Fan Fic In Progress

 Prequel to 1895 storyline: Quentin's Story

The characters don't belong to me but what happens in this story are my ideas.  The characters and series belong to the late Dan Curtis and his company.

1875

 

Someone was always shouting in the house.  Quentin thought everyone’s halls resounded with angry, recriminating voices.  He didn’t know any better, and so it didn’t frighten him much, especially since the voices belonged to those, he loved the most, his parents and his grandmother.  He didn’t understand all of the words, just that they were angry with each other.  The important thing was, no one was angry with him.  If the voices got too loud, he could always find his sister Edith.  She would take him out of the house.

He loved to go outside with his sister.  He was a big boy now and could keep up with her to the old tree out near the dark, scary woods.  Carl was too little so he always had to stay behind.  Someone had made a swing for the children that hung from a strong sturdy branch of that tree.  Edith would pick him up and put him on it and he would hold on tight while she pushed him.  He liked it better, though, when she would swing with him.  She would hold him on her lap and he wasn’t afraid when they went high because she held on to him tightly.

At night, his mother would come into the nursery and rock him or Carl.  Sometimes she would read or sing to them and often she looked sad.  “What’s wrong, Mama?” he would ask her.  He felt lucky to have such a sweet pretty mama and he didn’t like it when she looked so sad.  She would always smile and say that nothing was wrong.

Sometimes, after she’d left, Edith would come in to say goodnight too.  She would tickle both the boys until they giggled frantically.  “Time to say goodnight,” she would say then and she’d flutter her eyelashes over each boy’s cheek until they began giggling again.  “Butterfly kisses!” she told them, closing the door softly behind her.

Quentin didn’t see much of his father or grandfather.  They went “to the shipyard” every day, a mysterious place that took up a lot of their time.  They didn’t come home until very late, almost bedtime, and he would see his father long enough for a pat on the head and a gruff “good night”.  His grandfather would pick him up and hug him to say goodnight, smelling strongly of cigars and something else.  He had a bright ruddy face and a cheery smile, unlike his father who always looked so serious.

During the day, he didn’t see much of his mama or his sister Judith.  Sometimes he wondered idly what they did during the day.  Judith was as tall as mama but not nearly as old.  She was very pretty, too, and occasionally she would visit him and Carl in the nursery.  She didn’t seem to know what to do with them, though.  She didn’t like to read and said she couldn’t sing.  She was not nearly so much fun as Edith, who would sometimes come and tell them secrets.  “It’s boring being a girl,” Edith would confide.

“Why?”

“Because there’s so many things girls have to do that boys don’t,” she answered.  “You and Carl and Edward are the lucky ones.”

“Where IS Edward?”  He would ask that every time his brother’s name came up because he would forget.

“Away.  At school.  He’ll be home for the next holiday.”

“Can you take me to the swing now?”

“No,” Edith would say with regret most of the time.  She either had to go sew with mama and Judith, or “go calling” or some other thing only girls did.

He had a nanny, Annie, who was very young and sweet.  Annie would take him out to play with Carl when the weather was pleasant.  There were some pleasant days in Maine, but often it was cold and gloomy.  On those days, Quentin and Carl, who was two years younger, would stay indoors and play.

Some days Grandmama would come and take Quentin to play their special, secret games.  He loved Grandmama almost as much as he loved Edith.  Grandmama’s room was filled with interesting objects and she always had sweets for Quentin when they played the game.  It was easy to play with Grandmama.  She let him draw stars on her floor and had him repeat strange words after her.  Sometimes she would teach him to mix herbs together along with water and salt, repeating more strange words. 

Once in a while, the game was scary.  She would send him in to Mama’s room to fetch a pin or a handkerchief.  He didn’t like taking Mama’s things, although Grandmama insisted there was nothing wrong with it.  She showed him how to make a clay doll and then she would take Mama’s handkerchief and drape it around the doll.

“Why are you doing that, Grandmama?”  Quentin asked.

“I’m just making a talisman, dear,” Grandmama said.  “Do you know what a talisman is?”

“No, ma’am, what’s a t-talis-man?”  The word sounded foreign and was difficult to say.

“It’s good luck for your Mama,” Grandmama answered.  “A talisman, my dear, is like this doll.  We give it magic by making special markings on it and then we take something of your Mama’s for the doll to wear that the good luck can pass to her.”

“Magic?”  Quentin was wide-eyed.  “Are we doing magic, Grandmama?”

His grandmother, a small plump woman with a kindly face, looked suddenly cunning.  She frightened Quentin when she got that look on her face.  She looked like Kitty just before catching a mouse.  “Yes, it’s magic, Quentin, but we must keep it a secret.  Do you understand?  You must never ever tell about it.”

“Why?”

Now Grandmama gave him a stern look.  “Because I won’t love you anymore if you tell.  This is our special secret and no one else is to know – ever.”

The threat of the withdrawal of her love was frightening enough to keep Quentin quiet even about things he didn’t like – like taking things for Mama, even if it was supposed to be for good luck.  He wanted to ask Grandmama about these good luck talismans.  They never seemed to work.  Mama frequently complained of headaches or backaches.

 

The loud voices reached the nursery.  Quentin was bored.  He’d been playing with his tin soldiers for what seemed like hours.  The voices bothered him today.  He could hear his father and Grandmama shouting at each other and wondered why they were always angry with each other.  “I want to go outside,” he said to Annie.

“Oh, dearie, tis a raw kind of day,” Annie said.

“But the sun is out,” Quentin objected petulantly.  “The talking is too loud,” he added.

Annie gave him a sympathetic look.  “Aye so it ‘tis today then,” she agreed.  “All right, on with your coat and we’ll go outside for a bit.” 

She bundled Carl up snugly and, taking Quentin’s hand, took the two boys down the back stairs.  The carriage was just inside the kitchen and Annie got Carl settled.

“Yer goin out?” the cook asked incredulously.

“Aye, just for a wee bit,” Annie said.

There was a crashing sound from the drawing room.  The Annie grimaced and shook her head.  “Can’t say as I blame yez.”

Quentin scampered ahead of Annie through the garden.  The sun was out but a chill wind blew in from the sea.  Still, it was better to be out here than indoors.  They spent about an hour outdoors before Annie called Quentin back to go inside.  By then, the argument was over and there was peace in the house once more.

Within a day or two, Quentin had trouble swallowing and felt hot.  His head hurt terribly.  Distressed, Annie brought his mother to his bedside.

His mother’s hands felt cool and soothing on his hot little face.  “Go into town for the doctor, Annie,” she said, sponging Quentin’s face with a cool cloth.  It felt good but his throat hurt so badly he couldn’t speak.  The palms of his hands itched and he stared, consternated, at the red rash on them.

“Let me take care of the child for a while,” he heard Grandmama say once.

“No, thank you,” his mother answered coolly.

He happened to look up in his grandmother’s eyes and was frightened at the coldness he saw in them.  She was looking at his mother with naked hatred.  He closed his eyes, frightened.

He didn’t remember very much of the next few days.  He slept a lot.  He woke up once when the doctor poked and prodded at him and said in a hushed tone the house had to be quarantined because Quentin had scarlet fever.  What is that? He wanted to ask but fell asleep, only to awaken to the sound of angry voices.  Grandmama demanded that Annie be fired for taking the boys out on such a raw day.  Quentin was aware that Carl was in the bed beside him, red as a tomato.

His mother came in and shut the door, leaning back against it, her face white and pinched looking.

“Mama,” he said softly.

His mother sat on the edge of the bed, putting her hand on his face.  Her eyes looked red and swollen.  Her hand felt hot on his face.  “You’ll be all right, darling,” she said, but she sounded frightened.  “Go back to sleep.”

When he woke up again, he heard soft chanting.  He opened his eyes to find his grandmother bending over him, saying strange words and putting drops of water on his head.  “Mama,” he protested, weakly trying to brush the drops away.

“No, dear, don’t do that,” Grandmama said sternly, taking his hand and putting it back by his side.  She moved to the other side of the bed and he heard her chanting over Carl.

“What are you doing?” he asked softly.  It hurt to talk.

“Trying to make you better, of course,” Grandmama answered shortly.  She looked tired, too.

“Is that medicine?”

She hesitated.  “Yes.  It is,” she answered finally, and he closed his eyes again.

 

Somewhere, he could hear people weeping.  He opened his eyes again in the darkness.  “Mama?” he whispered.

“I can’t believe it,” his father was saying out in the hall.  “What will I do now?  What will I do?”

“Get hold of yourself, Geoffrey,” Grandmama answered sharply.  “What did you expect?  Really, to be in that condition again, what did you honestly expect?”

“Can’t I ever get a little human feeling from you, Mother?” his father cried.  “Even now?  I need a drink …”

“Papa!”  Quentin called, a little louder.  His throat didn’t hurt so much now.

There was silence for a moment and then Grandmama opened the door, light streaming in behind her.  “What is it, dear?” she asked.

“Where’s Papa?” Quentin asked, blinking.  The bright light still hurt his eyes.

“He’s not feeling well,” Grandmama answered.  “He’s gone to lie down.”

“Does he have scarlet fever too?”

“No, he does not.  Something else ails him.”

Quentin thought about that.  He wondered what it was.  Something a drink would cure, obviously.  “Where’s Mama?”

“She can’t come right now.”  Grandmama came over and took his hand.  “You must be a brave little boy, dear.”

“Because I’m sick?”

Grandmama pursed her lips.  “Yes, that too.  Now, go back to sleep, dear.”

He did.

 

“Mama,” Carl croaked, and Quentin woke up again.  He felt tired of lying down for so long.  It felt like forever.  He kept having strange dreams.  People cried or argued with each other, most especially Grandmama and Papa.  Once he thought he heard both grandparents talking in the hall, and Grandmama said bitterly that “he” was drunk again.  Quentin wondered who it was and what drunk meant as he looked at his brother.

“She’s not here,” he answered.

Carl began to cry, big fat tears rolling down his baby cheeks.  “Want Mama.”

“I’ll get her,” Quentin offered.  It was a good reason to get out of this bed.  He padded over to the door and looked out into the hallway, wondering where everyone was.  He’d last seen his mother last night.  She came and sat beside him, stroking his cheek and saying strange things to him.  He went to her room first but it was cold and dark. 

Perturbed, he went to his sister Edith’s room.  He left the door open, looking around in confusion.  The room smelled funny.  “Edith?” he called tentatively.  Maybe she went downstairs for breakfast.  Where did everyone go, anyway?

“Quentin!  What are you doing out of bed?”

Quentin turned at the sound of his brother Edward’s voice.  He was surprised.  Edward was supposed to be at school.  He was much bigger than Quentin, almost a man.  He looked pale and tired.  “Carl wants Mama,” Quentin explained.

“I see,” Edward answered, suddenly looking sad.  He came in, bent over and lifted Quentin up into his arms.  “Come on, you shouldn’t be in here.  You’ll get sick again.”

Quentin put his arms around his big brother’s neck.  He didn’t get a chance to spend much time with Edward, who was always at school or busy with grown-up stuff.  When they went on summer holidays, though, Edward did take time to play with him.  “When did you come home?” he asked now, pleased to have his brother with him now.

“Just a couple of days ago,” Edward answered, carrying him back to the nursery.

“What holiday is it?”  Quentin asked as Edward laid him gently back in the bed. 

“Mama?” Carl asked, taking his thumb out of his mouth and looking up at Edward with large wet eyes.

“I’m sorry, Carl, she can’t come,” Edward answered, a little awkwardly.  “What do you want?”

“Want Mama!” Carl insisted.

“Where is she?”  Quentin asked, when Edward only looked sadly at his brother and didn’t answer.

“She got sick too,” Edward answered.  “Very sick.”

“Oh, like me?”

“Yes, like you.”

Quentin thought about it.  He remembered how hot he felt, how his throat hurt, and the light bothered his eyes.  “Do her hands itch?” he asked now, remembering the rash.  It had peeled off over the last few days. 

“No,” Edward answered, and Quentin could sense he was very uneasy about something.  It was troubling.  Carl didn’t say anything, sucking his thumb and looking up at Edward.  “You shouldn’t do that,” Edward said now, gently disengaging the thumb.  “It’ll make your teeth crooked.”

“Mama,” Carl said immediately, beginning to cry again.

“She can’t come,” Edward said again, trying to be stern.

“Sometimes he stops crying if Edith sings to us,” Quentin said, trying to be helpful.

“Oh, well, she can’t come either,” Edward answered, going red in the face.

“Is she sick too?”  Quentin asked.  This was very puzzling.  Maybe that’s what happened to everyone – they were all sick.

“Yes,” Edward answered shortly.  “What if I got Judith?”

“She never sings,” Quentin answered doubtfully.

“Well, she knows how,” Edward replied brusquely.  “I’ll go get her.  Stay in bed now, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Edward,” Quentin answered meekly.  Edward shut the door behind him, and Quentin turned toward Carl.  “I don’t want Judith, do you?  I want Edith to sing to us.”

Carl popped his thumb back into his mouth as soon as Edward left the room, but now he took it out long enough to say adamantly, “Mama.”

Quentin rolled back over on his back and looked at the ceiling.  He wanted his mother, too.  After what seemed a long time, he heard Edward and Judith coming back.  They were arguing. 

“This simply isn’t fair, Edward.  I have NO idea what to do with them!” Judith was protesting in a teary voice.

“Surely you must know some song you could sing to them!”

“But I’m in mourning!  I don’t feel like singing!”

In morning?  Quentin wondered, looking toward the window.  He didn’t know what time of the day it was but wondered what that had to do with singing songs.  Judith didn’t want to, that was very clear.

 

When Quentin and Carl were feeling better, Edward came in to tell them they were taking a holiday at Cuddeback.  “All of us?”  Quentin asked eagerly.  He loved the place.  It was far far away in a place called New York.  Quentin often wondered where Old York was.

“Well,” Edward began, hesitating.  “Father, Judith, you, Carl, and me.  And Mary Ellen and Annie and Tom.”

Quentin remembered the shouting between Grandmama and Papa.  It had something to do with his grandmother wondering why on earth it was necessary to go to “that place”.  If Grandmama and Grandfather weren’t coming then “that place” must be Cuddeback.  He wondered why Grandmama never liked it there.  She never wanted to go that he could remember.

It was wonderful there.  Collinsport was a bustling little seaport.  The village itself tended to be busy and filled with fishermen.  Quentin didn’t find it very interesting.  Collinwood seemed a world away.  A dense growth of woods set Collinwood apart from the town, yet his home was not out in the country.  There were animals all over, to be sure, but the lawns were neatly clipped and manicured and the garden carefully tended.

Cuddeback was different.  There was a small town near the Delaware River, Port Jervis, but then it was all wild country after that.  The Collins family owned a large tract of land which was bordered on one side by the river.  Part of the land had been cleared away and a lodge and several small cabins were built.  The lawn was not tended here, and the path to the river became tangled and overgrown when the family went away after vacation.  Quentin had seen all kinds of animals here, even a small black bear.  This was a thrilling place to be!

The family had canoes.  Quentin had vague memories from last year.  They took the canoes onto the river, two of them.  Quentin reclined against his mother, who trailed her hand in the water and splashed at his father, who was rowing.  He and Carl giggled as Papa sputtered and pretended to choke on the drops of water.  He’d shaken the paddle in a mock-threatening way, laughing.  Edward paddled the other canoe for his sisters.  Edith squealed with delight and splashed water toward her parents.  Judith, as usual, sat primly in the bow, looking entirely uncomfortable.

This year, everything was different.  Annie didn’t come this year; she’d stayed behind with Grandmama and Grandfather.  Mary Ellen, the house maid, tried her hand at making breakfast.  She burned the bacon and the mush was watery.  The eggs were dried out.  The mood turned sullen.  “It’s a nice day for canoeing,” Edward suggested to lighten the mood.

“You go, son,” Papa said, pouring himself a large glass of amber liquid.

“Papa, it’s not yet noon,” Edward objected, sounding scandalized.

“And who the hell are you to have a say about it?” Papa exploded.

Quentin retreated immediately into one of the back bedrooms.  Usually, the yelling stopped for the summer and there was peace.  The yelling had come all the way to New York with them, he thought, dismayed.  He found Carl lying on the floor, curled on his side.  “What are you doing?” he asked.

Carl seemed not to hear him so Quentin got down to look.  His brother was dreamily staring at some strands of thread, rolling them into a ball with his fingers and then flattening it, flipping it over, and starting over again.  Quentin became bored quickly and went to the window, looking outside toward the river.  He sighed, listening to the voices rising.  Suddenly, there was a sharp crack and his father shouted, “I’m still the man of the house!  You respect me, do you hear?”

In the silence that followed, Carl whispered, “I don’t like it.  I’m scared.”

Quentin turned back toward him.  “Don’t be scared,” he said, trying to comfort his brother.  “The shouting always stops after a while.”

Carl didn’t say anything.  He went back to what he was doing.

A few minutes later, Edward came into the room, his face an odd red color.  Quentin was a little frightened.  Carl looked like that when he’d been so sick.  He hoped Edward wasn’t getting sick now.  Edward looked at them and said, “Do you want to go on the canoe?”

“Yes! Oh, thank you, Edward!” Quentin exclaimed, excited, nearly dancing with joy.  He loved the canoeing.  “Will everyone go?”

“Just us,” Edward said.  “Papa and Judith will stay here.”

“Will we find Mama and Edith here?” Carl asked hopefully.

“No,” Edward answered shortly.  “I’m sorry, Carl.  They’re not coming either.”

Carl began to sniffle and sob softly.  “When will they come back, Edward?”

Quentin looked at his brother quickly, hopefully.  His brother’s features worked painfully for a moment and then he answered curtly, “They aren’t coming back, Carl, not ever.  You must learn that and stop asking.”

“I want Papa to come,” Carl whined.

“Papa’s not well right now.  If you want something, you come and tell me,” Edward said sternly, climbing into the canoe.  He reached for Carl and lifted him in.  “Sit down.”  Cowed, Carl sat quietly. 

Edward turned back for Quentin, his stern features softening a little when he saw his small brother already reaching for him.  He settled Quentin in next to Carl and then sat down, picking up his oar.

“You won’t get sick?” Quentin asked worriedly.

“No,” Edward answered, using the oar to push away from the dock.  “I won’t get sick.”

That summer, Edward wasn’t sick once.  He took the two little boys swimming with him every day, teaching them how to float and then to swim.  Carl whined, frequently frightened, and Quentin could see that many times Edward seemed ready to explode with frustration but he always held his tongue and cajoled Carl into trying.  Eager to please his brother, Quentin became a strong swimmer.  He was rewarded with dolphin rides on his brother’s back while Carl watched jealously from the dock. 

Edward was not a physical laborer but he did enjoy horseback riding and hunting.  He also enjoyed sparring with a body bag in the carriage house.  Whenever the circus or a band of gypsies came to town, he’d always challenge the boxer traveling with the group.  He’d won a few times, so Quentin knew he was a good fighter.  In fact, he’d admired Edward greatly for his boxing feats and wanted to learn too.

Quentin saw very little of his father.  He seemed to spend most of his time sleeping or shut up in his room, drinking.  Quentin wasn’t sure what he was drinking but it wasn’t very nice stuff because when he did appear, his clothes were rumpled, his hair stuck up all over, his face was beet red and he would either shout or sing.  If he was singing, he could be quite funny.  If he was shouting, Quentin noticed that Edward and Tom, the yard man, would have a hard time getting Papa back into his bedroom.

“What is Papa saying?” Quentin asked Judith once.  He didn’t understand the references Papa made to Grandmama and Caleb and someone named Gerard.

“It’s nonsense, just pure nonsense,” Judith answered coldly.  She took Quentin by the shoulders.  “You see what drinking demon liquor does to you?  It makes you rave like a lunatic, Quentin!  You must never drink it!”

Her intensity frightened him.  “I won’t,” he promised, but he was curious about it.  Once he found one of Papa’s overturned glasses and put his finger into the liquid.  He stuck his finger into his mouth.  Demon liquor had a fruity taste that also burned his mouth.  Quentin waited fearfully for a few seconds but he didn’t begin to rave like a lunatic. 

Although he missed his grandparents, Quentin was very sorry when the summer came to an end and it was time to go back home.  He missed his mother and sister but not as keenly here as in Collinwood.  It seemed impossible that they wouldn’t ever come back here.  Worse, his brother left for school again and he felt bereft and lonely after having Edward’s attention all summer.  He adored his brother.  He wanted to be just like Edward when he grew up.

Back at Collinwood, Papa seemed angrier all the time.  Judith frequently had to shoo Quentin and Carl into the nursery while Papa got into quarrels with Grandmama and Grandfather.  Quentin wondered wearily why demon liquor made Papa so angry with Grandmama.  He hated it not only because of the noise but because of what he needed to do to help Grandmama now.  She would come for him sometimes, bringing him to her room.  She would say some words, throw some powder into the fire and then make him look into it.  She wanted him to see into his papa’s head.

Quentin didn’t understand it.  He would see Papa, writhing, tormented, crying out for Mama.  He said things that were incomprehensible.  Grandmama wanted to know what the words were and he tried dutifully to repeat them.  “Cal and I, we know what she did.  Cal paid for it with his life and I’m paying for it with mine,” Papa muttered.  “Can’t stop her.  She’s sold her soul.”

It was very scary to hear Papa talk like that.  “What does he mean?”  Quentin asked, frightened.

“Don’t you worry, my dear,” Grandmama said.  “Your Papa is sick with grief, but I will take care of him.”  She held him to her, petting Quentin’s hair, telling him he was the dearest of all her grandchildren.  “You are my favorite,” she would whisper to him and send him off to bed, wriggling with pleasure.

 

The Easter Miracle, Pt. 2

 

Elizabeth knew that Carolyn was feeling impatient, but she wanted to wait until the baby was settled at home before making her "appearance." Ruth had taught her how to look ahead, so she knew she had a little time to work with. She was touched that Carolyn and Willie had named their daughter for her. They called her Libby because Jamie was unable to say Elizabeth. He would say, "Libbybeff".

Spring had arrived, but there was little evidence of it. The ground was still hard and cold; no shoots had attempted to push out of the soil. As Carolyn and Willie's anniversary approached again, Elizabeth noticed that WIllie was becoming increasingly weaker and more tired.

"I think it's time," Ruth said. "Everything is ready. Our plan is in place. You are ready."

Elizabeth came to visit Carolyn in a dream so lucid, Carolyn could remember every detail. "You will have to go to Barnabas and Julia and have them help you," Elizabeth explained. "You and Willie must get to the staircase through time. They will help you find it. Once you begin to go up the staircase, I can help you get to your destination."

"Where are we going?" Carolyn asked. "Why do we need to go up a staircase?"

"Because the only hope for Willie is at Angeline Caron Hospital in Brazil years from now, in 1998. He must go there and see a doctor who is using a treatment that is not accepted here or in most places of the world. But it will work for Willie. Willie will not be able to wait for a donor heart, and I already know that Dr. Shumway's cyclosporin drug will not keep him from rejecting a transplanted heart."

"But a staircase?"

"You have to transcend time, Carolyn--almost 20 years. This procedure is not being done in this time. You must ask Barnabas and Julia to help you with the staircase, Carolyn."

"I'll do it, Mother."

But when she talked of her dream to Barnabas and Julia, they feigned ignorance. "There is no staircase," Barnabas lied.

Julia tried to reassure Carolyn. "It was a dream, Carolyn, and very understandable under the circumstances. Of course you are very worried about Willie--we all are."

"But it seemed so real to me," Carolyn protested. "It was like Mother was right there beside me, telling me about someone named Dr. Shumway and a drug called cylclosporin. What is cyclosporin anyway, and how would I know about it?"

"I'm sure it's come up in conversations with Willie's cardiologist or his associates," Julia explained reasonably. "Don't you remember? Cyclosporin is the name of the medication given to help suppress a transplant patient's immune system so that it doesn't reject the new heart."

Carolyn looked doubtful. She just wasn't sure. "But Dr. Battista? Who is he? And some hospital in Brazil...?"

"What's the MATTER with them?" Elizabeth asked in exasperation. "Why are they lying?" Moving swiftly, her mother showed Elizabeth the events of long ago 1971. "I never knew that!" Elizabeth was shocked. No wonder Quentin had gone off for so many years! She was furious that such terrible things had happened to her family, and she'd been totally unaware. No, kept in the dark.

"Elizabeth, wait," Ruth called, but it was too late. Elizabeth moved to confront Julia and Barnabas. She meant to say, "Just what did you think you were doing, keeping secrets from the whole family?" She realized in consternation that she had no voice. She was also effectively startled by the reactions of Barnabas, Julia, and Carolyn.

They could see her! Barnabas had jumped to his feet, and Julia's hand flew to her mouth in that characteristic way of hers whenever she was frightened or surprised. "Mother!" Carolyn cried out joyfully. But the joy rapidly changed as Elizabeth found herself fading away. "Mama, don't go!"

"Elizabeth, you're not ready for that yet," Ruth explained. "We haven't practiced it enough."

"Well, I HAVE to talk to them!" Elizabeth insisted.

"I think they know that."

Julia and Barnabas were discussing it already. "Perhaps we could try a seance," Julia said. Barnabas was reluctant but agreeable. "We could have Quentin help us. I don't think Willie should be involved."

"You see?" Ruth said reassuringly. "You'll be able to talk to them."

"I've never done that."

"You don't have to practice. You'll see--it just happens."

So it was Elizabeth found herself explaining what needed to be done, using Carolyn as her voice. It felt the most comfortable to her, and she was comforted by her daughter's closeness. It was almost like being alive again. She decided not to bring up what happened in 1971. It wasn't important anymore. What was important was that Willie get up the staircase, where she would guide them on their way to Brazil.
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On Good Friday, Carolyn drove to the Shaws' home and dropped Jamie and Libby off with Sebastian and Maggie and their two children. The story was that she and Willie were going away on an extended vacation. Maggie didn't ask any questions; she only hugged Carolyn close. As he leaned to kiss Carolyn goodbye on the cheek, Sebastian spoke quietly into her ear. "Trust, Carolyn. Everything will be all right. You're doing the right thing." Startled, Carolyn pulled back and looked at Sebastian in consternation. He winked at her, and she left feeling both confused and relieved.

Julia and Barnabas had, with Quentin's help, located the old, original staircase. Desmond had not been successful in his attempt to destroy it after all. They only had to wait for Carolyn and Willie.
Willie knew the story of the staircase, so the pallor of his face could partially be explained by his intimidation of it. However, as they began to climb, Willie very quickly became exhausted. He paused more and more frequently, and his breathing grew louder and more labored. Looking up, they could see the air shimmering. There seemed to be a faint outline of someone standing at the top of the stairs.

"Can we give you a hand, old man?" Quentin asked.

Willie could only nod. Barnabas and Quentin supported Willie between them, and they continued up the stairs with Julia and Carolyn close behind.

"Good, hurry, no one is around!" It was Elizabeth's voice, but it seemed to come from within. It was a thought that appeared in everyone's minds. They all crossed into the west wing corridor. It was very quiet and very dark.

"The back way," Quentin said to Barnabas, who merely nodded. It would've been so easy for either man to lift Willie and carry him like a baby. He seemed to be totally weightless. Neither one wanted to embarrass Willie, so they continued to half carry him between them.

Waiting outside in the driveway was a sleek looking large passenger van. "How convenient," said Quentin. "Thank you, Cousin Elizabeth." He had a quick image of her smiling face. The doors were all unlocked, and there were keys in the ignition. In appearance, this was totally unlike any vehicle they had ever seen. The front of the vehicle was not flat; it was snub- nosed, like a racing car. The interior, however, was spacious and comfortable. Carolyn and Barnabas helped Willie climb into the rear bench. Quentin and Julia exchanged looks.

"You drive," Julia decided.

They got in. Everyone buckled up, and Quentin turned the keys in the ignition. The engine turned over at once but two giant straps started forward from the ceiling. Julia shrieked as the straps moved inexorably toward her and Quentin, pinning them across their shoulders.

"For cryin out loud, ya mean in twenty years people are gonna need some car to buckle them up?" Willie said contemptously, still breathing rathing raggedly. Quentin roared with laughter, but Julia was mortified. Barnabas clasped her on the shoulder with sympathy. He remembered culture shock.

"Maybe you better check out the lights and stuff before we go," Willie cautioned.

"Well, let's go down the road a little and do that," Quentin said. "I'd hate to hear myself out here and come out to see who was messing with the family car."

Willie laughed appreciatively. Quentin backed down the drive, turned off on the road and drove toward Eagle Hill. "This is soooo smooth," Quentin said. He wiggled the wheel back and forth, throwing everyone from side to side.

"Quentin, what do you think you're doing?" Barnabas asked irritably.

"I'm sorry," Quentin said, pulling off the road. "Let's see here." He located the headlights, the brights, the left and right blinkers, and the windshield wipers. "Okay, now where's the radio knob?" No knob. Must be a button. Quentin quickly discovered that in order to turn the radio on, he had to push a button. To move around the dial, he had to push either the right or left arrows, for volume, either + or -. "Far out!" he commented.

"Quentin, stop playing and get on the road," Elizabeth said sharply. She was worried about Willie's pasty pallor.

"Yes, ma'am!" Quentin said, sitting up straight. He pulled back onto the road.

Julia looked at him curiously. "Who are you talking to?" she asked. Looking in the rear view mirror, Quentin saw that the others also looked puzzled.

"Guess I'm just hearing things," Quentin mumbled, embarrassed.

"Hey, are you sure you should be drivin this thing?" Willie asked.

"It's all right, darling," Elizabeth said soothingly to her daughter. "I just don't know how to speak to all of you at once for long periods of time."

"It's Mother," Carolyn said, relieved. "She's with us."

Quentin sighed in relief. "Where to?"

"Bangor. To the airport."

Along the way, Quentin played with the radio stations, looking for something to listen to. He found something called Lite Rock. "And here is Celine Dion singing the Academy award winning love theme from this year's best picture, 'Titanic'," announced the deejay, and the haunting strains of foreign sounding instruments--like tin whistles-- filled the van.

"Every night in my dreams
I see you, I feel you,
That is how I know you go on.
Far across the distance
And spaces between us
You have come to show you go on.
Near, far, wherever you are
I believe that the heart does go on.
Once more you open the door
And you're here in my heart
And my heart will go on and on..."

Listening to the words, Carolyn felt her eyes fill with tears. She realized this song was about dealing with loss--wasn't it from a movie about the Titanic? She put her head on Willie's shoulder. She really couldn't listen anymore. "Quentin, please find something else," she asked, her voice breaking. Willie kissed her hair.

Quentin quickly began playing with the button again. "Well, that's one ship I'm glad I missed," he said to cover his discomfort. Only Julia and Barnabas realized he was serious.

"Quentin, STOP, we want to listen to this!" Elizabeth commanded, very loudly. Quentin winced and jerked his hand off the radio button as if he'd been burned.

"...and this wasn't the song played at their wedding, but it's always been, like, their song," a young voice was explaining. "They're leaving tonight so they won't be around on their actual wedding anniversary."

"Second honeymoon?"

"Yeah, man, they're flying down to Sao Paolo for a week. Then they're meeting an old friend of theirs and staying with him another week or so."

"All right, Jim," the deejay replied. "Any words for your parents tonight with this dedication?"

"Well, basically, me and my sisters just want to tell them how much we love them. We think they're great--they've always been there for us, no matter what was going on with them. They've had some real ups and downs. We just want them to know how much we appreciate them."

"Hear that, Mom and Dad?" the deejay asked. "Sounds like you did a great job raising Jim, Libby, and Emily. Have a great flight and happy anniversary next week." The strong sound of bass and drums filled the van.

"Nice anniversay song," Willie groaned. "What kinda music is this anyway?" The beat was beginning to change, and Carolyn heard the strains of something familiar. A piano began playing. She felt herself jump and felt Willie start as well. They looked at each other as Frankie Vallee began singing "Oh What A Night."

Carolyn started laughing. "Well, whaddaya know? What have they done to our song, Ma?" Willie joked. "What a lame song to fall in love to! Y'know what it's really about?"
"So what? Hey, maybe that's a dedication to you two," Quentin said. "Next week is your anniversary, isn't it?" He saw Elizabeth smile at him again and wink.

Shocked, Carolyn and Willie looked at each other again. "Maybe it's a sign," Carolyn said softly.

"Well, if it don't work, I guess this is some history we'll be changing," Willie answered. He laughed nervously.

"Who's Emily?" Quentin asked mischievously.

Willie laughed nervously again. "Well, that's what I mean, ya know? If this thing don't work, maybe there won't be no Emily."

"Willie, don't even joke about that!" Carolyn cried.

Quentin took the exit off the highway for the airport. He parked the van. Everyone got out and looked around for the bus stop. A limousine pulled up. The dark window rolled down and the driver leaned out. "Loomis party?" he asked.

No one said anything; everyone was surprised and suspicious. "Yes, this is the Loomis party," Barnabas said cautiously. "We weren't expecting anyone to meet us here."

"Sir, I'm paid to escort you to Runway 9, where you'll be taking a private flight to the Sao Jose dos Pinhais airport in Parona, Brazil. You'll be met there as well, and driven to the Hospital Angeline Carone."

This was a welcome surprise! Everyone climbed into the back of the limousine. It was a short drive by limo to the waiting plane. Quentin whistled. He'd recognized the plane.

"Sssh," whispered Elizabeth. "He wouldn't want Carolyn to know yet. It's a surprise."

The inside of the plane was like a house. Barnabas wandered around, amazed. None of the group had ever seen anything as luxurious as this, but he was especially impressed. The plane was getting ready to take off, and everyone had to sit down in wide recliner type loungers, strapping themselves in. The plane began to roll forward, gradually picking up speed. A roaring sound filled the cabin and the passengers felt themselves being pushed back into their seats. This was nothing at all like a car. Barnabas' eyes were huge, and his face was very pale. Julia squeezed his hand comfortingly, and Barnabas shut his eyes.

"Barnabas, as many times as you've flown, don't tell me you're getting airsick?" Quentin teased. Willie guffawed, and Barnabas' eyes snapped open. He was pale as Swiss cheese but still managed to glare sternly at Quentin.

"Are you all right, Barnabas?" Carolyn asked, genuinely concerned.

"Yes, Carolyn, please don't worry," Barnabas said reassuringly. He gave another severe look at Quentin, who arched his brows playfully and gave a little shrug. When Carolyn looked away, Julia retaliated by elbowing Quentin in the ribs.

"Now, now, kids," Willie said, laughing.

Carolyn looked back at them, curiously, but had learned long ago there was no point in asking questions.

It was a long flight. Willie and Carolyn stretched out together on one of the beds and fell asleep. Barnabas paced nervously, unable to relax. Quentin tried approaching him several times but Barnabas made it plain he didn't want to talk. "You'd better just leave him alone," Julia cautioned. The landing was even more stressful than takeoff was because the plane bumped and hopped up and down several times before coming to a halt.

Medical attendants waited outside. One held a wheelchair by its handles. There was a distinguished looking older man standing with them as well, very handsomely dressed. The flight of stairs was moved into place, and Carolyn and Willie exited the plane first, followed by Quentin and then Julia and Barnabas.

Barnabas pulled Julia's arm, drawing his breath in sharply. They both looked at the gentleman standing there and froze. The man moved forward to greet Carolyn. He looked familiar to her, with his chiseled good looks. He appeared to be in his fifties; although his hair was snowy white, he was still ruggedly handsome and strong. "Mrs. Loomis," he said, taking her hand.

Willie was moving very slowly, wheezing. Concerned, the man waved the attendant with the wheelchair forward. "I hope your flight was comfortable," the man said, trying to put Willie at ease.

Mother, who is he? Carolyn thought. Why does he look so familiar?

Before Elizabeth could answer, Quentin bounded forward, stuck his hand out and said, "Burke! Good to see you again!" He shook the gentleman's hand heartily, and the man grinned at him.

"Quentin, I didn't know you were aboard," he answered in delight.

Carolyn's hands flew to her face. It all came back to her. "Burke Devlin!" she gasped. "You're alive!"

Willie looked up at him curiously.

"Long story, Carolyn," Burke said. "We have plenty of time to catch up." He looked up at Barnabas and Julia. "Welcome, Mr. Collins, Dr. Hoffman. I didn't realize you were coming, Mr. Collins, or I might have had you arrive on the red eye. I believe this is the first time I'm seeing you in the light of day," he added a little sardonically.

"Well," Barnabas said airily to cover his own shock, "there is a first time for everything, isn't there?" He looked at Julia, who was equally stunned, took her by the elbow and walked down the stairs.

"I'm sorry," Elizabeth thought. "I guess I should have warned you. I wasn't thinking about all the bad feelings between you two."

They all fit quite comfortably into Burke's stretch limousine. Willie, exhausted, closed his eyes. "We'll go directly to the hospital. It won't take long to get there," Burke said. "I have a small villa here. It's close to Hospital Angeline Caron." He offered everyone something to drink. Only Willie declined; he wanted to sleep.

On the drive to the hospital, Burke explained what had happened all those years ago. His plane had actually gone down in a mountainous area near the Amazon called the Guiana Massif; everyone had been killed except for Burke. He remembered very little of his trip down the mountain and into the plains; he vaguely remembered pain and hunger and thirst but, mercifully, those memories had faded away. He stumbled into the clearing of a small farm. There was no transportation, so the family nursed him back to health. The thing was, the blow to his head had caused amnesia. He didn't remember who he was for months. By then, because of total immersion, he'd become quite fluent in Portuguese, Spanish, and an Indian patois.

The family knew he needed medical attention, so they used what little money they had to take him to the city to the hospital. It was a long journey. With the help of the doctors, Burke was able to remember who he was. Grateful to the family, he paid them back by sending their children to school. One of them was a doctor now, a cardiologist.

"Is that the doctor who will be seeing Willie?" Carolyn asked curiously.

"Yes, he's brilliant, absolutely brilliant," Burke said proudly. "He is a protege of Dr. Battista, who's perfected the ventricular remodeling technique. He's going to be as famous as Dr. Barnard was, and Dr. Shumway, AND Dr. DeBakey."

"Why did you never return to Collinsport?" Barnabas asked.

Burke looked at him a little bitterly. "What makes you think I haven't?" Then he looked at Quentin, Julia, and Carolyn, looking at him so curiously. Julia knew about the conflict between him and Barnabas, but the other two didn't. "I liked it here. I made this the center of my operations," he explained. "I'm actually doing very well here. I have a cattle ranch and a small limestone mine. My ranch is south of here." He looked at Carolyn directly. "I did make contact. Your mother told me what happened to Vicki--that she'd married someone named Jeff or something." He looked at Barnabas again, with a wry twist of his mouth. "Must've been some shock for you, Mr. Collins."
Barnabas chose not to answer.

"Later, Mrs. Stoddard let me know that Vicki had disappeared, and gave me the details surrounding it." He stopped; the memory obviously was still painful to him. Burke looked at Barnabas again. "So, you see, there was no need to come back." Barnabas nodded, understanding.

"How did you know about us?" Carolyn asked. "How did you know to send the plane for us and to make these arrangements?"

"Your mother told me what was happening," Burke answered as if it was the most natural response in the world. "I wanted to do what I could to help. I have to say, there've been some REALLY strange things going on at Collinwood."

"What an understatement," Quentin laughed.

Julia cleared her throat curiously. "How is it you know Quentin?"

"Oh, he was working on a little investigative project in the early 70s. I happened to be in Washington, D.C. at the same time he was working for the Washington Post. Some minor story, eh, Quentin?"

"Well, some of it is classified," Quentin explained with obvious reluctance. Julia looked at him in surprise.

Burke laughed. "You ARE a family for secrets! It's no big deal anymore. We were looking at business money being laundered in various countries in South America at the time, including Brazil. Think it also had to do with drugs being piped into the country, too?"

"I'd really rather not talk about it. My sources--," Quentin said, obviously uncomfortable.

"I'm sorry, I keep forgetting. It's more recent for you, isn't it?"

"So you even know when we've come from?" Carolyn asked, curiously.

Burke gave her an enigmatic smile. "Carolyn, I know there are REALLY strange things going on at your house."

Carolyn looked back at Quentin, who smiled slightly and shook his head, no. Carolyn wondered just what her cousin had been up to while he'd been away. "Sometimes you're better off not knowing, dear," Elizabeth whispered. Carolyn sighed and closed her eyes, too. Her mother was absolutely right.

The next thing she knew, they were pulling up to the hospital. Carolyn began to feel frightened for the first time. Everyone spoke a different language here. It wasn't a U.S. hospital. "Trust me, darling, it'll be all right," her mother said to her soothingly. Willie was wheeled to his room.

The doctor came to talk to them. He was an unprepossessing man, slight, dark haired, and bearded, dressed in blue scrubs. He shook hands with everyone and sat down to talk to them. He reviewed the functioning of a normal heart. "Normally, blood flows into the left side of the heart from the lungs, here," he explained, indicating a picture. "This blood is rich with oxygen. Then the heart pumps the blood back out to the rest of the body. However, here is what is happening in the case of Mr. Loomis." He continued with drawings of an enlarged heart. "The heart is a muscle, you see. When it becomes so large, it loses its elasticity and can no longer pump the blood efficiently. Mrs. Loomis, your husband's heart pumps at about 10 per cent of its capactiy."

Carolyn gasped.

"Yes. So you see, the blood then backs up into his heart and lungs. This is called regurgitation, and this is what led to his heart failure. The conventional way to treat this problem is with digitalis to help the heart contract more strongly. Also to give a diuretic to keep the fluids from building up, " the doctor continued. "Sometimes other corrective steps can be taken. For example, had Mr. Loomis experienced an infection in his heart valves, one or both could be replaced. However, this is not the case. And in the case of Mr. Loomis, the last resort is heart transplant. However, the list of people needing hearts remains long, and the list of donors remains short. I believe this procedure will help address the dual problem of shortage of the organ and also rejection of the new organ."

The doctor drew an imaginery line across the lower half of the left ventricle. "What I will do is remove this portion of Mr. Loomis' heart. I will then sew the heart chamber back together."

Julia gasped and jumped up. "That is outrageous!"

The doctor looked at her, surprised. "Dr. Hoffman, I was under the impression belief you were aware of Dr. Battista's procedure. Was I mistaken?"

"Doctor, how can you speak of cutting away a portion of Willie's heart? Our job is to protect as much of the heart muscle as we can! That muscle is not dead!"

The doctor had a weary expression on his face, as if to say, I've been through all this before. "Dr. Hoffman, if we reduce the size of Mr. Loomis' heart, we can increase its efficiency. It is too large to pump well now."

"Are you the only two working on this procedure?" Julia asked.

The doctor looked at her, startled. "For several years, yes. But then we had visitors from the United States, from the Cleveland Clinic Foundation. It is my understanding that they continue to test this procedure at the clinics there. It is also my understanding that there are other centers which are beginning to perform this procedure on their sickest patients."

"You mean in the teaching hospitals, where the patients sign release forms authorizing experimental treatment in case there's a need for emergency resuscitation on a heart patient who may die anyway?"

"Doctor, this operation has been successfully performed not only here, but in other places in the world. One thousand people, doctor, and 75% of them showed dramatic gains in the strength of their heart muscle within ten days of the surgery. Most of our patients are older. I believe Mr. Loomis has an even greater chance because he has the advantage of his youth."

"Julia, we did come here with Elizabeth's guidance," Quentin put in. "Maybe we should listen."
"Doctor," Barnabas added placatingly, "I am not sure that I understand all this. Would you mind going over it all again for me?"

"But, of course, Mr. Collins," the doctor said patiently. Again he explained. "You see, if we make the heart smaller, it becomes stronger because it does not need to use as much energy to pump the blood."

Carolyn looked back and forth between the doctor and Julia. It sounded so--so--radical, crazy--and yet,--

"Carolyn, it's your grandmother with you now," Ruth whispered soothingly, "we want to help you. I am here with your mother. She wanted to help you. She knows you love your husband. Please let us help you. Please trust us."

"Please, Carolyn," Elizabeth added. Carolyn could almost feel her mothers arms around her. Tears began to spill from her eyes. She wiped them away and looked at the doctor.
"I trust you," she said in a clear, strong voice. "When can you do this operation?"

"Oh, Carolyn!" Julia groaned, and opened her mouth.

Barnabas put his hands on Julia's shoulders and said softly, "No, Julia, don't. Quentin is right. We must trust this man."

"I will operate tomorrow," the doctor decided.

At about 4 a.m., Carolyn knocked very gently at Barnabas' door. She wasn't worried about disturbing him, and she was right. Barnabas was wide awake. "Would you come with me to the hospital?" she asked.

"Of course I will, Carolyn," Barnabas said.

Willie was not in a deep sleep and woke as soon as they came into the room. "Hey," he said, surprised. He was pleased to see them.

Barnabas put his hand on Willie's shoulder and looked into his eyes. He struggled with his feelings. "I know it's not easy for you, dear cousin Barnabas," Elizabeth said softly, "but do try. It'll mean so much to Willie. I will always regret I didn't say anything."

"Willie," Barnabas began hoarsely. "I want to tell you how much I--you helped me a great deal. Much more than you can every know, and you've been such a loyal friend to me. I don't think I ever told you how grateful I am--"

"I know, Barnabas," Willie said, trying to alleviate Barnabas' discomfort.

"No, I need to tell you this, Willie. I know you know. But I never told you--I never told you how much you mean to me. You became more than just my employee a long time ago. You are even more than a friend to me, Willie. You are my family, Willie." Willie's eyes blurred with emotion. He'd known it, of course, but it really did make a difference to actually hear it. Barnabas was unable to go on any further. Embarrassed and flustered, he gripped Willie's shoulder tightly. "I will pray for you, my dear friend. I think I should let you be alone with your wife." He backed out of the room and shut the door softly behind him.

Carolyn and Willie clasped hands. Carolyn sensed his fear; this was a very radical, dramatic step they were taking. "Carolyn, I think we oughta talk about a few things before the surgery," Willie was saying.

"No, Willie, don't say anything. We have to be hopeful."

"'Hope is the thing with feathers--That perches in the soul--And sings the tune without the words--and never stops--at all,'" Willie quoted with a gentle smile.

"What's that? It's so pretty!" Carolyn asked, moved. Her eyes were welling with tears again.

"I guess you didn't know old Willie knew anything about poetry," Willie said, sounding a little pleased with himself.

"Why, no, I didn't," Carolyn said, quite surprised.

"Well, see, sometimes, I liked to read late at night instead of takin walks. I'm not much for novels, you know, but I do like a little poetry."

"Who is it?"

"Emily Dickinson. She sure is easy to read. She says everything in just a few short words, you know?"

"Yes," Carolyn said, and stopped, overcome with emotion. How had she never known this?

"Carolyn, you remember how you wanted to get married at Easter because it was gonna give us a new start? That's what hope is all about. You know it deep down inside. Want to hear another one?" Willie sounded eager, almost childish in his desire to surprise and please Carolyn. She nodded speechlessly.

He thought. "Let's see, umm...'Spring is the period Express from God. Among the other seasons Himself abide, But during March and April None stir abroad Without a cordial interview With God.' Carolyn, this is about you and me. It's spring again, and this is our interview. We're blessed, you know that?" He noticed her tears. "Hey, you're crying!" He sounded alarmed.

"It's all right, Willie. I just feel happy. I know everything is going to be all right now."
Willie moved far over on the bed. "Here, lie down with me."

Carolyn stretched out alongside Willie, and put her head on his shoulder. They waited for the orderlies to come.

After Willie was taken down for surgery, Burke offered to take everyone out to get away from the hospital for a while. The surgery would take hours. Carolyn politely declined, and Julia and Barnabas felt they should keep her company. Quentin, who was nervous and restless as a cat, was only too happy to go off with Burke.

Carolyn was serenely patient; Barnabas paced nervously, and Julia squeezed her hands. "It would seem that WE are the ones who need the reassurance," Julia said with a small smile.

Carolyn smiled. "My mother is in there, too. I know it will be all right."

Elizabeth's first reaction to the operation room was one of revulsion; then she thought, what is so awful about this? She became interested in the goings-on. Ruth was frankly curious. All of this was beyond her understanding. She only knew that it WAS. Elizabeth watched as Willie's heart was stopped; he was placed on a heart-lung machine while the doctor worked on his heart. It was a pain-staking procedure.

"This is absolutely remarkable!" Elizabeth marveled. Willie's heart looked enormous in the doctor's hands. He deftly cut away what seemed to be a very large slice, leaving a portion about the size of the doctor's fist. Now the doctor was closing Willie's heart with sutures. Elizabeth sent frequent messages to Carolyn, whose sense of well being increased with each message.

The doctor spoke in another language to his colleagues, but Elizabeth understood him very well. "Let's see if we can get this one going again." Elizabeth watched and waited during the flurry of activity. She saw the heart turn pink and then dark red. It began beating, strongly. "It's over darling," she thought. "And he's all right."

In the waiting room, Carolyn breathed a sigh of relief. "The surgery is over, and Willie is just fine!" she exclaimed joyfully.

In all, Willie was in the hospital ten days, progressing from cardiac intensive care, to intensive care, to post op, to a normal room. He was miserably uncomfortable and afraid to cough--he felt as if he might crack in two. He didn't complain very much because it felt so good to be alive. Sometimes he thought he could hear Elizabeth speaking to him soothingly, reassuringly before he'd drop off to sleep. When he was able to walk, he didn't really want to stop and sit down to rest--it had been so long.

The doctor, listening to Willie's chest, made the OK sign with his thumb and forefinger. "Sounds strong. Loud," he said jubilantly. "I see a normal life span for this young man. I don't foresee any complications."

Julia listened for herself and had to agree. When the doctor began to discuss follow-up care, Barnabas tapped Julia on the shoulder and indicated he wanted to speak to her in the hall. "Julia, what is Willie's doctor going to think when he sees what's happened?" Barnabas asked worriedly.

Julia shrugged. "The sutures are self-dissolving. Perhaps we can convince Willie and Carolyn to go to another cardiologist. I suppose I can come up with something to make it seem as though he's had a transplant; that would explain the scar on Willie's chest. Cardiac testing isn't as advanced in 1979 as it is now." She thought. "There have been inexplicable miracles in medicine before, Barnabas. I don't think that the doctor will be able to tell what's happened. All he will know is that by physical exam, Willie will have a normal sized heart. He won't the truth without more surgery, and it doesn't seem that Willie will need any."

"And what about the medication?"

"Well, the cardiologist can prescribe whatever he wants, and Willie can just throw away the scrips if he doesn't need them."

"This all seems so complicated!"

"Well, haven't I said that we've lied ourselves out of much worse situations than this? Don't worry, Barnabas. We'll always think of something."

When Willie was ready to be discharged from the hospital, Burke had his limousine pick the family up and take them back to the airport where his jet was waiting to take them back home. Willie's face was full of color, and he was quite unlike the sick man who'd first arrived. He and Carolyn sat with fingers intertwined, taking new delight in each other.

Burke took Carolyn by the hand. "Come back and see me in twenty years," he said, smiling gently. "I'd like to see what you REALLY look like then."

"Thank you for everything," Carolyn said gratefully, throwing her arms around him.
Burke shook Willie's hand heartily. "You'll be back, too," he said.

"Yeah, I didn't get to see much this time around," Willie replied with a warm smile.
"Quentin," Burke said, thumping his old friend on the shoulder. "You'll never grow up." He took Julia's hand briefly and stiffly shook Barnabas' hand.

Once on the plane and seated, Quentin removed a flask from inside his jacket and unscrewed the top. Barnabas eyed it. "Ah, Quentin," he said. "Would you mind--?" Quentin grinned indulgently and handed the flask to his cousin. Julia sighed and rolled her eyes.

This time, Julia dozed and Barnabas slept deeply for most of the flight. Carolyn, Willie, and Quentin were too upbeat and excited to really relax. They talked and laughed through the entire flight. Sometimes they would take a peek at Barnabas, exchange looks, and burst out laughing. At the airport, they looked for the van, but it was nowhere to be found.

"It's not here anymore," Elizabeth said. "It was reported stolen and the police have it."

"I guess the joke's on us," said Quentin. "We better catch a ride back to the airport and either rent a car or get a cab."

"Let's rent a car. I am not feeling up to making small talk with a cab driver," said Barnabas.

"Hey, let's not get the shuttle," Willie said. "Let's walk."

"Willie, don't over do it," Julia cautioned.

"Well, let's just walk over to the next parking lot," Carolyn compromised. "Then we'll catch the shuttle." It was actually a good idea, because Willie was rather tired by the time they came to the next shuttle stop. It felt good, though. He wasn't out of breath, just tired.

There were three young people waiting at the shuttle stand. Willie happened to glance over at them, and then he gawked. He poked Carolyn, who poked Quentin. Soon they were all staring, and trying hard not to be obvious about it. One of the young people had died fushia hair which stuck up in spikes all over her head and an earring through her nose. Her lips and nails were painted black. The young man sitting next to her was dressed in black leather. His ear was pierced with about a dozen small rings. The third young woman was also dressed in black and seemed to have a mouth full of gum. She noticed the Collinses were staring at her and her friends. She looked at them, insulted, and opened her mouth to show them a huge golden stud pierced through her tongue. She waggled it up, down, and around her mouth.

Barnabas was appalled. "My God!" he said, thunderstruck. "Why would someone mutilate herself that way?"

"All young people have to be different," Julia explained. "That's never changed."

The three young people got up, glared resentfully at the Collinses, and sauntered away. The young woman looked back at Barnabas. "Dincha mother ever teach you any manners, mister? Doncha know it's rude to stare? Yo, man, get a life why doncha?"

Carolyn, Willie, and Quentin collapsed against each other, laughing and whooping. "This place is SCARY," Willie laughed, his eyes streaming tears. "I wanna go home, honey!"

"I certainly hope nothing else happens tonight! Really, this time period is just too bizarre!" Barnabas complained.

"I'm just curious to see how we get from hippies to--to--whatever they call themselves," Julia said, with an amused smile. Barnabas suddenly smiled too.

Now they were descending the staircase, and Willie fairly raced down the steps. He didn't need any assistance at all. From the staircase, it was a short trip to the Shaws' home.

The doctor had cautioned Willie against lifting anything heavier than 15 pounds for several weeks, but he was able to carry Libby when Maggie placed her in his arms. Sebastian handed a sleepy Jamie over to Carolyn and winked at her again.

"Mommy, daddy, the ether bunny was here," little Jamie said drowsily, only half-awake.

Julia drove them all home, in a sensible box style van. By the time she pulled up to Willie and Carolyn's little house, Quentin was sound asleep with little Jamie leaning against him also softly snoring. Barnabas and Julia helped Willie and Carolyn get the children into the house. Barnabas retrieved their bags and carried them in. Willie was suddenly embarrassed. This role reversal still made him uncomfortable. As if he sensed it, Barnabas said gently, "You really are my family, Willie."

"Thanks for coming, Barnabas. It meant a lot to have you there helpin me," Willie said sincerely. Julia embraced both Willie and Carolyn; Barnabas hugged Carolyn, and then they left. Quentin hadn't moved a muscle. That was all right, Carolyn was sure he'd be around in the next day or two.

Willie and Carolyn put the children to bed. They were both very tired, climbing into bed, holding each other. They talked softly and drowsily. "Hey, I hope we remember to go see that movie. 'Specially since it's best picture. Especially now that it looks like this heart is gonna go on and on." Willie yawned.

"I think I'd like to hear the whole song. It was so pretty and so sad. Do you know any more Emily Dickinson poems?" Carolyn asked.

"Oh, sure, lots," Willie answered. "She wrotes lots of poems about death, though, ya know? Maybe that's why I liked her so much when I was sad."

"Mmm," Carolyn murmurered. "I just thought you might tell me another poem."

"Oh!" Willie was pleased. Elizabeth watched him use the last little bit of energy he had, searching his memory. "I got one," he said finally, with another yawn. "'So much depends upon a red wheel barrow glazed with rain water beside the white chickens.'"
The words penetrated Carolyn's brain and nearly woke her up because they were so unsual, especially for a bedtime poem. "Is that Emily Dickinson again? I don't think I understand it."

"Nah, that one was by a guy named William Carlos Williams. He gave his poems names. He called this one 'The Red Wheelbarrow.' I just thought of it cause it's like what really counts in life is what you don't really see--you know, the everyday stuff like a wheelbarrow on a farm." He closed his eyes, hearing Elizabeth whisper softly, "I'll always love you, Willie. What a wonderful son you are!" as he drifted off to sleep. Carolyn kissed him, very gently.

Just before she fell asleep, she saw her mother approach the bed. She'd been expecting her; she knew she'd see her one more time. "Thank you, Mother, thank you for my life," Carolyn whispered, filled with emotion. Elizabeth sat beside her daughter on the bed, stroking her hair. "Do you have to leave me, Mama? I want you to stay." Carolyn realized she sounded like a little child.

"I'll never really be far away from you, Carolyn," Elizabeth said. "And we'll be together again when it's time. But now it's time for your life to go on. It's spring, Carolyn, time for everything to be born new again. And if you look hard enough, Carolyn, you will see me. I'll always be part of you and a part of the little ones."

Elizabeth waited for Carolyn to drift peacefully off to sleep. She found her mother again. "Be at peace, Elizabeth, darling," said Ruth, smiling. "We can go now."

The sound of the baby crying woke Carolyn in the early hours of the morning. She stumbled sleepily to the Libby's crib. She wanted to make sure Willie slept on, undisturbed. Carrying Libby with her into the living room, she sat down on the sofa and turned on the radio. She put the baby to her breast, absently going over in her mind the miraculous events of the past few weeks.

Elizabeth watched, totally content, surrounded by her mother, father, and beloved family and friends. She felt totally at peace, but wished for one more thing. "Go ahead, Elizabeth, you know how," her mother said.

Carolyn felt a hand caress her cheek. Startled, she realized Libby had reached up with her chubby hand and touched her. "Hey, you're pretty clever," Carolyn said amused. She realized that Libby was looking directly at her. There was something about her eyes--Carolyn gave a little start, feeling herself being drawn into the baby's eyes. They were Mama's eyes, but they were also her daughter's eyes. Carolyn felt her heart swell to near bursting. She felt a surge of feeling coursing through her body that set her tingling. "You know what, Libby," Carolyn said with deep passion, "I really love YOU." She closed her eyes. She saw her Mama's face. She saw another young face with similar features: Libby, with thick dark hair and bright blue eyes.

It was spring. It was time for life to begin again.

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