Frank Brannon tried hard not to squirm and fidget. The tight collar he wore with his boiled shirt and Sunday-go-to-meetin’ suit choked him something fierce. He wanted more than anything to run his finger around the collar between it and his neck, but to do that, he’d have to hold his godson with one hand. And holding the sleeping baby with two hands was about all Frank wanted to try right at that time. Sure hope this padre ain’t long winded, Julia, he told himself. If he is, my arm’s likely gonna go to sleep. Never knew a little baby could get so heavy.