The Color Of Light. Emilie Richards
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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, but right now the air was balmy, as was the light breeze that pulled wisps of dark hair from the knot she had fashioned on top of her head. As they walked around the parish house, past Covenant Academy, the elite private school the church had founded, she breathed deeply and forced herself to appreciate the parklike surroundings. The grounds had been recently manicured by the garden crew, and pansies and chrysanthemums filled beds along with the stalks of departed hollyhocks nodding in the children’s garden.
That garden sat at the rear of the parish house, nearly out of sight of the street, tended and appreciated by Sunday school classes who grew produce for a local women’s shelter. Analiese had been forced to fight for the patch of land, since the garden was rarely tidy and even more rarely productive. But the children loved working in the sun and getting their hands dirty, and the lessons they learned were invaluable.
As they turned toward the garden she noticed several people strolling to admire the flowers, as well as a family sunning themselves on the grass in the farthest corner. From this distance she didn’t recognize anybody, but they seemed at home. She lifted her hand in acknowledgment as she and Ethan passed the other way. She liked nothing better than to see both the grounds and the building in constant use.
In the parking lot he opened the passenger door of his car and waited until she had settled herself before he closed it. He pulled into traffic and was headed downtown before he spoke.
“So tell me what else went wrong today.”
Although they had never discussed it, Analiese suspected that Ethan had never rejoined the Church of the Covenant because his friendship with her would be altered. He would then be a “lamb in her flock,” an image she wasn’t fond of since none of the church members were vaguely sheeplike. But she liked being Ethan’s friend instead of his spiritual guide.
“You know me well, don’t you?” she said. Her loneliness eased a little.
When a motorcycle cut in front of the car he smoothly switched lanes without missing a beat of conversation. “You held your own, Ana, you really did. But I’m not accustomed to the edge I heard in your voice.”
He’d cut through her defenses so quickly, she didn’t have time to ward off a flashback of the past hours. Waking up alone and lonely in a silent house. Morning prayers interlaced with the usual doubts about her calling. Mind-numbing paperwork no one in seminary had warned her about. Lunch by the bedside of a terminally ill teenager, and finally the meeting with the council executive committee, in which she had been not so subtly reminded of her relative youth and inexperience—as well as the number of parishioners who would prefer a man in their pulpit.
“Some days it doesn’t pay to get out of bed,” she said.
“Especially when you know the committee is lying in wait.”
She understood what he was doing. On their short trip into town he was giving her the opportunity to unload, to tell somebody her troubles for a change. He was a genuinely compassionate man, and a strong one. He would be a logical choice to talk to, except that unloading was not in her nature.
“Tell me about this project for the Homeless Network,” she said, turning the conversational spotlight to him.
After one quick glance, as if to assess whether to coax her, he described his newest undertaking. Several architects were working together to create as many apartment buildings as they could fit into the allotted space and still give occupants attractive, liveable homes to call their own. Ethan wanted to use as much recycled material as possible, and she knew from hearing about the renovations he had done to his own condo that he could do it in style.
She asked questions right up until the moment he dropped her off at the edge of the crowd that was gathering for the rally.
“I’m going to park beside my office, but I’ll meet you back here to take you home,” he said, pointing to a street sign. “In case I can’t find you at the end.”
“You’re really planning to stay?”
“I want to hear what you have to say.”
“Then I’ll treat you to dinner afterward, but it will have to be fast. I have a list of phone calls to make tonight.”
“Ana...maybe you ought to take the night off.”
“Not with the council executive committee gunning for me.”
“After today, you still want to keep your job?”
No good answer occurred to her, but she had to smile. She stepped back and waved him off.
She was quickly drawn into the crowd. When she had agreed to add her comments to those of county officials and other leaders at this rush-hour rally, she hadn’t realized how large the gathering would be. She’d said yes a month ago and then nearly forgotten until a reminder had popped up on her calendar. She was lucky Ethan had driven her and could park in his personal space. Even on a relatively quiet day downtown parking was tough.
She was early—that seemed nearly miraculous since so little had gone well today—and she had a few minutes to unwind before she made her way toward the front. She skirted the crowd and leisurely took in the view.
The scene was Asheville at its finest. Bare-chested, tattooed Gen Xers tossed Frisbees with mutts yapping at their heels. A small group of men in sports coats accompanying women in heels looked as if they had just left downtown offices. Tourists with cameras and retirees dressed for the next round of golf stood side by side with members of the crowd who looked considerably less fortunate. Many of that last group were carrying large backpacks or duffels. One was pushing a shopping cart.
Nobody had as much to gain from a well-attended rally as Asheville’s homeless. The city was working hard to find solutions. Panhandling was now illegal, and of course not everybody was pleased about that, including the man several feet away who was engaged in an angry conversation with a young mother clutching her baby firmly to her chest.
Analiese didn’t think twice. The pair was off to one side of the crowd, in the direction she was walking, and nobody else seemed to be paying attention. The young woman turned and tried to get away, but the man, sporting snakelike dreadlocks, grabbed her shoulder and jerked her backward just as Analiese got close enough to hear him.
“Just some change. You got change, I know you do!”
Analiese arrived just as the young woman, off balance, nearly fell into the man’s arms. “Hey,” she said calmly. “Please