“Ah, yes!” He sniffed appreciatively a few times, like a wine connoisseur assessing the bouquet of a rare vintage. “You could be right. Help me out of this wretched seat,” he added, as he unfastened the seatbelt again.

I brought the seat back to its upright position and helped him down from the van. Then I turned off the engine, took the keys, locked the van, and scrambled to catch up with Grandfather, who had apparently regained his energy and was striding over to the two chiefs. I hoped he didn’t hit an ice patch on the way.

“I hear you have a skunk problem,” Grandfather said.

“Indeed,” Chief Burke said. “I don’t think you’ve met our new fire chief.”

After a round of introductions, Chief Featherstone held up a piece of headgear that looked like a cross between an astronaut’s helmet and a praying mantis’s head.

“You can put this on to go inside,” he said. “Can someone help Dr. Blake with the air tank?”

“‘Air tank’? Nonsense,” Grandfather boomed. “What do we need that for? I thought there wasn’t a fire.”

“There isn’t, but the skunk smell’s pretty overwhelming,” Chief Burke said. “We thought—”

“Nonsense,” Grandfather said. “I’ve smelled a few skunks in my time. Hasn’t killed me yet. Come on; let’s get inside. It’s damned cold out here.”

With that he began striding toward the front doors of the church.

“I should go with him,” I said to Chief Burke, and took off in Grandfather’s wake.

The two chiefs followed more slowly, probably because they stopped to put on their own helmets and strap oxygen tanks on their backs. Another firefighter followed in their wake with an armload of some kind of gear. The half dozen gleaming white steps leading up to the church slowed Grandfather down and we all stepped together into the vestibule. It was a large entryway decorated from floor to ceiling with evergreens, gold tinsel, and red velvet bows. Along the walls were brightly colored felt appliquéd banners that looked to be the work of the Sunday school classes, each illustrating a different beloved Christmas carol. The contrast between the beautiful Christmas decorations and the overpowering skunk odor would have been funny if I wasn’t having so much trouble breathing.

Even Grandfather halted with a surprised look on his face. Evidently his head cold wasn’t giving him total immunity.

“Where did you say the spraying happened?” he asked.

“In the choir loft.” Chief Featherstone’s voice was muffled by the breathing apparatus. He and Chief Burke looked rather insectoid, and the mechanical sound of their breathing was curiously unnerving, like sharing space with a pair of Darth Vaders.