T
he storm had passed sometime during the night, leaving behind powder blue skies with barely any wind to speak of. A murder of crows fluttered overhead, soaring from one bare alder tree to the next, cawing as they flapped and swooped through the crisp winter air, their chatter pricking holes in the country quiet.
Cap and Tess walked down the steps of the house and made their way toward the church at the bottom of the hill, each carrying a mug of coffee. Tess stared up at the church steeple, piled with a few inches of snow. Inside the open spire hung a large brass bell with a thick rope that kids got a kick out of tugging on before church services.
Cap scrutinized her profile and had a hard time telling exactly how old she might be. In broad daylight, with the snow illuminating her face
