Free Light From Heaven by Jan Karon

would help make me saintly! After college, I taught school, then took my training as a deaconess. I wished with all my heart to go forth and save the world.
    “I had read about these mountains being the oldest on earth, and I’d read, too, about the terrible poverty here. Dorothea Lange and Doris Ulmann had both photographed families in Appalachia, and I found myself deeply moved and even tormented by the images they captured.
    “I didn’t know the One True Light at that time, Father, not at all, though I’d sworn my vows and professed my faith, and trained as a deaconess.Yet down from the woods of Maine I came, armed with the most extraordinary self-importance, and with the blessing, however grudging, of my father. I had lost my dear mother when I was fourteen, and so had no hand to guide me, which turned out in the end to contain its own benediction.
    “Jessie Bennett came with me; she had also trained as a deaconess. The church in those days often sent two deaconesses to a mission. In addition to the circuit priest who came once a month, deaconesses lived in the community and ministered to the flock.”
    He sipped his hot tea, contented.
    “The church built us a school, where Jessie and I taught and made our home—indeed, it became a true home for everyone along this ridge. We also nursed the sick and distributed food and clothing that were free to anyone who asked; we had regular Bible studies, and community suppers on the big trestle table that Moses McKinney built.
    “In winter, of course, we kept the fireplace and cook stove going all day, which made the schoolhouse a snug place for our neighbors to gather on our long and frigid evenings. Some quilted; some played music; all told stories.
    “And Christmas! Oh, how I wish you could have been here to see the old schoolhouse on Christmas Eve. Moses always cut a tree whose top touched our eleven-foot ceiling, and the parishioners came trooping in with their ornaments—pinecones and dried yarrow and life everlasting and scraps of ribbon and yarn and fruit and buttons and birds’ nests—why, you never saw such a jumble on a tree, and yet we thought it the prettiest sight this broken world ever beheld.
    “Jessie and I worked for months making gifts—we wanted everyone on the ridge to find a remembrance, however modest, under that majestic tree.”
    He found himself thoroughly enchanted.
    “The priest came to us on Christmas Day only once every four years, so the services were usually up to Jessie and myself. I remember always wanting to read the Epistle from Titus, ‘The grace of God that bringeth salvation hath appeared to all men. . . .”’
    Agnes Merton’s face was wreathed with smiles.
    “It was a happy time for Jessie and me, and for Little Bertie.”
    “Little Bertie?”
    “Bertie was Jessie’s niece. Jessie’s sister and brother-in-law had perished in a boating accident, and Jessie became Bertie’s legal guardian. Oh, she was the merriest child you’d ever wish to see! Such bright, happy eyes, and a great chatterbox with everyone, including perfect strangers.
    “Though Jessie and I worked hard to gain everyone’s trust, it was Bertie’s way with people that brought them out, and their children with them, so that in time, all of us became family, all of us who lived then in this world above the clouds.
    “We arrived here in September, having survived the long journey from Maine, and learned there had been serious floods.
    “There we were, motoring up these narrow mountain tracks in a Buick Town Car, which my father had given the church as a charitable contribution! We had all our possessions in that old automobile, and oh, my, we were a sight for sore eyes. Pots and pans rattling about, and a baby cradle and steamer trunk lashed on top.
    “Wilson’s Creek was so swollen, it was running like a river, and we couldn’t ford it. We lived in our car for two days, waiting for the water to subside. Then, one of the neighbors found us, and took