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"Mr. Endfield was so upset about my getting sick and ruining the day that he barely uttered a syllable our whole journey back," she muttered. "It's all made me feel so miserable, and now we have Frances back in the hospital. Oh dear, dear, dear. Whenever it pours, it rains," she said.

"I think you mean when it rains, it pours," I told her and she thought a moment.

"Oh, do I? Yes, I believe I do. You would know, of course, with a name like Rain." She closed her eyes and groaned.

I read the telephone number and then I dialed and waited. It rang only twice before I heard Grandmother Hudson say hallo. I knew we were talking over a great distance, but her voice had sounded so much stronger the last time.

"It's Rain," I replied. "What's wrong, Mrs. Hudson?"

"This idiot I have for a doctor and his specialist have decided that there is more to my problem. They want to do some ridiculous thing involving a balloon, which is intended to open my artery. Something in the realm of science fiction, I'm sure, but they insist if I don't have it done, I'll topple over and die.

"I have your letter in hand," she added after a very short pause. "How far has this melodrama gone?"

"I've been to see him," I said.

"At his home?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"They're all very nice."

"And?" she sang.

"His family doesn't know about me yet," I revealed. "He says he wants to tell his wife, but I asked him not to."

"Very wise. You asked for my advice and it's simply let it be. What's done is done and too much time has passed. No one wants to be reminded of their mistakes, Rain."

"I don't think he sees me as that," I said.

"Nevertheless, when and if he does have to explain you to his wife, he will have to describe it that way. Once, he was young and careless, something like that," she said.

I recalled my first conversation with my father and his description of him and my mother being rebellious young people with no sense of

responsibility. Grandmother Hudson was probably right. She had great wisdom.

"Eventually," she predicted, "you'll be resented no matter how nice they seem to you now, Rain. Don't invest too much hope in this situation. Concentrate on your purpose, on your own life now."

"Okay," I said, my throat closing. I wanted so much to say, "Okay, Grandmother," but I knew my great-aunt was hanging on every word and would be cross-examining me as it was.

"My sister is nearby?" she asked as if she could gaze through the phone line and see how sad I was and how tears had come to glaze over my eyes.

"Yes."

"I thought she was only moments from being swept away by the Grim Reaper," she quipped. I smiled. "I never heard such moaning and groaning and I'm in a hospital, too."

"She's in bed, treated for an allergy."

"Tell her it might be something more," my great-aunt prompted from behind, revealing that she was indeed plugged into my every syllable.

"She says to tell you it might be more than an allergy."

"Of course. She was always looking for attention. That's why I could never understand her marriage and her decision to live in a country where everyone is judged on how stiff their upper lip is."

I laughed again.

"What did she say? Rain?"