Arthur took his black overcoat from the wooden chair behind the pulpit.

He didn’t say a word to the elders, and he didn’t look at the parishioners lined up along the altar rail.

He walked down the center aisle by himself, his dark shoes landing with a heavy, measured sound on the floorboards.

At the back of the sanctuary hall, Arthur pushed through the heavy oak double doors and stepped out into the bright autumn sun as forty parishioners stood silently and watched him leave.

By nine o’clock Wednesday morning, the heavy oak sanctuary doors were shut fast against the autumn wind, and the rectory study smelled of cedar oil and dusty paper.