“the Reverend Mr. Johnson inquired. “If you don’t mind waiting a few minutes, I would be happy to drive you.” Mr. Johnson didn’t look like a minister in his plaid shirt and khaki-colored pants. In his mid-forties, he resembled a fisherman who had strayed into church by mistake. In fact, he was an ardent angler, overjoyed that his Wisconsin parish was situated in an area with so many lakes, streams and rivers. He loved to state that while he was a “fisher of men” like the Lord, he was also a fish...erman, an occupation and an avocation that he felt were ideally suited to one another. “No, thank you, Reverend. It’s a lovely evening and I’ll enjoy the walk,” Eve Rowland insisted as she slipped on her summer-weight coat of brown. “Besides, it isn’t that far, really.” “Yes, but I don’t like the idea of your walking alone after dark.” “Cable isn’t Minneapolis or Milwaukee,” she laughed. There were times when she even forgot to lock the front door of her parents’ house, but she didn’t worry unduly on those occasions.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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