She was a beautiful woman with fair skin and a pretty face. Her hair was sun kissed brown and fell to her mid back, loosely braided. Her eyes were like lights: a soft pale blue with a hint of her father's grey. She was tall, slender, and elegant. She wore a seer's cloak over her plain pastel dress. She carried herself with grace, and there was a sweet innocence about her which he deeply loved.
He swallowed, trying to find his voice, and he felt the heat of the redness in his cheeks.
She laughed softly at his embarrassment, and his heart beat lightly.
'Such a blithe spirit for such a precious lady.'
He closed his eyes and swallowed again, trying to refocus his mind. He wanted to ask her how long she was staying. If she would remain in Damascus for still a while longer, perhaps they could meet again, but his heart feared for her departure, and he could not muster the courage to ask.
"You speak very well," she told him.
His eyes shot open, and he looked at her straightly. "That's very kind of you to say," he said, smiling. "You liked it, did you?"
She nodded. "Very much so!"
"Have you read my books at all?" he asked her.
She shook her head.
"Hm..." he said, "I'll get one for you."
He walked across the stage back past the podium and went to a small table with various books piled on it.
"Hmm..." He thoughtfully considered the varied titles. "Which should I give her?"
He saw the tan cover with the light red binding and the words written on the top: Hearts of Service. He smiled, picking it up. "That one!"
He flipped through the book, happily contemplating the expressions of his heart brought through written word.
'I should write something for her.'
He removed a pen from his pocket and thought for a moment, drumming the butt of the pen against his pursed lips.
'What shall I say? I hardly know the woman, but she is so very dear... and so very lovely. Yes, lovely...'
He took the pen and moved the tip skillfully across the virgin page, leaving the plain white paper stained with a beautiful trail of black ink. He wrote a short note, expressing his heart to a stranger in the least intrusive way possible.
Dear Miss Garner,
It is my great and inexpressible pleasure to have met you, and it is my extreme hope that we might meet again. I find your spirit lovely.
May you enjoy this book. It is my heart.
Forever In Your Service,
E. H. Webber
Content, he carried the book back to her and presented it with a bow. "For you, Miss," he said, smiling. Her eyes lit at the kindness of his presentation, and his joy increased, his face glowing with satisfaction.
Her hands received the gift, gripping the cover, and she bowed her head out of thankfulness and courtesy. "Thank you," she said, her face sporting a broad grin. "Thank you, Mr. Webber. I'll read it." She lifted her head and their eyes met.
"I'm sure you will," he muttered mildly.
There was a strange familiarity about her, and he was vaguely discomforted to note how quickly he had become so deeply attached to the lady. Nevertheless, his heart would not be dissuaded from its fondness.
"Eliezer, a word," entreated a man from the hinder part of the stage, and he turned to the familiar presence of the overseer.
He turned his eyes again to the woman. "Miss Garner," he said almost apologetically, "if you would, please, excuse me."
"Of course," she said.
"Thank you," he said, taking his leave of her.
He entered through the door into the back halls of the congregation building where there was a small office and a meeting room now filled with people. There were assembled all the leaders of the congregation seated around a large table, and he felt himself become entirely uncomfortable at the sight of the many familiar faces.
'This is about my place here, isn't it?'
"Eliezer, we've been talking," one of the men began, and he felt his heart sink.
'This is it, then. They're going to ask me now, and what can I say to them?'
The man stopped, his mouth agape, and their attention turned to the space behind him. He turned around, perplexed.
There stood a man a few inches taller than he was with red toned copper hair. The man was exceedingly well dressed, and his coat was classically decorated. He had light, peachy skin and orange-brown eyes like his. He wore on his face a neat mustache with a chinstrap beard and a confident smile. He was also familiar, someone he had seen before, perhaps in passing.
"My apologies, gentlemen," the man said, "but I'll be taking Mr. Webber from you."
"What?" one of the men responded, having been taken entirely off guard.
"I'm afraid I need to speak with him for a moment," the man explained.
"Come now!" another of the men protested. "Just who is it that you think you are to come and take a man straight from the middle of our meeting?"
"You mean you don't know?" the man said, cocking his head with a grin. "Well, better you don't, especially now. After all, if you knew, then you might also suppose why I'm here, and I can't have that."
"Carder," another man breathed, and all eyes turned to him in stunned silence. "Take him," the man said plainly, and the men's gazes slowly returned to figure looming in the doorway.
'The Councilman? No wonder I've seen him.'
The stranger's eyes glinted with recognition, and he laughed. "Why, thank you." He bowed. "Mr. Webber, if you would, please," he said, gesturing him invitingly down the hall. "I'll be borrowing your office," Carder informed them.
As they walked the hall together, Eliezer could not help but wonder what a member of the ruling council could possibly want with him, and he was a little concerned that he may be in some sort of trouble over his writings.