Chapter 12

He ran his hand over his face and ducked into the church’s welcoming darkness. He imagined it would be warmer, but the temperature seemed to plunge several degrees. A chill rolled down his spine, and he pulled his jacket tighter around him.

“Are you Mr. Yardley?”

The reverend appeared out of the shadows, a slight man in his forties with a shiny pate and small, pale eyes. His smile did more to warm the interior than any wood stove the building might have had, and Micah took his proffered hand with unforced enthusiasm.

“I keep forgetting this is such a small town. People know of me, but I don’t have the same luxury in being able to greet them by name as well.”

“Well it’s not often we have a gentleman of your status in our small village. Deem. Peter Deem.”