"Lots of books have been written," said Pocahauntus, "but not one from the 'inside.' What we spirits need is a John Gunther. Now take the subject of Lovers Leaps. More twaddle has been written about—"

"I've done a couple of regional articles for the Covered Wagon Quarterly, but nobody wants to print my historical fiction," said Heather. "What about Lovers Leaps?"

"Now take my own. I was really running away from a greasy warrior. He chased me to the cliff edge and, in my girlish innocence, I jumped. What price virtue!"

"Too bad I wasn't around," mourned Captain Wully. "I'd a-caught you."

"If I had it to do over again, I wouldn't jump." Her black eyes flashed, and she drew herself up regally. "I'd push that feather-headed Casanova off instead."

Then, graciously, she suggested barbecuing a salmon over the open fire, but Heather was afraid it would take too long and her parents might worry. So she and Jerry excused themselves and left Captain Wully to his courting. As Jerry walked Heather up the front steps, the scent of lilacs was an invitation to romance, the moon a lover's promise.

"Good night," said Heather. "It's been such fun."

Her handclasp carried a hint of finality that went beyond words, and Jerry said, "Been?"

"Wesley gets back tomorrow."

Without being told, Jerry knew that Heather's portrait would have to be finished from memory. Any man worthy of the name, Jerry told himself, would have argued the point—unless he was broke and jobless and had a tax lien in his pocket.

He tried to work on her picture next morning, sought to imprison the laughter of her eyes, the song of her lips. But then he realized that the laughter was for somebody else. The song too.

From above came a few experimental notes on the glockenspiel. Presently Junior's mouth harp joined in. The melody staggered uncertainly, finally emerged as Mendelssohn's Wedding March.

Jerry threw down his brush and left the house. He walked toward the lighthouse. That once stately saltbox had already lost its lensed cupola and most of its siding. He watched for a long time as the Sam Schultz Salvage Company pried board from board and piled all in a stack of jack-straws. Maybe he could go to work for Sam Schultz 

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