{"product_id":"a-new-song-isbn-9780140270594","title":"A New Song","description":"\u003cb\u003eIn the fifth novel in #1 \u003ci\u003eNew York Times\u003c\/i\u003e bestselling author Jan Karon's beloved series, fans old and new will discover that when it comes to Mitford, absence only make the heart grow fonder...\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003eMitford’s longtime Episcopal priest, Father Tim, has retired. But new challenges and adventures await when he agrees to serve as interim minister of a small church on Whitecap Island. He and his wife, Cynthia, soon find that Whitecap has its own unforgettable characters: a church organist with a mysterious past, a lovelorn bachelor placing personal ads, a mother battling paralyzing depression. Whitecap has more than its fair share of challenges, but in the end, Father Tim and Cynthia find that Mitford is never far away when circumstances back home keep their phone ringing off the hook... | \u003cb\u003eJan Karon\u003c\/b\u003e, born Janice Meredith Wilson in the foothills of North Carolina, was named after the title of a popular novel, Janice Meredith.\u003cp\u003eJan wrote her first novel at the age of ten. \"The manuscript was written on Blue Horse notebook paper, and was, for good reason, kept hidden from my sister. When she found it, she discovered the one curse word I had, with pounding heart, included in someone's speech. For Pete's sake, hadn't Rhett Butler used that very same word and gotten away with it? After my grandmother's exceedingly focused reproof, I've written books without cussin' ever since.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSeveral years ago, Karon left a successful career in advertising to move to the mountain village of Blowing Rock, North Carolina, and write books. \"I stepped out on faith to follow my lifelong dream of being an author,\" she says. \"I made real sacrifices and took big risks. But living, it seems to me, is largely about risk.\"\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEnthusiastic booksellers across the country have introduced readers of all ages to Karon's heartwarming books. \u003ci\u003eAt Home in Mitford\u003c\/i\u003e, Karon's first book in the Mitford series, was nominated for an ABBY by the American Booksellers Association in 1996 and again in 1997. Bookstore owner, Shirley Sprinkle, says, \"The Mitford Books have been our all-time fiction bestsellers since we went in business twenty-five years ago. We've sold 10,000 of Jan's books and don't see any end to the Mitford phenomenon.\"\u003c\/p\u003e | \u003cp\u003eTable of Contents\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePENGUIN BOOKS\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTitle Page\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCopyright Page\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDedication\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEpigraph\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAcknowledgements\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER ONE - Angel of Light\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER TWO - Social Graces\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER THREE - Going, Going, Gone\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER FOUR - The Smell of Salt Air\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER FIVE - A Patch of Blue\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER SIX - The Long Shining\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER SEVEN - A Little Night Music\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER EIGHT - The Spark in the Flax\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER NINE - Home Far Away\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER TEN - If Wishes Were Horses\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER ELEVEN - Worms to Butterflies\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER TWELVE - Over the Wall\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER THIRTEEN - Mighty Waters\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER FOURTEEN - Letting Go\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER FIFTEEN - Lock and Key\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER SIXTEEN - Dorchester Island\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER SEVENTEEN - Bread and Wine\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER EIGHTEEN - Simple Graces\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER NINETEEN - Jericho\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER TWENTY - Dearly Beloved\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER TWENTY-ONE - True Confessions\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER TWENTY-TWO - A New Song\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eSneak Peek: Somewhere Safe with Somebody Good\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePENGUIN BOOKS\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eA NEW SONG\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eJan Karon, who lives in Blowing Rock, North Carolina, was an award-winning advertising executive before following her dream of writing books. She is the author of five bestselling Mitford novels: \u003ci\u003eAt Home in Mitford\u003c\/i\u003e; \u003ci\u003eA Light in the Window\u003c\/i\u003e; \u003ci\u003eThese High, Green Hills; Out to Canaan\u003c\/i\u003e; and \u003ci\u003eA New Song\u003c\/i\u003e (all available from Penguin). \u003ci\u003eAt Home in Mitford\u003c\/i\u003e was nominated for an ABBY Award by the American Booksellers Association in 1996, 1997, and 1998. Her book \u003ci\u003eJeremy: The Tale of an Honest Bunny\u003c\/i\u003e will be published in 2000 by Viking Children’s Books.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEnjoy the latest news from the little town with the big heart including a complete archive of the \u003ci\u003eMore from Mitford\u003c\/i\u003e newsletters, the Mitford Years Readers Guide, and much more.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eTo request a free subscription to the newsletter or copies of the readers guide (while supplies last), please e-mail reading@penguinputnam.com or send a postcard with your name, address, and request to:\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePenguin Marketing Dept. CC \u003cbr\u003eMitford Requests-B \u003cbr\u003e375 Hudson Street \u003cbr\u003eNew York, NY 10014\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eOther Mitford books by Jan Karon\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAT HOME IN MITFORD \u003cbr\u003eA LIGHT IN THE WINDOW \u003cbr\u003eTHESE HIGH, GREEN HILLS \u003cbr\u003eOUT TO CANAAN\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eVIKING \u003cbr\u003ePublished by the Penguin Group \u003cbr\u003ePenguin Putnam Inc., 375 Hudson Street, \u003cbr\u003eNew York, New York 10014, U.S.A. \u003cbr\u003ePenguin Books Ltd, 27 Wrights Lane, London W8 5TZ, England \u003cbr\u003ePenguin Books Australia Ltd, Ringwood, Victoria, Australia \u003cbr\u003ePenguin Books Canada Ltd, 10 Alcorn Avenue, \u003cbr\u003eToronto, Ontario, Canada M4V 3B2 \u003cbr\u003ePenguin Books (N.Z.) Ltd, 182-190 Wairau Road, \u003cbr\u003eAuckland 10, New Zealand\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e \u003cbr\u003ePenguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: \u003cbr\u003eHarmondsworth, Middlesex, England\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFirst published in 1999 BY Viking Penguin, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003eCopyright © Jan Karon, 1999\u003cp\u003eIllustrations copyright © Penguin Putnam Inc., 1999 \u003cbr\u003eAll rights reserved\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIllustrations by Donna Kae Nelson\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eGrateful acknowledgment is made for permission to reprint excerpts from the following \u003cbr\u003ecopyrighted works: “If Once You Have Slept on an Island” from \u003ci\u003eTaxis and Toadstools\u003c\/i\u003e by \u003cbr\u003eRachel Field. Copyright 1926 by The Century Company. Used by permission of Random \u003cbr\u003eHouse Children’s Books, a division of Random House, Inc. “God’s Way” by Kao Chung-Ming, \u003cbr\u003eappearing in \u003ci\u003eYour Will Be Done\u003c\/i\u003e, Youth Desk of Christian Conference of Asia, \u003cbr\u003e1986. By permission of the author.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003ePUBLISHER’S NOTE\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThis is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eKaron, Jan, date. \u003cbr\u003eA new song\/ Jan Karon. \u003cbr\u003ep. cm.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eeISBN : 978-1-101-07872-3\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eMaking or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIn memory of my aunt,  \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003eHelen Coyner Cloer,\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003ewho, when I was ten years old, \u003cbr\u003etyped my first manuscript.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e \u003cbr\u003eOctober 4, 1917-October 12, 1998\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“. . . we shall be like Him . . .”\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003cbr\u003e1 John 3:2\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSing unto the Lord a new song, and His praise from the end of the earth, ye that go down to the sea, and all that is therein, the isles and the inhabitants thereof.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIsaiah 42:10, KJV\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAcknowledgments\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eGentle Reader,\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eIn the Mitford books, there are nearly as many acknowledgments as there are characters in the story. That’s because I try to thank absolutely everyone who helps make the story more authentic. Sometimes I toss in a name out of sheer sentiment, like that of my sixth-grade teacher, Etta Phillips, who comes to my book signings and looks as youthful as ever. Many readers enjoy these acknowledgments because they occasionally find the name of an old school chum, friend, or family member.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSometimes, they even find themselves.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eWarm thanks to:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBrother Francis Andrews, BSG; Rev. Roy M. King; Flyin’ George Ronan; John Ed McConnell; Ralph Emery; Dr. Carl Hurley; Loyal Jones and Billy Edd Wheeler; Bonnie Setzer; Mary Richardson; Fr. John Mangrum; Fr. Jeffrey Scott Miller; Dr. George Grant; Austin Gragg; Roger David Craig; Frank Gilbert and his Mustang convertible; the Mitford Appreciation Society; Gwynne Crosley; Rev. Gale Cooper; Sue Yates; Dr. David Ludwig; Dan Blair; Linda Foster; Will Lankenau; William McDonald Parker; Blowing Rock police chief, Owen Tolbert; Officer Dennis Swanson; Bishop Christopher Fitz-Simons Allison; James F. Carlisle, Sr.; Betsy Barnes; Rayburn and  Sheila Farmer; Fr. Scott Oxford; Bishop William C. Frey; Bishop Keith Ackerman; Rev. Stephen J. Hines; Larry Powell; Barry Hubert; Derald West; Sandy McNabb; Donna Kae Nelson for her outstanding cover illustrations for the Mitford series; Captain Weyland Baum, early keeper of the Currituck Light; Billy McCaskill; Major John Coffindaffer; “Bee” Baum; Drs. Melanie and Greg Hawthorne; John L. Beard; Greg and Kathy Fishel; Frank LePore; Garry Oliver; my first-grade teacher, Mrs. Downs; my fifth-grade teacher, Mrs. Sherrill; Dr. Michael C. Ain; Captain Mike Clarkin of \u003ci\u003eFishin’ Frenzy\u003c\/i\u003e; First Mate Matthew Winchester; Dr. Sue P. Frye; Ross and Linda Dodington; Fr. Richard B. Bass; Colonel Ron and Cathey Fallows; Murray Whisnant; Robert Williams; Chris Williams; Michael Freeland; Rabbi David and Barbara Kline; Officer Kris Merithew; Bruce Luke; Johnny Lentz; Judith Burns; Wonderland Books; Tom Enterline; J.W.D.; Loretta Cornejo; Tex Harrison; Jerry Gregg; Officer Tracy Toler; Jeff Cobb; Walter Green; and Anita Chappell.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eSpecial thanks to:\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDr. Bunky Davant, medical counsel to Mitford and Whitecap; Tony DiSanti, legal counsel to Mitford; Grace Episcopal Church, the lovely architectural model for St. John’s in the Grove; Fr. Charles Gill, rector of St. Andrews by the Sea; Fr. James Harris, friend and helper; Judy Bistany South, for her warm encouragement over the years; my valued assistant, Laura Watts; Captain Horace Whitfield, master of the \u003ci\u003eElizabeth II\u003c\/i\u003e; hardworking booksellers everywhere; and, as always, my devoted readers.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCHAPTER ONE\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003eAngel of Light\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDappled by its movement among the branches of a Japanese cherry, the afternoon light entered the study unhindered by draperies or shades.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt spilled through the long bank of windows behind the newly slipcovered sofa, warming the oak floor and quickening the air with the scent of freshly milled wood.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eUnder the spell of the June light, a certain luster and radiance appeared to emerge from every surface.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThe tall chest, once belonging to Father Tim’s clergyman great-grandfather, had undergone a kind of rebirth. Beneath a sheen of lemon oil, the dense grain of old walnut, long invisible in the dark rectory hallway next door, became sharply defined. Even the awkward inscription of the letter M, carved by a pocketknife, could now be discovered near one of the original drawer pulls.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBut it was the movement and play of the light, beyond its searching incandescence, that caused Father Tim to anticipate its daily arrival as others might look for a sunrise or sunset.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe came eagerly to this large, new room, as if long deprived of light or air, still incredulous that such a bright space might exist, and especially that it might exist for his own pursuits since retiring six months ago from Lord’s Chapel.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs the rector of Mitford’s Episcopal parish, he had lived next door in the former rectory for sixteen years. Now he was a rector no more, yet he owned the rectory; it had been bought and paid for with cash from his mother’s estate, and he and Cynthia were living in the little yellow house.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOf course—he kept forgetting—this house wasn’t so little anymore; he and his visionary wife had added 1,270 square feet to its diminutive proportions.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eOnly one thing remained constant. The house was still yellow, though freshly painted with Cynthia’s longtime favorite, Wild Forsythia, and trimmed with a glossy coat of the dark green Highland Hemlock.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Cheers!” said his wife, appearing in jeans and a denim shirt, toting glasses of lemonade on a tray. They had recently made it a ritual to meet here every afternoon, for what they called the Changing of the Light.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe chuckled. “We mustn’t tell anyone what we do for fun.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You can count on it! Besides, who’d ever believe that we sit around watching the light change?” She set the tray on the table, next to a packet of mail.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“We could do worse.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eThey thumped onto the sofa, which had been carted through the hedge from the rectory.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“One more week,” he said, disbelieving.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Ugh. Heaven help us!” She put her head back and closed her eyes. “How daunting to move to a place we’ve never seen . . . for an unknown length of time . . . behind a priest who’s got them used to the guitar!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe took her hand, laughing. “If anyone can do it, you can. How many cartons of books are we shipping down there, anyway?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Fourteen, so far.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“And not a shelf to put them on.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“We’re mad as hatters!” she said with feeling. During the past week, his wife had worked like a Trojan to close up the yellow house, do most of the packing, and leave their financial affairs in order. He, on the other hand, had been allowed to troop around town saying his goodbyes, sipping tea like a country squire and trying to keep his mitts off the cookies and cakes that were proffered at every turn.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe had even dropped into Happy Endings Bookstore and bought two new books to take to Whitecap, a fact that he would never, even on penalty of death, reveal to Cynthia Kavanagh.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe looked at him and smiled. “I’ve prayed to see you sit and relax like this, without rushing to beat out a thousand fires. Just think how the refreshment of the last few weeks will help you, dearest, when we do the interim on the island. Who knows, after all, what lies ahead and what strength you may need?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe gulped his lemonade. Who knew, indeed?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The jig, however, is definitely up,” she said, meaning it. “Next week . . .”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I know. Change the furnace filter next door, weed the perennial beds, fix the basement step, pack my clothes . . . I’ve got the entire, unexpurgated list written down.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Have your suit pressed,” she said, “buy two knit shirts—nothing with an alligator, I fervently hope—and find the bicycle pump for Dooley.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Right!” He was actually looking forward to the adrenaline of their last week in Mitford.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“By the way,” she said, “I’ve been thinking. Instead of loading the car in bits and pieces, just pile everything by the garage door. That way, I can check it twice, and we’ll load at the last minute.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“But it would be simpler to—”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Trust me,” she said, smiling.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBarnabas would occupy the rear seat, with Violet’s cage on the floor, left side. They’d load the right side with linens and towels, the trunk would be filled to the max, and they’d lash on top whatever remained.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh, yes, Timothy, one more thing . . . stay out of the bookstore!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe peered at him with that no-nonsense gleam in her sapphire eyes, a gleam that, for all its supposed authority, stirred a fire in him. As a man with a decidedly old-shoe nature, he had looked forward to the old-shoe stage of their marriage. So far, however, it hadn’t arrived. His blond and sensible wife had an unpredictable streak that kept the issues of life from settling into humdrum patterns.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Anything wonderful in the mail?” she asked.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I don’t know, I just fetched it in. Why don’t you have a look?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis wife’s fascination with mail was greater even than his own,  which was considerable. William James, in his opinion, had hit the nail on the head. “As long as there are postmen,” James declared, “life will have zest.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh, look! Lovely! A letter from Whitecap, and it’s to \u003ci\u003eme\u003c\/i\u003e!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe watched her rip open the envelope.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“My goodness, listen to this. . . .\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘Dear Mrs. Kavanagh, We are looking forward with great enthusiasm to your interim stay in our small island parish, and trust that all is going smoothly as you prepare to join us at the end of June.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘Our ECW has been very busy readying Dove Cottage for your stay at Whitecap, and all you need to bring is bed linens for the two bedrooms, as we discussed, and any towels and pillows which will make you feel at home.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘We have supplied the kitchen cupboards with new pots, and several of us have lent things of our own, so that you and Father Kavanagh may come without much disruption to your household in Mitford. Sam has fixed the electric can opener, but I hear you are a fine cook and probably won’t need it, ha ha.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘Oh, yes. Marjorie Lamb and I have done a bit of work in the cottage gardens, which were looking woefully forlorn after years of neglect. We found a dear old-fashioned rose, which I hear your husband enjoys, and liberated it from the brambles. It is now climbing up your trellis instead of running into the street! We expect the hydrangeas and crepe myrtle to be in full glory for your arrival, though the magnolias in the churchyard will, alas, be out of bloom.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘Complete directions are enclosed, which Marjorie’s husband, Leonard, assures me should take you from Mitford straight to the door of Dove Cottage without a snare. (Leonard once traveled on the road selling plumbing supplies.)\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘Please notice the red arrow I have drawn on the map. You must be very careful at this point to watch for the street sign, as it is hidden by a dreadful hedge which the property owner refuses to trim. I have thought of trimming it myself, but Sam says that would be meddling.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘We hope you will not object to a rather gregarious greeting committee, who are bent on giving you a parish-wide luau the day following your arrival. I believe I have talked them out of wearing grass skirts, but that embarrassing notion could possibly break forth again.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘When Father Morgan joined us several years ago, he, too, came in\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003ci\u003ethe summer and was expecting a nice holiday at the beach. I’m sure you’ve been warned that summer is our busiest time, what with the tourists who swell our little church to bursting and push us to two services! We all take our rest in the winter when one must hunker down and live off the nuts we’ve gathered!\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘Bishop Harvey was thrilled to learn from Bishop Cullen how greatly you and Father Kavanagh were appreciated by your parish in Mitford! We shall all do our utmost to make you feel as welcome as the flowers in May, as my dear mother used to say.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘Goodness! I hope you’ll forgive the length of this letter! Since childhood, I have loved the feel of a pen flowing over paper, and often get carried away.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘We wish you and Father Timothy safe travel.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘Yours sincerely,\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘Marion Fieldwalker, vestry member of St. John’s in the Grove, and Pres. Episcopal Church Women\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘P.S. I am the librarian of Whitecap Island Community Library (35 years) and do pray you might be willing to give a reading this fall from one of your famous Violet books. Your little books stay checked out, and I believe every child on the island has read them at least twice!’”\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis wife flushed with approval. “There! How uplifting! Marion sounds lovely! And just think, dearest—trellises and old roses!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Not to mention new saucepans,” he said, admiring the effort of his future parishioners.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe drank from her perspiring glass and continued to sort through the pile. “Timothy, look at his handwriting. He’s finally stopped printing and gone to cursive!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Let me see. . . .”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eDefinitely a new look in the handwriting department, and a distinct credit to Dooley Barlowe’s Virginia prep schooling. Miss Sadie’s big bucks, forked over annually, albeit posthumously, were continuing to put spit and polish on the red-haired mountain boy who’d come to live with him at the rectory five years ago.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘Hey,’”\u003c\/i\u003e he read aloud from Dooley’s letter, \u003ci\u003e“‘I have thought about it a lot and I would like to stay in Mitford and work for Avis this summer and make money to get a car and play softball with the Reds.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘I don’t want to go to the beach.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘Don’t be mad or upset or anything. I can live in the basement with\u003c\/i\u003e  \u003ci\u003eHarley like you said, and we will be fine. Puny could maybe come and do the laundry or we could do stuff ourselves and eat in Wesley or at the Grill or Harley could cook.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘I will come down to that island for either Thanksgiving or Christmas like we talked about.\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“‘Thanks for letting me go home from school with Jimmy Duncan, I am having a great time, he drives a Wrangler. His mom drives a Range Rover and his dad has a BMW 850. That’s what I would like to have. A Wrangler, I mean. I’ll get home before you leave, Mr. Duncan is driving me on his way to a big meeting. Say hey to Barnabas and Violet. Thanks for the money. Love, Dooley.’”\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh, well,” said his wife, looking disappointed. “I’m sure he wanted to be close to his friends. . . .”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Right. And his brother and sister. . . .”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe sighed. “Pretty much what we expected.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe felt disappointed, himself, that the boy wouldn’t be coming to Whitecap for the summer, but they’d given him a choice and the choice had been made. Besides, he learned a couple of years ago not to let Dooley Barlowe’s summer pursuits wreck his own enjoyment of that fleeting season.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eIt was the business about cars that concerned him. . . . Dooley had turned sixteen last February, and would hit Mitford in less than three days, packing a bona fide driver’s license.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Knock, knock!” Emma Newland blew down the hall and into the study. “Don’t get up,” she said, commandeering the room. “You’ll never believe this!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis former part-time church secretary, who had retired when he retired, had clearly been unable to let go of her old job. She made it her business to visit twice a week and help out for a couple of hours, whether he needed it or not.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I do it for th’ Lord,” she had stated flatly, refusing any thanks. Though Cynthia usually fled the room when she arrived, he rather looked forward to Emma’s visits, and to the link she represented to Lord’s Chapel, which was now under the leadership of its own interim priest.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEmma stood with her hands on her hips and peered over her glasses. “Y’all won’t believe what I found on th’ Internet. Three guesses!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Excuse me!” said Cynthia, bolting from the sofa. “I’ll just bring you a lemonade, Emma, and get back to work. I’ve \u003ci\u003egobs\u003c\/i\u003e of books to pack.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Guess!” Emma insisted, playing a game that he found both mindless and desperately aggravating.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“A recipe for mixing your own house paint?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh, \u003ci\u003eplease\u003c\/i\u003e,” she said, looking disgusted. “You’re not trying.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“The complete works of Fulgentius of Ruspe!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e\u003ci\u003e“Who?”\u003c\/i\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I give up,” he said, meaning it.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I found another Mitford! It’s in England, and it has a church as old as mud, not to mention a castle!” She looked triumphant, as if she’d just squelched an invasion of Moors.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Really? Terrific! I suppose it’s where those writing Mitfords came from—”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“No connection. They were from th’ Cotswolds, this place is up north somewhere. I had a stack of stuff I printed out, but Snickers sat on th’ whole bloomin’ mess after playin’ in the creek, and I have to print it out again.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Aha.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“OK, guess what else!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Dadgummit, Emma. You know I hate this.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe said what she always said. “It’s good for you, keeps your brain active.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eAs far as she was concerned, he’d gone soft in the head since retiring six months ago.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Just tell me and get it over with.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh, come on! Try at least one guess. Here’s a clue. It’s about the election in November.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Esther’s stepping down and Andrew Gregory’s going to run.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe frowned. “How’d you know that?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I haven’t gone deaf and blind, for Pete’s sake. I do get around.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I suppose you also know,” said Emma, hoping he didn’t, “that the restaurant at Fernbank is openin’ the night before you leave.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Right. We’ve been invited.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe thumped into the slipcovered wing chair and peered at him as if he were a beetle on a pin. Though she’d certainly never say such a thing, she believed he was existing in a kind of purgatory between the  inarguable heaven of Lord’s Chapel and the hell of a strange parish in a strange place where the temperature was a hundred and five in the shade.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Will you have a secretary down there?” she asked, suspicious.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I don’t think so. Small parish, you know.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“How small can it be?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh, fifty, sixty people.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I thought Bishop Cullen was your \u003ci\u003efriend\u003c\/i\u003e,” she sniffed. She’d never say so, but in her heart of hearts, she had hoped her boss of sixteen years would be given a big church in a big city, and make a come-back for himself. As it was, he trotted up the hill to Hope House and the hospital every livelong morning, appearing so cheerful about the whole thing that she recognized it at once as a cover-up.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eCynthia returned with a glass of lemonade and a plate of shortbread, which she put on the table next to Emma. “I’ll be in the studio if anyone needs me. With all the books we’re taking, we may sink the island!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“A regular Atlantis,” said Father Tim.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Speakin’ of books,” Emma said to his wife, “are you doin’ a new one?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Not if I can help it!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe laughed as Cynthia trotted down the hall. “She usually can’t help it.” He expected a new children’s book to break forth from his energetic wife any day now. Indeed, didn’t she have a history of starting one when life was upside down and backward?\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEmma munched on a piece of shortbread, showering crumbs in her lap. “Do you have those letters ready for me to do on th’ computer?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Not quite. I wasn’t expecting you ’til in the morning.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m coming in th’ morning, I just wanted to run by and tell you all th’ late-breakin’ news. But,” she said, arching one eyebrow, “I haven’t told you everything, I saved th’ best ’til last.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis dog wandered into the study and crashed at his master’s feet, panting.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“If you say you already know this, I’ll never tell you another thing as long as I live. On my way here, I saw Mule Skinner, he said he’s finally rented your house.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe drew herself up, pleased, and gulped the lemonade.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Terrific! Great timing!” He might have done a jig.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“He said there hadn’t been time to call you, he’ll call you tonight, but it’s not a family with kids like Cynthia wanted.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Oh, well . . .” He was thrilled that someone had finally stepped forward to occupy the rectory. He and Harley had worked hard over the last few months to make it a strong rental property, putting new vinyl flooring in the kitchen, replacing the stair runners, installing a new toilet in the master bath and a new threshold at the front door . . . the list had been endless. And costly.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“It’s a woman.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I can’t imagine what one person would want with all that house to rattle around in.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“How quickly you forget! \u003ci\u003eYou\u003c\/i\u003e certainly rattled around in there for a hundred years.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“True. Well. I’ll get the whole story from Mule.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“He said she didn’t mind a bit that Harley would be livin’ in the basement, she just wanted to know if he plays loud rock music.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEmma rattled the ice in her glass, gulped the last draught, and got up to leave. “Before I forget, you won’t believe what else I found on th’ Internet—church bulletins! You ought to read some of th’ foolishness they put out there for God an’ everybody to see.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe fished a piece of paper from her handbag. “‘Next Sunday,’” she read, “‘a special collection will be taken to defray the cost of a new carpet. All those wishin’ to do somethin’ on the new carpet will come forward and do so.’”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe hooted with laughter.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“How ’bout this number: ‘Don’t let worry kill you, let th’ church help.’”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe threw his head back and laughed some more. Emma’s life in cyberspace definitely had an upside.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“By th’ way, are you takin’ Barnabas down there?” She enunciated “down there” as if it were a region beneath the crust of the earth.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“We are.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I don’t know how you could do that to an animal. Look at all that fur, enough to stuff a mattress.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eBarnabas yawned hugely and thumped his tail on the floor.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You won’t even be able to \u003ci\u003esee\u003c\/i\u003e those horrible sandspurs that will jump in there by th’ hundreds, not to mention \u003ci\u003elodge in his paws.\u003c\/i\u003e”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eEmma waited for an argument, a rationale—something. Did he have no conscience? “And th’ \u003ci\u003eheat\u003c\/i\u003e down there, you’ll have to shave ’im bald.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFather Tim strolled across the room to walk her to the door.  “Thanks for coming, Emma. Tell Harold hello. I’ll see you in the morning.”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHis unofficial secretary stumped down the hallway and he followed.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe was holding the front door open and biting his tongue when she turned and looked at him. Her eyes were suddenly red and filled with tears.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’ll miss you!” she blurted.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“You \u003ci\u003ewill\u003c\/i\u003e?”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe hurried down the front steps, sniffing, searching her bag for a Hardee’s napkin she knew was in there someplace.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eHe felt stricken. “Emma! We’ll . . . we’ll have jelly doughnuts in the morning!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“\u003ci\u003eI’ll\u003c\/i\u003e have jelly doughnuts, \u003ci\u003eyou’ll\u003c\/i\u003e have dry toast! We don’t want to ship you down there in a coma!”\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eShe got in her car at the curb, slammed the door, gunned the motor, and roared up Wisteria Lane.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003eFor one fleeting moment, he’d completely forgotten his blasted diabetes.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e \u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“I’m out of here,” he said, kissing his wife.\u003c\/p\u003e\u003cp\u003e“Get him to leave something for the island breezes to flow through, darling. Don’t let him cut it\u003c\/p\u003e","brand":"G.P. Putnam's Sons","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48338539512037,"sku":"NP9780140270594","price":17.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780140270594.jpg?v=1769572595","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/a-new-song-isbn-9780140270594","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}