The Best Man (Blue Heron #1)(53)

“We’re at, let’s see, now, Exodus, chapter four, verse twenty-five. Go ahead, Faith,” Mrs. Kennedy said.

“Thanks, Mrs. Kennedy,” Faith said, looking at her Bible. “Um...okay, here we are. ‘Then Zipporah took a sharp stone, and cut off the foreskin of her son—oh, crikey, are you kidding me?—and cast it at his feet, and said, ‘Surely a bloody husband art thou to me.’ Am I in the right chapter?” Horrified, she glanced around at the other women.

“Perfect!” Cathy said. “Shall we discuss?”

“Was the baby crying?” Carol asked. “You slice off his little foreskin with a rock and throw it on the ground, I want to know what the baby’s doing.”

“Might not have been a baby,” Lena Smits observed. “Sometimes those boys were fifteen, sixteen years old when this happened.”

“I doubt it,” Mrs. Corners said. “My grandson won’t even let his mother hug him. I doubt he’d let anyone circumcise him with a rock.”

“I doubt it, too,” Faith said, suppressing a dry heave. Surely, God would see how selfless she was being—senior citizen matchmaking and Bible Study rolled into one—and reward her with not only a pleasant stepmother, but also a nice husband and several cute babies. Any time now, Big Guy, she thought.

And speaking of marriage...the last time Faith had been in Trinity Lutheran’s basement, she’d been wearing a wedding dress.

Well. No point in crying over spilled champagne. She wasn’t here to relive her aborted wedding day. She was here to pick up women.

Cathy Kennedy, sure. She’d been widowed a long time. Janet Borjeson was also single, though Honor had made disapproving noises when Faith had mentioned her. But still. She noted their names in the margin of the Book of Exodus.

“What do you think, sweetheart?” Goggy asked.

Faith jumped. “Um, about the circumcision?” And really. Was there something wrong with Let the little children come to me?

Goggy frowned. “No, honey. Barb’s thinking about a breast reduction. She’s had back pain for years.” Barb nodded in agreement.

First foreskins, now boobs. “Go for it. I hear you’ll be really perky afterward.”

“Exactly,” Barb said. “Thanks, Faith. You’re a doll, you know that?” She smiled. “You know, my grandson is single, honey. Shall I give him your number?”

Faith suppressed a shudder. Barb’s grandson had escorted her in, a living cliché for serial killer—shuffling feet, thinning hair and the creepy, unblinking gaze of Mark Zuckerberg. “Oh, that’s sweet of you, but, no. I, uh...no, thank you.”

“She’s still heartbroken over Jeremy Lyon,” Carol Robinson announced.

“No, I’m not,” Faith answered. “We’re friends.”

“How could you get over him?” Cathy said. “All that and a doctor, too. Did you know he actually had me laughing during my annual you-know-what?”

The topic switched to Jeremy’s gentle hands, and then to the new sneakers Carol had bought at seventy percent off during her trip to the outlets.

After an hour or so, which seemed to be spent discussing ungrateful grandchildren and knee replacements, and not Moses in the desert, Bible Study finally broke up. “This must bring back terrible memories for you,” Carol said. “This was the exact spot where Jeremy broke up with you, isn’t it?”

“It is, Mrs. Robinson. Thanks for bringing it up.” She kept her eye on Cathy, hoping to casually mention Dad.

“You poor thing! It must’ve been horrible! Did you really have no idea?”

“I didn’t. Big surprise, right? How about that Zipporah, huh? Interesting woman.”

Carol would not be deterred. “I understand you not wanting to date Bobby McIntosh, but you are looking for a husband, aren’t you? Your grandmother said you are.”

“No, no. Not really. Well...sort of, but, no.” Faith shot her grandmother a look, but Goggy was busy discussing the delicacy of Norine Pletts’s lemon bars and making the argument that pastries that good could only be from Lorelei’s Sunrise Bakery while Norine simply smiled in enigmatic silence. And dang it! Cathy Kennedy had just walked out the door.

“Well, my son’s brother-in-law is single. You want his number? Want me to have him call you? He has a glandular problem, so he sweats a lot, but he’s very nice. So I’ll tell him to call you. Good! Okay, bye.”

“That’s all right, Mrs. Rob—” But Carol was gone, power-walking efficiently away.

Faith approached Goggy, who was still drilling Norine about her baking techniques. “Well, if you didn’t use baking powder, Norine, then how are they so flaky? Answer me that.”

“Family recipe,” Norine said, smiling at Faith.

“Goggy? I’m gonna start unloading the car, okay? See you when you’re done here. But take your time.”

Goggy’s face took on a tragic expression as she turned to her fellow Lutherans. “Oh. That’s right. She’s leaving me, you know. She’s...moving out. She could’ve stayed with us, but, no, these young people, they all need their space.” She sighed mournfully, invoking a Greek chorus of disapproving murmurs.

“Bye, ladies! Thank you for letting me sit in.” The disapproval turned to hugs and pats and admonitions to watch herself crossing the street and to lock her doors at night so her throat wouldn’t be slit.