Ribbon in the Sky

by Dorothy Garlock

Genres: Historical Fiction; American Romance; 20th Century Romance

Synopsis

Love is put to the ultimate test as spritely Letty Pringle is banished by her cruel father to raise her son on a desolate farm in Nebraska in the early 1900's.

Release date: April 12, 2001

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 372

Sample

 

“Don’t ever forget that I love you,” he said in an urgent, husky whisper.

 

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” Letty whispered.

“Working in a logging camp may be the answer, sweetheart. I don’t make enough money to support us. Besides, when we marry, we’ll have to leave here. Your pa would make life miserable for us and for my folks if we stayed.”

“You’re right. Kiss me again.”

Tenderly he threaded his fingers in the hair on each side of her face. He bent his head and reverently kissed her forehead, then her lips. He was filled with indescribable love for her.

“Turn around. I want to make sure there are no leaves or grass on your dress or in your hair. Here’s the ribbon.” Mike pressed the scrap into her hand. “Tie it in the bush if you can meet me.”

“I love you.” Her back was to him. “Don’t forget me . . . ever!”

 



 

“Five Stars!”

—Heartland Critiques

 

“Four and a half hearts—highest rating! An absolutely wonderful, homespun love story. . . . Her books are precious keepsakes, and this is another to add to the collection.”

—Romantic Times

 

“The story is one that covers the range of emotion—love and hate, compassion and ruthlessness. You will laugh with Letty and Mike, and you will cry with them.”

—Rendezvous

 

 

Books by Dorothy Garlock

 

Annie Lash

Dream River

Forever Victoria

A Gentle Giving

Glorious Dawn

Homeplace

Lonesome River

Love and Cherish

Larkspur

Midnight Blue

Nightrose

Restless Wind

Ribbon in the Sky

River of Tomorrow

The Searching Hearts

Sins of Summer

Sweetwater

Tenderness

The Listening Sky

This Loving Land

Wayward Wind

Wild Sweet Wilderness

Wind of Promise

Yesteryear

 

Published by

WARNER BOOKS

 

 

This novel is dedicated

with love to

my daughter,

LINDY,

For her unswerving faith,

and because . . .

        and because . . .

                and because . . .

 

 



 

 

1

It was almost time.

The boy’s eyes, wild and dark, glanced at the sun dying in the west, then anxiously scanned the dirt road that curved around the schoolhouse. The south wind blew softly, stirring the willows where he waited beside the stream. When a limb brushed the black curls that tumbled on his forehead, the hand he lifted to hold it away from his face held a scrap of blue ribbon that fluttered in the breeze.

This morning the ribbon had been tied to the lilac bush.

Mike’s eighteen-year-old heart pounded with dread at the thought of the risk his sweetheart was taking. Her father would beat her—in the name of God, of course—for meeting any boy. Mike hated to think of what he would do to her if he found out she was secretly meeting one of those wicked, idol-worshiping Catholics. Reverend Pringle considered Catholics to be heathens. He was as sure that they were bound for hell as he was that darkness would come at the end of the day.

Mike’s thoughts reached back seven years to the day Reverend Pringle and his family had come to town. Mr. Colson at the dairy had told him to take a complimentary pail of fresh milk to the new preacher. Mike was excited. It was his first day on the job. He ran up the walk to the house and, like a puppy who was all paws, stubbed his toe on the top step and sprawled on the porch at the man’s feet. As the pail flew out of his hand, milk splashed on the Reverend Pringle’s trousers and shiny black shoes. Mike remembered lying there for only a second or two before jumping to his feet. He forgot about his badly bitten tongue and the blood filling his mouth when he looked at the preacher’s stormy countenance. More than anything he wanted to run, but it was impossible because the heavy hand that fell on his shoulder held him in a firm grip.

“What’s your name, boy?” The voice rolled like thunder.

“Mike . . . Dolan, sir. I’m sorry—”

“Who sent you?”

“Mr. Colson . . . at the dairy. He said to welcome you and—”

“Is your pa a member of my church?”

“No, sir. We’re Catholic.”

“One of those! I should have known!” The preacher pushed him so hard he staggered back against the porch rail. “Ah . . . yes. I heard about the wild Dolans as soon as I hit town. Wild and sinful! Drinking, playing cards, and dancing their way to hell.” He gave the milk bucket a kick and it rolled down the steps. “Brother Colson will hear of this. Now get off my porch and stay off.”

“He didn’t mean to spill the milk, Papa.”

For the first time Mike noticed the small girl sitting in the porch swing. She was dressed in white from head to toe. The skirt of her dress was spread out and as she spoke she absently ran her hands along it, smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles. Her white-clad legs were crossed at the ankles, and white-buttoned shoes dangled above the porch. Fat curls the color of his brother’s sorrel horse bounced around her shoulders. A large, flat bow lay across the top of her head and freckles spread a path over her nose. What Mike noticed the most were her eyes: round with fear, looking at her father as if she expected a slap for what she had said.

“Get in the house. I’ll deal with you later.”

The curt words sent the child scurrying off the swing. She slipped around the corner of the wrap-around porch. But before she disappeared she paused and looked at Mike.

“I know you didn’t mean to,” she said with tears in her voice and in her eyes.

Mike was unaware of it at the time; but years later when he thought of how much courage it took for Letty to speak up for him, he was certain it was at that moment he had lost his heart to her.

The screen door was flung open wide. An older, taller girl came out onto the porch to stand beside the preacher. She was also dressed in white. The curls that framed her small, pinched face hung to her waist, but they were skinny and mousy brown. Mike glanced at her before he bolted down the steps. She stuck out a pointed tongue and wiggled it. That nastiness could not go unanswered! Mike stopped short at the bottom of the steps, spread his mouth with his thumbs, poked out his tongue, and crossed his eyes.

“Did ya see that, Papa?” the girl screeched and pointed a finger. “He made a face at me!”

Mike picked up the bucket and ran, sure that he would be fired and never earn enough money to buy his own horse; but Mr. Colson didn’t fire him, and since that time he’d worked after school and during the summer at the dairy. When he finished school last spring, Mike was given a full-time job, but it didn’t pay enough for him to support a wife. Good-paying jobs were scarce in central Nebraska. Two of his brothers had gone west to find work in the logging camps and had urged him to go with them, but the thought of being away from the girl who meant the world to him was too painful for him to even consider it.

With a little groan of anguish, he wished that he could marry Letty and take her away from that crazy old Holy-Roller preacher and her equally fanatic sister. Cora was three years older than Letty and claimed that she had been “called” to preach the Gospel to sinners and save their souls from hell. She and Letty had been trained from childhood to sing duets to inspire the worshipers. When the crowd was sufficiently worked up, Brother Pringle would preach a hellfire and brimstone sermon, haranguing his flock for their sins, moving a chorus of voices to shout, “Amen! Glory hallelujah!” Since Mike had been raised as a Catholic and was used to quiet chants and tinkling bells, this frenzied religious display seemed bizarre to him.

Now, as he sat resting his back against a tree, he mulled over the problems the style of worship had made in his life. Suddenly he saw a flutter of something white. She was coming. His sweetheart was graceful and slender, gentle and soft. His heart leaped at the sight of her. He watched her come along the path as if she were on the way to the privy behind the empty schoolhouse. The hem of her skirt swished about the tops of her high-laced shoes. She had told him that her father thought the newer skirt length of three inches above the ankle to be worldly and immoral. He had even made such immodesty the topic for one of his Wednesday-night sermons and urged his flock to be aware of the sins of the flesh.

Rich auburn hair tied at the nape of Letty’s neck framed a face that was not exceedingly beautiful, but Mike adored every feature and every freckle that dotted her nose. She was his love, his life, and he loved her with every beat of his young heart.

Letty stepped behind the screen of hollyhocks that grew beside the privy. Out of sight of the road she began to run toward him, her feet making no sound on the path.

“Mike! Mike!” She jumped lightly over a fallen log that lay between them and threw herself into his arms. Mike lifted her off her feet, swinging her around.

“Ah . . . sweetheart! I love it when you run to me!” His voice was husky and tender, his lips nuzzled her ear.

The feel of her soft body against his and the sweet-soap scent of her filled his head. It was both wonderful and painful to be in love. Letty filled every corner of his heart.

“Fifteen, almost sixteen and never been kissed by anyone but me,” he teased and kissed her long and hard.

“I’m scared, Mike!” she said when she could get her breath.

“Scared?” He held her away from him and looked down into her worried face. “What is it, honey? What’s scaring you?”

“Papa’s talking about pulling up and going out on a soul-saving revival crusade. He says we’ll be in the war soon. He says President Wilson will drag us into it, and he needs to save as many souls as he can before the troops are sent to fight the Kaiser.”

“Why doesn’t he ask God to keep us out of the war? He claims to be able to talk directly to him.”

Mike’s angry dark eyes met her brown ones without flinching. She knew his opinion of her father. Mike usually managed to keep it to himself but sometimes he just exploded when she talked about her father’s beliefs and his domination of her.

“Your pa says it’ll be his plea to God that’ll get prohibition voted in to make it against the law to buy and sell whiskey in Nebraska.” Mike’s voice was husky with sarcasm.

“Are your folks for prohibition?” she asked after a pause.

“No. My pa and brothers don’t like it at all.”

“And you? Will you be a slave to demon rum like your pa and brother?”

“They take a drink now and then, but they’re not slaves to it,” he said crossly. Then to take the bite out of his words, he shook her gently, then hugged her to him. “Demon rum! That sounds like something your pa would say.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Her lips moved against his neck when she spoke. “The Bible says to honor thy father and thy mother. It’s wicked of me to go against them and sneak out to meet you. But, oh, I love you so!”

“And I love you, darlin’ girl.” He kissed her mouth softly, lovingly, again and again. “I was outside the church last night and heard you and Cora sing.”

“I wish I’d known you were there.”

“And I wish I could take you away from here and take care of you.” He held her tightly, his hands stroking her back with long, slow caresses until she was molded so closely against him that she could scarcely catch her breath for the excitement that beat through her.

“Cora is urging Papa to go on the crusade.”

“I’m not surprised. What does your mother want to do?”

“Oh, Mama will do whatever Papa wants. I think she likes the revival meetings under a brush arbor, sleeping in strangers’ houses, and having them wait on her almost as much as she likes listening to everyone praise Papa.”

“When is he planning to go?” Mike asked, dreading her answer.

“He’s looking for a preacher to take his church. If he can’t find one in the next couple of weeks, he’ll wait and go early in the spring. Oh, Mike, I don’t want to leave you.”

Mike pulled her down on the soft grass beneath the willow.

“I don’t want you to go. We’ll think of something. Right now I just want to be with you and hold you.”

“I could hardly wait for the day to go by. You’re my sweetheart, but you’re also . . . my dearest friend.”

“How were you able to get away this time of day?”

“Papa went out to the Hendersons. I think old Grandpa Henderson is dying. Mama and Cora went to read scriptures to Granny Wilder. She can’t see to read anymore.”

“Granny Wilder’s kids are pretty upset about her plans to leave her house to the preacher. Is that why Cora is being nice to her?” Mike instantly regretted his cynical remark when he saw the flicker of a frown cross Letty’s face.

“I told Mama I was sick so I wouldn’t have to go. I had to stick my finger down my throat and throw up to prove it.”

“It’s been a week since I held you, kissed you.” Mike’s words came out in a sort of trembling sigh.

Letty unbuttoned his shirt and slid her hand inside along muscles that quivered at her touch. “I know. I know.”

“Sweetheart, I love you and . . . want you!” Muttered words tumbled from his lips as he pressed fevered kisses along the soft skin of her throat and the beginning swell of her breast.

She heard his harsh breathing and the hoarsely whispered words. Not daring to open her eyes, she unbuttoned the bodice of her dress. She wanted to lie under his searching lips and forget everything but him. It was wicked how much she loved him. At times she thought she loved him more than God. More than Jesus. He was the only person she had ever been close to, close enough to share her thoughts, her dreams. His lips moved slowly along the side of her neck, then she felt his mouth on her breast, warm and wet, tongue caressing, sucking at her nipple. He groaned a muted, strangled, incoherent sound and began to tremble.

“Tell me to stop!”

Letty’s eyes were soft with love. “I don’t want you to stop. I want to give back to you as much as you’ve given to me.”

“Oh, sweet girl! I don’t want you to give to me. I want you to want me as much as I want you.”

“I do! Oh, I do!”

“But . . . what if you get . . . caught?”

“I didn’t the last time.”

Her arms held him closer, her body strained against his. He covered her face with kisses, releasing his pent-up desire with each touch of his lips. His hand moved under her skirt and between her thighs, stroking the soft inner skin, then moved upward. She gave a muffled, instinctive cry as his fingers found the slit in her drawers and probed gently.

Letty knew perfectly well that what she was doing was a sin. But when she was with Mike, the reality of everything seemed to slip away from her, leaving her in a wonderfully happy world. Her mouth answered his hungrily, feeling the familiar longing in that hidden place between her legs, pressing against him, her breasts tingling as they accepted his caresses. Her excitement mounted. She forgot who she was, where she was, and opened her legs, letting him have his way. Her body writhed and strained upward, aching for what she knew would come with their union.

When Mike entered and filled her, Letty flew off somewhere high and exquisite. She floated along with her feelings, wanting to scream out with the joy of it. How could this be wicked when it felt so good?

“Letty . . .” Her name was a caress on his lips.

She murmured his name as her lips glided over his straight dark brows, short thick eyelashes, cheeks rough with new whiskers, and to his waiting mouth. All of her unspent adoration was lavished upon him now.

When it was over, the tears came because it had been so beautiful.

“My precious girl—” He kissed away the tears, understanding why she cried. He pulled her skirt down over her thighs and legs and cuddled her to him. “Don’t ever forget that I love you,” he said in an urgent, husky whisper.

“Thank you for loving me.”

“We’re going to spend our lives together,” he promised.

“What are we going to do?”

He edged up to lean against the trunk of the willow and pulled her onto his lap.

“Sweetheart, maybe I should go up to Montana and work in the logging camp this winter. By spring I’d have enough money to come get you and take you back with me. Somehow, someway or another, we’ll make it.”

“Oh . . . I don’t think I could bear not to see you all winter. What if Papa finds a preacher to take his church and we leave? How will you find me?”

“I won’t go until I know there’s no chance of that. Honey, I can’t marry you and take you to my folks. Your pa would raise such a stink about you marrying a Catholic that my pa wouldn’t be able to sell a single load of coal to anyone but Catholics, and there’s not very many of them left in town.”

“I know.”

“Our day is coming, sweetheart. We’ve got to be patient a little longer.”

“I’ve loved you for such a long time,” she said in a soft trembling voice. “Do you remember the first time we saw each other? You spilled the milk you were bringing to Papa.”

“How could I forget that? I remember the first time we talked for any length of time. It was the close of the school year. I was fifteen. The upper grades had gone to the river for an all-day picnic. Thank goodness Cora was sick and didn’t go. You were different out from under her watchful eye. I bribed Roy Carroll to exchange places with me so I could sit by you in the wagon. I remember that we played volleyball.” He laughed and raked his knuckles down the side of her face. “When we played blindman’s bluff, I cheated so I could catch you. I thought you were the prettiest, sweetest girl I’d ever seen.” He kissed the end of her nose and whispered, “I still do.”

“There’s plenty of pretty girls in town you could meet without having to sneak around about it. They could go to dances and ballgames with you. I don’t know why you bother with me.” She snuggled her nose into his cheek and kissed the line of his jaw.

“ ’Cause I love you, that’s why. Someday we’ll go to dances and ballgames, and you’ll see they’re not as wicked as your pa says they are. When can you meet me again?”

She slid off his lap. “I don’t know.”

“It would be pure hell to be away from you all winter, sweetheart.” They were standing close, dreading to part. His dark eyes devoured her face. She brushed the black curls from his forehead with trembling fingertips.

“It would be awful,” she whispered. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Working in a logging camp may be the answer, sweetheart. I don’t make enough money at the dairy to support us. Besides, when we marry, we’ll have to leave here. Your pa would make life miserable for us and for my folks if we stayed.”

“You’re right. Kiss me again before I go.”

Tenderly, he threaded his fingers in the hair on each side of her face. He bent his head and reverently kissed her forehead, then her lips. He was filled with indescribable love for her.

“Turn around. I want to be sure there are no leaves or grass on your dress or in your hair. Here’s the ribbon.” He pressed the scrap into her hand. “Tie it on the bush if you can meet me.”

“I love you.” Her back was to him. “Don’t . . . forget me . . . ever!”

“How can you think that?” he whispered in her hair. “Every thought I have is of you. Every plan I make, every dream. I love you.”

Feeling bereft as he always did when she left him, Mike watched her until she was out of sight. Far off down the creek bed a crow sounded its lonely, mocking call as if laughing at human problems. A wagon bumped along the road in front of the schoolhouse. A skinny, forlorn-looking old dog trailed behind it with his head hanging low, his tail between his legs. Mike had seen that dog a hundred times, but today he looked older, more friendless, as if he had been cast out to fend for himself.

An emotion as strong as fear gripped Mike as he watched the dog. It was as though he had a sudden glimpse of a long, solitary future.

 

*   *   *

Much to Cora’s disappointment, Reverend Pringle put off his soul-saving crusade until spring rather than leave his flock without a “shepherd.”

The last week in September Mike left for the logging camps in Montana to look for work. Letty’s world fell apart. She went into such a deep depression that her father was sure the devil was trying to possess her soul. Her mother passed her lack of energy off as “fall complaint” and made her take a double dose of Black Draught and drink sassafras tea until she was running to the outhouse every half-hour or so.

Time passed with terrible slowness. At the end of the second month Letty’s greatest fear was realized. The day beneath the willow she had “caught.” Mike’s baby was growing in her body. Sick with worry and weak because she was plagued with constant nausea, she lost weight and was almost continually in tears. Her mind was in a constant turmoil. She had no one to confide in. Days and nights of worry had frayed her nerves until she thought she couldn’t bear it. She lived in dread of what her father would do when he found out. As far as her parents were concerned, she had committed the ultimate sin.

Guilt played no part in her anxiety. What she had shared with Mike had seemed so right. She prayed constantly that she would hear from him even though she knew he wouldn’t write to her for fear that her father would intercept the letter.

One day she met Mike’s little sister at the store and casually asked if they had heard from Mike.

“No, but Mama got a letter from Duncan. He said Mike didn’t get no job in Montana. Mama thinks maybe Mike went on to Id-d-ho or someplace like that. Ya know what? My goat ate Mrs. McGregor’s hat.” The little girl put her hand over her mouth and giggled. Her dark eyes, shining with mischief, looked so much like Mike’s that Letty quickly turned away before she disgraced herself with tears.

 

*   *   *

On Sunday morning, while listening to her father’s sermon, Letty considered whether she should go to Mike’s mother, explain her condition, and ask for help in finding a place to stay until Mike came back. Almost as soon as the idea formed in her mind, she discarded it. If her father found out, he would see to it that not one member of his church bought coal from Mr. Dolan. Mike had said that with five children still left at home they were having a rough time making ends meet. She couldn’t add to their burden.

Her father’s booming voice brought her back to the present. He was preaching on sin, guilt, and forgiveness.

“Forgiveness is mine, saith the Lord! There is no sin too big for God to forgive, my friends.”

A heavy frown settled on Letty’s face. God would forgive her, but her father wouldn’t. He was the most unforgiving person she had ever known. He still hadn’t forgiven Grandpa Fletcher for not wanting him to marry his only daughter. Grandpa had said the only reason Albert Pringle wanted Mable was because she didn’t have the sense of a nanny goat and she could play the piano. Her mother had told her daughters the story. She had met Albert Pringle when he came to hold a brush-arbor revival meeting in Piedmont, a small town in northwest Nebraska. The Lord had told her to go help the preacher spread the message. She had gone despite her father’s objection. At the time she had been only a year older than Letty and twenty years younger than the man she married. Mable Pringle was very satisfied being the wife of the preacher. She loved being looked up to and envied by the women of the congregation.

“Come home, O sinner, come home!” Reverend Pringle’s voice was rich and full and sweetly pleading. “I say to you, brethren, the last days are upon us. The Lord cometh, and no man knoweth the hour. Repent and be saved!”

Song books and Bibles were laid aside and the people around Letty began to stir.

“It is written that the wages of sin are death.”

Two women went forward to drop on their knees at the long bench in front of the platform. One cried, one buried her face in her hands.

“Come all ye who are weary and heavy laden and He will give you rest. Jesus died on the cross for your sins. He will pardon and cleanse.”

A man from the back of the church went down the middle aisle to the altar. A chorus of voices followed him.

“Amen! Hallelujah!”

Reverend Pringle never ceased his entreating pleas. Tears streamed from his eyes. His lips quivered.

“Have Thine own way, Lord. Thou art the potter; I am the clay.” In an angelic pose, with his profile to the congregation, he lifted his face to the ribbon of sunlight that came from the upper window.

Letty twisted her handkerchief and wondered why she was embarrassed by her father’s tearful display. She had seen and heard the act many, many times. Today, however, it seemed almost obscene.

“Ye who have lived in darkness in this weary world of sin, come home. Come home. Come home. You are doomed, my friends, unless you seek the light. Turn your feet from the paths of sin and set them on the path of righteousness. Ye are but poor pilgrims wandering in a sinful world of woe. Take their hands, dear Lord, and lead them home.”

A shrill scream pierced the air.

“Hallelujah!” the preacher shouted. “Praise the Lord! Sister Bonander has got the old-time religion in her heart!” He raised his arms above his head. “A soul has been saved. Thank you, Jesus.”

Cora nudged Letty and motioned toward the piano where their mother was playing “Softly and Tenderly Jesus Is Calling.” It was time for them to sing. Letty turned stiffly to look at her sister. She had the same pious look on her face their father had. The realization came to Letty that it was their church face. She had a strange desire to giggle. Slowly she shook her head.

Cora seemed to be pleased to have the stage to herself. Her mouth tilted in a half-smile. She gave her sister an “I know something you don’t know look” before she stood and moved to the piano, her hands clasped to her breast, her head bowed.

Feeling as if she were somewhere on high looking down, Letty waited until her father was bending over one of the sinners at the altar, then rose and walked quickly out of the church.

 

*   *   *

“Explain yourself, sister,” Reverend Pringle roared as soon as he entered the house.

Letty came from the kitchen, her legs trembly, her stomach fluttering like a flag in the wind. She had changed into an everyday dress and had tied an apron about her waist.

“I came home to get dinner on the table, Papa.”

“You left your sister to carry on alone.”

“Cora sang exceptionally well this morning.” Mable removed the hatpin that anchored her hat to her high-piled hair.

“At least I have one daughter that I can depend upon. I want an explanation, missy.” The Reverend’s unblinking eyes fastened on Letty’s pale face.

“Ah . . . my throat is sore.”

“Liar,” Cora said under her breath as she passed Letty to go upstairs.

“You walk out of church again before the service is over, young lady, and you’ll not be sitting down for a week. You’re not too big for the strop. Do you hear?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Did you gargle with hot salt water?” Mable asked.

“Not yet.”

“Well, do it. I swan to goodness. I don’t know what’s got into you lately.”

Letty followed her mother to the kitchen. Silently, she began to dish up the food. She tipped up the iron skillet to pour gravy into a bowl and some of it slopped down the side, making a puddle on the stove.

“For crying out loud!” Mable exclaimed.

“It’s heavy, Mama.”

“It’s no wonder you’re weak. You haven’t eaten enough lately to keep a bird alive.”

“Maybe she’s having trouble keeping anything on her stomach.” Cora had come into the kitchen. She snickered softly and picked up the meat platter to take to the dining table.

Letty kept her head turned so that Cora didn’t see the panic that seized her. She honestly believed that her sister hated her. Cora had always been sly about tormenting her. When they were small, she would pinch Letty and yank her hair to make her cry during prayer meetings, then stand back and watch as she was scolded or spanked. Letty and Mike had talked about her sister. Mike said it boiled down to the fact that Cora was jealous because Letty was the prettier of the two. He also said that Cora wanted all of their father’s attention.

Glory! If Cora only knew! She was welcome to all of it . . . forever.

“Come girls, The Reverend is waiting.”

 

 

2

Letty followed her mother to the dining room, wondering why she never called her husband by his given name, Albert. She always referred to him as The Reverend in the same hushed tones she used when she spoke of God. Her mother, Letty thought, was exactly the kind of wife her father wanted. She was totally subservient to his wishes.

After a prayer which was both lengthy and loud, the meat platter was passed to the head of the table. Reverend Pringle took a generous helping and passed the platter on. Letty helped herself to a small serving from each dish passed to her. Although each bite faced a battle in descending her tight throat, she persisted in nibbling at the food. Her stomach felt as if it would jump out of control at any moment.

“We got a good collection plate today.” Reverend Pringle tucked the corner of his napkin into his shirt collar. “Almost eight dollars.”

“That?