Free Hearts Unfold by Karen Welch

against Mark's shoulder.   “I
knew we'd be all right.   No one could be
suspicious of this old wreck,” she told him sweetly.   The car accelerated sharply and Stani closed
his eyes.   He might as well relax on the
way back.   Betsy clearly had everything
under control.
    Tuning out the
conversation in the front seat, he turned his thoughts ahead to the rehearsal
tomorrow afternoon.   Robert would drive
him to the church where he was scheduled to play for midnight mass, immediately
following the radio broadcast on Christmas Eve.   The evening would be hectic, he knew, but he never turned down the
opportunity to perform in a church.   He
had played in cathedrals and synagogues, churches and chapels.   The same sense of intimacy, no matter the
size of the building, lent a unique depth to his performance, which he had
never been able to attain in a concert hall.
    Stani
especially looked forward to this event.   From that first Christmas Eve mass at St. Patrick's, just after they'd
moved to New York, he'd had a fascination with that particular
celebration.   Jana had taken him, her one
venture back to her childhood religion.   The pungent-sweet smell of cedar, and the glow of hundreds of candles,
along with the glorious music, had made a profound impression upon him.   He'd become curious for the first time as to
what motivated so many people to come, year after year, to sing the same hymns
and whisper the same prayers.   He hadn't
pursued religion; it didn't fit into his already over-scheduled young
life.   But he’d discovered that
performing in churches evoked the same emotions he'd experienced that
night.   He found himself looking forward
to the prospect of spending another Christmas Eve among people who came to
greet a child they believed had forever altered the nature of man.   It would be a welcome change from the
faceless crowds in dim, smoke-filled rooms, crowds that seemed to be drawing
him farther and farther from his own humanity.

 

 
    Stani dozed
fitfully for a time, aware of the road speeding beneath the less than
well-sprung car.   When he opened his eyes
again, Betsy was kneeling on the seat, facing the rear of the car, illuminated
by the glow from the dashboard.   She was
gazing down at Mark, her expression one of tender passion.   Stani tried to look away, embarrassed, but
found he couldn't take his eyes from her.   Caressing Mark's face, her slender, manicured hand traveled lightly over
his temple, curving around his ear and brushing softly up through his
hair.   The front of the jumpsuit had been
unzipped to reveal a glowing V of white skin.   Never taking her gaze from his face, she gently pried Mark's right hand
from the steering wheel and lifted it to rest over her heart.
    In the midst of
his fascination, it occurred to Stani that Betsy was making love to Mark as he
drove the car eighty miles an hour down a darkened highway.   For a moment, he considered offering to take
the wheel himself, in the interest of self-preservation.   But then she would know he'd been
watching.   It seemed wiser to close his
eyes and pretend to sleep.   For a time he
tried but could not ignore the sound of escalating passion just inches
away.   He had almost summoned the courage
to suggest they pull over when the car abruptly slowed and bounced onto a
graveled surface.   Slamming the car into
gear and turning off the engine, Mark pushed Betsy roughly down onto the seat,
arching his body above her.
    Stani grabbed
for the door handle and flung himself out of the car, instantly regretting his
hasty action.   Surrounded by profound
darkness, he was struck full force by a bitterly cold wind.   He stood still, trying to get his bearings.   They had stopped in some sort of roadside
picnic area.   He could make out a table
and benches nearby, nestled beneath the trees.   Fighting to pull his overcoat closer around him, he made his way
carefully over the rough expanse of rock to one of the