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talk that Tye often called on Reverend Baker in the afternoon. She would seek him out. And she would ask him then.
    Sunday visits were a custom carried from the East. As a boy, Tye had seen families gather for Sunday meals and an afternoon of visiting and play, and always on the outskirts, he'd wondered what that was like. His mother had never been accepted among the respectable residents of Aspen Grove. She and Tye hadn't even gone to church because of the rude treatment she received. But on Sunday afternoons she'd taken him to Reverend Baker's, where she'd had someone who treated her kindly. Apparently it was acceptable for the preacher to receive her calls; he was, after all, responsible for her immortal soul.
    But Tye never remembered any talk of saving his mother's soul on those visits. He remembered only the tiny measure of acceptance and the pleasure that gave his mother, and he would be forever grateful to the preacher for that kindness.
    The first time he'd run into the reverend upon his return, the man had greeted him warmly and extended an invitation to come by for pie and coffee. The preacher had been a widower for more than twenty years yet had the most well stocked pantry and cleanest house in the county, thanks to the dutiful parishioners.
    As his mother had done, Tye always waited for the dinner hour to pass. Often the reverend accepted an invitation and returned midafternoon. Then Tye would wait for any "real" callers who might stop by to pay their respects. And then, when everyone had gone home to their families, he would call on Reverend Baker.
    Today, as a late afternoon sun warmed the porch, they shared a peach cobbler Mrs. Matthews had dropped off and drank strong black coffee.
    "Ah, nothing like a fresh pie and good coffee," the preacher said, leaning back in the wicker chair and folding his hands across his belly. "And then a bit of man talk."
    With a grin, Tye pulled his tobacco from his pocket and deftly rolled them each a cigarette.
    Reverend Baker took a drag and smiled a contented smile. "The only thing better than this would have been if Mrs. Baker hadn't gone 'home' quite so soon."
    "I barely remember her." Tye thought a moment. "She was tall, wasn't she?"
    "Aye. With the face and voice of an angel. I think that's why God called her so soon. She's part of the heavenly choir right now." He gazed upward sheepishly and gestured with the cigarette. "This is just a little afternoon relaxation, my dear, and I still never do it in the house."
    A buggy slowed to a stop on the street, and Tye moved to leave.
    "Wait." The reverend held up one hand. "Don't go. This is our time." He handed Tye his cigarette, and Tye pinched the fire from both and slid them into his shirt pocket.
    A lone woman stepped from the wagon and, with a dart of surprise, Tye recognized Meg Telford, a beaded reticule dangling from her wrist. She gathered her black skirts and agilely mounted the wooden porch stairs. Her light floral scent reached Tye before she did. Violets.
    "Afternoon, Miz Telford." The preacher rose to greet her.
    "Good afternoon, Reverend Baker. Mr. Hatcher."
    The minister smiled in satisfaction at her acknowledgment of Tye.
    "Mrs. Telford." Tye stood and addressed her properly.
    She seated herself in one of the wicker chairs and removed her stiff black bonnet. A lock of her shiny hair snagged and caressed her neck for a moment before she caught it and tucked it neatly back into place.
    "Would you like some cobbler?" the reverend asked. "I have coffee, too."
    "I would enjoy a cup of coffee, thank you," she replied.
    Tye turned toward the door. "I'll get it."
    He filled a mug from the pot on the stove and wondered belatedly if she'd like cream or sugar. He carried it out and asked.
    "Oh, no, just like this is good. Thank you." She took a sip.
    She and the minister discussed the morning's sermon and a particular passage from the Book of John. Tye listened.
    After nearly a half hour of pleasantries, he prepared to