water, a large pleasure craft was making its way slowly toward the Duluth harbor, fishing poles attached to the back.
“You look like someone in a sleazy French perfume commercial,” said Sophie, squinting up into Bram’s face. “Did you forget to shave this morning?”
Bram was intrigued. “Really?”
“No, I take that back. You look more like one of those poor guys who sleep under the Third Avenue Bridge.”
“Very funny. If you must know, I’ve decided to grow a winter beard. A man’s face gets cold in this intemperate climate. Besides, this is supposed to be a vacation of sorts. Shaving isn’t relaxing. And if I ever do finish that book, I’ll look incredibly distinguished on the book jacket.”
They had reached the base of a newly fallen tree, its leaves weeping silently into the water. Bram picked up a flat rock and walked a few yards away, skipping it far out into the lake. “The operative word here is
if
. I’m not so sure this is the greatest site for my labors.”
Gently, Sophie took hold of his arm and eased him over to a driftwood log, waiting patiently while he made himself comfortable. “Listen to me for a minute. I simply can’t leave right now. Amanda needs me too much. Perhaps you should consider finding yourself a different place to build your paper airplanes!”
Bram raised an eyebrow. “How do you know about the paper airplanes?”
“The engine noise.”
“Cute.” He harrumphed. “Well, I guess I could try it a couple more days. Maybe I’ll move into that cook’s room on the second floor. It may not have quite the same ambience as Luther’s study, but it might do. As long as” — he narrowed one eye at her — “it’s quiet. By the way, have they set a time yet for the funeral?”
“There won’t be a funeral. Herman didn’t want one. His body is going to be cremated later today. When I talked to Amanda this morning she said Jack was going to organize a memorial service tomorrow at Lakeside Chapel. I said we’d be there.”
“Of course.” He took hold of her arm and drew her down next to him. “Are you all right? I mean, I know you weren’t very close to the old guy, but you’ve known him all your life.”
“I called my parents just after I finished talking to Amanda. Dad took it pretty hard.”
“Are they driving up for the service?”
She shook her head. “Dad would have come if he’d been asked to be a pallbearer, but since it’s just going to be a memorial, he said he’d rather not. You know how he is about things like that. Mom thought it was best if she stayed home, too. Dad always acts like he can handle anything, but she knows better.”
Bram smiled. “I like your mother. She’s a lot like you. Strong, yet essentially very kind.” He put his arm around her shoulders and fell silent. He knew she needed time for contemplation.
Sophie snuggled close and let her thoughts wander to the soothing sound of the water lapping lazily against the small rocks. Instead of Amanda and poor old Herman Grendel, for some reason her mind conjured up an image of her son, Rudy. He’d been living with his father in Montana since he was seven yearsold. She hadn’t heard from him since his last letter three years ago. At the time, he’d asked — no,
demanded
— that she stop trying to contact him. He wanted her out of his life. He couldn’t be
unequally yoked together with an unbeliever
. Sophie had been disfellowshipped by the World Order Christian Church many years before. Marked as a heretic. Even thinking about those archaic, King James words now felt like something from another life. Yet, just as she once had, she knew Rudy believed in the insane doctrines of Howell A. Purdis with his entire heart and soul. Nothing she had ever said could change his mind.
Twenty-four years earlier, when Sophie had been a young, naive seventeen-year-old, she had joined a fundamentalist Christian church
“You look like someone in a sleazy French perfume commercial,” said Sophie, squinting up into Bram’s face. “Did you forget to shave this morning?”
Bram was intrigued. “Really?”
“No, I take that back. You look more like one of those poor guys who sleep under the Third Avenue Bridge.”
“Very funny. If you must know, I’ve decided to grow a winter beard. A man’s face gets cold in this intemperate climate. Besides, this is supposed to be a vacation of sorts. Shaving isn’t relaxing. And if I ever do finish that book, I’ll look incredibly distinguished on the book jacket.”
They had reached the base of a newly fallen tree, its leaves weeping silently into the water. Bram picked up a flat rock and walked a few yards away, skipping it far out into the lake. “The operative word here is
if
. I’m not so sure this is the greatest site for my labors.”
Gently, Sophie took hold of his arm and eased him over to a driftwood log, waiting patiently while he made himself comfortable. “Listen to me for a minute. I simply can’t leave right now. Amanda needs me too much. Perhaps you should consider finding yourself a different place to build your paper airplanes!”
Bram raised an eyebrow. “How do you know about the paper airplanes?”
“The engine noise.”
“Cute.” He harrumphed. “Well, I guess I could try it a couple more days. Maybe I’ll move into that cook’s room on the second floor. It may not have quite the same ambience as Luther’s study, but it might do. As long as” — he narrowed one eye at her — “it’s quiet. By the way, have they set a time yet for the funeral?”
“There won’t be a funeral. Herman didn’t want one. His body is going to be cremated later today. When I talked to Amanda this morning she said Jack was going to organize a memorial service tomorrow at Lakeside Chapel. I said we’d be there.”
“Of course.” He took hold of her arm and drew her down next to him. “Are you all right? I mean, I know you weren’t very close to the old guy, but you’ve known him all your life.”
“I called my parents just after I finished talking to Amanda. Dad took it pretty hard.”
“Are they driving up for the service?”
She shook her head. “Dad would have come if he’d been asked to be a pallbearer, but since it’s just going to be a memorial, he said he’d rather not. You know how he is about things like that. Mom thought it was best if she stayed home, too. Dad always acts like he can handle anything, but she knows better.”
Bram smiled. “I like your mother. She’s a lot like you. Strong, yet essentially very kind.” He put his arm around her shoulders and fell silent. He knew she needed time for contemplation.
Sophie snuggled close and let her thoughts wander to the soothing sound of the water lapping lazily against the small rocks. Instead of Amanda and poor old Herman Grendel, for some reason her mind conjured up an image of her son, Rudy. He’d been living with his father in Montana since he was seven yearsold. She hadn’t heard from him since his last letter three years ago. At the time, he’d asked — no,
demanded
— that she stop trying to contact him. He wanted her out of his life. He couldn’t be
unequally yoked together with an unbeliever
. Sophie had been disfellowshipped by the World Order Christian Church many years before. Marked as a heretic. Even thinking about those archaic, King James words now felt like something from another life. Yet, just as she once had, she knew Rudy believed in the insane doctrines of Howell A. Purdis with his entire heart and soul. Nothing she had ever said could change his mind.
Twenty-four years earlier, when Sophie had been a young, naive seventeen-year-old, she had joined a fundamentalist Christian church
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