“Woo-hoo. Did I stumble into next Sunday’s sermon?”

“Week after next,” she admitted.

“So what are you doing? Anything?”

“I figure the one thing we really have a scarcity of in our society is time. So I like to volunteer mine over the course of Lent. You wouldn’t believe how many not-for-profit organizations are swamped with money and assistance at Christmastime and begging for help in March.”

“But you already volunteer for a ton of stuff. I know you help out at the soup kitchen, and the teen mothers’ back-to-school program. And there’s the outreach you do at the homeless shelter.”

“Those are all sponsored by St. Alban’s. Showing up for the soup kitchen and the homeless shelter is part of my job.”

He suppressed a smile. “So, it doesn’t count if you do a good deed while you’re on salary. It only counts if it’s a freebie.”

“That’s not quite how I’d put it.” She scraped the last of the chili out of her bowl. “I’d like to help out at some place where I wouldn’t normally go. Some place that’s not associated with the church.”

“How about the dog pound?”

“Oh, Lord, no. I couldn’t. I’d wind up either adopting a bunch of strays I didn’t have time to care for or breaking my heart.”

“The library.”

“I’d have to clear up my overdue fines first. I’ve been dodging their reminder notices. I think next they send a big guy out to ‘talk’ with me.”

“Have you thought about the Millers Kill Historical Society? They always need help cataloging the collection. It’s a big, boring job, stuck up in the top floor going through boxes of stuff. Hard for them to keep people interested in it.”

She sat back. “That’s not a bad idea.” She thought of spending time with things, instead of people, for a change, up in a top floor all alone. It would be almost like going on a retreat. Monastic, even. “Where is the historical society?”