The Transformation

by Terri Kraus

  He bent to kiss her, gently, not assuming anything, not insisting on anything, not asking or demanding, but joining her, feeling the touch of her lips on his, a wordless, soundless, intimate conversation.

  They both heard Robert the Dog’s nails on the steps again. He circled the room the long way, then sat looking up at both of them, his tail just wagging.

  “Oliver, I’m still Jewish, you know.”

  “I know. But you’ve read the book of Ruth. And your father said that you had tradition, not real faith in your religion.”

  She reached over and stroked his arm, her eyes seeking his.

  “Teach me, Oliver. Show me the way.”

  They kissed again, only to be interrupted in a few moments by the cold, insistent nose of Robert, nudging Oliver squarely on the back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “SO HOW DID the grand opening go?” Rose asked. “Of your restaurant and, and all that.”

  If anyone had been observant, they would have seen two things happen almost simultaneously. One, Samantha gripped her glass so tightly that her knuckles went white, just for a moment. And two, her eyes darted about the room, searching for Oliver, searching for someone to parachute in and rescue her.

  No one parachuted in.

  “Mrs. Barnett, how nice of you to ask,” Samantha answered. “It went very well. And Three Rivers Restorations was there to film it. That episode should air in a couple of weeks. Lots of good publicity for your son. He was in a lot of it. Isn’t that great?”

  It was apparent that Rose couldn’t keep herself from beaming. The lines in her face softened, her expression warmer than usual. She looked almost sweet at that moment.

  “He was? He never said a word about that to me.”

  “Well, you know how reserved he can be,” Samantha confided to the older woman.

  “Oh, do I ever,” Rose replied. “You practically have to drag things out of him.”

  Samantha nodded in a knowing manner, not in a too-intimate fashion, she hoped, but familiar.

  The two women sat alone at a table near the entrance to the room. It was the smaller dining area off the main ballroom of the local banquet hall in Greensburg, reserved mainly for showers and birthday parties. But Taller and Paula’s wedding would not be a large, elaborate affair. Samantha had offered Blue for their wedding celebration, but Taller was certain his mother wouldn’t enjoy herself in the former church.

  “Oliver tells me that you’ve already sold the place. Is that true, or he is just fooling his mother again?” Rose asked.

  If that had been a veiled comment, Samantha ignored it.

  “I have, Mrs. Barnett. The Baptists bought it—just like my father suggested before I started the project. Some large Baptist church received a big donation, and all the donor said was, ‘Try something different. Be creative.’ They’re keeping the restaurant going, but plan on inviting diners to church, Sundays in the downstairs Fellowship Hall. Turns out, the executive chef I hired is a believer, so he’s on board. All the restaurant profits will go toward the new ministry. They’re hoping to attract students from the university. They want to make it sort of a center for Christian arts as well, a place where artists of all kinds—painters and sculptors and musicians and writers and actors and even dancers—can showcase their work. And they made me a very reasonable offer. I never really intended on running a restaurant indefinitely. I just like the planning and development of the property, really. We met the young pastor who will run the ministry, and I’m sure he will do a wonderful job with it. He’s so innovative, so passionate about his vision.”

  Samantha smiled at Mrs. Barnett, who appeared speechless.

  Oliver returned to the table with a bit of a panicked look when he saw that his mother and Samantha were the only ones left sitting there, in total silence.

  “Here are the two ginger ales,” he said, giving one to Samantha and placing one in front of his place.

  He handed the last glass to his mother. “And here’s your Seven and Seven, Ma.”

  She took it, hushing him. “You don’t have to announce it to the whole world. Besides, this is a special occasion. Not every day one of your sons gets married. And I’m well on my way to being a grandmother. That calls for a celebration—so don’t you start in on me, young man.”

  Oliver held up his hands in surrender. “I wasn’t going to say a word, Ma. It’s okay with me. Whatever you want is fine.”

  She glared back at him, for just a moment, then took her drink and took a prolonged sip from the miniature straw.

  The DJ returned from his break and restarted the music. A bevy of Paula’s girlfriends stood up and hurried to the dance floor.

  “You mind if we take a break, Ma? I need some air.”

  She waved him off. “I’ll be fine, Oliver. Go.”

  He held out his hand and Samantha took it. He led her through the smoky bar and out onto the sidewalk, where the air was warm, but more refreshing than what was offered inside.

  Neither spoke. Oliver was simply content to hold Samantha’s hand as they slowly walked down the block.

  “It was a nice wedding,” Samantha said. “Robert would have loved it.”

  Oliver smiled. “It was. And yes—Robert would have had a great time.”

  “He’s become quite fond of cake—especially with buttercream icing,” Samantha added.

  “And he’s become quite fond of you, you know.” Samantha returned his smile.

  “I never expected it to happen. Never expected Taller to do the right thing.”

  “There’s something different about him,” Samantha added. “Not that I knew him all that well, but he seems more mature.”

  “I agree. Something’s changed. He seems … like a better man. Maybe the Korean pastor was right about the church. Maybe being inside the place all those weeks did something to my brother. Prayers of Mr. Han’s congregation are transforming more than a few people, it seems.”

  Samantha stopped and pulled Oliver’s hand to her, so that he had to turn and face her. She drew her other arm around him and pulled him close, tilting her head, and the two of them kissed within steps of Gaskill Avenue.

  “What was that for?” Oliver asked when they were through.

  “For being wonderful.”

  “Well, sure … but besides that?”

  She poked his arm, playfully, and drew him close to herself. “For being a mensch. That’s Jewish for a good man. For loving me. Teaching me. For giving me a chance … letting me have time.”

  He held her close and kissed her back. “That’s for being willing,” he said. “For understanding me. And loving me.”

  “Hey, O-not-O, I have been transformed, too. Never in a million years would I have imagined being with such a wonderful man like you—and a Gentile, yet. And learning from the Bible—the whole Bible. Never in a million years.”

  “Transformed? Really?”

  “Don’t ask me to leave you and turn back. ‘Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you live, I will live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. Wherever you die, I will die, and there I will be buried.’”

  Oliver held her hands as she spoke the words from the book of Ruth, watching her eyes, sensing—no, knowing—that she was speaking the truth … that her life had been transformed, that she would be with him and that he would be with her, from this moment, until the rest of time.

  EPILOGUE

  OLIVER STOOD MORE silent and still than he had in a very long time. He listened to the words of Barth’s blessing, knowing they were important, trying to remember each one but also knowing that he would have to rely on the videotape.

  “May God the Eternal One keep you in love with each other and with Him, so that the peace of Christ may abide in your home.”

 
Samantha, beautiful in her simple, yet elegant white gown, stood next to Oliver in his tuxedo. He took Samantha’s left hand in his, their third fingers each now encircled with a thin white-gold band. After the Seven Blessings and on cue from the rabbi standing next to Barth, Oliver raised his right foot and heard the glass breaking beneath the towel.

  He looked at Samantha and knew what he’d always remember would be her face that day, so filled with love and hope—and an absolute belief in second chances.

  They kissed, then the two turned to face the congregation and began to walk down the aisle of the Messianic synagogue to shouts of “Mazel tov!” and “Shalom!”

  Robert the Dog, in his black bow tie, jumped from the first pew and followed the beaming couple. The three of them headed out the door on Beechwood Avenue in Squirrel Hill, into the sunshine of a beautiful fall afternoon and into their new life together.

  I do not at all understand the mystery of grace—only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.

  —Anne Lamott

  There was once a garret up under the roof, a poor, bare place enough. There was a table in it, and there were some benches, and a water pot; a towel, and a basin in behind the door, but not much else—a bare, unhomelike room. But the Lord Christ entered into it. And, from that moment, it became the holiest of all, where souls innumerable ever since have met the Lord God, in High glory, face to face. And, if you give Him entrance to that very ordinary heart of yours, it too He will transform and sanctify and touch with a splendour of glory.

  —A. J. Gossip

  Be thou comforted, little dog. Thou, too, in resurrection shall have a little golden tail.

  —Martin Luther

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  After eleven coauthored books with husband, Jim, Terri Kraus has added her award-winning interior designer’s eye to her world of fiction. She comes to the Project Restoration series naturally, having survived the remodel, renovation, and restoration of three separate personal residences, along with those of her clients. She makes her home in Wheaton, Illinois, with her husband; son, Elliot; miniature schnauzer, Rufus; and Siberian cat, Petey.

  Visit Terri Kraus at her Web site: www.TerriKraus.com.

  Other Books by Jim and Terri Kraus

  MacKenzie Street Series

  The Unfolding

  The Choosing

  Scattered Stones

  The Circle of Destiny Series

  The Price

  The Treasure

  The Promise

  The Quest

  Treasures of the Caribbean Series

  Pirates of the Heart

  Passages of Gold

  Journey to the Crimson Sea

  Project Restoration Series

  The Renovation

  The Renewal

  His Father Saw Him Coming

  The Micah Judgment

  The Silence

  … a little more …

  When a delightful concert comes to an end,

  the orchestra might offer an encore.

  When a fine meal comes to an end,

  it’s always nice to savor a bit of dessert.

  When a great story comes to an end,

  we think you may want to linger.

  And so, we offer ...

  AfterWords—just a little something more after you

  have finished a David C. Cook novel.

  We invite you to stay awhile in the story.

  Thanks for reading!

  Turn the page for ...

  • A Note from the Author

  • Discussion Questions

  A Note from the Author

  Writing a novel set in the world of the restoration of old buildings has always been a dream of mine. The idea of renovation is in my family’s blood. I’m an interior design professional. My brothers are rehabbers. My husband, Jim, and I have survived the renovation of three houses.

  I know the upheaval well, the despair of having no control, the agonizing over style decisions, the budget constraints, the disagreements between contractor and owner, and the emotional roller coaster of unexpected problems and unanticipated gifts along the way. Together my clients and I have accepted big disappointments, celebrated tiny successes, and experienced the inexpressible elation at seeing what was once in ruins—old, broken, useless—become, with all its quirks, a beautiful, completely renewed, and usable place for people to share life again. Looking back on all those projects, I can echo the sentiment in the opening line of Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

  Many of you are probably, like me, HGTV fans who watch the many shows about fixing up old houses. You find yourself glued to the glimpses of contractors and owners engaged in the process. You live vicariously through the rehabbing, renovating, and restoring.

  I can relate. I’ve always been captivated by old buildings. Poring over books about art, architectural styles, and decoration from all over the world has always been one of my favorite pastimes. As I’ve traveled internationally and visited many of the places I’ve studied independently and in the course of my education in design, I’ve become even more passionate about restoration. (I’m the woman you might see sitting on a bench along the wall of the Sistine Chapel, silently weeping as I take in Michelangelo’s magnificent masterpiece in the simplicity of that sacred space.) I can talk forever about the importance of preserving buildings that are testaments to the creative impulse, the hours of painstaking effort, the motivation and dedication of artists, designers, craftsmen, and artisans from previous eras. All were, no doubt, imperfect people—but people used as instruments in God’s hands to create perfectly rendered works of art that endure and can stir our hearts so many, many years later.

  For me, there’s something quite magical about walking into an old place, with all its history, where so much life has been lived, where so many events and significant moments have taken place—the happy ones, the sad ones, and all the everyday moments and hours in between. Imagining who might have inhabited a house, how the family came together, the love they shared, their conversations, the tears and laughter, is irresistible to me. I find inspiration as I imagine how they celebrated and grieved, how they overcame adversity, how they survived tragedy, then moved on to enjoy life within the old walls once again.

  One of the joys of my life was visiting the little northern Italian village, nestled among olive groves high up in the Apennine Mountains, where my maternal grandparents were born, grew up, and married before emigrating to America in 1920. A short lane connects their two families’ farmhouses. In between them stands a small, now empty house of ancient, mellowed stone where my grandparents lived as newlyweds. How full my heart felt as I walked over that threshold! I pictured them as a young couple in the first blush of matrimony, with all their hopes and dreams … before their brave journey (separately) across a wide ocean to a strange land where all was unknown. Within those aged walls, did they speak of their fears as they prepared to leave their homeland, certain they’d never see their parents and siblings again? What kind of courage did that require? What words did they use to comfort and reassure one another? I wondered. I could see, in my mind’s eye, my grandmother stirring a pot of pasta as my grandfather stoked the fire. I could even hear the crackling of the firewood, smell the slight wood smoke.…

  A few artifacts remained of their time there, and I was delighted to be able to take them back to America with me. Now I treasure and display them in my own home because they connect me with that place and time and remind me of my rich heritage—all stemming from that small structure, still standing, solidly built so long ago.

  I love the metaphor of restoration, which is why I came up with the idea for the Project Restoration series—stories that would follow both the physi
cal restoration of a building and the emotional/spiritual restoration of a character. Perhaps in the Project Restoration series, you’ll find a character who mirrors your own life and points you toward the kind of restoration you long for.

  After all, God is in the business of restoring lives—reclaiming, repairing, renewing what was broken and bringing beauty from ashes. I know, because I’ve seen it firsthand. For many years, I’ve worked in women’s ministries. I’ve seen many women—as well as the men and children they love—deal with scars from their past that shape their todays and tomorrows. They all long for restoration—to live hopefully, joyfully, and productively once again—but that also requires forgiveness. Forgiveness of others (whether they deserve it or not) and, perhaps most importantly, forgiveness of oneself in order to be healthy and available to God. Clinging to past hurts or “unfairness,” hostility, anger, grudges, resentment, bitterness, or allowing abuse to alter your self-worth renders your life virtually useless. Unforgiveness shapes your perception of yourself, your outlook on life, the kind of relationships you have, and keeps you in “stuck” mode. It leaves you without hope, in a dark, emotionally paralyzing, spiritually debilitating, physically draining state and causes so much unnecessary pain … even addiction.

  Yet God Himself stands and waits, extending the gift of restoration. The light of His love shines on all those dark places deep within us, exposing what needs His healing touch, renewing hope, providing freedom from bondage. This is the type of restoration I’ve become passionate about too. For when our souls are gloriously freed through God’s renovation, we become whole, useful, and able to extend the forgiveness we have experienced to others. Our hope is renewed. Then individuals, families, churches, and entire communities can be transformed!