Noah's Wife Read Online Free

prepared. With the calm and practiced grace of his vocation, he lays out his plans for the church and the congregation, his hands fluttering like swallows and his face shining as radiantly as the future he describes for them. Grace and faith; light and life. Mrs. McGinn dismisses these words as they reach her and waits for Noah to say something more concrete, something more helpful. She waits for him to acknowledge the rain, at least, or to say something about the nature of his predecessor’s death. Her neighbors wait, too—she can see them all leaning slightly forward, their gazes flicking between the ruddy face of the new minister and the open grave of the old one. They look as disappointed as Mrs. McGinn feels when Noah wraps up his speech, shivers a little in his damp clothing, and steps away from the headstone while the grizzled undertaker and his son shovel dirt over the coffin.
    â€œThat was it?” exclaims Mrs. McGinn. “That’s the extent of his advice to us—
hope
and
pray
? For God’s sake!” Before her husband can growl at her to stop, she has stormed her way through the throng of colored umbrellas and come to a halt in front of the minister and his wife.
    â€œNoah,” she says, jamming her hand into his. “Evelyn McGinn.”
    â€œEvelyn!” repeats the minister with evident delight, beaming at her. “Yes, I’ve heard all about you! People say that you’re the one who keeps this place afloat. Is that true?”
    Mrs. McGinn leans backward, disarmed. Noah’s grin is more engaging than she had anticipated. “Well,” she says, “I do my best.”
    Noah nods, looking past her to the jumble of gray buildings that squat along the river below them. A drop of rain falls on his nose, and he wipes it away with impatience. “What a charming little town!” he exclaims. His stilted enthusiasm reminds Mrs. McGinn of a candidate for public office. “The downtown looks exactly like a postcard. When you have some free time, I’d love to have you tell me more about it.”
    At this, Mrs. McGinn snorts. No one cares about this place anymore. The only reason Noah is expressing interest is because he feels that, after only two days, he already has a claim on it—but this is
her
town; not his. Mrs. McGinn is the one who has spent a lifetime here. It is she who was elected to head the town council (the first woman, by the way, to ever serve on it), and she will not have her authority undermined by this man’s ignorant enthusiasm.
    â€œReally, Minister?” she says, her voice sharp and unforgiving. “Well, what would you like to know?”
    Surprised by her tone, Noah doesn’t answer immediately. In the silence that follows, his wife takes a step forward.Mrs. McGinn’s eyes rake across the woman’s paperlike skin, coming to rest upon her steady, slate-gray gaze. She is good-looking, but in an unremarkable way. Average nose, average ears. The only feature that might stand out in a crowd is her hair: glossy waves the color of ravens’ wings. At the sight of it Mrs. McGinn reaches up to pat her own carroty curls, piled high into a loose bun on the top of her head. She dyes her hair herself at least once a month but even so, she still finds fresh silver strands every few days and then she yanks them out, unhappily, clamping her mouth shut to keep from crying out. No one ever said that beauty would be painless, her mother had told her on her sixteenth birthday as she unwrapped her first pair of high heels. The same thing goes for love and for marriage, Mrs. McGinn has told her own daughter time and again when the girl walks into a room to find her sweeping up a heap of broken china. No one ever said that love would be painless.
    Noah’s wife makes a broad and graceful gesture with her arm that seems to take in the clouds, the umbrellas, mud, and the river in the distance all at once. “Is it true what