The Lake of Dreams - Kim Edwards [36]
That was the last time I had been inside this church.
The air was still and hushed. In India and Japan I’d visited temples that held this same expanding silence, a quiet that invited stillness and careful listening; in Indonesia the call to prayer had wavered through the shimmering air five times a day. Yet it had been years since I’d encountered my own traditions, and the church felt familiar and new all at once—the sanctuary lighter, the windows more vibrant. I started down the center aisle. There was scaffolding in the front, by the window nearest the baptismal font, and the floor beneath this window was strewn with tools on a piece of canvas. The window itself was filled with plain glass. A moment later, Keegan walked through the narrow doorway that led behind the organ, whistling lightly.
“Hey,” he said, breaking into a smile when he saw me, his voice echoing.
“Hey.”
“How did you get in?”
“The door—it’s not locked.”
“Really? It should be. Just one second.”
He half-ran down the aisle. When he came back, he gestured to the blank window. “This one was taken out for repairs; it’s coming back this afternoon. I’m just getting rid of some of the old caulking to make the process go faster.”
“Is this one of the windows with the border?”
“No, those are all still at the chapel on the depot land. All but the largest one, which was sent out to be cleaned and is on display here for a little while. Want to see it?”
“I do, but I’m afraid I’m interrupting you.”
“That’s okay. I like showing off the window. It’s just in the other room, back where they keep the vestments and the wafers and the wine. Follow me.”
I did. Everything about Keegan was so familiar, the shape of his ears, the swing of his arms, the hair slipping out of the dark blue rubber band he’d used to pull it back. Do you remember? I wanted to ask as I followed him through the narrow passage, up three steps into the room. Those nights when we went out on the lake to watch the moon rise, letting the waves and currents push us where they would?
Keegan unlocked the door and waited for me to step through into the little room, which was oddly shaped, with cupboards and shelves filling all the walls.
“I used to put my robes on in this room. By the way, don’t use that sink.”
Keegan smiled. “Yes. They warned me. A pipe straight to the earth. Communion wine only. No cleaning of brushes.”
“It’s interesting—as if the earth is sacred, like the wine.”
“It is.”
“Interesting, or sacred?”
Keegan considered this. “I meant interesting. But both, I’d say. Come, check out the window—it’s hanging just around the corner, in the alcove.”
I passed the cupboards full of vestments and stopped as I turned the corner, taken aback by the size and beauty of the stained-glass window. It was hanging against a large clear window overlooking the lake, so the mosaic of leaded glass was flooded with light, and colors slanted down from it, falling on my arms and all across my body to the floor. Birds flew through a deep blue sky, and below, multicolored fish swam in a darker sea; vines climbed the edges and flowers bloomed in brilliant hues, and amid the flora there were animals of all kinds, zebras and lizards, rabbits and elephants, surrounded by lush trees whose variegated leaves seemed to flutter. Human figures, too, growing like the trees and flowers from the dark red earth, visibly human but not visibly male or female, standing with lifted arms, their hands transforming into leaves, the leaves in turn forming letters I did not understand. Bordering the lower edge was the familiar row of vine-laced moons. Above these interlocking moons was a single sentence in letters of light-filled gold.
“For she is a breath of the power of God . . . she renews all things.”
“I had no idea it would be so stunning,” I whispered.
“Isn’t it something? The other window—the Joseph window—will be spectacular when it’s finished, too. I can’t wait to see the others in the chapel. This one is the creation story. It hadn’t been completely covered, and when I first