Megan went to Sister Betina.

"It happens to all of us from time to time," she assured

Megan. "The church calls it acedia. It is a spiritual malaise, an instrument of Satan. Do not worry about it,

child. It will pass."

And it did.

But what did not pass was the bone-deep longing to know who her parents were. I'll never know, Megan thought despairingly. Not as long as I live.

New York City

The reporters gathered outside the gray fagade of New

York's Waldorf-Astoria Hotel watched the parade of celebrities in evening dress alight from their limousines,

enter the revolving doors, and head for the Grand Ballroom on the third floor. The guests had come from around the world.

Cameras flashed as reporters called out, "Mr.

Vice-President, would you look this way, please?"

"Governor Adams, could I have one more picture, please?"

There were senators and representatives from several foreign countries, business tycoons, and celebrities. And they were all there to celebrate Ellen Scott's sixtieth birthday. In truth, it was not so much Ellen Scott that they were honoring as the philanthropy of Scott Industries, one of the most powerful conglomerates in the world. The huge,

sprawling empire included oil companies and steel mills,

communications systems and banks. All the money raised this evening would go to international charities.

Scott Industries had interests in every part of the world.

Twenty-seven years earlier, its president, Milo Scott, had died unexpectedly of a heart attack, and his wife, Ellen, had taken over the management of the huge conglomerate. In the ensuing years she proved to be a brilliant executive, more than tripling the assets of the company.

The Grand Ballroom of the Waldorf-Astoria was an enormous room decorated in beige and gold, with a red-carpeted stage at one end. A balcony holding thirty-three boxes with a chandelier over each one curved around the entire room.

In the center of the balcony sat the guest of honor. There were at least six hundred men and women present, dining at tables gleaming with silver.

When dinner was finished, the governor of New York strode onto the stage.

"Mr. Vice-President, ladies and gentlemen, honored guests,

we are all here tonight for one purpose: to pay tribute to a remarkable woman and to her unselfish generosity over the years. Ellen Scott is the kind of person who could have made a success in any field. She would have been a great scientist or doctor. She would also have made a great politician, and I must tell you that if Ellen Scott decides to run for president of the United States, I'll be the first one to vote for her. Not in the next election, of course, but the one after that."

There was laughter and applause.

"But Ellen Scott is much more than just a brilliant woman.

She is a charitable, compassionate human being who never hesitates to get involved in the problems that face the world today…"

The speech went on for ten more minutes, but Ellen Scott was no longer listening. How wrong he is, she thought wryly.

How wrong they all are. Scott Industries isn't even my company. Milo and I stole it. And I'm guilty of a far greater crime than that. It doesn't matter any longer. Not now.

Because I'll be dead soon.

She remembered the doctor's exact words as he read the lab report that was her death sentence.

"I'm dreadfully sorry, Mrs. Scott, but I'm afraid there's no way to break this to you gently. The cancer has spread throughout your lymphatic system. It's inoperable."

She had felt the sudden leaden weight in her stomach.

"How… how long do I have?"

He hesitated. "A year—maybe."

Not enough time. Not with so much still to do. "You will say nothing of this, of course." Her voice was steady.

"Certainly not."

"Thank you, Doctor."

She had no recollection of leaving Columbia-Presbyterian

Medical Center or of the drive downtown. Her only thought was: I must find her before I die.

Now the governor's speech was over.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is my honor and privilege to introduce Mrs. Ellen Scott."

She rose to a standing ovation, then walked toward the stage, a thin, gray-haired, straight-backed woman, smartly dressed and projecting a vitality she no longer felt. Looking at me is like seeing the distant light of a long-dead star,

she thought bitterly. I'm not really here anymore.

On the stage she waited for the applause to die down.

They're applauding a monster. What would they do if they knew? When she spoke, her voice was firm.

"Mr. Vice-President, senators, Governor Adams…"

A year, she was thinking. I wonder where she is and if she is still alive. I must find out.

She talked on, automatically saying all the things her audience expected to hear. "I gladly accept this tribute not for myself, but for all those who have worked so hard to lighten the burden of those who are less fortunate than we are…"

Her mind was drifting back forty-two years to Gary,

Indiana…

At eighteen, Ellen Dudash was employed at the Scott

Industries automotive-parts plant in Gary, Indiana. She was an attractive, outgoing girl, popular with her fellow workers. On the day Milo Scott came to inspect the plant,

Ellen was selected to escort him around.

"Hey! How about you, Ellie? Maybe you'll marry the boss's brother and we'll all be working for you."

Ellen Dudash laughed. "Right. And that's when pigs will grow wings."

Milo Scott was not at all what Ellen had expected. He was in his early thirties, tall and slim. Not bad-looking, Ellen thought. He was shy and almost deferential.

"It's very kind of you to take the time to show me around,

Miss Dudash. I hope I'm not taking you away from your work."

She grinned. "I hope you are."

He was so easy to talk to.

I can't believe I'm kidding around with the big boss's brother. Wait till I tell Mom and Pop about this.

Milo seemed genuinely interested in the workers and their problems. Ellen took him through the department where the round drive gears and the long driven gears were made. She showed him through the annealing room, where the soft gears were put through a hardening process, and the packing section and the shipping department, and he seemed properly impressed.

"It's certainly a large operation, isn't it, Miss Dudash?"

He owns all of this, and he acts like an awed kid. I guess it takes all kinds.

It was in the assembly section that the accident happened.

An overhead cable car carrying metal bars to the machine shop snapped and a load of iron came tumbling down. Milo Scott was directly beneath it. Ellen saw it coming a fraction of a second before it hit and, without thinking, shoved him out of harm's way. Two of the heavy iron bars hit her before she could escape, and she was knocked unconscious.

She awakened in a private suite in a hospital. The room was literally filled with flowers. When Ellen opened her eyes and looked around, she thought: I've died and gone to heaven.

There were orchids and roses and lilies and chrysanthemums and rare blooms she could not even begin to identify.

Her right arm was in a cast and her ribs were taped and felt bruised.

A nurse came in. "Ah, you're awake, Miss Dudash. I'll inform the doctor."

"Where—where am I?"

"Blake Center—it's a private hospital."

Ellen looked around the large suite. I can never afford to pay for all this.

"We've been screening your calls."

"What calls?"

"The press has been trying to get in to interview you.

Your friends have been calling. Mr. Scott has telephoned several times…"