“I accept no responsibility,” said Charles. “That part of my anatomy has a mind of its own.”

“Our Polish Pope says a man should not lust after his wife.”

“I haven’t been. I’ve been thinking about work,” Charles teased.

As the first snowflakes settled on the gabled roofs, they came together with a depth of passion and tenderness that never failed to overwhelm Charles. Then the alarm went off. The day began.

Michelle could hear Cathryn calling from far away, interrupting her dream; she and her father were crossing a field. Michelle tried to ignore the call but it came again. She felt a hand on her shoulder, and when she turned over, she looked up into Cathryn’s smiling face.

“Time to get up,” her stepmother said brightly.

Michelle took a deep breath and nodded her head, acknowledging that she was awake. She’d had a bad night, full of disturbing dreams which left her soaked with perspiration. She’d felt hot beneath the covers and cold out of them. Several times during the night she thought about going in to Charles. She would have if her father had been alone.

“My goodness, you look flushed,” said Cathryn, as she opened the drapes. She reached down and touched Michelle’s forehead. It felt hot.

“I think you have a fever again,” said Cathryn sympathetically. “Do you feel sick?”

“No,” said Michelle quickly. She didn’t want to be sick again. She did not want to stay home from school. She wanted to get up and make the orange juice, which had always been her job.

“We’d better take your temperature anyway,” said Cathryn, going into the connecting bath. She reappeared, alternately flicking and examining the thermometer. “It will only take a minute, then we’ll know for sure.” She stuck the thermometer into Michelle’s mouth. “Under the tongue. I’ll be back after I get the boys up.”

The door closed and Michelle pulled the thermometer from her mouth. Even in that short a time, the mercury had risen to ninety-nine.