Emerald Windows (15 page)

“No, it’s never been your fault,” he said. “I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“For what?” she asked.

“For asking you to put your work in Columbia on hold and come here for something that may not even materialize. For disrupting your life…again.”

“It’s okay, Nick. It was time for me to come home.”

His face was only inches from hers, and she could see the warmth in his eyes and sense the apprehension in his heart. “Yes, it was,” he whispered. “Time to come home, and time to forgive.”

“It’s myself I won’t forgive,” she said, “if I make you lose the second most significant job of your career.”

His eyebrows drew together in troubled surprise. “You haven’t been responsible for either one,” he said.

His eyes were eloquent with his own emotion but cloaked with a sadness that went much deeper than the losses he had faced. It hinted at the losses still to come.

With all her spirit, Brooke wished she could hold that sadness at bay.

For a moment, as he gazed into her eyes, she thought he was going to kiss her.

And then he drew back, got up, and pulled her to her feet. “Guess you should go.”

She swallowed, trying to steady her breath. “Okay,” she whispered, puzzled. Had she done something wrong?

She drew in a deep, cleansing breath but found that it did nothing to banish the cluttered, clashing emotions within her. She started to stack some of the sketches, but he reached out and stopped her hand.

“But I was just—”

“I’ll get them later,” he said. “I’ll bring them to St. Mary’s tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She looked up at him with hurt, bewildered eyes. “I’ll see you then.”

She felt him watching her as she gathered her purse and her case, and started toward the door.

“Eight o’clock?” he asked.

“Sure,” she said weakly.

He took a few steps to follow her to the door, but when Brooke glanced back, he stopped. “Try and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be rough.”

She lifted her brows and offered a self-conscious smile that told him sleeping would be the last thing she’d do tonight. “I’ll try.”

He followed a few steps behind her to her car, watching her get in and dig nervously through her purse for her keys. When she found them, she gazed down at them for a moment, as if struggling with a question she couldn’t make herself ask.

He spoke first.

“Hey, Brooke?”

She looked up at Nick, his hands jammed in his pockets and his eyes as vulnerable and gentle as she had ever seen them. “Uh-huh?”

“The things we’re putting in the windows…I believe them with my whole heart. I almost kissed you in there. But alone in my house…I didn’t trust myself.” He stepped toward her, his eyes glistening in the moonlight. “God treasures you, Brooke. That’s why He stopped me.”

She felt her eyes filling with mist, and she smiled up at him as relief and gratitude played symphonies in her heart. He wasn’t
turning her away. He was just living his faith. “Thank you, Nick,” she whispered.

As she pulled out of the driveway and started down the street, she saw him standing alone in his yard, watching her leave. Something warm burst in her heart, and she realized that she was important to someone. She was valuable to someone. Someone saw worth in her.

And so did Nick Marcello.

CHAPTER
   

T
HE CHURCH BUSINESS MEETING THE
following night was once again held in the large conference room at City Hall. It was open to the public, and as Nick sat next to Brooke at the front of the room watching the people filing in, he wondered why the telephone lines in Hayden hadn’t overloaded during the past week. Some of those who came hadn’t been to church in years. They couldn’t be less interested in stained-glass windows; that wasn’t what they’d come to see. He watched their eyes sweep over the room and settle anxiously on himself and Brooke. What they really wanted was to be firsthand witnesses to any smutty little allegations he and Brooke faced, so that they could light up the telephone lines again.

He recognized some of the students he’d taught in school, Brooke’s classmates, all gawking at her as if she were some legend they were finally getting a glimpse of after all these years. Others were his own ex-classmates or active grapevine contributors who wouldn’t have missed tonight if they’d had two broken legs. Some, like Brooke’s
family and his own, were conspicuously absent. Nick leaned toward Brooke, who sat next to him, rigid and expressionless. “Do you believe this?”

“Of course,” she said. “Best entertainment the town’s seen all year.”

“All decade,” he muttered.

She shook her head and looked down at her hands, and he saw the threat of tears in her eyes. “Only this time they get to see exhibits one and two firsthand,” she said quietly. “Last time they only enjoyed the dirt in print.”

Nick wanted to reach for her hand and reassure her somehow, but he couldn’t escape the feeling that if he did, cameras would begin flashing around the room and they’d be the headline story in tomorrow’s news. The pastor, who looked as irritated as they, leaned over to Nick. “With all these inactive members here, I ought to preach a sermon. It’s a shame to waste the opportunity.”

Nick laughed. “Go ahead. I dare you.”

The pastor only chuckled and got to his feet. “Could we have some order here?” he asked. “We have a lot of business to take care of tonight, and I’d like to get started.”

It took a good ten minutes for the crowd to quiet, but when it did, he stood looking wearily across the crowd. “I dare say this is the biggest turnout I’ve ever had for a business meeting,” he said. “And some of you haven’t sat in my congregation in years. Maybe we need to have business meetings more often.”

The regular church members chuckled, but the gawkers didn’t find it particularly amusing.

“I’d like to remind you folks,” he went on, “that our intention here tonight is to listen to the presentation Mr. Marcello and Miss Martin have prepared concerning the stained-glass windows in the church, and then to either continue with or withdraw their commission.” He slipped his thumbs through the suspenders tucked under his coat and turned meaningfully to Abby Hemphill. “This is not about personal accusations or gossip. So I’d appreciate it if no one would waste our time with that stuff tonight.”

A murmur of disappointment undulated through the crowd.

“If any of you would like to leave now that you’ve heard that, it won’t hurt our feelings,” Horace went on.

No one left.

“Well, I guess that means these folks are serious about stained glass. So Nick, Brooke, the floor is yours.”

Nick and Brooke stood up, and Sonny, from across the room, stepped forward as well to assist them in setting up the first group of panel sketches they intended to explain. A round of whispers and mumbles were heard as they spread the drawings across the five easels they had set side by side in the room. When he finished, Nick ventured a glance at Brooke.

Her cheeks were flushed in sunburn pink, and he knew she struggled with all her courage to keep from letting the stares and whispers daunt her. He should have done this alone. He should have insisted that she stay home and let him make the presentation without her.

She finished arranging the panels on her end and looked up at him. Their eyes met. The apprehension on her face, the strain, made him want to comfort her. Instead he began the speech he had prepared for this night, hoping the church would defer its judgment and give them what they needed to go on.

B
rooke’s nerves calmed a bit as Nick read several passages from the Bible and explained the covenant theme to the members and spectators, and she found herself getting lost, yet again, in the passion in his voice as he explained the concept of each group of panels. He spent an inordinate amount of time explaining the cross, and finally it occurred to her that he was addressing those like her, who hadn’t been raised in church. She glanced over the faces in the crowd. They were no longer gaping at her, for their interest had shifted completely to Nick’s words.

It was as if he had planned his presentation to reach non-believers instead of just to persuade the church about the windows. And he
was
persuasive. With just the excitement in his voice
and the zest in his eyes and the gestures of his hands he captured their imaginations and shown them the beauty that went beyond what she and Nick had done on paper. Brooke found herself listening with rapt attention as he moved from the Gospel to explain the process of creating the stained glass and the dimensions that couldn’t be seen here. And with a few simple words, he made them imagine the colors as they might be, with the sun filtering through. He explained how the covenant themes all tied together, how they were designed to serve as visual parables that would reach into people’s hearts and turn them to the Bible and ultimately to Christ.

When Nick’s presentation ended, a hush fell over the room, undisturbed for a moment as the audience absorbed what he’d said. “We’d be happy to answer any questions anyone might have,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

A thousand questions arose in Brooke’s mind as her own hunger for understanding stirred to life. She would search for the answers later, she thought.

Hands went up throughout the audience, and Horace recognized one man by name. The man wiped tears from his face as he said, “This project must be anointed, Nick. I can just feel the Holy Spirit’s part in this.” Others agreed with a smattering of applause.

“How many people will you have to hire to help you with this?” a questioner asked.

“Quite a few if we’re to stay on schedule and have the windows finished on time,” he said. “We plan to subcontract experienced people to help cut and lead the glass, as well as some inexperienced help, part-time workers like teenagers, to help with some of the less intricate things. And then, of course, we’ll have to have someone to install the panels, which should be included in the cost of the construction rather than our art budget.”

Abby Hemphill slapped her hands theatrically on the table and bolted out of her seat. “I’ve sat here and listened to this nonsense long enough!” she blurted out. “We cannot spend our tithes and offerings to fill our church windows with gruesome, violent scenes that will frighten our children.”

Nick spun around. “Frighten the children? Abby, if you see anything frightening here, would you please point it out to me?”

“Knives and fire and blood!” Abby said, coming around the table and waving a finger at one of the panels still displayed. “Take that one, for example!”

Brooke sprang up, ready to defend the panel. But Nick spoke first. “Abraham sacrificing Isaac?” he asked. “Abby, if it leads someone to the Bible to find out what it’s about, they’ll see that Abraham didn’t have to go through with it. The next panel shows the ram God provided. You can’t do the covenant theme without including Abraham and Isaac.”

Abby Hemphill went to the series in question and jerked one of the pictures off the easel, waving it as if the audience hadn’t seen it closely enough before. Fury constricted Brooke’s throat, stopping her breath, as she saw that it was the one of Christ’s nail-scarred hands. “Do you people really want
this
on windows where
children
can see them?” Abby asked. “Christianity already has enough of a PR problem without all of this blood imagery everywhere.”

“Without blood there is no remission of sin,” Nick threw back. “There’s no point in pouring hundreds of thousands of dollars into restoring that building, and all the sweat and money that will go into those windows, if we plan to dilute the message until it won’t offend anyone. Those who understand why Christ came understand that the blood is what cleanses us. We’re supposed to have the truth at church, Abby, not some benign, politically correct gospel. And you know what? Christ had a PR problem. If it was okay with Him, it’s okay with me.” He turned away from Abby and faced the members of the audience. “This is a choice all of you have to make. You can listen to her and have a bunch of flowers and birds on the windows, or you can allow me to create something that will lead people to Christ and point them back to the Bible.”

“We’re supposed to
attract
people, not drive them away, Mr. Marcello.”

“Is that right?” he asked. “Funny, but I thought your hobby was driving people away.”

Brooke moaned inwardly as she saw the look of rabid loathing on Abby’s face.

The woman’s lips compressed in fury. “How dare you?” she hissed. She looked frantically around her. “You people can’t really think that this man is the right one for the job. Horace, I move that we find someone else to oversee these windows and get Nick Marcello and Brooke Martin off this project! Our contract with him has a clause that says we can fire him if there is reason. Well, there is certainly reason.”

Nick flopped back into his seat, his lips tight and nostrils flaring with each heavy breath. Brooke sat beside him, sensing the anger, the tension in every inch of his body. He leaned forward, propped his elbows on his thighs, and covered his face.

“For the record,” Horace said, “I agree with Nick. We’re all sinners, and the wages of our sin is death. If Christ hadn’t taken our punishment for us, we’d all deserve to hang on that cross. I don’t want to spend the Lord’s money on anything that skirts around the truth of Christ. I want to use that money for a bold message that can change lives.”