At some point in the late afternoon, Catherine pulled her chair close to the bed and laid her head down. Gently she rested one hand on her grandmother's so that they were touching, skin to skin. Then she fell asleep. When she awoke, it was almost eleven o'clock at night, and her grandmother's hand was cold.

Kathryn Patterson Paxton Eliot was dead.

Catherine had been expecting this moment for so long that she went through the necessary motions almost as if she'd done them before many times.

She called Dr. Holdgarten first, and when he said he was on his way, she called her father.

"Dad. I'm sorry if I woke you. But I'm out at Everly, and ... Grandmother just died."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Dad. I'm with her now. I've been with her all day. She called me very early this morning and asked me to come out."

"But why did she ask you to come be with her?" Drew asked. "Why didn't she call me? I'm her son!"

"Probably because Kathryn knew if you came out, I'd come out, too," Marjorie said from the extension in their bedroom. "She never did like me."

"Would you like me to take care of the funeral arrangements?" Catherine asked. "Or would you rather do it?"

Drew sighed deeply. "I'll do it."

"Would you also tell Sh.e.l.ly? I don't know when I'll be seeing him again. I don't know if he told you, but-"

"He did," Marjorie broke in. "We're all very disappointed with your att.i.tude."

"I'll call Ann if you'd like, Father," Catherine said, pointedly ignoring her mother's remark.

"I'd appreciate that," Drew said. He sighed again. "We'll get dressed and be out there as soon as we can."

When Catherine hung up, Kit crossed the room and came to rub Catherine's shoulders.

"That sounded relatively painless," he said.

"I didn't mention the will," Catherine replied.

"All flesh is gra.s.s, and all the goodliness thereof is as the flower of the field."

Catherine sat in the front of the church with Kit and Andrew and Lily, whom they'd brought home from school for the funeral. She was aware of the minister's words and of the occasional sob or sniffle from Ann or Clara.

"The gra.s.s withereth, the flower fadeth: because the spirit of the Lord bloweth upon it; surely the people is gra.s.s."

Drew and Marjorie sat in the first row, with Sh.e.l.ly between them. The past few days had exhausted them all. When Catherine told them about the will, they'd been enraged, then changed tactics and tried with great sweetness to get Catherine to give Everly up, then raged again when she said she wouldn't. Earlier today as they had gathered at Everly in their black garments, preparing for the funeral, they had been civil to Catherine and Kit, but cold. Sh.e.l.ly looked tired and preoccupied.

Ned had flown over from England with Ann, and so had Madeline, but they hadn't taken their two children out of school; after all, they had never known Kathryn. Over the past few years Ann and Catherine had forgotten their enmity in the name of family; once again, they'd taken to sending Christmas and birthday presents, exchanging letters, sharing their lives long-distance. Ann, Ned, and Madeline were staying in the city with Drew and Marjorie, so Catherine a.s.sumed Ann had received their version of Sh.e.l.ly and Catherine's quarrel. But the Boxworthys had arrived only the night before, and Catherine had had only a brief moment alone with Ann this morning as they were waiting for the limousines.

"I'd like to talk to you privately sometime before you go back," Catherine had said quietly.

"I'd like that, too," Ann said, and then someone else had entered the room.

Now the Boxworthys sat on their own pew across from the Eliots.

Clara had chosen to sit with Catherine, Kit, and their children.

"The gra.s.s withereth, the flower fadeth; but the word of our G.o.d shall stand for ever."

Catherine didn't think for a minute her grandmother believed what the minister was saying. If Kathryn thought anything lasted forever, it was not words, but plants, flowers, trees, shrubs. But since Kathryn never went to church, Catherine thought it was thoughtful of the minister to remember Kathryn's particular love. She thanked him afterward, at the quiet reception at Everly.

The burial service had been brief, because it was pouring rain and the wind was blowing off the Sound, driving the rain sideways like needles. A large tent had been erected over the gravesite; nevertheless, those gathered around the casket were quickly soaked. The minister's robes flapped like wet sheets in the wind, and his voice was drowned out by the weather's roar. Yet it was a satisfying ceremony, Catherine thought, dramatic in its own way, as if the elements themselves were mourning, wind and rain, salt and sky, reminding the mortals gathered there that Kathryn had preferred the natural world in all its guises to the human one.

Back at Everly, the local women Drew had hired set out a cold buffet in the dining room. Kathryn had kept to herself so much of recent years, and so many of her oldest friends had already died, that there were few guests other than the immediate family, and they quickly took their leave. Catherine spoke to Dr. Holdgarten, to the minister, and to Clara's grandchildren, who had come to collect her and her things after the funeral. Kathryn had left her friend and servant a generous bequest that would take care of Clara for the rest of her life, whether she spent it on cruise ships or in a first-cla.s.s rest home, and her grandchildren were grateful. Clara was grateful, too, but in a state of shock: Catherine recognized the look, the wide blank eyes, the bland expression, the slow movements. It was a state much like Catherine's own, her emotions frozen beneath a mask that was vague, polite.

By four o'clock it was dark. The November sky was so black that even the fleet of clouds that rushed across it were hidden. Catherine settled Andrew and Lily in the den with trays of sandwiches, sodas, and cookies and turned them loose with the VCR. They were watching something exceptionally stupid, she realized, taking advantage of the fact that today of all days she wouldn't monitor their choice. For a long moment she stood in the doorway of the den, watching them, listening to them joke and laugh. Her children. They were so healthy, so happy, so relaxed with her. They argued with her, Lily especially, and Catherine always marveled at this. They didn't have a clue how lucky they were, her children, how secure they felt in her love and in Kit's. If she had accomplished one good thing in her life, it was raising these children, who loved themselves and knew they deserved love.

"Catherine, we're leaving now."

Ann appeared at her side. It was stranger for Catherine to recognize Ann in her thirties than it was to see her own face in the mirror. In her mind Ann was forever young, and lovely in her youth. In reality, Ann's golden light had dimmed. Her hair already had strands of gray in it, not shining white, but dull gray, and her face was much more lined than Catherine's-the result, no doubt, of working outside all the time. But then Ann had taken on the Boxworthy women's disdain of cosmetics. And instead of a fashionable cut, Ann simply pulled her hair straight back into an untidy bun. Catherine wondered if Ann ever used face cream at night. Should she suggest it to her? No-Marjorie would do that.

But Ann's blue eyes were bright, and her movements were graceful, the movements of a woman who walked through life being loved and useful. For the few brief seconds that Catherine had been able to see Ned face-to-face, she had noticed that at forty-five he looked as marvelous as ever. His dark hair was streaked with a silver so bright, it made his entire face seem radiant. And when he and Ann looked at each other, it was abundantly clear they were happy in their marriage.

"Ann, do you think you could come out tomorrow? We could go through the house and see if there are any pieces of furniture or china, whatever, that you'd like to have at your Everly."

"G.o.d, Catherine." Ann grinned. "If I have one more precious heirloom to watch over, I think I'll lose my mind. Do you know what I dream of? An A-frame in Colorado, everything white, walls of windows, and a futon on the floor."

Catherine laughed. "I used to have dreams like that, too, especially when the children were little. Well, you can always come back and have your pick here, you know."

"I'll come out anyway tomorrow. Right after lunch. I'd like to talk to you. Without Mother and Dad around. They can show Ned the city. Will you have time for a nice long talk?"

"I'll make time. It's just what I want, Ann."

Her family, coolly civil, left to drive back into the city. Kit made a fire in the library while Catherine brought in sandwiches and coffee. Kit ate, but Catherine was too tired and overwrought to be hungry; she kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the sofa. For a while they simply sat in companionable silence, watching the flames.

"I'm exhausted, Kit," Catherine said finally. "I'm so sad that Kathryn's dead, yet so happy that she left Everly to me-I can't think straight."

Kit moved over from his chair to sit on the sofa. He wrapped his arms around Catherine and held her against him. "You need a good night's sleep."

"I haven't even cried for Grandmother yet-"

"You will, honey." He stroked her hair.

"I have to hire someone to replace Carla and Sh.e.l.ly."

"That can wait."

"And I've been thinking-what would you do if I said I wanted to sell Blooms and the White River house and spend all my time restoring Everly?"

"You can't turn that mind of yours off, can you? That's a radical proposition. If it's what you want, of course we could work it out. I certainly wouldn't mind selling White River now that the children are older. I'd be less inclined to sell Blooms; you'd better give some serious thought to that."

"Oh, I know you're right. I can't imagine life without Blooms. But I'd love to have a long stretch of time to devote to this house and the gardens."

"Then that's what you should do. But you know eventually you'd get bored out here away from the city."

Catherine twisted on the sofa into a tighter embrace around Kit. "Thank G.o.d you're here. I couldn't live without you, Kit."

"You won't have to."

"Oh, gross, they're kissing!" Andrew said to Lily as they stood watching from the library door.

"The video's over," Lily said.

"Come sit by the fire," Catherine told them.

It was late. Andrew and Lily talked about the latest school news and what they hoped to do at Christmas vacation, then Catherine and Kit marshaled everyone off to bed. Catherine had had the local help air out and dust the rooms and put on clean sheets. But as she curled next to Kit in an old lumpy double bed that seemed claustrophobically narrow compared with their king-size mattress, she saw cobwebs in the high corners of the room, draped from the elaborate molding. In another corner the wallpaper was rust-stained and peeling from an old water leak. This house needed so much work, and on that thought she fell asleep.

The next day Catherine cooked everyone blueberry pancakes and bacon before Kit drove the children back to their boarding schools.

"The blueberries are from these gardens," she told her children. "We picked them just a few months ago, and froze them, remember? I was just thinking-that entire area has been overgrown with honeysuckle and weeds. If we cleaned it out, we could plant more berries and some fruit trees."

She didn't miss the look of affectionate amus.e.m.e.nt her children exchanged.

"Don't lose your mind out here all alone, Mom," Andrew said, hugging Catherine good-bye.

"Yeah, keep cool," Lily said.

"I'll call you tonight from White River," Kit said, kissing Catherine good-bye. "Now you'll have a good long stretch of peace and quiet."

"Yes, after Ann comes out. Have a safe trip."

It was delicious being in the large house alone that stormy autumn day. Catherine showered and dressed, washed up the breakfast dishes, and made a fire in the library. She made a proper tea for Ann and kept it warming in a pot under a cozy and put biscuits and cookies from the funeral reception on Kathryn's old floral china. It was a difficult house for one family, Catherine realized as she worked, bringing cups, plates, and tea things in from the kitchen. It was too big. She felt as if she needed roller skates. If a door were put in at the other end of the library, it would be much easier to move from library to kitchen without walking down the long hall.

The library had been dusted, the rugs and carpets vacuumed, some of the bra.s.s and silver polished. But the corners of the room were high, dark, and dusty. Paint, soap, new drapes, new everything, Catherine was thinking, and then Ann arrived.

Ann sat by the fire in a pretty pale blue wool dress and her good sensible shoes. Catherine sat across from her in her jeans and white shirt and black cardigan and poured tea.

"Now," she said when they'd settled in, "what first? I'll have the Audubons packed and shipped to you soon."

"There's no hurry!" Ann said. "Honestly, Catherine. I'd just as soon sell them, but we don't need the money. I know I should care about handing on to our children something from my side of the family-and I do care. I just feel so overwhelmed by things. But I don't want to talk about that. I want to talk about what a brat I was before I married Ned. I know I owe you an apology. I was a selfish little pig, you were right. I was just so desperate to marry him, then, and you seemed so rich. But my actions were inexcusable."

Catherine smiled. "Settle back, Annie, and let me tell you a story...."

Ann tucked her feet under her, curled up on the sofa, and listened with increasing amazement as Catherine told her about the time, years ago, when she had blackmailed P. J. Willington. Because of the cold wind howling outside, shaking the windows, clattering the tree limbs, and the great hearty fire inside, she took her time. She described it in detail, leaving nothing out-Helen Norton, the bruises, the flowers, the photographs, the phone calls, Macy's, the money in a paper bag.

"One thing I did with the money was to buy Blooms," Catherine said. "But I also paid your tuition at Miss Brill's. And Sh.e.l.ly's college tuition, while he was there. And your college tuition. I never told you because ... well, I thought it would hurt Dad's feelings if you knew he didn't pay your tuition. Ann, the only people I've ever told about this are Kit and Leslie. I never want my children to know."

Ann looked stunned. "That's so awful, Catherine, so awful. I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. I can't believe you risked so much for me." She sat in silence for a while, staring at the fire. Then she asked, "Why are you telling me now?"

"I don't really know," Catherine said. "I guess because of Sh.e.l.ly, because of what you must have heard from Sh.e.l.ly. I mean, he was stealing money from Blooms in a scheme with one of my employees, and he was using GardenAir to ship over his own supply of cocaine. Yet he and Mother and Dad are angry with me for firing him. In their eyes I'll always be the guilty one. I had thought, for a long while, that I'd-oh, I don't know. Rescue Sh.e.l.ly. Change Sh.e.l.ly. I even thought I had, for a while. But I was wrong." Catherine began to cry. "I have always, always, wanted to help you and Sh.e.l.ly. I have never wanted to hurt you. I did what I could. But now it seems it was never enough."

Ann moved across to sit next to her sister. She put her arm around Catherine's shoulders. "I'm so sorry. It makes me feel even worse about how ungrateful I was-and I'm grateful for what you did."

"Thanks." Catherine sniffed. "I'm glad you said that, but I didn't tell you to make you feel worse. I just needed you to know."

"Here," Ann said, drawing an invisible pie in the air and cutting herself a large piece. "I'm taking this much of the guilt onto myself. Okay?"

Catherine laughed. "Okay. Thanks. I feel better!"

"Oh, I've got my own guilt collection," Ann said. "Nothing as remarkable as yours, but-" And she told Catherine about the times she'd lost her temper with her children or secretly wanted to spit at Elizabeth, about the times she had wickedly manipulated Ned into doing something she wanted but his mother opposed.

"I never imagined your life could be so complicated!" Catherine said. "But of course it would be unrealistic, I suppose, to expect you would all live in Everly in perfect peace."

"Perfect peace!" Ann laughed. "Some months I think we're a family right out of Agatha Christie! Madeline's getting imperious and dotty in her old age and gets upset if any of the routines of the household are changed, no matter how c.u.mbersome they are or how helpful a change would be. G.o.d help us if we move a vase one inch on a table! And Hortense and Elizabeth are always squabbling; they can't agree on anything."

"Really! I'm so glad to hear that! It's nice to know other families have their problems living together. Tell me more!" Catherine said greedily.

Ann grinned. "Let's see ... Ned's doing so well with the mysteries that we don't need to run it as a bed-and-breakfast anymore, but Hortense and Elizabeth and their husbands have devoted their lives to it, so we can hardly kick them out. Madeline's made it clear that when she dies it will pa.s.s completely to Ned and to me, but we have a responsibility to the others. There are lots of changes I'd like to make in the gardens, but you know they've always been Hortense's territory, and she gets wild if I suggest a change."

Ann talked about her in-laws, and Catherine responded with anecdotes about hers, and as the sisters sat by the fire in the dark room on that cold day, comparing the complications of family life, they had never been closer, or so happy together, in their lives.

Finally Ann said she had to get back to the city. She helped Catherine carry the tea things down the long hallway, then they went together to the front door.

"One more question," Catherine said as Ann pulled on her coat. "Are you upset that you didn't inherit this Everly, or part of it?"

"G.o.d, no! Believe me, one Everly is more than enough for me. Besides, I truly feel at home there. And I know you've always loved this place. What are your plans for it?"

"I'm going to restore it. I promised Grandmother I would. I want to do it right. It will take buckets of time and money, though. How I'm going to juggle Blooms and Everly, I don't know. I've got some serious thinking to do."

"Whatever you do, it'll be right," Ann said. "I've always admired you, you know. The way you just plunge in and make things work. It's helped me have the courage to live my life."

"Oh, Ann, what a wonderful thing for you to say. Thank you." Catherine pulled her sister to her. Then Ann turned her coat collar up against the wind and ran out to her car. A moment later she was gone, and Catherine was alone in the vast rambling house-in her house.

She wandered up to the third floor, pausing in each bedroom, looking out the windows at the darkening November sky. It was a source of deep pleasure for her that Andrew and Lily were carelessly, comfortably secure in their family, always inviting friends home from boarding school for long weekends and holidays. If they made a few of the small bedrooms into one large game room, they could put in a Ping-Pong and pool table and one of those computers Andrew and his friends loved so much. For that matter they could have a tennis court built over where the ground was flat and shady; both children would love that. She'd talk to Kit about it; she'd hire a decorator to overlook the renovations and the refurbishing of the old rooms.

For what she really cared about was not the interior of Everly, but the untamed land spreading out from the formal gardens she knew and loved. Almost five acres of luxuriant land, overgrown with weeds, brambles, saplings, woods. Every day she heard about floriculturists coming up with new breeds and strains of bulbs and seeds and flowers; it would be fun to cultivate the land and use it for experimental planting. She wanted a large plot of herbs right away; some of her clients were already getting interested in what could be recycled, and only two weeks ago she'd used potted herbs as table decorations at a luncheon party. That had been wildly successful. And there was Jean-Paul Michette, the chef who had come to her for edible flowers with which he could embellish his newest dishes; so far she had supplied him only with what she knew was safe-violets, pansies, and nasturtiums from Kathryn's gardens, where no chemical pesticides had been used. It would be interesting to see what other clever, delicious delicacies she could discover.

She could use a specialist. Well, Everly was certainly large enough to house a resident floriculturalist or two and a decent working lab. At last she could have her greenhouse. For years she'd been toying with the idea of creating her own potpourri to sell under the Blooms label, something completely original, tangy, and distinctive; out here she could find the room to dry flowers, herbs, and fruits and experiment until she found the perfect fragrance. Last month the owner of an upscale health food store had asked her for something unique and enduring to decorate his walls: she had glazed loaves of breads that were twisted or knotted in appealing ways, entwined them with sprays of wheat and gra.s.ses, and sprayed the arrangements with a protective glaze of glossy acrylic. The result had been surprisingly attractive; what other objects could she use as dried-art arrangements for her clients? There wasn't room enough to experiment at Blooms, but there was room here.

Catherine made a pot of coffee, stoked up the fire in the library, and sat for a long time with pen and paper, making lists until the telephone broke into her thoughts. It was Kit, safely back at White River after delivering the children to school.

"How are you?" he asked.

"Actually, I'm disgustingly happy," Catherine said. "I suppose I should be ashamed of myself." She told him about her plans and listened carefully to his response and suggestions. They talked for a long time. Not until he relayed the various phone messages on the answering machine did she feel the weight of the day fall upon her, but when he mentioned the people who had called to extend sympathy about Kathryn's death and the business briefs from Sandra or Jason, exhaustion finally hit.

After they said good night, she rose to pile a triangle of great fat logs on the andirons; that should burn for hours. She had no desire to sleep alone in any of the dusty bedrooms tonight, and the library was warm and fragrant from the maple and applewood that had been burning all day. Its scent was companionable, soothing. The sofa was just as comfortable as the old beds. From the back of the sofa she took a Hudson Bay wool blanket Kathryn had often used as a lap rug, tucked it around her feet, and curled up on the sofa, her head on a needlepointed pillow. Reaching up, she switched off the bra.s.s lamp on the end table.