Jonathan was getting very tired of waiting.

More than a full hour had passed since the helicopter departed; Thorn Valley
lay quiet and peaceful now, except for the birds; and still there was no sign
of movement from the wide, barricaded arch that was--had to be, if he
remembered the old plans--the community's main entrance. The archway had been
packed full of stone and earth, in an obvious attempt to fortify and disguise
it; the work had been done from the inside, it seemed, and would have to be
undone from the inside as well. Is it possible they don't know they're safe?
Jonathan wondered. But if so, how to get the news to them? He had no particular
desire to camp out overnight.

Jonathan and two of his companions sat on the grass near the archway,
leaning back against the community's native-stone walls; but not so near that
they'd be underneath the barricade when it came down. If it came down.
The ridges that formed the community's walls and roof extended far to the left
and right of the archway, more or less north and south; a little while ago Mark
and David, as impatient as Jonathan, had headed in opposite directions along the
base of the lowest ridge, trying to find some other opening. At the moment
Jonathan could see neither of them. Sitting beside him now were Philip and
Eileen. The latter, her splinted right arm held awkwardly in her lap, sat
leaning heavily on Philip, her eyes slightly glassy and her breathing rapid and
shallow. Philip's arm was wrapped around her protectively, his free hand
grasping her uninjured one, and an expression of profound worry and anxiety on
his face.

"Eileen?" Jonathan said. "How are you, Hacker?"

With an effort she roused herself, and she managed to smile slightly at the
sound of her now-defunct nickname. She spoke between clenched teeth. "To
be honest, Jonathan, it hurts like hell," she said. "But I guess I'll
live."

They had done what they could, splinting the arm crudely with sticks and
lengths of Philip's nylon rope. Over the last hour the wrist-joint had swollen
to more than double its normal size, forcing them to loosen the splint twice:
obviously, a fracture. What it really needed was to be set and properly casted,
something which none of them really knew how to do. The person they really
needed was Mr. Ages; but as far as they knew he was miles away. Hopefully somebody
in the community would know what to do; and hopefully they would have something
to ease the pain and take down the inflammation.

Jonathan smiled at her, he hoped reassuringly. "Hang in, Hacker,"
he said. "It won't be long now."

"That's what you said half an hour ago," she replied blandly, and
then she subsided, once again leaning her head on Philip's shoulder.

Jonathan turned away. He felt her pain, as keenly as if it had been his own;
but there was nothing more he could do for her; not until they could get
inside. Fighting ugly pangs of guilt, he gazed out over Thorn Valley...and was
immediately, almost against his will, entranced. This place is exactly as
Nicodemus described it, he realized. Directly in front of him a long grassy
slope led down to the lake and its calm, inviting swimming hole. To the left, a
soccer field and a running track, a neat oval of crushed granite; and farther
still, the farming fields, which fortunately the helicopter had spared.
Jonathan saw patches of tomatoes and other vegetables, wheat, rice, corn...all
growing in neat and well-tended fields, as far as the eye could see. Beyond
that rose the forest, dark and impenetrable. Those fields should have been
bustling with workers, ringing with the sounds of voices and tools; Jonathan
could almost hear it now. But instead they lay silent and forlorn. A beautiful
place, yes, just as he had always envisioned it; and how close they'd come to
losing it!

Sitting there in the sunlight, Jonathan shook his head. He still had no real
idea what had happened, a little more than an hour ago. From their hiding place
in the bushes they had seen it all...but what they'd seen seemed to make no sense
at all. The community, all his friends, had appeared doomed. Dr. Schultz and
his pilot had unloaded tools from their copter, tools which would have quickly
broken through any barricade the rats could have erected. He'd seen them both
raise pickaxes; and then...

It seemed to Jonathan that something--some force, some power--had blasted
through the valley then, almost like a wind of hurricane force; but a hurricane
that caused no obvious physical damage. To Jonathan's eyes the entire valley
had seemed to melt and flow, as if the rocks that formed it were once again
molten. The power that washed over them had seemed immense, unstoppable; but
behind it he had seemed to feel some kind of intelligence, guiding and shaping
it. In resonance with that intelligence--so it seemed--Jonathan had found
himself gripped by emotions that were not entirely his own: fear, horror,
grief...and anger. Terrible anger, which had seemed barely held in check. And
somehow...Jonathan shook his head again. Crazy, he thought. It almost
seemed...familiar. It was as if a mind had touched his, a mind that he should
have known.

A hallucination, no doubt; but whatever he had felt, it was obvious that the
two humans had felt it too, and that it had affected them very differently than
it had him. Jonathan and his friends had been on the periphery; the two men
were obviously the focus. Suddenly Dr. Schultz and the pilot had stopped
moving, frozen in the very act of raising their tools to batter down the
barricade. For a moment they stood still; then they let their tools fall and
looked around, clearly gripped by a terrible confusion. Without another word,
moving like robots or zombies, they'd repacked their tools and climbed back
into the helicopter. The pilot started his machine and lifted off; within a few
seconds the copter was gone, back on a straight course for NIMH. It left
nothing but the marks of its landing skids in the grass.

"They left empty-handed too," Jonathan mused, speaking half to
himself. "No artifacts, no pictures. Certainly no corpses or
prisoners."

Beside him, Philip nodded. "I don't know what happened either," he
said, "but I think we've won. Dr. Schultz was counting on the ends to
justify the means. But when he comes back with nothing..."

"I think you're right," Jonathan agreed. "He'll be lucky to
still have a job." He took a deep breath. "I think--I hope--we're
safe."

Philip quirked a smile. "Who's 'we'?" he asked.

Jonathan was about to reply--though exactly what he would have said, he had
no idea--but at that moment Mark came jogging down from the north. Panting a
little, he sank to the ground beside Jonathan. "There are a lot of
windows," Mark said. "Dozens. And even a few doors." He shook
his head. "Every one of them has been barricaded and camouflaged. I tried
knocking--pounding, even--but I have no idea whether anyone heard me. I didn't
seem to get any replies."

Jonathan sighed. "So we wait. They've got to come out sometime."

"Jonathan," Mark said, "do you have any idea what
happened?"

Jonathan shook his head. "We were just discussing that," he said.
"No, I don't. The look on their faces...it was almost as if they suddenly
weren't seeing any of this any more." He waved a hand. "I can't
understand it."

"I can," Eileen said faintly; but before she could go on, she was
interrupted. David was approaching quickly from the south--and he was not
alone.

He smiled broadly--uncharacteristically--as he drew up before his friends.
"Look who I found climbing down from the rocks," he announced.

Jonathan rose to his feet for a better look. David's companion was a male
rat, brown-furred and slightly built. He was dressed very much like
David--except that his blue tunic and white shirt were not full of holes
or covered with patches. He had a canteen slung over his shoulder on a
bandoleer, and a brass-barrel spyglass clutched in his hand. Jonathan had to
search his memory for a name; and when he found it he smiled and extended his
hand. "Thomas! It's good to see you!"

Thomas took two stumbling steps backwards, and for a moment Jonathan feared
that the recently-appointed Captain of the Guard would pass out on them.
Finally Thomas managed to say, "J--Jonathan?" Then he firmed himself
up. "I mean--Mr. Brisby. I'm glad to see you too, sir.
How--uh--how--?"

"At ease," Jonathan said with a grin. Then he sighed. "I'm
afraid that's a rather long story," he went on. "Let's just say that
we just flew in from NIMH. What are you doing out here? I thought everyone was
behind the barricades."

In reply Thomas held up his telescope. "Justin ordered me to be the
lookout," he explained. "I relayed the message downstairs--that the
helicopter has left--and I was climbing down to wait when David found me. It might
be a little while longer, I'm afraid." He nodded at the archway.
"Arthur built that barricade to last."

"I'm sure he did--" Jonathan began, but at that moment he was
interrupted, by a complaining voice from behind Thomas.

"Hey! Not even a word of greeting for your big sister?"

Thomas whirled--and then he frowned in confusion. "Judith?" he
said hesitantly. "What are you doing--"

She shook her head. "No, dummy," she said with a derisive grin;
but there was a suspicious brightness in her eyes. "It's me, Ha--I mean,
Eileen."

With a shout he started forward. He might have flung himself at her in joy;
but he was warned by her sharp cry of "Watch the arm!" More carefully
then, he dropped to his knees and gently embraced her.

"Eileen," he said, his voice husky. "My God. I thought...we all
thought..."

"I know you did, little brother," she said, hugging him one-armed.
"And I'm really, really sorry."

"Try telling that to Judith," Thomas told her with a smile.

There was a loud throat-clearing behind them then. Thomas turned...and then he
rose to his feet in surprise. Philip was standing at attention, his face grave;
and as Thomas turned to face him, he saluted crisply. "Former First
Lieutenant Philip reporting for duty--sir," he said formally.

Thomas blushed furiously, his ears and the tip of his nose turning bright
red; but whatever it was he might have said, they never learned.

Behind them they heard a sharp crack, and they all looked over quickly, in
time to see a few stones and a dribble of earth fall from the barricade. Then
the noise was repeated, a little louder, and a large rock fell free, followed
by the business end of a rat-sized pickax. Jonathan took a few cautious steps
forward, just as most of the remainder of the barricade came crashing down in a
cloud of dust. A few seconds later a rat stepped through the gap. Not overly
tall, but heavily-muscled, especially around the arms; he leaned for a moment
on the head of his pickax as he mopped his forehead with a spotted
handkerchief. Arthur. His clothes and fur were covered with dirt; but
nonetheless, Jonathan had never been so glad to see a familiar face in all his
life.

Arthur looked around, peering out into the valley with a mixture of relief
and suspicion; and then his eyes fell on the mouse who smiled up at him fondly.
For a few seconds Arthur gaped...then he flung aside his pickax and caught
Jonathan up on a massive embrace that left the mouse's feet dangling several
inches above the ground. "My God," Arthur said. "Jonathan! I
can't believe it! Where did you come from? What happened?"

"We were at NIMH--" Jonathan began, a little breathlessly, as
Arthur set him on his feet; but the engineer waved a hand, cutting him off.

"I know that part," he said. "Justin told me months ago. I
mean now--how did you get here?"

Jonathan smiled. "We stowed away on the helicopter," he said.
"It looked like the nonstop from O'Hair." He stepped aside then and
pointed to his companions. "Eileen took a tumble. It looks like she has a
broken arm."

Arthur nodded. "We'll take care of her," he promised. "Alice
will know what to do. Are the rest of you all right?"

Jonathan nodded. "We're fine," he said, and was quietly echoed by
the others. He smiled. "Just tired. Very, very tired." He paused.
"Arthur, what happened here? It looked like Dr. Schultz was going
to tear the place apart. And where's Justin?"

Arthur's face clouded. "Justin's in the infirmary," he said.
"He was hurt--part of the barricade collapsed on him--but he's going to be
all right. As to what happened--I just asked you the same thing, if
you'll remember."

Jonathan shrugged. "They left," he said. "That's about all we
know: they simply packed up and left, before they had a chance to do any
damage. It was..." he paused, choosing his words carefully, and then forged
ahead. "It was almost as if they were forced to."

Arthur nodded thoughtfully, gazing out over the valley. "So that's
it," he said, half to himself. He glanced down. "That must have been
it," he said a little louder. "It was the Stone, Jonathan. Nicodemus'
Stone. She's saved us again."

Jonathan looked up sharply. "Who's 'she'?" he demanded.

Arthur paused. Finally he said in a low voice, "Jonathan--your family
is here. All five of them. They were visiting when this whole situation
started. Your wife used the Stone--just like that night on the farm. I don't
know exactly what she did with it, but from what you've just told me, it sounds
as if she must have affected Schultz's mind somehow. However she did it, she
saved us. And she saved Justin too. He was dying, Jonathan, crushed
under huge boulders. She lifted the rocks off of him and healed his
injuries."

At Arthur's first words Jonathan staggered back as if slapped, and as a
consequence he scarcely heard the rest. Now he said, "Here? They're
all--here?"

Arthur nodded. "They're all right, Jonathan," he said quickly.
"None of them was hurt. Elizabeth passed out afterwards, but that's
normal. It happened last time she used the Stone too."

"Where are they?" Jonathan demanded.

"The infirmary," Arthur said. He pointed, back through the pile of
splintered wood and rubble, into the corridor. "Second level north. There
are signs on the walls..."

Jonathan reached up and grasped Arthur's hand. "I've got to go to
them," he said. "Please--take care of Eileen. And our packs. Don't
let anything happen to our packs. The stuff that's inside them is more valuable
than gold."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "You mean--?"

"Yes," Jonathan said. "It's the answer. Nine month's worth of
work. There are glass vials too. Don't let them get broken, whatever you
do."

Arthur smiled broadly and clasped Jonathan's hand. "Count on it, my
friend," he said. I'll lock them up in Justin's office. And
Jonathan...Welcome back."

Jonathan smiled at him, and then, without another word, he leaped over the
rubble and dashed up the hallway, following the signs. The corridors were
crowded with rats, hard at work now that the emergency was over; he dodged past
them all as if they weren't there. All of them stopped to stare; and many
shrank back as if they had seen a ghost. In a sense, they had indeed.
Fortunately none of them tried to detain him; if they had, he would have left
footprints on their faces.

He found the up-ramp easily enough, and a very few minutes later he arrived
in front of a pair of big double doors, marked "Infirmary." There he
pulled up short, peering through the crack between them. The big space beyond
was dim, its large windows still shuttered. Directly across from him a single
wall-hung oil lamp illuminated two beds, side by side. On one, the left-hand,
was Justin. Jonathan's second-oldest friend lay flat on his back, covered to
the chin with a light blanket. His face appeared peaceful, and even from the
doorway Jonathan could see the rat's chest rising and falling steadily. There
was no obvious sign of injury, and yet Arthur had told him that Justin had been
nearly crushed to death. It was a conundrum that Jonathan could not spare time
to ponder, however. Not now.

On the other bed lay Elizabeth. She too was flat on her back, covered with a
blanket; on the rat-sized bed she looked tiny, almost doll-like. Her eyes were
closed, her features composed; she also had no visible sign of injury. Lying on
top of the blanket that covered her breast was an object Jonathan knew only by
reputation and rumor: the Stone. Jonathan gazed at her...and felt his knees
suddenly turn to water. Dizzy, he clutched at the edge of the door for support.
Nine months, he thought. God, how could I have stayed apart from her
that long? I must have been insane.

Clustered around her were four other mice; so changed were they, that it
took Jonathan several moments to recognize them as his own offspring. Teresa
and Martin stood on opposite sides of the bed, near its head; Teresa's hand lay
on her mother's forehead. Timothy and Cynthia stood at the foot; Timothy's arms
were around his little sister, her head resting on his shoulder as if she'd
recently been crying. So big, Jonathan thought in despair, as he gazed
at them. They've grown so much...will they even know who I am? Will they want
to know?

For almost five minutes Jonathan Brisby stood poised, torn between
conflicting emotions and desires. On the one hand he wanted desperately to take
them in his arms--all of them, yes, but most especially her--but on the
other hand, he found himself afraid to enter, afraid of what his sudden
reappearance would do to them. He had been gone, dead, for nine months. What
would they do? Would they reject him, in anger or fear? Or would they--could
they--forgive him?

For long minutes those two opposing forces remained balanced, rooting him to
the spot; then, almost against his will, he moved forward, thrusting aside the
swinging doors. At the sudden sound the four of them looked up...and their eyes,
some blue, some brown, locked with his. Martin's jaw dropped; so did Teresa's,
her hand slipping off Elizabeth's forehead to flop loosely at her side. Timothy
gasped, and Cynthia shrank against him, jamming the knuckles of her right hand
into her own mouth to stifle a scream. For a time they stood frozen...then
Timothy pulled himself free from his sister's grasp and took a step forward,
his eyes huge and shining. "Father--?" he said in a whisper.

Jonathan felt the tears begin in his own eyes. Against all hope he held out
his arms. "Yes, Timmy," he said softly. "It's me."

With a cry Timothy flung himself into Jonathan's embrace, wrapping his arms
tightly around his father, burying his face in the patched tunic. Somewhere in
the back of his mind Jonathan registered, with surprise, the fact that the arms
encircling him were strong; that the head was almost on a level with his own;
and that his younger son was wearing glasses. "I knew it," Timothy
was saying, a note of triumph in his trembling voice. "I knew you weren't
dead. I knew it." A few seconds later a second pair joined the embrace:
Cynthia. But that was all: Teresa and Martin still stood by their mother's bed;
and now their expressions of shock were edging over into distrust. Jonathan
felt his heart sink...but his sorrow quickly turned into resignation. It's no
more than I deserve, he thought. And this--hugging his younger son
and daughter tight to him--is more than I deserve.

Finally Cynthia, her voice choked with tears, said, "Papa--where...where
have you been? We thought...we thought..."

"I know," Jonathan said. "I've been to NIMH, sweetie. I wish
I could have told you--but I couldn't. I'll explain it all to you later. But
the important thing is, I'm back now; and I will never leave again."

"NIMH," Timothy said, the tone in his voice that of someone
finally receiving the answer to a long-pondered riddle. Then he gasped.
"Does that mean--?"

"Yes it does," Jonathan said. He peered around at them. Timothy
and Cynthia, still hanging onto him as if he would vanish if they let go.
Teresa and Martin, edging closer now, but still looking suspicious, almost
betrayed. And Elizabeth. Unconscious, oblivious to everything; lucky her.
Jonathan went on, "If she wants it, then she can be...like us."

"You mean she can live forever?" Cynthia asked.

Jonathan glanced at her. He was about to say, "Well, I don't know about
that"; but he saw the look on her face, and he bent down (not so
very far down, now) to kiss her forehead. "Yes, sweetie," he said.
"Forever."

"In a certain sense," Jonathan told Justin, "Dr. Schultz had
more guts than his superiors."

"Oh?" Justin said. "How so?"

It was then early evening; some seven hours had passed since the helicopter
departed Thorn Valley, and as yet there was no sign of it returning. No one
seriously believed that it would. Justin had woken up an hour or so before,
coming slowly back to life as if ascending from the deepest, darkest cavern in
the universe. The first thing he had been aware of--after the astonishment at
merely being alive had passed--was the fact that he was hungry; and the first
thing he had seen, as his vision gradually cleared, was the small, grey-furred
face of Jonathan Brisby peering down at him anxiously. Even now, an hour later,
Justin still wondered why that sight had not surprised him more.

"The officials of NIMH were interested in his project, of course,"
Jonathan said. "So far as we were able to determine. They were interested
to see if he would find anything. But at the same time they were distancing
themselves from it. They gave him time, but no funding; no real support at all.
They had invested their resources in the last project, tearing up the rosebush;
and they came up empty. They had a very difficult time explaining that to their
superiors in the government, the ones who control their funding. This time they
wanted to be able to distance themselves, to make it look like Schultz was
acting entirely alone." He smiled slightly and shook his head. "And
now he's come up empty again. I have a feeling they'll hang him out to dry, as
the old saying goes."

The two of them were alone in the infirmary, Jonathan perched on the edge of
the bed as Justin ate. Half an hour before, Elizabeth Brisby had been carried
back to the guest room, where--everyone agreed--she would feel more
comfortable, when she finally did wake up; the children were with her now.
Justin, however, had been deemed too weak to be moved; he would spend the night
at least. And in fact he was weak, terribly so: it had taken all his
strength, plus the help of two rats and Jonathan, just to sit upright,
bolstered with pillows; and even the act of lifting a soup spoon from bowl to
mouth exhausted him. He could feel his energy returning, however, albeit
slowly; and considering the alternative, a little weakness seemed a small price
to pay.

"So--," Justin said, "he in fact did not have
permission to land?"

Jonathan shook his head. "No," he said. "He did not. We
overheard the phone call; whoever his contact was, wasn't able to get him
permission. Schultz wrote out a document of some kind, apparently taking all
the responsibility on himself; and when that didn't work he bribed the pilot.
Yes, you heard me correctly. We all saw it: money changed hands. But the
agreement clearly was that the pilot was absolved."

Justin grinned. "So now Schultz really is in hot water."

Jonathan grinned in return, and nodded. "I daresay he is," he
agreed. "One of two things will happen. Either he will lie low and try to
cover up the landing; or it will come out, and he'll be in deep trouble. Possibly
fired. Either way, I very much doubt he'll be back. Or anyone else; with no
evidence, not even corroboration from the pilot, NIMH will have no reason to
believe that there is anything here. They'll think Dr. Schultz was just having
delusions--which is true, in a sense."

"The lunatics running the asylum," Justin agreed with a grin. He
looked down into his empty soup bowl. Then he said, softly, "So--we have a
reprieve."

Jonathan nodded soberly. "Yes," he said. "Which is just what
Nicodemus intended this valley to be."

"How is Elizabeth?" Justin asked.

A brief spasm of something like pain flashed across Jonathan's face. He
peered out through the newly-cleared windows, out into the slowly-darkening
evening. There were clouds massing on the horizon; perhaps they would have some
rain. "Still unconscious, as of half an hour ago," he said flatly. He
grimaced. "I have been told--by people who have reason to know--that it
isn't unusual."

Justin nodded in agreement. "She was out for a couple hours last
time," he said. "And that was after just lifting a cinder block. What
she did today--whatever it was she did today--had to have taken more
energy. She might be unconscious for a while yet. But," he added quickly,
"I'm certain she'll be all right."

Jonathan smiled wryly. "Thank you," he said. He took a deep
breath. "You know I never expected to find her here--or to find them
here. I never expected to arrive here by helicopter either--or at all. I
expected to arrive back on the farm. I don't know how I would have approached
her--had Ages go to her first, perhaps. I tried not to think that far ahead.
But now..." He shook his head. "I've been beating my brains out trying
to figure out the best way. Whether the kids, or someone else, should try to
ease her into it. I'm starting to believe that it might be best for me just to
be there when she wakes up. It's going to be a shock either way; maybe it's
best over quickly."

"Maybe," Justin agreed cautiously. "I could argue it both
ways, if I had the strength." He paused. "Jonathan, can you stand a
bit of unsolicited advice from an old friend?"

"Of course."

"I haven't known Elizabeth as long as you have, obviously. But there is
one thing I can tell you for certain: she is not the person you
married."

"Meaning what?" Jonathan asked with a frown.

"Meaning...that she has grown. Evolved. I don't know her very well, but I
do know what she's told me, and I certainly know you. She was very young
when you were married, right? And vulnerable; she had just lost her parents.
When you came into her life, in a very real sense you replaced them. You were
stronger than she was, and smarter--she has said that herself. You always had
an answer, a solution for every problem. She's said that too. And from the
moment you arrived, you 'took care' of her. Is it possible--just possible--that
you took care of her just a little too much? I'm not trying to judge you; I
don't have the right. But I have the feeling that her relationship with you was
based at least partially on dependence."

Jonathan looked away and nodded, shame-faced. "You're right," he
admitted. "I'm certainly not proud of that, and it was absolutely never
intentional, but...you're right."

"But that's not true any more," Justin said firmly. "And
that's what you've got to understand, before she wakes up. While you've been
gone she has grown--you might even say she's grown up. She has found strength
within herself; she has learned to solve her own problems. She doesn't need to
depend on anyone any more. And, my friend, if you try to act as if she still
does, if it even seems to her that you want to take over and start making all
the decisions again...then you are going to be in deep trouble. Because she will not
stand for it."

Jonathan was silent for a long moment. Then he said, "I understand. Really,
I do. And I believe you. What I've heard about the time she's spent here, and
about what happened that night on the farm...I don't doubt that you're right.
But...I don't believe--I can't believe--that's all we had."

Justin shook his head. "No," he said. "That's not what I'm
saying. I don't believe that either. She does love you, Jonathan, and
she has missed you. Every day she's been up here, she's said things
which have made that very clear. I think you do have more, and I think you can
make this work. I can't say exactly what's going to happen when she wakes up.
But I do know that you are going to have to take things very, very slowly...and
you are going to have to respect her."

"That," Jonathan assured him, "I always have." He
paused for a moment. Then he said, with a sly smile, "You love her too,
don't you?"

"Yes," Justin said simply, gazing directly into the mouse's eyes.
"Yes, Jonathan, I do."

Jonathan's smile widened, and he clasped Justin's hand. "I don't blame
you."

For a few seconds Justin grinned; then he said, "What about your kids?
How are they taking it?"

Jonathan looked away again, and his smile fell. "Oh boy," he said.
"That's another subject entirely." He chuckled. "Do you
know--Timothy had it figured out, that I was still alive. He heard that Philip,
Mark, David and Eileen disappeared about the same time I did, that they were on
some kind of top-secret mission...and he put two and two together."

"I didn't know," Justin said. "But it doesn't surprise me. I
think that boy is smarter than all the rest of us combined."

Jonathan smiled proudly. "I think you're right." Then he peered
closer at his friend. Justin had begun to sag a little; his eyes were
half-closed, and his voice was growing progressively quieter. Very soon he was
going to need to sleep again. "How are you?" he asked in
concern.

Justin smiled. "Weak as a kitten, if you'll forgive a dubious metaphor.
But look at this." He took a deep breath. Under the blanket his right leg
rose a trifle, and his toes wiggled. "I shouldn't be able to do
that," Justin panted, letting the leg drop. "I was dying,
Jonathan. That's not an exaggeration. Most of my major bones were crushed, I
was bleeding internally, my lungs were ruined...and my spine was severed. That's
the most amazing thing. I ought to be paralyzed from the shoulders down, but
I'm not. And according to everything medical science knows, that is utterly
impossible."

Jonathan patted his knee. "I think," he said, "we might have
to redefine that word, when the Stone is involved."

"And your wife," Justin added. He paused, and then he frowned.
"You know," he went on, changing the subject, "only one thing
still bothers me about this Dr. Schultz situation."

"Which is?"

"Photographs," Justin said. "I saw him taking pictures from
the helicopter yesterday, and I'm sure he shot some more today. It seems pretty
certain that Elizabeth made him doubt what he was seeing. But eventually he'll
have that film developed, and then..." He trailed off, peering at his friend
in confusion. "Jonathan, why are you grinning like that?"

The children were asleep. Or pretending to be.

When Jonathan returned to the guest room that evening--finding his way
somehow through the unfamiliar corridors--he was surprised to find all four of them
curled up in the two beds, giving every indication of deep slumber. It was not that
late at night; in fact it was only an hour or so after sunset. But on
reflection, he decided that perhaps it wasn't so surprising after all. They'd
had a hard day too, just like everyone else in the community. Physically
challenging, yes, in part; but mostly psychologically. In fact they had ridden
the same emotional roller-coaster Jonathan himself had. He was about
ready to drop; why should he be surprised if they already had? Unless--and this
was certainly possible--they were just avoiding another emotionally-draining
scene. If so, then they were better actors than he'd ever known.

He stood looking at them for a moment, in the dim flickering light of the
single lamp they had left burning over the desk. Asleep they looked younger,
almost like the very small children he had left behind, all those months ago.
That of course was an illusion, one which would be destroyed as soon as they
woke up. In fact they were no longer small, none of them; nor ever would be
again. That was yet another thing he had given up.

Standing there watching them, he felt his eyes begin to fill with tears
again, and he shook his head angrily. Stop that, he told himself
sharply. What was done, was done; there was no point, absolutely none, in
continuing to beat out his brains about it. He would only end up in a state of
permanent mental exhaustion. No--what he must do, the only thing he could
do, was to look forward. He had missed a huge chunk of their childhood; but God
willing, he would have an even larger part of their adulthood to enjoy--if they
would have him.

They had talked for several hours, the four of them and him, before
Elizabeth was transferred from the infirmary to the guest room. It had not been
the most coherent conversation he'd ever been involved with; in fact the word
"disjointed" might well be applied. He had told them the simple
truth, explaining what he had done and why; there was no use concealing
anything from them, not now. In any case they would have instantly known it, if
he had prevaricated--they were that smart, at very least--and what he wanted
now more than anything else was their trust.

He shook his head now, remembering that conversation. Timothy...his instant
and unconditional acceptance had been a balm to Jonathan's lacerated soul.
Cynthia...she had been afraid at first, almost as if she was seeing a ghost; but
Timothy had tremendous influence over his little sister, and she had soon
followed his lead into acceptance. But the other two were another matter, and
that troubled him deeply. Teresa had been silent, suspicious, aloof, gazing at
her father through narrowed eyes, as if there was some trick being played on
her which she couldn't quite figure out. And Martin...his reaction had hurt
Jonathan most of all: outright hostility. And there was nothing Jonathan could
do about that, because Martin had every right to be hostile. He could only hope
that time would heal.

Quietly then Jonathan turned, and stepped over to the other side of the
room. Elizabeth lay in the center of that huge bed, flat on her back with her
arms folded across her stomach, just as they had placed her almost two hours
ago. The night was warm, and there had been no need to bundle her up; she lay
under a single light blanket. Her eyes were closed, her face composed and
relaxed; Jonathan saw the blanket rising and falling with her steady, strong
breathing. Her cape--a green one, brand new, Jonathan couldn't help but
notice--hung on a wall peg nearby; and the Stone, that mysterious Stone, lay on
the night-table, atop the coil of its own chain. Either the ruby pendant was
reflecting the lamplight; or it truly did have a light of its own, glowing
somewhere deep inside.

Art by David Luke

Jonathan had not been there, that night on the farm; what he knew of that incident
he had heard third-hand. That Nicodemus had created the Stone as a repository
for his own powers, to preserve them in case of his death...that much seemed
clear enough. That he had concealed it from everyone, Jonathan included, in
order to keep it out of Jenner's hands--that was obvious. But why he had
inscribed that quotation on the back--one of Jonathan's own sayings--and why he
had ultimately given it to Elizabeth, of all people...those matters might remain
a mystery forever. What mattered to Jonathan now--even more than what she had
done with the Stone--was what it had done to her. It hadn't harmed her;
everyone who had been present that night on the farm insisted on that. This
time it hadn't even burned her hands. She was merely exhausted, worn out by the
strain of using the thing, and would awaken when she had re-gathered her
strength. A dozen people or more, even his own children, had sworn to that; so
why was he having such a hard time believing it?

His conversation with Justin--and the insights his friend had given him--was
still strongly on his mind. You'll have to respect her, Justin had said;
and I always have, Jonathan had replied. But was that absolutely true?
Looking back over their time together, was it not possible that he had treated
her with more than a little...well, condescension wasn't the right word,
because it implied ill-will; perhaps paternalism came closer. Hadn't he
usually taken problems out of her hands, before she'd even had a chance to
solve them? He had always thought he had done so out of love, to spare her
difficulties; but now he had to wonder if he had really done so because,
somewhere deep inside, he had not trusted her to solve her own problems. It was
not intentional, it had never been intentional; but all the same it had
happened. And it had left her singularly ill-prepared for his departure. During
their wandering days the Rats of NIMH had learned arrogance, comparing
themselves to the normal rats they encountered, and who usually fled before
them. Jonathan had thought himself immune to that--but clearly he hadn't been.

Once again, angrily, he shook his head. No, he thought. All of that
made it sound as if there had been nothing more to their relationship; as if he
had married her simply to satisfy his physical needs, and to give him children;
and as if she had meekly and helplessly acquiesced in order to have someone to
take care of her. But that wasn't all there was, he thought. That was
never all there was. I wouldn't have put myself through these last nine
months, if that was all there was. He had not gone to NIMH with any thought
of making her more intelligent. That was not his agenda; in fact it had simply
never occurred to him that such a thing was necessary. He had gone, he had
spent all that time ferreting out the information, bit by painful bit, simply
because he wanted to give her the chance to be as long-lived as he was. Simply
because he loved her, for herself, and could not bear to lose her.

But still, Justin was absolutely right. If Jonathan had been paternalistic,
if he had sheltered her too much, those days were over. Not only would she
not stand for it any more, but the rats wouldn't either. She had saved them
twice in a little more than three months; to them she was nothing short of a
goddess. They would never permit anyone to treat her with anything less than
total respect--not even her husband.

It's going to be hard, Jonathan thought. Terribly, terribly hard.
Maybe I ought to be thanking the Stone...for giving us this respite, before we
have to face it. There might be harsh words; he would have to be prepared
for that. It was clear enough, how he would have to proceed: above and beyond
everything else he would have to be totally truthful, as he had been with the
children. And he would have to start with a heartfelt apology. That at least
would be no problem: he had been composing it in his mind for nine months. And
if after all she still rejected him...well, he would have to cross that bridge
when he came to it.

It occurred to Jonathan then that he was dead-tired, his eyes half-closed
and his body aching, most especially his feet. Slowly he shrugged out of his
tattered clothing. He would have loved to throw both tunic and shirt into the
nearest rag-bag--that was all they were good for, now--but he could not: he had
nothing else to wear, and the Rats of NIMH, though certainly not dogmatic on
the subject of clothing, generally frowned on total public nudity. He hung them
carefully on a peg next to her cape. He was about to climb into bed beside
her...but then he hesitated, letting the blanket fall from his hand. Suddenly he
could not bring himself to do it. First and foremost for practical reasons: if
she chanced to wake up in the middle of the night and found someone else in her
bed, she might react violently. And second--perhaps most importantly after
all--because she had not invited him to. At one time that would not have been
an issue...but that was then. Until matters had been sorted out, until their
relationship was redefined, one way or another, he would not make any
assumptions.

So--what to do? He looked around. There was a large, rat-sized armchair
tucked in the corner; it would have to suffice. A chest at the foot of the bed
supplied a blanket and a pillow; he blew out the lamp, and then arranged
himself as comfortably as he could, curled up on the wide horsehair seat with
the blanket wrapped around him. He had, after all, been sleeping rough (and
alone) for nine months; what was one more night? Not much more than an
eternity.

Nearly a full day passed before Elizabeth Brisby finally drifted back to
consciousness.

Using the Stone was always a learning experience, and a painful one at that.
Nicodemus had told her that it required courage; but he had neglected to
mention that it took strength as well, possibly more than one poor mouse could
muster. The amulet was the focus point for a massive source of energy--she had
never dared to imagine what kind--and once called, that energy was always on
the edge of running away from her, out of control. To keep it in check, to
channel it--that was what exhausted her. It terrified her too, what she was
capable of when the power filled her. Even as she'd probed the minds of the
scientist and his pilot she'd been aware that she herself harbored a dark,
almost irresistible desire for revenge. Despite the words Nicodemus had spoken
to her, it had taken all the strength she possessed to prevent herself from
giving in and destroying the helicopter, crashing it into the hills or
exploding its fuel tank. It horrified her that the Stone's power made it
possible for her to do either, if she allowed her anger to take control. Made
it possible for her to kill.

Despite her anger, she had followed Nicodemus' instructions to the letter.
In the last few minutes before the helicopter departed, she had reached into
the minds of the scientist and the pilot, and made...adjustments. She had watched
through their eyes, watched as a barricaded entrance suddenly became a random
jumble of stones; as a field of smoothly-mown grass became a meadow; and as a
plowed and neatly-worked farm became a brambly waste. Reaching into Dr.
Schultz's mind, even as they departed, she had placed a tiny germ of doubt: did
the Rats of NIMH ever really exist? And in the pilot's mind she had found
and nurtured a small seed of anger: he used me, and he's not going to get
away with it! What would happen when they arrived back at NIMH she didn't
know; but that they would return to Thorn Valley seemed unlikely in the
extreme.

Still, every time she held the Stone she did learn a little more of its
ways. Already she'd learned how to prevent it from burning her hands; that was
valuable enough. If--heaven forbid--there was a next time, she would know how
to borrow strength from the Stone itself, to prevent it from sapping her own
energies so terribly. She was sure of that, at least.

It was the voices that finally brought her back. At first they were just
sounds, rolling over her mind senselessly, like wind in the trees. But that was
enough. Adrift in a sea of blackness, the quiet sounds were a lifeboat, and she
struggled toward them with the desperation of someone drowning. Finally the
sounds resolved into intelligible words.

It was her own daughter Cynthia who spoke first, in tones of concern:
"Are you sure she's going to be all right?" It wasn't hard to guess
who "she" was.

The voice that replied was familiar...and yet it wasn't. Male, apparently; a
pleasant voice, full of warmth and shared concern. "Yes, sweetie, she's
going to be fine. She's just very tired. She saved everyone, you know."

"But she's been asleep so long..."

Somewhere in her mind, Elizabeth frowned. Something had troubled her. The
voice? No--not exactly. Rather, it was something about that word:
"sweetie." Someone had called Cynthia that before--but who? And when?
A long time ago, it seemed; Cynthia had been scarcely more than an
infant...Slowly, reluctantly, Elizabeth's eyes opened.

She found herself lying flat on her back in the middle of that ridiculously
large bed--rat-sized--in the room Justin had assigned to her and her children.
Only a week ago? It seemed a year at least. The room was warm, and she was
covered only with a single, thin blanket. Under that she seemed to be naked.
Her cape hung on a wall-hook beside the bed. She was fairly comfortable, in no
pain; but her body felt somewhat heavy and unresponsive. She doubted whether
she could sit up unassisted. And hungry. Ravenously hungry. How long had
she been unconscious?

On the wall behind the beds the two windows had been uncovered, the camouflaged,
sod-covered shutters removed; and both windows had been thrown wide open. The
time was midmorning, according to the clock; but the light that entered through
the windows seemed curiously dim. She took a deep breath then, smelling the
dampness on the breeze, and suddenly realized why: outside it was raining
softly, the first rain that had fallen on Thorn Valley since her arrival. From
outside Elizabeth heard the faint sounds of voices and tools; the rats were
already at work, making up lost time on the farm despite the rain.

We're safe, she realized dimly. They wouldn't have uncovered the
windows unless we were safe. What she had done, more than halfway out of
desperation, had apparently worked. NIMH was gone, and would not return. The
rats would live. Her children would live.

She turned her head. The other two beds were unoccupied and neatly made; but
near the door a small group of people was clustered around two chairs. On the
one--to Elizabeth's immense relief--sat Justin. The elected leader of the Rats
of NIMH looked a bit pale, his movements slow and jerky; but alive! Thank God,
alive! In place of his usual tunic he wore a blue terry-cloth bathrobe, loosely
belted around his waist, and Elizabeth was certain that he was himself just
lately out of bed. Probably without permission, if she knew him. Around his
neck the Stone hung sparkling in the lamplight.

The Brisby children, all four, were gathered around the second chair, or
more specifically the person who sat there. Far too small for a rat; clearly a
mouse; and male. His fur was grey, his eyes large and dark brown; he was
smiling, but he seemed thin, drawn and tired, as from long stress or privation.
The dark-green tunic and white shirt he wore were ragged and much-patched, the
patches inexpertly applied and made from wildly different materials. Clearly
they'd been worn a long time, with no replacement available. Teresa, Martin and
Timothy sat cross-legged on the floor, clustered around the chair, looking up
intently at this person; but Cynthia he held in his lap, his arms wrapped
around her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. The look on
Cynthia's face was curious; it seemed almost...worshipful.

Elizabeth heard herself gasp. At that tiny sound the six of them turned, the
stranger looking up sharply, his eyes shining. Gently but hurriedly he kissed
Cynthia's cheek and set her aside, then he rose and crossed the room quickly.
He moved as if his joints hurt. As he drew near he smiled, hesitantly and
somewhat sadly. For several seconds his jaw worked soundlessly; then, finally,
his voice choked, he said, "Hello...darling."

It was Jonathan Brisby.

For a few moments Elizabeth was certain she was going to pass out again. She
gasped, unable to catch her breath; and black spots danced before her eyes as
her heart pounded. With a look of concern Jonathan reached out his arms; but
she pulled away and he desisted. Finally she found her voice. "Am I...and I
dead?" she asked faintly.

With a wan smile he shook his head. "No," he said. He sat down on
the edge of the bed. "No, Elizabeth, you're not. Hopefully not for a very
long time." Dimly Elizabeth was aware that the children had risen and were
clustered around the foot of the bed, but they hung back as if afraid to
interrupt. Jonathan--this mouse--this apparition, whatever he was, reached out
again, hesitantly, and this time she allowed him to clasp her hand. He felt
real, smelled real, sounded real...but he couldn't be real. He couldn't
be.

She might have spoken that thought aloud, or perhaps he was reading her
mind. He clasped her hand between both of his, and drew it closer, to lay flat
against his chest. Through the stained and patched tunic and shirt she felt the
strong beating of his heart. "I'm real," he said softly. His eyes
filled with tears. "I'm here. And if you'll still have me, I'll never
leave you again."

They sent the children out of the room, with Teresa in charge. There was
still a great deal of work to be done, bringing the community back to normal,
and even four small mice could find jobs to do. It was Jonathan's idea, and he
was right: there were things to discuss, words to say, that it might be better
if they didn't hear. They hung back, gazing at their mother in concern; but at
last they went.

Elizabeth watched them go. Her mind was whirling, her emotions threatening
to spin out of control and leave her a quivering wreck; but even in that state
it was clear: the four of them had not reacted identically to their father's
return. Timothy and Cynthia had accepted the situation uncritically, that was
clear, as a miracle that shouldn't be questioned. Cynthia especially had been
so young; her memories of Jonathan couldn't be much more than those of a kind
voice and a pair of comforting arms. And as for Timothy...Jonathan's death--no,
disappearance, it seemed--had helped make him sick in the first place; how
could he help but be overjoyed?

The other two, however, Teresa and Martin...they weren't quite so certain.
That was clear as well. They were old enough to know what Jonathan's
disappearance had done to their mother, and to them. They couldn't accept his
reappearance quite so unconditionally.

"We talked for hours," Jonathan said as they departed. "While
you were still in the infirmary. I tried to explain...I'm not sure if they
believed me or not."

Justin tried to leave too, slipping out quietly behind the children; but
Elizabeth stopped him. "Please stay," she begged. Why she did that
she didn't quite know. Was some superstitious part of her mind was still not
convinced that this person, this mouse who claimed to be her husband, could be
real; was she actually afraid to be alone with him? Justin glanced
questioningly at Jonathan, who shrugged; and then the rat reluctantly crossed
the room and sat down, perching himself on the other side of the bed with his
hand resting comfortingly on her knee. Elizabeth struggled to sit up, and
finally accomplished it; with her free hand she clutched the blanket to her
chest. She turned to Jonathan. "How?" she said. One word, but it
expressed a multitude of questions. "How?"

For a long time Jonathan sat gazing out the window, as if gathering his
thoughts. He looks so young, Elizabeth thought. That had never seemed to
be the case before. She herself had been very young when they were married--barely
adult, in fact--and he had always seemed much older. So young...but so
terribly tired. She had never seen him so thin, or so uncertain. He had
been her strength, her support, for so long...always with an answer, always with
a plan. But now he seemed almost afraid to speak.

Finally, slowly, he said, "Elizabeth, darling...I love you. Never once
since the day I met you have I stopped loving you. I hope you can believe that,
at least. Never for one minute these last months have you been out of my
thoughts. I...have made a lot of mistakes. The first and biggest was not telling
you who I am, what I am. I should have done so long before we were married; but
I believed that it would frighten you, and then I'd lose you. And I couldn't
risk that." He glanced at Justin. "I'm glad you were finally able to
find out; though I wish the circumstances could have been different. I wish too
that I could have been the one to tell you...but I couldn't. I could never force
myself. This is going to be hard for you to believe, I know; but everything I
have done, I've done because I didn't want to hurt you. And yet that's exactly
what I've ended up doing. You and them too." He nodded at the door.
"If you can't forgive me...I will understand. If you want nothing more to do
with me...I can't blame you."

She shook her head. "Jonathan, please," she said. She actually
stumbled over that word, that name; it had been so long since she had last
spoken it to his face. "I can't...I can't cope with that right now. I just
need to know: how can you be here? How can you be alive?" She glanced at
Justin, who looked away. "They all told me you were dead. Justin,
Nicodemus, Mr. Ages...all of them. Justin," she demanded suddenly,
"were you lying to me?"

Justin nodded tiredly. "Yes," he said quietly, his eyes still
averted. "Yes. I'm sorry, Elizabeth, but we were."

"But why? Why would you do such a horrible thing to me? I
thought you were my friends..." She trailed off then, as the memories came
flooding back, of the last two times she had spoken to Justin. In his office,
the night before the attack; and the next day, as he had lain dying beneath a
pile of rocks. You can't love me, he'd said on the first occasion; and
if we get out of this, I'll explain why. And then, before he lost
consciousness, he'd tried to tell her: Jonathan is... She hadn't
understood the word he'd uttered then; but now she did. Alive. Jonathan is
alive. Timothy had known, that was clear; but what, exactly, had he
known?

"Don't blame Justin," Jonathan said quickly. "Don't blame any
of them. I made them do it. I swore them to secrecy. If I hadn't succeeded...I
intended to never return. I thought...I thought it would be easier that way.
Easier for you to think I was dead."

"'Succeeded,'" she quoted. "Succeeded at what?"

Justin cleared his throat. "Jonathan," he said, "I think it's
time for total truth."

Jonathan smiled. "You're right," he said. "Long past
time." He looked Elizabeth in the eye, his gaze steady and unwavering.
"I've told you a lot of lies," he said. "I never wanted to, and
I hated myself every time I did. Nonetheless, I did. But never again. I can't
blame you if you don't believe me now; I can only assure you that every word of
what I'm about to tell you is the absolute truth. Justin can corroborate some
of it; and Philip and the others can vouch for the rest. What happened was
this..."

For the next hour Elizabeth listened as Jonathan spoke, his voice soft and
almost expressionless. He spoke about NIMH; his return to a place where he had
suffered so much, a place he'd never wanted to see again. He spoke of the four
young rats who has been his companions, and their fugitive lifestyle, holing up
by day in a forgotten store-room, and spending every night searching through
labs, desks, filing cabinets and computers...always on the lookout for security
cameras, alert at every minute for the footsteps of night watchmen or janitors.
He spoke of the long, painful process of piecing together the details of a
research project that had been deemed too dangerous to continue. And he spoke
of the terrible hours of anxiety he had endured, wondering what had become of
her and their children; and the black pits of depression he'd plunged into,
when at times the enormity of what he'd done came crashing down upon him. He
spoke of how his friends, especially Eileen, had time and again pulled him out
of that pit, and had managed to keep him going just a little while longer. His
eyes never left hers as he told his tale; and he continued to clasp her hands
tightly, as if the strength of his grasp alone could convince her that he spoke
the truth.

Elizabeth listened to him silently. She listened with sadness, with
horror...and with anger. It grew inside her slowly, as he spoke, and finally,
inevitably, it boiled over. She interrupted him, wresting her hands free and
thrusting him away. "How could you?" she demanded. "How
could you do that to me? How could you do that to them? Timothy gave up
hope, thinking you were dead; he didn't want to live any more. He almost died
because of you. How could you leave us like that? How dare you leave us?
And how dare you come crawling back now?"

Jonathan sat still, his head bowed, while she raged at him. Finally, when
she had run out of breath, he nodded tiredly. "I deserved that," he
said. "Every word. I know I can't expect you to forgive me. I can only ask
you to believe that I'm not who I was, nine months ago."

She looked away. Then she said, in somewhat softer tones, "I
interrupted you. Why were you and your friends on that...that helicopter?"

He smiled. "It looked to us like the last train to Clarkesville,"
he said.

"Pardon me?" She had all but forgotten Jonathan's exasperating
habit of saying completely incomprehensible things; and now, suddenly, she
understood why he did it.

"Uh--never mind," he said. Again, as usual. "What I mean is,
it looked like the fastest way home. And...well, we thought there might be
something we could do. Some way to sabotage Dr. Schultz' plans. I still have no
idea what we might have done. As it turned out there was nothing we could
do except watch." He smiled again. "I never dreamed you'd have it all
covered."

"That's not what I meant," she said. "Why did you leave NIMH?
Why did you give up your...your mission?"

He reached for her hand again, and she didn't prevent it. "We didn't
give up," he said quietly. "We succeeded."

"What do you mean?"

"It's here," he said. "Justin has already sent a messenger to
Ages, asking him to come look it over. I don't want to mess with it until he
does. But it's all here. Copies of all the notes, the files...the formulas for
everything they shot into us. And...samples."

"Samples?"

He nodded. "Yes. We brought them mainly for Ages to analyze...but there's
more than enough for that. There's also enough...for you. I made sure of that.
If...if you want it."

Her gaze shifted rapidly between Jonathan and Justin, as they looked down at
her earnestly. "You mean," she began hesitantly, "you mean...I can
be like you?"

"Yes," Jonathan said simply. He took a deep breath, and the words
came tumbling out of him. "Elizabeth, I love you. I couldn't bear the
thought of losing you, of having nothing left but memories. In the end. that's
why I ran away. But that doesn't have to happen. Not now. It won't be easy for
you--I know Nicodemus told you what we went through--but at least you'd know
what was happening to you, which was more than we did. And though it is
painful, it's all temporary. I've read the notes. We can avoid the mistakes
they made, the wrong turns; we can have it over and done with in just a few
weeks. And then...we can all be together--who knows how long?" He paused.
"If you want it," he repeated hopefully.

She hesitated, her gaze still shifting back and forth between the two of
them. It was too much, far too much for her to absorb. If only she could return
to unconsciousness; things were so much simpler there...

"I know you're confused right now," Justin told her quietly.
"But please--do consider it. You saved all our lives yesterday, Elizabeth.
That's twice now. And you saved my life. Whatever this community can do
for you, whatever we can give you, it's yours. As far as we're concerned you are
one of us, now and forever. We would like nothing more than to be able to make
that official."

"Jonathan," she said, "tell me: what do you
want?"

"I want to start over," he said without hesitation. "I want
us to have a second chance. I was happy with you, darling; happier than
I have ever been, before or since. Never believe I wasn't. I want to try to get
that back. I know it can't be exactly the same. Timothy and Cynthia...they don't
care where I've been, or why; they're just glad I'm back. They've told me so.
Teresa and Martin will be harder to convince; and I can't blame them. But I
want to try. I want all of us to be together as long as God allows. I want the
chance to spoil my grandchildren and my great-grandchildren. But only if you'll
have me."

"And if I won't?" she demanded.

He looked away. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know."

For a long moment Elizabeth was silent. Then she fixed Jonathan with her
stern gaze. "You know what you've done, don't you?" she asked
bitterly. "You haven't left me any choice at all."

He looked startled. "I don't--" he began, but she interrupted him.

"Now that I know you're alive," she said. "Now that they
know you've alive--how can I possibly turn you away? What would I tell them?
What would I tell Timothy? And how am I supposed to live, knowing that you're
out there in the world somewhere? You know I can't let you go again--not like
this."

He turned away. "You're right," he said. "I'm sorry." He
turned and gazed at her helplessly. "But it isn't my fault. This time it
really isn't. I had no idea you were here--how could I? Or our children. It was
Arthur who found my friends and me yesterday afternoon, camped on the doorstep
waiting for the main entrance to be cleared. He told me what had happened; and
he told me that you were here. What could I do? I had to see you, to make sure
you were all right. I had to see them. They were with you in the
infirmary..."

Elizabeth closed her eyes and shook her head. Try as she might, she couldn't
help imagining that scene. Every bit as emotional, every bit as confused, as
the one she was living through now. Of that she was certain.

"God, how they've grown," Jonathan said wistfully. "Teresa
and Martin...they'll be adults soon. Even Cynthia isn't a little girl any more.
And Timothy..."

"Timothy is much stronger now," Elizabeth said, smiling in spite
of herself. "He's been exercising, building himself up. And he's been
devouring the library since we've been here. He's the smartest of all of them.
The most like you. He's always talking about you..."

Abruptly it was all too much. She felt her eyes fill with tears, and angrily
she swallowed the lump in her throat. "Jonathan," she said, "I
do love you. I couldn't stop loving you if I tried, no matter what you did. And
there is no way on earth I can let you go a second time." She took a deep
breath. "You've asked me if I'll have you back. The answer is yes. I will.
Heaven help me, I don't have any other choice. But I have to be honest: I think
it might be a very long time before I'll be able to trust you again. And please
don't ask me if I've forgiven you. Not yet."

"That...is all I can ask," Jonathan said. He paused, then he asked
hopefully, "And...the other thing?"

She shook her head. "Don't ask me that yet either."

He looked crestfallen, but he nodded. "All right," he said.
"There's time yet. Plenty of time--for both of us."

Almost hesitantly then he held out his arms, and she allowed herself to be pulled
into his embrace. For a few seconds she was stiff, aloof; but she had missed
this too much, had imagined it, remembered it, dreamed about it too many times.
She let him draw her closer...

And behind them, Justin cleared his throat loudly. "I think," he
said with a smile, "I'd better leave the two of you alone for a
while."

For Jonathan Brisby, Thorn Valley was a revelation.

For a time, after Justin departed, they were left alone; and during that
time they talked. Just talked. He had told her his story; and now he listened
to hers. She spoke of the hardships of the last winter, the sleepless nights,
the struggle to find enough food for herself and the children...and the number of
times she had done without. He listened in silence; and if to his ears she
occasionally became bitter, he gave no sign. How could he dare to take offense,
when it was all his fault?

Eventually--thankfully, as her bitterness was reaching its breaking
point--they were interrupted. It was Andrea from the community kitchen, quiet
and slightly over-awed, who came knocking on the door, bringing them food. A
large quantity of food. No doubt it was Justin's doing: he thought of
everything. The kitchen was up and running again, and the food was excellent:
vegetable soup and fresh warm bread, grains for their teeth, and herbal tea;
for Jonathan at least, it was the best food he'd seen in many months, and he
ate like a starving wolf. Elizabeth watched in amazement, though perhaps--she
reflected--she shouldn't have been so surprised; her husband seemed to weigh
only about half what he had. Stress, or malnutrition? she wondered.
Probably a little of both. "What did you live on, while you were at
NIMH?" she asked.

"Junk food and coffee," he said, his mouth full. "Every night
we'd raid the employee's lounge for whatever we could find. Stale donuts,
leftover sack lunches...anything even remotely edible. Eventually Philip--you'll
meet him later, you'll like him--found a way to get into the snack cupboard. We
had to be careful with that, though, or they would have noticed the shortage.
I'm going to miss the coffee, but I never want to see another bag of nacho
cheese tortilla chips as long as I live."

She started to chuckle, but caught herself. Well, why not? she
thought angrily. That's one of the reasons you fell in love with him in the
first place: because he could always make you laugh. Why should it be different
now?

Finally they pushed aside the empty trays. Jonathan patted his own stomach
contentedly. "A few more like that," he announced, "and I'll be
back to normal." He paused. "Are you... strong enough to walk yet,
darling?"

More than half of her weakness, she found, had been simple hunger; she
nodded. "I think so," she said. "A little, anyway."

"Good," he said. He stood, and from the hook on the wall he
fetched her cape, the new one. As she tied it around her neck Jonathan smiled
and reached across to touch the fine green fabric. "You're better dressed
than I am," he commented. He looked down at himself ruefully. "I'm
down to my last suit, as you can see."

"Don't worry," she assured him. "They won't let that go on
very long. Where would you like to go?"

"Well," he said, "I understand you and the kids have been
here a week?"

She nodded. "That's right."

"Then I'm sure you know the place by now," he said, offering her
his arm. "And If you don't mind, I'd like you to show me Thorn
Valley."

She actually hesitated, before she took his arm; which was a first. Did she
still distrust her own senses? Did some irrational part of her still think he
was a ghost? Or was she simply still angry with him? Finally, with an act of
will, she slipped her arm through his. He gave no sign of having noticed her
hesitation; but she was gloomily sure that he had noticed. This is
going to be hard, she realized. Terribly, terribly hard. But the
alternative was worse.

Arm in arm, then, the two of them left the room and stepped out into the
wide stone corridor. A day after the attack, the fear that had gripped the
community had finally begun to subside. The hallways were still full of rats,
hurrying back and forth on business, carrying tools, or bundles, or clipboards,
as the case may be; but the bustle had lost its edge of barely-controlled
hysteria. Once again it was business as usual for a productive, determinedly busy
people. And if a good many of them came to a halt, astounded, as Jonathan and
Elizabeth passed, well, that was to be expected. For a while anyway. Jonathan
could not help but notice the ease with which she greeted passersby--and always
by name. She really had changed.

In just over a week's time the rats' community had come to feel like home to
Elizabeth; all the more now that she had saved it. At first the corridors had
bewildered her, and she'd had trouble deciphering the directional signs; but in
just a few days she'd memorized the paths to the more important places. Over
the next hour or so, walking slowly, it was those places that she showed him.
The dining hall, the tables just being cleared after lunch. The kitchens, where
she herself had worked several times these last few days. The gym, which was
unoccupied. The school, so important to Timothy and Cynthia; it was not yet
back in session, but would be the next day, according to the sign on the door.
The library, the books sitting neatly on their shelves, temporarily abandoned
as work took precedence over study. The huge multi-tiered pit of the meeting
hall, where two days ago the community had heard the dreadful news of their
danger. Arthur's workshops, which in contrast were frantically busy. And
finally the lounge.

It was in the lounge that her strength faltered, and she had to sit down for
a little while. They pulled themselves up onto a small sofa near the big
windows, overlooking the lake and the fields. Outside the rain was still
pattering down, but the horizon was growing lighter; probably it would end by
nightfall. As they settled in Jonathan laid his arm around her shoulders,
hesitantly; and after just a second's pause, she rested her head on his arm.
How many times had they sat just like that, in olden times? Neither one could
begin to guess.

Around them the lounge was all but unoccupied. A few rats where scattered
among the other sofas, the tables, chairs, and private niches. A few quiet
conversations were going on, punctuated by soft laughter; a few games of cards
or chess; and a few of the rats were unashamedly napping, their heads leaning
back and their mouths wide open. Usually--even at that hour of the day--the
lounge would have been much more crowded, but the community wasn't back to
normal yet. Not quite. Probably Justin would schedule a musical performance as
soon as he could; after what they had all been through, they needed it.

Jonathan drew Elizabeth a little closer, his hand rubbing gently up and down
her arm; and she didn't try to prevent it. "This place," he said
contentedly. "This valley...is everything I ever dreamed it would be.
Everything Nicodemus promised it would be."

She glanced up at him curiously. "You mean you've never been here
before?"

He shook his head. "No, never," he said. He chuckled. "That's
funny, I suppose, when you consider how hard I worked to make the place happen.
But no. It's a long trip from the farm--as you know. Days, traveling by foot.
And by the time the Plan was finalized, I had...other responsibilities."

She shook her head in wonder. To think that of the two of them, she would be
the one to see the valley first...incredible, the tricks that fate could play.
And of course he might not have seen it at all, had things worked out just a
little differently.

Jonathan waved his free hand. "This room," he said. "This
lounge. I hope I won't sound like I'm boasting, but in a way I'm responsible
for it. I suggested it." He smiled and shook his head.
"Nicodemus," he began, and his voice caught. He swallowed the tried
again. "Nicodemus was always far too serious. I tried to tell him the
people would need a place like this, if they were going to work as hard as he
expected. A place to come and unwind, play a few hands of poker...but I never
thought he believed me. I guess...I finally talked him into it."

"'Poker'?" she asked. "What's that?"

"It's a card game," he said. "I'll teach you sometime. Or you
can get Justin to. Be careful with him, though, or you'll lose your
shirt."

She shook her head in exasperation. There he went again. It used to drive
her crazy, the things he would say. Where in the world did you hear that?
she'd ask. But he'd only smile and change the subject. Well, that was over and
done with too: another secret he didn't need to keep any more.

For several moments they sat in silence, both of them lost in old memories.
Jonathan's hand continued to move up and down her arm, smoothing and
re-smoothing the brown fur. She'd all but forgotten how much that relaxed her.
Finally Jonathan said, "The children...they really love it here, don't they?
In this valley, I mean."

Elizabeth had grown so comfortable that she'd almost fallen asleep; with an
effort she roused herself. "Yes," she said. "They do. They've
made a lot of new friends here. Better friendships than they have at home,
actually. Especially Timothy." She twisted her neck to look up at him.
"Do you know a rat named Robert?"

"Arthur's youngest?" Jonathan asked. "I certainly do. He was
born exactly the same day as Timmy. In fact he was a lot like Timothy, as I
remember. He wasn't a very strong child either. Always sick. Several times they
were afraid they'd lose him. But smart; as smart as they come."

"He's Timothy's best friend now," she said.

Jonathan chuckled. "Is he really? I'll be darned. Arthur and I used to
joke about that--they were so much alike, Arthur said, they were sure to become
friends. I didn't think it would ever be possible But--" he smiled and
squeezed her arm. "Times change."

"Yes, they do," she said. She paused. "The two of them are so
close now I hate the thought of separating them. Timothy has so desperately
needed a really good friend. Actually...I hate to separate any of them from
this."

Jonathan sat silent, still stroking her arm. To what she'd just said there
was an obvious answer. It was one that he'd been mulling over, in the privacy
of his own thoughts, much of that day. It had come to him some time during the
previous afternoon, when he and his children had sat talking, trying somehow to
bridge the chasm that time had opened between he and they. One day hadn't been
enough to accomplish that--he'd made barely a beginning, in fact--but the
things they'd said had put the germ of an idea in his head. Obviously Elizabeth
had it too; but just as obviously, it was something she couldn't cope with yet.
Not in her present state. Let it be, he thought. There's time enough
for that too.

Abruptly Elizabeth rose, taking Jonathan's hand and pulling him upright too.
"Come on," she said briskly. "There's one other place I want to show
you."

"Where's that?" he asked, as he allowed himself to be led out of
the lounge.

"The sewing department," she said. She brushed her hand across his
parti-colored tunic, and grimaced. "We're going to get you some new
clothes, before any more people see you."

Jonathan couldn't suppress a gasp of amazement as he and his family entered
the meeting hall that night. More than a little tired, and stuffed full with an
excellent fish dinner--a rare treat in the community--he wanted a soft bed more
than anything else; but Justin had begged them all to attend, and so they had.
Now, a little belatedly, Jonathan understood why Justin had been so insistent.
In a manner of speaking they had been set up.

It had been a long time--far too long, in fact--since Jonathan had seen all
of the Rats of NIMH gathered together, as they were that night. From the
highest level to the lowest, the tiers of stone benches were packed full, and
as the Brisby family entered, all those hundreds of eyes turned silently to
gaze at them. Every member of the community was there, bar none; from the
remainder of the Original 22 right down to the newborns. All of them, it
seemed, had raided their closets; seldom had Jonathan seen them all so
richly-dressed.

As Jonathan slowly descended the wide steps, hand-in-hand with Elizabeth and
with their children trailing behind, his eyes roved over an ocean of familiar
faces. He saw Arthur and Alice, in the midst of their huge brood of children,
including a young and slightly undersized rat who was waving enthusiastically
to Timothy: his new best friend Robert, much bigger than the last time Jonathan
had seen him. He saw Ralph, now the Master Farmer, and his colleague and
semi-friendly rival Judith--Eileen's twin--the community's botanist. And in the
background, still wary of being noticed, he caught sight of Sullivan, the
erstwhile prisoner. Only one face--Mr. Ages--was lacking to make the reunion
complete. So many familiar faces. Friends, acquaintances, sparring
partners...even a few he would once have called opponents. And strangers, far too
many strangers. In nearly a year, many children whom Jonathan had barely known
had grown to adulthood; and many more had been born. Yet another reminder of
the passage of time. In total silence they sat, watching, just watching, as the
Brisby family entered. Suddenly--incongruously--Jonathan was glad Elizabeth had
talked him into visiting the tailors' shop that afternoon. The brown tunic and
white shirt he wore had been intended for a rat child, and had been hurriedly
altered to fit; but they were clean and new, and at very least he was not
ashamed to be seen in them. As always, his wife's instincts had been absolutely
correct.

Down on the lowest tier one--just one--bench was unoccupied, the space
flanked, and obviously saved for them, by Philip, Mark, David and Eileen. As
the family descended Philip beckoned to them, inviting them down. Jonathan had
not seen any of his companions since late the previous afternoon, but clearly
they had been welcomed home as thoroughly as Jonathan himself had. Philip, Mark
and David wore fresh Guard uniforms, spotless blue tunics and crisp white
shirts, and Eileen--for the first time in Jonathan's memory--wore a skirt and a
blouse; and looked good in them, too. Her fractured wrist had been treated, set
and casted; it hung in a sling, strapped close to her chest. Philip's arm was
around her waist, and hers around his; a sight that did Jonathan's spirits a
world of good. Here was one happy ending in the making, at least. As
Elizabeth saw Eileen her eyes widened, and she glanced quickly back over her
shoulder at a higher tier, where Judith sat beside Thomas. Jonathan couldn't
help smiling, but he could well understand her confusion: the two of them were
indeed just about identical. Physically, anyway. The introductions would have
to wait, though, because as the Brisby family began the long walk down, Justin
appeared.

The leader of the rats stepped forward from the shadows onto the speaker's
platform. He stood firm and strong, his arms crossed over his chest and his
feet planted wide. He wore his finest, newest tunic and shirt, and over his
shoulders hung a long cloak, dark blue and trimmed with gold. Around his neck
the Stone gleamed, newly-polished; and from a belt hanging low around his left
hip protruded the hilt of a sword, the very one that usually hung above his
desk. Neither Jonathan nor Elizabeth had ever seen him look so regal, so much a
leader, as he did that night. Into the silence he spoke. Not loud; but his
voice carried. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said.

It was a signal, and as one the assembled rats rose to their feet and
snapped to attention, facing the steps where the Brisby family paused,
astounded. Justin went on, "My friends, members of the community of the
Rats of NIMH, I give you Jonathan and Elizabeth Brisby."

The applause began quietly, decorously; but as the six of them continued to
descend it grew louder and louder, and soon was mixed with cheers and whistles.
By the time they reached the bottom the rafters were literally ringing.
Elizabeth's ears had turned bright crimson, and her eyes darted back and forth,
seeking escape; but there was none. Behind her the children stepped back and
sat down, their eyes shining with pride; and they too joined in the applause. After
a few seconds Jonathan too stepped back. He had an ego--that had been remarked
upon many times over the years--but he knew very well: this wasn't for him. It
was for her and her alone. She had saved their lives, not once but twice; and
now she had saved their home as well. He'd had his moments of glory, years ago;
now it was her turn, and he couldn't begrudge her. She deserved every bit of
their applause, and more.

Justin let it run for a time; then he raised his hands above his head.
Slowly, reluctantly, the noise died away, and the assembled rats sat down.
Justin waited for silence, then he spoke again. "All of us in this
community owe our lives to Jonathan and Elizabeth Brisby," he said.
"If not for Jonathan we of the Original 22 would never have escaped from
NIMH. If not for Elizabeth we would have died in our old home, never knowing
our danger until it was too late; or else we would have died here, yesterday,
in the safety of this supposedly unknown and untouchable valley. I say that we
would have died; but perhaps not. We might instead have been returned to
imprisonment. Very few of us here have experienced that state; it has always
been my intention that none of us ever shall again. That we can meet here
tonight, safe and free, we owe entirely to her. A most unlikely hero, I might
once have thought; but not any more. I have learned that it is not safe to
underestimate Elizabeth Brisby."

He gazed down at her, standing there below him, rooted to the spot with
embarrassment, her husband and her children seated behind her. "There is
no way this community can adequately repay you for what you have done,"
Justin went on. He grinned suddenly. "But I'm going to try anyway.
Jonathan, Elizabeth, it is our unanimous desire that you and your family
consider yourselves full and equal members of this community, for as long as
you and your descendants shall live. Our home is your home; anything you need
or desire, if it lies within our power to give, is yours. You also--and I hope
this will not be the least we can give--have the undying gratitude of the Rats
of NIMH, now and forever. This I pledge, on behalf of us all."

Elizabeth glanced back at Jonathan; but he smiled and shook his head: this
was her moment, not his. With no escape, then, she pulled herself to her full
height, wrapped her cape around herself, took a deep breath, and spoke.
"Justin--everyone--thank you. Several months ago you helped me, when I
didn't know where to turn. I was happy, then, to be able to do something to
repay your kindness. This last week, again, you have all been very kind to my
children and me; and yesterday, having come to know this place, I simply
couldn't stand by and watch it be destroyed. I had to do something; and I thank
God that what I did was the right thing. You are all my friends, the dearest
friends I could ever hope to have. On behalf of my husband and my
children...thank you."

The applause chased her to her seat, where she sat trembling. Jonathan
wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. "You did fine," he
whispered in her ear.

"Thank you," she said. She smiled wryly. "And thanks for the
help."

And to think I used to call her "timid." He grinned and
kissed her cheek. "You're welcome."

Once again Justin allowed the applause to go on for a few minutes; then he
raised his hand. "Now," he said, "as much as I hate to say it,
we do have some real work to get done tonight. Arthur, may I have your
status reports please?"

After the meeting, as the rats were filing quietly out of the hall, Justin
stepped down from the platform. "Jonathan? Do you have a moment?"

Jonathan hesitated, gazing at his family. For him at least it had been a
very long day following a very uncomfortable night; but in fact the rest of
them were drooping too. The kids especially--even the older two--were just
about asleep where they sat, holding each other up. "Well--" Jonathan
began uncertainly.

"I'll be quick," Justin promised.

Jonathan sighed. "All right."

Justin sat down beside them. The Brisby family had hung back, waiting for the
hall to empty, so as not to get caught and crushed by the crowd; by now they
were all but alone, the last of the rats filing through the doors far above
their heads. Jonathan nodded at Justin's cloak and sword-belt. "Very
impressive," he observed wryly.

Justin tossed a fold of the cloak over his shoulder, and grinned. "Only
on very special occasions," he said. "I thought I'd roast to
death."

"What can we do for you?" Jonathan asked.

"Two things," Justin said. He gazed at all of them in turn.
"First, I want you all to know that what I said tonight wasn't just words.
You are members of this community, all of you. Your votes, your
opinions, count just as much as mine or anyone else's." He reached out and
tousled Timothy and Cynthia's hair. "Except a couple of you still need to
get a little older." He paused. "Actually--technically--that's always
been true. Jonathan has always been a member, and when he married you--"
he glanced at Elizabeth--"that made you a member as well. And your children
by descent. But Jenner convinced the Council..." he trailed off and shook
his head. "Well, I guess it doesn't matter any more, what Jenner or the
Council did. Tonight just seemed the perfect time to make it official and
irrevocable. In front of everyone."

"We appreciate that," Jonathan said.

"But that isn't all," Justin said. He took a deep breath and
looked around at them again. "I also said I want you to think of this
community as your home. I wasn't speaking figuratively then either. We
want--oh, who am I kidding?--I want you to consider moving here,
permanently. Frankly I think you need us--and I'm absolutely sure that we need
you."

The effect of those few words was extraordinary. Jonathan, sitting there
with his arms around Timothy and Cynthia, felt their small bodies suddenly grow
tense with excitement. And flanking them, Teresa and Martin exchanged an
astounded, hopeful glance, their eyes wide and shining.

Justin was still speaking, the words tumbling out quickly, one upon another.
"I've got it all worked out," he said breathlessly. "There's a
vacant apartment not too far from my quarters--three bedrooms and a living
room, just right. And you don't have to give up anything. Say the word, and
I'll have a team with wagons on the road to the farm. Everything you own can be
here within a week." He grinned. "Even the cinder block, if you
want."

He trailed off then, gazing at them expectantly. There was a moment of
silence. Jonathan hardly dared breathe, let alone speak; even as Justin spoke
he had felt a wild surge of excitement build within him, driving away all
thoughts of sleep. For so long the two halves of his life had been separate,
forced apart by grim circumstance. The thought of bringing them together in one
place--his family and his friends, the best of both worlds--was more than he
had ever dared dream of.

The silence was finally broken by Timothy. He looked up at his father, his
big blue eyes wide and bright. "Dad--can we?" he asked.

"Yeah, Dad," Martin said. "Can we?"

"Can we, Father?"

"Can we, Papa? Please?"

Jonathan cleared his throat. "Elizabeth? Darling?" he asked
quietly.

Elizabeth had sat silent as Justin spoke, her hands clasped tightly together
in her lap. She looked up at Jonathan...and then, without warning, she suddenly
burst into tears. She rose to her feet and--evading Jonathan's grasping
hand--ran headlong up the stairs. The hall door slammed behind her.

Justin half-rose, as if to go after her; but Jonathan caught at his arm,
stopping him. "Justin my friend," he said tiredly, "there's a
phrase I came across while I was away: 'don't go there.'"

"Meaning?" Justin asked.

"Meaning that tonight might not have been the best time to bring up
that subject. Everything you said has already occurred to her--but right now
she's got far too many decisions to make. Including one very big one. This one
is just going to have to get in line."

Justin sighed. "I know," he said. "I'm sorry--I couldn't help
myself. Do you think she'll forgive me?"

Jonathan smiled. "I don't imagine she could stay mad at you very
long."

Justin grinned. "I hope not." He paused. "What about you?
What do you say?"

Jonathan was very aware of four pairs of eyes on him, attentive and
expectant. He smiled wryly. "If it was entirely up to me," he told
Justin, "I'd say yes. In a New York minute. But," he went on quickly,
"it isn't entirely up to me. I could possibly browbeat her into
it." Or maybe not; all of a sudden she was not especially browbeatable.
"But I don't think I should try." He glanced around. "I don't
think anyone should try."

Those four pair of eyes turned away, and there was more than one quiet sigh
of frustration. Jonathan hugged Timothy and Cynthia. "But that doesn't
mean we should give up hope," he said. "We've just got to give her a
little more time."

"You're right," Justin said in resignation. He rose, and once
again threw his cloak over his shoulder. "Well, good night, all. This rat
is going to bed." He paused, his foot on the stairs, and then he glanced
back. "Oh--Jonathan? Would you come to my office tomorrow morning after
breakfast?"

"Sure I will," Jonathan said. "If I can find it. What's
up?"

Justin smiled and shook his head. "Nothing too serious," he said.
"I've just been thinking,...it's past time you and I had a good long
talk."

Slowly Jonathan matched his smile. "I'll be there," he promised.
"Good night, my friend."

Jonathan found Elizabeth--as he had expected--lying face-down on her bed,
her head buried in the pillows and the blankets pulled up around her ears.

Quietly he went about the business of getting his children to bed--though
that was scarcely necessary now, they had grown so big. To him it seemed to
have happened in an eyeblink. What he had missed could never be replaced; they
did not have a "rewind" button. That he knew too well. Regardless of
whether they or their mother ever forgave him, that at least he could never
forgive himself. As a spy he had succeeded--but at the cost of failure as a
father.

As he bent down to kiss her good-night, praying that she wouldn't turn away,
Teresa said quietly, "Father?"

"Yes, honey?"

"Will you--will you be with Justin all day tomorrow?"

"Probably not," he told her. "Why do you ask?"

"Because--if you have time, I think I'd like to talk with you
too."

He gazed down into her huge blue eyes--exactly like her mother's--and he
felt his heart suddenly melt. He bent down and kissed her forehead. "Of
course I will, honey," he said. "As much time as you want."

As he went up on tip-toes to blow out the lamp he suddenly felt a hundred
years younger. Maybe there's hope, he thought. Martin would be a tougher
nut to crack--that was all too clear--but maybe there was hope there too. If he
could even gain his older son's friendship, as one adult to another, he'd be
happy.

"Papa?" he heard, as the room plunged into darkness.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Don't--go anywhere. Okay?"

"Never again, Cynthia," he assured her. "Never again."

In the darkness he undressed, shrugging tiredly out of his new clothes, and
hung them on the peg next to Elizabeth's cape. At the side of the bed he paused
and cleared his throat. "May I join you?" he asked.

He heard the rustle as she turned her head, and the amusement in her voice.
"Where else would you go?" she asked.

"I have no idea," he confessed. "Maybe I'd go bunk on
Justin's sofa. Wouldn't be the first time." He paused. "So?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she said in exasperation. "Get
in."

He did so, and he turned over to face her, holding out his arms. A second
later--exactly one second longer than it once would have taken her--she allowed
herself to be drawn into his embrace.

"Justin wants you to know he's sorry," he said into her ear.
"He didn't mean to upset you. And I'm sorry too."

"It wasn't his fault," she replied. "Or yours either. It was
just...one too many things, right then."

"I understand," Jonathan said. "He also wants you to know
that you've got all the time in the world to make up your mind."

"Oh, I already have," she said. briskly.

"Pardon me?"

"I've already made up my mind," she said. She paused. "At
least...I think I have." She laid her hands flat on his chest. "I
think...I want it. I want all of it. I want our children to have a life here. A
real life, not just a field mouse's scrabbling for food and shelter. I want to
be near the friends I've made, and I want you to be with yours. For once in my
life I want to be safe; no more cats, no more plows. Justin was right: all of
us need each other. And--"

"Yes?"

"And, when Mr. Ages gets here, I want the NIMH treatment, if it can be
done. I want the chance to spoil our grandchildren too. Maybe tomorrow I'll
feel differently. But right now...I want it."

For a long time he couldn't speak; he just held her, held that slim,
soft-furred body as if he never wanted to let go. And in fact he didn't. There
were plans to be discussed, decisions to be made, apartments to be
inspected...but that could wait. Right now there was nothing else in the universe
except the two of them. And a future that now stretched out before them,
unlimited. When finally he could speak he said, "I love you, Mrs.
Brisby."

"I love you, Mr. Brisby."

...And a little while later she added, "Oh, by the way, Jonathan--"

"Yes, darling?"

"You're forgiven."

Art by Kkatman

THE END