by Susan Wiggs
She spent several minutes organizing the little ones, making a game of putting them in rows at the back of the stage area. She enlisted a parent—Mrs. Andrea Hubbell—to assist her. “You’re so wonderful with children,” Mrs. Hubbell commented. “Are you planning to have your own one day?”
Maureen laughed to cover her reaction to the woman’s audacity. People tended to ask this of single, unattached women her age—as if being twenty-nine placed her personal life in the public domain. She considered ignoring Mrs. Hubbell’s question, but decided that would be rude. Being from a large, close family only strengthened the assumption that she was moments from popping out babies.
“Every child who comes through the library doors is mine for a little while,” Maureen said, her stock answer to the too-frequently-posed question. “It’s one of the best things about being a librarian.”
“Kids without the commitment,” said Eddie. “You get all the cuteness with none of the mess.”
“Very funny,” Maureen said, surprised he’d caught the exchange. Why did people never bug guys about starting families? It was a double standard. People should be nagged on an equal-opportunity basis. She clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “We’re ready to start.”
Ray played the familiar opening chords of “Away in a Manger.”
The first three children stood shoulder to shoulder, looking very small in the empty setting. Maureen gave them a smile of encouragement. Emily, Ginger and Darla were their names.
“All right then, girls,” she said. “You’re up.” She nodded at Ray.
According to her schedule, this should take three minutes. The children merely stood there, white-faced and frozen.
“Is everything all right?” Maureen asked.
No response. The girls looked at each other as the piano repeated the opening notes. There was not a sound from the stage, though. The middle girl, Emily McDaniel, leaned over and whispered to the one on the end.
“Is something the matter?” Maureen asked.
Emily scurried down from the stage. Leaning in close and cupping her hands around Maureen’s ear, she whispered, “Darla has to pee.”
“Oh.” Maureen looked at Darla. “Do you?”
Eyes wide, Ginger shook her head. “Not anymore.”
“Oh, man. She peed,” yelled a little boy. “Check it out, she peed!”
“She totally peed,” another kid chimed in.
Darla burst into tears. The other two girls joined in, weeping in sympathy. Chaos erupted—some kids crying, others laughing, some chasing each other. Darla’s mother cleaned up her child and the puddle on the stage which, Maureen couldn’t help thinking, was where Sunday worship took place. As Chet’s camera panned across the scene, Maureen was tempted to join in with the bawling children.
“What’s next?” she whispered to Eddie. “Fainting? These kids are scared to death. Am I that scary?” She studied his face. “Don’t answer that.”
“I was going to plead the fifth. No offense, Maureen, but you’ve got them lined up like prisoners in front of a firing squad.” Before she could reply, he got up and grabbed his guitar. As he exited the pew, he passed so closely in front of her that their bodies brushed together. She felt the warmth of him, caught his scent, and for a second, she was the one nearly fainting.
He smiled down at her, his blue eyes full of knowledge. “Excuse me,” he said. He made his way to the stage, looking like a giant amid a sea of little people. Then three big electronically-enhanced chords sounded. It was as if Elvis himself had entered the building. Everybody froze for about three seconds. That was all it took for Eddie to stride onto the stage, handing out tambourines, triangles and marachas from a box. Then he launched into “Joy to the World”—not the traditional version, but the one by Three Dog Night. Within minutes, the youngsters were singing “Jeremiah was a bullfrog” and leaping around the stage. Maureen felt torn between outrage and amusement. She didn’t dare look back at the parents. They would think she’d lost control of the situation the very first day.
The final “joy to you and me” resounded, and then Eddie took his seat in their midst, strumming a few chords. Something happened—his face and demeanor changed as though he went somewhere else, or maybe the muse took over, and he turned into a different person as he started to sing softly. The children joined in, and the magic of Christmas seemed to move through them. Their faces glowed, their voices floated in the rafters. He was masterful with them, coaxing the song from their hearts. He had them take turns, each singing a line or two by themselves.
Maureen was so mesmerized that she forgot to take notes. It didn’t matter, though. She knew the children’s chorus would be just fine with Eddie’s help. It was such a singular moment that she set aside the schedule and sat back to listen.
She’d known he could sing. Everyone knew Eddie Haven could sing. But she hadn’t seen him in action up close before, and she’d never seen him play in person. Ray Tolley took a seat beside her. She’d known Ray all her life, though only in passing. He was a few years older than her. And apparently, he was friends with Eddie Haven.
“You look gobsmacked,” he remarked.
“I didn’t know he…” Her voice trailed off. She couldn’t quite get her head around the idea of this new Eddie.
“Yeah, he’s good with kids. Works with teenagers in some music program in the city. Did you know that?”
“He sounds too good to be true.”
“Nah, don’t get me wrong, he knows how to be a jerk, same as the next guy. But I give him credit for his work with kids.”
“It’s going to be a great pageant,” she murmured to Ray.
“Word. There was never any doubt.”
Oh, yes there was, she thought. She had totally doubted Eddie.
He finished with the little ones, then returned to her side to listen while Ray took over.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Just doing my job.” By the end of the first hour, Maureen’s spirits were high. She was finding talent and enthusiasm among the students, and it was giving her high hopes for the show. She grabbed her clipboard again and started writing. Her notes were dotted with stars and happy faces. A clear game plan took shape, involving little angels, shepherds and chorus members. She noticed Eddie still wasn’t making any notes at all. He sat back, ankle crossed over his knee, hands clasped behind his head, and listened with polite attentiveness. At one point, she leaned over to him and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want to make any notes?”
“I don’t have to make notes,” he said. “The ones I like, I’ll remember. Mrs. Bickham always kept the cast really small.”
“I’m aware of that.”
“Made for easier rehearsals.”
“My purpose is not to make things easier on myself,” she declared. “It’s to celebrate an event that changed the world.”
He grinned and propped his knees on the pew in front of them. “Yeah, good luck with that.”
The next auditions would be crucial, more than anyone could know. They were charged with choosing students to play the principal roles. She had no pop culture trends to hide behind, only the enduring message for the ages. She listened to the girls’ auditions with the highest of hopes. Fortunately, there were no tears and plenty of talent.
The male roles, of course, she expected to be more challenging. And Maureen couldn’t stop thinking about what Warren Byrne had proposed. He wanted to see his grandson, Cecil, as the angel who announced to the world that the Savior had been born.
It was a pivotal role, of course, and if young Cecil was a disaster, it could ruin the whole show. If, on the other hand, he was merely adequate, or even quite good, she could choose him and give the library a fighting chance for survival. It still felt as though she was making a deal with the devil, but was she? What harm in making a choice for the library?
Three large boys jostled their way onto the stage. Eddie sat forward. “Oh, good,” he said. “These are the Veltry broth
ers. I asked them to audition.”
They looked like cutups, the kind of kids who hid out in the library and bugged each other with their snickering and noise. Two of the three were in need of haircuts and the third had a broken front tooth. As they jostled their way onto the stage, Ray murmured, “They’re in foster care right now. Eddie and I will keep an eye on them.”
Maureen’s heart softened and she offered a smile of encouragement.
“Can we sing together?” asked one of the boys. “We sing in harmony.”
“Sure, go for it,” Eddie said before Maureen could object.
They snapped their fingers to the beat, and went right into a doo-wop version of “We Three Kings.”
The smile on Eddie’s face expressed exactly what Maureen was thinking. The boys were natural and engaging. When they finished, she asked them each to read a passage. That was where the trouble started. They were poor readers, stumbling over words, hesitating and mumbling.
“Thanks, guys,” Eddie said. “Good job.”
A stocky boy with earnest eyes and bad skin stepped up. “Cecil Byrne,” he said, standing stiff and upright.
All right, thought Maureen, moment of truth. “Whenever you’re ready.”
The boy cleared his throat. He was blushing furiously, holding his hands in white-knuckled fists at his side.
Uh-oh, thought Maureen. It was not looking good for Cecil. Who named their child Cecil, anyway? There was nothing specifically wrong with the name, but it was precisely the kind of thing other kids would make fun of.
He took a deep breath, then let it out and finally began. The first few notes wobbled tentatively from his lips.
Maureen’s heart sank. She wanted him to be wonderful and he wasn’t. He—
A large hand covered hers. Eddie was not trying to hold her hand but to keep her from drumming with her pencil on the clipboard.
She forced herself to be still and fixed her face into what she hoped was an expression of mild encouragement.
Although the notes were uncertain, they were on key. That was something, at least. On the next couple of lines, his voice gathered strength.
Maureen sat forward in her seat. All right, he wasn’t half bad. He was…extremely adequate. He was quite good, actually. Yes, he was. Yes. He read his lines without incident and hurried away.
He turned out to be just what she needed—a deserving kid who could adequately fill the role. He didn’t need to be brilliant, because he came with an added bonus—his grandfather just happened to be in a position to save the library.
Merry Christmas to me, she thought.
“Thank you, Cecil. The cast list will be posted tomorrow.” And you’re going to be one happy boy.
There were a few more tryouts and she was gratified to know she had good choices for all the roles. With enough practice and hard work, they could create a meaningful, memorable Christmas pageant. If the Angel of the Lord was mediocre, perhaps other elements in the production would overshadow it. Flaws could be edited out of the PBS show. At least she hoped they could.
As she gathered up her things, Maureen realized they had not stuck to her schedule at all. From the very first audition, they had been derailed. It didn’t matter, though. “Productive evening,” she said to Eddie as the last student left the floor. She was about to ask him if he wanted to help her assign the roles. Then one more student showed up.
“Sorry I’m late,” said Jabez Cantor.
It was the boy from the library. The boy with the eyes. He wasn’t on her list, but it didn’t matter. From the first moment she’d met him, she’d felt drawn to Jabez, and she was interested to see if he had talent.
“Whenever you’re ready,” she said. “The floor is yours.”
“I’ll start with the reading if that’s all right.” Unlike most of the students, he didn’t seem nervous or bashful in the least. Quite the opposite. He behaved as if he was supposed to be there.
And as it turned out, he didn’t read from the sheet she provided, with a passage from Luke. Instead, he spoke the words simply and directly:
“…And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night…”
The recitation had the most curious effect on Maureen. The boy had such a presence with his oddly old-fashioned longish hair and straightforward manner. He was a natural storyteller. The age-old words became new again. It was as if she was hearing the passage for the first time. She was riveted, yearning to hear the rest of the story. Which made no sense at all, since she knew the rest of the story by heart. Some things, she reminded herself, simply defied logic.
She glanced over to Eddie to see if the recitation had the same effect on him. But his face was in shadow and he held himself statue-still.
Jabez finished with a tiny smile that reminded her that he was just a kid. Then he started to sing, and that was when, for Maureen, the world shifted.
The moment the boy named Jabez started to sing, Eddie felt a rare shimmer of awareness, the feeling of being in the presence of a singular talent. People who had been gathering their things to go stopped what they were doing to listen. Even restless little kids turned their faces toward the stage and paid attention. The guy was great. He didn’t even know how great he was. He was enough to carry a whole show, for sure. That was it, then. The casting was done. Put this kid front and center, and everything else would fall into place.
Chet’s camera stayed on after Jabez’s performance was done and people trickled away. Ray Tolley offered the Veltry boys a lift home, and they found the prospect of a ride in a squad car too interesting to resist. Eddie started gathering up cords and equipment and putting things away.
The camera crew, though fairly discreet—for a camera crew—bugged Eddie. Just having them around reminded him of his very public childhood. He didn’t make a big deal of it, though. The more you resisted, the more intrusive they got. He’d figured that out a long time ago.
“Don’t mind us,” said Josie, the producer, with a casual wave of her hand. “We’re just getting some footage of the casting process.”
Eddie figured that would have all the drama of watching paint dry. Glancing over at Maureen, he expected to see satisfaction on her face. After all, it wasn’t every day you met a kid with a voice and presence like Jabez. Yet her brow was furrowed and she appeared to be chewing the eraser off her pencil. Eddie wondered what the hell had her so worried, anyway. Clearly, she was just a worrier.
Mrs. Bickham hadn’t been a worrier at all. Back when she was in charge, casting decisions had been made with ease. “Who do you think for this role?” she used to ask. Then he’d tell her, and that would be that.
Something told him this was not going to be the case with Maureen.
Also, Mrs. Bickham didn’t mind letting him laze around plinking on his guitar while she took charge. Now here was Maureen Davenport who actually expected something of him. What a concept.
They talked about the casting as they put up the sound system and folded away chairs. Or rather, she talked and made notes on a rolling white board while he put things away.
He didn’t have much to say, anyhow. He was still blown away after listening to Jabez. That boy was nothing short of spellbinding. Hearing him made Eddie glad, for the first time this season, to be on this project. He was no fan of Christmas per se, though he did believe in trying to be a part of something larger than himself. And frankly, anything beat sitting around with his folks, reminiscing about Christmases past, the good times they’d all had, such fun, such adventure. Did they really think so, or was that just something they said? People told themselves all kinds of stories to make their lives bearable.
“…just right in that role, don’t you think?” Maureen was asking him.
“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t catch that.”
“Chelsea Nash,” she said, “in the role of Mary.”
Crazy hair, braces, glasses, nice tone to her voice, Eddie recalled. “Okay,” he said,
and went back to coiling up the power cords.
“Do you have any thoughts about the Magi?” she asked.
“Yeah, historically they didn’t actually show up until a week and a half after the fact.”
She regarded him with eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Just because I’m not a librarian doesn’t mean I don’t know anything,” he said.
“What I meant was, who do you see in those roles?”
“I know what you meant. Just wanted to show off.”
She flushed, then shifted her gaze uncomfortably to the camera. “Anyway, what about those roles, then?”
“The Veltry boys. A no-brainer,” Eddie said immediately.
She plucked a pencil from the bun in her hair and drummed it on her clipboard. “I liked their singing. Their reading was…problematic.”
“They’ll be great, you’ll see.” He hoped like hell he wasn’t lying. Ray had said the kids had it rough, but Eddie sensed they’d rise to the occasion. He’d make sure of it.
“And then I thought…”
He wouldn’t have noticed anything if she hadn’t hesitated. But she did hesitate, and he noticed.
“You thought what?”
“Jabez could have the part of Joseph and Cecil could be the angel of the lord.”
Eddie resumed his dismantling of the sound system. “You mean the other way around. Jabez is the angel and—what’s his name? Yeah, Cecil. Poor kid, he was such a cipher. He can be Joseph.” Placing the speakers on a hand truck, Eddie wheeled them to a storage closet. By the time he emerged, she still hadn’t said anything. The look on her face was one of physical pain.
“I didn’t mean it the other way around,” she said.
He frowned. No way she could be that out of touch. “Sure you did. Joseph only has, what, the one line and a duet with Mary. The Byrne kid can handle the part. The angel is the whole production—you know that. We all heard him. He’s a showstopper. He’ll bring down the house.”
