From the back, the nave doors eased open and small footsteps echoed up the center aisle. “Mama?” The girl clung to her mother’s skirt. “I’m hungry.”
“I’m sorry, my dear,” Esther’s husband said. “We’d gotten no farther than a block down than the children reminded me of their empty bellies.” The man tipped his hat toward Lydia.
“Mr. Hobart, may I introduce my wife, Mrs. Lydia Lightfoot.”
“How do you do?” he said, bowing to her.
“My, aren’t your children adorable?” Lydia saw life in everything and everyone.
“Shall we dine before the meeting?” Wallace turned to Hamilton. “Please, join us. Our treat.”
“Thank you, but no. I should be getting ready for the service.”
“Indeed, he should.” Lydia stepped forward. “Will you return for the meeting? His testimony is so powerful.”
“We are eager to hear your sermon, Reverend Lightfoot.” Hobart offered his hand.
Esther reached for her daughter’s hand. “I must learn what has happened to my old friend and how he came to follow the Lord.”
“Until then.” Wallace took hold of the boy and started down the center aisle, Esther by his side.
For a moment, Hamilton watched, letting her go, then released himself from Lydia. “Pardon me, my dear.” With his crutch cracking against the stone, he called to Esther, “May I have a word?”
“Of course.” She released the girl’s hand. “Go with Papa. I’ll be along.”
Her husband paused, then with a nod, took his girl’s hand and departed the sanctuary, stepping outside into the late-afternoon sun.
“What is it?” Esther said. “Your wife is lovely. I can tell she adores you.” She lightly touched his arm, then withdrew, anchoring her hand by her side. “As she should.”
“She is my delight, my gift,” Hamilton said. “And... Wallace... I sense a solid kindness in him.”
“Yes, yes, you’ve described him perfectly. Solid and kind.”
“Then we have both done well.” Hamilton offered a curt bow.
“We have, yes.”
He hesitated, glancing over his shoulder to where Lydia waited, giving her a reassuring smile.
“You should go. Your wife awaits, as does my husband. I’m sure the children have reached the end of their tether.” She turned to go.
“Wait, Esther, a final word?” Hamilton moved closer, the echo of his crutch so loud and reverberating in the pitched nave. “Can we sit a moment? I’ll be standing long enough later this evening.”
Esther moved to the nearest pew, and he slid in beside her. “I’ve imagined this day so many times,” he said. “Now that it’s here I don’t know what to say.”
“Whatever is on your heart. We were always honest with each other.”
“Were we?” He angled forward, leaning on his crutch, being for a moment the man he was before he’d lost his leg, before the Lord beckoned, “Come, follow Me.”
“Our youth may have deceived us somewhat.”
“I heard you the day you came to see me. At Quill Farm. The morning your father sent you away.”
“When I stormed into your room, demanding you speak to me?” Esther faced forward, folded her hands on her lap. “I feel rather foolish about it, looking back.”
“As do I. My pride, my kinship with self-pity, prevented me from responding. The moment you departed, I was filled with regret. Aunt Mary helped me hitch Tilly to the cart, and I pursued you.”
She pressed her hand to her heart. “I had no idea, Hamilton. What happened?”
