“Forgive me, Father.” She composed her features into a pantomime mask of contrition.

“Of course, little one. I can forgive you anything. But don’t think you won’t be called upon to do your penance someday.”

Before she could respond, the unmistakable squeak of sneakers on hardwood sounded outside the door. Another louder squeak followed that one and then the shrieking giggles of children.

“Duty calls.” Søren rose from the bench.

Nora walked with him down the aisles and into the hall outside the sanctuary. They followed the sound of the children from the church to the annex that housed the fellowship hall and the church kitchen. Søren led her into the fellowship hall that was part gymnasium, part reception area, and before her was a scene of animal chaos. Her mental description proved even more apt as a boy dressed as a sheep careened by them.

“What on earth?” Nora asked as they found a quiet place near the kitchen.

“The children are practicing for Sunday’s Passion play,” Søren explained.

Everywhere children ran to parents, from parents, sometimes through parents. As Søren’s presence became known, however, the din quieted and order began to reassert itself. She had always admired that about Søren. He let his presence speak far more often than his words.

Nora’s eyes stopped on a woman who looked vaguely familiar. As her features came into better focus, Nora placed a name to the face—Nancy James, one of her favorite mothers here. Sometimes it was hard for Nora to imagine that it was only five years ago that she still attended this church, babysat these kids, chatted with these parents. Nora was finally able to catch her eye and smile. It took Nancy a moment but then she returned the smile with full recognition. Five years…it felt like just yesterday, it felt like a million years ago.

“Did they know about us?” Nora inclined her head toward a group of parents. She kept her voice unnecessarily low. With all the children she could have screamed the question at Søren without fear.

“I am still a priest. I believe it is safe to assume they either never suspected or they never cared.”

Nora laughed coldly. “Ex-con Elle Schreiber and the sainted Father Stearns? Of course they never suspected.”

“Eleanor, they never thought as ill of you as you believed. When you come back, you will be welcomed with open arms.”

“I’m not coming back.”

A faint smile played at the corner of Søren’s exquisite lips.

“And yet you are here.”

Nora started to argue, but she caught a glimpse of mirror-pale eyes across the room and froze.

“Michael…” she breathed.

“Yes, he’s helping with the Passion play this year. He’s quite good with the children. Around them he can relax, which is difficult for him in other situations.”

At the moment Michael looked anything but relaxed. His long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail but she could see frustrated strands loose about his face. Children bustled around him frantically. He straightened haloes, retied wings, wrestled the little angels… A shepherd nearly plowed into him and he laughed and slid out of the way.