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Both the twins began to sniffle, trying to hold back cries of distress. They both adored kittens, puppies, birds, anything that was little and cute. "SILENCE!" roared Bart. "I don't hear anything from the outside, but if you listen carefully, God will speak and tell you how to survive."

"What's survive?"

"Darren, why do you let your sister ask all the questions?"

"She likes questions better."

"Why is it so dark in here, Uncle Bart?"

"Deirdre, like all females, you talk too much."

She began to wail louder. "I do not! Gramma likes my talk . . ."

"Your gramma likes anyone's talk as long as it isn't mine," answered Bart bitterly, pinching Deirdre's small arm to make her stay quiet.

Dozens of candles burned on the podium where Joel lifted his head. The architects had arranged for ceiling spots to converge on whomever was behind the pulpit, placing Joel squarely in the center of a mystical, artificial, light cross.

In a clear and loud voice he said, "We will stand and we will sing the praises of the Lord before today's sermon begins." His voice was resonant, assured and authoritative.

I had eased myself by this time to a position behind a supporting pillar from which I could spy and not be seen. Like two small robots, the twins, who'd obviously been here many times before without their father, Chris, me or Toni, were well trained and intimidated. They stood obediently, one on each side of Bart, who kept his hands restrainingly on their small shoulders, and they began, with him, to sing hymns. Their voices were frail, faltering, unable to carry the tune well. Yet they made mighty efforts to keep up with Bart, who stunned me with his

surprisingly good baritone singing voice.

Why hadn't Bart sung out like that when we attended the chapel services? Did Chris and I, with Jory, so intimidate Bart that he held back what had to be a God-given natural gift? When we'd praised Cindy for her singing voice, he had just frowned and said nothing to indicate that he had a wonderful voice as well. Oh, the complexity of Bart was likely to drive me crazy.

Under other, less sinister circumstances I would have been thrilled to hear Bart's voice lifted so joyously, his whole heart in it. Some filtering sunlight fell through the stained glass windows to glorify his face with colors of purple, rose and green. How beautiful he appeared as he sang, with his eyes lit up, as if he truly had the power of the Holy Ghost.

I was touched by his faith in God. Tears came to my eyes as a sense of relief washed over me and made me feel clean.

Oh, Bart, you can't be all evil if you can sing like that, and look like that. It isn't too late to save you, it can't be.

No wonder Melodie had loved him. No wonder Toni was unable to turn her back and leave such a man.

"Oh, sing this song . . . this song of love to thee, In God we trust, in God we trust . . ."

His voice soared, overwhelming the thin voices of the twins. I was lifted up and out of myself, willing to believe in the powers of God. I sank down on my knees, bowing my head.

"Thank you, God," I whispered. "Thank you for saving my son."

Then I was staring at him again, catching the Holy Spirit and willing to believe in anything he did. Words came out of the past. Bart had been with us at the time. "We've got to be careful with Jory," warned Chris. "His immunity system has been impaired. We can't allow him to catch a cold that might fill his lungs with fluid . . ."

Still I knelt on, transfixed. Now I could not believe Bart was anything but a very troubled young man trying desperately to find what was right for himself.

Bart's powerful singing voice drew to the end of the hymn. Oh, if only Cindy could have heard him. If only they could both sing together, the two of them friends at last, joined by their equal talents. There was no one to applaud when his song ended. There was only silence and the thud of my beating heart.

The twins stared up at Bart with wide, innocent, blue eyes. "Sing again, Uncle Bart," pleaded Deirdre. "Sing about the rock .

Now I knew why they came to this chapel--to hear their uncle sing, to feel what I was feeling, an unseen presence that was warm and comforting.

Without any accompaniment, Bart sang "Rock of Ages." I was by this time a limp rag of emotions. With a voice like that he could have the world at his feet, and he locked away his talent in an office.

"That's enough, nephew," said Joel when the second song was over. "Everyone will sit, and we will begin today's sermon."

Obediently, Bart sat and pulled the twins down beside him He kept his arm about each in such a protective way that I was again moved to tears. Did he love Jory's twins? Had he, all this time, only pretended to dislike them because they resembled the evil twins of yesterday?

"Let us bow our heads and pray," instructed Joel. My head bowed as well.

I listened to his prayer with incredulity. He sounded so professional, so concerned for those who had never experienced the joy of being "saved" and belonging entirely to Christ.