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husband. “Twenty years gone, dear,” she whispered, “but you know, I still miss him.” She chattered about her garden and recipes and the daughter who would be coming to get her in two days, and then she burst into tears.
    “Is everything all right, Olympia?”
    Olympia turned to see Luther Stuart standing in the doorway.
    “Well, it was. I mean, it is,” said Olympia. “Mrs. Banks just got a bit emotional, Luther. We’re okay.”
    Elinore Banks nodded, snuffled and reached for a tissue.
    “I was with a patient in the next room and I heard the sound of someone weeping. Thought I’d better check. I was worried she might be alone.”
    “That’s kind of you Luther, but as I said, I’m here. I, uh, thought the hospice unit was upstairs.”
    “Mostly it is, but I have one patient in this unit.” Luther stepped back and turned away. “Let me know if you need any help, I’ll be on the floor for a little while longer.”
    Olympia didn’t know whether to be grateful or furious, but at the moment Elinore Banks needed her attention.  She turned back to the lady in the bed and held out an upturned hand.
    “Now then, Mrs. Banks, do you want to tell me what’s making you so sad?”
    The woman in bed sniffled and nodded.
    “Do call me Elinore, dear.” She dropped her voice. “You see, it’s like this …”

 
     
     
    Five
     
    After lunch, at precisely one in the afternoon, the six student chaplains were back in the conference room, reviewing their first day experiences with Sister Patrick. From where she was seated, Olympia could see the sun shining on the brickwork and the plantings in the courtyard outside. She wished she could open a window and let some of that bright fall air into the long gray and silver room. Then her thoughts strayed to Frederick, and she wondered what he was up to.
    She was snapped out of her scattered reverie when she heard Sister Patrick ask them all to think about where they thought they might be in three years’ time, and would Luther begin the conversation by telling them about interfaith ministry?
    He curled his fingers around the cross on his chest before responding, “Basically, it’s a ministry which observes the traditional Christian ethic without being constrained by the dogma of a specific denomination. I like to think that my ministry will be more inclusive than if I were following the teachings of only one church.”
    “How are people like you qualified?” asked Joel Silverstein.
    “There’s an organization of credentialed interfaith ministers,” said Luther.
    “Once you’re ordained, where will you work?” asked Jenny. “I mean, are you like any other minister?”
    He cleared his throat. “Many of us work in the military or in prisons or in hospital settings. I’m probably going to be a hospice chaplain. I might even work here at Mercy Hospital. I think I’d be a good fit, don’t you Sister?”
    Sister Patrick gave him a faint smile but said nothing.
    Olympia glanced at Timothea, who was leaning back in her chair with arms crossed over her vast expanse, taking it all in. In silent response, Timothea raised an eyebrow a fraction of a fraction of an inch in her direction.
    Sister Patrick thanked him and redirected the conversation. “And you, Timothea? Where do you see yourself after this?”
    Olympia watched as the woman prepared herself to speak. Even seated, Timothea moved slowly and deliberately, and Olympia was reminded of pictures she had seen of Hawaiian Queens, all of them powerful, beautiful, stately women. Timothea could easily have been one of them.
    “I’m called to preach the word, and God will surely tell me where that is to be, but I keep reminding him that I’d like to work with poor folks in the inner city. No harm in that, is there?”
    No response needed, thought Olympia, feeling envious of the woman’s solid, unquestioning faith and sense of purpose. She had no idea where her own ministry might take her. She could only trust that