Spencerville

original settler, but he was walking the same ground they walked, and in the early morning and in the evening, when the countryside was quiet in half-light, he could feel their presence.
     
    *  *  *
     
    He went to church. Not St. James, but St. John’s in Spencerville. This was a different congregation, to be sure—better dressed, better cars. The big brick and stone church was the best building in Spencerville, aside from the courthouse. If the county had an establishment church, it was St. John’s Lutheran, firmly connected to the early settlers and the present power structure. Even the Episcopalians dropped in now and then, especially if they were running for office or had a business in town.
    Keith looked for the Baxters but didn’t see them as he walked in. Even if he’d literally bumped into Mr. Baxter’s ample body, there wouldn’t be a problem; it was Sunday, this was a church, and Spencerville’s God-fearing gentry wouldn’t tolerate discord or disharmony in or around the Lord’s house on the Lord’s day.
    Keith went inside. The church was large and held about eight hundred people. Keith scanned the backs of the congregation in the pews, but still he didn’t see Mr. and Mrs. Baxter. If they were there, however, he’d see them coming out if he stood at the bottom of the steps after the service.
    Keith took a seat on the left toward the rear, and the service began with Pastor Wilbur Schenk, Mrs. Baxter’s confessor, officiating.
    It wasn’t until about halfway through the service that he realized that Annie was in the choir, sitting on the far right side of the altar, so he had a good view of her.
    The choir rose to sing, and she looked at him as though she’d noticed him long ago and was impatient with him for not seeing her. They made eye contact for a moment, and he winked at her. She smiled as she began singing “Rock of Ages,” then looked down at her hymnal, still smiling. She looked angelic, he thought, with her red choir robe and her eyes that sparkled in the candlelight. When the hymn was finished, she folded the hymnal and glanced at him again as she sat.
    Before the service ended, Keith left and drove out of Spencerville.
    He stopped at the Cowley farm and knocked on the door, but no one answered. It was unlocked, so he went in and called out for Billy Marlon, but the house seemed to be empty. He went into the kitchen and found a pencil and an envelope from a piece of junk mail and wrote: “Billy, leaving town for a while. See you next time. Stop the boozing. Go to the VA hospital in Toledo for a checkup. That’s an order, soldier.” He signed it, “Landry, Colonel, U.S. Army, Infantry.” Keith didn’t know how much good the note was going to do, but he felt some sort of need or obligation to write it. He put a hundred dollars on the kitchen table and left.
    He considered going to the Porters’ house, but he’d said his good-byes and didn’t want to alarm them with a change of plans; another case of the less they knew, the better for them. Cliff Baxter and his cohorts not only had to be reckoned with, but they were setting the agenda for a while.
    Next call was Aunt Betty’s. On the way, he stopped at a big indoor farm stand and bought jams, homemade candy, maple syrup, and other sugar products that would have put most people into sugar shock, but which Aunt Betty seemed to thrive on.
    She was home, ready to go to Lilly and Fred’s house for Sunday dinner, she informed him. She invited him in, but like most elderly people he knew, especially his German relatives, she didn’t know how to handle a small change in her day. She said, “I have to be there in an hour.”
    Lilly and Fred lived about twenty minutes away, and Keith recalled with a smile Aunt Betty’s theory of time relativity as it applied to herself and to other people. He said, “I’m only staying a minute. If you hurry, you can make it. Here, I brought you a few things.” He put the bag on the dining room table, and she emptied it, item by item.
    “Oh, Keith, you didn’t have to do that. You’re such a sweet man.” And so on.
    He said to her, “Aunt Betty, I’m leaving for a while, and I wonder if you’d be good enough to keep an eye on the place.”
    “You’re leaving again?”
    “Yes. I don’t do it often. Once every quarter century or so.”
    “Where are you going this time?”
    “To Washington to take care of some leftover business. I’ve asked some other people to keep an eye on