the dark； but desperately determined to get away before anyone discovered that she was alive； somehow sure that the 747 had been brought down because of her。 Terrified； in a state of shock； horrified by the carnage； lost in the wilds； she had preferred to risk death from starvation and exposure rather than be found by a rescue team and perhaps fall into the hands of her eerily powerful enemies。 Soon； by great good luck； she reached a ridge from which she was able to see； through the trees； the distant lights of the Loose Change Ranch。
Pushing aside her empty coffee cup； Barbara said； 'Mercy； where did you take this woman in Pueblo？ Do you remember the address？'
Holding the baking sheet half out of the oven to examine the cookies； Mercy said； 'She never told me an address； just directed me street to street until we got to the house。'
No doubt it was one that Rose had chosen at random； as it was unlikely that she knew anyone in Pueblo。
'Did you see her go inside？' Joe asked。
'I was going to wait until she unlocked the door and was inside。 But she thanked me； said God bless； and I should scoot back home。'
'Could you find the place again？' Barbara asked。
Deciding that the cookies needed an additional minute； Mercy slid the tray back into the oven； pulled off the mitten； and said； 'Sure。 Nice big house in a real nice neighbourhood。 But it wasn't Rachel's。 It belonged to her partner in the medical practice。 Did I say she was a doctor down in Pueblo？'
'But you didn't actually see her go into this place？' Joe asked。 He assumed that Rose waited until Mercy was out of sight； then walked away from the house and found transportation out of Pueblo。
Mercy's face was red and dewy from the oven heat。 Plucking two paper towels off a roll and blotting the sweat from her brow； she said； 'No。 Like I said； I dropped them off in front； and they went up the walk。'
'Them？'
'The poor sleepy little thing。 Such a dear。 She was the daughter of Rachel's partner。'
Startled； Barbara glanced at Joe； then leaned forward in her chair toward Mercy。 'There was a child？'
'Such a little angel； sleepy but not cranky at all。'
Joe flashed back to Mercy's mention of 'seat belts；' plural； and to other things she had said that suddenly required a more literal interpretation than he had given them。 'You mean Rose。 。 。 Rachel had a child with her？'
'Well； didn't I say？' Mercy looked puzzled； tossing the damp paper towel into a waste can。
'We didn't realize there was a child；' Barbara said。
'I told you；' Mercy said； perplexed by their confusion。 'Back a year ago； when the fella came around from your Board； I told him all about Rachel and the little girl； about Rachel being a witness。'
Looking at Joe； Barbara said； 'I didn't remember that。 I guess I did well even to remember this place at all。'
Joe's heart turned over； turned like a wheel long stilled on a rusted axle。
Unaware of the tremendous impact that her revelation had on Joe； Mercy opened the oven door to check the cookies once more。
'How old was the girl？' he asked。
'Oh； about four or five；' Mercy said。
Premonition weighed on Joe's eyes； and when he closed them； the darkness behind his lids swarmed with possibilities that he was terrified to consider。
'Can you。。。 can you describe her？'
Mercy said； 'She was just a little slip of a doll of a thing。 Cute as a button…but then they're all pretty darn cute at that age； aren't they？'
When Joe opened his eyes； Barbara was staring at him； and her eyes brimmed with pity for him。 She said； 'Careful； Joe。 It can't lead where you hope。'
Mercy placed the hot baking sheet full of finished cookies on a second wire rack。
Joe said； 'What colon was her hair？'
'She was a little blonde。'
He was moving around the table before he realized that he had risen from his chair。
Having picked up a spatula； Mercy was scooping the cookies off the cooler of the two baking sheets； transferring them to a large platter。
Joe went to her side。 'Mercy； what colour were this little girl's eyes？'
'Can't say I remember。'
'Try。'
'Blue； I guess；' she said； sliding the spatula under another cookie。
'You guess？'
'Well； she was blond。'
He surprised her by taking the spatula from her and putting it aside on the counter。 'Look at me； Mercy。 This is important。'
From the table； Barbara warned him again。 'Easy； Joe。 Easy。'
He knew that he should heed her warning。 Indifference was his only defence。 Indifference was his friend and his consolation。 Hope is a bird that always flies； the light that always dies； a stone that crushes when it can't be carried any farther。 Yet with a recklessness that frightened him； he felt himself shouldering that stone； stepping into the light； reaching toward those white wings。
'Mercy；' he said； 'not all blondes have blue eyes； do they？' Face to face with him； captured by his intensity； Mercy Ealing said； 'Well。。。 I guess they don't。'
'Some have green eyes； don't they？'
'Yes。'
'If you think about it； I'm sure you've even seen blondes with brown eyes。'
'Not many。'
'But some；' he said。
Premonition swelled in him again。 His heart was a Bucking horse now； iron…shod hooves kicking the stall boards of his ribs。
'This little girl；' he said； 'are you sure she had blue eyes？'
'No。 Not sure at all。'
'Could her eyes have been grey？'
'I don't know。'
'Think。 Try to remember。'
Mercy's eyes swam out of focus as memory pulled her vision to the past； but after a moment； she shook her head。 'I can't say they were grey； either。'
'Look at my eyes； Mercy。' She was looking。 He said； 'They're grey。' 'Yes。'
'An unusual shade of grey。' 'Yes。'
'With just the faintest touch of violet to them。'
'I see it；' she said。
'Could this girl 。 。 。 Mercy； could this child have had eyes like mine？'
She appeared to know what answer he needed to hear； even if she could not guess why。 Being a good…hearted woman； she wanted to please him。 At last； however； she said； 'I don't really know。 I can't say for sure。'
A sinking sensation overcame Joe； but his heart continued to knock hard enough to shake him。
Keeping his voice calm； he said； 'Picture the girl's face。' He put his hands on Mercy's shoulders。 'Close your eyes and try to see her again。'
She closed her eyes。
'On her left cheek；' Joe said。 'Beside her earlobe。 Only an inch in from her earlobe。 A small mole。'
Mercy's eyes twitched behind her smooth lids as she struggled to burnish her memory。
'It's more of a beauty mark than a mole；' Joe said。 'Not raised but flat。 Roughly the shape of a crescent moon。'
After a long hesitation； she said； 'She might have had a mark like that； but I can't remember。'
'Her smile。 A little lopsided； a little crooked； turned up at the left corner of her mouth。'
'She didn't smile that I remember。 She was so sleepy。 。 。 and a little dazed。 Sweet but withdrawn。'
Joe could not think of another distinguishing feature that might jar Mercy Ealing's memory。 He could have regaled her for hours with stories about his daughter's grace； about her charm； about her humour and the musical quality of her laughter。 He could have spoken at length of her beauty： the smooth sweep of her forehead； the coppery gold of her eyebrows and lashes； the pertness of her nose； her shell…like ears； the bination of fragility and stubborn strength in her face that sometimes made his heart ache when he watched her sleeping； the inquisitiveness and unmistakable intelligence that informed her every expression。 Those were subjective impressions； however； and no matter how detailed such descriptions were； they could not lead Mercy to the answers that he had hoped to get from her。
He took his hands from her shoulders。
She opened her eyes。
Joe picked up the spatula he had taken from her。 He put it down again。 He didn't know what he was doing。
She said； 'I'm sorry。'
'It's okay。 I was hoping。。。 I thought。。。 I don't know。 I'm not sure what I was thinking。'
Self…deceit was a suit that didn't fit him well； and even as he lied to Mercy E