entering the room and sitting on the floor near the door.
“C-sharp, folks,” yelled Ned.
How does he know that? I wondered. How can he tell, with all the other notes being played, that it’s C-sharp that’s missing? Of course, that’s why he teaches music and I hit clunkers.
As I made the necessary transfer of bells, I realized our listener was Curt Carlyle. I hit three clunkers in a row.
“Want a bell, Curt?” Ned asked when we finished the song. “We can always use more ringers.”
Curt shook his head. “I’ll just listen for a while, if you don’t mind.”
Ned nodded. “Okay, choir, let’s take it from measure fifty-four, treble clef upstems only, on the runs. One-and-two-and-ready-and-play-and…”
I followed along, thankful that I was in the bass clef, which had many fewer runs. Beside me, Maddie muttered to herself as she counted the beats.
“Now, everyone, bells up,” Ned said.
My world narrowed to my four notes. I exchanged my Cs and C-sharps at the correct time and only missed two notes the entire piece. I felt pleased with myself as practice ended and I returned my bells to their velvet cases.
I began collecting the thick foam cushions that covered the tables. Other choir members collected music, folded cloth covers and turned tables on their sides to collapse their legs.
Curt worked his way across the room toward me, talking to people as he moved.
“I knew I’d seen you somewhere before,” he said, taking the cushions from me. “As soon as I came in and heard the bells, I knew where.”
I felt self-conscious in a way I hadn’t this morning. Then, I was supposed to interview him, and talking was my job. Now, he looked very large and somewhat overwhelming, his vitality directed at me, not his work.
“I take it you go to church here,” I said. Now there was a piece of sharp deduction.
“From a little tyke,” Maddie said as she walked past with an armful of music notebooks. “He used to lob spitballs at me in Sunday school.”
“Only to pay you back for the sore shins you always gave me,” Curt said.
“I used to kick him every time I saw him,” Maddie said. “Just on general principles. I knew I had to or he’d cream me.”
“And who would have blamed me?”
“One of these days we’re going to marry him off,” Maddie said. “Doug and I have been trying for years. But until then, I keep an eye out for prospective candidates.” She pretended to study me closely.
Curt shook his head, almost embarrassed. “Get lost, Maddie.”
Laughing unrepentantly, she carried the choir notebooks to the storage closet.
I slid into my coat. “I would have thought you’d be at City Hall doing last-minute things for your show rather than coming to some meeting at church. Which, by the way, you’re missing.”
“No meeting,” he said. “And I am doing last-minute work for tomorrow. Come with me—I’ll show you.”
I was conscious of people watching us as we walked out of the practice room together. Grist for the mill, I thought. I bet he’s the church’s most eligible bachelor.
“You’ll make certain the church is locked?” Ned called after us as he shepherded the rest of the choir out the door before him.
Curt nodded as he touched a switch that illuminated another hall. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s eerie in here at night,” I said as we walked by dark and deserted classrooms. “Too empty.”
Curt pulled a key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock on a door marked Hal Brinkley.
“Why are we breaking into Pastor Brinkley’s office?” I asked, waiting for alarms to clang and whistles to shrill.
“Look on the wall above his desk.”
There hung a Curtis Carlyle of a stone springhouse with a wreath on its door and a battered milk can leaning against the lintel. A storm sky of deep, brooding blues and violets was about to tear open and inundate the fragile scene. Stark, barren trees bent before the force of an invisible
“C-sharp, folks,” yelled Ned.
How does he know that? I wondered. How can he tell, with all the other notes being played, that it’s C-sharp that’s missing? Of course, that’s why he teaches music and I hit clunkers.
As I made the necessary transfer of bells, I realized our listener was Curt Carlyle. I hit three clunkers in a row.
“Want a bell, Curt?” Ned asked when we finished the song. “We can always use more ringers.”
Curt shook his head. “I’ll just listen for a while, if you don’t mind.”
Ned nodded. “Okay, choir, let’s take it from measure fifty-four, treble clef upstems only, on the runs. One-and-two-and-ready-and-play-and…”
I followed along, thankful that I was in the bass clef, which had many fewer runs. Beside me, Maddie muttered to herself as she counted the beats.
“Now, everyone, bells up,” Ned said.
My world narrowed to my four notes. I exchanged my Cs and C-sharps at the correct time and only missed two notes the entire piece. I felt pleased with myself as practice ended and I returned my bells to their velvet cases.
I began collecting the thick foam cushions that covered the tables. Other choir members collected music, folded cloth covers and turned tables on their sides to collapse their legs.
Curt worked his way across the room toward me, talking to people as he moved.
“I knew I’d seen you somewhere before,” he said, taking the cushions from me. “As soon as I came in and heard the bells, I knew where.”
I felt self-conscious in a way I hadn’t this morning. Then, I was supposed to interview him, and talking was my job. Now, he looked very large and somewhat overwhelming, his vitality directed at me, not his work.
“I take it you go to church here,” I said. Now there was a piece of sharp deduction.
“From a little tyke,” Maddie said as she walked past with an armful of music notebooks. “He used to lob spitballs at me in Sunday school.”
“Only to pay you back for the sore shins you always gave me,” Curt said.
“I used to kick him every time I saw him,” Maddie said. “Just on general principles. I knew I had to or he’d cream me.”
“And who would have blamed me?”
“One of these days we’re going to marry him off,” Maddie said. “Doug and I have been trying for years. But until then, I keep an eye out for prospective candidates.” She pretended to study me closely.
Curt shook his head, almost embarrassed. “Get lost, Maddie.”
Laughing unrepentantly, she carried the choir notebooks to the storage closet.
I slid into my coat. “I would have thought you’d be at City Hall doing last-minute things for your show rather than coming to some meeting at church. Which, by the way, you’re missing.”
“No meeting,” he said. “And I am doing last-minute work for tomorrow. Come with me—I’ll show you.”
I was conscious of people watching us as we walked out of the practice room together. Grist for the mill, I thought. I bet he’s the church’s most eligible bachelor.
“You’ll make certain the church is locked?” Ned called after us as he shepherded the rest of the choir out the door before him.
Curt nodded as he touched a switch that illuminated another hall. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”
“It’s eerie in here at night,” I said as we walked by dark and deserted classrooms. “Too empty.”
Curt pulled a key from his pocket and slipped it into the lock on a door marked Hal Brinkley.
“Why are we breaking into Pastor Brinkley’s office?” I asked, waiting for alarms to clang and whistles to shrill.
“Look on the wall above his desk.”
There hung a Curtis Carlyle of a stone springhouse with a wreath on its door and a battered milk can leaning against the lintel. A storm sky of deep, brooding blues and violets was about to tear open and inundate the fragile scene. Stark, barren trees bent before the force of an invisible
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