Like automatons, or squirrels preparing for a heavy winter, the work crew cuts the rafters and fills the gap left for them. Two square off the ragged roof and a woman from Boston installs the drip edge. There's an increase in work tempo as heavy dark clouds move overhead. Splats appear on the floor through the latticework of the newly framed roof. They are wet and large.
People climb down from the cathedral ceiling and take cover.
It's five-thirty on Sunday evening, the rafters are installed, and it's starting to rain. Maybe they can't find their car keys. Or it's a religious service and nobody's said the benediction yet. There's the same kind of lull there was Friday morning while people scuffed the floor and glanced about and talked quietly to each other. The rainshower was moving off to the east.