There is a Presbytery set for a General Assembly in Charles Town, to take place in May of next Year. I will of course speak in your Behalf, as regards Acceptance of your Seminary Record and previous Qualification for Ordination. It would be as well, though, were you to form some Connection with a Few of the Elders who will take part in the Presbytery before you meet them more formally in Charles Town—as a man might use both Buttons and Belt to keep his Breeches up.

The Reverend Caldwell’s words still made him smile. But under the humor and the sense of gratitude to Davy Caldwell was a sense of … what? He’d no notion what to call it, this strange flutter in his chest, a not unpleasant hollowness in the belly—anticipation, but worse, as though he were standing on the edge of a precipice, about to jump, without knowing whether he’d soar or crash on the rocks below. He was under no illusions about the rocks. But he had dreams of flying.

… And, while with silent, lifting mind I’ve trod

the high untrespassed sanctity of space,

put out my hand and touched the face of God.

The Reverend had had a yellowed copy of that poem pinned to the huge corkboard in his office for as long as Roger could remember—and for the first time, it now occurred to him that perhaps the Reverend had kept it in memory of Roger’s father, who’d died, like the poet, flying a Spitfire in the war. Or so he’d thought.

He touched his pocket again, with a brief prayer for his father’s soul—wherever it was—and another for the Reverend Caldwell and his kindness.

Bobby Higgins had brought him Caldwell’s letter, having picked it up in Cross Creek, and he’d tucked it in his pocket and gone to do chores, wanting to be alone when he read it, which he did in the company of Clarence the mule and two inquisitive horses.

Roger knew about the Presbytery of Charles Town. He’d written to Caldwell about his prospects of ordination some time ago and had mentioned casually that he and his family would be stopping in Charles Town in a month or so, to return Germain to the bosom of his family. He hadn’t mentioned the need to get their hands on guns for Jamie. He was still trying not to think about that.

He thought maybe he’d walk up to the Meeting House in order to sit and think about the other prospect before him, but that seemed still too public, and instead he crossed the creek at the stepping-stones and turned up the hill behind the house, meaning to climb up to the Green Spring. But Claire’s garden was at hand, and on impulse he opened the gate and, finding no one there, walked in.