MORE THAN LOVE

December 1997 (December 1991-Summer 1992)

The little diamond-shaped panes of glass in the antique shopwindow sparkled in the winter sunshine. Beyond them stood a Christmastree hung with unusual and antique ornaments. One, a delicate blownglass peacock, caught the light and reflected it back in colors, likea prism.

Cathy would love that, Jenny thought automatically, then flinched,shying away from the empty spot where friendship used to be.

She turned from the window and went into the coffee shop nextdoor. She put her packages - painfully few, this year - beside her inthe booth and ordered hot chocolate. It came topped with a frothymound of whipped cream and she stirred it absently. She'd nearlyfinished her shopping. There were gifts for a few friends, for herbrother and his family, who lived in California. She'd even foundsomething for her mother-in-law.

Did one have a mother-in-law when one no longer had a husband? Notthat it mattered. The woman lived in New Hampshire and Jenny hadnever met her.

At least she wouldn't have to worry about Winterfest this year.The candle had been on the floor in front of her door last night, butshe hadn't bothered to pick it up. She wouldn't be going.

She sipped at the chocolate. It was too sweet, and she put the cupdown again, thinking of another cup of chocolate. A cup of chocolatethat brought back memories of her first Winterfest.

*****

"Hurry up with this," Jenny said, handing over a piece of greenwire. She sipped chocolate from the mug in her other hand. "I want toget to the tree."

Catherine looked up from the pine boughs she was wiring into agarland and laughed. "You're worse than Charles."

"Hey!" Jenny pretended indignation. "At least I haven't tried toeat any of the ornaments."

"He's teething."

"I think you just don't feed him," Jenny countered, and put hermug down to take a small wooden marionette of Puss in Boots from anearby table. She held it up, pulling the string to make its arms andlegs move. "I think he put teeth marks in this one."

"Oh, well, it just adds to the history. I probably teethed on itwhen I was little."

"Is that where all these great ornaments came from? You?"

"Sure. Where'd you think?"

"I thought Vincent's world, maybe."

"There are a couple. But most were my mother's." Catherine smileda soft, nostalgic smile. "She loved Christmas. Every year, she'dspend days making sure the tree was just right, decorating thehouse..."

"So why haven't I ever seen any of these?" Jenny dangled a wingedsnow baby, shiny white and iridescent with glitter, from aforefinger. "You never used them in your apartment, and the only timeI was in your dad's house at Christmas, the tree was done up in redvelvet bows and little white lights, like somebody'd bought it rightoff a department store floor. It wasn't even real."

"Daddy and I didn't have much heart for Christmas after my motherdied. Most years, we travelled... so we wouldn't have to be homeChristmas morning."

"I remember," Jenny said softly. "I always envied you, going toLondon or Bermuda for Christmas while I went home to Queens. I neverthought about why you didn't stay home."

Catherine's smile didn't look forced, or even sad. "I think mymother would like me using her things for my first Christmas in mynew home."

"For Charles's first Christmas."

Catherine laughed. "He thinks we're putting all these fascinatingobjects up just so he can pull them down and chew on them. Come on.If we hurry, we can get this garland hung before he wakes up from hisnap."

"Which will keep the needles from getting chewed," Jenny observedas they lugged the heavy garland to the wall where Catherine wantedto put it.

Catherine took the end in both hands and stretched, but she lackedtwo inches of being tall enough to reach the hook to hang it on.

"Stand on a book," Jenny suggested, only half kidding.

Catherine eyed the hook and its mates, trailing at an equal heightdown the row of bookshelves, then turned toward the far end of theroom. Vincent sat at a massive mahogany desk, writing. He looked upat the sound of his name.

"Come help us," she begged. "We're not tall enough."

Vincent must be the very soul of patience, Jenny thought, watchinghim cross the room. Cathy'd had him up at least a half-dozen timesalready this afternoon: pulling Charles out of a box of ornaments,hanging a wreath, distracting Charles when he tried to climb the livetree in the corner, putting up the hooks for the garland, puttingCharles down for a nap.

"Hang this for me, please," Catherine said. "Oh, but wait aminute. I forgot I wanted to put a bow on it..."

She trailed off, rummaging through a big box of ribbon, tinsel,and strung popcorn.

Vincent stood, end of the garland in hand, and watched her fondly."She's having a good time," he said to Jenny, quietly. "Thank you forcoming."

"I'm glad to be here," Jenny answered, "but I don't think her goodtime has anything to do with me."

He glanced at her inquiringly; as usual, she felt nearlyoverwhelmed by his sheer presence.

"It's you," she told him. "I've known Cathy for fifteen years, andI've never seen her as happy as she's been the past eightmonths."

"She is happy," Vincent admitted, turning his gaze back toCatherine, who was emerging from the box with a large red bow inhand. "It humbles me to think I am a part of that happiness."

His unpretentious manner was typical of what she'd seen ofVincent, but Jenny knew Catherine well enough to know she understoodexactly how lucky she was to have found him. Or been found byhim.

He hung the garland and, after they all stood back to admire it,Catherine began to search through boxes for something to put on themantel. A faint, insistent ringing sounding from somewhere far awaymade her pause, rocking back on her heels. "Someone's here," shesaid, but to Jenny's surprise, it was Vincent who left the room."Someone from Vincent's world," Catherine explained. "Mouse put in abell. So visitors wouldn't have to just walk in."

Jenny had met Mouse only once, at Catherine and Vincent's wedding.He seemed sweet, but he hadn't struck her as the type of person to beconcerned with anyone's privacy. According to Catherine, he wassomething of a mechanical genius, though, and the bell was there.She'd heard it.

A moment later Vincent returned, accompanied by a dark-haired,freckle-faced boy about twelve years old, dressed in the layered andpatched clothing typical of the tunnels. From the basket he carriedon one arm, he drew something long and slender. He crossed to whereCatherine knelt beside the box and presented it to her with an air ofceremony.

She accepted the object with gravity. It was a candle,tri-colored, with a long, untrimmed wick. "Thank you, Geoffrey."

Jenny couldn't imagine the significance of such a gift... for agift it clearly was. Catherine held the candle almost reverently.Before she could question it, the boy turned in her direction.

"You're Jenny, aren't you?" he asked.

"Yes," she replied, startled.

He took another tri-colored candle from the basket and held itout. "This is for you."

She took the proffered candle, feeling awkward and confused."Thank you," she murmured automatically. "What is it?"

"It's a Winterfest candle," the boy answered. "You know."

"She doesn't know, Geoffrey," Vincent interceded. "This will beher first Winterfest."

"Oh." He turned an anxious face to Vincent. "I have to deliver therest of my candles, Vincent. Nobody told me..."

"Go on, Geoffrey," Vincent told him indulgently. "Catherine and Iwill explain."

"Thank you, Vincent!" The boy darted out.

Jenny eyed the candle in her hand. "Interesting place you live,Vincent," she said. "Where the kids go around giving awaycandles."

"It's not just a candle, Jen," Catherine said. "Think of it as aninvitation."

"To what? Somebody's Bar Mitzvah?"

She'd done it. She'd succeeded in making Vincent smile. "No,Jenny," he said gently. "To a celebration. Every year we gather,those who live Below and those who help them. We call itWinterfest."

It was beginning to make sense now. "And I'm invited?"

"You're a helper now," he explained. "That makes you one ofus."

*****

On the appointed day, Jenny arrived at Catherine's townhouse andsmoothed her skirt nervously as she waited for someone to answer thebell. She'd consulted with Cathy about what to wear - just like whenthey'd double-dated in college - and had been assured that hercalf-length blue wool skirt, with a soft cashmere sweater, wasperfect. She was glad her boots were comfortable; she'd been to theGreat Hall for the wedding, and knew how far they'd have to walk.

Catherine finally answered the door. She looked radiant in tealsilk that made her eyes greener than ever, and Jenny felt suddenlydowdy. Catherine didn't seem to notice, though, and reached out tocatch her arm, drawing her inside.

"Vincent's getting Charles's things together," she saidbreathlessly. "I need to get my wrap, and we'll go."

With Charles perched lightly on one arm, Vincent led the way.Jenny and Catherine followed, Winterfest candles in hand. They hadreached a level where tapping on the pipes was constant when theycame upon another, larger group milling about uncertainly.

Vincent paused only long enough to pass Charles to Catherinebefore stepping forward. "What's wrong?" He addressed a woman wearinga dress that clearly marked her as a topsider.

She murmured something and pointed. Vincent turned in thatdirection and the small crowd parted before him. On the far side, astout, elderly woman sat on the tunnel floor. A red-haired man intunnel garb crouched beside her. Round wire-rim glasses made him lookbookish, but his shoulders looked broad, even under all the padding.As Vincent approached, he looked up and grinned, relieving much ofthe tension.

Vincent bent down beside them. "Louise?" he asked gently, hisvoice carrying clearly in the sudden hush. "Are you ill?"

The woman gave him an abashed smile. "Just old, Vincent. Woremyself out getting this far, and had to rest."

Vincent exchanged glances with the red-haired man, who smiledreassurance. "She'll be fine, Vincent. I think she'll be able to goon in a moment," the man said. "If you'll take the rest of my group,I'll wait with her."

Vincent regarded the woman a moment longer, then nodded agreement.With a minimum of fuss, the group reformed and set off. Jenny glancedback once to see Louise and the red-haired man following slowly. Theman's implied tenderness, inherent in the way he helped the olderwoman along, impressed her, and she wondered why he seemedfamiliar.

At last, only a wide, wind-swept stone staircase stood betweenthem and the Great Hall. Though the sheer drop made her nervous,Jenny made Catherine walk next to the wall; she was carrying Charles,after all. Vincent, at the head of the group, looked back once andJenny imagined she saw him nod approval. Others were already gatheredoutside the Great Hall, torches flaring wildly in the wind. Vincentlifted the massive bar from the doors and pushed them wide. Guestsand hosts alike streamed in and began to find seats around the longtables by the uncertain light of the flickering torches.

Jenny wondered where she, a newcomer, should sit, and tried toprotest when Catherine drew her to a chair at what was clearly thehead table.

"It's all right," Catherine assured her. "You're with us, andVincent has to sit here because he's part of the ceremony. HoldCharles while I take off my coat."

It took surprisingly little time for so many people to findplaces. When everyone was seated, someone doused the torches,plunging the chamber into darkness. The blackness was so intense thatJenny slid her hand across the table, seeking Catherine's. She foundit, and Catherine gave her a reassuring squeeze. Then a single flameflared into life and Father, sitting three places to Jenny's left,began to speak. A moment later, Vincent took up the liturgy, followedby a woman Jenny knew to be Mary. The single flame became three, andfive and seven, as the flames passed to either side of the table. Asthe solemn ritual went on, the light grew. Someone touched flames tocandles in round, wheel-like candelabras and hoisted them high. Bythe time the ceremony ended, the chamber was brightly lit and thevery air seemed festive and expectant.

"Who is that?"

Catherine looked up from Charles. "Who?"

Jenny pointed across the crowded chamber. "That man. He's the onewe saw earlier, in the tunnels, helping that woman."

"Louise."

"Right. I've seen him before that, though. What's his name?"

Catherine hitched Charles a little higher on her hip. "That'sQuinn."

The name was exactly the jog Jenny's memory needed. "Quinn. That'sright. He's the one who guided me down last summer, when you were sosick. I remember how kind he was."

"He's a nice man," Catherine agreed. "He and Vincent are greatfriends."

Jenny's eye was drawn again to the man across the room. "What doyou know about him?"

Catherine grinned. "He's available, if that's what you want toknow."

Jenny's cheeks burned. "I didn't mean that," she objected swiftly."But he was so gentle with Louise. Most men wouldn't have been. Thatmakes him interesting. Has he always lived down here?"

"I don't know. To tell you the truth, I don't know Quinn thatwell. You should ask Vincent."

Vincent, who had been making a circuit of the room playing host,chose that moment to return. "Ask me what?" he inquired, and Jennyflushed again.

"Jenny was wondering about Quinn," Catherine explained,guilelessly. "How long he's lived here."

To Jenny's everlasting relief, Vincent didn't question hermotives. "Quinn came to us about ten years ago," he said. "His wifehad died after an illness. He was despondent. A helper brought him tous, and here, he was able to find peace."

"How sad," Jenny murmured.

"A tragic loss," Vincent agreed. "I believe he loved his wife verymuch. But he's happy here."

"Jenny wondered what he does," Catherine said helpfully.

Jenny cringed, but Vincent gave no sign he'd noticed.

"He is part of the engineering crew. He helps with construction ofnew chambers, repairing water lines, changing the passages forsecurity."

Jenny mustered a smile. "And here I was, thinking he lookedartistic."

The strolling musicians struck up a waltz and couples stepped outinto the small area cleared for dancing. Catherine eyed it longingly,and shifted Charles to her other side.

"I'll take him," Jenny offered. "Go dance with your husband."

"Are you sure?" Catherine began a half-hearted protest. "You'resupposed to be having fun, not babysitting."

"Holding Charles is fun," Jenny argued. "Hand him over."

Catherine complied without further argument. "Thanks, Jen," shemurmured, and took Vincent's arm.

Jenny waited until they'd whirled out among the dancers, thenedged away. If she stood and watched, Cathy'd feel guilty aboutleaving her with the baby. This way, maybe she'd relax enough toenjoy a dance or two.

Talented helpers and members of the tunnel community acted asstrolling entertainers, and Jenny paused to watch an itinerantmagician and a group of aspiring acrobats before becoming absorbed inthe skill of a pair of teenaged jugglers.

"They're good, aren't they?" someone beside her asked.

"They're delightful," she agreed, and turned to see Quinn standingbeside her. Charles saw him, too, and, giving a delighted squeal,held out his arms.

Quinn took him with practiced ease. "Hey, sport," he said,ruffling Charles's thick dark hair. "I'll bet you're dying to gethold of one of those balls."

"A red one," Jenny agreed, ignoring the nervous flutter of herheart.

"I'd get him one, but Ben and Zach would get mad."

Jenny watched the brightly colored balls whirl in a carefullypracticed circuit and nodded. "I'll bet they would."

Quinn shifted Charles to one arm and offered his hand. "Youprobably don't remember me. I'm Quinn."

"I do remember," she demurred. "Last summer. I'm Jenny."

"Catherine's friend. I know. Are you enjoying Winterfest?"

"Very much. There's such camaraderie here. Such friendliness."

"You're among friends," he answered. "Even the people you don'tknow yet are your friends."

"I'm finding that out."

"I'm about to get some punch and try some of William's lemoncake," he said. "Care to join me?"

"I haven't had dessert yet," Jenny admitted. "I'd love to."

Quinn reached out and caught the arm of a passing girl. "Brooke,"he said, and passed Charles over to her. "Keep an eye on him, willyou?"

"Sure, Quinn," the girl answered. "Come on, Charles."

Helplessly, Jenny watched her charge being whisked away. "I don'tknow what Cathy will say..." she began.

"Catherine won't care," Quinn assured her.

"She might," Jenny answered, but it was too late. Quinn had takenher hand and was threading his way across the chamber, pulling her inhis wake.

The lemon cake was a confectionery masterpiece, light andflavorful, with a rich cream filling and fluffy frosting, but it wasQuinn's mild wit and good humor that was truly absorbing. Jenny wasgenuinely surprised when they were interrupted.

"What did you do with my child?" Catherine demanded from behindher.

Jenny jumped guiltily. Impossible as it seemed, she'd managed,over the last half hour, to completely forget her abandonedresponsibility.

"We gave him to Brooke," Quinn answered for her. "By now there'sno telling where he is."

Cathy cherished that baby; Jenny braced for any of a range ofunpleasant reactions, from irritation to icy fury.

"Whoever's got him now is probably spoiling him rotten," Catherinesaid instead, and dropped into a chair. "That cake looksdelicious."

"I'll get you some," Quinn offered, and jumped up.

"You're not mad about Charles?" Jenny ventured. "Or worried?"

Catherine looked surprised. "Not here. Everyone knows him.Everyone knows all the children. Wherever he is, he's safe."

"Will you get him back?"

"Eventually." Her smile was full of mischief. "I can always sendVincent after him."

Jenny relaxed and looked around. "Speaking of Vincent, where ishe?"

"I don't know. Mouse came for him twenty minutes ago. Somethingabout a leaking water pipe. It didn't sound serious. They should beback soon."

"And here I've been imagining you dancing blissfully all thistime."

Catherine smiled. "One blissful dance, and part of another," shesaid. "It's enough."

"You always say that," Jenny answered, not sure if she wasadmiring or complaining on Cathy's behalf.

"It's always true."

"If you haven't been dancing, how come you didn't come seekingyour son earlier?"

Catherine's smile widened. "I told you everyone knows everyoneelse's children down here. I've been watching little Caty so thatLena and Wesley could dance."

Quinn brought Catherine's cake and a glass of punch, and thenexcused himself to answer a summons from Kanin. Moments later, ateenaged boy Jenny didn't know appeared with Charles in his arms.

"We've been looking for you," he said, as Catherine reached up totake her son. "I think he's getting sleepy."

"I think you're right," Catherine agreed, as Charles rubbed at hiseyes with a sticky fist. "Thank you, Kipper." She turned to Jenny. "Ithink I'd better take him into one of the side chambers and see if Ican get him to take a nap," she said. "You'll be all right here,won't you?"

"Of course," Jenny agreed. She finished her cake and carried theplates - her own plus Quinn's and Cathy's - to a table stacked withsoiled dishes before wandering into the crowd again. She was watchingthe dancers, admiring the fragile grace of an older couple, whensomeone touched her arm. She turned to find Vincent at her elbow.

"You're back," she greeted him. "Get the pipe fixed?"

"Not yet," he answered. "Mouse and I were able to turn off thewater and isolate the leak. Quinn and Kanin are repairing it. Theyshould be finished in time to return to the party."

"Job-sharing," she said in approval. "Good idea."

Amusement lurked in those blue eyes. He nodded towards the dancefloor. "Do you dance, Jenny?"

"Sometimes."

"Is now one of those times?"

She arched an eyebrow at him. "Did Cathy put you up to this?"

"Inviting you to dance? No."

"Are you sure? Because it sounds like something she would do."

"I haven't seen her since my return."

"She's getting Charles to sleep."

"I see. You haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

"Would you like to dance?"

Despite her nagging conviction he'd asked only out of politeness,she accepted. The idea of dancing with Vincent was just toointriguing to pass up. Waltzing wasn't something she'd done often,but he made it easy, and she was breathless and glowing when thedance ended.

Gradually the party wound down and it was a subdued group,satiated with the pleasures of the day, who formed a large circle.Jenny found herself between Catherine and Pascal as Father recitedwhat sounded like a traditional closing speech. It ended with theparticipants raising clasped hands in a triumphant gesture. It seemedan odd way to end a party, and yet felt right for this particulargathering.

As the circle broke, she spied Quinn on the far side, lookinggrubby and damp. He chose that moment to look across at her; when hecaught her eye, he winked.

Blushing furiously, she turned to help Catherine gather things forthe long walk home.

*****

Jenny spent Christmas with her brother's family in California, butwas back in time to accept Catherine's invitation to spend New Year'safternoon at the townhouse.

One of the best things about going to Cathy's was playing withCharles. Jenny was on the floor helping build a tower with blockswhen she heard the same dim ringing as the last time she visited."Good grief, it's like Grand Central around here," she observed.

Vincent rose and went out. Catherine looked troubled. "Actually,it's not. We were expecting Geoffrey last time because we knew you'dbe here, but I don't know who this could be. I hope there's nothingwrong."

Vincent was back moments later. Behind him, grinningself-consciously, was Quinn. Vincent went to his desk; Quinn crossedthe room to where the women were.

"Hi." Quinn greeted Catherine first. "Vincent will be a fewminutes."

"Hello, Quinn," Catherine answered, ever the gracious hostess."Can I get you something to drink while you wait?"

"Got any beer?"

"Of course." She went out and Quinn settled on the couch.

"Hey, kid," he said to Charles, who grinned and babbled a happyreply. "Hi, Jenny."

"Hi," she responded, from her place on the floor.

"Pretty good tower you two have going," he observed. "Can Ihelp?"

Jenny glanced at Charles, who clearly had no opinion. Sheshrugged. "Sure. Why not?"

Quinn's approach to tower-building was less pragmatic than hers.He began erecting an airy structure of colonnades and turrets andimaginary flags.

"That won't hold up," she warned.

"Why not?" he asked, and began on a curving row ofbattlements.

Intrigued, Charles reached out and plopped a large rectangularblock rather crookedly onto the top of the tower. Quinn snatched itaway, but it was too late. The structure swayed alarmingly andcollapsed. Charles clapped his hands in delight.

"That's why not," Jenny said, smiling. "He knocks them down."

Catherine came back with drinks and Jenny and Quinn moved from thefloor to the couch.

"So, Quinn," Catherine said, after serving them and taking her ownglass of wine. "What brings you here?"

"I brought a message to Vincent," Quinn explained, and took a longswallow from his glass. "That tastes good. I haven't had a beer in along time."

Catherine refused to be dissuaded. "An important message?" shepersisted.

"Not an emergency, if that's what you're getting at. I thinkFather's wondering where to find a book, or something."

"And he sent a message about it?" Catherine was clearlyincredulous.

Quinn gave a little shrug and grinned. "It must be kind ofimportant, huh?"

Jenny could tell Cathy'd given up when she settled back in herchair. "It must be," she agreed, without conviction.

Vincent joined them and pressed a slip of paper into Quinn's hand."I believe this will provide the help Father needs," he said.

"Thanks, Vincent," Quinn said, and slipped the paper into apocket. He made no effort to leave.

Jenny caught Cathy giving Vincent a surreptitious what's-going-onlook, but for once, Vincent seemed oblivious.

"Don't you have to get that to Father?" Catherine asked finally,pointedly.

"Not right away," Quinn said easily, and settled more deeply intohis seat.

"Jenny plans to spend the afternoon," Vincent told him. "I don'tknow what she and Catherine have planned, but perhaps you'd care tojoin us?"

Quinn grinned. "Sure. That sounds like fun." He looked at thewomen expectantly.

"Actually, we don't have any plans," Catherine admitted. "We'reopen to suggestion."

"Contract bridge," Vincent said promptly.

"I didn't know you played bridge," Catherine responded, clearlysurprised.

"I never had a reason to mention it," he said reasonably. "I knowyou and Jenny play; you told me."

"We played together all through college," Catherine confirmed, andglanced at Jenny, who nodded her willingness to play. "What aboutQuinn?"

"I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't know he played," Vincentsaid. "We've played together before."

"Not in a long time," Quinn warned. "I'm out of practice. But I'llplay."

"If you can find some cards, Catherine, Quinn and I will set up atable," Vincent suggested.

Catherine agreed, and Jenny joined her on a search for playingcards. "I had some in my apartment," Catherine muttered after severalminutes of fruitless effort. "I just don't remember where I put themwhen I moved."

"Someplace logical," Jenny counseled, digging through acupboard.

"Thanks a lot," Catherine said wryly, and delved into adrawer.

"Here's a deck," Jenny said a moment later. "Hiding in this bottomdrawer."

"Keep looking. There should be another one in there." Catherinemoved closer and lowered her voice. "I think Quinn likes you."

"What?" Jenny looked up from rummaging in the drawer.

"Quinn. I think he likes you."

Jenny pulled out the second deck of cards and pushed the drawershut emphatically. "I think being married has gone to your head."

"What?" Catherine's expression was almost comical, and Jennysmiled.

"It makes you see romance when it isn't there," she explained. "Hecame on an errand."

"Those kinds of errands are handled by the children," Catherineinformed her. "He came to see you."

"He didn't even know I was here." Jenny's protest was automatic,but inside, she began to hope Cathy was right.

"I'll bet he did," Catherine countered. "I'll bet Vincent toldhim."

"Vincent again." Jenny rose, the decks of cards in her hand.

"Vincent again, what?" Quinn inquired as they approached thetable.

"I can't believe Cathy didn't know he played bridge," Jenny said,thinking fast.

"Oh, yeah," Quinn said, and pulled out a chair. "Vincent's a manof many hidden talents. Who's my partner?"

"I have to play with Cathy," Jenny said. "Because I alwaysdo."

"Because I'm the only one who can figure out what she means whenshe bids," Catherine added.

Charles toddled over and Vincent lifted him into his lap. "No, myson," he said, chiding. "You may not eat the cards. Catherine..."

Quinn jumped up and fetched a small handful of blocks. "Here,Charles. Build another tower."

As Catherine shuffled and dealt the first hand, Jenny turned herattention on Vincent. "So what else can you do that nobody knowsabout?"

He regarded her with amusement. "Despite what Quinn says, few ofmy skills and abilities are secret."

Because he was usually so solemn, teasing Vincent was fun. Also,because of his quick wit, challenging. Jenny thought of the mostludicrous thing she could. "Can you roller skate?" she asked.

"I never have," he answered.

"But probably could," Quinn added.

"How about break dancing?" Jenny asked.

Vincent smiled, just a little.

"He's better at ballroom dancing," Catherine said, taking a long,critical look at her cards. "One heart."

Jenny scooped up her cards and arranged them hurriedly. Biddingsuggested her hand went well with Catherine's and they ended up atfour hearts. Jenny waited until the hand was played before turningonce more to Vincent.

"Have you ever played poker?"

"Occasionally," he said. "My brother Devin taught me to playblackjack and five card stud."

"Good. We can play that later," she said. "Can you sew?"

"Buttons."

"How about music? Can you play any instruments?"

"I can pick out a tune on a piano. One handed."

"One fingered," Quinn added. "Ask him if he yodels."

"Do you yodel?" Jenny asked, agreeably.

"I do not."

"Sing?"

"Not in anyone's hearing."

"I've never heard you shout, but I'll bet you do." She eyed himcritically.

"He can quiet a noisy room quicker than anybody I know," Quinnobserved. "He's pretty compelling when he raises his voice."

"Fortunately, he doesn't do it often," Catherine murmured, halfunder her breath.

She didn't sound upset; in fact, Jenny thought Cathy rather likedher to tease and flirt with Vincent. Most of the time, Vincent seemedto enjoy it, too. Jenny examined her cards, while Quinn, who'd dealt,opened the bidding.

It was a pleasant afternoon and Jenny was sorry when it ended. "Ihad fun, Cath," she said, hugging her. "Thanks for having me."

"Anytime," Catherine answered, her eyes bright. "You knowthat."

Jenny turned to Vincent. After a moment's hesitation, much toVincent's embarrassment, she reached up and pecked him on the cheek."I've always wanted to do that," she confided to Catherine, whoappeared on the verge of laughter, and turned toward the door.

Quinn waited patiently, her coat in his hands. "I'd like to seeyou home, if I may," he murmured as he helped her into it.

She paused, surprised. "We don't go the same way," she said,rather stupidly.

He grinned. "It's okay. I can reach the tunnels almostanywhere."

"The north park tunnel entrance is closest to Jenny's home,"Vincent advised.

Jenny looked at him, startled. "You've never been to myapartment."

"Vincent knows where all the helpers live," Quinn told her. "Andall the ways to get there."

He ushered her out into the cold, damp evening. "A cab?" heasked.

"It's about twenty blocks," Jenny apologized, "but I usuallywalk."

"Then that's what we'll do," Quinn said cheerfully.

The trip went quickly and Jenny was sorry to see her apartmentbuilding loom up ahead. She paused on the front steps.

"Thank you, Quinn. I enjoyed the walk."

"So did I," he answered. "I hope I can see you again."

His earnest, hopeful look made him look childishly endearing, andshe smiled. "I'd like that. Very much."

"Good." He didn't ask for her phone number, though, and after amoment's confusion, she remembered he didn't have a phone. No tellinghow he'd contact her if he wanted to ask her out.

He didn't try to kiss her. Instead, he stood before her, smiling,for a few beats too long, and then reached, rather formally, for herhand. He squeezed it warmly. "Goodnight, Jenny," he said. "Happy NewYear."

"Goodnight, Quinn," she answered. "Happy New Year to you,too."

As she rode up in the elevator, she thought that it showed signsof being a very good year, indeed.

*****

"I need your opinion on something, Cath."

It was mid-January; outside, a crust of new snow was rapidlyturning to dirty slush. Jenny's desk was piled high with manuscripts,contracts, and galley proofs, but she had her back turned, the phonecord stretched over her shoulder.

"Sure, Jen," Catherine replied, in her ear. "What's up?"

"There's a book signing next week. It's one of Emily's authors,but she has to go to a wedding in Pittsburgh that day, so I'mcovering."

"I thought you had publicity people to do that sort of thing."

"We do," Jenny admitted, "but this author's kind of ticky andEmily wants her specially taken care of."

"Okay. What's the problem?"

"I was wanting to ask Quinn to go with me."

There was a slight pause. "Okay. He'd probably enjoy it."

"You think he'd go?"

"Why wouldn't he? He likes you, Jen."

"He'd have to come up here."

"So?"

"So you think he'd go."

"Yeah. I do."

"Great. How do I go about asking him?"

She wrote a note and, on Catherine's instructions, sealed it in anenvelope, put Quinn's name on the outside, and delivered it to thehot dog vendor on the corner. The next day, an envelope bearing hername in spiky, barely legible script was pushed under her apartmentdoor. Inside was a short note of acceptance.

*****

The following Thursday, Quinn was waiting when she reached thebookstore. He peeled himself easily from the brick facade and movedto meet her. He was dressed conventionally, in a sports jacket overslacks. Curiously, she found she rather missed the more exotic tunnelclothing.

"Hi," she greeted him, and offered her hand.

He accepted it easily. "Good evening."

"Have you been waiting long?"

"Only a few minutes," he assured her, and guided her the few stepsto the shop entrance.

Inside, a table had been set up for the signing, but the authorwas nowhere in sight. "Is she here, yet?" Jenny asked the store'sproprietor.

He nodded. "In the back. Says she's not sure she wants to do thisnow. After I've advertised, and put up a display..."

"I know, Mr. Hinson, I know," she soothed. "Let me talk to her.Quinn, I'm sorry..."

"I know you're working," he said. "Go on. There's plenty here tokeep me occupied."

It took a while, but eventually she pacified the panicky writer'snerves, bolstered her confidence, and persuaded her to give signing atry. Jenny hovered behind the signing table at first, but the readerswere garrulously admiring, and presently she felt able to drift awayand look for Quinn.

She found him in a corner, perched on the bottom rung of a libraryladder, poring over a wide volume full of glossy photographs.

"What are you reading?" she asked softly.

He jumped and clapped the book shut.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"I was absorbed," he said. "I didn't hear you coming."

"What's so fascinating?" She glanced at the book's cover. "Trendsin Modern Set Design?"

"I was looking at some of the sets," he explained, halfapologetic.

She looked at him quizzically. "It just seems like an odd choiceof book."

He sighed and spread the book open on his lap, flipping rapidlythrough the pages until he found the one he wanted. Jenny bentforward for a better look.

"Looks like someone was trying to create the interior of amedieval castle," she said, studying the picture.

"For an off-Broadway production of Camelot," he agreed. "Carlaloved those sets." There was a sad wistfulness in his voice.

"Who was Carla?" she asked gently. "Your wife?"

He glanced at her, surprised. "You know about her?"

She nodded. "Vincent told me. I'm sorry she died."

He bent his head over the photograph. "It was a long time ago,Jenny. It doesn't really hurt anymore. It just makes me sad. She wasso young. So talented."

"Did she design sets?" Jenny asked, looking for a connection.

He gave a soft laugh and shook his head. "Costumes. She did thecostumes for this production. It's where we met." He

paused. "The set design is mine."

*****

Later, after the signing was over and the writer dispatched to herhotel, they sat over coffee in an all-night diner and talked.

"A set designer. I told Vincent I thought you looked artistic, andhe laughed at me."

"Vincent doesn't laugh at people," Quinn said, and sipped hiscoffee. "Besides, I'm not sure he knows what I used to do. Not manypeople do."

"Why'd you stop? You were good." She'd looked at the photographsand read the detailed captions; Quinn had been touted, in the book,as a rising star in set design before he'd abruptly dropped out ofsight.

"When Carla got sick, I was working on a play for Edgar Miller.The producer, you know?"

She nodded; she'd heard of Edgar Miller.

"I was half crazy. Carla was sick, and none of the treatments wereworking. And Miller kept insisting on changes. Of the stupidestthings, sometimes. Well, some producers or directors are like that.You learn to put up with it. But I had so much going on. One day, Ilost it. Told Miller what he could do with his sets and walkedout.

"After Carla died, I couldn't stand the thought of walking into atheater knowing she'd wouldn't be there. So I never went back."

"How'd you end up Below?"

"Buddy of mine was a Helper. I guess he couldn't stand seeing mefall apart. One day, he came to my place and started packing asuitcase. Told me he was taking me someplace where I could heal.Later, I learned he'd cleared it with Father and the Council, but atthe time, I was too heartsore to care where I was, or even take insome of the more fantastic aspects. The first week, I doubt I saidten words to anybody. But they were all patient and caring and aftera while I started living again. Feeling. Noticing.

"I decided I liked it there, and asked if I could stay. They saidyes."

"And you never think about coming back up here?"

"Sometimes." He grinned. "Especially when I'm in the mood forpizza. It's hard to get delivery down there. But I know I'll neverlive up top again."

Jenny sighed. "If I had talent like yours, I don't know if I couldgive up expressing it."

"You mean sets? Heck, I still design them once in a while. Ifyou're not busy Saturday evening, why don't you come down andsee?"

*****

Just before dusk on Saturday, Jenny presented herself at the mouthof a drainage pipe in the north part of Central Park. She glancednervously at the surrounding area; the deepening shadows reminded herthat the park was no place for a lone woman after dark.

"Jenny?"

The voice, echoing hollowly out of nowhere, startled her. "Who isit?" she quavered, and looked for the source.

"Vincent." He sounded closer now, his voice less distorted. "Inhere."

Ducking, she peered into the pipe. Faintly, she could make out hisstooped form. "Where's Quinn?"

"He's been detained. He asked me to come for you."

"Oh." With a hand on the curved roof of the pipe to balanceherself, Jenny went inside. The low pipe ended abruptly a few feetin, opening into a square junction. Other pipes, larger incircumference, radiated out from it. Vincent waited stolidly in thecenter.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you," he said. "I cannot go out indaylight."

Jenny knew that. "Of course not. I was just startled. I didn'tknow exactly what to expect."

Vincent looked mildly surprised as he showed the way into one ofthe big pipes. "You've been to our world several times," he said.

"I always came through your house," Jenny answered. "Cathy's toldme about some of the other entrances, but I've never used them."

"I'll see to it that you are shown others," he said. "In case youever need to reach us."

Jenny nodded. "I'd appreciate that. Where did you say Quinnis?"

"There was some difficulty during construction of the newchambers. The workers struck an underground spring, and Quinn andKanin had to devise a way to contain it temporarily. It made themlate getting back. They were just beginning to clean up when Ileft."

"But everything's all right?"

"Of course. Before, there was no drinking water available in thatarea, so it will be a blessing, once Kanin's figured a way to channelthe excess safely away."

"Good." Jenny couldn't think of anything else to say, and theywalked a little way in silence.

After a while she decided she liked Vincent's silence. It didn'tmake her feel pressured to fill it with words. It was comfortable,and made it easy to use the time for thinking.

"Quinn's important in your world, isn't he?" she asked as theyneared the common chambers.

"All of our people are important to us," Vincent answered equably."But the work Quinn does is important, as well." He glanced her way."That is what you wished to know?"

She nodded. "Yes. Thank you."

They entered Father's study, where the tunnel folk were alreadybeginning to gather. Jenny spotted Cathy seated among friends, babyCharles in her lap. She started towards her when someone touched herarm.

Quinn, his bright hair slicked damply across his forehead, stoodbeside her. "You're here," he said simply.

"I said I would be," she reminded him.

"I know." His glance moved beyond her. "Thanks, Vincent. I oweyou."

"It was no trouble, Quinn," Vincent said. "If you'll excuseme...?" Tactfully he removed himself, and Quinn took Jenny's arm andled her in the other direction.

"I have to sit over here in case they need me," he explained."Some of the sets are moveable, and sometimes the stage crew getsconfused about what goes where."

Jenny nodded agreeably. Quinn's very presence made her feel warmand secure. She didn't much care where they sat. Across the room,Catherine caught her eye, and smiled.

The play was simple. In between scenes, Quinn confided that thechildren had written it themselves, and the editor in Jenny wasimpressed. Though the plot was simple, there was one, and thedialogue moved the story along effectively. Mostly, though, sheexamined the sets. They, too, were simple.

A tall expanse of cardboard, mounted to a wooden frame and paintedto resemble a stone fireplace, was the biggest flat. Reversing itrevealed a tree flanked by flowers and grazing sheep. Other bits ofpainted cardboard depicted a room with a bookcase and window; anotherwas a chicken coop, complete with painted chickens. There was even acardboard piano.

Though simply constructed, the sets created the appropriateatmosphere for each scene. They were ample demonstration not only ofQuinn's artistic talents, but also of his ability to share and passthem on to the children who created the finished sets.

When the young actors took their bows, Jenny clapped as hard asanyone. Quinn excused himself to help the stage crew stack the setsand props up for storage and Jenny made her way across the chamber tospeak to Catherine.

"I've never been to one of these before," she said. "What happensnow?"

"Now Mary chases all the actors off to bed while the adults hangaround and talk. Kind of a cocktail party without the cocktails."

"There's lemonade," Jenny pointed out, having had some during thebrief intermission.

Catherine laughed. "Right."

Vincent materialized beside her. "Ready?" he asked.

Catherine nodded and hoisted a sleeping Charles higher on hershoulder.

"You aren't leaving?"

"I have an early morning tomorrow," Catherine said. "You'll be allright, won't you? Quinn will see you home."

Jenny hesitated; she'd never been Below without Cathy, and here,she knew the meaning of the expression, "stranger in a strangeland."

"Or you can come with us now," Catherine offered quickly.

Jenny turned and found Quinn's distinctive head of red hair acrossthe room; he was weaving a path through the crowd. "No. I'll stay.But thanks."

Catherine squeezed her hand and was gone.

"Sorry I was so long," Quinn apologized. "But you had Catherine totalk to."

"I was fine," she assured him. "What now?"

"We could stay, if you like," he said, "but I thought you mightenjoy a walk."

"Here?"

"Sure. There are lots of places to go. But we don't have to.Whatever you want."

She felt no qualms about slipping her hand into his. "Let'swalk."

He showed her some of the magical places she'd only heard about:the Mirror Pool, the waterfall, the Whispering Gallery. It was latewhen he finally led her up through an exit that came out in an alleynot fifteen yards from Broadway.

"It's a little farther to your home from here," he explained asthey emerged onto the still-busy sidewalk, "but it keeps us out ofthe park."

"Good," said Jenny, smiling a little at his notion that she'dobject to a longer walk home after they'd seemingly crisscrossedManhattan a half dozen times in the course of the evening.

As he'd done before, he stopped outside the building. "Thank youfor coming, Jenny. I liked having you there."

"I liked being there," she answered him, softly, and when heleaned toward her she closed her eyes, giving herself up to his warmkiss.

"I'll see you again?" he asked when he released her.

She nodded. "Soon."

*****

Over the next few months, they saw each other often. SometimesQuinn came Above and they had dinner, went to a concert, took in aplay or movie. Other times, Jenny went to his world. On occasion,there was entertainment there, but most of the time they simplywalked, or went to the Mirror Pool to sit at the water's edge andtalk.

"Coffee?" she asked him one late spring evening as they arrived ather apartment after visiting an art gallery.

"Not tonight. Jenny, come sit with me."

He sounded odd. Suddenly nervous, she sat beside him on thecouch.

"I have something I want to say," he began.

"All right." Hands twisted together in her lap, she waited.

"When I lost Carla, I swore I'd never fall in love again," hebegan, not looking at her. "I swore I'd never be that vulnerable.That open to hurt."

It was evident the memory was still sensitive and with instinctivecompassion, she touched his arm. His hand came up swiftly to coverhers and he raised his eyes. "That was before I met you," he said."You must know that since we've known each other, I've come to loveyou."

He hadn't ever said it before, but it seemed he was just affirmingsomething she'd already known.

"Yes," she breathed, and waited.

"I don't have much to offer. My work earns me a place to live andkeeps me fed, but it won't ever buy vacations or jewelry or anythinglike that."

"I know."

"But if you understand that... if you can live with that...Jenny... I want you to be my wife."

She'd never thought he'd ask. Given his lifestyle, his home, itdidn't seem possible. For a stark instant she stared at him; onlywhen his gaze faltered and he started to look away did she react.

"Yes." Her arms went around his neck. "Yes, I'll marry you."

*****

Father, according to the third-hand version she got fromCatherine, nearly had apoplexy. Not at the thought of her marryingQuinn - as near as anyone could tell between the ranting and theraving, he seemed glad about that. It was their living plans heobjected to. For Jenny had her life, her work, Above, and Quinnwanted to remain Below.

Only after they'd found a garden-level apartment in a convertedbrownstone a dozen or so blocks south of where Catherine lived didFather relent. An in-house tunnel entrance wasn't absolutelynecessary, since Quinn could appear Above with impunity, but constantcoming and going would attract attention. Quinn and Kanin spent extrahours digging out a connecting passage and, by the time of thewedding, it was complete.

Jenny's mother insisted on a formal wedding for her only daughter;the best Jenny could do was keep it small. Catherine served as hermatron of honor; Quinn asked Kanin to be his best man. Few of thetunnel folk attended either the wedding or the reception afterward,but when Quinn and Jenny returned from the modest honeymoon she'dbeen able to persuade him to let her pay for, a celebration was heldin their honor.

And then, at long last, they settled into their new life. A lifetogether. Jenny had never imagined such happiness.

*****

The first effervescent excitement couldn't be sustained, ofcourse. With the passing of years, it modified itself into a deep,abiding contentment whose boundary was love.

Six days before their fifth wedding anniversary, Jenny's secretarycame into her cramped cubicle, a smudged envelope in her hand. Shelooked puzzled.

"What is it, Beth?"

Beth extended the envelope. "This is for you."

Jenny accepted the envelope warily. "Where'd it come from?"

"Some kid... I don't know how he got past the lobby guard...dressed in the strangest clothes... he brought it while you were inthe meeting. Said it was important. I almost threw it away. But helooked so serious."

Jenny's blood turned to ice. "How long ago?"

"A half-hour, I guess."

Her hands shook with the effort it took not to rip the envelopeopen before Beth's startled eyes. "You did the right thing," she saidinstead. "Thank you, Beth."

Only when the door to her little office was securely closed didshe reach for the letter opener on her desk. The message inside wasin an unfamiliar hand, unsigned.

Come at once. Emergency.

Nothing else.

Jenny snatched up her purse, stuffed the crumpled note into a sidepocket, and ran.

There was no one to meet her at the nearest tunnel entrance, butthat didn't matter any longer. She knew the way. Quinn's chamber,when she passed it, was dark and empty, so she hurried directly toFather's study.

There, a small cluster of people, mostly women and the elderly,gathered. Their anxious voices hushed when they saw her.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice sounding shrill in the suddensilence. "What's happened?"

The group shifted, and she saw Catherine seated in their midst.Mary stood over the back of her chair, looking protective. At sightof Jenny, Catherine lurched to her feet, brushing off the handsextended to help her.

"You're here," she said, and put her arms around Jenny'sshoulders. "Oh, Jen."

Bewildered, Jenny hugged her back. Catherine, heavily pregnantwith her fifth child, was trembling. "Cathy? What's wrong?"

Catherine stepped back, her face ashen. "You haven't heard."

"Heard what? All I got was this note that didn't say anything atall..." She fumbled for it.

"There's been an accident."

Jenny felt her own face go white. "Accident?"

"A cave in," Mary said gently. "They were shoring up a section oftunnel and the ceiling gave way."

"Dear God."

Mary forced the next part out with difficulty. "Three men weretrapped. One - Kanin - has been rescued. He's not badly hurt. Theother men..."

"It's Quinn, Jenny," Cathy said. "Quinn and Vincent."

Waiting was agony. News was sparse and came slowly. Peter Alcotthad been summoned and he and Father stood by at the cave-in site,medical bags at their sides. Despite a broken leg, Kanin wasdirecting the rescuers, instructing them on how to shore up crumblingslabs of granite to prevent them shifting as smaller chunks of rockand debris were removed.

Jenny and Catherine sat together, holding hands, as others milledaround them. "How are the children?" Jenny asked, to fill thedreadful hush.

"They don't know. Brooke and Elaine have them in one of theschoolrooms." Cathy's voice quavered dangerously, and Jenny squeezedher hand.

It was the one thing Jenny envied her friend... children. Jennyand Quinn had been trying to have a baby for as long as they'd beenmarried, but though fertility experts had found nothing amiss witheither of them, they were still childless.

Jenny's empty arms ached and she drew her hand from Catherine's towrap her arms around her herself. "Quinn," she whispered, too low foranyone to hear. "Please come back to me."

"They found them!" Eric burst into the chamber and came to askidding stop. "Both of them. Right together. They're digging themout."

Jenny was on her feet; beside her, Catherine clutched at herarm.

"Are they all right?" Mary asked.

Eric's excitement faltered. "Somebody's alive. I heard Father andPeter talking about a pulse. But Kanin told me to come quick and tellyou. I didn't wait to find out any more."

Afterwards, Jenny thought it couldn't have been more than half anhour before the sound of men's voices, subdued and defeated, driftedinto the chamber.

"...hospital chamber," someone said. Father, from the sound of it."That arm's almost certainly broken..."

"Later, Father." The voice was brusque, almost angry, but clearlyrecognizable to those listening. "I have to..." His voice faded asVincent entered the chamber. Dirty, disheveled, bloodstained. One armwas bound tightly against his body. His free hand was torn andbloody.

Beside her, Catherine sagged with relief and took a stepforward.

Jenny's gaze shifted, moving beyond to the others coming into thechamber. Father, Pascal, Peter. Kanin, moving slowly on crutches.William and Zach, Timothy and Mark and Simon. Jamie and Rebecca. Oneby one, the rescuers filed in, their expressions grim.

Jenny's gaze went back to Vincent. She fully expected him to stop,to take Catherine in his good arm and hold her.

He didn't. Instead, it seemed his glance skimmed over Catherinewith only the briefest pause for a swift, comforting look before hebrushed by her.

Jenny heard Catherine's choked sob even before Vincent stoppedbefore her. Panic welled and she stepped back. If only she could goquickly enough, maybe everything would be all right. Maybe she'd findQuinn in the corridor, hurt like Vincent or Kanin, bruised, scraped,limping, but alive.

Vincent's voice, gentle and husky and filled with compassion,checked her. "I'm sorry, Jenny," he said. "There was nothing any ofus could do."

*****

The rest of that day was a scattered, disjointed handful ofimpressions. She remembered being held against Vincent's broad chest,his arm around her shoulders as he murmured helpless words of regret.Mary and Sarah took her to Quinn's chamber, gave her tea, asked herif she wouldn't like to lie down. When she insisted on going home,Jamie was assigned to guide her safely up, and she remembered thestark expression of grief in Jamie's eyes when they said goodbye. Butwhat stood out most clearly was Cathy.

Cathy, who'd suffered through the agony of waiting alongsideher.

Cathy, whose story had a happy ending.

It wasn't fair. Cathy had her children... Vincent's children... tocomfort her. In two months, there'd be the new baby to care for andlove. Jenny had no one. Nothing.

Of everything, that was what she couldn't forgive. She steppedback, turning away when Cathy reached out to offer comfort. First inFather's chamber and later, at the funeral. Jenny had Quinn broughtabove, and buried him near her parents. She never attended thememorial service held Below.

She avoided all Cathy's efforts at reconciliation. Notes, phonecalls, even gentle overtures from mutual friend Nancy Tucker wentunanswered. She heard, through Nancy, that Cathy had a baby girl inSeptember.

She heard through other helpers that Vincent had recovered frominjuries suffered in the cave in. She even heard about the accident -more than she wanted to know, actually. Of how Vincent and Quinn andKanin had all been working to fix timbers into place to hold theunsteady roof. How the roof had suddenly given way. Vincent had heldit, according to others who had been there. Quinn had stayed withhim, both of them struggling to shore up the sagging timbers. Andthen, suddenly, the whole thing collapsed in a roar of dust and rock.One of the heavy timbers had caught at an angle, creating a smallspace, by some miracle protecting Vincent from being crushed. Quinnhadn't been as fortunate. A different beam, falling at a differentangle, had pinned his shoulders, holding him helpless as tons of rockpoured down on him. His death, all had assured her, had beeninstantaneous and painless.

It wasn't Vincent's fault. It certainly wasn't Cathy's fault.There was no one to blame. No one whose actions could have changedthings. Except perhaps Quinn himself. If he had darted out of thedanger area instead of staying to help Vincent with the fallingtimbers, he could have saved himself.

But then he wouldn't have been the man she'd married. The manshe'd loved for five years. And she knew, guiltily, that he wouldn'tapprove of the way she'd lived for the past five months, isolated,shunning her friends.

Nobody's fault. Nobody to blame.

Jenny thought of the Winterfest candle lying carelessly by herdoor. Winterfest would be next week. Maybe it was time to go back.Maybe it was time to make peace - with others, and with herself.

"Excuse me, ma'am? Are you all right?"

With a jerk, Jenny straightened and stared uncomprehending at theround young face of the coffee shop waitress.

"Excuse me. You've been sitting here half an hour. Is anythingwrong?"

Jenny collected herself abruptly, and gathered her packages. "No,"she said, and dropped a five dollar bill on the table. "Notanymore."

She hurried out, scarcely hearing the waitress's effusive thanks.The shop next door was still open and she rushed inside.

The shop's proprietor looked up. "May I help you?"

"Yes, please," she said, and pointed. "I want to buy the peacockfrom the tree in the window."

He nodded and reached for it.

Jenny leaned across the counter. "And could you gift wrap it,please?"

The End