It was late April. I'd been in the new house for a little over three weeks. When I first purchased the property, Mary had asked me if I should arrange for Harry deliver my furniture from the house in Sellwood. I told her I didn't want any of it and that I'd let it go with the sale. She gave me a confused look. I told her I didn't want any reminders. I wanted to fully embrace my new life in Bend.

"You know I have all my mother's old furniture in the barn. I never knew what to do with it. It's very old fashioned but you're welcome to it. It would be more than enough to fill your house."

"That would be wonderful. Mary. How is it that you always help find my dreams? How come it doesn't matter what I think or do, you listen and never criticize? It seems like you always think my ideas are good ones and I know that not all of them are."

She stood up and leaned over me and kissed me on the forehead, "Don't you know by now that I love you?"

I did know it, but the way she said made me want to cry; it was so motherly, so protective.

"I think we need to go out and see how the pergola's coming."

I had sketched the design for my garden and it was time to put all the plants and trees in the ground. Frank was building the wooden structure and it was almost finished.

We walked out back. "Mary, I'm still going to finish your garden." I said to her.

"I know you will. I'm in no hurry. Let's get your place together first, all right? What'll you plant to climb over the pergola?"

"I don't know. Wisteria or grapes?"

"Maybe you should use grapes, you could take some starts from the vineyard." Mary and Frank grew champagne, green and concord grapes. I agreed. It would be lovely to see the large, light-green leaves creating a filtered shade. And then when the grapes were ripe, I could hold Charlie up to pick handfuls and watch him devour them. After he'd eaten his fill, I'd carry him over to the garden hose to wash his sticky little hands.

I felt so blessed to have saved myself from a life of pain and jealousy. Why had I acted like a child with Jeff Lambert? And for so long? My life all came together once I was able to free myself from him. I had a house that felt like a home, just like Mary and Frank's. Maybe it was also the furniture that gave it that homey quality. Unlike Mary's opinion, to me her mother's furnishings weren't old fashioned at all. The mahogany hutch fit perfectly against the wall in the dining room. I kept my table linen in the drawers, along with my mother's silver that I'd brought back with me. Frank had helped me hang a large, stained oak mirror over the hutch. It reflected the light from the windows facing the side of the house with the view of empty fields that, at one time, had been full of rows and rows of corn.

The kitchen table was my favorite. It was a big farm table with wooden, ladder-back chairs. This house had such a lovely kitchen. Once the garden was mature, the window over the sink would look out on to an herb garden and further in the distance a pergola covered in bright green grape vines and colorful fruit. I had planned the flowers so they would erupt in a choreography of colors. I'd planted jasmine around what would be the stone walkway to the pergola. I knew the jasmine would provide a sweet scent all through summer. I didn't mind that the garden was still mostly barren. I knew the seeds were there under the earth and would someday be mature plants. I didn't mind because the garden would grow up with Charlie. I didn't need what I had in Sellwood; gardens that had been established back in my mother's time. At my farmhouse, I wouldn't have to fight trying to transplant 40 year old shrubs to make the garden mine.

I was so happy. Even when a letter came from Jeff in late April and another in early May, I didn't care what he had to say and I wasn't afraid of him. I didn't even read them; I tore them up and threw them in the trash. He was still sending them to Mary and Frank's, which I didn't like. I knew he was aware of the risk of Frank finding the letters, but even that didn't intimidate me. I had planned on telling Frank, being honest with him. Even if he were to grow disappointed with me, I was like a daughter to him. Charlie was his grandson, legitimately, since I had named he and Mary guardians. At the same time, I had to tell him. I knew that. Mary and I practiced what to say and how we'd say it. She was sure he would come around. It worried me that she was so hesitant to tell him the truth but she reassured me, telling me we'd softened him up. I saw so much love in his eyes and if it weren't for him, my house wouldn't be so beautiful.

Each time they arrived, Mary carried the letters over in her apron pocket. Each time she had a worried look, but my confidence in myself reassured her. The day she brought the second letter over, we were sitting in the kitchen. The windows were wide open and spring air filled the room with an earthy, pine smell. Charlie was sitting on the floor playing with sticks we had brought in from the yard. We'd also give him some of my pots to play with. He was making a racket but Mary and I sipped our iced tea and talked over his loud ruckus. She pulled the letter out of her pocket and placed it on the table between us.

"I don't care." I said.

"The man was physical with you, Eve. Read the letter. Have an idea what he's up to next."

I picked up the letter and ripped it into pieces. I took it over to the garbage pail and tossed it in.

"Oh Eve. Why do you have to do things like that?'

I felt like a child and looked down at the table, traced lines in the condensation on my glass.

Mary's voice was serious. " I want us to tell Frank the truth about everything. I don't know why it has taken us so long. This has gone too far. I think I should write Jeff lambert and give him this address. I think we should tell Frank right after that."

"I don't want Jeff to know where I live."

"What if he wants to see Charlie? After all, you said he took to the boy, I'm sure that's why he's writing. But, if he's threatening you again, then we need to know that too. No matter what we have to get to Frank before he does."

"All right give him my address."

The wind blew through the yellow flowered curtains I had sewn just a week before. We didn't speak for a moment, then Mary let out a deep angry breath, "I'm not a religious woman, but if I were, I'd hope that man goes straight to hell!"

I was so stunned, and I think Mary was too. That was so out of character for her. We sat in shock for a moment, just looking at each other.

"Is that what a religious woman would hope for?" I joked.

After that, we couldn't stop laughing. I don't know why it was so funny to us, but Mary was holding her stomach and I was wiping tears from my eyes. Whenever we'd catch a breath we'd look at each other and start all over again. Charlie pulled himself to standing and cruised as far as he could down the row of cabinets. He was bouncing himself up and down and laughing too. Mary rose and picked him up. We were still laughing, and then Charlie started too.

Two more letters arrived at my house. And, despite Mary's advice. I ripped them and threw them away. It made me nauseous to see them post marked 'air mail from England.' He sickened me. I'd never been to England but read Bronte novels in high school. I imagined that British culture was aristocratic and sophisticated. In my mind, Jeff was in a well-appointed home with his wife serving him tea and cakes on porcelain china. With his young daughter on his lap while he read her a storybook. I imagined his kindness towards her mother. When I had these thoughts I ushered them out of my mind; I did so because while I imagined him in England with his family, I imagined myself as his woman on the side. It wasn't that I was jealous of their life; it was the deep shame I felt about myself. The way we had cavorted; the way I had been with him when we made love. I had been so open with him, teasing and affectionate. I knew from my marriage to Nick that those sorts of relations with a man –even one's husband-- were not proper. I supposed, despite my protests, my emotions for him were still raw. Even with all the time that had accumulated between us, I still felt slighted by him. Those sinking feelings disappeared as soon as I ripped his letters up and threw them in the garbage. Sometimes I'd smile to myself remembering how angry with me Jeff had been that afternoon Charlie and I took the train back to Bend. Jeff had been forced to concede that I had won. Not even against him. I had won the things I wanted in life. The things he wanted me to relinquish.

Mary had told me once that when you make the right choices, doors open. They had. Once I had freed myself from Jeff, everything fell into place. Mary and I felt like magicians. We were very proud of ourselves for having executed our plan. She even admitted I was right. That it wasn't so dangerous for a woman to make a life for herself and not depend on a man like Jeff who had wanted to hold me captive.

One day I was in the kitchen at Mary's. We were family and went in and out of each other's homes freely. I had needed flour for pies I was making for the garden club. I had become an active member. The meetings were held at a different member's house each week. During our meetings we'd discuss how to expand the club and conducting meetings in the basement of the local church. After refreshments we'd tour the gardens, look at designs. We were all becoming close friends.

"I rather like the coziness of meeting at each other houses," Laura had said at one meeting. She and I were growing very close.

"I agree." I had chimed in.

Some of the other ladies looked at each other and pursed their lips. The current chair, Elizabeth Lewis, had big ideas and plans for the club. Those did not include continuing to meet at private homes. It was wonderful. In the two months since Jeff Lambert I lived in a different world.

I was scooping several cups of flour from the bin into a large bowl when there was a knock on the door. Mary and Frank had gone into town and taken Charlie to Mirror Pond for the day. The weather was nice and they had started getting him a little bowl of ice cream after playing by the water. I stepped away from the bin and wiped my hands on my apron. I had the strangest fear that it was Jeff. In fact, I was sure of it; I was white as a ghost as I walked out of the kitchen.

When I approached the door, I could see through the window it wasn't him. I let out a breath of air; it had been a long time since that fear had surfaced. Instead, it was another man. He was about my age and was carrying an envelope.

I opened the door, wiped my hands on my apron again. "Hello? May I help you?"

He removed his hat and smiled. "Yes, I'm here to see Frank Lawrence."

"May I ask what this is about?" I squinted my eyes and looked at him with a hint of suspicion.

"I had come to see Frank a couple months back. I'm a journalist with Life Magazine. I wrote an article on farming here in the Pacific Northwest. I've got some pictures of the farm."

"Oh yes, I remember Frank talking about it. Going on and on actually." I smiled and he smiled a polite smile back at me. "We've never met, but you're Tom Billings. Isn't that right?"

"Yes, that's right. "

"I'm Eve." I said.

"Oh are you Frank's daughter?"

I became flustered. "We're related," I finally settled on. "Would you like to come in? Have a cool drink and wait."

"Well, I don't know. When will he be back?"

"I suppose you're right. They won't be back for a while yet. They've taken my son down to Mirror Pond. They'll likely spend the whole afternoon there."

"That's nice." He bit his lip and he looked like he was considering my offer. "No I won't trouble you. Would you give him this? My telephone number's on the envelope. I'm here in Bend for a while. He can call me anytime."

I smiled at him, "I'll do that."

He kept popping into my mind the remainder of that afternoon. I knew from experience that sometimes that happened. Meeting a handsome man, becoming a little preoccupied with him and letting your mind wander back to the interaction. Carmen and I would do that with film stars in her magazines. Tom Billings was handsome, almost like a film star.

By the next day, I had let it go. But, he must have felt the same way about me; he must have asked around because not three days later he called Frank and asked if it would be all right if he invited me on a date. Frank and Mary drove right to my house after the call. They were more excited than I was. I could see in Frank's expression that he had already jumped ahead to Tom as his son-in-law.

"I don't know, Frank." I said. I felt embarrassed for some reason.

"Why on earth not?" Mary interrupted. "Darling, Frank has spent a lot of time with him. He's a very polite and kind man."

"Why isn't he married?"

Frank said, "Listen sweetheart. You're not married. You're widowed. Maybe it's the same with him. Or, maybe he's been too busy with work. He's traveled all over. He reported from Europe during the war. He's about your age, couldn't be thirty yet. It makes sense to me."

I was both nervous and excited. One afternoon the phone rang. Before I answered it, I took several deep breaths. Charlie was on my hip, and now that he was crawling, I had to keep an eye on him at all times. He wanted to get back down on the floor and get into something. He had already mastered holding on to the couch and pulling himself up to standing. As I picked up the receiver, he kept squirming and pointing to the floor.

"Hush Charlie. Let mama talk on the phone." He quieted for a moment. "Hello," I said, trying to act natural, like I didn't expect it to be anyone special. There was a long pause. "Hello?" I repeated.

An operators voice came on the line, "Mrs. Miller? A long distance call is on the line. I have a Mr. Jeff Lambert on the line from London, England."

I hung up the phone without saying another word. I waited in the quiet of the house, looking out at the garden. It was starting to come to life; little seedlings shooting up from the earth. The call scared me; it scared me to think of Jeff on the line while the operator was connecting us, he was hidden in the silence as she said his name. He hadn't gotten the message when I never responded to his letters. I was so angry that he still wouldn't leave me alone. It was good to know he was still in England. Maybe his stay would be extended.

Charlie had almost completely maneuvered himself out of my arms and I was holding him half way down my body by his armpits. He was pointing and his face was growing red with frustration. He let out a scram. I gently guided him down and he immediately began crawling around the room. His plastic diaper cover looked heavy like he needed a change. I loved him to death but changing him was enough work for two days. He hated laying still and half the time, I had to crawl around following him with his diaper half pinned as he squealed with laughter. When I caught him he'd start crying again. I took a deep breath. He'd be ok for a moment with a wet diaper. I picked up the little wooden toy trucks Frank had made for him, sat down on the floor and played with him. I knew it would only distract him for a short time. He'd bang the trucks together and sometimes roll them. He'd tire of them quickly preferring to find trouble in the worst places of all—under the table, pulling on the phone chord, under a lamp, behind a chair where he couldn't maneuver himself backwards to get out.

As I watched him on the floor, there was a knock at the door. I felt like I couldn't take talking to another person that day. I was too drained form the thought of Jeff, which lingered. I could not understand why he wouldn't leave me alone. This was the first time he'd called, but four letters had come since my trip to Eugene. There had been two sent to Mary's; he sent another two to my house even after Mary mailed him my address along with a note telling him to leave me alone and that he should be ashamed of himself. I had asked her to be formal and provide as little information as possible, but she confessed that she had wanted to let him know he wasn't welcome any where near us. Since he hadn't desisted, she kept urging me to read them. She also urged me to tell Frank. She said it was going too far. There was too much to lose now.

"How can I lose anything? Honestly, Mary. There is nothing he can do except scare me. We'll tell Frank soon enough. Then what?"

She had shook her head. The more I ignored his attempts to contact me, the more worried the look on her face became. Frank even expressed concern about her, asking me if something was wrong whenever he came over to help me with the house or garden. I was avoiding the conversation with him. It wasn't so much I feared him telling me to leave; I didn't want him to think less of me. I didn't have any parents and I loved how highly he regarded me.

I picked up a squirming Charlie and walked over to the foyer and to the front door. Tom Billings, the reporter was standing on the other side the screen door. He was a gentle looking man, handsome but something about his manner was so respectful and caring. I hadn't known then that he got permission from Frank to ask me on a date. I opened the screen and asked him to come in.

There we stood in the foyer. He looked as I imagined a reporter would. He wore khaki pants and a dress shirt but no tie. His hair was short but longer than Jeff's. It was dark brown, parted to the side. His eyes were hazel. I inspected him thoroughly but had no inkling that he was at my house to invite me on a date. I could see he felt very awkward.

"Hello Mr. Billings, can I help you?"

"Oh hello Eve," he stammered as if he had just bumped into me at the store.

I couldn't help but smile. "Can I help you? Would you like to come in?" He looked at Charlie. "No. I can see you've got your hands full. I won't be but a minute. I don't want to bother you."

"All right." I waited.

He looked up at the ceiling then back down at me. "Well, Eve. After we met the other day—I'm not married." He blurted.

I raised my eyebrows. "Oh I hadn't realized that." I said.

"Well, I talked with Frank a few minutes ago. He's on his way over here."

"Yes. I know. He's building a bed for Charlie."

Tom nodded. It wasn't that his shyness made him any less masculine; it made him respectful and caring. Tom was unlike Jeff who had already reached over and touched my cheek by the second time we had met. We hadn't even been on a date. Jeff had just been seducing me, knowing how lonely and sad I was; using his good looks and charm. It took Jeff no time at all to draw me in. Even that night in Eugene, it hadn't taken him take two hours for me to become that girl again. His possession. I wasn't that kind of person anymore and even if I had been, I couldn't imagine Tom Billings ever doing that.

"What did Frank say?" I inquired.

"I asked him if it would be all right to see if you'd like to go to a movie or out somewhere."

"Oh. A date?"

Finally, he loosened up and smiled. "Yes. I sort of screwed it up. Believe it or not I did practice on my way here. It really was a good speech. I mean you wouldn't believe how debonair I was in my truck driving from Frank and Mary's."

"What did Frank say?"

"He seemed really happy. I think he likes me."

"He does. He