![]() ![]() ![]() “Samuel!” Hollis Sawyer limped along the sidewalk of First Street. Reaching over, he picked up the worn black leather Bible lying on the passenger seat. If a decision wasn’t made soon, Samuel was afraid he would live long enough to see a For Sale sign posted on the church property and a Realtor’s lockbox on the front door. The lawn was dying, the roses overgrown, and the birch tree in the courtyard between the church, fellowship hall, and small parsonage had some kind of beetle killing it. ![]() One of the high, arched windows was cracked. The paint was chipped, revealing aging gray clapboards. Half a dozen shingles were still missing from the steeple, blown off in the windstorm of ’84. The old place was like him it had seen better days. Samuel Mason sat parked in his white DeSoto across the street from Centerville Christian Church. ![]()
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