‘What do you want?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You’ll know,’ she said.

He couldn’t see her eyes. ‘What about you? What do you want?’

‘I would hate sharing you again with so many people.’

She had never gotten used to that, but she had been generous and patient, and he had been grateful.

‘Your exhaustion would be hard to watch,’ she said.

‘But I’ve been doing better.’

Except for Ireland. He had exhausted himself in Sligo with what she called his ‘household parish,’ but it had been a wonderful time, really; he would never forget the joy that came forth in the end.

‘You will lose families in this fallout, you will try to mend broken hearts; you will try to fix everything.’

Of course he would try to fix everything. What was a priest for, if not to get into people’s business and, with God’s help, do a little fixing? To operate otherwise cut the parson out of a very big piece of the pie.

She drove into the parking lot of a small restaurant, turned off the ignition, and gave him a steady look. ‘But if you decide to do it, Timothy, I’ll do it with you. All the way.’

Her eyes were blue, with nothing more said there.

He patted her knee.

Two weeks. He felt the rock in his stomach and doubted that breakfast could fix that.

•   •   •

ON THE WAY HOME, they avoided further discussion of the matter, and spent themselves on foolishness.

‘When was the War of 1812 fought?’ he said, and she laughed, though it wasn’t funny.

They were giddy, a little haywire.

‘So, on a cruise ship,’ he said, ‘what time is the midnight buffet?’

Chapter Nine

There was something to be said for the invitation being dropped into their lives like a grenade.

One, it demanded that he concentrate every power on making the right decision. If he could focus so obsessively, so completely as this on his relationship with God . . .

Two, there was no room to agonize over what to do about Sammy.

Restless beside his wife, who had fallen asleep at once, he sought peace in the familiar. Lord Jesus, stay with us, for evening is at hand and the day is past; be our companion in the way, kindle our hearts, and awaken hope, that we may know thee as thou art revealed in Scripture and the breaking of bread. Grant this for the sake of thy love, amen.

For the sake of thy love, he thought. For the sake of thy love.

Ardent for sleep of any kind or duration, he decided he needed a cutoff date, a personal deadline for calling in his answer. He wished for an easy way out—the parting of waters, the audible voice.

•   •   •

IT WAS FREEZING OUT THERE, with a stern wind to boot. Barnabas had done his morning business and made for the door in under sixty seconds.

On his knees, he brushed back the ashes of last evening’s fire and kindled a small one for Morning Prayer—two splits of oak and one of maple, atop kindling that would bring the fire quickly. Flames licked up; he was an acolyte at the tapers.

In any decision making, he’d learned to wait for the peace; it was heedless to make a move without it. There was no time for waiting, and yet waiting was imperative.

He remained on his knees, prayed aloud. ‘Heavenly Father, in whom we live and move and have our being: We humbly pray thee so to guide and govern us by thy Holy Spirit, that in all the cares and occupations of our life we may not forget thee, but may remember that we are ever walking in thy sight . . .’

He moved directly then to the abridged version. ‘Help me, Jesus.’

•   •   •

IN THE WILDS OF NEW JERSEY, Walter was usually stirring by five a.m.

As he dialed, he could see his first cousin, semi-retired from the law firm and a little stooped, in a bathrobe of considerable antiquity. He would be fetching the WSJ from the hallway, taking Katherine a cup of tea in bed, then rooting in beside her to read and argue aloud with the editorials.

‘Are you out of your mind, Timothy?’

‘I feel I should do it,’ he said. ‘For the parish. It will be a hard time.’

‘Should do it? Why should? I’m not party to all God has to say about such matters, but I do know this—the business of killing yourself for other people is a lot of hogwash. Take this on and you’ll be up to all the tricks you pulled in Ireland, saving souls right and left with hardly a minute to draw your breath.’

‘It isn’t the parson who saves souls—you know that.’

‘I know, I know, but somebody has to be hands and feet, and you’ve done that nobly for forty-plus years. Give yourself a break, cousin, refresh yourself, learn how to live before you die. And face it—you haven’t even begun to retire. Two years in two different parishes, plus a good years’ worth of supply up hill and down dale, not to mention being the very backbone of the Children’s Hospital. A question—how many vacations have you had in your adult life? By my count, four, and they were all working vacations. Right? Am I right?’

A sermon from a lawyer. There were few things worse.

•   •   •

HE CALLED HIS FORMER DOCTOR at home and told him of the bishop’s offer, then, and walked north toward Hoppy’s house.

He would talk with Sammy, posing no threats, avoiding blame, speaking the truth in love.

Sammy was not hopeless. Look at Dooley, how he’d been born into neglect and violence only to become a young man set on bettering himself, sharing his wealth but also conserving it in the right places. It seemed too good to be true.

•   •   •

HOPPY WAS A WEEK AWAY from his first trip to the Upper Nile and a leap into the unknown. Here a leap, there a leap—it was a frog pond.

They sat at the table in the Harpers’ kitchen, where for years Hoppy had worked an early morning crossword. His old friend and parishioner was looking terrific, better than ever. Retirement in the early stages.

‘What do you know about Hope Murphy?’ he said. He felt reluctant, somehow, to go directly to the issue at hand. ‘Are you at liberty to talk about it?’

‘Wilson mentioned that she trusts you, says you already know something of what’s going on. I feel comfortable telling you more—but in strict confidence. She’s a private person, as you’re aware. The medical term is placenta previa.

‘The placenta, or afterbirth, is a temporary organ that transfers oxygen and nutrients from the mother to the fetus. In Hope’s case, the placenta has attached itself to the lower segment of the uterus and is covering the cervical canal. Two problems: the baby has no way to exit, and as the cervix dilates, bleeding can be excessive.’

‘The bleeding . . .’

‘Increases the risk for preterm rupture of the membranes, which can lead to premature labor. This can be life-threatening—for mother and infant.’

‘The outcome as you see it?’

‘Wilson says the bleeding has been fairly minor so far, but he’s taking no chances. Bed rest will control it to some extent. She’ll be under the care of a specialist in Charlotte, with Wilson doing the day-to-day stuff here. They’ll want her in Charlotte at thirty-two weeks.’

‘A month early?’

‘Taking no chances. If anything goes off track up here, there’s no safety net, she could bleed to death.

‘We’re looking at a Cesarean, of course, and with God’s help, a healthy baby. Depending on circumstances, there could be a hysterectomy at the time of delivery.’

Hoppy removed his glasses. ‘If the delivery isn’t successful, needless to say it will be devastating to the Murphys. A hysterectomy would add another kind of death sentence. When you’re back at Lord’s Chapel, I know you’ll encourage prayer for this.’

When he was back at Lord’s Chapel . . . everyone would assume he’d go back.

‘As to your own predicament . . .’ Hoppy gave him an ironic smile. ‘. . . if you stick to your exercise regimen and keep your weight down, I believe you could manage it physically. So the issue is how you would manage it . . .’ Hoppy tapped his forehead with a pencil. ‘. . . up here.’