This story originally appeared in the now out-of-print fanzineTunnelCon II, in 1992. Beauty and the Beast and itscharacters are owned by Witt-Thomas Productions and RepublicPictures. This story is presented merely for the enjoyment offans.

The Guest of Honor

by J. Patterson

A persistent, angry January snow was layering down on the busypavement of Fifth Avenue, churning into watery grey mush under theperpetual flux of traffic. Gina Visser started down the steps of theNew York City Public library, letting out a surprised exclamation asher running shoes slipped on the slick stone surface. Just once,just one time I'd like to remember my boots on a snowy day, shethought to herself as she regained her footing. She jerked her totebag a little higher on her shoulder, holding it against her body withher elbow while she tucked her gloves into the cuffs of her coatsleeves and tightened her woolly scarf around her neck. For allthe good it does, she told herself, looking down at herstockinged legs and sneakered feet. The cold slush was alreadystarting to seep in around the soles of her shoes. It's going tobe a long ride home.

She hurried around the corner onto West 42nd Street, scanninganxiously for her bus. Considering the traffic, hopelessly snarled asa result of the ongoing storm, the bus would probably be at least anhour late. And then it would sit in traffic for the better part ofanother hour before it even cleared the streets within sight andbegan the actual ride home. Gina sighed. She could imagine Rachel,sitting patiently cross-legged on Mrs. Sandtonyo's sofa, singing "LetIt Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow!" and chattering about how she wasgoing to build the biggest snowman ever.

Rachel. Just thinking about her daughter made Gina smile. Sevengoing on forty, practical and adorable. So much of Andy in her. Theblue eyes, the wide, dimpled smile, the lanky ranginess that wasawkwardly coltish at seven but was destined to develop into aflexible, confident grace.

As she passed Bryant Park, the excited shrieks of a half dozenchildren involved in the fierce volleys of a snowball fight caughther attention. She paused to watch them, imagining Rachel in themidst of the fracas, her dark curls bouncing around her face.

The bus was nowhere in sight. Determined now to get home beforenightfall to have the opportunity to take Rachel out for someplaytime in the snow, Gina angled across to Times Square, hoping tocatch a crosstown bus that could get her out of the worst of thedowntown traffic. Her feet were sodden icicles by the time sheclimbed aboard the crosstown. Gratefully, she found a seat near aheating vent and pressed her wet sneakers against the weak flow ofwarm air. The bus jerked out into the sluggish stream of traffic andpromptly stopped moving.

To avoid exasperation, Gina dug in her tote bag and sorted throughthe latest pile of cast-off books from the library. Lots ofchildren's books this time, some of them stained and dog-eared, butreadable. working as a shelver wasn't exactly the glorious career herfather wanted for her, but marriage to Andrew Visser and motheringRachel would have been more than enough. Not that a degree in EnglishLiterature had promised her any kind of a bright, corporatefuture.

Selecting Green Eggs 'n' Ham from the collection in herbag, Gina rested her head against the icy glass of the bus window andbegan to read.

***

Gina squelched up three flights of stairs to Mrs. Sandtonyo'sapartment, pausing to set down her tote bag before knocking on thedoor. She was cold and weary and wishing desperately for dry, warmfeet, but she smiled and braced herself. She heard the muffled squealthat was her daughter's prediction of who was at the door.

"Mom! It's Mom!"

She imagined the little form hurtling off the couch, could pictureplump Mrs. Sandtonyo leaning out from the kitchen, drying her handson a brightly colored towel and keeping a close eye on Rachel as thechild flung open the door.

And then, as she was every day, Rachel was in Gina's arms, herfingers locked behind Gina's neck, legs around her waist, rattlingexcitedly about the snow and ginger snaps as Gina bent to retrieveher tote bag and stagger into the apartment.

"You're getting heavy, kiddo," Gina laughed, kissing herdaughter's soft, rounded cheek. Rachel's blue eyes squinted indelight as she enthusiastically returned her mother's kiss.

"Can we go out in the snow, Mom? Can we? Before it gets dark? Iwant to build the biggest snowman. Can we?"

Gina set the girl on her feet and looked up at Mrs. Sandtonyo, whostood framed in the kitchen doorway, smiling.

"Mrs. Sandy has ginger snaps for us, like I said, and they'rewonderful, but can we please go out?" Rachel was fairly dancingaround her mother in anticipation.

Gina shrugged helplessly and rolled her eyes at Mrs. Sandtonyo.The older woman chuckled as she came out from the kitchen, a coveredtin in her hand, flour dusted across her checkered apron.

"The sprite helped me bake these. They're yours to take home."

The older woman pried the lid off the tin to reveal a finecollection of perfect golden cookies, still warm. The spicy aroma ofginger rose to caress Gina's nose, and she couldn't resist pickingone off the top of the pile and popping it into her mouth.

"How are they, Mom?"

Rachel was sitting in the middle of the floor, pulling on her redboots.

"They're heaven. Just heaven." Gina thanked Mrs. Sandtonyo andgave the woman a quick hug.

"I'm going to be a baker when I grow up. Mrs. Sandy says I can.I'll make puffy pastry and big loaves of bread and wedding cakes, andlots and lots of ginger snaps. Can we go out now?"

Rachel was tugging at her coat, which was hung just out ofcomfortable reach on the brass coat tree. Gina lifted the coat forher daughter and helped her into it, then thanked Mrs. Sandtonyoagain before Rachel dragged her out the door.

"See you Monday, Mrs. Sandy," Rachel called, tugging Gina down thehall.

Gina convinced the girl that the best idea was to go home first.Rachel balked at this suggestion, not wanting to lose a minute ofpossible play in the snow, but Gina pointed out that she herselfneeded jeans, dry feet, and boots. Rachel reluctantly acquiesced toher mother's needs and stumped up to the fourth floor behind Gina,verbally planning her giant snowman.

***

A few hours and a large, lumpy snow-being later, Rachel was stillgoing strong. She was twirling under a streetlight, catchingsnowflakes with her tongue and giggling, when Gina suggested it wastime to head home. Rachel tried the obligatory "Aw, Mom..." ploy, buther mother cut it short with two words.

"Hot chocolate?"

"Oh, yes, please! And ginger snaps," Rachel said decisively. Sheslipped her snow-crusted mitten into Gina's gloved hand and skippedalong beside her mother for the two-block walk home from the smallneighborhood park.

The storm continued a steady downfall of wet, heavy flakes,turning streetlights, fire hydrants, and parked cars into swollen,abstract sculptures. The lights of the city caused the whitelandscape to glow with an eerie, faintly bluish cast. It was afantasy land, and Gina told her daughter an impromptu story aboutsnow elves and a golden princess as they made their way home.

While Gina was stirring the frothy contents of the saucepan,Rachel pulled out spoons, mugs, and napkins, and carefullydistributed an arrangement of ginger snaps for herself and hermother. As Gina reached for the cinnamon--Rachel's "favorite taste"in hot chocolate--her foot bumped her tote bag and she remembered itscontents.

"I have more books, Rachel. In my bag. Pick out the ones you wantto keep, and I'll see that the rest get Below."

Solemn blue eyes regarded her from the dining room.

"They should all go Below," Rachel proclaimed. The little girlloved books in all shapes and contents and sizes, but her concern forthe people in the secret tunnel world below the New York streetsoverrode even this special passion. It was a common argument.

"We've been through this before, kiddo. You get first pick."

"Then I pick that they go Below."

"There are a couple Dr. Seuss books," Gina offered, coming intothe dining room to pour the steaming chocolate into the mugs.

"Horton?" Rachel asked, momentarily interested.

"No, not Horton. But the Grinch is in there, and Green Eggs 'n'Ham."

After a wistful glance toward the tote bag, the little girlsteeled herself with a small sigh. "They should go Below," shesaid.

"Let's do it this way. You pick out the ones you'd want to keep,if they weren't going Below. Keep them for just a few days and readthem, then we can send them down. How's that?"

It was an acceptable--and honorable--compromise. Rachel slid offher chair and retrieved the bag, dragging it back to the dining roomand plopping it on the chair beside her.

The child exclaimed over each book, tracing the coverillustrations with a small finger, pausing between books to swallowsome cocoa or select the next ginger snap to eat. After the pile wassorted and the chocolate and cookies nothing but dregs and crumbs,Rachel had claimed four books and built a pile of the other dozen togo Below.

"I'll keep these for now," she stated, placing a proprietary handon the smaller pile.

"You're sure?" Gina asked.

"Daddy always said books were real important. That when you can'tsee the sky and the stars and trees and grass, you need something tolook at. The kids Below need something to look at. Because I can seethe sky and everything."

Although part of her wanted to see her daughter keep more of thebooks, Gina had to smile at the girl's generosity. So much like herfather, who had grown up in the tunnels. Everything there wascommunity property, everything was shared and used to its fullestextent. But Andrew Visser had met Gina Cambrelli in Central Park, andit was fairy-tale love at first sight. Without a backward glance Andyhad left his home Below to make a life with Gina, becoming a New YorkCity firefighter and working part-time as a bricklayer while Ginafinished college and gave birth to Rachel. The baby was the light ofboth their lives. Andy had made certain that she was introduced tothe community that had been his home, that she was able to play withthe tunnel children and feel a part of this group of "secretfriends."

When Andy had died in a fire, crushed by the collapse of theceiling already mostly destroyed by the conflagration which engulfedthe structure, Gina had taken the first job she could find andconcentrated on building a life without him. And although she couldnever forget the outpouring of sympathy and love she and Rachel hadreceived from the tunnel community--including an offer to join themBelow--she steadfastly insisted on carrying on the life she and Andyhad started together.

". . . birthday, and 'cause tomorrow's your day off?"

The question in her daughter's voice brought Gina abruptly out ofher thoughts of Andy.

"I'm sorry, kiddo, I wasn't listening."

Rachel gave her mother an exasperated look and repeated herquestion.

"Since I'm going to be a baker and I need practice, can we pleasebake a cake for Vincent tomorrow because tomorrow's his birthday, and'cause tomorrow's your day off?"

"I suppose we can do that, yes."

"And invite him to come and eat it with us?"

"Rachel, you know the tunnel people will probably be having a bigparty for Vincent's birthday. Would you want to leave your ownbirthday party to go somewhere else for cake?"

"Then when it's done, can we take it to the party?"

Gina realized she was being maneuvered into a corner.

"I don't think so. This snowstorm is supposed to continue allnight and most of tomorrow. It's a long walk to the nearest tunnelentrance, you know that, and with the snow and trying to carry a cakeand all...."

Gina could see the disappointment writing itself across herdaughter's face. "All right. I'll see that he's invited to come, butdon't get your hopes up, okay? When the weather's better we can visitand you can wish him a Happy Birthday then."

"You'll invite him?"

"I'll call Sada right now and see that he's invited."

"Then he'll come. I know it. Can we make chocolate cake?"

"Yes, we can make chocolate, but remember what I said..."

"He'll come," Rachel said decisively. She climbed off her chair,her four books firmly tucked under one arm, and carried her mug tothe kitchen, reaching to set it in the sink with a firm thump. Shewaited then, expectant, until Gina went to the phone and calledanother helper, Sada Cameron, and asked her to get a message toVincent.

"Tell him I have more books. And tell him that Rachel is baking abirthday cake for him tomorrow, and he's invited," Rachel interruptedGina at this point with a tug on her arm.

"Tell him," Rachel stage-whispered, "that I'm invitinghim."

Gina nodded to her daughter.

"Sada, tell him that Rachel is inviting him here for thecake."

Assured that her invitation would be taken Below within the hour,Rachel cheerfully agreed to a bath and bedtime. Once she was cleanand dry and tucked in with her Raggedy Ann, she requested a readingof Green Eggs 'n' Ham. Gina granted the request, reading thestory with great emotion and dramatic interpretation. Rachel giggledfrequently during the reading, silently mouthing her favorite partsalong with her mother.

When the book was finished, Gina set it aside and tucked thecovers more securely around her daughter.

"Go to sleep now," she said, kissing Rachel's smooth forehead.

"I will, Mom. They were good ginger snaps, weren't they?"

"The best."

"And the cake tomorrow, for Vincent, that'll be good, too."

"Better than good, I'm sure. But remember what I said about thesnowstorm and the party Below--," Gina warned.

"He'll come," Rachel interrupted, her eyes already closing. "Hewill. I know it."

"I hope so," Gina whispered, rising to turn off the light.

***

Moving through the darkened apartment, Gina made herself a cup ofherbal tea--Andy's favorite--and picked up a book from the pileRachel had set aside to send Below. She considered settling in to bedto read, but the thought of the empty bed made her hesitate. Shesighed, then padded into the living room, pulled an afghan from thecouch, and curled up in the bay of the room's large window. Thestreetlights combined with the accumulating snow made the eveningeerily light, but not quite light enough to read. Slipping the bookin under her legs, she wrapped both hands around the mug of tea andstudied the street four stories below.

If she tried hard enough, Gina could take herself back in time.Rachel was five-going-on-six, and Andy was out on a fire. No. Out tothe store, to get coffee ice cream and hot fudge sauce. He'd be homesoon. Gina was watching for him. Any second now he'd come around thecorner and stop and look up to the window to see if she was watching,then do a ridiculous pantomime. Perhaps he'd be a quarterback, thegrocery sack his football. Stuffing the sack securely under his arm,he'd rush down the street, dodging phantom linebackers until hereached the front of the building, where he'd pretend to spike the"ball" and high-five an imaginary teammate. Or a ballet dancer,executing clumsy, exaggerated pirouettes, plies, and leaps, embracingthe groceries as if they were a graceful, long-legged ballerina.Always something to make Gina laugh.

If Andy was later than expected and Gina began to fret, Rachelwould appear at her mother's side, saying confidently, "He'll come."No matter what Gina's worries, Rachel's conviction that her fatherwould return always won out. Tonight, Gina knew if she waited longenough, Andy would appear at the corner, look up to catch her eye,and launch into a silly act on his way to the door.

"No." The small syllable caught as a sob in Gina's throat. Shetook a mouthful of the aromatic tea and swallowed it slowly, tryingto deny the passing of her reverie. If she just waited long enough,Andy would come around the corner, perhaps pushing an illusoryshovel through the deepening snow.

Inexorably, like a horse unbridled in a lush field, her mindwandered to the night Andy didn't come back. She had been sittinghere, in this window, Rachel curled up between her knees. Each timeGina would feel her apprehension building the little girl would reachto pat her mother's face and say, "Don't worry, he'll come home." Buthe hadn't, and Rachel was long in bed and asleep when the phone callcame through.

Almost in a dream, Gina remembered the details of that endlessnight in snapshot fragments. The compassion on Mrs. Sandtonyo's faceas she climbed the stairs to watch over the sleeping Rachel, thedark, silent cab ride to the hospital, the battalion of medical staffshe spoke with before she was ushered to the Emergency Room,Andy--what they said was Andy- a sheet-covered form on a hospitalgurney.

Gina shook her head and became aware of the tears cooling on hercheeks. She dragged them away with her fingers, focusing again on theempty street below. I should've looked at his face, shechastised herself. Then she looked once more to the street corner.Please, Andy, just once more. . .

The half-full mug of tea had lost its warmth. Gina stood from thewindowseat, folding the afghan and throwing it back on the couch. Shedumped the tea into the kitchen sink, letting the routine chase awaythe fruitless memories. She paused in the doorway of Rachel's roomand saw that her child was sleeping peacefully. She could hear thelittle voice saying, "He'll come. I know it." Just as she had forweeks and weeks after Andy's death, no matter how many times Ginatried to tell her that her Daddy wouldn't come home again.

"Yes, he will. He will. I know it."

Please, Vincent, Gina thought, I'm sorry aboutAndy. But please, don't disappoint his daughter.

The snow was falling in fits and starts but promising anothersteady downfall when Rachel woke Gina by bouncing onto the bed.

"We have to bake Vincent's cake," she announced.

Gina opened one eye and grinned at her sleep-tousled daughter.

"You have to bake Vincent's cake, Miss Baker-to-Be," sheanswered, grabbing the girl and dragging her under the covers totickle her into pealing giggles. "I get to supervise. But first,we need to get dressed and have breakfast. Okay?"

"Okay!" Rachel agreed, squirming away from her mother andgalloping back to her room.

"What am I going to do with you?" Gina mused fondly to herdaughter's retreating back.

***

The kitchen was a borderline disaster area by the time the cakewas mixed and ready for the oven. Like her own mother, Gina alwaystook the time and made the effort to bake from scratch, but as shestood with floury hands resting on her hips and surveyed thecountertops and floor, she began to understand the advantage ofprepared mixes.

"What now?" Rachel asked, a large wooden spoon raised in one handlike an orchestra conductor's baton.

"Now we bake it," Gina answered, slipping the cake pans into thewarm oven.

"And then we frost it?"

"It has to cool first, kiddo, and that takes a while. Andsomeone has to clean up this kitchen a bit."

"I'll do it," Rachel volunteered.

"I'll do it," Gina replied, visions of gallons of soapbubbles joining the virtual drifts of flour and cocoa and sugar vividin her mind's eye. "Bakers always hire a cleaning staff to take careof the messy parts of the job. Why don't you get washed up and put ona video?"

"Okay," Rachel answered. Before she left the room, she came overto give Gina a tight hug around the waist. "This is great, Mom. Thisis so much fun, and I know Vincent's going to love it."

"If he can come," Gina warned again.

"He'll come," Rachel answered, exasperated at her mother's lack offaith, then abruptly changed the subject as if the case was alreadyclosed. "Can we watch Field of Dreams again?"

"Anything you want," Gina answered, turning to tackle the mountainof pans and bowls in the sink.

***

The warm, sweet fragrance of the cooling cake combined with thestorybook precision of the large, lazy snowflakes drifting past theapartment windows made the afternoon very close to perfection forGina. The one thing missing, the one thing that would always bemissing, was Andy. Gina tore her thoughts away from his sad absenceand looked down at her daughter's dark head, resting on her lap wherethe girl was curled up under the russet-shaded afghan. The creditswere rolling up the television screen when Rachel turned onto herback and looked up at her mother.

"Can we frost it now? And decorate it?"

"I think we probably can," Gina replied, pushing an errant lock ofhair off Rachel's forehead.

Rachel bounced off the couch and darted into the kitchen, reachingto pull her apron off the counter and wind its long ties around herwaist. Gina fell into the role of supervising baker's assistant.After many false starts, quite a few sneaky bits of frosting into hermouth instead of on the cake, and a long, serious discussion abouthow to blend what had to be Vincent's favorite colors with the shadesof food coloring available, Rachel was satisfied with hermasterpiece.

"That's it. Oh, Mom, it's so beautiful!" Rachel enthused, her eyeswide as she gazed at her creation.

"It's just perfect," Gina had to agree, overlooking the varyingthicknesses of frosting on the sides of the cake and smiling at theneon-pink roses that glowed in a small clump just above the darkpurple "Happy Birthday Vincent" message. "What would you say to a napafter all this effort and exertion, kiddo?"

"I don't want to miss Vincent," Rachel answered.

"It's not dark out yet. If you take a nap now, I'll wake you upwhen it's getting dark, and then we can wait for him together. Howdoes that sound?"

"You promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay. But wake me up as soon as it gets just a little dark."

"I already promised," Gina reassured her daughter. She took thegirl's shoulders and steered her toward her bedroom. "I'll clean upthe kitchen again and have everything ready. Deal?"

"Deal," Rachel agreed.

***

The snow sifted to a stop just as darkness started to fall acrossthe city. The outside world seemed suspended, like a snapshot, quietand white; the few sounds that rose from the street were faint. Ginawent through the motions of cleaning the kitchen and setting thedining room table for three with plates, tumblers, and pastelnapkins. She found a handful of balloons, white and yellow, in adrawer and inflated them, then hung them with curling ribbons fromthe ceiling light over the table.

She stood back then and surveyed the setting. Everything wasperfect for the small party. But she couldn't shake the feeling from18 months ago, waiting for Andy to come home, the growing,breath-catching certainty that things wouldn't happen as expected.That she'd be spending the night comforting her daughter, explainingthat sometimes plans just don't work out, that it isn't the end ofthe world.

But it is. It always is, whispered her dark voice of doubt,and tears sprang to her eyes as Gina wrapped her arms tightly aroundher own waist. Vincent, I'm sorry I took Andy away from his home.But I loved him. I know you understand that. I didn't know he woulddie. Please. . .

She shook her head to clear it, a sigh hitching in her throat.

"It's getting dark," said a sleepy voice, and Gina turned to seeRachel standing in the doorway, rubbing at one eye with a small fist.She yawned, then looked at her mother inquiringly.

"I. . . I was just on my way to wake you. How does this look?" Sheindicated the dining room. Rachel scuffed towards the table,brightening as she saw the decorations.

"It's beautiful, Mom. Vincent will love it."

***

The waiting began. Gina challenged her daughter to a lively gameof Go Fish as the evening shadows wrapped around them. Any mention oftime and the absence of the guest of honor were carefully avoided.Finally, after trouncing her mother soundly for several long rounds,Rachel scooped the cards into a pile and sighed.

"It's late, isn't it?"

"It's not too late, kiddo."

"It is. It's late." Gina held her breath, knowing and not wantingto hear her daughter's next words.

"He's not coming, is he?"

The unwavering faith that the little girl had carried throughoutthe day exhausted itself in her one small question. Her blue eyessparkled with checked tears. Gina choked back her owndisappointment.

"Well, you know, honey, it is a long walk from the tunnels, andwith the snow and all...."

"He's not coming," Rachel said again. Miserable, she looked up atthe balloons which were bobbing slightly in the room's air currents."And we had decorations and everything."

"We could have some cake anyway, if you'd like." Gina reached outand put her hand over Rachel's. "We could pretend that Vincent ishere." Gina was grasping at straws, but the sorrow in the girl's eyeswas almost more than she could bear.

"No, that's okay. I really wanted him to be here. It's hisbirthday."

"I'll call Sada again in the morning. We can invite him forthe-day-after cake. Okay?"

"Okay," Rachel replied, agreeing without any spirit to hermother's suggestion, "but it's not the same."

"I know," Gina answered.

Rachel slipped off her chair, dejected. Head down, she startedtoward her bedroom, then paused to give a backward glance to thefestive dining room. Gina rose to follow her, words of consolationand encouragement chasing each other around in a useless tangle inher head. What could she say to her daughter, with her own faithstill blankly numb?

Rachel had kicked off her shoes and was sitting on her bed,tugging at her socks. Gina leaned against the doorframe, still unsureof what to say to her child. Rachel drew in a short, shudderingbreath and looked up at her mother, a certain resolution building inher eyes.

And suddenly, there was a quiet knock at the door.

Rachel's blue eyes widened, and Gina saw every muscle in the smallbody tense, an echo of her own response.

"I knew it!" the girl gasped, rocketing past her mother and downthe short hall. "I knew it! It's Vincent!"

Before Gina could stop her or caution her--a frequentoccurrence--about opening the door to a potential stranger, Rachelhad pulled the door wide. She stood with feet planted far apart, handon the door knob, looking up into the hooded face of a tall, broadfigure.

"Vincent!" Rachel squealed, flinging her arms around his legs.

A dry rustle of a laugh answered her exuberance, and two furred,claw-tipped hands emerged from the blackness of the cloak to wraparound the girl's waist and lift her effortlessly into the air. Thefigure stepped into the apartment as Rachel pushed the hood back,releasing a spill of coppery golden hair.

Gina quickly moved behind their guest and pulled the apartmentdoor shut. She turned to see her daughter giving him a fierce hug,her fingers tangled in his thick hair. Gina found herself blinking toclear the tears from her eyes. She scrubbed the back of her hand atone that escaped down her cheek.

"Can I take your cloak?" she asked, hesitant, stepping back aroundto face the tall figure.

Vivid blue eyes sparkling with mischief, Vincent disentangledhimself from his young admirer and set her carefully on the floor.Rachel danced in place, hopping from one foot to the other, whileVincent bowed slightly to Gina.

"I was told that you had some books which need to be transportedBelow," Vincent offered with a light twitch of a smile.

"Ah. . .yes," Gina answered, nodding. "Just a minute. I'll getthem for you." She hadn't finished gathering herself to take a stepwhen Rachel erupted with pent-up excitement.

"No! It's not just the books. It's your birthday, Vincent.And I baked you a cake. All by myself almost. Chocolate. And we haveballoons, and you have to stay and eat some cake with us." Shegrabbed one of his large hands in her two and was tuggingunsuccessfully at his arm as her words tumbled out. "You can't justleave. Not now. Please?"

Gina had to put one hand over her mouth to hide her amusement.

"My birthday?" Vincent answered, feigning surprise. "Now that youmention it, Rachel, I suppose that it is. I've had such a busy day. .." His voice trailed off.

"No one else remembered?" Rachel asked, incredulous.

His only answer was a smile. He freed his hand from her grip andstroked it gently through her dark curls. Removing his cloak with agraceful gesture, he draped it over Gina's outstretched arms.

"As long as the lady of the house has extended the invitation . ..," he said formally, raising one eyebrow at Gina.

"She has," Gina answered, nodding toward her daughter, relieflighting her face. She hung the heavy cloak, cold and fragrant withcandle smoke, fresh night air, and new-fallen snow, on the coat treejust inside the door.

"Then I must accept," Vincent replied. Rachel grabbed his handagain, and he allowed himself to be led into the dining room. "Thankyou."

"Thank you," Gina whispered. Vincent turned andcaught Gina's eyes, inclining his head in recognition of the depth ofher gratitude. Smiling, Gina motioned for Vincent to continue withhis impatient hostess and followed the two of them toward the smallcelebration.

END