The Color Of Light. Emilie Richards

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ going downtown. To a rally where I’m a featured speaker because somebody in charge actually believed I had something to say.”

      “Unlike everyone else you’ve encountered today?”

      Analiese let her statement stand.

      Myra took pity. “They’re over at the sanctuary. I guess you could put on your friendliest smile and beg them to park somewhere else.”

      Analiese didn’t have to ask who “they” were. Radiance Stained Glass from Knoxville, Tennessee, was in town to take measurements for a new rose window in the choir loft, as well as to listen to the council executive committee’s opinion about proposed designs. Analiese had spent the past hour butting heads with the executive committee, but luckily she’d been excused from the next portion of the meeting, since everyone knew exactly what her objections to the designs were and didn’t want to hear them again.

      She calculated how long it would take the Radiance crew to move the forklift. She was already late.

      “I don’t have my car,” Myra said, taking pity again, “or I would let you borrow it.”

      A man spoke. “I have mine.”

      Analiese looked up as Ethan Martin joined them from the connecting hallway. She craned her neck to peek behind him. “Please tell me the committee’s still in session,” she said in a low voice.

      His smile was warm, his brown eyes sympathetic. “They’re waiting for Radiance. You still have time to get away.”

      “Could you possibly get me downtown, Ethan? I’m sure I can find a ride back home afterward.”

      “I ought to be at the rally, too. It’s no trouble.”

      She met his smile with a more or less genuine one of her own. Ethan was an attractive man in his fifties who really did seem to be an advertisement for the prime of life. Although he attended services from time to time, he wasn’t a formal member of her congregation. He had been a member, well before Analiese’s arrival, but he had resigned after a contentious divorce. His wife, Charlotte Hale, had stayed.

      “Why should you be there?” she asked after they said goodbye to Myra and started toward Ethan’s car, wisely parked in the general lot well behind the building.

      “I’m working with the Asheville Homeless Network. They asked me to draw up some preliminary sketches for two newly donated lots.”

      “You’re becoming Super-Volunteer. I feel guilty I asked you to give your thoughts about the window at today’s meeting.”

      “Because I’m already volunteering elsewhere, or because the people on the committee need a few lessons on how to get along?”

      Analiese knew Ethan had only agreed to sit in on the rose window committee—who he had represented at the meeting today—as a favor to her. He was an architect whose professional insight was extremely valuable, but even more important, much of the funding for the new window was coming from a bequest Charlotte had made to the church. Ethan and Charlotte had reunited before her death, and the committee was obligated morally, if not legally, to take his opinions and those of Taylor, their daughter, into account.

      “The executive committee can be a cranky lot,” she said, thinking what an understatement that was. “I’m sorry I got you into this.”

      Afternoon sunshine bronzed the bare limbs of trees that just a month before had flaunted rainbow-colored leaves. November weather in Asheville was unpredictable, but right now the air was balmy, as was the light breeze that pulled wisps of dark hair from the knot she had fashioned on top of her head. As they walked around the parish house, past Covenant Academy, the elite private school the church had founded, she breathed deeply and forced herself to appreciate the parklike surroundings. The grounds had been recently manicured by the garden crew, and pansies and chrysanthemums filled beds along with the stalks of departed hollyhocks nodding in the children’s garden.

      That garden sat at the rear of the parish house, nearly out of sight of the street, tended and appreciated by Sunday school classes who grew produce for a local women’s shelter. Analiese had been forced to fight for the patch of land, since the garden was rarely tidy and even more rarely productive. But the children loved working in the sun and getting their hands dirty, and the lessons they learned were invaluable.

      As they turned toward the garden she noticed several people strolling to admire the flowers, as well as a family sunning themselves on the grass in the farthest corner. From this distance she didn’t recognize anybody, but they seemed at home. She lifted her hand in acknowledgment as she and Ethan passed the other way. She liked nothing better than to see both the grounds and the building in constant use.

      In the parking lot he opened the passenger door of his car and waited until she had settled herself before he closed it. He pulled into traffic and was headed downtown before he spoke.

      “So tell me what else went wrong today.”

      Although they had never discussed it, Analiese suspected that Ethan had never rejoined the Church of the Covenant because his friendship with her would be altered. He would then be a “lamb in her flock,” an image she wasn’t fond of since none of the church members were vaguely sheeplike. But she liked being Ethan’s friend instead of his spiritual guide.

      “You know me well, don’t you?” she said. Her loneliness eased a little.

      When a motorcycle cut in front of the car he smoothly switched lanes without missing a beat of conversation. “You held your own, Ana, you really did. But I’m not accustomed to the edge I heard in your voice.”

      He’d cut through her defenses so quickly, she didn’t have time to ward off a flashback of the past hours. Waking up alone and lonely in a silent house. Morning prayers interlaced with the usual doubts about her calling. Mind-numbing paperwork no one in seminary had warned her about. Lunch by the bedside of a terminally ill teenager, and finally the meeting with the council executive committee, in which she had been not so subtly reminded of her relative youth and inexperience—as well as the number of parishioners who would prefer a man in their pulpit.

      “Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed,” she said.

      “Especially when you know the committee is lying in wait.”

      She understood what he was doing. On their short trip into town he was giving her the opportunity to unload, to tell somebody her troubles for a change. He was a genuinely compassionate man, and a strong one. He would be a logical choice to talk to, except that unloading was not in her nature.

      “Tell me about this project for the Homeless Network,” she said, turning the conversational spotlight to him.

      After one quick glance, as if to assess whether to coax her, he described his newest undertaking. Several architects were working together to create as many apartment buildings as they could fit into the allotted space and still give occupants attractive, liveable homes to call their own. Ethan wanted to use as much recycled material as possible, and she knew from hearing about the renovations he had done to his own condo that he could do it in style.

      She asked questions right up until the moment he dropped her off at the edge of the crowd that was gathering for the rally.

      “I’m going to park beside my office, but I’ll meet you back here to take you home,” he СКАЧАТЬ