Meg eyed the drifts piled high against the town wall as she climbed up the steep road leading to the Corn Exchange. “Aye. The year they finished this church, when you were a wee girl.” He turned toward the Gothic gables and soaring belfry of Park Church. “We had snow over the windowsills and halfway up the door.” As they neared the broad entrance opposite the town wall, she looked up at the rose window in the north gable and recalled sitting in the pew each Sunday counting the stained glass panes that fanned out from the center like a carriage wheel. I’ve missed too many worship services of late. So she’d confessed to Gordon, but the truth was, she’d not been to church in months. Remember the sabbath day. Meg had not forgotten, but she had been neglectful. She touched the stone around the arched doorway, deciding this was the perfect day to begin anew. I will remember thy wonders of old. “We’re in time for the bidding prayer,” her mother whispered. They crossed the threshold with due reverence and moved into the sanctuary.
