Whispers of the Heart by Ruth Scofield

Or his heart.
    â€œDo you have any newspapers?” Brent asked, strolling toward her at her kitchen counter.
    â€œNo, but I don’t care about this old rug.” She set the bowl down on the rag rug she kept in front of her kitchen sink, then folded herself down alongside it and gently placed the puppy nearby. The dog eagerly lapped a few swallows, then began sniffing and investigating her new terrain.
    â€œTim, don’t get into anything over there,” Brentreminded again, strolling over to the studio area. He glanced at some of the work she had stacked around.
    More still lifes in watercolor, but some were cityscapes, scenes taken from her windows. Shadows played differently against some of the same views, reflecting they were painted at different times of day. But among the smaller sheets against the bookcase, an image of a small boy holding a doughnut, his face smeared with chocolate icing, captured Brent’s attention.
    He recalled that morning clearly. Autumn had, too. She’d caught the very essence of a boy’s pleasure in a simple treat.
    â€œThis is really nice,” he said, nodding toward the painting. Autumn glanced up, then rose to join him as Timmy lay down on the rug to play with the puppy. He picked up the sheet and studied the composition. “You have an excellent eye for faces. You must sell it to me, please. I wonder…”
    â€œOh, I couldn’t sell that one,” she said casually, although the pink staining her cheeks told Brent she didn’t exactly feel casual about the work. Or the compliment? “You may have it, though. In exchange for the puppy.”
    She didn’t look at him as she shuffled some of her dry, unfinished sheets into a portfolio. She swished a brush in a can of water, and replaced tubes of paint into a compartmentalized case. Behind her, a stepladder, painted with trailing vines, leaned against the bookshelves, additional evidence of what she’d been doing.
    â€œThank you, I accept,” he said quietly. “My mother will be delighted with it.”
    â€œA fair exchange.” She remained quiet a moment, then asked, “What do you wonder?”
    â€œHmm…?” He’d been looking at the portrait of his son, his gaze tracing the way she’d captured the very shape of his eyes. He glanced up.
    â€œOh. I have a new project I’m very excited about. A church building. It’s a hundred-plus-year-old inner-city location that a young minister hopes to revitalize and bring back to life. I don’t know where his financing came from, but he seems to have a free hand and he has big plans for it.”
    â€œThat sounds nice. What has it to do with me?”
    â€œI think…I think you should come see it.”
    â€œOh? Why?”
    â€œI’d rather show you. Why don’t we take a run over there and I’ll tell you about it.”
    â€œTell me about it now.”
    â€œAll right,” he said, letting out a sigh. He wished she’d just trust him a little more. “David—Reverend Collier—and I have had several long talks about the restoration of the building and grounds. Though there isn’t much left to the grounds. And the building was put up in three stages, so what we really have are three buildings connected. There’s a long connecting hall, a corridor, really, one side almost all glass windows. The blank wall is crying out for a mural—”
    â€œOh, no.” She shook her head, a firm set to her chin. “I don’t think I want to tackle anything of that size.”
    â€œYou can’t say no out of hand. You haven’t heard my suggestion.”
    â€œWhy can’t I? And I can guess at what you wondered, and the answer is no. I don’t want to take on that much outside work. I don’t like crowds.”
    â€œBut Autumn, this is a very special project. I think you’ll be interested once you see it. It’s not your usual