Page 115 of The Last Letter of Rachel Ellsworth

“I’m fine, thank you.” Mariah looked around for her mother, but, of course, she was gone. A cry went up from the center of her heart.No!

Veronica showed up instead. “I thought we lost you,” she said, shaking her head. “Are you all right?”

She shook off her hand. She had to keep it together or they’d hustle her back home in three seconds flat. “Fine. Just got a little distracted.” She looked back to the spot where her mom had been.Come back!

Chapter Fifty-Three

The temple covered a vast area, boasting a beautiful gurdwara, outbuildings, and a pool. Veronica was glad of the scarf she wore, pulling it over her head as they entered the complex. Mariah, too, had a thin cashmere scarf she pulled out of her backpack. The delicate color, a soft blue, and light fabric gave her another layer of beauty, emphasizing her eyes, making her look not like an Olympic athlete but a Madonna. “You look so beautiful,” Veronica said.

Henry took Mariah’s picture. A man handed him an orange strip of cloth to tie around his head. He looked older without his hair, but his eyes were large and clear, the color of a pond. He raised an eyebrow. She nodded.

He raised his camera and took her photo, too. She only looked into the camera, solemn, which felt right on holy ground.

They took off their shoes and left them in an anteroom, then filed into the main part of the gurdwara, a vast space covered with gold. A group of musicians played and sang akirtan.

As they sat in the area set aside for that purpose, Veronica felt a sense of quiet move through her. Was this what holiness felt like? The music smoothed her nerves, and the splendor of the room dazzled.

She had not been raised with any kind of religion. The people around her were largely Catholic or practiced Native religions,sometimes both. The area around Taos was layered with saints and legends, with rituals and holy dirt, but she’d never keyed in. All she’d ever wanted was to escape.

What had she missed? Did Catholic churches feel like this? Mormon?

“Are you Catholic?” she asked Henry.

In answer, he pulled a medal from beneath his shirt. She’d seen it before, but only now did she realize what it was. “Who is that?”

“Saint Veronica,” he said, and smiled. “Patron saint of photographers.”

She flushed, feeling her middle warm. “I guess I chose a good name,” she said.

He inclined his head. “Chose?”

“Long story,” she said. “I’ll tell you another time.”

“Can we move on to the next part?” Mariah said. “I’m hot in here.”

“Sure.” They moved with another group out of the temple toward the food hall. As they sat down in rows with hundreds of other people, Veronica said, “This is what struck your mom, that they feed so many people here every day.”

“It was the best letter, don’t you think?”

“I liked all of them, but yes.” On one of the flights, she’d looked up the practice and said now, “Every Sikh temple in the world does this. Everyone takes a turn at service, and they feed whoever shows up.”

“Anyone?”

“That’s my understanding.”

A woman on Mariah’s other side said, “Yes, anyone.” Her accent was British. “I belong to a community in London. At our langar, we feed two hundred and fifty people most days, sometimes more.”

“Thank you.” Veronica thought of Rachel posing the question to Jill: What if every temple and church and mosque did that?

A middle-aged woman in a simple tunic gave each of them bread, and a man with a luxurious beard followed behind giving scoops of lentils and vegetable curry. A sense of possibility and peace filled her, and she imagined America’s thousands and thousands of churchesopened for lunch every single day in every single city and town in the country.How could that change the world?

“Did Rachel have food charities or support something in particular?” she asked.

Mariah said, “Maybe? I think she did a lot around supporting free breakfasts and lunches for kids in all schools.”

“That’s been very successful, at least in Colorado.”

“She was involved in several charities,” Henry said. “Someone did an article on it when she died. I can’t remember who, butThe Washington Postor one of those papers. They made note of the fact that she died in a grocery store. In a good way. I’m sure you could find it.” He scooped lentils with his bread. “This is really good.”