The Color Of Light. Emilie Richards

chapter twenty-seven

       chapter twenty-eight

       chapter twenty-nine

       chapter thirty

       chapter thirty-one

       chapter thirty-two

       chapter thirty-three

       chapter thirty-four

       chapter thirty-five

       chapter thirty-six

       chapter thirty-seven

       chapter thirty-eight

       chapter thirty-nine

       chapter forty

       chapter forty-one

       Epilogue

       Reader’s Guide

       Questions for Discussion

       Copyright

chapter one

      ANALIESE WAGNER NEEDED to breathe. She was fairly certain she hadn’t inhaled even once during the past hour. Now her head felt three sizes too large, and she was perilously close to her first-ever panic attack. She needed to find a place where she could stand unobserved and fill her lungs and bloodstream with oxygen. Maybe afterward she would be calm enough to get behind the wheel of her Accord and risk life and limb in Asheville’s rush-hour traffic, but not yet.

      The church sanctuary was too far away and probably in use. The closest restroom was public. She saw the door to the sexton’s supply closet, opened it, slipped in and closed it behind her. The moment she did, the small room, maybe three feet by five, went dark, but she didn’t care. The air smelled, not unpleasantly, of pine and chlorine.

      And she was blessedly alone.

      Analiese stood very still, eyes closed, and filled her lungs, releasing the air slowly, and then repeating. She was well acquainted with prayer and meditation, but right now she needed oxygen and silence more.

      When her head stopped swimming she rested her face in her hands. Her ministry had come to this. Escaping into the sexton’s closet to inhale poisonous chemicals rather than face even one more member of her staff or congregation.

      Long ago the man who had encouraged her to enter seminary had told her there would be moments when she wanted to hang up her clerical collar. He hadn’t told her that she would face most of them alone, and that sometimes God, who was supposed to walk beside her, would wander off, too.

      But Isaiah must have known. Who faced loneliness more often than a Catholic priest?

      A long moment passed before she straightened, took one more deep breath, and opened the door. No one was in the hall, which made for the best moment of her day. She started toward the front door of the parish house and was only inches from escaping when a familiar voice sounded behind her.

      “You’ll be gone for the rest of the day?”

      Myra Hudson had been the church administrator longer than Analiese had ministered to the congregation, and she had the gray hair and pursed lips to prove it. The rest of the staff had already gone home, but obviously Myra was soldiering on.

      Analiese managed one small smile as she faced her. “Trust me, Myra, my absence will be a gift.”

      The other woman’s scowl eased just a fraction. She was twenty years older than Analiese’s thirty-nine, and twenty years more experienced in getting what she wanted. “You have three phone calls to return and a mountain of correspondence. You told me to remind you.”

      “A moment of weakness.” Myra didn’t budge, and Analiese lifted her hands in defeat. “I’ll make the calls tonight from home. The mountain can wait until tomorrow.”

      “I hope wherever you’re going you plan to walk?”

      “And the reason?”

      “Because when I looked outside a few minutes ago, a van and a forklift were parked right behind your car.”

      “I’m 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,