I remember looking at a radiant face, green-clad, a simple strand of twisted little blossoms circling a perfect head, eyes, lips, the constellation of...freckles.Her mom helped with the make-up. "Don't touch the freckles," Jo told her. "My husband adores them." So does mine," she said. "We have such oddly perfect mates, do we not?"Perfection was my Johanna as I slipped the ring back onto her finger."You may kiss the bride," the minister said.I did. Just a chaste brush. If I'd have given in fully. "It had only "anonymous" as a return address, which Lee explained in a p.s.—"I'm sending this from a public system, you can't reply. See you later!" Official diggers would trace it to an Internet café in Colorado with considerable effort. I figured the inquiry might generate a little local fame for the café, if anything.Because Ashley and his people were keeping their search for us strictly on the q.t. With the heavy-heavy hanging over their heads—as they saw it, anyway—they couldn't afford to. More

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