Free The River Rose by Gilbert Morris

home fiddling a romp in a saloon, played well. The sweet notes of the flute were perfect.
    When they were on the next-to-last stanza of the song, Marvel and then Jeanne were momentarily distracted by a small stir at the steps. They couldn't see exactly, but people moved away from the steps, murmuring slightly. Then the hymn ended, and a man walked up the steps carrying a great purple-clad triangular-looking thing, bearing it easily aloft as if it were a standard. Behind him came a proud-looking lady sumptuously dressed in velvet and furs, and her maid followed behind, her head down. The crowd murmured in low tones, and Jeanne heard someone say, "It's a harp."
    The man set the harp down and began to untie the gold satin ties that held the fabric to the harp's shape. Jeanne studied him curiously. He was a muscular man, with dark flashing eyes and rugged features. He wore a shabby but clean brown wool jacket, canvas duck trousers, and sturdy brogans. Instead of a hat he wore a dark flat cap. At first glance, from his dark features, he seemed a looming, brooding man, but he wore a cheerful bright red muffler with a big sprig of holly tucked into it, and when he looked up at the lady he smiled, and looked warm and pleasant. She stood watching behind, like a distant queen, her hands tucked into her opulent white fur muff.
    The man stood and pulled the velvet casing off, and it was a grand concert harp, the pillar almost six feet tall and covered with gold leaf. The pillar was topped with an elaborate golden crown. He knelt to check the pedals, and for the briefest moment he glanced around the crowd. When he saw Marvel, his eyes crinkled a little at the corners, and he winked at her. Marvel's eyes widened and then she giggled. Now the man looked straight into Jeanne's eyes. She met his gaze squarely, but then grew a little uncomfortable and felt herself blushing. But she didn't turn away from him. For some odd reason, she felt drawn to him. But he gave her a quick nod, then looked down at his task.
    "He winked at me, did you see?" Marvel whispered to her, for the crowd was waiting and watching quietly, with only low murmured words.
    "I did see. I'm sure it's because he thinks you're the prettiest girl here," Jeanne whispered back.
    "Do you think he's married to that beautiful lady?"
    Jeanne almost laughed aloud. "No, darling, they aren't married. I think he's probably just carrying her harp."
    "But—" Marvel started to say, but just then the man stood and retrieved a small padded stool from someone at the foot of the steps that was holding it up. He placed it behind the harp's pillar, then turned to the grand lady. Slowly she took her hands out of her muff, handed it to her maid, took off her gloves and handed them, then raised her arms to pull the ermine cape back off her shoulders. Taking the man's hand, she delicately took a seat on the stool and pulled the harp to rest on her shoulder.
    The man turned, walked to the center of the stage where he stood alone, took off his cap and held it with both hands in front of him, then turned and nodded to the lady. Soft haunting harp music wafted delicately on the still air, and the man began to sing.
Ave Maria! Gratia plena
Maria Gratia plena . . .
    At the first sound of his voice, Jeanne, and many others she was sure, took a sharp indrawn breath. She felt Marvel gasp. His voice was resounding, rich, and powerful. It rolled over them, and they forgot the cold. He sang into a profoundly reverent silence.
    Jeanne didn't understand the ancient Latin words, but it made no difference. Whoever or whatever this man was, his voice was a gift from God. The sweet strands of the harp were his angels' accompaniment. The tenor notes soared, then became fathomless depths, and then the last "Ave Maria" was held so long and with such unwavering strength that now Jeanne almost forgot to breathe. A few last whispers from the harp, and the song was done.
    Heavy silence reigned in Court Square for long