The senior master completed his second circuit as fast as his first. Maybe the tournament would finish before bunions formed on her toes.
As the master made his rounds, the participants, in various poses of thought, seemed to gravitate closer to their boards. The frequency in which participants slouched, forked their hair, or ran their hands over their faces seemed to reflect how well their games progressed.
Cisney observed Nick. He sat erect, his forearms resting on the table. That was her Risk Man. Cool, calm, and confident.
While stopping at the board of a baby-faced man, the master made his final move, spoke a quiet checkmate, and extended his hand, which the man shook. Two boards over, he repeated the pattern with a youth. Cisney’s heart went out to the teen while he bagged his chessmen.
After the master removed a white bishop from Phil’s chessboard and moved on to Nick’s match, Natalie relaxed her shoulders. The master stopped and studied Nick’s board while he pinched and pulled on his beard. Then he picked up a black knight, deposited it on to a square, and stepped to the next game.
Cisney exhaled a breath. Had she really been holding her breath? She leaned to the side and studied Nick’s face. Total concentration. Come on, Risk Man, you can make it through another round.
Several more participants lost to the master in his next two circuits. Cisney counted fourteen players remaining. Now the master lingered at each board, caressing his beard before playing a piece.
The master approached Nick. Cisney jiggled her leg, bit her lip, and clasped her steepled hands to her chin until the master played a piece and moved on. She checked the spectators on either side. Her nervous behavior, more appropriate for a close basketball game, hadn’t seemed to distract them.
The master soon reduced the number of contestants to four: an African-American youth, the woman, Phil, and Nick.
Phil’s hands slid through his red hair and clenched his head.
Natalie’s shoulders sagged.
Cisney turned to the doe-eyed woman. “What?” she whispered.
Natalie frowned. “Phil’s in trouble.”
Cisney gave Natalie a sympathetic look. She turned and analyzed Nick’s posture. His arms remained resting on the table, but his head bent closer to his board. Was he in trouble?
When the master stood one chessboard away from Phil’s, Natalie’s hand groped for Cisney’s fingers and gripped them.
Cisney startled, and then squeezed encouragement into the tiny woman’s hand.
The master studied Phil’s board. He took Phil’s queen with his piece and sidestepped to Nick.
Natalie let out a breath.
The master planted his hands on the table, framing Nick’s chessboard. A black strand of the master’s hair flopped onto his forehead.
Cisney’s chest muscles froze, trapping air in her lungs.
Natalie increased the pressure of her grip.
The master’s fingers hesitated over his black bishop, plucked it from the board and then replaced Nick’s pawn with it. He headed across the square to the woman’s board. Nick was safe for another round. Cisney sucked in oxygen and gave Natalie her I-thought-I’d-die look.
They released each other’s numb hands and shook out the tingles.
While the master eliminated the woman from the tournament, Phil sat back in his chair, dropping his long arms to hang at his sides.
“Phil knows he’s lost,” Natalie whispered.
“I’m sorry.” She truly was.
The master played a piece at the youth’s board and returned to Phil, where he took Phil’s pawn with his queen. “Checkmate,” he said. He shook Phil’s hand and stepped to Nick’s board. Phil left his pieces where they lay and examined Nick’s game.
Cisney clasped her hands together, her palms sweaty and her heart beating double-time. Come on, Risk Man. You can make it through another round.
The master stroked his beard and pondered his next move.
Cisney crossed her fidgeting arms to control them.
Nick and the master each had a king, a rook, and a bishop, but Nick had only one pawn whereas the master had two. Why hadn’t she paid more attention when Daddy tried to teach her the game? At least she knew Nick down one pawn didn’t bode well. Did Nick have a chance? Obviously, his play was a challenge to Mr. Beard-in-the-Hand.
The master moved his rook and walked over to the youth.
Nick’s body remained as still as his white king.
Don’t let your enemies get your king, Nick.
The master bent over the youth’s game. The young man looked about fourteen. Had Nick played against national masters when he was that young? Probably.
The master captured one of the teen’s white chessmen and walked toward Nick, but Nick hadn’t played a piece. Would he be disqualified? Move a man, Nick. You know which one. The one that will keep Mr. Beard-in-the-Hand from checkmating your king.
Nick remained as immobile as he did during his long deliberations in her office. Would he come up with an attack like he often did against her marketing strategies, or was this the end for Nick? Would he concede the game? Knock his king over? Isn’t that what losers did, knock their kings over? Keep your fingers away from your king, Nick LeCrone. Just move a man. Please.
Nick retreated his bishop.
“Thank you,” Cisney said, exhaling. She clamped her hand over her mouth. Her cheeks burned. Turning full circle, she mouthed apologies to the nearby spectators.
Natalie patted her arm. “It’s intense, isn’t it,” she whispered.
Cisney nodded vigorously.
During her faux pas, the master had made his move and returned to the youth’s table. Had she unnerved Nick with her outburst? Would he lose because of her? Please, Lord, let him forget we even came here together. Give him the power to concentrate.
The master offered the teen a small smile, his first during the tournament, and shook the youth’s hand. His eyes focused on Nick’s game as he sauntered back to Nick.
Nick took one of the master’s pawns with his bishop. That evened the men’s pieces on the board.
The master captured Nick’s bishop with his rook.
No, not your bishop!
Nick moved his rook. “Check.”
That was more like it. She dabbed her perspiring brow with the back of her hand.
The master moved his king, and Nick captured his opponent’s last pawn with his rook.
Why was Nick settling for peons instead of going after the master’s big guns?
Her phone played the marimba.
17
Heads snapped toward Cisney as she fumbled for her cell in her handbag and stifled the call.
Nick hadn’t twitched, but the master gave her a cold glance.
Even Natalie took a step away.
Cisney stood as still as an ice sculpture in a freezer. Further apologies to her fellow spectators were out of the question. The embarrassment was too much. She’d melt into a pool of water at any moment.
The master took Nick’s pawn with his rook. That put Nick down a piece. Thankfully, he couldn’t blame her. Her phone had gone off after Nick had made his move. So far, he’d played a valiant game. Would he take the loss as well as he’d accepted the flat tire?
The two men danced their pieces around each other’s for several plays. On the master’s turn, his finger tapping his bottom lip, he lifted his gaze from the chessboard and appeared to assess his opponent. Then he straightened. “I offer you a draw.”
Nick shook the master’s outstretched hand.
The spectators and all the other players, who had packed up and crowded in to watch Nick’s game, applauded.
A grin on his face, Phil clapped Nick on the back. “That was awesome.”
Nick swept his chess pieces into his leather bag and stood. Several people crowded around to shake his hand and offer congratulations.
Cisney accepted a hug from Natalie. Obviously, a draw was considered a very good thing.
Nick shook the hand of the African
-American youth, and then turned to Cisney. His smile was apologetic.
She scooted to him. “That was so amazing! No horror film has had me more on the edge of my seat. Make that, on the edge of my boots.”
He grinned. “I didn’t blow it, then?”
“Are you kidding?” She drew Natalie into a side-arm hug. “I almost passed out holding my breath.”
Natalie chuckled. She lifted her hand and placed it on her husband’s chest. “You did great, too, honey. You were one of the last three this time—that’s moving up a place.”
Phil gripped her hand. “Thanks, sweetie.” He turned to Cisney. “In my five years in the club, I’ve never seen anyone beat or tie the master.”
Nick shrugged. “I think the master got distracted and slipped up.”
Cisney winced. “You have me to thank for that.”
Nick looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
“You know, when I erupted with, ‘thank you,’ and then my phone went off.”
“What ‘thank you?’ Your phone rang?”
“You didn’t hear those sounds in the last few moves?”
“No. You can put your conscience at rest. The master got distracted long before the last few moves.”
“Yeah, but you took smooth advantage,” Phil said.
Cisney touched Nick’s arm. “What would have happened if the master hadn’t offered you a draw?”
“We’d have kept playing until the fifty-move rule took effect.”
“But the master recognized there was no way you were going to slip up,” Phil said.
Cisney regarded Nick while he and Phil rehashed their games. What would life be like married to Nick, taking their children to watch their daddy’s chess tournaments?
****
At Cisney’s apartment complex, Nick accepted her invitation to come inside for a cup of decaf. The hour was late, but he’d stay a few minutes.
Cisney turned the key in the lock. “You’ll have to excuse my mess. I’m preparing for the Sunday school class I teach.”
“Ah, something we have in common. I lead a Bible study.”
They entered, and as she’d promised, white computer paper, construction paper in many hues, books, Bibles, cardboard boxes, lengths of various colored material, pots and pans, toy food, and puppets cluttered the sofa, the coffee table, and the surrounding floor. He wandered over to the colorful chaos while she headed to the kitchen.
“What age do you teach?’
“The fours and fives. This is my first year. I love it. I take it yours is an adult class?”
He lifted a red, blue, and yellow velour-like toucan with an orange plastic beak. It perched on a brown plastic log with a switch on the back. He toggled the switch to the on position. The bird didn’t do anything. Battery must be bad. He turned it off and placed it back on the sofa.
He lifted Bibles and checked the versions. “Yes. I’ll miss this year’s group. They’re always prepared and don’t wander off on tangents like some groups I’ve led. We’ve had a lot of rich discussions.”
She turned on the coffee maker, and then joined him in the living area. “Most of the items you see there are to focus the children’s learning.”
“What’s the lesson this Sunday?”
“Mary and Martha.” She scooped up the lengths of fabric and draped them over the opposite arm of the sofa, making a place for him to sit. She sat on the corner of the coffee table.
He spread his hands toward her arsenal. “You must need a pickup truck to haul all this stuff to church.”
“Good thing I have an SUV, right?”
“How do you use all these things?” He raised a bell and rang it once.
She snatched at it, but he pulled it out of her reach. The bell jangled.
She scowled. “Are you trying to get me evicted?” She reached for the bell.
He held it farther from her and feigned preparation to ring it.
She rolled her eyes. “Did you pick up this immaturity from Tony? Until I saw the pictures of you as a child, I thought you were born an adult. Now, I’m not so sure.”
He grinned and set the bell on the coffee table. “OK, how do you use this stuff?”
She raised a pot and a wooden spoon. “All the cooking utensils are for opening play while the parents drop off the children. I’m layering the idea that Martha was busy cooking in the kitchen. I’ll make a stone oven out of this box.” She indicated the empty laundry softener box. “I’ll cut a U-shaped hole in the middle, cover it with brown paper, and then use these markers to draw stones.” She uncapped a marker. “Smell.”
He didn’t trust her. One sniff and he’d come away with a brown blotch on his nose. He took the marker from her and sniffed. “Chocolate.”
“Aren’t they wonderful?”
She delighted in the weirdest things. A trait that made spending time with her pure pleasure. “Isn’t making an oven a lot of work for one lesson.”
“Oh, I’ll save it. One of the other teachers will use it again, or I will.”
“OK. The bell?”
She lifted her palm. “Be patient. I’ll use the lengths of material, the Bible clothes, the oven, and some of the wood utensils for role-playing the story.” She lifted a corner of the tan cloth. “This will be the dirt floor of Mary and Martha’s house.”
“Where are the Bible clothes?”
“Right here.” She grasped a blue pillowcase from a colorful stack. “See, I cut a bowed hole in the end to pull over a child’s head, and cut two barely bowed holes on the sides for their arms. Don’t you think it makes a perfect biblical-period sheath? The other short lengths of cloth are for headdresses and cloaks.”
“Interesting.” What a wise God, designing vibrant and creative people like Cisney to teach the children. He’d never look at a pillowcase in the same way again. He’d be sleeping on potential Bible sheaths.
Cisney went to the kitchen and returned with their mugs of coffee. She gave him one, set hers on the table, and placed her finger on the tip of the bell’s handle. “I ring this with gusto when a child correctly answers one of the five or six questions I ask after the story. You wouldn’t believe how they listen while I tell the story because they want to make my bell ring. Children this age can answer why questions, as well as the who, what, and where questions.” Her enthusiasm was catching.
“I’d like to be in your class.”
“Sure. Anytime.” She picked up the toucan, her finger on its switch. “This week, we’ll teach Toukie the Scripture verse and what it means.” She held the bird in front of her midriff. “Toukie, let’s see if you can say our verse. ‘Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness.’ Matthew six, verse thirty-three.”
The recorder inside Toukie repeated the verse twice while the bird’s wings flapped.
He laughed. Good thing he hadn’t said anything dumb when he’d switched on the bird. “Learning in your class has got to be fun.”
Cisney smiled and related the activities and materials she’d employ during other periods of the morning.
Nick sat back. “I’m impressed. I have to admit I thought the preschool classes were mostly babysitting. Not that I thought about them much. If all teachers prepared and expected as much as you do from the children, the preschoolers would be teaching their older siblings and parents.”
“I hope so. Ever since I saw you reading your Bible by the lake, I’ve been spending time daily in the Word and praying for creativity to teach the little ones under my charge.” She raised the bird. “Teaching Toukie Scripture was one answer.”
God had used his quiet time with the Lord to witness to Cisney? Unbelievable. “The fruit you’re bearing is a great gift from God, Cisney. You’re building a good base for those young children’s future Sunday school experiences.” He lifted her hand and toyed with her fingers. “Go out with me tomorrow night.”
“Because I teach Sunday school?”
He squeezed her hand. “Because you’re you.” And because he was fallin
g in love with her. At a speed too fast for this actuary.
She beamed, and then her smile faded. “I can’t. Tom’s adolescent brother and I have to learn the tango for Angela’s reception.”
“How about Thursday?” Was he pushing her? But days to enjoy her company were running short. “I promise I won’t drag you to another chess tournament or a symposium on how fuzzy numbers incorporate uncertainty on parameters and properties.”
From the pile of puppets, she selected a large sheep that appeared to be made of real wool. “Aw. I like fuzzy.” She grinned. “This is BoSheep.”
“Cute.”
“I’d love to go out Thursday, but I have the rehearsal and dinner that evening.”
And she had the wedding Friday night. That reminded him—Angela had sent him an email Monday inviting him to the wedding. A surprise for Cisney. With everything going on, he’d forgotten to send Angela a reply. But he’d already planned to drive home after work so he could spend Saturday apartment hunting in Charlotte.
There had to be sometime they could get together soon. He mentally scanned his work schedule. “Will lunch on Friday work?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m taking Friday off. Angela’s mom has all the bridesmaids scheduled for a day at the beauty salon, after breakfast at the hotel. Our nails will be manicured, our skin defoliated, our hair swept up into sculptured curls, and our faces painted with makeup.”
He heaved an inward sigh. Time with her wouldn’t fit into their schedules.
Cisney’s eyes lit up. “How about this? The rehearsal dinner is at five-thirty at Short Pump Mall.” She named a popular pizza place. “I’ll pass on dessert and join you at seven-thirty.” She indicated a restaurant across from the pizza place.
“Are you sure?”
She nodded.
“Then it’s a date.” He took a sip of his coffee and placed his mug next to hers. “This has been a great evening. Thanks for being a good sport about the tournament. I’d better go.”
“No, you can’t leave, yet.”
18
Cisney cleared the stack of Bible clothes and several puppets from the sofa. Still perched on his end as if ready to dash off, Nick watched her every move.
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