Cassie stood. "I was about to go get some leaves from Mama's magnolia to spray-paint gold and use to decorate the tables and mantel. I could use some help."

Sam nodded, setting Amanda and Joey on the floor. "Sure, Martha Stewart. I'll go."

Bending to kiss Harriet, she said, "We'll be right back, and then we'll make your house worthy of a spread in Architectural Digest."

Harriet grabbed her hand and winked. "Just don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Cassie grinned. "You're nine months pregnant, Har. And I have no intention of wobbling anywhere." She bit her lip, regretting her flippant remark.

Harriet bent her head, sending her sister a serious look. "Don't worry about it, Cassie. The day you don't feel it's okay to make some smart remark is the day I'll be glad not to be here to see it." She waved her hand back and forth. "Now shoo, you two. And make my house glamorous." She leaned back on the pillow with a smile that became a grimace of pain. "Ah, the advantages of being an invalid."

After slipping on her jacket, Sam ushered Cassie out of the house, and they walked the few blocks in silence. Her cheeks stung from the wind, and she bundled more tightly into her coat. Sam put his arm around her, drawing her close, until they reached the old house.

Maneuvering a wheelbarrow under the tree, Cassie and Sam began picking up the fallen leaves, now brittle with frost.

One spiraled down from the tree, and Cassie caught it. Bending her head, she examined it closely, observing how the sinuous veins ran to the edge of the leaf, then disappeared, like a fragile life reaching its end. Sighing softly, she let the leaf drift into the wheelbarrow. She sifted her gloved hands through the pile, searching for the glossiest ones she could find and remembering her mother doing the same thing as she and Harriet stood back, their dresses held out in front, ready to collect their treasures.

"Just think, Sam. This time next year, Harriet's baby will probably be walking. Hard to believe, isn't it?"

He nodded, then reached down for another handful of leaves.

Cassie watched him while her fingers searched in vain for the chain under her jacket. She stopped and stood very still. "You don't think she's going to be here to see it, do you?"

Straightening, he fixed her with a gentle look, his eyes reflecting the scattering clouds. Slowly, he shook his head.

"How much longer?"

His hands fell to his sides. "Her doctors are surprised she's lasted this long. I think she's living to bring that baby into the world full term. Either way, it'll be soon. Not more than a month."

She stared at him, feeling her face crumple, and he gathered her in his arms and let her cry.

"I'm sorry. I know that's not what you wanted to hear."

She buried her face in the soft suede of his jacket, inhaling deeply. "No, it's not. But . . . thanks for being honest with me." She bent her head back to stare into his face. "And thank you . . . for being there. For me."

He took her face in his hands, his eyes soft. "I love you, Cassie, and I guess I always will. I'll always be here for you, whatever you decide to do."

Fresh tears filled her eyes, and she took a deep, shuddering breath. She stared into his face, with all its beloved curves and angles, as if seeing it for the first time. "I love you, too, Sam Parker. You're stubborn and irritating, and you make fun of me way too much, but I do love you. Now kiss me before I start crying again."

His eyes bright, he lowered his lips to hers and held her in his arms while the wind whipped at the old magnolia, its leaves shaking in applause.

Long after the last ornament had been hung on the tree, the children tucked into bed, and the final present wrapped and beribboned, the men retired to the back porch for a beer and a cigar, and the two sis-ters bundled up and headed for the front-porch swing.

The sky had cleared, the wisps of clouds giving birth to brilliant stars and a rising moon. It rose, full and heavy, pregnant with untold stories. Harriet sat close enough for Cassie to feel the bones of her hips, her silk scarf soft against Cassie's skin. Cassie reached her arm around her sister and stilled. She was so fragile, as if so much of her had already gone. How would they ever bear saying good-bye to what remained?

Their breaths came in little puffs, and Harriet shivered. Cassie pulled her closer. "It's too cold out here for you. Let's go inside."

Harriet closed her eyes and shook her head. Cassie noticed how translucent her eyelids had become, almost like those of an infant. "I like the cold." Harriet's voice sounded tired. "It reminds me that I'm alive."

Between them their hands entwined, squeezing tightly. Cassie turned to her sister. "Are you scared?"

With teeth chattering, Harriet shook her head. "No. I'm ready. For whatever happens." She touched her forehead to Cassie's. "But I'm worried about you."

Cassie moved back. "About me? Whatever for?" She gave the swing a shove with her foot, letting it sway gently.

Harriet smiled, her teeth almost bluish in the light. "Because you don't know your own heart. You're almost thirty-six years old, Cassie. It's time you started listening to it."

Cassie shook her head and laughed softly. "I can't believe you're giving me advice. When did that happen?"

Leaning her head back against the swing, Harriet grinned. "I think I've gained a lifetime of wisdom these last few months. I guess dying does that to a person."

With a jerk, Cassie faced her sister. "Don't say that, Harriet. I can't stand to hear you say that."

Harriet touched her sister's cheek. "Dying is as much a part of life as loving. I've accepted it. And I've had a good life, Cassie. I've had the privilege and the honor of loving and being loved by the most wonderful man and bearing our children. It's been a full and happy life, and I have no regrets-except for those years without you. Promise me . . ." She took a deep breath and clenched her eyes shut, as if in great pain. After a pause, she continued, "Promise me that you will live your life without regrets. Find your heart and listen to it and you can't go wrong."

Cassie laid her head on Harriet's shoulder and let the tears freeze on her cheeks. Finally, she said, "I love you, Har."

Harriet patted her gently on the head. "I love you, too."

They stayed outside for a while longer, watching for shooting stars to wish upon. But the sky lay still and cold, the faceless moon climbing in the interminable sky. Cassie stood, pulling Harriet with her, and they went into the house, shutting the door firmly behind them.

Harriet went into labor in the frigid morning hours of Christmas Day. While the town of Walton slept and the children dreamed, Harrison Madison Warner came into the world, kicking and screaming. Cassie and Sam had to rush back to the house they had just left so Cassie could stay with the children and Sam could drive Harriet and Joe to the hospital in nearby Monroe. Sam called shortly after six A.M. to tell her about her new nephew, who had all ten fingers and toes and, as he put it, was in fighting form.

As the children awoke one by one, Cassie told them about their new baby brother, whom Harriet wanted to call Harry, and then everybody joined her in blowing up light blue balloons and draping blue-and-white streamers over every stationary object in preparation for his homecoming. The blend with the red, green, and gold was controversial, but the two events had to share the limelight.

Sam appeared around nine o'clock, and he, Cassie, and Lucinda celebrated Christmas with the children, videotaping them unwrapping and squealing over their presents. Harriet had to stay in the hospital for a few more days, and Sam wanted her to be able to share this Christmas with her children.

Harry came home first, a small bundle in a blue blanket and a delight to his older siblings-except for Maddie. Reserved at first, she soon succumbed to his charm and began vying for a chance to hold him.

Three days later, Joe brought Harriet home to die. It was never spoken of, but it was plain to the adults that it was time to prepare and to let go. Joe moved a bed into the living room next to the Christmas tree, and that room became the heart and soul of the family. Sam came daily to visit and to minister her morphine drip, and life seemed to hang on a tenuous web for Cassie and the rest of the family as Harriet slowly slipped away from them.

Cassie spent the week between Christmas and New Year's at Harriet's. She was sensitive to Joe's need to be with his wife by staying away at times, but always close enough to be available if Harriet needed anything. Most of the time, she sat by Harriet's bed and held her hand and talked or read to her. The ebb and flow of family life moved the days forward, each single hour interminable in its pain and grief but each close of day gone far too quickly.

On New Year's Eve, the bleak winter sky had darkened to a charcoal gray, sending frigid winds through the town of Walton and urging the people to stay inside. Those lucky enough to have fireplaces stacked on the pine logs and enjoyed the novelty of a roaring fire to warm a cold winter's evening. Harriet kept her face turned toward the flames, a small smile on her lips.

Cassie was reading aloud to Harriet an article on holiday cooking from Southern Living magazine when she felt the air shift. It was nothing tangible and nothing that she could describe, but it was there. She glanced at Harriet, whose half-opened eyes were now focused on Joe feeding baby Harry a bottle. Despite being glazed from pain and morphine, the love that shone in her eyes was unmistakable.

Cassie let her gaze move across the room to Sam, who sat cross-legged on the floor, playing go fish with Joey, Sarah Frances, and Knoxie while Maddie sat curled up in a chair by herself, busily scribbling in her diary. Amanda was upstairs, being put to bed by Lucinda, and the peace of a day's end had settled over the house.

Quietly, Cassie closed the magazine, but nobody seemed to notice. It was as if she were an audience in a play and she wanted nothing more at that moment than to close the curtain and prevent the final scene from playing out.

She stood and crossed to the window and looked out into the night sky. The moon lay murky and swollen behind the cover of clouds, laying a silver blanket over the slumbering garden below. She moved to the door and stepped out, sniffing deeply.

Excitedly, she ran back into the room. "It's going to snow. I'd bet old Grandma Knox's red hair that it's going to snow tonight." As soon as she spoke, great white flakes began to fall from the sky.

The children squealed, and even Maddie put down her pen to rush to the window and peer out. In unison, they turned to their father. "Daddy, please can we go out in the snow-please, please?"

Joe, out of years of habit, turned to Harriet. In confusion, he turned back to the children and then to Cassie.

"If it's okay with your dad, I say go get yourselves all bundled up and we'll go out and watch the snow fall."

All four children ran out of the room and headed toward the hall closet. Cassie made to follow them when a small sound came from the bed. Harriet's voice had grown so weak that Cassie had to bend close to hear. "I want . . . to see . . . the snow."

Cassie looked at Joe, then at Sam. "Harriet wants to go out, too."

Joe stood, a wavering smile on his face. "I think she should. She's always talked about going skiing someplace so she could finally see snow. Who would have thought she could do it right in her own front yard." He knelt in front of Harriet and kissed her forehead. Turning to Cassie, he said, "I'll go put the baby down, and if you'll get Harriet bundled up, I can carry her outside."

Cassie nodded, and Joe brought the baby over so Harriet could kiss him. She touched his cheek, then buried her nose in his neck before saying good-bye.

Sam removed the IV drip, then helped Cassie with getting Harriet in enough layers to be able to stand the frigid cold. She had lost so much weight since Harry's birth, and the pain medication made it difficult to hold anything in her stomach. She hardly weighed more than Sarah Frances, and it scared Cassie to her core.

Joe came down the stairs, and after he had put on his coat and hat, he bent to pick up Harriet. He scooped her up with ease, but when he asked her to hold on to his neck, she couldn't find the strength. Instead, Sam tucked her hands between her body and Joe's; then he and Cassie followed them outside.

The snow came down in hard, heavy swirls, like God's fingerprints on the landscape. The withered grass and bushes now glistened with springlike fervor, wearing fresh coats of new-fallen snow. Joey and Sarah Frances crunched their feet on the frozen ground, trying to make tracks, as Maddie stared up in wonderment. Knoxie raced around the yard, her tongue hanging out like a puppy's in an open car window, trying to catch a flake.

Icy snowflakes coated Harriet's hat and coat, sticking to her eyelashes and brows. Cassie touched her arm. "Open your mouth, Harriet. See if you can catch one."

With mouth wide open, Harriet turned her face to the sky, her eyes clear, reflecting the joy that emanated from her. She caught one and grinned. "It tastes cold."

"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" Cassie laughed, and Joe joined her, the sound hollow in the snow-dusted air.

She watched then as Harriet lifted her hand to Joe's face, the exposed wrist thin and fragile. Harriet whispered something to him, and then her hand fell and lay perfectly still.

Sam stuck out his arm, holding Cassie back, and she stepped away without resentment. What passed over Joe's face as he realized his beloved wife was gone cut into her heart at the same moment she realized that she had just lost her sister, her Harriet, her constant. She bent her head and wept until Sam pulled her into his arms, and they cried together.

First Maddie, and then the other children, one by one, stopped and came to stand around their mother still cradled in their father's arms.

The weeping started, but nobody thought to go inside yet, as if doing so would make what had just happened to them too real. Joe bent his head to protect Harriet from the snow, his body shaking as his tears fell on her face.

And still the snow continued to fall, covering the houses and trees with a thick white blanket and whispering a gentle hush to the grieving family.

Twenty-Five.

The snow fell for three days, paralyzing five counties. Without anything to clear the roads, life came to a virtual standstill. Power and phone lines were down and not expected to be repaired for a week. Cassie's deadline came and went, but she found relief from the reprieve of the downed telephone service. She felt as if she were walking in a dream world, with no beginning and no end, and could not even imagine thinking about her future, much less making plans for it.

Harriet lay at Murphy's funeral parlor, her service on hold until the snow cleared and the ground thawed. But every evening during visitation hours, the home was packed with mourners. They brought poinsettias, holly, and evergreen wreaths, since no fresh flowers could be found, and Joe brought a small Christmas tree, decorated with their children's ornaments, to rest at the foot of the coffin. The whole effect was a fitting tribute to a woman who had loved the Christmas season with the bright-eyed glee of a child.

The food began piling up again in Cassie's kitchen as the citizens of Walton rallied around Harriet's family. Cassie had gone several times to Joe's to see him and the children, but the house was always swimming with visitors or the children were at friends' houses. She felt useless and unneeded and the old pull again for the calming distraction of work. She even practiced saying the name Wallace & Madison, and the ghost of the old rush came back to her, beckoning her. She longed to be in charge, in control again; even the cool anonymity of the city pulled at her. She wore her grief on her face here, and everyone knew it. But in New York she could hide beneath her business persona and push the grief far away.

Harriet had told her to find her heart and follow it. Work had been her heart for so many years. It was black and white and easily understood, and she knew how to navigate it. Wallace & Madison. She'd be foolish not to follow this opportunity, especially when it was so obvious that she was unneeded here. The town took care of its own, and Harriet's family was safely tucked into the security of that knowledge.

Sam. Hadn't Harriet once said that love was about sacrifice? He would be her sacrifice, for surely whatever was between them now would be destroyed if he were to come with her to New York or she were to stay in Walton. She'd visit Harriet's children and Lucinda and maybe even see Sam until he married Mary Jane. Then she'd wait until the pain went away, because none of it would matter in New York, where she'd be a partner in a top advertising firm. It was what she had always wanted.

She sat at the edge of her bed in the old house and looked around at her pink rosebud bedroom, listening to the silent house around her. Lucinda had moved into Harriet's house to help Joe with the children, and the house sat creaking, muted by the unfamiliar mantle of snow. Cassie spoke aloud to the quiet around her. "Harriet, you were wrong. Love's not just about sacrifice. It's about making tough decisions, isn't it?" She took a deep breath, then moved to the closet, dragging out her suitcases and a handful of clothes on hangers.

She had to call Ed. She needed to find a renter for her house as well as somebody who could put everything the renters didn't want into storage. But she would definitely hold on to the house. It was her family legacy and all that she had left now of her childhood with her parents and Harriet. She imagined leaving it to Maddie one day and hanging her own portrait in the stairwell to scare future generations of Madison children.

After leaving a message on Ed's machine, telling him she would be there at nine o'clock in the morning, she left the room and wandered through the house, visiting old memories and replaying past conversations. She paused at the threshold of Harriet's old bedroom, seeing the girls she and Harriet had once been sitting on the bed and sharing secrets. Clenching her eyes shut, she listened carefully to hear girlish voices, but only the bereft call of the winter wind bristled through the empty room. Slowly, Cassie closed the door, clutching the brass knob tightly.

She returned to her room, her resolve to leave renewed. Dumping clothes on the bed, she opened the largest suitcase in the middle of the floor, then emptied out a dresser drawer and jewelry box and stacked the contents next to the suitcase. Lifting a pile of underclothes, she placed them into the suitcase. A drop of moisture hit her hand, and she realized she was crying. How am I going to tell Sam? How will I be able to leave him and not have it tear a chunk out of my heart?

She sniffed loudly, using her sleeve to wipe her nose. Pushing herself up, she sat on the bed, facing the wall, and allowed her fingers to play with the charms around her neck. Headlights raced around her room, followed by the slamming of a car door. Peering out the window, she recognized Sam's truck and walked slowly down the stairs to meet him. She opened the door before he could knock, then waited for him to stomp the snow off his boots before coming inside.

He reached for her, but she pulled back, causing him to draw himself up. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, her eyes avoiding his. "I'm . . . I'm fine. I've been thinking about Harriet . . ."

He touched her cheek softly, then let his hand fall. "That's what I came by to tell you. The snow's still on the ground but not falling anymore, so they scheduled the funeral for Saturday. Joe wanted me to tell you."

She nodded, feeling very much like a third party. "Thanks. For letting me know."

He tilted his head, looking at her with narrowed eyes. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm sure."

He stood in the foyer in his jacket, as if waiting to be invited in. Finally, he said, "The referendum on further development is tomorrow night at Town Hall. I was wondering if you could come and maybe offer your support."

She swallowed, offering him a lopsided grin. "Are you sure I'm going to support the right side?"

He smiled. "Well, since you haven't bulldozed this place, I have to assume you're in favor of preservation."

"Yeah, I'll be there."

They stood facing each other awkwardly for a long moment. Finally, Sam spoke. "What's wrong, Cassie? Why won't you let me touch you?"

Something halfway between a laugh and a sob erupted from her throat. "I . . . I've decided to go back to New York."

His face went absolutely still, but his eyes glittered in the dim light from the ceiling chandelier. He stared at her for a moment without speaking. "So, Cassie Madison does yet another great disappearing act. As soon as the going gets rough, she runs away. I guess I should have expected this."

Being confronted with the truth had always been too large a chunk of meat for her to swallow. She straightened her shoulders and faced him. "I am not running away. I've just been visiting here, remember? I have a career in New York and a great opportunity. I'd be an idiot to turn it down."

Sam slammed his fist on the wooden doorframe, making her jump. "Damn you, Cassie. What about Harriet's children? Don't you think you're needed here?"

Cassie fingered the gold chain around her neck, her fingers popping up and down along the charms in agitation. "They don't need me; the town's taking care of everything. And they've got Joe and Lucinda. And the rest of the town is lined up at their door to offer aid or food or whatever it is they think the children might need. I'm pretty much superfluous." She dropped her hand to her side.

"Superfluous? Your nieces and nephews have come to love you and depend on you. And what about me?" He kicked at the entryway rug, folding a corner of it over. "I guess I never even crossed your mind." Raking his fingers through his hair, he shook his head before leveling his gaze at her. "You want to know what's superfluous? It's your heart. You don't seem to use it, so why's it there?"