A middle-eastern woman was set into the center panel. She stood alone, clothed in a red dress and adorned with gold necklaces and headbands that held down a patchwork of crimson scarves. I've never thought Arabic women very attractive and this glass one was no exception. For all her homeliness, she had eyes that looked out of the glass right into your soul. But it was a shame those striking eyes looked out underneath that one eyebrow. Below her was a white man in rowboat sculling away from what looked like a burning island. The same man was in the top panel of the last window only here he looked a little older and was being pursued through an old European city at night by a cloaked figure holding a dagger. The deep blues, purples, and grays of this nocturnal panel gave it a particularly rich feel.

The next panel was my favorite, it showed a pale thin man in royal French costume complete with powdered wig and painted mole. He looked straight ahead and clutched a flintlock pistol in his right hand. The pistol, pointed up, was held next to his head in position for a duel. Behind him, in a blossoming cherry orchard, I could make out the outline of his opponent. The artwork was incredible. I could see the urgency in his face and I could sense his emotion. There was no doubt that this man was fighting for his life. His face showed confidence, but not an ounce of fear and if you looked at him long enough, he almost seemed to be suppressing a smile. Odd. The last panel showed the same duelist blowing and shaping an orange glass ball in a workshop.

I sat and looked at the panels in different orders trying to make sense of them. The sun had broken over the horizon and shot directly through the panels, sending hundreds of colored beams onto the hardwood floor around me. I looked down at the books on the pew and realized I was awash in the colors as well.

"It's beautiful this time of the morning, don't you think?"

It was her voice. I turned around and tried to spot her in the maze of colors. "Poppy?"

"Up here."

I looked up out of the colors to the balcony in the back of the room. I had noticed its underside earlier but hadn't realized that it served as her bedroom. She looked down at me from behind the railing, the black silk robe fastened around her narrow waist.

"Yes it’s very beautiful--"

"Which is your favorite?" she asked before I could finish my sentence.

I turned and looked at the different scenes. "Him," I said, pointing to the right-hand window. "The duelist, definitely the duelist."

"Mine too."

"Who are they?" I said, keeping my eyes locked with the duelist's.