I could almost pity the witch, Corban thought. Then again, why should I? She brought it on herself. If Annie never speaks to her mother again, who could blame her? One word from Annie would be more than Nora Gaines deserved. Susan Carter had filled in details of how Annie had lived most of her life: a puppet on strings, yanked hither and yon by her controlling mother.

Suddenly another thought lashed razor-sharp across his mind: Weren't you the guy who had wanted to put all the poverty-level old folks in a government facility where no one would have to deal with them? Weren't you the guy who wanted to get the old folks off the street and out of sight? After all, this is a youth-oriented society. Right? Old folks could be a real nuisance.

He swallowed hard, fighting the rush of shame that washed over him.

Admit it, Corban. You could barely stand the sight of Leota Reinhardt the first time you met her. You were repulsed by her wrinkles, her soiled polyester dress, her unkempt house in a ghetto neighborhood. You came with all the answers and wanted her to confirm them. Just so you could get an A in a college course.

It was true. All of it.

What is it about Nora Gaines you really dislike? Why not take a good, hard look at that?

He did. And he knew in an instant what it was that had roused his animosity. The reason wasn't nearly as altruistic as feeling compassion for Annie. It was far more personal. Nora Gaines had hit his sore spot. She'd recognized him for who he really was.

"Why did you come here?" The sarcasm of her question had cut his conscience wide open. Why had he come? To use Leota Reinhardt, to get what information he needed and then walk away and forget her.

And there was something else.

Nora Gaines reminded him of Ruth Coldwell. Ruth had said things to him on her way out that had made him see himself more clearly. And he hadn't liked what he had seen. She was wrong in what she'd done, but was he any more right in the way he'd chosen to live with her? Had he ever thought about the consequences? And with Leota, his good deeds came from purely selfish motives. Her desperate need had given him entrance into her life. No wonder she hadn't liked him at first.

Corban grimaced. I'm more like Nora Gaines than I am like Annie. I'm self-centered and self-absorbed.

"I shouldn't've brought her here," Annie said in a husky voice.

Nora's response was quick and gentle. "You did the right thing."

"No, I didn't!" Annie jerked her hand from Corban's and stood. She paced the waiting room. "I should've listened to Grandma. She wanted to stay home. I should never have brought her here."

"You did the right thing," Nora said again.

Fred nodded. "She needed a doctor, Annie."

"I think she knows she's dying and that's why she wouldn't tell me she was in pain."

"She's in pain?" Nora asked softly.

Annie turned, her face ravaged by conflicting emotions. "She's been in pain for years, Mother. Pain you wouldn't even understand." She turned away again.

Tensing, ready for attack, Corban waited for Nora Gaines to say something harsh and cruel. But she said nothing. She looked pale and sick. Or maybe it was the sight of her brother, George, striding into the waiting room that kept her from lacerating her daughter again. Jeanne came in behind her husband, looking weary and cautious.

"We heard the message on the answering machine." George looked from Fred to Nora to Annie. Corban smiled grimly. George's gaze barely acknowledged his existence. "We'd have been here sooner, but we had to find a babysitter. What'd the doctor say?"

"She's undergoing tests right now." Annie turned, squaring her shoulders as she faced him. "The doctor said it would take a few hours." She glanced at her watch. "We should hear any time now."

Jeanne went to Annie. "I'm so sorry, honey. How can we help?"

"There's nothing we can do but wait and pray, Aunt Jeanne," Annie said tearfully, receiving the hug and returning it.

"There's plenty we can do," George said, his jaw set. "We can see that Mother gets proper care this time."

Corban stood. "Now, just a minute-"

"You're not a member of this family." George ground out the words. "So butt out of our business."

"He's my friend!" Annie stepped around Jeanne.

"And it's my mother we're talking about."

"George," Jeanne said, her voice pleading. "This isn't the time-"

"This is as good a time as any." His face was flushed, his eyes dark. "I thought you were going to deal with your daughter, Nora. Tell her what we discussed."

Nora leaned forward in her chair and covered her face.

"We're all upset, George," Fred said calmly.

"Upset! You're right I'm upset. I get back from a Christmas with in-laws and find a message on my answering machine that my mother is in the hospital again. I just finished talking with the doctor, and he said Mother has probably been in pain for weeks! If she'd been where we'd wanted her to be in the first place, she would've had professional help before this!"

Annie's face convulsed.

Corban stepped forward. "Hey, man! Where do you get off talking to Annie that way?" He wanted to knock George on his self-righteous backside. "She's been taking care of Leota night and day. Where have you been?"

"I've got a business to run. I have a family to take care of. I'm not some snot-nosed rich kid going through college on a trust fund!"

Corban felt the heat rush into his face.

"Yeah!" George sounded positively smug. "I know all about you. Sociology major. Big paper to write. Did you think I wouldn't want to find out the whole story on some guy who just shows up one day to help a little old lady out of the kindness of his heart? I hired someone to find out about you."

Wrath melted into shame. "You could've asked me. What did you think? I was after Leota's massive estate? She lives from one Social Security check to another while her daughter lives in Blackhawk and her son-"

"Get out of here!" George bellowed. "Or I'll throw you out!"

The staff at the nurses' station looked at each other. "Do you think we should do something?" a candy striper said to one of the nurses. The medical technician stood in the supply room listening to the heated conversation. He shook his head.

"You stay out of it. I've already paged the doctor and a chaplain."

"Someone in there is going to need a doctor. They sound like they're going to start a fistfight."

"It won't be the first time," another nurse said. "Everyone trying to do what they think is right, no one wanting to take responsibility, and the poor old lady caught in the middle."

"I don't think that's what's going on," another staff member said. "The granddaughter wants to take care of her."

"Get real. Did you see the girl? She can't be more than eighteen. Still wet behind the ears and she's supposed to have that kind of responsibility?"

"Maybe if she had some help," a nurse said, writing notes on a chart.

"From what I hear, the patient and her daughter have been estranged for years, and the son isn't close to her either," said another, going into the medicine cabinet.

"It sounds like they care."

"Oh, they care all right. Put her away and let the state pay the bills. That'll leave something for them when-"

"What an awful thing to say."

"How do you know so much?" The other nurse slipped the chart back into its file.

"All you have to do is listen!"

"It's not our business what they think. Our job is to take care of the patient."

A chaplain walked by, heading for the waiting room.

"That poor little old lady."

"The granddaughter wants to take care of her," the candy striper said again.

"Doesn't sound like she'll get help from anyone in that room."

The head nurse picked up another chart. "Well, the patient won't be here long."

"Is she going to die?"

"We all die sometime, but I didn't mean that. She could last a long time. You never know in these cases. They can surprise you. And miracles still happen. What I meant was we're short on beds, and she's going to need long-term care. Dr. Patterson will have her moved into a convalescent hospital unless the family comes to some kind of agreement."

"Doesn't sound like they can agree on anything."

"How sad." The young candy striper shrugged.

"It's better than the alternative." The head nurse slipped the chart back into its place and went down the hall to check on a patient.

One of the nurses was checking over the med chart and the meds in their small paper cups. She glanced at the medical technician who was checking orders. "What do you think, Hiram?"

"I feel sorry for Mrs. Reinhardt."

Hiram knew death could sometimes be an ally. He could hear the arguing going on in the waiting room. He'd listened to the nurses without adding his opinion. He'd drawn blood from Leota Reinhardt not more than an hour ago. It wouldn't be hard to get his hands on the doctor's report and see the prognosis.

He'd helped terminally ill patients before. Maybe he could help Leota Reinhardt, too.

Leota knew something was wrong the moment Annie came into her room. Though her granddaughter smiled cheerfully, Leota could see the puffiness around her eyes, the redness of them. She was pretending everything was going to be fine.

Annie took her hand. "I'll get you out of here as soon as I can, Grandma." Her mouth worked and she swallowed convulsively. "I'll do whatever I have to . . ."

"They giving you trouble?"

"We're just working out some details."

Leota saw the pain in Annie's eyes, the strain. She saw other things as well, things she hadn't noticed over the past weeks of being in her granddaughter's care. A pity she had to have a stroke to learn what it was like to have a loving daughter. Annie was everything Leota had hoped Eleanor would be. Kind, gentle, unselfish, honest, joyful. Eleanor had been such a sweet little girl, so eager to please. Circumstances had damaged her. Poor Eleanor had learned to lock away hurt by hiding inside herself. Maybe someone would be able to break through the walls and shake her out of herself. Maybe then Eleanor would be the woman God intended her to be.

Whatever happens, God, don't let them ruin Annie. Don't let bitterness take root and choke out her faith. Lord, would You do that for me? Put a high hedge around my granddaughter. Make a wall. Put angels in the watchtowers. I've failed You. I wasn't able to rear a child after Your own heart. How ironic that it was Eleanor who did it. No, that's not right either. I mustn't think that way. It was You. It was You all the time, Lord. It was You who made this miracle.

"Grandma?" Annie was searching her face.

Leota tried to concentrate. She mustn't let her mind wander so much. "Don't worry about me. Whatever happens, honey, you know who holds the cards."

Annie's eyes lightened, warmed, glowed. "I love you, Grandma. I love you so much." A litany from her heart.

"I love you, too." Leota couldn't begin to tell Annie how much the past months had meant to her. So many barren, lonely years. And then the idyll. "Precious . . . precious . . ." She didn't want to think about the storm coming.

Lord, I am too old and sick to dress myself for battle. You'll have to put my armor on for me.

"The doctor said he's given you something to help you rest, Grandma. I'll come back in the morning." Annie leaned down and kissed her. Someone was speaking to her from the doorway. Annie glanced up, nodded, and then looked down at her again. "I have to go now, Grandma. Hang on, please. Don't go home to the Lord yet."

George came in next. He didn't say much, but Leota could feel the tension radiating from him. Anger held in check. Had she inconvenienced him again? What time was it? Maybe he was supposed to be at work instead of visiting her in the hospital. Jeanne approached. Why was there such a look of shame on her face? What was going on? George and Jeanne wished her a good night and left.

Then Eleanor and Fred came in. My, it's a regular family reunion. Everyone but the grandchildren. Leota had never seen her daughter look so heartsick. Fred had his arm around her shoulders as she came closer. When Eleanor put her hand over her mother's, emotions flooded Leota.

Oh, Lord, she is softening. Oh, Lord, Lord, it's finally happening. It is.

Leota wept.

How long had it been since her daughter had touched her? The last thing Leota wanted to do was frighten her daughter away so soon, but she couldn't seem to hold the flood back. Annie said it was the stroke. Emotions could no longer be restrained.

Eleanor's face convulsed. She turned away slightly, but Fred was turning her back again, whispering encouragement. Before Eleanor could say anything, a nurse came into the room.

"I'm sorry, but the doctor said it's best if Mrs. Reinhardt rests now. You can come back tomorrow morning and visit."

Eleanor was in control again. Or so it seemed, until she looked down, her gaze barely brushing Leota's. "Good night, Mama."

Mama. She hadn't said that since she was a little girl. Mama. Mama!

Leota remembered her little darling screaming after her as she was held tightly in Helene Reinhardt's arms. "Mama! Mama! Don't go!"

Leota wanted to travel back in time. She reached out to her daughter, but Eleanor was already turning away. Oh, God, give me a few more minutes with her. Why couldn't that nurse allow them another five minutes? Miracles happened in less time than that! Leota had seen Eleanor's broken spirit. Was she contrite as well? She raised her hand weakly from the bed. "Ellie . . ."

It was Fred who noticed her. He leaned down and took her hand in his. "I'll bring her back tomorrow morning, Leota. Keep the faith." He kissed her hand like a gentleman, and then they were gone.

Annie unlocked her car. Corban was with her, and she could feel the anger radiating from him. He was still fuming over the scene in the waiting room. Listening to Uncle George rant and rave, she had wondered if she was wrong and he was right. Maybe she was being thoughtless and immature. Then she had seen Grandma Leota in that hospital bed. She couldn't bear to let her live out the rest of her life in a convalescent home when it was within her power to take her home and care for her.

Lord, I know it won't be easy. Father, I know I'm near exhaustion and I need more help. Jesus, help me do the things I need to do with wisdom. I can't stand alone. Maybe some of what Uncle George said about me having a martyr complex is true. If so, get me out of that mode and make me discerning.

She'd call Maryann Carter and get a list of professionals who could help. She'd talk to the bank about a reverse mortgage or whatever was needed.

Corban took her arm. "Are you sure you're all right to drive, Annie?"

"I'm fine, Corban. Thanks for supporting me through this."

"It isn't over, Annie."

"I know. That's why I'm going home. I'm going to pray and make some phone calls, and then I'm going to rest. Tomorrow morning I'm coming back and getting Grandma out of there."