Rose Hathaway dragged a kitchen chair over to the door and jammed it up under the doorknob. It was getting harder and harder to make the chair fit right; the carpet was soft, and the doorknob was getting loose. It didn't do her back any good, either. The chair was almost as big as Rose, even if she wasn't very big. But her son Jake had stepped out, and she didn't know when he'd come home again. She had to be careful; you didn't know when some person might break in on an old woman, alone in her house, and do the most terrible things. Why, just the other day someone had tried to get in, or maybe they had got in, after all; it took her and Jake almost a day to find her keys again, and whoever it was that broke in must have been the one that hid them.

Rose shook the doorknob with her hand. Yes, it certainly was loose; she'd have to get Jake to fix it when he got back in. And the paint was getting pretty scratched up under the doorknob; maybe Jake could paint that, too, while he had the doorknob out. She started to set the alarm system, but no, Jake wasn't going to be gone long, he said, and it was still early afternoon, so it probably wasn't necessary to set it. Other times, though, Rose was glad to have that alarm; it was a good thing she'd got her husband Bill to put it in before he died. Rose might never have done it on her own; even with Bill there to protect her, she didn't like having those strange men coming into her house. She didn't like that at all.

She walked back over to her kitchen table. Out the window, Rose could see Jake talking to her sister Lynnette, who lived next door. He was waving his hands in the air about something, and Lynnette stood there, shaking her head, wearing that bright pink house dress of hers that didn't quite close, and the brisk wind pulling gray hair out from under her scarf. She had a white sweater on, too, which didn't go with her house dress at all. They were probably talking about Lynnette's magnolia tree, which didn't look real good any more; it needed to be taken out, but Lynnette wouldn't call anyone about it, or even ask Jake to cut it down. Jake would be happy to do it, if she'd just ask. Maybe Rose should go ahead and have Jake cut the tree and be done with it.

She noticed that Jake was wearing a tan sweater and a pair of brown slacks that had belonged to Bill. That was a bad habit he'd developed since Bill died, and it didn't show proper respect for his father. She'd have to speak to him about that.

Rose sat down at the table, where she'd been going through Bill's papers. She'd never paid much attention to where Bill had put things through the years, and now she kept finding things stashed away here and there, all over the house. This stack had some of Bill's Navy papers. Rose had been looking for those, and she had found them in the piano bench, just after she thought Jake had looked through that end of the living room. Thirty-four years old, he was, and he'd lived in this house all his life, but he never seemed to be able to find things when she asked him to.

She leafed through the stack of papers, and found one about half-way down that she'd been looking for. It was Bill's discharge orders. Bill hadn't stayed in the Navy long enough to collect a pension, but he'd served during World War II, and there might be some benefits Rose could get as a widow. Now that she'd found this, she ought to call Janet down at the church to see if it was worth anything. She set Bill's discharge aside and continued rummaging through the stack.

Right below the discharge, Rose found Bill's high school diploma. Well, that was certainly not worth much any more. It was just a piece of paper with Bill's name on it. There wasn't any reason why Bill should have kept this himself; he'd gone to college for a year after he got out of the Navy, and it'd been years since there had been any reason for Bill to prove he'd been to high school. Rose set the diploma aside in another stack which was due for the shredder when she had enough other old papers to run through it. It was such a noisy machine, though; it wasn't worth turning it on unless you had a lot of things that needed shredding.

The doorknob rattled against the chair, and Rose looked up. Where she was sitting, she couldn't see out the window to know if that was Jake out there, or someone else. Bam! Bam! Bam! Whoever it was knocked hard on the door. Which probably meant it was Jake; he got upset when Rose jammed the door shut like that and he was out. "Rose!" She could hear him hollering through the door; no doubt the whole neighborhood was listening. "Rose, open the damned door!"

"Oh, just a minute, Jake," Rose shouted. "Where's all that patience I've been trying to teach you all these years?" She pushed her chair back but it wouldn't go very far in that soft rug, so she had to swing her knees out to the side and squeeze out from between the chair back and the table. Bam! Bam! Bam! Jake knocked again. "Just a minute," Rose said, but only to herself.

She walked over to the chair that was lodged under the doorknob, and tried to pull it out, but it wouldn't pull. She pushed down on it and it gave some into the carpet, but not enough to swing out from under the knob. She tried pulling back again, but the chair still caught on the carpet. She slumped and leaned on the chair; why was it so hard to move? "Jake!" she shouted. "I can't move the chair!"

"Pull up on the seat, Rose! Pull up!" Jake said.

Rose stood up and tried pulling up on the chair seat; it came easily, and as she dragged the chair across the floor, the chair back slid down and left another long scratch in the door. Jake pushed the door open before she had the chair out of the way, and the door jammed against the chair back, wedging it against the floor.

"Now, Rose, look at that chair," Jake said. He walked around the door and pushed it with his shoulder so it swung off the chair. He picked the chair up off the floor and ran his fingers along the back. "That's got to be refinished, Rose. Look at it!"

Rose didn't look at the chair. "Jake," she said, "that's no way to talk to your mother, calling me by my name. I know you got better manners than that. And wearing your daddy's clothes, too; now that ain't right."

"Rose, these are my clothes. I'm wearing them because they're mine." Jake sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Rose noticed that his hair had grayed quickly in the year since Bill died; it must hurt Jake real bad not to have his daddy around.

The telephone rang, and Jake jumped to pick it up. "Hello?" he said into the receiver. "Speaking...yes...yes...again?...No, not yet...At least, no one's told me, if I have," Jake laughed. It must be one of his friends; Jake didn't spend enough time with his friends any more. Jake tried awfully hard to be a good boy, taking care of her, but he really needed to get out more. Rose walked back over to her papers and pulled her chair out so she could sit down.

"No," Jake said into the phone. "No, you hold on to them, Alice, and I'll come pick them up tomorrow...No, it's no trouble; don't bother mailing them...all right, thanks...bye, now." Jake hung up, and turned back toward her. "Rose, that was the insurance agency. You tried to file a claim on my life insurance again."

Rose looked up at her son. "That can't be right, Jake. I was sure it was Bill's papers I sent in."

Jake pulled back Bill's chair from the table and sat down hard. "Rose," he said, "don't you know me any more?"

She examined her son. His eyes were puffy, his cheeks a bit too red. He must be so tired; she hadn't realized this before. "Of course I know you," she said. "Of course I do, Jake."

Jake shut his eyes and sighed.

"Jake," Rose said, "why don't you go in your study and read some of your Civil War books? It'll do you good; take your mind off of things." But Jake just sat and looked at the floor, and didn't get up.

Tap-tap-tap-tap. Someone was knocking at her door again. It sounded like Lynnette's knock; now there was someone who knew how to knock. But it didn't matter whether she knocked right or not, since she always walked in anyway.

"Well, hi, Rose," she said. "It's about time for your doctor's appointment. Do you want me to drive you there?"

Rose looked back at her sister. At least she was dressed right; she had on her dark blue dress, a wool dress, and a light coat over it. "I don't have a doctor's appointment today. What makes you think I do?"

Lynnette looked from Rose to Jake, and Jake looked from Lynnette back to Rose. "Yes you do, Rose," Jake said. "You got an appointment at 2:00. Don't you remember?"

"No, I don't remember, because no, I don't have any appointment," Rose said. "I suppose you made this appointment for me." Jake grimaced. "Well," Rose sighed, "who am I supposed to go see?"

"I made an appointment for you to go see Dr. Weathers," Jake said. "I don't think your medicine is working like it's supposed to. You haven't been yourself since you've been taking it."

"And you told him that?" Rose asked. This wasn't like Jake, calling up Dr. Weathers on his own. It was Jake that wasn't acting right.

"Yes, I did," Jake said.

"And now I got to go see him! All right, I'll go. It won't do to have Dr. Weathers worrying about me. It's bad enough to have you two fussing at me over everything I do." Rose tried to scoot her chair back. Once again, it stuck on the carpet and she had to squeeze out sideways. She had half a mind to call someone to take that carpet out, but then she wouldn't be able to jam the door shut when she needed to.

"You're supposed to pick a chair up a bit when you push it back," Lynnette said, but Rose decided that was just too mean to reply to.

Jake and Lynnette got up, too. "I'll go get the car started, Rose," Jake said. "You'll be out in a minute?"

"You go right ahead," Rose said. She looked around the kitchen, hoping to catch sight of her purse. Now where had it got to this time? She spotted it beside the flour canister, picked it up, and started for the door. Before she got around the table, though, she remembered that her coat was in the front closet, so she had to go and get it. On her way out, as she passed the alarm box, she stopped to punch in the alarm code, 4-6-1-7. There was no telling how long they would have to wait before Dr. Weathers would see her. Then she walked out and got in the back seat of Bill's old green Plymouth, since Jake and Lynnette already had the front seat filled.

It was a little over four blocks to Dr. Weathers' office, three blocks down Ninth Street and a long block right on Walnut. Time was when that would've made a nice walk, but Rose couldn't face that now. Ninth was still nice enough; they'd repaved it back in August, and the street was still nice and black and pretty. But some years back they'd torn down the old Rand house on Ninth and Walnut and replaced it with some drive-in restaurant, all squat and ugly, same as the rest of Walnut Street. Dr. Weathers talked about her being depressed; now that was a sight to depress almost anybody. And besides all that, it was really too cold to walk.

Rose was amazed when they walked into Dr. Weathers' office and got right in to see him. It was a nice office, as doctor's offices went, all dark mahogany paneling and a plush red carpet, like you were in some fancy lawyer's office instead of about to get grilled with that have-you-been-taking-your-pills routine, which was right where Dr. Weathers started.

"Rose," he said, "Bill tells me you've been getting a little confused these last few weeks. Now, that might be your depression, if you haven't been taking your pills; but it might also be your medicine, if the dose is too high for you. So please tell me, Rose, have you been taking your pills?"

Dr. Weathers was a nice man, really; heavy-set and maybe a little younger than Bill would have been. But it wasn't right that a doctor should be so busy as to forget which of his patients had died, and which ones hadn't. It really was not right. "Dr. Weathers, I know you're busy and all, but if you'll check your records you'll see that Bill is dead. He can't be telling you these things. Isn't that right, Jake?" She looked over at Jake, but he had his eyes buried in his hands, and Lynnette was standing right by him, shaking her head. She looked back at Dr. Weathers, just as he slumped back in his seat. Poor man, she'd never seen him look so old.

"Rose," Dr. Weathers said after a long pause. "Bill is right here. It's Jake that's dead. He died fifteen months ago, up at Pea Ridge; don't you remember?"

Rose sat straight up and looked hard at Dr. Weathers eyes. Was he blind? "Dr. Weathers, that's Jake sitting over there by the wall. That's my son Jake. Bill is buried in that Federal cemetery down at Fayetteville."

Dr. Weathers sighed. "Just tell me, Rose. Are you taking your Norpramin like you should?"

"Of course I can read the bottle," Rose said. There wasn't any point in continuing this conversation; Dr. Weathers was probably so tired and overworked that he didn't have any idea what he was saying. "It says one pill, twice a day."

Dr. Weathers frowned and reached for a pad of paper. As he scribbled something down, he said, "Rose, I'm going to lower your dosage. In a week or two you should be feeling much better, and you'll find that Bill was here with you, all the time. Now, these new pills are half the strength of your old Norpramin, so I want you to take one pill three times a day. Will you do that for me?"

"Rose," Jake said, "please do it, for me." He reached over and took the paper from Dr. Weathers.

Nobody said a word until they got back to the car. Jake unlocked the doors, and after they all got seated Lynnette turned around to Rose and said, "You haven't been taking your medicine! Why did you lie to Dr. Weathers? He's trying to help you!"

"I didn't lie," Rose answered. "He looked so tired, and I just told him what he wanted to hear. Besides, you don't have any idea what I've been doing."

Lynnette twisted back around so she could sit straight in her seat. Her turn was so abrupt that the Plymouth shook on its springs, even as Jake was backing out of his parking space. Rose heard her whisper, "Idiot!"

"Now, Jake," Rose said when Jake started to turn out of the parking lot, "you're not going to the drug store. Let's just go on home." Jake took a deep breath and pulled out onto Walnut. It was about time that he remembered whose son he was; he had no right to make her go see Dr. Weathers, and now he was about to act like it was his business to make her take this new medicine. Now that wouldn't do; it just wouldn't do at all.

Then Jake turned the corner from Walnut back to Ninth, and Rose saw two police cars parked off down the street, about where she figured her house was. They both had their blue lights on. It could only mean someone had tried to break in again; bless Bill for putting in that alarm!

One policeman watched from behind Rose's old blue Dodge as Jake pulled up under the carport. The other was inside the kitchen, examining the door frame, but he stood up and came outside as Jake switched the car off and got out. Rose got out, too, as soon as she could find the door latch. She wasn't used to riding in back.

"I'm Sergeant Reynolds," the policeman by the steps said, and he stepped up to meet Jake. "You must be Mr. Hathaway."

"Yes, I'm Bill Hathaway," Jake said, shaking Sergeant Reynolds' hand. Rose wanted to faint; it was bad enough that he pretended to be Bill around her and Lynnette, but lying to the police!

"We got your alarm," Sergeant Reynolds continued, "but when we got here there was no one around, and the side door here was wide open. Officer Pruitt says there was no sign of forced entry. How long have you folks been gone?"

"We were down at the Medical Center so my wife Rose could see Dr. Weathers," Jake said. "I don't think we've been gone more than, oh, maybe twenty minutes or so."

"Well, that's about the time we got the call from Ozark Security," Sergeant Reynolds said. "Are you sure you shut the door when you left?"

"I think Rose was the last one out. Rose," Jake said, turning to her, "did you close the door when you came out?"

That wasn't like Jake, either, to try and pass the blame on to her for something. But come to think of it, she was the last one out. "Oh, I don't remember. You and Lynnette were in such a hurry to get me out of the house, I just don't remember."

"Now, you folks need to be more careful about using this alarm," Sergeant Reynolds said. "We don't fine people for false alarms here, but that might have to change before long. We do remember where those false alarms come from, though, and if we get too many from you we might not be so quick to respond if you do have a real problem. But as long as we're here, would you like us to check through the house to make sure no one got in?"

"No," Jake said, "that won't be necessary." The hell it won't, Rose thought, but she was too late; Jake was still talking. "Thanks for your quick response, Sergeant, and I'll make sure this doesn't happen again."

"All right, now," Sergeant Reynolds said, motioning for Officer Pruitt to join him as they started towards their cars. "You folks have a nice day."

Rose watched as the policemen got in their cars and left. "Jake," she said, "I want you to go through every inch of that house before I set foot in it."

"Rose, I really don't think anyone got in. You'll be perfectly safe. I'm going to take this prescription down to Applegate's; I ought to be back in twenty minutes or so."

"And leave me here," Rose said. "I don't suppose I've got much choice." She looked over to where Lynnette had stood and watched this whole business from the other side of Bill's Plymouth. "Lynnette, will you help me look through the house?"

"That's about like you, Rose," Lynnette said. "Ask for my help to protect your own hide. Bill's right; you go on back inside." She turned to Jake and said, "Bill, you need the time off. Go on down to the drug store; she'll be all right if she's alone for a few minutes." Then she walked back to her own house; now that was just like Lynnette, walking out when she was needed, instead of helping her sister. And blind or crazy, too; Jake might be wearing Bill's clothes, but that didn't make him Bill. Lynnette was really the one who needed to go see Dr. Weathers. But if she couldn't tell Bill from Jake--let alone remember that Bill was dead--she probably wouldn't be much help in searching the house anyway.

"Rose, now you go in and rest; you'll be all right," Jake said. "I'll be right back." He opened the door of Bill's car and got in.

Rose sighed. She'd have to go in her house alone, but she didn't have to like it. She stopped in the kitchen, set her purse on the table, and looked around for something she could use to protect herself, since no one was going to help her. Nothing on the table or counters was much good for what she needed, so she opened the drawer by the sink and got out a paring knife. Heavens knew what might be waiting for her.

She walked through the corner of the hallway and stuck her head into the living room. It didn't get much light this time of day, but it was light enough for her to see the room was empty. She backed into the hall again and walked through Jake's study, which was also empty except for all Jake's war books, and all the letters from Jake's friends. He'd made so many friends with his stories about the war, and he really ought to stay home more and answer some of those letters. Jake and Bill had done so much to make this room comfortable, fixing the lights and putting in a computer and his own telephone, and it was such a shame that Jake didn't spend more time here.

She walked past the study and out to the back porch, which wasn't really a porch any more since she'd had Jake close it in. A man was sitting in the recliner across the room, reading by the light coming through the windows in the back wall. As soon as she stepped into the porch, knife raised, he turned in his chair so she could see him. It was Jake--just the way Rose expected him to look. Dark hair, so thin you'd think he hadn't eaten for a week, wearing that baggy old white sweatshirt of his, the one with a bust of Robert E. Lee on the front, and his worn-out blue jeans.

Rose couldn't put the knife down. This was Jake; she was sure of it. But she was also sure that the man who was at the drug store getting her new medicine--the man she'd thought was Jake, even when he acted more like her Bill, who was dead--had been trying to fool her. Well, he wasn't going to get back into the house, she and Jake could see to that. And she certainly wasn't going to take any of his medicine, either, no matter what it said on the bottle.

"Hi, Momma," Jake said. He put his book down and stood up. "I've been waiting for you to get home."

"Oh, Jake," Rose said. She forced herself to put the knife on the shelf by the television; it wouldn't do to let Jake think she meant that knife for him. No, not at all. "Jake, I'm glad you're home. Are you sure your friends won't be missing you this afternoon?"

"No, Momma," he said. "I told them you needed me, and I'd see them again tomorrow. You do need me, don't you, Momma?"

"Of course, Jake," Rose said. She walked over to Jake and gave him a hug. "It's so good of you to come back."

Jake returned her hug, and looked down into her face. "You scared me with that knife, Momma. Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong now. Nothing that you and I can't take care of."

"That's good. You know I'll help any way I can."

"Well, then, why don't you come and help me make dinner?"

Jake looked at his watch. "It's a little early, Momma. Why don't we go for a drive first?"

Rose thought about it. If she left the house with Jake, then she'd be gone when that man came back. But that was all right; she'd have Jake with her, and he could take care of things. "All right, Jake," she said. "You have any place in mind?"

"Well," Jake said, reaching up and scratching the back of his neck. "We could go see the battleground. It's always so pretty in the fall."

"Let's do it, then," Rose said. She turned and walked back toward the kitchen, with Jake following behind her. "Now where could I have put my keys?"

"Your purse is on the table, Momma," Jake said.

"Well of course it is." She picked up her purse and walked out of the house, down the steps to the carport and over to her own car. Jake walked over to the passenger side and opened the door. "You know I haven't driven much for a while," Rose said. "I hope this thing still starts." She opened the door and got in behind the steering wheel. Jake sat down beside her and closed his door.

It took a while, but the old Dodge finally started, and Rose backed it out of the driveway. When she had pulled out into the street, she stopped and looked at her son. "Jake, which way would you like to go?"

"How about the back way? Up 94, through Pea Ridge."

The traffic in town was worse than Rose ever remembered, so bad that at times she was almost afraid to move. But that didn't matter; Jake told her when to go and when to wait. Still, she was glad to get across U.S. 62 and on to 94; it meant she was out of town and she could relax a little. Jake helped her relax; he talked more than he had in years, about those rail fences out at the battleground--how he hadn't liked them when they were new, but now they were old and weathered and falling down, and they looked about like they ought to for a Civil War reconstruction. And those cannons the Park Service had put on some of the hilltops, how they were placed right where the armies had them during the battle, but they didn't look quite right with all that green grass around, when during the battle those hills had been trampled into mud with trenches cut this way and that.

Rose had never realized how much Jake was interested in the battleground; she'd always thought he just liked the battle itself, the sort of thing you could read about in a book, sitting in your own home. But Jake told her about Elkhorn Tavern, how it'd been a station on the stage line and a headquarters during the battle, and how the battleground really ought to be named for the tavern, as it was in the Confederate war histories, instead of Pea Ridge, which made the battle sound so small and insignificant, even though it pretty much stopped the Confederate war effort in Arkansas. He told her about how General Curtis won, even with being outnumbered, and how Indians came over from Oklahoma to join the fight.

Rose listened, not really caring what Jake was saying, as long as he talked and she could hear his voice. From time to time she'd look over at him, and he'd look back at her and hold her eyes in his. At those times she stopped even hearing his voice; the words took her attention away from her son, next to her. All this time she'd thought that Jake had turned old and gray and quarrelsome, and in fact he hadn't changed at all.

Then Jake said, "Now brace yourself, Momma." But there was no time; the car shuddered and shook, and Rose flopped over into the steering wheel, even though it was more like the steering wheel was driving into her side. There was a second's deafening screech of tearing metal, a shattering, splintering sound of glass falling all around her. And it was over, except that her left arm and shoulder hurt so bad she couldn't stand it, and her neck felt like she'd never be able to pull her head up straight again, and where she looked down on the seat between her and Jake there was glass everywhere. It was a wonder there was no blood, with all that broken glass; now that was really a wonder.

"Momma, you stay right there," Jake said. "Let me come around and help you out."

Rose watched Jake get out on his side of the car and start around the back. It hurt her neck too much even to think about watching him any further, so she just sat, twisted up and turned toward Jake's empty seat, and waited, looking out at the trees with their fall colors, not the tree she'd hit but a little woods off to the side. She heard Jake open the door behind her, and she felt Jake's hands--cold hands, Jake never did eat right, and you got to eat enough if you want to stay warm in weather like this--as his hands touched and stroked and kneaded her neck and shoulder, down her arms and side and her back. Even though his hands were cold, she felt her pain flow away through his fingers, pains from the accident and pains from nothing more than being old, until she began to feel like she could move again, better than she'd been able to move for years.

She reached up and patted Jake's hands, which were on her neck again, and Jake pulled his hands back while Rose tried to turn around straight. It was tight; the steering wheel was closer to the seat than it used to be. But she could move now, and she sucked in her stomach and twisted her way out. It would have helped if the door could open wider, but considering the condition of her car, no, Rose didn't think she had any right to complain, not at all.

She stood beside Jake and studied the car. It had a tree growing right between its headlights, and you'd think it was meant to be there if the metal around it wasn't so bent and twisted. "You know, they shouldn't put trees so close to the road, now, should they?" she asked.

Jake looked back at her and grinned. "That's right, Momma, that tree had no right to be here."

There wasn't much traffic on 94, and no one had stopped yet to check up on them. Rose was glad of that, a little, since she and Jake weren't hurt, but someone was going to have to call Lynnette to come and pick them up. "Jake, you think you could go back a ways and find a phone to call Lynnette?"

"I don't know, Momma," Jake answered. "I expect somebody will call the police, and they'll need to talk to you before you can leave here."

"Well, I guess we'll wait here, then," Rose said. She leaned back against the side of her car and watched up the road for a police car to come from town. Jake leaned beside her, his arm touching lightly against hers. The police coming to help her, twice in one day! Lynnette would never leave this one to rest, not as long as she lived. And soon enough, a white-and-blue state police car pulled up behind them and stopped.

"Good afternoon, ma'am," the officer said as he got out of his car. "We got a call that there was an accident here, and that the driver might be hurt. Are you all right? Is there anybody still inside?" He walked over to take a look for himself.

"No," Rose said, "nobody's hurt. It was just me and my son Jake driving along here, and I got to listening to him and not watching where I was going. Now, he had to help me out of the car, but we're both all right."

"You say your son was with you," the officer said. "Has he gone to call for help?"

"No, he's right--well, he was here a second ago." Why did Jake leave, right when the police car came? "Jake?" she called. "Jake?" But she couldn't see him, and if he heard her call, she couldn't hear him answer. "Officer, this isn't like Jake to leave like this. He's a good boy; he'd stay and help me, I know he would."

"Ma'am, do you have your license with you?" the officer asked.

"Yes, just a minute," Rose said. She reached back into her car, picked up her purse off the floor, and poked through it until she found her driver's license. "Here," she said, handing it to the officer.

"Mrs. Hathaway," he said, reading her license, "do you have some relative or friend I should call? I don't think you're going to be able to drive that car home today."

"Yes, officer; you need to call Lynnette Mayes; her number is 555-6378."

The police officer went back to his car to call Lynnette, and after a minute or so he came back with a clipboard and started looking around Rose's car, making notes with his pen. Since he didn't seem inclined to talk much, Rose looked around for Jake, and called his name. Jake still didn't answer; it was like he'd disappeared or something. Maybe he did get hurt; maybe he got a bump on the head, and now he was wandering around lost.

"Officer," she said, "I think maybe Jake was hurt; maybe that's why he's wandered off. Do you think you could go look for him?"

"Mrs. Hathaway, I think the best thing to do would be to call for help on that one. We'll get some people who are real good at tracking; I'm sure they'll find him." He went back to his car, and Rose watched him pick up his radio.

Now that didn't make much sense. Jake was out there, probably in those woods, wandering around with that bump on his head. He might have fallen in a creek somewhere; he could drown, or trip and fall, or almost anything. There were probably snakes out there, and Jake never did spend much time in the woods; he wouldn't know what to look for, even if he were in any condition to remember what kind of snakes might be dangerous. Someone had to go look for him, and all that policeman wanted to do was to go and talk on his radio.

Rose stepped down a small embankment from the road, trying hard to keep her balance in a pair of short heels that didn't want to stay wherever she put them; there were so many rocks and the slope wasn't the least bit smooth or even, and it seemed that her feet wouldn't stay put, anywhere. It took her over a minute to go maybe fifteen feet, but she got down the hill without falling and stood looking into the woods. She didn't see any sign of Jake, but somebody had to make the effort to find him.

Where would Jake have gone when he didn't know which way to go? Rose didn't see anything that told her one direction was better than another, so she walked straight ahead, stepping into a patch of moss beside a tree. Her heel poked through the moss and she started to sit down, right there in the woods. She tried to grab for the tree so she wouldn't fall completely down, but the turning motion twisted her foot in the moss and lifted her heel out just enough that her toe slipped completely out from under her. The next thing she knew, her shoulder banged into the tree, and Rose found herself sitting on a bed of moss, her stocking pushed into the mud where her shoe had torn the moss, and the shoe, covered with mud, slung off her foot and into a pile of leaves. She felt a dampness seeping up into her dress, coming up from the ground. The tree beside her had a vine growing up its trunk, one that was big enough for her to grab onto, so she pulled on the vine and managed to stand up. She had to keep going; she had to do something to find Jake since nobody else seemed to care, not even a little.

"Jake?" Would he even know his name, with that bump on his head affecting his mind? "Jake?" Jake didn't answer.

Her shoe was an inch or so out of reach, so Rose closed her eyes and put her bare foot on another patch of moss, which didn't slide out from under her this time, even though it did feel so wet and cold. She reached down and picked up her shoe, and stepped back to the tree where she grabbed the vine again for balance while she put her shoe back on. The mud on the shoe felt cold and slippery, but it was really no worse than the moss, not unless you thought about it.

"Jake?" she called again. She heard footsteps coming down the hill behind her, and turned carefully to see who it was, still holding on to the vine, but it was only the police officer. Maybe he'd decided that he ought to be looking for Jake, after all.

"Mrs. Hathaway?" he said when he got down the hill. "Are you all right? You know you really should let us take care of finding your son."

"Well of course I'm all right," Rose said. "I didn't think you were going to do anything about Jake; you didn't seem to be real interested in him."

"We'll find him, ma'am; you leave that to us." He looked up into the tree. "Mrs. Hathaway, that vine you're holding is poison ivy; you better get to the doctor when you get back to town."

Go to the doctor, indeed. Wasn't it enough that Lynnette and that other man, whoever he was, had made her go see Dr. Weathers once already today? "I'll remember that, officer." Yes, she would. But first things first; she had to keep looking for Jake.

"Mrs. Hathaway, I think you'd better come back up to my car," the police officer said. He took her arm and pulled her out of the woods. Now that was enough to prove that he didn't care about finding Jake, who would probably wander around for days, not knowing who he was. But the grip on her arm was too strong for her to pull away.

They had just made the climb back up to the road when Bill's Plymouth pulled up behind the police car. Lynnette and the man who wasn't either Jake or Bill got out. He was still wearing Bill's clothes, too; that was such an awful thing for him to do.

"Rose, are you hurt?" he said, rushing up to her. Lynnette walked around to the tree, looking at Rose's car and shaking her head.

"I don't know what concern it is of yours," Rose said. "I don't even know you." He'd put his hand on her shoulder, and Rose picked his hand up with just her thumb and a finger, and pushed it away.

The man in Bill's clothes stepped back a little, looking at her like she'd been mean to him. Well, he asked for it; he had no business being here. But that didn't seem to matter to him.

"Officer," he said, "I'm her husband, Bill Hathaway--"

"Liar!" Rose said.

The man who was not Bill took a deep breath and reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Rose wanted to curse herself; if he was wearing Bill's clothes, he'd certainly have Bill's driver's license. She should have shredded that long ago. And now it was too late; he was showing it to the police officer.

"Sir, my wife has been taking anti-depressant drugs for the past few weeks, and she hasn't been herself. She shouldn't be driving, and I thought I'd hidden her keys well enough. I guess I was wrong."

"I see," the officer said. "She claims her son Jake was riding with her, but he seems to have disappeared. Do you know if he was with Mrs. Hathaway this afternoon?"

The man Rose used to think was Jake closed his eyes. "No, he wasn't."

Well, that was about enough. "Officer," Rose said, "this man has been trying to fool me into thinking he's my husband; now, don't let him fool you, too. My husband has been dead for a little more than a year. I don't know this man."

Lynnette had to open her mouth. "Officer, my sister is confused, like Bill says. Jake Hathaway died last year. You can call up Burns Funeral Home and check; that's where we had his services."

The police officer sighed. "No, that won't be necessary. I remember now. Jake Hathaway--it was suicide, wasn't it? Up on the battlefield, by one of the cannons?"

That finished it. This police officer would never believe Rose now. She looked off into the woods by the road; if Jake was really back there, lost, how would he ever get home again? If it was up to this group, no one was going to go looking for him, that much was obvious.

The man with Bill's driver's license nodded his head. "Yes sir, that's right." He paused to take a deep breath. "Look, I think the best thing would be to get Rose home so she can rest. Is there any way we can wrap this up real quick?"

The officer nodded. "Yes, I've got your names and your address so I can get hold of you later if I need to. You folks go on back home, and I'll take care of getting her car towed back into town. Is there some place you want to have a look at it?"

"No, I haven't needed a body shop in years."

"All right; I'll send it to King's, up on First Street. More than likely an insurance appraisal is all you'll need; I don't think this car will ever be fit to drive again."

"Thank you, sir; I appreciate your taking care of the car." He turned to Rose and tried to take her arm as the police officer walked back to his car. "Come on, Rose; let's get in my car and go on home."

Rose shook her head and pulled her arm free from that man's hand; this had gone far enough for her tastes. "I'm not going anywhere with you. You've been trying to fool me into thinking you're part of my family, but now I'm on to you. You can go and find yourself some other old woman to cozy up to." She opened her purse and looked inside. "Now I know I got keys to Bill's car; I can drive myself home." But her keys weren't in her purse, no matter how far down she looked; where could they be? Well of course; they were probably still in her car. She turned and walked back to where her car sat squashed up against the tree and looked in and, sure enough, there they were, still in the dashboard. She squeezed in the half-open door and, stretching as best she could, was able to reach her keys and pull them out. The police officer didn't pay her any attention, but just stood in front of her car, looking at it and writing on his clipboard.

By the time Rose got back over to Bill's car, Lynnette was up talking to that bad man. She looked at Rose and said, "Rose, I'm going to drive you home. Bill says he'll try to get a ride back to town with the policeman, or maybe the tow truck."

Rose shook her head. "If that don't beat all! I don't care how he gets home or whose home he goes to, as long as it isn't mine. And, Lynnette, if you want to make yourself useful, you go out in those woods and find Jake. I'm sure he's lost out there; I think he hit his head in the car and he doesn't know what is going on."

Lynnette pressed her lips together for an instant, then said, "Rose, you get in the car. On the passenger side."

The man who wasn't Jake's father said, "Rose, I'll have the police start a search. All right?"

Rose looked at him. Did he really expect her to believe that? "Yes. You do that," she said. She stood by Bill's car and watched him until he walked back to the police officer, and watched him talk and point at the woods. When she saw the police officer nod his head and look around towards the woods and point, she walked around the car to the passenger side and opened the door. "All right, Lynnette; let's go."

Lynnette didn't even wait until she had Bill's car turned around back toward town before she started in. "Rose, you are a damned mess, and that's the truth. Twice in one day you got the police out after you; it's a miracle it isn't three because when you left the house this time you left it wide open again, and it's another miracle that didn't give Bill a heart attack! You even forgot to set that stupid alarm system that runs your life; you just walk right out, all by yourself, and disappear to God knows where."

"I wasn't by myself. You don't have to believe me, and I know better than to expect you to, but I was with Jake until that police officer showed up."

Lynnette leaned forward and rested her head on the steering wheel for an instant. It was a wonder she didn't run off the road, driving and not watching where she was going. "Good Lord, Rose," she said when she sat up again. "Can't you understand that Jake is dead? He wasn't at your house today, he didn't ride out here with you, and he's not out there lost in those woods!"

Really, now; Lynnette seemed to think that she knew everything! "Well, now, how would you know all that?" Rose asked. "I don't remember you being around to see any of these things."

Lynnette shook her head. "I don't know how Bill puts up with you. I keep telling him that he needs to have you put away, because if he doesn't you're going to drive him over the edge, same as you did with Jake. You kept Jake captive in that old house for thirty-four years, and now that Bill's retired you got him cornered there, too. But he doesn't listen to me much better than you do."

Well, Lynnette was going too far this time. "I don't need to be put away, because there's nothing wrong with my mind. I'm glad you're telling me this, Lynnette, because as much as we argue I still thought I could count on you to back me up, especially with this crazy man coming in and trying to make me think he's my husband, when I know my Bill is dead. But now I know it's just me and Jake. I do hope that police officer finds him, unless Jake comes to his senses and finds his own way home."

"No, there ain't nothing wrong with your mind," Lynnette said. "There can't be anything wrong with something that's not even there! This past year, about the only thing you've been using your head for is storing walnuts. I guess that must be why Bill keeps you around, so he'll have plenty of walnuts to feed to the squirrels this winter."

Rose didn't know what to say to that; she'd never seen Lynnette so mad or so plain old mean. They rode home in silence, Rose worrying about Jake out in the woods and Lynnette thinking about--well, there was no telling what was in her head today. She sure acted like she had a few walnuts of her own up there.

When they got back to Rose's house, Lynnette parked Bill's car square in the middle of the carport, like there was only going to be one car to park there from now on. They got out and Lynnette slammed her door, hard; the whole car rocked from the force. "Now Rose," she said, "you go straight inside your house, and you wait there until Bill gets back. You hear me?"

Rose shrugged her shoulders and walked past Lynnette, right up the steps to the kitchen door. There was nothing she wanted to say, not to Lynnette, not now. As she searched through her purse for her keys she heard Lynnette mutter, "Jesus!" and stomp across the concrete toward her own house. Rose was still looking when she heard Lynnette's front door slam shut, so loud the whole neighborhood must have heard.

When she got inside the first thing Rose did was to drag a chair over to the door and shove it up under the doorknob, which still needed to be fixed. Well, she'd get Jake to do that as soon as he got home. She pushed the keys for her alarm code, 4-6-1-7, so she'd know if that man who was pretending to be Bill tried to get in.

On the kitchen table was a bottle of pills, which was probably the new medicine that Dr. Weathers wanted her to take. She picked up the bottle and opened it; thank goodness the drug store knew enough not to give her those ridiculous bottles nobody could ever open. The new pills were yellow this time; she took one out, closed the bottle and set it back on the table, in a different place so it would look right. Then she carried the pill between her fingertips and walked into the bathroom where she dropped the pill into the toilet and flushed it.

When she walked back out of the bathroom, the first thing Rose saw was Jake, standing in the doorway to the living room, wearing his old white sweatshirt with General Lee on the front. "Hi, Momma," he said. "I'm glad you're home."

"Oh, Jake!" She rushed over to her son and put her arms around him, and very soon she felt his arms resting on her shoulders, just the lightest touch it could be. She pulled her head back and looked up at him. "Jake, how did you get home? I thought you were lost, out in those woods by the car."

"I left, Momma; I'm sorry if I gave you a scare. But I got to thinking about how much I was talking in the car, and how you were watching me instead of the road so much, and I figured I was probably going to get in trouble for that. I know I shouldn't have done that, Momma. I'm sorry." Jake held Rose tighter in his arms, and nudged her head with his hand so that Rose found her head resting on Jake's chest. She knew she ought to be angry at Jake, and that she ought to scold him for leaving, but he was home and that was the only thing that seemed to have any importance at all. Just absolutely the only thing. It felt good, feeling his chest rise and fall, real good.

"Momma," Jake said, stroking her hair, "I'd like to go for a ride again. I promise not to talk so much this time."

"Now, Jake," she said, holding him tighter, "I'm awful tired after that last trip; I was out looking for you in the woods, and I'll probably catch my death of cold." But even as she said it, she felt calm, calm and rested, ready to do anything that might make her son happy. "Well, all right. Let me get my purse." Her backside still felt a little cold, but that was all right; she could turn up the heat in the car a little more.

Rose stepped back until she only held Jake's hands, cold hands, and looked at her son. It really was him. He wasn't dead like everyone kept saying; all they had to do was look at him, and they'd know. She let go of his hands and walked to the kitchen, and while she looked for her purse, Jake pulled the chair out from the door and put it back at the table. Together they walked out to Bill's car and got in, Rose on the driver's side and Jake in the middle beside her. Rose looked at her son and asked, "Jake, where would you like to go this time?"

Jake smiled at his mother. "I'd really like to try to get to the battlefield again. It looks to me like we'll have a nice sunset this evening, and there's a real good place to watch out by the cannons." He looked at his watch. "You think we still have time to get there?"

"Well of course we do." Rose smiled back at her son and started the car.