In the Bleak Midwinter

He checked the gauge on the heater. “Turned out the army and I made a pretty good match. We went from Vietnam to the Gulf together.” He switched the blower to high and the interior began to warm up. “After I retired,”—no need to go into detail about that phase of his life—“I decided the time was right to finally come home. The old chief was retiring, and they needed someone with experience who wanted to live the quiet life up here in Washington county. It’s a good outfit, eight officers and four part-timers, and I liked they way everyone worked together. My wife, Linda, loved the idea of us finally settling down somewhere other than a big city or busy post”—well, that was half-true, she had wanted him to settle down—“and she likes being so close to my mother and my sister.” Now that was a whopper. But it was the party line, and he stuck to it. “So that’s how I wound up back in my old home town a quarter-century after I left.”

“Does your wife work?”

“Oh, yeah.” He swung into the right-hand lane and turned onto Morningside Drive. The lights from the new Wal-Mart turned the night sodium orange. “She has her own business, making custom curtains. It’s been more successful than either of us imagined.” He slowed, checking out the cars in the parking lot. He didn’t like all-night stores, they were targets for trouble. “She’s getting into mail orders now, says she wants to make up a whole catalogue. It’s great, it’s been really just great.”

“Sounds like she found her vocation. Good for her. It can be hard for some military families to readjust to civilian life. You two have any kids?”

“No,” he said. “What’s your story? You came from Virginia originally?”

“Born and bred in a small town outside of Norfolk,” she said. “My family owns a charter and commercial air business. I had always thought I wanted to be part of it someday, so after college, I joined the army as a helo jock. The military is still the best way to train for a career as a pilot, you know. And the army was putting on a big push to get female recruits into non-traditional fields. I was the only woman in my unit.”

“Must have been tough,” he said. Now that he thought about it, she did seem less like a bible-tosser and more like the type to be dropping arms in an LZ.

“At times, yeah. It was good though.” Taking his eyes off the road for a second, he could see a one-sided smile flash across her face. “But, as it turned out, I had to put my piloting plans aside when I was called to the priesthood. I went back to Virginia to go to seminary, which was really good for my parents.”

Russ didn’t want to get into the murky mystical depths of how someone was “called to the priesthood.” “How’d you wind up here?” he asked.

“I spent a summer as an assistant curate in the Berkshires. I had never been in this part of the country before, and I just fell in love with it. I started looking for a position somewhere in New England, and when St. Alban’s came open, I thought, well, it’s only a half-hour drive from Vermont . . .”

“Ah ha,” Russ said. “So you haven’t experienced a North-country winter yet.” The light at the intersection with Radcliff Street turned red, and he pumped his brakes to avoid skidding on the icy spots.

“Therein lies the rub, as they say. My internship ran from May through September, so I was a little unprepared for six inches of snow before the end of November. I’ve only been here for three weeks, so I’m not exactly acclimated yet. I do have a coat, though. But when I stumbled over the baby, I was on my way out for a run.”

He looked at her again. She was obviously fit, but she wasn’t a big woman, scarcely up to his shoulder standing. “Just because this is a small city and we look like Bedford Falls from It’s a Wonderful Life, don’t be fooled into thinking bad things can’t happen here. They can, and do, so watch where you run if you’re out at night alone.”

She waved a hand, unconcerned. “I can take care of myself,” she said.

“Lemme guess, you know karate, you’re trained in the art of self-defense . . .”

“Nothing formal. But the army made sure I could break somebody’s arm if I needed to.”

The light turned green. He rolled onto Radcliff, causing an ancient Chevy Nova that had been barreling down the street to brake hard in an attempt to get under the thirty-five-mile-an-hour speed limit. “Lemme tell you, Reverend, somebody tries to mug you, they aren’t gonna get close enough for you to break their arm. Every ass—uh, jerk on the streets today’s got a gun. Even up here. They come up outta New York City, just like the drugs do.”

He glanced at her when he made a left turn onto Main. She was studying the peaceful storefronts and frowning, absently rubbing her forearm with one long-fingered hand. “Is that a big problem in Millers Kill? Drugs?” she asked.