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conscious of the night, the rungs of the rocker pressing against her back, the crickets. She ached to retreat from the necessity of confronting Covenant again. Possibilities of harm crowded the darkness. But she needed to understand her peril. When Dr. Berenford stopped, she bore the silence as long as she could, then, faintly, repeated her initial question.
    â€œWho is she?”
    The doctor sighed. His chair left a few splinters of agitation in the air. But he became completely still before he said, “His ex-wife. Joan.”
    Linden flinched. That piece of information gave a world of explanation to Covenant’s haggard, febrile appearance. But it was not enough. “Why did she come back? What’s wrong with her?”
    The older man began rocking again. “Now we’re back to where we were this afternoon. I can’t tell you. I can’t tell you why she came back because he told me in confidence. “
If
he’s right—” His voice trailed away, then resumed. “I can’t tell you what’s wrong with her because I don’t know.”
    She stared at his unseen face. “That’s why you got me into this.”
    â€œYes.” His reply sounded like a recognition of mortality.
    â€œThere are other doctors around. Or you could call in a specialist.” Her throat closed suddenly; she had to swallow heavily in order to say, “Why me?”
    â€œWell, I suppose—” Now his tone conveyed a wry smile. “I could say it’s because you’re well trained. But the fact is, I thought of you because you seem to fit. You and Covenant could talk to each other—if you gave yourselves a chance.”
    â€œI see.” In the silence, she was groaning, Is it that obvious? After everything I’ve done to hide it, make up for it, does it still show? To defend herself, she got to her feet. Old bitterness made her sound querulous. “I hope you like playing God.”
    He paused for a long moment before he replied quietly, “If that’s what I’m doing—no, I don’t. But I don’t look at it that way. I’m just in over my head. So I asked you for help.”
    Help, Linden snarled inwardly. Jesus Christ! But she did not speak her indignation aloud. Dr. Berenford had touched her again, placed his finger on the nerves which compelled her. Because she did not want to utter her weakness, or her anger, or her lack of choice, she moved past him to the outer door of the veranda. “Goodnight,” she said in a flat tone.
    â€œGoodnight, Linden.” He did not ask her what she was going to do. Perhaps he understood her. Or perhaps he had no courage.
    She got into her car and headed back toward Haven Farm.
    She drove slowly, trying to regain a sense of perspective. True, she had no choice now; but that was not because she was helpless. Rather it was because she had already made the choice—made it long ago, when she had decided to be a doctor. She had elected deliberately to be who she was now. If some of the implications of that choice gave her pain—well, there was pain everywhere. She deserved whatever pain she had to bear.
    She had not realized until she reached the dirt road that she had forgotten to ask Dr. Berenford about the old man.
    She could see lights from Covenant’s house. The building lay flickering against a line of dark trees like a gleam about to be swallowed by the woods and the night. The moon only confirmed this impression; its nearly-full light made the field a lake of silver, eldritch and fathomless, but could not touch the black trees, or the house which lay in their shadow. Linden shivered at the damp air, and drove with her hands tight on the wheel and her senses taut, as if she were approaching a crisis.
    Twenty yards from the house, she stopped, parked her car so that it stood in the open moonlight.
    Be true
.
    She did not know how.
    The approach of her headlights must have warned him.