The image of the young man didn’t fade from memory as the stories we wove did. Later, in Hilton Head, he was there in my dreams—and so was a conce...t of a house on the river, a house called Fiddler’s Rest. By Tuesday night, I couldn’t take it anymore. On Wednesday I pushed a confused and mouthy Julie into my Mustang convertible and we were headed back to Beaufort. I’d looked up Fiddler’s Rest on the Internet, so I knew exactly what Realtor to go to. I gulped at the asking price, but it was. "I want a necklace." Where would I have one? I got aflash of inspiration. I opened a drawer that hadn't seen daylight inyears and pulled out a box that hadn't been opened in longer. I pulledout a Bible, a picture of Jesus, and... the crucifix necklace they'dgiven me on my Confirmation. I'd worn it for a month, then put it away.There was nothing in the world that could have made me happier. I had anecklace."I want a slender neck." The necklace made its pronouncement almostimmediately. "I. More

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