Tales Of Corwin

On Friday, Mark visited Marion Swisher, a matriarch of his congregation—a disgruntled matriarch. She had been recovering from a bout of pneumonia, and Mark had let two whole weeks go by without visiting her. An obvious tactical error, there. In her place, and surrounded by her suffocatingly attentive family, he wouldn’t have wanted any visitors at all. But when he called to ask if he could drop by, she was very cross with him for having taken so long. “I wondered when you were coming!” she exclaimed. “I was just saying to Amelia: ‘Is Mark Collins still pastor of this church?!’” “Yes, ma’am,” said Mark. “And I’m very sorry for having neglected you so shamefully. May I stop by now?” The old lady allowed that this long overdue visit would be acceptable, and Mark headed out to her property. She owned a big hunk of the shore of a little artificial lake outside of town—Swisher Lake, of course. Two of her daughters, Rose and Amelia, were in the kitchen when he came to the door; these were the two youngest daughte