“Oh, great. Secrets between husband and wife.”

“I don’t see it that way,” she said. “They are confidences kept by a medical practitioner in this town. You can rest assured that when you come to me with a medical problem that you might find personal and perhaps embarrassing, Jack will never know about it.”

“Well, there’s a comfort,” he said. Like when would that happen? When he finally had constipation? The drip?

“Well, Jesus, Noah—would you tell about my spiritual struggles?”

“You have some?” he asked almost hopefully.

“Not that I recall,” she said with a shrug. “We’re almost there. I’d like you to please stay in the car. You’re new around here. They don’t know you. It might make them skittish.”

“Who?”

But before Mel answered, she pulled into a clearing. And there was a camp. Surrounding a bald spot within the trees were tents, a couple of old vehicles—one up on bricks without wheels and one that could be functional—one old dilapidated trailer, some furniture that looked as if it had been pilfered from a dump, some tarps stretched over the furniture to keep the moisture off. And a few men standing around who looked for all the world like hillbillies. They had a pot over a fire and that was it.

Mel jumped out, opened the back of the Humvee and hauled out a box. She put it onto the hood of the Hummer and waited. An old man with a gray beard that reached down to his chest ambled forward. He was skin and bones and real shaky. He nodded a little as Mel spoke to him. She reached inside the box and pulled out a large white plastic jar and held up one finger. She shook the jar and held up that one finger again, in emphasis, and the man nodded.

Noah watched in fascination. And then, although he had been told to wait in the car, he got out. Mel glared at him briefly, but didn’t say anything. Noah stayed beside the passenger door, minding his own business. Then, braving her reproach, he went to the back of the Hummer and got the second box, bringing it slowly and cautiously around to the front of the vehicle.

“Anyone sick or hurt?” Mel asked the man.

He shook his head and she handed him the box.

“That’s good to hear. You know where I am if you need anything medically.”

He nodded without speaking and took the box off her hands. By the time he was on his way back to his tent, another man came forward from behind the old trailer. Since Noah was holding the box, he went straight to Noah.

“How are you today, brother?” Noah asked pleasantly. And the man merely nodded, not making eye contact. “Can you think of anything you need, besides the food in the box?” Noah asked. No response. “Coats? Blankets?” At that, the man lifted his beady gaze and connected with Noah’s eyes. “Ah,” Noah said. “Coats and blankets. That makes sense. I’ll look around, see what I can find.”

The man broke his gaze and merely accepted the box, taking it back where he’d come from. The entire transaction lasted under five minutes. They got back in the Hummer and Mel backed around carefully, heading down the bumpy road. “Well, you don’t follow instructions very well, do you?” she asked.

“I don’t know what came over me,” he lied. He wasn’t about to be kept back. He felt right at home. “How many of them are there?”

“Only a few now. Six or seven, maybe. The faces change—people wander in and out, stay awhile, move on. Sometimes I’ll actually spot a woman. One of the men had an adult daughter with him for a while. There were more before, in a camp closer to town, but Jack and his boys ran them off.”

“Why?”

“Well, it was complicated. Some drug farmer set up in their camp and there was a caretaker watching the grow who was a dangerous felon. We had an altercation—he put a knife to my throat and wanted narcotics from the clinic. Jack killed him. I mean, it was totally self-defense, you understand. It was down to me or him and Jack wasn’t at all attracted to him.” She turned to Noah and smiled. Then her smile vanished. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t joke. The man was going to kill me. After it was over, Jack rounded up his friends and they ran off all the old boys. He said if they couldn’t keep the dangerous element out, they had to move farther away, so the town wouldn’t be at risk. Turns out they didn’t go that far. If they weren’t on restricted land, Jack might’ve run across them while hunting.”

“But you found them?”

“About a year back one of them came into the clinic. He had a nasty, infected laceration that needed debriding, antibiotics, and dressing. I told him if I knew where he’d settled, I could bring him some leftovers to eat sometimes.”

“What was in that jar you showed the man?”

She laughed. “Expired prenatal vitamins. Might keep him going one more week in his life, but what the heck. The thing is, Noah, I wanted to save them. Get them bottled water at least, if not placement in some facility with clean sheets. But the fact is, this is either what they want or serves what they think they need. There’s undoubtedly some addiction or mental illness at root there—alcoholism, bipolar, war disability, anything is possible, although I don’t know that any of them have been evaluated. And since nothing will change it, no harm comes from a little decent food. Those old boys exist on fish and squirrel. And in the winter they almost freeze. But they won’t go to town, won’t go to a shelter. They know they can get help in Eureka. But they are not interested.”

“And if Jack finds out?”

“He’s going to make a big stink. He might run them off again. Or see if he can get some law enforcement to do it. He has a point—if they’re too close to town and open to dangerous types settling in with them, that could be a big problem. But I have a point, too—it’s not against the law to be homeless. They’re not hurting anyone, as far as I know. If they break the law, they’ll have to go, I suppose.”

“Is that the only group like that you know about?” he asked.

“The only one around here I know about, but June Hudson, the doctor down in Grace Valley, she keeps an eye on an impoverished settlement near that town. She’s given medical treatment to some of them. There are several families in her shantytown—some of them actually keep animals—mules, goats, chickens, like that.”

“Lord,” he said. “I’ve seen some people real hard put, but for some reason I didn’t expect it here. I guess I thought homelessness was only in the inner city, and near the docks.”

“I can relate, I was likewise naive. There are lots of folks living in isolated cabins out in the hills. If we know about them, Cameron and I try to keep track of them. We’ll often go together, but he just became the father of twins and has been a little scarce around town lately.”

“Mel,” he said quietly, “you’re a missionary.”

“Nah. Just doing the people’s work.”

“That’s what a missionary is. It’s not all about bible beating,” he said with a grin. “You have to fill their bellies before you can expect to peek into their hearts. Are you and Cameron the only ones who know about them?”

“The exact location, maybe, but probably not. Jack knew about them when they had that old camp nearer town and he just ignored them. Until there was trouble.”

“Does he have a problem with you going out to isolated cabins to check on people?”

“Sometimes someone will tell me there’s no smoke coming from a neighbor’s chimney, or that someone is bedridden and could use medicine, and often Jack will take me and wait in the car. Jack’s been known to split logs for an old-timer who can’t hoist his ax. Sometimes Cameron and I go together. I have to be real cautious. Some people really don’t want to be disturbed. Some could be unstable. Even violent. Believe me, I don’t venture foolishly. And don’t you, either.”

He smiled at her. She knew. There was a reason she had taken him, shown him and told him. Because his was also the people’s work. What she didn’t know was that his father was a wealthy, somewhat famous televangelist, who made a lot of noise about helping the needy and yet had never managed to get his hands dirty. He consorted mainly with rich people. In his stable of friends were politicians, government honchos, police officials, philanthropists. Anyone who could protect him in the clinches and make him richer.

In Noah’s stable of friends, so far, there was a bartender, a stripper, a cook and a midwife.

For the first time in a long time, the flavor of his life tasted good in his mouth.

Noah’s trip with Mel to the vagrants’ camp in the forest presented many possibilities to a man whose soul was fed when he could feed people. His visit to Grace Valley to spend some time with Harry Shipton, a heck of a nice fellow, had been likewise illuminating. They spent two hours together and Noah learned Harry was not just a Presbyterian minister, but also divorced and a recovering compulsive gambler. Even though he’d swindled some local friends, the whole town had welcomed him home after his treatment program. Here, in this little burg, Harry had found the truest sense of forgiveness and community.

Harry then gave Noah a tour of the town and lunch at the Grace Valley Café. Noah met Dr. June Hudson and her partner Dr. John Stone, and June’s father, the former town doctor, Elmer. He had an invitation from Elmer to go fishing and get an education about a few things those Virgin River men didn’t know and couldn’t learn. “No matter what they say, I’ve always outfished them. Bunch of liars, that’s what they are,” Elmer told him.

Grace Valley was a precious little town of quaint clapboard houses and delightful people, but when he’d brought up the subject of rural poverty, June and Harry had been quick to fill him in, in detail, about their special cases. On the surface, some of these mountain towns looked to be thriving and healthy, but there was an underside, hidden in the trees, of both marijuana growers laying low under the law and impoverished families that June, John, Harry and a few others tried to look after.

A few days later when Mel Sheridan pulled into the vagrants’ camp, Noah was seated around a weak fire with the boys, Bible in hand. Four of them sat on overturned buckets and there was a stack of army blankets beside one of them.

“Well,” Mel said, approaching. “Didn’t take you long to make yourself at home.”

“We were just talking about Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane,” he said, standing. “These guys aren’t the first in history to look for answers in solitude. So—what’s in your pantry today?” he asked with a smile.

Six

Noah had a couple of phone calls to make that he’d been putting off for more than a week. Mrs. Hatchet and Mrs. Nagel. He had to tell them he’d hired someone and thank them for their interest in the job. Mrs. Hatchet said, “Yes, I know. It’s all around that you hired some pretty young thing.”

“As it happens, she is both pretty and young, but she was hired because she has office experience and is capable of helping with the heavy work that has to be done around here. I’m sorry it didn’t work out, Mrs. Hatchet, and I’m very glad I got to meet you. And I’ll look forward to seeing you again.”

She merely grunted and hung up.

“Mrs. Nagel,” he said when he called the next woman. “Reverend Kincaid here. I just wanted to let you know that I—”

“Hired that young slut,” she snapped into the phone.

“Excuse me?” he said, shocked and affronted.

“I’m glad I’m not going to work for you if that’s the kind of man you are!”

“I see,” he said calmly. “I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

She gave a derisive snort before disconnecting without saying goodbye. “Whew, dodged a bullet there,” he muttered into a dead phone.