Sliding into the driver's seat, she stuck the key into the ignition and turned. Instead of the soft hum of the engine, it choked, then did a fine impression of a dry heave. Successive tries yielded the same result, the only addition being Cassie's cussing, which grew exponentially worse with each key turn.

A familiar truck pulled alongside her car. With a wave and a honk, Sam guided his vehicle into the parking space in front of hers. Cassie ignored him, turning the key once more. Grind, cough, splutter, splutter.

Sam came to stand next to the passenger side of her car, speculatively eyeing the thick cloud of smoke billowing out of her exhaust. With a barely concealed grin, he drawled, "Cassie, I'm afraid that dog won't hunt."

Ignoring him, she tried the ignition one more time. A hideous clunk banged under the hood, followed by a thick cloud of smoke from the exhaust pipe.

"I'll call my father to have him tow it into the station and have a look at it." Before she could protest, he had flipped open his cell phone and was speaking to his father's service station. Sam wore an Atlanta Braves baseball hat, the front brim casting his face in shadow as he talked. She had always hated baseball hats on men, wondering what the appeal was. Until now. There was something irresistible about the way Sam Parker looked in a stupid baseball hat.

Cassie swung herself out from the car and slammed the door. "What's wrong with it?" Her voice sounded high and panicked. She had to remember to lower it when she told Andrew about his ailing baby.

Sam closed his phone, then tipped up the brim of his hat. "Dunno. These foreign cars can be mighty temperamental and will throw fits to show you who's boss. Don't know why people buy them." A lopsided grin lit his face. "Hey, I thought you weren't talking to me."

"I'm not. I'll stay here and wait for the tow truck. You may leave."

He looked at her as if he found something vastly amusing. His smile faded as he spotted Ed Farrell approaching them on the sidewalk.

Ed's drawl almost hid the animosity in his voice. "So, it's Walton's own king of antiprogress. Forgive me if I don't congratulate you, Sam. But I can only see your winning as the beginning of Walton's untime-ly death. Tell me when the funeral is and I'll be sure to come."

Sam's face closed, all signs of humor quickly erased. "I'll do that." Without another word, he turned his back on Ed to face Cassie. "I guess you'll be needing a ride. Where can I take you?"

Ed stepped around the car to stand beside Cassie. "Car trouble, sugar? I've got my nice air-conditioned Cadillac parked right on the corner if you need a ride. It's the least I could do for a client." His smile broadened. "And a beautiful one at that."

She was too old and wise to fall for that kind of flattery, but it couldn't be helped. She smiled up at him. "Thank you, Ed. I'm on the way home if you wouldn't mind." Turning to catch Sam's expression, her satisfied smile faded. He wasn't even watching her. Instead, his attention was focused on Mary Jane Harden walking down the sidewalk, her hands clutching bags from Walton's Drug Emporium.

"Hey, y'all." She beamed at everyone, but her warmest smile was for Sam.

Sam took her packages and stored them in the back of his truck. "I'll give you a lift back to the clinic."

"Thanks, Sam." She faced Cassie. "Do y'all have your tickets yet for the Kudzu Festival? We're selling them quickly, so you'd better hurry. Don't forget-this year we're having a prize for the cutest couple." She indicated Ed and Cassie with her index finger. "Are y'all going together?"

Ed put an arm on Cassie's elbow. "Well, I hadn't quite gotten around to asking, but now's as good as time as any. Would you do me the honor, sugar?"

Flustered, all she could do was stammer, "Um, well, uh, I probably won't be here. When is it again?"

Mary Jane stepped closer. "It's this weekend. Surely you won't be leaving before then?"

"Uh, no-unless Ed sells my house for me by then."

"Now, sugar, you know nothing would make me happier, but it's probably not likely. I'd love for you to do me the honor of being my date."

Cornered, there was nothing she could do but agree. She watched as Mary Jane completed her web.

"Sam, you don't have a date yet, do you? Seeing as how we both have to leave right from work, why don't we just go together?" She reached her hands around Sam's forearm and squeezed.

Sam's face was closed, his thoughts unreadable. He smiled gently. "Sure. That's a great idea."

Cassie reached for Ed's elbow. "Come on, Ed. Let's go. I'll call you, Mary Jane, and we'll do lunch." As an afterthought, she called over her shoulder, "Sam, tell your dad I'll call him about the car."

They walked to the corner where a large white Fleetwood monopolized the space like a hulking polar bear. Ed opened the door for her, and she slid onto dark red leather upholstery. All it needed was a crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling to complete the look of a bordello.

Ed crawled in behind the steering wheel and pulled out onto the street. "Like it, huh?"

Cassie was busy staring at the large gold pinkie ring on his finger. "Uh, the ring? Yeah. Sure. It's very nice."

He lifted a hairy finger, the gold catching the light. "It sure is nice, but I was talking about the car. Never thought Ed Farrell would be driving one of these, did you?"

His grin was wide enough for Cassie to see the gold fillings on his back teeth. "You've certainly come far, Ed. You're a real tribute to this town." Her sentiments were genuine. He had come far from the dirt farm where he'd grown up. She looked down at her hands in her lap, remembering the boy with soiled clothes and how she and her friends had teased him. Reaching over, she patted him on his arm. "I'm real proud of you."

Under his dark skin, she could have sworn she saw him flush. She assumed it was from pleasure but couldn't tell because he turned his face toward the side window.

After a few moments of silence, he said, "Just ran into Lou-Lou walking past the library. Said you were doing some research."

Cassie sat back against the cushy seat. "Now, that was something I never expected to see: Lou-Lou Whittaker in a library. She told me she was there to check out books for you on American antiques." She stopped before adding what an additional surprise that had been.

Ed shrugged, turning left on Oak Street. "Yeah, well, I'm trying to educate myself on things they don't teach you in community college. I want to be able to furnish my house the way rich folks do, and I have a feeling going to the furniture section at Sears isn't going to cut it."

Cassie smiled to herself, wondering yet again where he'd gathered his get-up-and-go.

He turned onto Madison Lane. "So, what were you researching?"

Her fingers found their way to the necklace around her neck. If her sibling's mother still lived in Walton, she needed to be very careful about protecting her identity. At least for now. "I'm doing some genealogy research on my family. It's all the rage now, and I thought that while I had time to kill, waiting to unload the house, that I might try to be useful."

Ed nodded as he pulled the car into the circular driveway in front of her house. Harriet's minivan was parked farther down the drive. He got out of the car and walked around to let her out. "Just give me a call if you need a lift anywhere. I'd be happy to do it for my prettiest client."

Obviously, the waves of political correctness had bypassed this neck of the woods. "Thanks, Ed. Oh, and by the way, just to let you know. You've probably already heard, but Sam told me that he's peti-tioning the town council for a moratorium on any further develop-ment. Not that I think it will affect the sale of my house; it might in the long run if we decide to exercise another option for the property besides keeping it residential. Is there anything we can do now to keep our options open?"

Ed's face turned an unhealthy shade of red. "That son of a . . . damn! No, I didn't know." He reached for the cell phone clipped to his belt. "I've gotta make some phone calls. I'll get back to you."

Without a good-bye, he flung open his car door and left in a hasty gust of red dust.

Cassie turned and mounted the porch steps, an odd feeling of sanctuary possessing her as she approached the front door. It had been a long time since she'd felt that old feeling. The familiar pace of work had been a fine substitute. She stepped onto the top step, then stopped. The squeak of the floorboard, or maybe the scent of the box-woods, brought the memory flash so clear-cut, it made her skin tight-en. She could almost hear the snatches of old conversations coming through the screened windows, reminding her of the many nights she had lain in bed listening to the comforting voices of her parents downstairs, and then, later, of her father and Aunt Lucinda. The memory was like food to her soul, and she held her breath, unwill-ing to let go of it.

The front door opened, and Harriet stood on the threshold, holding a cordless phone. Placing her hand over the receiver, she said, "It's a guy from Preservation magazine. He's doing an article on endangered historical structures and wants to know when it would be a good time to come out and take pictures of the house. Says Sam Parker gave him your name and number."

Cassie's eyes widened, all peaceful thoughts deserting her completely. "He what?" She took the phone from her sister, pushing the off button without speaking to the person on the other end. Harriet watched as Cassie marched up the stairs. She could almost feel the accusing stares of her ancestors from the portraits on the wall. Her M.B.A. training and years of working in New York had taught her to ignore that twinge of conscience. "That no-good damned redneck sonuvabitch. He's going to regret messing with me." She stomped into her room and began rummaging in her garbage can for the business card he had given her. It was time to show Dr. Parker that she could play dirty, too. She punched the numbers on the phone with a shaking finger, trying to erase the image of Great-great-great-grandfather Madison's accusing glare.

Ten.

The older woman's voice on the other end of the phone surprised Cassie. She sat down on the small bench in front of her dressing table.

"Hello? I'm trying to reach Sam . . . uh, Dr. Parker. I might have reached the wrong number."

"Oh, no. This is his mother. He forwards his calls here when he comes to visit, and I'm expecting him soon. Who's calling?"

Cassie caught sight of her reflection in the mirror. Her geometric bob was in dire need of a trim, and her roots were no longer exactly matching the chestnut brown of the rest of her hair. "This is Cassandra Madison. Perhaps I should try at the clinic. . . ."

"Cassie Madison! Why, this is a pleasure. So sorry to hear about your daddy. What a fine man. This town will certainly miss him."

"Thank you, Mrs. Parker." She vaguely remembered Sam's mother. Mrs. Parker had worked in the lunchroom at the high school. She was round with gray hair, even then, fixed tightly in a bun on top of her head, with lines crisscrossing her cheeks from being in the sun too much. But her smile brightened her plain face and warmed the room around her. What Cassie remembered most was the way Mrs. Parker would give her second helpings of dessert without an admonishing stare or a pointed glance at her thighs. She pictured her now wearing a sleeveless apron with lace frills on the edge.

Cassie sat up straighter, pulling her shoulders back. "Thank you so much for the sweet-potato pie. That was so kind of you. I've put it in the freezer for when Aunt Lucinda comes back. I remember it was her favorite. I must get your recipe before I go back home." Recipe? She didn't even think she could remember how to turn on an oven. "I've been meaning to write you a thank-you note, but it's been so busy-"

Mrs. Parker cut her off. "Oh, no need for that. Take all your time to grieve, and don't worry about no thank-yous. Just know you're in our thoughts and prayers."

Tears parked themselves in Cassie's eyes. God-where was that coming from? If all it took to set her off these days were kind words, she needed to get back to New York as soon as possible before she softened too much. She couldn't even imagine Andrew's reaction if she burst into tears every time a client said he didn't like her idea.

"Thank you, Mrs. Parker. I appreciate that. Um, could you have Sam call me when he gets in?"

"He's at the clinic right now. Would you like the number?"

Cassie glanced back down at the business card. "Ah, let's see . . . no. It looks like I have it. I meant to dial it to begin with, but my eyes switched lines on me."

Mrs. Parked laughed. "Happens to all of us as we grow older. I wish my arms would grow longer so I could hold a book at a distance I can read it."

Older? Thirty-five wasn't old. Well, maybe here, where most of the girls from her graduating class were not only married but had several children by now. "I guess so. Well, sorry to have bothered you. . . ."

"No bother at all. And I'm glad you called. I'd like more of a chance to chat. Why don't you come by for dinner tonight?"

A flood of panic rushed over her. "Ah, tonight? No, I really couldn't impose . . ."

"It's no trouble at all. When I cook fried chicken, I make a whole mess of it, so there will be plenty to go around. Sam will be here, too." She made it sound as if Sam would be the icing on the cake.

Cassie stared at her reflection again in the mirror, her eyes looking like those of a condemned woman. "Well, thank you. What time would you like me to be there?"

She finished the conversation, then dialed the clinic while trying to revive her anger. Mary Jane picked up the phone.

"Cassie, hi. Are you calling to make lunch plans?"

"Uh, yes, actually. Are you free tomorrow? Thought we'd do that lunch at the diner we talked about."

"Great. I normally take lunch at about one o'clock. I'll check with Sam and let you know."

Cassie swallowed. "Speaking of Sam, is he there? I need to speak with him."

There was a brief pause. "Actually, no. He just left. Shall I leave a message?"

Another pause as Cassie chewed her lip, wondering how much she should tell Mary Jane. "Um, no, thanks. I'll just see him tonight."

She didn't realize how insinuating those words were until after she'd already said them. With some perverse pleasure, she didn't elaborate.

"Okay, then. I'll let you know about tomorrow. 'Bye, Cassie."

As she hung up the phone, her shoulders slumped. She needed to go back and take a refresher course in assertiveness training. If she kept it up, Andrew would never recognize her when she got back. She looked back at her reflection. Her cheeks were softer, rounder, pinker. The perpetual circles under her eyes had faded, making her brown eyes brighter. She leaned forward on her elbows and sighed. Perhaps that would be a good thing.

Her gaze caught sight of the writing box on the dressing table behind her, and she swiveled to stare at it. She hadn't opened it once since it was brought down from the attic, feeling that in reading the letters she was trespassing on her father's secret. If he hadn't told her, he obviously didn't want her to know.

With slow steps, she approached and opened the lid. Her father was dead now, and if she had a sibling somewhere, she wanted to know about it. She thought briefly of her father's will, the house he had left her, and his obvious motivation for doing so and smiled softly to her-self. This wouldn't be the first time in her life she'd gone against his wishes. He had been a lovable but bullheaded man, but it was a trait that ran thick in her veins.

Her fingers gently rifled through the small stack of letters, feeling the brittleness of old paper against her skin, and studied the beautiful handwriting of the unknown woman once again.

A glossy corner stuck out of the stack, and Cassie pinched it between her fingernails to pull it out. She looked at the photograph in surprise, recognizing her sixth-grade school picture. There she was, standing next to Mrs. Browning, her knee socks drooping around her ankles and her hair part looking like a fault line. Harriet stood nearby in the front row, looking perfect and wearing a hair bow that matched her outfit. Joe and Sam stood next to each other in the back row, mak-ing horns over each other's heads. Sam's eyes were invisible, the sun-light reflecting brightly off the wide frames of his glasses. Cassie squinted, trying to recall knowing Sam in sixth grade, but the memory eluded her.

She was about to slip the photo back into the box when she noticed the tall figure in the back row, standing slightly apart from the other children. Ed Farrell. He had been held back two different years, and sixth was the first time they had been in the same grade. His eyes were downcast, as if to remain invisible to the camera. She could see the top of his stained overalls and remembered with abject embarrassment how she and the rest of the children had teased him mercilessly for being a bona-fide redneck.

With heavy remorse, she dropped the picture back into the box as if she'd been burned, wondering why it had been put there instead of downstairs in her father's desk with the rest of their school pictures.

Tentatively, her hand floated over the stack of letters like a curious butterfly before settling down and pulling out the first yellowed envelope. Bringing it over to the bed, she sat down and opened it.

September 25, 1962 My dearest Harry, My daddy said he spotted you waiting for me after church last Sunday. When he asked me why you hadn't been to hear the sermon, I said it was because you were Episcopalian. I thought his head would explode, it turned so red.

I always knew this would be a problem, which is why I insisted we be quiet about us. But it seems now we are found out. Daddy says he doesn't want me to see you anymore. I think things between us are too far gone for that, don't you? I've never disobeyed him before, but what I feel for you makes me forget everything else.

I wear the beautiful necklace you gave me every day, but I'm careful to keep it under my blouse. I like feeling it so near my heart, and it keeps you in my mind until I can see you again.

Love, E.

Cassie sat for a long time with the letter opened on her lap, her emotions moving rapidly between guilt, disgust, and a strong dose of romance. Eventually, she got up and put it back into the writing box, gently closing the lid.

Cassie found Harriet in the attic again. Her sister was leaning over an antique sewing table, trying to reach a small box on a shelf behind it.

"You're going to hurt yourself, Har. Let me get it. There are advantages to being big and bulky, you know."

Harriet stepped aside to let Cassie grab the box. "You're not big and bulky. I always thought of you as Wonder Woman from TV. You were so tall and strong. I wanted to be like you."

Afrown puckered Cassie's brow. If Harriet had ever had one jealous thought in her head regarding Cassie, this was the first she'd ever heard about it. Her gaze slid over to Harriet, who had just sat on an old steamer trunk. "I don't believe that for a minute, Har. All of the boys at Walton High went for the blond petite type-not the Amazon brunet. Considering how tall I am, I was pretty invisible."

Harriet shook her head slowly, her head tilted to the side. A narrow beam of sunlight stretched from the dormer window and touched her hair, spinning it into gold. "You're supposed to be the smart one, but sometimes I'm not so sure." Her mouth held a silly grin. "So, are you still mad at me?"

Reaching into an old appliance box, Cassie looked up. "About what?"

"About my thinking that daddy and his lady friend had a terrific romance."

Cassie shrugged, burying her head in the box again. "No, I'm not angry. Even I have to admit there's something terribly romantic about it all. I read a letter today. I'll show it to you later." She scratched her nose, feeling the dust tickle it. "I didn't see any letters dated after that one we read up here-the one about the baby. I have to admit I'm pret-ty relieved about that. Maybe the love affair really was over before Daddy married Mama."

Harriet turned to look out the small window. "I hope we find her. I'd like to know that . . . that everything worked out for her."

Cassie offered a gentle smile. "Things usually do, I think. I lived, after all." She ducked her head back into the box and pulled out a past-its-prime naked baby doll. It had been neatly decapitated at some point. She dug back into the box to find the errant head.