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  “Well, Rachel is expecting a baby,” the Reverend pointed out gently. “Maybe the pregnancy is slowing her down a bit.”

  “I suppose so,” Lillian agreed. “Don’t get me wrong. She’s not a bad therapist. I’ve had worse.”

  Ben smiled mildly. He knew his daughter was one of the very best physical therapists to be found in this area. Certainly one of the most patient, if she was able to work with Lillian.

  “I’ll tell her you said that.” He paused, wondering how to work the conversation around to Lillian’s own daughter. “It’s hard to believe Rachel is about to have a baby. Carolyn and I are quite excited about it. But of course, you have a big event coming up in your family, too.”

  “A big event?” Lillian stared at him blankly. The Reverend could have laughed aloud, if the situation wasn’t so serious.

  “Jessica’s wedding,” he prompted her.

  “Oh. That.” She met his gaze, her eyes narrowed with a look that said she now knew exactly why he’d come. “Don’t ask me about Jessica’s wedding. I don’t know a thing about it.” She looked away and dabbed her nose with a tissue. “Frankly, I’m not the least bit interested.”

  “That’s too bad,” Ben said quietly. “A mother and daughter usually take great pleasure in planning a wedding together. I remember the way Carolyn and Rachel carried on for months about every detail.”

  He paused, gauging Lillian’s reaction, wondering how far he could go without getting thrown out of her house. Her mouth was pursed in a tight line, her brow furrowed.

  “I think Jessica would welcome your help right now, Lillian. It’s a very important time for her. She wants you to be part of it.”

  “Part of this ridiculous decision she’s made to ruin her life? To throw herself away on a man who is totally unworthy of her?” Lillian countered sharply. “No, thank you, Reverend. That is a pleasure I can gladly forego.”

  “I know you disapprove of Sam, and I know I can’t change your mind about him. I will say that I do believe, in time, you’ll come to see that you’ve misjudged him.”

  She lifted her chin and looked the Reverend in the eye. “Sam Morgan might be the most virtuous man on God’s green earth, but that still doesn’t make him the right man for my daughter. All her talent and potential will be smothered by the sheer weight of his—his muscle-bound mediocrity.”

  It was hard for Ben to hear Sam insulted with such vehemence and by someone who knew him so little. Ben admired and respected Sam and truly believed that if God had created more like him, the world would be a far better place.

  But he could talk himself blue in the face and never convince Lillian of that. Patience, he told himself. Patience and compassion. This woman is in deep pain, or she wouldn’t be lashing out like this.

  “You’re right, it’s not about Sam at all,” Ben cut in before Lillian could speak again. “It’s about Jessica. This is the man she’s chosen to marry, Lillian. This is the man she loves. Your disapproval will hurt her. It might even break her heart. But I do believe she’ll marry Sam with or without your blessings. No matter how you feel about him, you’re still Jessica’s mother. She needs you.”

  “Nonsense. Jessica appears to be carrying on very well without my help,” Lillian argued. “How hypocritical can I be, Reverend? Advising on flower arrangements and table settings when, in my heart, I feel as if I’m watching her choose to be buried alive? It’s not an easy thing to raise a child, to have plans for her, hopes that she will amount to something. Then sit back and watch her waste her life and all the time and hard work you’ve invested. It’s a bitter cup, Reverend. I think you know what I mean, too,” she said pointedly. “I’m not sure that you, or anyone else for that matter, would deal with this situation in a more sanguine manner.”

  Ben drew his breath in sharply. He hadn’t quite expected Lillian to take a shot at him like that. Everyone in town knew about his son, Mark—the troubled years in high school, and how he’d dropped out of college and had been wandering the country ever since.

  “Yes, it’s a difficult situation,” he acknowledged with hard-won patience. “I can see that. I would never say that it is not.”

  She stared at him a moment, then pulled her sweater tighter around her chest, looking suddenly uncomfortable, maybe even embarrassed by her outburst.

  He sighed and turned to the basket of vegetables, then picked up a large acorn squash. “Here’s a nice one,” he remarked. “How do you like these prepared, Lillian, baked or boiled?”

  “Baked. With a dab of butter and some salt. Boiled is too bland even for my taste,” she added with a short, harsh laugh.

  He returned the squash to the basket and glanced at his watch. “Is there anything I can do for you before I leave? Any chores you need help with today?”

  “No, thank you, Reverend. I’ll walk you to the door,” she offered, and he noticed that she looked relieved to see him going. He wondered if anything he had said would penetrate. Or would his words run off like raindrops striking a stone?

  Following her through the shadowy rooms, Ben felt deflated and ineffectual, as if he hadn’t really gotten his point across. But she was so very adept at deflecting him. What else could he say?

  When they reached the front door, he turned to her. “I hope I didn’t upset you with our talk. But you really should take some time and think about what you’re doing, Lillian. Think about the consequences,” he quietly implored her.

  He tried to catch her gaze, but she blinked and looked away. Still, he persisted. “Is your disapproval of this marriage really worth alienating Jessica and maybe even Emily as well? You don’t have to answer me. But just consider it. Because that is what the outcome will be. I’m almost certain of it.”

  Lillian took a stiff step back with the aid of her cane and stared up at him, her face looking gray and hollow, he thought.

  “You make it sound as if the situation were entirely in my hands, Reverend, when in fact, the choice is Jessica’s. She’s the one who has rejected me by agreeing to this marriage. She needs to come to her senses. That’s the way I see it.”

  Ben gazed at her thoughtfully. She had dug into her position and would not give an inch. Not today anyway.

  “Good night, Reverend. Thank you for the vegetables,” Lillian added, pulling open the front door.

  “Good night, Lillian.” He nodded briefly as he left, pulling on his flat cap.

  The heavy door closed behind him with a solid, final sound, and the Reverend stood for a moment on the front porch, buttoning his coat.

  She was really impossible. He shook his head in frustration, feeling his temper rise as he walked down to his car. Seated behind the wheel, he caught himself and took a breath. He had not expected much of the meeting, yet he felt ashamed, as if he had lost some sort of important tactical battle.

  That’s your ego talking, Ben, your pride. He started the car and pulled away from the curb. Patience, he reminded himself. Isn’t that what you advised Jessica and Sam?

  A verse from Second Timothy came to mind: “And the servant of the Lord must not strive; but be gentle unto all men, apt to teach, patient.”

  Yes, gentle, generous, patient—and above all, trust in the Lord, “and he shall bring it to pass.”

  MAYBE IT WAS THE FEELING OF COMING IN FROM THE COLD, THE FIRST TIME so far this season. Or perhaps his visit to Lillian Warwick had taken more of a toll on him than he had expected. Ben approached the rectory—a cozy, cottage-like Cape—feeling keenly grateful to be home. The softly glowing lamplight, the sound of classical music, and the scent of Carolyn’s good cooking cheered him instantly as he placed his jacket and cap on the coatrack in the foyer.

  “Ben, is that you, dear?” Carolyn called from the kitchen.

  “I’m sorry I’m late.” He picked up the newspaper and his mail and walked toward the back of the house. “I should have called, but I got bogged down a bit at Lillian Warwick’s.”

  He walked up behind Carolyn, who stood at the stove, and kiss
ed her on the cheek.

  “Was she feeling ill?” Carolyn asked.

  “No, nothing like that.” Ben picked up a piece of raw carrot from the cutting board and popped it into his mouth.

  “What’s for dinner?” he mumbled as he chewed.

  “Pot roast.” Carolyn laughed when she saw his expression light up. “It seemed cold enough out today to enjoy it.”

  “Absolutely. Perfect weather for a pot roast.”

  “So, you spoke to Lillian about Jessica’s wedding?”

  Ben glanced at her. “You heard me tell Sam and Jessica I would, didn’t you?”

  She nodded. “Yes, at the party.”

  Although his conversations with parishioners were in the strictest confidence, it was hard to keep everything secret from Carolyn. She was, after all, his wife and totally discreet.

  “So, how did it go?”

  “Not well, I’m afraid. The honest truth is, I got pretty frustrated with her,” Ben confessed. He felt disturbed again but forced himself to shake it off. “She’s difficult. I’m not sure anything I said got through.”

  Carolyn cast him a sympathetic glance. “Perhaps something stuck. You never know. You tried your best, I’m sure.”

  “Yes, that I did.” Ben took off his glasses, cleaned them with a paper napkin, then put them back on. “Luckily it’s at least two months until the wedding. Plenty of time for her to give ground—and for me to pray for God’s help.”

  Carolyn caught his gaze with a worried frown. “That bad, huh?” She shook her head. “Rachel rarely mentions Lillian, but I’m sure she’s not an easy patient.”

  “Lillian was walking quite well today. I think Rachel has helped her a lot. Though she did complain that Rachel missed their session today because of a cold. Is Rachel sick?”

  “Nothing serious. Just a bad case of the sniffles.” Carolyn checked something boiling in a pot and put the cover back on. “I am afraid that she’s run-down, though, working too hard. I wish she would cut back her hours. But she said they need the money.”

  “What does the doctor say? Does he think she should stop working?” Ben asked.

  “The doctor says she’s fine. But these days they want all the women out there working until they practically deliver at their desks,” Carolyn complained.

  “Yes, it was different when you had our children,” Ben agreed. “But don’t worry. Rachel has good sense.” He patted his wife on the shoulder and helped her set out the silverware and napkins.

  “Oh, she does. I don’t think she’ll risk hurting the baby. But I can’t help worrying anyway,” Carolyn added with a shrug.

  “Let’s see.” He counted on his fingers. “Four months left to go. She’s just about halfway through. It’s going by quickly, don’t you think?”

  “Not quick enough for me. I wish the baby could be born tomorrow. Though I do have a few more things to buy,” she said with a smile. She turned to the stove and spooned the noodles into a serving bowl. “Rachel would be so happy if Mark could come back when the baby was born. Or at least for the baptism.”

  “Yes, I know she would.” Ben sighed and sat back in his seat. He watched his wife’s smooth, efficient movements, knowing her calm demeanor masked emotions that were anything but. He saw a sorrow in her eyes that appeared whenever they mentioned Mark.

  Carolyn still blamed herself for Mark’s unhappiness and his breach with their family.

  If anyone is to blame for not sensing that Mark needed more, for missing the signals that trouble was brewing, it is me, Ben thought. But I was so busy with the congregation, tending to my flock, that I missed the problems under my own roof.

  “I guess he’s still in Arizona,” Carolyn said, referring to Mark’s last postcard. “Did he ever send a new address or phone number?”

  Ben swallowed hard. Dishonesty of any kind had always been hard for him, even before he became a minister. But it was especially difficult when it came to Carolyn. He had never actually shown her the postcard. Now he knew that he had to tell her the truth.

  “The address . . . the name of the place where he’s staying, rather,” he corrected, “was on the card.” He warily met her gaze. “I just never told you.”

  “Why not?” she asked, suddenly sounding upset.

  “I’m sorry.” Ben took a deep breath. “Mark is staying at a Buddhist ashram.”

  He watched her expression. Her blue eyes grew wide with shock. “A Buddhist ashram? You’ve known this for weeks and you didn’t tell me?”

  “Not quite two weeks,” he offered in his own defense. “I got the card right after the storm, remember?” When she didn’t answer, just stared at him with a tight, angry expression, he told her, “I meant to tell you, Carolyn, and I’m sorry I didn’t. It was wrong of me. I knew it would upset you, and I guess I was just trying to . . . to protect you.”

  “You don’t need to protect me, Ben,” she said angrily. “You need to treat me as an equal not—an invalid. It’s terribly condescending. And hurtful,” she added.

  “Oh, dear, please . . .” He moved toward her, gently catching her shoulders in his large hands. “You know I don’t feel that way about you. You’re more than my equal, Carolyn. You’re superior to me in every way.”

  Carolyn spared him a glance, but he could see she was still upset.

  “I was wrong to keep it from you,” he admitted. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”

  “You’ve said that before,” she pointed out. “But somehow, it keeps happening.”

  The charge was true. The problem was, with Carolyn’s history of depression, Ben often found himself treading a very fine line, keeping things from her that he feared would be too much for her to handle. It wasn’t fair to her, he knew.

  “I know and I have to stop,” he promised again. “To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t only protecting you by not talking about it. . . . I’m at a loss, Carolyn. I don’t understand what Mark is doing or what the good Lord wants me to do.”

  “You think that Mark’s rebelling against you?”

  “It does seem like the ultimate rejection,” Ben said, hearing a trace of bitterness in his own voice. “Or maybe it’s just the latest in a long line of things he’s done to put distance between us.”

  “We can’t assume that’s what he’s doing,” Carolyn said.

  Ben shook his head. “Over the years we’ve seen counselors and therapists and smoothed over the rough edges, but I can’t help feeling that the bitter seed at the heart of it all has never been rooted out.”

  Carolyn rested her hand on his chest. “Mark’s gone through so many changes,” she reminded him. “Maybe this phase will pass quickly, too.”

  Ben sighed and managed a weak smile. “Good point. ‘And this too shall pass,’ ” he agreed. “The Lord moves in strange ways, and we each find our own unique path to the Lord. Maybe this is just part of Mark’s journey back to his faith—and to us.”

  “I just hope he’s not gone too long,” Carolyn said wistfully. “I do miss him so.” She turned to the stove. “Ready for dinner?”

  “Absolutely,” Ben replied as Carolyn took the fragrant platter of meat and vegetables from the oven and set it on the table.

  They joined hands and Ben said a blessing over the food. Many paths to faith, he thought as Carolyn passed the bowl of noodles. That would be a good idea for this week’s sermon. He took out the small notepad he always kept in his breast pocket and jotted it down.

  “Don’t you ever stop?” Carolyn teased him.

  “You knew my hours when you married me,” he reminded her. “And you know my Boss is always watching,” he added with a twinkle in his eye.

  Carolyn just laughed.

  IT WAS UNUSUALLY BUSY AT THE DINER FOR A FRIDAY, SARA THOUGHT. AT five Lucy got ready to leave and Sara was sorry to see her go. They had hardly found time to talk all afternoon.

  “I hope I can get the boys to bed early tonight,” Lucy said, slipping on her jacket. “I have a ton of homework to do. I might hav
e to call you later about my English paper. Did you ever read—oh, what is it called again?” Lucy squinted trying to remember. “Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man?”

  “Only about five times,” Sara replied.

  “Great. You’ll be hearing from me,” Lucy said, looking instantly cheered.

  “No problem.” Sara had turned into a homework hotline the last few weeks, but she didn’t mind. She was amazed at how Lucy managed to keep up with her schedule these days, working at the diner, running her household, caring for her children, and going to classes and doing schoolwork, too. She knew Charlie wasn’t much help around the house, especially now with the election coming up.

  “Charlie is working on his campaign tonight, so you’ll have to close,” Lucy added. “He’s in a tizzy about that debate next week. I think they’ve got him practicing tonight up on stage and are even taking a video so he can see the replay.”

  “Really?” Sara had always known Charlie was serious about running, but this sounded almost professional.

  “Really.” Lucy nodded solemnly, then a mischievous look came into her eyes. “I can’t wait for him to see what he really looks like, yelling his head off at somebody. I think it will be a real eye-opener.”

  Lucy reviewed a few more instructions for the night, then she was off. Sara gathered up all the ketchup bottles to refill.

  When the phone rang a few minutes later, Sara expected it to be Lucy. But it was Emily, calling for a delivery.

  Sara quickly took down the order. “This won’t take long,” she promised. “About fifteen minutes.”

  “Great,” Emily said. “See you later.”

  A few minutes later Sara was walking quickly up Main Street toward the Village Hall. She hoped she would get to visit with Emily for a while. Fortunately, Billy, the relief cook, liked to get out of the kitchen and talk to the customers, and didn’t care if she took her time getting back.

  The Village Hall was quiet and dark, as it usually was when she visited at this hour. But when she approached Emily’s office at the back, it sounded as though a meeting were going on. Sara walked up to the half-open door and knocked.