daniel kept telling them that his expenses

were high and his profit was low, and there was not much left over for Danieltown after all. And

when the oil ran out, Daniel and his workers left town. They took the valuable equipment with

them and left us with the mess they made. He had taken us for fools, and fools we were.

You might say we were in state of shock, but you might also say that our hearts were

broken. We tried to change the name of the town back to Henryville, but the government would

not let us. They said we might try again in ten years. So we are still Danieltown to remind us of

our folly. We=re so ashamed we don=t even want anyone to know the name of our town.

No, it will take a long time for us to heal. Ten years before we can get our name back.

At least that long to repair all the damage that Daniel did. At least that long to think well of

ourselves again. Maybe that long before we can welcome outsiders and be friendly again. I

guess we have to learn to love ourselves again before we can love others.

Well, that=s the story. I appreciate your listening. It helped me to tell it. Maybe there=s

hope for us yet.
The First Night on the Road

When the counterman finished, David and I sat in silence for almost a minute. Neither of

us could find the right words to say in response to his tragic tale. We had been so absorbed in his

story that we had stopped eating our dinners which sat cold and unfinished.

Finally, I spoke. AHow horrible. I am so sorry about what Daniel did to you and your

city. Didn=t you try to chase him down and get him to pay what he owed you?@

The counterman sighed. AYes, we pursued him, but he was too clever for us. He had

more money, and he knew more important people than we did. In the end, he wore us out. That

made things worse than before.@

AWell,@ I snorted, Aif I ever meet this Daniel, I will spit in his face and tell him what a

thief I think he is.@

The counterman looked at me sympathetically. AYes, I guess we all felt that way after we

realized how Daniel had cheated us. He stole not only our money but our pride, and, worst of all,

our trust in ourselves and others. We talked and talked about what he had done to us, but, in the

end, we realized that we could not take revenge. If we had destroyed him, we would have

destroyed ourselves as well. Somehow we had to forgive him and get on with our lives. We are

still learning how to do that.

AIt is not easy to forgive someone who did what Daniel did. I=m not even sure what

forgiveness means. Maybe it means that if he should ever return to our city, we would welcome

him without bitterness. Maybe it means that we won=t try to change our name back to

Henryville. It might someday serve us well to leave it at Danieltown. I guess that would show

we really forgave him.

ABut the bitterness remains and I doubt he will find a warm welcome here should he visit

us again. We aren=t there yet. I hope I can leave my own bitterness behind before I die. Still, if

Daniel came into my diner, I would serve him and try to make him comfortable. Maybe he needs

mercy more than I do. I would not want to be him. I could not face myself.@

It was almost completely dark outside now. The light reflecting off the front window of

the diner made it hard to see the lights of cars on the highway barely sixty feet away.

AThank you for sharing your story with us.@ I placed money for our meals on the counter

beside my plate, leaving an ample tip.

I stretched out my arm and grasped the counterman=s man hand in mine, AThank you

again. You are a great man.@

David also shook the counterman=s hand as we bid him goodbye. David and I walked

slowly out of the diner into the parking lot. We paused before getting into David=s car. AA

strange story and a strange city,@ I remarked, Abut I suspect I could learn a great deal if I could

stay here for awhile.@

David chuckled. ABut you can=t stay and neither can I. We both have to move on. Get in

the car,@

We drove down the highway. The farther we drove, the less traffic there was, until we

were the only ones on the road. There were fewer and fewer houses. The night was moonless,

but the sky was full of stars so thick that some seemed to form paths of light across the sky. I did

not know where we were going, and I began to suspect that David was simply driving without

any specific destination.

We had both been quiet for some time when I turned and said, ADavid, if you are as tired

as I am, you should not be driving. When and where are we going to stop for the night?@

AWell, my friend,@ he answered, AI haven=t any idea where we are, or where there might

be a place to stay, so I suppose I might pull over by the side of the road and we could take a nap

here in the car.@

I was too tired to care where we slept, so David pulled on to the grass beside the highway

and stopped. I climbed into the back seat so that both he and I would have more room to stretch

out. David locked the doors and, despite the discomfort of our Alodgings,@ we were both soon

fast asleep.

And in my sleep, I dreamed of my parents and the home from which I had run away. I

saw my father standing in the backyard looking down the path along which I had fled. I saw

sadness in his eyes.

My mother came out and stood beside him. She put her hand on his shoulder. AHe will

come back someday. I know it.@

APerhaps,@ replied my father, Abut we are both growing old. There is less and less time

for his return if we are to see him when comes.@A

I heard my mother say, AIf we had been better parents, he would not have run away.@

AThere is no way to undo the past, dearest. We lived only as we had been taught to live.

We tried to avoid hurting him as our parents hurt us, and I suppose we did. We found our own

way to inflict pain as we tried to love him the best we could.

AI think as we are growing older together we may be learning more about love. Perhaps

his running away was his lesson to us. Will he have more to teach us if he comes back?@

AIf he comes back?@ my mother asked softly.

AYes, I know he will come back,@ my father asserted forcefully.

I awoke just as the sky had a slight tinge of yellow in the east. David still asleep. In the

dim light I saw tall trees on both sides of the road, but I could see no houses, no signs that we

were not alone.

I sat quietly to avoid waking David. My dream haunted me. Should I give up my search

for Robin and return at once to my parents? No, they were changing and I was changing, and I

knew that I still had much to learn on my strange adventure before I could return home. I had

promised Martha and Samuel that I would do my best to find their son, and I would keep my

promise.

But how odd, I thought, it was that there son had run away even though it was clear that

they loved him, and now they were longing for his return. And now my parents also longed for

their son who had run away because he thought they did not love him enough. At that point I

made a pledge to myself that as soon as I had been able to return Robin to his parents, I would

promptly return to mine.

But what if I could not find Robin? Then Martha and Samuel would want me to take his

place. For me to leave them might break their hearts, and I did not know what I would find if I

did return to my old house. After all, a dream is just that, a dream.

As the sky grew brighter I could better make out the forest through which we had been

driving, a forest much like the one behind my parents= house. I had gone from a path in a forest

to a road in a forest. And as with the path, I did not know where this road led.

At last David stirred and then woke up. By now the sun was higher, and I could see the

area around us clearly, though we were will in the shadow of the trees.

AGood morning, David,@ I said cheerily as David tried to rub the sleep from his eyes.

AGood morning,@ David half-mumbled, still trying to wake up. AI wish I had woken up

sooner. I had terrible dreams. My waking up thankfully ended them.@

AOdd,@ I said, AI had rather strange dreams too. They involved my parents. I ran away

from them because I was sure they did not love or want me. But in my dream they said that they

did love me. They missed me and wanted me back.@

David gave me a puzzled look. AYou ran away from your parents? How strange. I ran

away too, but not from my parents. And I dreamt about home last night.@

ABut you said your dream was terrifying,@ I countered. AMy dream was not terrifying,

just puzzling. And it disturbed me because I wondered when I woke up whether I should go back

to my parents right away.@

ANo, my dream was terrifying because I saw my family behaving in frightful ways toward

one another and toward others, and all because of me. I yelled at them to stop what they were

doing. But they ignored my pleas. It was as if I were not there.@

ABut you aren=t there,@ I said. AYou=re here. Maybe we both made a mistake in running

away. How strange that we both ran off, but if you did not run away from your parents, from

whom did you run away?@

AYes, from whom?@ David answered. A I guess I should tell you my story and then you

can judge for yourself.@

David sat up and leaned against a door of the car. He pulled his legs up and placed his

feet on the seat. Then he began his story.

David=s Story

No, I did not run away from the parents. My parents were killed in a boating accident

when I was nineteen. I was the oldest of four children. I had one brother James, who was two

years younger than I, and two sisters, Janet and Ann, who were 11 and 14.

My father had inherited a furniture factory, and, through hard work, skill, and luck, he

had doubled the factory=s output. He also built several stores to sell the furniture made in his

factory. Our family became quite wealthy. We lived in a large house in a great city and had

another house by a lake in the country at which we spent many happy months in the summer. We

had servants, although my parents still made us children do chores around the house so that we

would learn how to take care of ourselves and appreciate the value of work. We had private

tutors instead of going to public schools. Overall, we were quite happy and pleased with our

lives.

But all that changed when my parents died. They left the factory and all their possessions

to the children to be shared equally. Even though I was nineteen at the time, I was still not old

enough to run the business. Our Uncle Ned and Aunt Harriet moved into our house to help raise

us and to make business decisions for us until we were old enough to make them for ourselves.

I had always liked Uncle Ned and Aunt Harriet. They were poor compared to ourselves,

but they lived comfortably and always treated us kindly when we visited them, which was

perhaps four or five times a year. We used to have them over for dinner on Thanksgiving and

Christmas, and they would often spend two weeks with us at our summer home. Though I

missed my parents terribly and sometimes cried myself to sleep thinking about them, I was glad

that we had an aunt and uncle to take care of us.

My aunt and uncle had been very kind to us before, but after they moved into our house,

they became different. It was not that they were cruel to us, but I think they fell in love with

having servants and the wealth that surrounded them. They had been simple people before, and I

our house and the money that it represented dazzled them. They had never been rich, and now

they were living as the wealthy live; and they wanted this life, not just while they took care of us,

but for the rest of their lives.

Had they asked us, we would have been happy to tell them they could live in our house as

long as they wanted to. But they never asked. They assumed control of the house and the

business as if they were my parents.

For the time, I was willing to allow them to run things. After all, I was still in school and

was going to start college in the fall. I thought that I should at least get an education before

taking charge of my family=s interests. Moreover, the family interests were not mine alone. My

parents had left them to all four of us children equally. James would be 21 two years after me,

and as each of us reached 21, we would be able to manage our own affairs. Or so I thought.

I went to the university in my home town since I wanted to be close to my sisters and

brother. The first year my uncle drove me to the campus in the morning, and he and my aunt

both came to get me after my classes were finished. Later that same year I hoped to get my own

car so they would not have to drive me. They could easily have asked one of the servants to

drive me, but my aunt and uncle insisted on doing it themselves.

When I wanted to buy a car, my uncle said that he got great pleasure from driving me, and

he wanted to continue the practice. I told him that, although I appreciated his driving me and

enjoyed his company, I wanted a car so that I could drive myself and could set my own schedule.

He got angry and told me that he would decide what was best for me, and I was not to have a car.

I saw that my uncle was also controlling my brother, making decisions for him, insisting

that he do things the way he wanted them done. Yet, he was invariably kind to my sisters. He

excused them from housework and gave them many presented. Yet, he fired their tutor and hired

one that would take orders directly from him. At first, I did not complain because I thought that

our uncle and aunt would change their behavior as we children grew older. But it soon became

clear that the uncle was becoming even more controlling rather than less.

The workers at the factory loved my father because he knew each one of them by name

and cared for them as if they were members of our family. If a worker or member of his family

took sick, my father would send a doctor to care for them, and he could continue to pay the

worker=s wages if he had to miss work because of the illness. He also welcomed suggestions

from the workers to improve production or quality, and he would pay a handsome bonus for the

best ideas.

But my uncle was interested only in how much money he could make, and so he refused

to pay a worker if the worker was ill, and he told the workers they would have to pay their own

medical expenses. He would not listen to anyone. The morale at the factory fell, and some of

our best workers quit. I could see what was happening. Some of the workers came to be to

complain about my uncle=s behavior, but I was not yet 21 and did not have the authority to

overrule my uncle. But I promised them that when I turned 21, I would take control of the

business and return to my father=s practices.

Well, I did turn 21 and went immediately to my uncle and told him that I wanted to take

control of the factory. I criticized him to his face for what he was doing to my father=s business

and to my life and the life of my brother.

He laughed at me. He told me that the way my father=s will was written, all four children

had to have turned 21 before they could assume control of the business. I told him that I did not

believe him, but he went to his desk and pulled out a letter from our father=s lawyer that

supported his position. The lawyer had said that he was sure that this was what my father wanted

because it would prevent one child from making substantial changes to the business before all of

the children could take part in decisions.

In the meantime, my uncle was making changes I am sure all of us would have

disapproved of. I suspected that he hoped to persuade my sisters to back him against my brother

and me by offering them bribes and sweet promises for a life of wealth and leisure without

responsibility. It was still eight years before my youngest sister Janet would turn 21. Thus, my

uncle had time to consolidate his position and assure himself of control of our business and

wealth indefinitely.

I was heartbroken and now hated my uncle with all my heart. I dropped out of the

university so that I would not have to let him drive me there. I stopped talking to both him and

my aunt. I watched with horror as he worked to bring my sisters under his sway. I tried to talk

James into plotting with me to bring our uncle down, but he would have none of it. He just

wanted to be left alone and did not want to be drawn into the turmoil that he sensed was

destroying my peace and perhaps my soul.

And so I was alone. It would be eight more years before I could legally move against my

uncle. Perhaps by then he would have won over the loyalty of my sisters and insure the neutrality

of my brother. I could not bear to stay in the house. I knew that if I stayed, I risked a complete

collapse. My uncle would have liked that because then he could have put me away in an asylum

and crowed that I was unfit to work in the business.

And so I left. I took all the money from my personal savings account. I bought this used

car, and I set out to explore the world. I don=t know where I am going, or what I will find, but in

about seven years from now, I will return to my home to see what has become of it, my uncle and

aunt, and my sisters and brother. And I will try to gain control of our family business, if it still

exists by then.

David paused. I asked what he would do if the house was no longer there, or the

business had collapsed, or his siblings had turned against him.

He was silent for some time. Finally, he spoke, AIf it is all lost, then I must accept the

loss. But at least I will have tried.@

I asked, AWill you have tried if you do not go back and fight?@

Again he was silent, and his face became a mask of sadness. AI have thought of that

many times. Did I abandon those I love by running away? Would my beloved parents have

approved of my taking an easier course by running away from the problem, rather than staying

home and trying to solve it?

ABut I know my weakness, and I know that it would not have helped my cause if I had

lost my health or my mind in the struggle. And I had no one to lean on. My uncle and aunt were

against me, and my brother only wanted to avoid conflict. My sisters were still young and still

loved and trusted my aunt and uncle because they were not mistreated as I had been. So I fled,

and here I am. Will you condemn me?@

ANo, my dear friend David,@ I replied. ALove does not condemn. You did what you

believed you had to do. Perhaps we will find some of the love you lost in one another as we

continue our journey together, at least for a little while.@
A Fork in the Road

David and I sat in silence for some time. I was saddened by his story. It made me

wonder once again if I should have stayed with my parents and made the best of it. But then I

could no longer bear what I saw as their inability to love me. And now I could not return until I

had fulfilled my promise to Samuel and Martha, and I could not yet return because I realized

more than ever how much more I needed to learn about love. If I ever learn to love, perhaps I

could teach my parents to love, or, at the least, I could love them even if I did not feel their love

for me.

Finally, I broke the silence. AWe ought to get started soon, even if we don=t know where

we are going. Besides, we have not had breakfast yet so we also need to find a place to eat.@

AYes, you are right. But if we don=t know where we are going, how do get there?@ David

replied with a chuckle.

AGoing straight down this road will eventually get us someplace,@ I countered, as I

slipped out of the back seat where I had slept and plopped myself in the passenger seat beside

David.

We drove for a number of miles with nothing but trees on both sides of the road. It was

still early morning. Only two other vehicles, a car and a truck, passed us going in the other

direction, and we saw no other cars on the road in front.

After what seemed like an eternity, but which was really only some forty minutes, we

came to a fork. On the right the road continued through the forest, but on the left the we could

see open fields and even a house in the distance.

AWell, which way?@ David asked.

AI suppose,@ I answered, Aif we want to find some place to eat, we should leave the

forest.@

AWell, that might be a good theory, but why don=t you ask your mirror?@ David

suggested.

I wondered what I should ask the mirror. My goal was to find Robin, while both of us in

the present moment wanted something to eat. These two intentions might conflict with one

another since Robin might not be in the direction of the closest restaurant. But eating was

important, and I could always ask the mirror to get me back on track after breakfast, so I took the

mirror out of my shirt pocket and asked, AWhich direction should we go to find a place for

breakfast?@

Contrary to my expectations, the mirror showed us driving down the road to the right, the

one that continued through the forest. AI hope there is a restaurant somewhere in those trees,@ I

quipped.

AWell,@ said David as he turned the car right, Alet=s hope your mirror knows what it=s

doing.@

ADavid,@ I said, Athis reminds me of the forest through which I fled my home. I wonder if

this forest too is enchanted.@

I had told David about my encounter with the strange man who had given me the magic

mirror, and how the path back to my house had closed behind me. Though I tried to put on a

brave front, I was becoming increasingly uneasy. I dared not look in the rearview mirror for fear

that the road in back of us had disappeared.

Now a clearing appeared on the right ahead of us, just as a clearing had once appeared for

me. David slowed the car as we approached, hoping that we had found a restaurant. But he

gasped when we reached the clearing. There, set back from the road, was a magnificent mansion,

one larger and more elegant than I had ever before seen.

AGood Lord,@ David said in a half-whisper, Athat=s my house. How did it get here?@

I told David that I thought we should get out and see for ourselves what the house held for

us, although I was not as frightened as he seemed to be because of my previous experience. We

followed a walk from the road to the front door. All the while David=s eyes darted about trying

to find some detail that distinguished this house from the house he had left behind.

We rang the door bell and heard its pleasant melody reverberate inside, but no one came

to greet us. I told David to see if the door was unlocked, and as I expected, it was. David

gingerly pushed the door open. AWhy the inside is just like my house. AI can=t believe it. What

are we to do?@

I assured him that no harm would come to us, although I suppose I was a bit less than

convincing because this was his house, not mine, and I could not be sure what we would find

inside. We stepped inside.

I suggested we go to the dining room. David gingerly followed the hallway and turned

left into a formal dining room on which a table sat laden with food. At the table were five plates.

Surely two were for me and David, but were the other four for David=s siblings? Or were others

coming to join us?

We ate and drank our fill. We had indeed found a place to have a breakfast unlike any we

could have bought as the finest restaurant. We settled into our chairs to relax after such an

excellent feast when a tall man entered the room. David stood up with a look of terror on his

face.

AUncle Ned,@ David half-shrieked. AI=m sorry to have intruded like this. We=ll leave at

once.@

ANo, my child,@ the man answered, Ayou need not leave yet. Yes, I look like your Uncle

Ned, but I am what Uncle Ned might become, not what he is. You are entirely safe with me.@

I could see that David was still apprehensive, but he relaxed a bit when he saw that the

man was not angry. AThen why am I here, and why are you here? If this is not my house, then

what is it?@

AMy beloved David,@ the man answered, Ayou have many questions. But you these are

not the questions to which you need answers. You loved your parents and your parents loved

you. You love your brother and your sisters, and they love you as well. You left them because

you have not yet learned how to control your anger and your hatred. That is what you must learn.

AThe man Adam who travels with you is also learning. His mission is to learn how to

love so that he can eventually return to his parents. Your mission also is to learn how to love, to

love even those you have good reason to despise and who despise you.

AYou will one day be a great leader and the patriarch of your family, but you were not

prepared for that role yet, and so you ran away. In your travels, you will, if you are open to it,

learn how both how to love and to lead as one who loves. For only love can overcome hatred,

and only love can overcome evil.

AStay with Adam on his journey. Your friendship will support you both, and in your

adventures together, you will both learn what is necessary. But, remember, you cannot learn

unless you are willing to learn. And you cannot love without being willing to sacrifice. You can

Adam will learn together.

AYou must go now. Both this house and I must soon disappear. Go.@

The man vanished. David and I literally ran back down the hallway, out the front door,

and on to the path leading to the road. We looked back to see the house begin to dissolve and the

forest close in on it. We reached the car. The house was completely gone and the forest had

reclaimed the clearing where it had stood.

We both jumped into the car and David started the engine. Suddenly, we realized that we

were back at the fork in the road. But there was no longer any fork in the road. There was only

the road ahead. We sat speechless for a long time as we drove on.
Hardwick

We drove on for some time, stopping only for breakfast and to fill the gas tank.

Whenever we came to a fork in the road, I consulted my mirror on which way to turn.

We found ourselves approaching a small town, much like the town that had suffered so

much at the hands of the oilman Daniel. A road told us that the name of this town was Pleasant,

so I asked my mirror if we should stop there for the day. The mirror showed me a road sign that

read Hardwick, which I assumed was down the road somewhere.

We drove through Pleasant, and some fifteen minutes later were entering Hardwick.

Since this was the town the mirror had pointed out, David and I decided to park the car and

explore a bit.

It was clear that there was a sense of lively expectation in the air. People were gathered

in small groups at street corners engaged in animated discussion. We saw flags emblazoned with

the letter AD@ waving outside a number of businesses.

We found a small restaurant that looked inviting and decided to have lunch there. Almost

all of the tables were taken, but we found one in a corner. A waitress brought us menus and

came back in a short time to see if we were ready to order. We gave her our orders, but I also

asked her why so many of the townspeople seemed so excited.

AYou must be from outside,@ she told us. AWe=ve had the most wonderful thing happen.@

AI=m pleased for you,@ I replied, Abut what is this thing?@

She seemed almost to bust with pride. AA man told us that he found oil under our town,

and he has offered to make us rich if we will let him drill for it. People are talking about what

they will do with the money he is going to give us, and what improvements we=ll be able to make

to our town.@

Both David and I stiffened when we heard the waitresses answer. AWas the man=s name

Daniel?@ I asked.

AWhy, yes,@ the waitress responded. ADo you know him?@

David looked silently down at the table. I felt like running out of the restaurant because I

did not want to destroy the waitress=s hope of riches, but Daniel had already destroyed the hopes

of others. Perhaps we could prevent him from destroying Hardwick.

AYes,@ I said, AI know him. He is a scoundrel. He will promise you riches to get what he

wants, but he then he will leave you with nothing. He will take everything he can from you, but

give nothing in return.@

The waitress was struck dumb by my answer and the anger with which I gave it. AYou

can=t mean what you just told me,@ she half gasped. ADaniel is one of the finest men who ever

came to Hardwick.@

I felt sick, but I could not be silent. It would have been so easy for David and I to eat our

lunch and leave Hardwick, abandoning the town to the disaster we knew would follow. I felt

tears coming to my eyes as I said, AHow I truly wish it were otherwise. But this man will destroy

your town and break all of the promises he makes to you. Please, tell me. Has your town board

already made an agreement with him?@

The waitress was silent for a moment before responding. ANo, but they are meeting with

him tonight in city hall at 6 p.m. to finish an agreement.@

She was silent again before asking pensively, AIs he really as you say he is? If so, then all

our desires for a better future are only foolish dreams.@

AI am sorry for having to destroy your faith in Daniel,@ I said softly. APerhaps it would

have been better to say nothing, but if I had not spoken out, Daniel might have deceived your

town. And he might still deceive it. David and I will be at the town board meeting tonight.@

The waitress left and returned in about ten minutes with our orders. Again, I apologized

for being the bearer of bad news. She simply smiled and said nothing. David and I finished our

meals and I paid the bill, leaving a generous tip for our waitress as small compensation for

spoiling her fantasy of wealth.

Once we had left the restaurant I told David that I thought it odd that the waitress seemed

in much better spirits than when she brought our orders. I asked David, ADo you think you

passed on the information we gave her about Daniel?@

AI hope not,@ David replied, Abecause if Daniel finds out that we might spoil his game, he

will do everything he can to stop us.@

AWell,@ I replied, AI think we need to assume for our own safety that Daniel has found out

that we=ll oppose his plans. What do you think we should do?@

David thought for a moment. AWe could split up and then show up together at 6 o=clock

at the town board meeting. That way if one of us is captured, the other one can still go to the

meeting.@

ABut if we stay together, we might be able to fight off anyone Daniel sends to kidnap us.@

The very words filled me with fear even as I spoke them. I did not want to have to fight anyone,

much less toughs that Daniel might recruit to stop us from warning the town board.

AI suppose separating is the wisest course, but what if they capture both of us?@ I asked.

AThat is a chance we=ll have to take,@ David said. AYou go to the right, and I=ll go to the left. Maybe we can both stay out of trouble until the meeting.@

I thought that once we warned the board about Daniel=s deceitful plan we might be in

even greater danger than we were now. We didn=t know if Daniel was even aware of what we

were planning, but once we gave our report, he might take some form of revenge, perhaps even

kill us. But I thought about the poor people in Henryville and how Daniel had tricked them and

brought them great misery, and David and I did not want the same misfortune to befall Hardwick.

I turned toward David just as he was about to walk away. A@Do you think there is some

way to contact the folks in Henryville so that they could call the mayor and warn him about

Daniel?@

ANot a bad idea,@ David said smiling. AI=ll look for a phone where I can call someone in

Henryville, even though I don=t know anyone there.@

ABut we know the counterman, don=t we?@ I replied. AI think the name of the diner was

THE TOWNLINE DINER. You ask the operator to connect you.@

AI=ll do the best I can. Let=s split up now. I=ll see you at 6 at the town hall.@

We walked in opposite directions. I could not help but feel apprehensive. Daniel was

obviously a rich and powerful man, even though he had gained both riches and power through

ruining the lives of others. David and I were nothing to him, perhaps nothing to the people of

Hardwick either. Would they even believe us when we told them of Daniel=s treachery? And if

something awful should happen to David, what would become of . . . No, I could not entertain

such thoughts. I had to remember that he and I had an important mission to perform. If we had

simply driven away knowing what we did, we would share responsibility with Daniel for

whatever misfortune Daniel brought on Hardwick.

If Daniel was trying to keep us from appearing before the town board, my mirror might be

able to warn me, or at least tell me how I might avoid being captured. I looked into the mirror. I

saw the street I was on, but the image soon changed to show what I recognized as the store at the

next corner. Then the image changed again to the street to the right of the store. I walked

quickly to the store and then turned down the street to the right.

But could I keep asking the mirror again and again to guide me? I was not even sure that

I was in danger. The waitress might not have said anything to anyone concerning what David

and I had told her. If not, then there was no way for Daniel to know that we would oppose his

plans.

I worked further down the street. I paused and looked behind me. I saw a man who

stopped when I did and then turned to look into a store window. I walked a bit further and then

quickly turned around. The man stopped again. I turned the next corner and ran about half a

block. When I turned to look back, the man had also turned the corner, though I had gained some

distance on him.

I knew now that the man was following me, and he almost certainly knew that I knew.

Yet there were so many people on the sidewalk and cars on the street that it was hard to see how

he could snatch me away without attracting a great deal of notice, especially as I intended to

scream as loudly as I could for help if he should try to do so.

I wondered how David was doing. If I was being followed, he might also be in danger. I

hoped that he would be able to call the counterman in Henryville so that he, in turn, might call

some official here to warn them about Daniel=s evil scheme.

I came to a drug store that had a lunch counter. If I went inside and ordered something to

eat, I could see if the man followed me inside. I was sure he would not try to kidnap me or harm

me in front of so many witnesses. The drugstore had to have a back door. While the man wasn=t

watching, I would slip out the back and lose him. I went into the drugstore and sat down at the

counter
A Hazardous Adventure

I ordered a chocolate soda and turned my head to observe the front of the drugstore. I

could see the man who was shadowing me looking at me through the store=s large window. He

then entered the store and remained close to the entrance looking over the various magazines on

display there. No doubt he expected to nab me just after I left the store.

I saw a door to what I assumed was an area in back used to store merchandise. Surely

there had to a door in the rear of the storage area from which I could exit the building while the

man waited for me in the store. That meant I had to distract him in order to give me a short time

to get away without his seeing me.

I did not want to attract attention to myself because I wanted to slip out unnoticed while

the attention of those in the store was directed elsewhere. I finished my soda, paid for it, and

went to the pharmacist standing near the door through which I intended to flee. I asked him if I

could tell him something important, and he turned to listen to what I had to say.

I told him that I thought I saw the man standing by the magazines slip merchandise inside

his jacket. I feared he might be a shoplifter and wanted to make the pharmacist aware of my

fears. As I hoped he would, the pharmacist immediately walked over to my shadow and asked

him to open his jacket so that he could see if merchandise was hidden inside. The man became

quite indignant and refused. The pharmacist then threatened to call the police. The man said he

had nothing to hide and was deeply offended by the suspicion that he was a thief.

Both the pharmacist and the man raised their voices to the point where they attracted the

attention of the other shoppers in the store. The shoppers began to gather around the quarreling

duo, who, by blocking the entrance, were keeping others from entering. When I saw the man=s

attention was totally directed at the pharmacist, I slipped through the door, worked my way

through the back room and found a door to the outside. The door was locked with a deadbolt,

but I loosened the deadbolt and left the store, finding myself then in an alley behind it. I ran

down the alley and soon was back on a main thoroughfare, having lost my shadow, at least for

the time being.

Once I was back on the street, I saw a clock on a bank that it was now 5 p.m., only one

hour before the town board meeting. I asked a passerby where town hall was. He told me that it

was just two blocks away and pointed out the route I was to take. He also said that he assumed

that I was going to the meeting tonight and that he also planned to attend.

I noted that we were standing in front of a small restaurant, and a plan came quickly to

mind. I asked if I could buy him something to eat before the meeting and we could go together.

Daniel and his henchmen might be able to kidnap me if I were alone, but they might think twice

about it if someone was with me.

My companion, whose name I learned was Larry, and I both ate sandwiches, not wishing

to make ourselves sleepy before the meeting by eating a large meal. Larry talked at length about

the coming meeting and all that Daniel had promised to do for Hardwick. I would not make the

same mistake I did with the waitress by revealing to him that Daniel was a thief who would

destroy both their town and their dreams.

At 5:30, Larry and I had finished eating, and he suggested that we go directly to the town

hall because many townspeople were going to attend and the meeting room was certain to be

crowded. Before we left the restaurant, I excused myself to go to the restroom. I also took that

opportunity to look in my mirror. Alas, the image that I saw was not encouraging. A number of

policemen were in place near the entrance. They might be there to help keep order, but they also

might have received instructions from Daniel to prevent me and David from entering the

building. Indeed, I saw two of the policemen studying objects that could well have been

photographs so that they could identify me and David should we appear.

I asked the mirror if there was a way for me to enter the building safely. I saw a sidewalk

leading to a door in the back of the building near a parking lot for town officials. There was one

door which was guarded, but the door I saw on the other side was unguarded. I assumed that the

door that was guarded was used by officials only. I could only hope that the unguarded door was

unlocked.

In the meantime, I would have to tell Larry that I could not go with him. He would not

understand if I refused to use the front entrance, and he would not have any reason to keep the

police from arresting me if they told him I was wanted on some trumped-up charge. Once we

had exited the restaurant, I told Larry that I had decided not to go after all, wished him luck, and

walked off in the oppositive direction.

I then crossed the street, went down an alley, turned left and saw the block on which the

town hall was located. I walked carefully to the corner, crossed the street, continued walking

alongside town hall until I got the back of the building on the side where the mirror had shown

me the unguarded door. I looked around the corner. The policeman at the other door was busy

greeting town officials and had his back toward me. I quickly slipped around the corner.

I breathed a sigh of relief when the unguarded door opened and I found myself inside the

town hall. I climbed a small flight of stairs to a corridor at the end of which I could see people

milling about. I assumed that they were waiting to enter the chambers where the meeting was to

be held. It was now 5:45.

I walked down the hallway quickly staying as close to the wall as I could and through a

door into the meeting room, taking one of the only seats left available, which happened to be in

the front row. The chairs for the town board members were located behind a long table on a

slightly raised platform in front of me. A name plate faced the audience in front of each chair. A

microphone had been placed in the center aisle of the room close the platform. I assumed it was

there that those wishing to address the board would speak.

I was extremely nervous, even though I had managed to arrive safely at the meeting. I

scanned the room, but I did not see David. What would I do if they had kidnapped David and

threatened to harm him if I testified against Daniel? I pulled out the mirror. Where is David I

asked. The image I was shown was the very building in which I was sitting. An image showed

police running down stairs to the what must be the basement. They threw open a door at the foot

of the stairs, and there was David tied to a chair with a handkerchief tied around his head with a

strip of it tightly between his teeth to keep him from crying out.

So David was a prisoner. Well, I would testify to that as well and insist that the police

free David, which the mirror told me they would indeed do.

The board members began to climb onto the platform and take their seats. There were six

in all. Only the mayor=s chair was still empty. I did not know what either the mayor or Daniel

looked like, but then I saw a jovial looking slightly bald and overweight man in a sports shirt

chatting with a tall, thin, nattily dressed man walking together toward the platform. There was

no doubt in my mind that the baldish man was the mayor and the other man was Daniel. My

guess was confirmed when the baldish man mounted the platform and took the mayor=s seat, and

the other man sat in a chair that had been reserved for him close to the microphone.
The Meeting

The mayor opened the meeting by banging his gavel four times. He welcomed those

present and gave a short speech in which he summarized the immense benefits that Daniel was

bringing to Hardwick. He then said something that gave me a sick feeling in my stomach.

ACitizens of Hardwick,@ he said, Awe are soon going to hear from a man who promises to

make our town and each of us rich. This town we all love will finally achieve the status it has

long deserved, and each of you its citizens will reap rewards as well.

ABut I must be frank. There are detractors who are trying to undermine our good fortune

by spreading false reports that our benefactor Daniel is out to cheat us.@ The mayor was

interrupted by cries of ANo, no.@

AYes, my friends, it is true. I received a call this very day from the mayor of Henryville,

now named Danieltown, that Daniel had made numerous promises to his town that he did not

keep. He claimed that Daniel had left the town poorer than it was before he came.

ABut I ask you, could this be true if Henryville changed its name to Danieltown? Why

would they change the name of their town to honor a crook?@

I could hold back no longer. I sprang to my feet. AMayor, he is a crook. We were there

in Henryville and saw the damage that Daniel did.@

There was an outcry from the audience insisting that I keep silence. The mayor wrapped

his gavel calling for order. ASon, if you have something to say, you will be given a chance to say

it later.@ The mayor stuttered with anger.

I went on. AEven now my friend David is being held prisoner in a room in the basement

of this building. Daniel had him kidnaped and hidden so he could not testify tonight. He had me

followed too, but I managed to escape and come to warn you about this wicked man.@

Just as the mirror had predicted, I saw policeman go to see if David was in one of the

basement rooms. The mayor again ordered me to be silent so he could introduce Daniel.

In a short time while the mayor was still speaking, three policemen led David down the

center aisle of the chamber. He still have his hands tied behind him and the handkerchief

wrapped around his head. He tried unsuccessfully to talk as he was led forward. The policemen

brought hum to the edge of the board=s platform. They untied his hands and took off the

handkerchief. The mayor stood momentarily speechless looking directly at David.

AThat man had me kidnaped so I could not testify against him at this meeting,@ David

blurted out, pointing directly at Daniel. AHe=s not only a crook but he will stop at nothing to get

what he wants.@

Daniel rose and stood next to David. He scratched his head and spoke slowly and

carefully into the microphone. AI don=t know why these young men would want to pull a prank

like this, but I can assure you that what they say is false.@

AWell, I certainly hope that=s the case,@ the mayor retorted. AThey have made some

serious accusations, and now I=m even more troubled by the phone call I got from the mayor of

Henryville.@

AMay I remind you, mayor, that Henryville is now named Danieltown in my honor?@

AYes, that is true,@ the mayor replied hesitantly. AWell, what proof do you have that these

young men are wrong?@

AAs part of my presentation tonight, I have prepared a slide show that will include

pictures of the wonderful work I did in Danieltown. It will show improvements that I made

there, and I will provide tables that illustrate the amount of money that was distributed to the

people of Danieltown.

AI suggest the police escort these fine young gentlemen to the back of this chamber so

they will not be able to interrupt my presentation. If, after I finish my presentation, you believe

what they said, I insist that you not accept my offer to make you wealthy. I will simply walk

away and take my services to the next town under which I find oil.@

The mayor motioned the policemen. One of them grabbed me by the arm, and the three

together walked me and David to the rear of the room. They ordered us to remain silent,

threatening to arrest us if we disturbed the meeting again.

Members of the audience shifted uneasily in their seats as a screen dropped down from

the ceiling at the rear of the platform. Daniel had set up a slide projector on a small table to the

right of the microphone. The town board members moved their chairs and sat at the edge of the

platform facing the screen so they could see the slides and would not block the view of the

audience.

ALadies and gentlemen of Hardwick,@ so Daniel began, Alet me say first of all that I will

not ask you to change the name of your town. The people of Henryville changed the name of

their town to Danieltown in gratitude for all that I for them, so I could hardly be a crook.

AI will now show you some pictures of two new buildings that Danieltown has because of

the money I gave them.@

The first slide showed an obviously new large two-story building with a marquee in front

proclaiming ADanieltown City Hall.@ The next slide showed a large park with tennis courts and a

well-equipped playground. AThese are but two examples,@ Daniel announced proudly of

improvements made in Danieltown with the money I provided. The audience clapped.

ABut I did not just provide money to the town. There was also enough money to give a

handsome sum to each citizen as well.@

The next slide read:

TOTAL INCOME FOR CITIZENS $4,000,000

NUMBER OF CITIZENS: 6,000

AMOUNT FOR EACH CITIZEN: $666.67

Daniel=s voice rose in emphasis. AYes, my dear friends, every man, woman, and child in

Danieltown received $666.67. That means a family of four received more than $2600.@

There were gasps and applause from the audience. I could not believe what I was seeing

or hearing. Daniel had not given Henryville a new city hall or a new park. He had not

distributed any money to Henryville=s citizens. He was lying to the people of Hardwick to get his

way. The pictures were false; the figures were false. It was clear that once Daniel had gotten his

way, he would abandon this town as readily as he abandoned the people of Henryville.

But the people in the audience who did not know better were smiling and applauding,

They did not believe David and me, nor even the mayor of Henryville, because they did not want

to believe us. They wanted to believe in their hopes for wealth, their dreams of new buildings

and beautiful parks. They believed because they wanted to believe. It was too painful for them

not to believe.

I touched David on the shoulder. AMy friend, there is no point in our staying. We did

what we thought we was right, but we know how all this will end. Let=s leave before the meeting

ends and go back to car. If we stay, we may be ridiculed, or worse.@

David nodded. The policemen watched as we walked out of the room and then through

the door. I felt the policemen=s eyes boring into my back as we walked down the steps to the

street.

David looked forlorn as we walked toward where we had left the car. AI=m afraid we

failed, Adam.@

APerhaps,: I replied, Abut we did what we believed as right. We told the truth and warned

the people about Daniel. They just wouldn=t believe us.@

David thought a moment. AYes, they didn=t believe us, but they did not want to believe

us. It was too painful for them to believe us. Believing us meant the end of their dreams of a

better city and money for themselves.@

AAnd so,@ I asked, Awhen they learn the truth and they suffer the same misfortune of the

folks in Henryville, will they remember we were right?@

David laughed. ANo, good friend, they will hate us all the more. And they will hate

themselves, just as the people in Henryville now hate themselves. They will mistrust strangers,

even honest ones, because they will not want to be duped again. I can assure you that if we were

to return and remind them that we told them so, we would probably not get out alive.@

AI suppose,@ I replied, Awe were lucky to get out alive this time. We took a serious risk in

doing what we did.@

AYes,@ David agreed, Abut we had to do it. I think we learned a lesson even in our failure.

In a real sense, we loved these people because we wanted to keep them from harm. We tried to

help them, even though we could have been hurt in the process. In fact, we were hurt because

they rejected us.

ALove may involve failure, but we did what we believed was right. No we have to move

on.@

We arrived at the car. AIt=s about 7. Should we find a motel near here to spend the

night?@ David asked.

ANo,@ I replied, AI think it best we leave Hardwick. I don=t want to spend any more time

here than we have to. The townspeople may try to harass us even if Daniel no longer cares about

us now that he got his way.@

ADoes this mean that you may fail to find Robin, and I may fail to bring peace and justice

to my family?@ David asked somewhat hesitantly.

I tried to sound optimistic. AYes, I suppose we each might fail, but I don=t think we will.

But if we do fail, we will have learned a great deal in our trying.@

AEven if what we learn may kill us,@ David responded with a grim chuckle.

We got in the car. Backed on to the highway and drove out of town.
A Man by the Side of the Road

We drove for about an hour and then stopped at a small motel to rest for the night. I had trouble falling asleep, unable to put our misadventure in Hardwick out of my mind. Those poor people, I kept thinking. Yet our dreams of riches often can cause us to act foolishly.

Thus it had been with my parents who, for a time, spent what little money they had buying lottery tickets, eating little but hoping much. They wanted to have money to live as lavishly as some of the folks they had seen on television lived, but they did not win and, instead, found themselves living in even greater poverty.

And so they gave up the lottery and, I suppose, their dream of riches as well. Why did they not look for work and earn more money? Please understand that I was young when all this happened. But I did ask them once why they did not have regular work. They seemed offended at my asking, but looked more sad than angry.

AWell, we tried,@ my father answered after a period of silence. AWe tried, but no one wanted us, particularly me. I never had enough schooling so that they were interested, and I had never learned a trade. My own father tried to teach me, but he died before I learned much. And then I had to do odd jobs just to support my mother and my sister and two brothers. And when my mother died when I was nineteen, I still didn=t know anything that anyone wanted to pay much for.@

My mother looked at me. I was afraid she might cry as she murmured, AWe tried. We really tried. The lottery was our last chance. Well, we have you, and your father and I, we have each other.@

That was the closest my parents had ever come to saying they loved me. I felt sorry for them. Now I feel overflowing sympathy for them as I remember this incident. They tried. They really tried, but it was not good enough. Or was it? I am beginning to miss them. But I must return to them to teach them how to love . . . or perhaps I will find that they already know. It is really I who needed to learn how to love.

And thus it had been with David=s aunt and uncle who were quite pleased with their lives before they tasted wealth. Wealth changed them, but not for the better. Poor David fled to get away from them, but he was told that one day he must return and bring peace where now turmoil rules, both in himself and at his former home.

As dawn=s light filtered through the window shades of our motel room, David and I awoke, and following our morning absolutions we set out to find breakfast. We had seen a restaurant a short distance before we came to the motel and decided to walk back to it to loosen up and prepare what might be a long day of driving.

There was a steady flow of traffic as we walked on the grass beside the highway. To our left was a narrow ditch, and beyond the ditch was a narrow strip of grass and an assortment of stores. Driveways crossed the ditch into parking areas for the stores.

David pointed to what looked like a bundle of rags some 200 feet ahead. But when we came closer, it was clear that what we saw was not rags at all but a man lying on the other side of the ditch, close to the parking lot of a hardware store. Our mistake was understandable because the clothes the man was wearing were little better than rags. He had a knit cap over on his head from under which long black hair spilled out. His face revealed that he had not shaved in many days.

There was no way of telling how long he had been lying there or why no one had tried to. help him earlier. His eyes were open, so we assumed he was awake. Though we were afraid to voice it, both David and I feared the man might be dead. Warily, we stepped across the ditch and stood about a foot away from the man=s head.

He moved his head and looked up at us. AWhat do you want?@ he asked in voice as if he were just waking from a sound sleep.

AYou seem like you might need some help,@ I said in as friendly a voice as I could muster.

ADo I look like I need help?@ the man asked, raising his head slightly.

AWell,@ said David, kneeling so as to get closed to the man=s face, Aas a matter of fact, you do look like you need help.@

A tear formed in the man=s right eye and ran down his cheek. ASo what if I need help? Nobody cares about me. I=ve been lying here since yesterday evening and you=re the first to take notice of me.@

AWhat happened?@ I asked.

ADoes it matter?@ the man replied. AFrankly, I drank too much. I lost my job, my house, and my family. So I just wander around, trying to get odd jobs here and there so I can something to eat.@

AAnd drink?@ David asked.

The man glared up at David. AWhat business is it of yours? Why don=t you go away and leave me alone?@

AIs that what you really want us to do?@ David asked.

The man let his head fall to the ground and was silent for a moment. ANo, that is not what I want you to do. Can you help me?@

AWe=re going for breakfast now,@ I told him. AWould you like to join us?@

The man struggled to get to his feet. David and I both reached down and helped him. He stood next to us. AI would love to have a decent meal. Don=t you mind being seen with a bum like me?@

AIf we minded, we wouldn=t have invited you to join us,@ I answered. ABut I think we ought to get acquainted if we=re going to eat together. My name is Adam and my friend=s name is David.@

The man held out his hand to shake mine. His hand was rough and dirty, and I could feel it quiver slightly as I grasped it. ANice to meet you, Adam. My name is Scott, Scott Wilson.@

APlease to meet you, Scott,@ I answered. David also shook hands with Scott.

We started off together toward the restaurant which was now only two stores down the road. Scott started off with a slight stagger, but was soon walking normally. Even though a slight breeze was blowing in the cool morning air, we could tell that Scott had an odor that have must have been due to many days without bathing.

. AWhere did you live when you last had a home?@ I ask Scott.

AWhere did I live?@ he replied with a grin that revealed a missing upper front tooth. AThat is a good question. I=m not sure I ever lived. I=m certain that I=m not living now.@

ABut you are alive,@ I countered. AYou=re walking with us to get breakfast.@

AYou are the first folks who have been kind to me in a long time. I hope I can repay you in some way, but I don=t have much to offer.@

David smiled. AWe=re not asking you to repay us. Perhaps, though, you could tell more about yourself while we=re eating breakfast.@

AI suppose I could do that,@ Scott answered. AWould you really be interested?@

AYes, of course, we would,@ I said, although I was not certain that in my heart I wanted to hear the sad story of a man brought down by alcohol.

AWell, then, you asked for it,@ Scott said with some genuine enthusiasm. AI do have some stories to tell.@

David grabbed the door of the restaurant, opened it, and invited Scott and I to enter. AWell, Scott,@ I said, Aas soon as we are seated and have ordered we=d love to hear some of your stories.@.
An Unusual Breakfast

The restaurant had six stools along a counter, but all but one was taken. There was also a dining area with tables. A man in back of the counter told us to seat ourselves.

There were three tables that were not already in use, each with four chairs. We walked to the closest table and sat down. I noticed that many patrons in the restaurant were looking at us. It was clear from their expressions that they were not pleased, almost certainly because we were strangers, and because they were not comfortable with Scott and his disheveled appearance.

A waitress brought us menus, but I could not help but notice her disgusted look as she handed a menu to Scott.

A burly man from the table immediately behind ours rose and stood beside Scott. AAre you all new in these parts?@ he asked.

AYes,@ David replied. AWe stopped here for the evening, but we=re traveling on to the next town after we finish breakfast.@

AThat=s probably a good thing,@ the man replied. AIs your friend traveling with you?@ he asked, pointing to Scott.

AActually, we met Scott down the road a bit and invited him to have breakfast with us,@ David replied.

AFrankly,@ the man said sarcastically, Ahe doesn=t look like the kind of person you all would want to eat with.@

I looked straight at the man. AYou eat with whomever you wish and we eat with whomever we wish. Scott is our friend and we=re treating him to breakfast.@

AJust make sure he doesn=t stay around these parts,@ the man snarled. AIf you want to take him with you, that=s your business, but if he stays around here, he may find that he isn=t welcome.@

Scott sat quietly throughout the exchange. The burly man went back to his table. All eyes had been on him as he spoke to us. When he sat down, people went back to talking and eating as if nothing had happened.

The waitress came back with coffee and took our orders. When she left, David and I reminded Scott that he had promised to tell us something about himself.

AI was once quite different than I am now,@ he began. AI had a successful business selling household appliances and was happily married. I had both a son and two daughters. But I ran into financial trouble because a large company built a big store in my town and began selling appliances more cheaply than I could. I tried to convince my customers that my higher prices were justified by the higher quality of service and support I offered. But people wanted cheap prices more than they wanted service and support. In the long run, they probably paid more, but that didn=t seem to matter.

AAs my business faded, so did my pride and my ability to support my family. I couldn=t face the fact that we were having trouble paying our bills. My suppliers would no longer give me credit. Within a year I was hopelessly in debt. I had to close my store.

AMy wife had tried to help by looking for work, but the only one in town that was hiring was the store that had put me out of business, and she could not bear to work for them. She finally got a part-time job at a local supermarket, but her hours interfered with her being available to the kids when they needed her.

AOf course, I was home and took care of the kids as best I could while I tried to find work too. The store that sold the cheap appliances wanted me to come work for them at a fraction of what I was making when I had my own store. Despite the anger I held toward them I was so desperate I took the job.

ABut my anger ate at me. All of our income still was barely enough to meet our needs. We had already spent almost all of our savings and were living paycheck to paycheck. I tried to hide from my anger and my shame by drinking, first a little, then more and more, until I got drunk almost every night.

AThe money I wasted on drink cut into what little we had for necessities. Eventually my wife could take it no more, and she left, taking the children with her, to go back to her parents in a city a thousand miles away.

AI could not keep the house up, so one day I packed a few belongings, left the house behind, and became what I am now, a homeless tramp who sleeps on the ground and begs for handouts from strangers.@

Scott told his story in a soft voice. Clearly, he was shamed of what he had become. As he finished his head hung down so low his chin almost touched his chest.

David and I were momentarily at a loss for words. Then David spoke, AWhat happened to you could have happened to any of us. I, too, went on the road because of a conflict concerning a business. I was fortunate to have some money to help me in my journey. But if I had lost everything as you did and had to go to work for the business that destroyed your living, I might well have ended up drowning my despair in alcohol. I feel great sorrow and sympathy for your situation.@

Scott raised his head and smiled at David. AYou are a good man, David. As you go on your way, remember me, please.@

AWe will both remember you,@ I said. AMy parents are poor, and so I know what it is to be poor. I ran away to escape that poverty, but I wonder now if I did the right thing. I think that it=s only because I didn=t have access to liquor that I didn=t wind up as you did, Scott. As David said, what happened to you could easily have happened to us as well.@

ABut it didn=t happen to you,@ Scott said. AAnd I hope that it will never happen to you. Adversity affects each of us differently. How it affects us depends so much on chance, on the love and support we find, on those things we consider most important. I concentrated on the business I lost and on my own pride when I should have concentrated on my family. And so I lost both my business and my family.

AYou have each separated yourselves from your families. Someday you must be reunited again. You, Adam, have two families. You must care for them both.@

I was dumbstruck. AHow did you know I have two families?@ I blurted.

APerhaps I am not all that you think I am,@ Scott replied mysteriously. ACome, we have finished our breakfast. Let=s leave. It=s clear that I, at least, am not welcome here.@

We rose. David left a tip and I paid the bill at a cash register near the door. The cashier, who appeared to be the manager to restaurant, looked straight into my eyes. AYou folks are not welcome here any more. We served you because you=re just passing through. Get on your way now and don=t come back.@

I did not reply to those rude comments. The three of us left the restaurant and stood together in the parking lot.

AThank you both for the excellent breakfast,@ Scott said, Aand for the kindness you showed me. There was no reason you had to help me. Everyone else passed me by.@

ADon=t mention it,@ David replied. AWould you like a ride to someplace? We=re continuing down this road.@

ANo,@ Scott replied, AI am walking in the other direction. Go on without me.@

Scott slung his small bad of possessions over his left should and began to walk away from us. Then he turned back. AThank you again, both of you. Because of the kindness you showed me you will both find what you are looking for, but it may not be what you expect to find.@ With that he turned away and continued walking,

David and I watched him for a short time and then got in the car. AWe=re going to find what we are looking for, but it may not be what we expect to find,@ repeated David slowly. AWe need to ask him what he meant.@

AAnd how he knows,@ I added.

We both jumped out of the car and began to run in the direction that Scott had started to walk. He could not have gotten far, but he was nowhere to be seen. We got back in the car, turned around and scanned the roadside for Scott, but we did not find him. So we turned around and were once more driving on to we knew not where.
The Country

The mirror told us to continue straight ahead down a road that was straight and seemingly endless. We passed through several small towns and one small city. We stopped for lunch and to refill the gas tank, and then we traveled on.

Passing through the countryside, I observed the houses, the barns, the fields, the stores, all those things that are an integral part of many lives, and I tried as best I could to imagine what those lives were like.

I saw many signs of poverty: trailer homes with siding that was discolored, often with portions loose or missing altogether. I saw small houses whose roofs were a patchwork of repairs and on which the paint was pealing. I saw old cars, apparently broken beyond repair, left to rust in front yards or driveways. All this reminded me of my parents= home, but there was no forest into which to flee.

What did the poor do for a living? Did they work odd jobs to gain a meager existence like my father? Did they receive miserly pensions for a life of hard work that now consigned them to a life of poverty?

I saw some people sitting idly on a porch or in their yard. Perhaps they were enjoying the life they had. I could not discern their feelings, and I had scant time to study their faces as the car quickly passed them by. Had life passed them by as well? I wanted to stop and talk to them, to learn more about how they felt, what dreams they had, what they would have chosen had fate not made their choices for them.

There were also large houses with beautifully trimmed lawns, usually with elegant iron or white fences surrounding the fields of the owners. Often such houses were built on a hillside at the end of a long driveway protected by a locked gate. Did such people live in fear that the poor would rob them? As they drove down the same road I was traveling, did they notice their less fortunate neighbors, and, if so, what did they think? Did they want to reach out to them, to help them? Did they thank the heavenly powers that they were not like those unfortunate poor? Or did they simply ignore them, trying not to notice they were there?

As on almost all roads, there were billboards advertising many different things that those having enough money to do so could buy. There were motels seeking guests, but I suspected that the poor rarely entered a motel, except perhaps to clean rooms. They probably never traveled far from home because they could not afford it, while the rich could go almost anywhere they pleased.

The yards of the poor sometimes boasted a goat, some chickens, or a dog. The large fields of the rich were populated with cattle, horses, or acres of crops. The world of the poor was cramped, constrained. The world of the rich was open and manicured. The yards of the poor were often, like the yard of my home, littered with junk. The fields of the rich were populated with lifestock, crops . . . and sometimes oil wells, oil wells like those that Daniel had caused to spring up in Henryville and would now bring to Hardwick. Wells that sucked wealth out of the ground and into Daniel=s pockets while impoverishing those who rightfully owned the oil.

Are the rich happier than the poor? They may be anxious about losing what they have, or they may be consumed with the desire to have even more. The poor may also be consumed by greed and envy, but they may also enjoy simpler lives that are unencumbered by things.

But it is one thing to be poor by choice, and quite another to be poor because one has had no choice in one=s circumstances. Both the rich and the poor may be miserable, though for different reasons.

There were also, course, the houses of those who seemed neither poor not wealthy. They were modest homes, well-maintained, perhaps a picket fence enclosing a modest front yard with a flower bed in front of a porch or bay window. These reminded me of Samuel and Martha. I wondered how they were faring in my absence and whether Samuel was still alive.

But Samuel had to be alive. He and Martha had given me three months to find Robin and bring him home again. Samuel would certainly wait for Robin to return so he could die in peace. And if I brought Robin back, I could return with a clear conscience to my own parents, knowing that Robin would take care of Martha once Samuel died. It was the pressure of those three months that kept me moving, much as I would have liked to explore more deeply the people and scenes we were passing by so rapidly.

Already a week had passed since I had started my search for Robin. A week is not a very long time, but I still did not know where Robin might be, or assuming I found him, how I could convince him to return to his parents. And with all of that, I was assuming my mirror would lead to Robin and then back again to Samuel and Martha. The mirror was the only guide and hope I had.

And then there was David. I, at least, had a clear idea of what I was supposed to do. That was not the case with David. David accompanied me because a strange man in a forest that no longer exists told him to stay with me, that his quest was to be joined with mine, and that only in that way would he be successful. But who or what was David to find? What was he supposed to learn so that he could return home and take his rightful place as the patriarch of his family? I was supposed to learn how to love. I needed to learn this, so a strange man told me, so that I could teach my parents to love, but how would I know when I had learned how to love? Who would tell me that my education was complete? Who would even tell me clearly in terms I could understand what love is? Is love something one comes to know but cannot describe? Is it simply lived, but one dares not try to write about it? And if this is so, how then can I communicate it to my parents?

The afternoon was fast approaching evening, and David and I again began to think about a place to stay for the night. I thought that I might consult my mirror, but decided that surely we could make that decision without the mirror=s guidance. And so we did. We found an attractive motel next to a diner.

We checked in, pulled our bags with toiletries and clothes from the truck of the car, carried them into our room, and then walked over to the diner. I wondered how many more motels we would stay in, or how many more diners we would visit before our search was over. Even with David=s good company, the trip was becoming tedious, and we had barely begun.

Despite our adventures, I began to long for the stability of my home and the companionship of my parents. I wanted to tell David that we should turn around now and forget about finding Robin, forget about his taking over his family=s business. Martha and Samuel had lived without Robin for years before I met them, and David was certainly bright enough to start another business of his own. Why should I care what happened to Martha and Samuel? Why would David want the frustration of dealing with the greed of his aunt and uncle?

David noticed my pensiveness. He and I knew one another rather well by now. ANo,@ stated softly, but firmly, Awe cannot turn around and go home. We each have a mission to accomplish. That mission is the purpose of each of our lives.

AIf we went back, we might feel more secure, more comfortable . . .that is, until the ghosts of what we had left unaccomplished came to haunt us, until the men who gave us our missions confronted us in our dreams and condemned for cowardice.

AIf you turn back, I will not be your judge, but I will then take up the search for Robin myself: He paused, and then added, ABut I will ask that you give me the mirror.@

I confess that I broke down and cried. David put his hand on my shoulder to console me. AThank you, David. No, I will not give up. I will keep the mirror as a reminder to me that we both have work to do, and I must do my own part. We will go on together.@

And so we did.
A Road Less Traveled

I consulted the mirror again before we set out the following morning. The motel at which we had spent the night was at the end of the road on which we had traveled so long. Now we had to choose to turn right or left. The mirror showed our car turning to the left and, then, about a mile further on, turning to to the right.

The first road was a well-traveled highway, but the road to the right was narrow and unpaved. David filled up the tank since it was clear that we were unlikely to find a gas station on this road, if one might call it a road, because it seemed more like a wide dirt path into which wheels had worn two parallel ruts the width of an axle.

David was skeptical about taking such an unlikely route, so he told me to inquire of the mirror one more time. The mirror confirmed its instructions.

AOf course,@ said David, Awe don=t have to do what the mirror suggests. How are we going to get a big city, or even a small town, by going down a dirt road?@

AWe can=t disobey the mirror,@ I countered. AIf we tried to find the way to Robin on our own, we would have no idea at all how to do it. We just can=t drive around aimlessly hoping we=ll eventually find him. When I was with Martha and Samuel the mirror showed me that Robin was in a large city, but it didn=t say which large city. If we drove to a large city, we couldn=t be sure if it was the right large city; and even if it was the right large city, we still wouldn=t know where to find Robin. The mirror is our only hope.@

AI suppose you=re right,@ David answered, Abut I hardly think we=re going to find a large city down that dirt path. We don=t know where it goes. It could end in a swamp and we=d get stuck in the mud for all we know.@

ANo, we don=t know,@ I said somewhat testily, Abut we have to assume that the mirror knows. We don=t know what is down that road, but it seems that there must be something that the mirror wants us to see.@

AAll right,@ David replied with a sigh, AI=ll go along with the mirror again, but if this turns out badly, I=ll never trust the mirror again. It already got us in a lot of trouble in Hardwick@

AI=m sure it won=t turn out badly,@ I said, trying to hide my own doubts. AAnyway, if we get stuck, we=ll probably find there was a reason for that too.@

When we arrived at the dirt road, we pulled over to the side and stopped to give us a chance to take a closer look at what we were getting into. What we saw was not encouraging. The road was narrow. On the right there was a shoulder only some two feet wide before a steep embankment. On the left, there was a shoulder about a yard wide that ended in a thicket of bushes. If we met another car coming in the opposite direction, there was barely enough room for both cars to edge pass one another using the full width of the road and the shoulders. There was no hope of turning around, assuming we wanted to do so.

David scratched his head. AIt looks like once we=re on this road, we=ll have to follow it wherever it leads.@

A@I suppose that=s what the mirror expects us to do,@ I answered.

ASo the mirror wants us to take silly chances?@

AWe have to assume the mirror is sending us down the road for a purpose. Why else would it tell us to turn here?@

David paused before answering. AYes, the mirror has a purpose, but whose purpose is it? The mirror may have ideas of its own. We are supposed to be looking for Robin, and I doubt seriously that Robin is somewhere down this road.@

AI doubt that too. But if we do not follow the mirror=s instructions now, the mirror may no longer work. Have you thought of that? We have to do what the mirror wants us to do unless the mirror proves itself untrustworthy.@

AAnd the time that it proves itself untrustworthy, then what? We may be stuck in a swamp at the end of this stupid road, and then what will the mirror say? It may laugh at us for being such fools.@

ANow, David, you=re the one who is doubting our quest. You told me that if I wanted to give up, I could go, but you would carry on. Now are you telling me that you don=t want to carry on?@

AI=m not telling you anything of the sort. I am just saying that we have to be reasonable, and it is not reasonable to go down this road.@

ATell me, then, David, what is reasonable? We can do what the mirror tells us or we can strike out on our own. If we won=t obey the mirror, if we doubt every instruction it gives us and demand that it prove it is the right before we act, we might as well throw the mirror away and go home now. The mirror doesn=t think as you and I do. We don=t know how it knows or what its reasons are, but we must follow them or we will indeed get lost.

ADo you think it was reasonable that houses appear and disappear in the forest, or that strange men encourage us on our journey, or that an entire forest can appear and disappear right in front of us?

ASomeday perhaps we=ll understand all of this, but if we require understanding now before we act, I=m certain we=ll never accomplish what we set out to do.@

David stood quietly for a moment looking down the strange road the mirror told us to follow. AI was never good at venturing into the unknown. I=ve always tried to guide my life by reason and in an orderly way. I want to know how something will turn out before I attempt it. I want a clear plan to achieve the goals I set. And now here I am in a situation I don=t understand, not having any idea of where we=re going or what we=ll find when we get there.

AIt was the lack of order that caused me to run away. It was the greed of my aunt and uncle and the foolish conduct of my brother and sisters that caused me to flee and seek a life of my own away from them. And here I find myself in an even more irrational situation, following the instructions of a mirror that never explains itself and that is supposed to lead us to someone neither of us have ever met. This doesn=t make any sense at all. No, this doesn=t make any sense at all.@

We both were silent for more than a minute looking down the dirt road. David started the car, waited until it was safe to pull out from where we had stopped, and turned right on to the road the mirror had shown us.

The ruts were so rough that David dared not drive more than ten miles an hour. Puddles in the road reminded us that it had rained recently. The sky was now clear, but we both realized that a heavy rain might make the road impassable. If the car did get stuck in the mud, there was no one to call on to pull us out. If the car broke down, there would be no one to tow us to a service station. It was only our faith in the mirror that brought us to this point. Now we had to keep going and hope that our faith was not misplaced.

I took out the mirror again and asked it what we ought to do. It showed me only this same road ahead.
The Farm at the End of the Road

Although there were still puddles in some of the deepest parts of the road, the ground was dry enough in most places that we left a small cloud of dust behind us as David carefully maneuvered the car trying his best to avoid the worst bumps. The existence of the ruts proved that we were far from the first to use this road, but we met no one coming from the opposite direction, nor did we see anyone following behind us.

On we drove for fully half an hour until we saw a clump of trees ahead and a clearing at which the road ended. As we approached the clearing, we saw a house. Behind the house were broad fields in which of which we observed cows grazing. Entering the clearing, we saw a pig sty about a hundred yards off to the right. The dirt road had led us to a farm.

We saw no one outside, so we parked the car under a large tree and watched the house to see if anyone came out to greet us. No one did.

AWell,@ David said, Athe mirror led us here, so I suppose there=s something here that we are supposed to see.@

ALet=s go up to the house,@ I suggested.

We got out of the car, walked to the house, up a set of steps to a porch, and crossed the porch to the front door. The house was painted white and was well-cared for. The porch was clean of debris. A mat offering us AWelcome@ lay in front of a screen door. I opened the screen door and reached for the knocker under a square window near the top of the front door and gave five hard raps.

We waited for about a minute but no one came. I rapped again as hard as I could six more times. Still no one came. I tried the door. It was not locked.

ADo you think we should go in?@ I asked.

AYou told me to trust the mirror, didn=t you,@ David replied, a bit sarcastically. AWe=re where the mirror led us, so I suppose we ought to go in.@

I gingerly opened the door and David followed me in to a vestibule, the floor of which was covered with a brown shag rug.. We could see a kitchen ahead of us and a parlor to our right. Everything seemed neat and in order.

AAt least it doesn=t look like your house or mine,@ David quipped. AAnd we=re not in the middle of a forest.@

AEmily, Emily, is that you?@ A soft voice called from a room off the living room.

David and I hesitated for a moment and then walked quickly in the direction of the voice. We entered a room in which a men was sitting up on pillows in a wide bed. A dresser stood opposite the bed. A window on the wall opposite the door opened on to the fields in back.

The man tried to raise himself from the pillows but quickly fell back with a moan. AWho are you,@ he asked, Aand where is Emily?@ His words were slightly slurred.

I started to explain to him that a mirror told us to come here, but quickly decided that this what not a good idea. AWho is Emily?@ I asked.

AEmily is my wife,@ he replied. She=s taken care of me after I had a stroke. She went out to feed the pigs, but she should have been back by now.

AMaybe it=s a good thing you came. I can=t get out of bed. Would you go out and try to find Emily?@

I remember the pig sty we had seen when we first arrived. AOf course, we=ll go out immediately and try to find her. You just wait here and we=ll be back soon. Is there anything you want us to do before we look for Emily?@

ANo, no, I just want you to find Emily. Make sure that nothing has happened to her.@

David and I left the room, exited the house, and walked toward the pig sty. We reached the pig sty and saw no one. Then from behind the open shed where the pigs could seek shelter from the sun and inclement weather, we heard a woman calling, AHelp me. Please help me.@

We ran to the back of the shed where we found a woman lying on the ground, a upturned pail of slop on the ground close by her. She looked at us with an expression that was part hope and part fear.

AWho are you?@ she asked, AIs Hiram all right?@ She struggled to get to her feet but fell back with a grimace. AI feel and sprained my ankle, maybe broke it. I can=t get up. Please help me.@

David and I studied the situation for a moment. Then David said, AIf we had a wheelchair, we could lift her into the chair and get her back to the house. There was a wheelchair in Hiram=s room on the far side of his bed.@

AI=ll run back and get it,@ I said, and started back immediately to do so.

When I entered Hiram=s room again, he asked if we had found Emily. I told him that we had and that she had fallen and sprained her ankle. I went to wheelchair and explained that we were going to put Emily in the chair and bring her back to the house.

AWhat are we going to do?@ he groaned. AWhat are we going to do?@

I knew at once what he meant. He was helpless and needed Emily to take care of him. Now Emily was also disabled and needed someone to take care of her. I did not want to think about their terrible predicament. For the moment, I rushed the chair back to where Emily lay, and David and I lifted her as gently as we could off the ground and into the chair.

It was difficult to maneuver the wheelchair over the rough ground, but David and I did the best we could to smooth the ride. Emily was clearly in great pain and gave sharp cries whenever the chair jerked even slightly.

At last we reached the foot of the steps leading to the porch. David and I stood for a moment studying the situation. AThe only way,@ I said, Awe=re going to get her up on the porch is to carry her in the chair to the stairs.@

Emily sighed. AI=m sorry I=m causing you all this trouble. Please don=t hurt yourselves.@

AThat=s all right,@ David said, trying to sound convincing. We=ll be careful not to hurt you or ourselves.@

Emily was a petite lady who I guessed weighed no more than 110 pounds. I could not imagine how she took care of Hiram all by herself. The chair probably weighed another 40 pounds so David and I would each have to lift 75 pounds. Lifting 75 pounds was close to the limit of my strength.

We decided to lift Emily one step at a time rather than risk trying to carry here up the stairs without pausing. David and I were both out of breath from the effort, but we did manage to get Emily and her chair on to the porch without hurting her or ourselves. We then eased her into the foyer and rolled her into Hiram=s room.

Hiram gave a cry of joy when he saw Emily, but quickly became concerned when he saw the look of pain on her face. AEmily,@ he called out anxiously, Awhat happened? Are you all right?@

Emily started to cry. Hiram became more agitated. AEmily, Emily, it=s all right. Don=t cry. Someone sent these young me to take care of us. Everything will be fine.@

I tried not to show how worried I was. David and I had probably saved Emily=s life, but now Emily could not care for Hiram, and, worse, someone would now have to take care of Emily as well. The mirror had led us here, and, once more, we found ourselves in trouble.

Not only did David and I not have the skill needed to care for this elderly couple, but we were supposed to be looking for Robin. If we stayed here until Emily was able to walk again, we might be here a month or longer, and that was assuming that Emily had not broken any bones. We didn=t even know how to check for breaks and even less about what to do if we found any. We didn=t know how to run a farm, milk cows, or do all those things that Emily herself had done, and, in addition, taken care of Hiram. I felt totally helpless.

Mirror, mirror, what have you done to us? You are supposed to be helping us find Robin, but you must remember that we do have only a limited amount of time to find him. If we spend a month or more here, then we will not have much time left to find him and bring him home to Samuel and Martha. As Emily continued to sob, Hiram also started to cry. I looked down at the floor and realized that I myself was close to tears.

But why, it struck me then, could David and I not seek find help for Hiram and Emily. We ourselves could not be of much help to them, but we could find others who could help them, others who would know what they were doing. Hope displaced my despair..
The Call for Help

Emily was calmer now. I approached her and asked if she had a telephone so we could call someone to help her and Hiram and to take care of the farm.

She looked up at me. AYes, we have a daughter who could help us. Her husband also is a farmer. If the two of them could stay here until I=m able to walk again, they could take care of us. There=s also a home care service in town that will help us out, but they can=t do anything about the farm.@

AWouldn=t it help to hire a someone to take care of the farm until you=re better?@ I asked. AIt might be good if the person you hired stayed on even after you=re better so you won=t to work as hard.@ I didn=t want to say that there would also be someone around to help if she hurt herself again.

Hiram and Martha had probably worked at the limits of their endurance all their lives, and now that Hiram was bedridden, Emily was working even harder. It occurred to me that they probably could have, and should have, retired years ago, but then what would they have done? The farm and their marriage was their life. If they did not have the farm to care for, they would have had only each other. Would each other have been enough for them? Could the obvious love they shared fill the void left by depriving them of their work?

ALet me use your phone,@ I said, Aso I can call your daughter to tell her you need help. I=m sure she and her husband can hire someone for you to take care of the farm.@

Emily frowned. AOur phone went out a month ago, and I kept telling Hiram that we needed to get it fixed, but we never got around to it. I guess I was just too busy taking care of the farm and Hiram, and it would have meant a trip into town so we could tell the phone company to come out to do their repairs.@

AThat=s all right,@ David said, AI can drive back into town, call your daughter, and also ask the phone company to come out and fix your phone. It will only take about 45 minutes to get back to town. In the meantime, Adam can stay and help you out. Please give me your daughter=s phone number. But first let me find something to write it down on.@

David went to the living room and found a pencil and slip of paper on a small desk in one corner. There was also a phone on the desk, but when he picked up the receiver, there was no dial tone. How can anyone live without a telephone, he asked himself. But then he realized that he and I had been traveling without a telephone. If my parents wanted to reach out to me, there was no way for them to do so. But then I remembered that my parents were too poor to have a phone.

How isolated I was from those I wanted now so much to see: my parents, Samuel and Martha, even the man in the forest who had given me the mirror. I felt I was adrift on a sea without any way to tell where I was or where I was going.

I looked at Emily and Hiram, Hiram helpless in his bed, Emily helpless in the wheelchair. The two of them had lived together almost all of their adult lives. They had worked the farm and raised at least one child, perhaps more. Whatever joys and tragedies they had faced, they had faced together, supporting one another in a mutual love I was still learning to understand.

And now here they were, side by side, one not able to help the other, both dependent on whatever assistance someone else would have to give them. Now they would have to support one another in that painful and, no doubt, humiliating dependence on others rather than on one another

Magic mirror, is this why you led us here? Was it because you knew this dear couple needed help they could not summon for themselves? Or was it so that I might meet them in their need and learn more about what love truly means.

I thought back to Martha and Samuel and their love, both for one another, and the son who had left them. Martha was facing the loss of the man whom she had cherished for so much of her life. Who would love her when Samuel was gone? She would be as alone as Hiram and Emily . . . unless we could find Robin and bring him back to her.

David returned with pencil and paper, and Emily gave him her daughters phone number. He promised to return as quickly as he could and left the room. We heard the front door close behind. I was alone now with Hiram and Emily and worried that if I tried to help them, I might do more harm than good. I had never been trained to attend to the needs of others, particularly those who were as old and fragile as they were.

Emily spoke. AI fell when I was trying to feed the pigs. They get kinda wild when they=re hungry. Could you go out and feed them now? You know where the pail is. I spilled the slop, but there=s plenty more in a bin in back of their pen. I=d worry a little less if you would take care of that for me.@

There was no point in telling Emily that I had never slopped pigs before. She was concerned about her animals, and my feeding the pigs would lessen that concern.

AWill you and Hiram be all right if I leave for awhile?@ I asked.

AOf course we will,@ said Hiram too weakly to be convincing. ANow go and do as Emily says.@

I left the two of them and went out to the pig sty where the pigs were milling about and squealing for their supper. I walked behind the pen and found the pail laying where Emily had dropped it. I stepped carefully around the slops she had spilled and went to the bin where the slops were stored. Opening the bin, I tried to ignore the smell that enveloped me. Lowering the pail, I scooped up enough slops to fill it almost to the top and proceeded back to the front of the pen. The squeals built into a mighty chorus.

I threw the slops over the fence into a trough on the other side. A crush of pigs battled to get close to the food. The noise was almost deafening. I=m sure Hiram and Martha could hear it even in the bedroom, as they had heard it innumerable times before. It probably consoled them to know that the pigs had been fed. They obviously cared deeply about their animals, even those that might be sold for slaughter or that they would butcher themselves to put food on their table.

I glanced toward the pasture and saw several cows grazing. I wondered if Emily had to milk cows too. If so, I prayed that her daughter would get here before milking time. I would be scared out of my mind to milk a cow. I had never even been close to a cow before, much less milked or fed one. Does love, I thought, make you do things you never thought you could do, things you never expected to do, things you really do not want to do?

I watched the pigs for a few minutes nipping at one another, butting others aside to get to the trough, all the time making more noise than I had ever heard before. If I had fallen into the pen when they were hungry, I suppose they would have attacked me with the same ferocity they attacked the slops. Pigs, I decided, are not loving animals, even toward others pigs,

I turned away from the bedlam and went back to Hiram and Emily. Emily thanked me profusely for feeding the pigs. I told her it was a pleasure, a new experience for me, and that I had not realized how ferocious pigs could be. She chuckled. Even Hiram seemed to be amused.

AYes,@ she said, Apigs are something. When we plan to butcher a pig, we have to isolate it from the other pigs. If they sense it is wounded or smell its blood, they will attack it and eat it.@

I swallowed hard. I was right about the danger of falling into the pen. AWhat about the other animals?@ I asked. ADo they need to be tended to as well?@

ANo,@ Martha said. AWe only have one milk cow now, and I milked her earlier today. She could wait until tomorrow morning to be milked again.@

That=s lucky for me, I thought. By that time David should have called the daughter, and she and her husband might have arrived to help out. For the moment, though, I was by myself and felt very much alone.
The Pain of Being Human

I was alone with Hiram and Emily at a farm whose owners had grown too infirm to care both for it and for themselves. Had David and I not come when we did, Emily might still have been able to make her way back to Hiram=s side, dragging herself painfully along the ground

And then what? Perhaps her daughter would have come to visit before they starved to death. How horrible it would have been for them to lie there together, neither one able to help the other, unable to call for help because their telephone was not working. Having supported one another in life for so many years, they might have died together unable to assist one another in their most basic needs.

Their lives had been uncluttered of all but the most basic appliances and technology. A phone was their one link to the outside world if an emergency arose, and that link was broken. As the mirror had saved me when I was lost in the forest, it saved them through David and me. Or had it brought me to them, not as much for their sake, as mine.

Emily started to weep softly. I went and stood by her side. I asked her if I could do anything to help her. She did not even look up.

ASurely there must be something I can do to help,@ I said softly, trying to comfort her in her obvious pain.

She was silent for a moment. Then necessity made her speak. AI am soiled and I need to be changed,@ she said in a barely audible whisper. AHiram, too, needs to be cleaned up and changed. I can=t do anything.@

Now she was sobbing. AWhy this? Why this?@ she repeated again and again.

My knees grew weak. How humiliating it must have been for her to tell me of her intimate need to have her clothes changed because she had soiled them.

Hiram had heard his beloved wife=s request. AIf she needs help, you may give it to her. I trust you, son. When you finished helping Emily, please clean me up and change me too. The clothes are in the closet on the far wall opposite the bed. You=ll find an ample supply of diapers in the bathroom.@

I was at a loss how to begin, and I was terrified of causing Emily more pain. I still didn=t know if her ankle was broken. Her shoe had fallen off when we brought her into the house, and I could see that the ankle was discolored and swollen.

Hiram saw my distress and offered advice. AFirst, you=ll have to try to keep her ankle from twisting more. You=ll find a straight ruler in the desk drawer in the parlor. Take a sheet from the linen closet in the bathroom and tear a long strip from it. Put the ruler against her inside leg so that the ankle is not bent and then secure the ruler by wrapping the strip of sheet around her leg, ankle and foot. But don=t make it too tight because the ankle may still be swelling. This should help keep the ankle from being damaged even more.

AThen you=ll have to take off her dress and her soiled pants and clean her up as best you can. She can help by pushing herself up with her hand from the chair and standing on her good leg.@

Hiram spoke without hesitation in giving me directions. His stroke may have affected his mobility, but it affected his speech only slightly and has left his reason intact. That he knew what to do told me this had happened before. But then he could help Emily. In the past, only one of them had been disabled at a time. Now that both needed help, all he could do to assist was to tell me what needed to be done.

I followed his instructions, and when I hesitated, he encouraged me and gave me additional guidance. Emily was patient throughout, although I could tell from her expression that my actions caused her pain, particularly as I tried to wrap her ankle.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was only some 45 minutes, I completed my work on Emily. She thanked me graciously, although I had no doubt the entire process was as deeply humiliating for her as it was for me. I then assisted Hiram as he guided me through what I had to do to change his diaper and help him move up higher in his bed.

At the end of these efforts I found myself exhausted both mentally and physically. Once more I had done what I did not want to do but had to do to help someone in need. Indeed, I did something that I never thought I would ever have to do, something, in fact, I would not have been able to do without Hiram=s instructions and Emily=s patient assistance.

I felt both pride in this unanticipated accomplishment and grief that these dear people found themselves in such a predicament that they had to depend for help on someone such as I. At the same time, I felt bonded to them both in a special way that I could not put into words. I seemed part of their family now, and they had trusted me as if I were their son.

Just then the telephone rang. David must have reached the phone company and they had repaired the line. I rushed to answer the call in the parlor.

Yes, it was David who was calling to tell me that the trouble with the line had been found and fixed. He had also called the daughter, and, although she could not come immediately, she was going to come in two days. In the meantime, she had arranged for someone to come later in the day to take charge of the farm. David had also spoken with the home health people, and they too were sending an aide out to look after Hiram and Emily, and, if necessary, to arrange for their transfer to an assisted living facility where they could get whatever care they needed. David also told me that he was himself coming back to the farm shortly.

I conveyed this good news to Hiram and Emily, assuring them that matters were now under control and that they and the farm would be well taken care of by competent people. I expected them to be pleased with the news, but they did not even smile.

I asked them what was the matter, but I did not have to be told. They knew, as did I, that they were entering a new phase in their lives. They knew that the health care aides would want them to move into assisted living where they could be taken care of more efficiently than at home, where they would have nutritious meals prepared for them three times a day, where they could find companionship so they would not be alone any more, where their rooms would be cleaned regularly, and entertaining events would be scheduled throughout each week.

They knew that this was the end of the lifetime they had spent together, helping and supporting one another to build their successful farm and to keep it going. From now on they would no longer be independent, but would be dependent on having their needs met by others. They would not follow their own schedule, but would be constrained to follow the schedule of the facility that housed them. The rhythm of their lives would be broken, the bonds to their land and their animals shattered, even the joy that they found in one another=s presence diluted by a loss of privacy.

The daughter might well sell the farm to help pay for their stay in assisted living. A new development might build on their land, and the road that had protected their way of life would be paved over. Why should they rejoice? Would I have rejoiced had I been in their place? I felt an overwhelming need to shelter them, to envelop them in my arms and tell them that I would take care of them, that everything was going to be all right.

But I knew everything was not going to be all right. And I knew that I could not shelter them. I could not even stay with them because David and I have to resume our search for Robin. I felt tears welling in my eyes. I had to run from the room so they would not see me cry.

I heard a car drive up into the clearing in front of the house, and I knew that David had returned.
A Difficult Parting

I walked toward the front door. It opened before I reached it, and David entered followed by a young woman carrying a small satchel whose white uniform and stethoscope hung around her neck told me that she was a nurse or a doctor.

David introduced to the woman. AAdam, this is Melissa White, a nurse from Home Health Services. They sent her out with me to evaluate the situation and decide what type of care Hiram and Emily might need.@

I shook Melissa=s hand. AI can=t tell you how glad I am you=re here, Melissa. I felt totally incompetent trying to take care of our two patients myself. They=re in the bedroom to the right if you would like to see them now.@

AThanks,@ Melissa replied. AYes, I would like to see them.@

I led Melissa into the bedroom and introduced her to Hiram and Emily. AAre you going to take us to the hospital?@ Emily asked with a worried expression. AYou know that Hiram and I do not want to leave our home. It would be much better if you could take care of us here.@

AI have to evaluate your situation and make a recommendation,@ Melissa answered. ABut you must understand two things. First, I cannot make you do anything. You have to give permission if we feel we need to transfer you to a hospital.

AThe second thing you need to understand is that sometimes we can=t provide the treatment a patient needs in a home. A hospital is the only place that has the equipment and the trained staff to do what needs to be done to take care of you. If you did go to the hospital, it would only be for the time needed to get you well enough to come home again.@

AThen we will be able to come home again?@ Hiram asked.

AThat would be our wish,@ Melissa responded, Aand we will do our best to make it possible.@

Both Emily and Hiram understood that if it were not possible, if they could no longer safely remain in their home, they might never return. But if they chose not to go, they would put their lives in danger. Whatever choice they made, they stood a good chance of losing something dear.

Melissa took a number of devices out of her satchel. She listened to Emily=s and Hiram=s heart and lungs, took their blood pressures and temperatures, and then pricked each of their fingers in turn, and touched a small instrument to the drops of blood that formed.

AI am measuring how much glucose, that is, sugar, is in your blood,@ she explained. AIf there is too much sugar in your blood, you may have a disease called diabetes which can be very dangerous because many people don=t know they have it until it has done a lot of damage to their bodies. But there is medicine that can control it, but we first have to know if you have it.@

The nurse made notes on a small pad as she took readings and made observations during her examinations. AEmily, I heard you hurt your ankle,@ Melissa send kneeling down beside the leg I had bandaged.

ANot a bad job of splinting,@ she remarked, looking up at me with a smile, Abut I=m afraid I=ll have to take the bandage off to get a better look at your ankle, Emily. I=ll be as gentle as I can.@

Emily grimaced slightly as the nurse unwrapped her ankle. The ruler I had used as a splint fell to the floor. Melissa carefully observed the ankle which was now swollen and colored an ugly mixture of black, blue, purple. Melissa picked up the ruler and carefully rewrapped the ankle.

AI am fairly sure that your ankle is broken, ma=am,@ the nurse told Emily. The only way we can be sure is to have it x-rayed, and that has to be done at the hospital. If it is broken, you will probably have to have surgery to repair it.

AAnd what if I just leave it alone?@ Emily asked. AWill it eventually heal itself?@

The nurse shook her head. AIf you just leave it alone, you might get a serious infection. Furthermore, you would never be able to put any weight on that foot. The bones have probably separated, which means the fracture cannot heal itself.

AI hate to give you more worrisome news, but you and your husband both have high glucose levels, which may mean you have diabetes. Your husband also high blood pressure, not a good thing after a stroke. He will need medication to bring down the pressure.

ABecause he can=t take care of you, and you can=t take care of him, especially if you are recovering from surgery, it would be best for the two of you to be transported by ambulance to the hospital in town where the doctors can examine you more thoroughly and take the steps needed to get your problems under control. Will you and your husband agree to go to the hospital?@

Emily and Hiram looked at one another. Tears formed in Emily=s eyes and began running down her cheeks. Hiram spoke softly, almost inaudibly. AI suppose we will have to agree. We don=t have the choice of staying here, even if we could afford to have someone stay with us full-time to care for us. I don=t want Emily=s foot to get infected. That might kill her. I couldn=t bear that.@

Emily sniffled. AHiram is right. How long will it be before we can come home again?@

AI can=t say,@ the nurse replied. AIf your ankle is broken, you will have to have surgery. Then you will have to have physical therapy to get you back on your feet. If you work hard at the therapy, it will probably take you about four months to be able to walk normally and put full weight on that ankle again.@

AFour months,@ Emily exclaimed. AAnd what will happen to Hiram during that time?@

AWe=ll take excellent care of him, ma=am,@ the nurse answered. We will get his medicines adjusted properly and also give him physical therapy so he can regain the strength he lost because of his stroke.@

I heard another car pull into the front yard. Shortly thereafter the doorbell rang. There was a tall young man at the door. AHello,@ he said, Amy name is Ralph Adler. I was hired by Hiram=s daughter to come by and care for the farm while her parents were laid up.@

I extended my hand and invited him in. I brought him to Emily and Hiram and he introduced himself again, assuring them that he had years of experience farming, despite his youthful appearance. He would make sure that everything ran well until their return.

AUntil our return,@ Emily sighed. AThe nurse knows, though she will not say it, that we may never return. We may be leaving the farm for good.@

ANow don=t think like that,@ Ralph countered. AYou=ll be as good as new in a little while.@

The nurse stared at the floor and said nothing.

Ralph spoke again, AYou know your daughter will be coming to visit you tomorrow. That might cheer you up.@

Emily broke into tears. AThen she will have to visit us in the hospital because that is where we will be. Ralph, will you please call her and tell her that. Hiram and I will try to call her from the hospital once we know more,@

ANow, ma=am, don=t cry,@ Ralph said, trying to be helpful. AAnd don=t you worry about the animals or anything else here. I=ll make certain that everything is taken care of first class.@

AI=m sure you will,@ Emily replied. AThank you.@

David and I stood looking on silently. I felt an overwhelming sadness, a profound pity for this sweet couple who were facing a new, uncertain, and painful era in their long lives. Would it have better for them for Hiram to have died of his stroke, or for us not to have found Emily? David and I had saved their lives, but saved them for what? That was what was mysterious. Yet the mirror had brought us here, so I had to assume that what we did was right.

Once more we had followed the mirror=s instructions and been led to a scene of sorrow and disappointment. Yet, there was a beauty in Hiram=s and Emily=s devotion to one another and their lives bound together as one that at which I marveled and in which I found inspiration.

I felt an urge to stay and care for them. But I could not. I had no skills to offer them, neither for their health or for their farm. I would have just been another burden to them. I knew I loved Emily and Hiram and what they represented to me. They were the opposite of my parents, industrious, caring, compassionate . . .or so I thought. But how could I judge them any more than I could judge my parents. We each have to live our own lives in our circumstances and play the cards we are dealt.

And now I was certain that my love for Hiram and Emily was best expressed by my leaving them to the care of those who were more qualified than I, including their daughter. I had to be about my own business trying to help Samuel and Martha, my own parents, and David as well. , , and, as I thought more about it, myself most of all. I continued to learn what I could never had learned had I stayed with my parents. But one day I had to return to them. I would be a different person then, and I knew that, even they had not changed in the meantime, they would be different persons to me.
A Pair of Hearts

David and I bid farewell to Hiram and Emily. We walked slowly back to the car, both of us lost in our thoughts. As we left, the nurse was calling for an ambulances to take Hiram and Emily to the hospital and Ralph had gone to inspect the animals and see what he needed to do.

I could not help but think about the ravages that old age can bring. My parents were aging, yet they seemed none the wiser for it. Their life together had been difficult from the beginning, and I feared that their life would only get harder as they aged and found themselves unable to do much of what they could when they were younger.

My father would chop wood for cooking and heat, going into the forest to fell a tree large enough to provide ample wood for a cold winter. How long might he be able to carry out such a strenuous task, and what would happen when he found himself unable to do so?

Martha and Samuel were also nearing the end of their long lives. Samuel knew he had only months to live. What would become of Martha if I could not find Robin? How would Martha adjust to life after losing the husband with whom she had lovingly shared most of her life?

And now Hiram and Emily. What terrible adjustments they had to make, leaving their farm and all its memories to enter an uncertain and impersonal future in a hospital and, in all likelihood, a nursing home. Is this the way that human life is supposed to end? Is this the capstone of a life of hard work and dedication? Is this the fruit of one=s love and labor?

And yet. . .and yet Hiram and Emily, like Martha and Samuel, still had one another even in adversity, knowing that they still loved one another with all the strength their weakened bodies were able to muster. And they had their memories, the memories of what they had done together, the successes and the failures, the joys and the sorrows, all the experiences that had bonded them ever more closely to one another as they walked as one the pilgrimage of life.

Was I to feel sorry for their current misfortune, or rejoice with them in their life together? Perhaps a bit of both, but more, I hope, of the latter than the former. All things on this earth end sooner or later, even the best that earth has to offer.

After all that had happened, I was hesitant to consult the mirror again. What situation would we find ourselves in next? But the mirror was our only guide, and so I asked it to give us directions for our travels. It showed us going back to the main highway and turning right, then proceeding to a restaurant that, as best I could judge, was several miles down the road.

ABut it isn=t time for dinner yet.@ David objected.

ATrue,@ I agreed, Abut you forget that we haven=t had lunch yet. We=ve spent most of the day helping Hiram and Emily.@

In the excitement of my assisting at the house and David rushing off to town to get the phone line repaired and summon health care, neither of us had thought to eat. Now that we were on the road again, we were hungry. Finding a restaurant for a good meal was definitely in order.

I recognized the restaurant immediately from the image the mirror had shown me, and it was indeed just about ten miles from the entrance to the dirt road to the farm. David parked and we went in.

It was only about 5 p.m. so the restaurant still had many empty tables. The restaurant was not located in a town but out in the country so I had to wonder whether it was ever crowded. Indeed, there was now only one other table that was taken, that by a young couple, who I could tell by the way that they looked at one another and reached across the table to hold hands, were very much in love.

The sight of the young lovers buoyed up my spirits somewhat. These two might well be just starting their life together, still full of hope and dreams for the future.

A waitress brought us menus. AI can=t help but notice that young couple at the corner table,@ I remarked to her. AThey=re clearly in love.@

AYes,@ the waitress replied with a broad smile, Athey are very much in love. The woman is my daughter and the man is her fiancé. They are going to be married next month.@

I could imagine Hiram and Emily when they were young lovers acting just like this young couple. They did not know what lay ahead, and they probably did not care. Whatever it was, they would face it together, and their love would overcome every obstacle.

AWould you like to meet them?@ the waitress asked. ATheir father and I own this place, and we plan on turning it over to them when we retire soon. They=ll make a fine team.@

AYes, meeting them would be nice,@ David answered, somewhat hesitantly, Abut we don=t want to disturb their dinner.@

AOh, they haven=t even ordered yet,@ said the waitress. AThey just love to come in and sit with one another. You=ll probably be finished with you dinners and leave before they even order.@

The waitress went over to the couple and told them that we would like to meet them. They rose and walked over to us, holding out their hands in greeting.

AHi, I=m Ashley and this is my soon-to-be husband Rick.@

David and I rose to welcome them to our table. APleased to meet you, Ashley and Rick,@ I said, shaking their hands in turn. AI=m Adam and this is David. Your mother told us that you=re going to be running this restaurant soon.@

AThat=s right,@ Rick said, beaming with pride. AWe=ll start our marriage owning our own business.@

AWe want to build it and make it even better than it already is,@ chimed in Ashley.

AI=m so proud of them,@ the waitress beamed. AIf anyone can build this place, they can.@

A few more customers had begun drifting in. AThis place is somewhat far out in the country, isn=t it?@ I asked. AWhere do you get your business from?@

Ashley answered. AThere are a lot of farms around here, and the town keeps moving closer and closer. I expect that within five years we=ll almost be in the middle of a big development.@

AI wish you both all the best,@ David said. AI had a business once , , ,@ He did not finish what he had started to say. AIt was nice meeting you. I guess we both need to get around to eating dinner though. Would you like to sit with us?@

AThank you, but we=ll go back to our table,@ said Rick. AWe still have a lot of plans to make.@

Holding hands, they left us and returned to their table. The waitress watched them, her face beaming. AYou know,@ she said, Amy husband and I felt the same way they do now when we inherited this place. We wanted to build it up too and maybe expand with more locations. But we had a hard enough time just keeping it open. Oh, it provided us a reasonable living, and it enabled us to raise two wonderful girls, but the going was often really tough. There were days I didn=t think we=d make it, but we did. And now it=s their turn.@

AYou=re happy?@ asked David.

AYes, I guess I am. My husband and I have been able to work together. He cooks and I wait tables. Some couples can=t work well together, but we do just fine. Our house is just out back, so we never had to drive to work. We=re our own bosses, and that means a lot. We had no one to fall back on but one another.@

AAnd you=re looking forward to being retired?@ I asked.

ATo be honest, I=m not sure what we=ll do,@ the waitress said somewhat pensively. AWe have enough saved up to get by, and we can help the kids when they need help. But it=s up to them to succeed on their own.@

AOr fail on their own?@ I asked, regretting at once having said it.

The waitress did not take offense. AThey won=t fail, just as Chuck and I didn=t fail. They will experience hard times, just as we did, but that will bring them even closer together.

ABut you two want to eat. Enough of this family talk. Are you ready to order?@

They will succeed. Oh, to be young and in love and full of hope. I am young, but I have not yet found someone to love for a lifetime. My hope for the moment is to find Robin. And ust perhaps, I have begun to learn about love.
Tomorrow and Tomorrow

After we left the restaurant we found a motel near by and spent the night. After seeing Ashley and Rick I felt more rootless than ever. They had a place to call their own with their families nearby. I was not even sure whether I had a family any more because I had not been in contact with my parents for so long. I assumed that Samuel was still alive, but I could not even be certain of that. To make matters worse, I did not even know where we were. We had been following the mirror=s directions ever since we left Henryville, but if I were forced to retrace my steps to go home, I am confident I would soon be lost.

To drive on and on with such uncertainty was wearing on me, and on David as well, though he did not talk much about it. We each had our quest, and David=s was somehow bound up with my own, though neither of us was sure how. Once we found Robin B if we found Robin B then we were faced with convincing Robin to return to his parents. Would David assist me then? And he was still faced with returning to his discordant household.

He and I were learning what we assumed the mirror wanted us to learn, though I could not put into words what I had learned thus far. Yes, I was certain that profound changes were taking place in me, but I could not list them nor describe them. I felt they were useful changes, changes that would make me into a better person, but who was to be the judge of whether I was better or worse, or just the same Adam I always was.

Tomorrow we would set off again down some road, and then the morrow after that we would be driving still more. On and on, tomorrow and tomorrow. When we would even reach some big city, much less the city where Robin was, assuming Robin was still there. This was all so mysterious, so filled with uncertainty and frustration.

Yet it would someday end. It would have to end because the time we had to find Robin would run out, whether we were successful or unsuccessful. I promised Martha and Samuel I would return to them within three months, with our without Robin, and I would be true to my word.

The time limit to accomplish our task brought with it a temptation to find a comfortable place to stay until that time when we had to return. We would have failed, of course, deliberately failed, but it would be so much easier than this constant driving, always consulting the abominable mirror that seemed to lead us from trouble to trouble.

It was hard to keep going. If I did not find Robin, I could take care of Martha once Samuel died. I could also stay in touch with my parents. I could visit them on a regular basis now that I knew my way through the forest. It would all work out, or I could make it work out somehow.

But the seemingly easy way was not, I realized the way that love demanded. Martha and Samuel loved me only because they accepted me as a substitute for their only son, but I was not their only son. I was not their flesh and blood, but a stranger who wandered uninvited into their lives. I could love them and they me, but if I could return Robin to them, that, it seemed to me, was the best way I could show my love for them, even if it meant giving up the place they had offered me in their hearts and home.

I had consulted the mirror many times, but I was still not certain what the mirror did. It seemed to show us what would happen in the future, as when I saw policemen running to the basement of the town hall in Hardwick to free David, or when it showed us that we would push David=s car to the service station because it was out of gas. True, it seemed to show us the path we should follow, but was that only because the mirror knew that that was the path we would follow anyway? Was the mirror telling us what we ought to do, or was it telling us what we would do? The only way we could find out would be to disobey the mirror. If the mirror showed us turning left and we turned right instead, we would have proved the mirror could not predict the future after all. And then what would happen? Would the mirror break? Would we find ourselves hopelessly lost? It was not an experiment I wanted to try. No, so long as the mirror showed us a road to travel or a place to be, we would follow the road or stop at the place. We had no choice but to trust the mirror.

What are we destined to do, and what do we do freely? This is a question I am sure has been debated by wise men and women from the earliest times that human beings began to ask themselves why they existed. My own view is that we choose to do what we do, but I can think of no way to test this. Thus, I do not know if the mirror is giving me a glimpse of my destiny, or it is showing me the best of many possible choices.

It would be easy for me to run away, to pitch this trying struggle overboard and simply settle down somewhere, get a job, seek someone to share my life with, and try to forget my parents, Martha and Samuel, Hardwick, and all the other adventures the mirror has involved me in so far.

I don=t know what the future holds, but if the past is any guide, the struggle will not grow easier. I do not know what I should say or do once I meet Robin, assuming that I will meet him. I suspect I will. The mirror keeps leading me on, and it may well be that it is teaching me lessons that I must learn before I meet Robin.

And what has Robin learned? What does he think of the path that he chose and that caused his parents so much grief. I feel a tugging now at my own conscience, for I myself fled from my own parents and may have caused them grief. In some perverse way, I hope they are grieving for me because it would show me that they loved me after all. If they never loved me, they would rejoice that I was no longer a burden to them.

Perhaps at the end of this adventure, when Robin has returned to his parents, I to mine, and David to his family, I will disobey the mirror. But will I dare to disobey it even then? I simply cannot say now. And, in any case, David and I do not seem to be close to the end of our adventures together
A City at Last

Though the weather was generally cool, the day promised to be sunny. The dawn created glowing stripes in the blinds of our latest motel room. Those ribbons of light splashed down to the floor and flowed up onto my bed covers. David and I crawled out of our beds and began to ready ourselves for another day of travel.

The last two days, for a welcome change, had been uneventful. We had kept driving according to the mirror=s directions, but the mirror had not led us down any more dirt roads or into any further adventures. Indeed, the last two days had been so dull that both of us were hoping that something interesting might happen today.

It would. When I consulted the mirror, it showed that we should turn right onto a major highway at the next intersection. Further down that highway, there were an increasing number of houses, shopping malls, and a host of other buildings, and in the distance we could see a grand cluster of buildings of truly impressive height and elegance. Sunlight reflected off the glass of many of these buildings added to their grandeur.

In all my life I had never seen such a spectacle as this. But then, I never went far from my home in the country until I ran away. The only previous glimpses I had of such a thrilling spectacle was on a small television screen or in the few books I could scavenge.

Thus, today we would find ourselves on the outskirts of a large city. Was it the large city in which we would find Robin? The mirror did not tell me that. It just told us to drive toward the city, at which time I assumed it would give us further instructions. But after living in the country, and then visiting only small towns, I knew that one way or another this would be a great adventure.

I excitedly asked David if he had ever been in such a large city before. I was somewhat deflated when he told me not only that he had, but that he had lived in one with his parents before they had their fatal accident. He was not nearly as enthusiastic about the city as I was. He was simply tired of driving and hoped that at last we would find Robin and be able to go home. . Even though we were still some distance from the tallest buildings, there were cars, more buildings, more of everything, than I had ever seen close together before. Because I had never had an automobile, I never learned to drive, but I admired David that he was able to navigate so skillfully in such a crush of traffic. I would have been terrified if David had asked me to take the wheel.

There were signs everywhere, some overhead telling us which lane to use to get to a particular destination, some giving warnings, such as not to drive on the shoulder of the road, but most of the signs advertised something that someone wanted us to buy, whether it was a room at a motel, a meal at a restaurant, a car from a dealer, and on and on.

The signs I found most amusing were those stating we could drive no faster than 50 miles an hour. For in this crowded stream of cars in which it took several minutes to get through a traffic light, we hardly seemed to be going faster than I could walk. If this was the big city, I much preferred the country. This was much too confusing for me, but I assumed I would adjust to the multitude of cars, people, signs, buildings, and all else that descended on me and confused my senses.

It seemed that the world around me was full of distractions. How could anyone deal with so many claims on their attention and still drive safely? But I did not have to drive. I could read the signs, and observe the other cars and the people in them. The drivers seemed so intent, so serious, but how could they be anything else? Even David fixed his gaze on the cars ahead as they started and stopped, slowed to a crawl and then sped up. Stop and go, slow and speed up. Try to make up for the time one lost at the last traffic light. Hope vainly that the wall of cars might part and we might drive on unobstructed.

We were at last in a large city, but I heartily wished that Robin was in some small town like Hardwick instead. Why would Robin want to come to a place like this, so alien to what he was used to as a boy?

Perhaps that was it. Life in the country can be lonely and boring. From watching television and even trips to town, he came to believe that there was much more to the world than he could find within the confines of his parents= farm. First, like me he wandered just a short distance from his home. Then he wandered further, and finally, like me, he ventured out into the wider world to see if he could discover greater pleasures and diversions. He might also have been thinking about finding riches and a life grander than that he had experienced thus far.

And, somehow, he had arrived at a city like this. Had he, like David and I, had adventures on the road? Had he learned wisdom, discipline, and love, or anything at all that would have helped him negotiate this complex environment after living such a simple life?

As I was concerned about Robin, I was equally concerned about myself. How would I behave in this world that seemed so alien? Would what I learned from the men of the forest, from Martha and Samuel, from Hiram and Emily, from my parents have any relevance to how I was to behave here?

But David had been in a city before. He knew what to expect and how to act in this strange environment. I would have to cling to him more closely, trust his judgment, follow his lead, and, most of all, follow the directions that the mirror gave us. This was all I had to lean on to avoid getting hopelessly lost.

Yes, the mirror had shown me tall buildings when I wanted to know where Robin was; and, yes, I had seen such buildings on television and in pictures before, but the pictures did not prepare for the reality. I felt lost, fenced in by walls and cars that closed in around me. In one way, it reminded me of the path through the forest wall, the trees standing guard on both sides, daring me to breach the barrier they formed.

But the trees did not frighten me, even in the dark of night, as much as my present surroundings frightened me in the light of day. The trees were merely silent sentinels that did not reach out to threaten. Now there was confusion and noise, structures I dared not enter because I did not know what they concealed. There was no way to stop the car and rest near the road.

This apparent chaos was new to me, and I did not like it. I did not like it one bit. I thought again of the simplicity of life with Martha and Samuel, the uncomplicated day to day routine of living with my parents. Life was predictable. I could arise in the morning and have some assurance of what the day would bring. Could the people here in the city feel that safety, that consolation . . .yes, and the complacency that was spawned by such a predictable routine.

In doing what had always been done in the same way, almost always, indeed, at the same time, a rhythm was established that lulled one into believing that all was well with the world because all was truly well with the limited world within one lived. And now, once again, because of that accursed mirror, my life was being shaken, challenged, reshaped again. With David=s help and the mirror=s guidance, I must learn to adjust to this new environment, though every fibre of my body was urging me to flee. I must adjust because if I do not adjust, if I cannot adjust, I cannot find Robin. This adventure, like all the others, will change me in ways I do not yet understand. And when I return to the life I knew before, I will know it in a different way.

I took the mirror once more from my pocket and looked at my reflection. I had not yet asked it a question, so it did not give me an answer. No, not now. I returned the mirror to my pocket.

I looked at David. His expression was tense; his eyes focused straight ahead. I dared not interrupt his concentration to tell him of my fear and apprehension..
The Plan

Around one o=clock in the afternoon, we stopped for lunch. As David told me often happens in a city, we had trouble finding a place to park. The parking lot of the restaurant was crowded, so we had to leave the car on a side street and walk back two blocks only to have to stand in line for ten minutes until we were seated at a table.

AWhy didn=t we find a place to eat that was less crowded?@ I asked David.

David looked at me with the expression my father had when he thought I had asked a dumb question. AIt=s clear you haven=t had much experience with cities. The good places are always crowded, and the places that aren=t crowded don=t have the best food.@

ASo people wind up going where everyone else goes?@ I responded. ASomeone could have an excellent restaurant, but if it isn=t crowded, people will avoid it anyway.@

AI suppose so,@ David said in a tone that indicated he did not want to pursue this discussion further.

AYou look worn out,@ I ventured.

AYou noticed,@ David said sarcastically. AI=m sorry to be such a grouch. I find driving in the city nerve-wracking. It drains my energy. I hate it.@

ABut I thought you used to live in a city.@

AYes, I did. And I enjoyed it because someone else always drove me where I needed to go. The one time I wanted to drive myself was when my uncle insisted on driving me to the university, and that was mostly to avoid my uncle. Anyway, at that time, we weren=t living in a city nearly as large as this one, and the university was only a few miles from my house.

AOh, I didn=t mind short trips. I used to like to go to the movies or the park. Driving was necessary to get there because they were too far to walk. My idea of an ideal place to live is where you have everything you might ever want within walking distance of your house.

ABut, honestly, we have not been on a short trip. I have driven for days and days, and now that we are in a large city, the driving is harder than it was on those open country roads. I wish you knew how to drive so we could share the driving.@

I looked down at the table. AI=m sorry, David. I wish I could be more help to you. Perhaps some day you could teach me to drive.@

David sighed. I knew that once we found Robin and brought him home, David and I would part company, perhaps never to see one another again. Though David and I got along well, I knew we were beginning to wear on one another. We both wanted this ordeal to end as quickly as possible, which meant that we needed to find Robin as quickly as possible.

Once more I realized that both of us were worn down, exhausted. I told David that I thought we needed to find a motel and relax for the rest of the day, perhaps even for two days before we continued to look for Robin. The thought came to me that Robin might not even be here. If that were the case, we would have to rest in order to have the strength to confront that awful possibility. That would mean more driving, more as yet unknown adventures. No, the mirror would not do that to us after all we had been through. Robin had to be here somewhere.

We could also use the time of rest to plan carefully our strategy. I was sure that the mirror would give us clues to where Robin might be found. We could buy a map of the city, closely observe the images in the mirror to determine in what part of the city Robin might be, or even the specific building in which he lived or worked.

Thus far, we had been rather helter-skelter in our adventures, reacting to circumstances, rather than trying to anticipate and even control them. If we were to find Robin in this vast metropolis, we have to be more far more organized, far more intentional in how we approached our quest.

David immediately accepted my suggestion that we relax for the rest of the day, and even the next day as well, so that we could refresh ourselves for the most important, and perhaps the most difficult, adventure thus far. After an excellent lunch B perhaps big crowds do point the way to fine food B we found a nearby motel and settled in. We each took naps that lasted more than an hour, and we both felt less tense afterwards.

We watched a baseball game on the room=s television to flush our minds at least temporarily of our concerns. I myself felt more secure in the refuge that our room offered us, although I could still hear the traffic on the highway about a block away. Ah, if only we could stay here for a long time. Then we would truly be refreshed to start again.

But staying in the room indefinitely was not an option. Time continued to roll on without regard to how we felt. Our three months was slightly more than half over. I hoped we had at last found our big city, but we had not found Robin.

Neither David nor I talked about looking for Robin that afternoon or evening, but it was not far from our consciousness. After we had returned to our room from breakfast the following morning, I once again placed the mirror in front of me. I hesitated. What if the mirror did show us a long road ahead, thus directing us to travel on from this city to drive to another city hours, days, a month down the road. I could not bear such a response, and the mirror did not disappoint me?

When I asked the mirror where to find Robin, it showed me buildings that, to the best I could remember, were the buildings it had displayed when I asked it about Robin at Martha and Samuel=s. But the buildings had no signs to tell me what or where they were. I assumed, however, that they must be somewhere in this city, or the mirror would have given instructions to drive on.

I was close to despair. There were so many buildings in the city that it would take us forever to visit them all and try to match any particular building with one of the buildings in the mirror. I stared ever more intently into the mirror looking for some clue, any clue, as to which buildings these. And then a most peculiar thing happened.

As I peered more deeply into the mirror, I felt myself drawn into the image. The buildings became larger, closer. It was as if I were soaring down from the sky to take a closer look at them. The people on the sidewalks who had seemed no larger than ants now became living, moving human beings. I looked into the windows and saw people at work. I even began to hear the noises of the traffic crowding the streets.

Down, down I floated until my feet touched the sidewalk, but no one seemed to notice me. No one looked up to see me descending from the heights. It was as if I was not there. But I was there, and there ahead of me at the corner was a street sign. I could read it: In one direction, it read Pierpont Street, in the other 52nd Avenue.

Now I had to get back to the motel room, but no sooner had I thought about going back, I found myself again in the room with the mirror still in my hand. Elated, I told David what had happened, and that the building we were looking for was at the corner of Pierpont and 52nd Avenue. Once we had a map of the city, we would plot a route to get there.

AAnd once we=re there,@ David asked, Athen what?@

AWhy it=s clear,@ I answered. AWe will ask the mirror again for directions when we get to the intersection. And now that I know I can enter the scene in the mirror to view it close at hand, I will do it again and again until the mirror takes us directly to Robin. It may take us several steps to find him, but I have no doubt now that we will find him.@

ASounds really promising,@ David said with a smile. AWe may be close to the end of our search after all.@
Robin at Last

David and I had relaxed for a day and a half and, in addition, slept late the morning we were to resume our search for Robin, so we were well-rested. I had purchased a city map at a drugstore near the motel. We discovered that the intersection the mirror had shown me was some four miles from our motel.

We left the motel, followed the map, and found a parking spot two blocks from our target. We made our way through the crowds on the sidewalks, and, with the help of traffic lights, crossed the busy streets until, at last, we stood at a corner of the intersection of Pierpoint Street and 52nd Avenue. I felt excited that after all our travels, we now stood within walking distance of Robin.

Yet, Robin still seemed as elusive as ever. There were four tall buildings, one on each corner of the intersection. To me they looked like skyscrapers, but the tallest had at most thirty stories. Collectively, however, they contained more than one hundred stories and far more offices. And in each office were many individuals. Even worse, Robin=s building might not be at the intersection, but could well be some building nearby.

So I took my mirror in hand and asked once more where Robin was. Now the mirror displayed an image of the building across the street from where we were standing, the tallest one of all.

When the light permitted, David and I crossed the street and stood in front of the building the mirror had pointed out. A sign in gold letters set in white marble over the broad front entrance read AWaltrop and Company, Bankers.@

The wall of the building consisted mostly of ribbons of tinted glass from the street to the highest floor. The ribbons of glass were interspersed with ribbons of gleaming black marble. The main entrance consisted of two panels of two doors each on each side of a broad revolving door in the center. The doors were set back under an overhang of black marble that sheltered persons entering and leaving from sun and rain.

We moved through the revolving door into a spacious lobby. We noticed benches provided near several of the windows, but no offices. There was a security guard seated behind a desk about 15 feet in front of a bank of elevators. We also noticed a building directory to the right of the elevators.

We started toward the directory hoping to find Robin=s name on it, but we were challenged by the security guard before we reached it. AYoung men,@ he called, AI need to know your business here. Who are you looking for?@

I approached the guard. AOfficer, we=re looking for a man named Robin. He is the son of close friends of ours, and they lost track of him. They asked if we could help them find him so they could re-establish contact. Is there a man who works here by the name of Robin?@

The guard looked me over carefully. AI don=t know the first names of everyone in this building. Do you have his last name?@

His last name. I had spent all that time with Martha and Samuel and never asked them for their last name. But I did see some mail addressed to Samuel. AAs best I can recall, officer, his last name is Marshall.@

The officer smiled. ASo the best you can recall of the last name of the son of your close friends is Marshall.@ There was a hint of sarcasm in his voice, and I found myself blushing.

AWell, it turns out,@ the officer continued, Athat there is a Mr. Marshall here. You aren=t sure of his last name, and I don=t know his first name, but I can look him up in my directory.@

The officer pulled what looked like a small phonebook from a drawer and leafed through it. AWell, your friends= son may be here. Mr. Marshall=s first name is Robin, and his office is on the 15th floor. He=s in training to become a senior bond saleman.@

ACan we go up and try to find him?@ I asked.

AWell, I really need to call up there first,@ the guard replied. AFirst, he might be out of the office, and second, he might not want to see you, and third, we don=t even know if he is the Robin you=re looking for. If I can get him on the line, you can tell him why you want to see him, and then he can decide if I should send you up.@

The guard hit the speaker phone button on the telephone on his desk. When he heard a dial tone, he punched in a four digit number. After three rings, we heard a man=s voice.

AHello, Waltrop Banking, Robin Marshall speaking.@

I looked at David. His lips were moving slightly and his eyes were closed. He might, I conjectured, be offering a prayer that we had at last found the object of your search.

AMr. Marshall,@ the guard replied, Athere are two young men in the lobby who say that they=re friends of your parents. They would like to speak to you.@

There was a silence on the phone that lasted only seconds but that seemed like an eternity before Robin answered, AVery well, put them on so I can talk to them.@

ACertainly, Mr. Marshall,@ the guard said as he pushed the phone toward me.

I dared not call him Robin yet because I was not sure we had found our man, so I addressed him more formally. AMr. Marshall, thank you for talking with us. My friend David and I are friends of Martha and Samuel, two elderly folks who live not far from Henryville. Martha and Samuel have a son named Robin with whom they have lost contact, and they would like to see him again. Samuel is ill and may not live much longer. He is particularly anxious to see his son.@

Again there was a pause on the line before Robin answered. AI=m surprised that you were able to find me. I have not been in touch with my parents for at least three years, and I did not tell them where I was living or working. My congratulations on your outstanding detective work.

AYes, I will see you. The guard can send you up. My office is in Room 1530. Because there are a number of cubicles in the room, I will wait by the door to greet you. You say there are two of you. I assume I will be able to identify you.@

AYes, sir,@ I replied. AI am wearing a blue shirt and khaki pants. David is wearing a red shirt and blue jeans.@

AWell, not the sort of dress we=re used to up here, but I=ll see you soon. Henry, let them come up.@

Henry hung up the phone and waved us back to the elevators. We pressed the up button and an elevator door to our right opened almost immediately. David and I stepped in and David pressed the button for the 15th floor.

Though I am almost ashamed to admit it, I had never been in an elevator before. I knew what they were, but it was still something of a shock when the door closed and I found myself standing in a windowless room hardly bigger than a closet. If the light in the ceiling had gone out, I might well have panicked. As it was, I was none too comfortable when I felt the pressure on my legs as the contraption began to rise. There was David beside me, quite nonchalant, as if nothing special was happening. David was so much more experienced and sophisticated. If he had not been with me, I am not sure I would have had the nerve to enter the elevator or to know what to do once I was inside it.

I wondered again whether all this trouble was really necessary so I could home to my parents. Martha and Samuel had sent me to look for their son, and it appeared we had found him. But I felt inadequate and deflated. David would understand Robin better than I could. Robin, like David, had lived in a large city. Robin, too, was used to crowds and elevators and traffic lights and all the things I was finding so alien and intimidating.

My parents also had never experienced these things. If I tried to tell them about them, they would think I was putting on airs or mocking their ignorance. I could not do that to them. I longed for them and my old home more than ever.

The elevator stopped and the doors slid open. We were at the 15th floor.
A Difficult Discussion

The corridor into which we stepped was, I estimated, some ten feet wide. Indirect lighting gave a warm glow to the surroundings and a deep plush red carpet covered the floor. The walls were beige and portraits of what I assumed where important bank officials hung in a line along one side of the corridor. There were rooms on each side of the hallway with double width doors consisting of two tall glass panels, each with golden handles. On each door was emblazoned in gold letters the number of the room and the services it housed.

We turned right and walked halfway around the building until we came to Room 1530. There, inside the door, a man in a dark blue suit was waiting. He grabbed the inside handle of the left glass panel and pulled the door open with his left hand while extending his right hand to welcome us. I looked straight into his face. Yes, it matched closely the picture of Robin that was in my bedroom when I was living with Martha and Samuel. We had indeed found Robin.

I must admit as I entered that room that I felt uncomfortable and out of place. Everyone who worked there was neatly dressed with hair well groomed. The men all wore white shirts, ties, and dark pants. Some men were wearing their suit jackets; those who had taken theirs off still had them hanging neatly close at hand. The women present wore pant suits or dresses in dark collars, simple but dignified.

Although about half of the individuals I saw were on the telephone, the noise was subdued. The entire room radiated a sense of gravity, affluence, and earnestness of purpose. David clearly was not as intimidated as I was. Of course, he had a life of wealth and was, therefore, comfortable in a situation where clearly wealth mattered.

Robin led us to a small conference room at the back of the room, ushered us in and closed the door. AI don=t know how you did it, but you found me,@ he began. AI must admit that I=m a bit ashamed of myself for not staying in touch with my parents, but I>ve been quite busy. I hope mom and dad are doing well.@

AActually,@ I replied, Ayour mother and father are not that well. I am afraid that your father does not have much longer to live, which is why they wanted us to find you. They want you to come home before your father dies. They miss you very much.@

AI am sorry to hear that my father isn=t doing that well. I would love to see them again, but you have to understand that I=m training for a very important and high-paying position here, and I can=t take off whenever I want to. In fact, very few of my colleagues even take their annual vacation. It=s a point of pride with those who skip vacations so they can make even more money. And even those who do take vacations usually take a good deal of work with them. While their families are off at the beach or amusement park, they=re usually camped at the hotel keeping track of the stock market and staying in contact with clients. Frankly, I=ve noticed that those who take real vacations rarely rise to management, and they don=t make nearly as much as the rest of us.@

Robin smiled broadly, but I was much taken back. Robin seemed to telling us that his work here was more important than taking a few days to visit his dying father. In addition, if Robin did visit his parents again, there appeared to be no chance that he would remain home to care for Martha as she grew older and more frail.

ADo you ever miss your parents and the home you used to live in?@ David asked.

Robin laughed. AMiss my old home? You have got to be kidding. There was nothing to do there except take care of the garden, what farm there was, and the few animals we had. It was the same thing day after day after day. The most exciting event was watching a pig give birth to piglets.@

AThere is something to said for simplicity,@ I ventured. AYou sound like your whole life is consumed with making money. I imagine you=re competing against all the others out there, I wouldn=t be surprised if you=re under a lot of pressure to do better than your colleagues. Isn=t that right?@

Robin seemed slightly taken back by my challenge, but he quickly snapped back at me. AYes, you=re right. But so what? I=m better than almost any of the others. I=ve sold more securities than all but two of my competitors. I=m one of the best new brokers that Waltrop=s hired in years, and I=m still technically only a trainee.@

ASo you measure your own worth in how much money you make?@ David inquired.

AWell, it=s one way of keeping score, and it=s enabled me to buy luxuries I never even knew existed when I lived with my parents: a large condo, a Mercedes, a 50 foot cabin cruiser, even a vacation home.@ Robin leaned back in chair, obviously pleased with himself.

I felt like laughing. ASo you own all this stuff and you don=t have time to enjoy it because you=re working all the time. You own a vacation home, but you told us you can=t allow yourself to take a vacation.@

AAll right, you found me,@ Robin replied angrily. ADid you come here to criticize my lifestyle? Why was it you worked so hard to find me in the first place? To try to get me to go home to my parents? That was it, wasn=t it?@

I sighed. AI=m not sure you=re parents would want you home given what you=ve become. They remember you fondly as what you were before you ran away. If you came home now, they would hardly recognize you, and, no doubt, you would look down on them because you don=t think they=re as sophisticated or successful as you. That would hurt them so deeply, I couldn=t even bring myself to take you back to them.@

AWell, I see you=re becoming more reasonable,@ Robin said more calmly. ABut since you=ve traveled a long way to see me, I think I owe you something. I=d like to take you out to dinner tonight at one of our finest restaurants, my treat. But I would like you to tell me how you found me. I=m very curious about that. I might be able to get you jobs with a detective agency if you=re as clever as you seem to be.@

I was feeling both sad and discouraged from our discussion, but I knew that we could not let Robin go so easily when we had gone to such efforts to find him. If having dinner with him was the way to extend our conversation, then dinner it would be. AYes, we will accept your invitation.@

AFine,@ said Robin. AI=ll wrap up early here tonight about 7. There is a great bistro right around the corner on 52nd Avenue, Chez Louis. They serve remarkable cuisine from The Province. Their wine list is also exceptional. Let=s meet there at 7:30.@

David had spoken less than I so far. I saw him observing Robin closely, probably looking for some chink in Robin=s hard shell. David spoke now. AYes, we=ll be pleased to dine with you. Thanks for the invitation. And we will explain how we found you. It=s quite an interesting story.@

AI=m sure it is,@ smiled Robin. A>Til 7:30 then at Chez Louis.@

Robin rose and opened the door to the office in which we had met, and then escorted us to the door to the hallway. He opened it for us. AIt has been a pleasure meeting with you gentlemen. I look forward to having dinner with you this evening.@

David and I exited into the hallway, and Robin let the glass door close behind us. We watched him walk briskly to a desk and pick up a telephone, no doubt to try to work yet more sales before he met us for dinner.

David and I walked silently back to the elevator. AWell, now what do we do?@ I asked as we waited for the elevator.

AI don=t know,@ David said softly. ABut the mirror led us here. Maybe the mirror can help us now.@

Dinner at Chez Louis

David and I returned to our motel to rest for a few hours before meeting Robin at Chez Louis. We also used the time to discuss Robin=s attitude and whether there was any point in our continuing to try to convince him to return to his parents.

His callous attitude came as a bigger shock to me than it did to David because I was still far more naive concerning the ways of the world. Robin was anchored to the city and his work by the large sums of money he was making. Moreover, the sophistication and pleasures of the city made his life with parents seem dull and uninteresting in comparison.

AIs there any way we can convince him to come back with us?@ I asked David.

AI=m not optimistic,@ David answered. AI even question whether we ought to try.@

AWhy is that?@ I asked.

AFirst, he seems happy enough with what he=s doing. He=s totally committed to his work, the money he earns, and what he can buy with that money. What can we offer him if he goes back to Martha and Samuel?

AAnd even if he goes back just to visit, he will be impatient to get back to the city. It will be clear to his parents that he cares more for his work than he does about them. Furthermore, he will try to impress them with how successful he is and how much money he makes. I suspect they will be horrified at his values and blame themselves as his parents for having made mistakes in raising him.

Martha and Samuel have totally different values. You probably noted that Robin did not talk about his friends or a wife. I doubt that he has much time to spend with anyone who cannot help him earn more money or advance in his company; and I doubt that he could marry anyone because he his first love is his job. Such a marriage would end in disaster for his partner.

ASo what arguments do we have left? We told him that his father was dying and both his parents were elderly and in need of care. Maybe he would give them money to hire someone to take care of them, or perhaps he would arrange to place them in a nursing home.@

ABut Martha and Samuel would rather die than go into a nursing home,@ I said.

AYes, you=re probably right. And they=ll both die anyway. Everyone of us will die someday. The question is whether they will die being cared for by a son they love. But does Robin still love them? If he returned home bitter and angry because he was being forced to take care of parents he loves far less than the job he left behind, that would not be a happy situation either for himself or his parents. It would probably be better if they were placed in a nursing home where trained attendants cared for them and showed them respect than at home with Robin who would show his resentment in a hundred different ways.@

I was close to tears. AThen we came all this way for nothing?@

ANo, hardly for nothing. Look back on all the adventures we had and how much we learned from them. This trip was to teach us how to love. Maybe we=ve learned far more than we may realize.@

AMy goal was not to just learn how to love. My goal was to find Robin and return him to his parents. I have not given up hope yet. It seems to me that Robin also needs to learn how to love, or at least love more than just himself and his work. Perhaps there is yet a way and the mirror may show it to us.@

ABy all means,@ Robin said, Aconsult the mirror. We need all the help we can get.@

Once more I took the mirror in hand and asked it what we should do about Robin. I thought I might see some road we should follow, or some building we should enter, but the image was one that I did not expect at all. It showed David and I sitting across a table from Robin, and I was giving him the mirror. Give Robin the mirror! The idea was more than I could accept, yet there it was in front of me.

David put his khaki jacket on. ACome on,@ he beckoned to me. AIf we=re going to be on time for dinner with Robin, we=d better leave now.@

I put on my denim jacket and followed him out the door to the car. Neither of us was dressed for dinner at what was, no doubt, one of the finest restaurants in town. Robin would, of course, spare no expense to impress us with the magnitude of his success.

We arrived a Chez Louis about ten minutes early and went inside to wait. We sat down at a bench in the vestibule not far from the maitre d=s station. The maitre d= approached us with a scowl on this face. AGentlemen, I don=t suppose you have reservations.@

ANo, I=m afraid we don=t,@ I answered, fairly certain what was coming next.

AThen I=m afraid you=ll have to leave the restaurant. We have no tables available this evening. Furthermore, when you manage to get reservations I suggest you dress more suitably. We require jackets and ties. Good evening, gentlemen.@

At that very moment, Robin entered and saw what was happening. He quickly approached the maitre d=. AHenri, these are two friends of mine from out of town. They didn=t think to pack their suits. Please forgive them as a favor to me. I=ve invited them to be my guests.@

We saw Robin take a bill from his billfold and slip it to the maitre d=, who promptly became more friendly toward us. AAh, pardonez moi. I am so sorry. I did not realize that you were friends of Mr. Marshall.@

He turned toward Robin. AMy sincere apologies if I offended you or your friends, Mr. Marshall.@

Robin waved his hand. ANo offense, Henri. Please show us to my usual table.@

AMais oui, Mssr. Marshall. Please follow me.@

We were seated at a table is a far corner of the dining room,. AI prefer to be more off by myself,@ Robin explained. AI often carry out confidential business with clients here. I wouldn=t want others to overhear what we were talking about.@

Robin ordered a vintage wine and assorted appetizers. After that, he ordered Bifstek a la Chez Louis, which, he assured would be the finest meat dish we had ever tasted, and, indeed, it was truly delicious. If Robin was trying to impress us with his sophistication and lifestyle, he was succeeding. I had never before eaten in a restaurant like this one, and I probably would rarely have the opportunity to do so again.

After we had finished our entrees and had ordered dessert, Robin leaned back in his chair asked, ASo, how did you find me? It must have been an impressive bit of detective work. Let me in on the secret.@

David was silent, but I knew I had to tell Robin about the mirror. I took the mirror from my pocket and showed it to Robin. AThis, Robin, is what led us here. We followed the mirror=s directions, and, eventually, it showed us the building where you have your office. Then we simply asked that guard where to find you.@

I held out the mirror and Robin took it in his hands. AHa, a magic mirror,@ he said, chuckling. ASo this mirror gave the directions to find me. Interesting. What else does this mirror do?@ he asked with a hint of sarcasm.

AI think it gives glimpses of the future,@ I answered, Aat least that=s what it seems to do. However, I am not sure whether it shows what the future definitely will be, or what the future might be if I obey the mirror=s instruction.@

AGlimpses of the future,@ Robin said, lifting his eyebrows. ANow that=s really interesting. Do you know how valuable something like this could be in my line of work? If I knew what would happen even hours before it happened, I could make a fortune beyond my wildest dreams. Would you like to set up a partnership? We could work together and you could become rich like me.@

Before I could answer, Robin continued. ANo, I don=t believe your story about this mirror. How did you really find me?@

AI told you,@ I responded. A@The mirror led us to you.@

AAll right,@ Robin said, chuckling again, Awill you let me borrow the mirror overnight? If you=ll come back to my office at 10 tomorrow morning, I=ll have had a chance to test this marvelous mirror. If it really works, I=ll have a serious business proposition for you. If it doesn=t work, I=ll admit you played a good practical joke on me. Either way, you=ll get your mirror back. What do you say?@

I gave the answer the mirror had told me to give. AAll right, it=s a deal. We=ll come to your office at 10 in the morning. But I assure you that this is not a practical joke. Ask the mirror whatever you want and decide for yourself if I am telling the truth. Neither I nor the mirror will lie to you.@

We finished our dinner and bid goodbye to Robin about 9:30 that evening. David and I returned to our motel to get some rest before we met Robin in the morning.
Robin is Missing

David and I were emotionally exhausted after our dinner with Robin. We drove back to the motel in silence. But once we were in our room I felt a deep need to talk about my pain that we had finally found Robin and he had proved to be such a profound disappointment. I also felt a deep sadness for Samuel and Martha. Perhaps it would be better to lie to them and tell them their son was dead than to tell them the truth about what he had become, his values so at odds with their own, and, worst of all, his unwillingness to show them love as they neared their passing from this earth.

How then would I love his parents in their sorrow and their need? Would I, could I, become their son to replace their prodigal son? O God, if you exist, give me wisdom in this terrible quandary. Would their daily encounters with me, the one who brought them the truth about Robin, daily reopen the wounds that sword of truth gashed in their gentle souls? And if I told them that Robin had died, would my life in their home constantly remind them of his death? What was I to do? This lesson that I must learn from this ordeal must be grounded in love. Indeed, it may finally teach me how to love so that I might return to my own parents and help them in ways I could never help before.

To love. How I miss my parents. How I now regret that I ever wandered deep into the forest. In running away, I sought to banish pain, but now my pain is deeper than ever. I wanted to see the world beyond the narrow confines of my poverty, and what I have learned is that there is pain everywhere. It matters not if one is rich or poor. My prior state of ignorance might well have been a blessing in disguise.

But then, my greatest act of love might well have been my parting with the mirror. The mirror had led us to Robin. Robin saw it as a tool that might make him wealthier still, though he clearly already had more money than any human could reasonably need. Ah yes, to know in advance which way the markets would move, which companies would succeed and which would fail, this information would make him rich beyond even his wildest dreams. That is what the mirror meant to him.

To me the mirror showed the path I had to follow to learn how to love. Oh yes, it led to Robin, but often I reminded myself that the strange man in the forest who looked exactly like my father gave me to the mirror because I had to learn how to love before I could return home. For me, the mirror was not to foretell the future, but to reveal the secrets of love. And I gave the mirror, my greatest treasure, to Robin because the mirror told me to. That is a lesson of love: if necessary to give up what is important to me for the welfare of another. It involves risk as well because now I do not have the mirror, but I might well have need of it. I had to take that risk for the sake of Robin and his parents.

I shared all these thoughts with David. Sharing was all I could do. I had no clear answers to the questions I raised, nor did he.. But he was kind enough to listen. He, too, was learning from our experiences together, and one day he would return to his own family and try to heal their wounds. Despite our weariness, it was almost midnight before the both of us fell asleep. We could sleep late the next morning because we did not have to meet Robin until 10 a.m.

We rose around 8:15, dressed, had a quick breakfast near the motel, and set off for Robin=s office. We arrived there ten minutes before 10. The security guard did not challenge us this time as we went straight to the elevator and rode to the 15th floor.

We walked down the gilded hallway until we reached the doors to Robin=s office. This time Robin was not there to greet us. He had told us that he usually arrived at work early and stayed late in order to maximize this earnings. Indeed, given his intense drive to make money, I was surprised that he had spent any time with us at all. We were not clients, nor would we ever be his clients. Perhaps he was willing to entertain us out of curiosity concerning his parents or about two men who went to such trouble to track him down. Perhaps he just wanted to impress two strangers from the country with his wealth and status. Whatever his motives were concerning David and me, his motive concerning the mirror was clear. He saw the mirror as an instrument of untold riches. My hope was that it was precisely that, though not the riches that so appealed to Robin.

We entered the office. As before, men and women were busy at their desks, staring intently at their computer screens, talking excitedly on the phone. Occasionally, someone looked up at us, but seeing our clothing, quickly sized us up as of little interest, and paid us no further attention.

We walked back to the conference room in which we had talked with Robin just the other day, but it was empty. I went up to a woman studying a screenful of figures. APardon me,@ I said to catch her attention.

She looked up at me. In a tone that barely disguised her annoyance at being interrupted by someone such as I, she said, AYes, sir. What may I do for you?@

AI truly am sorry to interrupt, but I am looking for Robin Marshall. Could you tell me where we might find him?@

ARobin Marshall? Yes, I think I=ve heard the name. If anyone here knows where he is, it is the woman at the desk closest to the front door, the one in the blue jacket.@

I thanked her and David and I went over to the woman she had pointed out. APardon me,@ I said again as respectfully as I could. AWe are looking for Robin Marshall. We have a 10 a.m. appointment with him this morning. Could you tell us where his office is?

The woman looked up at me with a mildly puzzled expression. ARobin Marshall? Yes, he works in a cubicle against the back corner wall,@ she answered. His name is on a plate next to the entrance of his space. I haven=t seen him this morning, but you can go back and look for him.@

I thanked her and David and I walked toward where the woman had told us Robin=s office was located. We found his cubicle, but he was not there. The desk lamp was off as was the computer.

I felt my anxiety mount. If Robin was missing, then so was the mirror, My fear was that Robin had found the mirror to be everything I said it was. With the mirror to show him the future, there would be no end to the wealth he could make speculating on events that the mirror told him were certain to happen. He would not need his position at the bank, or wealthy clients, to double, triple, infinitely increase his wealth until he would be the richest human being on the planet.

Why had I given the mirror? No, the mirror told me to give it to him. But now we had to find him.

We went back to woman who had directed us to his cubicle. AI am terribly sorry to bother you again, ma=am,@ I half stammered, Abut Robin is not in his cubicle. Do you know how we might get in touch with him?@

She looked up. AYou say you had an appointment with him?@

I nodded yes.

AWell, it=s not like Robin to miss appointments. I hope he=s not been in an accident. We do have the cell phone numbers of our brokers.@

She reached inside the top drawer of her desk and pulled out a small book,. She took a piece of paper and wrote down a number. AHere is his cell phone number. You might try calling him.@

I was ashamed to admit to her that I did not have a cell phone, so I asked if I might use the phone on her desk to try the number she had given me. She agreed, pushing her phone across the desk so I could more easily reach it.

I was so nervous that my hand was shaking as a I haltingly dialed the number of Robin=s cell phone. His cell phone rang six times before I heard Robin=s recorded voice. AThis is Robin Marshall. I=m sorry I cannot take your call at the moment. Please leave your name and number and I will get back to you as soon as I can. Thank you.@

Why didn=t Robin answer? Where was he and what was he doing? All I could stammer into the phone was, ARobin, David and I are here at your office. You said you would meet with us, but . . .@ My voice trailed off and I hung up the phone. I was close to tears. I thanked the woman again for letting me use her phone, and David and I silently exited into the hall.
Robin is Found

For a moment, David and I stood speechless outside Robin=s office. The unexpected turn of events had left us fearful and bewildered. If we still had the mirror, we could have consulted it to find Robin, but now Robin had the mirror. We slowly made our way back to the elevator.

APerhaps the mirror didn=t work for Robin,@ I ventured as the elevator was returning us to the first floor. ARobin wanted to use the mirror for selfish purposes, but we=ve been using the mirror only to try to help Samuel and Martha. It may be that the mirror won=t work if someone is only interested in themselves.@

I did not really believe what I was saying, but I wanted to think that the mirror could only be used for good. I did not want to give up the mirror so that Robin could realize his dream of untold riches, not after he had rejected his parents, parents who loved him and who wanted nothing more than to see him again before they died.

We left the building. The light of the late morning sun was so bright that I had to shade my eyes with my hand. David and I soon were able to find shelter in the shadow of buildings as we walked back to the car.

AWell, what do we do now?@ David asked as we reached the car.

AI suppose we go back to the motel, pack, and go back the way we came,@ I replied glumly, unable to think of any alternatives. We had no idea of where Robin might be, and no mirror to guide us.

AHe might have even fled the city once he knew what the mirror could do,@ I said sadly. AHe probably didn=t want to risk having to give it back to us.@.

We got into the car and drove back to the motel. APerhaps we could try again tomorrow to see if Robin returns to his office,@ David ventured.

Having found Robin, neither of us wanted to leave without him, or knowing at least what had become of him. We sat on our beds facing one another, both of us wrestling silently with Robin=s disappearance and what we should do now.

I finally broke the silence. ARemember, David, why we came this far. I fled my parents because I did not think they loved me. And I had the strange encounter with the man in the forest, a man who looked like my father. He gave me the mirror and told me that when I learned how to love, I could return to my parents.

AI suppose that if I knew how to love, I would see them in a different light. They might not have changed, but I would have changed, and I could love them, and, in loving them, I could come to know their love for me.

AAnd then Martha and Samuel took me in and treated me as their own son. But I was not their own son. They grieved their loss of Robin, and so I set out to find him and try to return him to them.

AAnd then we met and continued the search for Robin together. You were running away from painful circumstances in your own family. And you, too, had a strange encounter in a forest with a man, a man who looked like the uncle you were fleeing, who told you that you, like me, had much to learn. And when you learned what you needed to learn, you could return to your family. You would be changed, and through your change, you could bring change to those who left behind.

AAnd so I have to wonder what we have learned from our adventures together. Are you ready to go back to your family, and, if you do, what will you say to them? Will they accept you and the leadership you could offer?

AAnd can I face Martha and Samuel knowing what I do about Robin? I promised I would return within three months, and there is still ample time to keep my promise, but, if I keep it, is it worse for them than if I do not keep it? And if I returned, could I lie to them? Would it better for them to think Robin was dead than to know that he had rejected them?@

David was silent for a moment before replying. AYes, I have often thought about the family I left. Do I want to return to them? I could easily make my way in the world alone.

AI still remember the man in the forest. If I didn=t go back to my family, would he pursue me? Have I learned what he wanted me to learn? I suppose the only way I will find out is to go back.

AIf I have gained nothing else from this time together, it has been coming to know you, Adam. We have become good friend, but more than friends. We have shared some uncommon times together. I admire you for trying to help Martha and Samuel. This was not something you had to do. You could have stayed with them and been a son to them. They would have missed Robin, but you would have cared for them, and they would have loved you. You gave up your own secure place in their lives so that you might restore to them what they truly longed for. This, for me, is love. And in continuing to search for Robin, even when it would have been easier to give up, you demonstrated love.

AWe have met many people on our journey, and we have shared disappointments and successes. We did what we thought we had to do. You were true to your promise to Martha and Samuel, and I was true to my commitment to join you. I have never regretted that commitment. Our time together has changed both of us in ways we have yet to discover.

AAnd now that we have lost Robin, I think we have no other choice than to go back. You will return to Martha and Samuel. You can become the son they have lost. And I can go back to my family and try to be the head of both my family and its business as my parents intended me to be.

AFurthermore, if the mirror enabled us to find Robin, then the mirror will enable Robin to find us, if he wants to. We can hope that Robin will use the mirror for good purposes as well as bad.@

I thanked David for the kind words he had for me and agreed that we had little choice now but to return home, wherever home might be. I myself was unsure whether my home would be with Martha and Samuel or with my own parents. I knew, though, that I had to go back to my parents at least to tell them that I loved them and to apologize for running away.

David and I had just started packing our suitcases when there was a knock on the door to our room.

I walked slowly to the door, half-hoping, half-afraid, that our visitor was Robin. My hope was that Robin had come back, bringing the mirror with him. My fear was that Robin was still cold and selfish, coming back to us only to see if we would sell him the mirror so no one could later accuse him of stealing it.

Cautiously, I opened the door a crack and peeked outside. Yes, it was Robin, so I threw open the door and invited him to come inside. Yet, this was not the Robin I remembered from Chez Louis or the office at the bank. This Robin was not wearing a suit, or at least a suit coat. He appeared not to have shaved that morning, judging from the stubble on his cheeks and chin. His shirt was out on his right side. And he was holding the mirror in his left hand.

AI=m sorry that I didn=t meet you this morning as I promised,@ he stammered as he stepped inside the door. AI had an extremely difficult night and overslept.

ANo, to be truthful, I thought of running away. But you gave me the mirror, and you might be able to help me now. That=s why I came back.@

He hesitated, almost, it seemed to me on the verge of tears. AI=m sorry I took that cursed mirror. I would have been better without it.@

He hesitated briefly. AOr perhaps not,@ he said softly. I=m so confused. Please help me.@

Was this truly the Robin for whom I had had such contempt? Now, instead of scorn I felt pity. But what had happened to cause such a change?

David came over and put his hand on Robin=s shoulder. ACome in, Robin. We=ll help you if we can. But you must first return the mirror and tell us what happened.@

Robin gave David the mirror. We walked Robin over to a chair and invited him to sit. AYes, Robin,@ I said gently, Atell us what happened.@

And Robin began his story.
Robin=s Story

AI don=t know whether to thank you or curse you for letting me borrow the mirror. The mirror does all you said it does, and more. But I should begin with what happened after I took the mirror home.

AYou told me that the mirror would let me see the future. You know how excited I was, for if it was true that the mirror could tell me the future, it could make me the wealthiest man on earth. I would be able to see which companies would succeed and which would fail. I would have information about new products before they were announced. There would be no limits to the ways in which I could use the mirror to make me richer than my wildest dreams.

AI was willing to pay you anything you asked if the mirror allowed me to see the future. I could have made you immensely wealthy too.

AI sat in my den gazing into the mirror, wondering how I might test it. After all, I don=t know the future, so how would I be able to decide whether the mirror was telling me the truth. And, even if the mirror was telling the truth at that moment, how did I know whether something might yet happen to change the future, something of which the mirror was unaware?

ABut as I gazed into the mirror, I assumed that the future could never change . . . but that is why I am here now. I want the future to change, and you must help me. If the mirror tells the truth and the future cannot change, I am doomed.

ABefore I asked the mirror about some of the stocks I was interested in, I inquired about my own future at the bank. To my surprise, the mirror did not display an image. Instead, I felt myself drawn into the mirror. I was no longer looking into the mirror. I was inside the mirror.

I found myself in a room that I did not recognize.

AOnce I had an opportunity to observe my surroundings, I realized that I was in a courtroom. I was sitting in a chair at a table across from the witness stand, and there was a woman sitting beside me who I assumed was my attorney. The spectator gallery was filled. The judge, clad in his black robe, was seated on a dais above me. He looked down at me sternly as he rapped his gavel.

A>Counselor,= the judge asked my attorney, Aare you ready to proceed?=

A>I am, your honor.=

A>Is the prosecution ready to proceed?=

AA man rose at a table to the left of where my attorney at I were seated. >We are, your honor.=

AThe judge rapped his gavel twice. >The trial of Robin Marshall for grand theft, fraud, and capital murder may begin. The prosecution may make its opening statement to the jury.=

AI sat dumbfounded. I was on trial for crimes I was sure I had never committed. I turned to look at the spectators. The eyes of many of them met my eyes, and I could sense the hatred and contempt that they felt for me. But why? What had I done to them?

AThe prosecutor stood before the jury. I listened as he set out a tale of greed and betrayal. He said that I had stolen investors= money and used it to pay for a lavish lifestyle. I had wasted the life savings of many who had trusted me. I had even driven two elderly men to suicide because I had cheated them out of all that they had to live on. And when one of my co-workers threatened to reveal my activity to the police, I hired someone to kill him.

ABut it was not true. I had never cheated anyone. I was not a thief or a murderer. I helped people plan for their retirement and put their money to work for them. The fees I had earned, the profits that I had made with my own investments, all these were earned honestly.

AThe prosecutor finished his remarks and my own attorney rose to speak. She told the jury that, although I had made mistakes, they were honest mistakes and were neither fraud nor theft. Moreover, I had not had anyone killed. The co-worker committed suicide when he realized that the bank we worked for was failing.

AWitnesses were called. Most of them were people I had worked with. I thought they were my friends, but now they were accusing me of dishonesty, of stealing clients and money from them, of promising investors a greater return than was reasonable so their clients would give their business to me. Why were these, my former colleagues, telling these lies about me?

AAs testimony proceeded, I realized what had happened. The bank had invested poorly and lost a huge amount of money, money that belonged to investors who had trusted the bank to manage their accounts. The bank was failing and the management realized that they would be blamed. The bank=s clients would sue them for the losses because of the bank=s disastrous investment decisions.

AA scapegoat was needed. It would be easier to explain that a rogue junior trader had embezzled huge amounts of money, so much money that it forced the bank to go under. I would take the blame for the huge losses so that those above me could deny responsibility. The anger of those who had lost their savings, their retirement accounts, the money they were depending on for their old age, would fall on me. I was to be sacrificed to save my superiors.

AThe evidence against me was convincing. Those who had caused the losses were easily able to create records that pointed the finger at me. I suspected that they even had my co-worker murdered in order to cast me not only as a thief but a killer as well. No doubt, they reasoned, that it is better that a junior executive go down than that they should suffer. They, after all, were the masters of the universe. And they were, I am ashamed to admit, what I wanted to become. I wanted to join them, to be one of them.

AAnd if I had succeeded, I may well have plotted along with them to destroy someone else, to cast the burden of my own failings on another so I could go free.

AAnd what was it that corrupted them, that brought them to accuse an innocent man to conceal their own guilt? It was wealth. It was nothing other than the very thing that I had made my own god. They were willing to steal what I had B not just my money but my reputation and my future as well B that they might keep what they themselves had stolen.

AMy lawyer did the best she could to make the case for my innocence against the overwhelming evidence against me. She argued that the charges against me were fabricated to protect those who were the real criminals. She claimed that I was just a pawn in a vast conspiracy. But, alas, she could produce no witnesses to back up her claims.

AI felt humiliated that I, who had been so puffed-up with my own importance, was being portrayed as a pawn, a nobody, who was framed to take the rap for those who really counted, those I had admired and now detested. And I detested myself for wanting to become one of them. Would I have been able to do what they did? As much as I wanted money, I had never betrayed anyone. I had always told the truth and kept my promises. And for what?

AThe charges of theft and fraud were serious enough, but if I were found guilty of murder, I might sentenced to death. The evidence against me was false, but it was overwhelming.

AThe lawyers made their closing arguments. The prosecutor said terrible things about me. I felt like shouting that he was a liar, but I was mute. I could not stand, or shout, or do anything but observe the hideous spectacle in which I played the central role. Yes, I was only an observer, an observer of my own destruction. I wanted to cry, but tears failed me. I wanted to flee, but I could not move.

AI knew when the jury returned that they had found me guilty on all counts. Some jurors sneered at me; one seemed to look on me with pity. Terrible deeds had been done, and someone had to pay for them. I was that someone.

AAfter the jury found me guilty, the judge rapped his gavel and announced that he would sentence me in two weeks. Two policeman came forward to lead me away.

AIt was then that I found myself back in my den, mirror in hand, staring now only at my own reflection. I think I must have fainted because it was hours later that I became conscious again of where I was.

AWithout undressing, I threw myself on my bed and tried to sleep away the nightmare I had just experienced. It was after ten, the time at which I was to meet you, that awoke from a fitful sleep. I found you, of course, by asking the mirror where you were, and it showed me getting out of my car in front of your motel room.

AAnd here I am. I=m still wearing the clothes I wore yesterday. Pardon my appearance. Pardon the way I=ve behaved toward you. Help me, if you can. You are the ones who gave me the mirror. Can you undo the future? Must I suffer what the mirror predicts for me? Please help me now, I beg you.@
Robin=s Question

David and I could not help but pity the unkempt figure who once looked down on us, but who now begged for our help. No doubt he had driven to the motel in an expensive car that, had I looked, I would have found right outside the door to our humble motel room. No doubt, too, he still had a great amount of money. But his money could not help him now.

But could David and I help Robin? He had looked into the mirror and the mirror had shown him what was to be. Those whom he trusted and looked up to, those whose golden circle he wanted to join, were going to betray him. They were willing to offer Robin=s life in order to safeguard their own. Robin was but a mere pawn to be sacrificed so that, ultimately, they could stay in the game.

How important Robin had deemed himself to be. How much he loved the life that money had enabled him to live. He had played the game well, but he had not realized that there were those who knew how to play the game even more skillfully to whom Robin was just a means to their own ends.

ACan you help me?@ Robin pleaded.

David and I looked at one another. The mirror had shown Robin the future. After a pause, I answered, ARobin, you are asking us if we can change what the mirror has shown you. What the mirror has shown you is the future, your future.

AEach time the mirror has shown us an event, that event took place. We have never had the mirror lie to us. You=re asking us if we can change the future. I don=t know the answer to that question.@

ASo the future is absolutely determined?@ Robin asked. AThere=s nothing you or I can do to change it? If I went back to my parents, I wouldn=t be here for them to frame, would I? They would have to find someone else to blame for their mistakes and crimes. It wouldn=t be me anymore, but someone else.

AOr even better, if they couldn=t find someone else to sacrifice in my place, then they would have to take the blame themselves. That would be wonderful, wouldn=t it? No Robin, no one to blame. They would all go to jail instead of me.@

AIf you could change the future, Robin,@ I asked, Ahow would you change it? Do you really want to go back to your parents?@

Robin thought for a moment. ATo be honest, I=m not sure. I was enjoying the life I had, working hard and making lots of money. I felt good when I could go into Chez Louis and be recognized, even having a table set aside just for me. I guess I really want that life back.@

ABut if you did go back,@ I responded, Athen the future would be as the mirror projected it. If you want to change the future, you have to change yourself.

AI=m sure you have more money now than you=ll ever need in your lifetime. What good would it do you anyway to make even more? You could use some of your money to help your parents in their final years. Spending it for others would make you feel better about yourself than having a table at Chez Louis.@

AYou tell me that,@ Robin answered, a hint of annoyance in his voice, Abut I have a hard time believing it. Making money gave my life meaning. It was making money that drove me. Yes, I need money to pay for my indulgences, but I work so hard I have little time to enjoy them. Don=t you see, it=s the game that is important? Winning the game involves making money. How much money I make is how I keep score.@

AAnd this is what the game has brought you to,@ David said sharply. AYou want our help, but only so you can continue the life you were living without the penalty that the mirror tells you is coming. What you are telling us is that you do not want to change your ways. You just want us to help you avoid the future that your ways will bring on you.

APerhaps the future cannot change. You can run from those who would destroy you by returning to your parents. But if you go back to your parents unwillingly, you will live out the rest of your life in sorrow and bitterness. You will always be longing for what you gave up. Eventually, you will believe that if you had stayed, everything would have turned out all right. The mirror misled you. You could have successfully defended yourself against the lies that your superiors told about you. Your regret will ultimately destroy both you and those around you. If you are to return home, it must be because you choose freely to return home. Otherwise, stay and face whatever the future may bring.@

AI don=t have to go back to my parents,@ Robin said softly. AI could go somewhere else, somewhere where I am not known and start a business of my own. I know enough to be successful. I don=t have to work at the bank anymore. I can make it on my own.@

ADo you want to test the mirror again?@ I asked. AWhy don=t you look into the mirror and tell it what you plan to do. Then let it show you the future again. Will it be a different future? Is it a future that you want? Go, you still have the mirror. Look into it, if you dare.@

Robin was still holding the mirror in his left hand. He glanced down at it, and then looked directly at me. ADo you think I=m frightened of this trick mirror? I can plan my own future. I have no need of this mirror to tell me anything.@

AThen go back to the bank,@ I countered. AIf the mirror is just playing tricks on you, then nothing will happen. You=ll just keep making more money.

ABut if the mirror is telling the truth . . . Well, you know the rest. Let the mirror show what will happen if you run away. Are you afraid? Don=t you want to know?@

AMaybe I=ll see a different future,@ Robin said hopefully.

APerhaps you will,@ said David, AAnd if it=s a future you still don=t like, will you try again and again until you find a future you can live with?@

Robin stared long and hard at the mirror. AI=m so confused. I don=t dare test the mirror again. Could the mirror show me anything but what I=ve already seen if the future can=t be changed?@

AWho are you, Robin?@ I asked. AYour parents didn=t teach you your love of money. Still, you have more money now than anyone needs in a lifetime. You could go back to your parents and build their farm into a prosperous enterprise. You could take care of both them and the farm so they could live comfortably in their last years. There=s more there to do than even you could do.

AIs it only money that you want? Money, you told us, is just the way you keep score. So what score do you need to win the game? Does the game control you, or do you control the game?@

Robin handed the mirror back to me. AHere is your mirror. Last night it showed me a future in which I am destroyed. I can only hope that the future can be changed. Otherwise, I must return to the bank and accept my fate.@

ANo, come with us back to your parents and you=ll be safe,@ I said as I took the mirror from Robin. AThe future can be changed if we want it to change. The mirror cannot have the last word.@

I held the mirror up and looked into it. AMirror, you have spoken concerning Robin=s future. But we reject that future for Robin. You showed Robin what would happen if he stayed at the bank, but he will work there no longer. May those at the bank who wanted to destroy Robin be themselves destroyed.@

I felt the mirror begin to vibrate in my hand. It was growing increasingly warm. Soon it became so hot that I could not hold on to it any longer. The mirror fell to the floor and shattered into a hundred pieces.

All three of us stood momentarily stunned staring at the shards of glass scattered at my feet.

AWhat will we do now?@ I felt like crying. The mirror that had guided us to this point was no more. I was sure we were now, in some inexplicable way, lost.

It was David who realized what had happened. AThe mirror told Robin his future, but he refused to accept it. He decided to change his future, and the mirror could not accept his decision. The mirror could see the future in only one way. When that one way failed, the mirror itself failed. Now we and Robin must take responsibility for our own futures.@

Again, the three of us stood silently looking at the glittering pieces of glass that were once the mirror. AWe are responsible now for our own futures,@ I repeated softly David=s words. AThen let us get on with it.@
On Our Own

AWhat am I going to do now?@ Robin wailed, staring down at the shattered pieces. AHow will I know what is going to happen?@

I, too, was shaken by the mirror=s destruction. The mirror had, after all, guided us reliably on our quest to find Robin. What were we to do now?

David remained calm. AWe don=t have to worry about what to do. We found Robin, and we know how we got here, so we can retrace our route and go back. We won=t have to have the mirror to tell us the way.

AWe don=t need the mirror to tell us the future either. The mirror gave us a future that we could choose to accept, and, up until now, we accepted what the mirror showed us. Once Robin rejected the future the mirror predicted for him, the mirror broke. It could no longer show Robin his future because he decided to take his future in his own hands.@

ABut I wanted the mirror to show me the future,@ Robin stammered. AI could have made a fortune with the mirror.@

AThe mirror did show you the future, Robin,@ I answered, Abut it wasn=t a future you wanted. Now it is up to you to decide what you want to do. You must make the decision yourself with no help from the mirror.

ABut you know that you cannot go back to the bank, because the future the mirror showed you what awaits you there. You could try to start your own business, but the people at the bank will track you down eventually if they want to blame you for their own failures.

AOr you could go back to your parents and help them. You could take charge of their farm and use your knowledge to improve and expand it, perhaps creating the kind of business that you dream of. You would be safer there, and, best of all, you would be loved.@

Robin stared thoughtfully at the floor. ATo be loved. I wonder what that means. I was so absorbed in my work that I had no time for anyone or anything else. I met many people, but I saw them only as business clients, people who I could make richer, and who, in turn, would help me become richer. I never loved any of them. I hardly even knew them. I identified them by what they owned and by what I sold them.

AAnd they didn=t care about me either. I thought that at least my business associates would care about me. We were all working together for the same bank to bring in wealth both to the bank and ourselves, weren=t we?

AMy superiors complimented me often about the great job I was doing, but the now the mirror has shown me how they really feel. To them, I was someone to be used. And maybe I felt the same way toward my clients. They were pieces to be played in a game in which I kept score by the amount of money I made.@

Robin paused for a moment before continuing. AWhen I was a boy still living with my parents, I felt that they cared about me. Even when I made mistakes, even when I did things I knew I shouldn=t, even when I made them angry or disappointed them, they still cared about me. I made no money for them. At most, I helped them with work around the farm, but I never really took much interest in the farm, so what I did, I often did poorly. This disappointed my father who hoped I would keep up the farm when he died, but he still cared about me.

APerhaps this is what love is about: to care for someone even when they disappoint you. I remember a day when I had been especially bad. I had not only not done my chores well; in my carelessness I had damaged the tractor, and my father had to spend several hours repairing it. But he still tucked me in bed, and he still kissed me goodnight. And he told me, AI hope tomorrow you will take more care in what you do. What you do affects others, you know? You are not only hurting yourself, but hurting me and your mother. Still, we love you and we care about you, and we always will. We love you, son.

A>We love you, son.= Sometimes, particularly when I had trouble falling asleep, I remembered that. And the odd thing is that I think I missed my father and my mother. But I tried not to let myself think about such things. I was a successful business man making more money than my father and mother had seen in their entire lives. I thought they should be proud of me, but I knew if I ever went back to them, they would be disappointed in what I had become. This wasn=t because I had no interest in the farm, or even because I had left them, but because what I had become was opposed to all they held valuable in their own lives. Money was not the measure of my parents= lives. Their love for one another and for me was what was important to them.

AAll right, I will go back to my parents. I don=t know yet if I will be able to be happy there, but I have more than enough money to make my parents comfortable and to improve the farm. I can take care of them in their old age as they took care of me in my youth. But I suppose most of all I want re-experience the love they had for me. I may find that love is more important to me than money. My memory of love is dim now. Going home may revive it. I hope it will. Perhaps there is more meaning to my life than making money.@

I took Robin=s hand. AThank you, Robin, for agreeing to go home. Thank you for saying what you did. The purpose of my journey was to learn how to love. I am not sure whether I=ve learned yet how to love, but what you said helped me. Love, as you said, includes caring for someone even if that person disappoints you. I must learn to care for my parents, even though I feel they disappointed me. I guess, in my own way, I must have disappointed them. When I go back to them, I suspect we will both have learned much since I left them.

AThe mirror was given to me to help me to learn what I needed to know. It may be that the mirror broke because its work was finished and not just because you rejected the future it showed you. In any event, we are on our own now. We have no mirror to guide us. We must make our own decisions.@

Then David spoke. ARobin, do you need some time to take care of matters here before we leave?@

Robin thought for a moment. AI certainly have a lot that I could do. But I can access my accounts through a bank or broker almost anywhere. For the moment, I do not want to sell my apartment. I will arrange for the manager of my building to take care of it until I decide what to do with it.

AThere are so many possessions I would like to bring with me, but I suppose I can=t unless you=re willing to wait until I can arrange for packing and moving. But that will take a week or more. We may not have that much time.

AI will also contact my superiors at the bank and tell them that I am resigning, effective immediately. But I have to give some reason, or they may use my sudden resignation as an excuse to accuse me of wrongdoing.@

AYou might honestly tell them that the pressures of work have caused problems with you health,@ I suggested.

AHow so?@ asked Robin.

AWhat the mirror told you made you realize that you are in grave danger if you remain at the bank,@ I answered. AWe don=t know how far in the future the mirror was looking. It was probably not within the very near future since your bank is doing well and there is no reason to blame anyone for its losing great sums of money. If you stay, your mental and physical health are truly in jeopardy. Now is the time to get out to safeguard them.@

AAlright,@ agreed Robin. AThat makes sense. If I leave now for reasons of health, they=ll have no reason to frame me to protect themselves. Right now they don=t need that protection. By the time the bank is in trouble, I will be long gone.

AWe will leave as soon as you wish. If I decide to stay at the farm, I=ll send for what I want. I could even return here briefly to arrange to sell my apartment and move my possessions.@

AI hope you will decide to stay at the farm,@ David said. AYou may even find that you want to give what you leave behind here to some charity. Your possessions might only remind you of a life you would prefer to forget.@

APerhaps,@ answered Robin, Aand perhaps not. We shall have to see, won=t we?

AIn the meantime, I have a car parked outside, and you have your car. I suppose it would be best if I simply followed you. But, first, I=ll go back to my apartment to pack clothes and other items I will need for the trip. You can follow me back to my apartment, and we can leave from there.@

And so it was.
On the Road Again

We stayed one more day in the city to allow Robin time to pack belongings to take on the trip to his parents and to make other arrangements concerning his departure. He gave the bank president notice of his resignation in a phone call, but he told us that the president made no effort to persuade him to stay, nor did he compliment Robin on the good work he had been doing, Robin had hoped the bank president would at least say that he was sorry to lose him, but it was not to be, In fact, Robin wondered if the president even remembered who he was.

I myself recalled how distracted and busy the people in Robin=s office complex were. Some of them seemed unsure whether Robin was one of their colleagues, or even if he existed at all. Thus it is that when we fancy ourselves to be of great import, we often find that others think far less of us, if they think of us at all. Robin=s call to the bank president was a disappointment, but I=m sure it helped convince him that he his decision to go back to his parents was right.

Robin allowed both David and me to come to his apartment to help him. The apartment was not as large as I thought it would be given Robin=s desire to display his wealth. This might well have been because Robin rarely invited anyone to the apartment, and, no doubt, spent no more time there than he had to. The walls were generally bare, except for two paintings, which I assumed were originals. The furniture was spare, and three bookcases boasted only a handful of books each. The kitchen had a pristine look as if it had never been used, which might well have been the case since Robin preferred to eat out, if he ate at all.

Robin did not have much informal clothing; he always wore suits to work and to meet clients. He had just enough informal clothes to start our journey, but he would have to buy more clothing along the way. Suits were not the most comfortable attire to travel in, and would be impractical anyway back at the farm.

Once Robin was ready, we set out, Robin following us as we retraced our route to return to Martha and Samuel. Although we had no mirror to guide us, both David and I wanted to revisit some of the places we had been before to see what had become of the people we had met. We could also thereby acquaint Robin with some of our adventures and make him more aware of some of the problems that ordinary people have. Robin=s life as a stock broker had, after all, left little opportunity for contact with common folk.

But because we did not have the mirror, we were left on our own to try to find these places. I was sure that our detours into enchanted forests and our meetings with men who looked like those from whom we were fleeing were over. Now we did not need them, or the mirror. Or did we? We would only find out when we were tested by circumstances to see whether we had learned what we were supposed to learn from our experiences.

Once again we drove through a countryside spotted with a few estates, whose well-manicured pastures, wrought-iron fences, and elegant buildings gave testimony to the affluence of their owners. But the estates of the rich were rare in comparison with modest dwellings, mostly trailers or prefabricated homes, set on smallish lots. Some reminded me of my parents= home with rusting cars or broken appliances in the yards, perhaps an animal or two as well.

When we stopped for the evening of the first day, Robin expressed surprise that there was so much poverty in evidence. AI didn=t realize that so many people live in rundown houses. Some of the houses seem to be almost falling apart. They could at least keep their places looking nice.@

ABut,@ I replied, Athey don=t have the money to keep their places looking nice. They probably don=t even have the money to paint their homes.@

Robin looked puzzled. AHow can anyone live that way? Don=t they see the splendid homes of the rich and want to be like them? Can=t they go out like I did and make lots of money? How can they be happy living with so little?@

AI lived in poverty myself,@ I answered. AI did not like it, so I ran away. But my parents, in their own way, seemed happy enough. I suppose that it doesn=t matter how much money you have if you at least have enough to eat and have a roof over your head. The poor can be happy or unhappy, and the rich can be happy or unhappy.

AIf you are rich B as I think you found out, Robin B you still consider yourself poor in relation to someone who is richer still, and, if you are poor, you may be satisfied with what you have, enjoy it, and ask for little more. You may even consider yourself quite well off in comparison with those who have less.@

AAnd what about those who don=t have enough to eat?@ Robin asked. AWhat about those whose roofs are leaking, but they can=t afford to fix them? I saw many homes that didn=t look fit for humans to live in.@

David spoke. AYou are correct. I came from a wealthy family, but I=ve traveled enough to know there are too many people who don=t have enough to eat, and who don=t have a safe place to live. Should we stop at one of these homes and ask those who live there how they get along? What would they tell us? Are you willing to give them some of your own money so they can fix the roof? And if you do, how long will it be before the roof needs to be fixed again?

AHow do we help these people, if they want to be helped? It isn=t that they=re lazy or stupid. They never had the chances that you and I did.@

ABut I went to this city and made a fortune. Couldn=t they do the same thing?@ Robin asked.

AYou were able to go to the city because you had enough money to make the trip,@ I answered, Aand you were lucky enough to find a job. You worked hard and advanced yourself, but not everyone is able to do that, especially if they don=t have any money to start with.

AFurthermore, your parents made sure you had a good education so that when you applied for a job at the bank, you had skills to offer them. Without the education your parents gave you, the bank would not have hired you.@

AWell, then,@ Robin answered, Aeveryone should have a good education.@

AThey should,@ I responded, Abut not everyone does. Some children don=t get enough to eat at home so they have trouble paying attention in class. Some don=t have good clothes to wear, so they are ashamed to go to school. Others have parents who don=t care whether their children learn or not, so the children decide not to study and fail their courses.@

AAnd how do you know these things?@ Robin asked.

AI know because my parents were poor and did not care about my education. I learned a lot on my own because I was curious, but I still do not have the kind of education that would enable me to get a good job. Now that my adventure is coming to an end, I=m not sure what I >m going to do to earn a living and to help my parents.@

AWell,@ Robin replied, Aif I take over my parents= farm, I would like you to work for me. Anyone who went to the trouble of finding me and convincing me to return home is the kind of worker I want.@

AThank you for the kind offer. I accept it with gratitude because I will not only be close to my parents, but I will be close to Martha and Samuel as well, and I think I would enjoy working on the farm.@

Robin extended his hand and we shook on the agreement. I was delighted that Robin was already thinking of taking over the farm. I was certain that he would use his expertise to make it more productive and profitable.

AWell, Adam,@ David chimed in, Ayou now have a job when you get back. I still have to figure out how to handle my uncle and sisters. Maybe I should go to work on the farm as well.@

AYou=re welcome there, if that=s what you want,@ Robin said with a smile, Abut I suspect you=ll do well with your family=s business. If not, come and see me.@

AWe didn=t solve the problem of the poor, did we?@ I asked.

ANo, we didn=t,@ Robin agreed. AI wish I could give them all jobs, or help them in some other way.@

APerhaps some day you will,@ David said, Abut all the money you have would only help small number of the poor.@

A small number is better than none,@ Robin countered. AI=ll be thinking a good deal about this problem, and then I=ll decide what, if anything, I can do.@
Back on the Farm

We continued retracing the route on which we had had so many adventures in our quest to find Robin. For David and me, the trip revived memories, but Robin had not been a part of them, and so we told him stories of the people we had encountered and what had happened both to them and to us.

We ate again at the diner where we had met the lovers, Rick and Ashley. Ashley=s proud mother told us that they had married prior to our return and were now waiting tables, cooking, and learning all that they needed to know in order to run the business that would soon be theirs. They seemed more subdued and weary since we had observed them at a table gazing starry-eyed at one another.

ACongratulations on your marriage,@ I told Ashley as she came to take our orders.

AThank you, Adam,@ she replied. AI see David is still with you.@

ASo you remember our names. Congratulations on that too. But you haven=t met our friend Robin. We are taking him back to visit his parents.@

APleased to meet you, Robin. Welcome.

AI discovered it=s important to remember the names of our customers,@ Ashley said with a smile. AThey feel more welcome if we can call them by name and are more likely to come back.@

ASounds to me like you will be very successful,@ Robin remarked.

We placed our orders. The food was even better than I remembered from on our last visit, and it was good then. Ashley told us that Rick was doing the cooking now. He appeared to have made improvements on top of the foundation his in-laws had laid.

We left a generous tip, and as we were leaving we complimented Ashley and her mother on the fine service and the wonderful dinners It seemed Rick and Ashley would do well in their new venture.

They thanked us for coming back. They did not mention the clouds building on the horizon for their small business. If we had been able to consult the magic mirror, we would have learned that a super highway was being planned that would bypass the town in which the diner was located. The locals might still eat there, but travelers on the super highway would have to exit to find it, which meant that David and I would probably not have found the place.

Once the super highway was completed, life might be much harder for Rick and Ashley as well as for their town. Progress for some often means hardship for others. Rick and Ashley had their love for one another to sustain them, but the loss of the diner would have been a crushing blow. They would, I hoped, find a way to keep the diner alive, perhaps luring drivers off the super highway to find a meal worth the small detour. One has to make detours at times to find what is truly worthwhile.

We spent the night in a nearby motel and continued on toward Emily and Hiram=s farm. We knew that this elderly couple had been placed in a nursing home together. No doubt they were being well cared for, but they were not doing what they had loved doing for decades of their long life together. They could not even care for one another, much less could they care for their beloved animals or tend their precious crops. We had learned the name of the home into which they were to be placed before we left them so we could visit them on our return, but first we wanted Robin to see their farm.

We turned off the highway and drove down the once narrow road. But the road had been widened, and, whereas before it had previously been pitted and uneven from neglect, it now had been leveled and bore signs of heavy traffic. David had to swerve toward the shoulder as a large truck barreled down toward us from the direction of the farm.

When we reached the road=s end where we expected to see the farmhouse, we found our path blocked by heavy equipment that was standing where we had parked on our first visit. The farmhouse was gone as were the trees that had stood guard over it. There was no sign of the pigpen where Emily had fallen.

AWhat is going on?@ I wondered aloud.

ADidn=t you see the sign when we turned on to the road?@ Robin asked.

AWhat sign?@

AThe sign that read >Coming Soon. Squire Acres Country Estates. 1 to 5 acres for clean, safe, rural living.=@

AI noticed it,@ David said, Abut I didn=t think it could refer to Hiram and Emily=s farm.@

AAnd why not?@ Robin replied. ADon=t you know that country living is the new thing. If the family had tried to sell this land as a farm, they would have gotten only a fraction of what they probably are getting from the developer that=s building this subdivision. People want to get away from the cities and get out there they can find open spaces.@

Even David with his experience in both business and city living seemed surprised. ABut what do they do with their homes in the city?@ he asked.

AWhy they keep them,@ Robin answered. ASome of my former colleagues have three homes, a city home, one in the country, and one by the shore. Of course, their work usually prevents them from visiting their away homes more than a few weeks each year, but they assume real estate prices will go up and they=ll be able to sell them for a decent profit later on even if they never live in them.@

ABut isn=t it expensive to keep up extra houses?@ David asked. A And I would worry about a house I rarely saw. I know from the house I used to live in that is took a lot of time and money to keep everything in good repair.@

Robin laughed. AOf course it=s expensive, but the people who buy such houses usually have more money than they know what to do with, and they can easily hire someone to make sure the houses are well cared for. Anyway, the money isn=t as important as the prestige of being able to tell people you own all that property. Remember that historically the aristocracy were the ones who owned the most land.

AI admit that I thought the practice of owning more than one home rather foolish. I concentrated on my work and didn=t want distractions. But there is enough demand that developments like this one make money for the developers and for the folks who sell the land. That=s what it=s all about, making money.@

I paused for a moment before asking, ARobin, is that what you intend to do with your parents= farm, turn it into a development like this one?@

Robin thought for a moment before answering. AThat=s a good question. As I remember the farm, it=s not far from the city, so it has a better location for development than this one.

ABut I=m am not sure what I will want to do. It is still my parents= farm, not mine. They must make the decisions while they are still alive. Of course, I can advise them. They might need more money for their care as they grow older and more frail. And, in any event, I haven=t yet decided if I even want to stay there. I might move elsewhere and start a business of my own. I=ll see when the time comes.@

AYou don=t have to sell the farm to care for them,@ David said. AYou have lots of money you could use.@

AI suppose I do,@ Robin said somewhat pensively. AWhen I worked for the bank I never thought I had enough. Maybe I have to get rid of that mindset. Perhaps I=ll even enjoy farming, though I=ve never did much of it before I left home.@

AWhat did you do before you left home?@ I asked.

AI read a lot and day-dreamed about the world beyond the farm. Life on the farm seemed boring and predictable. My father and mother did pretty much the same things at the same time very day and in the same way.

AThey tried to interest me in helping with the farm, but I kept thinking how much more there was to life than feeding the animals and tending the crops. When my father took me to the city to get supplies, I wanted to talk to the people there and explore the buildings, but we never stayed long enough for me to do that.

Oh, I did chores around the house, mostly reluctantly and complained a lot. I=m sure I hurt my parents deeply by not wanting to share their way of life, or even learn much about it. I kept telling myself that there was more than life than life, and, so, one day I ran away . . . and you know the rest.@

Yes, I thought to myself, we know the rest. I was not happy with my parents, so I ran away. David was not happy with his family either, so he ran away. Each of us ran from our problems to try to seek a happier life, and now we were each returning to what we left behind, each of us unsure what we would find and whether we would run away again.
A Visit to a Nursing Home

The sign at the entrance to the parking lot read ASunnydale Health Care Center.@ The thought of Hiram and Emily having to spend their final years here saddened me, but should it have? Their needs were met. They were fed and clothed and given whatever medications their doctors prescribed to make them as comfortable as possible. They had companions here to talk with and share memories from long, and often eventful, lives. At least I hoped this was the case.

We parked not far from the main entrance and went inside. The lobby was bright and cheery with a large glassed cage filled with small colorful birds against the back wall. Two ample openings led from the lobby to hallways along which we could see rows of doors. There were two patients sitting listlessly in wheelchairs in the lobby. To our right a young woman sat at a desk on which there was a telephone and a file folder. We approached her.

AGood morning,@ I greeted her.

AGood morning,@ she replied. AHow may I help you?@

AWe=re here to visit Hiram and Emily. I am not sure of their last name, but they are a husband and wife who came here after Emily fell and hurt herself. They would have arrived about five weeks ago.@

AOh, I know exactly who you mean,@ the young woman said with a smile. AYes, they are a lovely couple.@

The woman opened her file folder and consulted a listing of patients at the home. ATheir last name is Johnson. Emily is in the Bluebird Wing, Room 114. Hiram is in the Eagle Wing, Room 109.@

My heart sank. ADo you mean they didn=t get a room together?@

AWhy no,@ the woman replied, seemingly surprised at my question. AWe only place women with women and men with men.@

ABut they=ve been married for more than fifty years,@ David chimed in.

The woman seemed perplexed. AWell, we almost never have a married couple come in at the same time. This is an unusual situation, and it would be just too difficult to change the rules for them alone.@

AWhy?@ Robin asked, with a hint of annoyance. ARules can always be broken for good reasons. Keeping Hiram and Emily together seems to be a good reason for breaking the rule.@

APlease don=t get angry with me,@ the woman snapped back. AI=m just a volunteer and I don=t make the rules. If you don=t like the rule, you need to talk to the administrator.

AAnyway, Hiram and Emily can get together anytime they want. They can visit each other=s rooms and eat meals together, or even come out here to the lobby to be with one another.@

Just then the phone on the woman=s desk rang, and she quickly answered it. There was not much point in pursuing our conversation with her, so the three of us exited the lobby through the archway labeled ABluebird Wing.@ The air had an antiseptic smell mixed, it seemed to me, with a hint of urine.

Some of the patients were sitting in wheelchairs in the hallway. Almost all of these had expressions that seemed drained of emotion as if these sad souls were there but not there. I could not help but wonder what their thoughts were, or if they could still think in a meaningful way. One was babbling to herself with words I could not make out. She reached out to us with a withered hand. I touched it gently as we passed by.

We continued down the hall until we came to Room 114. Glancing through the open door, we saw two beds. In the bed closest to the door a woman was sleeping on her back, snoring softly. In the bed by the window, we saw a woman whose features reminded us of Emily=s, but she seemed older and more frail than the Emily we had met just weeks earlier.

We entered the room quietly so as not to wake up the sleeper.

The woman near the window turned her head to look at us. ADavid and Adam. How nice to see you again. I see you have someone with you. Is this the person you were looking for when you came to the farm?@

It was Emily, though she now seemed smaller than I remembered her, and her face seemed thinner and more wrinkled. But I was delighted that she remembered David and me. AYes, Emily, it=s Adam and David. And, yes, we did find Robin.@

Robin extended his hand toward Emily. AEmily, it=s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Robin.@

AI=m so glad they found you. They were quite worried, you know. But they took time to help me and Hiram, and I will always be grateful to them for that.

AHave you visited Hiram yet?@

ANo, we came to find you first,@ I replied. AWould you like us to put you in your wheelchair so we can all visit Hiram together?@

AThat would be wonderful,@ Emily said with a broad smile.

I went into the hall and asked an aide if she would help us put Emily into her wheelchair so we could take her with us to visit her husband. When Emily was safely in her wheelchair, I pushed it and the four of us paraded out of the Bluebird Wing through the lobby and into the Eagle Wing. Except for the sign over the entrance arch, the Eagle Wing was almost identical to the Bluebird Wing: the same antiseptic smell, the same row of doorways, patients sitting in wheelchairs in the hall, except these were men rather than women.

We reached Hiram=s room. His was the bed closest to the door. He was asleep, but we woke him gently so he could visit with us and his wife.

Hiram seemed slightly dazed as he opened his eyes and stared toward us. His face brightened immediately though we he saw Emily. The expressions on the faces of this dear couple mirrored the love that they held for one another, a love that I was sure had grown ever more profound over their years together.

I had begun this journey to learn about love, and I knew I was seeing love now, a devotion of two human beings to one another that transcended the hardships they had faced in the past and the pain they must feel now that they cannot share the same room and must be cared for by strangers. I had no doubt that each would gladly have given his or her life for the welfare of the other. Yet, now their joy must be found in occasional face to face encounters that could take place at the mercy of their care-givers. Their love can bring meaning to a place even as sad and this one. And if they someday enter into the mental night that I saw in some of the patients here, that love may still somehow light that darkness.

ADavid and Adam,@ Hiram said in a voice still weak with sleep, AI am so glad you came back to see us. Emily and I will always be grateful for what you did for us.@

AWe were glad we could help you,@ I responded.

But what would have happened, I thought, if we had not found them. Eventually, their daughter would have come to check on them. By then it might have been too late. Did we do them a favor by rescuing them only to have them lose their farm and find themselves here?

ADid you visit the farm?@ Hiram asked, lifting his head slightly off his pillow.

AYes, we did,@ David answered.

Emily smiled broadly. AAnd the animals, are they being well taken care of?@

David, Robin, and I stood awkwardly for a moment not sure of what to say. It was Robin who broke the silence. AYes, the animals are being well taken care of. You have lovely fields too.@

AI=m so glad,@ Emily said with evident emotion. AOur animals and crops were always so important to us.@

I looked at Robin who was smiling broadly. Robin had chosen to lie for Emily and Hiram=s sake. The truth B that their daughter had chosen to sell the farm rather than maintain it B would have brought them both immense grief.

Could I judge the daughter? Keeping her parents in a nursing home was expensive. Probably the only thing of worth that they had was their farm. The daughter=s choice to sell may well have been as painful for her as it would have been for her parents to learn about it.

Could I judge Robin? His lie was probably one of the most loving acts of his life. If there is a penalty for lying, he had chosen to take it on himself rather than inflict pain on Hiram and Emily. Robin had always been scrupulously honest in his business dealings. To his credit, he had never cheated his clients or told them something he did not believe was true. But he lied now out of concern that the truth would wound.

The nursing home invited us to have lunch with Hiram and Emily. The fare was hardly up to Robin=s standards, or even David=s and mine, but we took our pleasure from being present to the dear folks we had come to see.

After lunch, we said our goodbyes. Each of us, including Robin, gave Hiram and Emily a big hug. We walked quietly back to the car, got in, and were once again on the road.
The Road to Hardwick

I turned my head toward Robin who was sitting in the back seat. AThank you for handling that question about the farm. You were able to think faster than I could.@

Robin smiled. AIt was a new experience for me to lie like that, but I felt somehow I had to. I never thought I would hurt my clients by telling the truth. In fact, my reputation for honesty was one reason I was successful selling securities. But I knew I would hurt Hiram and Emily if I told the truth.

AThis visit was a new experience for me. The way that Hiram and Emily looked at one another told me how much in love they were. As I was watching them, I thought of my own parents and the life they have shared. I=m sure they look at one another the same way. And I suspect that they feel about their farm the same way that Hiram and Emily feel about theirs. It gives meaning to their lives. They see in their crops and animals beauty and wonder that I failed to see before I left home. I was so wrapped up in myself that I never looked beyond myself to see what my parents saw, or even, for that matter, even to see my parents. When I get back home again it will be as if I am seeing them for the first time.@

Robin was silent for a moment. ABut I wonder if I could ever put my parents in a place like Sunnydale. Yes, the patients there receive the care they need, but can they receive the love they need? I had never really thought about needing love, needingsomeone who truly cared about me for my own sake and not because I could make them money.

A My parents must have loved me that way. When I ran away, I must have hurt them terribly. I couldn=t blame them if they=d given up on me and disowned me. But they still cared about me, and they sent you to find me so they would know whether I was alive or dead, and whether I=d be willing to come home to see them again.@

David spoke. AI started this journey not knowing what I was to learn from it. I just had to get away from a family that was hurting me by how it was acting. Their love, if there was any love, was for money and the business that provided the luxuries they enjoyed.

AI>ve seen how many other people live, most of them with far less money than I had. The love that Hiram and Emily have for one another and the years they shared tending their farm is something that money can=t buy.

AI wonder now if I should even go back. I can=t teach my aunt and uncle and my sisters how to love. Perhaps I can show them how to love through my own actions and the way I relate to them, but that will require me to sacrifice myself first to their own selfishness. I=ll have to show them that I love them in spite of how they treat me or how much they share the business with me, and not because they let me regain control of the family=s affairs.

APerhaps I should just let them go their own way. They don=t need me. I still have my own money is a separate trust account. I could buy a business or a farm and settle down. I might even find a wonderful woman who would marry me, and the two of us could build our life together as Hiram and Emily did. It all sounds more and more attractive the more I think about it.@

AYes, it must seem quite attractive,@ I countered. AThe world we build with our imaginations is often far more appealing than the world in which we have to live. David, if you did not return to your family, that might haunt you for the rest of your life. You=re part of their world, and, with the death of your parents, you have a responsibility to look after your family=s welfare. That is how your parents wanted it.

AI, too, must return to parents I thought disliked me. Perhaps they did, in fact, dislike me. Maybe they didn=t even want me. But I don=t think that=s the case. I believe I was at fault because I did not appreciate who they were. Like Robin, I wanted more than I could find at home. That=s good. I should want to learn as much as I can, to grow and develop, to stretch my imagination and my skills as far as they can stretched.

ABut my parents are a big part of who I am and what I will become. I can=t turn my back on them, even if I find out later that they didn=t even miss me once I ran away. If I find that they didn=t want me to return home, that would hurt me deeply. But love involves a risk of being hurt. That is, I think, part of what love is about, at least love given that does not ask for something in return.@

There was silence for several minutes. Then Robin spoke. AI=ve already learned much from the two of you. You didn=t have to look for me, but you did because it was important to my parents. Once you found me, you could have left me when I told you I didn=t want to return. But you kept after me, even letting me have the precious mirror that had led you to me. The mirror showed me what my future would have been had I remained at the bank. And then, when I defied that future, the mirror shattered.

AI want you to know that I am glad that I defied that future. Even if I could have kept making money without fear of betrayal by my colleagues, my life, I realize now, would have been empty. My money could buy things, but it could not buy the love of others. I would have lived a life without genuine love. Yes, love of money, I could care about money, but money would never care about me.

AWhether I decide to stay at the farm or move on, my life has to have a deeper meaning than accumulating wealth. I already have more money than I need. Someday I hope I can use it to good purpose, a purpose that will bring love both to myself and to others.@

We drove on through a countryside spotted with homes of rich and poor; farms with black wrought-iron fences and gates opening on to long, broad driveways; small farms with mobile homes; shacks with broken-down cars in the yard, a reminder of my parents= place. Billboards, large and small; restaurants so small, I wondered how they could survive; convenience stores with a gas pump in front.

Each of the people living in the houses, large and small; tending to the farms and the stores; waiting on others, or being waited on themselves, each of these had a story to tell. I would have liked to have spent time with each of them hearing their stories. But this could not be. We still had to return to Martha and Samuel within the three months limit I had promised. And, anyway, I doubt that these people would share their stories with me, if they even thought they had a story to share. Most of them, I suspect, just live their lives within the boundaries of their own little world and do not conceive of themselves as being the central character in an interesting tale.

If I asked them what love means to them, what would they tell me? Do they love another? Did they feel loved in return? Do they even love themselves? It struck me that we learn to love by being loved, and by seeing how others love. The love that Hiram and Emily shared was one of the most powerful lessons about love in our entire journey. Yet. I could not have appreciated their teaching without having lived the other parts of our journey: the strange man with whom we had breakfast, the peculiar houses in the forest and the men who greeted us there.

Yes, the men who greeted us there looked like those we feared, but they were kind and helped us on our way. They were a better side of those from whom we had fled, a side that we might have seen and come to appreciate had we but looked for it.

We were now only about an hour away from Hardwick.

ADavid, what do you think?@ I asked. ADo we dare stop and find out what happened after they drove us out of the city council meeting?@

AWhy would we want to know?@ David replied. AIf Daniel kept his promises, which I doubt, they=ll make fun of us for having tried to convince them that Daniel is a thief. And if Daniel cheated them, then they might well beat us up, or worse. Daniel is too well protected for them to attack, but they could take out their anger and frustration on us.@

AAnd why would they want to beat us up?@ I asked. AWe were the ones who warned them about Daniel.@

Robin laughed. ANo one likes the bearer of bad news, or prophets of doom, particularly prophets of doom who turn out to be right.

ABut they don=t know me. I could make some inquiries while you stay in the car. But don=t let people look too closely at you. They might recognize you, and I might lose my ride.@

AThat=s not funny, Robin,@ I said. AMaybe we=d be better off just driving straight through town without stopping.@

ALet=s see what things look like when we get there,@ David countered. AWe can decide then what to do.@

And so we drove on to Hardwick.
Hardwick Revisited

The sign read:

Welcome to Hardwick

Home of Daniel Enterprises

Population 15,400

Because of our previous experience with Daniel, neither David nor I were surprised that Daniel had moved quickly to advertise himself. At least, he had not demanded that the town change its name to bestow even greater glory on himself. But, as yet, we saw no oil derricks, pipelines, and storage tanks that might reveal Daniel=s activity.

As we drove further toward the center of town, we began to see more trucks, heavy equipment, and derricks that signaled that Daniel had begun his search for oil. One well was being drilled in the spacious front yard of a inviting colonial home. A fence that had graced the yard had been torn down and the pieces stacked in a pile by the side of the road. A forlorn AFor Sale@ sign stood in a corner of the yard.

AIt looks like the owners of that house are trying to escape the mess Daniel is making,@ I remarked.

David replied. AOf course, it=s too late now. No one will buy their house with an oil well in the front yard. I wonder what Daniel is paying them. Maybe he=ll buy the house himself.@

ANo doubt, he=ll buy the house later,@ Robin said. AHe=ll wait and then pay pennies on the dollar for what the house is worth. Then he=ll make a profit selling it to someone else.@

AHow can he sell it if there=s a oil well in the yard?@ I asked.

AWell, first,@ replied Robin, Athings will bet better eventually. When the well is in place, it will be less noisy and the mess won=t be as bad. Oh, it won=t be the same as before, but it will be better. That=s when Daniel will sell the house. The house won=t be worth what it was worth before Daniel drilled there, but it will be worth more, I=m sure, than what Daniel intends to pay for it.

AAlmost anything can be sold. The trick is to find the price that someone will pay for it. Daniel is smart enough to know that once he ruins the original value of something, he can buy it from the discouraged owner at less than he knows he can sell it for later. I played the same game when I worked for the bank, except I never deliberately ruined anything. I just looked for securities that I thought were underpriced, bought them, and then sold them later at a profit.@

ABut how did Daniel get permission to put an oil well in these folks= front yard?@ I asked.

AHow, indeed?@ Robin replied. AI=m sure he downplayed the problems and offered them just enough money that they thought they were getting a bargain.@

ABut can=t they do anything now?@ I asked.

AThey could go to court,@ Robin answered, Abut that=s expensive and time-consuming, and Daniel almost certainly has a contract that=s entirely in his favor. Believe me, I know all the tricks. But I am proud that I rarely used deceit in my work, and never intentionally. Sometimes I gave a client bad information because I myself had been given bad information. But I did my best to research what I was selling so I could present as honest a picture as I could. I still made a lot of money, despite my honesty.@

ADespite your honesty?@ I asked.

Robin laughed. AYou would not have survived long at the bank. Of course, many of my colleagues lied to make sales. They told people to buy a stock when they themselves were selling the same stock. They told clients that a bond was a safe investment, even though they knew it was almost worthless. They made more money than I did, but I made more than enough, and I could sleep well too.@

I was puzzled. AWeren=t your colleagues who knew they were cheating their clients ashamed of what they were doing?@

AI don=t think they thought about it much,@ Robin answered. AThey were making piles of money. For awhile, their clients were also making piles of money. So everyone was happy. It didn=t seem to matter that the wealth was built on a foundation of lies.

AThe magic mirror showed me that in the future B it didn=t tell me exactly when B the lies would be exposed and the clients would find that what they had bought had lost much of its value. The lost the savings they were depending on for their retirement. In their anger, they looked for someone to blame.

AAnd the mirror showed me that I was to be singled out for much of the blame, even though I had acted honestly. The ones who had lied got to keep the money they had made. They became rich while making others poor. And if they were willing to lie to make their money, they were willing to lie to avoid blame when their deals went sour so they could keep it.

AThe fact is that everyone was greedy. The clients wanted to believe the lies because they were getting rich. My colleagues believed their own lies because they were getting rich. When everything was going well, those who worked at the bank were the envy of the business world. Everyone wanted to work at the bank and get rich, I among them. Greed made everyone believe what they had to believe to make even more money . . . until the party ended.

AThe mirror helped me realize what was happening, or going to happen, so I decided to go back to my parents.@

AAre you sorry for your decision?@ I asked.

ANot at all,@ Robin replied quickly. AI=m just embarrassed that I trusted the system so much while I was a part of it. And I=m grateful the mirror brought me to my senses in time to get out when I did.@

We had now reached the center of town. I recognized the stores in which David and I tried to hide while waiting for the council meeting to start. There were, however, far fewer people around than I remembered the last time we were here. David pulled the car over to the curb in front of the drug store in which I had escaped the men that Daniel has sent to stop me from testifying at the council meeting.

ARobin,@ David said. AThey don=t know you here. Would you go in and ask what=s happening in town? Don=t say anything about Daniel or the house we saw. You do know the story though so you can follow up with any questions you think appropriate.@

Despite the fact that David and I remained in the car, I still felt nervous. I kept my head down and facing away from the sidewalk so that no passersby could get a clear look at me. David surveyed the area, but put glanced at the floor when anyone came close enough to the car that they might recognize him.

Robin had been in the drug store about ten minutes when a man crossed the street and approached our car. David and I were startled to recognize Scott, the homeless man with whom we had shared breakfast the day after we had been run out of Hardwick on our first visit. Scott came to the window at David=s side and motioned for David to roll down the window.

AScott,@ David greeted him warmly. AGreat to see you again. Do you want us to buy you lunch?@

ADavid,@ Scott replied grimly. AI=m not interested in what you can buy me. I wasn=t interested in what you could buy me when we first met. I was interested in how you would treat me and whether you would reach out to a poor, homeless stranger. If you had not treated me with kindness then, I would not have come to you today to warn you to flee this place.@

Just then Robin came out of the drugstore. He slid into the back seat of the car and announced excitedly, AThere=s a big celebration today at the city park. Daniel=s dedicating some new storage tanks at the edge of the park and treating the entire town to a barbeque cookout.@

Robin looked over and saw Scott peering in the window. ASorry, did I interrupt something?@

ANo,@ Scott said, Abut you returned just in time. You and your friends must leave town immediately, or you will be caught up in some big trouble.@

AHow do you know this?@ Robin asked somewhat sharply. AYou look like someone who=s asking for a handout.@

David spoke up at once. AForgive him, Scott. He doesn=t know you. But I am smart enough to take your advice. We=re out of here now.@

Scott stepped back and David rolled up the window. Then David pulled the car on to the highway and drove away.

AWho was that guy?@ Robin asked. AWhy did you pay any attention to him the way he was dressed?@

AYou judge from appearances,@ I answered. AI suspect if you look back, there will be no sign of him. We helped him once, and he just repaid our kindness.

ABut I don=t think he needed our help when we met him. He was testing us, and we must have passed the test. I personally trust what he told us.@

AI suppose so,@ sighed Robin, Abut I would have enjoyed going to that barbeque. This Daniel sounds like an interesting fellow.@

I didn=t find out what happened after we left Hardwick until we stopped again at the diner in Danieltown and talked to the counterman who had first told us about Daniel. The owner of the home on whose front lawn Daniel was drilling a well had become mentally unhinged. He edged as close as he could to the podium while Daniel was speaking, drew a handgun from under his shirt, and shot Daniel in the head and chest, killing him instantly. The crowd and Daniel=s body guards immediately wrestled the man to the ground and beat him to death.

Though Daniel was, in my mind, an evil man, I felt sorry for him, just as I felt sorrow for those he had cheated. He could have done much good, but chose instead to use his power solely to enrich himself. And now was dead at the hand of a man he had cheated. That man too was now dead and his family destroyed.

Had we stayed that fateful day, we might have been recognized and accused of conspiring to kill Daniel; thus, we also might have been killed by a frenzied mob.

Robin did not look back as we pulled away from the drug store, but, if he had, as I did, he would have noticed that Scott was no longer in sight. Had he, too, fled, or had he simply vanished after his mission to us was fulfilled? Robin had not been with us when we encountered the magical houses and the strange men in the forests, nor had he been with us when found Scott lying at the edge of the road.

Those who have never experienced magic may discount its existence. But Robin had looked into the magic mirror, and what he saw changed his life. Would he believe in magic, or would he decide in the end that his imagination was playing tricks on him? And did it matter after all?
A Homecoming

It was two months and two weeks to the day on which I left that David pulled his car into the driveway of Martha=s and Samuel=s home, parking right behind the truck in which Samuel had driven me to Danieltown to begin the quest that was now coming to a successful completion. We had found Robin and brought him with us within three months as promised.

Martha must have heard our car pull into the driveway. As we opened the doors to get out, she came out of the front door of the house and walked toward us. The sight that greeted her seemed almost more than she could bear. She screamed, either out of surprise or delight, I could not tell. But her screams attracted Samuel=s attention, and he came running out to see what was the matter. The shock seeing me and Robin again caused him to stand momentarily in stunned silence.

Suddenly, as one, they ran toward Robin who was standing by the car and embraced him, though it was a bit ungainly for all three with arms flailing about, both Martha and Samuel reaching out for Robin simultaneously, and Robin awkwardly trying to hug his parents. I wondered whether Robin had showed his parents much affection when he was younger, or did he think them ignorant and backwards, as so many children view their parents, and, ashamedly, as I viewed mine.

After a minute or so, Robin and his parents untangled themselves. AI can=t tell you how wonderful it is to see you again, son,@ Samuel blurted. AWe had all but given you up for lost.@

AI suppose I was lost,@ Robin replied, Abut you can thank these two men for finding me and bringing me home.@

Martha and Samuel turned their attention to me and David as Robin motioned toward us.

AAdam,@ Martha said, AI=m so glad to see you again too. And you kept your promise to us. Samuel and I weren=t sure we would ever see you again either.@

I sighed. AI promised you and Samuel I would return to you within three months, either with or without Robin. We were lucky to find him. But I did have some help from this man. I want you to meet David. Without his car and his help, we would never have found Robin.@

Samuel walked over to David and shook his hand. AThank you so much for helping Adam. You can=t imagine how wonderful it is to have our son back home.@

I must admit that I had mixed emotions as I watched Martha and Samuel embrace their son. For a time, I was their son. They were all that I imagined loving parents to be, and I was happy living under their roof. Now I had to return to my own parents again, and I was not sure how I would be received, or even, perhaps, remembered.

AAdam and David,@ Martha blurted, Ayou must come in and have lunch with us. We just finished cooking, and, although we did not expect such wonderful company, I will cook some more dishes so you=ll have plenty to eat.@

AOh, please don=t go to a lot of trouble for us,@ David said. AWe had a big breakfast. I=m sure they=ll be enough with what you already have.@

AWell,@ Martha replied, AI can always cook some more if you don=t get enough. It=s the least I can do for you after what you=ve done for us.@

The five of us entered the house. Robin went straight to his old room, the room in which I had slept, but a room that was never really mine.

Robin returned after looking around. AYou=ve still got my room exactly the way it was when I went away. It feels like I never left.@

ABut you=re back now,@ Samuel said grinning broadly. ATomorrow I=ll take you around and show you what we=ve done to the farm. We=ve tried to make taking care of the crops and animals a little easier now that your mother and I are not as spry as we used to be.@

AWhy didn=t you hire someone to help you?@ asked Robin.

Samuel paused for a moment. AWe kept hoping that you would come back and we wouldn=t need outside help. Then Adam came and stayed for awhile. He was a big help, but, to be honest, we all knew that he could never take your place. Now that you=re back, your mother and I hope you=ll take charge of the farm. Martha and I can take care of the house and help out a little.

ABut the truth is, son, that I don=t think I have much time left That mirror that Adam had showed the future. When I looked into the mirror, I could not see my reflection. I took that to mean that my time on earth was limited.@

Adam looked down at the floor. AAll of our time is limited, dad. You may live a lot longer than you think you will. The mirror showed me my future, but I would not accept it. When I defied the mirror, it broke. Maybe when it broke your future changed for the better too.@

This exchange was making Martha uncomfortable. ANow Samuel and Robin, don=t talk about such sad things. We hope Samuel=s going to be with us for many more years. Anyway, we shouldn=t be talking about sad things. Now is the time to have a coming home party for Robin. We=ll have lunch now, and then I=ll fix the best dinner you all ever had. I=ll even fix one of my special cherry pies that won a prize at the county fair.@

David and I conferred together briefly. AMartha,@ I said, Athat=s the most tempting offer David and I have had in long time. But we know that you want to be with Robin, and there=s not enough room here for David and I to stay tonight. We need to move on. I have to go back to my own parents, and David needs to go back to his family. But we promise we=ll visit you again soon to see how things are going.. We=ll stay for lunch, and then David and I will be on our way.@

ACan=t we pay you for what you=ve done?@ Samuel asked. AYou spent a lot of time and money looking for Robin.@

AWe did,@ agreed David, Abut we also learned a lot on the way. We=ll just count our expenses as the cost of our education. When we look at the experience we gained, we might wind up owing you money.@

Samuel disappeared down the hall and returned with several bills in his hand. AThis is all I have stashed at home. I want you to take it. Use it however you wish.@

ANo,@ I replied, Ayou use it however you wish. I did not try to find Robin so you would pay me.@

AThen why did you try to find Robin?@ Samuel asked.

I looked at him and wondered if he understood that his question hurt me. AI looked for Robin because you and Martha showed me love, and I wanted to return that love. Even though you welcomed me into your home, I knew your heart longed for you son. I did not want to stay, unless you accepted me as you son, and you could never accept me as your son unless you found out what happened to Robin.

AI suppose I could have made a pretense of looking for Robin. I could have spent some time away and returned with a story that Robin was dead. Then I could have become your son. But I could not live such a lie.

AAnd I knew from what happened to me in the forest and from what the mirror told me that I had to learn what love means. I sacrificed becoming your son by returning your true son back to you. That is, I think, what love means. It is the greatest love that I could show you.

AAnd now I must go back to my own parents. I don=t know what awaits me there, but I cannot stay here. But I promise I will return later to learn what happened after Robin came home.

ANow let=s have lunch.@

Robin was beaming as if he was truly glad to be back. Perhaps he would stay here after all. But that was something David and I would have to learn later. In the meantime, we had our own homecomings to attend to.
A Second Homecoming

I had found Martha and Samuel=s house by walking through the forest, but there was no road through the forest on which David could drive me home, so we asked Samuel for the best route around the forest to find the road on which my old home was located. Once Samuel gave us the directions, we set out to find my parents.

Samuel=s directions were clear and easy to follow. The road on which his house stood wound around the edge of the forest until it intersected the road I on which I used to live. We turned right. I estimated that my old home was now only about two miles away.

Two miles remaining in a journey that spanned hundreds of miles, many adventures, and, now, the closer we came to my old home, the more anxious I became about what I might find there.

I told David to slow down as we approached closer to my home. The area looked familiar, but I walked down the road less often than I ventured into the forest. AThere it is,@ I shouted. AThat=s where I used to live.@

David slowed and pulled to a stop on the shoulder of the road in front of my house. The yard looked exactly as I remembered it. But why not? I had not been gone that long, less than four months in all. How rapidly could my yard change in such a relatively short time?

We could see no one in the yard, and no one came out of the house to see who was stopping. Behind the house lay the forest. It seemed closer now than before I had left. There was always a danger that the forest would creep ever farther into our yard until it threatened our house itself. A forest is a living thing. If I was not certain of it before that, my time in the forest after I ran away had completely convinced me.

Would I go deep into the forest again? Would I again find a house and a man inside who looked exactly like my father; and, if I did, would he again give me a magic mirror? And would the house vanish as mysteriously as it appeared?

But here was a real house, a house in which I had lived as I grew into young manhood, a house that did not conjure up sweet memories for me, but demons that I now had to confront.

How I wish I had the mirror once more so that I could look into it and see what lay ahead for me here. How I wish that Robin had not caused the mirror to shatter.

I felt a surge of anger toward Robin and his defiance of what the mirror foretold. But I knew my anger and my fears are irrational. They bubble up within unbidden, and if they make me fearful, I must overcome that fear. My journey was to teach me how to love, even love those I love only because I freely choose to love them, and for no other reason.

David and I got out of the car and walked toward the house. The front yard was not as cluttered with junk as was the back yard. At least my parents wanted to present as good an appearance to passing motorists as their poverty would permit. But even a yard empty of litter could not disguise the forlorn nature of the house that sat in it: siding badly in need of paint, a shutter askew, hanging by one bracket; shingles missing from the roof.

We approached the front door and knocked. We waited a minute or so, and knocked again. I peered through a small window in the door. The house was dark inside and I could see no sign that anyone was home.

AWell, what shall we do?@ I asked David, almost hoping he would suggest we move on to another destination.

AWe haven=t gone out back yet,@ he replied. AYour parents may be there, and, if they aren=t, they may have gone out for just a short time. We=re in no hurry. We can wait for them.

ALet=s go in back. They may be outside.@

We walked around the house to the back. The junk was scattered about just as I remembered it. An item or two might have been added or subtracted. I could not tell. But I was not interested in discarded washing machines. I wanted to find my parents.

Just then I saw two people, a man and a woman, walking in the forest towards us. I could see them clearly until they had reached the yard. Yes, it was my parents. At first, they did not see David or me because their eyes were downcast. It was my father who first looked up and saw us.

For a moment, he stared directly at me without moving. Then he grabbed my mother=s arm and excitedly pointed in my direction. AGood Lord, Adam=s back,@ my mother shouted.

My parents walked quickly around the broken washing machine towards me. My mother=s arms were outstretched, waiting to embrace me, which she did as soon as they had reached me.

AWell,@ my father said with a snort, Awe were wondering where you went. Your mother and I were worried sick about you. You just disappeared. We didn=t know if you were alive or dead.@

So they did care about me after all. AI went into the forest because I thought you didn=t love me.@

I wanted to blurt out how many adventures I had to have and how many lessons I needed to learn before I could return, but there would time for such stories later. For the moment, I felt warm and safe in my mother=s arms. She clung to me as if she never wanted to turn me loose again.

AHow could you think we didn=t love you, son?@ my father asked softly.

AWell,@ I replied, stammering a bit, Ayou never showed me much affection. You never much told me that you loved me. And you never gave me much to show your love.@

My mother started to cry, still clinging to me. ABut we never had much to give. Your father and I were ashamed we=re poor and could not provide you with what we knew many other children had. In our shame, we stood off from more than we should have, I guess, because we knew that you were disappointed in us.@

Then I remembered my terrible vision my first night in the forest. ABut when I was lying in the forest, I saw you coming toward me, as if you were looking for me. And you looked down at me and laughed. I heard you say that I was not the one you were looking for, and you turned your backs on me and walked away, still laughing@

David came closer to us. AMother and father, I am so sorry that I didn=t introduce you to my dear friend David. Without David=s help, I wouldn=t be back home now.@

My father stretched out his hand and took David=s hand. AWe are forever grateful to you, young man, for your help in bringing our son back to us.@

My father then turned back to me. AI don=t understand what you=re telling us about what you thought you saw in the forest. We went out to look for you. But the truth is that we didn=t see you. Then we came back home fearing some wild animal might have killed you. Every day we returned to the forest, hoping that someday we would find you, or at least find out what had become of you. That=s what we were doing when you came back to us.@

David spoke. AAdam, remember that you found your father, too, in the house in the forest. That father was a kind and gentle man.

AWhat you saw in the forest was both sides of your parents, the good and the evil. Each of us, I fear, have both good and evil inside of us, and we are free to choose between them. The evil in your parents rejected you, but the good in your parents gave you the mirror that led us on our journey, not only to find Robin, but to learn what love means.

AYou, I, Robin, everyone has a side to themselves of which they are ashamed. If we allow that self to gain control of our lives, we will become like the parents who rejected you. But if we try our best to obey our better selves, we will learn what love means. But more than what it means. We will become loving people.

AYour parents loved you all the time, but their shame of not being able to love you as they thought they should led them to act toward you as if they did not really love you. Does this make sense?@

AI don=t know anything about a house in the forest,@ my father stammered, Aor any strange mirror. I do know that we love Adam, and we missed him when he ran away. And we will try to do better by him now that he=s back.

ABut I also think he owes us an apology for running away.@

I felt sheepish and ashamed that I had treated my parents as I did, and I apologized to them then and there, promising never to leave again unless I first talked with them and explained my action. They, in turn, promised that they would try to show me greater affection than they had before I left.

But our apologies and David=s wise reflections on good and evil did not cure my parents= abject poverty. They possessed no more on my return than they did when I left. Perhaps I could help them by earning money, fixing up the house, cleaning up the yard, giving them some of the good things of life that could not afford. Once I had settled down again, I would surely discuss this with them.
Alone

I was profoundly sad as I said goodbye to David. We had had an eventful journey together and I thought of him now as my brother and companion, as well as my mentor. He was the one who had introduced me to the city, and without his knowledge of business and the ways of the world, not to mention his automobile, I would have been hopelessly lost. My quest to find Robin would, no doubt, have proven futile, and I might not have even found my way back to Martha and Samuel.

Now Robin was with his parents, and David was leaving, and I would be alone with my parents and my thoughts. David promised me that he would return in a few months to let me know what had happened with his own family, and the two of us together would visit Robin to learn whatever decision he had made: to stay with his parents or to venture out on his own. And how his parents had fared react if he had decided to leave them again.

But if Robin left them a second time, I had no doubt that his leaving would be of a different nature than when he ran off unannounced and left his parents wondering about his fate. He would, I was sure, provide them with enough money so they could be comfortable for as long as they lived, and he would from henceforth make sure that they knew where and how he was.

I say I was sure, but I knew that neither I nor anyone else could ever be completely sure of anything. We all live in a world that is filled with people like Daniel and those at the bank who would have betrayed Robin in order to deflect blame from themselves. We live in a world in which each human being is made of both good and evil, and these two aspects struggle with one another. It is only the fool who assures himself that the good will triumph in the end.

But what was I to do now that I was back home My parents and I had no more money than we had when I ran away. The house was in greater disrepair than ever. The back yard was still littered with discarded, broken junk, and the forest was still threatening to envelop it. And now that David was gone, I had no means of transportation, nor did I know how to drive, even I had had a car.

If I had had the mirror now, I could have learned what the future held for me. As it was, I had to make my own future. As Robin resisted the fate the mirror conjured up for him, I recognized that I was responsible for my own fate, even if I still had possessed the mirror. My future was now in my own hands.

I stood in the backyard and surveyed the junk, the meager grass, and the trees. Ah, the mighty trees that stood sentinel at the edge of the forest. Their seedlings sprouted throughout the yard, and if we had not been diligent about pulling them up by the roots, the forest would long ago have marched up to the back of our house, and, ultimately, destroyed it as it completely took over our land.

Of course, the forest. It suddenly struck me that the forest which posed its constant threat to our home, could also become the source of our well-being. The trees themselves were valuable. Our land ran well into the forest, and we could sell timber to better our condition.

Yes, I looked upon the trees as living beings. I had grown up with them. They were my childhood companions. But now they could help me and my parents rise out of our grinding poverty and build a better future for ourselves, and with their wood build a future for others as well. The seedlings that I saw throughout our yard gave witness that the forest would renew itself if we were wise enough to allow it to do so. If the resources of the forest were used wisely, they could last for centuries.

But being so isolated and without transportation or business experience, how was I to arrange to sell the timber? As if in answer to my question, a truck stopped in front of our house, and out of it stepped none other than Robin.

I ran over to greet him. ARobin, I hadn=t expected to see you for awhile. But I=m so glad you=re here. How are your parents?@

Robin clasped my hand and stood silently for a moment trying to grasp the strangeness of my house and its grounds. AAdam, I just had to come to see you. After all, it only takes less than half an hour to drive here from my parents= place. It would take even less if we built a road through the forest. Maybe someday . . .@

He paused. I had no doubt that he was embarrassed by the evident poverty in which my parents and I lived. Even though Martha and Samuel=s farm was not as large as many of the farms near them, it was a comfortable size, and Adam had never lacked for anything in his youth. AI didn=t realize,@ he blurted out. AI=m sorry@

AYou didn=t realize what my home was like,@ I replied. AThere is no need to apologize. This is my home. This is where I grew up and where my parents have lived almost from the day they married. This is where I live now, even though I know how shabby it must look and much work needs to be done to fix it up.

AAnyway, I was thinking about selling some of the timber on our land so I could raise enough money to make the house look new again. Of course, I=d also want to clean up the yard and do some landscaping.@

Robin looked at the ground, as if he could not bear to look at the sorry state of my home. AActually, I drove over not just to see how you were doing. I have a job to offer you. I would like you to help me run the farm. My parents are too frail to do all that needs to be done, and I have some ideas to improve the business and make it more profitable than it is now. There=s a lot of good land there, but my parents weren=t using it to its full potential. But I need some time to develop my ideas, and that will involve a business trip or two. My parents like you, so I thought of you at once as someone who might take care of matters at home while I was developing my business plan.@

Robin paused and looked up at the forest behind my house. ASo you own some of the forest. That is interesting. I think you=re right that there=s the potential for making a fair amount of money from the timber.@

He paused a moment. AI=ll tell you what I=ll do. I lend you $10,000 right now at no interest, if you let me help you sell the timber for a small commission. You=ll pay me back when the trees are sold. If you own enough of these woods, we might be able to make some real money. Your parents could buy a nice house in town and not have to live out here all by themselves.

AIn the meantime, I still want you to help with the farm and caring for my parents. If your parents want to help you out, we could set them up in a mobile home on the farm. If loggers start cutting down trees here, they wouldn=t want to be around. It would be noisy and dangerous. If they moved to the farm, then we could just tear their house down and have a clear path for the loggers. Then you wouldn=t have to worry about repairing their house, and you could keep all the money you got for the trees yourself.@

Robin made it sound so easy. My parents and I should just move to his farm, and let our own land be taken over by a company who would cut down the forest, the forest that had been my refuge as long as I can remember. Our home would be paved over for a road, and all we would have left of the place would be memories.

And yet, it seemed like the perfect solution. I would have a real job, and my parents would be lifted out of the poverty in which they had been mired so long. In helping Robin, I would be helping them, and I would again be close to Martha and Samuel who I thought of as my second parents. I told Robin that I was truly grateful for his offer, but that I would have to talk to my parents so they could decide for themselves if they were willing to move, or even if they were willing to sell the trees on their land.

Robin and I shook hands, and he agreed to return in the morning to get our decision. As he drove off, I turned and walked slowly back to the house to present his offer to my parents.
Another Difficult Conversation

My parents were both seated at opposite ends of the kitchen table finishing a meager, but adequate lunch. I approached and sat down so that my father was on my right and my mother on my left. They both turned their faces toward me and smiled.

ADon=t you want to eat lunch with us?@ my father asked.

AI=m sorry I=m late,@ I said, Abut a good friend stopped by and we=ve been talking out front for awhile. In fact, he is the one that David and I went looking for. You remember David, don=t you? He=s the one who drove me home.@

AYes, we recall your friend David,@ my mother said. AThe one you were talking to is this Robin you told us about?@

AYes, that=s the one. He=s living with this parents now on a farm about 30 minutes by car from here. His parents are the ones I stayed with after I left the forest.@

My mother frowned briefly, but her smile soon returned. AIt=s somewhat odd for your friend to seek you out again so soon, isn=t it? What did he want?@

AActually . . .,@ I stammered, Ahe came to offer me a job. He wants me to run his parents= farm while he works on plans to increase the income from the farm. I=m not sure what his plans include, but I would like to have a real job. I would have a salary, and I could help you fix up this place.@

I could sense disappointment in my father=s expression, but I hurried on. AHe also wants to help me sell timber from our land in the forest. That would provide even more money. You might even be able to afford a nice house in town. He told me that if you wanted to move while the trees were being cut, he would put a mobile home on the farm for you to live in. That way we could still be close to one another. I=m sure there would be work for both of you, if you wanted it, with taking care of Martha and Samuel and the farm animals and the crops. A job would give you even more money.@

I had thought that my parents would be thrilled at this opportunity to lift themselves out of poverty at last, but I also knew that they had lived at the edge of the forest for more years than I had been alive. This house, this battered house, and the forest were what they knew. They understood the forest in all its moods, and they had fought a continuing battle to preserve what little they had against the attempts of the forest to claim it as its own.

When someone has lived with trees that tower over her house, that shade it in the noonday heat, that sing to it on a windy day, that harbor the birds and the animals that venture forth to provide free entertainment when she cannot afford to go to the theater, the trees become more than trees. They become friends. They are an integral part of the environment within which she lives. And certainly this was so with my parents.

Now to ask them to leave their house, even for a better one, and, worst of all, to ask them not only to leave behind the forest, but to consign it to the woodsmen=s saw, . . . well, I could sense their pain.

Perhaps, too, though they would not admit it, moving would be a sign that they had failed to provide properly for me, that what they had given me was not enough. Moving would be an acknowledgment of their poverty. I would have thought that they would have rejoiced to put such poverty behind them, but they were proud, and they, I am sure, believed they had done the best they could, both for me and for themselves.

They sat silently for a time, staring at the table. Several times my father looked up toward my mother, and my mother looked up toward my father. Then they both looked up at the same time, and their eyes met. I could see a tear run down my mother=s cheek. At last, my father spoke. ASon, your mother and I have never been able to give you much, but we have done the best we could. I think that you have come to understand that we love you very much, despite the ways in which we may have failed you.

AYou ran away. Your mother and I were hurt deeply that you would leave us without even saying goodbye. We searched for you every day, hoping you would return, or that we could at least learn what happened to you.@

My father paused, and I could see a tear running down his cheek too. My mother remained silent.

Then my father looked into my eyes and spoke again. ABut you did come back, and I sense you learned much while you were away. I think you know now that we do truly love you.

AOur lives are moving toward their close. Your life is opening up before you. Your mother and I could stay here, and we could allow you to leave again. But you would now be concerned about our welfare in ways that you would not have been before.

AIf we go to the farm, you will feel better able to take the job Robin offered you, and you would not have to worry about our house falling down around us, or our becoming ill with no one to help us. Instead, we could instead help both you and those good people who took you in and whose son you returned to them.

AAs for the forest, it has been our friend and our enemy for many years. Its life has been woven into our lives. To lose the forest is to lose something of ourselves.@

My father stopped and looked over at my mother who was now crying quietly. ABut time changes, and needs change. Having the money from selling the trees will help us live into our old age without being a burden to you and will set you free to make your own way into whatever opportunities the future might give you.

AWe will move to the farm, and we will sell half of the trees that we own. That will, I hope, leave enough trees for the forest to grow back again. Our efforts to hold the forest back from our house is evidence enough that the forest can recover so long as we do not wound it fatally.

AAnd so, you may take the job at the farm, and your mother and I will move there too as soon as you have a place ready for us. You may tell Robin that we will sell our land and the timber on it, if half the trees are left standing. He can take care of the details. But your mother and I want to be gone before the woodsmen come. We do not want to see our house destroyed, and we do not want to see our trees cut down. Humble though it may be, we want to remember this place as it was, and we will not return to it.@

Now it was my turn to be silent. I was seized by a mixture of grief because of what my parents were giving up for my sake, of hope because I knew that my parents would be better off on the farm, and excitement because I was stepping into a new and responsible life of my own. My parents, in their love for me, were, for my welfare, giving up much of what they valued. This was as powerful a lesson in love as any I had had in my search for Robin.

Words were hard to find to express my emotions. AThank you. I don=t know what else to say, but I hope that you will be happy with your move. I will be there for you every day.

AAlso, I am offering you the chance to work on the farm. I think you might really enjoy it, just as I enjoyed it the short time I lived with Martha and Samuel. They, too, will be there as your friends. You will not have the forest, but you will have other things to keep you company and give you pleasure. You will no longer have to live alone.@

My mother spoke. AYour father and I have been happy living as we did with the forest and what lives in it to give us pleasure. But I am certain we will enjoy the farm. I look forward to helping take care of the animals, and we will be happy having you nearby, knowing that you are enjoying yourself.@

ASo,@ my father said, Anow you have your answer for Robin. Let=s get on with what needs to be done.@

And so we did.
The Death of Samuel

When Robin was traveling, I was invited to use his bedroom, but I did not feel comfortable doing so. I realized that if I had not found Robin, or if he had refused to return home, that room could have been mine. I would have become the son that Martha and Samuel would have lost. But I did find Robin, and he did return. So, even in his absence, his bedroom still was his alone.

This meant that I shared with my parents the mobile home that Robin had installed for them on the farm. Fortunately, it had slightly more space than the house we had left behind, so the crowding was no more than I was used to. Moreover, I was up early and out for most of the day tending to chores, so my parents and I were not constantly tripping over one another.

My parents also quickly adjusted to a new routine feeding the pigs, collecting eggs, and milking the cows. Martha spent most of her time taking care of Samuel, whose health was rapidly failing.

The magic mirror had foretold that Samuel did not have long to live, or so it seemed. When he had peered into the mirror, he could not see his reflection. He took this to mean that he would die within a fairly short time. Thus, he asked that I return within three months, even if I had not found Robin so that there would be someone to care for his beloved wife once he was gone.

When I came to live on the farm, there could be no question that Samuel was weaker than when I had lived with him earlier. He spent most of the day in bed, and when he got up, he was using a cane to support himself. He fell more than once, to the our general dismay, but, fortunately, he did not break anything. In his pride, he wanted to do as much for himself as possible, but even simple acts such as shaving were taking longer and longer, and his behavior became ever more confused. Within three weeks of my moving to the farm, Samuel was unable to stand and had to remain either in bed or in a wheelchair.

The burden of caring for Samuel fell mostly on Martha. But she was not strong enough to lift him by herself, so I had to help her transfer him from his bed to the wheelchair and back again. He joined us at mealtime, but he ate less and less until it seemed he was surviving without eating at all.

Martha sometimes asked Samuel if he wanted to go to a hospital where they might better care for him and find a remedy for his failing heart. Samuel always shook his head in response.

I think Martha herself did not want Samuel to go to the hospital. She knew that the doctors there would do all they could to keep him alive, and their efforts would bring unwelcome discomfort and pain, whereas now, though he was dying, he remained with his beloved wife who had the blessing of caring for him herself in his final days. If he was to die, he would die at home in the arms of those he loved and who loved him.

How difficult it must have been for Martha, but her love for Samuel would allow no less. It reminded me of the dear couple, Hiram and Emily, each of whom cared more about the other than they did for themselves.

Martha had been married to Samuel for more years than I had been alive, and they had been through a great deal together. They had found joy in their animals and crops and shared their sorrow when Robin ran away. If they had chosen to write a book about their life together, I am certain it would have made a long and wondrous story. It was their story, and now I was, in a small way, a part of it. And in helping Martha, I was learning more about what it means to love and what it costs to love.

If I had been Martha would I have been tempted to leave because I could not bear to see the one I loved losing his vitality and intelligence, indeed, losing all the wonderful attributes that she had treasured in him and that had made their marriage not only bearable but mutually enriching and supportive? The Samuel on whom Martha was lavishing such loving care was no longer the man she had married, at least in outward appearance and action. At times, he scarcely seemed to recognize her. But if he did not know who she was, she knew who he was. Her love for him could never bring her to leave him, or to cease to care for him no matter how much effort and courage it required of her.

Robin returned from a business trip and recognized that his father had only days to live. He apologized to his mother that he had been gone at a time when she needed him. He told her that he would have returned earlier if he had known how serious Samuel=s condition was, but that he would not leave her now so long as she needed him close by.

Thus, Robin shared in caring for Samuel, and I was able to devote more time to managing the farm. Robin helped Martha gently lift his father into a wheelchair and guide him to the kitchen for meals, even though Samuel now did not even lift his head when food was placed in front of him. Robin even helped bathe his father and clean him when he soiled the diapers that he wore in his second infancy. How far such actions were from the life Robin had lived as a prosperous banker. And which life gave Robin greater satisfaction? We never discussed the matter. It was much too personal. But he did not run away, even though he might have asserted that essential business still required him to travel.

Robin could, however, have hired others to care for his father. He chose not to, taking the burden on himself. This may have been atonement for his running away, but it was, more likely, to prove to his parents that he truly loved them. Robin, too, learned much about love in his travels with us.

When Samuel died, Martha was holding his hand. Robin and I were there in the room. My parents had offered to do all of the farm chores so that I could be present on the last day of Samuel=s life. Samuel=s eyes were closed. His breathing was shallow, then intermittent, then it stopped altogether. Martha wept softly. Robin went over and put his hand on her shoulder. I stood silently by the bed.

The funeral was simple. Samuel was buried in the ground he had worked all his adult life. Robin had picked out the spot on a slight elevation on which Samuel had often stood to admire his land. Yet, as Robin said in the eulogy, Samuel did not admire the land because of any financial riches it brought him. He admired it because it because of the spiritual riches he drew from it. To him, the farm was a living being, and with its life it nourished not only Samuel and his family, but all those whose harvests it fed. Samuel believed the farm was far more than just a means to earn a living.

We walked slowly back to the house. Martha asked that she be buried next to Samuel when her turn came to die. Robin promised that the tiny cemetery that he had created would always remain hallowed ground.

The mirror had been right about Samuel. He died only three months after Robin returned home. Would he have been able to defy the fate the mirror predicted for him? Perhaps, but I doubt he would have wanted to. He knew that we all must die sometime. He had lived a full life, and when he died his story was concluded. It was a beautiful story that Martha could retell over and over again in her heart as she waited for her own time to come. In the meantime, Robin and I, and, yes, my parents, would care for her and the farm.
A Glad Reunion

After Samuel=s death, Robin stayed at home to help his mother grieve, and, no doubt, to grieve himself. It was only as Samuel=s life approached its end that he grew truly close to his father and come to appreciate his greatness. No, Samuel had never amassed a fortune, nor had he garnered any power or substance in worldly terms, but he had loved his wife and his son, and he had achieved a deeper wisdom and inner harmony through that love and through the constancy of his work on the farm. Robin glimpsed this wisdom and harmony in his dying father, and, in the depths of his soul, he wanted this for himself, even though he did not yet truly comprehend it. Such wisdom and harmony is not gained quickly, nor is it lightly earned. I suspect that it was easier for Robin to have amassed his earthly fortune than it was for Samuel to have accumulated his spiritual treasure.

After a time, Robin resumed his travels. He never spoke much to me, or even his mother, about where he was going, or what he did when he got there. He was, however, gone for anywhere from a day or two to as much as a week at a time. Then, about four months after Samuel=s death, he had been home for only two hours when he called me aside.

AYou have never asked me about my travels,@ he began. AI was pleased because I did not want to talk about where I was going, or what I was doing. This was not because I was ashamed of my efforts, but because I was uncertain how they would turn out. I did not want to raise false hope for fear that if the hope was not realized, you would be disappointed. But now I can report that my efforts turned out well.@

Robin was beaming broadly. ACan I ask then what you were doing?@ I asked. AYou are obviously pleased with the results.@ I admit I was somewhat apprehensive because I was unsure whether Robin cared about the farm and its future, or if he was more interested in making as much money as he could in another business, perhaps in some distant city.

AYou remember David, of course,@ he began. AEarly in my travels I went to visit him to see how he was doing. Well, it turned out that he was doing rather well, though it was not easy for him.

AWhen he returned to his family, he found that the business his parents had built was in desperate shape. His uncle=s only interest in the business was to make as much money for himself as he could. Unfortunately, he had no talent as a manager and his greed led him to make some disastrous decisions that alienated some of his best customers. To top it off, he treated his workers badly, so the workers= morale fell. They became angry at the uncle and called a strike that almost totally destroyed what was left of the business.

ADavid arrived home just in time. The uncle actually welcomed him, having sense enough to know that if something dramatic did not happen soon to save the business, there would be no business to save.

AThe workers were overjoyed to see David and agreed to return to work while he tried to get things back in order. David contacted all of the firm=s customers, apologized for the way they had been treated, and offered them special bargains if they would give his business as second chance.

ADavid asked me if I would help him get the business back on its feet, given my experience in banking and finance. So on most of my trips I have visited with David. I am delighted to report that the business is doing well again. David gave his aunt and uncle sufficient income so they could be comfortable in return for the uncle=s agreeing to move to a city far away and not have any further contact with the business. Actually, David could have sued the uncle for the damage he did to the business, but David decided to put the sad episode behind and treat his aunt and uncle gently. It would not have helped the business, or anyone, to go to court, and the uncle did not have any money anyway to pay an award.

AHis sisters were glad to see David again because the aunt and uncle had become more and more demanding and angry as the business deteriorated. The family=s income fell so sharply that they were living hand to mouth when David came back. David forgave his sisters too for their siding with the uncle against him. He is also teaching them how to take an active role in running the business so that they could take over themselves if something were to happen to him. All in all, I think everyone learned a great deal from David=s absence.@

AI am delighted to hear this,@ I said, Abut I hope David himself learned a great deal from our experiences together.@

AYes, he did,@ Robin replied. AI don=t think he would have forgiven either his uncle or his sisters without our time together. Indeed, he might never even have gone home.

ABut there is more good news. Both David and I now are wealthy. We have much more money than we need to fulfill all our reasonable desires. We decided that we want to use our excess for good works of some sort. And so, during much of the time I spent with David, we talked about what such good works might be. How could we use our money to do the most good?@

My smile revealed my pleasure. This proved that Robin had changed dramatically since we found him at his bank. He now wanted to use his remarkable talents for the good of others rather than to accumulate wealth for himself. AThat=s wonderful news. So what are you and David planning to do?@

Robin smiled back at me. AYou remember how much poverty we saw as we drove back to my parents. You remember, too, Scott Wilson, the man you found lying by the side of the road, may have saved our lives by warning us to leave Hardwick immediately when we stopped to see what Daniel had done there. That convinced me that the kindness we show to others can bring blessings on ourselves, even if that is not why we did what we did.

ADaniel did enormous damage in Hardwick and in Danieltown. David and I want to help the people there rebuild and prosper again. We bought what was left of Daniel=s company and are cleaning up the mess Daniel made. We are giving the profits back to people in Hardwick and Danieltown so they can do the good things that Daniel had promised but never delivered.

AWe are also going to use this farm to teach poor people how to farm and grow their own food. You and your parents are welcome to stay here as long as you want to help David and me in our project. Of course, we will all give the best care we can of Martha.@

ADo you know that Martha will approve of your plans?@ I asked.

AI have mentioned them to her, and she is pleased that the farm will be used to help others to live the kind of life that she and Samuel enjoyed for so many years. Once we train someone to farm, we will make sure they have enough land to take care of their own needs. We are naming the training program we are starting in honor of Samuel. Martha was especially pleased with that.@

Only three days after this wonderful conversation, David himself drove to the farm to work with Robin and myself on bringing their school into being. My parents were, I suppose, the first fruits of their visionary plans because they had learned how to farm and had settled into an active life much different from their previous dreary existence. I truly believed they were happier now than they had been at any time since they married.

And all of these good things happened because I ventured into the forest to run away from parents I thought did not love me. And in the adventures that followed, I learned more about what love truly means and that they loved me after all.

6

