From a framed story, circa 1970, in Volume I of "Tares Among the Wheat"
"Amy, and to a lesser extent others of the congregation, had just then been startled by the intrusion of a maverick gust of icy wind. Prelude to winter’s southward advance, the gale had inexplicably irrupted from an otherwise tranquil afternoon of late October. The pulse of Arctic air abruptly rammed the pair of entrance doors to open inward, banging them loudly in unison against the vestibule walls. Nuzzled by the entrance passage, the blast of chilled air then jettisoned down the chapel’s center aisle. As the air raced forward it gathered a concoction of dust from the floor, and scraps of papers lifted from the pockets of the pews to mix with the colorful curled autumn leaves ushered indoors from their respite corners of the front porch."
PHOTO: If that fictional country church of 1970 was allowed to fall to ruin soon thereafter, it might have appeared as this ruin today. Notice the porch where the leaves might have gathered. In the novel, the pair of front doors opened inward.