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quality time with prostitutes and lepers, would now, at the dawn of the millennium, damn all but the most rigidly perfect to the flames of eternal hell. A Jesus who, according to Reverend Hickland, manifested his love through the bestowing of material goods
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    Dorothy supposed Mabel had wanted to show off this big new church building, all modern and vast enough for what Mabel was convinced was an oncoming tidal wave of conversions. Mabel had a bumper sticker on her car that read,
When the Rapture comes, this car will be empty.
It had taken some willpower on Dorothy’s part not to stick a note on Mabel’s windshield saying,
If you’re not using it, do you mind if I have it?
    Pastor Dash was speaking now. “When I started going to Africa over thirty years ago, I saw people living in desperation, in mud huts in abject poverty, and I told them they were not the Third World. No sir. They were the seeds of Abraham! Seeds of the Lord! Jesus is exploding all over the world! Praise the Lord!”
    â€œPraise the Lord!”
    â€œAnd now these people are driving cars, living in good houses, going to school. That’s what Jesus promises—it’s there in Ephesians, verse 3 .
. . hath blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places . . .
‘hath’ people, that’s the way of saying he already has. It’s a done deal. We are empowered with all there is in heaven, already. It’s waiting for us.”
    â€œPraise Him! Praise the Lord.”
    â€œAnd look now at Genesis 1.” The Reverend had the book open in his hand and stalked from one end of the stage to the other. “God tells us man is made in His image, and He says ‘let them rule over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the sky.’ He says man has dominion over all the earth, and he tells man to subdue it, rule over it, over all the things on the earth, over every seed. It’s all there for us, my brothers, my sisters. Praise the Lord.”
    â€œPraise the Lord!”
    â€œWe are the blessed. It wasn’t given to the sinners! It was given to those who are in His image! A great fire will come to wipe out the sinners. It says so, my friends. It says so. Where does it say so? Tell me where!”
    â€œIn the back of the Book!” the room answered as one.
    â€œShout out for the Lord. Shout it out!” Reverend Hickland jumped up and down, yelling at the top of his lungs now. “Shout it out! I tell you! Shout it out!”
    And much to Dorothy’s alarm, the congregation did.

    The next day was again miserable as a cold wet stray. Dorothy Carlisle knew there wouldn’t be a single customer popping into Farmhouse Antiques and, in that regard, it was a day similar to many others. The lack of commerce did not bother Dorothy in the least. Commerce was not the point. Having a shop gave her a purpose, a place to go, and a framework for her days. She owned the old farmhouse at the corner of Quaker and Main outright, and had done so for years. Oh, there were a few sales—bridal gifts, or tokens for aunts, or the odd chair or tea table; and sometimes antiquing tourists wandered through. She even had a couple of contacts from the city who visited her once every six months or so to see if she had anything interesting they might pick up for themselves and sell at engorged prices to the urban rich. Once a year she took a drive for a few days, poking around attics and barns for interesting bits and bobs, but other than that, and regular dusting, very little upkeep was required.
    It was just gone noon and although she would have to think about lunch soon, Dorothy poured herself a cup of coffee. It was decaffeinated coffee with a hint of cinnamon, which she thickened with half-and-half and sweetened with two teaspoons of sugar. On the side of the mug was a line drawing of Virginia Woolf and a quote:
You cannot gain peace by avoiding life.
Dorothy stood for a moment, holding the mug with