She did remember once, when Ames was at dinner years earlier, his mentioning to her father that a local man, unchurched, noted for bursts of rage and for a particular hostility toward children, his own included, had come to the parsonage at midnight to consider his soul. Ames had said, “It’s like a bad tooth — it acts up when everybody else is sleeping, and it’s not the kind of problem you want to deal with by yourself,” and they had laughed together, quietly. Who could know what they knew, what restive hearts had opened to them, how many midnights had brought the sleepless to their doors. She should ask Jack what a soul is, since he seemed to feel the presence of a soul. Cankered, perhaps, but that was what gave him his awareness of it. Either of those prayerful old men, Ames or her father, could probably tell her, too. But it was late to put such a question to them. Jack would laugh at her and tease her, which would be much preferable to their sober, gentle surprise.
HER FATHER WANTED TO GO TO BED EARLY, BUT THEN HE was restless and asked to get up again. She helped him to his chair. “Where is Jack?” he said.
“I think he’s working on the car.”
After a minute he said, “I thought you might read to me. I’d like you to read from Luke.”
She brought the Bible and opened it and began the greeting to Theophilus.
“Yes,” her father said. “That’s fine. He gives a world of attention to that car. I wish he’d play the piano. Then at least I’d know where he is.”
Glory said, “I’ll go find him. He’ll be happy to play for you, Papa.”
“Yes. I’m Saul in his madness. I want some music around here.”
She went out to the barn and Jack was there, sitting in the driver’s seat of the DeSoto. In the earthy, perpetual evening of the place he was reading a book by flashlight. She hesitated, but he saw her in the sideview mirror and put the book and the flashlight in the glove compartment and closed it. She saw him take the little leather folder, which had been standing open on the dashboard, and slip it into his breast pocket.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to intrude. Papa’s awfully restless and he thought it would help if you played for him a little.”
“Always glad to oblige,” he said, standing up out of the car and closing the door. He smiled at her the way he did when she had become privy to something he had no intention of explaining. He said, “My home away from home.”
“Fine. I wouldn’t have bothered you, but he seems to be really uncomfortable this evening. He asked me to read to him, and that lasted about two minutes. I’d have played for him, but he wanted you to do it.”
He said, “You never bother me, Glory. It’s remarkable how much you don’t bother me. Almost unprecedented.”
“I’m so happy to know that.”
He glanced at her, and when he saw she really was pleased, he smiled.
“WELL, REVEREND,” HE SAID, “GLORY TELLS ME YOU’D LIKE TO hear a song or two. Any special requests?”
“Yes. ‘Blessed Assurance’ and also ‘Whispering Hope.’ But I think I would be more comfortable lying on my bed, if you don’t mind.”
“We can take care of that.” Jack helped him up, took him to his room, and settled him among his covers.
“First ‘Blessed Assurance,’” the old man said. “If you know that one.”
“I believe I do.” Jack sat down at the piano, tinkered at the keys for a moment, found the tune, and played it through. His father did not sing.
“Now ‘Whispering Hope.’”
“Yes, sir.”
When the song ended, his father said, “‘Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice.’ That can actually happen. I have had that experience. Hope is a very valuable thing, since there is not always so much to rejoice about in this life.”
Jack went to stand in his father’s doorway, to spare him the effort of raising his voice. The old man said, “Come here, Jack. Bring the chair over here. There’s something I need to say to you. You’re probably going to have to forgive me for this.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“Well, I know that. I can count on that. And you’re a grown man now.”
Jack laughed. “True.”
“So I want to put a question to you. All right?”
“Go ahead.”
“I feel I didn’t do right by you. I wasn’t a good father to you.”
“What? Really?”
“No, it’s a feeling I have always had, almost since you were a baby. As though there was something you needed from me and I never figured out what it was.”
Jack cleared his throat. “I really don’t know what to say. I’ve always thought you were a
