12
William parked in his garage before strolling back to the letterbox. He reached into the box for the pile of mail and headed back to the house.
He poured an orange juice, seated himself in his favourite reclining chair, and used the lever to elevate his feet. That was better. Then he sorted through the pile. Bills and fundraiser pleas, as he’d expected. Right at the bottom was a letter with an unfamiliar postmark. He peered at it. Lord Howe Island.
His skin prickled. He’d written on a whim, a gamble, because he felt ready for something new. He hadn’t expected a reply, because he was all too familiar with the denomination—they’d have rejected the Apostle Paul if he didn’t fulfil every one of their conditions.
The letter was handwritten in a clear script.
Dear Reverend Macdonald,
Th
