Disclaimer: This is a work of derivative fiction based on the characters and world of JRR Tolkien. I merely borrow them for a time, for my own enjoyment and, I hope, that of my readers. I am making no money from this endeavor. Beta reader for this story is IgnobleBard.

A last turn of the driveway brought them into the front yard. "Oh my!" Jane exclaimed.

Before it swept on back towards the garages, the gravel drive circled past a twisting flagstone walk of many stepped levels, flanked by Asian stone lanterns and spreading yews. The walkway led up to a house with wide overhangs that shaded a multitude of tall windows from the summer sun. Wings spread off from the central area near the doorway, seemingly at random yet in utter harmony with the land surrounding. This building was no insult to the earth; it seemed to grow from the soil itself.

"Well, I'll be darned!" Jane whispered. All right; there were some Frank Lloyd Wright designs that had never been photographed or made it into the general knowledge, but she doubted that one of this magnitude would have gone unrecorded. The original patron who commissioned the house must have been both jealous of his privacy and influential enough to keep his home out of the published works, and this Aaron Rivers must have carried on the tradition.

Galen scampered up the flagstone steps ahead of her. "Come on, Mizz Jan-cow-skee," he said, looking over his shoulder with a grin.

"You can call me Jane, Galen," she said, echoing his smile. He seemed to be a happy child, and the picture of good health despite his small stature.

Before she could reach the top of the steps, the front door opened. A youngish man stood waiting, dressed in crisply pressed slacks and shirtsleeves. He was a variation on the general theme of Rivers cultists; tall, good-looking, late twenties at most. The only difference about this one was his dark hair, clipped back into a neat ponytail. "I see you've brought us a visitor, eh Galen?"

"My name is Jane Jankowski," she began, holding out her hand and preparing to launch into her spiel.

"Of Cook County Child Protective Services, and this visit is purely routine," the young man finished for her, giving her hand a quick shake with a surprisingly firm grip for someone so . . . effete looking. "Hal phoned ahead from the gate and told us you were on your way."

"My visit seemed to come as a surprise to Mr. Aransen," Jane replied. "I just had an arrow fly past my nose."

"That's what Leif gets for refusing to carry a cell phone in the woods. How remiss of Hal not to warn you to keep to the path." Jane could have sworn there was a hint of sardonic amusement in the man's slate blue eyes.

Jane sighed. "I'm afraid it's my own fault. Hal warned me about that very thing, Mr. . . . ?"

"Forgive me. Glenn Butler, Aaron Rivers' personal assistant and general dogsbody, at your service." He motioned her inside.

Past the slate-floored entryway, Jane could see a large living room with an entire wall of floor to ceiling windows that looked out onto trees. At one end of the room, French doors stood open to the fall air, letting in the breeze. The room was empty except for a young blond man in a bathrobe and pajama bottoms lying stretched out on a couch reading a dog-eared copy of The Onion. A longhaired black cat lay curled up on his chest.

At the sight of them, the cat leapt up and ran to them, twining itself around Galen's legs.

"Cut it out, Tevildo, you're tickling," Galen laughed, giving the cat a pat on the head. The animal reared itself up on its hind legs and arched its back against the child's stroking hand, before trotting back off into the living room with Galen following after.

The young man hoisted himself up from the couch and held out his arms. "How's my little prince?" he grinned, sweeping Galen into his embrace and swinging him high above his head in a huge arc, giving him a little toss for good measure. Jane frowned. Even with the twelve foot ceilings, the boy might have been in danger of hitting his head, for this young man was just as tall, if not taller, than all the others, and he seemed to have more in the way of boisterous energy and good looks than common sense.

"Great, Derada," Galen exclaimed, laughing as the man set his feet back on solid ground. "I hit the target three times. But then, I missed and hit a tree."

"That's okay, kiddo. I missed plenty when I was your age. So did your daddy, although you'll never get him to admit it."

What a strange name, Derada, Jane thought. It sounded vaguely Indian and she wondered if Aaron Rivers' 'cult' religion had Eastern influences. Who was this young fellow, with his bright mane of hair, the color gold that Jane, with her own dirty-blonde, had longed for in her youth and had since learned rarely existed anywhere other than out of a bottle? He had the athletic build of a man who spent more time at the gym than behind a desk. Probably some hanger-on kept around by a rich man for his looks and agreeable personality rather than any other talents, she decided.

Jane racked her brain to identify who he reminded her of and then hit on it -- O. J. Simpson's perennial houseguest, Brian 'Kato' Kaelin. This one definitely had that 'few ants shy of a picnic' demeanor too. Jane took a discreet glance at her watch. It was Saturday morning after all, but the fact that this fellow was still in pajamas at 11:15 spoke volumes. 'Great,' she thought. 'Just the kind of person I'd want around my kids. If I had any kids.'

"You can call me Randy this morning, Galen," he continued offhandedly.

Too late, Jane thought. He'd always be 'Kato' in her mind. But Jane had more pressing concerns. As he spoke the last words, Jane had seen his quick sidelong glance, furtive and wary, and she'd had the impression of a forest creature that knows it is being watched.

"Okay . . . Randy," Galen giggled, as if it were some kind of secret game between the two of them.

Secrets are never good, and Jane gave a mental sigh at the complacency of parents who give their child into the care of a houseguest without a second thought. 'I have you in my sights, 'Kato;' you had better believe it!'

Beside her, Aaron Rivers' assistant cleared his throat.

"I hope I haven't come at a bad time, Mr. Butler," Jane said.

He shrugged. "If I told you it was a bad time, I'm sure we'd be seeing you again. And that on that occasion you'd be armed with more official papers, am I right Ms. Jankowski?"

Jane smiled wanly.

"It's no matter," Glenn continued. "This is as good a time as any, and I've cleared your visit with Mr. Rivers. Is there anything I can do for you or get you?"

Jane shook her head and smiled disarmingly. "Right now, I'd like to observe Galen in his natural surroundings. You all carry on as usual and ignore me. If there's anything I need to ask you, I'll give a holler."

"Whatever you say, Ms. Jankowski. I'll just go back to dusting the bric a brac."

As he turned away, Jane gave herself a little mental smack. 'Natural surroundings' indeed! She'd almost made it sound as if she were a nature show host observing a rare Whooping Crane from a blind. But what a luxurious blind it was, Jane thought, taking in the room's furnishings, from the oriental rugs on the floor to the paintings on the walls to the nine-foot grand piano that graced the far end of the room. Even the 'bric a brac' that Glenn presently worked on, a collection of Asian jade sculpture that might have put the Field Museum to shame, spoke of both wealth and refined taste. 'Don't let it distract you,' Jane warned herself. 'You knew Aaron Rivers has more money than he knows what to do with. But does he have the sense to keep his grandchild safe?'

"Put on my video, Randy," Galen exclaimed.

"Okay," said the young man, flashing the boy a patient smile. He pressed a button on the arm of the couch, and a flat screen TV rose up out of the floor. Sliding a DVD into a player in the TV's base and pressing another button, 'Kato' settled down cross-legged on the floor beside Galen. The two of them watched, entranced, as the familiar strains of Bob the Builder echoed from the set.

"Can we fix it?" asked the clay-mation Bob.

"Yes we can!" chanted Galen and 'Kato' in unison.

Beside Jane, Glenn made a pained face and set aside his electrostatic cloth with an air of stony calm. He closed the glass curio case and made his way to a sideboard where a decanter of red wine stood waiting. He poured himself a generous glass and downed it in one long pull. "Every damn day for the past three months," he said to Jane, by way of explanation.

As he returned to his dusting, Jane tried her best to suppress a disapproving sniff. Taking out her notebook, she quickly scrawled, 'Child exposed to dysfunctional use of alcohol.'

At that moment, a dark-haired woman who looked to be about Jane's age came strolling in through the French doors. Immediately, Jane warmed to her, for she was the first normal looking human being she had seen on Rivers estate among all the impossibly exquisite fashion model types. Jane began to wonder if Aaron Rivers were as ugly as a toad to insist on surrounding himself with such good-looking companions. It had begun to creep her out.

To Jane's surprise, the woman went to Glenn and gave him a peck on the cheek, rolling her eyes slightly as she noticed the wine fumes. "Hi, babe, where are Felice and Linda?"

"In the kitchen, baking," he replied. "Knocking off for the morning?"

The newcomer shook her head. "Just taking a quick break for a cup of tea. I'm on a roll with the latest landscape."

"Auntie Posey!" Galen exclaimed from his spot in front of the TV. "Are you still going to paint watercolors with me this afternoon?"

"You bet, hon," the woman said. "First thing after lunch."

Jane strolled over to introduce herself, smelling a strong odor of linseed oil and turpentine wafting from a paint rag that hung from the back pocket of Posey's jeans. "Jane Jankowski, Cook County CPS," she said, putting out a hand.

Posey gave her hand a quick shake, casting a sidelong look at Glenn, who shrugged, smirked and turned back to his dusting. "Mariposa Butler. I see Angus Duncan and Jim Fitzhugh are at it again. Last year they had animal control out here over Tevildo's rabies shots, and the year before that, it was the EPS about wetland protection over the pond in the back. This is getting ridiculous."

"Oh, darling, you know Fitzhugh just wants another chance to catch you with your shirt open," Glenn muttered, stifling a grin.

Posey scowled. "I'll be perfectly happy to flash him some more cleavage as long as it gets him and his partner to leave Aaron alone."

Jane did her best to keep her face neutral at the mention of the 'anonymous' complainants. She also found it mildly surprising that these two were so obviously husband and wife. Rivers' assistant had not looked like the marrying sort to her, but then, frankly, neither had young Aransen. Oh, well, one just never knew with these artistic types.

"Ms. Butler," she said earnestly, "I hope you understand not to expose young Galen to your oil paints. They can be very toxic, you know."

"Call me Mariposa, Jane," Posey said with exaggerated patience. "And let me assure you that Galen knows better than to eat the titanium white. But even if he didn't, my studio is out above the old stables and he never goes there without me. I love that boy as if he were my own."

Jane nodded and smiled back, sensing the sincerity behind Mariposa's eyes. Galen had one protector here, at least.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to get my tea and go back out to the studio before my brushes congeal." Posey went on through another door leading to a dining area and, Jane supposed, the kitchen. She passed by young Aransen coming from the other direction.

"Hey, Glenn," he said, nodding to the assistant, who again put down his dusting cloth. "I gave Tevildo's litter box a quick run through with the scoop on my way in. Thought you could use a break."

"That's kind of you, Leif," Glenn said, holding out a cell phone. "I'm afraid I can't return the favor. Gary called while you and Galen were out in the woods. Big emergency with the landscaping company."

"Dammit," Aransen muttered. "What now?"

Glenn merely shrugged as Leif took the phone from his outstretched hand and dropped his long body down onto the couch.

He punched in a number. "Yo, Gary, what's up?" He paused, listening. "Mrs. Gottrochs? That figures. I don't care what she insists on now, she ordered Hemerocallis for her back yard, not Asiatic lilies. Check her file -- you'll see her note on the photos. 'I love these Daylilies,' and the 'i' even has a little heart for a dot the way she does. Yeah, that's a charming habit in a woman her age." Aransen crossed his legs and began to bounce his foot as he talked.

Meanwhile, the video ended and 'Kato' shut off the TV set. "Let's build something for real, Randy," Galen piped. The child and the young man pulled a large box of wooden blocks out from under a side table and poured them out onto the floor. Galen knelt, while Randy plopped himself down on his stomach on the carpet. He bent one foot up into the air, and the leg of his pajama bottoms slipped down to knee level, revealing a pale hairless calf. A very shapely pale hairless calf, Jane could not help noticing.

Again, Jane sighed. It really had been too long since her last date, she realized, for her to be so affected by a man who obviously waxed.

"Look, Gary; it's Saturday and I'm with my kid," Leif said. "Just take care of it the best you can. Bat your eyes at her. Tell her we'll throw in the labor for free if she pays for the new bulbs and donates the old ones we take out to the Ronald MacDonald House. You and I both know she just wants another chance to watch my workers sweat for an afternoon."

Galen and Randy had begun to stack the blocks, building a tower. Things seemed to be under control, especially with the father in the room. "Mr. Butler, I wonder if I could see Galen's bedroom now?" Jane said quietly.

Glenn nodded. "This way." Past the entryway, he led her down a long hallway and up a half-flight of stairs. They seemed to be in a new wing of the house now, running out toward the back. Glenn opened the third door on the left and motioned Jane inside.

Jane could only smile. She did not know what she had expected for the grandson of the man who owned Dale Toy Company, but Galen's room came as a pleasant surprise. His shelves were stocked with toys, but not overwhelmingly so, as she had seen before with parents who tried to make up for a lack of time and affection with material things. He had as many books as toys. The most prominent piece, an almost life-sized palomino rocking horse covered in real horsehair, stood in one corner, its feet rising from realistic looking grass attached to the rockers.

"Who painted the murals?"

"My wife," Glenn said with a fond smile. "She had a wonderful time doing it."

"White deer -- Mariposa has quite an imagination," Jane said. "Is the bed an antique?" Oddly enough, the bed, a youth-sized piece of furniture with a tall headboard carved into the shape of a woman holding out protecting arms, did not clash at all with the straight lines of Frank Lloyd Wright's room. Jane thought it must have cost a pretty penny.

"It's a copy of one back in . . . Europe," Glenn said. "Aaron made it himself when Galen outgrew his cradle. Did a nice job of it too."

"Aaron? As in . . . Mr. Rivers?" Jane had a hard time picturing a multi-billionaire spending his time on woodworking.

"Yes, the proud grandpa himself. Aaron dotes on that child beyond all reason." Glenn shrugged. "Well, he was just as bad with Leif, and Leif turned out all right. He turned out very well, actually."

Jane gave Glenn an odd look. He seemed barely older than Aransen himself; hardly old enough to have known him in childhood much less formed an opinion of his father's parenting skills. "Are you some kind of childhood friend?"

"A childhood friend?" Glenn smiled. "Yes, I guess you could say that. We all of us go back a bit."

Jane sighed and looked around Galen's bedroom for a final time. "I think I've seen all I need to see here." If she had expected to find dirt, or neglect, she had seen none of it. She had seen only the room of a much-loved child.

She followed Glenn back to the living room. Leif had finished his phone call, and sat reading the discarded copy of The Onion and chuckling softly to himself. Randy and Galen's tower had risen to magnificent proportions, almost three and a half feet tall. "Let's knock it down," Galen said, with mischievous enthusiasm.

"There are two ways to bring a tower down," Randy 'Kato' said, grinning back. "You can just smack it, if you're strong enough. Or you can be subtle and do it a little bit at a time, like this." As if to illustrate, he pulled a block from the base, easing it from the pile gently. The tower shook slightly, but remained standing.

Galen giggled and sneaked a block from the other side. Again, the tower trembled but held. Randy rubbed his chin and peered intently at the pile. "Getting close, Galen." He managed to pull a third block out, making the pile sway precariously without falling. "I think next time will do it."

Galen flashed his bright smile and plucked away another block. "And there it goes!" the two of them cried together as the blocks came down on the carpet with a muffled crash. Leif looked up from his newspaper, rolling his eyes and smiling indulgently.

"Tell me again about the towers falling, Derada," Galen said, his face alight. "It's my favorite story. After Bob the Builder, of course." Jane heard Glenn laugh softly. He had returned to his dusting.

"Your daddy was there, Galen, when the first one went down, and he tells me it was a beautiful sight to see it go. We were all very proud of your daddy," Randy said, casting a quick glance back over his shoulder at young Aransen. "I'm proud of your daddy for a lot of things, Galen."

"You're making me blush . . . Randy," Leif said quietly, looking over the top of his newspaper.

Randy 'Kato' smiled and looked away again. Jane could see why Rivers and his family kept him around. He was certainly very decorative. "I stood in the ruins of the second one, two weeks later, and my heart sang," he continued. "That tower profaned the very ground it stood on. We should have brought it down earlier."

Galen stared, entranced. Jane, however, felt a chill take her heart. There was 'something fishy' about Aaron Rivers, Doug had said. She had suspected tax evasion and money laundering to be the worst, but now, with expressed glee at the memory of towers falling, it all took on a decidedly sinister cast. Did Rivers' philanthropy cover up ties to terrorism?

Jane turned her head to see that Glenn Butler had left off his dusting and was peering at her intently. 'He suspects,' she thought. 'I need to get out of here, but first, I want to see this Aaron Rivers for myself. He's the key.'

"It's ancient history, Ms. Jankowski," Glenn said, with a look in his eye that confirmed he had detected her disquiet. "You don't understand."

Both were dark-haired, tall, slender and incredibly good-looking. Was Glenn Butler's wife the only person in the entire household over the age of thirty, Jane asked herself incredulously? The two might have been mistaken for sisters, with their delicate features, except that while one of them had dark slate-blue eyes that matched Glenn's, while the other, who bore an odd resemblance to the protecting woman on Galen's headboard, had grey eyes so pale they looked almost unreal. This second woman wore a necklace of silver and moonstones that matched her unusual eyes perfectly. As Jane stared, she reached down to brush a smudge of flour from the hem of her simple tunic.

Galen scrambled up and ran to the blue-eyed woman, throwing his arms around her waist with enough force to joggle the plate of biscuits she carried. "Mama!"

"Take it easy, Galen," she laughed, swaying gracefully under the onslaught. She favored Jane with a smile. "Posey told us we had a visitor. Would you care for some refreshment, Ms. Jankowski?"

Jane began to utter her usual polite refusals. The first thing a social worker learns is not to take food from a client, and those who ignored this wisdom often found themselves spending a miserable night on the toilet. But, the moment the irresistible aroma of the bakery hit her nostrils, she found herself saying, "Yes, thank you. I don't mind if I do."

"It's time for your piano lesson, Galen," said the other woman, the one with the hauntingly pale eyes.

"Yes, go with Felice now," said the first. This must be the mother, Linda Singer, Jane thought, finding herself drowning in a gaze surprisingly calm for a woman facing a CPS worker.

"What about the blocks, Mama?" Galen said.

"Randy can pick them up for you. He helped you make the mess; he can help you clean it," Linda told him.

"And this time," echoed the other woman, Felice, casting an impish smile in 'Kato's' direction, "Randy will actually pick them all up himself and not make Uncle Glenn do it for him." She took Galen by the hand and led him over to the grand piano, seating him on a thick telephone book. Jane took a surreptitious glance at the lettering on the fallboard and nodded. Of course Aaron Rivers' grandson would be taking his lessons on a nine foot Boesendorfer.

Felice settled down next to the boy and immediately the two of them commenced a series of rapid scales.

"Have you any questions for me, Ms. Jankowski?"

"Hmmm?" Jane realized with a start that she was halfway through her third piece of cornbread. Galen's amazing coordination on the keyboard had distracted her more than it ought to have. "Ah, no . . . Ms. Singer, is it? Perhaps later, but for now I'd like you to carry on as usual. Just ignore me."

"Linda, please. Have you met Aaron yet?"

"Mr. Rivers? No, I haven't, but I would like to before I leave. I'm sure he's a very busy man."

Linda shot a quick sidewise glance at Randy, who was down on all fours fishing a stray block out from under a settee, and raised a dark eyebrow. "Indeed. I'm sure Aaron will show himself when the time is right. Now, if you'll excuse me, I haven't seen my husband all morning."

She set the plate of cornbread down on a nearby credenza and joined young Aransen on the couch. He threw an arm around her, drawing her in close and kissing the top of her head before returning to his newspaper.

Jane distanced herself from the credenza before she found herself tempted to eat the whole plate. Meanwhile, Galen had finished his scales and launched into a very competently performed version of Mozart's Ah Vous Direz-je, Maman. He played alone, with Felice watching carefully, his small forehead crinkled in concentration.

"Well done, Galen," she exclaimed, when he had finished the second variation.

"It's a baby song, Dear Nana," he protested. "I want to play something harder. I want to play your song."

"Some day, little one," she said. "But your hands aren't big enough yet."

"When?" he asked. "Already, when I go to play with Jacob and David in Lake Geneva, they're so much bigger than me. It isn't fair. I'm going to be small forever."

Jane detected that Felice cast a discreet glance in her direction. "No you aren't, Galen. You're tall for your age."

Jane bit her lip. 'Don't lie to the child,' she thought. 'Even if he has something wrong with him, he should be told the truth.'

"You will grow tall and strong," Felice continued. "You will have your father's hands, long-fingered and graceful. And you will have your grandfather's hands, clever, kind and gentle. You have all the time in the world, my little one."

Felice put her arm around the child and hugged him tightly. "You have been a gift to my spirit, Galen. I wish I could keep you small for a long time. You will grow big all too soon for me."

"Play your song for me, Dear Nana," said Galen. "You, know, my favorite."

"All right, little one," she laughed. "But you'll have to give me some elbow room." Obligingly, the boy slid down the bench, as Felice shook out her arms and began to play.

Chicago's classical music station, WFMT, was Jane's constant companion on the Kia's radio as she made her rounds, and she had become quite knowledgeable about the music itself, in addition to taking some piano lessons as a young girl. Now, she found herself surprised and impressed to hear Felice launch into Franz Liszt's transcription of Robert Schumann's Widmung. This was a piece for experienced pianists only, and Felice played it well. One of Jane's favorite classic piano programs featured old recordings from the 1930s and 40s, and Jane recalled hearing work by a pianist by the name of Felicia Ribeiro, who had been a skilled interpreter of the Romantic composers. Felice played just as well, and Jane briefly wondered if Felice had been named after or inspired by this long dead lady pianist.

At the first arpeggios, Randy hoisted himself from the floor and strolled over to the piano. Leaning against the music desk, he caught Felice's eye and smiled meaningfully. She smiled back at him, paused, and repeated the first notes, returning to the beginning of the composition, waiting for him.

He drew breath and began to sing, in a beautiful rich baritone, "Du meine Seele, du mein Herz, du meine Wonn', o du mein Schmerz . . . ."

Jane gaped. Randy, whom she had dismissed as no more than a lightweight, a hanger on, spoke flawless German and sang like a professional. Even more surprising, he and Felice, who exuded class like a diamond gives off sparkle, were obviously an item, for as he sang, his eyes never left her face.

"Du meine Welt, in der ich lebe. Mein Himmel du, darein ich schwebe . . . . "

Jane barely remembered to breathe, so entranced by the magic of the music that she feared to miss a single note. 'I would give almost anything to have a man look at me that way,' she thought.

"O du mein Grab, in das hinab ich ewig meinen Kummer gab . . . . "

Jane could not understand the words, but the look of pure adoration on Randy's face told her all she needed to know. Gone was the pretty surfer boy, transformed into . . . she did not know what. The rumpled flannel, which had seemed so careless before, hung on him now like the robes of an ancient king. As he drew in a deep breath to sing, the left side of his lapel fell open slightly, revealing strange blue marks tattooed over his heart -- marks that resembled the 'chicken scratches' Galen had left in the dust of the driveway.

Out of the corner of her eye, Jane noticed that Linda and Leif, close already before the singing began, had snuggled even tighter. Aransen had his head bent towards his wife, nuzzling her ear. Glenn had set down his dusting cloth and watched Randy with a faraway smile on his face.

"Daß du mich liebst, macht mich mir wert. Dein Blick hat mich vor mir verklärt . . . ."

Galen hopped down from the piano bench and ran over to his parents. He clambered onto the couch and squeezed himself between them, managing to catch his father a passing dig in the crotch in the process. Aransen let out a pained, 'Oof!' before recovering himself and enfolding both wife and child into a tight hug. Jane saw him laugh and whisper into Linda's ear, "Later . . . ."

"Du hebst mich liebend über mich . . . ."

After putting another piece of cornbread in her shoulder bag for good measure, Jane turned to see Randy put out a hand to stroke Felice's cheek. Felice's pale skin pinked up at the caress but she managed to keep on playing without missing a beat.

As Felice launched into the closing passages, playing the theme borrowed from Ave Maria, Jane quietly left the room. It was rude of her, perhaps, to leave without explanation, but she doubted anyone would miss her. Leif and Linda sat cuddled on the couch, their little boy between them, off in a world of their own. After the last note rang out, Randy swept Felice up into a fierce embrace, and the two of them kissed as passionately as if it were the first time for them, which for all Jane knew, it might be.

At the front door, Jane turned for one last look. Randy broke away briefly, looked her dead in the eye over Felice's shoulder and winked. He mouthed a phrase at her before returning to his clinch.

Jane could have sworn that phrase was, "Le chaim!'

Glenn Butler caught up to her at the bottom of the flagstone steps. "Leaving so soon? You haven't spoken to Mr. Rivers yet."

"I don't need to, I've seen all I need to see. There are children back in Chicago who actually need my help, so I won't waste your time any further."

"Can I drive you back to the gate, then, Ms. Jankowski?"

Jane shook her head. "No thank you, Mr. Butler. I prefer to walk for the exercise." She suspected she might have overindulged on the cornbread, and she had begun to feel rather full. But rather than feeling ill and sluggish, she felt suffused with boundless energy.

"Good," he replied. "I'm eager to get out to the studio, where I plan to spend a pleasant hour or so congealing my wife's brushes. For some reason, when Aaron sings that song it always affects me that way."

Jane did a double-take. "Aaron?"

Glenn smiled at her blandly.

"Aaron, as in Aaron Rivers?"

"Yes, Ms. Jankowski, one and the same. He has a lovely singing voice, hasn't he?"

"But . . . but . . ." How could that young man, who looked not even thirty, possibly be young Aransen's father, not to mention the grandfather of Galen?

"He keeps himself fit. Plastic surgery works wonders nowadays. He has incredibly good genes and really great bone structure. Take your pick," Glenn said with a cryptic smile. "But really, Jane, you'll sleep better if you don't try to explain it. Just accept."

"Yes, Glenn," she sighed. "I think I'll do that." She turned to leave.

"Goodbye, Jane," Glenn called over his shoulder as he hurried on back toward the old stables. "And keep to the path. You'll find wilder things in these woods than just a father teaching his young son the bow."

"Aliens, pod people . . . fairies?" Jane muttered to herself as she went back down the driveway, uncomfortably aware that talking to oneself was the first sign of an incipient mental breakdown. Maybe Aaron Rivers and his clan were from some kind of exotic ethnic group she'd somehow managed to miss hearing about. There were those incredibly long-lived Soviet Georgians from the old yogurt commercials. Yes, maybe that was the explanation. But no, those grandpas and grandmas had looked like grandpas and grandmas. Jane decided to follow Glenn's advice and not think about it for the time being.

Ever since eating the cornbread, her hearing seemed to be heightened, as were all her senses. As she walked, Jane heard noises from the woods, in addition to the rustling of the leaves and the creaking of the boughs. She heard silvery voices raised in laughter and once, even, the strains of a harp. They called to her heart, but she followed Glenn's advice, ignoring them and sticking to the path. 'It's your imagination, Jane,' she told herself.

Three-quarters of the way to the gate, by her reckoning, she heard music again, coming over the next rise in the road.

That could not be her imagination, and sure enough, a green Ford pickup with a Wisconsin license plate and a bumper sticker that read, 'Tigerton Junior Chamber of Commerce,' crested the rise, its windows open and the CD player blaring. It needed some work on the shocks, Jane thought, from the way it bounced over the ruts. A young blond man in olive drab trousers and a camo tee shirt, long-haired of course, leaned out the driver's side window.

"Here to see family," he said laconically, turning the volume on the sound system down in order to be heard. "Can I give you a lift back to the gate, young lady?"

"No, thank you," she said aloud. "It's not far now. I'll walk it."

"Are you sure?" the young man asked.

"You're kind, but thank you, no."

"Ya sure?" he grinned.

A pretty blonde girl sitting in the passenger seat spoke up. "Let the nice young lady go about her business, Orrie. I'm in a hurry to see the boys." She had bright gold hair, just like Aaron's. Now, hair like that simply had to come out of a bottle, Jane told herself.

"Now, Honey, be patient," he said, patting the girl on the brightly patterned knee of her Indian printed granny dress. "Patience is one lesson life finally taught me. We have all the time in the world." He turned his attention back to Jane and shrugged. "Suit yourself then, Miss. It's a nice day for a walk. But stick to the drive. It isn't far now."

"I know -- wild things in the woods," Jane laughed as he put the Ford back into gear and turned the dial on the sound system up again.

The truck pulled off, music drifting from the open windows. "The king is gone but he's not forgotten . . . ."

Jane watched it disappear over the next rise before she turned and continued on toward the gate. "Hey hey, my my; rock and roll can never die. There's more to the picture than meets the eye . . . ."

"You can say that again," she muttered. She felt as if she had entered one of those M. C. Escher drawings, where perspectives changed, up turned into down and objects became something else the more you stared at them. And yet, like with an Escher painting, she had been granted a glimpse of a magic world. There were no monsters here, or were there?

Before long, the gate came into view. Hal stood there waiting for her, his arms crossed casually over his chest.

'Now,' she told herself, 'this is the part where if Aaron Rivers and his family are really a nest of terrorists I'll find myself looking down the barrel of that handsome security guard's gun, and six months from now, they'll find my body in the trunk of my car sunk in some pond in Beloit.'

She was just beginning to chuckle at her own wit when she saw Hal smile and slowly drop his hand to his hip . . . .

oOo

Author's Note: Here follows the translation to the Widmung (Dedication). Poem by Friedrich Rückert, originally set to music by Robert Schumann and then transcribed into a notoriously difficult version by Franz Liszt.

Du meine Seele, du mein Herz: You are my soul, you are my heart;
Du meine Wonn', o du mein Schmerz: You both my joy and sadness are.
Du meine Welt, in der ich lebe: You are my world, in which I live,
Mein Himmel du, darein ich schwebe: You are the heaven in which I hover.
O du mein Grab, in das hinab : You are the grave in which I bury
Ich ewig meinen Kummer gab: All my past sorrows.

Du bist die Ruh, du bist der Frieden: You are my rest, the protector of my peace.
Du bist vom Himmel mir beschieden: From heaven, you guide my life.
Daß du mich liebst, macht mich mir wert: Make me worthy of your love.
Dein Blick hat mich vor mir verklärt: I see myself in your gaze.
Du hebst mich liebend über mich: You are always beside me,
Mein guter Geist, mein beßres Ich! : My guardian sprite, my better self!

Lyrics for Out of the Blue and Into the Black by Neil Young.

The carved bed and the rocking horse are details inspired by Aislynn Crowdaughter, in her cartoon entitled, Not A Bard.