Cassie stood, stilling her shaking hand by clutching the banister. "You're not being fair, Sam. You just don't understand."

He shook his head and stared at her for a moment. "You're like a crop duster. You just dump your stuff in a puff of smoke, and then you're gone into the wild blue yonder. You're right, Cassie. I don't understand you. I used to think you had a heart under all that big-city hardness. I guess I was wrong." He leaned in closer, his face flushed red, and spoke very quietly. "Your sister has died, leaving six motherless children, and you're thinking about leaving, and you don't seem to see anything wrong with that. Go, then. We don't need you here."

He turned on his heel and, with long, angry strides, left the house.

Unmoving, she watched the empty space where he had stood, listening to his heavy footsteps cross the porch. It wasn't until she heard his footsteps crunching in the snow that her breath came back to her with a loud sob.

"Sam!" she shouted to the empty house. She couldn't let him go. Not like this. Forcing her feet to move, she ran after him, not bothering to put on her shoes.

She burst through the front door, letting the screen slam behind her, and cried his name again. He stopped by his truck and faced her in the dim light.

She shivered as her feet sunk into the cold snow blown onto the porch. "Please don't go." Tears threatened behind her eyes, but she held them back, fighting for her precious control-the one thing she could always depend on.

He took a step forward, his breath coming out in big puffs in the frosty air. "What else do you want from me? Do you want me to rip out my bleeding heart and lay it in your lap? Because that's the only thing I have left to give that you don't have already. And I won't do it, Cassie. I won't." He turned back to his truck. Speaking over his shoul-der, he said, "It'll hurt for a while, but we'll get over it. This town has a wonderful way of coming together and helping each other in bad times. I don't expect your departure to be any different." He opened the door.

"Sam, please!" Her voice held a desperation that she had never heard before, and it frightened her. Why had admitting weakness always been so hard for her?

Sam looked back.

She clambered down to the bottom porch step, her arm clutching the railing and holding her steady. Her teeth chattered. "Don't go. Please. I . . . need you."

Leaving the door open, he walked toward her. "You what?"

She looked at him with narrowed eyes brimming with tears. "You heard me."

He retraced his steps back to the truck and got in. He was about to slam the door when she shouted his name again.

Cassie had stepped off the bottom step and away from the railing's support. Without it, she swayed. "Sam, please! I . . . need . . . you." She fell to her knees in the cold snow, her control gone and her heart hammering in her chest. She felt herself drowning in her own desola-tion and knew only Sam could pull her out. Her body shook as she screamed at him, "I'm so afraid!"

Sam left the truck and came to stand in front of her, his face in shadow. "What are you so afraid of?"

She dropped her head into her hands. "That . . . that I'm going to die from this grieving. That I'm going to lose control. That I'm making the wrong decision." She shook her head. "God, Sam-I don't know what I want! I thought I had all the answers when I came here, and now I don't. And I'm so afraid I'm not smart enough to make the right decision."

He knelt in front of her and held her shoulders, his hands two welcome spots of warmth. "Bullshit, Cassie. You know exactly what you should do. But if you think that all the promotions in the world are more important than staying here with the people who love you and need you, then go." He shook her shoulders. "And the only thing you've ever been afraid of in your life is admitting you're wrong. Try it, Cassie. The world won't end."

She sat back in the snow, and he let her go. "How can she be gone, Sam? Who's going to tell the children too young to remember what a wonderful mother they had? And about their grandmother and grandfather and about how to care for roses and make sweet potato pie and why it's important to wear a slip?" She sniffed loudly, her tears freezing on her face.

He stood slowly. "If you don't know the answer to that question, then I give up. I've done everything I know to help you. There's nothing more I can do. You've got that suitcase upstairs, and you alone can decide what you're going to do with it." He shook his head. "But nobody's going to bribe you with those kids, Cassie. That would make it too easy for you."

She shuddered, her voice stumbling between words. "It's hard . . . I can't . . . say . . . what I want." Looking at him with a fierce frown, she shouted, "It's too hard for me."

Gazing down at her, his eyes were unforgiving. "I love you, Cassie, and that's why I'm not going to say it for you. You're on your own with that." He turned and headed back toward his truck.

She felt like a small child in the midst of a tantrum, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. She was too miserable. "What if I wanted to say that I'd made a mistake, that I think this is the damned finest place on earth and that I never want to leave? Huh?"

Sam stopped but didn't turn around. "Then you'd better come right on out and say it." He waited for a moment, keeping his back to her, but Cassie kept silent. With a swift kick, he sent a tightly packed drift of snow flying before climbing into the cab of his truck and gunning the engine. With a long look at Cassie, he dipped his head, then took off out of the drive, the crunching snow a terrible, final sound.

Cassie spent the remainder of the night alternating between crying and packing. By four o'clock in the morning, she was nearly done. Pulling the last load from the dryer, she plucked out three handker-chiefs and began ironing. She cried some more as she moved the hot iron over the crisp linen, her tears sizzling into steam under the iron's hiss. Folding them neatly, she tucked them into her purse, next to the letters she'd found under her bed.

The first rays of dawn were streaming through the fan window as she wearily made her way up the steps, a stack of clean and folded laundry in her arms. Dust motes flitted through the air, tracing a path to Great-great-great-grandfather Madison's portrait. She leaned against the ban-ister on the landing, staring at her ancestor in the murky light. Setting down the laundry, she moved closer, and her eyes widened.

Why had she never noticed it before? In the millions of times she'd climbed up and down those steps, not just in the last several months but in all the years she'd spent living in this house, she had never once noticed. The shape of the eyes, the curve of the nose and jaw-it was just so obvious. And if Great-great-great-grandfather Madison didn't have all that hair, she'd bet he had large ears that slightly protruded from his head.

She sat down on the steps for a few moments, letting her newfound knowledge sink in. In the long run, it didn't really matter anymore. It was just one more loose end to tie up before she left. One more person to say good-bye to.

With heavy steps, she climbed up the steps to her room. She had three hours to sleep until her appointment at nine o'clock. She lay down on her bed and waited for the slow ticking of the hall clock to put her to sleep.

Lou-Lou greeted her warmly, her pink lips curved in a sympathetic smile. "Hey, Cassie. I'm so sorry about Harriet. Ed's closing the office on Saturday in honor of her funeral. We'll both be there."

"Thanks, Lou-Lou. It'll be good to see her friends there."

Lou-Lou's lip trembled a little. "I know the whole town's going to turn up. I mean, she knew just about everybody, and everybody loved her. And those poor kids . . ." Her voice cracked, and Cassie had to turn away, knowing if she didn't, she'd start crying again and wouldn't be able to stop.

"Is Ed here? We have a nine o'clock appointment to talk about the rental agreement for the house."

Lou-Lou pressed a tissue into the corner of each eye. "He sure is. I'll just let him know you're here."

Before she had the chance to press the intercom button, Ed opened the door to his office. Cassie stared at him in surprise. He looked as if he'd slept in his clothes with his tie undone, his shirt hanging out, and his hair standing at attention in short, dark bristles. Dark circles hovered under his eyes, and his jaw was shadowed with whiskers. He helped her take her coat off, then ushered her into his office. She followed him, allowing him to close the door behind her.

He sat down behind his desk, indicating the chair opposite for her. She sat down, regarding him closely.

He cleared his throat. "I've got all the rental agreement papers, and all are in accordance with what we discussed. The rental rate is on there, as well as my commission. I will act as your agent and as your landlord in absentia. You shouldn't have to worry about a thing except for any large repairs and general maintenance. Just check on the last page that your New York address is correct so I can make sure you're getting your monthly rent checks-as soon as I find a renter, of course."

She nodded and began to read through the sheaf of papers, initialing the indicated paragraphs and signing at the bottom of each page. When she was done, she laid the pen down and slid the papers over to him. Then she sat still, facing him.

"You took Daddy's writing box, didn't you?"

A look of shock was quickly replaced by one of relief. "Yes, I did. And I assume you know why."

She was surprised at his candor but realized he had no reason to hide it anymore. "You're my missing sibling. You're the baby Miss Lena gave up for adoption in 1963, aren't you?"

Ed looked down at his desk and toyed with a pen. "I was wondering how long it would take you to figure it out. You almost caught me that once, when I called you outside the Dixie Diner. I wanted to make sure it was you who was trying to find me."

Cassie leaned forward. "Why didn't you just tell me? Why all this deception?"

He slid his chair back and swiveled it to face the large picture window, his profile illuminated by the bright morning sunshine reflecting off the snow. His resemblance to Great-great-great-grandfather Madison was more apparent than ever. He shrugged. "Because I didn't think it would be news you'd be too happy about." He glanced at her briefly. "I still remem-ber how you and Sam and the rest of them treated me back in school. Didn't think you'd take too kindly about finding out I was kin."

Cassie looked down at her hands, still reddened from her long walk in the snow. "I'm not proud of that, Ed. But that has nothing to do with now. We share a father. And I'd be honored to call you my brother."

A dark flush covered his face, and he shifted in his chair. "Yes, well, I thought it best."

Lou-Lou knocked briefly, then brought in coffee and cups on a tray. Cassie welcomed the interruption, using the time to study Ed with fresh eyes. She noticed again his unkempt state and mulled over the reason why.

She emptied a blue packet of sweetener in her cup, noticing that her hands shook. "How long have you known? And did you ever approach either my father or Miss Lena?"

Ed held his cup in front of him, the steam distorting his features for a brief moment. "When I was twenty, my parents died. I found some papers in their things that spelled out who my real parents were." He turned back toward the window and took a long sip of coffee. "You can imagine how shocked I was. My father was rich and lived in a big house with the two kids he wanted, and I was living on some dirt farm with a man who beat me and a woman whose spirit had been crushed too long ago to care."

Cassie winced. "He didn't know. I know he didn't. If he had, he would have taken you in. It wasn't because he didn't care. . . ."

Ed snapped around in his chair, spilling coffee over the brim of his cup. "Don't you stand up for him. He could have taken me away at any time if he had wanted to. But he didn't. I was left there to nearly starve to death."

"That's not how it was, Ed. . . ."

He cut her off again. "Don't try to defend him. You weren't there when I approached him after my parents had died. He wouldn't acknowledge me publicly; he was too embarrassed about me. He gave me money for my education and even set me up in business, but the deal was, I couldn't come out with who I really was."

Cassie leaned forward. "You've read the letters now. Surely you can see why he did that. It wasn't about you. It was Miss Lena's reputation. It would have killed her for people to know she had had an illegitimate child. He did it to protect her. Can't you see that?"

Ed swiveled away from her and rubbed his hands over his face. "Those letters. God. I wish I'd seen them years ago. It would have changed a lot of things."

"Like what?"

He faced her, his eyes wide. "Nothing. It's nothing."

Cassie sat back. "Does Miss Lena know?"

Ed shrugged. "I've tried talking to her about it, and sometimes she even seems to understand, but most times her mind just drifts away, and I don't think she understands anything. It's almost funny, though, because I've had the most lucid discussions about my business with her. And then she'll look at me in the next minute like she's never even seen me before."

Cassie set her cup gently on the desktop. "I . . . I'd like to acknowledge you as my brother. If you think Miss Lena would still be embarrassed, it could just be between us and a few friends-for now. But I'd like to. Besides Lucinda and Harriet's children, you're the only family I've got now."

He turned away from her, giving an almost imperceptible shake of his head. "I wouldn't go sharing the news with anyone just yet. You might find it's something better kept inside."

"What do you mean?" She leaned forward, wondering again at his rumpled clothing and hair. It seemed he'd been in the office all night, wrestling with demons.

He shook his head and stood, a clear sign of dismissal. "It don't matter. It's nothing that can be fixed, anyway."

She stood, too, a questioning look on her face. "Maybe, since we're family, I can help with whatever problem you're having."

He strode away from his desk toward the door, pulling it open for her. "I don't think so. Now don't get me wrong. I like you and all. In fact, I like you a lot. But you're still your daddy's daughter, and I'm just not ready to trust you."

Touching his arm lightly, she said, "Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind." She walked through the door, then turned around, reaching into her purse. "I almost forgot. It's a letter to you from Daddy. It must have fallen out of the writing box when you dropped it on my bed. I found it under the bed with two other letters from your mother."

He colored again and took the envelopes.

"I don't know why he didn't give it to you when he learned of your existence. It was written so long ago, I'm wondering if he simply forgot about it."

Ed fingered the envelopes gently but didn't move to open them. "Did you read it?"

"Yes, I did. And I hope that any doubts you have about our father's love and concern for you are answered in there."

He nodded, and she felt him watching her as she turned around and headed for the door. She stopped halfway and faced him again. "I'd like you to sit with me and Joe at the funeral, if you're comfortable with that."

Slowly, he shook his head. "No, I can't do that. But thank you. I do appreciate the thought."

"All right." She said good-bye again and waved to Lou-Lou, then let herself out.

It didn't occur to her until later to ask for the writing box. And then she was glad she hadn't. She had been given many happy years with her father, sharing his life. The least she could do was give his lost son his old writing box and the letters inside that spoke of a child born of love and then given up.

Twenty-Six.

Christmas lights still glistened in the snow outside the Town Hall as the square and available parking spaces quickly filled. Clouds had been threatening more snow all afternoon, and the smell of it was thick in the air as Cassie pulled into a parking spot in front of the Statue of Liberty.

The weather didn't seem to deter Walton's citizens as they streamed in from all directions. Cassie recognized most of the cars, including Sam's and Ed's, both parked near the Town Hall steps as if they had been the first to arrive. She waved her mittened hand in response to shouted greetings and climbed the steps.

The meeting room was quickly becoming standing room only as Cassie made her way down the center aisle, looking for a place to sit. The radiators spewed out a thick heat as people in sweaters and coats seemed to melt as quickly as the snow on their shoes.

"I didn't expect to see you here."

Cassie spun at the sound of Sam's voice close to her ear. "I told you I would be here."

His face was closed to her, unreadable. "Thank you. Hope it doesn't take you away from your packing."

She pulled off her mittens. "Sam . . ."

"When are you leaving?" His words were clipped and impersonal, and they hit her right in the gut.

"After Harriet's funeral. Lucinda's taking me to the airport at five. I . . . I called Andrew and accepted the partnership."

"Congratulations." He looked over her head, watching as the town councilmembers took their seats up on the podium. "I've got to go."

"Wait." She put her hand on his arm, and he stopped, a small flash of hope in his eyes. "I've been meaning to return these to you. I ironed them myself." She reached into her purse and handed him the small stack of pressed handkerchiefs.

The flash in his eyes flickered, then died. He took the handkerchiefs from her. "Thank you. And good-bye. I hope you'll be happy."

Without waiting for her to respond, he turned and left her. Feeling a hundred pairs of eyes staring at her, she looked around for a vacant seat and was surprised to spy Miss Lena, an empty chair next to her.

Cassie stepped over feet to reach her, then settled herself down, trying not to bump anybody as she slid out of her coat. Miss Lena had on her ubiquitous pink sweater over a flowered dress and navy blue woolen hose covering her legs. She reached over and squeezed Cassie's hand. "I'm so sorry to hear about your sister. How sad you must be." She patted Cassie's frozen fingers. "I'm keeping you and her husband and darling children in my prayers."

Cassie coughed to clear out the lump in her throat. "Thank you, Miss Lena. Thank you very much." She looked into the old lady's eyes and saw that they were clear and bright.

The room gradually quieted as people shuffled into spots, and the meeting started with the usual formalities. And then, one by one, people stood up and began talking about their town and using their words to hopefully sway an opinion one way or the other.

Senator Thompkins stood up and spoke about his great-great-grandparents who had settled the town almost two hundred years before and were now buried in the cemetery behind the old Methodist chapel-the same chapel that was slated to be destroyed by a new industrial complex constructed by Roust Development.

A half-dozen more people stood to tell similar stories. And then Richard Haney stood to speak about the areas of neglect and decay on the outskirts of town that had been rejuvenated and renewed, courtesy of Roust Development. Several other respected town members approached the podium to state their support of Roust and the terrific job he was doing for the town.

Cassie looked around for a man in a dignified suit, or at least somebody she didn't recognize, to be able to pick out the representative from Roust Development. She couldn't believe that somebody from Roust wouldn't be present at this important town meeting. But she saw no one she didn't know and wondered if Jim Roust could be so conceited that he thought his pillaging of her town a done deal and this meeting inconsequential in the grand scheme of things.