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battling.”
    â€œIs that how you met?”
    Tapster pinned Oliver with his dark stare again. “Alas, Mr. Swithin, I have not had the opportunity to serve my heavenly father overseas. A bout of rheumatic fever in my childhood means I have to avoid the kinds of stress that Heather faced with such courage in Brazil. No, Heather and I met two years ago, when we were both worshipping at the same church a few miles from here, in Thripstone. She had just returned from South America.”
    â€œThat must have been quite a contrast—from the darkest Amazon jungles to the London Borough of Thripstone.”
    â€œYes, it must,” said Tapster approvingly, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Although her time with the savages was limited. She spent most of her time in the city of São Paulo, working in the favelas with the poor, trying to convert them to Christianity.”
    â€œI applaud her humanitarian work, of course, but I thought Brazil was already Christian?”
    â€œOh no, the Roman Church is very strong there, I’m afraid, but Heather won many souls for Christ. For a while, she was considering a new mission to Spain, to bring lifelong Catholics to true Christianity. But she chose to join me in my ministry here, and I thank the Lord for her help every day. Her price is above rubies.”
    â€œAbove Ruby’s?” muttered Oliver distractedly, choking back his astonishment at this casual intolerance, even hatred of another denomination. Surely they had the same goals? What about Christian unity, ecumenism? Tapster smiled indulgently and stood up to answer a thump at the door.
    â€œâ€˜Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies,’” he quoted. “‘The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her, so that he shall have no need of spoil.’” He opened the door for Heather, who carried a tray into the room and placed it on the desk. Tapster kissed her on the cheek.
    â€œâ€˜She will do him good and not evil all the days of her life.’” he concluded, resuming his seat. “Proverbs thirty-one. Thank you, my dear.”
    â€œI didn’t hear the parson leave,” Heather commented coldly. “He didn’t stay long.”
    â€œYou and Billy were making sweet music all the way through his visit,” said Tapster fulsomely. “My wife is the musician in the family, the partnership, I should say. The Lord has blessed her greatly. Do you know, she has perfect pitch? I, alas, cannot equal her in talent. It’s as much as I can do to hit the right notes.”
    Don’t flatter yourself, thought Oliver, remembering Tapster’s thin singing voice and his labored attempts to tune his twelve-string guitar. Heather left the room, and Tapster poured two mugs of tea. A few moments later, the piano music resumed downstairs, punctuated by sustained wails from an electric guitar.
    â€œForgive me this impertinence, Mr. Swithin,” said Tapster, “but I must ask you something very important at this stage.”
    Here it comes. Are you saved? Do you believe? Have you given your life to the Lord? How would Tapster phrase it?
    â€œWould you like milk or sugar?” Tapster continued, smiling slyly in a way that suggested he had followed Oliver’s thoughts. “Or honey, perhaps? Personally, I take my tea flowing with milk and honey, if you’ll pardon my playing with the words of the Good Book. Exodus, I believe.”
    â€œI beg your pardon?”
    â€œThe promised land—a land flowing with milk and honey. First mentioned in the book of Exodus.”
    â€œOh.” Why did Oliver feel he was being patronized? Time to get back into the game. “Of course, you could ‘pile honey upon sugar, and sugar upon honey.’”
    Tapster knitted his eyebrows. “A biblical reference?”
    â€œNo, it’s from Lamb’s essay, ‘A Chapter on Ears.’ He claimed not