A Light in the Window (79 page)

Authors: Jan Karon

BOOK: A Light in the Window

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The library introduced its fall reading program and invited the author of the
Violet
books to talk about where she got her ideas. “I have no idea where I get my ideas,” she told Avette Harris, the librarian. “They just come.” “Well, then,” said Avette, “do you have any ideas for another topic?”

The village churches agreed to have this year’s All-Church Thanksgiving Feast with the Episcopalians, and to get their youth choirs together for a Christmas performance at First Presbyterian.

At Lord’s Chapel, the arrangements on the altar became gourds and pumpkins, accented by branches of the fiery red maple. At this time of year, the rector himself liked doing the floral offerings. He admitted it was a favorite season, and his preaching, someone remarked, grew as electrified as the sharp, clean air.

“Take them,” he said one Sunday morning, lifting the cup and the Host toward the people, “in remembrance that Christ died for you, and feed on Him in your hearts by faith, with thanksgiving.”

Giving his own wife the Host was an act that might never cease to move and amaze him. More than sixty years a bachelor, and now this—seeing her face looking up expectantly, and feeling the warmth of her hand as he placed the bread in her palm. “The body of our Lord Jesus Christ, which was given for you, Cynthia.”

He couldn’t help but see the patch of colored light that fell on her hair through the stained-glass window by the rail, as if she were being appointed to something divine. Surely there could be no divinity in having to live the rest of her life with him, with his set-in-concrete ways and infernal diabetes.

They walked home together after church, hand in hand, his sermon notebook tucked under his arm. He felt as free as a schoolboy, as light as air. How could he ever have earned God’s love, and hers into the bargain?

The point was, he couldn’t. It was all grace, and grace alone.

He was sitting in his armchair by the fireplace, reading the newspaper. Barnabas ambled in from the kitchen and sprawled at his feet.

Cynthia, barefoot and in her favorite robe, sat on the sofa and scribbled in a notebook. One of his antiquated towels was wrapped around her damp hair. He still couldn’t get over the sight of her on his sofa, looking as comfortable as if she lived here—which, he was often amazed to realize, she did.

“Wasn’t it wonderful?” she asked.

“Wasn’t what wonderful?”

“Our wedding.”

“It was!” She brought the subject up fairly often, and he realized he’d run out of anything new to say about it.

“I love thinking about it,” she said, plumping up a needlepoint pillow and putting it behind her head. “A tuxedo and a tab collar are a terrific combination.”

“No kidding?” He would remember that.

“I think you should dress that way again at the first possible opportuniry.”

He laughed. “It doesn’t take much for you.”

“That’s true, dearest, except in the area of my new husband. There, it took quite a lot.”

He felt that ridiculous, uncontrollable grin spreading across his face.

“It was a wonderful idea to ask Dooley to sing. He was absolutely masterful. And thank goodness for Ray Cunningham’s video camera. I love the frames of you and Stuart in his bishop’s regalia, standing in the churchyard ... and the part where Miss Sadie and Preacher Greer are laughing together.”

“Another case of two hearts beating as one.”

“Would you like to see it again? I’ll make popcorn.”

“Maybe in a day or two.” Hadn’t they watched it only last week?

“It was very sweet and charming, the way you insisted on baking a ham for our reception.”

“I always bake a ham for wedding receptions at Lord’s Chapel,” he said. “I’m stuck in that mode.”

“Tell me something ... ?”

“Anything!” Would he really tell her anything?

“How did you unstick your mode long enough to propose to me? What happened?”

“I realized ... that is, I ...” He paused thoughtfully and rubbed his chin. “To tell the truth, I couldn’t help myself.”

“Ummm,” she said, smiling at him across the room. “You know I love that you knelt on one knee.”

“Actually, I was prepared to go down on both knees. As soon as I dropped to one, however, you saw what was coming, and seemed so happy about it, I didn’t bother to advance to the full kneel.”

She laughed uproariously, and held her arms out to him. “Please come over here, dearest. You’re so far away over there!”

The evening news was just coming on when the phone rang. It was his doctor and friend, Hoppy Harper, calling from the hospital.

“How fast can you get here?”

“Well ...”

“I’ll explain later. Just get here.”

He was out the door in thirty seconds.