by Lorin Grace
“I’m not sure,” she said, shooting for a one-size-fits-all answer.
“Well, at least you admit it.”
Admit what?
“Sean won’t admit it, but he has been unsure since 9/11. I think he only comes to church to check on me.”
Okay, the conversation must be something about religion.
He reached over and gave her a grandfatherly pat on the arm. “Someday you will find your faith.”
The light in the corridor flickered on. “Would you mind extinguishing the candles? I was going to get you a key to the back door. I am not always around, and Sean only pops in for Sunday service and when he is between jobs. This close to Christmas, he is busy. Everyone suddenly realizes their organ has dead notes. Now, me, I have known for six months we had dead notes.” He shrugged before disappearing into his office.
He came back with a key attached to an iron candy cane–shaped ring. What was it with these large key rings? “Stay as long as you need to. Lock the back door on your way out. Leave the corridor light and the one by the front door on.”
After he left, Tessa couldn’t help but wonder how many ghosts lived in the old church.
Cobwebs. Sean cleaned another one off before moving forward. At least he hadn’t found any rat droppings yet. But with an organ this dirty, it was no wonder they had enough ciphers to play a short requiem by turning the organ on. It wasn’t unusual for an organ to get cipher notes—ones that seemingly played on their own when dirt lodged in a pipe valve, preventing it from closing. But the organ in this Bronx church was dirtier than most. Even if he fixed the known problematic pipes, there was no guarantee there wouldn’t be more by Sunday.
The rector would not be pleased, but Sean hadn’t scheduled the days of work this organ needed. Of the few pneumatics he inspected, nearly half had leather that needed to be replaced. Those were not helping with the sound quality either.
Sean crawled out of the chamber and went in search of the rector. He found him in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee.
“My goodness, you are filthy! Don’t come in here! Are those cobwebs?” The little man shooed him back into the hallway. “So, are you done already?”
Sean counted to three before answering. “When was the last time the organ was serviced?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe about the time Hamilton debuted on Broadway.”
“Two or three years?”
“Sounds about right.”
Sean took a calming breath. “Did the last person to work on your organ tell you it would need to be tuned again in about six months?”
“Oh, you are one of those.” The rector wiped the crumbs from his face with a napkin.
“One of what?”
“Repairmen who want to bilk the church out of money on a regular basis.”
“No, I am not one of those. I am the kind who hates seeing a fine instrument like this perish due to neglect. I can fix and clean the pipes you know are playing randomly today, but the chamber is so dirty I can guarantee you will hear new ones by Christmas. I need a week inside her.”
“Her?”
“Your organ. Most organs are temperamental and need a lot of TLC, like a woman. The point is, I can fix the immediate problems, but it is only a bandage.”
“How much will this cost?”
Sean quoted two prices—one for the short-term fix and one for a complete overhaul.
The rector’s eyes grew round. “I don’t believe it!”
“The price is exclusive of having to send pipes out for repair.”
“You mean you can’t do it all?”
“Sometimes a repair requires specialized tools and fairly large equipment for the metal work. So, yes, some types of repairs are sent out.”
“I still don’t believe it.”
“The price you would have paid for semiannual tunings during the last two years would have been much less. It is a true case of ‘an ounce of prevention.’ It is an old organ, so things would still need to be repaired, the leather on the pneumatics will still dry out and crack and many other age related repairs will be needed. But neglecting this old lady has only multiplied her problems. Look, I am willing to do what I can now, but I can’t guarantee there won’t be new problems in a week.”
“You are saying if I did regular tunings, I wouldn’t have any problems?”
“You would have some from time to time; after all, your organ isn’t as young as she used to be. And even well-cared-for organs develop unforeseen issues.”
“Like what?”
Sean searched for a story. “An example is the organ at one of the large, old theaters down in the city. One day the organist turned the Wurlizter on, and every pipe played at once. It was enough to practically deafen everyone in the building. An anomaly, I assure you, but things happen to huge machines.”
“So, when could you do this overhaul?”
Sean checked the calendar on his phone. “The last week of January.”
“I’ll get back to you.”
Sean left the building shaking his head. The little man wouldn’t call him back and was probably negotiating with some novice repairman to do the job for less at this very moment. Sean looked up his next appointment. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind him coming a day early. Maybe he could carve out a few more hours on his grandfather’s organ this week.
five
The Wi-Fi signal in her room faded into nonexistence again. Tessa took her tablet down to the lobby to do her research. She spent some time looking for photos of the Nativity window. Several tourist blogs contained some relatively decent images, but most of them focused on the faces. She found a couple with angles of the most damaged portion. What she really needed was the rubbings. Knowing where the lead lines should be in the section would save so much time.
Tessa found the organ repair shop online, but no prices were listed. Like her field, pipe fixing, or whatever it was called, must depend on the type of pipe and the difficulty of repair needed to be done. She broadened her search, hoping to find a ballpark estimate. After several searches, she finally got a figure from a European manufacturer.
Tessa covered her mouth when she realized she had gasped audibly.
“Is something wrong?” asked a gentleman in a business suit standing nearby.
“Yes—I mean no. Sorry. The numbers surprised me.”
“Anything I can help with?”
Tessa shook her head. “No, I am trying to figure out how to do the impossible with nothing.”
“Now that does sound interesting.” The man sat down in the chair next to her. “How does one accomplish such a feat?”
“I wish I knew.” Tessa wasn’t sure how to get out of the conversation.
“People say I have a few good ideas from time to time. Maybe we could brainstorm.” He gave Tessa one of those smiles she felt she could trust.
“All right. I am here to repair the window over at the church. I’m looking for some information on the last repair, which I can’t find, but that’s another problem. Anyway, I found two long boxes full of the trumpet pipes to the organ, which were meant to be sent out for repairs—only the window got broken, and it looks like they diverted the funds meant to repair the organ to repair the window. I want to figure out if there is a way to do both. I don’t even know if there is time to get the pipes fixed.”
“Where did you find them?” The man stroked his well-trimmed beard.
“Down in the catacombs on a long table.”
“I used to play hide-and-seek down there as a boy.” The man leaned back in his seat. “I assume the repair must be beyond what Sean Cavanagh can do.”
Tessa didn’t feel she should disclose the contents of the note as this person apparently knew Sean. “I believe so. I do have a friend I could ask to donate to the
church, but I really don’t want to run to her and her husband over this.”
“Do you think they would help?”
“Maybe. She was my roommate for two years. I don’t want to go begging because she married into money. It feels like I would be using them.”
“Well, there is always a letter to Santa,” he said with a wink.
She couldn’t help but laugh in response. “Maybe the elves know how to repair organ pipes. I hadn’t thought of the Santa option.”
Two other men in business suits entered the lobby. The man who spoke to her stood. “Best of luck to you.”
Tessa sat in the empty lobby and pondered what to say in a text to Mandy since a letter to Santa was doomed to failure.
six
Tessa slipped the key into the old doorknob as the sun crested the horizon. She’d opted to walk the four blocks to the church to clear her mind. The text to Mandy remained unsent.
She removed her coat but kept on her hoodie. Apparently they kept the building warm enough to keep the pipes in the addition containing the office and bathrooms from freezing. The chapel had been built long before central heating, but cast-iron radiators had been added near the turn of the century. During a full service, the building might be warm enough. Tessa thought she could see her own breath, but it might be her imagination.
The first thing she needed to do was to remove the duct tape, but that required a ladder. She found a four-foot step stool in a closet, along with a bucket and mop. An old drop cloth on a high shelf caught her eye. Using the mop handle, she pulled it off the shelf. She wouldn’t be using a soldering iron today, so using the flammable cloth to catch any glass shards she missed would be safe enough.
The first piece of duct tape lifted easily, leaving minimal residue on the larger pieces of glass. However, it was reluctant to release the shards.
With the tape gone, the damage didn’t look quite as bad. The first piece might be salvaged by using a copper-foiling technique.
The back door opened and shut. It must be the reverend. Tessa used tweezers to pull back the corner of the next piece.
“Excuse me.”
Tessa turned and nearly lost her footing. The man from the hotel lobby stood a few feet away.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you. Have you seen Reverend Cavanagh this morning?”
“Sorry, no. I heard the back door open awhile ago.”
“Probably me. His office is still locked.”
“Sorry, can I help you?” The reverend hadn’t told her what to do about people wandering into the church.
The man shook his head. “No, I’ll come back later. Is that as tedious as it looks?”
“No. I mean, probably. I don’t want to cause new damage by removing the tape, so I am going as slowly as I can. Should I tell the reverend you came by?”
“No, I’ll find him later. Have a good day. I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Tessa, and you are?”
“Nick.” He turned to leave, then paused. “Did you solve your organ problem yet? I mean, ask your friend for a donation?”
“No, I am hoping I don’t need as much replacement glass as I thought. That would save some money and—” Tessa realized she was babbling. She wasn’t sure why. The man looked nice enough, but he didn’t have the presence Sean did. Not that Sean. . . Whatever. She let whatever she was going to say go. “You sure you don’t want me to deliver a message?”
“No. I’ll try to come by this afternoon, or early tomorrow morning. Bye, Tessa.”
After he left, Tessa found herself comparing Nick to Sean. They were about the same age and of the same physical build. Considering her disastrous romance last spring with Gavin, she wondered what attracted her to one man over another. Nick was well-spoken, well-groomed, and, from the cut of the wool coat he wore over his suit, probably well-heeled, too. Yet nothing. No heart flutter, only her babbling, but that happened whenever she was nervous, not just around men. Sean, on the other hand, was a tad bit scruffy, but not deliberately so. His clothing showed he wasn’t afraid to work hard but took care of himself. Thinking of him made her traitorous heart beat ever so slightly faster. Beards were not her thing, but Nick’s seemed like it belonged. It wasn’t like the ones the Hollywood actors wore because they were ‘in.’
Tessa frowned. This would not do at all. She’d agreed with Candace—no more men this year. Only eighteen more days to go. She could do this. She opened the music app on her phone and selected a Christmas medley since some of her preferred playlists were probably not appropriate in a church.
Sean let the last note of Richard Elliott’s I Saw Three Ships hang in the air. He loved this organ. It was one of the first he’d tuned when he’d started out. The organist had done her best to document any problems and to get the major ones fixed promptly. He should ask her to lecture the rector at the Bronx church he’d visited yesterday. That would be one mighty sermon.
He presented his bill at the office, almost half his bid since the organ didn’t need another hour and a half worth of work, and he was surprised when the secretary paid him the original bid plus a bonus.
“This is too much.”
“Consider it a Christmas bonus. You fit us in your schedule at the last minute. And if Mrs. Rodgers is happy with the organ, we are all happy.
Sean left the church whistling the refrain of Wenceslas. 4:10. He couldn’t fit in another organ tonight. Too many were in churches that held a Wednesday-night service or choir practice anyway. He turned his car to head out of town. Might as well check on Granda.
Once he crossed the river and headed north, he let his mind drift to Tessa. She’d invaded his thoughts all day. His earlier rudeness bothered him. She probably felt something like he did when the rector had questioned his motives for wanting to service the Bronx organ on a more regular basis. He owed her an apology.
But that was all. As much as Granda wished it, Sean never would “get serious” with a girl again. He’d made a vow and intended to keep it.
seven
The last room. Unless Tessa was lost in the catacombs, this was the last room containing any boxes. She’d saved it for last because it was the most jumbled. She forced herself to skim through any boxes not from the 1970s, looking only for rolled papers, as the window could have been documented earlier.
Dust tickled her nose, and she sneezed.
“Dia linn.” Where had Sean come from?
Tessa dug for a tissue in her pocket. “What did you say?”
“Dia linn. It is an Irish form of ‘Bless you.’”
“Oh, thank you.”
“Have you seen my boxes?”
Tessa waved at the dozens surrounding her. “Any in particular? I am not entirely sure, but Indiana Jones could have hidden the Ark down here.”
Sean smiled.
Tessa willed her heart to slow down. She’d analyzed the likelihood of a relationship with the attractive man, and it was pointless.
“If the Ark is here, it’s safe. No, these were long boxes about eight feet and heavy.” Sean used his arms to show the size of the boxes.
“The ones with the organ pipes in them? They were in room four on a table.”
“You numbered the rooms?”
Tessa consulted the sketch she’d made in her little book. “Yes, I wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything. There are such fantastic treasures down here. I have been listing them. Some of them should be in a museum. Do you have a local history museum?” She clamped her jaw shut. She was babbling again. Had the room grown a little warmer?
“You’re sure the pipe boxes were there?” Sean pointed the direction of the room the boxes had been.
Tessa read the book again. “Yes, room four is the only one with a long table. Six has a table, but it rocks. I am not sure a hym
nal should be used to steady it.”
“When did you see the boxes last?” Sean studied the room she was in as if hoping the boxes would suddenly appear.
“Yesterday afternoon before the power outage.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course. Have I given you some reason to doubt me?” Tessa did not want to go back to where they’d left off yesterday morning.
Sean studied his shoes for a moment. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to accuse you, but the boxes are missing, and I know Granda isn’t strong enough to move them.”
“Missing?” Tessa slipped past Sean and hurried to the room. As indicated, the boxes were gone. She ran her hand over the empty place.
“Now who is doubting who?” A smile colored his voice.
“They were here yesterday. I promise. I looked in the boxes, but I didn’t touch them. I haven’t heard anyone else down here all day.”
“Not very reassuring. You didn’t hear me come down over your music, either.”
“It wasn’t that loud.”
“But your singing was.”
“I don’t sing.”
Sean was polite enough to answer with a smile. “You are not bad, but you are a natural alto; trying to sing soprano is your problem.”
“An alto? Aren’t they the ones who get all the boring parts?”
“On the contrary. They can sing very nice parts. Cher, Judy Garland, and Karen Carpenter are examples of famous altos.”
“So is that why I think I sound decent when I sing ‘Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas’?” Tessa moved to put the table between them. She’d promised Candace no holiday romances, but when Sean smiled, she wanted to text her friend and tell her the deal was off. It was much easier to keep her promise when he growled.
“What are you searching for anyway?”
“A rubbing or, even more impossibly, the original plan for the windows. Some of the came was bent and twisted, and I don’t know the original shape of the glass. I haven’t tried piecing together the shards, but if I can’t find the plans, I may end up trying that next.”
