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thought.
    Evelyn leaned toward me and whispered, “This is our new minister?”
    I nodded. “For the next six months. She’s very nice. I like her. You will too. But … first sermon and all. She’s a little nervous.”
    â€œDoes she quilt?” Evelyn asked, not unkindly. “She needs something that will help her relax. Otherwise, six months could feel like a long time.”
    Â 
    Philippa stood near the doors of the sanctuary, wishing the congregants a merry Christmas as they filed past. We were nearly at the end of the exit line, which gave me ample opportunity to hear what people were saying to each other about our new minister. The reviews weren’t great.
    As we neared the door, I could hear what people said to Philippa as they passed. Reverend Tucker nearly always had compliments and congratulations heaped upon him after he preached. The response to Philippa was much more reserved. People welcomed her to town, thanked her for coming on such short notice, shared memories of sermons her father had given (I saw what Philippa meant about her father. He cast quite a shadow) and wished her merry Christmas. Hardly anyone complimented her sermon.
    Waldo Smitherton was the only exception, but he’d slept through the whole thing. He always does and then he always stops to wring the minister’s hand and bellow, “Wonderful sermon, Reverend! Wonderful! Enjoyed it very much!”
    Once I asked Reverend Tucker if that bothered him. “No,” he said. “I think he really does enjoy it. At Waldo’s age, a nap is as good for the soul as a stern rebuke.”
    After saying the same to Philippa, Waldo started to totter away, then spun around to face her again. “Wait a minute. You’re Reverend Clarkson?”
    Philippa nodded. “Yes, sir. I am.”
    He hobbled back and shook her hand a second time. “Waldo Smitherton—oldest member of the congregation. Stick around and you may get to preach at my funeral.”
    Philippa smiled. “I hope not. Not for many years to come anyway.”
    Waldo looked Philippa up and down, narrowing his eyes. “Huh. You don’t look like your dad. Anyway, I thought they were sending your brother.”
    â€œNo, Mr. Smitherton. I don’t have a brother.”
    â€œBut Philip Clarkson is your father?”
    â€œHe is, sir. My adoptive father.”
    Waldo considered this.
    â€œWell. If you were raised by the Reverend Clarkson, we can’t have gone far wrong calling you.” He bobbed his head approvingly. “He’s a good man. Though, I hope you won’t mind me saying, you’re a darned sight prettier than he is. A darned sight prettier!”
    Philippa laughed. “I don’t mind at all, Mr. Smitherton. Merry Christmas, sir.”
    â€œMerry Christmas to you, Reverend,” Waldo said and toddled off, cane in hand.
    I was next in line.
    â€œWell, at least I’ve won over one member of the congregation,” Philippa said, still smiling as Waldo retreated. “One down, four hundred and ninety-nine to go.”
    â€œOnly four hundred and ninety-eight,” I said. “I’m already a member of your fan club.”
    â€œAnd you can add our names to the rolls as well,” said Charlie as he put out his hand. “I’m Charlie Donnelly and this is my wife, Evelyn Dixon Donnelly.”
    Charlie put his arm around Evelyn’s shoulders and beamed. Charlie and Evelyn have been married for more than a year now, but it’s clear to anyone with eyes in their head that the honeymoon is far from over. They’re so sweet together.
    â€œVery nice to meet you,” Philippa replied, gripping Charlie’s hand, then Evelyn’s. “You’re Margot’s boss, aren’t you? She’s told me so much about you, all of it good. I feel like I know you already.”
    â€œI feel the same way about you,” Evelyn replied. “And for the same