A Light in the Window (65 page)

“They searched into the night, Mama said. Leon went to bed about two o’clock in the morning and he couldn’t sleep. And he was staring out the window, praying to the Virgin Mother, when he saw a light.

“It was in the air, he said, and it kept growing brighter, but it didn’t hurt his eyes. It was a soft light, very soothing. When he told the story later, Mama was able to translate enough to know the light was gentle and loving and reminded him of his mother.

“The light, he said, became an angel, a very beautiful angel like something from the Sistine ceiling. She was dressed in the most beautiful blue robes trimmed with gold, and she was smiling. She beckoned to him through the window, and very fast, he put on his pants and shoes and woke Angelo, and they ran out into the night.

“Angelo never saw the angel, but he believed his son, and he ran with him. And Leon said the angel did not touch the ground but flew above them, slightly in front of them, and the light gleamed from her, showing the way.

“It hadn’t occurred to them to bring a lantern, but you see, they didn’t need one, for the angel hovered over us, giving light, and Angelo lay down near the hole and stationed his foot behind a big rock and held Leon by the ankles.

“Leon crawled into the hole toward me, and very gently began prying my shoulders up and away from the sides of the well, and slowly but surely he was able to lift me a little.

“The pain just flooded into me, but I remember what a relief it was to be in a different position.

“I could hear Angelo praying very loudly the entire time. I felt we were covered with prayer and with light, just bathed in it.

“Well, Father, somehow they got me up and out, and Angelo was weeping with joy, and he picked me up and they carried me home, and this lovely light covered us all the way.”

He was mesmerized.

“I declare,” she said, “I’m dry as a bone from that ham. Could you step in my bathroom and get me some water? There’s a glass on the sink.”

His mind had gone so far away on this celestial ramble that his concerns seemed remote and his heart set free. He returned with the glass of water, proud to have been sent on a mission for Miss Sadie.

She raised the glass with a steady hand and took a sip. “Good, pure well water! Thank you!

“Just think, Father. From the age of four, Leon was taken to the museums and cathedrals of Florence where he saw the work of the Italian masters and was trained to go home and draw the images from memory!

“Angelo said Leon drew and painted the face of the Madonna of the Rock nearly four hundred times before he came to Fernbank. So you see, it’s hardly any wonder that he attracted an angel who was properly dressed. You hear a lot about angels these days, but have you noticed how they’re usually wearing business suits?”

“A sign of the times,” he said, marveling.

“I was awfully bruised and sore and scratched up, but not one thing was broken except two ribs where my knee had cracked against my chest so hard.

“Papa wanted to be angry with Leon for letting me out of his sight and angry with Mama for letting me go off with them. But I preached Papa a sermon, and he changed his mind! I think he did something special for Angelo, but I don’t know what.

“Things went on as usual after that. Angelo painted angels and cherubim, and Leon painted clouds and robes and helped with the roses.

“Then something wonderful happened.

“Angelo came to Papa and said in his broken English, ‘I know my son was to assist me only with borders and backgrounds and such, but I believe he’s ready to paint an angel. Will you trust us, Mr. Baxter? If it doesn’t work, we will cut it away and begin again and make up the time on Sunday.’

“For Angelo to offer to work on the Sabbath was shocking. Anyway, what could Papa say? There was Angelo with his happy, expectant face and Leon with his sad, longing face. Papa spoke his first word of Italian. He said,
‘Bellisimo!’

“And so, on the day he turned thirteen, Leon began painting the angel I showed you. He painted the angel who led them to the well in the middle of the night—the only angel on the ceiling who’s smiling.

“He wanted to paint the rose in her hand as a tribute to me, but though I was only eleven then, I had enough sense to say he must paint the rose for his mother.

“And so he did.”

He sat for a time, silent, as one sits in a movie theater after a film that has stunned the senses. “Words fail me, Miss Sadie.”

“That’s not one of my handicaps, Father.”

They laughed gently, not wishing to break the spell.

“Leon’s sorrow went away as he painted the angel. He was done with grieving, somehow, and became the brightest, sweetest boy out of heaven. It broke my heart when they left. I grew to love them so. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought of Leon and yearned to see him again. But he was two years older and must be ancient by now... ninety-two, if he’s a day.”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Memories give a lot, but they take a lot, too. I’m limp as a dishrag.”

“I should have brought you a bag of doughnut holes from Winnie’s.”

“You could go down to the kitchen for some tea. We’ve got plenty of unsweetened for you, but I want the sweet!”

“Consider it done,” he said happily.

Back at the office, he called the operator and got information on how to do it—including what the time difference was and when the rates were cheaper.

After all, he had never called Italy before.

Tommy had laughed today. It wasn’t downright hilarity, by any means, but it had been reviving to hear.

The psalmist had said, “Laughter doeth good like a medicine.” Clearly, that was true for the one who heard it, as well as for the one doing the laughing.

He wanted to hear Tommy laugh again and again and see Dooley Barlowe laughing with him.

If he really put his mind to it, perhaps he could think of something funny to do.

Cynthia! There was a brilliant thought. She was funny without even trying to be. He would ask her what to do.

They had walked up the Grill side of Main Street in the balmy spring evening, come back down the post office side, then crossed the street and cut through his backyard to a bench in Baxter Park.

“I think you should wear a gorilla suit,” she said.

“Now, Cynthia, be reasonable.”

“Timothy, being funny and being reasonable have nothing to do with each other.”

“A gorilla suit?”

“I’m serious.”

He exploded with laughter. “I can’t even imagine such a thing.”

“That’s the problem,” she said, looking cool. “
I
would do it. In fact, I’ve always wanted to do it.”

“Would you do it, then?”

“Certainly not. You’re the one who wants to be funny, and I won’t be your henchwoman.”

He thought she had the most mischievous look in her eye.

“Isn’t there something else I could do?”

“Oh, hundreds of things, I’m sure. But wearing a gorilla suit is the best thing of all, so why discuss the others?”

“I wish I hadn’t asked, ” he said, defeated.

She smiled, looking a trifle superior.

“Will you go with me to the reception at Fernbank for Hoppy and Olivia? In June?”

“Ummm,” she said.

“Well?”

“Well, then, yes. I’d love to go.”

He was suddenly aware they’d never been out together, officially. This would be something new and different; and it went without saying that everyone would talk.

He felt reckless and expansive and put his arm around her.

“If you were ever... ,” he began and paused. “That is to say, if you ...” He thought for a moment. “To put it another way ...”

“Spit it out,” she said.

“Well, then, suppose you actually lived with a clergyman ...” He thought the pounding of his heart might be heard all the way to the monument.

“Lived
with a clergyman?”

“You know ...”

“In
sin?”

“Certainly not,” he said.

“Do you mean, what if I were
married
to a clergyman?”

“Well, yes. If you were ever
that,
what would you do? That is, what sort of... how would you spend your time? Just asking, of course.” He felt a light perspiration on his forehead. What had happened, anyway? He hadn’t meant to stumble into such a conversation.

“I already have a full-time job, as you know. And a clergyman would be another.”

“Puny has said that very thing.”

“I can’t play the piano or the organ.”

“Most churches pay someone to do that.”

“I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

“Most churches have a full choir, already.”

She furrowed her brow and looked at him darkly. “I definitely wouldn’t do spaghetti dinners or pancake suppers.”

“Good thinking!”

“And I couldn’t be bleaching and washing and ironing altar linens.”

“There’s usually a horde signed up for Altar Guild.”

“But,” she said, “I can teach Sunday school!”

He saw the warm light in her eyes and the irrepressible hope in her smile.

“... with a blackboard and colored chalk—the stories of the Bible, illustrated! In fact, I’d like nothing better.”

“You’re hired!” he said, caught up in the excitement.

“And I can give a tea once a year, with layer cakes and tarts and sorbets and all that. But only once a year, mind you, for it’s killing to do it.”

“The entire parish will come running.” He felt his heart fairly bursting with pride.

“So there,” she said “That’s it. That’s all I’m good for, save an occasional fill-in at lay reading. Oh, and no banners and no needlepoint kneelers.”

“Deal,” he said, putting his arms around her and kissing her cheek. He liked a woman who knew what she wanted—and didn’t want.

“Wait a minute,” she said, pulling away, “we’re talking what if, not real life, remember?”

“Why, yes,” he said, coloring. “Of course we were. I knew that.”