The chapel was quiet, heavy with history and hymn. When Guy Penrod, now 61, stepped through the doors, there was a hush — not out of recognition, but reverence. His white hair flowed past his shoulders like a river of years, and in his hand he carried no Bible, no songbook — just a single white lily. The air inside was thick with the scent of old wood and older memories.
The old chapel held its breath. The walls had heard thousands of sermons, hymns, and...