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than fight your way through your trials.”
    Olympia felt her spirit sink. “You watched . . . everything I did?”
    Her father laughed. “Not everything. In his wisdom, the Spirit shields us from certain sights. We are not omniscient, after all. But we saw your tribulations and your victories. Occasionally we saw your failures.”
    â€œBut we did not despair for you,” her mother quickly added. “For we knew the Lord would use your failure to teach you and mature you. And those were the occasions we saw you grow, dear one.”
    Olympia sighed. “I’m afraid I still have a lot to learn.”
    Edmund chuckled. “Of course you do, and you will have many opportunities to learn and serve. What do you think we do up here, sit on clouds and play harps?”
    As the others threw back their heads and made the heavens ring with laughter, Olympia shifted her gaze to the glowing temple on the horizon. “There is only one thing I want to do now,” she said. “I want to sit at the feet of Jesus and drink in his beauty.”
    Edmund stepped forward, offering her his shimmering hand. “Come, my love. Let us worship together once again.”
    Annie drew Olympia’s inert form into her arms, then pressed her fingertips to her aunt’s slender throat. She could not find a pulse, but the flesh was warm, so perhaps there was time to save her.
    â€œCaleb!” she screamed, startling the dog. “Come quick!”
    A moment later the old man appeared, his eyes wide. “Are you all right?”
    â€œIt’s Aunt Olympia! She’s—I think she’s in real trouble. Can you get Dr. Marc? Can we get her to the hospital?”
    â€œDo not fear, Annie. I’ll get the doctor.”
    The man’s eerie calm rattled her; she could have sworn he was more concerned for her than for the woman on the floor. Annie bent closer to her aunt, holding her tight as if she could compel the spirit of life to remain in the room, to return to this frail frame.
    What on earth could have happened? Olympia hadn’t been eating, so she couldn’t have choked. If she’d had a stroke, surely she would still be breathing . . .
    The swift answer came on the wings of reason, followed by memories of Caleb’s constant admonitions: No butter, no red meat, Missy, watch the salt intake, try and get some regular exercise. . . .
    Olympia must have had a heart attack.
    But now? She’d never heard anything about Olympia having a heart condition. If she’d had a problem, Dr. Marc should have been more vigilant, he should have come into the house and forced Olympia to eat right and take her pills or whatever. She could be so stubborn, and never more than when she wanted to eat as she pleased.
    A few minutes later she heard heavy pounding on the stairs, then Dr. Marc appeared in the doorway, his doctor’s bag in hand. He had been in bed, for he wore a chenille robe over striped flannel pajamas.
    Annie couldn’t speak. Thankfully, she didn’t have to, for the doctor dropped to his knees and knelt over the body.
    Annie scooted back to the wall, then looked up to find Caleb watching her. She turned away, but continued to feel the gentle pressure of his gaze as he began to pray. “Father,” his words were a warm whisper in the room, “be with Annie now and comfort her heart. Help her be strong at this time, and let your peace surround her.”
    Annie lowered her lashes in gratitude, then opened one eye as a thought struck: Why wasn’t Caleb praying for Olympia?
    Dr. Marc pressed his fingers to Olympia’s neck, then laid her flat on the floor. After checking her heart with his stethoscope, he slowly pulled it from his ears.
    â€œI’m sorry, Annie.” He glanced at the clock on the bureau, his face grim. “Time of death is eleven-thirty PM. That’s what we’ll write on the death certificate, but I’d guess she’s been