Daughter of the Stars [070-066-4.8]

By: Phyllis A. Whitney

Synopsis:

Copyright 1994 by Phyllis A. Whitney

Random House, Inc." New York, Toronto, London, Sydney, Auckland

Reproduced by arrangement with Crown Publishers, Inc." New York, USA

The right of Phyllis A. Whitney to be identified as the Author of the
Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs
and Patents Act 1988.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,
stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any
means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor
otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in
which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on
the subsequent purchaser.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real
persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British


ISBN 0 340 63779 X

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chatham plc, Chatham, Kent

Hodder and Stoughton A Division of Hodder Headline PLC 338 Euston Road London
NW1 3BH

For Georgia, my daughter, my best friend, always my first editor.

Through the gloom of the night, Sunday, October 16, 1859, a small band
of men tramped silently behind a horse-drawn wagon down a winding
Maryland road leading to Harper's Ferry, Virginia.

From the shoulder of each man hung loosely a Sharps rifle, hidden by
long gray shawls that protected the ghostly figures against the chilling
air of approaching winter. A slight drizzle of rain veiled the towering
Blue Ridge Mountains with an eerie mist. Not a sound broke the
stillness, save the tramping feet and the creaking wagon.

From John Brown's Raid, based on National Park Service reports by
William C. Everhart and Arthur L. Sullivan

Foreword:

BEFORE I FINISH work on a current novel, I am alert- for the
setting and opening situation for my next book. However, with my novel
Star Flight winding toward its climactic scene, I had no idea where to
turn next. These days I limit myself to settings that are not too far
away from where I live, so I don't have the whole country to choose
from. By chance, Madeline Delgado, a friend of my daughter, suggested
Harpers Ferry, which is only a two-hour drive away. I wasn't especially
interested. To me. Harpers Ferry was only a dot on a map made famous
by John Brown, and his story had already been told many times. But
Madeline's enthusiasm for the beauty of the place (apparently shared by
Thomas Jefferson) caught my attention. So we set up the trip and my
daughter drove me north through the Shenandoah Valley.

The red buds and dogwood were in bright bloom, though they had already
had their day in Charlottesville. The anticipation of a new "adventure"
was strong, and I wasn't disappointed. Before I had spent an hour in
Harpers Ferry, I knew how much I had to learn about John Brown, and how
exciting the details of his story are in the place where it all
happened. I explored the small area--unlike any setting I had written
about--and came home with armloads of books, maps, and pictures. I
still had no idea where any of this was going to take me, but then
something happened that has never happened to me before.

I dreamed the opening for Daughter of the Stars. The details were vivid
and the dream stayed with me. I had no idea what the strange scene in
the dream meant, but I knew it would be central to my story.

I've written this into my opening paragraphs under the heading of
"History." The novel takes place more than a hundred years later.

As always, strangers who became friends helped me find my way. Linda
Rago was in charge of the Historical Society's bookstore on the day when
we walked in from Shenandoah Street. She filled a shopping bag for me
with books and pamphlets, maps and pictures; she invited us to visit her
beautiful house, which had survived the fighting and still stands as it
has since before the Civil War. Linda's delightful book, Dooryard
Herbs, gave me the inspiration for the herb garden in the story.

It was Linda who arranged for us to visit Philip Stryker and Pierre
Dostert in their remarkable, early-twentieth-century house.

Thank you, Phil and Pierre, for your hospitality and interest, and for
not minding when I gave away your house to a character in my novel.

Nancy Manuel, Director of the Bolivar-Harpers Ferry Public Library,
became a constant source of information after I came home and began to
find out how much I didn't know. She even talked to the Park Rangers
for me, and walked about Virginius Island to find answers to my
questions. I wish I could have used that charming library for a scene,
but this didn't work out. The town of Bolivar received its new name (it
had been called Mudfort) about fifty years after the American
Revolution. Simon Bolivar was popular in America and the press called
him the George Washington of South America. This was the first town in
the United States to be named Bolivar, and a handsome bust of the hero
stands outside the library.

I want to thank Paul R. Lee II for his lively and informative guide to
Virginius Island. When he wrote of the legend of the Shenandoah, he
gave me the title for my book.

My special thanks to Megaly N. Green for her enthusiastic welcome when
we walked into the Interpretative Design Building of the National Park
Service. She introduced us to Nancy Haack, whose beautiful maps, drawn
for the Park Service, suggested an avocation for my heroine.

Megaly also sent us to the Division of Conservation, again part of the
Park Service, where artifacts are expertly repaired for Park displays
all over the country. There I discovered an old Civil War drum--which,
of course, really belongs to a character in my story.

Every visitor to Harpers Ferry is impressed by the work done by the
National Park Service in preserving and presenting the treasures of
Harpers Ferry. While I strive to be historically and geographically
accurate, I would like to add my apologies for any liberties I may have
taken as a fiction writer.

In my memory I can still smell the exotic scents of the Herb Lady's
enchanting shop. I have borrowed it for my story.

A good editor is priceless. I have found such an editor in Shaye
Areheart. Long ago I learned to listen and my gratitude runs deep.

HISTORY.

THE TWO MEN in Union blue stood back to back in pale, early-dawn light.
A thin mist floated around them, mingling with smoke rising from rifles
recently fired.

The old man was tall and thin, almost to the point of emaciation. His
face wore an inner glow of exaltation because of what he had just
accomplished. The younger man, his son, seemed undistinguished in
appearance, with the blank, uncomprehending expression of an ordinary
man who had committed an extraordinary deed. True, he had killed before
in battle. Even in hand-to-hand fighting. But this had been an
execution.

Beyond the aura of thinning mist and the more quickly dissipated
gunsmoke lay the bodies of the three men they had slain. The dead men
also wore blue.

Morning scents rose fresh and sweet around the living, contrasting
sharply with the scene of death. Just after midnight a storm had
thundered through the Gap where two great rivers met and became one, and
the younger man breathed deeply of rain-swept air, trying to steady
himself. Once more he longed for the peace and safety of his boyhood
and an end to all the killing.

Early-dawn stillness waited for the sun. The town that lay along the
tongue of the peninsula below these heights had hardly stirred in its
sleep, too long accustomed to the sounds of gunfire to give heed.

Easing his rifle into the crook of an arm, the old man walked across
stubbled grass, where tents had been pitched only a week or so before.
Now the fields lay empty, except for three sprawled bodies.

"It is done. Finished," the old man said. He went to check for
himself, to make sure that no life remained. His son watched bleakly,
and when his father was satisfied, the two set off to rejoin their
regiment.

But it was not done. It was not finished. The ending still lay far in
the future. The reverberations of what had transpired here would echo
through time to touch a generation that would not be born for a hundred
years.

One of the fallen men regained consciousness and moaned in pain. A
small boy of ten, hidden behind the trunk of an oak tree, came fearfully
into the open. For a moment he bent over the wounded man, and then ran
down a path that cut steeply toward the town and the place where the
rivers met. There in Harper's Ferry he could find help.

WEST VIRGINIA-- THE PRESENT.

THE WOMAN sat near the herb garden she loved to tend. A nearby redbud
tree, about to burst into spring color, shaded her from the morning sun.
On her crossed knees rested a notepad upon which her pen moved slowly,
her fingers uncertain.

It was hard to write to a niece whom she had once loved so dearly and
had not seen in thirty years--through no fault of her own. She'd loved
the little girl, too--her niece's child, Lacey, who was now a grown
woman. Perhaps it had been right for Amelia to take away the child
after the terrible events that had disrupted all their lives.

Now everything had changed and she could not deal with this new fear and
worry. She set down the words in a hand that wavered a little, and when
she had finished, she read the letter aloud to herself.

Dear Amelia: This morning I have been remembering the time when your
mother died so tragically. You were twenty- nine and I was your very
young aunt. I loved you and I know you loved me. I have always been
sad that everything changed when you married.

Poor Ida. Your mother was always fearful. Perhaps her own nature
helped to create what happened. When you took your little daughter and
left us after Ida's death, we all had a hard time dealing with the
aftermath. Lacey was only four, so she couldn't have understood much of
what happened.

I don't write these words reproachfully. I understood that you did what
you thought was best. Perhaps Lacey has been able to grow up without
these horrors of the past affecting her life.

But now, Amelia, it is time for you to come home. He has returned to
town and I am frightened. Why should he return after all these years?

What does he want?

I can remember when you were the strong one who stood up to him. Come
back to us, Amelia. I am feeling old and I have no courage left.

There is no one here I can turn to.

She signed the letter

"Aunt Vinnie," the name by which Amelia had called her in the long-ago
time before the dying began.

CHAPTER ONE.

WHEN I PICKED up the mail at the post office, I found one first-class
envelope in with the usual junk. It was addressed to my mother, and I
drove home in an unsettled frame of mind.

I recognized the neat handwriting; I had seen it every year of my life,
though only at Christmas. That a letter from this person should arrive
in April seemed to indicate an urgency my mother might not be able to
deal with in her present condition.

The postmark had always been Washington, D. C." with no return
address--impossible to trace. There was still no address in the upper
left corner, but this time the postmark was Harpers Ferry, West
Virginia. Somehow this hinted at urgency too.

When I reached the porch steps of our house, I could hear a voice from
an upstairs window. Mother's nurse was reading aloud to her. I caught
familiar phrases from A Tale of Two Cities, an old favorite.

My mother's bout with breast cancer had frightened me, though her
doctors were pleased with her recovery from the operation, and the
future seemed hopeful. If only she would make more of an effort to get
well. She was listless about therapy, listless about everything.

Now this letter had come and I was faced with a dilemma. What if its
contents were so upsetting that they caused a setback in her condition?
On the other hand, I could never open it without her permission. She
had a right to her secrets, though as I grew up I'd become increasingly
resentful of them. I'd never been able to convince her that all the
things she held back also concerned me.

I climbed steps to the porch and sat down in the old swing that dated
from my childhood. From here I could look out toward the distant
mountains that rimmed Charlottesville. I had grown up here, and I had
an affection for this lovely old Virginia city, with its winding,
tree-shaded streets and abundant flowers.

With April's arrival, banks of azaleas were just coming into full bloom.
I could hear the muffled sounds of traffic from arteries that snaked
across the valley floor, but our house had always seemed remote from
city life. I couldn't see Monticello from here, but I'd grown up with
Virginia history as part of my life, even though I'd never been sure
whether or not I was Virginia-born.

Down there in the older part of town stood the buildings of Thomas
Jefferson's university, forever lending a special distinction to
Charlottesville. I'd gone to school in this city, and my memories were
both pleasant and disturbing. I'd liked my studies and done well in
them, but even as a child I'd recognized that my mother and I were not
like other families. Other girls had fathers as well as mothers.

Or at least they knew something about their fathers. Most had
grandmothers and grandfathers, some kind of extended family. I had only
my mother and no explanation for our lack of family in a part of the
country where family ties mattered greatly. It held me back from making
close friends.

Even my name, Lacey, had set its mark on me. It seemed old-fashioned
and different as was forced to be different.

I knew only that I was named after a grandmother whom my mother had
loved. So this, at least, was a slim tie with the past.

My mother believed, however mistakenly, that she was protecting me.

But from what? Her refusal to tell me anything had set me apart. My
few "romances" had never worked out. Men didn't like that sort of
mystery in the women they dated. It hinted of some scandal that had to
be concealed. I was always on guard, holding back my inner feelings,
lest I be hurt. So of course I was hurt all the more, and had learned
that it was safer to give myself to my work.

My mother had always encouraged me to develop my own talents, and I had
created a one-woman business that partly supported us. My mother
received a check once a year in a Christmas letter--though she banked it
herself, and I had no idea who signed it, or what the amount might be.
When we needed cash to buy a car, or some other expensive item, the
money would be there.

Otherwise, we lived comfortably on my earnings from the brochures I
designed and illustrated for various merchants around the city. I no
longer had to look for work. My reputation was such that clients came
to me. My main interest at the moment, however, lay in a special sort
of book I'd created for children.

"Place books" I called them, and so far two had been published and were
well received. My editor liked my presentation of some special setting
with drawings, photographs, and a text that touched on the area's local
history. For these books I developed imaginative, illustrated maps that
took young readers on a journey through each place I wrote about. This
side of my life was very satisfying, but I always knew that it wasn't
enough. Now perhaps this out-of-order letter could open some door,
offer some knowledge of my mother and myself that I needed.

Each year when the Christmas letter came, Mother would take it to her
bedroom and close the door. Some time later, when she came out, I would
catch the odor of burnt paper and know that the letter had been
destroyed immediately. I would see that she'd been crying and that her
mouth was set in a straight line that warned me not to ask questions. I
had no idea whether she ever answered the writer. Her pain was so
great, so obvious, that I could not bring myself to question her.

Since my mother used the name Amelia Elliot, and refused to talk
about my father, I might never have known his first name if these annual
envelopes had not been addressed to "Mrs.. Bradley Elliot." But that was
the extent of my information. Sometimes I'd wondered if my father had
committed some crime so terrible that my mother had taken me and run
away, perhaps fearing for her life.

But someone knew where we were--the writer of the letters.

The fact that I was in my early thirties and regarded myself as sensibly
mature meant nothing to my mother, who still thought of me as her young
daughter. The bond between us was strong, but it was completely limiting
for me. Whatever this letter contained, I must use it to gain my own
freedom. The freedom to know who I was.

I went upstairs to her room and stood in the doorway. She sat listlessly
in a wheelchair she didn't really need. Her heart and interest were not
in getting well. Perhaps she'd invited her own illness. When I was small
I'd counted on her quiet inner strength.

Now I was the stronger one, and she could not take this letter and run
away with it.

I watched her for a moment before she saw me. Even with her present
pallor, she was still a beautiful woman. I'd often wished I looked more
like her. My hair was a dark chestnut-- not brown, not quite red--while
hers was a lovely light brown that was just beginning to gray. Once I'd
asked if my father's hair had been red, but the question had so upset
her that it had caused her to drop a steaming mug of tea and I'd never
asked again.

I would often stare in the mirror, desperate for clues as I was growing
up. I didn't like my own features. They added up to what an artist
acquaintance had damned with the word "interesting." I was larger of
bone than my mother, and taller. Now her look of fragility made me dread
what I must do. I hid the envelope behind my back as I bent to kiss her
cheek, my feeling of love for her so strong that it choked me.

She was all I had. There had always been only the two of us.

She read my hesitation quickly.

"What is it, Lacey? What's happened?"

I glanced at Mrs.. Brewster, her nurse. She understood and put aside her
book.

"Call me when you want me," she said, and gave me a slight frown of
warning as she went out the door. It was a look that indicated that this
had been a bad day, and I felt all the more anxious about what I must
do.

I drew a chair close to my mother's and plunged in.

"A letter came for you this morning."

She looked at the familiar blue envelope I held out, and seemed to
shrivel.

"Take it away! I'm not up to whatever she wants." A grayish look tinged
her pallor and her hand trembled as she waved the letter aside.

I tried to will some of my own strength into her.

"Do you want me to open it?"

I could see the conflict of emotions in her face. The old habit of
secrecy was so long ingrained that it was hard for her to let it go.

"Let me help you," I said.

"This time there's a different postmark--Harpers Ferry. The pattern of
writing at Christmas time has never been broken before, so something
must have happened. Let me help you deal with this. Whatever it means, I
should know about it."

I suppose that a time comes in every mother-daughter relationship when
the old pattern of child leaning on parent is reversed. Perhaps there
was even a touch of relief as she laid her hands limply in her lap in a
gesture of surrender.

"Open it, Lacey. Read it to me."

I slit the flap with my forefinger and drew out the handwritten sheets.

For an instant I wondered if I should read the letter first and perhaps
edit. But there was no time, and I read the words aloud steadily, even
though they sent a twinge of alarm through me. At least I had a
relative--a woman who signed herself

"Aunt Vinnie." Her plea was for my mother to come "home" to Harpers
Ferry, and she was someone who had loved me when I was little.

My mother covered her face with her hands as I began to read, and I
heard her wail of distress.

"I can't go! I'm too sick. Vinnie doesn't know what she's asking.

After what happened I never want to go back there."

"Of course she doesn't understand," I said.

"She has no idea of what you've just been through. If she's your aunt,
where does she fit into the family tree? Who is Vinnie?"

Her answer was so faint that I could hardly hear her. "Lavinia Griffin
is my aunt and your great-aunt. She is your grandfather's sister."

"Is the man she mentions having seen my father?"

Her eyes widened as though she couldn't believe I'd asked this.

"No, of course not! Your father is dead."

"You've never told me that," I reminded her, my voice rilled with old
resentment. We stared at each other for a long moment.

"How did he die?"

Something in her seemed to steady for the moment, as though the letter
had broken through her barrier of defense, reaching into some inner
reserve that had once made her strong.

"He was murdered," she told me.

"Though no one was ever punished and his murderer was never caught."

Her words stunned me and I could say nothing at all. As I was growing
up, I'd often created fantasies about my father--about meeting him and
filling in all those empty spaces in my life with the love and
friendship that would grow between us. Then the past would no longer
matter. My mother's words had wiped away these imaginings, and
substituted two terrible words: "murder" and "murderer." Robbed of this
dream, I felt unreasonably angry.

"How could you? How could you let me believe he was alive all these
years?"

Her face seemed to crumple; it was as though she grew older as I
watched.

"I'm so sorry, Lacey. In the beginning I only wanted to protect you. I
wanted to hold all the terrible things that had happened away, so they
wouldn't scar your life. He wasn't a good man, your father." I could
hear the love for me in her voice, but now I could think only of myself.

"Not knowing has scarred me in ways that you aren't even aware of.

The letter says that my grandmother died tragically. I don't- know about
her death, either. It's time to fill me in on my family history.

Strength drained away, leaving her weak and sick and hopeless. At once I
blamed myself. She must have suffered a great deal. She needn't have
suffered in silence, but I couldn't blame her for that now. She had done
what seemed wise at the time.

I put my arm around her painfully thin shoulders.

"Never mind. I'm sorry. We can talk another time when you're feeling
stronger. Shall I write and tell this woman how ill you've been, and
that there's no way you can help her?"

She closed her eyes, her hands lying uselessly in her lap. Then she
seemed to pull herself together and I recognized the dawning of new
resolution.

"As I said, her name is Lavinia Griffin. If you really want to learn
about the family I've kept from you, don't answer her letter, just go
there yourself. She can fill in all the gaps I've left empty. I owe you
that, but I can't manage it now myself. Help her if you can. But be
careful. Harpers Ferry is bloody ground for our family not just because
of its history. If old ghosts are walking, I don't want you hurt. That's
why I've kept you apart from all of that."

Her words alarmed me, yet at the same time I felt a stirring of
excitement. My need to know was stronger than any vague threat. All my
life I'd felt alone. Now it seemed that relatives existed, not so far
away. A great-aunt who had cared about me and wrote wistfully of her
affection.

"I'd like to go," I told my mother.

"I need to go. But shouldn't you tell me what Aunt Vinnie is afraid of?"

She showed signs of weakness again.

"I'm not sure. I can't explain."

"Is it the man she mentions in her letter?"

"Why would he ever return to Harpers Ferry? How can he dare to come
back?"

Her sudden fierceness startled me. Although I didn't know what she was
talking about, I felt uncomfortable asking her to explain. I told her
again not to worry and summoned Mrs.. Brewster. Then I went downstairs.

The old houses in our town had often been built with "second parlors"
perhaps the equivalent of today's family room. I'd turned the one in our
house into a workroom for me. Because of my interest in maps, I kept
shelves of them from all around the country. I had several maps, both
old and new, of Harpers Ferry because of its connection with John Brown
and its importance in the history of the South.

The location and configuration of the town were unusual, and these had
obviously limited its growth. In the northeast corner of West Virginia,
where that state met Maryland and Virginia, a wedge of land, wide where
it began, but narrowing to a low point, separated two rivers the Potomac
and the Shenandoah. Harpers Ferry (the apostrophe had been dropped
sometime in the 1940s) occupied the sharp triangle where the rivers met
and flowed together through a gap in the Blue Ridge to become the
Potomac. The text told me that this place had first- been called The
Hole, and it was here that Mr.. Harper had provided his ferry.

The town itself appeared to be tiny, the lower section now designated as
a National Historic Park. Residents lived outside this area on higher
ground, away from flooding. That was probably where I would find Lavinia
Griffin.

I might as well leave immediately, I decided. No brochures were pending
that couldn't be postponed, so only my concern for my mother held me
back. She was clearly torn between wanting me to go, and being
mysteriously fearful of my safety.

When I went to tell her my plans, she was full of suggestions, prompted
by her concern.

"Perhaps it's best if you don't let Vinnie know right away that you've
come. If you stay in some tourist place and say you're there to do
another of your children's books, you can ask all the questions you
like."

"Why shouldn't I let her know at once who I am?"

"Harpers Ferry is a small town and there's always gossip. Ask around and
listen. There'll be talk about this stranger in town. Don't use your
real name in the beginning. It's too well known. See what you can learn.
Then, if there's anything at all that makes you uneasy, just come home."

I had no intention of coming home until I knew as much about the past
that concerned me as I could possibly learn. But I didn't tell my mother
this. Perhaps, when I knew enough, I could come home and allay her
fears.

So it was settled, and the next morning I drove north through the
Shenandoah Valley. After I'd crossed the high Blue Ridge and gone over
Afton Mountain, the course of the highway lay well to the west of the
river, so its broad, muddy expanse didn't come into view until I had
reached my destination.

During the drive I felt increasingly elated because I was finally taking
some action about my life. I wouldn't allow my mother's nebulous
anxieties to become contagious. Promise was in the air, along with
spring, and a feeling of anticipation, of adventure, thrilled me. I'd
never before experienced such a sense of giddy delight in throwing off
the bonds that had held me, and letting myself go.

In my optimism I hadn't the least suspicion of the events that awaited
me in Harpers Ferry.

But even if I'd known, I would have gone anyway.

*


CHAPTER TWO.


* ALTHOUGH the drive took only two and a half hours my mother hadn't run
too far from home it might as well have been a thousand miles, a
lifetime away, and into unknown territory.

When I reached Harpers Ferry, the route I followed led me onto
Washington Street along the higher road of the peninsula. As it
descended into what was called, oddly enough. High Street, I began to
catch the historic flavor of the town. The streets were narrow and
crowded with gabled houses from the last century built wall against
wall. Some were of the original brick or stone, while others had been
restored. Most fronted on the sidewalk without porches. Decorous signs
indicated an assortment of shops. Nothing had been allowed to clash with
the old and the authentic, so that I had a sense of stepping back into
history.

Last night I'd again studied old and new maps of the area, so I knew
where I wanted to go first--just to gain some perspective about this
unique place. When I'd found a spot where I could park, I descended on
foot to Shenandoah Street, which curved around the foot of the wedge. I
walked past Arsenal Square, from which the historic United States
Arsenal, the object of John Brown's raid, was long gone. A bright green
expanse of park occupied what had been a busy, built-up section in the
last century.

A railroad trestle followed the water and I noticed that the trees along
the way wore the tender greens of early spring. I'd already passed a
redbud tree alive with purple-red blossoms. The season was less advanced
than in Charlottesville farther south, so it was like enjoying spring
twice. I walked out to what was called the Point and stood with my hands
on the protective iron rail. The two wide rivers flowed on either side,
the one on my left smoothly, the river on the right more turbulent,
tumbling over rapids. As they flowed together and moved toward the Gap,
sunlight caught the sparkle of seemingly calm water, and I breathed
deeply, feeling refreshed. It was hard to believe that this peaceful
place had once been "bloody ground," or that these quiet rivers could
rampage over the land, destroying everything man had built--as I'd read
that they'd done several times in the past.

Last night I'd managed to do a little cramming about Harpers Ferry, so I
knew some of its geography and history. On my left a footbridge ran
beside railroad tracks, before crossing to the Maryland side.

Steep, rocky cliffs rose to the height's above Maryland Heights. One
colorful account had told me that the Confederates had once held that
high ground, overlooking a Federal garrison at Harpers Ferry far below.

Surrounded on all sides and occupying an exposed space, the garrison had
surrendered and Stonewall Jackson had made the largest single capture of
Union troops of the entire war.

Across the water on my right rose the somewhat less precipitous Loudoun
Heights in Virginia. Where I stood was, of course. West Virginia.

A voice spoke, startling me.

"I like the way Thomas Jefferson phrased it," the man said, coming to
stand near me at the rail."

" On the right comes up the Shenandoah ..

" And indeed it did, pouring like shining white lace over rocks that
broke the surface.

He was looking at me in a friendly way and, as I never minded talking to
strangers, I smiled. A little taller than I, he seemed rather thin, with
short brown hair that curled tightly and showed a glint of gold in
sunlight. His eyes reminded me of the rivers a lively blue-gray, with a
spark in their depths.

His manner was easy and matter-of-fact, so I answered him readily.

"I've always liked the name Shenandoah best. There's a rolling sound to
the syllables. So why is it that when the rivers merge they both become
the Potomac?"

He looked ahead of us, toward the Gap, where a bridge now crossed from
shore to shore.

"The story goes that the Potomac was a mighty warrior and the Shenandoah
a feisty maiden who could be dangerously tempestuous at times. There was
a union when the two met, and she took her husband's name when they
became one--as the custom had always been."

I liked his easy manner, and I welcomed a chance to talk to someone who
knew Harpers Ferry.

"Do you know what " Shenandoah' means?"

"There are various claims about where the name comes from, but I like
the legend best--that it's an Indian word which translates as Daughter
of the Stars."

"Daughter of the Stars." I repeated the words aloud, savoring their
sound.

"That's beautiful. Are you a historian?"

"In a way. I'm Ryan Pearce and I teach history at Shepherd College.

I'm on sabbatical now, doing a book about Jefferson County--this county.

A pretty rich historical brew from the beginning, I can tell you."

"Including John Brown, I suppose?"

"He's certainly an important part of it. Harpers Ferry is famous because
of him. The torch old John Brown lighted probably helped to spark the
Civil War two years before Fort Sumter." He held out his hand.

"Tell me your name."

I hesitated, because I knew that once I'd told him my real name, my
identity would be known and I could not do as my mother had advised.

"I'm Lacey Dennis," I said, using a surname I'd picked out of the phone
book before I left Charlottesville.

"I'm here to collect material for a children's book," His handclasp was
strong, but brief, presuming nothing. "Lacey is an uncommon name these
days. Do you know that there's a distinguished lady in this town who has
the same first name--Lacey Enright?"

I looked down at the waters mingling beyond the place where I stood and
my fingers tightened on cold iron. Lacey Enright must be the
great-grandmother for whom I was named. It was exciting to know that she
was still alive. I wondered if my mother was aware of this. I'd been
starved for relatives all my life, so knowing my great-grandmother
existed--lived in this town--stirred something in me that I'd never felt
before.

I let his words pass as though they meant nothing to me.

"Perhaps you can tell me where I might stay for a few days while I'm in
town. I'm looking for something small and simple."

He considered for a moment.

"Well, there are several bed-and-breakfast choices in this area. In
fact, I'm staying at a very good place right here in Harpers Ferry. If
you like, I can show you where it is and introduce you to the woman who
owns it. But first I was about to go up to the Anvil for lunch. If you'd
care to join me, we can go by Miss. Lavinia Griffin's place after lunch
and you can see if she has a room for you."

Too many emotions must have crossed my face at the mention of Lavinia's
name, for he looked startled.

"I'm sorry--I know we've only been acquainted a short time, but I
thought you might be hungry and I'm sure I can simplify your problem of
where to stay."

I didn't want him to apologize.

"It isn't that. I'd like to join you for lunch. I don't know anyone
in town, and I'm grateful for your kindness."

He looked mildly pleased.

"Fine. Shall we go in my car, and then I'll bring you back to wherever
you've left yours." "Fine," I said and smiled, although I still felt a
bit shaken. This man not only knew of my great-grandmother, but he was
staying with my mother's aunt Vinnie. I couldn't let this easy
opportunity to meet my great-aunt slip away. I made myself relax as we
walked toward High Street. I meant to enjoy lunch and find out all I
could about Harpers Ferry.

For a little we seemed to have nothing to say. When we came to a small
red brick building, Ryan Pearce stopped.

"Here's a bit of Harpers Ferry history," he said.

"They call this place John Brown's Fort, because it's the building in
which he and his raiders made their last stand."

The old fire engine house looked peaceful enough on this sunny day.

It was topped by an empty white bell tower, and three arched doorways
opened into the one-room interior.

"Once there was a bell in that tower, but now it tops an engine house in
Marlboro, Massachusetts. The building itself has been moved a few times
even out to Chicago for the World's Fair. It was finally brought back
here, close to the spot where it originally stood. An interesting
historical fact: The United States officer who effected John Brown's
capture was none other than Colonel Robert E. Lee. Two years later his
uniform would be gray instead of blue."

The historian had taken over in the man beside me.

"Tell me more," I said, delighted to be with someone who had a real
feeling for what had happened here.

"Close your eyes. Imagine that it's night. There has already been
bloodshed, and Brown has taken hostages he's holding inside. The town is
angry, up in arms. There are torches burning and the sound of gunfire
everywhere. All night long it goes on, until the marines arrive and the
capture is made."

I'd closed my eyes and the sound of his voice as he told me the story
sent a shiver down my spine. Somehow he aroused unexpected emotions in
me--a sense of something long past that had left its mark on Harpers
Ferry.

When I looked at him, I saw the dreamy, faraway expression on his
face--as though he had forgotten the present in his re-creation of the
past. He sensed my attention and smiled.

"I get carried away," he said.

"Sometimes I think what happened a hundred years ago is more important
to me than what's happening now." I asked a prosaic question as we
walked on.

"Is there a good bookstore in town? I need to know a great deal about
Harpers Ferry for my own book."

He pointed.

"There's a very good shop right over there on Shenandoah Street. It's
run by the Historical Society, and you'll find one of the best Civil War
collections in the country on its shelves."

I noted the shop's location so I could find it later, and we walked on
in silence. Now I found myself suddenly focusing on what to do about
Lavinia Griffin. My mother's warning to find out a few things before I
approached her was still in my mind, but I was still undecided.

We climbed High Street to where Ryan Pearce's modest blue Chevy was
parked, and then drove up Washington Street to the restaurant.

The Anvil, he told me, was also the name of a play about John Brown.

While the building dated back only to 1985, the attractive interior was
more typical of a nineteenth-century pub.

We walked into a front room with a low ceiling and a good deal of dark
wood, and were seated in a high-backed booth. At night a larger room
would be opened for dinner, Ryan told me, but at noon the fare was
simple. We both ordered salads and homemade tomato-vegetable soup.

"Tell me about your writing for children," Ryan Pearce said when the
waitress had gone.

I explained that I chose small places that interested me and wrote short
histories of them. The maps I drew illustrated certain key locations,
and I would add little houses and buildings that would seem to stand up
from the page in three dimensions, as the viewer looked down on them.

"Of course I take a lot of pictures that I can use as a memory grid when
I'm working at my desk at home."

"Where is home?"

I told him Charlottesville and he said he knew the city well and found
it attractive. Again I was drawn to his friendliness and felt a genuine
interest in him. If it hadn't been for the question of Lavinia Griffin
and how I was to act when I met her, I could have simply enjoyed his
company and forgotten everything else.

"When you go to the bookstore," he went on, "look for a volume of
legends about Harpers Ferry. You'll find stories that may be useful and
interesting. Of course there are lots of ghost stories too. A local
woman has collected a good many and even conducts lively tours for those
interested in haunted places."

"That sounds pretty exciting. Have you ever gone?"

"No, but I've been meaning to. Perhaps we could arrange to do the tour
together." "I'd like that," I said, briefly averting my gaze.

Our food arrived and as I began to eat, I found myself thinking again of
my problem with the bed-and-breakfast. It was going to simplify my real
mission if I just went with Ryan Pearce to my great-aunt's house and
took a room there. In that case, however, concealment wouldn't be
possible. The moment I was asked to show my driver's license, she would
know. But did that matter as much as my mother had seemed to think? I
was no longer sure that a masquerade was necessary.

"Speaking of ghosts  ..." Ryan said, breaking in on my thoughts.

"I think one just walked in. There's been talk around town--half-joking,
of course--that John Brown has returned. Or at least someone who
resembles him."

Startled, I glanced toward the corner table where a tall, wiry old man
was being seated. His thick salt-and-pepper hair framed a bony forehead,
while a mustache concealed his mouth, and a flowing, spade-shaped gray
beard completed the effect.

Indeed, he did look vaguely like pictures I'd seen of John Brown. I was
disconcerted when his eyes met mine in a look that was chillingly
direct. I felt as though his cold gray eyes were saying, "Don't mess
with me or you'll be sorry," and I turned away quickly.

"Who is he?" I asked Ryan Pearce.

"No one knows. He appears and disappears very effectively. He seems to
talk only when he has to and nobody seems to know where he stays."

I wondered if this could be the man Vinnie had referred to in her
letter. My mother had seemed alarmed by her reference to him, which only
increased my interest, though I took care not to look toward the corner
table again.

When we'd finished our light meal, Ryan Pearce asked a question that
made me realize he'd known I was rethinking his offer.

"Have you made up your mind, Lacey?" He used my name easily, and I liked
that.

"Yes. I'd like to stay at the place you mentioned if there's room for
me."

He looked pleased.

"Then let me take you back to your car, and you can follow me up the
hill."

There was no time to explain the complicated matter of who I was and why
I was here. All I could do was play this by ear and see what happened.

Once in my car, I trailed Ryan up High Street. He took a zigzag turn
that led to a parallel street above and parked near a square-faced brick
house from the last century. When I pulled into the space next to him
and got- out of my car, I began to feel increasingly uncomfortable.

Lavinia Griffin hadn't asked for me in her letter, and I knew my mother
would say that I was doing this all wrong.

The two-story house was set on a grassy bank above the street so we
climbed two sets of brick steps to reach the small, columned portico.

This higher section of town seemed quiet and residential, with none of
the pedestrian bustle I'd witnessed in the Park area below. Near the
house another redbud tree bloomed in glorious blossom.

Ryan opened the unlocked front door and gestured me into a narrow hall
that seemed to run the length of the house from front to back. I stepped
in hesitantly, still uncertain of what I would say or do.

This wasn't like me. I usually made up my mind quickly and flew into
action. Now I felt like a child, with all of a child's uncertainties.

Perhaps I'd been in this house when I was small. Perhaps my mother had
once lived here. Something strange was happening to me.

A faint scent lingered in the air--both sweet and spicy and wonderfully
familiar. Something in me remembered, even though I had no conscious
recognition of anything I saw. It was as though in some long-ago time
that fragrance had signified a state of safety and happiness.

A half circle of desk had been tucked under slanting stairs that ran
steeply to the floor above. Since no one had appeared, Ryan rang a small
brass bell and a tinkling sounded clearly in the orderly silence.

A woman appeared from an inner room and I experienced a sense of
immediate recognition. Though she was nearly thirty years older than
when my mother had taken me away, and well into her sixties, I knew I'd
loved her when I was small. For just a moment I had a foolish urge to
run into her embrace, but instead I merely stood and looked at her.

Lavinia Griffin's hair, from which pins were slipping, was gray and
thick, dipping over her forehead in a sort of pompadour. Her skin seemed
remarkably free of wrinkles, giving her a youthful look. She would never
have been beautiful, as my mother was, but she had aged well.

She greeted Ryan with a warm smile, and the long- forgotten child in me
wanted that look of affection to be turned on me. I gave myself a
sensible inner shake.

"Vinnie," Ryan said, "I've brought you a guest. This is Miss. Dennis.

She's going to do a book for children about Harpers Ferry. I hope you
have a room for her."

Without hesitation, her friendliness turned on me.

"Of course. The room in the garden corner is free and we can put you
there. Miss. Dennis. That is, if you like it."

The moment of truth had come as she opened the register and handed me a
pen. I spoke quickly, not looking at Ryan. "Dennis isn't my real name.

I hope you'll forgive the deceit, but I didn't want to tell anyone my
last name until I'd been here for a little while."

I wrote Lacey Elliot and my Charlottesville address firmly along the
line her finger indicated, and then waited to see how it would be
received.

My great-aunt put on her glasses and turned the book around. As she read
what I had written, a Hush or excitement rose in her cheeks.

"No you can't be! I asked Amelia to come. I never dreamed  ..." "I'm
sorry," I said.

"My mother has been very ill, so I've come in her stead." I threw an
apologetic look at Ryan, but he was staring at the register, his face
telling me nothing.

Vinnie stood looking at me, her hands resting palms down on the sheet I
had just signed. Then she held them out to me and tears came into her
eyes.

"Little Lacey! I've thought of you so often."

"I'm not very little now," I said awkwardly.

"I didn't know anything about you until your letter came yesterday and I
read it to my mother."

She walked from behind the desk, dabbing at her eyes with a
handkerchief. I wanted to put my arms around her, but that wasn't an
easy gesture for me to make. Mother was seldom demonstrative, but Vinnie
had no such reservations and she wrapped me in her warm embrace.

Ryan broke in, his tone guarded.

"What is all this about? Will someone clue me in?"

Vinnie smiled at him through tears.

"The last time I saw Lacey she was four years old. So I'm a bit
overcome."

"I'm sorry," I told Ryan.

"I know I've handled this very badly. I didn't mean "

"Oh, I don't know," he spoke dryly.

"You seem to have handled everything perfectly. You came here to find
Vinnie Griffin, and you've managed to move right into her house within
hours of your arrival. I simply don't understand why I had to be
misled."

I stared at him, unable to explain the complicated details of my
mother's warnings or the rigors of a childhood and adolescence spent
wondering if everyone's life was marred by secrets.

Vinnie shook her head at him.

"Don't be grouchy, Ryan. She was right to be cautious. My letter must
have upset her mother. I'm grateful to you for bringing her here."

His look remained remote, focusing somewhere beyond me.

"So our Miss. Lacey is your great-grandmother?"

I tried feebly to explain.

"I'd never known about my great-grandmother, even though I'd been named
for her. I didn't even know of Aunt Vinnie's existence until her letter
came."

Vinnie kept an arm around me.

"Well, I'm glad you're here and glad that you'll be in my garden room.

I'll take you there in a moment, but first I want to speak to Ryan."

"And I'd like to phone my mother," I told her.

While I dialed the phone on the desk, Vinnie and Ryan walked to the
front door together. I hadn't thanked Ryan, but I hoped I'd have a
chance to later.

Mrs.. Brewster answered and put Mother on the line at once. She was
feeling stronger, though anxious, and wanted to know all about what I
was doing. I quickly explained where I would be staying and promised to
keep in touch with her daily. I couldn't- deal with questions right now
too much was up in the air so I said I'd call soon and tell her all my
news.

Ryan was nowhere in sight as Vinnie returned to take a key from a hook
behind the desk. She walked ahead of me, leading the way, as I tried to
find some memory of this house that I must have known well as a young
child.

* *


CHAPTER THREE.


* AS I FOLLOWED Vinnie, I found that while the house must have been
built foursquare originally, a more recent addition dropped down a few
steps to a long hall at the rear. Its carpet was a cheerful turkey red
and led past windows on one side, and closed doors of guest rooms on the
other. There were only four rooms, so the number of guests would be
limited.

When we reached the far end, she inserted a key that opened a door into
a sunny room with windows that looked out upon a garden. I was delighted
to see that an inside door at the far end of my room gave me access to
the garden.

The moment I stepped into the room a familiar scent enveloped me and I
breathed deeply.

"I remember!" I cried in delight.

"Rose petals!"

She gestured toward a crystal bowl set on a drop-leaf table.

Colorful, aromatic particles filled it nearly to the brim, and when she
stirred the contents with a finger, the aroma of the potpourri wafted
pungently on the light breeze from an open window.

I closed my eyes, trying to recapture something that just managed to
elude me. I wanted so much' to remember.

"You were so little," Vinnie said softly.

"You loved that old rose bush out there in the corner of my herb garden.

I was lucky to have antique roses on my property. That bush must date
back a hundred years and more. Only antique roses have that special
scent. I dry the petals and add a few more herbs to spice the
sweetness."

I sniffed again, almost recovering some distant happiness. "There's
sassafras in there too, isn't there? I wouldn't have thought I'd
recognize the smell, but my nose remembers."

She laughed--a sound that ran lightly up the scale. I had loved to hear
her laugh--I knew that.

"What a lively, into-everything child you were!

"Sassafras' was one of your favorite words--though you said the smell
made your nose tickle.

You'd crush a leaf in your little fingers and sniff to your heart's
delight--even when it made you sneeze."

We were both silent for a moment. Without any doubt, I knew that I had
loved Vinnie Griffin dearly. There was so much she could tell me--and
not all of it would be sad.

She drew me farther into the room, and now she sounded brisk and
matter-of-fact, perhaps to hide her own emotion.

"How do you like the room?" she asked.

"I love it!" I looked around at the four-poster bed with its patchwork
quilt, the kneehole desk, a tall polished bureau with brass pulls on the
drawers, and a comfortable-looking, chintz- covered armchair. A rug in
the center of the floor was a large oval in shape, and undoubtedly hand
braided in its multi-colors. The frames of the two windows on the long
side of the room had been painted white, their small panes offering
ledges for rows of colored stones.

Through the screened door in the far corner sunny air poured in and I
could hear the birds in the garden beyond. An herb garden with lumaria
brightly pink against a white picket fence caught my eye.

Much as I wanted to simply enjoy what was being offered to me, I
couldn't relax. Not yet. There were too many unanswered questions some
that Vinnie might not want to discuss, but I had to begin somewhere.

"Please tell me why you wrote to my mother why you wanted her to come
here now."

"I shouldn't have written. That letter was sent out of my own weakness.

Though I can't be sorry since it brought you here."

"What can I do to help?"

"There's nothing anyone can do, really. I can only wait to see what he
intends."

She looked so vulnerable, so open to being wounded, that this time I did
what I hadn't quite dared to do before. I put my arms around her and
held her tightly. She smelled fragrantly of some herbal mixture and
again I felt the tug of something almost remembered.

"I'll wait until you're ready to tell me. Aunt Vinnie. It's just that I
know so little. I don't know why my mother ran away, or what happened to
my father."

She held me away from her and looked into my face.

"But that's terrible! You should know, although it's a hard story to
tell because of the complicated emotions involved. I don't know where to
begin."

"Just begin anywhere, if you feel up to it now." "Let's go outside," she
said.

"There's a bench in the garden, and perhaps I can relax a little and
talk better there."

She opened the screen door, but before we could descend the two brick
steps to the ground, we saw a small boy looking up at us gravely. He was
about the age I was when I left Harpers Ferry, maybe a year or so older.
His hair, the color of ripe corn, was cut in bangs across his forehead.
Blue eyes, fringed by long lashes only a little darker, looked up at us.
On one shoulder rested a calico kitten--black and brown and white--its
nose nestled sleepily in the boy's neck.

"This is Egan," Vinnie told me, and left the introduction at that.

Egan dealt with first things first.

"Her name is Shenandoah," he told me, and the kitten opened her blue
eyes to examine me with interest.

"You have to be careful because she bites at fingers. It's only playing,
so don't scold her."

"I wouldn't scold her for anything," I promised.

"That's a very big name for such a small kitten. Did you name her?"

"She told me her name," he informed me solemnly.

Of course! Kitten and boy were young enough to understand each other
perfectly.

Vinnie was looking anxious, and as she spoke to the boy, she watched me.

"Egan, this is Lacey Elliot. Lacey, Egan is your half sister Caryl's
son." I had asked for information but this news had come so suddenly
that I reacted with shock. Vinnie put her hand on my arm gently.

"Are you all right, Lacey dear?"

I wasn't all right. How could I have a sister I knew nothing about?

Somehow I managed to take the small hand Egan held out to me. He let me
squeeze his fingers, and that instant of contact sparked a communication
we both understood. Strange that reassurance could come from so small a
person, but it had and I managed a response.

"I'm happy to know that we're related, Egan."

He accepted this as though it were his due.

"Egan means " Little Fire' in Gaelic. My daddy was Irish. He died when I
was little, but he still looks after me. Now Grandma Ardra has gone
away, and Jasmine says she's never coming back."

Was Ardra my mother's sister? I had no idea where she fit into the
family tree. Mother had never mentioned a sister.

"Jasmine talks too much," Vinnie told the little boy.

"And she doesn't know everything."

Egan paid no attention, still intent on informing me.

"My mommy's gone to get Grandma Ardra, and I know she'll come back. She
promised me." Then he changed the subject.

"Would you like to hold Shenandoah?" "I'd like that very much," I said.

He pried the kitten's claws from his T-shirt and held the silky little
creature up to me, whispering as he did so.

"She's a friend, Shenna. You'll be all right."

The kitten was too young for doubts. She cocked her head to one side,
the better to examine me as I held her. A diamond-shaped black patch
covered one side of her nose, with a matching dab of black on the white
fur under her chin. I set her against my shoulder and stroked her gently
so that a deep, rolling purr resulted. A very large purr for something
so small.

"She likes you," Egan approved.

"But she won't stay still long."

Trying to think of nothing but the scrap of warm life under my chin, I
walked away from Vinnie and the boy, following a brick path.

"The bench is over there, Lacey," Vinnie said, coming after me.

"Let's sit down."

I was happy to feel the cool support of marble under me. I hadn't
expected that the first revelations would jolt me like this and I was
feeling impatient with my own reactions. From having no one but my
mother, I had been thrust into possession of a great-aunt, a
great-grandmother, a nephew--and a sister!

The kitten began to squirm and I gave her back to Egan, who set her on
the ground where she began to chase her own multicolored tail
enthusiastically.

Vinnie smiled at her performance.

"Egan, will you please tell Jasmine there will be one more person for
supper tonight?" And then she added to me, "\ don't serve meals to
guests, except for breakfast, but you're family and Ryan is a permanent
resident right now, so he joins us at night."

The boy gave her an enchanting smile that showed a deep dimple in one
cheek. The sight made me touch my own cheek, where I'd always regretted
just such an indentation.

Egan ran off and Vinnie watched him go.

"Tell me about my half sister," I said.

"Did my father have an earlier marriage?"

"I only wish!" Vinnie took a deep breath and plunged into her story.

"Brad was married only once--to your mother. He had an affair with her
younger sister, Ardra, while he was still living with you and your
mother. Caryl is four years younger than you and was born before your
mother left Harpers Ferry."

I was beginning to see what my mother had endured. "No wonder she left!"

"She didn't leave because of that. She left after Brad was possibly
murdered and" -- "Possibly? Don't you know for sure?"

"There were suspicions, but no one really knows what happened. You see,
dear, your father's body was never found. A jacket with a single bullet
hole was found on some rocks down river, but without a body nothing
could ever be proved."

Somehow this conversation didn't seem real. This couldn't be my father
Vinnie was talking about.

"My mother believes he was murdered."

"She is not alone. There was some circumstantial evidence that seemed to
point to my brother, Daniel Griffin, who is your mother's father--your
grandfather. Suspicion increased when he too disappeared.

People said he ran away to save his own neck."

She seemed to speak almost by rote and I knew she was holding her
feelings starkly under control.

"There's more, isn't there?" I asked.

She nodded stiffly.

"Daniel has returned, and I'm afraid, though he hasn't been near me.

Not yet. He is older than I am and we were never close, but I remember
what he was like--a violent man when he was young. I can't imagine why
he has come here now, unless it's for revenge."

"So many years later?"

"That's what makes it strange and all the more frightening. For some
reason I feel as though he's been brooding for all these years, and now
means to take some sort of action. He was only wanted for questioning,
so there's no charge hanging over him. Your mother was the only person
who ever stood up to him and got away with it. She was his favorite
daughter. He always frightened Ardra--and me.

Perhaps if Amelia were here--oh, I know I shouldn't have asked her to
come. There's probably nothing anyone can do."

"I don't think you should keep saying that. Since I'm here, perhaps I
should try to meet him. I believe I saw him today when I had lunch at
the Anvil with Ryan Pearce." When I thought of the chilling look he had
given me, I wasn't sure I really wanted to meet him, but if it would
help Vinnie, I'd try.

My great-aunt was already shaking her head, but we heard someone coming
through the garden from the front of the house, so she said nothing
more. Ryan walked toward us between beds of thyme and sweet marjoram and
Vinnie straightened on the bench beside me.

"I sent Ryan on an errand and we must hear how it turned out."

He stepped over a patch of borage to reach us, looking both amused and
annoyed.

"Did you see her, Ryan? What did she say?" "You might guess," he said.

"I've been given my orders. Lacey, your great-grandmother wants to meet
you. I'm to bring you to her house immediately."

Vinnie's distress was clear.

"Oh, no! Lacey isn't ready for this yet there's been too much for her to
deal with in so short a period of time."

"You sent me to see Mrs.. Enright," Ryan said.

"What else could you expect?"

"I didn't dare not let Miss. Lacey know that her great- granddaughter
was in town. I expect it will be all right. She was fond of Amelia."

Vinnie looked at me.

"After all, you're her namesake, and she can't blame you for going away
with your mother when you were so little.

You'd better go see her and get it over with. Ryan will go with you,
won't you, Ryan?"

I didn't care for this autocratic summons. Vinnie was right I had been
through a war.

"Must I?"

Ryan's expression gave me no choice.

"I expect you'll do all right racing the dragon in her castle."

Vinnie snorted impatiently.

"Stop it, Ryan! Miss. Lacey's not a dragon, and while her house may be
impressive, it's hardly a castle.

Just watch your step, dear, and don't let yourself trust her too easily.

Don't let her blow you down! Unfortunately, she has me under her thumb,
but that needn't happen to you."

"I'll bet this Lacey can hold her own," Ryan said.

Clearly he hadn't forgiven me, and I prickled at his words.

Vinnie saw my face and broke in.

"Take it a step at a time. Ryan, I expect Lacey's feeling a bit
overwhelmed right now. She's only just learned that she has a half
sister she never knew existed. And there's a great deal about her father
that she's only beginning to understand."

Ryan considered this and when he spoke the faint needling was gone from
his words.

"Maybe we'll just let Miss. Lacey wait a little while and take our time
about getting to her house." He pointed off beyond a clump of nearby
trees.

"Do you see the church steeple sticking up through the trees over there,
Lacey? There's a parking space near the church where we can leave my
car. Then, if you're willing, we'll take the long way up the hill. It's
a climb, but maybe the exercise will give you a chance to put things
into perspective." "A very good idea!" Vinnie said. She gave me a quick
hug of reassurance, and I followed Ryan out to his car.

When I was in the seat beside him, he spoke reassuringly.

"Don't worry. She's an elderly lady who's used to having her way. I
don't mind I just tease her and she seems to take it. Anyway, we can't
have you in a state of nerves when you're presented to her. I promise
you'll feel better soon."

I already felt better, now that Ryan was friendly again. With him there
to back me up, perhaps the meeting with my great-grandmother, "the
dragon," wouldn't be so bad after all.

As Ryan turned the car from the curb and started down the street, I
tried not to remember that my mother had never been in touch with Miss.
Lacey, and that what letters had come from home had never been from my
mother's grandmother.


CHAPTER FOUR.


* * RYAN PARKED his car in the small area that over],


looked Peter's Roman Catholic Church, and I got out to look at it, The present
handsome building, with its steeple arut roofs, had been built just
before the turn of the ^\ replace a small earlier structure, Ryan told
me. The|,\ spire could be seen from almost anywhere in Harpers) \
landmark that I'd already noted. \ We climbed wide steps to follow a
stone ), slanted uphill between groves of trees. Steep cliffs ( ^ 'fit
on our left, with the Shenandoah far below. On our (1,1 "i \ the
picturesque ruins of what Ryan said had oncu \ Episcopal church. I'd
always been drawn to old ^ would probably come back here to explore with

"IL These old stones might become part of the book I'm writing.

Soon the path changed to dirt, moving uphill in easy rises. As we
climbed I became aware that Ryan was watching me covertly every now and
then. Such observation made me uncomfortable. His impression of me
certainly hadn't been favorable since he'd learned of my earlier
deception, but I thought he'd forgiven me.

When we'd climbed partway up, we stopped to look down on the wonderful
view of the Shenandoah, where white water broke over the rocks of the
rapids.

"There's an even better view farther up," Ryan said, and we went on
along the upward curving hillside until a great slab of rock came into
sight ahead.

"That's called Jefferson's Rock," Ryan told me.

"It's where he is supposed to have sat looking across the river toward
Maryland Heights. He set it all down in a published book Notes on the
State of Virginia. He wrote about the two great rivers coming up on each
side of Harpers Ferry, seeking a way through the mountains. I remember
Jefferson's words. He said that at the moment of their junction they
'rush together against the mountain, rend it asunder and pass off to the
sea." So we have the Gap out there, where the rivers broke through in
prehistoric times."

He savored the words as he spoke them, and again I was drawn to the way
he could be excited about history.

When we came opposite the rock, he held out his hand. "We can climb out
there, if you like. Take hold it's rough going."

The gesture of steadying me was casual enough, yet I was suddenly
conscious of his hand, warm about my own and somehow comforting. I let
go of him too quickly, and barely managed not to stumble.

He smiled slightly and didn't try to help me again, which made me feel a
little foolish and impatient with myself.

We crossed an uneven rocky space to stand on a great boulder that was
propped on four short legs, supporting a slab of gray shale. Ryan
explained that these legs had been added in the last century, when the
natural supports of the rock were worn away by storms, changing seasons,
and climbing visitors. Now the rock rested securely on red sandstone
supports.

I sat down on the gray slab and tried to let all tension flow out of me,
so that I was aware only of the beauty around me. I began to feel
strangely contented, and more at ease, even accepting of the presence of
this stranger beside me. He seemed relaxed, and a little dreamy.

As though his own thoughts and feelings took him far away from the
present and into the past that he found so exciting and interesting.

I wondered about his life--did he have a wife and family? --but I hadn't
a clue beyond the little he had told me.

"When Jefferson first saw this view, he wrote that it was something
worth crossing the Atlantic to see."

This I could believe.

Far below the Shenandoah flowed with her own excitement, forever
anticipating her meeting with the Potomac.

"That's Virginius Island down there," Ryan said, pointing toward a
narrow, wooded island stretching along the near side of the river with a
strip of canal between island and shore.

"It's a historic place in itself. When the water power of the rivers was
harnessed, grain and pulp mills and an iron foundry were built down
there. And there were houses too, for those who worked there. Some two
hundred people lived on the island at one time. The canal was dug to
enable boats to bypass the rapids. It isn't used anymore, but the Park
has cleaned up the canal and the island as an attraction for visitors."

"What happened to all the buildings and people on the island?"

"The river won out. Floods washed everything away, and took the lives of
those who didn't escape across bridges to high ground in time.

There are nothing but ruins down there now. Your great-grandmother can
probably tell you stories about the island that have been handed down by
her family. Your family, Lacey."

I didn't want to ask my great-grandmother about the distant past. My
interest had to do with events much closer to the present. If I found
the courage, perhaps I would ask the alarming Miss. Lacey a few pointed
questions. Right now it seemed safer to talk about geography and
history.

"Why is there a West Virginia? Why not one state?"

"When the war broke out, part of Virginia sided with the South and
seceded. But some of the state remained loyal to the North and refused
to separate. During the fighting Harpers Ferry was taken over by one
side and then the other several times. A good many people who lived here
left and never came back. In 1867 the part of the state that had sided
with the North voted to become West Virginia, an independent state."

Undoubtedly men in my family had fought in that war-- though I didn't
know on which side. I didn't know anything. "If you lived then, which
state would you have belonged to?"

He smiled at me.

"My wife asked me that once, but I could never give her a certain
answer. My sympathies--and my grief--are still for both sides. She was
always very certain about everything. I suppose that's one reason why we
divorced."

I shouldn't have felt so relieved, but somehow I did.

He stood up and held out his hand.

"We'd better go on now. Miss. Lacey doesn't like to be kept waiting, and
we're already late. When she's not pleased, sparks can Hy."

"I don't think I'll like her," I said as he helped me up.

"I wish I didn't have to meet her at all."

"Being her great-granddaughter, you can't stay in Harpers Ferry for a
week and not hear about her, so you might as well form your own
opinions. Besides, how many people get to meet a great-grandmother?

She's very old and she's special. You may even find you like her when
you get used to her ways. So let's get started. We still have a climb
ahead."

I went with him up past the enclosure of an old cemetery. At another
time I might have stopped to look at the gravestones, but Ryan was
walking faster now, making up for lost time.

The path we followed wound above shale cliffs that dropped straight down
to a road that edged the river. Most roads up here were farther inland,
and we turned away from the cliffs as we rounded a turn.

Suddenly Ryan stopped me.

"There it- is--Miss. Lacey's house. It- survived the war and, of course,
way up here it was safe from floods, so there's a lot of history inside
those walls. Miss. Lacey has lived in that house all her life--Lacey
Fenwick Enright. Now there's a name to roll on your tongue!"

This was the first time I'd heard her full name, and somehow it had a
foreboding ring. It was a name that stood for position, perhaps wealth,
and clearly power. At least Ryan seemed to admire her, and I put a
little hope in that.

Now that our destination was in sight, I took a moment to examine the
house. Whether I liked it or not, this place was sure to mean something
in my life, both because of its history and because of the woman who
lived there.

It stood alone, without neighbors, plain and sturdy--an independent
structure that knew its own worth. A house like this had no need to be
beautiful in order to possess its own distinctive character.

Narrow gray clapboards rose two stories above a high brick foundation,
its width only three green-shuttered windows across. The rest stretched
into a long space at the back. Across the front at the first-floor level
a railed gallery offered a spacious place to sit outside.

Four slender white pillars supported the gallery roof-- not at all like
the great Greek Revival columns of the storybook South. Beyond the
gallery and off to one side stood a tall closed front door. I was sure
that the house observed us suspiciously from behind curtained windows as
we approached. Perhaps, already, we didn't like each other.

I told myself this was whimsical nonsense and went with Ryan up steps
that rose steeply from the ground at one side. A curtain moved slightly
at one window, and I knew that someone had seen us approach.

Before Ryan could ring, a woman opened the door and stood looking at us,
her expression anything but welcoming. She wore a shapeless black dress
that enveloped her bony frame.

"Hello, Anne-Marie," Ryan said and bent to kiss a cheek that wasn't
offered. She pushed him away crossly and he laughed.

"I know we're later than Miss. Lacey expected. We walked up from the
church, so this Lacey could see Jefferson's Rock and the view."

"You took your time," the woman told him.

"Miss. Lacey isn't pleased."

Ryan made a mock-despairing face.

"I'll take the blame. Lacey, this is Anne-Marie St.. Pol and she is very
much in charge around here, so be respectful. Anne-Marie, this is Miss.
Lacey Elliot."

His teasing approach to this guardian suggested that she wasn't as
fierce as she looked, and I gave her my hand.

Though her clasp was firm, it was brief and I had the feeling that she
already disapproved of me.

I watched as she turned again to Ryan. She was probably in her late
fifties--close to my mother's age--quite tall and thin, with carefully
tinted brown hair.

"Come on in," she said curtly.

"I'll tell Miss. Lacey you're here."

As she held the door open, I walked into a narrow hall, with a steep
staircase running up along the wall on my right.

Anne-Marie gestured us into a room on the left, opposite the stairs--an
old-fashioned parlor that might have come out of a book of Victoriana.

At any other time I would have delighted in this lovely room, but now my
focus was on the coming meeting with the family matriarch. I registered
only that a soft rosy aura, laced with bits of ferny green, gave the
room a dreamy ambience that was not intimidating.

A black sofa with a scalloped walnut frame made the one discordant note
in the room's soft colors, but its very distinction drew me and I sat
down, once more bracing myself. There was nothing soft about the
upholstery that cushioned me, and I wondered if this piece of furniture
was still stuffed with the original horsehair.

Ryan's eyes were watchful and I had the uncomfortable feeling that he
might be looking forward to the coming encounter. I must remember that
he was first of all a historian and an observer.

Anne-Marie had disappeared and, as we waited, my body seemed to take on
the stiffness of the upholstery under me.

Ryan had chosen a more comfortable-looking chair, and he still seemed
entirely relaxed.

"You'll be fine," he assured me. "She likes to keep people waiting so
she can make an entrance."

I reminded myself that I owed this woman nothing. Whatever problems had
broken up the family had nothing to do with me.

I was still revving myself up when she suddenly appeared, entering from
the hallway. Whatever I had expected, whatever the word "formidable" had
conjured up in my mind, it was not this woman who stood framed in the
double doorway.

From her slightly yellowed white hair to the tips of satin slippers that
showed beneath the hem of her long gown, she was a small figure that
might have been carved in ivory. Large silvery blue eyes seemed
incongruous in so small a face, and a wide, soft, rose-tinted mouth
broke the one-tone color scheme.

Ryan stood at once, and I found myself following his example, feeling
like a schoolgirl waiting to be inspected. As she took a few steps into
the room, she propped herself on a cane that was topped with the
fanciful carving of a gryphon's head. Her short hair had been combed
back from a remarkably unwrinkled forehead. Her face formed a small
triangle, with a chin that might once have been pointed, but now blended
into the folds of the neck below. Her gown, cut from a length of Chinese
brocade in a chrysanthemum design, was the same ivory color as the rest
of her. The standard Chinese collar partially concealed her neck, as was
undoubtedly intended. She was neither fat nor thin, and the otherwise
concealing gown revealed that her back was straight, making no
concession to old age.

As she came a few steps into the room, her eyes never left my face.

Then, startling me, she slipped her hand down along the cane, grasping
it in the middle and raising the gryphon's head at me. As I would learn,
this was a characteristic gesture or command. Gryphons, however
legendary, had been fierce creatures, and I wondered if whoever had made
the cane for Miss. Lacey had seen something of that same fierce spirit
in her.

"Come here," she ordered.

In spite of Vinnie's warning that I must not let her "blow me down," I
could never have found the courage to disobey this summons. She wore no
glasses, and probably saw more clearly close up. She waited while I
crossed the room to stand before her. Under her probing look, I felt
clumsy and oversized, and suspected that she enjoyed making people feel
uncomfortable.

"Why do you suppose they named you after me?" she asked, cocking one
eyebrow.

Her manner, her tone of voice, challenged me, and I recovered a bit of
my own spirit.

"I have no idea. I didn't choose the name." "Let me see your hand," she
said.

"Your right hand."

Mystified, I held it out, palm down. She took it into her own small
fingers and turned it over so she could study the palm.

"Humph!" she snorted.

"I might have expected as much."

I hadn't come for a palm reading, and I took my hand back quickly.

"What did you expect?"

"I never cared for your father--and his presence is there in your hand."

I had no idea what she was talking about and perhaps I didn't want to
know. I'd experienced no feeling of kinship with this woman, and I was
sure she'd felt none toward me.

She'd paid no attention to Ryan since she'd entered the room, but now he
came to stand beside her, almost protectively.

"I don't think introductions are necessary, are they? So I'll leave you
two to get acquainted."

"Yes. Go talk to Anne-Marie," Miss. Lacey said and flicked a dismissive
hand at him.

He glanced at me with a look that seemed to convey some message I
couldn't read, and went out the door. I suspected that he'd been happy
to retreat and leave me to face my great-grandmother on my own.


CHAPTER FIVE.


WHEN HE'D gone. Miss. Lacey walked regally to the armchair Ryan had
occupied, the one that looked more comfortable than the unwelcoming
sofa, and seated herself.

"Sit down, Lacey," she ordered.

"Tell me why you're here after all these years." Her voice was strong,
with none of the cracking that sometimes came with age.

I sat again on the stiff sofa, feeling that I didn't want to let down my
guard for an instant with this woman. Vinnie had seemed in awe of her,
perhaps even a little afraid, but I meant to pay attention to her
warning to stand up to this great- grandmother.

"My mother is recovering from a cancer operation," I said.

"Lavinia Griffin wrote asking her to come here. There was an urgency in
her letter, and my mother sent me instead."

"Amelia was the best of my grandchildren, yet she could behave
foolishly. You are her child, but you're also Bradley Elliot's daughter.

So who do you take after?"

I don't know what prompted me to say what I did, but the words came out
filled with challenge, like a glove thrown down.

"Perhaps I take after you." She was silent for a moment as her scrutiny
grew intense, then she smiled slightly as though I'd pleased her.

"That remains to be seen. Why did Vinnie write to your mother?"

"I'm not sure, exactly. I think she's afraid of her brother, Daniel
Griffin; she thinks he's back in town."

The ivory hair over Miss. Lacey's forehead trembled as she nodded.

"Vinnie's a nincompoop. She scares too easily."

"I like Aunt Vinnie very much," I said in quick defense. "She doesn't
strike me as a foolish woman. Perhaps she's too gentle and that makes
her vulnerable."

"You haven't known her as long as I have. Go on with your story."

"There isn't any more. It was important to me to come to Harpers Ferry
and find out who my family was. I've known of no one I was related to
but my mother until that letter arrived."

"How much do you know about what happened in the past?"

"Almost nothing. My mother must have wanted to make a clean break. I
didn't even know Harpers Ferry was where I was from. I'd never heard of
you before today."

That seemed to shock her, suggesting, I supposed, an affront to her own
sense of importance.

"Do you know how your father died?"

I answered her quietly.

"My mother told me yesterday that he was murdered. I don't know anything
else."

Miss. Lacey rose and walked down the room toward a small grand piano at
the far end. I had a feeling that her cane was more like a useful prop
than anything she really needed.

"Come here," she said over her shoulder.

I went to stand beside her and saw that the top of the piano was crowded
with small framed photographs. She picked up one and set it before me.

"That is my daughter, Ida, when she was young. She was your grandmother.
The man is Ida's husband, Daniel Griffin. Vinnie's brother, of course.
They are your mother's parents."

I picked up the photograph and looked at two young faces the girl's
happy and hopeful, while her husband's was more serious, suggesting that
he had been grim even in his youth. His was a strong, rugged face with
dark eyes that seemed to have had a chilling quality to them even as a
young man. I was more sure than ever that I had seen Daniel Griffin at
the Anvil.

"This man is here in Harpers Ferry now, isn't he?" I asked. "Vinnie
seems afraid of him. Why? What really happened all those years ago?

What is all this about? Or don't you know?"

"Oh, I know." She spoke with a snap in the words, as though I'd
challenged her again.

"Then tell me, please." I wanted to hear her version, so that I could
compare it with what Vinnie had told me.

She hesitated briefly, and then seemed to make up her mind.

"My husband and I had only one child Ida. She was born in this house.

And she didn't take after either of us she was a timid little thing. She
grew up to marry him." Her forefinger touched the face of the man in the
picture.

"He and his sister Vinnie came here when they were children and their
parents moved to Harpers Ferry. Vinnie became closer to our family than
he ever did. My husband and I never liked him or trusted him. But Ida
was besotted."

She reached out abruptly to take the picture from me and laid it
facedown on the piano.

Besotted, I thought. An old-fashioned word that said a great deal. I had
never known what it was like to be besotted and I hoped I would never
find out.

"Do you play the piano?" she asked abruptly.

"I'm afraid not."

"Of course you wouldn't. In my day, young ladies were taught a few
graceful talents."

"I can play the guitar," I offered, smiling.

Her expression told me what she thought of guitars, but this bit of
chatter was taking us down a side road that didn't interest me.

"I would still like to know what happened.

"Murder' is a frightening word."

"We don't even know if it really applies. But I'll tell you what little
I do know." She straightened her shoulders beneath the ivory brocade, as
though facing once again what had to be faced.

"Ida and Daniel had two daughters. The older is Amelia, your mother.

Ardra is a year younger. Amelia married Bradley Elliot. He was a local
boy, but he was never much good for anything except attracting silly
young women."

I heard the bite in her words, and knew that a lifetime of anger had
built up in this woman.

"We didn't want Amelia to marry him, but she was stubborn like Ida, and
in love with someone she should never have looked at twice.

Amelia had good sense in every other way. Ardra, on the other hand, had
no sense at all, but, physically, she was very attractive--and spoiled.

She'd always had just about anything she wanted, except her sister's
husband. And of course she got him in the end."

Miss. Lacey broke off and moved away from the piano, as though to be
free of any support. When she continued she didn't look at me.

"When your father seduced your mother's sister and got her pregnant,
Daniel went crazy. He threatened Brad."

"Vinnie told me that his jacket was found on a rock down river with a
bullet hole in it."

Miss. Lacey answered carefully.

"I suppose his body could have been carried all the way to the sea by
the strong river current. Once out in the ocean, it would never have
been found. When Daniel saw circumstantial evidence closing in on him,
he disappeared too, no doubt to save himself from arrest and a possible
trial."

"Poor Ida," I said.

"Oh phoo, she didn't have the gumption of a canary." Scorn for her
daughter cut through Miss. Lacey's words.

"The rest of us had to take what happened and live with it, but she
chose the easy way out. She threw herself off the Point in Harpers
Ferry. Your mother couldn't accept what had happened either. After Ida's
suicide, her choice was to run away and take you with her. So, in a
sense, you disappeared, too."

By this time I couldn't blame anyone for anything. This was a dreadful
story--much worse than I could have imagined--and both Ida and my mother
deserved everyone's sympathy.

Miss. Lacey put both hands on the gryphon's head and leaned heavily on
her cane for the first time.

"Vinnie took Ardra and her baby girl into her home and cared for them.

I give her credit for that."

"Why didn't you take in your granddaughter and her baby?" I asked.

"You have this big house with plenty of room. It would have been easier
for you to do."

She stared at me.

"My husband was ill. All these terrible events had made him worse. I
couldn't bring Ardra--the cause of all that tragedy--into my house."

All the while, as she poured out words of explanation, her eyes had
avoided mine, and I wondered if all she told me was true.

Instead of confronting her, I asked about my grandfather. "Why would
Daniel Griffin come back here now?"

"Perhaps for revenge? That would be in character."

"Revenge on whom? And why after all these years?"

Her face took on a wry look and a smile twisted her mouth.

"Why don't you ask him?"

When I stared at her in surprise, she walked to the hall door and
motioned me through. Neither Anne-Marie nor Ryan was in sight as I
followed her down the hall to the rear of the house. There a door opened
to an expanse of yard set above a thick grove of oak trees that ran down
to where the cliffs began.

Miss. Lacey pointed toward a small cottage that stood at one end of the
yard.

"That used to be a cook house out there. Mostly it's used for storage
these days, although it does have a phone. I told him he could stay
there if he cleaned it out."

I looked toward the small building, but there was no one in sight.

"You mean you actually allow that man to stay here?"

"He had no place else to go," she said, as though that explained
everything.

"Daniel's an angry man and I thought he might be more likely to stay out
of trouble down there, where we could watch him.

Go talk to him, if you like. Ask him your questions. If you have that
much nerve." "Who is he angry with?" I asked.

"A better question might be, who isn't he angry with? I was just testing
you. I wouldn't have allowed you to go out there. I want you to stay
away from your grandfather."

I didn't want to expose myself to anyone's anger, certainly not to a
crazy man who may have killed my father. Once I could get away from this
woman and her unsettling presence, I would go back to Vinnie's and find
out what she really wanted from my mother. If there was anything I could
do for her, I would do it gladly. Then I would go home to
Charlottesville, where I belonged, and I suspected that I would be far
more contented with my life there than I'd ever been before.

Miss. Lacey gave me a sharp look and closed the back door, before
leading the way along the narrow hallway. I spoke before she could
suggest anything else she might want of me.

"If we could find Ryan, I'd like to leave now." I sounded stiff and
unfriendly, and that was the way I wanted it.

But she wasn't through with me.

"Wouldn't you like to go upstairs and see the rest of the house?"

"Why should I?"

Her eyes flashed.

"Because you belong to this house as much as I do.

Part of you is Fenwick, whether you like it or not. A Fenwick built this
house, and Fenwicks have always lived here. Perhaps I'll leave it to you
when I die."

The last thing I wanted was to own this white elephant or to have
anything further to do with the woman who lived here. I wasn't surprised
that my mother had never talked about her.

She stopped to face me in the dim hallway, and I was aware of a portrait
on the wall above her head, lost in murky light. It seemed to be an oil
painting of a man.

My arrested attention caught hers, and she flicked on the hall lights.

"That is Jud Fenwick, an ancestor who is part of your remarkable
heritage. There is so much I have to tell you, show you."

The intense gaze of the portrait seemed to challenge me, Her face took
on a wry look and a smile twisted her mouth.

"Why don't you ask him?"

When I stared at her in surprise, she walked to the hall door and
motioned me through. Neither Anne-Marie nor Ryan was in sight as I
followed her down the hall to the rear of the house. There a door opened
to an expanse of yard set above a thick grove of oak trees that ran down
to where the cliffs began.

Miss. Lacey pointed toward a small cottage that stood at one end of the
yard.

"That used to be a cook house out there. Mostly it's used for storage
these days, although it does have a phone. I told him he could stay
there if he cleaned it out."

I looked toward the small building, but there was no one in sight.

"You mean you actually allow that man to stay here?"

"He had no place else to go," she said, as though that explained
everything.

"Daniel's an angry man and I thought he might be more likely to stay out
of trouble down there, where we could watch him.

Go talk to him, if you like. Ask him your questions. If you have that
much nerve."

"Who is he angry with?" I asked.

"A better question might be, who isn't he angry with? I was just testing
you. I wouldn't have allowed you to go out there. I want you to stay
away from your grandfather."

I didn't want to expose myself to anyone's anger, certainly not to a
crazy man who may have killed my father. Once I could get away from this
woman and her unsettling presence, I would go back to Vinnie's and find
out what she really wanted from my mother. If there was anything I could
do for her, I would do it gladly. Then I would go home to Charlottes-
ville, where I belonged, and I suspected that I would be far more
contented with my life there than I'd ever been before.

Miss. Lacey gave me a sharp look and closed the back door, before
leading the way along the narrow hallway. I spoke before she could
suggest anything else she might want of me.

"If we could find Ryan, I'd like to leave now." I sounded stiff and
unfriendly, and that was the way I wanted it.

But she wasn't through with me.

"Wouldn't you like to go upstairs and see the rest of the house?"

"Why should I?"

Her eyes flashed.

"Because you belong to this house as much as I do.

Part of you is Fenwick, whether you like it or not. A Fenwick built this
house, and Fenwicks have always lived here. Perhaps I'll leave it to you
when I die."

The last thing I wanted was to own this white elephant or to have
anything further to do with the woman who lived here. I wasn't surprised
that my mother had never talked about her.

She stopped to face me in the dim hallway, and I was aware of a portrait
on the wall above her head, lost in murky light. It seemed to be an oil
painting of a man.

My arrested attention caught hers, and she flicked on the hall lights.

"That is Jud Fenwick, an ancestor who is part of your remarkable
heritage. There is so much I have to tell you, show you."

The intense gaze of the portrait seemed to challenge me, but I rejected
him, as I wanted to reject everything else in this house.

"I don't belong here. Miss. Lacey. My mother was right to leave what
happened here behind and escape."

She tilted her strong chin a fraction higher.

"You can never leave behind what is in your blood. Certainly not before
you know enough to make a choice."

I'd already made my choice and I tried a last effort to get away.

"Perhaps I can visit you again before I leave Harpers Ferry. Vinnie is
expecting us for supper, and I'd like to rest a little first ...

"She dismissed this excuse impatiently.

"First I want you to go upstairs. Just go up and see what's there. It
won't take long. You'll know if anything speaks to you. Young Egan can
sense what's there and perhaps you will too."

I didn't like the sound of this.

"Sense what?"

"History. I've never let Ryan go up there, though he's wanted to because
of the book he's writing. But you are a Fenwick. The house recognizes
that and you are free to move about it at will."

I wondered about her sanity. Perhaps it would be easier to do as she
wished, and then get away.

"All right. Is there anything special I should look for up there?"

"You'll know if you find it. History leaves a mark. Go up quickly while
there's still light outside. You'll find candles, if you need them.
Don't touch an electric switch. That would be an intrusion and foreign
to the climate up there."

I refused to be spooked and I started up the steep flight with my hand
firmly on the rail. I turned and asked one more question before I
reached the top.

"What does Anne-Marie think of your letting Daniel Griffin stay out
there in your cottage?"

Her smile was almost roguish.

"She'd like to feed him ground glass, but of course she does what I tell
her to."

As she expected everyone else to do, as well! I stepped quickly into the
dim hallway above. The draperies were drawn, so I could see that candles
would be needed despite the sunshine outside. A small table near the
head of the stairs held several candlesticks, and there were matchbooks,
as well. I chose an old-fashioned tin candle holder, with a looped
handle at the rim, and struck a match. The flame burned high and
unwavering in the still air. I picked up the holder with its fat candle
and held it over my head. Moving shadows leaped up the walls with a life
of their own. Since I belonged to the age of steady electricity, these
wavering shapes made me uneasy.

I walked first toward the front of the house. The hall and stairs ran
along the outer wall, with a large room across the front. The door stood
open and I stepped into a room with a wide four-poster bed and
furnishings that belonged to the past. A commode held a china washbasin
and water pitcher with a flowered design. A rack along one side held
fresh towels, as though awaiting a guest. A bar of lavender soap rested
in a dish, and scented the air when I raised it to my nose.

Against one wall stood an old-fashioned wardrobe with an oval mirror set
into a door on one side. A space between heavily draped windows was
occupied by a dressing table with a flounced skirt. A bench drawn up to
face the round mirror offered a lady a place to sit while she combed her
hair.

I moved about the room, trying to sense whatever it was that Miss. Lacey
thought I should reel, but I received no message, no sense of the men
and women who had dressed and slept and lived a good part of their lives
in this room. Clearly, it was unoccupied now.

An adjoining door led into another large bedroom that reached toward the
back of the house. The furnishings were similar, and only the wallpaper
in the two rooms expressed a difference in tastes. Faded yellow paper
with a faint geometric pattern must have made the front room seem bright
and sunny, while this second room had walls that were covered with tiny
blue violets tied together in bunches. These too were faded and somehow
melancholy. But in neither room did I sense anything that Miss. Lacey
might have meant when she referred to history leaving its mark.

I wandered back to the hall and discovered that a third room remained to
be explored a rear room set into a back corner beyond the top of the
stairs. The door was closed. I put my hand on the china knob, but though
it turned, the door didn't open. I wondered why this one room was
locked. There seemed no point in continuing this futile exploration. A
woman as old as Miss. Lacey must be allowed her fantasies. I could go
downstairs now, having done as she wished.

"The door isn't locked." A voice spoke behind me.

Startled, I nearly dropped the candle. I swung around to find Anne-Marie
St.. Pol watching me from the top of the stairs.

She must have come up with a deliberately quiet step in order to take me
by surprise. In this light her black clothing seemed to fade into the
gloom.

"Miss. Lacey thought you might need help," she said matter-of-factly.

"Here--let me." She put her own hand on the knob and her shoulder
against the dark wood panel.

The door opened with an unnerving shriek and stale, dusty air made me
cough. The woman touched a switch at the side of the door and a light
fixture that hung from the ceiling sprang to life with a yellow glow.

Apparently Annemarie didn't bother to heed the edict about candles.

"This is where it happened," she said.

"Miss. Lacey prefers us to stay out of this room. It has been left as it
was and never refurbished, even to the old wallpaper. Perhaps keeping it
closed up shuts away any echo of the screams that must have sounded in
this room."

Her hand on my shoulder gave me a slight thrust forward, and I stepped
reluctantly into the room. Here the wallpaper was stained and torn in
patches, so that strips hung down, leaving the wall bare. What was left
on the walls showed strands of green ivy that seemed to creep along the
paper.

Anne-Marie went to one of two high, rear windows and flung the tattered
draperies aside, so that choking dust flew out from their folds. The
woman fanned it away from her face in annoyance, and I suspected that
she would have preferred to do a little housecleaning here. She raised a
window and fresh air blew into the room. She didn't move from the
window, but remained there, staring down into the backyard.

As I went to stand beside her and breathe fresh air, I saw what held her
attention. Daniel Griffin lounged outside the door of the cottage,
staring off through the trees. He held a ceramic mug in one hand and now
and then drank from it. Perhaps he felt our eyes upon him, for he turned
suddenly and looked up at the window where we stood.

Instinctively, I stepped back out of sight, but Anne-Marie stood her
ground. He saw her at the window and raised the mug in mocking salute.

She slammed down the window and drew the draperies, so that dust flew
again and I sneezed.

When she moved toward the door I spoke to her.

"If that man down there murdered my father, why does Miss. Lacey let him
stay here?"

She regarded me with impatient scorn.

"You'd better ask her. We might all be finished off in our beds anytime,
if you ask me."

"What do you know about him?" I ventured.

"I know that you should never have come here. You could be the spark
that blows everything to smithereens."

I tried another question.

"What happened in this room? Is this where history is supposed to have
left its mark, as Miss. Lacey suggests?"

She nodded solemnly.

"If you are very still and listen with all your being, perhaps you'll
hear her crying. I heard her once." She shivered in an exaggerated
fashion.

"I'm afraid I don't believe in ghosts."

"Then you're a fool. How could Harpers Ferry not be awash in ghosts,
considering its history?"

"Tell me what happened in this room."

She seemed to consider my question seriously, weighing the words before
coming to a decision.

"It's no secret--what was done in this room more than a hundred years
ago. There were often renegades from both North and South roaming about
during the war, victimizing old people and women who had no one left to
defend them. Most of the men in that war came from towns and country
farms--they weren't trained soldiers. Some of the deserters were rough
men, stealing and murdering. Three men who had deserted from Union
forces broke into this house. Ellen Fenwick was sleeping in that very
bed. They raped her--the three of them! Jud Fenwick, Ellen's father, was
away fighting, and her mother had died just a month before. Only the
servants were here--freedmen, not slaves--but the deserters had guns and
there was nobody who could stand against them. Poor little Ellen."

I looked at the bed, and a feeling of pain and despair filled me.

When I closed my eyes to shut out the sight of the bed, I could almost
hear her cries and pleading. Green vines growing lushly across the
remnants of wallpaper gave me a sick feeling of vertigo when I opened my
eyes.

Anne-Marie went on in a whisper.

"Nine months later Ellen Fenwick died in childbirth in that very bed
where she was violated."

"What happened to the baby?" I asked.

"That poor little bastard baby with a father she never knew? She was
cared for by the servants until the men came home from fighting, and
then she was disposed of."

I heard the words in horror.

"You mean  ..."

She shook her head.

"Not that way. It's thought that she was given to a couple who had lost
their own child. The family never saw the baby again."

"How terrible? You'd think Ellen's father would have wanted something
left of her."

"Not Jud Fenwick. He must have been a hard man. There're plenty of
stories about him. You can ask Miss. Lacey all about it, if you want."

I didn't want to ask Miss. Lacey anything. I'd had enough of tragedy,
both ancient and recent. I left Anne-Marie to close up, and hurried
downstairs to look for Ryan. All I wanted was to get away from the
ominous climate of this house and back to Vinnie's.

* * *


CHAPTER SIX.


* * * MISS LACEY sat outside on the front gallery with Ryan, who was
toeing himself back and forth in a swing. I stood for a moment in the
doorway watching before they saw me. I was glad to see Ryan--happy to
see him--as he represented sanity and the appreciation of small, safe
things. He had given me the breathing space of the climb to Jefferson's
Rock because he'd understood the ordeal I was about to face better than
I had. I realized now that I'd not been properly grateful. I spoke to
Miss. Lacey briefly, without mentioning what Annemarie had told me. Then
I turned to Ryan.

I wanted to see him alone and tell him of my experience in Miss. Lacey's
house, and when I smiled at him brightly, he looked a little surprised.

"I'd like to go back to Vinnie's now," I told him.

He stood up at once.

"Of course. We should start back, it's getting late."

But Miss. Lacey wasn't quite through with me.

"Well?" she challenged.

"Did you get a sense of what is up there?"

"Anne-Marie told me what happened in that room, so of course I was
horrified. That poor young girl!"

"There's more than emotion in that room," she told me sharply.

"That's why I keep it closed. Whatever is in there must stay shut in.

I wanted you to feel it because you are a Fenwick."

"That was all a long time ago." I paused and then went on recklessly,
because my feelings about the room were so strong.

"It should be aired out and the tattered furnishings and wallpaper
should be removed."

She stared at me in astonishment, and Ryan raised his eyebrows slightly,
so I realized how out of order I was. But when she spoke it was as
though she hadn't heard what I said.

"It's a particular disgrace that those miscreants were Union renegades.

Now, at least, you know a little of the history of your family. But not
all of it, by any means."

I'd learned enough in one day to last me for a long while. I hadn't
begun to digest even a fraction of this experience.

"Please, may we go?" I said to Ryan.

He bent to kiss Miss. Lacey's papery white cheek and there was affection
in the gesture.

"I'll want to see her again," she told him, as though I were a child.

"Of course," he said calmly, putting a hand on my arm.

"I'll bring her up in a day or two. Perhaps Lacey needs to settle in a
bit first."

That wasn't going to happen, but I took the hand she held out to me, and
felt a cool brittleness in her fingers. There was nothing left to say
but good-bye, and I started across the gallery to the side steps.

I was still badly shaken, and I didn't watch where I was stepping, until
something tripped my toe and I stumbled. Ryan was quick to catch me by
the arm and prevent a fall. I looked down to see that a large trap door
had been set into the gallery floor. What had tripped me was a circular
iron ring that protruded slightly. A handle to the door, undoubtedly.

"The root cellar is down there," Ryan said.

"With refrigeration it's not in use anymore."

I nodded absently and held on to the rail as I went down the steps,
uninterested in root cellars. The entire visit with Miss. Lacey and her
household had disturbed me more than I'd expected.

As we started back along the cliffs above the river, I tried to tell
Ryan what I'd felt in that upstairs room. Even though he'd never been in
the room, he knew its history and he listened quietly to my outburst.

"It's terrible that she keeps that room as a sort of shrine! I didn't
like her. I hate being related to all that horror. Besides, in recent
times, she must have treated my grandmother Ida dreadfully. I don't want
to see her again."

He spoke to me in the same calm, reasonable manner he had used with
Miss. Lacey.

"When you get to know her, you may feel better about the relationship.

I suspect that she's lonely living in that old house with only
Anne-Marie as a companion. She probably thinks about the past too much."

"I can understand why people leave her alone. Who would want to spend
time with her?" I changed the subject. "Tell me about Annemarie."

"There isn't that much to tell. She came to town from Winnepeg, Canada,
when she was about eighteen. Her mother had died a few months before and
her father was long gone, so she had no family. Somehow she and Miss.
Lacey found each other and she started working for your great-grand-
mother as a maid. Eventually, she graduated to housekeeper, the position
she still holds."

"Hasn't Anne-Marie tried to do anything else with her life?"

"Miss. Lacey sent her to a vocational school, but she never seemed to
fit in anywhere. She has that sort of personality. Working for Miss.
Lacey seems to be what she likes best. If there's any affection in her,
she keeps it for the woman who took her in when she needed a job and a
place to stay. I try to tease her and treat her in a friendly way, and
she tolerates me most of the time."

"Miss. Lacey actually spoke of leaving that house to me in her will.

She doesn't even know me! She's seen me once. Besides, I don't want it,
to begin with."

"For Miss. Lacey, once may be enough. You're her great- granddaughter,
after all. Perhaps she hasn't anyone else."

"What about Caryl?"

"Unfortunately, Caryl is Ardra's daughter, and Miss. Lacey has never
forgiven Ardra for sleeping with your father. She still blames her for
all the unhappy things that happened because of their affair."

This made me all the more impatient with my great- grandmother and I
lost myself in gloomy thoughts as we walked on. I found that I was
placing blame too--against my mother whose long silence had resulted in
nothing but confusion for me and an onslaught of information that was
all coming at once.

Perhaps Ryan sensed what I was feeling.

"Give it time," he said.

"You'll feel better tomorrow."

We'd reached the steps that led down to the church grounds, where he'd
left his car. I found his assurance about tomorrow meaningless and
didn't answer. When we were in the car, he went on talking quietly.

"You're upset right now and what you'd probably like is somebody with
whom you can get really angry. I'm afraid I can't serve that purpose,
but the best cure for me when I feel upset is to find something so
interesting to do that it uses up the excess anger that's turning me
inside out. If you still want to do your book about Harpers Ferry, why
not go out tomorrow and explore the Lower Town? There's plenty to see
and the best way to see it is on foot. You could distract yourself for a
while, and give everything time to fall into perspective. You do have
roots in this place and that could make the exploration even more
exciting."

"Thank you, but I've had enough excitement connected A. W H I T N E Y
with my roots to last for a while." I didn't want to sound irritable, so
I asked a question.

"Did Miss. Lacey tell you that Daniel Griffin is staying in the cottage
behind her house? He's the man we saw at the Anvil. The one you've been
noticing around town."

That surprised him.

"She never said a word."

"He's my grandfather. I seem to have more unwelcome relatives than I can
count. I know you must have heard all about Daniel Griffin from my
family. Why is Vinnie afraid of him?"

He studied me for a moment, still not starting the car. When he began to
talk, he stared away from me through the windshield as he turned the key
in the ignition.

"I'll tell you what little I know. Vinnie and Daniel were never close as
brother and sister. He's quite a bit older than Vinnie. After Brad
died--this is hearsay, you know, since I was pretty young when all this
was happening--Vinnie suspected her brother of killing him.

Apparently Daniel and Brad had a fierce quarrel--Vinnie has told me that
her brother had a terrible temper. She was ready to testify against
Daniel. I've seen the old newspaper accounts of what happened. Brad
disappeared and only his jacket was found later. It had a bullet hole in
it. Daniel disappeared at the same time. So what could anyone think?
Vinnie believes that he has come back for revenge, and she's afraid."

"Why now?" I asked as he drove slowly back to Vinnie's through the quiet
streets.

"He must have made a life for himself somewhere else. Brad's gone--so
who is there for him to feel angry with? Surely not his sister."

"I can't even guess at the answers, but it might be interesting if you
could talk with your grandfather."

We'd reached the house, and he pulled up before the brick steps. When
we'd climbed to the front door, Vinnie met us, her eyes sparkling with
excitement.

"Caryl's home, Lacey! Your sister's very excited about meeting you.

And perhaps a little scared. So be gentle with her."

I needed somebody to be gentle with me. I wasn't in the least ready to
meet a sister I hadn't known existed until today. I hadn't had time to
wonder about the outcome of Ardra's pregnancy with my father's child,
and I couldn't deal with any more family just now. I felt tired to my
fingertips, and when I closed my eyes green vines seemed to shimmer
beneath my lids.

"Please, Vinnie," I said.

"I'd like to rest for a little while.

Tomorrow I'm going back to Charlottesville."

She seemed to understand.

"It was as bad as that? I'm sorry, but you mustn't think of leaving now.
We need you here." She turned to Ryan.

"Can't you talk to her?"

His smile was sympathetic.

"Take it easy, Vinnie. Lacey really has had a hard day. Give her a
little time to collect herself. I don't think she's ready to meet Caryl
right this minute."

Vinnie looked down the hall nervously, as Ryan held out a hand to me.

"When things get to be too much, just think yourself back to Jefferson's
Rock. That's one of the most peaceful and beautiful spots I know.

Sometimes I find it helps if I go there in my mind when the going gets
rough. I'll see you later, Lacey."

He told Vinnie he had some work to do and went upstairs to his own
apartment.

Vinnie put an arm around me.

"Ryan's right. I can see that Miss. Lacey has upset you. She has a
talent for that. I don't think she realizes the effect she has on
people."

"I think she does," I said, and hurried away toward my room.

Once inside, with the door safely closed behind me, I kicked off my
shoes and lay down on the bed. But when I closed my eyes green ivy was
there again, and I tried to think of Jefferson's Rock. That brought Ryan
sharply to mind, and I remembered the small kindnesses he'd shown me,
and the patience.

As I lay there trying to relax, a faint, plaintive mew sounded nearby.

I rolled over and propped myself on one elbow to consider the source.

Shenandoah sat on her small haunches a few feet from the bed, her head
cocked to one side as she regarded me hopefully.

"Hello, Shenna," I said.

Clearly she took this as an invitation and Hew over to the bed, where
she paused to consider the height of the necessary leap. She gathered
herself and sprang into the air, landing inches from my face. A kitten
was exactly what I needed. I reached out two fingers and she sniffed at
them, examining each one carefully. Then she licked my forefinger with a
raspy tongue and curled herself into a ball of bright calico within the
curve of my arm. I wondered if Egan had put her in my room to welcome me
back. I stroked her soft fur, feeling comforted, and fell asleep.

The tap on my door could have been part of a dream and I lay still to
hear if it would come again. When it was repeated, I called to whomever
it was to come in.

A young woman walked into the room looking both uncertain and expectant.

I knew who she must be and I sat up on the side of the bed. Shenna
uncurled herself and watched with lively interest.

"You're Caryl?" I said.

"And you're my sister, Lacey. I hope you don't mind. I couldn't wait to
meet you."

Half sister, I thought. She wasn't my mother's child, though strangely
she resembled my mother more than I did. All those mixed-up genes!

Caryl was a slighter, more fragile version of Amelia. Her fair hair, cut
just above her ears, fluffed naturally about her face and her blue eyes
regarded me with open curiosity. I found myself at a complete loss. I
hoped she would be the one to bridge the silence in which we regarded
each other and she didn't disappoint me.

"Aunt Vinnie says you went to visit Miss. Lacey. Did she scare you, the
way she does me?"

Though there were only four years between us, Caryl seemed much younger
than I was.

"I suppose I was in awe of her at- first" I said.

"She's pretty imposing. But I didn't like her. And I hated her spooky
old house."

Caryl went to the crystal bowl of potpourri and lifted a few dried rose
petals to sniff. A delaying action, I suspected.

"I know what you mean about that house," she said over her shoulder.

"I only go there because Egan loves it and Miss. Lacey dotes on him."

Of course. Caryl was Egan's mother. In the confusion I hadn't quite put
it all together. At least all my relatives weren't unpleasant.

"Miss. Lacey doesn't think much of me," she went on, "even though all
that bad history that produced me isn't my fault. She can't seem to
forgive me for being alive, but you're her namesake--that gives you an
in."

She turned to look at me speculatively, and I suspected that Miss. Lacey
had hurt her deeply in the past.

"You know so much more than I've ever been told about the family
history," I said.

"This is all new to me."

"I met Ryan on the stairs a little while ago and he told me you had seen
him."

"Him?"

"Our grandfather. The scary one. The one who's supposed to have ..

Again she broke off.

"Maybe I've pushed all that painful stuff away because I don't want to
think about it. I don't know all of the story, either. Nobody wants to
answer questions, but I've put bits and pieces together."

"I never even knew Aunt Vinnie existed until a letter came yesterday for
my mother."

She was still focused in one direction and didn't seem to hear me.

"Tell me about our grandfather." She sat down at the dressing table and
her reflection looked back at me in the mirror. Shenna leaped onto her
knees, to be absently stroked.

"Miss. Lacey is allowing him to use a cottage behind her house. I don't
know why he's returned, but he makes me very uncomfortable." "I wish I
could meet him," Caryl said.

I felt sad watching her. We might have grown up as close sisters if
things had been different.

"I don't want to stay here, Caryl, but I wonder if you would come visit
me in Charlottes- ville?"

She brightened at once.

"I'd love to visit you, if I can bring Egan with me."

"Oh, I'd like that very much." I wasn't sure how my mother would feel,
but I would manage somehow.

"Perhaps I can go back with you when you leave," Caryl suggested.

"Though I can't leave for at least a few days. I have to meet him
first."

That startled me.

"Our grandfather? Why do you want to do that?"

"He's the only one who can tell me what really happened. I want to ask
him face-to-face how my our father died."

"But why would he tell you?"

Her eyes shone as she stared at me in the mirror.

"No one really knows who killed Bradley Elliot. Everyone was supposed to
believe that Daniel Griffin was guilty and that's why he ran away.

I've been picking up hints all my life, but I'm not sure which ones are
true. There were so many contradictions."

"From Miss. Lacey?"

She turned around to look directly at me.

"I told you she doesn't like me. She sees me because of Egan. But
otherwise she wants nothing to do with me."

"But you weren't responsible for what happened."

"Try telling her that. She's been really rotten to my mother and,
because of that, I've stood up to her now and then."

"Where is your mother?"

"She's gone to visit friends over in Maryland, because she's terribly
afraid of her father, which, naturally, makes me want to see him all the
more."

"Perhaps we could see him together."

When she smiled, she was very pretty.

"Do you think that's possible?"

"We'll find a way. In fact, we could go out to the cottage to see him
without telling Miss. Lacey first."

Her laughter was like Vinnie's, running up the scale. When she came to
give me a quick hug, I knew I would enjoy having her as a coconspirator.

Daniel Griffin, watch out! I said to myself. Suddenly, I felt more
lighthearted than I had since coming to Harpers Ferry. Foolishly
lighthearted.

* * *


CHAPTER SEVEN.


CARYL WAITED for me while I got ready for supper. As I washed my face
and combed my hair, tentative plans began to form in my mind. It might
not be easy to bypass Miss. Lacey and Anne-Marie in an effort to see
Daniel Griffin, but together we could act boldly. Miss. Lacey's
displeasure didn't really matter to me. We'd deal with that when the
time came.

I rejoined Caryl and we went together to the long dining room opposite
the two parlors. The others were already at the table and Vinnie looked
mildly impatient.

"Do hurry and join us," she said and motioned toward our places at the
table. There were five of us Vinnie, Ryan, Egan, Caryl, and I. As we sat
down, Egan was busy asking Ryan questions about John Brown, but when he
saw me he broke off and looked at me with eyes that were as beautiful as
his mother's.

"Hey, did you get to see Miss. Lacey's house?" he asked. "Did you go
upstairs?" I said I had and we compared notes on the creepy wallpaper.
He was too young to know what had happened in that room, but he clearly
knew that it was something bad.

Vinnie drew the talk back to the safer subject of John Brown.

"How is your book coming along, Ryan?"

He shook his head.

"It's not always easy. Right now I'm trying to find out more about what
Brown was really like as a man. There's plenty of material about what he
did and its consequences, but I'd like to dig a little deeper. I'm
trying to follow up on what happened to his raiders and find descendants
who might be willing to share their family records with me. That's more
difficult than you might think, because they came from all over--Kansas,
Iowa, Connecticut, and other states. His home was in upstate New York."

I watched him as he talked and I liked what I saw. Ryan's eyes had a
dreamy, faraway look, even as his voice quickened with an inner
enthusiasm. He cared about what he did, and the past was as real to him
as the present.

"Aren't there descendants of the men and women who were here at that
time still living in Harpers Ferry?" I asked.

"War and floods drove a good many families away, and most of them never
returned. I showed you Virginius Island today. Once it was crowded,
thriving. Now there's nothing there but old stones."

"Miss. Lacey's family never moved away," Vinnie said.

"I know, and I've talked to her a bit. But up where she lives the John
Brown episode seemed a long way off. She doesn't even like to talk about
him because she feels he opened up the path to war."

I glanced at Caryl and was startled. She was watching Ryan with her
heart in her eyes, and I realized that my new sister was in love with
Ryan Pearce. I round this somehow disturbing, but I didn't want to
examine my own reactions.

"Was John Brown really a madman?" I asked to distract myself.

Ryan smiled.

"That depends on whether your sympathies lie with the North or the
South. There was insanity in his family he admitted to that himself. In
fact, one of his lawyers brought it up at the trial, hoping to get him
off on a plea of insanity. But Brown wouldn't allow that. In fact, he
read a clearly written statement in court attesting to his own sanity."

As Ryan talked, I looked out a nearby window toward the streets below,
where once a terrible night had been filled with shots and the flames of
torches in the darkness. This morning Ryan had showed me the old
firehouse where many of Brown's men had died.

"He took hostages, didn't he?" I asked.

"Yes, and fortunately none of them was hurt. If Brown hadn't been
hanged, what he tried to do might have been only a footnote in history.

But he was a fierce abolitionist and when he died, the North turned him
into a martyr and the war drums began to beat."

"Tell about bloody Kansas," Egan said eagerly, as he grabbed a piece of
cornbread from a basket being passed around the table.

"Brown was mixed up in another fracas in Kansas," Ryan began, "and when
he came here he brought fourteen whites and five Negroes with him.

Nobody used the term 'black' in those days. He picked Harpers Ferry
because the United States arsenal was here, with nearly a hundred
thousand weapons available."

"There's a farm near here where he stayed," Vinnie said. "It's a tourist
attraction now--and very popular."

Ryan went on.

"That's where he made his plans. He meant to take over the arsenal and
provide weapons for his antislavery army. He thought the slaves would
leave their plantations and come with him. The mountains around Harpers
Ferry would give them good hiding places.

Then strikes could be made against slave owners to free more slaves.

Without slaves, he was convinced that the economy of the South would
collapse. That way war could be averted. His plans were visionary and in
their own way idealistic."

"But there was a war," Egan said.

"There certainly was, and Brown made a few mistakes. The most important
was that he kept his plans so secret--due to security fears--that none
of the slaves knew about what he intended until everything burst into
the open. They didn't expect him, knew nothing about him, and were
afraid to follow his lead. The second mistake was a strange one. The
raid had succeeded to the extent that Brown was in charge of the
arsenal, but he allowed a B & 0 train to go through to Baltimore and
that spread news of the raid. Word was sent to Washington that Harpers
Ferry needed help. One man had already been killed--Heyward Shepherd--a
railroad employee who walked innocently out on the tracks to find out
what was happening. When he was told to halt, he started to run and drew
first blood. Ironically, he was a black man and already free."

Vinnie had been caught up in the story.

"I've heard that the townspeople were so angry they poured out into the
streets, and then the local militia moved in to attack the firehouse
where Brown had taken refuge with his men and the hostages. It must have
been a frightening, crazy night."

"It was. Men were wounded in the fighting, but it was a standoff between
Brown and the locals until ninety U.S. marines arrived under the command
of Colonel Robert E. Lee and charged the firehouse. Some of the raiders
died. A few escaped. Five were captured, including the wounded Brown.
His own sons were involved and died in the attack. The hostages were
rescued and it was all over very quickly, except for the trial and the
hangings in Charles Town, a few miles away.

"When John Brown died on the scaffold, church bells rang in New England.

He was called St.. John the Just, while of course Southern newspapers
denounced him as the devil himself. Before he died. Brown prophesied
that slavery would cause a great civil war and that Harpers Ferry would
be destroyed. He was right on both counts. I want to learn more about
what went into making him the fanatic that he became."

"So now you know a bit of history, Lacey," Vinnie said. "But Harpers
Ferry survived through war and floods and economic disasters. Now it's
thriving. Both because of what the Park has done to attract tourists,
and because it's become a bedroom community for Washington. With the
railroad station here, it's less than a two-hour commute. This has all
been good for the town, but I still liked the quiet times better."

As we talked, we had been enjoying Jasmine's tender chicken and
dumplings, with a mixed green salad and hot cornbread. Now she cleared
away the dishes and brought servings of strawberry shortcake made with
luscious early strawberries.

The doorbell rang while we were lingering over dessert and Jasmine went
to answer it. She returned quickly, looking upset.

"Miss. Vinnie, there's a man asking to see you. He wouldn't give his
name. He's got a long beard, and he's--I don't know--sort of
old-looking."

Ryan saw Vinnie's quick alarm and set down his napkin. "I'll talk to
him, if you like, Vinnie."

"Please." Vinnie choked over the word.

"I know who it is, and I don't want to see him."

"I'll get rid of him," Ryan promised and went out to the front door.

Caryl and I looked at each other, but we both knew this wasn't the time
or place to meet Daniel Griffin. Only Egan continued to eat his
shortcake, unconcerned. The rest of us waited uneasily for Ryan's
return. Vinnie looked shaken, and I knew I was seeing the same
frightened woman who had written to my mother.

Ryan returned quickly and went over to reassure Vinnie. "He's gone.

He left this envelope for you. He didn't seem to care about seeing you,
he just wanted to deliver this. When I offered to give it to you, he
went away peacefully enough."

Vinnie took the white envelope as though she hated to touch if and set
it beside her plate. Caryl leaned toward her.

"I should have gone to the door for you. I want to meet my grandfather."

"No!" Vinnie cried.

"He's only here to cause trouble. I never thought I'd see him again. I
thought he'd be dead by now."

"I should think any trouble he might cause would be for himself," Ryan
said.

"If there's a murder charge, it would still be on the books."

Vinnie shook her head.

"There was never enough proof about what happened, the police said. Not
even a body. I would have testified about the quarrel he had with Brad
Elliot, but I didn't know anything else. Threats were made, that's all I
knew. But if he was innocent he should have stayed to see it through.

When he ran away we all thought he was guilty. There've been thirty
years of silence, so why come back now?" Her hand shook as she lifted
her coffee cup.

"Why don't you open the envelope?" Ryan asked.

She shook her head, regarding it with repugnance.

"I'll open it later."

"Would you really have testified against your own brother?" Caryl asked.

Vinnie's voice sharpened as she answered.

"He was always violent. I was afraid of him when I was little. I could
believe easily enough that he'd murdered Brad. He was so angry about
what had been done to your mother, Caryl."

Caryl made a face.

"He can't blame me for that. And he is my grandfather."

"Amelia always stood up to him." Vinnie looked at me. "She tried to warn
Ardra about Brad, but in those days, Caryl, your mother was pretty
flighty, and she was crazy about that man."

"Even though he was married to her sister?" I said, incredulously.

"Neither Ardra nor Brad was thinking clearly, I'm sorry to say."

That seemed an understatement! I felt a little sick, hearing all this,
and I looked at Egan. He was listening, but how much could a child his
age understand?

Ryan spoke to the little boy.

"How about going out in the garden with me for a while--before it gets
too dark?"

Egan agreed happily, and Caryl watched them go.

"Isn't Ryan wonderful?" she said to nobody in particular.

"I think I'll go and join them."

When she'd gone, Vinnie rose, picking up the envelope from beside her
plate. When she left the room, I followed her.

"Could I talk with you, please, Vinnie?" I asked.

Already on her way to the stairs, she looked over her shoulder wearily.

"I'm very tired, Lacey." "I'm sorry," I said, "but there's been no
opportunity to see you alone.

Caryl is determined to meet our grandfather, so I'd like to tell you
what we're planning."

That got her attention and she gestured me to follow her up the stairs.

Her room was over the front part of the house, and looked out toward the
street below. She held the door open for me and when I stepped in I saw
that she'd made this a quiet place for resting and reading for privacy.

A tea table was drawn before the open fireplace, and beside it an
armchair wore a slipcover of chintz in a tiny green design, perhaps of
some herb that grew in her garden. The wallpaper was a calm mossy green
with no design.

Set apart from this sitting room area stood a single bed, covered by a
handsome quilt done in patches of warm reds and earth colors.

Vinnie stretched out in a chaise longue, kicking off her shoes, and
waved me into the armchair opposite her. When I sat down, she picked up
an ivory paper knife and slit open the envelope Griffin had left.

When she took out the single folded sheet of paper and looked at it, she
cried out in alarm and let the paper flutter from her ringers.

Then she lay back against the cushions and closed her eyes as though she
felt faint.

"Are you all right. Aunt Vinnie can I get you some water?"

Again she waved her hand at me, and I picked up the sheet from the
floor. There were no words, but only a rough sketch. Daniel Griffin had
drawn a knife form on the paper perhaps a dagger. The cross handle was
clearly ready for the grip of a hand.

Vinnie opened her eyes, and looked at me indignantly. "A dagger! For
stabbing in the back, I suppose. He was always good at playing tricks
like this. I mustn't let him frighten me, must I? What can he do?"

"Perhaps it will help if Caryl and I go up to Miss. Lacey's to talk with
him."

"I told you I don't want you to get involved with him. And as for Miss.
Lacey, I don't trust her, either. Why has she taken him in as she has?"

She was becoming upset again, and I went to kneel beside her chair and
took her hand in mine. The veins resembled map lines on the thin skin,
and her fingers felt fragile in mine. I smoothed the back of her hand
gently. I'd often done this with my mother when she was keyed up, and it
had a quieting effect now on Vinnie. Her tension seemed to lessen, and
she smiled at me tremulously.

"I'm glad you've come, Lacey, but the thought of your confronting Daniel
alarms me."

"You mustn't be alarmed. Aunt Vinnie. I'm a big girl and so is Caryl.

We need to speak to our grandfather. Please understand."

"When will you go?"

"Tomorrow, if that suits Caryl. We'll probably bypass Miss. Lacey and
just go around to the back of the house. Daniel Griffin is an old man
now he seems much older than you do and I don't: think he is going to
hurt anyone. I'd like to take this dagger sketch with me and see what he
has to say about it. Do you mind?"

"No, take it, if you like. But don't be too sure that he can't hurt you.
He has subtle ways, and if he chooses, I think he can do some damage
we'll all regret."

She was quieter now, but as I rose to go, she had a question for me.

"Did you stand up to Miss. Lacey as I asked you to?"

"In a way, though if there was a contest of wills, I think she won. I
didn't like her very much."

"I hope you'll keep it that way not liking her. It's safer than falling
under her spell the way I did a long time ago. And don't let Caryl do
anything foolish. In fact, it might even be better if you went alone."

"I suppose you know that Caryl is in love with Ryan Pearce?"

"I guess it's pretty obvious," she answered, pulling a shawl about her
shoulders.

"How does he feel about this?"

"I don't think he's accepted yet how much he cares about her. It would
be a good match they need each other. Caryl's been alone since her
husband died, and Ryan is recovering from an unpleasant divorce."

"What was his wife like?"

"Pretty as anything, but they couldn't talk to each other. She wasn't
interested in what he does, and mostly she just wanted to be flattered
and admired. I think he got pretty tired of that. But he's devoted to
Egan, and Caryl is a dear person. I hope you'll get along well as
sisters."

I hoped we would too, but a curious splitting seemed to be taking place
inside me. I'd only just met Ryan, but I knew he was someone I would
like to have as a friend. That was all. Yet some stranger I didn't know
seemed to be whispering inside me that if Ryan was in love with Caryl I
wouldn't be able to bear it.

"Caryl's younger than you are, Lacey, and I don't mean just in years.

She has a bit of her mother in her--the way Ardra used to be. Ardra
loved to stir things up. But she's different now. All those things that
happened changed her, I think."

"Does Caryl hold what her mother did against her?"

"Not at all. She loves Ardra devotedly, and she's very good to her.

Ardra is the one who needed me most, and I've loved her like a daughter.

"Perhaps it's time for things to be stirred up again--just to clear the
air." "And you could do that so easily," Vinnie said, and shivered.

"Everything would have been fine if my brother had just stayed away.

Now I don't know what will happen. Although, I must say that getting you
back has made some of this bearable, but, please, please be careful.

"What can he do to me?"

"I don't know. But there's plenty he can do to those he feels revengeful
toward." I said nothing more, but I think she sensed my determination
and strength. I kissed her cheek lightly, but she lay with her eyes
closed, not responding, and I went quietly away.

When I reached my room, the door I had closed stood open and Shenandoah
lay asleep on my bed. Caryl sat waiting for me in the rocking chair, and
I knew by her expression that she needed to tell me whatever was
troubling her.

* * * *


CHAPTER EIGHT.


* * * * I WASN'T in the mood for a visit with my sister just then, but I
managed a smile that she happily returned.

"I won't be able to sleep tonight until I know our plans," she said.

"How do we go about meeting our grandfather?"

She was leaving the decisions up to me, and perhaps that was what I
wanted.

"I've had a change of heart," I told her.

"I think we should talk to Miss. Lacey first. Perhaps I should do this
alone."

"That would be fine. But if she says we can't see him?"

"Then we'll just bypass her. He leaves her property at will; it
shouldn't be hard, but I'd prefer to have her blessing."

"Ryan knows her pretty well, so he might talk to her if we ask him."

"Just be a little patient. I'll see her tomorrow. How does your mother
get along with her?"

"Mostly Miss. Lacey pretends that she doesn't exist. But I hear she
loved your mother."

I had no idea whether or not this was true.

"Where did you say your mother is now?"

"She's gone to Hagerstown, Maryland, to stay with friends. But I suppose
she can come home now. I don't think he'll bother her."

In my mind's eye I saw the dagger sketch Griffin had sent Vinnie, and I
wondered who he was threatening.

"Tell me about you, Caryl. I know so little. Was your marriage happy?"

She thought about that.

"I miss him, but it wasn't working out very well. At least he gave me
Egan, and Egan has some or his father's Irish magic in him the best
part. Sometimes Egan can even remember bits about where he came from."

I could almost believe that. The little boy had an air at times of
belonging to another world.

"Never mind about me," Caryl said.

"Do you work, Lacey? What do you do? Is there a man in your life?"

I answered the last question first.

"There's no one at present." I opened my briefcase and showed her my
published books. She was interested and full of praise, so that we were
able to avoid dangerous topics for the time being.

When Caryl left she picked up the sleepy kitten and carried it off on
her shoulder. I sat down in the rocking chair feeling suddenly exhausted
both physically and emotionally. Too much had happened in this crowded
day too much that was confusing and unsettling.

Not least on my problem list was the question of how I felt about Ryan
Pearce. He was not a complication I'd expected, or wanted. But when I
thought about him I knew he wasn't someone I could easily dismiss. When
I saw him I felt a faint beat of excitement that I didn't want.

Especially not in the face of the way Caryl felt about him.

After a half hour of futile arguments with myself, I gave up and went to
bed. Whenever I dozed off some new face from my day would intrude and
wake me up. Toward morning I fell asleep for two or three hours, and
then rose early, eager to be out and about. I didn't want to call on my
great-grandmother at this early hour, but I could explore the Lower
Town, as Ryan had suggested, and perhaps take some pictures to help with
my book.

None of Vinnie's guests was stirring and I saw nothing of my great-aunt,
so I ate a light breakfast that Jasmine fixed for me, and then asked her
to let Vinnie know that I intended to walk down and visit some of the
shops in the Lower Town. When I'd packed my camera and a sketchbook into
my shoulder bag, I was off.

The air outside was fresh and cool, with a breeze that carried the scent
of spring flowers. A white dogwood coming into bloom lifted my spirits.

None of the shops was open yet, and I had the town mostly to myself.

Below Shenandoah Street, and beyond the high trestle of the railroad
tracks, stretched an expanse of grass and trees, ending at a sandy bank
that sloped down to the water. Sycamores and poplars grew along the
bank, and some of the trees were knee-deep in water. Through the
crosspieces of the trestle I could glimpse the river where it rushed
into rapids. Across the Potomac, on the other side of the Point was
Maryland Heights, while Loudoun Heights in Virginia rose across the
Shenandoah. Both had been occupied by troops during the war.

An old building at the end of the grassy park sported a marker that had
been placed there to show the height of various floods. I could see that
the water had risen the highest in 1936. When I'd taken several
snapshots, I found a bench where I could sit while I waited for the
shops to open.

About half an hour later, a busload of children arrived with their
teachers. Bright sweaters made patches of red and green and yellow and
young voices filled the air. I watched the children race about before
being pulled into a scraggly line by their teachers.

My map had told me that this area was part of Arsenal Square, named for
the arsenal that had been seized by John Brown and his raiders, only to
be burned to the ground a few years later when Federal troops retreated.

Now only traces of stone ruins remained.

Across Shenandoah Street buildings of red brick and white stone edged
the sidewalk some old, some restored. Most were three stories high, with
gables set into the roofs. On the hill directly above, the white steeple
of St.. Peter's pointed into a great blue space of sky.

Between the buildings that almost touched rose high, steep steps cutting
upward to the church.

I snapped more pictures and drew a few rough sketches. Though I liked to
have maps in my books, I was not a mapmaker. I adapted existing maps for
my own use and put in my little three-dimensional buildings to lend
interest and character. That meant that I must sketch each real house so
that I could present it accurately.

John Brown's Fort was close by, its three arched doorways standing open.

I walked over to it and went inside. Brick walls made the interior cool
and quiet, and the sound of children's voices faded away. When I stood
still, listening, I could sense the heavy presence of history here. I
could imagine the darkness, stabbed with slashes of light from guns.

There would have been moans from the wounded, and a terrible clamor
outside the walls of the small engine house. Ryan's account had made the
story seem very real and I was relieved to step back outside.

The bookstore Ryan had pointed out to me was at the end of a walk built
above the street. I climbed a few steps to follow the walk to the door
and found that it was open. The shop was small, but good use had been
made of its space. A remarkable collection of Civil War books filled the
shelves, and more were displayed on tables. While exploring, I found a
section devoted to Harpers Ferry and selected several handbooks with
maps and illustrations that I thought would be useful to me.

The collection of Harpers Ferry legends that Ryan had mentioned was
among the books on another shelf and I began to page through it. As I
did, a name caught my eye--Fenwick.

The Fenwicks had built- the house in which Miss. Lacey lived and where
Ellen Fenwick had lived her short- life and died.

A particularly engrossing story had to do with the vengeance Jud Fenwick
and his son had visited upon three renegades they had tracked to Bolivar
Heights in a near-dawn hour. While they thought they had killed all
three, one of the men, though near death, had survived.

Since I had stood so recently in Ellen's room, this was eerie stuff to
read.

I wondered again about the baby girl Ellen had borne and what had
happened to her. I must ask Miss. Lacey if she knew more than Anne-Marie
had told me.

When I'd paid for my books, I walked up High Street until I came to a
shop that sold an assortment of herbs. I went in and looked around the
enticing crowded interior. The scented air smelled heavenly, and I saw
interesting and sometimes exotic objects on shelves all around me.

A collection of dragons fascinated me. One was made cleverly of rope;
several were ceramic. The largest and fiercest had been carved from the
branch of a tree, and it regarded me with a smile full of sharp teeth.

I had the feeling that it might snap at me if I went too close.

"Hello, Lacey," a pleasant voice said from the back of the shop. I
looked around to see Caryl smiling at me as she secured a hook in the
low, wood-beamed ceiling.

She was hanging up a set of melodious wind chimes and I walked back
through the shop in surprise.

"Do you work here, Caryl?"

"Mother and I own the shop. This is what we do, Lacey.

Mother travels all around to find unique treasures, and sometimes we get
customers from a long way off who hear about us because we specialize in
the unusual. We're proud of what we've collected here."

On a nearby counter were boxes of Georgia O'Keeffe notepaper with one of
her black iris paintings on the lid. Vivid watercolors of Harpers Ferry
hung on the walls, along with quilts and beautiful tapestries.

"That carved dragon is from Indonesia," Caryl told me. "As is that new
display of silks behind him."

I wandered around for a few moments in delight. In a glass case I found
a collection of handmade jewelry, and in one crowded corner several
small cats carved from wood. There was one that resembled Shenandoah.

Today Caryl wore a pale green smock with a spray of white dogwood
embroidered over one shoulder. She looked happy and a little excited,
and I wondered if anything had happened since the last time I'd seen
her.

The chimes she was hanging had a lovely sound. She reached up and
touched the black clapper, so that it swung, releasing its music. I
turned back, caught by the unusual tones. Long black metal tubes hung on
nylon cords were suspended from a round cap at the top. The long tongue,
a smoky charcoal black, moved gently at Caryl's touch.

"These are from Sweden--they've just come in," Caryl said, setting off
the music again.

The chimes gave me an idea.

"I want to find a gift for Aunt Vinnie, and I wonder if she'd like
these."

"That's a wonderful idea. Let's find out." She unhooked the chimes and
held them up for me to take.

"Bring them over here and we'll let her hear the sound."

I smiled as I waited for Caryl to get Vinnie on the phone. Not all of
Egan's imaginative notions came from his father.

When Vinnie answered, Caryl said, "We want you to listen to something.
Lacey has picked out a gift for you, but we want to make sure you'll
like it."

I held the tubes high, so the swinging clapper would send musical sounds
into the telephone's ear. After a moment, Caryl held out the phone.

"What do you think?" I asked Vinnie.

"What a beautiful sound," she said, clearly delighted. "And I know just
the place we can hang them out in my herb garden. Thank you, Lacey. I
accept!"

When she hung up, Caryl wrapped the chimes in a long box. As she worked
with tissue and ribbon, she told me what had lifted her spirits.

"Mother is coming home. I talked to her early this morning and told her
that Daniel Griffin is staying up at Miss. Lacey's, so she needn't see
him. And that you are here. I think that troubles her a little, since
you're Amelia's daughter and she hasn't been in touch with her sister in
all these years. Oh, I do hope you'll like her, Lacey.

She's a gentle woman and she hasn't had a happy life."

I thought of what Ardra had done to my mother, and couldn't feel much
sympathy for her. I said nothing, and Caryl looked at me sadly, seeming
to understand.

"If you like, you can leave your package here until after you've made
your trip up to see Miss. Lacey," she offered, as I paid her for my
purchase.

"Thank you," I said, realizing there could be no more postponing of what
I had to do. Caryl came to the door with me.

"You'll be fine, Lacey. You can talk to her, where I can't. It will work
out better if we involve her in our decision to see our grandfather."

"Don't count on anything," I warned.

She came with me to the door and gave me a little push. "You can use the
shortcut those steps over there if you don't mind the climb."

I walked down High Street to Shenandoah and found the narrow, very steep
steps leading to the church. I started up quickly, but slowed down a bit
as I passed the halfway point. The steps matched the steep pitch of the
hill, and I came out at the top near the church. There was still a long
walk ahead of me, but now I looked forward to retracing the climb I'd
made yesterday with Ryan.

As I followed the walk along the cliffs, I noticed again the ruins of
what had been the Episcopal church. Now I could take time to explore.

Crumbling walls, with no roof overhead, were constructed entirely of
shale slabs that I supposed had come from this area. An opening in one
wall had been a door, and a protecting beam still stretched overhead.

I crossed intervening patches of grass and walked through the empty
space of the door to stand in what had once been the interior of the
church. There must have been rows of benches and pews to hold the
congregation, but all the woodwork was long gone. The floor was only
stone-strewn grass, with a wild bush springing up here and there, and a
multitude of weeds. For me, the spell of past events would always haunt
old ruins and I stood very still within these broken walls, with the
vault of high blue sky overhead. There was little wind today and the
clouds seemed hardly to move.

My eyes were drawn to what had once been an altar. Beyond a keystone
arch an empty window stood against the sky, its space once filled, I
imagined, by stained glass. Thick stone walls rose all around me, and
for a few moments I was filled with a sense of complete isolation from
the rest of the world.

When a rabbit scuttled out from some hidden burrow, I turned around to
discover that I was not alone.

* * * *


CHAPTER NINE.


* * * * DOWN THE length of one side wall a man sat- on a pile of rocks
watching me. His eyes gleamed with amusement as he saw my startled
response.

I tilted my chin defensively and stared back. Apparently I was to meet
Daniel Griffin a lot sooner than I'd expected.

"Good morning," I said, disliking the way nervousness made my voice
reach a higher level than I intended.

He looked as much like Moses as he did John Brown, and he seemed to be
studying me judgment ally He didn't answer my greeting, but continued to
examine me as though I were something to dissect.

I tried again.

"I'm Lacey Elliot and you're my grandfather, Daniel Griffin, aren't
you?"

Thin lips, almost hidden by beard and mustache, seemed to move
faintly--whether in a smile or merely in dismissal, I couldn't be sure.

When he finally spoke, his voice startled me, seeming to rouse echoes
with its deep resonance.

"I never could figure out why Amelia named you Lacey. Do you know?"

"I haven't a clue. I didn't choose my name. Did Miss. Lacey tell you I'd
come to Harpers Ferry?"

Before he could answer, a small figure emerged from behind scraggly
bushes, and Egan ran toward me happily.

"Hi, Lacey. This is my great-grandpa Daniel. He's taking me to see
Grandma Lacey. She says I don't have to call her great-great-grandma
because there are too many 'greats' already. He lives up there with her
now, you know."

I didn't trust Daniel Griffin and I wondered if either Vinnie or Caryl
knew that Egan was with him.

Egan seemed to read my mind.

"It's all right. Shenna will tell Aunt Vinnie where I am," he said
airily.

"When we get to Miss. Lacey's, I'll phone Aunt Vinnie and your mother,
just in case Shenna forgets to tell them."

Daniel Griffin stood up and stretched long arms above his head. For the
first time I realized how tall he was. Beneath a green plaid shirt his
shoulders stretched broad and powerful.

Meeting him like this, under such strange circumstances, was beginning
to give me courage, and I risked a direct question.

"Why have you come back to Harpers Ferry?"

His lips moved more in a grimace than a smile.

"Maybe I've come for my pound of flesh."

I didn't hold back my resentment.

"After all these years-- with a suspicion of murder hanging over your
head?"

"It's best not to chatter, girl, when you have nothing to say."

I turned toward the opening in the wall and spoke over my shoulder.

"I'm going up to see Miss. Lacey, Egan. Let's go together?"

But Egan wasn't ready to leave. He spread his arms suddenly and went
dancing across the rough grass.

"I like this place, don't you?" he asked as he stopped whirling and
looked at me.

"I've always liked old ruins," I said.

He nodded his approval.

"Do you know where all the wood went that used to be inside this church?

Great-grandpa Daniel told me that during the war soldiers came in here
for shelter. They burned up all the wood inside to keep warm! The floors
and walls and pews and everything was torn out and burned--even the
altar!"

Within these walls everything was quiet, but when I closed my eyes,
shadows from the past seemed to swirl around me, as they did so often in
Harpers Ferry. Soldiers had huddled in this empty space, trying to keep
warm with piles of burning wood that sent flames flaring upward in the
darkness. There would have been the sounds of men laughing, shouting,
moaning in pain.

My grandfather's voice brought me back to the world. "What does it say
to you--this place?"

Again I closed my eyes.

"I feel a--a sort of pulsing in the air, as though events from the past
are still happening here. It sounds silly, but I feel as though this
ground can never forget."

He was silent, and when I opened my eyes to a sunny morning, crumbling
walls and the blue sky overhead, I found him watching me, his strange
steely eyes intent, but no longer angry.

"Yes, it's like that, when we take the time to stop and feel what's
here. Have you been on Virginius Island, girl? There's your place for
shadow spirits."

"I've seen the island from the cliffs, but I haven't been there yet."

Suddenly he turned to Egan.

"Come along now. We're going up to Miss. Lacey's."

The little boy went with him happily, and I followed them away from the
ruined church and up the path I'd climbed yesterday with Ryan.

Halfway to the top, Daniel turned to look back at me. "What about your
mother, girl? Is she coming home to Harpers Ferry?"

"My mother is recovering from a cancer operation," I told him.

"She sent me in her stead."

He heard this without visible reaction. My feelings toward him were
mixed. He could easily alarm me, but I was beginning to sense that much
more lay behind his grim manner than I could have guessed. At least we
could settle one thing between us, since his habit of calling me "girl"
had begun to rankle.

"I do have a name," I said.

"It's not a name I care for. There are too many Laceys." "One of them
appears to be helping you," I said pointedly, knowing that I was
pushing. Daniel Griffin could be a source of information for me, if ever
he were willing to talk.

He gave me a dismissive look and continued on up the hill.

The three of us had covered ground a good deal faster than Ryan and I
had done yesterday, and when we'd cut up past the cemetery. Miss.
Lacey's house came into view.

I looked across the gravel road that ran past it, and saw again that
narrow, forbidding front, and the gallery with its four thin white
pillars. I hadn't liked the house when I'd first seen it, and I still
didn't.

Daniel stopped ahead of us, and he too was staring at the house. When he
spoke, it was to Egan.

"I'm going around back. Come visit me when she gets through with you."
Clearly I wasn't included in the invitation, and he didn't look at me
again as his long legs carried him around the side of the house.

Egan looked after him, bright-eyed.

"I like Grandpa Daniel. I like him lots." "Why do you like him?" I asked
as we started toward the side steps that led up to the gallery.

He considered my question gravely.

"Aunt Vinnie says he did bad things and hurt people. But maybe she
doesn't know what he's like inside. I do bad things sometimes, but I'm
not a bad boy--am I?"

I gave him a quick hug as we climbed the steps.

"No-- you're certainly not." But I couldn't be that trusting about
Daniel Griffin. Some purpose drove him--perhaps an angry purpose that
might result in damage to people I was coming to like.

Again Anne-Marie met us at the door, no more friendly than she'd been
yesterday.

"Is she expecting you?"

I understood her disapproval a little better than I had yesterday.

Her devoted task was to protect Miss. Lacey from anyone who might upset
her.

"Who is it?" The challenge came from a room behind the long drawing room
where Miss. Lacey had received me yesterday.

Egan ran past Anne-Marie, crying out, "I've brought another Lacey to see
you. Grandma."

She came into the hall a few steps, the carved head of the gryphon
hidden by her hand, as she spoke to Anne-Marie.

"I'll take care of them."

Before the housekeeper could leave, I asked her to phone Vinnie and tell
her Egan was here. I'd explain about Daniel Griffin's high-handedness
later. Anne-Marie went off, clearly disapproving of unexpected visitors.

Miss. Lacey walked to the far door, and I knew we were expected to
follow.

Egan ran ahead, and I went after him into a small, comfortably furnished
back parlor. The boy went at once to a big drum that was sitting on the
floor in a corner, and Miss. Lacey watched his eagerness fondly. This
morning she had dressed less formally in a flowing summery gown that
draped her small body in a field of cornflowers. I couldn't imagine her
in jeans or even a knee-length skirt.

"Come and see!" Egan called to me, patting the rug beside him.

Miss. Lacey smiled. Yesterday she had never smiled. The difference in
her puzzled me and gave me an uneasy feeling.

I knelt beside Egan, waiting to be instructed.

"This drum is from the war," he told me.

"It's got a special secret."

There was, of course, only one war that deserved the emphasis of being
referred to as the war. The drum was tall, and looked as though it might
have been heavy for a young drummer boy to carry. Its sides were covered
with faded paintings of pistols and cannons and flags.

Cross cords bound the drum all the way around, a bit frayed here and
there, but still holding.

Egan turned the drum and pointed to an almost invisible peephole.

"Look in there, Lacey."

I put my eye to the tiny opening and saw that whoever had made this drum
had set a name in clear letters on the interior wall opposite the
peephole. The name was Royal Fen- wick. I looked up at Miss. Lacey and
she nodded proudly.

"Royal Fenwick is a distinguished name on our family tree even if he did
fight for the South. He was Jud Fenwick's older brother, and our line is
descended from him."

I was relieved to know that I wasn't directly descended from Jud, whose
fierce vengeance I had just read about. But there was a question I
hadn't asked Miss. Lacey.

"What became of Ellen's baby?"

"There's no record. We only know that Jud gave her no away for adoption.
By the time Royal came home, all that was over.

Royal Fenwick caught my imagination and I wondered if he would have kept
the baby in the family, no matter who her father was. I told Miss. Lacey
about the book I had found in the store on Shenandoah Street.

"It gave an account of what Jud and his son did to avenge poor Ellen.

The book said that one of the three men Jud and his son attacked
actually lived. So weren't they accused of murder?"

Miss. Lacey looked affronted.

"Certainly not. The man who lived Orin Lang kept his mouth shut until
many years later. For a long time the story of what happened was told
only by the little boy who witnessed it."

"What became of Jud Fenwick?"

"It's not a pretty story. When Royal came home he was once again the
head of the family and this house belonged to him. The brothers
quarreled and Jud moved to Charles Town. In his later years he became
deranged and thought the men he'd killed on Bolivar Heights had come
back to hunt him down. When he became violent he was placed in an
asylum, where he eventually died. The asylums of that day were dreadful
places."

"What became of Jud's son?"

"He died in one of the last battles of the war. I'm thankful that our
line of descent is from Royal, who was a good man and a master drum
maker. After the war he made drums for musicians. This is one of his few
war drums that has survived ill and it's one of my treasures. When I'm
gone it will be given to a museum. But first I'm going to send it to the
Preservation Department of the National Park Service to be restored.
They do wonderful work on pieces sent to them from all around the
country."

"Do you have to give it away. Grandma?" Egan asked.

Miss. Lacey's look was affectionate.

"Perhaps I will lend you the drum, Egan. And then you can give it to a
museum."

Egan got up from the floor to face her eagerly.

"I'd like that! When can I take it home. Grandma?"

She hadn't expected him to assume such quick ownership, but she gave in
promptly.

"Soon, if you like. Just for a short time until it goes to Charles Town
for repairs. I know you'll take very good care of it."

When he'd promised that he would, she turned her attention to me.

"I'm sure you came to see me this morning for a reason, Lacey. So tell
me what it is."

I stayed where I was, kneeling beside Royal Fenwick's drum, as I
answered her.

"I've just met a sister I didn't know I had--Egan's mother, Caryl--and I
like her. I think we'll become friends. Now we both want to meet our
grandfather. Since he's staying in your cottage, we'd like your
permission  ..."

She stopped me sharply.

"No! Stay away from that man--he'll do you no good."

Her vehemence surprised me.

"Why do you feel that way?"

"This is not something I care to discuss."

I pushed myself up so that I would be standing and therefore better
braced as I faced her again.

"You can't keep us from talking to him, but we'd rather have your
permission."

Her look of outrage seemed to give her more stature and she appeared to
grow taller in her chair. I felt certain she wasn't used to being
confronted, and the look she gave me made me quake inwardly.

"You will not see him! He is a dangerous man. There may even be blood on
his hands."

"Why do you allow him to stay here if you believe that?"

"I told you, I want him where I can watch him. I want to know his real
purpose in coming here. Believe me, he isn't to be trusted." "Did he
kill my father?" I asked.

Egan, for all his interest in the drum, was listening intently, and he
gave Miss. Lacey an angelic smile.

"Grandpa Daniel brought me up here today. He said I could come see him
anytime I liked, so maybe I'll take Lacey with me."

Miss. Lacey threw her hands up despairingly. She might tell me off in a
rage, but a softness toward Egan held her silent for the moment. I never
got an answer to my question because at that moment a commotion sounded
from the direction of the front door.

Anne-Marie's voice rose in shrill protest as a man's rough tones
overrode her words.

"Get out of my way!"

The intruder must have pushed past her, for she cried out in pain, and I
heard a thud as though she had fallen. It all happened so suddenly that
neither Miss. Lacey nor I had time to move before a man came stomping
down the hall, looking into one room after another, until he found us in
the rear parlor.

When he saw us, he held on to the doorjamb to steady himself, clearly
drunk. Beneath thinning, rusty hair, his face looked red and bloated.

Though a big man, he had none of Daniel Griffin's lean strength. He was
middle-aged and time had larded his body with fat that overflowed his
belted pants.

As I stared, he raised one hand and I saw that he held a gun. Miss.
Lacey stood up, facing him with no outward sign of fear, while I pushed
Egan behind me protectively.

"What do you want. Henry?"

He rocked on his heels, glaring at us both. Whoever he was, he obviously
meant trouble.

* * * * *


CHAPTER TEN.


* * * * * THE MAN Miss. Lacey had called Henry made an effort to focus
his wild-eyed look on her.

"I know who's hiding here! I've heard the talk clear to Charles Town.

Where is he? I want to see him!" The gun waved so unsteadily that I
expected to hear the crash or a shot at any moment.

"Put that thing down," Miss. Lacey told him quietly. "You're likely to
shoot yourself. Henry."

She looked tiny facing him, but her courage and her words seemed to
reach him. He regarded "the unsteady weapon as if in surprise and
lowered his arm to his side.

"Just tell me where he is!"

"I don't know what you're talking about." In spite of her reasonable
tone. Miss. Lacey had tightened her grip on her cane. When the intruder
came a few more steps into the room, she raised the cane by its middle
and waved the gryphon's head at him.

"Don't come any closer. Henry. You're very drunk. Liquor is the only
thing that ever gave you courage. What help were you when your brother
died? You didn't even like him."

"I want to see Clan Griffin! I know he's here. I owe him--because of
Brad."

I listened in dismay. No one had told me that my father had a brother,
and I didn't relish the fact that this wild-eyed man was my uncle.

Anne-Marie, recovered from her encounter with Henry, came running into
the room.

"Shall I call the police. Miss. Lacey?"

"No, of course not. I've seen Henry like this before, and he's going to
leave quietly. Daniel Griffin isn't in this house, Henry, and I wouldn't
turn him over to you if he were. You know he'd make mincemeat out of
you. Even if you were sober you wouldn't stand a chance. It's been
thirty years since Brad was lost to the river. You didn't do anything
then, so why should you be concerned now?"

He raked his hand through his hair, looking almost help. less.

"How could I do anything when Clan ran away? Maybe you've cooled
off--but not me. Brad wasn't all that good a brother, but he never
deserved to die. Clan Griffin killed my brother."

"What do you know about what happened?" Miss. Lacey asked, still
outwardly calm.

"I know plenty."

Miss. Lacey tried to distract him.

"Perhaps you'd like to meet your niece. Henry. This is Lacey Elliot.

Lacey, Henry Elliot is your father's brother."

For the first time he seemed to notice me.

"Amelia's kid? You know she was really the one to blame for this whole
mess. If Amelia had been a better wife to Brad, he'd never have looked
at Ardra."

Egan slipped from behind me and surprised Henry by coming to stand in
front of him.

"Can I see your gun, please?"

Henry made an effort to pull Egan into focus. He held the gun out of
Egan's reach, shaking his head unsteadily.

"You don't want anything to do with guns, boy." Perhaps he was sobering
up a little.

"I only brought this so Daniel wouldn't try to hurt me. I need to show
him something."

The sound of a car stopping before the house reached us through the open
windows. Henry looked even more alarmed as he listened.

When Anne-Marie started toward the hall door. Miss. Lacey stopped her.

"Wait. I'm not expecting anyone. Are you?"

Anne-Marie shook her head. A car door slammed loudly in the late-morning
quiet. A moment later the front door opened and closed without any
knocking and Vinnie came running down the hall and into the room. After
a glance at us, all of her attention was on Egan.

"What made you go off without telling me? You always let me know when
you go away. We were worried."

Egan returned her look calmly.

"I'm sorry, Aunt- Vinnie. Grandpa Daniel said it would be all right.

And I told Shenna to tell you where I was." "I don't speak kitten-talk,"
Vinnie said, her manner softening as she looked at the little boy.

"I'm going out back to see Grandpa Daniel now," Egan told her.

"He said I could visit him."

"Out back!" Henry echoed.

"So that's where he is." For a moment he looked as though he would rush
out of the house to find Daniel, but some glimmer of reason seemed to
stop him. He addressed Miss. Lacey with a last show of bluster.

"You tell him I'll be back, whether he likes it or not. I have to see
him."

He pushed past Vinnie, who suddenly noticed the gun and looked alarmed,
as he ran out the door.

"Why did he come here. Miss. Lacey? What did he want?"

Miss. Lacey lowered herself into a chair, moving slowly, regally, both
hands clasping her cane.

"Maybe he came gunning for Daniel--and then changed his mind. He's
drunk, of course."

Vinnie held out a hand to Egan.

"Come along, dear. We'll go home now."

I looked at Egan, who was smiling cheerfully, even as he shook his head.

"I have to see Grandpa Daniel first," he told her, and then looked at
me.

"Will you come with me, Lacey?"

Vinnie tried to object, but Miss. Lacey tapped her cane decisively on
the floor.

"Let him go, Vinnie." With a conceal1X8 ing dignity that hinted at how
badly Henry had shaken her, Miss. Lacey rose and moved toward the door.

"If you'll excuse me, it's time for me to rest." She nodded at
Anne-Marie and then turned to me before leaving.

"Thank you for coming to see me, Lacey. Next time we'll have a real
visit. I hope you'll come again soon."

Egan ran after her as she moved toward the door.

"Can I take the drum home today. Grandma Lacey?" he asked.

She paused to reconsider her earlier decision.

"I think I should keep it for you right now. But you can come up anytime
you like to play with it."

Egan agreed cheerfully enough, though I could tell by Vinnie's face that
she wasn't happy about the bait of the drum that would bring Egan here
more often.

The energetic little boy didn't wait for any further interference with
his plans. He ran past us before anyone could stop him and we heard the
back door slam. Miss. Lacey shrugged and started down the hall, with
Anne-Marie following her.

"Oh dear!" Vinnie wailed.

"I don't want Egan to spend time with Daniel. Will you come with me,
Lacey, so we can get him and take him home."

I agreed and we headed toward the back door. Miss. Lacey and Anne-Marie
had disappeared behind Miss. Lacey's bedroom door.

In the backyard everything seemed peaceful, the scene empty of movement.

Egan had apparently disappeared into the cottage and the door was
closed. Beyond the grove of trees, I caught a shining glimpse of the
river far below. From here the Shenandoah's voice was only a whisper
down by the rapids, but, of course, today the lady was in a sunny mood.

Vinnie hesitated a moment, gathering up her courage, and then went to
the cottage door and rapped smartly. It opened at once, as though Daniel
Griffin had been expecting us.

"Come in, ladies." He spoke sardonically.

"What's this Egan tells me about Henry Elliot turning up with a gun?"

"Seems to me he was gunning for you," Vinnie said.

"I guess he changed his mind. Of course he'd never come near you if he
was sober.

Why have you come back, Daniel?"

I remembered that these two hadn't met face-to-face in thirty years, yet
this was no warm reunion between brother and sister. Griffin moved out
of the doorway to allow us to step into the main room of the little
house. It was stocked with pieces that were probably castoffs from the
big house. A large faded couch, two shabby chairs, and a desk with a
lamp made up the furnishings.

"I've come to take Egan home," Vinnie said, remaining in the doorway.

"You should never have taken him away from my house without asking."

She reminded me of a fly who was desperately afraid of the spider, but
was nevertheless facing the web with her own quiet courage.

His smile was as grim as ever.

"I didn't think you'd give your permission if we asked, my dear sister.

After all, the boy is my great-grandson, and it's time we got to know
each other." He turned to Egan, who was watching us intently.

"Do you like corn bread he asked the boy.

"I stirred up a batch this morning before I went to fetch you. Go out in
the kitchen and help yourself. Maybe you can bring some in for our
guests."

Egan dashed off happily through a door that stood ajar, and Daniel
gestured toward the two worn armchairs. I walked in and sat down, but
Vinnie stubbornly remained where she was.

Two wooden boxes had been turned over to form a crude table, with
several yellowing newspapers spread open upon them.

"Take a look, if you like," he invited me.

"These papers may interest you too, Vinnie, since you're concerned. And
it's time for Egan to be told a few things that nobody seems to have
revealed about what happened thirty years ago."

"Egan is a small boy," Vinnie reminded him sharply. "He's too young to
understand what is so long past."

"He's smart beyond his years, and he's been soaking up a lot from what's
been said around him. I suspect he's collecting some wrong ideas."

"Why have you come back?" Vinnie repeated. It was the old question, and
once more he didn't answer.

"You are in those papers," -Daniel told her.

"Or have you forgotten?

You might take a look and refresh your memory. You told the police
assorted stories--all a little different. I suspect that you got mixed
up when you lied and forgot what you'd said before."

Vinnie ignored him and repeated her question for the third time.

"Why have you returned to Harpers Ferry?"

He went to a tall chest of drawers and took out a framed photograph.

For a moment he stood looking at it. Then he handed it to me.

"This is my wife when she was young. My second wife my real marriage.

Before we married twenty-five years ago, I told her the whole story of
what happened here as far as I knew it before I 'escaped' from Harpers
Ferry. That's the word they use in those accounts.

"Escaped."

" I don't know anything about that time," I said.

"My mother would never talk about where we were from or who we were
before we moved."

He seemed to approve.

"Then you can learn without prejudice. Over the years my wife kept
urging me to return and clear everything up, but I knew I couldn't do
that not at the time. I was caught in a trap. I felt my life had been
taken away from me as surely as Brad's was."

I examined the calm, beautiful face in the photograph. An inner goodness
shone in her wide eyes.

"What is her name?" I asked.

"Virginia, after the state where she was born. Her maiden name was
Driscoll. I would never have come here if she hadn't died. We had one
child a son. He's grown up and lives out West. There was no one left, so
I decided to do as Virginia wanted and come back. Though not for her
reasons." His voice hardened.

"I came to persuade a few people to tell the truth."

"At the possible risk of your own neck?" Vinnie asked. She had finally
taken a few steps into the room, but did not sit down.

"I believe the phrase is 'worthless neck," isn't it?" The dark look he
turned on her disturbed me. There was so much suppressed anger in this
man and I could tell Vinnie recognized it too, for she shrank away from
him.

When she spoke, her voice sounded shrill.

"I can't see why Miss. Lacey would allow you to stay here!"

Daniel's heavy eyebrows drew down in a fierce scowl. "Miss. Lacey feels
safer if she believes that she's keeping an eye on me. It's pretty funny
that Henry Elliot has turned up looking for me! Maybe we'll have the
whole cast on stage for the last act. Except for those who have gone on
to their final reward, of course."

Vinnie made an effort to steady herself.

"Your real wife was Ida, as far as I'm concerned, and she threw herself
into the river because her younger daughter had betrayed her, and
because she thought her husband was a murderer."

Daniel dismissed that scornfully.

"Ida died because she couldn't take what living meant. She died because
of her own weakness. She never had Amelia's courage. Maybe Amelia's
handed this trait on to her own daughter. Anyway, Amelia did the right
thing in taking her child and getting away to make a new life for
herself. Just the way I did."

There was a subject I knew Vinnie wouldn't bring up, and I took the
sketch he'd left at the house from my purse.

"Why did you send Aunt Vinnie this sketch of a dagger?"

"I think she knows why." He threw a mocking look at his sister.

Vinnie had turned so pale that I went to put an arm around her so that
we faced Daniel Griffin together.

"We don't need to stay any longer, Vinnie. We can take Egan and leave
now."

But Vinnie had to try once more.

"Please go away, Daniel. Stay forgotten." She lifted her chin so she
could look into his eyes.

"If you stay, I might have to let the police know that you're here."

"You won't do that, Lavinia. And neither will Miss. Lacey. Because you
can't be sure what I may have up my sleeve. You'll wait for whatever
move I may make, and in the meantime you'll start to be afraid of
shadows. As for me, I'll watch my back every minute."

Vinnie called out to Egan.

"We're going home now, dear. Come along right away."

The little boy came at once, but he had clearly been busy in the
kitchen. He emerged carrying a large plate on which he'd placed ragged
chunks of corn bread that he must have cut from the pan.

"It's real good," he told Vinnie.

"Have a piece." He'd found paper plates, as well, and there was no
immediate way to do as she wished and leave.

When Vinnie sat down, supplied with plate and corn- bread, and I had
been served, Egan carried the plate to Daniel, who helped himself,
smiling slightly. We must have made a curious Alice-in-Wonderland tea
party. The warm morsels were dry in my mouth and hard to swallow, but
somehow Vinnie ate every crumb and then spoke to the boy.

"We'll leave as soon as you're finished, Egan." Then she rose and faced
her brother.

"I think you're making a mistake to stay where you aren't: wanted. The
past was sleeping quietly, but if you wake it up, goodness knows what
may happen." "Js Brad dead? Do you know that?" he asked her.

She turned so white that she frightened me. Her hands rose in a
despairing gesture, and dropped to her sides.

"I'll just ask one thing of you, Daniel. Don't hurt Miss. Lacey. She's
had enough to bear in her life."

His look mocked her.

"That lady can take care of herself."

Vinnie went out the door and for some reason I found myself feeling
apologetic. But when I tried to say something, no words came, and I went
outside to wait with Vinnie until Egan joined us.

She had walked across scraggly grass to where an iron fence offered
protection from the straight plunge of the cliff, and I joined her
there. She looked so badly shaken that I made an effort to distract her.

"That's Virginius Island down there, isn't it? Ryan told me about the
mills and foundries and homes that once covered the island until floods
swept everything away."

Vinnie held on to the fence as though she needed support.

"So many died when the waters rose. You can see how easily water would
cover the island. Why would they ever build there? But they did. Once it
must have been a busy, happy place. Perhaps it's even more beautiful
with wildflowers growing among the ruins. But it's a haunted place too.

I used to go there when I was young and I'd try to listen.

Sometimes I felt they could talk to me, those who had gone before."
"What did they say?" I asked softly.

My question seemed to call her back from some distant place.

"I don't remember. I never go there anymore. Probably if I went to the
island now they'd just tell me to go home and mind my own business.

There's nothing I have to give them." She turned her back on island and
river and faced me earnestly. "I'm glad you've come. You were my darling
little girl when you were small. We had lovely times together.

But now that you've seen how things are, you must go back to
Charlottesville and get away from the unhappiness here."

"What is here that could threaten me? Where is it supposed to come from?
I don't think your brother is dangerous. Perhaps he just wants to know
the truth, so he can be free of old suspicions against him."

Vinnie put an arm around me.

"Whatever he intends, I hope he won't hurt you, but there are others he
can injure. None of us is safe from him. Only Egan. He's taken a liking
to the boy, and I hate to see Egan turning to him as though he were some
kind of hero."

"What if he is? What if he was made a scapegoat?"

She looked off across the river, but had nothing to say.

"What has Henry Elliot to do with any of this?" I asked. "Why is he so
angry with Daniel Griffin?"

Vinnie sighed.

"There was so much treachery in the old days; Brad and Henry were both
in love with Amelia--and neither one worth a hill of beans!"

"Yet it was Brad my mother chose."

"Brad always knew how to charm a woman. Ardra wasn't entirely to blame.

She could never have resisted him when he went after her. I'm sorry to
tell you these things about your father, Lacey, but you wanted to know."

"It doesn't matter," I said. I had no attachment to this man who seemed
to have injured both my mother and Ardra, to say nothing of Ida. All I
wanted was to see the mystery of my background cleared up.

Egan came to the door of the cottage, licking crumbs of corn bread from
his fingers and looking thoroughly happy. Daniel stood behind him.

"I'm ready to go now," he called to Vinnie.

"Grandpa Daniel says I can come see him anytime I like." He looked up at
the tall, old man and I saw a gentling in that grim face.

Egan's words caused Vinnie distress, but she merely held out a hand to
him and we started toward the house.

Daniel called after him.

"Next time bring your mother with you, boy.

I've never met my other granddaughter."

So the matter of Caryl's visit was settled as easily as that.

Vinnie led us quickly toward the house where she told us we could cut
through the hall to the front door. The house was quiet as we entered,
but when we reached the foot of the stairs, she stopped with a hand on
the banister and looked upward, listening. Then she shook her head and
went out to the car with Egan and me following.

I had listened too as we stood at the bottom of the stairs, and I had
heard a faint murmur of voices in the direction of Ellen's room. I
couldn't make out the words, but for some reason the sound made me
shiver.

* * * * *****


CHAPTER ELEVEN.


* * WHEN WE WERE in the car I asked about the voices we had heard
upstairs. Vinnie didn't answer until we were back on the road. Then she
seemed hesitant, and perhaps a little too casual.

"It's just a ritual Miss. Lacey and Anne-Marie have concocted. Don't pay
any attention."

"I think it bothers you and I'd like to know why. Don't you see. Aunt
Vinnie--there's so much I don't know. Everything counts."

She decided to tell me.

"They do this once a year--on the anniversary."

"What anniversary?"

"The day and hour of Ellen Fenwick's death. I don't know what they do up
there, but I suspect Miss. Lacey believes she has some sort of pact with
the past."

"After more than a hundred years? That's dreadful!"

"I know. But old people can get curious notions. Let's not talk about
it. I'm not in her confidence and I shouldn't even be speculating."

1 had to respect her feelings about this, and I let the matter go for
now. Remembering that I had wanted to pick up my gift of chimes for Aunt
Vinnie, I asked her to let me out near the top of the steps that ran
down to Shenandoah Street and she obliged.

I told her I would see her in a little while and went down the steps a
lot faster than I'd come up and then hurried along High Street to
Caryl's shop. She seemed glad to see me when I went in, and I knew she
was excited about something.

She placed the handsome blue and silver package containing the chimes on
the counter, then she glanced toward the back of the room, her eyes
alight with anticipation.

"Mother's here. So you'll get to meet her right away. Try not to say
anything about where you've been, unless she asks you directly. It'll
only upset her."

If it had been possible, I'd have taken my package and left the shop at
once. Though I knew our eventual meeting couldn't be avoided, I wasn't
ready yet to face my mother's sister. Her role in what had happened had
resulted in too many ruined lives for me to feel comfortable with her.

However, it was already too late to get away.

A woman had emerged from a rear room of the store, and I had only a few
moments of grace before we met there in the aisle. In those few moments
I was able to see her clearly before she knew who I was.

Ardra Griffin didn't look at all as I'd pictured her. Her fragility
surprised me. I'd expected someone more forceful, considering her
tempestuous past. This woman looked rather timid, and she was no longer
as pretty as she must have been in the days when she'd caught my
father's eye.

As she came toward me down the crowded aisle, Caryl introduced us.

"Mother, this is Lacey Elliot." Then, as the bell over the shop door
sounded, she excused herself to take care of a customer, leaving Ardra
and me to confront each other.

For just an instant, Ardra looked uncomfortable. Then she seemed to pull
herself together, and I could see traces of the Southern belle she had
once been. Her blouse was the color of heliotrope and her fawn-colored
trousers were too well cut to have been purchased in a country store.
She placed a small hand on the nearest counter, perhaps to steady
herself, and the smile she managed lighted her face.

I went to her holding out my hand.

"Hello, Aunt Ardra."

She took my hand graciously enough, but then let it go quickly. Her
touch suggested that she was wary of me and that she was on guard
against any criticism I might level at her.

I tried to help us both feel more relaxed.

"I didn't even know I had a sister until yesterday. Now I'm very glad
I've found her."

Ardra moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. "How is your
mother?"

"She's convalescing from an operation, but every day sees her stronger
and more herself. I think the worst is behind her."

"Caryl tells me that she never told you anything about me?"

"She's never spoken of Harpers Ferry, or anyone here," I said gently.

"I'm not sure that was right, though I can understand how she must have
felt about the past."

Her pointed little tongue touched her lips again.

"Have you seen him since you came?" she asked quietly.

She meant her father, of course, and I nodded. Caryl's customer had
gone, so she joined us again.

"I've seen him a few times," I told Ardra.

"But today was the first time that I've talked with him."

Ardra lapsed into silence, though I could sense there were questions she
wanted to ask. I began to relax a little. Whatever I'd expected from
Caryl's mother, Ardra was far from alarming. I went on to tell them both
about coming upon Daniel Griffin and Egan in the ruins of the old
church, and of going up to Miss. Lacey's with them. I left it there, not
wanting to talk about what had happened at Miss. Lacey's and later, out
in the cottage. At least, I could reassure Caryl.

"Your grandfather is very fond of Egan and I don't think he meant any
harm in taking him for a walk to Miss. Lacey's. And he's asked to meet
you. I thought we might go see him tomorrow, if you'd like."

Ardra made a little protesting sound in the back of her throat and Caryl
patted her arm and told her not to worry. "It'll be all right.

Momma. I want to meet him."

I told them about Egan's excitement at being at Miss. Lacey's and that I
thought she might be using the drum as bait to win Egan over.

Caryl and Ardra looked at each other, and Caryl nodded. "I know she'd
like to take him away from me. She doesn't think I'm raising him
properly. If Egan began to respond to her and wanted to live up there
with her, she might have a strong weapon to use. But I won't let that
happen."

When I thought of Miss. Lacey's autocratic ways, I could only hope that
Caryl would have the strength to stand against her. I didn't think that
either Ardra or Vinnie would be able to oppose her effectively in such a
struggle.

It was nearly twelve o'clock as Caryl went about closing up early for
the day, so that she could go home with her mother. She told me that she
often walked down to the shop, so she didn't have her car with her
today. When we were ready, the three of us went out to where Ardra's car
was parked.

Tension was visible in the way Ardra drove and I was glad the distance
was short. When we reached the street on the higher level, she touched
the horn and called out the window to a man who was walking along the
sidewalk ahead of us.

"Ryan! Do you want a lift?"

He came over to the car at once and smiled at Ardra. "Welcome home.

And thanks." His smile included Caryl and turned on me in the back seat.
I moved over to give him room, feeling a familiar rush of pleasure at
seeing him. I felt as though I'd known him for a great deal longer than
I had, even though this was a man I'd met- for the first time yesterday.

Caryl was openly glad to see him, bouncing a little in the front seat
beside Ardra. Her mother gave her an observant sidelong glance, and I
thought that she missed nothing of her daughter's reaction to Ryan.

When he'd settled next to me in the back seat, he began to talk eagerly.

"I'm about to be handed a gold mine of old papers and letters that go
way back to Civil War times and before. Would any of you care to come
with me when I pick them up?"

"Thank you, dear," Ardra said, "but I'd like to spend the rest of the
afternoon with my daughter and my grandson, that is, of course, unless
Caryl would like to go."

"Any other time I'd love to, but. Mom's right; the three of us do need a
little time together. Egan's never with us enough." She looked
disappointed but sure of her duty.

"Well, Lacey," Ryan said, turning to me, "how about you?"

"Of course," I said quickly.

"I'd be delighted." Ryan was the one I wanted most to talk to about
everything I'd learned. Perhaps he could make some sense out of the
strange morning I'd spent at Miss. Lacey's.

When we reached the house Ryan brought in Ardra's suitcase and Caryl and
Ardra went off together. Ryan went upstairs to his room and I carried my
package out to the herb garden, where Egan was talking to Vinnie a mile
a minute. Shenandoah was all over the place, leaping onto Vinnie's
knees, and immediately off again. My package instantly drew the kitten's
attention and she seemed poised to attack the wrappings, so I handed it
to Vinnie.

She still looked strained after her meeting with her brother, but she
smiled at me as she opened the paper with a careful thrust of her
forefinger so the wrappings wouldn't be torn. My mother had always
opened packages in just that way, so that paper and ribbon could be used
another time.

When the box was open, she lifted out the smooth black tubes suspended
from a disk shape at the top. She held them up and a breeze from the
river played over the chimes, making a lovely sound.

"Thank you, dear," she said, kissing my cheek as she dangled the chimes
at Egan.

"Where do you think we should hang them?"

He considered this, closing his eyes, perhaps to visualize where they
might hang. In a moment he opened them.

"I know! Over there on the end of the wisteria trellis."

I looked toward the white framework and saw that a metal arm for holding
hanging plants extended at one end.

"That's just the place I thought of, Egan!" she told him and sent him
off to fetch her small ladder.

Shenandoah was having a marvelous time making a nest out of the
wrappings, and Vinnie shooed her away and began to fold them neatly.

"After all that time we spent with him, we still don't know what Daniel
means to do," she said.

"Why are you afraid of him?"

She went on smoothing blue paper, musing aloud.

"We always had different interests. He was never like a big brother to
me, though I wanted him to be. I never understood how he could marry Ida
Enright when she was so very different from him. We all expected him to
marry " She broke off for a moment and then went on.

"Oh, never mind. That's all ancient history. It's now that matters.

He seems changed after all these years, but I'm not sure what that
means. Perhaps he's just become a harder man and far more sure of
himself than I remember him being. At least, he seems to have had a
happy second marriage." "You said that both Brad and Henry were in love
with my mother. Did this upset my grandfather?"

She shook her head and smiled, remembering.

"Your mother had so much appeal. She was so lively and funny. All the
boys were crazy about her. But Daniel didn't pay much mind. He just
wanted his daughter to be pretty and good. Beyond that, his attention
was somewhere else."

I couldn't remember my mother being all that lively, and certainly not
lighthearted enough to be funny. The events that had driven her from
Harpers Ferry must have subdued and changed her. I wished that I could
have known her the way she used to be.

"Were you able to discern anything really different about your brother
when you saw him today?" I asked Vinnie.

"He's a stranger. I don't think I'd really be able to judge. Can you
understand that?"

I nodded.

"He doesn't seem afraid of arrest."

"He knows there was never enough proof."

"Then why did he go away in the first place?"

She lifted the chimes and played them with her fingers. "There was
circumstantial evidence, and perhaps he knew that if he stayed, more
would be found. His word wouldn't have been good for much, under the
circumstances, and maybe he was smart when he decided not to risk it."
She shook her head as though in confusion.

"I helped with what evidence there was. I felt I had no other choice at
the time. He had a reputation for being rough and violent and I'd seen
the fight he had with Brad. I'd heard the threats he made" -- Her voice
broke and she stopped.

"But you don't think he was guilty of whatever happened to Brad?"

She set the chimes down on her knees with a clatter.

"Let it go, Lacey. I only hope that he will give up and not try to get
even with anyone."

"Getting even might include you?"

She looked so miserable that I was instantly sorry I had asked the
question. To give her time to recover, I fished Shenna out of some
shredded tissue paper and held her on my shoulder. She tucked her small
head under my chin and started a great rolling purr that made her seem
much larger than she was.

Egan came running back with a wooden kitchen stool that was almost as
big as he was.

"I couldn't find the ladder, Aunt Vinnie, but maybe this will work."

I handed the kitten to Vinnie and held the stool while Egan scrambled up
and managed the simple task of hanging the chimes.

The sleek black tubes looked beautiful against the green backdrop and a
gentle wind obliged to set them ringing.

Just then Jasmine came out to tell us that lunch was ready. A table had
been set up in another part of the garden and at this hour, with the sun
warmly overhead, it was pleasant to eat outdoors. The others came out to
join us and Vinnie and Egan had a chance to hug and kiss Ardra and
welcome her home. Ardra seemed every bit as happy to see them as they
were to see her, although I detected something amiss once we sat down to
lunch. Jasmine served a simple meal of homemade chicken salad, tender
spring lettuce, and hot biscuits. The fragrant iced green tea was
Vinnie's idea, and pungent lemon slices enhanced the flavor.

Caryl was the talkative one, with an amusing story about one of the
customers in her shop that morning. Ardra seemed too quiet, and ate
without much appetite, hardly looking at her plate. In the midday light
she looked older and even more fragile than she'd appeared in the shop.

When she spoke it was directly to me.

"When you saw my father this morning, Lacey, did he tell you why he's
come back?"

"I don't think he's explained that to anyone," I said.

She mused aloud, as though talking to herself.

"When I was young I thought he was wonderful. I really loved him, but he
never forgave me for what happened. Finally he turned against all of us.
He was terribly angry he frightened me. I'll never be able to forget
what he was like then. When he went off, he didn't tell any of us
good-bye. I don't think you should be friendly with him, Lacey."

"What happened was a long time ago," Ryan said. "Ardra, perhaps you
could be the one to convince your father that everyone concerned has
been punished enough."

Ardra looked horrified.

"I could never talk to him even if he would listen."

"You don't need to," Caryl reassured her, reaching out to touch her
mother's arm comfortingly.

I liked Caryl more all the time, but I couldn't warm to her mother.

When we finished our meal, Ryan told Vinnie that I was going with him to
see Laura Kelly and she looked surprised. "I haven't seen Laura in a
couple of years, though she used to be active in village affairs. I was
always very fond of her."

"Just who is she?" I asked.

"I'll tell you when we're on our way," Ryan said.

"I've made an appointment for two o'clock, and it's almost that now. So
we'd better get started."

We weren't going far, he assured me as we drove up High Street in his
car. Just to a remarkable house on Bolivar Heights.

"Laura Kelly has lived in Harpers Ferry all her life and she's something
of a historian. She's been helping me with my book. Only recently,
someone in Charles Town who knew Laura from a long time ago died and
left her his collection of letters and papers. She said I could help
sort and tabulate them, in case there's anything there I can use. Of
course I jumped at the chance. She tells me she's found something she
thinks will especially interest me."

He went on to tell me a little about the house we were to visit.

"It was designed by Stanford White early in the century. Those were his
great days before he was shot by Harry K. Thaw in a notorious love
triangle."

We were following a high ridge of road that he told me would lead past
Laura's house. However, before the house came into view, Ryan parked at
the side of the road and sat for a few moments looking down over a
hillside that sloped gradually to the Potomac unlike the cliffs on the
Shenandoah side.

"Before you meet her, I'd like to tell you a little about Laura. When
she was quite young she expected to marry Daniel Griffin. The story goes
that he jilted her for Ida. How Laura feels about Griffin now, I don't
know, or even whether she knows he's returned. I've never talked to her
about any of these matters, and I don't know how she'll feel about
meeting Griffin's granddaughter, though I suspect she doesn't indulge in
old resentments."

"Did she marry anyone else?"

"Yes. Albert Kelly died some time ago. Over the years, Laura has been a
lot more active in Harpers Ferry affairs than Miss. Lacey ever has.

Miss. Lacey sits on her hilltop and reigns, but Laura digs in and plays
a real role. Or at least she used to. She's been on the library board
and active in civic matters. She's even been a consultant to the Park
Service in their rest-oration projects. But she's never chosen to make
too many friends, so few people have been invited to her home. I'm one
of the lucky ones, probably because of the book I'm writing. I called
her before we left Vinnie's and told her I was bringing a writer friend
with me."

"Have you told her who I am?"

"It didn't seem necessary on the phone."

"Won't she recognize my name?"

"Probably. We'll play it by ear and see what happens." It was going to
be interesting to meet a woman who had once been engaged to my
formidable grandfather.

* * * * *****


CHAPTER TWELVE.


* * * AS WE DROVE on, the house came into view. It was big and white and
built in a manner that resembled no architecture I'd ever seen. A large
gable with a pointed roof and three windows rose above the arches, set
well back on the roof. In one of the windows a figure stood watching us.
It was not the woman who owned the house, but a man, and he drew out of
sight as we came near, as though not wanting to be seen.

The road ran past the wide front of the house, and we parked near steps
that rose to a terrace. We got out to cross an expanse of lawn and I saw
that more white arches ran the full width of the house, with various
gables and dormers set above in the high gray roof.

Except for the roof, everything about the house was painted white.

Old trees and evergreen shrubbery abounded, but the house itself stood
free and impressive in its shining white dignity.

As we mounted the steps to the terrace, a woman came from inside and
walked briskly toward us. Laura Kelly was thin and tall and her
well-chiseled features were still strong, without the drooping of age to
be seen in fleshier faces. She wore her gray hair drawn back from a
center part, and folded into a thick braid that hung forward over one
shoulder. The feathery ends of the braid were caught whimsically with a
tiny red velvet bow. Her well-cut trousers were of mocha tweed, topped
by a brown silk coat blouse with a rosy, knitted turtleneck showing at
the V. She came to greet us, her smile warm and beautiful as she held
out a slim hand, first to Ryan, and then to me.

"Thanks for giving me this chance to see the papers, Laura," Ryan said.

"This is my friend Lacey Elliot."

Her large brown eyes focused on me without surprise. "Ida's
granddaughter." It was a statement, not a question. "Once, a long time
ago, I was very fond of your mother. How is Amelia?"

"She's recovering from an illness right now, but she'll soon be fine," I
said briefly.

She nodded pleasantly as she led us toward a long, tiled gallery that
stretched behind the front arches. Laura Kelly crossed this to open a
glass door and we walked into the house through a room with a massive
stone fireplace covering the entire wall at one end. A curved wooden
mantel extended from the stone, and a Civil War musket hung slanted
above it. The room's furnishings were comfortable and informal, with a
softly colored Aubusson rug covering a portion of the floor.

She led us into a hall where wide stairs ran up to a landing, and then
rose along the wall to an upper floor. The woodwork had been left in its
original dark varnish, surviving a later period when all woodwork in
fashionable homes had been painted white. A dining room opened across
the hall, its central feature the long, oval table that was now heaped
with boxes and papers.

Mrs.. Kelly waved a hand in the direction of the piles. "I've done a
little sorting, Ryan, but you can decide how you want to handle this.

I'm sure some of it will be useful, and you can spend as much time as
you like on it." The timbre of her voice was attractive deep and
resonant.

I knew very little about Laura Kelly, but I liked what I saw.

"You mentioned a particular find that might interest me," Ryan reminded
her.

"Yes, I did, and I'm sure it will. It's possible that Miss. Elliot will
find it interesting too. Do sit down. I've made some lemonade, so I'll
bring a pitcher and this little book that I have to show you."

I sat down near the table and looked around the room. Oil paintings hung
about the walls, all of men and women in various dress from the past. A
portrait of a handsome soldier in gray occupied a prominent place.

Laura returned quickly, carrying a silver tray with a large glass
pitcher and glasses. Ryan pushed aside papers on the table and she set
down the tray. When she'd poured lemonade into the glasses, she took a
small book from her pocket and handed it to Ryan.

I glimpsed faded violets and four-leaf clovers that someone had painted
across the cover. The book had the look of an old-fashioned diary, and
when Ryan opened it up at random, I saw cramped handwriting that slanted
across yellowing pages.

Nothing seemed to catch his eye right away, and he set the book aside.

"Thanks, Laura. I'm sure I'll find this interesting." "Indeed you will,"
she said dryly, and her tone made me wonder what she had discovered in
those pages.

Ryan picked up a sheaf of papers that had caught his attention, already
absorbed and eager to explore this treasure from the past.

"Let's leave him to it for a while," Laura said.

"Bring your glass and I'll show you my prize view."

Before we left the room I stopped before the portrait of the soldier in
gray.

"Do you know who he was?"

"Yes. That is Royal Fenwick. Perhaps you know about him? His younger
brother Jud quarreled with him when Royal came back after the war
because Jud considered him a traitor to the Union. Jud moved to Charles
Town and Royal settled down here and continued making the drums for
which he became famous."

I looked at the face of the young soldier--a contrast to the dark,
unhappy countenance of his younger brother that I'd seen at- Miss.
Lacey's house. The artist had managed to portray a handsome, open face
that seemed filled with life. I liked Royal, while his brother gave me a
chill.

"Miss. Lacey has one of his drums," I said.

"Caryl's son, Egan, showed it to me today. How do you happen to have his
portrait?"

"His mother was a Kelly and an ancestor of my husband's. Those mixed
Southern bloodlines again! There's a thread of relationship, so I
inherited Royal's portrait. I suppose you and I are related in some way
through all those tangled connections."

"I'd like that," I said.

Ryan had been looking through a box of papers, and before we left, he
spoke again to Laura.

"Do you know that Daniel Griffin has come back to Harpers Ferry?"

She nodded gravely.

"I know." When she left the room without further comment, 1 followed.

We walked through the house to an open porch that occupied a far corner.

There we could look out across the narrowing wedge of land that ran
gently downhill below us to eventually form the village of Harpers Ferry
at water level. Scattered houses grew closer together as they formed the
triangle that sloped to the Point. The Shenandoah was out of sight from
where we stood, but on our left the Potomac swept toward its fated
meeting with that turbulent body of water.

The Gap where that meeting took place showed in the distance.

Laura pointed off to our right.

"That large building over on the Shenandoah cliffs is on the grounds of
what was once Storer College--it was the first college for blacks in
this country. During the war thousands of freedmen gathered around
Harpers Ferry for safety. After the fighting was over several of the old
Armory buildings were used to start the school. Because John Brown's
Fort was a symbol of freedom, it was moved up to the Storer College
grounds for a time. That's called Camp Hill over there--it's where Union
soldiers bivouacked."

All this was fascinating history, but there was a personal question I
wanted to ask and I decided not to wait any longer. "Did you know my
father?"

She pulled two deck chairs over to the railing, where we could enjoy the
view as we talked, and we sat down. I drank lemonade as I waited for her
answer. When she finally spoke I sensed caution in her words.

"Brad belonged to a younger generation than mine, of course, but I knew
him socially."

"Please tell me about him. My mother has never been willing to tell me
anything."

"I can understand why. He hurt her badly. He was a good-looking man in
his way, though he was rather slight and unimpressive at first glance.

What he had, more than looks or a striking build, was charm.

He knew how to win the friendship of women, and he took the trouble to
understand them better than most men ever do. Your mother caught his
eye. She had beauty and intelligence and spirit. They fell in love,
though Amelia's father didn't like or trust Brad. He opposed the
marriage and, of course, Ida always followed her husband's lead. The two
young people had no other choice, so they ran off to get married.

When they returned they bought a modest house on Bolivar Heights and
settled down to married life. I suppose it could never have worked,
given Brad's nature. He wasn't the sort of man to stay committed to one
woman. It's unfortunate that the girl he chose to have a fling with was
your mother's sister. Brad foolishly thought he could keep it a secret
even after Ardra became pregnant."

"I met Ardra today," I said.

"What was she like back then?"

"She had a reckless quality about her that appealed to some men. Brad
was attracted to it and he never stopped when he wanted something. He
had little difficulty pulling Ardra into what appears to have been a
steamy love affair. When Ardra became pregnant and Daniel found out, he
couldn't endure what was happening. He could be a wild man when he got
angry. Brad had betrayed one of his daughters and violated the other.

He quarreled with Brad, threatened him, and put himself in a position
where suspicion pointed in his direction when Brad disappeared and his
jacket was found down- river with a bullet hole in it. It's all ancient
history, Lacey. When Clan took to his heels and did his own disappearing
act, it was just too much for Ida. She gave up and took her own way out.
Amelia did the right thing to take you away and escape the whole
miserable mess."

While some of the details were familiar by now, Laura had told me more
than anyone else ever had. Her revelations, given reluctantly, pressed
down on my spirit. For the first time I could fully understand the
burden my mother must have carried for so long in silence.

"Thank you for telling me all this, Mrs.. Kelly."

Her eyes were warm with sympathy.

"Please call me Laura." She hesitated and then went on.

"Now that Clan Griffin has come back, a lot of old stories may be
dredged up. There was a time when I was ready to marry him, but
sometimes he could frighten me and I backed away. He was angry with me
for a while, and when he went right into his marriage to Ida, people
said he'd jilted me." She smiled in wry amusement. "Clan was an
exciting, fascinating man in those days. He knew he needed an anchor,
and perhaps that's what he found in Ida. I was lucky to meet my
husband--a man who could make me very happy--and I've never regretted
the break with Daniel Griffin." I asked the old question again, the one
I couldn't get out of my mind.

"Do you think he killed my father?"

She took a little time before answering.

"Sometimes I've thought he must have. But I've never been sure and the
evidence was all circumstantial. I'd rather give him the benefit of any
doubt."

I told her what I had learned about Daniel's second wife, and how her
death seemed to have given him the impetus to come back to Harpers
Ferry.

"I don't know whether he wants to clear his name, or if he wants to even
up the score with those who drove him into hiding."

My back was to the door that- led into the house, so when I saw Laura
stiffen, I looked over my shoulder. Henry Elliot stood there, watching
us. He didn't seem as drunk as he'd been earlier, but he wasn't
altogether steady on his feet. It must have been Henry who had watched
our approach from the upstairs window. I couldn't imagine what he was
doing here.

Laura spoke to him.

"Come and join us, Henry." And then to me, "Lacey, this is your father's
brother. Henry Elliot." "I know," I said.

"We met earlier today up at Miss. Lacey's."

Henry ignored the introduction.

"Did you know that Clan Griffin is back and staying up at Miss.
Lacey's?" he asked Laura.

"I knew he had come to town," Laura said.

"But I didn't know where he was staying. That's an interesting twist,
since I didn't think she liked him."

"He has it in for me. That's why I went up to Miss. Lacey's today with a
gun--so I could protect myself. Everybody would be glad if I just
finished him off."

"And you think that's a sensible solution?" Laura asked. "What
happened?"

Henry began to sputter, and I answered for him.

"Miss. Lacey reasoned with him and Henry left."

He spat out more of his resentment.

"Clan blames me for things I was never to blame for!"

Laura shook her head at him.

"It was Brad who caused all the trouble--not you. I don't think he
blames you for anything."

"Why is she here?" Henry turned a dark look on me. "She's trouble too.

She's Amelia's kid. All that bad blood!"

"You're quite wrong. Henry. Neither Lacey nor her mother had anything to
do with Brad's death. Lacey was only four when her mother took her
away."

He gave me a last dismissive look and went back into the house. Laura
spoke sadly.

"I feel sorry for him, but if he gets out of hand, I can't let him stay
here."

"Doesn't he have a home?"

"I believe he rents an apartment over in Charles Town. He has been
working there as a custodian."

"You're right about my mother not having anything to do with my father's
death. It's become clear to me that she was a victim of all that
happened."

Laura shook her head.

"Amelia was never a victim. She had too much spirit for that. Henry has
always suffered from being the younger brother of a man who was
everything he wasn't. Sometimes I take in strays and Henry is one of
those."

"I hope my father wasn't anything like him."

"Strangely enough, when they were young. Henry was the big, handsome
younger brother. But he never had Brad's charm or brains. He was devoted
to Brad and jealous of him at the same time. Henry went a little crazy
when Brad disappeared. It was Miss. Lacey who took him in hand and
talked some sense into him. He used to work for her sometimes when he
was a boy and he was enough in awe of her then to pay attention."

"She told him today that he'd better stay away from Dan--who could make
mincemeat: out of him. It's strange to think of him as my uncle. I seem
to be collecting a very strange batch of relatives."

Laura smiled.

"Don't worry, Lacey. I can see Amelia in you at times.

She had all the strength that Ardra lacked. And there's nothing wrong
with Caryl, who is a dear. I love her wonderful little son too. They are
also your relatives, you know."

A telephone rang inside, and she went to answer it. While I waited, I
looked out toward the Gap and tried to let the view calm me. Henry's
reappearance worried me. I suspected that he had a capacity for trouble

When Laura returned, she looked bemused.

"That was Clan Griffin. He wants to see me and he asked if he could come
up here now."

"Did he say what he wanted?"

"He didn't waste any time on chitchat, but he said it was important.

I mentioned that you were here, and it didn't seem to change his mind.

I couldn't help wondering how she felt about seeing Daniel after all
these years.

Laura played idly with the thick braid that hung over one shoulder,
retying the little red bow. I could tell she wasn't completely calm
about seeing Daniel Griffin again.

"I'll go and help Ryan when he comes," I offered.

"No! Stay with me, please. I don't wish to see him alone. Whatever he
wants, I probably won't be able to do it. If he has come here to stir up
old trouble, I don't want any part of that.

It's finished--done--and nothing can be changed now."

I spoke quietly.

"How can it ever be finished when no one knows what really happened to
my father?"

"What if it's better not to know? Better for everyone?"

I pounced on her words.

"What do you know?"

She dismissed my question at once.

"I don't know anything. I was never involved. I'd parted company with
Clan long before Brad was even born."

The door chimes sounded, and her apprehension seemed to increase. She
held out her hand to me.

"Come with me, please." When I hesitated, she laughed. "If I'd married
Clan, I might be your grandmother! So humor me."

"I wish you were," I said as I went with her, touched by her need of me,
and feeling less like a stranger. When we reached the front hall and she
opened the door, I stayed back so they could meet again without my
presence.

Clan stood outside for a moment--a tall, strong figure. Only his beard
made him look old. When Laura held out her hand in greeting, he didn't
take it, but bent and kissed her on the cheek.

"Laura," he said. Just her name.

She turned away quickly and led him into the living room. Her look in my
direction asked me to follow. Chairs were grouped near a decoratively
carved coffee table, and she waved us toward them wordlessly. Then she
took her place on the sofa, well away from Daniel.

I sat down feeling that I didn't belong, though another look from Laura
kept me there. Watching my grandfather, I had the feeling that he knew
very well what Laura was experiencing and was grimly amused.

He seemed to notice me for the first time.

"Hello, Lacey. This seems to be our day for running into each other."

I managed to give him a direct look.

"Hello, Grandfather." This was the first time I'd called him that, but
if he noticed, he gave no sign.

An uneasy silence settled on the room, as though each of us were busy
with thoughts we couldn't express. Until Laura said, "Well, Daniel, why
did you want to see me?"

Though nothing in his outward demeanor changed, I had the sense that he
had not been altogether comfortable about meeting Laura again, but that
he had now pulled himself together.

"I understand that Henry Elliot is staying here in your house, Laura.

I'd like to talk to him."

He'd spoken her name again, but it wasn't the same. He sounded grim and
distant now.

"I don't know if that's wise," Laura said.

"He's been drinking; he's not in a reasonable state of mind. What can
you hope to gain?"

He broke in on her words.

"Miss. Lacey tells me that he came to her house with a gun, looking for
me. I don't know what that's all about, but I've come back to Harpers
Ferry for just one reason, and I want to ask him a question."

"We'd all like to know the reason behind your return," Laura said
quietly.

He looked surprised, as though the answer should have been obvious.

"I want to know who killed Brad Elliot."

"Why do you think Henry knows anything?"

"After I left this town I managed to get hold of Harpers Ferry papers
for a while. I had one friend here who knew where I was and sent them to
me, until I moved on and lost touch. I know from those news accounts
that Henry was talking pretty wildly about his brother's murder. The
police tried to pin him down, but he wriggled away, claiming that he'd
been drunk and didn't know anything. I've always wondered about that.

Perhaps now he'll talk."

Laura sat playing with her braid, and the red bow slipped off in her
fingers. She tossed her hair over her shoulder and stood up.

"I don't think this will do any good, Clan, but I'll see if he's
upstairs.

He's afraid of something and frightened men can be reckless, so go easy
with him."

She rose gracefully from the sofa, her back straight, her head high.

Only the gray braid, unraveling down her back, betrayed her uncertainty
and admitted to something like anxiety. It was her nature, I was sure,
to be neat and controlled about her person.

When she'd gone from the room, my grandfather spoke to me.

"So you've decided to acknowledge our relationship, in spite of my being
a murderer?"

"I don't think you're anything of the sort." I spoke with an impulsive
conviction that surprised me and probably surprised him.

The smile he bestowed upon me didn't come easily--as though he hadn't
used it for some time. He bowed slightly in my direction.

"Thank you, Lacey. But I don't think you'll be popular if you spread
that opinion around."

I heard a sound behind me and turned to find that Ryan had come across
the hall. I introduced them.

"Ryan, this is Daniel Griffin.

Grandfather, Ryan Pearce."

Ryan crossed the room to shake hands with the older man, and Daniel
repeated his name.

"Ryan Pearce? I saw an article under that name recently--a piece about
Virginius Island. I was interested in the digging that's been going on
there."

That surprised me.

"Digging?"

Ryan explained.

"The island was populated once, Lacey, as I think I told you. Its
history goes back more than a hundred years, so there's a lot to be
learned about the people who once lived there. In a sense, it's become
an archaeological treasure trove that's buried under silt from the
floods."

Henry's voice reached us from the direction of the stairs, so we knew
that he was coming down, though objecting all the way. When Laura had
practically pushed him into the room, he stood looking about
desperately--at anyone, anything, but Daniel Griffin.

"It's been a long time. Henry," Daniel said mildly.

"For heaven's sake. Henry," Laura said, giving him a slight shove that
moved him in our direction.

"Clan only wants to ask you a question."

Henry looked for the first time in Griffin's direction.

"What question? I'm not good at answering questions."

"Maybe you can answer this one," Griffin said.

"Who killed Brad Elliot?"

Henry's voice seemed to crack.

"I don't know. I never did. Everybody says you killed him."

"But I think you know I didn't, and eventually you'll tell me what you
do know. I suppose I can wait, but I'd rather have it come sooner than
later."

"Oh, I have something to tell you," Henry said, "but now is not the
time. I'll come see you when I'm ready. Until then, you will have to
wait."

He turned abruptly and walked out of the room. We heard the front door
slam moments later.

"I hope you're satisfied," she said to Daniel.

"It doesn't seem worthwhile frightening a man like that." "When he's
scared enough, he'll talk," he said, tugging on his beard.

"Thanks anyway for making him see me."

"It might help," Laura said, "if you'd talk to someone about what's
driving you."

"A confessional?" His scorn was biting.

"And who's to play parish priest?"

Laura swung her braid forward and strands came loose in a thick mass.

He'd made her angry and her cheeks were flushed. She looked beautiful
and furious.

"I'm sorry," Daniel said stiffly.

"There's no way anybody can help.

Maybe I was a fool to come back and think I could find out what happened
to Brad. I thought if people knew the truth, there wouldn't be sneaking
suspicions about me. I don't know why I care."

I could sense pain in both Laura and Daniel and it made me want to do
something.

"When Ryan takes me back to Vinnie's, Grandfather, will you come with
us? Caryl wants to meet you, and you said you'd like to meet her.

Besides, Ardra's come home. Perhaps you could see your daughter" -- He
stopped my words with a cutting slash of his hand. "My daughter and I
have nothing to say to each other."

"Then you needn't see her. But I'll get Caryl out to the herb garden,
and you can talk to her there."

"We'll leave now if you like," Ryan said, calmly.

Laura had recovered from her anger.

"Go with them, Daniel. It will do you good." "All right," Daniel said to
Ryan.

"I might as well come with you and Lacey."

We left quickly, before Daniel could change his mind. Laura came out on
the porch with us and watched as we walked to Ryan's car. She stood
framed by one of the white arches. Her braid had come entirely loose and
soft gray hair blew about her shoulders. Daniel looked back.

Whatever expression he might have worn was well hidden by his beard.

Just then I had a sudden desire to see him clean shaven.

When he got into the back seat, he didn't look toward the house again,
but as we drove away he spoke softly to himself.

"I didn't have much sense when I was young. But then-- who has?"

I was the one who looked back one more time, but Laura had gone inside.

"Thank you for taking me there," I said to Ryan.

"I feel as though I've made a new friend. She knows all of my family,
and she told me much more than my mother ever has."

"Amelia wouldn't tell you anything," Daniel said matter- of-factly and
after that we were all silent on the way to Vinnie's house.

* * * * *****


CHAPTER THIRTEEN.


* * * * WHEN WE REACHED Vinnie's, Ryan offered to go inside to tell my
great-aunt what was about to happen, so that I could take Daniel
directly around to the garden.

It seemed as good a plan as any, though I knew Vinnie was not going to
be pleased. The garden was empty when we reached it, and Daniel walked
along a brick path, his shoulders hunched, lost in his own dark
thoughts.

When I started to open the door of my room and leave him for a few
minutes, he stopped me.

"Don't go, Lacey. I may need you."

I stared in surprise that he would admit to needing anyone, and began to
wonder about the man he had once been-- the father of two daughters and
Ida's husband. He had left his entire family, because he believed that
if he stayed he would be charged with murder, perhaps convicted on
trumped-up evidence. I shuddered at the thought of the pain and anger
that must have rilled him as he left Harpers Ferry so long ago.

I sat down on the bench and watched him pace. When he came near me, I
asked a question.

"Did you keep in touch with anyone after you left, besides the man who
sent you papers?"

He looked down at me and I was aware again of his height and his
powerful build.

"There was no one in the family I could trust with my whereabouts."

"But you knew about Ida's death?"

"I knew. It was in the papers. I'd asked her to come with me and she
refused. She believed I was guilty and she was afraid of me." He broke
off, perhaps to hide what he might be feeling. When he went on, it was
more quietly.

"Aside from her illness, what is your mother like these days, Lacey?"

That was hard to answer.

"I'm not sure I know anymore. I've only seen her as a woman with secrets
she would never talk to me about. I know she wanted a better life for me
than the one she'd had. But since I've come here I've heard stories
about a very different woman from the one I thought I knew."

A door opened and Caryl came out, followed by Ardra. I suspected that
Caryl had persuaded her mother to accompany her against Ardra's will.

While Caryl stepped boldly into the sunlight and walked toward our
grandfather, Ardra hung back in the shadow of the house. He stood
looking at Caryl solemnly, making no move, saying nothing--simply
waiting.

She threw me a nervous smile and stopped in front of him.

"I've always wondered what you'd look like," she said. "I've heard so
much about you, but I wanted to see for myself. I trust my own
instincts."

He almost smiled.

"So what do you think?"

"I don't believe all that I've heard. I don't think you killed my
father."

"That's a foolish conclusion, isn't it? When most of Harpers Ferry
thinks differently? Including your mother."

His dark look settled on Ardra, who was trying to be invisible. I was
aware again of her faded prettiness, her air of fragility--as if she
might break in two if anyone was rough with her.

"Well?" he said.

"Are you coming to greet your long-lost father?"

She acted as though she hadn't heard him and walked hurriedly back into
the house. He looked after her with distaste.

Caryl stood her ground.

"You frighten her, but you don't frighten me.

I don't know you, and I'm not sure I'll like you when I do get to know
you. I just want to find out."

"How can you get to know me with everyone fighting to keep us from being
together?"

"Lacey will help. You know, you've always seemed to me like the wild
highwayman in a story I once read. But now you remind me of the pictures
I've seen of John Brown. I guess he must have been about as wild as they
come."

He laughed out loud, and it was as though some protective coating had
begun to dissolve, leaving him more human and vulnerable. Nevertheless,
I didn't trust him entirely. Something was still terribly wrong.

"So now I have two granddaughters who aren't afraid of me?"

I picked up the challenge of his words.

"We are also Brad Elliot's daughters. Can you forgive us for that?"

"Thank God neither of you seems anything like Brad or his brother.

Henry. Forgiving isn't the problem. You weren't to blame for what
happened. But others are."

He looked past us and I turned to see Ryan coming out of the house with
Vinnie and Ardra. Vinnie's arm was around Ardra, who looked as though
she might run away at any moment. Ryan, at least, would lend a note of
sanity to this strange meeting. Caryl moved toward her mother, but
Vinnie shook her head. When she spoke it was directly to her brother.

"If you will promise to go away and leave us alone, I will tell you
everything you want to know. Almost everything. I don't know it all."

Ardra cried out in shrill protest.

"No! If you do that, he will kill again. That's why he's here."

"Bravo!" Daniel said derisively.

Vinnie gave her an odd look--a look that was almost distrustful.

"Don't," she said to Ardra.

"Don't go on like that. It isn't necessary."

Ardra grew very still. During this interchange, I was sharply aware of
Ryan standing a little apart, the historian, watchful and aware.

When I caught his eye, he gave me a faint nod of reassurance. It was as
though he'd said. Relax and let it happen. But I was too much a part of
all this, and I felt stiff with anxiety.

After her outburst, Daniel ignored Ardra completely.

"I didn't kill him, but Brad got what was coming to him. It will all be
out in the open soon, where it belongs. Is this to be a private session,
Vinnie?

Or do you want to invite a few more people? Miss. Lacey, perhaps?"

Vinnie threw up her hands despairingly and came to sit beside me on the
bench, leaving Ardra to her daughter.

"Go on, Vinnie," Daniel said.

"I know there's plenty you can tell.

And you won't sleep nights until you've spit it all out."

Vinnie looked so white that I thought she might faint, but Daniel pushed
without mercy.

"Do you want this to be an outdoor performance, Vinnie?"

This time she roused herself to answer.

"Yes! If you want to call it a performance. All the actors are present.
You, of course. And Brad's daughters. And me." "So let's hear your
story," Daniel said.

I noticed that the gray pallor was gone and her cheeks were pink again.

When she began to speak her voice grew stronger. As she went on, a
picture built in my mind of a dark evening long ago, with clouds blowing
across the moon and a storm rising to whip up Shenandoah waters. Brad
had apparently taken the baby that night and Vinnie, suspicious, had
followed him.

"I'd never hated anyone before in my life," she told us, "but I hated
Brad Elliot. He had a talent for destruction. He'd already hurt Amelia
so badly she would never recover. And he'd given poor Ardra a child. I
was there when you were born , Caryl. Brad came a week later. He
couldn't face the existence of an illegitimate child. He always wanted
to play the hero, and he never accepted blame. Ardra had gone away to
hide her pregnancy. But she came back to Harpers Ferry for the baby's
birth. She wanted to be with her mother, Ida, who was a nurse. Ida
delivered Caryl."

Vinnie seemed to gather strength and now she looked at me directly.

"Your grandmother Ida tried to hold everything together as long as she
could. She would have supported her daughter in spite of you, Daniel,
but Brad had other plans. He wanted the baby out of the picture. He
claimed that he'd found someone who would take her and raise her in
another state."

"Don't tell any more!" Ardra whispered.

"I never knew what happened, and I don't want to know!"

Vinnie went on as though Ardra hadn't spoken.

"A secret meeting was planned on Virginius Island, and that's where Brad
took the baby. I followed him in my car. When he went across the
footbridge, I left my car and went after him. I didn't trust him and I
was afraid for the baby's life. It was a terrible night, with a high
wind blowing, and I could hear the river rushing over rapids. It wasn't
raining. Not then."

Vinnie lifted her face to the sun, as though its warmth contrasted with
the cold night of her memory.

"Only Brad knew whether he was really going to meet someone. I stumbled
after him when he went to the ruins of a factory on the island. The baby
was wrapped up well and Brad put her down in a sheltered spot under a
stone arch. He seemed to be waiting for someone to come, or perhaps he
was only trying to make up his mind about what he would do. It was easy
to stay out of sight.

All I wanted was to take the baby away from there and carry her home to
her mother.

"The ground on the island was strewn with rubble and I must have set a
stone rolling. He heard the noise and found me crouching behind a wall.

Even in that ragged light I could see his anger. He was out of control."

Vinnie put her hands over her face and a shudder rippled through her.

None of us made a sound as we waited, and I didn't dare to look at Ryan.

It was as though Vinnie's words had taken us back to that night on the
island and it was all happening vividly now.

In a moment she raised her head and told us the rest.

"He called me a meddler and flung himself on me in a rage. The next day
I had bruises on my throat from his fingers. He might have killed me if
I hadn't managed to squirm out of his grasp. I had taken my father's old
handgun with me for protection. I threatened him with it and, when he
came after me again, I shot him. He fell so heavily. I will always
remember the sound of his body striking the ground. I only meant to save
myself and save the baby but he was dead. The baby began to cry and I
knew that at any minute the person Brad had come to meet might appear. I
couldn't take the chance that there was no such person. And I couldn't
take the chance of being found, so I left."

"You ran away after you killed Brad?" Daniel said.

"That was a neat solution. What happened next?"

"When I got home, Ida was asleep. I put the baby into her crib and went
to see how Ardra was doing. She wasn't in her bed, or anywhere around
the house. So I woke Ida up, but she had no idea where Ardra could be.

I didn't find her until I went out in the garden and there she was,
huddled on the bench, soaked to the skin. She said she was looking for
her baby, but she hadn't seemed quite right since the baby was born. I
took her inside and Ida put her to bed. She was bad sick for a week or
so and couldn't even talk to the police when they came asking questions
about Brad. It seems somebody had reported him missing."

Vinnie stopped, looking off toward the wind chimes that a breeze had
touched to musical life.

"Go on," Daniel said.

She shook her head.

"There isn't any more."

"What happened to Brad's body?"

"I ...  I never knew. You've got to believe me about that!"

"I don't have to believe you about anything. Not after what you told the
police about me."

She still didn't look at him.

"It was only the truth. You did have a fight with Brad and you
threatened him I heard you."

"So you managed to save your own neck at my expense. Is that when you
started to hate me so much?"

Such anguish rose in the look she turned on her brother that I could
only feel sorry for her, no matter what she'd done.

Daniel dropped his arms from their fierce folding and stretched widely.

Then he laughed, the sound shocking there in the quiet garden after what
we'd just learned.

"A good story, Vinnie," he mocked.

"And I don't doubt that you rescued Ardra's baby--the girl's here to
vouch for that--but I don't believe the rest of it. I don't think you
had the gumption to kill him, Vinnie--not even thirty years ago. But
you'd have let me rot in prison for something I didn't do."

Suddenly, startling us, Vinnie shouted at him.

"I've told you what happened! I can't help it if you don't believe me."

She held out a shaking hand to Ardra.

"Come with me, dear. This has been too much for both of us."

Ardra went with her silently. Daniel didn't speak again until they
reached the back door to the house. Then his voice stopped them.

"Who are you protecting, Vinnie?"

She looked at him despairingly.

"I wouldn't have let you go to prison. His body was never found, so
nothing could be proved." "But there was a body," Daniel said.

"There probably still is--somewhere. I couldn't wait around for it to
turn up. Not when somebody was trying to frame me."

Ardra pulled away from Vinnie and ran inside. After a moment of staring
at her brother without speaking, Vinnie followed. Only four of us were
left--Caryl, Ryan, Daniel, and me.

I'd been aware of Ryan all the while, standing apart, listening,
watching. Waiting. I still felt stunned by Vinnie's revelations, but
after Daniel's further accusations, I didn't know what to think. I still
wanted to talk with Ryan, but this wasn't the time.

Caryl was the first to speak, softly and in wonder.

"I am here. I'm alive. But I might have grown up somewhere else, and
there'd be no Egan. Or I might not be alive at all."

She was close to tears, and Ryan went over to her and put his arm around
her shoulder. She clung to him, crying helplessly. He held her for a
moment, and then took her into the house. I was left alone with my
grandfather, who seemed, more than ever, an enigma to me.

"You don't believe any of your sister's story?" I asked.

"What do you think?" Whatever he might be feeling was well hidden behind
his masking beard.

My affection for Vinnie, unquestioning until now, had been shaken.

"I don't know what to believe. Who do you think Vinnie might be
protecting?"

He raised a cynical eyebrow.

"There's a choice, isn't there? It even includes your mother."

Startled, I could only stare at him as I felt the shock go through me.

"Mother couldn't have been involved in her husband's death," I said,
when I found my voice.

"A woman scorned? And she ran away, didn't she?"

I disliked him intensely. My mother had suffered a great deal to protect
me, and I believed in her. I turned away and walked toward the door to
my room. Were they all lying? Misleading me for their own purposes? Not
only Daniel, but those who had spoken against him.

Because of fear?

When I reached the low steps, I looked back, but he was gone. The gate
to the herb garden stood open and the chimes rang gently in the light
breeze.

* * * * *****


CHAPTER FOURTEEN.


* * * * * I ESCAPED to my room to breathe deeply again of a scent that
belonged to my childhood and to Aunt Vinnie. I wanted to go to her and
offer any comfort I could. I wanted to tell her that, no matter what had
happened, I wouldn't judge or condemn her. But I knew I mustn't try to
do this while I was still upset myself. Besides, how could I be sure of
her or anyone else?

Absently I moved about the room, stopping before the stones that had
been placed along ledges formed by small square panes of glass. I picked
up a smooth pink stone rose quartz and held it between my palms.

It warmed quickly and felt somehow quieting to my spirit.

All the little stones were interesting a sandstone "rose" that might
have been carved by desert winds; a smooth brown and gold tiger's eye; a
brick-red stone that I knew was jasper; the translucent red-orange of a
carnelian. I had once done an advertising brochure for a crystal shop in
Charlottesville and the owner had given me a small collection of stones
very similar to these.

Someone tapped on my door. I hesitated, wondering which one of them I
would have to face. Surprisingly, it was Vinnie who opened the door when
I called out. I'd have expected her to be upset after what had happened,
but she seemed to be herself again, and not the frantic woman who had
faced her brother only a little while ago.

She crossed the room to look at the stone I held on my palm as though it
were important.

"Rose quartz," she said.

"Do you know that's healing for the heart and stands for love?"

I tried to smile as I replaced the glowing little stone on the ledge.

"Are you all right?" Vinnie asked when I turned to her again.

I answered her carefully. This was not the moment to promise allegiance.

"I was disturbed by what happened out there, of course, but I'm not as
involved as others are. Are you all right?"

"You can't help being involved," she said sadly, ignoring my question.

"Just as Ardra and Caryl can't. I'm sorry so much ugliness and pain have
surfaced. But now, at least, you know what happened."

Did I really? 1 wondered.

"Are you protecting someone?"

"Of course not!" Her indignation seemed real enough, but 1 wasn't sure
of its source.

"You can't trust anything my brother says. I didn't come to talk about
what happened, anyway. I'm afraid even to think about it--I can feel a
headache starting. Poor darling Ardra is so badly shaken that Caryl is
putting her to bed. I came because there's someone here to see you,
Lacey. I tried to put her off, but she's insistent, as only Anne-Marie
can be. You'd better talk to her."

Anne-Marie! This could only mean some communication from Miss. Lacey, so
I thanked Vinnie and went out to the little front parlor that was
reserved for the use of guests. Annemarie had seated herself stiffly on
the edge of a chair, as though relaxing was not something she was
accustomed to doing. She stood up when I appeared and looked at me with
what seemed a permanent air of disapproval. However, she had been told
to deliver a message and she did.

"Miss. Lacey wants you to come to her house as soon as you can and she
asks that you bring a bag so you can stay for a few days."

There was no question in the invitation, no asking what I might like.

"I don't know" -- I began doubtfully.

She continued as though I hadn't said anything.

"Miss. Lacey wants you to bring Egan with you--to stay for a visit."

The Queen had apparently spoken, and I was supposed to leap dutifully to
her bidding. I had other ideas.

"I don't want to do this, Anne-Marie. There are things I need to take
care of here, and I haven't begun to work on my book yet."

The woman shrugged.

"Shall I tell Miss. Lacey that you don't wish to visit her?"

Hearing it put like that, I backed away.

"It's just that this is pretty sudden, and" -- "It would seem advisable
to do as Miss. Lacey wishes, Miss. Elliot."

"Why is that?"

"She is making plans for you. Don't you think you ought to know what
they are?"

This was the first time I'd heard Anne-Marie put forward an idea of her
own. The only time I'd heard her talk freely was when she was showing me
Ellen Fenwick's room. Certainly Miss. Lacey must be made to understand
that I would not allow her to make plans of any kind for me. At the same
time, it occurred to me that Miss. Lacey might still hold answers to
things I wanted to know. Being under the same roof with her would offer
endless possibilities.

"I can't come immediately," I said.

She spoke flatly and without expression.

"You are expected for dinner."

"Expected--not invited?"

She simply stared back at me, cool and detached.

"All right, I'll come," I said, "but I don't know whether I'll bring
Egan. That decision will be up to his mother."

Anne-Marie sniffed.

"Egan's mother will not object."

She rose, waiting quietly for my next move. For the first time I was
aware of what a colorless woman she was. Every time I'd seen her she'd
worn a plain black dress, without the relief of an accessory to soft-en
the bleak aspect of her appearance.

Even her eyes were a pale gray and without expression. She seemed to
have barricaded herself against the outside world, and I wondered what
unhappiness, what defeats, had made her like this.

"Will you sit down for a minute?" I said more gently. She sat again,
reluctantly, and I drew a chair near her, choosing my words carefully.

"I don't understand why you disapprove of me so much, Anne-Marie.

Perhaps we really want the same thing. You'd prefer not to have an
interloper coming into Miss. Lacey's life, but you need to realize that
I don't want to be an interloper. So perhaps we can make a truce between
us."

To my surprise her eyes rilled with tears and she fumbled in her pocket
for a tissue. Taking this as a good sign, I went on.

"If the things my great-grandmother has been planning worry you, you
really needn't be disturbed. I don't want to take your place, you know.

I don't want to live in that house at all."

The dam broke before all the emotion that must have been held back for
so long.

"Last month she told me she was going to let me go! She said she wanted
someone more cheerful around her. I try to do everything she wants, and
then someone like you--a real relative--comes into her life and she's a
new person. She's making plans for you. She won't need me anymore. And
where will I go? What will I do?"

Her breakdown distressed me and I didn't know how to deal with it. In
her own fearful mind Anne-Marie must have created this make-believe that
she was a member of Miss. Lacey's family. Miss. Lacey had used her
devotion, and she had no right to dismiss it so cruelly. In fact, it was
hard to believe that she had.

Again I tried to reassure her.

"It may have been a bad day for her.

She may have been upset about something and took it out on you.

She'll probably never refer to it again. I can't imagine her running
that house without you."

Anne-Marie wiped her eyes and sniffed.

I went on again quickly.

"I'm sure everything will be all right. When you go back, tell her that
I'll be there for dinner and that I'll bring Egan if I can. This time
when I see her I'll make everything clear. I want to go home to
Charlottesville soon. My mother needs me.

So you needn't worry about my moving in permanently with my
great-grandmother. I admire her, but I won't let her run my life."

Anne-Marie stood up and tucked away the bit of damp tissue, probably
regretting her unaccustomed outburst. I saw her to the door, and before
she turned away, she surprised me again.

"You're a lot like her, Miss. Elliot."

She walked out to Miss. Lacey's car, got in, and drove away, leaving me
to stare after the car in some uncertainty. Then I went in search of
Caryl.

Her room was on the second floor across from Vinnie's and next to
Ardra's. I ran into her coming out of her mother's room.

She put her fingers to her lips when she saw me.

"I've given Momma one of Aunt Vinnie's herbal sleeping capsules and
she's drowsing off.

Come into my room, so we can talk."

I went through the door she held open for me and stepped into a room
that seemed almost like a schoolgirl's. Old posters hung on the
walls--one of Nureyev in his glory days, another of the young Bruce
Springsteen, and a third an early portrait of Early Simon and James
Taylor. A warm pink seemed to be the predominant color and it suited
her. At her invitation I sat down in a chair upholstered in cabbage
roses and told her what Miss. Lacey wanted.

She shook her head at once.

"I don't want Egan going up there any more than I can help it. I know
what she's trying to do. And I know how strong she can be. You've got to
help me, Lacey. Help me stand up to her."

I had nothing to say to that. I had no desire to be thrown into someone
else's adversarial position with my great-grand- mother. I had my own
battles to fight.

Caryl moved about the room, touching various possessions--books,
collections of small wood carvings, articles on her dressing table.

She picked up a small, cleverly carved camel and held it up for me to
see.

"Grandpa Daniel made this for my mother when she was small. He used to
carve wonderful things. You've seen that gryphon's head on Miss. Lacey's
cane? He made that many years ago."

She dropped the camel, not bothering to set it on its feet, and her face
contorted.

"That was horrible! I mean, what happened in the garden. He was cruel to
Vinnie and I don't want him for a grandfather! Of course my mother was
frightened and upset. It's been hard to reassure her. I just wish the
past would stay away from us. I don't know what I would have done
without Ryan. He helped me with Mother, and he always gives me good
advice."

I didn't want to talk about Caryl and Ryan.

"What did you mean when you said you knew what Miss. Lacey is trying to
do?"

"She doesn't think Egan should live with us. She hates my mother and she
thinks I'm a case of arrested development." Caryl looked ruefully at the
three posters.

"Maybe I am. I liked everything better when I was a young girl. Having a
son like Egan and no husband is scary."

So she was probably looking to Ryan to solve her problem of being alone.

"Miss. Lacey's trying to bribe Egan with that drum--and other things,"
Caryl said.

"She's trying to take him away from me and bring him up herself. As if I
would allow that! She wants to adopt him, because she doesn't think we
can do as much for him as she can."

"There isn't anything she can do legally, is there?"

"I don't think so. But Egan is a special little boy, and I'm not sure I
could keep him from going to her if he wanted to."

"What do you mean? You're his mother."

She looked at me sadly.

"Sometimes I have the feeling that he's only been loaned to me.

Sometimes he says things that are much too wise for his age."

"This will be only a short visit, Caryl."

"Perhaps if I let him go with you, you can watch her with him and see
what she does to try to win him over. Keep an eye on him, Lacey.

Protect him."

I was going to have my hands full trying to protect myself from whatever
Lacey Fenwick Enright had in mind. But I would certainly make an effort.

"All right, I'll try," I promised.

"I think Egan likes me."

"Oh, he does! He says you're here to make something good happen."

I didn't care for the sound of that there was too much responsibility
implicit in the remark and she smiled at my expression.

"Whatever comes, you'll handle it. I know you will! Egan knows something
bad has just happened and that his grandma Ardra is sick because of it.
So perhaps he'd be better off away with you for a few days."

"I'll be glad to have his company," I said.

"What about Shenandoah?"

"Miss. Lacey doesn't like cats. And Shenna is comfortable here." There
was one thing I needed to do before I left. I asked where Ryan's room
was located and Caryl directed me to a suite of rooms above the guest
wing. I went down the hall and found his door open. I could hear music a
deep, resonant voice singing words that had stirred a nation more than a
hundred years ago.

John Brown's body lies amolderin in the grave, John Brown's body lies
amolderin in the grave, John Brown's body lies amolderin in the grave,
His soul is marching on.

And then the rousing "Glory, glory, hallelujah  ..."

The voice was so powerful that I stood in the doorway listening. Ryan
sat at a desk near a window, poring over papers that had probably come
from Laura Kelly's collection.

I tapped lightly and he looked around.

"Come in, Lacey." He got up to turn off the tape player, but I stopped
him.

"Please that's a wonderful voice. Who is the singer?"

"Paul Robeson. It's a collection of his songs and we're lucky to have
such a recording. Listen to this " He stopped the machine and
fast-forwarded the tape. Again the mighty voice soared: "0 Shenandoah,
you rolling river  ..."

I listened entranced. I'd always loved the old folk song, but I'd never
heard it sung by a voice like this a voice that carried the rolling
magnificence of the river in every note. I could feel a prickling down
my spine. The real Shenandoah was right out there, sweeping past Harpers
Ferry, and I knew suddenly that I was not "going away" across any "wide
Missouri as the song said. I meant to stay right here where Ryan was.
Emotion tingled through me, touched off by a song that spoke to
something deep inside me.

When the music ended, Ryan turned off the cassette player and came
toward me down the long room. Aware of him in this new way, I watched
the easy grace of movement that made him seem so light on his feet. When
he stood beside me, I was swept by feelings I didn't know how to deal
with.

"Are you all right, Lacey?" he asked, and I knew my face was giving too
much away.

I wasn't all right. Part of me needed to be safe inside myself, as I'd
always been where no man could really touch me. Now, without warning,
that sense of safety was gone. I was vulnerable to hurt as I'd never
been before. Yet I didn't want it any other way.

I tried to answer him.

"After what happened in the herb garden, I don't think any of us is
entirely all right. I'm upset and confused.

And alarmed too. What do you think Daniel Griffin intends?"

"Perhaps no more than what he's doing right now stirring everyone up,
making them remember."

"Poor Vinnie. That was dreadful the way she told her terrible story."

"If it really happened."

"Do you think Daniel was right in what he said?"

Ryan's look was kind.

"Perhaps we'd better let it go for now, Lacey.

What will happen will happen, as my mother always says. Maybe the waters
are rising."

"That sounds fatalistic."

"We're outside what is happening, Lacey. We can't affect the actions of
those who are deeply involved."

"What if I don't choose to be outside? What if everything I'm feeling
about those who are my family pulls me into the very center of the
maelstrom? You know, Ryan, Miss. Lacey doesn't want me to stay outside.

I'm going to visit her for a few days so I can find out what she's
planning."

"Do you want to go to Miss. Lacey's?"

"I'd rather stay here, but I must persuade her to listen to me. She has
a foolish notion that she wants to make me her heir and give me that old
house. I don't want any part of it." "I wish you luck," Ryan said dryly.

"At least you won't be far away.

And you needn't be tied to the house. There's something we could do
tomorrow, if you're willing."

I was willing. More and more, I was ready to do anything that would keep
me in Ryan's company. I closed my ears to warning bells that seemed to
be sounding inside me.

Ryan went on.

"I'm going over to Virginius Island tomorrow morning.

Would you like to come along?"

At once I wanted to go, in spite of the lingering horror of Vinnie's
story.

"I'd like that," I told him.

"Do you have a special purpose in going to the island?"

"Yes--more than ever after hearing Vinnie's story. Besides, I'd like to
show you what's there. It's part of your Harpers Ferry heritage.

You can even use it in your book. A stranger in town can often see
things that the people who live there are accustomed to and take for
granted. I don't know what you might notice, but it's a theory I'd like
to test."

I'd rather he simply wanted to be with me, but any reason would do for
now.

"I'd love to go," I said, with more warmth in my voice than I intended.

"Fine! I'll come up to Miss. Lacey's tomorrow morning. Say around ten?"

I agreed, feeling foolishly happy.

"Have you found anything interesting in Laura Kelly's papers?"

"It's all interesting, but so far there's nothing to get excited about.

Old letters often deal with what seems like trivia to anyone but the
writer. Nevertheless, I have to be watchful and look for the unexpected
paragraph that proves to be a gold mine."

"Then I'll leave you to it and go talk to Vinnie," I said. "I'm supposed
to have dinner with Miss. Lacey tonight."

He came with me to the door and I was aware of everything about him. A
clean smell of soap and water, and a faint hint of aftershave. The way
his hair curled close to his scalp and showed flecks of gold in the
light. Hair I'd love to touch. His long-fingered hands--I could imagine
what it would feel like if they caressed me.

I stopped myself sharply. This could lead to nothing but hurt. It was a
long time since I'd been drawn to a man in this way. Perhaps it had
never happened like this before, since my guard was always up. My mother
had frequently told me not to trust any man too much. So now I didn't
dare trust what was happening.

As I left him and went down the hall to the main part of the second
floor, I heard the music start up again--Paul Robe182 son singing

"Deep River." I hurried away from the sound and went to look for Vinnie.

I found her in her bedroom stretched out on the bed, with a pillow under
her knees and a smaller one under her head. Jasmine was placing a cool
damp cloth over her eyes.

"Miss. Vinnie's got one of her real bad headaches," Jasmine told me.

"Then I won't bother her now," I said, and backed toward the door.

At once Vinnie pushed the cloth away.

"It's all right, Jasmine. Let her stay. I'll be all right. You can come
back later."

Jasmine gave me a doubtful look and went away.

"I won't stay," I promised.

"I just want" -- Vinnie broke in.

"Sit down, Lacey."

I pulled a chair over to the bed and did as she wished. She reached for
my hand and held it lovingly.

"I'm so glad you're here. But I'm terribly sorry you had to hear that
dreadful story."

"I'm glad I did. Though I shake inside when I think of what you must
have gone through on that terrible night."

She closed her eyes, speaking softly.

"Not all of it was true, dear.

Clan was right about that. I didn't kill your father, Lacey."

"But then why--1"

"\ hoped Clan would be satisfied with my story and stop his hunting.

He is dangerous, Lacey. But I don't think he killed your father. I can
see that you're beginning to make friends with him, and that isn't wise.

I just wanted him to believe me and go away."

"Are you protecting someone. Aunt Vinnie?" I asked again.

Her head turned from side to side on the pillow and she moaned softly.

"Just let it be! Don't you go getting involved. Everything happened so
long ago that it doesn't matter anymore. It really doesn't."

I wondered about that. Obviously, Daniel Griffin didn't feel the same
way. As long as Brad's body was unaccounted for, nothing could be
settled--finished. But there was no point in reminding her of this now.

I held her hand and stroked it as I told her about my planned visit to
Miss. Lacey's, and that I would be taking Egan with me.

She didn't object, as I'd thought she might.

"If that's what Miss. Lacey wants, you'd better go. But what I told you
when you first went to see her still holds. Don't let her blow you down.
Don't let her run your life."

"As she has run yours in the past?"

"She hasn't really succeeded, though she's certainly tried. I quietly go
my own way, because fighting her doesn't do any good--opposition just
makes her stronger. Basically she's a good person. You know, don't you,
that she provides the money that I still mail to your mother once a
year? It devastated her when Amelia left and took you with her. She has
so little close family left and Amelia was always her favorite. So, of
course, whether she shows it or not, she cares deeply about you.

You're Amelia's daughter and her namesake. But that's all the more
reason for you to be careful and not let her possess you."

"I'll watch it," I promised. Resistance to Miss. Lacey already came
easily.

I rose to leave, but Vinnie wasn't ready to let me go.

"Tell me about your visit to Laura Kelly's. Once, a long time ago, we
were pretty good friends, Laura and I."

This seemed a safe enough subject and I described our visit and told her
that I'd seen Henry Elliot there.

That startled her.

"Laura's always been an odd one. I can't think why she'd take Henry in.

Do you know that Laura and Miss. Lacey really detest each other?"

It was my turn to be surprised.

"Laura doesn't seem like the sort of person to hate anyone."

"Ordinarily she wouldn't, but Miss. Lacey can bring out the worst in
people. Then again--that was so long ago that even Laura may have
forgotten about it. I don't think Miss. Lacey ever forgets anything."

"She wants to leave that old house to me in her will. I'm accepting her
invitation and going there for a visit so that I can convince her that I
don't want it and won't accept it."

"Poor thing," Vinnie said.

"Nobody really loves her. Unless it's Egan. But I suppose we're all
afraid of her. It's hard to love someone you're afraid of. Now she's
trying to buy you."

"Caryl says Miss. Lacey would like to adopt Egan and raise him as she
thinks he should be raised."

"There's not a chance of that!"

But my words had apparently upset her, and she put a hand to her head.

"I'm hurting again. Please tell Jasmine I need her. And keep in touch
with us while you're gone, Lacey."

I bent to kiss her cheek and she looked up at me, her eyes bright with
affection. I went to summon Jasmine and then, as I hurried to my room
downstairs, Egan came running along the hall after me.

"Mommy says I can go up to Grandma Lacey's with you. Now I can play my
drum all I want! And I can see Grandpa Daniel too."

"I'm glad you're coming with me," I said, though I wished he had been
less enthusiastic about his great-great-grand- mother's plan.

"I have to help Mommy pack my bag, but I can leave whenever you're
ready."

I told him I'd see him soon and went into my room to take my suitcase
from the closet. However, before I left I knew I must call my mother and
tell her where I'd be. I sat down beside the phone in my room.

This time she answered herself and her voice sounded stronger. I gave
her a carefully edited account of what had happened here, and told her
that I was going to stay for a few days with my great-grandmother. I
said nothing about Daniel Griffin, since I thought the mention of his
presence here might upset her too much.

"You never told me that I had a great-grandmother," I said, "or that she
was the one who wrote those checks year after year."

"I couldn't talk about her. I think she never forgave me for leaving.

Once I wrote to her, but she never answered. She wasn't kind to my
mother and, of course, she detested your father. After all those
terrible things happened, she shut herself away in that big house."

"I never knew anything about what happened until I came here," I told
her, unable to keep the reproach out of my voice.

"Well, now you know," she said Hotly, and then went on in a lighter tone
of voice perhaps to distract me.

"Whatever you do, Lacey, don't make friends with Ezekiel. I've never
believed that he had any benign feelings toward the family after all
that happened." "Who is Ezekiel?" I asked.

She laughed as though she found my question funny. "Never mind perhaps
you'll find out or perhaps you won't. Please take care of yourself,
Lacey dear." She hung up before I could say anything more. At least she
sounded more like herself, which made me feel a little easier about
being away from her.

* * * *****


CHAPTER FIFTEEN.


***** * * THIS TIME it was Miss. Lacey who met- us at the door, while
Anne-Marie hovered in the background, looking sour-- though she moved
quickly enough to do Miss. Lacey's bidding.

I had never seen my great-grandmother look so invigorated, and I felt
guilty when I realized how much she must have anticipated our coming.

I was already braced to oppose whatever she wanted, and I knew that her
newfound happiness was misplaced.

She even kissed me on the cheek--a first! --and I caught the fragrance
she used. Water lily, its sweetness cut by some spicy scent I couldn't
place. She wore sea green today, with a white froth of lace at her
throat that reminded me of sea spray. Her cheeks were tinged with a pink
that was not artificial-- excitement had brought her to life.

When she'd bent to receive a hug from Egan, she told us happily that our
rooms were ready for us upstairs.

"Annemarie will show you the way. With Egan next door, you won't feel
alone, Lacey."

She'd known that I wouldn't care to be alone up there so close to
Ellen's room. Until now, I hadn't really thought about where I would
sleep, and I felt dismayed when I found that my room was the one across
from Ellen Fenwick's. That door stood open today, which gave me an
uneasy feeling.

As Anne-Marie brought us upstairs, she noticed the direction of my look.

"Yes--we are to leave Miss. Ellen's door open from now on. Miss. Lacey
says that you are the one descendant who may make a difference in this
house. She wants Ellen Fenwick to know that you are here."

This was a bit more spooky than I liked. By this time my Fenwick blood
was pretty diluted, and it didn't descend from Ellen anyway.

Egan skipped about cheerfully, pleased that he would have his own room
next to mine. At Vinnie's he shared a room with his mother.

Anne-Marie never seemed to alarm him, and she even thawed a little when
he spoke to her. Since I'd seen her in tears, I knew that her stern
facade could be breached.

She assured Egan that he needn't bother unpacking--she would take care
of that and he ran off happily to find his drum.

I went into the room that had been assigned to me and looked around.

This time the shades were up and I could glimpse a sky not far from
sunset. The window faced the river so I could see Daniel's cottage.

He was not in sight, and I wondered if he knew that Egan and I were
moving in for a visit:.

I hung the few clothes I'd brought in a tall wardrobe, and when I looked
into a wavery mirror on its door I found my hair windblown and my mouth
smudged. I went in search of a bathroom and made a few repairs.

Back in my room I put on the one dress I'd brought. It was the shade of
a dark, glowing ruby with a trim of gilt buttons. My earrings were red
carnelians my mother had given me when I was eighteen. Dressing up to
look my best gave me more courage. I felt I was ready to meet Miss.
Lacey again--and perhaps begin the process of standing up to her.

When I went downstairs she was waiting for me in the drawing room.

Sitting there on her Victorian sofa with its high carved back, she
looked regal and very much in charge. She patted the stiff cushions
beside her when I appeared.

"How nice you look. Come and sit by me, Lacey. We can talk a little
before dinner."

I sat beside her, but not too close. I didn't mean to be beguiled by
this new, open manner. Behind her smooth, unwrinkled forehead, I could
almost see the plans being hatched and I needed to be wary. In the next
room--the smaller parlor--Egan was thumping on his Civil War drum,
inventing his own rhythms.

I asked her a question.

"If you had lived in the time when this house was built, which side
would you have been on--the blue or the gray?"

"Most of the Fenwicks wore blue. But when I read about the war that
split us into two states, I sometimes have a stronger sympathy for the
South and General Lee than for Mr.. Lincoln. By comparison, today seems
uneventful."

Considering the state of the world and the frightful events that were
happening everywhere, I could hardly feel that life in these United
States was uneventful. But of course she was thinking only of this
little strip of land that ran down to the meeting of the rivers.

When the front-door knocker sounded. Miss. Lacey's eyes sparkled and she
smiled at me.

"I've invited company for dinner. Ryan Pearce is a young favorite of
mine, so I called him about a half hour ago and asked him to join us."

My heart jumped ridiculously, but I managed not to show it.

Anne-Marie invited him in and I heard them talking together as she
brought him to the drawing room. By now, she looked almost friendly.

Perhaps those tears had been a needed release for her.

He went to Miss. Lacey and bowed over her hand like a gallant Southern
gentleman which pleased her enormously. Egan left his drum and came
delightedly to greet his friend.

When Anne-Marie summoned us, we went into the long, formal dining room,
where Fenwicks must have dined long before the war and ever since.

Miss. Lacey sat at one end of the oval table, with Egan placed at the
opposite end as the man of the family. He was well propped by phone
books and looked suitably dignified. Ryan sat at Miss. Lacey's right and
I was on her left, across from him.

Again I felt unreasonably happy, though his manner toward me had never
been more than friendly.

Apparently there was a cook in the kitchen, whom I hadn't met, but
Anne-Marie took on yet another role and served us with as much panache
as any butler. Perhaps she was even enjoying herself. Life in this house
must be dreadfully dull most of the time. I wondered what sort of
private life she led--if she even had a private life.

Chicken roasted in olive oil was served with baked yams and fresh
spinach from the garden. As Anne-Marie poured the wine. Miss. Lacey
asked Ryan about Laura Kelly.

"How is she? Daniel tells me you visited her house today."

Ryan spoke easily of our visit to Laura's and told Miss. Lacey about the
treasure of old papers that had been made available to him. He didn't
mention that Henry Elliot was staying with Laura, but apparently Daniel
had informed her of this as well. However, Miss. Lacey didn't seem to
know about the unhappy meeting in the herb garden, when Vinnie told us a
story that might not have been entirely true. Nor did anyone mention a
man named Ezekiel. My mother's cryptic words had left me curious, and
when I found the opportunity I asked about him.

"How did you ever hear about Ezekiel?" Miss. Lacey asked in surprise.

I told her what my mother had said--that Ezekiel, who192 ever he was,
had no benign feeling toward the family, and 1 shouldn't make friends
with him.

Miss. Lacey sighed.

"That sounds like Amelia. She always did have a whimsical streak.

You're not likely to make friends with him, since he died in the battle
of Shepherdstown, the day after Antietam. He grew up in Harpers Ferry
and our families were friends until they moved away, and Ezekiel put on
a gray uniform to fight for the South."

"But why would my mother say?"

Miss. Lacey looked at Ryan.

"You know the picture well, so tell Lacey."

Ryan explained that in Miss. Lacey's searches through old collections
being sold at auction, she had come across a crude painting of Ezekiel
Montgomery.

"His name and rank as captain were written on the back of the canvas.

So she bought it and brought it back here many years ago. She knew that
Ezekiel had figured in the family history."

Miss. Lacey added her own footnote.

"The picture is up in Ellen's room, so you can see it when you go
upstairs."

"It's a spooky painting," Ryan noted.

"Miss. Lacey brought it down once so I could examine it."

While we were eating a dessert of fresh strawberry shortcake, the
knocker on the front door sounded again. Annemarie went to answer and we
heard her invite someone into the main parlor. A moment later she came
into the dining room to speak to Miss. Lacey.

"Mrs.. Kelly is here to see you," she said doubtfully.

"I've put her in the front parlor."

Miss. Lacey frowned.

"What on earth can she want? We haven't spoken in years and our last
parting was far from friendly. Well, I suppose I'll have to see her."

She rose from the table, and Egan ran to offer her his arm.

"Thank you," she said, "but you stay here with Ryan until I come back.

Lacey, why don't you come with me." She slipped her arm through mine.

We crossed the hall to find Laura standing at the piano, looking over
the collection of small pictures. She still wore her mocha tweed
trousers, though she had changed into a pullover sweater in a pink and
brown design. She had wound her long braid around her head, and I
thought she looked beautiful, though not entirely serene.

She turned as we reached the door, nodded to me, and spoke to Miss.
Lacey.

"Good evening. I'm sorry to trouble you, but I'm concerned about Henry
Elliot. He went off this afternoon without saying where he was going.

I haven't seen him since. It occurred to me that he might have come
here. He's not always in control of his own actions, so I thought I
would take him back to my house--if he's here."

Miss. Lacey shook her head.

"I haven't seen him. He might be out back with Daniel, though that
doesn't seem likely, if he's sober. He came up here this morning in an
excited state, but he cooled off and thought better of confronting
Daniel."

"If Daniel's staying in your cottage  ..." She hesitated and then went
on: "Do you mind if I go out and talk to him?" "Do as you like," Miss.
Lacey said, not altogether approvingly.

"Please go with Mrs.. Kelly, Lacey, and show her the way."

I suspected that she wanted a report from me on this meeting, so I
started toward the hall door, expecting Laura to follow. Instead she
held back. As I turned to wait for her, she approached Miss. Lacey and
held out her hand.

"I've always been sorry about what happened between us. There was no
good reason for us to be angry with each other."

"Perhaps there was," Miss. Lacey said.

"There was Brad Elliot and all the trouble he caused ..." After a
moment's hesitation she took Laura's hand.

"We used to be friends. I don't see why we can't be again. Let's hope
all those dreadful happenings are water under the bridge."

"I never believed that Daniel had anything to do with Brad's death, and
I still don't, but I shouldn't have been so insistent about standing up
for him."

"That was an unhappy time, and all our emotions were raw."

Laura nodded without comment, and joined me as I led the way to the back
door. Daniel Griffin was outside, chopping wood for the cottage stove.

When he saw us he raised his ax in a last chop and left it embedded in
the log.

Laura spoke to him warmly as she walked toward him. "I'm glad you've
come home, Daniel. We didn't have much chance to talk when you came to
my house earlier today. Lacey has told me of your wife's death and I'm
very sorry."

"Thank you for your concern," Daniel said sincerely.

"You could have stayed at- my house, Clan."

"Could I? I don't- think so." He sounded gruff, but the look he gave her
was almost as kind as the look he gave Egan. "Anyway, I wanted to
confront Miss. Lacey on her own ground. When she offered to let me stay
out here, I took her up on it. This way we have an armed truce, and we
can watch each other. Besides, you've got that horse's ass Henry staying
with you. We wouldn't mix so well." He paused for a moment and then
said, "In the old days you weren't on good terms with Miss. Lacey. So
why are you here?"

"I was looking for Henry and thought this might be a good opportunity to
clear the air with Lacey Enright."

"I haven't seen Henry since I was at your place, and I don't much want
to see him. In fact, it might be a good idea if he stays out of my way."

"You do look fierce, Daniel. Did Virginia like your beard?"

"She never saw it like this. I kept it trimmed. But I'm by myself now
and it doesn't matter." "It matters," Laura said.

"Anyway, don't waste your anger on poor Henry. He's much too pitiful.

I've been trying to sober him up." "Good luck," Daniel said, shaking his
head.

"If he turns up, send him home. And come see me again, Daniel. I'd like
that."

He didn't answer, but looked toward the house, listening. "I kept
hearing a drum earlier," he said.

I explained about the love affair between Egan and Royal Fenwick's drum.

Daniel nodded gravely.

"I can see what she intends with Egan. But what about you, Lacey Elliot?
What's she up to with you?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"You're going back to Charlottesville to your mother?"

"Eventually, Grandfather, but I expect to visit Miss. Lacey for a few
days. Why don't you come and see us in Charlottes- ville when I do go
back?"

He looked astonished.

"I don't think your mother would care to see me."

Laura glanced at her watch.

"I must be on my way. Lacey, will you come out to the car with me?"

She held out her hand to Daniel. He seemed more on guard with her as
they parted, and she must have sensed this, for she turned away quickly.

We walked around the house to the road, and she went to open the rear
door of her car. As I watched, she lifted out a large, wrapped package
that could only be a picture.

"I've brought Miss. Lacey something as a peace offering," she said and
handed it to me.

I could guess what it was.

"Royal Fenwick's portrait?"

"Yes. Will you take it to her? I don't want to force her thanks. She
isn't very happy about seeing me, though she did put on a good front."

I watched until the car was out of sight, and then I went into the house
carrying Laura's package.

*****


CHAPTER SIXTEEN.


***** * * * I TOOK the portrait into the dining room, where Miss. Lacey,
Egan, and Ryan still sat.

"Laura wants you to have this," I told my great-grandmother.

She regarded the package suspiciously.

"What is it?"

"I think you'll be pleased. Don't you want to open it?"

"Open it for me," she directed.

1 ripped off the paper and held the picture up for her to see.

"Royal Fenwick," she said softly.

"I've seen other pictures of him. It was generous of Laura, but I'm not
sure I can accept it."

I could hardly believe what she was saying.

"But she wants you to have it!"

She waved a hand at me.

"Set it down somewhere and I'll think about it. Then come and finish
your dessert."

She gave the order as if to a child, but I knew by now that this was her
way. I leaned the picture against a wall, and then sat down at the table
again. Ryan raised an eyebrow at me, but said nothing.

Miss. Lacey seemed not to notice.

"What happened between Laura and Daniel just now?" "Nothing much. Laura
asked about Henry, who has gone off somewhere on his own."

When we'd finished our meal, Egan left the table to look more closely at
Royal's portrait.

"Could I have this up in my room. Grandma? I'd like to look at it.

Because of my drum."

When Miss. Lacey hesitated, he smiled at her in his own bright way.

"I won't let anything happen to it, I promise."

Her smile was fond.

"Very well, dear. You may keep the picture in your room for now. Ryan
will take it upstairs for you later."

When Egan had gone back to the parlor and his drum, she asked Ryan a
direct question.

"When are you going to marry Caryl?"

He looked startled.

"I didn't know I was marrying anyone."

"Vinnie tells me Caryl is in love with you. And I know you're very fond
of Egan. And" -- "Vinnie can be a gossip," he said, stopping her.

I sensed a coiled spring in Ryan, and knew he resented the question.

A feeling of tension had come into the room, and, sure enough, Ryan
didn't stay long, saying he needed to get back to his work.

"Thank you for dinner, Miss. Lacey." He nodded at me. "I'll see you in
the morning."

The moment he was gone. Miss. Lacey echoed his words. "You are seeing
Ryan in the morning?"

I explained that he was taking me to Virginius Island.

"He thinks I should know more about what he calls my Harpers Ferry
heritage."

Her disapproval was clear, but I couldn't tell whether it was because
she disapproved of my going to Virginius Island or because she didn't
want Ryan to be interested in me. For one reason or the other she was
upset and pleaded weariness. After allowing me to kiss her cheek, she
retired to her room.

I looked in on Egan and found him building armies of blue and gray lead
soldiers on the rug near the drum.

"Which army do you favor?" I asked when he smiled up at me.

"I'm only playing," he said.

"See here's the boy who carried this drum. He's out ahead of them all,
but nobody will shoot him. He wants the armies to be friends."

I knelt to hug him and was touched when he put his arms around my neck.

"If you see my mother tomorrow, tell her I'm all right and I love her.

And tell Shenandoah that I'll be home soon."

Vinnie didn't need to worry about Egan being "bribed," I thought. He had
his own guiding spirit and perhaps everyone should trust in that.

"I'm going upstairs now," I said.

"I'll carry the painting of Royal to your room. I think Ryan got
distracted and forgot. Will you be coming to bed soon?"

Anne-Marie had entered the room behind us.

"I'll see that Egan gets to bed very soon," she assured me.

1 felt more emotionally than physically tired. I needed time alone so
that I could think about some of the strange events of the day. And so I
could think about Ryan--a disturbing road that made me unsure of myself.

When I started up the stairs, Anne-Marie followed me, her eyes alight
with an eagerness that made me wary for some reason.

"You wanted to see Ezekiel's picture," she said.

"I can show it to you."

1 was still puzzled by my mother's whimsical remark, but when Anne-Marie
went to Ellen's open door, I hesitated.

She looked back at me.

"You won't know this room. Miss. Lacey had me clean it up thoroughly.

When we came up here yesterday she felt that a change needed to be made.

Because of you."

I didn't want to know what she meant by that, but I went into the room
and looked around. It had been cleaned and aired, and the ancient
draperies had been removed. But while the cobwebs were gone, I could
never feel comfortable in this room. I set down Royal's picture,
wondering how he felt about visiting this room.

Anne-Marie touched a light switch and 1 saw a framed portrait that hung
in a far corner, where I hadn't noticed it before.

Ryan had mentioned that the painting was crude, and this was clear
enough in the rather wooden execution. Nevertheless, the painter had
managed to present the face of a man handsome enough to break a few
hearts. His hair was dark blond, and he was young and beardless. A
slight smile knew its own charm. But it was the blue eyes that were
remarkable and arrested my attention.

They seemed to look directly at me and did not look away. When I stepped
backward to put distance between me and the picture, the eyes followed
me intently. Wherever I moved, they watched me, as if in some strange
recognition.

I shook off the spell and turned to Anne-Marie, who was watching me as
intently as the portrait.

"I've seen that sort of trick in paintings before. But why is his
picture hanging here in Ellen's room?"

Anne-Marie seemed to know everything connected with this house and she
spoke with relish.

"Ezekiel was engaged to marry Ellen Fenwick.

We have old letters that tell how much in love they were. But when the
war started he went into the army as a captain--on the Confederate side,
as you can see by his uniform. Ellen Fenwick loved him anyway, but her
father was furious. Jud forbade her to ever see him again. So when
Ezekiel left to fight with a Virginia regiment, she was forced to break
off her engagement. Ezekiel had this picture painted and sent it to her
through a friend. She must have hidden it away, so Jud wouldn't destroy
it. It wasn't found for a generation or two. He died in the
Shepherdstown fighting just after Antietam, so poor little Ellen was
already brokenhearted before those marauders took over the house."

A heavy sense of grief seemed to inhabit this room-- something no amount
of cleaning could sweep away. The eerie way Ezekiel's eyes followed me
seemed to ask for something. My mother must have felt this too when she
was young.

I picked up Royal's portrait and escaped from both Ezekiel and
Anne-Marie by crossing the hall to Egan's room. I hung the picture of my
ancestor on a nail that had held a faded print of wildflowers.

Satisfied that Egan would like it there, I crossed over to my own room
next door. It was too early to go to bed and I was too keyed-up for
sleep anyway, so I sat down to read one of the books I had brought with
me, a history of Harpers Ferry. After a few pages, I realized that in my
present state of mind I couldn't concentrate.

I put the book aside and went to stand at the rear window, where I could
look out toward Daniel Griffin's cottage. All was dark out there, and no
lights burned in the windows, so he was probably out--roaming about
Harpers Ferry on some mysterious search of his own. Moonlight
illuminated the yard and touched off sparkles on the river where it
flowed far below the steep cliffs.

Whatever I did or thought about, my consciousness of Ellen's room
remained. I'd read about "thought forms" in haunted houses. Not ghosts,
but something left in another dimension to disquiet those who came
within reach.

I knew what I needed to do in this restless state. I changed to warm
trousers and a pullover sweater, tied a scarf over my hair, and stole
downstairs and out of the house.

The sound of my car starting up in the stillness might rouse the
attention of the household, but that couldn't be helped. It took only
moments to drive down steep streets to the Lower Town. Parking places
were easy to find at this hour and I left my car to walk out to the
Point. This was where I'd first come when I reached Harpers Ferry, and
it was where I'd met Ryan Pearce.

I watched the river flow over white rapids, its surface dancing with
light. Daughter of the Stars, indeed. Clearly I was a romantic at heart,
though this was not something I'd realized during my life in
Charlottesville. So little had ever touched me there, but now old,
blocked-off feelings were beginning to stir.

When Ryan came to stand beside me, as he had done the first time, I
didn't feel surprised. It was as though I had come here for an
inevitable meeting.

"It seems we've met like this before," he said. I noticed again the low
timbre of his voice and it made me shiver with anticipation.

"The river always calls to me when the moon is full. She's lively
tonight, but not in one of her tempers."

"I couldn't sleep," I said.

"I knew there wasn't any point in going to bed."

"I felt the same way. I kept thinking about you up in that house and I
felt concerned. Not that anything could happen to you there.

Anne-Marie keeps everything locked up like a fortress at night. And I'm
sure your grandfather means you no harm. But I felt uneasy just the
same."

His concern made me feel warm and happy. I liked his being unable to
sleep because he was thinking of me.

"I'm sure no one has a grudge against me," I agreed.

"I've come along too late in the scheme of things. All the passions and
angers must have claimed their targets by now."

"Are you sure of that?" He stood near me, but not touching me, looking
far away toward the Gap.

"You're connected at every turn, and you might be a threat without ever
knowing it."

"To whom?" I asked.

He let that go.

"What did you think about the reunion tonight between Laura and Miss.
Lacey?"

"I'm not sure my great-grandmother's magnanimous gesture was real."

"I agree. I suspect that deep down Miss. Lacey has never forgiven Laura
for what happened."

"What did happen?"

"I've only heard stories, but Brad was already married to your mother
when he began to look in Laura's direction. Apparently Ardra wasn't the
first one to catch his eye. Miss. Lacey noticed the warning signs and
had it out with Laura, telling her that Brad was off-limits. I doubt
that Laura would have ever been attracted to a man so much younger
anyway. She was furious with Miss. Lacey for doubting her integrity--
which was too bad, because Laura had once regarded her as something of a
mentor."

The more I learned about my father, the more I pitied my mother. It must
have been awful for her, especially if she'd really loved her husband in
the beginning, as I was sure she had.

But now, under the spell of the river and the night, I wanted to think
only of the man beside me. I knew so little about him. Much of the time
he seemed merely an observer or a dreamer, deeply fascinated by the
fabric of others' lives. I wished something could happen that would jar
him out of his absorption with the past, so that he would spend more
time interested in the reality around him.

His next words surprised me.

"Lacey, I have a wonderful idea! We don't need to wait until morning.

We could visit Virginius Island tonight, while there's bright moonlight.

That's the way a ghost town should be seen. Are you game?"

"Of course. I'd love that!" I felt suddenly more alive than I'd ever
been. I was a dreamer too, in my own way.

"Come along then," he said, taking my arm. We walked down from the Point
to Shenandoah Street and past all the darkened windows. Soon the lighted
streets lay behind us, and high cliffs of shale rose on our right, clear
to Jefferson's Rock.

Two bridges crossed the canal, but one was closed for construction.

This one, Ryan told me, had been rebuilt to replicate the original,
which had been swept away in a Rood.

He took a small flashlight from his pocket, but its beam was too weak to
show us very much. The moon did better. The bridge was constructed in
four flat-topped arches, two on each side. Between these wooden
structures several parallel railings protected one from a tumble into
the water. We crossed wooden planks to stand in the center of the
bridge, where our view of the canal was unimpeded and we could look down
on the water flowing tranquilly beneath us. Moonlight showed the dark
boles of trees rising out of water where land had once been. Ryan told
me that boats no longer used the canal to bypass the rapids. It had been
cleaned out and the banks repaired wnen the Park took over.

"The island isn't as wild as it once was," Ryan said.

"The ruins of what used to be here have been made as safe as possible
for visitors, and the walks cleared. There's even a dirt road for work
vehicles, though of course no passenger cars are allowed on the island.

What used to be factories and homes are only stone foundations--holes in
the ground. After the river swept across in a high fury a few times,
there wasn't much left to preserve."

When we went on over the bridge, I saw crumbling walls lighted by the
moon and clumps of stone that had once been buildings. A ghost town
indeed! We moved away from the path and the ground became rough with
small stones, so that we had to step carefully. While the moonlight was
bright enough, charcoal shadows made every step treacherous.

Overhead the black branches of trees formed patterns against a
moon-bright sky, striping our faces with shadow.

When we came to a railroad track that cut across our path, Ryan warned
me, so I wouldn't stumble over the ties.

"This is the track for the Winchester and Potomac Railroad," he told me.

"During the war the railroad carried troops and supplies for Sheridan's
Army of the Shenandoah. The rails are still in use."

In only a few moments we had crossed to the other side of the narrow
strip of land created by the river. Here we could stand at the edge of
the Shenandoah, only a little above water level, and watch the lively
white light reflected from the rapids, and the darker gleam where the
river flowed more smoothly.

Down a little way from where we stood, a man was fishing at the edge of
the river, paying no attention to us. The island was open to the public
at night, Ryan told me, since night fishing was popular.

I was sharply aware of night and river and island. And most of all of
the man beside me. I stood very still, watching the shimmer of flowing
water, wondering if Ryan felt what I felt at this moment--a sense of
wonder and something more that caught at my throat. But when he spoke,
his thoughts seemed to have turned once more to the past.

"I can't help thinking of all those men and women and children who lived
and worked on this island! All the loving and hating, the good and the
evil, the human problems that beset them--all gone with the years. Most
of them not even remembered. So many died in floods. One woman who
escaped wrote about a night when the water rose six feet in four
minutes. So many never had a chance. Perhaps what happened here is only
a drop in the bucket compared with other disasters, but I wish I could
go back to that time. Not to stay, but to record those events and help
them be remembered. We forget so quickly."

"That's what you're doing with your book, isn't it-- helping people to
remember? You'll make Virginius Island come alive for your readers."

"That's why I need to learn so much more. Under the silt that covers the
island are still the remnants or human lives.

Utensils, toys, jewelry, ornaments--all those possessions that were
buried and have been preserved from the water's relentless assault.

That's why digging goes on--so that history can be recovered. Since the
island was created by the river, its story is special."

I liked the way he felt about his work. He was part of this recovery and
re-creation. But it couldn't be his whole life. In my own book I would
do just a little of this, and being a writer and an artist gave me some
understanding of the absorption that could take over one's life.

But not entirely. For me there had to be more, though this was something
I was just beginning to realize.

"I want to live now," I said suddenly.

By moonlight his smile was as shadowy as everything else, and as
enigmatic. The moon and the river lent so much mystery and romance to
what we were doing.

"Then let's talk about the present," he said.

"This is your first time on the island--so what do you see?"

I knew he was testing his theory about strangers noticing what had
become commonplace and invisible to the natives. I couldn't tell him
that at the moment I saw only the man beside me.

"I'll set down my impressions for you on paper sometime when I can look
back and think about them," I promised.

He accepted that, and I tried to tell him what the present meant to me.

"My life seems to be filled with problems that are alive and not buried
under time and silt. I need more wisdom to help me deal with the
present."

We walked a little way along the sandy edge of the river, and when I
might have stumbled over a root, he caught my arm and steadied me.

"You're right, of course, Lacey. Sometimes 1 get so caught up in what's
gone before that I almost forget about the present. At least, that's
what my wife used to say."

He'd mentioned his wife only once before, and I had wondered.

When he spoke again, it was as though I'd asked a question.

"We married very young, and after a few years we went in different
directions. That time was good for the man I used to be, and I hope it
was good for her. But after we broke up, I felt that she was right when
she accused me of being too much a dreamer for any woman to tolerate."
"You have to be a dreamer to write books," I said.

"In my own way I'm a dreamer too. But at the same time I know I'm here
now."

"Perhaps that's what I've let slip away." He turned me to him and kissed
me not gently, not the kiss of a dreamer. "That's for now," he said,
with his lips against my cheek.

We started back and he kept my hand in his. I wondered if he could hear
my heart racing. The path narrowed and I walked ahead, moving
carelessly, as though I floated. But my feet were still earthbound, and
when I stepped on a loose bit of shale, only a nearby crumbling wall
saved me from pitching into the black hollow at my feet. I clung to the
rough wall and found myself looking down into a darkness where moonlight
didn't reach. On the other side of the hollow rose a keystone arch, well
outlined by the moon.

Ryan pulled me back to safety, but my attention had been caught by
something at the bottom of the pit.

"Look, Ryan! What is that down there?"

He leaned on the wall beside me, and the moon, sliding from a thin haze,
showed something round and white deep in the hole.

"Stay where you are," Ryan said.

"I'll take a closer look." His tone of voice had changed and it added to
my own sense that something was wrong.

Our side of the pit was walled with loosening shale, and he went down
backward, the stones sliding after him. When he reached the bottom in a
clatter, he took out his small flashlight again. In the gloom of the pit
the beam was bright enough to show the upturned face of the man who lay
there.

I heard Ryan gasp, and saw his own face, white in the moonlight, as he
looked up at me.

"It's Henry Elliot. He's dead. He must have been down here for at least
an hour. He's cold as ice."

I clung to the wall again, while Ryan scrambled out and stood beside me.

"He was probably drunk and stepped off into space. There's blood all
over him, so he must have struck his head on the arch when he fell.

The Park's Law Enforcement rangers have their headquarters nearby.

Anything that happens on the road is taken care of by the town police.

But the rangers have jurisdiction over anything that occurs on grass, or
inside a building in the Park District. So Virginius Island is theirs to
protect. There'll be someone on duty."

As we crossed the bridge to the road, I no longer found the moonlight
mysterious or romantic. I hadn't known that I had an uncle Henry until
today, and I hadn't liked what I'd seen of him, but he was my father's
brother. Perhaps, on some buried level, kinship spoke to me, for I felt
both sorry and sad. Sorry because a man had died. And sad about all
those empty spaces in my life so much family I hadn't known. Even love
that I'd missed. Until now?

In spite of everything, my mind seemed to be replaying those moments
beside the river. Was I only dreaming again?

* * * * * * *****


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.


***** * AFTERWARD, as though in a daze, I went through the proper
procedures with the ranger in charge. It was necessary to show the
officer on duty where Henry had fallen. Other rangers were called in,
and there were questions for us to answer. It seemed to puzzle everyone
that Ryan and I had been on the island that night. Our reasons didn't
sound very sane, but at least Ryan was well known and the research he
was doing was a plausible excuse.

When we could finally leave, he drove me to Miss. Lacey's house and I
was thankful for the lift. I could pick up my car tomorrow. Or today,
since by this time it was well after one in the morning.

As might have been expected, Anne-Marie was up and waiting for me.

She opened the door as we came up the steps, and burst into words.

"Well, Miss. Elliot!" She sounded like a dormitory mistress.

"You went off without a word. Miss. Lacey has been worried sick, but I
finally persuaded her to go back to bed."

Ryan took over quickly and gave Anne-Marie the facts before she could
ask questions.

"Lacey and I ran into each other in the Lower Town and I wanted her to
see Virginius Island by moonlight. Unfortunately, while we were there we
discovered that Henry Elliot had fallen into a pit near the river--where
there are some old foundations. He was dead when we found him and we've
been with the rangers ever since."

For once we seemed to have shocked Annemarie speechless. Before she
could find words, Ryan told her that I was very tired and her questions
would have to wait until morning.

"Everything will work out, Lacey," he told me.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

When he'd gone, I went directly up to my room, ignoring Anne-Marie's
tendency to mutter. As I got into bed, I felt tired and upset--and
elated, all at the same time. I ought to be concerned only with Henry's
death, but underneath this very real horror ran a tingling of happiness
that wouldn't subside. I still didn't really know how Ryan felt about
the future, but I knew how I felt, and, for the moment, that was enough.

When Anne-Marie knocked on the door and came into my room, she surprised
me. She turned on a lamp and I saw that she'd brought me a small tray
with a glass of milk, a bit of cheese, and some crackers.

"This will help you sleep, Lacey." At least she'd dispensed with the
stiffly formal

"Miss. Elliot."

She stood by while I sipped hot milk, and I knew she still wanted to
talk--avidly curious about what had happened. My lack of response
finally managed to turn her off, and she left.

I finished the milk, and, for the first time that night, began to feel
relaxed and sleepy.

I don't know how long I might have slept in the morning if Miss. Lacey
hadn't come into my room. She tapped and opened the door before I could
rouse myself to answer. When she came to sit beside my bed, I rolled
over to look at her in surprise. I'd never seen her so disheveled and,
by morning light, she looked as old as her years. She had thrown on an
ancient, quilted wrapper, and her white hair was uncombed and wispy. Her
small triangle of a face seemed to melt into the folds of her neck.

She had, however, lost none of her peremptory manner. "Tell me about
finding Henry," she said at once.

Obviously, Anne-Marie had spread the word. I sat against my pillows and
woke up enough to repeat the story.

Listening, she began to relax visibly, as if in relief.

"Of course it was bound to happen, with Henry being the drunkard he was.

Laura can be glad he didn't fall and break his neck while he was in her
house.

Anyway, he won't be missed by many. I'm sorry you had the experience of
finding him."

As she talked, I began to sense that under her assured manner was a
woman badly shaken.

She went on in a rush, though her voice trembled a little now.

"You don't know what you've gotten into by coming here. Perhaps old
rears have begun to wake up since you came to Harpers Ferry."

Her control had begun to slip, and her hands trembled on her knees. I
reached toward her, but she drew her hands away.

"Tell me what you mean. Miss. Lacey," I begged.

With an effort she managed to recover.

"Perhaps you've come here as an emissary of your mother. Perhaps you're
the one we're all afraid of."

I hoped she wasn't disintegrating mentally.

"That's ridiculous! I'm not a threat to anyone, and neither is my
mother." But even as I spoke a new uneasiness stirred in me. Was there
something more that others knew and I didn't?

She examined me with eyes that had faded to a silvery blue.

"I hope you're right," she said. She rose, smoothing back her uncombed
hair as though she'd suddenly realized how she must look. When she went
out she left my door open, and I saw her cross the hall to Ellen
Fenwick's room.

I slipped out of bed and went after her. She, of all people--except
perhaps Daniel Griffin--held the key to what had happened in the past.

I'd even wondered if it was Miss. Lacey whom Vinnie was protecting with
her fictional story.

She had stopped before the strange portrait of Ezekiel, and even while
the painting's eyes seemed to observe me as I entered the room, I knew
those eyes were also watching her.

She spoke to the portrait sadly.

"If only you had married Ellen, everything might have been different."

I stood just behind her.

"How could that be? He would still have gone to war. He could hardly
have stayed home to protect her."

She didn't seem startled to find that I had followed her. "He might have
taken her safely away from this house, before he went anywhere himself."

"I'm afraid history can't be changed," I said more gently. For the first
time since I'd met her, my great-grandmother seemed old and helpless and
sad.

"\ expect that's true. But the future can always be managed." She had
said "managed" instead of "changed," and her voice had strengthened as
though she was trying to pull herself together.

"Do you mean 'manipulated'?" I asked.

She seemed not to hear me as she gazed about the room. "It looks much
better, doesn't it, since it's been cleaned up. Though I had a time
persuading Anne-Marie to do this. She thinks I've offended Ellen."

When I merely nodded my agreement that it looked better. Miss. Lacey
raised her chin and gave me her old, daunting stare before she swept out
of the room. Her air of new confidence suggested that she was perfectly
groomed and fully in charge. But now I had glimpsed the weakness under
the pretense of strength.

The portrait's eyes seemed to challenge me, and I smiled at him wryly.

"So now everything is your fault, Ezekiel."

He must have been a charmer in lire, but perhaps a bit arrogant as well.

His look seemed to hint that I knew very little about anything.

There were now three old portraits in this house-- though this was
hardly unusual for a day when there was no camera in every home, and
itinerant painters traveled the countryside, often working for food and
lodging. All three were very different--Jud with his arrogant good
looks; Royal with a certain nobility about him; and Ezekiel with his
endless searching. All three faces haunted me, as though they had
something to tell me. But where was I to find the answer?

Back in my room I dressed in jeans and a warm pullover. Spring had not
yet turned into summer. When I went downstairs, I found Egan alone at
the dining room table eating a good breakfast. His smile of welcome
warmed me and I bent to kiss his cheek. This morning he seemed entirely
a small boy, with none of that eerie wisdom he sometimes displayed.

I listened to his chatter about young friends and Shenna, smiling at him
absently as I drank my coffee. Then he startled me.

"Somebody went across last night--isn't that right?"

"Across? What do you mean?"

"I had a very sad feeling when I woke up this morning. As though it was
someone who wasn't ready to go. I hope it's not anyone we know."

"Do you mean that someone died, Egan?"

He shook his head.

"Nobody ever dies, but sometimes we go across when we don't mean to."

At times I felt that Egan could see into another dimension that was
invisible to the rest of us.

"You remember Henry Elliot?" I asked.

"Sure. Is he the one? Maybe it was time for him to go."

I hoped that was true.

Without my asking, Anne-Marie appeared with a bowl of hot oatmeal and a
plate of freshly toasted wheat bread, which she set in front of me.

She had nothing to say this morning, and I was just as glad.

This time when I left the house, I let her know and walked out into a
fresh spring morning. I breathed flower scents and admired redbud trees
as I walked down to the Lower Town. In spite of what had happened to
Henry, in spite of the gloom Miss. Lacey's house had cast upon me, my
spirits lifted. I would see Ryan today.

My car waited where I'd left it, but I wandered past it idly, with no
desire to return to Miss. Lacey's at once. Perhaps I would drive up to
Aunt Vinnie's in a little while and look for Ryan. He was the only one I
could talk to about Henry's death. And besides, I wanted to be with him.

Perhaps for now I would try to think about my book and the pictorial map
I would make of the Lower Town. Phoning my mother could wait until I got
to Vinnie's.

I noticed again the sign for the John Brown exhibit, and decided to
explore. The room I stepped into had been well arranged to utilize
space. Books, papers, and memorabilia were displayed under glass around
the outer rim of the room. In the center were tall, angled screens that
displayed old photo219 graphs and printed material. One side of the
screens showed the races and histories of John Brown's raiders, while
the other showed the faces and the histories of the U. S. Marines who
had effected the capture. All looked like ordinary men yet they had
taken part in a stirring historic event.

While I stood reading, I heard again the sound of Paul Robeson's voice
raised in those ringing words that had stirred the North from slumber:
"John Brown's body lies a'molderin' in the grave."

I walked toward the sound and found myself at the door of a small
theater where the story of John Brown had been projected on a screen.

Robeson's stirring song was concluding the presentation.

The showing had been well attended and, as the lights came on, the
audience filed out slowly. I waited until I thought the theater was
empty and then stepped into the space filled with rows of seats to have
a look around.

A single member of the audience remained. A man sat in the last row.

He was bent forward, his arms on the seat in front of him, as he stared
at the empty screen. It was my grandfather, Daniel Griffin.

Perhaps I'd have slipped away without speaking to him, but when he
turned and saw me, he gestured to the seat next to him.

"Good morning, Lacey. Have you been watching? Did you hear Sidney
Poitier's narration?"

I sat down hesitantly.

"I missed the showing," I said.

"I was looking at the exhibits outside."

Griffin spoke almost reverently.

"I wish I could have known John Brown. I'd have been an abolitionist, of
course, and I'd have followed him in his stand against slavery."

"Wasn't it an ill-conceived stand?"

"Things went wrong. He couldn't carry out the plan he envisioned. Yet
what he began ended in the freeing of the slaves and the preservation of
the Union."

I studied the strong, rugged profile of the man beside me. "You look
like some of the pictures I've seen of John Brown. Is that intentional?"

"Accidental," he said, shaking his head.

"I'd be proud to look like him, though. How much of the story do you
know?"

"Only a little, I'm afraid."

Griffin leaned back in his seat.

"He came to this slave state of Virginia meaning to free all its slaves.

It wasn't West Virginia then, of course. He believed that the black men
would leave their masters and follow him into the mountains around
Harpers Ferry, where they would all be safe. The trouble was that he had
to keep his plans secret and that very secrecy defeated him. The slaves
had no idea that he was coming. His proposal must have seemed
frightening to the few who even heard about it. So, of course, there was
no mass rising to leave the plantations.

"On the way to Harpers Ferry, Brown picked up several hostages. After he
took over the armory, others were added, as employees came to work.

In the end. Brown's raiders held perhaps forty hostages crowded into
that little engine house."

A bright, intense look shone in Daniel's eyes those gray eyes I'd
thought- cold and condemning when I first saw him at the Anvil
restaurant. Now a fire burned in them-- flames behind gray smoke.

Indicating what? I wondered.

"Men died on that terrible night when he held the engine house against
the roused citizenry of the town. Local militia were helpless. But by
morning, Washington had sent in a company of United States Marines to
free the hostages.

"Brown's resistance was brave, but it didn't last very long. He had been
wounded, and he and the raiders who were still alive were taken
prisoner. Luckily, no hostages were harmed. The trial--only a matter of
form--was held in nearby Charles Town, and Brown was carried into the
courtroom on a stretcher. The sentence was death by hanging for all the
raiders who had been captured. There were some who had escaped.

"Following Brown's capture, the governor of Virginia interviewed him,
and John Brown foretold the coming war between the states and the
destruction of Harpers Ferry. When he stood on the scaffold with a hood
over his head, the field was surrounded by soldiers, in case there was
an attempt to rescue him. The governor warned the citizenry to stay home
and arm themselves in order to guard their own property.

There wasn't any trouble--perhaps because of the precautions taken.

Among the soldiers who witnessed the hanging were cadets from a Virginia
military academy that included a professor who would become famous as
the Confederate general "Stonewall' Jackson. And in the ranks of a
Richmond company a young actor watched. His name was John Wilkes Booth."

Daniel's words had delivered me to another place and time, but his
fierceness was all about the present. The impact of history still
mattered in Harpers Ferry, as though past and present were tied together
inextricably.

"What happened in the past has never stopped mattering here," he said.

"You can feel it, Lacey. Because of the blood strain, you can't help
being connected. Nothing is ever lost; not so long as men remember."

I thought of Ryan's words about how much society does not remember.

"Perhaps all we can do," I said, "is try not to repeat the mistakes from
the past."

His wry look dismissed such a feeble notion.

"That's a noble sentiment to which men have paid a great deal of lip
service and not much attention."

I couldn't help wondering how much from his past was prompting him now.

To do what? Take revenge? Extract some payment for his own sufferings?

His look seemed to soften as we regarded each other.

"Do you know where John Brown is buried?" he asked.

"Not exactly."

"His wife was permitted to claim his body after his death, and she took
it to their farm in North Elba, New York--near Lake Placid. His
tombstone bears inscriptions for his grandfather and his sons lost in
battle."

"So far away from Harpers Ferry," I said.

Daniel shook his head sadly.

"No man is wise enough to foresee the consequences of his own actions.

So we follow some driving emotion to a conclusion that we never
expected--and the damage is done. John Brown never meant to contribute
to massive bloodshed between the states. He believed that his way could
avoid war. Instead, his actions helped to bring on the Civil War. John
Wilkes Booth never meant to damage the South--but without Lincoln as a
calming influence the damage was enormous."

I spoke softly, drawing him back to the present.

"So why are you here, Grandfather? There are already consequences. Can
we stop them?"

He stood up and stretched, and I rose with him. "Do you know about Henry
Elliot?" I asked. His face told me nothing.

"What about him?"

I explained how Henry had died, and he heard me through.

"So now the score is even," he said, and strode out of the theater,
moving so quickly that I knew he didn't want me to follow him.

What score had been evened? And by whom, if anyone? I walked soberly
back to my car, still under the spell cast by Daniel Griffin--and John
Brown.

* * * * * * *****


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.


***** * * WHEN I went into the house, Vinnie was at the desk talking to
guests, and I waited in the small parlor until she was free. Shenandoah
wakened from a nap on the sofa and sat up to observe me with wide-eyed
interest. I sat down beside her and patted my knee. After some
consideration, she accepted the invitation and curled up in my lap to
begin her resonant purring. I petted her, and told her that Egan would
be coming home soon and she mustn't worry. The sound of my voice, if not
my words, seemed to reassure her, and after a moment she went back to
sleep. I stroked silky, multicolored fur until Vinnie came to greet me.

"I'm glad you stopped in, Lacey. I don't think you'll want to stay with
your great-grandmother now that your mother has come home."

Her news was startling and disturbing.

"She has come here? But how?

And why?"

Vinnie seemed vague about the why, and a bit nervous. "She drove herself
up the valley from Charlottesville. She was very tired, so I put her in
your room for now. I'll have a free room for her later today."

"Something is wrong. Aunt Vinnie. What aren't you telling me?"

"It's too awful. So sudden. Henry Elliot is dead."

"I know," I said.

"Ryan and I were the ones who found him. But how do you know about it?"

She sat down limply.

"Ardra told me."

"Ardra?"

"She went up to get Egan this morning, but Miss. Lacey wouldn't allow
her to bring him home. Everyone up there knew about Henry, but I didn't
know you found him. What do you think happened to him, Lacey?"

I explained that he had probably been drinking and had fallen into a pit
on Virginius Island.

"Why would he go there?"

"\ don't think anyone has the answer to that yet. Park Service Rangers
are investigating. I suppose they'll turn over what they find to the
local police. Laura Kelly was looking for him yesterday and couldn't
find him."

Vinnie put her hands over her face and began to cry softly.

"Did you care about Henry?" I asked in surprise. So far I hadn't seen
anyone cry over his death.

She found a tissue in a pocket- and wiped her eyes.

"I'm not crying for Henry. He probably deserved whatever happened to
him. His death just put me back in that horrible time when your mother
left. My tears are for all of us. Me. Poor Ardra. My brother, Daniel.
And your mother, of course."

"Not Miss. Lacey?"

"She never wanted sympathy from anyone. Not even when her daughter died,
and your mother took you away. She held us all off--those who were
left."

I didn't want to upset Vinnie any further. I felt there was still
something she wasn't telling me, but I let it go.

"I'll see you later," I said, giving her a brief hug before hurrying
down the hall to my room.

When I opened the door softly, I found Mother lying awake on the bed
with a comforter over her. When she started to sit up, I eased her
gently back on the pillows.

"Please rest. It's wonderful to see you, but you should never have made
the trip, driving alone. Why did Mrs.. Brewster let you go?"

"What could she do? How could she stop me?"

I had to grant her that. This time she sat up against the pillows to
face me. The change in her was clear. More color had come into her face,
and her eyes were bright with an interest I hadn't seen in them for a
long time. Perhaps even a sense of triumph because she'd made the trip?
She might be tired from the drive, but she was no frail invalid, and I
felt reassured.

"You look as though you're enjoying whatever it is you're up to," I said
as I sat down on the side of the bed.

She looked lovingly into my face.

"You've changed, dear. Though I hope it's not because of Lacey Fenwick.

I'm sorry you've had anything to do with her."

"You named me for her."

"A long time ago I loved her. I thought she was the most wonderful
grandmother in the world. When you were born your father and I named you
for her. My feelings for her changed very quickly after your father
died. She became horrible to all of us. But never mind all that
history." I wanted to know much more and asked her several questions,
but she dismissed them all.

"Well, at least you can tell me why you've come here," I insisted.

She answered reluctantly.

"I don't suppose it's a secret. Vinnie phoned and said I should come and
persuade you to go home. She tells me that Henry Elliot is dead--all the
more reason for you to be away from here."

"What has his death to do with me--except for finding him?"

Mother closed her eyes.

"Vinnie doesn't think it was an accident, and she wants you clear of
whatever develops."

I left my place beside her on the bed and sat down in a chair where I
could look at her directly.

"What did Vinnie mean by that? It's not what the Park rangers seem to
think."

"She wouldn't say anything more, but she seems frightened. Anyway, we
ought to start back to Charlottesville tomorrow morning at the latest.

That will give me time to rest and you time to get your things from
Miss. Lacey's."

"I don't want to leave now," I said firmly, resisting the pressure I
knew she could exert.

"I hope you'll stay here for a few days until I can work things out."

She looked alarmed.

"What things?"

"I don't know exactly. I have a feeling Miss. Lacey may be the one who
can tell me what happened to my father. Now that I'm inside her
fortress, I'm in a position to find out answers that you've never given
me. So much has become clear to me since I came here. I need to finish
putting my life together and I can't until I know what really happened.

There's a balance wheel that's missing. Perhaps you can't tell me
because you don't know."

She closed her eyes.

"Maybe it's better if we don't know."

Someone else had said that to me, and I still didn't believe it was
true.

"I can't accept that. There's the mystery of my father's disappearance
and your running away. From what? Grandfather Daniel was forced to leave
to avoid being accused of causing whatever happened to Brad Elliot. What
was all that about?"

She focused on one name.

"What worries me more than anything else is that my father is here in
Harpers Ferry. What does he want?"

"I don't know exactly, but I'm beginning to like him," I said.

"Sometimes he frightens me, but there's something strong about him that
I respect."

She shook her head sadly.

"I know. I once loved him more than I ever loved my mother. By the time
I was old enough to value her properly, she was gone. Grandmother Lacey
always dismissed her, but I should never have listened to her.

Perhaps more than anyone else, I'm responsible for my mother's death. I
never tried to help her."

"I'm sure your guilt isn't justified," I said.

"She was strong enough to manage when Ardra's baby was born."

After a long silence she held out her hand to me and I took it.

"Do what you feel you must, dear, but be very careful. I'll stay here
with Vinnie for a few days."

"Thank you." There was still one question she might answer for me.

"Why did you and Vinnie quarrel before you left?"

"It doesn't matter anymore. I felt terribly bitter toward my sister, as
you might imagine. But Ardra was Vinnie's pet and she defended her. To
me!"

"You'll see Ardra if you stay. She's living here with Vinnie now."

Mother lay back against her pillows.

"Ardra? Here?"

"Yes. And so is my half sister, Caryl, whom I didn't know existed."

I saw the pain in my mother's face, but I wasn't ready to forgive her
for all she'd held back from me.

"I tried to protect you," she said faintly.

"From what? From whom?"

"There was such wickedness! My mother knew and she died because she
wasn't strong enough to face all that happened."

"Ardra seems faded and helpless. It's hard to imagine her doing what she
did--having an affair with my father. She's aged much more than you
have, even with your illness. I don't know if she's strong enough to
face you."

"Don't count on that. She always had a knack for making herself seem
helpless. I grew up with her and did a lot of protecting of my younger
sister. She could flutter about, but when she wanted something her will
turned to steel."

"I don't really like Ardra, but I'm growing fond of Caryl. And I love
her little boy Egan. He's so bright--and somehow good."

"I do want to see him. Vinnie never mentioned Caryl or Egan in her
letters."

"You could have asked for information."

"I suppose I didn't want to know. I tried to cut us off from everyone in
this place."

"Which you certainly did," I said flatly, and was immediately sorry when
tears came into her eyes. I put my arms around her and kissed her cheek.

"Never mind. It's opening up the past that's important. So / you can
understand the present. What does Henry have to do with what's going on
now?"

"Henry was never much good, Lacey. I'm sorry about his death, but he
always tried to interfere. He never wanted Brad to marry me."

"Because he had a thing for you himself? Laura Kelly told me he did."

"Laura? Is she still around? She used to be honey among the bees when
she was young. Even my father"

"Yes she told me."

"She would!"

Someone tapped on the door, and when I opened it Ryan was standing
there. My heart did its new sort of somersault at the sight of him.

"Vinnie tells me your mother is here," he said.

I was hardly calm and collected, but I invited him in. He went over to
the bed at once and took her hand.

"I'm glad you've come, Mrs.. Elliot," he said, smiling down at her.

"I'm Ryan Pearce, a sort of resident friend of the family."

She roused herself in response to his smile.

"Oh, yes. Vinnie tells me you and Caryl "

"Don't believe everything Vinnie says, Mrs.. Elliot. I'm afraid she has
a romantic streak."

He chatted with my mother for a few minutes and then turned to me.

"There's something I'd like to show you, Lacey. If you can come up to my
workroom. May I borrow her for a little while, Mrs.. Elliot?" "Of
course," I said. Mother was already nodding.

"I'll rest," she assured me.

"Then we'll visit some more."

When I'd closed the door and we were walking along the hall, Ryan said,
"I've been talking to the Park rangers who took over last night. The
local police are in on the investigation now."

His tone was so grave that I had a dark feeling about what was to come.

"It's pretty clear that Henry's fall didn't cause his death. The blow to
his head was in front, but when we found him he was lying on his back.
They think someone struck him straight-on with a heavy object.

There will be an autopsy to decide the cause of death, but the police
are already considering this a murder case."

So Vinnie had been right. Suddenly I felt shaky.

Ryan put an arm around me as we walked.

"Are you all right, Lacey?"

I leaned into his arm. Too much was crowding in on me and my mother's
arrival didn't help.

When we reached his work area, he pulled a second chair over to his
desk, and I sat down beside him. The diary Laura had given him was open
on the desk and I saw again the lines in faded brown ink slanting across
the page.

He picked up the book.

"This is surprising. I'd like you to read it for yourself. I didn't
recognize who the writer was right away. Her name is Sarah Lang."

"Lang?" I jogged my memory.

"Wasn't one of the deserters who broke into the Fenwick house named Orin
Lang? Was this woman his wife?"

"Not his wife."

"His daughter, then?"

"As Miss. Lacey probably told you, Ellen Fenwick had a baby that Jud
refused to keep after his daughter died in childbirth. She wasn't even
named when she was given away to a family in Charles Town that was paid
for taking her.

"Orin seems to have developed a conscience when he recovered from his
wound and found that his friends were dead. He learned where the baby
was and he and his wife adopted her and gave her the name she would
carry for the rest of her life."

I took the closed book he held out to me and traced a ringer over faded
violets.

"What a wonderful story! I'm glad Sarah didn't have to suffer for a
tragedy that wasn't her fault. Does this diary tell us what happened to
her? If she married and had children, perhaps there are Fenwick and Lang
descendants somewhere."

"I've thought of that. I haven't read the whole book carefully, but at
the end of the diary she writes about leaving Virginia. Living was hard
after the war, and when her adoptive mother died, Orin decided to go
North to find work. She writes movingly about the upheaval in their
lives."

"How did the book turn up in a Charles Town collection if she and Orin
went North?"

"Who knows? But I think you should take it now. Perhaps you'll find
something I missed that will give us a lead as to what happened to some
of the family. There are nearly a hundred years unaccounted for since
Sarah wrote in this book."

I was eager to read Sarah's words.

"I'd better get back to Miss. Lacey's soon. My mother wants me to go
home with her, but I've persuaded her that I need to stay until I know
what Miss. Lacey can tell me about my father."

"I'm glad you're staying, but I don't think you could leave. There's the
matter of Henry's death. The local police will want to ask us more
questions now. I wouldn't be surprised if the State Police are called in
as well. Henry was dead for some hours before we found him, so there's
no question of our being under suspicion. Besides, we didn't have a
motive."

I stood up, still feeling uncertain.

"I have to be going now, but I'll be back to see my mother. Will you
keep an eye out for her in the meantime, Ryan?"

There was no moonlight now, so the spell was gone. Nevertheless, his
look was as warm as a caress. He reached out to trace a finger gently
down my cheek.

"Dear Lacey. Take care while you're with your great-grandmother.

Henry's death seems unrelated to your family's tangled past, but until
we know what happened--just take care. Of course I'll see your mother.

Perhaps we can get better acquainted."

When I left him, I stopped in to let Mother know I was leaving, but
would see her soon. I knew that she regretted my returning to my
great-grandmother's, but she let me go without objecting.

On my way out of the house, however, Vinnie stopped me.

"I don't know what's going on," she said.

"But I must talk to you. Come up to my room for a moment."

She sounded so urgent that I went with her unquestioningly. We sat
before an empty grate, the door closed against chance visitors.

"I must talk to someone or I'll go mad! I want to tell you what really
happened the night Brad died. Henry tipped me off that Brad meant to
give the baby away secretly. He didn't care how Ardra felt.

He had this crazy idea that no one must know. Of course this is a small
town, and everyone knows what's happening. So his secret wasn't really a
secret, except for this Virginius Island part-. But he was a remarkably
stubborn man, and you couldn't tell him that. He claimed to be meeting
someone on Virginius Island who would take the baby away, keep her
identity a secret, and give her a home. When Henry called me, I found
that Brad must have slipped into the house and taken Caryl. When I
looked, the baby was gone." She broke off, more distraught than I'd ever
seen her.

"So you did go to Virginius Island that night?"

"Yes. I crossed the bridge and went only a little way. A storm was
blowing up, and the island seemed a frightening place. I'd brought a
flashlight, so I saw the body in my path before I stumbled over it.

It was Brad, and he was dead. There was no sign of the baby, though I
searched all around for her. I went home, planning to call the rangers'
headquarters. But when I got there, Caryl was in her crib sleeping
soundly, and Ardra's bed was empty. That frightened me more than
anything on the island, and I didn't call anyone. I couldn't find Ardra
anywhere in the house. I was afraid that, weak as she was, she had
followed Brad to the island and brought Caryl home. Who else could have
done that? And if she'd gone there, had she killed Brad? I didn't look
in the herb garden until an hour or so later. I don't know how long
she'd been there, sitting in the rain. I brought her into the house, got
her into a dry, warm nightgown, and put her to bed with hot water
bottles."

"Did she tell you what happened?"

"She was in no state to explain anything. She just kept saying that Brad
had never loved her and she didn't want to live. She was sick--delirious
for several days before I pulled her through. I took care of the
baby--you see, I loved Caryl from the beginning.

When Ardra recovered she didn't remember anything that happened that
night. I couldn't let her be accused--and she would have been if I'd
told anyone about what had happened."

So now I knew. Someone had seen my father's body. The faint hope that
had always stayed alive in me that my father and I would someday meet
was quietly extinguished.

My immediate concern was for Vinnie. She had been lying and keeping
tragic secrets for all these years. Now that she had finally confided in
someone, the dam had broken and she'd dissolved into tears.

I knelt beside her and put my arms around her. However foolish she'd
been, my affection for her didn't waver.

"I'm glad you've told me this, but I have to ask you another question.

What happened to my father's body?"

She turned her head wretchedly from side to side.

"I don't know. He was simply reported missing and then his jacket was
found and it was assumed that he'd drowned in the river until the police
discovered the bullet hole. I knew that he hadn't drowned, but I
couldn't speak out. Ardra has a strong, resilient core, and even the
mildest people are capable of violent action, once the anger they've
been suppressing surfaces. Apparently she wiped out all memory of that
night, so not even Ardra knows what happened." Vinnie looked at me with
teary eyes.

"Lacey, what if it was your mother who killed him? She was far stronger
mentally and physically than Ardra. And she did run away."

I couldn't accept that for a moment and I tried to harden myself against
Vinnie.

"So you let your brother be blamed in order to save Ardra?"

She covered her face with her hands.

"Ardra had always been like a daughter to me and I loved her baby. I
knew Daniel could take care of himself."

This wasn't an attitude I found commendable, but I loved and pitied
Vinnie. Since there was nothing I could do to save her from the past, I
kissed her cheek and pressed my face against hers. When I left, she was
still crying.

I went out to my car, and on the drive up to Miss. Lacey's I tried to
put all the unanswered questions out of my mind. There was still the
present to deal with and for me that included Ryan. We hadn't had time
to get to know each other, but something was happening that I'd never
experienced before. Perhaps it was happening to him too. My cheek still
tingled from the touch of his fingers.

By the time I reached Miss. Lacey's, I hadn't worked out anything in my
mind. The diary lay on the seat beside me and I slipped it into my
handbag. I knew I'd better read it before I showed it to Miss. Lacey.

For once, no one was waiting for me when I reached the unlocked door.

I let myself into the hall and stood quietly, listening. No small boy
was playing Royal Fenwick's drum. No television or radio had been turned
on. No voices spoke anywhere. The silence was unsettling.

As I walked past the door of the front parlor I looked in, but the room
was empty. So was the rear parlor. The drum sat on the floor, its sticks
nearby. I didn't want to call out, but where was everybody?

"Are you home, Lacey?" The sound of my great-grand- mother's voice was
actually welcome. After what had happened last night, I was more than a
little jittery.

The voice had come from what had once been a library, but had been
turned into a downstairs bedroom for Miss. Lacey. I went to the doorway
and looked into her well-appointed sitting room and bedroom.

The graceful furniture belonged to an early American period: probably
Duncan Phyfe.

The fire had burned to coals in a generous fireplace and it created a
focus for Miss. Lacey as she sat staring into glowing red and black, her
hands clasped in her lap. She wore a long wool robe of a dark wine color
and every lock of her hair was neatly combed. Only her face looked oddly
disarranged, as though something was coming apart inside her.

"You've been a long time away, Lacey." The words were more pleading than
critical.

"I'm glad you're back. I was afraid you might have gone away with your
mother."

I stared at her, startled.

"How did you know she was here? Did Vinnie call you?"

"Amelia came to see me yesterday afternoon. You weren't here."

"But how could she? I spoke with her in the early afternoon and Vinnie
said she drove up from Charlottesville this morning and came right to
her house."

"Perhaps that was the impression your mother wanted to give. Remember
it's only a two-hour drive from Charlottes- ville. She came to Harpers
Ferry late yesterday afternoon and stayed at the Hilltop House last
night. I told her I could put her up here, but she didn't want that, for
some reason."

I dropped onto a chair opposite Miss. Lacey.

"I don't understand. I've just been with her and she didn't say anything
about seeing you, or about arriving yesterday."

"Amelia could always be devious." Miss. Lacey's smile was not amused.

"Perhaps she takes after me. You think I'm devious, don't you, young
Lacey?"

"I don't know what to think about anybody or anything." That, at least,
was true. I knew Mother must have had a reason for what she'd done, and
I assumed she would tell me soon.

"Why did she come here to see you first?"

"She didn't. She came to see you. Apparently you'd told her you were
planning to stay with me for a few days. She wanted to take you back to
Charlottesville right away. When I told her you were out, she said she'd
come back. I haven't seen her since."

Miss. Lacey's account sounded cool and impersonal, considering the fact
that these two were grandmother and granddaughter.

"How did you feel about seeing her again?" I asked.

"How should I feel about someone who went away without even a goodbye?"

"The money we received from Vinnie for all those years came from you, so
you must have felt something for her."

Miss. Lacey had stared into the embers as we talked, but now she raised
her head and looked directly at me.

"The money was meant to take care of you while you were in your mother's
charge. I always knew you would come back to Harpers Ferry someday."

Her eyes seemed to glow with a light that might be triumph. For the
first time I felt sorry for her. She had lived-- reigned--alone here on
her hilltop, shutting out friends and relatives. Making up her own
scenario for a future that would never happen.

"Now that you're here," she went on, "we must talk about plans."

I spoke as firmly as I could.

"I hope we can talk, but not about what you call plans."

"What else is there to talk about?"

I put the question before her that I'd been longing to ask. "I'm sure
you know more about what happened to my father than anyone else, if only
you would tell me."

Lowered eyelids warned me that she was on guard. "How should I know
anything?"

"I think you make it your business to know about everything that happens
in Harpers Ferry. Perhaps you weren't so isolated in those days."

"That may be true, but there's nothing I can tell you about your
father's disappearance."

"Why not? I can't believe you don't know anything," I challenged.

"Don't ask me. Ask Laura Kelly."

"What has Laura to do with this?"

"She knew Henry, didn't she?"

Suddenly, she sounded old and plaintive.

"Can you see my cane anywhere, Lacey? I'm always misplacing things these
days."

I suspected that she was creating a smoke screen to distract me, but I
looked around and saw a cane propped against the end of the sofa across
the room. As I picked it up, I saw that it was a walking stick and not
her usual handsome cane.

"Where is your beautiful gryphon?" I asked as I handed it to her.

"I seem to have lost my favorite cane. Did you know that Daniel carved
that gryphon's head for me a long time ago? He used to have a special
gift for creating beautiful wood carvings."

She used the stick and one hand to push herself up from her chair.

"Come into the dining room, Lacey. I'm using it as an office this
morning, and I want to show you what I've done."

I followed her down the hall past Jud Fenwick's glowering portrait, and
saw with misgivings the papers she had spread out on the dining room
table. It was as though she'd never heard my rejection of her "plans."

"Sit down, Lacey. I want you to read this new draft of my will. I
haven't consulted anyone about it yet because I wanted to show it to you
first."

I sat down, but I didn't touch the papers.

"If you go ahead with your idea of leaving this house to me, I will
refuse to accept it," I told her.

"Of course you'll accept it. I'm sure your mother will advise you to.

It will be a wonderful place for you to live when I'm gone. There will
be money to keep it up, of course. And I'm sure Anne-Marie will want to
continue as housekeeper as long as she is able."

My great-grandmother was as impossible to reason with as anyone I'd ever
met. The thought of living for years in this mausoleum, with Anne-Marie
watching me out of the shadows, was appalling.

"What if I should marry and want a house of my own?"

"My husband came gladly into this house, and he enjoyed living here."

"Miss. Lacey" -- I couldn't yet call her Great-grandmother"--do you ever
listen to anything anyone says to you?"

Her direct look fixed itself on me, but she didn't seem displeased.

"Not if I can help it. I know what I want and I usually manage to get
it. So why should I listen to such nonsense from you?"

There was nothing to do but pack up and leave this house. I left her
sitting there and walked to the door.

"I'm not going to look through those papers. I want nothing to do with
them. I'll leave for Aunt Vinnie's as soon as I can get packed. My
mother is waiting for me there."

Miss. Lacey seemed to shrivel a little. Even her voice was smaller when
she spoke.

"Perhaps I might tell you something more about your father."

This was a bribe, obviously, and I turned my back on it. In spite of all
I still wanted to know, I was tired of playing games. I would need to
look somewhere else and expect nothing more from Lacey Fenwick Enright.

Just then Egan came running down the hall to join us. "Look what I found
for you!" he cried and waved the cane with the gryphon's head at Miss.
Lacey.

She took it from him calmly.

"Thank you, Egan. Tell me where you found it."

He smiled angelically.

"Shenandoah found it."

"Perhaps you'd better explain how that happened," she said.

For once Egan avoided her gaze and looked at me pleadingly.

"What have you been up to, Egan?" Miss. Lacey asked, a stern note
creeping into her voice.

"I didn't think anybody would care if I went down to visit Shenandoah."

"I care. You are not supposed to leave this house without telling
Anne-Marie or me."

"I'm sorry. Grandma, but Shenandoah needed me. I could feel that--so I
had to go. When I got to Aunt Vinnie's, I went out to the herb garden
and Shenandoah was there waiting to show me something. She was
scratching in the tarragon and I saw the head of your cane sticking out.

So I picked it up. It wasn't buried or anything--it was just there. So I
played with Shenna and then I brought it right up here to you."

Miss. Lacey was examining the cane. She held it out to me.

"You have young eyes, Lacey--tell me what you see."

I took it from her and saw a deep crack that marred the beak and ran up
across the gryphon's head. A dark, sticky stain followed the crack and
spread out. Something that resembled dried blood. My hand began to
shake.

"It's cracked, and there's blood on it," I said.

"When did you lose this. Miss. Lacey?"

The lines of her face had deepened.

"It's hard to remember. Sometimes I get along quite well without a
stick. I think I missed it yesterday. So how could it possibly turn up
in Vinnie's herb garden?"

"Shenandoah didn't know it was yours," Egan explained.

She smiled at him.

"Thank you for bringing it to me, dear. Now run along and play. I want
to talk with Lacey." When he'd gone she asked a direct question.

"Do you think my cane killed Henry?"

"It's possible. You had better turn it over to the police. They can
check it for fingerprints, if Egan hasn't spoiled what may have been
there."

"I will. But not yet. I need to think about this. There was only one
person who was in my house yesterday afternoon and at Vinnie's this
morning and that's your mother."

"I won't stay and listen to such nonsense. How could you say this about
your own granddaughter?"

She held the cane tightly, studying the carving.

"That is not something I care to discuss."

"My mother had nothing to do with the disappearance of your cane or the
condition it's in now," I said firmly, hoping she wouldn't notice that I
was trembling, as though from a chill.

"As you please, Lacey. I'm sorry you're leaving, but I'm going to keep
Egan here with me for a few days."

As another blood heir? I wondered. But that was for Egan's mother to
decide.

She sat with her hands folded on the cane, covering the crack, not
looking at anything. I left her and went up to my room.


CHAPTER NINETEEN.


***** * * * BACK IN my room I was tempted to sit down with the diary and
find out what Ryan had discovered in its pages, but I was too upset to
sit still. I decided I must see Laura Kelly at once and find out why
Miss. Lacey had told me to talk to her.

It took only a few minutes to pack. As I went downstairs with my bag, I
could hear Egan playing Royal's drum. I stopped in to tell him that I
was going back to Vinnie's because my mother had arrived, and that I was
sure he would be brought home soon. He seemed to accept this change of
plans, though his look was grave.

Miss. Lacey was nowhere in sight when I went to the front door, but
before I could go outside, Anne-Marie came from a room down the hall,
looking as dark and glowering as Jud Fenwick's portrait.

"How can you leave like this?" she asked abruptly. "You've upset Miss.
Lacey. I'm afraid she's going to be ill."

"I don't think she will be. That's one tough lady!"

The glower was supplanted by a look of unhappiness, and I knew it had
been only a defense. The woman was close to tears again. I'd never have
suspected that Anne-Marie was such a sensitive soul.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Miss. Lacey has upset me too. I should think you'd be pleased to know
that I won't have anything to do with the will she wants to make."

"I only want to see her happy." Anne-Marie took a deep breath and seemed
to get her emotions under control.

"She isn't going to send me away. She was out of sorts that day and
she's said she's sorry."

This was probably because Miss. Lacey knew very well how much she needed
Anne-Marie. I hoped the woman's devotion would pay off. Though I
wouldn't put it past my great-grandmother to leave her nothing at all in
her will. I wondered if there'd been many clashes between them over the
years.

Before I could go out the door that Anne-Marie held open for me. Miss.
Lacey came into the hall and thumped the floor with her damaged cane.

Apparently, she had recovered from dejection.

"You weren't going to say goodbye?" she demanded.

I reassured her quietly.

"It isn't really goodbye. I will see you again very soon, I'm sure." She
dismissed me with a look and spoke to her house248 keeper.

"Come into the dining room and help me, please. I have decided to change
the plans for my will." She looked past Anne-Marie to where I stood in
the doorway and spoke cuttingly.

"I have decided to leave everything I have to Annemarie." She turned
regally and walked into the dining room.

Anne-Marie looked after her, stunned and disbelieving .1 didn't want to
be part of this drama anymore, and I hurried down the steps to my car.

For once it seemed my great- grandmother might do the right and generous
thing. Now Anne-Marie would be taken care of, and not cast adrift
because of some whim of Miss. Lacey's.

I was preoccupied and didn't notice until I slid into the driver's seat
that someone waited for me in my unlocked car.

"I thought you might give me a lift," Daniel Griffin said, his grin a
little cocky.

"Of course," I said, trying not to appear startled.

"Where to?"

"Laura Kelly's house. She just phoned and said she wants to talk to me
about Henry." "Fine," I said.

"I want to see Laura myself, so we can go together."

He accepted this without comment. During the trip he was silent, looking
straight ahead through the windshield.

Laura's house on Bolivar Heights was not more than a ten-minute drive,
and by the time I drew up in front of the beautiful white and gray
structure, I had collected myself to some extent. This time the upper
window where Henry Elliot had stood peering down at me on my last visit
was emply. I felt again a sense of shock at the thought of what had
happened to him. It was frightening to think that Miss. Lacey's cane
might have been used to kill him.

Laura greeted us in her usual friendly fashion, and, since the early
afternoon was sunny and warm, she led us to the far, open corner that
looked out over fields where an army had once set its tents. Daniel and
I sat down in wicker chairs. Laura leaned against the white railing. I
could see the distant roofs of Harpers Ferry scattered among budding
trees before the land dropped out of sight. Only the Potomac was visible
from where I sat. The air was still, the view peaceful, and I began to
relax.

Laura started without preliminaries.

"I've been thinking about Henry's last day here, Daniel--though I
haven't said anything about this until now. He told me he knew what had
happened to his brother--that he knew how Brad had died. Something that
had happened on Virginius Island. I tried to get him to tell me more,
but he wouldn't. I've wondered if Brad's body might be buried there."

I gasped, and Laura gave me a sympathetic look and went on.

"I've wondered if your father's body was what Henry was looking for on
the island, Lacey. He was talking wildly, his thoughts shooting off in
all directions. He refused to say any more and rushed upstairs. That was
just before you arrived yesterday and then, of course, that was the last
time I saw him."

"He was drunk," Daniel said decisively.

"No more than usual, Clan. Just enough to go spreading a story around
town that was asking for trouble."

"Why at this late date?" Daniel wondered.

Laura glanced at him.

"Because you're here, perhaps. Some sort of conscience must have been
weighing on him over the years."

"Do you think Henry might have killed his brother?" Daniel asked.

"They didn't like each other. They often fought."

"They were very different, and Henry was jealous of Brad, but I don't
think he had enough passion in him to kill anyone."

Daniel's eyes were bright with amusement.

"I remember that Henry had a passion for you at one time."

"And for a few other women," Laura said dryly.

"Including Ardra. He was like Brad in that way. And he always wanted
Brad's women."

"When I saw Miss. Lacey just now, she told me to ask you what happened
to my father. What did she mean?" I asked.

Laura shook her head at me.

"I've already told you what I know. Maybe she was just trying to divert
you."

Daniel returned to the subject of Henry.

"Sometimes I've wondered if being drunk was part of an act for him.

What if he only suspected what had happened to Brad, and was trying to
smoke out his killer?"

"If that's true, he may have succeeded."

Daniel looked off toward the rooftops of Harpers Ferry, seeming to speak
his thoughts aloud.

"Maybe I could try the same tactic. That is, spread the word that I know
who killed Henry."

"I don't like that idea at all," Laura said firmly.

"Now that you've come home" -- "Home! I have no home. I came here to
find out the truth and clear up the lies that were told about me. All
that rake evidence that was used against me ruined my life." "What was
the evidence?" I asked.

"I know that people believed what they wanted to believe, but was there
anything else?"

"Talk! Just plenty of useless, malicious talk. I left under a cloud, but
I left to save myself from being arrested."

Laura moved from the railing and sat down in a chair beside Daniel.

"There's something more I should tell you. It's something I've kept
silent about because there was no point in telling anyone. But perhaps
you'll make something of it now." "Go on," Daniel said, suddenly alert.

"This goes back to when Caryl was born. Brad came to see me almost a
week later. He wanted to give the baby away. He asked me to keep her
secretly until he found a family that would adopt her. Of course I
refused. Brad had an obsession about keeping what had happened quiet.

He was trying desperately to move beyond the disgrace of having seduced
his wife's sister and gotten her pregnant. Unrealistic, of course. The
very next day after he came to see me, he disappeared and I never saw
him again. I have a strong feeling that something happened on Virginius
Island and now Henry has been killed on the island. But the baby was
never given away, and Caryl grew up in a loving family." I said nothing
about what Vinnie had revealed to me, and instead told them about Miss.
Lacey's cane and how it had been found in Vinnie's garden.

"It isn't likely that Vinnie put it there but do you think someone is
trying to involve her?" I carefully avoided Miss. Lacey's outrageous
comment about my mother.

"We're getting close," Daniel said.

"History has begun to repeat itself."

When the telephone rang inside the house, Laura went to answer it, and I
spoke to Daniel.

"It could be dangerous for you if you do what you suggested and tell
people you know who killed Henry."

"I'm not all that excited about staying alive, and besides, I'm not
Henry. I'd keep looking over my shoulder and I wouldn't get drunk."

"Please take care of yourself. Egan needs you," I said. "And I do too."

He had a wonderful smile that I'd never seen before. "Thank you.

Granddaughter."

"That's Ryan," Laura said, returning.

"He has been trying to track you down, Lacey. Will you take the call
inside?"

When I picked up the phone, Ryan spoke quickly.

"You'd better come back to Vinnie's, Lacey. There's trouble brewing with
your mother. I think you should be here."

I didn't ask any questions. I just told him I'd come at once. After I'd
explained to Laura and Daniel that Ryan needed to see me, I hurried out
to my car.

When I reached Vinnie's, I was relieved to find Ryan waiting for me on
the front porch.

"I wanted to prepare you," he said.

"Your mother is very upset. She wants to do something Vinnie thinks she
shouldn't. She wants to talk to her sister."

"That doesn't sound unreasonable. Why shouldn't she talk to Ardra?

After all these years, surely " Ryan took my hand, quieting me.

"When someone has held anger and resentment in for years, as your mother
has, all that negative emotion can begin to fester. So Vinnie's trying
to keep your mother from confronting her sister. Vinnie thinks Ardra
shouldn't be forced to face Amelia because of mistakes Ardra made when
she was so much younger."

I could guess why Vinnie was trying to protect Ardra. She believed she
knew what Ardra had done and if my mother turned on her sister, who
could anticipate what might happen? But I couldn't say this to anyone.

Not yet.

"What about Caryl?" I asked.

"Can't she help?"

"She's the only one working at the shop, so she's out of it right now.

Vinnie and I hoped you might talk to your mother before things get out
of hand."

"I'm not sure Mother will listen to anything I say. I've begun to
realize how little I really know her. But I'll try anyway."

"What about you, Lacey? Are you all right?"

"I'm frightened. I feel as if there's someone out there watching us."

"I know that feeling." He held me and I put my head against his
shoulder. His arms were strong, and I actually felt safe for just a
moment. Knowing I had to go to my mother, I reluctantly pulled away, but
not before kissing his mouth softly.

Ryan came with me down the hall and left me at the door of my room. I
tapped and went in. Mother was standing at the side door looking out
into the sunny garden. The rigid set of her shoulders told me how tense
she was.

"Come and sit down," I said, and drew her toward the comfortable
armchair. She had picked up the rose quartz pebble and was tossing it
angrily back and forth between her hands. If rose quartz had a calming
effect, she wasn't allowing it to work!

I pulled the desk chair over and sat before her, knee to knee. Then I
took one of her hands in mine.

"Ryan says you want to have something out with your sister. Can you tell
me about it?"

She pulled away, tossing the pink stone again, perhaps unaware of what
she was doing.

"Listen to me, Lacey! You've never known what I went through before we
left Harpers Ferry. When your father and my sister had an affair, I held
back everything I was feeling. I was in love with Brad then and I
thought his fling with my seductive, giddy little sister was a travesty,
but I still wanted him to come back to me. I used to be jealous of the
love Vinnie gave Ardra, but I know now that Ardra needed her, because
our mother had so little outward love to give."

She was silent for a moment, then quieted her hands and breathed deeply.

The effort didn't help--I watched as her anger surged up again.

"Now I want everything in the open! It's time for me to confront Ardra
and see to it that she understands just what she did. She's never faced
up to that. Not even when Caryl was born."

I tried to distract her.

"What about you and Ida? When people talk about my grandmother, they
always sound vague. And what about my grandfather--did he love Ida?"

"She was his wife, and I think she was good for him. She knew he'd been
in love with Laura before he married her. He was a restless, passionate
man and quick to anger. Perhaps he thought he would find peace with my
mother."

"He's probably calmed down by this time," I said, though I actually
wasn't too sure.

"I like him. I'm glad I came here and am beginning to know and
understand all these things about our past. Now that we're finally
talking about all this, can you tell me what happened before you left
Harpers Ferry?"

She didn't want her own anger to be diluted, but perhaps she knew that
by this time she owed me the truth.

"Ardra's interest in Brad didn't last. I never thought it would, but I
didn't realize how much she'd begun to hate him. Of course my mother was
under my father's thumb, and she wasn't any help. He was playing the
outraged father. Sometimes I've thought that he really did kill Brad. It
was a terrible mess, and I couldn't speak my mind to Ardra then. She was
my little sister and I somehow felt guilty, as though I could have
prevented all this from happening if I'd only been a better wife or a
more exciting companion. Now therapists and psychologists write books to
help women turn self-blame into healthy anger, but I had no such tools
then. I was alone with my shame and my doubt."

Carefully, as though it mattered. Mother set the rose quartz on the
table, and folded her hands more calmly. I waited for what would come
next.

"What I did," she said after a pause, "was to suppress my desire to tell
Ardra what I thought of her behavior. I never tried to confront Brad,
either. Then, suddenly, he was dead and it was too late."

"Vinnie told me you left after Caryl was born?"

"That's right, everything seemed to be happening so fast. I still loved
your father, I suppose, and I had you to think about. I didn't know what
to do. My father was outraged by all this and Vinnie, for once in her
life, was equally stirred up. My father wanted to see Brad punished, but
Vinnie's only desire was to protect her wayward young niece. Vinnie
thinks Ardra killed Brad. She hasn't said so, but I know she does."

"What do you think?"

She didn't answer directly.

"People were saying that my father killed Brad. And then he disappeared
too. Less than a week later, my mother killed herself. After that, all I
wanted was to get as far away from here as I could and take you with me.
Everyone had acted so badly, including my grandmother.

I couldn't bear to face anything. So I took you to Charlottes- ville and
erased the past. In some ways I've never regretted that. Though my
mother's death added to my feeling of desperate grief. At the time I
blamed myself for that too. But now I know the responsibility for all
this unhappiness rests with Ardra."

Her eyes looked a little wild and her mouth twisted into a grimace.

This time I took both her hands and held them tightly.

"Stop it!

There's no use in venting all your years of suppressed anger on poor
Ardra now. I don't think she's as culpable as you've suspected."

I wasn't sure I believed my own words, but I had to keep my mother away
from Ardra until she was calm again and more like the reasonable woman I
knew.

This began to happen more quickly than I expected it to, or perhaps
she'd just become so practiced in wearing a mask that she could put it
on at will. Quietly, she drew her hands away and began to talk about the
past two days.

"I haven't told you everything, Lacey. I didn't arrive in Harpers Ferry
this morning. After you phoned me at home yesterday, I packed my
suitcase and drove up here. I stayed last night at Hilltop House."
"Miss. Lacey told me. She said that you'd come to see her late yesterday
afternoon. But why?"

"I knew you were staying with her and it was you I was coming to get.

But the person I wanted to find was Henry. I needed to see him before I
talked to anyone else. I thought he might be there."

"Henry! But: why would you want to see him?" A feeling of new anxiety
swept through me, as I watched her pull a sweater around her shoulders.

"After you left for Harpers Ferry, I phoned Vinnie and asked her to fill
me in on what was happening. I didn't tell her that you were on your
way. Among other things, she said that Henry was in town and behaving in
a strange manner that didn't seem entirely due to liquor.

I'd always suspected that Henry knew more about Brad's disappearance
than he let on. So I decided to confront him too and get him to talk to
me."

"Did you see him yesterday?"

"No. Grandmother told me he was staying at Laura's, but when I got there
he'd apparently gone out. Laura wasn't home either."

"Miss. Lacey didn't mention that you were looking for Henry when I spoke
with her earlier."

"I asked her not to. I wanted to finish what I had to do before anyone
knew I was here. But I had no luck in finding Henry."

"And now he's dead. You've heard about that?"

"Vinnie told me this morning. Then I was frightened all over again.

Lacey, I want you to come back to Charlottesville with me right away.

Neither of us must stay here any longer."

"I don't want to leave," I said.

She studied me thoughtfully.

"It's this young man, Ryan, isn't it?"

I wasn't ready for confidences.

"Ryan and I found Henry's body. And now that they suspect that it was
murder, the police will want me around for more questioning. But if
you'd rather not stay "

"I'll stay until we can leave here together." She looked startled as
someone knocked on the door, but it was only Vinnie.

"Are you all right, Amelia?" she asked, coming into the room.

My mother avoided her eyes.

"I don't suppose I'll be all right until I've talked to Ardra. It won't
be pleasant, but it must be done."

So she hadn't been deflected from her purpose, after all.

Vinnie prickled.

"What good will that do? I'm sure she's suffered enough over all that
happened. Now she has Caryl for consolation, and she's made a good life
for herself. I don't want you to upset her.

Ardra's health is frail, and she hasn't the strength to face the storm
you might let loose. So I've asked Caryl to close the shop for a few
days and take her mother away."

"No! I must see her."

"I don't think Ardra wants to see you, Amelia. I'll ask Jasmine to bring
a tray so that you and Lacey can have your lunch in here."

Before my mother could answer, there was a tap at the door. When I went
to open it, I found Ardra standing there. She looked white and uncertain
as she walked past me into the room to face her sister.

"Amelia," she said just her name. Then, "I'm sorry you've been so ill."

Mother didn't- move from her chair, and her eyes never left Ardra's
face, though she didn't speak. As I watched, I could see her anger
fading. In her resentful memories, she must never have imagined that her
once attractive, flirtatious sister would look like this.

Trembling, Ardra dropped down on the edge of the bed, unable to meet her
sister's level gaze. When she spoke, her voice was far from steady.

"There's nothing you can say to me that I haven't said to myself,
Amelia. I haven't any excuses. I was young and self- centered and very
foolish."

Mother nodded gravely.

"You were all of those things. You thought Brad considerate and kind
understanding. And, of course, not understood by me. I remember. He
liked women, and he liked women to like him. But then he always needed
someone new to build up the excitement again and to reassure him of his
own charm and worth."

Ardra's eyes misted, and given another moment, I think she would have
gone to put her arm around Amelia. But my mother wanted none of that.

"I expected to have a great deal of anger to vent when I saw you again,
Ardra. But now I only feel sorry for you. We still have our
relationships with Brad in common. Only our feelings for him have turned
to bitterness and regret. Am I right?"

Ardra covered her race with her hands and didn't answer.

Vinnie had stood apart, listening anxiously. Now she went to Ardra.

"Come along, dear. It's nearly time for lunch."

They went out together, and I put my arms around my mother.

"I'm proud of you. You must have resented her terribly over the
years--perhaps hated her. But you handled yourself well just now."

"I handled nothing. I've done nothing for you to be proud of. I could
see that she'd be too easy to demolish. She's punished herself enough in
her thoughts, and she's done all the harm she will ever do."

How little I'd known my mother. A child takes a parent for granted, and
I'd never dreamed of the life of suffering that had been held away from
me. There had always been a barrier I couldn't cross, but now perhaps we
could be friends on a more mature and equal level.

She was still thinking about Ardra, and she mused aloud. "When I was
young, I was jealous of the way Vinnie always sided with my sister and
protected her. She was more like Vinnie's child than like our mother's.

Since I've come here nothing has changed. I suppose Vinnie needs someone
to depend on her, to need her. That's something she never had from me."

Ryan brought our lunch on a tray and stayed to eat with us. I wanted to
tell him what had just happened, but that would have to wait. We chatted
with my mother as we ate and then left her to rest.

One of the things I liked about Ryan was his enthusiasm.

Much of the time he was a quiet man, but he could light up when action
was needed. Something had sparked this quality in him now.

"I've been tracking down everyone who knew Henry Elliot," he said as we
walked down the hall, "and I have an interesting lead. I may be onto
something so will you come with me, Lacey?"

His excitement touched me and of course I would go with him anytime,
anywhere.

* * * * * * *****


CHAPTER TWENTY.


***** * * * * CHARLES TOWN was another old community in West Virginia
and only a few miles west of Harpers Ferry. It had long been famous for
its racetrack and its fine old houses, many of which had been built in
the previous century. And, of course, John Brown's trial had been held
there--and his execution.

The building Ryan drove us to was recent and mod- em--a large
single-story white structure with aluminum siding and big glass windows
all around. It belonged to the National Park Service and housed the
Division of Conservation. Its special function was to preserve
historical artifacts that were on exhibit in Park sites around the
country.

This was where Henry had worked for several years as a custodian. The
building was divided into spacious labs that handled various parts of
the preservation process. Valuable artifacts were sent here to be worked
on, and the division also provided information to anyone who needed it
on the mounting of historic objects for display, on pest control, and on
how to best exhibit such treasures. Royal Fenwick's drum was to be
repaired here for Miss. Lacey, who was a special patron.

Eventually, the drum would go to a museum in Shepherdstown.

The men and women who worked here were devoted to repairing and
preserving the remarkable objects that came to them out of history.

Ryan, apparently, was a frequent visitor, since there were always bits
of information to be picked up when local artifacts arrived.

On the drive to Charles Town, he'd told me that one of the lab heads,
Stan Wallace, had been especially kind to Henry Elliot. Henry had
counted on him as a friend, and, upon hearing of Henry's death, Stan had
called Laura right away. What had come out of the conversation had
caused Laura to call Ryan and suggest that he have a talk with Stan.

What she'd reported had stirred Ryan's curiosity.

The building was more than twenty thousand square feet in size, and we
walked down a long corridor to the lab where Stan worked. It was a big
white room, brightly lighted, though without glare, offering clear light
for the fine work that might be required. The walls were covered with
useful shelves and cupboards, with framed posters interspersed here and
there. Several long tables held artifacts that were being worked on.

Stan was a tall, dark-haired man with a friendly manner. Clearly he had
been fond of Henry and willing to listen to his occasional outpourings.

Not that Henry had revealed many details, Stan told us.

"I think he must have carried something on his conscience for years.

Secrets, perhaps, that contributed to his drinking."

Stan found chairs for us near a table where two large elephant's feet
showed evidence of crumbling. They were trophies from Theodore
Roosevelt's house on Long Island, Stan told us, and then returned to the
subject of Henry, while I thought about the poor elephant.

Henry had been obsessed by a desire to recover something from Virginius
Island that had been long buried there. He talked to Stan about a crime
that he believed had been committed, though he never explained what it
was.

"I thought he was fantasizing some of the time and I didn't press him
for details," Stan said.

"I guess I thought he'd tell me if he wanted me to know."

He pushed one of the hollow feet out of the way and sat on a corner of
the table as he talked.

"Henry told me he was going to the island to do some digging--so that he
would have something to show the police. He wasn't secretive about what
he meant to do, so someone might have heard about his plan and followed
him. This morning I told the local Park rangers all that he'd said and
they're off on a digging expedition of their own around the place where
Henry was found. I doubt that they'll turn up anything of interest,
since I couldn't tell them what to look for."

Ryan explained that Henry was my uncle--Brad Elliot's brother.

"Do you think it's possible that Henry might have been looking for my
father's body?" I asked.

Stan looked startled.

"He never indicated what he was digging for, as I said, and with all the
work that has been done on the island in recent years, I should think
anything as large as a body would have been found."

I felt increasingly uncomfortable as I listened. It was hard to believe
that we were sitting here talking calmly about a buried body.

I had no real feelings for my father, but what had happened to Henry had
made death seem close and very real.

"It seems more likely," Ryan said, "that Henry was searching for
something else some smaller object that he knew was buried on the island
in a certain place."

None of this helped very much, though we agreed it might provide the
motive behind Henry's killing. We thanked Stan, who walked us out. On
the way he stopped beside a dressmaker's form on which a man's coat from
another century had been placed. The material was a fine, dark blue
wool, made with the short shoulder cape that had once been the fashion.

"You might be interested in this. Miss. Elliot," Stan said. "It was a
gift from Mrs.. Lacey Enright to a local museum. We're working on some
fraying and mending a few moth holes. The coat belonged to Royal Fenwick
a member of your family, I believe."

More than once since I'd come to Harpers Ferry I'd felt a pull toward
those who'd lived more than a hundred years before my time. I touched
the coat lightly before we walked on past other objects that were here
for repair. A handsome Georgian mirror lay on a table, its varnish being
restored. A pair of men's dress slippers had been worn by George
Washington A beautiful pictorial hand-weaving of a Blue Ridge Mountain
scene was being worked on by a young woman intent upon her needle.

When we walked out to Ryan's car, I could sense his disappointment.

On the drive back to Harpers Ferry, he put this feeling into words.

"Yd hoped for more. Henry evidently had something on his mind, but he
didn't give Stan enough information. I have a feeling that there's a
lead there that we're missing, but I don't know what it is. What are you
planning to do now, Lacey?"

"I have the diary you gave me. I don't want to postpone reading it any
longer."

Ryan had an errand to do in the Lower Town, and when he'd dropped me off
at Vinnie's, I went straight to my room. There I found a note from
Vinnie. She had a room for Amelia now, and she had moved her into it.

"Let her rest for a while," the note ended, "she's very tired."

I was glad to be alone. I sat down near a window where the light was
good, and held the small volume with its violets and four-leaf clovers
in my hands for a few moments before I began to read. Long ago Sarah
Lang had held this book as I was doing, and had written down her
feelings and thoughts. It was hard to believe that she'd been the baby
born to Ellen Fenwick.

Sarah had apparently led a happy life with Orin Lang and his wife. I
couldn't tell by reading her words whether she had ever been told the
story of her real mother's ordeal or of her adopted father's part in the
tragedy. It was clear that she loved her adoptive parents.

I skimmed through some of the description of her younger years. When she
was twelve Orin had moved the two of them to a Pennsylvania town where
he'd opened a small grocery store. Sarah enjoyed new friends, parties, a
beau or two. She seemed a happy, bright young girl who savored her life
and enjoyed writing about its small happenings.

Though he did well, Orin was homesick for Jefferson County, and at the
end of the diary Sarah wrote that her father was returning to live in
Charles Town, while she was to be married and would be moving north with
her husband to Winnipeg, Canada. There she promised to start a new diary
that would record her married life as Mrs.. Philip St.. Pol. She was
leaving this book behind with her father. Perhaps there were bits in the
diary that she hadn't wanted her new husband to read.

I came to the end, regretful that I must let Sarah go and never know
what became of her. The book seemed light in my hands to carry all those
hours of a young life. As I sat holding it and wondering about her, two
things echoed in my mind: Winnipeg, Canada, and the name St..

Pol. Hadn't Annemarie St.. Pol come here from Winnipeg? Someone had
mentioned that once. Was it possible that there was a connection of some
sort? Could Anne-Marie have learned the story of her family's connection
with the Fenwicks and come here deliberately to seek out Miss. Lacey and
establish her own ties with the past?

I wondered. She was fairly young when she came here thirty- five years
ago.

If Miss. Lacey knew this, why had she never mentioned it?

I needed to see her at once. I told Vinnie where I was going and drove
up to my great-grandmother's house.

The door was unlocked when I arrived, and since no one answered my
knock, I let myself in. When I looked into the formal parlor, I found my
great-grandmother sitting on the sofa holding a framed photograph in her
hands. After the way we had parted this morning, I wasn't sure she would
be pleased to see me, and I hesitated in the doorway.

"May I talk with you a moment?" I asked.

Wordlessly, she held the picture out to me. I took it, but I didn't
recognize the face of the woman who sat, back erect, staring into the
camera's lens.

"That's your grandmother," she said.

"My daughter, Ida Enright Griffin. I've been thinking about how we all
failed her. If I'd been more sensitive to what she was going through,
she might be alive now."

For the first time I recognized in Lacey Enright a woman totally alone.

She had never involved herself with others to any great extent--it was
obvious that Vinnie and Ardra and Caryl had no real relationship with
her. I doubted that generosity and compassion had ever been part of her
character. Perhaps in these later years she was realizing how much she
had lost. I wondered if that was the reason she was trying to coax Egan
into loving her and even trying to bribe me into staying close.

"Sit down," she said, taking back the picture.

For once she was not dressed in one of her long, colorful gowns, but
wore brown pants with a creamy turtleneck that helped hide the folds of
her neck.

"I've been working in the garden this afternoon. With spring already
here, I have a great deal of catching up to do." She spoke in an almost
absent manner, as though something in her had given up.

I sat beside her on the sofa and held out the diary.

"This is a diary that Sarah Lang kept--Ellen Fenwick's daughter. It has
just surfaced in a collection of papers that were left to Laura Kelly.

She showed it to Ryan and he gave it to me."

Miss. Lacey took the book from me.

"No, I didn't know about this one."

"At the end, Sarah talks about moving to Winnipeg, Canada, with her new
husband, Philip St.. Pol."

"You've made the connection, haven't you? I'm not surprised."

"It seemed obvious as soon as I read what Sarah had written. Did you
know she was adopted by Orin Lang/ one of the deserters who attacked
Ellen?"

Miss. Lacey took the book from me calmly.

"I know. But I didn't know that this diary still existed. Sarah was
Annemarie's mother's great-grandmother. When her mother died, Anne-Marie
found the diaries Sarah had kept during her life in Winnipeg, and she
came to Harpers Ferry to find anyone who might be left of her family.
She brought one of the diaries to show me when she first came to see me
all those years ago. She no longer had any family left, and I felt sorry
for her, and curious about all that past history. In the diary I read,
Sarah had set down the story of her mother's rape and death, as it had
been told to her by her guilt-ridden father when he was dying. How do
you like sharing a common bloodline with Annemarie?"

I was intrigued and interested. Now I could better understand
Anne-Marie's obsession with Ellen's room upstairs and her air of
proprietorship toward Miss. Lacey. I could even understand what I'd
thought was jealousy toward me and my family.

"It's only right that you leave this house to Annemarie, as you intend
to do," I said.

"She'll value it and appreciate it more than anyone else."

"Oh, that!" Miss. Lacey spoke carelessly.

"I made out a new will to spite you, but Anne-Marie knows I'd never let
it stand. Sarah was born a bastard, the daughter of a criminal. This
historic house is not going to anyone of that bloodline!"

Her words shocked me, and a new sympathy for Annemarie began to stir.

But before I could speak. Miss. Lacey looked toward the door to the
hall.

"Come in, Anne-Marie. You've been listening, haven't you? Lacey has
brought me something that may interest you."

Anne-Marie came into the room boldly and took the book Miss. Lacey held
out. She had, indeed, heard every word, and I could sense the anger
welling up in her.

Like Miss. Lacey, she wore slacks and had put on a navy blue
windbreaker.

Out of her familiar black clothes, she looked stronger, somehow, and
more formidable than ever. Annemarie could take care of herself, and for
just a moment I felt a little afraid for Miss. Lacey. Anger that had
festered for so many years might be dangerous.

When she spoke, her voice rose to a pitch I'd never heard in her before.

For her, there was no one else in the room but Miss. Lacey.

"I served you faithfully, loyally for thirty-five years. I've listened
to you when I shouldn't have. I didn't marry Henry Elliot when we were
in love because you insisted that it would be a mistake."

I gasped. This I had never expected--Anne-Marie and Henry!

Miss. Lacey thumped her cane on the floor indignantly. "You should thank
me. Look how he turned out."

Anger was growing into rage. For a moment I thought she would strike
Miss. Lacey, and I made a move to prevent this. But she turned violently
away and stormed out of the room--out of the house. I ran after her and
watched her climb into Miss. Lacey's car.

My great-grandmother had followed me, and I saw by her face that she
knew she had gone too far.

"We. must go after her!" Miss. Lacey cried.

"Whatever she intends, we must stop her. She may harm herself."

So my great-grandmother cared something about Annemarie, after all. Or
did she only need her to make her own life comfortable?

Miss. Lacey took my arm and we went down the steps and out to my car
together. As I turned the key in the ignition, I looked back at the
house. Egan stood at the gallery railing, watching.

"Tell Grandpa Daniel that we need him!" I called. But he only watched
solemnly as I pulled the car away from the curb and set out after
Annemarie.

* * * * * * *****


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.


***** * * * * * I KEPT a discreet distance behind the other car, and
hoped that Anne-Marie wouldn't notice us. She drove down to the Lower
Town and out Shenandoah Street to where Virginius Island stretched along
the shore, separated from land by the narrow canal.

When she was across, we left my car and went after her on foot. She
didn't go far only to the pit in the ground, once the foundation of a
factory, where Ryan and I had found Henry. I knew we were about to learn
why Henry had come here, and I felt a chill that had nothing to do with
the air around me and the darkening evening.

Anne-Marie seemed to be searching for something on the ground. After a
few moments she pulled a garden trowel from her coat pocket, knelt
beside a part of the old brick foundation, and began to dig into the
silt-covered bricks at the base of the structure.

Miss. Lacey and I had crouched behind some tall bushes, and she gripped
my arm so tightly that I winced. After several moments of digging, a
brick came loose, and Annemarie reached into the hollow.

When she stood up, she held in her hand what appeared to be a rotting
leather pouch. She held it away from her clothes and shook dirt loose
from its sides. Then she gingerly slid her hand into the pouch and drew
out an ancient pistol.

Miss. Lacey cried out and stepped from behind the bushes. I followed
her, and Anne-Marie stared at us in angry surprise.

"Where did you come from?"

Miss. Lacey spoke with as much dignity as she would have assumed at
home.

"That gun belonged to Royal Fenwick. It's been missing for thirty
years."

"You shouldn't have followed me." The anger was gone and something cold
and deadly had taken its place. She spoke directly to Miss. Lacey.

"You've made your last mistake."

I put an arm protectively around my great-grandmother's shoulders and
tried to speak as calmly as I could to Annemarie.

"You weren't yourself back at the house. Miss. Lacey was worried about
you."

"Do you know why this pistol was here?" Annemarie went on, ignoring my
feeble words.

"It's the gun I used to kill Brad Elliot. Henry buried it here so it
wouldn't be found. I wanted him to throw it into the canal, but Henry
could be cunning. He took my handbag to protect the gun. I suspect that
he thought there might be some identifying traces of me on it--and
perhaps he'd need to produce it sometime in order to save his own neck.

I think that's what he meant to do yesterday. But I followed him here."
"You killed both Brad and Henry?" Miss. Lacey said softly. She sagged a
little in the circle of my arm and I sensed her growing weakness.

"He was going to talk, so I had to stop him. I killed him with your
cane, Miss. Lacey--a sort of poetic justice. Then I added the touch of
leaving it in Vinnie's herb garden. I could imagine them all trying to
figure that out! Only Egan found it first."

Perhaps the worst part of what was happening was that Anne-Marie was
enjoying herself, and that very fact frightened me. I didn't know what
wild move she might make next, and I had to keep her talking.

"What happened when my father died?" I asked, grateful that my voice
managed not to tremble.

Now she seemed to enjoy her revelations all the more. "The night Brad
died, he brought Ardra's baby to the island. He told Henry he was
meeting someone who would take her away and adopt her. All he cared
about was keeping his ugly secret from being revealed. Henry and I were
in love in those days, and Henry was a lot better man than his brother
was. Henry knew that what Brad was doing was wrong, and we came here
together to stop him. Those two had a terrible fight.

Brad was out-of-his-head crazy, and I think he might have killed Henry,
who wasn't nearly as strong except for me. I'd brought that old Civil
War pistol along it was the only weapon I could think of, and I knew
Miss. Lacey was proud of it and had kept it in firing condition.

"When Brad knocked Henry down and then picked up a heavy branch to use
as a club to finish him off, I shot him." She waved the ancient gun at
us wildly.

"It was so easy. I don't know how I did it one shot and he was dead.

Henry got his wind back and we dragged Brad's body across the island and
rolled it into the river. The Shenandoah was wild that night and the
body disappeared from sight in minutes. I guess the river tore his coat
from him and that's how it came to be found on that rock down river a
couple of days later. Nothing else was ever seen of him again.

"Henry said we must get the baby and take it home. But I knew from the
way he spoke that everything was over between us. I'd saved his life by
killing his brother and in some twisted way he could never forgive me
for that. So it wasn't just you. Miss. Lacey, who kept me from marrying
Henry."

This time I had heard the true story, and now I was more afraid than
ever of what Anne-Marie might do.

"Let's go home," I said to Miss. Lacey.

Anne-Marie seemed not to hear me, and Miss. Lacey didn't move.

"Henry buried the gun right down there, and I thought it would be safe
enough behind a brick in the wall. Maybe better than throwing it into
the canal, which could be dragged. I brought the baby out from under the
stone arch where Brad had placed her, and we took her back to Vinnie's.
We left her inside the back door, and Ardra must have found her and put
her into her crib."

"What about whoever it was that was supposed to meet Brad on the
island?" I asked quietly.

"Who knows if there was such a person? Who knows what Brad meant to do?

I think he was a little crazy that night. Anyway, everything stayed
quiet for the next thirty years. Daniel was being blamed, and that was
fine with me. Until Henry began to talk about opening it all up and
telling the truth, so Daniel wouldn't be blamed anymore. Now Henry won't
tell and I have the gun that might have incriminated me.

I also have a big debt to pay off with you. Miss. Lacey."

Miss. Lacey roused herself and stepped away from my arm.

"I took you in. I gave you a home for all these years."

"And you treated me like a servant! There's Fenwick blood in my veins
too. I'm sorry you're in the middle of this, Lacey, but I don't have a
choice now."

She still had the old gun in her hands, and she moved so quickly that I
couldn't escape the blow when it came. The butt of the pistol struck my
head, and I went down, half-stunned. I sensed everything in a kind of
fog--my throbbing head, the wetness on my cheek. I was vaguely aware
that Annemarie had Miss. Lacey by the arm and was pulling her across the
island toward the river. I was also aware of a rising moon lighting the
sky, but I couldn't move, couldn't even cry out.

When I heard feet pounding across the bridge, I tried to sit up. Ryan
and Daniel Griffin were running Ryan toward me, and Daniel to where
Anne-Marie had dragged Miss. Lacey halfway across the island. Ryan knelt
beside me and all I wanted was the safety of his arms around me, holding
me in love and concern.

Somehow I heard enough to know that Daniel had caught Anne-Marie, and
that Miss. Lacey was returning with them to where Ryan knelt beside me.

She seemed to have recovered her strength and courage, and she came to
me at once.

"Dear Lacey!" she cried.

"You're hurt. We must take care of you "

"Listen!" I said. I didn't want to miss what Daniel was saying. His
words cut through my foggy brain.

"Anne-Marie St.. Pol, we're holding you for the murders of Brad Elliot
and his brother. Henry."

He was making a citizen's arrest! My brain cleared and I tried to stand
up, but Ryan pushed me down gently.

Anne-Marie's sudden movement startled us all. She twisted away from
Daniel and ran not toward the bridge, but across the island to the
river. The same course she had been forcing Miss. Lacey to take. When
she reached the bank she kicked off her shoes and plunged into the
water, swimming with strong, sure strokes toward the rapids. A wind had
come up and I could hear the rushing of the water in its ready response.

Daniel started after her, but Ryan called out to him.

"Wait, Clani The current out there can be wild. She'll drown before she
can break free of it. She knows what she's doing. She's made her
choice."

From where I was I couldn't see the water, but as I listened intently I
heard a cry that rose above the river sounds--a human voice. And after
that only the river spoke.

Miss. Lacey began to cry and Daniel put an arm about her, steadying her.

"We must get you home. We'll call the police from there." He held her
gently as she dropped against him, and he gave us a look as he took her
over the bridge--a look that was somehow filled with sadness, with
triumph, with hope.

Ryan was still holding me.

"A visit to the hospital comes next for you," he said.

But I was already feeling better--just shaky.

"If you'll drive me to Vinnie's, she'll take care of my cut, and I
promise I'll see a doctor tomorrow."

He wiped my cheek with a clean handkerchief. The bleeding had stopped,
so I probably wasn't seriously hurt. After he'd kissed me--very gently
this time--we too went back across the bridge to Ryan's car.



IN HER new will Miss. Lacey left everything to her granddaughter Amelia
Elliot. My mother decided that she didn't want to live in
Charlottesville without me, and she has moved in with Miss. Lacey. My
mother looks after her now, not as Anne-Marie had done, but in a way
that has brought a new caring into Miss. Lacey's life.

My dreams have become real. Ryan and I are building our home on Bolivar
Heights, not far from Laura Kelly's. I was worried at first about
telling Caryl our plans, but she took the news that we would be married
with a generosity that is typical of my sister. She had been in love
with Ryan, she confessed to me, but she'd known he didn't feel the same
way. So I must be happy and not worry about her.

Daniel has stayed on in the cabin behind Miss. Lacey's house, and he's
doing some wonderful wood carving again, including a new head for Miss.
Lacey's cane. Not: a gryphon-- this time he has chosen a phoenix. Egan
visits him often and is learning to whittle.

Sometimes Daniel calls on Laura Kelly, though he says I must think
nothing of that.

My children's book is nearly finished and I've loved telling the story
of Harpers Ferry. Ryan thinks my pictorial maps are beautiful.

He's especially fond of little houses that seem to be three-dimensional,
set along High Street and Potomac and Shenandoah.

Once more we are out on the point where the rivers meet and three states
touch. Tonight the rivers are quiet, and the Daughter of the Stars
glints with light as she flows toward her endless meeting with the
Potomac.

Ryan and 1 are silent, listening to the night and the movement of the
water around us. Silent, but very close. I think we are sensing the past
and the present as they come together like the rivers and flow into the
future.

Not far from here, but long ago in time, there had been a mingling of
mist and gunsmoke that drifted across a field, hiding the evidence of a
terrible deed. Perhaps only now has that smoke blown away--dispersed at
last by the truth. Both the wronged and the guilty can sleep, since the
present has paid for the past.

Ryan senses that my thoughts are growing long, and his arm tightens
about me. I turn to him, and when he kisses me a promise is made all
over again between us. Our closeness and trust are sweet as we two
dreamers walk back to Shenandoah and climb the High Street of Harpers
Ferry.

About the Author.

phyllis A. whitney was born in Yokohama, Japan, of American parents, and
has also lived in the Philippines and China. After the death of her
father in China, she and her mother returned to the United States, which
she saw for the first time when she was fifteen. This early travel has
exerted a strong influence on her work; many of her novels are set in
areas she has visited in Europe, Africa, and the Orient, as well as in
the places she has lived.

Phyllis A. Whitney is the author's maiden name. (The A stands for Ayame,
which is the Japanese word for "iris." ) She is a widow and lives near
her daughter in Virginia. In 1975, she was elected president of the
Mystery Writers of America, and in 1988 received the organization's
Grand Master Award for lifetime achievement. She is also the recipient
of the Agatha Award for lifetime achievement given by Malice Domestic.

In 1994, Sisters in Crime awarded her a plaque for

"A Woman Who's Made a Difference." This refers to her efforts on behalf
of women mystery writers.

Since 1941, when she attained her first hardcover publication, she has
become an international success. More than forty million copies of her
novels are in print in American paperback editions. Her novels for
adults now number thirty-eight, and her devoted following has made
best-sellers of these titles, including Star Flight, The Ebony Swan,
Woman Without a Past, The Singing Stones, Rainbow in the Mist, Feather
on the Moon, Silversword, and Dream of Orchids.