Wrestling the wriggly child into her own small lap, Jenny whispered something into Ruth's ear. Joanna more than half expected the toddler to let loose with a shriek of objection. Instead, nodding at whatever magic words Jenny must have uttered, Ruth snuggled close to Jenny's chest. With a contented sigh, she stuck one chubby thumb into her mouth and closed both her eyes. Instead of only one child sheltered under Butch Dixon's protective arm, now there were two.

The whole small drama played itself out in less time than it took the congregation to reach the end of the chorus. Watching it, Joanna was struck by her daughter's quick-thinking action and also by her kindness. Without any adult prodding, Jenny had seen Ruth making a run for it and had done what needed doing. There was an unflinching responsibility and a resourcefulness in Jenny's action that struck a responsive chord in Joanna's heart-something Joanna Brady recognized in herself.

Through the years, looking in wonder at her fair-haired, blue-eyed daughter, Joanna had thought of her as Andy's child. Jenny was, after all, a mirror image of her father. But seeing Jenny then, with Ruth nodding off in her lap, Joanna realized that Jennifer Ann Brady was a chip off more than one old block. She was her mother's daughter as well.

Joanna's eyes flooded with unwelcome tears-tears that were as much joy as they were sorrow. At the same time her heart was overflowing with sadness for Jeff and Marianne and Ruth, at the saint' time her whole body ached with hurt for their awful and wrenching loss, Joanna nonetheless felt a certain motherly pride. Looking down on Jenny, she could see into the future enough to know that her daughter was growing up to be a kind, loving, and caring person. Like her mother, she would someday be known as someone who was true to her friends and could be counted on for help in a time of crisis.

The song ended. The last note lingered in the hushed sanctuary as Sheriff Joanna Brady moved once more to the pulpit. There, resting on the polished dark wood, lay Marianne Maculyea's worn Bible. The book was open to the third chapter of Ecclesiastes. Taking a deep breath, Joanna steadied her voice and spoke.

"The Scripture today comes from the old Testament, the Book of Ecclesiastes, Chapter Three, Verses One to Eight. 'To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven'."

The words were familiar to her. Joanna had heard them time and again over the years, and yet this time when she read them aloud in that hushed, listening church, it seemed as though the words were intended for her alone. They were speaking about the triumphs and tragedies of her own life: “… a time to weep and a time to laugh; a time to mourn and a time to dance…"

For the first time she understood, to the very depths of her being, that without surviving terrible sadness, she might well have been blind to the astounding miracle of joy. The one made the other possible.

Finished with the Scripture reading, Joanna sat down while choir director Abby Noland stepped forward to sing a solo rendition of "Amazing Grace." Sitting at the front of the church, Joanna found her eyes drawn to Jenny-to Jenny and the now sleeping Ruth. Rather than smiling, Joanna reached up, and tugged at her ear. With that simple gesture, a silent signal passed between mother and daughter. Like the signal television actress Carol Burnett had often sent to her grandmother, Joanna sent an unspoken "I love you" to Jenny.

Jenny sat with her chin resting on Ruth's tousled hair. Over the sleeping toddler, Jenny beamed back at her mother and tugged at her own ear in reply.

Yes, Joanna Brady thought, smiling an almost invisible smile. Definitely a chip off the same block.

J.A. Jance is the author of the J.P. Beaumont series, the Joanna Brady series, and two standalone thrillers. Born in South Dakota and brought up in Bisbee, Arizona, Jance lives with her husband in Seattle, Washington.