Saturday before noon, Jenny and Daniel arrived at the Tracys’. Rich was on duty; Robin and the boys expecting Daniel to spend the night in a tent the boys were in process of erecting; a project Daniel had joined. From the kitchen window, Robin and Jenny watched canvass and poles go up. They turned away as spikes were pounded into place. “They don’t need our help,” Robin observed.

“Girls?” Jenny laughed. “No.” A bittersweet acceptance. In many ways, their sons achieved an independence from mothering that was meant to be.

“They may not make it through the night out there,” Robin commented, responding to a mother’s intuition and weather predictions. “Good thing we have the porch.” A warm day, she wore cut-offs, a sleeveless T-shirt and tattered sneakers.

By contrast, Jenny dressed in a yellow, cotton print fastened down the front with large white buttons. Gramps said she looked “fresh as a daisy” that morning when they left—a long good-bye, a promise to return before the year was out. “Daniel’s used to rugged accommodations,” she remarked, a tremor in her voice. Leaning against the counter, she shifted, more apprehensive as the time grew close for Austin to arrive.

“My boys are too sheltered.” Observing Jenny from the corner of her eye, Robin caught her mood. “You and Austin are welcome to stay here, you know.” She took tall glasses from the cupboard. “Wouldn’t you rather have your privacy?”

Privacy. Jenny felt uneasy, an ache in the pit of her stomach. Her hand pressed her belly; she drew in a long, thoughtful breath. “Being alone with him scares me.”

“You’re still on the fence?” Robin took a tray of ice from the freezer, yanked the handle, splitting brittle cubes.

“Austin is so sure of himself. He knows what he wants.” She pulled a chair out from the table, dropped down. “He overwhelms me.”

“What do you want?” Ice cubes crackled under fresh-brewed tea.

“I can’t go back to Chicago ... the way things were there.”

Robin handed Jenny a glass, took a chair across the table. “Have you told him how you feel about a move here?”

With her index finger, Jenny pushed cubes around the glass. “No.” Her throat parched, she took a swallow. “I told him I believe him. Pam lied. There was no affair.”

“Ahhhhh.” Robin nodded as though she’d known that all along. She took a swallow from her glass. “Well then?”

“I want to be with him ... a part of me does.” Jenny amended. “Not in Chicago.”

“Soooo, it’s the move that has to be decided.”

“And he’s left that up to me. A decision I can’t make.”

“You have a voice ... a vote.”

“Not the deciding vote. It’s his work, his life. He has to make that decision.”

“I see what you’re saying,” Robin conceded. She turned her glass between her fingers.

Jenny went on. “He’s given me time. He needs time. Sometimes I think it’s best for us to stay apart. I almost didn’t come today.” Panicky, Jenny picked up her glass, set it down. “There’s Daniel. He needs his dad.”

Robin nodded. “The boys and I couldn’t make it from one day to the next without Rich.”

An exaggeration, Jenny thought. Could she make it without Austin? Not in his world. At Indian Lake her path was clear as if divinely struck through a familiar wilderness. Away from Indian Lake, she’d lost her compass, an aimless wanderer she’d become.

Robin pushed back her chair, stood. “You and Austin need to hash this out in private.” She walked over to the counter, took the phone book from a shelf. “Do yourself a favor. Book a room at the Green Tree Inn.”

“I can’t. A room would be too … ”

“Intimate?” Robin finished Jenny’s thought, while thumbing through the yellow pages. “If things work out, you’ll be glad you have it. If they don’t, you can cancel.” She held her finger on the number.

By high noon, Jenny knew that Austin’s flight would be delayed: engine trouble, new ETA three thirty. He’d called from a pay phone in the terminal, a bad connection. He assured her he’d be there before five, asked to have Danny run up with a message for Stan.

Daniel couldn’t wait to see the house. He’d gone up with the boys. That morning, she’d told Daniel only that a move was possible.

“Does he like the house? What did he say?” Austin asked, the line cutting in and out.

“They haven’t come back yet,” she enunciated clearly, as though projecting would overcome a bad connection.

“I’ll ... out ... I ... there. ... Jenny ... hear me?”

She told him she couldn’t understand. And then she thought he said they were calling the flight; he’d have to go. Just as the line went dead, he said, “Have some … tell you.”

Time, precise, relentless, goading us forward from one crisis to the next. Cruel time hangs suspended while an expected loved one does not arrive, nor does the telephone bring the blessed sound of his voice. Planes were known to crash, Jenny shuddered. With each passing hour, she grew more anxious, while at the same time more convinced she couldn’t live without him in her life. If they had to live apart, it would have to be an amicable separation for Daniel’s sake, and Austin’s, and her own. All of them would suffer.

She felt no bitterness, only a sense that he would choose one path, and she another.

Daniel and his cousins returned from the house, where they’d found a perfect tree to build their clubhouse. Stan had offered his expertise and the loan of his saws and hammers. They laid out sheets of paper on the kitchen table, set to drawing plans.

“Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves,” Jenny cautioned. No one paid attention.

Robin had a meeting at the church.

Rich came home from work, changed into casuals, set about cooking burgers on the grill. Jenny couldn’t swallow for the thickening in her throat, so she climbed the hill to the house on Summit where she would wait for Austin. The walk therapy, not a cure for her discomfort.

She found Stan working off the back hall where he’d tucked a half-bath into a former pantry. All afternoon he’d waited for Austin to arrive while the Pirates game—now in the closing innings—played on his radio. “I’m so sorry for the delay.”

Stan, not one to waste a scrap of wood much less precious time, related how he’d put the wait to good use. Adjusting his Pirate cap over unruly, steely-gray, with a patient grin, he allowed as how he had no need of “snooper vision.”

“I’ll wait for Austin in the yard.” She fled down the back steps.

The grounds reminded her of Old Church Park—a variety of trees—old, large, gracefully shaped: mature pines, blue spruce, towering elms, apple, pear, a perfect maple with sheltering arms—the one the boys had chosen for their tree house. She lifted the branch of an evergreen, breathed in its woodsy fragrance. A tree bends in the wind; sinks deeper roots in times of draught; sleeps in winter, awakes in spring—a natural wisdom. The wisdom of the old, the Grandmothers. Gran would be drawn to this place, as Jenny was. She felt the flow of time and space, a freedom she couldn’t have in an apartment.

Under the canopy of an elm perched in the upper boughs, expertly woven nests of sticks and straw where birds had raised their young, and squirrels were raising theirs. Bees and chiggers—in Pennsylvania called: hickies—went about their insect rituals; teaming under her sandals, creatures taking their place in the natural world. A world disturbed, not yet destroyed, by human habitation. This place would be good for Daniel; A good place for a boy to grow into a man.

She circled a bed of golden lilies, heads uplifted. A few ripe berries eased from thorny branches melted like drops of honey on her tongue. Lining the rusting wire fences, pink hollyhocks brought back summer afternoons on Grandma Ivy’s back porch—she and Robin, ballerina dolls they’d made from blossoms. This would be a good place for a girl to grow into a woman.

Behind the garage, she discovered an arbor where grape vines twined, the young shoots clinging to the old—the way we cling to our elders, sapping strength and knowledge. Leaving Gramps that morning, she’d felt uncertain, not ready to face the unknown, grateful for the time they shared. Without prying into her troubles, his trust in her judgment enough to move her forward.

From behind a garden shed she emerged—shadow to sunlight—turned up soil at her feet, the remnants of a vegetable garden. A privilege to work the earth, know its needs, tend its bounty. Unable to resist, she dropped to her knees, sunk her fingers in rich loam. Soil can work a healing. If this plot of ground were hers, the Three Sisters would grow together.

She sat back on her heels, fertile soil slipping through her fingers. She’d admonished Daniel for getting ahead of himself. She couldn’t let that happen; another disappointment in the making. She rose, dusted her hands, banishing the images of gardens from her thoughts.

Her eyes scanned the heavens as she turned back towards the house. Somewhere in that vast expanse banked with wind-blown clouds, a plane with engine trouble. The afternoon shadows grew longer. A chill, she shuddered, looked at her watch: almost four thirty. If all went well, Austin’s plane would have landed; had Austin called, Rich would have sent the boys with a message. Worry was useless, yet she couldn’t overcome near panic.

As long as Stan was willing to wait, she’d wait … on the back step, she decided. Treading through ankle-deep grass in need of a mow, the sound of tires churning loose pebbles brought her to a halt. Rooted to the spot, her breathing ceased, her pulses pounded. A rental came into her field of vision ... parked; the driver’s door opened ... Austin stood, stretching tall.

At the sight of him, her heart leaped. Relief, a joyful sob slipped from her throat. Longing for his touch, her impulse was to go to him, but she held back. Her head said, wait. Let him come to you. Raising her hand over her head, she called out, “Austin.”

In long, purposeful strides, he covered the expanse of grass between them. His eyes fixed on her face, several feet away; he stopped, as if sensing her restraint. “I could have driven here faster than the airlines allow,” he sputtered. “And the phones were out. I couldn’t call.” He looked frazzled, unsure of himself, unlike his usual cool, confident manner. But he was safe and sound. For the moment, that’s all she cared to know.

“Soooo, this is the place.” He gazed around quickly taking in what was within his line of vision. His eyes came back to her. “When I drove up, I was thinking, that front porch reminds me of Hamlin house.”

Jenny swallowed hard. She had to remain calm, and objective. “This house is not that old.” She cut a wide swath around him heading for the back door. “All the rooms are good size.”

He turned, following, as he looked back over his shoulder. “An over-size lot, I’d say. Must be half an acre.”

“I always wanted to have gardens.” Tossing the comment over her shoulder, she climbed the stairs, as though another person had taken over her mind and body. “Stan has been waiting a long time.” She swung the screen door into his hand, stepped across the threshold. A third person—whoever she’d become—put on a placid face.

Stan was in the kitchen with a level on the counter. The game had ended; the Pirates won. “Allo there. See ya’ made it. Better late than never.”

Austin stuck out his hand. “Sorry about that, Stan. Good to finally meet you.”

Perspiring, stubble on his chin, his cap at a comical angle, Stan wiped his hands on wrinkled work pants, while he took a measure of the man he faced. Clean-cut as if he’d just stepped on the golf course. Would these two find common ground?

“How about those Pirates?” Austin inquired an infectious grin few could resist. “Heard the ninth inning on the car radio. Big win!”

Stan grinned back as he took Austin’s hand. “Sure bet to win the pennant.”

Austin said he wouldn’t bet against them, not with Clemente playing the way he was. Baseball broke the ice, and as they spoke it came clear to Jenny that they’d had conversations on the phone. Stan took them on a tour, pointing out original features and the improvements he and Peg had made. Austin seemed impressed, or was he merely being polite. She was afraid to hope with so much undecided.

Upstairs in the master bedroom, Austin paced off the length and width, a light in his eyes when they met hers. “Nice big room. Good light. Our room.”

He’d taken over; was he assuming too much? She looked away, kept silent, her knees weak. A steep climb up the mountain and the time she’d spent wandering in the yard, she thought, knowing it was Austin’s powerful gaze that weakened her knees, and her resolve.

Stan swung open the door to the small connecting room. “My wife calls this a nursery.”

Austin looked inside. “Umm humm.” He turned to her, a gleam in his eye.

She felt the twinge any mention of a baby brought. Her eyes closed, she bit her lip. The daughter of a war hero does not scream out in pain. That morning when she and Daniel left the lodge she’d stepped into her father’s footprints, felt his spirit flowing through her. That spirit she must retain.

On the staircase going down, she hung back behind the men. Stan had Austin’s ear. “As I told ya’,” he remarked, “Ya’ get a real dry cellar up here on the mountain.” Flashlights in hand, the men continued on around the corner and down the basement steps, where they checked out the plumbing tapping on the pipes.

Jenny remained on the first floor, finding her way to the window seat in the dining room bay, her footsteps sounding hollow on the hardwood—hollow as she felt. She took a deep, full breath. Daylight fading, a golden, other-worldly glow now lit the spacious rooms.

Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap. In an empty house, sounds travel helter-skelter—rebound—bumping one upon the other, a collision of noise. Tap, tap! “Copper pipes and elbows. Good job, Stan!” Tap. Tap. Tap! “This’ll hold up thirty years or more ... or more.” Tap, tap. A mocking, haunting babble. Jenny covered her ears. Was Austin feigning interest?

She turned on the seat, gazing out over overgrown gardens. In her mind’s eye, brilliant flowers, tomato vines, the Three Sisters, and more. Rubbing her eyes, she could not be seeing what she saw. As though by magic, gardens filled with lush, colorful plants and flowers. The Trickster’s work. Or more likely, the stresses she’d endured these last weeks.

Within minutes, Austin would demand her answer—her call. Yes, she wanted to live in this house. That she couldn’t tell him. It had to be his call.

Footsteps on the stairs made her pulses race. Men were talking price and terms. How soon would the house be available, Austin wanted to know.

“Two weeks.” An awkward silence. “I’ll leave yuns ta talk it over.”

Austin followed Stan to the door, saying he’d be hearing from them in a day or two; he thanked him for the tour.

Stan gave a tip of his cap to Jenny as he passed the window. “Thank you,” she murmured.

They were alone in this empty house. Her heart pounded like the drums of war.

Footsteps snapping on polished hardwood, Austin walked through the archway—footfalls, amplified sighs, emotions more portentous. She couldn’t look at him, focused outside through the window.

Ill at ease, he adjusted his footing. “Ahhhh, it’s an old place, but solid, fixed up nice.” He followed her gaze out the window. ‘’The grounds are a bit overwhelming when you’ve haven’t had grounds, or a house.”

Her throat swelled, and her eyes burned; she had no more tears to shed. No words to express her turmoil.

“If this house is what you want,” agitated, he shifted footing. “I want you to have it.” He paced at least a dozen feet away, a tic in a tight jaw.

She wanted this house, but not to placate her. And not without him in it. She swallowed hard, but couldn’t speak.

He thrust his hands into his pockets. “You said we had to talk.” Was the tone that echoed more cold than he intended?

Clearing his throat, he began again. “Something you should know.” He paced, collecting his thoughts. “On Friday afternoon, Corporate tracked me down. They had to have my answer ... right then and there.” He stopped pacing, faced her.

Had he given them an answer? She turned on the edge of her seat, looked into his face.

Spacing his words methodically while watching her reaction, he went on. “I told them I’d take the Pittsburgh office. Now they want me here like ... yesterday.”

“Ohhhhh!” The house gave back a startled sigh, quaking with a tangle of emotions. Warm waves of amazement washed over her. The decision she couldn’t make, and now he’d made it. She couldn’t move or speak quite yet.

“Well, now you know,” he said, looking at a darkening sky, and then at his watch. “I have to get a room for the night.”

Jenny stood, recovered her voice. “I have a room at the Green Tree Inn.”

He studied her face. In his eyes, a mix of hope and uncertainty.

A shining path across the polished floor stretched out before her. She took one step ... and then the next, no turning back, no second thoughts she crossed the room to where he was.

He raised his hands above her shoulders, hesitating. He hadn’t touched her for nearly a month; she wouldn’t let him. Firmly, he took hold of her. “What’s in that mysterious mind of yours?” A wary smile crossed his lips. “What?”

His touch a tonic, the joy of life flowed into Jenny. She reached out, stroked his face. “I want to live here, with you.”