The place looked strangely quiet, considering Sunday dinner was about to take place. The pastor had indicated the entire extended family would be attending. True, Hendrick Simmons’s automobile was still parked at the carriage house, but Brandon expected to see one or two other cars here. Not so. Brandon hesitated at the foot of the steps, wondering if Pastor Gabe had taken ill or was called away on emergency. “There you are,” called out the youthful minister from the front door. “Come on in.” Despite the icy December day, Pastor Gabe dressed in shirtsleeves, rolled up to the elbow, much more informal than Brandon expected for Sunday dinner. He mounted the steps with care, using the handrail to ensure he didn’t lose his balance. “I expected to see a car or two in front of the house.” Gabe held the door open for him. “You’re the first to arrive.”
