(Boss, if you make my friend Hugo cry, I'll—I'll—I won't speak to you the rest of the day!) (Oh, quit nagging! Hugo won't cry. He's the only one of the three who believes you're here. He has faith.)

"I think that would be beautiful," the Reverend Hugo White answered solemnly and sniffed back tears.

"Hugo, Eunice would not want you to be sad about it."

She looked away from him, her own eyes bright with unshed tears. "That settles it. My new name will be—is!—Joan Eunice. I don't want anyone ever to forget Eunice. Most especially I want you, her friends, to know this. Now that I am a woman, Eunice is my model, the ideal I must live up to, every hour, every minute, of my new life. Will you help me? Will you treat me as Eunice?

Yes, yes, I'm your employer; somehow I must be both, and it's not easy. But the most difficult part for me is to learn to behave and think and feel as Eunice...when I've had so many weary years as a cranky, self-centered old man. You are her friends.—will you help me?" (Boss, did you ever sell real estate in Florida?) (Damn it, if you can't help, keep quiet!) (Sorry, Boss. That was applause. As Hugo would say, ‘You done perfect.')

Tom Finchley said quietly, "We'll help, that goes for Dabrowski too. By the way, she called him ‘Anton' First she called him ‘Ski' like the rest of us. Then she learned his first name and called him by it."

"Then I will call him ‘Anton.' Will you all call me ‘Eunice'? Or at least ‘Joan Eunice'? To help me? Oh, call me ‘Miss Smith' when others are around; I know you won't feel easy otherwise. You probably called her ‘Mrs. Branca' if other people were—"

"We did."

"So call me ‘Miss Smith' when it would be natural for you to call her ‘Mrs. Branca.' But when you called her ‘Eunice,' call me ‘Joan Eunice' and—dear and trusted friends! —any time you feel that I have earned it, please call me ‘Eunice.' It will be the highest compliment you can pay me, so don't use it lightly. Leave off the ‘Joan' and call me ‘Eunice.' Will you?"

Fmchley looked at her, unsmiling. "Yes... Eunice."

"Tom, I haven't earned it yet."

Finchley did not answer. Fred said, "Let me get this straight. ‘Joan Eunice' is for everyday... but ‘Eunice' means we think you've done and said just what Mrs. Branca would have."

"That's right, that's what I said."

"Then I know what Tom meant. Uh, this has been a touchy day—worse for you, I'd say, but not easy for any of us. Shorty—Hugo, I mean—said she was an angel. Or meant it, anyhow. I can't argue; Shorty is a preacher and knows more about angels and suchlike than I do. But if she was—is, I mean—still, she had a lot of salt and pepper in her, too. You remember an hour back when you snapped at Shorty and yelled for Tom?"

She sighed. "Yes, I remember. I lost my temper. I've got a long way to go. I know it."

"Rut that's just what I'm saying...Eunice. She had a lot of spunk. It we had tried to make her eat by herself, she would have kicked the gong. Right, Shorty?—I mean ‘Hugo.'

"Amen! Eunice."

Finchley said, "Fred read my mind close enough Eunice. But I was thinking of other things, too. I never thought of her as an angel, particularly. She just treated us like people."

"Tom—"

"Yeah, Shorty? Hugo."

"My name's Shorty to you—and to you, Fred. Don't put on any fancies. Hugo was Mama's name for me. And hers. Yours, Eunice. But I near forgot what I had to say. Tom, that's all anybody wants. To be treated ‘like people.' She done it that way—Eunice. And now you do, too. ‘Like people.' Mr. Smith didn't quite manage it. But he was old and sick, and we made allowances."

"Oh, dear! I feel like crying again. Hugo—when I was Mr. Smith, I never meant to be anything but people. Truly I didn't."

"Sick people can't help being cranky. My Daddy got so mean before he passed on, I run away from home. Worst mistake I ever made. But I don't fault him for it. We do what we do, then we live with it. Eunice—the first Eunice—is an angel now, my heart tells me and my head knows. But she had her little human ways; same as everybody. The dear Lord don't fault us for that."

"Hugo? If it had been me and not her, would I have made it? To Heaven?" (Om Mam Padme Hum! Watch it, Boss! He'll drag you over to that creek and wash your sins away.) (If he wants to, I'll let him. Shut up!)

"I don't rightly know," the preacher said softly. "I never knew Mr. Smith that well. But the Lord do move in mysterious ways. Looks like He give you a second chance. He always knows what He's doing." (Oh, all right, twin. Try not to get water up our nose.)

"Thank you, Hugo. I think He did, too—and I'm trying to justify it." She sighed. "But it's not easy. I try to do what Eunice would do. At least justify the second chance she gave me. I think I know what she Would do now. But I'm not certain." (I'd knock off all this talk, that's what I'd do.) (Pipe down and give me a chance.) She looked around. "I don't know how well you knew her and I keep learning things about her. I think you ‘three—you four; I include Anton—must have been her closest friends, at least in my household. Certainly you knew her better than I had thought. Tom?"

"Yes, Eunice?"

"Did you ever kiss her?"

Her driver looked startled. "Yes... Joan Eunice."

"Meaning Eunice would never ask such a question, she would just do what her heart told her to. I wanted to, Tom—but I was scared. Not yet used to being a girl." She jumped up, stood by his chair, took his hands, pulled.

Slowly he got to his feet. She put her arms around his shoulders, put up her face—waited.

He sighed and almost scowled, then took her in his arms and kissed her. (Twin, he can do lots better.) (He will. The poor dear is scared.) Joan let him go without forcing it beyond his willingness, whispered, "Thank you, Tom," and quickly left his arms—went on to Fred, took his hands. Again Fred looked frightened but he got up promptly. (What about Fred, Eunice? Sexy or sisterly?) (Too late, twin!) Fred embraced her with unexpected force, met her mouth so quickly that Joan was caught with her lips open and he at once answered it, savagely. But briefly. He broke from it and both were trembling.

(Eunice! What is this? You didn't warn me.) (So I goofed. Later, dear. Slow march now and say three Money Hums and be darn sure to be an innocent child with Father Hugo.)

Joan went slowly around the table the long way, stopped by Hugo, waited. He got up from his chair, looked down at her. She moved closer, put her hands on his chest, looked up, face solemn, lips closed, eyes open.

Gently he put his arms around her. (My God, Eunice, if he really hugged us, he ‘ud break us in two!) (He never will, twin; he's the gentlest man alive.)

Hugo's lips met hers in soft benediction, unhurried but quickly over. She stayed in his arms a moment. "Hugo?

When you pray for her tonight, will you add a prayer for me? I may not deserve it. But I need it."

"I will, Eunice." He seated her with gallant grace, then sat down again. (High, low, jack, and game, twin—what are you going to name him?) (‘Eunice,' of course!) (Even if he's a boy?) (If he's a boy, he'll be named Jacob E.—for ‘Eunice'—Smith.) (‘Johann E Smith' is better.) (I won the bet, so shut up. I won't wish ‘Johann' on a boy. Now what's this about Fred?) (You won't believe it.) (By now I believe anything. All right, later.) "Fred, is there any wine in that bottle? Hugo, will you open the second bottle? I need it, I'm shaky."

"Certainly, Eunice. Hand me the bottle, Fred."

"I'm going to eat some more, too, and I hope all of you will. Tom, am I still ‘Eunice'? Or am I a hussy who doesn't understand how a lady behaves?"

"Yes, Eunice. I mean ‘No, Eunice.' I—Oh, hell!"

She patted his hand. "That's the nicest compliment I've had yet, Tom. You would never have said ‘Oh, hell' to Miss Smith... but you know that Eunice and Joan Eunice—is human." She looked around the table. "Do you know how good it is to be touched? Have you ever watched kittens snuggling? For over a quarter of a century no one kissed me. Except for an occasional handshake I don't think anyone ever touched me. Until nurses and doctors started handling me. Friends—dear friends—you have taken me back into the human race, with your lips. I am so very grateful to Eunice—to Eunice Branca—that she kissed you before I did, and won your friendship—your love? I think so. For it meant that you let me in—treated me as ‘people'! Uh, tell me this, I must know—even if it makes you, Tom, call me ‘Joan Eunice' again. Did Eunice kiss Anton, too?" (Boss, I'm not going to tell you anything until we're alone!) (Didn't ask you, dear.)