To write (verb): Communicate or express...: Grace's Heart

CHAPTER TWO

The crunch of the gravel this time was different for Grace. Only two days had passed since she first came to see Mrs. Preston, but this time the visit had taken on an urgency. Grace felt there was a woman inside this house who was not only in need, but neglected, and that sparked her passion. Grace was worried, but she had to stop herself from letting her thoughts take her to extremes. The woman is alive, she told herself. "No foul play," she said aloud, and suddenly wondered if she should be doing this alone. She remembered a night recently when Alex was watching a horror movie, and over his shoulder from the kitchen Grace said, "Alex, why do they always go into the scary house alone? That's just not smart." Her son, ever the pragmatist, said, "Well, Mom, because there wouldn't be a movie if they didn't."

This isn't helping, Grace thought, and tried to concentrate on what she would say when she got there. For the second time in two days, she pulled the van to a stop on the bricks. Not such a shock this time to see the house. She had taken, in her mind, to calling it the "tree house," feeling more of an affinity already with Ellen Preston than with her daughter.

The more she thought about her phone conversation with Elizabeth, the angrier she got. Grace had certainly seen children neglect their parents before, but she couldn't say she had ever seen one do so with so little feeling. To Elizabeth, her mother seemed to be just another brief to be dispatched, another case to resolve. Grace sat in the van for a moment and remembered another of Abby’s aphorisms. “There are two sides to every story, and somewhere in the middle is the truth.” Maybe I'm being too hard on her, Grace thought, frowning. But a moment later, she gave in to her original assessment. Nope. To hell with professional detachment, that girl is a cold fish.

Grace opened the driver's side door and looked up toward the porch. Today, she was dressed casually in white slacks and a dark blue sweater. She decided to forgo the thrift store shoes and keep her white moccasins on. Her briefcase would lend a little more professional air, but considering the fact that Mrs. Preston probably saw her as the enemy, less professional might be better. She left the briefcase on the passenger seat in the van, and started her walk up the steps.

Courage, Grace, she said to herself, and she rapped, a little more forcefully than she intended, on the front door.

"Mrs. Preston?" She called loudly through the door, "It's Grace Delaney. I was here the other day. Could we just talk for a minute?" Grace waited, a count of one, two, three, then knocked again. She strained to listen, to hear any sound from inside.

Amazed, Grace heard a faint click. She started, and saw the ancient door begin to swing open. It opened partway, but the sunlight was shining brightly through a broken board on the roof of the porch, and the shaft of light prevented her from seeing in. As she squinted, Grace heard a surprisingly strong voice say, very clearly and succinctly, "Do you talk to your mother?"

"She died when I was fourteen."

Grace answered before she thought, so taken aback was she to suddenly be in conversation with the woman she assumed was Ellen Preston.

There was a pause, then, "So, do you talk to her?" Grace was so dumbfounded at this second question that she couldn't formulate an answer swiftly enough, and the voice at the door spoke again, resigned.

"Yes, Elizabeth thinks you need a phone, too."

Grace shaded her eyes from the stream of daylight above her that was turning her eyelashes into sparklers, but the figure behind the door was still a shadow. Finally, she grasped at something she could say. "Elizabeth asked me to come visit you," Grace said quickly.

There was a distinct playfulness in the reply. "Well, we can't disappoint the Queen, now can we? Come in, then, but please wipe your feet."

As Grace's eyes adjusted to the darker hallway, she thought, astonished, so much for expectations. Grace stepped from the outside of the "tree house," filthy, cluttered, dilapidated and decaying, into the warmest, coziest room she had ever seen. She was barely there for a fraction of a second and she never wanted to leave.

The hallway she stepped into looked like it came out of Mary Poppins, complete with mahogany coat rack, oval mirror, cheerful spring flower wallpaper over white wood wainscoting, and a thickly braided rug in colors of rust and navy blue over polished wood floors. But the most bizarre and wonderful thing, as she looked more closely at the top of the wallpaper, was that the leaves were real, and the flowers real flowers, meandering their way along the ceiling and giving the room the most glorious aroma of Spring. A real "tree house."

After her initial bewilderment of the room, Grace realized that her companion had already moved to the kitchen without a word. Grace heard the clatter of a kettle being filled at the tap, and followed the sound to see the woman turning on the gas stove and placing the kettle on the burner.

"You like cranberry tea, don't you." It was a statement, not a question.

"I do, thank you." Grace said. She knew that in her wonder, she was simply reacting. Grace took a pause, and then, thinking that directness would be best, "You’re Ellen Preston?"

The lady turned around, beaming, and said, "Yes, I am," as if it was a pleasant surprise to her that she was.

Grace, blinking, looked at the woman across from her. What had she expected? Truth be told, Grace thought she would walk into a house like one she had seen once, with the smell so strong it made her reel, newspapers covering spots on the floor, an old mangy dog snoring in the corner, and a stooped disheveled old woman with no teeth, greasy hair and tattered clothing leading the way. She had been so ready for that, in fact, that she felt quite like Alice Through the Looking Glass right now. It was taking her some time to get her bearings. Mrs. Preston seemed in no hurry for that to happen, as she stood across from Grace patiently, almost, it seemed, waiting for Grace to work it all through.

Ellen was quite an imposing woman, standing straight with eyes at level with Grace, so she must be about 5'9", Grace thought. Her hair was just to her shoulders, waving slightly around behind her ears, with elegant gray streaks following the waves around her forehead. She wore a cheerful flowered-print skirt of red and pink cabbage roses on a black background. Her white, starched blouse had a thin ruffle down the buttons, and she had casual black slides on her feet. Ellen was slender, but not thin, and Grace heard Abby's voice using the phrase "pioneer stock."

Abby had repeatedly told the story of Grace's ancestors, her great-great grandmother in particular, who had crossed the Plains in a covered wagon, very close to giving birth. Jane Gilpin, whose time came when they were in the middle of Montana, and whose husband built a mud hut for her to lie in while he took a horse to find a doctor. According to Abby, by the time he came back with the doctor, Jane had given birth, cut the cord herself, and was peacefully suckling the baby. That, Abby said, was pioneer stock. "And don't ever forget that's what you're made of, Gracie." Abby said, "Never."

This woman looked like someone who could do that, and more. She's really quite beautiful, Grace thought, but it was her eyes that had Grace captivated. They weren't blue, really, they were darker, with a hint of plum, and the light dancing in them made her think, crazily, of faeries. She wouldn't have been surprised to see wings sprout from behind the black sweater.

And quickly came the critical voice inside of her, What the hell are you thinking? Your blood sugar must be low. What did you have for breakfast? Oh, yes, she had been so anxious to "save" this poor woman that she hadn't even had a bite of that waffle. Doesn't really look like she needs saving, does she now, Grace?

The teakettle started its long cry up to a whistle, and Grace realized, reddening, that she was staring. Ellen turned to pull the kettle off the stove, and Grace thought she saw a smile at the corner of the older woman's mouth. Ellen pulled two china cups and saucers down from the glass cabinet, and poured the steaming water over the teabags.

"Please, have a seat, dear," Ellen said, indicating a small dinette table with two chairs by tilting her head in its direction. "You look a little tired." Grace made her way over and sat, distractedly fingering the lace mats on the table. Well, this is different. Grace was usually in complete control of these interviews. She would walk in and say I'm Grace Delaney from the home care agency, I understand you might want some assistance. Not "need, " always "want," people don't like to be thought of in need. This was a choice. A firm handshake, professional demeanor, let them know that everything will be alright now...

"Scone, dear? Are you hungry?" Grace was, but this was not the way it was supposed to go at all. Ellen was looking patiently at her, waiting for an answer.

"Yes, please, I would like that," Grace answered feebly. OK, Grace, take control. She realized she hadn't even said what her name was. Tell her who you are at least, for Chrissakes.

Grace stood up with her hand offered. "Mrs. Preston, I'm Grace Delaney from the home health agency. I understand you may want some assistance?" The last sentence was more of a question than she meant it to sound, but it just seemed so ludicrous that this woman might need any kind of help. I'd probably hire her on the spot if she was looking for a job. Ellen had the sense of assurance, intelligence and calm that made a wonderful aide.

Ellen wiped her hands on a blue kitchen towel, and took Grace's professional handshake into both of her own strong, warm hands. She held it there for a long moment, and then said, softly, "Grace. I'm delighted to finally see you."

Finally? "Elizabeth told you I was coming?" As she asked the question, she remembered that Elizabeth hadn't talked to her mother in two months, and had only called Grace for the first time two days ago. Ellen picked up the tea tray with the china cups, a plate of raisin scones, sugar and cream. "You were here the other day, weren't you? Let's go in the living room, Grace, we'll be more comfortable there."

Grace followed Ellen into a room that fit perfectly with the rest of what she had seen so far. Dark wood floors, braided rugs, a bookshelf full of old leather-bound volumes in deep greens, blues and reds. In the absolute center of the room, there were two chairs facing each other, soft wonderful chairs that looked as if the arms would reach around in an embrace if you sat down. Ellen placed the tray on the mahogany table to the side of the two chairs. "Make yourself comfortable, Grace, and we'll have a talk," she said, indicating one of the chairs.

Grace glanced at the lace antimacassar on the back of her chair as she walked around to sit. No dust, starched white, everything really quite perfect. The room smelled enticingly of wood oil, flowers and cranberry tea. Why am I here?

"Mrs. Preston," Grace began.

"Oh, please, Ellen."

"Ellen. I think there’s been a mistake. Your daughter was under the impression that you might not be well, and might want some help. I can see now that isn't the case."

"Well, you're here now, won't you have some tea with me?" It was clear to Grace that Ellen wanted, rather than needed, her to sit with her for awhile. And, Grace acknowledged to herself, surprised, I want to. She felt at home here in this room, and there was something that seemed to flow from Ellen that was like the breeze on the top of the hills just to the south of this house. Grace and Alex had hiked there, and after reaching the top, they sat silently, cross legged and straight backed, sweat beginning to dry at their collars, with eyes closed, just letting it wash over them like cool water. Grace felt it now as she sank into the chair opposite Ellen. This woman was 20 years older than she was. She could be her mother, but she had a youth about her that Grace had never felt from Abby in all her seriousness.

Grace watched closely as Ellen sat and straightened her skirt, as if it were the most important thing she would do all day. There was an attention in her actions, an awareness of detail, what seemed a profound love of little moments. And it was contagious. Grace watched the flowers of Ellen’s skirt take their rightful place on her lap, and she knew that any other arrangement wouldn’t have been quite as harmonious. Grace demurely crossed her ankles, unconsciously wanting to fit in.

Ellen handed Grace a scone on a small china plate that matched the cup and saucer, and Grace looked around her at the wall sconces, blazing with soft light. She realized suddenly what was odd in the room. It was bright daylight outside, but in here, and now that she thought about it, in the kitchen too, It's as if it were night time.

She looked over to the windows and saw deep burgundy drapes from ceiling to floor, but they looked like they would let the light through, almost a linen material. Then she remembered what she had seen from the outside, the dark orange curtains in all the windows.

Ellen watched her eyes, and answered her silent question.

"It just seems easier for me to keep a low profile."

What a strange phrase for this woman to use, thought Grace, and her professional skepticism began to inch its way back. She realized that the Home Care Manager had been absent from her almost from the moment she had walked through the door. After all, Elizabeth has known her all her life, and she believes there's something wrong. You've been here 15 minutes, Grace, you're not that good. Somewhere in the middle is the truth. An assessment is in order.

Grace took a sip of her tea and began slowly. "Do you go out much, Ellen?"

Ellen looked solemnly at her, as if she had felt the shift in Grace's thoughts. The meeting had subtly moved away from a friendly conversation and into the calculated territory of an interview.

Ellen took a breath, and seemed to Grace to be ready to take a plunge of some sort, into complicated areas, things that were difficult to say and hear. Grace held her gaze, and there was a deep silence before she finally spoke.

"Grace. You are here because I wanted you to come."

March, 1991

Matthew's brother, Tony, was talking. Grace liked Tony, but right now, she was concentrating on how the light was showing through the gold strands of the hair on Matthew's forearms. Oh, God, he's so beautiful. She had her head resting on his wrist, and the sunlight coming through the window of the attic was shining on specks of dust that danced eccentrically around Matthew's other hand, gesturing.

"No, definitely, the Green Berets are it, man. You saw the movie, they're the best of the best. If you're going for something, go for the best, Ton."

"Benning in Georgia then Bragg in North Carolina. That's a long way from home," Tony said uncertainly. If I did my basic in California, I guess I'd be closer, but if you and Grace are in Alaska, it doesn't make a hell of a lot of difference, does it?"

Matthew reached his arm around Grace and pulled her out of her reverie. "If I weren't getting married, if I didn't have responsibilities, that's what I'd do. Georgia, North Carolina, Green Berets, all the way."

Grace felt a little torn about that. On the one hand, Matthew just saying the word "married" made her go all warm inside. On the other, she wasn't sure she liked being a "responsibility." In any case, the romance of the moment, of their closeness, went away just like that. This was guy talk. She had kind of hoped that she and Matthew could just sit and dream the way they had so often lately, but she knew she couldn’t compete with the Green Berets.

"OK guys, it's been real. Gotta go home." Grace hopped off the old mattress and started to put her boots on. She loved this attic. Even when it was freezing outside, it was warm here. She and Matthew had spent many hours up here, reading smuggled copies of “Catcher in the Rye,” “Lolita,” and “Portnoy’s Complaint” to each other, feeling risqué and dangerous. They fed each other strawberries and ate potato chips, and whispered about the future. The closest they had come to "doing it" was right here on this mattress. They had kissed a lot up here, and Matthew often ran his hand over her shirt, feeling the straps of her bra and moving down to graze between her breasts, but he always stopped himself with a ragged deep breath and a gruffly affectionate kiss, and “Get out of here and go home, Lolita!” But about a month ago, he hadn’t stopped. He had actually moved his hand inside the top of Grace’s bra and touched the soft flesh there, and neither of them wanted to stop. Grace knew that if they hadn’t been interrupted by noises downstairs, nothing would have kept them from each other. They’d scurried down the ladder just in time to flop onto the couch in the family room, TV on, when Matthew's parents had come in.

They hadn't let themselves get that close again. Not because of any strict morals, but because they both wanted it to be right when it happened. In a real bed. Their bed. With clean sheets and a nightgown to take off, and slippers. Married. Not shushing each other in the attic.

"Want me to give you a ride?" Matthew asked.

"No, I want to walk. It's beautiful outside. You guys should try it sometime," Grace said, smiling.

Matthew gave Grace a quick kiss on the lips, "Love you, babe. Don't let the witch hit you with her broom."

"I'll be sure and duck. Love you too." Grace ruffled Tony's thick mane of hair, "They'll make you shave all this off, you know. A crime."

Grace climbed down the ladder backwards, until just her head was showing through the floor. She looked wistfully at Matthew. "How long now?"

"Two months, twenty-seven days," he looked at his watch, "uh, four hours, and, oh, let's say twenty minutes." Matthew gave Grace a brilliant smile, which she returned before disappearing below the floorboards.

As Grace walked down the front steps, her knit glove caught on the deep gash in the wood of the handrail. Jamie. He had done that with his skateboard years ago, and caught hell for it from Mr. Cramer. Grace was suddenly seized with missing her brother, a very real pain that took her unaware occasionally, with no warning.

How can I go further away from him? Already St. Maries and San Francisco felt like worlds apart, the drive to Spokane, the plane to Seattle, then on to Oakland, which was another land entirely, and the drive across the Bay Bridge into The City to Jamie's house. It takes practically all day to get there, now, Grace thought, how will I get there from Alaska? By dogsled?

Most of the time Grace felt like a woman, but sometimes when she imagined living in Alaska, she feared she was still that inexperienced, terrified child walking up the school steps for the first time, already far behind her classmates. As a philosophy, Abby believed in home schooling. In practice, she had given it up by the time Grace was in the second grade. She just had too much to do. Jamie and Grace would be waiting at the dining room table with their books, and Abby would come rushing in, breathless, saying, "I'm so sorry, I have to go out again, I have a meeting. You kids just read the chapters and we'll go over it when I get home, alright?" Jamie had helped Grace to read, at least the beginnings. He taught her the multiplication tables, and showed her maps of Europe and England and Greenland, but in the end, it was clear that neither Jamie nor Grace would be able to pass the tests necessary to move on to the next grade, so Abby had relented and signed them up for public school. As usual, Abby had breezed off in her new direction, and Jamie and Grace made do the best they could, behind in their studies, different, and forced to insert themselves into groups of small-town friends that had been congealing for years.

Before Grace’s first day of school, Abby had a dream that she told to Grace many times. Grace was dressed in a tartan plaid skirt, a starched white blouse, with a big plaid bow in her auburn curls. She was running from Abby, but she was skipping, giggling as she moved away. Abby had called after her, "You're too young, you can't go!" But Grace had turned, laughing, and said, "Don't worry, Mommy, I'm skipping through change!" Now older, Grace could ascribe some of her mother’s conflict between her children and her causes to the dream she’d had. Abby always seemed so sure, but as Grace acquired experience, she knew that her mother was torn. But the message of the dream, "skipping through change," had stuck. Grace couldn't help herself, she’d heard the dream so many times that she imagined herself in that plaid skirt, skipping off to Alaska. It lightened her heart, and she felt a warmth of love for Abby spread through her chest as she walked along in the crisp air.

She loved the smells of the winter, too. In the fall, people would stand in their yards, tending large piles of autumn leaves, burning rather than raking and bagging. The smoke would travel for miles, stinging Grace's eyes and nose. She found the smell of burning leaves became a part of the change of the seasons that made up so many of her memories. Today, almost home, Grace was aware that she actually smelled smoke. As she neared her house she realized with alarm that it seemed to be coming from her backyard. At least it isn't coming from the house, she thought with relief.

Grace ran in the front door and straight through the house to the back door, flinging it open. With surprise she saw that Maggie was standing, bundled up, over a burning pile of wood. When she heard Grace, Maggie turned, and with the most inscrutable look on her face, said, "Come here, Grace, and get warm. It's so nice to have a fire on a cold day, don't you think?"

Grace heard the alcohol in Maggie's voice, and knew that she had been drinking since Grace left after their fight this morning to go to Matthew's. What is she doing? Grace thought. We have a fireplace inside. As she got nearer, she could hear the crackle of the flames, but she could see that it wasn't wood that was burning. It was paper, maybe books, and other things, unrecognizable things.

In shock, Grace saw the curling page of a large book with writing in it, handwriting, and pictures all in a row. She watched in horror as her senior high school yearbook burned, and all the others from years before, charred and stacked on the snow, her swimming trophies melting, red, blue and white ribbons from speech class, turning black, letters and postcards from Jamie with yellow flames licking around the sides, childish paintings she had done with her father, her journal, faithfully written in since she was eleven years old, the lock bubbling, the key on her ring in her pocket, useless now.

Grace imagined herself falling to her knees and scratching at the surrounding snow, piling it onto the fire, trying to save something, some part of these precious memories that were her life up to now. But she knew in an instant as she watched the flames that none of these things would ever be the same if she did. Forever, she would carry with her the scarred remains of treasures with their acrid smell of this fire. Their condition would have to be explained to others and to herself, like a person with a broken and burned body must forever tell the story of how it happened, and so forever remember. She would never be able to forget this day, this moment.

In that split second, she decided to let them go completely rather than keep them damaged. So she stood, feet rooted in the melting snow around her, watching the picture of her with her mother on the County Fair merry-go-round, Abby standing and holding her, Grace sitting with her mouth wide open in wonder on the white stallion, first the horse burning, then Abby, then nothing left but the O of Grace's mouth before it disappeared in a puff of ashes flying upward.

Grace turned and looked at Maggie, disbelieving. What kind of a monster are you? she thought. For the rest of my life I won't have these things. You have affected the rest of my life. In the glare of Grace's pained face, Maggie looked for a moment like she might feel a pang of regret, but the moment passed, and her eyes changed to steel again.

"You hurt me, I hurt you," and with that, she turned and walked unsteadily into the house.

Grace stood, eyes stinging, until the fire ran out of fuel and blinked into darkness.

Ellen’s words hung in the air. "You are here because I wanted you to come."

Grace had concern in her eyes. "You wanted me to come? Do you need help?"

Ellen nodded. "I need you, Grace, but not in the way you think. You may imagine me crazy, demented, confused, as I know Elizabeth does, but I ask you to use that wonderful sense of yours and give what I have to say a chance.” She paused. “Gracie, I need you to listen carefully, and please let me finish before you decide."

Grace felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle, aware that Ellen was speaking to her like they had known each other for a long time, as if they were personal friends. It had the effect of simultaneously lowering her guard with its intimacy, and raising it with its absurdity. She didn’t know Ellen, but she wondered distractedly if they had in fact met before. So many clients over the years, so many friends of Jamie’s. But now Ellen was leaning forward in her chair, holding her with those unfathomable eyes. Grace strained for composure so that she could listen.

Ellen sat up straight and seemed to prepare herself before going on. "I'm not of your time. I've come from somewhere else. My task is to help you understand what's going to happen, not so that you can change it, but so that we can all get to safety together and start over on the right foot. So we can be more aware when it happens, and learn more from it."

Grace raised her eyebrows. Not of your time. Get to safety. What’s going to happen. She forced herself to move beyond the words and keep listening, hoping it would soon make sense. Unconsciously, she shifted her weight in the chair to reassure herself that her cell phone was in her pants pocket.

"When this thing happens, people will be in such shock that they won't be able to take in the experience, and while you're in shock it’s hard to think clearly and learn. We want you to learn, because that's what this planet is all about. It was created as a University of sorts, with a very big playground attached to it." Ellen sat back and folded her hands in her lap. She was watching Grace carefully.

We. Planet. University. Ellen looked perfectly normal, and was speaking in a rational tone, but certain words jarred Grace, as if a bell were being struck as Ellen said them. At the same time, Grace recognized some concepts from her childhood, from her grandmother, and at times, from Abby. That we are on this earth to learn she could agree with. She supposed a university could be an accurate simile. For Ellen to calmly profess to know why the planet was created was a little disconcerting, but Grace had heard worse from television evangelists.

"We all have free will, so we've made it something quite different. It's still a University, but the playground has some very dark and scary corners that weren't a part of the original plan. Human free will has had some extraordinary byproducts, art, music, complex relationships and interdependency, some achingly beautiful things. But it has also created murder, despair, pollution and a planetary civilization that feels it’s on the edge of destruction."

The benefit of the doubt was rapidly deteriorating in Grace’s mind. At one end of the spectrum, Ellen Preston could simply be something of a zealot, although she had yet to use God or Jesus in her speech. At the other end, she could have a number of pathologies. As Grace listened and began to assess, she determined that she was probably not in danger. Ellen was still speaking passionately, looking earnestly into Grace's eyes, which were rapidly glassing over as she contemplated her next steps.

"The Earth is a living being, Grace, and has a spirit, just like you and like me. When she gets angry, she shifts. She's done it since the beginning of time. The way a horse shivers, shaking off flies. Where there's water, the land moves up, and where there's land, the water covers. This allows everything to rest and regenerate, like a bandage over a wound allows it to heal. But she doesn’t take into account how many people are living in those places."

Ellen took a pause, trying to gauge Grace's reaction. Actually, at that moment, Grace was systematically moving through the DSM IV, the diagnostic handbook for mental disorders, and had settled somewhere between delusions of grandeur and schizophrenia.

"She's starting to shiver, Gracie, and we need your help. We haven’t much time."

Grace took a breath. Okay, so she had dealt with this before. She was back in control, knowing what she must do. Using her best professional face, Grace began, gently, "Mrs. Preston, I may not be able to provide the kind of help you need, but I do know some very good people who might be able to...."

Ellen sighed deeply. "I know, dear. You can't swing a cat in Marin County without hitting a psychotherapist. I may be talking with some of them, too, but not in their professional capacity, in mine. And please call me Ellen. You and I are going to be very good friends, Gracie."

Ellen smiled at her, challenging Grace to be more direct. Grace got the feeling she would sit looking at her that way forever. Grace sat forward and put her elbows on her knees, hands folded together. The woman across from her, she had to admit, had not seemed delusional until just a few minutes ago, but that wasn’t unusual in these cases. The things she was saying weren’t rational, but Mrs. Preston seemed calmly in possession of all her faculties, no ranting, no apparent anger, no deep grief, no sudden tears or darting eyes. Grace had referred a number of psychotherapists to her clients over the years, and had debriefed with them in case meetings. She thought she remembered a case where someone felt it was his duty to save the world, how did that end? He was a very elderly man, and was still ranting when he died. What was his name?

She looked up from her ruminations to see Ellen with eyes still on her, no hurry in them at all. In fact, Grace reddened, feeling somehow that Ellen had been following her train of thought, as if she had subtitles running under her. Ellen smiled a little deeper then, and Grace felt the flush prickle her forehead and run down her neck.

Ellen looked calmly at Grace.“You’re wondering if you should commit me. Not surprising. You’re a smart girl, Grace.”

Grace cleared her throat lightly, strangely embarrassed. She smiled indulgently at Ellen, trying to soften what she was feeling. "Mrs. Preston. Sorry, Ellen. You must admit that the things you’re telling me are somewhat hard to swallow..."

"Ah, yes, Abby taught you to be empirical, didn’t she?"

Grace started and blinked. The shock that ran through her system was impossible for her to disguise. Her immediate, illogical reaction was one of anger, How do you know my mother's name? A feeling of being invaded, Who have you spoken to, who would tell you that? But then, as Ellen let her think it through, Grace thought, no one knows about that word but me. Abby had loved the word. Empirical. Used it over and over when she was a child. Told her to look things up, to find out for herself.

The interview had gone instantly from a professional meeting to a very personal one. Grace looked at Ellen, stunned, with eyes stinging, "How did you know about that?” Then softer, with hope, “Did you know my mother?"

"I know everything about you, honey. You're very important to me." Such love in her eyes, such compassion. Grace wanted so much to let go into the sensation she was feeling. This woman may have known my mother. So many questions, but she couldn’t release her anger just yet. Steeling herself, armor up, Grace said, in measured tones. "Tell me more, Ellen. Tell me what you know about me."

Ellen’s voice rose and fell with emotion as she spoke slowly, letting each sentence hang in the air before beginning another. "I know your Daddy called you Edie, for his mother. I know that you and Jamie shared your blood in a ceremony on a beautiful Saturday morning. I know about Abby singing to you at night and saying ‘every leaf on every tree.’ I know that you found your father drunk in the bathtub on a horrible Christmas day, but you loved the bicycle he built for you. I know that the house would have burned down countless times if it weren't for you. I know about the mattress in Matthew’s attic. I know the heartless thing Maggie did that day. I know the moment you looked in Alex's eyes on the day he was born was the moment you started to imagine how powerful you are. I know you hear what you think is Abby’s voice, but she loves you too much to be so critical. I know what a good, kind, compassionate person you are, and all the people you have helped over to the other side. I know everything, Grace."

For a moment, there was only the silence of the room, broken by the clicking movements of the hands on Ellen’s mantel clock. Ellen held Grace’s eyes unwaveringly, both of them barely breathing. Grace had listened to this recitation with a gradually diminishing skeptic’s mind, finding and then discarding the person or people from whom Ellen could have gotten each piece of information. When it was over, there was only one mind and heart that held it all, and it was Grace’s.

Grace felt naked and oddly betrayed, as the tears pooled in her eyes and fell. She spoke so softly, Ellen almost couldn’t hear her. “How do you know these things? Can you read my mind?” She looked up and said, a little louder, “Are you a psychic, Ellen?”

Ellen stood up and came around the back of the chair, reaching long arms down around Grace's neck, gently holding her. She whispered softly into Grace's hair, "I know about the dream Andrew gave you to say thank you, Grace. In fact, it was partly on his recommendation that I'm talking to you."

Feeling the shudder running through the shoulders under her hands, Ellen said, "Oh, breathe, Gracie, I know this is difficult. Let it sink in. You've always known there was more to life than what you could see. Take your time and work it through. I'll answer any questions you have."

As Grace sat in stunned silence, Ellen walked around to her chair and sat down. She picked up the china cup and took a sip, gazing at Grace from under her graying lashes. The tears were still falling, and Ellen’s empathic soul felt every one of them. Ellen’s eyes were starting to glisten, too.

“You cry, Gracie. In my opinion, you haven’t cried enough. You’ve been such a good little soldier, as Abby would say.”

Grace looked up at Ellen beseechingly, her voice ragged. “Who are you?”

Ellen smiled. “I’m going to tell you everything, but I think we should take our time. Now you know that I’m someone who can be trusted, and that’s the first step. Just know that I love you very much, and want to keep you safe.”

Grace’s mind was beginning a slow return. She reached for her cup, and took a long sip of lukewarm cranberry tea. It was surprisingly refreshing. She gave Ellen a weak smile.

“I’m sorry, but while you were talking earlier, and I was thinking about how I was going to have you committed? I wasn't listening completely. Do you mind explaining again about the earth shivering?"

Daniel wanted to know what they were talking about in there. Damned house looks like it's falling down, but not a sound comes out of it. He had been over every inch of every board, but still couldn't catch a word from inside. The devil woman never left the house, so there hadn't been a time he could get in even to see what the layout was. And with the windows all boarded up and curtains over all of them, how was he supposed to do surveillance?

Of course, he had heard all he needed to hear from Marla. End of the world prophesy, but not the true story of Revelation, God's judgment on this sinful world and then the glory of Jesus coming again. No, this woman was telling Marla, his baby sister, that there is no such thing as evil, God doesn’t judge, there’s no Devil, and that Jesus isn't coming back. And Marla had come to him, crying, desperate, asking Is it true? Is she right? and Daniel had held her and told her, no, baby, she's not right, she's the Devil, tempting you away from the Word. Don't fall into the Devil's trap, baby, it's just a trap.

Daniel had squeezed his eyes tight then, and held Marla, and prayed. He had prayed for guidance and he had been called. Right there, he had heard the Lord's voice, and the voice said to watch, and wait. See how many the devil woman was infecting with her lies. See where they lived, and who they talked to, and then save them from sin, even if it meant sending them up to Heaven to be with the Father. And Daniel had fallen to his knees and said, Thank you Father, thank You for this holy task, thank You for Your trust. I will not fail You.

As he inched around the house, Daniel made a mental note. This one in the van has been here twice. Marla never came back, because she has the Holy Spirit in her, but this one, this one came back. And she’s been in there a long time. She hasn’t run from the house, denouncing what she’s heard. He looked again at the sign on the side of the van. She was even using holy words, Angel's Grace, words the Devil would use to tempt the faithful. This one definitely had to be watched.

April, 1992

Matthew paled, and dropped the phone. Grace, in the kitchen fixing dinner, came out, wiping her hands on her apron.

"Honey, do you want potatoes or pasta...?" She stopped, seeing his face. "Oh, God, what happened?" Matthew didn't move, he seemed made of granite, hardly breathing. In fact, he could have been made of stone, except for the one hot tear that slipped down his cheek. Grace took Matthew's face in her hands and turned it up toward her.

"Baby, what is it? Tell me."

"Tony's dead." Grace felt the words deep in her solar plexus. "Oh, Mattie, no. How?"

"Tony's dead," he said again, as if repeating it would make it more real. "An accident, Mom said, they don't know very much."

Grace sat down dully, feeling the relief of the extra weight of her belly off of her feet. Her first, awful, selfish thought was, I can have our baby at home, not in this godforsaken wilderness. Her second thought carried guilt. Am I that powerful? Did I want to go home so much that I made this happen? She had been worried for months about how they would afford it, where they would go when her time came. Matthew was a great procrastinator, and just kept saying, "It'll be okay, when the time comes, we'll know what to do." As near as she could figure it, she had a little more than a month to go. She had been so scared. Now they would go home, she would see a doctor, and everything would be okay. Selfish girl, she thought, Tony's dead, and I'm thinking about myself. She pushed her chair closer to Matthew, who still hadn't moved. Putting her arms around him with her head in the pocket of his shoulder, she said earnestly, "Oh, honey. I'm so sorry."

Matthew began to shake, just a small vibration which grew slowly into deep, wracking sobs. As Grace held him, she tried to imagine what she would do if she'd gotten similar news about Jamie. The thought was so unfathomable that she pushed it away, and held Matthew tighter as he cried. After Matthew had gone silent, Grace said softly, "What can I do, baby? What do you need?"

Without saying a word, Matthew took her arms from around him, and laid her hands gently in her lap. He got up mechanically and went down the hall to the bedroom and shut the door. Grace stood and followed, and when she opened the door to the bedroom, she saw that he had gone into their small bathroom, where she heard water running. Grace plopped down on the end of the bed and fell backwards, feet on the floor, waiting for him to come out. As her own tears slipped down, she put her hands on her huge belly and whispered to the baby inside her, as she often did. "Well, angel, I think you're going to see Idaho after all."

In the ten months that Grace and Matthew had been in Alaska, she had never felt at home. They’d arrived full of hope and energy, only to find long lines at the Union office where she and Matthew had to sign up for work. Day after day they stood in line, and at night they slept in the camper in the Fairbanks Wal-Mart parking lot. They had saved about $5,000 from Matthew's job as a tow truck driver in St. Maries and Grace's after-school job on the Cramer farm, and that had seemed like a fortune to them when they left Idaho with pockets bulging. But what with gas, food, then first and last month's rent on a tiny apartment, the money had gone pretty fast.

Grace got a job as a waitress at a Denny's and her pay had kept them going while Matthew waited for his name to come to the top of the Union list. They weren't the only young couple to pack a camper and head north looking for riches. In fact, everywhere they looked they saw themselves, from Michigan, Montana, Kansas, California, Texas, all young, all bright-eyed.

The men stood in line at the Union office, and one by one, sooner or later, the women got jobs as waitresses, secretaries and grocery store clerks. The jobs for women filled up quickly, and Grace was grateful when a ten p.m. to six a.m. graveyard shift came open at the restaurant. So, just married, Grace and Matthew saw each other for about ten minutes in the morning and for as long as Matthew could stay awake before Grace left for work. And wouldn't you know it, I got pregnant.

Their wedding in Winnemucca seemed a long time ago, but Grace could bring back every detail by just closing her eyes. Arriving late after driving around looking for the Justice of the Peace, they had to spend one deliciously tortuous night together in the camper’s small bed before they were married. They’d waited so long that one more night felt like a test that they were determined to pass, so they lay fully clothed, pressed together in an embrace, dozing now and then and talking about their unlimited future. At eight the next morning, they stood waiting and heard the click of the lock as Wilhelmina Barrow, the wife of the Justice of the Peace, opened for the day’s business. She smiled broadly at the solemn young man in the slightly wrinkled suit and the pretty, fresh-faced and blushing girl on his arm.

Grace wore her graduation dress, which she insisted must be white, but her treasure was a short veil she had secretly made herself, painstakingly hand-sewing tiny seed pearls on its hem and headband late at night in her room. She carried a bouquet of wild roses that she cut from the garden at the last moment and that traveled to Winnemucca carefully propped in the trailer’s sink in a coffee can filled with water. To Grace, everything was perfect. This time, standing across from Matthew just as she had for her father’s wedding to Maggie, Grace said the words aloud, and when he said “I do” she could only think in amazement, He really loves me or he wouldn’t have said those two words.

In the small bunk of the travel trailer in a Wal-Mart parking lot just outside of Portland, Oregon, Grace was finally initiated into the mysteries of sex. It lasted all of eight minutes, and after the short, blinding pain of the first penetration, Grace felt little more than a kind of joyful wonder and confusion, dizzy, as if she’d had too much to drink. They were both exhausted from the preparations leading up to the trip, the nearly sleepless night before, and the long drive up to Portland. Matthew asked her sheepishly if she liked it, and she said truthfully that she had. The feel of his skin against hers, being so close that they were like one person, his unbridled passion; she loved it all, and considered it much more vital, more significant, than anything she’d done alone. They slept in exactly the position they had the previous night, minus the clothes. They woke wrapped in each other, and when Grace opened her eyes to see Matthew, the thin stripes of the sun through the blinds on his arms and legs, the white-blonde fuzz over his hips and below, she felt married, really married, and inexpressibly happy. And the sex had gotten much better.

The water was still running in the bathroom, and Grace’s back was beginning to ache a bit. She thought about knocking on the door, but wanted to give Matthew some space. She knew how much he loved Tony, two years older and idolized. Grace loved him too, but her grief couldn't compare to Matthew's. Tony’s dead. The unthinkable words kept repeating in her head. It brought back Abby’s death. Where do they go? Where is Tony now? His body was dead, but where was his spirit, the essence of him? Did it just blink out, like a star? I can't believe that.

Having life inside her had opened up a whole new thought process to Grace. She knew, without being able to explain it logically, that at some point around the third month, something had changed. She felt a personality emerge, and suddenly the life inside her had gone from being an organized mass of cells to being a person. As if, in the night, a shimmering cloud had hovered over her belly and just dropped down inside of her, and the life inside her now had a soul. In fact, Grace had had a vivid dream about just that. So, if a soul drops into a body, doesn't that shimmering cloud also float upward when the body is no longer there?

Once during Abby's women's circle, Grace heard the ladies talk about a book that told stories of people who had died and then been brought back to life. They said that a lot of them had the same experience, seeing a tunnel with a white light. At the time Grace was only eleven, and it was a little scary, but now as she thought back, it seemed like a beautiful idea.

She often thought of her mother walking down the tunnel, like the one on the train trestle, dark inside, with sparks of light showing through tiny cracks in the boards, and the big bright light at the end, so different from the darkness of the tunnel that it blotted out all the trees and sky and clouds, so that nothing showed but white. A great white circle that glowed around the edge. Grace always saw Abby there when she thought of her mother, and now she imagined Tony walking down the tunnel, with the specks of light through the boards making dots on his arms and face like the mirror ball at the prom. And Abby was there, in the middle of the great ball of light, her arms outstretched to lead him.

The water in the bathroom shut off abruptly. Grace lifted herself awkwardly on one elbow and then stood and walked to the door. She put her face on the cool wood and her hand on the knob, as if she could ease his pain through the barrier.

"Mattie, honey," Grace said softly. "I just thought of the most wonderful thing. I think my Mom is there to help Tony, I kind of just saw it in my head. She held out her hand..." Grace heard the doorknob click and felt it turn in her hand.

Matthew stepped out. Her husband, the father of her unborn child, the man she loved, was different. Not just the tear-stained face, not the hair, wet and sticking up at all angles, but the eyes. As he stood and looked at her, she knew he had no idea who she was. His eyes were dead. Grace felt a subtle shuddering in her chest, as if her heart had been jolted by a mild electric current and the force of it made her mouth slack open slightly. They stood staring, both too much in shock to break the moment and the moment went on, it seemed to Grace, interminably. Finally, Matthew blinked, his eyes staying at half-mast. Grace reached out to hold him and remind him of who she was, but he gently removed her hands from his waist and walked to the bed. In separate and distinct movements, he sat, leaned sideways onto the pillow, put his feet up and curled.

Matthew closed his eyes, and Grace felt more utterly alone than she had ever felt in her life. While she assured herself that he would get over this and come back to her, there was a faint voice saying that nothing would ever be the same. She unconsciously wrapped her arms around her middle, and before she could stop it, the voice said, I think you and I might be in this alone, angel. He's gone.

Sitting in Ellen Preston’s living room while Ellen freshened the tea in the kitchen, Grace’s mind raced. She knew she was smart, and if she knew anything, she knew logic. As she nibbled absently on her raisin scone, she suspected Ellen was giving her this time to process, and she took it.

How do I explain someone who knows things that aren't written down, things that are locked inside the self I’ve shown to no one? Grace had read about people who could tap into others’ thoughts, and had seen mentalists on TV, but there always seemed to be a trick involved. This was no trick. Either Ellen was psychic, or there was something at work here that wasn’t explainable. Grace’s logical mind was telling her if Ellen was psychic, she had gotten everything right. And if she was right about me, what if she’s right about the rest? Grace leaned back against the soft chair. And when exactly did I walk into a science fiction novel?

So many times Abby had said, “The sign of intelligence is an open mind.” And what was it Shakespeare wrote in Hamlet? “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” Grace liked that line as a child, because it meant that we didn’t know everything yet, and there were still discoveries left for her to make.

In high school one day, Grace’s English teacher made a large circle on the blackboard, saying, “This circle is knowledge.” He drew a line right across the middle, cutting the circle in half. Then he made another line cutting the top half into two quarters. He pointed to the quarter on the top left and said, "This is what you know you know. You know you know your name." Pointing to the quarter on the top right, he said "This is what you know you don't know. You know you don't know what the formula is for rocket fuel." Then he had pointed to the bottom half of the circle and said, "This is all the stuff that you don't even know you don't know. There's a whole crazy world out there, ladies and gentlemen."

Was this the world he was talking about? The one Ellen said didn’t have much time?

Shivering. Such a benign little word, unless it applies to the only thing that keeps you from spinning out into space. Grace knew how badly we were treating the earth. Global warming was all over the news, but the experts were saying that nothing was going to happen suddenly. Their warnings were about 50 or 100 years from now, not right now. Grace's next car was going to be a hybrid once she could afford it. She and Alex recycled, and always packed out whatever they packed in to a campsite. She used energy-efficient light bulbs. Businesses were finding there was money to be made in being green. Things were changing. We're really trying.

Ellen walked back into the room with a fresh tray. She poured out the aromatic pot of cranberry red liquid and handed Grace her cup. Grace thought they might just be two old friends anywhere in the world doing this, as she glanced over at the clock. Incredibly, she had only set foot in this house 40 minutes ago.

Now that she had applied some logic to the situation, Grace needed answers. Might as well get comfortable. She slipped off her moccasins and tucked her feet under her on the soft chair. "Okay, you have my attention, Ellen. I don’t know how you know all those things about me, but I’m willing to admit there are lots of things I don’t know. I’m wanting to stay open to this. Tell me again. Tell me exactly what you’re trying to say."

Ellen gave Grace a warm smile, as if to say, “Good girl.” She thought a moment, and then began. "In order for you to really believe what I'm saying, Grace, you have to believe that the earth has a soul, a spirit. I know that's a leap for most people, is it for you?"

Hesitantly, Grace said, "I guess not when I'm outside, when I'm close to it." She told Ellen of a time when she and Alex had gone with a group far into the High Sierra, fragrant with pine, and the skies were so magnificently open and clear that they had tracked satellites moving overhead as they lay bundled in their down bags. “I felt something under me, some sense of belonging to the earth, of communion.”

Or the feeling she had when they went to Inverness and sat on North Beach, where the sea is so powerful that it's not safe to swim most of the time. She and Alex had sat on that beach countless times, talking about the fact that the waves had been crashing that way for more years than they could imagine, and would be long after they were gone. Grace looked solemnly at Ellen. “We talked about how the world felt alive there.”

Grace closed her eyes, and tried to imagine the earth with a soul, but all she managed to conjure was a face like the man in the moon. She laughed softly, suddenly feeling foolish, and shook her head in disbelief. “What am I doing here, Ellen? Can I just go back to my life now?”

Ellen laughed too. "Well, yes, you can. But your life will change, and I need you to understand that.” Ellen decided to try another tack. “Maybe it would be easier if you thought of the earth as a woman. She's incredibly, heartbreakingly beautiful, but she's being poked and cut and surrounded by the most awful fumes and smells, and she's tired of it." Fixing Grace with her penetrating eyes, Ellen said, "Now imagine that there is the possibility that all the beings living on her could do her some real damage. Kill her. What would you do in her place? Wait until they accomplished that, or take some action before they did?"

Grace felt a slight chill at the back of her neck, as Ellen’s words finally began to sink in. A warning. Your life will change. She was beginning to feel fear, and a vision of loss was creeping into her consciousness. She had been thinking that logic was the answer to her questions, but she was suddenly filled with emotion. If this is real, then what? "All of the experts say we have some time to turn this around, Ellen. I mean, the general population has only just recently started to think of this as a problem. You’re saying it's not going to happen the way we think? It's not an orderly process of decay that we're causing? We're making the earth, her, angry, and it's going to be sudden, like a massive earthquake or something?"

Ellen felt Grace’s fear, and spoke more softly to hold it at bay. "To her, it's a very natural cleansing process. You know all about the human body, Grace. You know that your skin is constantly growing and dying and sloughing off. Why should she be any different?"

“Ellen.” Grace leaned forward and spoke forcefully. “If I’m to believe you, and that’s an exceptionally big if, are you saying that everyone on our very angry planet is going to die? That she would kill us all?”

“No. Not everyone.”

“Not everyone?”

“That’s what I’m here for, Grace. To make sure you’re safe.”

As she looked across at Ellen, Grace felt a welcome sense of denial start to take over. She knew that it was protecting her, and she was grateful for it. Her denial allowed her to imagine again that Ellen really was crazy, and she could forget all the personal pieces of her life that Ellen had miraculously assembled for her just minutes before. Grace knew this feeling intimately. She had seen it in countless family members as they watched their loved ones die, and Grace knew that it appeared when the human mind and heart just couldn’t take in any more information. She was there. She abandoned her fear, and denial took her calmly down another road. She decided she was going to learn as much as she could without fully believing what she heard.

“Does your daughter know about all of this?”

Something clouded Ellen’s eyes, a sorrow that Grace saw clearly. Grace realized with surprise that, denial or no, she now cared what the woman across from her felt. “What is it?” Grace said. “You looked very sad for a moment.”

Ellen gave her a wistful smile. "Oh, we were hoping Elizabeth could help us. She’s so knowledgeable, but she's too grounded here. She's studied the environment, even though she uses that information in destructive ways."

Grace looked kindly at Ellen. "She's pretty sure you're crazy, you know."

Ellen smiled. "I know. She could be such a help to us, but she wants so much to succeed in this world. Elizabeth has lost her moral compass. She's learned to defend either side of an argument without caring about right or wrong. Until she finds her center she can’t be much assistance to us, I’m afraid."

Grace asked, with a hint of a smile, "So Elizabeth didn't work out, and I'm second string?"

Ellen looked directly at her, not acknowledging the joke, "Oh, no, actually, my task isn't to find just one person, I need more than that."

Grace looked at her sharply, with a warning in her voice. "Ellen, how many have you already talked to? I'm not the only one?" she asked, dreading the answer.

Ellen sighed, "I haven't done very well so far, I'm afraid. Of course, there's Elizabeth. I tried to tell her how valuable her skills would be if she used them in a positive way, rather than working against the environment, the way she does. I told her a little about the shift, and she became so confrontational that I just stopped talking to her on the telephone. Too hard to communicate without eye contact." Ellen smiled, and Grace looked deeply into those blue-plum eyes. She's right, it wouldn't have been the same over the phone.

"Then there was a sweet girl, Marla, who came to clean the house," Ellen continued. "Very timid, but she started asking me why I lived here alone, and would I like to go to church with her. She wanted us to read the Bible together. She believes every word of it is absolute truth."

Grace was curious. "What did you say to her?"

Ellen shook her head. "I told her that I thought the Bible was mostly true, but that it had been rewritten so many times by so many people that much of the truth had gotten lost." Ellen slipped off her shoes and curled into the chair the way Grace had. "She was horrified that I could say such a thing, and I realized that she wasn't a very good candidate." Ellen continued, "I actually saw her make the sign of the devil behind her apron. What they used to do long ago?" She showed Grace, holding her hand with index and pinky fingers straight out, thumb holding the two middle fingers down. "It was to ward off evil spirits, which I guess is what I am to her. She never came back." Ellen took another sip of tea. "I've just started, though, Grace, and I'm hoping you’ll be my first success story."

Grace sat back, feeling the soft warmth of the chair, a part of her wanting to sink into it and never come out. “Ellen, I can’t even conceive that what you’re saying to me is true.”

Ellen looked sadly at Grace and said, "Whether you believe it or not, millions upon millions of people will die. That is unavoidable. But some, many, will live. It will all depend on where they go and when they go. We're here to guide people to the right place so that we can begin again."

"You keep saying 'we', Ellen." Grace swallowed hard. "Who are you talking about? Who’s ‘we’? How many?"

"Oh, Heavens, Gracie, how many stars are there?"

Grace shook her head, “So all over the world, right now, there are people like you trying to convince people like me that life as they know it is ending? Ellen, you seem like an intelligent woman. You’ve got to know how that sounds.” Ellen nodded, without emotion. Grace continued, more calmly. “Okay, if this is so important, why don't you just come forward and say who you are and what you're trying to do?"

Ellen plucked a few cat hairs off of her skirt. She folded her hands, and smiled serenely at Grace. "Okay, Gracie, bring all your good logic to bear on this. Tell me, what exactly do you think would happen if Jesus Christ were to come back to this planet today? If he were to walk into, say, a K-Mart, and announce himself as The Messiah?"

Grace paused, trying to think wisely, and really imagine what would happen. She sighed, resigned. "Oh, he'd probably be put in a mental institution for intensive psychiatric study. Or, maybe, co-opted by the Church, fought over by various religions as belonging to them. Or, how about ending up in front of a Senate Subcommittee on Fraud?"

Ellen nodded her head, and said, "Good girl. You have a clear grasp of the world you live in. That's a good start. So, two thousand years ago, someone comes from the other side with very specialized information about the creation of the world, news of the past and the future, a professed love for all mankind, and instructions about how to live in peace and harmony, and what happened?"

"Well, among other things, Christianity was born. That was fairly significant," Grace answered feebly.

Ellen clucked softly and said, "Well, yes, Jesus got a lot of press, and that was good. He was a very good man, and a highly developed soul. And groups of people, churches, can do some very good work when they put their hearts to it." Ellen peered under her lashes at Grace, "He's not too happy about everything we've all done in his name, by the way. But back to my question: how did it work out for him personally?"

Grace grimaced. "Not so good. He was crucified."

"Exactly. But that wasn't the worst of it. He had to stop teaching in large groups at 33 years old. At the rate he was going, do you know how many he could have enlightened in 100 years?" Ellen finished her scone and dabbed at the corners of her mouth. "He wasn't done yet, he still had a lot of things on his chart. Fatherhood, for one. He didn't go away, he just went underground. Do you think if someone can appear to rise from the dead, they can't slip quietly back in? That wasn't the information age, no Time Magazine, 20/20, Dateline, or Entertainment Tonight back then. Definitely no paparazzi."

She smiled, and Grace had to smile too, seeing the twinkle in her eyes.

"Do you know what the most, absolute most, important thing was that Jesus said? 'What I do, you can do also.' I'm paraphrasing."

"So what you're saying is that I can walk on water? I'm a little clumsy on land, Ellen."

"What I'm saying is that you and I are unlimited beings, exactly the same as the being who was known as Jesus two thousand years ago. His whole purpose was to show us what we could do by example. He was a teacher, not a king." Ellen sighed deeply. "And in our humanness, we all missed the point and put him on a pedestal. The worst part is that somehow we allowed powerful men to twist the whole idea backwards and make us feel even smaller than we did before Jesus lived. We were all supposed to remember that we were gods, and instead we found a God to worship outside of ourselves. It has complicated the learning process, but it's not irreversible, nothing ever is."

Ellen had been talking with great feeling, but now she looked back at Grace. “And to answer your original question. Why don’t I go find a camera somewhere and tell this to the world? My message would be lost, misconstrued, manipulated. No one would believe me, and my purpose wouldn’t be fulfilled. Believe me, I have no desire for worship or crucifixion.” She looked tenderly into Grace’s eyes. “The world is changed one person at a time, Gracie. One person at a time.”

Ellen took Grace's tea and said, "This is cold. Let me pour you a fresh cup." Grace didn’t want another cup, and Ellen knew it. She was giving Grace a chance to think.

Grace tried to take it all in, remembering attending Catholic church with Pat. She mostly remembered the statues of Mary, and Jesus on the cross, towering over her, almost scary. They made me feel very small. Grace had never judged how people chose to worship, but she knew that particular church was not for her. She didn't think what Ellen was saying would go over well there. Part of the problem with talking about religion was that if you expressed a dissenting opinion, fundamentalists could be horrified, say you were being blasphemous, and that would stop the discussion. That never felt like a fair fight to Grace, so she didn't usually join in the arguments. We are gods? To not give all of our power to a God outside of us? Jesus was just like us? Definitely blasphemous. Straight to Hell.

Ellen's cat stretched luxuriously at Grace's feet, exposing its white belly, looking up. Grace scratched softly at her knee, saying "Come on up, Princess."

The kettle whistled again as Princess jumped up. She turned around once and plopped down, instantly forming herself to Grace's lap. After a moment, Ellen came back in with Grace’s tea. She put it on the table, and watched Grace scratch the cat under her chin. Looking up, Grace asked Ellen, "She’s so beautiful. What's her name?"

"Princess is as good a name as any. It certainly fits her," said Ellen.

Grace cocked her head, and asked, " She doesn't have a name? How long have you had her?"

Ellen looked slightly sheepish. "Well, that's another part of it, Gracie. I only got here, oh, about three months ago, your time."

Grace stopped stroking Princess and looked up sharply. She had just started to relax a little. She narrowed her eyes at Ellen and said, evenly, "You'll need to explain that to me. You're 53 years old. What do you mean, 'I just got here'?"

Ellen took a deep breath. "Tell me, dear, have you ever heard of a walk-in?"

May, 1992

"Daddy!" Grace ran as fast as her size would allow, and threw herself into her father's arms. Actually, what met first was his girth and hers, and to wrap arms around each other required a sideways cant to each of their bodies. Ben pulled away first. He had stood to greet her, and the effort seemed too much for him as he fell back into his chair with a grunt. This left him face to face with her swollen middle, and he looked up at her uncomprehendingly. Of course, Grace had told him she was pregnant, but Ben faced the harsh reality with a struggle that showed on his face. Trying to meld the memory of his little Edie with the abundance before him left him speechless, and Grace moved awkwardly down to his level to comfort him.

“It’s okay, Daddy. It’s good. I feel good.”

Grace turned her head on his knee like she used to as a child. She was grateful to be home, even as she felt conflicted by the disparate memories of the farmhouse. Not all of the memories were good, but Grace felt the warmth of being surrounded now by her own history, a history and context that had been missing on the road and in Alaska. Most of all, she was glad to see her father because he reminded her that she was still a girl inside this woman’s body, still young, and she’d been feeling so old. She felt her eyes fill, and two heavy tears slid down her cheeks.

Ben wiped them away with his big meaty thumb. He remembered this Grace, and he relaxed. "You're home now, Edie. Maggie and I will take care of you."

Maggie. Grace had never told her father what Maggie had done because there hadn't seemed any purpose to it. Grace's precious possessions were burned, and Grace knew she would be gone soon after to marriage with Matthew and the prosperity of Alaska. But in truth, Grace had said nothing because she knew her father wouldn't do anything. His path of least resistance never allowed him to take sides. Grace stood and leaned in to give her father a kiss. She pulled herself gently away from Ben, aware again of his smell of pipe tobacco, now mixed with bourbon and something indefinable; age, weariness, and a waft of an unhealthy aroma.

Grace arched her back, wincing, and turned to see Maggie standing in the doorway to the kitchen. One arm was up on the door jamb, the other planted firmly on her hip. Maggie thought it was an attractive pose, but in truth she looked older and cheaper than she had a year ago. The cigarettes, alcohol, and despair at the lack of a sparring companion had aged her measurably. Her red hair was redder, her sharp eyes sharper, and Grace thought warily of an old and hungry-looking tiger she had seen once at a zoo. The question that had struck her then, and she was reminded of now, was How much pounce does that cat still have in it? Maggie looked at Grace and Grace was eerily aware that she could almost hear what Maggie was thinking, Last time I came into your house, missy, now you're coming into mine. But she didn't say that. She said, in a sweetly forced accent, "Welcome home, Grace. Your father and I are so glad to see you."

The steeliness in Maggie’s eyes made Grace feel suddenly exhausted. Her triumph of leaving, of finding a new life, of not needing her father or Maggie, all dissolved in that one look. I'm at her mercy now, Grace thought. Her guard up, Grace went to Maggie and gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek, feeling the chill as she did so.

"Didn't waste any time, did you?" Maggie practically purred, looking at Grace's huge middle. "You know, I've heard that a woman's body is never the same after having children. No more bikinis for you." She poked a blood-red fake fingernail at Grace's nose, wrinkling up her own at the same time.

Grace sighed. Clearly the cat still had some strength. Grace gathered herself and moved closer to Maggie, saying softly enough so that her father couldn't hear, "Is that why you never had children, Maggie? The bikini?" She gave her stepmother an angelic smile, breezing past her and back to her father. She pulled the footstool close to his chair, and lowered herself on to it with some effort. Her hand on his arm, Grace looked up at her father, excluding Maggie by turning her back. “Have you heard anything, Daddy?”

But Maggie wasn’t about to be excluded from delicious gossip. “I have.” she said, with a shrill emphasis on the pronoun, and moved around to the couch facing them. Even her battle with Grace couldn’t stop her from joining this conversation. Her face held the thrill of the dramatic misfortune of the Cramers, and Maggie was feeling lucky to have a story of real life tragedy to rival all the television shows she watched. Maggie couldn’t be more excited. Grace still didn’t know exactly how Tony had died, and Maggie did. As Grace looked at her stepmother dismally, she saw her lick her lips in anticipation.

Maggie wore a look of mock concern, but her quick breathing gave away her eagerness. “It's the craziest thing. That boy was rehearsing for a magic show or something that was supposed to be last Saturday night, I think, on the base. He had this trick where he would hang by a rope and then fall through the floor and show up someplace else, behind a curtain or something. They said he’d done it a hundred times, but this time the rope didn't break the way it was supposed to, and he was there practicing by himself. Stupid thing to do, really, but the rope caught him across the neck, what did they say, Ben, the jugular?” Here Maggie took a much needed breath before plunging dramatically to the point. Her eyes were wide with amazement, just as they had been in every conversation at the grocery store, the pharmacy, the liquor store and on the street as she told the story to anyone who would listen. “Paralyzed. Just hung there and suffocated, poor thing. They found him in the morning. Dead." After giving what she thought was the appropriate emphasis to the last breathless word, she sat back, pleased with herself, savoring Grace’s stunned silence.

Grace could only think, Poor Tony. Poor Matthew. Oh, God, how will Matthew take this?

The trip down from Alaska had been one of absolute quiet, broken only by Grace stating the necessities: You want some breakfast? I'll take the shower first. Let me drive for awhile. Grace had tried to open Matthew up, but it was as if she were alone in the truck, alone in the camper, alone in the bed, alone in the marriage. At times she would look at Matthew and wasn’t able to recognize him. His features had been altered completely, as if his face were composed of clay and someone had pulled down hard with their fingers on his mouth, the corners of his eyes, the folds between nose and cheek. Grace began to see John Cramer in the man beside her, but without the twinkle or vitality of the older man’s face.

With no conversation to make the trip go faster, Grace had started thinking aloud about what they should name the baby. She first suggested to Matthew that if it was a boy they should call him Anthony, but that met with such a sharp gaze of pure hatred that she felt she had been slapped. There was a long silence as Grace let the hot tears slide down her cheeks reflected in the window of the truck. After that, Grace talked silently to the baby inside her, and it became more of a companion than the man who sat beside her. As time went on, Grace stopped thinking about girls' names, because she became more and more certain that it was a boy she was carrying.

What she came up with, finally, after going through every name she could think of, was Alexander Benjamin Cramer. Her father's name was Benjamin Alexander Delaney, and they had always joked about the initials on his suitcases: BAD. When she was little, her father had said in mock seriousness, "Bad bag! Bad, bad bag!" and Grace had giggled uncontrollably as her father played at slapping the suitcase. Now, as she watched the trees blur as the truck sped past, she imagined a suitcase with ABC on it, and that satisfied her. She knew when Matthew came back to her he might have a different opinion about their baby’s name, but for now she needed to call the baby something. He became My Alex, my angel, to her voice inside.

Until just this moment, when Maggie told her, Grace didn't know how Tony died. The base where he was training had clamped down in silence pending their investigation. Obviously, now that Grace knew he had been found hanging, she realized that their first assumption would be suicide and that can't be taken lightly, or well, on an Army base. Matthew's mother had begged them to send his body home, but they wouldn't release him until the full report was filed. So the family just waited, and every time Matthew and Grace stopped along the way, Matthew would call home.

"Have you heard?" Silence. A slump of the shoulders. "I'll call when I stop again." Always "I'll" call, never "we'll" call. Grace felt herself disappearing from Matthew’s conscious world. One night, she had screamed and cried, feeling the camper jump under her feet with her hysteria, but Matthew had kept his head down, contemplating something fascinating having to do with his shoelace. She had gone to him and beaten on his back with her fists, and finally thrown her arms around him, saying "Matthew, I love you so much, please don't leave me out of this. Please!" He had stayed still while she sobbed, and then, when she stood up and yelled, "Say something!" he had walked to the door and said evenly, "I'm going for a beer."

She had cried herself to sleep, and when he came bumping in the light was starting to show through the cheerful yellow pique curtains she made for the camper. She pretended she was still asleep because she didn't know what to say anymore. Grace’s critical voice had found her weakness and exploited it relentlessly. Matthew was never in love with you, how could you think that? If you were a real woman, he would tell you what he’s feeling, he would hold you and cry with you. But the worst pain was how little he cared for their baby, their Alex, who was as real now to Grace as if she held him in her arms.

As they traveled, Matthew always managed to find a place to park the camper that was within walking distance of a bar. They had gotten the deposit back on the apartment in Fairbanks, and Matthew ran through the money with the same precision he had used in saving it. Grace knew she had a baby to take care of, and she squirreled away her money so she could eat as well as possible on the road; salads, soups and sandwiches, lots of milk. She got to bed early every night, and woke up to find Matthew asleep on the floor or sitting in the camper booth with his head on his arms on the dinette table.

When they finally arrived home, Grace assumed that they would be sleeping together, either in her bedroom or Matthew's at his house. But Matthew had simply dropped her off at Ben and Maggie's, and said curtly, "I'll call you later." He revved the engine and drove down the road, the camper thumping along behind him.

So she had walked up the steps of her old house, feeling at home and feeling a stranger at the same time. She remembered the way she had left, saying only a quick goodbye to her father after graduation and not a word to Maggie. Now she was back, and everything was different. Grace was 18 years old, pregnant, and married. Her age and the child within her were very real, but the marriage that was meant to rescue her was now a confusing amalgam of unrequited love, disbelief and the loss of childish dreams. She had left pieces of those dreams strewn between Fairbanks and St. Maries.

And yet, the Grace that came home had a texture, a depth of feeling and a sorrow that opened her heart to the pain of others. Even her stepmother became less one-dimensional to her, as Grace tried to understand what long-ago hurt caused Maggie to lash out like a wounded animal. She studied her father, trying to discern the passion of the young man that he was. She read long-loved books again, finding new meanings in their pages. She felt the complexity of existence acutely. As Matthew had retreated from life because of the death of his brother, Grace embraced the world and all its layers because of the life of her son. She knew the only reason she was surviving this time was the internal transfer of joy, hope and promise from Alex. That was her secret, and through Matthew’s long silence, she held it close and it sustained her.

"A walk-in, like a closet or a refrigerator?" Grace asked.

"No, Grace, a walk-in like a person." Ellen knew she was confusing Grace, but wasn't quite sure how to begin. "Human life is very precious, but not for the reasons some people think. Many think that this life is the beginning and the end, when in fact it's really just like trying on a dress for awhile and then taking it off. You're still the same when you take it off, you're just not wearing it anymore. Does that make sense?"

Grace knew where this was going, and she was grateful for a concept she understood. "You're talking about reincarnation? I believe in that."

"That's good, Gracie, because the life after this is a part of just about every great philosophy there is." Ellen paused, unsure of how to go on.

"The reason human life is so precious, Grace, is that this human life gives us so much to learn from. Everything's too easy on the other side. You think, and it happens. You think, and you move. It's harder here, and that makes for a lot of learning."

Grace nodded. She knew that when people are close to death, they do seem to travel to and from another place. Many of them talked about vivid dreams, or of dramatic conversations with loved ones that had already died. All a skeptic needs to do, Grace thought, is be with people who are dying. There are too many things that can't be explained.

Ellen went on. "So it's a privilege to get to spend time in a body, that's why it's such an awful thing to cut short someone's time here by killing them. Not that they’re gone forever, but because they have to start all over again, find the right situation, make a new chart, go through the time being a baby, learning to walk, getting to the place where they can really learn."

Grace studied her hands in her lap and tried to think of what her first clear memory was. Probably around 4 or 5. She often thought of that when Alex was a baby. If he lost me now, he wouldn't even remember me. Ellen waited until Grace looked up again, and continued. "Everybody builds what you might call “off ramps” into their chart, places where they can jump ship and come back home. No one has to give a reason for this, it's completely their choice to come back and start over. Suicide is the obvious way, but there are other ways too. Some just give up in illness, rather than fighting it. Some put themselves in harm's way, and die. And some, like Ellen Preston, give their body over to another soul."

Grace was just picking up her cup for another sip of tea, but wisely put it back on the saucer. What did she just say? She looked sideways at Ellen. "You know, just as soon as I start thinking what you're saying is making some sense, you throw me another curve. Say that again?" Without being aware of it, Grace was tilting her body away from Ellen.

Ellen looked warily at Grace, and said again, softly, "Some, like Ellen Preston, give their body to another soul. Me."

"So you're saying you're not Ellen Preston. Then who are you?" She tried to keep the edge out of her voice, but it just wasn't possible.

"I'm a walk-in, Grace." Speaking faster, Ellen tried to make Grace understand. "Ellen was so tired of living, it was just too hard for her. She wanted to take an off ramp, and I needed a body. It's a simple transaction, really, but unlike what you see in horror movies, you can't enter a body without permission, and you can only come in at the moment another soul vacates it. If a body is left without a soul, it will die, so it's a tricky process. Sometimes it doesn't work, but most of the time, it does. It did with us."

Grace was still going down the Rabbit Hole, and just when she thought she had hit bottom, she started falling again. She hadn't even met Ellen until what, an couple of hours ago? And now Ellen was telling her she wasn’t really Ellen.

"Oh, Grace, I know this is a lot to take in so fast. But we haven't much time. Things are happening very quickly."

Grace put her hand up, signaling Ellen to stop. Ellen pursed her lips, but didn’t say another word. Grace spoke slowly and evenly. “Ellen. I like you, and that makes me want to believe you. I can see you believe what you’re saying, but give the ordinary human a minute, okay?”

Grace closed her eyes. After a moment, she opened them and started talking, more to herself than to Ellen. “Alright, I didn’t know you three months ago, so I can’t say whether you’ve changed, but I’m asking myself, how much more insane is what you just told me than a hundred things I’ve heard before? We call what we don’t understand mysteries. But they persist. Native Americans, the Aborigines, the miracles in the Bible, healings on TV, theories of alternate universes, UFOs, aliens. It’s the 21^st century, and we’re still talking about them. Why? Because we don’t have all the answers.”

Grace stopped and looked directly at Ellen. She spoke very softly. “When I stop to think that my son, my Alex, grew inside of me, was a tiny baby who then began to speak and to walk, and has grown into a whole person with original ideas and a capacity to love, and laugh, and reason…” She drifted off and put her hands up in a question. “I can explain any of it. That’s a mystery to me, and it even happened inside my own body.”

Letting a short laugh escape, Grace put her head in her hands. “Oh, God, Ellen, who am I to say what is or isn’t true. So let’s just say I give you the benefit of the doubt here. I still don't even know what you're asking me to do. What exactly is that?"

Ellen sat back and smiled, feeling like this was progress. "I need you to help me find a way to get this message out so that I can help others. Helping is what you're so good at, Grace."

Grace sighed audibly. "It doesn't involve wine or fish, does it?"

Ellen laughed and shook her head. "No, not this time. It's very simple, really." Ellen took a deep breath. "OK, stay with me here, I know this will sound strange, but remember, all of the greatest ideas in our history sounded strange right at the beginning. Will you give it a chance?"

Ellen looked hopefully at Grace, and Grace nodded, tentatively. "I just need to get seven people to really believe that this is coming, and help them to make plans to survive it." She gave Grace an impish smile. "I hope you're my first."

Grace fixed her eyes on Ellen for a long moment. Ellen didn't budge, and she looked absolutely serious. Grace had so many questions, she decided to start with the obvious. "Only seven people? Not that I would want more, but that doesn't seem like very many."

"Trust us, Grace, we've done the math. Our seven, and all the other sevens out there are enough to start over."

Grace was dumbfounded. "What, like a sort of universal Armageddon pyramid scheme?" She looked suspiciously at Ellen, smiling, "You know, I've heard those don't work. Like chain letters?" She pictured herself telling this story to Teresa, and had to close her eyes and shake her head to remove the picture of her friend's aghast face. Of course, with Teresa, it would be followed by hysterical laughter. Grace gave her head another small shake. She wondered idly if they had calculated in the number of calls that were being made right now to have people committed.

Giving Ellen another long look, Grace realized that she would not be the one to play "Chicken" with. Ellen's face was perfectly impassive, waiting patiently for Grace to answer. I'm as crazy as she is, Grace thought. Why am I even having this conversation? The answer came to Grace from inside her head. Because, God help me, what if she's telling the truth? Sitting back in the chair, Grace thought she'd give "Chicken" one more try. She stared right back at Ellen, who was as peaceful as Buddha, with eyes of cool sapphire. Grace looked away first.

Looking up, Grace said, "Hypothetically, if I were to agree to try...I said if....I have about a million questions. You said there wasn’t much time?" Grace asked.

Ellen lifted her eyebrows and smiled. "Ah, time. You know, in most cases I would make some flip remark about how we all invented time and it doesn't really exist, but the truth is that time is actually a consideration in this case."

Grace looked at Ellen, a question in her eyes. "Why in this case?"

Ellen suddenly looked tired. "Elizabeth wants me out of the way, and she's a very determined young woman."

Sensing that Ellen meant something sinister, Grace said quickly, "Oh, no, I think she's just concerned. She's worried about you....well, actually, about her mother, who she thinks is you..." Grace trailed off, giving up on making sense.

Smiling, Ellen said, "You have a good heart, Grace, you see the best in almost everyone." Picking up her cup, Ellen said sadly, "Trust me, she isn't what she seems." Ellen continued. "You've seen 'Star Wars?'" Grace nodded warily, unsure of where this was going to lead. Ellen said, "By the way, that movie has had a huge effect on this planet, moved so many souls up a notch in understanding, even if they aren't fully aware of it." She took a sip of her tea, and continued. "The 'Force' is still something outside of them to many people, but it's real." Alex would love hearing that, Grace thought, remembering the paper he had written on Star Wars that said much the same thing, how the Force was a metaphor for the strength we all had inside us.

Ellen went on. "Anyway, I guess you could say that Elizabeth has turned to the 'Dark Side,'" she said, with a conspiratorial smile. Continuing, Ellen said, "She can't hear anything I have to say about the future of this planet. You're light years ahead of her in your sense of the metaphysical, and you're still not sure, are you?"

Grace gave Ellen a self-conscious look, "I'm giving it a chance. Just let me settle in to what you've already told me, OK? No more curves for a while. Until I ask for them."

Smiling, Ellen said, "It's a deal, no more curves." Then she added, ominously, but still with a smile, "For a while."

"But, back to Elizabeth," Ellen continued, "Imagine how hard it is for her, whose whole being is focused on building wealth and power. I'm a distraction for her, and she worries that I may become an embarrassment and ruin her chance to be a partner in that law firm."

Grace had to admit that made sense. In fact, it made so much sense, that she could even understand how Elizabeth felt, much as she disliked her. Looking up, Grace said, "So when you say that Elizabeth wants you 'out of the way,' what does that mean?"

Ellen inclined her head slightly toward Grace. "You're the first step. You come in here, see that I'm crazy, and refer a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist agrees, and puts me someplace where they can keep me drugged so that I can't embarrass her." Ellen chewed daintily on a bite of scone. "Very smart, really."

Grace didn't really have anything to say to that. Remembering Elizabeth's voice on the phone, it sounded like Ellen's scenario was right on. After a pause, Ellen said firmly, "Grace, if this body is drugged, I can't do the job I came here to do. She's not going to be easily convinced, but I need your help to stop her."

Suddenly, Grace felt bone-tired, and she realized that every muscle in her body had been tensed since Ellen started talking. "Do I even have a choice?" she said wearily. Waving an arm above her head, Grace said, "Don't we have some Celestial Council watching us right now? Won't they hit me with lightning or something if I say no?" She was kidding, but on edge, and she looked to Ellen for the answer.

"Gracie, you can walk out this door right now, go straight across the Golden Gate Bridge to a television news station and tell them who I am and what I've said. You'll all come back here and set up a camera. Of course I'll be gone, but your life will have changed in subtle or drastic ways from this moment on. That's your free will. You always have a choice."

Ellen leaned forward, taking Grace's hands in her own. "You can also choose to turn your car into oncoming traffic on the bridge, kill yourself and take some others with you. That's your free will." Smiling, Ellen said, "You have those choices every second of every day. We all made the rules for this playground together, in the beginning. And we gave ourselves free will, because we knew the games would be more fun if we did."

Suddenly it all became overwhelming. Grace pulled her hands gently away from Ellen. "Sorry," she said as she stood up. She needed to move around. I can simply walk out the door. Not to go to ABC News, not to the Golden Gate Bridge, but home. Home to reality, home to sanity, back to her real life. She could simply file this away as a conversation with a crazy person. She'd had them before, and some of them she couldn't even remember. It could be the same with this one. She could forget.

Unfortunately, the whole time Grace was having this little talk with herself, another part of her was saying, No you can't. You can't forget, because you think she might be real. She was still standing, not moving toward the door. Free will. She had to move, so Grace walked toward the bookcase. She stood numbly looking at the titles, not registering them in her brain, steadying herself by holding one hand on a shelf. Turning around, she saw Ellen, and again she imagined subtitles, running in a thin stream across the air in front of her. Ellen looked calmly at her, waiting for her to work through her request, to decide.

Grace thought about something she had read once in a piece of poetry. She couldn't remember it exactly, but it had so resonated with her that she had never forgotten the idea behind it. It said that in the beginning, the energy that made up the universe was one whole body of energy, stuck together. Sometimes Grace thought of this as God. The Big Bang was really the sound of this body of energy coming apart into trillions of little lights, and each of us has one of those lights inside us now, our soul. Because we were all one once, the poem said, we're all trying to get back to our source, and that's why we're drawn together. Grace always liked that idea. It made it easier for her to help other people, no matter how desperate their situation, knowing that the light inside them was just like her light.

And what finally made up her mind, standing there, was that she looked over and saw the light in Ellen. Free will. Her free will told her she had to give this woman a chance. Seeing the look on Grace's face, Ellen popped up out of her chair and said, "I know, let's take a walk. It's a beautiful day. We could use some air." Movement sounded good to Grace. She often used a walk or a bike ride to clear her head, and boy, did her head need clearing.

Ellen took the tea tray into the kitchen and set it on the counter. Grace looked again at the cozy room, and thought suddenly of this whole area covered with ocean. Wasn't that what Ellen said? Grace followed Ellen into the kitchen, asking, "So, if this happens, where would it be safe, Ellen, where would we go? The mountains? The High Sierra?" Grace was still in a form of denial, and she quickly imagined somewhat of a temporary camping trip in the mountains, and then a trek down to survey the damage and start over. That was as far as her mind could go.

Closing her eyes, Ellen seemed to be trying to remember something. She had tiny frown lines between her eyebrows, and her mouth was set in concentration. "No. You'll recall that I said the ocean would rise and the land would fall in some cases. Not all mountains will be mountains anymore."

Grace was tiring of the riddles, and a chill was creeping down her neck. "Where, Ellen? Where would we go? Do we have to go away from San Francisco?"

"The closest area that will survive is away from the ocean, in the middle, in the north, Montana, North Dakota, most of Canada..." Ellen trailed off, thinking.

North Dakota? That’s some camping trip. The chill was increasing. Suddenly, Grace thought of St. Maries. "And Idaho? What about Idaho?" Grace asked quickly.

"Northern Idaho, yes. Your St. Maries, yes. Probably after some shaking, and things will look very different, but we can survive there." Ellen opened her eyes, and looked at Grace.

Grace looked back blankly. This isn’t happening. “Ellen. You’re saying that everything we know here, our home, our friends, my business, Alex’s school, all of it,” she made a sweeping motion with her arm, “will just disappear?”

Ellen placed a hand on the arm that had just wiped out the Bay Area. She spoke calmly, and more quietly. This was a fact to her, but she knew it represented to Grace the end of everything she knew as home. “Grace, San Francisco is a big city, and it’s on the coast. The water will rise over it.”

Tears were beginning to glisten in the well of Grace’s lower lids. “For how long? When can we come back?”

Now Ellen reached her arm out and laid Grace’s head on her shoulder. “This is a cycle that can last millions of years, Grace.” She felt a shudder from the younger woman. “We need a new home.”

As Ellen stood calmly holding her, Grace was perfectly still, but her mind was at war. She could not rationally explain why she felt at her core that Ellen was telling the truth, and in this moment she was trying to imagine this conversation with Jamie or Alex. In fact, she wished desperately that they were here so that she could search their faces and gauge their reactions because she needed corroboration, confirmation. But most of all she needed time. All she could think about right now was going home, getting in her flannel jammies and curling up in front of a good romantic movie, forgetting the events of the last hour and a half for a time. It was how she managed grief and confusion, and she was unapologetic about it because it worked. Her mind needed rest so that it could gain perspective. Afterwards, she would process what she felt, as she had always done, and in time, she would determine what was true. Grace pulled away gently from Ellen, determined now in her course of action. But there was one more question to be asked.

"You said soon. If this happened, how soon?"

"As far as we can judge, not less than a month, but not more than six."

Grace suddenly had tremendous compassion for the patients she had known who had heard those words from a doctor. She felt as if she had been punched in the stomach. Feeling anger rising up, Grace challenged Ellen, "I thought you knew everything. You don't know exactly when?"

"Free will, Gracie." Ellen smiled patiently. "That's always the wild card in human existence. You can make it happen this month, you can put it off for six, or you can prevent it entirely. The first two options are very real possibilities, the third is unlikely, unless there is a drastic shift in priorities on this planet. We don't see that happening, and that's why there are so many of us here now." Seeing Grace's deer-in-the-headlights look, Ellen said, "Come on, honey, let's enjoy the sunshine." Ellen opened the front door, and Princess flew past her feet onto the porch.

Grace touched Ellen’s arm, and Ellen turned back. Grace spoke quietly, and with an effort at calm. “I need some time, Ellen. Can I take a rain check on that walk? Tomorrow?”

Ellen looked at Grace with soft compassion. She put a hand on her cheek. “Absolutely. We’ll walk tomorrow. You come anytime.” She moved to the side so that Grace could pass her in the hallway and move out the front door.

As Grace stepped off the porch, she glanced over to the trees she had explored just two days ago, thinking she saw some movement there. My imagination again, she thought, but she kept her eyes on the trees for a moment before walking to the car. Ellen frowned slightly, and followed her eyes to the end of the porch. Grace thought she saw some sadness pass over Ellen’s face, but in an instant it was gone.

Grace looked gratefully at Ellen. “Thanks for letting me have some room to work this through, Ellen.”

Ellen returned the look. “Thanks for not committing me, Grace.”

Grace gave a half laugh. “You’re welcome. See you tomorrow.”

Ellen tilted her head slightly and smiled at Grace. “Enjoy the movie.”

Stopping halfway in her process of climbing into the van, Grace started, realizing she’d said nothing of her plans to Ellen. She looked up, and saw Ellen’s pixie smile, like the disappearing Cheshire Cat, just behind the closing door.

The opening door so surprised Daniel that he had to jump back to avoid being seen. He thought the younger one with the van might have seen him, but he stayed so still, barely breathing, controlling his heart rate the way he had learned to do in the jungle, that he saw her second-guess herself.

Second-guessing, a rookie mistake. Always trust your first instincts.

He knew the devil-woman's name was Ellen, because he had studied her mail, junk mail mostly, that the boy brought up with the groceries. Offers of health insurance and credit cards, Harriet Carter catalogs, and at the beginning, a rare letter from her daughter, Elizabeth Preston, at some three-name law firm in Washington, DC.

In the letter, Elizabeth had begged her to put the phone back in, so Daniel knew there was no phone in the house. A good piece of information to have. He had written it all, along with Elizabeth's address and phone number, in his spiral book, filed away for later. Then he had resealed the envelope and put it back into the dented, rusty old mailbox, along with the rest of the mail.

There were never any bills. No phone, heat, water, not even a bill for the groceries that pimply-faced kid brought out. Daniel guessed those must go to Elizabeth, and that she probably had money, working for that big law firm. Godless, lawyers, all of them. Maybe after this was all over, he would find his way to D.C.

But first, there were things to do here. Watch and wait. It was what the Lord wanted him to do, and Daniel was determined to follow His wishes. As he listened to the two women talk, he saw that the younger one was smiling, lingering. This one wasn't running, like Marla did. This one was listening, and she didn't look shocked at all by what she was hearing.

He wanted to run to her and pull her down, to tell her to turn away from sin and surrender herself to Jesus, but he couldn't do that. Watch and wait. He repeated the words in his head, reminding himself that as much as he would like to cleanse these women, to offer them eternal life, he must wait for the sign, must wait on the action of his Lord.

Daniel listened from the trees, silently, letting his breath synchronize with the breeze that rustled the leaves. They couldn't see his painted face, and he was able to hear some of what they said.

Grace. She called her Grace. For by Grace you have been saved through faith. A sign. This must be a sign. By Grace. Is she another foot soldier, like me? Maybe she has the same calling, but she's gotten closer. Maybe she will strike her down.

Grace. It is the gift of God.

June, 1992

How can something smell so good, thought Grace, nuzzling her face into the downy fuzz on Alex's head. She held him close to her, feeling the extraordinary baby warmth that he exuded, so warm that she could feel a thin film of sweat between his skin and hers.

Lying on this bed, I had so many dreams of how my life would be. Grace looked around her room, and so much was missing. She had hastily filled the walls and the bookshelf with new things, the Polaroid wedding picture that the wife of the Justice of the Peace in Winnemucca had taken, a pillow with a polar bear on it that she had needlepointed while she and Matthew were in Alaska, and so many pictures of Alex that she was amazed the child could still see with all the flashes going off in his face. Most of the things that were precious to her she had left in the camper. She still didn't trust Maggie, so the pictures went into her purse whenever she went out, and the pillow she hid under the bed. It reminded her a little of a prison movie she had seen once, where the prisoners had to hide their special treasures from the guards. In a way I guess I am in prison, Grace thought.

She sang softly, rubbing her cheek against Alex's impossibly soft one. Happy one week birthday to you, happy one week birthday to you, thinking as she sang how monumentally different her life was today from one week ago. Grace’s father had been very generous, although she regularly heard Maggie yelling about it. Ben had paid for doctor’s visits and tests, and Grace and the baby were found to be in perfect health. Grace had celebrated her 19th birthday on Tuesday night with a small cake her father picked up from the Super 1, and had gone into labor on Wednesday afternoon. Marjorie Cramer was her breathing coach and it was an easy, uncomplicated birth, handled by a midwife in the downstairs guest bedroom. Alex was born in the wee hours of Thursday, on June 11, exactly one year to the day since she and Matthew had gotten married.

Grace missed Matthew with an ache that wouldn’t go away, but she knew she only missed who he used to be. She didn’t miss the silent, angry, older man that was her new husband, the one whose veins bulged and who ground his teeth, the one who drank. That Matthew scared her, and with the miracle she held in her arms she developed the resolute protectiveness of a mother. She hadn’t needed to use it because Matthew hadn't seen his son yet. That, to Grace, was a tragedy. Not for her, not for Alex, but for Matthew. She truly believed that if Matthew could just hold him, just look into the immeasurable depth of his gold-flecked brown eyes, he would feel like healing was possible. But Matthew had taken off for North Carolina the day after they arrived in St. Maries. She had begged him to stay. She used guilt, saying that she could have the baby any minute and what would she do if he missed that, but in the end he had simply gotten on a plane and left.

At the Spokane airport that day, she stood with her fingers on the glass, leaving five round breaths on each side of her flushed, wet cheeks. She could feel the cold of the window on her belly, and instinctively pulled back so the baby wouldn’t get cold too, wrapping her arms around her for warmth. Grace was terrified about having the baby without Matthew. She felt paralyzed, and John and Marjorie took her gently by the arms to pull her away. She watched the plane until it disappeared and then let them take her wherever they would. On the way back to St. Maries, she sat dully in the backseat as the Cramers chattered away, trying to cheer her. Marjorie promised she wouldn’t be alone when the baby was born. Grace felt miserably that she and Alex would always be alone.

Aside from her hysterical pleading as he left for the airport, it had been over a month since Grace had talked to Matthew. If you can call that talking, she thought, remembering the long drive down from Alaska when mostly she talked. So really, she hadn't had a conversation with Matthew for about two months. She had tried everything she could think of to get a phone number or even an address so that she could write. She spent hours with Marjorie and John Cramer talking about what to do, trying to understand what was happening to Matthew, but they really weren't in any shape to help her either.

Before he left, she had told Matthew, pleading, "I lost my mother, I do know how you feel!" She knew about the hole inside, just below her breastbone, that opened up when her mother died. She still had to put her hand over it sometimes, because she was afraid that she would leak out when she thought of Abby. Especially now, Grace thought. She kissed Alex lightly on the head, wondering what kind of grandmother Abby would be. Her mother, older, perhaps less driven, maybe with the time to sit and smell the exquisite hair Grace now grazed with her lips. Grace wondered how her heart could be so full and so empty at the same time. She felt for the first time in her life as if she literally took each minute as it came.

But Grace still believed in her wedding vows with her whole heart. She was married, and she was married to Matthew. Whether he ever came back, she felt she was his wife, and in truth, all the years of unrequited feelings had given her some practice of loving Matthew without love in return. When she was at her most peaceful, she knew that her 14-year old self would have made the bargain to have this child, this piece of her Matthew, without the husband that she never truly expected to win anyway. But most of all, Grace was exhausted with trying to understand him. It's hard to keep trying when someone won't even meet you halfway. It took all she had to get through her days.

Grace loved that she and her baby boy would always celebrate their birthdays together, just two days apart. She felt it was a sign, that through it all this was meant to be. Alex was a good baby and slept a lot, but he woke up hungry in the night. She would hold him to her breast as the moonlight made patterns on their bodies, and feel more completely right with the world than she could ever remember. On the surface, it didn't seem that her life was going all that well, but nothing seemed able to touch the peace, the tranquility of those moonlit nights with this angelic extension of herself.

Now, the afternoon sunlight was warming them both to the point of being uncomfortable. Alex had gone down for a nap, and Grace just curled up next to him, listening to his soft snore and watching his eyelashes flicker as he dreamed. She had closed her eyes for just a moment and awakened an hour later, sweaty and groggy. She was feeling more conscious, but Alex was still sound asleep. She slowly extracted her arm from under his head, careful not to jostle him. Not that it would matter, she thought, he sleeps through anything. Alex lifted his eyebrows, pouted his rosebud lips and made the little smacking noises that Grace loved, but he didn't wake.

Grace surrounded him with pillows, creating a crib on her single bed, and then moved to the window. She looked down into the backyard, where her father and Maggie were sitting in plastic lawn chairs having what they called their "afternoon nip." That nip usually turned into a full-fledged bender by 6 pm, and degenerated into hostile drunkenness in Maggie and stupor in her father by 9. Grace had learned to make herself scarce at night to keep out of the crossfire.

What am I going to do? I can't live here.

She talked with Jamie every couple of days and he did everything he could to track down Matthew, but it was like her husband had fallen off the face of the earth. Jamie even offered to go to North Carolina to try and find him, but Grace knew that he really couldn't spare the time from his new business.

Jamie started out in San Francisco the traditional way, as a waiter. A female friend complained she had nothing to wear to a party one night, and he had taken one of her plain black dresses and made it special and elegant, adding just the right swirl of sparkle with some small rhinestones. Before he knew it, she told a friend who told a friend, and Jamie was in some demand. He started frequenting thrift stores and fabric close-outs, and soon had a collection of short and long gowns, sequins, feathers, braid trim, brooches, fake jewels, brocade and other embellishments. He quit his job as a waiter within a year of moving to The City.

He had lived in San Francisco for six years now, and was completely and blissfully a part of the culture there. Jamie finally found a place where he could be himself, surrounded by others who thought as he did and loved as he did. Jamie had enjoyed a few relationships, one fairly serious, but had yet to find the one. It had been easy for Jamie to throw himself into his work wholeheartedly. He decided to call his young business Jamie D's because one of his roommates had called him Jamie D. from the time he first moved in. He thought it sounded like a big clothing company and that was what he envisioned with each sequin he sewed on.

Jamie knew how unhappy Grace was. In one of their phone calls he asked Grace gingerly if she wanted to come to San Francisco and live with him. "Bring the kid and live here, Graciela. I promise I won't make him gay," Jamie said in his best deep businessman's voice, making her laugh. "I'll send you a plane ticket the minute you say yes." Grace had immediately said no. She felt it would be disloyal if she weren’t in St. Maries for Matthew when he came home. She didn’t tell Jamie how much she longed to move there with him, but the idea was starting to seep in on the waves of misery she felt in her father and Maggie’s house. Their last phone conversation made her think about something else, too. She had no money, no job, and no hope for one. She could never bring herself to leave Alex with her father and Maggie. And whatever she could make in retail or as a waitress would get eaten up with child care, so she would be at zero again, and not see her baby.

She could still hear Jamie, "Listen, Gracie, I need help. None of these poofdas can sew a straight line, believe it or not. You taught me to sew, remember? Bring your sewing machine and I'll pay you. You can watch the kid right here in the house while you work."

Jamie paused, letting his offer sink in, taking her silence as an encouraging sign.

"Matthew can find you here as easily as he can find you in Idaho," Jamie said, adding softly, "When he wants to, honey."

Just before he said goodbye, Jamie bellowed dramatically, "Leave the wicked witch and come to live with me in the Emerald City!" Then, more tenderly, "I want to hold my nephew, and I miss you so much. Please come."

Maggie's cackling laugh came through the window like shards of glass. She had fallen off her chair and was sitting splayed on the lawn. Ben had his head leaned back, staring mindlessly into the clouds above him.

That's it. If ever I needed a sign. Grace moved back over to the bed, and whispered softly to Alex, "Wake up, baby. We're going on a plane!"

Breathing deeply, Grace let the warmth of the day wash over her as she and Ellen walked up the path. The brightness of the sunshine asked for clarity, and Grace felt like she had her wits about her again. Twenty-four hours and a therapy session with Casablanca had done the trick, as she knew it would. Nothing like Rick, Ilsa and a whole world at war for perspective. Movies allowed her to work things through, and although others teased her about it, she stepped so fully into them that it was as if she stood next to the lovers amid the chaos, feeling their feelings. As if she lived it with them.

What came to her as she watched Ilsa and Rick say goodbye on the tarmac for the hundredth time was the realization that “things that can’t happen” happen every day. Grace knew that she lived in a bubble, protected by her routine and comforted by the familiar and predictable. She also knew that just outside that bubble lurked chaos, and, as it had for so many millions before her, perhaps chaos had come to call. But unlike the drunk driver that swerves and in seconds devastates lives or the war that takes husbands and sons and separates lovers, this was chaos coupled with preparation and time.

So she had decided to try to believe. With conditions. She had told no one, and wouldn’t until she’d spent another day with Ellen Preston. At the end of this day, she would make a decision about what she would do, and once that decision was made she would commit her whole self to it. She didn’t know why this had been laid on her lap, but it had, and before she could commit she had to ask some tough questions.

Ellen and Grace had fallen in step together, in the companionable walk of two friends simply enjoying the day and the beautiful wilderness of China Camp. They walked from the house in silence after a few brief comments about the cloudless sky and the wonderful smells around them. Ellen was waiting again, Grace could tell. Waiting until I find the next question to ask. What is the next question? There were so many, Grace's head was spinning with them.

Grace's business was people. And her passion. In her years of working with them, she'd been asked to do many things that were outside her comfort zone. Of course, what Ellen was asking was so far outside her comfort zone that it belonged in another universe. But, maybe the same rules apply. Grace looked over at Ellen, whose eyes were partially closed against the brilliance of the sun. OK, be logical. If someone you barely know asks you to do something that's way out of your comfort zone, what do you do? Find out who this person is, and why they want you to do it. Grace asked, suddenly, before she had time to think about the question, "Who are you, Ellen?"

Ellen stopped walking and opened her eyes fully, smiling brightly at Grace. "Well, that is the question, isn't it, Gracie?" She laughed softly. "When it all comes down to it, even when we're talking about the whole world changing, it's just you and me right now. And we," she put her hand on her heart, and then reached over to put her other hand on Grace's heart, "need to be able to trust each other for this thing to work."

Grace was tempted to just melt into the warmth of Ellen's hand. How does she do that? Make me feel so much that I want to believe her? Grace fought the urge, and looked back into those deep indigo eyes, speaking a little more sharply than she intended. "Yes, Ellen, I need to trust you. That you are who you say you are. That what you say is going to happen. Otherwise, I just walk away and chalk it up to another conversation I've had with someone who isn't quite all there."

Ellen laughed. "Well, Gracie, you wouldn't be human if you didn't feel that way." Smiling up at the sun with her eyes closed again, Ellen said softly, "Life is such a glorious mystery here."

Grace tilted her head and stepped around in front of Ellen, forcing her to open her eyes. "That's what I mean, Ellen. What does that mean when you say that? A mystery? How? What's different about this, and where....where you come from?" She was on a roll now. "And, while we're at it, where do you come from? Is it heaven? Is it a place? How do you decide to come back? Are you assigned, or you just make up your mind to come? And what happened to poor Mrs. Preston? Is she just off floating somewhere?"

Grace's breath came in short bursts, as if she'd been running. She looked intently at Ellen, and by the look on Ellen's face, this was what she was waiting for. Grace felt like she had in school when she asked the right question, and saw the teacher's face light up. Ellen placed her hands on Grace's shoulders, and said calmly, "I'm going to answer every question I can, Grace. I don't know everything, but I'll tell you all that I know."

Grace's shoulders relaxed, and, her face reddening, she turned and started walking again, smiling, a little embarrassed by her outburst. "Well. Thanks. That would help."

Ellen put her arm around Grace, and walked slowly with her. "Honey, we're all just on this path together, no matter how we got here. You're a very smart and grounded girl. You need to ask questions. I want you to understand everything, and trust in me, and believe that what I say is going to happen. First of all, it's the only way I can get you to help me. But also, because you're very special to me, Gracie."

Grace stopped again, and looked at Ellen, her eyes glistening. Her question was soft, pleading. "Why, Ellen? Why me? I'm not anything special. I'm not particularly enlightened. Most of what you're saying is completely new to me. Aren't you looking for someone else? Are you sure you have the right person?" In response there was that look from Ellen again. The depth of understanding in her eyes made Grace feel as if everything that was happening was normal and right, that she was exactly where she was supposed to be, here with this woman talking about the end of the world.

"You're my girl, Gracie. You're the one I'm looking for. Your heart is so big that we can wait for your brain and your logic to catch up. It will, I promise. Just give it a little time." Ellen broke eye contact and began to walk again. "C'mon. Let's walk, and you ask me your first question."

They passed under a huge eucalyptus tree, drinking in the heady smell of the leaves under their feet, as Grace tried to gather her thoughts. Although she had trouble with the concept, she had to admit she was fascinated by the idea of souls just walking into bodies. So many questions. As good a place to start as any. They came out from under the tree and started on a slight rise in the path. Grace sighed. Here goes. "OK, so how do you become a walk-in, Ellen? Does that mean you're better, or more evolved than other souls up there, or can everybody do it?"

Ellen laughed softly before answering. "Well, I'm not a perfected soul, that's for sure. I guess you could call me, as you said, an evolved being. I've just had enough lifetimes to have the awareness of how it all works, so I get to skip the time-consuming process of birth and childhood."

"How many lifetimes, Ellen? Do you remember all of them?"

"Many hundreds. And yes, that's the gift of being a walk-in. We get to remember, because we go from being an adult to being another adult. Children remember too, but they don't often express it well. Most parents succeed in convincing them that they're only dreaming, or making things up. They used to put children in asylums. Now they put them on drugs that block the memories. Children learn very quickly that it's not good to talk about what they remember."

Grace thought of Alex, and what seemed a strange non sequitur came into her head. Alex's first word had been "ball." When he said it, he said, "de boll," with what sounded to Grace remarkably like a French accent. Of course, everyone around him changed that, by saying over and over, "ball," until he said it correctly.

"Do you know about my lifetimes? Or Alex's?"

"I could find out if you needed me to. Most of what I know about other souls I get from who they are now." Ellen stopped to rest as the slope began to go higher. "Really, your other lifetimes are written on your soul, and are very obvious once you start looking."

Grace frowned, trying to understand. "How are they obvious?"

"It's all there, Grace. Why do some people love countries they've never even visited? Love the taste of strawberries or hate them? Find that they're afraid of heights or love flying? If we're all born into this world with a clean slate, why would that be? How could we all be so different, so unique?" Ellen waited a beat, and then asked, "What do you feel, Grace, that's unique to you?"

Ellen turned, and began walking again, letting the question sink in. Grace started thinking. About how she felt the first time she needlepointed, as if it were a meditation, as natural as if she had done it her entire life. How once she'd seen a 15th century Flemish tapestry hanging on a wall in a museum and for a fleeting second knew the feel of the cloth under her fingers, the hardness of the needle in her hand, and the conversation of the other women around the tapestry. How she had dismissed the thought in a flash, confused by how real it had been, but unable to process it rationally.

As the path wound further up, they began to walk single-file, Ellen leading, Grace following. Talking was more difficult, so Grace continued to think while they walked. About a recurring dream that she was a soldier in one of the World Wars, crawling through trenches, shouting around her, and suddenly bullets ripping through both legs. Every time she woke from the dream, her legs were almost numb and it took her a long time to shake the memory of the smells and sounds of the battlefield. Grace hated guns, any kind of gun, and had a strong physical reaction when they were even mentioned in conversation.

And her immediate acceptance from a very deep level of Jamie's being gay. Grace had never been able to adequately express it, but when she sat around with him and his friends she felt at one with them and had joked that she had "a gay man inside her trying to come out." She knew people through her work that felt just as deeply that gay people were the Devil incarnate, that they made their skin crawl. Sometimes that could be explained by how someone was raised, but many times it was just inside them from the beginning. That's not a clean slate.

Emerging through the ferns that surrounded the path, Ellen and Grace came into the open top of the hill. Maples, oaks and pines dotted the hillside, with a lone willow swaying in the breeze that cooled them as they stood catching their breath.

Grace turned to Ellen, and said, "So everything we've lived is imprinted on our soul, and even though we don't remember the details of that lifetime, we still have the feelings?"

Ellen beamed. "I knew you'd be a quick study."

Grace smiled back, feeling like she had at least one little part of it under her belt. Now on to what really puzzled her. "But how do you do it? Walk in?"

Ellen moved over to a fallen tree that had served as a bench for many, judging by the beer cans surrounding it. She kicked a few of the cans out of the way, and sat, patting the spot next to her for Grace.

"Gracie, everything on the other side is about focus. How successful you are in that world depends on how well you can focus your thoughts. Right now, close your eyes."

Grace did as Ellen asked her. Ellen spoke softly to her. "Put yourself in your kitchen, at the sink, with warm water running over your hands. Can you forget about my voice? Can you tune out the birds in the trees? Are you able to lose the feeling you have of the tree under us, and feel yourself standing? That's focus. The more you practice that here, the better you'll be at it when you get to the other side."

Grace opened her eyes and shrugged. "I could kind of feel myself there, but it's hard to tune things out."

"Well, it's a little easier when you don't have a body," Ellen said, changing her position on the hard log. "Superior focus is one of the qualities necessary for a walk-in because when the transfer is made, it needs to happen with split-second precision or the walk-out's body may die. I just focus my entire being there and I go there."

"What does that feel like?" Grace asked, amazed.

"It actually takes a lot out of me, but after a day's rest I'm OK, as long as the body doesn't have illness I need to fix."

"Fix? No don't tell me, I want to hear the rest about this. What does it feel like to suddenly be in a body?"

Ellen sighed deeply. "Oh, heavy. Leaden. Like I suddenly weigh a ton, and I've gone from walking through air to having to move through water or Jell-O." Ellen grimaced. "It actually makes me kind of sick for a day, off-balance, disoriented, a little dizzy. But then I get used to it again and I'm fine."

"And how does the, what did you call it, the walk-out? How do they leave?"

"They're usually so focused on leaving that it’s not much of an issue. They're helped by their guide, who stays with them, coaching, until they reach the other side, where they stay with them until they get their bearings. It's all very well organized, Gracie. It has to be."

Grace turned and faced Ellen. "So what did you mean, 'fix'? Are you able to cure illness in a body you enter?"

Ellen smiled. "All illness is caused by focus and intention, Grace. Often it's a part of the lesson someone has planned for themselves, and the focus actually keeps the illness in the body so the lesson can be learned. But when I enter a body, their illness is not my lesson, so I fix it."

"Just like that? Can you cure cancer?"

"Anything. I'm sure you've heard of stories of people who've been miraculously and suddenly cured, and afterwards, their lives change dramatically? They become philanthropists, or create foundations, or join the Peace Corps?"

Grace nodded, mutely.

"The illness was too much for them. They weren't ready to experience it fully, so they take an off ramp. We go in, fix the body, and do what we came to do."

"What do you usually do? Why do you do it?"

"We do it to help others, kind of for the benefit of mankind." Ellen laughed, shaking her head, "That sounds pretty self-important, I guess. I'm not any different from you, Gracie. I just have a fresher memory of the other side than you do, a clearer picture of the goals we're trying to reach together as a group of souls. Walk-ins have a very illustrious history." Ellen said proudly. It reminded Grace of herself, talking about home care. "We've prevented a lot of really bad things from happening, World War III, for one."

Grace shifted on the log. "Excuse me?"

"It's very stressful, as you can imagine, being the one with the responsibility of pushing the button, Gracie. More than once, someone has chosen to step out rather than make that decision. We step in and make it for them."

Grace shook her head. "And no one knows."

"Nope."

Grace wondered again about the science fiction movie she had stepped into. And then, again, she thought, How many thousands of years have fringe ideas been a part of our lives? If we haven’t evolved past the crazy ideas, maybe it’s because there’s truth in them. She forced herself to remain the skeptic, and took a deep breath. "You know, the things you're saying could be true, or they could be the product of an extremely fertile imagination. How do I believe you, Ellen? How?"

"Gracie, I'm trusting that your natural fascination for learning new things will override all those logical voices in your head. You can ask me all the same questions tomorrow and the next day and the next, and you'll get the same answers. I'm telling you the truth, and sooner or later, it's going to start vibrating, right here," Ellen put the palm of her hand just below Grace's throat, at the top of her sternum, "and you'll know." All Grace felt vibrating right now was her heart, and she knew that Ellen must feel it beating wildly. The warmth was there again, too, as if there were a small heating pad attached to Ellen's hand. It began to soothe Grace's panic.

Ellen thought she would take another tack. "Gracie, is this a bad way to spend a day? Do you feel that being with me is a waste of time? Am I hurting you?"

No, no and no. Grace felt her heart start to calm.

Taking Grace's silence for agreement, Ellen said, "Then I'm going to keep going. I'm going to answer your questions. And I'm going to trust that you will begin to see, no, to feel, the truth of what I'm saying. Is that OK, honey?"

Grace closed her eyes, feeling the warmth begin to spread. "OK."

Ellen gently removed her hand, and laid it on top of Grace's next to her on the log. She waited, gazing out over the Bay. Finally, after a few moments, Grace's curiosity got the better of her. "So tell me more about the illustrious history of walk-ins."

Again, with pride in her voice, Ellen answered. "Well, it's been our task through the ages to be sure that important history isn't lost. Many of us have been scribes, writing down great literature and poetry, and copying historical documents just before they would have been destroyed. We've hidden them away to preserve the best of every civilization, so that it won't be lost for future generations. There's a whole group of us now, collecting them up before the shift. They're taking them to someplace in Canada. A cave, I think." Ellen leaned over, speaking conspiratorially. "Not all of the Dead Sea Scrolls have been found, by the way." Ellen’s delivery made Grace laugh, and part of her logic let go. It's either that, or cry. Yes, Ellen, this is a very entertaining way to spend an afternoon.

Ellen was speaking again, "So, being a walk-in is a direct way to influence the human experience. Of course, we can influence you from the other side, and do all the time. You'd be surprised at the number of thoughts you've had that were placed, although you thought they just jumped into your head."

Grace’s eyebrows raised involuntarily. "That sounds suspiciously like mind control, Ellen. Wouldn’t that make us something like puppets?"

"Free will, Gracie. Never forget that. You're very strong. You have the option to ignore the thoughts that pop into your head and you do it all the time. Or you override them with human logic. You tell yourself an idea could never work, or it's crazy, or people will think you've lost your mind. All the time." Ellen trailed off, speaking these last words almost in a whisper to herself. She stared off into the distance, where the San Francisco Bay sparkled over the rise of wheat-colored grasses. She looked suddenly sad, as if remembering something, some regret. "I didn't like being a spirit guide. It takes a special soul to work only from the other side. You have to be able to deal with constant disappointment. I wasn't very good at it."

Grace sat amazed for a moment, trying to imagine that there could be something as mundane as disappointment for enlightened beings. Before she could even formulate a question, Ellen continued, shaking off her sadness.

"So, I became a walk-in. I like the face-to-face work better." Ellen brushed some stray hairs back from her eyes. "But I have two sets of tasks here. Before I could come in, I had to promise to take over the unfinished tasks of the walk-out, in this case, Ellen Preston. At the same time, I have my own project to finish."

Fascinated, Grace asked, "What were her unfinished tasks?"

"Just one. Elizabeth."

"Elizabeth? What are you supposed to do about Elizabeth?"

Ellen sighed. "Her mother didn't feel she did a good job preparing Elizabeth for the real world, the other side. And she was so tired at the end, she just couldn't fight the natural strength of her girl. She wants me to lead Elizabeth to the truth."

Grace blew out a breath. "Wow. You gave yourself a couple of serious challenges, Ellen. Save the world, and save Elizabeth Preston." Grace allowed herself a small chuckle. "Not quite sure which one's going to be harder."

Ellen smiled. "I'm hoping I can do both at the same time." Shrugging, she said, "I'm waiting for inspiration."

Grace laughed. "You mean walk-ins have folks on the other side helping them too?"

Ellen closed her eyes and let the breeze float over her. "We all do, Gracie. We’re never alone."

Ellen seemed to want some solitude, so Grace turned and looked out to the Bay. How she loved the water. Clean. Fresh. Blue. Invigorating. Practically all of her favorite adjectives applied to water. But too much of a good thing, she thought ruefully. The possibility of millions floundering in the Bay, the chaos of all those splashing bodies in the cold ocean in Titanic, multiplied over and over in her head. Even when she closed her eyes, the vision stayed, so she opened them again. Move on, Grace.

"So, next question, Ellen?" Her companion opened her eyes and turned, expectant.

"Next question."

"What's it like up there? Heaven. The Other Side."

Ellen got a wistful look on her face, peering deeply into Grace's eyes. "More like here than you would imagine. Everything there is created by thought, and souls often want to have the same things around them that they left behind, kind of a comfort thing."

"So you live in houses?"

Ellen shrugged. "Some do. And depending on the quality of their imagination and desire and concentration, it can look like the little two bedroom house they lived in here, or the mansion of their dreams. We can have bodies, too, if that makes us feel more comfortable. It's all a matter of thinking it."

Grace tried to take this in. "No angels, harps, clouds? No St. Peter?"

Chuckling, Ellen said, "We've created some very imaginative visions of heaven, haven't we? You could see those things if that's what you really believed. It doesn't really matter, you know. You're just creating the environment in which you're going to live. It doesn't matter if your curtains inside your house are blue or green, does it? It's just a question of taste."

Grace's brow furrowed. "But what do you do up there? Do you visualize work? Go to a job every day?"

Ellen thought a moment. "More like school. There are no survival issues that require the making of money, no food, rent, things to buy. But really, no one is even forced to learn. You can waste time up there just as easily as you can down here and some choose to. But if you waste time you won't get anywhere, and eternity is a long time to stay in one place. Sooner or later boredom sets in."

Grace smiled as she rearranged piles of pine needles with her moccasins. "I loved school. I loved the newness of it. You know, the 'aha!' moments?" She turned to Ellen, eyebrows raised.

Ellen smiled, her eyes soft. "Oh, yes. There are lots of those here. It's one of the reasons I love to come back." She looked fondly at Grace. "You're an 'aha!' moment for me, Gracie."

Grace looked serious. "I don't know if I can live up to your expectations, Ellen."

"You already have, honey. Even if you walk away this minute, you have." Ellen looked sideways at Grace. "But you're not going to walk away, are you?"

"Not this minute, Ellen. That's all I can promise."

The breeze picked up slightly, and Grace shivered. "Can we keep walking? How far does this path go?"

"Oh, it winds all through China Camp down to the water. A few more miles than I'm up for today, but we can walk a little further and then head back if you'd like."

"Yes, I'd like that." They stood, brushing stray bits of bark and pine needles from their clothes. "So, what kind of classes?"

"Up there?" Ellen pointed skyward. "Well, it really depends on the type of growth you're looking for. There are classes that help you to focus your thoughts, since that's how everything is created. Some walk-in studies. Spirit guide classes. Help in choosing your next incarnation. Mathematical Theory, which is surprisingly helpful with building visualizations. Philosophy. Universal laws. Love, Goodness and Harmony, which are sciences there. Some therapy-like classes to help you get through recurring issues, physical addictions and the like. Really anything that helps you progress."

"Who teaches? Are there classrooms?"

Ellen took a deep breath of the fresh breeze. "Ah, the teachers. Remember, the greatest teachers from Earth are there, unless they've come back down, and even then, they've imprinted their knowledge on the ether, and we can access it, like a book in a library." Ellen turned to Grace, bright-eyed, "Socrates, Plato, Kant, Jung, Edison, Camus, just imagine them all, and so many more famous minds. And others who were never recognized during their lifetimes on Earth, but have grown into great masters there. They're all available to us. And there aren't classrooms. We learn kind of by osmosis, by focusing our energy toward a point of learning. I guess it would be like a teleconference, without the phones."

Grace found that each answer brought up another question. She wished she had a tape recorder so that she could play this conversation back and revisit what she missed. Instead, she tried her hardest to be a sponge, and soak it all in. True or not, it's a mesmerizing world she's describing. Remembering the patient to whom she had read Revelation, Grace asked, "Ellen, what about judgment? Are we judged?"

Ellen sighed, shaking her head. "So much fear. The fear of that word. Judgment."

Stopping, Ellen turned, and looked intensely into Grace's eyes. "No, Gracie. We are not judged. The only assessment that goes on, we conduct ourselves. The only thing we feel is regret for missed opportunities, and that just translates into a renewed determination to come back and do better."

Grace matched Ellen's gaze. "But what about really bad people? Hitler, for instance? No judgment for him? He gets to waltz back into heaven with no guilt? How is that fair?"

Ellen looked for a moment at the ground between them, gathering her thoughts. "Hitler and others like him always come up in this discussion because we want fairness. We believe he damaged, killed, other human beings, and for that he needs to be viciously punished. He left his incarnation on Earth as a direct result of his actions, but that isn't enough for us. We need to see him burning in some eternal damnation to pay for his sins." Looking Grace directly in the eyes, Ellen said softly, "I'm here to tell you, Gracie, that's not the way it is."

Grace continued her steely glare, and she felt anger welling up inside of her. Anger, really, for all those killed and tortured and mistreated by tyrants and dictators and bullies. I'd be willing to take my share of the justice on the other side, as long as I knew they took their share. "But if there isn't justice, Ellen, what's it all been about? If anyone can do anything without consequences, what's the point?"

Ellen shook her head. "I never said there were no consequences, Grace. I simply said there's no eternal damnation." Beginning to walk again, she said, "Would you like to know what happened to Hitler?"

Standing rooted to her spot on the path, Grace didn't move for a moment. Ellen turned after walking a few feet, and held her hand out. "C'mon, Gracie. Let's walk. You'll feel better."

Reluctantly, stubbornly, Grace took a step, then another. She didn't take Ellen's hand, but fell into stride on the wide path beside her.

Ellen began, carefully measuring her words. "Grace, have you ever gotten really drunk?"

Grace was so thrown by this, she stopped walking and stared at Ellen. "What?"

"There's a point to the question, trust me."

Grace straightened, and thought. She had been invited with some of Jamie's friends to a party at the UP School of Pharmacy in the City. They spiked the punch with lab-made ethanol, tasteless, colorless and 151% proof. I came to sprawled in the hedge in front of the building. Not my finest hour. Reddening, Grace said, "Yes, Ellen, I have."

"How did you feel the next morning?"

Aside from the fact that I thought my head would explode? "Let's see, embarrassed, ashamed, afraid I might have done something I couldn't remember, wishing I hadn't gone. I guess that would about sum it up."

Ellen took Grace's arm and started walking again. "Well, when Adolph Hitler crossed over to the other side he went into a deep sleep, mostly to protect him from the suddenness of the realization of what he'd done. As he slowly regained awareness, and remember, he's now a spiritual being and his soul remembers all his lifetimes, and remembers that when he reincarnated, his path was to be a simple music teacher in Germany. As the realization comes to him of what he's done, he's horrified and deeply ashamed, and shocked beyond all comprehension at how he not only squandered his lifetime and lost all the advancement he'd already earned, but altered the paths of millions of other souls by pulling them back to the other side before their time was up on Earth."

Ellen turned to Grace. "The regret that you felt that next morning? The wishing you could have done it differently? The disappointment in the choices you made? Imagine that's one grain of sand on a beach. Imagine that his regret and wishes and disappointment when he woke up is the whole of every grain of sand on the planet, then multiply it by all those souls. That's the judgment we live with, Grace. Our own. And believe me, we don't make excuses for ourselves up there. It's much harder than anything you have ever felt from another person. There's not an aware soul on the other side who would change places with him for one minute. The pain must be nearly unbearable. What more could we possibly do to him?"

Grace was feeling a little less indignant. "What about all those people he tortured and killed?"

"They crossed over, quickly assessed the lessons they'd learned and where they could have done better, and went right back. Or not. Their choice. Remember the baby boom after World War II? They brought their intention for peace with them into the 60's."

Ellen spoke softly. "Grace, I am in no way minimizing what he did. It was unspeakably horrible, and his actions have imprinted this planet with suffering that goes on today and will for as long as The Holocaust is remembered. I'm just telling you that all of those souls still live, and he has felt the anguish of what he did to every one of them."

Grace felt her heart open a fraction of a nanometer. "And him?"

"He's still there. The next step is school, and believe me, he's starting with Kindergarten at his own request. His incarnation privileges have been revoked indefinitely. He's at the bottom of the food chain up there. But he will evolve in time, just like all the other tyrants in the planet's history."

They walked in silence for a while, lost in their own thoughts. Grace knew that Ellen was giving her time, letting all the new information settle and waiting for another question before she gave her more. Grace glanced at her watch. They had been walking for little more than an hour, and it would be an hour back. "I think we'd better turn around, Ellen."

Reversing direction, they listened for a time to the ruffling of leaves above them, the birdsong and the crunch of dead leaves under their feet. The clean, fresh smells of the pine mixed with the new grass by the side of the path. So quiet here, thought Grace. So beautiful, this planet. So strong, and yet so fragile.

Ellen spoke first, breaking through Grace's thoughts. "So, do you believe a little bit more? Am I closer?"

Grace smiled. "Well, Ellen, if you're faking this, I would wonder why. And if this is all in your imagination, you should write a book, or a screenplay, because your imagination is an awesome thing."

Ellen laughed. "I'd say that's at the very least a vote of confidence."

Grace pushed the hair off of her forehead. What has happened to my neat, ordered little life? Grace's work was all about people. Listening to people. Discerning the truth in what they say. Fifty-three clients, varying ages and varying illnesses, real and otherwise, who spoke of their pains and their loneliness, their hopes and dreams, their deaths. Family members who loved their parents but rationalized their actions, made excuses for things they simply couldn't do anymore. More than 150 home health aides, all with families and life situations and dramas that created tears, and reasons for missing work, and counseling that Grace had done for years.

So many voices, so much time trying to glean the truth, read between the lines, understand the subtext of what people are saying. Grace had a feeling that all of that was training for this day. This conversation with this woman who may or may not be Ellen Preston, who might know the future of the world and might be just an amazingly adept story-spinner. How do I decide? Do I walk away, or do I take action? And if I take action, it has to be all the way. No fudging on this one, Gracie. "Can we stop for a minute?" Grace asked. Ellen smiled, and nodded wordlessly, walking by herself to the edge of the path and over to gaze out at the expanse of San Francisco in the distance.

Grace, left alone on the path, moved to a tall pine and leaned against it, tipping her head back and gazing up, feeling the dizzying sensation of its massive height pointing into the sky. She turned and leaned her cheek against the rough bark, absorbing the pungent smell of sap and pine, and closed her eyes.

OK, Earth, tell me what to do.

Grace felt herself calming, as she always did when she encountered nature. The most stressful week at work could disappear when she and Alex camped, looking up at the stars, listening to crickets, the crackle of the fire between them, snuggled in their bags. She turned back around, and stood against the tree, keeping her eyes closed. As her breathing slowed, Grace searched through her feelings over the last hour and tried to find the truth. She knew she had more questions. I'm just not sure what to do with the answers. She put her hand on the place in the center of her chest, just below her throat, where Ellen had touched, and felt for vibration. She felt warmth there, and felt the sure, steady beat of her heart. Do I believe her? she asked the spot below her hand. And to the amazement of her rational mind, an answer, in Grace's own voice, came. You need to. And then, hard on its heels, Can you risk not believing?

Grace thought of Alex, her boy. Looking to her for his safety, his life. So many times she had pulled him back from the brink of some danger. Holding him as a baby, so trusting, melting into her chest in sleep. As a young man now, teaching him to drive in deserted parking lots, hardly able to breathe just thinking of him driving alone. To save her pride, her ego, to not sound crazy to those around her, would she now let him die? Worried about what people think, would she take that chance? We'd just have to go to Idaho, not the moon for God's sake, Gracie.

In the mornings on her bike Grace had moments of perfect clarity, when her physical body moved on its own in rhythm with the mechanical parts of the bicycle. In those moments her mind seemed to separate and go off on another path, and that's when Grace thought she felt the presence of her soul, what she would take with her when she died. Now, eyes closed, her mind traveled up the tree into the canopy and out the top, out of the shade and into the sunshine, and she imagined herself sitting on top of the tree, taking in the expanse of The City, Marin around her, and Inverness and the ocean beyond.

And in her head, she heard, I need to go. Then, under her hand, she felt a buzz, as if a bee were trapped there. I need to go. And she wondered quickly if it was her own voice she heard or that of some presence beyond her understanding. It was not the critical voice, it was softer, more loving, and this time it sounded like the mother who had put her to bed and whispered, “every leaf on every tree.” Grace opened her eyes and looked up at the canopy of leaves and felt love wash over her.

Grace looked across the path and out to where Ellen was standing. Quietly, she padded through the tall grass to Ellen and stood behind her, putting her hands on Ellen's shoulders and propping her chin lightly on her own hand. For a moment both looked out at the water, barely breathing.

"Ellen, do you know what you're asking of me?" The question broke the silence and hung there for a time with the whisper of the breeze.

"Yes, honey. I'm asking you to leap off a cliff into the unknown, and I'm asking you to do it on the word of someone you just met yesterday." She turned and looked at Grace, her eyes sad with understanding. "I'm asking everything of you."

Running her hands through her hair, Grace shook her head. "If this is true, Ellen, how do I get past the details?" She turned and started walking back to the path. "All the little threads of my life, my son, his school, my brother, his business. My business, my clients. What will they do? Will they all die? We can't take people on respirators with us, can we? Do I tell them? Let them make their own choice?"

They stepped out of the taller grass and back on to the path. Ellen let Grace keep talking, working it through. She knew that if Grace was thinking of the details, she believed. This was what she was hoping for. Grace spoke softly as she walked, almost as if she were talking to herself. "So many people count on me to be rational and smart, and organized. I've made them count on me. Alex, and Jamie, Teresa, Cheryl, they all have lives here, businesses, children, friends, family. How do I tell them that's all going away?"

Stopping, Grace looked directly at Ellen. "And what if it doesn't all go away? What if you're playing some elaborate cosmic joke on me? Would that be funny to you? Could you be that kind of person?" Grace stood, hugging herself with her arms crossed in front of her. Softly, she asked again, her eyes pleading. "Ellen, are you that kind of person?"

Ellen reached out and folded Grace into her arms. Grace kept her arms tight around her own chest, but allowed Ellen to hold her, and turned her head to lay it on Ellen's shoulder. A single tear slipped out and spread slowly into the cotton of Ellen's blouse.

Ellen's voice was almost a whisper. "No, Gracie. I'm not that kind of person. I know you know that, honey. Let the voices go." She patted Grace's back gently, "Let's let it rest for today. We've talked enough." Ellen held Grace's shoulders and moved her lightly away so that she could see her face.

"If you want to ask more questions you can, but maybe you should just come and see me tomorrow, when you've had a chance to think all this over. How does that sound?"

Grace blinked, and let a small smile creep in. "That sounds good, Ellen." She reached up a finger and wiped away the moisture from under her eyes. "But, just so you know, the voices are telling me you're right."

Ellen laughed. "Good voices. Listen to them!"

Grace laughed too, and they started to walk again.

After a few steps, Grace took a deep breath and turned. "One more question, for right now."

"Ask away, Gracie. I told you I would answer anything I could."

"If it's so great up there, everybody loving and learning and living in perfect houses and all, why does anyone come back?"

Ellen took just a moment. "You like to camp, don't you?"

Sighing, Grace readied herself for another cosmic Ellen metaphor.

"Ye-e-e-s-s-s."

"Well, then, why would you leave a perfectly good house, with lights and an electric stove, and a warm bed and a roof? Why do you want to get dirty, and cold, and haul your own water?"

Grace smiled, already guessing the answer. "Hmmm. Well, let’s see. So that I can breathe the fresh air, smell the leaves, challenge myself, and get closer to my essential nature?"

Ellen gave Grace an "aha!" look.

"I knew you would be good at this!"

~~~~~

To write (verb): Communicate or express...

10/1/11

Grace's Heart - Chapter Two

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