Surprise was evident in all the Kents' eyes when Rosy and Marigold walked arm-in-arm back to the house, but nobody said a word about it until after lunch, when Rosy was valiantly struggling with the dishes, and Sophie and Sylvia trying to give advice and hovering over her in an agony that she would break their mother's cherished New Moon plates. Marigold decided she'd seen enough of the domestic difficulties, and drew Murray outside. There, she filled him in on the bare bones of her talk with Rosy.

"I don't want to gossip," she finished, "But I did think you'd want to know that she is making an effort to be a—well, a better person, so that you all can encourage her and help her stay on track."

Murray drew in a deep breath. "Mari, you're a miracle worker. Thank you. It's been hard enough around here with all of us worrying about Uncle Perry. Having to deal with Rosy's hysterics was just making it ten times worse."

"You look so tired," Marigold said sympathetically. Fine lines were etched into the corners of his deep eyes and sensitive mouth, and his skin, always clear, was now close to translucent. She had the impulse to take his head in her lap and smooth away all the worry, but she mastered it before she did anything crazy and un-Lesley-like.

He heaved a great sigh and buried his hands in his pockets. "It's just so difficult," he murmured, almost more to himself than to Marigold. "Father wanted me to be the man of the house, but Sophie is keeping things together more than I. I feel utterly useless…that's almost worse than anything else. If I could just be doing something! But I'm just an aimless dreamer who's good for nothing."

"Nonsense," Marigold said sharply. "I won't have you saying such things about yourself. Your problem, Murray, is that you think very—very inward. You look at yourself, and what you can do, and how short you fall of your own expectations. If you'd look outward, you'd see what other people need, and how they can be helped, and you won't even think about yourself at all. You'll just do what needs to be done. You're not worthless, and there are heaps of things you can do, but as long as you only look at how short you fall of your perfect ideal, you'll never get anything done at all!"

He was gazing at her with respect. "How do you know so much?"

She blushed. "Well, Mickey's showed me a lot about how to live, but I didn't really apply it to myself until Aunt Edna shook me up a bit. I've been doing the same thing as you—wanting to help, but feeling like nothing I do is going to be good enough, and so not doing anything. But it's better to do something, even if it doesn't seem as important as we would like, than to just sit around and wish for a chance to do something grand and let all sorts of little opportunities to help others pass us by."

Murray smiled gently at her. "Thank you, Marigold." He bent down and dropped a kiss on her cheek, and then turned and went back inside.

Marigold stood for a few minutes, heedless of the biting cold wind. "He kissed me," she whispered, holding her hand to her cheek. "He kissed me!"


After that, Marigold was over at the Kents every morning to hear the latest news and do what she could to help. She was pleased to see that Murray had a new determined light in his eyes as he went about the daily chores, but confused by his manner toward her. He was perfectly friendly, but gave no indication that the kiss had meant anything at all to him. Marigold knew he wasn't like Charlie, but she did wish she knew what was going on inside his head.

Still, between keeping Rosy's spirits up, keeping Sylvia (who hadn't eaten much at all since the news came through) healthy, and joining forces with Sophie to keep Rosy from destroying the house in her new zeal, Marigold didn't have much time to worry about Murray.

One morning she had taken pity on Sophie and dragged Rosy out for a walk, under the pretence that "your cheeks are getting pale and you need fresh air, dear." Rosy, despite her improved attitude, still had a good deal of vanity. She immediately followed Marigold out. They walked all around the bush, and even wandered into New Moon's orchard. The grounds of New Moon were getting sadly neglected now, with Cousin Jimmy aging so much, but they were still lovely.

"I never really cared about nature," Rosy confessed. "I'd much rather go to the movies or go shopping, but I've always loved New Moon's orchard and Cousin Jimmy's garden. This place is…magic, somehow."

"It reminds me of Cloud of Spruce a bit," said Marigold, looking around with the eyes of one to whom 'home' will always be the loveliest spot on earth. "It's been loved…and has loved…been lived in…soaked up joy and sorrows and tears and laughter…and taken care of its inhabitants."

Rosy shivered. "I declare, Marigold Lesley, you talk just like Murray sometimes."

Marigold laughed. "I've always found magic wherever I could."

Rosy looked around the peaceful old farm wistfully. "For a few moments, I almost forgot about Dad—but even New Moon can't keep reality at bay forever."

Marigold put her arm around the smaller girl and gave her a quick hug. "We must just keep praying, dearest. God will take care of your father."

Rosy scowled. "If He doesn't, I'll never believe in Him again." She glanced sideways at Marigold, as if expecting her to be shocked, but Marigold just smiled sympathetically.

"Mari! Mari—Rosy! Come quick, oh come quick! Rosy! It's Uncle Perry—oh, hurry!"

Both girls turned hurriedly as Sophie came tearing down through the garden, dignity cast aside momentarily, golden hair streaming out behind her. Aunt Elizabeth, peering out the kitchen window, saw her and nearly had a heart attack, thinking for a moment that it was Juliet Murray's ghost.

Rosy turned white and would have fallen had it not been for Marigold's strong arm holding her up. "He's dead—oh Mari, he's dead—I know he is—I know it!"

"Hush!" Marigold ordered through numb lips. "We don't know anything yet."

Sophie drew to a stop before them, gasping for air. "Sophie…what news?" Marigold finally whispered, unable to bear the suspense a moment longer.

Sophie began to laugh and cry all at once. "He's going to get better—the doctors say he's going to make it! Oh Rosy, he's going to be just fine!"

Rosy trembled—shook—and then performed the most graceful and unrehearsed swoon of her life. Marigold caught her just before she hit the ground.

"Oh no—have I killed her?" gasped Sophie.

Marigold looked up, tears of joy standing in her eyes. "No, she's just fainted. Run and get some water, quick!"

As the older girl did as she was bid, Marigold knelt beside Rosy's still body and chafed her wrists, a prayer of thankfulness singing in her heart the whole while.


Once Rosy recovered enough to walk to Hope Fulfilled, the three girls hurried back. Sylvia had received the news over the telephone, Sophie explained, and was standing by to hear more details. She hadn't waited to hear anything more; just bolted to find them as soon as soon as she'd heard that Uncle Perry was going to live. Murray had left too, but they didn't know where he had gone.

Sylvia was standing in the kitchen, one hand on the 'phone, when they walked in. She embraced the still-pale Rosy tremulously, silver tears shimmering in her eyes.

"What details?" Marigold demanded, not bothering to be polite. Sophie helped Rosy sit down at the wooden table as Sylvia answered.

"Last night he was just getting worse and worse. Aunt Ilse and Mother were there with him, but he was delirious and didn't even recognize them. Then, at the point when the doctors said one little thing would send him one way or the other, Mickey walked in with Charlie."

Rosy and Sophie gasped. Marigold simply smiled in delight. Trust Mickey to do the right thing at the right time!

"Charlie went over to Uncle Perry's bedside and said 'I'm sorry.' Apparently, that was all it took. Uncle Perry gave a little sigh, and his fever broke. He's been sleeping peacefully ever since, and the doctors say he should recover completely!"

Rosy buried her head in her arms and sobbed quietly. "How did Mickey find Charlie?" Sophie asked. "I thought he'd left on that ship."

Sylvia smiled proudly. "As soon as he heard about Charlie being missing, he went to Montreal. He knows the streets and back alleys better than Dad, and he knows a lot of the sailors there. He knew he'd have a better chance of finding Charlie. He searched day and night, and once he found him, he made him go to the hospital. Charlie was too ashamed to see his father, but Mickey wouldn't let up until he agreed."

Sophie was quiet for a moment, then smiled. "Sister, if my David weren't so wonderful, I'd envy you your sweetheart."

Sylvia blushed, but otherwise made no comment. In her eyes a proud light was shining. Marigold marveled at how she seemed to have grown from a dreamy, timid girl into a stately woman overnight.

Something about the happy scene pierced at her heart, and she turned and quietly slipped outside. She left the yard and wandered about Lofty John's bush for a little while, wondering at her sudden feelings of wistfulness. Was it simply because Rosy had her father back and she, Marigold, would never see hers? Or did it have to do with Sylvia's pride in Mickey? If she was honest with herself, Marigold had to admit that she envied her friend. Not that she was in love with Mickey, but she would so have loved to have someone to be proud in, someone to love and to love her in return, someone she could really respect and admire. She sighed.

"Oh well," she said. "Even if I never meet anyone like that, I'll have my work. I can be a happy, contented, respected woman, even if I never marry."

"Have you heard the news?" asked a male voice nearby.

Marigold turned to see Murray seated on a mossy stone, staring moodily at his long, white hands.

"I didn't see you there!" she laughed. "Yes, we heard. Isn't it wonderful?"

"Yes," he said emphatically.

Marigold surveyed him curiously. "Then why are you hidden away here, looking as though you've lost your best friend?"

"I've been thinking," he said. "When Sylvia told me about what Mickey did—how he put aside his own feelings and did that for the Millers—I was thoroughly ashamed. Mari, what have I ever done in my life like that? How can I ever expect to win—anyone's—heart, or be worthy of even attempting it, if I live my whole life shrinking away from unpleasantness and responsibility? I'll be seventeen in a few weeks, and I'm still a child in many ways."

Mari sat down next to him. "Murray, you think too much. You remember what we talked about a few days ago?" That conversation was blazoned in her memory because of the kiss that had followed it, but she wasn't sure if it had meant as much to him.

He nodded. "About not thinking so inward and focusing on others instead of myself?"

"Exactly." Marigold wondered if she was blushing, but forged ahead anyway. She couldn't believe she was giving advice to anyone, especially polished, poised Murray Kent, but he really seemed interested in what she had to say. She couldn't help but wonder if there were a particular girl whose heart he wanted to win, or if he was just using that as an example. If she was honest with herself, she would have to admit that she would happily give him her heart. Still, she wanted a sweetheart who respected himself as much as she respected him, and right now, Murray was not that man.

She continued speaking. "Murray, you are kind and considerate, and always looking out for others. I'll never forget how you came to my rescue at the Christmas dance, and how you defended my honor on New Year's, and you've been such a wonderful, encouraging friend ever since. You truly care about people, and you have great insight into their souls. You just don't have much experience translating that caring into actions. You are a good person. You just—don't always know how to show it."

Murray was silent for a long moment. Then he heaved a great sigh. "Marigold, you are the wisest person I know." He picked up her hand and held it in his, sending a thrill down her spine. "There's something I very much want to say to you—but I can't, not yet. I have to learn to be less selfish, to put others before myself, to think of how I can be of use instead of all the ways I can't be, before I can say this."

"I can wait," Marigold said demurely, her very soul thrilling at the hidden meaning in his deep eyes.

They smiled shyly at each other before getting up and meandering back to the house.