An All-Consuming Fire

by Donna Fletcher Crow

  In spite of the cold, though, the wet fields across the valley glowed emerald beyond the crooked, ancient stone houses running higgledy-piggledy up a meandering street with misty moors beyond. Two little old ladies walking their dogs went by, carrying shopping bags. Felicity slowed her step, filled her lungs with the invigorating moist air and looked around with that disoriented-yet-familiar feeling she often had. It was as if she’d been living in England all her life and as if she’d been dropped on another planet all at the same time. Then she had it—it was like living in a storybook. Certainly, if she were ever to write a children’s book this is what she would want the illustrations to look like.

  She was headed back to the cottage, her parcel of pink ribbon tucked under her arm, when she encountered a clutch of teenagers and recognized some who had helped with clearing out the quarry a few days ago. What a disaster that had been. She wondered if they had made any more progress on getting the theatre useable. She did hope the project wouldn’t have to be canceled. “Hi. It’s Tanya, isn’t it?” She greeted the small, hollow-eyed girl, then looked around the circle. “Have you been at the centre?”

  Tanya more ducked her head than nodded. “Yeah. Practice, like.”

  Syd, his hoodie pulled well forward over his face, broke out with a ragged, “Glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-ria, glo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ria,” that seemed to shock his mates as much as it did Felicity. She was delighted with the idea that the sullen, self-appointed leader of the miscreants could have been won over by the Christmas spirit. Then she saw the glitter in the eyes behind the hood and was afraid it was more likely another kind of spirit. Or something worse?

  One of the boys elbowed him sharply. “Get ’im. Thinks ’e’s an angel.”

  Felicity tried not to show her dismay. “Great. I’m so glad Kendra has you working on the carols. How’s it going?”

  “Tanya’s going to be narrator.” The announcement of a smiling Afro-Caribbean boy behind Tanya made the girl’s head droop even lower and her shoulders hunch forward.

  Felicity’s heart sank. Could she possibly coach this shrinking violet to project?

  “And Balram,” her informant added.

  Felicity scanned the group. When her eyes met those of a good-looking Indian youth he all but bowed. Her heart rose. Ah, there was hope. “Wonderful! Are you busy now? Would you all like to go up to the theatre and give it a bit of a run-through?” She made the suggestion with considerable trepidation, wondering in what condition she would find the theatre.

  Syd and a couple of the other boys slid away from the group but the others followed her along willingly enough. At the cottage she told them to go on to the theatre as she ducked in to give her mother the ribbon and pick up her script. She caught up with them just in time to open the gate to the community. On the way around to the back she fell into step beside the informative Joaquin from Jamaica who told her with considerable pride that he was to be Joseph and Flora to be Mary. Felicity looked at the bouncing brown curls of the chubby girl he indicated and nodded with approval.

  They had just passed the Calvary beyond the monks’ cemetery and picked up the path to the quarry when there was a rustling in the bushes ahead of them and the assistant groundsman emerged to block their way. “Oh, Alfred, you startled us,” Felicity said. “We’re on our way to the theatre for a bit of practice. There’s no problem with that, is there?”

  He looked over the group, then shook his head. “None at all, as long as you’re with them. But see they don’t leave any litter. Just been cleaning up again.” He indicated the trash bag beside him on the ground.

  More rubbish since the clean-out? Felicity was dismayed. How could it be worse than before? The grounds were locked to the public after dark. And the monks certainly wouldn’t litter. “Don’t worry, we’ll be careful,” she assured him.

  Once into the theatre, though, she stopped and stared. She had left before the work finished Thursday, but she never imagined they had accomplished so much. “This is amazing! I had no idea it would look so great.”

  Habib and Aisha beamed. Habib said, “Our father brought men from the mosque. The Imam said it was community service. It would show good will for your winter festival.”

  “It is good to work together,” his sister added.

  “Absolutely!” Felicity couldn’t wait to tell Antony. This went beyond the scope of even his ecumenical council. One tiny advance for good will. Perhaps there was hope after all. “Right. On the stage, all of you. I want you to get the feel of being up there.”

  They scampered across the newly scythed floor of the quarry and up the steps at the side of the structure dominating the far end of the arena. Two or three of the livelier ones began a cavorting dance while others, restrained by shyness or manners stood in a small huddle to the side. Felicity approached the quiet ones. “That’s great, Tanya and Balram, just move downstage a little bit. That should be a perfect spot for the narrators. Joaquin, let’s put Joseph and Mary here for the moment, of course, you’ll enter from the back of the quarry.” In her mind’s eye she pictured them coming down the stone steps and making their way through the audience. She wondered if Nick and Corin had managed to procure a donkey.

  It all began to take shape in her mind. She could see the torches flaring around the rim, hear the murmur of the audience, feel the excitement of the performers. She could even smell the smoke from one of the warming braziers. Then she realized what was wrong. She smelled actual smoke.

  But none of the youth on stage had lit cigarettes. She spun toward the stairs and was down and behind the structure in moments. “All right, you lot. Come on out,” she called into the stygian understage. She spotted a couple of pinpoint glows. If only she had a torch she would go in after them, but she realized her disadvantage. Their eyes would be accustomed to the dark.

  She held her breath. What should she do? Send someone to fetch Alfred? She couldn’t leave the youth here alone. To her relief the red dots disappeared and a scrabbling sound told her they were emerging. She held her breath, praying they wouldn’t be hulks set on making trouble. What had she led her teens into?

  “Sorry, Miss. It were just a bit o’ fun.” The first figure took shape in the light.

  “Drue?” What was Flora’s little brother doing here? Surely he wasn’t old enough to be out alone.

  Two more figures followed. They appeared to be only slightly older. “What is the meaning of this?”

  Felicity summoned her most authoritative manner from her short-lived career as a school teacher. Drue hung his head. “We didn’t mean no harm. I was just showin’ me mates this place. It’s wicked.”

  “And the cigarettes?” She hoped they hadn’t been smoking anything worse.

  Drue shrugged. “Found them there.”

  “But how did you get in?”

  “Lock’s rusted.” He pointed in the direction of the bottom of the community grounds.

  A memory flashed across Felicity’s mind—A wet February day, running with Antony through the back of the monastery, uncertain whether they were fleeing the police or a murderer—or even whether or not Antony was the murderer. They had left by way of the same dilapidated gate on that fateful day.

  She nodded. “I’ll tell Alfred. He should have fixed that long ago.” She turned to the two boys still standing just inside the doorway of the structure. “And you are—”

  “Ralph ‘n Eddy,” Drue offered.

  “Right. Ralph, Eddy, Drue—as long as you’re here you might as well join us. On the stage with you.” At least she could keep them in sight that way. But she would definitely be reporting this incident to the groundsman. Something was going on here that shouldn’t be.

  “Okay, let’s just sing the first verse of ‘O Come, All Ye Faithful’ then, Balram, you begin the narration with ‘and there went out a decree…’ Remember, nice loud voice. You’re speaking to the back wall of the quarry.”

  The rehearsal proceeded, in spite of the fact that the singing was beyond ragged and the na
rrators inaudible. She tried to hide her consternation from the youth, most of them were overwhelmed enough at the idea of performing in public. And she suspected that those who were the most boisterous were the most intimidated.

  “Tanya, ‘when the days were accomplished that she should be delivered…’ is your line. Joaquin, that’s your cue. When she says it you pick up the doll that will be in the manger and hold it up.”

  They followed instructions—more or less. How could she possibly convey to them that they were portraying the greatest miracle in the history of the world? The birth of God incarnate. “That’s right, Joseph, hold him out like you’re so proud you could burst. Mary, smile. You’re incredibly happy.” She addressed Joaquin and Flora by their stage names.

  She turned to the discordant chorus. “Fine. That’s a good start. Just one verse of ‘Silent Night’ now, then I’ll let you go.”

  At least some of them made enough of an effort that she could be reasonably sure they knew the words. Surely Kendra was planning to let them use songbooks. Assuming they could read.

  “Great, great.” She tried to sound enthusiastic. “This was just an impromptu, get-your-feet-wet thing. We’ll have the angels next, then shepherds. The Wise Men will be the big finale because that’s what Epiphany is all about.

  “You can all go now, after all, it’s Christmas Eve. Narrators, Mary and Joseph, try to read through the script a few times over the holiday to get familiar with it. We’ll rehearse it all on Boxing Day. Thanks for your good work, everybody. Happy Christmas!”

  A chorus of “Happy Christmas!” echoed around the quarry as her charges raced across the floor and up the steps. Felicity followed more slowly. What had she taken on? Thank goodness Kendra had promised a sound system. And the singers weren’t Felicity’s problem. But she could only imagine the chaos when two dozen unruly youth took to the stage along with sheep, llamas and a camel, for goodness sake.

  Camel. Who had Kendra cast as the wise men? What else should she be worrying about, Felicity wondered. For the moment her priority was to find Alfred and alert him to the faulty security. At least that explained the reappearance of trash in the newly-cleaned quarry.

  Alfred, however, was no longer working in the area of the monks’ cemetery, nor was he in the garden behind the monastery. He was sure to be at the service this evening, though. She could manage a quick word then. At one of the services at least. Felicity counted on her fingers—was it seven services they had ahead of them? Last year she had scampered back to London and spent the holiday going to shows and parties with friends from university and from her brief time living in London and teaching Latin in a C of E school. This year she was determined to soak in the complete ‘Christmas in a Monastery’ experience. She hadn’t broken it to Cynthia yet. She wondered what her mother would say.

  It wasn’t long before she found out.

  “First Evensong of Christmas? How many are there?”

  “Two. One to start the festivities off and one to conclude them. Like bookends. That is, it will conclude the day—not the season, you understand. We still observe the twelve days of Christmas.”

  “Just like the song. How quaint.” Cynthia continued with a decided note of irony, “Festivities, you say. As in Gala, feasting, merrymaking?”

  Felicity knew her mother would be skeptical. A year ago Felicity would have felt the same herself.

  “Festivities as in one of the great Feast Days of the Church.”

  “Somehow I was afraid of that. Going to church, you mean.”

  Felicity admitted that was what she meant and made no attempt to explain that she was looking forward to it. She could never explain, even to herself, how the change had come about. The monks called it formation. And that seemed to be what had happened. A year and a half of just living the cycle of seasons by the Church calendar and now she couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

  Miraculously, Cynthia simply said, “I’ll get my coat, then.”

  The community grounds were dark and deserted, but when they entered the church the light shone in the darkness. A bank of candles glowed in the austerity of the monastic church, reflecting on the pillars and marble altar against the backdrop of darkened apse beyond. Felicity had become accustomed to Solemn Evensong as celebrated in the community on all feast days so now she held her breath, waiting for the chink of the thurible before the procession began, the gleam of candlelight on gold vestments, the echo of the stately chant. And she was not disappointed. Father George, as presiding priest, wore a splendid white and gold cope and the monk serving as thurifer swung the thurible with vigor, sending clouds of incense heavenward during the Magnificat. The Gregorian Chant was hauntingly lovely as it reverberated among the Romanesque stone arches. Yet, for all the solemn splendor, the service followed its normal rhythm of psalms and canticles chanted antiphonally, a scripture lesson followed by silence and concluding with prayers and a hymn. It was soon over.

  Too short, Felicity thought. The preceding week had been filled with alarms and fears. Sudden death, even. But here all was beauty and peace. She was safe. She got reluctantly to her feet and looked around for Alfred. Even here the unpleasant encroached. She needed to warn him about the intruders before they caused more trouble.

  But Alfred didn’t seem to be there. As soon as the monks filed from the choir she looked around. Most of the ordinands had gone home, but a few married students, for whom this was home, as well as some of the workers who supported the community in the office, kitchen, or gardens had filled the seats behind her. But not the under groundsman. Tony, the senior groundsman, had small children and would be at home with them. Oh, well, it could wait.

  Felicity and Cynthia walked back, arm in arm, across the monastery grounds, the clouds bright with ambient light against the dark sky. Felicity wondered what her mother thought of the service, but she didn’t want to break the companionable mood by asking.

  It was Cynthia who spoke. “Do you have any idea how amazing that was?”

  Felicity’s mouth fell open, but she didn’t say anything.

  “Don’t take all this for granted. Don’t ever take it for granted.”

  “Um, what do you mean?”

  “It’s so civilized. So set apart. Such a unique experience. Do you realize what a minute fraction of the population get to experience such a life? Don’t take it for granted for one minute.”

  “Yes, Mother.” Felicity frequently had similar thoughts, but she had no idea her mother might feel that way, too. Did that mean her mother actually approved of her choice? She gave Cynthia’s arm a squeeze in reply.

  Felicity pressed the button to open the massive wrought iron gates in the stone wall surrounding the monastery and they crossed the road and slipped around the corner to the cottage. They shared a big bowl of pesto pasta, eating it in front of the Christmas tree with carols on the radio. It was as perfect as it could be without Antony there. She smiled. Next year would be their first Christmas together. The first of a whole lifetime.

  The sound of Felicity’s alarm clock broke through her reverie. She had set it so she wouldn’t forget. “Antony and I agreed we’d pray Compline together at the same time every night we’re apart. We, or I, can just do it here rather than going back up to the community.” Felicity said it as a question. She didn’t know how Cynthia would feel about that. And she was wondering what kind of reaction Antony would get on his end from his sometimes prickly sister Gwendolyn.

  But Cynthia wasn’t the least equivocal. “Of course. Tell me what to do.”

  “Would you like to light the candles in the Advent wreath?” Felicity held out the book of matches to her mother. This was the night when they could finally light the tall white Christ candle in the middle.

  “‘He comes in splendor, the King who is our peace; the whole world longs to see him.’” Felicity read the opening line, then passed the book to her mother for the response.

  “‘The eternal Word, born of the Father before time began, today empt
ied himself for our sake and became man…’”

  “‘Guide us waking, O Lord, and guard us sleeping; that awake we may watch with Christ, and asleep we may rest in peace.’” The service concluded.

  They sat in the light of the advent wreath, listening to the music, “Silent Night, Holy Night.” Peaceful, warm, companionable.

  Why couldn’t life always be like this? In this moment Felicity could easily believe the alarms and worries of the past days had all been phantoms.

  Chapter 13

  Christmas

  The ringing phone broke the spell. Momentary apprehension seized Felicity. What had happened now? But when she heard Antony’s voice at the other end of the line her contentment returned. Doubled even.

  They exchanged news. Yes, of course they had both prayed Compline at 9:15 as agreed. Antony’s surprise at his sister Gwena’s consenting to join him and Aunt Beryl had been as great as Felicity’s surprise at Cynthia’s acquiescence. It was hard to beat the Christmas spirit.

  “Have you seen anything of Derrick?” Felicity enquired after Gwendolyn’s boyfriend that Antony and Felicity had both found less than satisfactory.

  “No, thankfully. He no longer seems to be in the picture.”

  Felicity made a satisfied sound, then began telling Antony about the impromptu rehearsal earlier that day. Even after mentioning the smokers under the stage, the chaos of the acting, and the broken lock she was surprised at the change of tone from his end of the line. “Felicity, don’t! Er—that is, be careful.”

  “What are you talking about?” He didn’t reply. “Antony—what is it? What’s the matter?” She could tell he didn’t want to say more. “Tell me,” she insisted.

  “Maybe it’s nothing. I don’t know what it means. It could be anything.”

  “Antony—” She sounded threatening.

  “I found a note. In my coat pocket. It fell out when I pulled out my gloves. A warning.”

  Felicity frowned. “What? What did it say?”