She held her hand up to shield her eyes, as she continued her tour of the yard behind Gull Cottage. With the view of the road and the ocean, the front of the house was always a crowded spot, but she delighted every time to be able to disappear into the somewhat over run garden tucked to the rear of the house.

"Hiding again?" the Captain smiled gently, seeing her perched on the swing hanging from a solid limb of an ancient oak tree. "Hardly hiding," she grinned looking up at him, "But I would admit to stalling. I have to get started on an article, and right now it feels as if my typewriter is the enemy."

"I wondered," she said, swiftly changing the subject, "what ever prompted you to hang a swing here? It's not like you had children of course." The Captain was ready to respond, but noticed it wasn't so much of a question as an observation, and she quickly lapsed into silence.

Swaying back and forth, she considered again, what was blocking her from work. Her problem with writers block was easier to excuse back in Philadelphia, but now, here in this quiet setting, she had to come to terms with the simple fact that her only likely excuse was her lack of imagination, "or perhaps just a lack of sticktuitiveness?" she murmured aloud.

"Sticktuitiveness?" he asked, "I do not believe I've heard the word before, but I hardly think you can make a case for yourself that you don't follow through on things. In fact, I'd have to say you have one of the strongest work ethics I've ever seen myself." "Truly?" her eyes shined up at him, "I can't tell you how much that means, really! Sometimes I feel so overwhelmed with everything, and especially now. . ." "Now?" he asked. Standing, she straightened her shirt and smiled, "Nothing serious just another something I have to figure out for the kids." Taking a few steps toward the house, she turned back to him, "And for the vote of confidence, thank you! I really appreciate it Captain."

Standing quietly in the sunshine, he paused in admiration of the way the light created a bright halo around her hair. Not trusting himself to speak at that particular moment, he merely nodded his head in thanks with what he hoped was a courtly gesture and watched her head through the back door and into the house. Wistfully, he took another peek as she rounded the corner toward the kitchen and was lost from view. Settling on the swing she had vacated, he left himself sway a bit and wonder how he was going to cope, "You couldn't have been born in my time?" he muttered, "I couldn't have been born in yours? This couldn't have occurred purely by accident, could it?"

Shaking his head, he stood and hearing the family in loud, lively discussion, he quickly dematerialized into the waiting house.