Free Running Barefoot by Amy Harmon

noticed I was gone, nor had he been on the brink of starting out on a search and rescue mission, but I could tell he felt bad that I had been in trouble and he hadn’t had a clue.
    Samuel shook Dad’s hand and made a hasty retreat, claiming he needed to go make sure Gus made it back to the corral with the wayward sheep.

5. Virtuoso
     
    The only church in Levan was built in 1904. It was a beautiful light colored brick with a tall graceful steeple and steps leading up to the double oak doors. Not everybody went to church services in Levan, but everybody went to church. That church had been the town gathering place for almost 100 years. It had provided walls for worship, seen the townsfolk marry in its hallowed halls, and absorbed the grief of many a funeral. The beautiful chapel had high arching windows that were two stories tall. The heavy oak pews possessed the patina of time and tender care.
    Sonja taught me to play the organ in that lovely little chapel. On the day of my first lesson, I had shown up in blue jeans, only to have Sonja send me home to change into a dress.
    “This is a place of reverence and worship,” she had said sternly. “We do not wear casual clothes when we enter the chapel!” .
    Christmas was coming, and I was going to be performing ‘Oh Holy Night’ on the piano for the annual Christmas Eve service. Everyone in town came to the Christmas Eve service, whether they came regularly to church or not. It was the spiritual highlight of the Christmas season for townsfolk. The choir would perform sacred Christmas songs, Sonja would accompany them on the organ, and the bells would be rung. The story of the Christ Child would be read at the pulpit by Lawrence Mangelson, who possessed a rich, deep, orator’s voice. It was my favorite tradition, and my musician’s heart was overflowing with thoughts of debuting at such an event. I had taken piano lessons, Monday through Friday, for three years, and had yet to play for anyone but Doc, Sonja, and my family.
    Originally, the church choir director, married to the aforementioned Lawrence Mangelson, had denied Sonja’s request to let me play in the special worship service. She was kind, but she worried that my ability at thirteen would not be worthy of the occasion. Sonja had taken me to Mrs. Mangelson’s home and insisted that she listen.
    I played a powerfully moving and difficult rendition of ‘Oh Holy Night’ on the piano in her little sitting room, and when I finished, the sweet old lady humbly asked for my forgiveness, begging me to take part in the program. Mr. Mangelson said it would be the best Christmas Eve Service ever and suggested we keep my piano solo a secret.
    Christmas Eve fell on a Sunday that year, and I attended the 9:00 a.m. church services without my family. Because the congregation would be returning that evening for the Christmas Eve service, the morning services were shortened. I had let my Aunt Louise and Tara in on my little secret, so later that afternoon, Aunt Louise came over and styled my hair, smoothing my natural curl into shining waves and applying light makeup on my eyes, cheeks, and lips. Sonja said musicians often perform in classic black but had thought white might be more age appropriate. She had driven to Provo, a city about an hour north of Levan, and found a simple yet elegant, long-sleeved, white, velvet dress. When I thumped down from my attic room, coiffed and wearing my new dress, my one foot in a heel and the other in a walking cast, thanks to my tumble down Tuckaway Hill, my dad’s weathered face softened and his lower lip trembled.
    “You look like an angel, honey. I’d hug you but I don’t want to muss ya up.”
    The night was cold and still, snow running in deep drifts along the edge of the poorly plowed roads. We made our way to the church which was lit up and welcoming in the moonlight. Sonja sat at the organ and played magnificent prelude music, softening hearts and moistening eyes before the program