"Will do."

They ate quietly, the clock ticking over the stove.

"Timothy ..."

"Yes?"

"Don't ever leave me."

Every so often, quite out of nowhere, she asked this plaintive thing, which shook and moved him. He put his fork down and took her hand. "I would never leave you. Never."

"Even when I'm old and covered with crow's-feet?"

"I love your crow's-feet, Kavanagh."

"I thought you once said I didn't have any crow's-feet." He was relieved to see her veer away from the fleeting sadness, and laugh.

"You've nailed me," he said, grinning.

He lifted her hand and kissed her palm and held it to his cheek. "You mean everything to me. How could I ever thank you for what you are, day and night, a gift, a gift. . . ."

She looked at him, smiling. "I love it when you talk like that, dearest. You may come home for lunch whenever you wish."

Roger met him at the church office on Wednesday morning, carrying a paper bag closed with a twist-tie, and looking bashful.

"Face your desk and close your eyes," said Roger.

Father Tim did as he was told, hearing the rustle of the paper bag being opened.

"Okay, you can turn around now."

The green-winged teal in Roger's outstretched hands looked him dead in the eye.

Newly painted in all its subtle and vibrant colors, he found it beautiful, breathtaking, alive. He opened his mouth to speak, but found no words.

"It's yours," said Roger.

"You can't mean that."

"It's yours. It's been yours all along. I saw the look on your face when you watched what I was doing. I know that look; it's yours."

He took it reverently, moved and amazed.

"Turn it over," said Roger, flushing with pleasure.

He turned it over. On the flat bottom was burned the name of the island, today's date, and a message: Green Winged Teal

For Tim Kavanagh

From Roger Templeton

Fellows in a ship

Clutching the prized possession in his left hand, he embraced Roger Templeton and pounded him on the back.

"Thank you," he said, just this side of croaking.

"I've only given away a few. Ernie has one, and my son and his wife, and . . ." Roger shrugged, awkward and self-conscious.

"I can't thank you enough, my friend. I'll treasure it more than you know."

He set it on his desk and gazed at it again, marveling.

A few months ago, he'd relinquished an angel; today, he'd been given a duck. He'd come out on the long end of the stick, and no two ways about it.

He stood in the sacristy, vested and waiting with the anxious choir, and the eager procession that extended all the way down the steps to the basement.

There was new music this morning, composed by the organist, something wondrous and not so easy to sing, and choir adrenaline was pumping like an oil derrick. Adding voltage to the electricity bouncing off the walls was the fact that the music required congregational response, always capable of injecting an element of surprise, if not downright dismay.

He peered through the glass panels of the sacristy door into the nave, able to see only the gospel side from this vantage point. He spied quite a few faces he'd never laid eyes on, given that today was Homecoming.

Some of the faithful remnant had been beaten to their pews by the homecomers, so he had to search for Otis and Marlene and the Duncan lineup, on the far right. Down front was Janette with Jonathan on her lap, flanked by Babette and Jason, thank You, Lord. And two rows back was Sew Joiner, gazing at the work on the walls and ceiling, and generally looking like he'd hung the moon.

At the sound of the steeple bell, the crucifer burst through the door and into the nave with her procession, the organ played its mighty opening notes, and the choir streamed forth as a rolling clap of thunder.

Carried along by the mighty roar and proclamation of the organ, the choir processed up the aisle with vigor.

"Sing to the Lord a new song

And His praise from the ends of the earth

Alleluia! Alleluia!

You who go down to the sea, and all that is in it

Alleluia! Alleluia!"

The congregation joined in the first two alleluias as if waking from a long sleep; at the second pair, they hunkered down and cranked into high gear, swept along by the mighty lead of the choir.

"Let them give glory to the Lord

And declare His praise in the coastlands

Alleluia! Alleluia!"

As the choir passed up the creaking steps to the loft, the organ music soared in the little nave, enlarging it, expanding it, until it might have been o'ercrossed by the fan vaulting of an English cathedral.

Quickly taking their places by the organ, the choir entered again into the fervent acclamations of Isaiah and the psalmist.

"Sing to Him a new song

Play skillfully with a loud and joyful sound

Alleluia!

For the work of the Lord is right

Alleluia!

And all His work is done in faithfulness!

Alleluia!"

A full minute of organ music concluded the first part of the new work, celebrating God's grace to the people of St. John's, and the joyful first homecoming in three decades. Many of the congregants, marveling at the music that poured forth from the loft, turned around in their pews and looked up in wonderment.

"Alleluia! Alleluia!"

In the ascending finale, which was sung a cappella, the soprano reached for the moon and, to the priest's great joy and relief, claimed it for the kingdom.

"When trees and power lines crashed around you, when the very roof gave way above you, when light turned to darkness and water turned to dust, did you call on Him?

"When you called on Him, was He somewhere up there, or was He as near as your very breath?"