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Japanese and she was sent to a relocation camp.”
    He scooted up to join her, and his bucket left a circle in the rich brown soil. “Yeah. My best friend from the University of California too. Shame.”
    “You really think so?” Her voice was low, and she looked to him with wide eyes. “I—I suppose it’s unpatriotic to say so, but I think it’s horrible. Mariko’s a citizen, as American as any of us.”
    “Yeah. The only sabotage Eddie committed was keeping me out of the top spot in our engineering class.”
    “I thought I was the only one who felt this way. My parents say it’s for Mariko’s safety. The city fired her husband, no one would sell to her, and the milkman wouldn’t even deliver to her.”
    Walt shook his head and kept his voice down too. “Can’t even help with the war effort. Eddie wanted to join the Air Corps with me, but they wouldn’t take him.”
    She glanced down the row. “It’s sad when those who want to serve aren’t allowed to.”
    “Yeah.” He followed her gaze and her line of thought. “Nothing wrong with George’s mind. He’d be great at a desk job, free another man to fight.”
    Allie leaned closer. “I hesitate to ask, but what about Art? Is he 4-F also?”
    “Nope. 1-A and raring to go. His dad needs him at the store, made him promise not to join up. Art can’t wait for his draft notice.”
    “His father must be proud of such a respectful son.”
    Walt shrugged and looked up to the white farmhouse. Grandma stood on the porch and beckoned through the circle of oak trees that screened the house from the wind. Lunch must be ready. Walt waved in acknowledgement. “Yeah, Art’s respectful—too respectful.”
    “Too respectful? How can that be?”
    “Sure, we have to honor our parents, but we have to honor God first.” He stood and held out his hand for Allie’s bucket. “Hey, everyone. Lunchtime.”
    Instead of the cold cut of a bucket handle across his palm, warm pressure enveloped his hand. Allie—she thought he was helping her up.
    His throat clamped shut. Oh Lord, not now. Don’t let me freeze now.
    Allie got to her feet and released his hand. “My parents aren’t Christians.”
    “Huh?” He swallowed hard. Maybe the deal wasn’t stupid if he couldn’t talk when he touched her.
    “They think they are, but they’re not.”
    Not what? He reeled his mind back. “Not Christians?”
    “They think church membership makes them Christians, but in eighteen years at St. Timothy’s, nobody talked about God the way Betty did—not just her words, but the way she lived.”
    “And you wanted what she had.” He liked knowing more about her, but what did it have to do with Art and his dad?
    “Yes, her assurance of God’s love, her joy in his presence. It’s what I wanted, what I needed.” Allie headed for the farmhouse.
    Oh yeah, lunch. Walt held out his hand again. “Here, let me take your bucket.”
    “Thank you.”
    She fell silent, and the distance across the green and brown striped field seemed longer than when he was a boy and hungry for Grandma’s pie. He should say something, but what?
    “St. Timothy’s.” Allie’s eyes fixed on some point way past the farmhouse. “It feels so claustrophobic and petty, not joyful and peaceful like my church in Claremont.”
    Walt made a face. “Sounds like you need a new church.” She turned to him. “That’s my quandary. How can I disobey my parents?”
    Now he saw the connection to Art’s story. “The real question is: how can you disobey God? You have to pray and find out what he wants you to do.”
    “I want to be where I can serve the Lord and do some good, but a family should worship together. Besides, I can’t imagine walking into a strange church all alone. Why, I wouldn’t even know where to look for a new church.”
    “If you’d like, I’ll pray for you.”
    “Would you? You don’t know how much I’d appreciate that.”
    Walt’s cap slipped back, and the curl flopped onto his