1

It was a beautiful morning. Too beautiful to stay inside. The purity of the blue spring sky was breathtaking. The sweet aroma of fir and pine drifted through the air.

Kenneth often rode early while the household still slept, and again later after arriving home from the bank. He enjoyed the solitude and reveled in the knowledge that he was master of this little kingdom. But he wasn’t alone, this morning. He led the way toward the farm and out of the woods on his black stallion, Shaw. A few paces behind him on Two Spot, rode fifteen-year-old Kacey. A wispy, strawberry blonde with limpid blue eyes and a sprinkling of freckles, she was named for her paternal grandmother, Kathryn Clare. The name had seemed too big for her as a newborn, so it was shortened to her initials: K. C. Kacey. Second oldest, she took her role in the family seriously.

Tall and vigorous, Kenneth was what the world would call a handsome man, but the distinction was unimportant to him. He looked back at Kacey with a grin and spurred Shaw into a gallop, speeding across the pasture toward the barn. Kacey leaned into her little pinto, but she could not close the gap. Kenneth had already dismounted when Kacey reigned in beside him. “You’re a fine horsewoman!” he declared as Kacey swung her leg over Two Spot and dropped to the ground. He reached over to tousle her hair. It was not a familiar gesture.

Kacey smiled up at him and fell into step as they led the horses into the barn. Time alone with her father was something she wished for, but also dreaded. His high expectations, his inability to praise his children, too often kept him at arm’s length from them.

But this had been a magical morning. They had ridden side by side through the woods, Kenneth making conversation as he would with a friend. Their gait had been lazy, comfortable. He had spoken of his hopes for a Kennedy win in the upcoming election, Kenneth’s wish for a Catholic president ultimately overcoming his allegiance to Nixon. This was not something he could share with his cronies at the club.

He spoke of the rumors that Ted Williams was going to retire at the end of the 1960 season. Kacey soaked it all up.

“This is so great, riding with you, like this. Just us and our horses!”

“Well, it’s what I dreamed of when I talked your mother into moving out to this place. I know she didn’t want to leave the city and take on a ‘hobby farm,’ as she calls it.”

“She sure didn’t want to, did she?”

“Oh, she hasn’t wanted to do a lot of things I have but she comes around.”

Kacey looked over at her father. “I think she was just afraid it’d be too much for her to handle. You so busy at the bank all day and then a farm to tend. It’s a lot!”

Kenneth chuckled. “Well, maybe that’s why we had six children! They should be the ‘farm hands!’”

In spite of a nip in the air, the horses were steamy, nickering softly as they were led into the barn to be cooled down. They shook their big heads with pleasure while Kenneth and Kacey brushed them with strong, loving strokes.

Kenneth watched Kacey from the corner of his eye as she gave Two Spot a final pat. She was emerging not only as a fine horsewoman but as a strong young lady. She was the closest to his heart, perhaps because she was the most like him: an achiever, an athlete. She had a questioning mind, not afraid to stand alone.

Kacey could see the pleasure on her father’s face. He clasped his hand over hers, and they entered the kitchen laughing. This, Kacey reflected, has been a ride I’m gonna remember!

2

Kacey held her first baseman’s glove up high, in front of her face, her knees slightly bent as she planted herself. “Right here, Gerald. Put ’er right here!” she called to her brother who stood twenty feet beyond her. He went into his windup and loosed a slow but accurate pitch right into the unmoving glove.

“Great!” Kacey yelled and lobbed the ball back to the twelve-year-old. It was a hot Friday afternoon. The school year was winding down. Kacey was relishing the beginning of a lazy weekend. She was happy.

“Whoa!” Gerald yelped as his next pitch shot from his hand and sped out of control above Kacey’s head.

“That’s getting some speed on it, Gerald!” Kacey laughed as she ran to retrieve the runaway ball.

At the edge of the drive stood Kacey’s classmate, Greg Saunders. He raised his hand in greeting. Kacey picked up the ball and walked toward him. He glistened with sweat, and his damp blond hair fell in a tangle of waves over the rolled bandana around his forehead.

“Hey! I didn’t see you there!” she called, her voice taking on an unfamiliar quality as she spoke.

“Didn’t mean to sneak up on you. I was out for a run. Thought I’d stop by.”

“We don’t get too many runners down this road,” Kacey said.

Greg laughed and shifted from foot to foot. “Well, to tell the truth, I planned my route to include your place. I wonder if—if you’d go to Excelsior with me tomorrow.”

It was difficult for Kacey to suppress her surprise. Excelsior was a big deal. It was a large amusement park located on the largest lake in the area.

“Excelsior?” she repeated, her heart quickening.

“Yeah, they’re opening up for the season. I thought we could try out some rides. You know.” He untied his bandana as he talked, wiping his face with it, avoiding eye contact.

“I’d love to! Thanks for asking me!”

“Terrific!” He grinned at her. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at two.” Without another word, he turned and set off back down the long drive.

Kacey had dated occasionally but never with much enthusiasm. This felt different. Greg was unlike most of the guys at school. For one thing, he was a serious student as well as a good athlete. She smiled at herself, pondering everything about the invitation. Why had he asked her out? He’d never looked at her before. How long had he been standing there, watching her? What did he think of the way she threw a ball . . .

The amusement park was alive with throngs of people, everyone shaking off the winter blahs. Hoping to be seen with Greg, Kacey was on the alert for her girlfriends. She and Greg moved through the crowd, riding the Ferris wheel, then the roller coaster—the tallest, steepest, most feared in the state. Between rides they ate their way through corndogs, cotton candy, and popcorn, washing it all down with Coke. Kacey’s head spun.

Waiting to be locked into the tilt-a-whirl, Greg slid his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. Kacey shivered and gave him a shy smile. The ride took off. At first Kacey felt exhilaration, and she pushed harder into Greg, leaning her head back. But midway through the jerking, swirling motion, her stomach lurched. Her hands flew to her mouth, and her face paled as she cried out, “I’m gonna be sick!”

“No!” Greg yelled, pulling away from her. “Not on my new sweater!” But it was too late. Kacey spewed corndog and popcorn while the ride continued its relentless course.

When it finally ground to a halt, Kacey staggered down the ramp, one step ahead of Greg. He peeled off his sweater and wadded it into a ball. Kacey watched him, her face aflame with embarrassment. Greg gave her a sickly smile. “It’s okay, Kacey,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder. “Think of it this way: we’ll never forget our first date!” Her heart quickened. Greg just called this our first date!

She would remember the date: June 11, 1961.

So it began. Many things about Greg reminded Kacey of her father: His self-confidence, the way he walked as if he knew exactly where he was going. But there was a gentler side to him that Kacey never saw in her father. A tenderness in his face and touch.

For Greg, it was the pixie in Kacey that first attracted him. The wide-open eyes and impish expressions made him smile. She was a free spirit beneath a thin covering of uncertainty. It made her seem vulnerable even as he saw her inner strength. She was a puzzle, and he wanted to be the one to put the pieces together.

Kenneth was pleased with what he was seeing. This is a good choice, he thought. He liked the steadiness, the quickness of mind he saw in Greg. The potential for success was obvious.

Though Rose was taken with him, she said little, somehow fearing her approval would turn Kacey against him.

As weeks turned to months, Greg’s presence was a delight to each of the Doyles, and a joy to Kacey.

3

“Give me a hand here, Greg!” Kenneth had finished splitting the maple and oak logs in preparation for the winter that would come all too soon. Greg left his truck in the driveway and loped over to join Kenneth in stacking wood beside the back porch.

“I could have done more than stack, Mr. Doyle! Why didn’t you give me a call?”

“No need till now. It’s always the cleanup that tires a man out. I like this kind of work! Keeps me fit!”

Kenneth had big, strong hands. Not banker’s hands, Rose had said once long ago. His body was solid but still lean, all angles and planes. “You’re fit, all right,” Greg told him. “You do it all! Run the bank, run the farm, practically run the church! Not many guys could keep up with you.”

Kenneth wedged another piece of maple into the growing pile and leaned against the porch railing, wiping sweat from his brow. Smiling at the compliment, he recognized how seldom he received them from his family. “I don’t know about that, but I like everything I do.” He turned back to stacking, but Greg continued the conversation.

“I’ve got a lot of respect for you, Mr. D.” He paused. “Actually, I’ve been wondering if I could pick your brain a little.” He laid a piece of oak on the pile.

“How so?” Kenneth had six children. He could not have anticipated this question from any of his own. He did not miss the irony of it.

“Well, I’ll be a senior this fall. Everyone says it’s time to start thinking about college.”

“Sure.”

“I want to go, but I don’t know what I want to do. I know I want more out of my life than my dad’s gotten out of his, so how can I talk to him about it?”

“What’s he doing these days?”

“That’s just it. He’s never really found anything he’s stayed with.”

Kenneth nodded.

“In the fifties, he invested everything he and Mom had to start up a bomb shelter business.” There was embarrassment in Greg’s voice.

Kenneth stopped stacking and reached out his hand, urging Greg to stop, too. “Lost his shirt, did he?”

“Yeah. Now he’s selling aluminum awnings for the Jensen brothers. On commission. I want more than that.”

Kenneth draped his arm loosely around Greg’s shoulder. “C’mon in and have some lemonade. I’d be glad to talk with you.”

They settled themselves at the kitchen table. “How’d you decide what you wanted to do?” Greg asked.

Kenneth poured lemonade. “Well, let’s see. You know, I’m a pretty methodical guy.” He paused, pushing one of the glasses across to Greg, “I actually did some research into what would offer the best opportunity for success.”

“Guess selling bomb shelters wasn’t on your list, huh?”

Kenneth grinned, taking a sip of the icy drink. “Nope, not bomb shelters. Not Edsels, either.” Greg returned the grin. Kenneth eased into a chair and began the story of his career pursuit. He was pleased to have a listener.

After some time, he got up and crossed to a kitchen cupboard. Taking down a bottle of vodka, he poured liberally into his lemonade. He glanced over at Greg, the bottle still in his hand, then placed it back in the cupboard.

“Banking’s more than the movement of money. It’s about how a community functions. And there’s so much to choose from in banking.”

Greg raised an eyebrow.

Kenneth settled back into his chair, looking down into his glass as he spoke. “I think the idea of being a loan officer was what captured my attention first. When I was starting out, loans were the major source of revenue for most banks.” He took a swallow. “I saw a future for myself almost right away.”

Greg leaned his elbows on the table. “And you were right?”

“I was right. But a bank’s only as good as its people, and I knew I’d be good.”

Kacey appeared in the kitchen doorway. “I thought I heard your voice!” She smiled at Greg. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“My fault,” Kenneth admitted. “But I got some work out of him.”

Kacey mussed Greg’s hair. “Doesn’t look like you’re working real hard now!” While grabbing her sweater, she pulled Greg from the chair, “C’mon, My Fair Lady starts in half an hour.”

Kenneth walked them to the back door. “To be continued, Greg!” he promised.

Sitting beside Greg in his old Ford pickup, Kacey watched his hand turn the key in the ignition. Something about that simple movement created a twinge deep within her. The act itself was simply a connection made between electrical forces. But for Kacey, it became sensual. She placed a hand on Greg’s knee. “Let’s not go to the movie.”

Greg smiled and started down the driveway, flicking on the right turn signal as they approached the road. The truck built up a thick trail of dust as they moved toward their private spot at the edge of the neighboring woods.

It was just ten minutes away, but it was hidden from sight. They called it their glen. Greg maneuvered slowly down the narrow, rutted road only they knew. Shrubs and low-hanging branches brushed against the truck. Finally it rolled to a stop in a small clearing. Oaks, maples, and birch provided a canopy. Wild daisies, Queen Anne’s lace, and Indian paintbrush popped up in the long grass that shimmered in the breeze. Kacey and Greg sprang from the truck, laughing.

Greg pulled a blanket from behind the seat. “I’ve learned never to leave home without this thing!”

Kacey feigned indignation. “So that’s the kind of guy you are!”

“Hey, you’ve been the only girl for me ever since I saw you throw Gerald a curveball!”

They dropped onto the blanket. He took her in his arms, burying his face in her neck. His hands stroked her hair, her back. She reached her arms around him and held tightly, her eyes closed. Neither spoke.

Gently he pushed her back, lowered himself till he rested first on his side and then on top of her. She shifted slightly under his weight. His mouth moved slowly over her face, and as he came to her lips, he moaned. She felt the urgency within her own body tightening her hold across his broad back, wanting to create a seamless joining with him.

Lifting himself enough to fumble with the buttons on her shirt, he undid them with one hand, pulling up her bra to reveal, for the first time, her bare breasts. Kacey’s eyes opened with a start. She gasped as he put his face between the two small, innocent mounds. Instinctively, she reached to push him away, struggling to sit up. “Greg, no!” She pulled her bra back down and with trembling hands, buttoned her shirt.

Sweat matted his hairline, the nape of his neck. The moment had been both overwhelming and unbearable. “Kacey,” he groaned, “don’t stop me now.” Both were sitting upright, a tangle of arms and legs. He dropped his head to rest against her shoulder.

She shuddered, struggling to regain her composure. Her body, too, had responded in a way she had never experienced. She had felt the wetness seep from her at his touch, but when she spoke, her voice was calm. “No, we can’t do this. I’m not ready.”

Greg plunged his hands through his damp curls. “You are ready!”

Kacey saw his pain. Resting her hand on his cheek, she whispered, “C’mon. Let’s just hold each other.”

He looked into her face, so open to him, so honest, and he knew she was right. Without speaking, they both lay back down—Greg on his side, Kacey on her back. He stroked her cheek gently. The fire was gone. “Okay for now, Kace, but some day even you won’t be able to stop.”

4

Rose folded the cardigan sweater, smiling shyly at her oldest daughter. Annie had grown tall and willowy. Her thick black hair had a wild wave to it that was difficult to tame. Appropriate, Rose thought. Annie was like that. She bore a striking resemblance to her father and matched him in self-confidence. “Annie, Annie, you still seem too young to be going off to college!”

“Eighteen’s not so young, Mom. You did it, and you were only a couple years older than me when you married Dad.” Annie tried to be tender with her mother. It didn’t come easily, but she could afford to be generous now that she would be free.

She had chosen Our Lady of Lourdes College, a small Illinois school with a reputation for turning out scholars. Best of all, Annie thought, it was too far away to come home on weekends.

Rose picked up a stack of underwear, moving it from one spot on the bed to another. “Well, I’ll miss you. We’ve had our spats and all, but you’re a good girl, Annie. I really will miss you.”

“Oh, you’ve still got Kacey. She’s the one you rely on, anyway.” Rose’s mouth turned downward, almost in a pout.

Before she could speak, Kenneth burst through the door, carrying three pieces of luggage. “Here’s your going-away present, honey! I don’t want you going off to college with your clothes in a paper sack, the way I did!” Hugs and smiles. And tears.

Annie lifted the large Samsonsite, running her hand over its smooth, hard finish. “Thanks, Dad,” she said quietly, and then surprised herself by adding, “I’ll make you proud.”

“You already have, Annie.” He held out the smallest piece to her, letting his hand linger on hers for just a moment as she took it from him.

Kenneth and Rose drove home from Illinois in silence. Their first child, off to college. The September sun beat down hot on the car as it sped along Highway 94. Kenneth glanced over at Rose, who stared out the window. “One down, five to go,” he finally said.

“Mmm,” Rose acknowledged. Then, after a moment, “Maybe Kacey won’t leave home. Maybe she’ll just stay.”

Kenneth’s head snapped around to look at her. “Stay? Are you crazy? What would ever make you think she won’t go to college?”

Rose continued to stare out at the fields. “Oh, I don’t know. She doesn’t talk much about what she wants.”

“I’ll grant you that,” Kenneth said, “but she’s thinking. She’s always thinking. Just keeping it inside till the time comes.”

“Greg’s starting to think about college.” Kenneth glanced at Kacey for a reaction. “S’pose you talk about that, though.” Father and daughter were bent under the hood of the station wagon. “Hand me that wrench,” he said. Kacey laid the tool in his hand. “You got this now? See how it’s done?”

“Dad! I know how to change a spark plug!”

Kenneth stood upright and looked at her quizzically. “Since when do you take that tone?”

“Sorry,” Kacey said but couldn’t resist adding, “I just feel you’re after me all the time to talk about my plans.”

Kenneth wiped his greasy hands on the rag from his hip pocket. “Well, you’re going to be a senior in another week. What’s wrong with asking you about your plans?”

“Nothing! There’s nothing wrong with it. I just don’t know what to tell you. I don’t know what my plans are! I don’t have any plans!” Kacey threw up her arms, then folded them across her chest.

“I don’t understand how that can be, Kathryn. You should be applying to colleges. You’ve got to make plans, or you won’t get in anywhere!” No response. “For God’s sake, girl! You must have a glimmer of what you want to be—a teacher? Librarian? A mechanic?”

Tears sprang from Kacey’s eyes. “No! I don’t know! I’ll tell you when I know!”

A dumbfounded father stood in the shadow of the garage, watching his best and brightest stalk away. He slammed down the hood. The spark plug wrench jumped off the fender and clattered to the ground. “Jesus!” he exclaimed to the air.

Bridget thought the meatballs had a scummy look to them as she passed the bowl to Maureen. Maureen dipped the serving spoon down into the thick mixture. “Yuck,” she exclaimed. “Who made this?”

“I did!” Kacey responded. “Don’t eat ’em if you don’t want to. Makes no difference to me.” She grabbed the steaming bowl, ladling a generous portion onto her plate before passing it to Kenneth. Kenneth took the bowl, glanced down at it, and passed it to Rose without serving himself.

“What are you so crabby about?” Bridget asked Kacey. “Couldn’t figure out how to change that spark plug?”

“I can change five spark plugs before you can count to ten! Drop it!” Tension lowered itself like a fog over the supper table.

Finally ten-year-old Joseph broke the silence. “Gerald’s crazy!”

“Yeah? So what’s your point?” Thirteen-year-old Maureen seemed to be the only one to take notice.

Unfazed, Joseph continued. “Him and the Freeman kids take turns crawling underneath the railroad cars at the Hanson Creek crossing!” He waited for the impact.

“He and the Freemans,” Maureen corrected.

“No, it should be the Freemans and he,” Bridget stepped in.

“Well, gosh, I just think he could get killed.” Joseph looked around the table innocently.

“True enough, young man,” Kacey said. “And if he does, that’ll teach him a lesson, won’t it?”

Gerald snickered. Kenneth glared at him but did not speak. Rose left the table and headed for the liquor cabinet. She poured Jameson into a glass, wondering what she was missing in all this. “Kenneth?” she asked as she dropped ice cubes into her glass. “Do you know what they’re talking about?”

Kenneth frowned and pushed his chair back. Rising, he turned from the table. “No, I don’t. I don’t seem to know what’s going on with any of our children anymore.” He slammed the kitchen door as he went out.

Kacey began clearing the table while the others scattered. “It’s the flour! Okay?” she yelled. “It was just too much flour! No one’s gonna die of it!”

“It’s official!” Greg announced as soon as Kacey climbed into the pickup. “I sent off my applications to Notre Dame, St. John’s, and Loyola.”

“Pretty one-sided in your search, aren’t you? Gonna be a priest?”

“Good God!” he laughed, reaching out his arm to squeeze her shoulder. “No, I just think they’re the best schools! What about you?”

Kacey shot him a look accompanied by a groan, but he wasn’t to be dissuaded. “No, really. You haven’t said a thing about your applications.”

“Oh, Greg, now you sound just like Dad! I’m being bullied every day to ‘declare my intentions!’ But I don’t know what my intentions are!”

“Oh, I can’t believe something’s not running around in your head.”

“I’ve still got the whole year, Greg! I’ll get it figured out.”

Greg glanced at Kacey. “Can’t you talk to me about it?”

She softened. “It would make sense, wouldn’t it? That I could talk to you. But I don’t think I can—yet.”

Greg gave her shoulder another tender squeeze. “Meet me in the glen tonight.”

“I’d better not,” she said. “I’ve got homework.”

“Are you kidding? Since when has homework stopped you?”

Kacey shrugged away from his hand. “I’d rather not, okay? Just let me be.”

Greg understood it was time to back away. He switched on the radio. Patsy Cline was beginning her lament, “Crazy.” Cranking up the volume, he gunned the engine and moved out.

Believing she would change her mind, Greg waited at the glen that night, but Kacey didn’t appear.

With each passing week of her senior year, Kacey knew she was being drawn closer to a decision. Wordless anxieties mounted, and more and more she sought time by herself, scrambling to make sense of what seemed unimaginable.

Still, there were sweet moments with Greg, swaying to “Moon River.” There was both tension and comfort being held in his arms.

5

Kenneth was a man of rituals. His childhood memories of Christmas on the farm became the framework for Christmas celebrations in his and Rose’s home. So, the Christmas tree could not be cut down until the first week in Advent, and it had to be snowing when the eight Doyles tramped into their woods to do the cutting.

As the children grew and it became more difficult to pull everyone together, he refused to yield—until the winter of 1961. For the first time, the Doyles numbered only seven as they fought their way through knee-deep drifts in pursuit of the perfect tree.

“It just doesn’t feel right to be cutting the tree without Annie,” Maureen complained.

Rose struggled to keep up, calling, “We couldn’t wait till she gets home! The tree’s got to go up. She’ll understand.”

“Her finals will be over this week,” Kacey grumbled. The cold air pulled the breath from her lungs. It was hard to talk and trudge at the same time.

Gerald leaped ahead. “Besides, it’s snowing now! Now’s the time to get it!” He scooped up a fistful of snow and hurled it at Kacey.

Kenneth stopped and pointed. He had found the tree. “Gerald, Joseph! Dig out some of that snow around the trunk. Who’s got the saw?” He stood back. “She’s a beauty!” Hands on his hips, he watched his children swing into action. But wistfulness crept over him. The first year one child was missing. His mind went to Kacey. Where would she be next year?

The balsam stood seven-feet tall, and its fullness covered the two living room windows. Kenneth strung the lights. One by one, the ornaments were hung. A hodgepodge of memories of Christmases past. The Ray Conniff Singers serenaded them from the stereo.

“Where’s Greg?” Bridget asked. “I thought he’d be here tonight.”

Kacey was hanging a velvet cardinal on an upper bough. She wrinkled her nose ever so slightly. “He’s home pouting. We had a little fight last night.”

“Just because he’s mad at you, that’s no reason for him not to come!” Joseph declared. “Everything’s more fun when he’s here!”

Kacey reached into the box for another ornament. A glass replica of Christmas ribbon candy. “Well, you’ll just have to live with it. Contrary to what you think, he’s not perfect, Joseph! He can be a real brat!”

Rose stood back, holding an ornament in her hand. “Hush, Kacey! Don’t talk about Greg that way!”

Kacey scowled at her mother. “Sometimes I need a little breathing room.”

Maureen and Bridget gave each other raised eyebrow glances. Something was up with Kacey. Rose, uncomfortable with even a hint of tension, called, “Time for tinsel!” She tossed a handful high into the boughs. At last, the tree was finished.

Kenneth looked at his watch. Ten o’clock. “Turn off the music, kids!” he called. “It’s time for the news.” He switched on the television, and a blurred image snapped onto the screen. James Davis: the first US soldier to be killed in Vietnam. Ambushed, west of Saigon.

Kenneth sat down heavily in his chair. “Mother of God! Now it begins!” he exclaimed.

Maureen looked at her father. “What begins?”

Kenneth replied in a tight voice, “The government can call them military advisors, but I’m telling you, we’ll be in a war before we celebrate another Christmas.”

So ended 1961.

“Can you just believe it?” Greg couldn’t contain his excitement. He sat on the edge of the davenport. The final seconds of the 1962 Rose Bowl game were ticking away. All the Doyles sat huddled around the big black-and-white console television, watching as their Minnesota Gophers defeated UCLA.

Greg and Gerald leaped to their feet. Kacey laughed, reaching out to hug them both. Even Rose caught the excitement and gave Kenneth a squeeze. What a great afternoon!

Kenneth stood up, clapping Greg on the shoulder. “I told you you should apply to the U! A couple of years, and it could be you on that field!” Greg was dear to Kenneth’s heart. Greg grinned back. Kenneth motioned him to follow as he headed for the kitchen. ““C’mon. I think you’re old enough to celebrate with a beer!”

Still, on this raucous, high-flying afternoon, Kenneth felt a chill, a dampening of his spirit as his thoughts drifted to James Davis, the first dead soldier. “Have a Grain Belt, my boy!” he said, thrusting an amber bottle at Greg.

6

Sister Mary Evangeline watched as Kacey gathered her sheet music from the choir room. “I’m so pleased you have the lead in the senior play, Kathryn Clare! You’ll make a fine Becky Thatcher!”

The music teacher was Kacey’s favorite. Mary Evangeline was in her late sixties. Her coif encased a plump, round, wrinkled face, but her smile was quick and endearing.

Kacey blushed with pleasure at the compliment. “Thanks, Sister. Greg’ll make a great Tom Sawyer! We’re excited about being able to play opposite each other!”

“Oh, I’m sure you are! I suppose you’ll have to do plenty of rehearsing together—after hours!” the nun teased, scooping up pages of music from her music stand.

“Well, to tell the truth, his singing could take some improvement!”

“Ah, ‘the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak.’”

“Something like that!” Kacey said and laughed.

Sister Mary Evangeline sat down behind her desk, motioning Kacey to take a seat. Late-afternoon sun streamed through the oversized windows. The smell of chalk hung in the air. The smile on the nun’s face softened slightly as she asked, “Is your head so full of him, Kathryn Clare?”

Kacey was startled by the directness of the question. “I—I’m not sure how to answer that, Sister. I like Greg a lot, but I have lots of other things in my head, too.”

The nun leaned back, folding her hands in front of her on the desk. “Like what?”

Kacey paused. “Oh, things like what I’ll do this summer.” Her response sounded feeble, even to herself.

“And beyond this summer?” Silence again. For months, the question had been there, unasked, between them.

“I don’t know. I—I just want to have some fun,” came Kacey’s slow response.

“Fun? You just want to have fun?” Mary Evangeline repeated incredulously. Kacey nodded, her eyes refusing to meet the sister’s. “Kathryn Clare, I’ve known you a good long time. I’ve watched you grow into a responsible young woman. What can you possibly mean by that statement?”

A flush crept up Kacey’s neck. She struggled to answer honestly, knowing that if she did, she’d be giving away the most secret part of herself. “I feel like I’m on a roller coaster, Sister,” she began. “It’s hard. Hard at home all these years.”

Mary Evangeline nodded. The difficulties in the Doyle household were known to many in the community.

“I’ve just dreamed of getting away.”

The nun reached across to lay a fleeting hand on Kacey’s arm. “And the roller coaster? Where does that come in?”

Kacey took a deep breath. “There’s this kind of nagging thing hanging over me.” Sister Mary Evangeline sat motionless, her eyes riveted now on Kacey’s face.

“When I try to see my life, what I should do with it, I think of things like—well, being a tap dancer or something.” The nun’s brows rose involuntarily. Kacey continued with slow deliberation. “Ya know, I just want to laugh. To be free. A free spirit.”

“But the roller coaster?”

“Oh, I guess I think the ride’s too wild sometimes. Sort of like my life. Every time I get my hopes up, I get slammed down.”

The nun edged closer. “Tell me, Kacey.”

“Well, I don’t know if I can explain it. I haven’t said it out loud before.” She paused, looking down at her hands. She was embarrassed. “It’s like God’s nagging at me.”

Sister Mary Evangeline smiled. “Ah, ‘The Hound of Heaven,’” she murmured, and suddenly Kacey remembered the poem.

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days;

I fled Him down the arches of the years.

I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways of my own mind;

and in the midst of tears I hid from Him,

and under running laughter.

Tears pooled in Kacey’s eyes. “I’ve waited, waited for it to be my turn.” She struggled for composure now. “But it’s like God is always there, trying to send me a way I don’t want to go, and I don’t even know why!”

The nun reached out to draw the trembling girl to herself. “Oh, Kathryn Clare . . . Kacey . . .” Tears now welled in her own eyes. Even if Kacey could not see her future, Sister Mary Evangeline could.

Becky Thatcher and Tom Sawyer took their final curtain call. They bowed deeply as the school auditorium exploded in applause for the handsome couple. The first on his feet for the standing ovation was Kenneth, with all the Doyles following him. Rose wiped a tear from her cheek. She applauded until her hands tired.

Kacey beamed. Early in the first act, she had spotted her family in the fourth row. She smiled at Greg, who held her hand as they took their bows. She could barely believe the applause was for them. For her.

As they walked off stage, he told her, “Great job! Let’s go celebrate!”

“Not by ourselves,” she said.

Greg stopped. “Well, sure. By ourselves!”

“Don’t be silly, Greg! The whole cast’s got to celebrate.”

The angular lines of his face hardened as he ran his fingers through his greased down, red-dyed waves. He knew he wouldn’t win tonight.

The partying went on till closing at Destry’s Pizza Place. Laughing, singing, teasing. Greg could see Kacey had been right. It was a night to hold on to for as long as possible.

They climbed into Greg’s pickup after midnight. The ride to their spot took twenty minutes. The walk from the truck deeper into the woods was familiar, easily managed even in little moonlight.

Spreading out the blanket, he held his hand out to her and gently pulled her down with him. “Oh, Kace,” he murmured as he folded her in his arms. His eyes closed in anticipation.

He immediately felt her resistance. “What?” he asked.

She sat up, her arms hugging her knees. “I don’t know. I just don’t feel like being here. Doing this.” Dread filled her as she struggled to find the right words. The intense drive she had felt so long to be near him, to touch him, had been slipping away. Play rehearsals had consumed their time and their attention for weeks, but around the corners of her consciousness, she was aware of a distancing within herself.

She could see Greg’s face, drawn into a tight frown. “What’s wrong with you? You used to like this. You used to like me!” He stood up, looking down on her.

“I don’t know! I just feel like I’m being smothered!”

“Smothered?” Greg exploded. He dropped back down to his knees, his hands on her shoulders. “Kacey, I’m not trying to smother you! I love you!”

She reached out to stroke his shaggy hair, to cup his chin with her hand. “This just doesn’t feel right to me anymore, Greg. I don’t know what else to say.”

He took her hand from his face. “I thought you loved me.”

In the shadowy moonlight, she could see the pain in his eyes. She felt it in her own heart. “I do love you, but something’s going on with me. I don’t know what, really, but I just can’t see a future for us anymore.” She paused, then whispered, “I’m sorry, so sorry.”

Without speaking, he stood. She rose and, picking up the blanket, followed him as he walked slowly back to the truck. She climbed in beside him. He sat, his hands gripping the steering wheel. His eyes staring into the darkness.

“Greg?”

He shook his head. Turning the key, the old engine sputtered to life. He made his way slowly down the rutted road. He swung the truck out onto the county road, gravel kicking up behind him as he shifted into third and pushed down hard on the accelerator. This had been, he knew, the last trip to their glen.

7

“Did you hear the news?” Bridget asked as she forked a drumstick onto her plate.

“What news?” came the multiple replies.

“Marilyn Monroe killed herself. I just heard it on the radio!”

Rose reached for the platter of chicken. “Oh, that Marilyn Monroe! She’s always up to something!” She lifted a thigh from the platter before passing it to Kenneth.

He took it from her, a weary look on his face. “Up to something? Yes, I’d say she’s really up to something this time,” he muttered.

Kacey picked at her food. Kenneth watched her from the corner of his eye. “I’d rather hear from Kacey why the tomatoes aren’t in yet.” There was an edge in his voice.

Kacey’s face reddened. “It’s still early,” she replied without looking up. “Grandma always said don’t put them in till after Memorial Day.”

Kenneth laid down his fork. “It is after Memorial Day, Kacey! Where in the world’s your head?”

Joseph glanced at his sullen sister. “She’s cranky ’cuz Greg ditched her.”

Kacey whirled on the eleven-year-old, her voice tight with anger. “He did not ditch me!”

“Well, if he didn’t ditch you, where is he then? He hasn’t been over for a long time!”

“If you must know, I broke up with him.”

A groan from around the table. Maureen looked dismayed. “Oh, Kacey, why’d you do that? I love Greg!”

“Mind your own business, Maureen!” Rose stood up and moved to the counter, rummaging in the cupboard. “You can’t possibly know what he’s really like. No one can, ‘til you live with a person awhile!”

Kenneth frowned at his wife. “This isn’t about you, Rose! Let the girl talk!” Kenneth snapped.

“Dad. Mom. Please.” The fork in her hand trembled. In her head, the words of the poem were ringing insistently. I fled Him, down the nights and down the days, I fled Him . . .

A hush fell over the table. She took a deep breath and began. “Greg and I did break up, and I should have told you. I feel badly about it, but I knew I had to do it.”

“Why?” Maureen repeated her question.

Kacey picked up her napkin, then laid it down again, smoothing it with her hand. “Because it became clear to me that we weren’t going to have a future together.”

Maureen was insistent. “Why not?”

“Because I finally know what I want to do with my life. It’s been a long time in coming but I know now.” She paused as all eyes turned toward her. “I’m applying to Blessed Sacrament. I want to be a nun.”

A gasp rose in the air from around the table. “Kacey!” Kenneth exploded with joy, his hands slapping the table.

“Whoa!” Maureen exclaimed. At fourteen, that thought was inconceivable.

Bridget’s mouth opened wide in astonishment but no words came out. Instead, tears sprang to her eyes. Rose paled instantly, her hands flying to her throat. Only Kenneth displayed pleasure, grinning widely.

“Why would you do that?” Gerald asked. Even he was sobered by his sister’s announcement.

“It’s hard to say. I’ve known for a long time that I want to do something meaningful with my life. I want to do good.”

Rose slammed the cupboard door. “Be a social worker then!”

Kenneth’s hand came up in a silencing motion. He took off his glasses, his eyes never leaving Kacey’s small face. “Kacey. A nun.” For all their devotion to the church, no Doyle had ever entered religious life. His daughter. The ultimate gift.

Kacey felt relief to have spoken the words. She breathed more easily. “I know it’s late to be telling you and it’s late to be applying. It just took me a long time to make up my mind.”

Kenneth leaned back in his chair, pleasure spread across his face. “Don’t you worry about getting in! I know the monsignor. I’ll get you in!”

Rose was not to be denied. “Wait a minute! We need to talk about this!”

“What’s there to talk about?” Kenneth challenged. “She knows what she wants!”

“She doesn’t!” Rose shouted back. “She’s too young! She’s too young to make such a decision!”

The younger children sat in stunned silence. Finally Joseph spoke in a soft, uncertain voice. “Who’ll coach my soccer team this fall, Kace? You promised.” Gerald kicked him under the table.

“I’m telling you, this is too fast!” Rose was frantic. She stood at the counter, hands clenched at her throat. “She’s making a mistake!”

“Mistake? It’s not a mistake to serve the church!” Kenneth roared.

Kacey slumped back into her chair. Oh, she thought, it’ll be so good to get away from this.

One by one, the children left their places at the table and wandered from the room, each trying to comprehend Kacey’s decision. The platter of chicken sat in front of Kacey, fat congealing around the edges. She carried it and the bowl of mashed potatoes to the counter, pushed the kitchen door open, and walked onto the porch and down into the yard.

Now began the long good-bye.

8

Kenneth knew he’d find Kacey in the barn. He had waited, giving her time to collect herself and giving himself time to calm down after the confrontation with Rose. He had no idea what response Kacey had expected from her family, but this had to have shaken her.

She stood by Two Spot, brushing and nuzzling the little horse, tears still visible on her pale cheeks. She didn’t look up as he approached.

“Thought I’d find you here,” he began, reaching out to give the mare a stroke.

“Well, that was a real show stopper, huh?” Her fragility revealed itself in her husky voice.

Kenneth chuckled. “Can’t recall one to top it.”

Kacey turned from Two Spot to face her father. “You don’t think I’m making a mistake, do you?”

“There’s no finer calling, Kace.”

“Oh, Dad, I know that. But what do you think about me? This isn’t about some ‘calling.’ This is about me! My life!”

The urgency in her tone drove the clichés from his mind. She was right. He was chagrined. “You’ve been talking to others about it. The nuns, Father O’Hearn. Praying about it.”

“I’ve talked to Sister Evangeline. A few times. That’s it.”

“Well, and praying,” he repeated.

“Praying? I dunno. I’ve tried. Praying doesn’t come easy for me. It’s more like an armlock on my mind that says I should do this.”

Two Spot swung her head around, nudging Kacey to continue brushing. Kenneth searched her face. He didn’t know how to proceed. “Do you want to do this, Kacey? I’m confused.”

She moved around to Two Spot’s other side. “It’s what I think I should do. Need to do, you know? But it’s not real clear to me how it’s happened. I’ve never really had a very personal connection to God.”

“Kacey!”

“It’s true, Dad. I feel a stronger connection with Sister Evangeline or Sister Mary Margaret. They’re strong women. Role models for me. I want to be like them.”

She turned to her perplexed father. “When I think about my life, what I want to do, I just get stuck. I guess that’s where God comes in.” She fell silent, looking at the man she both loved and feared. She wanted to cry out to him for help. But not even he, with all his power, could help her.

Finally, she laid the brush on the bench, shaking her head slowly as she gave Two Spot a pat before walking from the stall. There would be no more talk tonight. Kenneth, still puzzled, realized it, too. But he felt relief sweep over him. “C’mon, Kace. Let’s get some ice cream.”

Kacey sat alone at the kitchen table, empty ice cream bowl still in front of her. It was after ten, and the house had quieted down. Sleep was still far off for her.

She needed to do one more thing. Picking up the phone, she dialed the Saunders’ number. “Greg? I need to talk to you. Can you meet me at the glen?”

“I’ll be right there!” Kacey could hear his excitement. She grimaced.

She was waiting for him when she saw the headlights of his truck jumping down the bumpy road. Sitting on the ground, leaning against a massive oak, her knees were pulled up in front of her, arms tight around them.

He hurried from the truck, smiling. She rose as he loped up to her. “Was I glad to get your call!”

He reached out his arms, but she avoided his embrace. “I’ve got something to tell you,” she said. Taking his hand, she pulled him down to sit beside her in the grass.

“What?” His smile disappeared.

“You got the wrong idea from my call. I don’t know how else to do this but just to blurt it out.” She swallowed. “I’ve made up my mind what I want to do in the fall. I’m not going to college.” He frowned. She plunged ahead. “I’ve decided to enter Blessed Sacrament Convent.”

She heard a sharp intake of breath. “Kacey, what in the world—” He stopped himself. “Kacey.”

His hand had slipped from hers, but she took it back. “I know this is a shock.”

“I had no idea! You’ve never said a word!”

“I know, I know. I’ve wanted to talk to you about it, but I haven’t talked to anyone.”

“But—”

She interrupted him. “I didn’t handle it well. I see that. I kept waiting till I was sure, and then when I was, I didn’t know how to tell you.” She paused. “You know how much I’ve cared for you. Still care for you.”

He shook his head slowly. “A nun. I can’t believe it,” he repeated.

“Oh, Greg, I’m sorry.” She reached up to stroke his cheek. Then, pulling him to her, she buried her face in his shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

She didn’t turn on lights as she made her way through the dark house to her room. Her body felt weary, heavy. So did her heart.

From down the hall, she heard the rumble of her father’s snoring, her mother’s uneven breathing. But sleep wouldn’t come to Kacey. She played and replayed the events of the day. She tried to recall exactly what she had said. Something about wanting to do good. Oh, there’s got to be more to it than that!

Feeling a chill, she pulled the thin summer blanket up around her shoulders. She thought of Annie, so far from home now, and the comfort of spooning up against her. She lay alone in the double bed, wishing for her older sister.

Moonlight danced delicately through the window onto the yellow-flowered wallpaper. The lace curtain fluttered with the nighttime breeze. All seemed peaceful in the little room, but turmoil stirred within Kacey.

Her mind wandered back through the weeks and months since her choir room conversation with Sister Evangeline. She got it, Kacey thought, she got it before I did. Kacey closed her eyes, recalling the scene as one would a movie.

“Ah,” the old nun had murmured. “‘The Hound of Heaven.’” Kacey had surprised herself by recalling the poem. Now she remembered how her heart had lurched as she dredged up those words, which precisely conveyed the flight and the pursuit she was experiencing:

I fled Him, down the nights and down the days.

I fled Him. I hid from Him.

Tears trailed down her cool cheeks, collecting on the pillow. She turned her head toward the window, to the star-scattered sky beyond. Oh, God, she cried silently. You’ve got to help me. I don’t know if I can do this. And then she realized her cry was, in fact, a prayer. A prayer to that relentless Hound of Heaven.

9

The unrest which followed Kacey’s announcement became palpable. Only Kenneth seemed sure of it.

He had not been able to contain his pleasure the next day as he hurried up the steps of the Holy Family rectory, heading for Father Timothy O’Hearn’s private office. The aging, ivy-covered brick house smelled of cigars and Old English furniture polish.

Kenneth knocked once, then entered. He found the old priest seated in an easy chair by his fireplace, a glass of sherry in his hand and a book of Thomas Aquinas in his lap. “Tim! I’m sorry! I should have called, but—”

“Good Lord, Kenneth! What is it?” The priest rose from his chair, with a look of concern.

“No, no, no! Nothing bad! Just the opposite. I’ve got great news!” Kenneth rushed forward and began shaking Father O’Hearn’s hand. “Kacey’s decided to enter the convent. I couldn’t wait to tell you!”

Timothy O’Hearn’s wrinkled and ruddy face reflected his surprise. “Kacey? Praise be!” He motioned Kenneth to the chair opposite his. Kenneth sat down while O’Hearn walked stiffly to his liquor cabinet. “Sherry?”

Kenneth felt a flash of impatience. He nodded his acceptance but hurried on with his news. “I want a Mass said on Sunday in celebration of Kacey’s calling!” He laid ten crisp one-hundred-dollar bills on the table between them. O’Hearn watched him, smiling broadly.

Kenneth took the sherry and proceeded to retell the story, leaving out parts of his discussion with Kacey in the barn. Too much information, he told himself.

“I had no idea, Kenneth,” the priest said as he picked up the bills and placed them between the pages of the Aquinas book.

“Oh, I can’t believe that,” Kenneth responded. “Surely she’s talked to you about it!”

“No. No, she hasn’t.” Father O’Hearn rose from his chair and walked to the window. He folded his arms across his chest. “One would think she would have. But, of course, I’m pleased. Very pleased! She’ll make a dandy sister, Kenneth!” He raised his glass to Kenneth. “And congratulations to you!”

Kenneth smiled broadly, “Thank you, Tim. I’m blessed!” He flushed. “I am blessed.”

Fifteen-year-old Bridget was a whirlwind of contradictions. At once dismissing the loss of Kacey as inconsequential in her own life, but within minutes, railing against God and against Kacey for this theft that left her and the other children without their buffer in the world.

“Wanna help me dig potatoes, Bridg?” Kacey asked as she headed for the kitchen door. “Goes twice as fast with two diggers.”

Bridget was sitting at the kitchen table, a bowl of corn flakes in front of her. “No, I don’t want to help! Do it yourself! We’ll have to do everything when you’re gone!” She pushed back her chair and stood.

“Oh, Bridg, c’mon. Don’t be that way! You’ll be fine. Everyone will be just fine,” Kacey crooned, crossing the room to embrace her sister.

But Bridget would have none of it. Whirling out of reach, she went to the kitchen window, staring out. “Isn’t that easy for you to say? What do you know about what it’ll be like?”

“This is something I’ve got to do, Bridget! It hurts to leave you, but honest, I just have to do this.”

Bridget grabbed a dishtowel lying on the counter and threw it at Kacey with all her might. It fluttered to the floor. “No, you don’t! You don’t have to do this! It’s not about God! It’s about getting away from here!” She flew out the back door, running toward the tool shed. Kacey watched her for a moment and then slowly went after her, her heart leaden with her sister’s misery and her own fear.

Bridget sat on an overturned milk crate. She cradled her head in her folded arms. Sobs wracked her little body. Squatting in front of her, Kacey murmured into her hair, “Shush, shush, shush.” At length, the sobbing subsided, and Kacey could feel the tension easing from Bridget’s body.

“Don’t go, Kacey, don’t go . . .” Bridget whimpered softly.

Thirteen-year-old Gerald thought of sex as he pondered Kacey’s decision. He had been a stealthy observer during some of Kacey and Greg’s after-dark hours on the porch swing, taking his stolen glimpses and turning them into his own fantasies, always imposing another face on the breathless girl in his imagined embrace. Now he wondered if Kacey and Greg had actually “done it.” If they had, he asked himself, how could Kacey think of never doing “it” again?

Gerald liked Greg. Now he was not only losing Kacey, he was also losing Greg. Why would Kacey give him up? In his heart, he thought her selfish. Outwardly, he was sullen and withdrawn.

Only Maureen seemed caught up in the drama of Kacey’s decision. Her sense of the romantic flew in the face of the realities. Her questions were endless: Is it true that nuns stop getting their periods? Will they teach you to glide instead of walk, or does that just come naturally over time? What if you toot during those big silences?

She watched as Kacey laced up the stiff black shoes they had gotten for her. “Will you really have to wear those clodhoppers?” she asked.

Maureen’s reaction was unnerving. Kacey was glad she hadn’t told her about the boy’s T-shirts she would be wearing under her habit, instead of a bra. It was, indeed, quite a wardrobe for the bride of Christ.

Sometimes wise beyond her fourteen years, Maureen now sensed her older sister’s unease and tried to lighten the moment. Bouncing off the bed, she grabbed Kacey in a dance pose, twirling her around. “Well, who cares? You won’t be going dancing!”

Joseph, still moping, leaned against the doorway. “I don’t see what’s so funny,” he said quietly, easing into the room and onto Kacey’s bed. He needed to soak up as much of his beloved sister as he could.

“Who says it’s funny? This is serious business!” Maureen teased.

But Kacey’s heart went out to him. She sat down next to him on the bed and began to rub his back. These days, he dogged her every step, as if he could will her not to go. He even reminded her to trim his nails; normally she’d have to go looking for him, but now he willingly surrendered.

“Do cowboys cut their fingernails?” Joseph had asked Kacey when she held his chubby right hand for the Saturday night ritual. She remembered it well. She had smiled down at her baby brother. “Of course they do!” Then she added, teasingly, “Well, some of them do . . .”

“I think Hopalong Cassidy does,” Joseph responded. “He always looks awfully clean.”

Kacey tried to suppress a grin. “Yep, he sure does. From his white hat right down to his shiny boots.”

Joseph extended his left hand. “Well, do you think they go to church? Like, do you think Hopalong cuts his fingernails Saturday night, like we do, to get ready for church?”

Kacey paused. “Hard to say, Buckaroo. We don’t even know if he’s Catholic . . .”

Somehow life went on in the Doyle household, as the countdown to the convent continued. Perhaps not surprisingly, it was Rose who stopped at the calendar every night on her way up to bed, marking off the days before her daughter would leave.

10

The sound of the ailing muffler sputtering up the long driveway was unmistakable. Kacey looked up from the stove where her pot of tomatoes was stewing. She watched through the window as Greg slowed to a halt.

Weeks had gone by since they had seen one another. Kacey’s world had diminished in size over the summer. She’d busied herself at the farm, with the family.

She was the object of great speculation among her classmates. She felt their questioning gazes when they met at the drive-in or the ball field. She felt their awkwardness. They didn’t know how to talk to her, though they wanted to do right by her. It was more comfortable for Kacey to stay home, where she felt loved, if not understood.

Greg saw her watching him through the window. His smile was sad as he waved. Stepping through the doorway to meet him, she walked into his gentle embrace. “I had to say good-bye, Kace.”

“Off to Indiana?”

“Yep. The folks are taking me in the morning. I’m all packed and raring to go.”

They moved to the porch swing. “You got your first choice. I’ve never known anyone who got into Notre Dame.”

“We’re even, then. I never knew anyone who went into the convent.”

Kacey poked him in the shoulder. She wanted desperately to make it easy between them. “That’s not true! You knew Melinda Harrison, when we were in junior high.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t love her.”

“Greg . . .”

“It’s okay. I just wanted to tell you one more time, I guess. I won’t forget you, Kace.”

She would probably never be alone with him again. Somehow that knowledge robbed her of any ability to speak of their past.

Her head filled with the sounds and smells of her home: from an upper bedroom, the soft wail of Peter, Paul and Mary—“Blowin’ in the Wind”; the sweet aroma of roses on the trellis; the lingering scent of tomatoes on her fingers. And her heart. She could almost hear the beat of her heart.

“Dad’ll want to say good-bye. He’s down in the barn.” She rose quickly, holding out her hand.

Kenneth and Gerald were working side by side, cleaning the stalls. They stopped as Kacey and Greg appeared. “Greg!” Kenneth called out, clapping him on the shoulder as he shook his hand. “I was hoping you’d stop by! Father O’Hearn told me you’re leaving for Notre Dame this week.”

“Tomorrow morning. My folks are taking me.”

Gerald leaned on his shovel. “You’re not gonna be a priest, are you?”

“Nope. I’m going to be a capitalist.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m going to major in business.” Greg reached out with both hands, ruffling Gerald’s shaggy hair.

Kenneth grinned. “And a fine businessman you’ll be! Just don’t let those East Coast firms lure you away when you’re done. You’re needed here!”

“Oh, I think my time in Minnesota is behind me now, Mr. D. I doubt I’ll come back home.”

Kacey felt discomfort at the conversation. Greg put his hand on her shoulder, turning her toward the door. The four walked to his truck. Kenneth reached out his hand again, grasping Greg’s firmly, shaking it longer than Kacey thought he should. “I don’t like to hear that, Greg. You stop by whenever you’re home.” Kenneth gave a wave over his shoulder as he stepped onto the back porch.

Gerald didn’t like saying good-bye. But finally, with false enthusiasm, he gave Greg a sharp jab in the arm, “So long, Greg, it’s been real!”

Kacey stood in silence, hands on the open car window frame, as Greg turned the key in the ignition. It was time for him to go.

The squeak of the fourth floorboard beyond the bathroom door was the signal that someone was coming down the hall toward Kacey’s room. Kacey lay alone in the darkened room, waiting to see who turned up.

Rose stood in the doorway. “Kacey? You awake?”

“C’mon in, Mom.”

Rose slipped in, closing the door behind her. Kacey patted the empty side of the bed, and Rose sat down. “I hear Greg stopped by. Sorry I missed him.”

“Yeah, he came to say good-bye. He’s leaving in the morning.”

“Two more days, and it’ll be you.”

“Yep.”

“I always thought maybe you and Greg would, you know, end up together.” Rose spoke hesitantly. Gnawing silence hung between them. Finally Rose took a breath, and when she spoke again her voice came with greater urgency. “It’s not too late to change your mind, Kacey! You don’t have to be with Greg. I mean, you could go to the U—or St. Catherine’s!” The words were tumbling out. “Oh, Kacey . . .” she implored as she reached out a trembling hand to touch Kacey’s cheek.

Kacey took her mother’s hand and held it gently in both of hers. “I’ve decided, Mom. This is what I want.”

“But I know your father’s pushing—”

“This isn’t about Dad. It’s what I want. Please, Mom, drop it.”

Rose shuddered at the authority in Kacey’s voice. She slumped. “I just want you to keep an open mind.”

Kacey could sense, though not see, tears spilling from her mother’s eyes, but she knew she could offer no comfort.

Kacey awakened before five. She felt pinned to the bed by a sense of loss. Finally she rolled onto her side, eyes wide open. She dare not lie here for long. Her fears might run away with her.

Crawling out of bed, she did something she could not remember doing before: she sank down to the floor and knelt to pray. But the petitions would not come. Not even a “Hail Mary” or an “Our Father.” She fidgeted. The floor was hard on her bare knees. Concentrate! Concentrate!

She could not pull up the joyful anticipation she thought she should be feeling. Instead, she heard the early murmuring of the doves, the repetitive phoebes, and the cardinals with their insistent “listen to me” call. She could smell the dew on freshly cut grass. Life here had not been perfect, but it was home.

She closed her eyes tightly and clenched her folded hands. Her prayer became a question. Oh, God! Am I doing the right thing?