"Marriage, if one will face the truth, is an evil, but a necessary evil."

Menander, c. 342-292 BC

I'm no stranger to terror. I've been stalked, had my life threatened, and my daughter's life threatened, too. I've even stumbled upon a corpse, which is a horrible sensation, and it often comes back to me in my worst nightmares.

I've gotten used to meeting new people, too. Last fall I worked on the student newspaper, and covered many a campus event, conducting several interviews.

But even with those experiences, I found nothing could prepare me for the sheer, nerve-wracking fright of attending an English department faculty reception. It wasn't being in a new situation that concerned me. It was the certainty I would be judged by Sam's colleagues.

The reception room was large, and thickly carpeted. Conversation was muted. Dress was casual chic. Food and drink were cleverly arrayed on separate tables.

My pulse was pounding, and I looked longingly at the doorway.

"Relax," whispered Sam in my ear. "They won't bite."

Ha, I thought. The people I saw looked like sharks, eyeing me with their drinks in hand, circling nearer, not yet ready to attack, but definitely interested.

"I feel like we're on display," I whispered back. "Like they're saying, 'Ah-ha, so that's who he's been seeing. My, she's young. A student of his, wasn't she? Tsk, tsk.'"

To my embarrassment, the Pope laughed out loud.

Professor Samuel Pope could afford to be amused, I thought. He belonged here, at a faculty reception.

After all, he was a tenured professor, a young lion at 32, a brilliant scholar if perhaps a formidable teacher. Too many undergraduates had learned the hard way not to try and skimp on their scholarship around him. He even looked leonine, with his strong, compact build and reddish-blond hair.

I, on the other hand, am a 25 year-old unmarried mother, trying to finish my undergraduate degree while raising a five year-old. I'm sure to everyone in this room I looked like the academic equivalent of a gold-digger, latching on to a professor as a way to get through school.

It's not my fault I fell in love with him. In fact, when I first met him I couldn't stand him. I called him "the Pope" like everyone else. Sometimes I still do, but only when he deserves it.

Fate made him my faculty advisor. Murder brought us together. If he hadn't gotten involved with my problems, on that Halloween night over a year and a half ago, my daughter and I might well be dead.

Could I help it if his concern and my gratitude developed into something more along the way?

"Relax, Francie." Sam broke into my thoughts. "Nobody tsks-tsks anymore. So what if our relationship raises a few eyebrows? Things have been pretty dull around here anyway."

He gave my arm a gentle squeeze. "I'm proud to have you here with me."

I felt a glow start to warm me inside.

"Sam, you old dog," came a hearty voice from behind us. Close as I was to Sam, I felt the jolt from the slap on his back.

My glow vanished quickly.

"Glad you could make it," the back-slapper continued.

"So am I," said the Pope. "Francie, I'd like you to meet Jake Bartholomew. Jake, this is Francie Steele."

Jake was a youngish man, about Sam's age, and very handsome in a movie- star type of way. His shining sable hair looked slightly windswept, and his dark eyes were deep and melting. He must have the more impressionable women in his class swooning at every lecture. But I detected more than a hint of self-satisfaction in his face, which marred his good looks for me.

"Pleased to meet you." Jake shook my hand, and scanned me avidly. "Sam has mentioned you often. You're the one with the little girl, right?"

I smiled. It was automatic whenever I thought of my daughter. "That's right. Her name is Savannah."

"And you go to school, too, right? Boy, it must be tough to study and take care of a baby."

"Oh, she's young, but she's no baby. She turned five last fall."

"Five?" Jake looked incredulous, and then strove to hide it. His reaction didn't surprise me. I was used to it. I knew I looked young for my age, and I didn't particularly appreciate it. Like most people, Jake was probably speculating on how young I must have been when I had Savannah.

"Savannah is really five going on twenty." Sam covered the awkwardness smoothly. "A most delightful child."

"So you know her?" said Jake. "Somehow, I can't imagine you relating to a child, Sam."

I bristled, and started to speak, but Sam forestalled me.

"Oh, I assure you, it's no problem. She's honest, direct, has an original viewpoint and is a stimulating conversationalist. In short, quite a change from what I usually have to deal with."

"I see," said Jake. "And I'll bet not too many of your other "charges" has such a beautiful mother. That's a nice benefit."

He smiled at me with a knowing look.

I wanted to smack him.

"Tell me, Jake," said the Pope, ignoring his last comment. "Where's Helen, your wife? Did she come?"

Wife? I had a hard time picturing this guy married.

"No, I try not to drag her to these affairs. They're hard on the spouses, you know. All the gossip and departmental chit-chat."

"Yes," Sam agreed. "It can be so wearing."

Sam turned to me. "I don't believe you've had anything to drink yet, Francie. Let me get you something. Excuse us, Jake."

"Oh, please, let me get those drinks for you." Jake smiled ingratiatingly.

"That's quite all right, thank you," replied Sam. "We can use the exercise."

Sam led me away towards the refreshment table, with Jake looking wistfully after us.

"Don't mind him," said Sam, when we were out of Jake's earshot. "He's lascivious by reflex. He thought he was being complimentary."

"I could tell. And to think he's married! His poor wife."

I could only imagine what it must be like being married to such a dedicated flirt. Guys like Jake were proof that there were worse things than being single. But Jake hadn't limited his attentions to me in our exchange.

"He sure seemed anxious to get our drinks, Sam. Is he always this attentive to you?"

"Lately, yes. He's up for tenure this fall, you see. And he's not the only one. There's a woman, Lillie Addison, who's also being considered. Unfortunately, there's only one position."

"Oh. No wonder he was so nice to you."

Sam chuckled. "Yes, but I'm afraid his affections aren't mine alone. Jake's been zealous in his attentions to all the senior faculty members and to anyone with influence in the department. He's even been seen hanging around the Provost's office."

I looked back in the room for Jake, and sure enough he was chatting with Dean Willows, head of the English Department and one of the people I recognized.

I was so busy looking I almost stumbled into the corner of the refreshment table.

"Sam, Sam Pope," came a gruff voice behind us. I recognized that rasp. It was old Professor Harding, my English 1A professor.

"Good to see you, Sam," said Harding, pumping the Pope's hand. Then the old professor peered at me, his eyes narrowing in recognition. "Young lady, didn't I have you in one of my classes? Weren't you the one who argued that the Romantic Poets weren't very romantic?"

Harding gave a booming laugh. His voice was loud and carrying, and every head in the room swiveled our way.

I said something inane (it would have been hard to say something sensible when Professor Harding was laughing like a hyena) and soon the old professor's attention turned elsewhere.

Discouragement settled in the pit of my stomach, as indigestible as the greasy liver pate being passed around by the caterers. This was a dumb idea. I'm was as conspicuous, and as out of place, as a stripper at a church social. Why did I ever agree to do this?

Sam caught my eye, and smiled. It was an intimate smile, meant just for me. For a moment, we were the only people in the room.

I held my breath, then let it out in one big sigh. It's true that the Pope was a terror to his students, and he could be sardonic and even haughty at times. But I felt close to him, and trusted him. So did my daughter, Savannah, with whom he was consistently honest and tender. I made the mistake of doubting him once, and I knew I'd never do it again.

I realized I would go through a lot more than a faculty reception for his sake.

"How are you doing?" he murmured in my ear when Harding had left.

I smiled, in what I hope was a convincing way. "Fine," I said brightly.

"That bad, huh?"

"No, really, I'm having a good time," I insisted. I flailed around for something convincing to add. "There are so many interesting people here."

Just as I said that, I noticed a striking-looking woman enter the room, followed by a rather nondescript man. The woman, an elegant blonde, was wearing a white linen suit with a sapphire silk blouse.

Sleek as a cat, she looked about thirty. She was scanning the room, smiling confidently, while the man trailed behind her.

"Who is that couple coming in? I don't think I've seen either of them around."

"The woman in the white suit? That's Lillie Addison, who I mentioned earlier. She's an assistant professor, specializing in Chaucer and the medieval era in general. That must be her husband with her."

Lillie Addison sailed across the room in our direction. I took a step backwards as Lillie approached with her husband in her wake.

With a mumbled "Excuse me," her husband stepped up to the refreshment table beside me and selected two bottles of flavored mineral water from the ice chest.

He handed one to his wife. I saw her grimace.

"Really, Brian, that's far too sweet. Be a dear and get me a glass of wine."

"But, Lillie--"

"The white, darling." She tossed a lock of long blond hair over her shoulder. "With the French label."

He went back to the refreshment table, an abstracted frown on his face.

Lillie turned her attention to us.

"Well, Sam, how's your spring quarter going? Classes full? Or have you kicked anyone out yet?" she added, with a wry twist to her mouth.

"Not so far. No one's dared to plagiarize in my class all year. It helps to have a fearsome reputation. Lillie, let me introduce you to Francie Steele--Francie, Lillie Addison."

I reached to shake her hand, and felt her cool stare assessing me. A stab of insecurity assailed me. I wished I'd worn something a little more stylish than the simple blue dress I had on, and done something with my long brown hair besides clip it back with barrettes. There was something very intimidating about the sophisticated Lillie Addison.

"Pleased to meet you, Francie Steele. What a brave girl you are."

"To be dating me, the well-known student-eater?" asked Sam with grin.

"No, to come here." She leaned closer and I caught a waft of expensive perfume. "At these affairs, if the back-biting doesn't get you, boredom will. I would think someone your age would be able find a lot more enjoyable ways to spend a Friday afternoon."

The way she said it made me feel very young indeed. Before I could think of a reply, she turned to her husband, who'd approached her from behind.

"Brian," she said, taking her wine from him. "You remember Samuel Pope, don't you? This is his charming friend, Francie Steele."

We shook hands, while Lillie sipped her wine. I thought her husband looked very uncomfortable. He kept looking at his wife as if he wanted to say something but couldn't. Sam tried to engage him in conversation while Lillie turned to me.

"Steele," said Lillie musingly. "Somehow that name sounds very familiar. Have you been in one of my classes?"

"No. You may have seen me in the student loan office. I work there part-time. Or perhaps you saw my by-line when I worked on the campus newspaper last fall. I did some art reviews, among other things."

I hoped she didn't recognize my name from the incident I was involved in last year. There was a lot of newspaper coverage at the time. I never have liked the thought of being notorious.

Lillie had already lost interest in her inquiry.

"That must be it. Tell me, Francie, are you one of Sam's graduate students?"

"No, I'm still an undergraduate, though, I'm a bit older than the average senior."

Lillie raised her eyebrows. I felt myself blushing; it was almost painful.

"I will be graduating next month, though."

"Indeed. And then what, if may I ask?"

"I've been interviewing for some jobs. Writing ad copy, public relations, technical writing--whatever I can get. I have a child to support."

"Ah," she said with a smile. "I see you are more motivated than most. I wish you good luck. How very clever of you not to set your sights on an academic career. It's much too cut-throat for a nice girl like you. And so are academics themselves."

She changed focus abruptly.

"By the way, Sam, have you had a chance to take a look at the paper I wrote on chivalry as portrayed in the Canterbury Tales? I'm interested in your opinion, especially the bit touching on knights and the Crusades, since you're something of an expert on medieval warfare..."

Lillie effectively cornered Sam, engaging him in avid conversation, which left Brian and me alone. Brian shifted from one foot to the other, and adjusted his wire- rimmed glasses. He kept glancing at his wife.

I made a valiant attempt at conversation. "Do you work here at the University?"

"No, I'm an engineer. I work for the government, the Pacific Northwest Power Administration. It's the federal agency that administers the power from all the dams on the Columbia River."

He gave me a shy smile. "Are you on the faculty here?"

I laughed. "Far from it, I'm afraid. I'm a student."

He looked surprised.

"I know." I sighed. "I'm aware it's something of a scandal for a professor to be dating a student."

"Oh, I don't know," he said kindly. "When I met Lillie, she was an instructor here, and I was working on my master's degree."

"Thanks, but it's not quite the same thing. You weren't in the same department with her."

He nodded his head. "You're right. I wasn't. But if I were you, I still wouldn't let it get to me. In the long run, it really doesn't matter what anyone thinks. It's your life, and you have to manage it the best way you can."

His kindness touched me. For the first time since I got there, I began to relax.

I tried to think of a way to thank him, but he had become distracted. He glanced at his watch, and looked up worriedly to where Lillie was talking to Sam.

"We really can't stay too much longer, I'm afraid. We have to pick Emma up at the sitter's. Our sitter closes for the day at 6."

"You have a little girl? So do I. Only Savannah is not so little anymore. She's five. How old is your daughter?"

"Emma's almost nine months old." A gleam came into his eyes. "She already sitting up and crawling. She gurgles and coos all the time, and can say 'daddy' as clear as a bell. You should see her light up when I come home from work."

I smiled at his enthusiasm. "Babies are pretty wonderful. I remember Savannah at that age. I never wanted to be away from her. I still don't, but with school and work..."

"I know how you feel. I hated putting Emma in daycare. But what else could we do? Lillie took five weeks off from work when Emma was born, but staying at home drove her crazy. Emma sort of gets on her nerves, you see," he added apologetically. "I don't mind so much, but the crying really gets to her."

I found myself feeling sorry for Emma. "Babies cry. It passes."

"I know, but--" Brian broke off when he saw Lillie moving towards us. "Lillie, we really have to go soon and get Emma."

"Oh, Brian, we just got here. There's still a lot of people I haven't said hello to."

Her face creased in a pretty pout. Then she brightened. "Why don't you go pick her up by yourself?"

"But how will you get home?"

"Oh, don't worry about me," she said airily. "I'm sure I can get a ride with someone."

Lillie's eyes traveled across the room to a man who had just entered. I didn't know him, but she sure did. The look that passed between them was unmistakable.

Brian looked worried and undecided.

"You'd better hurry, dear," said Lillie. "Emma will be waiting. And we don't want to upset Mrs. Ingleby." She turned to me. "Good sitters are so hard to find."

That convinced Brian. He rushed off with a hurried good-bye.

Lillie didn't see him leave. She was crossing the room, but not toward the man she had so obviously recognized.

"Dean, Dean Willows," I heard her say. "Don't you love this weather?"

"She's very sociable," I commented to Sam.

"Oh, indeed," he said dryly. "Particularly since she's up for tenure. She's enlisting all the support she can, too, just like Jake Bartholomew."

"Maybe she'll get together with Jake and compare notes."

"I doubt it. Remember, I told you only one of them will be put up for tenure next fall. Right now, they're something along the lines of mortal enemies."

I looked around the room with renewed interest. While Lillie was monopolizing Dean Willows, I saw Jake make a bee-line for the door, where I saw John Underhill, whom I knew was Vice President for Academic Affairs, entering the room. Jake got Underhill something to drink, and soon had him deep in conversation.

"This is fascinating," I said. "Did you have to go through all this when you got your tenure?"

The Pope gave me a withering look. "I don't play games."

Although that look of his had made many an undergraduate quail, it didn't faze me in the least. I knew him too well.

"How silly of me. The University probably begged you to accept tenure. And you reluctantly accepted."

"Really, Francie, I don't know where you get your notions."

And right there in the middle of the faculty reception he put his arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze.

"By all means marry; if you get a good wife, you'll become happy; if you get a bad one; you'll become a philosopher."

Socrates, 469-399 BC

We left the reception early, and Sam walked me home across campus. It felt wonderful to get out of that stuffy room. The days were noticeably lengthening, now that it was spring, but after a long, bright afternoon the light was finally waning.

We'd been lucky for the last few days; the weather had been mild and dry, unusual for Oregon's Willamette Valley, where spring generally meant pouring rain. We passed beds of pansies and late-blooming tulips situated beneath the bright green leaf buds of the trees.

"It was good of Julie to pick Savannah up from day care and bring her to her apartment. Though, of course, Savannah's going to want to hear all about the reception. She was more excited about it than I was."

"And what are you going to tell her?"

"That it was..."

I had to pause for the right word. I couldn't find it.

"... very interesting," I finished lamely.

Sam laughed. "I remember you said once you wanted to meet my friends, or perhaps I should say, the people I work with. See, you weren't really missing anything."

"It's not that, Sam. It's just that I thought maybe you were embarrassed to be seen with me. Since I'm a student, an undergraduate for God's sake, and--"

Sam stopped, and pulled me tightly into his arms, and gave me a resounding kiss, right under the street light. Suaveness and subtlety have never been his strong points, but I must say I don't mind.

"I don't give a damn what other people think," he said calmly when he could talk again. "The reason I haven't taken you to these parties before is that they're boring, and I didn't want you being hurt by one of those morons' thoughtless comments. If it was up to me, Francie, I'd take you with me everywhere."

The look in his blue eyes was intense, mirroring the color of the sky as it deepened from blue to violet with the onset of the evening. Over his shoulder I could see a crescent moon rising above the horizon.

In his face I thought I could see love, devotion, even the future... I shook my head. It was dangerous to read too much into these things. Particularly when moonlight was involved.

"Let's get back, Sam. I promised Savannah we'd have dinner with her."

He loosened his embrace, and I saw his face relax into a smile. "And what are we having?"

"Pizza, I'm afraid."

Sam shook his head. "It amazes me how that child can still eat a pizza after nearly dying from one."

"It would take a stronger aversion therapy to get her to abandon pizza."

"Francie, there are no stronger aversion tactics. Sickening unto death is about as strong an aversion as anyone would dare."

"Well, it wasn't enough to get Savannah to lay off pizza. Though she doesn't eat anchovies or mushrooms anymore."

"I should think not. Really, that child is amazing."

Julie's apartment was right off campus, in a modern brick structure that came complete with a courtyard and fountain. Julie, my best friend outside of Sam, was a graduate student, working towards her doctorate in physical geography, but she had the support of her parents, hence the nice apartment.

Savannah and I lived several blocks away, still within walking distance of campus, in a second-floor studio apartment in a crowded and dilapidated building. It was quite a contrast to Julie's place.

When we got to Julie's, she and Savannah were making a salad.

"Hi, Mommy, hi, Sam," said my little girl, waving a knife.

Her other hand was anchoring a carrot to a cutting board. "Did you have fun at your party?"

"Yeah, how was it," echoed Julie.

"Interesting," I said, taking the knife from Savannah's hand.

"She's doing really well," said Julie, noting my action. "She chopped the celery all by herself."

"Well, it still makes me nervous to see her with a knife."

Julie laughed. "Oh, Francie, don't be such a mom."

Sam intervened. "Perhaps it would be better if we went over some basic rules. Savannah, never wave a knife in the air. Always put it down when you're not using it. Now, show me how you cut that carrot."

The teacher in him was coming out. I decided not to watch the lesson. Knives made me too nervous. Maybe because I regularly slice into my own fingers when I cut things up. Blood, even the thought of it, makes me sick.

Julie followed me out of the room, and closed the kitchen door behind her. "Now, tell me, how was the reception, really? Did everybody stare and point at you?"

"No, of course not. I did feel conspicuous, though. One guy openly smirked at us. Another professor remembered me all too well, and loudly, I might add, from his introductory English class. And there was a woman there, a really classy woman, who made me feel about as old as Savannah."

"Aren't you being just a little paranoid?" Julie flopped down on her comfortable sofa.

"Perhaps," I admitted, joining her. "Oh, Julie, I don't know if I'll ever feel comfortable with the people Sam works with. I feel so young and stupid around them."

"Sam likes you," Julie pointed out.

"Yeah, and I still haven't figured out why."

"Good grief, Francie, it ought to be obvious to you by now that he cares about you. You've been seeing each other regularly for a year and a half. And it's a bonus that he's crazy about Savannah, too. I don't know what you're worried about."

I suppose she doesn't, I thought. Maybe if she'd had a boyfriend walk out on her when she was pregnant she wouldn't be quite so ready to trust in someone's affections.

But I didn't say that to Julie.

"What if he merely feels responsible for me?" I said instead. "He did save my life, remember. They say that if you save someone's life, you're bound to him forever."

"So?"

"So, that's not the best basis for a relationship. Obligation. Duty. Responsibility. That's a recipe for life-long resentment."

Julie snorted. "You're impossible, Francie. You wouldn't recognize love if you tripped over it."

I objected to that. And I was just about to say so when I was interrupted.

"Salad's done," Sam announced from the doorway.

"Then it must be time for the pizza to come out of the oven," said Julie, hopping up from the sofa.

Dinner was pleasant, and relaxed. Savannah chatted a mile a minute about her day at kindergarten, with Sam solemnly asking her questions. Julie, who is a teaching assistant in the geology department, told us how spring fever was affecting her students. "They come to class, but they're a million miles away."

"You mean they can't keep their attention on layers of dirt and rocks?" I asked in mock surprise. She laughed, and threw a bread stick at me. Savannah giggled, and I realized she was having a great time, too.

The Pope told us a little more about how tenure works, and I began to understand more about the hoops Jake Bartholomew and Lillie Addison had to jump through to gain an assured position on the faculty.

"Whew," said Julie. "Maybe it's not too late to switch careers."

"It's not as bad as it sounds. A lot depends on the department, and how it's run."

"I don't know." I put in my opinion. "The whole thing sounds pretty political to me."

"Well, it is. When you're up for tenure, you have to be very careful about everything you do. I had a friend at another university once who was up for tenure, and he flirted with a woman at a faculty party. This party wasn't even in his department, and he'd never seen the woman before.

"Anyway, she didn't exactly discourage him, so he made a date with her. Turns out she was the girlfriend of a member of his tenure committee, and that member was mighty peeved. Somewhat unsurprisingly, my friend did not get recommended for tenure that year."

"Wow, it's a good thing you already have tenure, Sam. If you didn't, dating me could be fatal."

"I often thought it would be fatal, especially when I first met you, but it wasn't my career I was worried about."

He smiled at me. "I decided a long time ago you were dangerous, but there's nothing I can do about it. I'm hooked."

"Am I dange-rus too, Sam?" Savannah asked brightly.

"No, elf, just precious."

Julie rose from the table. "Well, if you two are going to get all spoony, then I'm going to leave you to it and serve up the ice cream."

"Ice cream! Yaayy!" yelled Savannah.

Sam smiled at her affectionately, and I felt warm inside. I remembered the few dates I had before I met the Pope, and how abruptly the relationships ended as soon as the men discovered I had a child.

Sam never seemed to mind. He appreciated Savannah for who she was. He didn't see her as an obstacle to a relationship, nor did he try to use her to get to me. He was very natural with her, and she responded to him.

In fact, it felt like a family, all of us sitting comfortably around Julie's table. I recognized a rare feeling of contentment. Sam had become such a part of our lives. It would feel odd if he weren't there.

When dinner was over Sam escorted Savannah and me on our short walk to our little apartment. It was fully dark now, and the moon was high in the sky. We passed by the Old Church; some meeting was being held there and it was lit up inside. The stained glass windows sparkled like jewels, delighting Savannah.

Sam waited while I fumbled through my purse for the key to the apartment lobby door. We climbed the stairs to the second floor, stepping around bikes in the hallway.

Emanating from the thin walls was the insistent beat of rock music from the students' apartments, mingling with the sounds of television blaring from the older residents' places.

Fortunately it was quieter inside my flat. Sam declined a cup of coffee, but he helped me get Savannah calmed down and into her bed. At her request he sat on the edge of her bed and listened as I read her a chapter of James and the Giant Peach.

When her eyes started to get heavy I tucked her under the covers and switched off the light.

With a finger to my lips, I led Sam out into the hallway to say our good-byes. I didn't want our conversation to wake Savannah up. In our "no-bedroom" apartment, as Savannah called it, there was little privacy; her bed was behind a screen in our one room, and I slept on the couch.

"Thanks for coming with me to the reception, Francie." Sam spoke softly, his hand caressing my face.

Just the touch of his fingers caused a longing to flare inside me. Sam leaned closer, drawing me into a light embrace.

My heart started to race, and my breath was catching in my throat. I could scarcely remember feeling comfortable around Sam earlier. His nearness was stimulating many feelings in me now, but I couldn't describe any of them as comfortable.

I knew he was about to kiss me, and no matter how many times we'd been close before, my body always reacted this way to his touch. Such was his power over me, that there in the dim light of the hallway I forgot all about my earlier embarrassment and doubts at the reception.

"I'll go with you anytime." I was mesmerized by the sudden darkening of eyes to cobalt.

"Well," his voice sank to a whisper, "there is another reception scheduled in a few days for a visiting lecturer..."

"But Sam," I demurred drowsily, "do you think we should be together so much, in public? That is, at faculty events. You know, what with you being a professor and me a student. I don't want to make things difficult for you."

He gave a rich chuckle. His mouth was inches away from mine, his body cupped towards mine. My arms instinctively wrapped around his neck, as if they belonged there.

"Yes, I think we should be seen together in public." He tightened his embrace. "All the time. In fact, I think we should make our relationship official. Will you marry me, Francie?"

"What?" Instinctively I took a step backwards and tripped over a bicycle propped against the wall. It crashed to the floor. Doors opened up and down the hallway.

"Francie!" Mrs. Pulaski, in her pink terry-cloth robe and matching fuzzy slippers, poked her curler-covered head into the corridor. "Are you all right, dear?"

"Want me to call the police?" called the husky voice of old Mrs. Watson.

Trudy Sims, a rather excitable young student, came out of her apartment with a frying pan in her hand, her roommate right behind her wielding an egg beater.

"Mommy!" I heard Savannah calling from her bed. "Where are you?"

My mind registered all of this as though I were watching a movie. I stayed firmly rooted to the floor, my back against the stained wallpaper, under the 40-watt bulb of the amber glass hall light.

Sam was talking, explaining, gesturing.

I couldn't move.

Did he say marry him?

* * *

Julie was her usual practical self when I told her. "Have you phoned your mother yet?"

"Heavens no! I haven't even said yes or no to Sam. I told him I'd give him my answer today. Last night I was just too stunned, not to mention all the confusion in the hallway. For a moment I thought my neighbors were going to take Sam into custody."

I couldn't stifle a laugh as I remembered the chaotic scene. "I really was too stunned to speak, Julie."

"Oh, come on. You must have known something like that was coming."

"Honestly, I had no idea. But I'll tell you, if I do decide to get married, I'd just as soon do it and tell my parents after the fact."

"Francie, I don't understand. Why are you hesitating?"

She took another bite of her apple. We were having a late lunch together, under the elm trees out in the quad.

I had been in a daze all weekend, ever since Sam asked me to marry him Friday night. Now I had finished my shift at the loan office, and had a class starting in a few minutes. I had just enough time to see Julie and gulp down some food.

"You love him, don't you?" Julie persisted.

I answered her slowly. "You know, Julie, I'm not sure I know what love is. I thought I loved Paul, and that turned out to be a big mistake."

"But Sam isn't Paul." Julie spoke as if that settled the matter.

"I know. And I feel differently about him than I did about Paul. When I'm with Sam I feel exhilarated, but centered at the same time. I feel safe, like I did when I was a little girl and I was sure God was in his heaven, and all was right with the world."

"Spare me the quotations, please. What's the problem?"

"This may sound funny coming from me, a single, unmarried mother, but I always thought when I married it would be for life. That's a daunting prospect. Do Sam and I have what it takes for a lifelong relationship? And what about Savannah? Sam wouldn't just be my husband, he would be her father as well. The only one she's likely to know."

Julie munched thoughtfully. "Have you asked Savannah about this?"

"No. I don't think it should be her decision. That's too much responsibility for a child. But it adds to mine."

Julie sighed, and drained her can of diet soda in one big gulp. "I'm sure there are many issues to consider. Lots of ways you could make a mistake. But life is full of risks, Francie. We don't get that many chances at happiness in our lives. Think about it, think all you want, but in the end you may have to just go with your intuition."

Intuition. Not a very reliable guide, in my opinion. I wanted a clear sign of what to do. Like a bush bursting into flame, or a solar eclipse. Something dramatic.

I thought about it all during my next class, which was Shakespeare, a requirement for all English majors. We were studying Twelfth Night.

I tried to follow the lecture, but my mind wasn't on the text. Very little of what the professor was saying penetrated my consciousness.

I didn't ask for this, I thought suddenly. It wasn't as though I was looking to get married. When Sam asked me I was completely surprised. A decision like this would be a turning point in my life. How could I know it was the right one to take?

Gradually I became aware the professor was looking straight at me. I was the only one with my book closed and lying flat on my desk. Quickly I cracked the book and read the first thing that caught my eye.

"Love sought is good, but giv'n unsought is better."

Unsought. It certainly was. But offered all the same. The question was, do I accept? The Pope and I were so unsuited in age, temperament, and position in life. But still, perhaps that was my sign...

I sighed, and gave up all hope of concentrating. I'd have to get the notes from someone else later. The most pressing thing on my mind, which made everything else irrelevant and inconsequential, was what I was going to say to Sam today. He had been patient, leaving me alone all weekend to think. I owed him an answer, or at least some sort of response.

After my class I went to his office. No light shone behind the glass in the closed door. I tried the handle; it was locked.

I decided to wait. I went to a bench down the hallway, pulled a book out of my backpack (I always had homework) and started to read. Mostly I wanted to look like I was reading, so no one would bother me.

It was a vain hope.

"Francie, Francie Steele, isn't?" Jake Bartholomew planted himself beside me. "Waiting for someone? Or did Sam stand you up?"

He laughed heartily.

"Not really." I tried to be polite. "I just stopped by, and decided to wait."

"Oh, don't do that! He's not worth waiting for." Another hearty laugh. To my intense discomfort, he showed no signs of leaving.

"Seriously, Sam's a great guy. As I'm sure you know. How did you two get together, anyway?"

"We met last year." I didn't like telling people we met when Sam was my advisor. It didn't sound good, and the last thing I wanted was to imply any impropriety on his part.

"He helped me with some personal problems I was having. Involving my daughter."

Was that enough information, or too much? I wished he'd go away.

"I see," he said gravely, studying me. "Teachers can often do more for their students than people realize."

I glanced at him sharply. He said it innocently enough, but there was the distinct possibility of double entendre in his words.

"Look, Francie." He spoke reasonably. "There's no sense in you waiting here in this drafty hall. Sam may not be back for a while. How about going with me to the student union for a cup of coffee? I've got some time before my office hours begin."

Was that a come-on? It sure sounded like one. Did he think that just because I was dating Sam I was fair game for other professors? And wasn't he supposed to be married, anyway?

"No, thanks. I think I'll just wait."

"Francie." His tone was teasing now. "A pretty girl like you shouldn't ever have to wait."

I was embarrassed. But I didn't have the confidence to object and tell him off. He was a professor, and he'd done nothing overt. I wanted to say something, but wasn't sure what I could say. Before I had to commit myself, however, a most unlikely rescuer appeared.

"Really, Jake." Lillie Addison spoke dryly. "Hitting on undergraduates? Why don't you pick on somebody your own age?"

"Marriage has many pains, but celibacy has no pleasures."

Samuel Johnson, 1709-1784

Lillie was wearing a rose silk sheath, with a turquoise and gold paisley scarf arranged artistically around her shoulders. Her long blonde hair was swept up into a perfect French twist.

Jake looked at her with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Lillie, you do say the most absurd things. I merely asked the young lady if she'd like some coffee."

He stood up. "Besides, Francie is not all that young. And I believe she prefers mature men."

"Then she won't be interested in you." She turned her attention to me. "Francie, if you don't mind, may I see you in my office for a moment?"

"Certainly," I said, glad to get away from Jake. Though I was curious as to why Lillie Addison would want to see me.

"If you'll excuse me, I think I'd better go," said Jake unnecessarily. "Francie, perhaps I'll see you another time."

He went down the hall, and disappeared into his office.

Meanwhile, Lillie was unlocking her door. "He's a most amazing creature. Composed entirely of ego and hormones."

I laughed. "Did you really want to see me, or were you just helping me out?"

"Oh, why don't you come in for a few minutes." She waved me to a chair. "I didn't get much of a chance to talk to you at the reception yesterday."

Her office was quite a contrast to Sam's. Where his was sparsely furnished and organized, hers was in flamboyant disarray. As one might expect in a professor's office, there were books everywhere, spilling out of bookcases, stacked randomly in piles on the floor. In addition to this profusion was an excess of ornaments on every available surface.

One of the more notable curios was a hefty pewter statue of a wizard holding a large crystal orb. It was about a foot tall, sitting on the window sill so that the light caught the prism of the crystal and cast rainbows on the wall.

She walked over to a large desk in the corner, and sat down in a weary- looking swivel chair. Her desk was covered with books and files and papers, guarded by a miniature knight in armor who stood rigidly by a pencil cup.

Over her desk hung an illustrated map of the "The Pilgrim's Way from London to Canterbury," and several richly-colored reproductions of the months from The Book of Hours adorned the plain white walls. A lush maiden-hair fern hung in the corner by the window in a lacy macramé hanger.

One thing I didn't notice, I realized later, were any pictures of her husband or baby daughter.

"Please have a seat, Francie." She waved vaguely towards a chair. The scent of rose perfume emanated from her when she moved.

I looked around. Books and papers covered the chair she indicated. "What should I do with these?"

"Put them somewhere," she commanded. "Let's see, how about over by that bookcase?"

I gathered them up as best I could and set them on the floor by the bookcase. When I'd straightened up, my eyes went like a magnet to a small illustration propped against some books on a shelf. It was a rather grisly depiction of several knights in tunics and chain mail using their swords to attack a man kneeling in prayer. There was lots of blood.

Lillie saw me staring.

"Ghastly, isn't it? It's the martyrdom of St. Thomas à Becket, an illustration from a thirteenth-century monk's Psalter. Becket was the Archbishop of Canterbury, as you may know, murdered in 1170. Three years after his death he was canonized. People in the Middle Ages used to make pilgrimages to his shrine in Canterbury, and it was such a pilgrimage that Chaucer used for the basis of his Tales."

She laughed. "I like to look at that picture whenever I feel I'm being ganged up on. It helps me keep things in perspective."

I went over and sat down on the hard wooden chair. She was watching me from her desk.

"You know, you remind me a bit of my cousin Rebecca. She's married as well, to a John Babcock. Married at a ridiculously young age, I remember. No children, though. She's from Boise, and she's actually visiting me at the moment. She's wonderful with Emma. I don't suppose you've met my cousin, have you? She's been down here to the department."

I shook my head. "I don't think so. Does she look like you?"

Lillie laughed, a silvery, tinkling sound, like glass wind chimes.

"Not that you would notice. It's a wonder we're related. The mystery of genetics, I suppose. Still, she is devoted to me. She and Brian, of course. Devotion gets to be so tiring, don't you think?"

I didn't know what to say to that. A silence fell between us. Why did she ask me in here, anyway?

"Sam tells me you're planning to go up for tenure next fall." I tentatively made conversation.

"I'd certainly like to. It's time I gave it a shot. I've been here six years."

"Doesn't Jake Bartholomew want to go up for tenure, too?"

She grimaced. "That's the rumor. The department will only put one of us up. Naturally, I'd like to be the one. I just have to convince the Dean and a few other people that I'm the better choice. Or, from a different angle," she added meditatively, putting her hands together, fingertip to fingertip, "that Jake would be a bad choice."

"How would you do that?"

"This is a very competitive business. Both Jake and I have published a lot, and have good evaluations. But if it came down to a question of character, and some of Jake's less savory adventures became known, that might make the difference."

"You couldn't, I mean, you really wouldn't do that, would you? Inform on him? I know he's rather a snake, but still, what does that have to do with his getting tenure?"

"Everything," she said briskly. "Tenure means he gets a permanent berth here. Should we really let him inflict himself on scores of undergraduate women yet to enroll? Do we want a Jake Bartholomew," she said his name with a fastidious curl of her lip, "to represent the university at conferences and symposiums?"

"Tenure means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

"Oh, yes," she said softly. "It's everything I've worked for. I have such plans, Francie! But first I need tenure. And I intend to get it. I'll do whatever it takes."

I heard a door open from the hallway. Maybe Sam had returned. I stood up. "Thanks for the refuge, Professor Addison--"

"Call me Lillie."

"Lillie. But I think I hear Sam, and I need to go."

"Francie, about you and Sam..."

"Yes?" I had been heading out, but I turned around quickly.

"Be careful, dear. I know it's exciting to be dating a professor, who, after all, is a pretty powerful figure around here, but you could do him harm. Despite the fact he's already tenured. For a male professor to be seen dallying with a female student..." She shook her head.

"He's not dallying. He wants to marry me," I blurted it out without thinking.

She looked at me with surprise, and then she laughed.

"Are you serious? Did he really say that? Sam must be getting sentimental as he gets older. I can't believe he'd propose marriage."

I was mortified. Yet I drew myself up as best I could.

"If that's all, I'll leave now."

"By all means," she said lightly. "Go to your professor. But Francie, do yourself a favor. Don't believe everything you hear, and especially what you're told. A woman has to keep her wits about her, particularly when it comes to marriage."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, and tried for a dignified exit. It didn't help that I stumbled in the doorway and dropped my books. Lillie Addison just sat in her chair, watching me and smiling.

When I got out into the hall, I saw the door open and the light on in Sam's office. I rushed in, then stopped dead when I saw him. He was standing over his desk, leaning heavily on one arm. In his other hand was a letter.

He hadn't heard me come in; he was too preoccupied. He had a strange expression on his face. Disgust is the best way I can describe it.

I forgot all about Lillie for a moment.

"Sam, what is it?"

"Nothing." He slowly crumpled the letter in the palm of his hand.

"You sure don't look like it was nothing."

"It seems as though I'm the recipient of a crank letter. Probably just a student prank, albeit a particularly nasty one."

"What did it say?"

"Just your usual death threat, I'm afraid."

I was deeply shocked. I crossed over to his desk and reached for the letter.

"Sam, let me see it."

"No, I don't think so, Francie." The letter was gripped tightly in his palm. "It's not very pleasant."

"I don't care. I want to know what it says."

I can be forceful when I need to, and concern made me adamant now. Reluctantly Sam handed me the letter, wadded up in a ball. I smoothed it out on his desk and read it.

Mr. Pope,

You think you're so powerful, high in your ivory tower, don't you? You think you can do whatever you want. You are such a hypocrite. You pretend you can help people, when you really just use them. I don't understand why jerks like you get hired on permanently while better teachers have to worry about their jobs. Be careful, Your Holiness. I'm on to you. Ivory towers are high, and a fall, or even a push, from one could be fatal.

It was unsigned, of course, and looked like it was computer-generated, printed on a laser printer. I knew referring to Sam as "Mr." was a calculated insult. "Professor" or even "Doctor" (which he rarely used) was more appropriate.

"Well, whoever wrote this is literate, I'll say that much."

"I would expect no less," said Sam. "A death threat at a university is bound to be a cut above a death threat at a meat-packing plant."

"I don't know how you can joke about this. I think we should give this to the Dean, or even the police."

"We'll do no such thing." Sam spoke firmly. "It's spring quarter, Francie, a time for all sorts of craziness. When I was at Berkeley it was just accepted that there would be at least some type of demonstration in front of Sproul Hall every spring. Students get up to all sorts of things when the weather gets warm."

"What makes you so sure it's a student?"

He shrugged. "Obviously someone wants me to give him a better grade, or a recommendation. They see me as all-powerful. I don't know why. This isn't the most diplomatic way to go about it, however."

"This could have been sent by someone on the faculty, Sam. You told me yourself how Jake and Lillie were lobbying you for a tenure recommendation."

Sam laughed. "Neither of them, not even Jake, would approach something so delicate with such a lack of finesse. Don't let the fine spelling and syntax of this letter fool you, Francie. Whoever wrote this was either drunk or emotionally immature--perhaps both."

"In any case, save it, Sam."

"I don't save trash."

"Then I'll save it." I reached for it again.

Sam sighed. "Oh, all right. If it will make you happy, Francie."

He opened a file drawer, and threw the crumpled letter to the back of it. "What do you say we forget about this now and go get some coffee?"

I groaned. "Not you, too. I've had all the coffee invitations I can handle for one day."

The Pope raised his eyebrows curiously. He glanced at his watch.

"It's just about time for you to pick up Savannah from Rachel's, isn't it? I'll go with you and you can tell me all about it. I'm dying to know who else has been trying to seduce you with espresso."

* * *

"I felt so foolish," I confessed to Sam as we crossed campus. It was good to be out in the soft spring air. A slight breeze kicked up, and we walked under a shower of pink petals from a flowering cherry tree. After I'd told him about Jake's clumsy advances, I related the conversation I'd had with Lillie in her office.

"Lillie just assumed we weren't serious. And when I told her you'd ask me to marry you--maybe I shouldn't have, but I just wanted her to know you weren't the type to play around--she actually laughed."

"Did she, by God," he said in an odd tone of voice that didn't bode well for Professor Addison.

"Oh, yes. With a great deal of humor." I stopped, and looked up at him. "I don't want you to be the laughingstock of the department, Sam."

"Don't worry about me. People seldom amuse themselves for long at my expense. I'm concerned about you." He took my hand and gently squeezed it. "How does this type of reaction to the prospect of our marriage make you feel?"

He looked at me searchingly. I expected him to be dismissive of Lillie Addison's comments. I expected him to be affronted, and somewhat haughty. What I didn't expect was to see uncertainty in his blue eyes, a hint of fear. He really does love me, I thought wonderingly. And I realized I loved him, too.

It was at that moment, a split-second really, that I knew my happiness lay with Samuel Pope.

I put my other hand to his cheek. "People are just going to have to get used to the idea, Sam. Since you want me to, I'll be proud to marry you. Even if it's not entirely wise."

His eyes lit up. "Love's not supposed to be wise, Francie. 'For to be wise, and love, exceeds man's might, that dwells with gods above.'"

"Shakespeare?"

"Who else?"

Who else, indeed? I'd just agreed to marry an English professor, the most formidable one in the history of the university. I had a feeling I would be getting on much more intimate terms with him and Shakespeare in the near future.

I was still mulling what I'd done when he kissed me soundly, right there on the street. When I came up for air, I saw Savannah running out of Rachel's apartment building, with Rachel right behind.

Savannah approached us, breathless.

"Mommy, why is Sam kissing you?"

"Because I just said I would marry him."

She stared at us gravely. "Does that mean Sam will live with us?"

"Why, yes," I told her.

"But where will he sleep? There's no extra beds in our 'partment."

Sam squatted down on his haunches to be eye-level with her. "You're right, Savannah. We'll all have to move. To a place with plenty of room for a family."

She looked him straight in the eye. "Does that mean you're going to be my daddy?"

"I'd like that very much," said the Pope seriously. "If you want me to."

"Oh." She walked away slowly, and stopped to examine a pink azalea blossom blooming in a stone planter box by the side of the building.

Sam stood up and started after her. I caught his arm.

"Don't. Give her time to think about it. This is a big change for her, and she's bound to see it differently than we do. I know Savannah loves you, Sam. Don't rush her now. Let her get used to the idea."

"Congratulations, you two," said Rachel diffidently. I'd almost forgotten she was there. "Have you set a date?"

"No."

"Yes," said Sam at the same time.

I stared at him. "We have?"

"I thought we'd get married as soon as possible. This weekend, maybe."

I saw Rachel's open-mouthed expression, and knew it was similar to my own.

"You're kidding. You don't really expect me to marry you this weekend?"

"Why not? This weekend or perhaps next."

"But all the arrangements," objected Rachel.

"Oh, I don't think we want an elaborate wedding, do we, Francie?"

I shook my head. White satin, orange blossoms and 500 guests packed into a church were far from what I wanted. But the simplest wedding took some preparation. Even an elopement took a little advance planning. Could it be the Pope was totally unaware of this?

"Of course I don't want anything formal, but--"

"Then there can't be that much to do," said the Pope blithely. "Weddings are made out to be a lot more complicated than they need to be."

Rachel and I exchanged looks with a rare understanding. We both knew Sam was in for a big surprise.