"One of your messages?"

Mary shrugged. "There have been a few. There are times, when I'm here alone, that I feel like having friendly company. It's a weakness of mine. I can't stand being alone."

Oh, God! thought Harper. This has been going on all along. She's been playing with poor Chelsea whenever she feels like it, on a whim, just to prove that she can. She lowered her head in defeat, thinking, I can't be a part of this.

"You don't trust her, do you?" Mary said, standing in front of her, both hands around her glass.

Harper looked up, confused.

"You have no faith," Mary persisted.

"I don't understand."

"Just because I've called her doesn't mean she's come." Mary's expression was one of compassion.

"You mean...?" Harper asked.

"As much as it irks me to admit it, Chelsea belongs to you, Harper. She's committed to you. Oh, my God, dare I say it-she's in love with you. She's been inconsolably in love with you for the last two years." Mary raised her glass to Harper, as in a toast, and took a swallow. "Not that you deserve it, for here you are, suspecting her of betrayal."

"Really?" Harper felt the heaviness in her heart lifting.

"Really. She hasn't been a barrel of laughs for the last couple of years. I've wondered why, sometimes, she ever bothered to come back to me. Well, I guess I know why. She's serious about her commitments. She wanted to honor her vows to me."

"You mean, you haven't seen her at all? She hasn't responded?"

"Oh, she has responded. She called me two days ago and told me to quit leaving such ludicrous messages on her answering machine. I was offended. I thought my messages were rather entertaining. Chelsea used to swoon when I quoted poetry. But I'm afraid she doesn't find me as amusing as she once did. She's grown up and her sense of humor has been tempered a bit by life."Harper felt suddenly buoyant. "So she really doesn't love you anymore?"

"You needn't look quite so overjoyed. And I wouldn't go that far. That girl will always love me. But she isn't in love with me anymore. She's in love with you. And although she will always have a prominent place in my heart, little birds gotta fly." Mary waved one of her hands in imitation of a bird's wing.

Harper sat silently for a moment. She realized she still didn't know Mary's position.

"And you?" she asked. "Do you love her?"

"Of course I do. Chelsea's very special to me. She always will be. I hope she'll get over being hurt, eventually, and we can have some sort of association again." Mary cast a conciliatory glance at Harper. "Okay, a platonic one if necessary."

She sat down again and looked at Harper with an uncharacteristically serious expression. "I'm afraid I just couldn't be what she wanted me to be. I tried. I've never tried for anyone else. She wanted to change me. How hopeless is that?"

She looked resigned. "You know, Harper, I'm a child of the Sixties. My generation ushered in the sexual revolution and the feminist movement before you were even born. To be a lesbian back then was a radical position. It was a political stance, not just a personal one. We rejected everything that represented the establishment, and that included their whole concept of love, the whole 'one man, one woman' image of sexuality. My lifestyle has always reflected that unconventionality. I never wanted to be tied down to one person or to have kids or live inside four walls. I wanted to be the free, independent woman that my generation fought to make space for in this society. You've read all the literature. Even if you didn't live it, you know what I'm talking about."

"Yes, I know," Harper said slowly, realizing that Mary was describing the lifestyle that she had always admired and sought for herself.

"I never wanted a relationship," Mary said, emphasizing the word with distaste. "I'm not that kind of person. Chelsea somehow got through my defenses. She's an exceptional girl."

Mary smiled to herself. "But what she wanted wasn't something I had in me."

So that was it, thought Harper. Chelsea loved in the most traditional way there was. That was how she loved Harper too, and for that realization, Harper was ecstatic. She leapt to her feet."Harper," Mary warned, her voice suddenly stern, "she deserves someone who will never falter. Do you know what I mean?"

Harper nodded. "Yes, I understand." What she understood at that moment was a great deal more than she could say.

As Harper turned to leave, her phone rang. It was Chelsea's cell. She answered immediately. Mary sat back in her chair and sipped her drink, looking composed and satisfied.

"Where are you?" Chelsea asked. "I got your message that you were home, but I've been there and now I'm at my place, but you're not here either. I'm wondering if we're passing each other on the street, you know. That damned faculty meeting ran long or I'd already be lying naked in your arms with a smile on my face."

"I'll be there in a couple of minutes," Harper said breathlessly.

"I've missed you so much."

Mary rolled her eyes.

"Me too," Chelsea said.

Harper pushed her phone into her pocket. "I'm sorry," she said to Mary. "Sorry for intruding and for being such an idiot."

"Well," said Mary nonchalantly, "you can't really help that, can you, dear?"

Harper laughed and noted with gratitude that Mary's smile contained genuine affection.

"By the way, Harper," Mary said, "did you ever get that lovely niece of yours back to her parents?"

"Oh, yes, I did. I've just returned, in fact. But I don't believe you've seen the last of her. I think she's going to be back next year to go to college."

"Really? That will be interesting. I'll definitely look forward to that."

"I'll let myself out," Harper said.

"Yes, you do that, and I shall return to my entertainment. And please, Harper, don't drop in on me again, okay? Not without calling first."

Chapter 35.

WINTER.

The stairs creaked under Harper's feet as she climbed to the second floor of another unique old house encircled by stately oaks, a scrubby lawn and a narrow, shady street in the neighborhood surrounding the university. The banister was polished wood, worn dull in places by many grasping hands. Below her lay the front room with its hardwood floors, refurbished fireplace and large unadorned windows letting in refracted heat and plenty of light. The real estate agent was downstairs turning on lights and opening blinds, dispelling any hint of gloom. Although it had warmed up considerably outside, the chill of morning still lingered in the vacant rooms.

This was the third house that they had seen today, but already Harper felt differently about it. From the moment she stepped up to the front porch with its weathered railings and overgrown wisteria vine, she could easily imagine sitting there contentedly 0.

on a summer evening. It reminded her of the porch behind her parents' home. As she reached the second-floor landing, Chelsea poked her head out of a room along the hallway, grinning, and said, "Check out the master bedroom."

Harper followed her into a spacious room with windows overlooking the backyard. She admired the wainscoting and the light fixture, a gaudy old thing that looked like it might be original. The master bath had been remodeled and modernized, but someone had taken care to preserve the antique details so it didn't look out of place in this turn-of-the-century house.

"I've just got a feeling about this one," Harper said.

"A feeling?" Chelsea laughed. "Of course you do."

"Don't you like it?"

"Yes, I do. But, let's be practical for a second. It needs some work, which means money. If we could talk the price down a bit, that would help. We ought to be able to get some reduction just for the dry rot."

"Dry rot?" Harper asked, perplexed.

"Around the downstairs windows. They must be leaking.

Probably should be replaced. You didn't notice the dry rot, did you?"

Harper shook her head.

Chelsea smiled her crooked smile and said, "Or the rain gutters, rusted through in several places. Or the fact that a couple of the doors are warped and won't actually shut."

"It's a mess," Harper said, suddenly disheartened.

"No more than the others we've looked at. It's an old house. There are going to be things like that. It just needs some attention." Chelsea hooked her hair behind her ear as she looked critically along the ceiling. "However, on the positive side, there are plenty of rooms to spread out in, and that sunny room in the back is just right for your music room. An ideal workspace for an aspiring composer, don't you think?"

Harper just smiled. She had written only one piece of original music so far, the background for the film about her mother, which Chelsea, with her limited musical knowledge and slight prejudice, had pronounced a "magnum opus." Harper herself thought it wasn't half bad. If Chelsea's aspirations for her musical career were any indication of the future, there might be more such compositions on the horizon. And that would be fine with Harper. She was also considering teaching music. Her mind kept returning to Wilona's grandson, Andrew, and the possibility that there were ways that she could share her musical gifts that would really make a difference in people's lives. Now that the semester was in full swing, though, she hadn't had much time to devote to music, other than the symphony. Still, she thought, with a space as inviting as that delightful music room, she might be able to make the time. It would even be possible to teach out of her home, something that was out of the question in her current house, especially now that Chelsea had moved in.

"And a big, mostly finished basement," Chelsea added. "That really adds living space. The perfect place, in fact, for a college student to live. By next fall, we could have that fixed up so cute.

She'll love it."

Harper faced her. "You're really okay with that?"

"Oh, sure. It'll be fun. But it would definitely be better to have a house like this where she lives on an entire subterranean floor of her own."

"Agreed. I'm sure she would prefer it too."

They made their way to the end of the hall and a square, empty room with a slanted ceiling and one tiny, cloudy window looking out into the maze of oak branches behind the house.

"Storeroom," Chelsea announced. "Must be. It's a funny place for a storeroom, though."

"This house has character," Harper said. "I can see us living here."

"There's room for a dog. You're okay with a dog, right?"

Harper nodded.

Chelsea wanted a home of the most conventional sort, occupied by two thoroughly committed people who cherished the peace in their house, in their hearts and in their minds. Harper wanted the same thing. That had not always been true, but it was true now. The need didn't exist independent of Chelsea, however.

She had taken a convoluted path to get here, traveling at the pace of the proverbial tortoise, but she felt that she had finally reached the end of her journey.

Chelsea tugged open the old-fashioned latch on the window casement, then pushed on the frame. It didn't budge.

"It would be fun to spend holidays here, don't you think?"

Harper asked. "With the fireplace ablaze and the smell of turkey filling that big old kitchen?"

Chelsea cast a glance over her shoulder. "Is that your Christmas tradition? Turkey?"

"It's what we always had when I was a kid. Turkey for both Thanksgiving and Christmas. I haven't done a traditional Christmas that much as an adult, but sometimes I've gone back East for it. Then, yes, it's always turkey. Everyone would throw a fit if it wasn't. What about you?"

"Sometimes turkey," Chelsea said, examining the frame around the window. "My mom isn't stuck on tradition. She likes to mix it up. Once we had a goose. And Yorkshire pudding and mincemeat pies made with actual meat. A strange and extremely fatty meal. She does stuff like that. You'll see for yourself. She wants to have us over this Christmas."

"Sounds like an adventure."

Harper realized she knew nothing about Chelsea's winter traditions. Just as Persephone disappeared into the underworld for six months of the year, Chelsea had been completely absent from Harper's world in non-summer months. But not anymore.

"What are you smiling at?" Chelsea asked.

"I was thinking about Persephone."

"Oh, yes, your whole mythology analogy. You know, I still have to laugh when I think about Mary as Medea. Or, even worse, Hades. God, Harper, you cast her in such a harsh light."

"At the time, yes," Harper admitted. "But not now. I mean, it was just insecurity. I'm over all that."

"Good. As you should be."

Chelsea gave the window another shove and it broke free, opening with a small shower of paint chips and dust. "Ah! Damn thing was painted shut."

Harper approached the window and looked out at the patchy lawn below. "I saw Mary at school the other day. She came into the library. She was very friendly and chatty. Nothing Medea-like about her. She's going to Morocco for the holidays."

"Really? She'll enjoy that. Just her sort of thing. No roast turkey for her."

"Do you think you might want to see her soon?"

Chelsea looked pointedly at Harper. "Yes, I might. I haven't even spoken to her since August."

"I think you should."

Chelsea looked momentarily thoughtful, then nodded. She turned back to the window and pulled it shut, struggling with the latch until she had it locked in place. "I like this house," she said with sudden resolve. "It feels so comfortable. Just right, you know?"

"Now you've got a feeling!"

Chelsea raised one eyebrow with a look of mild skepticism, but didn't deny it.

"Do you want to make an offer?" Harper asked.

As Chelsea turned in a hazy shaft of light, a look of affection spread across her face. She nodded, ducking under the eaves of the storeroom, and took Harper's hand. "I love you," she said quietly, "despite the fact that you don't see dry rot."

Harper slipped her arms around Chelsea's waist. "I love you too, despite the fact that you do." She kissed Chelsea briefly.

"What made you think about Persephone?"

"I was thinking that I now know what it was like before Hades abducted her, when she was living in the world all year round."