Members of the stewardship committee have arrived. They grab cups of coffee and join me around a table. There’s some chatter about summer vacations, and then we’re off and running through a familiar discussion about this year’s campaign. That’s when I notice that Jean MacBride seems distracted.
She sits in her familiar light blue cashmere cardigan sweater, her reading glasses hanging from a thin black woven cord around her neck, her gray-streaked hair pulled back into an efficient bun. She is as proper as always. But tonight her face is completely blank, as if she doesn’t dare reveal anything. She says nothing but studies her committee papers, none of which could possibly be that interesting.