“I miss you, too, Manda Bear. Why don’t we move to the same city and get an apartment together?” Lauren suggested. They were trying out some dark blue polish Lauren had found. “It worked in New York.”
“I know,” Amanda said, with longing in her voice. When they were both in school in New York, they had shared an apartment in Brooklyn. But then Lauren had taken a job in Boston, and Amanda had moved into Manhattan to share an apartment with friends.
“It would be so much fun,” Lauren said.
“It would be fun. Except that we would need jobs in the same city. I just need a job, period.”
“I think this church thing will work out. You don’t have to stay there forever. But it will get you out of Mom’s shop and back into music.”
“Does that mean you’re going to move back to Cape Light and get a job here, too? We can get an apartment in the village. In some cute Victorian with a turret room. Like sisters in a Jane Austen novel.”
At a certain point in high school, she and Lauren had devoured the complete works of Jane Austen, starting with Pride and Prejudice and working their way through the rest of the novels with ease. And they watched all the movie versions so many times over that they sometimes started talking to each other as if they were the Bennet sisters.
Amanda was teasing, of course. It was bad enough that she had to give up her dream of living in a big city. She would never want Lauren to meet the same fate.
“The sisters in Jane Austen novels would never be allowed to live in town on their own, Amanda. They would have to live with a chaperone, a maiden aunt, or a widowed friend of the family,” Lauren reminded her. “Besides, Mom and Dad would have a fit if we lived in town and rented instead of staying here. Maybe they would let us make an apartment in the basement. Remember when we put up all those posters and Christmas lights and turned it into a dance studio?”
“That was total genius.” Amanda smiled at the fond memories, especially of the dance routines they’d made up. “Okay, so if our jobs don’t pan out, you move back home and we’ll open a dance studio in the basement. Deal?”
Lauren laughed and shook Amanda’s hand. “Deal. Oh, sorry . . . I smudged your polish.”
They both checked Amanda’s manicure. There was a tiny smudge on her thumb, but Amanda didn’t mind. “No worries. This color is a little intense for me.” She knew Lauren loved it. She had always had a bolder fashion sense. But it reminded Amanda of model paint she had once used for a school project. “I think Sapphire Midnight nails would be pushing it a bit for my interview, don’t you?”
Lauren laughed. “Right. Not the best choice for the new church music director. We must have Celestial Pink or Heavenly Clouds around here somewhere . . .”
While Lauren searched the plastic bin where the girls stored manicure supplies, Amanda began removing the dark polish. “New church music director”? The words were a little jarring. It was not a title she had ever aspired to. But Amanda pushed her doubts aside. She would meet with Reverend Ben and hear more. One step at a time.
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING, SHE WOKE BEFORE THE ALARM, AND DRESSED quickly in a dark blue sweater, gray skirt, and black boots. She pulled her hair back in a low ponytail, and grabbed a few copies of her résumé.
Molly drove both her and Lauren to town, dropping Lauren at the train station first. Amanda was sorry to see her go and knew she would be counting the days until Lauren came back for Christmas. “Chin up, Manda Bear. Text me after, right away. I have to hear what happened.”
Amanda agreed and hugged her sister good-bye. A few minutes later, Molly dropped her off at the green, in front of the old stone church. “Good luck, honey. Come over to the shop when you’re done. I’m dying to hear how it goes.” Her mom waved and pulled away.
Amanda felt a little like she’d been left off for her first day of school as she walked up the stone path toward the church. She lingered, taking in the view. A deep blue sky stretched out over the village green and harbor, reflected in the gently rocking waves, which were calm for this time of year.
The church had been built in such an illogical place, so close to the water, exposed to the harshest weather and the winds coming off the sea. But it was certainly one of the prettiest spots in town and probably proved that the early settlers had an aesthetic side and were not merely practical.
It would be nice to walk along the harbor every day if she worked here, or to be able to go into the village anytime she wanted. She hadn’t thought about that before.
Amanda entered the church through a side door near Reverend Ben’s office and suddenly felt a little nervous. Her family had been talking about the job so much, she doubted they would understand if she didn’t take it. What if she didn’t even get it? What if Reverend Ben decided he had overestimated her credentials, or the church council got involved? Amanda hadn’t even considered that.
All you have to do is listen. You don’t have to decide today, she reminded herself.
The door to the church office was open, and Amanda walked in. The church secretary, Mrs. Honeyfield, was typing on her computer, but quickly looked up and smiled. “Good morning, Amanda. Reverend Ben is in the sanctuary. He told me to send you in when you arrived.”
“Thanks.” Amanda left the office and headed for the sanctuary. Perhaps Reverend Ben wanted to hear her play the piano or organ? Keyboards were not her main instrument, though she played well enough for the typical hymns and miscellaneous church music. If he asked her to play something, a few pieces she knew by heart came to mind. Besides, there was plenty of sheet music in the church. Amanda was sure she could find at least one piece she knew.
Just relax and take a breath. This is going to work out fine, one way or another, she reminded herself.
Amanda was so caught up in silently coaching herself that she walked straight into a ladder set up near the sanctuary’s side aisle.
There was a momentary clatter as her shoulder hit the metal frame.
“Whoa there!” a deep voice called out from above, echoing in the empty sanctuary.
Startled, she looked up and saw a man struggling to get his balance. He reached out and clung to the metal handle of a window, waiting for the ladder to settle. Amanda felt her heart jump into her throat. She grabbed the ladder and held it firmly, trying to steady it.
“I’m so sorry. Are you all right?” she called up.
He glanced down over one broad shoulder. His face was shaded by a baseball cap, and she could hardly see his expression. “I’m still up here, not down there with you. So I guess that’s a good sign . . . Don’t you know it’s bad luck to walk into a ladder?”
Amanda squinted, taken aback by his tone. “I think the problem is walking under a ladder, not into one. Why did you set it up so close to the door? You should have put a sign outside or something.”
He glanced down, taking in her complaint. She had a feeling he was smiling, though she couldn’t quite see his face. He didn’t seem remorseful at all; rather, he seemed amused at her comeback.
“I did put a sign up; it must have fallen down. Take a look around the floor. Wait, I’ll come down and find it.”
Amanda stepped back, feeling confused. She rarely lost it like that and scolded total strangers. Now she felt silly about her reaction. She was just wound up about this interview—and had taken it out on him.
I really should apologize, she thought, while another part of her wished she could just find Reverend Ben. She sighed and looked around for the reverend. Couldn’t he rescue her from this silly confrontation?
The workman descended the ladder quickly, moving with the kind of agile grace that she associated with athletes. Then he bent over and scooped up a sheet of paper from the floor.
“Here it is . . . See? I wasn’t making that up.”
“I didn’t think you were.” Amanda looked at the handwritten sign that read, Caution—Use Other Door.
She was about to say more when she finally looked at the man’s face and w
as startled to see the sparkling blue eyes and disarming smile she so clearly remembered.
“Oh . . . it’s you . . . the pie guy.”
The pie guy? Where had that come from? How lame could you get?
If the term bothered him, he didn’t show it. He smiled at her. “Yes, Bakery Girl. It is I, Pie Guy.” He dipped his head in a mock formal greeting. “How was your Thanksgiving?”
“It was fine. How was yours? How did the pie work out?”
“Oh, it was a big hit. I was a real hero. I owe you one.”
Amanda didn’t know what to say to that. “Let’s call it even, then. I think I just used up my favor, nearly launching you off that ladder.”
He laughed, looking even cuter. “Come to think of it, I think you did.”
Before she could answer, she heard sounds from up near the altar. A door opened, and Reverend Ben came out of the sacristy, the small storeroom where the sacred vessels, linens, and candles for the service were kept. The reverend was carrying a small, flat box.
“I did find it, finally,” he called out in a cheerful voice. “Sorry to keep you waiting.” He looked pleased as he noticed Amanda there. “Thanks for coming, dear,” he said to her. “I’ll be with you in a moment. We’re trying to get these windows fixed.” He turned to the young man. “I saved a few pieces of the broken glass,” he explained, handing him the box.
The pie guy—Amanda didn’t know how else to think of him—opened it and looked inside with interest but didn’t touch anything, as if the contents were very fragile and precious.
So the pie guy worked with stained glass. He was sort of an artist, then, wasn’t he? That made sense to her, even though she had only exchanged a few words with him.
“I don’t know if it will help you, but we saved whatever we could find,” the minister said.
“It does help, thank you, Reverend. I have to make new templates for the broken pieces. These fragments will help me gauge the color and thickness.” He put the cover back on the box and set it next to a large canvas tool bag. “I’m going to look at all the windows and make some notes. Then I’ll call you about the repairs.”
Reverend Ben nodded. “Sounds like a plan. Just be careful on that ladder.”
The pie guy glanced over at Amanda. “I’ll try. I already had one close call today . . . Some pretty girl sailed in here and nearly knocked me off my feet.”
Reverend Ben laughed. Amanda felt herself blush. She looked down at her boots. What a flirt. Did those corny lines really work for him? She would have asked him that point-blank if Reverend Ben weren’t standing there.
He’s caught your attention, a little voice inside her pointed out. Corny lines and all.
Seconds later, Reverend Ben led her out of the sanctuary. Amanda felt relieved. The pie guy was up on the ladder again, and she could feel him watching her go. She was tempted to say good-bye but decided not to.
Though as she walked away, she wondered about his name. She still didn’t know it, and it felt too awkward to ask Reverend Ben. Time to get focused on this interview, Amanda, and put that awfully handsome, flirtatious guy out of your mind.
* * *
REVEREND BEN SHOWED AMANDA INTO HIS OFFICE AND TOOK A SEAT behind his desk. She made herself comfortable in an armchair. “Here’s a copy of my résumé,” she said, handing it to him. “I thought you might want to see it.”
“Thank you. I do.” The reverend glanced down at the sheet, peering over the edge of his gold-rimmed glasses.
As he studied her credentials, she studied him. She had known the minister ever since she was a little girl, and he never seemed to change. Well, a little, but not very much. He had always been bald on top, making up for that with a thick beard, which was a dark reddish-brown color now flecked with silver strands, as was the band of curly dark hair around his head. His face showed few wrinkles, mostly at the corners of his eyes. His cheeks were still round and rosy, his blue eyes bright behind his glasses.
She recalled that he’d had a heart problem a few years ago and had almost retired. She had come back from school for Christmas and there had been a female minister in his place. Amanda was glad that Reverend Ben had stayed on. Even though she didn’t attend church much, she liked knowing he was here. This church wouldn’t be the same without him.
He looked up suddenly and leaned back in his chair. “Very impressive. I’ve heard about your studies and awards from your parents, of course. And I recall your beautiful voice from when you sang with the choir.” Amanda had been in the church choir when she was in high school. In college, her entire focus was on the cello. She had not sung in public for a long time. “It’s very impressive to see it all on paper,” he continued. “No question that you’re qualified. More than qualified, I’d say.”
Amanda felt a bit self-conscious at all the compliments. “Thank you, Reverend. Maybe you should tell me more about the job. What exactly does the music director do? Besides rehearse the choir, I mean. I’m pretty sure I can handle that part of the job, but there must be more to it.”
“Oh, there is, believe me. But not all that much,” he hurried to add. “I have an official job description here somewhere. Let me read it to you.”
He found the sheet of paper on his desk and ran down the key responsibilities of the position—planning the hymns and any special music for each service, managing and rehearsing the choir. On Sundays, conducting the choir, playing the piano and the organ, and, once a month, teaching a music class to the Sunday school students.
“You would need to be at the church about fifteen to twenty hours a week. So I suppose it’s not a truly full-time job. The hours are fairly flexible. Except for Sundays,” he added.
“That sounds perfect,” she said. It would give her time to practice for her auditions.
“The salary is competitive for this sort of position,” he went on, then quoted a figure that sounded very generous. “Do you have any questions?”
Most of the job description consisted of self-explanatory tasks that Amanda had expected. There was one part, however, that she didn’t quite understand. “About the meetings to plan the worship service. Do you mean I would pick out the hymns?”
“More or less. You would meet with me at least once a week. We try to plan a few weeks ahead. The season of Advent, for instance, that’s a distinct part of the church calendar, and we would plan it as one block. There are a lot of favorite hymns and incidental music we draw from. I’ll have certain themes worked out for my sermons, and we try to choose hymns that resonate with those ideas. Or we think of interesting musical events—soloists or duets—playing related pieces. It’s usually someone from the congregation. We have many talented musicians here.” He paused and met her gaze. “Is this making any sense to you?”
Amanda nodded. “Yes, I think so. Like last Sunday, because it was Thanksgiving weekend, we sang hymns that focused on gratitude.”
“That’s right.” He nodded. “That takes some figuring out, and we don’t want to always be repeating the same old, same old. It’s very important to keep the worship service fresh and interesting. The music is an essential component of worship. It expresses a spiritual dimension that touches people in a certain way, beyond the liturgy and prayers . . . or even my wise and witty sermons,” he added, with his characteristic self-effacing humor.
Amanda nodded but didn’t reply. From her music history classes, she knew that church music was meant to bring people closer to God. But somehow she hadn’t thought about this job that way, as having a spiritual dimension.
“A music director’s ideas and inspirations contribute to the entire worship experience,” Reverend Ben went on. “It’s a very important job, really, and I’m guessing you’ll be very good at it.”
“But I don’t attend church much,” she reminded him. “I mean, not since I left for college.”
“Yes, I know. That part isn’t important. If you take the job, you would have to be here every Sunday, so that glitch will solve itself,” he a
dded with a small smile. “You have a great gift, Amanda. Expressing that gift, sharing it . . . that helps us all to be in touch with something greater, something divine. That’s what music is, you know. It unites us in one feeling and puts us in touch with another realm. Which is why beautiful, uplifting music is part of most any worship service in any culture or period of history, especially in our tradition. ‘Make a joyful noise unto the Lord’ the Psalms say.
“You know, when I was in seminary,” he continued, “I had a wonderful professor who used to start every class by having us sing a hymn. He used to say that some of the best theology could be found in a hymnal . . . and some of the worst, I’m sure,” he added with a smile. “But I think you get my meaning. Music in church is more than just a pleasant listening experience. Anyone taking this job will need to understand that . . . even if the notion is new to you.”
Amanda knew that music took you places, out of day-to-day reality in some way. She always knew she was having a good practice session or performance when she felt carried away. When she lost track of everything—where she was and even how long she had been playing.
But she had never given much thought to music as some sort of bridge between the earthly realm and the divine, as Reverend Ben suggested. He was so sure of his perspective that he didn’t even seem to think she had to agree with him.
Otherwise, the job seemed interesting to her, much more interesting than working in the catering shop. And it paid a lot better, too.
“I hope I’ve covered everything. Any other questions?” he asked.
“I think I have a good idea of what’s expected,” Amanda said.
“If you’re interested, we’d love to have you here. As I told you, Mrs. Wilmott had to leave town immediately, so you can start tomorrow if you’d like.” He cleared his throat. “There is one more thing. I understand from your folks that your stay here is—what did Molly call it?—something to do with frogs . . .”
Songs of Christmas Page 5
