‘A very quick turnaround.’ He sighed without meaning to. ‘How about Monday?’

‘I can’t do Monday,’ she said.

•   •   •

RON MALCOLM WHEELED IN as he was having a cup of yogurt and fruit. Ron had twice been on his vestry; they’d been around the block a time or two.

‘Good job on the Talbot announcement,’ said Ron. ‘It’s been hell to pay down there. Along with everything else, I hear he was dipping into th’ till . . .’

‘I have to tell you, Ron, I can’t discuss it. I know the parish has a lot to deal with, and talking about it is one of the ways to move ahead. But I can’t participate. I hope you understand.’

He was no goody-two-shoes; he had entertained more than one morsel of babble and hearsay in his time. But this was strictly off-limits.

•   •   •

PERCUSSION. WOODWINDS. WILSON.

He felt the odd thump of his heart.

‘Sorry to be late getting back to you, Father. I’ve finally been able to talk with Talbot’s physician. Talbot’s going to make it.

‘The N-acetylcysteine worked—that’s an antidote for acetaminophen poisoning—and the liver tests have improved. They expect a full recovery, with no long-term complications.’

‘None?’

‘None.’

‘Thanks be to God.’

‘They’re sending him home in a couple of days.’

He sank onto the stool, lifted a petition, wondered where home might be.

•   •   •

‘WHAT’S AN ALB?’ SAID ABE.

‘A white vestment worn by priests.’

‘That’s what I thought. They said Talbot’s license plate was ALB1954. With a license plate like that, what priest in his right mind would park his car at a motel? Twice a week? Regular as clockwork? Monday and Saturday, to be specific.’

‘No more,’ he said, throwing up his hand.

Abe leaned against the counter. ‘So, okay, did you hear the one about the priest and the rabbi who bought a car together?’

•   •   •

BUSINESS WAS SLOW TODAY.

He pulled out his phone and sat at the sales counter. There had been no time for Dooley to finagle the ringtone, maybe he could do it himself. He knew to go to Settings, but that’s all he knew. He scrolled the list:

People Laughing. Crowd Cheering. Rooster Crowing. Baby Crying. Thrush Singing. Piano Playing.

He selected Piano Playing but somehow ended up with People Laughing. Way more hilarity than he cared for, but he couldn’t get rid of it.

He had been born in the wrong century. Worse still, he realized he would miss the cheerful woodwinds of Band Marching.

To distract himself from utter nonsense, he called Dooley and left the good news about Talbot.

Sadie Eleanor Baxter

He penned her name and remembered her small hand in his, the hand of a child willing to be led and yet completely capable of leading. He remembered dancing with her at the Fernbank reception for Hoppy and Olivia; she had floated in his arms like the seed head of a dandelion.

He entered her birth and death dates, which he knew from memory. He had gone, himself, to have the small stone engraved with these dates, her name, and the simple tribute, Beloved.

She wouldn’t wish to be venerated for her gifts, nor have them itemized like a laundry list of two shirts, one pair trousers, three handkerchiefs. There would come a time, of course, when no one would be left to remember who gave the town museum, the state-of-the-art nursing facility, and the real estate known as Baxter Park. The joy taken in these gifts would be thanks enough for Sadie Baxter.

She gave the museum in which you stand to read this plaque, so that you might learn about the town she loved. She gave us a house named Hope, so that our elders might know a blessed hope of their own. She gave us more than we can acknowledge, but here is what she gave most freely:

Herself.

Whether we be friend or stranger, let us honor Sadie Baxter for this:

She loved us well.

•   •   •

‘HEY, BA!’

‘Ba! It’s us!’

Puny’s twins jangled through the door at a trot.

‘We haven’t seen you in ever!’ Sassy thumped her backpack on the counter.

Sissy dropped hers to the floor. ‘We love th’ wooden jigsaws you brought us from Ireland.’

‘We hadn’t had a good jigsaw in ever,’ said Sassy.

Mighty like their dad, Joe Joe, but with Puny’s red hair. They had a group hug.

‘How did I come by the pleasure of your company?’

‘Miz Hicks couldn’t drive us home from school today . . .’ said Sissy.

‘. . . so Dad told us to come to th’ bookstore,’ said Sassy, ‘and he’ll pick us up when you close.’

‘Good thinking!’

Sassy grinned, revealing a small fortune in braces. ‘We like your job at the bookstore better than your job at the church.’

‘Why is that?’

‘More books!’ said Sissy, who had her own orthodontic display going on. ‘May we do our homework in the Poetry section and look at some of the books after?’

‘We’ll wash our hands first!’

‘Have at it,’ he said.

Borrowed grans who love books—an apt definition of felicity.

•   •   •

PEOPLE LAUGHING. He pulled out his cell phone and looked at the caller ID.

‘Is it time?’ he asked Scott.

‘Please, Father. A really tough day for her. She’s asking for you. If it’s possible . . .’

‘As soon as I close up and go to the bank.’

‘So sorry there’s no time for me to pitch in up there. You know how Hope House runs . . . full tilt, and then I spend every extra moment with Hope. People come and go and do what they can, but I find . . .’

‘No need to explain,’ he said. ‘And you’re doing the cooking!’

Today’s sales were small, and there was less than an hour before closing. But he felt content with the day’s offering, and Hope would be glad to have it.

The bell jangled; he was astonished all over again at the sight of Esther Bolick, who looked as if she’d just flown in from the Keys.

‘Here,’ she said, plopping it on the sales counter.

Clearly, it was a cake, he could see it through the plastic container. ‘Very, very generous of you, but you know I can’t do it, Esther. I hope you understand.’ How many times in one brief life did he have to impress this miserable reality upon Esther Bolick and people in general?

‘It’s not for you,’ she said, ‘it’s for Hope and Scott.’

‘Great! An OMC?’

‘Correct.’

‘I thought your agreement prohibited you from putting OMCs out there.’

‘I’m breakin’ th’ law,’ she said. ‘It’s th’ Wild West all over again. Turn me in, lock me up, throw away th’ key.’

What was in spray tan, anyway? People should ask for an ingredients list.

‘I just happen,’ he said, ‘to be going to the Murphys’ after I close.’

‘That’s what I heard, that’s why I’m droppin’ it off with you.’

‘How did you hear? I found out myself only two minutes ago.’

‘I saw Scott at th’ bank. He was talkin’ to you on his cell phone and said you were goin’ over to see Hope while he went to a meeting up th’ hill. I had th’ cake on th’ backseat, so I thought why not save my gas and use yours.’

‘Well, there you go,’ he said. ‘How about a book today?’

‘I don’t need to buy a book to help th’ cause. I am sendin’ a cake. Do you know what it costs me to bake an OMC?’

‘Afraid not.’

‘Including my time, which should be worth something . . .’

‘Absolutely.’

‘. . . forty-five dollars. More than they’re askin’ at Sweet Stuff.’

‘Holy smoke.’

‘I hope you notice I’m not in here yammerin’ about Father Talbot like everybody else in town. I like gossip as well as th’ next one, but you asked us to forgive him, so that’s what I’m tryin’ to do.’

‘Good, Esther. Good.’

‘It’s not easy.’

‘No.’

‘I cried in church on Sunday, but not for Father Talbot. It was for Gene, who’d be heartbroken about this mess.’ She drew herself up. ‘It’s a struggle to keep my opinions private.’