“Mama! Mama! Come quick!” Jackie called from the head of the stairs, snapping her out of her reverie.
Amanda dashed up the stairs. Jackie’s face was flushed—alive and animated, filled with hope. “What is it, darling?”
“It’s Justin. He… he sort of smiled at me. Come see!”
Justin was in his wheelchair, facing the window, his unblinking eyes fixed on the rolling countryside where he had spent so many carefree years. Jackie put her face close to his, and Amanda knelt beside him.
“Justin, it’s me, Jackie, my mom and I are here with you. Can you see us? Are you okay?”
Amanda’s eyes were fixed on the boy’s thin, pale face, but she saw nothing; he might have been a Greek statue, of the purest white marble.
“See, Mama? See?”
Amanda searched his face, almost pore by pore, looking for the miracle, but she saw only the same, agonizing immobility.
“Don’t you see? His mouth? He’s smiling; he’s trying to talk.”
Amanda looked even closer. Was that a twitch at the comer of his mouth? Had those lips seemed to move, to tremble? Or was it only her—their—imagination?
“Can’t you see… he’s trying to talk to us!” Jackie declared.
“Yes, I see,” Amanda said. “You’re right, he is trying to talk. And he will, Jackie, any day now. You just keep giving him your love.”
Jackie threw her arms around her mother and began to sob, her tears wet and hot against Amanda’s old U of N sweatshirt. “Mama, I can’t stand it if he doesn’t talk to us soon,” she cried.
Amanda stroked her daughter’s soft, chestnut hair. “Yes, you can, darling,” she said. “Yes, you can.”
The next day broke windy and bright, the sky a deep, cloudless blue, the sun hot on their faces, a sweet foretaste of spring.
“What day is it?” Devin asked.
“Friday,” Ward told him. They were out by the barn, savoring the morning’s gentle paradox: the warmth of the sun and the chill of the breeze.
“Friday,” Devin repeated. “Then I declare a holiday. And on this Good Friday we’ll all take a walk.”
“Gonna be muddy out there,” Ward cautioned.
“You don’t know how I’ve missed mud,” Devin said. “I’ve been places where mud was against the law. Let’s go slogging around. Show Billy the sights.”
Alethea joined them. “Dev, you sure you’re up to this?”
Devin grinned. “It’s all that soup you been feeding me,” he said. “I’m full of piss and vinegar. Ready for a ten-mile hike, anyway, if you civilians can keep up.”
“A couple of miles is my limit,” Ward said. “Us law-enforcement types aren’t much for forced marches.”
“I’ll see what food we’ve got,” Alethea said. “And I’ll break the news to Dad: he’s not one of the world’s great hikers, either.”
She turned back to their root-cellar home. They had a canvas roof over it now, and a wooden floor in it. Mostly, they just slept there, because they spent then-waking hours hunting food, working on the new cabin, or planning for their defense when the expected SSU attack came.
Before Alethea could descend the ladder, a car came roaring up the poplar-lined drive.
“Who’s that?” Alethea demanded.
Ward squinted at the oncoming car. “Well, it’s not the SSU, unless they’ve taken to driving banged-up old Pontiacs.”
The car stopped and three men and a young woman climbed out, looking around uncertainly. One of the men sported a modified Afro and a wide grin on his broad, black face. Clayton ran up to Jeffrey, embracing him.
“Well, I guess we can start some trouble now that the press is here.”
“I want you to meet my friends,” Jeffrey said, pointing to the three others. “That big lummox is Ken, my cameraman. Those two beautiful people beside him are Kimberly and Cliff, a couple of actors who’ve joined up with what we laughingly call the resistance. You may have heard we did a little broadcast over in Omaha the other night.”
“Good to see you again, Jeffrey,” said Devin.
Devin looked at the three newcomers, then greeted them warmly. “You turned out the people who took over the hospital and got me out of that hellhole. Thank you.”
Kimberly clung to his hand, her face glowing with affection and awe. Looking around, at the burned-out house, the cellar with its canvas roof, the gun that the big, white-haired man carried on his hip, all she could think was that these people looked like the survivors of a war. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Milford,” she said. “We… when we heard what happened at the Capitol, we felt like we had to come here, to see what you’d say.”
“The first thing I say is you damn well better call me Devin,” he told her. Kimberly was wearing jeans and a parka, but her head was uncovered and the sunlight sparkled on her blond hair.
“I want you to meet my family,” Devin continued. “Then all of you can join our picnic celebration!”
Thus began one of the best days any of them ever knew, a day for memories and magic. With the bright sun melting the snow, with the breeze playing on their faces, they trudged through the trees, over the hills, across the land that had once been the Milfords’ domain, past many of the milestones of their family members’ lives.
Alethea could not recall a better day. Not in her whole life had she ever seen her family together like this, happy and laughing and affectionate. She had grown up knowing her father to be an angry, embittered man, most often barely speaking to his two sons, or to her either. But on this sun-bright day, all three of his children, and his grandson too, walked gladly across the fields arm in arm with Will. It was as if losing his land, even the burning of his home, didn’t matter, because he had been reborn with the love of his family.
Devin led them to the dugout where Billy and Clayton had been hiding, and Will explained its history to the visitors. They picnicked there, and Devin and Billy and Kimberly went down to the pond to skip rocks on the water. Jeffrey, Cliff, and Clayton napped after they ate, and Will went and sat by himself at the top of the hill. Alethea was moved to see him up there, alone, gazing down at them with all the wisdom and courage of a long, hard life. She saw his mortality then, as if he were already dead and he had come back to watch over them. The thought did not depress her or seem improper. Will would die, just as they all would; the tragedy would have been for him to die before enjoying this one magnificent day with his family.
For a time, Jeffrey took Devin aside and talked to him—interviewed him—while Ken filmed them with his portable camera. The others stayed a respectful distance away, granting them their privacy, except for Billy, who delighted in making faces at his father, poking gentle fun at the solemn tone of the interview. When the interview stopped, Devin chased the boy around a tree, pretending great ire at his disrespect. In truth, Alethea thought she had never seen a sweeter love flow between two people.
In midafternoon, they set out walking again. People moved about, talking first to this person, then to another, but Alethea would have been blind not to see that Devin and Kimberly were often drawn together— he boyish and grinning, she blushing and nervous, in the first flush of their attraction. Alethea felt a sister’s unease at this flirtation, and something more than unease when Ken, the cameraman, let it drop that
Kimberly had until recently been the mistress of Andrei Denisov. Ken went on to tell her how Kimberly had left the Russian and joined the underground and that her broadcast in Omaha had paved the way for Devin’s escape.
A few minutes later, when they stopped by a stream for a drink of water, Alethea walked up to Kimberly and hugged her. When she backed away, Kimberly smiled uncertainly.
“That’s because I like you,” Alethea told her. “And because maybe we’ve got more in common than you know.”