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local papers, debates, speeches. That was before the time of sit-ins and demonstrations, buta lot of people, not just parishioners, agreed with the bishop.”
    “And the army gave in?”
    “They sent some engineers out to look the building over, and they decided it was sturdily built and probably wouldn’t crumble underwater. We had to agree to strip the inside of anything made of wood or fabric, but that was a small price to pay. He was quite a man, Bishop O’Rourke,” Father Hartman said, his eyes narrowing and a little smile playing on his lips. “I believe he said once that the day would come when the church would rise again. At the time I thought he meant it metaphorically.”
    I felt a chill course through me. “It seems he was right.”
    “You know, when I heard the level of the lake had dropped and the cross at the top of the steeple was visible, I drove down here one day to see it.”
    “I can understand why. It’s an amazing thing to have happened. Bishop O’Rourke isn’t alive anymore, is he?”
    “Not for many years. I think he felt that preserving that church was the culmination of a life’s work.”
    My glass was empty, and the ice in Father Hartman’s was half-melted. “I ought to get upstairs,” I said. “I have a long trip tomorrow.”
    “The Stiflers told me you used to be a Franciscan sister.”
    “I was. I left my convent last spring.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that. We seem to lose so many of the best these days.”
    “It was a decision I reached over a long time with a lot of soul-searching.”
    “I’m sure it was,” he said with a smile, but I knew I represented a loss to him, a loss to the church.
    I was really too tired to talk about it, so I said good night and went up to my room.
       “Yeah—hello,” Jack’s voice said, his weariness audible.
    “It’s me. Still hitting the books?”
    “Oh, hi, Chris. Yeah, I’m knee-deep. I’ll probably take a sleep break soon. I’m glad you called.”
    “I may leave a little later tomorrow than I planned. Something crazy’s happened.” I told him, listened to his amazed response. We talked for a few minutes more and I heard him loosen up. I could see him at his desk in the room that was his entire apartment minus the small bedroom. I had been lucky in so many ways to find him, luckier still that he had been the first man in my life. The thought of going out with many men, of building small relationships with accompanying intimacies and seeing them clashed for whatever reasons men and women fail to come together, was very daunting to me. Jack had simply been there, not as a potential suitor, which might at that time have terrified me, but as a source of information and help. That we had become lovers was still a wonder to me.
    By the time we hung up, he sounded wide-awake, more interested in the thirty-year-old murder than the test the next night. I told him to forget the murder, and I tried to do the same. I wasn’t exactly successful.
       It made the front page of the local morning newspaper on Monday. I was mentioned and had the distinction of seeing my last name misspelled. Maddie called early and asked me to drop over before leaving. First I had a leisurely breakfast. Father Hartman was nowhere around, and I was sorry I hadn’t said a more formal good-bye the night before.
    With only one small bag to pack, I was ready to check out a little after nine. I turned in my key at the desk and went out to my car.
    Something drew me back to Studsburg. I knew there was nothing to see, that the police wouldn’t let anyone into that church until they were satisfied they had scraped up every crumb of evidence, and that might take some time considering the condition of the opening under the stairs. But I drove there anyway.
    Two sheriff’s cars were parked outside the church. I leftmine at the edge of the town and walked down the slope. I was dressed to be comfortable for several hours of driving, jeans and flannel shirt under my