The Transformation

by Terri Kraus

  “What did he buy?”

  “He was really nervous. I managed to calm him down enough to pick out an engagement ring. And he bought retail. Didn’t even try to negotiate a price.”

  “An engagement ring?”

  “It was nice. Nothing too fancy. Several stones. Not fancy, but elegant. Classic. You would have liked it, Samantha. It was your style.”

  Samantha leaned back and blinked again.

  “Why do you want to know? Do you know him?” Ilana asked.

  On autopilot, Samantha managed to reply, “No, he’s doing some work on my church project around the corner. He’s talked about … a girlfriend. I’m just being a yenta. Nosy, I guess.”

  “Well,” Ilana said, in a conspiratorial voice, “please don’t let on to Mr. Barnett that I told you anything. If my father found out, he’d probably have another heart attack.”

  Samantha left while saying, “I won’t say a thing. I have to run … I’m parked in a loading zone.”

  And the little bell above the door chimed as she made her hurried exit.

  Really?

  A ring? He bought a ring?

  That is, well, astonishing … and a little scary. I mean, not that I don’t want him to. Not that at all. But no one has ever … I mean, no man has ever wanted … bought me a ring … an engagement ring.

  When is he going to ask?

  And what am I going to say?

  Can I say yes? Can I really and honestly say yes?

  After driving around Shadyside for nearly half an hour, lunch forgotten, Samantha decided she couldn’t wait demurely in the turret in her house, waiting for her prince to come bearing gifts. She decided she wanted to see him, in the flesh, just to look at his face, to see if she might discern something in his eyes or his demeanor.

  He doesn’t have to ask me now, but I want to see him … maybe give him a hug … to let him know that it would be okay if he asked me, without actually telling him so.

  She pulled to the curb. I just said it would be okay. That means yes, doesn’t it?

  She drove back into traffic and, in a moment, pulled into the driveway of the church. She didn’t see Oliver’s truck. Maybe it’s parked around the corner.

  She entered amidst the ripping squeal of a circular saw cutting into metal.

  “Dagnabbit!” Henry Pratt shouted as a stream of sparks cascaded out below his saw. “Why didn’t someone tell me about that electric line?”

  His brothers shrugged. Gene spoke up. “We figured you saw the plug just below. I was wonderin’ why you were cuttin’ there, but … I don’t like to interfere.”

  The two other brothers all hurried over to the trouble spot, offering suggestions as to how to remedy the mistake.

  Samantha’s entrance had been ignored, overshadowed by the near explosion of saw and electrical current. A slow, furry movement caught her eye.

  Barth sat in a pew, facing the work, with Rascal sound asleep at his feet.

  She waved to him. “Is Oliver here?”

  Barth shook his head. “He left a few minutes ago. His mother was being released this afternoon. I think he felt that he had to be there, even though her sister is coming to stay with her.”

  Samantha sat down next to Barth, leaned over, and patted Rascal. The dog snorted once, gazed up at her with watery eyes, and let his head loll back against the floor.

  She sighed loudly, with drama.

  “Problems, Miss Cohen? You seem weary. Or tense. Or confused. At my age, it’s getting harder and harder to read a woman’s face and expression.”

  Samantha couldn’t stop herself from smiling. She hugged Barth’s arm tightly. “I am, Barth.”

  “Am what?”

  “All of those things. Confused. Tense. Weary. Well … maybe not weary. But confused is right up there.”

  Barth shifted in the pew, turning toward Samantha to fully concentrate on her. “You’ve been talking to the Pratt boys, haven’t you?” Barth said, his words kind. “Or, rather, they’ve been talking to you. About Oliver.”

  “They have,” she admitted.

  “They told me what they did. They think you two should be together. They say that you’re perfect for each other. It’s their way of being honest and appreciative.”

  Samantha looked over to the three brothers, now in the midst of a loud, clattering discussion of how to repair the severed electrical line without having to dismantle half the wall. She looked at them with the fondness of a caring sister or aunt.

  “Yes, that’s what they told me. It was very sweet of them to do so. Like they are really concerned about me. And Oliver.”

  “Oh, they are, Miss Cohen. Ever since the boys decided to follow Jesus—for real this time—they have changed. I haven’t known them all that long, but I see the difference.”

  “Is that what did it? Jesus? Really?”

  Barth shrugged. “Has to be. He has a way of changing people in a way that they can’t do on their own, and so that other people notice it.”

  Samantha stared at her hands for a long moment, then back up at Barth. “You know about these things, don’t you? About people who know this Jesus and people who don’t? I mean, can people from the two sides be together?”

  Barth took her hand in his wrinkled, lined, veined one, almost cold yet strong. “You’re Jewish, aren’t you, Miss Cohen?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t know why I asked. I knew you are. Oliver told me for sure. So, as a faith, being Jewish, well, they don’t see Jesus as the Messiah, right?”

  “Right. I had religious training as a child, but since then I didn’t spend a lot of time learning more, or devoting myself to the faith, if you’re asking. There’s Jewish and then there’s Jewish Jewish.”

  Barth nodded. “Just like Christians.”

  “Really?”

  “Not everyone is devout in following Christ. Not everyone has their lives transformed,” Barth explained.

  “Just like Judaism. Not everyone who follows all the laws is changed inside. Like my mother, for example.”

  “It’s all about the heart,” Barth answered and tapped on his chest.

  “But what about Oliver? What about me? Can that … can it work? Or would we be fooling ourselves?”

  Barth stood up, flexing his back, and the bones made soft pops. He swiveled his neck, as if preparing for a difficult task. “Miss Cohen,” he began softly, tenderly, “Oliver has not asked me about this. But the pastor part of me began pondering on it weeks ago, just in case. Being prepared—that’s what a pastor does.”

  Samantha folded her hands in her lap, like a schoolgirl waiting instruction.

  “I’m not the one to make the decision here, Miss Cohen. Pastors sometimes think they are, but we’re only guides. We point to the truth. I know you’re Jewish. I know Oliver is a follower of Christ. And while the Bible says that believers are not to be yoked with unbelievers—”

  “Really? It says that? Sounds harsh, doesn’t it?”

  “Maybe, Miss Cohen. But as I thought about it, I kept coming back to the story of Ruth in the Old Testament. You remember hearing the story of Ruth?”

  “I’m not sure I remember it all.”

  “Ruth was widowed and left alone, with only her widowed mother-in-law.”

  “I’m not sure I’m going to like this story, Barth. Mother-in-laws … I don’t think Oliver’s mother would necessarily approve of me.”

  “Maybe not,” Barth said, continuing. “Ruth’s mother-in-law decided to go back to her homeland. She told Ruth that she should go back to her own homeland as well, because she was a foreigner. But Ruth said no. She said—and this is as direct of a quote as I can remember—‘Don’t tell me to go back home and leave you. I will go wherever you go and live with you wherever you live. You
r people will become my people and your God will be my God.’”

  Barth stopped and put his hand to his chin. Samantha could hear the whiskery stubble sound as his palm rubbed against his cheek.

  “Ruth chose to forsake her own people. She had to give up what she knew to embrace the people and the God of her mother-in-law, because she wanted to honor her, and she wanted to honor God by being loyal.”

  Samantha watched the older man’s eyes. “Then what happened?”

  Barth smiled. “Ruth met a rich man, Boaz, who became her ‘kinsman redeemer,’ and they got married. The Lord did bless her—and her mother-in-law.”

  “What’s a ‘kinsman redeemer’?”

  “It comes from an ancient custom. A kinsman—not necessarily a close relative, but a person who is close to someone who was a slave, enslaved sometimes because they were in debt—would buy the enslaved person’s freedom. As a result, the redeemer would ‘own’ the person, but as a close family member or a wife, not as a slave.”

  “And Ruth and Boaz got together this way?”

  “Yes. And with this story, you see, what God is saying to the children of Israel is that He would be their Redeemer and take them as His people, as a man takes a woman as his wife, as Boaz did for Ruth.”

  Samantha offered a curious smile back. “Ruth. That story is in your Bible?”

  “And in yours. The Old Testament. The story is prophetic, and symbolic, too, of how in the New Testament Christ would purchase our redemption with His death on the cross, ‘buying’ our freedom from the debt of sin that enslaves us. But He did this not just to set us free. Instead, like a husband passionately taking a wife, out of His great love He redeemed us, so that we could have an intimate relationship with Him, be part of His family forever, as Boaz did for Ruth.”

  “And the Ruth story is supposed to make me feel better?”

  Barth sat down next to her again and took her hand again.

  “Maybe. But the Bible is full of stories of people who didn’t know the whole truth at first, then became aware. Maybe you can be with Oliver. But you’ll need to come to that truth at some time first. Maybe sooner, maybe later. It’s all in God’s time. You’ll know when it happens, if you listen. You need to listen closely, Miss Cohen, with an open heart. If you do, God will show you an answer. ‘Seek and you will find.’”

  “Really?”

  “And maybe, like Ruth, you’re a woman who can leave her ‘home’ and follow God’s plan, becoming one who is redeemed. Become what is called a ‘completed Jew’—one who believes the whole truth, who is set free. Perhaps God wants you to be with Oliver, so that you’ll come to know his God—the Triune God—and become His own.”

  “Triune?”

  “Three persons in one: God the Father (Abba, whom you know about), God the Son (Yeshua, Jesus), and God the Holy Spirit, who is with us now.”

  “Really?”

  “Really and for sure. People are praying for you right now.”

  The words of another old pastor echoed Barth’s. I will pray that you will know the truth, Miss Cohen. I will pray that prayer for you every day.

  Samantha looked over to the Pratt brothers. One of them was on his back, prying at a board, while another held a flashlight into the crevice, the other standing back as if expecting a small explosion any moment.

  And at that, Rascal rolled onto his side, snorked loudly, raised his head, then stared at the two of them. Slowly he lowered his head back to the floor and closed his eyes again, snoring softly amidst the clatter of the Pratt brothers.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “HOW LONG UNTIL the transformation is finished?” Cameron asked.

  “Only a few weeks,” Samantha replied, opening the door of the church for her. “Do you want to film after, before, or now?”

  Cameron entered the room and immediately, all work ceased. Cameron Dane Willis was not exactly a superstar, but in western Pennsylvania terms, she was certainly a celebrity. Her show, Three Rivers Restorations, was still only on cable but was up for national distribution. The show ranked almost as high in viewership as did some network shows, depending on the time and if the network show was a rerun or not.

  Cameron did not have an entourage, nor paparazzi and hordes of fans following her, but people did recognize her on the street and in restaurants. What happened inside the church was typical of the jobsites Cameron visited. As soon as the crew recognized her, all work stopped. Carpenters who never cared a whit what they looked like before that moment began to dust themselves off, tucking in shirts, buttoning unbuttoned buttons, primping, in a workman’s fashion. Even the Pratt brothers spent a moment slack-jawed, staring at her, and a longer time fixing their appearances—this all despite the fact that Cameron came in with no cameras, no lights, no one other than Samantha Cohen.

  After a very elongated silence, Samantha clapped her hands together loudly, echoing in the room. “All right! Show’s over,” she called out with good nature. “Nothing left to see here. Everybody go back about your business.”

  It took the Pratt brothers a long time to get back to work.

  Oliver came up to them both and extended his hand to Cameron. “So nice to see you again. I was wondering when you would be back. When will the crew be here?”

  “A couple of weeks. Just after you’re done and before the restaurant opens. That will be easier for everyone. Remember Alice and Frank’s restaurant? The grand opening was so hectic we hardly had room to maneuver the cameras. We don’t want to get in the way.”

  “She’s looking for the seam between when the project is finished and the cooks start their work, Oliver. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all,” he answered. “I avoided the cameras the first time and I plan on avoiding them this time around as well.”

  “We’ll see about that,” the two women almost said in unison.

  Henry Pratt came up to the three of them with a pen and a torn scrap of paper from a legal pad in his hand. “My brothers want your autograph,” he said to Cameron. “Would you mind? We watch your show all the time, when it’s not on opposite somethin’ important. I mean … sorry, like a Steelers game or somethin’.”

  Cameron couldn’t help but laugh. “I’m a die-hard Philadelphia Eagles fan, but I won’t hold that against you.”

  “And I can still get your autograph?”

  “Tell you what: I have some eight-by-ten glossy pictures of me that the studio made up. They’re out in the car. I’ll get one for each of you and sign them. Okay?”

  “That would be swell,” Henry said and slowly edged away without turning around.

  “Let me show you the kitchen,” Samantha said, her words bright as a tour guide. “And the private dining room and the bar.”

  She took Cameron’s hand and led her away from Oliver.

  As soon as the two women had descended the stairs, Henry came over to Oliver and whispered loudly, “She’s pretty. A lot prettier in person than on TV. Do you think she knows that?”

  “I guess. Maybe. I don’t know if a pretty woman really knows that she’s pretty. But … maybe Mrs. Willis does.”

  Henry shook his head, as if amazed that a handsome woman wouldn’t be supremely aware of just how striking she was.

  Ten minutes later, the pair of women ascended the stairs and headed to the private dining room, with Robert the Dog following them, wagging his tail in a most loyal fashion, happy that they both lavished attention on him. Oliver looked on, knowing of Cameron’s Christian faith.

  I wish Robert could tell me what they are talking about.

  “I have someone that I want you to meet, Sam. She’s a college sorority sister—Sarah Epstein. You two have a lot in common. She lives in Squirrel Hill and is a top-notch real-estate agent for Chapel and Lawton. You’ll like her a lot. She’s a completed Jew.”<
br />
  “So she believes that Jesus is the Messiah. Does that mean she’s given up all her Jewishness to become a Christian?”

  “No. She attends a Messianic synagogue somewhere in Squirrel Hill.”

  “Oh, I think I’ve seen it. On Beechwood.”

  “That’s the one. They fully embrace their Jewish heritage and call themselves ‘Hebrew Christians.’ I know they celebrate the Sabbath and all the Jewish holidays.”

  “I’d love to meet her. Here’s my card. Have her give me a call.”

  The two women stayed in the private dining area for a long time. Oliver made it his business to walk past and saw they were engaging in what appeared to be a deep conversation, then saw Samantha tilting her head back in laughter, exposing her long, elegant neck. Cameron used her hands more, if that were possible, than Samantha—gesturing, pointing, pantomiming. Robert sat at their feet, staring up at Samantha, as if she were about to give him a treat, which she often did in the morning, but less so in the afternoon.

  Eventually, they rose, Oliver noted, and without being obvious, gave each other a hug. Then the two women headed to the door. Cameron hurried out and returned shortly carrying three glossy photographs. She went to each of the Pratt brothers in turn, joking with them, signing their names to the picture, adding hers, with a personal note, and leaving each of them beaming. Samantha and Cameron stood in the vestibule and talked some more.

  Oliver kept busy with adjusting windows that did not need adjusting, watching, trying not to eavesdrop and trying just as hard to hear.

  Cameron exited again following one more hug between the two women.

  I have to talk to her today. I’ve put it off too long. I have to tell her how I feel. She needs to know. I have to talk to her now, before I let it go on for another day.

  Oliver holstered his hammer in his tool belt, then carefully unbuckled it and placed it at the far end of the bar, on top of a sheet of cardboard, careful not to scratch the shiny surface. He took a deep breath. He pushed his fingers through his hair and dusted off his shirt, even though there was no dust on it, and walked toward her.