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“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 (#ulink_d6338bd4-a495-5292-82aa-f39e5cd93ae5)
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.
