LITMIR.BIZ

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about cold.” She loosened the muffler. “I came to bring you along to pageant tryouts.”

      The only thing that came to mind was Miss America. “Pageant tryouts?”

      “The Christmas pageant,” she said, as if it ought to be self-explanatory. “Everybody in Button Gap comes to church the night they pick the cast, just to cheer them on.”

      Apparently he couldn’t escape the holiday, no matter where he went. “I’m afraid I don’t have any dramatic talent.”

      “Shoot, you don’t have to try out, boy. It’s mostly kids anyway. But you ought to jump into Button Gap life whilst you’re here. ’Sides, Maggie’s directing it.” She glanced at his discarded plate. “We have dessert after they pick all the parts, y’know. More kinds of homemade pies than you can count.”

      He didn’t need any reminders of the Christmas season. On the other hand, he didn’t want to hurt the old lady’s feelings, and just about anything was better than sitting here staring at the television.

      “Your company and homemade pies sounds like a winning combination.” He reached for the jacket he’d hung on the bentwood coat rack next to the door. “You’re on.”

      He pulled the door shut behind them and started to take Aunt Elly’s arm to help her down the two steps to the street. She’d already trotted down herself.

      “It looks like your knee is feeling better.”

      She glanced up as if startled, then nodded. “It comes and goes.” She snuggled the muffler around her chin. “Smells like snow in the air.”

      They crossed the quiet street. No one else seemed to have ventured outside tonight, unless the hamlet’s whole population was already at the church. He slipped his hand under Aunt Elly’s elbow.

      “You and Maggie are pretty close, aren’t you?” The question came out almost before he realized he’d been thinking about Maggie.

      “Everybody knows everybody in Button Gap, if they live here long enough.”

      “You wouldn’t be evading the question, now, would you?”

      He could almost feel her considering. She wouldn’t answer anything she didn’t want to—he felt sure of that.

      She looked at him as if measuring his interest, and then seemed to make up her mind.

      “Maggie lived with me for a bit, when she was eleven,” she said. “Guess that made us close, no matter how many miles or years there might be between us.”

      He digested that. “But you’re not really related.”

      “No.” She shrugged. “Folks round here take care of each other when there’s trouble, blood kin or not.”

      The white frame church was just ahead, its primitive stained-glass windows glowing with the light from within. A chord of music floated out on the chilly air, followed by a burst of laughter.

      An urgency he didn’t understand impelled him. “What kind of trouble?”

      Aunt Elly stopped just short of the five steps that led up to the church’s red double doors. He felt her gaze searching his face.

      Then she shook her head. “I ’spect that’s for Maggie to tell you, if she wants to.”

      She marched up the steps, and he had no choice but to follow.

      The small church had a center aisle with pews on either side. At a guess, the sanctuary probably seated a hundred or so. Plain white walls, simple stained glass, a pulpit that had darkened with age but had probably never been beautiful—he couldn’t imagine a greater contrast to the Gothic cathedral-style church of his boyhood.

      The atmosphere was different, too. There, he recalled the hushed rustle of women’s dresses, the soft whisper of voices beneath the swelling notes of the organ. Here, laughter and chatting seemed acceptable. More than half the people in the church were children, and they trotted around as comfortably as if they were on the playground.

      “Okay, come on.” Maggie, standing by the piano at the front, had to clap her hands to make herself heard over the babble of voices. The deep red sweater she wore with her jeans brought out the pink in her cheeks.

      “Let’s have a look at everyone who wants to be a wise man,” she announced. “Come up front, right…”

      The end of that sentence trailed off when she saw him. Fortunately, the thunder of small feet would have drowned it out anyway.

      Maggie’s eyes narrowed as she looked from him to Aunt Elly. Irritation pricked him. She had no reason to look as if he didn’t belong here. He’d been invited.

      He’d have slid into the back pew, but Aunt Elly grasped his arm and marched him down the aisle to near the front. Their progress was marked by murmurs.

      “There’s the new doctor.”

      “Young, ain’t he?”

      “Hi, Doc.”

      He nodded to those who greeted him and tried to ignore the other comments. He slid into the pew after Aunt Elly with a sense of relief. Then he glanced toward the front and found Maggie still watching him.

      She blinked as their gazes met and turned quickly toward the children, but not before he saw her color heighten.

      “Well, that’s great.” She seemed to count the small figures who bounced in front of her. “I think we need to narrow this down a bit.”

      “Can’t we have more than three kings?” one of the kids asked.

      It was Joey, he realized. The boy’s face shone with scrubbing and his blond hair had been plastered flat to his head.

      So the little monster wanted to be one of the magi. Grant would have expected a shepherd or a donkey was more his speed.

      “I don’t think—” Maggie began.

      Some mischievous part of his mind prompted him. “The Bible doesn’t actually say there were three wise men,” he pointed out. “Only that there were three gifts.”

      “That’s right.” The man in the pew in front of him turned, smiling, and extended his hand. “Welcome. You’d be Dr. Hardesty, of course. I’m Jim Michaels.”

      Pastor Michaels, to judge by the Princeton Theological Seminary sweatshirt he wore. Grant tensed as he shook hands, and had to remind himself to relax.

      “Sorry, Reverend. I didn’t mean to start a theological quarrel.”

      “Jim, please.” The young minister had a wide smile, sandy hair and a faded pair of jeans to go with the sweatshirt, which looked new enough to suggest he hadn’t been out of school long. “Discussion, not quarrel.”

      “I think we’ll stick with the traditional three kings,” Maggie said firmly.

      She frowned at him, and he smiled back, unrepentant. This was different enough from the church he remembered that it didn’t bring up unhappy memories. And he enjoyed watching take-charge Maggie being ruffled by a crew of rug rats.

      “Three kings,” she repeated, in response to a certain amount of sniveling. “But the rest of you get to be angels or shepherds. Won’t that be fun?”

      As she went on with the casting, he had to admit she seemed to have a talent for making people happy. Even the most reluctant angel was brought around by the promise of having a gold halo.

      Pastor Jim kept up a quiet commentary about the pageant, which Maggie seemed to tolerate with an amused smile. Unlike the look she’d darted at him when he’d intervened, he noted.

      Well, presumably Pastor Jim was her friend, along with everyone else in the sanctuary. He thought again about the bombshell Aunt Elly had dropped on their walk to the church. The trouble in Maggie’s family must have been fairly serious for her to be farmed out to a neighbor

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