There were months in which the countryside around Independence, Illinois, was beautiful. March, thought Jen Blake, was definitely not one of them. She'd just come back from visiting three different homebound parishioners; her hair was damp and her shoes were soaked. Her internal state was no better than her external one.

The phone rang. "Independence United Methodist Church," she said into it.

"Reverend Blake, please."

"Speaking."

"This is Terry Metzger. I'm superintendent of the Northern District." Jen knew who Metzger was; there were only seven district superintendents, after all. But she'd long-ago learned that people whom it was easiest to recognize identified themselves thoroughly; men you'd met once -- and that was a year before while passing through a reception line -- said 'This is Joe.'

"Yes, Reverend Metzger. What can I do for you?"

"Your letter said that you wanted to move from Independence and preferred an urban church nearer to Garret. How does Evanston Aldersgate sound?"

It, really, sounded like heaven. "That would be delightful."

"I warn you that it is an equitable-salary church." That meant that she would get as little salary as the Conference allowed for people of her years in the Conference. And that would only be three years.

"That isn't one of our worries." David drew a good salary, but the commute to Independence was killing him.

"Then how about Thursday, in two weeks? Sixteen days, really."

"Where should I meet you?"

They set a time and a place.

"Guess where we'll be next year?" she greeted David when he came home.

"Moline?" Her husband was in as bad a mood as she had been in before the phone call. Moline was about as far from Chicago, and from Garrett-Evangelical Theological Seminary in Evanston where he taught, as was possible in the Conference.

"Close. A three-point charge on the Mississippi south of Moline." This got her a smile. "However, Aldersgate is likelier."

"Aldersgate? In Evanston?"

"In Evanston. The one in London is taken."

"Darling. You're so kind to me." Why the assignment by the cabinet was a kindness on her part, she couldn't tell. But he kissed her before she could frame that question, and the kiss was thorough. His hands roamed her back before settling on her rump and squeezing. His tongue entered her mouth to meet hers.

"It isn't decided yet, you know," she said much later. "I'll meet their Staff-Parish Committee two weeks from Thursday."

She'd cooked dinner, and he took them through a session on Romans before she rushed off to the church for a meeting of the Finance Committee. When she got back, David had cleared the table and washed up. The kitchen was neater than she'd ever kept it. He was upstairs reading while he pedaled away on his exercycle. He'd arranged a contraption to hold the book open on a board in front of him without the use of his hands.

"Love you," she said poking her head in.

"Love you," he responded. She knew she wasn't going to get anything more until he finished the chapter. But he soon came into the bedroom. He stripped off his track suit and slipped into bed beside her. "Mmm," he said after the kiss, "I do love you, and in Evanston -- if we're there next year -- I'll have the energy to show it."

She reached towards his groin to touch his erection. "You mean you're planning to wait four months to use this?"

"Nope! I have energy enough to show my lust, just not enough to show my love." She thought he showed his love every day.

David left her no time to consider that, though. He was too busy showing his lust. He stroked all over her body while he was kissing her. As his mouth left hers for her breast, his hand concentrated on the inside of her thighs. She spread her legs in welcome. He stroked her lower lips as he kissed all over her left breast. Finally, his lips reached its peak at the same moment his finger reached her clitoris. "Oh, David," she said, reveling in all that sensation, "oh, yes."

After some time, though, that sensation wasn't enough. She reached for his erection again. David paused to kiss her right nipple while kneeling between her knees. Then she guided him to her center. "Oh, love," he said just touching her there. Then he slid inside smoothly.

He filled her, spread her, pressed her down on the bed. She rubbed her hands down his back to hold his rump. The sensation of his muscles working under her hand was pleasant, as was his chest just brushing over her nipples. But the important sensations were from her groin where he was gliding in and out rubbing all of her most important parts.

She felt each separate sensation. Then she felt only a heightened excitement. Finally, that excitement peaked, and she spasmed around him. "Jen!" he shouted at the moment that his spasm joined hers.

When she was next aware of the world outside her body, he was lying over her gasping in her ear. She hugged him to her by his rump. He was too heavy, though. When she released her hold, he moved aside before collapsing beside her. One of his arms pulled the covers back across her before draping itself over her belly.

A few minutes later, she readjusted the covers -- one foot was still out in the air and felt quite chilly. She turned on her side and snuggled back against him. David turned on his side, too. He curled around her in the spoon and hugged her. She felt guilty about pressing the cold foot into his ankle, but his only response was a tighter hug.

Since David was already in Evanston Thursday, they met there for dinner before her appointment with the Staff-Parish Committee.

She talked with Metzger for a few minutes before they went to the church for the meeting. She became quite conscious that this was only to guarantee that she wouldn't be late; they had nothing to talk about. "When David and I went to Reverend Campbell for counseling," she told Metzger, "he commented that the couples he -- David -- had counseled were always nervous; and he could never understand why. Then he found himself being nervous before the first session with Reverend Campbell. The Committee at Independence was really sweet during the interview, although there was congregational resistance to having a woman pastor. Now, though, I find myself nervous again."

Metzger chuckled. "That's perfectly natural. The committee members are probably nervous, too. After all, you've done this once before. I doubt if any of them have. Bob Lawrence was here for years."

He may have been right. The committee members didn't seem to have many questions. Nancy Hashimoto, one of the two women on the committee, seemed to be more worried about Jen's accepting them than about judging her. (Hashimoto was obviously a married name; she didn't look Japanese.)

Bill Pierce, the chairman brought up David. Metzger intervened then. "Jen is the person you're considering. Her husband would have no duties in the church. He might not even attend."

"I know that," said Pierce, who looked like he was hearing it for the first time. "But is this the David Blake who preached here once?"

"It is," said Jen.

"Good man," said Pierce.

"I don't consider myself as good a preacher as he is," said Jen. "I think my greatest strength lies in pastoral care."

"Our last pastor stayed quite a long time," Rich Davenport said. It wasn't a question, but Jen treated it as one.

"Well, that is the Cabinet's decision. I'm what we call a traveling preacher. But I'm not thinking of this church as a stepping stone, if that worries you. Mr. Pierce mentioned my husband; he teaches just down the street."

"You're not dreaming of a big suburban church?" asked Joan Oliver, the other woman on the committee.

"As what?" Jen asked. "The senior pastor of a big suburban church is a preacher, not a counselor. As I said, that's not my gift. I'm serving a small church right now, and I'll admit that I could appreciate a church whose finance committee takes care of the budget and whose trustees look after the building without pastoral participation."

There were a few laughs. "That's not Aldersgate," Dennis Spears said.

"I didn't think it was."

"Actually," Metzger said, "even large suburban churches seldom fit that model."

She went off into another room. Quite soon, Metzger came for her. "What do you think?"

"I'd be happy."

"They want you, too. I think we have an appointment."

So she returned to the committee meeting, and everybody was charming. Technically, she knew, this was subject to the bishop's final approval and depended on other needs. But if she survived and the church didn't burn down, it was a done deal. No hole would appear which only Jen Blake could fill; she was quite conscious that preachers two years out of seminary were a dime a dozen.

"It seems to be Aldersgate," she told David when she got home.

"Darling! Is there anything that you gritted your teeth and accepted 'cause it would save me a drive?"

"Not apparent in the meeting. Of course, there will be grit- your-teeth aspects. There certainly are here. But that's part of the job description. The committee chair brought up you, but Metzger quashed that. The pastor's spouse isn't up for consideration."

"Quite right, too," David agreed. "On the other hand, you -- and they -- and the Conference -- are giving me more time. I should give back some of that time. I told you that I wouldn't do anything at Independence, using the commute as an excuse. Well, I'm up for being the good pastor's spouse at Aldersgate. I won't join the UMW, but aside from that...."

David's 'nothing' included consistent participation in worship -- more consistent than many who were considered pillars of the church. He also co-taught the Wednesday study with her. "You won't join the United Methodist Women?" she asked in mock dismay. "The spouse of the pastor always does." She wondered whether Aldersgate even had a chapter of the United Methodist Men.

"Male liberation," he said.

But, thrilled as she was, she was also exhausted. David, more sensitive than he gave himself credit for, merely held her that night. And she'd missed not only choir practice, for which she shed no tears, but her practice sermon with David.

She gave that the next night, on Ephesians. David was helpful and didn't mention that he thought there were a dozen sermons in the story of Jesus' healing the man born blind. He was right, but there wasn't one she felt competent to preach. He was always quite insistent that she was the one appointed to this charge; she shouldn't defer to his opinions when she was in the pulpit. He didn't confront her with his opinions; but, on the other hand, he was transparent.

Anyway, his suggestions on the small points were worthwhile, and she made notes. Later, in bed, his transparency was more pleasing. He thought her a desirable woman, and seeing that transparent desire, her own desire grew.

Saturday night, his hug was warming rather than arousing. Sunday, she preached her sermon and conducted the rest of the service. Afterwards, they were guests of the Thomas family for a big Sunday dinner. Their own supper was late and followed by a Lectio Divina study of the story of Lazarus. David's questions were insightful, if they concentrated on Jesus being indignant rather than the miracle itself.

"Another rich passage," she commented as they worked together to fill the dishwasher. "You could preach a year's worth of sermons on those 45 verses."

"Well," he said, "52 sermons, certainly. As all the congregation would hear for a year, it might be a bit unbalanced."

"That's what I meant, literalist!"

He kissed her forehead. "You're cute when you're mad." He stroked his hands all over her body while peppering her face with little kisses. When she moved back, they both headed for the stairs. "Even," he said, "if the cabinet decides to send you somewhere else -- and that's very unlikely -- you're approval by Aldersgate is something to celebrate." He plainly wanted the celebration to be in bed.

"And," she agreed, "so it is."

Well, it turned out in their room upstairs, he wanted the celebration to end in bed. He kissed her thoroughly before removing her shirt, kissed her neck and arms before removing her bra, spent the longest time kissing her breasts before tugging her jeans and panties down. With the jeans around her ankles and her pantyhose down to her knees, she might as well have been wearing a chastity belt; but David, denied access to the main area, kissed her mound and thighs. Then he pushed the pantyhose down further. He held each shoe while she stepped out of it and the jeans before he helping her remove the pantyhose.

In bed, he got back to her mouth. Their tongues played tag while his hand stroked her everywhere. He cupped her left breast and played very gently with the nipple while he kissed over her neck with occasional excursions to her ear. Even when he was kissing her right breast and licking that nipple, his hands only tickled the insides of her thighs. She spread her legs, spread them again a it more, but he ignored the silent invitation.

Finally, he climbed between her legs. He pulled her knees up and began his kisses on the left one. Having kissed a trail on the inside of her left thigh until his face was brushing her lips, he started over on her right thigh. Enough was enough! When his mouth got close again, she grasped his hair and turned him so that his mouth was where she needed it.

He nuzzled her lips and licked them. Then he used his fingers to part them and licked the valley in between. "Oh Jen!" he said. And it felt like that -- better than that -- to her, too. His hands came up to cup her breasts again.

Her passion spiraled upwards as his tongue worked its magic on her clitoris. Even then, he would move off and lick her lips while his breath gave her a hint of the direct stimulation she needed. She grabbed his head again as she came.

This went on forever. When it passed, she let go of his hair, and he backed away. Instead of moving to lie beside her, however, he moved up the bed until he was over her. He bore his weight on one straight arm while his other hand parted her lower lips. Then it wasn't only his hand.

He entered her in one smooth motion. After shifting so that his weight was on his elbows and his hands were on her breasts, he kissed her forehead. Only then did he move within her. He would withdraw slowly, reenter even more slowly, and then sway back and forth while pressed fully within her. Her arousal, never really abated, rose again. She ran her hands down his back to his pumping hips. Everywhere she touched was hard, moving, muscle. "Oh, Jen," he said, "oh, sweet."

Her excitement rose with every motion he made. Then it peaked. "Jen!" he shouted as his spasm followed hers.

"Jen," he whispered in her ear moments later.

He moved aside and replaced the covers as they both lay there gasping.

"Your day of rest," he reminded her when his alarm rang Monday morning. She dropped back to sleep, not even waking when he left. She came downstairs sinfully late; it was her day of rest, but that was rest from pastoring -- not from personal chores.

"Love you" read a note at her place at the breakfast table. She loved him, too. She should really find a better way of showing him that.