Cedar Creek Seasons (13 page)

Boy, she was right. Sitting in the balcony of the dimly lit sanctuary, Seth listened as his mechanic, a Walgreens clerk, his former pediatrician, and thirty more people he thought he knew sang as if they performed on a public TV station’s opera night. He had no idea the choir sounded so professional. The church had hired Chesca right out of college, but she knew what she was doing. This evening she corrected her singers umpteen times, and their final rendition of “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee” made him want to rise to his feet and praise God.

Their expressions, however, didn’t match the incredible sound. More like “Wooden, Wooden, We Will Bore Thee.” Several buried their heads in their music. They laughed and talked between songs, but when they began “‘Tis Midnight and on Olive’s Brow,” faces froze, and the singers looked as if they were about to play in a national poker tournament. Dare he suggest to Chesca that her choir could use a face-lift—the kind that had nothing to do with surgery?

He wished he could see her expression as she directed, but he liked watching her hands. They moved like a potter’s, shaping music like clay. Sometimes she seemed to pull songs from people, drawing them like water from thirty-five wells.

When the choir began “God So Loved the World,” he
had
to see her face. He crept to the balcony’s right side, hoping the dimness would prevent his distracting her or the choir.

She hadn’t seen him. Her intensity made him wonder if she would see him if he fell over the rail. Her movements wrote a praise poem. Her eyes looked past the choir to heaven.

Worship
.

Recently Seth had learned to worship God with a new heart. But this woman? Her very nerves seemed to touch His.

“Welcome, Ms. Appel. Thanks for joining us here at the Cultural Center.”

Seth’s voice sounded uncharacteristically adult. Chesca quieted her giggle into a grown-up smile. Important, because half a dozen children turned toward her as one.

“Thank you, Mr. Amundsen. I’m looking forward to working together.” She knew she sounded as if she addressed a committee, but her brain felt as trembly as her knees. Curious glances approached her, probed—all except the defiant stare from a girl wearing her stringy hair in four random ponytails. Where did she find those 1980s neon scrunchies? And those ill-fitting black lacy fingerless gloves?

“I just finished copying the cantata’s first act.” Seth half apologized in a whisper.

Great. He’s behind schedule already
.

He boomed out, “Introduce yourselves, please. Get to know Ms. Appel while I finish copying scripts.” He zoomed out the door. Chesca gulped.

To her surprise, the children followed his directions.

“I’m Chandler.” The boy, wearing tennis shoes that must have cost a fortune, sounded almost more adult than Seth. He extended his hand. Did she see a flicker of approval in those cool eyes?

“Thanks for volunteering for our Easter play, Chandler. In fact, thank you all for helping us out.” She didn’t know much about kids, but gratitude helped any group grow a positive attitude. She aimed her best smile at Ponytails.

She may as well have tried to impress a gargoyle. Angry eyes raked Chesca from head to foot. The girl turned and wandered away. Chesca felt as if she had failed inspection.

“Stupid weirdo,” Chandler muttered.

“You shouldn’t call her names.” Chesca wouldn’t allow this, no matter how rudely the girl acted.

“I know.” He grinned. “But Zoe’s mean. That’s her name, Zoe Eggers.”

“You’re supposed to say hello to Ms. Appel.” A curly haired girl seemed only too happy to yell at Zoe. “Mr. Amundsen won’t like it—”

“I won’t like what?” Seth, hauling an untidy stack of papers, glanced from Chesca to the children.

“Oh, they get all shook about nothing.” Zoe rolled her eyes. Still, at the sight of Seth, her sallow face colored. Her Wild Child hand brushed an escaped strand of hair out of her face. She pasted on a big smile. “I’m glad to meet you, Ms. Appel. My name is Zoe Eggers, and I want to be an actress when I grow up.”

You’re already quite good
. At least, as far as fooling an apparently clueless Seth. He gave Zoe an approving smile as he distributed scripts. For a second, Zoe dropped the facade, her hunger for his attention as obvious as her freckles.

The elaborate hairdo. The gloves. The way her eyes sparkled like rhinestones at his appearance.

Zoe had a huge crush on Seth. Chesca suspected he had no idea.

The girl seared Chesca with a triumphant glare.

We’re not dating
. She wanted to wipe the smirk off Zoe’s face.

But she knew that regardless of the facts, Zoe had just declared WWI—Woman’s War I—on her.

Y
ou want what?” Ryan dropped his greasy bowl of movie-butter popcorn.

Seth grabbed the bowl before much spilled onto his new living room carpet. These football film sessions always got messy. He repeated, “I’d like you to play a disciple.”

“You want
him
to be some holy guy in a church play?” Matt stared at Seth as if he’d taken a hard hit to the head.

“I want you in it, too.”

Ryan pantomimed laughing himself sick.

Matt, who crunched quarterbacks for exercise during college, looked as if Seth had offered him lace leggings. “No way.”

Seth turned back to Ryan, a history nut. “Have you studied the history surrounding Holy Week?”

“No, not that period.” Despite himself, Ryan looked interested.

“Roman era, political and religious clashes … I could use help in keeping the play authentic.”

Ryan wavered. Seth decided to use his trump card. “Zach’s gonna to do it.”

“Zach?” His friends looked at each other.

“It’s not enough the poor guy had to visit his in-laws tonight.” Matt poked Seth in the chest. “No, you have to go behind his back and ruin his reputation.”

“Call him if you don’t believe me.”

Both fell silent. Ryan shook his head. “Why would Zach even think of doing this?”

Seth grinned. “His mother made him promise he would attend church on Easter. He figured he’d rather act in a play than sit in a pew.”

“He’d rather wear a dress like guys in religious movies?” Matt rolled his eyes.

“A robe, not a dress.” Seth shrugged. “Actually, robes are comfortable. Beats a tight collar and tie every time.”

“My wife bugs me to go to church. Acting in an Easter play might keep her off my back awhile.” Ryan’s eyebrows scrunched low on his forehead. Seth could almost see his friend siphoning information from the Internet into Holy Week history files.

“Forget it.” Matt grimaced. “If you think I’m going to be Jesus in your kiddie story, you’re psycho.”

“Playing Jesus probably wouldn’t work for you.” Seth kept his face straight.
A Hulk-sized, hairy Jesus with tattoos?
“Peter, maybe. Jesus’ friend. Yeah, you’d make a great Peter.”

Matt yanked Seth by the collar until their faces almost touched. “What part of ‘Do you want your face bashed in?’ don’t you understand?”

Though Seth knew his friend was kidding—sort of—he didn’t particularly like dangling from Matt’s giant fists. Throwing up a prayer flare, Seth said, “You owe me, man.”

“Aaahhhh!” Matt dropped him.

“I took your sister out. Your sister, who looks and acts like you—only worse. When you begged me to take her out again, you said—”

“No fair.” Matt crouched on the floor, rocking as if in pain. “I had to spend a whole week with Mandy. I wasn’t myself—”

“You said you’d do anything for me. Anything.” Seth crossed his arms.

“I’ll wash your car every week.” Matt sounded panicky. “I’ll grade your students’ tests. I’ll even go out with
your
relatives—”

“What’s the big deal, Matt?” Ryan shrugged. “Zach’s going to do this Easter play, so I may as well. It’ll keep our women happy.” He looked thoughtful. “I haven’t acted since high school. I played a Nazi in
The Sound of Music
.“

“Now’s your chance to be a good guy.” Seth offered him a fresh bowl of popcorn.

“Anyway, Seth did you a good turn,” Ryan continued. “So bite the bullet, man. Do what you said you would.”

Matt dug his fingers into his mop of frizzy black hair.

Lord, Matt needs to be in this cantata. How else will he hear the real story of Jesus?

Matt finally raised his head, glowering. “Okay. But after this, I owe you nothing. For the rest of your life, I owe you nothing, no matter what you do for me. And if either of you mentions this to anyone, I will find you.”

“Whatever you say.” Seth nodded.
Thanks, Lord
.

No volleyball goddess had ever appeared at choir practice. But, as Chesca’s mother said, there was a first time for everything. Chesca tried several times to start rehearsal, but the six-foot blond still stood in the alto section, laughing and chatting. Not that Chesca wanted her to feel out of place. Still, newcomers usually asked her about auditions before they assigned themselves a section—and a choir folder. This woman riffled through the music as though she owned it. How could she catch up? The choir had been rehearsing the cantata music for six weeks.

Great Christian attitude. You had a busy day at the store and no supper, but chill, Chesca
. She adjusted her face to match her mental turnabout and welcomed the new singer with a smile. “Hello. Are you interested in joining the choir?”

“I’m Taryn Meister. I’m already a member.” She said it with an air of surprise.

The altos echoed enthusiastic assent. “You haven’t heard her sing?” “We’re lucky she’s back.” “Taryn’s wonderful!”

Now Chesca felt like the newbie. “I don’t believe I’ve seen you—”

“I’ve sung in choirs here all my life.” Taryn waved a hand. “I’ve just been busy lately.”

For two years?
Still, Chesca tried to think positive. A person her own age who possessed an excellent voice wanted to participate. “Do you read music?”

“I have a music degree from the UW.”

Perhaps Taryn had wanted Chesca’s job. Did a challenge gleam in Taryn’s perfectly mascaraed green eyes? Chesca decided she was imagining things. “Great. I’m sure you’ll learn quickly.” She stepped back, tripping over the conductor’s stand.

She joined it in a tumble to the floor. Music flew like flapping pigeons. Giggles and cries of dismay mingled. A dozen hands helped her back on her feet and collected music. Cheeks burning, she frantically arranged it on the stand. “Thank you. With your help and God’s, I
will
make it through the Easter season. Let’s get started.”

Once she convinced her choir she hadn’t broken every bone, they focused well. She heard Taryn’s voice above the other altos, powerful and beautiful. Too loud, as if to showcase her talent.
But, Lord, I’ve done the same thing to impress new choir directors
. Chesca felt her cheeks redden again. Surely, as Taryn settled into the choir, she would blend better with others. And with Chesca.

She waved the altos in at a tricky entrance. With Taryn’s strong voice leading them, they nailed it. Chesca aimed a smile her way.

Taryn smiled back. But that feline gaze—why did Chesca feel like a cornered mouse?

E
arly Saturday, the entire cast showed up for their first practice with the choir. On time, yet.

Though he’d arrived at seven, Seth still felt groggy. Had he stepped into a parallel universe?

Nope. Even if he closed his eyes, the long-familiar smell of hymnbooks and lemon oil would assure him he stood in Christ the King’s venerable sanctuary. His motley drama crew, segregated by several pews, peered at him and each other as if to say, “So what are we doing here?”

The two church women he’d recruited to play Mary, Jesus’ mother, and Mary Magdalene were hitting on all cylinders. But the kids and disciples he’d drafted yawned and gaped as if they’d just rolled out of the sack.

Seth chose Cam, a graduate student, to play Jesus because Cam projected a genuinely caring personality. He also possessed the long brown hair and beard people associated with the Savior. But this morning, Cam, slumping lower in his seat every minute, could use a resurrection.