All Mortal Flesh by Julia Spencer-Fleming Page B

doctorate. But really, what is book learning compared to experience? I’m sure you feel you’ve learned more in the past two years than you did during your whole time in seminary!”
    In the past two years, Clare had been shot at, crashed a helicopter, nearly drowned, and had her car blown up. Oh, yes—and had fallen in love with a man as inaccessible as the moon. “Yeah,” she said. “I’d have to agree with that.”
    “That’s what I can supply. The experience. There’s at least one advantage to getting to my age!” Elizabeth’s laugh was both self-deprecating and musical.
    Every possible response Clare could come up with sounded snotty, so she held her tongue. “What else do you see yourself doing here at St. Alban’s? Besides being a font of wisdom?”
    “Oh, you’re funny!”
    A kick to the half-open door swung it wide. Lois stood there, balancing a tray loaded with a china teapot, matching cups and saucers, and a silver sugar bowl and creamer. “Tea is served,” she announced.
    “Thank you, Magenta,” Clare said under her breath. She smiled. “Great. Let’s put it here on the table—”
    Lois was already lowering the tray. She faced Clare directly and whispered, “Don’t get used to this.”
    Elizabeth was exclaiming over the china.
    I owe you one
, Clare mouthed. With their guest fussing with the tea and the cream, Lois walked backward out of the room. Clare didn’t think she had ever seen anyone bow sarcastically before.
    “Okay. Getting back to the subject at hand—”
    “Of course. What else can I do to be of assistance? Let’s see. I have a master’s in counseling. I used to be a teacher, so I have a special interest in all aspects of Christian education. At St. Stephen’s, I worked extensively in parish development and volunteer coordination. And at Bethesda Church in Saratoga, I led the capital campaign to restore their historic bell tower.” She smiled brightly at Clare.
    “Wow.” Clare couldn’t think of what to say to that litany of accomplishment. “I mean that. Wow. Why aren’t you a priest?”
    For the first time, Elizabeth de Groot looked less than serene. “I’ve actually been up before the Discernment Committee several times.” She fingered her collar. “They seem to feel I just haven’t had… an authentic call.”
    Clare felt her cheeks pink up. She had been silently carping at the woman, and now Elizabeth’s honesty shamed her. “It seems to me you have been called. To do what you’re doing now.”
    The deacon set down her china teacup. “Well, I’m certainly not going to sit around moping about what can’t be.” Her voice was brisk. “And I believe it gives me a sensitivity toward—a reverence for the role of priest that will help me help you.”
    Several alarm bells went off in Clare’s head. “Uh, just so you know, I’m not really comfortable with the whole reverence thing. Ordination didn’t suddenly make me a better and nicer person.”
    Elizabeth smiled indulgently. “You remind me of some of the first-time parents I used to meet when I was teaching. They often felt insecure about using their natural authority with their kids. Accepting where you are in the hierarchy takes time and experience.”
    “I was in the army for ten years. Believe me when I say I don’t have any problem with authority. I just don’t want to be stereotyped into something I’m not.”
    “You don’t feel you have any problems establishing your control over your parish?”
    Control. Good God. “Leadership isn’t a matter of control,” Clare said. “Leadership is infusing the people around you with trust and confidence and expectations, so that when you move in one direction, they follow.”
    “What about the bishop?”
    “What about him?”
    “Do you have any problems with his authority over you?”
    “I don’t see how that—” Clare was saved from making a rude remark by Lois’s appearance in her doorway.
    “There’s somebody here to see