"How long has he been this way?"

Rosemary glanced at Lee and then turned to face Dr. Simone Nelson once again as the couple began sharing their concerns. "Well, when Elizabeth died, he had a difficult time and would sometimes act out, which is understandable. It was such a terrible loss."

"But he was mostly a good boy. Generally, just quiet," Lee replied.

"That's right. Nothing particularly serious or surprising. But then we moved to Bellingham. It's been downhill since then," she told the psychiatrist who had been recommended by the family doctor in Bellingham after Jack began to lose weight. "He's been throwing things and refusing to eat and….he even tore up one of his schoolbooks – Tom Sawyer. Why would anyone have anything against Tom Sawyer? It's as if he has regressed to the behavior of a toddler – only even when he was a toddler, Jack did not act this way.

"And you say he is five?" the doctor asked, surprised.

"Yes."

"And he's reading Mark Twain?"

"Well…yes. Is that a problem?"

"No. It's just the reading level for that material is for a much older child."

Lee nodded. "Jack's mother was the teacher in our one-room schoolhouse. He picked up reading much earlier than most kids."

The doctor smiled and then made a note. "That's good to know. He sounds like an intelligent little boy."

"He is," Rosemary said. "…very - which is why this doesn't make sense. He's such a smart little boy and he knows that Lee and I miss Elizabeth as well. Why would he act out against us?"

The doctor looked up from her writing. "There is intellectual intelligence, and then there is understanding. At five years old, he is naturally emotionally immature. He has suffered a lot of loss, and while he understands some things on an intellectual basis – say, for instance, that Tom Sawyer was an orphan who went to live with an aunt…"

Rosemary and Lee looked at one another with realization.

"As a five-year-old child, he doesn't have the emotional framework to make sense of the rest, so he's acting out. And you say this began after he moved away from his home in Hope Valley?"

"Yes," Rosemary replied. "But since late November, it's gotten worse. We thought he'd be happy that his adoption was going through, but he's been withdrawn, not eating well, avoiding us…."

"Avoiding me," Lee chimed in. "More me than Rosie. I don't think he wants me to be his father."

"Has he stated this?"

"Well, no. He stays pretty shut down. I've tried to get him to open up. You know, I've taken him to baseball games, and I bought him one of those toy automobiles that is big enough for him to drive – pedals, of course…."

"And a pony," Rosemary replied.

"Yes. He has a pony that he hardly ever sees. I also rebuilt the treehouse that Lucas had made for him and even added on to it. He seemed to get worse after that, now that I think about it. He only stays in the part that Lucas made."

"And who is Lucas?"

"Lucas is his buddy….or was. He was mother's former fiancé," Rosemary replied.

"Was? Did he die too?"

"Heavens no. Elizabeth and Lucas were two weeks away from getting married when she was killed. Lucas disappeared around the same time."

"Disappeared?" the doctor said, raising her eyebrows.

"Yeah," Lee responded. "Ended up in New York. Although his family has recently reconnected with him, he disappeared again shortly after that – they're not sure why. He just left."

"I see. You don't suppose he had anything to do with her death, do you?" the doctor asked.

Rosemary's eyes widened. "Oh heavens, no! Lucas worshipped the ground she walked on. Elizabeth and Jack both! He was in such shock that he went into amnesia after that. Completely lost his memory about everyone, even himself, and boarded a train and started over."

"Fascinating! We call it dissociative fugue in clinical practice. But, that's a third major loss for Jack and completely explains his behavior," the doctor replied, jotting down a few notes. After a few minutes, she set the notepad down. "I believe your son is grieving but doesn't know how to express his grief. There's a lot he doesn't understand, but he can't put that into words, so he's acting out. There are some therapies that we can try to get him to open up, with your permission. I would like to see him if you don't mind."

"Therapies?" Rosemary asked. "It's nothing that would hurt him?"

"No. Not at all. We use the arts, cognitive therapy, anything to get him talking. Are you amenable?"

"Yes! Anything to help him," Lee replied.

The doctor nodded. "How does Tuesday sound?"

"We will have him here!" The Coulters said in unison.

Abigail Gowen walked into her diner on Maple Street in Union City, having finished a grocery run just in time for the lunch hour. The diner, a wedding gift from her new husband, was a godsend given her sudden abundance of time after her adopted son, Cody, went off to college. Henry somehow knew she'd need to keep busy – and purchased the old Union City Café for her, which was going out of business. Now called Abigail's Union City Café, it was a venture they ran together, though Abigail took the lead. The place was usually quite busy since she took over the helm – and there was no time busier than lunch hour.

"You're back!" the hostess, Judith Graves, stated, walking up to her employer with a note in her hand. "Mr. Fairweather from Pendrick Farming called concerning your request for produce delivery. He should be able to accommodate."

"Great. Did you tell Henry?"

"Mr. Gowen has been busy with meetings this morning, but I put a note on his desk."

"Very good. That's good news."

Abigail walked a little further into the room and looked over the counter toward the salt-and-pepper-haired man who seemed to be lollygagging with a magazine in hand. A few feet away from him, a teenage girl was chatting with her best friend, who sat on one of the stools. She frowned in consternation.

"Adrian, will you check on table two? I believe they're out of coffee. And Nancy, make sure Mrs. Wilson's eggs are cooked over-easy this time. We don't want to have a repeat from last time."

"Yes, ma'am," a startled Nancy replied before going back to the fry cook. Adrian seemed annoyed his sports article had been interrupted but did as he was told. Abigail rolled her eyes.

Seeing the place was full, Mrs. Gowen did as she usually did and decided to pitch in. Grabbing an apron, she picked up a notepad and scanned the room, looking to see whose order hadn't been taken. That's when she saw him. Her eyes widened, and she immediately set the notepad back down and ran to the back to Henry's office to get her husband.

When he left New Orleans, Lucas had absolutely no idea where he would go, so he just started driving. North and then West he went along sometimes treacherous roads until he finally had finally reached the Yellowstone Trail. Established in 1912, the trail was the first transcontinental road to go from Plymouth, Massachusetts, to Seattle. From it, one could take a number of off-roads, including one that led to Alberta – the land that seemed to draw Bouchard to it like a magnet – or perhaps, he would wonder later, it was something else that drew him. Perhaps Elizabeth.

In an effort to forget about Tilly, Lucas made a conscious decision to try to remember his late fiancée – more of what he'd experienced with her, more of how he felt. It seemed at the time the best thing he could do to let go of the pain of losing Otillia to that fiend was to focus on something else – something strong, like the love he was said to have for Elizabeth Thornton. It was better than disappearing into a hole, he supposed. And so, to Alberta, he went, and from there to Union City. It was the first stop on his way to Hope Valley and the place he remembered taking Elizabeth on their first date (though it wasn't called a date at the time). Perhaps here is where his healing could begin.

Staring blankly at the menu, the young man considered with some apprehension going across the street and checking into the Union City Motel by himself. Would he remember their time there? Would he feel her presence? Just as he was contemplating this, a voice broke through his thoughts.

"Lucas?"

The soft, gravelly tones were unmistakably those of his friend Henry, and Bouchard's tired eyes lit up with recognition. He turned toward the man and smiled as he saw both Gowens standing beside him with looks of concern.

"Henry. Abigail."

Relief flooded over Lucas's friends' faces as they realized he knew them, and the pair immediately joined him at his table without even asking.

"It is you! We've all been so worried," Abigail stated, reaching for his arm.

"Worried?"

"Bill told us you showed up in New Orleans, but then you disappeared again. Nobody knew what had become of you," Henry explained.

Lucas shook his head. "People needn't worry. I'm fine."

"Yeah. Well, you always say that," Gowen said. "Usually when you're takin' it on the chin about something. How long you in town?"

"Just passing through. Was just going to check into the Union City Hotel after I have a bite to eat."

"Nonsense! You'll stay with us," Abigail replied.

"I…I couldn't."

"Of course, you can," Abigail agreed. "You can use Cody's room. He is away for his first semester, so it's open."

"'No' is not an option, Lucas," Henry added. "As long as you're here, you'll stay with us."

Lucas glanced at Henry whose expression told him that he wasn't going to relent, then bowed his head. "That's very kind of you. Thank you."

"After you eat, we'll drive on over and get you settled," Gowen responded, patting Lucas on the shoulder. "It's good to see you, Lucas."

Bouchard nodded. "Likewise, Henry," he said truthfully, feeling a little more connected to who he was through his familiar friend.

Tilly hadn't been back in Dashma for even a day before she was pulled back into the busyness of being a royal. Beginning her morning with a Ladies Auxiliary meeting, she and her mother traveled to an orphanage and then spent an hour at the convalescence home visiting the men who had taken up a permanent residence there since the war. Tilly's heart always had gone out to these men, but even more so since her experience with Lucas. The things trauma could do to a person were astounding. She hoped that he was okay.

After lunch on the grounds, her entourage made its way across town to a very exclusive boutique that had already been put on alert to set all work aside to prepare for the Princesses' wedding. Tilly dreaded the meeting but did as she was told, telling herself that it was necessary for the good of her people that she do this. Her heart, however, wasn't at all convinced.

"We would like something flouncy…," her mother explained.

"Flouncy?" the seamstress asked.

"Flouncy, fluttery…something airy, to um, hide any changes in Tilly's figure."

The woman wrote down a few notes as Tilly began feeling uneasy. "We have a very nice white silk taffeta and chiffon imported from China in stock, perhaps something with poof sleeves?"

"Yes! Poof sleeves would be lovely – only we'd prefer the dress be in creme, not white."

"But white is traditional for a first wedding, Your Majesty. It is symbolic of the purity…."

"Creme will do."

Tilly's heart sank. In her family's eyes, she guessed she'd always be considered tainted.

"I have just the thing!"

A few minutes later, the boutique owner returned with a mound of crème colored fabric. Tilly felt ill when she tried it on, but somehow, it seemed fitting to be married in such a monstrosity for her wedding to Michael Melrose.

Later that evening, Lucas sat with a teacup in hand next to the Gowen's fireplace, staring into the fire. Henry had taken him to the house after lunch and Bouchard had immediately laid down for a nap. He had no idea how exhausted he felt from his journey, though he suspected that it was from more than just the physical travel and was mostly emotional. Still, he knew he needed to stabilize his mind. He did not wish to spend his life running from problems and unable to cope with reality, so he resolved to face them head-on.

"When I heard about Elizabeth. I was devastated," Abigail said softly, sitting down on the settee next to her husband. "She was one of the best friends I have ever had. She would speak of you often in our telephone calls and in letters and of the great love the two of you had. Lucas, I can't imagine what you've been going through and how you're feeling."

Bouchard took a sip from his cup, wishing at that moment it was something a little stronger, and stared at the floor. "I'm afraid there's not much to tell on that front," he said. "For the first four months after her death, I couldn't remember her at all – of course, I couldn't even remember my own name or who I was. But after…well, I confess my feelings are not where I believe they need to be."

"What do you mean?" Henry asked.

Lucas looked at his friend for a long time, then shrugged. "I still don't remember everything about Elizabeth, which is why I think I'm here. I feel as if I need to reconnect with her, to make peace with her, before I can move forward. But as of this moment, I feel nothing for her save for the sadness that comes from hearing one has perished too soon. I don't….I don't remember the love I'm told we felt."

"Oh, my," Abigail stated.

"Shocking, I'm sure," Bouchard responded with a sardonic smile. "I guess that doesn't make me much of a fiancé that I would forget that."

Elizabeth's friend shook her head. "No, it's not that at all. Grief comes in stages, and confronting the grief we experience can sometimes be as devastating as the initial loss. You're just not ready yet, and that's okay. We all face things at our own pace."

"It took me nine years," Henry said. "Nine years to face my part in the mining disaster and to grieve over those men and my role in their deaths."

"Henry, you didn't…."

"I know I didn't directly cause it. I tried to stop it even. But I still felt responsible. False responsibility or not, it still felt real, and it took a long time to let that go." Gowen explained. "Lucas, do you feel somehow responsible for Elizabeth dying since it was Dixon who shot her?"

An expression crossed over Lucas's face that told his friend he was hitting the mark. Lucas simply nodded.

"Then you need to let that go," Gowen replied. "But I can tell you right now, you can't. At least not on your own."

"What do you mean?" Bouchard asked.

"I mean, I know you, Lucas. When you were in Hope Valley, we got to be pretty good friends, I think, and we share certain characteristics – an eye for business, for one. Stubborness…"

Lucas chuckled.

"And a tendency to want to fight our own battles. We both experienced childhoods where we were forced to be men before we even learned to be boys and going at things our own way and solving our own problems is just how we were formed. But there comes a time when that is not going to be enough. We each need help outside of ourselves."

Lucas looked confused. "Who can help me? I don't even know what's going on inside; how can another person?"

"Friends. Family. God." Gowen replied. "God knows you."

Lucas's jaw tightened. "God and I are not on speaking terms," he said, standing up from his seat and downing the rest of his tea. "But thanks for the suggestion." Lucas walked with his teacup toward the kitchen area. "I'm feeling a bit tired. If the two of you don't mind, I would like to retire."

Abigail reached out and took Lucas's teacup from his hand. "I will take care of that."

"Thank you," he responded. "And thank you for caring."

Bouchard disappeared up the stairs, and Henry and Abigail looked toward one another with worried expressions.

"I'll call Nathan and let them know he's here," Henry replied.

Abigail nodded. "Call Joseph, too."

"Good idea."

"Is that mail to be delivered from Princess Ottilia?"
"Yes sir," Arletta Beren, Tilly's personal secretary, said as she reached for her coat to drive the post into town on her afternoon errands.

"I'll take them," Michael said, reaching for the parcels and letters that Rasmussen had pulled together to be sent to various recipients as a part of official duties upon her return to Dashma. At once, his eyes lighted upon a letter tucked in with the rest that he suspected would be forthcoming - To Mrs. Jenny Grant, Montreal, Canada.

"Arletta, you know what His Majesty said. I will take care of the delivery. Now, along you go," Michael said, dismissing the offended secretary with a wave of the hand as he carried the mail to his office.

Since her return to Dashma, Tilly's morning sickness was still present but was largely under control as a result of a Dashmanian folk remedy, but her fatigue was debilitating, and she was forced to take frequent breaks to avoid syncope. This situation opened a door for Michael, as her fiancé, to offer his services to help her through her 'time of weakness' while playing assistant to her – despite Arletta's presence. With the king's full support, Melrose took what sounded like a casual request and turned it into something that made him all-controlling – giving him far too much influence into Tilly's daily affairs in the guise of looking out for "Tilly's best interests." What he was looking out for in reality, of course, was himself – and anything that might upset the plans he had of wedding Tilly and wheedling his way into the royal family. Making sure that the Bouchards and Ottilia had no contact was priority number one.

Arletta had known Tilly most of her life and was a trusted servant to the royals, but she was not one to buck the king. Nobody was. What the monarch wanted, the monarch usually got – at least in his own palace.

Lying down in her own bed in her family's ancestral home, Tilly stared at the ceiling. Somehow, home didn't feel like home anymore, and she didn't question why. Her home was some 5,000 miles away, at least as far as she knew. The last place she had heard Lucas had been was New Orleans, Louisiana, which was, despite the fact she'd never been there, the one place in the world she'd rather be. In desperate hope, she closed her eyes and prayed that somehow, before their baby would be delivered, she and Lucas would be reunited again.

Frustration was the word of the day in Montreal, as it had been several weeks of attempts to reach out to Tilly with no connection. The Bouchards had written, telephoned, and even sent a telegram, but to no avail. Either their messages were not getting to her at all, or, as Nathan suggested, they were, and she just wasn't responding.

"I refuse to believe that!" Jenny said, slamming a pen down on the table after writing another letter to the Princess. "We can't give up. This is for Lucas! And just like Mother said, if he were here, he would be fighting for her, and since he isn't, we must do it for him."

"I just don't want to see you disappointed. We don't know what really went on between the two of them," Nathan said. "I mean, we don't really know her that well, but we do know Lucas and the idea that he would leave without writing a letter…"

"Lucas isn't communicating with anyone," Helen said, stepping into the room. "I spoke with Abigail Gowen, and she says that her houseguest mostly keeps to himself and either stays in his room and reads or sleeps. She said it's a struggle to get him to come out to eat with them."

"He sounds depressed," Jenny said.

"Just like when he was a little boy," Helen said with a frown. "I was too self-absorbed at the time, but as I've considered the past and our relationship, I am afraid to say that how Lucas is behaving now is how he was as a child. And it occurs to me that he does not wish to bother anyone with his troubles, so he retreats into himself."

"That sounds about right," Nathan said. "He's a hard guy to figure out sometimes because he's so reserved. But you know who I think might be able to reach him?"

"Who's that?"

"Pastor Joseph. He always seems to have a way of getting people to open up," Nathan responded.

Jenny shook her head. "You're right. And he and Minnie just moved from St. Louis to Union City. Maybe we could call the Gowens and see if they can have Joseph stop by?"

"I think that's exactly what he needs, but I've already tried it," Henry said, speaking to Nathan on the phone. "Invited Lucas to go to Sunday services with us but he politely informed us that he was too tired. I believed him the first week, but given how he's been acting and the fact this is the third Sunday he's refused, well…I'd say he's acting just like I did and avoiding it."

"Sounds that way," Nathan said. "So, what if you have Joseph come to him?"

Gowen nodded. "That's an idea. There's a broken step out back that I've been meaning to fix. Maybe I could have him just happen to stop by in the next day or two."

"Sounds like it would work."

"Yeah. Well, I'll let you know how it goes."

"Thanks, Henry. We'll be waiting."

"Come on, Tilly. Try it on. Let me see it," Tilly's friend, Catherine, stated as they stood in Rasmussen's spacious closet, which adjoined her bedroom. Newly engaged herself, the Valdovian Princess was to be married in the Spring and was keen to see what her childhood friend's gown looked like so that there would be no repetition of design. She had traveled to Dashma to help Tilly with her wedding planning as she would be the chief attendant.

"Really, Katie, I'd really prefer…."

"What's preference got to do with it? It's only fair. You've seen me in my wedding gown as one of the attendants; your Maid of Honor should be allowed to see you in yours."

Tilly looked the woman in the eyes and shook her head, neither feeling like modeling the garment nor arguing with her friend. "Oh, alright. Just a moment."

A few minutes later, Ottilia stepped out of her bathroom wearing the gown, which she would later describe as 'hideous,' and it was all that Princess Catherine could do to school her expression into one of neutrality.

"Oh….it's…um….quite unique," Katie said. "Not at all like…"

"Something I would choose?" Tilly asked. "You're right. I didn't. The design was Mother's idea," she said with disgust. 'and the designer just happened to have something in stock.'

"Queen Charlotte did this to you? Whatever for?"

Tilly looked at her friend and briefly considered confiding her secret but changed her mind. If she were to pull off the idea of a premature birth later on, then nobody, including her best friend in high school, could know. "It really doesn't matter. What's done is done, and in three weeks, it will all be over."

"Don't sound so excited," Catherine replied. Tilly looked down at her dress. "Are you not happy to be marrying Michael?"

Without looking up, Ottilia turned away. "What woman would not be happy? This has been planned for us since we were children."

"Yes, but that doesn't answer the question. Are you happy?"

Rasmussen looked at her friend. "These past several months have brought me more happiness than I could ever explain – and more distress. But there comes a time when one must cast how one feels aside and do what's right. Marrying Michael is the right choice for Dashma. It will help solidify the kingdom and bring peace and…"

"But will it make you happy, Tilly?" she asked again, reaching her hand out and touching Tilly's arm.

Tilly smiled sadly. "It's what I must do. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to put on something a little more comfortable than this floofy frock and go have dinner. I'm famished."

Catherine nodded warily at her friend, whom she loved like a sister and would support no matter what. She just hoped that Tilly wasn't making a huge mistake.

"Lucas. Dinner."

Bouchard opened his eyes from the bedroom he had sequestered himself in since arriving at the Gowen's home almost a month ago. He had stayed there with the hope that being with friends would be a distraction from what he knew was happening in Europe – the papers having had made mention of the wedding several times in the weeks since he'd first read the news. Lucas tried to justify her actions to himself but he couldn't. Marry Michael Melrose? After telling him that the man meant nothing to her? How could he have been so wrong? But then again, he couldn't really be angry at her. He was the one who left. And so, he resigned himself to the notion that it wasn't meant to be and that perhaps he was meant to be alone.

Such knowledge, he thought, would help him to move on – but, instead, it only drove him deeper into despair to the point that he didn't want to move. He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to think about anything but sleep. He tried not to let his guests know how he was feeling, but the Gowens were no strangers to depression, and while they tried to respect his privacy, the call for Nathan was a sign to both that perhaps it was time to intervene.

"Lucas, did you hear me? Time for dinner," Abigail said, poking her head into the already open bedroom door and finding her friend sitting up on the edge of his bed.

"I'll be there in a moment," he said softly, yawning and running his hand across his head in an effort to tame his unruly locks.

Abigail nodded, and a few minutes later, Bouchard made his way down the stairs having stopped by the bathroom to splash some cold water over his face. Looking in the mirror, he shocked himself, as he was beginning to look unkempt, with hair and beard that needed trimming and dark blue circles under his eyes. Something needed to change. He was becoming a burden. Perhaps it was time to go.

Lucas was considering how he might tell his hosts he was moving on when he was surprised by another guest at their table.

"Joseph?"

Pastor Canfield stood when Lucas entered. His heart was immediately touched when he discerned the presence of a tortured soul. "Lucas, my friend!" Joseph walked to the young man and gave him a friendly hug and pat on the back. "I'm so happy to see you again."

Lucas looked at Henry and Abigail as if looking for answers as to why Canfield was there, and Henry immediately relayed the story about needing help with the steps.

"I…um, could have helped," Bouchard said. "I mean, it's not that I'm not happy to see him, but I'm sure Joseph is busy seeing how much larger Union City is than Hope Valley."

"Never too busy for a friend," Joseph said.

"Besides, we've seen you with a hammer," Henry added with a grin.

Lucas chuckled. "Well, I'm glad I could see you before I move along."

Abigail looked at Henry and then back to Lucas. "Move along?"

Lucas took his seat. "Yes. I've taken advantage of your hospitality long enough and afraid I might overstay my welcome."

"Nonsense," Henry said. "You can stay as long as you want."

"Absolutely," Abigail added. "Lucas, you're family to us. Our home is yours."

Bouchard's eyes raised toward her own, and the pitiful expression they held within nearly took Abigail's breath.

"That's kind of you to say," he replied. "But you and Henry have just married. You don't need an interloper in the midst of your marriage."

"Lucas, I…"

"Abigail." Henry stopped his wife from saying more. "Why don't we take a walk and let Lucas and the pastor talk."

Bouchard furrowed his brow in confusion and was about to respond when the Gowens abruptly left the home, leaving him dumbstruck. He looked at Joseph and opened his mouth, looking from the door to the pastor and back and forth once more until, finally, he closed his eyes. "You're not here for the stairs, are you?" he asked softly.

"No, sir. I'm not."

Lucas sighed. "They asked you to speak to me?"

"No," Joseph said. "They requested I pray for you because they know you're hurting. I volunteered to come over to see you and Henry asked me not to until today. They're worried about you, Lucas. So am I."

Bouchard shook his head. "Well, don't be. I…I'm okay."

"You don't look okay."

"Well, I am. I just…it's been a rough road the past few months, but I'm getting through, so while I appreciate your concern, truly, I'll be okay."

Joseph nodded. "Well, is there anything on your mind you want to share?"

Lucas looked at his friend, then shook his head. "No. Not really."

"Okay, fair enough. What do you want to talk about?"

Lucas shrugged. "Are Minnie, Angela, and Cooper doing well?"

Joseph smiled. "Yes. Angela's involved in the school for the blind and is already on the honor role. And Coop, well, he's looking forward to Spring."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. He wants to play baseball with Union City School but also says he'd like to maybe begin studying to be a teacher someday, just like Elizabeth – and you."

Lucas tilted his head. "Me? I only substitute taught once."

"Yes, but you made an impact. You made a huge impact on everyone's life, Lucas. You may not feel like it."

"Not all impacts are good, Joseph."

"Yours have been."

"Not true."

Canfield furrowed his brow.

"Look, you don't really know me, Joseph."

"I don't?"

"No. I…I mean, you've seen me. You've seen me act a certain way, but I…that's not really me…I suppose."

Joseph leaned forward thoughtfully. "Then who was it?"

Bouchard reached for the glass of water that was on the table. He didn't know why he felt compelled to speak with Joseph, but he did. Perhaps he was hoping to find some words to assure himself that he was not a lost cause. Whatever the case, he'd spent weeks doing nothing but contemplating his life and despite his protests otherwise, needed to air out some of what he was feeling.

"That was me trying to…trying to be someone I'm not."

"Which is?"

Lucas paused, his mind trying to put into words what his heart was feeling. "I….I don't know. I guess, a good man – a worthy man."

Joseph considered the statement for a moment, then leaned back. "And you think you're not a good man?"

"Apparently not," Lucas looked down, then shrugged, restlessly shuffling in his seat and rubbing his hands on his legs as he looked around the room. "Hey, look. It doesn't matter. What is, is. I can't change it. It's just the way things are. Let's not spoil this time by talking about me."

Canfield looked at his friend with concern. "Lucas. I want to talk about you. That's why I'm here. I want to help – not just as your pastor, but as your friend. I know you're hurting, and you've had a lot to deal with, so if there is any way I can help…"

"You can't," Bouchard responded, his eyes beginning to glisten. "Nobody can. I've been considering things that have gone on in my life and why things are the way they are and have concluded that I'm one of God's vessels 'fit for destruction.' You know the passage I'm speaking of?"

Joseph raised his eyebrows. "Romans 9."

"Yes. Jacob, have I loved. Esau have I hated," Lucas continued.

"You think you're Esau?"

"Yes, of course. Why else would God have rejected me from the time I was born? My entire life I've tried to live up to His standards, to be accepted by Him, but my life has been filled with calamity. I've been cursed from my birth and bring destruction everywhere I go. I'm just sorry it has taken me thirty-five years to realize it."

Normally, Canfield would have been taken aback by Lucas's line of thought, not only because of what the man was saying about God but also because Bouchard was one of the most honorable men he knew and had blessed so many others throughout his life. But in Lucas's case, on that day, he just listened. His friend was in trouble and the Lord was perhaps the only One that could reach out to him and help his need. The last thing Lucas needed to be doing was to shut God out.

"Lucas. God does not hate you. In fact, He loves you very much."

Bouchard shook his head. "With all due respect, Joseph. I like you very much. But please spare me the platitudes. They don't work here."

"It's no platitude, my friend. It's the truth."

Lucas stood. "I think this conversation is going nowhere."

"Lucas. Don't run away from what you're thinking. I know it's how you feel right now, and I'm not saying you're wrong to feel that way. What I am saying is that the conclusion is wrong, and I'd like to show you why because I think it will help you. Stay. Talk. Let me know why you think you're cursed by God. Tell me what you're thinking."

"I believe I'm beyond help, but thank you for caring," he said as he walked toward the stairwell, then disappeared out of sight.

Later that evening, a knock came upon Lucas's bedroom door just as he was setting his newly packed suitcase down on the floor. Bouchard turned his head toward the sound to see Henry Gowen's slender figure leaning against the doorframe.

"Got a minute?"

Lucas nodded and Henry walked into the room, motioning toward the bed for Lucas to sit down.

"Abigail and I talked with Joseph a bit after you went upstairs. I'm sorry if we overstepped."

Bouchard shook his head. "No apology required. You were just trying to help."

"Yeah, well…I could see how it might have felt like we sort of ambushed you with the Preacher."

"Joseph is a friend."

"That's true. And I can tell you he's been very helpful in helping me to move forward from my past. With Elizabeth's passing and how everything went down, I figured he'd be a good one to talk to."

Lucas pondered Henry's words, not easy to dismiss them as he remembered what all Gowen had gone through in recent years.

"Our situations are different, though."

"True. But that doesn't mean that some of the feelings aren't the same. I…When everything happened with the mine, I tried to shut everything out. You're not tryin'. Your mind did it for you, but now that things are returning, I would imagine there are a lot of questions as to what you could have done differently, perhaps some guilt that you didn't do enough to stop what happened with Elizabeth."

"Yes."

"Well, take it from one who knows. You shouldn't wait to try to deal with that stuff. You're not to blame any more than I was to blame for the miners – in fact, you're less to blame. I was still in charge, and perhaps I could have drawn attention to unsafe conditions some other way. I'll always have that wonder on my conscious – but there comes a time when you have to let it go and realize you did the best you knew to do at the time. You need to forgive yourself and make peace with all that."

"Make peace with the past so you can move forward with the future?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

"In terms of Elizabeth, I am ready to do that. I don't believe there was anything I could have done to stop it at this point, though I wish I could have. I am remembering more and more of what happened on that trip and believe I did the best I could do to protect her. It just wasn't enough. Seems like I'm never enough."

Henry tilted his head, sensing something deeper was going on with his friend. "Well, I just thought I'd stop by and tell you why we had Joseph come over. I was in as deep of a pit as you could get, and what he had to say was a tremendous help to me. It's the only thing that saved me.

You can't run from what is bothering you. It's always going to be there until you deal with it. And, well, if he helped me…perhaps he can help you as well. Give him a chance – before you move on, that is," Gowen said, looking down at Lucas's suitcase.

Bouchard turned and looked at his bag, then nodded. "Thank you, Henry. For everything."

The next morning, Tilly and Catherine sat at the breakfast table, reminiscing of simpler times. Tilly's appetite had grown exponentially now that she was eating for two and the other Princess was quite amazed at the amount of food she was ingesting.

"Those pancakes must be good," she smiled. "I would never be able to get away with eating that way and retain my figure."

Tilly simply smiled and suggested she 'live a little' and try some.

Moments later, the joy they were experiencing ended when Melrose walked into the room. Scanning the table, he raised a judgmental eyebrow but said nothing at that moment.

"Ottilia, we have an interview with the Times of London at one o'clock today in the drawing room, so you may wish to change. There will be a photographer present."

Tilly looked at the dress she was wearing, which was one of her favorites. It was a grey sweater dress with silver threads that ran through it, a scoop neckline, and flared sleeves at the bottom. "What is wrong with…."

"That," he said, pointing toward her bosom. "And you should watch what you eat," he said, reaching over and taking a piece of sausage from her plate. "We wouldn't want you becoming too fat to fit into your wedding dress." Taking a bite, he winked at Catherine, who was so shocked by what had transpired that she couldn't speak. Turning her head toward her friend, she saw Tilly looking down. She reached out to touch her arm.

"It's fine," Tilly said, giving her a soft but sad smile. "Let's discuss floral arrangements."

In Union City, Henry Gowen awakened with the expectation that his house guest would be joining them for breakfast before leaving town again but was surprised when he came downstairs and found not only Lucas but the entire Canfield clan sitting at his table.

"Good morning!" he said with a smile, then looked toward Lucas. "I figured you'd be about gone."

Lucas smiled. "I've decided to stay a little while longer. I called Joseph this morning, and he convinced me that the weather is much too chilly to be venturing to Hope Valley on my own and that I should just hunker down here – although I will try to find other accommodations. I've imposed upon you and Abigail enough."

"Nonsense," Abigail stated. "Our home is your home."

"Abigail's right," Henry said.

"Actually, I invited him to stay with us," Joseph said. "The parsonage for the new church has an attached work room that was once used as someone's living quarters. It has heat."

"Running water?" Henry asked.

Lucas grinned. "I've made do without running water before."

"Hmph," Gowen replied, taking his seat at the head of the table and reaching for a fork as Abigail brought him a plate. "Well, if you want to go from the lap of luxury…"

"We thought it might be more conducive toward counseling," Lucas replied, looking up at Henry. "I took seriously what you said. I want this behind me, and while it may not work, I'm willing to give it a try."

Henry nodded. "Good for you, Lucas. I'm glad to hear that. You'll still come see us, though, right?"

"Of course," Bouchard said. "You are my friends and always will be."

Henry and Abigail looked at one another and smiled. Things seemed to be looking up.

For the next several days, things progressed as expected. Lucas and Joseph spent a good amount of time together talking about Hope Valley, about life in general, and about a few of Lucas's struggles, but still, Canfield knew his friend was holding back. The approach he took was gentle, however, as he sensed any sort of pressure might cause Bouchard to retreat. And so it was after two weeks' time they made only a little progress. But Lucas's nerves seemed to be settling, so Joseph had hope. He even took time to drop a note to his family, letting them know that he wasn't yet ready to talk with them but that he was doing okay, and he hoped they were as well.

In Dashma, Tilly and Michael continued to butt heads as wedding plans were settled, and, given that there had been no word from North America to signal her rescue, she had all but resigned herself that her fate was sealed. Catherine came and went, always probing her friend about whether or not she was making the right decision. Once, she even did so in the presence of the King, who abruptly ended their conversation – but not without Gregori's notice. The Crown Prince and Tilly's Maid of Honor both threw one another a glance. They both knew something wasn't right. But with Tilly pressing forward, they each stayed in their place – willing to intervene the moment she gave any indication – which, of course, didn't come. And so, they resolved to support her – no matter what.

In Montreal, the Bouchards weren't so easy to give up. The latest batch of letters was returned to them as Return to Sender, showing signs of having been opened but without response. It was all very frustrating to the point that the women, in particular, were ready to go to extreme measures.

"We will just crash the wedding!"

"You'll do what? Helen!" Lucas's father stated, setting down his newspaper and glaring at his wife.

"Martin, we've tried everything within convention to get a message through to her to call us and received nothing. This woman is carrying a Bouchard grandchild, and it will be a cold day in…."

"Watch your tongue, woman!"

Helen clamped her mouth shut, and an uncomfortable silence filled the room.

Finally, Nathan spoke. "I know I've said this before, but what if she doesn't want to talk to us? Lucas took off on her without so much as a letter."

"Maybe not," Jenny said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"The note Lucas sent to us…he mentioned his letters to us."

"Yeah? So?"

"Letters…with an s."

Nathan squinted. "He said letters, as in plural?"

"Yes!" Jenny said, walking to the writing desk at the end of the room and opening up a drawer to retrieve the note. "Right here. He says, 'As I mentioned in my letters, I believed at the time it was best for everyone that I went away, and it was truly never my intention to hurt anyone.'"

"So, he did write more than one letter?" Helen replied. "One to you and one to Tilly, perhaps?"

"It's the only thing that makes sense," Jenny responded.

Nathan nodded. "You're right. The Lucas Bouchard I know wasn't someone who would have shown love and devotion in one moment and then just skipped town without a word – unless something happened to cause him to do it."

"Well, I suspect something happened," Martin responded. "But, I saw him with Otillia. We all did. They were very much in love."

"My bet is it was Melrose," Jenny stated. "He probably took Lucas's letter and is probably keeping Tilly from receiving our communications as well."

"That Serpent!" Helen exclaimed. All eyes turned toward her. "Well? He is like a serpent, isn't he?"

Martin grinned at his wife. "Somewhat, but more powerful than that. Melrose has a lot of influence, and a lot of people do his bidding. He's the kind of man that people are afraid to take on."

"Like a dragon," Nathan said. "Like a dragon guarding his lair."

Martin nodded. "Exactly."

"How do you slay a dragon?" Jenny asked.

"You look for his weaknesses," Martin responded. "Get around his defenses."

"But where is Melrose weak?" Nathan asked. "He has the support of the King, it would appear."

"But maybe not the king's son," Jenny replied. "Before we left, Tilly told me a lot about her relationship with her brother, Gregori. She said that the original engagement had been broken off after Gregori confronted Michael over his treatment of Tilly."

"So, Gregori would be a potential ally against Melrose?" Nathan asked.

Martin nodded. "It's worth a shot." Standing, the man walked to the same desk that Jenny had retrieved Lucas's letter from and he pulled out an address book.

"What are you doing, husband?" Helen asked.

"Looking up the address to Prince Gregori's Chief of Staff – Winslow Armitage. When I was in Europe, just prior to the war breaking out, he had asked if I might come to audit the royal books. The rebels were active even then, and it seems there were some transactions the Prince was concerned about that led him to believe that one of the Dukes was attempting some sort of coup. I agreed to visit, but that never came to fruition because the war began the very next week."

"And you didn't mention this until now after Mother and I have been wringing our hands trying to get a message to Tilly?" Jenny asked.

"I didn't think about it until now," he replied. "If Gregori stands with Tilly over Melrose, he very well may be the key."

"Indeed!" Helen responded. "Now come along, Jenny. We have packing to do."

"Wait, packing?" Martin asked, just as he picked up the phone to dial the number. "Is someone going on a trip?"

"Yes, darling. To Dashma. If we're going to stop this wedding, we can't do it from Montreal!"

Nathan looked at Jenny. "But, my work…."

Glancing at his pile of paperwork, Jenny rolled her eyes. "Take it with you."