“Her father was in the army,” I said, “killed at the Battle of the Bulge, and her mother moved here with Emerald after that. They lived across the river until the big flood drove them away, although I think they stayed in the area: Emerald went to the university here but didn’t live on campus, and there’s no record in the old phone books. Who would know where the family moved?”

Lisa Carmody, the associate pastor, said, “They weren’t part of the church, so I don’t think anyone here could help you.”

I looked at her in astonishment. “How do you know?”

She flushed. “It came up. Someone mentioned it, I think when they saw your flyer. Someone asked Pastor Weld. Our secretary checked.”

She was like an inexpert gambler, covering a mistake by playing card after card on top of the first bad one.

“We weren’t very welcoming to people across the river,” Barbara said, “at least not in those days.”

“You can’t be accountable for how your grandparents behaved in the past,” Joy Helmsley said bracingly. “You were only a child.”

“I was ten. I remember the language,” Barbara said. “I don’t know where Ferring’s family moved after the flood, but there’s an old woman who still lives over there. I got to know her when we were doing joint worship services with St. Silas a few years back—that’s where she worships, St. Silas AME.”

I’d forgotten St. Silas, where Lucinda Ferring’s funeral had taken place. I told Barbara I’d head over there next.

“It’s a small congregation. There may not be anyone in the church office on a weekday,” Barbara said. “But the woman I met is named Nell Albritten. She’s African-American herself, and she knew most of the black families that used to live in North Lawrence or on the old east side. Back when we thought indoor plumbing was a luxury a black schoolteacher didn’t need to have. I think Emigrant Savings was the mortgage lender who tried to make that point.”

“Barbara, there are many forms of ministry, and they don’t all involve beating our breasts over race,” the blazer said. “I’m only a few years younger than you, and my memories of this church and its outreach are very different.”

“They would be, wouldn’t they?” Barbara said. The words were mild, but the delivery sounded perilously close to contempt.

“Ministry is always a balancing act.” The associate pastor hurriedly tried to end the conflict. “We all have to be careful not to think we have the only right answer or the only right understanding of God’s call.”

Barbara pursed up her mouth in an ironic smile. “True enough, Lisa. The teen reading group is arriving in a few minutes. I’m called right now to get the library set up.”