“Sister Lusk, will you sing for us?” Reverend Tilson said when no one else raised a hand to pray.

Aunt Margaret nodded and took a step forward. Hours spent in her garden had tanned her arms and face. She seemed to have grown stronger with age. She and my father looked less alike now than any time in their lives. But her eyes were my father’s eyes, the same shade of blue. My eyes as well.

She had sung at tent revivals and weddings and funerals since her teen years and had accepted invitations to sing as far away as West Virginia. In 1985 the Smithsonian had recorded her for its folksingers collection. But Aunt Margaret always said singing for family and friends was what meant the most to her.

She looked my way and nodded, her face as open and generous as it had always been. She began to sing.

Shall we gather at the river,
Where bright angel feet have trod,
With its crystal tide forever
Flowing by the throne of God?

Yes, we’ll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river;
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.

On the ridge above me I heard voices. Through the trees I saw Brennon and his crew bringing down their equipment. Herb Kowalsky trailed them. His wife was not with him but a man carrying an oxygen tank and duffel bag was. On the other side Luke no longer sat alone. Carolyn and several others had joined him.

Soon we’ll reach the shining river.
Soon our pilgrimage will cease.

My aunt’s voice echoed off Wolf Cliff. I looked at Ronny and tried to remember the last time I’d seen him without his brother beside him.

Yes, we’ll gather at the river,
The beautiful, the beautiful river;
Gather with the saints at the river
That flows by the throne of God.

“Thank you, Sister Lusk,” Reverend Tilson said, as Brennon’s crew dropped what they’d carried on the shore. Brennon led his men back up the trail to get the rest of the equipment, leaving Kowalsky and the diver behind.

Walter Phillips stepped closer to the trail.

“Mr. Brennon,” Phillips said, but Brennon did not turn around. “We haven’t had our meeting yet, Mr. Brennon,” Phillips said. “Nobody’s going to do anything until I’m positive what happened yesterday can’t happen again.”

Brennon turned. “You heard what Luckadoo said on the phone last night,” he said, and continued up the trail, his men following. Kowalsky and the diver did not join Sheriff Cantrell and Phillips but stayed at the trailhead.

When the gorge grew quiet again, Reverend Tilson opened a tattered Bible bound by black electrician’s tape.

“The word of the Lord,” he said, and began to read.