Star Carol for Celeste

by Karen Hall

  Music drowned her words, trapping her for a moment in the tiny alcove. She shed her coat and hat, leaving them on the table and followed the sound to the parlor where

  amazement halted her in the doorway, taking her breath away.

  Grouped in a circle, sat the residents of Hope House. Duncan and Toby had violins tucked under their chins; Timothy played a viola while Jasper’s knees gripped a shining cello. A little to the side, Bart played an upright piano. When had it arrived?

  Lost in their concentration of a simplified version of Handel’s For Unto Us a Child is Born, the men were oblivious to her presence. Celeste sank into the chair by the door and waited, letting the music wash over her as the words echoed in her head. Wonderful! Counselor! Almighty God, the everlasting Father….

  “Miss Celeste!” Toby’s voice interrupted her thoughts and their playing. The others, red-faced to the man, swiveled in their chairs. Bart turned his head in her direction and put his hands in his lap.

  “We forgot it was Thursday, lads,” Jasper moaned. “Miss Celeste always comes on Thursdays.”

  “Getting the piano for Bart must have driven that right out of our heads,” Toby said glumly.

  “Clean out,” Tim agreed.

  “And now she knows our secret,” Duncan sighed.

  “Why wouldn’t you want me to know you were musicians?” Celeste cried, coming to stand before them. “You sound wonderful!”

  The four string players traded glances. “’Cause you told us you once studied music at a fancy school,” Duncan said at last. “We just kind of scrape away at it.”

  “What I heard was not scraping,” Celeste argued, not sure whether to be annoyed or amused at her friends. She looked over them at the silent Bart. “Bart, that was beautiful. Where did you learn to play?”

  “I took lessons from my father when I was a boy,” he said. “He was quite talented, but it wasn’t the same after he died. I really didn’t want to study with anyone else, but I continued to play for my own amusement, even though my step-father thought playing the piano was unmanly. There were no end of rows when my mother insisted my younger brother also study music. He was the one with the real talent. The fighting got too much and when I was old enough I left and eventually joined the Army.”

  “’e told us that last week,” Toby told Celeste. “And since we all had our own instruments, it didn’t seem right for ‘im not to have one. So we rented ‘him a piano. It wasn’t the prettiest one in the shop, but the clerk swore it was a good one.”

  “It is, Toby,” Bart assured him. “And since I can’t see it, it doesn’t matter what it looks like. It sounds recently tuned to my ear. And—”a droll expression crossed his face and he wiggled his eyebrows. “Since I have perfect pitch, I can assure you, it sounds quite fine, as do we all. Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Celeste?”

  “Oh, my goodness.” A sudden thought set Celeste’s skin tingling with excitement and she had to grip the back of Toby’s chair. “Would you gentlemen consider playing for the new children’s choir at Saint Alban’s?” And she told them what Headmaster Dobbins had done. “We’re probably only going to sing a traditional carol, but to have a quintet play with us would be wonderful!”

  “Is this contest important?” Jasper asked.

  “It’s one of the most important in London,” Celeste said. She did not add that one of the judges was a positive ogre.

  “You don’t want to find some real musicians?” Tim added his own question. “We wouldn’t want to mess it up for you and those children of yours, Miss Celeste. What we do here at Hope House is like Bart says, for our own amusement, not like we was professionals.”Tim’s grammar isn’t always correct, so I’d like to leave it as.

  The others, Bart included, nodded and a wave of affection brought tears to Celeste’s eyes. “I’d be proud to have you play for the choir,” she said, fighting against the wobble in her voice. “I don’t want anyone but you.”

  “Then we’ll do it,” Duncan said. “Just tell us what you need us to learn. How long do we have?”

  “Several weeks,” Celeste said, relief replacing the worry she had carried since Headmaster announced his scheme.

  “Then let’s have our tea and talk about it,” Duncan suggested. “I’ve made a chocolate cake with walnuts to go along with the pasties and sliced ham.”

  The men stood and Celeste guided Bart into the kitchen. Once they were seated and Duncan had served them, she asked, “So musical talent runs in your family, Bart?”

  “Yes. My younger brother was brilliant, particularly at the organ.” Bart’s usual wistful expression relaxed into a smile. “Years after I left home, I heard a rumor he won a scholarship to some academy in Kent, but my step-father made it clear he would find a way to bring charges against me if I tried to have contact with my family, so I never learned the details.”

  “You should have tried to find your brother after you got back from the Army, Bart,” Tim said sympathetically.

  “I’m blind, Tim. I didn’t want to be a burden to Micah. Besides, I have no idea where he is now.”

  “Micah?” Celeste whispered, struggling to her feet. A cold dread seized her heart, chasing the warmth from her skin. “Your brother is named Micah?”

  “Miss Celeste, what’s wrong?” Toby asked. “Ye’ve gone the color of parchment. Jasper, take her cup. She’s shaking like a leaf in a Newcastle storm. Sit, Miss Celeste before ye fall over.”

  Jasper did as he asked, but Celeste remained standing. Clutching the edge of the table she asked, “Bart, might your middle name be Edward?”

  “Why, yes, Miss Celeste. Bartholomew Edward Collins is my full name. How did you guess that?”

  “And would your brother’s surname be Anderson?”

  His sightless eyes widened. “Yes. But how do you know that?”

  Celeste sank into her chair. “Oh my Lord,” she whispered reverently. “Oh my Lord.”

  Chapter Five

  “Ohhhhhh! Stah of wondur, stah so bright! Stah... what’s the rest of them words, George?” The man holding the bowler to his chest stopped his song and peered through the pub’s smoke at a bearded man across the table.

  “Don’ know,” George said thickly. “Never learned tha’ one. Hey, you!” He turned to the table beside him and slapped Micah’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Wha’s the rest of tha words to tha’ there carol my mate’s singing?”

  “Is that what you call it? Singing?” Micah did not raise his gaze from the study of his mug’s contents. A few more of these and a dreamless sleep— one without Celeste— would be guaranteed. Coming here instead of brooding in his rented rooms had seemed like a good idea at the time. Good thing too they were a short cab ride away. After three pints, he wasn’t entirely sure he could trust his legs.

  “’ey!” The man with the bowler protested. “Iss not tha’ bad.”

  “If you like to listen to mules braying, no,” Micah agreed before draining the remainder of his ale and setting his mug on the table. By damn. I sound like Phillip Tate.

  “Oh, yeah? You wanna take it outside?” The drunk staggered forward and grabbed Micah’s shoulder. “You looks like a fluffy one to me.”

  Whistles and cat-calls sounded around them and Micah got to his feet. His one advantage in this would be his height. At six feet two inches without shoes, he towered over his opponent.

  But his hands. His hands would offer no protection at all.

  Still, honor demanded he put up some kind of response.

  “A fluffy one, do I?” Looking down at his opponent, Micah smiled. “Let’s take this outside indeed. My wages won’t cover the cost of broken crockery.”

  “Micah!”

  A feminine voice stopped the mounting jeers, bringing the pub to silence, and it was Micah’s turn to peer through the smoke at the approaching figure. “Celeste?”

  The men parted as she moved between the tables, and one or two snatched off their hats. Her gaze pinned him where he stood, and a dull ac
he started in his heart. What a fool he had been to think that he could have any kind of happiness without her. Please God, let her give me another chance.

  She reached out and put her hand on his arm. “Thank God I found you,” she gasped. “Your landlady told me you liked to come here.”

  “Celeste, what are you doing here? And how do you know where I live ?”

  “I told Headmaster there was an emergency and he gave me your address. Oh, Micah, you must come with me at once.”

  The anxiety in her voice held the power of a general’s command, and Micah grabbed his hat from the table. “Of course.”

  He started to follow her but his opponent let out a cackle. “Little woman’s got you tied to ‘er apron strings, don’t she? Nice looking bit of bottom under that skirt. I’d like to have ‘er tied to me own self.”

  Pivoting, Micah curled his right hand into and slammed it into the man’s nose and chin, followed by a knee to his groin, sending him to the ground in a heap. By Heaven, my hands did work after all.

  “That’s for my ‘little woman’, you bastard,” Micah snarled. “Any of the rest of you want some of me, it will have to wait.”

  He didn’t stop to hear their replies, but followed Celeste out of the pub and into a waiting cab, taking the seat opposite her. The cab lurched forward, flinging her into his arms.

  “Sorry,” she said, struggling to escape.

  “I’m not,” he said, pulling her up to sit beside him.

  “Celeste, listen to me. I was wrong five years ago. I never should have…”

  “You’re not drunk are you?”

  “Only on the thought of you giving me another chance.”

  Micah took her hands. “Did you hear me? I was wrong. There’s been no one but you. I let my head be turned…”

  “Micah,” she interrupted again. “You must prepare yourself. I think I’ve found your brother.”

  His hands slid away and he fell back against the side of the cab. “What are you saying?” he rasped. “Bart? You’ve found Bart?”

  “I think so.”

  “But he’s dead,” Micah whispered. “Killed in action. At least that’s what my mother always believed. Bart joined the army and we never heard from him again.”

  “That’s because your father threatened him with legal action if he tried to contact you.” Celeste covered his hands with hers again, bringing them a much-needed warmth. “But Micah, there’s something you must know first. Bart’s…”

  The cab halted abruptly , nearly sending them to the floor. Celeste opened the door and they tumbled out. “Wait here, please,” she called to the driver. Grabbing Micah by the arm, she led him up the steps of a two story brick house and opened the door. “We’re here!” she called, pulling Micah along. Pointing at an open doorway, she released his arm and stepped back. “In there,” she whispered.

  Blessed Savior, no! Shock forced the air from his lungs, and Micah grabbed at the doorframe as his eyes riveted on the room’s lone figure sitting on the sofa. The tall thin man stared across the room, his eyes wide and blank. He turned his head toward the door, listening to Micah’s ragged breathing.

  “Micah?” he asked softly. “Brother, is it really you?”

  “Bart.” Joy propelled Micah across the room to fall at the man’s feet, enfolding him into his arms. “Bart,” he gasped as tears overtook him. “Bart.”

  “Little brother,” came an answering sob, and Micah felt Bart’s tears against his neck. “It really is you.”

  They clung to each other , their soft weeping and murmurs of wonder the room’s only sound until Micah lifted his head to stare into Bart’s face, and for a moment, horror overwhelmed him. “Good God, Bart. You’re blind!”

  “Yes,” Bart said simply, cupping Micah’s face between his palms. “It’s why I didn’t try to find you after I got out of the Army. I didn’t want to be a burden. That and I didn’t know where you were.”

  “But why should that matter?” Anger replaced Micah’s horror. “We’re brothers, Bart. Here, feel this.” He put his hands in Bart’s. “Feel that? They’re too crippled to play the organ or piano or anything anymore. All that training and I can’t use it.”

  “What happened to them?” Bart asked, stroking Micah’s fingers with a feather-light touch.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Micah promised. “That and everything that has happened in all the years since you left.”

  “I’d like that.” Bart’s grin erased any remaining sorrow. “And where is the lady who is responsible for this reunion?”

  “I’m here, Bart.” Celeste entered. “Lads,” she called. “You can come out now.”

  A door on the other side of the room opened and four men trooped out. One was blowing his nose into a large handkerchief.

  “That’s the nicest thing I’ve ever seen,” he choked. “Miss Celeste, you’re a miracle worker and that’s a fact.”

  “Amen,” chorused the other three.

  “Micah, meet my friends,” and Bart introduced them. When he finished, he added, “but I would say that the lady certainly needs no introduction.”

  “Hardly,” Micah agreed, standing to go to where Celeste sat in a chair by the door. Tears stained her face, but she smiled as held out her hands for him to help her stand.

  “So I was right,” she said. I’m so glad for you both.”

  “Celeste.” Micah raised her hands to his lips. “My star. My beautiful, shining star. How am I ever going to thank you?”

  And then lowering his voice, he whispered, “How could I have ever left you?”

  A rosy blush stained her cheeks, but her gaze remained steady, and a brilliant light began twinkling there as she wrapped her arms around him. “Merry Christmas, Micah.”

  “Let’s go to the kitchen, lads,” Duncan suggested. “I think these two are going to need a moment alone.”

  And with Bart in tow, the smiling men left the room.

  ***

  Two weeks later

  “So you are the Saint Alban’s Children’s Choir.” Phillip Tate’s slightly bored voice read their name from the sheet on the table in front of him.

  “We are,” Celeste said proudly, giving the children behind her a quick, approving glance.

  “And that is…”He pointed at the five men grouped to the side.

  “We’re the Hope House Quintet,” Toby declared, and the others nodded.

  “How very quaint,” Rochelle Durham yawned. In her day, she had been one of England’s most celebrated sopranos, and her temper every bit as bad as Tate’s.

  Tate’s gaze narrowed. “Wait, a minute. I know you. You’re Celeste Stillwell, one of my former choral students.”

  “That’s correct,” Celeste affirmed.

  Tate transferred his gaze to Micah, who sat beside Bart on

  the piano bench. “Micah Anderson? Hartwell Academy’s star organ prodigy. Playing for a children’s choir? My, my how the might have fallen.”

  “Not playing,” Micah called. “I composed the selection the children will sing for you.”

  “An original composition?” Daniel Hastings, the contest’s third judge and music critic for half a dozen newspapers, asked incredulously. “In this competition? You’re joking.”

  “Nothing in the rules against it,” Micah said.

  The judges laughed and there was no mistaking the derision in their voices. “Well, if they are to be the last group we will hear, we can at least be amused,” Tate chortled.

  “Please, sing us your little song. Dare we ask its name?”

  A Star Carol for Celeste, Celeste almost said, for that is what Micah had named it. Instead she smiled over the heads of the judges at the assembled crowd and said, “Star Carol.”

  “No music?” Rochelle asked.

  “We’ve memorized it,” Noah called from the back row of the risers.

  The judges laughed again. “At least they’re wearing choir robes,” Hastings said.

  “Probably rented,” Rochelle smirke
d. “Saint Alban’s is not what I would call the best endowed school.”

  “Let’s get on with it,” Tate yawned. “It’s been a long afternoon and I’m becoming decidedly peckish.”

  Celeste turned and faced the children and her heart sank at their worried expressions. They weren’t too young they didn’t recognizethe judges’ bad manners.

  “Don’t mind them,” she whispered. “You are musicians. You are a choir. You can do this. Keep your eyes on me and listen to the music.”

  She glanced at the quintet and began holding up her fingers.

  “One,” Micah murmured to Bart. “Two. Play.”

  Bart played the opening notes to set the pitch, and Celeste mouthed the words, “One, two, sing.”

  Oh, blessed star that shines so bright,

  Over us this darkest night,

  Oh blessed star that shines so bright,

  Over us this darkest night,

  Lead us to that sacred place,

  Where we might see the Savior’s face.

  The children sang in unison and without music, their voices blending into one perfect, pure sound and silence settled over the hall. Celeste canted her head ever so slightly to the left as the first verse finished and the quintet began to softly play as the voices divided for the second verse.

  Even though we are so cold,

  We hurry on for night grows old

  Even though we are so cold,

  We hurry on for night grows old

  Guided by the starry glow,

  Showing us the way to go.

  The bell-like quality of the voices in three part harmony filled the room with their warmth while the strings and keyboard wove a tapestry of shimmering sound around them. Micah’s heart swelled with pride as he watched the woman he loved conduct children—who until just a few weeks ago had never sung outside a church—sing now for a room full of professional musicians. A quick glance at the crowd took his breath away, and he gently touched Bart’s arm.