From the tribune Catherine looked down at the stage, where Annie was singing in a décor of cardboard tombstones. Mary had curled her hair and made her the most beautiful opera costume. Her voice cracked with nervousness only once. It did not cut down on her performance. In fact, her pure, gently voice moved Catherine so profoundly that a tear rolled down her cheek. Suddenly she felt Father's hand slide over hers and she turned to face him.
He still looked pale and fragile, but his strength was increasing every day.
"You are thinking of your own father?" he asked her, "wishing he was here with us?"
She smiled.
"I'm glad you are here with us," she said.
On her left side Vincent pulled his arm around her waist. She could feel his pointy fingernails scrape ever so slightly over her red, satin evening gown. She laid her cheek on his shoulder and listened to his calm and low voice:
"I wonder when Devin will leave us. He seems so much at peace this time."
Vincent's foster brother stood opposite of them, watching the performance with Lena by his side.
"Soon, I suspect," Catherine whispered. "Devin has a restless heart."
For a moment she remained silent. Then she said:
"When he leaves, I wonder if Lena will join him. They have become fond of each other."
"Perhaps," Vincent replied, "and perhaps in time, she will be able to settle the restlessness within him."
Catherine's hair caressed his cheekbone as she pressed a kiss on his shoulder.
"Perhaps."