WAS LOSING HER FOCUS. She opened her hymn book and looked at the singers who stood facing her. She watched familiar heads tilted at a slant one way, the other way, rounded backs, slumped backs, tall backs, chins raised, chins tucked, heads burrowed into collars as if about to disappear. Flora, the alto next to her, gobbled at the air as she began the first verse. The movement startled, though Maggie always tried to be ready. Andrew, across the aisle, made a sudden dip forward as if his pointed chin would dig the notes right off the page. One of Andrew’s eyes was set slightly lower in his face than the other, and Maggie sometimes felt she was being looked at from two levels. Andrew glanced up at that moment and Maggie was certain that his upper eye winked. She grinned. Andrew, who had a fine tenor voice, had also joined the choral society and he, too, had been asked by Lukas to perform solo at the New Year’s concert. Maggie looked at the singers on either side of him. She knew every face in the church, hadknown most members of the choir almost two decades. They sang as one, sat as one, and now leaned back into their seats as one. Her hymnary slid out of her hands and she caught it before it hit the floor. She stared down at the wide plank of polished pine beneath her feet. How could one tree have provided such perfect wood? She fidgeted, tucked the hymn book away and looked up at the arch of a window, where a single ray of light was bending in at a hard angle.
The minister stepped up to the pulpit and announced details of events leading to Advent. The sermon began. Maggie could not pay attention. She cast her memory back to a Sunday shortly after the end of the war, when a senior chaplain from Napanee had come to conduct the service. The church had been packed for the occasion. She was introduced to the visiting chaplain, and as he shook hands with her, one of his eyes looked off to the side, corrected and fixed straight ahead again. She wondered if he’d been wounded, or was suffering from the disease everyone was calling neurasthenia. The chaplain had spoken about his years at the Front. She was certain that everyone in the congregation had heard enough of the war, but not all of the men had returned home at the time and people were at the edge of their seats, hungry to hear any detail at all.
Maggie looked down at her lap now and saw that her hands were curved, palms up, as if in expectation of something dropping from the ceiling. She couldn’t help glancing upward to ensure that no object was making a rapid descent. She glanced over at the minister, who was finishing his sermon, and finally, finally, the service was over.
S HE WALKED ALONG THE ROAD WITH Z EL, OUT PAST THE edge of town. They’d made a plan to go directly to Zel’s house to have something to eat and then practise their parts for the concert, maybe even sew a bit on their skating costumes for the January masquerade. Maggie had told Am she’d be at Zel’s for the afternoon. Am no longer attended church services. He’d stopped years before, after he and Maggie first moved to town. No one had been successful in persuading him to change his mind—not the minister at the time, or the present one. Am did what he wished to do. Maggie knew that he’d soon be heading over to Kenan and Tress’s home for his Sunday afternoon visit.
“What did Am do to the back of his head?” Zel wanted to know. “I saw him in the post office a couple of days ago.” She took Maggie’s coat and hung it from a hook on the back of her kitchen door. They stomped clumps of snow from their boots and set the boots on a mat to dry.
“What do you think? He went to Grew for a haircut again. Even after I asked him to go to one of the other barbers in town.” Maggie sat herself down at Zel’s long kitchen table. “I could have done a better job myself.”
“Grew does have to earn a living,” said Zel. “There’s that to consider. And Am’s hair will grow
The minister stepped up to the pulpit and announced details of events leading to Advent. The sermon began. Maggie could not pay attention. She cast her memory back to a Sunday shortly after the end of the war, when a senior chaplain from Napanee had come to conduct the service. The church had been packed for the occasion. She was introduced to the visiting chaplain, and as he shook hands with her, one of his eyes looked off to the side, corrected and fixed straight ahead again. She wondered if he’d been wounded, or was suffering from the disease everyone was calling neurasthenia. The chaplain had spoken about his years at the Front. She was certain that everyone in the congregation had heard enough of the war, but not all of the men had returned home at the time and people were at the edge of their seats, hungry to hear any detail at all.
Maggie looked down at her lap now and saw that her hands were curved, palms up, as if in expectation of something dropping from the ceiling. She couldn’t help glancing upward to ensure that no object was making a rapid descent. She glanced over at the minister, who was finishing his sermon, and finally, finally, the service was over.
S HE WALKED ALONG THE ROAD WITH Z EL, OUT PAST THE edge of town. They’d made a plan to go directly to Zel’s house to have something to eat and then practise their parts for the concert, maybe even sew a bit on their skating costumes for the January masquerade. Maggie had told Am she’d be at Zel’s for the afternoon. Am no longer attended church services. He’d stopped years before, after he and Maggie first moved to town. No one had been successful in persuading him to change his mind—not the minister at the time, or the present one. Am did what he wished to do. Maggie knew that he’d soon be heading over to Kenan and Tress’s home for his Sunday afternoon visit.
“What did Am do to the back of his head?” Zel wanted to know. “I saw him in the post office a couple of days ago.” She took Maggie’s coat and hung it from a hook on the back of her kitchen door. They stomped clumps of snow from their boots and set the boots on a mat to dry.
“What do you think? He went to Grew for a haircut again. Even after I asked him to go to one of the other barbers in town.” Maggie sat herself down at Zel’s long kitchen table. “I could have done a better job myself.”
“Grew does have to earn a living,” said Zel. “There’s that to consider. And Am’s hair will grow
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