In eleven years, Rachel had never received a personal letter, at least not through World Tribes.

Neva copied the phone number and address on a notepad, then hid the letter in a drawer. She would send it in a month or so, along with the usual supplies for March.

THEY WORKED for almost an hour cutting two by fours for the next little classroom. The floor was covered with sawdust. Phil had some in his hair. The screech of the saw still rang in their ears. It was time for coffee. They sat on the floor, their backs to the wall, near a portable heater. Phil poured strong latte from a thermos.

“You missed a great sermon yesterday,” he said with a grin.

“Where?”

“What do you mean, where? Here of course.”

“What was the subject?”

“Adultery.”

“For it or against it?”

“Against it, as always.”

“I wouldn't think that'd be much of a problem with your congregation.”

“I give the sermon once a year.”

“Same sermon?”

“Yes, but always fresh.”

“When was the last time one of your members had a problem with adultery?”

“Couple of years ago. One of our younger members thought her husband had another woman in Baltimore. He traveled there once a week on business, and she noticed that he returned home a different person. He had more energy, more enthusiasm for life. This would last for two or three days, then he was his usual cranky self again. She became convinced he had fallen in love.”

“Cut to the chase.”

“He was seeing a chiropractor.”

Phil laughed loudly through his nose, a strange cackle that was infectious and usually funnier than the punch line. When the humor passed, they sipped in unison. Then Phil asked, “In your other life, Nate, did you ever have a problem with adultery?”

“None whatsoever. It wasn't a problem, it was a way of life. I chased anything that walked. Every semiattractive woman was nothing but a potential quickie. I was married, but I never thought that I was committing adultery. It wasn't sin; it was a game. I was a sick puppy, Phil.”

“I shouldn't have asked.”

“No, confession is good for the soul. I'm ashamed of the person I used to be. The women, booze, drugs, bars, fights, divorces, neglected children-I was a mess. I wish I had those days back. But it's important now to remember how far I've come.”

“You have many good years left, Nate.”

“I hope so. I'm just not sure what to do.”

“Be patient. God will lead you.”

“Of course, at the rate we're going, I could have a very long career right here.”

Phil smiled but didn't erupt with a cackle. “Study your Bible, Nate, and pray. God needs people like you.”

“I suppose.”

“Trust me. It took me ten years to find God's will. I ran for a while, then I stopped and listened. Slowly, he led me into the ministry.”

“How old were you?”

“I was thirty-six when I entered the seminary.”

“Were you the oldest one?”

“No. It's not uncommon to see people in their forties in seminary. Happens all the time.”

“How long does it take?”

“Four years.”

“That's worse than law school.”

“It wasn't bad at all. In fact, it was quite enjoyable.”

“Can't say that for law school.”

They worked for another hour, then it was time for lunch. The snow had finally melted, all of it, and there was a crab house down the road in I'llghman that Phil enjoyed. Nate was anxious to buy lunch.

“Nice car,” Phil said as he belted himself in. Sawdust shook from his shoulder onto the spotless leather seat of the Jaguar. Nate couldn't have cared less.

“It's a lawyer's car, leased of course because I couldn't afford to pay cash for it. Eight hundred bucks a month.”

“Sorry.”

“I'd love to unload it and get me a nice little Blazer or something.”

Route 33 narrowed as they left town, and they were soon winding along the bay.

HE WAS IN BED when the phone rang, but not asleep. Sleep was an hour away. It was only ten, but his body was still accustomed to the routine of Walnut Hill, his trip south notwithstanding. And at times he felt some residual fatigue from the dengue.