Mrs. Marshall surprised her by rising, too. “But then we’d be robbing Peter to pay Paul, dear. You agreed, as did I, that preserving St. Alban’s unique history and beauty was worth the cost. I believe you described it as ‘big, honkingly expensive.’ ”

Despite herself, Clare’s lips twitched.

“Are you going to back out now that the price turns out to be more than you wanted to pay?”

Clare looked down at the intricate carpet. She thought she would have learned by thirty-five that saying yes to one thing meant saying no to something else.

“Before we all agree to this, I want to state my objections in the strongest terms.” Clare and Mrs. Marshall both turned to Norm Madsen. “It was Mrs. Ketchem’s intention that the money from the trust be used to support the clinic. Only when the trustee judges that the clinic no longer needs the funding is the principal to be disbursed. And you cannot convince me, Lacey, that you honestly think they no longer need that ten thousand a year.” He shook slightly from the force of his tone. “Your mother would not have wanted this.”

She sat down again. “Maybe not. But she left me to decide, Norm.”

Clare never would have imagined that news of her parish getting a $150,000 gift would depress her. She sat in a funk while Corlew, who had a 1:30 appointment, wrapped the meeting up and everyone shucked on coats, hats, gloves, and mufflers. She had enough presence of mind to make her good-byes, but she was still in a blue devil, as her grandmother would have called it, when she gathered up the papers to return to her office.

She was surprised to find Mr. Madsen lingering outside the meeting-room door.

“Thanks for giving it a try,” he said, sounding much more his usual even-handed self. “Not that it helped, but I appreciate the effort.”