Pane and Suffering

by Cheryl Hollon

  Savannah gulped. I’ll never be able to tell these two apart.

  “Let’s sit in the back. I don’t like others to overlook my work,” said one twin.

  “Silly. Everyone walks around and looks at each other’s projects. It’s how we learn. Let’s go for the front so we can hear properly,” said the other twin.

  The first twin put her materials on the far back worktable. “It’s my turn to pick the seats. You chose for the pottery class.”

  “Very well. But don’t whine if you can’t hear the instructions.”

  “It’s my turn.”

  Savannah turned to Green Eyes and whispered, “Have they been here before?”

  His eyes crinkled, and he leaned closer and whispered, “The Rosenberg twins, Rachel and Faith, are addicted to craft classes.”

  “So, they’re good?”

  “Let’s just say they make everyone else feel above average. They take classes for the sheer joy of criticizing each other. And they lie. About the quality of each other’s work, about who made what mistake. They lie when there’s no need to lie. They’re the biggest liars in the district.”

  The bell announced the arrival of a deeply tanned couple. He was brown-haired with brown eyes wearing khaki cargo shorts, a closely tailored navy golf shirt, and Topsiders without socks. She was blonde with sky-blue eyes wearing a perfectly tailored khaki skirt with a teal sweater set accented by a single strand of pearls. They were perfectly on trend and looked more like they should be boarding a cruise ship rather than attending an art class. They slipped into the remaining open row of worktables.

  The early-forties trying to look late-twenties woman looked around as though welcoming them into her living room. She smiled at each person until she caught their eye, and when she had everyone’s attention, she said, “Good morning, y’all. We’re Mr. and Mrs. Young. I’m Nancy and this is my groom, Arthur. I’ve called him my groom since the day Daddy announced our engagement. I’m the Director of Programs at the Museum of Fine Arts and my groom plays third chair cello for the Florida Orchestra. We’re so happy to be here taking this wonderful class with y’all.”

  Green Eyes grinned a wide smile and turned to Savannah. He caught himself and the smirk disappeared behind an uncomfortable cough. He shifted his weight slightly foot to foot. “Look. I wanted to offer my sincere condolences. I think the loss of your father is one of life’s most devastating events.”

  “That’s very kind, but who—”

  “Most of us along this street were at his funeral. I stayed behind to run the pub so most of my staff could attend. John made such a difference in standing up for the small businesses on this block. We’ll miss his advice and experience in negotiating with the mayor and city council.”

  “Thank you so much. I appreciate it.”

  “I’ve got to get back to the pub.” He walked out, then turned to lean back through the front door. “If you need anything, I’m right next door or you can call. My number is on the list under Edward, Edward Morris. I own the Queen’s Head Pub. Welcome to the Grand Central District.” He quietly closed the door with a small click.

  Savannah smiled and let out a sigh of relief. She was glad he was right next door. It looked like she might have more on her plate than she originally expected, especially if Hugh made a habit of running late. She checked the list of contact numbers and there was Edward’s number standing out clearly on the smudged list. She plugged it into her cell.

  Checking her dad’s roster, the five registered class members had all arrived. She frowned. Where was the sixth and even more worrying, where was Hugh? She glanced at the large plain clock on the wall. It said 10:00 sharp as did her watch.

  I’m going to have to start teaching his class until he gets here. I haven’t taught beginning stained glass since I left for Seattle. Yikes, that’s over five years ago. I hope it’s like riding a bicycle.

  She softly stepped behind the instructor’s workstation and cleared her throat. “Good morning. I’m Savannah, Mr. Webb’s daughter.” Her voice shook at the mention of her dad. Ducking her head, she covered her mouth with her fist to clear her voice and stabilize it to a lower tone. “Welcome to Beginning Stained Glass. Each class will be structured roughly the same. First, a short lecture followed by a skill demonstration. Then you’ll practice on a small piece to reinforce the skill. Hugh Trevor will be your instructor. He’s a master glass craftsman who—”

  Amanda’s hand shot up into the air. “What’s the project?”

  “A small sun catcher panel.” Savannah picked up her little green turtle sun catcher and held it high. “It’s a simple design, but looks complicated. You will learn the skills of cutting glass, applying copper foil, soldering, and bending zinc came.”

  “What’s that zinc cane stuff? I thought we were learning to make proper leaded stained glass,” said Nancy.

  “Good question.” Savannah turned and wrote C A M E on the whiteboard. “Lead is a heavy metal that can, over time, leach into your skin. The new came is a preformed miniature U-shaped channel of zinc that can be bent to follow the edges of the panel. Modern knowledge sometimes overtakes tradition.”

  She looked at the door once again. Hugh better have a damn good excuse for not coming in today.

  “Now, for a quick history lesson. Honest, I do mean quick. As a material, stained glass is colored by adding metallic salts during its manufacture. In ancient time, the colored glass was crafted into windows held together by strips of lead and supported by a rigid frame. The oldest known—”

  A scraping shuffle and the jangle of the doorbell turned all heads to the front of the shop.

  Thank goodness. That must be Hugh.

  A gangly blue-jeaned young man with a black backpack over his shoulder rushed through the display room and into the classroom. He stopped cold in front of Savannah. “Sorry, I signed up for this class,” blurted the pale-faced teen. He looked down at the floor. “Mr. Webb told me I could attend this class. He promised me his apprentices don’t have to pay.”

  Okay, here’s the last student. How on earth could I forget about the apprentice? This must be Jacob. Dad was wildly enthusiastic about his talent, raving in fact. He said Jacob reminded him of me at eighteen. But, really, where is Hugh?

  Savannah pointed to the remaining vacant work space. “It’s no problem. You see we have plenty of room.”

  “I’ve been working with Mr. Webb and Mr. Trevor.” The young man’s eyes widened to owl-sized intensity.

  “You must be Jacob. Mr. Webb told me so much about you, I feel like we’re already friends.” She pressed her hand over her heart. It was so like her dad to take this awkward fledgling under his wing as an apprentice. “My name is Savannah Webb. I’m Mr. Webb’s daughter.”

  He gulped and nodded vigorously, then stepped forward to solemnly shake her hand. “My name is Jacob Underwood. Pleased to meet you.”

  She smiled. “Dad’s apprentices are always invited to classes. Go ahead and get yourself settled.” Savannah guided him to the remaining worktable.

  “Where’s Mr. Trevor?” Jacob perched on the work stool with his feet resting on the bottom rung and placed his backpack on his lap without letting go of the straps.

  She moved back to the instructor station. “Mr. Trevor is delayed and I’m filling in until he arrives. Now, where was I?”

  Amanda launched her plump hand into the air like a rocket. “You were telling us about the origins of stained glass.”

  “Yes. As I said, they crafted the colored glass into windows or objects held together by strips of lead and then supported by a rigid frame. The oldest known stained glass window was pieced together using ancient glass from an archaeological dig.”

  “What did she say?” One of the twins leaned into the other’s ear, whispering loud enough for everyone to look back at them.

  Faith flushed from her throat to the roots of her white hair and whispered even louder, “Turn on your hearing aid, Rachel. You’ve forgotten again.”


  “Oops,” muttered Rachel, turning the tiny volume control up with her polished blood red fingernail until there was a high-pitched squeal.

  Gotcha! Rachel wears nail polish. Faith doesn’t.

  “Now, it’s too loud!” Faith frowned. “Turn it down and be quiet.”

  Rachel adjusted the volume and ducked her head in a sheepish grin to everyone. “I’m ready now.”

  Savannah started again. “First things first. Before we start learning to cut glass, make sure your work surface is clean and clear of debris. If even the smallest glass chip is under your work, it will break in the wrong place and ruin your day. The best thing is to use a very soft brush on the entire work surface before you start anything. A well-worn paintbrush works great, but Dad always used an old drafting table brush.”

  He gave me mine when I took my first class. It’s back in Seattle. She swept her worktable clear and spread newspaper on the work surface.

  “I want everyone to take out their clear windowpane glass for scoring and breaking practice.” She held up a small nine-by-nine-inch square piece for everyone to see. “The green piece of glass is for your project. Just put that aside.”

  “Ouch!” Arthur dropped his practice pane onto the worktable in a shattering crash. “I cut myself.” He squeezed his thumb until a large drop formed, stuck it in his mouth, and began to suck the blood.

  “Don’t, honey bunny. It’ll get infected. You have to be ready for the next concert.” Nancy dived a hand into her purse, hopped off her stool, pulled Arthur’s thumb out of his mouth with a soft pop, and pressed a tissue onto the cut. She looked around and eyed Savannah. “Is there a first aid kit?”

  Savannah crossed the room to the large Red Cross first aid kit attached to the wall. A quick rummage produced a square compress pad and some ointment. She handed them to Nancy who was right behind her.

  “Let me see,” said Amanda, leaning over Arthur’s hand. “I’m a trained caregiver, you know. I work in a nursing home.”

  Ah, she must liven up that atmosphere considerably. Savannah edged in between the women to get to Arthur. “I’ve got this, ladies. I can’t even begin to tell you how many cuts I’ve dressed here and in Seattle. I’ve a finely tuned judgment for stitch count.” She gently removed the sodden tissue, refolded it to expose a clean section, and then pressed it firmly onto the cut. “Good, it’s small. No stitches.”

  Nancy fanned her face, “Thank our lucky stars, Arthur. You know that second chair cello player is unreliable.” She mimed that he was a drinker. “You must be prepared to step into first chair at any performance.”

  Amanda peered over Savannah’s shoulder. “It is quite small, but glass cuts are the evil older brother of paper cuts—so much blood for such a tiny nick.”

  “Miss Savannah, Miss Savannah.” Jacob hugged his arms around his chest and rocked his weight from side to side. “I need to get my tools.”

  “Of course.” She softened her voice and tilted her head. “Where are they?”

  “Mr. Webb let me keep ’em in the workshop.”

  “No problem.” Savannah pulled the key ring from her back pocket and handed them over to Jacob. “Go fetch them, please. It’s the blue key.” She turned back to deal with the Arthur situation.

  “No need, Miss Savannah,” he returned the key ring. “I have a set of my own.”

  Nancy wedged her body between Arthur and Savannah. “Excuse me. I can take care of my Arthur, thank you. Just hand over everything I need.”

  Amanda flushed a bright hot pink and returned to her seat, struggling to control her trembling lip.

  Savannah used her teacher voice. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m the only one present who is authorized to give first aid in this shop. If you want to treat him yourself, that’s fine, but you’ll have to leave the class.” She looked from Nancy to Arthur’s bleeding finger then back to Nancy. “Both of you.”

  The woman pressed her lips into a thin scarlet line. “Very well. Of course, I didn’t understand that. We have similar rules at the Museum of Fine Arts.”

  The class watched silently as Savannah removed the tissue, applied an ointment, and taped the sturdy bandage to Arthur’s wound.

  As one, the class looked up at Savannah.

  “Okay, first blood goes to Arthur. Well done. Amanda is right. Glass cuts bleed like fury, but by their nature, the cuts are clean and normally heal quickly.”

  “Miss Savannah,” shrieked Jacob, his voice breaking. “Miss Savannah, please come quick!”

  Savannah nearly jumped out of her skin, then bolted through the door of the classroom, ran through the gallery and into her dad’s workshop. Amanda was on her heels.

  Jacob was pointing to the far wall of the custom workshop behind a long workbench. “Mr. Trevor won’t wake up.”

  Savannah saw Hugh lying on his side with his face toward the wall. “Uncle Hugh, Uncle Hugh!” She could hear her voice shriek as she struggled to roll him over onto his back. His kind face was ash gray and he had been sick on his clothes. The sour smell was sharp and fresh. His chest was still and he wasn’t breathing.

  “Amanda, call 911!”

  She was aware of Amanda’s sharp gasp and heard her feet pound steps toward the phone. Savannah straightened him as much as possible in the tight space. Making a fist with one hand and the other hand wrapped around it, she started chest compressions to the rhythm of “Staying Alive” as her CPR coach had taught her. She didn’t know that she was crying until the tears dropped one by one onto her forearms.

  No way was she stopping. Uncle Hugh was all the home she had left. He needed to stay alive.

  She dimly heard the ambulance arrive and numbly got to her feet when the paramedic gently lifted her up from the floor by her elbow.

  Uncle Hugh can’t be dead, too.

  Chapter 2

  Monday Noon

  Savannah and Jacob stood on the sidewalk in front of the shop and watched the last police department vehicle turn toward the station and drive back downtown. No sirens. No flashing lights. Only silence.

  The business card that Officer Boulli had given her cut into her palm as she squeezed it into a crescent shape, released it, and squeezed it again. The last words he said were echoing inside her head. “Just give me a call if anything else comes up, Miss Webb. Thank you for your time.” She looked at the card once more and slipped it into her front pocket.

  She’d thought the nightmare was over with her dad’s funeral. Now Hugh was dead. Her plans to sell him Webb’s Glass Shop were dead, as well. She ached from the top of her shoulders down to her elbows. The gentle warmth of the spring sun began to seep its way through her shirt as a reminder that time passes.

  Jacob peered down at his shoes. “Mr. Trevor was a great old guy.”

  Savannah looked at Jacob. His neck was flushed and he stood statue still as if trying not to breathe.

  “Did you help Hugh and Dad with their latest project? The one that’s in the custom workshop?”

  Jacob nodded yes with his eyes still focused on his shoes.

  “It’s strange that I don’t remember anything about that project. Lately, Dad was constantly chattering about his students and the classes. I guess I was so caught up in telling him about the struggles I was having with my own pieces, I didn’t notice that he’d stopped talking about his projects.” She smiled down at Jacob. “He did tell me he was training a gifted apprentice.”

  She felt like a horrible daughter. Her last visit had been over two years ago, but even when she did visit, it had been too short to manage anything but spending time with her dad at the glass shop.

  I should have gotten him out more.

  “Do you know what they were working on in the custom workshop?”

  “I was painting some of the glass pieces, but I don’t know anything else,” Jacob paused then mumbled into his chest. “They said I was good at it. I don’t want to stop.”

  “You’re not in trouble, Jacob. I just realized that I don’t really know what was goi
ng on.”

  And now it’s only me.

  “I’ve never seen a body before. Mr. Trevor was a good teacher. I am going to m-miss him.” He gulped a short breath. “Can I go home for lunch now? I’ll come back, like normal. Okay?”

  Sensing that he was desperate to continue his normal routine at the glass shop, Savannah softened her voice. “Of course. I could use your help.”

  He turned, walked down the street and around the corner without looking up.

  “How are you holding up, luv?” Edward appeared at her elbow and handed her a white chunky ceramic mug.

  “I’m not thinking straight at all. I must be in shock.”

  “Not at all surprising.”

  “Thanks for taking the class into your pub. I didn’t know what to do. Hugh has—I mean was—always a grumpy gus with Dad and me, but he was passionate about teaching stained glass. He was also a restoration genius. They have been—I mean were—partners in all things glass for over twenty years. I can’t believe they’re both gone.” She sipped the warm drink. “What is this?”

  “England’s solution to all upsets. A hot cup of strong sweet tea.”

  Savannah sipped again. “And what else?”

  Edward lifted his eyebrows. “Great lashings of Irish single malt.”

  “My dad told me how excited he was about your pub. He felt it was the perfect addition to the district.” She looked down into the cup. “That is, when I stopped talking about myself long enough for him to get a few words in edgewise.”

  “Queen’s Head is happy to help its neighbors. When we were just opening, everyone was grand and supported us in the best way possible—by spending their cash with us.” Edward cleared his throat. “Are you going to close up for today?”

  She looked deep into the cup. “I’m going to hang around for a bit. Sort through some papers. Calm down, I hope.”

  “You sure know how to make things interesting.”

  “I would say this is a good deal more than interesting.” Savannah ran a jerky hand through her hair. “Dad raised me to be suspicious. Before he started the glass shop, he worked for the government. Two heart attacks within a week in one tiny glass shop? Hugh was dad’s most experienced journeyman. They’ve been working difficult pieces together for years. This doesn’t make sense.”