Things changed—for the better—after that. Alice no longer played her music at all hours—she didn't tease Trudy—and she didn't badger Greta. Without Alice crowing over her, the other girl came out of her shell and became even more delightful. Greta, shy? Greta, quiet? She was the life of the party—any party. Girls Juliet had never seen before began including her in outings and study dates.

And Alice didn't even look at Juliet—she was too afraid to. She was like a ghost, haunting the edges and corners of her room. Evelyn told them that she'd seen Alice asleep in one of the carrells in the library—apparently that was where she was spending all of her time. She didn't feel comfortable in her own room, and after news of what she had done spread around campus, no one else wanted to associate with her. Juliet shuddered. How dreadful it would be to have no place to go—to know you were not welcome anywhere!

It was Greta who brought the news that Alice would have a hearing before the Honor Court.

"She may be kicked out of school," Greta lamented. "Which means I'll have to go, too."

"You!" Juliet gaped. "Why, Greta, you haven't done anything wrong at all. Why should you have to go?"

"My mother and father," Greta said forlornly. "Oh, Juliet, they're the kind of people that believe twins shouldn't be separated at all. Wherever I go, Alice goes—and vice versa. She wanted to go to some school in Michigan—but I wanted to go to Guelph—and Father said he would only write one check to one university each month. Alice is used to getting her own way—but I held fast because I wanted to go here. Plus, Alice's grades at the high school weren't good enough to get in to the other school. So here we are—and if Alice gets booted we'll have to go home. I can't bear it! I love it here—and I love you girls."

Juliet gave a small shudder. How dreadful it would be if Mother and Father were like that, and didn't let her and Douglas live their own lives! When Trudy and Greta had gone out to a Dramatic Society event that night Juliet lagged behind and penned a short, eloquent letter to the Honor Board, pleading for Alice to remain in school. She set her case down very honestly and forthrightly, saying that she forgave Alice and that everyone deserved a second chance.

It must have worked, because after a few days Alice met Juliet tenatively on the path to the history building.

"Thank you," was all Alice said, and there was something in her eyes—desperation, perhaps, or shame—that made Juliet believe she meant it.

"I meant what I said, Alice," Juliet said. "You do deserve a second chance—no matter what I think of you. But don't for a moment think we're friends—I did this for Greta."

"You've saved me, Juliet," Alice said, her eyes pathetically runny and pink. "I'll never be able to thank you enough."

"Don't," said Juliet plainly. "It's a weight off of my own shoulders, too."

It really was. Juliet felt light and giddy to know that dear Greta would be staying in school. She sang to herself as she got ready for the Christmas dance—she had decided to let George Percy escort her. George was no threat. He was engaged to a girl back home in Montreal. They were going just as friends—and Juliet did not think either of them would be tempted to imagine they were anything but. Now with Blair King—who had also asked her—she wouldn't have been so sure. She'd politely declined him, so Blair was taking Trudy.

How rosy her cheeks were and how blue her eyes looked above her navy blue tafetta dress! How she loved the way it swished about her knees when she moved!

"You lucky thing," Trudy said, looking over her shoulder appreciatively. "You don't need a bit of makeup. I've plastered it on so thickly that I wouldn't be surprised if my face cracks when I smile. Greta, be a dear and don'tsay anything funny tonight."

"I'll restrict my remarks to politics and weather," Greta promised, tying the sash on her own lovely pink, silk dress. How pretty Greta was! She had a delicate, otherworldly prettiness, not like Alice's garish beauty. It sometimes seemed impossible to Juliet that they could even be sisters, much less twins.

"The weather has cooperated," Trudy remarked absently as she coated her lashes with more mascara. "There was supposed to be a terrible snowstorm last night—but it swooped south and hit the States instead. We haven't had any snow all winter—and I miss it—oh, Juliet! What a gorgeous necklace!"

Juliet had lifted a rope of sapphires from her jewel case and was fastening them around her neck. They were her Christmas present from Allan. She would see him—soon—when she went home for Christmas, but he'd wanted her to have them in time for the dance. "I know we're supposed to be saving for our future," he'd written, "But I saw this in a shop window and knew it was yours—or it should be—or it had been in another life. Juliet—only six more days until you're home! Wear that necklace when you see me, darling—I promise not to bother it while I'm kissing your sweet, white neck."

Dear Allan! How she missed him! So much so that she could almost feel his arms around her when she closed her eyes. Juliet was happier at school than she ever dreamed she'd be—but she was glad that it was only six more days until Christmas—six more days until she'd see Allan—six more days until she'd be going home!

* * *

But, as it turned out, it was not foreordained that Juliet should go home for Christmas that year.

The winter storm that they had all rejoiced in missing made a sudden turn to the north and dropped more than four feet of snow on the sleepy town. It stormed for four days straight. No flights came in to the Toronto airport, and none were going out. At first Juliet felt terribly lonely and homesick—Trudy had flown out the day before the storm hit and Alice and Greta had gone to stay with an aunt who lived in town. Juliet despaired at spending Christmas alone until Doug tramped through the snow to get her, bringing and extra pair of snowshoes along.

So Juliet spent Christmas with Doug and Bella. The little house glowed rosily and they were very contented and warm. Who cared how the wind shook the windows? Who cared about the ice that tapped against the roof. They were inside—they were safe—they had all they needed. If anything should happen, Dr. Carey was right next door.

They had a wonderful feast of roast goose and mince pie—they sang while Douglas played the piano—and opened Christmas presents. Juliet had a lovely seal coat from Bella and Doug. There was sweater from Trudy and a book, of course, from Greta. Even Alice had gotten her something—a brown silk hair ribbon. It would look simply terrible against Juliet's black silk curtain but perhaps she could give it to Bea when she saw her? On her blond curls it would look quite nice.

"I used to always long for adventure," Juliet said. "But after tonight I'm beginning to see why most people prefer not to have a fuss. I suppose that means I'm growing up—oh, what a wonderful, magical Christmas eve. Bella, your dinner was delicious. Bella? Bella!"

For Bella had gone very white and was leaning heavily against a chair.

"Douglas," she said in a quiet, frightened voice. "I think you had better run next door and fetch Dr. Carey."

They knew what it meant—Doug pressed his wife's hand and was out the door before they'd even had time to remind him to take his coat.

"Bella, are you frightened?" Juliet asked nervously, helping her to a chair. "You can tell me. I won't laugh."

"You'd better not!" Bella laughed weakly. "If you did I'd cast it up to you when you were having your own babies. No, I'm not scared."

The girls listened to the icy branches tapping against the window panes. Where was Doug? What was taking him so long? Occasionally Bella let out a soft, low moan.

"I am scared," she said after a long moment. "Oh, Juliet, I'm so terribly frightened! What if something happens to me? Oh—I wish my mother were here!"

Just when Juliet thought she would go mad the door opened and Doug and Dr. Carey burst in, bringing a whirl of snow with them. The doctor took one look at Bella and hustled her quickly upstairs.

It was a long, tense night. The twins huddled together under and afghan on the couch, too anxious to sleep. Douglas's face was very white. He looked to Juliet as he had when he was a boy, and had woken up from a bad dream.

"Just think," she whispered, as the clock struck eleven. "When morning comes, Doug, you'll be a father!"

But it was much sooner than that. Juliet dozed, falling fitfully in and out of sleep—she dreamed of a fairy baby, with purple eyes and pointed ears—she awoke suddenly at the stroke of midnight. No—the chimes of the clock hadn't woken her—there was a small, mewling sound coming from upstairs. Doug bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time, as Juliet pulled her knees to her chest and thrilled.

After a few moments, Doug came back down and smiled.

"Come see, Aunt Juliet," he smiled. "Come upstairs and meet my new daughter."

* * *

She was the most beautiful baby. Since the dawn of time people the world over were saying that their baby was the most beautiful—but this one really was. She had fine, soft, sugary brown curls and her mouth was in the shape of a little heart. She wasn't red and she didn't have the plucked look other babies had. When the little girl opened her eyes, Juliet gasped to see that they were a deep, violet blue.

"Violet eyes—and pointed ears!" Juliet gasped, stroking one full, downy cheek. "Why, she looks just like the baby in my dream! Can I hold her, Bella—please, may I?"

Bella deposited the baby in her outstretched arms, and Juliet, who had never especially liked children, felt something stir deep within her. Her eyes grew very soft and misty—perhaps she was looking to the future and seeing the sweet little babes that she would one day have—that she and Allan would have. Babies with her own dark hair and Allan's dear, freckled face. She pressed her own lips to her niece's forehead—not noticing as happy tears graced the little sleeping face.

"Born just as the clock struck midnight," said old Dr. Carey. "That's lucky. You'll get to pick which day will be her birthday—Christmas Eve or Day?"

They picked Christmas Eve. "Christmas Eve is ever so much more magical than Christmas Day," Juliet explained, and Bella agreed.

"And who wants to share a birthday with the baby Jesus?" Doug laughed, carressing his little daughter's hands adoringly. "That's a lot for a wee thing like my girl to live up to."

They decided to name her Emily Elizabeth—after the two grandmothers. "Emily Elizabeth Kent," Bella laughed. "Why, the names longer than she is! Oh, Doug, in the morning you must find a way to get to town and send word to Priest Pond—and New Moon! They will all want to know that they are grandparents at last."

Mother and Father—grandparents? Doug was a father! And Bella a mother! It was so strange—and yet so normal, at the same time. As if they had always, since the dawn of time, been parents to this ethereal, lovely child.

"I'll give her everything in the world that is good and protect her from everything that isn't," said Douglas rapturously, his eyes never leaving Emily Elizabeth's face. Juliet shivered. Why Doug looked like—he looked like Father! He was a Father! Juliet felt very small as the sands of time swirled around her. She was happier than she had ever been—and yet underneath the joy there was the sense that things were changing—that they were all growing up—that they could never go back to the way it once had been. She stared around the room and saw that they all felt it.

But then Juliet laughed. "It's Christmas!" she whispered exultantly. "Merry Christmas, little baby!"

Emily Elizabeth Kent screwed up her face and began to cry. And just as soon as it had come, the uncanny feeling was gone, and the purest kind of happiness took its place.