“I could ask her.”
“When are you going to see her again?” Mike asked in surprise.
“I don’t know, but it wouldn’t hurt me to take on a new friend.”
“I doubt Muriel Miller owns a tennis racket or a pair of running shoes.”
“Are you telling me not to see her?”
“Of course not. It just seems odd.”
“No more than you taking Sam’s case.”
“But—” Mike stopped. “Anyway, I ran into Braxton Hodges at Brooks and asked him to see what he can find out about some of the issues.”
“His wife was at the country club this morning. She has a regular doubles game on Thursday.”
“It’s Thursday?” Mike asked.
“All day.”
Mike let out a groan. “And I haven’t started my sermon. The Miller case has thrown off my whole routine.”
“That’s not supposed to happen until after the baby is born.”
“Well, I’m practicing. I wanted to relax tonight, but I’d better get to work after supper. I’m not even sure what I want to talk about.”
“You’ll think of something.” Peg carried her empty soup and salad bowls to the sink. “That’s the most I’ve eaten all day. My food choices are already changing. You know how much I love apples? I had to force myself to eat one for lunch.”
“I’ve had an unusual food craving, too,” Mike said. “It’s probably a sympathetic reaction.”
“What did you want to eat?”
“Liver mush. I talked about it with Braxton. If you really loved me, you’d fry a couple of patties to go with my grits in the morning.”
Peg threw a wet dishrag at him. Mike caught it with his right hand.
“That’s not a preference; it’s a perversion. But it gives me an idea for your sermon. Preach about the clean and unclean animals.”
Mike shook his head. “No way. That might split the church. We have too many barbecue lovers who would revolt if I condemned them for eating pork.”
Ten
MIKE AWOKE EARLY ON SUNDAY MORNING AND SLIPPED OUT OF bed. Peg was sound asleep and didn’t stir. Putting on a pair of old shoes, he took Judge into the backyard and walked across the wet grass. There was a light fog in the air.
Mike enjoyed early mornings, especially Sunday. He spent time praying while most members of his congregation were still in bed. The ritual helped him feel like the shepherd of his flock, watching over them from a hillside as he asked God to bless them.
He sat on a small cast-iron and wood bench near the edge of the hardwood trees that bordered their lot. In a few weeks, the bench would be surrounded by flowers. Judge left his side and explored the smells in the nearby woods. Mike closed his eyes and ran through the main points of the sermon he’d written on Thursday night. The words had flowed rapidly through his fingers onto the computer screen. He couldn’t deny Sam Miller’s subtle influence on his thinking. Phrases the old man used stuck stubbornly in his mind until he was forced to extract and examine them.
A robin flew to the ground near his feet and plunged its beak into the soil to capture a wiggling worm. The truth, like the worm, didn’t always come in a pretty package, but that didn’t make it any less vital for life.
“YOU LOOK NICE,” MIKE SAID TO PEG AS THEY PULLED OUT OF the driveway. “Glowing might even be a more accurate word. The blue in your dress really sets off your eyes and hair.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I’d kiss your cheek, but that would mess up my lipstick and raise questions at church.”
They saw few cars on the valley road until they neared the church.
“Are you ready for the onslaught of people?” Mike asked. “If the number of phone calls I received is any indication, this pregnancy is being viewed as a church-wide event.”
“I’ll smile sweetly and keep my mouth shut.”
“I’m not trying to squelch you,” Mike began, “It’s just—”
Peg reached over and patted his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll be good.”
THEY PULLED INTO THE CHURCH PARKING LOT. SUNDAY SCHOOL attendance lagged behind the growth in the main worship service. Persuading the congregation to get out of bed and come early to church, even with the temptation of good coffee and fresh donuts, was a challenge.
“I’m going to Nathan Goode’s class this morning,” Peg announced when Mike turned off the car engine.
“Why? What do you have in common with teenagers?”
“Our child will be a teenager someday. If it’s as bad as some people say, I’d better start early.”