Beginnings (4 page)

“You want me to grind or cut more pieces?”

Beth paused, one finger pressed to her lips, as she considered the best use of Andrew’s time. “Cut.” She spoke decisively, adding a firm nod. “And I’ll be back in a jiffy.” Grabbing up her coat, she drew in a big breath and murmured in an ominous tone, “Back into the blizzard.” Andrew’s laughter followed her out the door.

***

Per Beth’s request, Andrew set aside the carborundum stone and collected the snipped pattern pieces for the suncatchers. Beth had designed the suncatcher herself, centering a cross with bursts of colored wedges seeming to come from behind it. The design was simple, but her way of choosing colors—especially glass squares that faded to a lighter shade from one side to the next—gave the piece a three-dimensional appearance. Andrew marveled at how such a small thing changed the overall impact of a design.

He placed glass squares across the worktable, then laid a paper pattern on top, holding the paper in place with his fingers while he carefully drew around it with a paint pen. When he had first started working for Beth, she had insisted he glue the pattern piece to the glass before tracing around it. Over time, she’d developed confidence in his ability to keep the paper from slipping and allowed him to skip that additional step. Not only did this shorten the length of time needed to prepare the glass for cutting, but it made Andrew swell with pride. It felt good to be trusted.

By keeping the darker color at the center and the lighter at the outside of the parts of the sunburst, a greater portion of glass was wasted, so Andrew used extra care in the placement of the pattern. “No wasted pieces,” he muttered to himself. He was just finishing up the fourth piece when a knock at the door intruded.

Startled, he looked toward the back door. It wasn’t locked. Were Beth’s hands full so she wasn’t able to get in? He darted to the door. Opening it, he found nothing but a flurry of snowflakes. The knock came again, and he realized it was coming from the front. Giving the back door a firm yank, he dashed across the floor and unlocked the seldom-used front door.

A man with melting snowflakes on his uncovered head waited on the small concrete stoop. The moment the door opened, he stepped through with a broad smile and extended his hand. His snow-covered shoes left wet blotches on the floor. Andrew was pretty sure this would aggravate Beth. He’d have to remember to ask Mom if he could bring over one of her rag rugs to put in front of the door.

“Good morning.” The man spoke in a cheerful tone. “There are no hours of business posted, but I saw the lights on. I hope it’s okay to come in. Are you Quinn?”

Andrew gave the man’s hand a solid shake. “I’m Andrew Braun. I work for the owner. She stepped out for a few minutes, but she’ll be back. You can wait.”

“Thank you.” He looked around the studio, his shrewd gaze absorbing every detail. “I’ve never been in a stained-glass studio before. It’s interesting.”

Andrew raised his eyebrows and followed the man’s gaze, trying to see the surroundings through the eyes of someone unfamiliar with the craft. He remembered his own awe when he first started—the pleasure of combining colors and shapes to create scenes, the patience required to prepare each piece of glass to fit the overall scene, the efficiency of the flowchart of steps that Beth had posted on the wall to make certain he did things in the proper order, and finally the satisfaction of viewing a finished product.

His gaze located the cardinal piece, still resting on the display bench and awaiting packaging. He hadn’t created anything that elaborate yet, but he looked forward to the day Beth trusted him with larger projects. Suddenly he wondered if this stranger was an artist, too, seeking employment. Andrew’s heart skipped a beat. The man was obviously worldly. His clothing and mustache set him apart from the Mennonite men of Sommerfeld. Would Beth, who had been raised in the world, prefer his assistance?

“Are you a stained-glass artist?” Andrew blurted out the question, his words loud in the peaceful shop.

The man shook his head, the corners of his eyes crinkling with mirth. “Huh-uh.”

But he didn’t expound on his answer, leaving Andrew floundering. After a few more awkward seconds of silence, Andrew waved his hand toward the worktable and said, “Well, I was busy cutting pieces. If you don’t mind, I’ll just...” He backed toward the table.

“That’s fine. Do you mind if I look around?”

Andrew shrugged. He had no authority to tell him yes or no. Knowing how the glass fragments flew with the use of the cutting wheel, he set aside the task of cutting and took up a stone to grind the rough edges of the glass pieces laid out on the worktable. He kept a furtive eye on the stranger, who walked slowly around the periphery of the small building, his hands clasped at the base of his spine, his expression bland.

It seemed hours passed before the sound of a car’s engine alerted Andrew to Beth’s return. He hurried to the back door and opened it for her.

She bustled through with a smile on her face and quickly removed her coat. In place of the purple suit, she wore faded jeans, a blue T-shirt that brought out the bright hue of her eyes, and a flannel shirt with none of the buttons fastened. How could she be so cute in such sloppy attire?

“The weatherman says this will all clear off by midmorning, so—” Her cheery patter stopped when she spotted the stranger. Handing her coat to Andrew, she walked to the man. “Hello. Welcome to Quinn’s Stained-Glass Art Studio. I’m Beth Quinn.”

Andrew experienced a prickle of discomfort at the ease with which Beth greeted the man. He didn’t care for the way the man gave Beth a quick once-over with his eyes, perusing her as thoroughly as he had the studio. But Beth didn’t seem bothered by it. Her smile remained intact.

Andrew’s fingers crushed her coat in a stranglehold.

“My name is Sean McCauley. It’s nice to meet you.”

Beth tipped her head, tumbling her shining ponytail across one shoulder. “What can I do for you?”

Sean McCauley slipped the tips of his fingers into his jacket pockets and smiled at Beth. “I’m a shopper.”

Andrew’s chest constricted at Beth’s light, friendly laughter.

“Well, I don’t often have shoppers come by the studio. As you can see”—she held out her arms, indicating the space—“I don’t have a gift-shop area at all, although I hope to expand as my business grows.”

The man gave a slow nod, his mustache twitching. “Would you mind sharing your expansion plans with me?”

Andrew bristled. How were Beth’s plans this man’s concern? But Beth didn’t seem to see anything wrong with the question. She didn’t hesitate.

“Certainly. Right now it’s a fairly small working studio, appropriate for preparing pieces for craft fairs. I’ve been working craft fairs for the past nine months, marketing myself and my creations.” She moved slowly toward the display bench as she spoke, with the man following, his gaze pinned to her face. “The craft fairs brought interest, and I was commissioned by the Fox Gallery in Wichita for this piece.”

Pausing in front of the cardinal scene, she looked up at McCauley. “Are you familiar with the Fox Gallery?”

The man offered a slow nod. Andrew waited for him to say something, but he remained silent. By now, Andrew had nearly twisted Beth’s coat into a knot. He dropped it on the end of the display bench as Beth continued.

“I’m hopeful this piece will garner enough interest to lead to more commissioned pieces. My heart really is in the larger works. As that opportunity opens, I want to expand the shop, doubling my work space, and build a small gallery onto the front of the building where people can come and purchase finished pieces, eliminating my need to attend craft fairs. Although it can be fun to go out and mingle with the public, the fairs take me away from the studio. I also hope to eventually have an Internet Web site offering pieces for sale and making myself available for special orders.”

“High aspirations,” McCauley commented.

Andrew couldn’t see the man’s expression, since McCauley faced the cardinal piece, but he clearly heard the note of praise. Yes, Beth had high aspirations. Her aspirations had become Andrew’s in the weeks he had worked with her. He wasn’t sure of this man’s interest, but he sensed trouble brewing for some reason he couldn’t quite understand.

McCauley leaned one way, then the other, seeming to take stock of the cardinal scene. Standing upright again, he said, “What is it, about thirty-two by twenty-four inches?”

Beth shot him a startled glance, and even Andrew found the man’s accuracy impressive. Beth replied, “Thirty-two by twenty-five, but that was a great guess. Are you an artist?”

Andrew blurted out the answer. “No.”

Both Beth and McCauley cranked their necks to look at him.

He felt heat build in his neck. With a lame shrug, he said, “I asked him that earlier.”

McCauley’s mustache twitched again. He turned from Andrew to face Beth. Holding out his hand, he said, “Let me finish my introduction. I’m Sean McCauley of McCauley Church Construction out of Kansas City. I’d like to talk to you about the possibility of making you a part of our team.”

FOUR

Beth took a step back, her heart leaping into her throat. She had hoped the stranger was a gallery owner or a crafts buyer—someone who might purchase a few of her pieces for retail. But an offer to become a part of his company? Her knees felt weak, and she wasn’t sure she could remain standing. Turning, she stumbled to one of the tall stools next to the worktable and propped herself against it.

“I–I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you’re saying.”

Sean McCauley laughed lightly, showing even white teeth beneath the straight line of his neatly trimmed, reddish gold mustache. His blue-green eyes crinkled with the broad smile. “I’m sorry. I do need to slow down a tad.” Crossing to the table, he pointed to an empty stool. “Do you mind?”

With a wave of her hand, Beth gave him permission to sit. As Sean seated himself, Andrew approached and stood beside her, his steadfast presence appreciated.

Slipping his hand inside his jacket, Sean retrieved a small card, which he handed to her. “So you know I’m legitimate...” His tone held a hint of teasing.

Beth examined the card, then handed it to Andrew, who scowled at it as if it held an inappropriate message.

“McCauley Church Construction has been in business for nearly forty years. We have three crews, and we’ve been involved in the building of churches from one coast to the other. We’ve built everything from simple chapels to three-story complexes. There is a McCauley building of worship in every state of the continental United States.”

He leaned his elbow on the edge of the table, using his finger to trace the outside edge of a rose-colored piece of glass. “We’ve commissioned stained-glass windows from other companies, and we have no complaints. But...” His smile broadened. “You’ve captured our attention.”

Beth put her hand against her chest, rearing back in puzzlement. “Me? How?”

Sean released a chuckle. “My aunt purchased one of your suncatchers at a craft fair in Olathe—a purple butterfly.”

Beth nodded. “One of my best sellers.”

Sean’s smile sent a spiral of warmth through her middle. “I can see why. It’s a great design. My dad and I were astounded when she showed it to us. The illusion of depth. That’s really quite rare in stained glass.”

“I don’t claim credit for it,” Beth said, her heart pattering. “It’s a gift from my Creator. I simply want to use it.”

The approval in Sean’s unique eyes increased the tempo of her heartbeat. “That appeals to me, too. As a Christian company, it’s important to us to glorify God through our business dealings. You seem to be a good fit for us between your commitment to working for God’s glory and your amazing ability in stained-glass art.”

Andrew, always quiet around strangers, surprised Beth by inserting a question. “How would you go about putting Beth on your payroll?”

Sean shot Andrew a quick look before turning back to Beth. “You wouldn’t officially be an employee of McCauley Church Construction. We’d commission you the same way you were commissioned by the gallery in Wichita.”

Andrew nodded, and Beth felt a prick of aggravation. Since when did her business dealings require his approval? Shifting on her stool, she angled her shoulders to partially block Andrew from Sean’s line of vision. “How many windows are we talking about here?”

Sean shrugged. “There’s no way to say. It depends on many factors.” He picked up a piece of glass from the table and examined it. “Have you worked with the heavier leaded glass?” Without waiting for an answer, he continued. “What’s the largest piece you’ve constructed? Are you willing to sign a waiver that, if the piece doesn’t meet our standards of excellence, you will absorb the loss? Can you set aside other projects and focus on designing for us exclusively when under deadline?”

Beth’s head spun. Although she’d tried to exclude Andrew, she now found herself turning her head to seek his advice. He stared dumbly at Sean, his mouth open slightly as though he were as taken aback as she felt. She’d get no help from him. She turned back to Sean.

“Let’s try one question at a time.” Taking a deep breath, she began a series of careful replies. “First, this is the weight of glass I’ve used so far, but my equipment can handle the heavier glass. It’s just that I’ve done smaller projects, so I’ve only had need of the lighter weight. Second”—she gestured toward the display bench—“the largest piece I’ve constructed so far is the cardinal piece.”