Whispers of the Heart by Ruth Scofield Page A

my coming to your house. He can bring Samson.”
    â€œWell,” his gaze softened with appreciation and—dare she hope—deepening attraction? “You are a surprise.”
    He rose as the front door opened with the pizza delivery. “Don’t be shocked if I take you up on it sometime. There just might be one.”
    The next morning, David gave her a key to the side door of the church, handed her the folder that held her sketches, and explained the committee choices and how they hoped they’d be used.
    â€œDo you need anything more? Help to unload your supplies?”
    â€œI can manage by myself, thank you, but I’ll need that scaffold you mentioned when we talked before. If you can have it in place before next week?”
    â€œSure thing. Sorry to leave you here on your own, but I have to leave again. The door will lock behind me and my new part-time secretary will come in around nine, if you need her. My wife, Wendy, might be in later. She’d like to meet you.”
    â€œI’ll be just fine, Reverend Collier. And I’m usedto working on my own. But as I explained, I’ll work better in the early mornings.”
    â€œThat’s fine with me. I’ll be back about the time you leave, I think. And call me David. I never stand on any titles except for the Lord.”
    He started down the hall, then added over his shoulder, “Brent said he might be by later,” before he disappeared.
    Autumn stood quietly for long moments as the pastor’s footsteps faded, gazing at the empty wall as the morning sunlight slanted against it. David Collier was an unusual clergyman, she decided.
    Then she opened the sketch folder and lined up the five sketches she’d offered as her first choices from the dozen she’d submitted for approval.
    They’d approved all five.
    The list of instructions said they wanted the scenes to unfold in an arch as an observer walked down the hall. The first showed a boy offering his open, empty basket, while the disciples passed fish and bread to the crowd.
    The second scene caught the excitement of the healing of lepers, the third reflected the woman caught in adultery, with the mixture of disbelief, anger, and wonder on the faces surrounding Jesus.
    The fourth showed a listening multitude while Jesus preached on a hilltop. The fabled sermon on the mount. She’d researched the account carefully, reading in all four gospels. Above the central figure of Jesus, she’d shown a hint of angels. Again, angels hovered over an empty tomb in the fifth sketch.
    Her Jesus had uneven features in a darkly bearded face, a man very much a part of His time, of Hiscountry. A Middle Eastern face. She hoped to capture His uniqueness by showing the compassion in His eyes, and with a strong mouth.
    Could she do this? Could she paint such a historic person believably? Over time, hundreds of viewers might pass this wall. She wanted to pull them into the story, to give them a glimpse of being a part of it.
    What had Jesus actually looked like? No one really knew, David had told her in their initial consultation.
    Nonetheless, she sought an inkling from the back reaches of her creativity. What had people seen when they looked at Him?
    Somewhere from the back reaches of the church, sounds of a soft woodwind instrument played a melody she didn’t recognize. She realized the music had been playing for a few moments, permeating her consciousness slowly. She tipped her head to listen.
    She’d thought the church empty. Pastor David must have forgotten a musician planned to rehearse.
    She didn’t mind. The music was lovely; it came from the old chapel, she thought, separated from her corridor by a heavy door. It wouldn’t be a bother.
    And the pastor had promised to route the reconstruction crews around her, keeping her area free of foot traffic, dust and dirt.
    The music faded, yet she felt it echo in her mind, staying with her. It felt peaceful.