Andrew
He shook the man’s hand, passing a bankroll to him and nodding a silent ‘thank you’ before closing the front door. Noticing a smudge of paint on his hands from the exchange, he moved toward the kitchen to get a wet rag. He looked out the window above the sink, his gaze steady, his mind set. The tension enveloping the world grew thicker everyday, but the clarity of the path ahead of him coursed through his body as if it were his very blood. He would fly to Munich in an hour, despite the rumors of war. Tossing the rag onto the counter, he silently prayed Mary would understand and stared at the sun sitting on the horizon. His desire to go to the mission field had overtaken everything else. The portrait, still drying in the living room, would not be much consolation to his fiancée, but it was the only way he could think of to say goodbye.