by Jeffra Hays
Copyright 2011 Jeffra Hays
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
To my father, this faith
I was a child and she was a child…Edgar Allan Poe
“Cantor? Cantor, do you follow me?”
Cantor grinned at the charming stranger seated opposite him, a young woman whose delicate hands held a letter. Of course he followed her, but he was as courteous, as humble as ever, and listened again. The lilting nuances of her voice, its crystalline timbre, comforted him. And why was she here, sitting in his wife’s chair? She had such a kind smile, such even, perfect teeth. He leaned toward her, his hands folded on the kitchen table, and asked again to be sure.
“Hearing means they want to hear me sing, is that right?” Of course he would sing. His voice was a blessing bestowed upon him, simply, to praise his God, to please his God with song. “You said your name is Ellen.”