The Island of Heavenly Daze Read Free Page A

familiar lyrics. “Sowing in the sunshine, sowing in the shadows, fearing neither clouds nor winter’s chilling breeze . . .”
    Chilling breeze was a bit of an understatement for Maine. Blizzard breath would be more suitable. Or frosty freeze, especially in October, when the weather could turn frigid overnight. But those sounded more like Dairy Queen treats than hymn lyrics.
    Winslow opened his eyes and moved his lips to the song, not daring to actually sing. Micah had clipped a new lapel microphone to his tie before the service started, and Winslow felt a little nervous about wearing it. Some of the folks in the pews might think he was putting on airs, using a microphone—a mike, Micah called it—with only twenty people in the congregation today. After all, the acoustics in the tiny frame church were pretty good, considering the building had been built over two hundred years before. But Beatrice Coughlin and Cleta Lansdown had been over to visit the First Presbyterian Church in Portland, and they’d come back with tales of sound systems, orchestras, and multimedia screens dangling from the ceiling.
    â€œAnd their minister,” Beatrice had said, a white curl escaping and falling onto her forehead as she bobbed in enthusiasm, “traveled all over that platform while we heard every word! If a Presbyterian can use high technology, I know we can!”
    â€œIt’s not that we haven’t been hearing you, Pastor,” Cleta added, her thin mouth curling into a one-sided smile, “it’s just that you’re so soft-spoken, the microphone is bound to help. Maybe it’ll even keep Floyd awake.”
    Winslow had been a little surprised that Cleta would speak even a little disrespectfully of her husband, but Floyd Lansdown did have a habit of sleeping through the Sunday sermon. Winslow lifted his head and checked the second pew—Floyd was awake now, his mouth flapping in an approximation of the words in the hymnal. Winslow doubted that Floyd was getting any of them right—he wasn’t wearing his glasses, and everyone knew Floyd Lansdown was as blind as love without his specs.
    At least Floyd attended church. Winslow let his gaze slide across the building, mentally counting the heads of his small flock. Next to Floyd and Cleta sat their daughter, Barbara Higgs, whose husband, Russell, was nowhere to be seen. Russell always said he couldn’t afford to take a day off the water in tourist season, but he didn’t make church a regular habit in the off-season, either. In a lobsterman’s life there were always traps to be mended and repairs to be made on the boat . . .
    Sighing, Winslow looked across the aisle, where Olympia de Cuvier sat alone. Olympia’s husband, Edmund, was suffering from bone cancer. The long empty space next to Olympia was usually occupied by Caleb Smith, the elderly butler who lived with the de Cuviers and helped nurse Edmund, and Doctor Marcus Hayes, the only physician on Heavenly Daze.
    Winslow frowned as he noted the absence of both men. After the service, he’d have to ask Olympia how Edmund was doing today.
    Looking across the platform, Winslow caught his wife’s eye and saw her smile. Edith knew very well what he was doing. She appraised the Heavenly Daze congregation every Sunday during quiet peeks over her shoulder and in the few moments when they sang “There’s a Welcome Here” and everyone turned to shake hands.
    Winslow gave his wife a smile, then glanced at the pew behind her. Birdie Wester sat there, decked to the nines, in a bright print dress and a matching hat. Winslow lifted a brow as the light of understanding dawned. Of course— he’d nearly forgotten. Today marked the tenth anniversary of his accepting the call to pastor the Heavenly Daze Community Church, and the church committee had undoubtedly been hard at work on some sort of commemoration. On an island as small and quaint as this one, any