He was starved for laughter; it was a feast he didn’t want to end.

•   •   •

EACH TIME HÉLÈNE’S MANDATE came to mind, he rejected it. He had no idea what to do; it was out of his hands entirely. As for their work this week at the church, it had gone well enough. Sammy hadn’t balked, nor had he talked. He was silent, did his work, took the occasional direction, gave the occasional curt suggestion. There was no indication that the scene at the hospital had happened.

Hélène Pringle’s intentions may have gotten through to Harley, who watched Sammy like a hawk and demanded that any spitting be done outside the Sunday school, period, no matter if it was in ‘serious bad shape.’ An alpha Harley was a marvel to witness.

•   •   •

MARCIE GUTHRIE DID THE BOOKKEEPING, handled their online business, and ordered the inventory, which gave him time to actually read a book. He had heard of booksellers who never read, and didn’t care to be one.

He had to find a book for himself, one to look up from when someone came in. ‘Always read something that will make you look good if you die in the middle of it,’ P. J. O’Rourke had said. He must stick that on the corkboard.

He was turning from the window when he saw the limo heading south on Main. He threw up his hand, waved, heard the horn as the car passed from view. K.D. would be going down the mountain with her monogrammed glasses case, retrieved yesterday from Lew Boyd.

After a separation of sixty-two years, Kim Dorsay had just spent four days with her twin sister. He and Cynthia had seen them last night at dinner, which Kim had cooked in the rented lodge in the hills. It had been a pretty phenomenal meal, strictly Italian, with a goodly quantity of Prosecco. He’d told Uncle Billy’s basic repertoire, begging their pardon for its hopeless rusticity, and they had all done a good bit of laughing. Kim clued them in on people he’d never heard of, except possibly Dustin Hoffman.

In the end, he and Cynthia shared the odd feeling that they’d gained a sister or two, themselves.

•   •   •

MISS MOONEY OPENED THE DOOR and blew in with the snow.

‘Just letting you know you won’t be troubled with us today, Father. We are dispersed!’ She shook out her wool cap, unleashing a tangle of curls.

‘Hooray for snow days. How is Hastings coming along?’

‘He loved the new book he bought and is saving for another, so we must put our thinking caps on. He’s been out for a few days. Low-grade fever, I’m told, not eating or drinking.’

‘An interesting boy, to say the least. I see our new reader is making progress.’

‘Coot is very quick. His reading skills simply pop out and astonish me. An odd thing—he’s frightened by the capital letter!’

‘A candidate for e. e. cummings, perhaps?’

They had a laugh.

By teaching Coot to read, Miss Mooney had reminded him of something rather wonderful—there really was balm in Gilead.

•   •   •

‘THE POWDER PIG HAS ARRIVED, but no chunder and no chicken necks, please.’

‘Chunder and chicken necks?’

‘Ski talk! Snow does that to me. I was in such a hurry the other day, thought I’d come in and be civil.’

Father Brad indicated his gear—wool scarf, jeans, hiking boots, hat, fleece-lined jacket. ‘Vestments for Rite Three. What’s going on today, Father?’

‘You’re the most we’ve had going on in some time. What do you think of our village now that you’ve been around the block, so to speak?’

‘Looks to be all apple and no worm.’

‘How about a good bit of apple, and definitely some worm?’

‘We’ll all be human together, then.’

‘I just made a fresh pot of coffee . . .’

‘Half a cup, thanks, I’m meeting a realtor here in twenty minutes. Leaving for Colorado first thing in the morning, wanted to touch base again. Where’s Barnabas?’

‘Not in the display window, too cold. Probably on the heat vent at American History. We’ll rattle his treat bag.’

Barnabas appeared, yawning. He thought his dog looked especially freewheeling in the red bandanna. Father Brad squatted, took something from his jacket pocket. ‘You’re a wise and handsome fellow. See what you think of this—organic oatmeal with spelt flour.’

Barnabas took it at once. Down the hatch. Two chomps.

‘He likes it!’ he said.

‘It’s what I give my girl at home; bake ’em myself. Daisy’s around four years old, looks forward to moving to Mitford.’

‘Her breed?’

‘Mongrel, like the rest of us.’ Father Brad powered to his feet like a jack-in-the-box.

‘Did you find a place?’

‘Not yet. I looked at a couple of rental houses yesterday, but I’m starting to think an apartment.’

‘We don’t have apartments in Mitford.’

They sat on stools at the coffee station.

‘Just as well, parishes don’t trust priests in apartments, even interims. Too fly-by-night. They prefer clergy strapped with a mortgage and a lawn to keep mowed. By the way, I hear you’re doing this gig pro bono.’

‘I feel I owe the owner for the experience. How did you find things down the street? I hear you’re good at damage control.’

‘I’m the guy with a shovel who follows the elephants.’

‘I don’t envy you.’

‘My vision for Lord’s Chapel goes beyond trying to help clean up the Talbot business. I’d like to put together a really strong Youth Group, but I haven’t seen any youth around.’

‘They’re definitely here. I have one over at my place, he’s trouble enough to be an entire group all by himself.’

‘What age?’

‘Seventeen.’

‘I was at my worst at seventeen. I went from punching out a cop and spending time in juvenile detention to stealing a car and selling dope. I was ballistic. Finally got my act together, made it through four years of college with pretty good grades, and joined the military—I was surprised they’d have me. It changed everything.’

Father Brad peeled out of his wool scarf.

‘I’ll be coming to Lord’s Chapel at an awkward time all around. In addition to the Talbot business, there’s January—party’s over, people can be a little edgy, depressed. Anyway, thought I’d make a quick reconnaissance to Mitford and get a few ducks in a row so everything doesn’t hit at once. Pray for me, if you will.’

‘Consider it done. And know that you can call on me at any hour.’

‘Thanks, that means a lot. My wife, Kate, would have loved it here. I lost her two years ago, she was my life. So I lost my life and had a hard time getting it back. The good news is, the trauma of losing her led me into a whole new relationship with Christ, a higher place than I’d gone before. Maybe we can only go as high as we can go deep. But enough!’

‘Marine Corps, the bishop says.’

‘Semper fidelis. Twenty-three years old, saw my first action in Cambodia. Intelligence told us it would be a cakewalk—small weapons, a couple dozen enemy. We lost thirty-eight men—Marine, Navy, Air Force—in less than twenty-four hours. When I’m asked to give my testimony, I’ve been known to give it in two words: Koh Tang.

‘When I get back to Mitford and the dust settles, I’d like to tell you how I ended up in a collar. I hope you’ll give me the pleasure of hearing your story.’

‘I look forward to it. So what is your Rite Three?’

‘Skiing. Hiking. White-water rafting. Trout fishing.’ Father Brad’s smile would light up a room. ‘I’m a mountain guy all the way, with two beautiful daughters and four grandkids who love this stuff, too.’

‘We’ll be proud to have you and Daisy,’ he said.

‘And seven gardenia trees in containers. I’m haulin’ those babies out here personally. Tropical plants that love heat and humidity, and what do they get from me? Mountain winters.’

Father Brad rewound the scarf around his neck and gave him what was known as a bear hug. ‘I’m proud to be called into the good company of this parish. He has set my feet in a spacious place.’