It all happened in a wartime spring, the spring of 1944, in the pine-rimmed Placer Valley of Montana.  On a farm — two farms, really, lying side by side — next to a rushing mountain stream called Clear Creek.  Full spring had come, late as it always comes to Montana, and the “exquisite pink buds on the Transparent apple tree swelled, began to open into white blooms.  The red peony stalks in Gran’s flower beds turned green, unfolding leaves and the tiny balls that would become great, soft, lusciously scented peony blooms.  Mourning doves cooed softly and sadly before rain.”

     While far away hundreds of thousands of Allied troops camped in English fields and orchards, “vast armies flooded the English countryside.  One June night, in the darkness, came the sound of trucks and jeeps moving out.  No lights; no voices.  Only the hum of an endless stream of moving transport.  The next morning English farm families woke to empty fields and orchards, only crushed grass to show that an army had ever been there. . . .”

     But another war — a tiny but nonetheless deadly war within that great war — was unfolding its drama back in the mountains of Montana.

     And caught up in it was the small but determined pastor of the United Church in Bell’s Crossing, Montana.  Whose introduction came about as follows:

                                                    CHAPTER 7

          Neither Andrew nor Lillian Thacker had previously lived in a small town.  They’d both grown up in Philadelphia and married there.  They then promptly proceeded to Dallas, where Andrew attended theological seminary and Lillian — whom Andrew called Lili — endured boring jobs to support him in seminary. 

          They both found Bell’s Crossing a bit of a jolt.  But they were prepared for a jolt.  They even wished for a jolt.

          The Bell's Crossing United Church was Andrew's first pastorate, and he was delighted to endure hardship as a soldier of Jesus Christ, in the form of a backyard toilet in January.  Andrew was so idealistic and eager, Lili thought, that if they hadn't had that backyard toilet he would have gone out looking for other hardships to suffer.

          Montana greeted them with snow and ice and a parsonage that the wind seemed to blow through unabated.  "The good part," Andrew said, "is that when you're sitting south of the dining room stove the wind blows the heat your way."

          Not that Andrew spent much time sitting south of the stove.  A slight man with blond hair, he looked much bigger once he outfitted himself for the weather.  Wearing, at Lili's insistence, long underwear, his good wool suit with a heavy sweater under the jacket, his old tan overcoat, a warm hat, and his winter galoshes, he set forth to visit all of the two hundred souls who lived in Bell's Crossing proper.  He would have gone farther afield, much farther afield, but his deacons put a stop to it.  "We've just gotten you," they said, "and it's hard to find a minister these days.  It would be a shame if you wound up frozen to death in a haystack your first week here." 

          The deacons were referring to the fact that Andrew and Lili had no car and wouldn't be able to afford one for some time.  "I'm an excellent walker," said Andrew. 

          "Wait until things thaw a bit," said his deacons and his wife.

          Now it was almost April and things were thawing rapidly.  Andrew had visited everyone within a mile's radius of Bell's Crossing and looked forward to new challenges.  "Spring has come at last!" he said to Moller the druggist.

          "Hah!" said Moller.  "What can I help you with?"

          "A box of Smith Brothers' cough drops," said Andrew.  Poor Lili was snorting about the parsonage like a baffled buffalo.  Which was her phrase, not Andrew's.  Andrew had the greatest respect for his wife and would never have called her a baffled buffalo.  In his view Lili was a magnificent woman.

          "Built like a brick privy," said Lili herself, and most people agreed.  But to Andrew she was simply magnificent. 

          Lili wore her dark-brown hair in a dignified upsweep and her tailored clothes went well with her size and natural dignity.  She looked wistfully at lacy pink blouses but left them in the stores.  Perhaps some day she would have a little girl she could dress in pink ruffles.  She longed for a little girl.  Or a little boy.  Either would do.

          Lili had a practical mind, which Andrew needed, as he had none.  She kept his feet in galoshes during bad weather, his coat on him in cold weather, and his hat on him when he went outside year-round.  Andrew never remembered his hat.

          Lili admired Andrew for his compassion, especially his compassion toward disagreeable people.  She admired his intuitive understanding of complex situations and his spiritual compass that always seemed to point straight toward heaven.  Her job, she felt, was to keep him from getting killed while he was thinking on heavenly matters instead of watching where he was headed.

          On this sunny March day, when the snow was gone except for a patch on the north side of LeRoy Walters's filling station, Andrew looked toward the mountains, both east and west.  He dreamed of visiting every farm that stood between those mountains, provided he wasn't eaten first by dogs.  He had been surprised by the number of dogs in the Placer Valley, and by their enthusiasm.

     You will be happy to learn that Andrew survives these meetings with Placer Valley dogs, though not without thrilling encounters.  And, amid these encounters, next to Clear Creek by a piney mountain ridge, he finds George, who is trying to get rid of his wife cheaply by murdering her himself.  And he finds Phil, home with wounds from the Italian battlefront.  And the lovely Anne with her secret heartache.

     He is drawn into the tiny but nonetheless deadly war next to that mountain ridge.  Because, when Phil falls in love with Anne, he is very much in George’s way.  George intends to marry Anne (and her farm) himself.  As soon as he gets rid of his wife.  And Phil.

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