CHAPTER 3
Susannah could lose herself so easily in the old hymns that she actually found herself siding with the octogenarians whenever the incendiary classics-versus-contemporary-music debate surfaced at the Orchard Grove church business meetings.
“There is a fountain filled with blood drawn from Immanuel’s veins …”
She could picture her Savior there, hanging on that cross, the blood on his brow like great beads of sorrow and love mingled together, testifying to his mercy and grace.
“And sinners plunged beneath that flood lose all their guilty stains.”
She’d grown up at Orchard Grove. Listened to that old piano every Sunday for nearly two decades. There was another church on the other side of town. More contemporary. More young families. She’d tried it out a few times after graduatin
