Enigmas Unraveled ~ Section I

By Dawn

Section I, Next Section

Chapter One

Posted on Wednesday, 14 July 1999

Somewhere in Russia
November 12th 1928

Unknown History.

The freshly fallen snow made the tracks from her horse easy to follow, but this was of no concern at the moment. Due to the desolation of the area, he was certain that once free from the house no one would be aware of her location and for a short time they would be with each other without detection.

Approaching the barn his heart began to beat stronger but it was not to warm his body against the bitter chill in the air. Instead it was the anticipation of what awaited him once inside the low-pitched building and what he was going to offer her when given the chance. Vladimir had not traveled the great distance he did today to leave once more without Zoya.

Stopping outside of the stall door, he dismounted and entered with his horse trailing behind him. Inside was warm and dark with only one window available to let the weak Russian winter sun in. Temporarily blinded as his eyes adjusted, he found the hitching post and tied his horse next to hers, calling out her name while doing so.

The sound of her boots on the loose straw alerted him that she was nearing.

"I am here." A soft voice said not ten feet away.

"Have you been waiting long?" He asked in a voice just as gentle before turning to her.

"Only a few minutes."

As his sight returned, he could see the rosiness in her cheeks and took off his gloves to place his palms against them to warm her.

"You are cold, Love." Vladimir said as he kissed the tip of her nose.

"Not anymore." Was her reply as her pale blue eyes locked with his.

"Are you expected for any appointments today?"

"No, I have all afternoon to be with you. The house will be empty until evening."

Vladimir studied her expression as she spoke. Zoya appeared so at ease with her resignation that he was left with an impression believing no words he could say would get her to change her mind about staying in her current situation. But for his own sanity he must try once more and in his coat pocket was something that might produce a turning point in her unhappy resolution.

Bending down, he kissed her lips while still holding her angelic face between his hand. The love he had for her was so boundless and pure that it was a constant threat to his good judgment, but he would not be able to go through life knowing she was forever out of his reach. People would just have to accept that the match between them could not be stopped by anyone, not even the formidable Dimitri Vabka.

The kissing intensified as the sadness she concealed slipped away, and Zoya became lost in a world where all things good were possible. Vladimir's declarations of love, his tenderness and sincerity soothed the turmoil of her mind and conscience. How she wished they could always be together like this. But it was impossible and she had accepted this fact quite some time ago. If they were to leave together they would be hunted down like animals and the humiliation and public scorn for them would lend no relief or aid until they were caught and she was returned. Options were nonexistent and she would have to learn to savor the times like these to the fullest. They were all she had and although Zoya often compared them to being as dangerous as staring straight into the sun, they gave her the only hope she had in her life.

"Zoya," he murmured as the vapors from his breath hung heavily in the cold air, "I lose myself in you."

"I love you, Vladimir, without guilt or shame I do." Absolute truth escaped through her lips.

Taking his hand, she smiled prettily and led him to a pile of soft straw in the corner of the barn. Slipping off her heavy coat, Zoya opened one of the large wool blankets that she had brought from the house and laid herself down to wait for him to join her.

As had been repeated on countless occasions during the past four months, he spent a moment drinking in her form before surrendering to the heat that would override his senses and draw him back to her time and time again. He was a man almost possessed with anything Zoya. The depth was immeasurable and the pain of separation unbearable, but Vladimir held no defense against them. Any emotion Zoya stirred in him was welcome as opposed to none at all.

Zoya was life.

The utterances of lovers filled the barn with sounds not meant for the ears of others as they made love in the straw bed she had fashioned. Today they did not have to rush or worry and the rarity of these precious moments was not a point lost on the pair. These were the days they secretly wished for as they fell asleep at night without the comfort of each other's touch.

Some time later as the sun began to settle in the horizon, Vladimir brought his coat beside him while Zoya laid her head against his chest. He silently gave a little prayer he was certain God could not answer due to its nature and brought out a few folded papers and a passport.

"In my hand are credentials that I would like you to consider." Without elaborating, he handed the contraband to Zoya for her examination. Falsified documents and certificates bore the name of another woman who according to the issue fit her description. The trembling that resulted from her inspection gave Vladimir cause to worry, but only momentarily.

"I want to be with you." She said in a quiet voice before repeating her words as if they were to be written in stone as testament to her intention. "I want to be with you."

He did not answer her but allowed a low sigh of relief its freedom. They now had the means of escape and it had cost him his small life savings. Money well spent.

"Come Love, let us be off to Poland. My sister has agreed to take us in." Not able to hide his joy at her acceptance, Vladimir kissed her once again. After a time he pulled away to see his own happy expression matched by hers.

It was another twenty minutes before they left the relative comfort of the barn and headed westerly on the frozen tundra. The papers Zoya now had in possession listed her as an unmarried woman and in a gesture with dual meaning, she removed the wedding right she had worn for the past five years and dropped in the snow before spurring her horse onward.

Sunday
May 3 1999
10:42 a.m.

Home.

Charles was sitting on the floor in his study with a box William had given him full of information on the architect Frank Lloyd Wright. He had already been through half of it, separating the contents into groups relating to their topic.

Jane came to the doorway and put her hands on her hips. She suppressed the grin she was wearing, replacing it with a fake frown.

"I'm home." She announced. "Although my neglectful husband wouldn't know that. I see that once you get a wedding band on her finger, all of the wooing stops."

Charles looked over his shoulder and gave her a challenging smile.

"Boring sermon at church today?"

"Ha, my dear borderline agnostic! Don't try to use my pensive mood due to Father Raitt's inability to keep his congregation awake as an excuse for not welcoming me home."

"I don't suppose you'd forgive me this once and come over here. My legs have fallen asleep."

"It's a sure sign of old age when you can't sit on the floor for more than ten minutes without body parts dozing off." Jane kicked off her shoes and went over to sit beside him.

"I didn't hear your car in the drive." He explained as he kissed her.

"Is your hearing going, too? Poor baby, almost thirty-two and you're falling apart."

"Can you fix it, Dr. Jane?"

"I think so, but first I want to hang this dress up so it doesn't wrinkle." Jane pulled away from his embrace. "Have you found anything interesting from William's box?"

Charles shook his head.

"Not unless you find the specifications for the foundation of his former home interesting. He had a book that I didn't own, but otherwise there is nothing that we're looking for."

"I've been thinking--Maybe you're right and there is some logical explanation behind our both knowing the same story."

"Except, two things keep throwing me off. One is that you started having the dream so young. And the second is the fairy bed. You shouldn't have known about the bed being in the room."

"But it was intricate to the story. If I didn't know of the bed, the conversation they had about the fairies watching over them would not have made sense."

"Let's not give up just yet, Jane. We have nothing to lose by our search."

"Agreed. We're a strange little team, anyway."

"Why do you say that?"

"We just seem to share a lot of coincidences." She saw that he was waiting for her to explicate. "For example I was depressed, you are a psychiatrist. We both speak Polish, which is not the most common second language in the U.S. We're both Frank Lloyd Wright fanatics; you happened to live in my favorite house of his. We both acted out of character on what I consider our first date here at the house. I'm embarrassed to think about what you thought of me after I attacked you in my car."

"Are you serious?" One look at her told him she was. "Don't be. I wanted to make love to you so badly that I had to stand outside for ten minutes after you left just to get control."

"Did you?" His confession brought a smile to her face.

"Yes." Answering seriously, Charles looked into the eyes of the woman he treasured above all else as he remembered back to the moment he knew he loved her without even really knowing her.

"I wanted to, too." Jane leaned over him and gave him a kiss before continuing on. "But, everything I have listed can be explained away easily. What cannot is the shared dream."

"Where do you think this all leads? Or are you still not committing to a theory."

Jane shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know, Charles."

It had been over forty minutes since Jane had left the office to retrieve some of her summer outfits from the basement. When Charles went down to check on her because she didn't answer his call, he found her in that room asleep on the fairy bed. Jane's dress was hanging on a hanger on the door and she had a pile of clothes at the foot of the bed. He went over and moved the clothes to the dresser top before sitting down next to her. The lunch he had warmed up seemed unimportant when compared with watching his wife sleep.

Their lives were pretty hectic at the moment, and this summer it would only become more so, but all of it was manageable because they knew they had Sundays to look forward to. Other than Jane attending 8 a.m. services at the church in Oak Park, they made it a rule not to accept any outside invitations or company on this one day each week, unless it was a special circumstance. This was considered 'their day' and they didn't want to share it with anyone.

Charles brushed her hair behind her ear then bent over and kissed her. Sometimes he felt like he was bordering on insanity to love someone as much as he did Jane. It had an extent he could have never understood unless he had experienced it first. They had become so unbelievably close to one another in the six short months that they had know each other, and the two months living together as husband and wife had already taken away his memories of what life was like before.

It wasn't common what they had, and Charles knew it. Thinking back, he believed Lillian and Gregory might have been in a similar situation. He could remember a special warmth they had between them that existed even as they grew older. Lately he had begun to wonder how Lillian dealt with living for so many years without her much-loved husband. Where did she turn when she needed reassuring? Who did she have to share her fears and joys with?

He had always been there for his Grandmother, but now he realized that there is a difference between sharing yourself and intimately sharing yourself.

Charles once again kissed the cheek of Jane, this time causing her to stir. It wasn't his intention to wake her, but when her eyes focused on his and she looked him the way only Jane did, he was glad she was awake.

"Lay with me on the Fairy bed?" She asked sleepily before bring a pillow next to hers.

Charles laid down next to her, face to face.

"Do you think the fairies are watching over us, too?" He questioned lightly as he brought her hand up to his lips.

Jane's warm smile broadened.

"We could find out."

Later that day the fairy bed's head and footboard was moved to their bedroom, replacing the bed they had been sleeping in.

Chapter 2

Posted on Friday, 16 July 1999

Russia
November 15th 1928

Evil, Thy Name Is…

The silence surrounding General Dimitri Vabka could be compared to a concrete wall eight inches thick and he carried with him before him where ever he went. At the moment it was servicing him well as the eyes of the men gathered at his home betrayed the fear they were experiencing in his presence.

After what he calculated to be sufficient enough time, he spoke in his usual cold, dry manner addressing no particular man in attendance.

"I still have not an answer, therefore I will repeat my question once again. Where is my wife?"

A response was not received and for five minutes he forced the men to stand at attention and ponder their own doomed careers if he was not satisfied soon. No one crossed General Vabka--No one. He was the epitome of Soviet strength and determination coupled with a savageness that intimidated peers and betters alike. Known for his military genius, his tactics were always brutal and swift but extremely effective. This earned reputation granted him special consideration and favoritism in a society built on equality.

If General Vabka wanted to use his troops to search for his missing wife, then may they be successful.

The creaking of a door being opened broke the stillness but no one dared turn in the direction of the sound.

"You had better have information." Dimitri Vabka sneered without turning his head to identify the intruder.

A young comrade swallowed and in as strong a voice as he could muster, spoke.

"General, I do."

"Speak!" He still did not bother to recognize the man.

"General, I believe you might prefer…"

"Speak!"

"Mrs. Vabka was spotted two days ago on horseback nearing the village of Kell. She was following another rider. Once there, the horses they were riding were sold and passage was secured on a train bound for Moscow. She was traveling under the false name of Anna Grochowalski."

Purposely leaving out some of the more delicate details, the young comrade prayed General Vabka would release the other men before forcing the rest of the report out of him. Humiliating the General in front of his men would surely be a capital offense in the madman's eyes.

"Who was the other rider and what was her condition?" Refusing to form an opinion until he had the entire story, Dimitri Vabka found himself unreasonably calm.

"Franz Lesniack of Warsaw. Mrs. Vabka was in good health and did not appear injured."

"The name Lesniack is unfamiliar. Where is she now?"

"She crossed into Poland yesterday morning and her whereabouts are unknown at this time."

"You said 'she and her'. Is Mrs. Vabka now traveling alone?"

"No. From all accounts, she is still in the company of Franz Lesniack."

Without any show of emotion out of the conventional, Dimitri Vabka released all the men in the room but the messenger. An hour later after he had literally choked every piece of information out of the soldier's head, the rage that accompanied his realization of the truth boiled over into such a hatred that he could not keep himself from going into Zoya's room and destroying everything associated with her. If it took the rest of his life, he WOULD find her and drag her home where she would be taught about proper respect and reverence for a husband. But first, he vowed that she would bear witness to the death of her lover by shooting the man himself in front of her eyes.

That would teach her to betray General Dimitri Vabka.

Zoya walked down the stairs and made her way onto the first floor. Last night was the first real rest she had had since leaving her former home, and she was completely exhausted when her head finally hit the pillow. Even so, she could not help herself from waking every few hours to make sure Vladimir was still sleeping next to her. His sister's comfortable home was actually the house he grew up in, and the peacefulness of its decor made her feel welcomed as soon as she stepped over the threshold. It was decided upon that until they were able to rent a flat of their own, they would stay with Olga and lead a quiet existence safely within the four walls that Vladimir's father had designed and built many years before.

"Vladimir?" She asked before entering the small kitchen.

"No, dear." Olga answered. "He has left for work already."

"Oh. Thank you, Olga." Zoya was a bit hesitant being alone in the room with Vladimir's sister considering the circumstances surrounding her arrival, but the young woman sitting at the oval table had welcomed her with open arms last night and saw that her every need was fulfilled with the cheeriest of attitudes.

"He will return at luncheon but I will warn you now, he often brings home the designs he is working on and we may be subjected to an hours worth of talk about structural integrity, calculations, and building materials until our eyes are forced closed due to the boredom."

With a smile all her own, Zoya could think of nothing more heavenly.

Tuesday
May 18th 1999
5:16 p.m.

A Solution Of His Own.

With the index finger on his right hand, Eric Homman dug another pink pill out of his prescription bottle and dropped it right in front of him. Bending down so that his eyes were level with the desktop, he positioned the pill until it was in line with the goal he had placed. A flick of his finger sent the pill sliding across the smooth top until it flew off the side of the desk and landed in the trash can he had waiting for it.

"Two points." He said aloud before sticking his finger back in for more. The last pill was being stubborn and he couldn't get it out so he turned the bottle over on the desk and tapped it once to free it.

Hesitation stopped him from immediately repeating his actions and for a moment he just stared at the medication that for the past couple of months had done its job. But now it was more of a hindrance than help and Eric didn't need help anymore. He couldn't afford help anymore.

Today he had lost a land dispute case that should have been an easy win had he manipulated it correctly.

And he blamed the pill.

Over the course of the last two weeks three of his long term clients left him claiming they no longer required his services as their attorney.

And he blamed the pill.

That Jimmy woman Jane had hired to sue him was bearing down full force and up until now he had done almost nothing about it.

And he blamed the pill.

How could one little pink pill take away so much of his drive, ambition…Eric paused to think of another word…Fight? No, it was too high a price to pay and really, the more he thought about it the more he knew he didn't need it anyway. There wasn't a thing wrong with him that a little time wouldn't fix.

Closing his right eye, he once again lined up the pill with his target and flicked it into the trash.

"That one's for you, Jimmy! Eric Homman is back and I have a little surprise for you up my sleeve."

"Eric?" A voice from the doorway startled him and he quickly sat up in his chair.

"Hey, Craig. What do you need?"

"I'm heading home early today. My kid has a soccer match."

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow. Could you lock the outside door on your way out? I have some work to finish up and I'm not expecting anybody."

Craig nodded his head and left his partner's office. As soon as Eric's case was over and his contract ended, he was going to go to work somewhere else. Homman was just a little too volatile and his tarnished name was beginning to affect his reputation, too.

Eric looked at the clock and listened until he heard the lock catch before he stood up. He was not at all thrilled with his partner lately and part of the reason was that Craig was hiding documents pertaining to his case from him. In hindsight he realized that he probably shouldn't have asked Craig to represent him and just done it all himself, but that was neither here nor there.

At the moment all that mattered was that the cleaning people were not expected for another hour, Craig was out of the building for the day, Eric had a spare key to his office, and he was in the mood to do some hard-core snooping.

Grabbing the empty Lithium bottle off his desk, Eric tossed it into the trash before heading down the hallway with keys in hand.

"Mood swing adjusters. Ha! I need mood swing adjusters like I need a hole in the head."

Memorial Day 1999

A Day To Recognize The Dead.

With four wreaths draped on his arm, Charles slowly walked to his family's plots at the cemetery. Jane never questioned his request to do this alone. Charles was a private mourner, and she respected his need for privacy. While he was paying his respects in Oak Park, she went on her own to her grandparents' site in Naperville.

The more reflective and somber his mood became as he traveled through the rows and rows of tombstones. Death had ever been his weak spot, and although he had helped several of his own young patients through the process, for himself he could not find the right words or ideology to ease his apprehension of it.

Approaching his destination, Charles noticed someone had already been there and left two floral arrangements next to his parent's gravesites. Bending over, he read the ribbons on each; one said 'Mother' and the other 'Father'. Louisa must have already made her pilgrimage earlier this morning. He placed his own offering on their joint memorial, pausing briefly to recall the memories he had of each. For his father there were none; he had died before Charles was old enough to know him. And for his mother they were not pleasant enough to devote much time to.

Stepping back, he moved to over to the people he had actually known. To the left of his grandparents were unmarked plots that would someday be his and Jane's. He fondly remembered a conversation he and Lillian had about the area.

"I have bought the spots next to your grandfather and me at the cemetery for you and your future wife. That way I can keep an eye on you." Lillian informed Charles over breakfast. He had driven down from Detroit to spend the long Labor Day weekend with her.

Laughing at her statement, Charles shook his head.

"I'm so glad to know you don't even trust me in death!"

"Bah!" She exclaimed before rolling her eyes at him.

"And what if I don't have a 'future wife'? What am I supposed to do then? Lease out the spot?"

"No, you'll have extra room to wiggle around like you did when you were a boy."

"Babcia, if you are referring to when you use to cut my hair with those dull razor scissors, I think I had a pretty good excuse. I would hide those things when you weren't around, you know."

"And I always found them because you hid them in the same spot every time! Not very clever I must say." Lillian leaned over the table and cupped his chin. "You look like you could use a trim now. I think I know where I put my scissors. Wait here while I go get them."

"Not a chance!" Smiling broadly, he pulled free from her grasp. "Not a chance. I want to keep my ears, thank you."

Feeling a bit lighter due to the remembrance, Charles put the wreaths into position and then went about pulling some grass close to the headstone that the men who mowed had missed. There still were times four months after her death when he would catch himself thinking 'I have to tell Babcia…'

Three quarters of an hour later he started back toward his car. His mind was full of the images and sounds from days past while he mechanically walked through the neatly arranged lanes. Charles had ended his visit by recalling how he felt as he signed Lillian's death certificate. It was a mistake to end his visit so, and he promised himself that the next time he came to the cemetery he would not do that again.

Several minutes later Charles looked up to see how close he was to the road and saw that he was a good quarter-mile south of where he should have been had he been paying attention. Using his car as a marker, he turned around and headed in the right direction.

Then came to a dead stop.

It had been so close. All this time it had been so close, and yet…

Falling to his knees, tears stung the eyes of the man who never wept in public as he wrapped his arms tightly around his stomach in an attempt to control the sick feeling he had welling up inside of him. It was some time before the feeling passed, and the deep breaths he was forcing himself to take were leaving him light headed and disoriented. Turning his head to the right, he found a focal point and concentrated on it until he was well enough to comprehend what had just happened to him. But everything had all been so fast and jumbled together that he could not make sense of it.

Reaching into his shirt pocket, he removed his cell phone and dialed Jane's car. For an instant he remembered that he was on call this holiday weekend, and the fear that someone would call with a problem while he was in this state prompted him to try to talk before he was certain he could.

"Hello?"

"Jane," he whispered although he was trying to sound normal, "come to the cemetery."

"Charles? What's wrong?" He couldn't fool Jane.

"Are you close to home?"

"I'm ten minutes from town. What's wrong?" she asked again. "Is everything fine there?"

"I'm fine."

"Tell me what's wrong. Are you ill?" Jane asked for the third time as she pressed harder on the gas pedal. The traffic was surprisingly light considering it was a three-day weekend, and she took advantage of the ease to maneuver between lanes.

"I don't feel well and I need you to come see something." Charles went on to give her a brief description of where he was located, then convinced her to hang up the phone.

Seven minutes later he heard the screeching of tires and right afterward a car door slam. Jane ran over to Charles finding him exactly where he said he would be.

After his phone call to her, he had been able to compose himself respectably as long as he didn't look around. His back was leaning against a tombstone and his eyes were closed.

Jane fell in beside Charles and began wiping his sweaty brow with her hand.

"Are you sick, honey?" she soothed him. "I'll take you home."

"I had stomach cramps but I'm not sick." He admitted unsteadily. "Something just came over me and I don't think I can drive home."

"What is it then? Did you have a hard time at Lillian's…"

He was already answering her by shaking his head no. Taking her hands away from his face, Charles leaned forward.

"Look" was all that he said.

At first Jane thought he meant his back and she examined it looking for a wound or anything that would give her a clue to what it was that he wasn't telling her. When she found nothing and looked closer at where he was sitting her face became as pale as his was.

With wide eyes, she asked him two questions.

"How did you find it? Did you know it was here?"

"I didn't know." Was his response, "but we have dates and a place to go for more of the story now."

Jane tore her eyes away and looked at him seriously.

"Do you think..."

"Yes, I do."

Jane broke eye contact and stared at the object that had caused her husband to have such a strong reaction to it.

Zoya Oleksei
Cherished Wife and Friend
July 7th 1903-April 16th 1934

Vladimir Oleksei
Husband
November 2 1900- July 8 1937

From the low white walls and the church's steeple,
From out little fields under grass or grain,
I've gone away to the fairy people,
I shall not come to town again.

Lord Dunsanay

Russia
December 2 1928

Like a flash of lightening General Vabka stood up from his position on his worn leather couch clutching the blueprints for his newly-erected barracks in his hand.

Very, very slowly he allowed his suspicions to be verbalized.

"The Russian born Polish architect from Moscow who was living in the village while the construction was taking place…I'll kill you when I catch you!"

Chapter 3 ~ Bad Moon Rising

Posted on Monday, 19 July 1999

Poland
December 8th 1928

If General Vabka felt any emotion, it was not expressed as he sat in the back seat of the unadorned black Russian military-issue car. Breathing shallow and even, only an intermittent blink of an eye indicated that he was yet alive, as his focus did not move from the doorway of the Lapinski and Associates Architecture Firm.

The driver announced "One minute" and this prompted the General to raise his hand in signal to the men occupying the car behind him. A similar situation was being played out in two other locations at the same moment as the residents of Warsaw went about their daily business unaware of what was about to unfold.

With ten seconds left before the designated 'storm' time, Dimitri Vabka exited his car and was joined by four other comrades. Today was a Day of Atonement.

Franz Sobieszozyk stood in front of the drafting table of Vladimir Oleksei gazing down at the man. Like his father before him, Vladimir had a slight artistic touch to his designs and the technical ability to turn his conceptions into structurally sound possibilities. Franz knew that with time and maturity the young man would someday become sought after, therefore he was more than pleased to offer him a position when he was informed about his having left Moscow two months ago. Other than Vladimir's occasional trip back to Russia to finish up a project he had started before his departure, Franz had no complaints and now that that was over, Vladimir was free to devote all this time to the firm.

Franz was about to make a comment, when something sounding like an army marching up the steps to the second floor tore his attention to the doorway.

"Russian soldiers" he hissed with great hatred under his breath before turning his head in the direction of Vladimir to see if he recognized the unwelcome guests.

But Vladimir was gone.

Olga Oleksei stood behind the counter of the small dress shop her father had purchased for her mother several years before their death. Since the tender age of sixteen she had taken over the management of it, and although it would never generate much profit, Olga nurtured the shop like the child she would never have.

A peck of uniformed soldiers burst through the door taking no heed to disguise their arrival. Upon sight, a customer let out a high pitched scream before fainting dead away. Rushing over to aid the woman, Olga was stopped at the end of the counter by the most terrible man she had ever laid eyes on.

"The woman is of no concern." He said in a dangerous tone. "You will answer my questions."

"What do you want?" Olga replied while not taking her eyes from his pockmarked face. Yes, she was frightened close to the point of fainting herself, but the clever, clever girl remembered the plan laid out by her brother should a situation like this ever arise.

"Mrs. Vabka."

"I know of no Mrs. Vabka," her voice trembled, "please elaborate."

Olga let her fear show on purpose. She wanted the man to believe she would cooperate if only to save her own skin.

"Don't toy with me, woman!" the officer bellowed as his fist came down on the glass countertop, cracking it on contact.

"I know of no Mrs. Vabka." She began to cry to hide her anger.

"What of Anna Grochowalski?"

"Anna Grochowalski?" Olga made her eyes go wide with recognition as her true acting abilities were about to be revealed to the men surrounding her.

"Where is she? I know she was in the company of your brother. Anna Grochowalski is a criminal and is to be returned to her homeland." Leaning closer to the young woman who could not be more than nineteen years old, he lowered his voice. "You would not harbor a criminal, would you little one?"

Olga shook her head in reply and paused for as long as she thought she might get away with it. The officer grabbing her by the shoulders was her cue and she confessed all.

"She is in residence of General Kukowski here in Warsaw. He is our distant cousin and a close friend of my brother." Some of what she said was true, but only the part of General Kukowski being a distant cousin.

Twelve minutes later the soldiers vacated the shop as Olga watched their retreat with narrowed eyes.

"Pigs" she whispered before spitting on the floor.

Today was the first time since coming to Warsaw that Zoya ventured out of doors to see the city now considered her own. For one short hour she took in the sights before returning to the house to prepare for Vladimir's break for luncheon. Under the heavy camouflage of scarves and a blue coat Olga had given her, she curiously blended in with the people milling on the street in front of her residence.

"They are Russian trash." She heard uttered by a man not four feet from her. "I hear the authorities are on their way to rid us of their presence."

Oh, dear God! Vladimir!

Zoya quickly turned and started to walk back in the direction she had come from. The location where Vladimir had told her to go if they were ever discovered was still fresh in her mind, but her inexperience with the area would make his plan a slow one to follow. A strong hand stopped her escape by firmly attaching itself to her arm.

"You. Turn around."

Praying that the voice did not belong to man whom would recognize her, Zoya did as she was told.

"Where are you going?" A young Comrade stood in front of her. Though he attempted to appear intimidating, from exposure to troops Zoya knew that he was not seasoned.

"Home, Sir."

"Take off your covering." A detailed description of both Zoya Vabka and Vladimir Oleksei were given to the officers before the mission began.

Zoya removed her scarves under the close scrutiny of the military man.

Comrade Pushkin examined the blond woman before him. He knew that Mrs. Vabka could have changed her appearance, but the dark complexion and blond eyebrows on this woman did not match said description.

"Do you know of Zoya Vabka?"

"No, Sir."

"Anna Grochowalski?"

"No, Sir." Honesty was in her reply.

Without doubt, the soldier released the woman and went about his business of watching the crowd. That woman was definitely not Mrs. Vabka.

Monday
June 14th 1999
Oak Park, Illinois
3:56 a.m.

For over an hour Vladimir waited in the shadows of the underground train station on the West End of Warsaw. Alternating between praying and cursing, he was beginning to feel the growing pains of lost hope when he finally laid visuals on Zoya moving with haste through the throng of people. She had indeed become lost on her way to the station, but the friendliness of a stranger guided her in the correct direction.

As she passed blindly by him, Vladimir took hold of her hand startling a yelp out of her constricted throat.

"Zoya." He hushed. "It is I"

The relief brought on by the sound of his voice produced the first tears to be shed since the drama had begun to unfold.

"Thank God," Zoya praised as he led her back to where he was standing.

"I thought you were…" Unwilling to enunciate his darkest concern, Vladimir did not finish his sentence. "Were you followed?"

"No." Replied she as her hand went around her own neck. "Vladimir, this is far too dangerous for you now. You must leave me here, alone. There is no other choice. I cannot jeopardize your safety any more for the sake of my own heart's desire. Dimitri will never cease until he is satisfied; he is a relentless man of no conscience.

Vladimir shook his head fiercely. He would hear nothing of a separation.

"Yes." She countered sternly. "Think of yourself. Think of Olga. If you continue to be with me…any association will ruin your life, if not end it."

"Zoya, do not ever say those words again. I willingly entered into our arrangement knowing that this day might come. If I had been ignorant of the consequences of my actions, I would not have devised an escape plan. No, I will not lose you to that miscreant."

"What of Olga? She is but an innocent bystander. Shall we destroy her life in the process?"

"Olga understood the hazard before I made my last journey to Russia and beforehand we spoke of nothing else for weeks straight. She gave me her blessing, and I must place my faith in her good judgment. Our cousins the Dahlkes will keep watch over her until all is settled. On my way here I stopped off at the elder cousin's home, and he assured me that Olga would be tended to. My sister might be young, but she is strong and courageous. She would not have you return to him on her account."

Although his word touched her to the core, Zoya remained unconvinced. It was unbearable to fathom that she was destroying him with her past.

"Do you still love me?" The question he posed caught her off guard, and she could not but answer it honestly.

"You need never ask that question, Vladimir, the answer will always be the same. Of course I love you."

"Do you trust me?" His unwavering gaze never left hers. This was the test of a lifetime.

"Implicitly." Whispered, it held as more weight than if it had been shouted.

"Then take your ticket and follow me. I will get us out of Poland."

Charles stirred in his sleep, mumbling incoherent instructions into the air. Not a minute later he was fully awake with the memories of what had just played itself out in his mind. This was a new dream. Attributing it to his impatience while waiting for the Oak Park Hall of Records to send him the requested death certificates for Vladimir and Zoya Oleksei, he almost passed it off as fancy and fell back to sleep. If it had not been for a conversation he and Jane had had on their honeymoon, the full recollection of the dream might have been lost forever. But her words "I write down everything of significance right away so that I may reference it later" gave him motivation to get out of bed and head down the hall to his study.

Same day.
5:41 p.m.
Lisle, Illinois

"Can I go down to see if Chris is home?" Lydia called into the bedroom. She and Jane had taken off early from working downtown and were at her apartment for a brief stop before Lydia was to be taken home.

"Yes. If he's working you need to come back up here." Jane answered as she searched the labels on the boxes she had never unpacked since moving from Champaign. She was looking for a small collection of expensive antique plates she wanted to put in a china cabinet at home.

Lydia was out of the apartment in a flash, taking the stairs to the first floor two steps at a time. Lately she had come to the judgment that Chris wasn't as boring as she once had thought, in fact he was kind of interesting once she got to know him.

As Lydia hopped from one foot to the other waiting for Chris to open the door, she was unaware there was a pair of eyes from the parking lot intently watching her every move.

Eric Homman sat outside of Jane's apartment building in a nondescript blue rental car. He was well aware of the personal risk he was taking by being here, but after careful consideration, he decided that the need to talk to Jane was worth any possible punishment he might receive.

Everything was simply falling apart in his life and he had to do something about it now, before the downward spiral continued anymore. That woman lawyer Jane had hired was making his life a living hell. Not only did she have the audacity to freeze all of his accounts and leave him scraping for money, but also her investigation into him had all but completely ruined his reputation.

Eric knew it was time to take matters into his own hands and convince Jane that she had to stop what she was doing and let them work out this problem on their own. Jane could be reasonable; he had witnessed that in the past, although he had to admit to a bit of hesitation about what her reception would be now. Had she changed that much? Was she really so deep into revenge that she wouldn't listen to reason?

He would have to cross that bridge when he came to it, but for now he knew he had to reach her one way or another and let her hear his side of the story. The telephone was not an option; she would just hang up on him. This meeting had to be done face to face.

That dark headed girl did throw a wrench into his thought-out plan. He reckoned it might be one of her sisters, but he wasn't totally sure. Hopefully Jane didn't have a roommate living with her. If that were the case, he would just have to go to plan B and follow her around until he found a place where they could talk without being interrupted.

For the moment Eric waited, watched, and dwelled on what had brought him to this position in the first place, as he slugged down more of the amber liquid wrapped discreetly in a paper bag.

He had always thought of himself as the type of person other people liked, but ever since leaks about his upcoming trial surfaced, the people he had once regarded as his advocates, especially those of his own social circle, were beginning to shun him. The invitations to parties and dinners dwindled down to nothing, the offers for a round a golf with the town's elite were nonexistent, and he could hear the whispers going on behind his back. The life that he had worked so hard to build, the image he had perfected to a point of being exactly what he wanted (less Jane) disappeared in the blink of an eye, and unless he did some damage control now, it might be irreversible later on.

"Damn it!" echoed throughout the car. Why couldn't have he and Jane worked things out between them? Why did it take him so long to see what he was throwing away by screwing around on her? And why the hell did she pick this point in her life to become so damn stubborn?

Something else that made Eric incensed was that just seeing Jane brought back all the old feelings he had once had for her. She was still the beautiful woman he had fallen in love with all those years ago, and right now, if Jane would act even a little bit interested, he'd forget all the pain she had put him through recently and take her back in a heartbeat.

More than ever he missed her soft voice letting him know that everything was going to be all right. He needed Jane to fix what was broken, especially since it was she who broke it in the first place. Why hadn't she just come to him? He would have given her the money and then it would not have blown up into this huge ass ordeal it was now. This wasn't good for either of them. If only…

Movement brought Eric's attention to the front of the apartment building and he slid down in his seat so he wasn't seen. It was Jane and she was going to the apartment downstairs that the other woman had entered.

"Hi Chris." Jane said as she gave him a hug. "I can't stay. I need to run an errand and get home."

Jane stepped back from him and gave him a once over. Chris had a light tan from the walking he had been doing and his muscles were starting to tone up. "You look healthy!"

"I feel healthy. Actually, I feel like a 20 year old should." A little embarrassed, he leaned over and gave Jane a peck on the cheek. Chris had made great strides in his battle with taking the weight off and although he still had a way to go, he was going to make it.

"Where's Lydia?" Jane asked as she looked around the apartment.

"She's in the computer room. I was showing her a graphics program, and she's playing with it."

"I'd better get her."

"Well," Chris stammered, "I think she wants me to ask if she can stay and I'll take her home. She's working on adding color to a logo I made. I'll have her call home and make sure it is okay with your parents, if it's fine with you."

"It's fine with me. Have her let them know where she is. I really should run."

"Tell Charles I said 'hello'."

"I will." Jane walked over to the computer room door. "Good-bye, Lydia."

"Bye, Jane," she answered back without looking up. "I'll see you tomorrow at work."

Jane left the apartment smiling and got into her car. She didn't see two things as she left the complex. One was Lydia running out of Chris's apartment to catch her because she had left her purse in Jane's car, and the other was the blue sedan that pulled out right behind her.

Lydia stood on the sidewalk yelling at her sister, but it was for naught. As she noticed the car behind Jane, she recognized the face of the driver right away.

"ERIC!" Lydia called as the car passed her. The driver turned and looked straight at her, but said nothing.

It took her about five seconds to piece together the bits and pieces of conversation she had heard over the past few months, and Lydia knew something wasn't right.

"Oh, crap!" She ran back into Chris's apartment bursting through the door. "Chris!"

"What?" Startled, he came out of the kitchen.

"I just saw Jane's ex-husband! I don't think he is supposed to be near her." Lydia had absolutely no skepticism about who she saw. She remembered his face clearly.

"Where is he?" Chris rushed for the door.

"In a blue car right behind her."

"She's gone?"

"Yes."

"I'm going after her. Call Charles and lock the door behind me." Chris found his car keys. "Don't let anyone in."

"I won't." She had never seen Chris move so fast as he was right now.

"Did he see you looking at him?"

"Yes."

"Lydia, after you talk to Charles, call your mother and have her pick you up. I don't want you to be in any danger."

She nodded her head, but didn't answer.

"Lock the door." He called as he ran to his car in a desperate attempt to catch Jane before she got on the highway.

Lydia did as she was told. After locking the door behind him, she followed his instructions and called Charles.

Charles laid the piece of paper he was reading down on his desk at home and looked at his sister sitting across from him.

"Did Caroline say when she was going to sell the jewelry?"

"This Friday, unless I wanted to buy any of it first. Other than the ruby ring, I'm really not interested in the other pieces."

Charles added up the cost of remaining quantity in his head. "Would you be willing to make the purchase for me? I don't think she would sell to me directly, and I want to keep them in the family."

Louisa nodded her head. She was embarrassed about her sister unloading the jewelry Lillian and Charles had given her, but Caroline wanted to invest in some vegetarian fast food restaurant venture and needed all the cash she could get her hands on.

"Thank you for giving me this chance." Charles took a checkbook out of his desk drawer and drew her up a draft.

"You're welcome. I thought it would only be right." Louisa looked around the room a little uncomfortably. "Do you expect Jane soon?"

"Yes. Why don't you stay for dinner?" Charles looked up and smiled as he handed her the check. "She shouldn't be much longer, and Iris left a Shepherd Pie in the oven."

"Oh, thank you, but no. I haven't unpacked from the weekend yet and I'm tired. But the offer was kind."

"Were you away for the weekend?"

"Yes," she admitted slowly. "I met a friend at the cabin."

"Anyone I know?"

Now it was Louisa's turn to smile as a natural blush spread across her cheeks.

"Yes, you do. Your friend from Detroit, Henry Hurst…"

The ringing of the phone interrupted her and Louisa insisted that he answer it.

"Hello?"

"Charles, I saw Eric." Wasting no time, Lydia got right to the point.

"Are you sure? Where? When?" Just the mention of Jane's ex-husband's name sent him into full alert.

"Following Jane in a blue four-door car about three or four minutes ago." Her voice was shaky and she was honestly frightened.

"Where is Jane?" Charles looked over at his sister with an expression of disbelief. Sensing his anxiety, Louisa stood up and moved over to his side. She knew something was terribly wrong.

"I think she is on her way home, but she was going to stop somewhere first."

"WHERE?" Wanting all of the information without having to ask, he was unable to control his tone.

"I don't know, she didn't say." Lydia began to cry, which was not a good thing for Charles.

"Okay, calm down. I'll call her cell phone. Hold on while I use the other line." He picked up the other phone and began to dial. Charles had a phone to each ear

"Come on," he said out loud. "Pick up."

Hearing a click on the other end of the line; Charles started to talk right away.

"Jane, you need to listen to me. There is…"

Then he fell silent and listened to the prerecorded message, completely defeated.

"...The customer you have dialed is either out of range or unavailable."

Unnaturally calm, he laid the other receiver into its cradle and returned his attention to Lydia.

"Lydia, where are you?"

"At Chris's. Jane stopped by her apartment and gave me a ride."

"All the way in Lisle." This wasn't a question, but a nightmare. Jane had too many miles to go that held too many possibilities.

"Yes."

Charles leaned his head back and looked up to the ceiling. Jane was out on the highway with a possible psycho following her and there was no way for him to warn her. If he only knew what errand she was going to do, he would at least be able to get help to her…but he didn't.

"Call your parents and tell them that if Jane shows up there, not to let her leave. Do it now."

Charles hung up the phone and grabbed some phone books off a shelf. Handing one to Louisa, he told her to look up the phone number of the police station in Oak Park, while he searched for the number in Lisle.

Jane was deep in thought as she traveled down the highway in heavy rush-hour traffic. The errand she was supposed to run to the dry cleaners was forgotten. This lapse of memory was a blessing in disguise.

"She didn't say where she was going, Charles," Elizabeth answered from the phone in her bedroom. William was on the same line downstairs in the office. "Is there anything we can do?"

"No. I need to get off of the phone in case she is trying to call." With that Charles hung up and Elizabeth ran down to William.

"What do you think?" she asked him nervously. "I say we get the hell out of here and go looking for her!"

"I don't know, Liz. It will be impossible to find her on the highway at this hour." William could not fathom what his friend was going through as different scenarios of what could happen began to flood his mind. If it was Elizabeth in Jane's place…

"If only she had a beeper like the rest of us. But her job doesn't require one." Elizabeth became angry at herself remembering back to when Jane asked her if she needed to wear a beeper, and she had told her 'no' in a condescending manner. "Will, there has to be something we can do. Eric will hurt her if he gets to her."

"What makes you so certain?" Her statement disturbed him. "Has he done so before?"

"No. To my knowledge he has never touched Jane, but believe me, he has it in him. Please, even if you think it is impossible, let's go to the highway and look for Jane. We can't let this happen."

"I'll get the car keys, and you write a note in case Jane shows up here. We'll sit on the exit for I-290 and see if she passes by."

"Thank you, Will."

Eric pulled his car up to the curb down from where Jane pulled into a driveway. He had no idea where they were but took a guess that this was either one of her sister's homes or that of a friend. This was his opportunity and he was going to take it. After all the effort he had used in pursuing her this far, he wasn't going to give up now.

"Dang." Jane cursed aloud in her car as the garage door closed. She had just remembered that she had forgotten the dry cleaning and would have to ask Charles to get it tomorrow morning before he went to work. Shifting the box she had brought from her apartment, she reached for the door handle but it opened for her.

"Thank you, dear. Would you take this?" She asked as she handed him her briefcase and purse from her left hand. Charles often met her in the garage on nights when he was the first one home.

Jane took hold of the box and got out of the car, closing the door with her elbow.

"I thought maybe we could…"

The next sound heard in the garage was a box of antique display plates crashing to the ground.

"Hello, Jane." Eric put her briefcase down and picked up the box she had just dropped. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

Jane didn't answer him but stood very still.

He shook the box and put it on the hood of her car before moving within two feet of her.

"Was that your plate collection?" he grimaced. "I'm sorry. I know how much you liked them."

Even though his being near made her want to run for the door as fast as she could, Jane could only continue to stare. Her body would not respond to the mental command to flee she was sending it.

"Jane, you can say something. I'm not going to harm you." Reaching over, he took her right hand in his. "I just wanted to talk to you—nothing more. Everything has gotten a little out of hand between us, and I wanted to see if you and I could settle our differences without any outside influences. I know you don't want a messy court procedure any more than I do. Will you talk to me?"

Eric's tone was both soft and nonabrasive. He was hoping to reach the shy, sympathetic woman he once lived with. The very one who would never purposely hurt anyone if she could avoid it. He knew she still existed somewhere inside of Jane. When she didn't respond, he decided to take advantage of the situation to get even closer to her. Maybe if Jane could really see the difference in him, she would give him a chance to plead his case to her without any harsh words or accusation being thrown around. Slowly he raised his free hand up to tuck her hair behind her ears in a loving gesture he often portrayed when they were married. She was so pleasing.

Being a prisoner of her own body, Jane silently cried out for Charles to come and help her when she felt Eric fingering her face. His car was right next to hers, so she knew Charles was home, and Louisa's was in the drive. But with all of the doors closed, Jane realized that they couldn't see her, let alone hear her if she screamed. Jane was on her own and the fear held her immobile.

Eric smiled and told her a lie.

"You look very pretty with your hair down." He had never liked it that way. Eric was about to kiss her on the cheek when he noticed a faint, red mark on the side of her face near the hairline. He ran his index finger over the scar.

"Don't touch me!" Jane found her voice. It was unsteady, but it was loud.

"Sorry." He removed his left hand from her face but still held onto her with his right one.

"Eric, leave now. You're not supposed to be in contact with me."

"Jane, please. I'm not doing anything wrong. I'm just here to see if you and I can act like adults and save us some embarrassment. I have no idea where your fear of me came from. I've never done anything to warrant it, have I? I'm begging you, let's talk."

Shaking her head no, she tried to remove her hand from his but couldn't because he tightened his grip. Using her left hand, she began to pry his fingers away when he stopped her.

"Jane, what has gotten...into…you? Eric lifted his hand and looked down. Something was pressing deeply into his palm.

The diamond on her finger caught what little light that was coming from the garage door opener's security bulb and Eric was mesmerized as he studied it. Ever so slowly the reality of what was before him seeped in.

"You're not married are you?" Fighting with the weakness of his own denial, Eric waited for her to answer him, but she did not.

Use of her perception alerted Jane that admitting the change in her status at this time could prove to be a hazardous move. It was the way Eric was looking at her--with a gleam that could surely turn to hatred if provoked. There were a few times near the end of their marriage when he wore the same expression, but she had been able to avoid allowing his anger to build by bowing to his wishes and apologizing for any wrong that had made Eric turn on her. How she was going to get out of this predicament now she had no idea.

Jane chose to remain silent, believing this to be the best method.

It was not.

"JANE!" Eric bellowed as he demanded an answer. "Are you married?"

For the first time since entering the garage, he took a moment to really look around. There were two cars in the building, hers and another. Tools were lined up on a bench, but really, this could be nothing. What Eric wanted was proof since she wouldn't tell him. With his free hand he leaned over and pulled some papers out of her briefcase, all the while maintaining his firm hold on Jane.

The proof he was after was on the top page. It was a memo for Jane Bingley. A sick, sick feeling rested itself in the pit of his stomach, and for a short time Eric almost considered leaving. But, now more than ever, he needed to get her to come around to his way of thinking.

"So, did your husband put you up to this? Was suing me all his idea?" Sneering, Eric pulled her against him and wrapped his arm around her waist so she could not get away. Whatever plan he had come to Chicago with was now gone and he was acting out from only emotion.

"You couldn't even wait a year? Damn Jane, you knew how I felt about you, and yet you ran out and probably married the first stupid b*stard who asked. After all I have done for you? After all of the years I took care of you, and put up with your ways? This is how you repay me?" He drew breath and continued to berate her in a strong, threatening voice that sent chills throughout her with every word.

"Now it is my turn to give you one warning." Eric used a phrase she had said to him months ago against her.

"Drop the lawsuit tomorrow, or I'll do everything in my power to make sure this sweet little life you now have is turned to dust. Do you understand me? Don't think that I can't do it, you know me better than that. Say it, say you agree."

Jane cringed back as he came face to face with her. There was absolutely no way for her to get free from him; she didn't even have the room to knee him. As Eric's heavy breath made contact with her, she could smell alcohol. This was when Jane decided to give him the answer he wanted, even if she did not she mean it. All she had to do was to sound convincing.

"I will do what ever you want." Her meek response seemed to give him a little relief.

"How do I know you are telling me the truth?"

"Because I know what you can do." She replied mechanically.

Eric examined her closely and determined that she was indeed telling the truth.

"Oh, Jane. Why didn't you wait for me? I waited for you. It isn't too late, you can leave him and come back home with me." Eric swung her around and pinned her against the car. "Don't you still love me? Just a little?"

Without waiting for an answer, Eric kissed her full on the lips, afterwards pulling back to look into her eyes. They were full of tears. He mistook them for tears of regret.

"Let's go somewhere and talk about this. Just you and me, I'm really not in the mood to meet that man you are married to tonight." Switching grips faster than Jane's reflexes could react, he began to lead her to the door. "I'm going to trust you not to yell or try to run off. You know I wouldn't do anything to hurt you, but I think it is time for us to have a serious heart-to-heart. "

"No, please Eric, I…" Jane was trembling so hard she thought she might be ill. "I'll drop the lawsuit, but I don't want to go with you."

"No, that will not do. I don't want to talk here. That husband of yours might try to change your mind. Let's go somewhere quiet and discuss what we're going to do. Trust me, I know this is best. I have my car parked nearby."

Charles was in his study on the private phone line giving information to the State Police when Louisa went to the front door because she thought she had heard a noise. A frantic Dale Bennet calling for information on his daughter had temporarily disrupted her duty as lookout. Opening the heavy wooden door she looked out she didn't see anyone. But, there was a blue sedan that wasn't there a few minutes ago parked down the block. She next went to the back door to check if Jane's car was in the drive and noticed the garage light shining through the window.

"CHARLES!" Louisa yelled up the stairs.

His response time could be measured in seconds.

Chapter 4 ~ You can't protect everyone. This isn't possible

Posted on Tuesday, 20 July 1999

Whatever happened next was so quick that Jane did not fully register what she witnessed. She was about two feet from the door, with Eric practically dragging her to it, while she continued to struggle with him, when in the next instant she felt him release his iron grip from her before he fell to the ground. Charles was now on sitting Eric's back holding his arms behind him in a position that rendered Eric unable to move.

"Jane, are you hurt?" Charles looked her over as he pulled on Eric's arms tighter than he needed to.

She shook her head 'no' in his direction before her eyes locked with Eric's.

Seeing her fear and confusion, Charles knew he needed to get Jane out of the garage. "Go on into the house. Louisa is calling the police and this will all be over in a minute. Go on, Jane. I can handle it."

"Tell him what you told me." Eric cried. "Tell him that you don't love him; that is me you want."

"Liar!" Charles lifted Eric partially off the concrete floor and shoved him back hard against it. "Leave her the hell alone!"

"Jane, look at me." She lifted her eyes from Eric to her husband. "He's not going to get away. You can go inside to Louisa now. I'll follow you as soon as the police have him."

"Are you sure?" She asked hoarsely while Eric began to struggle to free himself.

"I love you." Eric choked out as the pain in his shoulders became almost intolerable, even in his drunken condition. "Don't forget your promise!"

The promise, for which Jane had no intention of keeping when she made it, was that she would drop the lawsuit and give Eric an opportunity to explain himself and his actions. The latter part was totally out of the question. After spending an eternity with him in the garage as she bore witness to his wrath, Jane was without doubt that he would find a way to break her to his will if given the chance.

But, dropping the lawsuit was now an option.

If she didn't do as he asked, then the threats he made when she refused to leave with him would surely come to pass. Eric was bordering on insane, if he had not crossed over already. For the protection of Charles and herself, she would have to follow through on his instructions. The money Eric had stolen from her was no longer worth it and the price of justice too high. Let someone else take him on, someone with less to lose. Eric had given her a taste of what he was capable of, and Jane had not the inner or outer resources to fight him with.

Jane looked back down at the man who for eight years she had shared her life with. Physically she recognized him, but she did not know who he was. When they had first married, he was a totally different person, but hidden deep within him must have always been this imbalance, that as the years passed took over his personality and turned him into the unstable man he now was. How he hid it for so long could have been deemed a mystery to her had she not turned a blind eye to his actions for so long.

She knew what she had to do.

Jane would call forth the Peacemaker to fix everything that was wrong. She would have Jimmy drop the suit and take her share of the blame for all that had happened by spreading the word among her friends in Champaign that she was wrong. This was the only way she would be able to retain the life she had. Jane would never go back to Eric, but if she could pacify him well enough to get him to leave Charles alone, she would do almost anything else.

"I will not." She told him, answering both of his requests with a single sentence. She would not go home with him. She would not forget her promise to drop all legal action against him. Believing she was only addressing his demand to be let off the hook, Eric gave her a twisted grin and stopped struggling. He had won half of what he wanted and now believed that someday he would win her, too.

The Jane he remembered was back!

"Jane!" Charles raised his voice. He realized a pact was being made right before his eyes. "Go in the house!"

If she had not been standing so close and able to see everything, Charles would have beaten Eric's head on the floor until he was no longer able to talk, let alone think. The rage he had been containing since he received word that Eric was following Jane was bubbling to the surface, and right or wrong, he wanted the worthless scum he was sitting on to suffer for what he had done. Never in his life had Charles hit another person out of anger, but by God he could not think of a more deserving situation than this one. He wanted to hurt him, hell, he wanted to do more than that, and if he could get Jane to leave…

Sirens in the distance caused Jane to turn her head away from both men; and the wide red mark about the size of a palm on her cheek sent hot blood rushing through Charles. When she turned around, Jane knew what he was looking at and involuntarily lifted her hand to the bruised skin. At the same moment Louisa appeared in the doorway and quickly took in what was before her.

"Get her out of here!" Charles ordered his sister.

Louisa placed her arm in Jane's and confidently began to talk to her as she lead her away from the scene. The police would be in the affluent neighborhood any time now.

Charles and two police officers entered the house through the back door. Louisa met them a few steps in and quietly informed Charles that Jane was upstairs in Lillian's former bathroom changing her shirt. He excused himself to go get his wife with a sinking feeling that Jane was not going to be cooperative. Before starting up the stairs, he went into the kitchen to wash off his hands. When the officers had questioned him about the beaten condition of Eric, he calmly explained that Eric was trying to get away from him to run after his wife. The officer simply nodded his head and accepted what he knew to be a possible lie at face value. Dr. Bingley had done what he would have if in the same place, and he would safeguard the man in what he considered to be a just and fair act.

The door to Lillian's room was unlocked, but the one to the bathroom wasn't. Charles knocked lightly and asked Jane to let him in. He just looked at her for a moment taking note of the changes in her since she came into the house. She had put on a clean long-sleeved shirt and a fresh coat of makeup. The red mark he had observed in the garage was no longer easily visible to the naked eye. His suspicions were founded; Eric had done something to Jane that made her want to hide the damage he had inflicted on her. Fighting the reemergence of his need to go back out to the squad car and finish what he had started on Eric, Charles swallowed his selfish urge for reparation and focused his attention on getting through to Jane without frightening her anymore than she was. He could not allow her to stay this way for long.

Without saying a word he put his arms around her and held her against his chest. Charles had to admit to himself that he had never been as anxiety-ridden as he was today, and right now he was doing everything in his power not to show it. This was not for satisfaction of ego to appear manly, but because Jane was going to need someone impenetrable to lean on.

"How are you? Are you all right?"

"Yes, just a little shaky. Is he gone?" Please, let him be gone.

"No, they have him detained in a squad car. We need to go downstairs and talk to the officers. They want an account of what happened so they can charge him."

Jane stiffened against him. No arrest. She knew this was going to be the next step, but there had to be a way for her to stop it or at least not let it go through to the end. Her mind began to race as she thought about her options. Jane prayed that Charles would understand, and maybe someday, when she was certain that Eric would never bother them again, she would explain it to him. Keeping confidences from her husband was something Jane had never done before.

The trembling returned as she mulled over too many questions in need of answers at once. What would Charles's reaction be when she informed him of her plan to drop the lawsuit? How she was going to persuade the officers in her home that Eric wasn't threatening her but only there to talk? And how she was going to live with the division that would surely happen between her and Charles once she did everything she had to do?

They had always been honest and open with each other, so trusting and close. What other alternative did she have? She brought this problem to their doorstep and she would have to be the one to dispose of it. It went beyond the preservation of his person and spread to his reputation and standing in the community. Having his good name drug through the mud because it was now connected to hers and the mess she was in was unacceptable. Out of love Jane would make a deal with the Devil to shield Charles, in fact she already had.

"I…I am going to use the restroom. Why don't I meet you downstairs?" Jane needed to be brave; she needed to maintain appearances.

"Before I leave will you tell me what happened in the garage?" Charles pulled back from her and softly rubbed her shoulders while examining her cheek without her noticing. When he looked closely he was able to see the faint discoloration in the spot he noticed before. Putting on the best performance of his life, Charles pretended not to notice. He would wait for Jane to tell him about it.

"Nothing really. He just wanted to talk about the lawsuit."

The Victim protecting the Predator, he thought.

"Jane, did he threaten you while you were out there? It's okay for you to tell me."

"No, he only asked me questions about what I had planned. He wanted us to reach a settlement and offered to…there really wasn't time to say much before you came in."

"What was the promise he said you made?" Charles knew she was lying, but he kept his voice low and steady so he would not intimidate her. Reaching down for her hands, he paused for a brief moment.

"Where's your wedding ring?"

Jane panicked and it was mirrored in the quickness of breath she adopted as soon as he noticed her ring missing. There was no way she was going to tell him that Eric had taken it from her finger and threw it across the garage after he decided that she was going to leave her husband 'now'.

"It must have fallen off in the garage. I'll find it. Please, I really need to use the restroom. I'll be down, just go." Jane pushed him out the door and he allowed her to. This was already not going as she had wanted it to, and she had no idea how she was going to be able to fool the police, if she was having trouble just answering her husband's questions. Charles was too observant and he knew her too well. She needed to get him out of the bathroom before she broke down, because this was something Jane was not going to allow to happen.

Officer McMillian and Charles were talking quietly on the couch as they waited for Jane to come downstairs with Louisa. Charles had never been as grateful for his sister as he was today; she had been an enormous help to both him and Jane.

"You were right about the alcohol level." Officer McMillian admitted. "We goaded Homman until he agreed to take a breathalyzer and his level was way over the legal limit. The man is plastered."

"I thought so."

"Right now we're looking at his breaking the restraining order, assault, and breaking and entering. I can't guarantee that he won't be out on bail soon, because he probably will, but we can detain him at least for a while so you can get the security in place. We really need your wife to tell us everything so we can build a solid case."

"We'll have to see how she is when she comes down. She's scared."

"Even if she doesn't admit to physical harm, if she tells me that he verbally threatened her, we can still use the assault charge."

Both men looked up as Jane entered the room.

"Jane, this is Officer McMillian. He is here to take a statement."

"Hello." She answered unemotionally as she reached out and shook his hand before sitting down next to Charles. Jane then proceeded to tell lie after lie while appearing collected and unreadable.

Did he threaten your safety or the safety of someone you know?

No.

Did he touch you in any manner that would constitute a violent action?

No.

Did he hold you against your will and not allow you to leave the garage?

No.

Did he purposely try to frighten or surprise you?

No.

Did he try to get you to make an agreement with him in exchange for anything?

No.

Did he say he would harm you or anyone you know if you did not cooperate with him?

No.

Are you protecting him right now by answering these questions untruthfully?

No.

Did you invite him into the garage?

Jane paused before answering this question.

Yes.

Charles, whose frustration level was through the roof at this time exchanged glances with the officer. Other than Eric violating the restraining order, they had nothing. Not even trespassing. With Eric's clean record, and Jane's false testimony, he'd be a free man in a few short hours.

"Jane," Charles turned and looked her straight in the eye. He didn't want to do this, but he had the opinion that if they didn't do everything in their power to get Eric safely behind bars, he would be back for her. Eric had said some nonsense in the garage after she had left that led him to the conclusion.

"Will you roll up the sleeves of your shirt and take off your makeup?"

"What?" She couldn't believe Charles had asked her to do that in front of the officer. And if she did, the truth would be out in the open. "Are you calling me a liar?"

Charles didn't answer, but continued to stare her down. He wasn't going to let her let Eric get away with what he had done, even if Jane was willing to. The man was too dangerous.

"No, I will not!" Jane faced the officer as she stood. "Do you need anything else?"

"I think we covered everything. If I need anything else, I'll give you a call." He watched her walk away while he was in mid-sentence.

"How long can you hold Homman?" Charles asked without removing his eyes from Jane as she climbed the stairs. He didn't have a plan at the moment, but he needed a time frame to work within.

"With what I have? Two hours to process at best."

"If you add the trespassing charge?"

"A little longer, but she says she invited him in. It won't stick."

"But you could push it through for now and buy a little more time?"

"Yes. I could start to process a trespassing charge to stall for a while, but I can't file it."

"I'll talk to her and see if I can get her to tell me what really happened."

The officer handed him his card and they both walked out together. Even though Charles really could not spare the time, after the police left, he went into the garage to search for Jane's ring. This was something that he had to do, and the decision was motivated by the need to right at least one wrong that had happened today.

Inside of him a turbulent wash of emotion that he had been fighting to contain since Lydia's phone call. Releasing some of the aggression on Eric only momentarily eased the pressure. Spying a red spot on the floor where Eric had been laying, his stomach churned a little and he knew he had to remove it before Jane came back into the garage.

Charles took a rag from the tool bench and threw it on the ground to cover the blood. With his shoe, he pushed it around to clean the area, not touching the rag until he was finished.

He had hit a man. He had hit a man out of anger. Studying the hand he had used, he knew that if given the chance--he would do it all over again. And this was very out of character for Charles Bingley.

He stopped himself from thinking about Eric and started looking for the ring. While searching the floor, he paused to put her paperwork back into her briefcase and wondered about the explanation Jane would have for it being scattered on the ground. Whatever it was, he knew for certain that it would not be Eric's fault. In fact, according to her testimony, nothing was Eric's fault. She made it sound like they were just having an almost friendly conversation in the garage and nothing more. What Charles needed to know was why she was doing it?

Had Jane lost faith in him to a point where she could not tell him what happened to her? Is this why she covered for Eric when the officer was questioning her? Did she somehow blame him for not being able to keep her safe? He had never known her to withhold anything from him before. Why would she start now?

Obviously Jane had come home while he was upstairs writing down instructions from the State Police. Charles had heard the other phone line ring twice before it stopped. Louisa must have moved away from the front door to answer it. Damn it!

He blew it and he blew it big. There was no excuse for Jane having to spend more than one second alone with Homman…except incompetence on his part! If he would have been waiting in the driveway instead of on the phone, she wouldn't have gone through any of …

Allowing his mind to continue in this direction of thought, Charles got down on his hands and knees to continue the search for the ring. It was several minutes before he was able to locate it.

Reentering the house, Charles said good-bye to Louisa and thanked her for all she had done before heading up to their bedroom. Time was ticking away.

After making a stop at a closet in a spare room, Charles opened the door to their bedroom. He found Jane sitting in a chair looking out the window.

"I brought you this." Charles said just above a whisper as he put a long sleeved nightgown of hers on the bed. "If you're determined to continue this charade, then you're going to need to hide the marks from me at night, too."

Jane had nothing to say in reply and remained as impassive as when he found her. But have no doubt that his words tore her apart inside. He all but came right out and told her that he knew she was lying to him, but he didn't sound angry. Looking up briefly, she was unable to distinguish his expression. Hurt? Concerned? Jane couldn't tell because she had never seen him look like that before.

God, what am I doing to him?

"Your ring was under my car." He opened her hand and put the ring that had not been removed since the wedding ceremony back on her finger. Jane had never in her life felt as unworthy as she did at that moment.

"I'm going to ruin your life." This was Jane's darkest suspicion and she was not exaggerating when she admitted it. She truly believed that the filth associated with her would be the downfall of Charles.

In a chair sat a woman who had just gone through an experience that no person should ever have to face, yet those were the words out of her mouth. She had found blame and guilt where there was none, and shouldered it without a second thought. Jane knew Eric had done wrong by showing up at her house, but if she had divorced him earlier, or waited to marry Charles, or done something different, today might not have happened.

"How can you say that?" Charles knelt beside her. "How can you even think that?"

She didn't respond.

"Do you think I can only love you when everything is perfect?" He tried to get her to turn her face at him, but she wouldn't. "Jane, please say this isn't what you really think of me."

"You know I don't."

"Tell me that you believe I'll be here for you through the bad times, too."

"I totally trust you."

"Then why?"

She wouldn't answer.

Charles stood up. He needed to go clear his head and regain his focus. After reaching the door, he turned to look at her once more.

"If you trust me so much, why would you lie to me?" The division between them was set.

As she watched Charles close the door behind him the first inkling that she had made the wrong choice entered Jane's mind, but it passed quickly.

William and Elizabeth sat at the exit for over an hour. Elizabeth had taken off her seat belt early on and moved over to his side of the car where he wrapped his arm over her shoulder.

Checking her watch, she realized it was after 7 p.m. When they had first arrived, they had checked in with Charles every five minutes, but this was making him nervous so Elizabeth gave him her phone number for him to call when he had information. He never called back.

"Surely Charles has heard from Jane by now." She said as she took her cell phone out of the glove box. "I'm going to find out what is going on."

Elizabeth dialed and waited for someone to answer. It took six rings before Charles answered although he was sitting next to the phone.

"Yes?" he asked flatly. Not four minutes earlier Chris had called, and before that the Bennets. For a man trying to sort out what was happening under his own roof, Charles was having to deal with a barrage of concerned people wanting intimate details he was not prepared to give.

"Is she there?"

"Jane is home. Eric was following her."

"What happened?"

Charles briefly explained the situation to her trying not to give away too much, but the longer he talked to Elizabeth, the easier it was for him to open up. Charles admitted to her what he believed really took place with the understanding that she would not repeat it to anyone, including Jane. He didn't want his words to be used against his wife, but right now he desperately needed outside advice.

"Put Jane on the phone."

"She may not talk to you, so don't take it personally. She's been through a traumatic experience and has shut down." Saying this out loud made Charles feel ashamed about what he said to Jane in their bedroom. "I shouldn't have laid the guilt on her. She didn't need anymore pressure, and I poured it on."

"Like hell you shouldn't have! Eric's going to walk if she doesn't get down there and put a stop to it." Elizabeth tilted her head and looked at William with a troubled expression. She knew of one way to get Jane to do what needed to be done, but there would be a lot of pain associated with it on all sides if she related what transpired back in 1992.

Elizabeth took hold of William's hand and made a choice. She only prayed that it wouldn't take the entire story to convince Jane to take action.

"Charles, please, give Jane the phone."

"Be easy on her, will you? Elizabeth, I'm serious. No raising of voices or arguing, it could do more damage than good."

"I promise."

While Charles was taking the phone into Jane, Elizabeth covered the mouthpiece and looked up at William. She wasn't quite sure how to phrase the request she was going to make of him, or how he would receive it.

"Do you want me to go stand outside while you talk to your sister?" There was no undertone of resentment or jealousy in his voice, only a thoughtful cast upon his face. He also just read her mind.

"Reason five hundred and one as to why I'm so glad to be marrying you. I'd rather tell you this in my own way, but not right now. Do you understand?"

"I do." Honestly, he did.

Posted on Tuesday, 20 July 1999

10 Minutes Later.

Jane stopped right inside the doorway of his study, not waiting for acknowledgment before she began to speak.

"Eric made several different threats today. The worst came right before you found us and they concerned you. He told me that for every ounce of suffering he did, he would make sure you endured twice as much…if not more. He then proceeded to remind me that accidents happen everyday, and how his life and my own would be so much easier if you were out of the picture. I already knew that he wanted the lawsuit dropped, and had agreed to do so. But, Eric added another stipulation: He wanted me to leave with him and return home. I wouldn't. Then we...struggled." In a bland businesslike manner, Jane gave Charles the facts without looking up from the floor.

"Call the officer, and I'll tell him the truth," she continued on. "But, if anything happens to you because of what I am about to do, I'll never forgive myself."

Jane turned around and left the room without waiting for a response, leaving her husband speechlessly staring behind her. He now understood that every lie she had told was to protect him.

Charles picked up the phone and let Officer McMillian know that they would be over to give another statement. He was having a difficult time concentrating on what was being said by the man, but he did hear McMillian tell him that they had Eric under control, and if Charles and Jane needed a little time before coming down to the station, it would not pose a problem.

The officer must have been an intuitive man, because time was exactly what they needed. Charles found her in the bedroom, but this time she had changed into a slacks and lightweight blazer with a tank top under it. Jane bravely tried to give him some sort of reassuring greeting, but it didn't come out right so she went back to her unreadable mask. It was easier for her to keep her courage up by wearing it.

Awkward silence hung between them for the first time since they had been married. The Jane who had allowed him to read all of her dream journals and the Charles who had told her of his long term ambitions in life did not know what to say.

Charles took off his shoes and removed a clean shirt from the closet. "I have the security people coming tomorrow at 11:00 a.m. to update our system and counsel us on what we should do." He placed the hanger on the doorknob and sat on the bed. "Will you sit next to me?"

Jane shyly nodded her head and took a place close to him. They sat side by side, both looking at something other than each other.

"I'm going to take a few days off from work. That is if you want me to. Marilyn already knows." Charles swallowed and thought about how unimportant the facts he was giving her seemed at the time. They were not what were in the forefront of his mind.

"I think I'll stay home for a few days, too." She said so quietly that he could barely hear her.

It was the way she sounded, so small and timid, so un-Janelike that finally made him turn and face her with the overdue apology he had waiting on the tip of his tongue.

"I'm so sorry you had to face him alone, Jane. I would have given anything to have been able to keep you from going through what you did today." Charles looked down to his hands briefly. There was so much truth in his statement. "I should have told you this an hour ago. I'm sorry."

"Please, don't offer an apology, because I can't accept it. My God, Charles, you did nothing wrong. I did…and Eric."

"No, it isn't your fault that he did what he did. You couldn't have known Eric would be capable of this."

"But you did." She pointed out.

"What?"

"Remember back in January when I put an order against Eric? We were in your study, and you said he was capable of doing anything because his back was against the wall. I accused you of overreacting."

"I was overreacting at the time. No, I don't believe there was any way to know he was going to do what he did today. He gave every impression that he was cooperating with the restraining order and had no intention to come looking for you. You couldn't have known, Jane."

"I want you to understand that I thought I was doing the only thing I could to… I won't lie to you again."

"I don't think either of us knew how far we would be willing to go to safeguard each other until today. I shouldn't have said to you what I did in front of the officer, but I wanted Eric locked away so badly that I tried to force a confession out of you to achieve my goal. If it makes any difference, like you, I did it for your protection. But that doesn't make it right."

He offered an unsteady hand in her direction as a sign that all could be forgiven between them, but changed his mind and opened up his arms to take her in. Jane clung as tightly to him as she could, laying the beginning groundwork to bridge the impasse brought on by the day's events.

His hold was both dear and apprehensive and Jane knew why Charles was hesitant about touching her.

"They aren't that bad, and there are only a few." She said in allusion to the bruises on her arms.

Cognizant of what she was talking about without needing her to say the words, Charles simply nodded.

In trust she pulled back and began to lower her jacket, but his watching her made her self-conscious. Stopping midway, Jane lifted his chin up with her hand so that his eyes were level with hers before she let the jacket fall off.

He waited and watched her prepare herself mentally for his reaction, but wouldn't lower his gaze until she gave permission.

"This is hard." Jane admitted.

"You have nothing to be ashamed of." Charles answered her softly.

"I know you're probably right, but that doesn't make it any easier." She forced a weak smile indicating she was ready. "Okay."

Jane chose to shut her eyes while he inspected her arms. Much to her relief, Charles kept his cool and did not allow what was going on inside of him to surface. This was how he was trained to react as a psychiatrist. Stay composed, appear strong, and hold back any emotions that may upset the victim.

"Let's put some ice on this one," he commented as he lightly touched an area by her right elbow. "The others don't look very deep."

"Can it wait until we come back home?"

"Yes." He said before placing a kiss on her forehead. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"My wrist is a little sore."

The evidence of Eric's grip on her was left behind as red imprints around her small wrist. Since Jane still had her eyes closed, he was able to look away for a moment without being caught. Charles could hardly believe the damage that man had done in such a short period of time, and shuddered when he thought about what could have happened if Eric had had more. He gently moved her wrist to see if there was a sprain and there wasn't.

"How about your cheek?"

"It's fine. Charles, do you think the police will have to take pictures of … you know? Me?"

"Yes. I believe so." He watched her expression cloud over showing that she was very afraid. "Would you like me to stay with you in the room while we're at the station?"

"Would you? I don't want to be left alone." Tears fell onto her face. "May I ask a favor?"

"Of course."

"Could you make me feel safe until I can do it on my own? I don't feel like I have any 'fight' in me."

"I can do that." He said in a relieved breath. She had no idea how much he needed to be able to do something for her. "Oh sweetie, I can do that for you."

"I know." Jane laid her head against his chest and for a moment forgot to be brave. "Charles, I was so scared…"

Twenty-five minutes later after Jane had told him everything that had occurred in the garage, they were out of the door and on their way to the police station. Eric Homman was charged with assault and battery, attempted kidnapping, violation of a restraining order, breaking and entering, and under a law implemented not long ago--stalking.

United States of America
Wednesday
October 23 1929

Two immigrants passed through Ellis Island.

Chapter 5

Posted on Saturday, 24 July 1999

Tuesday
June 27 1999
Oak park Illinois

Despite what you have heard from advertisers, peace of mind cannot be bought.

The mood at home during the next two weeks was pensive at best. As some might have expected, Jane found solace in her own cocoon, and with each passing day the area surrounding her, where no one was allowed to enter, grew. Cutting herself from the feelings and emotions associated with close contact with others gave her the breathing room she needed at the time.

Without there being an official discussion about it, the family decided to keep what had happened to Jane as private as possible, and no references to the incident was ever made to it in the workplace. Her employees couldn't miss the changes; Jane was withdrawn and rarely said a string of sentences together anymore. The once supportive manager of marketing and public relations now kept her office door closed during the day and with the exception of her sisters and Steven, people were not invited in. Without any facts to back-up their assumptions, they could only speculate that her marriage was in trouble. Nothing else made sense.

But her marriage was not in trouble, although it had changed in many ways. The once equal partnership was now lopsided as Charles fought to keep the connection between him and his wife from weakening to a point where he, too, would be an outsider. There were no prearranged actions coming from Jane, she was only doing what she had done so many times in the past; protecting herself. Talking with Charles about what had happened left her too exposed, so she stopped doing it.

The day after the garage encounter Jane told the full story for the last time to the District Attorney that would be handling her case. She was assigned a number from his department, informed that they would keep her abreast of any changes in her case, and set free to fend for herself. Needless to say, this callousness had an effect on her and she began to believe that with few exceptions, there was no where for her to turn for help.

The bill for the upgrade on their home security was enormous. Charles went overboard and with the exception of hiring actual bodyguards to protect his wife, he had every option he could add to their existing system. This was one way in which he dealt with the liability he still harbored about her having to go through what she did. In a world where few people willingly take their share of the blame for their own actions, he and Jane were on the opposite end of the spectrum. They shouldered more responsibility than merited. This was the way they were and neither was going to change anytime in the near future. The more the drama of her description detailing the scene with Eric repeatedly played out in his mind, the harder Charles tried to make amends.

Not to paint a distorted picture of his motivation, it should be mentioned that guilt was not the only driving force behind his zealousness. This man absolutely loved his wife with everything inside of him, and to know she was hurting in a way he could not directly reach, excelled his desire to see that she had a haven available to her in which she felt safe and comfortable.

There were certain individuals who did not understand the extent of the damage done to Jane, and one of them was her mother. The weekend after everything had taken place Rose Bennet paid an unexpected visit to her oldest daughter after attending church services. Her 'popping in' was becoming a regular habit, and Charles had escaped away from the woman's annoying voice to the kitchen to make some coffee. The conversation started out rather typical until Rose began to voice her opinions about why 'this' had happened to Jane. Spouting off about how the 'pretty girls' ran more of a risk of being coveted by men, and therefore they faced more of a chance of being attacked; her theories were not only insulting but also not based on fact. Charles had missed most of the conversation, but was coming through the kitchen doorway when he heard Rose proclaim:

"You'll have to watch yourself more than your sisters because you're far more attractive. The world is full of men like Eric and they are going to take one look at you and want what they can not…"

Rose never did finish her sentence as Charles took hold of her arm and escorted her to the door, informing her to not come again without calling first. He only spent the total of one minute berating her for saying such things to her daughter before he stopped himself. Charles could tell by the look in Rose's eyes that she was not absorbing what he was saying and he wondered how Jane and her sisters could have turned out they way they did considering they were raised by such an insensitive woman.

The utter ignorance of that woman, with her idiotic ideas and 'talk before you think' attitude incensed him as he worked to repair the damage done by a single sentence. The world is full of men like Eric….

Her mother wasn't the only one trying to reenact their part of a parent; Dale Bennet had also reprised his role. Though less detrimental than his wife, his irritating phone calls were taking their toll on Jane. He would ask question after question, expecting answers she often did not have to give and then confuse her by giving a constant stream of advice. "You should do this…", "You should call…", "You should go down to…".

Charles had seriously considered packing a few bags and getting Jane out of the area for a while, but presently he was dealing with two separate cases at work that he could not leave in good conscience. They were seriously troubled teens and to bring in another psychiatrist at this point was not the best option. He had to stay in Chicago, there was no way around it, so he continued to do all he could at home as he observed Jane slip further into her old patterns.

Jane was at work on the day she received the phone call that Eric Homman had been freed on bail.

His therapist drove up from Champaign to give testimony stating that it was imperative for Eric to continue with his treatment under controlled circumstances, and after a lengthy debate between Eric's new lawyer and the District Attorney, he was released under supervision. Forced to wear a non-removable monitoring device around his ankle, he was ordered to attend sessions with his therapist three times a week and submit to mandatory blood tests every Monday to insure the medication he needed was in his system.

This was the first account Jane had ever heard about the nature of Eric's psychological problems. She had been under the impression that he was seeking help from a therapist for less substantial reasons, not because he was at a point where it was considered necessary.

Charles had attended Eric's hearing and upon returning home later that day, he explained in layman's terms about Eric's manic episodes and how the Lithium he was taking was to aid in keeping him from going over the edge. What had gone wrong was that Eric stopped taking his medicine and became seriously unbalanced, a circumstance Charles had experienced with his own patients before.

When he finished with his report, Jane clearly understood how sick Eric was but she still had unanswered questions.

Although Jimmy was not handling this case, the day after the release Jane placed a call to her to find out about the degree of safety the monitoring device Eric was forced to wear offered. She was given an honest answer. They were not foolproof and by no means should she consider them an alternative to using good judgment concerning her safety. This is what Jane wanted to know (the truth), even though she had wished for a different answer.

Jane had asked the same question to DA handling her case the day before. He was not exactly indifferent to her inquiries, but perhaps he had said the same words too often in the past, because his reply lacked empathy. Jane could not complain about the technical performance of the man. He had thrown every charge he could at Eric, but it was disheartening to know that he had done it so they would have more to plea bargain with later in the process and not necessarily because Eric had earned each and every count against him.

If any good came out of all that had happened during the month of June, and quite frankly the expenditure was too steep for it to be considered 'good', it was that Lydia's eyes had been opened to a little of what surrounded her. Not one to consider the hardships of others, she slowly began to realize how easily a person could be changed from the hand of another.

In was in the blink of an eye that her older sister had gone from a contented, happy woman to the sedate, withdrawn person she was now. As this thought started to snowball and take on a life of its own, Lydia began to view some of her own actions in the past and the how they had affected others. The times when she would show up to work in short skirts and low-cut tops just to get a rise out of Jane and hopefully be sent home to change. Looking back, she realized that Jane was the only family member willing to give her a chance to prove herself at a job. She had tried to take her under her wing for her own betterment and this was how Lydia had repaid her. But it wasn't only Jane whom she had treated without respect. Other evidence was in the way she repeatedly left her belongings in the middle of the floor not thinking about the fact that her blind father might trip over them. And what of the crude remarks she had made to strangers and people she knew without thinking about the consequences first? Chris, who had proven himself to be a valued friend, was victim to her causal thoughtlessness the first time she had met him. And there was Katt, quiet, studious Katt who had to bear the brunt of her constant teasing about being plain and dull. Had her words hurt her sister?

It wasn't an overnight transformation that Lydia was about to embark on, but one that had to be nurtured. It was all too easy to backslide and while under the influence of the people she called 'friends', she would forget all she had thought about. Then one day it happened. Lydia was swimming at the public pool when she heard four of the guys she regularly hung out with talking about her. This was the day she realized that she had become the 'loser' Jane had told her she would not allow her to be. And it all clicked into place.

Lydia desperately needed her sister to talk to that night about what the boys had said, but Jane had problems of her own now and Lydia had waited too late to see the significance of having someone who cared about you to lean on. She left the pool, went home and did something she had not done in years…she said a selfless prayer for her sister.

The chances were good that Lydia was going to turn out fine after all.

Brooklyn, New York
August 1930

Life after Black Thursday.

Vladimir found himself faced with the fact that the American people didn't need an architect to built their shanties, especially if said architect was an immigrant who had entered the country one day before the stock market crash of 1929. Viewed as the enemy, as any other man would be who might take what little employment was available from those blessed enough to born in this country, he soon realized that America had forgotten her roots. He was living in the land built from the sweat of its immigrant brow, yet his people were at times treated worse than the prison population.

They were always the last considered, often cast aside when the foreman hiring for a day's labor heard their foreign accents. These were dark days that had only just begun.

Surely God was watching out for them because whereas Vladimir was rejected, Zoya found herself welcome. She had no remarkable skill except one: Zoya could cook. If a dish had originated in Eastern Europe and the necessary ingredients were at hand, she could make it. More importantly, if the ingredients were scarce or too expensive for purchase, she knew exactly what to do to mask the deficiency and often times these impromptu recipes came out better than their original.

If she had nothing else after five years of marriage to Dimitri Vabka, she would have to admit that he left her a competent cook. It had been very important to Dimitri that she have the skills of a woman much older than she was to ward off any possible talk of their age difference. The youngest daughter of a laborer, she was not what he would call a beauty, but beauties could be bought on the streets of Moscow without commitment. Physical appearance held little value to him. No, there was something else about Zoya that made him determined to end his forty-four year stint as a bachelor and after two short meetings with her father, he was granted the hand of the twenty-year 'young' woman very much without her permission.

And when he told her to learn to cook, cook she did…all the way to America and into a German restaurant that offered her room and board and a small income in exchange for her services.

The oppressive heat from the day made their room above the kitchen near intolerable to achieve restful sleep. Tossing and turning, they both abandoned the pretense of sleep near 3am, after Vladimir had a rather frightful nightmare, waking Zoya in the process.

"Let me cool you." She said as she went over to a basin to wet a washrag to wipe his forehead with.

"Zoya, what have I done to us?" He bore so much shame at not being able to support her that at times it was difficult for Vladimir to look her in the eye.

"To what are you referring?" She rung out the rag and returned to the side of the bed he was laying on.

"My misjudgment in bringing you here." Shaking his head, he continued. "You should not have to live this way. Brooklyn is not good enough for you."

"Darling Vlad, I will hear no more talk along this vein. I would rather be here with you than anywhere else." Handing him the lukewarm washrag, she smiled. "Do not despair, Love, all will be as it should. America is too rich in resources to stay this way for long and soon we will find that we have made the correct choice."

"As much as I desire it, I am unable to share your optimism." The regret he felt in his heart manifested on his face and in the dim light given off by the street lamp outside their window, she could not miss it.

Zoya hesitated for a moment as she contemplated giving him news she had been silent on since the afternoon. His initial reaction could very well be the same as hers, but would her relaying what she had learned cause more possible harm than good? After brief reflection, Zoya decided to share with him her information.

"I had a visitor in the kitchen, today."

"A visitor?" Alarmed that Dimitri had found a way to reach her from across the ocean, Vladimir sat up in bed.

"No, no! Oh, I am not doing a fair job of tell you this. Please," she placed her hand against his chest, "let me finish before you make remarks."

"Shortly after the luncheon hour yesterday, Mrs. Kroger came into the kitchen to deliver me a compliment from a patron. It seemed as if a well-off American woman was quite pleased with the dishes I had prepared and asked for her comments to be passed on. I was flattered but thought nothing more of it as I began planning for the dinner hour. At 8pm when the rush began to slow down, a handwritten noted requesting a word with the chef," she grinned thinking that anyone would consider her a 'chef', "was delivered. I had already finished my chores and since you were not yet home, I went to the table seeking my attendance. It was the woman from earlier in the day and her husband, a Mr. and Mrs. Thomas Moore of Chicago. They were all politeness and not at all what I would have expected from their dress and adornments. I believe I also surprised them because during our conversation, Mrs. Moore told me that she was expecting a large German man to come through the galley doors, not a little Russian woman the age of her own daughter.

"We spoke for a generous half-hour and they made me an offer to consider. The cook presently working in their home in…Elm Park? No, that is not correct. Oak Park! Their cook in Oak Park in the American State of Illinois is to be leaving them soon due to advanced age, and they were looking for a replacement. I asked out of curiosity if their search had brought them all the way to Brooklyn, and they chuckled in response that no it had not. Mrs. Moore has relatives living here and during their customary yearly visit, they had come to their favorite restaurant in need of a good meal."

Zoya leaned over him and whispered the next part.

"Vladimir, they are dear, sweet people but judging by their abundant size, I do not believe they have missed many good meals. Shhh," she placed a finger against his lips, "that will be our little secret."

"Zoya!" he admonished with humor. "What did you tell these people? Chicago is quite a distance from…"

"Allow me to finish my story and all your questions will be answered. Nearing the end of our interview, I informed them that this would be something I would have to discuss with my husband and if they would be so kind as to write out their offer, I would bring it to you. They heartily agreed and are to return today between sittings downstairs."

"Why did you wait to give me this news?"

"For two reasons. The first is that there is more to the Moores that I have not yet confided. Vlad, they occupy a house in Oak Park designed by a contemporary I know you admire."

"Wright?" So long he had admired the great master whose influences had inspired him, but until now he had not made a connection between the architect and the town of Oak Park.

"Yes, Wright. They are the second generation to live in the Nathan B. Moore Home. And we would be given quarters there, too. Three rooms of our own in the basement as part of my compensation, along with a small allowance almost equal to what I am making here."

"The second reason?" His curiosity could barely be contained.

"If it did not come about, I did not want your hopes crushed. I have faith that they will return today, but until I was certain, I wanted to keep you from possible disappointment. You have tried so hard since we have been in America, and I know you are unhappy here. I could not add to your discontent if the offer did not come about."

Removing the hand still pressed against his chest, he kissed her fingers. It had been Vladimir who had been able to get them safely through Europe and eventually onto a steamer headed for North America, but Zoya had been their saving grace since once they landed. What little pride he had left from the experience she held intact for him, not letting him forget all he was and what he would someday be again. At one point several months prior, he had begun to speak of traveling to West Virginia to seek out work in the coal mines. There was much talk on the streets about the availability of such opportunity and many others in the same situation like his had been forced to take that step, which insured a life barely worth living due to the conditions of the work itself. A week of witnessing Zoya's crying and pleading convinced him to drop the subject and he settled back into his hopeless resignation without any prospect of steady employment. Vladimir Oleksei was very depressed.

"Zoya, you take such good care of me, I am not deserving. I have nothing to give you in return for all the suffering you have encountered while with me. All I have accomplished is to bring you down to a level of poverty I would not wish on anyone."

"Suffering? I have done no suffering because of you! Would I have been better in the arms of General Vabka?" The force of her speech shocked him. Zoya was angry. "No, I know not. You must not taint what we have with guilt."

"I am sorry. I only want to give you everything." He defended in a defeated whisper.

"I have everything." Softening, she removed the now hot washrag from his hand. "I have everything, Vladimir, except the one thing I desire most, and this you have to give."

"What do you want, Love?" Whatever it was she was about to request, he knew he would be willing to lie, cheat, or steal to get it for her.

"Your name."

Three hours before the train leaving New York City bound for Chicago Illinois was to depart, Vladimir Oleksei and Zoya Vabka were joined in wedlock during a civil ceremony.

Zoya's faith was well placed. They were about to enter the happiest years of their lives.

"What do you think?" Charles asked Jane after she had been silent for several minutes while looking over the death certificates they had finally received from the records office.

In actuality, Jane had not spent any time recently thinking of the couple who once occupied the basement. It no longer ranked as a priority to her.

"Well," she cleared her throat, "It says that Vladimir was born in Warsaw. We could write to whomever takes care of birth certificates there and see if they have any information on him. The woman was born in St. Petersburg and I would prefer not to have to deal with Russian bureaucracy unless necessary."

"What about your friend Joanna? Do you think she would help us?" Charles was excited at the prospect of furthering their search, but he could see that Jane was less than enthusiastic.

"That's a good idea. I'll have Mary scan them for me tomorrow at work and send them to Joanna. She understands how the system works in Poland."

Jane gave him a tight smile as she put the papers down on the desk in front of him.

"I'm going to change out of my work clothes and run on the treadmill for a while."

"Okay." Charles glanced at the clock on his desk as she walked out of the door. He'd check on her in a half-hour to make sure she had stopped. This was the amount of time Jane had worked herself down to since the day months ago when she came to him about her weight. Since that time she had slowly put back on five pounds and was looking healthier and more filled-out than she had in years.

He returned his attention to the death certificates unaware that in 1937 a clerical error in listing Vladimir's birthplace would eventually lead them to more information than they could have thought possible.

Chapter 6A ~ Demise. Or, The Kindness Of Others

Posted on Monday, 26 July 1999

Lake Champaign
Champaign, Illinois
Saturday
July 3rd 1999
9:48 am.

The subtitle depends on your perspective.

Kara McCormick was not an ignorant woman, but it would not be stretching the truth to say she was not wise. More often than not, her sense of adventure and entertainment lead her into situations dangerous to her person. To her benefit she had married a man, the Honorable Judge Walter F. McCormick, who had enough common sense and stability for the both of them.

But Walter was out of town.

Eric Homman represented the ultimate bad boy to Kara, and for the past three years they had had an on-and-off' fling going. When it first began, Kara admittedly accepted his advances out of some sort of jealously over his then-wife Jane.

Kara and Jane looked remarkably alike and the comment often heard when they were in the same room was how they could pass for sisters. After taking in a few drinks, if a person was to squint their eyes while looking at the two women, they would be hard to tell apart. But, Jane had the advantage of grace, height, superior intelligence, and several other attributes Kara did not like to dwell on.

So she slept with her husband and suddenly the score was even in her mind. Nothing gave Kara a greater thrill in the beginning of the affair like Eric making passes at her when his wife was nearby. After his divorce from Jane, she continued to see him behind Walter's back, because quite frankly, Walter was a bore.

On this particularly sunny Saturday morning they had a meeting set up. Eric had his boat out on Lake Champaign and was anchored in a small, private cove not far from a lake house the McCormick's owned. He and Kara often met at this location because it was secluded. She would swim out to meet him, have some mindless sex and then return home. Kara was smart enough to realize she did not want to leave her dear husband, but if she could have some fun on the side and nobody got hurt…why not?

Eric watched in anticipation while scratching the skin under the monitoring anklet the Judge in Oak Park forced him to wear to track his whereabouts after he made bond. He was not allowed to leave Champaign County for any reason other to appear in court, and if he stepped one foot outside of it, the state police would know, and he would be thrown in jail until his trial was over. No exceptions.

Taking a swig of scotch straight form the bottle, Eric squinted his eyes and watched Kara climb the boat ladder up to the deck. He had been drinking non-stop since his release, but it wasn't because he was worried about his future. His Jane had made him a promise, and her promises were good as gold. Eric believed she would make sure he was cleared of all charges, and the whole misunderstanding in Oak Park would soon disappear.

He was drinking because it was the only way he was able to deal with his excitement that she may soon be back with him. The details of what happened in her current husband's garage were a little fuzzy, but he did remember the sense of hope he had when he awoke in jail.

Jane would soon be home and he could hardly wait, but until that day, Kara was a fair second choice.

"Hi there." Kara greeted him before tying her hair back at the nape of her neck like Eric preferred.

"It's been a long time." He answered her while putting his bottle between his legs. "Did you miss me?"

"Are you kidding?" she grinned before she got a good look at him. "What happened to your face?"

Kara had heard some rumors floating around that Eric had been arrested in the Chicago area, but the stories ranged from a brawl at Wrigley Stadium to his getting caught with a married woman. Other than a select few who had to know, no one else was informed of the true nature of his arrest.

"Nothing I couldn't handle. You should've seen the other guy." He boasted without cause.

"I bet!" She was so glad he had called her last night to arrange this meeting. "What's that?" Pointing to the ankle bracelet, Kara leaned over to investigate.

"A temporary inconvenience, Dearheart." Eric took another long drink before putting the lid on his bottle and dropping it on the floor. He was good and drunk, calling Kara by the endearment he had assigned to Jane. "Come over here and sit on my lap."

Kara didn't need any more inducement to plop her tiny little frame on his. Not a couple to waste time on small talk, they both began to take from one another what they had come to get.

Eric had his bloodshot eyes closed tightly as they ravaged each other, happily lost in another world where Kara was someone else.

"I love you. I knew you would come back." He mumbled as they fell back on the boat seat. "Nothing will come between us again."

Kara was not amused by his declaration of love, but he was being so fervent that she ignored what he has said. Love was not part of their agreement. He would be excused this once.

"It's been forever, but you're mine again. Are you as happy as I am?"

"Yes." Kara answered.

"I've never stopped loving you, Jane. Never." In a twisted way, Eric was telling her the truth.

"JANE?" Kara sat up. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"What did I say?" Deluded, he truly believed Jane was in front of him. "Let's not argue. Come back."

"You called me Jane!" she hissed.

"And??"

"Oh, screw this! You're drunk, and I'm not in the mood anymore." Kara went back to the side of the boat with the ladder. She wasn't about to let him get away with calling her 'Jane.' That was just too much.

"No, wait! I can't let you go now. Explain to me what I did wrong." Eric stumbled over to her and held onto her arms, but the grip was weak and his hands slid down past her elbows.

"Who am I?"

The boat may have been rocking from the movement on the deck and he was feeling queasy, but as sure as he was standing there, he knew who she was.

"Jane! You're Jane." He once again reached out for her arm. "What did I say?"

Kara shoved him away from her and got ready to dive off the edge when she caught him out of the corner of her eye falling overboard.

"Good," she thought to herself, "that will wake him up."

Kara waited…and waited, and after two minutes she became concerned. After three minutes she began to panic, and when the five minute mark hit she dove off the boat and swam to the shore of the lake as fast as she could.

As stated earlier, Kara McCormick was not an ignorant woman, but it would not be stretching the truth to say she was not wise. On the floor of the boat she left behind a small gold bracelet with the inscription 'For my darling Kara. Love, Walter'. It had fallen off when Eric tried to hold onto her for balance right before he fell over, and Kara had not notice it missing in her confusion to get away.

The soothing properties of the water calmed Eric as he gradually descended. It did take him a while before he realized where he was, but when he did he did, he not struggle. Four feet below the surface of the lake and sinking, Eric waited patiently. His Jane would be there any moment to rescue him, of this he had no doubt. She would make everything all better like she had so many times before. After all, his Jane knew he could not swim.

As the water filled his lungs in the final seconds of his life, Eric still held onto the fantasy.

Then he died.

Sunday
July 4th 1999
American Independence Day

The next morning the lake patrol became suspicious of the boat that had been anchored in the same spot for over twenty-four hours without anyone aboard, and eventually through several phone calls and personal interviews, they came to the conclusion that a dive was in order for further investigation.

The monitoring device worn by Eric saved Champaign County the cost of dredging the lake to find the body, and due to some loose lips in the patrol's ranks, a media circus was born.

To be fair to the men and women who made their living reporting the story, they were in a slow news period. Something as sensational as a less-than-admirable but prominent local attorney drowning under unexplained circumstances beat out their planned coverage of another small town's plans for Forth of July. News crews from as far away as Terre Haute, Indiana showed up on the scene, interviewing anyone they could find about the owner of the boat, a Mr. Eric Homman.

The Don Henley song 'Dirty laundry' seemed to be a fitting tribute to the cluster of people waiting on the shore for the latest update, and when the body bag was placed upon the deck of the patrol boat, a hush fell over the crowd that lasted all of three minutes before the real frenzy began.

There were allegations and rumors abound, many involving the former wife of the deceased, but they were shortly put to rest when the investigators knocked on the door of Walter and Kara McCormick. Walter still wasn't home and in a fit of confusion, Kara told the entire story without the common sense to have an attorney present.

Jane's name was cleared without her ever having the knowledge that it had been soiled in the first place.

Chicago news stations are notorious for ignoring anything that does not happen within their borders, especially if it occurs in an area as dull as downstate Illinois and they didn't pick up the story. They left the farmers to themselves, and stuck to what really mattered. The day of Eric Homman's recovery, Michael Jordan's golf score from a holiday charity outing was the lead-in for the five o'clock broadcast.

Chapter 6 B

Posted on Wednesday, 28 July 1999

Sunday
July 18 1999
8 am
Oak Park, Illinois

Charles ran his fingers through his wet hair when he caught a glimpse at himself in the medicine cabinet mirror. He looked tired-he was tired. Two weeks ago Homman did the world a favor and ceased to exist. Charles wasn't proud of his attitude, but it was honestly what he felt every time he thought about the man. Even in death Homman was able to affect his family by leaving all of his earthly belongings to Jane. It had taken the better part of a week to clear up that 'mess' and have everything of Eric's transferred to his parents. Jane wanted nothing of Eric's …and neither did he.

Needless to say they did not attend the services for him, and Charles traveled alone to Champaign last week to take care of any unfinished business left due to the will. While there, he went to the condo Eric had been leasing for the past few years primarily out of curiosity, and what he saw he would never tell Jane about.

There were pictures of her and Eric put out in frames all over the house, some from their wedding and others snapshots taken throughout the years. In many of them she appeared to be stiff and formal, not at all like the woman he knew, and her smile often looked forced and plastic. He collected up the frames and put them into a garbage bag that he would dispose of on his way out. Charles didn't want to take the chance that someone would pack them up and return them to Jane.

One step inside Eric's bedroom told him that all of his fears and suspicions were correct; Eric would have never given up on Jane. Obviously he had spent some time getting the room all set up for her by using Jane's favorite colors and flowers in the decor. The comforter covering the king sized bed was almost an exact copy of the one Charles has seen in her apartment before they were married, and the accessories were made of the lace she liked so much. He probably shouldn't have opened the closet, but he did. Neatly stacked in the back were four wrapped gifts with Jane's name on the tags. Judging by the size and lightness of the packages, Charles assumed they contained lingerie and he put them into the trash bag without bothering to open them.

On his way out of the 'Condo of Horrors' he met up with Eric's parents. He had been informed that they had returned to New Mexico for the week before returning to pack up their son's belongings and would not be in town, but that was not the case. He introduced himself to the surprised couple and watched as their faces hardened. Eric had told them that Jane was having trouble divorcing her current husband, and Charles was the cause of the delay in their getting back together. Mr. and Mrs. Homman had always been very fond of Jane and they viewed Charles as the man who had possibly cost them their son's life. In their opinion if Jane would have been with Eric, he might have not been on his boat and therefore he wouldn't have drowned. The usually quiet couple began to place blame where they saw fit.

Charles did not waste time arguing with them or explaining the circumstances, but left with the garbage bag in hand. They were nothing like Jane had described them to be.

Jane. She was beginning to come out of her shell a little at a time. What Charles did not realize was that it was due to him and the time he spent with her during the past month. Instead, he assumed it was a natural process taking place and took no credit where it was due. As soon as news of Eric's death was delivered to them, he started in with a new approach where he helped Jane find the power within herself to deal with the latest trauma introduced in her life, and she listened to every word he said. Very rocky in the beginning, each day she gained more strength in her confidence, and other than her uncomfortable conscience asking her why she felt no sorrow over Eric's passing, she found that with Charles's support she was able to take the first step to controlling her life again.

There were still signs that she had a way to go. One of them being that she would not park her car in the garage, but this would straighten itself out in time and until it did, Charles put her car away at night and brought it out every morning for her. He attempted to keep a tight lid on his urge to protect her from everything and everyone that might upset her, but logically he saw that this would not be doing her any favors. Instead he carefully picked out the areas he kept close watch on, for example her parents, and allowed the others to be without his intervention.

Still, he was on alert most of the time and the pressure of all that was happening at home combined with the stress he was currently experiencing at work left him…tired.

He turned from the mirror when he heard his bathroom door open and in came Jane with a cup of coffee. She had played hooky from Church this morning and was still in her nightgown.

"I thought you could use this before I made breakfast." She gently set the cup down on the vanity and moved over to stand behind him. Laying her head against his back, Jane wrapped her arms around his abdomen and gave him a hug.

"Do you have anything you want to do today?"

"Nothing in particular. You?" He answered back softly.

"No." Jane got up on her tiptoes and gave a small smile into the mirror at him. He met her glance and held it for a while. It was so good to see her smile. Resting her chin on his shoulder, Jane brought her hands up to his bare chest. She was about to make a suggestion on how they could spend their morning when he removed one of her hands, brought it up to his lips, and then moved away.

"Why don't I get dressed and help you with breakfast?" Charles offered with his own smile still on his face. "If you cook the bacon, I'll do the French toast."

"Oh…okay." She assumed Charles didn't get the hint she was sending him and accepted his offer with only a small amount of disappointment. It had been a while since they had been with each other, and possibly they had misplaced their ability to communicate their intentions clearly without having to say the words. But Jane was certain it would come back in time. "I'll meet you in the kitchen."

"It won't take long." He returned before she turned to leave the room. "Jane?"

"Yes?"

Charles stepped toward her and leaned down to give her a soft kiss. "Love you."

"I love you, too."

"I'll be down shortly."

July 1932

Another from across the sea.

Zoya placed a sugar bowl on the silver tray and prepared it to be taken into the living room. It had been agreed upon prior to her accepting the position with the Moores that she would have no other duties in the home other than cooking, but today was a special occasion and she stepped forward out of loyalty to lend a hand and serve tea.

The third Mrs. Frank Lloyd Wright, formally a Miss Olgivanna Milanoff, was touring the home for the first time on the day that the housekeeper Mrs. Oleson was ill in bed. The only other available person was the upstairs maid Claire, and Claire did not have the experience or poise needed to perform such a task.

The Moores were so very good to Zoya and Vladimir that she offered her services as soon as Mrs. Moore came rushing into the kitchen all out of breath and full of excitement.

"Zoya darling, I need your advice. I need your help!" The plump lady leaned over red faced, causing Zoya to become alarmed for her health.

"What is it?" Concerned, she reached out for the woman's shoulder.

"I have just received word that we are to have a visitor today for tea. You will never guess who!" Mrs. Moore caught her breath and continued on without waiting for a reply. "Mrs. Olgivanna Wright! Isn't that interesting?"

"Yes, it is." Smiling, Zoya relaxed. The name she recognized from Vladimir talking of her husband. "Has she been in the residence before?"

"No. This will be her first tour of the home." Mrs. Moore facial features took on a look of worry.

"I see you are agitated. Tell me, what is the reason? Is this not a good occasion?"

"I need the tea to be special. Lately her husband has been stating that he dislikes this home and considers it one of the worse of the period. I want to make a good impression on her not only with the house, but with me, too. Zoya darling, is it possible for you to work some magic and bring about something spectacular to go with our tea?"

"It will be no problem. Do you have anything in particular in mind?"

"Black Forest cake?" Mrs. Moore requested shyly. It was her personal favorite.

Zoya tried very hard not to laugh. American's and their ideas about teatime were quite different than what she was accustomed to. Or perhaps it was only the Moores who turned tea time into a forth meal, but it was of no matter. If Mrs. Moore wanted Black Forest cake she would receive it, but Zoya would also make sure she didn't embarrass herself by serving a dessert so inappropriate.

"Since the name Olgivanna is Eastern European, what if I was to also make something traditional to accompany your cake? Possibly a pastry lighter and less sweet in case this is what she prefers? Would you like me to do that?" Zoya already knew the answer before she asked the question.

"What a splendid idea. I knew I could count on you." Mrs. Moore clapped her hand together in glee before one last worry overcame her. "Will there be enough time?"

"Yes, plenty of time."

Mrs. Olgivanna Wright was a tall, thin woman in her late thirties to early forties. What she lacked in beauty she made up for in conversations skills and general attitude. When Zoya set the tray down on the coffee table, the woman immediately gave a 'thank you' to her.

"You are very welcome." Zoya returned cheerfully before addressing her employer. "Mrs. Moore, would you like me to pour?"

The thick accent of the dark haired woman caught Olgivanna's ear and she recognized its origin.

"Miss?"

"Yes? Please, call me Zoya."

"Zoya, where do you come from in Russia?"

"I am from St. Petersburg, or shall I say Leningrad, ma'am."

"I thought so. I was born in Russia myself, but my family left the country before the revolution. In my youth I spent a great deal of time in St. Petersburg. What is your family's name."

"Borodin." This was the first time since entering the United States that anyone had asked her this very personal question. She and Vladimir kept to themselves and with the exception of a few friends he had made since arriving in Illinois, she had not expected anyone taking an interest in her heritage.

"Borodin? Who is your father?" Olgivanna did not sense the hesitation coming from the younger woman.

"Uri Borodin."

The room fell silent as Olgivanna went into quiet reflection for a moment. The name was very familiar, but she could not quite place it.

"Did your father hold a title?" She asked suddenly as Zoya was preparing to leave the ladies to their tea.

"My father is a laborer." Zoya answered a little too quickly, sparking Olgivanna's imagination.

"Are you living alone in America or did your family join you?"

"I am here with my husband."

"And what does he do?"

"Currently he is a construction worker, but in Poland he was an architect."

"Really? Why is he not in his occupation now?"

"Work is scarce." Zoya shared a look of shared comprehension with Olgivanna. They were both foreigners in this country and understood the nepotistic system that kept most non-natives out of the higher paying skilled jobs. "Until there is more work available, he continues to hone his talent on his own."

"I see." Olgivanna turned to a smiling Mrs. Moore. "I am fascinated by the drawings and sketches from those in the architecture field. With Zoya's permission, would you mind if I looked at a few of her husband's drawings? It would not take us but a short time."

"Not at all. Enjoy yourself and I will wait for you here. Zoya, is this agreeable?" Mrs. Moore could not be more pleased. She had been having a difficult time carrying a conversation with Olgivanna during the past hour as she gave her the tour of the house and was fearful that she would not leave with the favorable impression she had hoped for. But, if she were interested in Zoya as much as she seemed to be, this would be most welcome. Everyone liked Zoya and there was never a foul word uttered in conjunction with her name.

"Well, yes. I do not believe Vladimir would object. Mrs. Wright, if you will follow me, I will show you to his drawing room."

The two ladies left a contented Mrs. Moore and went down to the three rooms Zoya and Vladimir used in the basement.

"Are there any other's living down here with you?" Zoya let out a short breath as the questions began again. Olgivanna was too inquisitive for her taste.

"No. Miss Claire occupies the servants quarters on the second floor and Mrs. Oleson lives with her family across town."

"Good." Olgivanna placed her hand on Zoya's arm to stop her. In a quite whisper, she confessed what was on her mind. "I know who you are."

"Who might that be?" her voice held a slight tremble. To be discovered by someone with ties to General Vabka was a worry she had not had since arriving in the country.

"Your Father is Prince Uri Borodin, am I correct?"

"That was a very long time ago and with the abundance of Princes in Pre-Revolutionary Russia, the title carried little weight. We were no relation to the Royal Family, simply landowners that happened to have ancestors willing to work their way up the class rank. My family was not even what one would deem wealthy, but we were comfortable. Today my father is Uri Borodin-Soviet laborer. The land has been divided evenly and the house is now a school."

"I was at your home once, so long ago."

"Were you?"

"Yes. My father was visiting the countryside and we stopped at the residence of Prince Uri. You must have been a baby then. Is it not odd that we would meet again like this?"

"Yes, it is. Mrs. Wright, I do not mention my family to the people I work with or for. They would not understand. I want them to simply know me as Zoya. It keeps confusion at bay."

"You're a practical woman for one so young. I will not tell a soul. My own family lost contact with so many friends and acquaintances after the revolution. It is nice to meet another."

"Thank you. If I may be so bold to ask, do you really want to view Vladimir's drawings or did you only seek a private word with me?"

"I would like to see his drawings."

32 days later

"Good evening." Vladimir greeted before sitting down on the couch he and Zoya had set up in their living room.

"I didn't hear you come down the stairs." She bent over the side of the couch and gave him a long kiss. "Are you ready for dinner?"

"No, I want to talk first." The happy tone in his voice and smile on his face was impossible to miss. "How was your day?"

"I packed up the scarf I knitted for 'Saint Olga' and am awaiting the completion of your letter to your sister so I am able to send it. But, I know by your expression that you have news for me. You must tell me now, or I will send you off to bed without any dinner."

Vladimir let out a chuckle and his smile grew wider. There were days between them when Zoya would tease him without mercy.

"With such punishment looming over my head, I had better think of something quickly." He waited until Zoya placed her hands on her hips in a pose of impatience. "I have an interview on Saturday with Mr. Preston of Trinity Architecture."

"What? Is this the business you had applied to for the draftsman's position?"

"The very one. Mr. Preston himself came down to the job site I was working at today and waited a full thirty minutes until I was able to have audience with him."

"The owner?" Captured by what he was telling her, Zoya sat down next to her husband and gave him her full attention. "Vladimir, what did he say?"

"He went through the samples I left him and said that I come highly recommended. Mr. Moore must have spoken to him at some point in time and forgot to mention it to me. Mr. Preston would like to talk to me at length on Saturday. Zoya, he appeared…" Vladimir searched for the correct word, "enthusiastic?"

"The owner of the firm came all of the way down to your construction site to speak with you about a draftsman's job? I was under the impression that the position was entry level; one you are over-qualified for."

"I do not understand the man's actions, either. Trinity Architecture is a large firm and it does not fit that Mr. Preston would even know the names of his draftsmen."

"Is it possible that he may be referring to an architect position?"

"Zoya, I can only wonder since I did not think to question him until after he had left. I would accept any chance just to prove myself, but to be able to avoid the tediousness of drafting would be a godsend."

"I am so proud of you, and happy. You have earned this opportunity."

"You have earned opportunity, yourself. If I were to become an architect, you would be able to leave your job and not work anymore." This was a subject they had never discussed before, but always a goal for Vladimir. He desired to give her the best life possible and believed that her freedom from the wants of others would be part of it.

"And what would I do all day? Wait for you to return home?"

"But, we would be able to afford for you not to have to work."

"What I do is not difficult, Love. The Moores are pleasant people and they treat us like family. If you were to really reason this out, you would see that there is nothing but benefit for me to stay where I am. We could continue to live here and save our money like we have been. Just think of this Vlad, the more we save now the sooner we will be able to build our own home some day. The home you designed for us."

"You want to work?"

"For now it is the most logical way for me to get what I really want-our house. I do not have any children to tend to, therefore I should use my time profitably."

There were no children to tend to although Vladimir and Zoya had never taken precaution against her conceiving a child during the entire time they had been together. Granted, the short period when they were living in Brooklyn would have not been ideal for the bringing of a child into the world, but the cost of such preventive measures were so high that they prayed it would not happen. Vladimir was beginning to wonder if they had not prayed too hard. Even in these better times when he was working steady, Zoya was still not pregnant, and it was a very painful subject for her to address.

"Zoya, I will once again ask you to go see the doctor Mrs. Moore told you of." Vladimir continued speaking although she was shaking her head no. "Please, take our savings and go. I have witnessed your sadness when you are around the Moore's grandchildren, and you have told me yourself how much you desire a child of our own."

"No, I am not going to squander our money like that."

"That is not fair. It is not wasteful and you know it."

"Let us give nature a while longer. If another year passes, then I will go."

"Is that a promise?" Vladimir knew that Zoya always kept her promises.

"Yes."

Deeply embedded inside of her, Zoya believed that God did not see fit to give them a baby of their own because their marriage was not only illegal (she had never divorced General Vabka), but also a sin in the eyes of the church. Zoya was willing to face God's possible wrath for what she had done, but she would never leave Vladimir to right any wrong she had committed. It appeared to her as if the forfeit of a family of her own was the price she would pay.

Saturday
July 31 1999
11:05 am

Role Reversal

Jane stood on the edge of the lawn with her eyes wide in disbelief. It appeared that a circus had deposited itself on the front lawn of her cousin Shelly's house in celebration of Shelly's son's first birthday. Frederick noticed Jane as she stood transfixed tallying the cost of a production such as this, and made his way through the crowd.

"Cousin Jane! I thought you weren't going to come. Aren't you the one who doesn't like Shelly?" He bent down and they exchanged customary pecks on the cheeks.

"No, that's Elizabeth. What is this?" Jane pointed to the extravagant waste of money before her.

"Shelly breaking the bank to prove she has money to burn. I think she's trying to out do Mary Kathryn Christine's Forth of July party."

"Sorry to have missed that fiasco. After going to it, my mother suggested that Charles and I hold a big Labor Day cookout. I told her no." Jane tilted her head back to look up to Frederick.

"Where is Charles?"

"He works on Saturdays until about three in the afternoon." She reminded him.

"That's right. How's everything at home?" Jane herself had allowed Frederick access to more information than most after the Eric incident. Simply put, he was someone she knew she could completely trust.

Jane nodded her head. "Just fine."

"Would you like to take a short walk with me? The subdivision park is a block away."

Jane and Frederick walked down to the park filling their minutes with small talk. Once there, they found a bench under a tree to sit, and not a man to known waste time, Frederick directly went to the point.

"How is everything at home? How are you?" When she had answered him earlier, he could see that she was not being forthright with him.

"I already answered that question. I'm fine."

"Then how is Charles?"

"The same as I. He's fine, he's…perfect, supportive, everything. I couldn't have found a better…" Her dear cousin would not take his eyes off of her, and Jane buckled under the pressure rather quickly. If the truth were known, she really needed his attentive ear right now because she wasn't quite sure what to do about what was happening at home. Other than Charles, Frederick was the person she was closest to in the world. She could tell him things she would not even say to Elizabeth.

"Frederick," she said under her breath, "he won't touch me."

"What do you mean? Is he angry at you?"

"No, no, no. That's not what I am trying to say." Jane lowered her voice even more. "We haven't made love in over a month. I don't believe he 'thinks' of me in that way anymore.

"Jane, I've watched Charles around you. I can't imagine that he has lost any desire for you."

Jane briefly looked away. "This is so embarrassing."

"We've told each other embarrassing things before. Please, don't worry about it."

She took a deep breath and continued on. "For instance, we'll be kissing at night and once we progress to a certain point, Charles will pull back and start a conversation, or tell me he's tired, or say he couldn't remember if he set the alarm. This hasn't occurred just one time, but several. I don't think he wants to."

"Okay, I want to ask you a question. Have you two gone through dry spells before? You know what I mean."

"No, never. We were honeymooners in every sense. Well, we were before Eric showed up. I'll admit that I was shutting down there for a few weeks after everything happened and I didn't have any interest in anything, but he always remained constant. He was so sweet and he gave me…I don't know, Frederick."

"How did Charles feel about what Eric did? Other than the obvious?"

Jane had to think back.

"Other than what you'd expect, he hasn't really said much on it. He talks about what took place in a therapy-like manner, but I'm ashamed to admit that I really can't tell you his personal thoughts."

"Does he feel any guilt?" Frederick saw her frown. "I'm going somewhere with this question."

"He shouldn't. No, Charles hasn't said that he…Oh, Frederick! Surely not. It wasn't his fault!"

"It doesn't matter, Jane. I'm only asking if it is possible that he might believe he let you down. That he didn't protect you and therefore he failed his duty?"

"I'm not sure, but it's very possible. But, why would something like what you suggested make him shy away from intimacy?"

"Guilt can cause so many different side effects in a person."

"I know. Charles and I have talked so much, but this never came up."

"It almost sounds like you need a break from all the talking, maybe become the honeymooners once again even if it's only for a night. I'm not suggesting a Band-Aid cure, just an alternative. Verbal isn't the only form of communication. Have you let Charles know that you've noticed his stopping himself when you two become too close?"

"No. How can I say anything that might be interpreted as critical after all he has done for me?"

"Then don't 'say' it."

Chapter 7 A

Posted on Friday, 30 July 1999

Elgin, Illinois
3:34 p.m.

Jane spent a minute looking around his waiting area. It was so 'Charles'; friendly and non-intrusive. There was something she just had to do and Jane walked over to an end table and flipped through the magazines placed there.

"They're all current!" There wasn't a five-year-old copy of Better Homes and Gardens to be found. Impressed, Jane straightened the stack and walked down the hall past two other rooms to the door to his office. She was going without a plan and wasn't quite sure how to approach him, but the details had already been arranged and there wasn't a chance Jane was going to turn back now.

Opening the door, she looked for him to be behind his desk, but he wasn't sitting there. Standing by one of the bookcases, he turned his head and greeted her with a surprised expression.

"I thought you were at a birthday party?"

"I went and left while I still had my sanity."

Missing her humor, Charles's face immediately became serious. He was about to ask her what went wrong when she spoke up.

"It was gluttony at its best. I think our entire wedding cost less than that party, but I did leave with one important piece of information. Circus performers can be rented out by the hour."

He laughed lightly while Jane went around his desk and sat down in his chair.

"This is a great chair." She claimed as she moved around comfortably in it. "Is it yours or the clinics?"

"Mine."

"And you're going to take it with you when your contract is up at the end of October?"

"Yes." He answered slowly watching her covet his desk chair. "I really like that chair, too."

"Hum. Did I tell you that I have a really nasty chair at work? Steven's too cheap to buy me a good one." Jane gave him a quick pout face. "Well, he'll learn his lesson the hard way when our insurance premiums go up because of all the trips to the chiropractor I'll have to make due to a bad back…caused by the chair."

Charles leaned against one of the bookcases and crossed his arms against his chest, completely amused.

"Some people just have to learn the hard way, I guess." Attempting to appear pathetic, the smile that she couldn't quite keep down ruined the effect. "I just thank the Good Lord that you won't have to go through that."

"Did you come here today to refurnish your own office downtown?"

"No!" Her eyes traveled from him to what he was leaning against. "Are those bookcases yours or the clinics? I've always admired them."

"Jane." He was laughing heartily now. "Why don't we take a trip down to OfficeLand tomorrow and get you set up with your own furniture?"

"Well, we can't. That's what I'm here to talk to you about." She nodded to the empty chair on the other side of the desk. "Take a seat."

Jane leaned back and put her feet up on his desk while she waited for him to be seated before saying anything else.

"Dr. Bingley…or may I call you Charles?"

"Charles is fine."

"Charles, I've noticed that you've been looking rather haggard lately. When is the last time you've had a good night's rest?"

"Last night?"

"No. A good night's rest. Not just sleep?"

"Well…"

"I thought so." She interrupted. "I think you have been under too much stress and strain lately. I'm going to write you a prescription!"

Jane opened his desk drawer and located his prescription pad, leaving Charles to wait patiently while she spent several minutes writing. She mumbled a few words to herself as the small page filled and looked up once to give him a devilish grin before she was finally finished.

"Here you go," she said as she tore off the page. "Follow my expert advice and you'll be feeling better in no time."

"Oh, yeah," his eyes dropped first to where the physician's signature was required. "Dr. Jane?"

She nodded her head as he began to read.

For Charles Bingley.

• Problem: Taking very good care of others while ignoring self.

• Treatment: 2 full nights stay at Swiss Hotel. Room 523.

• No phone calls, pagers, cell phones, or annoying uninvited guests.

• Room service a must.

• No serious talk-except to finish the discussion from two months ago about who is the better baseball player: Mark McGuire (HA!) or "Slammin" Sammy Sosa (!!!)

• Plenty of exercise. Dr. Jane will help with this.

• Watch at least two comedies-No Jim Carey; he's just too frustrating to endure.

• Exaggerated compliments about wife's talents acceptable encouraged.

• Did I mention exercise?

• Soaking in Jacuzzi tub.

Your clothes are already packed and I love you,
Please?

"It's been a long time, hasn't it?" The grin he had from reading her note slowly faded the longer he looked at her. How would Jane ever understand his regret? Even at times he saw the flaws in his own persecution, but there still remained the culpability. And the protectiveness. But the note itself was actually a sign that Jane had finally reached a point where she was ready to try facing life normally again, and perhaps it was time for him to join her and move away from the past.

"You're thinking too much." She claimed as she leaned forward on her elbows. Her remark wasn't a judgment but a simple statement of fact.

"Why do you say that?"

"I can see you thinking." Jane removed a room key from her purse and pushed it across the desk toward him. "Will you come with me downtown?"

"You don't even need to ask twice. Let's go." Charles stood up, tucked the prescription into his shirt pocket, and went about putting away a few files he had laying on his desk into a locked drawer while Jane waited for him by the door. It wasn't long before he was ready to leave his office with only the hotel room key in his hand.

"We'll need to take both cars because I'm planning on heading to work from the hotel on Monday morning."

"Okay. I'm glad you came here today." With unnatural shyness, he leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.

"I've missed being just Jane and Charles." She hoped that he understood the message behind her words. They had been in other roles since Eric barged into their lives, but she had not forgotten what it was like before.

"I see Jane right before me." He did understand.

"And I see Charles. Will you kiss me good-bye?"

There could be no refusal to her request.

"I've missed you…" was murmured before his lips stirred against hers, and from first press he found it hard top hold back over a month worth of undeclared emotion and desire. She was so soft and warm and it had been too long since he last touched her for the pure pleasure of the experience. Threading his fingers through her silky hair he felt her move into him using the weight of her body to push his against the door. "I've missed you," was breathlessly whispered again…and then a third time before the ounce of hesitation he was still clinging to disappeared. He wanted his wife back. He wanted the woman who smelled like spice after her morning bath to take away all logical thought, like she had so many times before. He wanted Jane.

Breath gave life to intent and it brought about the words that each needed from the other. Hers were simple; she only said his name, but his were put into sentences that would have made little sense to anyone but the receiver of the precious sentiments. How many times in the last month did he wake up in the middle of the night with an urge so strong to love her that he had to leave the bed lest he lose control? Too many to count? Even on nights when he would purposely put space between them so he could fall asleep, the morning would find her curled up against his chest in a position she had adopted while in Bermuda. And it was torture.

On ourselves there are often favorite places where another person's hands feel most alluring, and Charles's was the small of the back. Jane was aware of this and took advantage of her knowledge to create the response in him she was certain he would give. As soon as the tingling sensation brought about by the light touch of her fingers hit his spine, his impatience bared itself through a noticeable increase in pulse and fervor. The breaking point had been reached.

Leaving the haven the office created was not a plausible option and as if to prove the fact true, Charles reached out with his right hand and locked the door.

The lovers inside came out from hiding to spend the rest of the afternoon in the reintroduction of their selves to each other.

Late March
1934

My Beloved And The Best Of Times.

With an overcoat draped over his left arm and a long hard-case tube in hand, Vladimir entered his favorite of the three rooms they shared after work.

"How was your day?" Zoya asked as she turned from his drafting table.

"Zoya! You startled me." Vladimir emptied his arms into a side chair before taking his place beside her to deliver a kiss. The plans for their future home were laid out on the table's top. "I brought home a copy of the project I am working on so you could see it."

"Good, I've been quite curious." She returned his kiss. "I received a letter from Olgivanna Wright today. She and her husband will be in town next month and she has asked me to join her for tea one afternoon during their stay."

"You should go, Zoya. It would be good for you to have another to talk with."

"I will." She stretched her arms above her head.

"Are you tired?" Reaching behind her back, he brought her long braid over her shoulder and ran his fingers over it. She had the most delicate hair he had ever touched.

"Just a little tired. Vlad, I've been thinking."

"About what?" He questioned softly.

"Baking cakes." A sly glint was present in her eyes when she said the words.

"Baking cakes? What about cakes, Love?" His wife's thoughts were never that simple, and Vladimir was interested to know how complicated her 'baking cakes' idea really was.

"I've decided that after we build our home I will not continue working here, but bake cakes instead." Zoya was leading up to something much more important than what she had stated, but she wanted to see if he would 'take the bait' first.

"That sound like a very good plan and one that will not take long to mature. We are only one hundred twenty dollars away from the money required by the bank as down payment.

"One hundred five dollars." She corrected.

"We're getting closer."

"Yes, we are. And I think I am going to bake cakes. After all, caring for a new house and a baby will take up most of my day…"

"Whose baby, dear?" Vladimir was about to get the surprise of a lifetime.

Zoya did not answer him with words, but her smile. It still took him several seconds for the answer she had just given him to be absorbed.

"The stomach flu you had last week was not the flu?" The pace of his speech exposed his excitement.

"It was not the flu."

"Zoya, this is agony! Please, just say it out loud and ease my mind."

Taking hold of his necktie, she gently pulled on it so that he would lower his ear down to her lips.

"You're going to be a Papa in November." All the years of waiting were worth it to finally be able to say those words to him, and Zoya's calm exterior began to crack. She was as thrilled as he was. "I went to the doctor two days ago and received confirmation this afternoon. I am going to have your baby."

Monday
August 2nd 1999

10:41 am

Monday Never Looked So Good.

Charles rifled through the mail Iris had left on his desk at home as he listened to the messages on the answering machine left over from the weekend.

Jane, this is your mother. I want to come over tomorrow, but since I have to call and beg for permission first…"

"Delete." He said to himself as moved on to the next message.

This message is for Jane. You haven't called me back and it's getting late. The other girls don't expect me call first…

"That's not true." Grinning to himself, he pressed the next message button and waited. Rose Bennet was still angry with him for his making her leave the house several weeks ago and she absolutely refused to talk to him directly. The down side of this blessing was that William was openly envious of Charles's good fortune, because in an attempt to win support in her anti-Charles argument, Rose had redoubled her efforts to get to know her future son-in-law by showering William with extra attention.

Greetings Jane and Charles. This is Joanna. I have returned from Holiday in Warsaw with information for you. Vladimir Oleksei was not born in Warsaw like his death certificate indicated, so I abandoned that particular avenue and moved on to tax records. This is where my search became successful. For a period of four years he paid taxes on a shop and a home located in the area known today as Old Warsaw. Later the property must have been sold or transferred to someone else, because there are no more records on file for the man. I also discovered that he was an architect-I thought you might find that interesting.

I went to investigate the address I gleaned from the forms, but had little hope of finding anything. As you may not know, most of Warsaw was destroyed during the war. My first stop was at the building of his former employer. I was not surprised to find that it no longer exists, although it has been replaced by a rather charming American Gap store, I say sarcastically.

I went on to the business Mr. Oleksei owned. I had not expected the original shop to still be there, and it was not. An antique business occupies the address, and remembering that you collected those beautiful plates, I decided to go inside and look around before I traveled on. I am so thankful I made the stop.

An older man runs the business and we began to speak at length about your plates before the subject changed to the previous owners of the building itself. You will not believe what the man told me!

An Olga Oleksei was the proprietor of a dress shop for over fifty years before she sold her business and retired. Oleksei! I became excited at the information the man gave me, bought the plate I had in my hand and went directly to a final address. In my haste I forgot to ask the man if she happened to live in the house her relation had paid taxes on and felt quite silly as I stood in front of the home itself.

Jane, it is still standing and in very good condition.

I confess that my nerve almost abandoned me as I hesitated to knock on the door, but it was of little consequence because in the time it took me to blink, an elderly woman opened it with a big stick in her hand.

Now that the experience has passed, I can find the humor in my first meeting with Olga Oleksei. I must have spent five minutes accounting to her why I was standing on her porch before she finally lowered her guard and asked me in for some tea. Yes, tea!

You must simply meet this woman. She is 90 years old and as fiery as I have ever seen. Miss Oleksei IS Vladimir Oleksei's sister. Jane and Charles, I believe this woman holds the answers to most of your questions.

I had a lovely hour-long visit with her and explained myself as best as I could. Miss Oleksei would like to meet you. Like you, she is curious about her brother and sister-in-law's life. She is in possession of every letter her brother had ever sent her, although she stated that she had none remaining from Mrs. Oleksei. I wanted to ask her what happened to Mrs. Oleksei's letters, but she did not look like she wanted to go into detail.

I have set you e-mail to your home address with several attachments. They are a few of the letters she allowed me to photocopy.

Please call me when you are able and let me know how your mystery goes. Much love to you. Good-bye.

Charles dialed Jane's work number so quickly that he had an error the first time and had to redial. As he waited for her to answer, he started up their computer all the while his thoughts traveled at the speed of light.

"Jane Bingley's office." Lydia answered the phone.

"I need to speak to Jane."

"I'm sorry, but she is in an important meeting with a customer. She told me that unless the building was burning down, I wasn't to disturb her."

"Do you know how long the meeting will last?"

"No. Is this you, Charles?"

"Yes. Will you leave Jane a message for me?"

"Sure. I have a pen."

"Tell her to call me at home and to check her e-mail. I'm going to forward something she'll want to see."

"Is it bad?"

"No," he laughed. "Did you write that down?"

"Yes."

"Great. Go put it on her desk in a place she won't miss it, okay?"

"I'll do it now."

"Thanks, Lydia."

Charles hung up the phone and checked his monitor screen. It was still loading Windows. In an act of anticipation, he smacked the computer a couple of times to get it to move faster, but quickly realized the folly of that move and stepped back until the hard drive ceased to grind.

It was another minute before the connection was made and his e-mail program produced the treasure sent from Joanna. While waiting he pulled out his pack of post-it notes and wrote a note to Jane: Lydia needs to work on phone etiquette.

Dear Jane,

Here are the letters I told you about on the phone. They are short and written in Polish longhand, but Mr. Oleksei's handwriting is neat, so I do not foresee you having difficulty reading them. If you come across a word you need interpreted let me know.

Love,
Joanna

"Not a problem." Charles said aloud to no one. He was quite confident in his ability to read Polish longhand as he opened the first attachment.

February 1930

My dearest Sister Olga,

I apologize for the tardiness of this letter, but the past month has been difficult, and I had not the motivation to write. My beloved fell ill for four days last week, and I exaggerate not when I say that I feared for the worst. A flu epidemic spread through this dirty, over-crowded city and she must have been exposed to it from one of the patrons downstairs.

Olga, the land we are now on is not what it appeared to be. I beg you not to mention this in any letter you might send to us because I do not want to upset her, but I do not like it here at all. The times are hard and the people angry. She would have been so much happier in Poland, I know this.

I worry about you constantly. Although you have reassured me the HE has not contacted you since the day we all received a visit, I find that had to believe. HE is a hateful, despicable man. Do not let yourself become too comfortable in thought that he will not continue his search for her. Promise me that you will watch yourself and seek out help if you are in need. I would give anything to have you with us…but not where we are now.

Someday?

Vlad

Charles didn't spend much time going over the contents of the first letter because it made no sense to him. The man was obviously not pleased with his situation, but with the absence of names and locations Charles had no idea what to make of the letter. He open the second hoping it would supply more information.

October 1930

My dearest Sister Olga,

We have been in our new quarters for five weeks now and the relocation was a success. I am working regularly with thanks to the connections we have made, and both my beloved and I are very content. We presently occupy three rooms in a home designed by FLW (think Olga…FLW. You have heard the initials before). There is such a source of energy living here that I have once again picked up my pencil and square and am drawing. The employment available to me is not in my field, but at the moment it is of little consequence. I have learned the hard way about being thankful for what I have.

SHE is caught smiling most of the day, and I thank God she had the strength to get us through the previous dark year. But, she has always had the ability to comfort those around her. I regret that you and she did not have more time together. I have no doubt you would have been as close as sisters would. I must go now. I am helping her with her English and must listen to her read.

You are ever in our thoughts and prayers,

Vlad

August 1932

My dearest Sister Olga,

One guess as to what I am once again. I will give you a hint: I am NOT a construction worker anymore.

Vlad the A…..

March 1934

My dearest Sister Olga,

I fear I will not be continuing with the 'dearest Sister' part in another eight months, but substituting 'dearest Aunt' instead. Now, read the next part slowly.

My Wife is with….maybe you do not want to know? Maybe you will think I am boasting? I am boasting dearest sister!

My Wife is with child.

Are you happy? I am, more than you could ever imagine. Just tonight I received word from her and I could not sleep afterwards, so I rose to pen you this letter instead. We have waited for this blessed event for so long, and it could not have happened at a more perfect time.

I have more good news to inform you of. Since our arrival here, she has put away every cent we have made, and not allowed us one luxury in exchange for all of the hard work we have endured. The fruits of our labor are now to be harvested. In another month or two we will have the money for the down payment required by the bank for the house we wish to build!

Olga, if all goes well our baby will be brought home from the hospital to our own family residence.

Life is so sweet.

My Wife will be writing to you with a proposition. Please consider it. We would be complete if you were with us.

Love,

Vlad

Charles forwarded Joanna's e-mail message to Jane before settling back in his chair to mull over what he had just read. He found it odd that Vladimir never used the name of the town he was living in his letters, let alone write out Zoya's name. She was referred to as my beloved, she, her, and in the letter dated March of '34--My Wife. From what he understood this practice was not a Polish custom.

Vladimir's words 'There is such a source of energy living here that I have once again picked up my pencil and square and am drawing' stuck a cord within Charles. He had always thought of it as a special home, too.

Although the letters were interesting, they didn't answer any of the questions he had. Why were they living in the basement? What connection did they have to the second generation of Moores? And of course the most complex question of all; What did this all mean to him and Jane?

He was about to listen to Joanna's message from the answering machine again when inspiration hit. In the instant that memory and knowledge fused together, a course of action was put into motion that would lead to a new level of understanding and conjecture for the man.

Vladimir and Zoya Oleksei occupied three rooms in the home, not one like he and Jane had originally believed and a flashback of her checking the walls for a cut out section in the Fairy Room before they were married revisited him. Jane had been expecting to find something hidden in the wall, although she did not know what she was looking for.

Was it possible they were looking in the wrong room?

Charles called, "I'll answer the phone down here" as he passed their housekeeper on his way down the basement steps. He knew this was a long shot. The chances of there being any evidence left after 60-some years was near impossible, but he could not forget his surprise when Jane had found the empty wall compartment that he never knew existed.

Standing at the end of the long hallway, he logically considered his next move. There were six separate rooms that could have possibly been used. The room containing the large safe was out. No owner would ever allow anyone to occupy that room. That left five. The Fairy Room was the next to be eliminated. He and Jane had already checked it and it was clear. That left four. A storage room with plastered walls was taken off his list of possibilities because it would have been impossible to disguise a cutout. That left three.

One of the remaining rooms was at the far end of the hallway, so for the time being he would put checking that place on hold. That left two. Two maybes with one on each side of the Fairy room. Charles next applied the greatest law of averages known to man to make his final decision: Murphy's Law. He opened the door to the left first. It was full of crates and boxes; some stacked to the ceiling. This would be the room he would start with, because if there was a secret compartment hidden anywhere in the basement, it would surely be in the most inconvenient room of the six.

He had to remove fourteen boxes from the room just to be able to maneuver around, but once he made a path it was not as difficult as he thought it might be. Using Jane's method of running his hands down the wainscoting, he felt for any irregularities in the wood pattern. It was on the third wall that he was working on that a splinter caught in his palm. He pulled his hand up and was working the splinter free when his eyes dropped to the area it had come from. He had found what he was looking for.

The familiar pop sound marked the freeing of the cover and as soon as he peered in, Charles knew he had found history.

Chapter 7 B

Posted on Sunday, 1 August 1999

Friday
August 6th 1999
6:50 am
O'Hare Airport

We Will Not Forget Where We Came From.
The Beginning Of The End.

Jane let out a deep breath after Flight 1503 from Chicago, Illinois to Warsaw, Poland was called. She was about to do the most impulsive act of her life, and her 'partner in crime' wasn't able to join her to she cross the globe on the off chance that a old woman would be willing to fill in the missing scenes they were searching for.

Yes, this could have been done over the phone and through letters, but to be completely honest: Miss Olga Oleksei was ninety years old. Ninety! That element alone was motivation enough for her to accept her husband's challenge to go on without him and meet the sister of Vladimir Oleksei.

Charles had used up all of his personal days between the wedding and the incident with Eric, and his contract with the clinic clearly stated that except in cases of emergency, he was to refrain from taking any more. Although Jane's own contract was lenient, she had already exceeded the two weeks she had insisted on by five days. But, Steven was family, and her father did own the company, so that made it easy for her to go into Steven's office and tell him that she would be out of town for several days to see a friend in Poland.

No one in the family knew the entire story behind her and Charles's investigation into the mysterious couple from the past and they most certainly were not informed of the uncomfortable suspicions the two were now having.

The dilemma in a nutshell was this: Jane and Charles were both raised Roman Catholic. She still attended services and he was no longer practicing, but in both cases they found themselves thinking in directions not only outside the traditional teaching they were taught as children, but also outside of anything they had ever explored before.

Was it possible that there a connection between the two couples that broke through the boundaries of known time and into the past? Do people get a second chance to correct the mistakes from another time and place?

Since the moment she laid eyes on the treasures that had been hidden in the basement, Jane knew there would be no turning back. They had too many fragments of the riddle before them to abandon it. She wanted to know why her and her husband had been sharing parts of the same dream since they were children. Why she knew so many details of a room she had never been in before, like that of the fairy bed's existence. Why did Charles have the reaction he did at the gravesite of the Oleksei's. Was it just chance or something more? And why did she start to cry when she beheld the signature of Vladimir Oleksei on the bottom of a blueprint titled 'Zoya's Cottage' for the first time.

Jane was in High School in the 1980's during the time of great tension between the Soviet Union and The United States; times that included talk of 'The Red Menace', bomb shelters, the Communist threat, and nuclear holocaust. In an attempt to profit from the frenzy, Hollywood began to pump out movie after movie in which the USSR was depicted as evil, Godless manipulators who would stop at nothing to promote their dogma. Ticket sales were proof that this was what the American people wanted to see, and movies like 'Red Dawn' were instant hits. Propaganda has many faces.

Both countries were focused on winning the Cold War at any price and when it was over, some political figureheads would simplify the explanation by stating that the United States was willing to outspend the USSR to a point where the communist country was forced to yield. Of course, it wasn't quite that simple.

Jane joined the school newspaper during her sophomore year and wrote several editorials that went against the grain of popular thought. She predicted that someday the two countries would find a resolution to their differences, stressing the importance of looking past the government of a country to see the people. This is what she did by spending hours alone in the basement of her family's home watching news specials about the USSR. She didn't watch them for the political commentary, but to catch the pictures that went along with the report. Pictures of Moscow, images of the faces of the people, the countryside, and the sound of their voices when they spoke.

Her interest began to broaden when she met Joanna at College. The two bonded instantly although they were from very different worlds. Jane had the privilege of beauty and money to open doors for her if she so desired, and Joanna was of a gritty nature who had fought to be one of the small handful of individuals allowed to study abroad in the United States. While the other girls from the dorm they lived in were off in search of men, beer, and sororities to join, Jane and Joanna stayed in their room and discussed their respective countries. Joanna shared the gift of the Polish language, and Jane planned and executed weekend trips for them so she could show her new friend what it was like to be American.

And Jane's obsession with Eastern Europe grew.

Last Monday night Jane had been sitting in the middle of the floor in the living room with yellowed papers in different sizes and shapes scattered all around her. Some were sketches of buildings and homes, and others fully drawn out building plans. Before she had left work, Charles had stacked the papers together matching up the documents and drawings that went together, and she held in her hand a sketch of a cottage while Charles read aloud from a stack of letters he had found in the hidden compartment.

The letters themselves were found bound together with a faded red ribbon and there were six total. They were all addressed to Mr. V. Oleksei of Oak Park, Illinois from Miss O. Oleksei of Warsaw Poland. The information within was of the trivial nature but it gave them a glimpse into everyday life in pre-war Poland. Olga did not go into detail very often, but through her words they were able to determine a general timetable of the Oleksei's travels in the United States.

Jane stood up and stretched her legs. She had been sitting on the hard floor for too long studying the drawings of Vladimir Oleksei and needed a break.

…therefore the rent collect from the story above the shop will give me the extra income needed to make the improvement I desire.

Otherwise all is well here. I do have a message for my dearest brother. Vlad, your last letter to me was far too short, but the meaning was clear. I will assume that you are now working as an architect. Am I correct? In Zoya's letter she alerted me to the fact that you asked her not to tell, so I would be forced to guess. You are naughty, Vladimir! Very naughty! For penitence I must insist that you take writing instruction from Zoya. Her LONG letters are always full of valid information and personal commentary and if were not for her, I would know nothing of your lives. Your letters, dearest brother, lack substance?! Do not concern yourself, I do still love you despite your shortcomings.

I miss you both terribly. Please write again soon.

Love,
Olga

"We now know who the letter writer of the Oleksei family was." Sitting down next to him on the couch, Charles put his arm around her shoulder and leaned his head back.

"That was number six. I can't say that we learned a lot, but they were very interesting to read." Charles laid the letter on the table next to the where he was sitting and took a drink from his coffee cup.

"In her letters she does sound 'fiery' like Joanna described her. I'd like to meet her someday." Jane's sweet sentiment was the beginning of a thirty-minute conversation that ended with her 'considering' flying to Poland to talk to Olga Oleksei.

It was well after nine when they started to pick up the papers littered about on the floor. Jane placed the sketch of 'Zoya's Cottage' reluctantly on the top of the stack.

"You really like that house, don't you?" Charles had been observing her all night and she hadn't laid the paper down for any long period of time. Having the advantage of six hours before she came home from work to go over everything, he too had spent some time focusing on the cottage, although his attention was drawn more to the floor plans and technical descriptions.

"Yes. This sketch is so beautiful that I want to frame it."

"I want to build it." His statement tore her attention away from the drawing. "It's crazy, isn't it?"

"Well… Why? Do you want to live in this house?"

"No, nothing like that. It's just that I really like the cottage. It would make a great summer cabin on Lake Michigan." The Moore Home was now their home and he couldn't imagine he and Jane living anywhere else, but….

"Isn't it too big?"

"Not really. I think Louisa's cabin has more square footage than this one. We couldn't add the basement because there is too much sand in the soil, and that is where Vladimir had all of his storage area located. So really, it would be a nice size. The wood-shingled roof might have to be changed. Even if it is treated, I don't know if it would hold up well against the lake affect… I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Keep going...."

Now Jane found herself standing in an airport terminal kissing her husband good-bye before she took the long flight across the ocean. They had carefully packed up the papers and letters for Olga to examine, and after three different phone conversations to Poland Jane had a meeting set up. She was a little nervous and a little anxious at the same time, but she was ready.

"This is the first time since we've been married that we'll sleep apart." Charles stated as he held her close. He was a grown man and really this probably shouldn't be bothering him as much as it was, but it was difficult for him to know she would be away for too many days.

"I know."

"Please be careful while you're in Warsaw. Although it is relatively safe city, petty crime…"

"…Is on the rise and an American woman traveling alone could be considered an easy target. Don't worry, Charles, I'll be careful. No subway hopping this trip."

"It's hard to let you go." Charles continued to hold onto her as the second call for her flight was announced. "Phone anytime and don't worry about waking me up in the middle of the night."

"The same goes for you. I bet these five days will just fly by, you'll see." Jane reached up and kissed him once more. "I love you, and I have to leave now."

His hold was released and Charles took a step back to let her depart. He would put his faith in her ability to take care of herself in the large foreign city without him. Charles knew Jane would be fine.

"I love you, too."

April 1934

"Zoya, are you asleep?" Vladimir whispered in the dark to the woman next to him.

"No." she answered back.

"I have been thinking about something and I want to ask your opinion."

"Tell me, Love," she yawned, "what is it?"

"I would like our baby to have either a Russian or Polish name, not an English one."

"Why do you say this?"

"I want him or her to know where we came from, and be aware of our heritage."

"Do you not fear that they will be treated differently because their name is not like the other children's?"

"Zoya, in Brooklyn I was shunned and overlooked because of my name and accent. Although I cringe thinking of our child treated in the same manner, I do not want them to feel shame for who they are. If we teach them well and raise them without prejudice, we have done a good deed for the child, and I believe they will be able to bear the weight of our name. After all, you are Russian and I am Polish, and we are now Americans. I do no want our children and their children to forget."

A long pause followed his statement and Vladimir began to doubt Zoya would agree to his request. He could understand if she said no, but hoped she would see that there was more than pride behind his suggestion. When she finally did deliver her opinion, it was in a soft, but certain tone.

"Vladimir, this baby's name will be Polish, and the next will be Russian. We will not forget where we came from."

Chapter 8 A

Posted on Tuesday, 3 August 1999

Saturday
August 7th 1999
10 am

Warsaw, Poland

It all comes down to the last sentence.

Fidgeting like Lydia would, Jane stopped herself from rubbing her hand over her arm and waited patiently for the door to be opened. The small porch she stood on creaked when she moved giving away its age, but it wore it well especially when one considered all it had seen in the past one hundred years. A minute had already passed since she knocked for the first time, but Jane still held back on doing so again. She had spoken on the telephone to Miss Oleksei earlier in the morning and she knew she was coming. Jane's wait wasn't much longer as the front door of the house opened to reveal a smiling old woman.

Using his key, Vladimir unlocked the door and opened it. Much to Zoya's surprise, a young woman was already waiting on the other side with a relieved look on her face.

"Olga!" Vladimir hugged his sister tightly, kissing her several times on the cheek before releasing her to make the introductions.

"Zoya Borodin, may I introduce my sister, Olga Oleksei. Olga, this is the woman I have not stopped speaking of for many months."

Both women looked at each other quite uncertain of what their response should be. Olga saw Zoya shyly bite her bottom lip and she would have none of that. This woman was her brother's beloved, and Olga was going to make sure Zoya knew she was welcomed into their family.

"Zoya, I have waited long for this moment. Our house is now yours." Olga stepped forward and wrapped her arms around the frightened Russian woman. They would be friends for life.

"Miss Oleksei? I am Jane Bingley." Jane extended her hand in the direction of the older woman. "It is a pleasure to have this opportunity to meet you."

Olga raised her eyebrows and grinned. She was going to like this woman, she just knew it.

"Hello, Jane. You must call me Olga." Olga took her young hand and wrapped both of her old around it. "Please, come in."

"Was it love at first sight?" Olga was gathering information from the American woman sitting next to her on the divan.

"No, although it did not take much time for me to fall in love with him. The first time I met Charles I called him a 'Shrink'. This is a derogatory term for his profession, and then I went on to tell him to 'go choke on his own vanity.'" Jane gave an embarrassed grin and Olga chuckled. "I was wrong, though. He is definitely not vain."

"It is a shame he could not join you on this trip."

"He was disappointed. Like me, Charles is curious about your brother and his wife." Jane bent over to pick up the satchel she had brought with her. "What little information we have is from your letters to Vladimir and his drawings."

Olga placed her hand atop Jane's to stop her from opening the zipper on her bag.

"I believe I have questioned you enough for now. Before we bring out what documents we each have, let me tell you the story of Vladimir and Zoya. I am old and this is what I like to do; tell stories." Olga removed her hand. "You must stop me when you do not understand something I have said. Your Polish is very good for a foreigner, but I tend to use big words."

Olga winked at Jane, bringing a laugh out of her. Olga Oleksei was an ornery little woman and had Jane was completely comfortable in her presence. Obviously the three days Jane and Charles spent before her trip speaking only Polish to each other had paid off, because she was having no problems with the language.

Settling back against the back of the divan, Jane gave Olga her full attention as she waited anxiously for the knowledge she had flown half way around the world to hear.

"Vladimir was born in a small town outside of Moscow. Our father was a Russian national and our mother Polish. When he was two years old my father moved his small family here to Warsaw. Mother was homesick and father loved her so dearly that he could not bear to see her unhappy. My father was an architect and easily found employment at the Lapinski and Associates Architecture Firm, which no longer exists. Vladimir grew up watching and imitating Father and to no one's surprise, followed in his footsteps as an adult in more ways than one. After his formal training, he went back to Moscow and worked for a large group for three years. Because he was born there, he was able to maintain dual citizenship and cross the border without trouble. This was rare. Our parents passed away when we were quite young, leaving everything to Vladimir, and when I became the age of seventeen, he signed possession of the house and Mother's dress shop over to me. Vladimir wanted to make sure I was taken care of.

During his time in Moscow I had Mother's elderly Aunt living with me and this alleviated my brothers conscience about leaving me alone in Poland. There was an architect he was working under in Moscow who was considered 'great' and Vladimir was learning much from him. I would not hold my brother back and supported his decision to stay in Russia."

Olga stopped to ask Jane if she was able to keep up with her story and when she received a positive response, she continued on.

"Being one of the youngest architects in the group, he was often given the mundane tasks, and one of them was to design barracks for the Soviet Army. He was on the site where the buildings were being erected, in a town I no longer remember the name of, when he went for a walk. He later told me that the area had only one small patch of woods and he would often go there to clear his mind. The General whose men were to be housed in the building was difficult and demanding, and had insisted that the designer of the barracks be available at all times during the construction process in the off chance that a problem would arise. His request was granted, and Vladimir spent several months away from his desk to appease the man. This is where he met Zoya.

Following the noise he heard amidst the trees, Vladimir went several meters off the traveling path and found a young woman sitting on a rock with her face hidden by her small hands.

"Miss." He said as softly as he could, hoping not to startle the poor dear. It was the sound of her crying that he had been following. She did not answer but the sobbing stopped.

"Are you injured?" She shook her head. "Are you lost?" Once again she shook her head, not looking up at him.

Vladimir placed the tablet of paper he was carrying under his arm and removed a handkerchief from his pocket. He placed it directly below her hands and waited for her to take it, but she would not.

"Zoya!" echoed through the trees and her back straightened. "Zoya, are you in here?"

In slow motion she raised her face from her hands and looked at the man standing in front of her. It was unavoidable; their eyes locked and unspoken recognition passed between their spirits while their minds told them they were seeing a stranger for the first time. They had found each other once again without knowing they had ever been lost.

Zoya blinked and took two steps back from Vladimir. Taking one last look, she then turned and ran through the woods to the voice calling out her name.

Vladimir did not move. Unsure of what just happened, he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he had just found his true love. He listened for her arrival at the mouth of the path.

"There you are forest nymph. It is time to return home." General Vabka's tone was only slightly less sharp than usual. "Have you been weeping?"

"No." This was the first time Vladimir heard her speak.

Olga paused to make a decision about how much of the truth she would share with the woman sitting next to her. To this point, Jane had been a good listener and seemed sincere in her interest. Realizing that all participants in her tale, with the exception of herself, had already passed away, she chose to give the complete story.

"In the beginning of his friendship with Zoya, Vladimir mistakenly believed that she was General Vabka's daughter. This was not accurate; she was his wife. By the time he asked Zoya about her father and was corrected about their relationship, it was too late. He was mad in love with the Russian woman, and she with him. According to my brother everything was innocent between them up to this point, but their situation changed while the General was away for a week on a training mission with his troops. Vladimir came home shortly thereafter and told me everything. Well, everything he could tell a younger sister. He said, 'Once you have been loved by the person you are certain God intended you to be with, there is no turning back.' And my brother did not. After the project was complete he started a plan of action. A position was accepted with my father's former firm here in Warsaw, and he began to prepare in the hopes that he could find a way to bring Zoya to Poland. He traveled between the two countries to meet with her and on November 15th of 1928 he brought her home with him."

The moonlight streaming through the window cast a bluish shadow through the room. Amidst the color, the two lovers embraced while looking out at the neighborhood. Their escape from Russia had left them weary but it was more of a relieved tired than a psychical one. Zoya was now safely in Poland standing in the bedroom Vladimir had occupied since he was six years old.

"When there is time, please tell me of your childhood." She requested. "I want to know everything about you."

"Anything you want, Love." Vladimir's arms were draped around her shoulders as he stood behind her. Running his lips over her soft cheek, he repeated the words he knew to be true since the first time he saw her in the woods. "I love you."

A smile came upon her face and she snuggled closer to his warm body.

"And I love you. Thank you for bringing me here safely." Zoya turned her head as much as she could and caught sight of his face out of the corner of her eye. "Vladimir?"

"Yes?"

"Make love to me in your bed."

Her request momentarily took his breath away before the weariness disappeared. The lovers expressed their joy of being together deep into the night.

"Before they left Zoya's home, Vladimir gave her false papers, but he also had her get all of her original documents from the house. This move would later prove to be a wise one when the General uncovered them, but I am getting ahead of myself. Would you like to hear of my impressions of her?"

"Yes." Olga's voice and the images her words were creating mesmerized Jane in her mind. Any detail the old woman was willing to share would be savored.

"For the first three days after her arrival here, Zoya was very quiet and timid. I believe she felt that I could not respect her because of the circumstances she left behind in Russia, but what she did not know was Vladimir had told me everything he knew before she stepped foot in the house.

Her father had been a titled man of class in Russian before the revolution had taken place and they lived a prosperous life until the royal family was removed. The new government stripped him of all his land and money and he was left to work as a laborer in an ammunition factory outside of St. Petersburg. In an attempt to give Zoya a life as close to what she would have had if the revolution not taken place, he forced her to marry General Vabka at the age of twenty. Vabka was much older than her and a man who used intimidation and force to achieve his goals. He saw her, decided that she was what he wanted in a wife, and he married her. He never asked her if she loved him. She didn't. Vabka then went about changing her into his perfect vision and Zoya complied without a fight. The General was not a man to be crossed. In return for her cooperation, he allowed her small freedoms, believing she was happy with the iota of generosity he chose to grant her. The walks alone in the woods were one of his 'gifts'. He was a controlling, inflexible man unable to know love if it was right in front of him, but he could not completely break her spirit. Zoya just knew how to hide it.

The third night in residence Vladimir came to me after she was asleep with his concerns. He had been with the real Zoya and knew she was not adjusting well to her new environment. We talked, and it was decided that the next day I would stay home from my shop and spend the day with her. By the time Vladimir came home for Luncheon, she was smiling, and by sundown we were laughing in the kitchen preparing supper. She confessed that she felt like an intruder in our happy home and was worried that all she could offer us was hardship and danger if she was discovered. For my part I made it perfectly clear that I held no judgment against her for the choice she and Vladimir made to be together. Zoya was a cheerful, kind, intelligent young woman and she made my brother so happy-How could I possibly pass judgment on that?"

Olga smiled and thought back to the past, temporarily losing herself in the happy 23 days they three shared together.

The table was littered with dirty dishes yet no one moved from their chair to clear. They were enjoying themselves too much. Olga looked over at her brother and rolled her eyes as he rambled on about a project he was working on.

"Olga, I saw you do that."

"Well, I am sorry, Vlad. But that is the dullest story you have told since… ten minutes ago! I am begging you, please, no more about load-bearing walls."

All three laughed.

"Zoya is interested. Am I correct, Zoya?" Vladimir flashed her a good-humored smile.

"Oh, no. I will not be put in the middle of this. You two must work out your dilemma on your own."

"I have a solution." Olga proclaimed. "Vlad, save it for pillow talk!"

"Olga! You are no supposed to know of things like that. You are my baby sister and…" Vladimir stuttered to finish his sentence. "…Have you been reading those romance novels, again?"

Zoya had to cover her mouth to stifle the giggles trying to escape. Vladimir and Olga were constantly jesting with each other and at times it was some of the funniest banter she had ever heard. She knew Olga would not let his last sentence lie for long.

"Reading them? I'm living in a house with one! I see you making goo-goo eyes at Zoya all of the time. Yes, Vlad, that is a new word. Goo-goo. I may end up being the best educated…"

"I give! I give! If you promise not to finish that thought aloud, I will attempt not to bore you with my work life. Do we have a deal?" Quite aware of his sister's bluntness in speech, Vladimir knew he had no choice but to fold to her wishes. It could have been an embarrassing situation otherwise.

"We have a deal."

"Olga." Softly, Jane said her name after a prolonged silence.

"I apologize. I was remembering a very good time."

"Would you like to take a break?" The sadness in the old woman's face concerned her and Jane hoped she wasn't tiring her out.

"Yes, that is a fair suggestion. Tea?"

Once in the kitchen Jane set about making their tea for them after insisting Olga sit at the table and rest her self. From over the stove she brought down the porcelain teapot and removed the cups and saucers from the cabinet located on the right hand side of the sink. Olga had asked her about what she did in the United States and Jane was telling her of her life in Oak Park without paying attention to what she was doing. Had she, she might have found it as odd as Olga did that she knew the location of the tea accessories without being told where to look.

After one sugar cube was dropped in each cup to dissolve, Jane sat down at the oval table and sipped her tea while Olga continued her narrative. She began with the raid of December 8th when General Vabka and his men descended down upon them.

"I sent the soldiers who came to the shop to the residence of General Kukowski, a Polish Military man who is a distant cousin of mine. Vabka received word and went himself to collect his wife. Of course, she was not there, but General Kukowski was. From what I heard later the scene was quite ugly as tempers flared and guns were drawn but never fired. Vabka was demanding to search the premises and Kukowski held strong against him. Eventually Vabka was escorted out of the country, but his spies were everywhere. For the next several years I was often watched and followed. My mail was gone through on a regular basis, and my shop was broken into. It was a horrible time. Vladimir had prepared in advance for the possibility that General Vabka would locate Zoya and had rented a locker at the train station in which he hid money, a few changes of clothes, and their papers. He had also directed me that if any correspondence was received from him, it would be sent to my cousin Dahlkes and not our home address. Any letters from Zoya were to be destroyed after reading and not kept. He didn't want me to be in possession of any evidence that I knew her. They left Warsaw on December 8th, and that was the last time I ever saw either of them.

They arrived in your country after a long journey through Europe. I was never given the details about the route they traveled and received little news until America. Your country was going through an economic depression during their years there, and some of the few letters I received in the first year were alarming. Vladimir was unable to find work and very, very unhappy. His letters made my heart ache, but Zoya was able to keep them sheltered and fed. She worked as a cook, something she was good at. There was a fright during this time. Zoya fell ill and Vladimir feared the worst."

Vladimir sat on the edge of the bed brushing her hair away from her face. Wrapped only in a thin sheet, Zoya's temperature was beginning to rise again only minutes after the third cool bath he had soaked her in.

"Is she any better?" a harsh voice said from the doorway. Mrs. Kroger stood with her feet firmly planted while she waited for an answer. The customers downstairs were starting to complain about the quality of the food being served in the restaurant, and she needed her cook back as soon as possible before they abandoned her business all together.

With an angry glare, Vladimir's head snapped in her direction as he hissed at the woman he had never liked.

"This is the third damn day that she has been burning up alive, so NO, she is not any better! If you do not leave me alone to tend to my wife, when she is well again, I will take her from here and your business will suffer. Do you understand?"

The German woman and the Polish man each held their gaze steady as they stared each other down. Like their homelands, neither had much respect for the, other and the only common emotions they shared were mistrust and scorn.

Vladimir came out the victor due to the fact that Mrs. Kroger knew what he said was correct. Zoya had single-handedly kept her restaurant open during these depressed times thanks to her talent in the kitchen. Mediocre food would not tempt people to spend what little money they had on the luxury of eating in a restaurant, but exceptional food might.

"Do you need anything?" Her tone was still angry, but she was willing to indulge the man who held her future in his hands.

"Ice. I need more ice. And have that cook you have downstairs send me up more broth. I will restore her health."

Without answering him, Mrs. Kroger turned on her heel and went to get the nasty Pole what he wanted. Once he was certain she had left, his attention turned back to Zoya.

"I will make you better, Love." He vowed as he adjusted the sheet around her nude body. "And when you are, I am going to ask you for a promise."

The little rest he had taken since Zoya became ill left him emotionally vulnerable and while freeing her arms from the cover so that the air might cool them, Vladimir's shaking bore proof that he was on the verge of breaking apart.

Zoya stirred, but his hopes did not rise as they had the previous times this action had taken place. Even in the depths of fever she was still able to move, but not awaken.

Vladimir's hands took hold of her braid and he removed the ribbon tied at the bottom of it. He continued to talk to Zoya as if she could hear him.

"I fear I got your hair wet from your bath and some of it has come loose." Using his fingers he brushed through the weave until it hung down straight. "I will redo it for you because I do not want you to wake up and accuse me of negligence."

His attempt at humor brought him no response.

Dividing the mane into three sections, his hands lovingly worked it into a neat braid, being careful not to leave any loose strands.

"I think I will tie it with the yellow ribbon." He looked over at the only other piece of furniture in the room other than the bed as he laid her hair on her chest. On top of the dresser was a little cardboard box that held the few ribbons and combs she owned, and the sight of it brought on a wave of depression so intense that he could not hold it in.

Rapid breathing came first and was closely followed by hot tears. Vladimir buried his face into the areas between neck and shoulder and wept out his dread that she would not recover like he had been professing and that her last memories would be of the squalor she was forced to live in because of him. Wrapping his arms under her, he pressed his cool body against her hot one and sobbed out his words while gently rocking her.

"Don't leave me, Zoya. Please, don't leave me here alone in this hell." He tried to catch his breath, but the crushing weight of his fear was bearing down with too much force. "You're all I have in this world and I need you to save me.

"You have to promise that you will outlive me. If you do this I will never ask another thing out of you for the rest of my life. Never. You are the stronger of us." Vladimir pulled her unresponsive self closer to him. "Please wake up and make me this vow."

Mrs. Kroger came in to see the Pole crying over his wife. It almost touched her not-so-cold heart, and she laid down the ice and broth on the floor and went down the hall to her own bedroom.

A couple of minutes later she returned to the room with a medicine bottle. Espying the two spoons he used to crush her medicine laying on the dresser, she opened her aspirin bottle and brought four pills out.

Hearing noise in the room, Vladimir raised his head and wiped his wet face with his palms.

"What do you want?" he asked bitterly.

"Shut up and come pour a glass of water. Then I want you to sit her up at an angle so I can get more aspirin down her."

"But she just had some two hours ago."

"And it did not work. If you want her to live, we have to break her fever one way or another. "

Mrs. Kroger crushed the pills between the spoons and added a little water to make a liquid.

The German and the Pole worked together to nurse the Russian, each taking turns wiping down her body down with a wet rag and spooning water into her mouth. Shortly before midnight Zoya's eyes fluttered and by the next afternoon her fever broke due to the cooperation exhibited in the room that evening.

"But the two of them survived and when the opportunity came for them to move to the town you are from, they took it. It wasn't until three years later that I was informed that they had wed before moving to Oak Park."

"Zoya was able to divorce the General?" Jane wanted to hear this part of the story, which she believed Olga might have skipped over.

"No, she never tried."

"Polygamy?" Jane said the word in English, uncertain of the interpretation and Olga did not understand. "She was married to two men at once?"

"No, Zoya was Vladimir's wife, and he was her only husband, legally or not. Whatever she was to Vabka was over when she left him. Do not judge her, Jane. Until you have lived through the experience of being married to a cold-blooded, vindictive man, you will not be able to fully appreciate that she deserved Vladimir. I assure you, Vabka would have rather seen her dead than give her a divorce."

Jane didn't have a response and remained quiet while Olga observed her. "Is Charles the only husband you have ever had?"

"No. I was married before."

"You were divorced then?" Jane nodded. "It is easier to obtain divorce today than it was in 1930."

"Yes, but I wouldn't call my divorce 'easier'."

"I want to hear about it." Olga folded her arms in front of her and waited, unwilling to relent her request. It was once again Jane's turn to tell a story and she did so with hesitancy. Occasionally Olga would stop her to ask a question, but for the most part listened without comment.

"So, you were given a choice to marry him?"

"Yes. I was young and naive, but it was my decision."

"Where is he now? In prison?"

"No, he died." Jane went on to fully explain the circumstances surrounding Eric's death, and once Olga was satisfied, she let the subject drop. A suspicion was forming in Olga's mind, a suspicion outside the realm of the conventional to some, but considered completely possible by most of the world's population. She wanted to continue on with Vladimir and Zoya's story.

"Oak Park must have suited them well, because the tone of the letters changed. Zoya's grew longer, and it was nothing for me to receive a five-page letter from her, and Vladimir once again began to tease me. They loved living in the house you now own, and the couple Zoya worked for were kind, for she spoke of them often in her correspondence. The man, Mr. Moore, wrote Vladimir a reference shortly after their arrival, and Vladimir was able to use it to find employment. My brother was not a man whose pride would allow him be idle while his wife supported him and he worked long hours, but was grateful to be able to contribute. He wrote to me that with his first paycheck, Zoya insisted that he go out and buy some drafting materials. Since being in America he had not drawn or sketched, and she would not let him forget that he was an architect. He told me that she would sit in the room they set up with his supplies during the evening and watch him draw for hours, which sounds quite boring to me, but lovers do strange things!

Then it finally happened, Vladimir was hired as an architect. I remember receiving an eight-page letter from Zoya after it happened. I wish I would have defied my brother's wishes and kept it, because the letter was so joyful, and Zoya praised him as only someone in love could. It seems as if Vladimir had applied for a draftsman position and submitted his samples, but was offered an architect's job instead. Fully expecting to be assigned lowly projects, since he had not yet proven his abilities as an efficient employee, he was surprised when his first project was working on a large building with one of the senior architects in the firm. His responsibility level rose from there, and by the end of his first year, he was working solo.

Much happened during this period of time. Some very happy and some not. Why don't we move back into the living room where it is more comfortable and I will continue from there?"

Jane readily agreed and together they left the kitchen, moving slowly toward the living room. Up to this point, everything Jane had heard she found fascinating, but it would be the end of Olga's story that would change her forever.

Chapter 8 B

Posted on Wednesday, 4 August 1999

"Now, where did I leave off at?"

"Vladimir had just gotten a job as a architect."

"Vladimir and Zoya continued to live in the basement of your home. They could have afforded to move from it and into a place of their own, but Zoya had other plans. In the letter I allowed your friend to copy and send you, Vladimir explained it well. They were saving to build the house he had designed for Zoya for her twenty-eighth birthday."

"I have that plan with me."

"Good, let's go over it after I finish the story. I have always wanted to know what it looked like.

"Jane, they were happy, but there was one area in their lives that felt very empty. In only one of her letters did Zoya confess this to me; She desperately wanted for them to have a child of their own. Zoya's monthly menstruation was often extremely painful and she had wondered if there might be something wrong with her that kept her from conceiving. She said that Vladimir asked her to go to the doctor so that her mind could be put to rest as to why she was not getting pregnant, but Zoya was afraid she would hear the doctor say that they would never have children. She stressed to me that Vladimir had told her time and time again that if they never had children he would not feel as if he missed out on anything being with her. But Zoya wanted him to be a father as much as she wanted to have a baby to care for.

She eventually did go to the doctor and she heard exactly what she thought she would. Zoya would never have children. For months she lived with the difficult news, and there were days when she was very blue because of it. Then a miracle happened: Zoya conceived.

"You are making fun of me!" Zoya accused with a smile on her face.

"I am not." Defending himself poorly, Vladimir laughed out his words. "Have I ever made fun of my beautiful wife before?"

"Yes, you have! Vladimir Oleksei, you are wretched example of what a good husband should be, and I am going to have to teach you a lesson."

Getting exactly what he hoped for, he prepared himself for the surprise she had up her sleeve.

"What weapon will you use, Love? Your words to cut me down, or perhaps your foot to kick me on the bottom? What about your lips to steal my breath away?" His eyes lit up after the last sentence left his mouth.

"You only wish I was inclined to be so lenient." Zoya narrowed her eyes at the man still in bed on Sunday morning. "I choose my fingers."

"Your fingers…" was all he was able to get out before she pounced on him and began to tickle his ribs. Vladimir laughed and laughed, pretending to struggle while his wife felt superior in her strength. Then in the blink of an eye, he switched places with her and pinned her hands against the mattress.

"Now, my dear, I am going to tickle you unless you say the words again."

"I will not! It is ridiculous. Remove yourself right this instant, Sir."

"Say it…" he warned playfully.

"Very well!" Only because she had thought of a way to turn the situation to her advantage, Zoya conceded. "Peter Piper picked a pick of…"

"It's 'peck', Love. Peter Piper picked a 'peck' of."

"Pick." She shook her head, grinned, and told a small fib. "Vlad, I cannot pronounce that word properly. Will you show me how?"

"Peck." He repeated a few inches from her face. "Did you catch it that time?"

"No."

Vladimir placed his lips atop hers and said the word over and over until it developed in to a deep kiss leaving the language lesson forgotten.

"Vlad," Zoya whispered through her smiling, "could you hand me your shirt? I don't want the fairies watching."

Laughing, he removed his shirt and put it over the headboard.

The timing was absolutely perfect and out of love a baby was created.

Jane knew what was coming next, because this was the part of the story she had dreamed so many times before. She had questions that she had never been able to piece together, but the longer Olga spoke the surer Jane was that they would be answered. With a nervousness she could not account for, Jane waited with baited breath for her ears to confirm to her what she already knew.

"Most of what I am about to tell you comes second hand from Mr. and Mrs. Moore. You will understand once the circumstances are revealed. In the early hours on April 16th of '34, Vladimir awakened the Moores. He yelled up to the second floor that Zoya was in trouble and needed medical attention right away. The Moores rushed out of bed; Mr. Moore called the hospital and ordered an ambulance, while Mrs. Moore ran to the basement. Jane…it was already too late. Zoya was dead."

Olga ran her hand over the arm of the divan as she talked about the letter she had received from Mrs. Moore informing her that her sister-in-law had passed away. Olga had cried for days after the news was delivered, not realizing that Zoya and her baby weren't the only ones lost to her on April 16th.

"The coroner gave her reason for death due to internal bleeding caused by an ectopic pregnancy and her heart stopping. Mrs. Moore sent word to me, and in her letter there were details that I still find hard to understand. She said that on the day before she died, Zoya was unusually quiet all day and by two in the afternoon she needed to go rest. She stayed in bed for the rest of the night and Vlad joined her at his usual time. After the ambulance took Zoya away, Mrs. Moore went into the bathroom Vladimir and Zoya used. In the waste can she found several rags with both fresh and dried blood on them. We…she believes that Zoya knew early on that she had lost the baby and didn't tell anyone." Olga shook her head and said the next words with barely concealed exasperation.

"She wanted that baby so badly. Of all the times for her damn Russian stubbornness to come out, Zoya picked this time. If she had told someone, Vladimir would have taken her to the hospital and there is a possibility she would have survived. I really can't say for certain because medicine is so much more exact these days than compared to 1934, but at least she would have had a chance.

My brother did not handle her death well. No, that really doesn't explain what happened to Vladimir. He fell apart and never recuperated."

"Mr. Oleksei, can you hear me?" Thomas Moore knelt his large frame down to the floor to look into the eyes of the younger man who had lain prostrate on his bed for the past three days. His eyes were open, but he did not use them to see. If it were not for the rise and fall of his chest, Thomas Moore would have sworn he was dead.

"Vladimir?" With more force, he said his name again. "You can see me?"

"Yes, Mr. Moore." Was answered through cracked lips. He had not taken any food or water in some time.

"Son, we need to talk. I think we should go take care of Zoya." Thomas Moore kept his voice quiet but confident.

The funeral home had been calling repeatedly about something needing to be done with the body. Zoya's remains could not wait indefinitely until her husband felt ready to make some sort of decision about a service and final resting-place. The Moores had already gone down and picked out a casket, but they could not bury her without Vladimir's permission.

Mr. Moore received no acknowledgment to his suggestion.

"I could drive you down to where Zoya is and we could check on her. Vladimir, we need to go." It had been the suggestion of the Funeral Director that Mr. Moore find a way to get the grieving husband to the body. Believing that if he witnessed for himself the state the deceased was in, he might be more apt to take the next step and follow through on the burial process.

The words 'check on her' were churned over and over in Vladimir's frail mind as a narrative from his childhood sprang to life. Agitated, he lifted his head from her pillow.

"Mr. Moore! I have heard stories of people who were believed to be dead, but were not. Terrible stories where some were buried alive. My grandmother told me of a true account about a man who scratched at the lid of his coffin for two days before someone finally heard him." Vladimir sat up in bed. His words were tumbling out of his mouth.

"You are right!" he continued. "We must go to her and check for ourselves. She could very well be in a deep sleep or a coma and no one would notice. I will not have her buried alive. Poor Zoya, I should have stayed with her-I should not have let them take her away. I told them she was still alive!"

Shocked, Mr. Moore bit the inside of his cheek and nodded his head in agreement while forcing the pity he felt for the man down. He had not the heart to tell him that Zoya had been embalmed two days before. Knowing that this may very well be the only way to get Vladimir down to the funeral home, he choked out a response.

"You need to get cleaned up. Take your shower and change your clothes. I will bring the car out from the garage."

"But the time! I do not even know how long she has been there. What if they hurt her before we can get down there?" Panic had set in as his bereavement robbed him of all common sense.

"I will call the funeral home right now and tell them that we are on our way and that we want to see your wife. It will only take a few minutes for you to get your self presentable."

"Tell them not to touch her!" Desperate, Vladimir grabbed his arm.

"I will." Thomas Moore had never felt so guilty in all his life. "Go, clean yourself up. I will be waiting outside. We must make a good impression."

While Vladimir was pulling clothes out of his dresser, Mr. Moore went up to the main floor to inform his wife about where they were going. He found her in the kitchen staring at a crystal serving plate that had half of a cake Zoya had baked for her on the morning before she died.

Mrs. Moore heard her husband's footsteps and turned to him with tears running down her face.

"She made this special for me because she knew how much I liked it. I can't eat it, yet I can't bring myself to throw it away. It was the last favor she ever…"

Mr. Moore put his arms around his wife as she sobbed onto his shoulder. He, too, had tears, but they were not allowed to be shown at this time. The task he had before him was going to be difficult, and Thomas Moore doubted that he had the strength to get Vladimir to a point where he would concede his wife's death and allow her to rest in peace.

"Vladimir has agreed to go to the funeral home, but he does not believe she is dead."

"Oh, Thomas. That poor man."

"It will be fine." He reassured as he patted her back. "It will be fine."

Jane leaned in toward Olga. She had to ask.

"What became of Vladimir? Surely he adjusted after a while and went on with his life. Am I correct?"

"No, Jane, you are not correct. I assume in some ways he did continue to live, but not an existence that he was capable of. All I have from the time Zoya died to the end of my brother's life are a few short letters from him and Mrs. Moore. She kept in touch with Vladimir after he moved out of their house, although at times it was difficult for her to do so. Vladimir moved around a lot, but he kept his job at the firm for the first two years.

"Mr. Oleksei's office is at the end of the hall." A pretty young woman said from behind her desk.

"Thank you." Mrs. Moore walked down the carpeted hall to the tiny office at the end. She knocked on the door and an emotionless voice told her to enter.

"Hello, Vladimir." She raised her hand which contained a letter in it.

"Mrs. Moore." He answered in half-voice.

"I have brought another…" Mrs. Moore's eyes started to follow a path of sketches taped to the wall while she clinched the letter from his sister. Although she knew nothing about architecture, Mrs. Moore was sure these creations could not have come out of a balanced man. They were tall and gray, with sharp corners and peaks. Sketched in only black lead, the gloomy buildings held a gothic quality that made her uncomfortable to look at, yet she could not turn away from them. They touched a part of her imagination she did not know existed-the dark side most people would not admit they had within.

Vladimir sat with his eyes focused on nothing and the only movement out of him was an occasional blink as he waited for her to finish her inspection. He was being neither timid nor unaffected and his face did not give away any emotion he might be experiencing. Being much thinner than the last time Mrs. Moore had stopped by, the new crop of gray hair stood out as being bold for a man as young as Vladimir was. He was aging faster than time could keep up.

"I am sorry." Mrs. Moore joined him at his drafting table. "I have a letter for you from Zoya."

Realizing her error immediately, Mrs. Moore began to apologize profusely. "Olga, dear. I meant to say Olga."

The only surprise he showed was by his eyes widening a little.

"It is fine, Mrs. Moore." He mumbled out while his heart pounded against his chest. This was the first time in over a year he had heard her name said aloud by anyone other than himself. "Do not concern yourself."

"Because he allowed his grief to consume him, Vladimir forfeited the life he was destined to have, although…" Olga had to pause after she realized that she had skipped over some vital information. "We must go back to Zoya's funeral and work our way out from there. Yes, this is the way I want to tell it.

"The service for my sister-in-law was small. Vladimir and Zoya did not mix much with company, preferring to keep to themselves. Among the mourners was a woman Zoya had developed a friendship with, a Mrs. Olgivanna Wright. She was the wife of Architect Frank Lloyd Wright, the man who designed your home. Her husband had brought her to the funeral, but Vladimir did not see them. Mrs. Moore told me that my brother stood off to the side by himself and would not allow anyone near him. It was during the Lord's Prayer that he just walked away, although the service was not over. He did not stay to see them lower his wife into the ground.

"Apparently, Olgivanna Wright had a soft spot in her heart for Zoya and had been keeping tabs on the couple after meeting Zoya and seeing the work Vladimir was capable of. Mrs. Moore believes that it was with Mrs. Wright's intervention that Vladimir was offered an interview with his firm, but he had to earn the position on his own. This is something that I have no proof of, so consider it hearsay.

"A month after Zoya's passing, Vladimir returned to work and turned his back on his original style. He began to pour his sorrow onto the paper before him and the results were harsh and unforgiving.

"He just sent his letters directly to the house at that point. Vladimir no longer cared and simply wanted to die, but he would not take his own life. I think he secretly wished Vabka to come after him to do the dirty work he could not do himself. For as much as Vladimir was finished living, he would not risk missing Zoya by landing himself in Hell. He knew that if there was a Heaven, she was there waiting for him, and any self-inflicted harm he would do to himself to release his spirit from his body would earn him the punishment of being separated from her for all eternity.

"So he waited for death to come knocking.

"The depression he was living in completely took over around the second anniversary of Zoya's passing, and one day Vladimir decided to stop showing up for work. Mrs. Moore wrote that the owner of the firm called often looking for him and several messages were left for him to return to the firm. His work had been noticed and people were coming into the business asking for Vladimir by name. Notoriety was his for the taking and the measure of success he had always dreamed of had finally been reached. They wanted Vladimir Oleksei to design their buildings, they wanted his name on the plans, but they also wanted the Vladimir that could not get himself out of bed for days on end.

"I tried to get him to come back home to Poland, but he would not leave Zoya alone in America, so I began working on a way for me to get to him. I ran into roadblock after roadblock until I had no choice but to abandon my goal. America was making it close to impossible for any immigrant to enter her borders. The country was still suffering economically and they did not have enough work for the citizens as it was. Even foreigners who were willing to sign papers stating that they would not seek employment during their stay were being turned away, and eventually I gave up. It was also during this time that Hitler to the east was pumping the German people full of national pride and building his country back to where it was before the defeat of World War I. As a union, we Poles knew trouble was brewing and we put into motion our own plans to defend our land from an inevitable invasion. I had to turn my focus to my own people and away from my brother. There was little choice in the matter.

"In June of '37 Vladimir stopped by the Moores to see if I had sent him any letters. Mrs. Moore's description of his state I will not repeat, because I do not want to think of it. All I will say is that she did not recognize him at first as he stood at her door.

"She gave him my letters, the phone messages from the firm who was still calling after a year's absence, and a book. The book was written about a man named Edgar Cayce, a spiritual healer and visionary from Virginia Beach who held some extraordinary gifts that went past most people ability to comprehend. He saw life, spirituality, and our existence differently than the general populace. I own several books written on the man myself and can tell you that Edgar Cayce was no fraud. He was not out for fame or glory, but was a simple man with little education who loved God and wanted us to understand that we were God's children, therefore we have the power within us to overcome anything.

"Vladimir read the book and gained from it the strength he needed to fully see what he had done to himself. He had allowed Grief to rule him, he had dishonored Zoya's memory by refusing to move on with his life alone, and he had in fact been committing a slow suicide by denying his body the proper nutrition, care, and self-love it needed to sustain him. He began to listen to his spirit instead of his mind and his spirit told him that all was not lost.

"He called the firm he had worked at and was invited back to work, which he did a week after his visit with Mrs. Moore. He wasn't wholly healed but had taken the steps forward that were necessary for his recovery.

"Here is where my story takes a tragic twist. In Vladimir's attempt to begin living again, what he actually found was the means to end his life. A secretary at his work place came in one day while suffering from the flu and Vladimir was exposed. He had only been there for a week when it occurred and was not strong enough to bear it.

Vladimir lay in a pool of his own sweat. The fever he had contracted from unknown origin had ravaged his body and mind to a point where even if he did recover, there was no chance of his being able to function as he once had. The years of neglect he had forced upon himself left him without the capacity to fight off the illness, and his resolve to live life as Zoya would have wanted came too late.

With what was left of his ability to perceive he listened as the ticking of a clock marked each passing second.

Vladimir Oleksei's eyes opened for the last time and the final imprint left on his central nervous system was that of a young Russian woman he had loved before.

"Zoya? What are you doing here? Are you a dream?"

"No, Vladimir." Zoya turned her head as her eyes surveyed the room he was in. It was bleak, barren and dirty, but she outwardly showed no sign of scorn because none was felt. "I do not think this is a good place for you to be anymore."

"Are you real?" He asked, praying with all his heart she would say yes.

"As real as you. Come." In a fluid motion as graceful as an angel her hand was extended in his direction and when he took hold of it, Vladimir was convinced that she was indeed as real as he was. "You, Love, are too good for this world."

"I cannot, because I am unworthy. I have forsaken the trust you had in me." Regretful tears rolled down his pale cheeks as he clung to her hand with all the strength he could muster. "I did not try to get over you."

"All was forgiven before it even happened. I love you, Vladimir Oleksei." Her free hand caressed away his tears. "You are the better half of me. Let us go home. There is a place prepared for us."

The sensation of lightness energized his body, and he felt well and whole like he had not…Vladimir could not remember the last time. The serenity she emitted enveloped him until he was filled with an overwhelming sense of unconditional love. Slowly he rose from the bed to stand next to her, drinking in the vision before him. Zoya's eyes never appeared so blue, and the color of her hair shimmered in hues not of this earth. It was a beauty no words could describe and it left him speechless. With the emotions of a man, Vladimir lowered his lips to the same level as hers.

"Do not fear the light…" she whispered before their lips met in a kiss that would take them through the falling fairy dust and onto the other side of the veil.

As it had been time and time before, they were together once more.

"My brother died on July 8th of '37."

"No! No, that cannot be correct!" Jane jumped out of her seat and started to pace the living room floor. Evidence of tears shed stained her fair skin, and she was visibly shaken by what she had just heard.

"Olga, you must tell me that you are mistaken. Say that Vladimir lived out the time between their respective deaths better than that. That he was able to move past her and live out the dream he had before they even met." Jane turned her face from the old woman and paused for a moment before revealing more than she had ever intended.

"How could he have just wasted his talent like that? Let alone his life? I just know Charles knew more than he told me. He has got to stop trying to protect me so much!"

"How would your husband know of their story? Is it written out somewhere?"

"No, he has dreamed it since he was a child just like me." Jane didn't realize that she had just given away her secret. "And he would never go into detail about Vladimir's life, instead giving me some weak line about him being heartbroken. I have no idea why he never told me what really happened. I want to know why Vladimir gave up so easily!"

"Maybe you should ask your husband." Olga's statement stopped Jane's angry rant and when she looked at Olga, she saw calm determination. Olga pointed her finger to where Jane had been sitting and waited while she sat herself back down.

"Now Jane, it is once again your turn. Tell me everything you know from your and your husband's dreams. Do not omit one thing."

Regretting that she had just exposed herself through her outburst, but knowing Olga would not let her leave the house without being satisfied, Jane gave her the details she ordered.

Olga listened intently as small bits of information she had never heard were released during Jane's explanation. The fairy bed, the pain Zoya was in when she finally woke Vladimir during her miscarriage, and the intense love they had were laid out before her. Jane didn't hold one expression back, including the more intimate moments from her dreams. Everything was told and when Jane's voice fell silent, Olga knew she had Zoya sitting on the divan next to her. But she did not confess her belief at this time. There was still more information to share and more proof to gather.

"Jane, would you like to hear the end of my story? It does not stop with the death of my brother."

"Would you please? What have we forgotten?"

"General Vabka."

"Oh." Jane ran her hands over her face. She was tired due to the jet lag and her crying, and a headache was coming on but she wanted to hear the end.

Enigmas Solved.

Posted on Thursday, 5 August 1999

"If you are under the impression the General Vabka gave up his search for Zoya, you are mistaken. But the government he served held so many restrictions over their people that he was handicapped in his endeavor.

"If you know your Polish history like I think you should, you'll recall that on September 1st of '39 Poland was invaded. The Germans and Russians waged war on us, each ripping through our countryside leaving behind a wake of dead and captured Polish soldiers and citizens. We never stood a chance against them, but we fought them with everything we had. Warsaw was divided between the two and the occupation began.

Two men stood facing each other, although only one held the advantage of not being bound by handcuffs and legcuffs.

On the right was a worn and battered General of the Polish Army. His uniform was torn and dirty, and his face was shadowed by several days' growth of beard. To his left was a General of the Soviet Army in his pressed uniform and perfectly-starched white shirt. This was the man with the advantage.

"We meet again, Kukowski. Only this time you cannot remove me from your country, because your country now belongs to mine."

"Go to Hell, Vabka. You're nothing but a filthy butcher."

Without a change of expression, General Vabka unsnapped the holster attached to his belt and removed his pistol.

"You have a pretty little daughter. Correct?"

General Kukowski flinched. Already well aware that he was not going to leave this room alive, he had no intention of answering any of Vabka's questions. But, his family was a different matter. How would he be able to protect them once he was dead?

"I have also been informed that your wife is not all that bad considering she is Polish."

Still receiving no response, although he hardly expected one, Vabka cocked the barrel.

"You know you're going to die. Answer my question to my satisfaction and I may or may not grant your family…life."

"They are under Nazi occupation. You have no rights over there."

A smile almost appeared on General Vabka's face.

"The Nazi's," he shook his head. "They are nothing. I assure you that they will not hold Warsaw or the Eastern-half for long. Soon all of Poland will all be under Soviet control. This you count on. The Nazi's will not stop me.

"Here is what I want to know." Vabka closed his right eye and aimed his gun at the General's heart.

General Kukowski could not betray his country, not even for his beloved family. For to do so would be to doom them even worse than they already were. With only seconds before Vabka's question would be presented, he prayed for their safety and prepared himself for the likely queries dealing with strategy or location that would come.

"Where is my wife?"

Of all the possible last questions Vabka could have asked, he wanted to know where his wife was?

"That woman?"

Vabka's featured hardened and he repeated his question.

"Where is my wife?"

"I have never seen your wife in my life! She was not at my residence when you came there all those years ago, and I do not even know the people who sent you to me. I have no idea where…"

General Kukowski fell to the floor in a heap.

"Wrong answer."

"I am not completely sure of the next date, but on what I believe was September 29th or 30th, I had a visit from General Vabka. You must understand the audacity behind this action; the city was in shambles, buildings were burning, complete chaos on the streets, and the dead and wounded were being tallied. Yet, General Vabka comes to my house with three other men looking for Zoya.

I will not pretend that I was brave after they came bursting through the door, because I wasn't. They started searching the house immediately while the General stood over me without saying a single word. This was the first time I had ever met him in person, and he was a very intimidating man. Tall and dark, he had hard features and a weathered face a person would not easily forget. What I found so strange was that he didn't ask me one question as his men worked. General Vabka just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest and waited.

It was over an hour before one of the men brought him the box I kept Vladimir's letters in. He ordered his men to wait outside and pulled a chair up to sit on so he was face to face with me. I do not know what was going through his mind at this time, because he showed nothing, but I did notice that he didn't make an attempt to read any of the letters until only he and I were alone in the house.

"Where is Zoya Vabka?"

"She died in America in '34." Olga gave him the truth although she was uncertain if he believed her or not.

"Where is Vladimir Oleksei?"

"My brother died in America in '37."

"And you expect me to…"

"Their death certificates are in a large envelope in the back of the box you hold in your hands." Olga did not know that the General was a man not accustomed to being interrupted, but he made no effort to punish her for her error. Had she been a comrade of his, she would have been on the floor so fast that she certainly would have never done it again.

General Vabka had no time to waste on discipline at the moment. He went through the letters until locating the envelope she told him about. After opening and reading over the official documents, he set them aside and began to sort through the letters starting at the back of the box. Olga had them in chronological order and he was reading from the section containing letters Vladimir had sent after Zoya's death. Curiosity on the subject must have been satisfied because his fingers next removed an envelope from the center of the box and he opened it.

…because of the distance, I take the train into Chicago every day. She packs my lunch for me and I quote, "I do not want you eating out in restaurants downtown, Vlad. What they serve is slop, and I require that you maintain a healthy stomach." Needless to say, she packs my luncheon meal along with Mr. Moore's every morning and sends us off like school children. One day I asked Mr. Moore if his associates gather around him when he unpacks his meal at noontime to see what treats were sent with him and he laughed. It seems as if he has had some of her cookies snitched from his desk when he wasn't looking before.

She is an original, and at times I cannot believe she loves me as much as she does. Never worry over me, dearest sister, I am in good hands.

The box of letters fell from his lap without notice, while Vabka came to terms with what he had just read. Zoya was playing 'wife' to another man, making him happy, watching out for his health, giving him her attention, while he was forced to sit alone each night in a dark house waiting for word on her whereabouts.

It was not right. Zoya was HIS wife. He found her first, not Oleksei. Vabka was the one who took her away from the two-bedroom apartment she was living in with her parents and gave her the life of a Military wife. He clothed her, fed her, taught her about duties. Zoya was what she was because of him, and that damn Pole stole her away after the training was complete!

"He read their death certificates and a few letters. Then he left."

"Wait, he left?" Jane couldn't believe it was that easy.

"Yes. He took with him the certificates, issued me the threat that if they were falsified, he would be back to serve justice, and I never saw him again. But, there is still more to the General's story.

"A few weeks after he came to me, rumors began to travel the streets of Warsaw. There was a Russian General in the vicinity that was responsible for the massacre of hundreds, perhaps over a thousand Polish men. He was known to round up civilians in broad daylight and take them away to a destination right outside of the city limits. There they were shot without cause. Eyewitness accounts were gruesome with details, and when the rumor reached my ears, I knew of whom they spoke. General Vabka. About a month after the shootings started they abruptly ended. Comrade Stalin had called his most vile henchman back home where he could keep an eye on him, and a trail of dead marked the route he took back to Moscow."

"Olga, this is becoming too much." Jane was shaking her head not wanting to believe what she had just heard. "I need you to tell me that he was punished for his crimes. Even if it is a lie, I want you to say that he was put on trial for what he did, and hung. Anything!"

"Jane, calm down and let me finish."

"I don't know if I can hear anymore. This is too painful. I have never heard a sadder story in my life. There is too much injustice in it."

"Look at me," reaching over to the coffee table, Olga removed a few tissues and handed them to Jane. She understood the young woman's shock and at one time she had cried the same tears. "Settle yourself and I will finish up as quickly as I can, but I will not lie to you. I haven't done so up to this point, and I won't start now.

"As much as I wish I could tell you that General Vabka suffered for his crimes against my people, he did not. After the war there was an investigation, but the finger pointing between the Nazi's and Russians made it impossible for any true evidence to be uncovered, and Vabka was never charged. He was not the first man to get away with what he had done. War is hell and in Hell there is no justice. Ask the ethnic Albanians, or the Bosnians, or the Vietnamese, or the Ethiopians. Sometimes there is no fair play and we must find a way to live with that fact. Until mankind learns from the lessons of the past, this cycle will continue.

"But, if this makes you feel any better, back in '49 I heard that General Vabka was shot by one of his own men while sleeping in his bed. I am not certain if this account is true or not, but my source was reliable. Maybe you can find a little of the justice you desire in that?"

"They all lived so tragically."

"You are only looking at their situation from the outside and are missing the real message of their lives. Let us view Vladimir and Zoya from another angle.

"We have two people who defied the odds and found the one person who would love them without conditions. Together they faced the perils life threw at them and defeated them as one. They made their way out of Russia, through Europe, and to America against the odds and with great sacrifice. They lived in Brooklyn at one of the worst possible times and survived it. Oak Park was their haven and there they thrived.

"When one would fall, the other was there to help them up, and this was how they led their life together. As one. It is a terrible shame that they died so young, but the time they had was fuller than most people would ever experience. The bond between my brother and his wife was forged from trust, companionship, and the deepest of love. How many others do you know of who can claim that? How many people go through their lives without a taste of perfect harmony with another? I know of no others who can compare.

"In my heart I do not believe Vladimir could have survived to old age without her. She was his soul mate, and half of a soul cannot be a good thing. Once they had found each other and recognized what they had, living separately was no longer a possibility."

Both women were silent while they contemplated the words just spoken.

"Jane," Olga said just above a whisper. "Have you found your Vladimir again?"

Confused and overwhelmed, Jane wasn't sure how to answer the old woman's inquiry.

"Oh, Saint Olga," she sighed, "I don't know what to say."

In the ninety years that Olga had been on the Earth, there was only one person who ever used that phrase when addressing her, and that person was Zoya. She now had her proof. Reaching down into one of the boxes she had brought from the attic, Olga removed an old, tattered photo and handed it to Jane.

"Do you recog…"

"It's the man from my dreams. It's Vladimir! You have a picture of him." She voiced softly as tears of joy now fell from her eyes. "He was so handsome and good. And brave."

"Yes, he was. I only wish I had one of you, too."

"Olga, " Jane asked without looking up from the picture. "Are these things possible?"

"You tell me."

"I know the man in this picture so well, and yet… I can't tell you what his middle name was, or his exact height, or what he liked to eat for breakfast, but I know him. It's more of a feeling that his picture gives me. When you told me what happened to him after his wife died, I felt ill having that knowledge. I wanted better for him."

"You still haven't answered my question, Jane. Have you found your Vladimir?"

Jane turned her head and looked slyly over at Olga.

"You haven't answered mine either about this being possible."

"You first, Jane."

"Yes. I have found my Vladimir, and I married him. Legally!" Jane grinned. "If you could spend ten minutes with Charles, you would understand. He's wonderful, and I love him more than should be possible."

"You seemed pretty angry with him earlier."

"Well, I think I was upset over Vladimir and took it out on Charles. I can't say for certain that Charles knows more than he told me. He isn't a person to lie, but he does watch out for me a little too much sometimes. He acts from his heart."

"It is better to be loved like that than ignored."

"I agree. Now, it is your turn. Is this possible?"

"I cannot offer you absolute proof, but I can tell you what I have learned over the years. Jane, my common sense tells me that 'yes' this is possible. I have probably spent too many hours in discussion with the old men down at the corner café on this subject, but in my opinion it is the people who believe that you only have 'one chance' who are incorrect. Their theories make no sense to me. They claim that God is fair and just, yet life is not that way. No, I think we need several lifetimes to get it right. Did you get it right this time, Jane?"

"Pretty close, Olga." Smiling, Jane took hold of the woman's hands and held them in her own.

"So, our story has a happy ending after all, doesn't it?"

"It hasn't ended yet. I think we deserve a very happy ending this time."

"Would you like a tour of the house? Afterwards we can make some luncheon and laugh? My kitchen hasn't heard enough laughter lately."

3:15 p.m.

A knock at the door had awaked Olga from her snooze in the living room and she went to answer it. Jane was resting upstairs after having taken some aspirin for the headache she had, and Olga didn't want her disturbed.

Turning the deadbolt first, she unlocked the doorknob and opened the door. On the other side was a younger man of about thirty. He was tall and youthful appearing, with the most luscious blond curls she had ever laid eyes on. His smile came easily and it reached deep into his cornflower blue eyes. Respectfully he introduced himself in perfect Polish.

"Miss Oleksei?"

"Yes?"

"How do you do. My name is Charles Bingley. I believe my wife Jane was to meet with you earlier. Would you be so kind to tell me if I might still find her here? She does not know I am in the country."

Vladimir had come home.

7:12 p.m.

Once again…the moonlight streaming through the window cast a bluish shadow throughout the room. Amidst the color, the two lovers embraced while looking out at the neighborhood.

"…So I will be on call all of Labor Day weekend, but it was worth the trade off. I wanted to be here with you." Charles was explaining how he was able to get around his contract and break free to fly to Poland."

Jane leaned her head against his shoulder.

"I'm so glad you came. And you got to meet Olga. Isn't she interesting?"

"Yes. I really like her. Guess what?"

"What?"

"She gave us permission to build the cottage from Vladimir's plans."

Jane smile could not be missed as she turned around to face him.

"We're really going to build it, aren't we?"

"Why not? I think it's about time it was built."

"Charles, did Olga tell you her theory on us?"

"Yes."

"And…?"

"I think it is safe to assume that I will love you forever."

One More Trip Back In Time.

"Zoya?" Vladimir asked while watching the green leaves of the trees sway with the gentle wind.

"Yes?" turning onto her side on the blanket, Zoya propped her head up with her arm. It was a beautiful June afternoon and the weather and temperature was perfect for their impromptu picnic in the park.

"Do you think it is possible for people to live more than once?"

"Are you referring to reincarnation?"

"Yes, maybe that is what I mean. Do you?"

"I do not know. To be honest, Vlad, I have not given it much thought. Why do you ask?"

"I was just thinking back to a dream I have had several times since we met. Do you remember the morning that you told me of the Moores first visit to you in Brooklyn? When I woke you with my nightmare."

"Yes."

"I was having the dream again. I believe the first time I had it was right after I met you in the woods."

"Tell me about it."

"Well, there are these two people, a man and a woman. They do not look or talk like us, but I feel like I know them. They are living in a small castle where the grass is very green and lush. There are several hills around and horses everywhere. The area makes me think of Ireland, but I do not know this for certain. The man and woman are very happy together. Then the dream changes tone. A group of horsemen arrive at the gate of the castle and storm it successfully, making their way into the stronghold. Swords are drawn and fighting commences. The man joins the others trying to stave off the attack, leaving the woman behind a locked door. Some time later a horn is blown and the intruders begin to retreat. The man goes up to the room where he left the woman and finds the door broken down. She is gone. He runs to the window to see the retreating horsemen, and he catches a glimpse of her blue gown fluttering in the wind behind one of the horses."

"Vlad! What happens next? Does he go after her?"

"Yes, but he is never able to find her. In one of the dreams I saw him as an old man. He was still searching for the woman."

"That is terrible. I would prefer to believe that nothing like that could ever happen to us."

Vladimir picked up her hand and kissed it lightly. "Of course not, Love," he smiled broadly. "We are together, and all we had to escape was two countries, a continent and a mad man!"

"Oh, stop." Zoya smiled back at him.

"Still, I do wonder about my dream. It could just be something from my childhood, possibly a story my mother told me. It just seems so real. I can feel the man's sorrow."

"You never know, Love. Maybe we do return again and again. After all, you've always felt so….familiar."

Done!

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