The deeper the darkness, the brighter the light

For more than a decade minister Analiese Wagner has felt privileged to lead her parishioners along a well-lit path. Her commitment has never been seriously tested until the frigid night she encounters a homeless family huddling in the churchyard. Offering them shelter in a vacant parish house apartment and taking teenage Shiloh Fowler—a girl desperate to rescue her parents—under her wing, she tests the loyalty and faith of her congregation.

Isaiah Colburn, the Catholic priest who was her first mentor and the man she secretly longed for, understands her struggles only too well. At a crossroads, he’s suddenly reappeared in her life, torn between his priesthood and his growing desire for a future with Analiese.

Divided between love and vows they’ve taken, both must face the possibilities of living very different lives or continuing to serve their communities. With a defeated family’s trust and her own happiness on the line, Analiese must define for herself where darkness ends and light begins.

Praise for the novels of Emilie Richards

“Richards deftly juggles an intriguing thriller with an exploration of domestic violence and reinvention. Still, it’s the quirky, gritty characters in and out of Goddesses Anonymous—all determined to help women in need—who power this tale of forgiveness every step of the way.”

—Publishers Weekly on No River Too Wide

“This is emotional, suspenseful drama filled with hope and love.”

—Library Journal on No River Too Wide

“Portraying the uncomfortable subject of domestic abuse with unflinching thoroughness and tender understanding, Richards’s third installment in the Goddesses Anonymous series offers important insights into a far too prevalent social problem.”

—Booklist on No River Too Wide

“Richards creates a heart-wrenching atmosphere that slowly builds to the final pages, and continues to echo after the book is finished.”

—Publishers Weekly on One Mountain Away

“Complex characters, compelling emotions and the healing power of forgiveness—what could be better? I loved One Mountain Away!”

—New York Times bestselling author Sherryl Woods

“Emilie Richards’s compassion and deep understanding of family relationships, especially those among women, are the soul of One Mountain Away. This rich, multilayered story of love and bitterness, humor, loss and redemption haunts me as few other books have.”

—New York Times bestselling author Sandra Dallas

“When I first began reading One Mountain Away, I wondered where the story was going. A few pages later, I knew precisely where this story was going—straight to my heart. Words that come to my mind are wow, fabulous and beautiful. Definitely a must-read. If any book I’ve ever read deserves to be made into a film, One Mountain Away is it! Kudos to Emilie Richards.”

—New York Times bestselling author Catherine Anderson

Also by Emilie Richards

The Goddesses Anonymous Novels

NO RIVER TOO WIDE

SOMEWHERE BETWEEN LUCK AND TRUST

ONE MOUNTAIN AWAY

The Happiness Key Novels

SUNSET BRIDGE

FORTUNATE HARBOR

HAPPINESS KEY

SISTER’S CHOICE

TOUCHING STARS

LOVER’S KNOT

ENDLESS CHAIN

WEDDING RING

THE PARTING GLASS

PROSPECT STREET

FOX RIVER

WHISKEY ISLAND

BEAUTIFUL LIES

SOUTHERN GENTLEMEN

“Billy Ray Wainwright”

RISING TIDES

IRON LACE

USA TODAY Bestselling Author

The Color of Light

Emilie Richards

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Praise for the novels of Emilie Richards

Also by Emilie Richards

Title Page

chapter one

chapter two

chapter three

chapter four

chapter five

chapter six

chapter seven

chapter eight

chapter nine

chapter ten

chapter eleven

chapter twelve

chapter thirteen

chapter fourteen

chapter fifteen

chapter sixteen

chapter seventeen

chapter eighteen

chapter nineteen

chapter twenty

chapter twenty-one

chapter twenty-two

chapter twenty-three

chapter twenty-four

chapter twenty-five

chapter twenty-six

chapter twenty-seven

chapter twenty-eight

chapter twenty-nine

chapter thirty

chapter thirty-one

chapter thirty-two

chapter thirty-three

chapter thirty-four

chapter thirty-five

chapter thirty-six

chapter thirty-seven

chapter thirty-eight

chapter thirty-nine

chapter forty

chapter forty-one

Epilogue

Reader’s Guide

Questions for Discussion

Copyright

chapter one

ANALIESE WAGNER NEEDED to breathe. She was fairly certain she hadn’t inhaled even once during the past hour. Now her head felt three sizes too large, and she was perilously close to her first-ever panic attack. She needed to find a place where she could stand unobserved and fill her lungs and bloodstream with oxygen. Maybe afterward she would be calm enough to get behind the wheel of her Accord and risk life and limb in Asheville’s rush-hour traffic, but not yet.

The church sanctuary was too far away and probably in use. The closest restroom was public. She saw the door to the sexton’s supply closet, opened it, slipped in and closed it behind her. The moment she did, the small room, maybe three feet by five, went dark, but she didn’t care. The air smelled, not unpleasantly, of pine and chlorine.

And she was blessedly alone.

Analiese stood very still, eyes closed, and filled her lungs, releasing the air slowly, and then repeating. She was well acquainted with prayer and meditation, but right now she needed oxygen and silence more.

When her head stopped swimming she rested her face in her hands. Her ministry had come to this. Escaping into the sexton’s closet to inhale poisonous chemicals rather than face even one more member of her staff or congregation.

Long ago the man who had encouraged her to enter seminary had told her there would be moments when she wanted to hang up her clerical collar. He hadn’t told her that she would face most of them alone, and that sometimes God, who was supposed to walk beside her, would wander off, too.

But Isaiah must have known. Who faced loneliness more often than a Catholic priest?

A long moment passed before she straightened, took one more deep breath, and opened the door. No one was in the hall, which made for the best moment of her day. She started toward the front door of the parish house and was only inches from escaping when a familiar voice sounded behind her.

“You’ll be gone for the rest of the day?”

Myra Hudson had been the church administrator longer than Analiese had ministered to the congregation, and she had the gray hair and pursed lips to prove it. The rest of the staff had already gone home, but obviously Myra was soldiering on.

Analiese managed one small smile as she faced her. “Trust me, Myra, my absence will be a gift.”

The other woman’s scowl eased just a fraction. She was twenty years older than Analiese’s thirty-nine, and twenty years more experienced in getting what she wanted. “You have three phone calls to return and a mountain of correspondence. You told me to remind you.”

“A moment of weakness.” Myra didn’t budge, and Analiese lifted her hands in defeat. “I’ll make the calls tonight from home. The mountain can wait until tomorrow.”

“I hope wherever you’re going you plan to walk?”

“And the reason?”

“Because when I looked outside a few minutes ago, a van and a forklift were parked right behind your car.”

“I’m going downtown. To a rally where I’m a featured speaker because somebody in charge actually believed I had something to say.”

“Unlike everyone else you’ve encountered today?”

Analiese let her statement stand.

Myra took pity. “They’re over at the sanctuary. I guess you could put on your friendliest smile and beg them to park somewhere else.”

Analiese didn’t have to ask who “they” were. Radiance Stained Glass from Knoxville, Tennessee, was in town to take measurements for a new rose window in the choir loft, as well as to listen to the council executive committee’s opinion about proposed designs. Analiese had spent the past hour butting heads with the executive committee, but luckily she’d been excused from the next portion of the meeting, since everyone knew exactly what her objections to the designs were and didn’t want to hear them again.

She calculated how long it would take the Radiance crew to move the forklift. She was already late.

“I don’t have my car,” Myra said, taking pity again, “or I would let you borrow it.”

A man spoke. “I have mine.”

Analiese looked up as Ethan Martin joined them from the connecting hallway. She craned her neck to peek behind him. “Please tell me the committee’s still in session,” she said in a low voice.

His smile was warm, his brown eyes sympathetic. “They’re waiting for Radiance. You still have time to get away.”

“Could you possibly get me downtown, Ethan? I’m sure I can find a ride back home afterward.”

“I ought to be at the rally, too. It’s no trouble.”

She met his smile with a more or less genuine one of her own. Ethan was an attractive man in his fifties who really did seem to be an advertisement for the prime of life. Although he attended services from time to time, he wasn’t a formal member of her congregation. He had been a member, well before Analiese’s arrival, but he had resigned after a contentious divorce. His wife, Charlotte Hale, had stayed.

“Why should you be there?” she asked after they said goodbye to Myra and started toward Ethan’s car, wisely parked in the general lot well behind the building.

“I’m working with the Asheville Homeless Network. They asked me to draw up some preliminary sketches for two newly donated lots.”

“You’re becoming Super-Volunteer. I feel guilty I asked you to give your thoughts about the window at today’s meeting.”

“Because I’m already volunteering elsewhere, or because the people on the committee need a few lessons on how to get along?”

Analiese knew Ethan had only agreed to sit in on the rose window committee—who he had represented at the meeting today—as a favor to her. He was an architect whose professional insight was extremely valuable, but even more important, much of the funding for the new window was coming from a bequest Charlotte had made to the church. Ethan and Charlotte had reunited before her death, and the committee was obligated morally, if not legally, to take his opinions and those of Taylor, their daughter, into account.

“The executive committee can be a cranky lot,” she said, thinking what an understatement that was. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”

Afternoon sunshine bronzed the bare limbs of trees that just a month before had flaunted rainbow-colored leaves. November weather in Asheville was unpredictable, but right now the air was balmy, as was the light breeze that pulled wisps of dark hair from the knot she had fashioned on top of her head. As they walked around the parish house, past Covenant Academy, the elite private school the church had founded, she breathed deeply and forced herself to appreciate the parklike surroundings. The grounds had been recently manicured by the garden crew, and pansies and chrysanthemums filled beds along with the stalks of departed hollyhocks nodding in the children’s garden.

That garden sat at the rear of the parish house, nearly out of sight of the street, tended and appreciated by Sunday school classes who grew produce for a local women’s shelter. Analiese had been forced to fight for the patch of land, since the garden was rarely tidy and even more rarely productive. But the children loved working in the sun and getting their hands dirty, and the lessons they learned were invaluable.

As they turned toward the garden she noticed several people strolling to admire the flowers, as well as a family sunning themselves on the grass in the farthest corner. From this distance she didn’t recognize anybody, but they seemed at home. She lifted her hand in acknowledgment as she and Ethan passed the other way. She liked nothing better than to see both the grounds and the building in constant use.

In the parking lot he opened the passenger door of his car and waited until she had settled herself before he closed it. He pulled into traffic and was headed downtown before he spoke.

“So tell me what else went wrong today.”

Although they had never discussed it, Analiese suspected that Ethan had never rejoined the Church of the Covenant because his friendship with her would be altered. He would then be a “lamb in her flock,” an image she wasn’t fond of since none of the church members were vaguely sheeplike. But she liked being Ethan’s friend instead of his spiritual guide.

“You know me well, don’t you?” she said. Her loneliness eased a little.

When a motorcycle cut in front of the car he smoothly switched lanes without missing a beat of conversation. “You held your own, Ana, you really did. But I’m not accustomed to the edge I heard in your voice.”

He’d cut through her defenses so quickly, she didn’t have time to ward off a flashback of the past hours. Waking up alone and lonely in a silent house. Morning prayers interlaced with the usual doubts about her calling. Mind-numbing paperwork no one in seminary had warned her about. Lunch by the bedside of a terminally ill teenager, and finally the meeting with the council executive committee, in which she had been not so subtly reminded of her relative youth and inexperience—as well as the number of parishioners who would prefer a man in their pulpit.

“Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed,” she said.

“Especially when you know the committee is lying in wait.”

She understood what he was doing. On their short trip into town he was giving her the opportunity to unload, to tell somebody her troubles for a change. He was a genuinely compassionate man, and a strong one. He would be a logical choice to talk to, except that unloading was not in her nature.

“Tell me about this project for the Homeless Network,” she said, turning the conversational spotlight to him.

After one quick glance, as if to assess whether to coax her, he described his newest undertaking. Several architects were working together to create as many apartment buildings as they could fit into the allotted space and still give occupants attractive, liveable homes to call their own. Ethan wanted to use as much recycled material as possible, and she knew from hearing about the renovations he had done to his own condo that he could do it in style.

She asked questions right up until the moment he dropped her off at the edge of the crowd that was gathering for the rally.

“I’m going to park beside my office, but I’ll meet you back here to take you home,” he said, pointing to a street sign. “In case I can’t find you at the end.”

“You’re really planning to stay?”

“I want to hear what you have to say.”

“Then I’ll treat you to dinner afterward, but it will have to be fast. I have a list of phone calls to make tonight.”

“Ana...maybe you ought to take the night off.”

“Not with the council executive committee gunning for me.”

“After today, you still want to keep your job?”

No good answer occurred to her, but she had to smile. She stepped back and waved him off.

She was quickly drawn into the crowd. When she had agreed to add her comments to those of county officials and other leaders at this rush-hour rally, she hadn’t realized how large the gathering would be. She’d said yes a month ago and then nearly forgotten until a reminder had popped up on her calendar. She was lucky Ethan had driven her and could park in his personal space. Even on a relatively quiet day downtown parking was tough.

She was early—that seemed nearly miraculous since so little had gone well today—and she had a few minutes to unwind before she made her way toward the front. She skirted the crowd and leisurely took in the view.

The scene was Asheville at its finest. Bare-chested, tattooed Gen Xers tossed Frisbees with mutts yapping at their heels. A small group of men in sports coats accompanying women in heels looked as if they had just left downtown offices. Tourists with cameras and retirees dressed for the next round of golf stood side by side with members of the crowd who looked considerably less fortunate. Many of that last group were carrying large backpacks or duffels. One was pushing a shopping cart.

Nobody had as much to gain from a well-attended rally as Asheville’s homeless. The city was working hard to find solutions. Panhandling was now illegal, and of course not everybody was pleased about that, including the man several feet away who was engaged in an angry conversation with a young mother clutching her baby firmly to her chest.

Analiese didn’t think twice. The pair was off to one side of the crowd, in the direction she was walking, and nobody else seemed to be paying attention. The young woman turned and tried to get away, but the man, sporting snakelike dreadlocks, grabbed her shoulder and jerked her backward just as Analiese got close enough to hear him.

“Just some change. You got change, I know you do!”

Analiese arrived just as the young woman, off balance, nearly fell into the man’s arms. “Hey,” she said calmly. “Please let her go. You’re scaring her.”

The man released the young mother with a shove, and she stumbled forward with her baby still clasped against her. He faced Analiese, and up close she saw his eyes were wild, his pupils distended. She was still several feet away but his smell preceded him. Poverty and despair, vomit and urine. She steeled herself not to react, and watched as the young woman found her feet and disappeared into the crowd.

“How ’bout you?” he asked, a grin revealing decaying teeth. “Am I scaring you enough to give me some money?”

“Why don’t I see if I can find somebody with Rescue Ministries to help you? They have better solutions.”

He moved closer. She refused to retreat. In that moment it seemed that she’d been retreating all day. There was no sexton’s closet here, and the time had come to stand her ground.

“I need money!”

Now she smelled alcohol, too, although her first guess had been drugs. She felt and heard movement behind her, and she hoped that reinforcements were closing in.

“I know you do,” she said calmly. “I can get you help. Come with me and we’ll find somebody at the front who can get you dinner and shelter for the night.”

Analiese had plenty of street smarts. Before seminary she had been a broadcast journalist who had done stories in some of San Diego’s meanest neighborhoods, so she was paying close attention to the man’s body language. Unfortunately she had overestimated how drunk he was. She hadn’t expected him to move so quickly. One moment he was an arm’s length away, the next his hands were closing around her neck. She only had time for a quick gasp before her arms came up between his, and she slammed them against his wrists to break his grip.

Furious, he grabbed her again, and this time he shoved her with all his considerable strength.

The fall seemed to take forever, but once she hit the grass, she rolled to her side and tried to push upright. The man who had attacked her was screaming now, as if he’d been tackled. At the moment she couldn’t worry about him. She was still lying on the ground. The people closest to her tried to make room to help, but the crowd surrounding them was expanding and pushing in from the edges. She was jostled as people tried to clear a space. Somebody’s Doc Martens stomped on her hand.

“Give her some room!”

Analiese looked up and just glimpsed a man hovering protectively over her, arm extended. She grabbed his hand gratefully, and he hauled her to her feet.

Once there she tried to thank him, but the crowd surged around her, packing together so tightly that the moment she dropped his hand he disappeared. Police arrived, and she was jostled still more as people made room. Seconds later she glimpsed her attacker being dragged away, screeching about his rights. The police were speaking calmly and trying to convince him to walk on his own, partly, she was sure, because they were surrounded by advocates for the homeless who were watching carefully.

A man in shorts and a tie-dyed T-shirt asked if she was all right, and she nodded, but he wasn’t the one who had rescued her. That man had been taller and dark-haired.

Somebody took her elbow, and she whirled to find Ethan looking down at her. He put his other arm around her and hugged her quickly. “Ana, are you all right?”

She thought she was, although she might sport bruises on her neck and the outline of a heel on her hand as a reminder of the past moments.

“Think so,” she said, shaking her hand back and forth to be sure.

“The police have things under control.” Ethan stepped away a bit and pointed toward the edge of the crowd. “Not his lucky day. He ran right into them after he shoved you.”

“He shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning either.”

He smiled warmly, but he continued to hold her elbow to steady her. “Know why he pushed you?”

“Because I was in easy reach and wanted to give him help he’s not ready for. He’s hungry, frightened, tired, angry—”

“You’re being kind. Don’t forget drunk or high. He didn’t seem too steady on his feet.”

“That, too.”

“Let’s see if we can fight our way to the edge.” Ethan guided her in that direction.

“I’d better head for the speakers’ stand.”

“You can make your way up front once we’re out of the throng. Afterward you might want to find the police. You probably should tell them what happened.”

She stayed close to Ethan, letting him clear a path. Out of the worst of the crowd she brushed off her skirt and straightened her blazer. She only rarely wore a clerical collar. Today she wore a burgundy scarf knotted over a light pullover. When she spoke, her role as senior minister of one of the largest Protestant churches in Asheville, North Carolina, should lend enough weight without trappings.

On the other hand, maybe if she had been wearing her collar, the man who had attacked her would have thought better of it.

Definitely an unworthy thought. She had another as she wondered if wearing her collar more often would help with the council executive committee. She sighed and stood still for Ethan’s inspection.

“Am I presentable?”

Another smile. He stretched out his hand and brushed something off her cheek, rubbing it with the tips of his fingers until he was satisfied. “You’re sure you’re okay?”

“He gave me a great opening for my speech. Life on the streets is difficult, even terrifying, and it can have consequences for everybody, the homeless and the onlookers. We need to help people rebuild their lives.”

“Are you practicing?”

She answered his smile with one of her own. “Thank you. I’m glad you found me.”

“You so rarely need help, it was a pleasure.”

She liked the way Ethan always made it clear he approved of her. There was nothing between them except friendship, but he reminded her that she was a woman as well as a pastor.

“You held your own at the meeting this afternoon,” he said. “Now go hold your own up there.” He nodded to the front. “I’ll find you when it’s over.”

She squeezed his hand in thanks, and then one final time she brushed off her skirt and started around the crowd.

She reached the stand and watched as another speaker, a local homeless advocate, stood to offer her a hand up the rickety steps. At the top, before she greeted the others on the platform, she turned for a quick survey of the crowd. She scanned the closest faces, but her goal was impossible.

Even though she’d only glimpsed him, the man who had protected her and helped her off the ground had looked disturbingly familiar. For just a moment she would have sworn it was Isaiah Colburn, who, the last time she had communicated with him, was serving a Catholic parish in San Diego.

Father Isaiah Colburn who, in recent years, had carefully, tactfully, separated himself from the young Protestant minister he had once befriended, the same young woman who, despite knowing the pitfalls, had fallen hopelessly in love with him.

chapter two

FOURTEEN-YEAR-OLD SHILOH FOWLER was so used to disappointment that when the old lady in the church office told her it was too late in the day to get help and the Fowler family should try elsewhere, she wasn’t surprised.

“We’ve tried elsewhere,” she explained, although she knew better than to think continuing the discussion would make a difference. “My mother’s sick, and we just need a place to stay for tonight so she’ll be out of the cold. I’m not asking for anything for myself.”

Shiloh hated sympathy, but for once she was sort of glad to see it in this stranger’s eyes. On the other hand, as always, sympathy wasn’t much help.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” the woman said. “I’m leaving for the night, and I have to lock up. Our minister is gone, and everybody else on staff is gone, too. You have the list of social service agencies I gave you?”

Shiloh was holding the list in plain sight, so it was clear the question was rhetorical, a word she was fond of and had recently added to her vocabulary. “Like I said, we don’t have much gas. All these places are downtown.”

The woman nodded. Then she walked behind her desk, got her purse and rummaged through it, coming out with a ten-dollar bill, which she held out to Shiloh. “I don’t know what else to do for you.”

They needed that money. Really needed it, because all they had was a ten to match it and a few ones to go with it.

Shiloh had taken money before, but this evening her hand remained closed, her arm by her side. “I can’t take money from you. That’s not what I was asking for. I just thought, well, maybe your church...” Her voice trailed off.

The woman walked around her desk, took Shiloh’s hand and put the bill inside it, closing the girl’s fingers around it. “We help when we can. It’s just that there’s nobody here, honey. Reverend Ana’s away...” Something flickered in the woman’s dark eyes. “At a rally for the homeless downtown.” She clearly realized how ironic that was. “There’ll be people at the rally from the different agencies on that list. It’s pretty late, but if you leave right now, maybe you can still catch the end of it.”

Shiloh knew about downtown. The Fowlers’ Ford inhaled gas as if it knew each fume might be the last, and parking inside city limits was so expensive the ten dollars would be long gone before they could find anybody who might help. Besides, she already knew that housing for homeless families was pretty much nonexistent. If they were lucky she and her mother might be able to stay one place, and Dougie and her father another. But Man—Shiloh’s father—would never allow that. He liked to say that all the Fowler family had right now was each other, and that was plenty good enough.

When he talked at all.

“I appreciate your kindness,” Shiloh said, words she had practically patented in the years since her family had left their snug little ranch house in southern Ohio to begin a fruitless search for a new life and home.

The woman averted her eyes and began to stack papers on her desk, clearly ready to leave for the evening. “I hope you find the help you need.”

Shiloh murmured more thanks, then she left by the front door and wound her way toward the sheltered nook between this building and the rear wing of another with a sign that read Covenant Academy. She knew her family would be huddled there against the cold, waiting for her.

The afternoon had been almost pleasantly warm, and Shiloh had been hopeful the evening would remain warm, too. But hope was a funny thing. Anything she wanted, any yearning that eventually formed into words, was nearly always denied her. Her mother, Belle, was superstitious, and Shiloh worked hard to have absolutely nothing in common with her, but in this one way she was superstitious, too. Most of the time she was adept at pushing away thoughts of anything worth yearning for. Because wanting anything was the best way never to have it.

She shivered and reached down to zip up her coat in response. The coat was a hand-me-down from her cousin Lilac in South Carolina. There were three kinds of hand-me-downs and handouts. The rarest were those that not only met a need but made her feel good inside. The rest were evenly distributed between “good enough” and “completely unacceptable.”

Lilac’s old coat was good enough. Pillowy, slick, dark green. The cuffs were frayed and the lining was tattered, but the coat was warm and it more or less fit, with just a little room in case Shiloh ever grew taller. She had been lucky to get it, because Lilac’s younger sister, Daisy, who, by rights, should have gotten it next, had received a better hand-me-down from somebody at her church.

If she slept in the coat inside her sleeping bag Shiloh would be warm enough tonight. Man had once been a hunter, scouring the hills near their home with men he’d known since boyhood, so he was used to camping in rugged conditions. Belle could sleep in the car with all their blankets. Dougie, Shiloh’s nine-year-old brother, would be the problem. He had a warm coat, too, but he swore the wool made him itch, and he would rather freeze to death than scratch all night. Shiloh would have to get tough with him.

Like always.

When she rounded the corner Belle was sitting on concrete steps leading up to what seemed to be a back door into the building where the church offices were. Man was sitting just below her on the concrete pad at the bottom. Dougie was nowhere in sight.

“Where’s Dougie?” Shiloh asked.

Belle didn’t answer. She looked from side to side, as if expecting the boy to materialize out of the shadows.

Man cleared his throat. “He’s looking around. He’ll be back.”

Shiloh was afraid that meant her brother was relieving himself behind some of the massive bushes providing a barrier between the area where they sat and the deserted school beyond. “Most everybody was gone. The secretary gave me ten dollars, but that was all she could do.”

If possible Man looked more dejected. “You shouldn’t oughta have asked.”

“I didn’t! She offered it, and when I didn’t take it, she made me.”

Man had always been slight and stooped from long hours on a factory line. But now, after eighteen months of trying to reestablish the family somewhere with a future, he looked haggard, even emaciated. Shiloh was reminded of a skeleton from a middle-school biology textbook, and her words seemed to make his flesh shrink even tighter against his bones.

“We’ll pass it on when we can,” he said.

“We can buy Mama some cough syrup.” Shiloh’s gaze flicked to her mother, who didn’t register her words.

“We’d best get going.” Man got to his feet. “Dougie!”

“I think we should stay here,” Shiloh said, after he had called her brother again. “We’re tucked away, nice and cozy, and nobody’s going to see us. Mama can sleep in the car by herself, and you, me and Dougie can put up our tent against that wall. We don’t have money to pay for a campsite, and with what the lady gave me and what little we have left we can get food and some medicine for Mama.”

“This is a churchyard, Shiloh. They won’t want us hanging out here tonight. It was okay while I was off looking for work this afternoon, but now we need to find a quiet place to sleep in the car.”

“Mama’s going to cough all night, even with medicine. Nobody’s going to sleep if we’re all crowded up in the car together. We won’t hurt anything back here. We can go in the morning before it gets light and nobody will ever know. And you know that door Mama’s practically leaning against? It’s not locked. I tried it earlier. I bet it’s supposed to be, but somebody forgot. So we can go inside and use the restroom, wash up and stuff before we go to sleep. Maybe even move inside tonight if it gets too cold.”

“We don’t break into buildings.”

“I didn’t say anything about breaking in. But this building’s not locked, and that’s kind of like an invitation. Besides, we’ll only go inside if we have to. Mama’s too sick to drive all over looking for a place to stay. Looks to me like we got one already.”

As if on cue Belle broke her silence by coughing. The cough was deep and ragged, like a chained pit bull straining for freedom. She had a constant cough from too many years of smoking, but in the past week the cough had gone from a warning to an alarm. It wasn’t worse than yesterday, though, and Shiloh was heartened by that.

“I saw a drugstore and a Taco Bell not far away,” Shiloh said when her father didn’t answer. “You can set up the tent and get out the sleeping bags while I get supper, and after we eat, Mama can get comfortable in the car.” Which was a stupid thing to say, because nobody, especially a woman as overweight as Belle, could get comfortable on the Ford’s backseat.

Dougie took that moment to appear, breaking into the clearing at a run. He skidded to a stop just in front of his sister and made a face at her.

Shiloh and her brother shared a family resemblance. They had the same medium-brown hair with just a trace of the red that liberally threaded Man’s. They had the same brown eyes and upwardly tilted brows above them. The similarities stopped there, though. Shiloh was small-boned like their father, and showed no signs of growing taller than the five foot three she had reached a year ago at thirteen. Even at nine Dougie was broad-shouldered and broad-chested, and he was already just inches shorter than his sister. He was going to be big, like his uncles, Belle’s hulking brothers, and like them he would need to be. Because Dougie’s greatest talent was getting into trouble.

“We’re going to stay here tonight,” Shiloh told him, because Man said nothing. “Can you help Daddy put up the tent where nobody can see it? I’m going to get Mama some medicine and all of us some food.”

“What kind of food?”

“Tacos.”

Dougie looked interested. He was always hungry, just like Belle, only he was growing up, not out like their mother. “I want a lot.”

“I’ll get as much as I can, but you have to help here.”

Dougie was a pain, but most of the time he was good-natured. He shrugged.

Belle coughed again, and Dougie went up the steps to sit beside her. Her arm crept around him, and she pulled him close as she covered her mouth with her other hand.

“Daddy, it’s the best thing,” Shiloh said. “You can see that, right?”

Man didn’t smile and he didn’t nod. He shrank into himself even more, as if this was indeed a new low in a recent history replete with them.

“I’ll be back as fast as I can,” she said. “We’ll eat, then maybe wash up a little inside, and then we can go to sleep until morning. That’s a school back there, but tomorrow’s Saturday. Things will look brighter then.”

Belle spoke at last. “You go on now. We’ll wait.”

Shiloh managed not to roll her eyes. Of course they would wait. What else were they going to do? Belle didn’t seem to grasp their situation, but that wasn’t unusual. She made a point of not trying to understand anything new although everything about their lives was new and unpredictable. Somewhere on the road from Ohio Shiloh’s mother had simply shut down and turned over everything to Man and Shiloh.

And these days Man had to struggle not to simply opt out and shut down himself.

Tonight everything was up to Shiloh. No decisions would be made without her leadership. “You’ll get everything ready while I’m gone?” she asked her father.

He gave one nod, like a man agreeing it was time to walk the plank.

For just a moment Shiloh wondered what life would be like if she didn’t return, if she kept walking after she fed herself at Taco Bell and set out to make a life away from them. Would her mother or father look for her? Without her to take charge would they simply fade away? Or would one or the other of her parents begin to take care of the family again and find a way to make everything right?

She didn’t know the answer. The only thing she did know was that the risk of finding a new life alone was too great. She had to keep struggling, because right now she was the only Fowler still capable of doing so.

chapter three

“YOU’RE QUIETER THAN USUAL.” Ethan touched Analiese’s hand across the restaurant table, just a brief pat. “We can cancel our order, and you can go home and put your feet up for the night.”

Instead Analiese made herself more comfortable in her chair in the dark corner of the Biltmore Village cantina. “I’m as hungry as I’m tired. And besides, even if I’m not chattering away, I’m still grateful for your company.”

“You ordered a salad. That doesn’t sound hungry to me.”

Analiese toyed with her fork and imagined, just for a moment, pasta dripping with Alfredo sauce twined around it. “A big salad.”

“With dressing on the side and no avocados. In a southwestern restaurant yet.”

She laughed and met his eyes. “If I start indulging myself every time I have a bad day, I’ll swell up like a puffer fish. You have no idea how fast I can gain weight.”

“How do you know? When was the last time you gained even a pound?”

She was a maniac about her weight, but Analiese had faced that and forgiven herself. “I’m healthy. I don’t have an eating disorder. Being on camera taught me to stay away from foods that encourage me to binge. Like pizza, and fried chicken.” She smiled. “And avocados.”

“Not lettuce, apparently.”

She knew he was teasing, because the salad had wonderful things in it. Black beans, queso fresco and chicken breast.

“I’m drinking a glass of wine.” She held up her glass.

“When you really wanted a margarita.”

“How could you tell?”

“By how quickly you ran over the server when she tried to describe all the possibilities. You didn’t want to hear them.”

“Is that why you got wine, too?”

“I got wine because that’s what I wanted.”

She abruptly ran out of small talk. Now that she had reassured him, she knew she could sit quietly with Ethan for the rest of the evening and both of them would be perfectly comfortable. But she didn’t want to be quiet. She decided to tell him what was really on her mind.

“It’s not just that today was an unusually bad day of ministry...”

“Let’s not forget being knocked to the ground by someone you wanted to help.”

“That, too. But actually that’s what I’ve been playing over and over in my mind.” She sipped her wine and thought about what to say and what not to.

He filled in the gap. “An attack like that would upset anybody, but you did everything right. Except maybe believing anybody that drunk could be reasonable.”

“I haven’t been thinking about the man who pushed me. I’ve been wondering about the one who helped me off the ground. Or at least the man I thought he was. For a moment, at least.”

She could see that Ethan didn’t understand, but why should he? She wasn’t being purposely obtuse; she was just trying to find a way into the story.

She started again. “The crowd surged in around me. For a moment I thought I was going to be run over.”

“You nearly were.”

“I saw a hand extended so I grabbed it. A man helped me up. The crowd pressed in, and I only got a glimpse of him. Before I could say anything he was swallowed by people, and by the time I got away, he was gone.”

“Are you worried because you didn’t have a chance to thank him?”

“I’m sure he wasn’t expecting anything. Not under those circumstances. The thing is...” She took another sip. “I thought he was someone I knew, someone I haven’t seen in a long time. I was almost certain, but it makes no sense, not really. Because I can’t imagine why he would be in Asheville.”

“But if it was somebody who knows you, wouldn’t he have stayed to say hello?”

“You would think so.” She realized she was toying with her wineglass, rolling it back and forth between her palms the way her mother used to roll dough for the sweet rolls she had made nearly every day of Analiese’s childhood. She set it down before she spoke again. “Did I ever tell you how I came to be a minister?”

“Just that it wasn’t your original career choice. I know you started in television news.”

“I actually started in theater, but along the way I found television and switched my major. I got married right out of college. Greg was a producer at a local network affiliate, and I did my internship under his supervision. After we tied the knot he moved us to California to a larger station, and I was hired as a reporter.”

“I knew you’d been married. Divorced?”

She shook her head. “Greg was quite a bit older, a catch and a charmer from head to toe. Unfortunately, as I learned, he was also an unrepentant womanizer, a daredevil and a bully. His favorite pastime, other than one-night stands, was to ride his Harley at high speeds on dangerous roads. In a rare moment of candor—after one of our many fights—he told me that the only time he really felt alive was when he was facing death.”

“You were very young.”

She smiled a little, because it was true. “But not an idiot. I was gathering my resources to divorce him when he went over a cliff on his motorcycle. He didn’t live to report the story. As horrible and unministerial as this sounds, dying was the only nice thing he’d done for me since the early months of our marriage. I didn’t have to go through a divorce. I had his life insurance and pension, plus I was able to stay on at the station. Because not only would Greg have fired me, he would have blacklisted me once he got the divorce papers, so I never found another television gig.”

“A charmer for sure.”

She pictured her ex, something she rarely did. “Indeed he was.”

“And he’s the reason you left television?”

“I left because of Isaiah Colburn.” She paused. “Father Isaiah Colburn, the man I thought I saw today.”

“You knew him from California?”

“Two years after Greg died I was considering a better job at another station farther north in Los Angeles. I was sent to report a house fire in a poor Latino neighborhood. It was one of those awful, awful moments, Ethan. Children trapped inside with no way to get out. Grieving, wailing parents. The fire department carried out the bodies, and my job was to try to get people to talk to me about what they were feeling. Hopefully people intimately connected, of course, the more intimately the better. A real coup would have been the parents.”

He winced. She went on.

“My strength was empathy, and I wanted to go to them and help somehow, but, of course, I couldn’t. For the first time I realized I would always be at a distance, that I might be first on the scene, reporting what I saw, but I’d never be truly a part of it. That my job, like the police and fire personnel, was to stay on the outside, to remain objective, to move on to the next tragedy. If Greg only felt alive defying the odds, I only seemed to feel alive when I was witnessing and documenting the lives of others. Only at that moment I didn’t feel alive. I felt like a voyeur.”

“Epiphanies come in all shapes and sizes, huh?”

She looked away. “Thank God the parents were behind the police line and I couldn’t get near them, or I might have tried. I ask myself that sometimes. Would I have?”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Ethan said.

She would never be sure. “Anyway, while I was scurrying around for a story, my heart silently breaking, a car pulled up and a man got out. Thirtyish, dog collar and clerical shirt. Clearly a priest. They let him through to be with the family. Nobody questioned how important he was. I glimpsed the way he greeted them, the long hug of mutual sorrow, the tears, the hands held, the heads bowed. Then their exodus together, him protecting them from people like me who wanted a small piece of their tragedy to increase ratings. I saw the way he shielded them, dealt quickly and succinctly with questions from the police, helped them into the car that would take them to the hospital where the deaths of their children would be confirmed and plans made for burial.”

“And your life changed.”

“In an instant. My personal road to Damascus. I saw the future I was pursuing and, beside it, a different path. Not one lived in the spotlight, but one lived in a smaller, more intimate place, where my actions would only be recorded on hearts and souls. I wanted to be where the smallest acts of kindness and comfort make all the difference. I saw myself in clerical garb, my arm around the shoulders of that young mother.” She took a deep breath. “You know the rest.”

“How did you meet the priest?”

“Like a good reporter I learned his name. Then a few days later I went to him with the idea of doing a story about priests, pastors, rabbis, anybody called to minister to people during the worst moments of their lives. But Isaiah saw right through me. By the end of our conversation he had wangled the truth. He saw I was questioning my life, and he suggested I begin to listen to the still, small voice inside me that was leading me elsewhere.”

She picked up her wineglass again, and they sat quietly for a few moments.

“If the man today was him, why wouldn’t he have stayed to talk?”

She told him part of the truth. “We stayed in touch when I was in seminary in New York, and for a while after I came here. We might be from different faiths, but so much of what we go through as clergy is exactly the same. Over the years, though, I got busy, and I guess he did, too. I haven’t heard from him in a long time. Maybe he didn’t even recognize me.”

“Right after you were pushed you were up on the platform, and you were introduced to the crowd by name as the minister of the Church of the Covenant.”

“So I was.” Gratefully she saw their server approaching with their dinners. Even from a short distance Ethan’s quesadilla smelled luscious. “I guess whoever I saw today was really a stranger,” she said, to close the subject, “but after a long, hard day, maybe the Holy Spirit was trying to help me remember why I do what I do.”

“Did it work?”

“We’ll see after I get some food in my stomach.”

After half a head of lettuce she felt a little better. They chatted casually about their mutual friends, a group of women Ethan’s wife, Charlotte, had known and loved and who, in true Charlotte fashion, she had manipulated so they would remain together after her death.

Informally the women called themselves the Goddesses Anonymous. The name referred to the Buddhist goddess of mercy, Kuan Yin, who was said to have remained on earth after death to anonymously help those who suffered. None of the women Charlotte had chosen lived up to the goddess title, but they did work together to reach out in different ways to women who needed them. Charlotte’s family home in the mountains above Asheville had been left to them, and now they used the land and vintage log house, which they called the Goddess House, in a variety of ways.

“I’m probably not giving away a secret,” she said as their server removed their plates and left the check, “but just in case, don’t tell anybody else. Georgia and Lucas have finally set their wedding date. The middle of February.”

“Here in Asheville?” Ethan waited for her nod. “You’ll do the wedding?”

“They want me to, and right now they’re planning for the Goddess House.”

He gave a low whistle, and she smiled. “I know. They might need divine intervention to keep the road clear up Doggett Mountain.”

She left enough cash for the meal and a tip, glad that Ethan didn’t try to wrest the bill from her grip. Then she stood. “I’ve kept you too long. If you drop me back at the church I’ll pick up my car.”

He rose. “I imagine it’s a zoo there tonight, as usual.”

“Tomorrow the whole place is booked solid, but I think this is one of those rare nights when the building’s empty and I don’t have to pop in and see what people are up to.”

“A bad day ends well after all.”

She took his hand for just a moment. “You made it end well, friend. Thank you.”

“You’ve done the same for me more than once.”

As they’d eaten the temperature had continued to drop, and once she was outside Analiese was sorry she had left her coat in her car. The trip back to the church was short, and Ethan was quiet, too. She guided him to park in the short strip closest to the parish house, which was reserved for staff.

Her car sat alone, no forklift in sight. She wondered how the rest of the executive committee meeting had gone and immediately put that out of her mind. Tonight was reserved for a hot bath, prayers and bed. She would worry about the phone calls tomorrow.

When she started to open her door, he put his hand over hers to stop her.

Surprised, she turned, but he wasn’t looking at her, he was leaning forward gazing at the back of the parish house. “Didn’t you say that nothing was going on here tonight?”

“Nothing is. Why?”

“Because somebody’s inside. I just saw a shadow pass in front of the window.”

“Maybe Felipe is cleaning. He likes to clean at night so he won’t run into people.” But this was Friday. Felipe, their sexton, was adamant that Friday was a night to enjoy his wife and children, and in solidarity, his two assistants knew better than to clean on Fridays, too.

“Felipe’s the janitor?” Ethan asked.

“Sexton. Church word.”

“Does he clean in the dark? The only light that’s on in there looks like an exit sign. But it was enough for me to see a figure pass the window.”

“You’re sure you saw somebody?”

“Unless the building’s haunted, I saw somebody.”

“I’ll go in and check.” She reached for the door handle again, but he stopped her.

“I think we probably ought to call the police and let them go inside first.”

She had to smile at that. “Are you kidding? Committee heads have keys. Probably half the council have keys. The rest of the staff has keys. I bet somebody just left something behind they needed for the weekend, or came to do a committee report or lesson plans for Sunday school where it’s quiet.”

“How often does that happen?”

The parsonage, where she lived, was several miles away from the parish house, where meetings and business were conducted, so she couldn’t give a precise answer.

“Felipe used to keep watch. He and his family lived in an apartment on the top floor of the parish house. But they bought a house and moved out about six months ago, so I don’t really know. Since the building’s in nearly constant use, no one was concerned.”

“Well, somebody’s using it right now.”

“I’ll check.”

“I’m coming with you.”

She could imagine the fallout if the police confronted the council president as he was picking up his mail or typing up meeting notes. But in the unlikely case there was a problem, Ethan’s company would be appreciated.

“Let’s do it quickly so you can go home.” This time he didn’t stop her when she opened the door.

She had keys to every door in the building, and once they neared the parish house she held up a heavy key ring. She kept her voice low. “Call me Hagrid of Hogwarts.”

“Is there a light switch by the door?”

She tried to remember. Usually the building was populated and well lit when she arrived. “To the right, I think. We’ll be entering through a small activity room, then once we’re through that, there’s a hallway. Offices to the left, stairs on the right to the next two floors, and a parlor and more meeting rooms beyond the stairs. If somebody is here who isn’t supposed to be, it’s going to be hard to track them down. There are a lot of places to hide.”

“Just listen once we’re in.”

She found the right key, having learned at the beginning of her ministry that tagging them was essential. The master key didn’t always work and never worked on this door because the lock was decrepit. Her pleas for a replacement had been ignored.

She put the key in the lock and jiggled it carefully, sliding it out a bit, sliding it in farther until she heard the lock pop.

“Is the door always that hard to open?” he asked.

“Welcome to my world.” She pushed the door wide and stepped inside, flipping on the light immediately. Ethan was right behind her, and together they blinked at the sudden glare, but the room was empty.

“We’ll check the downstairs first,” he said.

“I imagine whoever you saw will shortly arrive to announce themselves.”

They crossed the room and moved into the hallway. No lights were visible except the one behind them. Analiese had expected otherwise.

She was trying to figure out which direction to try first when she heard a noise. She immediately pinpointed the source. There was a single restroom immediately outside her office door, but on the rare occasion it was in use, she, like everyone else, had to walk down the hall to use the one in the hallway where they stood. Now as someone pushed it open she recognized the peculiar squeaking of the door. She whirled just in time to see the slight figure of a girl emerge.

When she saw Analiese and Ethan the girl let out a screech, and before the sound could die away, she took off in the other direction, sneakers thumping, long braid flying out behind her.

Without even a second’s hesitation, Ethan followed.

chapter four

ANALIESE SUPPOSED THE family had waited until dark to set up their small encampment. She and Ethan hadn’t seen the tent from the staff parking lot, and it was so perfectly tucked into the space between the parish house and the shrubs disguising the back door into the Academy that she doubted it was visible from any angle.

Now, however, standing nearly on top of it, the tent was in plain sight, as was the small family staring back at her. The girl they had confronted stood directly in front of the others, but even though they were only dimly lit by the building’s security lighting, Analiese could see a younger boy, and two adults who were probably the mother and father.

“Nobody’s going to hurt you,” Analiese said, getting that out of the way immediately. “But you startled us. How did you get in?”

The girl glared and didn’t answer. Analiese could see her well enough to note she hadn’t yet moved beyond the gawky phase of early adolescence. Her long hair was wet, as if she might have just washed it in the sink, but it looked to be brown. Her face was heart-shaped, and she had a small, Kewpie-doll mouth with lips turned down in dislike. She was too thin, and she hadn’t yet grown into features that might someday come together nicely.

“I’m sorry.” The man stepped forward to stand beside the girl. “We mean no harm. Shiloh here had to use the restroom, and the door—” He gestured to his right. “Well, somebody didn’t lock it. I guess it was wrong to go in, but we made sure to clean up after we did.”

“Why are you here?” Ethan stood beside Analiese, but not to protect her. Analiese knew he saw what she did. If these people were a danger to anybody, it was only to themselves.

This time the girl answered. “We just needed a place to spend the night.”

“Why did you choose this place?” he asked.

The woman behind them began to cough. Analiese was no judge, but to her ears, the cough sounded both painful and debilitating. Nobody spoke until the cough died away, and by then Analiese suspected Ethan had his answer.

“Your wife is sick?” she asked the man.

“She’s all right. We have cough medicine,” the girl answered for him.

“Has she seen a doctor?”

The girl answered again. “We’re taking care of her.”

“Your name is Shiloh?” Analiese asked, then went on before the girl answered. “You didn’t have a better place to stay tonight? I can’t help but think your mother won’t get better sleeping in a tent. The temperature’s dropping.”

“She’ll sleep in the car,” Shiloh said. “That’s why we need the tent. And we aren’t hurting anybody. We’ll go first thing in the morning.”

They were hurting her. Analiese could feel their pain, their helplessness, their fears. Nobody set up a tent on the grounds of a church in late November because camping out sounded like fun.

“Why don’t you pack up the tent and I’ll take you to a motel for the night?” Ethan said. “My treat. It will be warm, and we’ll buy some food on the way.”

“We’ve eaten, thanks,” the man said. “And we couldn’t trouble you that way.”

“It would be no trouble,” Ethan said. “You’re not in a good situation here.”

The man didn’t hesitate. “It wouldn’t be right to take your money that way.”

Analiese heard resolve and something else in his voice. The man was at his wit’s end. She recognized that. The only thing he could hold on to was a shred of pride that told him taking another man’s offer of charity, a man who had clearly done better with his own life, would destroy him.

She extended her hand to him. “I’m sorry. We didn’t introduce ourselves. My name is Analiese Wagner, and this is Ethan Martin. I’m the minister here. And you are?”

His handshake was tentative and trembling. She wondered how much he’d had to eat. “Herman Fowler. Everybody calls me Man.”

“And you’re Shiloh?” She turned, hand still extended.

The girl looked at her, looked at her hand, looked back up at Analiese’s face, then, with reluctance, gave a quick handshake.

“And you’re Mrs. Fowler?” Analiese asked the older woman.

“Belle.” The woman wiped her hand on the side of a faded dress that stretched tightly across her hips and breasts, and grimly held it out. Despite having watched her cough into that same hand Analiese shook it without flinching.

The boy stepped forward. He was the only one of the four who didn’t seem to realize that this situation was both awkward and possibly dangerous for his family. “I’m Dougie. Are ladies ministers?”

“We certainly can be.” She smiled at him, and he smiled back. She thought he might be younger than he looked. Physically he was more like his mother than his father, broad-shouldered and moonfaced. She could see a resemblance to his sister, but it was subtle.

“How long have you been in Asheville?” she asked Man.

“A while now.”

“Have you looked into some of the social services available? Because the city tries to find housing for people who need it.”

“We don’t fit their rules.”

She didn’t have to ask what he meant. She had just returned from a rally where she had spoken to a crowd about the need for more housing and help. Did she really need to be hit over the head?

“So you’ve tried. You’ve spoken to people who could help?”

“There’s no place for all of us,” Shiloh said. “You think we just sat around and hoped somebody would show up and buy us a house? Of course we tried!”

“You be nice, Shiloh,” Belle said. “You been taught to be nice.”

Analiese was quite certain Shiloh didn’t want to be nice. She could relate to that, having felt that way herself more than once today. And now, with the answer to this problem as clear as the answer to a prayer she hadn’t even prayed, she knew she would experience many moments in the immediate future when she didn’t want to be nice again.

A host of people were going to be unhappy with what she was about to do.

“I’m sorry, but I had to ask,” she said. “I know housing for families is hard to find.”

“We’ll pack up and go,” Man said. “We would appreciate it if you wouldn’t get the police involved.”

“I don’t want you to go,” Analiese said. “There’s an apartment upstairs on the third floor. Nobody’s living in it right now. You won’t be taking anything that belongs to anybody else, but it would be my pleasure to see it being used tonight. It’s warm and dry, and there are enough beds, I think, although you’ll need your sleeping bags, because I doubt we have sheets. Then if you’ll let me help, I’ll see if I can find somebody to help you get back on your feet.”

Man began to protest, but she held up her hand. “Please, it’s not charity. Everything’s already there just waiting for you. It won’t cost anybody anything, and your wife needs a good night’s sleep.”

“Analiese...” Ethan’s voice held a note of warning.

He was right to worry. She was going out on a limb here. She didn’t know these people, and she was inviting them to stay in the parish house without consulting a single church leader. The present council was the most contentious she had ever worked with and needed special handling, but she didn’t have time to track down the right people, wait while they secretly conversed about what a problem their minister could be, and then finally got around to calling her back with a list of rules she had to follow.

This family didn’t have time.

She smiled at Ethan. “Can you help the Fowlers bring their things up to the third floor? We can all carry something.”

“It’s nice of you and all...” Man’s voice trailed off, as if he couldn’t find the words to say no.

She took that as a yes. “Where are you parked? Why don’t you move your car next to mine?” She pointed to the staff parking area.

“Daddy, she wants to do this. Let her,” Shiloh said.

Man’s shoulders slumped, but he gave a slight nod.

Analiese had already suspected, but now she knew for certain where the power in this family lay. If she could get Shiloh on her side, she could make things happen. She turned her attention to the girl. “We had a church Thanksgiving dinner yesterday, and the leftovers went into the refrigerator. If I bring them up, will you heat them for your family? I know you ate, but who can resist leftover turkey sandwiches?”

Shiloh didn’t smile. She didn’t even look happy. She just shrugged. “We’ll see.”

* * *

The expansive third floor of the parish house was for the most part used for storage, although much of the space was empty. The apartment that Felipe and his family had inhabited had been carved out of it more than half a century ago as a way to save the church money. If the Church of the Covenant could offer housing as part of their employment package, that saved on salary.

After several years Felipe had balked and given notice so he could look for a job that didn’t include housing. With his children growing older the family needed a larger, homier place to live. The personnel committee had quickly offered a new deal, salary only, and the apartment had been vacant ever since.

In the intervening months discussions had ensued about what to do with the third floor. With Covenant Academy at their disposal on Sunday mornings, there was no need for more classrooms. The staff didn’t need storage; they needed to get rid of useless supplies and outdated equipment. The apartment needed rehabilitation before it could be used as a rental, and the location made rentals difficult anyway. Nothing had been decided.

With Ethan following her, Analiese preceded the Fowlers, who were taking down the tent. She unlocked the apartment door with one of her many keys and saw there was serious work to be done. “I didn’t think about the dust.”

“We can do a quick once-over,” he said. “It’s easy enough to wipe down surfaces and sweep the floor. The good news is that it’s not freezing up here.”

Heat had risen from the rooms downstairs, and she was guessing the temperature in the apartment was at least sixty. She crossed the living room and found the thermostat in the hallway beyond it. Sixty exactly. She turned the dial to seventy-two and heard the reassuring thump of the wall furnace in the living room.

“I can see why your sexton relocated,” Ethan said from the living room. “When was the last time anything was done to this place?”

“The usual repairs and inspections, but nothing more.” She peeked into each of the two small bedrooms on the other side of the hallway and was reassured to find beds, two singles in one, a double in the other, although the dressers were gone. There was also a sagging sofa and a chair in the living room, and a small round table with mismatched chairs in one corner for dining. None of this had been good enough to take along when Felipe and family moved.

“I’m turning on the refrigerator,” Ethan said. Then, after a pause, he said, “It’s clean enough inside, and it seems to be working.”

Analiese found an old towel under the bathroom sink and wet it down. Back in the living room she wiped the dust off the table and chairs. Ethan had already found a broom and was sweeping cobwebs into a pile.

The space was small, but over the years attempts had been made to maximize storage. A pantry off the kitchen held a variety of shelves. Beside that a cubbyhole had been carved out for a stacked washer and dryer that had also been left behind. Wide wall shelves had been installed to the left of where a television had been. Shelves had been added in each of the bedrooms, too, and after the table was clean and she’d rinsed her towel, she started on those in the living room.

Ethan had left the door into the apartment open, but there was a timid knock, and Analiese paused to greet Man, who was poised on the threshold, a sleeping bag under each arm.

“Come in, and welcome.” She smiled at him and pointed. “The bedrooms are through there.”

Man looked as if he wanted to say something, but Shiloh came up behind him with two more sleeping bags. “Mom needs help getting up the stairs, Daddy.”

Ethan emptied his dustpan into the kitchen garbage pail. “Ana, do you know where the hot water heater’s located?” She gave her best guess, and he followed Man out of the apartment to search for it.

“You don’t have to clean. We can do that,” Shiloh said.

“I wasn’t kidding when I said this apartment hasn’t been used in a long time. You don’t deserve to breathe in our dust. We’ll get the worst out quickly.”

“This has just been sitting here? With nobody living in it?”

Analiese heard everything behind the girl’s question. How unfair it was that Shiloh’s own family had been sleeping in a car—or so Analiese assumed—while this apartment stood empty. How magnificent the simple, dusty space seemed after having no place to go. How people weren’t even remotely created equal, no matter what the Declaration of Independence proclaimed.

She kept her answer brief. “A family lived here, but they moved into a house not too long ago.”

“It’s big.”

Analiese considered that. Big in the eye of this beholder. “You’ll be comfortable enough. Tomorrow we’ll talk about what you can do next.”

“I don’t want to think about that right now.”

Analiese understood. Shiloh wanted to enjoy the luxury of a private apartment while she could. “I didn’t have time to wipe down the bathrooms, so you’ll need to check, and maybe rinse out the sink and tub before you use them. Ethan will make sure the hot water heater is on, but you might need to wait twenty minutes or so to take showers.”

“We can use the shower?”

Analiese kept her voice light, although that was a struggle. “Use anything you find in here. It’s yours for the night.”

“We’ll take care of it.”

Analiese faced her. “I know you will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I think you’re good people who’ve fallen on hard times. But that doesn’t change who you are.”

“We had our own house. In Ohio. We had a vegetable garden and a dog, and Dougie and I both had our own rooms. Then the auto parts factory where Daddy always worked closed down.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t even imagine how difficult this has been for all of you. How long have you been on the road?”

“We went to South Carolina where my aunt lives. She’s my mother’s sister. We stayed with her for...” She appeared to be counting in her head. “Eleven months. Maybe even a year. We’ve been on our own for maybe six months.”

“You’ve been on the road that long?”

“For a while we stayed outside Atlanta in an old camper. Daddy got a job packing boxes, but it was temporary, so we moved on.”

“Why did you come here? Do you have family nearby?”

“We heard there might be jobs. Maybe some kind of construction for Daddy, or working in a restaurant.”

Even in a town like Asheville, where visitors and residents seemed to make a point of being individual, Man would stand out, and not in a good way. Piercings and tattoos, ragged jeans or hipster hoodies, were one thing, but at first glance Man seemed to be someone whose last hope had ended, and whose energy had drained away with it. He looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and burrow deeper, and nobody would see that as an asset.

Analiese didn’t want to tell the girl that local construction had slowed until the economy could rebound, and that any service position Man would be able to get would not pay enough to support the family. As a matter of fact she wouldn’t be surprised if Shiloh had already figured that out.

She switched subjects. “It must have been hard for you and Dougie to go to school.”

Shiloh shrugged, and Analiese knew she had been right. She wondered when they had last seen the inside of a classroom.

Ethan came back. “It’s a good-sized heater, probably fifty gallons, and it looks fairly new. The water should get hot quickly.”

Shiloh scooted past him. “I’ve got to get more stuff.”

There was coughing from the stairwell, and in a moment Man returned, one arm around a pale and perspiring Belle. He led her to the sofa, and she collapsed, leaning forward with her hands on her knees.

Analiese could see that every time she tried to catch her breath, the coughing got worse. “She’s had the cough awhile?”

“It’ll ease in a minute. Too many years of smoking.”

This didn’t sound like a smoker’s chronic cough. This sounded like a woman struggling not to turn her lungs inside out. “Won’t the emergency room see you, even if you can’t pay?”

“She won’t go. Too many people poking around in our lives.”

Analiese realized that was something of a warning. If she poked too hard the family might just disappear.

Which would certainly resolve her upcoming battle with the council over taking them in.

Dougie and Shiloh arrived hauling battered suitcases that were so old they didn’t have wheels. Dougie’s was small but still a feat for a boy that young.

“How old are you, Dougie?” Analiese asked. “You’re a strong guy.”

“Guess.”

She smiled. “Maybe eleven?”

“Nine!” He did a little victory dance, then took off to examine every corner of their new quarters. While the rest of the family was exhausted, Dougie was clearly galvanized.

“You calm down now,” Man told his son, but with no enthusiasm.

“I’m going down to get the leftovers,” Analiese said. “I bet hauling everything up two flights of stairs worked up everybody’s appetites.”

“I can eat a horse!” Dougie shouted.

“I’ll help, Ana,” Ethan said.

They left together, Dougie’s exuberant shouts filling the apartment and still audible from the second floor landing. On the first floor she led Ethan to the kitchen, flipping lights as she went.

The room was as neat and well organized as a television test kitchen. The committee that oversaw potlucks and social hours was headed by a woman who had once run the cafeteria at a state penitentiary. Analiese opened the refrigerator and stared at all the neatly packaged and labeled leftovers.

“You’ll get in trouble for this.” There was no condemnation in Ethan’s voice.

“It’ll be nice to get into trouble for something that matters so much. Not the hymns I chose or the stoles I wear with my robe.”

“Or the design for the rose window.”

“Call me crazy, but I truly believe something other than a bearded European Jesus with a lamb on his lap would be more fitting for the twenty-first century.”

“They’ll see it your way eventually and come up with something everybody can live with. But this?” He shook his head. “Not so sure.”

She set out the leftovers as she spoke. “We’re all forced to take stands. It’s part of being human. This is just one night, and more people will understand than won’t.”

“Ana, are you deluding yourself?”

She knew what he meant, but she refused to acknowledge it. “No, I really think many people will support what we did here.”

“You know that’s not what I was asking.”

She took out the last of the leftovers and closed the refrigerator before she faced him. “You think they’ll be here more than one night.”

“I do.”

“It could be just one.”

“No.”

She gave up the pretense. “We have an apartment they need. It’s standing there empty. They’re cold and tired and hungry. They have no place else to go.”

“I’m not the one you’ll need to convince.”

She smiled. “You know, once upon a time I had a really great job. I got to dress up every day and stand in front of a camera and tell stories. I’m trying to remember why I gave that up.”

“You still get dressed up and tell stories, only different ones. And sometimes those stories change people’s lives forever.”

“Every single day I tell myself it’s the process in ministry that’s important, the way we reach decisions and learn better ways to communicate with each other and with God. And really, I believe that most of the time. Things don’t always have to go my way, just as long as everybody’s learning something.”

“This will be different.”

She nodded. “It will. Because the Church of the Covenant will never recover if things go wrong here. We can never again pretend we’re a true religious community with anything important to say if we toss these people out on their ear.”

chapter five

THEY WERE FINALLY GONE. The woman Ana and the man Ethan. Shiloh hadn’t paid much attention to last names, considering that the best she had hoped for was that these strangers wouldn’t call the police. She hadn’t expected that she would need to remember anything about them.

Ana was pretty, with hair so dark it might even be black, and blue eyes so pale they were kind of startling. The man was older, but Shiloh wasn’t good at guessing people’s ages. His hair was turning gray, and Ana’s wasn’t—at least she wasn’t letting it—but he had a kind face that was easy to look at. He and Ana weren’t married. Neither wore a wedding ring.

Whoever they were, whatever their last names, they had turned over this apartment to her family as if it meant nothing. Just like that, like Cinderella’s fairy godmother helping her get ready for the ball. All in a day’s work.

And yet, as strange as everything was, now the Fowlers had a home for the night. A kitchen. A bathroom with a shower and a tub. Real beds, even if there were no sheets, but who cared? She had used her sleeping bag for so long that it felt like home to her. No matter where they had to sleep, she could crawl into her bag or, on a bad night if they were forced to sleep in the car, she could cover herself with it and pretend she was in her own bed.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Dougie stopped chewing long enough to direct his question to her. He was working on his second turkey sandwich. Shiloh was glad Ana had brought up a loaf of bread along with everything else. It was easier to portion out the turkey that way. Otherwise Dougie might have eaten it all, although if Belle had been feeling better, she would have been sure to take her own share.

“I ate,” Shiloh said, and she had. A turkey sandwich, some dressing, a dab of cranberry sauce, green beans. Everything had tasted so good, the way food had tasted in Ohio when it was cooked in a kitchen with lots of pans and plenty of time to make sure everything came out the way it was supposed to.

“Daddy ate, too, but Mama doesn’t want anything.”

Shiloh had noticed, and she knew what that meant. Belle was happiest when there was food in her mouth. If she wasn’t eating when so much good food was available, it meant she really was sick. Shiloh tried hard to find good things about her mother, but one she didn’t have to make up was that Belle rarely complained.

“Maybe she’ll feel hungrier after she takes a shower.” Shiloh could hear the water running in the bathroom. Man was helping Belle because coughing made her weak, and once she had just fainted dead away. Nobody wanted her to drown.

Dougie pointed. “I could eat another slice of that pie.”

“No, you can’t, because I’m not going to let you. We’re saving that for breakfast.”

Dougie was as used to eating strange things at the wrong time of day as she was, and he didn’t argue.

“I would like to live here,” he said through the final bite of his sandwich.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Who cares? It’s not full all that often, is it?”

“We can’t live here, so don’t get used to it.”

“Maybe they’ll let us if we clean it up real nice.”

“They said this was just for tonight, and tomorrow they’re going to help us find another place.”

“I liked camping under that bridge.”

“It’s getting too cold to camp.” Shiloh was sorry they had to talk about this, but Dougie was irrepressible. If she told him to stop, he would talk louder and longer.

“We could buy more blankets.”

“With what?”

That shut him up for a while, then he brightened. “I could get a job delivering newspapers.”

“You have to live somewhere to get a job like that.”

“We could pretend to live somewhere.”

“And when they sent you your check, the people who lived at that address would get it, not you.”

“I would stand by their mailbox and wait for the mailman.”

She gave up. “Carrier. Mail carrier. Women can deliver mail, too.”

“Then why don’t you get a job delivering mail, and you can make sure I get my check!”

She had to smile. Dougie had a funny little mind. He couldn’t sit still long enough to read a book or even a paragraph, but he was always working out solutions to problems. That was probably some kind of smart, but not the kind that would get him through school. Of all of them Dougie was the least affected by their life on the road. He didn’t like being cooped up in a car, but once he was outside, nothing made him happier than exploring new surroundings.

“When Mama gets out of the bathroom, you need to take a shower, brush your teeth and change for bed.”

“Who made you the boss?”

God. But it had been so long since Dougie had been to a church—unless they’d been forced to go by some preacher to get a free meal—she wasn’t sure he remembered or understood the concept.

“Do you see anybody else asking for the job?” she said.

Dougie was nine, not stupid. He had seen the way Man and Belle had slowly closed themselves off as the months went by, rallying when they absolutely had to and ignoring problems when they didn’t. Shiloh was the one who kept things moving, and as much as Dougie disliked that, she thought deep down he was glad somebody did.

They would never be a normal family again. She had come to terms with that months ago. The balance of power had changed, just like it did between countries after a crisis like a war or famine or an influx of refugees. She remembered that from one of her classes when she’d still gone to school. She had loved history and government, any kind of social studies. She tried to stay current with world events even now, picking up papers in trash cans to scour the headlines. But all her reading had only led to one conclusion.

After big changes, nothing was ever the same again. New leaders arose. New systems were set into place. Life went on, but it wasn’t always better. Sometimes it was much, much worse.

Belle and Man emerged, Man helping Shiloh’s mother into their bedroom. She was wearing the same nightgown she’d worn for weeks, but at least it was clean. A few days ago they had crammed everything into a Laundromat washer.

“You go next.” Shiloh pointed to the bathroom door. “You know it may be a long time before it’s easy to take a shower again. Don’t forget your pajamas.”

Dougie grumbled, but he was basically good-natured and went along with most things. She had already put his bathroom stuff in there, and after he grabbed pajamas out of his suitcase he slammed the bathroom door behind him. She was glad Belle wasn’t yet asleep.

“Your mom’s tired tonight. She’s going to nod right off,” Man said as he came out to the hall and closed the bedroom door behind him.

“Dougie’s taking his shower.”

“How ’bout you?”

“I already brushed my teeth, and I washed up at the church. But I’ll take a real shower first thing in the morning. Why don’t you go next?”

He looked too exhausted to go through the motions, but he nodded.

“I’m going to change and get some sleep.” She stood and went to him, kissing his cheek. “You’ll find a job next week, Daddy.”

“You bet.”

She wanted to cry. Those were Man’s favorite words, but if she had to bet, she wouldn’t bet on good fortune. Things were only going to get worse.

In the room she and Dougie would share she changed quickly so she would be ready for bed by the time he came in. Privacy was a luxury, and by now she knew how to take advantage of it.

She left the light on because Dougie would turn it on anyway. She sat on her open sleeping bag, pulled her legs inside it and began to zip it closed around her. Satisfied, she adjusted and readjusted her pillow until she was comfortable. The bed sagged, but not nearly as much as the one she’d shared with a cousin in South Carolina.

Dougie came back sooner than she’d expected, which probably meant he hadn’t brushed his teeth very well. She had heard the shower, though, so that was something. She reminded him to turn off the light, and he grumbled but finally did after it was clear there was nothing else to do but sleep.

As hyperactive as he was during the day, her brother always fell asleep quickly. After he tried and failed to make her talk to him, he turned over, and before long she could hear his breathing slow and deepen.

Shiloh finally let herself relax. The room wasn’t completely dark. Man had left a lamp on in the living room, and light seeped under their door. She hated waking up in a panic because she couldn’t remember where she was. Man knew that, and she was pretty sure he would leave the light on all night.

She crossed her arms under her head and stared at the ceiling. Her room at home had been a bit larger than this one, but she hadn’t had to share it with Dougie. Every night before she went to sleep she pictured that room in her mind. Remembering made her feel normal, like somebody who was just on a long vacation but would return home eventually.

Belle loved pink, so when Shiloh was a baby she painted the walls of her daughter’s room a deep rose and decorated it with a fluffy pink rug, and later a vinyl chair with pink-and-lavender flowers. Belle was so proud of her accomplishment that Shiloh never found the courage to tell her she would prefer a deep soothing green. Her gymnastics friends had made fun of her for the girlie decor, but while Shiloh often criticized her mother, on that point she had remained silent.

After all Belle, who often let the world drift by without notice, had done that just for her.

When she turned twelve Shiloh bought posters to put on the walls to cover the paint. A mobile she’d created in an art class, butterflies floating on the breeze, hung by her window. She’d had an argument with her teacher, who insisted that glittering black butterflies with menacing eyes and teeth existed nowhere in nature. Shiloh had known better than to explain that they were really vampire butterflies, inspired by Twilight and vampire Edward Cullen, whom she had fallen in love with at first read.

She remembered the sounds at night. Sometimes she’d heard an owl hooting near the shed where her father kept a beat-up lawn tractor. It didn’t matter how outdated equipment might be, Man knew how to keep it running. He could fix anything, and when he finished it was better than new.

A neighbor kept cows, just close enough to the Fowler house that when night deepened Shiloh could sometimes hear them mooing. For a while, when she was Dougie’s age, she’d thought she had discovered their secret language.

She smiled now at how silly she had been at nine.

Before she’d fallen asleep in Ohio she’d often heard Belle rustling around in the kitchen, getting the coffeepot ready for the next morning. Sometimes Shiloh’s mother had hummed to herself as she worked. That comforting sound had always been followed by the quiet thump of the screen door as Belle went outside to have her final cigarette before bed.

By then Man was already asleep because he rose before dawn and was out the door by six each weekday morning.

Shiloh remembered mornings, too, the sound of the shower down the hall, the quiet way her father moved, and the sounds he made filling the thermos with coffee and milk he heated in the microwave for his long day at the factory. Even when he had a steady income, Man tried to save money. As soon as his children were born he began a college fund, and he added money with every paycheck.

Of course that was all gone now.

She tried to remember more good things, the day-to-day life she had taken for granted. Belle’s hot breakfasts. The purring of their refrigerator filled with good food she could eat anytime she wanted it. Birds nesting outside her bedroom window and the squawking of hungry hatchlings. The smell of newly mown grass.

The day Man had proudly brought home the Ford Explorer that was now their transportation and their home, not a new model by any means but one her father had quickly put in prime working order.

They had been happy, and Shiloh hadn’t even realized it. She wondered if people were only given a brief period of happiness in their lives so that when they were unhappy, they would know all too well what they were missing. Was her happiness all used up?

She turned to her side and whispered the same prayer she said every night before falling asleep.

“Dear God, if You’re listening, please get us out of this mess. I don’t think we did anything to deserve it, but if we did, I’m really sorry.”

She didn’t listen for an answer. She thought about the way spring had smelled coming through her open window, her mobile dancing in the breeze, wild roses coming into bloom.

She fell asleep at last.

chapter six

ANALIESE RATTLED AND rambled through the church parsonage in Asheville’s historic Kenilworth neighborhood. Ninety years ago the two-story Tudor Revival had been built for a minister with a large family, so even if by modern standards the bathroom and a half were woefully inadequate, the house, which had come with antiques in place, had four bedrooms, a sunroom off an efficient kitchen, and a large living room bordering a parlor that she used as her study. The formal dining room was presided over by a mahogany table and chairs for eight that were kept dust-free by her biweekly cleaning lady, not by constant use.

From the outside the house was a storybook fantasy, with a stucco and half-timbered facade, and a steeply pitched roof with an inset shed dormer and clipped cross gable. Ethan, in full architect mode, had once explained the history and design to her. The wife of the previous minister had been a gardener and, during their years here, intricate beds of perennials and annuals had snaked along the winding sidewalk. After one look at the parsonage Analiese had declined to be in charge of the garden. So four times a year a committee descended on the yard and pruned, plucked and planted, so that now it was filled with easy-care azaleas, rhododendrons and lacy evergreens. A lawn service took care of the mowing and edging, and Analiese planted petunias around the mailbox each spring.

The house was historic and picturesque, but as a single woman who often worked fifty-plus hours a week, she yearned for a compact condo right in the heart of downtown.

Tonight the house seemed larger than ever, each square foot a reminder that she used only a tiny portion every day while families slept in parks and deep in mountain forests.

And in an apartment in the Church of the Covenant parish house.

The grandfather clock in the gabled entryway struck nine o’clock.

“I know. I get it, so stop already.” She and the clock, which had kept an eye on parsonage occupants for more than a century, had regular conversations, and she could afford to be snippy.

In the kitchen she reheated the untouched coffee she’d made half an hour before, and then made her way into her study.

The council president was on speed dial, but she took several long sips and said a quick prayer for patience before she pressed the right button and waited for him to answer.

Garrett Whelan was an attractive man in his late forties. He owned a copy and print business, Presto Printing Press, which he’d franchised in six other cities in North Carolina. His financial acumen was an asset on the board, although he was so concerned with the bottom line that he sometimes forgot the human equation.

Tonight that was not a point in his favor.

From the beginning of his association with the church, Garrett had served the congregation in various ways, beginning as a devoted advisor to the youth fellowship. He’d held that position for three years until his personal life took a downward spiral and his wife departed, taking their two adolescent children and a large chunk of the couple’s resources. Since then he had served in administrative positions until he’d worked his way up to become the president of the council.

Garrett was in the second and final year of his term now, and seasoned in the ways of the congregation. Even though she was concerned about his reaction, Analiese knew he would understand all the ramifications of the problem she was about to dump in his lap.

After he answered and they exchanged pleasantries she launched right in. “Something’s come up that the council needs to know,” she began. She gave a short explanation of the way the situation with the Fowlers had transpired.

He listened, and despite every desire to keep the conversation short, Analiese forced herself to systematically explain what she had done and why. She didn’t want unanswered questions that quickly turned into rumors.

Once she’d finished Garrett gave a low whistle. “You were in a spot, weren’t you?”

She relaxed a bit, glad he understood. “Afraid so. I just couldn’t send them out into the night when we have an empty apartment. It’s the day after Thanksgiving, and they didn’t have a thing to be thankful for.”

“You took them up the side stairwell?”

During the creation of the apartment a committee had dutifully built a covered stairwell along the outside of the building as a private entrance to the third floor. But these days a few of the steps needed repair before they were completely safe.

“I couldn’t risk it, Garrett. Nobody should be using those stairs.”

“If you took them in through the parish house you realize they now have access to everything there?”

“I’m afraid they had it already. The side door wasn’t locked. It sticks and sometimes the lock doesn’t catch.”

“We really need to get every lock on the property fixed and rekeyed.”

“I wonder why I didn’t think of that.”

He laughed. Garrett had a nice baritone laugh. Reportedly his wife had left him for a younger man. Analiese had always wondered if thicker hair and six-pack abs had been worth the end of a twenty-year marriage.

“All the office doors are locked,” she said. “And I can’t imagine them carrying off any of the furniture in the meeting rooms. Where would they put it?”

“We don’t know anything about these people. Maybe this is a scam.”

She knew this wouldn’t be the last time she heard that. “That’s always a possibility, but I don’t think so. The mom is genuinely ill, and they didn’t ask for a single thing. They said they were going to spend the night on the lawn and steal away early in the morning. I believed them.”

“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Do I call the rest of the council?” He hesitated, but she didn’t answer because she knew he was just thinking out loud.

“I could call the head of the building and grounds committee,” he said. “Joe’s a good guy. He’ll understand. And if they’re gone by tomorrow, maybe nobody else will need to know.”

“That’ll backfire. If somebody else finds out, the rumor mill will crank into full gear. And we have a seminar tomorrow morning, so people will be in the building.”

“I suppose.” He hesitated, then asked the question she least wanted to answer. “What’s going to happen to them tomorrow?”

“There was too much going on to question them about their plans. I don’t know if they intend to stay in Asheville. I think the dad was looking for work today, which is how they ended up waiting at the church. He was probably walking the area on foot making inquiries.”

“He didn’t find anything?”

“I doubt he will, not until things have stabilized. He needs a haircut, better clothes.” She added something else she’d noticed when Man had managed a smile. “And dental work, I’m afraid. These people really fell on hard times.”

“I wish I had something for him at one of my shops, but I don’t.”

“Even if he finds a job, he’s not going to find one that pays enough for rent. Not even if he puts every cent he makes toward it. They have to get on their feet and save a little for a deposit and cushion, and they’ll need a lucky break.”

“Ana, are you suggesting we might be their lucky break?”

She sidestepped. “I don’t know if they want to stay in town, Garrett. They may want to head back north.”

He was too astute to be fooled. “And if they do stay?”

“They have two children. From what I can tell they haven’t gone to school for a while. Shiloh, the daughter, seems especially smart. She’s running the family without much help. Dougie, the son, is bright-eyed and energetic. They deserve so much better.”

“Why is this our problem?”

“Why isn’t it?”

This time the silence was awkward.

“I’ll call council members,” he said at last, all business again. “I think we’ll need to have an emergency session of the executive committee tomorrow morning.”

She had expected this, but her spirits plummeted. “Of course.”

“You can’t make these decisions alone. If you do, they’ll come back to haunt you.”

“I think they may anyway.”

“Eleven o’clock? If that changes, I’ll let you know.”

Saturdays were the days she polished the sermons she wrote on Thursdays. She had a feeling this one might remain a diamond in the rough.

“Fine,” she said. “And they may be gone by then, I don’t know.”

“With the church silver.”

“If we had silver, I would hand it over to them. I’ve seen Les Misérables.”

He laughed a little, but he still sounded worried. “I wouldn’t mention that to the committee.”

They hung up, and she sat staring at the wall and the framed photograph of her older sisters. Growing up, Elsbeth and Gretchen, respectively six and four years her senior, had been her lifeline. As young children the three Wagner girls had bonded, aware that if they wanted love and support at home they would best find it in each other, not their emotionally distant parents.

She thought of Shiloh, who didn’t have the support of anyone, but who by herself was clearly in charge of the clan. Her heart ached for the girl whose burdens were too large to bear.

She considered calling Gretchen, always a no-nonsense sounding board, but Gretchen had three active daughters who would be going to bed about now. Elsbeth and her partner, Joan, had no children, but they did have a busy social life, and it was unlikely they would be home until much later.

Analiese was alone tonight.

She thought about Isaiah, as she had intermittently since that afternoon. He would offer exactly the right words of counsel, but unless he really was the man who had helped her off the ground today, she hadn’t seen or heard from him in such a long time that calling would be inappropriate and awkward.

Still, she could email.

The simplicity appealed to her. Isaiah remained on her contacts list. She could write a quick email, tell him that for a moment today she’d thought she might have seen him in a crowd, and now she wished she really had, because she had an ethical dilemma in her congregation he would enjoy discussing.

She imagined how good it would feel to have him respond, to have him offer to call and talk in person, to laugh with her and say that apparently he had a twin in North Carolina.

Then she imagined how bad it would feel to receive no reply because these days Isaiah considered her a thorn in his side, one he thought he’d already removed.

The air in the house suddenly seemed weighted with regrets, unfulfilled expectations and decisions. She was one of a long line of clergy who had lived here, and tonight, as she had before, she almost felt their presence. Sometimes her male predecessors condemned her, sometimes they praised her. Tonight they seemed to be hovering in the air waiting for her to do anything so they could pounce.

She never really felt she belonged in this house. Tonight it almost felt dangerous to stay.

Her laptop lay on the desk in front of her. She opened it, and as it booted up, she told herself not to over think this.

When her email program was on the screen she began to type in Isaiah’s email address, and the program finished it for her.

All these years, and the computer remembered him, too.

She quickly composed the email she had imagined, finished by telling him she hoped he was well and happily doing the work he loved. Then she ended with All my best, Ana, and hit Send before she could reconsider.

She couldn’t bear to sit and wait for a reply that would probably never come. She closed the computer, turned off all the downstairs lights, and climbed the stairs by the light of stars shining through the stairwell window.

* * *

Isaiah Colburn knew where Analiese lived. She was in the telephone directory, so finding her address hadn’t been hard. He had parked almost a mile away and strolled the picturesque streets of her neighborhood for most of an hour. While he wasn’t delusional enough to pretend he was just taking a walk before bedtime, at the start he had given himself permission to turn back before he reached her house.

Now he stood in front of it.

When he’d arrived a minute ago there had been lights downstairs. But now, one by one, they disappeared until the house was dark.

He wondered if she was alone. He had seen a man fight his way into the crowd after she was attacked at the rally. He had seen the quick hug, seen the man brush her cheek and walk her to the speakers’ platform. He didn’t think she was married. He had read her bio on the Church of the Covenant’s website, and he was fairly certain if a husband existed, or even children, they would have been mentioned. But Analiese was a beautiful, dynamic woman, and he couldn’t imagine she was ever lonely.

He was the one who had taken the vow of chastity, not her.

He considered walking up the sidewalk, knocking on the door, and waiting for her to answer.

He considered just how awkward it would be if a man answered instead.

The walk back to his car was shorter. The night itself was interminable.

chapter seven

AT 7:00 A.M. when Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto in A Major suddenly filled her room, Analiese wasn’t ready to get out of bed. She considered pulling the pillow over her ears, but during her last visit, Gretchen’s oldest daughter and budding clarinetist had downloaded every major work in the clarinet repertoire to Analiese’s new MP3 alarm clock, and the concert could go on for hours. Analiese hadn’t had the heart to tell her beloved niece that if she were ever asked to choose the instrument she liked least, the decision wouldn’t be hard.

At least the concerto gave her another reason to get up, and quickly.

After chopping off a trill midnote she went to the window and stared out at a gray, cheerless morning.

“Boy, I just can’t wait to start this day.” It wasn’t exactly a prayer, more like a “to whom it may concern.” She tried to think of all the reasons why she should be grateful for the hours ahead. Then she shrugged and headed for the bathroom.

After one shower, real prayers and a small bowl of cereal with blueberries, she was ready to go. Saturday Seminar, a three-month series of speakers on the Old Testament, was starting at ten, and she was responsible for the invocation. Then at eleven she had the emergency council meeting. She had left enough time to stop for bagel sandwiches and fresh fruit to take to the Fowlers.

While they ate, she would question them about their plans.

If she was supremely lucky, Man—or more likely Shiloh—would tell her that today they were traveling to a place with better job opportunities and friends who could shelter them until they got on their feet. Analiese would enlist Felipe to help them carry their meager belongings downstairs, and she would slip Shiloh all the money in her wallet to help the family buy gas and continue on their way.

Realistically she knew nothing was going to be that easy.

Just before she left the house she took a moment to check her laptop email, but there was only the usual: loops she belonged to, announcements, and a newsy email from Elsbeth that she would read later. There was nothing from Isaiah. That didn’t surprise her, although it certainly would have turned her day around.

After minimal traffic and a short line at the bagel shop, she knocked on the door of the apartment with a brown paper grocery bag clutched in front of her and waited for someone to answer. She wasn’t surprised when that someone turned out to be Shiloh.

“Breakfast,” Analiese said, holding out the bag.

Shiloh looked as if she’d just stepped out of the shower: hair wet again, feet still bare, clothes wrinkled as if she’d just pulled them from her suitcase.

“My mom’s worse,” she said, with no preliminaries. “I think she’s going to die. And she won’t go to the hospital, no matter what.”

* * *

At seventy-five Dr. Peter Thurman was nearly retired, or so he claimed. A self-proclaimed “country doctor,” he had handled nearly everything in his long career: bringing babies into the world, setting bones, delivering the bad news of terminal cancer. These days he saw only the devoted patients who refused to go elsewhere.

Peter was also a longtime member of the Church of the Covenant, and not always a supporter of the changes Analiese had nudged into place. Worse, when she got to her study phone and pleaded with him to make a house call to the church, he had been preparing for a well-deserved day of golf.

“What have you gotten yourself into?” he demanded.

“Lots of trouble.”

“And I’ll get into a lot more if this woman dies on my watch.”

She pictured him on the other end of the line, white hair buzzed into a military crew cut, blue eyes fierce under bristling eyebrows. She knew he liked her, even if he didn’t like change, and she also knew she could be honest with him.

“She may die without you.”

“You’re like all your kind, Ana. Great at inducing guilt.”

“First class I took in seminary. I think if you tell Mrs. Fowler she needs to go to the hospital and you’ll watch over her there, she’ll do it. But I’ll tell you what I think. I think she’s scared that when anybody in authority sees the way the family’s living, she might lose her kids.”

“Taking children away is nobody’s first response. Even when it ought to be.”

“She won’t believe that.”

“Damn you, woman.”

“When will you be here?”

“Give me fifteen minutes.”

Analiese hung up the phone and stared at her bookshelves. The awards she had won as a journalist sat in a recently dusted row. One seemed to stare back at her now, an Associated Press broadcast news award for a story she had done about crowding at a homeless shelter. She swallowed something too close to tears and took the stairs back up to the apartment. This time she let herself in.

“There’s a doctor on the way,” she told everyone but Belle, whose rattling cough filled the apartment from the bedroom, even with that door closed.

“We can’t pay much,” Man said. “But we’ll give him all we got.”

“He won’t take a cent, but, Man, you have to do whatever he asks you to. Please? If he says she has to go to the hospital, then we have to get her there, even if she doesn’t want to go. Nothing’s going to happen to anybody except that Belle’s going to get better.”

“They threatened to take Dougie and me away from Mama and Daddy,” Shiloh said, earning a glare from her father.

Analiese tilted her head in question.

“Shiloh didn’t want to go to school,” Man said.

“In Atlanta,” Shiloh said. “So we left.”

Analiese nodded. “And you didn’t want to go to school why?”

“I hated it.”

Analiese knew that was the most she would get. But she could imagine the scenario. New girl. Homeless girl at that. Old clothes. Smart mouth. Disaster in the making.

“Got it.” She realized she was biting her lip. “Well, this isn’t Atlanta. We’ll figure this out, but right now your mother has to be taken care of. No ifs, ands or buts. You see that, right?”

Shiloh gave a curt nod.

“Did you eat?”

“I had pie!” Dougie seemed unaware of the tension in the room. Analiese thought he had experienced so much in his short life that he probably thought this was normal.

“How about a bagel and fruit?” She got to her feet. “Man, there’s coffee in the bag. Did you see it?”

The Fowlers were just finishing their meal when somebody knocked. Analiese opened the door for Peter, who was carrying a medical bag.

He glared at her. “I gave up house calls a long time ago.”

“You only say you did. Now you call it visiting.”

“I’ve never been sure why we hired you.”

“Me either.” She stepped aside and introduced him. Soon after her arrival Belle’s coughing had eased, and Man said she’d fallen asleep. Now, however, it began once more.

“Let’s get moving,” Peter said. “Mr. Fowler, would you go in with me, please? And Reverend Ana?”

They left Shiloh and Dougie and went into the bedroom. Belle was sitting up, and she frowned at the invasion. Luckily she was too sick to make a fuss. The introductions were made, and ten minutes later they were back in the living room.

Peter addressed Man as he scribbled something on a piece of paper. “We’ll need a chest X-ray and blood work, and I’ll write the order. These people owe me a couple of favors, so go here and they’ll do it without charging you.” He handed Man the paper. “Once I know what’s up I can prescribe the right meds unless she has to go into the hospital. I don’t think it’s that bad yet, but it will be if you don’t get her on antibiotics right away. I have samples, so you don’t have to worry about paying for those either.” He didn’t wait for a response. “Reverend Ana, may I see you outside?”

Ana walked him to the door and then through it, closing it behind her.

“That woman can’t go anywhere until she’s better unless it’s the hospital. You understand what I’m saying? We send her out into this weather for anything more than lab work and she’ll be at serious risk. If she doesn’t have pneumonia, she’s on the verge, and I’m guessing she has other problems, too, maybe even diabetes, that have to be addressed, and quickly.”

“Would you like to explain that to the executive committee?”

“I’m going to let you do that. You got us into this mess.”

“What should I have done?”

He shook his head. “Don’t ask me for absolution. I give out antibiotics and bad news. I have my specialty. You have yours.”

She thanked him. He harrumphed and left.

She continued to stand there, surrounded by empty space with no purpose other than to collect dust and harbor mice. Then, steeling herself, she went back to tell Man and Shiloh she was going to do everything she could to keep them in this apartment until Belle was well enough to leave it.

* * *

The council executive committee was comprised of five members and Analiese. Normally the church had an associate pastor who was also a member, but since Analiese’s arrival three excellent associates had moved on to become senior pastors in their own churches. The year-long search for a replacement hadn’t yet resulted in a new candidate the search committee could agree on.

The search committee was almost as contentious as the small group sitting together at the table in the council room.

As always Analiese offered a prayer at the opening of the meeting, and as Garrett outlined the situation she examined the familiar faces, wondering who would be her ally.

She thought Garrett would be willing to host the Fowlers if it in no way interfered with the running of the church and the collecting of pledges. She was fairly certain he would need an attorney to weigh in on legalities, but the church was full of them, many who would sympathize with the Fowlers’ plight. She would make certain one of that group was contacted.

Betty McAllister, first vice president, was a septuagenarian active in social causes and known for alienating members who didn’t agree with her. Analiese thought that she would be a staunch ally.

Nora Pizarro, second vice president, was sleek, sixtyish, and conservative down to her bone marrow. The only good solution was tried-and-true, and if the church had never given shelter to a homeless family in its more than hundred-year history, then that would be enough evidence the idea was a bad one.

Their secretary, John Glinton, was newly elected, recently retired from a job in the aerospace industry in Houston, and a mystery.

At twenty-four the last member, their treasurer Carolina Cooper, was by far the youngest: vivacious, entertaining and astute. Unfortunately she was also absent.

“Analiese?” Garrett turned the conversation over to her.

“First, I appreciate you turning out on such short notice,” she began. Quickly she filled in the details that Garrett hadn’t had access to, for the most part her conversation with Peter.

She ended by telling them what Man had done as she was leaving the apartment. “These people are desperate. He tried to give me his wedding ring in payment for what we’ve already given them, a dusty apartment and Thanksgiving leftovers.”

She swallowed a lump that was threatening to form in her throat and composed herself. “These people don’t want to be here. They want to be in their own home, working at jobs to support their family. Man would still be happily earning union wages if his factory hadn’t closed. Belle had a steady part-time job stocking shelves at the local discount store until the stress of their situation destroyed her health.”

“How do you know any of this?” Nora asked. “Is this what they told you?”

“As I was leaving, Shiloh, the daughter, told me about her mother.”

“I assume you don’t believe everything you hear.”

Analiese managed to keep her voice steady and her tone pleasant. “I used to work in television news. So no, we can assume I don’t.”

“What evidence do you have they aren’t lying?”

“For one thing a respected physician from our congregation who knows what a sick woman looks like. My best instincts for another. The facts, which are irrefutable. According to our school system there are more than seven hundred homeless children living in this county with their families. I strongly believe one of those families is now ours to deal with.”

“They wouldn’t be if you had sent them on their way.”

Betty interrupted, “And where would they be, Nora? Cold, friendless, with a sick woman coughing her guts out in a car somewhere? That’s the Christian solution?”

Garrett held up his hand to stop what was clearly escalating into a fight. “Let’s consider the options. Reverend Ana did not send the Fowlers on their way. She did what we hired her to do, which was to use her best judgment, whether we agree with her decision or not. Right now we need to figure out what to do with this family.”

“I suggest we find them a motel and pay for a night. Even two,” Nora added grudgingly.

“I see no point in paying for a motel and limiting our involvement. I think we can keep them in the apartment. What harm will there be?” Betty said.

John spoke for the first time. “What harm might there be? Let’s consider the worst-case scenario and the best. Then let’s vote.”

The meeting continued. Analiese had said her piece and now she sat back and listened. John and Garrett were logical and analytical. Betty was passionate, and Nora was clearly angry.

Thirty minutes later John made a motion. “I motion we allow these people to continue living in the apartment for two weeks while Reverend Ana, who brought this problem to our doorstep, looks for a better situation for them and for us. Of course if they cause any problems, they will have to go immediately.”

Garrett reminded the committee that the next full council meeting was in two weeks, so John’s motion would take them to that point. He called for a vote. Analiese, who was a voting member of the committee, added her voice to the yeas.

Nora was the lone nay. “And what do we do if they’re still here in two weeks?” she demanded.

“We’ll put you in charge of evicting them,” Betty said.

Garrett held up his hand again. “Let’s not even think about that, okay? Not yet. The council will want to know what happened here, and I’m hoping we can present a united front.”

“You don’t always get what you hope for,” Nora said, getting gracefully to her feet. She was the first to leave.

Analiese stood, too. “Thank you for a good discussion and a good solution.”

After the others left Garrett remained. He was a tall man, and although she was five foot seven, she had to look up at him when he spoke. “I think it’s imperative you find another place for these people, Ana. It won’t go this well if we have to vote again. John was sitting on the fence, and the full council is less adaptable than we are.”

“And you?”

He shrugged.

She had guessed as much. “I can’t make promises. Resources in Buncombe County, like everywhere, are stretched too thin.”

“I know how busy you are, but you’re going to have to work hard at this. Find somebody to help you.”

After he left she straightened the chairs around the table and wondered if a male minister would have noticed that the chairs were in disarray. For that matter would her male colleagues have stood up to the committee and insisted that they not set a time limit on charity?

The best question: Would her male colleagues—or her female ones—have gotten into this situation in the first place?

Of course she could never know where anybody else would have stood today. But despite everything else, she did feel that a man who had died on a cross thousands of years before had been standing right beside her.

chapter eight

SHILOH HAD NEVER met a lady minister, and she was sure she would remember if she had met one who looked like Reverend Ana. Today she was wearing a dark skirt with a bright green shirt hanging loose over it and a pretty circular flowered scarf looped around her neck. Shiloh never worried much about what she would look like when she was an adult—there were too many other things to worry about—but for just a moment, as she opened the door to Analiese, she was sorry she was never going to look like that.

“Are your parents here?” Analiese asked.

“Daddy took Mama to get those tests about an hour ago.” She lifted her chin defiantly. “But we’re all packed, and we’ll leave just as soon as she gets her medicine. I’m sorry if we stayed too long.”

“Not long enough. I just met with the committee in charge of these things, and we’d like you to stay another two weeks while we help you find a more permanent place.”

Even if she did pray for it each night Shiloh knew better than to believe anything good would ever happen to the Fowlers. But for a moment she felt just a sliver of something like hope.

“Why?” From experience, she knew this was the question most suited for putting hope back in its place.

“Because this is a church, and even if we don’t always remember why we exist, we did remember today.”

Shiloh was puzzled and her expression must have showed it, because Analiese smiled. “In other words because we can help and we want to.”

“Why? What will you get?”

The smile softened. “Sometimes people do things just because they’re right. Your family’s having a hard time. The church is able to help.”

“Most of the time people do things because they get something out of it.”

“Like feeling good about life? Like knowing that they’re making a difference in the world?”

“Like driving to the food bank in a fancy car and doling out dented tuna cans, and then telling you you’re selfish if you ask for more than one. Even if there are plenty.”

“I think with all you’ve been through it must be hard to see how many good people there are, and how many of them are genuinely concerned.”

Shiloh knew better than to argue. Whatever the reason, her family had a roof over their heads for the next two weeks. It might be a mini-miracle, but it was a miracle nonetheless.

“Where’s Dougie?” Analiese asked.

“In the bedroom. I’m making him do his schoolwork.” She realized Analiese was still waiting to be invited in, and she stepped aside and motioned.

“What kind of schoolwork? Do you have textbooks?”

Shiloh had to laugh at that. “Where would we get textbooks? Where would we keep them?”

“What’s he doing then?”

“I make up math puzzles, and I make him keep a journal, and I go over it and correct his grammar and spelling if I need to, and we talk about it.”

“You said you didn’t like school in Atlanta. What about Dougie?”

“He was always in trouble. He can’t sit still.”

Analiese nodded, as if that made sense when, of course, it didn’t.

Shiloh changed the subject. “If we stay, may we use the stove and cook?”

“Absolutely. I didn’t get as far as cleaning the inside of the cabinets. Are there pans?”

Shiloh had checked every corner of the apartment. “A few.”

“May I look?”

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

Analiese didn’t answer. She crossed the room and peeked inside the cabinets. “I bet you couldn’t even heat the leftovers I brought up last night.”

“It didn’t matter.”

“We’ll get you more, and linens and towels. Dishes. Silverware.”

“We have things in our car we can use.”

“Why don’t you leave them packed for now and we’ll see what I can rustle up today?”

“There’s a washer and dryer.”

“I don’t know if they’re still functional. I’ll ask our sexton if they were working before he left. Then we’ll give them a try, and you’ll be welcome to use them.”

Shiloh tried to imagine two weeks of clean clothes. Really clean. Not gas-station-sink-clean.

Analiese gestured toward the pantry. “Right now I thought maybe we could run over to the grocery store and stock these shelves a bit. We can leave your parents a note and tell them we’ll be back soon.” She hesitated, as if she’d just thought of something and didn’t know how to broach it.

Shiloh felt a surge of anger. She answered the unasked question. “Yes, they read. Both of them. My dad should have gone to college, only he had to help support my grandma after my grandpa died, so he quit high school and got a GED. But he’s smart. Really smart. And my mom reads the headlines and does the crossword puzzle every morning, or she did when we could afford the paper.”

“I’m sorry, Shiloh. But a lot of people can’t read. I have a friend, somebody you’d like, who never learned how when she was in school. So I never take reading for granted.”

Shiloh felt a little better. “People think just because we’re homeless, we’re stupid.”

“I can see that’s not true.”

Dougie came barreling out of the bedroom. “I finished!” He skidded to a stop in front of Analiese. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself.” She held up her hand and they slapped palms. “Interested in going to the grocery store with Shiloh and me?”

“Can we get chocolate cereal?”

“Not on my watch.”

Dougie pouted, but only for a moment. “Cookies?”

“Let’s see what they have.”

Shiloh thought going to the store was going to be interesting.

* * *

Analiese was no expert, but she thought if she opened a medical textbook she would find a line drawing of Dougie next to the word hyperactivity. From the moment they’d entered the grocery store, he had raced up and down the aisles, selecting food to put in the cart, then putting it back after Shiloh or Analiese told him to. Not without a fight, of course. He wasn’t passive, but he was surprisingly good-natured, even when he didn’t win, which was always.

Shiloh was a different matter. The girl was riveted on choosing food that would fill her family’s stomachs at the cheapest price. Pasta. Potatoes. Bulk American cheese slices from the dairy case. Analiese watched the girl lift a bag of apples from an endcap, then put it back in place after she considered.

“Okay, you’ve got some staples here,” Analiese said. “Let’s move on to the fresh fruits and vegetables.” She put the apples in the cart. “What else do you like to eat?”

“We mostly eat canned vegetables. Whatever’s available.”

Analiese was sure “available” meant cheap or free at whatever food bank allowed them through the door. “While you’re at the apartment you’ll have a refrigerator. Do you like salads?”

“When we had a garden Mama made salads out of anything that was ready to harvest. Beets, squash, green beans.”

“I dump lettuce in a bowl and maybe a tomato. Let’s get a little of everything that looks good and let her have fun.”

“She doesn’t cook anymore. When there’s a place to cook Daddy does it.”

Every sentence was a reminder of how drastically everything had changed for the family, and as she pushed the cart toward the center of the produce section, Analiese had to be careful not to overreact.

“How about you? Do you like to cook?” she asked Shiloh.

“Mama never let me in the kitchen. I’m not very good.”

“My mother was the same. The kitchen was her domain, and we had to stay out. She still loves to bake. Now that there’s nobody at home to fatten up, she joined a church so she can bake for their Sunday social hours. I don’t think it’s a coincidence they had to start a weight loss group.”

“My mother could use a weight loss group. She says she’s fat because she can’t smoke anymore.”

Analiese considered how best to broach a change of diet. “Let’s get some fresh produce anyway, and I’ll show you what little I know about making a salad. Maybe your mother will help once she’s feeling better.” She stocked the cart with lettuce and other salad vegetables, adding a healthy-enough dressing she used at home.

“Mama’s been sick on and off for a long time,” Shiloh said. “Since before we left South Carolina. After we got there, she helped Aunt Mimi make meals and clean, but she got feeling worse and worse, and pretty soon my aunt had to do everything. Aunt Mimi didn’t like that. And nobody liked Dougie, because he broke things. He’s always fooling around. He can’t sit still.”

As if on cue Dougie arrived again, this time with graham crackers. “Good choice,” Analiese said. “Do you like peanut butter?”

After an emphatic yes she told him which kind to buy and sent him on his way again.

“Do you like broccoli?” Analiese looked closer at Shiloh, who was frowning, and in response she put the broccoli back. “What’s up?”

“This isn’t right, you buying all this food for us. It’s your money, isn’t it? Even if it isn’t, it’s somebody’s money.”

“We make money to spend it. This is the way I want to spend mine.”

“I don’t see why.”

“If I didn’t want to spend money on you, would that make sense? Because for some reason it always seems to. Nobody questions that.”

She could see that Shiloh was working that out, so Analiese did a mini-sermon on the Golden Rule. “Look at it this way. If I were in trouble I would want somebody to help me. I’m just taking my turn.”

“I’m ready to be on the other side, you know? Being helped gets old really quick.”

“I bet.”

Shiloh’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How do you know? Have you ever been there?”

“We’ve all needed help from friends or family, and sometimes from strangers.”

“Friends and family, that’s different.”

“Then let’s be friends and this won’t feel so strange.” Analiese picked up the broccoli again. “Some broccoli between friends?”

“That’s weird.”

“I can show you how to cook it.”

“You’re not like any minister I’ve ever known.”

“I’ll consider that a compliment.”

They finished the shopping, adding Dougie’s peanut butter, a package of chicken and another of frozen fish before they checked out. They were in the car heading back to church with an exhausted Dougie napping when Analiese brought up the subject she knew Shiloh would least want to hear.

“Have you thought about school, Shiloh? Because you’re much too smart not to get a good education. And Dougie is, too.”

“We’re homeschooling.”

The girl was trying so hard with so little. She tried to think of a way to say what she was thinking without alienating her, never easy with a young teen.

“We have parents in our church who homeschool their children. I’ve seen it work two ways, Shiloh. One, the family is conscientious and partners with others to offer their children a well-rounded education with the chance to socialize and be involved in sports and other activities. Two, the family just lets their children do whatever they want. The second doesn’t work very well, and those children suffer.”

“I’m not a child.”

“I’m guessing you’re thirteen?”

“Fourteen going on fifteen.”

Answered like a child. Analiese guessed fifteen might be eleven months away. “That means you should be in eighth grade?”

“Ninth. I skipped a grade.”

And these days she was skipping a lot more. Analiese decided it was time to go right to the heart of the bad news.

“You had a difficult time at school in Atlanta. But, Shiloh, you saw how much trouble that caused your parents. So as smart as you are, you must see you have to go to school while you’re in Asheville, and so does your brother. If you don’t, you’ll get them into the same trouble again.”

“I’m not going, and neither is he.”

“It was that bad, huh?”

The sympathy seemed to take her aback. “I hated it.”

“Can you tell me why?”

“I was in gifted classes in Ohio. When we got to South Carolina they said they didn’t have gifted classes unless my parents could pay to have me tested again, and then they put me in with dumb kids because that’s where they had room for me. In Atlanta they looked at my South Carolina records and put me in dumber classes. And the kids were awful.”

Analiese heard two things. One, this girl was so unhappy with the way she had been treated that she was willing to share her story with a stranger. Two, that Shiloh’s self-esteem had suffered and getting her back into school was going to require every bit of skill Analiese possessed.

Actually, there was a third, and she tested her conclusion. “Your parents let you stop going to school?”

“Nobody can make you go if you don’t want to.”

Especially parents who were exhausted, depressed, and otherwise occupied trying to keep their family together.

Analiese gathered her strength for the battle. “Okay, let’s start with the facts. You’re a smart girl. And as a smart girl you know that sometimes the world doesn’t work the way you wish it would.”

“You said it, not me.”

“So that being true, we also know that sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to because the consequences of not doing them are worse than doing them.”

Shiloh obviously knew where this was going. “Not this time.”

“So these are the consequences,” Analiese said. “Just so you’ll know. One, your parents will get into serious trouble with the authorities again. And as a side note to that, I think they’re already worried about the family being split up, and this will only heighten their fears. For good reason.”

She overrode Shiloh’s attempt to interrupt. “And two, the church will not let you stay in the apartment if you don’t go to school. Our leadership won’t court trouble with the authorities.”

“I can pretend to go.”

“No, you can’t.”

Shiloh fell silent.

Analiese let her message sink in before she spoke. “We have good schools in this county, and there are other kids—you’d be surprised how many—who don’t have a permanent address. You won’t be alone, I promise. Asheville’s filled with different kinds of people, and I think you’ll be surprised how comfortably you’ll fit in if you give school a chance.”

“I’ll never fit in anywhere.”

“I know that’s how you feel, but I can guarantee you’re not the only girl your age who feels that way.”

“It’s not just me. They always put Dougie in with the dumb kids because he can’t sit still, and that’s not good for him. He’s not dumb, and he’s not mean, like some boys are.”

“We can talk to the people in charge and tell them everything you’ve been through. They’ll listen.” Analiese hoped it was true.

“Why bother? We won’t be here very long. Daddy isn’t going to find a job.”

“You have a place to live, and we’re going to try to find you a more permanent one. Your mom’s seen a doctor. With those problems out of the way your father can look for work without distractions, and he might find something right away. But you need to go to school so he’ll have even fewer worries, Shiloh. You do get that, right?”

“I hate this.”

Analiese reached over and squeezed her hand. She thought she had won this battle, but probably not the war. Still, the conversation had begun.

chapter nine

FOUR HOURS OF sleep was not enough. Not nearly. But after settling the Fowlers into their temporary home, making calls to parishioners asking for bedding and kitchen supplies, and finally settling down to wrestle with an entirely new sermon, four hours had been all Analiese could manage.

The fact that her computer’s spam filter had logged an automatic response informing her that Isaiah’s email address was no longer valid hadn’t made it easier to sleep, either.

Despite her exhaustion the first and smaller service, which was always more intimate and informal, had gone well enough. A local bluegrass band had provided the music for hymns, and communion in the pews had featured homemade bread supplied by congregation hobby bakers. No one had approached her afterward and asked if she had lost her mind, but no one had really had the opportunity. She had shaken hands at the door, which was never a good place for confrontation, and escaped immediately to her study after the last person filed through. She wasn’t afraid to discuss her decision with her congregation. She just wanted to pick the time and place.

Now sipping a cup of tea as she waited to robe for the second service she stood at her study window. She loved this space with its blue-gray paneling and courtyard view. The courtyard was surrounded by three walls, and the fountain in the center was flanked by concrete benches, where she often sat to write sermons on her laptop.

In some ways the courtyard was a secret garden and rarely used. Today was an exception. Dougie was fishing in the fountain, pants rolled up to his knees and lily pads swishing against his calves as he waded the perimeter with an old stick that flaunted a length of string and most likely an open safety pin. Never mind that there were no fish in the fountain. Dougie, like a modern-day Huck Finn, was determined to live off the land.

The sight might dismay the church building and grounds committee, but she found herself laughing, her first genuine laughter of the day. “Okay, Isaiah,” she said to the empty room. “I get it. You always said God comes to us in disguise. So now She’s a nine-year-old boy with a fishing pole?”

Someone knocked, and she tore herself away from the window, straightened her shoulders, as her laughter evaporated. She crossed the room to what she was sure would be trouble. Instead, when she opened the door she found Ethan, in a sports coat and no tie, and she grabbed his arm and pulled him inside, closing the door behind him.

“I can leave,” he said. “I just wanted to be sure you were okay.”

“How did you know I might not be?”

He just smiled, and she smiled back, warmed by the concern she saw. Having been married to Charlotte, who had been in the thick of every important decision made at the Church of the Covenant, Ethan was no stranger to their politics.

“Yes, I talked about the Fowlers. Thank you for understanding,” she said.

“Do you need anything?”

Anything other than a congregation that realized sometimes being a Christian meant more than giving money and saying the right prayers?

“I might need you to remove a certain young man from the fountain,” she said instead. She nodded toward the window.

He peered around her, then his smile widened. “Seems like a shame, but maybe today’s not the best day for your congregation to see that.”

“Dougie’s one of those kids who could get in trouble in a padded cell.”

“I imagine his parents find it hard to keep up with him, particularly when they have so many other things on their minds. You’ve got people who might be able to help.”

“After this morning we’ll see how much help they want to be.”

“Actually I was thinking about the goddesses. There are lots of different talents among us.”

She heard the “us” for what it was. “It doesn’t insult your masculinity to call yourself a goddess?”

“My masculinity is perfectly secure.”

She touched his arm in affirmation. “Agreed. And now will you take your masculine self outside and remove our little friend from the fountain?”

“I’ll be at the service. Break a leg.” He kissed her cheek and left.

She finished her last swallow of tea and tidied up in the adjoining restroom, where she donned her robe again. By the time she got back neither Ethan nor Dougie was in sight outside. For this service she chose a heavily appliqued stole that Elsbeth, her needleworker sister, had made for her. A collage of colorful figures with hands lifted in prayer was artistically intertwined with flames reaching heavenward and culminating with a magnificent white dove. The stole was her favorite and, as she smoothed it over her robe and matched the edges, she said a prayer. Then she went to meet her congregation at the door of the sanctuary.

Most people knew better than to engage in long conversations as they entered, and she shook hands and greeted those who streamed in for as long as she could. She was about to go to the front when Garrett came through the doorway and motioned her to one side.

“You’re going to tell them about the Fowlers?”

She was gratified he used the family’s name and didn’t simply call them “those homeless people.”

“I plan to, yes. I did in the first service.”

“That’s good, because, you know, the word is getting out.”

“It was never meant to be a secret.”

“Well, no.” He frowned, then he seemed to recover. “And it shouldn’t be. But you know how people talk. They need facts.”

“Which I’ll give them. With a story thrown in.”

He seemed to want to say more but didn’t. She nodded and took advantage of that silent moment to leave.

This more formal service began with a processional of the entire chancel choir from the back of the church into the choir loft, accompanied by the full power of their recently restored pipe organ. Afterward she offered an invocation, more prayers were said, hymns were sung, announcements were made, the offering was taken, and finally the time came for her to speak.

The Church of the Covenant pulpit was itself worthy of a sermon. The imposing granite exterior of the Gothic Revival church was matched inside by elegant timber beams, slippery tile floors, and treasured stained glass windows from the famed Lamb Studios of Greenwich Village. The elaborately carved pulpit had been a gift from an early benefactor, with eight steps so that the pastor could gaze down at his flock to more properly admonish them and remind them of his superior moral status.

Like many churches, the Church of the Covenant also had a lectern, a simple but elegant stand with only a few steps, which, until Analiese had arrived, had been used exclusively by lay readers delivering scripture. One of her first innovations had been to abandon the formal pulpit and deliver most of her sermons from the lectern, which was only as high as it needed to be for the congregation to see her.

Today she settled herself there and looked out over her congregation. Assuming many people had traveled over the holiday she had expected a lower attendance. Instead the polished walnut pews were filled with a respectable number of worshippers. She wondered if news about the Fowlers was already beginning to make the rounds.

As she searched for familiar faces she saw Ethan sitting beside his daughter, Taylor. Taylor was one of the goddesses and not a frequent churchgoer, although lately she had been bringing her daughter, Maddie, to Sunday school and staying for the service herself. Today the man in her life, Adam Pryor, was sitting on her other side.

Georgia Ferguson, another of the goddesses, wasn’t present, although she did attend on occasion. Georgia was most likely with her fiancé, Lucas Ramsey, celebrating the holiday with Lucas’s large extended family in the state she’d been named for.

Seeing Taylor reminded Analiese of what Ethan had said in her study. She hadn’t had time to consider how much and in how many ways the goddesses could help her now, but Georgia was the principal of the Buncombe County Alternative School, and nobody would be a better resource for Shiloh than she would.

She put that out of her mind and leaned forward over the lectern. “Pay close attention to your program this morning. Then set it beside you, because I’m not going to speak on ‘The Politics of Giving Thanks.’ If you spend the next twenty minutes trying to figure out how the message I want you to take home has anything whatsoever to do with that, you’ll be frustrated and annoyed. That’s the last thing I ever want you to feel in this sacred space.”

She heard the small ripple of laughter and felt slightly encouraged. “Instead I want to take you back to another time, to a land where turkey, a native of the Americas, was never on the menu, and the word pilgrims referred to the Israelite people who returned to Jerusalem for the festivals surrounding Passover, Shavuot, and Sukkoth. Let me begin with the Holy Scripture.”

Analiese opened her Bible and began to read the story of the Good Samaritan, but she stopped after a few lines and closed the book. “Let me tell it my way, because this story is timeless, and a little twenty-first century narrative won’t hurt, will it?

“Let’s go back to a certain day in the life of Jesus of Nazareth. As Jesus often did, on this day he was addressing a group who had come to listen to his words and seek guidance.

“It’s no surprise a crowd had gathered. After all, in previous weeks he had built up quite a reputation, catching the attention of King Herod along the way—which was not a particularly good thing, since Herod had already beheaded John the Baptist. Still, Jesus continued with his ministry, knowing it would lead to his death. In Luke, the only gospel where the story of the Good Samaritan is told, we also hear about the miracle of the loaves and fishes, about the healing of a boy possessed by evil spirits, and even a moment when Jesus is transfigured and seen to walk on a mountaintop with Elijah and Moses.

“This day, though, there were no miracles. A man of the law, listening to Jesus, asked what he should do to earn eternal life.”

She paused and smiled. “Now, apparently lawyers in the day of Jesus had much the same reputation, deserved or undeserved, as lawyers today. I’m sure there were jokes making the rounds in the marketplace, jokes like ‘How does a lawyer sleep? First he lies on one side, then the other.’”

She nodded at the laughter and then continued. “Of course there are plenty of jokes about ministers, too. A seminary friend installed hot-air hand dryers in the church restroom, but two weeks later he had to take them out. Somebody had taped a sign on the wall over them that said ‘For a preview of this week’s sermon, push the button.’”

She smiled at their enjoyment of that one. “I promise that today’s sermon is more than hot air, and I do have something important to say. So let’s move back to the scripture. Our lawyer in this ancient crowd was something of a sneaky fellow, and he was anxious to test Jesus. Wanting to get his future signed, sealed and delivered, he asked Jesus what he had to do to inherit eternal life.”

She looked out and raised a finger. “Well, be honest, isn’t that what you would have asked?” She waved her hand. “Here was your chance to have the entire purpose of existence laid out in front of you. But Jesus never gave simple answers. Instead he asked the lawyer for his own opinion, and the man said that he was required to love God with all his heart, soul and might, and also love his neighbor as himself.

“Jesus agreed he was correct, so therefore he needed to go and do exactly that.”

She paused. “Would you have known what to do?”

She watched for heads nodding or shaking before she moved on. “Maybe that would have been the end if the lawyer hadn’t been such an inquiring sort, but then he stuck it to Jesus, which I think was his intention all along. He asked exactly who Jesus would consider to be his neighbor. Do you know what you would have said?”

Again she paused, wanting them to really think about their answers. “My neighbor is everyone who lives beside, behind and in front of me? Or possibly your definition would be broader. Your neighbor is everyone on your street, or in your life, perhaps even, if you’re feeling really generous, some people you don’t like.”

She waited a moment, then went on. “Jesus loved to tell stories, so in answer he replied by telling the now-familiar tale of a man who, after leaving Jerusalem to head to Jericho, was attacked and robbed by thieves and left bleeding by the roadside. The story doesn’t actually say this man was a Jew, although I think perhaps that was assumed. We do, however, know what happened to him.

“As our traveler lay there, in the worst possible need of assistance, a priest passed by, perhaps, like me, somebody charged with the spiritual health of his followers. Do you think the priest stopped to assist the traveler?”

She waited for the shaking of heads. “Sadly no. Instead he crossed the road, in a hurry to get somewhere else and most likely a bit afraid that if he did stop, he might be courting trouble. Maybe he had a council meeting or a crisis that seemed more important. And who wants to court trouble when it’s easier just to continue on our way?”

She continued on, talking next about the Levite, a man charged with both religious and political duties, who appeared after the priest and followed the same course.

“And finally comes the Samaritan. Since we aren’t living in ancient Israel let’s brush up on the Samaritans and why they were so disliked. One theory claims the Samaritans were the descendants of Joseph, one of the sons of Jacob, while the Jews were the descendants of another brother, Judah. So even though Samaritans and Jews may have been related, we know that family ties don’t always stand the test of time. Look at the Palestinians and the Jews today. Look at the Shiites and the Sunnis or the Catholics and the Protestants in places like Northern Ireland.”

As she let that sink in for a moment, a movement in the back of the sanctuary caught her eye. People came and went during services. Sometimes late arrivals slipped into pews in the back, and occasionally, during her more controversial sermons, people also slipped out, never to be seen again.

She doubted she had yet reached that tipping point today, and this time she didn’t really expect an exodus, just some pointed questions. As she’d guessed, the movement was caused by a late arrival.

The arrival was Shiloh, dressed in faded jeans and a thin T-shirt, who stood in the aisle at the back and gazed around, as if unsure what to do. Just as Analiese was afraid she would turn and leave, Shiloh spotted an empty space in a nearby pew, climbing over other churchgoers to get there and disappearing from sight behind a row of taller men.

In that instant Analiese reconsidered her sermon, but she really had no choice now but to finish it.

She drew herself up a little taller. “Over the centuries the histories of these close relatives diverged, and eventually each group believed that they alone possessed the truth and all the rights that go with it. Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? Today aren’t too many people sure they know exactly what’s right for everybody else?

“So what would you expect a Samaritan to do, coming upon a man, most probably a Jew, bleeding by the side of the road? Laugh? Taunt him? Even, perhaps, put the man out of his misery and consider his day well spent?”

She paused. “Of course, you would be wrong.”

She ended the story, explaining that the Samaritan, despite every historical and political reason not to, helped the stranger, binding his wounds, even finding him lodging and paying for it himself so that the injured man could recover.

“And so the story of the Good Samaritan ends. It’s a great tale with a happily-ever-after, isn’t it? But the most powerful part comes now. Because Jesus then asked the lawyer which of the three men who came upon the roadside victim acted as a true neighbor. Of course the lawyer had no choice but to answer, ‘the one who had mercy.’”

She let that sink in a moment before she went on. “Luke 10, verse 37, ends this way.” She opened her Bible again and read the final words, although she knew them well. “Jesus told him, ‘Go and do likewise.’”

She closed her Bible once more and looked out over the congregation. “I’ve told you a story that Jesus left us to ponder. Did this event take place?” She shrugged. “The story of the Good Samaritan is a parable, which means in many ways it’s a riddle for us to solve. Jesus told these stories to make us reconsider the way we live, to dig for meaning so we would remember more clearly. Jews of that time were used to parables. They understood that parables have multiple meanings and are not meant to be taken literally, because that would diminish their worth. We aren’t supposed to simply be happy the traveler was finally safe. We’re supposed to consider how he was saved, by whom and why it was important.”

She let her gaze drift over the congregation and saw, as she had expected, some puzzled faces. “You might be wondering why I chose this story on this particular day, when speaking on gratitude might have been more pleasant and certainly less challenging for Thanksgiving weekend. So let me tell you another story. Mine is not a parable. It happened this weekend right here in our church.”

She took a breath and began to tell the story of the Fowler family. She avoided as many personal details as she could, partly because Shiloh was sitting in the congregation and partly because that had been her intention all along. But she knew she had to make certain the congregation understand how desperate the Fowlers were.

“I want you to see that as your minister I made the initial decision to invite this family to stay overnight in the parish house apartment where our sexton and his family used to live. I didn’t have time to consult with anyone on the council. I also want you to know that I am not apologizing, because I would do it again, exactly the same way.”

She paused—for the last time, she hoped—to make sure they heard the next sentences clearly. “I did not want to be the priest in today’s parable. I wanted to be the Samaritan. I still do.

“The next morning our council executive committee agreed to allow the Fowler family to continue living in the apartment for two weeks while I try to find them more permanent housing and perhaps help with other issues. Some of you may have expertise that can help them settle into our community, and any assistance will be warmly welcomed.”

She moved on to statistics about homelessness, both nationwide and locally, particularly homeless families. Then she talked a little about the rally in which she had participated.

“Here’s what I know. It’s easy to go to rallies, even to stand on the stage and exhort a crowd to do their part. It’s easy to throw money at a problem and think we’ve done enough. But putting ourselves in the place of people just like us, who, often through no fault of their own, have ended up on the street? That’s never easy. Because it brings the wolves right to our doorsteps, doesn’t it? You, too, might be one paycheck from setting up a tent on a quiet green space or sleeping in a car because there is no other place to go.”

She leaned forward and held up her hand. “It’s easier to pretend we’re immune, isn’t it?”

After a moment she wrapped up that part quickly. “Today there are families with well-educated wage earners blithely living in homes worth hundreds of thousands of dollars who will be out on the streets by next year. Faltering businesses will go under. Family wage earners will fall ill or lose jobs. A child with special needs or an aging parent might already have consumed all their financial cushion, so there’ll be no savings to start over. I can spin a hundred scenarios for you. One of them might even be yours.”

She let that sink in and wondered how many people in the pews were squirming.

She finished her sermon. “I am grateful to our council for agreeing to let the Fowlers live in an otherwise empty apartment. This isn’t a solution to our nation’s homeless problem, but it is, at least temporarily, a solution for one homeless family. I’ll be grateful to all of you who support this decision. I will even be grateful to those who don’t but who come directly to me to discuss it so we can learn from each other.”

She ended with a short prayer that asked for guidance and enlightenment. Then she lifted her hands as the strains of the introduction to their final hymn began and watched the congregation rise.

Only then, as her eyes sought Shiloh to try to read the girl’s reaction, did Analiese see Isaiah Colburn, who had been sitting beside the girl and had risen with everyone else. For a moment, just an instant, their eyes locked. Isaiah gave the slightest of nods.

This time there was no mistaking him. And this time there was no mistaking her own reaction. Isaiah was here in Asheville, and for better or worse, her life was about to change.

chapter ten

MONDAY, OFFICIALLY HER day off, was the best opportunity for Analiese to sleep in. This Monday she was up by seven, morning prayers said, shower already behind her, and neither had done anything to elevate her mood. She was about to devote the day to finding help for the Fowlers, and while she was glad to do it, she suspected by day’s end she would have experienced the same slamming of agency doors that they had.

She considered a new prayer beginning with “Excuse me again, Lord, but here’s a long list of things bothering me,” and then naming everything that had kept her awake through a long night, in order of importance.

She rejected that idea because putting the list in order was impossible. This morning everything was equal. The woman who cornered her after the second service and politely explained that the Church of the Covenant had a reputation to uphold and homeless people wandering in and out would not enhance it. The man who told her that ministers who took on projects without congregational consent didn’t last long.

And no, she had not asked either if they were feeling a need to speak up for the lawyer who had questioned Jesus. Both had been at the church longer than she had. Both had taken leadership roles.

Of course many people had offered their support, and some had sincerely meant it. But the two most significant people she had wanted to see had disappeared. Shiloh had slipped out during the final hymn, most likely embarrassed her family laundry had been aired during the sermon, and even after Analiese had climbed the steps in the parish house to find the girl, no one had been at the apartment.

Then, of course, there was Isaiah.

Why did her mentor and friend keep showing up, then vanishing? Of course she had been busy with parishioners after the sermon, listening to their comments, shaking hands, whisking one family into her study for emergency counseling because a son had been arrested the previous night. By the time that family left, the building had been nearly empty. And Isaiah had not been among those few who were still waiting to see her.

“You could have left a note,” she said to the empty house.

In answer the grandfather clock chimed 7:30 and the telephone rang.

She knew better than to answer without checking caller ID. She was available for emergencies, but on her one day off she was firm about not taking calls that could wait another day. She couldn’t see the name and phone number without her reading glasses, so she waited for the answering machine, grabbing the receiver when she heard her sister Gretchen’s voice.

“I know, I know this is your day off,” Gretchen said after Analiese’s hello. “But I’m going to be gone all day and the girls are eating breakfast. This was my only chance to leave you a message. I didn’t expect you to answer.”

“I was up. What’s wrong?”

“You’ve had that kind of week, huh? Jumping to the worst conclusion feels natural to you?”

Analiese carried the phone into the living room and plopped down in a corner armchair. “You have no idea.”

Gretchen didn’t ask for details. “Well, nothing’s wrong in Providence. The girls and I are just wondering what you’re doing for your birthday. Because it’s a big one, and we thought you might like to come here to celebrate.”

And there in living color was the other thing on Analiese’s “what’s bothering me” list.

“It’s just another birthday,” she said casually.

“It’s number forty, glamour girl, and even you have to be feeling that just a little.”

Analiese lifted her feet to the ottoman and closed her eyes. “Why? Because I’m in a stressful job, alone and childless?”

Gretchen ignored that. “Why don’t you visit us and we’ll do the day up right? Maybe Elsbeth can fly in, too. Can you get away?”

“Not in this century.”

“They don’t deserve you, do they?”

Analiese could almost hear her sister checking the clock over the stove in her sleek Country French kitchen. Gretchen’s daughters would be eating, possibly squabbling, just as she and her sisters had done, and in a moment Gretchen would start reminding them to hurry. There was no time to share feelings. The fact that she and Gretchen had connected and were talking at all was surprising.

As nice as this was, now she felt even lonelier.

“I’ll come this summer,” she said. “My vacation’s in June. Maybe we can get to the beach for a day or two. Elsbeth, too.”

“We’re going to France in June, remember?”

Analiese did now. “Sorry, of course. Henry’s job, plus the girls in a language school.”

“You have no idea how competitive college applications are. Fluent French will help.”

Analiese thought of Shiloh and how, despite her obvious intelligence, she would never even be competitive for community college unless somebody intervened quickly.

“I miss you,” she told her sister. “We’ll find a time and a way to see each other.”

Analiese hung up. She had chosen her life path, and she wasn’t sorry. Still, somehow, she was alone and turning forty. And now the man who would best understand how she felt, a man who himself would never marry and have children, was playing peekaboo and refusing to get close enough for a conversation.

Wasn’t that for the best anyway? Since he was the man she most wanted and could never have? Self-pity was closing in fast.

“Time for a long walk.” She got to her feet and went to find the right shoes.

* * *

Shiloh knew her mother was sick, really sick and not just giving-up-sick. But now that Belle was feeling a little better, she was messing around in the kitchen, trying to act like a regular mom. Unfortunately there was nothing regular about the way she wiped crumbs to the floor and then didn’t have the energy to sweep them up. Things were better when Belle just stayed in bed. At least that way Shiloh could clean on her own schedule.

That was why she and Dougie were outside now. She’d had to get away before she said something really mean. After sweeping the floor she’d grabbed him and abandoned the apartment.

“Are all those kids gone yet?” Dougie asked.

From behind a row of shrubs Shiloh had logged the activity at Covenant Academy while Dougie tried to outrace squirrels. When chimes had sounded all the students had filed in, but Shiloh had seen plenty first. These kids didn’t look like the ones at her school in Ohio. She knew the difference between jeans that had faded from constant wear and the designer kind that had been artificially faded by women in India or Bangladesh who got paid, like, three cents an hour and used chemicals that would cause birth defects in their unborn children.

These kids came from homes where they could probably choose a different supersize television to watch every night. These were kids who had to decide between a Porsche or a Jaguar when they passed their driver’s test.

“Yeah, they all went inside.” She hoped she didn’t have to see them again today.

“I’m bored.”

This was Shiloh’s cue. This was garbage day. Early that morning she’d scoured recycling bins in the neighborhood behind the church to find magazines, and now she had two that might interest her brother. Ranger Rick, which had a funny-looking fish on the cover, and a Scooby-Doo! magazine, which was really more like a comic book.

The problem was she wasn’t in the mood to help her brother read. Dougie could read okay, but after almost every sentence she had to fight him to sit still and keep going. If she could just figure out how to help him read while he was running, he might catch up with the other kids in his grade.

If they ever went back to school.

“Let’s take a walk and figure out what kind of trees we see. I have some paper. We can make a list, maybe collect some leaves off the ground.” She vaguely remembered doing something like that in third grade, but earlier in the year when leaves were still in place on branches.

“I don’t know nothing about trees.”

“Anything. You don’t know anything.”

“If you know I don’t know nothing, then why do we have to go?”

She socked him on the shoulder. Hard. “Listen, Dougie. In case you didn’t notice, I’m not having fun here either.” She thought about yesterday and the way she’d felt when her family’s whole story had been laid out for everybody in church by Reverend Ana. Sure, the lady minister had done a good job of making it seem like what had happened to them could happen to anybody, but Shiloh had still felt like a bug pinned to a board. On display whether she liked it or not.

Dougie rubbed his shoulder. “I can hit back!”

“You’d better not. That’s the only way I can get your attention. And now we’re going to take that walk, whether you want to or not. I know the names of a lot of trees, and I’ll tell you.” She hoped that was true.

“Can we get ice cream?”

“Of course we can’t.”

He shrugged, as if to say I tried.

“I’ll just go inside and get the paper. You stay out here, okay? Don’t go anywhere. Promise?”

He rolled his eyes. She waited until he grudgingly held up his right hand. Right hand meant a promise, and Dougie knew if he broke it, Shiloh would never trust him again.

She took off for the stairs at the side of the building that led right to the third floor without having to go inside and maybe run into people who wondered why she wasn’t in school. Her father was off looking for work, and once she carefully avoided the four steps that didn’t look safe and went inside, she saw her mother was sleeping again. She tiptoed into the room she was sharing with Dougie and got the paper and a pen. She wished she had tape so he could tape the leaves on the paper, but tape cost money. Maybe Dougie could trace around them.

If he would just sit long enough to do it.

Outside again she turned the corner where he should have been waiting and saw him in the distance instead, near the big parking lot behind the church. Frowning, she went to lecture him and slowed when she realized he was chatting with a man. The man wasn’t exactly a stranger. He had sat beside her in church yesterday. She rarely forgot faces anyway, but his was interesting enough to be memorable.

He was tall, large, but not overweight. He had dark hair that curled just a little and skin that either tanned perfectly—unlike her own—or was naturally that color. Yesterday she had noticed his eyes, a deep chocolate brown that managed somehow to convey a lot of feeling. He hadn’t known who she was, but she thought maybe as Reverend Ana told the family’s story he had guessed. He’d tried to make her feel welcome by sharing his hymnal and smiling warmly, as if to encourage her to stay beside him.

Now he was smiling at her brother, listening as Dougie chatted a mile a minute, either giving away their family secrets or explaining that while most people were descended from Adam and Eve, Dougie himself was descended from space aliens. He’d gotten that from some television show when they’d still had money for cheap motels. Half the time she thought maybe he was right. Space aliens would explain a lot about her brother.

“Hello again,” the man said when she joined them. “You and I met yesterday. Or almost. I’m Isaiah Colburn.” He held out his hand, and she grudgingly took it and told him her name.

“This is my brother, Dougie, and he was supposed to wait for me over there.” She nodded back toward the church.

“You didn’t say I had to stay in that exact spot! And you found me, didn’t you?”

She glared at him. “After I looked.”

Isaiah laughed. “I have an older sister, and she still gets upset if I’m not doing exactly what she thinks I ought to.”

“Well, I’m in charge of him.”

“And doing a fine job from what I can tell. Dougie was very careful not to cross the street.”

“It’s like trying to keep a hummingbird on a leash.”

He laughed again. “You’re living here now?”

“I’m sure you figured that out. We’re that homeless family.”

“Not anymore.”

“Not for two more weeks anyway. Unless Dougie here blows it.” She glared at her brother again.

“Reverend Wagner said she’s going to try to find you a better place?”

It took her a moment to figure out he meant Analiese. “Yeah, she’s okay. But I don’t think everybody is as nice as she is. I don’t think the rest of them want us here.”

“Are you guessing?”

“Educated guessing. We make people remember that the thing that happened to us could happen to them.”

He whistled softly. “Good insight, Shiloh.”

“It’s not worth as much as a month’s rent.”

“I know this has been a tough time for you and your family.”

“You could say that.”

“He just did,” Dougie said.

She was surprised her brother had actually been listening. Dougie was usually off in his own little world.

“I notice you’re not in school,” Isaiah said. “Are you going to register today?”

“School’s a waste of time. I’m teaching Dougie. We’re about to take a walk and look at trees.”

“I’m a big admirer of trees. That sycamore there?” Isaiah pointed to a tree closer to the parish house with a few yellow leaves clinging to its branches. “It’s special because of the bark. All trees have to shed or stretch their bark to grow, but the sycamore’s bark is rigid and it can’t stretch. So it splits open and that’s what gives the tree its mottled appearance.”

“What’s mottled?” Dougie asked.

“Different colors. Want to go look up close?”

Shiloh hadn’t known what kind of tree that was and frankly hadn’t cared. But now she trooped along, and more surprisingly, so did her brother, who suddenly seemed interested.

Isaiah lifted a yellowed leaf off the ground beneath the sycamore and gave it to Dougie, talking about the shape, using his hand to explain what palmate meant. “Squirrels like these trees because the branches twist and turn, and that helps them feel safer from predators. Without the leaves you can see the branches better.” He pointed up.

“How do you know so much?” Shiloh asked.

“I spend a lot of time outdoors when I can. Trees interest me.” He inclined his head. “What interests you?”

“A roof over our heads?”

“What else? When you aren’t worrying, which is rare, I know, but what interests you both that has nothing to do with your situation?”

The question was so direct and so, well, interesting, that she couldn’t tell him to shove off. He seemed to really care about her answer.

“I like to run,” Dougie said. “As fast as I can, and I’m fast. I really, really am.”

“I just bet. Do you like sports?”

“He wouldn’t know,” Shiloh said. “Running’s free, and you can do it anywhere.”

“So you can. And it’s good practice for everything else, too.”

“If bad guys come, I can get away,” Dougie said.

Isaiah looked sadder, but he nodded. “Well, I was thinking more of baseball and football. That kind of thing.”

“I like to fish. My dad fishes, and he used to take me with him when I was really little.”

Isaiah nodded again, as if Dougie’s words were somehow profound. “And you, Shiloh?”

The question should have been easy, but it wasn’t. She had packed away everything that interested her, like the boxes from their home that went into a storage unit until they couldn’t afford to pay the rent anymore. Now all those things were probably gone forever, her childhood toys, the quilts her grandmother had made. Gone. And with them anything she had once liked to do.

She could see he understood that she wasn’t just being stubborn. She had given up being interested in anything other than survival.

“I think you like to read,” he said.

“Shiloh gets magazines out of the recycling,” Dougie said. “For her and for me.”

“That’s the best kind of recycling,” Isaiah said. “What magazines do you like?”

“Whatever.”

“Everything, in other words.”

“I guess. I like news. It makes me feel better.”

“Because you realize things could be worse?”

She nodded, just a little. She was surprised how much he understood. “I hate People magazine. Those kinds of magazines, you know? Those people have no idea how good they have it, and they’re always whining.”

“You don’t like whining.”

“If I say yes, I’ll be whining.”

He laughed, a deep laugh like his voice, and she knew it was genuine. She liked Isaiah Colburn, although of course, he was a stranger and that meant he was still suspect.

“Why are you here?” she asked. “Are you here to volunteer or something?”

“No, I came to see Reverend Wagner.”

“She won’t be here today. It’s her day off. I have her cell phone number, though. She gave it to me and told me to call anytime.”

“Then she thinks you’re special.”

“She would be wrong about that.”

“Probably not. But you’ve saved me from going inside. I’ll come back another day.”

“Are you her friend? Or do you need counseling or something?”

He took a moment to answer. His expression changed as he seemed to sink somewhere deep inside him. “Both,” he said at last.

“Nobody calls her Reverend Wagner. At least nobody I would like. She’s Reverend Ana.”

“I’ll remember that.”

“I guess she’s a good friend to have. She’s been nice to us.”

“She would be.” He said goodbye and did a fist bump with Dougie, then he extended his hand to her once more.

“Think about school,” he said. “Whether you like it or not, it’s the only way out, Shiloh. And deep inside you’re too smart not to see that.”

They shook. Then he lifted that hand in goodbye and started back to the parking lot.

“I like him. He’s nice,” Dougie said.

“I guess.” Shiloh considered, then said it again with a little more enthusiasm.

“You don’t like most people.”

She wondered when that had become true. Maybe she had packed that box away and it, too, was at the county dump.

That seemed sadder than almost anything else that had happened to them so far.

chapter eleven

WHILE ANALIESE HAD inherited most of her staff, she liked to think they had stayed on because they enjoyed working with her. A few had left town or retired over the years, but the present staff was congenial and loyal, necessary traits to run the church successfully. Even Myra, the church administrator, who looked as fierce as a lion, was more or less a pussycat.

On Tuesday morning Myra was more lion, however, as she dropped half a dozen messages on Analiese’s desk. “Betsy would choose yesterday to start her vacation.”

Betsy was the church secretary. The rest of the staff was filling in for her and, among other tasks, taking turns answering phones.

“I’m that popular, huh?” Analiese just stared at the little pile and guessed it would accumulate as the day moved forward. “Anything I need to know about right this minute?”

“Georgia Ferguson is dropping by around noon with wedding plans, and Ethan Martin wants to know if you’d like to have lunch.”

“Thumbs-up to Georgia. And the rest?” Analiese gestured to the messages. The moment everyone arrived she had held a quick staff meeting and explained all the details of what had transpired over the weekend. Everyone was now up to speed and manning the defenses.

“Two who want to help with the Fowler family, two who don’t sound helpful.”

“So no messages from a man named Isaiah Colburn?”

Myra shook her head. Analiese wasn’t surprised. “Well, if he does call, no matter what, put him right through or get a return number, okay?” She glanced at her calendar. “Would you mind calling Ethan? I’ll be free about twelve thirty, but we need to go somewhere close by.”

“Only because your day is going to be worse than mine.” Myra closed the door behind her.

Analiese rested her face in her hands. She’d spent most of the previous day trying to find help for the Fowlers. Not one of her contacts had been able to make a suggestion for housing that didn’t involve a long waiting list. Some of the other services required that the Fowlers be Asheville residents, which was, of course, impossible if they couldn’t find housing. Most residence requirements were longer than the two weeks the Fowlers would be living upstairs.

“I’m like a dog chasing my tail.” Allowing herself one self-pitying sigh she picked up the telephone, the telephone directory and the stack of messages, and got to work.

Hours later when someone knocked, she was on her feet bending over in a yoga posture that Taylor, who owned a health and fitness studio, had taught her. She was hoping to get the kink out of her back and the phone conversations out of her head. Before she could answer Georgia opened the door.

“I have Starbucks.” Georgia held up two paper cups. “Earl Grey latte, the way you like it.”

“You are a saint.” Analiese straightened and smiled as her friend came in. Georgia was a decade older than she was, trim and attractive, with cinnamon-colored hair that fell nearly to her shoulders and perceptive brown eyes. She wasn’t vain, but she took care of herself and, like Analiese, her own latte probably sported nonfat milk.

“How was your holiday?” Georgia asked.

Analiese motioned her toward two armchairs in the corner with an end table between them and tried to remember how Thanksgiving had gone. It seemed like years ago.

“Ethan and Taylor invited me to spend it with them, but I ended up eating dinner with one church family and dessert with another. I think I was supposed to keep their extended families from killing each other.”

“I hope you’re kidding.”

Analiese made a face. “My presence only cut down on the mayhem.”

“Lucas’s family argues all the time. Nothing’s kept hidden, that’s for sure. But they adore each other.”

“You had a good time?”

“Wonderful. And I met my father. Charles Wentworth, known as Charlie.”

“Georgia!” Analiese knew how important this was to her friend. Until recently Georgia hadn’t known anything about her biological parents. As an infant she had been abandoned in a hospital, and only recently had a maternal aunt from South Carolina discovered her existence and tracked her to Asheville. The aunt had promised to introduce Georgia to her father, who had also been in the dark, once she felt ready.

Georgia was smiling. “I’ll tell you more when we both have time. But he and his wife came to the Ramseys’ house to meet me on Friday. He’s wonderful, and she was friendly and welcoming. I look like him, Ana, and like their other children. Three sons, all educators like me, and Charlie publishes textbooks. Lucas and I are going to spend part of Christmas vacation in Columbia so I can meet the whole gang.”

“Well, that makes my day.” Analiese knew a happy ending when she heard one, although lately she was more acquainted with the other kind.

“A long time ago I gave up hope I’d find anybody. And suddenly I have an aunt, a father and brothers.”

Analiese reached over to squeeze her friend’s hand. “I’m so glad for all of you. Will they be at the wedding?”

“That will be up to them. And the wedding’s why I’m here.” Georgia reached inside a voluminous purse and pulled out a folder. “I’ve got to get back to school, but Lucas and I chose a few readings from the ones you gave us. I circled the ones we like. Now we’re working on our vows.”

“There’s no hurry. As long as you figure them out by your wedding day.”

Georgia got to her feet. “As far as I’m concerned we’ve already cinched this thing. We’re building a house together, sharing my condo while we wait. Edna already calls Lucas Grandpa because he gets such a kick out of it.”

“Weddings are celebrations of love.” Analiese paused, and her own came to mind. “Except when they’re not.”

“My first one had a justice of the peace, a discount store bouquet and a night in a cheap motel before Samuel was shipped off to Jordan on a peacekeeping mission.”

“This will be different.”

“I wouldn’t trade that one, though. He was a wonderful man, and before he died he gave me a wonderful daughter.”

Samantha, the wonderful daughter and a goddess, too, worked in a health clinic, and abruptly Analiese wondered why she hadn’t thought about Samantha before. She might have resources Analiese hadn’t considered.

She put a hand on Georgia’s arm to hold her in place before she started toward the door. “I have a story, a quick one. Do you have a moment to listen?”

Georgia glanced at her watch before she nodded. Analiese filled her in on the Fowlers and everything that had happened that weekend. Then she told her how little help she’d found.

“I think I need to call on the goddesses this time, starting with you. Shiloh, who’s fourteen, is exceptionally bright. She says she was in gifted classes in Ohio, but her education has been virtually nonexistent since they took to the road. Now she doesn’t want to go to school at all. Is there any chance you could take her at Because?”

B.C.A.S., the Buncombe County Alternative School, was always called “Because,” and the school’s motto, emblazoned everywhere, was Because You Can. Because You Will.

“We have homeless kids, that’s not a problem. But Shiloh has to be referred by a teacher or a counselor from another school where she’s not thriving. I can’t take her without that.”

Analiese toyed with asking the headmaster at Covenant Academy next door to make the referral, but Georgia read her mind.

“A public school referral,” she added. “The minute I get one, I’ll make finding a place for her a priority.”

“I don’t know how I’m going to get her to school in the first place.”

Georgia glanced at her watch again and this time started toward the door. “How did this become your problem? Seems to me you already have enough on your plate. It’s a big church with lots of resources. Don’t you need a committee to look into this?”

Analiese walked with her. “I’ll get help, but sometimes it takes more time to bring people up to speed than to take the first steps myself.”

“What’s the closest school?”

Analiese made an educated guess, and Georgia nodded.

“I can call the principal and ask him to find somebody on staff to reach out to Shiloh. And I can tell him we’ll take her with a referral, if need be.”

“That would be great.

Georgia gazed at Analiese for a moment before she spoke. “You know, you’re the goddess who’s always there for everybody else. Just don’t forget we can be here for you, too, and I’m not talking about helping with referrals. If you need to talk, any of us will listen.”

Analiese smiled as if she agreed. Georgia would understand about loneliness, of course. After her husband’s death she had raised her daughter alone, and nothing had ever been easy for her. But now that she’d found Lucas, who loved her the way she deserved to be loved, she glowed. Analiese had no desire to take the shine off Georgia’s happiness with her own problems.

“I’m fine,” she said as she squeezed Georgia’s hand in goodbye. “It’s just been a long few days.”

“Can you take an afternoon and go up to the Goddess House? Spend a quiet night in the country? Do some time on your favorite rock?”

The Goddess House was the perfect place to recharge. Analiese had briefly toyed with asking the others if the Fowlers could move in, but the area was so isolated that Man would never find a job. He needed to work, and Belle needed to be close to medical care, so she’d had to discard the idea.

Her rock, just down the road from the house and up a mountainside, was the gateway to a sublime view. Analiese had discovered the trail at the end of summer, and it was now her favorite place to sit, think and pray.

“I’ll drive up as soon as I can get away,” she promised. Of course she didn’t see a time like that in the foreseeable future.

“Time doesn’t free up on its own, Ana,” Georgia said. “Make yourself a priority for a change, okay?”

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