Pane and Suffering by Cheryl Hollon Read Free Book Online Page A

it. If you need me to come down to sweaty old St. Petersburg, I’ll do it. But just because it’s you.”
    â€œYou’re the best. Bye. See you soon, I hope.”
    Savannah slowly walked back to the office door thinking about how drastically things had changed for her in just a matter of days. No Dad. No Ken. No Hugh . At least the familiar workings of the glass shop grounded her.
    Jacob was sitting in front of the computer with Suzy in his lap searching the geocaching site. She calmly looked to him with the apparent intention to wait forever, for whatever was next.
    She spoke softly. “Can you show me what you were working on with Dad and Hugh? Until things are settled with the shop, I think we should continue with your apprenticeship. At least for now.”
    Jacob nodded, stood, and snuggled Suzy up to his cheek, then placed her carefully back on the pile of old shirts. “Stay,” he said.
    Suzy circled the rags twice, then plopped back down into her sphinx pose. Her big brown eyes followed Jacob like a laser guided missile.
    He turned and led the way into the custom workshop. He walked to the front wall to stand at a worktable that had a stool tucked underneath. On the wall above the table, a mounted spice rack held small containers similar in shape to those little white glue bottles found in most elementary schools. They were placed upside down and instead of written labels, each bottle had a small glass square taped to the front, representing the fired color of the liquid.
    At the right side of his working table, Jacob had placed a small clear plastic cup of water along with a tiny spray bottle full of water, and a rag that was used to dry any of the four brushes that stood bristles up in a coffee cup. The brushes varied in size from an inch to a super fine brush of only a few hairs.
    Because they weren’t white, but a soft gray-brown, Savannah presumed that they weren’t synthetic, but might be squirrel or mink. No expense had been spared.
    Laying beside the brushes was a twelve-inch-by-twelve-inch square of glass that had been edged with duct tape and on it was a palette knife. In the center of the workspace, lay a clear piece of cathedral glass placed over a full color copy of the hand of Jesus. A single base coat of flesh-colored paint had been painted on the glass.
    â€œJacob, as part of your training, have you been duplicating the hand-painted panels for The Last Supper ?”
    â€œYes, Miss Savannah. Mr. Webb helped set this up for me. He wants me to copy all the painted images for the panels.”
    Savannah raised her eyebrows. “Have you finished any pieces, yet?”
    â€œYes, Miss Savannah.”
    â€œWhere are they?”
    â€œMr. Webb put them in the kiln over there.” Jacob pointed to the corner at a large white kiln placed on a layer of bricks. With the lid closed, it looked like a square claw-foot bathtub. A large chrome handle was fastened to one side of the kiln and the adjacent side had a red LED display that was flashing FINISHED.
    Savannah struggled to lift the heavy lid. In the bottom, a thin coat of fine powder obscured the details of a painted oval piece. That was the normal result of the firing process. Each piece rested on a specially coated shelf paper that protected the bricks as well as the fired glass in the bottom of the kiln.
    She gently slipped her fingers underneath and carried it over to the industrial sink in the other corner of the workshop. She turned on the tap, adjusted the water to a warm flow, and slipped the piece of glass beneath the gentle stream. After softly rubbing it with her fingers, the colors began to show through the dusty film and a perfect image of the face of Jesus looked at her with kind eyes.
    â€œJacob,” she called. “Come over here and look at this, please.”
    He looked over Savannah’s shoulder into the sink. “It has to match the original picture. That’s what Mr. Webb told me.