And ever since an online article about a church where the senior adult women’s praying for the single adults in their church had led to a 1,000 percent increase in marriages, or something to that effect, had gone viral among the senior women’s group, and since Caylor was one of the few unmarried adults who attended regularly, they seemed to have taken her on as their special project.
No one else had arrived yet. Caylor stuck her Bible in the cubby that held her choir music and carried her ensemble notebook to the piano. Grading theses and writing finals had made it nearly impossible for her to get in the practice she’d wanted on this morning’s special music.
Finding the notes on the piano whenever she wasn’t confident she was hitting them correctly while practicing it a cappella, Caylor was on her second run-through of the piece before anyone else in the eight-person ensemble arrived.
Soon, the other seven women were there. Dr. Bridger, who taught German at JRU, reviewed the pronunciations with them of the opening lines of the chorale, and by the time they were all saying their vowels and consonants the same way, the organist arrived.
They moved from the choir room to the sanctuary to practice with the microphones. Caylor loved the deep, second-alto harmony of the Advent-themed song with a slight baroque lilt, especially with the organist accompanying them on the electric keyboard set to a harpsichord sound.
After the first run-through, the sound guy—one of the other few unmarried adults in the church—came forward and removed the microphone near Caylor.
Embarrassment flamed her cheeks, even though she should be accustomed by now to taking grief from Gary for the way her voice carried in the small auditorium. She usually took teasing quite well, but the idea that the senior ladies had been trying for quite some time to get him to ask her out made her uncomfortable around him—especially since she knew that the fact she towered over his less-than-average height made him uncomfortable around her.
He set the mic stand in front of the women singing first alto, so that each one had an individual microphone, which meant that, even though Caylor was alone in singing her part, she was still drowning out multiple voices on other parts. He then came over, took her by the elbows, and made her take a couple of steps to her right—away from the rest of the ensemble. The other women laughed, and Caylor joined in, even though she didn’t really feel like it.
“Why don’t I just go stand up in the balcony?” she asked, making an effort at keeping her tone light.
“Hey—that could work.” Gary looked over his shoulder at the balcony that wrapped, U-shaped, around three sides of the sanctuary. “But it might look funny.”
Again, Caylor tried laughing with everyone else as Gary went back to the soundboard at the back of the room and the music started again.
She always tried to ease off. She really did. But she couldn’t help that the others in the ensemble held back and she’d been trained by her drama and singing professors in college to project her voice so well, she did it without thinking about it.
Once they’d had a few complete run-throughs and a couple of shorter sound tests, they dispersed—most to slip into their Sunday school classes for a few minutes. Caylor returned to the choir room and pulled the stack of essays out of her purse and sat down to get some grading done.
After several silent minutes, the sound of a clearing throat startled her. Her pen left a purple streak across the well-written paragraph of the comparative literature essay.
Gary stood in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt you.”
Caylor clicked her pen closed so she wouldn’t mar any more of the student’s paper. “It’s okay. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to say…I hope I didn’t offend you out there earlier. I realized that I probably could have done that differently to keep from making it look like an insult to
No one else had arrived yet. Caylor stuck her Bible in the cubby that held her choir music and carried her ensemble notebook to the piano. Grading theses and writing finals had made it nearly impossible for her to get in the practice she’d wanted on this morning’s special music.
Finding the notes on the piano whenever she wasn’t confident she was hitting them correctly while practicing it a cappella, Caylor was on her second run-through of the piece before anyone else in the eight-person ensemble arrived.
Soon, the other seven women were there. Dr. Bridger, who taught German at JRU, reviewed the pronunciations with them of the opening lines of the chorale, and by the time they were all saying their vowels and consonants the same way, the organist arrived.
They moved from the choir room to the sanctuary to practice with the microphones. Caylor loved the deep, second-alto harmony of the Advent-themed song with a slight baroque lilt, especially with the organist accompanying them on the electric keyboard set to a harpsichord sound.
After the first run-through, the sound guy—one of the other few unmarried adults in the church—came forward and removed the microphone near Caylor.
Embarrassment flamed her cheeks, even though she should be accustomed by now to taking grief from Gary for the way her voice carried in the small auditorium. She usually took teasing quite well, but the idea that the senior ladies had been trying for quite some time to get him to ask her out made her uncomfortable around him—especially since she knew that the fact she towered over his less-than-average height made him uncomfortable around her.
He set the mic stand in front of the women singing first alto, so that each one had an individual microphone, which meant that, even though Caylor was alone in singing her part, she was still drowning out multiple voices on other parts. He then came over, took her by the elbows, and made her take a couple of steps to her right—away from the rest of the ensemble. The other women laughed, and Caylor joined in, even though she didn’t really feel like it.
“Why don’t I just go stand up in the balcony?” she asked, making an effort at keeping her tone light.
“Hey—that could work.” Gary looked over his shoulder at the balcony that wrapped, U-shaped, around three sides of the sanctuary. “But it might look funny.”
Again, Caylor tried laughing with everyone else as Gary went back to the soundboard at the back of the room and the music started again.
She always tried to ease off. She really did. But she couldn’t help that the others in the ensemble held back and she’d been trained by her drama and singing professors in college to project her voice so well, she did it without thinking about it.
Once they’d had a few complete run-throughs and a couple of shorter sound tests, they dispersed—most to slip into their Sunday school classes for a few minutes. Caylor returned to the choir room and pulled the stack of essays out of her purse and sat down to get some grading done.
After several silent minutes, the sound of a clearing throat startled her. Her pen left a purple streak across the well-written paragraph of the comparative literature essay.
Gary stood in the doorway. “Sorry to interrupt you.”
Caylor clicked her pen closed so she wouldn’t mar any more of the student’s paper. “It’s okay. What’s up?”
“I just wanted to say…I hope I didn’t offend you out there earlier. I realized that I probably could have done that differently to keep from making it look like an insult to
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