eyes. And he smiled as soon as he saw Bill, in jeans, hiking boots, and a parka, and somehow he still looked like New York, compared to Clay Roberts, who looked like he should have been riding a horse, and most of the time he was. He owned a ranch in the same county as the church. He was a widower and had lost his wife ten years before. He had a big black truck with the insignia of his ranch on the door, and he had come to drive Bill to fifteen miles outside Moose, to Sts. Peter and Paul Church, which was about to become Bill’s new home.
Clay explained to him about the district and the ranches, some for cattle, others for horses. He mentioned a few of the ranchers byname, although he said they hardly ever came to church. And he explained that the area around the church was populated by several hundred people, most of whom knew each other. There was a school, a main street with two restaurants, a general store, a post office, a drug store, a laundromat, and two motels for people passing through town. He said there was a very respectable library, a movie theater twenty miles away, and a supermarket a little closer. And they were less than an hour from Jackson Hole, where the rich and famous were starting to gather and it was slowly becoming a tourist town. And in the summer there was a rodeo. He asked Bill if he liked to ride.
“Not lately. But I enjoyed it a lot as a kid.” He and his brothers had ridden at camp every summer and had gone to a dude ranch in Montana several times with their parents. He was a competent rider, which Clay said would be useful, since in the spring when the snows melted, and even in the winter, there were areas you could only reach by horseback, if he needed to visit members of the congregation who were sick or elderly or shut in for some reason. He said that the church had been built with a capacity of two hundred, which had been optimistic, but considering the size of the community, there had been a fairly decent turnout on Sundays, of somewhere around a hundred people. And there was a Catholic church in the next town, Our Lady of the Mountains.
As they drove toward Moose, avoiding Jackson Hole on the highway, Bill could see the Grand Tetons in the distance. They were breathtaking, and looked as though they had been painted shades of violet and dark blue, with pale blue sky above them, and a pink light in the sky at sunset. The view was dazzling, and the mountainslooked powerful and mysterious. Bill thought he had never seen anything as beautiful, and Clay was easy to talk to as they drove along.
When they reached Moose, Clay drove him past all the places he had mentioned, the restaurants, the post office, the general store, and then drove another fifteen miles out of town, to where the church was. And as they approached it, Bill could see the steeple of the white wooden structure rising into the sky with a bell tower on top. The building looked freshly painted and in good order, and there were neat hedges, flowerbeds, and a picket fence around it, and two huge trees providing shade. And just behind it was a small neat yellow house, with white shutters, its own picket fence, and red roses in the front garden. Clay explained that the women in the community took care of the garden. He said they had provided the basics, a bed, a chest, some lamps, a desk, a kitchen table, and some chairs. But Bill would have to provide the rest of the furniture. He said that they would find what they needed at a shopping mall fifty miles away. Bill said he wanted to pick up some things so that Jenny would not arrive to an empty house.
They got out of the truck in front of the church, and Bill walked inside with a feeling of awe. It was his first ministry, and he wanted to shout. There were beautiful stained-glass windows, some statuary, simple pews, and a dignified altar. It was a plain building, but lovely in an unpretentious way. And the rectory was right behind the church, with a small waiting room, and an
Clay explained to him about the district and the ranches, some for cattle, others for horses. He mentioned a few of the ranchers byname, although he said they hardly ever came to church. And he explained that the area around the church was populated by several hundred people, most of whom knew each other. There was a school, a main street with two restaurants, a general store, a post office, a drug store, a laundromat, and two motels for people passing through town. He said there was a very respectable library, a movie theater twenty miles away, and a supermarket a little closer. And they were less than an hour from Jackson Hole, where the rich and famous were starting to gather and it was slowly becoming a tourist town. And in the summer there was a rodeo. He asked Bill if he liked to ride.
“Not lately. But I enjoyed it a lot as a kid.” He and his brothers had ridden at camp every summer and had gone to a dude ranch in Montana several times with their parents. He was a competent rider, which Clay said would be useful, since in the spring when the snows melted, and even in the winter, there were areas you could only reach by horseback, if he needed to visit members of the congregation who were sick or elderly or shut in for some reason. He said that the church had been built with a capacity of two hundred, which had been optimistic, but considering the size of the community, there had been a fairly decent turnout on Sundays, of somewhere around a hundred people. And there was a Catholic church in the next town, Our Lady of the Mountains.
As they drove toward Moose, avoiding Jackson Hole on the highway, Bill could see the Grand Tetons in the distance. They were breathtaking, and looked as though they had been painted shades of violet and dark blue, with pale blue sky above them, and a pink light in the sky at sunset. The view was dazzling, and the mountainslooked powerful and mysterious. Bill thought he had never seen anything as beautiful, and Clay was easy to talk to as they drove along.
When they reached Moose, Clay drove him past all the places he had mentioned, the restaurants, the post office, the general store, and then drove another fifteen miles out of town, to where the church was. And as they approached it, Bill could see the steeple of the white wooden structure rising into the sky with a bell tower on top. The building looked freshly painted and in good order, and there were neat hedges, flowerbeds, and a picket fence around it, and two huge trees providing shade. And just behind it was a small neat yellow house, with white shutters, its own picket fence, and red roses in the front garden. Clay explained that the women in the community took care of the garden. He said they had provided the basics, a bed, a chest, some lamps, a desk, a kitchen table, and some chairs. But Bill would have to provide the rest of the furniture. He said that they would find what they needed at a shopping mall fifty miles away. Bill said he wanted to pick up some things so that Jenny would not arrive to an empty house.
They got out of the truck in front of the church, and Bill walked inside with a feeling of awe. It was his first ministry, and he wanted to shout. There were beautiful stained-glass windows, some statuary, simple pews, and a dignified altar. It was a plain building, but lovely in an unpretentious way. And the rectory was right behind the church, with a small waiting room, and an
Similar Books
