understand how that could have happened. How could she have missed something so obvious?
She moved back the center aisle, assessing their progress. In spite of a lot of horseplay and goofing off, the job was actually getting done. Swags of greenery cascaded down the cream-colored pillars that supported the roof, huge wreaths hung on either side of the chancel, and candleholders in each window had been trimmed with greenery. All that was left to do was to put new candles in all the holders.
She glanced at her watch. That was a good thing, since it was nearly nine, and she'd been told to send the kids off home promptly at nine.
"Okay, everyone, that's about it," she called above the clatter of voices. "You've done a fantastic job. Just put the ladders away, please, and you'd better cut along home."
Jon Everhart paused, holding one end of the ladder. "Do you want me to stay and turn off the lights for you?"
"Thanks anyway, Jon. I'll do it. After all, I just have to walk across the street to get home."
Of course the kids didn't leave that promptly, but by ten after nine the last of them had gone out the walk through the cemetery to the street.
She picked up the box of new candles and started along the side of the sanctuary, setting them carefully in the holders. Maybe it was best that she do them herself in any event. Not that the kids hadn't done their best, but she'd feel better if she made sure the tapers were secure in the holders. On Christmas Eve every candle would be aflame, filling the sanctuary with light and warmth.
The sanctuary was quiet—quieter than she'd ever experienced. She seemed to feel that stillness seeping into her, gentling the worry that ate at her over the problem presented by Tyler and her continuing anxiety about the financial state of the inn.
She looked at the window above her, showing Jesus talking with the woman at the well. His face, even represented in stained glass, showed so much love and acceptance. In spite of her tiredness, she felt that caring touch her, renewing her.
I've come so close to You since the accident. Maybe the person who hit me actually did me a favor. He couldn't have intended it, but the accident forced me to stop running away spiritually.
She knew why she'd done that, of course. She spent years unable to refer to God as Father, until she'd finally realized that it made her think of her own father, absent most of the time and fighting with Mom when he was around.
Tyler had his own issues with his parents, but at least he'd had a positive relationship with his father for most of his young life. Did he realize how fortunate he was in that? Or was he too wrapped up in his inability to satisfy his mother's demands?
She started down the opposite side of the sanctuary, securing candles in holders. She should finish this up and get back to the inn. It wasn't really all that late. She could still locate the pertinent ledgers and turn them over to Tyler. Let him strain his vision all he wanted, reading through her grandfather's meticulous notes. He wouldn't find anything to reflect badly on Grandfather, no matter how hard he looked.
She was putting the last candle in place when the lights went out. A startled gasp escaped her. She froze, feeling as if she'd suddenly gone blind.
Slowly her vision adjusted. The faintest light filtered through the windows, probably from the streetlamp at the gate to the churchyard. Dark shadows fell across the sanctuary, though, and if she tried to cut across to where she knew the light switches were, she'd probably crash right into a pew.
Here she stood with a box full of candles and not a single match to light one. The sensible thing was to feel her way along the wall until she got to the front pew where she'd left her handbag. The small flashlight she kept in her bag would help her reach the light switches.
Running her left hand along the cool plaster, reaching out with her right hand to touch the pews, she worked her way toward the
She moved back the center aisle, assessing their progress. In spite of a lot of horseplay and goofing off, the job was actually getting done. Swags of greenery cascaded down the cream-colored pillars that supported the roof, huge wreaths hung on either side of the chancel, and candleholders in each window had been trimmed with greenery. All that was left to do was to put new candles in all the holders.
She glanced at her watch. That was a good thing, since it was nearly nine, and she'd been told to send the kids off home promptly at nine.
"Okay, everyone, that's about it," she called above the clatter of voices. "You've done a fantastic job. Just put the ladders away, please, and you'd better cut along home."
Jon Everhart paused, holding one end of the ladder. "Do you want me to stay and turn off the lights for you?"
"Thanks anyway, Jon. I'll do it. After all, I just have to walk across the street to get home."
Of course the kids didn't leave that promptly, but by ten after nine the last of them had gone out the walk through the cemetery to the street.
She picked up the box of new candles and started along the side of the sanctuary, setting them carefully in the holders. Maybe it was best that she do them herself in any event. Not that the kids hadn't done their best, but she'd feel better if she made sure the tapers were secure in the holders. On Christmas Eve every candle would be aflame, filling the sanctuary with light and warmth.
The sanctuary was quiet—quieter than she'd ever experienced. She seemed to feel that stillness seeping into her, gentling the worry that ate at her over the problem presented by Tyler and her continuing anxiety about the financial state of the inn.
She looked at the window above her, showing Jesus talking with the woman at the well. His face, even represented in stained glass, showed so much love and acceptance. In spite of her tiredness, she felt that caring touch her, renewing her.
I've come so close to You since the accident. Maybe the person who hit me actually did me a favor. He couldn't have intended it, but the accident forced me to stop running away spiritually.
She knew why she'd done that, of course. She spent years unable to refer to God as Father, until she'd finally realized that it made her think of her own father, absent most of the time and fighting with Mom when he was around.
Tyler had his own issues with his parents, but at least he'd had a positive relationship with his father for most of his young life. Did he realize how fortunate he was in that? Or was he too wrapped up in his inability to satisfy his mother's demands?
She started down the opposite side of the sanctuary, securing candles in holders. She should finish this up and get back to the inn. It wasn't really all that late. She could still locate the pertinent ledgers and turn them over to Tyler. Let him strain his vision all he wanted, reading through her grandfather's meticulous notes. He wouldn't find anything to reflect badly on Grandfather, no matter how hard he looked.
She was putting the last candle in place when the lights went out. A startled gasp escaped her. She froze, feeling as if she'd suddenly gone blind.
Slowly her vision adjusted. The faintest light filtered through the windows, probably from the streetlamp at the gate to the churchyard. Dark shadows fell across the sanctuary, though, and if she tried to cut across to where she knew the light switches were, she'd probably crash right into a pew.
Here she stood with a box full of candles and not a single match to light one. The sensible thing was to feel her way along the wall until she got to the front pew where she'd left her handbag. The small flashlight she kept in her bag would help her reach the light switches.
Running her left hand along the cool plaster, reaching out with her right hand to touch the pews, she worked her way toward the
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