her eyes. This was silly. She felt like crying. That was sillier. She didn’t feel fear exactly but something, something new had entered her life. She remembered the warmth of his voice over the phone, the husky timber, the tenderness.
Damnation. She knew what she was feeling. It was a desire to protect him, to ease his way, to do things for him that she had never expected to want to do for a man. This was not going right at all. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. This was the wrong time, the wrong man. Would he even survive the storm into which she sensed they were both walking?
She showered, then wrapping a robe around herself; clicked on her computer to check the bulletin board on which she'd put the request for information on Peter Soul.
It took a few moments to punch in the information. She hadn’t actually expected a response so quickly; then she stared at the words on the screen. "Those, who pry into things, people and situations that are none of their business, do not live long--Friend of the Master."
It took a second to recognize the threat. She looked to see if there were more, but that was it.
She thought about calling S.T. but no. This warning would not stop him. It changed nothing. He knew about Lane Brown, the disappearance of his sister. Maybe she should have told him Jerry’s warnings about George, but it would not have stopped him either. She clicked off the computer.
#
"We don't usually get much rain up here. I wish it hadn't done so while you were looking around," Peter Soul complained as he and S.T. returned to Soul's study after having taken a soggy tour of the facilities and grounds where the church was planned. Soul shook off his rain coat and hung it over a hook, then carefully repeated the process with his hat.
"No problem. I'm used to it, living in the wet part of Oregon. How long you been here?" S.T asked, shrugging out of his wet, leather jacket. He slung it over the arm of the chair he lowered himself into. His hair, pulled back tight by the usual leather thong, was soaked.
“Would you like a towel?” Soul asked rather than answering S.T.’s question.
“It’ll dry.”
"What did you think of our site?"
"It might work. Of course, it’d take soil, water studies. I’d need a lot more time up there especially checking to see if other sites would work better."
"Would you care for a cup of herbal tea?" Soul asked again evasively.
S.T. managed to restrain the grimace. "I'm fine." What he really wanted was a cup of strong coffee, but he'd already figured out he had no hope of that in this vegetarian, health food fortress. No wonder Christine had felt the urge to escape. Control was everywhere and in everything. It yanked hard on a man's nerves.
"The site I chose is one I truly feel will have the best spiritual power. I very much want you to understand what we're about here," Soul said with a broad smile. "I think it'll help you design the building, do the work if you can relate to our purposes."
"If I decide to take the job," S.T. reminded him.
"Of course. If you decide to work with us or we with you. Tell me what sort of ideas you might have?"
S.T. knew he wasn’t going to build any church for this man, but he had felt a few creative impulses as he’d walked around the land. "If," he said finally, "I did decide to take the project, I'd think you'd want an organic building, something that suggested nature as well as spiritual."
"In what way?" Soul leaned forward, his eyes intent on S.T.
"Buildings work with their land but more than that, they can either lead people into conversation or conflict. A building can fight against a man's natural impulses, his inner being or it can help him not only connect with it, but with others, with a spiritual dimension. If a building flows, has a living quality to it, it can help conversation happen. If it fights against that with lines that cause tension instead of resolution, it leads the other direction--to conflicts."
"Are we
Damnation. She knew what she was feeling. It was a desire to protect him, to ease his way, to do things for him that she had never expected to want to do for a man. This was not going right at all. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. This was the wrong time, the wrong man. Would he even survive the storm into which she sensed they were both walking?
She showered, then wrapping a robe around herself; clicked on her computer to check the bulletin board on which she'd put the request for information on Peter Soul.
It took a few moments to punch in the information. She hadn’t actually expected a response so quickly; then she stared at the words on the screen. "Those, who pry into things, people and situations that are none of their business, do not live long--Friend of the Master."
It took a second to recognize the threat. She looked to see if there were more, but that was it.
She thought about calling S.T. but no. This warning would not stop him. It changed nothing. He knew about Lane Brown, the disappearance of his sister. Maybe she should have told him Jerry’s warnings about George, but it would not have stopped him either. She clicked off the computer.
#
"We don't usually get much rain up here. I wish it hadn't done so while you were looking around," Peter Soul complained as he and S.T. returned to Soul's study after having taken a soggy tour of the facilities and grounds where the church was planned. Soul shook off his rain coat and hung it over a hook, then carefully repeated the process with his hat.
"No problem. I'm used to it, living in the wet part of Oregon. How long you been here?" S.T asked, shrugging out of his wet, leather jacket. He slung it over the arm of the chair he lowered himself into. His hair, pulled back tight by the usual leather thong, was soaked.
“Would you like a towel?” Soul asked rather than answering S.T.’s question.
“It’ll dry.”
"What did you think of our site?"
"It might work. Of course, it’d take soil, water studies. I’d need a lot more time up there especially checking to see if other sites would work better."
"Would you care for a cup of herbal tea?" Soul asked again evasively.
S.T. managed to restrain the grimace. "I'm fine." What he really wanted was a cup of strong coffee, but he'd already figured out he had no hope of that in this vegetarian, health food fortress. No wonder Christine had felt the urge to escape. Control was everywhere and in everything. It yanked hard on a man's nerves.
"The site I chose is one I truly feel will have the best spiritual power. I very much want you to understand what we're about here," Soul said with a broad smile. "I think it'll help you design the building, do the work if you can relate to our purposes."
"If I decide to take the job," S.T. reminded him.
"Of course. If you decide to work with us or we with you. Tell me what sort of ideas you might have?"
S.T. knew he wasn’t going to build any church for this man, but he had felt a few creative impulses as he’d walked around the land. "If," he said finally, "I did decide to take the project, I'd think you'd want an organic building, something that suggested nature as well as spiritual."
"In what way?" Soul leaned forward, his eyes intent on S.T.
"Buildings work with their land but more than that, they can either lead people into conversation or conflict. A building can fight against a man's natural impulses, his inner being or it can help him not only connect with it, but with others, with a spiritual dimension. If a building flows, has a living quality to it, it can help conversation happen. If it fights against that with lines that cause tension instead of resolution, it leads the other direction--to conflicts."
"Are we
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