Free The Christmas Cantata (The Liturgical Mysteries) by Mark Schweizer

conducting. It just hadn't happened. I wasn't sure, until now, that it could happen. Not with a volunteer choir, anyway.
    Silence filled the church. No one made a sound, not for a solid minute. It was as if everyone was afraid even to take a deep breath. Then Elaine said in a soft voice, "Holy cow!"
    "Was that us?" whispered Georgia.
    "It was," Meg whispered back.
    "Well, I'll be a three-legged horned-toad," said Pete. "Does this happen all the time? I might just join up."
    "Let's sing it again," said Randy. "Maybe it was an accident."
    The rest of the choir agreed emphatically. I looked around. Each of them, every single one, had a look of wonder on their faces. I gave them their starting notes and they sang it again.
    No mistake.
    Silence again, then: "We have got to rehearse tomorrow night!" said Bert Coley, excitedly. "I have a poker game but I'll skip it."
    "We have to," agreed Martha. "No way around it. We still have three movements to learn. We can sing this one on Sunday morning, but we've got to have some more rehearsals!"
    I was speechless. This was something out of my experience.
    "Okay," Meg said decidedly, "a Thursday rehearsal. Who can't come?"
    "Oh, man!" said Varmit. "Muffy and me got tickets to the monster truck rally in Bristol. Amy Grant is doing the pre-rally concert."
    "We've seen Amy before, Varmit," said Muffy. "And Bigfoot ain't even going to be there. He blew a head gasket or something."
    "These tickets are nonrefundable!" Varmit argued.
    "We'll scalp 'em on the internet," said Muffy with finality. "I can double our money." Varmit knew when he was licked.
    "I have a party I'm supposed to be at," said Steve DeMoss.
    "Me, too," said Sheila, looking daggers at Steve, "but we're not going."
    "I'm not complaining," said Steve. "I didn't want to go anyway."
    "Hey!" said Elaine. "That's my party!"
    "Oops," said Sheila with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. We'll be there when the rehearsal is over."
    "The party doesn't start till eight," said Elaine. "It's just a little get-together. So what if I get there an hour or so late? Billy can handle it."
    "Wow," said Annie. "That's brave."
    "Oh, I owe him," said Elaine. "He did the same thing to me last summer. Invited a bunch of his customers over and then got 'held up' at the shop."
    "Let's sing it again," said Marjorie. "There's something strange happening. Singing it...singing it just makes me feel good."
    "It's euphoric," agreed Rebecca.
    "Enchanting," said Bev.
    "It's like how I felt when I first saw the Grand Canyon," said Cynthia, trying to find the words. "I can't even catch my breath. I don't know..."
    "It's like something unbelievably beautiful," said Rhiza, putting her arm around Cynthia and giving her a hug. "You just don't know how to explain it."
    "It's like Christmas," said Meg.
     

Chapter 8
     
    It wasn't as easy as she remembered. When she'd been immersed in the music, when she'd had two and three lessons a week, when she'd been playing piano at the restaurant, composing had come to her as if it were second nature. Now, four years later, she found that writing music was...difficult. She struggled with themes, she struggled with harmonies, and she couldn't find the voice that she knew was there. She pored over her old compositions and looked for clues, hints on how to tap into her dormant talent. At least she hoped it was only dormant. What if it was gone completely?
    She'd been going over Christmas texts, but couldn't find anything that spoke to her. Then, after a month of agonizing, she threw every sketch into the waste bin, sat down at the piano in frustration and placed her hands on the keys. Mozart, she thought. Mozart to clear her mind. It always worked. She began to play.
    She wasn't thinking about the cantata at all. She was thinking about Henry, her family, her new church friends, the upcoming holiday, and then she realized what was flowing from her fingers. Not Mozart.
    She picked up her pen and started writing.
     
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