Free Put on the Armour of Light by Catherine Macdonald Page A

it meant that the church could make do with only a weekend caretaker. They would expand and decorate as money could be spared. And anyway, he enjoyed the work. A well-mitred joint in the wainscoting was a gift to God, a prayer made with his hands.
    There was a great deal left to do, though. The interior of the sanctuary furnished the basics for worship but little else. The chancel was a bare platform with a borrowed lectern in place of a pulpit; the choir loft behind was comprised of second-hand chairs on unfinished risers and a small harmonium served in place of a piano. For a baptismal font he used an old Spode ware basin set into a converted fern stand that, to Maggie’s delight, Charles consecrated to its new use with elaborate solemnity.
    The long, pointed windows, six on each side of the sanctuary, bore the only touch of richness. They were filled with ordinary glass except for the pointed sections at the top. Mrs. Lydia McCorrister had insisted on paying for stained glass panels — from McAusland in Toronto, no less — in memory of her haberdasher husband. The geometric pattern of yellow, opalescent white, and clear bevelled glass was understated but when the sun shone small rainbows appeared on the opposite wall, which captivated children and not a few adults whose attention had wandered from the sermon.
    A thumping of boots sounded beneath him and a baritone voice reverberated in the empty sanctuary. “Hello? Mr. Lauchlan? Reverend?”
    â€œEklund? Just wait, I’m coming down.” Charles set a board down at the back of the gallery and clomped down the stairs to greet Erling Eklund, Martland’s foreman, and Kauffman, another worker from the Asseltine and Martland yard. Eklund was tall and solidly built, and though still a young man, his sheer physical presence and booming voice gave him an aura of command. He wore his weathered cap pulled down low on his forehead but it did not quite hide the wine-coloured birth mark above his left eyebrow that extended, jagged like a bird claw, across the bridge of his nose.
    The three men finished unmasking the sagging beam, and then wandered around beneath it, eyeing it from various angles. The damage was worse than Charles had expected. Eklund clambered up a ladder, ran his fingers along the widening crack and furrowed his brow while sighting along the beam to where it disappeared into the plaster wall on each side.
    â€œI’m afraid we’re going to have to replace it, Mr. Lauchlan. I guess we should have used fir after all,” Eklund said from atop the ladder. “I thought this grade of spruce would be up to the job but it looks like there was a fault in the grain.”
    Charles felt a sting of annoyance with himself. “That’s my fault, Eklund. I shouldn’t have talked you into the spruce. I was trying to shave a few dollars off the budget.”
    â€œOh, it’s just the luck of the draw at the lumber yard sometimes.” Eklund smiled ruefully as he climbed down the ladder. “I can get a wholesale price for you on the fir beam and Mr. Martland will give you half-price on the labour. I’m afraid that’s the best we can do.”
    Charles sighed. “That’s more than generous, of course. All right, I guess we’d better go ahead. If you can get me an estimate for the new beam and the work then my board can approve it fairly quickly.”
    â€œIf you can spare a few hours to help, the three of us can get the old beam out today. Then in with the new one whenever you get the go-ahead and we’ll leave the mouldings, plastering, and painting to you.”
    They hauled in some hydraulic jacks and lumber for temporary supports from the wagon parked outside. Then Eklund sent Kauffman to return the wagon to another work site. Charles and Eklund removed some pews underneath the gallery to provide working space. Then they measured the lumber and prepared to cut it into the right lengths for