by Jody Day
“You’re kidding.” Evan was flabbergasted.
“Just keep working, we’ll get this done.” She approached her Dad and about twelve men.
Evan recognized many from church.
“Dad, it seems like hundreds of strands of lights, but they are all white, so don’t worry about where they go, just put them up. I remember seeing this house last year on the Crandle Tour of Homes. It was just white lights along every line, and every window. I seem to remember a big shooting star on the ceiling. I’ll see if I can find it.” Risé dashed back into the house.
“George, I don’t know what to say. This is beyond amazing. It’s Christmas Eve and all these guys have families.” Evan shook his hand.
“No problem. This is our benevolence team. They are on call for our church family in time of need. We thought it wouldn’t take long if we could get a good number. It’s doable,” George said, looking over the house.
“But I’m not your church family.” Evan just stared at them as they started digging in boxes.
“You helped us out this morning. You qualify. Some of the men in my vehicle were talking on the way over. They said your playing made them feel closer to God. I think they wanted to come when they heard it was you. Although, we’re all stumped about how this mistake could have happened,” George said, scratching his head.
“I’ll fill you in later. Let’s get this done so everyone can get back to their families.” Evan had a twinge of guilt that these people took time to care for someone they barely knew.
“It’s a good thing there are spotlights on the windows. It’s already dark.”
Risé came around the corner with a box marked “Shooting Stars.” She handed it to one of the guys.
“Evan, they’ve got this. Would you come in and help me decorate that ginormous tree? I’ve found the ornaments.” She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him toward the door.
“You’ll make a good nurse.”
“Why’s that?”
“You can think on your feet. You’ve got this endeavor organized and running smoothly.” He didn’t let go of her hand when they got to the foyer.
“Thanks.” She squeezed his hand.
The lights were already on the beautiful, although fake, pine tree. The ornaments were all silver and were easy to hang. Risé arranged shining silver wired ribbon around the branches. “We’ll need the ladder to put the angel on top,” she said.
They walked outside to get one.
The men had finished.
Everyone stood back and admired their work.
“Thank heaven for the Cartiers’ simple elegance. If it were more elaborate, I don’t know if we could have done it,” George said.
The shooting star had been positioned on the roof. The effect was beautiful.
One of the men, an older gentleman with a cowboy hat, approached Evan. He shook his hand. “Carl Jenkins, Evan. We’re gonna get back now, if you’ll just tell us where to put these empty boxes.”
“Oh, in the basement, follow me.” Evan carried the ladder, and led the way to the basement. The boxes were stowed quickly, and the men trouped back up the stairs.
Evan took the ladder to the foyer. Risé handed him the angel, and he climbed up and positioned it on the top of the tree.
George and all the men were standing nearby.
Evan plugged in the tree, and the lights sparkled against the silver ornaments and ribbon.
The group erupted into applause.
“I couldn’t have done this without your amazing help, all of you,” he said, looking at Risé. “Please, now, return to your families. I’m indebted to you.” His heart overflowed, and more words failed him.
“No charge, no debt. Merry Christmas, Evan,” George said. “Risé, let’s get on the road. I’m sure Evan will be staying here since that’s where he was supposed to be all along.”
“OK, Dad. Y’all load up. I’ll be right there.” Risé kissed her dad on the cheek and gave hugs all around to the church men.
They filed out, waving and wishing each other a Merry Christmas.
Evan and Risé were alone. They stood on the driveway and admired the house.
“Dad was right. Simple and elegant.” Risé leaned against his shoulder.
“I’m just at a loss. No charge, no debt. And on Christmas Eve.” Had anyone besides Mrs. Miller ever done so much for him? Of course, she was paid, but he received so much more from her than her small wage for keeping him and teaching him.
“That’s why Jesus was born, Evan. He did the work, and said, no charge, no debt. We can never repay Him, yet with every breath He blesses us. Dad’s team models Christ’s love when they fix things, build things, and whatever else someone needs.”
George honked.
“Coming.” Risé waved at her father. “Now, about that temperamental chef daughter,” she said, giggling.
A small, fiery red Jaguar pulled into the driveway. A young woman got out, slammed the door, and sauntered over to them. She wore a chef outfit, complete with a sprig of holly and red berries pinned to her toque. “Are you Evans?” she asked.
“Yes, Evan Edwards.”
“Here’s my list, and take your girlfriend with you. I don’t want to be disturbed.” She swept past them into the house.
“Well, Risé, you’re nothing like that.”
“I should say not. Will we see you for Christmas?” She took a step closer.
“I don’t know. I’m supposed to play for the big party tomorrow. But I won’t leave without saying goodbye.”
Her expression turned soft, standing there as if she wouldn’t mind being kissed. But he didn’t want to have to hear another apology the next day, citing exhaustion. She’d become too important to him. He’d not be her rebound.
“OK, well, Merry Christmas, Evan.” She turned and jogged over to her Dad’s car. They both waved as they drove away.
The front door opened. A hand waved a sliver of paper. “The shopping list. Now!”
The nails-on-chalkboard order made him shiver. He got into his car and went searching for a grocery store in Crandle.
What a crazy mix-up. But what if he hadn’t made the mistake? He’d never have met Risé, although she might just be a precious memory to fuel his musical passion. What if he hadn’t been to the church where the congregation emulated Christ’s love?
A connection dawned on him like Ravel’s “Spring”. He thought about the zone he could get in while playing. It was there that something called out to him, reached for him—something he couldn’t quite comprehend. The connection had something to do with what he’d heard today. No charge. No debt. Purpose.
He’d asked Pastor Langford what he meant by “replaces what’s missing.”
The Pastor explained when someone asked Jesus into their heart and made Him Lord of their life, He filled all those empty places. He gave one purpose for life, the pursuit of which brought joy. Christian life was not free from trials and mistakes, but that with Christ there was forgiveness, guidance and direction. He’d said it was a forever family.
Evan had hated Earl, and most of Mom’s boyfriends. He’d hated his father, whoever that might be. What could God do with that? Did he have to love those men before he could be a Christian? Something slipped in his heart. Something rolled away, like a great, heaving stone. Carefree, easy…at peace. The men who’d graced his life didn’t matter, for they weren’t called by God. The faithful men who came this evening, called by George, had shown Evan that men who were centered on God’s goodness existed, just as his vision of a family at Christmas, content to take care of and be with each other forever.
The next time Evan felt that call, he would answer it.
Yes.
10
Evan woke up in the guest room off the kitchen. So much nicer than the sleeping bag on the Carters’ family room floor. Nicer, but lonely.
He’d gone to the grocery store for Maury Martin three times. Temperamental didn’t quite describe her. Haughty, condesce
nding, and bossy fleshed her out more accurately.
“This is only the prep work,” she’d said. “I’ll be back tomorrow with an army of cooks and servers.”
When she’d finally pronounced herself done, he’d conked out. Since he had no idea what time the Cartiers would be arriving, he decided he’d better get dressed.
He wandered around the house. The place was beautiful, immaculate, and painfully modern. All white, with sharp edges and angles. The tall Christmas tree and the shining black Steinway softened up the decor of the large foyer.
Maybe he could get through his recital program one more time before his employers arrived. He sat down, opened the lid, and placed his hands on the keys. Pastor Langford’s words about purpose came to mind. He began the Chopin with a prayer. God, if You have a purpose for this piano playing of mine, can You show me what You mean?
The haunting melody flowed through him. If it was God’s purpose, then God would have to do it. He knew only how to play. Clarity and skill energized him as never before. He focused on the meaning he’d assigned to each phrase—a life of beauty laced with sadness, high times and low times and bitter disappointment. The beauty and bitterness had been his alone, and now the meaning seemed to encompass the whole world.
As he approached the hopeful stanzas, the idea of hope for the world gave the notes a brilliance he’d never before accomplished. The final measures ended, and hope took on a new meaning. He’d been in the zone, but he came out of it with peace, not angst. Evan felt spent, but in a good way. The sense that his playing could actually help someone glowed in his chest
“That was pure sainteté.” A man’s voice sounded behind him.
Evan hadn’t heard anyone come in. He swung around to face the voice.
“Holiness, he means,” said the woman next to him.
“Thank you very much,” Evan said. How long had they been standing there?
“I am Francis Cartier. You must be Evan Edwards. You said you were a music student, but you didn’t mention that you are also a musical genius.” He put out his hand for a shake.
Evan took it. “Not at all. The Steinway made me sound good.” He’d never played that well before.
“Nonsense. I don’t think I’ve ever heard something so beautiful.” The woman put her hand over her heart.
“This is my wife, Caroline. She knows what she’s talking about. “Everything looks wonderful. Of course we can’t see it properly until it gets dark, but it looks well done.” Cartier smiled approval.
“We usually decorate the tree ourselves, but I see you’ve already done it.” Caroline touched some of the ornaments on the tree.
“Oh, no, I’m so sorry. Since it was Christmas Eve, I assumed you’d want it ready when you got here.” Evan would have to tell them everything.
“No worries. I’m exhausted. One less thing to do before the party. Francis, I’m going to our room to lie down. Just an hour. Then I’ll be available to supervise the rest of the preparations.”
“Certainly darling, I’ll be along in a moment,” Mr. Cartier said.
She kissed him on the cheek and left the room.
“Mr. Cartier, could I have a word? It won’t take long, I know you’re tired and probably have a lot to do.” The palms of Evan’s hands began to sweat.
“Of course. Let’s step into my office.”
Evan followed him down a long hallway, the full length of the house.
Cartier opened the door on the right at the end of the hall. Where the house was stark and white, Cartier’s office was soft, colorful, and cozy. Two plush chairs sat in front of an oak desk. The walls were lined with books, and adorned with framed photographs of the great symphony halls. “Please, take a seat,” Cartier said, and then he sat behind his desk.
Evan took the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Mr. Cartier. “I’m afraid it was raining the day I took that notice off the bulletin board at school. You can see that it looks more like Candle than Crandle.” Evan hoped his face didn’t reflect the heat that rose as he prepared to tell Mr. Cartier the truth.
“I see that, yes.”
“Long story short, sir, I went to 500 N. Front Street in Candle. The house was empty, and the only one with no lights on the block. It is a bizarre story of similarities. I let myself in, decorated the house, offended the neighbor because I refused his offer of help. His daughter is a home economics major with a specialty in culinary arts. She is slightly difficult.” Evan stopped to take a breath.
“As difficult as Maury?” Cartier raised one eyebrow.
“Well, let’s just say different,” Evan said. So far, Cartier didn’t look angry.
“Anyway, I didn’t realize my mistake until I saw yesterday’s paper. I came here straightaway and got to work.”
“You did it all in one day?”
“No sir, not by myself. I became acquainted with the neighbors in Candle. They needed a pianist for their Christmas program at the last minute so I filled in. A bunch of them came last night to help, to repay me, they said. Risé, the um, difficult daughter helped me with the tree.”
“Exquisite, I must say. And what is the name of the family who owned the house you adorned with lights?”
Evan cleared his throat. “Carter, Fin and Carol.”
Cartier’s eyes grew wide. He picked up a pen and tapped it on the desk.
Evan couldn’t read his mood. “It was just so crazy, everything you said about your house, where things were and the neighbors, shared such similarities, although on a smaller scale. Then as I got to know the neighbors, they mentioned several times that Mr. Carter was a jokester, really quite a character. I assumed he was exaggerating when I saw their humble circumstances. The Carters were at the hospital, and the Larkins, the neighbors, thought Mr. Carter wanted things nice for a homecoming for his wife. I don’t know what else to say. It’s just too bizarre.” Evan took a breath.
“I never mentioned Crandle?”
“You asked me if I knew the directions. I was thinking of Candle, which is just the opposite direction on I20 than Crandle.”
The room went silent except for the ticking of a very ornate wooden clock on the wall behind his desk.
“And…” The whole thing made sense to Evan, but would Mr. Cartier feel that way? “There was a photo of a couple in front of the Eiffel Tower in the kitchen.”
Cartier laughed. A chuckle at first, but then a full on, head back, mouth open guffaw.
Perhaps this mix-up would turn out all right.
“It’s no problem. I can see how it happened. There’s always a reason for these things. Most geniuses are somewhat absent-minded, but we’ll chalk it up to the rain that day.”
Evan reached across the desk and shook Cartier’s hand. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your understanding.” Whew.
“The important thing is that the house is ready for the fundraiser. The Dominique Miller Arts Endowment.”
“Did you say Dominique Miller? The piano teacher?” No way.
“Why yes, do you know her?” He reached for a framed photo on the shelf behind his desk and handed it to Evan.
Evan took the picture and fought back the tears that welled in his eyes as he gazed at his beloved teacher. “She was my teacher,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion . “More than that, she kept me for years while my mom worked.”
“Dominique taught you to play like that?”
Evan nodded. “I’ve been at ETU for nearly four years. But yes, she helped me. I don’t know where I’d be without her.” Suddenly, realization dawned. “You must be the much younger brother who…” Evan stopped.
“Who gallivanted the world with no regard for his sister? Yes I’ve heard it all. It’s partially true. Dominique was much older than I. We were never really close. I suppose you know that she passed last year.” He took the frame from Evan and replaced it on the shelf.
“Yes sir. I was at the funeral, and she left me her piano.”
Mr. Cartier sat down
again, never taking his gaze from Evan. Emotion seemed to wash over him. He sat back in his chair. “We landed in Dallas and stopped by the funeral home to thank them for everything.” Cartier crossed his arms and sighed heavily. “ The director gave us a handful of letters from former students. Each one held stories of how Dominique had influenced their life. I knew she was a remarkable woman. We wanted to help out after Ralph, um, Mr. Miller died. She refused, saying Ralph left her in ease, and she would supplement with her teaching.
“Guilt plagues me about the funeral. We were in Europe, and Caroline was ill. I couldn’t leave her. My assistant called everyone in Dominique’s address book. Was the service nice?”
“Simple and beautiful.” Evan declined to say there hadn’t been many people there.
“Well, thank you for attending. What, may I ask, are your plans after graduation?” Cartier asked.
Dream plans or reality plans? “I’d like to go to graduate school, but I may have to work a few years first.”
“Hmmm. And your parents?”
“I’ve, um, never known my father. My mother is, well, newly married.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks.”
“I wonder, Evan, do you think you could see your way to playing the Chopin for my guests this evening? I know it wasn’t part of the deal.”
Evan had hoped to wander back to Candle and wish Risé and George a Merry Christmas, but this man was Mrs. Miller’s brother. “Of course. I really don’t have anything appropriate to wear though.”
“Certainly, last minute, I know.” He picked up the phone on his desk and made a call. “Henri, hello. I know it’s Christmas Day, but I’m in urgent need to provide a suit for one of my guests. I’ll make it worth your while. Nothing tailored, no time, just something off the rack, if you don’t mind. Excellent, thank you. I’ll send him by right away.” He ended the call. “Will that be all right, Evan? Think of it as a Christmas gift.” He scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Here’s the address.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll get outfitted and be back to help with whatever you need.”
“I think everything is quite ready. We must all stay out of Maury’s way when the time comes though,” he said with a chuckle. “You would like to bring the difficult daughter from Candle, Texas?”
