I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Just for fun, huh?”

Micah shrugs, and I hear Mrs. Sanderson clear her throat. “Meg! I was hoping I could talk to you for a minute.” My heart sinks in my chest, but Micah reaches out for my hand and squeezes it.

“Up to you.”

“Don’t go,” I say.

“I won’t.”

I turn to Mrs. Sanderson, who’s dropped her shovel and is crunching over the snowy drifts to address us. “Hi, Mrs. Sanderson. How are you today?”

“I’ve been better,” she says stiffly. “I was wondering if you planned on leading the girls’ small group this evening.”

I swallow. In truth, I hadn’t brought it up to my uncle, but I assumed that didn’t matter. I shake my head. “I haven’t spoken with James about it, so I’m not sure.”

She presses her lips together, clearly not pleased with my answer. “Can you have Pastor James let me know? I want Becca to attend, but not until there is a new, morally sound leader in place.”

Micah inhales sharply. My mouth falls open at her hostility, and the hot sting of tears presses out behind my eyelids. Mrs. Sanderson doesn’t wait for an answer, spinning on her heel and walking back to her house. Micah steps to follow her, and I put an arm to his chest, stopping him. Through the curtains of the house, I see Becca watching us with a sad look on her face.

That’s not going to work.

I take a deep breath, whisper a prayer in my heart, and call after her quietly. She hesitates and faces me again.

I open my mouth and another voice interrupts us.

“Excuse me, I’m sorry. I was passing by and couldn’t help overhearing you insult my daughter.”

My breath catches in my throat at the sound of my mother’s voice. “Mom! What are you doing here?”

“Miss Betty called me. I came as soon as I heard.” My heart soars. She came. My mom heard what happened and she came. She must have driven all night. Before the implications of what this means can settle, she’s marching toward Mrs. Sanderson, a fierce look on her face. “Who gave you the right to judge the morality of an eighteen-year-old volunteer? My daughter loves Jesus so much she sacrifices her time to teach young girls about him, and you are not only spying on her but judging her actions without allowing her the courtesy of defending herself? Not that she needs to. Not to you or anyone else.” My mom’s voice sharpens and cuts through the cold air. “Please enlighten me. Just what did God look like when he came down from heaven and asked you to be his judge and jury?”

Mrs. Sanderson looks flabbergasted, and I’m not much better.

Micah, however, says, “Bravo, Mrs. Hennessey.”