Season Of Glory. Ron/Janet Benrey

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      The admiration she could hear in his voice pleased her. She’d chosen her simple outfit—a cashmere sweater and designer jeans—because it flattered her figure. This wasn’t a date, but why not look her best?

      “I’m your chauffeuse today,” she said. “You’re not allowed to drive until you rack up twenty-four more hours of normal heartbeats, so I arranged for another nurse to replace me in the E.R.” She stepped behind Andrew, took hold of the wheelchair’s handles, and pushed the chair toward the hallway that led to the parking garage.

      “Thanks for springing me from Glory Regional. Another night upstairs would have driven me bonkers.” He added, “I’m raring to get to work.”

      “Don’t ‘rare’ too hard. You’ll trigger your cardiac surveillance system.”

      “I feel fine.” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Admit it—I even look healthy.”

      She replied by pushing the wheelchair faster. It was true that Andrew seemed as hale and hardy as when she first saw him. But she knew that Sharon Pickard, Committee Chair, not Sharon Pickard, Registered Nurse, had championed Andrew’s early “parole” from medical care—for purely practical reasons.

      Andrew was scheduled to speak at a special Tuesday night elders’ meeting at Glory Community Church, where he would present for their approval his recommended strategy for restoring the broken stained-glass window. Alas, it was too close to Christmas to reschedule the meeting. If Andrew didn’t speak tonight, the committee work she found so tedious would drag on another month.

      Well, whatever her motives for persuading his cardiologist, Andrew would remain “fine” and “healthy” today. She’d be at his side throughout the day—his own private duty nurse.

      I won’t let him overdo. And I’ll make sure he’s not poisoned again.

      She paused in front of the sensor to allow the electric doors to open, then pushed the wheelchair into the parking garage.

      “I can walk from here,” Andrew said.

      “Stay put! My car is at the other end. I intend to bring the wheelchair with us today. In case we need it.”

      “I feel silly being wheeled around.”

      “Get used to it. It’s all part of the deal I made.”

      “Whew! You can be tough,” he said with a chuckle.

      “Not tough enough,” she murmured. I didn’t say no to Pastor Hartman.

      Daniel Hartman had approached her just before Thanksgiving. “Sharon, we need someone like you to chair our Window Restoration Committee.”

      “I’m not a committee person,” she’d said truthfully. “I’m impatient and not at all diplomatic.”

      Daniel countered her objections. “It’ll be an easy job for someone with your organizational skills and experience. It’s a small committee—only three members plus yourself. You’ll meet occasionally to decide the best way to repair our damaged stained-glass window. Once the committee recommends a course of action to the elders, Ann Trask Miller—our church administrator—will oversee the actual construction work when the restoration strategy is approved by the elders.”

      He’d made it seem like such a simple assignment. But the “occasional meetings” had quickly become three meetings a week as the WinReC discovered that the job of restoring a stained-glass window was a festival of unforeseen complexities. After two weeks of wheel-spinning, the members reluctantly decided to import a stained-glass expert to help them plan a restoration strategy.

      “End of the line. Here’s my car.” She stopped in front of a compact sedan. “You buckle up in the passenger seat while I collapse the wheelchair and stow it in the trunk.”

      “Where are you taking me?”

      “To your office.”

      “I have an office?”

      “We didn’t get the chance to tell you on Sunday, but Gordie Pollack set up an office for you to use while you’re in Glory.”

      “Did I meet Gordie at the tea party?”

      “Briefly. He’s the Director of the Scottish Heritage Society, Glory’s Number-One expert on our Scottish traditions and history. He’s also a member of the church’s Window Restoration Committee. He’s become the project’s “historic conscience”—the person who champions the window’s cultural significance.”

      Sharon climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

      “Glory is a small town,” Andrew said, “and it’s a fine morning for a brisk stroll. Do we really have to drive to my office?”

      “True. I agree. And, yes—it’s not negotiable.” She put the car in gear. “No brisk strolls until your cardiologist feels confident you won’t suffer another bout of bradycardia.”

      “I’ll say it again. You’re tough.”

      She drove in silence for more than a minute. “That impressive stone and granite edifice ahead on the left, on the corner of Front and Main, is the Glory National Bank Building—the tallest structure in Glory.”

      “Our destination?”

      “Yep. Your office is on the second floor.”

      Sharon found a parking space in front of the building.

      “What happens now?” Andrew said.

      “We’ll risk you walking from here on.”

      Sharon followed Andrew into the building then through the high-ceilinged lobby, her heels tapping on the marble floor.

      “Let’s climb the staircase to the second floor,” he said.

      “Let’s no t. A sudden increase in your pulse might trigger your heart monitor. If that happens, we’d be hip deep in paramedics.”

      Sharon noted that Andrew stared straight ahead as they rode up in the elevator. He must’ve been getting irritated with her seemingly foolish edicts. Well, the world would be back to normal tomorrow—for him and for her.

      The Scottish Heritage Society occupied a small suite on the eastern end of the second floor. Gordie Pollack gave Sharon a hug, then moved toward Andrew, his hand outstretched. “The last time I saw you, Andrew,” he said, “you were as dark green as a MacAulay hunting tartan. I’m delighted to see you returned to the pink.”

      He trilled his tongue as he said “dark” and “returned,” combining his mellifluous voice with a thick Scots accent to create a sound that Sharon found delightful. Gordie was charming and friendly, with bright blue eyes and handsome features. The ladies in Glory loved him, but he was firmly attached to Siobhan Pollock—who was as proud of her Irish ancestry as he was of his Scottish.

      Sharon smiled as Andrew took up the Scottish brogue challenge. “Aye, Mr. Pollack,” he said. “I only wish everyone СКАЧАТЬ