The Inn at Minnow Creek

By Sally Ann Malec

In 1972, when Rissa’s grandmother dies, and she and her two sisters and brother have to move to Boston, to live with their Aunt Clara, it seems like their world is coming to an end. Then their aunt takes them to live in the country, in an old, rambling Victorian house, the Minnow Creek Inn, where no one has lived for years. This is a house unlike any the children have seen before, where the bathtubs have feet, there is a real back staircase, and outside, they find an overgrown garden with statues of Greek gods and goddesses hidden among ancient rose bushes. Then, just as life seems full of exciting possibilities, their Aunt Clara falls in love, and it looks like things will change all over again.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Oct 24, 2014
• ISBN: 9781483541792

Book preview

Epilogue

Prologue

The telephone call that changed Dorcas Clara Ambers’ life forever came at midnight, the hour best suited to cataclysmic events, on a frigid night in January, 1972.

Why, Clara wondered, did bad news always seem to come at night, dark hours for dark tidings. She was sitting at her desk, her study lit only by a small desk lamp, musing silently at the dark chain tragedy formed, linking people around the world in its pain, one telephone call at a time.

Outside her apartment window, in the street below, the starlight shone silver on the snow piled along the curbsides, mixing with the golden glow of the streetlights to give beauty to the frozen Boston night. Clara instinctively turned the desk lamp up a notch brighter, and pulled her bathrobe closer around her. She tried to think of someone else who would need to know about the death, and there was no one. And it hurt that there was no one. She had never felt more wholly and completely alone.

There was no one among her acquaintance who had known Melissa Grayce, no one to call on the dead woman's account. There were people she could call, for herself, but Clara hesitated, unwilling to call anyone at this late hour unnecessarily.

She sat still for a moment, trying to absorb the full shock of the news, and the more she thought about the full impact of what had just occurred, a cold fear crept over her that had nothing to do with the weather outside. Melissa Grayce had been the sole guardian of her four grandchildren, Clara's nephew and nieces who had been living with their grandmother since the plane crash which had taken the lives of their parents, Clara's only brother, David, and his wife, Lise. With Melissa's death, the only other relative, besides Clara, that the children had was Gwyneth, Melissa's twenty-one year old daughter, who had just informed Clara, tearfully, by telephone that Melissa's Will named Clara as the children's' Guardian. Clara had just officially inherited four children.

It was not that she did not want the children; the guardianship of the children had been a bitterly contested matter between them. However, now that the thing she had sought for so long was hers, Clara was struck with a deep sense of inadequacy. All she could think of were the many lost years and the wasted opportunities. It was no use now to recount all the ways Melissa had striven to keep her away from her grandchildren, or all the times Clara had acquiesced to various scheduling arrangements to keep the peace. It was no consolation to Clara to remind herself how difficult it was, to be living on the East Coast when Melissa and the children were in California. Death had wiped Melissa's account clean, for Clara knew she would be able to cast no blame on Melissa, particularly not to the grandchildren mourning her passing. Clara was left with four children whom, for various reasons, she had not had the chance to know since they were babies. Looking at the task before her, Clara was filled with humility and a surprising amount of sheer terror. She took a deep breath, trying to muster all her strength to bear on the situation. She was not unused to children; as a popular high school English teacher, she was used to managing full classrooms of them. But not like this - not in her personal life, and not in such a way that would impact all their lives so critically.

Suddenly, her apartment was much too quiet, and the need to speak to someone overpowered her. Clara reviewed the possibilities. There was her best friend, Allie Cherry, and her husband, Bill, in the apartment across the hall, but she recoiled at the thought of waking her friends so late. She immediately thought of Lou and Marti Connelly, close friends of her father, who had become her Guardians and taken her in as a thirteen-year-old when her own father had died, her mother having died when she was a baby. Lou, a retired botany professor, and Marti, a semi-retired art teacher, were the only parents she had now, and she tried to give them the devotion of a daughter, usually calling them once each week. There was also Lou and Marti's daughter, Vida, and their son, Mark. Vida was Clara's friend and foster sister, but Clara knew she would be in bed at this hour. Mark had always been her closest friend, like a second brother, and here Clara hesitated; it was Mark, more than anyone, whom she longed to call and talk everything over with, but their relationship had lately become complicated. He had recently made it plain that he wanted more than friendship from her, and as she felt she could give no more than that, it did not seem fair to call him. With a sigh, she gave up that idea and reached for the telephone to call Lou and Marti in Pennsylvania. Remembering how late it was, Clara braced herself to hang up if no one answered within a few rings. The telephone on the other end rang once, twice, then Clara felt relief wash over her as Lou's voice came over the wire, and she heard his cheerful, Yo.

Hello. It's Clara. Are you still awake?

Sure we are. What's wrong?

I'm sorry to call you this late. But I've got news, and I felt like I needed to talk to someone. I didn't wake you up, did I?

No, we just finished painting. Marti found this new shade of red and she says it's perfect for an accent wall in the living room. I told her to wait until morning, but she couldn't get it on the wall fast enough. I don't know. To me, it looks a little dramatic for a living room.

Clara grinned in spite of herself, listening to what had become a familiar refrain over the years, as Marti's cheerful voice came on the line, on the kitchen extension.

"Don't let him kid you, dear, he really loves it. And it isn't red, it's Colorado Sunrise, and it's lovely. But if he still says he doesn't like it after a week, we'll just paint over it. Like I always say, you should never be afraid of color. But what's up?"

I just got a telephone call. Melissa Grayce is dead. It seems she had a bad heart. She died of complications following heart surgery.

Their expressions of shock immediately calmed her own feelings, and soon, the love she was receiving long-distance from Lou and Marti enveloping her like a blanket, Clara felt much stronger and able to deal with life. Soon, to her chagrin, she was receiving even more advice than she had been looking for.

Bring them home, here to Wrenn's Hollow, Lou advised her bluntly. This is still a pretty good place to raise kids, and this is still your home, you know. And you have a house here, just waiting for you. You aren't doing that house any good, letting it sit empty. You should either sell it, and get rid of it, or come home and move in.

Ah, but that wasn't the plan, Clara reminded him. The rent money was supposed to be lining my pockets with gold, remember? And you have to admit, those nuns were great tenants.

They were also your only tenants.

That's true. There hasn't been any activity since then.

You know, the University would probably love to get their hands on it, if you even hinted you wanted to sell, Lou pointed out, practically.

But I'll never sell, Clara stated firmly. David wanted it to stay in the family, and as long as I have blood kin to pass it on to, that's where it has to stay.

David would have understood. However, I also think you might find it easier, raising four kids, here where you have friends and family, Lou added, gently. Nothing against Boston. Just give it some thought.

I promise to think about it, Clara assured him automatically, then she hesitated. It's just that there are so many memories there, that the house is a difficult place for me now. Wrenn's Hollow, too. I don't know if I'm ready to handle that.

That’s another reason why you should come home. There comes a time when you have to stop running from the past, and start dealing with your life.

Who's running from the past?

You are. That's why you haven't seen more of those kids than you have. You got hit really hard when David and Lise died, and it hurt. But, you know what? You’re ready to deal with life, now, and I think it's time for you to come home. As Clara tried to recover from this, Lou continued, Besides, we worry about you. You’ve been living there in Boston, all by yourself. You don’t even have a cat, and you love cats. You should at least have a cat.

The truth? It was a night for truths. Clara looked up at the shadows on the ceiling and thought for a moment, clutching the receiver more tightly. The truth is that cats die. I just don’t feel like losing anyone else in my life.

Hey, we’re all temporary, the sympathy in Lou’s voice was palpable. The trick is how you accept it.

I’m happy here. I have my work, my friends. I have a life here, protested Clara.

You're stronger than you know, Dorie. You're ready. And I still say there's no reason why you can't sell the old place and buy a new one, and get rid of the past altogether. Just think about it. Then he added, almost casually, I think Mark is usually up this late. Why don't you give him a call and talk it over with him? You two were always as thick as thieves.

Oh, I'd never dream of calling him this late. I only pester parents at midnight. I don't know what I'd do without you two, you know that?

You'd be fine, said Lou, but you don't need to worry about that.

Now, Clara sat at her desk, taking in everything Lou had said. She immediately dismissed moving to Pennsylvania as a wholly unreasonable thought and took a piece of paper from her desk, writing a note to remind herself to run a new ad to try to find some new tenants. Then she shook her head as she thought about Lou's mention of Mark. She knew it was the Connellys' fondest wish to see her married to Mark - this had exasperated her more than once over the years - but it was not her fault that she loved him like a brother. And until recently, she would have said that Mark loved her like a sister. This had culminated in a disastrous ending to her recent Christmas Holiday at home. Clara put aside this conundrum, for the thought of hurting Mark distressed her, and she felt she could not deal with that just now.

Then she thought about the big, rambling Victorian house, her childhood home, which she had been trying to rent out, with a notable lack of success, for the past eight years. The house, with the acres of land which went with it, had become hers alone when her brother and sister-in-law died. The house had been in her family for generations and had been lovingly restored by her parents, who had run it as an Inn, the Minnow Creek Inn. It was not enough that she had failed to be a good aunt, for that was how she was berating herself. Now, she had just been reminded that she was failing a house.

Suddenly realizing that her bare feet were freezing, she switched off the desk lamp, plunging her little den into darkness, and hurried back through the hall to her bedroom. There was nothing else to be done tonight.

Clara set her alarm clock for early the next morning. Monday morning suddenly seemed the start, not of a new week, but of a new life as well. Her previous Monday schedule seemed like a page from a previous existence - giving a test on Don Quixote, starting The Odyssey in her Mythology class, lectures on adverbs and descriptive essays seemed very far away. She could almost feel her life shifting around her, as sensible to her nerves as the midnight shadows on her walls, time moving in and out like the tide, leaving ripples of shadow instead of water. A part of her life was coming full circle this night - one phase was ending, but something else, something new, was beginning. She laid aside the book she had been reading when the telephone rang, feeling that further concentration was impossible and that it behooved her to get a good night's sleep, to prepare for the next day.

She caught a glimpse of her reflection in her bedroom mirror as she flung off her bathrobe, a tall, slender figure in a voluminous pink flannel nightgown, straight brown hair tousled and falling to just past her shoulders. Her eyes, without her reading glasses, looked very large and brown and sober, giving her an air of vulnerability. Her face was a thin, pale oval, with a straight nose, slightly turned up at the tip, and a small, delicate chin with a determined set to the jaw. That it was also a lovely face would never have occurred to Clara. At this hour and in this light, she looked about fifteen, instead of her twenty-nine years. Still, what never came into her mind was that she was still quite young and inexperienced to be raising four children. Fearful she might be, at this new development in her life, but she was no coward. She climbed into bed and turned off the light, feeling exhausted, after her long day, but still wakeful. She was not surprised when sleep didn’t come.

Her conversation with Lou and Marti had not been of a nature to quiet her thoughts. She could feel anxiety clutching at her stomach, kneading at her insides, a feeling she had not been accustomed to for years. She lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, sleep eluding her. Just at present, she could not remember the past without enumerating her own mistakes, but however numerous her sins, lying there in the darkness, she resolved to commit no more of them. Anyway, the past was as dead as David and Lise and could only hurt, not help her. Clara strained to keep her mind firmly on the future and tried to lay plans, but her thoughts kept betraying her, straying against her will to memories of an older brother who had been not only brother but best friend, and his wife, a beautiful young woman, who had been a sister to her. Tossing and turning, Clara began to fear she was in for a long night, just when she needed all her strength for the next day. She couldn’t tell how much time had passed and was afraid to look at her alarm clock.

For a moment she found herself envying people who still had faith, those who believed as she could not, people who could pray at times like these and find solace. Clara no longer believed, or thought she no longer believed, and when she looked back, could not trace the exact moment of hurt that had taken away her faith. Remembering the long sleepless nights that had followed the plane crash, Clara felt dread rise within her, afraid the old insomnia would come back to strike her, as it had in the days when grief for an only brother had skewered her, making sleep impossible. She thought of the children in far away California who were depending on her.

Oh God, please help me!

The prayer escaped her almost against her will, even as she felt the tears beneath her eyelids and was appalled at the thought of crying for Melissa. But the tears were not only for Melissa. They were all the past tears which Clara had refused to shed, for even when her grief was fresh, after the plane crash, she had striven to be strong. She always tried to be strong; though she was tolerant of weakness in others, she abhorred it in herself. And even now, Clara couldn’t cry. She recoiled almost immediately after the prayer left her lips. Hadn’t any faith she possessed been knocked out of her long ago? Who was she to pray? She hadn’t prayed or been to Mass in years. She no longer believed, would no longer believe. What good had prayers done for her before? Prayer hadn’t stopped the tragedies from happening in her life. Where had God been then?

Rebellious and exhausted, Clara fought to keep the tears from flowing and tried hard to relax and think calm, restful thoughts. But now her mind shifted treacherously to Jack, the young man she had loved. Man or boy? He had been a man to her then, but looking back now, she saw how young they had both been, just seventeen years old. How different it would have been if he had lived, if the two of them could have had a future, if this was something they could have faced together! It was so long ago now, yet there had been a time when she had only to shut her eyes to remember his touch, the feel of his arms around her. Now as she thought of him she could see in her mind’s eye only the image of Jack’s car, wrapped around a tree, and her heart again recoiled. It wasn’t safe to think about Jack.

Oh Jack, Jack, why am I not over you yet? Twelve long years you’ve been gone! And yes, it’s been getting easier for a long time now. But some things I just can't get over.

Tossing and turning, Clara tried to stop thinking and failed. The future was weighing on her almost as heavily as the past, and the burden, just at this moment, was too heavy for her. Where was peace? She tried thinking about her work, but this only reminded her that she would be taking a leave of absence, and the thought of leaving her classes sent a new wave of anxiety through her. She thought of Lou and Marti, but then, how would they feel once they realized that she had refused and offended their beloved son?

And there was Mark, himself, his calm, reassuring voice on the telephone, the way he had of making any of her problems seem insignificant, the knack he had of making her laugh when nothing else could. Involuntarily, she found herself wishing he'd call, as he had so often in the past when she needed a friend, and maybe he would, if Lou and Marti told him the news tonight - but no, she would just have to learn to let Mark go.

But thinking of Mark led to thoughts of home, and regardless of Clara’s avowals to Lou on the telephone, in times of stress, home, to Clara, was still the old house back in Pennsylvania, where she had lived until her father's death. Now in desperation, she tried to put aside all the other thoughts pressing in on her and concentrate solely on home, the Minnow Creek Inn. She remembered the house bathed in sunlight, surrounded with green and birdsong, the inn, as it had been from the time when she was a little girl barely old enough to toddle, running along the porch in the sunshine, laughing with joy. And finally, with the inn, relief came flooding into her tired mind. The tears stopped and the dark thoughts left her as the good memories came flooding back - her kind father, the gentle grandmother who had spoiled her, giving her tea and cookies, telling her stories. There were all the times she trailed after David, when he went fishing, and she was grateful now to remember how he never tired of having a little sister tagging along. And then there were the cold winter afternoons curled up in the library with a book, in front of the fireplace, worlds away. And there was the fun of helping her grandmother and Emma cook in the big kitchen on baking day, or looking at cloud pictures with her father on the big front porch or just being lazy on the old porch glider.

She was remembering the old porch glider, the warmth of the sun on the soft glider cushions, the soft breeze on her skin as it had been so often on warm summer afternoons. Then, somewhere between the comfortable creak of the old glider springs, and its gentle back and forth motion, she felt her limbs relax and the knots unraveling in her stomach. Then, peace was vouchsafed to her and she slept.

Chapter 1.

With surprising speed, Clara found herself moving four children and a dog into her Boston apartment and into her life. The dog was a big Yellow Lab with thick fur that was pale gold, almost white, and dark, soulful eyes that matched his nose. Teddy - short for either Teddybear or Theodore, depending upon which child you asked - had been a shock. Clara had begun by viewing him as something of a necessary evil; unfamiliar with the entire race of dogs, she would have been very happy to remain so, if the thought of separating him from the kids had not been an unthinkable anathema. But Clara was determined that the children not lose any more than they had to on account of this move, so Teddy came, too. And Clara quickly came to view him as a blessing, for in worrying about how Teddy was doing, the children forgot completely about themselves, so Clara felt that Teddy was an ally.

Working with Gwyneth, or Gwenny, the children’s aunt and only other relative, was surprisingly easy. Gwenny reminded Clara strongly of Lise - slim and petite, with long blond hair, and cornflower blue eyes, she was a younger, hipper version of her older sister. After learning that Clara did, indeed, truly want all four children, she was Clara’s strongest supporter, throwing all her energy into helping Clara make a smooth transition for the kids. Part of this, Clara surmised, was a well-disguised feeling of relief. Besides still being in college, Gwenny was a cellist in a quartet and did a certain amount of traveling, so it was difficult to envision her as a single parent.

You could say I’m feeling guilty, Gwenny had admitted to her once, shortly after Clara’s arrival. I do love them, you know? But I’m not even through college, yet! I’m just too young, and it’s too big a job for me at this stage. I’m not ready for all that responsibility. So, unless you think we should consider splitting them up . . .

No, no, we’re staying together no matter what. No splitting them up! It will be be fine, Clara assured her. I know it won’t be easy, but it’ll work out. In fact, you probably wouldn’t remember, but I volunteered for this. I made a promise to David and Lise a long time ago that if anything happened to them, I’d take care of the kids.

Well, I think you’re terrific, sighed Gwenny.

So everything was settled, and Clara was firmly established as the Guardian. And any fears Clara might have harbored as to the past embittering her relationship with Gwenny were swiftly vanquished.

To her surprise, Gwenny had broached the topic herself.

I just want to say, I know my mother could be a hard woman, in a lot of ways. I can guess she must have hurt you pretty badly. I just wanted to say, I’m sorry.

That’s o.k., Clara told her. Let’s forget it. It was a long time ago.

And to her surprise, she discovered that this was true. In fact, it was an odd coincidence, but Gwenny, today, was nearly as old as she, Clara, had been when David and Lise died. Now, Gwenny, to Clara, seemed very, very young. Which made Clara feel quite old.

Was I really that young, way back then? Yes, I wanted the kids. Or did I need them more than I wanted them? Gwenny and I have both had losses in our lives - we have a lot in common. But, yes, I was still in college, and yes, I was probably too young, but I was as stubborn as hell and I would have made it work. The way I will make it work.

Losing the children to Melissa and Grant had been like a canker in her soul that had rankled since it happened. Grant had died several years after that, but Melissa on her own had been no easier to deal with. Now, however, Clara had to acknowledge that Melissa had done a good job of raising the children thus far. Perhaps she really had been too young, the way Gwenny was too young now. And perhaps, just perhaps, she, Clara, would be a better Guardian now than she would have been then, now that she was older with an established career, with more to give. Thus, a part of Clara which had always thought of Melissa as the enemy, suddenly loosened and melted into a much more moderate feeling.

With the children, themselves, things had gone smoother than Clara had dared hope. The the two youngest, Pete and Beth, with the innocence of children, had immediately given her their trust. Pete was nine years old with his mother’s blond hair, and David’s big brown eyes. And while the oval shape of his face and the general delicacy and fineness of his features reminded her of Lise, the small dimple in his chin was just like his father’s.

Beth was the youngest at eight, a pixie of a little girl with a small round face covered with freckles, bangs which needed to be trimmed that were falling into big blue eyes, a little snub nose, and yellow hair which was plaited in two long braids.

While these two were the most challenging from a supervisory perspective - Beth in particular was constantly making friends and Clara almost immediately had a list by the telephone of various friends’ houses’ to track her down at - she had their love and loyalty from the start.

With the second eldest, Clarissa, or Rissa, the child named after her, again, Clara was lucky - when she first met the girl, Rissa had a book, Little Women, tucked under one arm, which Clara recognized at once as a sign of kinship. A quiet girl, anxious to please, Rissa was almost twelve and tall, with hazel eyes, long, straight chestnut brown hair, and braces on her teeth. And here, Clara had the uncanny sensation that she could be looking at a vision of herself at the same age. There was the same straight nose, the same high cheekbones, the same coloring.

Look at that! Gwenny had exclaimed. Now we know who Rissa looks like! I knew she didn’t look like our side. That’s neat! If her eyes were brown instead of hazel . . .

Rissa has her grandmother’s eyes, Clara had said softly. And she’s prettier than I ever was.

Thus, a bond was formed at the very beginning between Clara and Rissa. This was good, because with Katie, the eldest, Clara was faced with as much hostility as she knew she had the right to expect. Katie was thirteen at its worst, nearly as tall as Clara, thin and lanky, with braces on her teeth. However, there was more than a promise of beauty; her face was a perfect oval with long-lashed blue eyes and her long, yellow hair reminded Clara absurdly of a fairy princess. As Clara had a certain amount of experience with thirteen-year-olds, she was not surprised when Katie was sullen, moody, rebellious and negative.

Honey, I know I made mistakes, Clara told her gently. There’s nothing I can do about that. But I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere.

But you were still gone all those years!

And Katie had remained obdurate.

Unbeknownst to Clara, Gwenny had gone further.

You know, Katie, I think you need to give Clara a break. She may not have been here physically the past few years, but she did keep in touch. And besides, back when your parents died, there were some tough times. She was supposed to be your Guardian in the first place - it was spelled out in the Will - but your grandparents took her to Court and got it overturned. I was just a kid then, but I can guess that must have hurt. I don’t think she’s had a very easy life.

Well, neither have we, returned Katie, stoney-hearted in her turn.

She just needs need time, Gwenny advised Clara., thoughtfully. Thirteen is a tough age. And Katie is the one this is hardest on. She’s the one mother was closest to. Sometimes I think mother thought she had Lise back again, Katie looks so much like Lise.

It’s okay, Clara told her, ruefully. I know exactly how Katie feels. We’ll get her through it. But unfortunately, there’s no way this can be an easy situation.

Being of a scholastic turn, Clara’s first act, in trying to cope with the situation, was to write a list of rules for her own personal use, rules which would assist her in becoming what she was determined to be - a perfect Guardian. Rule One was ‘Be There and Be Available.’ Just being there, Clara thought, was surely the most important thing to start out with. Hopefully, simply from her being there, everything else might follow. Rule Two: ‘Be Patient.’ She expected to have a lot to learn, both from the kids and about the kids. She knew she was good at teaching children, but she had never in her experience been required to live with them before. And these kids were younger than she was used to dealing with. Rule Three: ‘Never be angry.’ This was close, Clara realized, to Rule Two, but she kept it in for good measure. Anger never solved anything, and Clara immediately made a solemn vow never to lose her temper. Rule Four: ‘Communicate.’ Communication seemed to Clara to be of key importance. Talking over problems worked well for her in the classroom; she saw no reason why it should not work equally well in a home setting. But was this enough? After some deliberation, Rule Five was Love, written in capital letters and triple-underscored.

As those first weeks went by, Clara thought of her list of five rules frequently, to help her stay on course. She never mentioned these self-imposed rules to the kids; after all, the rules were a guide for her behavior, not theirs. But she made a copy of her five rules and taped it to the inside cover of her personal calendar, where she would see it most often. This sheet of paper lived a clandestine existence, hidden in her desk drawer, with Rule Three, Never be angry, underlined in heavy red ink. She was determined that the kids not know about her rules; they should have confidence in their guardian, and as it was, they were aware that she was new at this guardian business. She was sure that any additional appearance of vulnerability would be a mistake. Worse, it would never do to have her own rules quoted back at her by her kids! But she did feel it helped to have a standard to aspire to; it was so terribly important that she make this work.

So far, I think we’re doing o.k., Clara reported to Gwenny, in one of her first telephone calls from Boston to her fellow aunt. They’re all in school again, and we have a routine going. I like to think every day is a little bit easier than the one before. Why, Beth has even been invited to a birthday party already!

And Katie?

No change, admitted Clara. But I understand. She probably feels that she can’t be angry at her grandmother for dying. And she can’t be angry at her parents for dying before that. She isn’t even angry at you, which is interesting, but she is very angry at me. But that’s alright. I can take it. And I’ll be there.

Clara’s one confidant was Allie Cherry, her best friend from the apartment across the hall, and Allie quickly became a popular visitor with everyone, even though she spent a lot of time laughing at Clara's plunge into domesticity. To make up for this, she also volunteered to provide math tutoring when needed, and after one long session helping Rissa with math, Clara didn't mind being laughed at.

The same age as Clara, Allie was a good friend from college, where they had met, but where Clara was tall and willowy, Allie was plump and petite, with short, dark hair and intelligent, sparkling blue eyes. And while Clara was staunchly and independently single, Allie Cherry had a husband, Bill, who was kept busy working part-time and studying for his advanced Mathematics Degree. Allie taught Math at the same High School where Clara taught English, so the two women were close, even before the upheavals in Clara’s life brought them closer. Clara did not know what she would have done without Allie to share her feelings with, as Clara's pride forbade her to call Gwenny, Lou, Marti or Vida, and Mark was out of bounds these days. To Allie alone did she confide her adventures, in therapeutic conferences held after the kids were in bed.

Listen to your heart, Allie urged kindly, one evening after Clara was recovering from a particularly frustrating session with Katie. Lead with your heart, not your head, and you’ll know how to handle Katie, and all the kids. I know you from way back, kiddo. You tackle problems head-on, but then you start analyzing and over-examining and worrying. Don’t do that. Just listen to your heart!

If I listen to my head first, it’s because hearts are too unpredictable and too easily hurt. I’d much prefer to trust my mind, not my heart, Clara had rejoined. But I’ll try. Ill try!."

Their future house was a panacea with all of them. In their first real family meeting, held soon after arriving in Boston, they agreed that they would stay in Clara’s apartment and stick it out there for the remainder of the school year. That way, there would be no third change of schools, until fall anyway, and they could all search for a new place together.

It will be our first priority, Clara promised. We need to find a place that will be, not 'my home' and not any one person’s home, but home for all of us. And I will try very hard to make that home a house.

After a careful study of her finances, including some money David and Lise had left to her, Clara was sure that she could manage this. Her goal was to get them all moved into a new