“Beth got that commissioned cardinal scene finished, and it’s a beauty.”
Both Uncle Henry and Aunt Marie smiled, their pleasure apparent. Equally apparent was Mother’s worry and Dad’s disapproval.
Dad cleared his throat. “One picture doesn’t make a career, son. Don’t put too much stock in it.”
The cherry pie lost its appeal. He pushed the plate aside. For as long as he could remember, his father had discouraged his interest in artistic endeavors. How many times had he been told in a thundering tone that a man couldn’t make a living with pictures, that he needed to set aside such foolishness and choose something practical? More times than he could count. The only reason Dad tolerated his time at the studio now was because during the winter months he wasn’t needed as much on the farm. Yet Andrew knew that even when spring arrived he’d want to be in the studio. Unlike his brothers, his heart wasn’t in farming or hog raising.
Mother put her hand on Dad’s arm. “Andrew’s doing Beth a big favor by helping in her studio.”
“I know that,” Dad countered, his gaze fixed on Andrew. “And I’m not telling him he shouldn’t help her out. It’s a Christian thing to do. We’ve all offered Marie’s girl assistance in that undertaking of hers. I’m glad she’s enjoying it and doing well. But neither should he start thinking that one commissioned stained-glass art piece is going to lead to a career that could take care of a family, which is what Andrew needs to consider. I want him to think.”
Mother’s hand gave several pats before she pulled it away. She sent Andrew an apologetic look. Andrew gave her a slight nod to show his appreciation for her attempt at support, but he knew any further talk would only lead to an argument with his father. He’d endured enough of those in the past. Didn’t need one now.
Pushing his hands against the edge of the table, he said, “May I be excused?”
Mother nodded, her expression sad. As Andrew headed for his bedroom, he admitted having his mother’s sympathy was a small consolation for the constant disapproval he received from his father when it came to using his talent. His God-given talent...
Andrew paused in his bedroom doorway, absorbing the phrase God-given talent. Didn’t the Bible say that God gave gifts? And didn’t the Bible say man should not squander what God had given? Why couldn’t his father see past the end of his sunburned nose and recognize his way wasn’t the only way?
Too restless to turn in, Andrew reversed direction and returned to the dining room, where the four adults still sat sipping coffee and chatting. “I know Beth has plans for that February craft fair at the mall in Salina. Since she’s spent so much time on the cardinal piece, she’s behind on cutting glass for the cross suncatchers that sell so well. I’m going to head over to the studio and do some cutting—help her out.”
Mother’s lips pursed, no doubt a silent reprimand for him having interrupted the conversation. Dad’s lips pinched, too. Andrew knew him well enough to read his mind. Dad didn’t want Andrew involved in the world of art. And he didn’t want Andrew entangled in Beth’s world. But it was too late. Andrew’s interests were fully entrenched in art ... and in Beth.
Before Dad could form an angry blast, Andrew turned and headed for the door.
TWO
Beth stretched out on the sawdust-stuffed sofa and crossed her ankles. Although she appreciated not having to purchase furnishings, she was considering replacing Great-Aunt Lisbeth’s ancient sofa with something modern. And soft.
Picking up the television remote from the little wood table at the end of the sofa, she aimed it at the glass box across the room and clicked through the stations. Thanks to the satellite dish on the roof of the house, she had a variety of programs from which to choose, but nothing caught her interest. With a sigh, she turned off the television and leaned her head back, closing her eyes.
Her great-aunt Lisbeth probably wouldn’t recognize her house anymore. In the year since Beth had assumed ownership, she’d made good use of the money from the sale of Lisbeth’s Café to update the house according to her own preferences. Electricity, which made possible the use of a central heating and air-conditioning unit; carpet over the hardwood floors; two telephone lines—one of which was used for the Internet; the addition of a washer and dryer set up in the utility porch; and a modernized kitchen. Not that she did a lot of cooking. But the microwave worked great for frozen dinners and for reheating leftovers frequently delivered by Mom.
Mom had slipped—with few bumps in the road, it seemed—back into the simple Old Order way of life in which she’d been raised, but Beth couldn’t imagine doing without the conveniences of modern life outside of this little community. She wouldn’t be here were it not for her mother and her studio.
And needing to distance herself as much as possible from Mitch. Even now, the pain of his betrayal stung. She turned her attention elsewhere.
Her thoughts drifted to the studio, where her newly completed project awaited packaging and transporting to the gallery in Wichita. A rush of nervous excitement filled her as she wondered how the gallery owners would respond to the piece. Oh, please, let them like it! her thoughts begged.
Her mother had told her God wouldn’t have opened the doors to her discovering her unique talent for stained-glass art if He didn’t intend for her to use it. But Beth still harbored a touch of insecurity. Her relationship with God was still new enough that—even though it carried a great deal of importance to her—she hadn’t quite found her niche. She wasn’t 100 percent sure where God wanted her to be.
Everything had fallen so neatly into place for her establishing the studio and getting started with stained-glass art. Mom believed this meant it was God’s will. Beth still worried it might simply be a series of coincidences. Things had seemed to fall neatly into place for her to start an antiques boutique, too, but that hadn’t turned out so well, thanks to Mitch. How could she be so sure this new undertaking would be successful?
She longed for the peace and assurance her mother possessed. Perhaps, she reasoned, it would come when her relationship with God had time to mature. She certainly hoped so. One thing was certain: She would not involve someone else in this business venture. Not as a partner. She wouldn’t put that much trust in anyone else ever again.
Swinging her legs from the sofa, she headed to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of water. Sipping, she looked out the window at the soft Kansas evening. The velvet sky scattered with stars still amazed her with its beauty. The sky seemed so much bigger here on the plain than it had in the city. It was quiet, too, with only the occasional hum of distant traffic offering a gentle reminder of life outside this peaceful community. At times, Beth appreciated the solitude and simplicity, and at other times, this life felt stifling.
Like now.
She slammed the plastic tumbler onto the countertop and headed to the utility porch. She plucked her woolly coat from a hook on the wall and slipped it on, pulling the hood over her tangled ponytail. The President’s Day Extravaganza at the Salina Mall was just a few weeks away, and she needed to add to her inventory of small pieces if she wanted to fill the booth she’d reserved.
Tomorrow she’d be transporting the cardinal piece to Wichita, which meant a shorter workday. She might as well take advantage of these evening hours and get the pieces cut for at least one suncatcher. It would put her a step ahead. And a walk through the frosty January evening, listening to her feet crunch through the remaining crust of snow and breathing in the crisp air, might help release the restiveness in her heart.
Bundled, she headed out the door.
***
Andrew removed his goggles and picked up the glass pliers. Pinching the length of blue glass below the score line, he gave a quick downward thrust, and the first side fell away. He turned the square of glass and repeated the process until he held a perfectly shaped wedge of blue flat on the palm of his gloved hand.
Grasping the narrow end of the wedge between his finger and thumb, he held it to the light for a mome
nt. The color changed from the deep hue of a blue jay’s wing to the soft shade of a periwinkle blossom, and he allowed a smile of pleasure to grow on his face. Others might scoff at the joy Andrew found in admiring something as simple as the color variation in a piece of leaded glass held to a fluorescent light, but right now, he was alone. He could enjoy himself.
Humming, he pulled open the small top drawer that housed the carborundum stones and removed one. He carried the glass piece and the stone to a little bench in the corner, sat down, and began to smooth the rough edges of the glass.
Tiny bits of glass sugar, as Beth called it, dusted the tops of his boots and the floor around his feet as he filed. Hunkered forward, he carefully filed just enough to smooth the glass but not grind so much that it changed the size of the piece. There was little margin for error when it came to making the pieces fit together properly. His tongue crept out between his lips as he slid his gloved finger along the edge to search for snags. Finding none, he gave a satisfied nod and turned the glass to file another side.
He was busily filing the fourth and final edge when the back door burst open, allowing in a gust of wind that swept the particles of glass off the toes of his boots. Startled, Andrew leaped to his feet, and the slice of glass fell from his hand. It landed on his boot and then bounced onto the floor, one corner breaking off when it plinked against the concrete.
Lifting his gaze from the ruined glass wedge, he found Beth glowering at him.
“What in the world are you doing in here?” Hands on hips, her nose bright red, she faced off with him in a battle stance that might have intimidated a lesser man. But Andrew had confronted a much tougher adversary—his own father—so he found Beth’s attack more disheartening than frightening.
“I wanted to help you get started on some new pieces for the show in Salina.” He shook his head, looking once more at the piece of blue glass at his feet. “That piece won’t be usable, I’m afraid.” He bent over and picked it up, and as he rose, Beth took two steps toward him.
“Well, it scared me half to death when I saw all the lights on in here. I thought someone had broken in or something.”
That explained the way she had come barreling through the door. Andrew frowned, rubbing his thumb over the length of glass in his hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. I really just wanted to ... help.”
She plucked the piece of glass from his hand. She examined it, scowling a bit when she encountered the chipped corner. But when she looked at him, he read a hint of remorse in her eyes. “You had this one ready to go, didn’t you? And I scared it right out of your hand.”
A grin tugged at his lips. “I guess we’re even then, huh, for scaring each other.”
Without answering, Beth walked over to the storage cabinet, pulled a ruler from one of the drawers, and measured the piece of glass. “Well, this won’t work for one of the long rays anymore, but you might be able to trim right below the chipped spot and salvage this for a shorter ray. Want to see if it works?”
Nodding, Andrew took the piece and placed it over the paper pattern for one of the suncatchers. To his relief, three of the four sides matched perfectly. A trim on the chipped fourth side would make it usable. He shot Beth a wide grin. “It’ll work.”
She heaved a sigh of relief Andrew fully understood. The sheets of leaded glass were not inexpensive. She salvaged every piece she could to make the twelve-by-twelve-inch sheets stretch as far as possible. He knew she harbored dreams of purchasing a kiln, which would enable her to fire her own glass in all the colors of the rainbow. In the meantime, however, she had to purchase the colored glass from a manufacturer in Canada. Wasting it wasn’t an option.
Beth pointed to the table holding the carbide cutting wheel. “Good! So get to hacking.” Slipping off her coat, she threw it onto the display bench and moved to the box that held sizable glass scraps. She reached into the box.
“Gloves first,” Andrew cautioned.
Glancing over her shoulder, she grimaced. “Bossy.”
“No more than you.”
She grinned.
He grinned.
She headed to the cabinet and retrieved a pair of yellow leather gloves. Waving them at him, she said, “Okay. Now cut, huh? We’ve got work to do.”
For the next two hours, they worked in companionable silence, the whir of the carbide wheel and the snip of the pliers providing a familiar, soothing lullaby. By the time nine thirty rolled around, they had pieces for four more suncatchers, ready to be filed and fitted together into finished products.
Side by side, they organized the pieces on the worktable in readiness for tomorrow’s work. He left the carborundum stone out, knowing it would be needed. But Beth picked it up and returned it to its drawer. He hid his smile. Meticulous in all areas, she would make an excellent housekeeper.
Swallowing, he focused once more on the pieces of glass laid out neatly across the worktable, shifting them around with his finger. “I’m glad these smaller projects can be done using copper foiling rather than lead caming.”
Beth paused, her hand in the cabinet drawer, and glanced over her shoulder. “They do go together much more quickly, and I know they’re easier to work with. But...” She closed the drawer, turned, and faced him. Her face wore an expression of uncertainty. “You are willing to help with larger pieces, which require the lead came, aren’t you?”
Andrew felt his heart thud beneath his shirt. Her question told him he was needed. Wanted. Maybe even ... desired. Only as an employee, he reminded himself. For now, but maybe, in time ... “I’ll help you as long as I can, in any way that you need.” Then he felt obliged to add, “When spring arrives, though, when we need to cut the winter wheat and plant the new crop...”
She nodded, biting down on her lower lip. Her fine brows pinched together. “I know. Your dad will need you.”
Her concern was no doubt directly related to the workload she would face alone, but his was much more personal. Being in the fields with his father could never satisfy him the way working in the studio—with Beth—could. But if Beth made a success of the studio, expanded it the way she hoped, and proved to his father a man could make a decent living at this art business, then perhaps...
“Well, I’ll be taking the cardinal piece to Wichita tomorrow.” She picked up their coats and handed his over. “Which means you’ll probably be filing all alone here tomorrow. By the time I’m back, maybe we’ll be able to start putting the suncatchers together, huh?”
“That’s the goal.” Andrew forced a lighthearted tone as he pushed his hands into the sleeves of his heavy coat. He wished he had picked up the coats first. Then he would have been able to hold hers for her while she slipped her arms into the sleeves. Maybe he would have been able to lift that ponytail from beneath the collar and find out if the strands felt as soft and silky as they looked. But she was already buttoning up, with her blond ponytail draped across her shoulder, so all he could do was open the door for her, which he did.
The wind greeted them as they stepped outside, cutting off Andrew’s breath with unexpected force. He lifted his gaze to the sky, observing that the stars had been extinguished. He blew out a breath, which hung on the cold air, and pointed upward. “Uh-oh. Clouds have gathered. And it smells like snow.”
Beth swung her gaze to the sky, too, her eyes wide. “Oh, no. No snow. I have to go to Wichita tomorrow, and I hate driving in snow.”
He looked at her. “I could take you if you like.”
But she shook her head. “No. I need you here, finishing those suncatchers.” She sighed, her breath creating a small cloud that a fresh gust of wind quickly whisked away. “I guess I’ll worry about it tomorrow.” Shivering, she hunched into her coat. “But no more talking right now. It’s cold. Let’s get home.”
THREE
The alarm clock blared, jarring Beth from a sound sleep. She slipped one hand from beneath the covers and smacked the SNOOZE button on top of the black plastic case. Silence fell. Shivering,
she pulled the covers over her head to enjoy a few more lazy minutes. She’d never been an early riser. Being her own boss meant she could set her own hours. Since she usually worked into the evening, it didn’t bother her to indulge herself with some extra snooze time in the morning.
She lay in her snug nest, ears tuned for the alarm. Her windows were no longer rattling, and the tree limbs weren’t clacking together. Something else occurred to her. It was cold. Apparently, the wind she’d heard last night had done more than interrupt her sleep. By the chill in the house, she was certain Andrew’s prediction had come true. There had to be fresh snow on the ground.
Flopping the covers back, she bounced out of bed. Hugging herself, she crossed to the windows and pushed the curtains aside. She groaned. At least two inches of glistening white coated the ground, and flakes continued to fall from the sky. The wind, thankfully, had departed, but ... the snow...
For a moment, Beth stood transfixed by the sight. Big, fluffy puffs drifted down from a bleached sky. The sharp contrast of darks and lights—white sky, whiter snow, stark brown tree limbs, deep green leaves, and bright red berries on a bush outside the window—teased her artist’s eye.
“Wow, God,” she whispered, her fingers pressed to the glass and her breath steaming the pane, “that is absolutely gorgeous....”
Then frustration struck. How she hated driving in snow! Turning from the window, she hurried to the hallway and pushed the little lever on the thermostat up two degrees. The heater kicked on, sending a rush of warm air through the iron grate. She remained beside the scrolled square and enjoyed the warmth for a few minutes before forcing herself to get moving.
Mom and Henry had given her a devotional Bible for Christmas, and she started each day by reading a brief passage of scripture and an object lesson based on it. After reading, she spent time in prayer. There was still an awkwardness to her prayer time. Deep down, she believed God listened and cared. It wasn’t a lack of faith that created the discomfort but more a lack of familiarity. She hadn’t grown up with it. It was all so new. She appreciated being able to talk to God and found herself addressing Him at odd moments during the day, but times of formal prayer still felt stilted to her. She hoped eventually she would find an ease with the practice.
Beginnings Page 2