They remained locked together for a few long minutes; then she slowly lowered her legs. She had to lean against him for support; his heart beat under her ear. Without speaking, he gently began to dry her off, then carried her to his bed. She fell asleep immediately, her head cradled by his arm.

The phone rang at four-thirty the next morning. Sam came fully awake immediately, reminding her that being awakened in the middle of the night was something he did with regularity. He answered the phone, then gave it to Cassie. She recognized Lucinda's voice immediately.

"How did you know I was here?"

Lucinda sounded groggy with sleep. "Diane Eames, next door to the Duffy place. She called me last night to let me know she had seen you and Sam in the front yard at about three o'clock and then hadn't seen you leave."

Cassie ran her hand over her face. "So are you calling me to tell me to come home?"

"No. I wanted to let you know there's been another incident and the sheriff wants to talk to you again."

Cassie sat up, and Sam flipped on a bedside lamp. "Is Mama's magnolia-"

"It's fine. But the grass in the middle of the yard isn't."

"Oh, Lord. Is anybody hurt? What happened?"

She heard Lucinda yawn into the phone. "No, thankfully- nobody's hurt. Somebody used gasoline or something to spell out an obscene word in the front yard and then set it on fire. I don't know what stopped it from spreading across the lawn and to the house, since nobody was home to notice it. Richard Haney was out walking his dog and saw it, thank goodness. He was the one who called the fire department."

Cassie ignored the tone of reproach in her aunt's voice. "An obscene word? Which one?"

"Really, Cassie. I don't think I can say it."

"Aunt Lu." She rolled her eyes. "Can you at least spell it?"

"It's the one that starts with sh. But you'll see it soon enough once you come home. And Joe's fit to be tied, worrying about your reputation and such and trying to field questions from the fire department and the sheriff."

"For crying out loud, Aunt Lucinda! I'm thirty-five years old. But if it will make everybody happy, I'll come home now, all right? One more thing. When you see the sheriff, make sure he knows it was Mr. Haney who called the fire department. I find it interesting that the man would be walking his dog at this hour."

"He's always walked his dogs in the middle of the night, sugar." She yawned into the phone. "But I know Hank has already questioned him. He's off the hook, but I don't think his sons are. Somebody spotted the oldest one running down the street shortly before the fire was spotted."

"That's great. If you see the sheriff, tell him I'll call him first thing in the morning and we'll talk about it."

Lucinda yawned into the phone again. "Is Sam going to drive you?"

"I imagine he will."

"Just ask him to drop you off at the end of the road so no one-"

"Stop right there. I don't want to hear any more. I'll come home soon, so tell Joe not to worry and to go back home to Harriet. I'll have Sam keep me company."

"Now, Cassie . . ."

Cassie hung up the receiver before she could hear any more.

Sam bent to kiss her neck. "What's wrong?"

"Well, it seems the whole town knows I've slept with you again, and somebody has burned an obscene word across my front lawn."

His lips moved down to her collarbone. "At least I have an alibi. And to think you used to find New York City exciting. . . ."

She knocked him over the head with her pillow, then kissed the spot where it had landed. "Come on. I need you to drive me home."

She slid out of bed, taking the covers with her. "And don't be sur-prised if Joe asks you for a duel at dawn over my honor."

Sam's eyes darkened as he regarded her. "Maybe I'll have to make an honest woman of you instead."

She looked away, reaching for her pile of clothes Sam had brought up in the middle of the night. "Sam . . ."

He stood too close to her, but not touching. "What if I told you I loved you enough to let you go?"

Shaken, she turned to face him, searching his eyes. "Remember how you once told me about angelfish and how they mate for life? And that when one of them dies, the other does, too? I thought you told me that for a reason."

His finger traced the line of her jaw. "Yeah, but there's also the black widow. Maybe loving somebody else would be safer, if not as exciting."

She looked away for a moment, feeling the stillness of the night and the crickets singing to the dark sky outside. "Would you marry Mary Jane if I left?" She shivered, but she wasn't cold.

"I could," he whispered.

"You'd be willing to settle, then? Be happy with egood enough'?"

"Sometimes we have to make the most of what we're given and make compromises."

She moved away, slipping into her blouse. "Like your medical career. You settled for Walton when you could have gone anywhere."

He took a deep breath. "Sometimes you have to reach deep down in your heart and decide what road you're going to take. And all choices involve some sort of sacrifice. But in the end, you know whether or not you made the right decision." He bent down to pick up a pair of jeans from a chair. "And, no, I didn't settle by coming here. I used to think that I had, but now I know I made the right decision."

She attempted a light tone. "When did you figure that out?"

He regarded her calmly, his blue eyes searching hers. "When I saw you at my dad's service station the first night you came back. I thanked God that I hadn't stayed in the big city long enough to become like you."

She sucked in a mouthful of air. "I guess that means you wouldn't consider coming to New York with me."

He dropped his hand and said simply, "No." A lone car sped by on the street outside, its radio blasting a heavy beat into the dimly lit room.

"We could be happy there. With your degree, you could pick and choose which medical practice you joined."

He took a pair of underwear from the drawer and slid them on, followed by the jeans. "You don't believe that any more than I do. If I really thought that's where we belonged, I'd start packing now. But I don't. Nor will I stand in your way if that's what you want." He pulled a boot over his foot. "Like I said, maybe I love you enough to let you go." He faced her, a failed attempt at a smile on his face. "Besides, I just don't think I could ever eat sushi or start using words like 'suppose' and 'do lunch.' It's just not me, Cassie. And it's not you, either." He slid on the other boot.

She sighed. "This isn't something we have to decide right now." Rubbing her hands over her face, she said, "Come on. Let's go." Without waiting to see if he followed, she left the room and went down the stairs, the old wooden steps creaking under her weight. The sound, familiar and haunting, crept around her heart. Pushing any nostalgic thoughts away, she let herself out the front door.

Twenty-Four.

The heat of summer gradually gave way to the cooler temperatures of fall, although it stayed warm enough for the children to wear shorts to school. The grass in the yard turned the shade of weathered wood, except for the newly seeded spot in the middle, where the ugly word had been burned. The Bradford pears bordering her property with the Haneys' gave a last breath of life, with brilliant red and orange leaves, before they, too, gave way to the season and settled one by one onto the ground beneath.

But Cassie's magnolia stayed a vibrant green, as if mocking autumn and all the other lowly plant species not strong enough to face the colder months. Cassie looked with pride at her tree, seeing it as a living thing among all the shriveling plants in the front yard, and she hung all her hopes and dreams on its sturdy branches, with their bright, glossy leaves.

Each passing week, Harriet's belly grew larger, while she grew frail-er. It was hard for Cassie not to see the child growing within her sister as a cancer itself, drawing the very life from the person whose only desire was to give it freely. Harriet managed the weekly trips into Atlanta for tests and progress reports but refused to stay in the hospital even as her delivery date neared and her condition worsened. She insisted on being home with her family as much as possible, and Cassie and Lucinda helped make that possible by filling in at Harriet's Skirts 'n Such. As Harriet got sicker, Cassie and Lucinda found themselves running the business, much to Harriet's apparent relief.

Despite Harriet's fatigue, Cassie found them both rediscovering the closeness they had once shared, sometimes staying awake late into the night and just talking. At times, Harriet would doze off, and Cassie would just hold her hand and watch her restless sleep. Then Harriet would awaken and remember something about their childhood, and they would talk again, whispering and giggling like the young girls they once were.

Thanksgiving came and went with only a nod to the usual holiday preparations. Even Aunt Lucinda had told Cassie that she didn't feel much in the mood for celebrating, since there wasn't too much to be thankful for. Maddie had skipped coming to the dinner table completely, and it nearly broke Cassie's heart to see Harriet forcing herself to keep up her spirits while blatantly ignoring the empty chair at the diningroom table.

Even with Harriet's illness, there was no reprieve from whoever had been tormenting Cassie for the last six months. The fall annuals she had spent an entire weekend planting with Aunt Lucinda had been dug up with incredible brutality. The flowers hadn't just been uprooted; they had been shredded. Bright fuschia petals littered the flower beds like pink teardrops and scattered over the lawn with every teasing fall breeze.

Sheriff Adams had been by to investigate and had assigned two detectives to work the case full time. But, like the other incidents, few, if any, clues had been left behind, and he and his department had no more answers for her than they had when the vandalism had begun with the stripping of the oak trees. As for the oldest Haney boy seen running down the street, the account had come from Mrs. Ladue, who was legally blind and admitted to not having her glasses on at the time. Footprints had been found, and they matched the first set found, but there seemed to be no connection with the Haney boys.

Now Christmas preparations had begun in earnest, and Cassie tried her best to push all the unpleasantness away, if only temporarily. The streetlights downtown were wrapped in red and white, like candy canes, with big red bows crowning their tops. Every store window blinked colorful lights along with the required faux snow dusting the storefront displays. The weather obliged by sending a cold blast south from Canada, making the Walton residents break out their heavy woolens for the first time in over two decades. The weathermen threatened snow, sending everybody to the grocery store for milk and bread. Snow had been as scarce as shoes in summer ever since Cassie could remember, and she wished on every star in the sky that it would snow just this one winter so Harriet could see it.

Joe surprised Cassie by asking her to go with him and the kids to pick out a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve. She had assumed Christmas would go the way of Thanksgiving, but Joe's words made her reconsider.

"It's her favorite time of year, Cassie, and I want to make it real special."

Cassie smiled. "Sure, I can do Christmas. I, after all, learned at the hand of the masters, my mother and Aunt Lucinda. They used to do everything but tie-dye the toilet paper red and green." She touched his arm and was surprised at the look of gratitude in his eyes.

Gently, she said, "I haven't really stopped to think how hard this must all be for you. How are you doing, Joe? Really?"

He looked away, his eyes reflecting the cool gray sky. "I can't say I've gotten over my anger. No-I'm not mad at Harriet. Not anymore, anyway. I'm mad at fate for doing this to her. To us-and our family. But she's made me strong." He shook his head, looking back at Cassie again. "If I had a quarter of her strength, I could do anything."

Cassie smiled up at him. "I know. I feel the same way." Impulsively, she reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

They piled into the van with all five kids, Maddie included, and drove to the gas station, where several rows of fresh-cut pines from the Georgia mountains waited to be chosen and taken home. They ended up with the largest one they thought they could squeeze under the ten-foot living-room ceiling.

Harriet clapped her hands as they drove up to the house, the tree hanging over the front and end bumpers of the van. From her chair, she hustled the children inside to direct them as to which nook or cranny to find the decorations. Cassie noticed she had a notebook with her and jotted everything down in the form of a list. She dared not even consider what her sister was doing.

With Harriet and the children inside, Joe and Cassie were left to untie the tree and bring it into the living room. As Cassie reached inside the back window to cut the length of twine, Joe put his hand on her arm.

"I need to talk to you about something."

Cassie jerked herself out of the car, hitting her head on the doorframe. "What?" She felt something lodge in her throat. "Is it about Harriet?"

Joe shook his head. "No. It's about you and Sam."

Cassie colored, suddenly finding her boots very intriguing to look at. Sam had been spending every night with her in her house, and the sex had been frequent and satisfying, filling an aching need in her. When they made love, it was as if he held her very soul in his hands, keeping it from shattering in the depths of her grief. He held her and cherished her; and the feeling of coming home was never as strong as it was while in his arms.

"Um, what about us?"

Joe coughed. "Well, I, um, was just wondering if it was going to lead anywhere."

Cassie watched the blood flood his face, and she couldn't resist teasing him. "You mean, if our relationship means anything more than just great sex."

Joe studied the Christmas tree closely. "Well, um, yes. I guess so."

She punched him gently on the arm. "Joe, I appreciate your brotherly concern. But it's not necessary. We're in a sort-of trial period, and we're just not sure how it's going to work out right now. But you'll be one of the first to know, all right?"

He yanked on the tree, sliding it off the top of the van. "I was just wondering. Lucinda said Sam's been spending just about every night with you and that people keep calling her to let her know about it, in case she didn't already."

Cassie shook her head, hoisting her end of the tree. "This town doesn't need telephone lines, does it? Just hang out at the back-yard fence."

Joe groaned, lifting the trunk end. "That's not such a bad idea, if you think about it."

They began walking toward the porch. Under her breath, Cassie said, "Sometimes the anonymity of a big city holds a great deal of appeal."

After cutting two feet from the bottom of the monster tree, they brought it in and settled it in the newly discovered tree stand, following Harriet's meticulous directions on the perfect placement.

The children watched like vultures, ornament boxes held in each hand, until the tree was ready to be decked out in all its holiday finery. Harriet lay back on the sofa in the living room, her skin yellow against the crisp white cotton of her pillow. She watched with eyes that now seemed too large for her face as the children decorated the tree. They'd bring the boxes of ornaments to her; then she'd select one and give it to the proper person to hang.

"Maddie, come here." Harriet's voice sounded weary and hoarse.

Slowly, Maddie came to where her mother lay. Harriet handed her a tissue butterfly, the wings iridescent with multi-colored glitter. "Do you remember making this in kindergarten?"

Areluctant smile crossed Maddie's face. She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

Harriet handed it to her, and Maddie took it, holding it up to the light to make it twirl and sparkle. She bent her head closer to read the inscription on the wings. " 'Butterfly flutter, near my mother, please tell her, that I love her.' " Her voice cracked, and she looked back at her mother, her green eyes pooling with tears.

She knelt by Harriet, the butterfly clutched in her hands, her voice very quiet. "I still love you, Mama. I never stopped. I didn't. And I'm so sorry. . . ." Maddie placed her hands gently around her mother, as if holding a glass doll, then laid her head on Harriet's shoulder and began to sob.

Harriet held her firstborn, stroking her hair, as she had for fourteen years. "Shh, Maddie. There's nothing to be sorry for. I never thought you'd stopped loving me, okay? Not for one minute." She continued patting Maddie softly. "I remember when you made that butterfly, and when you gave it to me, it made me cry. And you didn't understand when I told you that sometimes beautiful things make people cry." She pulled Maddie up so she could look her in the face. "Now, promise me some-thing. Promise me that when you see this butterfly you'll remember how much I love you, and if it makes you cry, I want them to be happy tears."

Maddie nodded, sniffing, then wiped her nose with the back of her hand. She kissed her mother on the forehead and stood, examining the tree closely. Finding a spot on the side of the tree, she hung it on a high branch, a butterfly fluttering over a candy-cane reindeer and a toilet-roll angel.

With a sigh, Harriet leaned back wearily on the pillow, and Cassie stooped to take the ornament box from her hand before she dropped it. Harriet pointed at the box. "These are my favorites. All were made by the children. I keep this box in the linen closet upstairs. Make sure that's on my list for Joe."

The doorbell rang, and Harriet tried to sit up. "I'm a wreck. Quick, Cassie. Hand me my lipstick in my purse over there."

Joey ran to answer the door as Joe turned to his wife. "You're always beautiful in my eyes, Har. Don't change a thing."

Cassie's eyes misted as she watched Joe and knew that he was telling the truth.

Harriet raised a limp hand and rested it on the bulge of her abdomen. "Did I mention I'm having a torrid affair with Gus Anderson over at the hardware store?"

Joe sat down next to her and cradled her in his arms. "If I didn't know how crazy you already were about me, I'd believe it."

Harriet buried her face in his arm, hiding a grin.

Knoxie sidled up to the sofa and squeezed in between her parents, snuggling deeply into their embrace. Amanda, just learning how to toddle, grabbed a glass ornament in the shape of a peach and threw it just as Sam walked into the room, Joey wedged tightly under his other arm. He caught it and held up his prize. Putting the ornament down and out of the baby's reach, he swooped down on the little girl and scooped her up in his other arm, making her squeal with delight.

Cassie eyed Sam, and his ease with the children, and felt her heart tighten. He looked at her, and she felt the tension between them-the tension that had been there ever since she had told him about the partnership offer from Andrew. The only time it went away was when they were making love and he held her heart in his hands.