Free A Light in the Window by Jan Karon Page B

distraction. Then we’d come in with a deep fir molding around the base of the vault. What do you think?”
    “I like it,” said the rector.
    “Ditto,” said Ron. “And we know a man and his son who could do an outstanding job of it, real native artisans.”
    “Great! Native workmanship can add a lot of aesthetic value. Terrific.”
    The architect was clearly excited about the new plan and shook hands gratefully with both men.
    “How’s Buck working out for you?”
    “Couldn’t be better,” said Ron, eyeing the rector.
    “Tough break about striking rock. Well, I’m going to walk over the job and see what’s happened since last week. Want to come?”
    “You go,” said Father Tim. “I’ve got to make a call.”
    The two men went out, letting a blast of stinging air into the trailer. He shivered as he sat down at the desk in Buck Leeper’s ravaged swivel chair.
    “Hello, Avis? I’m running late. Could you put together a few things for me to pick up before you close? A pound of ground sirloin. Right. A gallon of milk. A pack of buns. No, not the whole wheat. Dooley won’t eat anything brown.” He still felt the blast of cold air along his shoulders.
    “While I’m at it, do you know where I can get a load of wood for the winter? Sure, I’ll hold.”
    While Avis laid the receiver down to help a customer, his eyes wandered to the desk blotter that contained a large calendar. He blinked.
    In each square that represented the day until today, October the nineteenth, was an exquisite pen-and-ink drawing. Each was intensely thoughtful and rendered with infinite detail. There was a mollusk, an owl, a brick wall, a mountain, a bridge, a chambered nautilus, an ornate staircase, whorls, spirals, hieroglyphs, a pyramid. All so intricate and perfect they might have been mechanically printed.
    Nothing was written in any of the squares, no appointments, no schedules, no reminders. The heavy pressure of the pen made each line appear engraved.
    There was something jarring about the perfection and precise control, as if these characteristics combined to speak through the drawings with one loud voice. But what was the voice saying?
    The thought came to him instantly and clearly. It was saying, Help.

    “Right this way,” said Mrs. Kershaw. “Miss Olivia has cleared a great big spot in her dressing room.”
    He could barely see over the stack of hatboxes he was carrying. Trooping behind him like a string of ducks were Miss Sadie, clutching the ribbons of a hatbox in each hand, and Louella, with a hatbox in the crook of each arm.
    “Oh, my, I hope that’s all,” said the housekeeper.
    “It certainly is not all,” Miss Sadie said. “We’ll have to make two more trips to the car!”
    They went down the hall to Olivia’s bed and dressing room, where she came in from the terrace to greet them. The rector thought she had never looked more beautifully eager and alive, yet only months ago, they had carried her from this room, near death.
    “Just put them here for now,” she said, rushing to kiss every cheek. “I’m so excited! After lunch, we’ll have a hat show. Hoppy is coming over, and we’re all going to model!”
    “I pass,” said Father Tim.
    She laughed, giving him a fervent hug. “Oh, I’m so glad to see you all. What a blessing.”
    “We’ll have to make two more trips to the car,” Miss Sadie said proudly.
    “We’ll all help,” Olivia insisted. “Lunch is on the terrace, but it’s covered, so no bumblebees will land in the salad.”
    “Ladies, I’m taking charge here. Go sit on the terrace and soak up this unexpected sunshine. I’ll fetch the hats.”
    “But ...” said Olivia.
    “Mind your priest, dear,” said Miss Sadie, looking at the large, sunny room with appreciation.

    Lunch under an umbrella, in the warm sunshine, surrounded by autumn color and a lawn splashed with the first of the fallen leaves. He was so removed from his daily rounds he felt as if he might be in a foreign