The Christmas Cantata (The Liturgical Mysteries) (16 page)

"Did Niles write it?" asked Sheila. "I thought I remembered that it was an Appalachian folk song."

"He 'collected' it," I said. "He heard a fragment and made a carol out of it. That was his story, anyway."

"Can we audition?" asked Muffy.

"Nope," I said. "Tiff's singing the alto solo and Bert's singing the tenor."

"Oh," said Muffy, "that's okay, then. I don't sing alto."

We sang through the anthem, worked on it for twenty minutes or so, and I proclaimed it ready for prime time.

"We'll sing this as the anthem in the morning service on Sunday," I said. "It's not often that Christmas Eve falls on a Sunday. We're also doing the
St. James Christmas Service
music for both the morning service and the midnight mass. The cantata will be before the service. We'll begin at 10:30."

"Everyone's coming," said Cynthia. "The whole town, I think."

"Probably not the whole town," corrected Pete. "But a mess of people."

"I'll let Billy know," said Elaine. "They're going to have to put up a lot of chairs."

"I've been telling everyone at the Beautifery," said Goldi Fawn Birtwhistle. "As soon as I read their stars, I tell them they should be here on Christmas Eve. It's just good karma."

"What time do we need to be here?" asked Codfish.

"Ten o'clock would be good," I answered. "We can warm up and go over the service. Now about dress rehearsal. I'd like to change it from Saturday afternoon at three to Saturday afternoon at two. All the instrumentalists can be here. Is that okay with everyone?"

"I think most of us were going to be here anyway. We're decorating," said Georgia. "Starting at noon."

"We'll plan on it," I said. "Now let's sing the entire cantata one time through, start to finish, no stopping."

"Including
I Wonder as I Wander
?" asked Phil.

"Sure," I said.

I began the prelude, covering the instrumental parts as best I could, giving the choir an idea of what would be in store for them when the players arrived. We pushed ahead and sang through the movements, ending with the carol.

When we finished, a hush fell over the church. No choir member said anything and I could see more than a few glistening eyes. They got up, one by one, and in silence, made their way down the stairs and out of the front doors into the cold, cold, starry night.

Chapter 16

On the Saturday before Christmas, St. Germaine was always packed, and this day was no exception. The hustle and bustle downtown was worthy of any Christmas movie ever staged. The decorations had come out in full force as soon as the Christmas crabbiness had stopped. We'd had some decorating going on previously—decorating the shops on the square was, after all, a town ordinance—but folks had been chintzy. A wreath here, a sad strand of cheap blinking lights there. Now the square was in full Christmas bloom. Lights abounded. Garlands, bows, ribbons, and ornaments were the order of the day. Even Noylene's wreaths made appearances here and there to great acclaim. The Rotary Club's Christmas Crèche was up in the park, the last performance scheduled for this evening. It was a beauty. A stable that would be the envy of any miniature chalet in Switzerland. If Joseph and Mary could have stayed in a stable like this, they wouldn't have been so quick to head to Egypt. Kids were gathered around the stalls, enjoying the farm animals that Seymour Krebbs was always happy to provide and supervise on the last Saturday. A Christmas petting zoo, and it was full, animals and children.

We spent the morning in the town, Nancy, Dave, and I, making our police presence known, although it was hardly necessary. Nancy had to have stern words with a woman who wanted to take a picture of her son sitting on Jeremiah the donkey. When Dave caught a boy eating a candy cane he hadn't paid for, Dave shook his finger sternly at the lad, tousled his hair, and gave the shopkeeper a quarter.

"Dave," said Nancy, "did you just tousle that lad's hair?
Tousle?
"

"Why, yes," said Dave proudly. "I believe I did."

"Holy smokes," said Nancy. "I think I'm in Bedford Falls."

Meg joined me for lunch in the park, even though it was cold. We enjoyed a thermos of homemade chicken soup and watched the festivities. There was a caroling group, dressed as Dickens characters, making their way around the square, stopping to sing at different shops. A group of teenagers in marching band uniforms were successfully hawking fund-raising candy bars. There was even a Santa Claus making his rounds. The scene was altogether charming.

At one o'clock, I headed to the church, as I felt I should probably make some attempt at preparation. The church was abuzz with people, decorating and preparing the sanctuary for Christmas. At 1:30 the choir began to arrive. At two o'clock, the choir loft was full, and the decorators began to disappear and leave us to our rehearsal.

I had decided not to play, but rather to conduct the small ensemble and the choir. Since there was an organ part, I'd called my friend from Lenoir to play. Edna Terra-Pocks had a Master's degree in organ from Yale and we'd gone over the piece beforehand. She'd also played at St. Barnabas for a number of months as a substitute and knew the organ well. I wasn't worried about her in the least.

I was worried about one of the bassoonists. Henry Iman played very well but had a propensity towards the bottle. If we could get him to the church, it shouldn't be a problem, as he played as well inebriated as the second bassoonist did sober. The trick was making sure he showed up, and showed up with his instrument. I put Marjorie in charge. Not only was she responsible for getting him to the rehearsal, but on Christmas Eve, she was to pick him up at six, take him to her house, and watch him until she brought him to church at 9:45 sharp.

The flute player was a friend of mine from Boone. She'd brought the clarinetist whom I didn't know, but whom she highly recommended. The oboist was Will Purser. Will was the acting teacher at Lees-McRae College in Banner Elk, but was also a fine double-reed player, handling both the oboe and the English horn parts. Five players plus the organ and me as conductor. With chairs, stands, instruments, and our expanded choir, it made for a packed choir loft. Still, after a few minutes of jostling and settling in, we were ready to begin.

In my experience, the first rehearsal with instruments (of any complex piece) is not going to go smoothly. This afternoon was no exception. I had a plan, though, and had met with the players once during the week. They had a good idea of the scope of the piece. The trick was getting the choir to find their entrances and pitches using timbres they weren't accustomed to. It didn't take long, and once the kinks were worked out, everything flowed pretty smoothly. We'd finished the fourth movement, the last that Bessie Baker had written, and I cut the choir off and had them take their seats. Edna, from the organ, looked at me and said, "Who did you say wrote this?"

"Bessie Baker," I said. "She was an English teacher. I'll fill you in later."

"This is...wow...beautiful," said Will Purser, the oboist.

"Are we going to sing the carol?" asked Nancy. "
I Wonder as I Wander
?"

"No. We're fine on that," I replied. "We'll concentrate on the movements with instruments."

There was a noise in the narthex, and we heard the double doors at the front of the church open, and then bang closed. A moment later Pauli Girl came down the center aisle pushing a wheelchair in front of her, and in that chair was Miss Bessie Baker. How Pauli Girl had talked her into coming to St. Barnabas, I didn't know.

The choir was silent as Pauli Girl rolled the chair all the way to the front steps of the chancel. Then, slowly, she spun the chair around so Miss Baker could see the choir. The old woman appeared much smaller from the balcony than I remembered her just a few days earlier: a small shriveled form bundled in several blankets.

Pete Moss stood up first and started applauding. Meg joined him immediately. It took a long moment for the rest of the choir to understand what was going on, but when they did, they were on their feet, clapping.

"Who is that?" asked Will.

"That's her," I said. "Bessie Baker."

"Wow," said Will, getting to his feet. "Brava!" he yelled.

"Brava," echoed the choir, as the sound swelled. A full five minutes later, the sound started to abate and the choir looked down at the composer in expectation.

"Let's sing it," I said. "Pick up your music."

* * *

It was as good a reading as any dress rehearsal could be. The instrumentalists were wonderfully sensitive. The choir sang as if they were possessed by Lutherans. There were a few bobbles to be sure, but
my
, what a performance. The fourth movement, in my opinion, was the most enchanting of all:

Life has loveliness to sell,

Music like a curve of gold,

Scent of pine trees in the rain,

Eyes that love you, arms that hold,

And for your spirit's still delight,

Holy thoughts that star the night.

We sang the last line, heard the instruments finish as the sound of the choir died away, and then stood in silence, looking down at the old woman.

"Well?" she said. She was frail, but her voice still commanded the room.

The choir looked around at each other.

"Well, what?" I called down to her.

"Well, where's the rest?"

"
I Wonder as I Wander
?" I said. "We'd be happy to sing it for you."

"Good Lord, no!" she said loudly. "I hate that carol. Where's the rest of the piece?"

"That's all we have," I said. "That's where it ends. There is no more."

"You don't have the last movement?"

"That's all there is," I said.

She turned to Pauli Girl. "Take me home," she said in a hard voice.

"But Miss Baker," said Pauli Girl, "it's not their fault..."

"And
you!
" Bessie Baker pointed up at me. "I'll expect you at the nursing home in an hour."