Текст книги "Grantville Gazette 45"

Автор книги: Paula Goodlett

Соавторы: Kerryn Offord,Enrico Toro,Terry Howard,David Carrico,Griffin Barber,Rainer Prem,Caroline Palmer
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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 15 страниц)

"Rinse your mouth out with this," a kind voice said.

Marcus looked up to see a female police officer holding out a mug of something. "Thanks." He sipped the warm brew. It tasted like the light soup that the canteen at work usually had simmering. Feeling brave he had another sip. Slowly he became aware of the world again, and discovered he was sitting in a puddle. He started to move to get out of it when the smell hit him. He felt the heat rising in his face as he realized he'd soiled himself.

"Don't be embarrassed. It's a natural reaction," Sergeant Erika Fleischer said.

"That's easy for you to say. I've still got to get home. ah, shit!" Marcus suddenly remembered why he was out here and not safely at home with his wife and kids.He dropped his head in shame.

"Are you all right?"

"Depends on what you mean by all right." Marcus tilted up his head to look the policewoman in the eyes. "You're probably wondering what I'm doing out here."

"We were sort of wondering that," Estes Frost said.

Marcus looked for the new arrival. "Hi, Estes. I had an argument with Jocelyn. On the bus of all places. I lost my temper and nearly hit her. Bailey and Britney were there." He shuddered. "The look on their faces. " He tried to shake away the memory. "Anyway, I panicked and ran." Marcus looked around and snorted. "And I got lost. That's a joke, isn't it? I got lost in Grantville, a place I've lived nearly all my life. Then I saw a cop." He looked around and noticed the policeman whose gun he'd used was gone. "Is he okay?"

"Thanks to you, he's got a good chance," Estes said.

"What about them?" Marcus gestured to where ambulance staff were loading the bodies onto gurneys.

"They're both dead," Estes said.

"I killed them?"

"You had help. Sergeant Tipton also fired at them."

"What happens now?"

"We take you back to the station to take a statement and get you all cleaned up," Estes said.

A hot shower and a change of clothes, even if they were just a pair of police issue coveralls, made a lot of difference to how a man felt, but nowhere near as much as hearing that the two dead men had been Herman and Wilhelm Kindorf. The relief that they were no longer a threat hanging over his head had brought back his appetite with a vengeance and he'd had no trouble demolishing the bowl of stew he'd been given. He was just wiping the bowl with some bread when someone sat down at his table. He looked up to see a vaguely familiar face. "Hello?"

The young woman smiled and slid a business card across the table to him. "Sergeant Fleischer said you might want to talk to me."

Marcus pulled the card closer and read it. "Dita Petrini, licensed professional counselor." He flicked it back across the table. "I don't need a shrink."

"I'm not a shrink, I'm a counselor. I help people deal with issues. The police call me in every time there's a shooting, especially when there are fatalities. Sergeant Fleischer said you were pretty shaken up."

Marcus remembered how he'd spilled his guts and stared hard at the woman. "I bet she said a hell of a lot more than that."

Dita smiled. "Maybe. But I can help you, Marcus." She pulled a pamphlet from her bag. "You almost hit your wife on that bus, Marcus. You have anger management issues. I can't help you unless you want to be helped, but think of your family." She placed the pamphlet under Marcus' nose and got to her feet. "Think of your family."

Marcus stared after the woman. He saw her stop to chat to several police officers before leaving the canteen. Then he looked down at the pamphlet she'd left behind. It was entitled "Dealing with anger." He started to read it, and recognized himself in the case studies.

A paper bag landed on his table with a thud. "They've hosed the worst of it off. Are you ready to go home?" Estes Frost asked.

Marcus peeked into the bag and saw his dirty clothes. "I guess I better see if I've got a home to go to," he said as he shoved the pamphlet into one of the coverall pockets and got to his feet.

"You do. You wife called when she heard the news."

"I don't deserve her," he muttered as he picked up the bag containing his damp clothes.

"So do something about it."

Marcus put a hand in his pocket and felt the pamphlet Dita Petrini had given him. If he still had a marriage to save, then he'd call her tomorrow.

Marcus felt his heart jump when he saw Jocelyn and the children lined up on the veranda. He held out a hand to Estes. "Thanks."

Estes griped his hand firmly. "No, thank you. But for you we might have lost Officer Schulze."

"I hate to disillusion you, Estes, but everything I did out there I did for me."

"Sure, I understand that. But if you hadn't been there Schulze might be dead."

Marcus climbed out of the car, with his bag of clothes held to his chest. He waited for Estes to back out and go wherever he was supposed to be going. Jocelyn and the children hadn't moved. Scared of his reception, he crossed the drive and walked up to them, stopping just short of them. "Hi."

Suddenly he had three warm bodies slammed into him.

"I was so worried about you," Jocelyn said.

"The man on TV said you're a hero, daddy," Britney said.

That made him feel guilty. He gently pushed Jocelyn away so he could crouch down. He dropped his bag of clothes and laid a hand on each of her shoulders. "Heroes don't terrify their own families, Britney. I'm sorry I scared you back on the bus." He turned to Bailey, who hadn't said a word yet. "And I'm sorry I scared you, too." He felt in his coverall pocket for the pamphlet and held it up for Jocelyn. "I'm going to call her tomorrow."

Jocelyn looked at the pamphlet and tears started to well in her eyes. "Let's go inside."

The House on Gray's Run

Dina Frost sat with the rest of the household watching the latest news on TV. They'd just announced the identity of the two men killed in a shootout with police. Marcus Acton, Bailey Acton's dad, had once again been proclaimed a hero. She sighed. Bailey was going to be unbearable at school on Monday. Still, it had been good to hear that Bruno's brothers would never hurt him again. She glanced over to see how he'd taken the news.

She had to smile. Bruno, with his one track mind, was every cat's favorite person. Right now he was carefully running a comb through the long fur of the household's catriarch. He'd been doing it for the last half hour, and it didn't look like Queenie was going to tire of his ministrations any time soon. Bruno didn't seem to care that his bullying brothers were dead, but she was glad they'd received their comeuppance. There was still the third man, but Dina was sure the police were doing everything they could to catch him.

Cadence: A Continuation of the Euterpe Stories

Enrico Toro, David Carrico

Grantville

March 1635

The doorbell rang. Elizabeth Jordan looked up from the sink where she was peeling carrots. "One of you get that," she called out.

She heard Leah's feet go running across the floor. For a small girl, she had such a heavy tread that her steps were unmistakable.

The door squeaked on its hinges, and she heard seven-year-old Leah squeal, "Mr. Giacomo!"

Elizabeth's heart first jumped, then sank. Memories unreeled themselves in her mind.

August, 1633

Elizabeth had been sight-reading two of Erik Satie's Tres Gymnopedies at the piano in the high school auditorium. The music had demanded the sound and touch of the grand. And as usual, she had been so focused on the music that she hadn't heard the door at the rear of the auditorium, nor the steps down the aisles. Consequently, the applause that sounded when she finished the second piece took her by surprise, and she almost gave herself whiplash when her head whipped around to see who was clapping.

It was Victor Saluzzo, the high school principal, and two men dressed in down-timer clothing of a style she hadn't seen before.

"Gentlemen, may I introduce you to Mrs. Elizabeth Jordan, our music teacher?" Victor had said.

That was her introduction to Girolamo Zenti and Giacomo Carissimi. Zenti was obviously a man's man; bold, strutting a little, and with sufficient charm and charisma to woo the Venus de Milo, missing arms and all. But Carissimi had intrigued her. In both appearance and manner, he had reminded her of Douglas Drake, the Ohio farm boy who had been in most of her college classes; quiet, tongue-tied most of the time, and usually shy, though he had a baritone voice to die for. He had stared at her in every class they were in, and whenever she looked at him, he would blush and look away. But he wasn't creepy; just somehow oddly sweet.

Doug never managed to ask her for a date before she started going with Fred. From time to time, she regretted that.

Somehow, even at the very moment their eyes first met, this Carissimi fellow had the same effect on her that Doug had had.

That was where it began.

March 1635

"Mom," nine-year-old Daniel appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, "it's Mr. Carissimi."

Fall 1633

Before long, Elizabeth had found herself acting as Giacomo's mentor and teacher in the arts of music as the twentieth century had known them. She was amazed at him. He was like a musical sponge. It didn't seem to matter to him, if it had something to do with music, he wanted to know it. Music theory, music history, form and analysis; lives of composers, it didn't matter. Even the concentrated notes that Marla Linder had made available from her sessions with her band of German musicians didn't slow him down.

But his greatest passion was for the piano, the single instrument that came back from the future that the down-timers would be most affected by. Giacomo certainly was. He would spend hours every day working on it, playing scales and etudes, building technique and muscle memory.

Then, at some point, he started improvising. And that was where she was caught.

March 1635

Elizabeth very gently laid the carrot and the peeler down on the cabinet by the sink, rinsed her hands off under the faucet, and dried them carefully. She placed the dish towel back on the rack, then stood facing the window over the sink.

Fall 1633

The library resources and her own college textbooks had given Elizabeth a sketch of Carissimi's life in the future that would never be. And it was impressive. She resolved in her own heart that his biography in this new future would be even more impressive. Yeah, she had to admit to herself, that perhaps this second chance at Doug Drake meant something to her. In any event, she began to spend more and more time with Giacomo, pushing him harder and harder, giving him more and more to learn and less time to learn it. He had become her challenge.

March 1635

"Mom?"

She took a deep breath, then turned and followed Daniel toward the front door.

Fall 1633

And so the time passed. Elizabeth didn't neglect her family or her children. But every so often her husband Fred, the deputy sheriff who had become the West VirginiaCounty's expert liaison with outside the Ring of Fire law enforcement organizations, would ask her why she was spending so much extra time at the school.

And sometimes he would ask her what she was thinking about when she was staring off into space.

She never told him much about Carissimi, only that he was a down-time music teacher who needed to learn about the up-time music. She didn't think he would understand.

When Fred started spending more and more time out of town, it was actually a bit of relief.

March 1635

Giacomo looked up at her from where he knelt talking to Leah. That was one of the things Leah adored about him, that he would always put himself on her level to talk to her.

October/November 1633

And then the commission came for Giacomo to write the music commemorating the death of Hans Richter. She was bound and determined that this would be the first great piece credited to his name after the Ring of Fire.

Zenti came to her, and said that Giacomo was having trouble focusing on the music he was trying to write, because of the piano workshop next door. "Bring him here," she told him. "Fred is out of town for a week."

So Giacomo moved into her house that night. The kids were there, but Fred wasn't. And she didn't care.

The next two days were like heaven to Elizabeth, working with a talent of Giacomo's level. He was a man on fire, and she caught fire from him. Her passion for this work, this Lament for a Fallen Eagle, was the equal of his. As he described the arc and flow of it, she grasped it intuitively. And God, the music that he dictated to her!

At the end, Giacomo held a wonder, a joy, in his hands. And she had helped him create it.

March 1635

"Giacomo," she said, hands behind her back. Nothing more.

December 1633

The performance of the lament had been beautiful. Giacomo had wanted Elizabeth to sing the solo at first, but she had convinced him to ask Marla Linder instead. Elizabeth could have sung the solo, and sung it well. Part of her really wanted to do exactly that, but. Marla's voice was better than hers, and what mattered was giving Giacomo the best performance he could get. And at the performance, Marla had justified Elizabeth's belief in her.

Afterwards they were both on cloud nine, Giacomo because the performance had gone so well, and Elizabeth because his reputation was increasing.

They spent a lot of time together; singing, playing, laughing.

Some days she forgot to miss Fred.

March 1635

He looked up at her, and stood.

"Elizabeth."

January 1634

And then came the letter from Italy, telling Giacomo his father had died. Zenti came and got her. Fred was gone again, so Elizabeth made arrangements for the kids to sleep over at friends, and went with Zenti to the house the two Italians shared.

She had never seen a man in so much pain before. The lines on Giacomo's face looked like they had been graven deeply with chisels, and his eyes were so dark they looked like someone had put black holes in his eye-sockets. She gave him wine, and he choked on it and sprayed it across the room. Then he began to weep. She was so tempted to take him in her arms like one of her own children, and cradle his head against her breast, but she just sat and held his hand while the storm of tears took its course.

Elizabeth asked him about his father. He told her, story after story after story, all filled with love and affection for a man she'd never see.

That touched her, in an unexpected way. Giacomo had always been a gentle and caring man. Now she saw that he was, in his own way, a deeply loving man.

March 1635

"Kids, go finish your homework. I need to talk to Mr. Carissimi for a minute."

Spring 1634

Giacomo decided to write a Passion in honor of his father, one based on St. Matthew's Gospel. Elizabeth began to spend more and more time at their house, watching him write, taking musical dictation, singing parts with him when he would play new pieces of the passion for Zenti and his journeyman and apprentices.

He took such joy in writing the work, so much love for his father flowed from him, that at times Elizabeth felt like a fly trapped in honey. Other times she wondered if she were a moth, circling a candle flame, dazzled by the light but drawing closer and closer to the fire.

The passion was finished in March, and scheduled for performance over Easter weekend. Giacomo went into whirlwind rehearsal mode with instrumentalists and the choir of St. Mary's Church. Elizabeth watched, waiting for Giacomo's greatness to be publicly displayed again, hungering for the display of his talent in the service of love.

March 1635

She got unhappy looks from Daniel and Leah, but they knew not to make a fuss in front of others, and trailed off into the back of the house.

April 1634

The performance of the passion went extremely well. Afterward, elated, she let the children run free while she waited for a chance to speak to Giacomo without crowds of people around him. When the opportunity came, she praised him, and they laughed, and she called him her pet nickname for him, Jude. Whenever she saw him, "Hey, Jude" came to mind.

Then something changed. She didn't understand what, or how, or why, but something changed. Giacomo's gaze sharpened somehow, and locked on hers, seeming to flow into her soul. He raised a hand, and brushed her cheek with one finger; just barely touching her.

It wasn't the first time Giacomo had touched Elizabeth. Many times they had touched hands during piano lessons, or marathon music writing sessions. Often he had patted her shoulder. Or they would brush against each other walking down hallways or sidewalks. But those had all been contacts between fellow workers, fellow musicians, fellow seekers after the holy grail of music.

This was different. Now Giacomo saw Elizabeth as a woman, and had given her the lightest of caresses. No mistaking it for a simple touch; it was a caress.

At that moment, Elizabeth leaned toward him, wanting to feel the touch of his hand again, always. She would have gone with Giacomo anywhere.

"Mommy!"

The genuine alarm in Leah's voice acted like a plunge of ice water. Elizabeth whirled to rescue her daughter from the chance of a serious fall from the organ loft. The moment that Leah was safe, her mind inexorably showed her what would happen if she turned to Giacomo.

In that moment of clarity-in that very precise instant of time-Elizabeth saw the hurt she would cause Fred, and her children, and her friends and family if she went with Giacomo. And even the hurt she would cause him if she did so.

It was the hardest thing Elizabeth had ever done to reject Giacomo then.

But she gathered her children's hands in hers and left him standing in the nave of St. Mary's Church. Alone.

March 1635

"So why are you here?" Elizabeth asked after a long moment of silence.

Late May 1634

Elizabeth avoided Giacomo after that. She knew that people noticed, but no one seemed to be saying anything about it, so she didn't either.

Then she heard the news. It took her a day or so to muster the courage to see Giacomo again, but on Friday afternoon, she went to his classroom after the school day was over. He was packing his document case. He stood and they looked at each other.

"So, when were you going to tell me?" Elizabeth asked.

Giacomo shrugged. "Tomorrow, I thought."

She walked over and sat down in one of the student desks.

"Master of the Royal Academy of Music, huh? That sounds like a great gig." She tried to keep her voice light.

"I think it will be," he responded.

There was another period of long silence.

"So when will you leave?" she finally said

"Around June first." Giacomo looked at his hands. "I have to make some arrangements, and pack up what I will take and give away what I won't."

More silence.

Finally, she stood up and said, "Good luck."

"Thanks."

Elizabeth stepped over and held out her hand, but before Giacomo could reach to take it, she suddenly threw her arms around him and kissed him fiercely.

After a moment, Elizabeth broke the embrace and pushed back. She looked down at the floor, then looked up with a wry grin on her face.

"It would never work between us while I am married, and I won't leave Fred."

She struggled to keep her voice calm.

"You are Euterpe," Giacomo said after a moment. "You are my muse. I am my best because of you."

Elizabeth shrugged.

"Thank you for that compliment," she replied. "But I think you will have a new muse now. I think Princess Kristina will be your muse from now on, one way or another."

Giacomo shook his head.

Elizabeth stepped closer, rested a hand on his cheek, and whispered as the tears began to trickle from the corners of her eyes, "God go with you, Jude. Be well, be happy, be magnificent. And think about me from time to time, if you can stand it."

She left the room then, expecting to never see him again.

March 1635

Giacomo gave a very Latin shrug. "I needed to come confer with Master Wendell and Master Atwood about some of the Grantville Music Trust matters, and I wanted to read through the church music libraries again and see what I can use." Another moment of silence, then, "And I miss the children. " He swallowed.". and I miss you."

To see him again, to hear him say that, tore at Elizabeth's heart. Oh, how she wanted to embrace him. But she couldn't. He started to shift position, and she held up a hand. He froze.

"Nothing has changed, Giacomo. The answer to your question is still 'No.' Understand?"

Carissimi looked down, and nodded.

Despite the pain, it was still good to see him. He still looked like Doug Drake, and he was still the same gentle man he had always been.

Elizabeth gave a small smile, and said, "The kids miss you, too. You're welcome to stay for dinner." He looked up in surprise. She held her hand up again. "But that's all, and you leave before they go to bed."

He nodded again, this time with a little lighter expression.

"Come on, then. You know where the piano is."

Giacomo headed for the music room. Elizabeth returned to the kitchen to finish the carrots. She found herself humming along with the music that poured from the piano. She couldn't even be mad at herself for her spirits being lighter than they had been in months.

Dinner was simple; a piece of smoked ham, carrots and some green beans that someone had canned and given her last year. But the meal was almost festive, as Daniel and Leah competed for Giacomo's attention. Elizabeth found herself smiling again as she watched them. They really did like the Italian master, and he obviously liked them as well.

Once the kids were through pushing green beans around on their plates, she sent them back to the music room to finish their homework. Giacomo drifted along behind them, and the piano began singing again while she cleared away the dishes to the kitchen.

Just as the last of the dishes were placed on the counter, the doorbell rang again. Wondering who it could be at this hour of the night, Elizabeth headed for the door. Her heart sank when it opened to reveal Preston Richards and Harley Thomas framed in the doorway, both in uniform.

"Press? Harley?"

"Can we come in?"

A chill settled in her soul.

"Sure. We're back in the music room."

They followed her. Daniel and Leah, both sprawled on the floor, looked up from doing their homework. Giacomo was seated at the piano, but he stilled his hands as soon as he saw who was with her.

"You know Signor Carissimi. He. "

". wrote the song about Hans Richter's death." Press reached out his hand. "I haven't had the pleasure, before. Pleased to meet you. Um. " He looked at the children.

"Whatever it is," Elizabeth said through the gathering cold shroud, "they'll need to know. Bad or the worst?"

"The worst," Press admitted. "They're bringing him back."

She sat down on the end of the piano bench. "What goes around, comes around, I guess." She clasped her hands together so tightly that her knuckles were white. "Last week. Last week I was actually feeling-sort of good, maybe even a little bit smug-that Fred was over there in Ohrdruf. Safely away from what happened at the hospital and the synagogue. As safe as a man could ever be, in his line of work."

She gestured vaguely with her hand. "I'll need to call Jenny Maddox at the funeral home, I guess. To be expecting him. I don't know who else, really, since Reverend Wiley is dead."

Elizabeth felt Carissimi stand up behind her. "Orval McIntire," he said. "The man who preached the state funeral. Admirable eulogies-the ones he delivered for the mayor and your minister. Stay with Daniel and Leah. I will call them both. That much of the burden, Elizabeth, I can take from your shoulders."

Both kids looked scared, and Leah was crying. Elizabeth could hear Giacomo making the first phone call. She opened her arms, and the kids came to her, huddling together within the circle of her embrace. She felt the tears starting in her own eyes as she looked at the two men who had brought the bad news, and who obviously wished they hadn't had to.

"What happened?"

Press shrugged. "We haven't received a full report yet, but what we know at this point is he fell off a roof and broke his neck."

"What was he doing up on a roof?" Elizabeth demanded.

Press shrugged again. "From what we can tell, he was doing some kind of protective over-watch on people that were being persecuted by some of the citizens of Ohrdruf. He seemed to have slipped and lost his grip, and. " Press stopped for a moment. There really wasn't anything else he could add to that. Elizabeth's stomach churned as she thought of that fall. "I'll let you know as soon as we know more," Press finally finished.

"Please." She bent her head over her children, all she had left of Fred, and let her tears mingle with theirs.

The doorbell rang again, and Harley answered it. That was the beginning of neighbors, friends, and family coming to see if they could help.

The next days passed in a blur. It took longer to schedule the funeral than normal, because they had to wait for Fred's body to arrive from Ohrdruf. There was a constant flow of family and friends. She and the kids were never left alone. In her lucid moments, she understood that and was thankful for it. And the food kept coming. Everyone brought something: ham, roast beef, potatoes, vegetables, breads; even desserts, although the cost of sugar these days made those really extravagant.

The nights, however, were very dark, and very lonely. More than one night found her crying herself to sleep, muffling the sobs with her pillows. And more than one night found her facing her guilt in the darkest hours before dawn-guilt that she had not loved Fred like she should; guilt that she had chased another man, that she had been unfaithful. Yet in the cold light of dawn, she always knew that whatever her thoughts, when it came to the test she had been faithful to her vows. More so than Fred had been, she suspected.

The one constant theme in those days-the one thing that Elizabeth always remembered afterward besides the feeling of being possessed by ice-was that Carissimi was always near. Not hovering; not butting into meetings with the family or the consultations with the funeral home and the minister; not intruding or obtruding in any way. But always near.

Finally the day of the funeral arrived. The funeral home Cadillac arrived to take Elizabeth and the children to the church for the memorial service.

The service went as well anyone could desire for that kind of thing. It was a closed casket service. Jenny Maddox had suggested it, given the state of Fred's corpse on arrival at the funeral home in Grantville.

The music was beautiful. Orval McIntire did an excellent eulogy, and his recitation of the promises of eternal life and the resurrection were of some comfort. But the hole in Elizabeth's life was still there when he was done.

Daniel and Leah, one on each side of her, were her main concern at that moment; the one silent and still, the other gripping her mother's hand like an iron clamp and sniffling occasionally. At the end, they walked with her to the Cadillac for the ride to the cemetery.

The old-fashioned graveside service was brief. Orval said the final words with grace, and they lowered the casket into the ground. Elizabeth stood and picked up a handful of dirt from the mound at the side, and poured it into the hole.

"Goodbye, Fred," she said, tears trickling down her cheeks, almost like liquid ice.

Afterward, Elizabeth stood to one side with the kids in the cold wind, and accepted the final condolences of those who had come to the graveside service. As the last of them gave her a hug and turned away, she became aware of one last figure, standing well behind the canopy that had sheltered the attendees.

"Jenny," she said. Jenny Maddox stepped over from where she had been waiting by the grave. "Would you take the kids to the car, please? They're getting cold, and I need to talk to someone."

"Sure," Jenny said.

They almost had to peel Leah's fingers from Elizabeth's hand, but she finally let go upon the iron-clad promise that her mom wouldn't take very long. As Jenny led them to the waiting limousine, Elizabeth walked over to face Giacomo.

He spoke first, after an obvious hesitation. "I am sorry for your loss, Mrs. Jordan."

"Thank you, Mr. Carissimi," she replied in like kind.

"If there is anything I can do to help, please, let me know."

"Thank you for everything you have done."

They looked at each other in the cold, in the silence.

"The answer is still 'No,' you know," she finally said.

He looked offended. "I would never have asked you at a time like this."

"I know." And she did. But she had still needed to make it clear.

He looked around, then looked back at her with a twist to his lips. "There are others, however, who will think you fair game. I am surprised that they are not lined up here, to make their offers for your house and body."

That jolted Elizabeth for just a moment. "And they would get a 'No' forever."

There was curiosity on Giacomo's face now. "Why? They could give you a very comfortable life, and raise your children well."

Elizabeth smiled. "First, to paraphrase a Grantville expression, I've soared with eagles; I'm not about to tie myself to a turkey."

Giacomo chuckled at that.

"And second, I have some things to do, some things to take care of. I've got to get my head on straight." And I've got to lightning-rod some guilt out of my soul, she said to herself.

Another moment of silence, broken finally by Elizabeth. "Actually, there is something you can do for me."

Giacomo looked to her with expectation.

"In six months come see me."

A look of hope began to form on his face.

"Then you can ask me your question."

The smile that crept onto his face was like the dawning of the sun. The first hint of warmth came to Elizabeth from that smile.