Twin Blessings and Toward Home: Twin Blessings / Toward Home. Carolyne Aarsen
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created by the jeweled glow of two stained glass lamps—a tall standing lamp hovering behind a well-worn chair and a table lamp across the room. Sandra’s creations, he presumed.
“Hello,” he called, staying in the entrance. The music was coming from a room off the living room. He waited, then Bethany popped her head around the corner.
“Oh, hi, Uncle Logan,” she called.
“Don’t sound so excited to see me,” he returned with a grin.
The music was turned down, and Sandra appeared behind Bethany, glancing at her watch.
“I know. I’m early,” he said. “I just thought I’d see what the girls were up to.”
“Checking on me?” Sandra asked with a petulant tilt of her eyebrows.
“Nope, just bored.”
Sandra angled her head toward the room they had come out of. “Come in, then, and see what they’ve been doing.”
Logan forced a smile, wondering again why she was so cool in his presence. Wondering why he didn’t like it.
He followed Sandra into a brightly lit room, watching as she walked to the stereo and turned it down more.
“Sorry about that. The girls brought some CDs. I told them they could play them while we worked.” She shoved her hands in the back pockets of her jeans, tossing her hair behind her shoulders. “It’s Christian music, in case you were wondering.”
Logan felt the defensiveness in her attitude. He was at a loss as to what caused it. “That’s fine,” he said quietly.
The girls were bent over a table, pretending not to watch Logan and Sandra. Logan walked to them, glancing over their shoulders. All he saw was an array of pieces of glass, some edged with what looked like thin strips of copper. “So what is this?”
Brittany looked at Sandra. “I’ll make lemonade and you tell Uncle Logan what we’re doing. You know it better anyway.” She turned to her sister. “C’mon, Bethy, lets go.”
The two girls fled. Logan shrugged in Sandra’s direction, hoping she understood what the girls were up to. “I guess it’s up to you,” he said with a forced smile.
Sandra blew out her breath and walked to his side, keeping her distance, as if reluctant to come too close. “They’re making a sun catcher. Here’s the pattern.” She pointed out a stylized black-and-white sketch of an iris in an oval frame. “They have to trace the pattern pieces on the glass and then cut them with this cutter.” She held up a small, pencil-shaped object. “After grinding the edges they have to foil each piece. Then dab kester on it to get rid of the finish. After that they solder it together.”
Logan nodded, pretending to understand.
Sandra glanced his way, and their gazes meshed. She curled one corner of her mouth, showing the first semblance of a smile since Sunday. “You don’t have a clue what I’m talking about, do you?”
“I got foiled by the foil.”
She held his gaze, and her smile grew. “I see.”
So once again she explained the process, showing him how the individual pieces of glass were wrapped in foil that was sticky on one side. “You have to make sure you go all around and that you give enough foil on each side of the glass,” she explained, showing him.
Logan stepped a little closer, ostensibly to see what she was showing him. But as he did, he caught the faint scent of her perfume—light, fresh and lingering. It caught him unexpectedly. Made him pause and breathe a little more deeply.
“Once all the pieces are wrapped, you have to lay it out in the same shape as the pattern,” she continued, oblivious to the reaction she had elicited in him. “This is when you need the kester, a type of acid, to get rid of the finish on the foil so that the solder can stick to it. I don’t have the soldering iron plugged in because we’re not ready yet.” She reached across the table, picked up a small project she had been working on and set it in front of Logan without looking at him.
He glanced at her hands, stained and marked with small white scars. From handling glass, he presumed. Hands that carefully handled the piece she held.
“This is what it should look like when it’s done. The solder should lie in a nice, neat bead on both sides of the work. It gives the same effect as lead but without the weight.”
“Can I?” Logan reached out for the sun catcher she was holding, and with a shrug Sandra handed it to him. Their fingers brushed each other, sending a peculiar riffle up his arm at the contact.
He forced his attention to what he held, astonished at how small some of the pieces of glass were, how intricately she had cut them and put them all together. When he held it up to the light, it was as if it came to life.
“This is amazing. I’m guessing you did the lamps in the living room, as well.”
She nodded, stepping back from him, taking that beguiling scent with her.
“Do you do other work besides this?”
“I’ve done some windows. But I use lead for them. A slightly different process.”
“For homes?”
“No. Churches.”
Logan couldn’t resist. “Oh. For those hypocrites,” he teased.
She held his gaze, smiling. “It’s all for the glory of God,” she returned.
Logan didn’t look away. Didn’t want to. He felt his smile fade as he tried to delve into her deep brown eyes, tried to find something solid, something serious behind her flippant facade.
“And do you think He’s glorified?” he asked quietly.
Sandra looked away, then shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to ask Him sometime,” she said.
Logan recognized the retreat and decided to leave it at that. “Do you support yourself doing this?”
Sandra rolled her shoulders in answer. “I don’t have high needs. But I’ve got a contract with a restaurant in Calgary to supply them with some lamps. I’m pretty pleased about that.”
“Have you started on them yet?” He laid the piece down and glanced at her again.
She shook her head. “I’ve been busy with the girls….” She let the sentence drift off as she retreated one more step. “I should see how they’re doing.”
Logan watched her go, wondering once again at her sudden reticence.
“Tastes just about right,” Sandra said, taking a sip of the lemonade the girls offered her. “Why don’t you get your uncle Logan and tell him that it’s ready?”
Bethany ran out of the small kitchen as Brittany set out four cups. “Do you have any cookies?” Brittany asked as she filled the cups. “They would go really nice with lemonade.”
“No. Sorry.” Sandra flashed her an apologetic grin. “I’m a little low on cookies right now.” Low on groceries, period. Thanks to Cora, who consumed gallons of lemonade, she at least had lemonade crystals.
She bit her lip as she stirred the lemonade, wondering if she could work up enough courage to ask Logan for an advance.
And what would he think of her if he found out how tight things actually were for her? These days, her idea of a seven-course meal was stopping outside the restaurant in town and taking a deep sniff.
Luckily utilities were included with the cottage rent, which had been paid in advance, or the roof over her head might have been iffy, as well. Logan’s low opinion of her would sink if he knew the particulars of her financial situation.
She had tried to tell herself that what he thought of her didn’t matter. But after meeting Karen—after seeing