Sara found herself settling into Green Meadows with an ease that surprised her. Certainly the town was tiny compared to the endless bustle and crowd of St. Louis, but it had its charms, the dry air being only one of them; and the inhabitants were fascinating, as people always were. It didn't take her long to start learning the strata of society there, the invisible and usually unspoken ways that people arranged themselves.

The mayor and his wife led Green Meadows both governmentally and socially, which was to be expected, though Sara got the feeling that there was another, silent power involved somewhere, and made a note to follow up on it. Pastor David was the moral force of the town; Sara approved of him. He was no go-preacher, but a sincere man with a real calling, and her first Sunday she was impressed by his dignity at the church's little altar and his firmness in the pulpit.

She hadn't always managed to attend church back home; her schedule was erratic, and sometimes she was too tired and often too busy. But in a small place like Green Meadows, one was expected to show up at services, or be counted beyond the pale; even Miz Willows had her usual spot on a pew, the plumes of her hat nodding gracefully in time with the hymns.

Therefore, Sara dutifully went her first Sunday, pressing her best lawn as soon as her trunks were unpacked, and unearthing the correct bonnet. The church was small and relatively new, still smelling of the pine boards that formed its walls, but it was airy and well built; the windows up near the roof were only clear glass, but Sara expected that eventually the church members would raise enough money to replace them with colored panes.

She chose to come late, knowing that that was the best way to find an unclaimed seat among the habitual congregants. The little church was almost full when she arrived, but a few folks were still talking softly at the entrance, and Sara smiled and slipped past them.

The church was a cracker box, just a little longer than it was tall, with an aisle between two sets of plain wooden pews. The morning light and the yellow pine of the walls and floor made the sanctuary look as though it had been touched with honey, and while the air was warm, it wasn't stifling yet. There were sconces for candles and lamps, none needed at the moment, and a plain wooden altar draped with a beautifully embroidered cloth.

Sara chose a seat near the back, noting as she did so that some people brought cushions to soften the hard wood. Her nearest neighbors in the pew were a weather-beaten couple whose clothes proclaimed them farmers; they glanced her way and smiled in a friendly fashion, but made no move to speak to her.

Just then, two stern-looking men came down the center aisle, handing out hymnbooks to the nearest congregants as they went. The farm man took two, giving one to his wife, who leaned over to pass it to Sara. As she did, the single bell overhead tolled the last warning to stragglers, and as its echo died Miss Judy, at the small pump organ, began to play.

Sara opened the book with a surreptitious glance at the one the farm couple was sharing, and found the right page. The hymn was familiar if unexciting, and she sang along obediently, finding a certain comfort in the timeworn words.

The liturgy was easy to follow, and when the readings began, Sara listened to them with only half an ear, using the shadow of her bonnet brim to observe those around her. Already she was recognizing faces-the Hodges sat in the back, upright together, while the Ecklie twins, scrubbed within an inch of their lives, squirmed minutely near the front between their slightly haughty mother and genially smug father.

At the back, opposite Sara, sat Sheriff Brass, looking relaxed, though he had kept his hat to hand instead of hanging it up on the back wall, and Sara suspected that he was prepared to leave at a moment's notice if something came up. Three rows ahead of Sara was Warrick Brown of Brown's Livery, sitting in the outer corner of a pew and listening to the preacher with calm attention.

And on the other side, two pews ahead of the Sheriff, was Professor Grissom, sitting alone. His expression was polite but just the slightest bit abstracted, as though something besides Pastor David's clear voice was taking up his attention, and Sara couldn't help sneaking a few extra glances at him. The man was intriguing-courtly without being condescending, informal without being familiar, and obviously quite intelligent. She had not been expecting to find someone so erudite in such an isolated and newly-hewn place.

All in all, she had to reflect, he was really the most interesting person she had yet met in Green Meadows.

The service was simple but sincere; Pastor David spoke with a plain and gentle honesty that assured the listener of his faith. Sara relaxed a little as the liturgy progressed. Her own curious mind had doubts about the nature of God, but she wasn't about to dismiss the possibility of Him either, and in the meantime there was something to be said for the reassurance of familiar rituals.

However, the sanctuary grew warmer and warmer, the air getting thicker, and Sara plied the fan she'd taken from her bag, noting that most of the women were doing likewise. The men had to suffer in stolid stillness, but drops of sweat were wetting masculine hairlines despite the open doors and windows. With no breeze outside to stir the atmosphere, the accumulated heat of so many people just kept building.

Eventually Sara was wondering if she would have to leave early. Her damaged lungs were beginning to heave a little, and she could feel perspiration springing out under the heavy coil of her hair and under her corset. But before she grew dizzy the last hymn began, and she decided that she could sit through it. Walking out then would attract notice, and while she had a perfectly legitimate reason to do so, Sara didn't care to broadcast her weakness to the entire town at once.

The aftermath of the service was just as rich as the service, with the townspeople mingling in what were obviously established patterns, though Sara herself could not yet read all their nuances. Pastor David beamed and shook hands, his slightly shy demeanor overcome by the flush of faith, while the Ecklies chatted easily with various people but always seemed to keep a subtle upper hand. The Sheriff slipped out quickly, but Miz Willows lingered on the other side of the pews from the Ecklie-crowd, talking with various younger folks and flirting gently with her fan.

Professor Grissom, Sara was amused to note, had barely reached the aisle when a tall and statuesque woman about his own age descended on him, touching his arm with a gloved hand in a familiar manner. His polite, if slightly bewildered, response to her pleasantries had Sara smothering a smile; he was so obviously out of his depth with the lady, who-Sara guessed-had matchmaking on her mind.

She herself began to edge towards the door, desperate for a breath of cooler air, but people kept stopping her to offer greetings and introductions. Sara smiled and nodded, automatically making note of names and faces, and reminded herself that the stuffy little building was nothing when compared to a St. Louis slaughterhouse at the height of summer.

But her lungs still felt constricted, and it wasn't until she was out and standing in the shade of the churchyard's one lone tree that the tight band around her chest really began to ease. Sara took slow, controlled breaths as she'd been taught, too experienced now for panic but not enjoying the sensation either. The fresher, cooler air poured into her, and she felt the tight-drawn muscles along her ribs and spine loosen.

"Are you well?" asked a feminine voice at Sara's elbow, touched with both amusement and concern. "Do you need a vinaigrette?"

Sara turned. The voice belonged to a woman dressed in clothes a touch too fancy for Sunday but that were nevertheless well-tailored and flattering. She had strawberry-blonde hair under a be-plumed hat, a wide, full-lipped mouth, and arched brows over knowing eyes, and Sara estimated her to be ten to twelve years older than herself.

And at least two inches shorter, despite her high-heeled boots.

"I'm fine, thank you," Sara said with a smile. "It was just too hot in there."

The strawberry blonde woman rolled her eyes, commiserating. "Wait until summer-the ladies will be dropping right and left. Sometimes David moves the service out here; it outrages the older folks, but saves having to pick up wilted maidens."

The slightly naughty humor in her tone invited Sara to go along, and Sara found her smile widening. She held out one gloved hand. "I'm Sara Sidle."

"Of course you are." The older woman shook hands easily, her own glove ruffled at the cuff, and smirked a little at Sara's expression. "The reporter from the Post-Dispatch-everyone knows who you are, my dear. Gossip is almost instantaneous in a town this small."

She waved at someone on the other side of the small church crowd, which was mostly concentrated around a table where two women were serving lemonade and cookies. "I'm Catherine Willows, owner of the Willow Branch, and I had better warn you that you may not want to spend too much time with me if you want to remain entirely respectable in the eyes of the matrons of Green Meadows."

Sara's chin went up at the implied restriction. "I'm a reporter, Miz Willows. I talk to anyone and everyone."

Catherine chuckled, a rich sound. "I like you," she said easily, as a tall young man, lanky and dressed in shabby but expensive clothing, presented himself at her side. "May I introduce my bartender, Gregory Sanders? Greg, this is Miss Sara Sidle, new come to our little town."

Sara found her extended hand lifted to the young man's lips, a liberty that she would normally have found offensive, but the twinkle in his eye and his air of puppyish good nature made insult difficult. "A true pleasure, Miss Sidle. May I say that your beauty has brought fresh illumination to the dusty streets of Green Meadows?"

Before Sara could reply, Miz Willows rapped Greg smartly on the arm with her fan. "Easy, boy, you don't want to scare her away when she's just arrived." Her smile was both impatient and tolerant, and as Greg straightened with a grin of his own, Sara sensed a comfortable relationship between the two.

"I'm glad to meet you, Mr. Sanders," she replied, repossessing her hand firmly. "Green Meadows is a fascinating town."

Greg opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Miz Willows tapped him again, more gently this time. "Fetch the lady some lemonade, if you please, Gregory. I don't believe she's used to this heat."

Offering a lazy salute, Greg dipped a slight bow and spun on his heel. "By your command," floated over his shoulder as he walked back towards the refreshments table.

Catherine laughed again. "He's a good lad," she said affectionately. "Come and let me introduce you to some of the other ladies, before Becky Ecklie comes to claim you for her own."

Grissom finally managed to free himself from Mrs. Pearson's rather clinging arm by dint of an in-depth discourse on Melanoplus spretus, which had the effect of turning her slightly green. He regretted causing distress to a lady, of course, but her presence was both puzzling and unwelcome, and manners forbid him to just shake her off. Then he had a satisfying discussion with Ortfried Brandauer about the alfalfa crop, and by the time they were finished Mrs. Pearson was embroiled in a discussion with two of her cronies, and Grissom felt safe in standing alone near the refreshments table.

Normally he didn't linger too long at these after-church socials, but he wanted another glimpse of the intriguing young woman who had stopped by his home a few days before. Reporter Sara Sidle was not like any other woman of his acquaintance, and while he had met intelligent, passionate young women before, and even taught some, none of them had fixed his attention.

Perhaps it was her lack of artifice, he mused. Miss Sidle looked one in the eye and eschewed the demure flourishes of most females. It was refreshing.

He looked around for her, and found her by the side of Catherine Willows, which didn't surprise him. Catherine was always alert to social developments in Green Meadows, and was quick to take what advantages she could, though to be sure she had a good heart under her sharp business sense. As Grissom watched, Gregory Sanders bent over Sara's hand.

The gesture made Grissom frown. There was nothing wrong with the young man-indeed, he was a charming, wholesome fellow, if given to the occasional practical joke-but for some reason Grissom didn't like the thought of him flirting with Miss Sidle. It just wasn't…right.

Catherine sent Gregory Sanders off with a wave, and the young man bowed and headed towards Grissom's spot, taking a place in the small line for lemonade. An impulse stirred, and Grissom chose two glasses from the table next to him, deciding to anticipate Catherine's knight. It was mannerly, after all.

As he neared the ladies, Grissom observed that Catherine was gorgeously dressed as always, while Miss Sidle was plainer but neat as a pin in a light-blue sprigged lawn gown and a matching bonnet. The two made a compelling contrast-one flaunting her femininity, the other modest; one focused on sensuality, the other clearly more intent on the intellectual life. Catherine's cheeks were subtly made up-no matter what she said, Grissom could smell the powder when he stood near her-but Sara was pale. Paler than she should be, Grissom noticed with a slight frown.

Catherine being an old friend, he didn't hesitate to approach. "Refreshments, ladies?" he asked, bowing his head to both, and Catherine accepted a glass with a pleased smile. Sara took hers and dimpled charmingly.

"Professor Grissom, how nice to see you again."

Catherine's brows went up. "You are acquainted?"

Sara sipped the drink and nodded. "The professor was good enough to give me directions earlier this week when my horse decided to take a, shall we say, creative route home."

Grissom noted her discretion, but knew it to be unnecessary; Catherine might be a gossip, but she was not malicious, nor narrow-minded enough to take offense at Sara's visit to his home. Attitudes in the West were easier than those in more established cities, and women took more responsibility for their own propriety.

"Willie was taking advantage of a light load," he elaborated, and Catherine nodded in recognition.

"He has a mind of his own," she agreed. "So, Miss Sidle, though I'm sure you're tired of answering, why have you come to Green Meadows?"

"For my health," Sara explained politely. "And to write a series of articles on this settlement in the West." She went on to elaborate on her proposed articles, and Grissom listened with interest. She said nothing he had not already heard from her own lips, and he was reasonably certain that Catherine knew much of the information already herself thanks to gossip, but polite conversation required one to pretend that one hadn't heard.

As Catherine asked about the latest fashions in St. Louis, Grissom took the opportunity to look around. Gregory had apparently put his superfluous lemonade to good use, as he was currently engaged in flirting lightly with two of the young women from the McBride spread north of town. Sara's slightly impatient reply, however, made him look back.

"I'm afraid I didn't pay much attention to dress fashions, Miz Willows," she said, smiling courteously. "I've always chosen my own garments for utility rather than appearance."

That might be true, but Grissom had already observed that what he'd seen of her suits to date was far from dowdy. Miss Sidle had either a good eye or a good dressmaker.

Catherine smiled back; Grissom couldn't tell if Sara saw it, but he was aware of the faint hint of pity in her expression. "My dear, there's no reason they can't be both."

Grissom suppressed an ill-timed snort; he had the feeling that Catherine's notion of utility did not precisely match that of Sara's.

Miss Sidle shrugged delicately, and reached up to push back an escaping curl. "I'm sure you're right. I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me; I think I'll return to the Emporium. I'm still somewhat tired from my journey."

Catherine's slightly superior attitude melted into concern. "Oh, of course. Let me fetch Greg-he can walk you back."

Sara's skin was still pale, and as she frowned Grissom became aware of the lines of strain near her eyes. "I'd be pleased to offer my services as escort," he said before she could protest, and cocked his head, hoping that Sara would understand his offer to save her from a fight.

Miss Sidle's chin went up, but then she let out a breath. "That would be very kind of you, Professor."

She bid Catherine farewell, and they walked off together, away from the church and back towards the center of town. Sara's steps were slow, and Grissom felt a frisson of concern; she seemed like the sort of woman who strode briskly. "Are you well?" he asked quietly. The church had been close, and she had said herself that her health was not the best.

Her lips tightened, then relaxed into a rueful smile. "I will be."

Grissom nodded, and spared her from needing to divert strength to speech by saying nothing. But as they made their way over the hard dusty ground, he realized that their silence was comfortable, that there was no need to fill the air with words.

The Emporium was dark and closed when they reached it, and Grissom walked with Sara around the side to the back staircase. She stopped at the bottom step. "Thank you for your escort," she said, still smiling a little.

Grissom bowed slightly, fancier manners left over from fancier times. "It was my pleasure," he said, finding himself smiling back. "You're obviously a woman who doesn't require protection, but this seemed easier than trying to talk Catherine out of the idea."

Sara chuckled. "She does seem to be a lady of strong opinions. Which I admire," she added hastily.

"I do as well," Grissom replied, wishing he could prolong the conversation, but not wanting to strain her any further. The walk had added no color to her cheeks. "I hope that your first Sunday in Green Meadows has provided you with plenty of material for your articles."

"Oh yes," Sara said with more enthusiasm. "In fact, I should make notes-"

Grissom nodded. "I'm sure we'll meet again, then."

They said polite goodbyes, and as an escort should, Grissom lingered as Sara climbed the narrow stairs to the second story. He was guiltily aware that his position allowed him increasing glimpses of her ankles as she ascended, but managed to bring his gaze back up as she turned to wave at the top.

Then she was gone, and Grissom headed back to Zeus to go home, realizing that he truly was hoping that they would meet again.