Chapter 1

1

Mountain Grove, Idaho

1988

Daniel stood in the middle of the old church, inhaling the sweetly familiar aroma of pinewood, morning dew, and musty books, filling his lungs with fresh air. Birds twittered outside, breaking into the occasional song, accompanied by the wind whistling through the tops of ancient trees. He felt rejuvenated, like the boy who once raced from the foot of the steep hill to the top to meet his mother after choir rehearsals.

The church hadn’t changed in the past fifty years. Hand-carved, pine pews lined either side of the chapel, the floor was freshly stained, and the alter—a gift to Carol’s father when he first assumed the position of minister—dominated the front of the building, as severe and solid as the man who had bellowed passionate calls for salvation from behind it.

“Dad?”

“In here, Becky-girl,” Daniel called, wiping his hand across his eyes.

“So this is the Woodside Church?” Becky asked, stepping into the chapel. “It’s beautiful.”

Daniel nodded, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Becky’s hair was a little longer and darker than Carol’s, but their eyes were both almond-shaped and bright green. They shared the same crooked smile, the same bubbly laugh, the same high spirit.

“When you brought me here to visit, I didn’t really appreciate how lovely it was,” she said, sitting on the first pew.

“Where’s your mother?” Daniel asked, sitting beside her.

“Looking for her dress. She said she’d meet us up here.”

Daniel jumped to his feet. “What? You left her alone?”

Becky blinked, surprised by his exclamation. “Well, yes. She doesn’t need my help to get dressed, Dad.”

“Right. And what if she runs away again?”

Becky laughed at the question, but Daniel wasn’t amused. “She’s not going to run away this time.”

“You don’t know that. What if she decides she needs to go help the children in Africa? What if she suddenly realizes that women’s rights in Saudi Arabia is more important than her own wedding?” Daniel began to pace, his hands thrust deep in his pockets. “Look, you know I support your mother, no matter what she wants to do, but I’m running out of time here. I can’t wait another fifty years.”

Becky stood, putting a soothing hand on her father’s shoulder. “Dad, I promise, she’s not going to run away this time. But so what if she did? It won’t change the way you feel about each other. Why is it so important that you get married now?”

Daniel smiled, not surprised by his daughter’s question. “Because I made her a promise, Becky-girl, and I intend to keep it. Besides, she made me a promise, and she better keep her word.”

“I just don’t see how it makes a big difference. I mean, it won’t change anything. I know things are hardly normal for us but—”

“Are you saying you don’t want me to marry your mother?”

Becky laughed. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just don’t want you to be disappointed if she—”

“Runs out again?”

She nodded. “Yeah.”

Daniel sat, willing his nerves to settle. “She said she’d be here. Shoot, she chose the church, didn’t she? This means as much to her as it does to me.”

“Tell me about the church.”

Daniel took her hand. “I thought your mother already told you all the stories.”

“She told me all herstories,” Becky countered. “I want to hear yoursnow.”

Daniel took his handkerchief from his jacket pocket and mopped his damp brow. The summer sun had crested the hill, turning its full attention to the little church in the mountain clearing. The building had always been too cold in the winter and too hot in the summer with nothing to protect it from the elements.

“It’s not much different,” Daniel said. “I can still hear your grandmother’s choir group. They couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket, you know. But Momma whipped them into shape. They still couldn’t carry much of a tune, but they sang with passion!” He paused, his vision blurring a bit. “She demanded everything from them, but then, that was her way.”

* * * *

Mountain Grove, Idaho

1950

Patricia Scambray rapped her knuckles across the podium, calling her motley group to order. There were two dozen men, women, and children, all with one thing in common—a calling from God to make His music. Daniel always wondered why God never called people who knew how to sing.

“Daniel? Give us our pitch,” Patricia said once they were all settled.

Daniel didn’t know how to play the piano—he had resisted all of his mother’s lessons until she gave up—but he could pick out a few notes. He dutifully played middle C while his mother raised her arms. The group took a simultaneous breath. Daniel braced himself for the cacophony, but no matter how hard he tried, he was never quite prepared for when his mother brought down her arms.