Mending Christmas With The Billionaire (Artists & Billionaires Book 2)

by Lorin Grace

  What part of her had missed the memo? She was avoiding men for the rest of the year.

  A tapping sound came from across the room. Sean left her side.

  “Granda, let me introduce Miss Doyle.”

  “Miss Doyle? I thought Gavin said you were a man.” The older man was dressed like she expected a reverend to be dressed, plus he held a thick sweater in his hand.

  “You know Gavin Beaufontaine?”

  The reverend shook his head. “I only met him once, but since he is Mrs. Carmichael’s grand-nephew’s friend, he came out as a favor to look at the damage. Can’t wrap my mouth around that last name of his, so he’s just Gavin.”

  Tessa issued a sigh of relief. She didn’t want to get any closer to Gavin than his last email.

  “He gave me an estimate, but it nearly made poor Sean’s eyes pop out of his head. Then he told me he knew the man for the job. I’m sorry, miss. That is what he said. Never dawned on me he would refer to someone as cute as you are as a man.” The reverend shook his head. Tessa chose to give the older man the benefit of the doubt. He continued. “Told me his friend Doyle would do the job for the cost of materials.”

  It was the second time in the last few minutes she’d heard she would be donating her time and labor. But, looking at the old man, she couldn’t bring herself to correct him. He’d arranged for her hotel at no charge and it did check the box for her MFA, so she could live with it.

  “Did he give you an estimate for the materials?” Tessa needed to know how badly Gavin had messed with her life this time.”

  Sean spoke up. “He said a couple thousand.”

  Tessa nodded but made no comment. At least he’d estimated high, unless the bid included the new protective glazing.

  The grandfather chimed in. “He talked about needing to go to a Tiffany’s supplier to look through their old glass records and order special glass.”

  “Why can’t you buy some off the internet? Those prices are not nearly as high as what he quoted us.” Sean crossed his arms.

  Tessa bit her lip. “I could get the glass off a web discount store, but it wouldn’t be the same. See this piece in Mary’s robe? It is called drapery glass. In order to match it, I need to find glass of similar color and texture. If I use a flat piece purchased from “Glass-R-Us,” it will never look right. But you should know a special order of this glass won’t be cheap, as we would need to buy an entire case of glass.” And I doubt they could get it here before Christmas.

  Tap, tap. The reverend’s cane demanded attention. “Can’t you glue it? Down at the hardware store they carry special glass glue like they use on chipped windshields.”

  “Yes, Reverend, there is a special type of epoxy, and I may end up using it on this painted hand, and maybe here.” Joseph, Mary, and the baby Jesus’ face had all been spared breakage, but the duct tape on the painted glass might cause even more damage. She hoped she could remove the tape from the hand without destroying the piece. “But it isn’t like gluing a teacup handle back together. Well, I guess it is—the glued piece will never be exactly right. Epoxy is used when it would be more noticeable to replace the glass and there is enough glass to glue.”

  Sean moved to her side. “Where are you going to do the repairs?”

  Tessa traced the edge of the frame with her finger. “I am not sure yet. This border is built in separate square frames. This third frame received most of the damage. It makes sense to remove this frame and work on it flat, as the lead came has been contorted so much.”

  “Lead came?” the reverend asked.

  “Yes, sorry,” she said, reminding herself again to speak in layman’s terms and pointing to a section of the window. “It’s this slender, grooved rod that holds the panes together. I need to look on the outside first to make sure I am correct, but I believe I can remove this pane without causing more damage. And I need to make something to keep the other panes from shifting while I work.”

  “Like in those remodeling shows where they build a temporary wall?”

  Tessa glanced back at the reverend. “Something like that. Have you already ordered a new protective glazing for the outside?”

  Reverend Cavanagh shook his head.

  “It looks like this old glazing was added in the seventies. Did it get broken then, too?”

  Sean laughed. “My father hit a home run right through the little lamb.”

  Tessa inspected the animal. “This is a superior repair job. May I go see the outside? Do you have a ladder?”

  “I’ll show you.” Sean offered.

  The reverend shifted in his seat. “Don’t miss your train.”

  Sean led Tessa around the back of the church. She stood on her tiptoes as if the extra few inches would make a difference as she studied the base of the window.

  “I’ll go get a ladder.” Sean left her there. Why did he follow her around anyway? Even if she had agreed to do the job pro bono, she’d seemed surprised when Granda mentioned the lack of pay. But she hadn’t argued. What was her plan?

  When he returned, Tessa climbed up and ran her fingers over the stone windowsill.

  “Careful, there still may be glass shards up there.”

  She pulled her hand back. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Sean set up the ladder.

  Tessa steadied herself at the top and pulled a small sketchbook out of her bag, then handed it down to him. “Would you mind taking down a few measurements?”

  Sean expected her to measure the entire window, but she only measured sections. Some of them more than once. She pulled out a magnifying glass and inspected further, then she took out her phone and snapped a few photos.

  Tessa hopped down and held out her hand for the sketchbook. “You have very neat handwriting. Thank you.” She slid the book back into her bag.

  “Why are you doing this?” Sean had to ask.

  “Well, I need measurements—”

  “No, why did you agree to do this job for nothing? I saw the shock on your face when Granda mentioned it. Were you not planning on working for free?”

  Tessa tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not exactly, but after Margo didn’t charge me for dinner, breakfast, or the hotel room, it kind of made sense to do my portion as a gift too. Besides I suspect it is very difficult to say no to your grandfather.”

  “But people don’t do that.” Sean folded the ladder and lifted it to his shoulder.

  Tessa moved back. “Then you must not know Margo very well. I assure you she did.”

  “Of course Margo did. I mean people who aren’t from here just don’t donate their time to help others.”

  Tessa squinted as she looked up at him. “You must have minimal experience with the rest of the world. Statistically, Americans are among the most giving people in the world in both time and money. I’ve lived in six states—toured all of them as well as Canada and most of Europe. I don’t know what your problem is, but people do help others. I suspect from the condition of the church, it isn’t exactly a flourishing enterprise. If I choose to donate my time, I don’t see where you can get off questioning my motives.”

  She stared him in the eye for a long moment before turning and making her way to the back door of the church.

  The chimes over at the Presbyterian church began to play. Great. He was about to miss his train.

  four

  Tessa located the reverend in a dusty cubbyhole of an office. Books and papers filled every conceivable shelf and corner. At first she thought the room was empty, until Reverend Cavanagh’s voice floated over the piles on his desk

  “Did you find a ladder?”

  “Yes, Sean got one for me.”

  “And?”

  “You should ban drones from the church grounds.” Tessa tried to keep a smile in her voice. “Also,
whoever advised you to put the protective glazing on all those years ago probably saved the window from complete ruin.”

  “Nice to hear. The board balked at spending the extra money, but in the end, the Goodings donated the funds—something about Ansley being the one to pitch the ball.” Reverend Cavanagh pushed a pile of books to the side, giving Tessa a view of his face.

  “So, you were already working—I mean ministering, er, whatever—here the last time the window was broken?”

  The older man chuckled. “Yes, I took over for my father full-time a year or two before my son, Cameron, hit that ball. Thought about getting the window insured then, but the Lord provided, so we didn’t. The insurance company wanted a special rider for each window, and that was too expensive. Ten windows and double for the rose window.”

  “So you are telling me there is no insurance on the windows?”

  The reverend shook his head.

  No wonder he’d hoped she would do the work pro bono.

  “Do you know if the company who did the repair in the seventies still exists?”

  “Nope. I presided over Old Tom’s funeral myself six, no, seven, years ago. Why?”

  “I hoped to look at records of the original repair. Sketches, glass sources, notes, anything that could help me.”

  “I may have something down in the catacombs. I tend to save everything. My daughter-in-law threatens to give my name to some TV show where they feature people who keep everything.”

  “This church has catacombs?”

  “My daughter-in-law, Roberta, named them that, but as there are no bodies down there, I don’t think they qualify. Think of them more as a low-ceilinged cellar with lots of partitions. Only the ones along the east wall are used for storage, as the ones on the west tend to seep during the spring. I haven’t been down there for years.”

  “Would you mind if I look?”

  “As long as you don’t disturb anything. Sean tried to organize down there. But he gave up—too much junk. Do you know if he made his train?”

  Tessa shrugged her shoulders. It would serve him right if he did miss it. First, being all flirtatious and then accusing her of what? Being nice? Why couldn’t she ignore men like Candace the queen of never getting too involved?

  The reverend stood. “Why don’t we get a bite of lunch, and then I’ll send you down to the catacombs. Don’t forget to take an extra flashlight. The lights down there are not very reliable.”

  Tessa followed Reverend Cavanagh out the back door to a little two-story stone house. They entered through the kitchen door.

  “My housekeeper is forever making too much food. She forgets it is only me. Sean comes by a couple times a week, but he mostly stays in the city.” He opened an old museum-quality Westinghouse refrigerator. “Tuna salad and green Jell-O?” He made a face. “Probably the no-sugar kind, too. I keep telling her this stuff is for hospitals. There should be some bread in the keeper if you want a sandwich. Will you get me a slice of rye?”

  Tessa sat across from Reverend Cavanagh as he said the prayer. It was one of the longest prayers she ever heard. By the time he finished, she was sure he’d blessed most of the residents in town with everything from help with a case of bursitis to some kid’s college entrance exams. The only thing he was vague about was “a miracle for Sean.” The reverend even prayed for her and the window. Tessa didn’t think anyone but her grandmother ever prayed for her.

  “So, tell me truthfully, were you expecting to be paid for fixing our window?”

  Tessa squirmed. “My fee had never really been discussed. Mr. Beaufontaine left the details out when he emailed me. Since you arranged a place for me to stay, I am fine with the arrangement.”

  “But you would have liked to be paid.”

  “I won’t lie. I’m a college student, so, of course, I would have liked to be paid.” Seeing she was about to be interrupted, Tessa held up a hand. “But after seeing the window, it seems fixing it is the Christmassy thing to do. I mean, this town is so full of cheer and tinsel, fixing this window seems like a part of it.” Tessa took a bite of her salad before she was overcome entirely by nostalgia. She sounded like a Homefire movie. But the town did look like one of the shows trademark Christmas sets.

  “I am glad you are willing to do this. Will you be able to stay for our Christmas Eve service?”

  “No, I need to leave no later than the twenty-third to get to my grandmother’s in Connecticut. I should finish before then. The hardest thing is going to be finding glass. There is a twelve-inch square area needing to be completely rebuilt. When you cleaned up, you didn’t happen to save the shards, did you?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. I put them in a shoe box. I wonder what I did with the box.”

  “Catacombs” was a perfect description for the cellar of the church. The number of boxes was overwhelming. It took Tessa only a few tries to realize the labels were not always accurate. Some items had been reboxed in plastic banker’s bins. These were marked accurately. Unfortunately, they only represented the last twenty years. A quick perusal of the several storage rooms showed decades and even centuries worth of memorabilia stacked next to each other. She discovered that 82 might be 1982 or 1882. The only thing she found in meticulous order were the ledgers recording deaths, births, and marriages, which were lined up on a shelf in the first room.

  Two long boxes with shipping labels to someplace in Ohio sat on the only table not covered in dust. Curiosity got the best of her.

  Organ pipes. Why on earth would they be here? A note was attached inside of the eight-foot-long box.

  Please repair in time for Christmas. I am quite sure the reeds need to be replaced in at least two. And, yes, I was insane enough to attempt the repair myself.

  Sincerely,

  Sean Cavanagh

  She read the date. Two weeks ago. Why hadn’t he sent them?

  Closing the lid, she searched for an answer. On the corner of the table sat a blue shoe box. She didn’t need to look inside to know the window shards would be in the box.

  Could it be that the church was so short on funds they couldn’t afford to repair both?

  She pulled out her phone to search the cost of repairing organ pipes only to find the catacombs lacking in cell service. She’d check later.

  Tessa continued her search of the older boxes and found a flyer from a victory dance from November 1918. She held the nearly century-old pamphlet and let her imagination run away with her. She could picture some girl getting her first kiss after the dance to celebrate the war to end all wars only to have her son be sent off to the Second World War when he turned twenty. If people knew how much pain lay ahead of them, would they still have fallen in love?

  She put the paper back and moved on to the next box. Dog-eared copies of Handel’s Messiah. From the dust on the box, it was obvious they hadn’t been used for at least a decade. When she was twelve, her grandma had taken her to a sing-along presentation of the famous oratorio. She wondered if the church still had a choir to sing it or if that too had gone by the wayside.

  An hour later she’d visited almost every decade but the seventies. It was hard to stay on task surrounded by so much history. She read the sermon given the Sunday after JFK was shot, and was reduced to tears. One box must have served as a lost and found from when women wore white gloves. Not one of the three matched, but the one with mother-of-pearl buttons fit perfectly.

  Suddenly the lights flickered, then went out. A bit late to remember the warning to bring a flashlight. Fortunately she had her phone.

  She met the reverend at the top of the stairs.

  “Lights are out up here, too. I am going to check the fuse box.”

  Tessa followed him and was somewhat surprised to find the box was not one of the old types where you had to stick pennies over the fuse to get it to work. The sun
was setting; she had no idea she had been downstairs so long. “Look, the rest of the block is dark too.”

  Reverend Cavanagh closed the breaker box. “Well, they finally did it—put up so many lights on the square they shut down the entire town. Let’s go light some candles.”

  Tessa followed him into the sanctuary.

  “One advantage of being a church—I always have candles.”

  Tessa heard the strike of a match as a tiny light sprung to life.

  The reverend shook out the match after lighting five candles. “I often wonder what it was like in here 180 years ago. Was the building as drafty then? How did the congregations share it? Morning Mass and evening worship, I assume. When they built this place, did they stay on their own sides, or did the Italians help the Irish? Most of the information we have of those years is from stories passed down, and even those are dying.”

  For a moment he seemed lost somewhere in the past. He gave a sigh and shuffled to the first pew. “Did you find what you needed down there?”

  “I found some wonderful things but not anything about the old window repair. I did find the window shards as well as some pipes to the organ.”

  “Yes, Sean repairs and tunes organs. He has been keeping this one in shape since he was a teenager. But this time he tells me there is something he can’t fix. Now he says the organ won’t work right for our Christmas Eve performance. He doesn’t have enough faith. The music always comes. But he doesn’t believe in miracles.”

  Tessa wasn’t sure she believed in them either. Was there a way to get the pipes repaired in time? She hated to ask Mandy, but none of her other friends had an excess of money. Maybe it wasn’t as expensive as she thought. If only she could figure out a way to save money on the window without sacrificing quality. She realized the reverend was asking her a question. Had he been talking the whole time?