The Lake of Dreams - Kim Edwards [32]
“The Joseph window?” Keegan came into the bedroom. Max followed, climbed up on the trundle bed, and lay down on his stomach, watching us with his head resting on his folded arms.
“Tired, buddy?” Keegan asked. He pulled a blanket up over Max’s shoulders. “How about a rest? I’ll put your tape on.”
“I don’t want to,” Max said, but he didn’t move.
“I know. Just for a minute, close your eyes.”
Keegan pressed a tape into an old machine and a cheery song about an animal parade came on. With a nod to me, he picked up the window with the border and carried it to the living area, where he leaned it up against the wall of windows. The colors were even stronger here.
“It really needs a cleaning, as you can see. They took it from the chapel on the depot land. For some reason it wasn’t ever installed—they found it in a closet in the back. You know the depot is closed, right?”
“I saw a protest there the day I flew in.”
He nodded. “Yeah, there’ll be a fight over that land, I’m sure. But when the base was built—when that land was originally taken—there was a thriving village there, and a small mission chapel that had been built by the church in town. After Pearl Harbor, the land was cleared fast to create the base. It was a war effort, and though it’s kind of hard to believe it these days, people simply packed their personal things and left, and everything—houses, barns, shops—was razed. But the church officials protested, arguing that the building and the land were a sacred trust. Plus, there was a small cemetery, as well as an Iroquois burial ground right next to it. So when the village was razed, the church was simply boarded up and left standing, and the cemeteries, too; that was the compromise. A few months ago someone went inside, for the first time in decades, I suppose. They found this window leaning against the wall behind the altar and started to take the protective boards off the others. They’ve been pretty much forgotten all these decades. Everyone has been amazed by the quality of the glass art. There are nine other windows in addition to this one. Those I’ve seen so far are quite exceptional. Stunning, really. I was hired to do an early assessment of their quality and to recommend a studio for restoration, which they desperately need. Since this one wasn’t in the wall, I brought it here to have a closer look.”
“Do you know who made it?”
“A few ideas, but nothing solid. Why?”
I sat down on the floor in front of the window, studying the colorful scene dimmed with grime.
“It’s this border,” I said, tracing a section with my finger, the pale, interlocking spheres of glass, thickened in places, the vines and flowers made of leading. “There was a piece of cloth in a trunk in our house. My mother found it, years ago. It’s got this same pattern woven into the fabric. I’ve never seen anything like it, have you?”
“No, I haven’t. Not in glass, anyway.”
“I suppose it could be a common pattern for the era. I’d have to do some research. But the coincidence is so striking. It seems there must be a connection.”
Keegan squatted down beside me, so close I could feel the heat of his arm.
“The church might know something about the donor. There’s at least one other window with this border motif. Much larger and grander, actually; it also came from the chapel, and they’ve already had that one restored. It’s on display in the church downtown for the time being, so people can see it while the other windows are assessed and cleaned. I think they’re hoping to raise some more money. The restoration is pretty expensive. You really should see it, just because it’s so beautiful. I’m working there tomorrow, if you want to stop in.”
“Thanks. I’d like to. Keegan, why did you call this the Joseph window?”
He laughed. “That’s what the rector calls it. Otherwise, I have no idea. I think it’s the story about the coat of colors, when Joseph gets tossed into the well and taken off to Egypt. As I understand it, this particular scene comes at the end, when his brothers finally find him during the famine.”
“Really? I don