24: Aftermath

<body topmargin=0 leftmargin=0 marginheight=0 marginwidth=0> <table cellpadding=0 cellspacing=0 border=0><tr> <td valign="top" colspan=2 height=90 BGCOLOR="#CC9900" TEXT="#080000" bgproperties="fixed" background="047005a0dwnjzk.gif"> <div> <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U><B>home</B></U></A><B>     | </B><B> </B><B> </B><B>  </B><FONT SIZE="5" COLOR="#FFCC66" FACE="Arial" ><B>Cassie's Writing</B></FONT></div> <div> <A HREF="id76.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="20: Kitcheners Strategy"><U><B>20:  Kitchener's Strategy</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id79.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="21: Defensive Maneuvers"><U><B>21:  Defensive Maneuvers</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id80.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="22: Final Showdown"><U><B>22:  Final Showdown</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id81.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="23: The Ceremony"><U><B>23:  The Ceremony</B></U></A><B>   |   </B><B>24:  Aftermath</B><B>   |   </B><A HREF="id83.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="25: Evil Ever After"><U><B>25:  Evil Ever After</B></U></A></div> <div> <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U><B>Taking Wooden Nickels</B></U></A></div> <div> </div> </td> </tr><tr> <td valign="top" width=210 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div> <B>24:  Aftermath</B></div> <bR> </td> <td valign="top" height=390 BGCOLOR="#FFFFFF" TEXT="#080000"> <div>      Beth was as good as her word.  Quentin slept heavily and dreamlessly.  Sluggishly, he began to wake up, feeling her kisses on the back of his neck.  He was responding--that was what woke him up.  He reached for her, still half-asleep.  She let him pull her closer, gingerly putting her arms around him.  He nuzzled her throat, moving toward her mouth.  He rolled her over on her back, his hands stroking her breasts.  She gave a little moan of pleasure and sighed contentedly.  This time he wanted to move very slowly and savor every moment together with her.  Even still, it seemed to be over before he wanted it to be. He moved just enough not to crush her with his weight but not enough for her to be able to get up.  He wanted to lie close with her awhile longer.</div> <div>      "What did you tell Annie?" he asked finally.</div> <div>      "The same thing you told Phillip," Beth answered.  "I didn't want to make the stories too different. We'll forget what we told to whom."  She laughed a little.</div> <div>      The idea of running away came back to him.  "Beth?  What if we got the children and packed all our things and just left?  We could go to New York and book passage on a ship to England.  Then we could go to Vienna or Paris or wherever you want to go.  I know someone in Paris--he's a writer.  He has a wife and a child about Peter's age."</div> <div>      Beth looked troubled.  He expected her to reproach him and was surprised when she said, "It would be nice to get away from all the trouble, wouldn't it? Imagine being able to go somewhere and not have to think about any of it at all.  We'd just start over and not have to think of any of them.  We wouldn't even have to say where we're going."  She'd been lying on her back, looking at him, but now she sat up as she spoke.  She didn't look at him as she continued, "It would be nice not to have to think about Jamison or Nora or all those children.  What will they do now?  It's a heavy responsibility, and a lot of people to be concerned about.  But it is YOUR concern?"</div> <div>      "Why do I have this feeling that you're acting like the voice of my conscience?"</div> <div>      "Am I?"</div> <div>      He grimaced.  He knew what Beth was doing.  "At the very least, you're playing the devil's advocate, aren't you?"</div> <div>      "What do you think?"</div> <div>      "I think you're talking to me like Dr. Brunton!" he said, exasperated.  "If you think I'm responsible for Nora and Jamison, just say so!"</div> <div>      "But it's not for me to say, my love," Beth said reasonably.  "That's for you to decide."</div> <div>      "Aren't you going to help me?"</div> <div>      "Of course I'm going to help you," Beth said reassuringly.  "Quentin, I can't tell you what to do.  Before I can help you, you need to decide if you want to do anything about your family or not.  I can't decide that for you."</div> <div>      You could tell me what you think, Quentin thought irritably.  On second thought, though, she really didn't need to.  He knew her well enough to know what she thought.  Could he just run out on Nora and Jamison now?  It would be easy to.  The hard part would be living with himself for doing it.  "I can't just leave," he decided.  Beth was stroking his hair.  He looked up at her.  She was looking back at him with sympathy and understanding.  "You already knew that, didn't you?"  She smiled and nodded slightly. He rolled onto his stomach, shutting his eyes, trying to decide what to do first. He felt Beth pull the sheet over him and get off the bed.  "Where are you going?"</div> <div>      "I'm putting on my robe," she explained.  He was about to ask what for when the door burst open and two small forms raced in, jumping onto the bed.  He'd forgotten all about them--Beth's children, Peter and Katie. He felt very naked and very foolish under the sheet. Beth had gotten back on the bed again, wearing her robe and gathering the children to her. "Did you sleep well, my darlings?"</div> <div>      "I'm hungry," Katie said, taking her thumb out of her mouth.  She looked at Quentin curiously.  "Did Daddy come back to stay?"</div> <div>      Quentin gulped and looked at Beth.</div> <div>      "Quentin doesn't look like the picture of our daddy," Peter remarked, studying Quentin closely.</div> <div>      "That's right, Peter, Quentin isn't your father. Quentin is going to help me take care of you and love you like Daddy used to," Beth explained.  The children just looked at her.  They were probably too young to realize what Beth was saying, Quentin suspected.</div> <div>      "Daddy?" Katie asked, looking at Quentin.  She really didn't understand.</div> <div>      He was overcome with emotion, looking at this tiny, angelic replica of Beth.  He'd never hear this from Lenore, or his dead son.  He had no idea how emotionally powerful a little word could be.  Katie was little more than a baby--she couldn't be more than three years old.  She would never remember her real father.  He reached out and touched her chubby little hand; it was so tiny and soft.  He swallowed so that he could speak.  "Yes, Katie," he said softly.  He looked up at Beth and saw that she was overcome, too.  He couldn't tell what she was feeling--did she miss Seamus?  Did she regret her child not knowing her own father?  Maybe she didn't feel so confident about having him help raise her children--he really hadn't done such a great job with making decisions and behaving responsibly. </div> <div>      As if she was reading his mind, Beth said softly, "I'm glad, darling."</div> <div>      "I didn't know grownups took naps.  I thought only we did that," Peter said, climbing off Beth's lap.  He crawled down to the foot of the bed and began bouncing up and down.</div> <div>      "Grownups are just big kids," Quentin said.  "Hey, Pete, why don't you hop off the trampoline and let me get dressed?"  Truthfully, the bouncing around was very uncomfortable for him.  He looked at Beth for help.</div> <div>      "Come on, children, we'll go and get lunch," Beth said, getting up with Katie on one hip.  She reached out for Peter's hand.</div> <div>      "Daddy eat with us, too?" Katie asked.</div> <div>      "He doesn't have any clothes on yet, silly," Peter said, giggling.  Beth went out to the kitchen, turning to look at Quentin before she shut the door to give him privacy.  She gave him one of the most beautiful smiles he'd ever seen.  He sighed.  He didn't want to get up.  He was still very stiff and sore; he wanted nothing more than to stay in bed and have Beth pamper him until he felt better.  He was tempted to call out and ask her to bring him lunch on a tray, but then he remembered that he needed to talk to Cousin Matthew Billings about Phillips' funeral, Nora, and her children.  He groaned.</div> <div>      He must've been louder than he thought, or Beth hadn't been kidding about her sense of hearing becoming heightened.  She cracked the door open a little.  "Quentin?  Are you all right?"</div> <div>      "I wish I was a baby again so you could hold me like Katie," he answered, glumly thinking about everything that needed to be done.</div> <div>      "I'd be happy to hold you, darling, but frankly, I don't really need a grown-up baby," Beth said, a little teasingly. </div> <div>      He grimaced and hurled his pillow at her.  She quickly pulled the door shut.  "Thanks a lot!" he called, not without some humor.  He got up, cursing Petofi.  He didn't have the luxury of lying around until he felt better, thanks to him. Too many important decisions had to be made.  Petofi was the reason he needed to lie down until he felt better as well. If the gypsies had killed him off, he hoped Petofi was burning in hell--but he didn't even know that yet and it was important to find out.  Still cursing, he got dressed, put a smile on his face and went out to join his little family.</div> <bR> <div>      Quentin called the number Phillip Jr. had given him.  A woman answered the phone, and he asked to speak to Matthew Billings, expecting to hear he was at work. Apparently the man came home for his lunch. The voice that spoke next sounded startling similar to Phillip Sr.--so much so that Quentin was momentarily speechless.  Then he introduced himself.  "I'm Nora Billings' cousin," he explained.  "I know you've made funeral arrangements for Phillip.  I guess we need to talk about what to do about Nora and the children?"</div> <div>      "You're right.  Why don't you come over now, if you're not busy?  I'm taking the rest of the day off, and I'd rather not discuss it during the wake. I think it would be difficult afterwards.  We're all so drained by this.  It's a shocking mess," Matthew replied.</div> <div>      "I can come over now," Quentin said agreeably.  </div> <div>      Matthew gave him directions to the house.  "Young Phillip says you have children.  Why don't you bring your wife and children along?  I have small children myself."</div> <div>      That was a pleasant surprise.  He wanted Beth to come with him but was feeling guilty about having to leave the children with Annie yet again.  </div> <div>      Matthew Billings and his family lived in a modest home bordering the northside, near an all-Irish neighborhood.  He was a large man and looked very much like his cousin, but he seemed much friendlier and less imposing.  He introduced his wife, Irene, and the four children, the youngest around Peter's age.  The children all ran into the back yard to play, and the Billings' led Quentin and Beth back to the kitchen.  </div> <div>      "I hope you don't mind if we talk in here," Irene said, a little apologetically.  "We're rather informal here and we do all our talking in the kitchen."</div> <div>      "I'm not a parlor man myself," Quentin said, relieved. </div> <div>      "We heard what happened to you," Matthew said tactfully.  "Can we get you anything?"</div> <div>      "You mean, like a steak?  I think it's past the time for that, but thanks," Quentin said with a laugh.   </div> <div>      Irene smiled and poured tea for them all.</div> <div>      "How is Nora?"  Matthew asked.  "I haven't seen her yet, although Irene visited her last night."</div> <div>      Maybe Irene had brought the robe, Quentin thought.  "We saw her this morning, and she was--grouchy.  She's lucid, though.  I talked to Dr. Brunton--he's a psychiatrist.  He doesn't know is she's going to try anything like that again.  He thought she might be better off in another hospital--a mental hospital."</div> <div>      Matthew sighed.  "Before you commit her anywhere, you ought to visit some of the institutions in the area.  If she had to be committed, that would be--most unfortunate."</div> <div>      "Even if she wasn't committed, I don't know if she's capable of taking care of her children," Beth said.  "She's very upset.  She can hardly take care of herself."</div> <div>      "I know, Irene told me."  Matthew looked down at his hands.  "Irene and I have been talking about what to do in the event Nora had to stay in the hospital.  I know that young Phillip is able to stay at the university.  We can make room for the boy, Eddie, if we had to but--" he broke off uncomfortably.</div> <div>      "We're already crowded in our home, and we live modestly," Irene put in, embarrassed.  "We probably could manage with Eddie.  We can put a mattress down in the room the boys' share--"</div> <div>      Beth looked at Quentin.  He looked back at her, wondering what she was thinking.  He nodded at her, signaling her to speak.  She cleared her throat hesitantly and said, "No one is living in the Billings' home right now.  What will happen to it?"</div> <div>      "I don't know," Matthew answered.  "I don't think it's fully paid for.  I couldn't afford to buy it.  It'll probably be sold if Nora doesn't move back in."</div> <div>      "Maybe we could go there temporarily," Beth said tentatively.  "Then Nora's children could stay in their own home--until we know for sure what will happen to her."  She looked at Quentin.</div> <div>      "Are you sure you want to do that, Beth?  Leave home?"</div> <div>      "My home is with you," she answered softly.</div> <div>      "That would help a great deal," Matthew said with some relief.</div> <div>      "Okay," Quentin said, relieved that at least one decision had been made.  "I'll call Mrs. Cleary and have her bring the children back.  But first--that bedroom, Beth--"</div> <div>      "We'll take care of it," Irene put in quickly, looking at Beth.  Beth nodded.</div> <div>      Matthew had already taken care of all the details for Phillip's wake and funeral; the only thing left to discuss was Nora.  "Frankly, I'd feel a lot better if you decide what's best for your cousin," he said.  "I just don't feel right about mental hospitals.  Did they explain that you might need to get power of attorney?"</div> <div>      "Yes.  I wouldn't feel right about it, but I'll do it if I have to," Quentin answered.</div> <div>      "You're not from Chicago originally, are you?"  Matthew commented.  He pulled a pad of paper and a pencil over.  "I'd recommend that you and your wife visit several institutions in and around Chicago.  Here.  I'll give you the names and addresses."  He wrote steadily for a few minutes and then gave the paper to Quentin, who folded it and put it in his pocket.     He also explained how to find the funeral home and the visiting hours.  Phillip would be buried Tuesday afternoon--it was the most convenient time for the undertaker.</div> <div>      Quentin laughed, a little bitterly.  Matthew looked at him, puzzled.  "I'm sorry," he apologized.  He didn't want to explain that he was thinking that money really mattered very little once you were dead.  It was more important to know when the undertaker was free.  "It's been difficult," he added.  The Billings' nodded with sympathetic understanding.  They talked a little more, gathered the children, and said goodbye, planning to see each other again at the wake.</div> <div>      "That's one thing taken care of," Quentin said with some relief.  "Are you sure you don't mind moving out, Beth?"</div> <div>      "No, and I don't think you will, either," Beth said, sounding suddenly grim and staring ahead.</div> <div>      "Why do you say that?"  Quentin asked.  Then he followed Beth's gaze.  Eric was sitting in a rocker on the front porch, rocking slowly, a dangerous and glowering look on his face.  Quentin suddenly realized that Beth knew exactly what she was talking about and was right.  Eric's posture and expression had all the earmarks of a major confrontation about to happen.  Great, he thought bitterly.  I need this like I need another hole in my head.  He wanted to turn and run the other way; instead, he squared his shoulders, took Peter by the hand and led the way up the sidewalk toward Eric.</div> <div>      Eric stood up slowly, glowering at them. Peter's hand squeezed his hand, so Eric's mood apparently had communicated itself to the little boy.  "We need to talk," Eric said harshly.</div> <div>      "You're right, but let Beth take the children inside first," Quentin answered, meeting Eric's gaze.  Eric's eyes swept over his face, and he looked away uncomfortably.  He turned his gaze to Beth.  </div> <div>      "No, this involves Kristin, too," he said.</div> <div>      "Not in front of the children," Quentin insisted.</div> <div>      "They play in the back with mine, then," Eric agreed.  "You come in this way."  He opened the door to his house and led them inside and back to the kitchen.  The children would be able to go out the back door and play.  They could hear Eric and Annie's children carousing in the back yard, so Katie skipped out eagerly.  Peter paused at the back door and looked back, troubled.</div> <div>      "It's all right, Peter," Beth urged.</div> <div>      Quentin thought he knew what the boy was worried about.  "No more fighting, okay, Pete?"  The boy's troubled expression cleared a little, but he still looked a little doubtful as he turned and went out the back door.  Quentin sighed.  "Look, Eric, I know you're mad at us, but it's not our fault."</div> <div>      Eric stuck his finger in Quentin's face and shook it.  "You lied to me!  You told me you weren't mixed up in that business!  What have you brought down on us?"</div> <div>      Quentin's jaw tightened resentfully.  The last thing he wanted to do was fight this bull again, but he also wasn't going to put up with his attitude very much longer, either.  "Look, I'm willing to talk to you about this but get your damn finger out of my face, all right?"</div> <div>      Eric clenched his fist, and Quentin drew back.  At the same time, Beth said angrily, "Don't you dare touch him, Eric!  Look at him!  Does he look like a friend of those men?  They're the ones who beat him, you idiot!"</div> <div>      "Kristin, did you know his family was mixed up with that gangster from Cicero?" Eric demanded, shifting his attention to her.</div> <div>      Beth's face was flaming.  "That isn't any of your business, Eric!" she snapped.</div> <div>      "Oh, no?  I think it is!"  He switched to German, spewing forth a speech of guttural, angry sounding words.</div> <div>      Beth began to answer back, caught Quentin's eye, and immediately switched to English.  "You are not going to treat my husband that way, Eric!  He deserves your respect--you have no idea what he's been through.  He's a good man, and he's not bringing any shame or disgrace on this house!  And if you feel that way, then you are a scheisskopf!"</div> <div>      Quentin didn't understand the word, but it was very obvious that it was not a compliment as Eric turned and advanced toward Beth.  Beth retreated toward their door in the kitchen.  "Don't you dare, Eric!" she snapped at him furiously.  "And you don't have to worry about shame on this house!  We're leaving!"  He had been fully prepared to jump onto Eric to protect Beth, but her words stopped the big man cold.</div> <div>      "Ja?  So? Get out then!" he yelled at her.  "Ungrateful girl!  You have always been trouble for me, Kristin!  Not a good girl at all, not like poor dumb Norma!"</div> <div>      Quentin put his hand on Eric's shoulder, furious.</div> <div>      "Quentin, no!"  Beth protested.  Eric turned and shoved Quentin, hard.  He fell against the table and Eric started after him.  Beth grabbed a frying pan from the nearby stove and hit Eric over the head with it.  He grunted, putting his hand to his head, and turned to glare at Beth. "If you try to touch him, Eric, I swear I'll break this over your head!" she threatened.  She looked like a small gladiator, with a frying pan for a sword, facing an angry lion.</div> <div>      Eric relented, stepping back.  "So?  You go, ja?"</div> <div>      Beth drew herself up straight.  "Right now.  And I'll leave our address and phone number so that you can contact us when you decide to stop acting like a fool!"</div> <div>      Eric turned his back on them, muttering in German.  He went to the refrigerator for some cold beer and went out the back door.</div> <div>      Beth burst into tears.  Quentin immediately went to her and put his arms around her.  She wept onto his shoulder, slipping her arms tentatively around his waist.  "I'm sorry, Beth," he said.  "I'm sorry I keep making trouble for you and causing you all this heart ache."</div> <div>      "Stop!  Don't you act like a fool, too!" Beth wept.  Quentin shut his mouth, confused.  He was just trying to comfort her but apparently had said the wrong thing.  Maybe he didn't understand why she was crying--that wouldn't be so unusual.  Women often confounded him that way.  "He's just a thick-headed idiot!  I wasn't going to let him talk about you like that, Quentin--or hurt you, either!  He'll be sorry once he's had a chance to calm down and stop being so pig-headed!"</div> <div>      "Thank you," he said softly.  That should be an acceptable thing to say.     Beth lifted her head, her eyes streaming.  He touched her face with his fingers, feeling sorry for the breach between Beth and Eric, and kissed her lightly.  She returned the kiss and then straightened up.</div> <div>      "We better pack our things," she said, trying to be brave.</div> <div>      He almost said "I'm sorry" again, but thought better of it.  Instead, as they entered their bedroom and pulled out suitcases, he asked curiously, "What was that name you called him, Beth?"</div> <div>      Beth looked at him, a little uncomfortably.  "Which one?"</div> <div>      "You know.  You only said one word in German.  What was it--something koff?"</div> <div>      She blushed.  "It's vulgar."</div> <div>      That piqued his curiosity.  "What does it mean?"</div> <div>      "Well, in English--it means--" She blushed even deeper, very embarrassed.</div> <div>      "Can you whisper it?"  he asked, inwardly amused.  She nodded, so he turned his ear toward her.</div> <div>      "I called him a shithead," she whispered.</div> <div>      "No, you didn't!" he exclaimed, roaring with laughter.</div> <div>      "Quentin, stop!  It's not funny!" she protested, mortified.</div> <div>      He tried to stop laughing and threw his arms around her.  "Beth, you are just full of surprises, and I love you very much!" he managed to say.  She smiled a little, then, and even managed a small laugh herself.  As they packed, every once in a while he'd think about what she'd said and start laughing again.</div> <bR> <div>      Peter and Katie were stunned to be leaving so quickly, but there was really no help for it.  Beth tried to smooth things over by explaining that they'd be able to see their aunt and uncle and cousins again very soon, and that this was just "temporary."  They arrived at the Billings' house with all their things and were relieved to find that Irene Billings had been there before them--or someone had.  The master bedroom had been thoroughly cleaned, and there was a glazier replacing the glass in the window. Irene herself was bustling about the kitchen and looked surprised to see them.  "Oh!"  she exclaimed.  "I thought to be gone before you came."</div> <div>      "Oh, please stay and have some tea," Beth asked.  "Thank you so much for taking care of the room for us."</div> <div>      "It wasn't any trouble.  I really must be going.  I have to get ready for tonight," Irene replied.</div> <div>      Quentin had sent the children off to explore the playroom.  He waited for Irene to go and then went to Beth, putting his arms around her again.  "I don't want to go there," he said quietly.</div> <div>      "Where?"  Beth was momentarily confused.  "Oh!  The wake?  Do you think that's proper?"</div> <div>      "Probably not.  Probably disrespectful, too.  But I just don't want to go, Beth.  I think I could get away with it, don't you?  I mean, with the way my face looks--wouldn't it be better?  And I don't know who's going to show up there.  I still have to call Jamison and Mrs. Cleary..." He broke off, hugging her tighter.</div> <div>      "Then don't go," Beth advised sympathetically.  "You really do have so much on your mind."</div> <div>      "Just one night home with you and the children.  That's all I want.  We haven't even had one normal night all together, you know that?"</div> <div>      "I know.  All right, what would you like to do while I make dinner?  Lie down?  Or call Jamison?"</div> <div>      "Call Jamison," he decided.  "Get all the bad stuff out of the way first.  And if I took another nap, I'd want you to come wake me up like you did before."  He smiled at her playfully, and then turned to go find the phone.  "Hope he's sober by now," he called over his shoulder.  Walsh answered the phone again, and Quentin asked for Jamison.  Walsh hesitated, and then asked Quentin to hold on.  Why did he hesitate?  Was Jamison drinking?</div> <div>      "All right, I'm here," Jamison said into the phone, his voice slightly slurred.  "What the hell is going on there?"  Quentin felt his irritation increasing but managed to control himself and told Jamison what had been going on over the last two days. "Good God," Jamison said finally.  "Is Petofi dead?"</div> <div>      "That I don't know yet.  I have to find out."</div> <div>      "I would've thought that'd be the first thing you'd do."</div> <div>      The criticism stung.  "There's only so much I can do on my own," he snapped.  "And there's something else--yes, we got Petofi to the gypsies but he beat the hell out of me.  I don't feel so great.  Beth and I have been taking care of everything ourselves, and I don't have the luxury of sitting back on my ass and drinking--like you.  Tell me, you been to the office lately?  Talked to your children today?"</div> <div>      "That's not your business!"  Jamison shouted back, enraged.  "Don't make it sound like I've been doing nothing!  I had to handle all of Father's funeral arrangements, you know.  The service itself was--difficult.  There's a lot that still needs to be done.  And I don't have Ruth to help me, so it hasn't been any picnic!  What the hell do you want from me, anyway?"</div> <div>      "Your help, fool!  We are talking about your sister and niece and nephews, you know!"</div> <div>      "Look, Quentin, you're the one there in Chicago.  You're the one that started all this with Nora's family.  YOU decide what to do about her.  I'm not going to have her coming after me because she's mad that I got involved in putting her away.  YOU decide what to do about the children--I have my own to worry about!"</div> <div>      "And do you?" Quentin retorted, his own voice rising to a shout.  Beth came in, concerned.  Jamison slammed the phone down in his ear.  Furious, Quentin picked up the receiver and started to dial again.</div> <div>      "What is it?"  Beth asked.</div> <div>      Quentin paused, still furious.  "The son-of-a-bitch is too busy drinking and feeling sorry for himself to bother about Nora.  You should have heard how he talked to me, Beth!"     Beth put her fingers on the phone to cut off the connection.  Before she could say anything, he exploded.  "What the hell do you think you're doing?  Don't interfere in this--he's not going to get away with hiding in the house and drinking himself to death!"</div> <div>      "Please just take a breath and calm down," Beth said soothingly.  "If you call back and you're still angry like this, you're only going to end up shouting at each other again."</div> <div>      "So what?  Maybe the bastard needs to hear the truth!"  He was beside himself with rage.  "Does he think he can just sit at Collinwood and do nothing while his sister's family falls to pieces?  And he's not even looking after his own kids!  Maybe HE needs to be committed--" Quentin stopped his tirade suddenly.  Peter and Katie stood in the doorway, staring at him with frightened expressions.  "Oh, great!"  He exclaimed, aggravated that his shouting had scared the children.  He stormed back into the kitchen and went out the back door, slamming it.  He strode over to the big tree in the back yard and slammed his fist into it.  Immediately, he began shaking his smashed fingers and cursed himself for his stupidity.</div> <div>      "Do you feel any better?"  Beth asked.  She'd come outside and was walking toward him.</div> <div>      "No," he answered, frustrated.  "I feel stupid.  Where's Peter and Katie?"</div> <div>      "They're all right, Quentin.  I sent them back to the playroom.  Let me see your hand."  Reluctantly, he extended his hand to her, feeling foolish.  She examined his knuckles and then looked back at him.  "You're lucky they're not broken."  He started to pull his hand away but she held on to it.</div> <div>      "Thanks to Petofi," he muttered, "and that portrait..."</div> <div>      "Well, some ice will help for the time being.  Come back inside and let me put some ice on them, Quentin.  You can cool off."  She pulled at his hand a little to coax him back inside.</div> <div>      "Maybe I don't want to cool off," he grumbled.  "Maybe I'm sick of this whole thing."</div> <div>      "Well, come in and tell me about it then," she urged.  </div> <div>      "Why are you so calm all the time, Beth?  Doesn't anything ever make you mad?" he demanded.</div> <div>      "Of course I get mad.  You saw me get mad, Quentin, don't be silly."</div> <div>      "Don't call me silly--ever!  I may be many things but silly isn't one of them!"</div> <div>      "And right now you're very angry, and you'd like to fight with someone.  It's not going to be with me, do you hear?"  Beth's voice rose a little with exasperation. "All right, I'm sorry I called you silly.  Stop trying to pick a fight with me because you're angry with Jamison and Nora.  If we're going to argue about something, it should be about something important--not this.  Please come inside and let me put some ice on your hand." </div> <div>      He nodded, feeling very frustrated.  He wanted very much to get into a shouting match with Beth but realized that she was right--again.  He even considered continuing to pick at her but then decided this wasn't the time for it.  The last thing he needed today was everyone angry with him, so he sighed and followed her back into the kitchen. Beth chipped off some ice, wrapped it in a towel and gave it to him to put on his knuckles.  "I'll call Mrs. Cleary first," he said sheepishly.  "Then I'll try Jamison again."</div> <div>      Mrs. Cleary happily agreed to return with Eddie and Mary Jane on the morning train.  When Quentin called Collinwood, though, he received unhappy news from Walsh.  "I'm sorry, Mr. Healey.  Mr. Collins left, in a pique."</div> <div>      "Did he go to the shipyard or the cannery?"  Quentin asked.</div> <div>      Walsh hesitated.  "He hasn't been to either place, sir."</div> <div>      Quentin groaned.  "Who's running the business, Walsh?"</div> <div>      "Well, I imagine Mr. Edward left instructions with Mr. Haskell," Walsh speculated.  "Mr. Haskell is the operating manger, and he met with Mr. Edward quite frequently."</div> <div>      "Has he talked to Jamison?"</div> <div>      "I don't know, sir."</div> <div>      Quentin felt himself becoming angry again.  "Do you have his phone number, Walsh?"  He discarded the ice pack so that he could write Tom Haskell's name and number down.  "What about Elizabeth and Roger?"</div> <div>      "I did as you asked, sir, and my wife is looking after them."</div> <div>      "How are they?"  Quentin asked, softening a little.  He missed them.</div> <div>      "Miss Elizabeth is quiet.  She seems to have become--introspective, you might say.  She is like a little mother to Master Roger.  He's full of vinegar, sir, into everything."</div> <div>      Quentin wasn't surprised to hear that Elizabeth was quiet.  She'd lost her mother and her grandfather within a very short period of time.  "Does Elizabeth still climb trees?"</div> <div>      There was a startled silence.  Then Walsh answered slowly, "Why, no, sir.  Not since the dogs--in fact, she seems to have become quite a little lady.  Very grown up."</div> <div>      "Is she there now?"</div> <div>      "Mrs. Walsh took her on an outing to the ice cream parlor.  Then they're going to see a Harold Lloyd film."</div> <div>      "All right, thank you, Walsh."  Quentin was disappointed.  He'd hoped to be able to at least say hello to the little girl.</div> <div>      "Any message for Mr. Jamison?"</div> <div>      Quentin sighed.  "Just ask him to call me when he's sober."  He hung up and called Tom Haskell next, introducing himself as Edward's nephew and Jamison's cousin.  "Tell me, has Jamison been coming in to oversee things?"</div> <div>      Haskell sounded very cautious.  "Mr. Healey, I don't know you.  I've never heard either Mr. Collins mention you.  I don't want to discuss their business with you--y'understand, don't you?"</div> <div>      Quentin appreciated the man's loyalty and said so.  "Look, I won't press you.  But if Jamison has been letting things slide, are you capable of picking up the slack?  Can you run things until Jamison can get back?"  The man on the other end of the line was silent.  "We both know he's been through a lot," Quentin went on.  "It may take him a while to recover and become involved again, you understand?  He's just lost his wife and his father."</div> <div>      "I understand that," Haskell replied neutrally.  "To answer your question, Mr. Healey, you don't have to worry about the family's business.  I've been here a long time.  I won't let anything happen to it."</div> <div>      Quentin was relieved.  "Thank you.  If you need to contact me for any reason, you can reach me at this number in Chicago."  He gave the Billings' phone number.  Haskell repeated it, obviously copying it down.  Hanging up, Quentin thought that was one less thing to worry about. The last thing he did was call Dr. Brunton's office to make an appointment to talk with him about Nora.  He heard Beth clattering around in the kitchen and went into the sitting room to brood about all these decisions he'd been stuck with.  It wasn't fair.  He stretched out on the sofa and shut his eyes.  Within minutes, he was asleep.</div> <div>      He came to abruptly, awakened by a slap on the cheek.  His eyes flew open, and he sat up ready to fight.  He was speechless to see little Katie standing there, finger in her mouth.  The little one removed the finger and announced, "Daddy, mommy said you get up now and eat."  </div> <div>      Beth came to the doorway, looking dismayed.  "Oh, Katie, mommy said just jiggle daddy."</div> <div>      "I did, but he didn't waked up," Katie explained.  "But I waked him up."</div> <div>      Quentin's irritation and surprise turned to amusement.  He picked the baby up.  "You sure did wake me up. But I tell you what, next time why don't you just jiggle me harder, okay?"  He still felt awkward about being called Daddy, but Katie was so little.  She wouldn't understand if he told her to just call him Quentin.</div> <div>      He wasn't sure how long it would take to get used to living like this.  He felt out of place sitting at Phillip and Nora's dining room table with Beth and the two small children.  Beth had set his place at the head of the table, a position he'd never occupied.  He felt awkward and totally incompetent.  I'm no Edward, he thought.  Beth was preoccupied with the children, especially Katie who needed help cutting up her food, and seemed to be unaware of his discomfort.  </div> <div>      Little Peter was talking about the bird's nest he'd found.  He wanted to keep it upstairs.  Looking at him closely, Quentin tried to look for some resemblance to Beth, but he just didn't see any.  Peter must be Seamus over again, he thought.  He found himself saying, "Before you do that, we need to make sure there's no bird living there.  You don't want to bring it in and then have some bird flying around with no home to go to."</div> <div>      "Ohhh," Peter said.  "Maybe I can watch it and see if a bird comes there."  Quentin nodded and shrugged.  "Maybe if a bird comes, I can watch and see if it makes any eggs and hatches any baby birds.  Maybe I can help feed the baby birds."</div> <div>      "That's what the mother bird does.  She wouldn't like it if you did it," Quentin said.  "But you could still watch, if you wanted to."  Beth caught his eye and smiled at him.  He must be doing something right for a change.  He began to relax a little.</div> <div>      Phillip and Nora's phonograph was in the sitting room, and Quentin brought down his records to listen to.  Beth was reading aloud to Peter and Katie, and he sat back and shut his eyes, enjoying the music.  He felt Katie climb onto his lap and opened his eyes, surprised again. Beth was still reading some children's story, and Peter was leaning up against her.  Katie put her thumb in her mouth and leaned against Quentin's shoulder.  It's been a long time, he thought.  He remembered holding Jamison and Nora when they were Katie's age.  He closed his eyes again.  Maybe he could get used to this.  He hoped.</div> <bR> <bR> <div>      "It's not over yet," Angelique's voice whispered into his ear.  Badly startled, he nearly leaped out of bed.  He must've been sleeping heavily until this dream came upon him; the sunlight streaming into the room was strong and bright.  It was mid-morning, at least.  He felt dazed and frightened by the words Angelique had whispered to him.  Was it real?  Or a dream?  He was going to have to make time to see CaraLinda and Dave.  He had to know what was going on.  He could hear Peter and Katie's voices in the backyard and got out of bed to look out the window.</div> <div>      Peter was trying to shinny up the tree Quentin tried to knock down with his fist last night.  It was an older tree; the trunk was thick around the middle and the lowest branch was just out of the little boy's reach.  He wasn't giving up, though.  Katie tried to be helpful by pushing against her brother's butt, but all she succeeded in doing was pushing him against the tree.  Quentin stifled a laugh.  The worry about Petofi was like a little knotted ball in his stomach, but he tried to push it away for now.  He went down the stairs carefully and was almost surprised to see Beth there, cleaning the dishes.  He was so used to seeing Mrs. Cleary in the kitchen.</div> <div>      Beth turned to him with a smile.  "I'm glad you got a chance to sleep so long.   I didn't want to wake you.  I saved you some breakfast..." She broke off as he took her into his arms and kissed her deeply.  She dropped the dishtowel and slipped her arms around his neck.</div> <div>      "The rest has been better for me than you can imagine," he said, cupping his hands around her buttocks.</div> <div>      "I don't have to ask you how you're feeling," Beth laughed.  They kissed again, and then Quentin released her.  </div> <div>      At her questioning look, he said, "I just want to keep the home fires burning. I'll be right back, and then I'll eat.  I'm starving!"  He went out into the backyard and approached Peter and Beth.  "Want a boost up?"  He asked Peter.</div> <div>      The little boy looked insulted.  "I can do it.  I don't need to be picked up."</div> <div>      "No, like this."  Quentin laced his hands together, and squatted down next to the boy.  "You step into my hand, like a ladder.  Then you can reach the branch."  Peter frowned at him.  "You'll be able to reach that branch just as soon as you grow a tiny bit more," Quentin assured him.  Peter still looked a little doubtful, but he wanted to get into the tree so he put his feet onto Quentin's hands.  Quentin lifted him a little, and this time Peter easily grabbed the branch.  "Now just pull yourself up."</div> <div>      Peter wobbled and struggled, and finally managed to drag himself up onto the branch.  He sat on it, back braced against the trunk of the tree, delighted.  "Mama, look at me!"  he called.</div> <div>      "Me, too, Daddy," Katie said, holding her arms up.  She wanted to be picked up and placed into the tree.  Quentin obligingly picked her up and started to place her on the branch in front of Peter.</div> <div>      "Quentin!" he heard Beth call worriedly.</div> <div>      "Don't worry, I won't let her fall!" he called back.</div> <div>      "You had to be helped up," Peter said condescendingly to his sister.  "I did it myself."</div> <div>      Katie tossed her head, shaking her curls.  "I don't care!  Here I am, too!"  Quentin laughed, delighted by her spirit.  He let them sit up in the tree for a few minutes and then, because he was hungry, decided it was time for them to come down.  He lifted Katie up and put her down on the ground; she threw her arms around his leg, hugged him, and ran off toward her doll.       When he reached for Peter, though, the boy frowned and said firmly, "I don't need help."</div> <div>      Quentin was exasperated.  "You're kinda high off the ground, Pete," he said.</div> <div>      "Peter!" the boy answered.  He slid off the branch until he was dangling by his arms.  Quentin watched him closely, ready to catch him if necessary.  Peter let go and landed on his feet, lost his balance, and sat down.  He looked stunned and his eyes filled up.  </div> <div>      Quentin got down beside him.  "You okay?"</div> <div>      The boy bit his lip and nodded.  Then he got up gingerly, looking down at Quentin.  "I told you I could do it."  He still looked like he was going to cry.</div> <div>      "Yes, you did," Quentin agreed, grudgingly admiring the kid's grit.  Even so, he thought the kid was a little too proud and stubborn.  "But it's okay to get help, you know."  </div> <div>      "Only if you're a sissy," Peter answered, and then he turned and ran off too.</div> <div>      "Quentin," Beth called, breaking into his thoughts about this kid being a little too wise for his own good.  He turned and saw Beth standing in the doorway with Mrs. Cleary.  Suddenly, a small form shot out from behind them both.  Mary Jane looked like a rocketing blonde bullet.  She jumped up, and he caught her easily.  He shifted her so that he had her under the arms and swung her in a circle.  She squealed with delight.</div> <div>      "I missed you, Uncle Frank!" she shouted.  Peter and Katie had come back and were staring at them.  Katie stuck her finger in her mouth.</div> <div>      "I missed you, too," Quentin said softly, giving her a hard hug.  Still carrying her, he walked toward the steps.  "Ah, Mrs. Cleary, I'm glad you're back."</div> <div>      She gave him a stunned look as he stopped spinning and met her gaze.  "Glory be to God!" she exclaimed.  "Sure an you look like the colors of a Jack Dempsey rainbow!"</div> <div>      Quentin laughed.  "You have a unique way of putting things, Mrs. Cleary!"  Mary Jane leaned back to see what Mrs. Cleary was talking about, and he had to shift her weight so he didn't drop her.      </div> <div>      Mrs. Cleary had recovered her composure. "Sure, an tis glad I am to be back, Frank," she said, with a broad smile.  "I see the missus has saved you a plate as usual, then?  And would ye both be enjoyin a cup of coffee together then?"</div> <div>      "Sure," he agreed.  Beth looked confused so he took her hand.  He was pretty sure he knew what it was--Beth had never been in charge of servants before.  He led her to the table and set Mary Jane down.  He realized suddenly he hadn't introduced her to Peter or Katie.  "Where's Eddie?"</div> <div>      "He went upstairs straightaway," Mrs. Cleary answered.</div> <div>      Beth called Peter and Katie in so that Quentin's oversight could be rectified.  Mary Jane and Peter sized each other up.  Katie was still a baby, and so she was ignored.  "This is my house," Mary Jane announced.</div> <div>      "We live here now too," Peter answered.</div> <div>      "Well, you belong to Uncle Frank, so it's okay," Mary Jane decided.  "I'll show you my rope swing."</div> <div>      As they went down the steps, Peter was saying:  "I don't belong to Uncle Frank.  Who is he?"  Quentin realized this was something else that was going to have to be cleared up before things became too confusing.  </div> <div>      As they sat down at the table, it seemed that Beth was reading his thoughts because she said, "We're going to have to do something about your name."</div> <div>      "Beggin your pardon, Missus Frank?"  Mrs. Cleary sounded confused, pouring coffee for them both.</div> <div>      "Frank isn't my real name," Quentin explained.  </div> <div>      Mrs. Cleary's eyebrows shot up. "'Call me Frank' he says!" she exclaimed ironically.</div> <div>      "Here I'm Frank Healey.  Beth's family thinks I'm Quentin Healey," he went on.  Beth began to giggle.</div> <div>      "And you're neither, is that it?  Well, who are ye then?"</div> <div>      "Quentin," he answered with a smile.  "I haven't decided a last name yet."  At her look, he laughed; he couldn't help himself.</div> <div>      "It's to do with that gangster, is it?"  Mrs. Cleary asked.</div> <div>      Quentin stopped laughing.  "Eddie and Mary Jane still don't know yet, do they?"</div> <div>      "No, though they've been askin."</div> <div>      "I have to talk to them.  There's another wake tonight, and the service is tomorrow."</div> <div>      Mrs. Cleary made a clucking noise and returned the coffeepot to the stove.  Then she began putting away everything Beth had washed.  Beth started to get up, but Quentin grabbed her hand to stop her.  He shook his head at her.  "You need to help me with this," he said softly.  "I can't tell them by myself, Beth."</div> <div>      "Why don't we talk to them separately?"  Beth suggested.  "Finish eating, and then we'll go talk to--Eddie, is it?  That's after your brother?"  Quentin nodded.  "Why do we have to have a different last name?"</div> <div>      "I really don't want to decide on that until after I talk to Dave and CaraLinda," Quentin said.  "Maybe it's about time we used the right one--if everything is all right."  He told her about his dream--if that's what it was.  </div> <div>      Beth looked dismayed.  "You dreamed about Angelique's voice?"</div> <div>      He thought she looked dismayed because of Angelique's warning words.  "Yes, and it sounds like a warning, doesn't it?"</div> <div>      "Maybe it's just all the stress you've been under. Although why Angelique would be the one...Why not CaraLinda?"  Beth wondered, still looking dismayed.  He shrugged; he didn't see what difference it made who gave him the warning. "When can you talk to CaraLinda or Dave?"</div> <div>      "Not until tomorrow," he decided.  "Maybe before the funeral.  I can't do anything about it today."  He finished eating.  "You'll come with me to talk to Eddie?"</div> <div>      "Of course--I said I would."  Beth seemed distracted, and Quentin wondered if he should've kept the dream to himself.  He wasn't the only one who'd been through a lot.  He was sure that Beth was worried about Petofi coming after them.  It didn't occur to him that anything else would be on her mind.  "Don't worry, even if he's still around, he'll be considerably weaker.  We'll just get away, that's all."  </div> <div>      He got up and held out his hand for her.  "I hate like hell having to tell to that kid, but he's got to know."  The bad news had to be broken to both of the children.  It would be better to tell them separately, they'd decided, because there was such a vast different in their ages.  They'd probably react differently.  Beth hesitated, then took Quentin's hand and went upstairs with him to talk to Eddie.</div> <bR> <div>      Quentin decided he didn't have the patience to put off talking to Dave and CaraLinda any longer.  Eddie, shocked and grief-stricken, wanted to be left alone, and Mary Jane had finally calmed down enough to be able to play in the back yard with Peter and Katie.  Children spring back quickly, Quentin thought, but wondered what the little girl thought about the whole thing.  Mrs. Cleary was more than happy to keep an eye on the children while he and Beth looked for Dave.</div> <div>      They drove to Dave's apartment. For the first time, Dave didn't seem to mind that they were there during daylight hours.  Quentin realized it was probably because Dave was getting ready to get out.  He was in the middle of packing his things.  "What is this?" he asked.</div> <div>      "Franky, you know it's time to go.  This ain't the place to be no more," Dave replied.  He pulled out two hardback chairs for them to sit on.</div> <div>      "Where are you going?"  Quentin asked.</div> <div>      "I thought I might try Buck's Head again.  We left on friendly terms, and I liked it there.  It was nice and quiet.  That's what I need now," Dave answered.</div> <div>      "Actually, we were talking about going to Cuddeback," Quentin said.  "When are you leaving?"</div> <div>      "Today."</div> <div>      "Today!" he exclaimed, surprised.</div> <div>      Dave stopped his packing and smiled.  "Mary Margaret gettin married.  I'm goin' for the wedding first.  Then I'm gonna call Buck's Head and see if they can't find me an opening again."</div> <div>      "Mary Margaret's getting married!"</div> <div>      "You an echo or something, Franky?  Yeah, she gettin married."  Dave's smile widened into a broad grin.  "Finally I can stop worryin about her."  He winked at Quentin, and jabbed him playfully in the ribs.  "As for Mama, I guess she's gonna stay on with Uncle Willy."</div> <div>      "That's wonderful news, Dave," Beth said, smiling too.  "What about CaraLinda?"</div> <div>      Dave looked suddenly troubled.  "What about her?"</div> <div>      "You're going alone?" Quentin guessed.</div> <div>      Dave nodded, still looking troubled.  "That's how I want it, Frank.  Her, too.  She needs her people, and I--after what happened--I don't feel so good around her no more."  They all looked at each other uncomfortably.  </div> <div>      Quentin suddenly was very glad that he hadn't used the knife on Petofi after all.     "Have you seen her at all since--?" he asked.</div> <div>      "Yeah, she come by lookin for you.  She told me what happened after we left."  Dave shuddered. </div> <div>      "Is he alive?" Quentin asked, feeling a sense of dread.</div> <div>      "She say they bury him under the barn," Dave answered.  He didn't seem to want to elaborate any further, and Quentin didn't think he wanted to know any more details now anyway.  They looked at each other, and then Dave looked away.</div> <div>      "What is she going to do?"</div> <div>      "Wiggle her way in back with the boss. Not sure.  She might leave out of town, too."</div> <div>      "Dave, why don't you go to Cuddeback?  You could stay in one of the cabins," Quentin said impulsively.</div> <div>      Dave looked surprised and pleased.  "You don't got to do that, Franky.  I could stay at Buck's Head, too. 'Sides, I'd have a hard time explaining what I'm doing there if I get there afore you do."</div> <div>      Quentin shrugged.  "You could always say you're the butler."  He ducked when Dave swung at him playfully.</div> <div>      "We'll see," Dave said.  "But I'll come see you anyways.  I expect you gonna have your hands full, though, Franky."</div> <div>      That was a gloomy thought.  "I'll need a break then.  You have to come," he insisted.</div> <div>      "Oh, don't worry.  You ain't rid of ole Dave Fisher," Dave laughed.  They shook hands and then Quentin hugged his friend.  Surprised, Dave didn't move for a moment; then he put his arms around Quentin, too.  "When you get youself back to Port Jervis, why don't you give a call to Buck's Head?  Or better yet--just show up there?"</div> <div>      "We will," Quentin promised.   After leaving Dave's apartment, he seemed undecided about what to do next.  He didn't think he wanted to visit any hospitals.  He was pretty sure that he didn't want to leave Nora in an institution.</div> <div>      "You look worried," Beth commented.</div> <div>      Quentin nodded.  "I was just thinking about Nora and what to do about her. I thought too about trying to find CaraLinda to make sure Petofi is really dead."</div> <div>      "You don't think they'd bury him alive, do you?"</div> <div>      "No," Quentin said slowly.  "It's just hard for me to believe he's gone.  If he's gone, then I don't understand why I had the dream." He was very disturbed by what Beth had said about evil living on and on, but didn't want to get into it right now.  Beth had suddenly become very quiet too, and he assumed she was thinking the same thing he was.</div> <div>      "I'll look for her tomorrow, before the services," he decided.  "Look, Beth, I'm not really up for visiting these hospitals but maybe we'd better.  Mrs. Cleary will be able to take care of the kids all right.  She's really good with them.  We have to decide what to do about Nora because we can't stay here much longer.  Dave's right--it's time to go, and the sooner the better."</div> <div>      "When are you going to talk to Mr. Darrow about power of attorney?"  Beth asked.</div> <div>      "Later.  I'll drop you off and go see him. I don't have to be there until four."</div> <div>      After visiting the third hospital on the list, Quentin felt worn out and discouraged.  "Beth, the more I see of these places the less I want to have Nora in one of them.  She's not crazy--she's just sad and upset about her life.  She doesn't need to be hospitalized for that, does she?"</div> <div>      "Not in places like these," Beth agreed.  "The trouble is, there just doesn't seem to be very much help for people like Nora."</div> <div>      "Why don't we just take her to Cuddeback with us for a couple of weeks and see if she feels any better there?  You haven't been to Cuddeback, but you'll like it there.  There's plenty of room for all of us. It's quiet and peaceful, and it's really beautiful there."  Beth nodded, her expression serious but supportive.  He went on, tentatively, "Maybe while we're there relaxing, we can talk about a real wedding."</div> <div>      Her eyes grew round with surprised delight.  "Do you think so?  Now?  After everything that's happened?"</div> <div>      He shrugged.  "I don't see why we can't at least talk about it.  We don't have to have it right now--but we can decide when we should."</div> <div>      She threw her arms around his neck.  "Oh, Quentin!  That would be lovely!"</div> <div>      He hugged her back.  "Good.  Maybe we can make things right with your brother before we leave, too.  Tie up all the loose ends?"</div> <div>      "I'll call Annie," Beth said into his ear.</div> <div>      "In that case, why don't we go home?  I still have to go see Mr. Darrow--you call Annie and see if you can make things right with her. Now that Eddie's here, I guess we should make an appearance at Phillip's wake tonight before the funeral tomorrow."  He sighed.  "The last of the unpleasantness--I hope."  He remembered something else.  "We said we'd go to that deaf church Sunday.  I was hoping to get out of here before then--as soon as possible."</div> <div>      "I can explain it to Pastor Brumbaugh."</div> <div>      "Don't forget to get your portrait.  I don't want to leave it here. Invite him to the wedding."</div> <div>      "Quentin!  We haven't decided anything about that yet--you don't understand about deaf people.  You can't just say oh, come over and see us some time.  They ask, 'when? what time?'  If I invite him to a wedding, he'll expect to know the date, the time, where it is, and how to get there!"</div> <div>      Quentin laughed.  "All right, then, just tell him we're planning a church wedding then."  He reflected.  "Do you want to go to Minnesota?"</div> <div>      "Well--yes, I would, but I don't think this is the time, do you?  We'll have Nora and her children with us.  We can't drag them along with us."</div> <div>      "I forgot."  He sighed.  "Nora!  I wonder if we can leave her with those kids?  She doesn't seem to like them very much."</div> <div>      "Maybe she'll feel differently after she's been away and gotten a chance to rest a bit.  We won't know until we try."</div> <div>      "I wish she'd just go home to Collinwood.  Then we could go anywhere we wanted to."  They'd gotten back to the Billings' home, and Quentin leaned over to kiss Beth.  "I hope things can be squared with your brother," he said.</div> <div>      Beth got out of the car.  "Don't worry, you know how families are.  Go see Mr. Darrow. I'll call Annie and see Pastor Brumbaugh."  She turned to go.  </div> <div>      "Beth!"  When she turned back, he reminded her:  "The portrait.  Get it, please?"</div> <div>      She smiled.  "All right, anything for you, Quentin."</div> <bR> <div>      Darrow remembered Quentin right away.  He was surprised that Quentin wasn't back to continue the interview about his insanity defense of Leopold and Loeb. When Quentin explained what he needed, he arched his eyebrows at the request for power-of-attorney and custody of Nora and the children.  "That story you told me in Dayton wasn't just a story, was it?  To get at this?"</div> <div>      "No, sir, but I did come to you for help because of that conversation," Quentin said and explained the problem.  He didn't really want to have Nora committed.  The doctor was reluctant to release her, though, and Quentin wanted to get out of town--fast.  He told Darrow that Phillip had been involved with gangsters and had been killed.  "I don't know what these guys are like.  I don't know if they'd come after my cousin or not--"</div> <div>      "Gangsters can be curiously honorable people," Darrow interrupted.  "Especially ones like Al Capone--Al Brown, as he likes to be called.  They've settled their dispute with your cousin's husband; they won't bother a woman and children.  That would not be considered honorable or manly."</div> <div>      "Except that Geraldo Bartelli is also involved.  Have you heard of him?"</div> <div>      "Yes, I have," Darrow answered noncommittally.  "Was your cousin's husband involved with him, then?"</div> <div>      "Yes, sir."</div> <div>      Darrow nodded.  "I can draw up a simple document for you, son.  You weren't involved with this Mr. Bartelli, were you?"  Quentin felt frightened suddenly and unable to answer.  He had a feeling Darrow knew quite a bit about Bartelli.  Darrow regarded Quentin silently.  Quentin was about to speak when Darrow said softly, "Don't lie to me, son.  I can't help you if you lie to me."</div> <div>      "He is an enemy of my family," Quentin confided softly.  He still felt inexplicably frightened, worried about Darrow's connections with the gangsters.</div> <div>      "In that case, son, let me advise you as a friend to get your family away from here without delay.  That's the real reason you want custody and power of attorney right now, isn't it?</div> <div>      "Yes, sir."</div> <div>      Darrow nodded.  "It's an easy enough thing to draw up.  I'll have my secretary type it up and send it around to you.  You just need to sign it, and get your cousin to sign it.  Get it back to me and I'll submit it to the judge right away.  Get your cousin discharged and get out of town."</div> <div>      "Yes, sir, we'll do that.  Thank you."</div> <div>      Darrow stuck out his hand and smiled.  "Stay away from Dayton, too."</div> <div>      Quentin smiled back, taking the attorney's hand.  "I'd still like to talk to you about the Leopold and Loeb case."</div> <div>      "Call me when you get where you're going and we'll talk."</div> <div>      "Thank you, Mr. Darrow.  Thanks for your help too, sir."</div> <div>      Darrow waved his hand, as if it was nothing.  "If you ever decide you want to talk to someone about what you know about either Mr. Capone or Mr. Bartelli and you don't feel comfortable with me--for whatever reason--I'm going to give you the name of someone in Washington, D.C.  You've been there?"</div> <div>      "Actually, I have--just a couple of weeks ago." Darrow, nodded, scribbling on a piece of paper.  He gave it to Quentin, who looked at the name and address.  "J. Edgar Hoover?"</div> <div>      "Of the new Federal Bureau of Investigation.  I understand he's sending a team to try and take down Capone."  Darrow laughed and shook his head.  Quentin folded the paper and put it in his pocket.  He had no intention of using it--why make more trouble for his family? "Take care of that cousin of yours, son.  Good luck to you."</div> <div>      Quentin nodded, taking his leave, wondering just how long he was going to be saddled with that responsibility.  Well, maybe after they'd been to Cuddeback a while he could convince her to go back to Collinwood--he hoped.</div> <bR> <div> Quentin looked at his face in the mirror.  The bruises were changing colors and spreading.  He sighed.  There was nothing he could do to change that; at least he was feeling less stiff and sore.  He'd never understood why bruises traveled and spread out the way they did.  Beth explained it was probably gravity.  Already the bruises on his chest and ribs were travelling south, he noted.  The ones on his arms were moving in toward his hands, too.  Weird, he thought.</div> <div>      Beth knocked at the door.  "Are you ready to go, darling?"  She called to him.</div> <div>      "I guess," he said, resigned.  He opened the door for Beth.  "Think people will talk?" he asked ruefully.  Beth smiled but didn't say anything.  He finished getting dressed.  "Do you think it's right to leave Mary Jane out of this?"</div> <div>      "I think she's better off staying with Mrs. Cleary," Beth said.  "She's just a little girl."</div> <div>      "She might resent it later that we didn't bring her to see her father."</div> <div>      "I'm willing to take her resentment.  I don't think her last memory of her father should be of him lying in a coffin."</div> <div>      Quentin grunted.  He hadn't agreed at first, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized Beth might be right.  Mary Jane didn't know what kind of man her father had been.  She really loved him.  She wasn't as old as her brothers; she kept asking questions about what it was like to get "put under the ground."  He couldn't remember his parents' burials at all.  It was possible he was too sick to attend his mother's and sister's, but he also didn't remember anything about his father's funeral.  He wondered if Edward and Judith had sheltered Carl and him from that, too.  Beth was probably right--Mary Jane would be better off here with Mrs. Cleary, Peter, and Katie.</div> <div>      "Let me help you," Beth said.  He didn't really need help with his tie; it was just an excuse for Beth to get close enough for her to kiss him.  "Come--I want to show you something."  She led him back to the bedroom.  To his relief, he saw her portrait was safely propped on a chair in their room.  "Pastor Brumbaugh was disappointed that we might not be around on Sunday, but he understands.  He hopes that we'll be able to come back when Nora is better--I couldn't tell him the whole story."</div> <div>      "No--maybe we'll see him in Minnesota."</div> <div>      Beth smiled at him indulgently and then kissed him again.  He put his arms around her and pulled her close.  It would be wonderful to be able to spend another evening at home with her, but they couldn't. There would be time enough for that after the funeral--after they got out of Chicago. They collected Eddie and went to the wake.  Phillip Jr. had arrived already and was waiting for them.  He approached his brother and punched him lightly on the shoulder; then put his arm around the younger boy.</div> <div>      Quentin didn't want to go near the casket so he hung around the periphery of the room, trying to stay out of sight.  They'd been there about an hour when Al Capone arrived with the Professor.  Quentin felt frozen to the spot; he couldn't believe his eyes.  If he could've willed it, he would've had the floor open up and let him drop through.  Capone made his way through the throng of Phillip's friends and associates, shaking hands and talking.  He was headed in Quentin's direction, and Beth moved to his side.  He was spinning the ring in circles, and Beth took one of his hands.  He shook his head at her.  He needed to have his hands free.  "Would you get me some water, please," he asked her nervously.  "My throat's dry."  As Beth moved off, Capone finally freed himself from the last person standing between him and Quentin.</div> <div>      "Hey, piano player," Capone said, holding his hand out.</div> <div>      Quentin shook hands, hoping his wasn't trembling noticeably.</div> <div>      "Look, I'm sorry this happened to Phil," he said softly, leaning forward as if he were confiding in Quentin.  "The guy stabbed me in the back but I feel for the wife and the kids, y'know?"  Quentin nodded.  "Your cousin still in the hospital?"  Quentin nodded again.  "You having her see a good pisicologist?"</div> <div>      "Well," Quentin finally said, clearing his throat, "I think I'm going to take her some place else.  The doctor wants her in a hospital but I don't want to do that to her."</div> <div>      "I don't blame you.  Nut houses are ugly places.  I didn't think the lady was THAT nuts.  Look, if I can help, I'd like to.  I hate to see the lady and the kids suffer because of what Phil done, y'know?"</div> <div>      "That's really nice of you, but you don't have to--"</div> <div>      The gangster's eyes became cold and flat.  "My money ain't good enough?"</div> <div>      Beth had arrived with the water and heard.  She looked frightened.  "No, no!"  Quentin protested.  "It's just that my cousin's family has enough--" he stopped, and reconsidered telling the truth.  Even if Capone believed it, he looked like he would still feel slighted if he was turned down.  "I think the family would be very grateful to you," he amended quickly.</div> <div>      "Good," Capone said and smiled.  He turned to the Professor.  "Make sure they get a nice check, willya?"</div> <div>      "Of course," the Professor said.  Right there and then, he was pulling out a checkbook.       Capone shook hands with Quentin again. "We'll miss you when you go.  I'm assuming you're leaving after the funeral?"</div> <div> "Um...yes, as soon as we can get my cousin discharged."</div> <div>      Capone nodded and moved on.  Quentin raised the glass of water to his lips.  This time, his hand shook visibly, and Beth gently placed her hand on the small of his back, just to let him know that she was trying to be supportive.  The Professor finished writing out a check, pulled it out of the book, and handed it to Quentin.  Then he turned and followed Capone toward the casket.  Quentin looked at the check and felt his knees buckle.  Ten thousand dollars.  He folded it quickly and stuck it in his pocket.  He reached for Beth's hand and squeezed it, hard.  The evening couldn't possibly end too soon.</div> <div>           </div> <DIV ALIGN="LEFT"></DIV> <div> <A HREF="id81.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="23: The Ceremony"><U>23:  The Ceremony</U></A>  <A HREF="id83.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="25: Evil Ever After"><U>25:  Evil Ever After</U></A></div> <bR> <div> <A HREF="id51.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Taking Wooden Nickels"><U>Taking Wooden Nickels</U></A>    <A HREF="index.htm" TARGET="_top" TITLE="Cassies Writing"><U>Cassie's Writing</U></A></div> <bR> <bR> <div>  </div> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> <bR> </td> </tr></table></body>