**********

Annie started at the light tap on her bedroom door. "Come in."

The door eased open, and she recognized Peter's tread. Peter's barefoot tread. Ordinarily, she'd have scolded her son for failing to wear slippers while traversing the hallway's bare wood floors on a frosty November night. Tonight she didn't have the strength. The door snicked closed, but Peter hesitated near the doorway. "Did I hear the phone, Mom?"

"Yes."

"News?"

"Come over here and sit down, Peter." When he sank down onto the bed and took her hand, the tension in his muscles strained against her fingers. Lord, she'd hoped not to have to do this until morning. After the last few restless nights, Carolyn and Kelly were no doubt sleeping the deep sleep of exhaustion. Leave it to Peter, though, to retain an alert responsiveness to the slightest unusual sound despite juggling work with his self-imposed responsibility to stay at the house and look after his mother and sisters until Paul was found.

Peter's fingers spasmed in her own, as blatant a warning sign her silence frightened him as were his next words. "Bad news?"

Annie sighed. "I don't know. God help us, I don't know." She tightened her grasp on Peter's hand. "At least one of the members of your father's team is confirmed dead. His wife his widow called me. His body came home today. I don't know how much she'd been told and how much was need to know."

"Which they decided the surviving family members didn't need to know."

She winced at the bitter tinge to his voice. "All I know is she thought the whole team had been killed and their families notified."

Peter released her hand and slung one long arm around her shoulder. Annie leaned into her son's embrace, drawing strength from him. "We haven't heard anything, Mom. That's got to mean something. Paul's coming home. He --" Peter's voice cracked; he cleared his throat and tried again, but his voice was only a hoarse whisper. "He has to. He can't leave us."

**********

"Talk me through it again."

Ceramic crashed against Formica. Annie didn't even turn in Peter's direction, though she allowed herself a flicker of concern for her crockery. "She already did, Kermit. Three times. What the hell more do you want?"

"I want to hear it again, kid. See if I can figure anything out."

Peter lowered his voice. "Mom's been through enough. Why should she have to relive it yet again?"

Annie swung the coffee-filled filter back into the top of the coffeemaker. Its compartment shut with a decisive click. "If that was an effort to get one by the blind chick, Peter, it was a misbegotten one. I heard every word you said." She sighed, and softened her voice. "Sweetie, I appreciate the fact you want to protect me, but I don't need protection from Kermit's questions."

"You also don't need him hammering away at you. Or dredging up pain you shouldn't have to go through again."

Her hand shook as she guided the water-filled coffeepot to fill the top of the coffeemaker. The last drop of water trickled out, and she slammed the glass carafe into place with one hand and slapped the machine's lid closed with the other. The carafe teetered half-on, half-off its rest. Annie adjusted it with a single furious move. "Damn it, Peter, I can fight my own battles. And right now the only battle I'm interested in fighting is the one to bring your father home." Whirling so she faced the table, Annie paused to let her words sink in.

"Mom --" Peter's voice was weaker; she wished he were as aware his protest was futile as he was of her anger.

"I would go to hell and back to make sure Paul comes home alive. Recounting my conversation with Marjorie Britton is nothing within the scheme of things. If I've got to do it a thousand times, I'll do it. As long as there's a chance it'll help Paul, I'll talk myself hoarse." She took a deep breath to steady herself and tilted her head toward Kermit's seat at the other end of the kitchen table. "Where do you want me to start?"

**********

"Stonewalled." Annie jumped at the impact of Kermit's hand against the living room wall. "Sorry. Don't think I've damaged the house any."

"Just thank God no one else was here. Tell me you're exaggerating."

"Wish I could. But I've run up against a brick wall at every turn. Neither the Army nor the Company will admit the mission existed, let alone its success or failure. I can't find out who the other members of the team were and I can't find official documentation of Clark Britton's death, much less the official cause of death." Kermit groaned. "Hell, I can't even access a manifest of the flight his body came home on. Which means no idea where it originated and no confirmation whether other bodies were shipped home at the same time. Everything's been hushed up and no one's talking."

Annie's hand clenched around the handle of her teacup. She willed herself to relax before she broke the china. "Did you try to talk to Marjorie Britton?"

"Oh yeah." Kermit's laugh was harsh. "That conversation takes a prize for obfuscation, let me tell you. First she denied she was Clark Britton's widow, then she denied she'd ever heard of Paul Blaisdell. Not only couldn't I get any details out of her beyond what she told you, I couldn't get her to admit she'd contacted you. Couldn't get me off the line fast enough."

The woman she'd talked to the night before had sounded anguished and needy. If Annie had been forced to guess why she'd called, she'd have laid odds Marjorie Britton thought the team leader's wife would possess insight she lacked as to how to cope with widowhood. Although she would have been sadly mistaken, for Annie lacked such insight and prayed she'd never have to gain it, nothing in her manner had suggested she found it second nature to hide the truth. Yet the woman Kermit described had exhibited the traits of a consummate liar or a woman running scared.

"Either it wasn't Marjorie Britton or someone's gotten to her. She was nothing like that last night, trust me. Someone's sweeping what happened under the rug, and they're scared to death I'll find out what really happened."

"They're scared to death you'll hear something that'll lead me to the truth," Kermit corrected her. "That wasn't all of it, either."

Oh God. Annie lowered her cup to its saucer, settling it upon the dish with great care. "What more can there be?"

"I've been locked out of databases I accessed with a limited amount of trouble just last week. Someone's going to great lengths to keep me away from the operational records. This was supposed to be a short mission, Annie. In and out. I'm starting to get a bad feeling about this."

"You think someone sold them out, don't you? Someone high enough up that the truth getting out would be an embarrassment to the government?"

"Oh yeah." Kermit crossed to the sofa and dropped down next to Annie. Squeezing her hand, he vowed, "And I'll find out who and blow the lid off the whole cover-up if I have to in order to get Paul out."

**********

"Any word?"

Annie followed Peter's shout to the front hall. "You'd know if there were."

"How?" The sound of fabric scraping against wood punctuated his query, and she realized he'd thrown his jacket over the banister's dowel. From the sound of it, the garment had slipped and Peter had been forced to adjust its position so it would stay on the knob. "Eppy and I didn't make it back to the precinct till five minutes before shift change."

"Peter..."

"What?"

"You'd know. They'd have radioed you."

"Yeah, but no one --" He broke off as understanding dawned. "I'm an idiot. I was going to say no one knows Paul went on a mission. But Kermit knows. Kermit's trying to find him."

A faint note of resentment bled through his last words. Annie furrowed her brow in confusion. Why on earth would Peter be angry at Kermit? Hadn't she made the fact his questions weren't callous clear enough that morning? "Peter, what's wrong?"

She heard the gulp of air Peter usually took in to prepare for a lengthy discourse, then the gnash of upper teeth against lower teeth as his mouth snapped closed. He ignored the question, instead giving her a hug and a kiss. One arm remained draped around her shoulder, and she allowed him to guide her into the living room and over to the sofa. Breaking the physical contact when she sat down, he waited a second or two, then lowered himself to a seat a short distance away. "Just forget I said anything, Mom."

"Peter Caine, you are as transparent as the day is long."

"It's nothing." The direction from which the mumble emanated told her Peter was studying either his feet or the carpet. And if he was doing that, odds were he was indulging in another nervous habit as well.

"Stop running your hand through your hair, sweetie. Knowing you're doing that is awfully distracting."

A reluctant snort of laughter greeted her remark. "I've never been able to figure out how you do that. I mean, I know even you can't hear me do it."

An affectionate smile sprang to Annie's lips; she only wished the act of smiling didn't make her feel so wistful. "Mothers know these things. Mothers also know when they're being lied to, so stop pretending you weren't going to ask if Paul being missing wasn't enough gone wrong and tell me what else is eating at you."

"Trust me, Mom, you don't want to know." Silence stretched between them; Annie counted down the seconds until her son would no longer be able to stand the quiet. True to form, he lasted all of fifteen seconds before admitting, "All I can do is go to work and listen to Eppy's rules all day long and then come back here and try to pretend like everything's going to be normal again soon so Carolyn and Kelly don't know how scared we are."

Annie refrained from mentioning the fact Peter underestimated Carolyn if he thought she was any less aware of the desperation of the situation than her older brother. At thirteen, Kelly might not fully understand the ramifications of her father's disappearance, but Carolyn certainly did. "Go on."

"I can't do a damn thing to help find Paul. I've got to leave it in Kermit's hands, to watch him put in all the legwork to try to locate Paul." He sprang to his feet. Restless footsteps took him halfway to the front hall and back before he exploded, "Damn it to hell, Paul's the only dad I've got and I'm the one who should be devoting everything to finding him. I owe him that much, for Christ's sake."

Annie rose and followed the direction of her son's voice. When she felt Peter's hand touch her own, signifying she was within arm's reach, she used the momentum of his grasp to pull him into her embrace. "You don't owe either one of us anything, sweetie."

"But you --" Peter's protest was muffled by the fact he'd rested his chin atop his mother's head.

"Chose to make you part of our family." Annie pushed away from him and raised a hand to his cheek. She allowed her fingers to roam over his skin, the exploration lingering on the tiny crinkles at the corner of his eyes. Worry lines. Lines which hadn't been there last week. Lines she prayed would never become fully etched as ones imprinted by grief. "A decision which had nothing to do with pitying you or wanting to save a child from the orphanage. I've loved you from the moment I met you, and so has Paul." She sighed. "Oh, Peter, what do I have to do to get you to understand sometimes things do happen for a reason? How many times do you think Paul went to that orphanage to speak about police work but never had the same instant instinct about any of the children as he did when he met you?"

"He didn't even know me, Mom. How could he have loved me? How could he --" Peter's muscles tensed, and Annie gripped his wrist before he could turn away.

"How could he think you were worthy of being loved?" she surmised. "That's easy. He can read your face the same way I can read your voice. He saw how much you needed to love and be loved. And something in your eyes told him you might become our son if we were lucky."

Her breath was taken away by a sudden bear hug. She returned the fierce embrace, one hand gently stroking her son's back.

"I'm the lucky one, Mom." His voice dropped to an agonized whisper. "I don't think I ever told him."

"He knows. Besides, you'll get the chance to tell him." Peter's unresponsiveness was a rebuke, a silence fraught with doubt Paul was still alive. She couldn't allow him to give up on Paul. She couldn't allow anyone to give up on her husband. "Have faith."

"How can you -- Everything points to his being dead, so how can you still have so much hope, Mom?"

"Because faith means believing when common sense tells you not to. Because faith and love are bigger than anything else in the world, and they can work miracles. I think we're due for another one, don't you?"

"Another one? When was the last one?"

Annie smiled. "The day you became our son."

**********

"You don't need to do this, Mom."

Frustration at her son's doggedness swelled within Annie's heart. He'd spent the better part of an hour trying to persuade her not to reveal to his sisters how dire the situation now was. God, who was Peter trying to convince when he argued they should be shielded from the facts? All her children needed to steel themselves for the possibility they'd receive notification of Paul's death. Right now, the reality of his survival or demise wasn't the relevant issue; preparation for whatever was thrown at them was.

"Yes, I do." She held up a hand to forestall another torrent of protest. "I know you want to protect us. But you can't. If Paul's dead and I'm not saying I believe he is well all find that out sooner or later. Your sisters aren't stupid. The longer he's gone, the more they're going to wonder if he really is coming home. They need to know we trust them enough to let them know enough to prepare themselves for whatever the future brings."

"When worrying that Paul's dead is killing us? What good is it going to do?"

"As a big brother and self-appointed protector, I know you don't want to believe this, but Carolyn already suspects. Much as you don't want to admit it, she's an adult now. She knows Paul's absences pose a threat to his life. She deserves to know we'll answer her questions honestly. And Kelly --" Annie spread her hands helplessly. "Kelly's approaching the age where she's beginning to understand a lot more."

"And she needs to be introduced to life's harsh realities?" Peter shot back. His foot beat a staccato rhythm on the floor, and Annie's head pounded in time with the tempo. "I've been there, I was introduced to hell when I was twelve, and it sucks. My childhood ended the day the temple was destroyed. I was robbed of every ounce of security I'd ever felt and I didn't get any of it back until after I was part of this family. Kelly doesn't deserve to go through what I did. OK, maybe we do need to be more open with Carolyn, but can't we just let Kelly be a normal kid as long as she can?"

Her heart ached at the agony present in her son's plea. But she couldn't give in. Yielding wouldn't ease their pain, and it certainly wouldn't bring Paul home alive. "You and I are not equal partners on this score, Peter. This decision has to be mine. And I need to talk with both of them."

"But ..."

She reached out a hand to find his knee and stilled his leg's movement. "Think about it, Peter. What happens if we don't tell Kelly and she answers the phone when a death notification comes?"

**********

The purr of a well-maintained car engine neared the house. Before she heard Peter's footsteps take him to the window to see who was arriving, Annie realized Carolyn's car was coming up the drive. Oh God. Showtime.

She didn't dare voice the thought aloud. Peter wasn't likely to appreciate the flippancy such a comment denoted. And right now she didn't trust her voice to convey the pretense of levity was the only way to avoid dwelling on her own fear for Paul's life long enough to ensure she provided strength and hope for her daughters.

A slight breeze caressed her face; Peter must have let the curtain fall back. Her certainty his watch at the front window had ended was reinforced when he remarked, "Guess we can't put this off any longer."

The next few minutes would likely be the longest of her life. Annie nodded at her son's assessment. "It's time."

"Let me tell them."

"No. It's not your job, it's mine. And Paul wouldn't want you to take on this responsibility."

Peter backed down with more grace than she expected. "All right, I'll go tell them you want to see them."

Almost before his last word died and his journey to the foyer began, the front door hinges creaked as it opened. Kelly's exuberant voice, recounting part of the day's happenings in her class to her sister, wafted into the house. In the fraction of an instant of silence which marked a breath between sentences, Annie heard a half-skitter, half-scratch against the wood floor and knew the howling wind gusts had blown leaves inside after her daughters. The door closed, the click as the lock caught filling her ears with an echo of finality.

Annie's stomach muscles clenched. There was no turning back now, even if she wanted to.

"Mom's in the living room. She wants to talk to both of you."

Three sets of footsteps approached the living room. Kelly's tread was light and even enough for Annie to realize she thought her mother had good news to impart. Nausea rose at the prospect of shattering the blithe trust of her youngest child; she forced it back and willed herself to remain strong. Carolyn's hesitant step warned Annie the young woman knew something was up. Peter's footfalls were heavier than before, the click of his boot heels against the foyer floor as dejected as the way he then trudged across the living room carpet.

"Kelly, come sit next to me." Annie patted the cushion beside her.

Seconds later, the sofa springs protested as Kelly flung herself down. "What's up? Did you find out when Daddy's coming home?"

"Kelly!" Carolyn's outraged hiss fought for supremacy with Peter's chiding tones.

Annie put her arm around Kelly's shoulders and squeezed tightly. "No, sweetie, I'm sorry. I didn't."

"Did you ..." Carolyn's voice quavered as it trailed off.

"We haven't gotten bad news." Annie took a deep breath. "But we're pretty sure this isn't just some sort of minor delay. It may be a long time before we know anything for sure. But we've got to keep praying your father makes it back home soon."

"He's missing, isn't he?"

"Yes."

"Oh God." Carolyn's previously clear voice was muffled; Annie wasn't sure whether she'd buried her face in her hands or in her brother's shirt.

Kelly tugged at her sleeve. "MIA?"

"Where did you come up with that?" Peter blurted out before a stunned Annie could form a coherent sentence.

"It's Veteran's Day tomorrow. They talked about prisoners of war and soldiers missing in action in school. They've done that for a couple of years now. Don't you know anything?"

Annie let her daughter's rude tone pass. "I think what your brother was trying to ask was why you'd wonder that about your father."

Her words guileless, Kelly replied, "Isn't being a soldier the reason Daddy goes away so much?" Apparently taking her mother's silence as agreement, she went on, "And he fights wars and when people disappear during wars they say they're MIA. Right?"

"Unless they're dead."

Annie whipped her head in the direction of Carolyn's voice. "We will not presume your father is dead, do you understand?"

"I didn't mean to say it aloud. I just Mom, I'm scared. You and Peter have been playing this so close to the vest I figured you wanted either to tell us Dad was coming home or break the news to us that he was dead. And Kermit was here so early this morning ..." She gulped. "I've been afraid all day there was some horrible development."

"We're all afraid, Carolyn. And you're right, we did find out something horrible. Not about Paul, but about one of the men who was with him." Annie swallowed, squared her shoulders, and continued, "That man is dead. But no one's found out anything about what happened to your father or any of the rest of his men. So we've got to keep on being strong and believing he'll come back to us soon."

Kelly burrowed her head into her mother's shoulder, sobs wracking her body. Annie held her close with one arm and extended a hand toward Carolyn. Seconds later, she heard the thump as Carolyn's knees struck the floor, then her elder daughter's head rested in her lap. Annie stroked her hair with her free hand, her heart constricting in pain as her finger strayed onto Carolyn's cheek, only to encounter the dampness of teardrops. Her own eyes stung as she fought back tears, and she thanked God her dark glasses would hide any visible sign of her despair from her children.

Strong male arms enveloped the three female Blaisdells. Grateful for her son's solicitous presence, Annie didn't give a second thought to the fact she hadn't heard his approach or felt him join them on the couch. Instead, she rested her head against his arm, wishing fervently she had a third hand to offer her son the same physical comfort she did her daughters. "We'll make it through this. We're going to go on with our lives just like we would if Paul was here. And one day he will be. We just have to keep telling ourselves that."

"Paul wouldn't leave us." Peter's voice held more conviction than it had since they'd first received word Paul was missing. "He's alive. And he's coming home."

**********

Go on with our lives just like we would if Paul was here. Arms covered above the wrist in bread dough, Annie paused and considered her words of more than a week earlier. Prosaic advice, but nowhere near as easy as it sounded.

And yet ... during the time that had elapsed since their family meeting, events had somehow conspired to make them do exactly that. They'd settled into a daily routine little changed from the one they normally followed at this time of year. Little changed, that was, except for Kermit's frequent stops by the house to check on Paul's family and report his investigative efforts had turned up nothing and the gaping hole left in their hearts by Paul's absence.

What frightened Annie most was how normal it all seemed. Normal for Peter, who'd moved out when he entered the police academy, to be living at the house again for more than a holiday or a few random nights. Normal for Paul's place at the breakfast table and dinner table to remain empty. Normal for Annie's only bedtime companion to be Paul's scent, which still clung to their pillowcases and sheets. It was as though they'd established a new and permanent routine in which her husband had no place, as though they'd tacitly acknowledged he was never coming home.

If they'd just been going through the motions, Annie's roiling emotions might have settled onto a more even keel. Instead, the realities of their changed life left her feeling as though someone were twisting a knife in her gut. For Paul's fate was no longer his family's sole focus, as it had been in the first days after he'd gone missing. They'd begun to laugh again, to anticipate again. They'd begun the journey back from bleak survival to an altered, but full life.

Reason told her this adjustment was the healthiest way they could process the cruel hand dealt them by fate. Going on with their lives wouldn't diminish their gratitude if Paul was returned to them, and she knew living their lives with gusto would be the greatest memorial tribute they could pay him if he was dead. Emotion told her this new normalcy they'd achieved was nothing but betrayal of the life they'd shared with Paul.

Thanksgiving up at the cabin, as they'd planned since early October, would prove the acid test of whether reason or emotion won out.

**********

"This is not a democracy." Annie held up a hand to ward off her children's protests before the rumblings began. "I mean it. Don't argue with me."

"But Mom --"

Annie flinched at the grating sound of her younger daughter's whine. "Not on this issue. This family is not a democracy. I'm the mother, you're the children, and what I say goes."

"Mom," Carolyn tried. The tremor in her voice might not have been audible to anyone else, but Annie could hear it as clearly as if it were the swell of a vibrato chord.

"We're going up to the cabin for Thanksgiving. My decision is final." Unable to face the chorus of dissension she knew would ensue, Annie turned and left the room.

Once around the corner, she collapsed against the wall separating the living room from the front hall. Her son's voice carried out into the hall, and Peter's soft words broke her tenuous emotional control. Tears sprang to her eyes as she heard him silence his sisters' objections with "It's what Paul wanted."

**********

Peter's shout preceded the bang of the front door against the foyer wall into the living room. "Mom! Kelly or Carolyn home yet?" He punctuated his question by slamming the door with a force which caused the pictures on the living room wall to rattle.

Annie pressed a button on the remote control to silence the CD she'd been half-listening to and set aside the sweater she was crocheting as a Christmas present for Paul. It had occurred to her a couple of days ago that logic might dictate dropping this project midstream until she knew whether there would be a need to give her husband a present, but the stubborn voice in her heart hadn't let her take the easy course. "No, Carolyn said she was going out with a few friends for an early dinner, remember? And Kelly's cheerleading at a game over in Holtsville. Mrs. Dougherty promised to drive her home after the team goes out for pizza."

"Good." Peter strode into the living room. Annie heard a soft swoosh, then a plop, and bit back a remonstration to hang up his coat instead of tossing it over the furniture. "It's probably better this way." He bent over to kiss her, but remained standing. Leather squeaked, indicating he was rocking back and forth on his boot heels.

Dread coursed through Annie for several long seconds before she regained sufficient control to realize Peter wouldn't be a bundle of nervous energy with an excited voice if he bore bad tidings. "Why?"

"Something happened today." He paused, then admitted, his tone reflective, "Maybe it's nothing, but it might not be. It could mean -- Then again, maybe it doesn't."

"Peter." Annie waited until the single word caused him to halt his ramblings. "Take a deep breath and tell me what you're talking about."

"Mom, Kermit didn't come into work today. Just up and disappeared. All he told Broderick when he called in was he was taking a couple of the personal days he had on the books. When Strenlich found out, he almost hit the roof over his doing it the Monday before Thanksgiving. There's no sign of why he left or where he's gone." He drew in a deep breath, then finished, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"That he's found out something? That he's gone after Paul?"

"Uh-huh."

"God, I hope so. I pray he has." Annie paused for a moment, then told her son, "You thought right. All we've got to tell us what's going on is our instincts. I don't think it's fair to your sisters to tell them until we know something concrete. Not this close to Thanksgiving, anyway."

Peter snorted. "Yeah, like we've got anything to be thankful for this year."

"We have each other. And maybe, just maybe, we'll have a lot more."

**********

"We're almost there," Peter announced. "Just the one stop before we get to the cabin."

Annie heaved a sigh of relief. The drive to the cabin had been a trip from hell, and she couldn't wait till she was free of the confines of the enclosed space. Although the decision to take Paul's car had been a foregone conclusion, her children had balked when it was time to leave, Carolyn going so far as to suggest they take two cars her own and Peter's despite the fact the sedan's trunk was already packed. And that had been only the beginning ...

She counted down the seconds until Peter's words registered and her daughters ceased their bickering. The ensuing silence felt empty; against her will, she'd become accustomed to the siblings' sniping and to their refusal to obey her frequent directions to stop it any longer than it took to complain they didn't want to head to the cabin in the first place.

A sharp right turn taken at an ill-advised rate of speed threw her against the passenger door before she could grab the dashboard to brace herself. So help her God, her son's possession of a driver's license had become more and more a mystery with every moment of this trip.

The front of the car jolted over the bump which delineated the separation between smooth asphalt and rough gravel surfaces. Pebbles pinged against the undercarriage until Peter swung the wheel hard to the left.

This time she was prepared. Annie kept a firm hold on the dashboard until the car shuddered to a stop. Suppressing a wince at the thought of the damage Peter's uncharacteristically rough driving had done to Paul's car, she fumbled to open her seat belt.

The other three doors swung open. Kelly and Carolyn piled out of the back seat, slamming their doors behind them. Peter's door crashed shut with even more force than the other two. Instead of reaching for the handle of the passenger door, Annie remained still and struggled to collect herself before she exploded at one or all of her
children.

By the time Peter came around the car to open her door, she was marginally calmer. His guiding hand at her elbow steadied her as she crossed the uneven gravel to the country store where they laid in supplies each time they came to the cabin.

Moments later, the pristine country air was replaced by a unique blend of comforting aromas as she stepped into the store. Ginger, cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves vied for primacy, suggesting that Mrs. Miller had a batch of gingerbread or molasses cookies baking in the kitchen behind the store. Spiced cider bubbled away on the pot-bellied stove in the center of the room. Once Annie got closer to the stove and inhaled, she could also distinguish the strong, rich smell given off by the Millers' never-empty coffee pot.

The ka-ching of the cash register signaled the imminent departure of an earlier customer. "Got everything right here for you, Mrs. Blaisdell," came a cheery female voice. Fran Miller came out from behind the counter and over to the tight knot the Blaisdell clan had formed in the middle of the room. She exclaimed over Kelly's growth spurt since the summer, how pretty she found Carolyn's new hairstyle, and what a fine, strapping young man Peter was. The girls both thanked her graciously, but Peter shuffled his feet. Annie let his embarrassment pass instead of reminding him of his manners when complimented. This year, the older woman's garrulous nature was already overwhelming.

Mrs. Miller bustled past, a sentence or two about how proud Annie and Paul must be of their children trailing after her, then opened the industrial-sized refrigerator. She grunted with the strain of lifting an item out, but Annie didn't wave Peter over to help her with the turkey. Every year the storekeeper employed an elaborate system of grunts and groans to transport the fresh-killed turkey to the counter, and every year she insisted on spurning any help with the bird. "Lucky for you you were a little later than usual today," she commented as she passed the family again.

"Why is that?" Annie sidestepped Carolyn so she could approach the counter.

With an exclamation of satisfaction, the store owner deposited the turkey in the disposable aluminum baking dish she included with the fowl each year. "Ol' Silas was running behind. Don't know what's with that old coot, but he couldn't get his act together, what with all the summer folk who up and decided to spend Thanksgiving up at the lake this year. Dadburn idiot waited till the very last minute to kill the birds for his special customers." She slapped her hand against the sturdy wooden counter. "And would you believe he brought us the blasted things with feathers still attached?"

"Yuck!" pronounced the voice at Annie's elbow.

"Kelly." Annie's warning tone silenced her youngest child.

Fran Miller leaned across the counter until Annie could feel her breath. Words directed at Kelly, she agreed, "Yuck is right, young lady. I don't need to tell you Ed was fit to be tied. All the deliveries he makes the day before Thanksgiving to those poor widows who can't come down here and drag all the fixins home themselves, and he couldn't leave here until he'd stripped every last one of those turkeys of its feathers, not to mention cleaned them out." Rustling noises accompanied her words as she muttered, "Let me get the rest of your supplies. Anyway, I guess I don't have to tell you about running late this year, now do I?"

"Sorry, Mrs. M," Peter offered. "I couldn't get the entire day off work, just half of it."

Silence reigned just long enough for Mrs. Miller to have taken a glance at the clock. "Well, now, you are later than usual getting up here at that, aren't you? But I was talking about Captain Blaisdell. The day before Thanksgiving's not the time to have to work late, I always say." Almost on the same breath, she added, "And you get cider."

Peter's voice came from somewhere around Annie's knee level. "Got it right here. I'll lift it up on the counter for you." Twin thumps heralded the placement of the gallon jugs alongside the rest of their supplies, and Peter's voice returned to its ordinary location. "These are our cider jugs, right?"

"Oh heavens, yes. Well, let me get the rest of your perishables together and I'll start ringing you up. Wish the Captain a Happy Thanksgiving for me when he gets up here
tonight or whenever he's expected."

"It may not be tonight," Annie managed to force out, "but we all do appreciate your Thanksgiving wishes. You and Ed have a wonderful Thanksgiving, Fran."

The other woman chuckled. "We sure will. It's the time of year you count your blessings."

**********

One hurdle down, one to go, Annie reflected. They'd gotten through the trip up to the cabin, their first few hours there, and the ritual stop by the store, complete with a conversation she could have done without with its well-meaning, though talkative owner. They'd survived all but about the last two hours of Thanksgiving Eve. Now if they could just survive Thanksgiving Day with a little more grace than they had today.

Sighing, she rested her head on the back of the sofa and savored the silence. All three of her children were unnaturally quiet. Kelly was curled up half-asleep at the other end of the sofa, despite her protests she wasn't tired. She hadn't heard Carolyn move from her chair across the room for more than half an hour. And the last sound she'd heard other than the crackle of the flames had been Peter throwing another log on the fire; unless he'd suddenly gained the ability to move as noiselessly as a ghost, he hadn't moved from his position in front of the hearth since
then.

Back in the city, she was hard pressed to claim peace and quiet ever truly existed. Oh, it might for someone who was sighted and hence not as attuned to the background sounds of the environment as she was, but even on the stillest night, Annie could hear the sounds of city life car engines and horns from blocks away, the buzz of street life which might be too low or too distant to reach others' ears, dogs barking. Here, with no close neighbors, quiet wrapped around her like a warm and welcoming cloak. The only disturbances at this time of year, if the night was as clear as tonight, were the occasional rustles of a small woodland animal among the piles of leaves which carpeted the forest floor.

The silence calmed her soul and nearly made it possible to believe all would be well. If they had no other blessings except each other to offer thanks for tomorrow, at least they had this spiritual salve.

Somewhere in the middle distance the rumble of a car engine shattered the silence. Annie tensed, frightened by the implications of an unannounced visitor out here so late on the eve of Thanksgiving. The engine sounded familiar, but was it really? Or had she heard what she wanted to hear?

She didn't have time to consider the question before the sound stopped and she heard car doors closing.

"Don't move." Peter's voice was low and intense. She didn't need sight to know he'd withdrawn his gun from the holster he'd insisted on leaving on. Nor did she need it to understand the stealthy movements even she could barely hear meant he was taking up a position where he'd have the drop on whoever came through the door.

Annie cocked her head toward the door and listened. Metal scraped against metal, indicating Peter had taken the safety off his gun. Two sets of footsteps approached the cabin and climbed the two steps to the porch. Two sets of very familiar footsteps.

She was on her feet and across the room before the footsteps got to the door. Peter's warnings to stay back registered only dimly, and she ignored them.

The cabin door swung open, and Annie flung herself into the arms of the first man through the door, the man with the heavier tread. Peter's disbelieving voice choked out, "Paul?!"

Footsteps crossed toward Peter. Kermit's amused tones chided, "Easy, kid. Watch where you're pointing that thing."

Paul chuckled, and Annie reveled as she felt the rumble of her husband's laughter against her body. The sensation was as heartwarming as the knowledge he was back home with his family and had been as sorely missed as the man. She clung to the arms which embraced her a little tighter as she registered the sounds of her daughters catapulting themselves from their seats and rushing toward the door. In a few seconds, she'd need to give them their time to welcome home their father. But now ...

Now was her time. Annie raised a hand to Paul's face and traced the well-loved features she'd feared she'd never feel again. Paul captured her hand in his own and stroked her cheek with his other hand. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do this again, babe."

"Oh, I think I do, Blaisdell." Annie grinned. "About as long as I've waited to do this." Winding her arm around his neck, she leaned forward and captured his lips in a hungry kiss. The returning pressure was that of a man too long denied, that of a man desperate for his wife's taste and little inclined to relinquish it once he'd found it. Annie obliged him, pouring all she was, all her own love and desire, into their kiss.

Minutes or hours could have passed before she allowed herself to become aware of her children's impatient presence a few feet away. No matter how much time she'd lost track of, it wasn't enough. Nevertheless, she pushed aside her reluctance and slipped out of Paul's arms. "I think a few other people want to welcome you home."

As soon as she stepped aside, she heard them mob their father. Thank God. Thank God Paul was home. "Thank God you found him," she murmured, aware of the masculine presence at her side.

"Told you I would." Kermit's tone was casual, almost flippant, as though what he'd done had amounted to nothing. Yet it had amounted to everything.

"You most certainly did. And I knew if anyone could, it would be you. One question."

"Mission was need to know, remember? You'll have to get the details from Paul."

"The other matter. The one we discussed. Was there --"

"The leak's been plugged."

"Good." She stood and listened to the excited throng across the room until the words dulled to a low roar, then ceased altogether.

Paul crossed the room to her side and drew her into his embrace. "I'm glad you came up here even though I wasn't home."

"Where else would we be?" Annie sighed a sigh of pure contentment. "We never gave up hope. Not even when all looked bleakest. And now we've reaped --"

"A harvest of blessing," Paul concluded.