He would deal with all that and more, because it was necessary, and because it was the price he had to pay to claim Angie. Or to try to claim her; there was always the possibility that she didn’t want him.

Except that she had kissed him back, and meant it.

He said, “Yes, I’m sure.” And he was overwhelmed, just that simply, with relief.

Kai turned to look at him. “What happened to change your mind?”

He could have told her the whole story. Most probably he would tell her, one day, but as the redbrick wall of the retreat house came into view, a simpler answer came to mind.

“Something a man on a plane said to me,” John said. “And Angie. Angie happened.”

THIRTEEN

If you can get Miss Zula to open up and tell you about how she bases her characters on people here in Ogilvie, you can be sure we would all love to hear about that. To tell you the truth, I think most folks in this town only read her work because they are looking for themselves. For example, I am sure she based Daddy Sam in her second novel on Emmet Preston, but I have never got up the nerve to ask her.

Your name: Please don’t be offended if I don’t sign my name. This is a small town.

I took organ lessons from Miss Zula’s daddy from the time I was five years old until the day Brother Bragg died. I was ten years old when our Lord sent down His band of angels to pick up Martin Bragg to be the leader of His choir in Heaven. There must have been two hundred people at his funeral, come from as far as Atlanta and Tallahassee. Sister Bragg looked like a marble statue sitting there in the front pew, but the three children wept so. Brother Bragg was much loved by all the congregation, for his kindness and generosity and for his music. I know that he will spend eternity playing and singing His holy praise. I look forward to shaking his hand on the other side, someday soon.

Your name: Alvin Lee Downs. My mama played the organ at Mount Olive AME after Brother Bragg passed on, and I took her place when Mama was called to Heaven thirty-seven years ago this March.

On the long drive back from the retreat house John slept like a man suddenly and unexpectedly relieved of a burden, deeply and without dreams. When they pulled up in front of the Lee Street house, he woke disoriented but not unhappy. He couldn’t even claim to feel guilty, though he figured he should; he was about to cause considerable pain and discomfort to people he cared about. Had probably already caused such pain. His general lightheartedness, he told himself, had less to do with Angie than it did with the fact that marrying Caroline would have been a mistake.