little time to think. That’s probably why he left the clinic in the first place.”

Leticia Teller regarded her with distaste. “Are you saying that my brother is aware of what he’s doing?”

“I think it’s likely that he hasn’t found a solution to whatever caused him to be ill in the first place. Did you know he’d heard from his bishop? They want him back. He wrote to tell me he didn’t know how to answer them.”

“No, I hadn’t heard that,” Leticia said slowly. “He said nothing to us about it. Or to Jenny.”

“He felt Jenny was distressed enough over Harry. I don’t think Walter wants to go back into the field. I’m of two minds myself. I know they need good men, experienced men. But I don’t think Walter is emotionally prepared to resume his work. He told Jenny before the war that he’d spent too much of his life in places where he felt he’d done very little good.”

“He was praised for his honesty,” Leticia said. “After the book came out, you know how people admired it. He gave the proceeds to his mission society, for good works.”

“I imagine, in lieu of his physical presence in the field. You saw his book as a triumph. I saw it as an exorcism.”

“That’s an odd choice of words,” Rutledge put in.

Mary said, “I’ve always believed in the importance of mission work. I think a great deal of good can be done by setting an example. And the Alcock Society has been especially fortunate in the people they’ve sent into the field. But Walter was a missionary by default. Because his father gave him to the church, and because he was unsuited to parish work. I know,” she said, turning to Leticia, “that this is hard for you to hear. But if Walter comes through his present crisis alive and whole, it would be a travesty to send him back to Africa. Or China. You must see that.”

Leticia replied, “I believe this is Walter’s decision to make.”

“And he’s made it. By falling ill, he’s made it. What other reason can there be for him to vanish as he’s done? I tried to explain this to Jenny when I was in London. She doesn’t want him to go abroad again, of course she doesn’t, but I think she has this rather naïve belief that he’s a saint and she mustn’t stand in his way. He isn’t a saint. He’s bitter.”

“I don’t think his calling has anything to do with his illness.” Leticia was adamant.

“Then how else would you explain it? Coming on the heels of his letter from the Society?” Mary regarded her with exasperation.

Rutledge, listening, could see that the two women had very little in common. Their relationship by marriage was their only connection. And even that was tenuous.

Interrupting again, he said, “Do either of you have any idea where he may be?”

But they didn’t. And he could see that both women were far more worried than either of them was willing to admit to the other.

“I just want to see Jenny happy,” Mary said, as if she’d read his thoughts. “She tries hard and she loves Walter without question. And that could lead her to heartbreak.”

Leticia said grudgingly, “I must admit you’re right, there. Walter is not like his brothers. He lost something out there in Africa and China. Part of himself.”

“He lost it when he failed in his first living. It was the wrong church for him to be sent to, and the congregation was not prepared for an intellectual priest. They wanted someone more like themselves. A local man who understood them.”

Leticia said, “You didn’t even know him then. How can you judge that?”

Mary turned to Rutledge. “I met Walter when he spoke at a meeting I was attending. About his work in China. In fact, it was I who introduced him to Jenny.”

The tension between the two women was interesting. Rutledge thought perhaps the root cause of it was familial. Mary was bound to protect her sister, and Leticia’s loyalty was to her brother.

He said, interjecting a new question before hard feelings arose on either side, “Have you heard Mr. Teller mention anyone by the name of Charlie Hood?”

They stared at him, the question completely unexpected. It was clear that the name meant nothing at all to either of the women.

And possibly he had made too much of it as well. But there had been something in the man’s face that he couldn’t identify, something he felt he