There was a winding sidewalk that led from the street corner back to the main entrance, paved in the same Virginia bluestone that the church itself was made of. On the lawn beside the sidewalk a man was stacking more of the flat stones into some kind of shapeless mound.

“People seem to work late around here,” Nick said.

“Not much else to do.” The man turned and tipped his head down, sliding his small spectacles down his nose and staring over the top at Nick. “I don’t believe I know you. I’m Gunner Wendorf—I’m the pastor here.”

“Nick Polchak,” he said, extending his hand. “Gunner—that’s an unusual name.”

“It’s Günther, actually, but the folks around here aren’t particularly good with glottal stops and guttural r’s, so it just became Gunner.” He gestured to his stone creation. “What do you think?”

“I’m not sure. What is it?”

“It’s supposed to look like the Pool of Bethesda.”

“Never been there.”

The man shrugged and tossed the stone aside. “Me neither. I could use a cup of coffee and a stale donut—you interested?”

“Sure.”

“Follow me.”

Nick followed the man into the church and down the main aisle of the sanctuary to his office at the front. The office was small and cramped and the walls were crowded with bookshelves from corner to corner and from ceiling to floor, giving the room the slight musty smell of an old library. There was paper everywhere, and the desk was piled high too. Nick immediately liked the office—it reminded him a lot of his own.

“Take a seat if you can find one,” the man said. “I’ll see what I can scrounge up in the kitchen.”

Nick browsed the bookshelves instead. The books were organized into main subject categories, with little handwritten labels like “Systematic Theology,” “Cultural Apologetics,” “Grammars and Lexicons,” and “Reformation History.” There was a section reserved for “Classics,” and another devoted to Luther alone. Nick liked the man already; if his mind was anything like his library, he was a man worth getting to know.

“You’re like me,” the man said, returning with two mugs and a plate with two donuts balanced on top. “You head straight for the books.”

“I like to see what people read—it tells me a lot about them.”

“I’m the same way. Here, take your pick—they’re both as hard as rocks. Sorry, that’s all that’s left from Sunday school. Never stand between a Christian and a donut.”

Nick slid a thick volume from the shelf and opened it. “Now this is interesting—a geology textbook. In fact, you’ve got a whole section devoted to geology. Hobby?”

“It was my undergraduate major. Thought I might work for the U.S. Geological Survey, but I found something better.”