LITMIR.BIZ

      Lukas Bower hated the term “backseat Baptist.” It implied a person one step away from backsliding. Although Lukas always preferred to sit at the periphery of the congregation, he by no means felt himself to be at the spiritual edge of God’s family. Just because he was shy did not mean he was not a sincere Christian.

      On the other hand, he knew he had a lot of growing to do before he was a mature Christian.

      It was a moot point in this church today, since this was not a worship service.

      The first strains of soft organ music reminded him of the circumstances leading up to today’s funeral, and he had the typical critique session with himself. He could have shown more compassion to Ivy Richmond during Mrs. Conn’s final hour. He could have tried harder to reassure Mrs. Conn during those short moments of lucidity—if indeed she had truly been lucid.

      He could not, however, have been more aggressive with the code. Ivy Richmond probably disagreed, but he could do nothing about her sentiments, much as he would like to. She obviously possessed a great deal of power at the hospital, and he didn’t have enough insight into her character to know how she might play that power. She was strong willed, much like another, younger woman with power whose influence had affected his career with devastating ease. Best not to allow his thoughts to wander in that direction.

      Lukas couldn’t decide whether to approach the Richmond ladies with his condolences after the service or to leave them in peace today. The latter course looked more favorable as more and more people filled the auditorium, and the old, familiar prickling of self-consciousness made him wonder why he had even bothered to come. No one would have expected him to. He’d lost other elderly patients and hadn’t felt it necessary to see them off. Doctors didn’t do this kind of thing, especially not for someone they didn’t even know.

      Dr. Mercy Richmond, however, was a colleague, and although she had covered her feelings well on the day of her grandmother’s death, he had identified with her loss. He’d had several recollections of his mother’s death three years ago. Maybe that was why he was here.

      A shadow loomed low outside the window near his seat, then pulled up at the last second—a robin on a strafing run. Her aerodynamics put modern technology to shame, just as God’s design of the human body made modern medicine look like kids playing with a chemistry set from Toys “R” Us. Lukas felt that way sometimes, as if he were playing games with the lives of his patients. But he wasn’t playing. Some people had even complained that he took things far too seriously, and perhaps they were right. But how could he behave any other way?

      The robin sidled along the roof guttering, oblivious to Lukas and the rapidly filling auditorium. She used her beak to toss rotted leaves out onto the yard. Then she selected some good stems she could carry and flew to a neighboring tree.

      Maybe Lukas could entice the robins to clean out the guttering on his new house. Guess one could say the guttering had gone to the birds, he spent so little time there. He’d never been good at home maintenance, mostly because he seldom paid attention to his surroundings. He’d spent too much time in hospitals these past few years. But home was lonely and had been for a long time.

      He needed to force himself to get out and meet people, take part in some activities, find something that would interest him in community service. Knolls was a nice, peaceful little town, complete with a town square that surrounded the courthouse. As a center of industry, Knolls drew people from the surrounding area for employment. The population nearly doubled on weekdays, thus increasing the need for more restaurants and shopping centers—and a full-time physician in the hospital emergency room to take care of accidents.

      “Dr. Bower?”

      Lukas looked up with a start to find Lauren McCaffrey standing expectantly beside the pew where he sat.

      “Yes?”

      “May I sit here?” She gestured around the nearly full sanctuary. “There aren’t many places left.”

      He couldn’t help a slight hesitation before scooting over. She took the place he vacated while he struggled to hide his discomfort with a smile.

      “I didn’t expect to see you here,” she murmured under cover of the organ music.

      He raised a brow at her in query.

      “Everyone knows you didn’t hit it off with Ivy.”

      “I don’t think there’s a problem just because—”

      The funeral director chose that time to usher in the family.

      It was a small group, and since this was a Baptist church and not a funeral home, there was no private room for grieving. The family consisted of both Richmond women and a little girl with long, chocolate-brown hair and serious brown eyes who looked like a small reproduction of Mercy. Mercy, in turn, looked like a younger version of Ivy. Dr. Jarvis George accompanied the ladies.

      Dr.

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