Being so self-absorbed in his own thoughts, he didn't notice the curious glances he was receiving from the other members of the Barkley clan, already seated at the table. He secured a plate and heaped it with the hot food from the buffet. It wasn't until he slid into his accustomed seat that he perceived the eyes of the Barkley clan were resting upon him. A quick scan around the table easily identified why he was the object of curiosity. He was in his typical work clothes; tan jeans, blue shirt and leather vest. The rest of the family was in their Sunday finery, and their especially nice Sunday finery Heath noted with dismay. That same sinking feeling that he had the first time he ate breakfast with this family, just a few short months ago, settled into his stomach again. Not knowing what else to do, Heath muttered, mornin' and started to eat his breakfast with exaggerated care. He knew someone would soon point out his indiscretion, whatever it was; he wasn't disappointed.

"Heath Barkley," Audra scolded in her best fisherwoman's imitation. "What do you mean coming to the table dressed like that."

It was a question the other three sets of eyes in the room wanted to know too, however they had planned to approach the subject a little more diplomatically. Audra's blue eyes bore down on her brother like a freight train. The other sets of eyes nervously glanced about the room before coming to rest on the blonde brother and sister in question.

"Well. Guess I missed the party invitation that said this was a fancy dress breakfast. I assumed the outfit I have worn to this table near 'bout every day was still suitable for today," he cornered with forced levity as he spread some jam on his toast.

"Humph. You certainly don't mean to go dressed like that," Audra asked pointedly.

"Yes Ma'am," Heath responded drawing down deep on his natural drawl. "I did reckoned to go like this. Ya think those steer in the upper pasture are gonna mind? You think they would prefer I wear something a little more formal when I ride out to check on them?"

Audra was now staring at him as if one of the aforementioned steer had just strolled into the dining room and was tap dancing behind his head. He knew he was missing the obvious here and hoped his sister would chose to enlighten him soon.

It was Victoria that finally came to his rescue, as she had done many times in the past. "Heath, what I think Audra is trying to ask is if you were planning to go to church with us this morning."

'Ah, church,' he thought. 'That was what the clothes were all about.' However, he had not gone to church much with them in the past. He wondered why it was an issue this particular Sunday.

"No Ma'am. I reckon I had planned to check up on those cattle in the North pasture," he repeated.

"But it is Palm Sunday. You have to go to church on Palm Sunday, Heath," Audra scolded as if addressing a child. "Why, not going to church on Palm Sunday is nearly as bad as not going on Easter or Christmas. This family always goes to church together on the holidays."

Heath felt his face start to flush and he ducked his head trying to hide his raising embarrassment. He had forgotten what Sunday this was, though if the truth be told, he didn't put much stock in holidays, religious or otherwise. Holidays, when he was growing up, had always been a time when he was reminded how poor they were; his mother always trying to scrape together the money to celebrate the holiday right, whether it was presents for Christmas or a decent set of clothes for Easter Sunday. But no matter how hard she tried, the results were still the same, they were poor and there was no escaping it.

Church had always been a sore point with Heath. His mama had made him attend church as a boy and he had hated every minute of it. He felt the preacher had it out for him and his mama personally. Whenever the he discussed sin, Heath swore the black robed man stared directly at Heath and his mother as if Heath were the snake and his mother the Eve who ate the apple.

The congregation was no better, whispering things about him and his mama; whore, harlot, bastard. Even as a young child he knew what these words meant and how they hurt his mother. Why one day the Reverend himself had told young Heath that he was going to have to try real, real hard if he ever hoped to go to heaven. In fact, the Padre had left Heath with the distinct impression that even if Heath were to become the Pope himself, Heath might never make it to heaven because of the circumstances of his birth. Heath had told the Priest he didn't want to go to heaven, that hell sounded like a lot more fun. If he thought his life in church on Sunday was miserable before, it was even worse after he uttered his eternal resting place preference to the Pastor. From there on out, when the Father talked about sin, a subject the Padre seemed to delight in dwelling on, he glared directly at Heath; why Heath was sure he was going to haul the boy up on stage as exhibit A someday. If it weren't for the fact that his mother and Miss Hannah practically strong-armed him to church, he would have given up on religion a lot sooner.

No, he had had quite enough religion thank you and when he gotten old enough, he did stop attending services, much to his mother's dismay. Heath had tried to explain to his mother that he believed in God, but did not believe that the Reverend Coldwell was the only way to reach the deity. Miss Hannah had moaned and wailed that he would become the devil's child if he forsake the church and from that day forward, she had made it her personal mission to pray for his soul everyday. His mother had let the matter drop. At least Heath claimed he still believed in God and she prayed that that would be enough to someday lead him back to the church.

"I'm not much on organized religion," he finally replied slowly addressing the Barkley breakfast table. "I have always believed that God helps those that help themselves and you don't need to go to church to do that."

"Heath---," Audra started in her lecture tone.

Victoria stepped in and smoothed over the conversation. "Audra, be quiet and finish your breakfast. Heath dear, if you do not wish to go to church with us that is fine. I just want you to know that anytime you do want to come along, we would be happy to have you."

Heath knew Victoria well enough by now to realize that she was making a subtle plea for him to consider going with them. But his heart was still hard for the way the church had treated his mother and he.

"Thank you, but seems how I am not exactly dressed for a church meeting, and I don't want to hold you up, I guess I'll pass. Now, if you excuse me, I gotta get going," he said as he carefully folded his napkin, placed it on the table beside his half-finished food, and left the table. He moved quickly through the dining room and soon the kitchen door slammed authoritatively.

Victoria plucked at the snowy white linen she held clenched in her hand until she realized what she was doing. She deliberately placed it back in her lap and clearing her throat announced they'd better hurry up and finish their food or they'd be late for church. The rest of the family went back to their meals and an uneasy silence settled over the room.

It was late afternoon, the sun was starting to think about heading to bed for the night. Heath had been riding the range for most of the day and was now heading home along the ridge that paralleled the road from town. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of a black speck that was rapidly moving along the road below; it was kicking up a mighty cloud of red dust.

Heath pulled Charger to a halt, sat back in the saddle and studied the scene below; something about it pricking his sixth sense. It took him a few minutes to realize that the black speck was actually a carriage, careening out of control. Sinking his heels into Charger's flanks, he urged the bay down the ridge and after the carriage. Whoever was in it was in terrible trouble; at their current speed there was no way they would be able to negotiate the sharp turn in the trail that lay alongside the ravine up ahead. Urging his mount faster, Heath desperately tried to bridge the distance between himself and the runaway buggy. But the turn came up to quickly and as feared, the one wheel of the buggy slid over the edge tipping the carriage, horse and occupant over the side and plunging them into the shallow ravine. All three objects eventually came to a sickening, thudding halt at the bottom.

Heath hauled Charger to a stop and flung himself from the saddle. Slipping and sliding, he made his way down the ravine to where the carnage rested. One look at the poor horse told Heath the only help he could provide the suffering animal was a clean shot. His searching eyes could not spot the whereabouts of the carriage's occupant at first. A low moan finally led him to the spot and his pupils widened at what he saw. The middle age man was firmly pinned beneath the carriage. Heath's stomach did a slow queasy roll as he remembered the time he had found himself in a similar situation. It was not been a memory he enjoyed.

Heath moved to kneel by the man's head and brown eyes sought out his blue ones. A small self-deprecating smile crept across the downed man's face. "Guess they needed to teach better horse handling skills in the seminary."

The word seminary registered and Heath noticed the man trapped beneath the wagon was a man of the cloth.

"Don't try to move," Heath instructed.

The Father smiled gently again. "Really hadn't planned to go anywhere at the moment."

Heath straightened up and moved about the wagon, examining the desperate situation. The carriage horse's scream pieced the air and Heath quickly moved to its side. "I have to shot him. He is suffering terribly."

"Do what you have to son. The Lord commands us to be merciful to the beasts of the fields."

Heath drew his steel gun from his leather holster and carefully lined up his shot. A sharp crack and a whiff of gunpowder marked the end of the animal's suffering. Reholstering his pistol, Heath went back to examining how to remove the carriage from the Padre.

He decided the best strategy was to use Charger to pull the wagon off the top of the Priest. Heath doubted he could lift it by himself and he wasn't sure the Father would be able to slide out from under it on his own steam. No, he had to pull the carriage free first, then help the Padre to move. With a plan of attack in mind, he moved back to the Father's side.

"I am going to go get my horse and pull the wagon off the top of you. You try to relax. I'll be right back."

"Wait," the man of the cloth said reaching out his free hand to the empty air. "Don't bother son."

"But, I can not get the wagon off you by myself."

"There is no need to remove the wagon, immediately," the man said, his brown eyes registering the pain his body was feeling.

"We have to get this carriage off you and get you to a Doctor," Heath said firmly.

"Son. Come over here please," the Priest said indicating the left side of his body. Heath did as requested and an involuntary gasp escaped his lips when he saw what the Father was indicating. He unsuccessfully tried to repress the shudder that ran through his body. The carriage had broken as it tumbled down the slope and one piece of it was now impaled the hapless Priest to the ground, skewering the man's abdomen. Red blood welled from the wound and there was no doubt in Heath's mind that the injury was fatal. The man was close to death and to remove the carriage, would surely only hasten his demise.

Heath reluctantly met the Father's eyes, not knowing what to say. He was shocked to find the Priest smiling at him again. "As you can see, it would be best not to move the wagon I fear."

Heath nodded numbly, still at a loss for words. Both men were quiet for a few minutes. Finally, Heath, desperate to do something, stood up and announced, "I'll go fetch the Doc."

"No," the Padre cried, perhaps a little more forcibly than he meant too. "I mean, he can not help me now. Son, let me be truthful. I know I am dying and well, I would prefer not to die alone. I would like, if you don't mind, that you stay with me until--- the end."

Heath nodded his sandy blond head. He could understand what the Father was asking. He remembered how frightening it was lying trapped under the wagon by himself when Victoria had gone off in search of help. He did not wish that on anyone.

Heath crouched back on the ground beside the dying man, noticing he was shivering. "Let me go get the blanket from my horse. Would you like some water?"

The Padre shook his head minutely. "That would be kind of you son."

Heath climbed back up the slope to where Charger stood in the deepening twilight. Taking the horse's reins, he led him a short distance to where the grade was less steep and then coached him down the slope. The cowboy and the horse made their way back over to the wagon where he ground tethered Charger and removed his blanket. Carrying that and his canteen, Heath moved back to where the Priest lay silently in the sagebrush.

Heath thought the Father had died at first, but the warm brown eyes opened as he crouched down beside him again. Heath gently placed the blanket over the exposed parts of the man's body. Uncorking the canteen, he dribbled a few drops of water on the man's cracked and parched lips. The Father nodded to indicate when he had had enough and Heath put the canteen aside. Settling down on the sun warmed earth, he inquired, "Father, are you sure you don't want me to ride to get the Doc or maybe someone else?"

"No one can help me now and as much as I have always tried to be a brave man, I admit I don't wish to face death alone. Perhaps," the pinned man said, "we should exchange names. Obviously, my dress gave away my occupation. I am Father Michael."

"Heath. Heath Barkley."

"Barkley?" the Priest pondered. "From the Barkley ranch?"

Heath nodded his tanned face affirmatively.

"I don't recall a Heath Barkley. Are you a distant relative?" the Priest inquired politely.

A hardened look crossed the young man's blue eyes and the Priest wondered what he'd said wrong.

"No, I'm Tom Barkley's son."

Father Michael could have bitten his tongue. Now he remembered, he had heard about Heath, Tom's illegitimate child. The Father carefully studied the face of the angry young man who was doing everything to avoid his eyes.

Closing his eyes for a few minutes, the Priest sent a prayer in a heavenly direction. 'Dear God. Is this yet another test for me? Even in my death you bring me a challenge. I have tried to serve you faithfully all my days and will continue to through my death. Please guide me to see what it is you want me to do to help this man.' When he had finished his impromptu prayer the Padre opened his eyes again to find Heath staring at him.

Smiling, he said, "Still here. Just taking a quick moment to make sure God has the gates open for me. So, Tom Barkley's son. If you don't mind the prying of a dying man, when did you find out about your father being Tom Barkley."

"At my mother's death," the cowboy replied bitterly.

"I'm sorry to hear about your mother's death. I am sure she was a good woman," the Priest replied sympathetically.

Heath had no idea he was going to say it until it slipped out his mouth. "Yeah, well that's not what the rest of the church community thought. No, boy howdy, I think the word our town Priest used was whore." Heath hung his head in shame, for having said such a thing to a total stranger, a Father and a dying man.

The Padre nodded in sympathy with the young man's pain. "In the eyes of many, your mother made a grave mistake. But to make an error is human. We must forgive people their mistakes, as God forgives us for our mistakes. Your mother was not a whore, simply a lost soul who wandered from the path of righteousness temporarily. But if she raised such a fine son as I believe you to be, then she must have been a good woman."

Heath looked suspiciously at the man lying on the ground next to him.

"So you have been living at the Barkley ranch for how long now?"

"Nine months or so," Heath answered in clipped tones.

"Nine months," the Father echoed. "Don't recall seeing you in church much."

Heath shifted uncomfortably on the ground as if he had just discovered he'd sat down in a patch of thistle. What was with this guy? Here he was dying and all he wanted to talk about was Heath's church attendance record? However, something would not allow him to be rude to a man who was drawing his last few breaths on earth so Heath sighed and tried to answer civilly.

"No Father. I mean my family goes there but me, well I don't cotton much to formalized religion."

"I see. Well, I freely admit that sometimes my sermons are a bit long winded. My instructors in the seminary told me I was a bit of a windbag. Try as I might, I fear my sermons still are a bit long for the hardness of those hard wooden pews."

Heath stared at the Father in shock. He'd never heard a Priest talk like this before.

The Father went on. "In one church were I was the Pastor, I got the Ladies Society to make seat cushions for the pews, nice fluffy ones. Figured if I could not shorten my sermons at least people could sit through my long ones in comfort. Guess in the end it was kind of a mixed blessing. The worshippers were much more comfortable, but my sermons were still too long, so instead of squirming the people fell asleep. The snoring really gets to you after awhile."

Heath cracked a small smile at the thought of a church full of snoring worshipers. He could sympathize with that. He often found his eyes drifting shut in church when he was a boy and he still could remember the sharp digs Miss Hannah would give him in the ribs. He ruefully rubbed his ribcage in memory. Miss Hannah took her religion very seriously and always tried to install her absolute faith in God in Heath. Hannah used to pray for his salvation every night. He half wondered if she still did.

The Father thoughtfully stared up at the deepening twilight noticing the first stars of the evening putting in an appearance. "I still think one of the best places to worship God is outdoors in his wonderful creation. There is no church in the world that can touch the beauty God provided in nature. Perhaps you are more of an outside worshipper, preferring to commune with God out here?" the Father suggested gently.

Heath looked down at the warm brown eyes starting up at him. They held no reproach, no mockery. Not sure why, Heath found himself honestly answering this man of the cloth.

"I don't worship God much, inside or out."

"I see," the Padre said neutrally. "But you do believe in God, don't you?"

Heath stared across the horizon to the setting sun. Purples and mauves painted the sky like a washed out picture and objects became mere shadows on the landscape. He thought about the Priest's question, whether he believed in God. It was a subject he had, on occasions in the past, pondered, especially when he was faced with a dire circumstance.

"Father," he started cautiously. "I do believe in God, well most of the time I guess. But I have to admit it is awfully hard sometimes."

"And why is that son?" the Father asked, his tone conveying nothing but curiosity.

"I just can't see how a supposedly benign and just God could allow some of the things I have witnessed, to happen."

"Ah, the benign and just God problem," the Father echoed as if he had this conversation with people all the time. "I have struggled with that one myself at times."

Heath stared at the man in shock. "You Father? But you are a, well Priest, a man of God. Don't you have to believe in him 100%?"

"Son, I didn't say I didn't believe in him. I just said that I sometimes question how he can allow certain things to occur. Even we Priest have doubts in our callings at times, or at least I do. I have often wondered if I am weaker then my brethren in that respect. Oh, I have never doubted that there is a God nor questioned that he is my salvation. But I do confess I probably bother God with a lot of questions about his motives. Sometimes he answers and sometimes he leaves me to find the answers."

A rattling cough wracked the man's body and Heath moistened his lips again when he was through with the spasm.

"Thank you. When I was a boy, I use to pray to God, asking for answers to this and that. I must say, I was disappointed that I never seemed to receive the direct responses I was looking for. I don't know what I expected, maybe a book of 'God's Answers to the Questions of the Universe' to fall from the heavens into my lap."

The Father paused a moment to reflex. "Yes, I had some strange ideas as a child. But still, somehow I know the church was my ultimate calling and so when I reached the proper age, I went to seminary school. As a young novice, I figured I now had an inside track to God. That all those questions I had growing up would magically be answered; when I needed to know the 'why' of something I could simply march up to the alter, drop to my knees and piously, of course, ask my questions of God. I was sure since I was know one of God's soldiers that he would rain down his answers on me."

The Father paused for a moment as he shifted a bit, trying to get more comfortable. A coyote howled in the distance and the chirping of the crickets momentarily ceased.

"Funny though, seems it doesn't work that way, not even for a man of the cloth. God did not place the answers to my prayers and questions in my lap. What he did do was teach me how to search out his will. You know Heath that is what a Priest job really is, searching out the will of God and trying to help others to do the same. God has given us some good tools, like the scripture to help out, but it is still incumbent upon us to do the work."

The Padre started to laugh. "You know what my mentor once told me? Father Paul, one of the most devoted men I ever knew. Why when Father Paul preached he could bring the roof down. He had such a loud booming voice that I was sure his prayers reached God a whole lot faster than the rest of ours. But anyway, one day I was complaining that here I was a Priest for two whole years, and I didn't think God gave me anymore answers now than he did when I was 9 years old. And you know what Father Paul said? He looked me straight in the eye and said 'God don't do gimmes son. You want it, you work for it.' From that day forth, that became my motto in life. 'God don't do gimmes.'"

The Father paused for a breath before continuing. "I have tried to instill that idea in all my parishioners. They can not just sit back and expect God to drop good fortune in their laps. No sir. If they follow Gods commandments, open their hearts to him and try, to the best of their ability to do his will, then he will always be there for them. But God don't do gimmes," he concluded laughing again. Another cough wracked his weakening frame. "Think I'd better lay off on the laughing."

The thought that he had voiced at the breakfast table came back to him. "God helps those who help themselves," Heath stated out loud to the Padre.

"Exactly my son!" the Priest said happily. "You sure you haven't been sneaking into the back of my sermons?"

Heath smiled warily at the man.

"Now, of course that doesn't mean you can go about doing whatever you want. No sir, you have to follow Gods commandments and if you slip up, well you got to set it right, that is what God wants you know. Kind of like your mother son."

Heath's eyes narrowed again.

"Now let me finish. As a man of the cloth, I have to say that according to the Bible, what your mother did and your father, lets not forget him in this equation, well it was not proper. But that doesn't mean that God did not love her and forgive her as should we."

Heath looked confused.

"Let me ask you a few questions son. Did you mother ever have another affair?"

Heath curtly nodded his head no.

Was she a God fearing woman? Did she always try to do what was right? Was she kind and charitable? Did she provide for you as best of a home as she could? Did she help her neighbor? She didn't lie or cheat or steal? Did she raise you to understand right and wrong?"

Heath nodded his head affirmatively.

"Son, your mother was a good woman in God's eyes and I know he welcomed her into his kingdom with open arms. Anyone who said your mother was not a good woman, even if he was a Priest, well he was wrong. And yes, even Priest can be wrong Heath. We are human. God just asks that we realize when we have made a mistake, forgive and try to correct it. "

Heath looked thoughtfully at the dying man on the ground, seriously thinking about what he had said.

"And Heath," the Priest said in divine inspiration. "Don't let anyone ever tell you are not a good person, or somehow unworthy. You are as good, if not better than anyone else in this world is. Your birth circumstance is not a mark against you. You make your own marks in this world. Follow Gods commandments and always try to do what you know is right in your heart and you will be the richest, worthiest man alive."

The Father felt a curious lifting in his soul as if he knew that his mission here was nearly complete. He had never felt so close to God as he did in this particular moment.

Heath watched the man's face; he seemed so at peace with himself for a man who was about to die. Their eyes met and the Priest said smiling, "I wish we had met earlier Heath. I am afraid I don't have time to discuss the theology of other religions and if there is one God why there are so many religions. That subject has always been a bit of a fascination for me." The Father's eyes drifted shut and only the shallow rise and fall of his chest indicated he was still of this world.

Eventually, the Father's eyes opened in the last dredges of daylight, seeking out Heath's again. "I am not asking this because I am dying, nor do I want you to do this because it was a dying man's wish." Heath's attention riveted back on the failing Padre.

"Heath, I would ask if you would consider giving God and the church another chance. I think you will find they both have a lot to offer. Next Sunday is Easter, one of the holiest days of our religion. Go to church with your family and listen to Father John, who doesn't know it yet but he will be giving the sermon. See if perhaps there is still a place in the church for you. And if you feel uncomfortable there, then come out here and commune with God. Just don't give up on God son, because he has not given up on you."

A smile drifted across the Father's face. "Speaking of God, I think it is time for me to meet my maker face to face. Finally, I will get another one of my questions answered. What does God look like? Take care my son. Thank you for staying with me. God bless you," and with that the man's eyes became blank and his chest sunk, never to rise again. The smile that he wore in his last few moments on earth still graced his face even in death.

Heath reached over with his work-callused hand and gently closed the Father's eyes. He took a deep breath of the cool, night air, sat back on his heels and stared up at the vast array of stars dotting the heavens. What a strange day this had turned out to be.

He stood, stretched and then reached down to pull the blanket up over the face of the dead Priest. He stared at the blanket-shrouded figure for a few moments, pondering the things the man had said. Heath had no intention of suddenly becoming a Holy Roller, but he promised himself he would think about the things the Father and told him. Turning his back on the scene, he walked over to where Charger stood and flung himself up on the bare gelding's back. He was going to ride back to the ranch and get a couple of men and a wagon to transport the Father back to his parish for a proper burial.

Heath attended the funeral services for Father Michael. Father John and some of the other members of his church spoke, all highly praising the Priest. No one in the Barkley family had said anything when Heath had showed up at the burial site. The family had sensed something had happened between Father Michael and Heath but no one had pried as to what that was.

Late that same evening, Victoria found Heath sitting alone in the drawing room by the fire. She had learned over the past few months that this was the boy's favorite spot to sit and think and that often, if approached, he would talk freely about his troubles. Victoria glided into the room, her bathrobe making a soft swishing sound that alerted the pensive man of her presence.

"Father Michael is going to be missed around here," she opened. "He was a good man."

Heath turned his pale blue eyes from the fire to look at the petite, grey haired women who stood near him. "Where his sermons really that long?" he asked the startling the woman.

Victoria sank on to the settee and considered the odd question before her. Before she could reply, Heath shifted his eyes back to the fireplace and continued. "He said, Father Michael, that his sermons were too long."

Victoria cleared her throat and replied. "Well, he did tend to have a have with words and I suppose he was a bit long-winded at times. But you know, what he had to say, the way he made religion so, I don't know, human, attainable, well if he was a bit long I never minded. I always enjoyed listening to him."

"Even if the pew was hard," Heath whispered under his breath. Victoria cocked and eyebrow at him and wondered what had transpired out there in the ravine.

"Do you think it is wrong of me not to go to church," he flat out asked Victoria.

"As I said before, that is your decision and I respect your right to make it for yourself. Personally, I have always found religion to be a comforting aspect in my life. There were times when your father and I found ourselves in dire straits and escaped in ways that could only be described as miraculously. I just have to believe that there was a greater being at work."

Victoria paused to reflect for a moment before continuing. "I have seen first hand what good the church can do, from helping the orphans, to providing an outreach to people of the community. That is not to say the church is always right. Just like any other organization, there will always be corruption, but hopefully the good weighs the bad."

"Father Michael urged me to give the church another try," Heath told her, turning serious eyes upon her. "It was so strange. Here he was dying, and all he wanted to do was talk about my faith, or lack there of, in God. And you know what? In the short time that we talked, he really made me think, and made me feel good about who I was. Even when I told him I didn't go to church he didn't turn all preachy on me but said as long as I held God in my heart it was OK. He said 'Follow Gods commandments and always try to do what you know is right in your life and you will be the richest man alive.'"

Heath fell silent, contemplating his short yet potential life changing conversation with the Priest. "God don't do gimmes."

"Excuse me?" Victoria queried.

"Just something Father Michael said." He got up and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. "Goodnight."

"Night Heath," she returned as she watched the young man head upstairs to bed. They always said God works in mysterious ways, she thought ruefully.

Easter morning found the family gathering in the foyer to go to church.

"Audra," Nick bellowed up the stairs. "Will you hurry up or we're all gonna be late. Women," he muttered to Jarrod who was adjusting his left cuff link. Jarrod grinned at his brother in good spirits.

Nick heard footsteps on the stairs and swung around. "It is about time Audra---" but he stopped in mid-sentence when the footsteps turned out to belong to Heath. He was dressed in his three-piece suit, hair brushed back, boots gleaming. Ignoring Nick slack jaw expression, Heath moved over to Victoria's side and addressed her.

"Thought I might join you," he drawled softly.

"That would be lovely," she smiled offering her arm to him. The two strolled out to the buggy together.

"Well, I wonder what changed his--- hey what did you do that for," Nick asked indignantly as Jarrod elbowed him in the ribs.

"Keep your wondering to yourself and go find Audra," Jarrod reprimanded. He picked up his hat, brushed off a piece of lint, set it on his head and followed the others out the door.

"Well I, ah, never mind. Audra!" he bellowed as he charged up the stairs to drag her forcible out the door if need be.

Heath didn't become a clockwork churchgoer after his brush with Father Michael, but he did attend more regularly. Victoria also noticed the young man seemed less angry and more at ease with who he was; the chip he had carried on his shoulder for so many years was slowly being whittled away. Victoria had no idea all of what transpired between Heath and Father Michael but she sent a little prayer of thanks his way every now and then for helping her son.