For a moment, the outside didn't feel too cold. Then, as she waited for Hudson to finish saving his game, she could feel it against her bare skin and her hair, seeping in through her jeans and her sweater. She wondered if the frog-boiling analogy worked the other way. If you started out at normal temperature and it gradually got colder and colder, would you even notice when you froze to death? She shivered. This was where she had brought her children to, this cold place her own mother had abandoned at eighteen, never to return. Now she was doing the opposite, turning her back on the world and everyone who knew her.
Hudson spilled out of his door. Finally. "Close it!" she reminded him, then lifted Genny onto her hip. She hustled them across the street toward the church. Hadley had at least one parka stored in Granddad's house that would still fit her, but the last time the kids had visited in the winter they had been one and four. She would have to get them coats. Hats. Gloves. Boots. She hoped there was a Goodwill around here somewhere.
The interior of St. Alban's was marginally warmer than the outside. She had been here before, of course, over the ten years Granddad had been its caretaker, but the richness of the place, the stone pillars and the wood carvings and the elaborate stained-glass windows, always gave her goose bumps. Like walking into the Middle Ages.
Geneva lifted her head off Hadley's shoulder. "Momma, is this a castle?"
Hadley laughed. "No, baby, it's a church. C'mon, Hudson, this way." She headed for the door leading to the offices.
"Can I help you?"
Hadley choked back a screech of surprise. Beneath a window where stained-glass children were forever led toward the Throne of God, a woman emerged out of shadow and stone. Black shirt. Black skirt. It took a second before Hadley realized she wasn't wearing a turtleneck but a white clerical collar.
"I'm Clare Fergusson." She moved close enough for Hadley to make out her face, cheekbones, chin, and nose, all points and angles. "I'm the rector here at St. Alban's." She smiled a welcome, but there was a bone-deep sadness about her that the smile couldn't dissipate.
"I know," Hadley said. "I mean, I've heard about you. My grandfather's Glenn Hadley."
Reverend Fergusson's smile tried to brighten. "You must be Hadley Knox. Mr. Hadley's been talking about your visit for two weeks now." She glanced toward the church door. "Um, if you're looking for him, I'm afraid he ran out to grab lunch and go to the hardware store. He'll be another hour, I'm guessing."
Hadley let out an, "Oh, no," before she could catch herself.
Reverend Fergusson looked at her. Then at the children. "You've been traveling a long way." It wasn't a question. "How 'bout you come with me. You can wait for your grandfather in the Sunday school room. We've got a comfy sofa and some squishy chairs-and," she said to Hudson, "a TV with a VCR."
"Do you have movies?" Hudson asked, as they entered the hallway leading to the church offices.
"Yep. But I have to warn you, they're all religious. We've got Veggie Tales, and The Prince of Egypt, and Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, and the Star Wars movies."
"Star Wars isn't religious!" Hudson said.
"It's not?" Reverend Fergusson paused at the head of the stairs, her mouth open. "Darn it, why doesn't anyone ever tell me this stuff?"
It did Hadley's heart good to see her son's tentative smile. Divorce, disruption, relocation-these past months had been brutally hard on her little boy. She followed him down the stairs to the undercroft, watching him stick close to the rector.
"Next you're going to tell me Power Rangers aren't religious."
Hudson giggled. "They're not."
"Dang it, somebody is going to have to answer for this. Who bought these unsuitable movies?" Her eyes widened, and she pressed her fingers against her mouth. "Uh-oh."
Hudson laughed openly, guessing the joke. "You did! You did!"
The Reverend Fergusson's whole body sagged as she plodded down the dimly lit hall. "I'm so ashamed," she said. Hudson giggled again. "And here we are." She opened a door. She switched on the light to reveal a room that had been made as cheerful as a windowless fluorescent-lit space could be. Hudson ran to check out the low bookcase filled with toys, and even Genny wiggled out of her mother's arms to explore the play kitchen set in the corner.
Reverend Fergusson rolled the television, on its stand, away from the wall and plugged it in. "We don't get any reception down here, so it's already set to play videos," she explained. "You just turn it on and press the PLAY button." She straightened. Looked at Hadley again, the same way she had upstairs, as if she could see beneath her skin. "What can I do for you?" she said, half asking, half musing to herself.
The answer popped out before Hadley could help it. "Tell me where I can get a job around here." She wanted to call it back as soon as she had said it. The rector had meant something like Can I show you the bathroom or Can I get you a drink of water. Acting the hostess. Cripes, she thought Hadley was here for a visit with Granddad, not to repackage her life.
Except her eyes narrowed and she got an abstracted look, as if she was thinking hard. "What are you looking for?"
Something where I don't have to speak to another human being. Yeah, that sounded great. "Anything that doesn't require college. I only have a GED."
Reverend Fergusson, who probably had degrees up the wazoo, didn't blink. "There's a lot of seasonal work come summer. Agricultural work, construction. All the places in Lake George hire waitresses and chambermaids. But right now?" She frowned. "Shape's not hiring. The Reid-Gruyn mill is letting people go, now they've been bought out. Let me ask around and see if anyone I know has a position open. What did you do in… where are you from again?"
" California. LA."
"Ah."
"What?"
The Reverend pinked up. Embarrassed. "I was thinking you don't look as if you come from around here. Your tan, for one thing. And your hair."
Hadley ruffled her short hair. "What about it?"
"Well, it's… trendy. We don't have a lot of trendy here in Millers Kill."
Hadley almost laughed. "It's a cosmetology school special. Fifteen bucks. Twenty if you want the shampoo and blow-dry. Which I didn't."
"Were you"-the rector paused, as if she were searching for the tactful word-"an actress? Or a model?"