Wild Horses. Bethany Campbell

that’s in God’s hands. Perhaps before we partake of Bridget’s talent, we should bow our heads and pray.”

      Mickey ducked her head but didn’t shut her eyes. She watched as Howard said his prayer and Casterleigh pressed his hands together, his eyes tightly closed.

      She could not help but notice that Adam barely lowered his head, and that he watched the others at the table. He blinked as if displeased when Howard said, “And may the soul of our brother Enoch rest in peace.”

      He finished, said “Amen,” then turned to Adam again.

      “My wife and I have been to the Caribbean a few times. Just what part of the Isabellas are you from?”

      “The island of Los Eremitas,” Adam said.

      “And what do you do there?” Howard’s question did not seem prying, only courteous.

      “This and that.”

      Adam said it in a way that blocked closer questioning. Mickey bristled inwardly, and Howard clearly noticed and changed the course of the conversation. “And what do you think of that cake, Hugh? Isn’t it a wonder?”

      Casterleigh had to swallow before he could answer. “Sure enough.”

      Howard Blake turned to Mickey. “Mick, I know everything’s topsy-turvy. And I hesitate a bit to bring this up, but Vernon was going to teach Sunday school this weekend. I’m sure it’s slipped his mind, and I wouldn’t have him feel bad about it for the world.”

      “Oh,” Mickey said, taken aback. Vern often volunteered to substitute teach the first and second grade class. And she was sure Howard was right; the crisis had knocked all thought of Vern’s promise out of his mind.