Frank readily adjusted to his new routine and flourished under it. The waiting that had begun at the rooming-house was at an end at last. He began to gain weight, his general demeanour became more relaxed and he lost the determined ardour that had made the idle hours in the guard service so difficult to accept. They worked long, steady days, Monday to Saturday, all through April and May. The flats flourished, bloomed and were sold; gone it seemed, in an instant. The chrysanthemums spread from cuttings which occupied a corner of the glass house, to a full shed of their own. The geraniums grew into a sea of red and green, interspersed here and there with a table of pink or white. Frank enjoyed working among them, it seemed to him a perfect environment, the beautiful plants responding to his diligent care and rewarding him with their progress. Sometimes a radio would be playing softly as he worked, other times without it the meadow and forest around him were alive with activity and song, and could be heard above the steady rush of the circulating fans.

Joe had a quiet comradely manner and worked with a relaxed efficiency that made time fly. He and Helen complemented one another, and slowly Frank became aware of a mutual devotion that required no overt demonstration. Though neither of them was ever reluctant to voice his opinion to the other, it seemed they never knew a disruptive moment. Even during times of adversity Joe remained calm. When the new automatic irrigation system broke down and flooded the hothouse with hundreds of gallons of water, he strode calmly to the gate valve, turned off the water, and after surveying the damage, grinned at Frank. They began at once to repair the damage and were able, without excitement, to save all of the propagation stock and return the operation to normal. Frank was able to compare this to the livid, eye-popping hysteria he had observed in George Wells over a cigarette butt on the apparatus floor, and he felt fortunate.

This new occupation had a wonderful predictable quality to it. If one mixed up a solution in the prescribed ratio and quantities, and fed it to the plants, they reacted in the expected manner. They didn't balk, refuse or screw up the way humans so often do, making things frustrating and undependable. He learned about auto mechanics too, working on the simple, primitive systems of the old Chevy, assisting Joe with regular maintenance and sometimes major repairs, nursing another season out of the beautiful old truck.

Throughout July and August there was less need to work hard, for it was their quiet time, yet they continued assiduously, their hours rarely totalling less than sixty per week. The meals were consistently good, the company convivial, and the atmosphere tranquil and pleasant. If he had need of anything more Frank was unaware of it. He had time to read, and he travelled to the small library in Thurelton for books, ordered others by mail from a used book shop in Vancouver, and more from a monthly club. He often read at the table in the evening while Helen mended work clothing or listened to the radio. Meanwhile Joe, ever occupied, would bring his daily journal up to date, recording weather, dates of planting, propagation, pest control, and a myriad of other facts he might need in his calculations. More often, after supper, Joe returned to work, preparing a new terraced bed, building tables, painting, or resealing glass. Frank would assist him with much of this, though it was not part of his duties and not expected of him, especially if he thought a second pair of hands would be needed. Other times he would reason with him, insisting tomorrow was another day, and Joe would finally capitulate and set his tools aside.

One hot day in late August Joe and Frank were at the bottom of the hill, at the edge of the forest, cutting wood. Frank split the blocks into stove size chunks as Joe cut them, and then threw them into the bucket of the tractor for transportation to the pile forming in front of the barn. As the work was strenuous, when Joe paused to dress the cutters on the saw chain with a small round file, Frank sat down to rest on a block of pine. "There's a car", he said, watching in surprise as a black sedan, an unmistakeable taxi sign on the roof, drove in the lane, following the tree line until it disappeared behind the buildings. Joe watched its progress, a puzzled frown on his face. He started the tractor, raised the half-filled bucket and drove away up the hill toward the house. Frank returned to work, not noticing whether the car left or not, and an hour later Joe returned. His face held a grim expression, but he offered no explanation, except to say that his daughter, Clara, was home.

During supper Frank was aware of someone else in the house, but he didn't see her. A door opened and closed along the hallway while they ate, and he heard the sound of water running in the bathroom. He wondered about that, but no one made any effort to explain, and he made no mention of it. He went to bed without having seen their new house guest; at breakfast and throughout the next morning the subject didn't arise. At lunch the situation continued, the atmosphere growing strained in response to the strange invisible presence among them, so that they ate in uncustomary silence. When Joe had drank his tea, and after wiping his mouth on a paper napkin, he suggested to Helen, "Tell Clara I'll expect to see her at supper. She has to meet Frank sooner or later, and she has nothing to be ashamed of."

They returned to work then, leaving Frank even more puzzled at the increasing mystery of the situation. Because it was threatening rain they left off wood cutting for the afternoon and cleaned the carpentry shop instead. While Frank was sweeping the plank floor he heard a vehicle enter the yard and stop in front of the house. He stepped to the doorway and looked out to see a green Chevelle with a man at the wheel. Joe looked out at the same time, pushed roughly past, and strode quickly to the vehicle before the driver could get out. He leaned over the open window for a few minutes talking earnestly, then the motor started and the car made a U-turn in the yard and drove out the lane.

When Frank sat down to dinner that night there was a fourth place at the table, a bowl of soup had been set out in the space opposite his own, and soon a thin dark-haired woman in a blue housecoat arrived to sit there. She sat with her gaze upon her plate as introductions were made, glanced quickly at Frank as his name was announced, then sheltered her face from his eyes with her hand to her brow. Her face was badly banged up, her nose swollen broadly beneath blackened eyes, a large purple bruise ringed with yellow discoloured her left cheek-bone, and her lower lip and jaw were swollen almost to the chin on the same side. Someone had put two or three sutures in the corner of her mouth.

"I had an accident," she muttered shyly, clearly uneasy that he was looking at her so closely.

Frank didn't answer, but applied his full attention to his meal, which was eaten in an uncomfortable stillness that continued until Helen and Clara began clearing the table. That done, Clara disappeared at once into her room. As the days passed she exchanged the blue housecoat for a shirt and blue jeans, and began to help her mother with household tasks, and when Frank approached the kitchen sometimes he heard them talking to one another, but they grew quiet whenever he entered the room. She began to feel better, Frank noticed; she moved with more vigour. Her hair lost the limp untended appearance it had at first, and her features began to emerge slowly from the wreckage. As her teeth tightened up and the swelling went out of her jaw she began to chew solid foods. The blackness under her eyes receded to small pools alongside her nose, which was narrowing slowly and appeared straight, unbroken. She was rather plain, he thought, and so thin that there was little to attract him in her figure or features, except perhaps for her dark pretty eyes.

He saw her at all meals but she seldom spoke when he was about, sometimes causing him to feel like an intruder; a stranger in the family setting. He noticed, however, that when they discussed the greenhouse operation she lost much of her shyness and reserve and spoke knowledgeably about the work. Frank began then to draw her out some, discussing with her what he was learning of the greenhouse business, so that at times she would lose her diffidence entirely and talk animatedly to him for short periods.

One morning Frank went early to the shop to help Joe load the cube van with potted mums. Directly after breakfast he left for the city, leaving Frank with some final instructions about the regulation of the greenhouse and suggesting several tasks that he could do if he found the time. Frank quickly watered what few plants remained inside and then began to stack firewood, moving it from where it was dumped in a wind-row in the yard, and piling it in neat cord-wood stacks along the end of the building. Clara walked out the lane at about ten o'clock, he knew, and he continued to be near her path as she passed.

"Hello, going for the mail, are you?"

"Yes."

"Well, I hope you don't make the trip for nothing."

"How's that?"

"I mean, if there should be no mail."

"Oh, there's mail all right. I always check with Dad's field glasses to see if the box is turned."

"I hadn't thought of that," he grinned. When she returned she had a parcel and a letter for him and she brought them to where he was stacking wood. "You have mail," she announced as she approached.

"That will be my new book," he informed her as he slipped the letter from Leila into his shirt pocket. He began to open the package and Clara waited to see what he had purchased. To her surprise it was a recent reprint of an old book, by a writer she had studied in high school.

"Have you read many of his stories?" she asked, reading the cover.

"Yes, do you like them too?"

"I don't know, I only read one, and that was in high school. Perhaps I could borrow this one when you're done with it, could I?"

"Yes, certainly. In the meantime, I have quite a few books in my room. It's surprising how many I've accumulated since I came here."

"I know, I took your clothes up to your room yesterday, and I saw them. Mom told me later I was only supposed to put the laundry on the landing." She smiled shyly at him. "You sure keep your things neat."

"I'm not there much, I guess that's why. What are you working at in the house this morning?" he asked quickly as he saw she was preparing to go.

"Nothing much. I made spaghetti sauce, but it has to simmer now, all morning. Would you like me to help you with this?"

"No, it's not necessary. I have all day to finish it."

"But I don't mind really. I never have enough to do, and I used to help Dad a lot before I left home. I find it so different now that he has a hired man. The work is always caught up, and I see you guys working away steadily together, so I don't offer to help him like I used to." She went into the shop and returned with a second wheelbarrow, which she began to pile high with wood. As they worked side by side stacking the heavy sticks, Frank questioned her further.

"How long ago did you leave here?" he wanted to know.

"It seems like an eternity, but it's only been six years. I never left home until I was twenty-two. After high school I spent four years at home, not really looking for a job, helping out Dad in the greenhouse. I used to wonder if they thought I'd never leave, but really they were glad to have me, and Dad was able to make a little extra money by increasing his volume. I didn't realize how much I liked the work until after I left."

"What made you leave?"

"Who knows? I thought life was passing me by, maybe. I had never had a date except for the graduation prom, with a boy who went away to university. I certainly wasn't going to meet anyone here, so I took a job in the glove factory, and travelled home on the bus every Friday evening. Then I started dating Roy, who works as a mechanic at the plant, and one weekend we came home to tell the folks we were married."

They refilled the wheelbarrows and returned to stacking, and Frank suggested, "So that didn't work out, I guess?"

She hesitated before answering. "No, I guess not. I should have known better, but I hadn't much experience. We began spending the weekends together at his place, going dancing in the hotels, drinking a lot and attending parties. All of his friends did the same. He coaxed me constantly to marry him until eventually I said yes, and then he pressed and argued that we should do it right away. I thought he would become more serious and party less once we were married, after all, he had bills to pay — but he didn't change, instead things got worse. He began to go out by himself, and if I questioned him about it he got defensive and angry. Sometimes, if he was drunk he became abusive. This isn't the first time I've been beat up, but it's the first time my parents have become aware of it." They stood facing one another, making no pretence at work as Clara recounted her story. "You know what's funny? Whenever this happened before he would always be around the next day, apologizing and begging to be forgiven; but not this time."

"He hasn't phoned even?"

"No … but he wouldn't phone. We have a party line, and he'd be afraid someone might be listening … and hear him crawling and crying to me," she added bitterly. "No, he'll come in person when he decides he needs me badly enough."

"What kind of a vehicle does he drive?"

"A green Chevelle." She eyed him suspiciously. "Why? Have you seen it around?"

"No," he replied quickly. "I just wondered, is all."

Frank and Clara became friends after that, and they often sat out on the porch together in the evenings, when Frank's work was done for the day. He couldn't have recalled what they talked about for several hours at a stretch, except that they passed the time quickly and enjoyably, discussing nothing of importance. Clara began to be around a lot while they were working too, and was capable at any kind of work Frank was able to do. The work days grew shorter as a result, and Joe rarely found excuses to return to his labours after supper. Clara would challenge her parents to games of cards, with Frank as a partner; games he had grown proficient at while in prison.

At the end of summer, one evening she and Frank went for an evening stroll out the lane and along the highway to explore the overnight cabins. Frank had expressed his interest in them at supper, and as they walked she told him about the previous owner. When she was a girl beginning high school, the main highway had been moved, bypassing the curving mountainous road that passed through the tiny village of Thurelton, and the motel had fallen on hard times. A year later the house and motel had burned to the ground, and the owner had talked of relocating to the main road once the insurance money was settled on him. But the company had balked at paying, delaying and prolonging the investigation into the fire, forcing the owner to hire lawyers and run up expenses during which time he had no income. Finally, he had declared bankruptcy and moved away to the city. A lawyer in Victoria ended up with the property, and to Clara's knowledge he had never seen it. Later, as it became evident that the place was abandoned she and a school friend had become familiar with the empty buildings and found that the keys had been hidden above the doorframes. They began to camp out in one of them on weekends and had put bits of cast-off furniture in it. These were still in place when she opened the door, there was oil in the lamp on the table, the old foam mattress stood on its side against the wall over the rusted bed-springs.

"Well, here you are. They're all the same as this one, they're all empty, and the last time I looked none of the roofs were leaking, so they should still be in quite good shape, even though they don't really look it from the outside. What do you think?"

It was about sixteen feet square, perhaps a little large for an overnight cabin, but smaller than a single car garage. The wall studs were exposed on the inside and the interior had at one time been covered with a heavy coat of white-wash, now grimy and spalling from the walls and rafters in places, turning into grit underfoot.

"I like it," he paced about, examining everything. "I wouldn't mind camping out over here myself" he added meaningfully. It was the first time they had been alone together in a private place, and she smiled at him then, a nice smile he thought; not awkward and crooked as it had been when first he saw her, and it matched her laughing eyes. He tried to kiss her then, but she pushed him gently away.

"What's wrong? I thought you were beginning to like me."

"I am, … I do, but … Frank, are you certain you've never seen a green Chevelle hanging around?"

Frank admitted what he knew, and her reaction was swift and vehement. "What the hell Frank! How could you keep this from me? I thought you were my friend."

"I am, now. But this happened the day after you got here for Christ's sake. I hadn't even laid eyes on you yet; you were just a mysterious unseen presence down the hall, remember?"

"I asked you about it since then, and you lied to me," she responded hotly.

"I don't regret that. He's your father, and my boss, and it's a family matter. I thought if he wanted you to know about it he could tell you himself. In fact, I shouldn't be telling you now, except I guess I thought I might gain something by it."

She thought about that a moment and shook her head, beginning to soften. "You're probably right, Frank. Don't worry about it. I don't know anybody who is very good at keeping secrets; myself included. You were right, really." They sat at the little table, and she continued. "It is an unwarranted interference you know. I'm an adult, this was my husband, that my father said God knows what to, before running him off the place. I'm still very angry about that."

"Clara, he's right. He had to break the cycle for you. You wouldn't have been strong enough to stand up to the kind of mewling, arguing and begging that some people are subjected to by their partners. I expect he simply told Roy it was over, and because Roy couldn't act tearfully repentant in front of Joe, he left. Are you going to look him up?"

"Certainly not! I'm lucky Dad took care of it for me I suppose, and I'm lucky to have such parents; a place to go until I get my affairs arranged again. It's not really right to come back to them now that I've fucked up my life."

Frank laughed at that, she said it so matter-of-factly. "Your life isn't fucked up. You've just learned some hard lessons, is all. The best is probably still to come."

They started for home then in the encroaching twilight.

On the way she slipped her hand into his, removing it only as they entered the well-lit yard, within view of the house.

On Sunday Clara arranged to take Frank on another walk down to the cabins. When they set out, Joe and Helen were sleeping, as was their custom on Sunday afternoon. When they arrived Frank found the door unlocked, and upon entering saw that the room had been completely cleaned, and the mattress had been covered. A double sleeping bag and pillows were laid out on it. He grinned sheepishly as he kicked the door shut behind them, and he took her in his arms.

An hour later he awoke, lying against her back, one arm under her pillow and the other over her side, his nose nuzzled into the nape of her neck. He became aware of his surroundings only slowly, a peaceful narcotic contentment inducing him back toward sleep. She sensed his waking and spoke softly. "I've wanted to do that for some while. I kept wondering what it would be like."

"And was it what you expected?"

"Oh yes, it was. And when you consider that the first time is probably a long way from the best we can achieve, the potential is limitless!" She began to chuckle then, deep in her throat so that it was barely audible, but Frank could sense the laughter moving her frail body as it lay moulded to him.

She continued to explain, her voice murmuring trancelike, "It's been a long time since I have felt like making love. I got sickened to it I guess. Roy would sometimes want to when he'd been drinking. I mean, he was too pissed to get off anyway, but to refuse him would mean more trouble than it was worth. Other times, we'd be trying to reconcile our differences, and getting along okay, so I would be trying to do everything to keep him happy, but in the back of my mind there was always the certain knowledge that soon he was going to treat me to another round of abuse .. and sure enough, come Friday night there'd be a big fight, with all sorts of insults heaped on both sides, followed by the inevitable pleading and whining. That's what I came to dread most, not the fights, I could stand up to those, it was watching the transparent manipulation later that really took the spirit out of me, because I would eventually surrender to that."

"I know. There's nothing so barren as a bad marriage. Jail was easier, really. At least inside there was no sex, period. Of course there were people who found substitutes, but for most of us it just didn't exist. There were no temptations or reminders either, so that abstinence was probably easier to take there than living with Diane had been; feeling I had a right to sex, and having it constantly denied, or contingent upon a set of ideal and largely unattainable conditions."

"Gee Frank," she laughed, "you've thought about this haven't you?"

"Yeah, no kidding. Since a year ago last Christmas. However, it would appear the famine is over!" He was fully awake now, and began to smother her neck, from behind her ear to the slope of her shoulder, with dozens of kisses, so that she squealed with the unendurable pleasure of it. When they had dressed and were walking slowly homeward she told him why she had slipped over on Saturday to prepare the cabin for them. "You remind me so much of my father, Frank. You're both quiet, and strong and hardworking, you're with him all the time, and you're like him. You have even picked up some of his mannerisms and expressions, I think. But what got me, was that you smell like him. You do the same work, and I suppose that explains part of it, but your scent is just naturally similar to his, I think. I was putting one of your work-shirts in the laundry, and I could detect your odour on it; not sour or anything, just a man smell. That's when I first wanted to get close to you, and that's when I dreamed up this little strategy," she concluded happily.

The visits to the cabin became a Sunday afternoon ritual, and as autumn progressed, sometimes they used it mid-week as well, so that it became a standard joke as they approached the door, for Frank to remark how the pathway was taking on a well-beaten look. Clara also took to sneaking up the stairs occasionally, late at night. Sometimes they made love, but more often Frank was only semi-consciously aware that she had silently crept into the room and slipped between the covers beside him. He would barely wake, except to turn and put his arm around her, his work-roughened hand upon her breast, and drift back into sleep. In the morning when he awoke she would always be gone, so that he wasn't always really sure whether she had been there at all.

One morning he awoke some time after dawn to find Clara there, nestled into his back. It had rained steadily during the night and he had slept soundly to the steady rush of the water striking the roof. He turned to look at the alarm clock on his dresser and as he did so, she sprang instantly awake.

"It's seven o'clock," she whispered frantically. There began a hurried consultation, during which it was decided that Frank would go ahead downstairs as usual, and scout the terrain. If the coast was clear he would come back and tell her. If not, they would be caught, he supposed. When he entered the kitchen Helen was seated by the window drinking her coffee, just as she always did at that hour. She made all the usual polite conversation. Did she seem unusually severe this morning? he wondered. It was so difficult to tell with her. Instead of helping himself to coffee, he put on his boots and stammered something about having to help Joe first thing, and escaped, feeling cowardly, but nonetheless content to leave Clara to face her mother alone.

Frank began to irrigate propagation plants, and Joe, absorbed as always with the task at hand, was obviously unaware anything was amiss. They worked together through breakfast-time until Clara came sometime later to call them to eat. When Joe departed for the kitchen she and Frank lingered behind.

"Well?" he asked excitedly.

"It's okay. She knew I was up there. When I came down in my nightie she didn't say anything for a while. Neither did I. It was awkward, to say the least. But it's okay. She's known about us for some time, I guess it's obvious. She isn't sure if Dad knows, but he will now!"

"Do you think he'll be angry?"

"I don't know," she shrugged, wondering. "Mom wasn't. She's going to talk to him about me staying on; I want to see if this might work into something. What do you think?"

"I think it's wonderful! I've been kind of pondering it myself. I've wanted to talk to them about expansion. Joe told me when I came here that he needed one good year to put him on his feet again. Well so far it's been a great year. Maybe he'd consider building another plastic greenhouse and enlarging the operation."

"I have a few ideas; new things he hasn't tried before, but profitable. Dad likes to look at new ideas."

"And maybe I could look into buying the motel land," he cried, elated.

"Hang on Buckaroo. Let's see how things go for awhile first … you know, they just might be really happy to see us getting together. They like you, and before you came they were worried about continuing on here as they grew older, when Dad would be too old to work eighty hours a week anymore, and the place would become run down until they lost it … and they have been curious about what I was going to do, I'm sure."

"You don't suppose they're talking about us in there right now do you?"

"No, after breakfast. It's okay, Frank. I mean, I'm not going to move into your room or anything, but it's okay. Come on."

After breakfast, while Helen was removing plates from the table she announced that they were going to have a meeting. She prepared a second pot of coffee and left it to brew, and then put Clara's proposal to Joe. No mention was made of her earlier predicament, and Joe took the news pretty much in stride, betraying no emotion. Practical and pragmatic as always, he merely suggested ways to increase productivity by spring without any large investment. Immediately, an extra helper would make it possible to put more garden area under cultivation. Stone could be picked out of newly levelled terraces, and retainer walls built with it. Then mineral and humous could be added and tilled under to prepare for spring planting of a variety of new perennial stock. Joe was particularly interested in trying lilies, with an annual harvest of bulbs for shipment out east. If Clara would be willing to wait until spring before beginning to draw a salary, they could add an unheated plastic greenhouse which would make another set of hands both productive and profitable. In the meantime, he concluded, they would be very happy to have their daughter home.

Frank watched Clara's expression as she gazed intently into her father's face as he spoke. He remarked to himself how pretty she was becoming, at least in his own mind, she was healthier and more robust, had added weight, filling out her once-thin figure, and the glow of happiness had softened her features.