Death of an Adept

Chapter Thirteen

MID-MORNING of Christmas Eve saw all members of the wedding party engaged in last-minute arrangements save for the bride, who was on duty until six in the Emergency Room. The two mothers had met over breakfast in the hospital dining room, and had now retired to a couch in the lobby, where they were happily engaged in ticking off items on a final list of things to be done. Most of the tasks had been assigned.

Austen Lockhart had already collected the flowers. The boxes were stacked outside Alan Lockhart's room, waiting for the ministrations of his womenfolk, and Laurel had been dispatched to fetch several family heirlooms to be used in transforming Lockhart's room into a wedding chapel. The Lockharts' younger son, Vance, had arrived from Honolulu late the night before, completing the Lockhart family circle, and would collect the wedding cake and champagne before noon.

Adam, for his part, had little to do besides show up at the appointed time, once he had seen the two mothers ensconced, so he made it his morning's task to see to the comfort of his bride's father. As he joined Dr. Saloa for his morning visit to Lockhart's bedside, it became immediately apparent that Lock-hart's pain was breaking through.

"I'd like you to get some sleep, Alan," Saloa said, after noting that Lockhart had spent a restless night and declined his morning medication. "Will you please let me order you a sedative? Just to hold you through the afternoon."

Lockhart slowly shook his head on the pillow, the effort obviously costing him considerably.

"I've got plenty of time to sleep, after my girl is married, Andy," he whispered. "I don't want to risk being muddle-headed."

"How about if I put you to sleep, the way I did yesterday?" Adam said, glancing at Saloa. "I promise you won't be muddle-headed; but I will ask that you let Dr. Saloa give you another half-dose of your usual pain medication, to make my work easier. Would that be all right?"

Wearily Lockhart nodded, his eyes heavy-lidded with pain only barely held at bay. Signalling with a glance that Saloa should fetch the indicated medication, Adam settled beside Lockhart's bed, gently taking his hand as the other doctor slipped quietly from the room.

"I think you've made a wise decision, Alan," Adam murmured, gently stroking the back of Lockhart's hand. "Close your eyes now, and let yourself go back to that place of peace and comfort you found yesterday. Take a deep breath and let it out, and feel the pain draining away as you float and drift…."

Lockhart was deeply asleep by the time Saloa returned, relaxing even more profoundly when the medication had been administered. Saloa watched in something of amazement as Adam bent to murmur final instructions in Lockhart's ear, though he did not speak until they had left the room and closed the door.

"Does hypnosis usually work that well?" he asked, jotting a notation on Lockhart's chart.

"It depends on the patient - and the hypnotist," Adam said with a faint smile. "Anyone can learn the basics. I suggest that you might find hypnosis useful in your practice, if you're prepared to put a bit of effort into it."

"I may just do that," Saloa replied. "I may just."

Adam headed down to Emergency after that, stopping en route to alert Philippa regarding what he had done with Lock-hart. Then, after joining Ximena for coffee, he set out to brave San Francisco traffic to pick up the champagne and glasses before the stores began closing for Christmas Eve; Vance had gotten tied up fetching the wedding cake.

Meanwhile, following a quick lunch, the two mothers repaired to Lockhart's room and settled into the happy task of arranging the floral decorations for the coming wedding ceremony. Lest their bustling disturb the sleeping Lockhart, Teresa drew the curtain around his bed - though Philippa assured her that he would not stir, and checked on him from time to time, in case Adam's instructions needed reinforcement. In honor of the season - and also to minimize too close a concentration of floral scent that might overpower the room's fragile occupant - much of the greenery consisted of holiday garlands of holly, ivy, and evergreen fronds to supplement the tiny tree at Lock-hart's bedside.

The floor nurses looked in from time to time to admire the decor and offer help, but Teresa declined, sweetly but firmly. Slowly the illusion grew. But midway through the afternoon, when Philippa returned from speaking to one of the hospital porters about bringing in chairs, she found Teresa softly singing a Spanish lullaby to her husband, tears all but blinding her as she fastened a garland of evergreen across the foot of his bed with love knots of red and white satin ribbon.

Philippa tactfully withdrew before she could be noticed, taking care to make more noise when she returned a few minutes later, this time pushing a small wheeled table.

"Teresa, I think this might do for an altar," she said, calling to the other woman as she rattled the table into place against a side wall. "Anything bigger, and we'll have no room for the wedding guests."

"I'll be there in a moment to take a look," Teresa replied, from behind the curtain.

When she emerged a few minutes later, Philippa was busily engaged in covering the table with a white sheet appropriated from the linen room, careful to make no reference to Teresa's swollen eyes.

"I believe you said you have a proper cloth to go over this," Philippa said brightly, giving the other woman a sympathetic smile.

"Yes, Laurel and Austen are bringing it, along with some other things," Teresa said. "They should be here very shortly."

As if on cue, the door swung back to admit Teresa's older son and his titian-haired wife, both of them still clad in jeans and sweatshirts. Austen was carrying a cardboard carton, and gave an admiring whistle as he glanced around at the garlands swagged around the window and above the door.

"Wow, now it really looks like Christmas!" he exclaimed with a grin. "You two have worked wonders in the time we've been gone."

"Were you able to find everything?" Teresa asked, a shade anxiously.

"Sure did," Laurel assured her. "Your directions were better than a treasure map. I also put some red votive lights in the box. I thought they might look nice on the windowsill."

While she spoke, Austen had been lowering his box to an empty chair. As Teresa came to look, Laurel began to unpack its contents. First out of the box was a finely woven tablecloth of snow-white damask, its patterning as delicate as lacework.

"Ah, si," Teresa breathed. "This belonged to my mother," she explained to Philippa, as she took the cloth from Laurel. ''It was made by the nuns at the convent school she attended outside Barcelona, and she and her sister were allowed to do a little of the stitching on the hem. I had it on the altar for my wedding, and Austen and Laurel had it for theirs, and I always promised Ximena it would be hers one day, to grace the altar at her wedding - and maybe be passed on to her daughter."

The cloth was accompanied by a pair of bronze candlesticks, lovingly polished, and a pair of tissue-wrapped wedding candles. Last to emerge was a carefully swathed bundle the size and shape of a large book.

"This is one of my dearest treasures," Teresa whispered, as she removed its wrappings.

What came to light was not a book but an iconographic painting of the Good Shepherd, executed on wood in egg tempera. The style of the painting, like the gilt-wood frame surrounding it, proclaimed its Spanish origin. Gazing down at the sensitively modeled features of the Christ-figure, as Teresa shyly laid it in her hands, Philippa silently commended the creative artistry of its maker, who had endowed the work with a tenderness and compassion that transcended any denominational labels.

"Teresa, it's beautiful," she murmured, shaking her head in wonder.

"Gotta run, Mom," Laurel broke in, before Teresa could comment. "Do you need anything else, or can Austen and I head out? We've got to pick up Emma from the day-care center and see that she gets changed into her party dress. I don't think she'd ever forgive us if we brought her to her Auntie Mena's wedding in a paint-splattered track suit."

Laughing softly, Teresa gave her daughter-in-law a fond hug.

"Oh, si, my darling. Go! Every woman, even the littlest, must be allowed her indulgence of vanity, especially on such a night! By all means, go and get changed - as Philippa and I must do, as soon as we have finished here. And assure my granddaughter that we will be looking forward to admiring her loveliest frock!"

Following Austen's and Laurel's departure, the two mothers set about dressing the altar, laying the damask cloth in place and then nesting the candlesticks amid arrangements of evergreen and white Christmas roses at either side. When Philippa had straightened the wedding candles in their holders, Teresa carefully placed the icon-painting on an easel at the back of the altar and then stood back to let Philippa make a final, minute adjustment to the drape of the white damask cloth.

"It is perfect," she said to Philippa, nodding to herself. "Thank you so much for all your help."

"It was my pleasure," Philippa said warmly, with a glance at her watch. "We've some time to spare yet before we get changed; and your husband shouldn't stir until Adam gets back. I expect he's showering and changing just about now. Shall we go and get a cup of coffee?"

"You go ahead, Philippa amiga," Teresa said. "I shall join you presently. I find my thoughts are scattered, and it is in my mind to remain here for yet a little while until I am able to collect them."

Her dark eyes reverted to the image on the altar, their expression suddenly sorrowful. Attuned to the sudden shift in the other woman's mood, Philippa cancelled any thought of leaving.

"I'll leave you if you like, Teresa - but I'd like to stay. The icon - did you bring it with you from Spain?"

Teresa nodded without looking around. "It was a wedding present from Father Olivero, who was our parish priest when I was a girl. Two years after my marriage, he entered the missions, and even now serves among the native peoples of Ecuador. I have written him a letter to tell him of this wedding. There is no knowing when it will find him, but when it does, he will be as pleased as Alan to know that our Ximena is at last to be wed to the man of her choice."

This disclosure gave Philippa pause for a moment's thought. "You must have been raised a Catholic. Was there opposition when you wished to marry outside the Church?"

Teresa smiled wryly. "It was far more complicated than that. But I knew there was never going to be anyone else for me but Alan, and so I told both my fathers."

She tilted her head reminiscently. "Had Alan not already been a Mason when we met, perhaps there might have been some room for compromise. But as you probably know, the Church does not approve of Masons, and Alan could not retire from his Order without committing a serious breach of his word.

"My father understood and accepted this, for he, too, was a man of honor. And Father Olivero was more understanding than many, for he had come to know Alan personally and believed in his integrity. But there were others of our family who did not know Alan as my father and Father Olivero did, and there was much bitterness toward my father that he did not takes steps to forbid the marriage. It was years before many of those old wounds were healed. I am glad my daughter will have the loving blessing of both our families from the start."

Smiling, she lifted her gaze to meet Philippa's. "You have a son greatly to be proud of, Philippa amigal For all the strength I see in him, he is a man of gentleness and fine sensibility. I could ask no better match for my Ximena. I am confident that he will make her as happy as Alan has made me."

She held out her arms to Philippa, who returned the embrace with unfeigned affection.

"You've been very lucky to have a man like Alan," Philippa murmured. "One of my few regrets in this life is that Adam's father could not be at my side tonight."

"Your husband is dead, then?"

"Yes, many years ago," Philippa replied, drawing back to gaze at Teresa.

The other woman nodded gravely. "Then I am lucky, indeed, that my husband has been permitted to live to see this day," she said. "When it is over, I know he will be content to die whenever our Lord sees fit to call him. My heart tells me that it may well be this very night. If that is true, so be it: I would not for all the world see him suffer any longer, and I am confident that the hosts of Heaven will receive him kindly."

Toward seven o'clock, with all preparations complete, the wedding party began to assemble. The bride had not yet arrived. Adam stationed himself outside the door of Lockhart's room with his mother and Ximena's to greet their guests, a white rose boutonniere pinned to the lapel of his grey three-piece suit. Shortly, Jenny Carstairs joined them, vested in a white chasuble and stole for the coming nuptial celebration. The celestial sounds of Gregorian chant drifted into the corridor through the open doorway, along with the gentle murmur of conversation.

Adam could see the guests if he turned to look - only a select few at short notice, and limited by space. Austen and Laurel sat to the left of the elder Lockhart's bed with little Emma, who was turned out in a frilly pink party dress and patent leather shoes. Teresa had gone inside to wait, and stood on the other side of the bed, holding her husband's hand and looking strained. Saloa, one of his interns, and several nurses were gathered behind Teresa, adjacent to the Christmas tree.

Seen mostly by candlelight, and with the altar set up along the wall with the window, the room had, indeed, taken on something of the aspect of a chapel. The room's overhead lights had been switched off, leaving only the soft night light above the head of Lockhart's bed, the tree lights, the altar candles, and a row of red votives lined up along the windowsill above, with the lights of San Francisco spread like a sparkling net beyond. In a corner of the room, with the aid of a small flashlight, Vance Lockhart tended the CD-player providing the music.

After a few minutes, Teresa Lockhart came out to peer searchingly down the corridor toward the distant elevators. Sneaking another look at his watch, Adam noted that it was nearly eight o'clock. Word had come half an hour earlier that Ximena was just finishing an emergency surgery but would be there as soon as she showered and changed. Teresa was getting anxious. As Adam pocketed his watch, Philippa slipped an arm through his and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

"You're fidgeting, darling," she murmured, pretending to adjust his boutonniere. "She'll be here as soon as she can."

He nodded without comment, casting his gaze restlessly up the corridor to the nurses' station, where a white-draped table held a small wedding cake, paper plates and napkins, plastic forks, and champagne glasses. Beneath the table, the champagne was chilling in several ice chests - half a dozen bottles, for the modest wedding reception would be shared with the entire staff on the floor. Beside him, his future mother-in-law adjusted the tortoise-shell comb that held her black lace mantilla - dramatic contrast to her Christmas-red suit. Philippa wore royal blue, with a sprig of holly pinned in her platinum hair.

Just then, a flurry of motion at the far end of the corridor heralded the emergence of two white-coated women from one of the elevators, carefully screening a third as she followed them out.

"There she is," Teresa murmured, breaking into a relieved smile as she stooped to pick up a wreath of red and white roses from their box on the floor.

At the same time, Jenny Carstairs set a hand under Adam's elbow and began drawing him toward the doorway.

"Time for us to make our escape," she said to Adam with an elfin grin. "You aren't supposed to see your bride until she's ready."

Smiling faintly, Adam let himself be led inside, moving with Jenny to the left of Lockhart's bed. The head of the bed was slightly elevated to give Ximena's father a better vantage point, and a festive garland of holly had been twined around his IV stand. The attached line trailed from the hand he held out to Adam in greeting, and the coils of a pale green oxygen tube snaked from his nostrils to a control panel above his head, but his grip was firm as Adam clasped his hand and bent to embrace him, even though his eyes were fever-bright. Someone had pinned a boutonniere like Adam's to his hospital gown.

"She'll be here very soon, Alan," Adam whispered. "How are you doing?"

"I'm hanging in there," Lockhart replied, though weakly.

"Good man," Adam murmured. "Let's see if we can do a bit better than that. Take a deep breath for me, and let it all the way out, along with any pain," he said, delving into a coat pocket for his Adept ring. He slipped it onto the little finger of Lockhart's right hand and turned the stone inside.

"Alan, I want you to wear this for me," he said, closing the hand to keep the ring in place. "Consider it a kind of good luck charm - or maybe like a security blanket. Any time the pain should start to break through, I want you to rub your thumb on the stone and take another deep breath. As you let that breath out, the pain will recede. Can you do that for me?"

Lockhart did not question the instructions, only nodded acceptance, his eyes now alight with single-minded eagerness - and pain-free. He was one of the best subjects Adam had ever worked with. As Adam released his hand, glancing reassurance at Saloa as he straightened to stand beside Jenny, the older man smiled and, with Adam, turned his gaze to the open doorway in anticipation.

"Daddy, is Auntie Mena coming?" Emma demanded, from Adam's other side, clutching her small bouquet of red carnations and squirming with ill-concealed excitement. "I want to see her dress!"

This announcement, delivered with the stentorian effect of a stage whisper, drew amused chuckles from the other guests, but Austen only bent down indulgently to ruffle his daughter's curls.

"Quiet, pumpkin," he murmured fondly. "That's Mena just coming now."

Instead, one of the women accompanying Ximena slipped into the room with an apologetic smile and set a blue glass votive candle on the altar in front of the icon. A faint smile touched Adam's lips as he watched her light it, for it was the one he had given Ximena.

Meanwhile, out in the corridor, Philippa's blue-clad form blocked much view of the two white-coated figures beyond, but Adam still managed to catch a glimpse of Ximena as she bent down to receive the wreath her mother laid on her dark hair, which was loose on her shoulders. She glanced past Phi-lippa as she straightened, the color high in her cheeks, and caught Adam's eye before stepping deliberately into better view and shrugging off her lab coat.

Underneath, she was wearing a creamy cowl-necked sweater and a matching calf-length skirt that struck a familiar chord. As she handed her coat to her friend and then caught up the bouquet of red and white roses that Philippa pressed into her hands, never taking her eyes from Adam's, he remembered where he had seen the outfit before.

She had worn it on her first visit to Strathmourne, during another Christmas season, two years before. Her initiative that day in making a totally unexpected but welcome "house call" had given him rare pleasure, which only deepened as they came to know one another better. But even more powerful than those memories was the promise in her eyes at this present moment.

"I think we're nearly ready to begin," Jenny said quietly, nodding to Vance as Ximena's second friend came in to join Saloa. And as Philippa quietly entered to stand beside Adam as his witness, the strains of Gregorian chant faded away, to be replaced by a poignant orchestral piece that Adam instantly recognized.

It was the love theme from El Cid, the film that had inspired Teresa Lockhart to name her daughter for the wife of Spain's great national hero. Hearing it, Ximena smiled and slipped her arm through her mother's, tears glistening in her eyes. Together the two of them came slowly into the room, pausing briefly to bow their heads before the icon. When they moved on to places at the right side of her father's bed, Ximena bent down to kiss him and receive his kiss. The music faded to silence as she straightened to gaze across the bed at Adam, who had almost forgotten to breathe as he watched her enter. "Dear friends," Jenny Carstairs said quietly, gathering their attention and embracing the room with the warmth of her smile, "it is both my privilege and my pleasure to welcome you on behalf of Ximena and Adam, who have come before us on this most holy night to be joined together in the estate of holy matrimony. Following the wedding itself, we will celebrate Holy Communion according to the Anglican Rite, but I invite all men and women of good will to share in this Feast of Love, regardless of denomination. For the Light that entered into the world on this night of nights was born for the salvation of all humankind, and those who partake of this sacred mystery become partners with Christ in the work of that redemption." So saying, she opened the prayer book clasped to her breast and began to read.

"Dearly beloved: We have come together in the presence of God to witness and bless the joining together of this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony. The bond and covenant of marriage was established by God in creation, and our Lord Jesus Christ adorned this manner of life by His presence and first miracle at a wedding in Cana of Galilee…."

Adam had attended many a wedding in his lifetime. Even so, as Jenny Carstairs delivered the familiar opening words of the wedding ceremony, it was suddenly as if he were hearing them for the first time. Whole phrases leapt to his attention with the dazzling suddenness of a lightning flash, infused with new and intimate meaning.

He knew a moment's mental pang when Jenny made the required inquiry regarding the lawfulness of the marriage, for there had been no time for the legal paperwork that would have made possible a valid civil marriage; but glancing at the woman standing across the bed from him, Adam could entertain no doubts that the covenant about to be sealed between the two of them was a sacred one.

"Will you, Ximena Maria Sophia Lockhart, have this man to be your wedded husband," Jenny asked, "to live together according to God's law in the holy estate of Matrimony? Will you promise to love him, comfort him, honor him, and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, remain faithful to him alone, so long as you both shall live?"

"I will," Ximena said, never taking her eyes from Adam's.

"And will you, Adam Iain Geoffrey Sinclair, have this woman to be your wedded wife, to live together according to God's law in the holy estate of Matrimony? Will you promise to love her, comfort her, honor her, and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, remain faithful to her alone, so long as you both shall live?"

"I will," Adam said. Ximena's face was luminous in the candlelight. Never had she seemed more beautiful.

"And will all of you witnessing these promises do all in your power to uphold these two persons in their marriage?" Jenny inquired.

"We will!" came the heartfelt response of everyone present.

"Who presents this woman to be married to this man?"

All eyes turned to the man lying in the hospital bed, and Ximena leaned down to take his hand and give him a kiss. As she straightened, her hand in his, Lockhart reached out with his other hand to take Adam's, drawing them closer and joining their two hands with more strength than anyone but Adam would have believed possible.

"Take care of my girl, Adam," he whispered. "And Ximena, you take care of him. You've got yourself a good man."

"I know, Daddy," she mouthed almost silently, tears in her eyes.

Smiling, his eyes bright with tears of his own, Lockhart released their hands and took his wife's, shifting his fond gaze to the white-clad priest.

"Her mother and I present her, Reverend. Go on now, quer-ida, scoot," he concluded, making a faint shooing motion for Ximena to move to the other side of the bed and stand beside her betrothed.

Buoyed up by the intensity of his emotion, tears running down his cheeks unheeded, Lockhart followed the subsequent Scripture readings with avid attention, holding his wife's hand tightly and silently mouthing the words as his daughter and her intended then exchanged their wedding vows. Smiling, he shared the whispered sigh that rippled among the rest of the company as Adam produced his grandmother's sapphire and reverently placed it on his wife's ring finger.

"Ximena, I give you this ring as a symbol of my vow," Adam said, seeing only her, "and with all that I am and all that I have, I honor you. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

Adam might have seen only his bride, but as Jenny Carstairs pronounced them husband and wife, and Adam then bent to receive from his wife's lips their first wedded kiss - to a spatter of light applause from the watching witnesses - Philippa had a brief impression that the room grew suddenly and unaccountably brighter.

In that same instant she was drawn into remembrance of her own wedding day, so many years ago, and the happiness she had known with Adam's father. Coupled with the emotion of the present moment, the memory brought tears to her eyes - and then the fleeting sensation of invisible arms tenderly enfolding her from behind, and the feather-brush of a kiss soft against her cheek… and the sure and certain knowledge that Iain Sinclair somehow was present at their son's wedding, and approved.

Jenny Carstairs, moving to the altar to receive the offerings of bread and wine from the bride and groom, was likewise aware of a subtle change in the atmosphere, as if the air itself had suddenly been charged with fresh and vibrant energy. That aura of freshness remained, heady as incense, throughout the ensuing Communion service, nuptial celebration sliding easily into the proper liturgy for Christmas Eve.

As the bride and groom gave one another Communion and then the wedding guests came forward, one by one, to share the sacramental bread and drink the wine of gladness, a profound sense of peace settled over the company, made the more poignant when Jenny came to give Communion to the weakening Lockhart. Conveyed without words to all who shared this Eucharistic banquet was the surety that the bond between heaven and earth stood once again affirmed by the coming of the Light of the World - an affirmation reinforced by the words of the final collect Jenny had chosen.

"O God, you have caused this holy night to shine with the brightness of the true Light," she prayed, lifting her hands in orison. "Grant that we, who have known the mystery of that Light on earth, may also enjoy Him perfectly in heaven, where with You and the Holy Spirit He lives and reigns, one God, in glory everlasting. Amen."

Following these words, and at a murmured request from Ximena, Jenny Carstairs invited everyone to sing "Silent Night," with little Emma to start them off. Emma's piping voice made itself heard among the others like a flute among violins, clear and sweet and tremulous. Somewhere in the midst of the singing, Alan Lockhart quietly surrendered to his weakness and allowed his eyes to close.

Adam was the first to notice, his eye caught by the glint of his Adept ring as Lockhart's hand opened atop the blankets draped across his chest. Ximena saw her new husband's glance and turned with a soft intake of breath, even as her mother gasped and pressed Lockhart's other hand to her lips. "Dear God!" Teresa whispered.

Adam was already moving closer to press his fingers to the side of Lockhart's throat, feeling for a pulse. Saloa, too, had started forward, but Ximena shook her head emphatically, seizing her father's free hand to bathe it with her silent tears as her brothers crowded closer to the foot of the bed. Philippa was comforting Laurel, and one of the nurses had taken Emma by the hand and was leading her from the room.

Adam could sense the fragile balance still binding Lockhart to his wasted body, but the pulse was a mere flutter beneath his fingertips, his breathing very shallow.

"He's going," Adam murmured, laying his other hand on the failing man's brow and bending closer to his ear. "Alan, we're here," he whispered, gently stroking the forehead. "No pain, Alan. No pain - only the Light. Embrace the Light, Alan. It's all right to let go now. It's time to go home. Ximena, tell him it's all right to let go. Teresa, tell him it's all right."

"It's all right," Teresa breathed through her tears, softly repeating it over and over. "It's all right, querido. It's all right. Vaya con Dios, mi corazon…."

And Ximena, pressing her lips to her father's slack hand, also whispered, "It's all right, Daddy. I love you. It's all right. It's all right…."

At the touch of her lips a brief flicker of movement stirred Lockhart's closed eyelids. The merest ghost of a smile passed over his face, then departed with a sigh.

He did not draw breath again. Nor was any attempt made to resuscitate him. When Dr. Saloa had confirmed his passing, and Ximena numbly pressed herself into the comforting circle of Adam's arm, Adam gently retrieved his ring and slipped it into a pocket while the other members of Lockhart's family paid their final respects one by one and left the room, until only Adam, Ximena, and her mother remained. Someone had started the CD-player again, and Gregorian chant once more whispered in the background.

"I would like a moment," Teresa said softly, still sitting by her husband's side with his hand in hers.

Nodding wordlessly, Ximena removed her bridal wreath and laid it tenderly on her father's chest, then retrieved her bouquet from the altar and set it in the wreath's circle, bending to kiss his forehead a final time in farewell. Only then did she allow Adam to lead her from the room, closing the door behind them.

Outside, Vance was weeping in the embrace of Jenny Car-stairs, and Philippa was comforting Austen and Laurel. One of the nurses had drawn little Emma aside and was plying her with a can of soda. As Adam and Ximena emerged from the room, Dr. Saloa left the solemn knot of his medical colleagues to come over to them.

"Is your mother all right?" he asked Ximena. "Would you like me to get her a sedative?"

"No." Ximena shook her head numbly. "She'll be all right. She's just saying goodbye. Thank you for everything, Andy. I - can't believe it's finally over."

Emma, meanwhile, was becoming increasingly frustrated that more refreshments were not forthcoming.

"Daddy, I think Grandpa fell asleep at the wedding," she piped. "Shouldn't somebody wake him up? He's going to miss the party and the cake."

In her innocence, she did not comprehend the irony in what she said, but her words gave Adam sudden inspiration. Taking both Ximena and Saloa by the elbows, he bore them over to the reception table, beckoning for the others to gather around.

"Emma," he called, ducking briefly to pull two bottles of champagne from one of the ice chests, "no one's going to miss the party. Your Auntie Mena is going to cut you a piece of cake, and Dr. Saloa is going to help me pour the champagne. Andy, your surgical skills do extend to opening a bottle of champagne, don't they?" he asked, handing a bottle to Saloa and twisting at the foil-wrapped wire that held the cork on his own. "I should like to propose a toast to an absent friend."

All conversation had ceased as he began to speak. But as his intentions became clear, Saloa began energetically attacking his bottle and Philippa slipped deftly to Ximena's side to help her cut a small piece of cake for Emma. The pop of the champagne corks seemed to free the rest from their stunned silence and draw them close around the table, there to take up glasses and extend them for filling. Little Emma, with her slice of cake and a towel pinned around her neck to protect her party dress, settled herself in a chair against the wall. There she began happily forking butter creme frosting into her rosy mouth, while several more nurses from the floor gathered around as word of Lockhart's passing began to spread.

As Adam checked to make sure that everyone had champagne, Ximena whispered in his ear and then went back into her father's room for a moment, soon emerging with her mother, once again wearing her bridal wreath. Taking up two glasses, Adam made his way over to them, kissing first one and then the other on the cheek before giving each a glass and turning to face the assembled company. Philippa had followed with two more glasses, and pressed one into her son's hand before taking a place at his side.

"Dear friends and family," Adam said quietly, "I ask you to lift your glasses in honor of my father-in-law, Alan David Lockhart. Though we met in person only a few days ago, I have come to know and love him in the brief time we spent together, preparing for this day - not only because of the love I bear his daughter, but for his own sake. Men like Alan Lock-hart come along all too seldom in this world.

"I salute him, then, as a man of stainless integrity. I honor him for his example of peerless courage. And on this most holy night especially, I thank him for entrusting me with his beloved Ximena, who has become my wife. With my fondest good wishes and, I am sure, with the love of all present, I offer this toast: To Alan - May flights of angels sing him to his rest, and may his memory live forever in our hearts." "To Alan!" Philippa responded.

Glasses were raised with hushed murmurs of agreement as everyone drank the toast, after which Teresa firmly insisted that Ximena and Adam should make a proper cutting of the cake.

"Your father and I did not buy this beautiful cake to see it go to waste!" she scolded, when Ximena would have demurred. "This is the bridal feast he dreamed of - and Christmas Eve as well! He would wish us to share this sweetness with our dear friends - especially since some of them have yet many hours to work before they may go home to their own families!"

With that she marched the pair of them over to the cake to make the traditional first cut, with Philippa then taking over to serve individual portions. In the wake of Teresa's pronouncement, the guests made a valiant effort to do justice to the cake - and Ximena and Adam dutifully fed one another the requisite morsels - but neither happiness for the bridal couple nor the spirit of Christmas could overcome the sadness of Alan Lockhart's passing, even if tempered by relief that his ordeal was over.

With the fragile festivity of the occasion thus irretrievably muted, the guests soon began to disperse, Jenny Carstairs bidding one and all a good night and a peaceful Christmas, and the medical personnel headed back to their duty stations. As a somewhat recovered Vance helped Laurel gather up the sleeping Emma to take her down to a car, and Austen conferred with his mother and Philippa, Adam set aside his champagne glass and turned to Ximena.

"What about you?" he asked. "Are you all right?"

Ximena nodded somewhat numbly. "I think so. At least I will be. I feel a little punchy, but - it isn't nearly as bad as I thought it might be. I guess it's partly because we'd already taken so long to say goodbye…."

"Think of it as an au revoir, not a goodbye," Adam said quietly. "A casting-off of a worn-out garment. You will see one another again, someday."

"Yes, I believe that now," she replied. "I'll miss him - and I'm sad for that - but I know it's for the best. And wherever he is now, I know he's going to be fine. I have a clear sense that some part of him continues. You said faith would come to me. I guess you knew what you were talking about."

Philippa joined them as they were speaking, and slipped an arm around Ximena's waist to hug her.

"Dr. Saloa is going to see to the arrangements here at the hospital," she informed them. "And Alan apparently left very detailed instructions with Jenny Carstairs, so she'll handle the rest - but not until everyone's had a good night's sleep. Austen and Laurel are taking Teresa and Vance on home with Emma. They've brought two cars, so they've offered to drop me off at my hotel on the way. So there's nothing to stop you two from taking yourselves off. It's your wedding night, after all."

"Thank you, Philippa," Ximena murmured, wearily resting her head for a moment on her mother-in-law's shoulder.

After making sure the remnants of the reception would be cleared away, Philippa accompanied the newlyweds down to Ximena's car, fending off several well-wishers en route. When Adam had handed Ximena into the passenger seat and closed her door, he turned back to bid his mother good night.

"Good night, darling," Philippa murmured, returning his embrace. "You take good care of my new daughter. She's a very special young woman, but she wants holding just now. It is your wedding night, but I wouldn't expect too much."

Adam smiled faintly and kissed her on the cheek. "I expect to spend the rest of my life with her, Mother," he whispered. "Ximena and I have all the time in the world now."