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church of his boyhood.
    The atmosphere was different, too. There, he recalled the hushed rustle of women’s dresses, the soft whisper of voices beneath the swelling notes of the organ. Here, laughter and chatting seemed acceptable. More than half the people in the church were children, and they trotted around as comfortably as if they were on the playground.
    â€œOkay, come on.” Maggie, standing by the pianoat the front, had to clap her hands to make herself heard over the babble of voices. The deep red sweater she wore with her jeans brought out the pink in her cheeks.
    â€œLet’s have a look at everyone who wants to be a wise man,” she announced. “Come up front, right…”
    The end of that sentence trailed off when she saw him. Fortunately, the thunder of small feet would have drowned it out anyway.
    Maggie’s eyes narrowed as she looked from him to Aunt Elly. Irritation pricked him. She had no reason to look as if he didn’t belong here. He’d been invited.
    He’d have slid into the back pew, but Aunt Elly grasped his arm and marched him down the aisle to near the front. Their progress was marked by murmurs.
    â€œThere’s the new doctor.”
    â€œYoung, ain’t he?”
    â€œHi, Doc.”
    He nodded to those who greeted him and tried to ignore the other comments. He slid into the pew after Aunt Elly with a sense of relief. Then he glanced toward the front and found Maggie still watching him.
    She blinked as their gazes met and turned quickly toward the children, but not before he saw her color heighten.
    â€œWell, that’s great.” She seemed to count the small figures who bounced in front of her. “I think we need to narrow this down a bit.”
    â€œCan’t we have more than three kings?” one of the kids asked.
    It was Joey, he realized. The boy’s face shone with scrubbing and his blond hair had been plastered flat to his head.
    So the little monster wanted to be one of the magi. Grant would have expected a shepherd or a donkey was more his speed.
    â€œI don’t think—” Maggie began.
    Some mischievous part of his mind prompted him. “The Bible doesn’t actually say there were three wise men,” he pointed out. “Only that there were three gifts.”
    â€œThat’s right.” The man in the pew in front of him turned, smiling, and extended his hand. “Welcome. You’d be Dr. Hardesty, of course. I’m Jim Michaels.”
    Pastor Michaels, to judge by the Princeton Theological Seminary sweatshirt he wore. Grant tensed as he shook hands, and had to remind himself to relax.
    â€œSorry, Reverend. I didn’t mean to start a theological quarrel.”
    â€œJim, please.” The young minister had a wide smile, sandy hair and a faded pair of jeans to go with the sweatshirt, which looked new enough to suggest he hadn’t been out of school long. “Discussion, not quarrel.”
    â€œI think we’ll stick with the traditional three kings,” Maggie said firmly.
    She frowned at him, and he smiled back, unrepentant. This was different enough from the church he remembered that it didn’t bring up unhappy memories. And he enjoyed watching take-charge Maggie being ruffled by a crew of rug rats.
    â€œThree kings,” she repeated, in response to a certain amount of sniveling. “But the rest of you get to be angels or shepherds. Won’t that be fun?”
    As she went on with the casting, he had to admit she seemed to have a talent for making people happy. Even the most reluctant angel was brought around by the promise of having a gold halo.
    Pastor Jim kept up a quiet commentary about the pageant, which Maggie seemed to tolerate with an amused smile. Unlike the look she’d darted at him when he’d intervened, he noted.
    Well, presumably Pastor Jim was her friend, along with everyone else in the sanctuary. He thought again about the bombshell Aunt Elly