THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART SEVENTY-NINE:

"That was interesting," Marshall commented as Eden drove them southwest away from the inn.

"What was interesting?"

"That section you wrote with Washington and the horse manure. I never really thought of them in the same sentence before."

"You never wrote a book with me before!" she laughed. She had written that entire encounter on Botetourt Street by herself.

"Are we there yet?"

"Are you going to say that a lot?"

He chuckled. "For some reason I just had to ask that."

"Pest!" she chortled.

"Are we there yet?"

Her shoulders shook with repressed laughter. "And here I thought you were a dignified professor."

"I am dignified," he replied, sitting up even more straight and squaring his shoulders. "Are we there yet?"

"Did you do that to your parents?"

"Constantly." He shrugged. "When you can't see where you are, it becomes a more valid question."

"I know," she said softly, briefly laying her hand atop his where it rested on her leg. "What are the birds doing?"

"The birds?"

"Your birds. Are they flying ahead of you to Mount Lebanon?"

"Oh, them! They've already been back there for some time now."

"What kind of birds are they?"

"Homing pigeons," he grinned.

"And what do these pigeons do when they get there?"

"They roost. Somewhere high. And preen their feathers while they roll their beady little eyes waiting for me to come."

"Ooooo," she mock-shuddered. "They won't keep me awake at night, will they?"

"Oh, no. That I plan on doing myself."

They paused for coffee in Altoona, then headed west on 22. "Let's have lunch in Murrysville," she suggested. "I'd rather not have to think about finding food when we get to Mount Lebanon."

"Sounds good to me," he agreed.

She pulled into the parking lot of a restaurant called 'Dick's Diner'. "Looks kinda like an Eat 'n Park," she explained as she cut the engine, "only the sign says it's family-owned, not a chain."  As they waited a moment to be seated, she eyed the pies behind the counter. "We'll have to have a piece of pie. I've never seen such giant, thick meringues in my life."

"They have lemon meringue?" he asked.

She peered more closely. "Looks like."

"Good. My favorite."

"I didn't know that."

"What's your favorite?"

"Strawberry-rhubarb."

"Well, I didn't know that. So we have some intense pie-finding-out to do, it would seem."  He grinned at her, his hand locating the back of her neck, his fingers caressing it.

"Marshall," she whispered, "the people at that first table are staring at us."

"Staring people have never bothered me. Not once."

She stepped lightly on his foot. "I have plenty of plans to bother you."

"Are you making promises again?"

"You bet'cha."

"Dogs aren't allowed," a plump waitress said, coming up and stopping in front of them.

"Guide dog," Eden replied, indicating the harness.

"Hmmm? He's big. Let me see if I can find a table out of the way."

"Behind a large plant in front of the entrance to the rest rooms will be fine," Eden said.

Marshall snorted, his shoulders shaking. "You're bad," he said softly, his lips nearly in her hair.

"You ain't seen nothin' yet, big boy. Just you get me home and I'll show you bad."

He lost it then, a full-out laugh escaping. Putting a hand over his mouth, he shook his head. Then, suddenly serious, touched her hair. "You make me laugh."  He blew out a long breath.

"I haven't laughed much for a while."  His hand traced down her hair, finding her lips so he knew exactly where they were. He kissed her, right there in the entryway of Dick's Diner. "Thank you," he murmured.

Eden, after his kiss, saw past his shoulder into the main area of the restaurant. Every eye was

on them. The corner of her mouth twitched. She didn't mind. It was true, she didn't. Marshall was smiling, Wadsworth was pressed against the fronts of their legs, and they were almost home. She was filled with an overflow of both gratitude and happiness. "We just got married," she announced loudly, smiling widely. Everyone in the room clapped, a few of them calling out congratulations or whistling. And Marshall, never once having been bothered by stares, kissed Eden again.

"This is it?" Eden asked, pulling into the drive that ran along the left-hand side of a large stone house.

"If it's 333 Mayhaven, it is," Marshall replied. "Until I get out of the car, I have no real way of knowing."

"It's...big."

"Try to imagine it in spring. There's a huge difference to the 'feel' of the yard."

In January, patches of snow lay here and there, mostly close to the several large oaks that graced the lawn. She could see that there was a rhododendron in front of a bay window, but most of the shrubs and plantings had lost their leaves and she couldn't identify them. Marshall had always described it as a big house, but she'd never quite imagined it was this big. Her mind flashed to her one-bedroom apartment about 20 minutes away.

She sat silently in the car a moment, just staring at the front of the house. It looked big enough

to be two or three fairly large houses all put together. Because of the different levels of the tiled roofline and the way sections of the house stuck out further than other parts, that joining together of more than one house seemed even more real. It was made of stones in many shades, going from light beige to darker brown. All the windows she could see on the front of the house had leaded, diamond-paned glass. Yes, this was definitely Mount Lebanon, the best part of Mount Lebanon. Her mind flashed back to the first time she'd seen the address, there on

Wadsworth's muddy dog tag as Marshall lay trapped in the gully. Now she was here and...

this...was hers.

The house was solid, anchored somehow to the land, durable as well as beautiful. You could

tell from the size of the oaks it had been there for a while, that it was comfortable with itself.

She, though, suddenly felt uncomfortable with it, felt invisible armor come from deep in her being and deploy about her person.

"It's all right, darling," Marshall whispered, extremely sensitive to such things. "Just imagine me on a tricycle heading straight for an oak tree. It will seem less formidable then."

"You...you rode a trike?"

"Was supposed to stay in the driveway with Jeff watching, but I always seemed to veer off across the lawn toward the trees."

She attempted a smile. "It...is...your house, isn't it?"

"It's where I grew up, yes. But it's waiting for a woman named Eden to put her mark on it."

"I could run into a tree. That would probably leave a mark."  She took his hand. "Oh, Marshall. I...I feel rather overwhelmed. I'm not sure...."

"What, darling? What aren't you sure about?"

"That I, that I...belong...in a place like this."

"Do I belong here?"

"What? You?"  She looked at him. "You belong perfectly."

He nuzzled her cheek with his nose then kissed her. "And do you belong with me?"

"Don't think I don't see where you're going with that," she breathed, his lips still hovering just above hers.

"I'm going inside, that's where I'm going. And Mrs. Sinclair belongs there with Mr. Sinclair."

Wadsworth, aware of where he was, was pacing back and forth in the rear seat, his tail thumping hard now and then on the doll house. "I'd better let him out," Marshall said, "before he home-wrecks the doll house."

He opened his door then stopped. "How far down the driveway did you park?"

"You're directly opposite the oak that grows closest to the house."

"Thanks!" he said over his shoulder, already turning, letting Wadsworth out. Wadsworth ran across the front yard, sniffing here and there, then loped back to Marshall. "Let's get Eden," Marshall said, bending over the dog. Together the two of them walked around the back of the car. "Leave the bags for now. I'd like you to see the house first...unencumbered."

Wadsworth, wearing neither harness nor leash, danced beside them as Marshall and Eden walked hand in hand toward the front door. Marshall had wanted her to enter there and not through the closer side entrance. He unlocked it, opening the thick wooden door and propping open the storm door with his leg. "Mrs. Sinclair," he smiled, holding out his arms.

She came into them, expecting a kiss, but he scooped her up, grinning, "There's only one proper way for a bride to cross her threshold."  He did kiss her then.  As he stepped through the doorway with her in his arms, he was kissing her.

The storm door smacked shut behind them and he walked five steps forward and turned to his right through a large archway, still holding her, letting his body be all the shield she'd need. "Living room," he announced.

She made no move for him to set her down. His arms around her were almost feathered things as she lay in the nest of his presence. "Describe what you see," he said into her hair, "so that I can feel the room through your eyes, through what you notice about it."

"Well, the thing that strikes me first is the fireplace. You could roast a boar in there!"

He laughed. "Look through it. You see the dining room?"

"Yep. Dining room's there." The massive fieldstone fireplace opened doubly so that both rooms shared the same chimney.

"What else?" he asked.

"Portrait over the mantel. Who's that? He looks rather like you."

"My great grandfather, Francis Hardin Sinclair."

"Go closer. I want to see him better."

Marshall carried her almost up to the fireplace. Quietly she studied the face in the old oil painting. The resemblance to Marshall was actually quite striking, the shape of the head, the cleft in the chin, the bridge of the nose, but it was the eyes that had grabbed her and wouldn't

let go. The brows were straight, like Marshall's, the upper lids with that same slant down over the eyes, but these eyes looked back at her, intense, intelligent, vibrant. It was, for a moment, as though Marshall himself were looking at her and something caught in her gut then splashed up, stinging her eyes.

Marshall felt her tense in his arms. "What is it, darling?"

"N...nothing," she stammered, turning her face into his shoulder.

"It's not nothing. Please, darling. I need to know."

"He was looking at me."

"Who?"

"Your great grandfather. He was looking at me with your eyes."

"Ah."  Marshall understood. He ordered Wadsworth to the kitchen where he knew Sylvie would have water and food waiting for him, and without a word, carried Eden through the living room and down a back hall to the master suite. He moved with utter assurance, equal to that of any sighted person. He knew this house perfectly.

In the bedroom he lay her gently on the new king-sized bed he'd had Sylvie order. His parents' bed had occupied this space. He wanted it all new for Eden and for himself, though. Getting up on the bed, kneeling beside her, his hands moved toward her. She blinked back her tears. Marshall was going to look at her.

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