Out to Canaan by Jan Karon Read Free Book Online Page B

breath.
    â€œTwenty-five, right on the money!” He cleared his throat and read aloud. “I use Golden Band because it’s light and easy to work. Also because Mother and Grandmother used it. Generation after generation, Golden Band is best.”
    â€œOoh, that sounds good when you read it!” Winnie beamed. “Read it again!”
    He read it again, using his pulpit voice. He thought the town’s prize baker would fall off the stool with excitement. Why couldn’t his congregation be more like Winnie Ivey, for Pete’s sake?
    As he left the bakery, he saw Mitford’s Baptist preacher, Bill Sprouse, coming toward him at a trot.
    â€œWorkin’ the street, are you?” asked the jovial clergyman, shaking hands.
    â€œAnd a good day for it!”
    â€œAmen! Wish I could work the south end and we’d meet in the middle for a cup of coffee, but I’ve got a funeral to preach.”
    â€œI, on the other hand, had a baptism this morning.”
    Bill adjusted the white rose in his lapel. “Coming and going! That’s what it’s all about in our business!”
    â€œSee you at the monument!” said the rector. Since spring arrived, they’d often ended up at the monument at the same time, with their dogs in tow for the evening walk.
    He ducked into Happy Endings to see if his order had arrived.
    â€œHow do you like your new butterfly book?” asked Hope Winchester, looking fetching, he thought, with her long, chestnut hair pulled back.
    â€œJust the ticket!” he said. “You ought to review it for the Muse and first thing you know, half of Mitford would be attracting butterflies.”
    â€œThat,” she said, “is a very preponderant idea!”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œThe Butterfly Town! It would bring people from all over.”
    â€œI don’t think the mayor would much take to that. Unless, of course, they all went home at night.”
    â€œWell, Father, progress is going to happen in Mitford, whether our mayor likes it or not. We can’t sit here idly, not growing and adapting to the times! And just think. People who like butterflies would be people who like books!”
    â€œAha. Well, you certainly have a point there.”
    â€œSometimes our mayor can be a bit overweening.”
    He grinned. “Can’t we all? Did my book come in?”
    â€œLet’s see,” she said, “that was the etymological smorgasbord, I believe.”
    â€œÂ â€˜Amo, Amas, Amat,’ ” he said, nodding.
    â€œI declare!” sniffed Helen Huffman, who owned the place. “Why don’t y’all learn to speak English?”

    â€œFather, is this a good time?”
    He heard the urgency in Olivia Harper’s voice when she rang him at the office.
    â€œIt’s always a good time for you,” he said, meaning it.
    â€œLace went to the Creek to see her friend Harley. I implored her not to go, Father, I know how dangerous it could be. But she went, and now she’s home saying that Harley’s sick and she’s going back to nurse him. Hoppy’s in surgery, and I don’t . . . Please. She’s packing her things. You’re so good at this.”
    â€œI’ll be right there,” he said.
    Barnabas leapt into the passenger seat of his Buick and they raced up Old Church Lane.
    No, he was not good at this. He was not good at this at all. His years with Dooley Barlowe had been some of the hardest of his life; it had all been done with desperate prayer, flying by the seat of his pants. Who was good at knowing the right parameters for wounded kids? Yet, blast it, it was his job to know about parameters. Being a clergyman, being a Christian, had a great deal to do with parameters, which is why the world often mocked and despised both.
    He felt the anxiety of this thing. Lace Turner was a passionately determined girl who had suffered unutterable agony in her thirteen years at