Breath of Heaven by Alana Terry

Chapter One ...

I’ll wait a little longer. Then I’ll tell him.

Katrina tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and listened at the door of her husband’s study.

“Absolutely. It’ll be done before church tomorrow.”

Who was he on the phone with now? And was this one of those calls that would age him another five years?

“Yeah, it was just that we ran out of salt the night before, and I forgot to get some from the store … You’re right. It was slippery. I’m just glad no one was hurt.”

Katrina bit the corner of her lip, trying to guess who would have called to complain. Unfortunately, the suspect list was at least a dozen names long.

“I’m very sorry about that,” Greg was saying. Funny how he had apologized to every single member of the congregation in the past six months, but never to her.

Not even once.

“I’ve already asked Katrina to add it to the shopping list … Yeah, I’ll tell her to get two. That’s a good idea.”

The parsonage was so cold Katrina was surprised she couldn’t see her own breath. Greg insisted on keeping the thermostat set at sixty to save the church any extra expense. One less thing for him to apologize over at those monthly business meetings while the treasurer read over the line items of the budget.

The door opened. “What’re you doing here, Mouse?”

Since she first met him as a teen in his youth group, Greg had been making her heart leap. She fidgeted with the small gold band of her wedding ring. “I was just … I was on my way to …”

Greg’s study sat at the end of an otherwise unused hall. Katrina threw her glance toward the pantry on the opposite side. “I was looking to see if we had any cans of cream of mushroom left.”

Greg frowned. The expression fell so naturally on his face.

Katrina bit her lip. “How’s everything going?” She wondered what it would be like to for once feel at home in her own house. Orchard Grove Bible Church’s house, actually. Certain members of the congregation liked to point out at every single business meeting how generous the church was to let the young pastor and his bride live there rent free. So why, they asked, was it so hard for the newlyweds to keep the walkways shoveled now that the snow was falling?

Greg stared past her shoulder. “Fine.”

“Who was on the phone?” She regretted asking the question as soon as the words left her mouth.

His jaw tightened. “Oh, it was nothing.”

She’d learned enough over the past six months that she didn’t ask for more information. They had moved to Orchard Grove right after their wedding, hopped in the car once the ceremony ended and honeymooned on the road from southern California to apple country, Washington. Not that Orchard Grove wasn’t pretty. It had a certain desert-like appeal, if you liked dry landscapes with plenty of rocks. The orchards were out of town, which would make for some nice Saturday drives if Greg actually got the weekends off.

Orchard Grove was colder than anything she had experienced in Long Beach, but she and Greg were trying valiantly to master shoveling snow, salting sidewalks, and driving on sheets of solid ice like everyone else. She tightened her sweater around her and let her eyes linger for a second or two on the thermostat dial. A quick turn, two or three degrees at most. But by the time Greg finished lecturing her about stewardship and a pastor’s obligations for fiscal responsibility, the extra heat wouldn’t warm her anyway.

“Are you ready for the decorating party?” Greg asked. It was strange how much mumbling he did at home, but as soon as someone called on the phone or he went to preach from the pulpit, his diction was clear as a newscaster’s.

Katrina pictured herself as she had rehearsed, spine erect, eyes focused, her entire being exuding confidence as she explained why she had chosen to stay home instead of helping the Women’s Missionary League hang lights and various greeneries around the sanctuary and foyer of Orchard Grove Bible Church.

“Well?” Greg leaned forward slightly, holding his hand to the doorframe as if his study were a vacuum ready to suck him back in at a moment’s notice. “You did remember that’s today, didn’t you?”

Katrina straightened her back. She mentally listed all the logical reasons that would excuse her from an afternoon with the ladies of Orchard Grove, the hordes of bustling, gossiping, back-biting biddies that seemed to make up the bulk of the Missionary League. She sucked in her breath. “I’m just running a little late. I’ll be ready as soon as I change my clothes.”

Greg was halfway back in his study before muttering, “You should probably wear your skirt or a dress or something. Don’t forget what happened last time.”

As if Katrina ever could.

“Yeah, I’ll see you this afternoon. I was thinking of using up the leftover chicken for dinner tonight.”

Greg didn’t respond. Katrina dragged her bare feet down the hall as her husband’s cell called him away. The sound of his ringtone laughed at her from behind his closed door.