Phoebe Baker parked her car in the driveway of the pastor’s home, made her way up the neatly shoveled walk and rang the doorbell. The door was answered nearly immediately by one of the Johnson girls. Was that Vivian or Rachael? She could never keep them straight. “Hello, Mrs. Baker, would you like to come in?” the little girl asked. Such well-mannered children, she thought, Lucinda had done a wonderful job with her family too. “Yes, I would like to come in,” she said. “And I need to speak with your mother.” Rachael led her to the front room. “Please sit down,” she said. “I’ll get my mother. Daddy’s already here, if you need to speak to him. But he’s a ghost, so people can’t see him.” Phoebe was a little startled with the comment, but really, so soon after her father’s death a little imagination was understandable. Hezekiah was just as surprised at Rachael’s announcement and a little disconcerted when the child passed by and waved a shy hello to him. But he couldn’t let that distract him.
