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Francis eased his tired Volkswagen up to the curb and parked at an aard angle Leaning over to the passenger seat, he plucked up his Bible and black leather bag, then climbed out of the car Cool, rain-sweetened air ruffled his hair and sent a ard lock into his eyes He stood there for a s-on in the yard He could hear the fa the sidewalks and the distant, motorized whine of a mechanical wheelchair Orderlies in crisp white unifor here and there to offer assistance

He walked up to the entrance and went into the yard The gate closed behind hih the conversations A dozen heads turned to hiht up every pair of eyes—all of the

“Father Francis!” Old Mrs Bertolucci squealed, clapping her gnarled, arthritic hands

He sht tangled in her white hair, joy in her rheumy eyes The left half of her face was paralyzed, but it didn’t detract from her beauty He’d known her for fifteen years—like so many of the people who resided here, she’d lived and worked in Francis’s old neighborhood He’d taken Coive it

One by one, they shuffled toward him He smiled This hat he lived for

And in that instant he felt at peace, blanketed once again by the co heat of his faith He was meant to be here, had always beenthe work of the Lord, that he felt whole and content

He knew that tonight, when he lay alone in bed, listening to the wind through the eaves and the rattling of the panes, he would be vulnerable again The doubt would creep through the ragged curtains and nibble at his soul, and he would wonder and worry… He would think of Madelaine and Lina and all the choices he had ed Madelaine to keep the truth from Lina, and the shame would suffocate him And most of all, loneliness would close in on him like the walls of a fortress But for noas happy It hy he’d hurried over to the home, an hour early Here and noith the white collar taut around his throat and a Bible tucked under his arm, he felt safe

He knelt on the hard carpet of grass, and they gathered around hi at once

Fred Tubbs hacked out a cough, then pulled a worn pack of cards fro for years “Tiame of cards, Father?”

Francis grinned “You cleaned me out last week, Freddy”

The old man winked “I love to play cards with a man who has taken a vow of poverty”

“Well,he’d spend hours in the recreation rooraphs he’d seen aChristmas cards and letters from loved ones who never had the time to visit

And they knew it, too—he could see the joy in their faces, the pleasure of si remembered on this sunny autumn afternoon

He got to his feet and took hold of Mrs Bertolucci’s wheelchair They were still talking to him, one at a time now, in their crackly, paper-thin voices as they moved toward the front door Me started up the ra around “Where’s Selma?”

Silence And he knew The usual sadness welled up in his chest