Alex had seen wrecks in his day but this took the cake. The car was as patchwork as the quilt on his bed, every fender a salvaged part of a different color. The doors weren’t much better. One of them he deduced—from the tape holding it closed—didn’t work at all. Duct tape was the obvious remedy of choice. It appeared on a cracked rear window, the trunk, and the roof and was also used to patch and mend several smaller faults and fractures.

The man who slowly exited the car didn’t look much better. He wore thick denim carpenter pants. A pair of pliers peeked from one pocket. Another held a hammer. The tools looked heavy enough to tug the pants right off the scrawny hips of the wearer. All his clothes were too large, including his cotton red and navy plaid work shirt. Over his salt-and-pepper hair, the man wore the traditional headgear of the area, a billed cap advertising Red’s Gas & Garage.

Dixon moved to greet the fellow as if they were long-lost brothers. “Jonas Owens! Where have you been keeping yourself ?”

“I haven’t been getting out much.” The man’s voice was flat and unenthusiastic.

“Came to see the new pastor, did you?” Dixon gestured in Alex’s direction. “Here he is, and his nephew Jared from Chicago.”

Jared lifted a hand in greeting. “Hi.”

“Actually, I came looking for a cow. My best milker. She wandered off through a break in the fence.”

Jonas stuck out his hand and as they shook, Alex felt the rough calluses of a man accustomed to hard labor.

“Pleased to meet you, Reverend. I’m Jonas Owens. Welcome to Hilltop. It’s a good place to live.”

“At least it was,” Jonas added under his breath.

“Jonas’s great-grandfather was another pioneer who came to this area about the same time mine did,” Dixon informed Alex. “He built a prosperous wheat farm here.” Dixon pointed off in the distance.

“What a long, rich heritage you all have here.” Alex hoped this was the right response. “I can see I have a lot to learn.”

Now his nephew’s head bobbed in agreement.

“I’ll say you do,” Dixon agreed cheerfully. “Just so you know, it’s best to be careful who you talk about around here. It’s not like a city full of strangers. I’m sure a preacher wouldn’t gossip or anything, but if you did, you’d likely be talking to someone’s great-uncle or third cousin.”

“Whoever belittles another lacks sense, but an intelligent person remains silent,” Alex murmured, quoting Proverbs.

“You’ve got that right.” Dixon clapped Alex on the back. “I’ve got to be going now. I’ve got a tractor torn apart and lying on the shed floor. I should probably put it back together before I forget where all the parts came from. I’ll see you in the office for coffee tomorrow.”

“You will? What office?”

“The church office, of course. Didn’t they tell you that you had one? We aren’t that far behind the times out here. It’s the cubbyhole past the foyer on the south side of the sanctuary. If you didn’t know it was there you might think it was a closet. Yesterday I installed a new coffeepot and put a pound of nice full-bodied Sumatra in the cupboard for you and me. I’ve got a hard-to-find Indonesian coffee that we can try next. And I make a pretty mean mocha too.”

Sumatran and Indonesian coffees? Mochas in the church office?

“And three pounds of Folgers for everyone else. That’s what they prefer. I try to introduce them to new things, but they aren’t very adventurous around here, at least not with their coffee. Most everybody still prefers egg coffee if they can get it.”

Egg coffee? Alex was still puzzling over that when Dixon said his good-byes and pulled out of the yard in his pickup. Jared wandered off in the direction of an unattached garage across the farmstead, leaving Alex and Jonas to stare at each other, each shifting awkwardly from foot to foot.

“So, Jonas,” Alex began awkwardly, “I haven’t seen your cow, but I’m happy to help you look.”

Jonas shrugged. “Come along then.”

Alex crawled into the wreck of a car, trying not to disturb the duct tape that held the seat together. He said just a little too heartily, “Tell me a little more about yourself.”

Jonas shifted uncomfortably, as if Alex had just asked him to explain black holes. “Like Dixon said, there have been members of the Owens family around here for more than a hundred years.” His voice trailed away, as if he’d lost interest in the conversation.

“I’m going to drive out on that lane.” He pointed toward some clumps of grass. There was no discernable path that Alex could see but he was beginning to believe that one could inexplicably appear out of nowhere.

“I’ve found her down here before. There’s good grass,” Jonas said. “Hang on.” He pressed on the gas pedal and the car exploded across the yard and into the field.

Jonas hit the first rut and Alex bounced into the air and came down hard. It was a tooth-rattling ride but at the end was Jonas’s cow, a brown-and-white Hereford with a sweet face, placidly chewing a mouth full of grass. She looked up at them with soulful eyes.

“Now how will you get her to move?” Alex asked. The cow didn’t appear to be in a hurry to go anywhere.

“I’ll send my boys over to herd her home now that I’m sure she’s here.”

Jonas didn’t look particularly happy that he’d found what he’d been looking for, Alex observed. Something more than the wandering animal had to be bothering him. They turned around and Jonas drove slowly back to the yard.

“Thanks for the ride, Jonas,” Alex said as he opened the car door. “Next time she’s missing, just call me and I’ll go out and see if she’s there.” Alex paused before adding, “Is there anything else? “Something I could do for you?”

Jonas’s forehead creased and a look of melancholy shaded his features. “Could you pray for me and my family, Pastor Alex? I’d sure appreciate it.”

“Consider it done. Is there something special…?”

Jonas shook his head. “Just pray. God will know what it’s about. And welcome again. It’s good to have you here.” Without another word, Jonas shifted his miserable excuse for a car into gear, and with some grating noises and a few gunshot-like backfires, he drove out of the yard.

Whatever Jonas Owens’s problems were, Alex would find out eventually. Until then he’d do just what he’d promised. Pray.

Jared popped his head out of the old garage. “Hey, Unc,” he yelled. “There’s a lot of cool stuff in here, come and see this.”

Alex crossed the newly mowed lawn and stepped into the dimness of the old building. There were dozens of North Dakota and Minnesota license plates hammered to the walls in tidy rows and a veritable art gallery of oil-streaked old calendars—1957, 1958, 1959—and all the way to the present. Many had obviously been distributed by the ubiquitous Red’s Gas & Garage. Some of them had penciled notations about the daily activities of their former owners—things like “pick up baby chicks at railroad depot” and “State Fair begins.” One notation said “See banker.” Some things, Alex realized, never change, especially troubles.

Mike had said things were tight in the road department because people were behind on their taxes. And there was Jonas Owens’s down-and-out appearance and demeanor, not to mention the trouble at All Saints. Beneath the pastoral beauty here was an undercoat of financial, emotional and spiritual concerns that he did not yet understand.

The garage smelled of grease and oil and reminded Alex of his Uncle Bert’s auto repair shop in Naperville. He’d spent many a pleasant afternoon there in the perfume of motor oil, surrounded by tool benches, car bays and the jokes and jibes the three repairmen shot back and forth like lightning bolts.

His uncle was considered a fine mechanic and was never lacking customers. People always need oil and filters changed, tires rotated, or fluids checked. Here, it appeared that he would be expected to do that himself. A farmer was a jack of all trades, Alex was learning, and independent in ways that were difficult for city folks like Alex to comprehend.

Alex was growing to appreciate the pioneer spirit that lingered here.

Nostalgia hit him like an ocean wave. He longed to become a part of this tight-knit place someday. He would make time to study this wall of calendars and to discover more about the people who’d lived here before him. And he would go to Red’s and pick up his own calendar so that, at the end of the year, he too could contribute to this wall.

There were old wooden boxes the size of steamer trunks lining the back wall. Some had ancient cast-iron padlocks with keys still hanging in the undone locks. Other, newer padlocks’ shackles dangled open, all inviting exploration. That would have to wait for another day, however.

“I’d like to look more right now, Jared, but I’d better have you help me carry my things into the house. I promised your mother I’d put you on the train back to Chicago tonight.”

“I don’t want to go yet.” Jared’s lips turned downward and the light in his eyes dimmed. “It’s not as lame here as I thought it would be.” Then he looked up at his uncle with a more cheerful light in his eyes and a smile on his face. “I should stay here for a while. I don’t want you to be here all alone.”

Alex shook his head. “Your mother will be waiting for you, and she won’t be happy if I don’t send you home on time.” And, Alex thought to himself, if what he’d seen so far was a hint, he wouldn’t be by himself for long. There’d probably be a caravan of neighbors parading through the church parking lot tomorrow to check him out.

He had brought enough boxes for a family of four, Alex decided as he toted the last of them into the house, and most of them were filled with books, papers and music. His clothing took up two large suitcases and there were household things and more clothing his sister was storing for him, which she would send later. It didn’t look as if he’d need most of it, however.

Alex carried an armful of papers into the office, where Jared had just set down a box of books—fiction, biographies, autobiographies and books on spiritual matters. Jared looked up as Alex entered.

“Hey, Unc. When are you planning to do all this reading?”

“Most of these I’ve already read and will use for reference.” Alex lifted a leather-bound volume by one of his favorite theologians. “And the rest? I suppose there will be some long quiet nights around here, especially this winter.”

Jared’s eyes narrowed slyly. “Maybe you’ll meet a nice lady out here. There must be some single women around. I wouldn’t mind having a new aunt….”

Alex glared at his nephew until Jared’s voice trailed off. “Now you sound like your mother. ‘Alex, find a nice woman and settle down,’ ‘Alex, you don’t want to spend the rest of your life alone….’”

“My favorite is ‘Find yourself a wife so I don’t have to take care of you in your old age,’” Jared offered unhelpfully.

“My sister Carol has been trying to boss me around since the day I was born. It rarely works. I wonder why she persists.” Alex sighed and plowed into a box of books that had not yet been arranged on shelves.

Carol had disapproved of the women he’d dated in college, deeming them all shallow. She was probably right—who wasn’t a little shallow at eighteen or twenty? They were all like steel, only partially tempered. People needed a little more time in the fire to develop into the people they were to become.

But he’d expected more of Natalie, a sociology professor at the college at which he’d taught. He’d expected loyalty, love…and faithfulness. Alex had been badly disappointed on all counts.

He should have listened to Carol. Life might have turned out differently.

At five o’clock Jared announced, “I’m hungry. What’s for supper? A pizza, maybe?”

Alex heard his own stomach growl. Or was it tires crunching on gravel outside? He walked into the kitchen to look out the window that overlooked the circular driveway. A gray 1987 Buick Regal in mint condition pulled up slowly to the house. When it had come to a complete stop, the passenger door opened and a small, timorouslooking woman in a navy skirt and pale green blouse emerged. In her hand was a quilted dish carrier. A portly, gray-haired gentleman exited the driver’s side. He rummaged in the back seat for a moment and emerged with a large tin cake pan with a metal cover. The kind, Alex thought, that his grandmother used to use.

Hesitantly, the pair started toward the house.

“Looks like we have company, Jared, and they brought food.”

Jared popped out of the back room like a jack-in-the-box. His sandy-colored hair was in disarray and sweat beaded on his forehead. He looked flushed and warm from exertion. “Food? I’m starving.”

Alex couldn’t agree more. Hopefully this was some of the country hospitality others had assured him he’d see here. He hurried to the door before his visitors could knock and threw it open. “Hello, come in. I’m Alex Armstrong and you are…”

“I’m Clarence Olson—with an o—and this is Lydia. She thought you might like some supper brought in, considering it’s your first night here and all.” Clarence wore a pair of dark navy trousers, a bright pink shirt with a white collar and Italian knock-off black loafers with silver horse-bit detailing. He was the peacock to Lydia’s pea hen.

“That’s very kind of you. My nephew Jared and I were just discussing what to have for dinner and here you are.”

Lydia looked disappointed. “Dinner? I’d hoped you’d eat it tonight…for supper.”

He had to remember that dinner was the noon meal here and supper was eaten in the evening or he’d confuse everyone.

“Absolutely. Will you join us?”

“Don’t worry about it. Lydia made the same meal for Jacob and me,” Clarence said. “It’s in the oven at home right now. You just sit down and eat if you’re hungry.”

Alex could see Jared’s head bobbing and he was eagerly rubbing his stomach. “Will you stay and visit if we do?”

The man tapped a finger with grease embedded under his nail on the nine-by-thirteen-inch pan. “That’s Lydia’s special German chocolate cake. I’d join you for a slice of that.”

Clarence took a seat at one end of the table and sat there contentedly while Jared filled glasses with ice and water and Lydia scurried about serving massive portions of tater tot hotdish. Alex had the impression that if he’d first met them in their own home, it would have played out the same way, with Clarence being served and Lydia doing the serving.

“Can I say grace, Uncle Alex?” Jared asked, igniting an approving smile on Clarence’s and Lydia’s faces. “Dear God, ” he began in the same conversational tone he used with the rest of his family, “thanks for this great food, which looks awesome. Love those tater tots. Thanks, too, for this cool place my uncle will be living. You really take care of him, God. Take care of all of us…please? In Your name, amen.”

“Why, that was lovely!” Lydia burst out. “So…cozy and genuine.” She appeared more at ease than she had moments earlier.

“So, Clarence,” Alex wasn’t sure how to phrase this. “I noticed that when you introduced yourself you said your name was Olson—with an o—and Mattie Olsen said her name was Olsen—with an e. What exactly does that mean?” Alex asked.

“Traditionally, because of the Danish influence on Norway, the Norwegian surname Olsen is spelled with an e. When it is spelled with an o, it’s usually Swedish. Olsen—Olson.” Clarence appeared proud to impart this bit of information. “Mattie’s heritage is Norwegian and ours is Swedish. It’s as simple as that.”

Simple? Hardly. Alex dug into his food. He would need energy to keep all this straight in his head.

Finally he came up for air. “This is a great meal, Lydia. This was the perfect welcome for us. Thank you so much.” He laid down his fork. “I wish I could cook like that. I’d open a restaurant.”

Lydia’s laughter pealed throughout the room, a pleasant, unexpected sound. “Then you’ll have to have some lessons. There are a lot of good cooks around Hilltop and Grassy Valley.”

Alex turned to Clarence. “And what do you do, Clarence?”

“I’m a retired diesel mechanic. I worked for the implement dealer in Grassy Valley for years. And we farm a little and have a few cattle.” He crossed his hands over his stomach. The buttons and buttonholes of the pink shirt were sorely strained by the size of his belly.

“You mentioned a Jacob. Is that your son?”

Lydia choked on a sip of water and Clarence’s face turned red. “Lydia and I aren’t married. We’re brother and sister. Jacob is our other brother.”

Now it was Alex’s turn to flush. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be making assumptions. Maybe I’d better study the church directory before I embarrass myself more.”

“It’s quite all right,” Clarence said generously. “The three of us have lived together on the farm ever since our parents died. Our father went in 1975 and Mother in ’86. We get along just fine, Jacob, Lydia and me.”

Alex caught a brief movement from the corner of his eye. Had Lydia flinched?