Pastor Jeff pastor of the church of Donnell's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Pastor Jeff stood in the empty chapel on Saturday afternoon and counted the pews. Twelve rows. Room for eighty people. Tomorrow was his first Sunday service, and he did not know a single family by name. The town had brought him here on the strength of an old memory. Years back, before this settlement had a proper name, he had preached to a handful of loggers under a tarp. Now they had built him a church with stained glass and cross-braced beams. Forty-one roofs stood outside these walls. He had promised to fill every pew. He had not asked how. He sat on the front step and opened his notebook. The page was blank. He had no roster, no list of households, no way to invite anyone by name. If he rang the bell in the morning and nobody came, the silence would answer for him. He walked into town. The realty office had a lamp burning. Carol Donnell was behind the desk, sorting deeds into stacks with a wetted thumb. She looked up without stopping her hands. "Pastor. You look like a man who forgot something." "I forgot to meet anyone," he said. "Service is tomorrow. I don't know who lives where." She pulled a ledger from a low drawer and set it on the counter. "Forty-one households. Every plot, every name, every door." She turned it so he could read. "I sold most of them the land they're sitting on." "May I borrow it?" "You can copy from it. It doesn't leave the office." She slid paper and a pencil across. "Start with the ones nearest the chapel. They'll come if it's a short walk." He copied for two hours. Carol added notes as he wrote: this one has three children, this one lost a brother last winter, this one won't come unless you knock twice. When he finished, he had thirty-eight names and a route. He walked it before dark. He knocked on doors. He said his name and the hour of the service and nothing more. At the doctor's building he found Dr. Richard washing his hands in a basin, and the doctor said he would come and bring the family two doors down. At the jail Sheriff McDuffie said he would come in uniform and sit in back. Mr. Farah said he would bring the schoolchildren whose parents worked Sunday. Not everyone said yes. Some said maybe. Two said no. He walked back to the chapel after dusk with a count in his head. Twenty-six confirmed. Nine maybes. He wrote the numbers on the first page of his notebook and closed it. The pews would not be empty. They would not be full either. Tomorrow he would learn which faces belonged to which names, and which of the maybes had meant it. He climbed the steps and rang the bell once, to test the rope.