She picked up the one with the Atlanta postmark, gingerly opening the neatly slit top, and pulled out a letter.

April 10, 1963 My dearest Harry, You are a father. Our child was born this morning at two thirty-eight. The baby weighed 8 pounds and 7 ounces, is as long and skinny as a string bean, and looks just like you.

I have decided it would be best if you didn't know if you had a son or daughter. This way your dreams of your child will end in babyhood and you won't see it grow into a young man or woman in your mind. Still, I hope you will always hold this child in your heart, as I will. This is the hardest decision I've ever had to face, but know it is the right one. Your heart belongs to another, and even though your intentions were good in offering to make an honest woman out of me and be a father to our child, I can not stand in your way of happiness. The bitterness would find its way into our home and destroy whatever love there might be. I would rather see it die now, while in its youth and passion, than see it wither and fade. This way, I can live with my beautiful memories and never have to face the loss. Perhaps I am a coward, or maybe I'm too prideful, but this is the way it has to be.

I have been promised that our baby will go to a loving family, and you shall have your true love. And I, well, I will be content knowing that I loved you once, and those days were the happiest of my life. I will trea-sure them always.

Please do not try to find me or our child. My parents sent me to visit family in Louisiana for two months and then to Europe until after the baby was born. When I return, this will be behind us. You don't even have to acknowl-edge me when we pass on the street. I'll understand. And the new parents and our baby will be getting to know each other. This is a tender process, and I don't think it should be disturbed. I know it goes against your nature to let things take care of themselves, but please respect their privacy.

I wish you nothing but happiness and joy the rest of your days. I love you. Always.

E.

Cassie stared at the letter, her voice dry. Without a word, she handed it to Harriet. When Harriet finished reading, she looked up at her sister, eyes wide.

"Our mother's name was Catherine Anne. If these aren't from her, then . . . ?" Her gaze strayed to the woman in the picture.

Sam spoke, and both women looked startled, as if they'd forgotten he was still there. "What is it?"

Harriet handed the letter back. "Do you think he should see it? He might . . . know something."

Cassie looked at Sam, noticing the way the murky light in the attic made his eyes glow an intense blue. They were warm and filled with compassion, and Cassie knew right away he was one of those rare doctors who had a remarkable bedside manner.

"Will you keep it confidential?"

"Of course." He took the letter from her and read it.

Regardless of the dust and dirt on the attic floor, Cassie collapsed on it, her back against the large trunk. "Well? What do you think?"

He squatted in front of her and handed her the letter. Feeling as if she had invaded somebody's privacy, she tucked the letter and picture back on top of the stack and closed the lid.

Sam grimaced, displaying a deep dimple made for kissing on his left cheek that she'd never noticed before. Quietly, he said, "Well, beyond the obvious implication that you two might have a sibling out there, I think there's a story worthy of a novel behind the words of this one letter."

Clutching the box tightly, Cassie's face hardened. "She wasn't my mother. I don't think I want to know any more of that story."

Sam smoothed his hand over the letter box, brushing Cassie's fingers. "It was before your parents were married, so it would appear your father was faithful to your mother. If anything, I think this letter is a testament to how much he really loved her. This 'E,' whoever she is, knew that what was between your parents was the real thing and bravely stepped out of the picture."

Cassie scowled at him. "My father had a baby with that woman. I can't imagine that she really stepped out of his life forever. I bet the rest of those letters are from her, begging for him to come back."

Harriet touched Cassie's shoulder. "There's only one way to find out." She looked pointedly at the box.

Looking down, Cassie furrowed her eyebrows. "Yeah. I guess I should. Maybe it will hold some clues as to what happened to the baby." She glanced up at her sister. "Unless you'd like to do the honors."

"No. I think you should do it first-and then share them with me. Sort of like how you used to do-always protecting me from something that might hurt."

With a lopsided grin, Cassie struggled to stand, still clutching the worn box. "I knew better than to come up to the attic. I really did. This house-it's like quicksand. The more I struggle to extricate myself, the harder it is to get free."

Sam's voice was even, carefully measured. "Feeling scared, Cassie?"

Cassie glanced at wide blue eyes before brushing by him, headed toward the stairwell. "No. But I am upset. How would you like to find out that your father had a lover before he married your mother?" She shook her head, blowing out a heavy breath. "I wish I'd never come up here."

Sam held her back with his hand. "Maybe this is a chance to get to know your father better. Even now, after he's gone."

She pulled away. "This isn't part of him that I want to know about." Straightening her shoulders, she faced Harriet. "Stay up here as long as you like. I've got some business stuff I need to take care of."

Harriet leaned against a trunk, looking suddenly exhausted. "I'll probably go through a few more boxes before calling it quits. I know how eager you are to get through with this." She waved weakly, and Cassie nodded.

Harriet's face, for a moment, looked so much like that of the young girl she had once been, her eyes a mirror of the gentle soul that lay within. A slice of guilt wormed its way through Cassie's veins, prodding gently at her heart. She loved this house, this attic, and all its memories. So why was she so eager to move on? Was she scared that if she stayed too long she'd forget who she'd become? Who she was?

Tucking the letter box snugly under her arm, she began her descent, her free hand fingering the gold hearts dangling from the frail chain around her neck.

Nine.

"Snake in the grass!"

The children of Walton had congregated on Madison Lane and were now standing in two lines on opposite curbs. The snake was a blindfolded Sarah Frances. She stood in the middle of the street as the children tried to cross the space between the lines without being caught.

The shrill calls of the children in the dusky air slowed Cassie's pace. Running at night was certainly cooler, if not less humid, and at least she didn't have to bump into anybody she knew while sweating like a horse. Or "glowing," as Aunt Lucinda referred to it.

She stopped completely to watch the children, a smile tugging at her mouth. It was so much like the summers of her youth, when all she had to worry about was saving enough of her allowance for the Friday-night movie and running faster than the snake in the middle. Cassie breathed deeply, smelling the freshly cut grass and her own sweat. Things didn't change much in Walton, but somehow, at that moment, it didn't seem like such a bad thing.

Heavy footsteps pounded behind her. She turned to see Sam jogging toward her. He stopped, panting heavily, his hands on his hips.

Her heart seemed to skip a beat, and she turned back to the children. Sarah Frances had taken hold of somebody's pigtail, and the girl was shrieking for her to let go.

"I see you took my advice about running at night. It's a lot better, huh? Not like New York, where you need an armed guard once the sun sets."

Cassie refused to argue with him. She tilted her head into the warm breeze, remembering the same sights and smells that had drifted into her bedroom through the screened window all those years ago. Her breathing slowed, reaching a harmonious rhythm with the cicadas and crickets.

"As your doctor, I don't remember telling you it's all right to run on that ankle so soon. You should give it at least a week."

Reluctantly, she turned her attention toward Sam. "Right. And I'd be as big as a house if I didn't run off some of that food everybody's been shoving at me. The town's conspiring to make me fat, I swear. Either that or they want to send me into cardiac arrest. I've never seen so many fried foods in my life. They seem to know just what to tempt me with." She shifted her feet, watching the children once more. "Besides, the ankle feels fine. Good as new."

Sam watched with her, laughing softly as Joey pinched Sarah Frances on her bottom as he sped by his blindfolded sister. He cleared his throat. "Since you asked, I'll be happy to tell you firsthand that I won today's election. I'm the newest member of the town council."

"Hmm?" Cassie murmured, mesmerized by the padding of bare feet on the asphalt as children scurried back and forth across the lines. Offhandedly, she said, "Oh. Congratulations."

She continued to watch the children, a wistful smile on her face. "Remember playing that when we were younger? I don't think I was ever caught. I must have been too fast for everybody."

Sam looked at her from the corner of his eye. "You think so, huh? I remember that people were afraid to catch you because when they did, you would hit them. Really hard."

Cassie turned to face him. "How would you know? I don't remember you ever being there."

His smile faded slightly. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost a drawl. "Oh, I was there. You were just too busy chasing Joe Warner to notice anybody else."

She glared at him in the fading light. "That's ancient history. Everybody else seems to have forgotten it, so why don't you? You seem to remember an awful lot of bad things about me. I hope your memory is as good with important stuff."

He moved closer to her, and wild thoughts of whether or not she used enough deodorant ran rampant in her head. She tried to turn her attention back to the game, but his nearness unnerved her. Bending over, she began stretching her hamstrings, if only for an excuse to move away. Unfortunately, it only brought his strong calves at eye level, making her hot and flustered all over again. She closed her eyes.

"After casting my vote, I went over to Town Hall to see what kind of public records I could access about your father's child. Mr. Harmon said you'd already been there."

Cassie jerked back up. "Did you really?" Somehow the fact that he cared enough to check on her mystery sibling himself surprised her.

"Yes, I did. Really." He gave her a facetious smirk. "Although I knew before going there that the adoption records would be closed to all but the involved parties. Not that I think your father's name would have been used, anyway."

Laughter spilled from the street as a mother called her children in for supper, the sound safe and comforting to Cassie. She turned her head back to Sam. "You're right-there was nothing there to help me. I think my next step will be to go to the library and check old newspapers for birth records for April of 1963. It's a long shot, but I have no idea where else to go. The letter was postmarked Atlanta, so I'll check the Atlanta papers, too. But I have a feeling that whoever this woman was, her priority was keeping her privacy and the baby's identity a secret."

"That's a good idea. Have you had a chance to look through the rest of the box yet?"

She shook her head, feeling chastised. "No. Not yet. I've been busy. But I'll get to it."

He nodded, watching her closely for a moment. "If you don't find anything between the letters and the library, I'm going to Atlanta at the end of the month for a medical conference. I can check hospital records while I'm there."

Two frown lines formed between Cassie's eyebrows. "Why are you helping me out? What do you want from me?"

Sweat beaded on his forehead and dripped down his face, but he didn't wipe it away. "It's called helping out a friend. Perhaps that's not a familiar term in the big city. And no, I don't expect payment. I enjoy challenges." He sent her a pointed look.

"Good. Because I happen to be engaged." Why did she say that? He had said nothing that might be construed as an interest in a physical relationship, and she had gone and blurted that out. Mercifully, he only raised his eyebrows, giving him that wizened look she had come to admire from afar.

With a final glance at the disbursing children, she started to walk away. "I've got to get back. Harriet wants to talk about plans for a wedding shower. She can't seem to take no for an answer."

Sam began to walk with her. "But you could say thank you. Assuming you remember how."

She halted, putting her hands on her hips. She stopped so suddenly that Sam bumped into her, grabbing her upper arms to stop them both from falling over. He didn't let go.

"Thank you, Sam. For taking the trouble on my account. I do appreciate it." Gently, she pulled away and resumed walking.

Sam fell into step beside her. "It's a great story. I know; that's easy to say because it's not about my parents. But I'd like to find out what happened to 'E' and her child."

Cassie looked down at her feet, concentrating on not stepping on the sidewalk cracks, recalling the little verse she and Harriet would sing as they walked to school: "Step on a crack and break your daddy's back." Purposefully, she stepped on the space between two squares, silencing the singsong voices in her head. "Well, you and Harriet both. She thinks it's this wonderfully romantic story. This horrible thing has happened to this woman, she's losing both the man she loves and the child they created, yet she wishes him joy and happiness for the rest of his life. And then tells him she'll love him always." Her voice caught, and she coughed to hide it. "I wonder . . . I wonder if she ever found somebody else. Had more children."

She stopped in front of the house and looked up at the sky, the same sky from her childhood, with the fading ribbons of pink and red strewn on the horizon and framed by the graceful limbs of the oak trees. It was as comforting to her as a mother's kiss. "Even the cynic in me wants to believe that she did."

Sam stood close, and she could feel the heat from his body. When he spoke, his breath brushed her hair. "Maybe there's only one love for everyone out there. And if you miss it, that's it. You don't get another chance. You can hang around waiting for them to be free and then hope they'll love you back, but it's all pretty much chance."

Cassie tilted her head to look him in the face. "You don't really believe that, do you? That out of the millions and millions of people out there, there's only one for each of us?"

An air conditioner whirred to life from the bedroom window above them. Sam's face stilled in the near darkness as he spoke. "Angelfish mate for life. When one of them dies, the other one simply floats to the bottom of the ocean and dies, too."

Cassie tried to add levity to her voice but only half-succeeded. "And black widows eat their mates." She tried to laugh but couldn't. "I'm glad I'm not an angelfish, then, or maybe I would have crawled up into a ball and died after Joe." She regretted saying that, but Sam seemed to bring out the confessor in her.

Sam sat on the bottom step, crossing his long legs at the ankles, and Cassie joined him as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "Maybe you did. There's lots of ways to die that don't involve physical death."

She stretched out her legs, leaning over her toes to stretch the hamstrings. "Stick to doctoring, Sam. You're no philosopher. I'm very much alive and kicking."

Sam remained silent, watching her.

She waved her hands in front of his face. "See? I'm here. And I'm just fine."

Finally, he spoke. "I see." His tone was unconvincing. "Maybe Joe wasn't your one and only."

Leaning back, Cassie rested her elbows on the next step. Serious now, she angled her head back and watched the evening stars poke holes in the growing darkness. "I know that now. All anyone has to do is watch Harriet and Joe together to know that there could never be anybody else for either one of them. At least not on that level. But try telling that to a twenty-year-old." A fine sigh escaped her, the sadness of it surprising even Cassie. "Oh, to have the wisdom of thirty-five at the age of twenty."

Sam leaned back, too. "But why all this time? Why did it take you so long to forgive and forget?"

Cassie straightened, facing him. "It's none of your business, Sam. You have a nasty habit of sticking your nose into things that have nothing to do with you."

Sam remained where he was, casually studying her. "It wasn't so much Joe, was it? It was more your loss of pride. And you Madisons have enough pride to fertilize a field."

She leaped off the step and stood in front of Sam, her hands on her hips. "You have a lot of nerve. You don't know anything about me- anything about the kind of life I live now. I'm very happy with the way things have worked out, and it's never even occurred to me to return here."

She began marching up the stairs, but he blocked her way with an arm stretched out to the opposite railing. "The truth hurts, doesn't it? And I know a lot more about you than you think."

"Excuse me, please." Her voice thickened with sarcasm.

He stood slowly but without moving out of her way. Their faces were only inches apart. "One more question-and this is one I asked your father but never got an answer. Why did he never visit you in New York for all those years?"

Surprised by the question, Cassie took a step back. "It's not because I never asked him to, because I did in every letter and every phone call. But he wanted me to come home and visit, and I wouldn't. So we just talked on the phone and met once a year in Atlanta. It was a neutral-enough place for both of us, I guess."

"I guess that means you come by your stubborn streak honestly."

She ignored his jibe. "Can I get by now, please?"

As he stepped out of the way, he said, "Oh, just one thing before I leave that I thought you should know. One of my first acts as town councilmember will be to find support for an ordinance to protect over twenty historical buildings in this town. I'm also preparing the groundwork to have large chunks of the town, including your house, placed on the National Registry. It shouldn't affect you at all-unless you decide to do something with this house besides sell it to a nice, well-deserving family."

She stared at him in disbelief. "You've got to be kidding. This is my house, and it's nobody else's business what I decide to do with it. Now, please get off my property. Nobody"-she wagged her finger at him-"not you or any of your small-town, small-minded people are going to tell me what I can or cannot do with my own house."

He paused for a minute, chewing on the corner of his mouth. Slowly, he turned around, speaking in a drawl as he walked away. "Good night, Cassie. Was a pleasure as always."

Her only answer was the slamming of the front door.

Cassie sat under the large circular window of the library, trying to shade the screen of the ancient microfiche machine from the full sun streaming in. Her back ached, and the beginnings of a headache began to throb in her temples from squinting her eyes at the blurry words on the screen. Computers at the Walton Public Library were still a thing of the future, and Cassie cursed under her breath again at the ignominy of having to use something as archaic as microfiche. The damned thing belonged in a museum.

She had checked every birth and adoption announcement for the month of April 1963 in not only the Walton Sentinel, but also the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. She had jotted down all the pertinent information for mothers whose first names started with the letter "E" but realized she'd need help to follow up on all of them. Not that she expected anything to turn up from these voluntary announcements. Sighing, she slid out the tray holding the film and began winding it back into the cartridge. What a waste of time. She should have just hired a private investigator to begin with. Andrew and her life were waiting in New York. She had no business allowing her feet to get mired in the thick Georgia clay.

Clutching her notebook, Cassie jogged down the library steps and toward the curb where the Mercedes was parked. That was one thing good about this town: One never had to hunt for a parking space. Or pay for it, either.