Page 9 of Christmas in Watch Hill
SIX
SCOTT
Iwasn’t a churchgoingman.
Never have been. I would have called my relationship with organized religion casual at best. I had a moral compass, and a passing, cursory knowledge of Jesus based on sporadic childhood attendance at a Methodist church, but I wouldn’t have said Christianity had much of an influence in my daily life.
After Monica’s death, it had even less.
Still, the Advent season always had an impact on me. In the space between Thanksgiving and the New Year, I always got swept up in the enchantment of it all, and the emotion that came with the intersection of celebrating the birth of Jesus and the acknowledgement of yet another calendar year coming to an end.
That was how I came to find myself parking my car in the lot outside Watch Hill Community Church, ready to attend their annual cantor music concert. Since moving to the area, I’d heard several people talk about it, and as I was driving back to my house with yet another night of nothing to do, the large sign advertising it in front of the church pushed me over the top.
Besides, Christmas carols and holiday music were two of my favorite parts of the season. Monica had loved them too and had purchased tickets several times to the Cincinnati Symphony Orchestra’s holiday concert and the Trans-Siberian Orchestra’s annual traveling show.She would have loved something like this.That fact bruised, but I pushed aside the pain.
Once inside the church, I placed a small donation in the gift box near the door, took a program from the front narthex, and slid into the back of the sanctuary. I made it inside just as the music began, and I marveled at the packed house. The size of the crowd alone told me this would be a good concert.
And then I saw Nora Shaw.
She still had on the same outfit she wore earlier at the fashion show and must have gone back to the store in the afternoon to make a few more sales. She caught my eye and motioned for me to sit in the space next to her, one of the few unoccupied rows in the historic church. With a smile I followed her request and sat between her and a family with two young girls wearing plaid holiday dresses.
“Fancy seeing you here,” I said to her just under my breath as the music swelled and filled the space above us. “Twice in one day.”
“A Christmas miracle,” she whispered back, and I thought I saw a hint of pleasure in her eyes.
The concert lasted about an hour, and it lived up to all the comments and praise I’d heard. Candles, white lights, evergreen garlands, red ribbons, and gold crosses decorated the sanctuary, their warmth a stark contrast to the crisp December night. A small choir sang a seamless medley of Christmas classics, and at one point a bell choir played a gorgeous rendition of “O Holy Night”.All the while, the organist moved the concert from one carol to the next, and between songs, a narrator interspersed lines of the Christmas story from the Bible. As a finale, the Cincinnati Children’s Chorus sang a few ballads that showed off their acapella skills.
“That was amazing,” I said to Nora when we stepped out of the church and into the cold. “I almost didn’t want it to end.”
“They do a phenomenal job.” Even in the dim streetlight, her eyes were brighter, her face more relaxed and less strained than it had been earlier in the day. She pulled her turquoise wool coat around her body and tied the sash. “I can always count on that concert to put me in the Christmas mood, no matter how I am feeling about the rest of my life.”
“I understand why.”
And I did, I really did. In fact, for the first time that holiday season, I was enjoying myself and participating in it instead of watching it pass in front of me.This is a nice feeling. I could get used to this. In fact, I want more . . .
More of Nora.
I pointed at Sam’s Deli. “Want to get some dinner? I’m hungry.”
