Fourteen

FOURTEEN

I blinked and jerked awake, nearly falling off the stump I’d obviously sat on to rest. A sudden weariness washed over me. I blinked some more, feeling very much like I’d just woken up from a long sleep.

I looked around.

The clearing was empty. The man in yellow—Reverend Alistair McIlvian—had gone, leaving me alone. Or had he ever been there to begin with? I yawned, thinking how unlikely it was I could’ve nodded off and dreamed the whole encounter.

I looked up. The sun had moved on. Time had passed. How much? Enough for the sun to move. How long had I slept, if in fact that’s what I’d done? Was it late afternoon, early evening . . .

Sounds.

Laughing. Clapping. Singing?

Hymns. People singing hymns somewhere past the end of the path, near the church . . .

“Brothers’n sisters of His mercy, ‘ere in Tahawaus . . . ”

I lurched off the stump (dimly realizing I still clutched that book under my arm) and shuffle-stepped my way out of the clearing and down the path. I rushed as