No Greater Love Part 5

"Your bed might collapse, you know. Don't you think I'm a little too big for it?" She had a beautiful little bed that their father had had made for Edwina years before. "I'll tell you what. You can visit me in my bed sometimes. How does that sound?" She saw that Alexis was watching her mournfully then, and she didn't like hearing about their mother's being gone. "And you too, Alexis. You can sleep in my bed with me sometimes."

"What about me?" George teased, and then he tweaked Fannie's nose, and snuck a little piece of candy to Alexis. Edwina had noticed repeatedly how much he had changed in the past two weeks, and how much more subdued he was now. The prospect of going home again was beginning to worry all of them. Seeing their home, knowing that their parents would never come back to it, was going to be very painful.

They were all thinking about it on the last night on the train, and no one spoke as they lay awake long into the night. Edwina slept less than two hours, when she finally got up at six o'clock and washed her face and dressed in one of her finest black dresses. They were due to arrive shortly after 8:00 A.M., and as worried as she'd been about going home, looking out at the familiar countryside was somehow a comfort. She woke the younger children up, and knocked on the door to the adjoining compartment where Phillip and George had slept. And they were all in the dining car at seven o'clock having breakfast. The boys ate a hearty meal, and Alexis played with a scrambled egg, as Edwina cut Teddy's and Fannie's waffles up, and by the time they had finished, and gone back to their compartments, and she had washed the little ones' faces, and straightened their clothes, the train was rolling slowly into the station. She had seen to it that they were all properly dressed in their new clothes, their hair shining and clean and well combed, and she had carefully tied Fannie's and Alexis's ribbons. She didn't know who would come to meet them at the station, but she knew they would be scrutinized, and perhaps even photographed by reporters from their father's paper. And she wanted the children to do him proud. She felt she owed that to her parents. She felt the wheels come to a jagged stop, and Edwina looked up with a sharp intake of breath and then glanced at the others. Not a word was said, but they all felt the sharp, bittersweet pang of coming home. They were back, so different than when they left, so totally changed, so alone, and yet so close to each other.

Chapter 9.

THE FLOWERS AND THE TREES WERE ALL IN BLOOM AS EDWINA and the children stepped off the train in the early May sunshine. Somehow she expected it to look the same as it had when she left. But it didn't. Like her own life, suddenly everything was different. She had left home a happy, carefree girl, with her brothers and her sisters and her parents. Charles had been with them and they had talked endlessly all the way across the States, about what they wanted and what they believed and what they liked to read and do and think, and even how many children they thought that they wanted. But now nothing was the same, least of all Edwina herself. She had come home a mourner and an orphan. And she was wearing a black dress that made her look taller and thinner and so much older. She was wearing a serious black hat with a veil that she had bought in New York, and as she stepped down from the train and looked around her, she saw reporters waiting for them, just as she had suspected they would be. They were from her father's paper, and rival newspapers too. And for a moment it looked as though half the town had come to see them. As she looked at them, a reporter stepped forward and with an explosion of light, snapped her picture. Once again, it was on the front page the next day, but she turned away from him, and tried to ignore the staring crowds and the photographers. She helped the children off the train. Phillip carried Alexis and Fannie, and Edwina lifted Teddy into her arms as George went to find a porter. They were home now. In spite of the curious crowds, they felt safe here and yet they were all afraid to go home, knowing what they wouldn't find there.

As Edwina struggled with their few bags, a man hurried forward and she turned and recognized Ben Jones, her father's attorney. He had been her father's friend for years, they were the same age, and twenty-five years before, they had been roommates at Harvard. Ben was a tall, attractive man, with a gentle smile and gray hair that had once been sandy, and he had known Edwina since she was a little girl. But he saw no child in her now, only a very sad young woman, struggling to bring her sisters and brothers home safely. He parted the crowd as he came toward her, and people moved aside without a murmur.

"h.e.l.lo, Edwina." His eyes were filled with grief, but hers were more so. "I'm so sorry." He had to say it quickly so he wouldn't cry himself. Bert Winfield had been his best friend, and he had been horrified when he had first heard about the t.i.tanic. He had checked with the paper at once, to see if they knew anything, and by then they had heard from Edwina, steaming toward New York on the Carpathia with her brothers and sisters, but no fiance, and no parents. And Ben had cried at the loss of his good friend and his wife, and for the terrible sorrow of the children.

The children were happy to see him there and George was grinning as he hadn't in weeks. Even Phillip looked relieved. He was the first friend they had seen since they had survived the disaster. But none of them were anxious to talk about it, as Ben tried to keep the reporters at a distance. By way of conversation, George made an announcement to him. "I learned two new card tricks on the way home." But the child looked tired and sad and pale, Ben noticed, seeing that George wasn't his old self, but he was trying valiantly to be entertaining.

"You'll have to show me your new tricks when we get to the house. Do you still cheat at cards?" Ben asked and George let out a great guffaw in answer, and as he looked around, Ben noticed that Alexis's face was completely without expression. He also noticed how pale and tired the younger children looked, and how terribly thin Edwina had become in the short time since she had left California. In truth, she had only gotten thin since escaping the t.i.tanic.

"Mama's dead," Fannie announced as they stood in the sunlight waiting for their bags, and Edwina felt the words. .h.i.t her in the stomach like bricks as Fannie spoke them.

"I know," Ben said quietly as they all held their breath, wondering what she would say next. "I was very sorry to hear it." He glanced at Edwina and she was pale beneath the veil. In truth, they all were. They had been through a nightmare and it showed, and it tore at his heartstrings to see it. "But I'm glad that you're all right, Fannie. We were all very worried about you."

She nodded, pleased to hear it, and then told him of her perils as well. "Mr. Frost bit my fingers." She held out the two fingers she had almost lost, and he nodded soberly, grateful that they were all alive. "And Teddy got a cough, but he's fine now."

Edwina smiled at the report, and they all got into the car he had brought from her father's paper. It was a car they sometimes used to go on trips, and he had brought the carriage for their bags, not that they had very many with them. He hadn't known how much they would have, or if they might even come home empty-handed.

"It was nice of you to pick us up," she said, as they drove toward the house.

He knew only too well how painful it would be, having lost his wife and son in the earthquake of '06. It had almost broken his heart, and he had never remarried. The boy would have been George's age by then. And because of that George had always had a special place in his heart.

Ben chatted with him on the way to the house, and the rest of them lapsed into pensive silence. They were all thinking the same thing. How empty the house was going to be now without their parents. And it was even worse than Edwina had expected. The flowers their mother had planted before she left were in full bloom now, and they stood out in brilliant colors, offering them a bittersweet welcome.

"Come on, everyone, let's go in." Edwina spoke softly as they hesitated for a long time in the garden. They all seemed to drag their feet, and Ben tried to chat and make it easier for them, but no one seemed to want to talk. They just walked inside and stood looking around as though it were not their home anymore, but a stranger's. And Edwina herself knew that she was listening for sounds that were no more ... the rustle of her mother's skirts ... the sound of her bracelets. The sound of her father's voice as he came up the stairs.... But there was only silence. And Alexis looked as though she were hearing voices. She strained as though she could hear something, but she only wanted to, and they all knew that she couldn't. There was nothing to hear. And the tension was unbearable as they looked around, and Edwina felt as though they were waiting, as Teddy pulled at her sleeve with a curious expression.

"Mama?" he asked, as though sure that there was some reasonable explanation. Even though he had last seen her on the ship, in his two-year-old mind, he knew that she belonged here.

"She's not here, Teddy." Edwina knelt down next to him to explain it.

"Bye bye?"

"That's right." She nodded as she took her hat off and tossed it onto the hall table. Without it, she looked younger again, and she stood up, unable to explain it any further. She just held his hand in her own and looked sadly at the others.

"It's hard being back here, isn't it?" Her voice was hoa.r.s.e, and the two boys nodded, and Alexis walked slowly up the staircase. Edwina knew where she was going and she wished that she wouldn't. She was going to their mother's room, and maybe it was just as well. Maybe here she would be able to face it. Phillip looked at Edwina questioningly, but she only shook her head. "Let her go ... she's alright ..." They were all sad, but at least they were safe here.

The driver from the paper brought their pitifully few bags in, and Mrs. Barnes, their elderly housekeeper, appeared, wiping her hands on her starched white ap.r.o.n. She was a cozy woman, and she had adored Kate. And now she burst into tears as she hugged Edwina and the children. It was not going to be easy, Edwina realized then. There would be countless people offering condolences and wanting painful descriptions and explanations. Just thinking about it was exhausting.

Half an hour later, Ben finally left them. She walked him to the door, and he asked her to let him know when she was ready to talk business with him.

"How soon do I have to do it?" she asked with a worried look.

"As soon as you're ready." He spoke quietly, not wanting to frighten her or the children, but the others were already out of earshot. George was already upstairs, destroying his room, and Phillip was checking his mail and sorting through his books, and little Fannie had gone to the kitchen with Mrs. Barnes for some cookies, with Teddy in hot pursuit, but still looking over his shoulder, as though at any moment he expected to see Mama and Papa.

"You have a lot of decisions to make," Ben went on, standing in the hallway with Edwina.

"About what?" She needed to know. She'd been worried about it for a week. What if they didn't have enough money to survive? She had always thought they did, but what if they didn't?

"You have to decide what you want to do about the paper, this house, some investments your father has. I suppose I should tell you, too, that your uncle thinks you should sell everything and move to England, but we can talk about that later." He hadn't wanted to upset her, but her face was suddenly flushed and her eyes grew bright and angry as she listened.

"What does my uncle have to do with all this? Is he my guardian?" She looked horrified, she hadn't even thought about that as a possibility, but Ben was shaking his head to rea.s.sure her.

"No, your aunt is, according to your mother's will. But only until you're twenty-one."

"Thank G.o.d." Edwina smiled. "That's in three weeks. I can wait that long." Ben smiled in answer. She was a bright girl, and she would do well, it was just a shame that she had to face this. "Will I have to sell the newspaper?" She looked worried again, and Ben shook his head.

"One day you might want to, but right now there are good people running it, and it will provide the income you need. But if Phillip hasn't put a hand to it in a few years, you'll probably have to sell it. Unless you want to give it a try, Edwina?" They both smiled at that. That was the last thing she wanted.

"We can talk about this next week, but I'll tell you right now, Ben. I'm not going anywhere. And I'm not selling anything. I'm going to keep everything just as it is now ... for the children."

"That's quite a responsibility to put on your shoulders."

"Maybe so." She looked sober as she walked to the door. "But that's where it belongs now. I'm going to do everything I can to keep things just as they were when my parents were alive," and he knew without a doubt that she meant it.

He admired her for trying, but a part of him wondered if she would be able to do it. Raising five children was no small task for a girl of twenty. But he also knew that she had her father's brains and her mother's warm heart and courage and she had every intention of making it work, no matter what it took. And maybe she was right. Maybe she could do it.

When he was gone, Edwina closed the door behind him with a sigh and looked around her. The house had the look of a place where people have been away for a long time. There were no flowers in the vases, no pretty, fresh smells, there were no happy sounds, no signs that people cared, and Edwina realized that she was going to have a lot to do there. But first, she needed to check on the children. She could hear the two youngest ones playing in the kitchen with Mrs. Barnes, and on the second floor, Phillip and George were having a heated argument over whose tennis racket George had apparently broken, and in Alexis's room, she found no one. It was easy to guess why, and pa.s.sing her own room on the way, she walked slowly upstairs to what had been her parents' sunny quarters.

It was painful just walking up the stairs now, knowing that they wouldn't be there. And it was hot and airless up there, as though it had been months since anyone had opened the windows. But it was sunny, and they had a beautiful view of the East Bay.

"Alexis?" She called softly. She knew she was there. She could feel her. "Darling ... Where are you?... Come back downstairs ... we all miss you." But she missed her mother more, and Edwina knew it. She knew she would find Alexis there, and it broke her heart as she walked into her mother's pretty pink satin dressing room, with the perfumes all lined up, and the hats neatly put on the shelf, and the shoes all perfectly arranged ... the shoes she would never wear again. Edwina tried not to look at them, as her own eyes filled with tears. She hadn't wanted to come up here yet, but she had to now, if only to find Alexis. "Lexie?... Come on, baby ... come on back downstairs. ..." But all around her there was silence, and only the relentlessly happy sunshine, and the smell of her mother's perfume. "Alex ..." Her voice died on the word as she saw her, holding her beloved doll, and crying silently as she sat in her mother's closet. She was holding on to her skirts, smelling their perfume and just sitting there, alone in the May sunshine. Edwina walked slowly toward her, and then knelt down on the floor and held the child's face in her hands, kissing her cheeks, her own tears mingling with her sister's.

"I love you, sweetheart ... I love you so much ... maybe not exactly the way she did ... but I'm here for you, Alexis ... trust me." She could barely speak, as the sweet fragrance of her mother's clothes tore at her memories and her heart. It was almost unbearable being here now that Kate was gone. And across the hall, she could see her father's suits hanging in his dressing room. And for the first time in her life, she felt as though neither she nor Alexis belonged here.

"I want Mama," the little girl cried as she sank against Edwina.

"So do I," Edwina cried with her and then kissed her again as they knelt there, "but she's gone, baby ... she's gone ... and I'm here ... and I promise I'll never leave you ..."

"But she did ... she's gone ..."

"She didn't mean to leave us ... she couldn't help it. It just happened." But it hadn't, and Edwina had been fighting back the thought of that for days, ever since they'd left the t.i.tanic without her. Why hadn't she come in the lifeboat with Edwina and the children? Or later, after she thought she saw Alexis in the lifeboat? There had been other boats ... later ones, she could have gotten in one. But instead she had chosen to stay on the ship with her husband. Phillip had told her about their mother's decision to stay with him. How could she do that to all of them?... to Alexis ... to Teddy ... f.a.n.n.y ... the boys ... and somewhere, deep within her, Edwina knew that she was angry at her for it. But she couldn't admit that now to Alexis. "I don't know why it happened, Lexie, but it did. And now we have to take care of each other. We all miss her, but we have to go on ... that's what she would have wanted." Alexis hesitated for a long time, and then let Edwina stand her up, but she still looked unconvinced as she stood in her mother's closet.

"I don't want to come downstairs ..." She balked as Edwina tried to lead her out of the room, and she looked around her as though in a panic, as though she were afraid she might never see this room again, or touch her mother's clothes, or smell her delicate perfume.

"We can't stay up here anymore, Lexie ... it'll just make us sad. I know she's here, so do you, she's everywhere ... we take her with us in our hearts. I always feel her with me now, and so will you, if you think about her." Alexis seemed to hesitate, and very gently Edwina picked her up and carried her downstairs to her own room, but the child didn't look as frightened now, or as desolate. She had finally come home, the thing they had all wanted and feared most, and they had found that it was true. Their mother and father were gone. But the memories lived on, like the flowers in her garden. And without saying anything, Edwina left a little bottle of her mother's perfume on Alexis's dresser that night. And from then on, she always smelled it on Alexis's doll, Mrs. Thomas. It was a faint whiff of what their mother had been, a dim memory of the woman they had loved, and who had chosen to die with her husband.

Chapter 10.

"I DON'T GIVE A d.a.m.n." EDWINA WAS LOOKING FEROCIOUSLY at Ben Jones. "I will not sell the paper."

"Your uncle thinks you should. I had a long letter from him only yesterday, Edwina. At least think about what he's saying. He thinks that it can only run down slowly as long as there is no family member left to run it. And he strongly feels that you, and all the children, belong in England." Ben looked apologetic but firm, as he repeated her uncle's opinions.

"That's nonsense. And there will be someone to run the paper, in time. In five years, there will be Phillip."

Ben sighed. He knew what she wanted, and she could be right, but so could her uncle. "A twenty-one-year-old boy cannot run a paper." It was how old Phillip would be five years later. And in the meantime he wasn't sure either that a twenty-one-year-old girl should be responsible for five younger children. It was an unfair burden on her, and perhaps moving to England with them would be simpler.

"There are perfectly good people running the paper now. You said so yourself," Edwina insisted. "And one day Phillip will run the business."

"And if he doesn't? What then?" To her, it seemed an absurd question at the moment.

"I'll face that when it happens. But meanwhile, I have other things to do. I have the children to think about, and there is absolutely no reason to worry about the business." She looked tired, and her temper was short, and there were so many things to learn now. Her father had some stocks and bonds, and her mother had had a few too. And there was a small piece of real estate in southern California. She had decided to sell that. And to keep the house. And then there was the paper. It was all so d.a.m.n complicated, and the children were still upset. And George wasn't doing well at school, and suddenly the boys seemed to fight all the time, and Phillip was afraid of failing his exams, so she was studying with him at night, and then there were the cries ... and the tears at midnight ... and the constant nightmares. She felt as though she were living on a merry-go-round and she could never get off. She just had to keep going around and around and around, taking care of other people's needs, learning new things, and making decisions. There was no room anywhere for her and what her needs were ... nowhere for the constant aching memories of Charles.... There was no one to take care of her now, and she felt as though there never would be.

"Edwina, wouldn't it be easier for you to go to England and stay with the Hickhams for a while? Let them help you."

She looked insulted at the idea. "I don't need help. We are fine."

"I know you are," he apologized, "but it's unfair for all the responsibility to fall on you, and they want to help you."

But she didn't see it that way. "They don't want to help me. They want to take everything away." Tears filled her eyes as she spoke. "Our house, our friends, the children's schools, our way of life. Don't you understand?" She looked up at him mournfully. "This is all we have left now."

"No." He shook his head quietly, wishing he could reach out to her. "You have each other."

He didn't mention the Hickhams again, and she went over the paperwork with Ben, definite about what she wanted to do, no matter what anyone thought of it. She was going to hang on to the paper for her brothers, and to the house for all of them.

"Can I afford to keep it all, Ben?" Everything seemed to boil down to that now. And she had to ask questions she had never even thought about before, and fortunately, he was always honest.

"Yes, you can. For now nothing has to change. Eventually, it might become counterproductive. But for right now, the paper will actually bring you a very decent income, and the house is no problem."

"Then I'll keep both. What else?" She was amazingly matter-of-fact at times, and so capable it shocked him. Maybe she was right to keep everything as it was. For the moment, it was certainly the greatest gift she could give the children.

And eventually she explained it for the ten thousandth time to their uncle Rupert. And this time he understood it. In truth, he was relieved. It was Liz who had begged him to let them come, and he had wanted to do his duty. Edwina told him how grateful they all were to him but that the children were still far too upset by everything that had happened, and so was she. What they needed now was to stay home, and catch their breath, and have a quiet, happy life in surroundings that were familiar. And that although they loved him and Aunt Liz, they just couldn't leave California at the moment. He responded that they were always welcome to change their minds, and a flurry of letters began to arrive from Aunt Liz, promising to come and visit them the moment she was able to leave Uncle Rupert. But somehow, Edwina always found the letters extremely depressing, although she did not share that viewpoint with the younger children.

"We're not going," she finally told Ben. "In fact," she said, looking at him seriously across his desk at the law firm where he was a partner, "I doubt very much if I will ever get on a ship again. I don't think I could do it. You don't know what it was like," she said softly. She still had nightmares about the stern of the giant ship rising into the night sky with the propellers dripping, and she knew the others did too. She wouldn't have put them through it for anything in the world, no matter what Rupert Hickham thought was best for them, or what he felt he owed them.

"I understand," Ben said quietly. And he thought she was extremely brave to try to cope alone. But she seemed to be doing very well, much to his amazement.

There were times when he wondered how she was going to do it all. But she was so determined to carry on where her parents left off, and he admired her greatly for it. Any other girl her age would have been crying in her room over the fiance she had lost, but not Edwina, she was carrying on as best she could, without a word of complaint, and only a look of sorrow in her eyes, which never failed to touch him.

"I'm sorry to bring this up, by the way," he mentioned one day. "But I've had another letter from White Star. They want to know if you're going to file a claim for your parents' death, and I want to know what to tell them. In some ways, I think you should, because you'll have to bear the expenses for everything in your father's absence, yet it won't bring them back. I don't even like mentioning it, but I have to know what you want to do. I'll do anything you want, Edwina ..." His voice drifted off as he met her eyes. She was a beautiful girl, and he was growing fonder of her every day. She had grown up hard and fast, and she wasn't a child anymore. She was a very lovely young woman.

"Let it go," she said softly, and turned away to walk slowly to the window. She was thinking of what it had been like, and how anyone could pay you for that, and how they had almost lost Alexis when die ran away ... and little Teddy from the brutal exposure to the freezing temperatures, and Fannie with her two little stiff fingers ... and their parents ... and Charles ... and all the nightmares and terrors and sorrows ... the wedding veil she would never wear ... the gloves that had been his that she kept locked in a little leather box in her chest. She herself could hardly bear to look at the bay anymore, and she felt ill just glancing at a ship ... how did they pay you for that? How much for a lost mother?... a lost father?... a lost husband?... a damaged life?... What price did people put on all that? "There is nothing they could pay us that would make up for what we lost"

Ben was nodding sadly from where he sat. "Apparently, the others have thought pretty much the same thing. The Astors, the Wideners, the Strauses, no one else is suing either. I think some people are suing for their lost luggage. I can do that if you want me to. All we really have to do is file a claim." But she only shook her head again, and walked slowly toward him, wondering if they would ever forget, if it would ever go away, if life would ever be even remotely as it once had been before the t.i.tanic.

"When does it stop, Ben?" she asked sadly. "When do we stop thinking about it night and day and pretending that we aren't? When will Alexis stop sneaking upstairs so she can feel Mama's fur coats, and the satin of her nightgowns ... when will Phillip stop looking as though he's carrying the weight of the world ... and little Teddy stop looking for Mama?..." There were tears sliding down her cheeks, as he came around the desk and put an arm around her shoulders. She looked up at him then as if he were the father she had lost and buried her face in his shoulder. "When will I stop seeing them every time I close my eyes? When will I stop thinking Charles will come back from England?... oh, G.o.d ..." He held her for a long time while she cried, and wished he had the answers, and eventually she pulled away and went to blow her nose, but even the handkerchief she carried had once been her mother's, and nothing he could say would change what they had been through or what they had lost, and how they felt about it.

"Give it time, Edwina. It hasn't been two months yet."

She sighed and then nodded.

"I'm sorry." She smiled sadly and stood up again, kissed 4iim on the cheek and absentmindedly straightened her hat. It was a lovely one her mother had bought in Paris. He walked her out of his office again and saw her downstairs to her carriage. And as she turned back to wave at him as they drove away, he couldn't help thinking what a remarkable girl she was. And then he silently corrected himself. She wasn't a girl anymore. She was a woman. A very remarkable young woman.

Chapter 11.

THE SUMMER Pa.s.sED LEISURELY FOR ALL OF THEM, DOING simple things and just being together. And in July, just as they always had when her parents were alive, Edwina took them to the lake to a camp they had always borrowed from friends of her father's. They had always spent part of their summers at Lake Tahoe, and as much as possible Edwina wanted their lives to remain the same now. The boys fished and hiked, and they stayed in a cl.u.s.ter of rugged, pretty cabins. She cooked their dinners at night and went swimming with Teddy and the girls while Phillip and George went hiking. It was a simple, easy life, and here, finally, she felt that they were all beginning to recover. It was exactly what they needed, and finally, even she no longer had the same anguished, troubled dreams of that terrible night in April. She lay in her bed at night, thinking of what they'd done all day, and now and then she would let herself think of being there with Charles the previous summer. No matter what she did, her mind always drifted back to him, and the memories were always tender and painful.

Everything had been different before. Her father had organized adventures with the boys, and she had taken long walks with her mother, picking wildflowers around the lake. They had talked about life, and men, having children, and being married, and it was there that she had first admitted to her how much she was in love with Charles. It had been no secret to anyone by then, and George had been merciless with his teasing, but Edwina didn't care. She was ready to admit it to all the world. And she had been ecstatic when Charles had come up to stay with them from San Francisco. He brought little treats for the girls, a new unicycle for George, and a series of beautifully bound books for Phillip. His gifts delighted everyone, and he and Edwina had gone for long walks in the woods. She thought about it now sometimes, and it was hard not to cry as she forced her mind back to the present. It was a challenging summer for her mostly, though, trying to take her mother's place, and sometimes feeling so small in her shadow. She helped Alexis learn to float, and watched Fannie play at the edge of the lake with her dolls. Little Teddy went everywhere with her now, and Phillip talked to her for long hours about getting into Harvard. She had to be everything to them now, mother, father, friend, mentor, teacher, and adviser.

They'd been there for a week when Ben came up from town, to surprise them. And as he had in years before, he brought presents for everyone, and some new books for Edwina. He was interesting and fun, and to the children, he was like a favorite uncle, and they were happy to see him.

Even Alexis had laughed happily as she ran toward him. Her blond curls were flying loose, and she had just come up from the lake with Edwina, and their feet and legs were bare. She looked like a little colt, and in his big sister's arms, Teddy looked like a little bear, and it almost brought tears to Ben's eyes as he watched them. He thought of how much his lost friend had loved them all, how much Bert's family had meant to him, and he felt his loss again the moment he saw them.

"You all look very well." He grinned, happy to see them, as she set Teddy down, and he chortled as he ran after Alexis.

Edwina smiled happily as she pushed away a lock of her dark, shining hair. "The children have been having fun."

"It seems as though it's done you good too." He was pleased to see her looking healthy and relaxed and brown, and a moment later, before he could say more, the children swarmed him.

They played together for hours, and that night she and Ben sat quietly in the twilight.

"It's been wonderful being here again." She didn't say that it reminded her of her parents, but they both knew it. But still she knew she could say things to Ben she couldn't say to anyone else because he had been so close to her parents. And it was odd coming back to the places she'd always gone to with them. It was as though she expected to find them there, but one by one, as she went back to their favorite haunts, she came to understand, as the children did, that they were gone forever. It was the same with Charles. It was hard to believe he was never coming back from England ... that he hadn't gone there for a while, and would be coming home soon. None of them would be back again. All of them had moved on. But she and the children had to live with their memories, and for the first time in a long time, they were having fun and relaxing. And as she sat in the mountain twilight, she found herself talking about her parents to Ben. And even laughing about some of their past summer adventures. And he was laughing too, remembering the time Bert had pretended to be a bear and scared Kate and Ben and Edwina half to death wandering into the cabin beneath a huge bear rug.

They talked about fishing expeditions in some of the hidden streams, and entire days on the lake in the little boat they'd rented. They talked of silly things, moments they'd all shared, and memories they both cherished. And for the first time in months, it wasn't so much painful as a source of comfort. With Ben, she was able to laugh at memories of them, they became human again, and no longer G.o.dlike. And she realized as they chuckled into the night that this was something she wanted to share with the other children.

"You're doing a beautiful job with them," Ben said, and she was touched. Sometimes she wasn't sure she was.

"I'm trying," she sighed, but Alexis was still afraid, and Phillip so subdued, and the two little ones still had nightmares on occasion. "It isn't always easy."