Page 43 of The Souls of Lost Lake

Noah turned, that softness entering his voice again. She didn’t dare look at him. “Ava.”

Nope. Not lookin’ at him.

“Ava.”

She looked at him.

“Ava, you’re not going to eternal damnation because you weren’t baptized as an infant.”

“I’m not?” She half challenged him and half hoped he was telling the truth.

Noah seemed to stumble for words. He wasn’t an eloquent preacher-type, that much was sure. “No. Baptism is just part—I mean, well, there’s an awful lot of doctrine out there about baptism and the role it plays in the condition of the soul before—”

“You’re bumping gums, Preacher. I’ve no idea what you’re tryin’ to say.”

“I’m saying there’s more to it than baptism,” Noah finished in a flurry. He seemed frustrated. Disgusted with himself.

“Oh” was all she had to offer him.

A door in the church slammed, echoing from the sanctuary down the hall. Noah’s head jerked up and toward the door. “Get under my desk,” he commanded.

Ava had no intention of arguing. Church might have a sanctuary, but she didn’t think if the law entered she’d be any safer here than in the road outside.

Footsteps thumped.

“Reverend?” a man’s voice hollered.

Ava heard Noah make his way across his office floor. He met someone at the door, where his attempt to leave the office was thwarted.

“Ah, Mr. Sanderson.”

Ava hoped Mr. Sanderson hadn’t brought his wife.

“Reverend Pritchard. Pleasant morning outside, yes?”

“Most assuredly,” Noah responded politely.

“I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time?”

“Of course.” Noah cleared his throat. “Would you ... like to have a seat in the sanctuary?”

“We may as well make use of your office here, Reverend. No need to bother the peace of the good Lord with our chatter in the pews on a Tuesday.”

“No. Of course not.”

Footsteps.

Ava squeezed back farther into the darker recesses of the desk’s alcove. She saw Noah’s legs as he took a seat in his chair. His foot bumped her knee. She stifled a yelp. He shifted it a bit.

“I see you’re looking at old church records.” Mr. Sanderson was as nosy as they came, Ava determined.

She heard the book thud shut. Noah must have closed it from Mr. Sanderson’s prying eyes. “How may I help you today?” he asked instead.

Mr. Sanderson shifted in his chair. Ava heard it squeak beneath his weight. She could picture the lean but broad-shouldered man sitting there in his suit, looking dapper and for all sakes and purposes as though he owned Tempter’s Creek and its inhabitants. He practically did. Without his company, most would be out of work and Tempter’s Creek would dwindle into a ghost town.

“I wanted to ask if you’ve seen Ava Coons by any chance?” The man didn’t mince words.

Noah’s response was carefully measured. “Would I not say something if I had?”