“Mr. Stiles?” Ida Fleming called weakly from her recliner. She looked no better than before, maybe even a little worse. But there was a dreamy look to her eyes—not one of distance or senility, not by a long shot. She was very alert, and her gaze was lit with a personal satisfaction, a sense of victory. Her faith had finally been put to the test. Vindicated. Now, if only she could hold on . . . She reached up a trembling hand and took one of his, placed a small cross in his palm. “This will protect you,” she said, smiling.

He looked at it and nodded, returning her smile. He also gave her back the symbol. “Keep it with you, Grandma. It only has its power when it’s with you.”

“But don’t you believe by now? After all you’ve seen tonight?”

“I’ve seen it all before,” he answered, “some even wilder than this. And I do believe, really. In goodness. Truth. In people like you. But I just don’t have what it takes, I guess. Faith, true faith, isn’t something you can give to someone like a library book, and you can’t just decide it would be nice to have. It doesn’t work like that—believe me, I’ve tried.” He touched his chest. “It has to come from in here. You have it.” He leaned closer. “If you can stay with us and stay strong, you can watch over all of us. All of them. I know you’re tired, but you have to hold out. For them. Can you do that, Grandma?”

She sank back into the chair, grimacing and clutching her heart, but once the pain eased she managed a wink. “I’ll be here, sonny boy. Don’t you worry.”

Just then Hubert came back into the parlor, having been the last of the residents to change their pajamas for warmer things to combat the new chill in the house. He was now in dungarees and a jacket, complete with combat medals from the Pacific. His helmet was still in place, and the Very pistol and sword as well. Stiles’s eyes centered on the latter. “Is that the real thing?”

“You bet,” he said, drawing the wooden scabbard from his belt and handing it over. “Took that off a Nip officer during my second month at Okinawa.” He watched Stiles draw the three-foot blade and beamed like a proud father. “Now watch that edge—I keep ’er pretty sharp.”

Stiles stepped back and took a few practice slashes in the air. It was obvious to all present that he’d had some experience with similar blades. Then he returned it to its sheath. “Do you mind if I borrow this for a few minutes?”

Hubert shrugged. “Go ahead, if it’ll help you get through. You are going for help, aren’t you?”