Page 1 of In Her Prayers

PROLOGUE

Caroline Weber’s heels clicked a solitary rhythm on the cracked pavement, a lonely echo to the raucous applause that had followed her last note of her last gig at the Centaur’s Den.She could still smell the mix of stale beer and fried food clinging to her performance dress—a tangible reminder of where she stood in life: on the cusp of change.

Midnight draped Trentville in silence, the air warm with the promise of summer.Streetlamps cast pools of yellow light at intervals, more for ambiance than necessity; few people ventured out after dark in this small town.Caroline passed by shop windows, dimmed now, which by day showcased everything from handcrafted furniture to the latest fashions.Each window reflected a part of her life story—a story she was poised to abandon come morning.

Memories tugged at her—the countless days spent balancing trays at the Hank’s Derby truck stop, the nights pouring her soul into song, hoping for that elusive break—a break that she finally had to admit couldn’t possibly come in this rural town.But soon she’d be more than just a wannabe blues singer working by day in small town truck stop.Chicago shimmered in her mind like a mirage, its opportunities vast, its challenges unknown.

The echoes of a heated conversation from a week ago still resonated in her ears.The voice of her boyfriend Zach Freelander had been desperate and pleading.He couldn’t see beyond the borders of this small town while she yearned for the expansive stages of Chicago.“You’re dreaming, Caroline,” he had said, his frustration evident.“This is your home.”But her dreams were too big for Trentville, too vivid to be contained by such familiarity.

With each step away from the life she knew, the image of Zach faded, replaced by towering skyscrapers and endless possibilities.She was sorry they’d had to part on such a bitter note, but she couldn’t see any help for it.She didn’t begrudge him his contentment with the ordinary, but she could no longer share it.Her path was illuminated by stars above and the luminous glow of ambition.

As Caroline continued her midnight promenade, St.Michael’s Catholic Church came into view, it’s tall bell tower piercing the night sky.The old stone church stood majestic and unyielding, a guardian of hallowed ground and keeper of countless confessions.Though she had never knelt in its pews or whispered prayers in its confessionals, the church had always beckoned to her with a silent invitation.

She paused, gazing up at the intricate facade, the gothic arches and stained glass that spoke of a world steeped in ritual and mystery.For someone who had crafted her life around tangible melodies and smokey bars, the allure of the sacred space was inexplicable.Yet it was there—a pull towards something eternal and profound.

Caroline’s fingers brushed against the cold, wrought iron railing as she ascended the stone steps of St.Michael’s.The moon, a silent witness to her late-night trespass, cast its pale light upon the church’s facade, illuminating the tall bell tower that stretched towards the heavens.She had passed this landmark countless times, its doors always firmly shut.But now, as if by some twist of fate on the eve of her departure, one of the heavy wooden doors stood slightly ajar.

A shiver trailed down her spine from the thrill of the forbidden.She’d always wanted to sing here, but not in the choir.And right now was her chance to fill the sacred space with her blues—a private performance for an audience of saints.But did she dare?

With a gentle nudge, the door groaned open.She hesitated on the threshold, heart pounding with an exhilarating fusion of fear and desire.

She briefly wondered whether she should ask Father Delaney for permission, but she quickly dismissed the thought.The old priest was surely asleep in the rectory by now, and she’d be gone in just a few minutes.Besides, what was the harm in a little midnight song in such a beautiful place?Surely Father Delaney wouldn’t object.

The decision made, Caroline stepped inside.The scent of wax and a faint hint of incense welcomed her.In the dim glow of votive candles and small side lamps, the pews stretched out before her—empty vessels waiting to be filled with the sound of her voice.She moved farther into the nave, her footsteps hushed against the age-worn tiles.The pulse of the outside world fell away.It was a different kind of stage than those she was used to—one not of smoky bars and rowdy patrons, but of reverence and echoes.It was as if the church had waited for this very instant, to be awakened by her presence and her music.

Caroline could barely contain the swell of emotions as she looked around at the high vaulted ceilings, begging for her blues to give them voice.This was it—the opportunity to leave her mark on Trentville in a way no one would ever know, except for herself and the divine ears of St.Michael’s.

As she began, Caroline’s tentative notes unfurled into the solemn stillness of St.Michael’s, her voice a delicate intrusion in the sacred hush.

“I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees…”

She sang to the shadows, to the flickering candles, to the saints immortalized in stained glass.Her melody, tinged with the soulful essence of blues, carved through the silence, wrapping around the pillars and arches, as if seeking permission to inhabit this grand space.The resonance of her alto seemed to embrace the church’s vastness, lending an ethereal quality to her performance.Each note climbed higher, striving toward the distant ceiling, only to cascade back down in a gentle reverberation.

Abruptly, Caroline’s song fractured as her ears caught an anomaly.A sound that mimicked her tune rippled back at her, weaving through the after-hum of her last note.It was as if the church itself had learned her song and decided to sing along.A shiver tiptoed down her spine, and she stood frozen before the altar.The echo was too perfect, too precise to be merely a quirk of acoustics.

Then she realized it was the bell-tower carillon that had had answered her.The recognition sent an electric current of intrigue through her veins.She knew that the two dozen bronze bells hung high up on a platform, and their delicate melodies regularly rang out over Trentville.But the sound she had just heard hadn’t been either church or classical music.

With a deep breath to steady her nerves, Caroline coaxed her voice back to life, emboldened by the mystery.She let the lyrics flow once more, pouring her wonder and lingering doubts into the song’s plaintive rise and fall.

“I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees

Asked the Lord above, 'Have mercy, save this poor girl, if you please.'"

And again, the carillon echoed her, each bell striking with intention, a phantom instrumentalist performing a duet with her.

Her heart raced as she considered the impossibility of it all.The carillon’s bells were responding to her voice.The thrill of the unexplained phenomenon beckoned her curiosity, urging her to unravel this nocturnal enigma.Her skin prickled at the unexpected accompaniment, transforming the church’s atmosphere from a sanctuary to a stage for the unknown.

Caroline held her breath as the last note hung in the air, and once more the carillon mirrored her melody with chilling accuracy.The resonance was uncanny; each ringing bell felt like a voice from another realm answering her call.Then, the initial enchantment of the moment dissolved into the unsettling realization that she was not alone in St.Michael’s.

The allure of the mystery tugged at her resolve.Caroline considered leaving, letting the strange occurrence remain unexplained.But the same determination that had driven her to leave Trentville for Chicago now propelled her towards the source of the enigmatic music.Her footsteps echoed against the stone floor, breaking the eerie silence as she moved toward the tower staircase hidden in the recesses of the church.

She found the narrow passageway and laid her hand on the cool wood of the stair rail.As she moved upward, each step creaked loudly, protesting her ascent.The faint moonlight filtering through the windows painted ghostly patterns on the walls, transforming the familiar church into a place of secrets and whispers.She paused mid-climb, her heart pounding in her chest, wondering if this was the same curiosity that had always led her to seek out new stages and audiences—was it also leading her into danger?Shaking the thought away, Caroline pressed on, drawn by the need to discover who was sharing in her midnight serenade.

Caroline’s breath came in short bursts, the rhythm matching the racing of her heart as she reached the final step.The bell tower room stretched out before her, an unexpected sanctuary bathed in the ethereal glow of moonlight.The carillon keyboard stood solitary in the center of the room.Cautiously, she moved closer.

She circled the instrument, feeling the urge to disturb the thick layer of dust adorning its keys – a silent testament to the passage of time.Caroline’s curiosity deepened.She knew that the instrument was played every single day.So why did it appear to be untouched, as if no one had fingered its keys for years?And how could it have sounded so alive moments ago?

A cool draft brushed against her neck, stirring the fine hairs and sending a shiver down her spine.She glanced upwards, but the bells and strikers she could see hung motionless.A nagging suspicion crept into her mind – was the carillon’s response earlier a message meant for her?Or was it simply a trick of the night, a playful whisper of Trentville before she turned her back on it for good?

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