“Just hold it there,” Wilf said.
Father Urban held the hoe to the frozen ground. He had been chopping away in a lifelike manner because he didn’t want to be accused of posing. Earlier that morning, in the chapel, Wilf had fired away at him all during Mass — except at the elevation. “You were posing then,” Wilf had told him at breakfast. Well, wasn’t he posing now? Wasn’t Wilf—“Now you take your Life magazine”—being inconsistent?
“No,” Wilf said, shaking his head. He wanted the hoe.
Father Urban held the camera and watched Wilf. Why so sad? Loved the good earth, was that it?