Seeing Daylight (7 page)

Elaine clapped her hands loud. “Let's get finished so we can be on our ways. Come on, Addie, grab your jacket. Meet me on the porch. Then we can settle Matty in his car seat.”

Some of the guests who had finished eating stood to gather their dishes, but Rachel hadn't eaten yet. Brayton rose, patted the settee next to him. “Come sit.”

Brayton's breath stopped without him really knowing why. But in his heart he did know. Rachel was close by. What was wrong with him? He hadn't been a goofy teenager for a very long time. A couple of the bridesmaids still gabbed over their coffee, and he realized he hadn't answered Charlene. Deep down he wanted to drive Rachel in his own car. Maybe get coffee in town afterward.

“Good morning, Brayton. Hope you slept well.” Her voice trembled as she sat.

Brayton's ego tweaked in a good way at the thought he might be the reason.

“Maybe I could drive you to Woodside Chapel,” he said. “I'd like to see the place.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice soft as dandelion puffs.

He longed for the day to tell her that the development was his own, and he was thinking of moving there. But now wasn't the time to reveal it. He hadn't told Addie yet, and she had to be the first.

“Charlene said it's beautiful.” For a minute, he conspired how to answer a second possibility to her “why”—why did he want to drive
her
.

Because he wanted to be with her. But he couldn't tell her. Not yet.

Rachel chewed heartily for a while. He liked it, liked that a woman enjoyed eating. The bright blue blouse turned her eyes to sky.

“I think Charlene wants us all to go in their van,” she mentioned.

“I was thinking I could drive us. Addie's off to Mountain Cove with your folks.”

Her mouth was full, so he took a chance. “I thought maybe we could have coffee in town, afterward. Pick up Addie after her Bible study.”

She swallowed first. “Oh, I can't.” Regret softened her tone, and he willed it to be real. “I need to get straight back here to start Ma's mac and cheese. Believe me, that's a specialty worth waiting for. Let's go with the girls. I can show 'em how to get there.”

Disappointment wanted to cloud his mood, but he shook it off. A bridesmaid took Rachel's dish, and he offered her his arm. He felt the heat of her fingers even through his jacket as they headed outside. All around, autumn covered them in a patchwork of both warm sun and chill breeze.

Behind the wheel of the massive van sat a bridesmaid so tiny Brayton stifled an offer to drive. However, he held his tongue as they headed off, the heater blazing. Deep down, though, it was Rachel settling herself right next to him in the very back seat that amplified his warmth. Their distance from everybody else made it seem as though they were completely alone. To take his mind off the allure of her nearness, he studied the landscape as she directed the driver. White-tipped peaks peered down on plump hills still wearing summer tans, and Hearts Crossing's house and outbuildings gleamed like a glossy picture postcard. What a place. He might not have believed something like this existed if he hadn't seen it for himself.

“Turn onto the gravel road—you can't miss the sign,” Rachel was saying to the driver. “It won't take but ten minutes.”

The sound of her voice coursed over his skin like clean fresh air. She smiled at him, and it was a special gift he'd take with him to his grave, no matter if the future didn't bring his hopes to life.

“Beautiful day,” was all he could think to say although he cleared his throat carefully first.

Maybe she, like he, wanted to enjoy the scenery in silence, for she said nothing further. Around them, the chatter of the bridal entourage scattered throughout the over-warm van. But still, neither Rachel nor he moved apart.

Fence posts weathered to an appealing degree bordered the roadside with downhome charm. As the rustic scenery wrapped Brayton in contentment, Rachel's nearness tickled his senses. Sights of pasture bare and brown as winter approached, and cattle content in fields laid with rolls of hay, thrilled him more than a high-reaching city skyline. Scenes of tidy ranch houses bundled up against approaching winter, and corrals teeming with livestock carved into his memory. Above all, the Rocky Mountains wearing their crowns of early snow smiled down.

“That's nice, you letting Addie go to town,” Rachel said at last, close to his ear.

“She seems a different girl, just getting asked to stay the night.”

Rachel sighed. “There's something about Hearts Crossing that does it to you. Some kind of tranquility you just don't get other places.”

He almost startled. Tranquility. The name of his development group. “I know. I'm feeling it, too.”

Although her lips smiled at him, her eyes didn't. Whatever her thoughts were right now, they obviously didn't include him. Nick. Of course. He couldn't blame her. It had taken him years to mend. More than ever he wanted to take Rachel's hand, but his heart listened, reluctant, to the logic that the time wasn't right for this, either.

The chatter-filled van quieted as the little redwood-sided church came into view, guarded as it was by woodland of alder and fir. Reaching to the clouds, a white, cross-topped steeple invited everyone inside. For a flash, he considered which category he fit—faithful believer or struggling soul. Lately, God had started calling him after nearly ten empty years.

“Wow.” Charlene breathed. “I kinda wish Kyle and I were getting married right here.”

Several churchgoers, dressed warm against the wind, tramped up the steps inside. Brayton rejoiced at helping Rachel climb down from the van, and breathed deep of the pure morning-soaked air and her cinnamon aura. Nothing like the scent of evergreen trees to invigorate a lonely body or the nearness of a beautiful woman to enliven a yearning soul.

Without prompting, Rachel laid her hand in the crook of his arm as they crossed the leaf and needle-strewn path and walked into the tiny sanctuary.

“Whoa.” Brayton couldn't help himself. There was no narthex; the open doors led right into the nave, and the altarpiece stole his breath. The magnificent mosaic was unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

Air stuck in the back of his throat with good reason. Backdropping Woodside Chapel's altar, two crosses set in tiny tiles topped a glistening snow-dappled mountain peak that shadowed a red-rock landscape. A massive third cross constructed of two natural logs hung in the center. He felt a downright shiver. The scene almost seemed to depict Pike's Peak merging with Colorado's historic Mesa Verde ruins. Amidst the tiny stone pieces at the base of the crosses, he easily recognized a shining, empty Tomb.

“We're early,” Rachel said, stock still at his side. “The candles aren't even lit yet. There's usually a pianist or guitar player doing pre-worship music.” She started toward one of the rough-hewn pews.

However, Brayton was so moved he couldn't, well, move. “That mosaic. Rachel, I…it's positively stunning. I can barely take my eyes away.” He couldn't yet articulate its uniqueness, particularly compared to the many masterpieces of religious art he'd seen in the world's great museums. “It's like…what I recall of the Easter story happening right here in the American West.”

Rachel stopped mid-aisle and nodded. “This was my grandmother's view of the world. That Jesus Christ is everywhere, no matter where we find ourselves.”

For a second, she stopped talking and smiled at him. His blood heated in his veins then raced through them. They slid into a pew. “So she designed the altarpiece?”

“In a way.” Rachel nodded and whispered. “Grim-Gram painted the original that Scott and Mary Grace received for a wedding present.”

“It's amazing.” The word wasn't at all adequate. “Like the painting in your dining room. I remember you said she painted ‘relentlessly' in her golden years.”

“Yes, indeed.” Her face glowed, as if pleased he remembered. “After Grampa died, she painted all hours of the day and night. Not all her works had religious themes, but many did. Every aspect of her life was covered somehow. She left a picture for each of us as a wedding gift. Nick and I got a depiction of the Last Supper around a campfire. I guess somebody close-minded might think of her work, of her, as sacrilegious, but it just fit. Fit her, fits our way of life. It's perfect.”

“I honestly see what you mean.”

“Mary Grace fell so in love with the original that she used it in her art class as an example of primitive art. One of her students then depicted it in mosaic for his semester project. Got a lot of help from fellow students who go to our church.” Rachel quickly glanced at him, and his heart froze in delight. “She teaches part time at Mountain Cove High. The kid took to the project like moths to a flame.”

Truly Brayton had entered another world, a world of encompassing faith and goodness. “You mean a public school allowed such a religious piece?”

Rachel nodded. “He could make any piece he wanted, but I was prepared to write a letter in support of freedom of expression if needed. When Ben was finished, he donated it to the church. Family and God are what folks around here live for.” She said it like she meant it, but her voice clouded.

As if he read her mind, he realized exactly what she felt: Nick's death had injured her childhood faith, like Marianne's had his. And she wasn't quite on board with God's will yet. He understood that to the soles of his feet. He hadn't gotten it, God's plan that had taken his wife from him too soon. Maybe he never would. But somehow, in this tiny, beautiful edifice, he felt more than ever he was finding his way back.

Rachel breathed another whisper. “You can see the original sometime.”

Now, that remark indicated a future relationship. His heart soared. “Are there many more pieces?” he said in an undertone, not wanting to disrupt the sanctity of the humble but exquisite edifice. He marveled at the peace that washed over him.

“Oh, yeah. A lot of artwork. ” Rachel said quietly into his ear, so close his skin tickled. Her voice, her nearness, her—
everything
intrigued him. “Once arthritis caught up with Grim-Gram, she had to slow down on the chores. She claimed painting kept her joints greased. She was quite a woman.”

“I'd say so. What a wonderful legacy she's left behind.”

They quieted—the bridal party had come in, also silent, maybe as stunned by the beauty as he was. Suddenly his long-ignored goal simmered again, became all-encompassing. Marianne's memorial art gallery at Pac Arts. In an instant, with Rachel at his side, the vision was clear in his mind: Establish the gallery and launch it with a show of original works by a primitive Western artist named Frieda Louisa Julia Martin. He gazed at the spectacular altarpiece, feeling closure to his loss, in harmony with Marianne's memory. Feeling close to the God he'd abandoned long ago, close to a woman he'd never met whose faith-filled art had twice touched his soul…And close to her granddaughter who was touching his heart. In an odd way, his past had just pushed him into his future. Peace brushed over him again.

A young boy in jeans strode about lighting candles. Another teenager, his long hair streaming over a fringed leather jacket, started to sing while he strummed a guitar. Then the clergyman approached the center aisle and started the tiny group off on a gathering hymn.

Brayton's heart lifted as Rachel's sweet, true voice hit his ears.

 

 

 

 

7

 

Rachel tried to concentrate on the litany responses, on the simple, lovely music. On Carol Aubrey's sons performing their tasks like pros at the altar. Their mom was the talented organist at Mountainview Church in town. Oh, she'd known Carol her whole life, remembered her friend's struggles to raise fatherless kids after Hank had been killed in a hunting accident.

Fatherless. Her heart churned. It had been a big—make that
huge
—mistake to come to the chapel. What had she been thinking? To come here with Brayton who inspired way too much warmth, maybe even hope. To come to this sanctuary where Scott and Mary Grace had wed not twenty-four hours before Nick died.

They'd stayed to help comfort her, had cancelled their honeymoon. Sometimes anger still flickered. Nick hadn't changed only Rachel's plans. Against the pew, her back stiffened. She didn't dare catch bride-to-be Charlene's eye, so happy and hopeful. If she did, she'd lose it big time, the only suitable place of refuge being Brayton's arms. She forced her mind to the moment at hand.

“…
and who knoweth whether thou art come to the kingdom for such a time as this
?” Vicar Wegner was saying. “Today's text comes from Esther chapter four, verse fourteen.”

Rachel's interest spiked. She'd always loved the Old Testament account of beauteous Esther, the Jewish woman who married the King of Persia and used her position to save her people from the king's evil officer, Haman.

“Esther shows us, friends, why we can and must trust God. And how to go about it through prayer. Esther was selected to wed a man not of her faith, a man who did not know of her heritage. A powerful ruler whose henchmen sought to exterminate her people, the Jews. An ancient Holocaust, you might say. Doubtless Esther was confused, frightened at the direction God ordained for her life. But He knew best, as He always does despite our feeble human minds that think we know it all. Very feeble human minds. ”

The congregation chuckled.

“In order to plead for her people, Esther fasted and prayed for three days then did the unthinkable: she boldly approached her royal husband in his throne room. Uninvited. This action risked not just his displeasure, but also her death due to her impertinence. But she had no doubt God was walking next to her, holding her up to do the right thing. That He'd placed her here at just this time to get good things done.”