“Prayer first!” he called over his shoulder, and tried not to roll his eyes.

Some things never changed … and those things were far easier to handle than some half-drowned goy on his doorstep. A matter that needed handling immediately, lest he catch his death from wet clothes. He was wider than Zechariah, but of a similar height.

“... There is a wood stove in the parlor,” he said, nodding toward the parlor trying to figure out how to solve this quickly enough to not stain the wood. “You may start a fire if you wish. I will be back in the moment.”

He turned for the stairs, taking a deep breath. The thing about living this close to the water, apparently, was that drowning survivors would find homes like his first. A curse and blessing both, as most of God’s will tended to be.