“Good.” He turned toward the door and then suddenly changed direction and came across the room in four long strides. He put one hand on the door over her head and leaned down and kissed her, short but sweet and thorough, a kiss that said the things she needed to know. She heard herself let out a shuddering sigh of relief.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. “It’s nothing about you. Nothing bad about us. I don’t want you to worry. I’m trying, Angie, I’m really trying. I don’t want to screw this up.”

Angie nodded. “Good.” This time she managed a smile. “Good.”

As president of the university, Karl Bray lived in the small mansion on campus that Captain Joshua Ogilvie had built in 1820 when he first settled the town and gave it his name. Karl was an excellent administrator and a nice enough man, but he was also a native of Vermont, an art historian, and an unapologetic atheist, so it was no surprise to John that after fifteen years in town, Karl had never really become part of the community.

And still Karl should have known enough about how Ogilvie worked and the old quarrels not to seat Zula Bragg next to Button Preston Ogilvie. They both had to be included, that much was clear—Button’s husband, Harmond, was the chair of the board of regents, and she herself was an alumna.

John sat across the table from the two elderly women who so studiously ignored each other. Miss Zula was as reticent as ever, answering politely whenever one of the guests addressed her but never allowing a conversation to go very long. The fact that the people around this table would each be contributing tens of thousands of dollars to the university impressed her not at all. Button, on the other hand, never stopped talking. She had gotten onto the subject of the town’s history and genealogy, the worst possible place to go when she was sitting next to Zula Bragg.

“Your husband and son are the last direct descendants of the original Joshua Ogilvie, the man who built this house, is that right?” This from a middle-aged alumna who was president of a small bank in Atlanta.

“That’s right,” Button said. “Most of the Ogilvies in town are descended from John Ogilvie, Joshua’s younger brother? Dr. Grant’s mother is an Ogilvie of that line.” She shot him a patronizing smile, which John pretended not to see.