Restoring Her Faith. Jennifer Slattery

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      He parked, and she took in a deep breath, hoping the beauty of the historic church before her, with its gothic windows and steeply pitched roof, would soothe her nerves. If only she could recapture the peace and joy she’d felt when she came out to do the estimate—when no one else had been on the property except for Lucy Carr, from the cultural committee.

      This morning, cars filled the small gravel parking lot and at least half a dozen men and women, some in jeans and T-shirts, others in business casual, dotted the church lawn.

      She touched the door handle, reluctant to leave the vehicle. “Um... What’s this about?”

      “I ’spect folks coming to help.”

      Hopefully, with the construction end of things, because she had no intention of letting anyone mess with the church’s fragile antique windows. Anticipation surfaced at the thought of touching glass from an era that in many towns had been lost and forgotten.

      Though she’d taken a plethora of photos during her estimate, she itched to take more. They would provide months’ worth of inspiration later. Jewelry that captured the multicolored rays of sunlight as it dispersed through the dusty sanctuary. Glass mosaics with the same sharp, dramatic elements displayed in the castle-like bell tower.

      But first, she needed to focus on the task at hand...assuming they still wanted her.

      She gathered her things and stepped out into the muggy, morning air.

      “Ah, Drake, there you are.” A plump elderly woman with wiry gray hair poofing out from beneath a yellow bandanna shuffled toward them. “I was starting to think you’d never get here.” One of her knee-highs sagged halfway down her shin.

      “Ma’am.” He greeted her with a tip of his Stetson. “It’s just after eight.”

      “My point exactly. Some of these folks have been here for going on thirty minutes already. They’ve been patient enough, but I worried, any longer and they’d start meddling where they didn’t belong. You know how folks can be.”

      His mouth twitched as if suppressing a chuckle. “That I do.”

      “Oh, I made you breakfast.” She slipped a massive green purse-like contraption off her shoulder, snapped it open and produced a mound of something wrapped in a paper towel. Then, as if seeing Faith for the first time, she said, “Oh, hello. You must be Faith Nichols.”

      “Yes, ma’am.”

      “I’ve been wanting to meet with you.” She rummaged through her purse, unloading numerous random items onto the grass. Paper clips, pieces of gum, half a candy bar, what looked to be an old hair roller. “I printed a bunch of pictures, designs, whatnot, off the internet. Although some are black-and-white, they should give you an idea as to...” She huffed. “Now where did those pages go?” She leveled her gaze on Faith. “Library charges five cents a copy. Can you imagine?” She resumed her search until a small mound lay at her feet.

      Finally, she threw her hands up with a loud exhalation. “Wouldn’t you know it? I bet I left those papers on my kitchen table. I got distracted when my pill alarm went off, fought to get my orange juice open...”

      The woman continued retelling every moment of her morning.

      Faith exchanged a glance with Drake. His eyes were dancing with suppressed laughter, giving him a boyish appearance she found much too appealing.

      She cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse—”

      “Drake, Faith, good to see you.”

      She turned to see Lucy Carr, the president of the cultural committee, striding toward them, clipboard in one hand and what looked to be file folders in the other.

      Drake laid a hand on the arm of the woman with the green purse. “Can I catch up with you later?”

      The woman waved a hand. “Of course. You know where to find me.” And then she shuffled away.

      Faith offered Lucy her most professional smile. “Ma’am.”

      “You both ready to work your magic?” Lucy shaded her eyes and gazed toward the fire-damaged church. “To turn this place from a mess of ashes to beauty?” She laughed. “Get it? Ashes to beauty?”

      Faith frowned. “Um, not exactly.”

      “It’s from the Bible—”

      “Listen.” Drake scratched his jaw. “Think I can speak with you a minute? In private, I mean?”

      “Ah...” Lucy glanced from Drake to her clipboard, then back again. “Sure. Soon as we finish—”

      “Actually, I think now might be best.”

      A hollow sensation filled Faith’s gut as she looked from one to the other. He wasn’t seriously going to try to get her fired, was he? The guarded look on Drake’s face suggested she wasn’t going to like the answer.

       Chapter Five

      The vulnerability in Faith’s eyes, almost like she was begging not to be rejected, tugged at Drake’s heart.

      He felt bad for wanting her off the project.

      But it wasn’t personal. This was a big restoration, in terms of money and sentimental value. To the folks of Sage Creek, Trinity Faith was much more than a church. It preserved memories going back since the town was first founded. Countless baptisms and weddings had been held here.

      It was where Drake and his wife had fallen in love and, years later, where they’d said their vows. And where her funeral had been held, the whole town coming out to pay their respects. Though he’d worked through his grief, he still wanted to hold tight to his memory of that day.

      Besides, he couldn’t let his mom down. She’d been crushed once she’d seen the destruction left by the fire. Then came Dad’s accident. Drake couldn’t do anything about the latter, but he could make sure the church got repaired, to as good or even better a condition than it had been in before. Even if that meant hurting Ms. City Girl’s feelings.

      Faith took a visible breath. “Where’s the restroom?”

      “Inside, all the way to the back, turn right.” Lucy pointed to the church, then faced Drake as Faith headed off. “What’s up? Everything okay with your daddy?”

      “Far’s I know. He was sleeping when I dropped the kids off this morning.”

      “And your mom? She’s holding up okay?”

      “A mite tired, but yeah.”

      The woman released a gust of air. “I’m glad. I worried you were going to tell me you can’t go through with this job. I know the timing stinks, with your dad’s accident and all. Everything’s good, then?”

      “Not exactly.” He guided her toward an old picnic table near the back of the church.

      “All СКАЧАТЬ