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left.
    “Why to heaven, of course,” Miles said.
    “That doesn’t seem very fair, does it?” Mercy asked, as she followed the stream of parishioners down the aisle. “The meek, who presumably didn’t have an easy time here on earth, because of their meekness, allowing others to take advantage of them and all that, have to stay on earth while the rest of us go to heaven?”
    “But, we’re to assume that there are earthly blessings for the meek --” Miles persisted as he followed her out the door.
    “But, is it wise to base your eternal salvation on a mere assumption?” Mercy spotted Georgina and a Pastor Klum on the steps. “The Lord helps those who help themselves, and the meek, well I don’t think they help anyone, least of all themselves.”
    “That’s not scripture,” Miles addressed the back of her head. “Nor, is it doctrine.”
    Mercy stopped beside Pastor Klum and laid her hand on Georgina’s arm. “Good morning.” She nodded at both the pastor and Georgina. “Pastor, I so enjoyed your sermon, but Miles as a question for you.”
    “My son?” Pastor Klum turned his dark eyes on Miles who stood at Mercy’s shoulder. She could feel his breath on her neck.
    Miles flinched under the pastor’s gaze. Pastor Klum had an unfortunate resemblance to Abraham Lincoln, the same build and craggy facial features, but with more hair. His eyebrows, dark, thick and long, poked from his forehead like a thorn bush and the front of his hairline had a cowlick that made his hair stand on end.
    While Miles sputtered out his question about the meek inheriting the earth, Mercy whispered in Georgina’s ear and begged a moment of her time.
    “A walk along the bluffs perhaps?” Georgina asked taking Mercy’s arm.
    Mercy slid a glance at Miles and the pastor. Confident that Miles had been sufficiently tangled in Pastor’s Klum biblical discussion, she led Georgina to the path overlooking the harbor and bay. They discussed trivial things until they reached the park’s yellowing grass. Buttercups dotted the lawn and a cool breeze smelling of the Sound lifted the branches of the alders and birches around them. Mercy didn’t know how to say what was on her mind. As they walked their shoes beat a sharp and quick staccato on the brick path. Mercy kept looking over her shoulder, aware that at any moment they could be overtaken by Miles.
    The brothel stood on an outcropping of rocks and shoal on the peninsula with a pole bearing not only an American flag, but also pair of pink petticoats. “On a clear day, I can imagine I can hear the sound of laughter and music coming from the island.” She nodded at the Victorian monstrosity.
    Georgina clucked her tongue and for a moment Mercy wondered if she’d misspoke, but she pressed on. “Church attending young ladies like ourselves feign ignorance of such establishments and the needs to which it caters, but if we all turn a blind eye we all stumble.”
    “Exactly.” Georgina tightened her hold on Mercy’s elbow. “Who told you?”
    “Who told me?” Mercy laughed. “It’s a mansion with a pink petticoat hanging on a flag pole. It’s hard to miss!” The laugh died in her throat when she saw Mile’s lanky form cresting the hill and heading in their direction. She steered Georgina into a thicket of trees. She looked at Miles through the shade of the alders and saw him pause. He’d lost sight of them.
    Georgina shook her head. “You’ve misunderstood. I was wondering what you know of my involvement --”
    Mercy stumbled on a tree root and then corrected herself while Georgina’s hand clutched her arm. “You’re involved in the brothel?”
    Georgina looked at the brothel and then studied Mercy’s face. “Forgive me, I spoke too quickly,” Georgina said, lowering her chin and looking away.
    Mercy’s heart pounded. She had to tell someone her secrets and she’d chosen Georgina. Tilly, a gossip, and Eloise, a flirt, however loveable they might be, couldn’t be