"What of the child?" Grace asked, but her heart sank. How could Pat have let herself go so?

"It's small," he admitted. "But the heartbeat seems to be strong. Just tend that sister of yours, and the baby will take care of itself."

Seated beside Pat on the way home Grace wondered how she was going to go about managing her sister's life when she couldn't even handle her own affairs. How could she have thrown herself on Alex as she had? Worse yet, what was to prevent her from doing it again in the future? She would just have to be more careful. She couldn't have him knowing how she felt about him.

"Doctor Peterson wasn't very happy with me, was he, Grace?"

"What? Oh, no, I don't guess he was. At least he wasn't very pleased with your condition."

"I can't say I blame him. I spent more money trying to keep up appearance than I did on my health. Speaking of health, you're worried about Alex, aren't you?"

"Why do you say that?"

"Why? Maybe because you've been wandering around like a little lost puppy ever since he left. Half the time you're staring out the window as if you hope he'll cut his trip short and pull into the driveway. I don't believe I could ever love someone like that." The young girl sighed and for a moment Grace was tempted to confide that her love was only one sided. Then, remembering that Pat had enough to depress her, she changed her mind and was silent until she pulled into the driveway.

"What's wrong?" Pat demanded, in response to Grace's displeased moan.

"Rex Massey, that's what's wrong. A distasteful, young roughneck who Peggys taken an interest in. Alex would be quite upset if he knew the boy was here while he was gone."

"Yes? That must have been his motorcycle I spotted leaning against the side of the garage."

"Motorcycle? Rex only has a bike. It was seeing it by the porch that told me he was here. A motorcycle you say?" Grace demanded, suddenly feeling much relieved. "Let's hurry. I have a feeling the owner of that same motorcycle is holding the fort for us."

The tall, thin, young man was leaning against the kitchen doorway. To all apparent purposes just relaxing, but Grace saw at once that the two young people couldn't get by without his permission.

Across the room, Clare was busying herself feeding the baby whose high chair just happened to block the door leading into the living room. Thus both routes from the kitchen were blocked.

Peggy sat at the table, trying to look unconcerned though it was obvious she resented the adult interference. As for Rex, he didn't seem to care who was blocking his exits. He could get out past the old lady and kid any time he wanted to. Right now, however, he was more interested in the plate of cookies that lay on the kitchen table. His mom never baked, sometimes, if she had had too much to drink, she even skipped supper. He was very content, therefore, to sit slouched at the kitchen table, downing the cookies Clare Perry had baked earlier that day.

"Well, Mrs. Edwards, hello." Tim greeted, a quick smile spreading across his youthful, fair skinned face. "I thought I'd drop by and see how you were holding up without your men folks this week."

"I'm glad you came, Tim. You'll stay for supper, of course."

"Since you've twisted my arm," he said, stepping aside for the ladies to enter.

"Tim, I want you to know my sister, Pat Becker. Pat, this is the children's tutor, Tim Write."

"Pleased to meet you Mrs. Becker." At the sound of his polite voice, Pat lifted her chin and met his eyes squarely.

"It's not Mrs. Becker, Mr. White," she told him.

"No?" he showed no signs of being embarrassed or surprised. "My apologies. I keep forgetting I should use Ms. nowadays."

"I'm not a Ms. either," Pat corrected, and watching the two Grace wouldn't help but wonder what was passing through each of their minds.

"Well then, suppose we just make it Pat and Tim," he suggested, his smile so friendly and easy that Pat felt herself smiling back, relaxed by his warm, easy manner.

"Didn't Miss Perry tell me you've been out shopping?" he asked. "And doesn't shopping mean packages and bags? Rex, empty yourself from that chair and earn some of those cookies you've been devouring for the last half hour." So saying he placed a friendly, but compelling, hand on the boy's arm and lead him out the door. As the young boy passed by Pat his eyes scanned her up and down in an insulting way that made Grace long to slap his disrespectful face. Pat, however didn't seem to notice. She was watching the tall, straight back of Tim Write as he moved swiftly to his task.

Alex was out in the lake, Peter and James sitting on one end of the row boat, he on the other. The sun was shinning warm on their heads and they were laughing and talking as they cast their fishing lines, first here and then there, trying for a strike.

Suddenly Grace felt the boat rock and lurch. Then she was in the water, cold, dark choking water. She was going down, down. Suddenly strong fingers seized her and dragged her to the surface. A gulp of air, then a gulp of water, as choking and gagging she was dragged to the shore and Johnny stood over her.

"You're all right, Gracie," he said, his wide, young chest panting for air. "We've made it to shore."

"Papa!" Grace cried, sitting up. "Where's Papa?"

Glancing out over the water they saw the older man holding onto the capsized boat. Only it wasn't Papa, it was a young boy, then two young boys.

"It's all right," the voice came again, only this time the voice wasn't Johnny's. Alex stood over her. His clothes were wet as Johnny's had been, and he was out of breath as Johnny had been. "I'll get them Grace."

Alex was in the water swimming back toward the boat. He had gotten there and was starting out again but he was going slower, so much slower! Grace waded out knee deep into the water but someone or something was holding her back.

Alex was going down. The dark water was circling over his head.

"No! No!" Grace screamed. "No. Not Alex! Not my Alex. I love Alex. You can't have Alex too!"

She heard someone screaming over and over until firm hands were holding her and she was shaken awake to the quiet of the bedroom and the steady ticking of the white faced clock with its tiny rose buds.

Sobs broke from her throat as she pressed her face tightly against Pat's breast. Gently Pat stroked the hair back from her sister's damp forehead.

"Go back to your bed girls," Pat said quietly to the two wide eyed girls who stood so still and so frightened in the doorway. "Your Aunt has just had a bad dream. Just a bad dream."

But it was a long time before Grace could quiet herself and a longer time still before Pat went back to bed. But for Grace there was no more sleep that night. Instead she wrapped a heavy blanket around herself and sat on the balcony, watching the dawn come up on a world in which she was still alive.

She wished she might see Alex and know that he too was alive and well. Not once did the thought of Johnny or her father enter her mind. It was as if her dream had finally freed her from feelings of guilt. Freed her for Alex so that she could look ahead to a bright future instead of back at the dark past.

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