You must understand how much things have changed in Ogilvie if you truly want to tell Miss Zula’s story. For example, when she was coming up in the forties and fifties, political, social, and racial distinctions were sacrosanct. At the First Baptist Church (and the First Baptist congregation was far more powerful and bigger than the Episcopalians) Pastor Tate was a great adherent of Leviticus (“Both thy bondmen and thy bondmaids shall be of the heathen that are round about you …. And ye shall take them as an inheritance for your children after you, to inherit them for a possession; they shall be your bondmen for ever.”). For Pastor Tate and his parishioners, the idea of equal rights for blacks was truly nonsensical and offensive, and one more thing: he would be outraged if he knew about the way the Catholic congregation has grown and prospered in Ogilvie. I know this, because he was my grandfather and he turned his back on my father because he came back from WWII with an Italian Catholic wife.

Your name: Dab Tate. I’m a partner in the same physicians’ group as Marilee Bragg.

A program,” Tony said, running a thumb along his jaw. “There is a full-color, printed program for Ogilvie’s Fourth of July Jubilee.”

He was holding it at arm’s distance, squinting to read down columns printed in blue and red on white. “Fifty people have been working on this for six months,” he informed Angie and Rivera, the unlit cigarette in the corner of his mouth jiggling. “Starts at eight with a five-K run/walk that snakes all over town and campus, ends up—oh, this is good—at the Kiwanis Pancake Breakfast. They’ve got a tent in the park. I could use some pancakes, should we start there?” Without waiting for an answer he flipped the page and kept reading. “Sack races, tug-of-war, water-balloon toss, logrolling on the river, a band concert, a gospel choir, an orator’s corner, a softball game, oh, a chili cook-off and”—he glanced at his watch—“there’s a pig roast. The barbecue pits have been going for two hours already.”

“We get the idea,” Rivera said. She handed Angie a camera lens.

“But wait, I haven’t got to the best part,” Tony said. “A parade before the auction. And you’re in it.”

Angie looked up from the open camera bags. “Come again?”

“Everybody with a basket for the supper auction walks in the parade. To show off the goods first, I guess, before the bidding starts.” He grinned at them. “I’m almost sorry I don’t have a basket myself.”