In the Bleak Midwinter

Dinner was a lamb stew thick with winter vegetables, garnished with Parmesan. He went through half the loaf of golden-crusted bread sopping up the sauce. “Where’d you learn to cook like this?” he asked between mouthfuls.

“My grandmother Fergusson. We went to live with her and Pawpaw when I was seven. I was a handful. A tomboy in a household of Southern ladies and mad at the world to boot. One day she caught me dropping eggs off the veranda to see what would happen to ’em. She marched me into the kitchen and tied about an acre of apron around me and said, ‘I’m going to teach you to put those eggs to better use, missy.’ ” She smiled. “First thing she taught me to make was meringue. Talk about starting at the top.”

He grinned. “I can just see you. You must have been a cute kid.”

“Lord, no. I was a homely little girl. My sister got the looks.”

He shook his head. “There isn’t such a thing as a homely little girl.” He tore off another hunk of bread. “And I’ve seen pictures of your sister. She was pretty, yeah, but pretty like hundreds of other girls. You,” he dabbed the bread in the air as if sketching her, “you’re . . . memorable. Who you are just shines through your face.” He popped the bread in his mouth and watched, amused, as she blushed bright red. “You’re one fine-looking woman, Reverend.” She clapped her hands over her cheeks. He laughed.

She snorted loudly and jumped up from the table to ladle more stew into her bowl. “I should have you meet my mother. She loooves,” she drawled out the word, “a flatterin’ man.” She turned and batted her eyelashes hard enough to create a breeze. “More stew, Chief?”

He surrendered his bowl. “Yeah. Sounds like you miss your family.”

“Sometimes.” She put his stew in front of him and sat down. “Sometimes I’m glad we have some distance between us. My decision to enter the priesthood, coming on the heels of Grace’s death, was hard for them. It wasn’t what they had wanted for me.”

“You can’t blame them. It’s a lot to give up.” He blew on a spoonful of stew. “All parents want their kids to have the same things they had. Marriage and a family. I know my mom regrets that Linda and I never had any children.”

She leaned back in her chair, her head cocked. “Marriage and a family?”

“You know, giving that up to be a priest.”

She grinned, then quickly covered her smile with her hand. “I think you’re under some misapprehension here. Episcopal priests don’t take a vow of chastity. We can get married, have kids, the whole nine yards.”

“What?” He dropped his spoon into the bowl and stared at her. “But the old priest, the one you replaced, he was there forever and he never—”

“Some priests choose to remain celibate. But it’s just that, a choice. Not an obligation.”

“Huh. If that don’t beat all.” He watched as she devoured a wad of sauce-soaked bread. He felt unsettled and annoyed, as if she had deliberately kept the truth from him. He tried to picture her going out for a night on the town with a man and his mind drew a blank. “You’d think they’d just call you ministers, then, instead of all this priest business and the white collar and all.”

She sighed, pushed her chair back and headed for the living room. “Hang on,” she said. She reemerged a minute later to hand him a large paperback.

“The History and Customs of the Episcopal Church in America,” he read. “Sounds like a real page turner.”

“If I can read up on the Iroquois Nation, you can read up on my church. Now, finish that stew up and you can have some pumpkin roll for dessert.”

He declined dessert on behalf of his waistband, which had a tendency to shrink in the wash when he ate too much. She turned down his offer to help wash the pots and pans, but she did let him load the dishwasher.

“Would you like some coffee?”

“No, I’d better get going. It’s late.” He climbed back into his boots and parka. “Thanks for the dinner.”

“It was my pleasure. Company makes the meal, Grandmother Fergusson used to say.”

He stuck out his hand just as she wrapped her arms around herself. Like an idiot, he shoved his hands into his pockets just as she reached out to shake. Finally, he slapped his hand around hers and pumped her arm like he was at a Rotary Club Meeting. Over the lingering odors of dinner, he could smell her, fresh and green, like new-mown hay in his brother-in-law’s field. “Night, now,” he said, and yanked open the door so hard he could hear the hinges bite into wood. They both looked at the door frame. He turned to her, frowning. “And for God’s sake, lock your doors.”

The squad car was freezing. He cursed the heater, cursed the weather, cursed the drive back to a dark and empty house. Why the hell had Linda gone on this fabric-buying trip anyway? He wanted her home. Only two more days. Then he’d feel better.

CHAPTER 19