Into the Clouds

by Marilyn Leach

  “Indeed.” Berdie worked at a gentle smile. “I’m marshalling the troops, so to speak, if you care to join me.” Berdie gestured forward.

  “How very generous, thank you.”

  This was all rather difficult, but then, when did things go perfectly? Besides, what else was she to do with her unexpected guest?

  Hugh and his accompanying acolytes had fallen in behind the balloon squad.

  “What’s going on?” Hugh half whispered to Berdie.

  “Darling.” Berdie lifted her brows. “This is Mrs. Mikalos, Linden Davies’s mother-in-law. She’s joining me.”

  “Only momentarily,” Olivia Mikalos assured.

  “Welcome to St. Aidan of the Woods.” Hugh was generous, but Berdie heard a hint of hurry up in his voice.

  “We’ll be underway soon.” Berdie gave Hugh that glance he alone understood as her commitment to forge on in her task, accompanied or not.

  The acolytes with Hugh fidgeted about and the one bearing the ornate, carved cross nearly dropped it.

  “Pay attention,” Berdie warned the youngsters. “Children always bring an air of adventure to a gathering like this, don’t they?” Berdie directed to Mrs. Mikalos.

  “Adventure. Is that what you call it?” The woman’s smile was genuine as she drew her hand across her linen top, and glanced in the direction Linden had taken.

  Just a quick step and they were upon Lillie, who anxiously looked about. “I can’t seem to locate Linden Davies. His choir is here, but…”

  “Linden is a dear. He works desperately to try and manage things,” Olivia broke in. “He’s sure to be here in a flash. Ah.” She pointed, and Linden, with robe aflutter, jogged toward them.

  Lillie looked to Linden and then stared at the woman.

  “I’m Linden’s mother-in-law,” she explained.

  “Oh, good morning,” Lillie bounced. “Well, all’s well, then, as they say.”

  Linden arrived gulping the warm spring air. “Not there,” he panted to Olivia.

  “I’ll go find them myself.” The woman’s shoulders tightened.

  Linden’s eyes widened. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  Mrs. Mikalos cocked her head. “I said I’ll find them.” She turned to Berdie. “Thank you, Mrs. Elliott. As I said before, what would we do without our families?” With that, the woman turned on her heel and marched down Church Road with no little determination.

  Linden shook his head. “Mercies upon us, dear God.”

  “Something wrong?” Berdie asked.

  Linden gave a weak smile. “No, no, nothing.”

  This turn of events gave Berdie the freedom to put her entire concentration on things at hand. However, she perceived a large, imaginary elephant sitting right on Church Road between Linden and his mother-in-law.

  “Come on, Linden. We must start.” Lillie grabbed his elbow to guide him the few steps where three other choirmasters waited in front of the massive choir.

  Berdie gave Lillie’s hand a light squeeze, and then soldiered on through the eighty plus choral members. Vocalists from surrounding churches and villages joined together to form The Ascension collective choir. Everyone wore red robes borrowed from the W.H. Monk School of Music in Timsley.

  “Very smart.” Berdie addressed Dr. Avery, a mezzo soprano with St. Aidan’s choir, who simply nodded while conducting her breathing exercises.

  Grayson Webb had edged between the choir and the band, staff in hand. He cleared his throat and thrust his chin forward, a sign, Berdie surmised, that meant, he was ready.

  The gathered musicians, also from various outlying areas, were poised to begin, with the exception of Lucy Butz, who wiped lip gloss from her clarinet reed.

  “Ready are we, Lucy?” Berdie called to the seventeen-year-old.

  The teenager shot an I’ll-be-ready-when-I’m-ready glance at Berdie.

  Berdie took a deep breath. Teenagers.

  Berdie called to Jamie Donovan who stood behind the band holding the final banner. “Standing sure, Jamie?”

  “Easy-peasy,” the best striker on the village football team proclaimed. His strapping arms showed no strain at all.

  “Now be sure all who are on the streets and join the procession do not tag after you, but are in front of you.”

  “I’m the closer, Mrs. Elliott,” he said with joviality in his Irish accent.

  Berdie eyed the banner and paused. She looked for the positive. “It’s quite colorful.”

  Jamie wasn’t quite so kind, although he kept his voice low. “I think the slain dragon looks like a lizard sunning itself. You know?”

  “But what it represents, that’s what’s important.”

  “Death to evil,” Jamie declared in full voice. “And that’s why I’m proud to carry it.”

  By now, Lucy was once again in the process of reapplying fresh lip gloss.

  “Really,” Berdie muttered and decided the music would have to commence without the primping teen. “Well, Lord, here goes, then,” she whispered. She caught Mr. Webb’s eye and gave him the nod that put the full brigade in motion.

  He raised his staff high above his head, held it steady for three counts, pulled it down, and the band commenced playing.

  Berdie took her place beside them.

  Her husband thrust the Bible with both hands upward as the front banner began to move forward.

  The musicians played the joyful introduction to the exuberant “Hymn for Ascension Day.” A wrinkle of movement became an expansive wave of humanity that edged forward. At just the right moment, the eighty-voice choir began and lifted their many voices as one.

  Hail the day that sees Him rise,

  Ravished from our wishful eyes!

  Christ, awhile to mortals given,

  Reascends his native heaven.

  A ripple of excitement coursed through Berdie’s body. Music swirled with grandeur. The choristers and band sounded as if they performed from the very portals of heaven itself. “Magnificent,” Berdie breathed. Her body stepped with the river of praise that proceeded the few yards down Church Road. Berdie caught the scent of a nearby magnolia tree in full bloom. She inhaled, her nose bathed in the fragrance of spring.

  The troupe began their turn to enter the High Street, where shops, offices, and a few residences comprised the village center. The green, at the bottom of the lengthy street, was the parade’s destination.

  Once round the corner, Berdie could scarcely take it in. The pavements in front of shops and offices brimmed with people. Exhilaration ricocheted up and down the paved street. An explosion of applause began to swell through the onlookers.

  Then the great engagement began. People observing stepped to and fell in behind the band. Berdie even heard some singing the familiar hymn as they walked.

  Conqueror over death and sin:

  ‘Take the King of glory in!’

  Children eagerly clung to their parents’ fingers, enraptured by being a part of the procession.

  Berdie watched Batty Natty, along with her caring niece, Sandra, join other elderly congregants who found their stamina and stepped lively alongside the others.

  “Lucy,” a lad called and waved from a crowd of young men who tried to appear casual. But they, too, were unable to resist the tide and fell in to the procession. Buoyant with laughter, adolescent girls followed after. Waves of people merged with the gladsome crowd.

  Parishioners and villagers were joined by a whole host of new faces, never-before-seen guests. Though the village green lay just ahead, it suddenly felt miles away. It seemed the whole of Christendom had come to Aidan Kirkwood. And a few others, as well.

  By the time Jeffrey Lawler and the high banner reached the far end of the village green, High Street still teemed with marching people.

  Berdie surged forward and arrived just in time to see Jeffrey plant his pole near Edsel Butz, who fiddled with the sound system.

  “It seems the world and his wife has come to our fete,” she announced.

>   “Where’d that lot come from?” Jeffrey inspected the crowd.

  “They followed you,” Edsel joked. “Or had you not noticed?”

  Constable Albert Goodnight raced, or as close as he could come to it, across the green. “More illegally parked cars than you’ve had hot muffins,” spouted the red faced constable. His uniform barely fit his rotund stomach. He pointed to an empty button hole. “Lost a button tryin’ to squeeze my way through the Upland Arms car park.” He pointed to Berdie. “And I’m holding you responsible.”

  Berdie reared back. “Me?”

  “Well, the church, then.” Albert’s untidy mustache bounced with every word.

  “Not that we’re at fault,” Berdie replied, “but we’ll be glad to access church funds to replace your button.”

  Jeffrey and Edsel put hands to their mouths to hide their smiles.

  “Think positive, Goodnight,” Jeffrey said. “You lost a button, but imagine all the dosh you can take in today on parking tickets.”

  Edsel’s chuckle became a laugh.

  “You could get a proper police vehicle and all,” Jeffrey finished.

  Goodnight’s eyes brightened beneath his bushy brows.

  “Jeffrey.” Berdie looked at Albert Goodnight. “We need you here.” She couldn’t believe she was saying the words. Usually she tried to dismiss him as rapidly as possible.

  Goodnight lifted his chin. “Would you please repeat that, Mrs. Elliott? You need what?” Goodnight was enjoying this.

  What she wanted to say was that she recognized any port in the storm would help, particularly one who wore an insignia of the law. But she chose kinder words. “In a crowd this size the badge could be helpful.”

  Goodnight took a deep inhale and stabbed a finger toward Jeffrey. “I need you to help me with crowd control. Now,” he barked. “I’ll send the missus to see to the parking tickets.” His wife. How like him to do something so unprofessional and probably illegal.

  Berdie turned her attention to the crowd that filled the small green and then some. “Lord have mercy.” She had not anticipated this kind of attendance at their first-ever-in-fifty-years Ascension Sunday procession.

  In what seemed eons of time, the choir made its way to the stands set up especially for the concert, the band came to rest in front of them, and Hugh stood near the microphone stand.

  The balloon-toting youths arranged themselves on the outer edges of the square, and Jamie finally arrived, planting the final banner on the far side.

  The air reminded Berdie of a gymkhana, even though there was no carousel or Coconut Shy for those with good aim.

  Some people were already besieging the refreshment table where Ivy and Lila Butz, plus Cherry Lawler, struggled to cope with the demand.

  Hugh clicked on the microphone and tapped it lightly. No sound. He turned it off. His lips formed a simple, Dear Lord. He flicked the switch again. Tap, tap, tap. “Our Father in heaven.” This time, Hugh could be heard all across the green. He raised his hand. “The Lord be with you,” his voice boomed, “and welcome to our Ascension Sunday procession and concert.”

  An attentive few responded and clapped.

  “Let’s bunch up, so everyone can be accommodated on the green. We have a wonderfully large crowd.” His voice steady and demeanor calm, he was not in the least ruffled.

  Berdie relaxed. Still, in a throng this size it was vital to stay alert.

  “Please make your way toward the choir. They will begin their concert in three minutes. Then we’ll distribute balloons and have an Ascension blessing after which we’ll all simultaneously release the balloons. I know you little ones are excited for that.”

  Bubbles of cheers sprang from young lips.

  “Light refreshments will then be offered.”

  Few paid heed to the reminder that refreshments were after as both children and adults crowded the tables of lemonade and frosted biscuits and buns.

  However, as Hugh said, the concert began three minutes later.

  Many were attentive as the musical swell filled the green and beyond. All but a few were engrossed as it progressed.

  “Lovely.” Berdie let the waves of song sweep her into the sea of their beauty.

  Dr. Avery’s solo was spine tingling, beguiling all who attended. Well, almost all.

  Berdie’s delight was disturbed when she felt a tug on her skirt.

  “How long ‘til we get the balloons, Mrs. Elliott?” Five-year-old Duncan Butz held a paper cup and was accompanied by another little lad.

  “After the concert,” Berdie replied. “But we won’t let go of them until Reverend Elliott gives the blessing.”

  “Mine’s going to go way, way high.” Duncan’s eyes lighted as he pointed upward.

  “Mine higher,” the little lad next him added, sticky icing covering his chin.

  “This is my third cup of lemonade.” Duncan took a drink of the liquid.

  “Save some for your friend here,” Berdie teased.

  His chum made a face. “I don’t like it. Ugh.”

  Duncan thrust his index finger toward a cat winding its way through the crowd. “Can Razor have a balloon?”

  “Only children get balloons.” Berdie eyed the tatty old feline that looked as if he’d stood his ground in more than one tangle. “Is he your cat?”

  “I found him. He likes me.” Duncan smiled. “I gave him some of my bun, and now he follows me everywhere.”

  “Does he?”

  “Just like Arthur.” Duncan nodded toward his little pal, who simply displayed a gapped-tooth grin.

  Berdie laughed.

  The two little ones ran off toward the refreshment table, the cat in hot pursuit.

  The moment the concert ended, an electric verve sizzled amongst the crowd. The refreshment table went suddenly empty. Youngsters thronged the youth who handed out the balloons.

  Berdie counted three skyward escapees when she approached the struggling Kevin McDermott.

  “Hang about,” he shouted to the youngsters. Strings were tangling and young hands tried to grab. His pleading eyes turned to Berdie. “They’re vultures.” He raised his clutching fist to hold the orbs out of the little ones’ reach.

  “As can be seen,” Berdie agreed as she caught a wayward balloon. “Form a queue, children,” Berdie ordered. In a flash, she had the disorderly swarm in three straight columns.

  Each young one, and a few adults, took their prize in turn. The other teens who handed out the inflated treasures managed well. Red spheres all dispersed Berdie signaled Hugh, who tapped the microphone. No sound. Not again.

  Edsel twisted knobs and dials on the sound gear.

  Jeffrey approached Hugh and said something. The young man turned and sped toward the Kirkwood Green Bed and Breakfast, his home and business, across the road.

  Hugh continued tapping the dead microphone with his finger.

  “Come on, Vicar,” someone yelled.

  People began to fuss and there was a sense of restless anticipation. Children milled about and adults chatted aimlessly.

  All the while, Edsel and Hugh wrestled with the sound equipment. Soon others joined them; gawking, twisting, unscrewing, testing.

  Finally, Berdie could just make out Hugh’s voice.

  “Our Father in heaven.” On the barely audible sound system, his words were scarcely heard above the milling crowd. “There it is. Much thanks to Edsel Butz, our electronic specialist.”

  One person clapped.

  “And now may we commence our blessing.”

  Some came to attention, many appeared to be woolgathering.

  Hugh raised his free hand, palm facing the throng. His voice became instantly thunderous. “May the king of glory fill you with…”

  Boom. A deafening blast ripped across the green.

  A roar went up from the crowd along with one hundred sixteen helium balloons.

  The choir hurriedly burst into a chorus of “Gloria,” while oohs and ahhs, applause and gasps, cheers and giggles, ema
nated from all gathered.

  Berdie, despite the agitation of the disrupted blessing, was taken with pleasant surprise at the glorious sight. The mass of scarlet balloons spiraled against the bright blue of the sky. Sunlight dazzled off the circles that danced their way to heaven. It was as if the faith of those present lifted with the red ascent much in the same fashion of the One they celebrated today. What a fitting commemoration.

  Everyone watched the red dots journey on toward the drifting white wisps that decorated the high azure canopy.

  But when the spots had diminished, Berdie’s thoughts catapulted back to the loud boom. Where had it come from?

  By the look of the long queue at the table, Refreshments were at the top of the crowd’s mind, at least for those who had not availed themselves already.

  Berdie approached the men.

  Hugh spoke with the returned Jeffrey.

  “Here’s the starter pistol we planned to use.” Jeffrey showed Hugh a small black imitation pistol and lifted his brows. “Not that it’s of any use now.”

  “But there was a shot fired, a definite shot,” Hugh said with military starch. “I assumed it was yours.”

  Jeffrey shook his head.

  “Why the pistol?” Berdie questioned.

  Jeffrey took a deep breath. “When the microphone didn’t work…”

  “It would get everyone’s attention for the blessing,” Berdie finished and nodded.

  “So who fired a shot?” Hugh knit his brow.

  Constable Goodnight’s laughter interrupted their conversation. Though a few steps away, it was obvious he was showing a handgun to a nearby gentleman.

  A van could’ve driven through Hugh’s open mouth, while Jeffrey shook his head.

  “Goodnight,” Hugh summoned, “did you fire that?”

  Albert Goodnight wore a large grin. “Always wanted to do that,” he bellowed.

  “A live round?”

  The constable’s grin widened.

  Hugh’s grip on the altar Bible turned his knuckles frosty white. “In this crowd?”

  “Did the job, didn’t it?” Goodnight cradled the piece and radiated an I-showed-them satisfaction. “Now, if you please, I have to go relieve my wife.” Without apology he strode off.