Clare raised her gloved hands. “I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with the director or what the clinic does.” She realized a split second after the words had left her mouth that she had made a serious mistake. She might just as well have invited the woman to proselytize her.

“You must have health insurance,” the woman said, giving Clare’s expensive new coat a once-over.

“It’s more because I’m fairly new to the area,” Clare said. “I moved here a little over a year ago.” She glanced past the woman, toward the sedate brick facade of the Millers Kill Historical Society. So near and yet so far. “I’m actually headed for the historical society over there…”

“The clinic provides free health care to residents who fall in the gap between private insurance and Medicaid. In other words, the working poor. Do you think that lower-income people should have substandard health services?”

Clare blinked. “No, of course not.”

“Dr. Rouse has been running the clinic for thirty years.” The woman compressed her generous mouth into a flat line, as if there were a lot more she would like to say about Dr. Rouse. “I’m circulating this petition because he continues to stockpile and administer vaccines containing thimerosal to the children of Millers Kill.”

“What?” Clare had braced herself for an antiabortion screed; this sudden shift into the chemical composition of vaccines left her way off in left field. “I’m sorry, I don’t-what’s thimerosal?”

The woman dug into her parka pocket and pulled out a brochure that looked like the product of someone’s newsletter-and-greeting-card software. She handed it to Clare. MERCURY AND AUTISM-HOW TO PROTECT YOUR CHILD, it read.

“Thimerosal is a preservative that’s commonly used in vaccination serums. It’s almost fifty percent mercury, a poisonous metal, and exposure in children under the age of three may cause autism.” She caught Clare’s gaze and held it. She had big brown eyes, intense but not fanatical. “Do you have kids?”