There was a life-size sculpted replica of Da Vinci’s Last Supper against one side of the barn.

“Been doing this since my wife died in 1978,” Pearson said. “Started the day after she died. Didn’t know what else to do.”

“Gloria?” Rudd asked.

“Yes,” Pearson answered. “Finest woman ever.”

He led Rudd through the barn. There was not much open space, and they had to squeeze between pieces. He explained that he used wire, papier-mâché, modeling clay, and foil, that he had made four hundred and thirty-seven pieces. All were angels, except for Jesus and his disciples. He pointed out the first angel he had made, the pieces that looked like his relatives, the sculptures that were based on famous people. The facial details were crude, but Rudd could identify two presidents, Frank Sinatra, and Henry Aaron. Some wore pieces of real clothing. Several had broken wings or missing details.

“Don’t know whether I should be fixing the old ones or keep making new ones,” Pearson explained. “It ain’t like there are any rules for this.”

“It’s gotten pretty jammed in here, Mr. Pearson,” Addis said. “What are you going to do?”

Pearson bent over and picked up a brown fedora that had fallen off an angel holding a briefcase. He put the hat back on the head.

“Been thinking about the ceiling. Maybe an etching in foil of what they got up there in the Sistine Chapel. My baby girl sent me a good book with all that laid out. But I ain’t figured out how to do it. Can’t get no scaffolding in here and”—he let out a raspy laugh—“my back ain’t so good. But I was thinking, maybe I could cheat a little. Do it in the house—foil on plywood—and then hang it up in here. Think that would work?”

“I think it would be magnificent,” Addis said.

“And you, Miss Rudd?”

She was, Addis could tell, stunned by Pearson’s angels.

“Yes, sure,” she replied.

Pearson tended to one set of wings that was hanging loose from a fireman. Rudd moved next to Addis.

“This is amazing,” she muttered. “All for Gloria?”

“True love,” Addis said. “Can you imagine?”

“Amazing,” she repeated.

Pearson invited them into the house for lemonade, but Addis declined, explaining he had a meeting in Alexandria. Pearson escorted them out of the barn.

“Are any of these … is there one of Gloria?” Rudd asked him.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Pearson said quietly.

Rudd started to apologize for asking, but he held up a hand.

“Nah, nah. Everybody asks. Guess it’s the natural thing to do.”

At the car, Pearson told them to wait a moment. He ran into the house and returned with a camera.

“May I?” he asked Rudd.

“Okay,” she said.

“You can be an inspiration.”

He took the shot without asking her to smile.