Emerald Windows
EMERALDWINDOWS
Books by Terri Blackstock
Cape Refuge
(Book 1 in series)
Emerald Windows
Newpointe 911
Private Justice
Shadow of Doubt
Trial by Fire
Word of Honor
Sun Coast Chronicles
Evidence of Mercy
Justifiable Means
Ulterior Motives
Presumption of Guilt
Second Chances
Never Again Good-bye
When Dreams Cross
Blind Trust
Broken Wings
With Beverly LaHaye
Seasons Under Heaven
Showers in Season
Times and Seasons
Season of Blessing
Novellas
Seaside
WINDOWS
Terri Blackstock
ZONDERVAN
Emerald Windows
Copyright © 2001 by Terri Blackstock
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of Zondervan.
ePub Edition JULY 2009 ISBN: 978-0-310-83026-9
Requests for information should be addressed to:
Zondervan,
Grand Rapids, Michigan 49530
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Blackstock, Terri,
1957-
Emerald windows / Terri Blackstock.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-310-22807-7
1. Glass painting and staining—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3552.L34285 E5 2001
813’.54—dc21 | 2001045382 |
All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from the
Holy Bible: New International Version
®
.
NIV®. Copyright © 1973,1978,1984 by International Bible Society. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.
Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc., 7680 Goddard Street, Suite 200, Colorado Springs, CO 80920.
Interior design by Beth Shagene
Printed in the United States of America
05 06 07 08 /
DC/ 10 9
This book is lovingly dedicated to the Nazarene.
CHAPTER
T
HE WINDOWS OF
H
AYDEN’S
landmark church—St. Mary’s—were caked with dust, and from outside Brooke Martin could see web-shaped cracks that had already been evident seven years earlier when she’d last seen the place. It surprised her that the congregation of Hayden Bible Church—usually much tighter with their purse strings than they were with their gossip—had decided to allocate funds to buy the building and renovate it. It surprised her even more that they had hired her to design the stained-glass windows that would replace the broken-out glass. There had been a time when the people of Hayden, Missouri, wouldn’t have hired her to mop their floors. Apparently, things had changed. And it was about time.
She left her car and walked around the building to the small employee parking lot in the rear, skirted by pine trees and one sprawling oak that shaded the pavement from the early spring sun. Only one car occupied a space there—a 1980 Buick with a rusty back fender and a dent in the driver’s door. She stopped at the sight of it, and
for a split second gave serious thought to running back to her own car and out of Hayden in the time it would take to say “not again…”
Her hands began to tremble, and she dropped her portfolio to her side. Inhaling deeply, she let her troubled gaze drift to the church door. Anger swelled migraine—like in her temples. Had crucial details been left out of this job offer?
A March breeze whispered through her hair, as if trying to calm her, and she paused at the door and told herself that it wasn’t facing Nick Marcello now that bothered her so. It was that she hadn’t faced him before. She had simply run away. But what else could she have done? With the town rejoicing over the juiciest piece of gossip they’d ever scavenged, she had gotten out of town as fast as she could, hoping to spare her family any more shame.
But this time, Brooke reminded herself with a grim lift of her chin, she had made a pact with herself. She had vowed that when she came back to take this job, she would face the town with dignity and integrity, and then, by creating a work of art that would send them all reeling, she would redeem herself. She had assumed that process would involve facing Nick Marcello again. She just hadn’t expected to do it so soon.
She opened the door and stepped into the musty old sanctuary. The door creaked behind her, then slammed with an echoing thud. She stood quietly for a moment, listening, looking.
“Deliveries go back here!”
That familiar voice came from just inside the darkened corridor at the back, and she forced herself to move. Stepping over a beam on the old wood floor and around a dusty pew lying on its back, she made her way to the only doorway with light. She saw him standing at a table, bent over a blueprint, studying it intently.
He seemed younger than he had when she was in high school. But maybe it was just that she was older. She recalled the dress shirts and ties he’d always worn, the freshly pressed trousers, the shiny loafers. Now he wore an old flannel shirt, paint-stained jeans, and tennis shoes.
“No delivery,” she said. “Just me.”
He looked up, then slowly straightened. “Brooke.”
Brooke tried to smile, but the effort was too much for her. “I…I didn’t know you would be here. Pastor Anderson said—”
“If you’d known, you wouldn’t have come.” He crossed the room, still keeping distance between them. “That’s why I asked him to call for me.”
“He should have told me.”
He nodded, as if he’d already given that a lot of thought.
“I’m in charge of artistic development in the renovation,” he said. “But to be perfectly honest, that consists mainly of those windows. I’m going to be helping you design them. The church is counting on them being a new point of interest in the sanctuary.
I’m
counting on them being a masterpiece.”
Brooke set her jaw and walked to the table, processing the information that changed everything. “I don’t know, Mr. Marcello.”
“Brooke, I haven’t taught in seven years, and you’re still calling me Mr. Marcello? It’s Nick, okay? Say it. Nick.”
She looked down at her feet. “Okay, I don’t know,
Nick.”
Nick stepped toward her, and reluctantly, she brought her eyes up to his. “You don’t know what, Brooke?” he asked. “If you can create a masterpiece, or if you can work with me?”
“Both. It’s nice seeing you. But I can’t stay.”
She turned and walked back into the darkness of the corridor, down the hall, and back into the old sanctuary.