Madison quickly clamped her hand across her little sister's mouth. With a small smile, she hoisted Knoxie into her arms and made a hasty retreat. "The rain's almost stopped, so we'd best be get-ting back. People are starting to leave, and Mama wanted us to come and tell you."

She stumbled down the steps and splashed away through the soaked grass and mud. Knoxie called out over her sister's shoulder. "Are you gonna need a flower girl?"

Cassie bit her lip. "I haven't gotten quite that far with the arrangements. But if I decide that I do, you'll be the first person I call, okay?"

Cassie watched them until they reached the house, not wanting to face Sam. "Well, I guess we should go. . . ."

"Have you called your fiance yet?"

She turned to look into wide eyes, but he couldn't quite pull off the innocent look. "No. Not yet. But I will." Andrew had called three times and left messages with Aunt Lucinda. But Cassie couldn't admit to either Andrew or Sam that the mere thought of mixing her two lives by calling her fiance made her stomach churn. She had visions of just showing up again in their office and resuming work as usual, without any questions as to what had happened during her absence.

Sam wouldn't let the subject drop. "I imagine you'll need to let him know you'll be here a lot longer than expected. I mean, you own this house now. You can't just leave."

Cassie shrugged, shaking her head. "I can't keep it. I've got no use for it in New York." She picked up her shoes, then stepped down onto the first step. "I need to get back now."

She stared down into the mud, then at her shoes, and hesitated for a moment, simultaneously remembering the prickers and how much she had paid for her shoes on Fifth Avenue.

Behind her, Sam said, "I don't think that's what your father intended, Cassie."

She didn't turn around, fighting the renewed sting of tears in her eyes at the mention of her father. "He's not here anymore. But I know he'd respect my decision." She wasn't so sure that was true, but it made her feel better by saying it out loud.

"But what about the rest of your family?"

Her shoulders drooped. "I'm not as coldhearted as you think. I'll offer it to them first. But if they don't want it, I'll have to sell it."

His voice held his disbelief. "You just can't sell it. It's been in your family for over a hundred and fifty years. It would be like selling your own child."

She continued to stare down into the mud, her words stronger than her voice. "Trust me; it's not my first choice. But unless you're offering to buy it, you really don't have any say in the matter."

"I can't afford it right now." His footsteps approached behind her, and she stiffened, expecting harsh words. But he said nothing for a moment, the rainwater sliding off the gazebo's roof and splattering in the mud the only sound. Finally, he spoke, his voice hard. "Need some help?"

Before she could answer, she felt herself being scooped up into his arms. As he carried her back toward the house, she started to protest, but then fell silent, realizing the alternative. She kept her face turned away from him and limited places where their bodies could touch. When they'd reached the middle of the yard, she tilted her head back and noticed the multihued arc of a rainbow floating over the big white house.

Sam set her down hard on the back-porch steps, then disappeared inside. She stared at his back through the screen door, absently wondering what he had meant by unrequited love. The Sam Parker she remembered had had only close relationships with his textbooks. She had always assumed he'd had a crush on Harriet, like most of the boys at Walton High, but as Joe's best friend, he would have known her to be off-limits. Cassie gave a mental shrug. All the more reason for unrequited love, although she couldn't picture Harriet as Sam's type.

Cassie spent a few moments composing herself, straightening her hair and wiping any mascara that might be smeared under her eyes. Slowly, she pulled open the screen door, her other hand reaching unbidden to her neck, and entered the kitchen. She moved forward through the house and listened to the low buzz of voices, the ebb and flow of the sound like a swarm of bees.

Small groups of people stood around the front parlor, while others hovered over the mahogany pedestal table in the dining room, its surface brimming over with food. The old Sedgewick twins, Thelma and Selma, in their late seventies and still wearing matching outfits, took turns hugging the breath out of Cassie as they left. Their straw hats scratched her cheek, but their eyes were so filled with warmth and sympathy that Cassie easily forgave them their eccentric exuberance.

Selma's brittle hands clutched Cassie's forearm. "Your daddy wanted a clipping of our Red Radiance rosebush for your mother's rose garden. If it's all right with you, I'd like to plant it myself, as a sort of tribute to him."

Cassie stared at the thin line of bright orange lipstick, a garish equals sign at the bottom of Selma's face, and was oddly touched by the emotion and sincerity wrought by a single rose clipping. To Cassie, a rose was something she received by the dozen from the florist on the corner and then stuck in a vase on her desk, where she could watch them slowly wither.

"Thank you, Miss Selma. I'd like that very much." Before she knew what she was doing, Cassie had bent and kissed the old lady's soft cheek, catching a whiff of baby powder.

She spied Mr. Purdy taking his hat off the rack by the front door, and she flushed, reliving the pink-porch incident all over again. He approached her with a smile and outstretched arms and embraced her.

"It's so good to see you again, Cassie. You've been sorely missed around these parts. I understand your education at Walton High has served you well in the big city."

"Yes, sir," she said, feeling like a kid again, a shaky grin crossing her face.

"I'm sorry about your father. He will be missed greatly." He paused for a moment, then smiled softly. "Though I must say that the best thing to come of this is that it's brought you home. I hope you're giving some serious thoughts about staying here permanently. I know it was your father's wish."

Cassie's throat constricted, and she had trouble forcing the words out. "I'm sure I'll think about it, but I really don't-"

Mr. Purdy cut her off by patting her hand. "No need to rush to any hasty decisions right now. There's a lot of other things going on in your life that will take your mental energies, so take your time." He put his hat on his head. "Just try to stay out of mischief while you're here."

Cassie's eyes widened, but he only smiled as he turned away and let himself out the front door.

Slowly, the crowd thinned, all of them patting, kissing, or hugging her on their way out. Her tiredness made it hard to suppress the tinge of annoyance that crawled over her at their prying questions and curious stares. When she caught sight of herself in the hallway mirror with her arms crossed tightly in front of her, she looked like a foreboding crow. She purposefully moved her arms to her sides.

Harriet approached Cassie from behind, her pale skin and blond hair an angelic backdrop to the severity of her black dress. Black had never been Harriet's color, but now she looked even more peaked and tired than Cassie remembered. "You know they're not being nosy just for the sake of it. They're curious about you because they care for you." Harriet touched her sister on the arm. "We've all been worried about you these past years. We feel that, well, that it's our duty to check on you-to make sure you're all right. And that you haven't changed too much."

Cassie turned to face her sister. She wanted so much to resume the closeness she and Harriet had once shared, to take Harriet to the gazebo and talk about their father and their childhood and to share their tears. But it was too soon. Harriet was almost a stranger to her and no more comfort at a time like this than Andrew would be.

The thought had come from nowhere, and in her surprise and annoyance at hearing herself think it, Cassie said the first thing that popped into her head. "Well, one thing that's changed is my knowing how to dress. What is it with all these wide lace collars and big hair? Don't they sell Cosmo here?"

Harriet regarded her calmly. "You always did turn mean when you were scared. I guess some things never change." She kissed Cassie's cheek quickly, then left to say good-bye to the last of the mourners already congregating in the foyer.

Cassie stared after Harriet's retreating back, feeling terrible about what she'd said and wanting to deny that she was scared of anything. But somehow the words wouldn't come out. She needed to talk to her father and even started toward his study, until she remembered. The familiar sting of tears hit her again, and she ducked her face, heading toward the kitchen and the next best thing to her father.

She flung open the swinging door, quickly stepping inside to the welcome silence of the kitchen, the only noise the soft ticking of the fisherman's clock above the stove. Cassie had given it to her father one year for Father's Day, loving the way the small fish ticked around the face of the clock, marking off the minutes.

Aunt Lucinda stood at the back door, her face pressed against the screen.

Cassie called her name and began to walk toward her, the need for a soft shoulder to cry on moving her forward. But something in the way Aunt Lucinda stood, her shoulders rounded and her hands, for once, empty and still by her sides, made Cassie stop.

"Aunt Lucinda," she said again, and her aunt turned around.

"Oh, Cassie," she cried, and stumbled toward her.

Cassie, unused to being in the role of comforter, snapped open her arms and gathered her aunt to her as sobs shook her shoulders. Her hand seemed to automatically pat the black polyester of Lucinda's dress, softly at first and then firmer. She wasn't ready for this. Where was a soft shoulder for her?

"There, there, Aunt Lu. You'll see-things will be all right." She only wished she could convince herself.

Aunt Lucinda lifted her head, blinking her eyes, her smile wobbly. "They will be, won't they? Things always manage to work out in the end, don't they?" She grabbed Cassie's hand. "I've got won-derful friends, and you and Harriet and Joe and the kids. Things will be okay." Her smile faltered. "But I'm going to miss him. I've been taking care of him for so long, I hardly know what to do with myself now."

Cassie put her arm across her shoulders. "There's lots you can do. Don't worry about a thing. I'll make sure you're settled before I go back to New York."

Aunt Lucinda's eyes widened. "Go back? You can't go back! What about the house? And your family? You can't just leave us. We need you."

"You've all managed very well without me for a long time. I think you'll survive again. But I promise I'll visit often, all right? I won't be a stranger anymore."

"But what about the house?"

Cassie shook her head. "I don't want it." She paused for a moment. "Actually, I was thinking of giving it to you. You've lived here for so long, you might as well own it."

Cassie stopped, alarmed by the change in her aunt. Lucinda glared at her with narrowed eyes, mascara trails running across her rouged cheeks. "Your father wanted you to have this house. I will not be the one responsible for thwarting his plans. Besides, what would an old woman like me do with a big old house like this? Just keeping it up all by myself would be the death of me."

Cassie followed her aunt through the swinging doors. "But I could pay for help. You wouldn't have to do anything."

Her aunt turned to her. "Your father wanted you to have the house, Cassie, and that's that." Her high heels tapped across the wood floor of the dining room. "I'm sure he had his reasons, and I learned a long time ago that my brother was usually right." She dabbed at her nose with a crumpled tissue. "Besides, maybe it's time I find my own place. Your daddy left me a nice little nest egg-more than enough to buy a house. A small one, of course, but mine. It's been a long time since I was on my own."

Cassie opened her mouth to argue, then closed it as Sam entered the room and leaned against the dark wood casement, crossing one booted foot over the other. Cassie averted her eyes, catching sight of something sticking out from the top of the wainscoting. She walked over to where Sam stood and plucked it out of the woodwork behind him.

She held the tiny pine needle in her palm, the smell of Christmas suddenly filling her nose and the vision of her mother draping the doorways and chandeliers with pine boughs crowding her mind. Aunt Lucinda had continued the tradition of dressing the house for the season, and each Christmas had been more memorable than the last. Cassie sighed, crushing the pine needle in her hand. Andrew's concession to decorating for the season was a three-foot-tall artificial tree in the corner of their bedroom. But at least they had real snow. And Rockefeller Center.

Sam cleared his throat. "I'm leaving now. But I wanted to make a suggestion before I left. This house will be pretty lonely tonight. Why don't you go sleep at Harriet's?"

She shook her head, wondering why she was so opposed to the idea. "No. I want to stay here. It . . . it reminds me of Daddy."

He nodded, his eyes warm. "Then you might consider asking Harriet and her family to stay with you. It will make you both feel better."

A scream from Sarah Frances made them both start and then step back at the sound of running feet. The young girl flew past them, a loose ribbon dangling in her hair, followed closely by Joey. Lucinda pressed herself against the wall, and Cassie flew back against Sam when she spied what the boy was chasing his sister with: a small garter snake, its skin reflecting the light from the chandelier and its red tongue flicking in and out. Joe followed on their heels, shouting at Joey to stop but not quite succeeding in getting the laughter out of his voice.

Cassie disengaged herself from Sam's hold. "Yeah. Great suggestion, Sam. I'll feel a lot better having them in the house with me tonight. Besides, it's a lot of trouble for all of them to bring their stuff over here."

"Don't be so stubborn. Just ask. I know Harriet will want to stay here, anyway. He was her father, too." He straightened. "You won't even have to tell them it was my idea." Without waiting for a response, he said good-bye to Lucinda and turned to leave.

Cassie called out, not quite hiding her smile, "Don't let the door hit you in the butt on the way out."

His only reply was the front door slamming shut.

Aunt Lucinda regarded her with still eyes. "You must be scared, honey. You're acting mean." She grabbed Cassie's arm. "Come on. Let's go talk to Harriet. I know she'll want to keep you company tonight."

Cassie allowed herself to be led away, wondering why everybody seemed to think there was anything she could possibly be scared of.

Five.

The sound of a crying baby startled Cassie awake. Sitting up, she stared at the dark outline of the pink canopy and wondered how she had gone to sleep so easily. She still wore her black suit, having just flopped on the bed right after dinner, not thinking sleep would find her. She didn't want to admit that Sam was right, but she had felt strangely comforted knowing that the bedrooms around her would be filled with the sleeping members of her family.

The wailing got louder as Cassie heard a door open and footsteps come up the stairs, cross the hall, and head back down the stairs. She slid out of bed and opened her door, not wanting to go back to sleep and needing somebody to talk to.

The front door closed quietly as Cassie descended the stairs, then let herself outside. The full moon shone brightly, illuminating the porch and columns in a milky blue light. She spied Joe on the swing, a small twitching bundle in his arms.

Joe held a finger to his lips before bending his head to look at the baby's face. He motioned for Cassie to join him on the swing. She sat down softly, trying not to jolt it.

They swung in the stillness for a while, listening to the unseen insects in the grass humming their ceaseless nighttime lullaby. A bull-frog croaked nearby, its lonely call the only percussion to the crickets' string section. Cassie smiled, thankful that Joey wasn't there to add the unfortunate amphibian to his collection. The baby let out a few more cries, each one softer than the last, until she settled down to the rhythm of the swing.

The baby sighed softly in her sleep; a light breeze carried with it the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle and a host of forgotten memories of many summer evenings spent on the same porch. She pictured her mother sitting on the steps and singing to her and Harriet, the cotton twill of her mother's skirt soft under her cheek, while her father read the paper, the discarded pages fluttering like moths on the wooden planks of the floor.

Joe spoke first. "Aunt Lucinda says you're wanting to sell the house."

Cassie nodded. "I don't need it. What would I do with a big old house in Georgia? I don't live here anymore." She looked over at Joe. "But if at all possible, I'd like to keep it in the family." She stilled the swing by putting her feet flat on the floor. "If you want it, it's yours. I'll give it to you."

Joe absently patted the baby's back, and Cassie tried not to look at his hands, the old hands of her memory. "No, Cassie. We couldn't afford it. Even if you gave it to us, we could never afford the upkeep. I don't make much as a high school teacher, and Harriet's boutique barely provides for a few extras. Your father was very generous to us in his will, but we've got five college educations to consider."

Cassie sat up straighter. "But I could help! I could send-"

"No." Joe's voice was firm, causing the baby to stir. He waited a moment, then continued. He eased way back against the swing again. "That's not what the judge wanted. I vote you hang on to it. You'll never know when you might need it."

She shook her head in the darkness. "This house was so much a part of me a long time ago, but that life is gone forever, and there's no need for me to hang on to it. Clinging to the past isn't the most healthy thing." She looked away for a moment. "Like clinging to old hurts. It hampers the growing process."

Joe looked at her as the baby sighed in her sleep, his eyes glittering in the moonlight. "So, what are you going to do?"

She shrugged, jostling the swing slightly. "I guess I could sell it. I noticed the under-contract signs on the Haneys' and Duffys' yards. Somebody's buying property in Walton."

With a snort, Joe carefully moved the baby to his other shoulder. "Yeah, but it's not somebody you want to sell this house to."

"What do you mean?"

"A developer bought those lots-gave the families a really sweet deal. Not that your daddy ever gave them the time of day. Wants to put a high-end retail mall right here." He scratched his chin furiously.

"Ever since they put that exit in off the interstate, we've had Atlanta commuters moving in and all sorts of builders wanting to change Walton. It's been like a damned circus around here."

Cassie let her gaze wander out over the moonlit expanse of lawn, the nighttime quiet like a gentle song to her soul. "Is it the same developer Daddy sold the cotton field to?"

"Nah. And you're never going to believe who bought that." He looked at Cassie expectantly.

She tried to hide her impatience. "Just tell me-who?"

"Ed Farrell."

"Ed Farrell? You're kidding, right?"

The swing squeaked as Joe moved. "Nope. He's got his own realty business now, and he's actively recruiting all those suburbanites to move into this new neighborhood down there below your house. He even had the gall to call it Farrellsford."

Cassie's eyes widened, picturing the tall, gangly Ed from high school and the pants he wore that were always a size too small or too large-just whatever his mom could find at the thrift shop. If he was buying up property and building neighborhoods, he'd come a long way since she'd known him. "Wow" was all she could manage.

Joe sat up straighter. "You wouldn't consider selling this house to a developer, now, would you?"

She stood abruptly, the swing rocking in her wake. "I honestly don't know. If nobody wants it, I'll have to sell it. And that's that."

"Would you do that to punish us? To get back for what happened fifteen years ago?"

She leaned back against the railing that stretched between the columns, nudging aside a paint can, the smell of fresh paint heavy in the humid air. "No. Of course not. I'm . . ." She closed her eyes for a moment. "It's funny, but none of that old stuff seems to matter anymore. It did for so long, when I stayed away, but now that I'm here, I realize how inconsequential it all seems to my life right now. It's funny, but right before Daddy died, I told him that staying away was just a habit I'd gotten used to. I think I was right."

"We didn't do it to hurt you, you know. We loved each other, and we loved you, too. But every time we tried to tell you, you'd change the subject or run away. It was like you knew what we were going to say but didn't want to hear it. I guess you're just the type of person who has to be hit over the head with something before you believe it."