“Dear God,” she said plaintively once she’d listened to Isaiah’s voice explaining his revised itinerary. The color began to fade from her fresh facial. “Oh, no—not now,” she whispered. “Not yet.” Brushing a surge of exasperating tears from her eyes, she rose, walked over to her desk, and opened the center drawer. After sifting through her collection of notebooks and newspaper clippings, she removed a small leather address book, closed the drawer, and returned to the loveseat. There she dialed Isaiah’s cell phone, but she wasn’t surprised when he failed to answer. After all, she thought, looking at her watch, it’s not even two o’clock yet. Still, she had hoped. Fingering the address book, she hesitated before turning the pages to the last part of the A’s, where her eyes came to rest on her husband’s handwriting. “Abby—Sister Mary Abigail, Lady of the Valley Convent, Kettle Falls.” Just below that notation was another listing that read “Sister Veronica,” which had a single red line drawn through those printed letters. Written next to that was “Tess now—1971,” followed by a phone number and the words “house, not convent.” Sarah picked up the telephone but then lowered the handset just as quickly into her lap and took another sip of coffee. When she raised the phone again, nearly an hour had evaporated before she’d summoned enough courage to make the call.