A Carol for Christmas (5 page)

“My name is Carol Burke, and I’m one of the volunteers helping to put together the December 19 benefit perfor- mance featuring Travis Thompson.” She looked at the faces of those in the audience, recognizing the hopes and dreams

that were represented there. Hopes and dreams much like her own. “Mr. Thompson has asked us to provide backup singers to perform with him at the benefit. We’re looking for only two more female singers.” She held up two fingers, emphasizing how slim their chances were.

Glances were exchanged around the room. Some faces registered disappointment, others determination.

“As announced, everyone will be asked to sing portions of the same three songs. I’m sure you’ll be familiar with the ones selected. They’re popular Christmas carols. All of you who are trying out were given copies of the sheet music and a number when you signed in at the door. Please come up to the stage when your number is called.” She turned to look toward the piano on the right side of the stage. Motioning with her hand, she said, “This is Mrs. Atkinson. I’ve asked her to accompany everyone tonight.”

Turning toward the audience again, she saw Ruth standing at the back of the hall. Her mother-in-law smiled and nodded, as if to say Carol was doing a great job. She hoped it was true. She was so nervous her knees almost knocked, not from stage fright but from the responsibility of choosing the other singers. What if she chose someone she shouldn’t? Worse, what if she shouldn’t even be one of the three?

“Miss Burke,” a woman in the front row said, “if we’re chosen, what exactly will we be singing? Are these the songs?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know. That will be up to Mr. Thompson. I simply selected some familiar carols that I

hoped would show your range and ability. Rehearsals will begin on Saturday the thirteenth. If you’re chosen, you must commit to daily rehearsals for the full week until the performance. Rehearsal times will depend upon Mr. Thompson’s needs and not ours, so it is essential that you be flexible.”

She waited to see if anyone would rise and leave the fel- lowship hall. No one did.

“All right then. Let’s have the first person come up here, and we’ll get these tryouts started.”

Carol hurried across the stage and down the steps.

Please
,
God. Don’t let me blow this. Help me choose the right singers. I’m so nervous
,
I’m afraid I’ ll be sick.

Q

Arlen Burke stood on the sidewalk, arms crossed over his chest, staring at the department store’s corner window. At long last, he said, “Well, it should draw a crowd. That’s for certain.”

Relief flooded Jonathan. Coming from his dad, those few words were high praise.

The plans for this Christmas window display had for- mulated in his mind weeks ago. The life-size, powerful- looking angel and the miniaturized version of sleepy Beth- lehem were a definite change from the Santa’s workshop, complete with toy train and animated elves, that normally graced this window in December.

His dad turned toward the store entrance. “Your mother and that church bunch will definitely approve of it.”

The comment deflated Jonathan’s pleasure somewhat. Christmas to Arlen Burke was about store profits, not the birth of Jesus. Financial success was what drove him. He tolerated his wife’s and son’s faith, but he wanted no part of religion himself. In many ways, the success of Burke Department Stores
was
his religion.

It won’t be like that for me
, Jonathan promised himself

as he followed his dad inside. He had every intention of keeping his priorities straight. He might have to put in long hours right now in order to make his way and provide for his wife, but he didn’t plan to lose sight of what mattered most.

The glass revolving door whooshed closed behind Jona- than, and he stopped beside his dad in the aisle leading into the cosmetics department. The air was filled with the scents of expensive perfumes. Jonathan found it overpower- ing and was thankful Carol had simpler tastes.

He wondered how the tryout was going. He wished he could have been there.

Carol had confessed her nervousness to Jonathan before he left for work. “Why would anybody listen to my opin- ion? I don’t have a music degree or any professional singing experience. Somebody’s bound to think I’m too young to be in charge.” She released a sigh. “They’re probably right.”

“That’s not true,” he answered. “You’ll be the most talented person in the room. That qualifies you to be in charge.”

Carol gave him a pained but grateful smile before kiss- ing him good-bye.

I should have called her this afternoon. She could’ve used the encouragement.

He’d meant to call her, but somehow, time got away from him. It seemed like that happened a lot lately.

Q

“Come on,” Ruth said. “I’ll treat you to a piece of pie à la mode.”

Carol leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “I’m too tired to eat anything.”

Ruth chuckled as she tugged on Carol’s upper arm. “I’m not. We’ll go in my car and then I’ll bring you back to get yours when we’re finished.”

“All right,” she agreed, too tired to resist. Besides, pie sounded pretty good.

It wasn’t until they reached the mostly deserted res- taurant and were seated in a comfortable booth, menus in hand, that Ruth asked, “So what do you think?”

“Hmm. I’ll have the rhubarb.”

“Not the pie, Carol. About the tryouts. Did you find two good singers in that group?”

Carol swept loose strands of hair back from her face. “The problem will be narrowing it down to two. There was a lot of talent in that room tonight. I was surprised.”

“Yes, but there were more than a few who didn’t belong there.” Ruth shook her head as she lowered her gaze to the menu. “Some of it was painful to listen to.”

Carol recalled Barbara Matthews’s singing — a gener- ous word to describe the noise coming out of that pretty

throat — and winced. Elizabeth Gray hadn’t exaggerated when she said Barbara couldn’t sing a lick. And now Carol would have to tell the pastor’s daughter that she wouldn’t be singing with Travis Thompson.

Ruth patted the back of Carol’s hand. “I can read your face like a book, my dear girl. Stop worrying about Barbara. She’s young. She’ll get over her disappointment.”

“I hope so.”

“If she can’t, she’d better learn quick. Life is strewn with disappointments and heartaches to go along with the good. The experiences we have, good and bad, make us grow into who we’re supposed to be. For those who love God, the refining process makes us more Christlike.”

Carol felt a sting of conviction. Was she accepting of the things in her life that weren’t what she wanted?

The waitress arrived at the table. Carol ordered the rhu- barb pie, heated, with ice cream. Ruth chose banana cream pie with extra whipped topping. Both asked for decaffein- ated coffee.

“Be right back,” the waitress said as she slipped the pen- cil behind her ear.

Alone again, Carol smiled at her mother-in-law. “I hope someday to be more like you.”

“Like me? What do you mean?”

She shrugged. “Peaceful. Accepting. Contented. Joy- ful.”
All the things I’m so often not.

“Oh, my. Am I all those things?” “Yes.”

“I believe . . . No, I
know
such attributes come with maturity, and I hope I have them. But I’m afraid your description makes me feel older than Methuselah.”

Carol leaned forward, smiling. “You’re not old. And I’m so glad you’re my mother-in-law.”

“My dear, I’m thankful for that too.” Ruth patted Car- ol’s cheek. “God blessed me when Jonathan chose you for his wife.”

Q

There was no sign of Carol’s Buick when Jonathan pulled into the detached garage shortly after nine thirty. That surprised him. He hadn’t figured the tryout would last so long.

Minutes later, he entered the dark apartment, turned on the nearby lamp, then shed his gloves and coat, drop- ping them onto the chair. Every little sound he made seemed amplified in the silence. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come home from work and not been met by Carol’s welcome.

He went into the kitchen and checked the refrigera- tor for something to eat. He’d had a sandwich at his desk around four. Now he was hungry again. But nothing he saw enticed him, so he settled for a tall glass of milk. After guzzling it down, he returned to the living room, turned on the TV, and sank onto the sofa. Another few minutes and the local evening news would be on. He would watch while he waited for Carol. He grabbed one of the small

throw pillows and put it behind his head as he stretched out on the sofa.

Closing his eyes, he remembered again how nervous Carol was that morning. Maybe he should have insisted he leave work early so he could go to the church with her. He’d thought about it, but then his dad wanted to go over some invoices from one of their suppliers. They discovered several discrepancies. Worse, the errors were Jonathan’s fault. By the time he straightened things out, it was closing time.

He rubbed his fingertips against his temples. A year ago, when he and Carol were still at the university, they often stayed up late, planning their wedding and dreaming about the life they would share as a married couple. Never once did he imagine they would spend so many hours apart. Never once did he imagine he wouldn’t be able to provide for his wife better than this. If only. . .

Exhaustion overtook him, and he was asleep before the newscast began. In the morning, he wouldn’t remem- ber Carol’s arrival home or making his way to bed at her encouragement.

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T

he next week went by in a blur.

Carol made her choice regarding the other female

singers and called everyone about her decision. The benefit committee met twice, once in Ruth’s home and once at the high school where the performance would be held.

On Monday of the second week in December, Arlen Burke decided he and his son should visit the other Burke stores in Idaho. The trip would last three days and two nights, as long as the weather cooperated and the roads stayed in good condition.

This was the first time Carol and Jonathan had spent a night apart since their wedding. She missed him. Missed him more than words could say. The loneliness, the empti- ness of the apartment, seemed to taunt her, and she won- dered, for the first time, if this was the life she wanted.

The thought frightened her.

Q

“I have a surprise for you,” Ruth said when Carol answered the telephone Thursday morning. “Two surprises, actually.”

“Good ones?” Carol watched snowflakes falling into the window well. Were the roads getting slick? Would

Jonathan still get home tonight as he’d promised, or would she have to spend another night alone?

“Absolutely. First, I’ve found a guitar for you to use.” Carol straightened in her chair. “Really?”

“Yes. Pearl Iverson’s grandson is in the army, and he left his guitar with her. As long as you take good care of it, she said you’re welcome to use it.”

She would be able to practice, to accompany herself when singing. Surely that would lift her out of the win- ter doldrums. “What sort of guitar is it, Ruth? Do you know?”

“Heavens, I haven’t a clue. But I can bring it to you today and you’ll see for yourself.”

“I’ll take good care of it. I promise. Please tell Mrs.

Iverson that.”

“Of course. Now for the other surprise. Mr. Thompson is flying into Boise a day earlier than expected. I’m going to pick him up at the airport this afternoon and drive him to his hotel, and I’d like you to come with me. Can you be ready by one?”

“One o’clock?” Nerves erupted in Carol’s stomach as she glanced at the clock. “Yes, I can be ready.”

“Terrific. I’ll pick you up. See you soon.”

After returning the phone to its cradle, Carol hur- ried into the bathroom and checked her appearance in the mirror.

She was about to meet Travis Thompson. He was famous. He’d made gold records. People listened to him on the radio

and they bought tickets to hear him perform. He’d achieved everything she used to dream of.

Dreams she’d given up to marry Jonathan.

Did I make a mistake? Did I give up too much
,
too soon?
She closed her eyes against sudden tears. What was she thinking? She loved Jonathan. Singing was wonderful, but she loved her husband more. She wouldn’t want to be with-

out him. Not in a million years.

Would she?

She choked back a sob. Half frustration, half shame. “Lord,” she whispered, eyes still closed. “I’m sorry. I

don’t mean to be ungrateful. What’s wrong with me? How could I even think such a thing?”

She felt a little better when she opened her eyes. Not completely better but a little. That was something.

Q

Black ice coated the surface of the interstate. Strong gusts of wind slammed against the side of the Cadillac every few miles as Jonathan drove west out of Pocatello, headed toward Boise.

While Arlen Burke was careful never to curse in front of his wife, he wasn’t as careful in the presence of his son, especially when the Cadillac fishtailed its way across an overpass, bringing the passenger side dangerously close to the guardrail before the rear wheels grabbed pavement again.