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"But surely he could find a way--?"

"Hold on. One day you'll see a letter in our box from Tom, I'm sure of it."

I loved him for saying that; loved him for making me feel pretty, for saying I was a good cook, for appreciating all I did to keep the house clean. Kitty never saw anything I did unless it was wrong.

Weeks passed during which Cal and I became closer and closer, like a true father and daughter. (Often Kitty didn't come home until ten or eleven at night.) I knew that Cal was the best thing in my Candlewick life, and for him I was going to do something special. He had a yen for all kinds of fancy egg dishes, so for the first time in my life I was going to prepare what he often asked Kitty to make--a cheese souffle. An amusing lady on TV was teaching me all about gourmet cooking.

The perfect time was Saturday, before our trip into Atlanta to see a movie.

I fully expected it to fail, as most of my experiments did--and then I was drawing it from the oven, amazed to see it looked right. Golden brown, high and light! I'd done it right! If I could have patted myself on the back, I would have done so. I ran to the china cabinet, wanting to serve it on the royal dishes it deserved. Then I stepped halfway down the basement stairs, leaned over, and called in my most demure voice, "Lunch is served, Mr. Dennison."

"Coming right up, Miss Casteel," he called back. We sat in the dining room, where he stared with admiration at my high and wonderful cheese souffle. "Why, it's beautiful, Heaven," said Cal, tasting it, "and delicious," closing his eyes to savor it. "My mother used to make cheese souffles just for me--but you shouldn't have gone to so much trouble."

Why did he look uneasy sitting in his own dining room, as if he"d never eaten in here before? I looked around, feeling very uneasy. "Now you'll have lots of dishes to clean up before we head for town and fun . . ."

Oh, that was all.

No one moved more swiftly than I did that afternoon. I stacked the pretty china in the

dishwasher; while it washed, I ran upstairs to bathe and dress. Cal was ready and waiting, smiling at me, seeming relieved to have the dining room restored to a museum piece. I was ready to step out the door before I remembered. "One moment, and be back. Wouldn't want Kitty to come home and find her china not put back exactly in place."

As I finished doing this and that, he decided to go back to the basement to put his own tools away-- that's when the doorbell rang. We so seldom had guests the sound of the bell startled me, and I quickly went to the door. The mailman smiled at me.

"A certified letter for Miss Heaven Leigh Casteel," he said cheerfully.

"Yes," I said eagerly, staring at the pack of letters in his hand, so many.

He extended a clipboard with a paper. My hand trembled when I made my crooked signature.

Once I had the door closed, I sank down onto the floor. The sun through the fancy diamond windows near the door fell on the envelope of a letter I was sure was from Tom--but it wasn't. Strange handwriting.

.

Dearest Heaven,

I hope you don't mind my familiarity. I'm sure you will forgive me this when you hear my good news. You don't know my name, and I can't sign this letter. I am the woman who came with her husband to become the mother of your darling little sister and brother.

If you recall, I promised to write and keep you in touch. I remember your great love and concern for your brother and sister, and I have to admire and respect you for that. Both children are very well, and have, I believe, adapted to this family, and have stopped missing their mountain family so much.

Your father didn't want to give me your address; however, I persisted, believing I should keep my promise. Our Jane, as you used to call her, has recovered from an operation to correct a diaphragmatic hernia. You can look this up in a medical encyclopedia, and find out exactly what it was that made that dear child so frail. You'll be happy to know she is now gaining weight and has a good appetite. She is as healthy and normal as any seven-and-a-halfyear-old girl. Every day she and Keith have all the fruit juice they want. And I do leave night-lights on in both of their rooms. They attend a good private school, and are driven there each day, and picked up when school is over. They have many friends.

Keith shows great artistic talent, and dear Jane loves to sing and listen to music. She is taking music lessons, and Keith has his own easel, and equipment for drawing and painting. He is especially good at drawing animals.

I hope I have answered all questions, and given you enough information to keep you from worrying. Both my husband and I love these two children as if they were our own. And I believe they love us as much in return.

Your father says he has found good homes for all of his children, and I pray this is true.

Under separate cover I am sending you photographs of your brother and sister.

My best-wishes to you.

R.

.

That's the way she signed her letter, with just an initial, no address to give me a clue. My heart thudded madly as I stared at the envelope again, trying to read fingerprints, hidden numbers and street names. It had been postmarked in Washington, D.C. What did that mean? Had they moved from Maryland? Oh, thank God the doctors had found out what was wrong with Our Jane and had cured her!

For the longest time I just sat there, thinking about Keith and Our Jane--and the kind of lady who'd been thoughtful enough to write. Again and again I read the letter. I brushed tears from my eyes as I read it through. Oh, it was wonderful to hear that Our Jane was well and happy, and she and Keith had everything--but it wasn't good to hear they'd forgotten me and Tom, not good at all.